Lessons From Underground Read online

  “You’re not in disguise from the Beefeaters themselves,” Mr. Jackdaw said, smiling politely. “You are in disguise from the public, so no citizens presume to stop you once you’re in the Jewel House. The warders know who you are and why you’re here. Well, not the entirety of who you are, but they know you’re here on my behalf. They think you’re agents of the yard.”

  “You’ve been telling people that an awful lot,” said Mr. Scant.

  “If you spoke to the warders already,” I said, “why do we need to be here? Can’t you just get them to give the sceptre to you?”

  “The warders can’t be the ones to take the sceptre out. They can turn a blind eye but they’re not going to do the deed themselves. And while the Yard may be able to persuade a handful of Beefeaters to help, the Keeper of the Jewels, General Wynne, is another matter. Whatever alliance we have here, it falls apart if he gets word of this.”

  “You didn’t answer the boy’s question,” said Mr. Scant. “They can’t get the sceptre out, but you could do it just as easily as me. Perhaps you just need someone to blame if the effort goes sour?”

  “If this goes belly-up, I can do all the blaming I like, but it’s still my head on the chopping block. You I need because you know how to get into the case containing the jewels quickly and efficiently and you can react swiftly if anything unexpected happens, what?”

  “You understand,” said Mr. Scant, “that last time, I filled the room with smoke and then descended by way of a rope?”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary. Although I was unable to procure the keys you’ll need—and believe me, I tried—so I’m rather hoping your famous prowess with the lock picks will come in handy.”

  I pulled on my flowery hat. “Come on, Mr. Scant. We’re here now. What’s the harm in us helping out?”

  “I’d rather we didn’t have to play dress-up,” Mr. Scant said, but he pulled on his own hat nonetheless.

  We had met at the Tower of London, inside the White Tower itself, in rooms not normally open to the public. This way, we could discuss our plans away from any tourist who might have overheard. The jewels were in another building, one of the many towers making up the outer wall. Though the tower in question was connected to the Bloody Tower and stood just across from Traitors’ Gate, it had the disappointingly ordinary name of Wakefield Tower.

  As we made our way there, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement. The whole fortress complex was a daunting place, with gray stone walls that seemed to forbid any kind of enjoyment, and yet this was so far one of the more enjoyable things I had ever done. And I certainly preferred wearing strange clothes for a clandestine mission with the full permission of Scotland Yard to groping around in a cave in Hastings.

  There were a great number of tourists visiting the Wakefield Tower, and several of them looked over to us, no doubt curious to see what two Beefeaters were doing in ceremonial dress. Perhaps they also wondered why one was so much shorter than the other. I comforted myself with the thought that it can’t have been so very unusual. After all, this uniform had presumably once belonged to a real warder, and it was only a little too big for me.

  I had been given a plump velvet cushion to carry, the plan being for Mr. Scant to take out the sceptre, then for me to carry it out of the room with great pomp and circumstance. Later, our allies among the warders would take back a replica, which would serve until Aurelian missed his sale. Ideally he would see that the sceptre had been replaced and give up, but if he stole the replica and didn’t realize his error until attempting to pass off the forgery, that would also be well and good. Mr. Jackdaw had prepared a second replica in case this happened.

  My excitement turned to embarrassment when we reached the entranceway to the upper chamber of the tower and a real Yeoman Warder in a black uniform looked me up and down with an eyebrow raised. Somewhere, one of the famous ravens cawed, as if the bird were laughing at me on the man’s behalf. I pulled the hat down over my face a little, then followed Mr. Scant into the Jewel House.

  The room was quite a marvel. Under a high vaulted ceiling with a dozen arches was a huge glass case. Bright electric light illuminated its contents, and sturdy iron railings encased them all around. At the top were numerous spikes—wrought to look artful, but they remained as sharp and dangerous-looking as could be, like a deadly echo of crowns and tiaras. Inside the case sparkled the Crown Jewels, considerably bigger than I expected. The crown itself stood resplendent at the top, and a whole host of orbs and sceptres surrounded it in tiers, like some great wedding cake frosted in gold and jewels.

