The Unknown Spy (22 page)

“There could be work ahead for you tonight, physick,” Toxique said.

“I’m in no condition to help anyone.”

Reluctantly they moved along the corridor toward the torture chamber. The noise came again, a horrible
melancholy boom. Vandra glanced at Toxique, hoping he wouldn’t cry out. But he merely rolled his eyes.

“I know what it is,” he said. “I know what we’re going to see.”

The three friends got to the room. Vandra and Les lay down and inched forward so that they were looking beneath the door. They had a clear view, and their hearts sank when they saw what was going on. A man stood with his back to them. He was oiling the hinges of the iron maiden—the steel coffin with the spiked lid. As they watched he moved the lid back and forth, then slammed it shut as if to test the hinges. They heard the boom again as the iron maiden closed. The man turned and they saw him in profile. It was Devoy.

They wanted to leave, but a horrified fascination rooted them to the spot. They watched Devoy polish the thumbscrews, check the tensions on the rack and dust the teethpullers and bonecrushers. The expression on his face did not change—it never did—but there was something demonic about the calm way he moved from instrument to instrument.

It was Vandra who broke the spell, drawing Toxique and Les back from the doorway. In silence they walked back through the common room and the unpeopled corridors of Wilsons; they did not speak until they were out in the open air.

“If it was Brunholm,” Les said at last, “it wouldn’t have been so bad. You would have expected it. But Devoy?”

“Yes,” Vandra said, “and who is he planning to torture? All that stuff is ready to go.”

Toxique said nothing but made a snuffling noise. Vandra put her hand on his arm.

“I don’t know about you,” Les said, “but I don’t really feel like bed.”

“Me neither,” Vandra said. “What about the summerhouse?”

“Okay,” Les said, “I’ve got some tea there, and some muffins we can toast.”

T
he friends made their way to the gardens and on through the forest to the summerhouse. The night was calm, cold and quiet, and they moved without making much noise. A careless observer would have thought that everyone was safely in bed at Wilsons, but nighttime at Wilsons was sometimes busier than the day, and at least one pair of eyes was watching them.

Vicky the siren was in a bad mood. For weeks now she had been aware of another presence in the building—someone who was using her secret routes for getting around without being seen. Whoever it was didn’t seem to care very much about covering up after himself. Manhole covers were left askew, secret entrances to hidden passages weren’t properly replaced after use, and food and tools and all sorts of trash were strewn about. For all that she was vicious, amoral and untrustworthy, the Maid of the North Shore was also extremely tidy. She might have tolerated sharing her secret world with someone who kept it looking shipshape, but she wasn’t going to put up with a mess.

She had tried laying traps for the intruder, but he was
cunning, and the traps had been contemptuously thrown aside. There was nothing for it but to use the siren songs that in years gone by had lured innumerable ships onto the rocks and sent scores of sailors to a watery grave.

Vicky had gotten rusty, so she had just spent a week in the woods refining her technique. She had charmed the birds from the trees at first. She had tempted spring flowers into opening, then left them to blacken and die in the frost. She had charmed blind moles from the ground, and by the end of the week she was able to lure foxes and weasels and all animals that were cunning and wary. She was ready.

She had picked a spot where her voice would travel along part of the network of secret passages but would not penetrate the walls to lure other inhabitants of the school. She cleared her throat and tried a few practice notes, then began.

The sweet music drifted through the tunnels and passageways, gathering in force until it seemed that the very stones of the passages would weep, and the creeping crawling creatures of the night stopped their business and dreamed. Vicky gave herself up to her treacherous song until it seemed that nothing, neither man nor beast could resist it.…

“Oi!”

Vicky blinked and her song faltered. Had she heard a noise?

“Oi, you!” The siren’s song came to an abrupt halt. Was she hearing correctly?

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Would you shut up with that bloody singing? I’m trying to get some sleep here.”

