by R. A. Spratt
‘So how are we going to find it?’ asked Melanie.
‘The way you can find anything radioactive,’ said Friday. ‘With a Geiger counter.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Melanie. ‘You’ve got one in your backpack?’
‘As it happens, I do,’ said Friday.
Chapter 8
Letter-Tracking
The girls were soon tracking the radiation signature across the school. Friday was concentrating hard on the Geiger counter’s dial as the needle flickered back and forth. When she got to the centre of the quadrangle she froze, turning first one way, then another.
‘What’s the problem?’ asked Melanie.
‘There appear to be two radiation readings,’ said Friday.
‘Do you think the school could own two letters by Marie Curie?’ asked Melanie.
‘I doubt it,’ said Friday. ‘But there’s no way of telling which reading is coming from the letter.’
‘Sure, there is,’ said Melanie. ‘We’ll just have to do eenie, meenie, miney, mo.’
‘I’ve studied postgraduate-level probability,’ said Friday. ‘I’m not using eenie, meenie, miney, mo to make decisions.’
‘Why?’ asked Melanie. ‘Are you worried it will make better life decisions than you? I bet eenie, meenie, miney, mo wouldn’t have let you choose that cardigan for a start.’
‘Let’s go this way,’ said Friday, following the radiation reading that led towards the social science building.
‘You did eenie, meenie, miney, mo silently in your head, didn’t you?’ said Melanie.
‘I did not,’ said Friday, blushing.
‘I can tell when you’re lying,’ said Melanie as she followed her.
The reading led them right up to the door of a storage room.
‘Well, there’s definitely something radioactive in there,’ said Friday.
‘Should we get a hazmat team?’ asked Melanie.
‘It’s not that radioactive,’ said Friday. ‘There’s radioactive material in smoke detectors and people don’t avoid those.’
‘I do,’ said Melanie. ‘Dreadful, noisy things. I’d rather be in a fire.’
‘I’m going to kick the door down,’ said Friday.
‘Why don’t you pick the lock?’ asked Melanie.
‘There’s no time for that,’ said Friday. ‘Who knows what damage they could be doing to the letter as we speak? They could be folding extra air foils and tearing bits off to alter the weight balance.’
‘Do you even know how to kick down a door?’ asked Melanie as Friday took a few steps back.
‘Of course I do,’ said Friday. ‘I read all about it online. It’s just a matter of simple physics. Mass times acceleration plus the force of momentum meeting a stationary object. Oh, and you have to yell really loudly to focus your chi.’
‘Isn’t that a type of tea?’ said Melanie.
‘No, you’re thinking of chai,’ said Friday. ‘Your chi is your energy.’
‘Okay,’ said Melanie, ‘I’ll put my fingers in my ears and you can yell as loud as you want.’
‘Hiiyaaaaahhhh!’ screamed Friday as she launched herself forward and slammed the ball of her foot into the door just below the lock. The lock smashed out through the frame, splintering the wood. The door flung open, Friday overbalanced and landed flat on her face. The door hit the wall hard and bounced back, whacking Friday in the side of her head.
‘Ow,’ said Friday.
‘Hello Mr Maclean,’ said Melanie.
‘What on earth are you doing here?!’ demanded Mr Maclean.
Friday looked up to see Mr Maclean wearing nothing but a swimsuit and sun goggles as he struggled to sit up on a sunbed. Ultraviolet light from the sunbed bathed the room.
‘I think we’ve found our radiation source,’ said Friday.
‘Why? Do you think Mr Maclean was reading Marie Curie’s letter as he lay on the sunbed?’ asked Melanie.
‘Excuse me,’ said Mr Maclean, clutching a towel to his beige-coloured chest. ‘A man has a right to a suntan, doesn’t he?’
‘I don’t think that’s one of the legal rights listed in the constitution,’ said Friday. ‘But I certainly don’t think it is illegal, either. Just strange and extremely vain to be secretly acquiring one in a closet.’
‘Well, I have to unwind somehow after an hour of year 7 geography,’ said Mr Maclean.