  The half-dozen tourists viewing the display turned to look at us as we came in. Mr. Jackdaw shifted away, then swiveled back curiously, as though he were simply another tourist who had happened to come in at the same time as two Beefeaters. Holding up the velvet cushion like a ring-bearer at a wedding, I followed Mr. Scant.

  The remarkable thing about our theft was how unremarkable it was. Mr. Scant picked the lock to the sceptre’s cage with a skill I could only aspire to match. He didn’t need to kneel down or peer at his handiwork. If I hadn’t known better, he would have appeared simply to be using a key with a rather stubborn lock. Then the door was open, and he stepped inside.

  I wasn’t sure exactly what happened next. I was keeping my head low in case someone’s curiosity about why I was so much younger than the other warders got the better of them, so I couldn’t tell exactly how Mr. Scant got to the sceptre itself. But after what seemed like several minutes, he returned, placed the sceptre onto the cushion, and slowly locked the cage door behind him. During this time, I marveled at the object I was holding. It was much longer than I expected it to be, overhanging the cushion on both sides, almost as long as my fencing swords. At the end was the diamond Aurelian meant to steal, the Star of Africa. Tiny rainbows appeared with every minute movement I made, sparking for a moment and then vanishing again.

  Mr. Scant began walking, so I walked along behind him. Although tourists had continued watching us, as I could see from the corners of my eyes, they simply stood aside reverentially.

  As we passed through the jewel room doorway, I felt my excitement building. There was a priceless symbol of the power of the king in my hands. Out in the open, with nothing else protecting it, only me. Mr. Scant and I could certainly deal with anyone who had managed to get close. But if Aurelian were inside the Wakefield Tower, and he were able to sneak up without my noticing, he could have taken it right from me.

  It was a thought that stung a little when Aurelian did precisely that.

  XI

  Gray

  had been so intent on avoiding the eyes of tourists and keeping the priceless crown jewel balanced that I had no idea from where Aurelian appeared. But he was there, blocking our way to the stairs that lead down from the Jewel House. In an instant he stepped forward to take the Sceptre with Cross.

  Somewhere in my mind I’d expected this to happen, so I dropped the cushion and tried to wrench it from his grasp. Throughout all this, the main thing running through my head was that the lumps I was pulling on were probably jewels that cost more than all Father’s factories.

  In every scenario I had imagined, this would be as much as I would have to struggle, because Mr. Scant would intervene. But instead, the man once feared throughout England as a master criminal just stood there, looking away from us.

  Aurelian smiled a cruel smile and leaned closer to me. “Oliver Diplexito,” he said, intoning every syllable of my surname as if they formed the lines of a poem. “For what you did to my family, you’re going to live a long life, full of suffering.”

  All I could think to say was, “Let go!”

  I pulled as hard as I could on the sceptre, but Aurelian was bigger and stronger than me. “I’ll never let you take it,” I said, with what I hoped was a determined look.

  “I can think of many enjoyable ways to make you,” Aurelian said, “but mostly I want to see your face when I do this.”

  He used
his free hand to press something on the sceptre, and the three metal arcs that held the diamond in place loosened, opening like flower petals in the sun. The great diamond came unstuck, and with a small twist, Aurelian had it out of the sceptre altogether. He not only released his grip but used the sceptre to give me a shove.

  “Mr. Scant!” I called as I stumbled back, but there was no response. Mr. Scant seemed to be frozen in place. Then Aurelian was upon me again, grabbing me by the collar of the uniform that seemed such an absurd thing to be wearing now.

  “I wanted to try this just once,” he said as he held up the glistening, magnificent diamond. He closed his fist around it and swung it hard into my gut.

