by Simon Mayo
The conversation finished with “Leila” saying, “Selamat jalan,” and Mary repeating, “Selamat jalan.”
Lucy caught a glimpse of Mary as she passed the door, and seconds later heard the front door close and the car pull away. Still not wanting to move, she stayed on the floor and reached for her phone. She typed in different spellings of the words she had just heard, and after two attempts she was close enough for Google to suggest, Do you mean selamat jalan? She clicked on the first suggestion:
“Selamat jalan—Malay interjection meaning bon voyage/good-bye.”
Lucy switched off her phone and went into the office. On the computer screen the Skype log said the call was from LEILA S, and the image was of a smiling black-haired woman in her twenties. For a mad moment Lucy was tempted to call back. She hovered by the computer, then sat down.
Wow, Mary’s Malaysian, she thought and, her hands trembling again, clicked on the MAIL icon. Long lists of emails appeared, and she scanned the first few. They were mostly in a foreign language—Malay presumably—but they were all addressed to “Shivvi.”
She searched for correspondence from “Leila S,” and there were three emails. As she scanned the incomprehensible text, three words jumped out at her. In the second paragraph there was a reference to Greencorps, whom she knew were the sponsors of the Cornwall Academy. This was followed by Nathaniel Flowerdew, and Lucy shivered. What did Mary—or Shivvi—have to do with the disgraced head of the science department? Risking a few more seconds at the computer, she Googled Shivvi + Greencorps + Flowerdew.
Two minutes later, her head spinning, she clicked CLEAR HISTORY, and stared at the screen. The computer’s screensaver appeared, and Lucy leaned closer: six wet-suited divers squinted and smiled out at her. They appeared to be standing on the deck of an oil rig, and behind them, her arms spread wide and beaming proudly, was Mary Lee.
No one here yet,” called Moz from the chemistry lab. “How can we entertain ourselves while we are waiting for the lovely Mary?”
“Don’t you start,” groaned Itch, following him and Kirsten into the room. “It’s bad enough with Chloe and Jack.”
Moz laughed as he walked around the lab, inspecting jars and bottles.
“Anyway,” said Itch, “you don’t really want me to start showing you experiments, do you? Not sure the colonel would be happy.”
“You’re right. I stand corrected. Just sit down. I’m sure she won’t keep us waiting too long.”
Kirsten walked down the corridor to look out at the parking lot. “Black Volvo just arrived. Nice wheels for a school kid.” She watched as Mary Lee jumped out and reached into the back seat for what looked like two large blue plastic toolboxes.
Kirsten met her at the school door. “Hi, Mary. We were just wondering if you were coming—”
“I’m sure you were.” Mary made to sweep past her.
Kirsten stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “Sorry, but I need to open the boxes before you go any farther.”
Mary Lee stared at her. “Is there any point? Would you know what you were looking at?”
Kirsten tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ears and forced a smile. “I won’t know until I see what’s inside, will I? So, both boxes open. Now.”
For a moment they stared at each other, and then Mary smiled.
“Of course you can see. I’m sorry. I’ve just had an argument with my dad and I’m still mad.” She set the boxes down and opened them.
“I thought he was abroad …?”
“He is. Still argued, though. We argue more when he’s away, for some reason. Anyway, here you are. Some of his element collection; I’m not sure what they all are myself, to be honest, but have a look.”
Kirsten knelt down to inspect the collection, and realized that Mary was right: she hadn’t a clue what she was looking at. She picked up a clear acrylic box with two shiny silver beads rolling around in it and 77 etched on the outside. “What’s this?” she asked.
Mary checked on one of the box lids. “Iridium.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Me neither.”
“Itch will love it,” said Kirsten.
Mary smiled. “I hope so.”
Moz made a formal announcement of Mary Lee’s arrival. “Miss Lee to see you, Itch,” he said.
Itch spun around as Mary walked in.
“Sorry I’m late!” She smiled at him. “I was busy shouting at my dad.”
