‘Great idea. Boges, you’re a genius.’
‘I know.’
‘And modest, too.’
For a second it was like the old days, when I was just another kid mucking round with a mate. But that feeling didn’t last long. At least I had a little hope, and a chance to tell the world of my innocence.
In the time it took to set up my profile I’d forgotten about tricky Winter, until I looked over at my phone and saw her face looking up at me. I stretched my leg out and carefully kicked it under my bag.
‘I can’t stay much longer,’ Boges reminded me, glancing at his watch. ‘I’ve already skipped all my morning classes. Don’t want to start bringing in too many notes from Mum this term.’
Boges could forge his mother’s signature perfectly.
I never thought I would envy someone going to school, but I would have done anything to be packing my bag and heading off with Boges. I’d happily have sat through the ‘Welcome back’ assembly in the hall—all the ‘over-the-holiday updates’ and ‘hopes for the year ahead’ speeches—that would normally have bored me to tears. I’d even have happily sat through one of Mr Lloyd’s biology classes, listening to him drawl on and on about lab safety in his boring, monotone voice, while I helped Boges conduct his own little groundbreaking experiments up the back. Or Mrs Hartley’s English class, and her long-winded soliloquies on Shakespeare and poetry.
‘I don’t think anyone wants to hear my side of the story,’ I said. ‘The cops have made up their minds about me already and we both know that Mum and Rafe think I’m some sort of dangerous nut case.’
‘They’re worried about you, that’s for sure,’ said Boges.
‘And I’m worried about Mum. I can’t help but wish Rafe would keep away from her.’
‘I guess she relies on him now that your dad’s gone,’ said Boges. ‘And he is your dad’s brother.’
‘Just because he looks exactly the same as Dad,’ I said, ‘doesn’t mean anything. Whenever he’s around, bad things happen. He pinched the drawings and lied about them. Now he’s got me in this mess, Boges. Why does he want me out of the way?’
‘Come on, we have no proof of that. I don’t think it’s Rafe that’s got you into this mess; I just think he hasn’t really helped get you out of it. But think about it, he’s had a rough time too. He lost his twin brother. He almost drowned in Treachery Bay. You know, he could have been killed at your place that day. And he has a heart condition, doesn’t he? His niece is in a coma. His nephew’s on the run from the law. His sister-in-law is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and he’s the only one around trying to keep it all together. Nobody else has stepped up. This can’t be easy for him either, Cal. I’ve seen him at your mum’s place, and he looks like a wreck.’
‘You may be right. He’s just so cold all the time, I forget that he may just have a heart in there.’
‘I don’t blame you. Anyway,’ said Boges, picking up his mobile and steering me towards the bathroom where the light was a little brighter, ‘let’s take a quick profile shot. This dump won’t give your whereabouts away, but you’d better turn your face a little,’ said Boges, ‘so that most of you is in shadow.’
Like my life is now. In the shadows.
Boges pointed the phone at me and took a photo.
‘That’ll do. I’ll upload it all now.’
‘I hope Mum sees this,’ I said.
‘I’ll make sure she does,’ said Boges.
‘Maybe she’ll change her mind about me.’
Boges nodded, but I could tell he was just being nice.
‘The cops will see it, eventually,’ he said, ‘but it won’t help them. We’ll just need to be really careful about where and when we post messages.’
Boges started to pack up his gear. ‘I’ll come round again on the weekend,’ he said. ‘Oh, and I almost forgot, I bought this for you to keep the drawings in.’
He handed me a strong, rigid plastic folder, with a clip seal down one side. ‘Keep them in this. They’re going to fall apart unless they’re properly protected.’
He paused and I could see he had something on his mind.
‘What?’ I asked, taking the folder from him.
‘Man,’ he said, picking up his laptop, ‘be careful, OK? I mean it. Don’t think you’re safe even for a second because you’re not. I hate to say it, but I don’t want to add you to the list of tragedies.’
‘I know. I’m no good to anyone if I’m dead.’
‘I’m willing to do anything to help. You know that. I think this blog is a good move, but just remember that it’s never too late to come in from the cold. I don’t want to lose the best buddy a guy ever had. You want to run with it, I’m with you. You want to drop the whole thing, I’m with you, too. So ask yourself … are you totally sure you want to persist with this? Unravelling your dad’s secret? Now that you’re starting to realise the full extent of the danger?’
In the dim light of the derelict house, Boges’s words sounded ominous, almost frightening: The full extent of the danger. I’d made a promise to myself when I was back in my old house, looking into the eyes of my dad in the family photo, and I wasn’t going back on it.
‘There’s no way I can turn back now,’ I said. ‘It’s what keeps me going.’
‘Keeps you going? I never picked you for a thrill-seeker,’ said Boges, unsmiling.
‘Far from it. I just know that I’d be no good to anyone in juvenile detention either.’
I looked around the dump I was living in. ‘The only thing I have going for me is the truth. I know it’s dangerous, but while ever there’s the chance to solve the mystery of the Ormond Singularity and clear my name, I must do it. I have to do it. Otherwise I’m going to be on the run all my life.’
