by Karen Cossey
Mr Gomander met them at the door. Meeka smiled at Logan and raised an eyebrow. She probably thought Mr Gomander looked like a friendly old granddad, with his thinning hair, fat stomach and twinkling eyes. But their gleam faded when they saw Logan.
“My my, Logan Seagate. Can’t keep away from your favourite teacher, eh? You better behave. I can still issue detentions during holidays.” Logan’s eyebrows pulled together, and Mr Gomander told him to relax before he turned his attention to Meeka.
He held out his hand for her to shake. “Who have we here, a new student?”
“My name is Lyric. I’m staying with Logan and his family for a few days.”
Mr Gomander frowned briefly, but then seemed to remember himself and pulled a smile onto his face.
“Lyric, interesting name. Write songs, do you?” he asked.
Meeka nodded and winked at Logan. One thing about Mr Gomander—his mind wasn’t thinning like his hair was.
“Come on in, I can’t wait to see the coins you’ve found,” he said.
Mr Gomander lived in a two-storey house on a hill. He showed them the views of the lake from the balcony, before taking them into his lounge. It was a clutter haven, with floor to ceiling shelves crammed with books and papers. A large collection of framed coins hung on one wall.
“Wow, it’s a real omnium-gatherum,” Meeka whispered to Logan who frowned at her. She rolled her eyes. “You know, a collection of this and that. An omnium-gatherum. Kind of like your family.”
Logan shrugged. Where did she come up with these words?
“Morning tea time—thought you might be hungry.” Mr Gomander pointed to a jug of juice and a chocolate cake on the table. “Help yourselves.”
Cole gave him the coins to examine while he poured himself a drink. The others sat on the edge of their seats, waiting to see what Mr Gomader would say.
Mr Gomander’s face went tense and his voice rose. “Where did you say you found these?”
“In the house where my parents are staying, down by the beach,” Meeka said.
Mr Gomander put the coins in his lap and focused all his attention on her. There was something close to eagerness in his eyes. “What house is that?”
Meeka’s face flushed and she hesitated. Of course, she wasn’t supposed to give anything away that might let people figure out who her parents were. But Mr Gomander was so old, there’d not be much chance he would know her mum. Plus, he probably only watched boring documentaries; not the action flicks Jason made.
“They’re staying at Hideaway Lodge,” Logan said.
Was that a look of satisfaction on Mr Gomander’s face, as if he had just ticked something off a list?
Time to change the subject. “What type of coins do you think they are?”
Mr Gomander shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, and then launched into teacher-talk about the coins. “What you have is an extremely rare English Rose Ryal minted between 1604 and 1619. It was issued by King James I, and was worth thirty shillings. It was really a two Ryal coin, but is known simply as the Rose Ryal or Rose Noble. After the Rose Ryal, a coin called the Spur Ryal was minted.”
He picked up a pen and wrote down some letters on a piece of paper then showed them. They were what was stamped on the front of the coin and read: IACOBUS DG MAG BRIT FRAN ET HIBER REX. He explained that this translated roughly to ‘James by the grace of God King of Great Britain France and Ireland.’
Mr Gomander then wrote down the letters on the back of the coin as well. DNO FACTUM EST ISTUD ET EST MIRAB IN OCULIS NRIS. He explained that they translated to something like, ‘This is the Lord's doing and it is marvellous in our eyes.’
“These coins look quite worn, but I’d still consider them to be in good condition. I guess they’d fetch anywhere from fifteen hundred to three thousand pounds each at auction. You should get them valued by an expert,” he said.
Everyone stared at him, amazed. Except Meeka, who wasn’t fazed at all. Maybe she got that much for pocket money.
“That’s meritorious,” she said. “Maybe we could do that this afternoon.”
Nate shook his head. “We can’t today, Lyric. We’re busy with your parents all afternoon at Mr Macs, then your parents are coming back to our place before we go into Plymouth for dinner, remember? Maybe tomorrow. You guys are here till Thursday, so we’ve got time.”
