Ruby Red (20 page)

“They don’t make any difference. He’s a conceited jerk, and anyway he’s in love with Charlotte. Did you get that bit about the philosopher’s stone down?”

“Yes, I’ve made notes of it all. As soon as I’m home I’ll go online. This Count Saint-Germain—why does the name seem so familiar to me? Could it be from a film? No, I’m thinking of the Count of Monte Cristo.”

“Suppose he really can read thoughts?”

“Just think of something harmless. Or count backward from a thousand. In steps of eight at a time. Then you won’t be able to think of anything else.”

“I’ll try. Oh, see if you can find out anything about a little boy called Robert White who drowned in a swimming pool eighteen years ago.”

“Okay, I got that,” said Lesley. “Wow, this is weird! We should have gotten you a knife or pepper spray or something.… I know! You can take your mobile with you.”

I tripped my way over to the door in my long, full dress and peered cautiously out into the passage. “What, into the past? Do you think I’ll be able to call you from there?”

“Don’t be silly! But you can take photos—they’d be a help to us. Oh, and I’d just love to see one of your Gideon! With his ears showing, if possible. Ears tell you a lot about a person. Especially the earlobes.”

I could hear footsteps. I quietly closed the door. “Here we go. I’ll be in touch later, Lesley!”

“Just be careful,” said Lesley yet again, but then I closed my phone and slipped it into my décolletage. The little space under my breasts was just the right size for a mobile. I wondered what ladies in the old days used to keep in there. Little bottles of poison? Miniature revolvers? Love letters?

The first thing that went through my head when Gideon came into the room was, why doesn’t
he
have to wear a hat? The second thing was, how can anyone look good in a red moiré waistcoat, dark green trousers that cut off at the knee, and striped silk stockings? If I thought anything else, it was probably, I hope to goodness no one can guess what I’m thinking right now.

The green eyes passed swiftly over me. “Nice hat.”

Damn him.

“Lovely,” said Mr. George, coming into the room behind him. “Madame Rossini, you’ve worked wonders.”

“Yes, I know,” said Madame Rossini. She had stayed out in the corridor. The sewing room wasn’t big enough for all of us. My skirt took up half the space on its own.

Gideon had tied his hair at the back of his neck, and I saw my chance to get my own back. “Nice velvet bow,” I said with all the sarcasm I could summon up. “Mrs. Counter, our geography teacher, always wears exactly the same thing.”

Instead of looking angrily at me, Gideon grinned. “Oh, the bow is nothing special. You should see me in a wig.”

Strictly speaking, I already had.

“Monsieur Gideon, I ’ad put out zose lemon-yellow breeches for you, not ze dark ones.” When Madame Rossini was annoyed her accent was stronger, and she forgot how to say an
h
or
th
now and then.

Gideon turned to Madame Rossini. “Yellow breeches with a red waistcoat and a brown coat with gold buttons? I thought it was just too many bright colors.”

“Men of ze Rococo period
liked
colors.” Madame Rossini looked at him severely. “And I am ze expert here, not you!”

“Yes, Madame Rossini,” said Gideon politely. “I’ll listen to you next time.”

I looked at his ears. They didn’t stick out at all, and there was nothing else odd about them. Of course I didn’t really
care
.

“Where are ze yellow chamois leather gloves?”

“Oh, I thought if I wasn’t going to wear the breeches, I’d better steer clear of the gloves as well.”

“Of course!” Madame Rossini huffed. “With respect to your sense of fashion, young man, we’re not talking good taste here, we’re talking authenticity. And I took care to pick colors that would suit your complexion, you ungrateful boy.”

Grumbling, she let us go past her.

“Thank you very, very much, Madame Rossini,” I said.

“Ah, my little swan-necked beauty! It was a pleasure! At least you appreciate my work.” I had to grin. I liked the idea of being swan-necked.

Mr. George’s eyes twinkled at me. “If you’ll follow me, please, Miss Gwyneth.”

