Itch Rocks

by Simon Mayo

“No! Don’t do that! I’m sure I can help somehow. Please, leave him alone!”

  “How sweet,” said Shivvi. “OK, let me try one question. Where did Itchingham Lofte leave the element 126? How about that?”

  Despite being ready for some kind of question about the rocks, hearing it spoken out loud took his breath away.

  Shivvi smiled. “And I see from your reaction that you do know. Well?”

  Watkins shifted on the edge of his chair. “126? What’s that? You’re asking the wrong person, I’m afraid. I’m not the elements man at school….”

  Shivvi picked up the baseball bat. “Oh, I think you can do better than that. So much better than that. You forget, I worked in the oil industry for five years. I can spot a liar if I need to.”

  Shaking now, John Watkins was thinking fast. “Of course, you worked alongside Nathaniel Flowerdew, didn’t you? You went to prison instead of him.”

  Shivvi nodded. “You got that right. He taught me everything I know. Including the effectiveness of this.” And she swung the baseball bat through the air.

  “If I tell you where the rocks are,” said Watkins, “will you leave Itch alone? Surely you won’t need to involve him.”

  But Shivvi shook her head. “No, I want him here. He can show me. He’d make a better guide, don’t you think? I might need him.”

  She typed something into Watkins’s phone and pressed SEND. “That should do it. Let’s see how long it takes for our hero to arrive.”

  Itch, Jack, and Chloe were monitoring events in town via Facebook updates: Anyone know what’s happening in town? … Big deal on the main street—what’s going on? … Tons of police around Cornwall Academy. After Fairnie and his team had left the house in lockdown, with only Danny Ford watching it, the sound of sirens filled the night. The cousins didn’t know Cornwall even had that number of emergency vehicles. Fairnie was obviously preparing for a major incident, and if they had been able to look through the bedroom window, Itch, Jack, and Chloe would have seen the town’s Christmas illuminations utterly overwhelmed by countless flashing blue lights.

  “You guys want to watch a DVD? I’m just starting one….” Jude Lofte had put her head around the door.

  Itch looked at Jack and Chloe. “No, we’re fine, thanks, Mum.”

  “Done all your homework?”

  “Yes,” Chloe said, “but I doubt we’ll be going to school tomorrow.” They all listened again to the wailing sirens.

  “You may be right there,” agreed Jude. “Got everything you need, Jack? I’ve spoken to your dad; he says things are pretty wild down there. He’s happy, anyway.”

  “Thanks,” said Jack. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  Her aunt nodded and, with a final glance at Itch and Chloe, went back downstairs.

  Itch’s phone bleeped and he picked it up. As he had only sent the one text, he guessed who it was from.

  “It’s from Mr. Watkins…. This is weird …”

  “Show me,” said Jack and he chucked the phone to her.

  “Gweres. What does gweres mean?” She passed it to Chloe.

  “Is it a spell-check mistake?” she asked, and tried the letters out on her phone. “No, nothing here.”

  Itch was back at his laptop. “Maybe it’s Cornish. Not sure what for, though … You understand it, Jack?” She shook her head, so he continued his search and found a Cornish-English dictionary, typed gweres into the box provided, and hit ENTER. There was a wait of a few seconds before it provided the answer.

  Help.

  They all stared at the screen for a few seconds.

  Chloe spoke first. “Call him.”

  Itch hit the numbers and listened. “Straight to voicemail.” He stood up and started walking around the room. “Help. In Cornish. Why would he send that? Is he a Cornish speaker?”

  “Don’t know,” replied Jack. “Never used any in class. And he’s not from Cornwall.”

  “So no, then,” said Itch.

  “So why send it in Cornish?”

  “Because …” Chloe spoke slowly. “Because maybe he’s trying to disguise his message. He’s with someone who won’t understand gweres but would understand help.”

  “That’s it!” exclaimed Jack. “You must be right. He’s in trouble. Let’s find Danny.”

  The three of them ran down to the kitchen, where Danny was running a makeshift control center. Three laptops open on the table showed real-time images of the town and the academy—now surrounded by flashing lights.

