The Messenger Bird

by Ruth Eastham

  The moon was high and bright, filling my room with silver. I got out of bed and got dressed. Then I lugged the mannequin from my wardrobe and dragged it under the covers. I’d have to hope that was enough to fool Mrs Atkinson if she looked in on me.

  No sound from the house. I pulled on my padded jacket, my boots, my hat, my gloves. I got my bike helmet out and headed downstairs. Mum and Dad’s bedroom door was slightly open and there was snoring coming from inside. Not keeping watch very well, was she, I thought with satisfaction.

  I tiptoed down to the front room and stopped. Was that the noise of a door opening, footsteps on the stairs? I stayed there, my ears straining. Nothing.

  I slipped out of the house and locked the door behind me. I froze. Had that curtain moved upstairs? I waited, hardly breathing, half expecting the woman to come storming after me any second, but the house stayed silent. I turned to go, although it didn’t feel right, leaving Hannah there by herself.

  “Nathan?”

  Josh’s worried face appeared from the shadows with his bike. He was wearing his helmet strapped tight under his chin, like he was in a war zone. “Where’s Sasha?” I whispered.

  Josh peered up the moonlit lane. “Maybe she got delayed.”

  We gave her some extra time. At one point a car drove slowly past our house, sending headlights on to the bare treetops, and we had to crouch low in the bushes until it was out of sight. Somewhere close, an owl hooted. We tried to ring Sasha, but her phone was off. I looked at my watch. “We can’t wait any more. We have to get going!”

  We set off, bracing ourselves against the cold. I’d decided to bike along the bridleway, the wide footpath that went across fields and through patches of woodland all the way to the edge of town. I wanted to get off the road as soon as possible. Ten minutes it might take to get to the start of the bridleway; then maybe another forty minutes to Bletchley, an hour tops.

  It was easy to see the way in the moonlight, but the edge of the road was slippery with snow and so we cycled up on the verge, the icy blades of grass crackling under our tyres. I couldn’t stop thinking about Sasha. What if something had happened to her on the way?

  I was about to turn back when I heard a bike behind us and Sasha appeared all out of breath and I smiled wide with relief. “Sorry,” she panted. “It was hard to get away. I followed your tyre tracks.”

  “What about your mum and dad?” I said, as we picked up speed, shouting over the noise of the bikes and the rushing air.

  “I pretended to go to bed, then locked my bedroom door and took the out-the-window-and-on-to-the-garage-roof route,” she said. “Which way are we going to the stadium?”

  “We’re not going to the stadium.”

  “But you said… Oh, I get it!” Sasha flashed me a grin. “You wanted them to think that! Where, then?”

  “Bletchley Park.”

  I flashed Percy’s bunch of keys, and Josh swerved so much he nearly came off his bike.

  I explained all about my phone call with Dad and told them about the photo in the Bletchley Park book, and how the ceiling design in the ballroom matched the design carved on the griffins; how Dad had seemed to be telling me it was the last clue; the end of the trail. They listened as we sped on, Josh nodding his head like it was on a spring. When I glanced at their faces in the moonlight, I saw they were shocked and scared, but they never slowed down once.

  “We need to get to the bridleway,” I said. “If anyone drives past on this stretch of road, they’re bound to see us, so we need to get a move on!”

  We went quickly down the snowy lane. Past the village war memorial with poppy wreaths on its steps. Fast along packed-down snow towards the place where we could join the off-road track.

  “I can hear a car coming!” Josh shouted through his scarf, his legs going crazy on his rubbish bike. He was right. It was in the distance still, but definitely heading our way. We had to get off the road!

  We put on a spurt of speed, heading for the gap in the hedge and the gateposts where the track started. How far was it? Another hundred metres? It was hard to tell in the dark. I clicked on my head torch and zoomed forward, pushing the pedals down hard.

  The car was much closer; I could see its headlamps now as it wound its way down the hill towards us. We found the posts and veered through, me nearly coming off as I made the turn. The headlights caught at nearby branches and I signalled wildly for Sasha and Josh to get under the trees.

  “Kill your light!” she hissed.

