Twincy Quinn and the Eye of Horus Part One (17 page)

I looked down
at the dress, and realised he was right.

‘
Like your other dresses, there is a handy latch just under the
bodice, that, if you pull it securely enough, will release the
majority of the garment, and then you can turn it inside out.
Quickly, I might add.’

I nodded, and
I couldn't help but smile. Now that was a disguise. I could change
my hair quickly, and I could change the colour of my dress. If I
had to run away, and make myself scarce in a crowd, these garments
would help.

‘
That is not all,’ John said, chuckling to himself, obviously
proud of his creations, ‘we have jewellery also.’ He leaned over
the table, and grabbed up a necklace.

A stunning
necklace.

It was shaped
in a chandelier style, and tapered down to a long point. Made of
gold and silver, it was stunning. It was also encrusted with deep,
deep-blue sapphires. In fact, they were a colour that was so shiny
and luminescent, you hardly associated it with something dead like
a rock. As I stared at those jewels, it almost felt like they had
their own light sources, as though they were alive.

I stretched a
hand out, took the necklace gently off John, and couldn't help but
smile as I did.

‘
Women and their jewels, I mean really,’ John began.

‘
John,’ Vanessa said. She wasn't even in the room, in fact, she
was on the floor below. But she had heard him. Because Vanessa had
been changed to pick up sights and sounds from afar.

There was a
truly ominous ringing tone to her voice, and it instantly made John
stand up taller.

‘
Moving right along,’ he mumbled quickly, ‘that necklace is not
simply there to attract one’s eyes to the neck; encrusted within
each jewel is a device,’ he waggled his eyebrows
conspiratorially.

‘
I'm going to need a little bit more information than that,’ I
said after a long pause.

‘
Each jewel can be used to,’ he brought his hands up and passed
them in the air like smoke as he tried to catch hold of an elusive
concept, ‘it is hard to explain. Yet I will do so like this: if you
take one of those jewels and you put it down somewhere, you will be
able to know where that jewel is by the use of invisible signals
that travel through the air. You will be able to track it. Or at
least I will. I have the device right here,’ John searched around
the mess that was his desk for a moment, finally plucking out a
large box with many dials.

‘
Okay, so it tracks things?’

‘
Yes, that's it, it tracks things, what a wonderfully simple
way of putting it. Pluck one of the jewels out, and it is rather
easy,’ John grabbed the necklace off me, and showed how it was
done, ‘and place that jewel on something or someone you want to
locate, then return to me, and I will be able to tell you where
they are.’

Though I
didn't want to tell him that it sounded awfully disappointing to
have to give up one of the jewels of this beautiful necklace, I
also had to admit this was a rather brilliant device.

If it
worked.

That was
always a caveat when it came to John's creations. Though they often
did, sometimes they failed spectacularly.

‘
I also have a parasol for you,’ John fell to his knees,
scooted under the desk, and came out with a beautiful white lace
parasol. He handed it to me solemnly.

I accepted it
carefully, and stared down at it. ‘And what does this do?’ I asked
as soon as I realised I could not determine its use from its
appearance.

He arched an
eyebrows slowly. ‘Twincy Quinn, it keeps the rain and sunshine off
you.’

‘
Right,’ I managed. Then I looked down at the wig and dress and
parasol and the necklace.

I had been
scared off going out this morning, but now I couldn't wait to try
on this new finery and hit the streets of London. And just maybe it
was because I wanted to see London and how London would react to
Twincy Quinn dressed in the most amazing clothes and the rarest
jewels in the land.

It was a
painfully pathetic thing to think, and I tried to chase it from my
mind, yet I could not chase away the smile that spread over my lips
as I stared down at that dress.

‘
You're probably going to ask where we got the money for these
yet again, because you're just like Vanessa, and sometimes you
forget that you're living with some of the finest minds of England.
Amongst
Theodore
,
Carolyn, and myself, we have devised and created these perfections.
And we have done so, I might add, efficiently. Though, that being
said, try not to lose too many of those jewels.’

‘
They are not real, are they?’ I suddenly asked, my voice quick
and sharp.

‘
No, I simply think they're quite pretty.’

With that, I
patted John on the shoulder, took all of my new clothes, climbed up
the stairs, and quickly donned my new attire. And then I stood
there. Before my window, or the hole in the wall, as it actually
was. I leaned over to my rocking chair, and I plucked up my small
hand-held mirror.

I looked at
myself.

I didn't look
like myself however.

You couldn't
tell who I really was when I was wearing that fine dress, that
beautiful hair, and with that extravagant necklace dangling from my
neck.

The wig had a
fringe such that it hid my eyebrows, and settled close to my eyes.
With every blink, my eyelashes shifted against it, and overall it
did a good job of hiding my appearance.

I perhaps
stood there too long staring at myself in that mirror.

From the
necklace to the dress, I couldn't quite tear my eyes away. Because
while I was staring at them, I was forgetting who I was.

I wasn't
changed. I was no street urchin, considering I looked better than
most of the finest women in England.

But more than
that, I wasn't Twincy.

Looking at me,
you wouldn’t be able to tell my life history, you wouldn’t be able
to read the misery and the challenge I endured most days. Just the
dress and the smile, and the appearance of a pretty, fortunate
young woman.

Eventually I
forced myself to place the mirror back down on the rocking chair,
then I turned towards my window.

I walked
forward, my shoes clicking gently over the creaking floorboards.
The long skirts of my dress swung around me, and though they
disturbed some of the dust on the floor, they didn't pick any
up.

I reached the
window. I placed a hand on one of the rotting, fractured beams of
wood around it, and I leaned out.

A slight
breeze caught the tails of my fringe, and brushed them gently over
my forehead. Bringing a hand up, I chased that tickling sensation
away with a pat, then I ground my bottom lip through my teeth.