‘Oh, is geography over?’ asked Melanie. ‘That’s a shame. That means we’re missing music now. I have some of my best naps in music.’
‘We’ve got to find that letter,’ said Friday. ‘We’ll have to double back and trace the other reading.’
Soon Friday and Melanie were using the Geiger counter again to follow the radiation reading across the school.
‘It seems to be leading towards the administration building,’ said Melanie.
‘Of course!’ said Friday. ‘The clock tower.’
They both looked up to see the tallest structure in the school: the clock tower. It was the architectural centrepiece of the administration building.
‘It would be the perfect place to launch a paper airplane,’ said Friday.
‘Oh dear,’ said Melanie. ‘It’s a windy day. That letter could end up anywhere.’
‘We’ve got to get up there!’ said Friday.
Unfortunately Friday and Melanie were even worse at running up a spiral staircase than they were at running in a straight line. It took some time, and a lot of gasping for breath, before they arrived at the top. Friday flung open the door only to have it thrown back at her by the force of the wind, the door hitting her in the forehead.
‘Ow!’ said Friday.
‘At least it was a different part of your head this time,’ said Melanie. ‘Better to have two small lumps than one big one.’
‘Tell that to my cerebellum,’ said Friday. She clambered to her feet and looked out over the balustrade.
Three boys were sitting on the far end of the ridge pole. They each had a paper airplane in their hand. One of the airplanes was the distinctive pale blue of early twentieth-century French stationery. The boys started to count.
‘One … two …’ began the boys.
‘Nooooo!’ cried Friday.
‘Three!’
The boys launched their paper airplanes.
One spun in a loop-da-loop and a gust of wind pushed it back so that it hit its owner in the eye. Another airplane flew out a few feet then the weight of the nose tipped it over and it spiralled straight down to the ground.
But the fine quality of French paper meant that Marie Curie’s letter fared much better in aeronautical form. The crisp folds and firm weight of the stationery helped the paper airplane to pierce the air and be carried by a powerful gust out over the school.
‘What a beautifully made plane,’ admired Friday. She couldn’t help but appreciate the physics and geometry.
‘Where’s it going?’ asked Melanie.
The plane kept gliding on and on, defying gravity with its pure aerodynamics. But then the wind slowly died, and the airplane began to glide down towards the polo field.
‘I hope it doesn’t hit anyone,’ said Melanie.
‘It’s only a paper airplane,’ said Friday.
‘A radioactive paper airplane,’ said Melanie.
‘True,’ conceded Friday.
In the distance they saw a horse canter onto the polo field.
‘Oh no,’ said Friday.
The paper airplane was heading straight for the horse’s bottom.
Friday cupped her hands about her mouth and called as loudly as she could. ‘Move your horse!’
The rider turned around. It was Princess Ingrid. She looked up and saw Friday. Melanie had squealed and ducked down.
The paper airplane speared into the horse’s back-side causing it to flinch with shock, then rear up. Princess Ingrid was surprised, but you don’t get to be the Princess of Norway without knowing a thing or two about horsemanship. She crouched forward into the saddle,
shortened the reins and held on tight as the horse bolted straight across the field and plunged into the forest beyond.
‘I think we’ve just caused an international incident,’ said Melanie.
‘We didn’t do anything,’ said Friday.
‘No,’ said Melanie, ‘but when a valuable handwritten letter from the world’s greatest female scientist gets ruined and an incredibly beautiful European princess gets carted off by an angry animal both at the same time, someone has to spend time in detention.’
Friday sighed. She knew Melanie was right. ‘Let’s go and see if we can salvage the letter.’
The girls trudged out to the polo field and found the letter. It had been stomped into a big pile of horse manure.
‘I don’t think it will be worth as much on eBay now,’ said Friday, as she pulled on gloves to protect herself from the radiation and gingerly picked the letter up by the one manure-free corner.
‘That is the one, I want that girl arrested!’
Friday looked up to see the now very dishevelled and extremely angry Princess Ingrid pointing at her from the great height of her horse. Her bodyguard was galloping over from the stables on a horse of his own.