“I thought …”
“I know. He’s still away—we just shout a lot on Skype.” She walked over to where Itch was sitting and swung the boxes up onto the bench. “We’ve got several of these at home,” she said. “See what you think of these two.”
Itch unclipped the first box, to reveal six separate compartments. Each contained a muslin bag with a number and letters stenciled in black ink.
“Forty to forty-seven,” Itch murmured reverently. “Zirconium to silver.”
It wasn’t that they were particularly rare—Itch had samples of both himself—it was the way they were presented; as though they were as valuable as the crown jewels. In the lid of the box was a typed, plastic-coated sheet detailing where Mary’s father had acquired each element. Itch stared.
“Have a look,” said Mary impatiently. “Didn’t bring them here for you just to stare at them.”
He smiled awkwardly and nodded. His hand hovered over the bags as he decided which one to open first. He hesitated and then reached for the bag with 45 and Rh on it, and felt the weight of the rhodium metal inside. Pulling open the drawstring, he tipped a strip of silvery metal onto his hand. It had jagged edges, like a piece of torn thick kitchen foil, with a crystalline rim. He held it up to the light.
“It’s beautiful…. Where did your dad find this? Never seen rhodium like this before …”
“No idea, I’m afraid. It’ll all be in the notes, if you’re that interested.” Mary pointed at the sheet in the lid. “But let’s see what we have here….” She picked up the next bag—marked 46 and Pd.
“Palladium,” said Itch, turning to look at the chunk of silvery-gray metal now sitting in Mary’s hand. She placed bag and palladium on the bench and continued to pick up the bags and tip out the element inside. When the first box was empty she started on the second.
Itch was transfixed. “Forty-eight to fifty-four. Hey, slow down there, Mary! I can’t keep up!”
But Mary took no notice. “How did you start all this, Itch?” she asked. “My dad says it was his dad who gave him some rare samples of thorium or something that got him going.”
“Me too,” said Itch, watching Mary unpack the bags. “My dad gave me an old chemistry book of my grandpa’s, and that started the collecting thing. A few months back I had quite a collection, but … well …”
“What happened?” asked Mary, opening a bag marked 51 and Sb.
Eyes fixed on a container of antimony, Itch replied, “Oh, I had to … They sort of got lost, I suppose.”
“Lost?” said Mary.
“Well, the old science teacher here went a bit nuts and attacked me. It’s a long story, but he trashed my house looking for a rock I had.”
“Wow,” said Mary, her eyes wide. “Were you OK? What happened?”
“He banged my head against the wall a few times, but I was OK….”
Mary had stopped unpacking and was staring at Itch. “Is this the Flowerdew guy I’ve heard of? Sounds like a nutcase.”
Itch nodded. “You’re right there.”
“What was so special about the rock? Was it gold or something?”
Itch paused only briefly. “It was amazingly radioactive. Really dangerous.” He was aware that he might be showing off, but it was the truth, wasn’t it?
“What happened next?” asked Mary, unwrapping the bag marked 54 and Xe.
Itch spotted the small canister and laughed. “That happened,” he said, pointing at the metal tube. “Xenon is what happened. It’s an anesthetic and I used some to put Flowerdew and an
idiot friend of his to sleep.”
“That’s so cool!” said Mary. “You did that? I’m impressed! So you must have taken the rocks and made a run for it. Where did you go?”
Itch was too busy studying the xenon to notice the glint in her eyes.
Lucy Cavendish knew it was time to leave. She had been sitting at the computer in a daze for a few minutes before daring to move. Half expecting “Leila S” to Skype again, she scrambled out of the study and went back upstairs to the bedroom. She was certain there was much more to learn in the house, but she felt as though she had pushed her luck already. She had to get out while she could. Retracing her steps to the window, she leaned against the dresser to pull her boots on.
She paused mid lace-up, a thought forming in her mind, and took them off again. Running downstairs, she headed straight for the stove and the sandals that were propped up against it. And there it was. The one sandal that was sole-up had black writing on it. In thick felt tip, someone had written TF. She picked up the other sandal—warm to the touch—and turned it over. In the same capital letters it said SHIVVI.
