“Sounds like the squire’s son lost it big time,” Ruff said when they’d finished reading Redmayne’s account.
“It’s horrible,” Ellie said in a low whisper.
“Reminds me a lot of Down to the Woods 3. There’s this bloke that gets turned into a cross between a werewolf and a gorilla every time he eats mongrelberries—fruits that only grow in this particular wood—”
“Sugar!” Ellie said, swinging round to face them both, a manoeuvre that was not at all easy in the cramped space. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?” Oz said, staring at Ellie’s animated face.
“The Beast of Seabourne. Don’t you see?”
Oz shook his head.
Ruff frowned and gave Ellie a patronising little smile. “Sorry, but the Beast of Seabourne definitely did not feature in Down to the Woods 3.”
Ellie sighed in frustration before plunging on. “The dates,” she said. “Can you remember the dates that the Beast is supposed to have killed those people?”
“Yeah.I just read it ten minutes ago,” Ruff said. “Uh, 1759 or 60-ish.”
“Then it all ties in perfectly,” Ellie said, her eyes gleaming.
“Okay, maybe it’s me,” Ruff said, “but I was never any good at gobbledygook.”
Ellie shook her head. “You two are so thick sometimes. It’s all here.” She flicked at the letter.
Ruff and Oz continued to give her blank looks.
“Oh, my God, my next door neighbour’s budgie would understand this quicker! Look, we know Bunthorpe barn burned down in 1761, right? Redmayne said that he and his brother-in-law found the shell three years before, in 1758, and they gave it to Squire Worthy. His son then went bananas. Worthy gave them back the shell to destroy, what was it Redmayne said? ‘…mere months after it had been found’?”
Oz and Ruff both nodded. Ellie was on a roll.
“Well, what if the squire’s son got hold of the shell between those two dates? What if it turned him into the Beast?”
“You think Worthy’s son was the Beast?”
“Why not? We know Shoesmith didn’t destroy the shell. We know it’s the fifth artefact, and it’s the exact same one that Gerber got hold of in 1941. We know it can do that auramal stuff, don’t we? You haven’t forgotten Edward Bishop, have you?”
Ruff shuddered. Oz knew what he was thinking. It was hard to forget Edward Bishop, and Ruff especially had good cause not to. He’d been inches from being attacked by the half-man, half-polecat Bishop had become one dark November night in year seven.
“Hang on, though,” Oz said. “If it was the shell that made Richard Worthy turn into the Beast, why didn’t Shoesmith turn into it when he used it?”
“I don’t know,” Ellie said, shaking her head rapidly. “Maybe it affects different people in different ways. Probably why Gerber’s been experimenting with it, to find out exactly what it does.”
They all fell silent because Ellie’s suggestion made perfect sense, and yet again, Oz found himself pondering what this was all about. Why were the artefacts, which had caused such mayhem, even there in the first place? The same thought must have occurred to Ellie, because she then asked, “That reminds me: what about the ring? Has Soph found out any more about McClelland?”
“Who was McClelland, again?” Ruff said.
“The bloke Bendle did a deal with. The bloke that had the ring and went missing, you gonk,” Ellie said.
“Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about him.” Ruff nodded, much to Ellie’s despair.
Oz felt his face go suddenly warm. So many things had happened since he’d asked Soph to research Bendle that it had slipped completely out of his mind, too.
Oz reached into his pocket for the pebble. “Why don’t we ask her?” Oz said quickly, to cover his embarrassment. Instantly, Soph was in the room, suitably reduced in size so as to fit neatly in the corner, her shimmering presence lighting up the space.
“Hi, Soph,” Ellie said. “Did you find any more out about McClelland?”
“Yes, Ellie, I have now accessed the university database.” The wall next to Soph filled with a holographic screen, on which McClelland’s details were displayed as Soph recited.
“McClelland, Hamish. Date of birth, twentieth February, 1985. Place of birth, Morningside, Edinburgh, Scotland. McClelland was in his final year at Seabourne University, studying history and archaeology.”
“Doesn’t tell us anything about how he found the ring, does it?” Ellie said, reading down the display of personal information.
“That’s hardly likely to be in his file, is it?” Ruff said.
“Wonder what he looked like. Got any photos, Soph?” Oz asked.