‘She is the one who attacked Maximus,’ said the princess.
‘No, the paper airplane hit the horse’s gluteus maximus,’ corrected Friday.
‘Maximus is the horse’s name,’ said the princess.
‘You named your horse after a bottom?’ asked Melanie.
‘Detain her,’ yelled the princess. ‘Detain them both!’
‘You and you must come with me,’ said the bodyguard, sliding off his horse. ‘We shall report to the Headmaster.’
‘And make sure he reports them to the police,’ said the princess. ‘They’re probably anarchists or communists. They no doubt attacked me because they hate royalty.’
‘Well, I didn’t before,’ said Melanie, ‘but I’m beginning to now.’
The bodyguard grabbed them each by an elbow and started leading them back up to the school. Ian Wainscott and the rest of the polo team trotted out onto the field.
‘In trouble again, Barnes?’ asked Ian.
It took some time to explain everything to the Headmaster, then to round up everyone who had touched the letter – the three boys, the librarian and the horse – and arrange for them all to be decontaminated.
The letter itself would never be the same again.
‘Are you upset to see an artefact by your hero get ruined?’ asked Melanie.
‘No,’ said Friday. ‘Given the sentiments of the letter, I think Marie Curie would have approved of having it stomped in horse manure. I bet she wished she’d thought of doing it herself before she’d sent it.’
The Headmaster’s parting instructions to Friday had been to stay away from Princess Ingrid.
‘But she lives in the room next door to me!’ protested Friday.
‘I don’t care how you do it,’ said the Headmaster. ‘You figure it out. It’s bad enough with all the rampant criminal activity that goes on in this school, and hysterical students thinking there’s some Pimpernel running loose. I don’t want an international incident as well.’
‘It wasn’t my fault the paper airplane hit her horse,’ argued Friday.
‘You were involved in an incident that desecrated a historical artefact by a scientific heroine of Poland and France, while assaulting the buttocks of a horse being ridden by a Norwegian princess. There is barely a country in Europe you haven’t rubbed up the wrong way today.’
‘I try to be quiet and go unnoticed,’ said Friday. ‘That’s the whole reason I wear brown cardigans so I’ll blend in.’
‘Whatever you’re doing, it’s not working,’ said the Headmaster. ‘So stop it.’
‘All right, if you say so,’ said Friday. ‘Although I do find it curious that when the plane hit the princess’s horse, her bodyguard wasn’t there. I wonder what he was up to in the stables.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ said the Headmaster. ‘And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your nose out of it as well.’
Chapter 9
Ian’s Mother
Friday and Melanie were making their way back to their dorm room after a very nice dinner of chicken casserole. Neither girl had any intention of doing her homework. Friday was planning to spend the evening re-reading A Brief History of Time and then writing Stephen Hawking a letter about all his errors. Melanie was planning to spend the evening napping so that she would be well-rested for going to bed.
As Friday pushed open the door and flicked on the light she got a nasty shock. There was someone sitting on her bed.
It was Ian.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Friday.
‘Waiting for you,’ said Ian.
‘Why did you break in?’ asked Friday.
‘I wasn’t going to wait outside,’ said Ian. ‘Someone might see me. That’s how rumours start.’
‘But everyone knows about you and Friday,’ said Melanie.
‘Only in your mind, Melanie,’ said Ian.
‘Why are you sitting in here waiting for me?’ asked Friday, trying to get the conversation back on course.
Ian swung his feet off the bed. What he wanted to say apparently needed to be said with a degree of politeness.
‘I was wondering if you would be willing to take tomorrow off school?’ said Ian.
‘A date!’ exclaimed Melanie. ‘At last! The tension was really exhausting.’
‘Not a date,’ said Ian. ‘I want …’ He struggled to say the next word.
‘What do you want?’ asked Friday.
‘I need some … assistance,’ said Ian.
‘Assistance?’ asked Friday. ‘With what?’
‘It’s a delicate matter,’ said Ian.
‘Oh,’ said Melanie. ‘A personal medical issue?’
