The Grasshopper's Child (31 page)

Heidi checked her burglar supplies. Wind-up torch (fully charged); thin housework gloves; mycel food bags. Her pocket Russian/English English/Russian dictionary, in case she found Russian documents. No phone, she didn't trust that new phone. She couldn't find the Bad Dream Cat. She left the door of her room ajar for him and headed out. The stairs hardly made a sound. No transparent little girl hovered in the Bedroom Passage as she tiptoed by; nothing stirred in the house. The hens muttered in their shed, the back gate snicked shut behind her. She pushed her latchkey deep into her jeans pocket, and mounted the old bike.

The day had been cool and blustery, the WiMax weather report threatened yet more heavy rain, but not until late in the night. By the time she hid the bike to make her final approach on foot she didn't need a torch. The moon was up, in a tossing sea of cloud. The spa entrance to Knowells Farm was modest. Trees overshadowed it; the drive was a single lane track.

Clancy must have been watching for her. Almost at once he drifted up, silent as smoke, and crouched beside her.

‘What now?' she whispered.

‘We go in. The Carron-Knowells aren't at home.'

‘How do you know they're out? Do we climb over the fence? Isn't it alarmed?'

‘Okay, I'll explain. George senior and Portia are out at a fancy Solstice celebration. They won't be back til morning, and they took the kids with them. It must be painful, I totally sympathise, but that's what you get for having rich, important parents. Never mind how, but I have the code to open the little side gate here: mostly used by local servants and such. There are dogs loose in the grounds, but we won't be in the open for long; there's a tunnel. Inside the spa, we're inside the house.'

‘What about armed, Taser-to-kill security goons?'

‘None indoors. Knowells is a smart house. It'll detect us, it'll watch us, it'll analyse our every move. If we're authorised visitors, which we are, because of my code, it won't do anything else; or even make an illegal recording of us, unless we pose a threat.'

‘You've done your research.'

‘I've been working on this since March.'

‘But we're intruders, so we
do
pose a threat?'

‘We don't. We're visitors, visiting. Going to the bathroom isn't a threat, is it? I thought all you wanted was a used toothbrush.'

She could not read his expression. Here under the trees, on the edge of the glow from the fence lights, the moonlight was making things worse, not better. She wondered what had really happened at Stauntons' Caravan site. She thought of Jo Florence's ammo; that probably had not been destroyed, and the bad agreement she'd made without realising it.
Good, so my plan suits us both
.

‘What happened to the gun?'

‘Huh?'

‘The Coutance pistol. You had it. Where is it?'

‘The gun is fine. Give me a break, I'm helping you out. I'm not here to assassinate someone who isn't at home. I'm suicidal, Heidi. I'm not crazy.'

‘You think you're so funny—'

He grinned. ‘I try. Shall we go in? Truly, Heidi, I'm doing my best.'

He reached out, which she didn't expect at all. They gripped hands, and then hugged.

‘Over the top,' said Heidi.

She'd never done anything so illegal before. Or so dangerous. A teen with adult dependents can't mess about. The risk gave her chills, but not in a bad way. It was a burden off her soul to be taking action. After being so helpless, and feeling so desperate, night and day, every hour, ever since the terrible thing—

Clancy used his code. The keypad buzzed green: they slipped through the servants' gate.

‘Now we run,' he whispered. ‘To the tunnel, it's about 100 metres, right ahead.'

They ran, Heidi's heart leaping as she sprang forward.

It was no distance, and Clancy's code worked again. When the door to the tunnel closed behind them night was banished. They were in a brightly-lit, windowless corridor. Video panels on the smooth blue walls showed underwater scenes: flickering shoals of coloured fish, sea horses nodding in golden weed. There was a cold, luxurious, clinical smell; like expensive seaweed. Clancy led the way past a gym, treatment rooms, the doors to a big swimming pool; then up a curving flight of sleek blue stairs to a lobby with a different décor, and two doors, left and right.

‘This is where we go into the house,' said Clancy softly. ‘Are you ready?'

‘As I'll ever be.'

