by Laura Wood
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, then I tried to adopt a totally casual pose by sort of slumping my shoulders and crossing my arms. “So … is Miss Susan coming with us, then?” I made my voice as offhand as possible.
“Yes, Miss Susan and Mr Grant…” Ingrid still looked concerned. “Are you sure you’re OK though? Why are you all hunched over like that? Are you feeling sick?”
Clearly my very laid-back, carefree body language wasn’t doing the trick so I gave up. “Don’t worry,” I said with a smile. “I’m feeling better now.”
And it was true; this was an unexpected development but actually it couldn’t be better. A whole week away with Miss Susan, plenty of time to do some more snooping. Maybe this was also my chance to get to know Miss Susan a bit better, to find more in common with her, and, if things went really well, to ask her some of the questions that were falling all over each other in my brain. I felt my spirits rising like a helium-filled balloon.
I realized then that I had nearly fallen into a well-known detective trap – I was taking this too personally, and anyone who’s ever read a detective story knows that letting emotions interfere with a case always ends in disaster. I needed to treat the situation like the mystery it was, not worry about how it made me feel. I would work out all the answers like a top detective and everything would turn out brilliantly. Ignoring the tiny flutter in the pit of my stomach I plastered on a big grin and began pumping Ingrid for more information about this trip.
Before it was time for lights out I slipped out of the dorm room and scampered over to the library to make an important phone call.
It was nearly dark outside, but the early summer skies were still clinging on to the last scraps of light. The air was warm as I scrunched along the gravel path and pushed through the library doors.
Saint Smithen’s library is one of my all-time favourite places. Firstly, it is full to bursting with shelves and shelves full of books that you can borrow whenever you like and you don’t even have to pay anyone or anything. Secondly it is a really beautiful building full of cosy reading corners and a high ceiling painted with a mural of fat white clouds on a bright blue sky. It is also the home of the payphones that students can use to phone home and reassure their parents that they are brushing their teeth and wearing matching socks. I might not have parents in the traditional sense but it didn’t mean that I had no one to call. Speaking to my circus family on the phone was always a great way to finish the day. (Not that they were really that bothered about the matching socks thing.)
In the Dougie Valentine books he writes all of the phone conversations out like a script and that’s how I like to write mine as well because it means you can read them in all of the characters’ voices. (And if someone is reading this book to you right now I hope you will make sure they really commit to their acting in this bit. That’s a thing that Letty says when she wants you to act really hard, “committing”.)
Here goes.
** Begin Transcript**
Cheery Baz: All right? Booming Badger ’ere.
Me: Cheery Baz! How are you?
Cheery Baz: (suspicious) Who is this?
Me: It’s me, Poppy!
Cheery Baz: Oh.
**Pause**
Me: Soooo … how are things?
Cheery Baz: Things? All right, I suppose.
Me: Good, good.
**Pause**
Me: So … er … is there anyone else I can talk to? Is Pym around?
Cheery Baz: (shouting) OY PYM! IT’S WHAT’S ’ER FACE ON THE PHONE FOR YOU.
**Scuffling noises**
Pym: Hello, love! Sorry, was Cheery Baz talking your ear off as usual?!
Me: He seems even grumpier than normal.
Cheery Baz: (yelling in background) I CAN ’ear you lot, you know. And you’d be grumpy too if you ’ad to put up with snakes and lions all over the place.
Pym: No, he’s only the usual amount of grumpy. *Lowers voice* But he has had another fight with Leaky Sue.
Cheery Baz: (shouting again) LEAKY SUE. Don’t even mention ’er name in my presence. That dump that she calls an ’otel oughter be reported. Then she ’as the nerve to visit and say MY curtains clash with the cushions?! It’s an OUTRAGE!
Fanella: (shouting in background) WHY IS ALL THIS SHOUTING? IS WAKING UP OTIS.
Cheery Baz: (grumbling) Should never ’ave let you bring that snake in ’ere in the first place.
Fanella: Bah. You sound just like Leaky Sue. You two are so the same is scary.
Cheery Baz: (grumbling noises in distance)
**Scuffling noise**
Fanella: TOMATO! Is you?
