Anthony Horowitz - Raven_s Gate

They drove through the night for half a mile without speaking. The car was filled with the smell of the bog. Water was dripping out of Matt’s clothes, on to the seat and on to the floor. Richard pulled a face and opened the window. “So, do you mind telling me what that was all about?” he demanded.

Matt didn’t know where to begin. “I think something is happening in Lesser Malling,” he said.

Richard nodded. “I think you could be right.”

Richard Cole lived in the very centre of York. He had rented a flat above a souvenir shop in one of the city’s most famous medieval streets: a pretty, cobbled passageway called The Shambles. The flat was arranged over three floors, a series of oddly shaped rooms piled on top of each other like children’s building bricks. A kitchen and a living room took up the first floor. Then, above, there was a bedroom and a shower. And finally a narrow flight of steps twisted round to a spare room built into the roof.

The place was in a shambles itself. All the furniture looked as if it had been rescued from a skip – as indeed much of it had. There were old clothes everywhere, unwashed plates piled high in the sink, CDs, books, magazines and half-written articles shuffled together in a way that would surely make it impossible to find anything. The walls were covered with posters, mainly old American films. Richard’s laptop was on the kitchen table, next to a box of Weetabix, a half-eaten can of baked beans with the fork still sticking out, and two pieces of very cold toast.

Matt had felt awkward as they climbed to the first floor and it was worse now that he was in the flat itself. He was very aware that he stank. Richard left him in the kitchen and came back with a large towel.

“We can talk later,” he said. “Right now you need a shower. And we’ll have to get rid of those clothes.”

“Have you got a washing machine?”

“Are you kidding? The washing machine hasn’t been built that could handle all that muck. They can go in the bin and we’ll buy you some more tomorrow. I’ll find you some of mine to wear in the meantime.” Richard pointed upstairs. “You’ll find the shower easily enough. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Well there’s no food in the house. I’ll go out and get something while you get changed.”

Half an hour later the two of them were sitting in the living room, surrounded by Chinese food from the takeaway at the end of the street. Matt had spent twenty minutes in the shower, only coming out when he had washed away all traces of the bog. He was now wearing an old York University T-shirt with a towel wrapped round his waist and nothing on his feet. He hadn’t been aware how hungry he was until he had begun eating. Now he was feeling stuffed.

“Nice place,” he said, looking around.

“I was lucky to get it,” Richard said. “It’s very cheap. Not that I’m here very much. I normally eat at the pub…”

“Do you live on your own?”

“I had a girlfriend until about a week ago. Unfortunately she took a liking to classical music.”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“Now she’s going out with an opera singer.” Richard went to the fridge and took out a can of beer. “You want anything to drink?”

“I’m all right.” There was a brief silence while Richard sat down again. Matt knew that they both had a lot to explain. “How did you find me tonight?” he asked.

Richard shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. After you left the office, I thought about some of the things you’d said. It all sounded pretty stupid, to tell the truth. But there were parts of your story… Well, I couldn’t get them out of my head. And I had nothing else to do.”

“So you went to look at Omega One?”

“Let’s just say I happened to be passing.”

“You knew where it was?”

Richard nodded. “The man who built it still lives in York. He was a scientific adviser to the government back in the sixties but he’s retired now. Name of Michael Marsh.”

“Did you meet him?”

“About six months ago. He got a knighthood from the Queen and I had to do a story about him. He’s an unbelievably boring man. Lives in a big house near the river. He collects matchbox labels. If the worst comes to the worst, I may give him a call and we can go and see him. He may be able to help.”

“So you decided to visit Omega One in the middle of the night…”

“It was on the way home from the pub. What’s the big deal? I was near by so I thought I’d drive past. And then I heard someone shouting for help and that was how I found you.”

“That’s not possible.” Matt thought back. “I didn’t shout for help.”

“I heard you.”

“I may have yelled once. But I didn’t even hear your car. You were suddenly just there.”

“Maybe you shouted without realizing it, Matt. I mean, you were panicking. You were probably out of your mind. I know I would have been.”

“How fast were you driving?”

“About fifty. I don’t know.”

“Were the car windows open?”

“No.”

“Then even if I had shouted, how could you have heard my voice? It’s not possible.”

“You have a point,” Richard admitted. “But then how do you explain that I swerved off the road in exactly the right place and came straight to you?”

“I can’t,” Matt said, in a quiet voice.

“Look, I heard someone. All right? I pulled over and there you were, up to your neck in-” He broke off. “You’re just lucky I hadn’t decided to stay for another pint. But now you’re here, maybe you should tell me a bit more about yourself.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t even know your full name. You say your parents are dead but you never told me how you ended up living with this woman… Mrs Deverill.” Matt looked away. “You might as well tell me now,” Richard went on. “It might help me work out what we’re going to do.”

“Are you going to put me in the newspaper?”

“That’s the general idea.”

Matt shook his head. “You can forget it. I don’t want anyone writing about me. I don’t want anyone to know about my life.”

“I think you’re forgetting something, Matt. You were the one who came to me. You told me you had a story…”

“I needed your help.”

“Well, maybe we need each other.”

“I don’t want to be in the papers.”

“Then you shouldn’t be in my flat.” Richard put down his can of beer. “All right,” he said. “That’s not fair. I’m not going to throw you out. Not tonight, anyway. But to be honest with you, I don’t really need a fourteen-year-old in my life. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Tell me your story and I promise I won’t publish it until you say.

OK?”

“That’ll never happen,” Matt replied. But he nodded. “All right.”

Richard reached for a notebook and a pen, just as he had when they first met at the newspaper office. He sat, waiting.

“I don’t really know where to start,” Matt said. “But since you asked, my full name is Matthew Freeman. I was sent to stay with Mrs Deverill because of something called the LEAF Project.”

“The LEAF Project?” Richard had heard the name before. “Isn’t that one of the government’s big ideas? Some sort of crazy scheme for dealing with juvenile offenders?”

“That’s right. That’s what I am. I was arrested for breaking into a warehouse. A man got stabbed.”

“You stabbed him?”

“No. But I was there when it happened. I was to blame.” Matt paused. “Maybe now you won’t be so keen to help me.”

“Why not? I don’t give a damn what you’ve done. I just want to know why you did it.” Richard sighed. “Why don’t you try starting at the beginning? You may find it easier.”