Rosie Frost, page 12
She stared at the keypad on the door of the pen. Ed had said the same shape as before, but in the other direction.
Her fingers trembled. 2-4-8-6. It glowed and there was an obedient click. The door to the hatch popped open and she stepped inside, closing the gate behind her on its latch. This pen had one of the lobby bits, which she was in now. Probably to make sure the birds couldn’t fly out when they were being fed. But it was fine; they were just birds, and there weren’t any here anyway. The second door, into the pen itself, had an electric bolt—not coded, just a release button. It clicked open, and she headed into the darkness, through the pen, scanning the ground with her torch, toward the patch of gray canvas under the straw. She slowly took a step, then another. The frost crunched under her feet, and then—
Crack!
The twigs snapped. “Shssh,” she whispered to herself.
But there it was! The gray canvas thing under the straw was right in front of her.
“Yes!” She reached for it, then heard a rustling noise. Her body tensed. Something was moving in the pen next door. And it sounded big. She glanced into the darkness but couldn’t see anything.
She shook herself. Whatever it was, it was on the other side of the chain mesh fence separating the two pens. And there was nothing in this pen, so all was fine. She sighed and crouched down and brushed away the straw. Yes, it was a backpack! Ed hadn’t been lying!
She crouched low and pulled it toward her. She should leave now. That would be the sensible thing to do, right? Check it later. Her fingers pinched at the zip. Maybe just a quick peek.
She unzipped it a little, just a little, then all the way. There was a water bottle and some cough sweets, and…oh God, it was actually there! A brown folder with A. Frost—Report written on the cover.
Yes, she had proof! Colin was real; he’d been here!
Oh…
Then where was he now? Her stomach tightened.
I made him come here. Now he’s dead.
I’m so sorry, Colin. I didn’t know this would happen.
Or maybe he just dropped the bag? Maybe? Yes, maybe he had to leave in a hurry?
EEEEEųEeeeuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrr!
She stopped. What was that? It was like a low growl, a gulping sound…
Rosie looked around. Nothing. She began to zip up the bag.
Uuuuuuuuuuuuurghh!
The gulping sound was closer. Rosie turned and found herself eye to eye with a huge bird, like an emu crossed with a velociraptor. It had pink fleshy bits dangling from a bright blue throat with black eyes and a stone-gray beak. It leaned toward her and tilted its head to the side like it was just curious.
“Er, nice birdie,” she said, her eyes focused on it as she closed the zip, then ever so slowly slipped the backpack over her arms and onto her front. “Nice to meet you,” she said, while feeling around for her torch with her other hand. Got it. “I’ll be off now.”
She started creeping backward on her hands and knees toward the gate. She’d seen something like this bird before…
It took a step toward her, the pink flesh under its beak swinging, then another step and another. It had big chicken feet with three huge claws.
The chicken-monster thing made a gurgling noise as it followed her. Rosie tried smiling.
“Do you want to be friends?” she said in a calm and gentle voice.
Euuuuurh eeeuuuuh!
Maybe that meant “Hello there, I’m nice.”
The same gurgling low sound was coming from the back of the pen.
Two more birds emerged from the darkness, trotting up at speed! They were huge!
All three of them were coming at her now, like velociraptors on the hunt. Black feathers puffed up with pride, a bit like Hemlock when he got his way.
Of course—the portrait of Hemlock in his office had one of these horrible things in it! That’s why she recognized them!
She had to make a run for it. She swung up the torch and shone it straight into their eyes. They squawked and fluttered while Rosie leaped to her feet and sprinted for the gate.
Eeeerųawkkųkkkkkųk…eeeeeųaaaaaaųaaaaaaaaųawwkkk.
The chicken-velociraptors screamed and charged at her.
Rosie leaped forward, her hands scrambling for the electric button. Just as she reached out, one of them did a ninja kick into her back, throwing her forward. The torch went flying.
She hit the ground hard. Her jeans ripped open as sharp claws tore into her leg.