Me: Hi, Fanella.
Fanella: (hissing loudly) Tomato, I find something out. If you tell the Cheery Baz that he is acting like Leaky Sue he let you do whatever you want! Otis has his own room in the hotel now!
Cheery Baz: What’s that you’re saying?
Fanella: I SAY THAT YOU ARE HERO UNLIKE SILLY LEAKY SUE AND YOU RUN MUCH BETTER HOTEL.
Cheery Baz: Oh … all right then.
**Scuffling noise as phone is handed over**
Pym: Sorry for all the interruptions, Poppy. Tell us all your news.
Me: I wanted to let you know that we’re going on a school trip next week to the seaside! To a place called Crumley Castle.
Pym: Well, that is very exciting! Crumley Castle? That sounds familiar…
Fanella: You say seaside, Tomato? Make sure you wear the suncream or you become real life tomato! Ha! Is excellent joke. Also beware for the sharks.
Pym: There aren’t any…
Boris: (entering in background) Is someone talking about sharks?! Where? Here? Oh no! Is there going to be a shark attack?!
Cheery Baz: There are NO sharks in this establishment.
Fanella: Yes. Only the snakes and lions. Silly Boris. Is Tomato is going to the seaside and get eaten by shark.
Pym: THERE AREN’T ANY SHARKS. Poppy, I think I have a guidebook for Crumley Castle somewhere; we toured down that way years ago. It has a very interesting history – I think you’ll be intrigued by some of the mysteries! One in particular would be right up your street. Shall I send the book over?
Me: Oooh, yes please, Pym! Is there really a mystery to solve?
Fanella: (thoughtfully) Maybe shark WOULD be good attraction for circus?
Cheery Baz: Now that is where I draw the line. I will NOT ’ave a shark in my ’otel.
Fanella: (sighs) Oh yes, just like Leaky Sue. Why you both hate nature so much, Cheery Baz?
Cheery Baz: (pause) Well… I suppose we could have some sort of tank out the back…
Pym: NO SHARKS! (sigh) Better go, Poppy.
Boris: We could call him Brian!
**Enthusiastic agreeing noises**
**End of transcript**
I hung up the phone with a chuckle. Talking to my family always made me feel better, and it helped to remind me that, whatever happened with Miss Susan, I had a family that loved and cared for me. I decided to try not to let things worry me so much, and to enjoy a trip to the seaside with my pals. I wondered what Pym’s guidebook would reveal about Crumley Castle – and whether it might include another mystery ripe for solving by a certain trio of top detectives…
CHAPTER FOUR
A couple of days later Pym’s guidebook turned up. Inside the parcel with the book was an old photograph of my circus family, taken long before I had arrived in their lives, all gathered outside what must be Crumley Castle. There was Pym standing next to Boris the strongman, whose head was covered in a mop of blonde hair. (I nearly didn’t recognize him because I was so used to him being bald!) Tina and Tawna were doing handstands at one side, and Sharp-Eye Sheila was playing her banjo while Marvin, Doris, Chuckles and BoBo danced. Fanella was doing the splits across the front of the photo, and Luigi was holding a tiny lion cub – baby Buttercup! Behind them was a castle that looked straight out of a fairy tale. It had a moat with swans gliding along inside it and there was a tall turret with
a pointed roof sticking out from one side of the building. In front, the gardens were split on to lots of different levels, and even though the photo was a bit faded you could still see how bright and cheerful all the colourful flowers were, tumbling over each other. On the back of the photograph in smudged ink were the words “All of us at Crumley Castle” and underneath in fresh ink Pym had written, “Have a great time, Poppy! Hope these help! Pym xxx”
These? I realized then that there were two things in the parcel. One of the helpful things that Pym had sent was the guidebook, but the other helpful thing was … a pencil sharpener. It might seem like a funny thing to send but the important thing is that Pym has visions, and if she gives you something that she tells you will be useful, no matter how random it seems, you know that it won’t be long before it comes in handy. Sometimes it is a tissue before you sneeze or a torch before a power cut, and other times it is something more serious that comes in useful when you find yourself in a real scrape. I slipped the pencil sharpener in my pocket, and turned my attention to the guidebook.
