Obsidian Pebble

by Rhys Jones

  Oz dropped his gaze and turned over his paper, his heart sinking in his chest.

  Ten more questions. Ten more columns of hieroglyphics. He hadn’t even attempted any revision since the last test, not that it would have made any difference if he had. Besides, he hadn’t known that Badger Breath would spring another test so quickly. Shaking his head, Oz knuckled down.

  This time he’d try and get the easier ones attempted first and do his utmost not to get stuck on anything difficult.

  Oz chewed the end of his pen in concentration. Unfortunately, the questions were still all algebra and, as usual, confusion crowded in and the letters and the numbers just became a jumble.

  But then something really weird happened. Some of the numbers and letters changed colour. On his left, two desks away, Jenks was drawing a missile on his answer sheet, but the figures on his paper looked black, not green and purple and red like those on Oz’s. He turned back to his own paper and rubbed his eyes, but the figures stayed coloured, shimmering slightly as he stared at them.

  A momentary panic overtook him. Was he losing his mind? But then Oz saw the different coloured numbers and letters rearrange themselves in his head. They floated and melted together just like in his dream. And when they joined, what resulted was a new colour which flowed from his eyes like ghost images onto the paper. And Oz knew just by looking that the new images—which happened to be all in blue—were ending up as the right answer. Quickly, in case the whole thing faded, he scribbled over the blue letters and numbers, barely managing to stifle an excited giggle. His brain was doing algebra! Somehow, a calculator in his head was doing the maths in colour.

  He looked at the next question, and then the next, and exactly the same thing happened in each one; coloured numbers and letters floated off the page and melted to form royal-blue answers, with varying shades as the workings out in between. The ten questions took him twenty minutes. He looked up and saw Badger Breath staring at him curiously.

  “Sir, I’ve finished. Can I get some lunch now?”

  Badger Breath tried to swallow, but failed as a lump of biscuit went down the wrong way. He coughed and turned an alarming shade of purple. Oz wasn’t quite sure whether it was the coughing or simply pure rage at Oz’s apparent impertinence that was transforming him into an aubergine, but finally, after wiping his mouth several times with a paper hanky, he got up and strode over to Oz’s desk.

  “Lunch? You leave here when you’ve finished and only then, Chambers,” he said and managed to pepper Oz with foul-smelling biscuit crumbs at the same time. He picked up the paper with a flourish but held Oz’s eyes in a contemptuous glare. “Or are we just giving up, eh?”

  “I’m not giving anything up,” Oz said, and watched as Boggs scanned his paper. Slowly, the crowing smile slipped from the teacher’s face like a greasy egg off a canteen plate.

  “But you’ve finished,” Badger Breath said, frowning.

  “I just said that. So, can I go now?”

  Badger Breath nodded dumbly, his face a dark cloud of confusion. But Oz didn’t hang about. He was out of the door in a flash, feeling several pairs of eyes boring a hole in his spine. He had no idea what had just happened, but he didn’t really care.

  He could do maths.

  He could do algebra.

  Just wait until he told the others.

  Chapter 8

  Dr. Mackie’s Slip

  The first thing Oz did after he got home that afternoon was to look at his laptop again. The images were still there, but with a bit of experimentation, he could now make the images smaller by waving the pointer over the top left-hand corner of the screen. But they never went away altogether. He sent Ruff and Ellie some screenshots of the images. Within twenty minutes, Ellie was Skyping him back online.

  “Ruff not around, then?” she asked, and Oz detected the little accusatory tone in her voice.

  “He has a paper round most afternoons delivering the evening news.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” Ellie frowned.

  “Yeah. That’s his only pocket money these days, since his dad is working part-time now that Brockets has cut back.”

  “Is that why his dad was painting chalets over half term?” Ellie asked, frowning.

  “Yep.”

  But they had no chance to discuss this any further as a bleep on the screen brought up Ruff’s shaggy-fringed face, and they immediately started discussing the images.

  “Wow, these are amazing,” Ruff purred.

