Authors: Gabrielle Lord
February (6 page)
‘She saved my life, Boges. So I’m willing to take some risk on her—even though she’s one weird girl. She’s nothing like any of the girls we know, but I kind of like that about her. And, anyway, as we’ve said before, the Angel is important. Dad drew him twice, so I think she’s our best chance at the moment.’
‘She hot?’
‘What?’
‘Winter. She’s hot, isn’t she?’
‘She’s OK,’ I said, awkwardly. Normally I’d be pretty open with Boges about girls, but something made me want to keep that part of Winter to myself.
Boges gave me a look. ‘Right. If she starts working things out we could be in real trouble. Be on your guard, dude. We don’t want another rival, or enemy, after the same thing. Especially not someone connected to that lunatic Sligo. You’ve already got two very dangerous enemies.’
At least
, I thought to myself.
‘Try her number again,’ said Boges.
The mobile you have dialled is switched off. Please try again later.
Boges opened his laptop. ‘No-one knows about this either. Someone chucked it out because it had stopped working, but it only needed a new power box,’ he said. ‘The motherboard was fine. But, before we start busting our brains on those drawings again, let’s get your profile underway.’
‘I already have a profile,’ I said gloomily. ‘At every cop shop.’
‘I think you should start a blog,’ he said. ‘An appeal to the public could be helpful.’
‘A blog? Like MySpace?’
‘Yeah. A place where you can try and get across your side of the story, and shut down all
the crazy stuff the media’s saying about you. Nobody has to see you or know where you are. They can just read what you have to say and judge for themselves.’
‘Great idea. Boges, you’re a genius.’
‘I know.’
‘And modest, too.’
For a second it was like the old days, when I was just another kid mucking round with a mate. But that feeling didn’t last long. At least I had a little hope, and a chance to tell the world of my innocence.
In the time it took to set up my profile I’d forgotten about tricky Winter, until I looked over at my phone and saw her face looking up at me. I stretched my leg out and carefully kicked it under my bag.
‘I can’t stay much longer,’ Boges reminded me, glancing at his watch. ‘I’ve already skipped all my morning classes. Don’t want to start bringing in too many notes
from Mum
this term.’
Boges could forge his mother’s signature perfectly.
I never thought I would envy someone going to school, but I would have done anything to be
packing my bag and heading off with Boges. I’d happily have sat through the ‘Welcome back’ assembly in the hall—all the ‘over-the-holiday updates’ and ‘hopes for the year ahead’ speeches—that would normally have bored me to tears. I’d even have happily sat through one of Mr Lloyd’s biology classes, listening to him drawl on and on about lab safety in his boring, monotone voice, while I helped Boges conduct his own little groundbreaking experiments up the back. Or Mrs Hartley’s English class, and her long-winded soliloquies on Shakespeare and poetry.
‘I don’t think anyone wants to hear my side of the story,’ I said. ‘The cops have made up their minds about me already and we both know that Mum and Rafe think I’m some sort of dangerous nut case.’
‘They’re worried about you, that’s for sure,’ said Boges.
‘And I’m worried about Mum. I can’t help but wish Rafe would keep away from her.’
‘I guess she relies on him now that your dad’s gone,’ said Boges. ‘And he
is
your dad’s brother.’
‘Just because he looks exactly the same as Dad,’ I said, ‘doesn’t mean anything. Whenever he’s around, bad things happen. He pinched the drawings and lied about them. Now he’s got me
in this mess, Boges. Why does he want me out of the way?’
‘Come on, we have no proof of that. I don’t think it’s Rafe that’s got you into this mess; I just think he hasn’t really helped get you out of it. But think about it, he’s had a rough time too. He lost his twin brother. He almost drowned in Treachery Bay. You know, he could have been
killed
at your place that day. And he has a heart condition, doesn’t he? His niece is in a coma. His nephew’s on the run from the law. His sister-in-law is on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and he’s the only one around trying to keep it all together. Nobody else has stepped up. This can’t be easy for him either, Cal. I’ve seen him at your mum’s place, and he looks like a wreck.’
‘You may be right. He’s just so cold all the time, I forget that he may just have a heart in there.’
‘I don’t blame you. Anyway,’ said Boges, picking up his mobile and steering me towards the bathroom where the light was a little brighter, ‘let’s take a quick profile shot. This dump won’t give your whereabouts away, but you’d better turn your face a little,’ said Boges, ‘so that most of you is in shadow.’
Like my life is now. In the shadows.
Boges pointed the phone at me and took a photo.
