“Of course it hasn’t!” I said. “Oh, I’ll do it.”
He moved out of the way and I slowly stretched my arm towards the jar.
“Wait!” hissed Mason. I froze. “Aren’t you supposed to be wearing white gloves?”
I glared at him.
“We haven’t got time for that now!” I said. I leant in and grabbed the jar. I was expecting it to feel smooth but it actually felt quite rough. I held it close to my chest and slowly removed the jackal-headed lid. I was almost frightened to look in case Mason was right and it was full of ancient intestines. I held it towards the light and we both peered inside.
Empty.
I turned it upside down and a tiny roll of paper fell out on to the floor, just as I heard Dr Sabine’s voice getting louder as she approached the room.
“Hurry!” said Mason. I fumbled with the lid and shoved the jar back in the cabinet. Mason closed the door, locked the silver latch and threw the keys on top of Dr Sabine’s clipboard while I picked up the scroll of paper and slipped it into my pocket, and then we both jumped behind a wooden sarcophagus. We stood, still and silent, and listened as Dr Sabine picked up her keys and clipboard and walked to the corner of the room.
Mason grabbed my arm and we quietly crept to the door and out without her even knowing we were there. As soon as we reached the corridor we began to run back to the foyer and down the carpeted stairs.
It was much lighter there and I blinked as my eyes adjusted. I took the tiny scroll out of my pocket.
“What’s it say?” said Mason. I carefully unrolled the piece of paper. Something was written in faint ink.
“Look beside my feet,” I read.
“His feet?” said Mason. We both stared up at the painting again. Basil Warrington-Jones was standing in the grass beside the river. There was nothing beside his feet, apart from a small rock.
“I don’t get it,” said Mason. “There’s nothing there, just that rock. What’s the point of that?”
I took out my phone and found the photo that Mason had taken when we’d first seen the painting. I zoomed in on the area by Basil’s feet to see if there was anything that we were missing. Nothing.
“I can’t believe we found the second clue but now we’re stuck again,” I said.
My phone pinged. It was a text from Dad telling me that dinner would be ready in twenty minutes.
“I’ve got to go,” I sighed. “Let’s decide what to do next in the morning.”
“Yeah, OK,” Mason said. “At least we’ve solved one clue though, eh? That’s one more than anyone else has ever managed!”
He was right. But I had a feeling that Basil Warrington-Jones was still one step ahead of us.
Asking Isla for Help
When I got home, Dad was stirring a bolognese on the cooker and Mabel was sitting at our small kitchen table scribbling a crayon over some old newspaper. Our boiler rattled away on the wall. Dad gave it a thump. It stopped shaking and gave a low, growling noise.
“Oh, Mabel, not on the floor!” sighed Dad. Mabel had started rolling her crayons off the kitchen table, one by one. I bent down to help him pick them up, but as soon as we put the crayons back on to the table, my little sister was rolling them off again.
“MABEL! STOP IT!” yelled Dad. Mabel’s bottom lip did a pre-meltdown wobble and then she began to cry.
“Cole, can you take her into the front room and put something on the telly while I get dinner finished?” Dad shouted above her wails. The hob began to fizzle and he leapt towards it, turning the heat down on a pan of water that was bubbling over.
“Come on, Mabel,” I said, scooping her up. “Let’s see what’s on TV, shall we?”
Mabel stopped crying and wiped her nose on my shoulder. Great. Now I had snot on my one and only school jumper. I took her into the lounge, plonked her on to the sofa and put the TV on, choosing a cartoon about an allotment where all the vegetables could talk. Mabel stared at the screen. I heard the front door bang as Mum came in from work. I went out to the hallway. Dad had an envelope in his hand with FINAL written across the top in red. Mum took out the letter and read it. Her eyes crinkled up and Dad rubbed her arm.
“Oh, Cole!” she said, spotting me. “I didn’t see you there.” She quickly folded the letter and Dad took it as he went back to the kitchen.
