The Case of the Exploding Loo (14 page)

“Mother wants to speak to you after breakfast,” Porter says through a mouthful of herrings. “She knows something’s up, but she’s not sure
what.”

“Great.”

“You might want to . . . er . . . brush your hair or something.”

“Hey!” I protest, but the upside-down reflection in my spoon tells me Porter has a point. I look a state after my sleepless night.

I run back to the dormitory. The hairs stiffen on my arms when I enter my cubicle. Someone installed new locks at the window while I was at breakfast. That must be why I’ve been
summoned.

I shuffle towards Ms Grimm’s office, feeling itchy and uncomfortable.

She attacks the minute I enter. “Hawkins. Why were you snooping in my CCTV room?”

Whoa! What? I was expecting to be yelled at about the window.

“CCTV room?” I echo stupidly, wondering whether to deny it or not.

“Don’t bother denying it.”

That helps.

“I have CCTV footage of the CCTV footage.” Ms Grimm presses a button on her desk and a computer monitor rises in front of us, showing images from the CCTV room as well as footage
from the screens themselves.

Pythagoras!
She doesn’t need Jangly Keys Dave’s highlights reel. It’s all here.

“All very Batman,” I mutter.

“Thank you.” She gives an outward bow. “So? Are you going to answer my question?”

“Can I ask
you
something first?” I decide to ask her outright if she’s kidnapped my dad. I can do this. I take a deep breath.

Ms Grimm holds up a silencing hand as the Bat Screen shows two policemen entering Reception.

The taller officer looks like he’s come straight from Holly’s favourite American cop show – big and muscular, with a shirt several sizes too small and an abnormally square
face. The other man is older with grey hair and twinkly eyes. All they have in common is the walk. They must teach that walk at police school – back straight, head high, eyes scanning the
surroundings for trouble.

Ms Grimm dashes from the room and appears a minute later on the Bat Screen, sweaty and out of breath. The policemen stop, abruptly, when faced with that toothy smile, but they’re hardened
professionals and they don’t flinch.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Manly Officer says. “We have received a complaint that your establishment is holding a young female against her will and preventing her making contact
with her family.”

Ms Grimm’s smile looks pained. “I’m sure this is a simple misunderstanding. We do ask our students to hand over their mobiles on arrival, but only because we don’t want
them distracted during their studies. You know how young people can be.”

Manly Officer nods and burbles something about a teenage daughter.

Grey-Haired Officer steps forward. “So students
are
permitted to contact their families?”

I know that voice. It’s PC Eric! I should have realised – he looks exactly as I imagined. Red-cheeked and chubby, with kind eyes and big hands, like a clean-shaven Santa.

“We encourage our students to call home every night,” Ms Grimm says. “Don’t forget these are teenagers, officers. They probably don’t speak to their parents that
often when they’re at home.”

It’s a good line. Manly Officer smiles in agreement and launches into another complaint about his daughter.

PC Eric doesn’t smile. “This girl is close to her parents and they haven’t heard from her since early last week. They claim they’ve been trying to contact her for days
and they want to file a missing person’s report. I’m sure that won’t be necessary if we could just see the young lady in question? Miss Gold?” He checks his notebook.
“Miss Gemma Gold.”

Ms Grimm pales. Given that she’s already the colour of the undead, it’s not a pretty sight.

I search the Bat Screen for student registers. “Where are you, Gemma Gold?” I mutter. “Porter thinks you went home, but you obviously didn’t. So where
did
you
go?”

On screen, Ms Grimm is squirming like an oversized maggot. “Gemma
is
a student here, but she’s away on a field trip. Why don’t I ask her to call home the minute she
gets back?”

“Perfect.” Manly Officer is already at the front door.

PC Eric moves more slowly. “We’ll be speaking with the Golds later to make sure they’re satisfied. Then we’ll arrange a follow-up visit.”

“A follow-up visit?” Ms Grimm mutters. “How delightful.”

I can’t find Gemma’s records in the files.
Pythagoras!
Where are they? Ms Grimm will be back any minute. Ah! Here we go.

