Storm and Stone

by Joss Stirling

  ‘Yeah, we can’t expect the little darlings of the rich and privileged to rough it in their playtime,’ drawled Joe.

  ‘Gina might’ve left her phone behind for some reason but maybe she’s still there. She could, of course, be ill or having an exam meltdown—nothing to do with the case we’re investigating. But even if that’s true, the school knows what’s up and is hiding the truth from everyone here, including her best friend.’ Kieran kept Raven’s name back on purpose, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. Some instinct to keep her out of this.

  Isaac frowned, extra lines appearing on his forehead and bracketing his mouth. ‘OK, I’ll send in a team to see if they can discover anything. People employed at the manor must know more about what goes on there. If the girl’s still on site, there’ll be staff aware of the fact.’

  ‘I think, sir, Joe and I should put in an application to go to the manor at the end of this term with the other students who spend their holidays there. We can pull out if it’s a dead end but I’m interested to get a look inside myself.’

  Isaac chewed that over for a moment. ‘OK. Do it. Fact-finding only though, Kieran.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘I’ll add our names to the list.’ Joe made a note. ‘Is there anything else for us?’

  ‘Not at this stage. Just keep out of trouble; don’t do anything to raise suspicions about your interest in the parents we’ve identified.’ Isaac rubbed the bend in his nose—sign of an old break. ‘And don’t take risks. I’ve other guys I’ve trained for that.’

  ‘Sure.’ Joe grinned, giving the Cheshire Cat a run for his money. ‘Cats and Owls are supposed to stick to evidence collection.’

  ‘That’s right. OK, back to the grindstone. I’ll check in again soon.’

  ‘Over and out.’ Joe cut the connection. ‘Do you think he was pleased with our progress?’

  ‘Hard to say with Isaac. He’s quicker to say when things are off track.’

  Joe closed down the computer. ‘I meant to tell you: Raven was lapping up the information on our background I gave her. Obviously she wants to get even after your little party trick on the first evening.’

  ‘It is not a trick; it’s deduction.’

  ‘Whatever. She was the one to introduce your name into the conversation about families.’

  Kieran went cold. ‘What did you tell her?’

  ‘Usual cover story.’ Joe flipped a ball of paper into the bin. ‘Nothing touching on the truth.’

  That was OK then. ‘You didn’t embroider, did you?’ Joe was liable to get too much in to his cover stories.

  ‘Only a little. I kept it vague. Said you were upper class. Parents good friends with royalty.’

  Kieran groaned. ‘Did you have to do that to me?’

  ‘She wouldn’t believe the truth and it fits. You are the most aristocratic poor boy I’ve ever met.’

  ‘False advertising and you know it. So what about you?’

  ‘I tuned up my story a little after our last job—this time I hinted my dad was a murderer and my mom a druggie.’

  ‘Joe, Isaac will kill you if he gets wind of that.’ Kieran loved Joe’s parents, two of the nicest people on the planet. They had unofficially adopted Kieran as a son when they discovered his own were such bad news. ‘Why are you taking risks with our cover?’

  Joe looked a bit sheepish. ‘I like watching their reactions, see if I can sell them the story.’

  Kieran shook his head. Joe enjoyed the role playing on missions and if he had one weakness it was to indulge his imagination too much.

  ‘Look, Key, I tell people what I think they want to hear; they believe it quicker that way. Having a dad in prison fits the media image of African American youth.’

  Too late to pull Joe back now—the stories were out and doing the rounds. ‘OK, it’s done. Let’s move on.’

  ‘What’s next, Key?’

  Kieran picked up a DVD. ‘Thanks to you, I’m going to study this. You go sweet talk that red-haired girl—that should be punishment enough for doing this to me.’ He waved the dance movie at his friend.

  ‘OK, off to do penance over the lunch table. See you later.’

  At the end of the week, and after a vivid nightmare where she dreamt Gina and Kieran were dancing the foxtrot in the cemetery where her parents were buried, Raven had to take action.

  ‘You’re through to the American Embassy. How can I help you?’

  ‘Oh, hello. May I speak to Mr Carr? The military attaché.’ Raven felt awkward asking. She had the impression, from the few times they had met, that Mr Carr did not approve of her. Even so, she was risking it as Kieran had assured her that her text to Gina had received no answer.

