Five Seconds to Doomsday

by Simon Cheshire

  Fresh gateaux: chocolate/lemon/black cherry

  Our daily selection of pastries and doughnuts

  Mega-Cookies: choc chip/almond/triple choc

  Sandwich of the Day (in a crusty roll)

  Lucrezia’s Special: crusty roll, cake ’n’ coffee

  We serve a VAST variety of teas and coffees.

  Just ask us for your favourite,

  we’ll DEFINITELY have it! (Probably.)

  It took me a couple of minutes to spot the simple key to understanding what 6-1-2-4-4-7 meant. But as soon as I spotted it, I had the answer – and the answer was indeed the name of a location. Can you decipher the code?

  ‘Huh?’ said Muddy.

  ‘You use the first letter of each line,’ I said. ‘6-1-2-4-4-7. Sixth line down, first letter is S. First line down, first letter is C. Second line down, first letter is H. Then two of the fourth line down, which is O. Then line seven, which is L.’

  ‘Oh, you’re joking,’ groaned Muddy.

  ‘The one and only day we’re not allowed to be there and that’s where he’s sending us,’ I said.

  ‘But we can’t go to the school,’ said Muddy. ‘The Head’s got that whole conference thing going on. The place will be crawling with teachers from miles around.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s the point,’ I said, glumly. ‘We’re bound to be found out. So you and I get into trouble while that low-down rat Harry Lovecraft sits at home giggling. It’s all part of his nasty game.’

  ‘Couldn’t we just go over to his house and thump him until he gives in?’ muttered Muddy grumpily.

  ‘We will not resort to violence,’ I said, suddenly turning a bit teachery. ‘Besides, it’d never work.’

  ‘No, s’pose not,’ sighed Muddy. ‘He’d set that shredder off by remote control or something like that.’

  I didn’t say anything to Muddy but I was getting more worried by the minute. At every step of this game it was becoming steadily clearer that Harry had planned his revenge with enormous care. All those recent weeks of friendliness and good behaviour had obviously been a smokescreen to hide his plotting.

  I shuddered slightly. I had a feeling that the worst was yet to come.

  At that moment, Izzy came bustling into the coffee shop. As usual during non-school time, she was a riot of bright colours, glittery necklaces and chunky rings. Her auburn hair was stacked up into a thing that looked like the top of a pineapple. In one hand she carried a dripping umbrella and in the other a small bag with home-done swirly patterns on it.

  ‘It’s tipping down out there now,’ she gasped, out of breath. ‘I’m glad to be out of it for a while. Do they still do those mega-cookies here?’

  I jumped to my feet. ‘Good to see you, Izzy. Come on, we’re off!’

  ‘Awww,’ moaned Izzy.

  ‘We’ve got to get to school,’ said Muddy.

  ‘Why?’ asked Izzy.

  ‘We’ll tell you on the way,’ I said, heading for the shop door. ‘Muddy, what’s the time now?’

  Muddy looked at his watch. ‘One twenty-four.’

  ‘One hour thirty-six minutes left,’ I said. ‘Let’s go.’

  At the door, Izzy stopped me with a hand on my arm. She looked me up and down. ‘Saxby’ she said quietly, ‘where did you get that hideous raincoat? You look like you’re dressed up as a giant gherkin.’

  ‘Oh, don’t you start,’ I grumbled. I gave Muddy a frosty look before he could say ‘Told you so’.

  We marched out into the noisy shopping mall. I heard the two of them muttering behind me.

  ‘When he wants to know the time, why doesn’t he just look at his own watch?’ mumbled Muddy.

  ‘He likes being dramatic,’ said Izzy. ‘Bless.’

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  HALFWAY TO SCHOOL, WE HAD to take cover for a few minutes in an empty bus shelter. The rain was dropping out of the sky as if the clouds had got fed up with their water lying about doing nothing and were having a complete clear-out.

  It was 1.33 p.m. Out of her bag, Izzy pulled a small pink netbook computer with flower stickers on the lid.

  ‘After you called me,’ she said, ‘I did some digging around. There’s good news and bad news.’