  Just in time. A car swept past, its headlights blazing, almost blinding us. We hid in the thicket, watching it go.

  “Did you get a look at the car?” I said. Had it got tinted windows? I fretted. It couldn’t have been Mrs Atkinson – I still had the key of her Mini. Had she realized I’d gone already? Could she have called someone? Maybe she’d been faking being asleep.

  “Hang on.” I pulled my mobile from my jacket pocket and brought up the message box. I started to type.

  “Don’t!” yelped Josh, trying to grab my arm. “Remember you shouldn’t be using that!”

  I shrugged him off, continuing with the message. “I know. It’s OK. It’s another decoy.”

  Am by west gate of stadium. Where r u?

  There. I sent the message to Sasha, and a few seconds later I heard her phone beep as she received it. “Come on!” I shouted. We headed off up the bridleway.

  We biked along the untouched snow. It was slower going than the road, but it felt good to be on my bike. I felt the power of it under me as I forced the pedals round. The bridleway was wide and snowy smooth. The moonlight carved huge shadows on every bump, but it was enough to see by. We didn’t need lights. Tree branches seemed to point the way. My plan was working! A giddy feeling swept through me, and I let the noise of my flapping jacket drown out any niggling doubts.

  I saw a gleam in Sasha’s eyes as we raced each other between the trees. We were going fast. Frosty branches quivered in the wind as we sped past. We went up across a big field, then back down to a straight stretch between the trees.

  Not far now. I put on a spurt of speed. Was Sasha or Josh shouting something behind me? It was hard to hear over the sound of the rushing wind.

  I saw it too late.

  The bend in the track, sharp to the right. Too sharp. I yanked the brakes and started to slow, but I felt the wheels spin in the ice and the bike gave a grinding sound and I twisted to keep control, but I was turning too much and the bike went from under me. I came off and slammed down, sliding and turning along the snow, a terrible pain shooting down my right arm.

  I lay there staring up at the stars. Then I heard Joshua gabbling in my ear and my elbow was really hurting and I saw my bike on the ground and my head torch near it, its beam shooting into the sky.

  My helmet had a dint in it, but better that than my head, as Josh pointed out as he dragged me up. My arm hurt loads as I bent it, but at least I could bend it.

  I took it more carefully from then on and we lost tonnes of time. My arm was in agony, but I couldn’t stop now. We reached the outskirts of town and weaved our way down the quiet backstreets, getting closer to Bletchley Park. The wind picked up. We hid the bikes and helmets in a dark alley behind some big bins and carried on by foot, our feet slipping on the frozen pavement as we tried to keep to the shadows.

  I focused on what I had to do: unlock the fence gate, get into the mansion and disable the alarms. I didn’t even want to think about what would happen if they went off. “Find the ceiling design of the moon,” I muttered to myself.

  “We should keep our gloves on at all times,” said Josh as we hurried along on the snow, his luminous trainers catching the moonlight. “Avoid leaving any fingerprints.”

  I swallowed. Breaking and entering. No going back.

  We arrived at Bletchley Park with its chain-link fence and a security light blazing. We went along to the side entrance we’d seen Percy use, my bad arm throbbing as I flexed my fingers.

  Josh shone the to
rch for me and I stuck the side entrance key in the lock and tried to turn it. But it was too stiff. We exchanged looks.

  “Try again!” said Sasha.

  I found myself sweating. What if it didn’t work? What if the key was for a different gate? I wished I’d worn my thinner gloves. The padded fingers were too fat to handle the key properly. I waggled them off. “Forget fingerprints,” I said. What if this outside gate was alarmed as well? I thought suddenly. I didn’t think I had a key for that.

  I looked behind us. I was sure I’d heard something; that a shadow had moved back there.

  A scary idea came to me. I got my mobile from my pocket and brought up Lily’s last message.

  07700900583

  This is Lily. Help me Nath…

  “What are you doing?” hissed Sasha. “There’s no time for more decoys!”

  I didn’t answer her. I clicked call.

  There was a second or two while the phone connected, then a second or two for what I was hearing to sink in.

