The Unknown Spy (20 page)

T
he first thing Danny saw the following morning was Dixie’s face an inch from his own.

“Wake up, for goodness’ sake! I’ve been shouting at you for ten minutes.”

Danny shook his head, groggy with lack of sleep. The night’s events came flooding back. A sister!

“Come on, Danny,” Dixie said. “We’ve got to find out what the mountain says, whatever that means, and find the Treaty Stone.
And
stop the other two from doing any harm to it. And I’m starving and I want some breakfast.”

Fifteen minutes later, as they walked along the corridor, they were aware of people stopping and whispering. Once they heard a scornful laugh. Dixie disappeared and reappeared right beside a couple who were whispering and pointing, sending them scuttling down a side corridor.

After walking through several hallways, each more gorgeous than the last, they found a dining hall, where wigged and powdered servants carried silver salvers from kitchen to table, whipping off the lids to reveal bacon and sausages and eggs and fried mushrooms and toast. For a few minutes Danny and Dixie forgot their quest as they ate greedily, asking for seconds and more, their cups of sweet milky tea being replenished from enormous teapots.

Once Danny had taken the edge off his appetite, he saw something likely to spoil it altogether. The servants were clearing a small table for two, one that looked as if it had been abandoned a while ago. He questioned one of the servants, who confirmed that Lily and the Cherb had long left. Sister or not, Danny thought, he didn’t trust Lily. And he certainly didn’t trust the Cherb. He bolted the last of his food.

“Come on,” he said to Dixie.

They practically ran out of the dining room. For the first few hours they prowled the endless corridors of Morne. They found themselves in throne rooms, galleries, anterooms and bedchambers. Every hallway looked the same, and there was no sign of a vault or a guarded room where something as important as the Treaty Stone might be kept. They stumbled upon one room so full of bright gold and shining jewels that they had to shield their eyes, and a crypt lined with somber tombs, so deep and dark that their hearts quailed. Everywhere they went there were knots of courtiers, and Danny had no doubt that
reports of his and Dixie’s progress—or lack of it—were going back to the vizier. Around midafternoon, tired and hungry, they collapsed on a red velvet divan, no closer to realizing their quest.

“You know,” Dixie said, “there’s probably an easier way of going about this.”

“I’m sure there is,” Danny said sarcastically. “We could grow wings like Les and fly over the place and the Treaty Stone would be sitting on the roof so all we would have to do is pick it up and fly away.”

“No,” Dixie said seriously, “I think my way’s a little easier than that.”

She stood up and walked over to a passing courtier.

“Excuse me,” she said, “would you mind telling me where the Treaty Stone is kept?”

“Certainly,” the handsome boy said. “Take the third corridor on the left and keep going until you reach the Hall of Secrets.”

“Thank you,” Dixie said as Danny looked on openmouthed.

“Would you like me to take you there?”

His name was Louis and he was twelve years old. He had black curly hair and always seemed to have a smile on his face. Unlike the other inhabitants of Morne, he wasn’t secretive and suspicious.

“I’m only half Morne,” he said with a smile. “My mother was from the Upper World.”

“Can anyone just walk in and see the Stone?” Danny tried to sound casual.

“Yes, of course,” Louis said. “The provisions of the treaty have to be seen so that people can read them.”

“Could somebody not just walk out with it, then?” Danny said.

“Ah, that’s a different matter,” Louis said cheerfully.

The corridor they had joined opened onto a wide concourse. For the first time Danny and Dixie saw groups of young people, sitting around on marble benches or walking toward the vast iron doors that stood open at the opposite end.

“Who are all these people?” Dixie asked.

“Students,” Louis said. “There are many great wonders displayed in the Crypts.”

“The Crypts? Where they keep dead people?” Dixie asked.

“That’s right,” Louis said, “the Dead are the staff of the museum we call the Hall of Secrets, but don’t worry about them. They won’t harm you unless you try to steal or damage any of the exhibits.”

