The Beast of Seabourne Page 2

  “Phillipa, I must insist that you give up this nonsense,” warned the Volcano from the corridor beyond.

  “But miss, I know I heard a noise this time and”—she sniffed the air, frowned, and muttered—“I can smell orange Tango and cheese-and-onion crisps…”

  “Just the ancient plumbing and the fungus on the walls playing tricks with your senses,” said the Volcano. Though Pheeps ranked amongst the Volcano’s select list of favourite pupils, it was clear from the deputy head’s irritable tone that she was losing patience fast. “Come along, I’ve had enough of this nonsense. Cafeteria! Now.”

  She reached out and yanked the door shut once more. A drum roll of footsteps receded down the corridor, followed by the Volcano’s ponderous footfalls, fading into silence.

  Another wave of barely constrained laughter convulsed Oz’s chest in a Muttley wheeze. He sat bent over, eyes shut, trying to think unfunny thoughts and failing miserably.

  Several rib-aching seconds later, Ellie got up and tiptoed to the door, opened it an inch, and peeked through the crack. Satisfied, she turned and hurled an accusation at Ruff: “You total gonk.”

  “Sorry,” Ruff replied, still wearing a mortified expression. “It was the Tango. Always makes me burp.”

  “It does if you drink half the can in one go,” Ellie blurted.

  This made Oz’s shoulders heave even more. He’d covered his face with his hands and felt a dribble of saliva escape the corner of his mouth, but he was so helpless with laughter, he couldn’t so much as speak, let alone think about wiping his chin. Finally, he peeked through his fingers, to find that Soph had reappeared and was watching the three of them.

  “Okay, Soph,” he said, blowing out air and wiping his eyes. “How did you manage that?”

  “You mean the holoshield?”

  “Making us invisible is what I mean.”

  “It is a simple projection of an image of the place you were sitting, taken before you sat there. What they saw from the door was how the room looked before we entered it.”

  “Simple,” Ruff said with a little shrug before sending Soph a look of awe.

  “Did you see Pheeps’ face?” Ellie asked.

  “Looked like she’d swallowed a snail,” Oz said, grinning.

  The bell went for the end of lunch, and Soph faded back into the aether, leaving Oz with the difficult decision of what best to do with the tank.

  Oz’s mum had delivered the water cycle project earlier that week, when she’d picked him up from orchestra practise after school. He’d sneaked it into the fungoid room completely unseen, gambling on no one visiting the contaminated block and driven by a desperate need to show it to Ellie and Ruff and involve them in the final touches. Suddenly, after what had just happened, the wisdom of having it in school at all, with Pheeps and the Volcano on their case, seemed quite dodgy. Nevertheless, it was here now, and it was too delicate and cumbersome an object to lug around.

  “Why don’t we put it in the room next door?’ Ellie suggested. “In case You-Know-Who decides to snoop.”

  “Brilliant,” Oz said. “It’s just as bad as this one.”

  They carried the box through, put it above a dilapidated cupboard, and covered it with a sheet.

  As they made their way to registration, Ruff kept doing impressions of Pheeps’ horrified expression, much to Ellie’s amusement, but Oz wasn’t taking much notice. After the elation of their narrow escape, his mind had turned to what the Volcano would have done had she found them in Room 62, and it was not a pleasant thought. She would have confiscated the project, for starters, and probably disqualified them just for spite.

  But it was the gleeful anticipation in Pheeps’ face before she saw the room empty that really made his insides squirm. Oz wasn’t sure why she hated him so much, but hate him she did, from the deep, dark depths of her evil little soul. A soul she’d inherited from her father, Dr Lorenzo Heeps, an interfering ex-colleague of his dad’s, who had only reached his position of Vice Chancellor of the University because Michael Chambers was no longer around to challenge him for it…

  Oz squeezed his eyes shut, letting the ache that suddenly throbbed in his chest peak and die away. He’d become accustomed to it flaring whenever thoughts of his dad caught him unawares. Like with a nagging tooth, he coped with it but never managed to suppress it altogether.