Immediately, a date-order album of photographs appeared. One face was common to all of them—a dark-haired boy who looked full of energy and fun, judging by the general tone of his captured expressions, and who was also quite popular with girls, judging by the number in the photos with him. The photos told them he was a rugby player, a mountaineer, and a sailor, too. Even as Oz scanned down the images, he heard Ellie gasp and saw her point at a picture two-thirds of the way down the wall. This one was of two people in walking gear atop some desolate hill. Both were smiling happily as if they’d just arrived at the summit. But as Oz took in the details, he felt his insides somersault as the world tilted suddenly.
“Soph, can you make this one bigger?” he said thickly, pointing at the image with a trembling finger.
The photo quadrupled in size. It was definitely Hamish McClelland who beamed back at them, and behind him were other walkers with backpacks off, sitting enjoying an al fresco meal with the sea in the distant background.
However, it was the second posing figure that drew their astonished gazes. This figure too was smiling, and it was the very fact of that smile that initially made the face almost unrecognisable, for it was not an expression Oz, Ellie, and Ruff were used to seeing in association with these features. They were far more familiar with a controlled, almost fierce demeanour under a deeply furrowed brow. But how could it be? Why on earth hadn’t anything been said? Oz risked a glance at Ellie and Ruff and saw they must be thinking exactly the same thing.
Chapter 15
Tonseldeberry
Because the smiling person standing next to McClelland in the photograph and grinning back at them like a loon was none other than his father’s colleague, and member of Obex, Dr Caleb Jones.
All three stared at Caleb’s image in silence, none of them able to break through the confusion that was paralysing their brains. It was Soph who finally answered Oz’s unspoken question and put them out of their misery.
“I can confirm the man standing next to Hamish McClelland is Caleb Jones.”
Oz threw her an astonished glance. Even after all these months, he still could not get used to the fact that, whenever he held the pebble, the telepathic link between Soph and him was live.
“Where is this picture from, Soph?” Ellie said.
“A university magazine. The article it is taken from is an account of a mountaineering club trip to the Pembrokeshire coast.”
“Is there a date?” Oz asked.
“July 2008.”
“Hang on, that’s just a few weeks before McClelland went missing, isn’t it?” Oz said.
“That is correct, Oz.”
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” Ellie said without much conviction.
“Yeah,” Ruff said, folding his arms across his chest. “Caleb’s an expert in the artefacts and he’s a member of a society sworn to protect them and he just happens to be standing next to a bloke who tried to sell one of those artefacts to a mad collector. Coincidence, my left buzzard buttock.”
“We need to speak to Caleb about this,” Oz said, nodding slowly, in stark contrast to the way his mind was doing cartwheels. Ellie and Ruff turned to him.
“I thought you said he was in Bulgaria.” Ruff’s brow crinkled.
“He has his laptop, though, doesn’t he?” Oz replied and
then turned to Soph. “Thanks for finding all that stuff, Soph. Can you text Caleb and tell him that we need to speak to him and could he Skype me straight away?’
“I will.” Soph’s eyes glimmered and Oz knew the message was on its way.
The trio went back to the library, and by the time they shut the panel door, Oz’s phone had cheeped. He read the text out loud to Ellie and Ruff: “‘No access to Internet until tomorrow night. Seven PM okay?’”
Oz texted back an “OK” and shrugged. “We’ll just have to wait.”
Ellie and Ruff nodded. Oz could see they were positively bursting with questions, but there didn’t seem any point discussing this until he’d spoken with Caleb.
“So what now?” Ellie said.
“How about I text the Fanshaws?” Oz said. “See if they can come over and bring their SPEXITs.”
“Wow,” Ruff said. “Have you seen the reviews for those things? They look so awesome.”
“When’s the launch?” Ellie said
“Next year sometime.”
“Think they’ll mind?” Ruff asked.
Oz sent the text. Half a minute later, he got a reply.
“They’re going skiing for Easter, and they’re driving to the airport at two o’clock in the morning.”
Ruff groaned.
“But they also say we can borrow their SPEXITs. They’re worth seeing.”
Ruff whooped. “Awesome. C and B dijonnaise and SPEXITs.” He threw himself into an armchair and moaned in anticipation. “This must be a dream. Someone pinch me.”
“I’ll get the tongs,” Ellie said under her breath.
