As Boges was laughing at a photo someone posted on my blog—a couple of girls wearing ‘Cal is innocent’ T-shirts—he noticed another one of the private messages from Winter.
‘“Love, Little Bird”?’ he asked me, reading the name she’d signed off with. ‘What is that about?’
‘I think her parents used to call her that,’ I said. ‘It’s engraved on the back of her locket.’
‘She’s playing you like a fish on a hook.’
I thought of the last time I was at her flat, the way she had confided in me. ‘She’s given us a lot of help, Boges. Without her, we wouldn’t have the Jewel, and we wouldn’t have known about the writing inside it either.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Boges, unconvinced. ‘It just seems like she only offers something when you’re losing faith in her. The minute it looks like you’ve had enough of her lies, she throws out something to draw you back in again. Look,’ he said like he’d had a slight change of heart, ‘I know she seems like a really cool chick, and she’s helped us out a few times, but please just be careful, OK?’
I was hardly even listening to Boges because I’d just seen an oddly familiar name at the bottom of a message on my blog. It was the name that old Barty had made me repeat before he died at “Kilkenny”. The name!
‘What are you staring at? What is it?’ Boges demanded, seeing the look on my face.
‘Look! He’s here! That’s him!’
‘What’s there? What’s him? What are you talking about?’
‘The solicitor whose name I couldn’t remember! That’s him! Sheldrake Rathbone!’
Boges stared at the screen. Then back at me. ‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s him! The solicitor! The solicitor who has the Piers Ormond will!’
Boges and I stared at each other.
‘Dude! What are you waiting for?’
‘But what if he’s a fake? And couldn’t the cops hack into this?’
‘I’ve got it all wrapped up pretty tight,’ my friend assured. ‘Let’s check out the security questions.’
I submitted my answers, then looked at Boges for his response when a message came up requesting a contact number.
‘Don’t do it,’ was his answer. ‘Ask for his.’
In the box I typed, ‘I’d prefer to have yours, thanks.’
160 days to go …
I’d checked my blog, using my phone, about twenty times since Boges had left last night, anxious to see whether Sheldrake Rathbone had left a number for me to call.
When a message with his number finally showed up, I dialled right away.
‘You are a hard young man to track down,’ Rathbone said to me.
‘I intend on it staying that way. I guess you understand I’m not living a normal sort of life right now.’
‘Indeed I do. Please let me assure you of my complete discretion. It is my belief that you are innocent of the charges brought against you. You have been engaged in research concerning the Ormond Singularity?’
I was silent. I didn’t know what I should admit to him, what I should give away.
‘I am in possession of a certain document,’ Rathbone continued, ‘which I believe will be very helpful when you combine it with the other things you may have already discovered. I acted as solicitor for some of the older members of your family. Your family has been in our firm’s care for generations.’
‘My Great-uncle Bartholomew told me your name,’ I said. ‘He said you were holding his great-uncle’s will. Piers Ormond—a soldier who died in the First World War. And possibly other documents, too.’
‘That is correct. Our firm holds many thousands of such documents from earlier generations. However there are certain complications that have occurred concerning this particular document.’
‘Like what?’ I asked, puzzled.
‘A client of mine informs me that you have in your possession a valuable piece of jewellery and an old manuscript. Is this correct?’
I hesitated. How did he know that?
‘How come you’re so interested in me and my family?’ I asked.
‘It is my business to know all about the family’s affairs. I have an excellent investigator who keeps me up to date with things I need to know. As well, I have private contacts, people who provide information for me. My client needs to be sure you’re holding these items. She wants me to confirm it because she potentially has something of great importance for you.’
‘Who is your client?’
‘I’m not at liberty to tell you just yet. All in due course.’
I thought about that for a moment. I’d need to talk to Boges. The Jewel and the Riddle had cost me a lot. I didn’t want to be flashing them around the place, even to a solicitor like Rathbone.
‘When can we meet?’ he asked.
The sound of a car pulling up outside distracted me.
‘I’ll call you back,’ I said, before hanging up.
Car doors were slamming. I ran to the curtains—it was Boges’s uncle again!
I gathered up all my stuff, shoved it in my backpack and slipped outside through the backyard. I would have to risk sneaking through the grounds of the neighbouring property.
I climbed over the ivy-covered wall that divided the mansions. Luckily, the garden of this place was like a tropical jungle and I was able to keep out of sight until I came to a problem. The bolted side gate.
I took a running jump, but the second my hand touched it, gripping the gate to help haul my body over, a deafening alarm started clanging and blue lights flashed around the house.
I charged down the side of the house, with the alarm blaring behind me.
As soon as I made it to the road I pulled out my phone to call Boges and slowed down, trying to look completely inconspicuous.
Boges was wearing his sunglasses again when I met him in an alley near Liberty Mall. He apologised over and over about his uncle showing up unannounced again, but I didn’t want to waste time talking about that. I needed to tell him about my conversation with Sheldrake Rathbone.
‘So what do you think?’ I asked. ‘I don’t like the idea of showing anyone the Jewel and the Riddle, but he is a solicitor.’