Danny and Dixie exchanged looks. Having the dead running about the Butts at Wilsons was one thing, in secret and in the dark. But here …

T
he entrance hall of the museum soared above their heads. There were the usual fixtures—statues of important-looking people, paintings of battles. It was the staff who were different. A pale and ghastly-looking woman in a uniform was taking coats at the coat check. The security man at the main entrance was skeletally thin,
his skin stretched over his bones like yellow paper, his eyes bulging in their sockets.

“Lovely day, kids,” he said cheerfully. “Enjoy yourselves.”

In the museum proper they ran into a party being led by a guide. She was a young woman, pale but pretty, with long blond hair.

“The Oligarchic period of Morne history under Vizier Kolum was known for its bloodthirsty pogroms. On your left you can see the golden goblet from which he drank the blood of his victims, claiming that it would make him immortal.”

The guide was walking backward as she spoke, and she collided with Danny.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry,” she said, turning around, “that was clumsy of me.”

“Don’t wor—” Danny started, but then her breath hit him. It smelled of the grave, of earth and decayed flesh and mold. He reeled away, gasping, but she merely smiled apologetically and turned back to the group.

On they went, deeper into the museum. Many exhibits were boring, collections of crumbling stone urns or “Agricultural Implements of the Early Upper Period.” But there was a lot more to look at in “Weapons of the Upper–Lower Wars.” There were vicious Messenger knives and Cherb flamethrowers. There were torture instruments that reminded Danny of the ones in Wilsons, though here there was a section of devices devoted to Seraphim and Messengers, with feather pluckers and wing stretchers. There were bombs designed to be
dropped by Seraphim that sent spinning knives through the air, and cruel-looking blades and small arms described as “Miscellaneous Cherb.”

Danny noticed a small black door. A sign over it said T
HE
R
ING
O
F
F
IVE
. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Louis took him by the arm. For once, he wasn’t smiling.

“We don’t go in there,” he said, steering Danny away. Danny glanced uneasily back toward the door, feeling the familiar tug, the need to be part of what was secret and malicious.

“Now,” Louis said, “here we are. The Treaty Stone Room.”

The first part of the room was full of photographs from the war before the negotiation and signing of the treaty. There were aerial shots of the destruction wrought by the conflict—miles of burned-out houses, crowds of desperate refugees. Then there were photos of the treaty-signing ceremony. Serious-looking men and women posed for the camera. In one, Danny saw a much-younger-looking Devoy; in another, an unsmiling Longford bent over a table with a small etching instrument in his hand.

Finally, in an alcove of its own, they saw the Treaty Stone. A spotlight shone on a black stone that was much smaller than Danny had expected. Viewing it through a sheet of heavy bulletproof glass, he could see that its surface was etched with minute gold writing. Red lights blinked here and there throughout the room, doubtless proof of laser beams and pressure sensors—the kinds of devices used to protect famous works of art.

“How are we going to get near that?” Danny asked Dixie in a low voice.

“Do we need to?” Dixie asked. “It looks pretty safe where it is.”

Suddenly Danny’s heart leapt. On the other side of the room he saw Lily standing with a group of students who were scribbling in notebooks as their teacher rambled on about the treaty and conflict resolution. Lily wasn’t writing anything. Her gaze roamed over the security—Danny could tell she was memorizing the positioning of the red lights. Behind the students Lily’s young Cherb companion was using a small pair of binoculars, apparently to study the finely etched text on the Stone, but every so often he pointed them at the ceiling.

“It might look safe,” Danny said, “but I don’t think it is.” Dixie followed his eyes. “We don’t have the expertise or the gear to get it out of there …”

“… but they do,” Dixie said, “by the look of things.”

“They’re acting that way,” Danny agreed.

“Dixie, you’re a genius,” Dixie said after a pause. “Danny, pat me on the back.”

“If you insist,” Danny said, “but why are you a genius?”

“I’ve figured out how to get our hands on the Stone.”

“How?”

“We let them steal it, then we steal it from them!”

“You might have something there …,” Danny admitted.

“If we can deal with the other thing first,” Dixie said.

“What other thing?” Lily looked up and saw Danny.
A smile of pure delight spread over her features. Danny tried to keep his face straight.

“The other thing—you know,” Dixie said, “the one that condemns us to serving the dead for the rest of our lives if we don’t figure it out, that little thing?”

