The Chrysalid Conspiracy (47 page)

Armchairs and low coffee tables were scattered around. The furniture was ancient but not antique, just well used and there was plenty of it.

Down the centre there was a long table, the type used in boardrooms. Comparatively new, it was of highly polished mahogany and flanked by modern padded swivel chairs. The only thing that reminded her that she was in a historical building was the over-ornate staircase that rose up at the far end and split left and right up to the next floor. But it was made to look incongruous by the rest of the room, which deflected attention away from its incredible beauty.

Amelia took all this in without breaking her stride. She could ‘feel’ her mother’s distress coming from the next floor. Apart from the initial relief that she was still alive Amelia determined to get to her as quickly as possible. “I’m coming mother.” She called to let her know she was near.

Taking the shortest route, she leapt on to the long table. The intention was to avoid the armchairs and furniture which would have slowed her, and to run straight down the middle of the room. Unfortunately, she had forgotten she wasn’t wearing trainers and her Cuban heels were no match for the Brazilian mahogany. With no grip, she slid and skidded and ended up in a series of short hops and skips as if she were on ice, leaving great gouges and scratch marks in her wake. When she leapt from the table on to the first landing of the stairs she failed to notice the body lying on the floor beneath her.

She could sense her mother’s distress turning to fear and ignoring the crippling pain from her left ankle she made an effort to get to her. Struggling on all fours she dragged herself upwards toward the terrified knot of emotion above her.

Amelia looked up and froze. At the top of the stairs stood her nightmare, here in broad daylight and wide-awake.

The figure was dressed in some kind of flowing, white robes. It was all there – the hood, the golden mask, and the sword. Everything that had been Amelia faded into insignificance; who and what she was, her past, her present and her future became meaningless as the bitter wind of cold logic took over her mind. Her pain vanished and, aware that she had no weapon, she stood and faced her adversary.

“You don’t need the mask, Ryxyl. I know who you are, and I know what you want,” she said without a shred of fear.

“How timely, Amelia. So nice of you to turn up. Now I can take you and your mother together.” Ryxyl gave a strange laugh and started down the stairs towards her.

All Amelia could think about was her mother, and this murderous creature was standing between them and for some deep dark reason wanted to kill them both.

With no weapons, and miraculously free from pain Amelia charged in rage and fear up the stairs towards her nemesis. Ryxyl didn’t have to move. Instead she flowed, such was her athletic skill. A slight change of balance and her foot slammed into the side of Amelia’s head. She was catapulted backwards down to the central landing with such force her back jarred against the stair post. Pain invaded her again and stunned by the blow she charged back up towards Ryxyl who was poised, confident and laughing, at her. This time Ryxyl did move. She twisted sideways and Amelia screamed in agony as Ryxyl’s heel smashed into her knee. Amelia fell again and, looking up, saw the masked devil raise her sword for what looked like the ‘coup de gras’.

***

Scrambling to her feet Rayn hit the woods following the path Amelia had ploughed through the undergrowth. She hurdled the paddock fence in one, landing in time to see Horace disappearing towards the iron bridge and the camp site in chaos,

“Is anyone hurt?” she shouted. It was Joe who answered first.

“Don’t think so. You okay Jaz?” Jahal, who had a protective arm around her, gave the thumbs up sign.

As she sped past the caravan, her mother called out to her from the steps. “Rayn, you might need this,” and threw something to her. Rayn knew what it was the minute her hands closed over it – the throwing knife belt she was making as a gift for Amelia. At that moment Claire ran up to her. “Rayn, Rayn, they’ve gone to the Hall. Take the kissing gate path and jump the wall at the sluice gate. It’s quicker. When you get past the mill, watch out for the …” But Rayn had outrun her and was way ahead.

“Nigel! Molly! Follow me,” Rayn called as she raced down the path, trying to avoid the divots, those great clods of mud thrown up by Horace’s hooves.

She vaulted the kissing gate and was on familiar ground. It was the path they used on their morning runs and led straight to the old mill. Squeezed as it was between the dry stone wall of the Tetherington Estate boundary and the river, it was definitely single file. The speed she was going forced her to concentrate on every step. Amelia had told her about her latest dream and she knew the consequences of a mistake. There was no plan B.

