Dan and the Caverns of Bone

by Thomas Taylor

  ‘Crapsticks… cof!’

  The sound of the collapsing wall echoes round the chamber. Absurdly, even though my nose is being pressed into the shingle, my attention is caught by something white in the air above. It’s the paper plane, still looping around in the cavern.

  Then there are footsteps running towards us.

  In a flash, Baz leaps up. For a moment I think he’s after Brian again, but then I realise it’s not that. By the time Commander Lavache has burst into the chamber with the two policemen, Frenchy and the rest of my class just behind, Baz is standing innocently in a corner, pointing at me like he’s shocked by the terrible mess I’ve made.

  Lavache strides towards me as I lie in a heap of skeletal ruin, his face a mask of outrage. But before he can say anything, before anyone can do anything at all, something completely unexpected happens.

  Remember Brian’s plane? Well, it finally runs out of zoom and stops looping around. It levels gracefully and comes in for landing.

  Right into Commander Lavache’s left eye.

  In any other circumstances this would be hilarious. But it looks as if even desecration of a monument to the dead is not as serious as poking a French police chief in the eye with fancy paper engineering. I swear, Lavache is almost purple with fury as he snatches the dart and looks wildly about with the other eye.

  ‘Ooo…. ooo…?’ he splutters, a vein throbbing on his forehead. ‘Oo is it oo ’as done zis?’

  Thing is, when it comes to paper planes, everybody knows oo it is oo ’as done zis.

  ‘Brian Cabbidge!’ shrieks Frenchy Phelps, who leaps forward and grabs Bri by the ear. ‘You and your idiot paper folding! Look what you’ve done!’

  Then, while Brian is still opening and shutting his mouth – no doubt in the hope that something clever will come out to save the situation – one of the policemen grabs him too, and he is marched over to Lavache. The Commander, his hand over his left eye, screws the plane into a ball. Just as Bri looks like he’s finally going to speak, Lavache proceeds to demolish him with a torrent of horrible-sounding French. I get to my feet, but everyone seems to have forgotten about me in their eagerness to pour anger and derision onto poor Bri. And all the time, Baz looks on.

  ‘Hur hur hur.’

  Then the Commander announces that ’zis vis-eet is over!’ and Brian is led away. Only once does he look up. He catches my eye and gives me a look of despair. Then he’s gone. The rest of us are ushered out past the spilt bones in silence.

  I’m about to head for the exit too, musing on how spectacularly badly my attempt to help Brian has gone, when a big beefy hand grabs me by the shoulder and spins me round.

  ‘That was classic, that was!’ says Baz. ‘But before I forget…’

  He reaches up, removes my new purple specs, and grinds them into the shingle floor.

  ‘Aw, don’t look so down, spooky boy,’ Baz says, before I can speak. He gives me a pretend hug that knocks all the air out of my lungs once again. ‘The best is yet to come, eh?’

  Then he lopes off like an ogre who’s late for a ballet class.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I call after him, but all I get in reply is ‘hur hur hur’ echoing back down the corridor. And I have no choice but to follow it.

  Well, it’s all about as bad as it can be for poor Bri. What was I thinking of, trying to deal with Baz with brawn instead of brain? And what exactly did Baz mean by ‘the best is yet to come’. What best?

  I’ve got a nervy back-of-the-mind feeling that this disaster isn’t over yet, that I’ve missed something important.

  Back upstairs, we can’t leave straight away though – there’s a queue at the exit. I join it and glance down the line of kids, wondering what the hold-up is. There are more policemen ahead, and beside them, on a desk, is a red velvet cushion with something on it.

  It’s a small pile of bones.

  And everyone is having their pockets and bags searched.

  ‘People actually steal them?’ I say out loud. But then I already knew that, didn’t I? How else would Luci and her friends have so many skull candle holders around? It’s kind of weird, though, isn’t it, stealing bones? And that’s when – as I reach the head of the queue myself – I understand with a turn to the stomach what Baz meant by ‘the best is yet to come’.

  I try to slip back down the corridor, but it’s no good. Everyone can see I’m next and there’s nowhere to hide. A policeman’s beckoning me over. Baz has got me good and proper this time.

