Itchcraft (7 page)

Flowerdew cursed loudly. ‘OK. So I have to do everything myself. I’ll clear this up.’ And he broke the connection.

On the walk from English, Itch and Jack bumped into Lucy; her face lit up.

‘Hi, you guys! What’s happening? Coming to Hampton’s science thing?’ It was the first of the science club meetings of the new term, and Mr Hampton was particularly keen for everyone to be there.

‘Yes, I’m in,’ said Itch, ‘but it’s not really Jack’s thing.’

‘Got that right!’ agreed Jack. ‘One of us has to stay normal!’

Lucy punched her lightly on the arm and laughed. ‘Thanks a lot, Jack. Anyway, who wants to be normal?’

‘Actually, a bit of normal would be nice for a bit, don’t you think?’ said Jack. ‘And yesterday was weird – tell Lucy about going to Mr Watkins’s place.’

‘You did
what
?’ said Lucy, astonished.

Itch described the events of the previous afternoon: how John Watkins had clearly been keeping a secret from them, and how Chloe had got a glimpse of something about
Mining Deaths 1800 to 1877
.

‘Ooh, interesting,’ said Lucy. ‘Let’s Google it.’ They had arrived outside the chemistry lab, and Jack made as if to leave, but Lucy linked arms with her. ‘Just come in and see what we come up with, Jack.’

Taking a seat at the front bench, she typed into her phone, and the three of them stared at the screen.

‘
History of Ireland, the Act of Union and the Great Famine
,’ read Lucy. ‘
Colorado Mining Disasters, Special Pizza Deals
. Hmm . . . not really what we were after.’

‘Add
Cornwall
to the search,’ said Jack, just as Mr Hampton strode into the lab. He acknowledged the small gathering of pupils and then noticed his new arrival.

‘Hi, Jack! Knew we’d get you in the end.’ He smiled and came over.

‘Actually I was just leaving, sir . . . I was talking to the guys here and—’ She broke off, distracted by the sight of a small pink butterfly earring sparkling from Hampton’s left earlobe. ‘Er, sir, that’s gross,’ she said.

‘What is?’ he asked, and Jack pointed to his ear. ‘Oh, that! I thought it was rather cute. My daughter gave it to me.’ He pulled at the butterfly and it came away in his hand. ‘I could have tried this . . .’ he said, and fixed it to his other ear. ‘Or this . . .’ When he had removed his hands from his nose, the butterfly was fixed to its side.

‘Is it glue, sir?’ asked Lucy. ‘I can’t see any piercings!’

‘No, it’s a tiny neodymium magnet. Itch?’

‘Er, neodymium . . . it’s one of the rare earths. Symbol Nd, number 60 on the Periodic Table. And the strongest magnets we have.’

Mr Hampton grinned. ‘Well done, spot on. These are the smallest I’ve seen, but they still work through skin.’ He showed them the small magnetic backing, and how it and the butterfly jumped together. ‘You don’t want to be around larger neodymium magnets – they could easily mess up your hand. Here, watch this.’

He hit the YouTube app on his phone and found a video called
Death Magnet
. They gathered round the small screen and watched as handlers with gloves and protective glasses used small, shiny, circular magnets to smash cans, cigarette lighters and fruit. The cherry was particularly spectacular: as the two magnets flew together, they destroyed their target, sending skin and juice splattering onto a nearby wall. Someone whistled their admiration.

‘Now, who wants to wear a pink butterfly for a few minutes?’ Natalie Hussain’s hand went up and Mr Hampton threw her the earring. ‘But a warning – nothing bigger, ever. There have been cases of students using a neodymium magnet to attach ornaments to themselves and then finding they needed surgery to get them off again.’ Almost everyone winced.

‘You got any neodymium?’ Jack asked Itch.

He shook his head. ‘No, but I’m thinking about it!’ he said.

‘Thought you might. That’s your birthday present sorted.’

At the end of the session, Mr Hampton cleared his throat to attract everyone’s attention. ‘Now, I’ve got something you
really
want to hear about,’ he said. He stood at the front of the lab, looking pleased with himself. ‘Dr Dart has given me the go ahead to organize a CA trip to the science museum in Spain. It’s in Madrid . . . It’s not normally a must-see, but they have some new exhibitions. There’s one on nanotechnology, another on 3D printers and, for the element hunters amongst us, a collection of Spanish silver, and how its mining was the start of the modern world. It’ll be at Easter, and you’ll get letters shortly.’

‘Why Madrid, sir?’ queried Itch. ‘It’s not exactly the best science museum we could visit. Munich’s much better.’

