The Beast of Seabourne

by Rhys A. Jones

  “Get back here, Skinner,” yelled Oz. “You’re a dead man walking.”

  But his shouts were drowned out by Ellie screaming his name. The Skullers’ goalie had sent a long ball downfield, and the big centre forward had it at his feet, with an open goal beckoning and Oz hopelessly out of position some fifteen yards right of the goalmouth. All the centre forward had to do was beat one man and shoot into the net. Desperately, Oz reacted instinctively. Getting back to the goalmouth in time was an impossibility. Instead, he thrust his hand into his tracksuit pocket and felt for the pebble that nestled there. He didn’t even have to say anything; Soph was instantly in his head, understanding his dilemma and saying, “Stand still, Oz.”

  He did as he was told and watched in horror as the Skullers centre forward beat Pete Williams with a feint, looked up and…hesitated. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd, waiting for the killer blow that would earn Skullers B a draw. But the centre forward seemed suddenly dazed. He looked from the goalmouth to Oz, pushed the ball onto his right foot and shot. The ball sailed straight and true three feet off the ground, heading unerringly towards Oz’s open arms.

  A huge cheer went up from the Lions camp and everyone else watching—except for the Skullers’ supporters, who let out a groan of disbelief. But what was priceless was the centre forward doing a little dance of triumph in the middle of the pitch. It took several of his embarrassed and wildly gesticulating teammates, as well as a wet towel slap around the face from his coach, for him to realize that, for some unfathomable reason, he’d just missed a sitter.

  When the final whistle blew, the centre forward protested to the referee, who countered with phrases like “see an optician” and “mirage,” while Oz received several dark looks from the Skullers’ bewildered camp. As they walked off, Ellie caught up with him and dropped her voice.

  “Okay, tell me how you did that.”

  Oz grinned. “The ‘Soph’ factor.”

  “Oz, no,” Ellie said accusingly through clenched teeth.

  “I think she threw up one of her holoshield thingies and shifted the goalposts to where I was standing. That centre forward must have thought he’d aimed straight and true.”

  “Oh, sugar, Oz. You shouldn’t have asked her to do something like that in front of all these people. It’s just… too weird,” Ellie said, sounding exasperated.

  Oz threw up his hands. “Okay, okay, I hear you. But I think she just targeted the centre forward. No one else would have seen what he saw.” Ellie did not look happy. “Look, I let Skinner get to me, okay? Him laughing at Ruff being fouled was bad enough, but then the gonk threw some mud at me. I lost it. When you shouted a warning, there didn’t seem anything else I could do.”

  “You have to be really careful, Oz,” she said, looking around anxiously. “Everyone’s talking about it.”

  Ruff joined them, still limping but grinning broadly now. “Don’t know how you did that, but it made their centre forward look like a complete prat.”

  “Yeah,” laughed Oz, encouraged by Ruff ’s appreciation.

  “You two are as bad as each other,” Ellie said and walked off to join Sandra Ojo, while Oz and Ruff relived the moment, much to the annoyance of the Skullers nearby.

  They heard nothing more from Jenks and Skinner for the rest of the tournament. Ruff had a nasty bruise on his ankle, and with Niko badly off form, Lions A lost to Lions B in the semis, but the worst thing of all was that somewhere between chasing Skinner and saving the almost certain goal, Oz had lost his lucky hat. Despite a three-pronged search for it behind the goals, he, Ellie, and Ruff could not find it anywhere.

  They stayed to watch their friends and teammates in Lions B come out on top with a last-minute winner in the final. After the usual round of presentations, which included shields for the winners, medals for the losers, and badges for everyone who turned up, one hundred players, parents, and officials made their way over to the edge of the car park, where burgers and hot dogs were sizzling on grills. Having eaten his mother’s sandwiches by half-eleven, a starving Oz made short work of the complimentary hot dog and glass of squash he was entitled to as they mingled with the other Lions, chatting about the season’s triumphs and disasters.