“We have to blindfold her first,” said Gideon, about to take my hat off my head.

“Dear me, yes. I’m afraid Dr. White insists on it,” said Mr. George, with an apologetic smile.

“But it will ruin her ’airstyle!” Madame Rossini snatched Gideon’s fingers away. “
Tiens!
Do you want to pull ’er ’air off ’er ’ead? Never ’eard of a ’atpin? There!” She firmly planted the hat and hatpin in Mr. George’s hands. “And carry that ’at carefully!”

Gideon tied a black scarf around my eyes. I automatically held my breath as his hand touched my cheek, and unfortunately I couldn’t keep myself from blushing. But luckily he couldn’t see that because he was standing behind me.

“Ow!” I said. He’d caught a few of my hairs in the knot.

“Sorry. Can you still see anything?”

“No.” There was nothing but darkness before my eyes. “Why can’t I see where we’re going?”

“You’re not allowed to know exactly where the chronograph is kept,” said Gideon. He put one hand on my back and propelled me forward. It was an odd feeling, walking along unable to see my way, and Gideon’s hand on my back made it worse. “An unnecessary precaution, if you ask me,” he said. “This house is a labyrinth. You’d never find your way back to the room. And Mr. George thinks you’re beyond any suspicion of treachery anyway.”

That was nice of Mr. George, even if I didn’t know exactly what it meant.

My shoulder collided with some hard object. “Ow!”

“Hold her hand, Gideon, you stupid oaf,” said Mr. George, sounding rather annoyed. “She’s not a supermarket trolley.”

I felt a warm, dry hand closing round mine and jumped nervously.

“It’s okay,” said Gideon. “Only me. We go down a couple of steps now. Watch out.”

For a while we went on in silence, side by side, sometimes straight ahead, then down some stairs or around a corner, and I concentrated as hard as I could on not letting my hand shake. Or sweat. I didn’t want Gideon thinking he made me feel awkward. Did he notice how fast my pulse was pounding?

Then my right foot suddenly met nothing, and I stumbled and would have fallen over completely if Gideon hadn’t caught me with both his hands and put me back on solid ground. Now his hands were around my waist.

“Careful, there’s a step here,” he said.

“Yes, thanks. I noticed when my ankle turned over,” I said indignantly.

“For heaven’s sake, Gideon, do be careful,” said Mr. George. “Here, you carry the hat, and I’ll help Gwyneth.”

It was easier to walk along holding Mr. George’s hand. Maybe because I could concentrate more on the steps I was taking than on not letting my hand shake. Our walk lasted half an eternity. Yet again I had a feeling we were going down into the depths of the earth. When we finally stopped, I suspected they’d taken me on a couple of long detours just to confuse me.

A door was opened and closed again, and at last Mr. George took my blindfold off.

“Here we are.”

“Exquisite as a young May morning,” said Dr. White. But he was talking to Gideon.

“Thanks!” Gideon made a little bow. “The latest thing from Paris. I ought really to be wearing yellow knee breeches and yellow gloves with this outfit, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“Madame Rossini is furious,” said Mr. George.

“Gideon!” said Mr. de Villiers reproachfully. He had just appeared behind Dr. White.

“Well, Uncle Falk, I ask you! Yellow knee breeches?”

“It’s not as if you were going to meet old school friends who might laugh at you there,” said Mr. de Villiers.

“No,” said Gideon, putting my hat down on a table. “More likely I’ll meet guys wearing embroidered pink breeches who think they look terrific,” he said, shaking his head. At first I’d had to let my eyes adjust to the light. Now I looked curiously around. The room had no windows, as I’d expected, and there was no fireplace either. I couldn’t see a time machine anywhere. Only a table and a few chairs, a chest, a cupboard, and some kind of saying in Latin carved into the stone wall.

Mr. de Villiers gave me a friendly smile. “Blue suits you wonderfully, Gwyneth. And Madame Rossini has done something very elegant to your hair.”

“Er … thank you.”

