Itch Rocks

by Simon Mayo

  Itch exclaimed and started toward her. “No! Leave her alone! Please—she’s done nothing, she doesn’t know—”

  “Yes, but you do,” said Shivvi, stepping back and pulling Jack’s head back farther. Jack retched again, arms flailing. “It’s very straightforward: you tell me where the rocks are or I’ll break the rest of your sweet cousin’s fingers. One by one.”

  Itch and Watkins both cried, “No!”

  “And then her toes. And then … who knows?”

  “You wouldn’t do that!” said Watkins, shaking again.

  “You forget who smashed Lucy Cavendish’s face.”

  “So that really was you.”

  “Yes, and you should thank me, Itch. That was punishment for what she did to Jack in the hockey match. Not a nice girl. I can’t let just anyone mete out justice, you know. That’s my job.”

  “You’re crazy,” said Itch quietly, “and I never knew.”

  “Maybe I am crazy,” said Shivvi, “but I have Jack and I have a baseball bat. Are you going to tell me where the 126 is? I don’t have much time, but I can break bones very quickly. You’d be amazed….” She raised the bat.

  “Stop! Of course I’ll tell you!” shouted Itch. “Just let her go!”

  Shivvi released some of the pressure. “That didn’t take long, did it?” she laughed as Jack gasped for air.

  Itch wanted to go and help Jack but the bat pointed at him. “No. Stay.” Shivvi let go of Jack, who fell to her knees, her hands clutching her throat. “Hands on the table, please, Jack, where I can see them.”

  “OK, OK,” she croaked as she gently placed both hands on Watkins’s coffee table.

  “Good girl.” Shivvi raised the bat above Jack’s fingers. “The address, Itch. Tell me now!”

  “OK! All right! The well at the Fitzherbert School! The rocks are down the well! Leave her alone!”

  Watkins gasped, and Jack started to cry.

  “Where’s that?” shouted Shivvi. “Tell me!”

  “Just outside Brighton! Now, let her go.”

  Shivvi lowered the baseball bat and Itch went to his stricken cousin.

  “You shouldn’t have told her,” Jack sobbed into his ear. “Oh, Itch, what are we going to do now?”

  Shivvi ordered Itch to sit down at Watkins’s computer. “Show me,” she said, and he showed her the location and the history of the Woodingdean Well.

  That took two minutes, Itch thought. All that struggle, pain, and vomit it took to hide them, and I just told her where they are after two minutes. He kept glancing around at Jack, but she seemed OK. What choice did I have?

  “Hands back on the table,” Shivvi ordered, and Jack wearily complied. “Any clever moves from you, Itch, and—”

  “Yes, I get it,” he snapped. “I’ve worked out that you’ll do what you say. And that you’re mental. I’m doing what you asked, aren’t I?”

  “Print that out,” ordered Shivvi, and Itch clicked on a map of Brighton, and on the cross-section of the well from a local history page.

  She studied the information. “Where does the water start?” she asked.

  “At the horizontal part, 400 feet down. Then another 885 feet to the bottom. Best of luck with that.”

  Shivvi ignored the sarcasm. “You got them all the way down there?” She whistled and said something in Malay that sounded to Itch like a pretty strong swear word.

  She noted something down on a pad and checked her calculations on Watkins’s computer. “I guessed they might be in a mine or underwater somewhere, and I’ve prepared for most eventualities I could think of, but I never thought you’d have made it so difficult. I’m impressed, schoolboy, I really am.” Itch said nothing. “Flowerdew said you were an idiot. Like so much he told me, it turned out to be wrong.”

  “You’re working with Flowerdew?” said Itch, sickened just to hear his name.

  “We met. I killed him.” Shivvi smiled. “Ooh, that sounded good. I’ll say it again. We met. I killed him.”

  “You … killed Flowerdew?” Itch was stunned.

  “Pushed him off his oil rig,” said Shivvi, enjoying the sight of the three shocked faces. “I know you’re all glad really. Did everyone a favor…. Tell me I’m wrong.” She glared at her prisoners, challenging them.

  “Prison would have been fine,” said Jack. “Prison forever maybe—but no one deserves to die like that.”

  Shivvi spat. “Pathetic, Jack. You’re even weaker than you look. My only regret is that he didn’t live to see me get hold of his precious 126.”

