Itchcraft (33 page)

At a nod from Flowerdew, Wing stepped forward and looped the belt around Itch’s waist. She tightened the strap, and he heard the small metallic click as it locked. He was aware of the pressure of the belt as it sat above his hips. It was an uncomfortably tight fit, and he pushed the front panel away from him slightly. Glancing down at the stitched fabric, he saw
Nd
stamped in small letters. His heart beating faster, he felt around the panel. Underneath the fabric was a metal disc, about five centimetres in diameter, and as he pushed it down, he felt the top metal button of his jeans pulling up to meet it.

Itch’s legs started to shake again, and his skin prickled.

Flowerdew was smiling his half-smile again. ‘You know what it is, don’t you?’ he said.

Itch nodded.

‘Well, come on, boy! You have an audience who want to know what they are wearing!’

Chloe, Jack and Lucy were all silent now; they watched Itch with a horrified intensity.

‘It’s neodymium,’ he said, trying to push his jeans button back down. ‘We are wearing neodymium magnets – the most powerful magnets in the world.’

He saw the recognition in Lucy and Jack’s eyes – they remembered. Their terrified glances said:
You mean that butterfly earring Mr Hampton had? You mean the video of the fruit that got smashed to pieces? You mean
those
magnets?

And Itch knew his face said,
Yes
, those
magnets
. He swallowed hard. ‘I think we need to stay away from each other,’ he said.

‘I did mention revenge, I think,’ said Flowerdew. ‘And this is it.’

The door opened and four of the crew strode in, one for each of them. Itch felt strong arms take hold of him, then watched while the other men used long blades to prise Jack’s, Lucy’s, then Chloe’s belts away from the poles he now saw behind them: he assumed their belts had smaller magnets at the back. If his arms hadn’t been pinned to his side, he’d have checked.

‘On deck!’ ordered Flowerdew, his voice shrill. ‘And keep them away from anything made of steel!’

Itch was spun round and frog-marched out of the cabin. He tried to see what was happening to Chloe, but a large hand twisted his head round to the front. He was marched back the way he had come, along the dark corridor, up the steps – tripping on two of them – and into the lab. Itch’s eyes swivelled to the sealed cabinet he had seen on his way down. This time he had a better view of the labels. Some were still obscured or illegible; one said AgNO
₃
. He barely had time to register the large brown jar with a heavy-duty lid before he was propelled past the benches, his feet barely touching the ground. Occasionally he felt his belt tug, but he was moving too fast for the magnet to catch hold of anything.

As he was manhandled around the deck, he forced himself to focus, to think, to shake off the paralysing fear. He’d read about this at the museum in Madrid.
This is silver again! AgNo
₃
– silver nitrate. Think it’s poisonous. Was once used in photography
.

They were under the drilling rig now, and as he turned, Itch caught a glimpse of Chloe, her face white, her eyes staring. She hadn’t noticed him, and he was glad. She would have seen her brother looking every bit as scared as she was.

Silver nitrate. Made by adding silver to nitric acid
.

They were weaving their way through the drilling equipment; the
Strontian
’s stern was now only metres away. Beyond, the darkness of the ocean and the white churn of the ship’s wake.

Think it’s an antiseptic
.

Itch was held beside a green barrier no more than half a metre high. He guessed it was iron – it was rusting and he could feel his belt being pulled again. It really was no barrier, though; more of a low, retractable rail marking the end of the ship. And the beginning, ten metres below, of the dark, rolling Atlantic ocean.

To his right, Chloe stole a quick glance at him, then stared resolutely out to sea and the slowly disappearing lights of El Hiero. Next came Jack, her face white, her head bowed. Lucy was the last to arrive, struggling and kicking, her eyes blazing.

‘Jack!’ shouted Itch above the roar of the ship’s engine. ‘Jack! Look at me!’ She half turned her head, but then seemed to lose interest. She closed her eyes and bowed her head again.

He’s going to kill us. He’s actually going to kill us
.

Flowerdew appeared at Itch’s shoulder. He smelled of hospitals and whisky. He was smiling his sloping smile.

And it is all my fault. All of it
.

‘It’s a long way from the academy, isn’t it, Lofte? And a long way from ISIS too. But here we are. And you are about to pay the price for humiliating me. And attacking me. And trying to kill me. And stealing my possessions. It’s a long charge list.’