  ‘Let’s have the good news first,’ said Muddy. He had to raise his voice above the roar of the rain.

  ‘The good news is that Muddy was right,’ said Izzy. ‘Faking Saxby’s voice would be extremely difficult. It’s not like you see it in movies. You’d need to be a real expert. So, unless Harry has got a real expert working for him . . .’

  ‘I’m not ruling anything out yet,’ I mumbled.

  ‘What’s the bad news?’ said Muddy.

  ‘The bad news is that Harry doesn’t need a real expert anyway. I’ve found out how he could have made that audio file at home using only a computer, some free software and a few hours of spare time.’

  ‘How?’ I asked.

  ‘Remember what we were doing at school only the other day?’ said Izzy.

  I slapped my forehead. That hurt a bit so I rubbed it instead. ‘Podcasts!’ I groaned. ‘For the school website. Arggh, I should have realised!’

  ‘You mean he’s edited your podcast?’ said Muddy. ‘To make it sound like you’re saying different things?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Izzy.

  ‘He’d need to use software that could balance out any funny-sounding chops and cuts in sentences,’ said Muddy, ‘but it’s do-able. Difficult, but do-able.’

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ I said to Izzy. ‘Half the class recorded a podcast and none of them included anything even remotely useful for the sort of message Harry’s talking about.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ said Izzy. She switched on her netbook. ‘I’ll download your podcast and send it to your phone. Listen to it carefully. Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can find out anything about this conference of teachers that the Head is hosting at school. It might give us some useful info for when we get there.’

  ‘Good idea,’ I said.

  I flipped open my phone. As I listened to what I’d recorded for the school website, my heart began to sink. By the time I’d finished, my heart couldn’t have sunk any lower without flopping out of the soles of my feet.

  Here’s a printed version of what I said in the podcast (or a ‘transcript’, as Izzy says I’m supposed to call it):

  Hello! My name is Saxby. Saxby Smart. I’m in Mrs Penzler’s class at St Egbert’s. I’ve been a brilliant schoolboy detective for a while now and I’ve solved loads of crimes. If you’ve been robbed, or been accused of something awful, or even lost something utterly valuable, I’m the one who you should see. I gather up the evidence and I get to make a . . . Pardon? Oh. Mrs Penzler says I’m supposed to talk about school, not myself. OK. Here goes. This school is pretty good. I mean, some things are stupid, or boring, but mostly it’s pretty good . . . What?. . . I know, but shouldn’t we be honest with people? . . . Oh . . . Apparently, the Head wants us to mention the very high quality school dinners . . . Really? She’s sure about that? . . . Well, OK, today I had a dollop of what might have been pie, but there was a big lump of fat in it, so it was . . . What? You want me to stop now? . . . Oh . . . Well, so long, folks, this is Saxby Smart saying goodbye.

  It would have been very easy indeed for Harry to extract a totally different, rude-about-the-Head or I-framed-a-suspect message from that podcast. In fact, there were loads of possible messages!

  How many can you spot?

  I didn’t have a mirror handy but I’m pretty sure that my face was going very pale. I listened to the podcast again, just to make sure I wasn’t making a mistake.

  No. No mistake. Amongst the many rearranged phrases that Harry could have extracted from my podcast were such gems as . . .

  • Mostly I make up evidence . . .

  • I know I’m not supposed to but so what . . .

  • The Head is a big fat stupid dollop . . .

  • She’s awful, so utterly boring . . .

&nbs
p; • And Mrs Penzler is very stupid . . .

  • The evidence I make up is pretty good . . .

  • I’ve accused some people of crimes but I’ve not had good evidence so I’ve had to make things up . . .

  • I know I shouldn’t talk about it but I’m not honest with people . . .

  • If people in this school get to know about me it’s goodbye brilliant schoolboy detective . . .

  I’m sure there are more – I’ll leave it up to you to find them – but that was enough for me.

  I slipped my phone back into my pocket. I was feeling slightly dizzy and I don’t think it had anything to do with how much chocolate I’d eaten at the coffee shop.

  That low-down rat Harry Lovecraft seemed to be not just one step ahead of me but half an Olympic marathon! His revenge was taking shape before my very eyes. Well, my very ears, anyway. How could I possibly . . .