Mr Hampton looked unsettled. ‘Well, it’s been, er, updated recently. You may have missed that news. And there’s a good deal on at the moment . . .’ He paused as though he had more to say, but then continued, forcing a smile.

‘Who’s up for it? Assuming your folks all say yes? There are only a limited number of spaces. And it is warmer than the UK!’

Itch looked around – there were lots of hands up. He only vaguely recognized most of the others, but he knew Tom Westgate and Craig Murray from his form – and Natalie Hussain, with the butterfly earring fixed to her left ear, who had put both hands up.

‘Sir, can we bring friends? Please?’

‘Depends on you guys,’ said Mr Hampton. ‘There are ten places, and priority goes to those who come to this science club. If there are still spaces, then yes, of course. I’ll be in touch soon on this. Thanks, everyone.’

As they stood to leave, he added, ‘Itch and Jack – a quick word before you go, please.’

The cousins looked at each other and shrugged. ‘Tell me later,’ said Lucy, joining the others as they filed out. Mr Hampton closed the door behind them and came over to their bench.

‘Good spot, Itch,’ he said. He was speaking softly, as though afraid of being overheard. ‘The Munich museum is way better. Of course it is. However, there’s another factor which I shouldn’t really share with you, but . . . I don’t think the normal rules apply here.’

Itch glanced at Jack; her raised eyebrows indicated that she was as surprised by this as he was. ‘You remember my old colleague, Tom Oakes? The American who helped you at ISIS? I knew him from our days at the Mountain Path mine in California . . .’

‘Sure we do,’ said Itch. ‘He showed us how to destroy the 126. He’s the one who said, “Let’s whomp this sucker,” before we pressed the button.’

‘Yeah, he showed us how to fire the death-ray thing,’ said Jack. Itch was about to correct her, but Mr Hampton did it for him.

‘I’m sure you mean “operate the neutron beam”.’ He smiled kindly and sighed. ‘Well, Tom has disappeared. He was being given a hard time by his bosses for the meltdown at the target station, and he quit.’

‘But that’s so unfair,’ said Jack. ‘Poor man, he was just trying to help us.’

‘He should be rewarded, not punished,’ agreed Itch.

Hampton paced to the front of the lab, then back again. ‘He called me, looking for work.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t have any. He said something about an offer from Madrid, but he didn’t sound himself. And he didn’t say anything to his wife.’

‘And you want to look for him,’ said Jack.

‘I should have noticed his distress’ – Hampton was almost whispering – ‘but I didn’t. So when Dr Dart approved a science trip, I thought I should see what I could do.’

‘So it’s Madrid,’ said Itch.

Mr Hampton nodded. ‘It’s Madrid.’

After school the following day, Lucy wheeled her bike up to Itch and Jack, who were waiting for Chloe in the reception hall. ‘Hey! Been thinking about that Watkins’ secret you were talking about. We should call in at the library on the way home. If the “mining deaths” search doesn’t come up online, we should try there. There’s a big local history section I used once for a tourism essay.’

‘OK,’ said Itch, ‘but I’m not a member. Never been in there.’

‘Me neither,’ said Chloe.

‘Same,’ said Jack.

‘But I have!’ said Lucy. ‘Follow me . . .’

The walk to the library saw them all in high spirits; the term had started a whole lot better than they had expected. They were laughing as they passed a rather surprised librarian and dropped their bags around the ‘Local History’ table. There were four bookshelves in two facing rows and they stood looking at the hundreds of books.

Lucy headed for the nearest shelf. ‘
Old Parish Churches of Cornwall, Smuggling in Cornwall, Old Cornish Inns
 . . . All fascinating, I’m sure, but not helpful. Where do we start?’

‘Why don’t we ask her?’ said Itch, pointing at the librarian. ‘It’s her patch.’

‘Good idea,’ said Jack, and they all approached the woman sitting behind a vast table covered in books, leaflets and posters.

The librarian was younger than Itch expected a librarian to be, but was at least forty; her badge said
MORGAN
. She smiled as they approached and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. ‘Hello. How can I help?’

The three girls all looked at Itch.

‘Er, we have, erm, a school project on mining, and we were wondering if you had any books covering the period 1800 to 1877.’

‘Sure. We’ve got quite a few on mining – and Cornish mining in particular.’ She led them to a two-shelf run of books. ‘These bottom shelves go from pre-history to the present day. You should find everything you need here, but it is a popular section – some books may be out. Good luck!’

They all sat on the floor and started to pull out a variety of books.