There was a lot of interesting stuff about when the castle had been built and the family that lived there, but there was one section in particular that stopped me in my tracks. I have made a photocopy of the pages to stick in here for you to see yourself. (Obviously I would never rip out the real pages, because books deserve to be treated a lot better than that and should be regularly stroked and made to feel appreciated. You may like to do that with this one right now.)
A GUIDE TO CRUMLEY
CRUMLEY CASTLE – STEP INTO HISTORY!
If you are looking for history and a dash of mystery on your travels then look no further! Parts of Crumley Castle date back to the sixteenth century and there are plenty of eerie stories surrounding this ancient building – most spookily, the tale of the infamous Redshank brothers.
During the eighteenth century, Tom and Henry Redshank were fishermen who lived in Crumley village; but they were also notorious smugglers, often arriving onshore at the local beach (the aptly named “Smuggler’s Cove”) to unload their cargo of illegally obtained barrels of brandy. Their small sailboat, Spinning Jenny, had been painted black – right down to the sails – so that on moonlit evenings it was practically invisible to the naked eye. Tom would bring the illegal cargo by boat into Smuggler’s Cove, and Henry would signal his brother that the coast was clear by lighting a lamp on the mainland and awaiting the answering “spark” from Tom.
The Redshanks were constantly on the run from the law and one night, as they unloaded their cargo in the cove, they were ambushed by customs men. Furious gunfire was exchanged and while Tom managed to escape in the boat, Henry fled along the beach, only to vanish at the cliff face.
Eventually a scout alerted the officers that Henry Redshank had emerged inside Crumley Castle! The men sped up to the castle in hot pursuit.
Now, here’s where things get really mysterious. The story goes that Henry barricaded himself in the castle’s library, and apart from the door, which was locked from the inside and had men stationed outside, there was no way in or out. After about half an hour, the customs officers managed to break through the heavy door – and can you guess what they found? That’s right. The smuggler had vanished into thin air! A thorough search of the room, from floor to ceiling, was undertaken – but no sign of Henry Redshank was ever seen again. Rumour has it that Tom escaped to the continent to start a new life, but what happened to his brother, nobody knows.
To this day, the mystery of Henry Redshank’s disappearance has never been solved – a true smuggling legend for Smuggler’s Cove!
Here was a mystery I could really get my teeth into. Real life smugglers! And not only smugglers, but vanishing smugglers! I couldn’t wait to share the news with Kip and Ingrid – it looked as though our trip to Crumley Castle was going to be even more interesting than any of us had imagined. I wondered how the man had escaped from Crumley Castle and a locked room. Had Henry Redshank really just disappeared into thin air? When Kip, Ingrid and I joined forces I knew we were an unstoppable mystery-solving force – if anyone could unlock the secret of the smuggler’s vanishing act, it was us.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next day I found myself and my well-stuffed backpack on the coach with a rabble of nineteen other thoroughly excited first years. Unfortunately, one of those nineteen other students was Annabelle Forthington-Smythe. (Or Annabelle Fartington-Smith as she is known in some circles.) Annabelle is the sort of mean girl who’s used to getting her own way with everything. She really doesn’t like me (even though I am totally charming and lovable all the time, except if you bend the pages in my favourite books when I can get a bit shouty). Annabelle was just about the only dark spot on this school trip and I had to admit I was a little bit worried about her. After all, Saint Smithen’s was so massive we managed to avoid each other most of the time, but I feared that a camping site may be another story.
As Ingrid and I moved down the aisle of the bus, Annabelle followed behind, taking tiny sips from a half empty bottle of water. I slid into a window seat and Ingrid sat next to me. Suddenly, with a dramatic “Oh no!”, Annabelle pretended to trip and flung her arm out towards Ingrid and me, the remaining contents of her water bottle splashing on the floor and in our laps. With a collective gasp we both jumped to our feet; fortunately Annabelle’s aim was as terrible as her personality and there wasn’t much damage done.
“What’s going on?” asked Mr Grant from the front of the bus where he was checking off the register.
