The Boy Who Fooled the World

by Lisa Thompson

  “It’s a ship!” I shouted.

  “Exactly!” said Isla. She ran down the stairs and grabbed three leaflets from the welcome desk.

  “Here,” she said, running back to us. “See if there’s anything to do with ships or naval history in the museum.”

  Mason opened his leaflet to a map in the centre while Isla studied hers.

  “I can’t see anything,” said Mason. I didn’t need to look. Mum had never mentioned anything to do with naval history before. Isla folded up her leaflet and paced back and forth.

  “Maybe it’s not part of an exhibition? Maybe it’s just something you’d walk past and not really notice,” she said.

  I gasped and they both stared at me.

  “Mason, do you remember when we went to the Egyptian gallery we passed a model ship?” I said.

  Mason frowned. “Um. No,” he said. “It was dark. And scary. I wasn’t really looking.”

  “It’s at a dead end in the corridor by the stairs. Come on!” I said.

  HMS Caroline

  The three of us stared at the model ship as our breath fogged against the glass case.

  “That’s pretty incredible,” said Mason. And it was. It was formed of two different shades of wood with hundreds of tiny criss-crossed strings that made the rigging. Along the sides were rows of little guns poking out through square holes, and at the front was a heavy-looking anchor. The figurehead was of a man wearing a waistcoat and a cravat.

  “It says here that this is a model of the HMS Caroline and it was made by French prisoners of war,” said Isla, squinting at a sign in the gloomy light. “Let’s see if we can find any clues.”

  “I’ll look around the back,” said Mason, edging his way along the side of the case. There wasn’t much room as the case was squashed right up against the wall.

  “Hold on, there are some things underneath the boat,” said Mason. “There’s a sword, a telescope … and some weird thing like a ruler with a short telescope.”

  I made my way along the wall to join him and Isla squeezed in beside me. She got her phone out and turned on the torch, pointing it into the case.

  “That’s a sextant,” she said. “It’s an instrument that they used in olden days for celestial navigation.”

  Mason and I went quiet.

  “Celestial what?” said Mason.

  “They used them to measure the angular distance between the horizon and a planet or the moon or a star,” she said. “That way you could work out where you were in the world.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?” I said.

  Isla crouched down.

  “I read a lot,” she said. “Never underestimate the power of books and what you might learn from them.”

  She angled her torch so that it shone right on the sextant. “And I think this might have something to do with the next clue. It’s a guide for sailors and it could be guiding us towards solving ‘An Enigma in Oil’. Can you see anything now there’s a light on it, Mason?”

  Mason was the closest and he peered in.

  “No. It’s just made of brass and glass and a bit of wood. Oh … hang on. There’s a piece of paper tucked underneath it!”

  “What does it say?!” I said. “Does it tell us where the treasure is?” My stomach did about eight flip-flops.

  Mason crouched down and put his head on one side.

  “It’s the same handwriting as the note in the canopic jar!” he said. “It says, Listen to the river.”

  “Listen to the river?” I said. “What on earth does that mean?”

  He stood up and we came out from beside the cabinet. I paced around.

  “Maybe the treasure is in a river? Is there a river in the town? Isla? I don’t think we have a river anywhere near here. Do we? Do either of you have any ideas where it might be?” I knew I was rambling but I couldn’t help myself.

  Isla shook her head. “We need to take some time and think about it,” she said.

  “But I don’t have time!” I shouted. “My mum is going to be out of a job soon and we won’t have any money to pay for food or bills or anything! We need to find that treasure!”

  I looked away and felt Mason’s hand on my shoulder.

  “Mate. We’ve only just found the second clue. Just relax, OK?”

  I shrugged his hand off. It was OK for him – he had everything.

  “Mason is right,” said Isla. “Let’s have another look at the painting on our way out and then we can all go home and have a think.”

  I sighed. They were right but I just felt a sense of panic. Every day we hadn’t solved the puzzle was another day closer to my family having no more money.

