The Chaos Code (12 page)

Standing at the door was a man in a dark suit. It was a dull blustery day, but the man was wearing sunglasses. Like the drivers in the cars, his eyes watched
without being seen. The thin lips pursed into a semblance of a smile and the man pushed open the front door for them.

‘Thanks,' Matt said.

The man had already turned away, all trace of the smile gone.

Another man in sunglasses stood outside the closed door to Venture's study. He might have been the first man's brother, they were so similar. Even down to the expressionless face.

Aunt Jane clicked her tongue in annoyance. ‘Mr Smith is always so melodramatic.'

‘What's he do?' Matt asked.

‘Who knows? Some sort of advisor to the government I think. A spin doctor or a Whitehall mandarin or something.'

‘Do you know what Mr Smith does?' Matt asked the blank-faced man at the door.

The sunglasses angled slightly towards Matt. ‘I really couldn't say.'

‘He doesn't know either,' Matt told Aunt Jane.

She smiled sympathetically. ‘He said he couldn't say, not that he doesn't know. Come and find me if you get bored. I'm sure there's lots you can do to help me out.'

She didn't want him spending time with Robin, Matt thought. But he kept his expression as blank as the men in sunglasses. ‘Will do. See you, then.'

• • •

He found Robin was already in the library, sitting exactly where he had left her the previous evening. The book giving the account of the Siege of Malta was still open on the table, but now it was surrounded by other books and documents. There was a small laptop open in the middle of it all, looking rather out of place. Matt could see that it was displaying images of some of his father's handwritten notes.

Robin glanced up as Matt approached. She looked pale and tired.

‘You been here all night?' Matt asked. He meant it as a joke.

But Robin nodded, and looking at her, Matt could believe she had not actually slept at all. Maybe not even left the room. ‘We've made good progress,' she said.

He sat down next to her and surveyed the mass of papers and volumes. ‘Tell me about it.'

‘We're narrowing the options,' she said. ‘Dad was here too, until Smith arrived just now.' She shifted a couple of books, moved a pile of papers. ‘It's odd. Weird.'

‘What is?'

‘Your Dad's work. I mean, it seems like it's all there, but he jumps to conclusions in a way that really isn't like him at all.'

‘You'd know, would you?' Another joke that she answered seriously.

‘So my Dad tells me. But anyway, he follows leads
that don't seem to be the best option really, yet time and again he turns out to be right.'

‘Luck?'

‘A lot of it. He also discards what seem like the best leads, again without any apparent explanation. Just gives up on them, or glosses over obvious clues. There's a mention of Sivel being in Brittany in 1567, for example. But he just ignores it. Doesn't even mention it in his notes, but he must have known because he's catalogued the diary of the Duc de Malpores that includes the account.'

‘So what are you telling me?' Matt asked. ‘What are you saying?'

She shrugged. ‘I don't know. Maybe we don't have all his notes. Or maybe he didn't write everything down.'

Matt picked up the nearest book. It was a small, leather-bound journal written in faded ink and in a language he didn't recognise. ‘You said you'd made good progress,' he prompted. He put the book down again and gave Robin his full attention.

As she spoke, the tiredness seemed to slip away and soon her deep blue eyes were shining with enthusiasm and energy. ‘Henri Sivel vowed to retrieve the Treasure after it was taken by the Turks,' she said.

‘Yeah we sort of figured that yesterday. We thought maybe he was in Constantinople after the city fell to get the Treasure back, or something.'

‘That's right. Sivel thought – we assume – that the Turks would want to restore it to the city. And it seems that Sivel was successful, that he found the Treasure again. There is the fact that you discovered he was on Malta in 1565. Your father also found an entry in a journal kept by one of the knights that mentions his arrival.'

Robin pulled the little laptop towards her and paged through several documents, looking for the one she wanted. ‘Here we are, look.' She read from the screen, running her finger under the text as she did so: ‘Henri Sivel, of this order, arrived yesterday and with him brought a great gift the value of which cannot be overstated.'

‘That's in Latin,' Matt pointed out.

‘So?'

‘So you read Latin?'