“Oh dear, Poppy, I’m SO sorry!” Annabelle batted her eyelashes at me. “What a terrible ACCIDENT.” Behind her I heard one of her friends give a piggy little snort of laughter. It was a new girl called Barbie Gubbins who had turned into Annabelle’s shadow. She even did her blonde hair in a bouncing ponytail like Annabelle’s and bought matching clothes, so that they would look more alike. It made me feel sick – one Annabelle was more than enough, thank you.
“It’s fine, Annabelle,” I ground out, taking the tissue Ingrid offered me and dabbing at my lap. “We can’t all have good coordination, can we? I’m sure it’s difficult for you, being so clumsy.” I smiled sweetly.
Annabelle smirked and carried on down to the back of the coach where she was quickly surrounded by her gaggle of annoying friends.
“Ugh. I hope she won’t be like this for the whole trip,” I said, closing my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” said Ingrid. “I’m sure they’ll find something else to focus on.”
At that moment Kip lumbered up the steps and on to the bus, bent double under the weight of the biggest backpack I have ever seen – easily the same size as him, maybe even a little bigger. (Admittedly, that’s not so difficult. Kip likes to refer to himself as being a bit “vertically challenged”.) He pushed his dark hair out of his eyes and looked around. Spotting me and Ingrid he yelled, “I see you! I’m coming! Hang on!” in his big voice and then, puffing with exertion, he started bashing his way up the coach aisle towards us, leaving a trail of battered and grumbling students in his wake.
“Oi! Watch it!” exclaimed one boy, rubbing his elbow.
“Oops! Sorry!” Kip apologized, turning to the boy and hitting another passenger right in the face as he did so.
“What have you got in there?” I hissed as he flung himself into the seat behind us, ignoring the dark grumblings of our fellow students.
“Just the essentials,” Kip muttered, yanking the top of the bag open to reveal a HUGE stash of sweets and crisps.
“Have you packed any clothes?” Ingrid asked, leaning over the back of the seat to take a look.
“Er, yeah … there are some in the bottom, I think,” Kip replied before shoving an enormous gobstopper into his mouth, forcing him into a very uncharacteristic silence.
“So, Poppy – you’ve found us a mystery to keep us busy,” Ingrid grinned, her eyes gleaming behind her thick glasses. “Do you really think we’ve got a chance at solving this puzzle of the smuggl
er’s disappearance? After all, it has been hundreds of years…”
Kip began nodding his head vigorously and making gobstopper-filled mumbly noises. When I had revealed the information provided by Pym’s guidebook it had taken absolutely no persuasion at all to get the two of them on board with the investigation. “I think we’ve solved more difficult mysteries!” I said, and Kip made some more mumbly gobstopper-filled noises in agreement. “We’ve had a lot of detective training by now … I reckon we stand a good chance. And I have some ideas already.” I pulled out my notebook in which I had begun making case notes and flicked through the first couple of pages. “The first step will be to interview the owners of the castle, see if they have any ideas.” I was interrupted here by more urgent mutterings from Kip, who had locked his hand around my arm in a frantic grip. “… Yes, yes, sorry, Kip,” I said soothingly. “As agreed, the first step will be ice cream, but the second step will be interviewing the owners.” Kip relaxed at this, and I pulled my arm to safety. “And then I think we need to investigate the so-called locked room for any other escape routes.”
My team nodded encouragingly and I felt a wave of excitement wash over me. I never could resist a mystery – and if I was honest, it was nice having something to distract me from the even bigger, more secret mystery I needed to solve.
By this time the bus had started rumbling down the long school drive, away from Saint Smithen’s and out on to the open road. The skies were clear and blue and the coach was already a bit stuffy. I pushed up the window and stuck my face out into the breeze like a happy dog. My skin was tingling with the feeling of adventure that a sunny day and a change of scenery often brings.
“Henry Redshank must have got from the beach to the castle somehow.” Ingrid’s voice reached my ears and I pulled my head back through the window so that I could listen. “But how … that’s what we need to find.”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that’s exactly what I thought,” I said. “If we can find out how Harry Redshank got up to the castle in the first place, that might help us to work out what happened next.”
