As far as the attorney was concerned, Thrillkill had already begun the search, so Amanda didn’t think the task belonged on the list. He’d obviously given it a high priority. What would be the point of assigning it a number?
It seemed that Professor Thrillkill wanted Amanda to go with her gut on these items or he would have given her more time. She closed her eyes, thought a moment, and wrote a big number one next to the task involving Editta’s recovery. This was really a life or death matter. Nothing could be more important.
She took a deep breath and wrote a large number two next to the names Puppybreath and Niven. Their situation was comparable to Editta’s. In fact, the two items should probably both be number one. Just because she didn’t care for the two boys didn’t make them less important. She crossed out the two and replaced it with a one.
While the Bible was obviously going to determine what happened to the entire school, figuring out what that key went to might accomplish multiple purposes: help bring Wink Wiffle’s murderer to justice, provide closure to David Wiffle and his mother, and potentially lead to Blixus Moriarty. No one knew what Wink had been working on when he was murdered. He might have had an inside line on the Moriartys, or some other criminal endeavor of major importance. He’d probably been killed for what he knew, so finding out what that was should be given a high priority. Amanda wrote a big two next to the key task.
She couldn’t believe that she was assigning a priority of three to the Bible. This was the issue that was tearing the school apart, yet she didn’t think it was the most important one. Thrillkill would probably make her repeat last term for that, but she didn’t care. The other tasks were more time-sensitive.
Number four was finding Wink Wiffle’s murderer, which might or might not actually be a subset of the number two task, the key. She was pretty sure that solving one of the two mysteries would resolve the other, and she was tempted to make them both number two, but the five minutes were almost up so she hurried along to number five, which she assigned to Professor Redleaf’s computer.
That left David Wiffle, the attorney, and the film. She felt that she didn’t have enough information to rank them properly. She assigned a six to the lawsuit, a seven to the film, and an eight to poor David, not because she disliked him, which she did, but because she was pretty sure Thrillkill would find a way to talk to him soon no matter what else was going on.
There. She’d done it. She passed the list to Thrillkill, who took it gently and peered at it over his glasses.
“Very well,” he said cryptically. “Miss Lester, I want you to get on the horn and get hold of your friends Miss Halpin, Miss Kapoor, Mr. Binkle, and Mr. Ng. Please invite them to return to Legatum for the summer. Oh, and invite Mr. Bramble as well.” Gordon Bramble was David Wiffle’s best friend, or former best friend. Amanda wasn’t sure. He was a pleasant-faced, freckled kid whose favorite expression was, “Yeah.” Thrillkill handed her the list and said, “With the exception of the David Wiffle talk and the attorney, I want the six of you to tackle these items, along with Mr. Holmes, who of course is already here. In the order you specified, which I happen to agree with. Chop, chop, Miss Lester. Critical tasks.”
Amanda realized that her mouth was hanging open just in time to stop a drop of saliva from dribbling. She’d never expected the list to be anything but an academic exercise, and she certainly didn’t anticipate having to execute it. The responsibility was overwhelming. But as she considered what Thrillkill had asked of her, she realized that she’d have help from the best and most capable friends in the world—except for Gordon Bramble, whom she could have done without. What did Thrillkill want with him? The kid was a big fat zero. Oh well. He would probably keep out of their way.
“Um, sir, what about the teachers?” she said, realizing that Thrillkill hadn’t mentioned them.
“What about them, Miss Lester?” said Thrillkill.
“Can I ask them for help as well?”
“You may always ask the teachers, me, and any of the staff for help. That’s what we’re here for. Now off you go.”
Amanda was so excited, both in a good and bad way, that she could barely catch her breath. She felt a great urgency to accomplish the tasks, but the responsibility and time constraints were overwhelming. Still, it was a huge honor that Thrillkill had assigned them to her, a mere first-year student.