‘Yeah, but I don’t think you can trust anyone. Except me,’ Boges added with a cheesy wink. ‘Why can’t he just show you the documents he has? Why do you have to show him the Riddle and the Jewel? And who the heck is his client?’
‘I don’t know. This whole thing is making me feel weird. Do you think he’s just trying to make sure it’s really me he’s talking with?’
‘What? You don’t think your double, the Cal Ormond look-alike, might try to put in an appearance?’
‘No,’ I said, surprised by his question. ‘I hadn’t even thought of that. But where does he fit into this DMO puzzle?’ I asked, suddenly distracted. ‘Do I have a twin I never knew about? Bartholomew and Millicent were twins. Dad and Rafe, too …’
Great-aunt Millicent’s strange song about the two little lambs started looping around in my head. One was found, the other one lost.
‘Far out,’ said Boges suddenly looking up from my phone. He’d been playing with it as we spoke. ‘I was just having a look at your blog …’
‘What?’ I asked, snatching it from his hands.
My heart lurched when I saw the latest message that had been posted on my blog. I stared at it. For a few seconds, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
My own mother had posted a video.
I clicked the play button.
‘Cal, I know you’re watching this,’ she said, slowly, softly. She looked thinner, older, greyer, and was sitting at a table in Rafe’s house. ‘Please, darling, contact us. We are so worried about you. Gabbi’s still sick. She’s still in the coma … but we’ve brought her home and are looking after her here. We miss you, Cal. It has been such a long time. You know Rafe’s number—all you have to do is call. I’m begging you, Cal. There is no problem we can’t work out. The help you need is waiting for you. Your uncle a
nd I are doing everything we can to find you. I love you, son. I forgive you. I don’t care what you’ve done; you’re my son and always will be. I don’t want you to celebrate your sixteenth birthday out there on your own. Please Cal. Please call.’
The breath was knocked out of me.
Boges looked at me with concern.
‘What can I do? I know it’s hard on Mum,’ I said, ‘but I can’t just give up and go home and walk away from everything we’ve worked for, after everything we’ve been through. I won’t give up on the Ormond Singularity. And I’d be going straight to a prison cell, not my old bedroom!’ My head flopped into my hands. ‘I can’t believe she still doesn’t believe me …’
‘She will. Everyone will. One day soon,’ Boges assured me. ‘Madame Rodini is chasing up the translation of that inscription on the inside of the Jewel.’
‘Great job of changing the subject,’ I said.
Boges left the Jewel and the Riddle with me once again, and I walked and walked, keeping my head down, hoping my new look would keep people off my back. I realised I’d developed a habit of constantly scanning my environment, always on the lookout. I’d heard of something called the thousand-yard stare used by soldiers whose lives depended on constantly sweeping around in three hundred and sixty degrees.
More than ever before, I wanted to see Winter. I got out my mobile to call her.
‘Let’s meet up,’ I said to her, glancing at the time. ‘I know you want to see the Ormond Jewel and I’m happy to show it to you, but here’s the deal.’ I had to set things up in a particular way—I wanted to take charge of this meeting to ensure there were no surprises. ‘You have to meet me now, and you’re staying on the phone with me until I can literally see you. Until you’re in my sight.’
‘But Cal, I—’
‘Drop whatever you’re doing. It’s now or never. I’m waiting at the top of the clock tower.’
‘The clock tower? But—’
‘Stay on the phone and start running!’
‘OK, OK, I’m coming!’
The less time she had to organise anything, the better. And keeping her on the phone meant she couldn’t possibly tell a soul what she was doing, and who she was meeting.
I could hear her rushing about, grabbing things, shutting windows, closing doors, and before long her footsteps echoed down the phone, running on concrete.
‘I’m on my way,’ she puffed.
‘Less talk, more running.’
Within fifteen minutes, Winter Frey appeared at the top of the clock tower stairs in unbelievable time. She bent over, leaning on her knees, puffing and panting, hand still clutching her phone to her ear.
‘You can hang up now,’ I said as I walked over to her.
‘Fast enough for ya?’ she asked, when she looked up. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and the front strands of her hair snaked down her face. She straightened up then jumped at me, hugging me.
‘Whoa, whoa,’ I laughed. She’d taken me by surprise and I’d stumbled backwards, unbalanced by her friendly pounce. I put an arm around her waist to steady us both.
‘Ooh, sorry, I’m all sweaty and gross,’ she said.
Again, I got that weird mixed-up feeling in my guts—happy, confused and awkward.
‘Cal, it’s so good to see you again! You look so—so straight!’
I grinned, slowly letting her go.
‘That’s me. Mister Straight.’
‘We should go somewhere where we can spread out,’ she said, glancing around, ‘and look at the Jewel safely.’
She must have seen the hesitant look on my face, and she placed a gentle hand on my arm. ‘You have to trust me. I really can help. I know everything that goes on with Sligo. Well, almost everything. And now, after what’s happened with Zombrovski … What did happen with Zombrovski? No, save that gory story for later. If Sligo ever suspected that I was helping you …’ The blood drained out of Winter’s face and for a moment she looked like a scared little kid. The part of me that didn’t quite trust her was quickly absorbed by all the parts that did.