  We made our way back to the foyer, but when I looked up at Basil’s painting, the river just looked like a few ripples and floating leaves to me.

  “I can’t see anything, can you?” said Mason. I shook my head.

  I looked at Isla. She was staring at the river and blinking a lot.

  “Any ideas, Isla?” I asked.

  “No. Sorry,” she said. She took her phone out of her pocket, held it up and took a picture of the painting. “I’d better get going. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And then she quickly headed out of the large wooden doors.

  When I got home from the museum I sat on the bottom of the stairs and stared at the thin, threadbare rug that stretched the length of our hallway. Mabel came and sat beside me. The house was freezing and she was wearing leggings and two jumpers but no socks. Mabel hated wearing socks. The end of her nose was a little red circle.

  We were listening to Dad, who was talking on the phone in the lounge. He hadn’t heard me come in.

  “… and I was wondering if we went ahead with the new boiler, whether we’d be able to pay in instalments?” he said to the person on the phone. “Boilers don’t come cheap, do they?” He laughed, but I could tell it was a nervous laugh and not a real one. It went quiet as the person on the other end of the phone replied.

  “I understand,” said Dad. “But we wouldn’t be able to pay the whole balance as soon as the work had been done, you see. I can’t put my family through another winter without heating. If we could just pay a little each month then…”

  The person on the phone must have interrupted as Dad stopped talking again. Mabel looked at me. She didn’t understand what was going on but she must have sensed that she should be quiet.

  “I see,” said Dad. “In that case, I’m afraid we won’t be requiring your services. Thank you.”

  “Come on, Mabel,” I whispered as my little sister reached up and placed her cold fingers in my hand.

  Mr Taylor’s Office

  The next day in form, Miss Canning said that there was a phone call for me in the head teacher’s office.

  Everyone turned and stared. Nobody got phone calls in the head teacher’s office. Mason gave me a nudge.

  “Who is it?” he said.

  “How would I know?” I said. I didn’t like it. Maybe something bad had happened at home?

  I stood up, scraping my chair behind me.

  “I bet your dad has found a job at last,” whispered Niall into my back. “That would be the top news story of the day, eh?” Leyton, who was next to him, found this utterly hilarious and whacked his hand on the desk in appreciation. Isla was sitting across the gap and she glared at them both, then gave me a small smile.

  When I got to reception the secretary told me that Mr Taylor was waiting for me in his office. I knocked lightly on his door and went in. He was on the phone.

  “…Yes, he has an incredible talent… Yes, yes, we have noticed it ourselves even at this early stage…”

  He quickly beckoned for me to sit down.

  “Ah, yes … yes…” he continued on the phone. “Well, the star pupil is sitting here with me now, so would you like to convey the good news to him?”

  Mr Taylor paused and then passed the receiver over the desk. I took it, but I didn’t like not knowing who was on the other end.

  “Um. Hello?”
I said.

  “Cole Miller?” said a woman’s voice.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “Marika Loft here. How are you today?”

  Marika Loft? The artist? I couldn’t believe it.

  “I’m … um … I’m all right, I s’pose,” I said. Mr Taylor mouthed two words at me from across the desk:

  “Speak posher!” he said. I frowned at him.

  “And … er … how are you today, Marika Loft? I mean Mrs, Miss, Ms Loft?” I said. Mr Taylor grinned at me and gave me a double thumbs-up.

  “That’s very kind of you to ask but I’m not phoning about me, Cole,” said Marika. “I’m calling about you. Or, more importantly, your painting.”

  “My painting?” I said. She must have meant the one she’d taken back to her gallery.

  Mr Taylor was staring at me so I twisted to one side. He was putting me off.

  “ ‘A Sky in Blue’ has caused quite a stir, Mr Miller. My gallery has been buzzing all week,” said Marika.

  “A stir?” I said. “What kind of stir?”

  I could sense Mr Taylor waving his arms at me but I didn’t look at him.

