A Raucous Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) (11 page)

‘The key words. Hidden in plain sight.’ 

Taking the paper from him, Rhyllann did the same with the next page then the next – delighted with the medieval optional illusion.

‘If I can figure how to do my name – hey brawd – this’d make a great tattoo!’

Ignoring him Wren swept empty boxes from the nearest desk and started hunting through drawers for paper and pen.

‘Bring those copies over here. I’ll make out a list. Animals are classified in Latin. I’m certain she would have taken no chances.’ As he spoke Wren stooped over the desk jotting down notes, muttering.

‘But a Welsh translation won’t hurt.’ Raising his voice he added ‘If you hurry – run – you should just make the library. Get fish and chips on the way back.’

Feeling bemused, Rhyllann passed the copies over. Wren must have sensed his bewilderment. Still he scribbling, he explained his theory.

‘This is Joan’s last entry. She tells how King John entrusted her with his treasure. She wants it found. She’s dying though, alone and weak. She refers to her father’s great secret which she holds in trust, she probably hints at the code in an earlier letter. Maybe she even had someone at her nephew’s court who would be able to transcribe. But if I’m right – if these animals together with the keyword spell out where the treasure is …’ He paused waiting for Rhyllann to catch up.

Rhyllann thought about it. Finally he said ‘You’re right. It’s too easy. Too simple.’

Wren’s face hardened, drawing himself up to his full height he snapped. ‘Then do me a huge favour. Humour me.’

Rhyllann snatched the list from him, anything to shut him up. ‘Right. But this is the last time.’

Wren gave a soppy grin. ‘Thanks Annie. Don’t forget the fish and chips. Plenty of salt and vinegar.

Rhyllann banged out the office muttering through clenched teeth. ‘No wonder you got no friends. No social skills.'

Should have gone for MacDonald’s after all. Rhyllann mused. The chips were soggy, the fish dry. But his stomach craved comfort so he carried on shovelling food down. Wren sat opposite, eating absently with one hand, eyes devouring Latin terms. Rhyllann swallowed hard. Then swigged coke to wash down the manky chips, thinking back to the perfection of the roast chicken Mrs. Reade had served up.

Outloud he said ‘Poor auntie Dottie. I bet she’s having kittens.’ Stuffing fish into his mouth as he spoke.

Without glancing up Wren replied. ‘She was. I told her we were fine and not to worry.’

The fish turned even dryer in Rhyllann’s mouth. He clutched at the desk for support.

‘You what?’

‘I rang her. Just now. While you were out.’ Wren looked up, a softer expression in his eyes now they were so close to victory. ‘I felt really bad about – you know – slipping her a sleeper. I called her. Told her not to worry. Chill. She’s fine.’ He grinned. ‘Wanted to chat with me. I thought I’d never get off the phone.’

Swallowing hard, Rhyllann swept the half eaten warmed over meal into a pile, wrapping the paper round it tightly.

‘Annie! No! I haven’t finished!’

‘Shut up you idiot!’ Rhyllann glanced around the office. ‘Get your things together. Quickly.’

‘But I did 141 first. They can’t trace it. Anyway – I used your mobile.’ Wren nudged it across the desk.

Snatching it up, Rhyllann screamed at him. ‘They’re the police. Of course they can bloody track mobiles!’ God – the place stunk of fish and chips. ‘Get your stuff together. Hurry!’ Without waiting for a reaction, he bolted for the door hurling himself down the stairs, desperate to get rid of the vinegar soaked paper. Hitting the street running, Rhyllann sprinted to a bin at the alley’s entrance; eyes darting left to the street, then right to the carpark. A green estate car carefully reversed into a parking space; tyres squealed to his left, he spun to see a marked police car mounting the pavement. He whirled to race back to Wren.

They had seconds. Slamming the door behind him, Rhyllann hurdled the stairs taking them three at a time.

‘Hurry. For god’s sakes hurry. They’re here.’

Wren stood in the middle of the office, clutching his papers and crutch, his eyes wide and staring and his feet seemingly frozen to the spot. Rhyllann rushed over to him.

‘My bag didn’t you get my bag? Wren!’ He shook him. ‘Wren MOVE IT!’