“Heard that,” Ruff said.
As a way of whiling away a Saturday evening, it could not have been better. Ruff had three helpings of chicken and broccoli dijonnaise and only stopped there because there were profiteroles for pudding. The SPEXIT, although a trial version of the new sleekly packaged “Hands-free Video Gaming Experience” that JG Industries was promoting in every gaming magazine, was still breathtakingly amazing. There was limited software on this version, but the promised base-jumping and jet-ski slaloms that would be available on the actual store package looked totally out of this world. And that was quite apart from the “New concept in role-playing games” that JG Industries was keeping cleverly under wraps, ready for the launch, but which had gamers like Ruff chomping at the bit for more information.
S and S had dropped off the console and announced, coyly, that it was the most recent upgrade, they’d tested it, and it was okay. Oz was astonished by the change in design. Gone were the black plastic and the unwieldy headband, and in their places was a thing of thrilling, retro, goggle beauty. JG Industries had gone for brass rims and rich brown-leather eyecups, with neat brass cogwheels, buttons, and enticing levers as controls. The bulky battery had been replaced with a tiny power source of JG Industries construction, which glowed with an aquamarine light when they switched it on.
“Wow,” Ruff said, speaking for all of them, staring at the goggles like someone who’d just died and woken up in steampunk heaven.
“Is that cool, or what?” Ellie said.
Nevertheless, Oz did not let either of them use the goggles until he’d put them on and let Soph run some software scans.
“This system utilises direct neural stimulation of the visual, olfactory, and proprioceptive centres through carrier-wave transmission to create a whole-body experience. I can find no trace of subliminal or hypnotic algorithms,” he heard her say.
“In other words,” Oz said, “it’s safe.”
The sheer reality of Wild White Water, Bungee Blast, and Roller Coaster Reality—the games the Fanshaws’ SPEXIT were loaded with—was even more astounding than Oz remembered. Almost as good was getting Soph to record holotracks of them all using the kit. Their replayed expressions of terror, fear, exhilaration, and relief as they completed a level had them in fits of laughter. Ruff had insisted on using some of the leftover “found” lunch money to raid his favourite old-school sweet shop on the way home from town, and they gorged themselves on Fizz Wiz, fruit salad chews, fizzy cola bottles, foam mushrooms, candy shrimps, sour flying saucers, and Parma Violets.
They watched an old DVD to finish the night off, and by eleven, they were all pretty tired. Two and a half hours of treasure hunting that morning was beginning to take its toll.
By eleven-fifteen, Oz had set up the pebble in Ruff’s room, ready for the sublimsert.
“Does it hurt?’ Ruff asked anxiously, casting a wary glance towards the artefact.
“Only the bit where she takes your brain out and connects it to the mains,” Oz said.
Ruff threw Oz a double take.
“Don’t be stupid,” Ellie said, half to Ruff and half to Oz. Ruff remained fearfully unconvinced while Oz grinned maniacally. “You’re going to be asleep anyway, you gonk.”
“Oh, yeah, forgot.” Ruff gave her a half-hearted grin and then added to Oz, “You were joking about the mains and stuff, though, weren’t you?”
Ellie just raised her eyebrows and left.
Oz placed the pebble on the bedside table next to Ruff’s bed and left him to it. He said goodnight to Ellie as she ran down to her room next to Mrs Chambers’, then headed for his own bed.
Even though the yawns were coming thick and fast, he could not help lying there, thinking of McClelland and Caleb and of Ellie’s suggestion that there just might be a coincidence. Given that Caleb was a history lecturer and McClelland a history student, it was possible. He so wanted to believe it, but it simply didn’t seem likely. After half an hour of going around in circles, he forced his mind away and ended up groaning as he thought instead of the prospect of Rowena the Cuckoo filling the dorm with… well, with people like her. People who actually wanted to hear about rainbow therapy and photoactive tinctures and damaged chakras. Finally, he settled on something good to think about—Ruff’s face when they’d found that fiver in the greasy old kebab wrapper. Priceless. He was still smiling at the memory when he fell asleep.
Over breakfast on Sunday morning, Ruff was insufferable.
“Ask me anything. Go on, anything.”
“All right,” Ellie said, looking off into space for a moment, thinking. “How do you make an electromagnet stronger?”
