The Wings of Ruksh (21 page)

“Ah, yes,” the young assistant behind the counter said
deferentially
, “your tiepin, Monsieur le Comte! It’s all ready for you!” He picked a velvet box from a drawer and opened it for the count to see.

Louis de Charillon took the box in his hand and ran his
fingers
over the tiepin. Small and delicate, it had been beautifully made and although slightly different from the design he had submitted there was, nevertheless, a grace and elegance of line that spoke of the skill of a master craftsman.

“Mr Grant treated the feathers, Monsieur le Comte, with a special substance that will keep them from spoiling. Grouse feathers, aren’t they? It’s certainly a most unusual piece. Very striking!”

De Charillon clipped the tiepin onto his tie and, as he wrote the cheque, felt a sudden sense of well-being. He was glad he’d kept the feathers that his little grouse had left behind and had the strangest feeling that his new tiepin was going to bring him luck.

Feeling more relaxed that he had done in weeks, he paused to fasten his overcoat as he left the jewellers, for although the thin rays of winter sunshine bathed George Street in light, they did little to raise the near freezing temperature of an Edinburgh winter.

“My dear Louis, how nice to see you!”

“Sir James!” De Charillon’s face cleared. “How are you?”

Hands were shaken all round as Sir James introduced Thompson and Tatler. “I think you know Archie Thompson, our Chief Constable? And George Tatler?”

The Count bowed. “Your servant, sir,” he said, assessing him
shrewdly.

“Christmas shopping?” queried Sir James with a smile, indicating the expensive trinkets that decorated the plate-glass windows of Hamilton & Inches, Edinburgh’s most prestigious jeweller.

“You could say that,” de Charillon allowed. He indicated the tiepin. “A present to myself!”

Sir James raised his eyebrows. “Very unusual,” he said,
looking
at it closely. “Grouse feathers, aren’t they?”

“Yes,” de Charillon looked at them all speculatively and despite himself felt a strange sense of affinity creep over him, “they’re all that was left of my little grouse before he … er, became an eagle.” And he knew, even as the words left his mouth, that what he had said was no surprise to them.

A flicker of understanding seemed to pass between the three men and Sir James nodded. “You know, I rather think we owe you a good lunch, Louis. If you have no other engagement we would be delighted to have you join us.”

De Charillon was not a fool. Although their faces showed no more than casual politeness there was a shade of guardedness there too and he sensed that this was more than an invitation to lunch. He fingered his tiepin and again felt that same sense of comradeship. It was more like being asked to join a club.

He looked at them and they looked back, waiting for his reply.

“Gentlemen,” he said, taking a deep breath, “I would be delighted.”

“Wonderful,” said Sir James, “the car is just over there. Tatler’s invited us to The Witchery so we’re heading for the High Street.”

“Nice place,” smiled the Chief Constable, “interesting name, too!”

“I’ve heard of it,” de Charillon nodded. “It’s full of old things about witchcraft and … and magic.”

Perhaps it was the grouse feathers that served to sharpen
de Charillon’s perception but he stopped abruptly and met Sir James’s eyes in sudden understanding as quite a few things that had been puzzling him, clicked suddenly into place.

Sir James raised his eyebrows and, casting a quick glance at the other two men, smiled at the count somewhat ruefully.

“Lunch first, Louis,” he grinned.

“And explanations afterwards, eh!” added the Chief Constable.

It was Tatler, however, who had the last word.

“After all,” he nodded, his eyes twinkling at the totally stunned expression on de Charillon’s face, “when you think about it, there’s probably no better place in Edinburgh than The Witchery for telling faery stories.”

Read on for a sneak preview of Neil and Clara’s next adventure in
The Underground City
…

“I got Brian on his mobile,” Jack Ellis said excitedly, putting down the phone. “He said he’d drive us out there this evening.”

“Was he all right about it?” queried his friend Peter,
doubtfully
. Jack’s brother was in the Sixth Form and had always been a bit of a stickler, so Peter found it hard to believe that he’d agreed to take part in their prank. But the fact remained that they couldn’t go through with it unless
Brian
did the driving.

“He thought it was a great idea … if we can persuade Lewis to go, that is,” Jack assured him. “Said it was time somebody took him down a peg or two.”

“Or even three,” muttered Peter.

“Where is this village? What did you call it … Al Antra?” asked Colin, whose father had only joined the oil company a few months previously.

“Al
Antara
, you mean?” Jack looked at him sharply. “Of course, I’d forgotten that you haven’t been there yet. Come over to the window and I’ll show you.”

Colin looked out over a scene as far removed from Britain as you could imagine; for the bay window of the sparkling white villa overlooked a lush, green garden full of exotic plants and flowering bushes.

“Al Antara’s a proper desert oasis,” Jack said with a grin. “Rolling sand dunes, waving palm trees, an old stone well, the lot — definitely as seen in the movies! Look,” he pointed, “over there, in the distance, at the foot of the Zor Hills. You can just see it. It’s not really as far away as it looks.”

Jack’s house lay near the edge of the oil-company township and as Colin’s eyes lifted to the barren reaches of desert that stretched beyond the garden, he picked out a ragged scatter
of palms nestling amid sand dunes that rose in shades of brown and gold to the massive peaks of the Zor Hills.

