by R. A. Spratt
‘I’ve already got one,’ said Debbie, taking a length of leather string out from under her shirt. It had a pebble with a hole in the middle strung on it. ‘Technically it’s not a shoelace but a leather necklace. Same idea, though.’
‘What type of stone is that?’ asked Melanie.
‘It’s just a pebble,’ said Debbie. ‘My family aren’t big on fancy jewellery.’
By the time Melanie and Debbie wandered out into the corridor Friday had the tension wrench inserted in the lock and was working on the first tumbler.
‘Where did you learn how to do that?’ asked Debbie.
‘At home,’ said Friday. ‘I came home from school one day and found the house locked up. My parents had gone to a conference in Kuala Lumpur and had forgotten to tell me. But I was able to fashion a tension wrench out of a screwdriver and a pick out of a hair pin, and in just two short hours I taught myself how to pick a lock.’
‘Excuse me,’ said a heavily accented voice.
Friday looked up to see Princess Ingrid glaring down her nose at her. She was even more beautiful close up, even from that angle. Most people don’t look their best when you’re staring up their nose. But this princess looked stunning. She also looked deeply unimpressed.
‘Yes?’ said Friday.
‘You are in the way of my access,’ said the princess.
‘Sorry,’ said Friday.
‘I am guiding the entrance of my possessions,’ said the princess.
Friday looked around the princess, and saw another gorgeous blonde behind her. Ian Wainscott was holding one end of her massive travelling trunk.
‘Hello Friday,’ said Ian. ‘Fancy meeting you here, on your hands and knees, trying to break in. What a surprise.’
‘Is this some miscreant?’ the princess asked Ian. ‘Should we inform the police officers?’
‘The police are already aware of her movements,’ said Ian, shaking his head sadly. ‘Hers is more of a mental health issue rather than an actual crime.’
‘Ah,’ said the princess, ‘I understand. She is, how you say … bonkers?’
‘Quite right,’ agreed Ian.
‘Hello there, Mel,’ said a voice.
‘Binky, is that you?’ asked Melanie.
Binky Pelly bent sideways so they could see his head around the side of the trunk. He was holding the other end. ‘Yes, it’s me. Wainscott needed something carried. And when you need something heavy lugged, I’m your man.’
Binky was Melanie’s older brother. He was a very affable if dim-witted boy. He was also very large and muscular.
‘You will move now so that my trunk, she will be installed,’ the princess said to Friday.
‘As it is your first day and English is your second language I shall overlook your misuse of pronouns and do as you ask,’ said Friday, getting up and standing back.
The princess unlocked the door with her key and the boys moved forward with the trunk. The princess stopped them at the doorway. ‘You may go now,’ she announced, before grabbing the handle of the trunk herself, rolling it into the room and slamming the door.
‘Nice girl,’ said Binky, happily.
‘Do you think so?’ asked Ian.
‘Well, obviously not in manners, or the way she talks, or treats people,’ said Binky. ‘But very nice to look at.’
‘One out of four isn’t too bad,’ said Friday.
‘Exactly,’ said Binky. ‘Much better than none out of four.’
Debbie tried the door handle. ‘It’s unlocked, I can get in.’
Then, in a very odd move, Debbie slid into the room she shared with the princess, keeping the door as closed as absolutely possible so that the others only got the smallest glimpse of the room behind her.
‘Thanks for your help,’ said Debbie, her lips only just visible through an inch-wide crack in the door. ‘I’d invite you in, but there’s a lot of dirty underwear lying around.’ She shut the door firmly.
‘That was odd, wasn’t it?’ said Friday, turning to Melanie. ‘How can there be dirty underwear lying around? She only just got here.’
‘Maybe she brought some from home,’ said Ian.
‘It certainly seemed odd to me,’ agreed Melanie. ‘And I’ve got a high benchmark of oddness to compare it to.’