  I felt all the air pushed out of me. Then the pain set in. Before I knew it, I was on the floor, gasping for breath. Aurelian sneered at me for a moment before turning away. Though my vision blurred, I watched as he put his hand around Mr. Scant’s shoulders, holding up the Star of Africa before him. That seemed to shake Mr. Scant out of whatever trance he was in. He made a grab for the jewel, but Aurelian was ready and danced away, laughing.

  Then someone else was surging up the stairs and shoving Mr. Scant with all his strength. The attacker was a very tall man in a bulky winter coat, with dark skin and short white hair. My vision cleared enough for me to see his fiery eyes as he pushed Mr. Scant against the wall.

  “Fly away home, Gray,” he said in a rumbling American accent. The man took the diamond from Aurelian to hold in front of Mr. Scant’s face. “This is coming with me. To where it belongs. Fly away home and stay out of this.”

  Mr. Scant was in no position to respond. Aurelian let out a derisive laugh.

  “Stay out of this,” the tall man repeated, and let Mr. Scant drop. Then he and Aurelian turned away to descend the stairs.

  Mr. Scant didn’t move, even when I groaned. After a time, I managed to roll over and get up on my hands and knees. Before me was the Sceptre with Cross, bereft of its diamond, where I had dropped it.

  “Why didn’t you stop them?” I wheezed. Mr. Scant only shook his head. He was pale and looked for all the world like a confused old man. It was not an expression I’d seen before and it scared me. I forced myself to get up and chase after Aurelian but I could still barely breathe. I almost tripped down the stairs, saving myself only by falling against the wall instead. The men were already gone.

  We said nothing more until Mr. Jackdaw came dashing up the stairs. His clothes were torn and he held one hand to a new wound on his shoulder. His usual smile was absent.

  “Report,” he said. “What happened?”

  “They took it,” I said, handing over the sceptre, which Mr. Jackdaw regarded as though it were a poisonous snake.

  “Why didn’t you fight? That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

  “I thought we were here to take the diamond while you made sure nobody was coming,” I said.

  “Yes, well . . . ,” Mr. Jackdaw said. He began to inspect the sceptre as though perhaps the huge diamond were hidden somewhere just out of sight. “I had hoped you would be a capable enough fighter to keep this from happening,” he said to Mr. Scant. “I thought that was your specialty.”

  Mr. Scant stared at the floor. I wasn’t sure he even heard what Mr. Jackdaw said.

  “They caught us by surprise,” I said. “And Mr. Scant didn’t—” I stopped myself and reconsidered. “We couldn’t stop them.”

  Mr. Jackdaw’s lips moved as though he were performing a difficult calculation. Then he softened. “Are you hurt?” he asked, looking at the hand I’d wrapped around my belly.

  “A little,” I said. “He got me pretty good. Aurelian.”

  “Who was the other chap?”

  “Someone strong,” was all I could say.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” Mr. Jackdaw said. “We’re going to get that diamond back. We’re going to stop it from getting sold and we’re going to put it back here where it belongs. And we’re going to do it without anybody else knowing. Agreed? My final report will say that this was a great success, with only a small delay, and we’re going to make sure that it is. Otherwise, since you two took the jewel out of its case, officially speaking, you’re the ones who stole it. I’m sure you understand. Now then—I was not entirely unprepared for this eventuality . . .”

  From his inner pocket he produced another diamond—no, not a diamond, but in fact a large piece of glass, carved to look like the Star of Africa. He put the false Star into the sceptre and fixed the clasps around it. Then he picked up the pillow and held it out to me.

  “You two put it back where it was. Then I’ll take you both home and we’ll figure out a solution that won’t get us executed.”

  Throughout the journey home, Mr. Scant continued to act like a scolded child. He wouldn’t meet my eye and mostly stared at his hands. I tried to say encouraging things like, “There was nothing we could have done,” and, “Next time we’ll make better plans.”

  Each time, he pretended he couldn’t hear me.

  It was almost enough to make me lose my temper. So I said something I knew would provoke a reaction.

