by Rhys Jones
When Oz reached the door with the sign “Miss V Swinson, Senior Mistress” emblazoned upon it, all he could think about was how hard his heart was beating in his chest. It felt as if it might burst through at any moment. But he told himself that he was just being stupid. He hadn’t done anything wrong and he had nothing to worry about. Okay, having your wisdom teeth out without anaesthetic was probably a more pleasant way to spend a morning than being interviewed by the Volcano, but so what? Her bark was a hundred times worse than her bite—or so he’d heard. And what was the worst that could happen? As far as he knew, the Volcano had never killed anyone—yet.
Oz knocked three times.
“Come,” barked a voice.
Oz opened the door and stepped inside a room that was more like someone’s lounge than a school office. There were at least three vases full of flowers, it smelled overpoweringly of roses, and the walls were painted a sickly burnt yellow. Two huge posters of exotic islands covered one wall. Three big grey filing cabinets stood one against another, and in the centre stood an enormous desk with a neat pile of paper on it and three pot plants, one of which was the biggest cactus Oz had ever seen. The Volcano was standing behind her desk, dressed in a voluminous silk blouse and pearls, her coiffed hair poker-stiff. She wore black-rimmed half-glasses perched on a vulture-like nose and her scarlet mouth was compressed into a familiar, disapproving expression.
“Come in, Chambers. You know why I’ve asked you here this morning, I take it?” The Volcano glared down at him, her eyes half-lidded, her voice accusatory.
Oz shrugged.
“It is at the request of another teacher. An unusual and unpleasant request, which—”
There was another knock on the door and it opened to reveal Badger Breath Boggs. He scowled at Oz and nodded at the Volcano.
“Ah, Douglas. Have a seat.”
Badger Breath sat to the side of the desk while Oz continued to stand.
The Volcano leaned forward over the desk. “Mr. Boggs has brought to my attention a very serious allegation—”
“I didn’t cheat,” Oz said, “if that’s what this is about.”
The room fell silent. The Volcano’s mouth twitched and she shuffled some papers on the desk and thrust one towards Oz.
“This is yours, is it not?”
Oz recognised the first test paper with the ten percent circled at the top right.
“Yes, miss.”
The Volcano found a second and handed that to him, as well. “And this?”
Oz read the much smaller one hundred percent written at the top of this second paper. The numbers were written in such a way as to suggest that the hand writing it had pressed very hard into the paper. He saw, too, his own familiar writing beneath.
“Yes, miss.”
“Mr. Boggs has brought to my attention the quite startling difference between these results which, you have to admit, are quite remarkable.”
Oz shrugged. “I still didn’t cheat.”
“Rubbish,” growled a red-faced Badger Breath, who jerked around in his seat to glare at Oz.
“Douglas,” said the Volcano in a silky voice, “I share your suspicions, but I am prepared to give Chambers one chance to explain.”
Boggs’ jaw muscles started working overtime, but he nodded reluctantly and sat back.
“Now, what we need is to understand how you could do so badly one day and so spectacularly well the next,” the Volcano said, peering at Oz, her eyes glinting in challenge.
“I don’t know, really. It just sort of clicked.”
“Oh, puh-lease,” sneered Badger Breath.
“‘It just clicked,’” repeated the Volcano. She looked at the papers. “A very spectacular click it must have been, then, to go from ten to one hundred percent, eh?” She glanced at Badger Breath, who smirked. “Had you done any extra revision?” the Volcano snapped, turning back to Oz.
“No, not really. I mean, I did for the first one, but Mr. Boggs didn’t warn us about the second one…”
“Did you copy from anyone?”
“The boy sitting next to me was Lee Jenkins. I don’t know how much he got second time around.”
The Volcano sent Badger Breath a questioning glance and got a mumbled, “Eight percent,” in reply.
“I see,” said the Volcano quietly. “So you want us to believe that some mysterious brainwave suddenly enabled you to get every single one of these questions right, where two days before you got them all, bar a few pathetic workings out, completely WRONG?”