“Got you,” said Lucy.
She pushed the sandals into her jacket pocket and ran upstairs. With her boots back on, she reversed out of the window and crouched on top of the conservatory. There was no easy way to the ground. It was too high to jump and her face had started throbbing again. A slow, careful backward shuffle took her to the edge. Then, easing herself over the rain gutter, she let herself down. With the edge gripped tightly and her arms fully extended, Lucy dangled by her fingertips for a few seconds before letting go.
The drop was little more than a few feet, but she landed awkwardly, and pain shot through her nose and eye sockets. She winced and dropped to her knees, waiting for the burning and throbbing to pass. Fresh blood dripped onto her jeans.
“Well, I can’t say where I went,” said Itch. “I just decided I had to get rid of them.”
“But why? Couldn’t you have done lots of good with them?”
“Maybe—but it wasn’t worth the risk.” Itch looked at Mary as she handed him another bag. “There are some good things you can do with them, but a whole load more bad things. Which is why some seriously evil guys were after me. And still are. That’s why I need Moz and friends. The big-time criminals will try anything to find those rocks.” Itch had looked away by the time Mary blinked and swallowed.
“Would you ever go back to get them?” asked Mary. “You know, if you really had to.”
Images of the dark, never-ending well, and the smell and taste of the filthy water, flooded back, and Itch closed his eyes briefly. “No,” he said quietly. “I couldn’t go back down there again.”
Itch didn’t see it, but a small flicker of triumph flashed across Mary’s face. Down there. He had said, down there. It wasn’t much, but it was new.
“And I was pretty messed up when I came out too.”
Before Mary could follow this up, Jack and Chloe appeared in the doorway, grinning. “You know it’s the Oscars now?” said Jack. And they both pulled funny faces and hurried away along the corridor.
And the spell was broken.
Itch suddenly realized he’d said too much and stood dumbstruck, furious with himself. He looked at Mary and the elements laid out on their bags in front of him. How could he have been so stupid? All at once he wanted to leave. Now. He checked the lab clock.
“Er, sorry, Mary—I said I’d sit with Jack for the Oscars.” He got up to go, catching Kirsten and Moz by surprise. “But thanks—they’re really beautiful and …” But he’d run out of words. He turned and hurried out of the lab, closely followed by his minders.
Behind him there was a cry of “Itch! Come back!” followed by the sound of something breaking into many pieces.
What the hell was that about?”asked Moz, running to catch up, but Itch didn’t want to explain just yet; he was still cursing his stupidity.
“Rather you didn’t take off like that,” Kirsten told him. “One of us needs to be ahead of you at all times. Those are the rules, Itch, you know that.”
“Sorry. Just needed to get out, that’s all.”
Moz went ahead and Kirsten fell back. The throng of students heading into the hall opened up as they saw the familiar security routine in operation. Normally Itch protested that he wanted to line up with everybody else. But this time he followed the path that appeared in front of him and, spotting Jack, marched straight over to where she was sitting.
He slumped down, and Jack, who was clearly about to carry on the teasing, opened her mouth and closed it again. Itch just stared at the floor.
“You OK? What happened, Itch?” she whispered.
After a pause he replied, “I nearly told her, Jack! If you guys hadn’t come by, I might have … said too much.”
Jack looked stunned. “But why? What was she asking you?”
“She was handing me these amazing samples. She had the most beautiful rhodium, Jack—you should have seen it—and she was asking about what happened with Flowerdew, and it just … sort of … went on from there.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I only said, ‘I couldn’t go back down there again.’ But I could easily have said more, Jack—I could so easily have said more.” He shook his head.
“Showing off?” asked Jack.
“Probably.”
They both watched as the school hall filled up.
“Reckon you’re fine, actually,” said Jack. “There’s nothing there that could tell anyone very much. ‘Down there’ could mean anything: a basement, a dungeon, a cave, anything! Don’t worry.”
Itch didn’t reply, but he was grateful for the reassurance.