  A ringing sounded through the air. Close by and getting closer, fast. I fumbled to get the key in the lock. The ringing got nearer, and we all heard it now: muffled thuds as the ringing got louder and louder. Big boots clumping on snow, heading straight towards us.

  Josh covered his ears. “Hurry!”

  I forced the key with a cry. There was a click and the lock jolted open. I pushed the gate and we tumbled through, slamming it locked behind us. I ran fast away from the fence under the glaring security light, desperate to find somewhere to hide, slipping on puddles, cracking the ice, and not ever looking back once.

  17

  A Gilded Ceiling

  We crouched between the side of a hut and a brick wall. Our panting echoed eerily along the narrow space we were wedged into.

  The wall was freezing against my back. How had They found out where we were? I’d thought I’d been so clever. Dad’s words pecked at me as my heart pounded in my chest. It’s dangerous … dangerous…

  I shuffled forward and peered round the side of the hut. I couldn’t make anything out. But everything looked so different at night; so different in the moonlight. I managed to get my bearings and edged out. “This way,” I said.

  I tried the Lily number a couple more times as we scuttled along, in case we heard the ring again – but whoever had it must have turned the phone off. It was a horrible thought, though – Them waiting outside, waiting patiently for us to find Dad’s evidence. Or Them finding a way in and… I tried not to think about it.

  We went past some kind of memorial stone, making too much noise on the icy pebbles. I thought about the security guard in his little booth by the gate. Would he be on duty all night? He might do his rounds soon. We crossed a tarmac courtyard and the mansion loomed up in front of us, and it was only when I reached the door and turned to check on Sasha and Josh that I realized how thick I’d been.

  Footprints! I groaned. Three sets of footprints, one with an excellent tread. We’d left a nice, clear trail all the way from the gate right to here! But what could we do about it now? We had to go on.

  I had the keys ready. The one for the front door and the one for the alarm. The metal felt icy against my bare skin. I ran the alarm code through my head to make sure I had it exactly right. There wouldn’t be any second chances. 7-1-9-4-0.

  “What if the alarm code’s been changed?” hissed Josh.

  Yes, what if the code had been changed since the forgetful Percy pencilled it in on his key? There was a lump in my throat that wouldn’t go away. “Ready?” I said, and Sasha nodded.

  “Get your gloves back on, though, please, Nathan,” said Josh. “If you leave your prints anywhere, that’s one hundred per cent evidence in a court of law!”

  I unlocked the front door and straightaway I heard the bip-bip-bip of the alarm warning. “Where’s the box?”

  “There!”

  I sprang over to a code pad on the wall, the alarm key ready. I slipped it in and then I typed the numbers: 7 … 1… So far so good, but I really wished I’d worn my thinner gloves. The fingers were too chunky to press the keys properly and each press was painfully slow. I felt like I was trying to defuse a bomb.

  The bip-bip-bip, got faster, louder. I started to waggle a glove off. “Don’t touch it with your actual finger!” cried Josh.

  I kept the glove on. 9… The bip-bip-bip was hideously fast and shrill now.

  “Hurry!” Josh covered his ears.

  4… One continuous sound… I gritted my teeth and… 0.

  Silence.

  I patted Josh on the shoulder and pointed to the door at the end of the hallway. “It’s that way,” I wheezed, and we crept through the rooms, everywhere bathed in the same pale moonlight.

  “What was that?” The three of us stood very still. The sound of a door thudding shut? We hurried on.

  “Through here,” I said. The smell of drying paint got stronger. We found the ballroom entrance, the yellow and black tape still across it and wobbling in a draught. DANGER DANGER DANGER.

  We pushed the door open and our torch beams made weird, long shadows on the dark wooden panels of the walls.

  The tall stepladder still stood in the middle of the room, leading up the side of the scaffolding to a wooden ledge close to the ceiling. Dark velvet curtains hung mummified in plastic, and there were tins of paint and plastic bottles and glass jars, and paintbrushes and rollers soaking in buckets smelling of turps. There was a big metal toolbox, with spanners and chisels and screwdrivers spilling from it.

