Lauren Child - Take Your Last Breath

‘Darn it!’ said Ruby. ‘The clasp is all bent so it keeps coming loose. I told them to fix it.’

‘Told who?’ asked the housekeeper.

‘Um… the fixers,’ said Ruby. She was being cagey because this watch was no ordinary watch; it was a Spectrum-issue Escape watch (also known to agents as the Rescue watch) and had once belonged to the wonder kid, Bradley Baker. It was a clever piece of kit: it looked like nothing more than a child’s watch, but this timepiece, though old and not the latest in terms of spy gear, was still a gadget to be reckoned with. It had saved more than a few lives in its time. It had a brightly striped strap and an interesting clasp. The second hand was a fly and the watch face itself was coloured enamel, painted with cartoon eyes. The eyes followed the hands as they ticked tirelessly round. Spectrum had repaired the malfunctioning rescue features, but had neglected to fix the faulty clasp so it was always coming loose.

Ruby took the watch and fastened it round her wrist, making sure that the clasp clicked home.

‘Well,’ said Mrs Digby, ‘mind you fix it or you’ll be sorry. A stitch in time saves nine is what I always say.’

The housekeeper popped the sandwiches on plates and slid them across the countertop like she was a short-order chef.

Ruby and Clancy were sitting at high stools still chatting about dolphins and sharks. They paused their conversation only to convey their appreciation, picked up their plates and made their way to the living room. Mrs Digby nodded and started chopping up vegetables ready for the evening meal.

Both kids flopped down on the floor and, propping themselves on their elbows, tackled their snacks. Ruby reached for the remote and flicked on the TV set. Clancy gave directions through mouthfuls of Digby Club.

‘Try channel three,’ he urged. ‘No, wait a minute, seven. Nah, maybe try nine.’

Ruby looked at him. ‘You wanna stop barking orders and do it yourself?’

‘Nah, you’re doing great. What’s on eleven?’

They finally settled on some lame show about a seal who solved crimes with his seal’s sixth sense. The seal narrated at the beginning and the end of each episode which made it all the more unbelievable. It was pretty bad, but Clancy and Ruby didn’t mind that. They kind of liked bad shows, almost as much as they relished good ones – there was nothing as enjoyable as ripping a truly terrible show to shreds.

‘Oh, like that would ever happen!’ Clancy would say whenever anything super stupid occurred in the plot. And Ruby was very fond of exclaiming, ‘Yeah, right, I totally would go out in the dark alone if there was a psychopath on the loose.’

Watching this ‘seal’ show was providing them with ample opportunity to make a whole lot of wise remarks. Splasher – the seal of the show’s title – was busy listening to a conversation that some villainous-looking types were having on the harbour wall, and he was getting pretty distressed by what he heard.

Clancy was killing himself laughing. ‘Can you believe this show!’ he squealed.

Bug, hearing the commotion, bounded into the room, stepping on the remote, changing the channel to the local news station.

The words BREAKING NEWS flashed up on the screen and a wind-blown reporter was standing on Twinford beach talking into the camera.

‘IT HAS JUST COME TO LIGHT THAT THE BODY OF A DIVER HAS WASHED UP ON TWINFORD BAY BEACH.’

Ruby and Clancy sat up.

‘IT IS NOT YET KNOWN HOW THE VICTIM DIED, BUT IT WOULD APPEAR THAT HE WAS JUST AN UNFORTUNATE CASUALTY OF THE SEA’S UNPREDICTABILITY. ALL WE CAN TELL YOU IS THAT THE DECEASED IS MALE AND OF AVERAGE BUILD.’

‘Like I was saying,’ said Clancy, letting out a long breath, ‘the ocean is a dan-ger-ous place.’

Meanwhile,

somewhere off the

coast of Twinford…

It was a glittering day, and it seemed that most of Twinford’s glitteringly wealthy were on-board Freddie and Marjorie Humbert’s sixty-foot yacht, the Golden Albatross.

‘Isn’t this just one hundred per cent perfect?’ said Sabina Redfort, smiling.

‘More than that,’ said Brant Redfort. ‘It’s at least two hundred per cent perfect!’

‘Perfect is perfect,’ said Ambassador Crew. ‘No more, no less.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Sabina. ‘It’s double perfect.’

Ambassador Crew rolled his eyes heavenwards. He found the Redforts very agreeable company, but frustratingly dim. Just how Brant Redfort had ever got into Stanton University he could not imagine.

It was the invitation of the season: a mini cruise around the Twinford coast, sailing the passengers as far as the Sibling Islands, taking in sights most Twinfordites rarely if ever got to see. It had been set up by the Twinford Historical Society, which for the first time in twenty years had had to turn away applicants – its membership having swelled threefold as soon as it was discovered that the trip involved ten days on-board the Humberts’ luxury vessel.

‘Isn’t it wonderful to see just how many people are actually interested in history?’ said Sabina.

‘Might have something to do with this million-dollar yacht we’re on,’ replied Ambassador Crew. He was a very cynical person.

‘Why, is it old?’ asked Brant. ‘Gee, I didn’t know it was of historical interest.’

‘Give me strength,’ muttered the Ambassador under his breath.

Dora Shoering was giving a series of lectures on the facts, myths and legends relating to smuggling, piracy and long-lost treasure. The facts, it had to be admitted, were few and far between, but no one much minded as it was naturally a glamorous affair and everyone was having an elegant time.

Along with Brant and Sabina Redfort, the guest list included Barbara and Ed Bartholomew, Mr and Mrs Gruemeister and their bothersome dog, Pookie. However, Mrs Crew had declined the invitation due to a horrible problem with seasickness and the Sibling waters were notorious for their restless currents.

Dora Shoering, a self-proclaimed intellectual who had almost attended Berklard as a student, gave a fascinating, if not entirely accurate, series of talks, but it was that Sunday afternoon’s lecture that sparked most chatter.

‘Fascinating,’ said Sabina. ‘I just love the story of the lost treasure of Twinford. Of course, much of it I knew already, because you see it was my ancestor’s treasure that was lost. Did you all know that?’

The others did know this, because Sabina had not stopped repeating it all through the lecture – how her great-great-great-grandmother Eliza Fairbank (she wasn’t sure how many greats) had been lost at sea off Twinford on the way to South America along with all her gems and rubies; only her little daughter Martha survived.

‘Utterly gripping,’ said Marjorie Humbert. ‘Wouldn’t it be divine if it were true?’

‘But there is every possibility that it is true,’ said Dora. ‘Though it has never been proved one way or the other.’

‘Why did no one look for it?’ asked Brant.

‘Well, of course they did,’ Dora replied. ‘But they never found a thing. Plus, they had a few other concerns.’

‘Such as?’ asked Ambassador Crew.

‘A giant sea monster,’ replied Dora. ‘It was said it guarded the treasure, sat on it, they say, and no one could ever retrieve the gems from its razor-sharp talons.’

‘Talons?’ spat the Ambassador. ‘You’re saying that this sea creature was an aquatic eagle-bird?’

Dora looked uneasy: she had made up the bit about the talons. ‘Or crab claws, no one knows,’ she said hurriedly.

Ambassador Crew couldn’t help but display his utter pity for anyone who would believe such total garbage, but the rest of the party was electric with excitement.