Chapter 7
A Dangerous Letter
Several days later Friday was sitting in geography class, totally ignoring the lesson. She already knew as much as she wanted to know about the imports and exports of Borneo. So Friday sat in the back row reading a Dorothy L Sayers murder mystery where the victim had died of being forced to listen to loud bellringing. Friday found this highly improbable. If loud unpleasant noises could kill a person, people would be dropping dead from close proximity to leaf blowers all the time.
‘BARNES!’
Friday’s head snapped up. Mr Maclean was glaring at her. Everyone in the room had turned round to stare at her. Mr Maclean had evidently been calling her name for some time.
‘Timber and palm oil,’ said Friday.
‘What?’ asked Mr Maclean.
‘The chief exports of Borneo,’ said Friday. ‘Isn’t that what we’re discussing?’
‘No,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘I have a note here saying that you are required immediately in the library.’
‘What have I done now?’ asked Friday.
‘I don’t know,’ said Mr Maclean. ‘Maybe you’ve irritated the librarian as much as you’ve irritated me.’
‘I doubt it,’ said Friday. ‘I’m banned from entering the library, so she doesn’t get to spend as much time with me as you do.’
‘Lucky her,’ said Mr Maclean.
Friday got up and started packing her things into her bag. Melanie did the same.
‘Where do you think you’re going, Pelly?’ asked Mr Maclean.
‘With Friday,’ said Melanie. ‘I didn’t think you’d miss me. I wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying anyway.’
Mr Maclean rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t any of you have any appreciation for the subject of geography?’
‘Of course we do,’ said Melanie kindly. ‘We appreciate that it is nowhere near as unpleasant as maths.’
Friday and Melanie were soon hurrying across the quadrangle. The truth was Mr Maclean was almost as apathetic as Melanie, so he was quite glad to have two less students to teach for the remainder of the lesson.
As they came to the turn in the landing, Friday looked up to see the librarian standing outside the door waiting for them. The librarian had taken an intense dislike to Friday from the moment she had met her. Over the months, getting to know Friday’s personality had only made matters worse.
Friday assumed she would be yelled at for some misdemeanour, and that the librarian was waiting outside so that she would not be allowed to sully the interior of the library with her presence. What the librarian actually said came as a complete shock.
‘At last. You’re here.’
‘You’re happy to see me?’ asked Friday.
‘Obviously not,’ said the librarian. ‘You’re still the most obnoxious child in the school. But I need your help.’
‘You’ve got a funny way of asking for it,’ said Melanie. ‘Usually when people want something, they are nice about it.’
‘It’s all right, Melanie,’ said Friday. ‘It’s a long way to ratchet your emotions down from intense hatred all the way to nice. If I’m not mistaken, the librarian has, with some struggle, managed to subdue her feelings from hatred down to loathing. I’m prepared to give her credit for her effort.’
‘You don’t make it easy,’ said the librarian, rubbing her forehead. ‘Just hearing your voice makes my chest spasm with rage.’
‘Why don’t we focus on the problem then,’ said Friday. ‘How can I help you?’
‘Mr Henderson had his year 11 aerodynamics class in here,’ said the librarian. ‘And when they left, a letter had gone missing. I need you to find that letter.’
‘A letter?’ said Melanie. ‘You mean w
ritten on paper? I didn’t know people still did that.’
‘It’s an old letter,’ said the librarian. ‘A valuable collectors’ item. It was a letter written by Marie Curie.’
Friday gasped. ‘I love Marie Curie!’
‘Really?’ said Melanie. ‘But I thought you loved Ian Wainscott?’
‘No, Marie Curie was an early twentieth century scientist,’ said Friday. ‘She’s my role model. She won two Nobel Prizes. One for physics and one for chemistry. She also drove a van around the front line in World War I, giving injured soldiers x-rays – a technology only possible thanks to her breakthrough in isolating radium and polonium. And in, perhaps, her greatest breakthrough for women’s rights, she arranged free child care for herself – by getting her father-in-law to look after her children.’
‘Oh, that Marie Curie,’ said Melanie, nodding. ‘I’ve seen pictures of her. She’s the one whose hair looked like a bird’s nest made by a very angry bird.’
‘Yes, that’s her,’ agreed Friday.
