The Mask of Destiny (6 page)

‘Just a minute!' he called out. He shoved the gem under his pillow, sweeping the leather pouch and paper in after it. ‘Okay, you can come in.'

The door opened and Gerald turned to find a white-haired woman, dressed in a grey servant's tunic, standing in the doorway.

‘Pardon the intrusion, Master Gerald, your guests have arrived.' The woman stepped aside and Sam and Ruby bowled into the room.

‘Thanks, Mrs Rutherford,' Ruby said as she plopped down into an armchair by the window. ‘Looks like quite the party you're preparing for downstairs.'

The housekeeper jutted out her chin and drew the corners of her mouth down. ‘It is none of my doing, Miss Ruby,' she said. ‘It seems Mrs Wilkins thought preparing food and drink for two hundred and fifty guests was beyond my limited abilities. She has engaged the services of,' Mrs Rutherford paused as if she had just swallowed a rancid oyster, ‘a
caterer
.'

‘But your cooking is fantastic,' Sam said. ‘I thought we'd be having something spectacular.'

‘Oh, it will be spectacular,' Mrs Rutherford said. ‘If you consider rubber chicken and packaged sauce spectacular. But Mrs Wilkins is the lady of the house and I am but a lowly cook…apparently.'

‘So what are you doing tonight if the caterer is running the kitchen?' Ruby asked.

‘I believe Mr Fry keeps a stock of very reasonable sherry in the butler's pantry for such occasions,' she said.

Gerald looked at Sam and then at Mrs Rutherford. They looked like they were about to attend a funeral.

‘I don't feel like rubber chicken tonight,' Gerald said. He cocked an eyebrow at Ruby.

‘Oh, no,' she said, cottoning on. ‘That sounds dreadful. If only there was some way we could have something else. Something delicious.' She cast a meaningful glance at the housekeeper.

Sam's eyes lit up and he blurted out, ‘Make us some dinner, Mrs Rutherford? Please?'

Ruby threw her hands in the air. ‘Sam! Honestly. You're as subtle as a shark attack.'

A smile creased Mrs Rutherford's face. ‘Master Sam, you are my biggest fan. I'm sure I can throw a little something together for you.' With an extra bounce in her step, the housekeeper excused herself and set off for the kitchen.

Gerald closed the heavy oak door and pushed the bolt home.

‘Have a look at this,' he said, and crossed to his bed. He took out the gemstone and the piece of paper.

Ruby sat on the mattress and flattened the page across the bedspread. It revealed an intricate sketch of a medieval castle atop soaring cliffs with waves pounding at their rocky base.

‘I remember you drawing this,' she said to Gerald. ‘In Alisha's house in Delhi.'

Gerald brushed his fingertips across the surface of the page, as if reading it in Braille.

‘I'm not likely to forget it,' he said.

‘I wonder what Alisha and Kali are up to,' Sam said. ‘All that seems ages ago now.'

‘Alisha is due back in England the week after next for the start of school,' Gerald said. ‘Miss Turner is escorting her. And the last I heard Kali and her mum were going to join Mr Hoskins at his bookshop in Glastonbury.'

Ruby emitted a short
hrumph
. ‘Both Alisha and Kali are coming to England? Won't that be nice for you.'

Gerald looked at Ruby through half-closed eyes. ‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘It means whatever you want it to mean,' Ruby said. She stood and marched back to the armchair under the window and sat down. Gerald stared after her, clueless. He looked to Sam for help but his friend just shrugged. ‘I gave up trying to understand years ago,' he said. ‘So this castle is in France someplace?'

Gerald nodded. ‘That's what Miss Turner said. Somewhere off the coast of Normandy.'

Sam took the ruby from Gerald's hand, then wedged it into his eye socket like a monocle. He bent low over the page. ‘Hey! This makes everything look pink.'

Ruby watched her brother as he made hoots of delight. ‘To think we're twins,' she muttered.

Gerald clamped his lips together to smother a laugh. He slid his hand between the sketch and Sam's face and plucked the gem from Sam's eye socket. The moment it fell into Gerald's palm, the ruby flared up like a lantern.

Sam's head bucked back. ‘Holy cow!' he said. ‘Look at that!'

Gerald stared at the stone—it seemed as if a fire had been lit deep in its heart. He lifted it closer to his face.

‘The light's fading,' Ruby said, crossing back to the bed. ‘Move it over the sketch again.' She took Gerald's wrist and pulled his hand down until it was just above the castle. The gem flared; a surge of energy pulsed from its core. Fingers of red light stabbed across the paper, colouring the waves and the sheer rock walls.