“Oh, that,” Danny said, his eyes still fixed on Lily. “That’s okay, I already know the answer to that.”

“You already know it?” Dixie said slowly. She was looking at Danny with a serious expression. “What are you saying, Danny? How do you already know?”

“I … went for a walk last night. After you went to sleep. I heard the mountain.”

“You went for a walk but you never mentioned it?”

“It slipped my mind.”

“You found out how to stop us from spending the rest of our lives looking after dead people and forgot to tell me?”

“Er, something like that,” Danny said. “But keep your voice down!” Louis stood six feet away, looking at the Stone with admiration.

“What did the mountain say?” Dixie had her hands on her hips. Danny had never seen her look really angry before.

“It s-said …” Danny was stuttering. The good part of his mind wanted to protect Dixie, but the spy part of his mind was cold. Let her find out for herself!

Dixie looked long and hard into his eyes. “Never mind,” she said softly. “I’ll figure it out on my own.” Then she linked arms with Louis.

“Come on, Louis, show me some of this kingdom of
yours.” She turned on her heel and walked off, half dragging Louis with her. Danny watched miserably as she disappeared into the throng of students. Then he realized that part of him felt glad. Danny the Spy was happy to get out from under Dixie’s watching eye. He looked at the Stone, then back to the other side of the room. Dixie was gone. No matter, he thought; he would catch up with her later. In the meantime, there was something he wanted to do.

A
few minutes later Danny was standing at the Ring of Five door. He saw one of the security staff sitting at a desk on the far side of the room. He walked over, keeping his gait casual. The guard was an attractive girl with black curly hair, barely out of her teens.

“Yes,” she said brightly, “can I help you?”

“It’s the Ring of Five room,” Danny said. “I’m a student from the Lower World, and the Ring is a really important part of my research. I wonder if I could have a look.”

“Oh no, sir,” the girl said. “There is a key, but the vizier himself must be asked for permission.” As she spoke, Danny watched with horrified fascination as a long pink worm emerged from her nose and dangled over her top lip. “I’m surprised,” the girl said confidentially, “that he even allows us to keep the key here.” She sniffed and the worm was sucked back up into her head. Danny put one hand on the desk and the other to his temple.

“Are you okay?” the girl asked.

“Yes, just feeling a bit faint.” Danny wasn’t really feeling all that faint, but it wasn’t hard to pretend after watching that worm.

“I’ll get you a glass of water,” the girl said sympathetically. As she left the desk, Danny saw two bullet holes in her back, surrounded by dried gunpowder and blood. What had happened to her? Was it considered impolite to ask?

Still feigning faintness in case anyone was watching, he slumped into the chair behind the desk, fumbling in his coat for his lockpicks. One-handed, he started to go through the desk. The drawers that were open he didn’t bother with. In the three that were locked he found weapons and some syringes and tablets. He had no idea what the dead girl used them for, though he shuddered at some of the images that went through his mind. But there was no sign of the key. He felt underneath the desk. The dead girl would be back at any moment. Then his hand touched a small metal clasp. He fumbled with it. There was a click and a little velvet box fell into his hand. It had to be the key.

As Danny slipped the box into his pocket, the dead guard returned with a glass of water.

“Thanks,” he said gratefully, gulping it down.

“That’s okay,” she said a little wistfully. “Wouldn’t mind a glass of water myself, but, you know …”

“Yes, of course,” Danny said, not really knowing at all. If she took a drink, would the water leak out the holes in her back?

“Never mind.” She smiled kindly. “Must look on the bright side, isn’t that right?”

Danny thanked her profusely and walked away. He hoped she wouldn’t get into trouble for the missing key, though a mocking voice in the back of his mind reminded him that she was already dead, so what could the vizier do to her anyway?

The door was only slightly off the main part of the museum, yet Danny felt a long way from the visiting parties. It was as if the door was instinctively being given a wide berth. When he was sure that no one was watching, he opened the little velvet box. Inside was an ornate metal key. He had been right. Just as he was about to fit it into the lock he became aware of someone behind him. He wheeled around. Lily. Her smile was catlike.