  No, wait a minute. I pulled out my notebook and looked at the slightly soggy stuff I’d written down after leaving the railway station.

  There was still Problem 2 to consider. And, as far as I could see, this problem had now become worse. If the MP3 file he’d made was almost certainly reconstructed from a school podcast (I thought to myself), it would now surely be easier for me to prove that this audio file was a fake. Surely, with the podcast to hand, I was in a better position to prove that the MP3 file was all Harry’s doing.

  A question popped into my head: How does he expect to get away with all this?

  Now, more than ever, I was convinced that there was an extra element to Harry’s revenge. There had to be something I hadn’t yet bargained for, something I still hadn’t even guessed at . . .

  ‘I think the rain’s easing off a bit,’ commented Muddy.

  ‘Right, we’d better go,’ I said. I pulled down the brim of my rain hat and turned up the collar of my coat.

  The three of us set off at a quick walking pace. Rainwater splashed around our feet.

  ‘Did you find anything about the Head’s conference?’ I asked Izzy.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, hoisting her bag on to her shoulder. ‘All the details were on a teachers’ bulletin board. St Egbert’s is hosting a thing called Implementing New Technology in the Classroom. There are about fifty teachers and other Heads attending, along with people from several companies who are demonstrating a load of high-tech computer hardware.’

  ‘Ooooh, that sounds good,’ said Muddy, his eyes suddenly sparkling with gadgety glee.

  ‘That sounds unbelievably boring,’ I said. ‘However, it also sounds like all these teachers will be in one place, not spread all over the school. That might well give us an advantage.’

  ‘They’ll be using the main hall,’ said Izzy. ‘It’s the only indoor area big enough.’

  None of us spoke again until we reached the school gates. The time was 1.47 p.m.

  We hurried over the zebra crossing, which spanned the main road outside the school. The gates were closed, but not locked. As soon as we approached them, we spotted a plastic bag taped to the familiar metal sign which said, Max Speed 5 mph. No deliveries this entrance.

  Muddy and Izzy held their umbrellas above us as I unfolded the bag. Inside was a third envelope. This one was labelled G Whitehouse, S Smart and friend.

  I opened the envelope with a feeling of absolute dread. Once again, that low-down rat had correctly anticipated me – he’d known all along that I’d go straight to Izzy for information. The note inside said:

  Whitehouse. Smart. Moustique.

  Well done. Another correct answer. But, dear, dear me, you’ve broken the rule again.

  Welcome to the game, Moustique. The prize you’re playing for is this: a second specially adapted phone, also tucked away in the secret box. When the timer goes off, this phone will upload a series of articles to several online encyclopedias. These uploads will be identical to some of your recent school projects. Oh dear, you’ll appear to have cheated by copying work from the internet. Tut tut, naughty.

  Don’t forget, players, that opening the secret box to disarm the timer is the only thing that can prevent me winning the game. I’m feeling generous so I’ll tell you that your quest is almost at an end. The box is hidden somewhere in the school. I’ll give you a big hint: go to the staff room. Bye for now.

  Oh, I nearly forgot. Because you broke the rules again, the timer in the box is now set to go off at 2 p.m., not 3 p.m.

  ‘What?!’ yelled Izzy.

  ‘That rotten, stinking, low-down rat wants revenge on all three of us!’ I cried.

  Muddy looked at his watch. ‘Look, I hate to say this, guys, but it’s now one forty-nine! We have eleven minutes!’

  Eleven minutes to stop Izzy being made to look like a cheat, to stop me being made to look like an even bigger cheat, and to stop Norman the teddy bear being sliced up into tiny little bits of fluff.

  We had to get to the staff room, fast. And without being spotted.

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  TEN MINUTES, FIFTY-TWO SECONDS . . .

  We raced across the car park at the front of the main school building. Luckily, with the Head’s conference in full swing inside, the car park was full to bursting point. If we kept low down as we ran, no passing teacher would be able to spot us. Unluckily, keeping ourselves bent double like that sent the rain trickling icily around our necks.