‘Where are we going to go Annie? What are we going to do?’

The only way out was through the main door. Trapped like rats! Rhyllann looked around wildly, pushing down the panic scrabbling in his stomach. Even if they weren’t twenty feet above street level, the windows opened at the top, and then only a couple of inches. Mr Green kept a long wooden pole with a hook at one end to open and close them. His eyes continued to travel upwards, along the suspended ceiling. Grabbing the pole, arching backwards Rhyllann prodded the tip against one of the polystyrene tiles. Wren’s face lifted.

‘Those Perspex sheets – they push out – that’s how they replace the lights.’

Finally moving, Wren began dragging at the desk they’d been using, Rhyllann rushed to help position it under a fluorescent light cover. Springing up, he stretched for the Perspex; shoving with the flats of his hands, feeling it pop from its lodgings, sliding it over the neighbouring polystyrene tile. He looked down at Wren, whose upturned face had twisted in suspense.

‘Can you manage?’ Rhyllann asked brusquely.

Wren nodded, clambering onto the desk.

Somehow Rhyllann managed to hoist him through the opening, feeling his weight lift as he swung onto a beam.

There were voices outside the door now – Rhyllann froze; recognising Crombie’s growl.

‘Tell them either they give us the right code this time or I’m breaking this door down.’

Oh thank god,
he thought.
Thank god Wren changed that bloody code
. Running into the kitchen, he snatched up his bag. Sweet wrappers littered the floor, but that could have been anyone being greedy. Spinning round, Rhyllann ran back into the main office – eyes darting everywhere, trying to satisfy himself that they had everything. The place reeked of chip shop vinegar, but they might just get away with this. He glanced upwards, at Wren’s anxious face peering down. Rhyllann leapt onto the desk, ‘Brawd – quick – my bag!’ throwing it up as he spoke. Jumping back down Rhyllann shoved the desk against the wall, swiping the surface with his sleeve. Then he propelled a high backed manager’s chair into position beneath the opening.

‘Wren – help me!’ Balancing on the seat in a crouch, he climbed onto the armrests, knees against the back. By stretching every sinew, he could just about reach Wren’s outstretched hands. ‘Don’t let go … don’t let me fall.’ Gripping Wren's hands tightly Rhyllann took his weight from the chair, which swivelled under the balls of his feet. Hurriedly, he pushed upwards as Wren straightened, straining backwards, turning red and grunting with exertion. Now they were past the point of no return, Rhyllann's hands tightly around Wren's wrists, while Wren's hands gripped Rhyllann's so hard it hurt. Their veins raised to form twine that seemed ready to burst from their skin. But he was moving upwards, Wren grabbed him by the waistband now, and Rhyllann flopped onto a supporting beam, stout and rough and rugged. Reaching back down, Wren used his crutch to propel the chair away from their escape hatch. They both cringed as it collided against the photo copier with a reverberating rattle.

‘Get a hammer then man, or something – I want this door opened!’ Crombie bellowed.

‘Sir, if they’re in there – there’s no other way out!’

Rhyllann rolled onto his back, and closed his eyes with relief. Wren prodded him – they needed to replace the Perspex. Wide beams crossed the perspex areas, but the tiles themselves were filmsy. Cautiously they slid the panel back, it quivered in their hands making high pitched musical sounds. Wren motioned to the wall – they would be safer there. They crept forward along a beam on their hands and knees, disturbing the thick dust layering the crawl space, the ceiling brushing hair, the rough wooden beams bristled with splinters that rasped against Rhyllann's palms. The only light source came through the florescent light covers, a dim glow which added to the claustrophobia. Rhyllann kept his breathing shallow trying not to inhale, feeling bumps raising on his skin, hoping they didn’t disturb any mice. Or rats. Just as they reached the wall, and turned to huddle against it, the entrance door crashed open.

‘The diary. Did you get the diary?’ Wren’s eyes stared out from a face plastered in beige powder.

Rhyllann hissed back: ‘No – I told you to get everything together. I’m sure we didn’t leave anything – ‘

’The photocopier. We left it under the photocopier.’ There was nothing they could do about it now.