‘Well, the school had a handwritten letter by her,’ said the librarian. ‘And it’s gone.’
‘What was the letter about?’ asked Friday.
‘It was a letter to the Nobel Prize Committee,’ said the librarian. ‘They’d asked her not to attend the awards ceremony in person because they thought the way she was conducting her personal life was scandalous. So she wrote them a very rude letter back.’
‘Were there swear words?’ asked Melanie.
‘I don’t know,’ said the librarian. ‘I don’t speak French. But there was a very graphic description of where they could put their Nobel Prize – which demonstrated that Marie Curie had an impressive knowledge of anatomy as well as physics and chemistry.’
‘It sounds like a really good letter,’ said Friday. ‘Of course I’ll help you find it. Could you explain how it came to go missing?’
‘Usually it’s kept locked in the archives,’ said the librarian. ‘We wouldn’t want students to get anywhere near it.’
‘Heaven forbid they might learn something,’ said Friday.
‘But, the head of science asked me to get it out so he could show it to your father,’ said the librarian. ‘He thought Dr Barnes would be interested.’
‘Poor naïve Mr Breznev,’ said Friday, shaking her head. ‘Little does he realise that my father is such a snob when it comes to physics that he considers Marie Curie to be a chemist and therefore a second-rate hack.’
‘Anyway,’ continued the librarian, ‘I got the letter out and put it on the circulation desk, ready for Mr Breznev to collect. Then I continued about my duties. Five minutes later, when Mr Breznev came to pick it up, the letter was gone.’
‘Could it have blown away?’ asked Friday. ‘In a gust from the door?’
‘No,’ said the librarian. ‘I set a stapler on top of the letter so it couldn’t blow away. Someone must have moved the stapler intentionally and picked the letter up.’
‘But who would want to steal a letter by Marie Curie?’ asked Melanie.
‘I would,’ said Friday.
The librarian and Melanie looked at her.
‘But of course I didn’t,’ said Friday. ‘I didn’t even know the school had one.’
‘So it must be some other obsessive science nerd,’ said Melanie.
‘Your father,’ said the librarian.
‘Dad wouldn’t steal,’ said Friday.
‘Are you sure about that?’ asked the librarian.
When Friday thought about it, she realised she wasn’t really sure. She spent so little time with her father she didn’t really have any insight into what motivated him. ‘He’s certainly obsessive about science,’ said Friday. ‘But I don’t know that he is materialistic enough to want to own a specific artefact.’
‘Didn’t you say he bought Einstein’s toothbrush in an online auction?’ asked Melanie.
‘Yes,’ conceded Friday, ‘but that was only because his own toothbrush had worn out, and he needed a new one. It didn’t occur to him that a toothbrush from the supermarket might be cheaper.’
‘Maybe someone stole the letter because they wanted to sell it for the money,’ suggested Melanie.
‘But so few students here need money,’ said Friday.
‘Except Ian,’ said Melanie. ‘With his father in jail and his assets frozen, Ian could use the cash.’
‘Yes,’ said Friday, ‘an obviously valuable letter just sitting in the open would be quite a temptation. But I don’t think he would.’
‘Because you love him even more than Marie Curie?’ said Melanie.
‘No, because students don’t have internet access,’ said Friday. ‘He’d have no way to sell it.’
‘Well, it’s gone and someone took it,’ said the librarian.
‘Maybe it was The Pimpernel,’ said Melanie.
‘Who?’ asked Friday.
‘The Pimpernel,’ said Melanie. ‘That’s what everyone is calling the thief who’s been stealing everything, because they’re so elusive. No-one has seen them and no-one knows their identity.’
‘That’s an unexpectedly literate reference for the students here,’ said Friday. ‘I wouldn’t have thought anyone had read The Scarlet Pimpernel.’
‘Of course not,’ said Melanie. ‘But there’s a film version and the Headmaster showed it in the dining hall last year as an end-of-term treat.’
‘But the Scarlet Pimpernel left a calling card,’ said Friday. ‘This thief hasn’t been leaving calling cards.’
