October

by Gabrielle Lord

  ‘Yes, I’ve always known that I want to be a solicitor,’ I heard Winter say. ‘I thought it would be a good idea to try and get some experience, while I’m still a student, and visit some local firms to see if anyone would like my help after school, a couple of afternoons a week.’

  A smile grew on my face—we were becoming experts in subterfuge. I checked no-one was looking, and made a hasty crawl through the doors, directly past Winter’s legs and the reception counter. My sudden confidence was quickly taken down a notch or two when I realised Rathbone’s personal office was walled in by glass—I’d be completely exposed.

  Silently, I stood up, opened the glass door and stepped inside. Moving like a ghost, I crept behind the desk and crouched down.

  I began working my way through the drawers, looking for any secret compartments, big enough to contain the Jewel and the Riddle. I could feel the sweat returning to my forehead and trickling down my back as I searched. If anything went wrong, and Rathbone came back early, I knew I’d be in the hands of the police within minutes. That’s if Rathbone didn’t do away with me first. He was a mysterious guy—who knew what he was capable of?

  A few minutes had passed and I hadn’t found anything. I hoped Winter would be able to keep the ‘chatty’ receptionist occupied. I snuck a look to check what was going on.

  I could hear laughter! ‘Oh, love, I know,’ heard Dorothy say. ‘When I was about your age I did some work experience in a cosmetic laboratory and it was exactly the same!’

  I had no idea what they were talking about, but all that mattered was that they were still talking.

  I was searching Rathbone’s shelves, checking behind dozens of books, when my fingers encountered something metallic. I dug around and pulled it out. It was a small, metal box with a key left in the lock. I turned it and the lid opened. Inside was an envelope addressed to Sheldrake, with Irish stamps on it.

  Letters from Ireland to Sheldrake Rathbone!

  I skim-read the letter and one word jumped out at me: Graignamanagh. The letter was from someone in Graignamanagh, Tipperary, Ireland. G’managh had been marked on the transparency from Dad’s suitcase!

  ‘I’ll just photocopy it for you, love,’ came Dorothy’s voice, as she suddenly walked into view. I dropped to the floor, but accidentally knocked over a glass filled with pens and pencils!

  ‘What was that?’ asked Dorothy, quickly approaching Rathbone’s desk.

  ‘That’s nothing,’ I heard Winter say. The pair were now standing in the room with me, as I huddled under the desk. ‘Look, Dot, how about I clean this up while you make the photocopy?’

  ‘Thanks, pet. Sheldrake likes his desk tidy.’ I watched the floor as Dorothy’s feet walked away again.

  Winter dropped to her hands and knees, and picked up the stray pens and pencils. Her face suddenly met mine. ‘Get out,’ she whispered. ‘Rathbone’s on his way back already and I can’t keep this up for much longer! Plus I can’t let Rathbone see me! What if he recognises me? What then?’

  ‘Did you say something, love?’ Dorothy called out.

  ‘No, no, I’ll be out in a sec,’ said Winter, standing up and returning the glass to the desk. She left the room.

  I was getting out from my hiding place when I banged my head and looked up to see what I’d hit. It was a metal lever. What was that doing there? It looked like some kind of handle. I backed out then pulled down on it as hard as I could. Something clicked then whirred. Then, from under the desktop, a large drawer descended.

  A secret drawer! I felt around, trying to work out how to open it, my hands trembling and fumbling in my haste. I finally found another small handle, which I pulled. The drawer slid open, revealing one very fat file. I blinked. ‘Ormond family genealogy’, I read.

  Feverishly, I hauled it out, shuffling for more light as I flicked through its contents.

  Rathbone must have been gathering information on my family for decades! There were handwritten histories from generations ago, and family trees following the descendants of Black Tom’s son, Piers Duiske of Duiske Abbey. There were letters from solicitors and lawyers from Ireland. I fumbled all the contents back into the folder, knowing that I’d have to scram, and as I did this, my eyes fell on some lines in one of the letters: ‘… too difficult to access all the coded information, it is suggested instead that a search through the remnants of any forts or houses built by the tenth Earl in the area of Carrick on Suir, be undertaken instead. In this way, we cut the Gordian knot, avoid wasting time with decoding and move straight to searching possible locations.’

