The Beast of Seabourne

by Rhys A. Jones

  “You’ll never guess,” she said, holding up Oz’s lost Lions hoody. “Mr Fidler gave it to me. He was very apologetic. Said he’d found it under the stage a while ago and forgot to give it to you.”

  Oz studied the battered and bedraggled garment, which looked like it had lost an argument with some garden shears.

  “And yes, before you ask, it is yours. Has your name on the collar.”

  Oz lifted up the shredded sleeves. “Can’t wear that again.I think you’d better bin it, Mum.”

  He was fruitlessly pondering how on earth it had got into this state when, from behind his mother, Oz saw the Cuckoo push her way through the tight crowd, most of whom were precariously balancing cups of tea and biscuit-laden paper plates. Maybe it was the red-streaked hair, maybe it was the long, velvet brocade sheath she wore, but whatever it was, she caused heads to turn as she approached Oz.

  “I’m impressed, Ozzie,” she said, managing a tone of reluctant surprise that left Oz wondering if she really was complimenting him at all. “Quite the little drummer boy. You were even in time.”

  “Thanks,” Oz said, coughing so as to hide the giggle triggered by Ellie rolling her eyes, but the Cuckoo’s piercing gaze felt like it was burning a hole in Oz’s forehead.

  “You are such a dark horse,” she went on. “What other surprises are there hidden beneath that inscrutable smile of yours, I wonder?”

  Oz shrugged uncomfortably while his mother gazed on, her eyes still shining with blind admiration.

  “Yeah, look, I ought to really be getting back. Mr Fidler didn’t want us to have a break at all, but I said I needed the loo, so…” He turned away and did a double take at a woman glaring at him intently from a few yards away. Oz turned to look behind him but there was no one there bar his mum and the Cuckoo. When he glanced around again, the woman was still there, her eyes blazing, her mouth a thin angry line. She was with Pete Williams, one of Oz’s five-a-side teammates, who’d been ill for long stretches of last year. Suddenly, the glaring woman tapped Pete on the shoulder and pointed right at Oz. Pete nodded, and both he and the woman strode purposefully towards him.

  Oz watched their approach with growing apprehension, because the woman looked intense and angry. Oz glanced over his shoulder, to see that Mrs Chambers and the Cuckoo were talking with Ellie and none of them had noticed the charging woman. When Oz looked back, Pete Williams had almost reached him.

  “Okay, Pete?” Oz said uncertainly.

  “Oh, hi, Oz,” said Pete as he barged by.

  Confused, Oz turned to see the woman stand behind Rowena Hilditch and tap her on the shoulder.

  “Remember us?” said the woman.

  The Cuckoo turned, confusion crinkling her face. Then Oz saw a flicker of recognition sharpen her features, distorting them into momentary panic before they settled again into the frosty, controlled smile she wore like a mask.

  “Have we met?” the Cuckoo said, as if struggling to remember.

  “Williams,” said the woman before adding, “as you well know.” Her eyes were as brittle as morning ice. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here.”

  “I beg your pardon,” the Cuckoo said, trying to make it look as if Mrs Williams had gone stark raving bananas.

  “Playing the innocent won’t wash. Not this time. Not after almost killing my Peter. I’d have thought you’d want to stay a long way away from kids after what you did.”

  “I think you must be mixing me up with someone else,” the Cuckoo said with a dismissive little laugh.

  “You’ve changed your hair. Gone dark, I see. Contact lenses instead of glasses, are they?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, so you are not the Karena Hilditch of Hilditch Herbal Healing, then?”

  “My name is Rowena Hilditch,” the Cuckoo said.

  “Funny that, ’cos you look just like the Hilditch we took Peter to see in Bath five times. What’s the matter—thrown you out of that town, have they? On the hunt for fresh meat, are you?” Mrs Williams smiled, an expression about as warm as an Arctic January. She glanced at Mrs Chambers, who was watching it all in rapt confusion.

  “You’re Oz’s mum, aren’t you?” she asked abruptly.

  Startled, Mrs Chambers could only nod dumbly.

  Mrs Williams’ diamond stare didn’t waver. “Don’t let this one get her talons into you. I hope you aren’t buying in to her nonsense.”