Itch found his voice. ‘Is it worth pointing out that it’s me you want revenge on, not the others? You keep telling me it’s
my
fault. Well, you’re right, it is. So let them go. Please.’ He gulped and wiped his eyes. ‘Please, sir.’

Flowerdew looked along the terrified line. ‘You’re right, it
is
your fault. So I will offer you one last chance to save your family.’

Itch stared at Flowerdew’s stitched and stretched face, the sea-spray causing the skin grafts to redden further. ‘What do you want me to do?’

Flowerdew stepped in front of him, and for a moment Itch knew he could push him overboard. But also that Chloe, Jack and Lucy would follow soon after. The moment passed. Flowerdew licked his lips. ‘I want you to tell me where the rest of the 126 is.’ He ignored Itch’s look of amazement. ‘You destroyed the rocks at ISIS, but there will be more. If they arrived via a supernova, there will be more than eight small pieces. Supernovas are massive; their payloads are huge. You know that. Tell me where it is.’

Itch’s heart sank. For a moment he thought there might be some serious bargaining to be done. He should have known better.

‘There isn’t any more. There really isn’t. And how would I know anyway? Cake gave me the first and left me the others. I didn’t find any more.’

‘But there will be more, Lofte, of course there will. And it will have arrived thousands of years ago. I have my people searching Cornwall, looking for important sites where mysterious “magical” rocks might have been hidden or worshipped. But they have found nothing. If you want to save your girls, you’d better tell me what you know. Fast.’

‘That was
you
? Well, I found two of your thugs with a Geiger counter by the church. I should have guessed. So that was Greencorps smashing up the ancient sites?’

Flowerdew looked pleased with himself. ‘Who else?’

Itch couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. ‘And that
Meyn Mamvro
stuff? The
MM
s that turned up everywhere? Really?’

Flowerdew nodded. ‘A neat trick I thought up. I met a few crazed Cornish nationalists while I was at the academy. Dressing our search up in an ancient language made it all rather . . . dramatic, don’t you think? Took off rather well. Every crazed hooligan with a grievance seemed to want to paint it on something. But, sadly, it didn’t deliver any more 126.’ He approached Itch and whispered into his ear. ‘Tell me where it is or you die. You all die.’

He nodded to one of the crew, and the low rail started to fold into the deck. Itch, Chloe, Jack and Lucy were marched to the edge. With their gags still in place, there were no screams – but the ones in Itch’s head were loud enough. He looked down. The floodlights picked out the heaving water below.

He spoke fast. ‘All I know is that, hundreds of years ago, mysterious mine deaths were reported. No one knew what happened. Maybe there was 126 involved, but I—’

‘Where were the mines?’ Flowerdew shouted. ‘Which ones?’

Itch tried to remember names from Watkins’s book, but nothing came. ‘I don’t know! They were Cornish mines, that’s all! And it was ages ago. I—’

‘No good, Lofte! No good!’ screamed Flowerdew. ‘Your time is up!’ He strode over to one of his men, who placed a gun in his open palm.

Itch had seen enough. He ran as close to Jack and Lucy as he dared; he felt his neodymium magnet pull, and stopped dead.

He shouted into the wind, ‘He’s going to shoot! We have to jump!’

Jack and Lucy were paralysed with fear; then Flowerdew aimed his weapon.

‘Stop it!’ he shrieked. ‘You can’t help each other! That’s why you’ve got the belts on! Get back, Lofte!’

But Itch turned and ran back towards Chloe, felt his belt tug, and this time carried on. He skidded, then propelled by an astonishing force, his belt crashed into Chloe’s. Their bodies jarred, and Chloe’s head smacked into Itch’s chest, but she held on tight. As Itch straightened, Chloe was lifted off her feet, the magnets holding them together.

‘We are going to jump,’ he shouted into her ear. ‘We’re dead if we stay.’

‘We’re dead if we jump!’ she yelled back.

They heard a metallic rattle behind them: Flowerdew was loaded and ready to go.

‘Coming over!’ shouted Lucy. She had turned to a terror-stricken Jack and run. A fierce metallic crack, a scream from Jack, and the pair were joined at the hip.

‘No!’ yelled Flowerdew.

Perched on the brink, with the roiling waves ten metres below their feet, Lucy and Jack turned to Itch.

They all saw Flowerdew raise the gun.