“What was that?” I asked.
“It’s just a bill, that’s all,” she said. “Nothing to worry about.” But I could tell by their faces that it was definitely something to worry about.
Over dinner Mum and Dad were really quiet, so I tried to cheer them up by telling them what had happened with Marika Loft when she came to visit our school. I hadn’t told them anything about it yet.
“We all had to do a painting each and she said my one was really good. She’s taken it back to her gallery in London!” I said.
“That’s nice,” said Mum, but I could tell she wasn’t really listening. Dad got up and thumped the boiler, which had started to shudder again.
“She’s got houses all over the world and even has her own personal assistant!” I continued. “He was the one who took my painting back to the gallery.”
Mum scraped her food around on her plate.
“Sorry, love, I’m not very hungry tonight,” she said to Dad. “I’ll start clearing up.”
Dad couldn’t have been hungry either as he got up to help her.
“Cole?” said my little sister, her chin all orange from the bolognese sauce. “Can Mabel see your painting?”
I guess at least someone had been listening.
“You can’t, I’m afraid, Mabel,” I said. “I just told you. Marika has taken it to her art gallery in London.”
Mabel frowned at me.
“Why?” she said.
I twirled the spaghetti on to my fork.
“I guess she must have really liked it,’ I said. “I didn’t think it was very good, but she seemed really impressed. And I don’t think she was joking…”
As I finished eating I watched Mum as she scraped her dinner into the bin. She looked so miserable. If only I could help by solving ‘An Enigma in Oil’.
I thought about the jackal head jar and the little note.
“Look beside my feet,” I whispered to myself. “What does it mean?”
I didn’t have a clue. Having Mason on board to solve the mystery was brilliant, but I had the feeling we might need extra help.
The next day in form, Leyton and Niall were waiting for me.
“Poor Kid Cole! Here he comes,” said Leyton. “Still wearing your coat from primary school, are you?”
It was true. And it was shabby and too small. I took it off and screwed it into a ball. I hated this coat but it was the only one I had. As I stood there in my jumper I realized there was still a snot stain on my shoulder where Mabel had wiped her nose. I quickly brushed at it.
“Just think of all the coats he could buy when Marika sells his painting for millions!” said Niall. “What was it called again? ‘A Sky in Blue’? More like ‘A Sky of Poo’!”
“She’s probably taken it back to show everyone how not to paint. You should see if you can get some kind of commission for that, Cole!” said Leyton.
They both collapsed into laughter as I sat down heavily. It was more important than ever that I solve the mystery of the painting and find the treasure – then Niall and Leyton would never be able to make jokes about my family being poor again. They’d have to shut up once and for all.
Mason sat down beside me. I quickly turned to him.
“You know that hundreds of people have tried to solve ‘An Enigma in Oil’ and failed?” I asked. He nodded.
“Well, I think we need help,” I said. “We can’t work it all out on our own. We need someone with a really, really massive brain.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Mason. “But who?”
Just then, someone came crashing through the classroom door. Miss Canning looked up as Isla ricocheted off her desk with her huge cello
case.
“Can’t you leave your instrument in the music room today, Isla?” said our form tutor. “We’re quite crowded in here as it is.”
Isla dropped her eyes.
“It’s being used for other things so Mr Norris said I had to keep it with me. Sorry, Miss.”
“OK, not to worry,” said Miss Canning. “I have a letter here for you to pass on to your parents. The head of year wanted to put in writing how pleased we are with your progress this year across all subjects. Well done, Isla.”
Isla’s neck turned a shade of pink which spread up to her cheeks. It was like a strawberry milkshake was slowly being poured into her head. She took the envelope from Miss Canning and stuffed it under her armpit, then made her way to her seat, whacking a few tables with the cello as she went.
Mason looked at me and wiggled his eyebrows.
“I think we’ve found someone to help, don’t you?” he whispered. I grinned and watched as Isla sat down.