  “Now just hang on a minute.” The Cuckoo pulled herself up and stepped forward. Pete’s mum didn’t move a muscle, although she was good three inches smaller.

  “Shut up,” she snarled with such ferocity that the Cuckoo stopped as suddenly as if she’d hit a glass wall. Mrs Williams kept glaring, her eyes not wavering for a second. “Tonseldeberry, you called it. Remember that? ‘To help his sore throats,’ you said.‘Ignore what the doctors say,’ you said.‘What do they know?’ you said. He ended up with quinsy—know what that is? No, don’t suppose you do, since you know as much about illnesses as I do about alligator wrestling. It’s an abscess, a very nasty abscess that needed surgery, not just a bottle of flower-flavoured water.”

  “I only said it might help,” whispered the Cuckoo.

  “NO, YOU DID NOT,” Mrs Williams roared. Lots of people were listening and staring now, their curiosity aroused by Mrs Williams’ strident tones. “You said it was much better than anything the ‘quacks’ could give me. And you know what the worst of it is? I believed you. I thought you actually cared about the misery poor Peter was going through, with him getting blasted tonsillitis every couple of months. You said that the ‘quacks’ were worse than witch doctors, filling Peter up with their poisonous antibiotics. And all the while, it’s you who was the fraud. I will never forgive myself as long as I live. I’ve barely forgiven my sister for suggesting it in the first place.”

  Little beads of sweat had gathered on Rowena Hilditch’s upper lip like a spray-on watery moustache. Her face stayed still, but Oz saw her eyes dance around the room, taking in the expectant crowd, who awaited the next move. From the look of shock on their faces, most of them thought this was loads better than the witches’ scenes from Macbeth.

  Rowena Hilditch, however wasn’t going to give them the pleasure. She turned on her heel and stormed away, calling haughtily over her shoulder, “I don’t have to listen to this.”

  Mrs Williams, however, wasn’t quite finished. “No, but everyone here should,” she yelled.

  The hall had fallen strangely silent as the spat had gained volume. Mrs Williams pointed a trembling finger towards Rowena Hilditch’s fleeing back, while Mrs Chambers and Ellie stood rooted to the spot, caught like quivering birds between two snarling cats.

  “This woman is a dangerous liar and a cheat. Stay well away from her if you value the health of your loved ones, and your own sanity.”

  Rowena Hilditch’s heels clipped quickly towards the hall doors, which she yanked open before hurrying out, the slow creak of the hinges as the doors swung shut behind her the only sound in the echoing silence that followed. Mrs Williams turned her slightly wild eyes to Oz. She had the look of a spent but quite satisfied dragon about her. But then she smiled, and a mischievous glint in one eye instantly transformed her from avenging madwoman into cheerful parent.

  “Very good on the drums, dear.I really liked ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.’ I used to play that in a brass band when I was a girl. Keep up the good work,” she said, leaning in towards Oz.

  She took a bite of a rich tea biscuit, nodded in satisfaction, and walked off. Next to her, Pete Williams shrugged, tilted his head, grinned and said, “My mum.”

  Chapter 16

  The Science Test

  The halftime altercation between Mrs Williams and the Cuckoo certainly caused a buzz, but it died down as the second half of the concert got underway. Soon, the audience was clapping and laughing, and memory of the argument faded from faces more interested in year ten disco dancing than in Hilditch Herbal Healing. Oz,
however, couldn’t think about anything else. And neither, from the looks on their faces, could Ellie or Mrs Chambers. Finally, when the jazz orchestra had played their last number—an arrangement of the theme from Mission Impossible—twice, to mad applause, people began drifting away. As Oz packed his things up, he heard a familiar high-pitched voice calling to him from across the hall.

  “Oi, Ringo, made a will, then, have you?”

  Oz looked up. There, standing in the doorway talking to Martha Trump, was the wiry figure of Jenks. Oz frowned, not quite sure if he’d heard properly. But then Jenks made a face and drew his finger across his throat. There was no mistaking the meaning of that gesture. It was obvious he had not buried the hatchet over their little argument in room 33. Indeed, it looked like he was hoping to bury it in Oz’s head. However, Jenks’ crude calls had caught the attention of Fidler, too. Although the teacher had missed the menacing gesture, his quelling look was enough to silence Jenks. He and his little posse of leech-like cronies instantly dropped their eyes and slid out of the hall without another word.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Oz saw Ellie and the lately arrived Ruff waving to him, and slipped away from all the back-slapping to join them, Jenks’ taunting slipping effortlessly from his mind as he did.