‘That’ll do. I’ll upload it all now.’
‘I hope Mum sees this,’ I said.
‘I’ll make sure she does,’ said Boges.
‘Maybe she’ll change her mind about me.’
Boges nodded, but I could tell he was just being nice.
‘The cops will see it, eventually,’ he said, ‘but it won’t help them. We’ll just need to be really careful about where and when we post messages.’
Boges started to pack up his gear. ‘I’ll come round again on the weekend,’ he said. ‘Oh, and I almost forgot, I bought this for you to keep the drawings in.’
He handed me a strong, rigid plastic folder, with a clip seal down one side. ‘Keep them in this. They’re going to fall apart unless they’re properly protected.’
He paused and I could see he had something on his mind.
‘What?’ I asked, taking the folder from him.
‘Man,’ he said, picking up his laptop, ‘be careful, OK? I mean it. Don’t think you’re safe even for a second because you’re not. I hate to say
it, but I don’t want to add you to the list of tragedies.’
‘I know. I’m no good to anyone if I’m dead.’
‘I’m willing to do anything to help. You know that. I think this blog is a good move, but just remember that it’s never too late to come in from the cold. I don’t want to lose the best buddy a guy ever had. You want to run with it, I’m with you. You want to drop the whole thing, I’m with you, too. So ask yourself … are you totally sure you want to persist with this? Unravelling your dad’s secret? Now that you’re starting to realise the full extent of the danger?’
In the dim light of the derelict house, Boges’s words sounded ominous, almost frightening:
The full extent of the danger
. I’d made a promise to myself when I was back in my old house, looking into the eyes of my dad in the family photo, and I wasn’t going back on it.
‘There’s no way I can turn back now,’ I said. ‘It’s what keeps me going.’
‘Keeps you going? I never picked you for a thrill-seeker,’ said Boges, unsmiling.
‘Far from it. I just know that I’d be no good to anyone in juvenile detention either.’
I looked around the dump I was living in. ‘The only thing I have going for me is the
truth
.
I know it’s dangerous, but while ever there’s the chance to solve the mystery of the Ormond Singularity and clear my name, I must do it. I
have
to do it. Otherwise I’m going to be on the run all my life.’
I’d given up trying to ring Winter, convinced that she had given me a dud number. I was beginning to think that she had just been stringing me along with her talk of knowing about the Angel. Who knew whether any of the stories that this girl had spun really happened as she told them.
True to his word, Boges arrived, climbing up through the floor again. I’d been hanging to see him, not only just to have some company, but to find out whether my blog had gone up live OK.
‘It’s up and running,’ Boges assured me, ‘and you’re getting heaps of hits!’
I felt better hearing that. Not quite so cut off from the world. ‘Has anyone posted anything yet?’
‘Not yet, but I think it’s just a matter of someone making that first move—people are probably a bit nervous about it. But I reckon once you get
that first comment, hundreds will follow. I’ll let you know when it happens.’
Boges pulled out the little black leather notebook that he carried with him everywhere—it was filled with his middle-of-the-night ideas, complicated sketches and almost-indecipherable notes, and was held together by a string of elastic.
‘The Ormond Riddle Society is dedicated to the fostering and performance of Tudor and Renaissance music,’ he read. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you about the info I found on the net about the Ormond Riddle. It’s not great—like that was from some singing group’s website.’
He was right, that wasn’t great news.
‘Another website explained that the Ormond Riddle,’ Boges continued, ‘was thought to have been written by a famous Tudor musician, William Byrd. But there wasn’t anything there on the actual words … or music … or whatever it is we’re looking for. I’ll search again when I get a chance. In the meantime, can we take another look at the drawings?’
‘Sure.’ I lifted the drawings out from under some loose floorboards, emptied the folder and spread them onto the floor. Boges pointed to the image of the Sphinx, tapping his finger on the
pencil drawing of the crouching mythical beast and the Roman guy in front of it.
‘I’ve been reading up on the Sphinx and Egypt,’ he said, ‘trying to work out why your dad might have drawn it. I don’t know what
this
drawing means, exactly, but I did find out something interesting.’
‘Yeah?’ I prompted. ‘Spit it out.’
‘The Sphinx is connected with a riddle.’
‘A
riddle
?’ A charge of energy made me sit up straight. ‘Now that is interesting. The riddle of the Sphinx and the Ormond Riddle.’
‘Your dad had riddles on the brain and I bet he knew about the Ormond Riddle. Maybe he even knew the words. Is there anyone else in your family who might know something?’