‘Let me have a go,' Sam said. He grabbed the gem from Gerald's hand. The light vanished instantly. Sam let out another hoot of surprise. He dropped the stone back into Gerald's palm.

The ruby flared as bright as ever.

The three friends looked at each other.

‘Gerald,' Ruby said. ‘Do you get the feeling the third casket
wants
to be found? And found by you?'

Gerald's mouth had gone very dry. He swallowed. ‘We don't need to find it,' he said. ‘My family, the Fraternity in India, spent two thousand years trying to keep secret whatever this is all about. If it wasn't for Mason Green those two golden rods would still be buried and forgotten. Why not just leave things as they are?'

Ruby leaned forward and cupped her hand over Gerald's palm. The gem inside glowed out between their fingers like a Chinese lantern. Ruby tilted her head and peered at Gerald through upturned eyes.

‘You must be curious,' she said. ‘To find out what the big secret is. Surely you want to know.' Gerald felt Ruby's fingers tighten on his own.

There was a stirring in the pit of his stomach.

‘I'm hungry,' he said. He broke away from Ruby's touch and rolled the gem into its leather pouch before shoving it into the back of his sock drawer. He folded up the paper and dropped it into his backpack on the floor by the bed. ‘Let's see what Mrs Rutherford has cooked up.'

The lift doors opened onto a blazing row in the kitchen. Mrs Rutherford was on one side of the room, arms crossed and scowling. Opposite her was a slender woman dressed in black shirt and trousers, her hair pulled tightly back into a ferocious bun. Between them was the kitchen table, piled high with trays of canapés.

‘You can't possibly serve this…this…rabbit food to the guests,' Mrs Rutherford said, with more force than Gerald had ever heard her use before.

The woman in black shot her a dark glare. ‘And what would you suggest? Sausage rolls and jellied eels?'

Mrs Rutherford's cheeks flamed red. Her nostrils flared and she turned to the penguin that had appeared in the kitchen doorway. ‘Mrs Wilkins, I do not think your guests will appreciate being fed puff balls of alfalfa sprouts and raw broccoli. It is not hospitable.'

The woman in black snorted. ‘Perhaps you'd feel more at home if we deep fried everything in a vat of lard.'

Vi held up her hands for silence, but with no effect. Gerald thought his mother might have exerted a bit more authority if she wasn't dressed as an enormous penguin. She flapped her wings in agitation.

‘What's with the costume?' Ruby whispered to Gerald.

‘Fancy-dress party,' Gerald said. ‘I'm going as a mortally embarrassed teenager.'

Gerald, Ruby and Sam stared wide-eyed at Vi as she waddled around the kitchen, trying to bring calm.

‘Mrs Rutherford!' Vi called. ‘Miss Rousseau! This will be the party of the year. I will not have it ruined by squabbles over the hors d'oeuvres. The people attending this event are here to be seen with me. They're not here for the food.'

Mrs Rutherford sniffed. ‘You've picked the right caterer then.'

Miss Rousseau's lips tightened. ‘Why, you vexatious old—'

Vi flapped her wings as another shouting match broke out. Just as Gerald thought he might have to restrain the housekeeper, a man stepped into the kitchen.

His very presence brought the screaming to silence.

He wore the full dress uniform of an officer in Napoleon's cavalry: navy trousers with a broad white stripe down the legs; a dark blue jacket, unbuttoned at the neck, with golden epaulets on his broad shoulders; and a red sash taut across his barrel chest. His hand rested on the grip of a golden sabre slung on his belt. The man surveyed the kitchen as if it were a battlefield. A wry smile appeared on his face.

‘Walter!' Vi's face lit up. ‘Thank goodness you're here. We're in the middle of a crisis.'

‘A crisis?' The man's voice was richer than Mississippi mud. ‘Surely not, ma'am.'

Walter surged forward like an icebreaker. He flung an arm around Mrs Rutherford's shoulders. ‘How could anything get in the way of this evening's festivities? With the two finest cooks in London, how could it possibly fail? Now, am I right in assuming that you two fine ladies are having some disagreement over the menu?'

Mrs Rutherford struggled out of Walter's embrace and straightened her tunic. ‘Mr Walter,' she said, her jaw clenched, ‘Why don't you try what's on offer and tell us what you think.' She held out a tray of green-topped canapés, each piece an artful creation but, from where Gerald was standing, none of them resembled anything he'd want to eat.