Scaling the wall at the sluice gate, she could concentrate on her speed up to the mill. She ran past the old slumbering building, scattering birds and wildlife in her wake and on into the more dense trees on the other side of the clearing. Never having been this far before, she had trouble with the twists and turns. Focussing on speed so much she was surprised when she found herself up to her waist in muddy, stagnant water. Dragging herself from the over-grown mill-race dyke, she ignored the dead leaves and slime, remembering Claire’s warning too late. The brambles and foliage tore at her face and hands and she emerged to find herself on the edge of the extensive landscaped lawns and gardens of the Hall. She was at one end of the house, looking along the front. In her urgency she ran straight through the beautifully manicured flowerbeds, up over the balustrade and onto a wide veranda that ran the full length of the Mansion.

Swerving left through the open doors, she was confronted with a sight that challenged her sanity. Amelia was halfway up the first landing staircase, leading up to the right. She was half crouching with her arms raised in a hopelessly futile attempt to defend herself from the sword which was about to strike her from above.

The strange creature wielding it was like something from a world of mythology. Long flowing white robes, hooded and masked, it looked almost ceremonial. One more step and Amelia would die.

Rayn had a split second to think and act. She tore a scalpel-sharp throwing knife from the belt she was still carrying and, even though it was a long throw, she hurled it at the strange apparition on the stairs, the figure she knew to be Ryxyl.

Changing the downward stroke, Ryxyl slashed sideways and, with incredible speed, deflected the oncoming threat. There was the sound of metal on metal and the knife skittered across the tiled floor.

Knowing she had to get closer, she chose the same route that Amelia had taken down the centre of the room. She was up on the table and running as she threw the second knife.

Ryxyl had no time to readjust and dived over the still crouching Amelia. Rayn was shocked to observe the athletic beauty of the full somersault and skilled landing of this formidable adversary. The knife ‘thunked’ into the wood panelling where Ryxyl had been standing.

Rayn launched a third knife but Ryxyl twisted sideways again and the knife sank harmlessly into the panelling.

For a moment Ryxyl was off-balance, leaning back towards the opposite staircase and facing Amelia. Diving upwards, Amelia grabbed Rayn’s second knife, tore it from the wood and, twisting and turning, she directed it at that golden mask before she crashed onto the stairs.

It wasn’t a good throw, but it was accurate. The knife hit Ryxyl full in the face, handle first. The force of the short throw knocked her backwards slightly. The mask came off and rolled down the main staircase.

Ryxyl glared at Amelia, her beautiful face made ugly with rage and hatred. She made a move to retrieve the mask but, seeing Rayn at the end of the table just a few feet away with her arm back, ready for another throw, she decided to cut her losses. Leaping gracefully up the opposite stairs, she vanished into the house proper. Rayn made as if to follow, but Amelia called out. “Leave it, Rayn. She’s too good. She’ll kill you.”

“Where’s Lucy?” shouted Rayn, and Amelia fled up the stairs. One of the bedroom doors was open and, as Amelia entered, her heart sank. Her mother was lying on the floor, face down. However, before Amelia could scream she saw her arms move. She was trying to do a commando crawl.

“Amelia!” Lucy cried as she looked up. “Gabrielle. See to Mrs Orugo.” In the corner lay the crumpled body of the physiotherapist. From where she stood, Amelia could see that her neck was broken. Amelia went over and, dropping to her knees, gently turned her mother onto her back.

“Let’s get you back to bed, Mum. We can’t do anything for her now,” she said softly and found she couldn’t stand up. The pain was just too much and she sank down on the floor next to her mother. “Are you hurt mum? Is everything okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine.” Her mother reassured her. “My head’s sore, that bitch dragged me out of bed by my hair. Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah. But we’ll both be a lot better tomorrow.” She smiled to hide her pains.

***

Ryxyl was livid. She wanted to smash something, but her hotel room wasn’t the place to start. How could she have lost out to two fifteen-year-olds?

Admitted, their agility, speed and coordination were superb, but she knew she was far superior and she should have had the Jaxsons safely tucked away somewhere by now.

