The Billionaire’s Curse (24 page)

“Ruby!” Gerald cried. “You have to hold the wound shut.”

Ruby threw her head around to Gerald. A steely resolve spread in her eyes. She tugged at the slit in Sam’s jeans and yanked hard on the cloth, tearing a larger opening to expose the wound. Then she grabbed her brother’s T-shirt and whipped it over his head, wrapping the cloth around her hand. She pressed down hard on the gash in Sam’s leg. He cried out in agony, but the pressure seemed to have the right effect. The flow of blood eased, then stopped.

Green still stared into Gerald’s eyes.

“Has the bleeding stopped, Mr. Wilkins?” he asked.

Gerald went to nod, but the point of the blade dug into his throat. “Yes,” he replied.

“That is good news,” Green said with a trace of a smile. “If Miss Valentine maintains pressure on the wound, then her brother should survive. But I suggest she doesn’t move from her position. I don’t want to kill you or your friends, Mr. Wilkins. But rest assured, if you give me cause, I will not hesitate.”

Gerald glared back. “Sam!” he called out. “You okay?”

Sam sat slumped against a column, his chin on his chest and his eyes squeezed tight. “I’ll be right,” he said.

“See?” Green said. “Everyone is fine—and nicely occupied. No one is going to alert the police, and Mr. Wilkins, you are free to help me.”

“Help you!” Gerald said.

“Yes. It’s time to collect my bounty or, more precisely, for you to collect my bounty.”

Gerald squared his shoulders. “Why are you doing this? You’re worth billions. Why do you need more money?”

Green raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why, Gerald, who said anything about money?”

Now it was Gerald’s turn to look surprised. “But the diamond, and whatever treasure is in that box.”

Green smirked. “This is the bit where the villain explains his brilliant criminal caper, is it? Well, I expect you deserve some answers,” he said. “After all, I couldn’t have found this place without you.”

“What do you mean?”

Green turned the sword in his hand, its tip half an inch from Gerald’s chin.

“When I said on the terrace that I was surprised to see you, I was genuinely surprised,” Green said. “You were supposed to be dead.”

Gerald didn’t flinch.

“You see, my underfed associate was supposed to make sure you secured the beacon on St. Michael’s Tower, then dispose of you.”

Gerald gasped. “The thin man was working for you?”

“Of course,” Green said. “A person in my position doesn’t go around monstering old ladies and setting fire to London houses—even the fashionable ones. He’s an odd fish, my slender confederate. Obsessed with hygiene. He seems to think humanity is infested with bugs, which does make him an effective killer. Though it appears removing you was a task too far.”

“Too right!” Sam’s eyes were open and they blazed at Green.

Green let out a sharp
tut
. “You are hardly in a position to be making noises of bravado, Mr. Valentine. If you value your pretty sister’s life, I suggest you shut it!”

He whipped back to face Gerald. “My man was set the simple task of locating the diamond casket. I assumed your great-aunt would know but, sadly for her, she wasn’t cooperative.”

“So you had her killed,” Gerald shouted in disbelief.

Green appeared almost chastened. “No need to be harsh, Gerald. The instruction was to extract the location of the casket. The hired help just went a bit far. But what can you do? After that, my attention turned to you.”

“How would I know where it is? I never even met my great-aunt.”

Green smirked. “Yes, that was a surprise. Turned out you didn’t know the big family secret after all.”

Gerald blinked. “What? The location of the casket?”

Green laughed with delight. “Mr. Wilkins, you have no clue, do you? The casket is not the prize—it is merely a checkpoint along the way.” He nudged Gerald with the sword. “Enough talk, you have a task to perform.” Green motioned for Gerald to walk to the rotunda.

Gerald stumbled as he went. “But I can’t open the box,” he protested. “Didn’t you see? The diamond shattered.”

“Yes,” Green said, prodding the blade into Gerald’s ribs. “That diamond was most certainly a fake. But the one in my pocket is most decidedly real.”

“You have the diamond!”

Green smiled. “Mr. Wilkins, I have had the diamond from the day it arrived in England.”

Gerald’s brain reeled back to the plane and the picture in
Oi!
magazine.

“Of course,” Gerald said. “The photo of Geraldine at the opening of the museum exhibition—that was you with her!”

“Well done, Mr. Wilkins. I had a replica of Noor Jehan made a year ago, the moment we convinced Mr. Gupta to loan the diamond to the museum. The fake cost me a small fortune, but it was perfect in every detail, except, of course, it wasn’t a diamond. I swapped it with the real one the night that photograph was taken.”

