Itchcraft (16 page)

The sound of an incoming email came from three devices at once: Itch’s laptop, and Chloe and Nicholas’s phones.

‘It’s from Gabe!’ said Chloe as they all opened the message.

‘What’s he sending that we all need to see?’ said Nicholas. He read aloud: ‘
Saw this in Coventry and thought of you! Your news travels fast. G
.’

Itch had the picture on his screen first. ‘Dad, look!’

Chloe and Nicholas moved swiftly and stood behind him. They saw the battered wreck of a car in what looked like a multi-storey car park. It had lost its tyres, its windows were smashed, and across the side in red spray paint were the words
Meyn Mamvro
.

Nicholas spoke first. ‘I get the feeling that it doesn’t mean “Stones of the Motherland” any more. It just means random violence. Or destruction. Or anarchy.’

Chloe leaned in front of Itch and typed
Meyn Mamvro
into Google images. ‘Just a thought,’ she said, and hit
ENTER
. The screen flashed white, then filled with lines and lines of images. The first few were of the defaced Hurlers and other rocks around Cornwall, but then came houses, furniture, walls, caravans, shops . . . All were damaged and broken. And all had the words
Meyn Mamvro
scrawled across them in red letters.

When the CA returned after half-term, it was the only topic of conversation. A story that had started life as a Year Ten geography project had gone viral. Everyone had seen different versions of the graffiti. Before lessons started, Itch and Jack had been shown T-shirts, tattoos and screensavers. Debbie Price and Natalie Hussain came over with photos from their trip to the Hooting Carn, but Itch had already seen most of them on websites and in local newspapers. Ian Steele had found the words on the Great Wall of China, but most people concluded that the words had been photoshopped.

The buzz of excitement lasted until Mr Hampton walked in; their new form teacher did not look happy. His soft-spoken, genial tones had an added touch of steel this morning.

‘Welcome back, Ten H. You should know that some graffiti has appeared on school property. Some idiots have deemed it acceptable to scrawl the words of the moment in the school hall. It happened this morning. Dr Dart is understandably furious. The culprits have been sent home. Any repeat of this idiotic behaviour will be dealt with severely. I hope you all understand the seriousness of what I’m saying.’ He looked at his class, challenging them. ‘Well?’

‘Yes, sir,’ mumbled most of 10H.

It was soon clear that the ‘culprits’ were Darcy Campbell and Bruno Paul; they’d been temporarily suspended. Their parents claimed that Dr Dart had overreacted because of the press attention after the parcel bombs, and had been embarrassed by the publicity that came with the
Meyn Mamvro
graffiti. Headlines like
IS THIS THE COUNTRY
’
S MOST NOTORIOUS SCHOOL
? and
ACADEMY OF HATE
had certainly not helped, and the school governors were apparently taking the appeal seriously.

An emergency meeting with the CA’s sponsors had been called, and it was then that Itch noticed the new school board. As before, it showed the school crest and the name of the principal, followed by a list of the companies which had contributed to the building; until recently this had included the oil multinational Greencorps. This had now been removed.

‘That’ll be Fairnie’s doing,’ said Itch as he and Chloe stood in reception. ‘He must have told Dr Dart what they’d been up to.’ He hadn’t thought about Greencorps and the murdered bosses for some time; now he wondered about Leila and her claim about Flowerdew.

‘What are you guys staring at?’ asked Jack, arriving with Natalie and Debbie.

‘Greencorps are no longer sponsors of our fine academy.’ Itch pointed at the board.

‘Don’t know whose reputation is lower,’ said Jack gloomily. ‘Anyway, Deb has found a real nasty on Facebook, Itch, so I wouldn’t go there.’

‘I don’t anyway,’ he said, ‘but you might as well tell me. I’ll find out soon enough.’

Debbie Price twisted uncomfortably. ‘Someone took a photo at the church, Itch. Of you on the ground after you pulled that curtain down. And the comments say that it’s you who should have been excluded. And . . .’ They waited for her to finish.

‘Go on . . .’ said Itch.

‘And that the school was bombed because of you. And that Mr Watkins—’

‘OK, that’s enough,’ said Chloe. ‘It’s full of garbage – clearly the work of that cow, Campbell.’

‘You’ve seen it?’ asked Itch.

‘Of course.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You’d be amazed what I don’t tell you!’