  “I have a very important client, a very … generous client who is a great supporter of my work and of the art world. He has made an offer for your painting.”

  “An offer?” I said. My heart began to pound.

  “Yes. And I have accepted it on your behalf. I hope that is OK, Cole?”

  “I’m sorry. Did you say you’ve accepted an offer?” I repeated. My ears were ringing.

  “Yes. For one thousand pounds.”

  The phone line went silent.

  “A THOUSAND POUNDS?!” I shouted.

  Mr Taylor had moved around to the side of the desk and his face appeared in front of mine.

  “Stop repeating her! She won’t like it!” he hissed.

  “Yes. One thousand,” said Marika. “I’ll waive my fee but I’d have to take a percentage of future sales. And he’s very interested to know when you’ll be producing more work.”

  I didn’t know what to say apart from, “More work?”, so I just kept quiet so I didn’t repeat her again. This was incredible! My painting was worth that much money? It didn’t seem real. Mum and Dad were not going to BELIEVE THIS!

  “You have a remarkable talent, Cole. I can’t wait to see what you will paint next. Declan, my PA, will be popping by your house later today to drop off some art material for you. We’ll present a new painting to the public in a few weeks’ time. How does that sound?”

  I swallowed. I had to do another one?

  “OK … I guess,” I said. “And they actually liked it? The person who bought it? Are you sure they’re not going to change their mind?”

  I heard Marika chuckle.

  “They loved it, Cole. Now, when you start your next piece, I want you to be mindful of the things that worked so well in your first. Your use of colour was wonderful. And your painting made me want to ask questions. OK?”

  “Right,” I said, thinking of the blue canvas with my handprints and two criss-crossed lines. I didn’t really understand what she meant about questions but I was too embarrassed to ask.

  “Let the painting speak to you first. Then begin,” she continued.

  I had literally no idea what she was talking about but I didn’t care. Dad could get the boiler fixed at last! They wouldn’t have to worry about us not having any heating for the winter! My face ached from how widely I was grinning.

  “Now, pass the phone back to your head teacher,” said Marika. “And well done again, Cole. This is a very exciting time for you. I’m sure your next painting will go for much more.”

  “Thank you!” I said. “Bye!” I gave the phone back to Mr Taylor in a daze.

  “Ah, Ms Loft. Can I possibly have a quick chat about our plans to refurbish the art department? Would you be interested in making an … um … financial contribution?”

  While he was talking, Mr Taylor scribbled something on a scrap of paper and passed it across the desk:

  Get to your first lesson now. I’ll let you give your parents the good news tonight! Well done, Cole!

  I got up and walked out of his office in a state of shock. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. A thousand pounds! Just for a painting! By me! It was unreal. When I walked into my maths class everyone turned and stared at me.

  “All OK, Cole?” said my teacher, Mrs Hart. I nodded and sank down beside Mason.

  “OK, 7A, I’ve given you some long multiplication questions on your sheets. I’ll give you ten minutes to work through those and we can see how much you learnt from last lesson,” said Mrs Hart.

  Everyone leant over their desks and began to work but I just stared straight ahead. I was too busy picturing a pile of money to concentrate. If I sold more paintings, who knew what could happen? Mum wouldn’t have to worry about the museum closing down. This could change our lives! Mason was staring at me.

  “What’s going on?” he whispered. I looked back at him and grinned.

  “You know that painting I did? The one that Marika Loft took back to her gallery?” I whispered.

  “That blue thing with your handprints on it?” He sniffed.

  “Yes,” I said. “You’ll never guess what? It sold. For a thousand pounds.”

  “WHAT?!” he shouted.

  “Mason Ferguson! Concentrate on your work, please,” said Mrs Hart crossly, looking up from her desk. We both put our heads down and pretended to be busy with our sheets.

  “A thousand pounds?” he whispered. “For that thing? Are you sure?”

  I nodded, slightly annoyed that he thought it was so bad. Mason shook his head in amazement.

