The Beast of Seabourne (32 page)

Ellie sighed in frustration before plunging on. “The dates,” she said. “Can you remember the dates that the Beast is supposed to have killed those people?”

“Yeah.I just read it ten minutes ago,” Ruff said. “Uh, 1759 or 60-ish.”

“Then it all ties in perfectly,” Ellie said, her eyes gleaming.

“Okay, maybe it's me,” Ruff said, “but I was never any good at gobbledygook.”

Ellie shook her head. “You two are so thick sometimes. It's all here.” She flicked at the letter.

Ruff and Oz continued to give her blank looks.

“Oh, my God, my next door neighbour's budgie would understand this quicker! Look, we know Bunthorpe barn burned down in 1761, right? Redmayne said that he and his brother-in-law found the shell three years before, in 1758, and they gave it to Squire Worthy. His son then went bananas. Worthy gave them back the shell to destroy, what was it Redmayne said? ‘…mere months after it had been found'?”

Oz and Ruff both nodded. Ellie was on a roll.

“Well, what if the squire's son got hold of the shell between those two dates? What if it turned him into the Beast?”

“You think Worthy's son was the Beast?”

“Why not? We know Shoesmith didn't destroy the shell. We know it's the fifth artefact, and it's the exact same one that Gerber got hold of in 1941. We know it can do that auramal stuff, don't we? You haven't forgotten Edward Bishop, have you?”

Ruff shuddered. Oz knew what he was thinking. It was hard to forget Edward Bishop, and Ruff especially had good cause not to. He'd been inches from being attacked by the half-man, half-polecat Bishop had become one dark November night in year seven.

“Hang on, though,” Oz said. “If it was the shell that made Richard Worthy turn into the Beast, why didn't Shoesmith turn into it when he used it?”

“I don't know,” Ellie said, shaking her head rapidly. “Maybe it affects different people in different ways. Probably why Gerber's been experimenting with it, to find out exactly what it does.”

They all fell silent because Ellie's suggestion made perfect sense, and yet again, Oz found himself pondering what this was all about. Why were the artefacts, which had caused such mayhem, even there in the first place? The same thought must have occurred to Ellie, because she then asked, “That reminds me: what about the ring? Has Soph found out any more about McClelland?”

“Who was McClelland, again?” Ruff said.

“The bloke Bendle did a deal with. The bloke that had the ring and went missing, you gonk,” Ellie said.

“Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about him.” Ruff nodded, much to Ellie's despair.

Oz felt his face go suddenly warm. So many things had happened since he'd asked Soph to research Bendle that it had slipped completely out of his mind, too.

Oz reached into his pocket for the pebble. “Why don't we ask her?” Oz said quickly, to cover his embarrassment. Instantly, Soph was in the room, suitably reduced in size so as to fit neatly in the corner, her shimmering presence lighting up the space.

“Hi, Soph,” Ellie said. “Did you find any more out about McClelland?”

“Yes, Ellie, I have now accessed the university database.” The wall next to Soph filled with a holographic screen, on which McClelland's details were displayed as Soph recited.

“McClelland, Hamish. Date of birth, twentieth February, 1985. Place of birth, Morningside, Edinburgh, Scotland. McClelland was in his final year at Seabourne University, studying history and archaeology.”

“Doesn't tell us anything about how he found the ring, does it?” Ellie said, reading down the display of personal information.

“That's hardly likely to be in his file, is it?” Ruff said.

“Wonder what he looked like. Got any photos, Soph?” Oz asked.

Immediately, a date-order album of photographs appeared. One face was common to all of them—a dark-haired boy who looked full of energy and fun, judging by the general tone of his captured expressions, and who was also quite popular with girls, judging by the number in the photos with him. The photos told them he was a rugby player, a mountaineer, and a sailor, too. Even as Oz scanned down the images, he heard Ellie gasp and saw her point at a picture two-thirds of the way down the wall. This one was of two people in walking gear atop some desolate hill. Both were smiling happily as if they'd just arrived at the summit. But as Oz took in the details, he felt his insides somersault as the world tilted suddenly.