  “So, have you worked out what all that tonseldeberry stuff was about?” Oz asked in a voice low enough for them not to be overheard, once they’d found a relatively quiet corner.

  “That was a mama bear giving the Cuckoo what for,” Ellie said, and Oz saw the same slightly guilty pleasure in her face that he’d felt at having witnessed the episode.

  Ruff looked from Oz to Ellie, brow furrowed and mouth open. “Have I missed something?”

  Quickly, they explained to him about the row. Ruff listened with gleeful enthusiasm. “Sounds like there could have been fisticuffs,” he said, grinning and looking over towards the refreshment table, where Mrs Chambers was in animated conversation with Faye Messenger, Ellie’s mum. Oz guessed that their discussion was likely about the exact same thing.

  “I remember Pete Williams being off school for ages last year,” Ruff mused.

  “Just goes to prove that the Cuckoo really is the fraud we thought she was,” Ellie said.

  “Or she’s just a completely pants actor,” Ruff said.

  Oz and Ellie exchanged same-wavelength, bemused glances.

  “What?” Ruff said, looking from one to the other. “I mean, she’s a fraud, yeah…but maybe not for the reason we think. What if it’s all just a double-bluff cover?”

  “A cover for what, though?” Oz asked.

  “For getting her into Penwurt, you gonk.”

  Oz’s mouth opened and shut three times without emitting any sound.

  “But the Pete Williams thing happened last year,” Ellie pointed out.

  “Exactly,” Ruff said triumphantly. “Maybe she’s been in deep cover for years. In Shanghai Gangbuster 8, there’s this detective who has to pretend to be a snake charmer for five years before he can get close to the ringleader. He’s useless at it and gets bitten by a cobra twice before…”

  Under Ellie’s spotlight glare, Ruff’s words dried up, and he left his theory unfinished. But it was enough to fan the flames of doubt in Oz’s mind. If the Cuckoo was really trying to be a “healer,” or whatever it was she called herself, she was obviously spectacularly bad at it. Still, it wasn’t impossible that the Puffers had recruited her, too. After all, she was writing a book on weird stuff, even if it was full of rubbish. Whichever way he looked at it, it made his head hurt. Before anyone could say anything else on the matter, though, the pebble in Oz’s pocket vibrated silently and at the same time he felt an odd tickle from somewhere inside his skull. He put his hand on the pebble, felt for the maker’s mark, and instantly, Soph was there in his head.

  “You asked to be kept informed about anything new regarding Hamish McClelland,” Soph announced.

  “Oh, umm, yeah,” Oz said, forgetting that all he needed to do was think it.

  “Oz? You okay?” Ellie asked.

  “It’s Soph,” he explained. “Something’s come up. Come on.” He led them towards the stage, and no one took much notice as they slipped behind the curtain; most of the people in the hall were busy congratulating participants or finishing off the biscuits. Oz went to the music storeroom, ushered them in, and closed the door. He pressed the maker’s mark on the pebble once more, and instantly, Soph was there, shimmering bluish-white.

  “What have you found out, Soph?” Oz asked.

  “I have been monitoring all news channels. This was put out over a local radio station in Wales on their seven PM bulletin.”

  An unfamiliar announcer’s voice emerged from the point where Soph was standing: “Dyfed-Powys police have reported a break-in during the early hours of the morning at the headquarters of the Black Mountain Rescue Service near Brecon. A police spokesman said that the break-in appeared to be the work of vandals and has asked for anyone who saw a blue van in the vicinity late yesterday evening to contact them.”

  “Riveting,” Ruff said, stifling a yawn.

  “What does it mean, Soph?” Ellie asked, after sending Ruff a scathing glance.

  “There is also an official police report. The Mountain Rescue service keeps paper files. Some were disturbed in the break-in and some have been taken. The year 2008 appears to have been targeted specifically.”

  Ellie’s mouth dropped open, then snapped shut again. “The year McClelland went missing,” she whispered.