The last word was roared with such force that it made Oz jump. The Volcano came around to Oz’s side of the desk. She wore trousers that were bulging in lots of places and she smelled strongly of a pungent, flowery perfume, which clashed nauseatingly with the rosy air-freshener pervading the room.
“I know all about you and your kind, Chambers,” the Volcano snarled. “Single-parent families are the bane of this school and…”
She was interrupted by a knock on the door, which opened to reveal Miss Arkwright, out of breath and flushed in the face.
“Ah, I see you’ve started already,” Miss Arkwright gasped.
“Miss Arkwright,” said the Volcano in a syrupy voice, “do join us.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Arkwright, frowning. “I thought we’d agreed on 11.30 as a start time?”
“Yes,” said the Volcano with a smile as genuine as a wax apple, “sorry about that. Had to reschedule. Never mind, you’re here now. But Chambers here has no explanation for what happened. We must therefore assume that he did cheat, as it is clearly impossible for him to have been otherwise able to complete this question paper after such an abysmal performance previously. It is my job to consider an appropriate punishment…”
“Did you cheat, Oz?” Miss Arkwright asked.
“No. Like I said, it just clicked that second time,” Oz explained.
Badger Breath let out an expulsion of air.
“Well, there is a very simple way to sort all of this out,” Miss Arkwright said suddenly.
The Volcano frowned. Badger Breath scowled. Miss Arkwright picked up Oz’s ten percent paper. “How many questions did you attempt the first time, Oscar?”
“Three. I got a bit stuck.”
“Good. So if I asked you to try the last seven now, could you do them?”
Oz froze. He had no idea if he could or not. Yesterday’s test seemed to have happened almost without him doing anything. But he nodded and gulped at the same time.
“Excellent. Here is a fresh piece of paper and a pencil,” said Miss Arkwright, clearing a space for Oz on the edge of the desk.
“I hardly think…” began the Volcano, but she was silenced by Miss Arkwright’s implacable gaze.
“Surely this is the only way to know if Oz is lying or not?”
The room fell silent as Miss Arkwright’s logic sank in.
“Very well,” the Volcano said finally with a glance at Badger Breath.
Miss Arkwright turned to Oz and spoke to him. “Now Oz, take your time.”
Oz looked at the maths paper, his stomach twisting. The last seven questions, Miss Arkwright had said. First glance revealed Egyptian tomb writing as usual. He knew that the first one was a substitution question and he knew vaguely what needed to be done, it was just that…and then the numbers started changing colour just as they had yesterday. Relief flooded through Oz and he began scribbling furiously. Within ten minutes he’d done all seven. He handed the paper back to Miss Arkwright.
“That was quick,” she said, but there was an approving smile at the corners of her mouth as she said it. “Now, if Mr. Boggs could do the marking?”
They all watched as Badger Breath scanned the page. When he spoke, his voice sounded like ice cracking on a lake. “They’re all correct.”
Miss Arkwright was on her feet immediately. “Right, I think we’ve detained Oscar for long enough. He needs to get back to lessons.”
“I’m not so sure…” spluttered the Volcano.<
br />
“There’s something fishy going on here,” Badger Breath said, and his words emerged through a tightly clenched jaw.
“Apparently it’s called ‘clicking,’ Douglas,” said Miss Arkwright as she began ushering Oz out of the door. But even as it closed behind them, Oz could hear Badger Breath’s whining complaints persisting. “But he’s an idiot. Like all the rest in that set. Probably did this just to make my life a misery.”
“I agree totally, Douglas. And Chambers is a prime example of everything that’s wrong in this town and in this country. The boy’s mother is…”
Miss Arkwright cleared her throat loudly and it drowned out what the Volcano was about to say. At the end of the corridor, Miss Arkwright stopped and turned to Oz. He could see that she was gently fuming, the smile which beamed down on him a bit too toothy and overly bright. “Well done, Oz. And I want you to take no notice of what you just heard. Go back to geography. I just want a quick word with Miss Swinson and Mr. Boggs.” Oz watched as she pivoted on her heel and stormed back up the corridor. He didn’t wait to hear anymore. He was too relieved to care.
