The House of Puzzles

by Richard Newsome

  Gerald fell into step beside Ruby just as Sam was getting wound up. ‘All I’m saying is I thought going to a posh boarding school might involve a bit of luxury, that’s all,’ Sam said. ‘Comfy beds and hot-and-cold-running servants. If I wanted to do hard labour in a highland jail I’d hold up the Bank of Scotland.’

  Ruby prodded a finger into her brother’s belly. It disappeared up to the second knuckle. ‘You need to harden up,’ she said. ‘There’s a few too many of Mrs Rutherford’s sausage rolls packed in there. Ten weeks of camp food and outdoor activities might do you some favours.’

  Sam gave a sullen grunt. The last thing he wanted was a diet of lukewarm baked beans and forest hikes.

  They followed the sheep-trail of students into an enormous circular hall. A fire blazed in a large stone pit in the centre of the floor, embers shooting up to a conical chimney that hung like a brick stalactite from the ceiling. Sam unzipped his jacket and let the warmth wash over him. ‘That’s a bit better,’ he said. He stared at the flames for a moment. ‘I wouldn’t mind some marshmallows, though.’

  Teachers barked orders and pointed fingers. Finally, with everyone in the room and students wrangled into two concentric rings around the fire, a hush of anticipation fell over the assembly.

  Into the midst of all this barely contained excitement strode a slight man. His sandy hair was cut short and was greying at the temples. His moustache was trimmed with military precision. He made his way through the seated students to the fire pit. He gripped a clipboard under one arm and held the other at his back, clamped in tight at the waistband as if he was worried his trousers were about to collapse around his ankles. The man cleared his throat and looked at the students over the top of his half-moon reading glasses.

  Two hundred sets of eyes stared back at him. The only sound was the crackle of the fire.

  The man cleared his throat again: a dry flinty rasp, as if from a crow suffering from asthma.

  Ruby leaned in close and whispered in Gerald’s ear, ‘Who’s this?’

  Gerald nudged Ruby with his shoulder and gave her a look that unambiguously said Shush! Gerald knew only too well who the man was, and he had no desire to draw his attention.

  But, like a guard dog raised on raw meat and frequent beatings, the man sensed the movement. His head remained perfectly still but his eyes, twin spheres of fun detection, swivelled in their sockets and zeroed in on Gerald and Ruby. Gerald was sure he saw the man’s nostrils flare.

  For a third time, the man coughed. ‘For those of you who do not know me,’ he said in a tone of parade-ground clarity, ‘I am Dr Crispin, headmaster at St Cuthbert’s.’ His eyes locked on Gerald’s and remained there long enough to pass on the clear message: Do not test me, boy. To Gerald’s enormous relief, the headmaster disengaged and turned a slow circle to eyeball the entire hall.

  ‘Welcome to the young ladies of St Hilda’s and the young gentlemen of St Cuthbert’s to the annual Year Nine Highlands Retreat.’

  Dr Crispin paused.

  There was no response.

  Finally, a teacher from St Hilda’s started clapping and a ripple of applause swept the room.

  Seemingly satisfied with that, Dr Crispin continued. ‘This term in the Scottish highlands is the one time our two fine schools come together each year. It will be a great challenge for all of you, but also a tremendous educational experience. For the next ten weeks you will be tested in ways many of you will never have experienced before. For some the challenge will come in the form of a twenty-mile cross-country hike—’

  Gerald felt Ruby shift by his side. He glanced around to find her beaming at the prospect of a trek through the Scottish wilderness.

  ‘—for others,’ Dr Crispin continued, ‘the challenge will exist in being cut off from the comforts of home: no television, no phone, no home-cooked meals or parents to serve you like little kings and queens.’ There was a shuffling movement on Gerald’s other side. Sam was staring at the floorboards, a look on his face as if someone had just cancelled Christmas.

  ‘Whatever the challenge, you will emerge the better for it at the end,’ Dr Crispin said. ‘Miss Frobisher will now have a few words to you about discipline and—’ Dr Crispin cleared his throat one more time, ‘—self-control.’

  A tall woman crossed to the centre of the room. She was dressed in Burberry waterproofs, and Gerald thought she looked ready to embark on a twenty-mile hike there and then.

  ‘Good afternoon, girls and boys,’ she began brightly. ‘I have the honour of serving as headmistress at St Hilda’s, and I fully endorse Dr Crispin’s comments. The term ahead will be the highlight of your time at school. Friendships will be forged that will last a lifetime. But a word of caution. We are all here together for the next ten weeks. Two hundred thirteen- and fourteen-year-old girls and boys living in close proximity, with less than the usual levels of supervision. It is a time of great excitement during a period in your lives when some of you are experiencing strong—’ she searched for the right word, ‘—emotions. You must keep those emotions, and other urges, under control at all times.’

  A light titter ran around the room.

  Gerald leaned in to Ruby and whispered from the corner of his mouth. ‘What’s she talking about?’

  Ruby whispered back, ‘They don’t want us snogging each other all term.’

  Gerald’s cheeks flushed red. It was at some stage during the next ten weeks that he planned on asking Ruby to be his girlfriend, with the expectation of a considerable amount of snogging to follow.