Click.

I stare at Gemma Gold’s photograph. I’ve been so stupid. Porter’s going to kill me.

I sprint from Ms Grimm’s office to the dining room, where I tell Porter everything I’ve learnt.

He rolls up his sleeves and grabs my hand. “To the rescue!”

“Er, don’t we need a plan?”

“This is the plan. To the rescue!”

He hops along the corridors and takes the stairs two at a time, leaving me scrambling to catch up. As we reach the top, I point to the room where I last saw Gemma. Porter bends so his mouth is
next to the keyhole.

“Gemma? Are you in there?”

Nothing.

Porter presses his ear to the door. “I swear I heard something.”

“Probably the nurse picking up a baseball bat.”

“Gemma?” Porter calls, louder now. “It’s me. Porter.”

“Porter?” The voice is soft and shaky, but this time I hear it too.

“Gemma!” Porter rests his head against the door. “Are you okay?”

“Porter? ’sit reeeeally you?” Gemma slurs. “Wheresssnurse? Whysssohard tuheeeearyou? Why sssuvoicekeepsayindusamefing?”

“Are you listening to your iPod, Gemma? Is that why you can’t hear me? Turn it off. Open the door and let us in.”

“Cantopendoor. Sssslocked. Voicesssayssstayin duroom.”

Porter stamps in frustration and yelps in pain as he hits his bad ankle.

“Gemma?” I crouch beside Porter and talk, loudly, into the keyhole. “I’m Porter’s friend, Noelle. Can I ask you something? Are you wearing turquoise
earphones?’

“Yesss. Howdyooknow? WasssmatterwiPorter?”

“Porter’s fine,” I say, shushing Porter, who’s hopping around behind me. “Can you take off the earphones and slide them under the door for us, please,
Gemma?”

“Yesss.” Gemma’s voice quivers. “Icandothat.”

Two turquoise earpieces appear beneath the door, followed by an equally turquoise iPod. Porter and I grab an earphone each. Ms Grimm’s voice booms through them:

You will stay in this room until I come for you. Then you will ring your mother and tell her you’re very happy here. So happy you forgot to phone. So happy you
can’t talk for long because all your friends are waiting. You will forget my son. I have big plans for him. You will not interfere . . .

Porter yanks his earphone out, pulling mine with it. I’m glad of the relief. A dull pain is spreading through my brain, and after listening for only a couple of seconds, I
feel miserable and sluggish.

I remember the mysterious +/- dial on the brain ray.

“Can you create negative brainwaves?” I wonder. “Is that possible?”

Porter shrugs, rubbing his head.

“Even if it is possible,” I continue, “why would you bother?”

“‘You will forget my son,’”
Porter echoes.

“You think your mother is stupidifying Gemma so she can keep you for herself?” I force a laugh.

Porter doesn’t answer.

“Then why is she stupidifying Mum?” I imagine possible scenarios. “Dad must be locked away like Gemma. She’s hurting Mum to make Dad do what she wants. I know she is?
Aryabhatta!
We have to save my parents and destroy Mum’s earphones.”

“We will,” Porter says. “But we’re here now so let’s release Gemma first.”

“We need Jangly Keys Dave to unlock that door.”

“Not an option. My mother found out he’d been helping us and transferred him to the kitchen.”

Perhaps I don’t look horrified enough because Porter adds, “To the fish station!”

“Isaac Newton!
Poor Dave.”

“Poor
Gemma
,” Porter reminds me. “We have to get her out of there. I wish I knew how to pick a lock.”

“I might,” I tell him. “I googled it once when I was figuring out the solution to a Tintin mystery.”

“Huh?”

“I couldn’t work out how the thieves removed King Ottokar’s sceptre from a locked room. Turned out it was all to do with cannons and cameras. The locked door was a red
herring.”

“Rewind to the bit about picking locks.”

“I don’t know, Porter. It’s a bit illegal. What if someone sees us?”

