The Fourth Ruby Read online

  The foot soldier led him on a terrifying, muddy jaunt through the battle, ducking crystalline spears and dodging red swords, leaping over dying men with silicate cocoons forming over their bodies.

  The two of them broke free of the melee at the edge of a red forest. The foot soldier ran into the trees, but Jack reeled to a stop. He had caught a flash of the familiar in his peripheral vision. He looked, knowing he could not have seen what he thought. But he had. Not fifty feet away, leaning against the faceted mouth of a hillside cave, was his father.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “DAD!” JACK TRIED TO CALL OUT, but he choked on the word. He had lost his ability to speak again. He couldn’t walk, either. Crystal blades of grass grew over his sneakers, fusing together.

  Move, Jack, said a voice in his head. The figure ducked into the cave. Now.

  With enormous effort, Jack broke free and ran after his dad, concentrating on escape like Tanner had taught him. The cave rushed toward him.

  “And another thing,” said Gwen. “I do not treat you like you’re brand-new.”

  He was back.

  Zzzap.

  Before Jack could tell Gwen the spark was over, another orange lightning bolt flashed at the forefront of his brain. This time, he felt a punch in the gut along with it. He staggered back from the rope barrier and gaped at the pedestal, unable to speak. The largest crown had vanished. So had the scepter with the giant diamond, leaving nothing behind but a deep impression in a velvet pillow.

  The Crown Jewels were gone.

  Gwen grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him. “What did you do, Jack?”

  “I didn’t do anything. I swear!”

  Zzzap.

  Another flash. Another miniature blast wave. Jack looked for the source and saw that the gold-and-silver sword he liked so much had vanished as well.

  Gwen punched him in the arm. Hard. “Quit it!”

  “I told you. It’s not me.”

  “And yet, you and I are the only ones here. We’re—” Gwen paused. She blinked. “You and I are the only ones here,” she said again, a little softer. She took a step toward the empty display. “This is a heist, Jack. It’s the holy grail of all heists, and we’re going to take the fall for it.”

  Blue lights flashed in the chamber outside the vault.

  “Oi! You, in there!”

  “That didn’t take long,” said Gwen.

  Jack rushed to the wall beside the entrance and peeked out. “The big guy’s coming this way,” he said, backing away again. He surveyed the wall. There were four tungsten glyphs to the right of the arch. One of them had to be the door control.

  “What’re you kids up to?”

  “Just looking,” called Gwen. “We don’t need any assistance. Lovely collection. Really.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Jack, hurry.”

  He mashed his thumb down on a symbol that looked like a man walking. No door materialized. Instead, the whole vault lurched into motion, rising like a giant elevator. The blue marble ceiling of the outer chamber came down to cover the opening.

  “Come back here!” The big spook grabbed the rising threshold and hung on.

  “Oh dear.” Gwen rushed over and peeled his fingers away, one by one. “Sorry. Sorry. So sorry. We don’t want these chopped off, do we?”

  The spook dropped to the floor with a heavy thump, and the gap closed.

  The two teens stared at each other. “Now what?” asked Jack, raising his palms.

  Gwen didn’t get the chance to answer. A digital voice started jabbering at them in a strange, stilted language.

  “Spook speak,” said Gwen, looking up at loudspeakers in the corners of the room. “Likely telling the whole place there’s been a breach.”

  “They have a spoken language too?”

  Gwen sighed and held up her fist. “Touch . . . Sign . . . Written . . . Spoken.” She raised a finger with each word. “The spooks have all four. They have a knitting club and a football team too, if you’re interested.” She thrust a hand at the symbols. “Would you mind? If we let the vault go all the way up, there’s going to be a small army waiting for us.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Jack examined the controls. The remaining glyphs were an eye, a disembodied foot, and a torch. He pressed the torch, because the eye looked like trouble and he had an aversion to touching feet of any kind.

  The room slowed its ascent. Silver light breached the arch, growing to a full-blown exit.

  “That’ll work.” Gwen grabbed Jack’s wrist and dragged him through.

  “What about the professor?”