  The discussion with Ellie and Ruff had already stirred the murky waters of his guilt. Whereas Soph and Penwurt were intriguing mysteries to his friends, to Oz they were the keys to a prickly riddle that nettled him awake at night to lie wide-eyed and discontented, listening to his mother’s restless pacing and his own fractured heart beating, wondering why all this weirdness was happening to him. Soph and Penwurt were undoubtedly the keys to the artefacts, to finding out what had really happened to his dad, to the ache that burned inside and never really went away. And Pheeps had once again managed to reach out a meddling hand to stoke the embers of his forebodings.

  The girl had talent, he had to admit.

  Of course, it might have been sheer bad luck that the Volcano was in the vicinity of Room 62 today, but it was far likelier Pheeps had summoned her from the staff room through sheer spite. The year before, Pheeps had plotted to have him water-bombed in the school dance and revelled in making Oz’s life as generally unpleasant as possible at Seabourne County School. It would be the highlight of her year if he got into trouble with the Volcano.

  Yet, even worse than Pheeps’ hateful interfering was the fact that her smarmy dad was in cahoots with Jack Gerber, a powerful businessman whose agents had once set fire to Penwurt’s basement in trying to get their hands on Soph and the artefacts.

  Ellie turned back and glimpsed Oz’s expression.

  “You okay, Oz? You look like you’ve seen a ghost—”

  Oz cut her off. “No, not a ghost, just a monster. The ugly side of Pheeps.”

  “Is there another side?” Ruff asked.

  Oz sighed. “I don’t know. Thing is, I never know how much of her plotting and scheming is just meanness and how much of it is spying for someone else.”

  That left the other two exchanging worried glances. Neither of them spoke. There was no need. They all knew that, until the science project was over and done with, they’d all have to be on their guard.

  Oz was still pondering their narrow escape when Miss Arkwright, 2C’s form tutor, breezed through the door of Room 33, wearing her uniform of flowery maxi, leather sandals, peasant blouse, and bobbly cardigan. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from hurrying, and her frizzy hair was held back from a pretty, makeup-free face by a brightly hued Alice band. She was, as usual, late. She plonked her battered leather bag on the table, took out some papers, and shuffled vainly through them.

  “Right, settle down,” she said loudly, not looking up, an order that resulted in the class taking no notice whatsoever. She sighed and tried again, upping the volume by a decibel or ten. “I said settle down.”

  The noise in the room dipped by three or four notches, except from the back of the class where it was at its most raucous. That was the domain of Lee Jenkins, Kieron Skinner, and their hangers-on.

  Today, Jenks had brought in a digital pen recorder capable of sampling sound bites, which it could then insert into prerecorded songs. The idea was to substitute one’s own voice for a section of the song in a kind of micro-karaoke. Oz had seen this sort of thing advertised everywhere. Meant for making your own ringtones and the like.

  But Jenks, being Jenks, had not recorded his own voice. He’d gone for a barking dog, an impression of a cow mooing, and, of course, the noise of someone blowing a raspberry.

  “At least I hope it’s someone blowing a raspberry,” Ellie said when she’d heard it the first time, her face contorting in disgust.

  Much to the delight of his cronies, ferret-faced Jenks kept replaying the famous chorus of “We Will Rock You” over and over, with his special modification to the lyrics being a raspberry “Brrrp” in place of the third w
ord.

  This was sending the back row into hysterics. Oz and Ruff had found it funny the first couple of times, but by the tenth they’d had enough, too. Despite Miss Arkwright’s threats of confiscation, Jenks continued to play the fool, cutting the replay down to just the raspberry every time Miss Arkwright’s eyes fell to the sheaf of papers she was still busy searching.

  “I wish someone would shut him up,” Ellie groaned as Skinner snorted a snotty giggle in response to another Brrrp.

  “Agreed,” said Oz, in a tone that drew inquisitive glances from both Ellie and Ruff. “I think I heard Skinner say it has Bluetooth connectivity.”

  Quickly and without fuss, Oz slipped his hand into his pocket and found the tiny raised emblem on the maker’s mark of the pebble. He pressed gently and felt a familiar tingle in his head, which meant Soph had connected with him. Even though she had not shown herself, he knew now she could hear him.

  “Right, how about we change Jenks’ tune a bit,” he whispered so that only Ellie and Ruff could hear.