“Soph, can you make this one bigger?” he said thickly, pointing at the image with a trembling finger.

The photo quadrupled in size. It was definitely Hamish McClelland who beamed back at them, and behind him were other walkers with backpacks off, sitting enjoying an al fresco meal with the sea in the distant background.

However, it was the second posing figure that drew their astonished gazes. This figure too was smiling, and it was the very fact of that smile that initially made the face almost unrecognisable, for it was not an expression Oz, Ellie, and Ruff were used to seeing in association with these features. They were far more familiar with a controlled, almost fierce demeanour under a deeply furrowed brow. But how could it be? Why on earth hadn't anything been said? Oz risked a glance at Ellie and Ruff and saw they must be thinking exactly the same thing.

Chapter 15

Tonseldeberry

Because the smiling person standing next to McClelland in the photograph and grinning back at them like a loon was none other than his father's colleague, and member of Obex, Dr Caleb Jones.

All three stared at Caleb's image in silence, none of them able to break through the confusion that was paralysing their brains. It was Soph who finally answered Oz's unspoken question and put them out of their misery.

“I can confirm the man standing next to Hamish McClelland is Caleb Jones.”

Oz threw her an astonished glance. Even after all these months, he still could not get used to the fact that, whenever he held the pebble, the telepathic link between Soph and him was live.

“Where is this picture from, Soph?” Ellie said.

“A university magazine. The article it is taken from is an account of a mountaineering club trip to the Pembrokeshire coast.”

“Is there a date?” Oz asked.

“July 2008.”

“Hang on, that's just a few weeks before McClelland went missing, isn't it?” Oz said.

“That is correct, Oz.”

“Maybe it's just a coincidence,” Ellie said without much conviction.

“Yeah,” Ruff said, folding his arms across his chest. “Caleb's an expert in the artefacts
and
he's a member of a society sworn to protect them
and
he just happens to be standing next to a bloke who tried to sell one of those artefacts to a mad collector. Coincidence, my left buzzard buttock.”

“We need to speak to Caleb about this,” Oz said, nodding slowly, in stark contrast to the way his mind was doing cartwheels. Ellie and Ruff turned to him.

“I thought you said he was in Bulgaria.” Ruff's brow crinkled.

“He has his laptop, though, doesn't he?” Oz replied and then turned to Soph. “Thanks for finding all that stuff, Soph. Can you text Caleb and tell him that we need to speak to him and could he Skype me straight away?'

“I will.” Soph's eyes glimmered and Oz knew the message was on its way.

The trio went back to the library, and by the time they shut the panel door, Oz's phone had cheeped. He read the text out loud to Ellie and Ruff: “‘No access to Internet until tomorrow night. Seven PM okay?'”

Oz texted back an “OK” and shrugged. “We'll just have to wait.”

Ellie and Ruff nodded. Oz could see they were positively bursting with questions, but there didn't seem any point discussing this until he'd spoken with Caleb.

“So what now?” Ellie said.

“How about I text the Fanshaws?” Oz said. “See if they can come over and bring their SPEXITs.”

“Wow,” Ruff said. “Have you seen the reviews for those things? They look so awesome.”

“When's the launch?” Ellie said

“Next year sometime.”

“Think they'll mind?” Ruff asked.

Oz sent the text. Half a minute later, he got a reply.

“They're going skiing for Easter, and they're driving to the airport at two o'clock in the morning.”

Ruff groaned.

“But they also say we can borrow their SPEXITs. They're worth seeing.”

Ruff whooped. “Awesome. C and B dijonnaise
and
SPEXITs.” He threw himself into an armchair and moaned in anticipation. “This must be a dream. Someone pinch me.”

“I'll get the tongs,” Ellie said under her breath.

“Heard that,” Ruff said.