Ruff sat up and recited, “By adding more turns to the coil of wire around an iron core. By increasing the current through the coil.” He grinned smugly at them both and proceeded to win every hand of physics snap. He was in an excellent mood as they walked through the streets to People’s Park for a kickabout at ten o’clock. At eleven, Ruff was once again going to help his dad build a patio (“last one before Easter, he says,”), while Ellie had promised to help her mum with Sunday lunch, since Macy was due back that morning.
Ellie’s mum picked them up on the dot, leaving Oz with most of the day to finish his homework and do just a bit more revision for the science test. Even though he had all day, he struggled to concentrate, because all he could really think about were McClelland and Caleb.
At long last, seven o’clock came around to find Oz sitting in his bedroom, waiting for the video link. It was five past when finally his laptop signalled an incoming call. A second later, he was looking at a slightly jerky image of Caleb Jones, sporting a thicker beard than his usual stubble, and looking tanned and windswept.
“Oz,” Caleb said, nodding a terse greeting. “Your message yesterday sounded urgent. Is there a problem?”
Oz swallowed. This was not going to be easy, because no matter how he had played it in his head, it was going to sound as if he suspected Caleb of something.
“Yeah, umm, since you’ve been away, a lot of really weird stuff’s been happening. Why is it you’re in Bulgaria, again?”
“Good question,” Caleb said with a sigh. “I’m here because Madely pulled out at the last minute due to appendicitis and I was volunteered by Heeps. It’s a two-week exchange lecture tour of Bulgarian universities, which involves visiting several archaeological digs
. Some of them are pretty remote, like the one I’ve been to today. And the hotel is a joke—cold showers, cold soup and baklava for supper.”
“Sounds great,” Oz said weakly.
“So, what’s so urgent, Oz?” Caleb asked in a concerned but tired voice.
“We, that is, Ellie, Ruff, and me, spoke to Mr Eldred, and he told us about the ring and pointed us at this chap called Bendle. We went to see him and…well, he’s a bit strange. We didn’t get on too well, but he did accidentally sort of give us a name. Hamish McClelland.”
It wasn’t easy to judge expressions via the webcam, but Oz felt sure he saw Caleb physically flinch on hearing McClelland’s name. There was a long pause, and when it became obvious that Caleb wasn’t going to say anything, Oz pressed on.
“It was on the news last week that Bendle’s house was burgled and he was…he was sort of attacked. If being dumped up to your neck in manure can be called an attack. We got Soph onto it, and she’s been able to access the university database, and she found this.”
Oz dropped the image Soph had found into the messaging software’s drop box and sent it over. He waited in silence for Caleb to open the file. Oz watched his hand come up and nervously start fingering his beard, and saw quite clearly that those fingers were trembling. Caleb didn’t seem able to tear his eyes away from the photo for a very long time. Finally, when he did look up, his face appeared oddly pale under the tan.
“How much do you know?” Caleb said slowly.
“Bendle told us he was expecting McClelland to deliver something. We know that he went missing a few days after arranging to meet with Bendle, and we know he didn’t keep that appointment. We think that what McClelland had was the ceramic ring.”
Caleb nodded. It was the slightest of movements, but it was enough. He kept his eyes away from Oz’s, and when he spoke, his voice sounded different, quavering with barely restrained emotion. “McClelland was Obex, too.” He let out a small snort and shook his head. “You need to understand what that means, Oz. In Squire Worthy’s day, when ignorance and superstition were rife, Obex did really mean something, because the artefacts were tangible. It was kept alive by groups of believers, people like my father who wanted something mysterious to believe in. But the artefacts disappeared for so long that, eventually, Obex fizzled out. Now it’s just an underground organization, researchers, people who love a good mystery, all linked together by the Internet. And Seabourne attracts them like a flame attracts moths. McClelland was a brilliant researcher, kept his eyes out for anything strange or unusual on the web, local newspapers, you name it. It was he who picked up on a story about a woman who’d had some quarry rocks delivered for her garden. There was tons of the stuff, but in amongst the rubble was a black ring. It made the local press, and a jeweller valued the ring’s worth at five pounds. After all, it wasn’t made of any precious metal, just some black stone.” Caleb’s laugh sounded like a pebble ricocheting off the walls of a bottomless well.
The Beast of Seabourne Page 24