“So the major and Chesterfield stole the fake one!”

“Yes, I hadn’t banked on that. But then I overheard the major and Chesterfield talking at the Rattigan one night. Both drunk and bemoaning the state of their finances. Then the major mentioned he’d found an old book that had details about a diamond casket hidden somewhere at Beaconsfield. I saw my opportunity.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mr. Wilkins, the diamond by itself is of no value to me. I own several diamonds. But the casket—that is another matter. I had my thin assistant contact the major and offer him a significant sum if he could locate this sacred container.”

“You’re the buyer?”

“I didn’t care who found it, as long as I possessed it. But I needed to retrieve the fake diamond as well. If it was exposed there would be too many questions.”

Gerald shook his head, trying to take it all in.

“After you, Mr. Wilkins,” Green said, prodding Gerald onward. “But take it easy. We are in the snake’s lair, and you’ve seen how it can bite.”

Gerald took a step toward the center of the chamber. They were about halfway between the outer columns and the ring of stone archers. Green followed, his sword at Gerald’s back, the scabbard in his free hand.

They had moved only a few feet when Green’s foot touched a paving stone and there was a distinct click.

“Don’t move!” he cried.

They both froze.

“What is it?” Gerald asked, still staring at the rotunda and the ring of archers ahead of them. The last time he’d heard that click…

“I have stepped on a trigger stone,” Green said. “The moment I take my weight off it the trap will be sprung, whatever it is.”

Gerald scanned the stone archers. Their crossbows were resting on their shoulders. “What is this place?”

“I told you; this is the serpent’s lair. The traps are to stop grave robbers.” Green looked about him, searching for something. “Gerald!” he snapped. “Put your foot on the paving stone next to mine. Okay. Step down firmly. That’s it. Now, I’m going to walk away.”

Gerald recoiled. “What? And leave me here in the middle of some booby trap?”

Green paused. “Well, better you than me.” He lifted his foot. High above them a deep rumble emerged from the shadows. Before Gerald or Green could move, an enormous iron-barred cage crashed over the top of them, capturing them like bugs under a cup.

“Now what?” Gerald asked, trying to remain calm. He looked left and right for flying objects.

From high above came a faint rustling sound.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Green said, waving his sword in front of him.

With a rush of air and a dumping sound as if the heavens were breaking apart, a great white blur descended.

Green and Gerald both saw it coming. They flung their arms over their heads and braced themselves. When it hit, it was like being pelted with a barrel of tooth picks.

Gerald opened an eye. Scattered around his feet were thousands of what looked like small white sticks. They were in his hair, on his shoulders, on his backpack, down his shirt.

Green was covered in them too. He picked some off his jacket and inspected them.

“Snake bones,” he said.

“Snake bones!” Gerald said in astonishment. And sure enough, little snake skulls with tiny fangs, snake vertebrae and snake ribs were everywhere.

Green surveyed the top of the cage.

“When these were alive that would have been a pretty nasty death,” he said. “A thousand snakes dumped on your head.”

Gerald snorted. “Well, that’s what you get when your booby traps are a couple of thousand years old.” The bones crunched under his shoes as he stepped over to the cage bars. Skulls and ribs turned to dust. He grabbed a bar in each hand and shook. Two long sections broke away in his grip, leaving an easy exit.

“Robbing old tombs might not be so hard,” Gerald said.

“Don’t get cocky, Gerald. Or have you forgotten the major’s fate?”

Green motioned with his sword and Gerald continued. They came to the ring of archers and paused. The floor between them and the rotunda was an ornate mosaic. For the first time Gerald had a good look at the pattern: it was a nest of writhing snakes.

“A popular theme,” he muttered. He looked at Green. “You sure you want to do this? Still time to run away, you know.”

Green shook his head. “Watch where you’re walking.”

Gerald took a tentative step onto the tiles. He checked the floor ahead. It was only ten to fifteen yards to the first step of the rotunda. But after the trap—and the arrows—it looked as long as a football field. What was it that Green had just said? To watch where he walked? Gerald took another step, placing a foot softly on a tile snake’s belly. Watch where he walked! Terrific advice. From the guy who set off a trap dumping a million snake bones onto them.