‘Remind me what we’re looking for . . .’ said Chloe.

‘No idea,’ Itch replied, ‘but something that explains why Watkins has gone all secretive on us.’

‘Anyone heard of the Ding Dong mine at Land’s End?’ said Jack from behind the covers of a large book. ‘Apparently there’s a legend that says Jesus is supposed to have addressed the miners there.’

‘Don’t think it’ll be that, Jack,’ said Itch.

‘Cornish miners led the rebellion of 1497 against Henry the Seventh?’ offered Lucy from her book.

‘Arsenic was found with copper ore at the Callington mine, and the dust often killed the miners,’ read Chloe. She looked at her brother. ‘These guys were the original element hunters really – this is all your stuff, Itch: copper, tin, arsenic, silver.’

Itch nodded. ‘I know. And it was dangerous – there were loads of accidents. But everyone knows about that, so why should Watkins be doing more work on it?’

‘Could we see if he’s taken any books out recently?’ wondered Lucy.

Itch smiled at her. ‘Now that’s a good idea. But the librarian won’t tell us just like that, will she?’

‘Let’s see . . .’ said Lucy, and walked back to Morgan the librarian. ‘Hi again,’ she said. ‘Sorry to trouble you. Our teacher, John Watkins – you might know him, I think he comes here sometimes – has recommended a book, but none of us can remember the title. Or the author! We’re all feeling a little dumb, but we don’t want to get into trouble . . .’ Lucy smiled and pulled an ‘I’m-in-trouble’ face.

The librarian nodded. ‘Of course I know him. I’m not allowed to give you anyone’s borrowing history, of course . . . but there are a couple of books on the returns trolley that might be what you need. Mr Watkins brought them back yesterday.’ She gestured towards a chunky wooden shelf on wheels, piled high with books of all sizes.

‘Thanks,’ said Lucy. ‘We might get our project done now! Hey, over here, guys!’ She called to the others, and raced for the trolley. ‘Two books in here somewhere,’ she said when they’d gathered round. ‘Watkins dropped them off yesterday.’

Chloe found one first. ‘There!’ She pointed to a hefty hardback. ‘
The Black Seam: Mining Stories
. That must be one.’ She pulled it out. ‘Nearly nine hundred pages, Itch,’ she said, flicking to the end. ‘Here – you have it.’ The others scoured the trolley’s shelves, but couldn’t see any more mining books.

‘It’s getting late, you guys,’ said Lucy, ‘and I need to cycle home. Let’s get this one for now and try again tomorrow.’ She took the book to the librarian, who stamped it and smiled.

‘Looks like it’s going to be a big project!’ she said.

‘’Fraid so,’ said Lucy, and they all filed out onto the street.

‘I’ll take it,’ said Itch. ‘You can’t ride home with that in your bag. You’ll never get up the hills.’

‘OK. Thanks, Itch. See you guys tomorrow!’

They watched as Lucy cycled off into the gloom. ‘Say hi to your mum,’ called Chloe, and Lucy waved in acknowledgement.

‘You really going to read that?’ said Jack as they walked home.

‘Sure,’ said Itch. ‘Suppose I should finish
The Great Gatsby
for the Brigadier first . . .’

‘Which you haven’t started,’ said Chloe.

‘I’ve looked at the cover,’ protested Itch.

Itch wasn’t sure what had woken him. It had, as usual, taken him a long time to get to sleep – his brain refusing to shut down the way everyone else’s did – but his clock said 3.10 a.m.

Way too early. He listened to the sound of the house. He could hear the pipes and radiators starting to warm and the creaking sounds that had alarmed Chloe when they had first moved into the house. While they had the MI5 team next door, he had slept well, knowing that he and his sister were being watched, being protected. Now they were gone and he found himself analysing every sound for danger.

His mind raced. The 126 was gone, but Flowerdew wasn’t. He was out there somewhere, and Itch was sure he would hear from him again . . . But, Itch reasoned, the injuries he had sustained – the burns in the Fitzherbert School fire and the blows to the head at the ISIS labs – would put him out of action for some considerable time. Whatever noises the house was making, he was sure it wasn’t related to his old science teacher.

Itch got up and stood on the landing. All the lights were off apart from a faint glow from Chloe’s nightlight. He put his head round her door – she was fast asleep, of course, her breathing deep and steady. He walked silently back to his room and put on his light. He sat on his bed and picked up his copy of
The Great Gatsby
; he had managed three chapters last night. In fact, now he thought of it, it was this that had finally brought on sleep. Maybe it would work again, he thought; he found his place and started to read.