‘Maybe one of my old relatives can help—the
great-uncle or great-aunt. I didn’t get out to Great-uncle Bartholomew’s, as planned, but he’s probably my best shot.’
I didn’t have much family. Dad’s parents had died long ago and Mum’s few relatives lived overseas.
‘Do you think Dad was trying to suggest that the secret he was onto—the Ormond Singularity—had something to do with solving the Ormond Riddle?’
‘Yes, and that’s why I’ve checked the dictionary for exactly what
riddle
means.’
‘Isn’t it kind of like a joke? Some sort of trick?’
‘Listen and learn, dude,’ said Boges, reading from his notebook yet again. ‘According to the dictionary, a riddle is “a question or a statement requiring thought to answer or understand; something perplexing, something that requires solving; an enigma.”’
‘A what?’
‘Yeah, I had to look that one up too. “An enigma is something secret or hidden,”’ said Boges.
‘We already knew that!’ I said in frustration.
‘Take a look at them; they’re
all
enigmas!’
‘Hang on a minute. You wouldn’t have known anything about a riddle if you hadn’t seen the
words “Ormond Riddle” in your uncle’s office. Your dad wasn’t to know you’d get that bit of information,’ he said, getting up and packing up his things.
‘I just wish Dad’d told us something a bit more helpful.’
‘Dude,’ said Boges, his round face suddenly very serious. ‘Look what we’re up against. Your dad knew he had to be very careful conveying this information to you, and that was before his mind went on him. You’re lucky he managed the drawings.’
Boges flipped the elastic back around his notebook and slipped it into his pocket. ‘Of course, he was also counting on me being here to help you figure it all out. I mean, seriously, what would you do without me?’
‘I don’t know whether it’s your brain or your modesty that I like best about you, Boges.’
‘I can imagine, dude. It must be tough keeping up with me. And don’t think for a second I’m boasting about my talent. It’s just a fact.’
He was only mucking around, but it was true. At school Boges came first, year after year, in just about every subject. And then of course there was all his electronic stuff, completely self-taught. He could take any old piece of junk off the street
and have it functioning again in no time. He’d once built a robotic backpack on caterpillar treads that ‘walked’ along behind him to school and into the classroom. He’d made and sold quite a few, until the teachers banned them when they realised Boges had really just designed them so he could stage monster-truck-style crashes with the other kids in the corridors.
‘Between us,’ said Boges, ‘we’ll work it out. When I get home from school, I’m going to track down who this Roman is, and have another search for the Ormond Riddle on the net. I’m also going to see if “Ormond Angel” takes me anywhere.’
‘Good idea.’
I looked at the strong features of the drawing of the Roman, the way the hair was curled over the guy’s forehead, the thick nose and empty eyes. It looked just like one of those marble heads that you’d see in a museum. I thought I understood the Sphinx. But together with the head? It made no sense.
Sirens started wailing out on the street. I jumped up and hurried over to peer through a crack near the door.
I jumped back in fear. ‘Cops! There are cops out on the street!’
‘Uh-oh, I hope they didn’t follow me,’ whispered Boges. ‘I was so careful—always am.’
He squinted through the crack just as I had done. ‘There’s a police van across the road,’ he said, turning round. ‘If they see me coming out of here and someone recognises me …’
‘Quick! Under the house,’ I said, grabbing the drawings and shoving them into the plastic folder.
Boges jumped first and then I crawled down after him. This time we carefully made our way to the back of the house and underneath the verandah.
Beyond a small clearing directly in front of the verandah, the garden had turned into a jungle where creepers had almost completely smothered the bushes and small trees. We forced our way through it to the old back fence.
‘Gotta go,’ said Boges. ‘Mum’ll be wondering where I am—I promised I’d take her shopping. You know what she’s like with her English.’
‘That’s cool, but come back soon. You know I can’t do this without you.’
‘Aw, shucks,’ joked Boges, his round face grinning wide like a Halloween pumpkin. He pressed a twenty-dollar note into my hand. ‘And here’s me thinking you didn’t care!’
I gave him a quick jab, which he returned, then he climbed the fence and disappeared.
I waited under the house, watching the cops across the road for about an hour. It seemed like there was some kind of domestic dispute over there, and nothing at all to do with me and my hideout.
Back inside, I tried to focus on all the information I had so far from the drawings. We had a collection of things that could be worn, a blackjack, something that seemed to point to the Ormond Riddle …
Then, of course, there was a certain someone who claimed to know more about the drawings of the Angel.
I had to get more information from her. I had to take a chance.