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by Jacqueline Harvey

Suddenly, Derek the talker didn’t know what to say. ‘Um, uh, yeah, somefin’ like that.’ He pulled up at the school gate. ‘Looks like a prison, don’t it? It’s not, though. The teachers here never leave, you know. I reckon it must be the best school in the whole of London, probably in the whole world – even if some of the staff are a bit weird. Mr MacGregor has been here forever.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ Kensy said. Derek might not have been the brightest star in the sky, despite his sparkly car and earring, but he seemed to have a kind heart. He was doing all those jobs for Mrs Brightside and he helped his mum in the shop too. The girl felt a twinge of guilt for having laughed at him the other night when Song and Gary had been telling stories.

  The children piled out of the car and thanked Derek for the lift.

  Max looked up to see a taxi drive past with Song in the back seat. ‘Someone couldn’t help himself,’ he murmured, and he and Kensy both gave the butler a wave and a smile.

  Song grinned sheepishly and waved back.

  The twins dumped their bags in their lockers and headed for the Science room. Although they were earlier than usual, there were still plenty of students and teachers about. Max knocked on the door of the lab and poked his head around.

  ‘Hello? Mrs Vanden Boom, are you here?’ he called, as the pair walked inside.

  They were just about to leave when Kensy spun around. ‘Did you hear that?’

  A muffled noise seemed to be coming from the cupboard at the back. Max turned the handle and pulled the door open. The children were stunned to see Romilly Vanden Boom stumble out of the dark space.

  ‘Oh, thank heavens you two came along.’ The woman grabbed hold of the nearest bench in an effort to regain her balance. She pushed a loose strand of curls away from her face and straightened her lab coat. ‘I’m running frightfully late.’

  ‘What were you doing in there?’ Kensy asked, peering inside what appeared to be a supply store.

  ‘I’ve told Magoo for years that we need to get a closer on that door. Once the silly thing shuts, it’s impossible to pick the lock from the inside. It’s not the first time I’ve been stuck and it won’t be the last, but I’m very glad you two found me. I’d never have got all my prep work done before class,’ the woman said. She looked expectantly at the children. ‘Now, I presume you didn’t just come to rescue me?’

  ‘I was hoping you might be able to help me with my watch,’ Kensy said, removing the timepiece and handing it to the woman. ‘I think it’s the battery and you have all those fancy tools. I didn’t want to bother going to a jeweller if I could fix it myself.’

  The Science teacher smiled. ‘Well, I can give you a minute – think of it as repayment for springing me from the cupboard.’

  Kensy and Max followed her to the long bench at the front of the room.

  Mrs Vanden Boom turned the watch over in her hand and studied the back, then picked up a large magnifying glass. ‘Impossible,’ she muttered. ‘This looks just like an MK 13.’

  Kensy and Max wondered what she meant. There were a lot more mmms and ahhs, but the teacher didn’t say anything else for quite some time.

  ‘Can you see what I need to do with it?’ Kensy asked.

  The woman shook her head. ‘It’s the most curious thing. Where did you get it?’

  Kensy looked at her brother. Perhaps this hadn’t been the best idea. Mrs Vanden Boom was still scrutinising the timepiece intensely. Max pulled his cuff down over his own watch.

  ‘For my birthday,’ the girl said. ‘It was a present. I think it must have come from Australia.’

  ‘Would I be able to hold on to it for a little while?’ the teacher asked. ‘I’m intrigued.’

  Kensy hadn’t anticipated that. The reality of being separated from the one thing that linked her to her missing parents filled her with dread.

  Mrs Vanden Boom didn’t look up. ‘I promise not to lose it.’ She was completely absorbed by the device.

  ‘That’s a great idea, Mrs Vanden Boom,’ Max said, earning a glare from his sister. ‘We’ll come back at lunchtime, if that’s okay.’

  The bell rang loudly, signifying the start of lessons.

  ‘Is that okay?’ Kensy repeated angrily.

  Romilly glanced up. ‘What, dear?’

  ‘Can we come and see you at lunch?’ the girl asked.

  ‘Oh no, not today,’ the woman said. ‘I’ve got a meeting, then Science Club and I can’t tell you what else. Come by tomorrow before you head home, although I might need it over the weekend.’ She opened a drawer and retrieved the tiniest screwdriver Kensy had ever seen. ‘Off you go. You don’t want to be late for class, now, do you?’