  ‘Who’s calling, please?’

  ‘My name’s Raven Stone. I’m a friend of his daughter, Gina.’

  ‘I’ll see if he is available to take your call, Miss Stone.’

  Raven twiddled the cord of the pay phone in the school lobby as hold music tinkled down the line. The flex slithered through her fingers. She had a row of twenty pence pieces on the ledge but this call was eating them like a gannet swallowing silver fish. Come on, come on. She fed another into the slot. ‘Summertime and the living is easy,’ sang Ella Fitzgerald in a tinny voice. No, it wasn’t—not with your best friend still missing and a week of school already over.

  ‘Thank you for holding, Miss Stone. I’m afraid Mr Carr is unable to take your call at this time but if you would like to leave a message, I’ll make sure he gets it.’

  ‘OK, thanks. Can you tell him that Raven called and wanted to know if Gina was all right. She’s not come back to school and I’m worried about her.’

  ‘Do you have a number where he can contact you?’

  ‘Could he leave a message for me on the school’s main line?’ Raven read off the number.

  ‘Got it.’ The receptionist read it back to her. ‘Can I help you with anything else?’

  Sorting out her life? Solving her money problems? ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘You have a nice day now.’

  Unlikely. ‘Thanks.’ Raven put the phone back on the hook and heard the money tumble into the machine. No change in the slot for her to claim. The call had cost her over three pounds thanks to being on hold for so long.

  ‘What are you doing out of class, Raven?’ The head teacher paused on her way through the lobby, a party of parents of prospective pupils in tow.

  ‘It’s my free period so I was calling Gina’s father, Mrs Bain.’ Another note had arrived; this time they’d gone for a gravestone with her name on it and Raven had been desperate to ask Gina’s advice what to do. Stupid thing had been responsible for her nightmare. She hated feeling scared in a place that had once seemed a perfect refuge.

  The head teacher did not look thrilled by this news but with strangers at her side could not make an issue of it. She turned to them, like a defence barrister using Raven as her exhibit A. ‘We like our students to be able to keep in close contact with family and friends. Mobiles are allowed, naturally, but this phone is also available for their use.’

  One of the fathers stepped forward, a cheerful man with a crop of straw-like hair. ‘How do you like the school, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  Raven glanced over at the stony face of Mrs Bain. Just at the moment she loathed Westron but it would be suicidal to say that in front of the head teacher. ‘It’s fine.’ If you don’t mind attacks in the girls’ changing rooms and threatening anonymous letters.

  ‘Friendly? My Georgina is a little shy. I’m looking for a school where she will fit in.’

  ‘As you’ll see in the prospectus, we can offer many extra character building courses at our annex to help with problems like that,’ said Mrs Bain, holding up a glossy folder.

  ‘I don’t see shyness as a problem,’ the father said stiffly. ‘I just want to know if she’ll be happy here.’ Raven wanted to give him a cheer. ‘Will she enjoy it?’

  ‘She’ll do OK.’ Raven couldn’t say
something she didn’t believe—she hated lying. She looked to the head teacher for permission to leave.

  Mrs Bain scowled at her cool endorsement. ‘Hurry along, Raven. The bell for the next lesson is about to ring.’ Mrs Bain turned her back but continued in a loud voice. ‘Raven is one of our scholarship pupils. We have bursaries for a number of special cases. We see it as part of our giving back to the community. The vast majority of our students, however, come from the very best backgrounds. We think that this is one of the principal considerations for many parents who send their children here. We can guarantee that they will mix with others from the very highest echelons of society.’

  Snob. Raven walked quickly down the corridor out of sight and checked her timetable. Dance next. She wondered what excuse Kieran would give today for not doing any actual dancing. He was going to mess up her assessment and she had been hoping to take it for A level. That was going to stop. In the mood she was in, either he produced the goods or danced solo.

  All business, Raven launched her plan at the beginning of the class. ‘Miss Hollis, Gina’s still not back. I think Kieran and I will have to choreograph a new routine. Can we use one of the music practice rooms if they’re free?’ The music block had a number of large, sound-proofed rooms for orchestral practice. Raven was determined to pin Kieran down and she preferred to do it somewhere private.

