go ahead. Pull out the pin and blow yourself up – but don’t let Junkyard Jeeves do it. He’s had it in his chrome-plated paws too long already.’
Verne reached to take the Nimius from Jack Potts. Cherry watched closely. Did she detect a momentary hesitation? Was the automaton reluctant to part with it?
She couldn’t be certain.
The boy traced his thumb around the lantern’s raised image and glanced over to Lil, who nodded encouragement. He pressed the symbol down. There was a click and he felt a soft tremor within.
‘Is that it?’ Lil asked after a pause.
‘It’s four hundred years old,’ Verne said. ‘Give it a – Wait! Look!’
He held the Nimius up and they saw a circular design begin to rotate and rise. Beneath it, spiralling out on a slender octagonal rod, was a round jewel with a ruby fire blazing in its heart.
There was a dazzling burst of crimson light drenching everything in a vibrant glare. Like a magical X-ray it passed through everything. Verne could see the bones in his hands and Lil was a red skeleton sitting on a transparent chaise longue, next to an upright jumble of cogs, chains and wires. Behind them he could see through into the hall. Turning, he saw Cherry Cerise as another skeleton, albeit one in a wig and sunglasses, and at her wrist the ammonites on her bracelet were shining brightly. Then he noticed around the room that Lil’s crocheted flowers were gleaming with a faint light of their own.
Another fierce pulse from the jewel and Verne could look through into the neighbouring cottage, where Mrs Gregson’s elderly bones were clutching a photograph of her late husband. Raising his eyes, Verne gazed through the ceiling over his head and stared into the room above. Locked inside a cupboard, papers and books were glowing. He wondered what they were – magical secrets of the Whitby witch?
The Nimius shook in his grasp and his thumb slipped from the lantern symbol. There was one more brilliant explosion of ruby light. A picture fell from the wall and a pan crashed to the floor in the kitchen, causing Lil’s skeleton to jump. Then the jewel retreated and the gold disc screwed back in place.
The glare faded and everyone, except Jack Potts, scrunched up their eyes.
‘We should’ve taken it up to the abbey,’ Verne said. ‘Imagine what it might’ve found there!’
‘I do not think its efforts here have been altogether fruitless,’ Jack Potts replied. He pointed to the fireplace, and Cherry swore like a fishwife as she leaped from the wicker seat.
Scarlet flames were licking up between the tiles of the hearth.
‘Get a bucket of water!’ she yelled, stamping on the unnatural fires.
Verne and Lil sprang to their feet, but Jack Potts halted them.
‘It is not a consuming fire,’ he said. ‘It is merely a marker. See how it forms a perfect rectangle. The Nimius has exposed the hiding place of an object most intriguing. We must investigate.’
‘You wanna excavate my floor?’ Cherry asked. ‘What are you, Tindiana Jones?’
‘Could be a small coffin,’ Verne said ghoulishly.
‘Or a little chest of valuables,’ Lil argued, clinging to the romantic hope of treasure.
‘It would be but the work of moments to dig out,’ Jack Potts suggested. ‘My hands are the perfect tools.’
Cherry opened her mouth to object, but before she could speak there was a rumble underneath the hearth. The flames doubled in height and the tiles began to bubble and crack.
‘Didn’t I say that gizmo was too darned strong,’ the witch muttered. ‘Stand back, guys!’
The whole fireplace was juddering. The lava lamps on the mantel shook and soot came drizzling down the chimney.
The hearth bulged and the flames roared and leaped to the ceiling. Tiles split apart and dirt and rubble went flying across the room as something punched its way free. There was a wild crackle and spitting of sparks. With a sizzling hiss, the crimson fires were quenched, leaving a mound of stones and chips of broken cement. Lying on top, covered in grime and dust, was a rectangular bundle wrapped tightly in waterproof cloth.
‘Oh Lords!’ Cherry murmured. ‘What have we got here?’
‘A most disagreeable mess,’ Jack Potts observed. ‘Forgive me, Miss Cerise, I did not anticipate so violent and chaotic a consequence. I will of course put it all in order and clean up thoroughly. Where do you keep your vacuum cleaner?’
‘Chillax,’ Cherry told him. ‘Let’s see what this thing is first.’
Carefully she reached out and passed her hand over the strange discovery. Smudges of pink light flickered across her palm as Cherry’s pale blue eyes began to shine and the walls of the parlour moved through different shades of purple.
‘Whatever it is has been in this house over a hundred years,’ she murmured slowly. ‘I can see old wrinkled hands, human and something other – aufwaders? There’s friendship there, and trust. Yeah, but that’s just the wrapping. I can’t tune in to what’s inside – it doesn’t seem to have any vibes of its own. Nothing is ever that blank. Even a flowerpot has some sort of emanation. This is so clean it could squeak.’
‘Like wiping the fingerprints off a murder weapon,’ Verne said gruesomely and he felt the torch eyes of Jack Potts turn upon him.
‘Wait,’ Cherry said. ‘There is . . . something. Oh, that’s just too wacky.’
‘What is?’ asked Lil.
Cherry half closed her eyes and concentrated harder.
‘Best way I can describe it is like lookin’ into a mirror. I keep gettin’ my colours reflected back at me. Never had that before. So bizarre.’
‘But no malevolence?’ Jack Potts enquired.
‘If there is, then it’s buried way down deep and I can’t probe so far. That in itself scares me. Detective Verne might be right.’
She leaned back and gave her hand a vigorous shake. At the same time the mysterious parcel slid on to the carpet. A corner of the cloth flapped open and an envelope slipped out.
Cherry seized it and her blue wig shifted as her eyebrows shot up.
There was no name, no address, just a simple drawing of three ammonites.
‘Guess it must be for me,’ she said.
Using her fingernail as a paperknife, she opened the envelope, adjusted her sunglasses and removed the letter it contained.
‘Swanky,’ she said, admiring the quality embossed notepaper. There was a stylish letterhead depicting a slender woman in an evening gown, with an Airedale dog at her side, a biplane in the sky, a yacht on the sea in the distance, and the words Scribbled from the desk, dashboard, cabin or cockpit of Sylvia de Lacy.
‘Cop a load of this,’ Cherry began, and she read the letter aloud.
Whitby, 1932
Dear future darlings,
I’ve had to relocate this troublesome packet from a hidey-hole in the kitchen wall, where it looks like it had been stashed for simply yonks, and inter it under the hearth here. Some oikish bluenose has been making a pill of himself in regard to it, but Holly and I saw him off. I hope it’ll be safe in the new sanctuary, until you find it – or it finds you!
Bags of affection,
SdL
‘Who is Sylvia de Lacy?’ Verne asked.
‘Keep up, Columbo,’ Cherry said, handing the letter across. ‘She’s one of my predecessors and this changes everything.’
‘A