  “Seriously, Jack? That’s your biggest concern right now?”

  They raced through halls and stairwells, reversing the professor’s directions, but only climbing two levels. Jack expected to emerge on the inverted blue dome and make a quick exit. Instead, they burst out onto a black marble balcony with a brass rail.

  “Um . . .” Jack skidded to a stop.

  Gwen slammed into the rail and stared upward, mouth hanging open. “Well, that’s a horse of a different color.”

  The domed ceiling, the atrium, everything but the white temple of spies had changed from blue to black. And the tungsten trim was now brass, even the great eye seal.

  “The Mobius Tower,” muttered Gwen.

  Jack peered down over the rail at the rest of the chamber. “Is this even the same room?” The bridges and balconies were all right side up, along with the temple of spies, which lay slightly above them, crowning its four broad staircases. Jack saw the man who had taken Gwen’s rubber ball on the next balcony down. He pointed up at the two teens. “Thieves!”

  “Here we go.” Gwen pulled Jack back into the passage, and the two made a dash for the stairwell. Upon reaching the end, however, they found an intersecting hall of green marble, trimmed with copper.

  “What—? How—?” Jack stuttered. “We just came from here, but it was blue.”

  Gwen took a right and kept running. “I told you we’d get lost if you took a wrong turn.”

  “So this is my fault?”

  “Well, it’s not mine.”

  They came to a promising stairwell of glistening white stone and took the steps two at a time, only to stumble out onto a matching white balcony. Gwen dropped her forehead into her palm. “You can’t be serious.”

  They had crossed to the opposite side of the atrium, one level down from the last, despite having run the other way and climbed a set of stairs. Every bit of stone was now sparkling white marble, trimmed with platinum. And there were more spooks than before, a lot more, all pointing at the teens.

  “I hate this place.” Jack rested his hands on the rail, trying to catch his breath. The lights dimmed. The echoing spook speak went silent. Every person in the atrium disappeared except a pair standing on a bridge even with Jack’s balcony.

  Jack recognized the sinking feeling of a spark.

  The young man he had seen with the professor spoke in hushed tones with a bald man wearing black robes. The older man offered the younger a square case, and the arm he extended from his robes was a prosthetic, made of a blue-green alloy. Gears turned within the ribbed structure, releasing tiny electric sparks.

  Jack gasped.

  The bald man looked his way, as if reacting to the noise. He had one clockwork eye, and the mechanical pupil focused, boring right through him.

  “You coming, or what?” Gwen beckoned from a bridge connected to the balcony.

  The lights brightened. The two men vanished and the angry spooks reappeared.

  “We could jump from the temple,” said Gwen, pointing up. “There must be a gravitational shift midway.”

  It was as good a plan as any.

  A single spook blocked their path to the temple steps—pale, with black hair, gripping a green rubber ball in his fist. Gwen didn’t even break stride. She whipped the scarf from her shoulders and lashed out at the man’s ankles, yanking both of his feet out from under him. He landed flat on his back and the ball bounced acro
ss the bridge.

  She snatched it up as she passed. “Serves you right!”

  The rest of the spooks converged from below, climbing the white steps on all four sides. Jack and Gwen reached the top and she took his hand, looking up at the platinum seal more than twenty feet above. “Ready?”

  Did he have a choice?

  Gwen didn’t wait for an answer. “One, two, three!”

  They jumped as high as they could, reaching up together, and landed on the temple steps again.

  Gwen scrunched up her face. “That was disappointing.”

  Zzzap.

  Jack grunted with the impact of another micro-blast. The young man in the overcoat with all the unnecessary buckles appeared right in front of him, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He had a strange tattoo on his neck, an X with three keys running through it from side to side.

  “Thief,” said Jack.

  The young man grinned. He had a device in his right hand that looked like a stopwatch, made of dull metal so dark it was almost black. But before Jack could get a good look at it, the thief wrapped them both in a bear hug.

  Zzzap.

  Immense pain, like every atom in Jack’s body had been turned inside out.

  Solid ground. A blue marble floor. Another punch in the gut.