Gerald paused, glancing at the rotunda. The major’s legs were sticking out from behind the black plinth. Poor Major Pilkington. Nobody deserved to die that way. Gerald took another step, treading on a snake’s tail. And what was it the major had said to Chesterfield as they’d set off across the floor? “Watch out for the snakes”? Pity they hadn’t watched out for the arrows. Gerald took another step and a snake bone dislodged from a crease in his jeans and tumbled onto the floor. It was a skull, the upper fangs still intact. It bounced on the tiles and came to rest in front of him on the head of an open-mouthed mosaic serpent. Gerald froze, his foot just inches off the snake’s head. Watch out for the snakes, the major had said. What was the most dangerous part of a snake? The part to avoid at all cost?

“Stop!” Gerald yelled to Green, spinning on his back foot to face the old man. “Don’t step on the snakes’ heads, they’re—”

It was too late.

Green’s foot landed squarely on the head of a serpent. This time there were no clicks, no falling cages. The floor beneath Gerald dropped open, and he fell into a gaping chasm.

G
erald was falling backward, his feet high and his arms flailing in the air. The pit was fifteen feet deep and the bottom was studded with rows of stakes, points upward.

Like a cat falling from a tree, Gerald twisted in midair. He had only a fraction of a second to coil around to avoid a bloody meeting with a stake thrusting up from the ground. He half turned his torso, legs and arms moving as counter-weights, but it wasn’t enough. He landed on a stake that stood two feet out of the ground. Its tip pierced his backpack. A sharp stab rammed between his shoulder blades. This was the end.

Gerald opened an eye. Judging by the pain in his ribs, he was still alive. He opened his other eye to find himself lying on his side on the pit’s stony floor, face-to-face with a human skull. It was skewered ear-to-ear on one of the deadly stakes. Gerald yelped. He went to sit up but his shoulders were pinned down. Desperate, he wriggled from side to side but couldn’t budge. He craned his neck and saw that his backpack was impaled on a spike. Reefing his arms free of the straps, he scrambled upright. He stared wide-eyed at what was left of his pack.

By all the laws of physics, Gerald should now have a wooden stake emerging from the front of his ribs. He yanked the bag free and rummaged inside, pulling out a metal lid with a colossal dent in it—the cake tin containing Mrs. Rutherford’s midnight picnic! Gerald held up the lid in amazement. He stuck his fist through the hole in his pack, and let out a low whistle. The stake had pierced the backpack then smashed into the cake tin and glanced off the lid. So instead of becoming a human shish kebab, he had thumped onto his side, winded but skewer-free.

Gerald looked around him. There were at least five skeletons, in a variety of contorted positions, impaled on stakes. This trap had been sprung more than once over the centuries. And then he saw something quite unexpected. Bending back and forth, its razor-sharp point stuck fast between the flagstones of the floor, was Sir Mason Green’s sword. Gerald had forgotten about Green. He raced through the thicket of spikes and tugged the sword out of the ground. He held it in his outstretched hand, looking for any sign of the old man. There was nothing but old bones and wooden stakes. Only then did Gerald think to look up. Suspended over a corner of the pit, clutching the scabbard of his sword that had wedged into some rocks, was Sir Mason Green. One foot flailed in the air and the other was jammed against a ledge, just holding his weight.

Gerald was stunned. The only thing holding the trapdoor open—the only thing preventing it from springing back into place and sealing him inside—was Sir Mason Green.

“Don’t move!” Gerald yelled. “If you fall we’ll both be trapped!”

Green’s reply was to the point. “You need to help me then. I can’t hold on for much longer.”

“Okay. Don’t move.”

Gerald searched the sides of the pit. The lower ten feet of the walls were vertical featureless marble. Above that there were enough nooks in the rock to allow him to climb back to the top. He had to find a way to scale the bottom section. Still clutching Green’s sword, he crossed to the wall closest to where he had fallen and ran a palm across the smooth face.

Gerald swore to himself. His foot kicked up against something and he glanced down at another skeleton. He kept sweeping his hand across the marble facing, but then he took a second look. There was something different about this collection of bones. This one wasn’t stabbed through with a stake. It was lying clear of the deadly spiked forest. This one must have survived the fall, like he had, and then couldn’t get out of the pit. Gerald gulped. Then he noticed something else. He knelt down to take a closer look. The bones were pitted with hundreds of tiny teeth marks. Something had been gnawing on this guy’s bones!

Things weren’t looking good. A moan from above drew his eyes.

“Do something, Gerald!” Green’s strength was waning.