Walter cocked an eyebrow and looked over the selection. ‘I'm sure it's all…mighty fine,' he said.

Miss Rousseau snatched the tray from Mrs Rutherford. ‘I'll take that,' she sniffed. ‘Please, try one of the
yeux de mouton
—they're
magnifiques
.'

Walter recoiled slightly then picked up a pasty case filled with a glistening white ball. He sniffed it. ‘Interesting, um, aroma,' he said.

‘You have a good nose, sir,' Miss Rousseau said. Walter popped the morsel in his mouth. ‘So many people use tinned ingredients these days.'

‘Oh really,' Walter said, chewing away.

‘I prefer fresh. Especially the sheep's eyes.'

‘Sheep's eyes!' Walter gagged and spat into his hand.

Gerald couldn't help noticing the look of pleasure on Mrs Rutherford's face.

Walter rushed to the sink and poured himself a glass of water. ‘Very interesting, uh, texture, Miss Rousseau,' he said between gulps. ‘Very modern, I'm sure.'

‘So it's settled,' Mrs Rutherford said. ‘I will be directing affairs in the kitchen tonight.' She pulled an apron from a cupboard and tied it behind her back.

‘Oh,' said Gerald's mother, her face shining red inside her costume.

‘Impossible!' Miss Rousseau declared.

‘Now wait, wait,' Walter said, trying to restore calm.

‘Let's just—' Then he saw Gerald.

‘Gerry!' Walter called out, crossing the kitchen, clearly relieved to be diverted from the tension behind him.

‘
Gerry
?' Ruby whispered.

‘And these must be your buddies I've heard so much about,' Walter said, switching on the southern charm. ‘The valiant Sam and the redoubtable Ruby, eh? Pleased to be making your acquaintance, I'm sure.' Walter thrust a hand towards Sam. Sam offered up his own and it was swallowed in a double-fisted pump action that threatened to dislocate his shoulder.

‘Uh, yeah,' Sam said, wringing some blood back into his fingers. ‘Nice to meet you, too.'

‘I hear you are brave and resourceful, Sam. A friend to be favoured and a foe to be feared. Am I right?'

Sam's cheeks reddened. ‘Oh, I don't know about—'

‘Nonsense! Don't sell yourself short. False modesty is the white ant of the soul. I see in you a tremendous builder of palaces in the sky, Sam. Brave at heart—that's what Sam means. Did you know that?'

‘No, well I—'

‘And you, Ruby. The celebrity magazines weren't telling lies. You truly are a beauty for the ages. The new “it girl”, they're saying. And one with a killer crush on our Gerry as well.'

Ruby gagged as if someone had shoved a fresh sheep's eye down her throat. ‘I really don't think that's—'

‘And I know you offer so much more than just fashionable good looks. A house with a fancy coat of paint on the outside is nothing if it's got termites in its timbers.'

‘I'm sorry, but are you calling me—'

‘My friends!' Walter cut her off, ushering them into a group. He clamped a hand on Sam's shoulder on one side and Gerald's on the other. His voice dropped low. ‘My friends, you must all be brave. Brave of heart and brave of purpose. You will need to be for the challenge that lies ahead.'

‘Challenge?' Gerald said. ‘What challenge?'

Walter guided them back into the lift. ‘The challenge of spending tonight at the children's table.' He pushed the button for the third floor. The doors slid closed; his beaming face disappeared through the narrowing gap. ‘You have fun now.'

The lift shunted upwards.

Ruby turned to Gerald. ‘What's he mean: “the children's table”?'

Gerald blushed. ‘Oh, didn't I mention that,' he mumbled. Then, keen to change the subject, ‘What did you think of Walter?'

Sam held up his right hand. ‘I need to wash this as quickly as possible.'

Gerald's smile lasted until the lift juddered to a stop and the doors opened. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘We may as well get this over.'

He ignored Ruby's and Sam's questions until they got to a large set of double doors at the end of a corridor. He faced Ruby. ‘I want to apologise ahead of time and assure you this was not my idea.'

‘What are you talking about?' Ruby said. ‘Apologise for what?'

Gerald didn't answer. He turned the handles and pushed. The doors opened into an opulently decorated room set out for an evening of parlour games. Against the far wall, under a bank of tall windows, was a buffet covered with trays of food and drink. In the middle of the room stood a boy and a girl. The boy's round head balanced on his stout shoulders—there was no evidence of a neck. The girl's red hair was pulled back into stringy pigtails. She glared at Ruby.