  “Well, you’ll have to be quick,” said Jack.

  “And why would that be?”

  Jack turned and looked directly at Shivvi. “Because the school has just been sold, that’s why. To a Spanish firm. It’s in Mr. Watkins’s magazine.”

  Another string of Malay words, and Shivvi read the article, which was still open on the table.

  “OK—we leave now. But first, a few photographs, please!”

  From a black duffle bag she produced a long, heavy, carefully wrapped package. She removed the canvas cover slowly, followed by some bubble wrap.

  Before half had been peeled away, Itch exclaimed, “Cesium! You do have it!”

  “Sure do,” said Shivvi, and she held out the three-foot-long silver and glass tube. It had a red wax seal over a label written in Russian. CCCP was stamped on both ends, and through the glass they could see a large lump of silvery metal submerged in an oily liquid.

  “When I hunted around for some elements to impress the schoolboy here, I found some very shady characters. They had some boring stuff, but they also had things like this.” She held it up to catch the light from the fire. “It melts when I hold it—look.” As they watched, the solid silver metal began to change to a liquid gold.

  In spite of the danger, Itch found it beautiful. “Melting point 83.19 degrees Fahrenheit,” he said. “Never seen that before.”

  Shivvi lowered the tube. “Classic, Itch, really classic. You’d better hope that’s the only cesium reaction you see. They think I’m about to drop it at your school, but that would be a waste.”

  Watkins cleared his throat. “What would happen if you dropped it?”

  “A big fire, very quickly,” said Itch.

  “Correct. And I have a few of them to keep me going.”

  Itch looked into the bag and counted at least five other tubes. “Where did you get them?” he asked.

  “When you mix with criminals and thieves, it’s really not difficult, you know. You should try it sometime, schoolboy.” Shivvi walked over to where Jack knelt with her hands on the table, cesium in one hand and the baseball bat in the other.

  Jack tensed and cowered a little.

  “Sit there and take off your jacket,” Shivvi ordered, pointing to a chair.

  Gingerly Jack stood up and went over to the upright wooden chair.

  “Jacket off. Quickly.”

  Puzzled, but in no position to argue, Jack unzipped her jacket and dropped it on the floor.

  From the depths of the bag, Shivvi produced a brown vest and threw it over. “Put that on.”

  Jack looked at its many pockets and zippers, puzzled. When she had put it on, Itch suddenly realized what they were for. Shivvi stepped in front of her and slotted the cesium tube into one of the deep pockets, and he felt the blood drain from his face.

  Mr. Watkins understood it too. “Dear God …”

  “I know,” said Shivvi. “It is good, isn’t it? I got the vest from one of those clothes shops for old people.” She reached for the thick elastic band on the breast pocket and snapped it over the top of the cesium tube, then grabbed some rope. “Tie her to the chair.”

  “Like hell I will,” said Itch. He used one of his dad’s “oil-rig phrases,” and Shivvi laughed.

  “Except that when it comes to saving your cousin, you’ve already shown me you’ll do anything. So save your big talk for when you need it. Tie her up.” She brandished the bat, and Itch did as he was told.
>
  “Sorry,” he whispered as he passed the rope around the chair, Jack’s chest and the cesium. He kept it loose, but Shivvi didn’t seem to mind.

  “Step away,” she said, and produced a phone. Taking pictures of the terrified Jack, she said, “These will come in useful. Cornwall’s first suicide bomber! Might not make your parents’ mantelpiece, but you never know who might need to see them.” Turning to Watkins, she added, “And if the police turn up, if I even hear a siren, Itch and Jack die. Understand? You tell anyone where we are heading and you’ll be saying good-bye to these brave, stupid children. Got that?”

  Watkins nodded.

  “You’re worse than Flowerdew,” said Itch.

  “Thank you—I hope so,” Shivvi said. “Now, schoolboy—untie her.”

  Itch did so, and Jack shakily got to her feet.

  “Jack, you stay with me. You walk ahead, schoolboy. If you do anything stupid—”

  “Shut up, Shivvi. I get it, OK? I told you, I get it.”

  “And one more thing. Empty your backpack. Now.”