She thought the best way to start would be to plop herself down in the Holmes House common room and contact her friends. As she was dodging various construction workers, piles of debris, and yellow emergency tape, she noticed one of the older students, Harry Sheriff, who was considered a heartthrob by many of the girls, walking down the hall. She was surprised to see him, since she thought she and Holmes were the only students who had stayed for the summer. As they passed each other, Harry broke into an enormous grin. Amanda nodded and smiled at him and continued on her way. It was a bit odd that he had seemed so jovial since they’d never spoken. Perhaps he felt compelled to acknowledge her because there were so few students around, although “acknowledge” was too mild a word. He’d looked as if she’d just told him a joke or something. Oh well. Whatever.
Nick had been a real heartthrob, at least in her eyes, and obviously Editta’s. The poor girl had been so lovesick that she had given up everything to be with him. Amanda wondered how that was going. She couldn’t imagine the two of them together. Sure, Nick had flirted with Editta, which was probably what had got her going, but he hadn’t meant it. He did that with everyone. The problem was that Editta had taken him seriously. No, wait a minute. That wasn’t true. The problem was that Amanda had taken him seriously. She’d thought he was her best friend, that he got her and she him, only to find out he’d been using her all along—using her as a way to stay at Legatum so he could help his mother and the cook run their nefarious sugar enterprise right under the detectives’ noses. She had no right to judge Editta. None at all.
When Nick had died, or at least when everyone had thought he’d died in the sugar factory explosion he’d set off, she’d believed he was out of her life. But he hadn’t died, as they’d discovered when he showed up at the quarry with his parents, trying to create living crystals to use as weapons. What was it with those Moriartys anyway, always turning everything into weapons? Why were they so violent? Was it something genetic? With parents like Blixus and Mavis, it seemed that Nick didn’t have a chance. But that didn’t excuse him. Just because you had a gene didn’t mean you had to act a certain way. He should know better. He’d certainly acted like he knew better when he was her friend. But of course he was a good actor. He’d even told her so. She just hadn’t understood what he really meant.
And then, just when Amanda was beginning to get used to the idea that Nick was dead—enough to form a new relationship with Scapulus Holmes, a boy she’d never expected to like, let alone love—Nick had turned up alive. How dare he play with her like that? He’d enjoyed seeing the look on her face that day at the quarry. He’d taunted her and called her Lestrade and broken her heart all over again. How could he be so cruel?
Of course she was glad he wasn’t dead, and not just because now she might be able to resolve her issues with him. But when he reappeared, everything else disappeared. How dare he do that to her? How dare he do that to Holmes, who had never even known him, let alone hurt him?
Scapulus. What should she do about him? Should she try to convince him she hated Nick and loved him? Or should she leave things alone, let him go without a word? If she tried to get him back she’d be committing herself, and she didn’t feel ready for that. But if she let him walk away, she’d lose him forever, and she couldn’t bear the thought of that either. She felt as if wild horses were tearing her apart. It was best not to think about any of it.
Except that there Holmes was right in front of her, his beautiful mocha skin thick with construction dust. She looked down at her own body. She was all dusty too. She was so preoccupied she hadn’t even noticed. What she did notice was that he suddenly seemed tal
ler. He must have shot up overnight.
As soon as Holmes saw her, a look of pain came over his face. Then, catching himself, he walked right up to her and said, “Has Thrillkill said anything about the film?”
After everything that had happened, this was what he had to say? Now it was Amanda’s turn to wince. She felt an urge to turn her back on him and walk away, but that wouldn’t do. Instead she said, “No, nothing yet, but he’s asked me to call some of the kids back to campus. He’s given me a list of stuff he wants us all to do.”
“Me too?”
“Yes,” she said. “Do you want to see it?”
“Of course,” he said, attempting to look nonchalant. It wasn’t working.
He set the laptop he was carrying down on a bench and took the list from Amanda. It was Professor Redleaf’s computer—the same one the teacher had been using that day in front of her class. As he was reading the list, Amanda sat down and glanced at the screen.