  I looked at the high ceiling with its clusters of posh lights, with designs of curving white leaves and flowers and shells on shining gold backgrounds. Ghostly faces with gaping mouths stared down. I got out the page from the Bletchley book and smoothed it out, and we walked about, shining our torches, searching for a match.

  Where was it? The floor’s paint-splattered sheets wrinkled as we stepped over them. There were so many designs, all so high up. I swallowed and forced myself to keep looking.

  “Here!” Sasha stood in front of dark wooden pillars rising up into a double archway. I rushed over and stared at where she was pointing. I had to take a few steps back and then let out a gasp. I saw it too! The design we were looking for. The full moon with a crescent inside it and beams coming out.

  Sasha climbed some rungs of the ladder. “Can you see anything else?”

  I stared, getting a crick in my neck. It was hard to get a proper view from the ground.

  “We have to get up there and examine it more closely,” said Josh.

  I stayed rooted to the floor. Had Dad really wanted me to go up there, knowing how much I hated heights?

  “If we climb the stepladder we can get to the start of that painting ledge and walk along straight to the bit of ceiling we need, OK?” Sasha made it all sound so easy, but my insides churned.

  “Nathan doesn’t do high up stuff, Sasha, remember?” Josh said to her out of the corner of his mouth, like that would mean I wouldn’t hear him. “He might get paralysed with fear halfway and get stuck.”

  Stop being so stupid, I told myself. It wasn’t that high, really, was it? My teeth chattered. My arm throbbed. “I should do it,” I said. “It’s up to me to go.”

  “You sure?” Sasha and Josh drew back to let me pass. I paused, then thumped a foot on to the bottom rung of the ladder. It’s not that high, I told myself. Only to the ceiling. A few metres. But the higher I got up the metal steps, the more it was like my feet were turning into chunks of metal themselves. My head swam and I felt like throwing up. Then I felt hands on my feet, and my friends were helping me back down.

  “Don’t worry,” said Sasha. “You hurt your arm anyway. You need two good arms for this job. We’ll go.”

  I felt such a failure.

  Sasha went over to the ladder and shook the bottom to check it was stable, then held the metal handrails. She climbed quickly to the top and paused a moment, checking her balance; then my skin shuddered as she swung herself on to t
he wooden ledge. “Your turn, Josh.”

  He climbed on to the scaffolding, his thin body moving easily from one strut to the next. I watched them walk along the wooden platform towards the moon design, me wincing every time they took a step. Closer they went, to within reaching distance…

  The first sign that something was wrong was the noise.

  There was a strange creaking, and then the scraping, grating sound of metal against metal. Sasha stopped dead. The steel bars trembled and growled. Josh shouted in fear as the scaffolding shifted.

  I saw it now: a latch that was supposed to clasp one rod of the scaffold to another. It was unhooked, dangling down on its length of rope. Maybe the workmen left it like that, ready for quick dismantling in the morning.

  Josh clung to a strut. “A five-and-a-half-metre fall, I’d estimate,” he was gibbering to himself. “Maybe six.” Sasha’s mouth was fixed in a silent scream.

  The scaffolding could go any second. “Don’t move!” I shouted, panic choking my voice.

  A terrible image leapt into my mind – Sasha and Josh sprawled on the ballroom floor. I remembered my promise to them from my bedroom window: I won’t let anything happen to you. It was my fault they were here. My fault. I had to help them; I had to climb the ladder and go along the ledge. It was the only way. A voice spoke inside me, stern and clear, telling me exactly what to do. Latch the hook back in place. Take two steps. That was all. Two small steps.

  I climbed the ladder, one foot after the other. Somehow I got to the top rung. I tilted my chin up and reached for the wooden ledge with a foot. The growling steel started to shriek. I felt a horrible wobble in the wood as my foot made contact.

  I pressed my back against the wall as I shuffled along the ledge towards the latch, feeling with my fingertips as I tried to get a grip on the smooth panels. Waves of pain shot up my bad arm as I made clumsy sideways steps. I kept my eyes fixed on the opposite side of the ceiling, desperate not to look down.

  I came to a stop, gasping for air. I couldn’t go on. I just couldn’t.