‘Obviously. I'm good at languages. I have a good teacher.'

‘Where do you go to school?' Matt wondered. He doubted it was nearby. And anyway the state schools hadn't broken up yet.

‘Does it matter?'

‘Sorry. Go on. Henri Sivel brought a great gift to Malta. No prizes for guessing what it might be, right?'

‘Right. Then Sivel isn't mentioned again. But his gift is. Or at least, your father assumed that it was his gift …' She closed the file on the laptop and opened another one. ‘Here are his notes. He believes that the reference in
1568 to “certain divers papers and artefacts” that were taken from Malta for safe-keeping refers to Sivel's gift, to the Treasure.'

‘And why does he think that?'

‘You tell me. But assuming he is right, it was taken with a group of the knights who left to found another centre for the order. We aren't told who went, but your father found a sort of roll-call for all the remaining knights taken two years later in 1570.'

She sounded excited, and Matt was finding himself caught up in her enthusiasm. ‘Of course,' he said, ‘so we can compare the list of who was left with the list of who was at the siege in 1565, and that'll tell us who's gone off in that time.'

‘That's right. And Sivel is not included in the later list. But before you get too carried away, that doesn't mean he went off with these knights to some other centre. Or even if he did, that the Treasure went too. It just means he was no longer there. He could have left for some other reason, or even died in the meantime. Or the list might not be complete. We just don't know.'

‘But it's something, isn't it?' Matt said, trying not to get disappointed. ‘It's a possibility.'

Robin nodded. ‘And one that your father took to be a probability. He followed it up quite vigorously, and found several mentions of a group of wandering Hospitallers at various times and places across Europe. He even drew a map, look.'

She dug round in the papers on the table and eventually found a sheet of modern paper with a map of Europe on it. ‘I printed it out, complete with your father's estimates of the routes they might have taken.'

Matt examined the map. It had a dotted red line running from Malta to Brittany. There the line split into several lines. One headed for Italy, one across the channel to England and on up to Scotland. Another was dotted across land up into Scandinavia, while a fourth headed back towards the south of France.

‘Just some of the possibilities,' Robin said. ‘Presumably the ones he thought were most likely, for whatever reasons.

Each line ended in a red cross. ‘X marks the spot?' Matt suggested.

‘
Possible
spot.' Robin pointed to the cross in Scotland. ‘That's Rosslyn, which he discounted as just too convenient.'

‘Why?'

‘Supposed to be where the Holy Grail is, according to one set of opinions and legends. There's a fascinating chapel there, and it all relates to the Knights Templar.'

‘Wrong order,' Matt agreed.

‘And wrong period – the chapel was actually built far too late. But that still leaves these others though.' She pointed to them in turn. ‘Pomponini, an old Roman town. Valdeholm, which is actually a little island with lots of churches on it. And Pont St Jean, which does at
least have an echo of St John in its name, but that could be coincidence. And the knights may have moved on from any of these places, taking the Treasure with them.'

‘Or they may have been to none of them,' Matt said.

‘And even if they were there, they might not have had the Treasure with them anyway.'

‘And you call this progress?' Matt said. He punched her gently on the shoulder and grinned. ‘Just kidding.' But there was something at the back of his mind, something that Robin had said stirred the dust in his brain, reminded him of something. Something important, Matt thought. If he could only remember what it was.

Robin stood up. ‘I could do with a break.'

‘Good idea.' He'd almost had it then, but the memory scuttled away so he barely caught sight of it. Just a shadow in the corner of his mind.

Robin wanted to get some air, probably to wake herself up after the night's work. She had pulled her long black hair back into a pony tail, which made her look younger. Matt wondered again how old she really was. Fifteen, maybe.

They reached the hallway just as the door to Venture's study opened and a man stepped out. Matt could see that the curtains were drawn and the lights were on, although it was bright and sunny outside now, but his attention was on the small, round man who smiled amiably at him. He had dark hair slicked back from a high forehead, and he wore small, round, dark-tinted glasses
that hid his eyes. It was only as he blinked that Matt caught anything from behind the lenses. Standing beside the tall, broad-shouldered bodyguard whose eyes were covered by designer sunglasses invited comparisons that did the man no favours.

