July

by Gabrielle Lord

  I needed my friends.

  Winter and Boges sat beside me at the table, deep concern and suspicion in both of their faces. I was relieved Boges had agreed to join us at Winter’s flat. He’d been pretty impressed with the double-key code connections Winter and I had figured out, and we were all keen to kick on and sort the DMO out.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Winter asked. ‘Do you think you can trust anything Oriana de la Force says after everything that’s happened?’

  I was incredulous. ‘She’s almost had me killed more times than I can count! She’s had me kidnapped, bugged, followed, beaten … Her thugs are the reason my great-uncle is dead!’

  My mind was seething with questions. Did Oriana de la Force really think that we could be allies? She was offering me information I desperately needed—whatever was contained in the Piers Ormond will was something I absolutely had to know.

  And, above all, I was astounded by her claim that she knew something about the abduction of the twin babies, fifteen years ago … fifteen years! What did that mean for me? Was I really a twin? Could I really have a long-lost brother? So many questions, so many doubts, so many fears swirled through my mind. Things had been much simpler when Oriana de la Force was just a hostile enemy.

  ‘You OK?’ asked Winter.

  I shook my head.

  ‘And what about this Rathbone guy?’ Boges’s voice penetrated my spinning thoughts. ‘Can we trust him?’

  ‘Sheldrake Rathbone is the Ormond family solicitor,’ I said, trying to shake my senses back into me. ‘The man holding Piers Ormond’s will. Says he believes I’m innocent.’

  ‘So? What are you going to do?’ Winter repeated.

  ‘Not sure.’

  Who am I? I asked myself. Had my whole life, my whole identity, been based on lies and cover-ups? This twin stuff had my mind reeling more than anything else. It was like everybody, including my own parents, was harbouring this massive, dark secret about me, and no-one wanted to fess up and explain it to me … except Oriana. Whatever the truth was, I needed to know.

  ‘I guess there’s no harm in just calling him,’ I said, as I pulled out my mobile and dialled Rathbone’s number. I flicked the loudspeaker function on.

  ‘I’ve been expecting your call,’ said Rathbone. ‘I have agreed to act as intermediary on behalf of a colleague. You know her?’

  ‘I know her,’ I admitted, grimly.

  ‘I believe she has already made it clear that she wishes to negotiate with you following an initial meeting between us to confirm you have certain items in your possession. Once I’ve satisfied myself that this is the case, I will be happy to provide you with information regarding the crime involving the twin babies that I think you would appreciate knowing about, as well as hand over a copy of a will that I believe is of great interest to you.’

  ‘Shouldn’t I have free access to that information without all this show and tell and exchange?’ I asked. ‘It’s a family matter—my family matter.’

  The sound of his low, wheezy chuckle reverberated around Winter’s flat. It was the kind of laugh that made me picture him as a big guy that didn’t think things were funny very often. I looked at Winter and Boges, and they were both cringing.

  ‘Now, Cal, can you really expect me to hand over a valuable family document to someone in your situation? Someone on the run? Someone accused of murder, without anything in return? Shouldn’t you be more concerned that I might hand you over to the police and claim the reward money the minute you show up?’ He chuckled again, deep and loud, and it bothered me. There was nothing funny about what he was saying.

  ‘How do I know you won’t do that?’ I demanded.

  ‘Look, my role in this is to act purely as an intermediary, and to provide a neutral place where I can review the objects in your keeping in a safe and satisfactory manner. I’m not interested in money—I have enough of that already,’ he scoffed. ‘And I’m certainly not interested in handing you in and getting involved with that side of law enforcement. I have a place in mind for our meeting—the premises of my brother’s business, Rathbone, Greaves and Diggory. This arrangement between us needs to be finalised within the next forty-eight hours, or my client will withdraw her offer. Do you understand?’

  ‘So what’s the deal?’ I asked.

  ‘You need to be at the premises tomorrow, after business hours. Say eight o’clock. 317 Temperance Lane. It runs off Mason Place. Do you know it?’

  Winter was nodding at me, telling me she knew it.

  ‘I can work it out,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there.’