  As the buzz from the assembly grew louder, Dr Crispin stepped forward. ‘Quiet!’ he snapped, his eyes burning. ‘Just keep your blasted hands to yourselves.’ The hall dropped into a dark silence. ‘There is to be no hazing, teasing or bullying of any description,’ Dr Crispin continued. ‘Anyone who offends will answer to me.’ He gave another look of total distrust to the students around him. ‘Before you are allocated to your cabins, our new mathematics teacher, Mr Beare, has an announcement.’

  Gerald looked with interest to where the headmaster was indicating. Since returning from Christmas holidays a week before, Gerald had found that a number of new teachers had been hired. Gerald was yet to meet his new maths teacher. A man stepped out from against the far wall and smiled. Where Miss Frobisher appeared ready to launch herself up Ben Nevis at a moment’s notice, Mr Beare looked like the effort of ordering a pint at his local pub would require a lie down and a damp cloth across the forehead. Broad of girth and multiple of chin, he appeared to be the outcome of a science experiment involving a middle-aged man and an excess of pork buns.

  ‘Hello everyone,’ he said, almost running out of breath from the effort. ‘I will talk to you all in more detail about this later, but I want to let you know about a special event that will take place during the time we’re all here at the Captain Oates Outdoor Education Centre.’ He paused again, as much for effect as out of necessity, and took a deep breath. ‘Every year at this camp the schools run the Triple Crown.’

  A flutter of recognition sounded from some in the room.

  ‘Some of you may have heard of it. It involves three challenges that follow the camp motto: To strive, to seek, to find. I’m told that in the one hundred years that St Cuthbert’s and
St Hilda’s have been conducting these camps, no one has ever successfully completed the Triple Crown. To be the first would be an extraordinary honour. I encourage you all to participate and to participate with vigour.’ Mr Beare ended with an exhausted wheeze and staggered back to his stool by the wall.

  Dr Crispin waited for the buzz to die down. Ruby didn’t say a word, but Gerald could almost feel the excitement radiating from her body.

  ‘Remember,’ the headmaster said, ‘this term is the opportunity of a lifetime. Do not squander it.’ With that, he dismissed the students into the care of their teachers.

  Gerald was happy to find that he and Sam would be sharing a cabin with four other boys. Gerald and Sam agreed to meet up with Felicity and Ruby at teatime in the dining hall and went to collect their packs. Gerald winced as he slung his bundle onto his shoulder. ‘This busted collarbone is going to slow me down,’ he said to Sam. ‘Why don’t you go ahead and grab us a bunk together?’ Sam agreed and jogged off in search of their cabin.

  Gerald adjusted the sling on his arm and followed after him. It was only five o’clock in the afternoon, but the Scottish night had dropped over the camp like a sodden blanket. Gerald stepped into the starless evening and shivered at the bite in the air. The pack dragged on his shoulder and he grimaced. The injury still hurt from his adventure a fortnight ago on the Swedish island of Ven when he had gone head-to-head with a mercury-addled madman who thought he was a 450-year-old Danish astronomer. Gerald shook his head at the memory. Since inheriting a fortune from his great aunt, his life had become somewhat complicated.

  He shouldered his pack more evenly and trudged down the path. Excited boys rushed past him in search of their cabins. The girls were housed on the far side of the camp, supposedly beyond the range of ‘strong emotions’. Soon Gerald found himself alone, hauling his pack into the night. Despite the cold and the twinges of pain, a smile spread across his face. Ahead of him was the prospect of ten whole weeks away from normal school, and away from his bizarre life. And the chance to spend a whole lot of time with Ruby Valentine…

  Oh yes, indeedy, on that count Dr Crispin was right. Gerald had no intention of squandering this opportunity.

  The path ahead turned to the left, skirting a grove of trees. Gerald reached the bend, and suddenly everything went black. A bag was dragged over his head. Rough hands grabbed him by the collar. Before he could do or say a thing, the world’s youngest billionaire was crash-tackled to the ground and bundled into the trees, swept from sight as if he had ceased to exist.

  Chapter 2

  White-hot pain flared in Gerald’s right shoulder. It felt like a branding iron had seared into his flesh. His pack went flying as he was slammed onto the muddy ground, jolting his injured arm. Lights burst inside Gerald’s eyes, a barrage of fireworks detonating in his brain. A knee crushed into his chest, squeezing out whatever air remained in his lungs.

  Gerald tried to move but strong hands held him down. Another shunt on his shoulder and he howled in agony.

  Then a voice sounded in Gerald’s ear.

  ‘Do not go out for the Triple Crown.’

  The voice was haggard, short of breath.

  ‘Do not go out for the Triple Crown or you’re dead.’

  Gerald’s eyes popped open in surprise. In the dark he could barely make out the cloth that shrouded his face. Gerald had been terrorised before. But this voice in his ear, threatening his life, was truly astonishing.

  It was a boy.

  Gerald stopped struggling and lay back in the muck. The cold crept through his clothes like a million burrowing ice worms.

  ‘D’you understand?’ The voice demanded an answer. ‘Do not try for the Triple Crown.’

