The Eye of Midnight (21 page)

William peered down over the brink. Maxine ran in crooked circles below, her face reflecting the fitful flames as she searched the hall frantically for Nura. William's mind spun as he tried to work out some way to reach the temple floor. The wooden plank was gone now, and the ladder loomed a million miles away. He thought of the stairway at the far end of the attic, but there was no time to retreat through the storeroom and circle back.

Without giving himself time to reconsider, he took a running leap for the boiler, flailing through the air. He grasped at one of the iron rungs, and the metal shrieked as his hand closed tight around it and the bolts that held the ladder to the side of the boiler broke loose. The frame swung free, and for a heaving moment William hung limp in empty space, dangling like a rag doll over the floor far below, but the ladder swayed back, returning to vertical, and his scrambling feet found the rungs.

The fire was raging now. The flames climbed the walls of the factory and scuttled crab-wise across the ceiling. On the steps of the dais the Rafiq raised his hands in outrage as he marshaled the twelve assassins and drove them toward the open gate. A tremendous roar filled the temple, and in the midst of the bedlam and black smoke the
fida'i
trampled everything in their path as they groped for Colonel Battersea in a blind fury.

William reached the ground and stumbled to Maxine's side, and they stared in amazement as they looked out across the temple.

In the midst of the blaze Binny was on his feet. He held his left arm against his side as he staggered forward, crossing the crowded floor like an apparition. His shoulders were stooped, and his coat was soaked with blood, but he walked an unswerving path toward the Rafiq, and his eyes blazed as he grasped the Hashashin from behind and turned him around.

The Rafiq looked at him and sneered. “Son of a dog,” he spat, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin. “It seems your foolishness knows no bounds. Is this temple truly lacking for dark corners where you may go and die?”

“I told you before,” rasped Binny, “I won't be pushed. You're a blight on this city—an oozing sore.”

He raised his arm to strike the Rafiq, but the Hashashin caught his wrist and grinned monstrously. Drawing close, he laid his hand on Binny's neck and pressed his thumb into the gangster's open wound.

Binny withered in pain. His head sagged onto the Hashashin's shoulder, and the Rafiq whispered in his ear words of devastation and despair. With a gloating grin, the Hashashin stepped back, and his hand dropped to his dagger.

And then the arrogance in the Rafiq's countenance wavered, replaced by a sudden spasm of doubt. He glanced down at his waist.

His jeweled scabbard was empty.

Lifting his eyes in bewilderment, he saw the gangster swaying before him and beheld his own flashing dagger clenched tight in Binny's hand.

The Hashashin howled with rage and took a step backward, but Binny seized him by the beard. Summoning the last of his dying strength, he buried the dagger in the Rafiq's chest.

The Rafiq tried to speak. He laid his hand on the jeweled hilt jutting just below his collarbone and strained to pull it free, but the blade was stuck fast. With a final twitch of his eye, he slewed sideways on the stairs, falling at the feet of the gangster.

Binny sank down on the steps. He sat motionless, like a man bent in silent prayer, and then he toppled forward and did not rise again.

The faithful in the temple halted where they stood. Their clamoring ceased, and they stared at their fallen leader.

Maxine and William skirted the frozen multitude and mounted the steps of the dais, kneeling beside the body of the Rafiq. His white mantle lay open, and Maxine pushed aside his ivory breastplate, revealing the hidden treasure beneath. With a tug on the black silk sash, she pulled free the Eye of Midnight.

Maxine climbed boldly to the top step, the mirror dangling in her hand. Her hair streamed wildly about her face. She turned and looked out over the temple and raised the Eye aloft.

The
fida'i
fell back. They stared at the flashing mirror in dismay, then turned, stumbling, and fled the temple in every direction.

Blazing timbers rained down from above, and the heat from the fire was unbearable. The temple was coming all apart. The hall burned like the mouth of hell, and William and Maxine stood in the midst of the churning black smoke, searching the floor for Nura. High atop its charred pedestal, the corrupted form of the jinni fractured at the knees and tumbled backward off the dais.