We didn’t usually talk to Isla much. No one did. She was always around but you never really noticed her, unless she was crashing into you with her cello. It was well known that she was the smartest student in our year and there was a rumour that her parents were incredibly pushy. I wasn’t sure if that was true or not.
We decided we’d try and talk to her at lunchtime and we found her sitting on a bench on her own around the back of the language block. The black cello case was propped up behind her.
“Yes?” she said, looking at us suspiciously as we stood by the bench. She unwrapped a cheese sandwich and began to nibble the crusts as she waited for us to say something. I sat down.
“Sorry to disturb you, Isla,” I said. “It’s just that we’ve got a puzzle that we’re trying to solve and, well, we wondered if you’d like to help?”
She blinked at me.
“What puzzle?” she said. Her eyes darted to Mason and then back to me. I sat down.
“There’s a painting in the town’s museum that contains some kind of treasure hunt,” said Mason. “It’s called ‘An Enigma in Oil’.”
She smirked.
“Do you know it?” said Mason, sitting on her other side.
“Of course. Doesn’t everybody?” she said. She took a carton of apple juice out of her bag, pierced the top with the small straw and began to sip.
“Mason and I are going to solve it,” I said. We waited as she drank. The carton of juice made a spluttering sigh as she squeezed the last few drops through the straw with her fist. She gave a little gasp and dropped the squashed carton into her lunchbox.
“How on earth are you going to do that? No one has solved it for over a hundred years.” She picked up her sandwich and carried on eating.
“I don’t know. But we’re going to try,” I said.
She began to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” asked Mason.
“I don’t mean to be rude but I don’t think you’ve got much chance.” She finished the last mouthful of sandwich and took out a chocolate biscuit. She was being really annoying.
“We’d have more of a chance if you helped us,” said Mason. “You’re, like, the cleverest person we know.” He grinned at her and she smiled back at him then dropped her eyes to her lap.
“How far have you got?” she said, looking up again.
Mason fidgeted in his seat. “Well, I spotted a jackal hidden in the grass,” he said. “Cole here thought it was a wolf, but I said it was definitely a jackal.”
“What?” I said, glaring at him. He grinned at me as Isla began to laugh.
“Anyway,” said Mason, “that led us to a canopic jar in the Egyptian gallery.”
Isla’s eyes widened.
“Brilliant!” she said. “Duamutef. The god that guards the stomach.”
“Yeah! That’s the one,” said Mason. “So, anyway, we looked in the canopic jar and we—”
“Hang on,” said Isla. “Did you handle the exhibit?”
“Cole did!” said Mason quickly. Isla shot me a look.
“Well … I did … but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we found a message,” I said. “It was inside the jar.”
Isla stared at me. “And what did it say?” she said.
“It said, Look beside my feet,” said Mason, all dramatically.
“We went back to examine the painting, but there’s nothing there. Just a rock,” I said. “We wondered if you could come to the museum after school and see if you can spot anything yourself? Seeing that you’ve got an extra big brain and everything!”
Isla didn’t laugh. She didn’t seem to find me as amusing as Mason. She finished her chocolate biscuit and began to pack her rubbish away into her lunchbox.
“OK,” she said. “But you’ll have to wait for me until I’ve finished cello practice.”
“Fantastic!” said Mason.
“That’s brilliant. Thanks, Isla,” I said.
She put the plastic box into her school bag, swung it up over her shoulder and then went around to the back of the bench to pick up her cello.
“Do you … um … want a hand with that?” said Mason. I noticed his face flushed a little as he spoke.
Isla stared at him, blankly.
“No, thanks,” she said. The bell went for the end of lunch and as she turned away she smashed the end of the bench with the big, black case.
Did the three of us really have any hope of solving the enigma? I wasn’t sure.
Beneath Basil’s Feet
“How long is she going to be?” asked Mason. He checked his watch for the sixth time. “Maybe we should go and see if she’s still in the music room.”