Vicky couldn’t tell where the gruff voice was coming from. The speaker was evidently able to use the twisting tunnels to disguise his location.

“What do you mean ‘bloody singing’?” Vicky said crossly. “That’s a classic siren song.”

“Just sounds like noise to me,” the voice said, “and it’s keeping me awake.”

“I’ll have you know that this voice has lured ships onto rocks for decades … longer!” Vicky said.

“Must have been tone-deaf sailors, then,” the voice grumbled. “It doesn’t do anything for me, so put a sock in it.”

Vicky’s mouth hung open. Never in a long career had she been told to put a sock in it. She put her hand in her pocket and produced a slender razor-sharp knife.

“Maybe if you told me where you are I could sing you a lullaby,” she said in as sweet a voice as she could manage.

“Stick your lullaby,” the voice said. “I’d rather have the ravens sing me to sleep.”

Vicky crouched to listen. The owner of the voice was either very smart or very lucky, for such were the echoes that she still could not tell the direction from which his words came.

“Now push off,” the voice said. Almost crying with vexation, Vicky retreated. She had never been so insulted. And, as if to add insult to injury, extremely loud snoring immediately began to echo from the passageway behind her.

* * *

D
espite the cold, the summerhouse always felt welcome, as if its old planks retained the warmth of distant summers. Les busied himself making hot milky tea while Vandra toasted the muffins. Toxique lit some old candle stubs.

“There’s nothing we can do about Devoy at the minute,” Vandra said firmly, “and if Les still won’t tell us what or who he suspects—”

“In case I’m wrong,” Les said, looking torn.

“—then we’ll have to go with what we have. Which is what the Unknown Spy told us. That one possible reason for his wife’s murder was that she was the inventor of the Sibling Strategy. But what was the strategy? And why was she murdered for it?”

“To tell you the truth,” Les said, sounding a little ashamed, “I don’t even know what a sibling is.”

“A sibling is a brother or a sister!” A cloaked figure carrying a revolver stepped into the circle of candlelight. Toxique stifled a scream. Les cursed out loud and Vandra jumped to her feet. The figure threw its cloak back. It was Cheryl.

“Phew,” said Les. “I thought you were a Cherb.”

“If I had been, you would all be dead,” Cheryl said. “I could hear and see you for miles.”

“So much for the Gift of Anticipation,” Les muttered to Toxique.

“Don’t look at me,” Toxique said. “I told you it doesn’t work all the time.”

“Just keep better watch the next time,” Cheryl said.
“Your carelessness will cost you, though!” They looked at her nervously. “A cup of tea and a muffin,” she continued with a laugh. “Now, what’s all this about the Sibling Strategy?”

“We just want to know what it is,” Vandra said.

“It’s simple enough, though it requires a lot of skill and experience,” Cheryl said. “All you do is use a close relative against the subject. There are variations, of course. There’s the Double Sibling Strategy, the Older and Younger variations, the Fake Sibling Variation. McGuinness has been researching it. It appears that the Unknown Spy’s wife developed it after she was betrayed by her younger brother. His betrayal haunted her all her life.”

“But what would she use the strategy for?”

“That’s what I don’t know,” Cheryl admitted, her words garbled by the muffin she was eating. Melted butter ran down her chin. Vandra turned the “S” and “G” ring on her finger, feeling that something in this conversation was vital to Danny. But what? At least the ring made her feel connected to him. She reminded herself that he had given it to her and to no one else. She flushed. Toxique asked her if she was feeling warm, but she turned away from him with a half smile and did not answer.

WHAT THE MOUNTAIN SAID

T
he following day Lily came to Danny’s room early.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said, “but I haven’t been sleeping all that well. We need to decide what to do, Danny.”

“Where’s the Cherb?” Danny said, peering up and down the corridor.

“He’s doing the final preparations for stealing the Treaty Stone,” Lily said. “We have the day together. Whatever you decide, Danny, we’ll always have this day.”

