Obsidian Pebble

by Rhys Jones

  When Oz finally gave up trying to shut his eyes, the luminous dial on his alarm clock read half past midnight. He crept out of his room and tip-toed down one flight. There was a light under his mother’s bedroom door. He hesitated, still angry with her for what had happened. He wanted to thrash it out with her, vent his fury, but he remembered the look on her face the night his dad hadn’t come home and suddenly he found he simply couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bear the thought of that look returning. Besides, he argued limply, she was probably asleep by now.

  He turned and went back upstairs but bypassed his bedroom and went up to the library. He turned all the lights off and sat in one of the old leather chairs. It was a moonless night and stars sparkled in the velvet sky visible through the glass turret windows. When he was much younger, he’d sat in his dad’s lap in this very chair staring at the night sky, waiting for a shooting star to appear. Sometimes they’d sat for hours, but it hadn’t mattered that they had never seen one in all the times they tried, because his dad would just talk and Oz would listen with half-lidded eyes until he fell asleep. He’d wake up the next day in his own bed and wonder sleepily how he got there. Oz knew that the man who had spent all those hours with him would never deliberately crash a car into a wall. Accidents happened, and Oz could just about accept that his father had not been indestructible and as much a potential victim of capricious fate as anyone else. But deliberately kill himself?

  Never.

  But what had all that business about insurance companies been about? He should have asked. Now it would have to wait until morning…unless… He fished out his mobile and sent a single line of text:

  In much need of hot chocolate if you are awake.

  Twenty seconds later he got a reply.

  Just boiling milk. Kitchen in two minutes?

  Caleb, of course, knew who Dr. Mackie was, but was visibly shocked to hear about the purpose of her visit.

  “Oz, I’m so sorry you had to hear that. You needed to know, but that isn’t the way to find out,” Caleb said with a look of stark horror. “Dr. Mackie isn’t renowned for her tact.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me?”

  Caleb shook his head. “Your mother… She loves you to bits, Oz. She just wanted to protect you from all that.”

  “But she can’t, can she? She can’t protect me, because she can’t make it go away. You knew what Pheeps was on about when I told you the other night, didn’t you?”

  Caleb sighed and turned off the stove. “I could guess.”

  “But what did Mum mean about the insurance company?”

  Caleb poured the hot milk into mugs and began stirring in the chocolate. “When you get older and have responsibilities like houses and children, you insure your life against horrible things like accidents. That way, if anything happens to you, the insurance company pays out a sum, which can be very large, in order that those left behind are looked after.”

  “Right,” Oz said, accepting a mug, “but Mum said that the insurance company was trying to wriggle out of paying.”

  “That’s generally what insurance companies do. It was a new-ish policy that Michael had taken out after you’d moved in here. He wanted to make sure everything was taken care of, should anything happen. Companies don’t pay out on suicide cases in the first two years.”

  “But he didn’t do that to himself. I know he didn’t.” Oz could hear the faint tremor in his own voice.

  “I know that, too, Oz. Michael never stopped talking about you and your mother. A man less likely to want to take his own life, I have never met. But the coroner left an open verdict. That’s enough for the insurance company to contest the case. I’m sure they’ll pay up eventually, but these things can drag on, and for your mum it’s like trying to swim through treacle.”

  “That’s why she wants to get rid of this place, isn’t it?” Oz said, suddenly realising what it all meant.

  Caleb nodded and Oz frowned, trying to unravel the strands of thought that were knotting in his head.

  “Don’t judge her too harshly, Oz. She’s been through a lot. She depends on the money from us tenants and what she earns doing some copyediting. It isn’t much.”

  He knew that there wasn’t much spare money around, but now he understood a lot better why that was. Oz blew over the top of his mug and sipped at his hot chocolate. He felt better instantly. “I just wish there was something I could do to help her understand how brilliant this place is. How amazing it is just to be here.”