  ‘Good idea, Raven. Got your music?’

  Raven held up the CD.

  ‘Off you go then. I’ll pop over in fifteen minutes and see how you are getting on.’

  ‘C’mon, Sudoku.’ She held the door open for him.

  ‘You’re very assertive today.’ Kieran picked up his bag. It was bulging open with heavy tomes on—Raven read the titles—number theory and astronomy, as well as a pad with closely written but beautifully accurate handwriting. Her scrawl would look laughable next to his. ‘I thought I was supposed to lead in dance.’

  Not if he was leading them into a blind alley.

  ‘I don’t see the point of time wasting when you can cut straight to the chase.’ Raven poked her head round one door in the music block. ‘Good—this one’s available.’ She switched on the CD player and slid in the disk, nervous about what she was about to do now the moment had arrived. He had already detected that her surface confidence had cracks, one of the many reasons he disturbed her. ‘OK, now let me lay my cards on the table. I want to know if you can dance or if you’ve been messing about since you arrived.’

  His eyes went to the door.

  ‘Uh-huh, no escape—not today.’ Was she really being this bold? Go her. ‘I’m counting on getting a good mark in this exam so I can do this course next year. If you rain on my parade I’ll not be happy.’

  ‘Your parade?’

  I will not fold, I will not fold. ‘Ours, if you pull your weight.’

  ‘I can’t see that being a problem. It’s only Dance.’ Kieran did some stretches and abdominal crunches. Raven had to remind herself not to get sidetracked from her aim. ‘You’re treating this class, Raven, like it’s rocket science.’

  She saw the trap before she fell in; he was baiting her to say ‘it’s not rocket science’ so he could give her one of his supercilious looks. ‘Fine, if you don’t want to be here, just leave.’ She waved at the door.

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘No, you just behave as if all this is beneath you. You’re really irritating me.’

  ‘I never would have guessed.’ He was smirking now.

  She bunched her hair back in frustration, his eyes following her hands again in that unnerving way of his. ‘What can you do, Ace? It’s clear we have to start again on this routine anyway so we might as well play to your strengths.’

  ‘My strengths?’

  ‘You do have some, right? I saw you do a Sudoku puzzle in seconds flat so you clearly have quite a brain. Dancers need to be quick thinking, understand patterns, so that’s good.’

  ‘I’m glad you think I have some strengths.’ He sounded so superior she wanted to kick him.

  ‘Being the genius that you are, I’m sure you already appreciate that music is like Maths.’

  ‘Yes, in many important respects.’

  ‘Do you play an instrument?’

  ‘Piano.’

  She could imagine that—he had the long artistic fingers. She shoved away the thought that she had always found people with a musical skill incredibly attractive. ‘That’s good. The piece is “Shake it out”: do you know it?’

  He wandered over to the grand piano at the far end of the room and played a melody—something by Mozart, she thought, though she didn’t know its name. ‘I don’t listen to much contemporary music.’

  Why was that not a surprise? ‘It’s got great lyrics. Let’s listen together and see what strikes you.’

  Kieran closed his eyes for the duration of the song, looking like a person deep in meditation. She let the track play to the end. ‘So? What do you think?’

  Kieran proceeded to give an analysis of the key signature, the structure, and even the sound engineering. Raven dropped her head on her hands.

  ‘What about the gutsy singing, the ballad building to an explosion of sound, the emotional content?’

  Kieran shrugged.

  ‘What kind of emotion do you think the song is trying to convey?’ Raven would have found his ducking of any feeling-related language fascinating if it weren’t inconvenient. ‘OK, look, she’s singing about being in a bad relationship—a romance that breaks her down, one she has to shake free—a kind of rebirth.’ Raven’s mind darted through the possibilities. ‘Yep, that’s good—that’s strong. You can be the emotionally repressed guy; I can be the girl who gets away.’

  ‘I’m the what?’ He did not look pleased by her casting.

  ‘The guy who is like the devil on her back, weighing her down. Now, let’s put some moves together that convey that—like our motif in this piece.’ She shook her arms and legs to loosen the muscles. ‘OK, what do you think of this move?’ Humming the chorus, she did a combination of back arch moving into a slow walkover handstand, going into a pirouette.