  The thief released them and backed away.

  Zzzap.

  He was gone.

  Jack and Gwen stood alone on the original blue dome at the center of the great eye seal. The thief had dropped them there and vanished. They didn’t have time to look for him. They just bolted for the Egyptian statues and the stairwell to the street.

  “If he can teleport like that,” panted Jack, reaching the top first, “then why not go the extra twenty yards and take us outside?”

  Gwen came up beside him, gasping for breath. “Why would he help us at all?”

  The answer came to Jack an instant after he pressed his hand against a bronze eye in the granite above his head.

  The blocks separating them from the memorial dematerialized.

  They were free.

  Zzzap.

  And so was the thief.

  Chapter Seventeen

  GWEN AND JACK HOPPED aboard a passing double-decker bus and hurried to the tail end, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, scrunched down below the top of the rear bench. Jack pressed against the upholstery and raised himself up just enough to tilt his head back and look behind them. He saw no spooks—upside down or otherwise.

  “Tanner set you up,” said Gwen, yanking him down again.

  “You don’t know that. Maybe they took him before he could get to us.”

  “Maybe who took him?”

  Jack let out a frustrated sigh. No matter how he phrased it, the professor would look bad. He admitted to Gwen that he had seen Tanner with the thief the night before, but he quickly followed with a description of his spark in the Mobius Tower and the bald man’s clockwork prosthetics. “I’m telling you, Tanner isn’t behind this. What if you know who is back?”

  The bus stopped, and a pale, thin man boarded—definitely spookish. He wore a long black coat, black gloves, and black trousers, and he took his time walking down the aisle, picking a seat only two rows ahead of the teens.

  Jack gritted his teeth and lowered his voice. “What if the thief and the bald guy are working for the Clockmaker?”

  “Don’t be absurd. Lots of people in the Elder Ministries have clockwork prosthetics—dozens in the Ministry of Dragons alone.” Gwen dug at the rubber floor with the toe of her boot. “And we have bigger problems than a French arsonist. That bald man you described is Ignatius Gall.”

  She said the name as if Jack ought to recognize it. He didn’t. “Who is Ignatius Gall?”

  “Only the number three man in the Ministry of Secrets.” Gwen had raised her voice a little too much. They both flinched, but skinny-spookish guy kept facing forward, shoulders swaying with the motion of the bus. She dropped back to a whisper. “Gall is the UFTU, Jack. He’s the Undersecretary for Things Unknown.”

  “The UF—?” Jack frowned. Sometimes he wondered if Gwen was making it all up. “What kind of things?”

  She pushed him. “Unknown things, you wally. He’s powerful, Jack. And connected. Not someone we want to mess with.” The bus slowed, and she grabbed the chrome handrail, pulling herself to her feet. “We’re here. Let’s go.”

  Once the big double-decker had driven off, Jack saw the London Eye peeking over a steep copper roof across the street. They had gotten off near the Thames, a long way from home. “I thought we were going to the Keep?”

  “Can’t. The spooks’ll be all over Baker Street by now.” Gwen hurried up to the next intersection and took a right.

  Jack rushed after her. “Then where are we going?”

  “We’re going to find the one person who needs to know we’re innocent before the spooks catch us.” She took another right down a narrow lane and headed for the deep red awning of a restaurant. The gold calligraphy on each window read RULES.

  “Evenin’, Miss Gwen.” The doorman tipped his short top hat.

  “Good evening, Paddy.” Gwen was all business. “Is she here?”

  Paddy inclined his graying head toward the back of the restaurant. “As always, love. Usual spot.”

  Jack followed Gwen through the restaurant, taking it in:

  Old paintings of ships and foxhunts.

  Deep-red couches trimmed with copper-tinted rope.

  Rich scent of beef.

  Silvery scent of apples.

  They found Mrs. Hudson at a table beneath a mural of Britannia, salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a perfectly proportioned bun. She scowled at a piece of toast through a pair of handheld spectacles as if checking for the proper number of raisins.