  Itch hesitated briefly, then undid the straps and tipped tubes, packets, and containers onto the floor; a small glass vial broke as a piece of iron rolled on it.

  “Anything nasty?” asked Shivvi.

  “Helium. Just helium,” said Itch.

  Shivvi laughed and picked up the baseball bat. “Time to go.” She turned to Watkins. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to say anything, sir, but I’m afraid I can’t take that risk.”

  She swung the bat. It hit Watkins just above his left ear.

  They walked slowly, terrified of the cesium tube and shaken by the attack on their teacher. Itch led the way; behind him came Shivvi, leading Jack with a rope around her neck.

  “Faster, children, or I might need to break something else,” Shivvi urged, irritated.

  By the lock gates, in the light of a single street lamp, they saw two parked cars—a small Fiat and a large old Peugeot. Shivvi maneuvered Jack around to the back of the Peugeot. She opened the trunk, revealing a space full of boxes and crates, and gestured to Itch.

  “Climb in, schoolboy. It’s smaller than I wanted, but I had to help myself to a new car after your friend Lucy spoiled things. Don’t get too comfy—Jack’s coming in too.”

  Itch clambered in carefully and lay with his head against a metal tank. He had to curl up with his knees on either side of a large box.

  Shivvi unzipped Jack’s coat and untied the cesium, replacing the tube in her duffle bag. “Now you,” she said, and pushed her into the trunk. Jack had to lie on her side, her legs on top of her cousin’s.

  Shivvi produced handcuffs; one set she locked around Itch’s ankle and a side handle. Another set fastened their wrists together. “That should do it. Enjoy!” Throwing a tarp over them, she slammed the trunk shut. Next she placed the duffle on the passenger seat, started the car, and drove away.

  “We’ve found a way out of bad stuff before, Jack. And we will this time.” Itch sounded more confident than he felt, but he knew his cousin was already traumatized. He felt every shake, every one of her trembles, as they bounced along the road out of town. Her face was only a few inches from his, and if they failed to brace themselves against the bumps, their heads crashed painfully. Itch managed to put his free arm around her, and eventually she reacted to his reassuring closeness and stopped shaking.

  “You can wipe your nose on my jacket if you like,” he whispered.

  “You’re such a gentleman,” Jack whispered back.

  “Thanks. I hope they find Mr. Watkins soon. That crack sounded bad. Really bad.”

  “Do you think he’ll be OK?”

  Jack could feel Itch’s shrug. “Once those photos get out,” he said, “no one will be able to do anything. I mean, they wouldn’t risk it, would they?”

  “Not if they think I’m dressed like a suicide bomber.”

  “So Mr. Watkins won’t say anything, but my dad knows where the rocks are,” said Itch. “And if they guess that the secret is out, he’ll tell Fairnie.”

  “Or Chloe will. But if anyone shows up, Shivvi’s said she’ll kill us! Watkins has to pass that on!” Jack was starting to shake again.

  “I’m sure he will, Jack. He’s supposed to pass that on. They’ll get the message.”

  “If he’s conscious,” said Jack.

  “If he’s conscious,” agreed Itch. “But I imagine she’ll repeat the warning when she sends the messages.”

  The car bumped and swerved, and the equipment in the trunk shifted, pulling Itch’s ankle. He winced and tried to shift his weight, his leg cramping.

  “Sorry about your elements,” said Jack; then, remembering the canister of gas that had gotten them out of Flowerdew’s car, “You haven’t got any more of that xenon, have you?”

  Despite the pain in his leg, Itch smiled. “I’d settle for some painkillers right now.”

  In the cramped and stifling trunk and ignoring the fact that they were virtually on top of each other, Itch and Jack both dozed fitfully as the car sped, they both assumed, toward Sussex. Every few minutes a crate or metal canister slid into them and they would both jolt awake.

  “Need to pee,” said Jack.

  “Me too,” said Itch. In the darkness under the tarp he raised his head slightly. “Need a bathroom!” he shouted above the talk radio station Shivvi had been listening to for hours. She hadn’t spoken since the car left Cornwall, but to his surprise, she pulled over almost immediately. They heard the brake go on and the door open, triggering the overhead light. Then they heard Shivvi walk away from the car.

  “Maybe she needed to go too,” said Itch.