  “You can. Just be you. Have your friends over. Have Halloween parties. Go for a kick about in the park. That’s what your dad would have wanted.” Caleb’s eyes narrowed quizzically. “And now that we’ve mentioned it, I’ve been meaning to ask you about football. Do you play for a team now?”

  Oz shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  Oz let the steam from the hot chocolate tickle his nose as he put it to his lips. It was the same question he’d avoided answering whenever Ruff and Ellie asked.

  “Your dad told me you were very good,” Caleb persisted, regarding Oz over the top of his mug.

  “Did he?” Oz said without looking up. Eventually he sighed and explained. “We made a promise.”

  “A promise?”

  “I made Dad promise that, if ever I played for a team, he’d come and watch me.”

  There was a long moment of ballooning silence before Caleb said, “So playing for a team is breaking that promise.”

  “He can’t keep it, can he?” Oz said bitterly.

  “But if you did play, how do you really know he wouldn’t be there watching?”

  Oz frowned. Caleb was really good at making him consider things that he would never have thought of himself.

  “How could he?”

  Caleb put his mug down. “Sometimes, keeping someone alive in our hearts can seem like the most difficult thing in the world, Oz. But if we don’t, we’re in danger of losing the connection that made them so special.”

  That one made Oz really think. He opened his mouth to argue twice, but shut it again without speaking on both occasions, while Caleb just sat calmly drinking his hot chocolate, his expression unreadable. They continued in silence, each occupied with his own thoughts, sipping at the delicious brown liquid, until Caleb finally said, “Did I tell you about the time your dad and I went to look at the old Celtic settlement in Brittany and stayed at a really weird old hotel?”

  Oz shook his head and listened for ten minutes to Caleb’s shaggy dog story, smiling at the funny foreign voices he put on, and wincing at the punch line about why they hadn’t ordered two eggs for breakfast because “…one egg is usually un oeuf.”

  When he’d finished laughing, Oz put down his empty mug, yawned and said casually, “Thanks for talking to me about this.”

  “Luckily, I’m something of an insomniac, so it really is no trouble. But I think you should probably try and get some sleep now, and don’t worry about what Mackie said.”

  Oz nodded and got up, remembering something else as he did. “By the way, we think we’ve found one of Morsman’s artefacts.”

  “Really?” Caleb asked, looking up.

  “Yeah. It’s called the black dor and it’s like this brooch thing that looks a bit like a beetle. Anyway, we’ll know for definite tomorrow. At least, Ruff and I will since Ellie’s thrown a wobbly.”

  “One of Morsman’s artefacts, you say? Some people think they don’t really exist, you know.”

  Oz thought he could hear a forced element to Caleb’s voice. Almost as if he was desperately trying to keep it even.

  “Yeah? Well, we won’t tell Mum, that’s for sure. Anyway, Ellie’s really brilliant at stuff like that. Give her a job to do and she doesn’t stop until she’s done it.” Oz rinsed his cup under a tap and thanked Caleb again.

  “Any time, you know that.”

  Oz took the stairs two at a time, his heart all the lighter for having chatted with Caleb. But as he reached the first floor of the east wing,
he paused. Someone was crying softly. It was a girl’s sob, and it was coming from Lucy Bishop’s room. He thought about going back and telling Caleb, but decided it was really none of his business. Besides, another huge yawn almost split his face in two, and at that moment what he needed more than anything was his bed.

  * * *

  Despite his tiredness, Oz slept only fitfully, tossing and turning throughout the night, his thoughts veering between Pheeps’ smug supercilious smile and Dr. Mackie’s emotionless delivery of what she’d assumed he, like everyone else, apparently, knew. And there was someone else in his dreams, a grey-eyed girl who kept calling his name, but seemed to disappear whenever Oz looked at her. Judging by the dark smudges under his mother’s eyes the next morning, it didn’t look like she’d slept very well, either. At least there was no sign of the black dog peeking out from behind the calendar, and for that Oz was thankful. Even so, for a long while breakfast was a silent affair, pierced only by polite requests for milk or toast. Finally, Oz could stand no more of it.