She rolled over and swung out blindly with Colin’s bag, smacking one of the birds across its head. It squawked, fluttering, then rejoined the attack. It was an onslaught of pecking, clawing, three chicken-monsters going for her face and eyes. With helicopter arms and legs, she swiped back at them, but she was pinned up against the fence between the pens and all she could do was hold Colin’s bag in front of her like a shield. The birds pecked and scratched, eyes glaring, pinching her skin.
“Get off!” she yelled, shoving them back. Suddenly she was propelled forward, and the three birds screeched with alarm, sprinting away. Rosie rolled over and fell on her back. Red eyes glaring, jaws snapping and growling, a monster lunged at the mesh fence right behind her. She knew this beast. It was the mutant dire wolf, the huge creature from the woods. It was right there, lip curled. Drool dripping from its large teeth, it stared at Rosie like she was dinner. It pushed its huge paws through the fence, reaching for her, and its massive jaws tore at the annoying mesh keeping it from its prey. Its foul-smelling spittle landed on Rosie’s cheek.
The birds started squawking again. How long did she have till they realized it was fenced in and came back for her? Rosie dragged herself up, still clinging to Colin’s bag, and staggered through the first gate. She slammed it behind her, then fell forward into the lobby.
The dire wolf launched itself at the wire mesh right next to her. It strained under the weight of the monster. The birds leaped up against the fence on the other side of her and hissed.
It was one big mutant creature sandwich.
Rosie’s heart was pounding, her body shook, and her head throbbed. She’d lost her torch and her ribs were sore, but she was alive, and she still had Colin’s backpack. She staggered out of the main gate of the pen.
The moon shone down like a spotlight across the door.
Casuarius Casuarius. Cassowary/The Devil’s Chicken. Approach with Care.
Now you tell me.
She slammed it shut and the lock blinked red.
What the hell were these things doing on Bloodstone? Probably Hemlock’s pets.
Rosie took her own pack off her back, assessing the damage: squashed with a few rips.
She slung it back over her shoulders and carried Colin’s, which had been her life-saving body shield. She yawned; her body felt suddenly heavy, aching, and school seemed a long way away. Her torch was gone, but the new dawn was just creeping across the sky. She’d better get back.
She took one last look back at the pens. The birds had disappeared, but the dire wolf was now pacing around its enclosure, its head swaying from side to side.
It turned, then snuffled at something in the other corner of its cage.
Its dark, lonely eyes looked empty, hungry for something.
A family? Rosie bit her lip. Was it really the only one of its kind? Perhaps it was sad it had no mum or dad. I know what that feels like.
It wasn’t its fault it thought Rosie was food; it was just being itself, a carnivorous wolf. Rosie frowned and stepped closer to the fence. What is it nosing at? The dire wolf bit into whatever it was and lifted it up, swinging it side to side in its heavy jaws like a dog with its favorite chew toy.
Grrrr.
It lifted its head and threw the object across the pen. Whatever it was, it landed by the mesh fence near where Rosie was standing.
The early dawn light streamed through the trees; Rosie could see exactly what it was. A man’s shoe, a pea-green brogue, the kind you could imagine a university professor wearing. Or a lawyer.
Chapter 17
The Report
Thursday, January 12th. 7:30 a.m. Miss Churchill’s Office.
Rosie trudged her way through the forest. The first rays of the morning sun flooded over her as she emerged out of Wildcat Woods, holding Colin’s backpack tightly to her chest with her own rucksack on her back. Now she had proof. Finally they’d believe her. She had made a promise to her mum, and now she was going to keep it.
She walked quickly back toward the main school building.
Okay, make a plan, Rosie.
Go straight to Miss Churchill and give her this bag. Then they’ll have to do something, right?
She’d find Ed and make him tell them what he’d seen. She’d be able to read the report on her mum’s death at last. She would have the truth, and then she could have her revenge.
Her heart was thumping. This rucksack was like the crown jewels. It had everything in it: her peace of mind, her heart, and answers.