  Instantly from the back row, the tinny but intrusive sound of the chorus to “Who Let The Dogs Out” erupted. Sung, moreover, in Jenks’ and Skinner’s highly recognizable voices, with Miss Swinson’s name in place of the dogs.

  Miss Arkwright looked up, mouth and eyes three circles of horrified astonishment.

  In the back row, there was uproar.

  “I thought you deleted that,” Jenks said, hurling a mortified glare at Skinner. He’d gone for a stage whisper, but he might as well have shouted it out for the whole school to hear.

  “I did,” Skinner replied, trying ham-fistedly to turn the recorder off.

  The class was mesmerized.

  “Press that button,” hissed Jenks.

  Despite their best efforts, the song continued to repeat itself, much to the amusement of Oz and his classmates.

  “Then take the batteries out,” pleaded Jenks.

  “Batteries, right, batteries.”

  “Give it here.” Jenks snatched the recorder back.

  The refrain died abruptly, leaving a nasty silence in its wake.

  “I’ll have that.” Miss Arkwright, who’d walked silently to the rear without Skinner or Jenks noticing, held out her hand.

  The room remained quiet. Gladiator quiet. Waiting-for-the-lion-to-pounce quiet.

  Jenks gave her the instrument, his face like a kicked blanket.

  “Thank you, Lee,” Miss Arkwright’s smile was sickly sweet. “Very entertaining. As a choice of signature tune, I preferred the first one. It suits you very well, being as it’s the noise of something uncontrollable and rather loud.”

  The whole class laughed, including Skinner, until he got a filthy look from a scowling Jenks.

  “Good one, Oz,” whispered Ruff, with thumbs-up.

  “Good one, Soph, more like,” Ellie added.

  Hearing this, and keen to deflect his humiliation and anger onto someone else, Jenks turned to glower at Oz. “What are you laughing at, Chambers?” he growled as Miss Arkwright busied herself with the register.

  “Don’t know. The label fell off ages ago.”

  “Keep trying and one day you might actually say something funny. We’ll see who’s laughing this weekend after I score a hat trick against you.”

  “Dream on,” Oz said with a cold smile.

  Slouching in the desk across the aisle from Jenks, Skinner simply sneered. Both played in the same mixed Sunday football league as Oz, Ellie, and Ruff did. Jenks and Skinner’s team was called the Skullers, and since losing their unbeaten record to Ellie and Ruff ‘s Lions team the season before—thanks almost entirely to a guest appearance by Oz in goal—Jenks and Skinner had found a special place for the three of them in their scheming hearts.

  Football was the weapon of choice when it came to physical combat, but that didn’t stop Skinner and Jenks from trying all sorts of ways to get one over on their enemies. Not in the same bracket of malevolence as Pheeps, they were nevertheless annoying twits who couldn’t be trusted for one minute.

  “Right,” said Miss Arkwright, settling herself at her desk (which was decorated with posters of rain forests and threatened species, both high on the list of Miss Arkwright’s passions). “I do have a few announcements. First of all, the jazz orchestra will be practising for the Easter concert on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 12:45. Arrangements for early dinner can be made through me or Mr Fidler. Miss Swinson has asked me to remind you all that the girls’ toilet in the sports hall is still blocked, and she would still like to know who stuffed a copy of The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath down the pan.”

  There were a few muted sniggers and one strangled cheer.

  Miss Arkwright looked up and waited for silence before consulting a handwritten sheet on her desk and continuing.

  “Miss Swinson also wishes me to remind you that Rooms 60 to 68 in the old block are out of bounds due to the leaking roof and wet rot. Anyone caught in these rooms will be severely punished. And be afraid, be very afraid, because that has been underlined. Twice. In red.”

  For one brief moment, Oz thought he saw Miss Arkwright send a warning glance his way, but at that second there was a loud knock on the door.

  Mr Skelton, the science teacher, didn’t wait to be invited in. New this year and frighteningly keen, he wore striped shirts with thin ties, sported a buzz cut, and had a thing for mirrors, judging from the amount of time he spent looking into them. As a teacher, he wasn’t bad, which was more than could be said for his jokes. He also had teeth that made up almost a third of his face and seemed to glow of their own accord whenever he switched on his smile, which he often did for Miss Arkwright. Oz, Ellie, and Ruff were still not quite sure what to make of him.