  “Mum, I don’t care what anyone else says, Dad couldn’t have done what they say he did. I just know it,” he said in a low voice.

  Hollow-eyed, Mrs. Chambers responded in a tremulous voice, “Oh, Oz. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I couldn’t stand to see you hurt again…” She broke down in a stifled sob.

  “I’m eleven now, Mum. I need to know this stuff, especially when other people already do.”

  Mrs. Chambers grabbed him in a tearful hug. “I’m so sorry about last night,” she whispered with her mouth pressed against his head. “I haven’t slept a wink.”

  “It’s okay, Mum. Just keep that Dr. Mackie away from me.”

  “She’s banned,” Mrs. Chambers said, dabbing her eyes. “I thought she’d be tactful, but she’s obviously about as subtle as a mallet.”

  “A big mallet,” Oz said, and was pleased to see his mother smile. “Maybe she did us both a favour though,” he went on, “in a weird kind of way.”

  Mrs. Chambers frowned, but then shrugged. “Maybe.” She looked hopefully into Oz’s face before adding, “So we’re pals again, are we?”

  He grinned in reply.

  “No more secrets, I promise,” said Mrs. Chambers earnestly. Oz nodded, but turned quickly back to his cereal so that his mother couldn’t see how uncomfortable her reference to “secrets” made him. After all, he had said nothing to her about the footsteps on Halloween, or of the weird symbols on his laptop, or of Morsman and his artefacts.

  “I’m off to the supermarket. Will you and the gang be here for lunch?” said Mrs. Chambers as she cleared away breakfast.

  “Doubt it. I’m meeting them in town.”

  “Anything interesting planned?”

  “Not really. Ellie still needs to get something for Macy’s birthday, that’s all.”

  “Is she really sixteen in a week’s time?” Mrs. Chambers asked incredulously.

  Oz nodded. Ellie’s big sister was doing her GCSE’s this year and the only way she was likely to pass was if the examining board suddenly decided to offer one on “how to make boys chase you,” or so Ellie kept saying with exasperation.

  Oz planned on catching the ten o’clock bus, so he had time to check his emails before heading out. He’d placed the trinket box on top of the laptop the night before and once again found himself examining it as he waited for the computer to boot up. The maker’s mark stood out on the bottom now that he’d cleaned it up, but he gave it a little polish with his thumb anyway, and as he did so, the most extraordinary thing happened. The silver mark glowed under the pressure of his thumb. Not a trick of the light this time, but a definite pulse of yellowish light.

  That was nothing compared to what happened inside Oz’s head at that same precise moment, though. As clear as day, the image of a girl’s face appeared. It was a pleasant, quite pretty face, although when Oz was asked to provide details by Ellie when he tried to explain the dream to her, he found that he couldn’t. At least, not with the thorough recall he would have liked. The one thing he did remember was that she had startling grey eyes and dark hair cut short in a bob. He excused his poor memory on the fact that the image lasted just a few seconds before it blinked out. But what he did remember was that the face spoke. And, like a poorly received radio signal, he was only able to pick out a few words.

  “Hello, Oscar. I am silly…”

  * * *

  Oz was late getting to Ballista’s. More road works had delayed the bus and the café was packed with thirsty shoppers when he got there. So when he managed to work his way through the crowd, having warned Ruff that he’d be late, he was not at all prepared for what was waiting for him in their favourite alcoved corner.

  Ruff was not alone.

  “Thought you said you were busy,” Oz said, trying to stop the grin that had instantly spread over his lips from breaking out into a laugh.

  “Changed my mind,” Ellie said.

  “Ok,” Oz said.

  And that was it. Nothing more was said about it. If Oz did wonder if volunteering for charity work or defending your disabled brother had anything to do with improving people’s understanding of one another, he kept it all to himself. He wasn’t about to press the point or demand explanations. Yet, when Ellie excused herself to go to the loo, he couldn’t resist the urge to ask Ruff just one question.

  “I did tell you that Ellie’s little brother Leon was born with just one hand, didn’t I?”