  Kieran’s eyes glistened with what might have been appreciation. ‘You’re very athletic.’

  ‘I’ve enjoyed doing gymnastics since I was little.’ Her skin prickled with awareness of him; she had to admit he had a surprisingly well toned body for a genius—biceps, triceps, and six-pack all visible under his tight black T-shirt. She wasn’t going to look at them—she wasn’t. ‘Maybe that’s why I like dance. Got a problem with that? Have a go.’

  ‘OK, I will. It looks easy enough.’ With a put-upon sigh, he attacked the floor, springing over, failing to spot as he turned and ending up with a wobbly stance. He looked taken aback that it hadn’t gone well.

  Raven folded her arms. ‘Don’t tell me, big guy: you have no sense of balance?’

  ‘I understand balance.’ He put his hands on his hips, running over the move he had just made, perplexed. ‘It’s supposed to be easy.’

  ‘Easy?’ Raven had never seen such incompetence from someone doing Dance—he clearly hadn’t even done the basics. He had to be doing this as a joke—messing with her future. She forgot about being shy with him. ‘You don’t know the first thing about how to move, do you? You’ve been lying to me!’

  ‘Obviously I don’t yet understand it. Not your kind of dance, at least.’

  ‘So what kind of dance is your kind of dance then?’

  Annoyed too, he folded his arms and stared over her head, eyes fixed on a poster displaying the various parts of an orchestra.

  ‘Hey! Are you listening to me?’ She knew she was getting too confrontational with him but his remoteness was infuriating. ‘I need you to work with me here. You can’t be completely useless at everything; you must be able to move a little!’

  He clutched his fingers on his elbows, looking as remote as Mars.

  ‘Please, give me something to go on. Ballroom, maybe? Isn’t that what you posh kids learn?
Or … or Latin?’ Hell, no. He had no passion for that. ‘Hip-hop?’ That too sounded ridiculous so she committed the fatal error of laughing.

  His expression became even more distant. ‘Do your own dance, Raven. Tell the teacher, I quit.’ He picked up his bag.

  No! She didn’t want to be the only one doing a solo. ‘What? You’re giving up, just like that?’

  He walked out—an answer of sorts.

  ‘Aargh!’ Raven stood in the middle of the empty room, wishing she had something handy to throw. She kicked the piano stool. She really shouldn’t have lost her temper like that; she now felt about an inch high. The annoying thing was she probably even owed him an apology and saying sorry to Mr Arrogant was about as attractive as eating bush tucker. One thing she had learnt was that he didn’t take failing at something well; she shouldn’t have rubbed it in.

  Zapping the music back on with the remote, she worked off her temper by dancing alone.

  Joe burst into the room. ‘Are you OK, Key? Raven told the teacher you felt ill—left class early. Everyone in the Sixth Form Common Room is asking me what’s wrong.’ He glanced at the screen in front of Kieran. ‘What’s that? You’ve got access to the academic results of all the students. You find something?’

  Kieran tapped a few keys, temper seething.

  ‘Key, you’re worrying me, bro. Say something.’

  ‘There’s a sequence.’ Kieran strove for cool and rational; if he kept talking maybe he wouldn’t have to face up to failing. ‘The students that we’ve noted as absent—when they come back, they all improve in their performance.’

  ‘So, what are you saying? Whatever is happening to them while they are away does not harm, but helps? Like they are getting extra tuition or something?’

  ‘I cannot support that conclusion at this time; I’m simply giving you the facts. Denzil Hardcastle—crashed out of his GCSEs, thanks to a preference for joyriding rather than studying. Left with all A*s in his A levels. Talented but volatile footballer, Mohammed Khan, went from police caution for violent disorder to school team captain. Anger issues solved, he was headhunted by Chelsea to play for their junior team. Jenny-May Parker caught in possession of Class A drugs, came back with a squeaky clean attitude and is now at Harvard studying Law.’ Kieran called their profiles up in rapid succession, jabbing the keyboard with restless fingers. ‘They are the most obvious examples but all of the students show some level of improvement in one or more areas of their school record. All their parents are down on our list.’