A look like relief washed over Mr Gomander’s face, and then his expression changed again. Another frown. What was going on with him?
“Sorry Cole. I just realised that juice was a little old. Better not drink anymore.”
He stood up and took Cole’s half empty glass and the jug of juice out to the kitchen. “I’ll get you some more.”
Cole looked at Logan with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Strange,” he said. “The juice tasted fine.”
Mr Gomander came back into the room and handed Cole a fresh glass of juice.
“Who’s Mr Mac?” he asked. “Another way of saying McDonald’s? Please don’t tell me they’ve opened up down here while I wasn’t looking. I think I’d sell up and move to the North Pole.”
Mr Gomander seemed innocent enough. But for some reason, Logan was getting his familiar uneasy feeling every time he looked at him.
“No,” said Cole, “he means Mr MacAdden's. I doubt Lyric’s parents have ever eaten at McDonald’s.” He looked at Meeka.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Dad does. But we prefer Abby and Steve’s cooking. They make great paella.”
She turned to Mr Gomander and started waving her arms around. “Have you seen their house? It’s rainforest wild—there are trees everywhere. It feels like you’re in the Amazon.”
“I can imagine Logan swinging from branch to branch,” Mr Gomander said. “Explains why he can’t sit still in class.”
“Maybe if you attached a rope from the ceiling he could hang there like a monkey,” Nate said.
Logan felt his face get hot.
“Mr Gomander, do you have a bathroom I could use?” Meeka asked.
Logan figured she was trying to rescue him and he flashed her a grateful smile.
“Down the hall on the left, Lyric. Third door.” Mr Gomander pointed, and then asked the others if they wanted some cake.
While she was gone they discussed who the coins could belong to. Mr Gomander wasn’t able to shed much light except to suggest that a collector must have left them by mistake. He promised to ask his contacts if they knew of anyone losing some coins.
*****
“Surely if someone lost coins like these at the lodge they’d talk to Janet about it?” Logan asked as they were walking back to the bus stop. For some reason Cole kept yawning.
“If we ask her, she’ll want to keep the coins in case someone does talk to her about them,” Poet said.
Their faces fell. Those coins were worth a lot of money.
Cole put his arm round Poet. “It’d be the right thing to do.”
“Not today though,” Meeka said. “No time, we’ve got to get home then go to Mr MacAdden’s. Then we should skip the restaurant with the olds, and you guys should take me out for fish and chips on the beach and a movie as part of my Ordinary training. I heard Nate say Monday night is cheap night at the movies, so it has to be tonight.”
Cole snorted. “Since when do you worry about cheap night?”
“Never.” She smiled. “I’m practicing being Ordinary. Do I get a gold star yet?”
*****
Mr Gomander watched them leave then sent a text, “All clear.”
Next minute there was a knock on his door. Oscar and Zach. Mr Gomander let them in with a scowl.
“What happened? I told you to come an hour ago. I wanted you here before the kids arrived so you could help me with them if I needed to lock them away for a while.”
“Sorry, boss, trouble with transport,” Oscar said.
“Never mind. As it turns out, luck is on our side. I thought the girl staying at the lodge was called Meeka, but for some re
ason she’s calling herself Lyric. Took me awhile to figure out she was the same person. Anyhow, she’s staying with Cole’s family today, so she’s out of the way for now. It sounds like they’ll all be at MacAdden’s this afternoon, even the parents. You’ll be able to keep an eye on them there while you start moving the stuff, and then tonight they’ll be in Plymouth while you finish the job. Mind you make sure they don’t head back to the lodge this afternoon.”
Oscar nodded and twisted his fist in the palm of his other hand.
“Take it easy, Oscar,” Mr Gomander said. “You better come and go through the back entry so they don’t spot you. We should be clear to move the stuff until at least eight-thirty while they’re having dinner in Plymouth. Let’s get in and out of the lodge quickly and quietly while they’re all somewhere else. No one needs to get hurt or even know we were there.”
