Free The Mask of Destiny by Richard Newsome

alarm.
    McElderry planted a hand on Gerald’s shoulder and pushed him lower. The bustling dancers closed in around them.
    â€˜I wanted to give you this,’ the professor said. He pulled his hand from his pocket and opened it. In his palm rested a band of gold.
    â€˜It’s the signet ring with your family seal on it that I found in the burial chamber under Beaconsfield,’ McElderry said. ‘The one belonging to Gaius Antonius.’ He pushed it onto Gerald’s finger. ‘I thought you should have it.’ He gave Gerald a clap on the shoulder.
    â€˜Whatever mischief you’re up to, young Gerald, I’m sure your great aunt would approve.’ The professor gave him a wink, then stood up and ploughed across the dance floor. ‘Who’s that trying to get out the window?’ McElderry bellowed, waving his glass at the police and pointing in the direction furthest from Gerald.
    The ballroom was still heaving with partygoers, the band still raising a riot. Gerald grinned and ducked his way through the dancing throng towards the dumb waiter. The door slid open and he clambered inside. He reached out to press the button when a hand shot in and grabbed him by the wrist.
    â€˜Dad!’ Gerald cried.
    Eddie Wilkins stared at his son through watery eyes. ‘Gerald,’ he began. ‘I need to tell you something.’
    Gerald saw the police almost at the windows where the professor had sent them. They’d soon realise they were in the wrong place.
    â€˜Dad,’ Gerald said. ‘This isn’t the time.’
    Eddie looked into his son’s eyes. ‘I know I haven’t been around much lately, what with all the travel. And then there’s your mother, of course.’
    â€˜Don’t worry about it, Dad,’ Gerald said, pulling back on his arm. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
    â€˜But it does matter, son.’ Eddie’s face tightened. ‘It matters a lot.’
    Gerald tugged again on his arm but his father held on tight. ‘Dad, please let—’
    Gerald stopped. A French cavalry officer had emerged from the crowd to appear over his father’s shoulder.
    â€˜You’ve snared the little termite,’ Walter said, slapping a broad hand on Eddie’s back. ‘Well done.’
    Eddie dropped Gerald’s wrist and spun around to face Walter. Their noses were centimetres apart.
    â€˜Don’t call my son a termite.’
    Gerald watched as his father drew back his shoulders and chest-bumped into Walter. The impact caught Walter off guard, sending him back an unsteady step. Walter’s hand fell to his sword. For a second, Gerald thought he was about to draw the weapon.
    But with a bellyful of champagne and only watercress and eyeballs for dinner, Walter was still off balance. The sword was half out of its scabbard when Walter took another step backwards, into the path of a waiter carrying a tray of glasses and an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne in it. Walter hit the floor and the tray tumbled on top of him.
    Gerald couldn’t see clearly from his spot in the dumb waiter, but he guessed that the hollow clonk he heard was the bottle connecting with Walter’s head.
    Gerald looked at his father with a new appreciation. Eddie straightened his tutu and turned back to his son. ‘Gerald,’ he said. ‘Whatever happens, do the right thing. Know yourself and do what’s right. Follow what’s in here.’ He grabbed Gerald’s hand and punched it above his heart.
    Octavia’s voice cut through the mayhem. ‘There he is! Over there!’
    Gerald looked across to the ballroom doors to see his cousin, face set in a scowl, pointing right at him.
    He lunged out and gave the burly ballerina a hug. ‘Look after Mum,’ he said to his father. Then Gerald rolled back inside as the dumb waiter door slid shut.
    Gerald lay cocooned in the tiny elevator as it descended, the sound of his heart