When, an hour later sitting in the refectory, Oz managed to find the time to tell Ellie and Ruff about Badger Breath’s accusations, they were appalled. Ellie seemed a little more short-tempered than usual with Ruff, but listened avidly to Oz as he explained.
“That man is such a buzzard gonk,” Ruff muttered.
“And the Volcano is such an old witch,” Ellie said, frowning.
“Miss Arkwright was brilliant, though,” Oz said with feeling.
“But did you really get one hundred percent?” Ellie said, trying not to sound too surprised.
“I know. Don’t worry, I can’t believe it either.” Oz grinned.
“Oz has turned into a maths genius,” Ruff said, and clapped him heartily on the back.
“Never mind that now,” Oz said, turning to Ellie. “You said you’d found something out.”
“I have,” Ellie said, dropping her voice low. “Remember I told you I thought it looked like some of my granny’s jewellery?”
Oz and Ruff both nodded.
“Well, I showed her a picture and she said it looked like a scarab—”
“A scarab?” Oz asked.
“Yeah. When she was young, lots of jewellery was made to look like Egyptian stuff—”
“Whoa,” Ruff said, holding up a hand. “What’s a scarab when it’s at home?”
“Haven’t you come across one of those in Ancient Tombs 503 for the Xbox?” she sniped. “A scarab is a beetle. The ancient Egyptians wore them as amulets or something and they became popular again in the last century. It was just a fashion thing.”
“We are getting to the point soon, are we?” Ruff said, feigning a yawn.
Ellie sent him a blazing look. “A scarab is a beetle, and the old name for a common English beetle is a dor.”
“You’ve lost me,” Ruff said.
“What a surprise,” Ellie said, sighing heavily. “Watch my lips.” She proceeded with exaggerated slowness. “The. Black. Dor. One of Morsman’s artefacts?”
“Oh, so you mean dor, not door. Like in when is a door not a door, when it’s ajar?” asked Ruff, earning a withering glance from Ellie in the process.
Oz, who happened to be standing next to one of the refectory tables, ignored Ruff, too, but had to sit down on a bench. “So are you saying that those things on my laptop have something to do with Morsman’s artefacts?”
“I think that what’s on your laptop is everything to do with Morsman’s artefacts,” Ellie said confidently.
“But why my laptop?”
“Because you’re at Penwurt, and something or someone there is trying to send you a message, obviously.”
“And you think that this dor thingy is in a shop in Seabourne?”
“Worth a look, surely.”
“What are the chances of it really being the one? I mean, come on,” Ruff said.
“Shut up, Ruff,” Ellie said, nettled. “You’re such a doom-merchant. Yes, I do think it’s in a shop in Seabourne, and the only way we’re going to find out for certain is if you go there this weekend.”
“What do you mean, ‘you’?” Ruff asked.
“You and Oz. I’m busy.”
Oz frowned.
“Oh, come on,” Ellie said, flushing a dusky red. “You two don’t need me tagging along. I’m just a girl, after all, remember? I mean, you don’t want me there being all hysterical and overreacting.” She gave Ruff a pointed, icy smile and walked off.
“What was that all about?” Oz asked, shaking his head. “I feel like I’ve just been slapped in the face just for wearing a pair of trousers.”
Ruff was looking very uncomfortable. “Last night at football practice we sort of had an…argument.”
“Sort of had an argument? About what?”
“I can’t remember now. We were in passing practise and someone texted me, so I just answered it and…”
“You were texting during passing practise?” Oz’s incredulity made his voice high and weird-sounding.
“I forgot to turn my phone off, that’s all,” Ruff said, as if that sort of thing happened all the time. But Oz couldn’t ever remember seeing anyone taking a call when Spain played Netherlands in the World Cup final. Ruff, though, hadn’t finished. “I did after that. Turn the phone off, I mean. The coach gave me a roasting. Said I needed to prioritize. Think more about the team than myself,” he sighed. “But then Ellie started in on me.”
