Anthony Horowitz - Necropolis

“Scott and I don’t like being apart,” Jamie said.

“I know that and I’m sorry,” Matt said. “It’s true that we’re stronger together. That’s why I want to stay in pairs. Two and two. If anything goes wrong in London, I’ll need someone to back us up.”

“So why not take Pedro?”

“Because Pedro doesn’t know London. He’s never been to England.”

“Nor have I.”

Matt sighed. “Jamie… if you really don’t like the idea, I’ll go on my own. I don’t mind doing that. I just don’t think we should all go. That’s all. I’m trying to do what’s best for everyone.”

“And since when did you get to tell everyone what they should do?” Scott demanded. “I thought we were meant to be equal. Who put you in charge?”

There was another long pause. Richard opened his mouth as if to say something, then changed his mind. The day was getting warmer as the sun climbed over the mountains, but the atmosphere right then was anything but. Matt looked across the lawn to the track that led back to the town of Nazca. He had been there a couple of days ago, kicking a football, waiting for Professor Chambers to get back from the shops. Now she was dead, her house was in ruins and the four of them were at each other’s throats. How could things have gone wrong so quickly?

“Scott, I don’t think…” Jamie began.

“Are you on his side?” Scott directed his anger at his brother.

“We’re all on the same side,” Matt cut in. “And if we turn against each other, we might as well give up.”

“You’ve never been on my side, Matt. You’ve never trusted me, not from the day I arrived here. Well, you go without me. You can all go without me. I don’t care.”

Scott got up angrily, knocking his chair over behind him. He didn’t even notice. He walked away in the direction of the house and disappeared through the front door. Nobody spoke. Then Jamie stood up. “I’m sorry, Matt,” he said. “I’ll go and talk to him. He’ll be all right.”

Jamie followed his brother. That just left Richard, Pedro and Matt. Richard poured out a glass of the lemonade. He offered it to Matt who shook his head. Richard drank it himself.

“Where do you want me to go?” Pedro asked. “I do not think it is good for us to stay here.”

Matt sighed. “I thought you’d go back to Vilcabamba with Tiso and the other Incas,” he said. “I was hoping you could spend a bit more time with Scott…” Pedro understood. Scott still needed help after his experiences as a prisoner of Nightrise.

“I do what I can,” he said. “But Scott has a lot of pain. There are things happening here…” He tapped the side of his head. “I do not understand.”

“You were nearly killed last night. He didn’t help you.”

“Yes. But he and Jamie are very close. Twins. Maybe it is not such a great idea to split them up.”

There didn’t seem anything more to say. Pedro collected the jug and the glasses and carried them in. Richard and Matt were left on their own.

“That went well,” Matt said, gloomily.

Richard finished his lemonade and set the glass down. “Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said. “We’re all feeling bad about last night, the death of Joanna. Jamie will talk to Scott. He knows you’re doing the best you can. They’ll work it out.”

“I hope so.”

“In just a week, you’ll be in Vilcabamba. All of you. You’ve got the diary now. And despite what happened last night, you all came out of it OK. None of you was badly hurt. I’m sure you’ve made the right decision, Matt. It’s all going to work out.”

But Matt wasn’t so sure. He twisted round and looked at the house, at the scorched wood, what was left of the roof, and suddenly he was aware that something was wrong, that it didn’t quite add up.

If Ramon had been able to find them so easily, why had it taken the Old Ones so long? And if they had wanted the diary back so badly, why hadn’t they sent a larger force? Matt had seen the sort of creatures the Old Ones had at their disposal. They had crawled out of the floor of the Nazca Desert… the armed soldiers, the giant animals, the hoards of shape-changers. But they hadn’t been there last night.

Was he making the right decision, splitting them up? Or was this what he was meant to do? Was he reacting to decisions that had already been made?

Later that afternoon, two cars came to the house. One would take Pedro and Scott to Arequipa, the famous “White City” in the south of Peru. They would have to stay there overnight before flying to Cuzco. Because of the thin air high up in the Andes, planes were only able to take off and land in the morning. Two of the Incas would go with them and then escort them up through the cloud forest to Vilcabamba.

Jamie, Richard and Matt had a shorter drive to Nazca airport where a private plane was already waiting to fly them up to Miami. They would wait in Miami until Matt’s new passport arrived and then they would cross the Atlantic to England. If things went well, they would only be apart for a few days.

Matt took one last look at the professor’s house. The town children would probably raid it in the next few days, stripping it of anything of value. He had been there for a long time. He had almost begun to think of it as his home but now it was nothing. Burned out. Broken. Empty.

Richard loaded their bags into the boot.

“Vilcabamba,” Matt said.

“Vilcabamba,” Pedro agreed.

The two of them shook hands. Scott and Jamie said nothing – but Matt knew that they were communicating even so.

It was all over very quickly. The four boys climbed into their different cars and went their separate ways.

In London, Scarlett Adams was trying to get back to her old life.

The doctors had decided there was nothing wrong with her. The police had asked more questions but had finally given up. Maybe she had suffered from amnesia. Maybe the whole thing about her disappearance had been a schoolgirl prank – but either way they had better things to do. Even the press had decided to leave her alone. A new president, a man called Charles Baker, had just been elected in the USA, and according to all the reports, there had been something strange about the way the votes had been counted. It was turning into a huge scandal and that left no room in the papers for a girl who had been missing for less than a day.

Just forty-eight hours after he had flown all the way to England, Paul Adams went back to Hong Kong.

Scarlett understood why he couldn’t stay with her. He had only recently started his new job, working in the legal department of a huge company involved, amongst other things, in the manufacture of computer equipment and software. It hadn’t made a good impression, shooting off to London at such short notice. He had to get back again.

Back to Nightrise.

Paul Adams took Scarlett out to dinner on his last night at home. The two of them went to a little Italian restaurant that he liked in Dulwich. He ordered half a bottle of wine for himself and a lemonade for her and the two of them sat facing each other trying to think of things to say. Paul was wearing expensive jeans and a jersey that didn’t really suit him. The truth was that he was only really comfortable in a jacket and tie. It was like a second skin to him. Maybe it was his age. He was forty-nine years old and he had been a lawyer for more than half that time, devoting his life to contracts, complicated reports and charts. It was hard to imagine what he had been like as a teenager.

“Are you going to be all right, Scarly?” he asked.

“Yes.” Scarlett nodded.

Neither of them had spoken very much about St Meredith’s. Paul Adams seemed to have accepted her story. She had fallen ill. She had forgotten whatever had happened. Scarlett wondered why she hadn’t confided in him. He had always been kind to her. Why was she lying to him now?