  “That was Mr. Hunter, wasn’t it?”

  As expected, Mr. Scant looked at me in surprise. “How do you know that name?” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

  “Uncle Reggie told me about him. I asked him when I saw that photo Aurelian gave you. I thought Mr. Hunter wanted to be a hero. Didn’t seem like much of a hero to me.”

  “He is a hero,” Mr. Scant said with sudden venom. “What did Reggie tell you?”

  “Well . . . he told me you went to Africa. To the Cape Colony, and you stayed at a school. Miss Handle’s school. And how you hurt your hands when you saved a boy in the mines. He said you and Mr. Hunter wanted to be heroes and help people.”

  “Reggie likes to tell stories,” muttered Mr. Scant. “Usually he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. I expect he used all sorts of stupid voices . . .”

  “Well, he did try.”

  Mr. Scant sighed. “Better you know the truth of the matter than some half-truth. Hunter absolutely was a hero. We called him, ‘Hunter the Just,’ because it sounded like the hero in some old story of knights and princesses. And he was my teacher. My teacher in all things. I suppose I had better tell you what really happened.”

  XII

  Mr. Scant’s Story

  was so young when I arrived at New Rush. Or Kimberley, as they call it today. Like most young men, I thought I knew everything and would live forever. I thought that I was so different from all the other young men arriving at the Cape Colony because I wasn’t chasing after diamonds to get rich. Now I know they all thought they were different and special, in their own way.

  In New Rush, you couldn’t rely on the police or governors or judges. The first thing I did was get myself conned out of most of my money. You’d think, in a place like that, cutthroats and bandits wouldn’t last long. Everyone knows everyone, and if a man would slit your throat for the shirt on your back, he’s a danger to all the rest. And it’s true—the violent types were quickly taken care of. But the ones who would smile at you and tell you they needed to check your papers—for administrative purposes, of course—and then fool you into handing over your money, well, they thrived there. They weren’t causing trouble. The ones they duped were just fools. And a fool I was.

  And that’s where I met Hunter. ‘Up to your old tricks, gents?’ That’s the first thing I heard him say. The con men told him to go away, in somewhat more vulgar language. But he shook his head. ‘You took something from my friend here that doesn’t belong to you. Let’s have it back.’

  ‘It’s three on one this time,’ said one of the men. ‘You can’t beat us all.’

  ‘A hero never backs down from a fight.’ That’s what he said.

  A common man as a hero—not such a wild idea now, but back then the image of a hero was a king or a general. Hunter didn’t care about that. He was a man who would come to help a complete st
ranger and was willing to get hurt in doing so. And he did get hurt. Those three men got in a few jabs, maybe cut his cheek a little bit, but they weren’t fighters. Hunter was a fighter. A born fighter, who had grown up fighting for his life. It was a small thing for him, to take care of three men and send them running.

  Of course, I was grateful, but he only doffed his cap and smiled before disappearing. We didn’t meet again until I found a job working at a school for local children. The proprietor there was one Miss Nosuthu Handle, a very handsome young woman who had offered me lodgings when there were no others to be found. Her school accepted any child who wished to learn. Children of Khoi farmers who had worked the nearby lands since time immemorial. Children of the Bantu peoples, whose ancestors came from the north. Young Indian children whose parents had grown sugarcane to the east of us. All were welcome. Often I was told I should not teach in such a place, but I never listened. It became my home, and I loved it.

  Working as a teacher suited me well. It gave me good reasons to connect with the town’s scientific community, such as it was. Rather to my surprise, Hunter was working there too. While I taught mathematics and the sciences, Hunter the Just was in charge of literature and classics. Though we had to intervene when he decided to teach nothing but heroic epics.

  I didn’t have the easiest time in New Rush. Diamonds were jealously protected, and nobody there cared about studying the material properties of what they unearthed, only how much it would sell for when cut and polished. I went all over town, snatching a meeting here, a short examination of tiny diamonds there, though I was quite content even with that.