The door he chose led to the Knowells Farm Utility area. Like a Utility room supersized: brushed steel laundry machines on acres of glossy stone floor-tiles. Ranks of shining brushed steel closets, for Carron-Knowells supplies of toilet paper and washing balls and wildlife-friendly slug-bait. A supersized kitchen must be somewhere near, but the next door Clancy opened led into a different world: an old, richly furnished, high-ceilinged hall. It wasn't dark. There were lamps around the walls, shedding warm and mellow light. There were thick, tapestry floor-length curtains that must hide doors and windows; there were black beams overhead, period pictures, antique furniture and a sweeping stairway.

‘I think this was the entire original farmhouse,' murmured Clancy.

‘The one the mansion swallowed,' said Heidi.

‘Now you need George's bathroom. The kids have one each, en-suite. George's room is up those stairs. Turn left at the Minstrel Gallery, then first right down a little flight of stairs, and you're in the kids' wing. You can't miss George's crib, there's a plaque with a little boy kicking a football: saying
George Lives Here
. Embarrassing, but apparently true.'

Clancy was looking at her intently, a message in his eyes, more important than the words, but she had no idea what the message was—

Someone gasped, a smothered, nervous sound. More lights came on, above them. George and Sorrel stood on the Minstrel Gallery landing, staring down into the hall.

‘What's going on?' shouted George.

‘Just visiting,' said Clancy. ‘Guided tour, I'm starting a small business.'

‘I don't know how you clowns got in,' said George. ‘But you're not getting out—' He started down the stairs, and stopped, open-mouthed. Heidi looked round and was stunned to see that Challon had appeared. She didn't glance at Heidi, just strolled across the room, and settled on a sofa by the big olde-worlde fireplace. The tapestry curtains, obvious suspects now, parted again. John, Cyril, Andy Mao, Elaine and all three Florences emerged. They stood in a row behind Chall's sofa.

‘Sorry George,' said Challon. ‘This isn't a surprise party, and you and I haven't been having a reunion. I've been making up to you, and letting you “talk me into” giving up the Wild Card, so your dad wouldn't take away my spa access.'

‘You're a cold bitch!'

Challon shrugged. ‘Needs must.'

‘What's going on?' cried Sorrel. ‘It's the middle of the night! What are you all
doing
here?'

‘It had to be Challon,' said Heidi to Clancy. ‘She's the only one who could have got you in. And those guys,' she jerked her chin at George and Sorrel, ‘had to be here. The house couldn't think we were visitors if none of the family were home. Why didn't you tell me?'

Clancy mugged apology from within his hood, spreading his hands and shrugging. ‘I didn't think you'd buy it.'

George laughed. ‘I told you not to trust him, Cinderella.' He continued down the stairs. ‘Well, this is fun. What naughty, naughty yobbos. Ooh, Cinderella, it'll be the bad toys box for you. And the boyfriend will be in the nuthouse with your—'

‘Forget about Heidi,' said Challon. ‘She muscled in on our intervention, we couldn't stop her. This is a Mehilhoc thing. We're here to tell you it's over, George. We've finally faced up to what's been going on, and what we have to do. Now
you
are going face up, and help us to get your mum and your old man sent away. For a long time.'

George sat on the lowest step of the stairs, and folded his arms.

‘Really? Very interesting. Have you spoken to your mother about this, Chall?'

‘Yes I have, as a matter of fact. You can push people too far.'

‘I believe I have my parents' unspoken approval,' said Cyril.

‘Brook's
dying
—' cried Elaine. ‘And it's all Mr Carron's fault!'

‘Elaine,
shut up!
' snapped Challon. ‘Don't speak of Brook in this house.'

‘Sorry, Chall,' whimpered the dishwater girl, wincing as if she'd been smacked.

It might be the first time, Heidi thought, she'd ever heard Challon utter an unkind word.

George rolled his eyes, bared his teeth and gave a huge fake sigh. ‘Okay, I changed my mind. Just get out of here. All of you. You're talking nonsense.'