  Gerald nodded. But with his head inside a bag, his attacker could not see the response.

  ‘Well?’ The boy pushed harder against Gerald’s shoulder.

  Gerald cried out. ‘Yes!’ Then he swore, a broad Australian curse that would strip the paint from the back of a ute.

  ‘Good,’ the boy said.

  Then the knee lifted from Gerald’s chest and the hands released his shoulders.

  Gerald sat up and pulled the bag from his head. It took him a moment to realise it was a pillowcase. He blinked to clear his vision and looked to a gap in the trees. But, in the smudgy darkness of a winter’s evening, there was no sign of his attacker.

  ‘Someone seriously blindfolded you with this?’ Sam held up the pillowcase. It was still soiled with mud and rotting leaves from Gerald’s roll in the mire.

  ‘Yep,’ Gerald said. ‘I couldn’t see a thing.’ The clatter of knives and forks on plates rang around the cavernous dining hall where Gerald, Sam, Felicity and Ruby, along with the rest of the year nine students of St Cuthbert’s and St Hilda’s, were eating their evening meals.

  ‘But it’s got Hello Kitty all over it,’ Sam said. He screwed up his face. ‘Who threatens somebody with a Hello Kitty pillowcase? It’s not natural.’

  Felicity nibbled on a carrot stick and frowned at Gerald. ‘And you’re not going to tell a teacher about this?’ she said. ‘This is just the type of bullying that Dr Crispin was talking about. You could have rebroken your collarbone, or worse. Don’t you agree, Ruby?’

  Ruby held a forkful of macaroni cheese in front of her mouth and shrugged. ‘In my experience, getting Gerald to do anything sensible is like trying to teach a monkey to read or a crocodile to see reason. It doesn’t matter how much you tell him to do the smart thing, he’ll just go ahead and do the boy thing. It’s genetic—it’s what they do. Besides, as if anyone would actually kill him just for taking part in some school camp challenge.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Felicity said. ‘He was attacked. He was threatened. He was—’

  ‘Blindfolded with a Hello Kitty pillowcase,’ Sam said, interrupting. ‘Do you really think Gerald wants everyone to know that he’s frightened of someone who attacked him with a brushed-cotton pussycat?’

  Felicity regarded Sam blankly. ‘You are kidding, aren’t you? He won’t report it because it will somehow make him look like a bit of a wuss?’

  ‘Actually,’ Sam said, shoving a spoon-load of peas into his mouth, ‘it would make him look a colossal wuss. A prize princess. He may as well dress in a lilac tutu with matching tiara for the next ten weeks.’

  Felicity looked to Ruby in exasperation, but Ruby just laughed. ‘It’s simple mathematics, Flicka,’ Ruby said. ‘Boy equals stupid.’

  Felicity turned her frustration back onto Gerald. He held up both his hands, as if defending a punch. ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked. ‘I have no idea who attacked me. I didn’t see a thing.’

  Sam leaned over and patted Gerald on the arm. ‘Is that because the nasty pussy cat had his ickle wickle paws over your eyes?’

  Felicity gave him a filthy glare. ‘You are not helping,’ she said.

  Sam shrugged and took another mouthful of peas. ‘I’m just giving him a taste of what to expect if he tells a teacher about this. He won’t be able to move for all the purring and the meowing.’

  Gerald cracked a smile. If he was honest with himself, his shoulder did not hurt that much from his wrestle in the woods. The greater inju
ry was to his pride. Besides, he was quite enjoying being the subject of some pity. Not that Ruby was doing quite as much pitying as Gerald would have liked.

  ‘I didn’t even recognise the voice,’ Gerald said. ‘All I can say for certain is that it was a boy.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Or a really strong girl with a head cold.’

  Ruby swallowed her macaroni cheese and gazed around the room of diners. ‘So who among this lot would be so desperate to win the Triple Crown that they’d threaten your life?’ she asked.

  ‘Apart from you, you mean?’ Gerald said.

  Ruby gave him a ‘Who, me?’ look.

  ‘Don’t try to pretend,’ Gerald said. ‘I saw you when Mr Beare was talking about the Triple Crown. You were ready to kick down the door. You’re not exactly hard to read, you know.’

  Ruby’s cheeks blossomed pink. ‘Maybe I might like to be the first to complete it,’ she said. ‘Maybe not. But I do know one thing, Gerald Wilkins.’ Ruby opened her blue eyes wide and leaned in close to Gerald.

  Gerald’s heartbeat ratcheted up a notch. ‘And what’s that?’ he said.

  ‘I’m not going to be beaten by some sooky boy wearing a Hello Kitty head-dress.’ Ruby flashed her fingernails and murmured, ‘Meow…’

  Fortunately, Gerald’s response was drowned out by Sam and Felicity’s laughter.

  Gerald adjusted his sling and stifled a wince at a twinge in his shoulder. He looked around the dining hall at the other campers, clustered on benches at long wooden tables, scoffing their way through their first meal together. Someone in that crowd had tackled him to the ground, covered his head in indignity and made some stupid threat about—what?—a school camp scavenger hunt? Gerald shook his head. After all he had been through over the past eight months, the stakes could not possibly be any lower.