  Mrs. Hudson nodded, indicating the teens should sit down. “The Ministry of Secrets called. You two have been busy.”

  “Mrs. Hudson, we—” Gwen began.

  But Mrs. Hudson cut her off. “Stole the Crown Jewels? Stashed them in a bus locker?”

  “No. We—”

  “Sold them already?” Mrs. Hudson scraped a bit of duck pâté across her toast. “Well, that is unfortunate.”

  Jack intervened before the ministry matron could jump to any more conclusions. “I was supposed to meet Professor Tanner in the Vault,” he blurted out. “But the thief showed up first.”

  Mrs. Hudson set down her toast without taking a bite. “Preposterous. The professor would never ask you to do such a thing. And the Ministry of Secrets would never allow it, not without an order from the Queen herself.”

  “But my DNA opened all the doors.”

  “Your DNA?” Mrs. Hudson raised her spectacles, scrutinizing his face, looking for the truth behind his eyes. “Interesting.” Satisfied—or not, she gave no indication—she returned to her meal, slicing into a pale dome of pastry and frowning at the mess of gravy that spilled out.

  Jack watched her stab a lump of kidney that had fallen out of the pastry. He blanched at the sight of it. “I’m telling you, the professor invited me. He—”

  “Set you up? Played you for the fool?” Mrs. Hudson placed the lump of kidney between her teeth, chewed once, and swallowed.

  “No. He must have—”

  “Sold you out? Frrramed you?” She added a pronounced trill to the r.

  “He wouldn’t do that!” Jack slammed his fist down on the table hard enough to make the dishes bounce.

  Mrs. Hudson drew in a quick breath through her nose.

  “I mean . . .” Jack tucked his hand away and looked down at his knees. “He’ll tell you. Just ask him.”

  The caged fury on Mrs. Hudson’s face subsided. “Edward Tanner left this morning on a research trip. As far as the ministry is concerned, you, Mr. Buckles, arranged this theft on your own.” She raised an eyebrow at Gwen. “In fact, if Miss Kincaid cares to state that you dragged her into this against her will, she may come in from the proverbial cold. Right now. With no repercussio
ns.”

  Gwen didn’t even blink. “Jack didn’t do this,” she protested, giving him a nod. “I saw the thief. We both did. That’s who the spooks should be looking for.”

  Mrs. Hudson folded her hands behind her plate. “The Ministry of Secrets reported only two intruders.” She glanced from one teen to the other. “Do either of you have any proof of this third man?”

  Jack and Gwen both opened their mouths to answer, then closed them again and looked down at their hands.

  “I see. Well, I should think you would want to go out and find some.”

  Jack glanced from Gwen to Mrs. Hudson. “Say again?”

  Mrs. Hudson picked up her utensils, narrowing her eyes at the mutilated pastry and its kidneys. “Joint regulations, volume three, section ten requires me to call the wardens and have you detained.” She made a tsk sound with her tongue. “But the wardens are miles away. At the moment there’s nothing between you and your freedom but an aging doorman.”

  Gwen raised an eyebrow. “So what you’re saying is . . .”

  Mrs. Hudson ignored her. She stabbed another piece of kidney and swallowed it whole. “Should you happen to find yourselves free and on the lam, I suggest you start by consulting Gulliver. Understand?”

  Gwen let out a little squeak of a laugh and nodded.

  Jack was completely lost.

  “Good.” Mrs. Hudson straightened, put down her utensils, and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. Then she screamed at the top of her lungs, “Paddy!”

  Jack fell out of his chair.

  Gwen dragged him to his feet. “Run!”

  The doorman appeared in the aisle, hat in hand. “Yes, Mrs. Hudson?” He spun in a teetering twirl as Jack and Gwen ducked past him and shot out the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  RIVULETS OF SWEAT ran down Jack’s cheeks, icy cold in the December air. Gwen had not stopped running since they left the restaurant, and the last mile or so had been uphill. She slowed to a walk beside a cathedral. A huge white dome loomed overhead.

  “Saint Paul’s,” panted Jack, catching up to her. “You’re heading for the Archive. Why?”