“Don’t look at that!” he cried, but it was too late. As she watched in horror, the screen deformed and, like a kid with chewing gum, blew a bubble at her. After a moment the bubble retracted back into the screen, only to be replaced by the words, “Hello, Amanda. It’s about time we met, don’t you think?”
Holmes went limp. She knew this was what he’d been trying to keep from her, and no wonder.
“What in the world was that?” she said.
He sighed. “I’m afraid you know as much as I do. I’ve been trying to figure this out for months and I’m no further along than when I started.”
2
In Search of Blixus
At last Amanda knew what Professor Redleaf had seen right before she died, and it was beyond weird. A screen that seemed alive! However, when she thought about it, the bubble might be easily explained.
“Scapulus,” she said trying to keep her voice neutral, “do you think there might be a flaw in the computer’s materials?”
“I wish,” Holmes said. He sounded unbelievably frustrated. “I wondered if perhaps the screen was heating unevenly, and I spent a fair amount of time looking into the possibility, but the problem is that every time it contorts itself into shapes, a personalized message appears. That, of course, signifies intention.”
“Yes,” said Amanda. “My explanation would have been too easy.”
“I’m afraid so.” He met her eyes and quickly turned away. She felt a twinge, as though Editta’s mother were already stabbing her effigy.
“Who is that on the other end?” she said.
“I don’t know. I’ve tried to figure that out too. He or she is too clever. I haven’t been able to trace the signal to its origin. It’s being routed dynamically and I can’t keep up with it.”
“Have you tried profiling the hacker?” said Amanda. Understanding people’s motivations often helped identify them and make it possible to predict what they were going to do next. Amanda was used to doing that when making films. That way she could write complex characters and theoretically direct actors more effectively, although she’d had trouble with the latter. Until she’d come to the UK a few months before, everyone who worked with her had left in a huff, no doubt due to her control freak attempts to boss them. She’d gotten much better about that, though. You couldn’t boss detectives, and Amanda had learned to tone it down.
“I have, but I’ve come up empty-handed.” He sighed.
“The obvious question is, is it Moriarty?” The criminal was certainly the most likely prospect.
“I can’t tell,” said Holmes. “It could be.”
“Who else would do such a thing?” She tried to imagine who it might be, but all she could think of was Moriarty, Moriarty, Moriarty.
Holmes sat down on the bench, then seemed to remember that he should invite her to do so as well. She’d never seen him so distracted. He motioned to the space next to him. “As far as we know, the overlap between those who want to hurt us and those who are technically capable of something like this is rather small. There could be more of them out there that we aren’t aware of, of course.”
She eyed the spot for a little too long, then tentatively lowered herself onto it. Now the computer was between them. “How long does it take to become this proficient?”
“It depends on several factors: where you start from, who you learn from, your intelligence, and your motivation.”
“Could I do it?” she asked. She knew it was a dumb question. Her technical expertise lay in working with video and 3D software, not systems stuff. She was learning, though. After Holmes had taken over Professor Redleaf’s class last term, she’d advanced exponentially.
“Not today you couldn’t,” he said. “Put it this way: I couldn’t do this right now. If I could replicate the process, I could find the hacker.”
“You can’t do this?” she said, aghast. She thought Holmes could do anything, or at least anything related to computing. His filmmaking skills could definitely use some work.
“Not at the moment, no. I could eventually, but it would take a while. I don’t have the physics at my command.” He absently stroked the keyboard with a finger, then leaned forward and blew the dust away.
“Is there anyone at Legatum who could do this right now?” she said.
“Not that I know of.”
“Not even Simon?” Simon Binkle, one of Amanda’s best friends and a total geek, had one of those technical minds Amanda couldn’t begin to comprehend. He was at least as smart as Holmes, and better at building things.
“Not even Simon. I think he has the capacity, but he doesn’t have the knowledge right now, no.”
Suddenly she got an idea. She didn’t know why it popped into her head, but she thought she might as well ask.