  My fingers shook as I tried to silently squeeze the file back into its secret compartment. couldn’t work it out and was running out of time, so I left it in its lowered position and crawled out backwards from under the desk.

  I looked out and saw Dorothy fussing over the photocopier. She was still rattling on about something as Winter nodded nearby. Winter caught my eye, and looked furious. ‘What are you doing?’ she mouthed, desperately. ‘Get out!’

  It was a risk, but there was something else I wanted to do. I re-opened the filing cabinet containing Rathbone’s clients’ records, and began flicking through the names. I skipped ahead to the surnames beginning with an ‘F’. It was a crazy idea, but Rathbone and Sligo were clearly in cahoots, so I needed to make sure that there wasn’t a file in there concerning the Frey family—Winter’s family.

  There was a Fredericks, a Freeman and a French, but no Frey. I glanced over at the photocopier again and Winter was staring at me. ‘I’m going!’ she mouthed again. This time she ran a finger across her throat to emphasise the danger.

  I heard the lift coming. Was Rathbone on his way up? But then, like a bolt of lightning, another idea came to mind. My fingertips scrambled along the tops of the files, flying over more surnames. Fisher, Fitzpatrick, Foley, Fong …

  Fong! Charles G. Fong! I almost couldn’t believe my eyes as I wrenched the file out and shoved it into my backpack.

  I thought I could hear the lift stopping at the floor below so I raced to the door. Winter was gone, and I could see Dorothy typing away at her desk. A single scrunched-up ball of paper in the rubbish bin caught my eye. I grabbed it, shoved it into my pocket, then fell to my knees, crawling, once more, past reception.

  I heard the lift locking into position on this floor. I had to move fast!

  I scampered through the foyer and past the lift, just as it opened. I stood up and ran into the neighbouring accountant’s office, throwing myself down on a chair in their waiting room. I watched through the doorway as Rathbone stepped out of the lift and into his office, but not before he threw a sideways glance my way.

  ‘How may I help you?’ asked a man in reception.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Sorry. I think I’m on the wrong level.’ With that, I got up and hurried to the lift.

  I swore when the lift was suddenly called down to the ground floor. I hit the down button, taking sideways looks at Rathbone’s office, wondering how long it would take him to notice the hidden drawer’s position.

  I jiggled with impatience, listening to the lift doors opening downstairs and to the silence coming from Rathbone’s offices. I prayed this would continue a while longer.

  Come on, come on, I muttered to the lift through clenched teeth, hearing its doors close downstairs, and the whining of its ascent to the first and second floors.

  A sudden eruption of sound came from Rathbone & Associates. I heard loud cursing and then suddenly Rathbone appeared behind the double glass doors, heading straight for me, one fist raised in the air and his face contorted with rage. The lift doors opened and I jumped in, punching the ‘close doors’ button.

  ‘You! Come back here, you little thug! You criminal!’ he shouted.

  The lift doors started to close. Hurry, hurry! I begged them.

  Rathbone stuck one foot in the door and the lift doors parted again. He pulled them open with his hands, leaped into the lift and grabbed me round the throat. ‘What did you take?�
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  ‘Nothing!’ I said struggling to free myself as the lift doors closed and we started descending. ‘Get your hands off me!’

  ‘We’ll see about that!’ he said, tightening his grip on me. ‘I’m marching you straight down to the police. You’ve blackmailed me once, but that won’t scare me again. This is the end of you. You’ll be locked up and they’ll throw away the key. You’ll be an old man by the time you get out! And do you know what? I’ll be enjoying all the wonderful things that the Ormond Singularity brings me while you’re rotting away in some maximum security prison. In fact, once I have my hands on it, I’ll send you a postcard.’

