The Broken Sun Read online

  PRAISE FOR THE JACK MASON ADVENTURES

  ‘A fun story, easy to read and full of action… Bonus points for being the first kids’ book of its kind I’ve come across that gives mention to the suffragettes!’ Books+Publishing

  ‘Lots of mechanical mayhem and derring-do—breathless stuff.’ Michael Pryor

  ‘Non-stop action, non-stop adventure, non-stop fun!’ Richard Harland

  ‘Set in a fantastical London, filled with airships, steam cars and metrotowers stretching into space, this fast-paced adventure and homage to the world of Victorian literature and Conan Doyle offers an enjoyable roller-coaster read for fans of Artemis Fowl and the Lemony Snicket series…[a] rollicking who-dunnit that will keep young Sherlocks guessing to the very end.’ Magpies

  ‘Charming, witty and intelligently written… This series no doubt will be a huge hit for early teens, the writing is intelligent and Darrell Pitt has created characters that challenge and provoke readers to invest in the storyline.’ Diva Booknerd

  THE JACK MASON ADVENTURES

  Book I The Firebird Mystery

  Book II The Secret Abyss

  Book III The Broken Sun

  DARRELL PITT began his lifelong appreciation of Victorian literature when he read the Sherlock Holmes stories as a child, quickly moving on to H. G. Wells and Jules Verne. This early reading led to a love of comics, science fiction and all things geeky. Darrell is now married with one daughter. He lives in Melbourne.

  textpublishing.com.au

  The Text Publishing Company

  Swann House

  22 William Street

  Melbourne Victoria 3000

  Australia

  Copyright © Darrell Pitt 2014

  The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright above, no part of this publication shall be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

  First published in 2014 by The Text Publishing Company

  Design by WH Chong

  Cover illustration by Eamon O’Donoghue

  Typeset by J&M Typesetting

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry:

  Author: Pitt, Darrell

  Title: The broken sun: a Jack Mason adventure / by Darrell Pitt.

  ISBN: 9781922182166 (paperback)

  ISBN: 9781925095166 (ebook)

  Target Audience: For young adults.

  Subjects: Detective and mystery stories.

  Dewey Number: A823.4

  This project has been assisted by the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body.

  To Patrick

  For leading the way

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘I need a seven-letter word that means difficult to find,’ Scarlet Bell said, peering at the crossword puzzle in The Times.

  ‘Hmm.’ Jack Mason looked up from a book on mountain climbing. ‘How about exciting?’

  They were sitting in Ignatius Doyle’s library on the top floor of 221 Bee Street. While it contained books—thousands of them—the shelves were empty. The books were stacked on the floor according to colour, while the shelves held odd items that had no place in a library: the chimney from a Stephenson steam engine, a fish tank containing a preserved snake, two stuffed monkeys, a jar marked ‘Toenail Clippings’, a vase with a bronze plate that read ‘Ebenezer Jones—Much Loved but Easily Forgotten’, a pile of men’s undergarments and a cluster of oval spheres that looked like dinosaur eggs.

  ‘I can see two problems with that answer,’ Scarlet said, pushing back her fire engine red hair. ‘The first is that exciting has eight letters.’

  ‘Can’t you just squeeze it in?’

  At fourteen, Jack was a year younger than Scarlet, and small for his age. His expertise was not tests of the mind but the body. He and his parents had been trapeze artists in the circus. After their untimely deaths, he lived in an orphanage until Ignatius Doyle, the famous detective, employed him as his assistant.

  ‘I’ve never heard of anyone doing that,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘What do the rules say?’ Jack reached into one of the voluminous pockets of his green coat and withdrew a boiled lolly. ‘I bet it’s allowed.’

  ‘There are no instructions saying you can’t do it, but there is also a second problem. Difficult to find can hardly be defined as exciting.’

  Jack wasn’t so sure. Discovering the unknown with Mr Doyle often took them to exciting places. Surely they are the same thing?

  Scarlet threw down the newspaper. ‘We need a mystery to solve,’ she said, giving up on the elusive word. ‘I fear our brains are stagnating.’

  Jack didn’t mind a little stagnation. Their previous adventure had taken them all the way to America in the pursuit of the world’s most deadly assassin. It was only through their efforts that a second civil war had been averted.

  Wheeeeez.

  Jack and Scarlet looked up. Mr Doyle’s apartment contained several rooms with no ceilings. High above, leaky steam pipes and ventilation shafts crisscrossed the rafters. Nothing unusual there—except now a long metal wire was strung across the roof. Jack was sure it hadn’t been there before.

