The Unknown Spy (13 page)

“I’m afraid the Ring of Five has happened on the loophole in the treaty.”

“They have picked a team of cadets, under-sixteens, to travel to the kingdom of Morne,” Cheryl said. “Ostensibly to study, but of course their real aim is to steal and break the Treaty Stone.”

“According to Cheryl,” Devoy said, “the team has already departed. There isn’t a moment to lose.”

“Do we know who these agents are?” Brunholm asked.

“No,” Cheryl said wearily, “I barely escaped with the information that I got.”

“And grateful for that they are, aren’t you, gentlemen?” A quiet voice spoke in the doorway. It was the detective McGuinness. He strode forward and took hold of Cheryl’s arm, for the detective and the spy were husband and wife.

“She will come with me now,” McGuinness said, pulling her to himself. “She’s exhausted.”

“And has earned whatever poor reward we can give her,” Devoy said. “The information she has brought is priceless, and we are indeed grateful.” Devoy bowed
graciously as McGuinness and Cheryl withdrew. But the moment the door had closed behind them, Brunholm whirled round in a fury.

“How did they know that under-sixteens were exempt from the death sentence?”

“Longford is clever, cleverer and more ruthless than I,” Devoy said. “There is a logic to it. In the bitterest of times there was always a door left open for education, that the young might learn from the mistakes of the past and make a better future.”

“He seems to know everything that goes on in Wilsons,” Brunholm snarled.

“He is a spy,” Devoy said, “that’s his job. In the meantime we must send our team straightaway. Tonight, if possible.”

“They’re not ready!” Brunholm cried. “Besides, the physick is still recovering.”

“Then Danny and the girl must go,” Devoy said. “Longford’s team has a head start. Have you sent messages to Morne to expect our team?”

“Yes, of course,” Brunholm said, “but what about Fairman—can he take them across?”

“Certainly,” Devoy said. “Do you not think I know about your smuggling runs, and how you pay Fairman to do your dirty work? At this very moment he is waiting at the back of the building ready to embark on some mission that I am not supposed to know about!”

Brunholm looked abashed. Fairman’s taxi was the only vehicle allowed to cross the border according to the terms of the treaty. Brunholm had his spies in the Upper
World, and he often used the taxi to carry messages for him.

“Now that we have the transport,” Devoy said, “we should assemble our team.”

D
anny and Dixie were awakened by Blackpitt. “Cadet Caulfield! Cadet Cole! Library of the third landing in five minutes!”

Danny rolled out of bed and looked over the top of the partition that divided his sleeping quarters from Les’s. The young Messenger was still asleep. Danny pulled on trousers, a sweater and his battered overcoat, then guiltily crept toward the door. He knew his friend would be wounded when he found that Danny had not woken him to tell him about the midnight call. Danny groaned inwardly. Would the impulse to betray never leave him?

H
e needn’t have worried. Les had merely pretended to be asleep while Danny had crept out. He slid out of bed, shoving his pillows under his blankets in case Exspectre or one of the others was to look in his bed. Only one event would have led Devoy to summon Danny and Dixie in the middle of the night. The mission was on.

T
hirty minutes later a very sleepy Danny and an overexcited Dixie were standing in the library of the third landing while Devoy briefed them on Cheryl’s information.
Danny shivered. For some reason it was less frightening to take on adults than it was to take on people his own age.

“Can you tell us anything about the enemy team?” he asked Devoy.

“Nothing,” Devoy said, “except that if they were chosen by Longford, they will be resourceful and dangerous.”

“That’s nice to know,” Dixie said.

“Hurry,” Brunholm broke in. “Fairman tells me that he brought students across the border from Grist twenty-four hours ago. A girl and a boy.”

A flustered-looking Duddy burst into the room. She was wearing pink flannel pajamas and fluffy slippers.

“This is most unusual,” she said, “most unusual!”

“You must work on Danny’s eyes at once,” Devoy said.

“But my lovely disguises!” Duddy cried.