  Rathbone was surprisingly strong and although I struggled vigorously, he was able to keep a tight hold on me as the lift doors opened onto the ground floor. What happened next seemed like something filmed in slow motion. Winter, wearing a blonde bob wig, and Boges materialised on each side of the doors as they opened. They exploded into the confined lift space, hurling themselves on Rathbone, hoisting him up in the air.

  ‘Get out of here, dude!’ Boges yelled.

  ‘Disappear!’ shouted Winter. ‘We can handle this!’

  I gave one last violent, twisting squirm, wrenching myself right out of my hoodie. Meanwhile, Rathbone struggled and swore, pinned in the corner of the lift by my two friends.

  I ducked past two people who were waiting for the lift—they jumped backwards in shocked surprise.

  ‘Stop him! Stop that boy!’ Rathbone yelled, kicking and struggling. ‘It’s Callum Ormond! Psycho Kid!’

  ‘Go, dude!’ Boges shouted. ‘Just go!’

  I hated to leave them like that, but I had no alternative. I did as Boges ordered and ran like the wind.

  I didn’t know what to do but head back to Winter’s house and nervously wait for my friends.

  I pulled out the crumpled piece of paper that I’d taken from the rubbish bin near Rathbone’s desk and smoothed it out.

  It was a list of words—names of some sort—with the first three crossed out.

  ‘We’re back!’ shouted out Winter, as she and Boges appeared at the door. ‘Poor Rathbone had no hope against this,’ she said, as the two of them posed, flexing their biceps. ‘But seriously, how could you leave me with Dorothy for that long? She was sweet, but that lady can talk your ears off. I hope it was worth it. Did you find anything?’

  ‘You bet I did! The guy has a file on my family as thick as two telephone books! He’s been gathering information for decades—he has a genealogy of the Ormond family starting way back! He probably knows everything about it.’

  ‘Did you find anything to do with the Riddle or the Jewel?’

  ‘Nothing like that. But there was a letter from Ireland, from Graignamanagh—like that name on the transparency. Plus I found a weird list of names, screwed up in the rubbish.’

  ‘Anything else?’ asked Winter.

  ‘Yeah, something else.’

  ‘Well, what is it? What did you find?’

  ‘I found a file with your dad’s name on it. His real name.’

  ‘What?’ she said, her face turning pale. She slowly sat on the couch, her skirt billowing like a cloud. ‘Did you see what was inside?’

  ‘I thought I’d leave that to you,’ I said, reaching for the file that was squashed into my backpack. Her eyes lit up with excitement and reluctance. I handed it to her. She held it gently and cautiously, as though any sharp movement would set it off like a grenade.

  Boges and I silently watched as Winter read through the paperwork in the file.

  ‘Is it the will?’ I asked finally.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. She raised her eyes, and there were tears in them. ‘It says exactly what Sligo told me it would say. He gets everything, including me. He has to provide me with guardianship, take care of my expenses and provide me with an allowance. It’s all there.’

  ‘It’s all there?’ I asked, confused, staring at my friends in disbelief. ‘But what do you mean? It’s all legit? Sligo was telling the truth?’

  ‘Not exactly. There’s one thing that’s very clearly not legit.’ Winter held up the final page for us to see.

  Boges and I both leaned in.

  Staring back at us was a signature: Charles G. Frey. Some of the lines were shaky and lacking confidence. It perfectly matched the repeated signatures Winter had found on the notepad in Sligo’s office.

  ‘Forgery?’ asked Boges.

  Winter and I both nodded. I noticed now that she was smiling. The biggest, broadest, shiniest smile I’d ever seen on her face was beaming back at me. I could practically feel the surge of renewed energy rush through her. Her pale cheeks were now flushed with colour.

  ‘I always knew something was wrong,’ she said. ‘They loved me. They didn’t disinherit me. Sligo did that. They loved me, and I loved them. As soon as the DMO is sorted, I’ll be taking all of this—the will and the signatures notepad—to the police.’

  Using my phone to jump online, I searched for the meaning of ‘Gordian knot’ while Winter went through the falsified will again in the kitchen, and Boges talked to someone on the phone outside. I read that there was a legend about Alexander the Great who instead of wasting time trying to untangle a famously complex knot, simply cut through it with his sword.