‘You must be Matt,' he said, and his voice was surprisingly deep and rich.

‘Yes,' Matt said. ‘Hi. You must be Mr Smith.'

The small man nodded enthusiastically. ‘I must indeed, yes. And in fact, I am.' He thrust out a podgy hand. ‘Delighted to meet you, young man.'

The grip was strong and firm and as Matt shook the man's hand he felt he was being carefully scrutinised.

‘I met your father a few times,' Smith said. ‘Oh, many years ago now. Be assured I shall do everything in my power to help Julius find him for you.'

‘Thanks. That's …'

But Matt didn't finish. Smith had already moved past Matt and gave Robin a hug. She kissed him on both cheeks, and Matt was surprised at how he resented the attention she gave the man. Who was he, anyway? He realised that Venture was standing beside him now.

‘Having Mephistopheles on our side is a great help,' he told Matt. ‘I wasn't sure he would remember your father. He has so many things to deal with.'

‘What's he do?' Matt asked quietly.

But Smith heard him and turned with a smile. ‘Do? Why, practically nothing. I am a facilitator, an advisor.
I tell others what
they
should do. Heaven forbid I should have to do anything myself.' He laughed and clapped his hands on his ample stomach. ‘I really don't think any sort of strenuous exercise would suit me at all, do you?' Then, just as suddenly as he had become amused, he was serious again. His glasses seemed to darken as he addressed Venture: ‘Take care, Julius,' he said. ‘I agree with you that there is more to this than at first appears.'

‘Like what?' Matt asked.

‘Well, that's the question isn't it?' Smith told him. ‘It depends rather on what the Treasure of St John really consists of.'

‘If it still exists,' Robin said.

‘Oh it exists all right. Otherwise there wouldn't be all this fuss and bother. Someone is getting close to discovering the old secrets,' he added darkly.

‘You what?' Matt said.

‘Be on your guard,' Smith added, ignoring Matt's comment. ‘How long has it been windy outside?'

It seemed a ridiculous question in the circumstances, but Venture answered it seriously. ‘Several days.'

‘Since before Harper came to you?'

‘Yes.'

Smith nodded, as if his worst fears had been confirmed. ‘Then someone knows. They know about Harper, and they knew he was coming to you. And they know something already of what they hope to discover when they find the Treasure.'

‘And what's that?' Matt wanted to know.

‘Ancient knowledge,' Smith said. ‘Matters that are best left untouched.'

‘How do you know?'

‘It's elementary,' Smith told him. He smiled as if this was a joke. ‘You take care now. All of you.' He shook hands with Venture, gave a brief wave to Matt and Robin, and then left. His bodyguard followed without comment or expression.

‘What an odd man,' Matt said as soon as he had gone. From outside came the sound of the cars and motorbikes starting up.

‘He probably thinks you're weird too,' Robin said. Which was pretty rich coming from her, but Matt didn't say so.

‘Keep the curtains drawn and the doors shut,' Venture told Matt and Robin. He seemed not to have heard their brief exchange of views about Smith. ‘No candles, no naked flames. Drink only when you have to, and well away from your notes and research.' He went back into his study and closed the door.

‘What's he on about?' Matt asked Robin. ‘What is it with the candles?'

Robin looked pale. She pulled nervously at her long dark hair. ‘Just …' She shook her head. ‘Just be careful,' she said.

Doors stayed closed and curtains drawn. It made the large house seem oppressive and claustrophobic despite its size. Matt found that he was getting nervous and jumpy – paranoid, more like, he thought. He too closed doors behind him, saw vague faces in the patterns of rain spattered against the windows, and quickly drew the curtains. He felt draughts in rooms where the air was still and warm, and he caught his breath anxiously as dust stirred when a door opened.

By the afternoon he was ready to leave the books and papers that Venture and Robin had set him to catalogue and return to Aunt Jane's cottage. It looked more like autumn than mid-summer outside. Leaves were strewn across the lawn and the trees looked brittle and bare. The sun seemed to be struggling to make an impression through the skittering clouds and Matt wished he'd worn a coat.