“Got it,” he nodded, again feeling very much the new kid on the block; for although it hadn’t taken him long to find his way round the township, he knew he still had a lot to learn about the surrounding desert. Despite himself, he felt a growing sense of excitement. The set up here, he thought, was nothing
like
life back home but boy
was
he enjoying it!! School had turned out to be okay. He’d made friends with Peter and Jack right away and the only boy in the class that he hadn’t much liked, a pillock called Lewis Grant, was due to leave the following day for Scotland.

“Is it tomorrow night he’s going?” asked Colin, for Lewis’s father had been posted to Aberdeen and their house was all packed up.

“Yeah, his dad’s coming back from Bahrain tomorrow but tonight he’ll be on his own in the house with only the house staff to look after him. Roger told me that he’s really miffed that no one’s throwing a farewell party for him. Believe me, he’ll grab at the idea of spending the night at Al Antara. He wants to go out with a bang and leave everybody talking about him, so he’ll see this as his chance.”

“And you can bet your bottom dollar he’ll make sure that the story gets round before he goes! Lewis the brave! You just watch! He’ll buy it!”

Colin looked concerned. “You mean he’ll drive his dad’s car out into the desert and sleep there?”

“Lewis has always done what he likes, when he likes!” grinned Peter. “And he’ll be quite safe, you know. Nobody’ll bother him out there. The bedouin won’t go near the place after dark.”

“You think he’ll do it then?”

“Of course he will!” Jack said witheringly. “
Lewis Grant
refuse a dare! You must be joking!”

“Well, we’ll soon know,” announced Peter as a shining, silver
4x4 drew into the driveway. “Here he comes now … and
surprise
, surprise … he’s driving himself!”

Lewis Grant winced as the full force of the desert heat hit him as he jumped down from the cool interior of the jeep. Slamming the door shut, as though he drove his father’s car every day of the week, he waved casually to the group of boys clustered in the bay window of the flat-roofed, white villa. Pleased that there was an audience to witness his arrival, he flicked back his long, black hair and swaggered up to the front door.

“Hi, there,” he said, walking through to the living room and throwing himself into an armchair. “Is there anything to drink, Peter? I’m gasping!”

“Sure, hang on. We’ve bags of cola in the fridge.”

“How come you’re driving your dad’s car, Lewis? Does he know?” Jack asked breathlessly.

“Don’t be daft, Jack! Of course he doesn’t
know
. He’s in Bahrain just now. One of the BAPCO wells is on fire and they’re getting Boots & Coots in.”

The mention of the famous firefighters impressed the boys and Lewis preened himself; being the son of the Managing Director of one of the biggest oil companies in the area
certainly
had its advantages.

“But taking the 4x4 …”

Lewis sat up. “What on earth did you expect me to do?” he demanded. “You didn’t really think I was going to leg it all the way over here in this heat, did you? It’s fifty degrees out there, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

“Didn’t the house staff try to stop you? I mean, your mum’s in Edinburgh, isn’t she? They’re responsible for you.”

“Yeah! So responsible that they’re all going to some dance at the club tonight! Anyway, it’d take more than the staff to stop
me!
They know that Dad has been letting me drive on the private roads for ages and anyway, I’m so good now that I could pass my test tomorrow if I wanted.” He shrugged at
their doubtful expressions. “Forget it, for Pete’s sake! What have you all been up to?”

“Not a lot. Reading comics mostly,” Jack said. “My dad bought a pile from the bookshop in the souk. This one’s really good,” he chucked it over to him. “It’s all about djinns.”

“Djinns?” queried Lewis, leafing through the pages.

“Yeah, you know … desert spirits …”

“I wonder if it’s really true,” Peter said dreamily. “There’s one about a man who goes into a ruined city in the desert that’s
supposed
to be haunted …”

“And he sees djinns?” mocked Lewis. “Don’t be so gullible!”

“
I
think it’s true, Lewis. I don’t care what you say,” Jack said, his eyes gleaming. “
I
think there
are
djinns. It says they live in trees and houses and old wells …”

“There could be some in that old ruined village near the hills,” agreed Peter in a voice that was carefully casual. “My dad says the Arabs won’t live in it ’cause they’re scared of ghosts. And djinns
are
ghosts, aren’t they?”

“You mean at whatsit … Al Antara? Rubbish!” Lewis said dismissively. “We’ve been to Al Antara dozens of times and we’ve never seen anything or anybody. The whole place has been crumbling to bits for years.”

“We’ve never been there at night, though. Maybe that’s when they come out,” Jack said, sitting up suddenly.

“Hey, that’s an idea!” Peter interrupted, his eyes shining. “I’d love to go there at night! Just think what it’d be like to see a djinn!”

Lewis’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief. “You?” he sneered, “at Al Antara in the middle of the night? Don’t give me that, Peter!” He leant forward and flicked him with the pages of the comic. “You’d be scared stiff!”

Peter looked suddenly furious. “Well, if
you’re
so brave,” he snapped, “why don’t
you
go and spend the night there! Go on, Lewis! I dare you!”