  Rathbone had accessed all this information about the Ormond family because he was the family’s solicitor. But his interest went much further than that. He too was trying to track down the truth of the Ormond Singularity and if we weren’t careful, with his contacts and money, Rathbone could get to Ireland before us. He’d cut through the double-key code of the Riddle and the Jewel using the Gordian knot technique—he wouldn’t waste time trying to decipher the secrets, he would just jump right in and take what was mine.

  Time was running out. We were just three kids. But then I thought about how Boges and Winter had broken me out of Leechwood Lodge Asylum, how they’d tricked the biometric scanner at Zürich Bank, and how they’d hurled themselves at Rathbone, enabling me to escape. I realised we made a great team. We were much more than just three kids.

  Winter handed Rathbone’s list of names to me. ‘It looks like nicknames,’ she said. ‘Coded names. And I think I know who the first three are.’

  ‘Toecutter, She-Devil and Ballet Boy?’ I asked.

  ‘Everyone knows who Toecutter is. Sligo has started up an interest in the ballet,’ she reminded us. ‘He’s going in for art—with a capital A,’ she added, in her mocking tone. ‘And there’s one woman who instantly springs to my mind,’ she said, ‘when I hear the words “She-Devil”!’

  ‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Boges, who had been pretty quiet since coming back inside. He was stirring a pot of noodles on the stove. ‘That’s Oriana de la Force, all right.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, thinking hard. ‘And they’ve all been crossed off. That doesn’t look good—for them, I mean. Is Rathbone planning to have them rubbed out? Or do you think it means he’s ruled them out.’

  ‘Ruled them out—from what?’ asked Winter.

  ‘What everyone’s after,’ I said.

  ‘The Ormond Singularity,’ said Winter. ‘And possession of the two objects that lead to it.’

  ‘So he believes one of these three people,’ I said, ‘Deep Water, Double Trouble and The Little Prince, has them.’ I thought a little more. ‘But there’s another person we can rule out from having the Jewel and the Riddle—Rathbone himself. If he had it he wouldn’t still be searching for it. What do you think, Boges?’

  Boges nodded, gloomily. ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘Boges, you OK? What’s eating you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Winter, tossing her hair back. ‘No offence, but you’ve been in a bit of a bad mood ever since we met up today.’

  ‘Stop hassling me, both of you,’ snapped Boges. The two lines on his forehead deepened, furrowing his face.

  ‘Hassling you?’ said Winter. ‘I’m concerned, that’s all!’

  But he turned away, not wanting to t
ake it any further. Maybe he was getting down about this endless quest for the truth.

  Boges turned back. ‘I can’t take it,’ he said. ‘Cal, there’s something I need to tell you—there’s something bad happening. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to tell you.’

  ‘What?’ I asked, a sick feeling forming in the pit of my stomach.

  ‘Dr Leporello contacted you.’ An image of the freaky fungus expert, with his deadly toadstools and sickly skin, filled my mind. ‘There was a message on your blog,’ Boges continued, ‘with a number to call. I’ve been wondering when might be the right time to bring it to your attention. But with something like this, there is no right time. I took the liberty of calling him.’

  ‘When? Boges, you’re scaring me. Has something happened to Gabbi? To Mum?’

  Slowly Boges pulled a scrap of newsprint attached to a printout from his pocket. ‘I’m sorry I’m only telling you now,’ he said, passing the papers to me.

  My heart was pounding as I took them from him, focusing on the torn-out piece of newsprint first. It was a wedding announcement.

  Shock made me blind for a minute. I read the words again. There was no denying them.

  Mum was marrying Uncle Rafe! Confusion followed shock, leaving me speechless. I tried to process all the thoughts that were bouncing around my head.

  I knew Rafe had been very good to Mum, helping her through my dad’s death and all the mess that followed. He’d even offered to mortgage his house to pay for my legal defence—I knew he meant well even though I found him hard to get on with. But this wasn’t right—it was too soon. No-one could take Dad’s place.