  Max practically had to drag his sister from the room.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ Kensy fumed the second they stepped into the hall outside.

  ‘We’ve still got mine,’ Max reasoned, trying to calm her down. ‘You said yourself it was a bonus to have two watches and that’s why we could try to get into yours.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have let her have it. I don’t trust her,’ Kensy said in a wobbly voice. ‘Have you forgotten what Mum and Dad said? Trust Fitz and no one else – that includes teachers! Sometimes you’re so …’ Kensy paused, as if searching for the right word. ‘Infuriating!’ She stormed towards the lockers, which were a hive of activity.

  Carlos had just put his things away and closed the door when Kensy walked past. ‘Hi, how are you feeling?’ he asked the girl.

  ‘Fine,’ Kensy snapped, and continued walking.

  Carlos frowned. ‘Was it something I said?’

  Max shook his head. ‘No, something I did. Why don’t you have any books?’

  ‘We’re going to the Tate Gallery for a lecture this morning,’ the lad replied. ‘Can’t guarantee it’ll be very exciting, though.’

  Kensy opened her locker and pulled out her Art folio. She closed the door and glanced around to see if Autumn or Harper were about.

  ‘Looking for your besties?’ Lola smirked. ‘They left without you.’

  ‘Yeah, they left without you,’ Misha parroted, hovering a centimetre behind her friend.

  Kensy took a deep breath and tried to control her temper. ‘Pipe down, Lola. And seriously, Misha, you should learn to speak for yourself.’ Kensy caught sight of Carlos and her brother standing by their lockers empty-handed. ‘Where’s your stuff for Art?’ she called, still angry with her brother about the watch.

  ‘We’re going to the Tate Gallery,’ Max said. ‘You don’t need to bring anything.’

  ‘We’re meeting Mr Frizzle at the front door,’ Carlos added. ‘But make sure you pronounce it like “gazelle”, not “swizzle” – he gets annoyed otherwise.’

  Kensy huffed and opened her locker, which promptly disgorged its entire contents all over the floor.

  ‘Do you need some help with that?’ Lola asked sweetly.

  Kensy looked up at her, softening a little. ‘Really?’

  ‘No!’ Lola sneered. She batted her eyelashes, which looked like they belonged on a jersey cow. ‘Not my problem.’

  ‘Yeah, not my problem,’ Misha echoed, grinning, and the two flounced away.

  ‘Urgh!’ Kensy took another deep breath. ‘Seriously, could those two be any more stupid?’ she muttered, and began to pick up her detritus.

  An older girl who was passing by stopped and knelt down to help. ‘Are they giving you a hard time?’ she asked, gesturing over Kensy’s shoulder at Lola and Misha.

  ‘It’s okay. I can handle them,’ Kensy said, jutting out her chin. ‘They’re not the meanest kids I’ve ever encountered, but they could just about be the most brainless.’

  The girl laughed. She had long dark hair tied up in a ponytail and a dimple in the middle of her left cheek. ‘I’m Amelie Jagger,’ she said, handing Kensy the last of her books.

  ‘Kensy Grey. And … thanks,’ she said, her eyes watering.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Amelie asked, a crease forming on her brow.

  Ke
nsy nodded and smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s just been a bit of a rough week.’

  ‘You mean your parents,’ Amelie said. Not a second after the last word left her lips, the girl’s hand flew to her mouth.

  Kensy frowned. ‘What about my parents?’ she whispered, taking a step towards the girl. ‘Do you know something? You do, don’t you?’

  Amelie’s eyes darted around the hall. ‘No, sorry,’ she said, shaking her head and backing away. ‘I-I was thinking of someone else. A girl called Stella looks a lot like you. I, um, heard her parents were in a car accident – I was confused. Sorry. It was lovely to meet you, but I better get to class.’

  Kensy watched as Amelie scurried away. She wasn’t buying it. The girl was acting as though she was expecting a hand to reach out of the ceiling and grab her. Kensy closed her locker and hurried to reception with Amelie’s words ringing in her ears. She was absolutely certain neither she nor Max had breathed a word about their missing parents to anyone.