328 days to go …
I’d given up trying to ring Winter, convinced that she had given me a dud number. I was beginning to think that she had just been stringing me along with her talk of knowing about the Angel. Who knew whether any of the stories that this girl had spun really happened as she told them.
True to his word, Boges arrived, climbing up through the floor again. I’d been hanging to see him, not only just to have some company, but to find out whether my blog had gone up live OK.
‘It’s up and running,’ Boges assured me, ‘and you’re getting heaps of hits!’
I felt better hearing that. Not quite so cut off from the world. ‘Has anyone posted anything yet?’
‘Not yet, but I think it’s just a matter of someone making that first move—people are probably a bit nervous about it. But I reckon once you get that first comment, hundreds will follow. I’ll let you know when it happens.’
Boges pulled out the little black leather notebook that he carried with him everywhere—it was filled with his middle-of-the-night ideas, complicated sketches and almost-indecipherable notes, and was held together by a string of elastic.
‘The Ormond Riddle Society is dedicated to the fostering and performance of Tudor and Renaissance music,’ he read. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you about the info I found on the net about the Ormond Riddle. It’s not great—like that was from some singing group’s website.’
He was right, that wasn’t great news.
‘Another website explained that the Ormond Riddle,’ Boges continued, ‘was thought to have been written by a famous Tudor musician, William Byrd. But there wasn’t anything there on the actual words … or music … or whatever it is we’re looking for. I’ll search again when I get a chance. In the meantime, can we take another look at the drawings?’
‘Sure.’ I lifted the drawings out from under some loose floorboards, emptied the folder and spread them onto the floor. Boges pointed to the image of the Sphinx, tapping his finger on the pencil drawing of the crouching mythical beast and the Roman guy in front of it.
‘I’ve been reading up on the Sphinx and Egypt,’ he said, ‘trying to work out why your dad might have drawn it. I don’t know what this drawing means, exac
tly, but I did find out something interesting.’
‘Yeah?’ I prompted. ‘Spit it out.’
‘The Sphinx is connected with a riddle.’
‘A riddle?’ A charge of energy made me sit up straight. ‘Now that is interesting. The riddle of the Sphinx and the Ormond Riddle.’
‘Your dad had riddles on the brain and I bet he knew about the Ormond Riddle. Maybe he even knew the words. Is there anyone else in your family who might know something?’
‘Maybe one of my old relatives can help—the great-uncle or great-aunt. I didn’t get out to Great-uncle Bartholomew’s, as planned, but he’s probably my best shot.’
I didn’t have much family. Dad’s parents had died long ago and Mum’s few relatives lived overseas.
‘Do you think Dad was trying to suggest that the secret he was onto—the Ormond Singularity—had something to do with solving the Ormond Riddle?’
‘Yes, and that’s why I’ve checked the dictionary for exactly what riddle means.’
‘Isn’t it kind of like a joke? Some sort of trick?’
‘Listen and learn, dude,’ said Boges, reading from his notebook yet again. ‘According to the dictionary, a riddle is “a question or a statement requiring thought to answer or understand; something perplexing, something that requires solving; an enigma.”’
‘A what?’
‘Yeah, I had to look that one up too. “An enigma is something secret or hidden,”’ said Boges.
‘We already knew that!’ I said in frustration.
‘Take a look at them; they’re all enigmas!’
‘Hang on a minute. You wouldn’t have known anything about a riddle if you hadn’t seen the words “Ormond Riddle” in your uncle’s office. Your dad wasn’t to know you’d get that bit of information,’ he said, getting up and packing up his things.
‘I just wish Dad’d told us something a bit more helpful.’
‘Dude,’ said Boges, his round face suddenly very serious. ‘Look what we’re up against. Your dad knew he had to be very careful conveying this information to you, and that was before his mind went on him. You’re lucky he managed the drawings.’
Boges flipped the elastic back around his notebook and slipped it into his pocket. ‘Of course, he was also counting on me being here to help you figure it all out. I mean, seriously, what would you do without me?’
‘I don’t know whether it’s your brain or your modesty that I like best about you, Boges.’
‘I can imagine, dude. It must be tough keeping up with me. And don’t think for a second I’m boasting about my talent. It’s just a fact.’
He was only mucking around, but it was true. At school Boges came first, year after year, in just about every subject. And then of course there was all his electronic stuff, completely self-taught. He could take any old piece of junk off the street and have it functioning again in no time. He’d once built a robotic backpack on caterpillar treads that ‘walked’ along behind him to school and into the classroom. He’d made and sold quite a few, until the teachers banned them when they realised Boges had really just designed them so he could stage monster-truck-style crashes with the other kids in the corridors.
‘Between us,’ said Boges, ‘we’ll work it out. When I get home from school, I’m going to track down who this Roman is, and have another search for the Ormond Riddle on the net. I’m also going to see if “Ormond Angel” takes me anywhere.’
‘Good idea.’
I looked at the strong features of the drawing of the Roman, the way the hair was curled over the guy’s forehead, the thick nose and empty eyes. It looked just like one of those marble heads that you’d see in a museum. I thought I understood the Sphinx. But together with the head? It made no sense.