  The shoulders sag. I don’t even wait to be searched.

  I reach into my coat pocket, pull something out and hand it over.

  It’s an arm bone, one of the ones that got knocked to the ground when Baz torpedoed me into the wall.

  And what’s the French for ‘I didn’t put it there, Honest! It was the class bully, when he pretended to give me a hug!’?

  No, I don’t know either.

  A gloved hand grabs me by the coat and then I’m outside at last, blinking in the sun, being marched toward Brian who is cowering beside a police van. Commander Lavache, holding a hanky over his left eye, lays off shouting at Bri when he sees me coming, but when he hears what was found in my pocket he erupts like Mount Indignant once again.

  Phelps makes a pathetic attempt to intervene, but he can’t get a French word in edgeways, and just sags beside us. All the while crowds of tourists look on amused, as if half-expecting the guillotine to be trundled out so that le Commandant can deal with us all for good.

  And Baz? Well, he’s at the front of the crowd, with his ape’s grin all over his face.

  But then I spot someone I recognise amongst the tourists and rubberneckers. It’s the Sunglasses Kid, the one I saw at Lucifane’s place. He’s moving towards us, slipping through the crowds with his hands in his pockets, a rainbow of coloured specs dotted about him as before.

  He manages to get alongside me now that the commander has turned his full fury onto Frenchy. He leans in and hands me a pair of purple specs with an expression that says ‘you get through a lot of these, don’t you?’.

  I smile my thanks and slip the glasses on. The kid stays there, nodding, so I raise my eyebrows to ask if I’m forgiven for what happened at the squat last night.

  The kid shrugs, but in such a way that I understand ‘yes’. And I like this non-verbal communication – it’s much better than trying to speak French. So I throw out a big fat shrug of my own, arranging my hands to ask if I’ll be welcome round there again.

  Something lopsided that could almost be a smile briefly appears beneath the kid’s fringe. Then he points a snapping finger at me and slides back into the crowd as if he’s on wheels.

  I like this kid.

  And by now I’ve completely screened out the shrieking policeman, Baz’s laughter and the general rubbishness of this whole situation.

  Because – if I’ve understood that last gesture correctly – it looks like I’ve got a date.

  8

  Death by a Thousand Cheekbones

  In the end it couldn’t have worked out better for me. I’m in so much disgrace that I’m basically under house arrest at the hotel until we go home in a few days. And according to Frenchy, I’ll be missing ‘all the fun’ – no Eiffel Tower, no river trip, no Louvre for me, and serve me right! But I think he’s mostly just cross because his I’m-so-French routine got seriously dented by a mob of laughing tourists and a furious chief of police. I don’t care though – being kept in means I’ll have no trouble getting back to the squat.

  It’s Brian I’m worried about. He’s in the dog house too, which should mean I can keep an eye on him till we get home. Only now, as we sit in the lobby of Hotel Cafards, he’ll hardly talk to me at all.

  ‘Hey, I was doing my best, Bri.’

  A small, glistening eye peers out at me from under his arms.

  ‘It’s all your fault!’ he squeaks. ‘You said I should keep on making my planes, that I shouldn’t let Baz intimidate me. But now look!’


  ‘I didn’t mean you should make one under his nose, you numpty!’ I say back. ‘I just meant…’

  But Brian’s head has vanished again. His shoulders heave.

  ‘I’ll never make another plane again,’ comes the muffled voice. ‘Ever! Thanks to you!’

  I sigh. I really don’t have time for all this now. And I can’t help noticing that the hotel receptionist and that monstrous porter are staring in my direction. There’s a steady thump of next door’s music again, and my mind goes to Luci. I dodge out of sight, help myself to an apple and half a baguette from the dining room, and stroll back up to my room.

  Where Simon is waiting.

  ‘Well, Daniel? Did you have an eventful morning?’

  ‘Nah.’ I say, avoiding his eye. ‘Cept, yeah, hold on – I saw Jojo’s ghost again. Down in the catacombs.’ And I give Si a quick summary of that small part of the morning’s fiasco.