‘No!’ exclaimed Ian.
‘Ahuh,’ said Melanie. ‘I believe you.’
‘It’s my mother,’ said Ian.
‘Well, you shouldn’t be telling us about her personal medical issues,’ said Melanie.
‘No, my mother and father –’ Ian swallowed and glanced at his feet ‘– are divorcing.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Friday.
‘Well, you should be,’ snapped Ian, ‘since you were the cause of it.’
‘I didn’t make your father steal that diamond!’ said Friday.
Ian shook his head. ‘I don’t want to rehash all that. I need your help because my parents are separating and Mum doesn’t have any money. Dad’s hidden the assets.’
‘I can’t help you with that sort of thing,’ said Friday. ‘You need a forensic accountant – someone who can trace bank transactions and track down offshore accounts.’
‘This is my father we’re talking about,’ said Ian. ‘He doesn’t hide money that way. He converted all his cash into jewels: something physical that he really could hide. We know they’re somewhere at our house but we can’t find them. We’ve looked everywhere – the freezer, the door panels, the secret safe in the floor of the panic room. Everywhere he normally stashes things. Mum even brought in a clairvoyant to see if she could sense the vibrations of where Dad had hidden them.’
‘So I’m the one you come to when the clairvoyant lets you down,’ said Friday.
‘Look, I know you and I have a lot of baggage,’ said Ian, ‘but don’t think about me. Do it for my mum. If she doesn’t find the money to pay the bills, she’s going to lose our house.’
‘Why doesn’t she get a job?’ asked Melanie.
‘She gave up law to be a circus acrobat,’ said Ian. ‘That doesn’t look terribly good on your resume.’
‘If my dad can hold down a job, anybody can,’ said Friday.
‘Are you going to help or not?’ asked Ian.
‘Of course we’ll help you, and your mother,’ said Friday. ‘I am capable of human empathy.’
‘You are?’ asked Ian,
‘Even with someone as undes
erving as you,’ said Friday.
‘Mum hasn’t got a car anymore,’ said Ian. ‘We’ll have to get the bus.’
‘I’ll call my Uncle Bernie,’ said Friday. ‘He’ll drive us to your house. He’ll be good to have along. As an insurance investigator, he’s used to finding hiding places.’
As Ian got up to go to the door, something slid off Friday’s bed. ‘You dropped something.’ Friday bent and picked it up.
It was a plain business card. When she turned it over there was a picture of a blue-green flower.
‘Is this yours?’ Friday asked.
Ian looked genuinely confused. ‘No. It must have been on your bed when I sat down.’
‘What is it?’ asked Melanie. ‘Is that a picture of a flower?’
‘Yes, a particular type of flower,’ said Friday. ‘A pimpernel.’
‘This is getting exciting,’ said Melanie. ‘We’ve got our very own Aquamarine Pimpernel!’
‘Is that what you call this colour?’ asked Friday. ‘I would’ve said blue.’
‘No, green,’ said Ian, looking over her shoulder.
‘No, definitely aquamarine,’ said Melanie happily. ‘It’s the calling card of The Aquamarine Pimpernel.’
Chapter 10
The Wainscott Residence
The next morning at 7 am, before the residential tutor was awake enough to realise what they were up to, Friday, Melanie and Ian snuck down to the front gates of the school where they had arranged to meet Uncle Bernie.
‘Why couldn’t Uncle Bernie drive up to the top of the driveway and save us this walk?’ asked Melanie.
‘In case someone in the admin building was on the ball and activated the automatic gates,’ said Friday.
‘The school has automatic gates?’ asked Ian.
‘They had to get them installed as part of the security arrangements for Princess Ingrid,’ said Friday. ‘Uncle Bernie could hardly ring the buzzer and ask to be allowed to drive up and abduct three students.’
‘It’s not abduction if we agree to go,’ said Ian.
‘No, it’s just aiding and abetting truancy,’ agreed Friday. ‘Still, not a good look for Uncle Bernie. Whereas, if we’re out on the street, that’s another matter – he’s just giving us a lift.’