  ‘With the required items,’ Sheldrake reminded me. ‘There is a rear lane entrance which will be left unlocked for you. Go straight in. There’ll be an envelope with your name on it waiting for you, containing the information you require. Once I arrive and see for myself that you’re in possession of the items in question, we can go our separate ways. After that point you will wait for me to call with further instructions on the second appointment involving Ms de la Force. Is that understood?’

  ‘See you there.’

  ‘I’m going with you,’ said Boges.

  ‘Me too,’ added Winter. ‘There’s no way you can go on your own. Who knows what they have planned.’

  ‘We could get there early and run a security sweep of the area,’ said Boges, ‘and then wait for you in hiding, just outside.’

  ‘We’ll both be watching your back,’ said Winter. ‘If you’re sure you want to do this?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ I said, feeling completely the opposite. I couldn’t imagine ever having Oriana de la Force as an ally. Not in a billion years. I figured I’d go to the first meeting with Rathbone, get the envelope, then get out of there. I would never agree to a meeting with Oriana.

  ‘Tomorrow night you might find out the truth about your double,’ said Boges. ‘I hope you’re ready for it.’

  154 days to go …

  cal, it’s winter. just wanted to be the first in with a ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ xo

  happy birthday cal. let’s hope tonight brings u some answers. c u later. boges.

  The three of us had spent an hour crouched in an alley, discreetly checking out 317 Temperance Lane. It was on a narrow winding street that led off Mason Place just as Rathbone had described.

  In my backpack was the text of the Ormond Riddle and the Ormond Jewel. The three of us stood up. I knew it would be impossible to secure such a place but with Boges and Winter offering to keep a lookout at each end of the lane while I went in, I hoped everything would be OK.

  ‘I’ll wait here,’ said Boges when we reached the corner of the lane, ‘and keep watch. If anyone who looks like trouble arrives, I’ll let you know.’ He pulled out his mobile.

  ‘I’ll do the same at the other end of the lane,’ said Winter. ‘Are you sure you don’t want one of us to go in with you?’

  I shook my head. ‘I can handle this. Any sign of something out of order, and I’ll be out of there like a rocket.’

  ‘And don’t be long,’ said Winter. ‘We have a birthday to celebrate when you get out!’

  I approached the shopfront cautiously. In the streetlight, I could just make out that the gate at the rear entrance to Rathbone, Greaves and Diggory was slightly ajar. I pushed it open, and stepped inside.

  Everything was very quiet. I was on red alert. But the building seemed as quiet as the Ormond mausoleum. Deserted.

  Sheldrake Rathbone would be here any moment, I thought, glancing at my watch. wondered about the information waiting for me as I trod stealthily down the short hallway to what looked like a larger room at the end of it. Although the lights were out, a streetlight shone in through the windows. I stood there for a few moments, puzzled by what I saw. Then I realised what kind of business I was standing in.

  Sheldrake Rathbone’s brother was an undertaker! Rathbone, Greaves and Diggory was a funeral parlour!

  Coffins and caskets in light and dark timbers, silver handles glinting, were displayed on trestle
s, some of them gaping open to reveal the satin lining inside the polished wood. Some were barely finished, awaiting the final trim of fabric. A white one was lavishly painted inside like the Sistine Chapel, with cloudy skies and cherubs all over it.

  Around the walls, and stacked behind the counter, several coffins were stored standing upright. A small room off to the left of them seemed to be the workroom, its floor covered with corkscrews of shaved timber.

  I looked around for the envelope that Rathbone had said would be there for me. My eyes locked onto it, sitting alone on the counter.

  Near the doorway to the workroom, beside a large black coffin standing against the wall, was a list of the burials for the next day. There was only one down for that day, I noticed. I leaned forward to try and read the name. As I did, I caught a whiff of a faint scent that I recognised but couldn’t quite place; something familiar.

  An unusual sound followed.

  I swung around. ‘Who’s there?’ I called.

  Silence again. I wondered if I should get out, go back to the street and call Rathbone.

  I wasn’t leaving without the envelope. I reached out to pick it up and bang! The counter suddenly flew open, slamming into my face, hitting me square on the forehead.

  It wasn’t a counter! It was a coffin! And something had flung the lid open and was leaping out at me!

  Shocked and disoriented, I stumbled backwards, reeling from the blow to my forehead. I held my hand up, trying to protect myself against the charging figure from inside the coffin.