  “Remember that game against South Bridge?” Pete Williams said. “Snowed so hard we couldn’t even see the flags.”

  “Not as bad as that freezing rain in February. My hands have never been as cold as that, ever.” Sandra Ojo shivered. In the distance, on the other side of the car park, the Skullers had begun an impromptu football game and were challenging all and sundry to play them. Occasionally, Oz would hear his name called and Jenks’ carping voice, issuing a challenge. So far, there had been no takers. Oz felt a nudge in his ribs from Ellie and followed her nod towards Niko, who again sat cross-legged, oblivious of his surroundings, completely absorbed by his new handheld computer.

  “He’s really got the bug, hasn’t he?” Ellie said.

  “He played like an amoeba today, if that’s what you mean.” Ruff said, shaking his head.

  Niko looked up, and the three of them sent him a guilty smile while he, in return, allowed his glazed eyes to focus momentarily before turning back to the thing in his hands.

  “Right,” Oz said. “Who wants a Coke and a hot dog?”

  “I’ll have just a Coke, thanks.” Ellie said.

  “Ruff?” Oz asked.

  “Nah, not for me, thanks.”

  For a moment, Oz thought he’d misheard. “What?”

  “I said no, nothing for me, thanks.”

  “Are you ill?” Ellie asked.

  “No,” Ruff said slowly, “I’m fine. Thanks anyway.”

  Oz turned an astonished face towards Ellie. “Maybe Soph has hypnotised me, too. Either that or I’m hallucinating. Did Ruff really just say no to food?”

  Ellie shrugged. But it wasn’t something to be simply dismissed with a shrug. In all the time Oz had known him, Ruff had never turned down the offer of food.

  “Look, I just don’t feel like it, okay?” Ruff said, sounding definitely tetchy now. “I said I’d go and help my dad after this, and Mum’s making us a late lunch.”

  Oz arched his eyebrows. Ellie and he both knew a late lunch had never stopped Ruff from devouring breakfast and an early lunch, with elevenses and endless tea and biscuits in between, in the past. Once again, before anything else was said, Oz caught Ellie giving Ruff a quizzical glance before sending a troubled look his way.

  Ruff shrugged. “Besides, fizzy drinks are about the worst things you can have. Rot your teeth, so Mum says.”

  Ruff ’s phone signalled a message before either Oz or Ellie could point out that he normally drank fizzy drinks until they came out of his ears. Ruff read the text and turned to the other two. “It’s Dad. Says he’s on the way to pick me up. Looks like I’m going to have to go back to the patio job and help him out a bit. But you two can stay if you like. I’m sure someone will give you a lift.”

  Another raucous shout assailed them from the Skullers’ corner of the field. Ellie made a face. “Nah, I’d rather go home, I think, if your dad wouldn’t mind dropping me off. We’ve got that science test tomorrow and I need to do some revision.”

  They both looked at Oz.

  “Yeah, whatever,” he said, unable to hide his disappointment. Their last day of Sunday football together was fizzling out into a nothing afternoon. Still, if that was the way Ellie and Ruff felt, who was he to argue?

  Ruff ’s dad arrived to pick them up ten minutes later. He played “We Are the Champions” again, but their hearts weren’t in it, and half an hour later, Oz let himself into Penwurt with nothing to do except finish his geography homework and study for the science test, wondering why it was that the things you looked forward to a lot hardly ever turned out to be as good as you’d hoped they’d be.

  Chapter 6

  Suspicion And The Bribe

  Oz sensed something odd had happened the minute he got to registration the next mo
rning. He was late because his bus was delayed by road works—improvements to the new bypass were going to take two years—and Miss Arkwright was waiting patiently as he hurried to his desk with an apologetic wave. Luckily, he was not alone in being tardy, and Miss Arkwright gave him and the others an understanding little smile. She waited until they were all seated, her face looking very serious.

  “Now that we’re all here, I have something important to tell all of you.”

  “Miss, Jenks and Skinner aren’t here yet,” Dilpak said.