Behind the school’s turrets and towers, a fresh, pale sky was emerging. Bloodstone Island was waking up.
“Rosie!” Hitomi called out, and waved. She was heading across the lawns toward the gym in her fencing gear. Early morning practice for the tournament, probably. Rosie waved back, but fencing was the last thing on her mind. Together she and Miss Churchill would read the report. And then Miss Churchill would have to step up the investigation into what really happened to Colin and how his shoe ended up in the dire wolf’s enclosure. A few lights blinked on across the dorms and the Sovereign Hall. Rosie started walking more quickly, and Hitomi disappeared into the gym.
Queen Nike swooped overhead through the early morning sky and called out to her. It was as though the falcon knew and was urging Rosie on. It was a new day; yes, this was it.
She ran up the stairs to Miss Churchill’s office two at a time. A sleepy-looking sixth former, her hair in curlers, stared at Rosie with wide eyes, but Rosie kept on walking. Answers. The truth at last.
She knocked and opened the door.
“Miss Churchill, I’ve found it! The report!” she called out, striding straight in.
Someone was on the floor, someone wearing…red high heels?
They were poking out from under the desk.
Miss Churchill? Wearing high heels?
Rosie stopped and clutched the bag tightly. Not another dead body! No, this person was on all fours, dressed in a black pencil skirt and a crisp cream shirt, their bottom pointing toward the door, examining the carpet.
The person turned around. It was Mademoiselle Curie Labouisse. She smiled at Rosie with red-painted lips.
“C’est toi, Rosie! Bonjour!” She then put her hand to her chest and frowned. “Mon Dieu, what has happened? Ma petite, you look terrible!”
“I’m fine, Mademoiselle…er, well, it’s just…”
Could she tell her?
Rosie suddenly remembered what Miss Churchill had said about not telling anyone what had happened with Colin.
Mademoiselle stood up and put her hand on her hip. “Is this something to do with your mother? Miss Churchill told me what you saw here the other day.”
Thank goodness!
She reached over and plucked a piece of straw from Rosie’s hair. “But what on earth have you been doing, Rosie? Your clothes are filthy! Assieds-toi…Here, sit down.”
She guided Rosie to a little table under the window with two small armchairs next to it.
“Is Miss Churchill here?”
“No, she asked me to inspect the room, to look for evidence of what you saw. Since Ms. Parr has not been able to locate Monsieur Fletcher on the island.” She sat opposite her.
I have evidence now, Rosie thought, but Mademoiselle was still talking.
“The Lucifer’s trumpets, peut-être. Rosie, ma cherie,” she said, pouting, “do you see those yellow flowers?”
Rosie looked at where she was pointing. The flowers were in a large pot on top of Miss Churchill’s filing cabinet and did look like trumpets. She’d seen them last year. She nodded, remembering their light, sweet smell.
“Did you touch them at all when you came into this room?”
“No.”
Mademoiselle tilted her head to one side. “I ask because, you see, they are a type of Brugmansia suaveolens unique to Bloodstone. A very pretty flower, but also dangerous. The Lucifer’s trumpet can kill or cause hallucinations.”
Rosie frowned. How horrible that something so pretty and innocent-looking can kill.
“What? Do you think Colin inhaled some of them? Or ate them? But why would he start eating Miss Churchill’s flowers?”
“No, my dear, I don’t think he ate them. But I did wonder if you touched them. Perhaps that might explain why you saw such strange things in here? A man on the floor, whom no one else saw come to the island, and whose office says he is away on business. A boy no one knows, and a mysterious corridor too…It all sounds a little like a dream to me. Miss Churchill did wonder as well. I have also scoured the bookcases in here for some kind of secret entrance and can find nothing.” She got up and began patting the bookshelf, looking for the secret door. Nothing, just books.
Mademoiselle placed her hand on Rosie’s shoulder, her eyes full of sadness.