Gerald scoured the pit, desperate for escape. His mangled pack lay on the floor a few yards away. He looked at it curiously. Was there something moving inside his backpack? He took a step closer and placed the tip of the sword under a corner of torn fabric and lifted. Three giant rats leaped from the hole, squealing as they fought over the remains of Mrs. Rutherford’s picnic. The rodents slashed at each other with their teeth in a feeding frenzy. Gerald jumped back, disgusted. Then immediately he wished he hadn’t moved. The largest of the three rats lifted its head from the cake tin and eyed Gerald across the floor. Gerald retreated a step, but now the rat was interested. It left the other two to squabble over the last of the fruit and scuttled toward him. Gerald moved backward but the rat kept at him. Its body was at least a foot long; its lean frame and crazed eyes betrayed its hunger. Without warning, it launched itself from the ground, its mouth wide, and soared straight at Gerald.

Gerald didn’t have time to think. He sliced the sword through the air and connected with the rat, sending it skidding across the floor and into the wall. Then the other two rats looked up. They sniffed the air, left the backpack and moved toward Gerald. They split left and right and came at him slowly, stalking their prey. Gerald raised his sword and tensed. Then the first rat released a dying squeal. The other two stopped, looked at Gerald through black eyes, then scurried over to gorge on their dead companion.

Gerald knew he had to get out. He ran to his backpack and picked up the cake tin. It was still intact; the lid had taken the brunt of the stake. He placed the tin on top of a spike closest to the wall near where he had fallen in. Then he ran to the opposite side of the pit. He glanced at the rodents in the corner, their faces wet with fresh blood. Gerald knew he would only get one shot at this. He sprinted as hard as he could toward the wall, clutching the sword with the point to the ground. At the sudden burst of movement, the rats abandoned their feast and set after him. When he was three feet short of the spike, he thrust the sword into the ground and pushed off hard as he leaped up, driving a foot onto the cake tin. He launched himself into the air, flinging his hands high. Gerald hit the wall hard, but he wrapped his fingertips over the top edge of the marble and hung there. He breathed hard and pulled, the muscles in his arms screaming. He raised himself just enough to swing a foot onto the rock face. With a cry of determination, Gerald hauled himself higher and clawed his way up the wall, finally rolling back into the cavern, a sweat-soaked mess.

He struggled to his feet and limped to where Green still clung to the scabbard.

“Hurry, Gerald,” the man breathed, his face contorted in pain. “Give me your hand.”

Gerald didn’t move.

“Ruby,” Gerald called out. “How’s Sam?”

“He seems all right,” Ruby answered, her hand still pressed hard against her brother’s leg. “But we’ve got to get him out of here.”

Sam coughed. “Don’t worry about me. Just deal with him.”

Gerald turned his dark gaze back to Green.

“Hurry, please!” Green implored.

Gerald narrowed his eyes. “Why should I help you? Why shouldn’t I kick this stick away?” He tapped the end of the scabbard with his foot.

Green went pale. “No!” he yelled. Down in the pit the rats circled.

“Tell me why not!” Gerald fumed.

Green lifted his head and locked eyes with Gerald. “You won’t do it, Gerald, because you can’t do it,” he said. “And you know you can’t.”

Gerald was unmoved. “You don’t think so? You don’t think I could do this?” He stamped down onto the end of the scabbard. It shunted perilously close to the edge of the pit.

Green clung on for his life.

“Gerald!” There was panic in Green now. “Is this who you are? A killer?”

Gerald’s heart was closed. “You had Geraldine killed. You stabbed my friend. You ordered that man to murder us! What does that say about you?”

Green shifted his hands, running out of strength. “You’re right, Gerald. I’ve done wrong, but you can’t do this. We’ll…we’ll go to the police. Let them do their job. Please.”

Gerald grunted. Then stamped down on the scabbard again. Green’s hands juddered. The foot that was balancing on the rock ledge slipped, and Green was left dangling full length above the pit.

A scream of “No!” filled the chamber.

But it wasn’t Green.

“Don’t do it, Gerald!” Ruby shouted. “It’s murder!”

Gerald stared hard at the man who had ordered them dead. A sick feeling of rage built in his gut. How easy would it be to kick that scabbard away? And who would blame him if he did? Gerald raised his foot.

Green tried to meet Gerald’s eyes. “Ask yourself,” Green pleaded. “Who are you?”

Gerald answered with a hard kick of his foot, knocking the scabbard from the corner of the pit. In the same instant, Gerald dropped to the ground, flat on his chest, and latched onto the man’s wrist. Green swung over the pit as Gerald clung to his arm. Their eyes locked.

“I don’t know who I am,” Gerald said to Green. “But I know I’m nothing like you.”

Green opened his mouth, but this time words would not come. His terror was complete.