“Kidnapping teenage girls isn’t exactly legal either. I doubt Mother will file a complaint. Besides, I don’t think this room’s covered by CCTV. Locking up students
isn’t something you want caught on camera.”

A logical argument. I like those.

I take Porter through the lock-picking page in my brain, step by step. The only tricky instruction is “purchase a tension wrench and a pick”. Fortunately I’m still carrying my
mini Meccano screwdriver, and my hairgrip should work as a pick.

It takes a while, but the door finally creaks open.

Gemma is crouched against the wall, hugging her knees, her hair even crazier than I remember. Her eyes are red and swollen, and at the sight of us they widen in panic. Dirt covers her face,
except for a few pale streaks where tears have washed the filth away, and she has dried blood around the bottom of her nose.
Another
nosebleed? First Mum, then the student during the maths
test, then Aisha and the other Remarkable Student in Reading Hour . . . and now Gemma.

Porter crushes Gemma’s iPod beneath his foot. I stare at the remains.

“Gemma?” I grab her by the arms. “This is important. I need you to think. Did you ever have nosebleeds before you came to LOSERS?”

Gemma shakes her head. A phrase from the online medical journal pushes its way to the front of my mind:
“Nosebleeds can be a side effect of radiation poisoning.”

Did the brain ray do this? What if these nosebleeds are my fault? I have to fix things. The first step is to figure out where they’re keeping Dad so I can stop them torturing our design
secrets out of him.

“What are we going to do with Gemma?” Porter’s perfectly symmetrical face droops when he looks at his friend. “We can’t send her out alone, not in this state. And
with my ankle like this, I’ll be no use to her.”

“I need to get out of this place to rescue Mum.” I glance around frantically. “I’ll take Gemma with me. I just have to figure out an escape route.”

Easier to say than to do. I walk the whole of the ground floor, but every street-facing window is locked and all the doors are guarded by LOSERS minions.

“There’s no way out,” I report back to Porter, who’s still hiding in the upstairs room with Gemma. “At least not tonight and not without help. Is there anyone on
the outside you can call on?”

Porter shakes his head. “You?”

“Not if we don’t have a phone. Holly’s unreachable now Fake Insurance Man has stolen the computers.” I consider Meccano Morris, but his strengths are limited to
Meccano-related activities.

“We’ll email the police,” I decide. “But where can we hide Gemma until they arrive? Someone will check on her soon and then what happens? Maybe the Great Leader could
help? The police might pay more attention to an adult.”

“No.” Porter pulls Gemma towards him. “He didn’t keep his side of the deal. We found Gemma on our own. I don’t think we can trust him.”

I scratch my chin. “I don’t think we have much choice.”

“Okay. I’ll take Gemma to the Great Leader,” Porter says grumpily. “But I don’t like it.”

Porter wakes me at three in the morning by thrusting his laptop in my face to show me the latest group email.

“Fawning?” I mumble sleepily, reaching for the light. “Doesn’t that mean giving birth to baby deer? Why would people be doing that?”

“Wake up! And don’t turn on the light, you muppet. Fawning also means grovelling. It’s a stupid word they chose because it rhymes with dawning. It’s not important.
What’s important is stopping this Age of Intelligence. It can’t be a good thing if it leaves people in the state Gemma’s in.”

“Mmm,” I murmur, remembering where we are as my brain kicks into action. “Back here again? Do you have a thing for girls’ dorms, Porter?”

“Ugh. Seriously? Imagine if they all wake up.” Porter shudders. “Bathroom. Quick.”

As my brain moves up another gear, I remember my dream.

Meccano. Eureka!

“Porter, I’ve got it! We need a Faraday cage!”

“Whatever. Move faster. I need to show you these.” Porter reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pile of Kazinsky Electronics flyers:

“The 22
^nd
of February? That’s tomorrow!” I look at my watch and squeak in horror. “No, it’s today! This is happening in six hours’
time! You know what an iPod giveaway means?”

Porter nods. “It means the Age of Intelligence is about frazzling as many brains as possible. We have to stop them.”