“But I didn’t dream this!” Rosie said, her face hot. She held up Colin’s backpack. “I saw Ed again…He told me where Colin’s bag was, so I went to find it in one of the animal pens. I found it, and…” She blinked as she thought about the pea-green shoe in the dire wolf’s mouth. Did she dare say the rest of it? It was too horrible.
Mademoiselle Curie Labouisse was still looking at her with her head on one side.
Oh God, now she thinks I’ve really lost it.
“It’s Colin’s bag!”
Mademoiselle pouted. “The pens? Students shouldn’t go there. I think you did not mention a bag to Miss Churchill?”
Rosie pushed the bag at her. “See, it’s definitely Colin’s. The report he was bringing me on my mum’s death is inside.”
Mademoiselle’s carefully plucked eyebrows arched a little, and she took the bag from Rosie. Her nails were the same scarlet as her lipstick and beautifully manicured. Rosie looked down at her own filthy hands.
“It might have bird poo on it,” Rosie mumbled. “Don’t get any on your skirt.”
Mademoiselle Curie Labouisse carefully unzipped the bag, then pulled out the report.
“Mon Dieu, c’est vrai. ‘A. Frost.’ Avaline.”
Rosie’s heart constricted. Her breathing became quick and shallow. Is this it? Answers at last?
“Let’s sit.” They both sat back down. “Rosie, perhaps it would be better if you left this report with me. I think it is not suitable for a child. I will give it to Miss Churchill, and we shall wait to see if she thinks you should read it.”
No way!
“No, I have had enough of waiting,” she said, her voice low.
“But I think it’s for the best,” Mademoiselle replied.
“No!” Rosie snapped. “No, no!” She gulped air; her heart thumped. “That’s mine! It’s proof I’m not seeing things, and it holds the truth about my mum. I’m not leaving it anywhere!”
She snatched the report back out of Mademoiselle’s hands and held it to her chest.
“But, Rosie…”
“No. Hemlock said he’d look after my red briefcase when I arrived, then claimed he never had it. You can’t take it!” She wrapped her arms round it, squeezing it to herself.
Should I just run out of here?
Mademoiselle lifted her hands. “Sois tranquille, Rosie. Be calm. I see it is very important. I shall not do anything you don’t want; you can trust me.”
“How do I know that?” Rosie said, her voice cracking. “You thought I’d been eating flowers and making it all up a moment ago. No one believes me.”
Ed was right. Traitors, they say one thing and do another.
Mademoiselle then sat back in the chair, crossing her legs. “I believe you saw something. That’s why I’m here, still looking for some trace of your Colin, the secret corridor.” She placed her fingertips together. “I suggested the Lucifer’s trumpets as one possibility, ma fille, that is all. A person says they have seen strange things in a room where there is a plant which makes people see strange things? It is a sensible thing to check then, is it not?”
“Yes, maybe, but I was telling the truth,” Rosie mumbled.
“You have every right to feel angry and hurt. But I promise you, I will not hurt you, or keep the report from you. It’s yours…I understand.”
She leaned forward again and gently placed her hand on Rosie’s shoulder. Rosie looked up at her.
“If you’re comfortable, I could perhaps take a look now, while we are here together?”
Could she really be an evil liar like Hemlock? Rosie wanted to trust her, and she seemed genuine. The room fell silent and Rosie bit her lip.
“I…I suppose that would be okay.” She passed back the folder.
Mademoiselle took it and smiled at Rosie.
“Thank you, my dear.” She opened the folder and started flicking through the pages. Rosie’s heart thumped. Here we go.
After a minute, Mademoiselle looked up, tapping one finger against her cheek. “This is only a preliminary report, Rosie. It is full of scientific language, very complicated. And there is a witness statement, in police language. But let me read it in full, and then I shall explain it to you. Is that acceptable?”
Rosie was still breathing hard, but nodded. Mademoiselle turned the first page in the folder, her eyebrows knitting together as she read it through.
A wave of exhaustion flooded over Rosie, like she was about to drown in the truth that was coming. She scanned Mademoiselle’s face for answers. What is it? Okay, I’m ready, tell me!