  “We haven’t got a plan, have we?” said Jack.

  “No. Not yet,” said Itch as the Peugeot trunk opened and Shivvi removed the tarp. She unlocked the handcuff on Itch’s ankle and removed some bags which had slid out of place.

  “One minute. That’s all,” she said. The baseball bat was back in her hand.

  It took Jack and Itch a while to ease their way out of the trunk, every muscle and joint aching.

  “This’d be a lot quicker if you’d help,” said Itch, but Shivvi ignored him. Eventually they clambered out and held their handcuffs up to Shivvi. She shook her head.

  “You go together. Over there.” She indicated some trees a few yards away.

  They both looked horrified.

  “Together? Are you joking?” said Jack, appalled.

  “You can’t be trusted. Deal with it.”

  Itch stepped forward and got the baseball bat in his chest. He pushed against it.

  “Fine. We will. We’ve been through quite a lot together. Using the same bush as a toilet won’t bother us. In fact, it’s a good idea because we’ll take turns, it’ll take longer, and we aren’t really in a hurry. As long as you can deal with that.” He glared at Shivvi, who smiled.

  “Nice speech, schoolboy. And a good point.”

  A truck thundered past but no one looked at it. Shivvi unlocked the cuffs. “Hands on the car,” she said to Jack. Then, to Itch, “If you take one second longer than one minute …”

  “I know. You really do like your threats, don’t you,” said Itch. “I’ll be as quick as I can.” He ran toward the trees.

  Shivvi stared at Jack, who refused to meet her gaze.

  “Quick enough for you?” Itch said, running back.

  “Your hands. Now. Spread the fingers,” Shivvi said, holding the bat just above Itch’s fingers. “Go,” she told Jack, who ran off.

  They stood in silence, Shivvi on one side of the hood, her back to the road, and Itch on the other side, the bat pressing his knuckles into the hood.

  “If you’d told me back in school where you’d left the 126, all this unpleasantness would have been unnecessary, you know. It really is all your fault,” Shivvi said.

  Itch was silent. And that’s pretty much what I think. It really is all my fault, he thought.

  “Now it’s too late. You’re my insurance,” s
aid Shivvi. “They’ll leave me alone while I have you two.”

  Itch wasn’t sure about that. The value of the rocks was so high, the potential for a new energy source was so great, he could imagine that the government, MI5—whoever was making the decisions—would think they were a price worth paying. Maybe we are expendable, he thought. Now that they know where the rocks are, maybe they’ll do anything to get them. But he said nothing.

  “Ten seconds or the schoolboy will need that finger splint of yours,” Shivvi shouted to Jack.

  “Coming!” she called, and ran back to the car.

  “Open the trunk and get in,” ordered Shivvi. “You first, Jack.” The bat pressed harder against Itch’s hand as he watched his cousin lift the tailgate.

  “Can’t we sit in the back? You can handcuff—Ow!”

  Shivvi had ground the bat into the back of his hand; her eyes sparkled. “Don’t give me an excuse to push any harder, schoolboy. The bones in the hand are quite fragile, you know. Ever snapped a chicken wishbone? It’s a bit like that.”

  “I’ll get in the trunk,” said Itch.

  When Shivvi had repeated the handcuffing, the tarp was thrown over them and the tailgate slammed shut. As the car pulled away and the radio was turned up, Itch twisted slightly so he wasn’t breathing straight into Jack’s ear.

  “Never wanted to be this tall, anyway,” he said, and he felt Jack smile.

  “How long ’til Brighton?” she said.

  “No idea. Didn’t see a sign. It’s five hours to London, but I don’t know the route to Brighton.”

  “She obviously thinks we have to hurry.”

  “Maybe she’s right,” said Itch. “If the school has been sold, it could be closing any day. Maybe it’s closed already.”

  Jack adjusted her weight and leaned her head on Itch’s arm. “Tell me about the Fitzherbert School,” she said.

  Itch had described his break-in and had reached the discovery of the well when he realized that she had fallen asleep. Although he knew he was exhausted, Itch felt wide awake. He thought of Chloe and how terrified she must be now; of Mr. Watkins lying in his cottage, bleeding; of Colonel Fairnie and the team that had protected him for so long. And then I had to spoil it by escaping. From my own house.