‘We go now!’ bellowed Itch.

As Chloe screamed, he walked them to the edge.

And then over it.

Two seconds later, Itch and Chloe hit the sea. Amidst rapid gunfire, Jack and Lucy followed them, arms and legs flailing as they smacked into the water. On impact their heads cracked together; Lucy recoiled but Jack’s head found Lucy’s shoulder and stayed there.

Lucy recovered sufficient strength in her limbs to kick and thrash enough to slow the descent. Her held breath gave her some natural buoyancy, and for a few seconds she could see the lights of the disappearing ship, splintered and cracked as the light refracted in the water.

Sinking but forcing a fight, she screamed at herself to keep going. But Jack was hardly moving and Lucy wasn’t sure if she was even conscious. Jack’s legs seemed stuck to hers, and Lucy tried to frantically frog-kick her way back to the surface. But the belts were killing them. Every surge upwards generated by the whipping of her arms and legs was cancelled out by the weight of the neodymium. Lucy wasted precious seconds struggling to force it off her hips but it was locked fast. And she felt herself sink faster.

Itch and Chloe had entered the sea like torpedoes, forced deep underwater. They resurfaced quickly and took in great heaving lungfuls of air.

‘Where are Jack and Lucy?’ Chloe screamed, her mouth in and out of the water as she turned her head from side to side. ‘Did they jump?’

Itch’s arms and legs were working furiously, his eyes darting around. But waves from the
Strontian
’s wake were rolling over them, and he knew that they would have to look after themselves. The weakness in his muscles told him that. The look in his sister’s eyes told him that. The enveloping darkness gave them no choice.

‘Try to swim!’ he gasped. ‘Crawl!’

He leaned sideways into the waves and felt Chloe respond, but their arms and legs clashed repeatedly. As their rhythm stuttered, the weight of the belts started to tug them under. Chloe, eyes wide, mouth tight shut, started to panic; her breathing was shallow and rapid, her shoulders shook. Itch looked into her eyes; he could see that she was losing it. When her head dipped below the water, he twisted round, trying to pull her up.

‘Chloe! Stay with me!’

For a fleeting moment it worked, and Chloe managed one more half-breath before her arms seemed to fold beneath her. And they sank beneath the waves again.

Itch hadn’t finished fighting, but he feared that Chloe had. He kicked and clawed at the water, but still felt them dropping. He could feel Chloe, but in the enveloping blackness he couldn’t see her; he was sure he was battling on his own. He felt bubbles on his face. She went limp. Somewhere in his head a voice told him that it was over; that this time he had lost.

Not yet. Not now. Not yet. Not now
.

With a sudden burst of ferocious energy, he twisted and rolled to slow their descent. It seemed to work: they were coming back up. How long had they been in the water? A minute? Ten? If he could just keep this up . . . If he could just wake Chloe . . .

But a terrible pressure was building on his eardrums – an arc of pain shooting through his head – and with it the crashing, crushing realization that they weren’t resurfacing. They weren’t about to save Lucy and Jack. They were still sinking. In the ink-black sea, he no longer knew which way was up. Lights started to explode in front of his eyes. He tried to close them, then realized that they were already closed. The pain in his ears and chest was unbearable. He stopped kicking.

Itch blacked out at thirty-four metres.

Chloe blacked out at thirty metres.

Lucy blacked out at thirty-five metres.

Jack’s heart stopped beating at forty metres.

‘They’re falling fast!’

‘Too fast!’

‘No, we’ve got just enough . . .’

‘They’re stuck together! What the . . .?’

‘It’s pulling me. Tugging my kit!’

‘Same here!’

‘Stuck fast!’

‘Must be magnets!’

‘Cut it!’

‘I’m there!’

‘Faster!’

‘Don’t let them go past forty.’

‘Got that.’

‘These two gone. Got a pulse!’

‘Same here!’

‘Trachea shut, then!’

‘We’ll need the BCDs.’

‘Control! Control!’

‘If we move too slowly, they’re gone anyway!’

‘Get the RIB in place!’

The sea was alive with powerful lights, air bubbles and swirling, swooping divers. Fully masked, in identical black neoprene suits and split fins, they darted between Itch and Chloe, Jack and Lucy. They quickly found the belts holding them together, and Leila’s knife was out first. Too close to the neodymium, it jerked out of her hand and stuck fast to the belt.