‘Apparently a poster-sized version of the photo went up outside yesterday,’ said Jack. ‘It didn’t last long, but you get the idea . . . There could be more today. We need to report it.’

‘I wish Fairnie and the team were here,’ said Chloe.

‘Yes – a marine with a gun can sort most things,’ said Itch, ‘but in the long run I’m going to have to cope without spooks to look after me.’

‘OK,’ said Jack, ‘but if this gets any rougher, you should call him.’

In the weeks that followed, there seemed to be a never-ending supply of Cornwall Academy stories turning up on blogs and local news sites. Some were rumours, some gossip, others completely made up. But the CA was the story of the moment, and anything that mentioned it, and preferably Itch, was sought after. Its academic results, its sporting fixtures and the private lives of its staff were all considered interesting enough for what appeared to be a local army of reporters to write about. Itch guessed it was actually just Darcy and Bruno filling their recently acquired spare time, but that didn’t seem to matter. The atmosphere in the CA was tense. Now that members of staff were the subject of scrutiny, they became irritable and prone to issuing random punishments. The day a story came out about Craig Harris’s ‘high jinks and emotional behaviour’ at a wedding, he had the whole of Year Nine running laps of the school grounds. Chris Hopkins had handed out extra homework on electromagnetism after a rumour about him and the school secretary led to wolf whistles in his class. A pink fluffy heart with
I love Sarah
had been the final straw.

The image of Itch on the floor of the church at Mr Watkins’s funeral wouldn’t go away. Itch knew that James Potts had it as a screensaver and suspected others did too; a few Year Eleven boys had started to throw themselves to the floor as he passed. Whenever he walked into a classroom, someone would pretend to faint.

‘I’m not calling Fairnie!’ Itch said to Jack after a particularly theatrical fall of six pupils in an ICT class. ‘I can’t just run to him whenever bad stuff happens here. They’ll get bored soon, anyway.’

Jack wasn’t so sure. ‘I know that’s the way it’s been in the past, but this is different, Itch. The CA is a pretty messed-up place at the moment and this isn’t getting any better. Dr Dart looks pretty stressed. No one dares talk to her in case she explodes.’

‘Yeah, well, she’s got that hearing soon. Campbell and Paul’s appeal. Maybe they’ll be thrown out for good. Then some other school can enjoy their poison.’

The only place Itch felt safe was Mr Hampton’s science club. No one fell over, no one joked about curtains, no one thought element-hunting was a strange way to spend your time . . . He even started to use his 118-pocket rucksack again. Itch knew he wouldn’t be expected to talk football or pretend to know anything about
Britain’s Got Talent
. He didn’t need to explain anything. He found he was looking forward to the trip to the Spanish science museum.

And then there was Lucy. The science club was the only thing in school they did together, and he looked forward to each session knowing she would be there. He was still embarrassed about the whole purple fluorite incident, but was grateful for the way she had talked him round. And not told anyone. Not even Chloe and Jack knew about his attempt at mystical insight. He shuddered.

‘Hey, Itch, over here!’ Lucy had arrived early.

He sat down next to her, dropped his rucksack and reached for the pocket marked
25
.

‘Stop! Don’t tell me,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘Chromium? Vanadium?’

Itch shook his head.

‘Close?’ she asked.

‘Very . . .’ Itch pointed to
23
and
24
.

‘Ah, so close! I give in.’

Itch took out a small, roughly cut, slate-grey stone. ‘That’s manganese. I think it’s from Bodmin Moor – they mined it there. That’s what I was told, anyway.’

‘Hi, y’all,’ called Mr Hampton, striding into the lab. ‘Or
Hola
maybe! Time to start thinking Spain, everyone.’ He spotted Itch’s stone and wandered over. ‘May I see?’

Itch handed it over. Hampton smiled. ‘
Manganeso
, Itch. Still named after Magnesia in Greece, but that’s what the Spanish call it.’

‘Thought the Periodic Table was the same everywhere,’ said Lucy.

‘The shape is. The grouping of elements is. But some of the names are different. Here’s a poster with the whole thing on – you can have it, Itch, if you like.’ He unrolled a sheet of A3 that showed the familiar squares of numbers and letters arranged in rows and columns. ‘At first glance it’s the same. Some of the names are the same; some are very similar: helium is
helio
, zinc is
cinc
. Some are different . . .’ He took a felt tip and circled two squares in the eleventh column, one above the other. ‘We say silver, they say
plata
; we say gold, they say
oro
, and so on. And speaking of valuables, please make sure you all have enough euros to last the five days. Miss Coleman and I will not be buying you souvenirs if you run out of money.’ He handed the poster to Itch.