Sirens started wailing out on the street. I jumped up and hurried over to peer through a crack near the door.
I jumped back in fear. ‘Cops! There are cops out on the street!’
‘Uh-oh, I hope they didn’t follow me,’ whispered Boges. ‘I was so careful—always am.’
He squinted through the crack just as I had done. ‘There’s a police van across the road,’ he said, turning round. ‘If they see me coming out of here and someone recognises me …’
‘Quick! Under the house,’ I said, grabbing the drawings and shoving them into the plastic folder.
Boges jumped first and then I crawled down after him. This time we carefully made our way to the back of the house and underneath the verandah.
Beyond a small clearing directly in front of the verandah, the garden had turned into a jungle where creepers had almost completely smothered the bushes and small trees. We forced our way through it to the old back fence.
‘Gotta go,’ said Boges. ‘Mum’ll be wondering where I am—I promised I’d take her shopping. You know what she’s like with her English.’
‘That’s cool, but come back soon. You know I can’t do this without you.’
‘Aw, shucks,’ joked Boges, his round face grinning wide like a Halloween pumpkin. He pressed a twenty-dollar note into my hand. ‘And here’s me thinking you didn’t care!’
I gave him a quick jab, which he returned, then he climbed the fence and disappeared.
I waited under the house, watching the cops across the road for about an hour. It seemed like there was some kind of domestic dispute over there, and nothing at all to do with me and my hideout.
Back inside, I tried to focus on all the information I had so far from the drawings. We had a collection of things that could be worn, a blackjack, something that seemed to point to the Ormond Riddle …
Then, of course, there was a certain someone who claimed to know more about the drawings of the Angel.
I had to get more information from her. I had to take a chance.
326 days to go …
With my hoodie pulled right down over my face, I risked making my way back to Sligo’s car yard. I’d tossed and turned about it for a couple of nights, but had no choice; I didn’t know where else to start looking for Winter, and I had to speak to her. Time was ticking.
I hid behind some bushes across the road from the main entrance and although I saw people coming and going, including the stocky guy with the red singlet who had tossed me in the tank, I didn’t see any sign of her.
It was a much bigger establishment than I’d first realised. Most of it had been in darkness when Sligo had captured me. I’d only seen the office and laundry area and the closely-surrounding yard under light. Everything between there and running for the gate was a haze. Deeper into the lot there were long lines of cars under tarpaulins and a number of small sheds filled with engine parts and engine blocks.
I was about to leave, after an hour or so of monitoring the place, when a sudden movement caught my eye. Over in the left-hand corner of the yard, near the road, someone was scampering up and over the fence. I sat up, alert. Someone was sneaking into Sligo’s car yard! They must have been pinching spare parts! The thief was safe with me—there was no way I’d be running to the boss to tell him about it. I could see the figure more clearly as he quietly made his way further in; it was a kid wearing boots, jeans and a dark brown hoodie, and he seemed to be creeping along the rows of covered cars, looking for something in particular. As he lifted the tarpaulins, one by one, I could see that many of the cars had been in bad crashes, their bumper bars crushed, wheels and axles bent at odd angles. I guessed the kid was looking for a part from a specific make and model.
It was an unusual feeling being the quiet witness for once instead of being the one trying to get on with business without being caught. The kid jumped down from a car not too far from me and when he stood up … I saw that he was actually a she!
Her slim figure quickly dropped to the ground again and off she went, crawling along the rows of cars, lifting tarpaulins, dropping them and then proceeding to the next wreck.
As I stood up to leave, she must have noticed the movement and swung around to see who was watching her. I was quicker and dr
opped back down behind my cover, peering once more through the bushes.
The girl frantically scanned the street and then, satisfied that no-one was there, she continued with her search.
Slowly I got to my feet and backed away, completely puzzled.
What on earth was Winter Frey doing creeping around Sligo’s car yard?
323 days to go …
Winter had been on my mind even more since I spotted her at the car yard. What was she doing there, sneaking around? Did she have a little side business of her own—stealing spare parts from Sligo and then selling them elsewhere? I’d wanted to call out to her—I’d gone there to find her—but I knew she would have just run away from me. And she would not have been happy about being sprung …
I looked at her number in my phone, frustrated that I could never reach her on it. I shoved it back into my bag.
It had been a few days since I’d last seen Boges and I hadn’t been able to get a hold of him either.
‘Boges!’ I said, after practically diving across the room to answer my phone before it stopped ringing.
‘I know, I’m sorry, I haven’t been able to talk the last couple of days, but anyway, dude, I have some news.’
‘Has something happened to Mum or Gabbi?’ I asked, my chest pounding.
‘Gabbi, I’m sorry to say, is much the same,’ said Boges. ‘Your mum’s fine, but …’
‘But what?’
‘She’s moving into Rafe’s place.’
My heart sank. I knew it was probably going to happen sooner or later, with our house already up for rent, but I’d been hoping some sort of miracle would solve Mum’s money problem before any decisions like that’d have to be made.
‘I knew you wouldn’t be happy about it,’ said Boges, ‘but, hey, I checked your blog and it looks good—you have some messages now.’
February Page 4