  “I don’t know what the E thingy is, but the other thing looks a bit like my grandma’s old jewellery,” Ellie said. Even via the webcam, Oz could see her eyes glinting with excitement. “This is so cool, Oz.”

  “Maybe, but the trouble is we can’t see how big it really is from the screen,” Oz mused.

  “Never mind that,” Ruff said. “The question is, how the buzzard did these images get on your laptop?”

  “All I know is that they weren’t there when I went to bed.”

  “So does that mean that someone sneaked in and installed them while you were asleep?” Ellie asked.

  “What, like a screensaver burglar in reverse?”

  “Your mother?” offered Ellie half-heartedly.

  “No way,” Oz said. “She still struggles with emails.”

  “What about Caleb or Lucy Bishop or that Tim bloke?” Ruff suggested.

  “But why? And besides, I would have heard them.”

  All three of them sat back, befuddled. Finally, they agreed to do some thinking on their own and get back together in an hour or so’s time. Oz knew he wouldn’t find an answer because he’d been thinking of nothing else since he’d got home. But he was still mulling it over some time later when there was a knock on his bedroom door and his mother called, “Oz, it’s me.”

  He shut his laptop lid and got up to open the door. His mother stood there with Tim, complete with leather tool belt, in tow.

  “Tim mentioned to me that some of the radiators on his side of the house were not working properly, so he’s offered to check the central heating for us. That’s nice of him, isn’t it?” Mrs. Chambers was grinning.

  “What sort of checking?”

  “Bleeding radiators,” Tim said.

  “They’re useless, I know,” Oz agreed.

  “No,” said Tim earnestly, “that’s what I’ll be doing. Bleeding the radiators to let out trapped air. Makes them less efficient if there’s air in them. Can I come in?”

  Oz stood aside and watched Tim fit a key to the top of the radiator under his window, whistling jauntily as he did so. Air hissed out, followed by a dribble of water.

  “There,” said Tim. “Fixed.”

  Mrs. Chambers grinned and gave Oz a thumbs-up. House maintenance always seemed to make her extremely happy.

  “I’ll just check the other rooms on this floor, too,” Tim said, very businesslike.

  “Would you?” Mrs. Chambers simpered. “I’ll leave you to it, then, shall I?”

  Oz watched as Tim went into his dad’s study and heard his mother whisper, “He’s worth his weight in gold, that one.”

  Oz shrugged and went back to his laptop just as a chat signal chimed. He accepted the call, and within seconds Ellie and Ruff were both staring back at him on his split screen.

  “Well?” Oz asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Ruff said.

  “I’ve found something,” Ellie said, sounding pleased with herself. “In fact, I know exactly what that thing that looks like an insect is. It’s a brooch, and it’s from a sale of Victorian jewellery in a shop in Seabourne.”

  “What?” said Oz, astounded. “But how…?”

  “Like I said, it looked like some of my gran’s old jewellery. I showed her and she thinks it looks a lot like Bakelite, too.”

  “Bakelite? Sounds like a sort of bread,” Ruff muttered.

  “It’s a kind of plastic. All the rage when my gran was young, so she says. Anyway, I did a search for Bakelite brooches online, and this adv
ert came up. ‘A well-preserved Bakelite dress brooch—with missing metal clip.’ The shop is called Garret and Eldred Antiques. They even have a catalogue. I’ve sent the image to both of you.”

  Oz opened his email and looked at the image Ellie had scanned. It did look the same, though the quality was poor and it was difficult to be certain.

  “You’re a genius, Ellie,” Oz said.

  “Yeah, I know,” Ellie said with a dramatic sigh. “I vote we go and look at it on Saturday.”

  “This is so weird,” Ruff said. “I’m sure I’ve seen that E-shaped thing somewhere, too. Just can’t think where.”

  Oz shrugged. “I only wish I knew what it all meant.”

  “We’ll find out, I know we will,” Ellie said.

  Oz wished he had her confidence.

  There was English homework, but Oz didn’t really mind because all he had to do was write a paragraph on Charles Dickens’ spooky story about a Signalman who kept getting premonitions. He heard the phone ring downstairs and didn’t think twice about it; he was too busy trying to work out what saturnine meant. But when he heard a firm knock on his door a few minutes later, he almost jumped out of his skin.