  ‘Then you are right, Daniel – the barricaded door in the squat must communicate with the catacombs. T’is a pity we cannot go back and ask Lucifane some more questions.’

  ‘Cool it, Si,’ I say, taking a bite from my apple. ‘As soon as the sun goes down, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.’

  It’s evening and dark again, and Si and me are creeping over the roof of the squat. I’ve had to wait till later than I’d wanted, but as far as I can tell the rest of my classmates are in bed now.

  ‘Why is young Brian looking so downcast, Daniel?’

  ‘Is he?’ I say.

  I see that the skylight has been left open, so I slide down the ladder before Si can ask any awkward questions. I land, once again, in the empty top floor room of the squat.

  Where everything is silent.

  No music, no dance noise, and so dark I can barely see in front of me. But there is a glow beyond the door. I creep forward, trying not to creak the floorboards.

  At the top of the stairs, the skull I saw yesterday is still there, a newly lit candle dribbling wax into its eye sockets. I feel a bit differently about it now I know where it’s come from. I tiptoe past and begin my descent.

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ Simon says, whispering though he doesn’t need to. ‘We didn’t exactly make a good impression on Lucifane last night.’

  ‘Si, just relax and let me handle her, yeah?’

  ‘But…’

  ‘But nothing. Now shush.’

  More candles lead straight down to the big room where the party was. Today, there’s just a strong atmosphere of incense and silent anticipation. I push the door open and pop my head round.

  And there she is, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, a skull candle to either side. Her dark eyes don’t leave me as I edge into the room, trying not to look like I’m half ready to run, even though I am. Behind her – lounging in chairs or leaning on walls – are the rest of them, watching me too, their eyes sparkling in the candlelight. Among them is the Sunglasses Kid.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, hoping to strike a professional tone. I keep the grin switched off for now though – it might not be the moment.

  ‘So, you come back,’ says Lucifane.

  ‘I think you need my help. Or at least, Jojo does.’

  At the mention of the name, a rustle of movement and murmuring rolls round the room. One or two of the kids look ready to leap up and rush at me, but Luci lifts her hand for silence.

  ‘How do you know about Jojo?’

  ‘I see him,’ I say. ‘Well, not now, but I saw him in your kitchen yesterday, and today down in the catacombs. Like I said, I see dead people.’

  The silence that follows is hostile. Lucifane stands. Then she speaks again. ‘Prove it.’

  I hear a click behind me, and turn to find two emo kids have swung the door shut. They fold their skinny arms. Oops.

  The grin comes on automatically now, and I turn to Simon.

  ‘Well, don’t look at me,’ he says. ‘You’re the one who can handle her, apparently.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I manage to say through clenched teeth, ‘with a bit of help from my old spectral buddy, I meant.’

  Lucifane steps closer, and the others do the same. Now there’s a circle of hard mascara and pale cheekbones drawing tighter around me.

  ‘Si?’ I say out loud. ‘Now would be a really good time, actually.’

  He rolls his eyes at me.

  ‘Maybe all you want is to laugh at us,’ says Lucifane. ‘But if that is why you are here…’

  ‘I swear to you, it’s true. How else would I know about Jojo?’ Then, to one side, I hiss, ‘Si!’

  Lucifane is close now, and it’s starting to look like I’m about to suffer death by a thousand Goths. But then there’s the sound of snapping fingers.

  Everyone looks round at the Sunglasses Kid. He’s pointing, his mouth open beneath his impenetrable fringe. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen him display.

  We all follow his finger.

  The smoke from the incense is tumbling into the middle of the room, gathering in an entirely unnatural way. The kids back away now, agog, as the smoke cloud builds further until it becomes a misty column right in front of me. Then it fills out into the shape of a man in ragged eighteenth-century clothes.

  It’s Si, of course.

  For a moment the smoke is so dense and carefully gathered that it forms his face perfectly, and Si smiles before giving one of his most rococo bows. I swear I can almost hear silver bells. Even the ribbon on his ponytail is visible in curling perfection.

  Then the smoke puffs out in an explosion as Si lets go of it with his mind. A cloud of intense perfume hits us as the fumes roll randomly away and begin to drift into the four corners of the room, dissipating and tumbling to nothing. But now Luci and the kids of the squat are hanging back and staring in fear and astonishment at the empty space in the centre of the room.