“No time.” Devoy’s voice was like a pistol shot. “The fate of Wilsons hangs in the balance.”

T
he detective McGuinness made a meal for Cheryl and waited until she had gone to bed before he left. She had told him what she had learned, and he knew that there would be activity until late at night in Wilsons. He crossed the gardens quietly and found a favorite vantage point in the shrubbery from which he could watch the building.

It was cold, but he hadn’t long to wait before a figure
crept stealthily across the lawn. McGuinness reached into his pocket for a long-barreled revolver and set out in pursuit.

Five minutes later he found himself behind the school, outside a disused kitchen annex. There were half-collapsed wooden huts with old crates and scaffolding piled around them. Hidden in the debris stood a black taxi, the engine rumbling. The stealthy form made straight for the taxi and McGuinness set a course to head it off. There was a flash of tools; then the trunk of the cab opened silently. McGuinness, who had approached silently, put the gun to the side of the figure’s head.

“Move a muscle and you won’t see tomorrow,” he said. A frightened face turned toward him. It was Les.

“D
o you have any idea what Fairman would have done to you, if and when he found a stowaway?” McGuinness said. They were sitting on two old oil drums at a safe distance from the taxi.

“I want to go on the mission,” Les said sulkily. “I pretended I don’t care, but I do.”

“Stop that,” McGuinness said sharply. “You’re not a child, and the fate of Wilsons, if not the Two Worlds, hangs in the balance.”

“But I could help!” Les said.

“You can help more in Wilsons,” McGuinness said. “Do you know that your friend Toxique is in danger? His father thinks that it was he who tried to kill the
Messenger Daisy and failed. Who will help clear him if you do not? And Vandra—would you leave her alone at Wilsons in a time of deadly peril? You are needed, Les. Let the others go to the Upper World. There will be enough danger here.”

A TRAP SPRUNG

T
he membrane to disguise the color of Danny’s eye was surprisingly comfortable, and now he had two brown eyes. When Duddy said it was made of “fish intestine marinated in cuttlefish ink,” Dixie had made a face and mimed throwing up in the corner.

“There is only one thing that you have to remember,” Duddy had said. “You absolutely must not cry. The concentrated salt in the tears will dissolve the membrane.”

“Don’t forget,” Devoy said now. “You are exchange students. I wish we had more information on the kingdom of Morne to give you, but all I can say is that it was known as a place of intrigue and danger, although there are dire warnings in the treaty that students should be looked after. There is some protection in that.”

Danny and Dixie were given an hour to put their bags
together. They raced back to the Roosts. All the other pupils were asleep. After Danny grabbed his toothbrush he went to Les’s cubicle to find the bed empty, pillows under the blankets.

That’s odd, he thought.

“Perhaps he’s gone to the apothecary to see Vandra,” Dixie said when Danny met her outside.

“We’ve just got time to get there,” he said. “I want to see her before we go.” They raced off.

L
es knew that Danny and Dixie would not leave for their mission without seeing Vandra, so when he left McGuinness he made his way to the apothecary. It was dark and spooky as he mounted the stairs. In the anteroom he could see the dim shapes of organs and other anatomical specimens preserved in jars. Above his head the vast skeleton of a Messenger, hung from wires as though in flight, cast a sinister shadow on the tiled floor. Les moved quietly, lost in thought, considering the detective’s advice. Ever since he’d heard that the others were to be sent on a mission, Les had plotted and planned and listened at doors, knowing that Fairman was the only way they could cross the border and figuring out how he would climb into the trunk and appear triumphantly when they had arrived in the Upper World. That wasn’t going to happen now, he thought bitterly. He would never get the chance to see the Upper World.

He was so lost in thought that he forgot to turn on the light when he got to the ward where Vandra was sleeping.
The Messenger was light-footed and made little noise as he crossed the floor. At the last minute he saw the figure crouched over Vandra, knife in hand. Les threw himself aside as a knife flashed in the darkness. He hit the flagstone floor hard and felt the air being forced from his lungs. He was winded, helpless, his lungs on fire as his attacker fled into the night.