I was sitting on a bench, trying to mend the zipper on my coat. Not only was it too small, but now the zip had come off the runner and I couldn’t get it to go back on.
“She’ll be here,” I said. “Just relax.”
The zip moved some of the way and then it got stuck completely.
“I’ve got a spare coat you could have, if you like,” said Mason. “I’ve barely worn it.”
I could imagine that Mason had a selection of coats. Probably one for every day of the week.
“It’s all right. This one is fine,” I said, pulling on the zipper.
“It’s not though, is it?” said Mason. “It’s too small, you’ve bust the zip and it’s really thin. You must be freezing.”
I glared up at him.
“I said it’s fine.” I pulled the coat around me, giving up trying to mend the zip.
“Here she comes!” said Mason as Isla walked out of the main doors. She looked different and it took me a few seconds to work out why – she wasn’t carrying her cello. She seemed lighter, as if she had a bounce in her step.
“Hi!” she said with a shy smile. “Are we ready?”
“Thanks again for this, Isla,” I said as we began to walk. “We really appreciate it.”
“That’s all right,” she said. “It makes a change from playing the cello! What made you decide to try and solve this mystery? That painting has been in the museum for ever – why are you interested in it now?”
Mason didn’t say anything. I thought about it for a second and decided to be honest.
“My mum is about to lose her job,” I said. “If I can find the treasure then my family won’t need to worry about money any more.”
Isla didn’t laugh or jeer at me, she just nodded. I guess everyone knew that “Poor Kid Cole” didn’t have any money.
“And I said I’d help him because I’ve got such an exceptional brain,” said Mason. Isla giggled.
“If we find the treasure we’ll split it three ways, OK?” I said.
Isla shook her head.
“No way. This whole thing is your idea. It’s your prize,” she said.
Did she feel sorry for me too? I felt a flicker of shame but shook it off. The museum would only be open for another couple of weeks. I couldn’t let anything hold me back now.
When we arrived at the museum foyer we turned ar
ound and stood staring up at the painting above the entrance.
“Gosh, it’s incredible,” said Isla. “Where’s the jackal?”
“Just there.” Mason pointed towards the tall grass.
“And the last clue said, Look beside my feet,” said Isla to herself. She squinted towards the image of Basil Warrington-Jones and walked up and down as we watched her.
“There’s some kind of rock there, by his feet, but I agree. There’s nothing else.”
My heart sank. I’d really hoped that she would find something. She headed to the staircase and walked halfway up, turning to face the painting.
“Now what?” said Mason.
“I don’t know,” I said, my stomach churning. “That’s it, I guess. We’ve got as far as we can go already. We’ll never find it.” It had been stupid of me to expect we’d actually get somewhere. Good things never happened to me.
Isla came back down the stairs, looked up at the painting, then went back up again.
“What’s she doing?” whispered Mason.
“I dunno,” I said, watching her as she moved along one step to the far right. She suddenly turned to us, a huge grin on her face.
“Have you guys ever heard of Holbein’s skull?” she said.
“A skull?” said Mason.
“Yes. There was a German artist called Hans Holbein the Younger and he painted a picture of two men standing in front of cabinet.”
“Sounds thrilling,” said Mason.
“The thing is, that painting had a secret. At the front are some white shapes. They don’t really look like anything from face-on, but if you stand and look at the painting from a certain angle then the strange shapes reveal exactly what they are – a human skull.”
“Wow!” I said.
“It’s amazing,” said Isla. “And I think that’s exactly what Basil Warrington-Jones has done here. Come up and I’ll show you.”
Mason and I joined her.
“Now, look beside Basil’s feet,” she said. “What do you see?”
“A rock,” said Mason. Isla nodded.
“Great, now take a few steps to the right and then look at it. What do you see now?”
Mason and I shuffled along the step and looked at the painting. The rock had changed: what had looked like shadows and curves from the front had been transformed into lines that resembled billowing sails.
The Boy Who Fooled the World Page 6