  I quickly noticed his cowboy-style shoes as he came down on top of me. I kicked and punched, staggering backwards. A sharp jab stung my neck. I grabbed at it, twisting and turning to try and see my attacker.

  Something weird was happening to me. A burning sensation started spreading over my shoulders and up into my face. I kept trying to turn around, but I was in slow motion, like in a nightmare, barely able to move. I felt my backpack being wrenched from my shoulders. My vision rippled like a mirage as I saw a dark figure shove my backpack into the casket painted like the Sistine Chapel.

  My rippling vision turned into a haze, then faded to black. I kept fighting to keep my mind alive, but it was impossible. I couldn’t stop the darkness …

  I couldn’t move. I blinked my eyes a few times, but everything was still black. The stinging sensation from earlier had changed into a complete numbness that had taken-over my whole body.

  It was pitch black and I sensed something very close to my face. Using every ounce of willpower, I tried to force my fingers to move, but they wouldn’t! I couldn’t move! A strange sense of claustrophobia came over me and I felt hemmed in on every side, top and bottom as well, like I’d been wedged into some sort of confined crawl space.

  What was going on? Where was I? I had to get out and find my backpack!

  Suddenly I was jolted as if being lifted by unseen hands. Was this some weird effect of whatever stupefying drug I’d been given? The jolting continued until I heard a scraping noise and was pushed forward. My head shifted a little and that’s when my nose touched something soft and very close to me. That’s when the full horror of my position was revealed.

  I was sealed up in something. A box of some sort. I was trapped inside a coffin, being loaded into a hearse!

  I tried to scream, but was unable to control my mouth. Nothing happened. I tried to struggle, but I still couldn’t move. With another sudden jolt, the vehicle I’d been loaded into started to move. I remembered the burial list on the wall of the undertakers. There had been one name on it.

  My name!

  Again, I tried to scream but it was no use.

  The box vibrated as the hearse began to drive. Was I being driven to a cemetery?

  On and on, the drive continued. I was petrified—hopelessly numb. I kept trying to move my fingers and my toes.

  I suddenly became very aware of my breathing. How much air was in this coffin?

  Even in my drowsy state, I understood that it wouldn’t matter how much air was trapped inside here with me. Within a very short time, six feet underground, I would be dead.

  I had failed to survive my sixteenth birthday.

  The sounds of the car engine stopped and I could hear voices outside, muffled by the padding in the coffin. I wanted to scream and yell and shout, and bang the walls around me, but my hands and mouth still wouldn’t work.

  Great-aunt Millicent’s haunting words, explaining how she knew my dad was dead, seeped into my mind.

  ‘Because anyone who starts to investigate the Ormond Singularity … winds up in a casket …’

  Through the tangled, gluey muddle in my mind, my panic grew out of control. I visualised everything that was happening to me. With a sickening jerk, I felt myself being dragged across the ground then lowered. Slowly, slowly the coffin shuddered … until I hit the bottom of a grave.

  Thud.

  The first shovelful of dirt hit the coffin lid on top of me.

  Thud.

  The second. This can’t be happening!

  Thud.

  The third. And then the dirt started falling faster, heavier …

  Thud, thud, thud …

  Copyright

  Published by Scholastic Australia Pty Ltd

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  SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registeredtrademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  Text copyright © Gabrielle Lord, 2010.

  Illustrations copyright © Scholastic Australia, 2010.

  Illustrations by Rebecca Young.

  Cover copyright © Scholastic Australia, 2010.

  Cover design by Natalie Winter.

  Graphics by Nicole Leary © Scholastic Australia, 2010.

  Cover photography: boy by Wendell Levi Teodoro (www.zeduce.org) © Scholastic Australia 2010; close-up of boy’s face by Michael Bagnall © Scholastic Australia 2010; church © Serge Lamere/Shutterstock; icicles © Gary Paul Lewis/Shutterstock; ratrak tracks © ryby/ Shutterstock; underground tunnel © Perov Stanislav/Shutterstock. Internal photography: phone on page 139 © istockphoto.com/Mark Frost; skull on page 139 © istockphoto.com/Philip Barker; paper on page 081 © istockphoto.com/Randy Plett.

  This electronic edition published by Scholastic Australia Pty Limited in 2012.

  E-PUB/MOBI eISBN 978 192198 859 2

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