Anthony Horowitz - Raven_s Gate

Why did she have a photograph of him in her wardrobe? How had she got her hands on a secret police report? And what did the death of his parents mean to her? It was a horrible thought but he wondered if Mrs Deverill had known about him before he had been introduced to her by the LEAF Project. In which case, could she have in some way chosen him? But that would suggest that she had been planning whatever was going on in Lesser Malling for years and years, and that he had always somehow been part of it.

Well, to hell with the whole lot of them, Matt thought. His aunt, his social worker, Mallory, Mrs Deverill… He had been pushed around for too long. It was time to start looking after himself. He might be able to get a job in a kitchen or a bed and breakfast. He looked old for his age. Grimly, he pushed down on the pedals, urging the old bike forward. He checked his watch again. Two o’clock in the morning! He was surprised so much time had passed since he left the farm.

There was a crossroads coming up ahead of him. Matt slowed down, free-wheeling the last few metres. He looked around him. There was a choice of five directions and a broken signpost without any names. It took him half a minute to work out where he was. Somehow, the lane he had chosen had brought him round in a big circle. He was back exactly where he had begun.

Matt was annoyed with himself. He had wasted time and precious energy. Mrs Deverill might have got back to Hive Hall. She would have found the cat under the basket and checked Matt’s room. Perhaps she had already called the police.

Gritting his teeth, Matt chose one of the other lanes and pedalled forward again. He was beginning to wish he had waited until the morning. No. He would have been set to work on the farm and, between them, Noah and Mrs Deverill always had him in their sight. He concentrated on his rhythm, left foot then right foot, listening to the bicycle chain as it groaned and creaked underneath him. The trees rolled by endlessly. About another twenty minutes passed. Matt was strong and he was fit again after his illness. There was a dull ache in his legs but otherwise he was fine. The road turned a corner.

He stopped.

He was back at the crossroads. It was impossible. The lane he had been following had run straight and he must have covered at least two miles. He gazed at the broken signpost with disbelief. It was the same signpost. There could be no doubt of it.

Now he was angry. For this to happen once was unfortunate. But twice! It was stupid. He jerked the bike round and set off down the fifth lane, the one furthest away. He cycled more quickly this time, using his anger to lend himself strength. The night breeze rushed over his shoulders, cooling the sweat on the side of his head. A cloud covered the moon and suddenly everything was very dark. But Matt didn’t slow down. The cloud separated and he lurched to a halt, unable to believe what was happening.

The fifth lane had somehow become the first lane. They had looped him back to the start. The broken signpost stood there, mocking him.

Very well. He set off back the way he had come, passing Hive Hall. This lane had to go somewhere different. He cycled past the gate as quickly as he could. There were no lights visible at the end of the drive, so maybe Mrs Deverill wasn’t back yet after all. The lane climbed steeply uphill – but that was good. A hill was something different. None of the other lanes had gone up or down. Matt no longer really cared where he was going, he just wanted to find a main road. He was fed up with the wood, fed up with country lanes.

He reached the top of the hill and stopped. For the first time he was really afraid. He had been cycling for the best part of an hour yet he still hadn’t found a way out.

He was back at the crossroads where he had begun.

Matt was breathing heavily. His hands were clutching the handlebars so hard that the blood couldn’t reach his fingers. He stopped there for a moment, considering his options. He didn’t really have any. Either the night was playing tricks on him or something was happening that he didn’t understand. But now he knew that he wouldn’t get anywhere, even if he cycled all night.

He would just have to take his chances with Mrs Deverill. He turned the bike round and pedalled slowly back to the farm.

“He was in my room last night,” Mrs Deverill said. She was talking on the telephone. The receiver was old-fashioned and heavy, made of black Bakelite. A thick wire coiled out of her hand. “I think he found the photographs.”

“It was a mistake keeping them there.”

“Perhaps. But there’s something else I’m worried about. Matthew is stronger than he was when he first came here. I think he may be starting to work things out. I don’t like having him here. If you ask me, we’ve got a tiger by the tail. We should deal with him before it’s too late.”

It was a man’s voice at the other end of the phone. He spoke in a way that was very cold and deliberate. He had an educated voice. Perhaps he was a headmaster in an expensive private school. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“Lock him up. There’s a crypt in the church. We could put him in there, underground, somewhere nobody would find him. It’s only for a few more weeks. And then we’ll be done with him.”

“No.” The single word was final. “Right now the boy thinks he’s ordinary. He has no idea of who or what he is. Bury him alive and you could actually help him discover himself. And what happens if the police or his social worker come calling? How will you explain where he is?”

“Suppose he escapes…”

“You know he can’t escape. We have him contained. There’s nothing he can do. And very soon we’ll be ready for him. All you have to do is watch him. Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere in the yard.”

“Watch him, Mrs Deverill. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

There was a click and the line went dead. Mrs Deverill weighed the phone in one hand, then lowered it. “Asmodeus!” she called.

The cat, sitting on the arm of a chair on the other side of the room, opened one eye and looked at her.

“You heard what he said,” she snapped. “The boy…”

The cat leapt off the chair. With no effort, it sprang up on to a windowsill and then out of the window. Outside, Noah walked past, pushing a wheelbarrow piled high with manure. The cat ran past him and continued up the lane. A moment later it had disappeared from sight.

Matt stood at the edge of the wood, looking down a tunnel of trees. The bicycle lay on its side on a grassy verge beside the road. Five minutes had passed since he had slipped past Noah and made his way out of Hive Hall. But he still couldn’t make up his mind.

Once again he was tempted to find his way to London. He must have been confused the night before. He had been unable to see where he was going and had somehow missed his way. But an inner voice warned not to try navigating the lanes again. He didn’t want to waste any more time going round in circles, and anyway, there was another way out of this. The LEAF Project was supposed to be voluntary. A single phone call to Detective Superintendent Mallory was all it would take to get him out of this nightmare.

But before he did that, he wanted to know more. What were the sounds he had heard the night before? What was going on in the wood? There was only one way to find out.

Matt had pinpointed the spot from which he thought he saw the light coming. It had to be somewhere in front of him now. And yet he was unwilling to step off the road. It wasn’t because of the story Mrs Deverill had told him – he doubted there was any chance of his wandering into a bog. It was the wood itself that scared him: its unnaturalness, the uncompromising lines. Nature wasn’t meant to grow like this. How could he possibly find his way when every pine tree looked the same, when there were no hillocks, plants or streams to act as landmarks? And there was something else. The corridors between the trees seemed to go on for ever, stretching into a shadowy universe of their own. The darkness was waiting for him. He was like a fly on the edge of a huge web.