Sorrel came downstairs, rubbing her arms as if caught in an icy chill. ‘They're
not
, George. They're right. The guys on that ship were kids. I've got a kid. If the scouts saw my Selim, out on the street, and he was old enough, and they didn't know he was mine, they'd pick him up. And it would be us, sending him off to a slave farm.
It could have been Selim—
'

From Sorrel this was a fantastic achievement in joined up thinking. Her brother didn't seem impressed. He shot a look of real hatred at her as she went by, and got up to follow her.

‘You don't know what you're talking about, Sor. Get back upstairs.'

‘You can't tell me what to do. I want to hear them out.'

‘
Sorrel
doesn't know what she's talking about,' shouted Jo Florence. ‘
Challon
doesn't know what she's talking about. NOBODY EVER knows what they're talking about! Except pretty-boy George fancy-pants arrogant smartarse Carron-Knowells!'

‘We're not going anywhere,' bawled John, passionately. ‘Until YOU listen to reason!'

Sorrel and George were no longer blocking the stairs. George had joined Sorrel, on the matching sofa opposite Challon. Suddenly Heidi understood what she was supposed to do. She slipped round behind the brother and sister's sofa, and darted
quietly
up the stairs.

Nobody stopped her. She headed left, and then right: getting out of sight as quickly as she could, and trying not to make a sound.

George's football plaque was easy to spot. His room was big and messy. There was a rumpled double bed; that Heidi didn't want to look at. The bathroom was messy too. A single toothbrush stood in a glass by the basin, but the
used toothbrush
idea was a joke. She needed something that wouldn't be missed. A wide-toothed comb, lying in a snarl of towels on the floor, was a better bet. She pulled on her gloves and transferred long, matted chestnut hairs to one of the food bags. My souvenir of George, she thought, feeling deflated. I'm just a lovestruck fan. Her best plan, now she'd accomplished it, seemed like no plan at all. What were the chances the Inspector would even get her DNA sample tested?
Thank you, Heidi,
just what I needed
. Probably zero.

Outside George's room she stood listening. Behind one of these doors baby Selim must be sleeping. Did he share with Sorrel, or did he have a nursery? She could hear Exempt Teens voices: a murmur of angry argument. What was going on down there? Upstairs the silence was complete; smothered in luxury and full of foreboding. Cameras must be trained on her, maybe capturing her every move, despite what Clancy had said. But she had to go on, and try to find some real evidence. She couldn't waste this chance, it had cost too much.

Stepping softly, on soft carpet, she moved further into the house: lights coming on in front of her, and going out behind. Down another little flight of steps, and up again into a different part of the mansion. Now she wasn't even in the kids' wing. She had no excuse at all. She was thinking of the way Challon had looked at George, the way George had looked at Chall. So horrible, so sad; and feeling more and more uneasy, when everything suddenly shook. Everything broke up into tiny pieces, like an image on a screen breaking into pixels— Heidi stopped dead, not knowing if she'd just been intensively scanned or she'd had a heart attack.

Either way, she'd had enough. Time to get out of here. But right in front of her was a door, a rather shabby door, where there'd been blank wall a moment ago. It was solid when she touched it. Fascinated, she tried the handle. It turned.

The room had no windows. No lights came on when Heidi walked in. She took out her torch, but left the door open behind her. By torchlight she saw cabinets lining three walls, black drapes between them, and a desk facing the fourth wall, which was blank. The floor was black; glossy but yielding underfoot. She sat at the chair in front of the desk. On the wall facing her, the outline of a big screen glimmered.

This is it, she thought, all here nerves tingling. Somehow, I've got into somewhere really secret. She was already wearing her gloves. She tried the desk drawers: feeling like a child playing at spying. The top one opened smoothly. The only thing inside was a black-bound ledger with a title in silver: SPECIAL SHIPMENTS.

She lifted it out. It was heavy. The pages were creamy-white, blue-lined; very old-style, and ruled in columns. A date on the left, three columns headed and filled with strings of letters-and-numbers; like password code, and a fifth column: always headed with the same two words in Russian: