Anthony Horowitz - Raven_s Gate

“You’re a medium.”

“What?” Matt asked.

“Miss Ashwood talks to ghosts,” Richard explained. “Or that’s what she believes.”

“I talk to the dead in just the same way that I am talking to you now. And if you could hear them, you would know that there is a great upheaval in the spirit world. Terrible things are about to happen. Indeed they are already happening. That is what brought you here to my house.”

“What brought me to your house,” Richard said, “was the M62 motorway from Leeds. And it looks to me like I was wasting my time.” He stood up. “Let’s go, Matt!”

“If you leave this room without hearing what I have to say, you will be making the greatest mistake of your life.”

“That’s what you say!”

“You are involved in something bigger and more incredible than anything you could imagine. Like it or not, you have begun a journey without knowing it, and there can be no going back.”

“I’m going back right now,” Richard said.

“You can make light of it, but you have no idea what is happening. I feel sorry for you, Mr Cole. Because, you see, there are two worlds. The world you understand and the world you don’t. These worlds exist side by side, sometimes only centimetres apart, and the great majority of people spend their entire lives in one without being aware of the other. It’s like living on one side of a mirror: you think there is nothing on the other side until one day a switch is thrown and suddenly the mirror is transparent. You see the other side. That was what happened to you the day you heard about Raven’s Gate. Nothing can be the same for you any more. It’s as I say. You have begun a journey. You must continue to the end.”

“What exactly is Raven’s Gate?” Matt asked.

“I can’t tell you. I know how unreasonable it must sound, but you have to understand.” Miss Ashwood took a deep breath. “I belong to an organization,” she continued. “I suppose you might say we’re a secret society. But I’d put it another way. I’d say we were a society that looks after secrets.”

“You mean… like MI6?” Richard muttered.

“We call ourselves the Nexus, Mr Cole. And if you knew more about us, who we are, what we represent, perhaps you’d be a little less sarcastic. But as much as I want to, I can’t speak to you on my own. You have to come with me to London. There’s a man you must meet. His name is Professor Sanjay Dravid.”

“Dravid!” Matt knew the name. He’d heard it somewhere before.

“This is ridiculous,” Richard insisted. “Why do you have to drag us all the way to London? Why can’t you tell us what we want to know here and now?”

“Because I swore an oath that I would never talk about this with anyone. We all did. However, if you come with me to London, if you meet the Nexus, then we can help you. You want to learn about Raven’s Gate? We’ll tell you everything you want to know… and more.”

“And how much money will it cost us to join this Nexus?” Richard demanded.

Miss Ashwood sat upright in her chair and Matt could sense how angry she was. Her fists were clenched. When she spoke, her voice was utterly cold. “I know what you think of me,” she began. “You imagine I’m some sort of con artist. I sit in this house and I try to frighten people, to cheat them out of money. I call myself a psychic so I must be a fraud. I tell stories about ghosts and spirits, and weak, gullible people believe me.” She paused. “But the boy understands,” she continued. She turned to face Matt. “You believe me, don’t you, Matt? You know about magic. I felt your power the moment you came here. I have never felt such strength before.”

“Where is Professor Dravid?” Matt asked.

“In London. I told you. If you won’t come with me, at least give me your telephone number. Let him speak with you.”

“I’m not giving my number to anyone,” Richard said. “And I don’t care what you say, Miss Ashwood. We came here with a simple question. If you’re not going to give us an answer, we might as well leave.”

“Professor Dravid is at the Natural History Museum in South Kensington. That’s where you’ll find him.”

“Sure. We’ll send you a postcard.” Richard stood up and more or less dragged Matt out of the room.

The car was parked opposite the house. They got in and Richard searched in his pockets for the keys. Matt could see that he was rattled.

“Actually, a man called Dravid contacted me,” he said.

“What?”

“When I was at the library in Greater Malling. I was on the Internet and he popped up. You know… in a pop-up window.”

“What did he say?”

“I was doing a search on Raven’s Gate and he wanted to know why.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything.”

“Well you can forget about seeing him.” Richard had found the key. He started the car and they drove off. “We’re not going to London, Matt. I can’t believe I drove all the way here from York just to talk to a woman who was obviously out of her tree. You’re not going to tell me you believed her, are you?”

Matt looked back and watched as the house disappeared behind them. “I wonder…” he said.

The taxi dropped them off at the Natural History Museum in west London. Richard paid the fare.

“I don’t know how I let you talk me into this,” he said.

“I didn’t say anything,” Matt protested.

“You were the one who wanted to see Dravid.”

“You were the one who called him.”

It was true. When they had got back to York, Richard had checked Dravid out on the Internet. It turned out that the professor had an international reputation. Born in the Indian city of Madras, he had become a world expert on anthropology, ethnology, prehistory and a dozen other related areas. He had written books and presented television programmes. There were over a hundred web sites featuring his name, the most recent of which concerned an exhibition about dinosaurs. It was opening at the museum in less than a week’s time. Dravid had organized it and written the catalogue.

In the end Richard had decided to call him. He’d expected to be given the brush-off. Perhaps he’d even hoped that would happen. But Dravid had been eager to meet them. They’d made an appointment for the following day – at six o’clock, after the museum closed.

Matt examined the grand Victorian building. It looked like something out of a fairy tale with its terracotta and blue bricks, its Gothic towers and its menagerie of carved stone animals poking out of every nook and corner. There was a stream of people pouring out of the main entrance, down the curved walkways, past the line of wrought-iron lamps and on to the lawns on either side.

“Let’s go in,” Richard said.

They went up to the gate, where a security guard stood, blocking their way. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “You’re too late for today…”

“We have an appointment with Professor Dravid,” Richard told him.

“Professor Dravid? Yes, sir. Of course. You can ask at the enquiries desk.”

They climbed the steps and went in. There were certainly plenty of dinosaurs. As Matt entered the museum he was greeted by the black skull of a huge creature. The skull was at the end of an elongated neck, suspended from an arch that swept over the entrance. He looked around him. The dinosaur skeleton was the centrepiece in a vast hall which – with its many arches, its glass and steel roof, its broad staircase and mosaic floor – looked like a cross between a cathedral and a railway station.

They went to the enquiries desk, which, like the rest of the museum, was just closing.

“My name is Richard Cole. I’m here to see Professor Dravid.”