  A single pale feather seesawed lazily to the floor. The sound came again, and this time an enormous shape attached to the wire flashed overhead. Larger than a man, it had a beak and two great wings covered in white feathers.

  ‘If I didn’t know better,’ Scarlet said, ‘I’d say that was a giant seagull.’

  ‘But that’s impossible.’

  ‘Which means Mr Doyle is conducting another of his little experiments.’

  A crash came from the far end of the apartment.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Scarlet said. ‘I think it may have failed.’

  They followed the wire, weaving through more piles of odd possessions that cl
ogged the apartment: a laboratory table covered in mouldy Petri dishes, a tank containing a rat skeleton, a model of the Eiffel Tower and a gorilla costume. They also passed Isaac Newton, the echidna. Sniffing the air, he disappeared through a curved hatch that had once been part of the Carlsdale Lighthouse.

  Reaching a corner crowded with oversized chess pieces, a bust of Queen Victoria and a four-poster bed, Jack and Scarlet were just in time to see a birdman clambering off the mattress. The man shoved back a mask to reveal Mr Doyle.

  ‘Fascinating,’ he spat through a mouthful of feathers. ‘I now believe the giant gull of Sumatra may have been a man in a costume suspended by a wire.’

  ‘Ignatius Doyle! What on earth are you doing?’

  Gloria Scott, the receptionist and live-in housekeeper, stormed into the room. She was tall with a mess of blonde ringlet curls and her kindly face was now creased into an expression of disbelief.

  ‘Just conducting an experiment, my dear. Recent reports in the Malaysian press have told of a giant flying bird.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s not a bat? As in a belfry?’

  The detective removed the outfit, reached into his long black coat and produced a piece of cheese. He popped it into his mouth. ‘I don’t know why you’re so annoyed, my dear.’ He smiled. ‘Scientific experimentation lies at the heart of innovation.’

  Gloria’s face softened as she plucked a feather from Mr Doyle’s ear. ‘You are supposed to be setting an example for these young people,’ she said. ‘Children don’t do as you say, they do as you do.’ She pulled a letter from her pocket. ‘Some mail arrived for you, Ignatius.’

  ‘Mr Doyle?’ said Jack when the detective examined the handwriting and frowned.

  ‘I had best go to my study,’ Mr Doyle murmured, the lines around his eyes appearing deeper than ever. ‘I am feeling a little tired.’ Without another word, he disappeared down an aisle, still clutching the letter.

  ‘Gloria,’ Jack said. ‘What was all that about?’

  She sighed. ‘You’ll have to ask Mr Doyle, but it’s best to give him a few minutes.’

  And without further explanation she too departed the room, leaving Jack and Scarlet to stare at each other.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Scarlet cried. ‘I hope it’s not bad news.’

  Maybe it was bad news. ‘Could someone have died?’ Jack suggested. ‘Possibly a friend?’

  ‘I’m not sure Mr Doyle has any friends. Apart from us.’

  Jack frowned. Mr Doyle did live a solitary life, immersed in solving crimes and carrying out strange experiments. And now that Jack thought of it, he had never seen him entertain a visitor not related to a case. ‘We need to make sure he’s all right,’ he said.

  They made their way through the apartment to the study door.

  ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ Scarlet said.

  ‘Mr Doyle may need a friend. Who is that if it isn’t us?’

  Jack reached into his jacket, running his fingers over his two most prized possessions: the picture of him and his parents, and a compass. His mother and father had given them to him before their deaths, serving as a reminder that he would never be alone.

  No-one should be alone, Jack thought. Especially when they need a friend.

  Jack knocked at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Mr Doyle called.

  Unlike the library, the study walls were covered in bookshelves filled with books. So many, in fact, that they overflowed onto the floor, with others teetering precariously on the desk. Nestled behind the books was Mr Doyle, wearing a pair of magnifying goggles. He was examining the letter.

  ‘Mr Doyle. Is everything all right?’

  ‘We were worried,’ Scarlet added.

  Removing the goggles, the detective offered them a seat.

  ‘We didn’t mean to pry,’ Scarlet continued. ‘But you looked a little upset.’

  ‘Possibly more surprised than upset.’ Mr Doyle slid the letter across the desk. ‘Take a look at this.’

  Jack and Scarlet began to read.