Lucy Jaxson was the key to the Chimera tree and, in order to control her, she needed the daughter alive. It was the only way to find and control the lost land of Sundoor. It belonged to the Sanddancers and it was her domain, her destiny, and one day she would rule them and they would worship her as their saviour. All she needed was the location.

That stupid school Headmaster had known how to find it, but that incompetent moron the ‘Very Reverend West’ had killed him. His brief had been to destroy the Chimera organisation, not kill off the key members. Had he switched priorities and was now after the Jaxson codex?

I must pay him a visit and find out what he’s up to
, she thought.
Does he know about the Ark?

The thought of the Ark reminded her that she had lost the ‘Mask of Moses’. Damn those kids. But at least she was out in the open now. No more ‘yes Dr Barrenborn’ and ‘no Dr Barrenborn’. She’d hated being subservient to those people. Nevertheless, by hanging on to the doctor’s coat tails through her financial dealings she now had her own fortune.

Ryxyl assessed her options.
I’ll have to do some remodelling on that brother of mine.
She thought.
He’s taken a fancy to that Jaxson girl. Maybe I can use that to get to her and bring him back to the fold at the same time.
Ryxyl knew in her cold heart that if he won’t comply with her wishes she would have to considered him no more than collateral damage, to be disposed of as necessary. She’d have to deal with that when the time came.
Maybe he still has some uses.
She thought. She decided that she had to sort out West, get control of the Jaxson kid, and get her mask back. And find that damned location!

Rayn had followed Amelia into the bedroom and saw Mrs Orugo’s body. “Oh no, not her as well,” she murmured.

“As well?” asked Amelia. “What do you mean?” Rayn had lifted Lucy back on the bed and helped Amelia into Lucy’s wheel chair.

“Horace died. That last run was all he had. His heart gave out. But the worst thing is,” she hesitated. “George died, too.”

Lucy gave a sob and Rayn bit her bottom lip. A whole host of memories rose up to swamp Amelia, but with an extreme effort she slammed the door shut on them.

“Sorry,” she announced. “We can grieve later. Right now we have things to do, and not much time.” She heard a noise from downstairs. “What’s that?”

“Nigel and Molly,” Rayn said. “I told them to follow me. Up here, you two,” she called.

When they came in, their faces where white and their breath laboured.

“Oh Lucy! Downstairs, it’s George. He’s, he’s…”

“Yes, thank you Molly, we know,” cut in Amelia sharply, making them all focus. “I’m sorry but we’ll have to grieve later. We don’t have the time right now.”

“There are no marks on him that I could see.” said Nigel. “So we don’t know what happened.”

“It was probably his heart.” said Lucy. “He’s been having some problems.”

“We have a lot to do. Mum, I’m sorry but this has got to be done. We have bodies and we must call the police. What we have to do is find a way of making this look like a tragic accident. Nigel, I’m asking you to break the law. If you can’t or won’t for any reason, just say so and I’ll understand.”

“I’m with you, Amelia. Always have been,” Nigel said. Molly was silent, she looked doubtful.

“Good. And thank you. Now, Nigel, make sure that Mrs Orugo died of a broken neck and that George died from a heart attack. We need to be as sure as we can. Molly, find some cleaning materials and make it appear as though that damage to the table happened a few days ago. Then give Lorraine a call and get her up here as quickly as possible. When she gets here, give her the option about the law and ask her to lie to the police and think up an excuse for that kind of damage. Get Alyson to back her up. She owes us one.”

Nigel came back in. “Everything looks all right for what you want, Amelia. What next?” He was familiar with death but this was his beloved G-dad, and it hurt.

“Rayn,” said Amelia, “go find Molly and tell her to get back up here when she’s finished. We’d better get our stories straight. And find some drinks while you’re at it.”

“Yes, Mon Capitan,” said Rayn, giving her friend a mock salute. “I’ll collect up those knives, as well.”

“That’s a good point, Rayn,” Amelia replied.

“Knives? What knives?” Lucy had cried.

“Don’t ask, Mum. You wouldn’t believe it. Not yet, anyway,” Amelia had reassured her.

Assembled in an adjacent bedroom after placing a blanket over Mrs. Orugo’s body they all took a well-needed shot of the very expensive brandy Rayn had managed to find. Molly was the first to speak.