As he gradually got his breath and attempted to sit up, he caught a fleeting hint of a scent, an expensive aftershave perhaps, hanging in the air. He forced himself to his feet and stumbled over to Vandra’s bed. She was still sleeping peacefully. He bent to pick up the pillow that the attacker had dropped. It had a strong medicinal smell, and the minute he bent to it his head began to swim. He staggered backward, into the arms of the apothecary, Mr. Jamshid. The small man, wearing heavy glasses and a white coat stained with nameless matter, caught Les with one hand and the pillow with the other. A frown wrinkled his large domed forehead and he flung the pillow with great force across the room and into the embers of the fire. The fire blazed, huge flames and great gouts of black and dirty green smoke billowing up the chimney.

“Psychochloroform,” the small man spat. “Deadly in twenty seconds. The victim never wakes up. Give me one reason why I should not slit your throat here and now!”

“It … it … wasn’t me,” Les gasped. “Someone was holding it over Vandra’s face!”

“Is that so?” Jamshid said. “It’s a long time since I dissected the corpse of a Messenger.…”

“I’m sure!” Danny’s voice rang out. “Les would never hurt Vandra.”

“If you insist,” Jamshid said coldly, releasing Les.

Dixie appeared between Jamshid and Les, pressed close to the apothecary, at eye level with the larger stains on his coat.

“Interesting,” she said, studying something green and globular adhering to his lapel.

“What happened?” Danny demanded. Les quickly explained what he’d seen.

“Death is stalking this place,” Jamshid said darkly. As if to underline his words, a raven fluttered across the light and disappeared into the shadows of the roof space.

“Whoever did this must know Wilsons like the back of their hand,” Danny said. “They’re able to get about without being seen.”

“Why Vandra?” Les said.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but if I was planning to poison one or more people in Wilsons,” Danny said, “I’d make sure the only physick in the place who could cure them was out of the way.”

Danny realized that his voice had taken on an edge and the others were looking at him strangely. There was a harsh, almost eager tone, as though he relished the wickedness of the plan.

“We—we have to stop him, I mean,” he stammered. Dixie looked at Danny with one eyebrow raised.

“I’m sorry, Les,” he said. “I tried to leave without you noticing. I should have told you we were going on the mission—it’s been brought forward.”

“That’s all right,” Les said. “I was going to sneak along with you, only McGuinness caught me. He reminded me that Toxique and Vandra need to be looked after, and he’s right.”

Dixie hugged him. Les grinned at Danny.

“You take care of him, Dixie,” Les said. “He thinks he’s the most cunning of the lot, but I know different.”

Les looked suspiciously like he was going to give Danny a hug, but to Danny’s relief, Blackpitt interrupted.

“Caulfield, Cole. At once!”

Danny looked down at Vandra. She looked so young and vulnerable. Without really knowing what he was doing, he took the gold ring out of his pocket, the “S” and “G” ring that the Unquiet had given him, and slipped it onto her finger.

“Look after her,” he whispered, not knowing whether he spoke to the Unquiet or some other being. With a last glance at her face, he turned to Dixie.

“Let’s go,” he said.

Les and Jamshid stood looking after them.

“Hope they make it,” Les said.

“You think they won’t?” the apothecary said anxiously. “I couldn’t bear it if Caulfield was killed somewhere else. He’s a very promising specimen—I very much looked forward to dissecting his corpse.” Jamshid turned to face Les. “Don’t look at me like that, young Messenger. They say he is the Fifth. Is it not likely in these turbulent times that many people will wish him dead? All I want is the chance to use my knives on him in the interests of science, if he should be assassinated.…”

Les gave him a disgusted look and hurried from the room. Things were bad enough already without all this talk of assassination. He would spend the night in the summerhouse, his refuge when he didn’t want to talk to anyone. He went outside and turned left at the shrubbery.