Anthony Horowitz - Raven_s Gate

“He died – but his body disappeared.”

“Yes.”

There was a brief silence and in that moment Matt knew it had been a waste of his time. The journalist had been making notes when he started talking but after a while he had stopped. He glanced at the notepad, at the half-empty page with a doodle of a dog and a flea at the bottom. It was obvious that Richard hadn’t believed a word he’d said.

“How old are you?” Richard asked.

“Fourteen.”

“Do you watch a lot of TV?”

“There is no TV at Hive Hall.”

Richard thought for a moment. “You never told me how you got there,” he said. “You just said that this woman – Jayne Deverill – is looking after you.”

That was the one part of the story that Matt had left out: the wounding of the security guard and his involvement with the LEAF Project. He knew that if he told the journalist who he was, he would end up on the front page of the Gazette… but for all the wrong reasons. It was the last thing he wanted.

“Where are your parents?” Richard asked.

“I don’t have any,” Matt said. “They died six years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Matt shrugged. “I’ve got used to it,” he said, although he never had.

“Well, look…” Richard was less certain now. Either he felt sorry for Matt and didn’t want to say what he was about to say. Or he was simply trying to find a nicer way to say it. “I’m sorry, Matt. But everything you’ve told me is complete…”

“What?”

“Crap. Lanes that loop round in circles. Strange looks from the villagers! Farmers that are dead one minute and disappear the next! I mean, what do you expect me to say? I know I said I wanted a story. But I didn’t mean a fairy story!”

“What about the lights in the power station?”

“OK. Yes. I’ve heard about Omega One. It was built about fifty years ago as a sort of prototype… before they built nuclear power stations in other parts of the country. But they shut it down before I was born. There’s nothing there now. It’s just an empty shell.”

“An empty shell that Tom Burgess was guarding.”

“That’s what you say. But you don’t know for sure.”

“He knew something. And he was killed.”

There was a long silence.

Richard threw down his pen. It rolled around the table and came to rest next to the notepad. “You seem like a nice kid, Matt,” he said. “But the police came and there was nothing there and maybe, just maybe, you sort of imagined the whole thing.”

“I imagined a dead body? I imagined the words written on the wall?”

“Raven’s Gate? I’ve never heard of Raven’s Gate.”

“Well, if you haven’t heard of it, it obviously can’t exist!” Matt snapped sarcastically. Once again he was angry. “All right, Mr Cole. I can see I wasted my time coming here. It’s like you say. Nothing ever happens in Lesser Malling. But I get the feeling that if it did happen, you wouldn’t notice. I don’t know what I’ve got myself involved in, but everything I’ve told you is true and, to be honest, I’m getting scared. So maybe one day, when I turn up floating face down in a local river, you might decide it’s worth investigating. And I’m telling you now, I won’t have died of bad eyesight.”

Matt got up and stalked out of the conference room, slamming the door behind him. The frizzy-haired girl was climbing the stairs and she looked at him, surprised. He ignored her. Coming to the newspaper had been completely pointless. He still had two hours until the bus left for York. It was time to work out how to get enough money to pay for the fare.

He burst out on to Farrow Street and stopped.

There was a car parked in front of him, blocking the entrance. A Land Rover. He recognized it even before he saw Noah sitting in the front seat, his hands resting on the wheel. The back door opened and Mrs Deverill got out. She looked angry. Her eyes were ablaze and her skin seemed to have tightened. Although she was only two or three inches taller than Matt, she loomed over him as she stepped forward.

“What are you doing, Matthew?” she demanded.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked.

“I think you’d better come back with us, my dear. You’ve already caused quite enough trouble for one day.”

“I don’t want to come with you.”

“I don’t think you have any choice.”

Matt thought of refusing. She couldn’t force him into the car, not right in front of a newspaper office in a busy market town. But suddenly he felt exhausted. Mrs Deverill was right. He didn’t even have enough money for a bus. He had nowhere to go. What else could he do?

He got into the car.

Mrs Deverill climbed in after him, closing the door.

Noah rammed the car into gear and the three of them set off.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon and night was closing in once again. Mrs Deverill had lit a fire. She was sitting in front of the burning logs with a knitted shawl on her shoulders and Asmodeus curled up on her lap. To look at, she could have been anybody’s grandmother. Even the portrait of her ancestor seemed more friendly than usual. The hair was neater. The eyes were perhaps a little less cruel. Matt was standing in the doorway.

“I think you and I need to have a talk, Matthew,” she said. “Why don’t you sit down?”

She gestured at the armchair opposite her. Matt hesitated, then sat down. Six hours had passed since she had found him in Greater Malling. There had been no work that afternoon. The two of them had eaten dinner together in silence. And now this.

“You and I don’t seem to quite understand each other,” Mrs Deverill began. Her voice was soft and reasonable. “I get the feeling that you’re against me. I don’t know why. I haven’t hurt you. You’re living in my house. You’re eating my food. What exactly is wrong?”

“I don’t like it here,” Matt replied simply.

“You’re not meant to like it. You were sent here as a punishment, not because you deserved a holiday. Or maybe you’ve forgotten that.”

“I want to go back to London.”

“Is that what you told the people in Greater Malling? The people at the newspaper? Just what did you tell them?”

“The truth.”

A log collapsed in the hearth and a flurry of sparks leapt up. Asmodeus purred and Mrs Deverill reached down, running a single finger down the animal’s back.

“You shouldn’t have gone there. I don’t like journalists and I don’t like newspapers. Busying themselves in other people’s affairs. What were you thinking of, Matthew! Telling stories about me, about the village… It won’t do you any good. Did they believe you?” Matt didn’t answer. Mrs Deverill drew a breath and tried to smile, but the hardness never left her eyes. “Did you tell them about Tom Burgess?” she asked.

“Yes.” There was no point denying it.

“Well, that’s precisely the point I’m trying to make. First you get the police involved. Yes… I heard what happened from Miss Creevy. And when that doesn’t work, you go running to the press. And all the time you’re completely mistaken. You actually have no idea what’s going on.”

“I know what I saw!”

“I don’t think you do,” Mrs Deverill replied. “In a way, it’s my own fault. I got you to clean out the pigs and I didn’t realize… Some of the chemicals we use are very strong. They have a way of getting up your nose and into your brain. An adult like Noah can cope with it. Of course, he didn’t have much brain to begin with. But a young boy like yourself…”

“What are you saying?” Matt demanded. “Are you saying I imagined what I saw?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. I think you’ve probably been imagining all sorts of things since you arrived here. But don’t worry. You’re never going to have to clean out the pigs again. At least, not with disinfectant. From now on, you’re going to use only soap and water.”