‘Hey,’ I said, touching her hand. ‘It’s OK. He’s never going to find out—not from me.’
I should have taken my hand away then, but I couldn’t. It was like there was a charge running between us.
She slowly pulled her hand away. ‘Sligo’s away at the moment so my place is safer than ever. Let’s go there?’
‘You’re joking.’ I remembered last time, and Sligo coming up the fire-escape.
‘Believe me, he’s out of town. One of his top guys was taken out,’ she said with a knowing look, ‘and his other guy was taken in, so Sligo’s out recruiting more help. Replacements. My place will be cool, I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die,’ she said, marking an invisible cross on her chest.
No doubt Sligo was scrambling to clean up the mess after Zombrovski plunged to his death, and Bruno—was he behind bars? Was that what she meant?
We were at Winter’s tiny place, on the roof of the old apartment building. She grabbed some cans of soft drink out of her fridge and put them on the counter, along with a packet of pretzels, while I started pulling things out of my bag. Music from a small radio played softly in the background.
Winter took out a little notebook, then sat down, waiting expectantly.
I went to her front door and locked it. I looked out the front windows, past the geraniums, and the empty clothesline, then closed her curtains. I was aware she was watching my every move.
When I sat back down, we went over everything that had gone on since we’d last spoken, and I explained in detail what had happened to Zombie. She listened, intrigued, munching on pretzels and nodding. She said Sligo was furious when he found out, even punched a hole in one of the walls at his new place.
‘I have some really old letters written by Piers Ormond,’ I said. ‘He mentions an amazing story he heard about our family.’ I paused. ‘That’s exactly what Dad said in his letter. Isn’t it weird, how it’s happening again, nearly a hundred years later?’
‘History often repeats itself,’ she said before leaning towards me. ‘You looked really sad then, when you mentioned your dad.’
I nodded. ‘It’s the anniversary of his death tomorrow. I’ve kind of been dreading it.’
I had to turn away from her face because if I’d kept looking at the concern in her eyes, I’d have started crying. Very uncool. I cleared my throat and continued. ‘Piers Ormond was gathering important information. He left his findings with the family solicitor for safekeeping nearly one hundred years ago. But then he died in the First World War and never reclaimed the documents. So whatever the secret was, it stayed locked up in some solicitor’s filing system and nothing more was done about it—until my dad stumbled onto something last year at the conference in Ireland.’
‘Your dad picked up where Piers stopped,’ she said. ‘And now you’ve picked it up for both of them.’
‘Right. We thought Dad had gone crazy and wasted all our savings because his brain was so messed up, but it wasn’t that at all. Somehow, he must have tracked down the Jewel—found out that it still existed in one piece, then spent the money buying it back.’
‘Well? Where is this famous Ormond Jewel? Let me see it already! The suspense is killing me!’ she smiled.
I laid the Jewel on the table.
‘Oh my,’ she gasped, picking it up. ‘I have never seen anything so beautiful! I can’t imagine how much money something like this must be worth.’ She turned it over in her hands. ‘Not just for the jewels—that huge emerald and the pearls and rubies—but for the fact that it’s hundreds of years old.’
She carefully opened it and gazed at the portrait in its oval frame. ‘And look, there’s the inscription that I told you about,’ she said tracing the line of tiny engraved letters with her fingertip.
‘This is what it says,’ I said, pulling out the piece of paper on which Boges had written the foreign words.
‘Amor et suevre tosjors celer,’ sh
e quoted, with what I guessed was a perfect French accent. ‘Just imagine how much this Elizabethan miniature portrait alone is worth,’ she said. ‘Cal, you can’t just be carrying this thing around in a backpack! This is a priceless antique. You need to put it somewhere safe. At least in a box or something.’
‘I gave it to Boges to look after while I went to see my great-aunt, but now it’s back with me and I sleep with it by my side. It’s always with me. It can’t get safer than that.’
Winter turned her attention to the Ormond Riddle and read it again with great concentration. She looked pretty awesome with her wild hair and its glittering ribbons framing her serious face as she worked. For a few minutes, as she studied first the Riddle and then the Jewel, I studied her, remembering the last time I’d been here and how close we’d seemed—two outsiders who didn’t belong anywhere—who no longer had a family they could turn to.
Suddenly, she jumped up, holding the Ormond Riddle, her hands shaking with excitement, her eyes huge with surprise.
Her mouth opened as if she were about to speak, then closed again. ‘Oh my God!’
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve just seen something!’
‘What?’
Ribbons sparkled as the infuriating girl shook her head.
‘First you have to tell me everything you know about this amazing jewel, and then I’ll tell you what I’ve just noticed. I can’t believe no-one else has picked this up before!’
Her eyes were shining with excitement, but her mouth was very determined.
‘So tell me then. You tell me what you can see,’ I said, trying like crazy to see what she had just spotted.
Winter Frey stood there, drumming the fingers of her folded arms, waiting. Then she firmly shook her head. ‘No way. You first. I need to know that you’ve told me everything before I say any more.’
‘Why are you making this so hard?’ I said. ‘Just tell me what I need to know without all this drama.’
July Page 9