  We crouched behind a rusty yellow Audi. ‘The big danger point is right over there,’ I whispered. ‘The windows in the short corridor bit which joins this building to that one. That corridor bit is right beside the office and the main hall, and from inside you can see the car park, the school gates and the back entrance that leads on to the park. There’s no escape for us if someone happens to walk through there. We’d be seen instantly and thrown off the school grounds.’

  The staff room was tucked away in the building to our right, at the far end of a long row of classrooms. We would have to run, in plain sight of those windows, for about fifty metres before we could duck out of sight again.

  ‘I can’t see anyone, can you?’ whispered Izzy.

  ‘Ready?’ said Muddy.

  ‘Go!’ I cried.

  The three of us hurtled over the open patch of ground. I tried to concentrate on where I was going. I dared not glance over my shoulder at the windowed corridor. My nerves sizzled. I was terrified I’d hear a muffled ‘Oi!’ behind me at any second.

  Gasping for breath and soaking wet, we scuttled into the building under a covered walkway and took shelter in the art room. We hid behind the cupboards where all the painting stuff was kept.

  It felt weird being in the school when there were no other students around – the same way it feels weird if you’ve got an appointment in school time and you suddenly realise that everyone else is in lessons. The only sounds were the dripping of raindrops off our noses and the creaking of my raincoat as I shifted my weight.

  ‘Eerie, isn’t it?’ whispered Muddy. His voice echoed off the whitewashed brick walls.

  I looked at my watch. Nine minutes, four seconds . . .

  We crept out of the art room, our heads flicking in different directions to watch out for signs of teachers. To one side of us was the long row of empty classrooms, which we’d need to pass.

  Opposite us was the door to the girls’ toilets. It had been wedged open and from one of the cubicles came a steady series of clanks, bumps and swearwords. Apparently the school caretaker was using the day to catch up on some maintenance work on the plumbing. He seemed to be having trouble with something called a wretched blasted compression joint.

  I put a finger to my lips to tell the others to stay quiet. I pointed towards the classrooms and we tiptoed past the open toilet door. The caretaker’s attention was elsewhere but any noise would have quickly brought him out to investigate.

  Our tiptoeing got steadily faster as we advanced. The door to the staff room was also open but as we got closer we could see that the place was empty.

  Seven minutes, twenty-one
seconds . . .

  We edged into the room, still keeping a sharp eye out in all directions. I’d only been in here a couple of times before. There was a kitchen area to one side and lines of low, airport-style seats almost everywhere else. Coffee tables punctuated the rows like full stops in a paragraph.

  ‘Anyone see the next message?’ whispered Izzy.

  ‘I think this must be it,’ I said, walking over to one of the coffee tables. Sticky-taped among the brown mug-rings was a sheet of A4. All that was printed on it was . . .

  Text me.

  . . . followed by a phone number. We glanced nervously at each other. Was this some new trick? Why the sudden change of tactics?

  ‘Right,’ said Muddy switching his phone on. ‘I’m going to send him the rudest text in history!’

  ‘Wait!’ cried Izzy. ‘What if it’s a trap? What if calling that number sets off the timer in the box?’

  Muddy stopped pressing buttons and stood still. ‘Could be. That would be typical Harry Lovecraft, that would! Getting us to spring his own trap is exactly the sort of thing he’d do.’

  ‘Or is that what he wants us to think?’ I muttered. ‘You’re right, that number could be a trap. But if we stand around here debating, that timer is going to go off anyway. I think maybe he’s just trying to make us waste time. I think we have to risk it.’

  Muddy handed me the phone. ‘You can risk it, then. I’m not going to.’

  With my heart thumping like a speeded-up hammer, I tapped out We’re here, entered the number, and . . . My thumb hovered shakily for a moment, then pressed Send.

  For several seconds, there was absolute silence.

  The three of us stared at each other, scared at what might happen next, hardly taking a breath.

  Five minutes, forty-one seconds . . .

  The silence seemed to squeeze us, like the coils of a snake. I half-closed my eyes. I’ve got it wrong, I thought, my stomach twisting into a knot, I’ve got it badly wrong.

  BEEEEP!