“You going to win anything, Itch?” asked Ian Steele, who had just dropped into the seat next to him.
“Unlikely. What about you?”
“No chance at all,” he said cheerily. “Bet it’ll be Natalie and Debbie if anyone wins from the tenth grade.”
“What about Darcy Campbell?” Itch looked along the row. “She looks pretty confident to me …”
“No chance,” said Ian. “It’s just the way her face was made. She always looks like that.”
In spite of his mood, Itch laughed, but Jack elbowed him in the ribs. “Too loud, Itch. You need to learn to laugh quietly.”
Six seats along, Darcy Campbell was giving all three of them her scary face. This had the unfortunate effect of making Itch laugh even louder. People turned around to see what was so funny but, on realizing it was Itch, gave a shrug or a raised eyebrow.
“OK, you can stop now,” said Jack. “It wasn’t that funny.”
It was only the arrival on the stage of Dr. Dart that stopped Itch’s attack of the giggles. Most of the teachers filed in behind her, shuffling along to take their seats. Everyone fell silent, and Dr. Dart started to announce the winners of the latest Oscars. She began with the youngest students. Each name was greeted with whoops and claps, the volume depending on the popularity of the recipient. Itch found himself hoping he hadn’t won anything in case no one clapped.
“From the sixth grade, Asa Ahmed for English and Max Lawson for science.” Enthusiastic applause greeted the latest winners, who stood up, grinning, and made their way to the front. More names from the seventh and eighth grades were called out. Small groups of smiling pupils began to form on the stage.
“From the tenth grade, Jacqueline Lofte for history and Sam Jennings for geography.”
Itch sat up and clapped loudly. “Hey, Jack, that’s you! Well done!”
Jack looked as astonished as Darcy Campbell was annoyed. Seeing her furious pout started Itch laughing again, and this time Ian Steele joined in.
“Darcy spent ages flirting with Mr. Littlewood, you know,” he said as they both applauded hard. “Thought it might get her the prize! Ha!”
“When all she had to do was write something that proved she wasn’t a complete idiot,” said Itch, “and she clearly failed.”
“Might be
worth avoiding her for a while,” said Ian.
“Like the next four years?”
They both carried on laughing, missing the moment when Jack shook hands with Dr. Dart.
The eleventh grade winners joined a crowded stage, and then the applause died down before the final awards. The oldest students were trying to look cool and uninterested, but there was still some nudging as Dr. Dart picked up her final certificates and envelopes.
She smiled down at the audience. “So, finally, our seniors. For exceptional work in drama, Polly Morrison …” She paused, and a large smiling girl with red hair jumped up and bounded toward the stage to whoops of delight. “And for really advanced work…”
Itch suddenly knew what she was going to say.
“… in chemistry …”
There was only one person who was going to get called now.
“Mary Lee.”
Of course. Polite applause broke out around the hall. Because she was a new girl, no one had a strong opinion about her. Mary had kept herself to herself, so no one particularly cared either way. Itch kept his head down and clapped quietly.
As Mary stood up and made her way to the front, Itch became aware of some turned heads and then gasps of astonishment. But they weren’t directed at Mary. Itch had to twist around to see what was causing the disturbance. And the next gasp was his.
Standing at the back of the hall, just by the door, he saw Lucy Cavendish. And she was terrifying. Her face was a mess of tape and blood, her reopened wound bleeding freely over her clothes. Dressed in boots, jeans, Barbour jacket and hoodie pulled up over her thick, long hair, she pushed away all offers of help. On her cycle ride to the academy, she had tried to wipe away the blood from her nose with her jacket sleeve. As a result, she had streaks of dried blood smeared across her cheek and small congealed knots of it sticking to the strands of her hair that had escaped from her hoodie. In her left hand, she held the sandals.
Dr. Dart hadn’t noticed the commotion; she was greeting the twelfth grade winners. Lucy—spotting the gap left by Jack—went over to her vacated seat and sat down slowly. Itch and Ian Steele stared at her, open-mouthed, but she seemed unaware of them, her eyes fixed on the stage.