  Elliot Frizzle greeted the class in the reception area, quickly checking off their names and explaining that they were going to be hearing from world-renowned art critic Hugo Kellogg. None of the children had ever heard of him, but the teacher assured them that their guest speaker knew his stuff and, despite some protests that it would be boring, Mr Frizzle guaranteed they’d enjoy themselves.

  ‘Do we get our money back if we don’t, sir?’ Sachin asked.

  ‘Considering it’s a free lecture, I’d say that’s a no,’ the teacher replied.

  ‘Can we have our time back then?’ the boy persisted, earning himself a hairy eyeball.

  ‘That’s another no from me.’ Mr Frizzle turned to his two new students and beamed. His clothing was as bright as his smile and it made sense that he taught Art and Design. While most people couldn’t have got away with the clash of red and purple, on Mr Frizzle it worked. ‘Hello Maxim, Kensington, it’s lovely to meet you both. I trust that you’re settling in and enjoying our little piece of paradise here in London.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Max replied with a grin. Kensy could only manage a stiff smile.

  The headmaster walked out of his office. ‘Enjoy your outing, children,’ he boomed. ‘I look forward to hearing all about it, and if anyone decides that it’s not worth paying attention, I’ll have you know I am in need of a new attendant for Kevin.’ He looked over at Mrs Potts. ‘How is Charlie’s finger? Does he still have it?’

  ‘He’s kidding, right?’ Max whispered.

  Carlos grimaced. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘Poor lad had a nasty infection. Turned gangrenous, I believe,’ Mr MacGregor added with a chuckle, before striding back into his office and closing the door.

  ‘Seriously, he’s a nutter,’ Dante said, as the children headed outside. The lad turned and saw their headmaster grinning like a Cheshire cat from his office window.

  ‘He just loves playing tricks, that’s all.’ Harper smiled and gave the man a wave. ‘You know he’s completely harmless.’

  The children split into pairs and followed Mr Frizzle along the footpath and down the street. They walked through Millbank Gardens and across another street to the Clore Learning Centre, which was the entrance used by schools for visits to the Tate Gallery.

  Autumn fell into step beside Kensy. She leaned in and bumped her head against the girl’s shoulder. ‘You okay?’

  Kensy was still raging inside about Max leaving her watch with Mrs Vanden Boom, but that wasn’t Autumn’s problem. She stifled a yawn. ‘Yes, thanks to you. Although I didn’t sleep very well. I kept thinking those guys were going to work out where we lived and come back for us. Did the police take your statement last night?’

  Autumn nodded but didn’t elaborate.

  ‘It’s hard to imagine this was the Millbank prison site,’ Max said, as they entered the grand old building. He marvelled at the soaring ceilings and marble columns. ‘Bet that was a bit different.’

  ‘We studied it in History class earlier this year,’ Carlos said. ‘Apparently, it was a dreadful place – freezing cold, horrible food, ten to a cell. Then again, my dad says that’s what his boarding school was like and I should count myself lucky he had no desire to continue the family tradition.’

  Mr Frizzle guided the children to a tiered lecture theatre, where they waited for their guest speaker to arrive. The children chatted, but after almost fifteen minutes, the group was getting restless. A couple of the boys made paper planes, which they launched just as a young woman poked her head into the room and indicated that she needed to speak to their teacher. Fortunately, none of them made contact, whizzing past her head instead.

  After several minutes of hushed conversation punctuated by the odd ‘Oh no!’ and ‘Heavens be!’ from Mr Frizzle, the man walked down the stairs to the front of the room, dodging another couple of missiles launched from the back row.

  ‘Something’s up,’ Autumn said, eyeing the teacher. ‘He always fiddles with his bow tie when he’s nervous.’

  Mr Frizzle cleared his throat. ‘Children, I am terribly sorry to inform you that Mr Kellogg has come down with a case of influenza gifted to him by his son, Milo, whose kindergarten is currently in the grip of a pandemic,’ the man explained.

  Dante raised his hand. ‘Do you know what his temperature is, sir?’

  There was a titter of giggles from the class.

  Mr Frizzle rolled his eyes. ‘And why would I know that level of detail? Varma, don’t go asking me what colour pyjamas the man is wearing because I’m not aware of that either.’

  The children burst out laughing.