Breaking through the scattering mob, Grandpa bounded up the steps. He took William and Maxine by the arms and dragged them headlong toward the open gate.

“Grandpa, no!” screamed Maxine. “We can't leave Nura!” But her words were lost in the awful din, and Colonel Battersea pulled them relentlessly on.

They had almost reached the gate when Grandpa paused and turned, glancing back into the depths of the burning factory.

Through the billowing smoke, the scarlet swordsman and a remnant of the
fida'i
pursued. They paid no heed to the fire, and their long, curved daggers were unsheathed.

Colonel Battersea shoved his grandchildren out beneath the teeth of the iron portcullis, but William stumbled just beyond the gate. Maxine clutched at his arm and pulled him to his feet.

Looking back in despair, the cousins saw Grandpa make his stand beside the spoked wheel. He raised his broken sword and swiped in two the rope that held the iron bars aloft. With an anguished cry, he dove out of the temple, and the spiked gate fell like a guillotine behind him, pounding the floor with a ringing boom.

The executioner and the merciless
fida'i
stood for a moment at the iron bars and seethed; then, glancing toward the burning roof, they turned and retreated through the temple.

Maxine and William followed Grandpa up a long incline, their seared lungs heaving as they staggered to safety and gulped the unspoiled air. Lifting their eyes toward the city, they blinked insensibly in the morning light, as if they had forgotten the living world outside.

The
New York Champion
left Penn Station at precisely twenty-eight minutes past eight in the morning. Even after it lurched to life, Maxine and William cowered in their seats, and the train clattered on for some time before they began to believe that the danger had really passed.

Neither of them stirred as the train left the city and started its long curve down the coast. The morning sun broke above the skyline in the east, and, looking back, Maxine and William began to shed great silent tears. They wept for weariness and fear, but most of all they wept for Nura. Finally they cried themselves to sleep and slumbered like the dead.

Grandpa prodded them as the engine pulled into Hendon Station, and the cousins managed to clear their heads and scramble out before the doors were closed. Behind them the old colonel winced as he stepped down stiffly from the train.

“Grandpa, you're hurt!” cried Maxine, spotting a scarlet stain beneath his tattered jacket.

“No, my dear. It's nothing. Just another scar for the collection.”

The cousins followed Grandpa along the tracks toward the clapboard station house. “Excuse me for a moment,” said the colonel, stopping at a phone booth just outside the station door. “There's a call that should be made before we get the car. I must pass on word of last night's events.”

Grandpa stepped inside, and Maxine and William were left alone.

The platform was empty. A songbird chirruped in the trees nearby, and the station shingle creaked a little in the breeze. Maxine glanced at a livid welt on William's grubby cheek and the goose egg on his forehead.

“How's your face?” she asked.

“All right, I guess,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah, well, it's
killing
me.”

“Oh, that's rich. Yours ain't so lily white either, you know,” replied William. “And I hate to break it to you, but it looks like the ol' freckles are still multiplying.”

“
Ain't
's not a real word,” said Maxine, “and you're just jealous.”

William chuckled a little, just for a moment, and then his smile dimmed.

“It's over, isn't it?” he asked heavily.

Maxine nodded and stared down at her shoes, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

It seemed unreal, somehow, that they had come so very far, weathered every storm, only to end up on the platform back in sleepy old Hendon.

“What happened to your hat?” asked William.

Maxine gasped and reached for her head.

“I don't know,” she said, crestfallen. “I must have dropped it somewhere.”

“No kidding? That hat belonged to your mom, didn't it? You probably should have taken better care of it.”

Maxine's eyelid twitched, and she fixed William with a vinegarish look. “Remind me of that the next time I get some crazy idea in my head about saving your life,” she said. “It might have stayed on better if I hadn't lost my hat pin.”

“Oh yeah, your hat pin. I guess you did kinda save my life, come to think of it,” he said. “You know, M, I have to admit…you make a pretty good sidekick.”

“Sidekick?” she replied, and she gave him a shove toward the tracks.

“Aw, come on. Can't you take a joke? Look, I've got a present for you.” He dug his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the old red hat.

“Will!” she cried, staring at it wide-eyed. “Where did you find it?”