  “Ah, Mr Skelton,” Miss Arkwright said with grim politeness. “Come in…again.”

  Since Mr Skelton was by now only a yard away from Miss Arkwright, who stood in the middle of the room, her moot invitation induced a look of bewilderment on his face. Since he was as thick-skinned as the African elephant that looked out over the class from the poster beside the door, he quickly recovered.

  “Sorry to burst in like this, Madeline, just wanted to pop round to all of year eight to remind them of tomorrow’s deadline.”

  Miss Arkwright opened her mouth, but before she could speak Mr Skelton stepped forward to address the class.

  From behind him, Oz heard Tracy Roper sigh. Several of the girls thought Mr Skelton was “lush.” Even Ellie grudgingly admitted that he looked a lot like the leading man in the latest blockbuster, Steelcop. Regardless, neither Oz nor Ruff could see the slightest resemblance, and both thought he was far too keen for his own good.

  Skelton cleared his throat. “The closing date for all entries into the year eight science project is 9:30 tomorrow morning. I repeat, 9:30. That will give some of you the chance for parents to bring in anything you need from home. Not that any of you need reminding, I’m sure.”

  There came a muffled raspberry sound from the back. No one laughed, although there were a few choked titters.

  “Thank you, Mr Skelton,” Miss Arkwright said. “Consider them all reminded. Now if you’ll just excuse us…”

  Unfortunately, Mr Skelton had not quite finished. “I am so excited about this, the first science project competition ever at Seabourne County.”

  “So I gather.” Miss Arkwright counterfeited a smile and didn’t bother to rearrange her mouth when she muttered,

  “This being the third time you’ve been in this week.” She turned to the class and added brightly, “I think that by now we’ve well and truly realised just how excited you are.”

  “Ah,” Mr Skelton said, with the air of someone just about to pull a rabbit out of a hat, “but what you didn’t know is that the headmaster has managed to obtain sponsorship for the winning team to go on the end-of-term science field trip to North Cornwall completely free, and”—he paused for effect—“those same sponsors, namely JG Industries, are going to present the winners with brand-n
ew laptops.”

  Several people in the class made “oooh” noises.

  “Not only that, but thanks to the Headmaster’s close ties with Seabourne University, he has also managed to obtain the services of the Vice Chancellor, Doctor Lorenzo Heeps, to adjudicate.”

  Oz’s stomach clenched. How on earth had Heeps and Gerber managed to muscle in on this? He glanced at Ruff. He, however, seemed not to have picked up on this bombshell, being too busy enjoying the spectacle of Skelton trying to impress Hippie Arkwright.

  “So, those of you yet to finish, get a move on. And if anyone hasn’t started, you have twenty-four hours,” Skelton said.

  “Surely,” said Miss Arkwright, “it’s a little late for anyone to start a project now if they haven’t already done so.”

  “Never too late, Madeline. That’s my motto.”

  Miss Arkwright was still smiling at him, though her brows had gathered at his insistent use of her first name. Oz sensed that she clearly thought Skelton not only presumptuous but also a bit bonkers. At the front, several people put their hands up.

  “Sir,” asked Marcus Skyrme, “will it be the top twenty in the science class as well as the winners of the project who get to go on the field trip?”

  “Alas, no. There are only twenty-two seats on the minibus. Therefore, only twenty students in total will get the opportunity to visit Bodmin Moor and the nearby coast and enjoy the rambles and ‘special treats’ dreamt up by none other than myself.”

  A few excited whispers rustled through the class.

  “Shame that not everyone in the year can go,” Miss Arkwright said, adding a little admonishing tilt of her head.

  “Indeed. However, we’re limited by the size of the minibus. Even so,” he continued jovially, leaning in Miss Arkwright’s direction, “there is one seat left for a female member of staff if you’d care to accompany us, Miss Arkwright.” If Skelton’s grin got any wider, his face would split in half.

  “Thank you, but no,” Miss Arkwright said firmly.

  “Really?” Mr Skelton said, donning a crestfallen expression. He leaned in a bit more and whispered, “I’m sure you would find it both educational and enjoyable.”