  ‘All right, that is quite enough. Perhaps I’ll just take you back to school and we can do yard duty for the rest of the double period,’ the man threatened. Silence descended upon the room immediately. ‘Yes, I thought that might not be a popular choice. Now, we have generously been granted access to a brand-new exhibition, which I think you will find quite fascinating. As most of you know, the Tate Gallery is curator of British artworks for the entire country and that is not only limited to paintings. The exhibit will officially be opened this evening by the Mayor of London and we’ve been given a sneak peek, along with some members of the Friends of the Gallery.’

  ‘What is it, sir?’ Roderick, a mouse of a boy, squeaked.

  Elliot Frizzle adjusted his right cufflink and smoothed the lapels on his purple blazer. Max couldn’t help thinking that, with his mop of wild blond curls and colourful clothes, the man resembled Willy Wonka from the old film he and Kensy had watched a while back. ‘An exhibition of Laurence Graff ’s work, one of Britain’s finest jewellers. I’ve been told that the collection would rival that of the crown jewels, and considering you are going to be spending a month or so creating a jewelled work of your own next term, the timing couldn’t be better.’

  ‘At least we don’t have to go back to school early,’ Carlos said. There was a murmur of agreement from the other students.

  The children filed out of the lecture theatre and followed their guide called Claire through to a long gallery at the front of the building. She delivered a brief introduction that canvassed the jeweller’s humble beginnings as an apprentice in London, to his travelling the globe outfitting the rich, royal and famous. The exhibition, Claire told the class, comprised some of Laurence Graff ’s most valuable pieces, including the extraordinary Peacock Brooch. The children craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the magnificent jewel, which was reported to be worth a staggering eighty million pounds.

  Carlos let out a low whistle. ‘Whoa, that would buy a few holidays.’

  ‘I think you could probably buy yourself an island or two for that amount of money,’ Max said, grinning.

  ‘I’d get a jet,’ Sachin said. ‘So that I could fly all over the world and watch every single cricket match – especially when England plays Australia for the Ashes – and maybe finance a Bollywood movie and star in it too.’

  The class giggled. Sachin was a cricket tragic who prided himself on being a total clich
é. His parents ran a curry house in Brick Lane and he adored everything to do with Bollywood. He often poked fun at himself for being the quintessential subcontinental Englishman.

  Carlos turned to Max. ‘What would you do with that much money?’

  ‘Buy a house and stay in the same place for a while,’ the lad said. He caught sight of the look on his sister’s face and wished he hadn’t said anything.

  Kensy, Autumn and Harper wandered over to admire a pair of dazzling tiaras. One was lavished with emeralds and sapphires, and the other had yellow and white diamonds. They were both breathtaking.

  While the girls lingered at the neighbouring display of earrings, Kensy went in search of something more exciting. She’d heard Claire mention a jewel-encrusted scimitar to Mr Frizzle. As she rounded the side of a long row of cabinets, she spotted Esme Brightside hunched over the Peacock Brooch exhibit and came to a skidding stop. She decided to wait until the old woman moved on before taking a look at the scimitar beside it.

  It was then that Kensy noticed an attendant in an orange-and-black uniform standing in the corner of the room. She looked vaguely familiar and seemed to be watching Mrs Brightside very closely. That’s when Kensy realised she was the third woman in the huddle of grannies she and Max had seen a couple of times, including outside Mrs Grigsby’s shop.

  Suddenly, a high-pitched alarm sounded. Everyone winced and covered their ears, turning this way and that trying to work out what was going on. Kensy couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that she probably wasn’t going to get a look at the scimitar after all.

  ‘Keep calm, children, there is no need to panic,’ Claire instructed, while Mr Frizzle buzzed around the room like a mosquito.

  ‘Be sensible, everyone,’ he urged, blatantly disregarding his own advice.

  Kensy saw Esme Brightside shake her head and roll her eyes, as if the whole thing was the most dreadful inconvenience.

  The lights flickered on and off until – boomph! – they went out completely. Even in the near darkness, Kensy didn’t miss it. The woman in the uniform strode purposefully towards Mrs Brightside, who moved her arm ever so slightly, leaving the top of her enormous bag open. The attendant had something in her hand except that right at that moment a young boy collided into the pair, sending Mrs Brightside flying in one direction and the attendant in another.