“So no need to rough anyone up? Shame,” Zach said, cracking his knuckles.
Oscar smirked. “Come on. Let’s get back to the track before the London guys turn up.”
Chapter Fifteen
Early Monday Afternoon
Cole fell asleep on the bus and took a lot of shaking to get him awake. Once they were home he had a cup of coffee and fell asleep on the couch and missed the big ceremony Logan and Nate made of heating up and eating microwave pies. Somehow though he heard them talking about leaving him there to sleep and he dragged himself off the couch and had another cup of coffee. Eventually he was ready to go and they got on their bikes and headed to Mr MacAdden’s.
Steve and Abby were at work, so it was just Jason and Lia there to meet them. They all chatted away, smiling and laughing, as they sat on the railing watching four sports cars race around the track. They were throttling it: a Ferrari F12 Berlinetta, a Lamborghini Aventador LP700, a McLaren MP4-12C and a SRT Viper.
Logan sat by Jason who kept giving him information about each car’s engine and performance. Jason was a real petrolhead, and Logan soaked up everything he said like a sponge.
After a long time the racers took a break and Logan looked around. He was surprised at the number of support vehicles parked nearby—five big trucks plus a number of smaller ones. Cole joined Jason and Lia and went to talk to the race crews, but Meeka wanted to go take a look at the motocross bikes. The four of them strolled over that way, trying to peer in all the trucks.
“Look at those guys over there,” Poet said. “Weren’t they on the bus this morning?”
Logan’s head snapped round. Poet was right. They were the roughnecks from the bus who’d made him feel uneasy. What were they doing here?
“Guess they drive one of the trucks so they had to take a bus to get around town. Probably visiting some friends and weren’t allowed to take the Viper for a spin. Bet that ripped their nightie,” Nate said. “They did seem a little grumpy.”
Logan’s eyes widened. “They weren’t grumpy. They were sullen, surly and …”
“Curmudgeonly,” Meeka said. Logan stared at her. Another word! How did she do that?
“Do you read the dictionary for fun?” Nate asked.
“Only at airports. Helps me stay calm. Otherwise I find airports very discombobulating with all those people milling around. One time I caused a mass evacuation with my Nerf gun. I was trying to get a group of people to move away from me by shooting at them.”
She raised an imaginary gun and pretended to shoot Nate. An expression of sorrow and regret settled on her face as she dropped her arm and shook her head. “It didn’t end well.”
Everybody stared at her, mouths dropped. Her expression changed again to one of curiosity as she pointed to the men who were moving away. “We should go see what those nerve-frying tough guys are up to don’t you think?” She took off in their direction.
“Uh-oh.” Logan looked at Poet and Nate. They all shook their heads and ran off after her.
As they came round the side of a truck, they almost bumped into the men standing at the back of a van that had its doors open. Logan saw a dozen big white buckets with lids on, stacked on top of each other. One of the men pushed the van doors closed.
“What you kids doing back ’ere?” he growled, a fierce look on his face. Nate moved in front of Poet and stood by Logan, who’d grabbed Meeka’s arm and pulled her back.
“We were wanting to see if there were any more cars back here. Thought there might be a Bugatti Veyron,” Logan said.
The man’s face relaxed. “Not at nearly two million pounds a car. Even these guys don’t stretch that far.” He nodded at all the trucks, then frowned again and snarled at them. “Now scram. We don’t want no kids mucking around back here, trying to nick off with stuff.”
The kids hurried away, heading for the motocross shed, not talking until they got there and sat down, leaning against the wall.
“He looked as friendly as a wildcat pulled out of the sea by its tail,” Meeka said, hands shaped into cat’s claws about to strike.
She was right. How would Poet take it? Logan looked her way.
Poet was trying to control her shivers. Poor Poet. She was bound to have nightmares now about the man that had killed her father. That was the problem with her having a photographic memory—she had told him that some images were burned in her mind and she could never escape them. Especially when something like those men jolted them out of the place she had neatly filed them in her brain.