Gerald gritted his teeth and strained hard. He pulled with all his strength and heaved himself back onto his knees. The sudden movement sparked Green into action. He lifted a knee over the edge of the pit. Gerald lunged forward and grabbed Green’s belt, then swung the old man over the lip and onto the cavern floor.

The scabbard fell and the trapdoor swung back into place. Green lay there, panting. “Thank you, Gerald, thank you.”

Gerald looked at him with loathing, his breathing hard. “I’m going to get some help for my friend,” he said. “And you’re coming with me.”

Green picked himself up from the floor. “Yes, of course,” he stammered. “But first, I need to collect what’s in that casket.” From his boot he slid out a long silver dagger, identical to the one used by the thin man.

“How can you do that?” Ruby screamed from across the chamber. “Gerald just saved your life.”

Green wiped sweat from his forehead and ushered Gerald at knifepoint toward the rotunda. “Yes,” Green said. “He’s a far better man than I.”

They traversed the mosaic floor, avoiding the snake heads. At the rotunda steps, Gerald saw the damage done to Arthur Chesterfield; the lifeless body was sprawled in front of the black plinth. And behind it lay the major. He had been hit by a single arrow to the front of his head. Gerald looked away.

Green rushed to the diamond casket. He seized it in both hands, but it was stuck fast to the plinth. He reached into his jacket and took out the Noor Jehan.

“See this, Gerald,” Green said. “The most fabulous gem in the history of all creation. A maharaja killed his mother so he could possess it. Now who would use a thing of such beauty, of such perfection, for so mundane a task as a key?”

Gerald eyed him with distaste. “Who cares?”

Green ran a hand across the surface of the casket. “Wilkins, you’re new at this thing of wealth. When you’ve got money—real money—it can only buy you so much. How many houses can you live in? How many yachts can you sail? The true curse of wealth is that no matter how much you’ve got, it’s never enough. And the more you get, the more you want. There are other things worth striving for.”

“Worth killing for?” asked Gerald.

“Of course,” Green said. “People have been killing each other to get hold of this casket for centuries.”

Green held the diamond above the box. “These two objects haven’t been together for over fifteen hundred years. It’s time for them to be reunited.”

Green placed the diamond into the recess in the casket lid. It sat in place seamlessly. Then to Gerald’s horror, a series of clicks sounded, and a circle of crossbows lowered into position.

“The archers!” Gerald called out in panic.

“They will only be triggered if the wrong key is used, and there is only one Noor Jehan,” Green said. Then he paused. “But I didn’t get this close by being careless, so, Gerald, you can have the honor of opening the casket.”

Green crouched at the base of the black plinth, beneath the archers’ firing line, still pointing the dagger at Gerald.

“Turn it.”

Gerald checked the circle of statues. Every crossbow held a fresh arrow and every arrow pointed at him. He looked across to Sam and Ruby—both wide-eyed in horror. And finally he looked down at the diamond nestled in the casket. It was beautiful. He took a breath, placed both hands on the gem, and turned it.

The mechanism moved smoothly. A series of clicks rang around the circle of statues and all the crossbows lifted back onto the archers’ shoulders.

Green jumped to Gerald’s side. He lifted the lid, which came away with ease, and shoved it at Gerald. Green peered inside the casket, his face alive. Then he reached inside and removed a gold rod. It was about a foot and a half long and decorated with intricate filigree. Green clutched it in both hands, his face suffused with light.

“At last,” he murmured. He turned to Gerald. “Do you have any idea what this is? What it can do?”

Gerald took a step back.

“You of all people should know,” Green said. Then a strange expression settled on his face, one of intense curiosity. “Gerald, tell me what happens when I do this—”

Before Gerald could move Green had grabbed him by the back of his head, yanking down hard on a fistful of his dark hair. Then with something approaching tenderness, he laid the golden rod across Gerald’s brow.

Gerald thought he was going to die. His eyelids peeled open and his pupils contracted to pin pricks. His mind exploded in a phosphorescent blaze of imaginings. It was as if every vision he’d ever had, every daydream, every escapist moment, every sweat-soaked nightmare, was combined, squeezed and condensed into a single electric pulse. Two beams of white-hot light burst out of his eyes. It was like all the beasts of his sketchbook had come to life. Blood-caked monsters hacked at him. He was flying, floating, falling. Suns exploded, spears struck his forehead, waves dashed onto rocks beneath towering castle walls, cities lay in darkness, in ruins, faces melted. Twisting…turning…falling…