  Miss Arkwright nodded. “Unfortunately, what I have to tell you has to do with their absence.”

  Everyone sat up straight.

  Miss Arkwright paused and then said in a grave tone, “Last night, Kieron Skinner was attacked.”

  There was a collective intake of breath, followed directly by a rapid exchange of stunned, bewildered glances, before a volley of questions hit Miss Arkwright from every corner of the room.

  “How, miss?”

  “Is he hurt, miss?”

  “Was it Jenks, miss?”

  Miss Arkwright held up her hand and spoke over the noise. “No, it wasn’t Lee Jenkins. Details are still sketchy, but what I do know is that Kieron is in hospital.”

  Someone squealed from near the back, prompting Miss Arkwright to elaborate.

  “His injuries are not life-threatening. However, he is badly shaken, as you can imagine.”

  Her use of the words “life-threatening,” whether or not chosen for effect, certainly had one. Silence fell like an executioner’s axe as 2C went into shock.

  “The police are involved, and it is likely that they will want to talk to some, if not all, of you today, since many of you were at the football tournament yesterday, I believe.” Miss Arkwright’s eyebrows arched questioningly.

  A third of the class nodded. Ellie and Ruff regarded one another warily. Oz had never seen either of them look so much like owls.

  “These will be routine questions. The police are trying to establish Kieron’s movements prior to the attack, so don’t worry.”

  The bell went for first lesson, but no one moved.

  “It’s all right,” Miss Arkwright said. “You’re all to carry on as usual until we inform you otherwise.”

  Chairs scraped and desks closed, but with much less noise than usual.

  “What was all that about?” whispered Ellie as she, Oz, and Ruff headed for French.

  “Dunno,” Ruff said. “He looked fine when we left.”

  “Must have happened after…” Oz’s words died as he felt a hand on his arm. He swivelled around.

  “Oscar.” It was Miss Arkwright, and she was looking very earnest. “Can I have a word?”

  He caught sight of Ellie’s puzzled expression just before Miss Arkwright stepped past him to close the door. She turned and stood before him in the deserted classroom. Something coiled and uncoiled inside him as he studied her serious expression. Miss Arkwright’s “little chats” were always well-meant but usually left Oz uncomfortable, dealing as they usually did with things like his dad’s death or complaints about him from other teachers.

  “Oscar, the police are at the school already and have asked specifically to speak to you first.”

  Oz stared at her.

  “First?” he said, unable to hide the note of alarm that crept into his voice.

  “Of many, I’m sure,” Miss Arkwright added quickly.

  “Is Skinner, I mean Kieron, really badly hurt, miss?”

  “Bruises, mainly, although there is one nasty laceration that required stitching. But from what I’ve been told, I understand that the attacker was disturbed by a passer-by. Otherwise…”

  She let the sentence hang. Outside, the noise of milling pupils slowly faded as first-lesson classrooms were found and seats taken. Oz waited, trying not to think about what this conversation would be like if a passer-by hadn’t disturbed whoever attacked Skinner.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” Miss Arkwright asked, her expression softening.

  “What, miss?” Her question brought Oz back from his uncomfortable imaginings.

  “Interviews are being held in Miss Swinson’s office. Do you want me to come with you?”

  The door opened behind Oz and a year seven’s head popped in.

  “Wait outside,” Miss Arkwright snapped.

  The head disappeared.

  “I know the way to Miss Swinson’s, miss,” Oz said.

  “I know you do, Oscar. I’m not worried that you’d lose your way.”

  Oz blinked several times. It took a few seconds for him to realise what she was asking. In his first term at Seabourne County, he had been summoned to the Volcano’s office after being accused of cheating in a maths exam by a misery-guts called Badger Breath Boggs. Miss Arkwright had gone with him for support. She’d been brilliant then. But there was no need this time, was there? He wasn’t being accused of anything here. Or was her question a veiled way of asking if he had something to hide?

  “No, miss. I’ll be fine.”