‘Perhaps our Pimpernel fell asleep before they got to that bit in the movie,’ said Melanie.
‘Not everyone naps as much as you,’ said Friday.
‘I know,’ said Melanie. ‘But they should try it. It’s very nice.’
‘While it gratifies me that you’re having a literary discussion,’ said the librarian, ‘can you please get on with the investigation?’
‘Of course. We’d better inspect the scene of the crime,’ said Friday.
They all stepped into the library. Friday could immediately see the pink and black stapler sitting on the circulation desk.
‘It was right there,’ said the librarian.
‘Who was in the library at the time?’ asked Friday.
‘Just Mr Henderson and his year 11 aerodynamics class,’ said the librarian. ‘The students were sitting an exam. Mr Henderson couldn’t use his own classroom because he had dropped a thermometer in there and a hazmat team were called in to remove the mercury.’
‘Mr Henderson is very passionate about science,’ said Friday. ‘He must have been your first suspect.’
‘He was,’ agreed the librarian. ‘But I noticed the letter was missing before he left and I searched him thoroughly before I let him go.’
‘How thoroughly?’ asked Friday.
‘Very, very,’ said the librarian.
‘Are you allowed to do that?’ asked Melanie.
‘It’s my library,’ said the librarian, ‘I make the rules.’
‘But surely you’re still subject to normal laws of human rights,’ said Melanie.
‘Humans can forfeit their rights in my library,’ said the librarian. ‘They do so all the time.’
Friday made a mental note that the librarian was clearly more insane than she had previously realised.
‘May I see your wastepaper bin?’ asked Friday.
‘What for?’ asked the librarian.
‘I’m looking for evidence,’ said Friday.
The librarian showed Friday the wastepaper bin at the end of the circulation desk. It was a large round bin full of crumpled paper. Friday peered inside, then picked up the whole bin and tipped the contents over the desk.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded the librarian. ‘Look at the mess you’ve made!’
‘You want me to find the letter, don’t you?’ said Friday.
‘But it won’t be in there!’ said the librarian. ‘Nobody would steal it then throw it away.’
‘No,’ agreed Fr
iday, ‘but that’s not what I’m looking for. Aha! Here we go …’ Friday picked up a scrunched-up ball of paper and started flattening it out.
‘What is it?’ asked Melanie.
‘The aerodynamics test,’ said Friday. She glanced through the questions.
‘What are you looking for?’ asked the librarian.
‘A motive,’ said Friday. She turned the page over to read the last question. ‘Oh dear. This isn’t good.’
‘What is it?’ asked the librarian.
‘The last question,’ said Friday, turning the paper around so that the librarian could read it. ‘It asks the student to design a paper airplane.’
‘I don’t see the significance –’ the librarian broke off when she did see the significance. ‘But they wouldn’t, surely …?’
‘The letter was lying there on the desk,’ said Friday. ‘It was in French. Most students don’t read French. They barely read English. Teenagers are thoughtless. They would have been talking amongst themselves about the exam, discussing the last question. One of them spots the piece of paper on the desk and, without a second thought, picks it up to test their design.’
The librarian clasped her hand to her mouth. ‘That’s horrifying. But if they folded it and made it into a paper airplane then they would have …’ She swallowed, struggling to say the words. ‘Thrown it.’
‘Launched it, yes,’ agreed Friday.
‘It could be anywhere by now,’ said the librarian.
‘Yes,’ said Friday. ‘But it will be very easy to find.’
‘It will?’ asked Melanie. ‘One piece of paper in the entire school grounds?’
‘Yes,’ said Friday, ‘because it wasn’t an ordinary piece of paper. It was a letter by Marie Curie. The first person to isolate radium. Her daily work constantly exposed her to radiation. She didn’t realise the danger. It killed her in the end. And her papers – everything she wrote in her laboratory – is, to this very day, still radioactive. In France, her notebooks are kept in a lead-lined box.’
‘But I picked it up!’ exclaimed the librarian.
‘Yes, you did,’ said Friday. ‘You should probably wash your hands.’
The librarian ran for the bathroom.