  Oz felt his stomach turn over. “Gerber,” he said in an even lower whisper.

  “Hang on,” Ruff said. “That was over three years ago. If it was Gerber, why’s he waited until now?”

  “Because it’s only now he knows where to look. And we told him.” Ellie said.

  “What?” Ruff stared at her.

  “Ellie’s right,” Oz said, pacing the room and talking mainly to the floor as he voiced his thoughts. “Gerber didn’t know anything about Hamish McClelland before. But we went to see Bendle, and Gerber heard all about our little visit, thanks to the lab coats…”

  “And Gerber got to Bendle.” Ruff nodded grimly.

  “Damn,” Oz said, slapping the wall with his open palm. They’d been so stupid and careless. All this time, the ring had stayed hidden because Bendle had kept his little secret to himself. But now, thanks to their meddling and plotting, Gerber knew the ring was lost in the mountains somewhere.

  “But so what if Gerber knows that the ring is missing?” Ruff said. “No one knows where McClelland is, do they? What makes you think Gerber will be able to suddenly find him?”

  “I don’t know, but he’ll try, won’t he?” Oz said, rounding on his friend.

  “Well, there’s no point you beating yourself, or me, up about it,” Ruff said.

  Oz knew Ruff was just trying to buoy him up, but it was like throwing a cup of petrol on a roaring bonfire. He wanted to scream at Ruff. Yell out “YES, THERE IS!” as loudly as possible. Instead, he forced himself to say nothing and turned away so they couldn’t see his face. The other two took this as a signal that he simply needed more cajoling.

  “It’s not as if Gerber can just pitch up there and wave a magic wand though, is it?’ Ellie reasoned.

  “There must be buzzard miles of mountain. And if he turns up with fifty people to comb the countryside, everyone will know,” Ruff argued.

  He was probably right, but Oz was not for turning. He just couldn’t shake off the nagging sense of guilt he had at underestimating Gerber yet again.

  “Look, we can’t do anything about any of it now,” Ellie said with her usual dose of common sense.

  “Exactly,” Ruff said, for once agreeing with Ellie wholeheartedly. “If everything goes to plan, we’ll be on a bus on the way to Cornwall this time tomorrow.”

  That was when it struck him. “That’s it,” Oz blurted, looking up at them both, eyes alight with dawning excitement.

  Ruff stared at him waril
y. “I hate it when you say that.”

  “What’s it?” demanded Ellie.

  “Tomorrow,” Oz breathed. “Tomorrow’s it.”

  Ruff and Ellie exchanged bemused glances. “Shall I ring for the men in white coats?” Ruff muttered.

  “You’re not making any sense, Oz,” Ellie said tersely.

  “No? Just hear me out and then tell me if I’m mad or not,” Oz replied, all trace of his previous morose mood suddenly gone. “Thing is, I think I’ve hit on a bit of a plan.”

  For a while on the way home, they drove in silence. Oz’s thoughts were full of police reports of a break-in, while Mrs Chambers seemed content to concentrate on her driving. But after five long minutes and several snatched glances, she turned to Oz with a troubled look.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

  “Do you?” Oz replied, taken aback.

  “Yes. Rowena,” Mrs Chambers sighed a sigh that could be measured in hundredweights. “I know what you’re going to say. That scene with Janet Williams was awful.”

  “She was pretty mad,” Oz agreed. “So, what do you think?”

  They’d turned in to a link road that ran adjacent to some factories. Mrs Chambers’ face was lit only by the green-and-red lights of the instrument panel. The pallid glow, combined with her strained expression, made her look like someone much older than she was.

  “Obviously, there are two sides to every story,” she said. “Rowena texted me just before we left. She says that she was the victim of a rogue supplier. She only sold the stuff. She says that she was as much a victim as Peter Williams was.”

  Oz let out a scoffing snort. “So, she’s not denying it, then?”

  “No, she isn’t.”

  “But she is shifting the blame onto somebody else.”

  Mrs Chambers didn’t reply. Oz took her silence as a yes.

  “Mum, she’s a fraud and a cuckoo. She’s landed on Penwurt, and if we’re not careful, she’ll take over the place. You’ve got to get rid of her.”

  Mrs Chambers still didn’t speak.