With exaggerated calmness Rhyllann said ‘Don’t worry. They won’t look there. It’ll be fine.’

‘Annie…’ Wren moaned, as an army of feet pounded up the stairs.

 ‘I said don’t worry!’ He snapped. ‘Now shut up!’

Another thought struck him. Delving for his mobile, Rhyllann snapped it open, tore out the sim card and unable to think of any other way to get rid of it, gulped it whole. Wren watched with a guilty expression. Rhyllann grinded his teeth together in an effort not to spit out exactly where he wanted to shove it.

Orders barked from Crombie:

‘Search everywhere. I want those kids found.’

But if they weren’t in the open plan main office, that left only a smaller front office, the kitchen, and two toilet cubicles to check out. Rhyllann listened to the noisy search. Wren nudged him.

Rhyllann swung round, still angry with him. ‘What?’

Wren pointed to a water tank, in the far corner.

‘They won’t look up here.’ Rhyllann said through gritted teeth.

With an emphatic jerk of his head Wren jabbed him hard, and began crawling, sending a flurry of dust up Rhyllann's nose; it flew along his sinus to settle against the back of his throat.

‘Guv – we’ve searched everywhere.’

‘Guv – Guv – I found this – under a pile of sweet wrappers.’ Footsteps hurried into the main office.

They had reached the safety of the water tank now. In the gloom, Rhyllann glared at Wren, who clutched at him in panic.

‘The book!’ he moaned.

‘It’s an envelope Guv! Look – the post mark’s recent!’

A different voice chimed in. ‘Mail boxes – there’s a depot opposite.’

Crombie’s voice again: ‘Good work! Stick your nose inside – smell that? – Leather! Get across the road, I don’t care if they are closing – find out what they know.’

‘Guv?’ A woman’s voice.

‘Quiet. I’m thinking. They were here. They collected something from that depot, a book or a wallet maybe, had fish and chips, and felt comfortable enough to phone Dottie Reade.’ After a couple of minutes silence, Crombie said.

‘Play it again.’ Wren’s voice sounded, followed by aunt Dottie’s. The recording was too muffled to make out words.

‘Listen. He says “Don’t worry, we’re safe”.’ Crombie gave a bark of laughter. ‘Stupid stupid kids. They don’t know who they’re dealing with.’

‘Heard anymore from Interpol Guv?’

‘They’ve tracked ‘em to Scotland. The locals are keeping ‘em under tight surveillance until the big boys get there. ’

Rhyllann felt Wren nudge him excitedly.

‘Guv – you don’t think the kids will try for Scotland do you?’

‘God knows. Tiller!’ Crombie bellowed the name.

‘Yes Guv?’

‘Get on the blower. Tell HQ I want a description circulated. I want every copper in London looking out for these two. A blondie on crutches, and a lanky dark haired kid travelling together. Then get round their houses, get a recent photo of them. And question the neighbours again. Take Sam with you. Tell him to phone in his report on the Mail Box lead. Oh and Tiller, gran’s out of ICU, find out when she’ll be well enough to make a statement.’

‘Sir!’ Tiller left, sounding relieved to be safe from Crombie’s bellow.

‘Jesus.’ Rhyllann breathed. Gran was out of danger. Thank god.

‘WPC Hewes – search this place again. Top to bottom. Open every drawer, look under every desk!’

‘Sir.’

‘Where’s Rodgers?’

‘Downstairs Guv, guarding the entrance door.’

‘What!’ The swing doors banged open, Rhyllann heard him roar:

‘Rodgers! Get your fat lazy arse up here now!’

Footsteps trudged up the steps. Rhyllann felt trembling next to him.

‘Stop it.’

‘It isn’t me.’ Wren whispered back, sounding aggrieved. Seconds later though, Rhyllann felt an arm creep round his shoulders. He slumped between Wren and the water tank’s comfortable lagging. They’d made it. They’d gotten away with it. The next moment, Rhyllann felt hair follicles bulge as his scalp tightened with fear.

‘Rodgers – come here – look up there – that’s a suspended ceiling.’

‘Guv?’

‘There’s gotta be an access – a hatchway somewhere. Find it!’

‘Guv?’

‘I want that ceiling searched!’