  “Danny—Mr. Watkins is in trouble! Look!” Itch held up the phone. “It’s Cornish for help. Something must have happened! You have to tell Fairnie!”

  Danny kept his eyes on the screens. “Hang on, Itch.” He spoke into a microphone on one of the computers. “No, sir! No sign here—just checking reports from the campsites now. Will get back to you.”

  Fairnie’s disembodied voice squawked through the small speaker, “Got that, Danny.”

  Danny looked up. “What’s up?”

  Itch held up his phone again and translated. Even before he’d finished, Danny’s gaze had returned to scan an email.

  “Middle of a big op here, Itch, as you can see. Can it wait?”

  Itch was annoyed. “I’ll just text back then: Sorry you need help. Hope you can wait a bit as we’re busy. Hope it’s not serious.”

  Now it was Danny’s turn to be annoyed. “Which of these guys do I reassign, then? We think a chemical fire might be started in town, possibly at your school. And we’ve been told that if it’s the isotope cesium-137, then it’s radioactive. And that’s a threat to everyone. Call your teacher and find out what the problem is.”

  “I’ve tried that. No reply. And it’s not cesium-137—I’ve seen the picture,” said Itch.

  “Where did you see it?”

  “On her phone.”

  Danny sighed. “I’m not changing our plans because you’ve seen a picture on a cell phone. I’ll make a note of your teacher’s text and tell one of the team to check up on him when they can. OK?”

  “But when will that be?” said Itch, still agitated.

  “The clue is in the phrase when they can, Itch…. When they’ve worked out whether there’s a cesium fire about to explode in town. Got it?”

  Itch turned and left the kitchen, followed by his cousin and sister. He led them into the living room, where Jude was watching TV.

  “What’s up, Itch? You look upset,” she said, pausing her DVD.

  He told her about the text and Danny’s response to it.

  “Show me …” Jude looked at the screen. “Shame your father’s not here; I’m sure he’d know. But there’s not much we can do, Itch. Fairnie’s got his hands full and we’re all locked up. I’m sure Mr. Watkins will be OK—there’ll be some innocent explanation.” She smiled. “Sure you don’t want to watch this? You’d like it, I’m—”

  “’S OK, Mum. We’re fine, thanks.” And they trooped back to Jack’s room.

  “Before you say it, Itch—no, you’re not going out there,” said Jack.

  Itch flushed at being so easy to read. “Well, I was thinking … what would Cake do? And I think I know what the answer is. He wouldn’t just sit here.”

  Chloe looked appalled. “Itch, are you crazy? There’s a reason we’re in lockdown, and that’s because it’s dangerous out there! Danny was right—they have to find Shivvi and the cesium.”

  “So we do nothing? Is that what you think? Watkins is in danger, and you think we should just sit here on Facebook?”

  Jack sighed. “You’ve never understood the meaning of can’t or shouldn’t, have you?” she said.

  “I just don’t think I can sit here, that’s all. Danny’s not interested; my mother is watching TV. Who’s left?”

  Jack and Chloe glanced at each other; they’d seen that look before.

  “So,” said Shivvi, “how far will I be traveling? These rocks—where are they hidden?” John Watkins squirmed in his seat and said nothing. “Come on, you can tell me. I’ll fin
d out from your friend as soon as he’s here, you know. It’ll save so much time.”

  Apart from smashing Watkins’s phone and switching all the lights off, she had barely moved for half an hour. The only light in the room came from the gas fireplace, its yellow and blue flames casting flickering shadows across the room. Periods of intense silence were followed by fast talking and taunts.

  “All you have to do is sit there and talk to me, sir. And tell me what I want to know.” She half smiled again.

  “What do you want with the 126?” asked Watkins weakly.

  “Oh, now let me think. I know—I’ll put it in my element collection and display it in a case so all the crazy element hunters can come and see it. How about that?” Watkins was silent again. “I’ll think of something,” said Shivvi.

  “What’s Flowerdew got to do with all this? You working together?”

  “He has nothing to do with this anymore. But he did tell me about your friend and his rocks, which was nice of him. Itch is a strange boy, don’t you think? Really weird. There’s loads like him at Greencorps, you know. Smart at one thing, usually oil, and useless at everything else.”