  Dear Ignatius,

  I know we have not spoken for some time, but a mystery has arisen concerning Phillip and I require your assistance. I would not have broken my silence with you unless I felt this matter to be of the utmost importance.

  Yours,

  Amelia.

  Jack frowned. The names were familiar, but where did he know them from?

  Scarlet said, ‘Amelia is…?’

  ‘My daughter-in-law. I have not seen her for many years.’

  Now Jack remembered the story. Mr Doyle and his son Phillip had been in the war in France. It had been a terrible time with thousands of men dying in battle every day. After being ordered to attack an enemy emplacement, Mr Doyle and his men had charged across a field, but the detective had become entangled in barbed wire. Artillery fired upon them and, struggling to free himself, Mr Doyle had been knocked unconscious.

  On waking, he searched for his son and the other men for hours, but it seemed they had all been killed. The only remains of Phillip Doyle had been his dog tags and some scraps of clothing. Nothing else was recovered.

  Phillip’s wife, Amelia, had been distraught. Blaming Mr Doyle for the loss of her husband, she had driven him away, forbidding him from seeing her or his grandson, Jason.

  ‘A mystery concerning Phillip,’ Jack said. ‘I wonder what she means.’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Mr Doyle said. ‘But I may be away for some time.’

  ‘Then you will need our assistance,’ Scarlet said.

  Ignatius Doyle grimaced. ‘I’m not sure how Amelia will receive us. She may be…difficult.’

  Jack gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Difficult, we can handle.’

  Mr Doyle sent a message to his daughter-in-law informing her of his intended visit. The next morning Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle rose early, had breakfast and took the train to Harwich, a small town on the east coast. Mr Doyle’s airship, the Lion’s Mane, was still in repair after damage during their recent adventures.

  The journey to Harwich took most of the day. It was a comfortable train, powered by a Vincent 700 steam locomotive. The engine was a mighty barrel-shaped chamber with a six-foot stack. Watching the smoke flow back towards the city, Jack’s eyes were drawn to the London Metrotower, a crowning achievement of British engineering, reaching to the edge of space. From the top, steam-powered crafts transported people and goods between cities all around the world.

  The invention of Terrafirma—a type of mould many times stronger than steel—meant that buildings could be constructed to enormous heights. The new Art Museum, Buckingham Palace and Houses of Parliament were over two hundred stories.

  Scarlet nudged Jack. ‘Have I shown you this?’ she asked, waving a book at him. ‘I’m sure you’ll find it fascinating.’

  Jack sighed. Their tutor, Miss Bloxley, gave them lessons five days a week. The woman had the special knack of making an interesting subject boring and a boring subject, well, very boring. In addition to this, Scarlet had taken it upon herself to continue his education.
<
br />   Jack read the cover: The World of Classical Music.

  Oh no, he thought.

  ‘That’s right,’ Scarlet grinned. ‘More classical music.’

  She proceeded to tell Jack all about Ludwig van Beethoven. Jack tried to appear interested but tuned out, only returning to the thread of the monologue when Scarlet described how Beethoven had gone deaf.

  ‘I see,’ Jack said. ‘That explains a lot.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘All that banging about. Hitting things. It sounds like the orchestra is trying to kill a rat with their instruments.’

  ‘You’re saying that Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony sounds like someone trying to kill a rat with a musical instrument?’

  Scarlet had gone very pink. Jack swallowed. ‘Maybe some of the girls at the music halls could help him,’ he suggested. ‘Teach him some songs.’

  ‘The girls at the music halls? Beethoven could learn from them?’

  ‘He can read lips,’ Jack said. ‘Can’t he?’

  ‘He’s been dead for a hundred years.’

  ‘Then lip reading’s out of the question.’ Jack flicked through the book. He liked reading, but adventure stories by writers such as Robert Louis Stevenson or Jules Verne. ‘I’m not sure I know the meanings of all the words.’

  ‘Which ones?’

  ‘I can work out some of them,’ Jack said. ‘Cat-as-trophe. Imagine that, using a cat as a trophy. Should be a law against it.’

  Mr Doyle coughed, covering a smile as Scarlet glared at Jack. ‘Sometimes I think you say these things to annoy me,’ she said.

  ‘As if I’d do that.’

  Arriving at Harwich Station, they found no steamcabs so they walked the mile or so to Amelia’s house. It was late in the day and the sky was clear of cloud. Jack breathed in the warm air. Spring had always been his favourite season because his mother had collected primroses, daffodils and snowdrops to decorate their small caravan.