  “All right. But if you need me, just ask, and I’ll come right away.” She smiled, but Oz couldn’t find it within himself to return it.

  He met a few stragglers dawdling on their way to lessons in the school corridors, but when he neared the admin block, a solid hush descended as the day’s work began in earnest. Two gangly, bespectacled secretaries looked up from where they hunched over their desks. Neither said anything to him. A lurid image of large vultures guarding the entrance to an unearthly kingdom popped into his head. He shook it to clear his mind.

  The Volcano’s office was situated along a clean, freshly painted corridor and was two doors down from that of the headmaster—a tall, constantly grinning man always in a hurry, 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, who made it her business whenever possible to be seen and heard by as many transgressing pupils as possible.

  When Oz reached the door with the sign Miss V Swinson, Senior Mistress in gold lettering upon it, he raised his hand to knock but hesitated. He could hear murmurs from within and the chink of mugs. A dull anxiety beat at his temples, and he suddenly wished he’d taken Hippie Arkwright up on her offer. He told himself 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 was, 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 rapped three times. The murmuring stopped, and he heard the Volcano shout, “Come.”

  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 giving off a strong smell of roses, and the walls were a pleasant burnt-yellow colour. Two huge posters of exotic tropical islands covered one wall. Three big grey filing cabinets occupied another wall, and in the centre stood an enormous desk, with a neat pile of paper behind three potted plants, one of which was the biggest cactus Oz had ever seen.

  The Volcano, wearing a magenta silk blouse, bristled behind the desk as he walked in. He took in two other people, both sitting on uncomfortable plastic school chairs. They both wore police uniforms and clutched mugs bearing silly messages: “Welcome to Torremolino’s” and “World’s Best Auntie.”

  “Chambers, this is Sergeant Thomas and WPC Keller from Seabourne constabulary.”

  “Yes, I know,” Oz said. “We’ve met before.”

  Sgt Thomas and WPC Keller had been to Oz’s house to talk to him about the burglary at Garret and Eldred’s over a year ago. They were getting to be old friends.

  The Volcano gave a little start. “Really?” She sat down and added under her breath, “No surprises there, then.”

  “Sorry, miss?” Oz said.

>   The Volcano cleared her throat. “Sergeant Thomas has asked if he could speak to some of our pupils regarding—”

  “Kieron Skinner, yes, miss. Miss Arkwright told us.”

  The Volcano stared at him and leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “Then you will know that this is a very serious matter. I need hardly tell you how badly this could reflect on the school if it turns out that another pupil is involved.”

  Oz nodded.

  The Volcano, as usual, wore a large dangling metal necklace, which looked an awful lot like something a mayor might wear. Oz often thought it was there to guarantee everyone knew how important she was. It clanked noisily on the desk as she thrust herself still farther forward.

  “I had suggested to Sergeant Thomas that he let me speak to you first.” The words emerged from a hard, small mouth. “They prefer that I simply sit in.”

  She threw the officers a glance that was full of disbelief and thinly disguised irritation. “However, if it turns out that you were responsible, if you were involved in any way with this heinous attack that has left one of our pupils… hospitalised, you can rest assured that my response will be swift and severe in the extreme. I want you to dwell on that when you answer Sergeant Thomas’ questions, Chambers.”

  She glared at Oz.

  To his left, Oz heard Sergeant Thomas clear his throat.

  “Nice to see a school showing such caring support for their pupils, Miss Swinson,” he said.

  The Volcano’s head snapped around, but there was nothing in Sergeant Thomas’ face to suggest he was being anything other than complimentary, unless that strange twinkle that flashed in his eye could be taken as sarcasm.

  “We try,” said the Volcano, puffing out her chest and brushing some imaginary dust off the edge of the desk. “Part of our mission statement is ‘pupils first.’”

  WPC Keller let out a sort of strangled cough, put down her mug, and took out a notebook, while Sergeant Thomas turned to Oz.

  “Now then, Oscar, have a seat.”