Poet leaned against Nate and Logan heard her whisper ‘Blue Days’. That was her code for, “Please be nice to me, because I’m feeling tragic about my dad.” Nate put his arm round her and squeezed her shoulders. She took a deep breath and shook herself.
“Did you guys make out the writing near the bottom of the buckets?” she asked.
Nobody had. They wanted to know more.
“I only saw a few numbers like weights, and some letters.” Poet shut her eyes. She was probably picturing the buckets in her mind. “One had the letters RS RY and the other SP RY.”
“What did Mr Gomander say our coins were called?” Logan asked.
“Don’t you ever listen to anything he says? No wonder you flunk history,” Nate said. “They’re English Rose Ryals.”
“Well, this is the first time Mr Gomander has said anything worth remembering,” said Logan. “What d’ya reckon, RS RY on the bucket could be for Rose Ryal and SP RY could be for the other coin he mentioned—wasn’t it a Spur Ryal? What if those buckets are loaded with coins?”
Everyone was silent for half a minute.
“We’ve got to try and see what’s in those buckets!” Poet said.
She must have forgotten about the men guarding the van. It was true—money did make you lose your head.
Meeka jumped up. “We’ll have to be quick. As I came round the corner, I heard the other man say they needed to unload the van speedy like, so they could get back to pick up another load. He said if they didn’t pick up the pace they’d be here until midnight. There must be even more buckets somewhere.”
Logan frowned. What if the coins were at the lodge? Surely not! It was way too risky to store stuff there. Only one way to find out. He stood up.
“We can’t get close to the van with those guys hanging around. But I could follow it on my bike.” He nodded at the motocross shed.
“No way—those guys looked dangerous. They’ll mow you down and turn you into road kill.” Nate jumped up beside him, almost stomping on Poet.
She frowned at both of them. “And what’ll we tell Jason and Lia about you zooming off after a van?”
“I’ll leave the back way and catch up to them. No problem.” Logan knew what he was doing.
“Sounds like a lollapalooza idea to me!” Meeka said. Logan considered her for a moment then pulled the key for his bike out of his pocket. He always kept it there.
“I’m not sure if lollapalooza is a real word or not, but I do know Meeka Happy Lyric that you can’t double on the back and come too.” He watched her face drop. Better get going before she started arguing.
&n
bsp; He turned to Nate. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure they don’t see me.” Nate was shaking his head and followed him into the shed. Logan knew he was going to try and stop him.
Nate didn’t need to worry. The bike Logan always used, the one he considered his own even though it belonged to Mr MacAdden, was gone.
Logan stood, dumbfounded. His bike had always been there! Not once had he turned up and not been able to use it. Mr MacAdden kept it for him.
Poet called from outside. “They’re leaving!”
Racing outside, they saw the van trundling down the back exit road. It must have unloaded all its buckets and was heading back for more.
Logan kicked the wall of the shed, then slumped down on the ground.
“Cheer up,” Nate said, “If those guys had caught you they would have made mincemeat out of you. You wouldn’t have stood a chance. The most violent thing you’ve ever done is peel a potato.”
Logan looked up at him, exhaled loudly, and pointed in the direction of the van. “I wouldn’t have got caught. I could outpace them on my bike. Where is it?”
Who cared about stupid coins? How would he get by without his bike?
They took another look in the shed, but the bike was gone. Surely nobody would have stolen it? They went looking for Mr MacAdden to ask him about it, but he wasn’t around. Nobody else in the office could tell them anything about the bike either.
They stood outside. “Come on, Logan, let’s not worry anymore about your bike or those nerve-frying tough guys. There’s probably a simple explanation for both of them. Mr MacAdden will know where your bike is.” Nate pointed to the race track. “Look—the rich guys are racing again and we’ve yet to see the Viper beat the Aventador, as you said it would. If it doesn’t, you owe me your desserts for a week, remember?”
Logan looked at them all watching him. They were worried about him. A smile launched an attack from the inside, laying claim to his face.