  ‘Nice one, Si,’ I murmur to my sidekick, who floats invisibly at my side, looking unusually pleased with himself. Then I adjust the coat and say to Luci and her friends, ‘Cool. Now maybe you’ll tell me what’s going on.’

  9

  Grim Developments

  It takes some time to clear the rubbish and stuff from in front of the cellar door. Then there are the bolts and padlocks, all obviously added in a recent hurry. But when the door is clear, the kids hang back. Luci takes a deep breath, turns the enormous iron handle and drags the door open. Naturally, it creaks like Halloween.

  Cool damp air sweeps over me. I feel it through my hair like invisible fingers. But there must be something more than creaking doors and a chill for these kids to look so scared.

  ‘The catacombs?’ I say.

  Luci nods.

  ‘But what happened to Jojo?’ I ask.

  ‘He is missing. We were all down there, when… when we saw it. We ran. When we got back, Jojo was not with us. We ’ave not seen him since, but… we hope.’ And she turns to look down into the dark.

  I glance at Si.

  ‘You must tell her the truth,’ he says. ‘It is not right to let her hope.’

  He’s right. If Luci is waiting for Jojo to walk in through the front door one of these days, with a fresh baguette and an interesting story, she’s going to be waiting forever. But that’s not what’s bothering me at the mo.

  ‘It?’ I ask instead. Well, I’m not going to let that pass, am I?

  Lucifane steps back from the door, paler than the pale bits in a black and white movie.

  ‘Death. Death is down there.’

  ‘The creepy engravings and the bones and all that?’

  ‘No, Dan – Death! He is in the catacombs, in person. He has driven us out.’

  I can’t help the grin spreading across my face.

  ‘What, you mean, black gown, skeleton face and a scythe? Lots of teeth and no need to go on a diet? Are you serious?’

  I only have to look at their faces to see that they are.

  ‘But there’s no such thing as a person called Death!’ I say, and I mean it. After
all, I’d know, wouldn’t I? We’d be chums on Facebook, at least.

  ‘I thought there was no such thing as ghosts,’ says Luci, ‘but we all saw that flowery man in the smoke upstairs.’

  ‘Flowery?’ gasps Si, flicking his ribbon over his shoulder. ‘What can she mean, Daniel?’

  But I ignore that.

  ‘Ghosts are one thing,’ I say to the whole lot of them. ‘But Death? The Grim Reaper? That’s bonkers!’

  ‘Bonkers?’ says Luci. ‘What is “bonkers”?’

  ‘Er, you know – loopy, barmy, completely doolally. As in mad as a hatter, only madder.’

  ‘But I am not mad.’ Luci flashes her dark eyes. ‘I know it is not “bonkers” because I saw him.’

  I look at Si, and expect to see him rolling his eyes. After all, it’s ridiculous. But the way he looks back isn’t exactly reassuring.

  ‘Who knows, Daniel, what may lurk in the deep places of the world?’

  ‘Right, that’s it,’ I say, snatching the skull candle from Luci’s hand. ‘I’m going down there. Because whatever it is that has you all spooked, it’s certainly not Death. It’s probably just a rat, or… er, two rats. Or something.’

  For some reason, the kids don’t sound reassured by this. But Luci silences them with her hand.

  ‘Tell me the truth,’ she says to me. ‘’ave you really seen Jojo as… as a…?’

  ‘A ghost?’ I say. And I nod. ‘I’m sorry, Luci. Is there running water down there somewhere?’ I point into the doorway.

  ‘Oh, mon dieu!’ Luci puts her hand to her mouth. ‘The river! You mean… drowned?’

  I want to comfort her, tell her it’s all okay, but this whole thing’s as far from okay as it’s possible to be.

  ‘I can still help him,’ I say instead. ‘There’s a reason why he’s still here. I can find out what it is, and set him free. And put an end to all this Death malarkey while I’m at it.’

  ‘No,’ says Luci. ‘No, if you go down there on your own, you will not come back. Even without Death, it is dangerous. I am going with you.’