As he and Lily left the room, Danny saw Dixie disappearing at the end of the corridor. Why can’t she understand that I’ve found my sister? Danny thought, the influence of the Room of Malign Intentions distorting his thoughts.

But for that day there was nothing to do but to walk in
the gorgeous halls and corridors of Morne, ignoring the courtiers muttering in corners. Danny and Lily climbed towers that neared the soaring granite peaks of the mountain. It was beautiful and silent. They had brought a picnic from one of the dining halls, and as they ate, Danny told Lily of his upbringing by two secret agents who had pretended to be his parents. Lily said her childhood had been hard. There had been no pretense that the couple who reared her were her real parents. She’d been abandoned, they said, usually adding that they weren’t surprised since she was lazy and no-good, despite the fact that she worked from dawn to dusk, cleaning the cheap boardinghouse that they kept.

“Think about it, Danny. When we rule the Two Worlds we’ll be able to find our real parents!”

I
t was dusk before they returned from the high peaks, walking slowly. They parted outside Danny’s door. When Lily reached the end of the corridor, she turned and gave him a long steady look.

Danny went into his room and sat on the bed. He had made up his mind. He could not let his sister be at the mercy of the Ring. If he had been able to think about it properly, he could have found another way out. He could have taken Lily back to Wilsons with him. He could even have joined the Ring again and protected her that way. But the influence of the Room of Malign Intentions still hung over him, clouding his judgment, an influence that was still there when Dixie appeared right in front of him.

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” he said sourly.

“ ‘Hello, Dixie’ would have been nicer,” she said. She looked tired. There were dark shadows under her eyes.

“Danny, we need to do something about getting the Treaty Stone. If it’s broken …”

“If it’s broken, then so what? Devoy isn’t right about everything, you know.”

“I can’t believe you’ve gone over to … to the Ring, just like that!”

“I haven’t gone over to the Ring!”

“Well, what’s going on, then? Who is that girl? Why are you hanging round with her?”

Danny wanted to scream at Dixie to stop being so stupid, that Lily was his sister. But the Room of Malign Intentions stopped him, and somewhere in the fog of his mind prowled Danny the Spy.

“Just leave her out of it,” he mumbled.

“I can’t,” Dixie said. “I don’t trust her.…”

“That’s enough,” Danny snapped. “I do.”

“Danny, we’re friends,” Dixie said. “Tomorrow at the Leaving Ceremony we have to stand up and tell the vizier what the mountain says, and after that we have to get out of here with the Treaty Stone. We’re a team.”

But a voice in Danny’s head said,
She’s wrong. You and
Lily
are a team
. He felt a wave of cunning sweep over him, warm and sickly.

“It’s all right, Dixie,” he heard himself say. “We’ll get the Stone. I’m really just following your plan, getting close to the girl so that I can get the Stone off her once the Cherb has stolen it.”

“What about getting it out of Morne?”

“I’ve found a side door. Can’t you trust me?”

“Are you sure?” Dixie looked at him closely.

“Of course,” he lied. “Sorry. I should have told you what I was doing. You get used to not trusting people.”

“You can say that again,” Dixie said, looking a bit more cheerful. “This Louis character, I don’t think I trust him as far as I could throw him. None of the people here.”

“I’m getting a bit tired,” Danny said, faking a yawn.

“Okay, I’m off, then,” Dixie said. “By the way, do you definitely have the answer? What the mountains say?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner.” Danny hesitated. “They say … ‘storm.’ ”

Dixie smiled at him. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me as a slave for the dead. Night!”

One minute Dixie was there; the next she was gone. Danny stared miserably at the spot where she had been standing. Why had he told her the wrong answer? And why had he not told the truth about Lily?

He went to the window and looked out onto the snowy mountains. He could tell Dixie the real answer tomorrow. He could pretend it was a joke. He wouldn’t let his friend end up in the hands of the dead. He lay down on the bed and fell into an uneasy sleep.