Right.

Time to hit
the streets.

Time to find
out all about Lord Ridley's new exhibition.

And time to
stop Doctor Elliot Esquire. Because it was always time to stop
Doctor Elliot Esquire.

Taking a
single step back, yet not shifting my gaze once, I called out a
quick goodbye to the room.

I didn't
bother to turn around, trundle down to the children downstairs, and
tell them that I was now heading out. All it took was a goodbye. I
was confident Vanessa would be able to pick it up with her
extraordinary, extended hearing.

Then I ran
forward and jumped out. Parasol in hand, palm locked over my
necklace, and wig secured firmly in place, my skirts twirled and
buffeted and blew around me until I landed.

Planting both
my hands into the ground, I forced myself up, brushed off my dress,
placed my parasol over my shoulder, and walked forward.

Michael F.
Stanford

I was walking
up the steps of the museum, trying to distract myself by staring at
the stone before me.

Again, I
didn't want to be here, yet again, I was being forced to by the
irascible and unpredictable Inspector.

When I had
returned to Scotland Yard from my impromptu and rather unpleasant
meeting with Lord Ridley, the inspector had directed me to the
museum. It seemed that rather than search out Twincy Quinn, I was
to check over security measures for the upcoming exhibition.

Why? I
questioned. Why couldn’t somebody else do this, somebody who liked
the lord, or at least had enough self-serving desire to so
pretend?

Those rather
rebellious, mutinous questions rolling around my mind, I decided I
would get this over with quickly.

This day was
most probably going to turn out to be entirely useless.

I would have
to organise something pleasant for tonight as a distraction.

Or perhaps I
would not have to organise anything.

Miss Stanton
had already sent me a message requesting my company. Her father was
out of town, and apparently she was lonely.

Elizabeth
Stanton.

A very, very
sweet young woman. Some might say a little too sweet for me. I
wasn't entirely sure why she paid me so much attention. Unless she
was a moustache aficionado, or particularly liked the idea of
courting somebody who was several strata below her class, there was
no point in chasing after me. I was a simple detective. I lived in
a simple apartment. Though I understood the elite of London, I
hated them. And yet, she still persevered. Perhaps she was after
company? Perhaps she was after some sanity? After all, she and her
father were somewhat different when rated against Lord Ridley and
the rest of London's upper crust.

Her father was
a scientist, and his ideas on the world were close to my own. Yet,
still, he was a man of wealth, significance, and respect. There was
nothing I could offer to his daughter, nothing save for a tiny
apartment with a tiny view.

Still, her
conversation was always stimulating, and it would be nice to
distract myself with something other than work.

Reaching the
top of the museum stairs, I angled my jaw around, shifting my teeth
over my lip, and narrowing my gaze as I walked in the open
doors.

‘
Good day,’ I nodded to the doorman, and was acknowledged with
a formal bow and reciprocated greeting.

I didn't often
come to the museum, and it wasn't because I shunned culture or the
activities of man over the ages. I didn't have the time. My work
rather consumed me, and never more so than right now. I wanted to
go back to Jennifer Fairmont's house. I wanted to go back up onto
that roof, I wanted to search the streets around it, and I wanted
to scour the place for any clues. Then I would take them back to
Scotland Yard, and I would analyse them until I found patterns—any
patterns. And not once would I send a message to Lord Ridley
sharing with him what I had found.

Frowning to
myself as I pondered why Ridley was so interested in this Twincy
Quinn character again, I hardly paid attention as a junior officer
walked up to me.

All but
snapping a salute, he stood up stiffly and gave the most respectful
of nods. ‘Sir, we have completed our first sweep. Security will be
possible,’ he stood straighter again, ‘but we will require many men
on the ground for the duration of the exhibition.’

I closed my
eyes for a brief moment, hoping the officer wasn't taken aback by
my impropriety as I let out a sigh. ‘Far too many men,’ I confided
in him, ‘leaving the streets practically unprotected.’ As those
words came out of my mouth, I understood them.

It was as if I
suddenly stood back from the situation.

Lord Ridley
was incredibly powerful, and I knew he wasn't above simple theft in
other countries, and gosh, if my conversation with him that morning
was anything to go by, it seemed as if he didn't mind leaning on
the law in this country either. But now I was starting to suspect
something quite wild, and something that, if it were true, was
unnerving beyond reason.

Lord Ridley
was in a position to demand what resources he required to protect
his exhibition. Resources that would be taken off the street.
Resources that would mean the rest of London would practically go
unprotected. It would be the perfect time for somebody to mount
some kind of assault. Criminals could have a free run of the banks,
and if not a free run, there would certainly not be too many
officers to challenge them.

‘
Sir?’ the officer intoned sharply, tipping his head to the
side with a questioning look.

‘
Please, don't mind me,’ I put up a hand and waved him off as I
tried to control the confusion crumpling my expression, ‘I have
simply had a late night. I will take a tour of the museum, most
likely come to the very same conclusion you have, and I will report
back here once I'm done.’

The officer
afforded me a low nod, and I took my leave of him.

Walking
slowly, and very distractedly, I tried not to mull over my sudden
realisation. Could this exhibition be a distraction? A truly grand
one? Could Lord Ridley be planning something? Or was that an
irrational leap? I knew I didn't like the man, I knew I certainly
didn't approve of his practices in foreign countries, yet did that
mean I was justified in making such an assumption? Could Lord
Ridley be planning something so horrendous and so illegal that he
needed the majority of London's police force distracted so he could
pull it off?

‘
Put it out of your mind,’ I muttered to myself as I made my
way through the halls, never once glancing at the artworks and
artefacts around me. They were just a backdrop for my thoughts,
scenery to walk through as I sifted through the permutations of the
situation.