  “And that’s not all,” I said, keeping an eye on Mrs Hart. “She wants me to do another one!”

  “You’re kidding,” said Mason, his jaw falling open in shock. I shook my head. He looked away to check on Mrs Hart and then back at me again.

  “And she thinks it’ll sell?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Can you believe it?!”

  Mason gazed into the distance. “A thousand pounds,” he said. Then he gasped. “The next one might sell for more! If the person who wants to buy it is really keen, or stupid, they might pay tens of thousands for an original ‘Cole Miller’ painting!”

  We both snorted. This was crazy.

  “Mate! You’re gonna be rich!” Mason grinned and slapped me on the back.

  I laughed as I let those amazing words sink in, but I was already feeling a bit worried. I stared down at the first question on my maths sheet and my head began to spin a little.

  What on earth was I going to paint next?

  The Announcement

  I decided I’d wait until Mum got in from work before I told them my good news. I did my homework in my room and after an hour I heard the front door bang closed. I ran downstairs.

  “Mum! Something BRILLIANT happened today!” I said, jumping from the third step. “It’s about my painting!”

  Mum took her coat off. Under her eyes there were two dark rings. She looked exhausted.

  “What painting?” she said, slipping her shoes off.

  I knew she hadn’t been listening the other night.

  “The one I did at school when Marika Loft came to visit. She took it back to her gallery, remember? Come on! I’ve got to tell Dad too.”

  I grabbed Mum’s arm and dragged her into the kitchen.

  “Dad!” I said. “Are you listening? I’ve got some news!”

  Mabel was grinning and clapping her hands together, realizing that something exciting was going on.

  “All OK, Doug?” said Mum. “You look like I feel.”

  “There’s no hot water, I’m afraid,” said Dad. “The boiler has completely packed up now. I’ll boil the kettle for a bath.” He switched the kettle on and it began to rumble.

  “Mum! Dad!” I said. “I’m trying to tell you something!”

  Dad frowned at me as I turned the kettle off.

  “I need
to tell you about my painting! Something amazing has happened!”

  “Cole’s painting!” said Mabel, joining in.

  “Sorry, love,” said Mum. “What was it you wanted to tell us?”

  I grinned at them both.

  “Marika Loft rang the school today and I had to go to the head teacher’s office and speak to her. She’s sold my painting for a thousand pounds!”

  Mum plopped a teabag into a mug, then looked up at me.

  “Sorry? What did you say?” she said.

  “Marika Loft took my painting to her gallery in London. She thought it was really good! And some man bought it for a thousand pounds!”

  Mum stared at me for a moment and then shook her head and turned the kettle back on.

  “Very funny, Cole,” said Dad.

  “But it’s true!” I yelled above the noise of the kettle. “It was called ‘A Sky in Blue’ and Marika Loft took it to her gallery in London. It really has sold!”

  I looked at Mum and then at Dad.

  “And that’s not everything!” I said. “Marika wants me to paint another one! She said that it might make even more money!”

  The doorbell rang. Mum huffed and turned towards the hallway.

  “I’m not in the mood for jokes, Cole,” she said. “They gave us a closing date for the museum today. In three weeks’ time I’ll be out of a job.”

  The bell rang again and I followed Mum as she opened the door. It was Declan, Marika’s assistant.

  “Ah, Mrs Miller, a pleasure to meet you. I’ve brought the materials for Cole,” he said, nodding towards a large box in his arms. He spotted me over Mum’s shoulder. “Hi, Cole, huge congratulations from all of us at the Marika Loft Gallery. You’ve caused quite a buzz in the art world!”

  Mum stood there for a moment, baffled.

  “We haven’t ordered anything, thank you,” she said, going to close the door.

  “Mum! It’s Marika’s assistant! Why aren’t you listening to me? I sold a painting!”

  Mum looked at me and then back at Declan.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “I’m Declan Hewitt. Personal Assistant to Marika Loft. I would shake your hand but this is kind of heavy,” said Declan, nodding towards the large box again.