“Could Harry Sheriff do it?” She didn’t trust that guy. Maybe he was the hacker.
“Harry Sheriff?” Holmes was aghast. “That fifth-year bloke all the girls are crazy about? Not a chance.”
She turned and looked at him. “How do you know?”
He seemed to feel her gaze on him. It took him a moment to meet it. She felt as if she were torturing him. “I’ve observed him. He’s frivolous. Unless he’s putting on an act, he doesn’t have it in him.”
She turned to the front again. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Holmes relax. “What about the teachers?”
He thought for a moment. “Professor Redleaf could have done it in time.”
“Yes. I thought so. Unfortunately . . .”
“I know,” he said sadly. “I miss her too.” Amanda didn’t exactly miss the cyberforensics teacher. She’d barely known her. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he missed her. “Other than that, let me think. Professor Ducey has the right kind of mind, but I don’t think he has the background.” Professor Ducey was the logic teacher, and he was so intelligent he was scary. “Actually, you’re going to laugh, but Sidebotham could do it. She’s the smartest teacher at the school.”
“You’re kidding. That old lady?” Amanda had a hard time imagining the old prune as the school’s pride and joy.
“Yup. That old lady, as you say, is easily as intelligent as Professor Redleaf was. But she doesn’t have the background either.”
“And the Moriartys do?”
Holmes looked upset again. Amanda wondered if Nick was capable of this kind of hacking and Holmes knew it. She wished she hadn’t asked.
“I think they do, yes.”
She let that sit. She didn’t want to get into a discussion of which Moriarty could do what.
“What do we do now?” she said.
“I guess continue as I have been. Unless the hacker does something different that gives me more insight.”
She wondered if he realized what he’d said. The idea was brilliant. “Do you think we could goad them into doing that?”
He sat up and looked at her. “Now there’s a strategy. I like that. What do you have in mind?”
“I don’t know,” she said, trying to smile, “but
I’ll see what I can come up with.”
“Good thinking, Amanda.” He looked so happy it was almost as if the last few days hadn’t happened. He opened his mouth to say something, then apparently thought better of whatever it was and clamped it shut.
“About the film,” she said.
“Yes, the film. You don’t really want to do that, do you?”
“Not particularly. Do you?” He shook his head. If it hadn’t been for the hacker, he might not even be on campus now. What would he be doing instead? Probably getting another patent. When she’d found out that he’d got one, she’d gone nuts, thought he was a know-it-all. But that was before. Now she admired him beyond just about anyone else, even Darius Plover.
She snapped to. He was waiting for her to tell him about the film. “I’ll set something up with Thrillkill, shall I? We need to understand what he wants.”
“Thanks,” he said looking at her just a little too long. He picked up the computer, turned away, and walked toward the boys’ dorm. Amanda had to stop herself from running after him.
When Amanda got to the common room, she saw that the school’s two décor specialists, Alexei Dropoff and Noel Updown, whom the kids called the décor gremlins because they always changed the scenery when the kids weren’t looking, hadn’t altered the decoration since the last day of school. The room was still set up to look like Downton Abbey. Normally the men concocted a new look each day so the students could practice their observing skills, because Professor Sidebotham, the school’s observation teacher, gave them daily pop quizzes based on what they had seen, heard, and touched. Sometimes Amanda enjoyed the constant change, but often it just got wearying, and by the end of each term she was so sick of the quizzes that she hoped never to see a new lamp or chair again. She guessed that because there were so few students around now, the gremlins had eased up and given themselves a bit of a rest in preparation for the fall term—if there actually ended up being one, the way things were going.
As she sat down on a red leather sofa, Amanda looked out the huge picture windows that faced the east side of the campus. She loved gazing out at that view, even when the trees were bare and the landscape brown. It had been raining heavily and the ground was muddy. She hated this weather. It was warm enough that you could wear T-shirts, but you still had to act like it was winter because of all the mess.
Amanda Lester and the Orange Crystal Crisis Page 41