  “He’s a sweet and brave boy,” said Watkins gently. “I admire him very much.” There was a silence.

  “Good,” said Shivvi. “Well, he’ll be here soon. And then we’ll see how brave he is.”

  The sound of approaching footsteps sent her rushing over to the gas fireplace, extinguishing the flames. She grabbed a napkin and shoved it into Watkins’s mouth, then crouched in front of him with the baseball bat pointing at his head, her expression fierce. She didn’t need to say anything.

  The footsteps paused outside, and there was a crackle of police radios. The doorbell rang twice, followed by sharp knocking on the door and the living room window.

  “Mr. Watkins! It’s the police. Are you in there, Mr. Watkins?”

  Shivvi repositioned the baseball bat so that it was against John Watkins’s mouth. He sat completely still, his eyes closed.

  The police moved away and reappeared at the rear of the house. “Mr. Watkins! Are you there?” They tried the back door, rattling the handle a few times.

  “Unlike the dumb security fools you had here, I actually locked the door,” Shivvi whispered in Watkins’s ear.

  Watkins didn’t open his eyes, and although the fire was out and the temperature in the cottage was falling fast, sweat beaded his forehead and he was trembling.

  As the police walked away, Shivvi lowered the bat. “You can light the fire again now,” she said.

  Chloe was pleading. “Itch, you don’t have to do this. Please. Just wait for one of the team to drop by. I’m sure they’ll make sure he’s okay.”

  Jack was being practical. “We can’t get out anyway, Itch. Lockdown, remember?”

  “I know all this,” he said. “I’m going to talk to Danny again.”

  Jack looked at Chloe, and then followed him down the stairs.

  They could hear Danny calling and coordinating the other members of the team, and when they reached the kitchen, Jude was watching events over his shoulder.

  “What’s happening?” asked Itch.

  “Not much at the moment,” said his mother. “The academy is surrounded and the town is full of police and fire crews. But no sign so far. Any more word from Mr. Watkins?”

  “No,” said Itch, “and Danny doesn’t think it’s an emergency. So Mr. Watkins will have to wait. Even if it looks as though there are plenty of people who could check on him.”

  Without looking up, Danny spoke into one of the laptops: “And Itch is asking again about someone to check on Watkins.”

  Moz’s voice came back. “Yes, we’ve got that. Tell him a patrol car’s been around, and it’s all quiet. Lights off, no sign of anyone.”

  “Got that. Will pass it on.” Danny looked up. “OK? Happy now?”

  “They’ve done what they can,” said Jude. “He’ll be fine. Maybe he sent you that text by mistake.”

  Itch looked unconvinced. “OK. Whatever. Sounds unlikely, though. Couldn’t they break in and check? He could be unconscious or something?”

  “Itch, that’s it, pal. OK?” said Danny. “Now let me get on with my job, please.”

  “And you should be getting to bed,” Jude told Itch.

  “OK,” he said. “’Night.” And he and Jack disappeared up the stairs. They had reached the landing when they heard Danny talking to Fairnie.

  “Battery on a laptop failed. Just getting one from next door. I’ll be off comms for a minute.” They heard him unlock the back door. Meanwhile Jude had gone back to the DVD—they heard it start up again.

  Itch grabbed Jack’s arm. “Now,” he mouthed. Jack shook her head, and he looked exasperated. “OK, I’ll go on my own,” he whispered, and ran to his room.

  Jack followed and saw that he was pulling on a sweater. “You can’t, Itch. The whole thing is stupid.”

  “I’m going. I’ll check he’s OK and come straight back. He wouldn’t have asked for help if he didn’t need it. It’s the right thing to do, Jack; that’s all.”

  Jack sighed heavily. “OK. I’ll come with you.”

  Itch smiled at her. He ran to Jack’s room, where Chloe was reading. She looked up and he put his finger to his lips, then left before she could protest. He ran back to his room and grabbed Jack with one hand and his backpack with the other.