‘Why is Miss Coleman coming, sir?’ asked Tom Westgate. ‘Thought you’d have another scientist.’

Mr Hampton smiled. ‘One of Miss Coleman’s hidden talents is a reasonable fluency in Spanish. I have some too, having lived in California, but Miss Coleman studied in Madrid for a year. I have your information packs here – our flight is at the somewhat inconvenient time of 04.15 hours, and I warn you, I am not at my best before breakfast. Jack and Chloe have taken the last two spaces, so no room now for pets or parents!’ He laughed loudly. ‘Itch and Lucy, could I have a word before you go?’

As everyone wandered out, Itch and Lucy approached his desk.

‘Any news of Tom Oakes?’ asked Itch.

Mr Hampton paused briefly, and winced slightly. ‘I’m afraid not – after the bomb at ISIS, he may want to stay hidden for longer. All things considered, I’d be grateful if you could keep our chat to yourselves. I shouldn’t have said anything, really. This trip is complicated enough!’

‘Is there a problem?’ said Itch. ‘I thought everything . . .’

Hampton raised his hands. ‘No, of course all is well if your folks are happy. But your safety is paramount. For the moment we just have to inform the police of our movements – flight details, hostel, that kind of thing. And we get a police escort from the airport.’ He looked from Lucy to Itch and back again, clearly expecting a smile.

‘Another joke, sir?’ suggested Itch.

Mr Hampton and Miss Coleman called it the Museo Nacional de Ciencias Naturales, but everyone else called it the science museum. The verdict of the CA students, having spent the best part of a day there, was that it wasn’t a patch on the one in London. If it hadn’t been for the new exhibits Hampton had told them about, they’d rather have gone shopping. It was also incredibly stuffy; despite the unusually warm spring weather, the museum’s radiators were all blasting out heat.

Itch spent all his time, as expected, absorbing silver. He knew that it was the shiniest substance in the world, and the best electrical conductor, but that was about it. However, here were rows of coins going back centuries. You could (under supervision) pick them up, spin them, even smell them. The display showed how the Spanish went to the New World looking for gold, but found silver. In brutal conditions they had forced the workers to use a refining process which used mercury; the result was a vast increase in productivity and global trade. Silver knitted the global economy together for the first time – it was an international currency. There were some cool by-products too, and while there was a queue for the coins, Itch was the only one looking at and making notes on silver salts.

When they met up in the café on the cavernous ground floor, Tom Westgate had an alternative reason for their trip to Madrid.

‘I reckon this is all so that Hampton and Miss Coleman can, you know, have a romantic few days away together,’ he told them.

‘Are you kidding?’ said Itch. ‘Really? That’s disgusting.’

Natalie and Debbie laughed.

‘Haven’t you seen the way they look at each other?’ said Tom. ‘She never takes her eyes off him.’

‘Isn’t she a bit young for him?’ said Jack.

‘They’re all teacher-age,’ said Itch. ‘Don’t suppose it matters, really. As long as we don’t see them holding hands or anything . . .’

‘Here they come,’ said Lucy as both teachers appeared from the lift.

‘What’s everyone laughing at?’ asked Miss Coleman, flushing slightly as they walked over.

‘Oh, er,’ said Tom, ‘Lucy told a joke. About the sequencing of human DNA.’

Lucy shot him a ‘thanks-for-nothing’ look.

‘Like to share it?’ said Mr Hampton knowingly. ‘Not sure I know of many DNA jokes.’

‘Oh, it wasn’t that good anyway. Can we visit the shop before we go?’ Lucy asked, changing the subject.

Hampton looked at his watch. ‘Fifteen minutes is all you have; you won’t want more – it’s even hotter in there. Miss Coleman and I will stay here. We’ve already seen what there is on offer.’ This produced another bout of giggles, and everyone hurried away to cover their embarrassment.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jack said, ‘Oh my God! Tom, you are so right! That was excruciating. Now they know that we know. And it’ll be all over Facebook. Maybe that’s why they made us leave our phones at the hostel – so we couldn’t report back to anyone.’