“I picked it up on the steps of the temple.”

Maxine ran a finger along the inside of the hat and found the old photo of the unknown boy standing in front of Battersea Manor.

At that moment Grandpa stepped out of the phone booth and motioned toward the station house.

“Ten-hut, you two,” he said.

Maxine tucked the photo away again and pulled the hat down firmly on her head as they followed Grandpa into the station house.

“Thanks, Will,” she whispered. “Really.”

“Don't mention it,” he said with a wink. “It's the least I can do for the girl who saved my life.”

Outside the station house and around the corner, they found Grandpa's Rolls-Royce Phantom parked behind the grocer's, and they piled inside.

“Now,” said the old colonel, glancing back at the cousins from the driver's seat, “perhaps we might—”

“Don't you want to see it, Grandpa?” interrupted William, giving Maxine an elbow.

Maxine reached inside her coat and found the Eye of Midnight, presenting it with ceremony to Grandpa. His bushy eyebrows snapped to attention, and he frowned as he took it.

A low whistle escaped his lips as he examined the gleaming disk, testing its weight in his hand. “I've never seen it before, did you know?” he murmured, tracing the etched surface with his fingertips. He was lost in thought for a moment, and then he slapped his knee.

“Amazing!” he said aloud, and the cousins craned their necks to see what it was he found so remarkable.

“Oh, not this!” he said. “I mean you two!” He tossed the mirror on the passenger seat and coaxed the Phantom's engine to life, and with that the silver car sped away.

“You're rather extraordinary, you know,” said Grandpa. “Alone there in my dark cell I brooded endlessly over what had become of you. I could only pray that you had escaped the city unharmed. And then, astoundingly, against all odds, you appear out of nowhere, with a trophy—the Old Man's coveted treasure!”

William grinned. “It raised quite a ruckus, didn't it? When M held the mirror up in front of the temple?”

“Rather. The
fida'i
found the sight of it thoroughly confounding, I believe,” said Grandpa. “As I told you before, the faithful are under the delusion that the Eye of Midnight is the wellspring of the Old Man's power and that he is never without it. Maxine's exposé of that deception has torpedoed his grand conspiracy at a stroke. It will take the old jackal some time to tidy up the damage, and the Cafara are no longer ignorant of his schemes. If he tries again, the Sons of the Cipher will be ready to meet the threat.”

A sudden lurch of the Phantom brought their focus back to the present, and the cousins realized that they had left Hendon behind and were traveling in haste.

“This isn't the way back to the manor,” said Maxine.

Grandpa glanced back at his two grandchildren. Their eyes were red-rimmed, their faces streaked with grime. The knot on William's forehead shone like a traffic signal.

“You look as though you could use a meal and a bath. I daresay you've earned them, and you shall have both. But in light of the past nights' proceedings, I'm afraid we cannot return to Battersea Manor. We must leave home behind for the time being.”

“Where are we going?” asked William.

“Back to the city,” said Grandpa with a watchful glance through the rear window, “though not directly and not for long. Tonight we'll stay in a remote spot along the way, someplace with a hot meal and a soft bed. And then tomorrow—”

“Tomorrow?” said Maxine.

“Yes, well, we can talk about tomorrow later.”

They arrived at last at an old wayside lodge beside a secluded lake. The Mayfly Inn showed the wear of many long seasons and sagged now beneath the weight of a comfortable shabbiness. A tired yellow dog in charge of greeting guests limped over to them, tail wagging, and licked their hands.

“I expected you earlier,” said a man sitting on the front steps with his face buried in a newspaper. He lowered it as they approached, folding it carefully, and the cousins recognized his matted beard in an instant. It was the man who had delivered the telegram to Battersea Manor.

“We took the long route, as a precaution,” said Grandpa.

The man stood and made the sign of the zero over his heart with his thumb and forefinger.

“Nothing will prevail,” he said.

“The Cipher does not sleep,” replied Colonel Battersea, returning the salute.

The man produced a black revolver and handed it over discreetly. “I thought you might be wanting a replacement for your Webley,” he said with an easy smile. “Try not to lose it this time.”