  They sprinted away from the house. As they crossed the road, they heard the backdoor bolts lock again; they really were on their own. For the first time since the events of the summer, Jack and Itch had no protection, no security, no guardian angels to watch over them. Terrified and exhilarated in equal measure, they flew down the road toward the golf course. They were aware that the cameras outside the house could pick them up at any time, but Itch’s guess was that all Danny’s attention was on events at the academy. As far as he was concerned, the cousins were safely in bed.

  They kept low across the deserted golf course—two crouched silhouettes. The distant flashing lights of the emergency vehicles reflected off the low clouds, but Itch and Jack were concentrating on their flat-out, heads-down charge for the beach. They caught their breath by the beach huts, then jumped down the steps onto the sand. Keeping as close to the cliffs as possible, and thankful it was low tide, they scrambled over the rocks toward the canal.

  They hadn’t spoken since leaving the house; they were running too fast to chat. But now, standing at the end of the beach by the huge boulders that marked the start of the path up to the canal, they needed to work out what they were doing. They gasped for breath, thrilled by their freedom but also petrified.

  “What happens now?” asked Jack eventually, once her breathing had slowed.

  Itch shook his head—he still couldn’t speak. He was weaker than he had been before the radiation sickness, and Jack had always been fitter than he was, anyway. “Are there any lights on?” he asked at last.

  Jack climbed up on a rock and peered cautiously over the canal. “Don’t think so,” she said. “The whole row looks dark. Actually, wait …” She straightened a little. “Difficult to see properly, but maybe there’s a dim light downstairs. What do you think?” They changed places.

  “Could be,” Itch said. “Let’s go closer.”

  The path to the canal was a gentle climb to a set of locks. The old waterway carried on inland, with towpaths on either side. A few narrow boats were moored close by, but there were no signs of life; in fact, Itch and Jack hadn’t seen a soul since leaving the house. They walked slowly up the path until the cottages were in full view. Jack was right—there was a soft glow from Watkins’s living room. They ducked down at the top of the path, their line of sight blocked by a barge.

  “Could just be a security light, Itch—doesn’t mean there’s anyone there.”

  He nodded and set off across the lock gates that crossed the canal. The gentle V-shaped beams took them to the towpath on the other side, where he pointed at the sandy path that l
ed into the dunes. It looped around the six cottages, with small offshoots to each backyard. The total darkness of the first five cottages emphasized the indisputable glow that was coming from the sixth.

  Jack and Itch opened the small gate that led to the roofless house next to Mr. Watkins’s. They crouched behind the low fence, close to the wind-eroded brickwork. The big window of their teacher’s living room was a few feet away, curtains drawn. They listened.

  Silence.

  “Call Mr. Watkins again. Last time,” said Jack, and Itch dialed the number.

  “Voicemail. Same as before,” he told her. “Let’s try the kitchen.”

  They stepped over the fence and, ducking below the curtained living room window and back door, reached the kitchen window. It was dark and curtainless, and they could see that the kitchen was empty.

  “We either go in or go home,” said Jack.

  They looked at each other for a moment, each knowing that they weren’t about to give up. Itch stood up and tried the back door.

  It was open.

  They quickly stepped inside and, heart racing, Itch opened the kitchen door.

  The light was coming from a small gas fireplace at the far end of the living room, its flames just adequate to illuminate the figure of their homeroom teacher sitting in the armchair. He was crying.

  “Mr. Watkins!” Itch called, but as he ran over, he heard a gasp behind him. Spinning toward the sound, he saw Shivvi’s arms close around Jack’s mouth and chest. She pulled Jack’s head back and held it there.

  “Hello, Itch. Hello, Jack. Good timing. Thought you’d be a while yet, but you both moved fast,” said Shivvi. “I’m impressed. We’ve been waiting, John and I. Haven’t we, John?” She reached over and yanked the gag out of Watkins’s mouth.

  “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “So sorry—she broke in, and I … She took my phone. That’s how you got that text.” They saw now that he had been tied to his chair with thick rope around his chest and feet.

  Jack coughed and retched, and Shivvi eased her head forward. “You are a pretty thing,” she said. “Let’s hope your cousin’s famed stubbornness doesn’t cause anything to happen to you.” She held Jack’s head back with one hand and lifted the baseball bat with the other.