“And?”
“And we had an argument about stuff like attitude and wanting to win and I…I may have said that she was overreacting. Like, always overreacting. I mean, what is it with her and wanting to win all the time? I like to win, too, but it isn’t everything, is it?’
“It is to Ellie. You do know that she is really good at taekwondo, don’t you?’
“Yeah, but…”
“I mean, really good. She’s won the last three competitions she’s entered.”
Ruff was still frowning.
Oz decided that it was time to come clean. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone?”
“‘Course.”
“Some of her coaches think that Ellie might be good enough to be an international; you know, represent her country, eventually.”
“An international? Wow.” Ruff’s eyes blinked rapidly.
“She hasn’t told anyone except me. Not her sisters or her mother or father or anyone. But I’m telling you so that you can understand why she is like she is.” Oz paused and then added, “Have you met the other Messengers?”
“No,” Ruff said, “except for Macy.”
“They’re great. A good laugh. But there’re five of them.”
“Five?”
“Macy’s the only other one in school.”
“Yeah, I know. She’s the pretty one that keeps waving at you and blowing kisses, right?”
“Yeah,” Oz rolled his eyes. Macy derived great pleasure from teasing Oz and seeing him squirm with embarassament. “The point is that Ellie’s right in the middle of that family and sport is her way of being different and standing out.”
“Yeah, but…”
“I’m not saying it’s right that she wants to kill someone every time she loses at ping-pong, I’m just trying to explain.”
“Okay, so now I understand. Sort of.”
Oz sighed. “Right, so does that mean you’ll apologise? We need Ellie.”
“She called me a waste of space. So yeah, I’ll apologise, in, like, a hundred buzzard years,” he said, and walked off to join the rest of 1C queuing outside the art room.
* * *
Oz spent a miserable hour in art trying to finish off the landscape he was working on. He was so preoccupied he didn’t even notice that he’d started to use red paint instead of white for the snow on the mountains. When he did finally twig, he couldn’t even be bothered to change it.
He just could not understand what
was wrong with Ellie and Ruff. They were both great. It was just that they were so different. He’d hoped that Penwurt and the puzzle of the images might have been enough to make them forget their differences, but it clearly wasn’t.
The frosty atmosphere persisted though lunch and Oz, despite desperately wanting to discuss the dor and the other artefacts, decided that now was not the best time. He stayed away from them both and neither one made much effort to come and find him.
He got to room 33 as late as possible after lunch to find Ellie in animated conversation with Sandra Ojo, and Ruff discussing Death Planet Hub tactics with Marcus Skyrme. Oz made no effort to break into either conversation and was quite glad when Miss Arkwright flounced in at last. She immediately walked across the room towards a group of girls.
“Ellie, could I have a quick word?” she asked.
Ellie went with Miss Arkwright to the front of the class and an earnest, whispered conversation took place. Oz couldn’t hear, but he watched as a range of different expressions flashed across Ellie’s face. There was curiosity, followed by mild panic and then, after a moment’s thought, nods of enthusiasm. Ellie came back to her seat, but did not acknowledge Oz’s nosy glance.
“Right, 1C. I’d like to discuss a little project for Christmas with you all.”
Multiple groans emanated from the class.
“No, not that kind of project. It doesn’t involve any homework. Now, we were all thrilled by the London Paralympics this year, weren’t we?”
Several people said “Yes,” out loud.
“Well, I have a close friend who is a doctor—a surgeon, in actual fact. She’s been doing some work with limbless children in the poorest regions of Africa. She told me last night that just £30 would buy an artificial limb for one of these children. So I thought that, as a group, it would be a really nice gesture if, instead of sending your friends Christmas cards, you bring in the stamp money so that we can send a charitable donation.”
“Will it be one of those blade thingys like in the Paralympics, miss?” asked someone.
“Oh, wow. I want one of those,” said Skinner from the back. “They’re awesome.”
