The Phenomenals: A Tangle of Traitors by F E Higgins Read Free Book Online

Citrine’s money will be put in trust until she is older, but you
will both have a very generous allowance and you may still live in the Capodel Townhouse.’
    ‘Get out!’ shouted Edgar. ‘Get out!’
    Citrine was not surprised at the ferocity of his anger. When Hubert had disappeared Edgar had taken over the reins at the Capodel Manufactory with embarrassing zeal, revelling in finally having
complete control. Now it was all slipping away from him. No wonder he was so upset.
    She hid behind a pillar and saw Florian come out. Moments later she heard the front door close. Then Edgar emerged, his mouth set in a straight line, his jaw taut, clenching and unclenching his
fists. He stomped past and Citrine followed him quietly to the hall. He had on his coat and hat.
    ‘Are you feeling all right, cousin?’ she asked innocently.
    Startled, Edgar whirled around. When he saw who it was he shot her a look of contempt. ‘Spread your precious cards if you wish to know how I am,’ he said nastily. ‘I have an
appointment to keep.’ And he left, slamming the door behind him.
    Citrine drew back the curtain and watched as he climbed into his scarlet Phaeton and clattered out of the gates. She was suddenly gripped by a feeling of doom. She had met her thief. There were
still two cards left.
    Edgar, what are you up to now? she wondered.

C HAPTER 8
     
A L UCKY F IND
    Outside the Caveat Emptorium, pondering the encounter with Leopold Kamptulicon, Vincent crossed the road and took shelter in the doorway of Claude Caballoux’s Horsemeat
Shop. He fished in one of his many pockets for his smitelight, tapped it smartly against his leg and instantly it glowed brightly. In this glow – the same glow that had blinded the man almost
a week ago – he examined the gas mask he had managed to conceal under his coat despite Wenceslas’s close observation. Vincent fully intended to pay a visit to the Tar Pit and to see
these ‘Lurids’ for himself. He was quite sure they could not be anything other than an illusion created by the unusual properties of the tar, or a trick of the light played on the
superstitious and gullible citizens of Degringolade. But the smell of tar was real enough.
    It’s like a pig’s head, thought Vincent, turning the mask over in his hand. Indeed, the porcine resemblance was quite striking. He pulled it down over his head and it enclosed his
entire face. A wide glass lens covered the eyes, and from the centre projected a long ‘nose’ at the end of which was an oval filter. There was also a filter on each cheek. The whole
contraption was kept in place with a strap that split around the ears and came together again at the base of the skull. Vincent saw that it did not fasten with a buckle, but instead each end of the
strap was covered in a wad of rough material. When the two ends were laid on top of each other they formed a tight bond and had to be ripped apart with a degree of force. It was not a method of
fastening that he had come across before. Using the fastener he attached the mask to his belt, alongside the pouch that held his treen picklocks. He tapped the smitelight again to extinguish it. It
was without doubt the most useful thing he owned, and a tangible reminder of his father, who had given it to him.
    Vincent had not forgotten the silver chain around Kamptulicon’s neck or the lumps under the fingers of his glove, rings with large stones if he was not mistaken.
    Time to find out a little more about Mr Leopold Kamptulicon, he decided.
    He set off for Chicanery Lane, but it was not easy to blend in with the other pedestrians. Normally he would keep close to the walls but this proved impossible, mainly because of the amber
touchstones. It also became quickly apparent to him that Degringoladians avoided stepping on cracks in the pavement. All this haphazard movement came as second nature to them, but Vincent succeeded
only in drawing unwanted attention to himself by bumping into people.