  His mother opened the door and stepped in. She wore a serious, troubled expression. “Oz, I’ve just got off the phone with the deputy head, Miss Swinson,” Mrs. Chambers said.

  “The Volcano? What did she want?”

  “She rang to tell me that your maths teacher has contacted her. You re-sat your maths test today, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Oz said, intrigued.

  “You got one hundred percent.”

  After long, ticking seconds of shocked silence, Oz got up from the chair, punched the air and let out a whoop and a triumphant, “Yesss!”

  Mrs. Chambers looked on, bemused.

  “So the Volcano rang to congratulate me?” Oz said finally, after realising that his mother wasn’t exactly sharing in his ecstatic display of victory.

  “Dare I ask why you call her that?” asked Mrs. Chambers warily.

  “‘Cos she blows up when you least expect it,” Oz stated.

  Mrs. Chambers let out an uncertain, “Hmmm,” and came and sat on the edge of Oz’s bed. “Well, anyway, she said that Mr. Boggs was…uncomfortable with what had happened.”

  Suddenly, all the elation drained out of Oz like water from a leaky bucket. “Are they trying to say that I cheated?”

  “No one has actually come out with it, but yes, I suppose that is what they’re saying,” Mrs. Chambers said unhappily.

  Oz was on his feet in an instant. “That’s just rubbish, Mum,” he said, feeling his cheeks start to burn. “I don’t know how I did it, I just did. And I did revise last week, you know I did, but on Friday it was all muddled, and today…it just wasn’t.”

  “So, no cheating?”

  “I swear I did not cheat,” Oz said, his voice rising.

  “So today, when you re-sat, things just clicked. Is that it?” Mrs. Chambers asked, her eyes boring into Oz’s.

  “Exactly. Things just clicked…well, more like sort of moved about in colour in my head. But that’s what happened. Suddenly I knew what to do.”

  It was as good an explanation as any, because it was the truth and Oz couldn’t think of any other way to say it. Mrs. Chambers held Oz in her steady gaze for a long ten seconds before getting up off the bed and holding him in a hug. “Then that’s what I’m going to tell the Volcano when I ring her back. But I’ve got a feeling they may want to talk to you at school about this as well.”

  “Great,” Oz said, his eyes rolling up towards the ceiling as he let out a sigh.

  After his mother left, Oz sat and pondered. He hadn’t thought about the maths thing that much, but he could understand that, to Boggs, it must have appeared very strange indeed. Still, that didn’t change anything. What had happened, as weird as it was, had happened. He felt his insides tingle with the memory of it. And as his mum always said, you should never look a gift horse in the mouth, even if it is totally bonkers.

  He finished off the essay and then went up to the library. He was still utterly convinced that the answers to the footsteps and the weird appearances on the laptop were going to be found somewhere in this room, hidden amidst all the words on these shelves. He paused to look at the ornate carvings of letters and shapes on the panelled walls, all completely illegible to him, and which his dad had said were a mixture of alchemical and astrological symbols.

  Oz leaned his forehead against the dark oak and closed his eyes. All was quiet except for the faint moaning of the wind outside and the ticks and pops of the house’s ancient plumbing. But then he heard another noise, one which made his heart stutter in his chest. It was faint, but it was enough to make him catch his breath and turn to press his ear against the wood. He strained, barely swallowing for fear of missing it. Then, from somewhere deep below in the bowels of the old orphanage, faint but definite, came once more the echoing footfalls that he and Ruff and Ellie had heard on Halloween. He stayed in the library for another half an hour pressing his ear to the paneling, but heard nothing more.