As a way of whiling away a Saturday evening, it could not have been better. Ruff had three helpings of chicken and broccoli dijonnaise and only stopped there because there were profiteroles for pudding. The SPEXIT, although a trial version of the new sleekly packaged “Hands-free Video Gaming Experience” that JG Industries was promoting in every gaming magazine, was still breathtakingly amazing. There was limited software on this version, but the promised base-jumping and jet-ski slaloms that would be available on the actual store package looked totally out of this world. And that was quite apart from the “New concept in role-playing games” that JG Industries was keeping cleverly under wraps, ready for the launch, but which had gamers like Ruff chomping at the bit for more information.

S and S had dropped off the console and announced, coyly, that it was the most recent upgrade, they'd tested it, and it was okay. Oz was astonished by the change in design. Gone were the black plastic and the unwieldy headband, and in their places was a thing of thrilling, retro, goggle beauty. JG Industries had gone for brass rims and rich brown-leather eyecups, with neat brass cogwheels, buttons, and enticing levers as controls. The bulky battery had been replaced with a tiny power source of JG Industries construction, which glowed with an aquamarine light when they switched it on.

“Wow,” Ruff said, speaking for all of them, staring at the goggles like someone who'd just died and woken up in steampunk heaven.

“Is that cool, or what?” Ellie said.

Nevertheless, Oz did not let either of them use the goggles until he'd put them on and let Soph run some software scans.

“This system utilises direct neural stimulation of the visual, olfactory, and proprioceptive centres through carrier-wave transmission to create a whole-body experience. I can find no trace of subliminal or hypnotic algorithms,” he heard her say.

“In other words,” Oz said, “it's safe.”

The sheer reality of
Wild White Water
,
Bungee Blast
, and
Roller Coaster Reality
—the games the Fanshaws' SPEXIT were loaded with—was even more astounding than Oz remembered. Almost as good was getting Soph to record holotracks of them all using the kit. Their replayed expressions of terror, fear, exhilaration, and relief as they completed a level had them in fits of laughter. Ruff had insisted on using some of the leftover “found” lunch money to raid his favourite old-school sweet shop on the way home from town, and they gorged themselves on Fizz Wiz, fruit salad chews, fizzy cola bottles, foam mushrooms, candy shrimps, sour flying saucers, and Parma Violets.

They watched an old DVD to finish the night off, and by eleven, they were all pretty tired. Two and a half hours of treasure hunting that morning was beginning to take its toll.

By eleven-fifteen, Oz had set up the pebble in Ruff's room, ready for the sublimsert.

“Does it hurt?' Ruff asked anxiously, casting a wary glance towards the artefact.

“Only the bit where she takes your brain out and connects it to the mains,” Oz said.

Ruff threw Oz a double take.

“Don't be stupid,” Ellie said, half to Ruff and half to Oz. Ruff remained fearfully unconvinced while Oz grinned maniacally. “You're going to be asleep anyway, you gonk.”

“Oh, yeah, forgot.” Ruff gave her a half-hearted grin and then added to Oz, “You were joking about the mains and stuff, though, weren't you?”

Ellie just raised her eyebrows and left.

Oz placed the pebble on the bedside table next to Ruff's bed and left him to it. He said goodnight to Ellie as she ran down to her room next to Mrs Chambers', then headed for his own bed.

Even though the yawns were coming thick and fast, he could not help lying there, thinking of McClelland and Caleb and of Ellie's suggestion that there just might be a coincidence. Given that Caleb was a history lecturer and McClelland a history student, it was possible. He so wanted to believe it, but it simply didn't seem likely. After half an hour of going around in circles, he forced his mind away and ended up groaning as he thought instead of the prospect of Rowena the Cuckoo filling the dorm with… well, with people like her. People who actually
wanted
to hear about rainbow therapy and photoactive tinctures and damaged chakras. Finally, he settled on something good to think about—Ruff's face when they'd found that fiver in the greasy old kebab wrapper. Priceless. He was still smiling at the memory when he fell asleep.