“We’d better hurry up. I’m dying of heat in these clothes.” Gideon undid his coat so that I could see the sword hanging from his belt.

“Come over here.” Dr. White went up to the table and revealed something that had been wrapped in red velvet. At first glance it looked like a large clock, the kind you might stand on a mantelpiece. “I’ve adjusted all the settings. The window of time available to you two is three hours.”

At a second glance, I realized it wasn’t a clock. It was a strange device made of polished wood and metal with any amount of knobs, flaps, and little wheels. All the surfaces were painted with miniature pictures of the sun, moon, and stars, and inscribed with mysterious signs and patterns. It was curved like a violin case and set with sparkling jewels, great big ones that couldn’t possibly be real.

“Is that the chronograph? It’s so small!”

“It weighs nine pounds,” said Dr. White, sounding as proud as a father telling you the weight of his newborn baby. “And before you ask, yes, the stones are all genuine. This ruby alone is six carats.”

“Gideon will go first,” said Mr. de Villiers. “The password?”

“
Qua redit nescitis
,” said Gideon.

“Gwyneth?”

“Yes?”

“The password!”

“What do you mean, password?”

“
Qua redit nescitis
,” said Mr. de Villiers. “The password of the Guardians for this twenty-fourth of September.”

“But it’s the sixth of April.”

Gideon turned his eyes to heaven. “We
arrive
on the twenty-fourth of September inside this house. If we don’t want the Guardians to chop off our heads, we have to know the password.
Qua redit nescitis
. Go on, repeat it.”

“
Qua redit nescitis
,” I said. I was never going to be able to remember that for longer than a second. There, now it was gone again. Maybe I could write it on a scrap of paper. “What does it mean?”

“Don’t tell me you’re not learning Latin at school!”

“Well, I’m not,” I said. I was taking French and German at school, which was more than enough.

“In full,
Qua redit nescitis horam
. “You know not the hour of your return,” said Dr. White.

“Rather a flowery translation!” said Mr. George. “One could also say, ‘You don’t know when—’”

“Gentlemen!” Mr. de Villiers tapped his wristwatch in a meaningful way. “We don’t have forever. Ready, Gideon?”

Gideon held his hand out to Dr. White, who raised one of the flaps and put Gideon’s forefinger in the opening behind it. There was a faint humming sound as if cogwheels had started moving inside the device. It was almost like a tune on a music box. One of the jewels, a huge diamond, suddenly lit up from inside and bathed Gideon’s face in clear white light. At the same moment, he disappeared.

“Wow, out of this world,”
I whispered, impressed.

“Literally so,” said Mr. George. “Your turn now. Stand exactly here.”

Dr. White went on. “And remember what we’ve told you: do as Gideon says and, whatever happens, always keep close to him.” He took my hand and placed my forefinger in the opening under the flap. Something sharp pricked my fingertip, and I flinched. “Ow!”

Dr. White held my hand firmly down inside the flap. “Don’t move!”

This time a big red stone on the chronograph began shining. Red light dazzled me. The last thing I saw was my huge hat lying forgotten on the table. Then everything around me went dark.

A hand took hold of my shoulder.

Oh, no. What was that stupid password?
Qua thingummy thingsitis.
“Is that you, Gideon?” I whispered.

“Who else?” he whispered back, and let go of my shoulder. “Well done, you didn’t fall over!” A match flared, and next moment, the room was lit by a burning torch.

“Cool. Did you bring that with you?”

“No, it was here already. Hold it for a moment.”

When I took the torch, I was glad I wasn’t wearing that ridiculous hat. The huge nodding feathers on it would have caught fire in no time at all, and then I’d have been a pretty, blazing torch myself.

“Hush,” said Gideon, although I hadn’t so much as squeaked. He had unlocked the door. (Had he brought the key with him, or had it already been in the lock? I hadn’t been watching.) Then he peered cautiously out into the corridor. Everything was pitch-dark.

“This place smells kind of like something decaying,” I said.