  Finally, Oz looked out of the turret window over the pitched roof and parapets and spindly chimneys of the orphanage. Somewhere beneath that slate and stone was a mystery waiting to be solved. But then doubt reared its gargoyle head. Had he really heard the footsteps that second time? Was it just that he so desperately wanted to believe that this was all tied up with his dad that he was beginning to invent things? He shook his head to rid himself of the nagging voice. There was something in that orphanage. Something strange and intriguing that was begging to be found out. Glancing up, he saw a face in the glass and for a heart-stopping moment was convinced he was looking at a total stranger. But it was only his reflection that stared back at him, and it, too, had no answers to his questions.

  * * *

  The next morning, Oz and the rest of the students on his bus were late getting to registration because of some failed traffic lights on Rosemount Hill. When he finally made it, Ellie mouthed, “Where have you been?” As he sat down next to her she leaned across and managed to whisper, “I’ve found something else out,” before Miss Arkwright began reminding everyone that the final installment of money for the end of January skiing trip needed to be in by Friday.

  “That’s you, Dilpak, and you, Sandra, I think.”

  Both potential skiers nodded while Ruff eyed them wistfully and muttered, “The only time I expect I’ll ever go skiing is if Seabourne Hill freezes over and they give out free ski passes to over sixty-fives.” Oz had no chance of finding out what Ellie had to say, because Miss Arkwright was calling his name above the clamour of the mass exodus to first lesson.

  “Oscar, can you stay behind for a moment, please?”

  Oz had his back to her and made eyes to the ceiling in response to Ellie and Ruff’s questioning glances just before he turned around.

  “Yes, miss?”

  “Miss Swinson wants to see you sometime this morning,” she said. “Something about a maths test?”

  Oz nodded glumly.

  “Didn’t you do very well?” she asked.

  “Got one hundred percent, miss. Badg…Mr. Boggs thinks it’s fishy.”

  “Really?” said Miss Arkwright, looking surprised. “And is it?”

  “No, miss.”

  “I see. Well, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said, and gave Oz a reassuring smile while her eyes stayed flintily suspicious.

  He’d almost forgotten about it by the time it came to third lesson. They were in geography. It was one of Oz’s favourite subjects, thanks largely to the teacher, Mr. Gingell. He, unlike Badger Breath, managed to make even the driest subject interesting. Today was no exception as he announced to the class as soon as they arrived, in his best Long John Silver, “Why can’t pirates read maps?” He paused expectantly before adding, “Because they think it’s too aaarrrd.”

  The class let out a communal but good-natured groan.

  “But th
ey be wrong, mateys. Today we’re revising grid referencing and compass points. Divide into groups of three and answer the quiz sheet to find the treasure.”

  It looked like it was going to be fun, but before the trio could settle in, Mr. Gingell called Oz out to the front. He was quite young as teachers went, knew quite a lot about music and films, and supported Seabourne United. Rumour had it, too, that he and Miss Arkwright were more than just friends, or so Ellie said. He looked apologetic as he spoke in a low voice so that no one else could hear.

  “Miss Swinson apparently wants to see you straight away,” he said, and on seeing Oz’s face fall added, “Don’t worry, they’ll still be doing this quiz in half an hour. There’ll be plenty to do when you come back, arrr.”

  Oz couldn’t help thinking that Mr. Gingell was missing the point a bit as he stifled an inward groan and sent Ruff and Ellie a dejected glance before trudging out into the empty corridors. The Volcano’s office was situated in the admin block, where two bespectacled secretaries regarded Oz with humourless expressions. Oz decided that this must be the feeling condemned men got when they walked to the electric chair. Near the main doors he turned into a long, freshly painted corridor.

  The Volcano lived two doors down from the headmaster—a tall, constantly grinning man who seemed always to be in a hurry and whom Oz had only seen half a dozen times in the whole of his time at Seabourne County. The same could not be said of the Volcano, whose presence was a constant reminder of the need for “discipline.” She was forever bellowing at pupils across hallways, classrooms, fields and yards, unable, it seemed, to speak with anything approaching a normal volume. Instead, she barked orders such as “Pull down that skirt hem, you are not a pelmet,” or “Tuck in that shirt, you are not a tramp,” or “Pick up that piece of litter, this is not a rubbish tip.” In fact, Oz couldn’t remember her ever asking anyone to do anything. It was always an instruction.