  Ruff stared at him in disbelief. “Uh, no. You never said…” his words trailed off as slowly his eyes widened in recollection of the little exchange in room 33 the day before. “Wow. I don’t think I’d want to be in Jenks’ or Skinner’s boots the next time they meet Ellie on a football field.”

  “You can say that again,” laughed Oz.

  And when Ellie came back to her seat, Oz couldn’t help but sense that something had definitely changed. Both boys were looking at her, Oz with a quiet little smile, and Ruff with renewed interest. But she gave them both identical, trademark, feisty glances and said, “Whatever it is you’ve been discussing, I do not want to know. Now, can we please get on with why we’re here?”

  But the smile didn’t leave Oz’s lips, because he noticed that the faintly amused, indulgent look that had appeared just after her speech had been given to them both. It was the first time that there hadn’t been that little smidgen of mistrust in the way she looked at Ruff. He supposed he ought to thank Jenks and Skinner for that, and almost laughed out loud. As candidates for sealing friendships, they were an unlikely pair. But if there was one thing that was going to make Ruff and Ellie friends, it was having common enemies like Jenks and Skinner.

  Still with an odd, intangibly warm feeling inside him, Oz launched into telling them about the voices he’d been hearing.

  “I know how weird all this sounds, but I’m sure I’ve heard it somewhere before in my dreams, twice. Once the night before the second maths test, and again last night.”

  Ellie and Ruff listened in open-mouthed astonishment.

  “Whoa, Oz, what are you saying?” Ruff said with furrowed brows. “That this girl is tied up with the trinket box, and she told you how to do maths in your dreams?”

  “Told you it sounds mental.”

  “Maybe not,” Ellie said softly, stirring her latte. “I don’t mean the maths thing. That’s just silly. I mean the trinket box. Maybe she’s the missing link. What if she is the ghost, and somehow the trinket box allows her to communicate?”

  “So she haunts the trinket box, you mean?” Oz said.

  Ellie sat up. “And maybe she’s the one that put those images on your laptop, and wants us to find the artefacts?”

  “And maybe there’s a van outside with lots of men in white coats waiting to take you two away,” Ruff said, shaking his head.

  “I know how mad it sounds,” Oz said, “but it makes a weird kind of sense, too. Look, Caleb said that my dad went to Egypt on the trail of Morsman’s artefacts. He sent me
the box from there and all this weird stuff has only really started to happen since I found it.”

  “Except for the footsteps. We heard them before you found the box,” Ellie corrected him.

  Oz wrinkled his nose in disappointment; he’d forgotten about the footsteps for a moment.

  “Well, I’ve found some stuff out, too,” Ruff said, taking a big gulp of hot chocolate, which left him with a cream-coated upper lip. “I was playing some online Phantom Vamp-busters 3, and I remembered that if you got to level five you got a password that allowed you to access an online magazine called the Woolcote Gazette.”

  Ellie snorted. “Sounds like a farming magazine.”

  “And that’s where you’d be dead wrong, Miss Know-It-All. The Woolcote Gazette is ancient, and it’s full of all this really great weird stuff like hauntings and actual alien sightings. It’s the bees’ buzzard knees, I tell you.”

  Ellie and Oz exchanged knowing glances.

  “Why have I never heard of it, then?” Ellie asked.

  “Because they stopped publishing it in 1960-something. But it goes back ages longer than that. Hundreds of years, maybe. Anyway, I got to level seven two nights ago, so I logged on with my free password and searched for Morsman on the Woolcote site, and guess what? There was an interview with Morsman’s housekeeper in a 1948 edition. Someone was researching Morsman and dug her up like journalists do. She said that the reason he’d spent his whole life searching for the artefacts was because of something he’d found in the orphanage. Something that changed his life.”

  “So, what was it?” Ellie asked, sitting up excitedly.

  “Ummm, it didn’t say.”

  Ellie’s shoulders slumped and she threw herself back into the armchair in exasperation. “Fat lot of good that is, then, you total gonk.”