Rosie Frost, page 2
“And your ruby,” Ms. Parr added.
“Yes.” Rosie’s fingers grasped the red crystal.
“Should you be wearing it every day? You must be extremely careful with that, Rosie. It’s irreplaceable—very old and very valuable.”
“Of course I will. It’s so special to me, Ms. Parr. But the lawyer, Colin, must know more.” Rosie frowned. “If Mum left the case and her letter of wishes with him, she might have told him more. When I last saw her that morning before school, she was happy—and she mentioned someone was going to help her,” said Rosie. “I thought it was a new job.” She clutched her pendant. “When she died, I thought for a while she might have been ill.”
Ms. Parr put her hand on Rosie’s shoulder. “No, Avaline wasn’t ill.”
“So what happened?” asked Rosie. “And why will no one ever tell me anything? Mum dropped hints about this place, and always said there’d be plenty of time to talk about it later, but there wasn’t!” Rosie’s throat tightened, and she could feel her eyes growing hot with angry tears. “Everyone here is always going on about their families, but I have no mother left and don’t even know who my father is!”
“I’m sorry, Rosie. Perhaps Avaline was just trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
“I can’t say, dear, but gather the facts first and don’t let your temper run away with you. You’re a special girl, and other pupils will look to you for guidance as the winner of the Falcon Queen games. That means you need to be the bigger person—a role model, so no more food fights, please.”
Since Rosie had won, against all odds, the school’s legendary Falcon Queen games at the end of last term, a lot of things had changed for her. She was no longer the invisible new girl. Now that her name was engraved on the Falcon Queen cup, all the students knew it, and they’d smiled at her in the corridors, wishing her “Happy Christmas” as they’d left to celebrate with their families.
Ms. Parr and Rosie left the woodland and followed the path toward the main school. The sun was just dipping into the velvet skyline, like a farewell for now. Then suddenly, in the distance on the other side of the island, behind the Volcan Crag, a surge of purple and green light, with a thin blue shimmer, rippled across the sky.
“What was that?” said Rosie.
Ms. Parr shook her head. “Strangest thing—it’s like a trace of aurora borealis. Northern lights, but different. But they never occur this far south.” Ms. Parr cleared her throat. “I wonder if it has something to do with the platform.”
“What do you mean? What platform?” asked Rosie, looking back again at the green flashes in the distance.
“Another science project from the Emperium. The platform is off the north coast,” Ms. Parr said, still watching the sky.
“What’s the Emperium Palace like, anyway?” Rosie nodded to the other side of the Volcan Crag.
“I thought Hitomi would have shown you.”
Hitomi was one of the few students left at Bloodstone over Christmas break.
“Not yet.”
“Well, you have the technology labs, the ceremonial halls and rooms, dormitories for the scientists, et cetera,” Ms. Parr said. “It’s a place of great scientific innovation. Newton, Einstein, Nikola Tesla, Marie Curie—they all spent time there.” They’d reached the huge oak door leading into the girls’ dormitory. “You’ll see it tomorrow at the ceremony to launch the Futurology Exhibition, once everyone’s returned. It’s getting late,” said Ms. Parr. “Oddjob, come!” Then she smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rosie. You must have missed Charlie and Bina.”
Rosie nodded and pushed open the door. Oddjob looked up at them and barked, then growled into the gloom again.
“I’m sure she’s safe here, Oddjob! He does like to look after people. But, Rosie, no more wandering off.” Ms. Parr rubbed Oddjob’s ears, then disappeared into the shadows with her dog trotting along beside her.
Rosie looked back at the green lights and frowned.
What exactly was going on in the Emperium Palace?
Chapter 2
Your Friend Always
Sunday, January 8th. Evening. Heverbridge School.
Rosie peeled off her damp jumper. The Bloodstone winter had a way of seeping through the heavy stone walls of Heverbridge and into her bones.
She pulled on her old football kit with some long wool socks and shivered. Then she slipped on her roommate Bina’s oversized bright green jumper. Bina wouldn’t mind her wearing it. Rosie then went to the bathroom and washed her face, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She flinched as she touched the scratches on her cheek, a gift from some spiky ferns when she’d been fleeing the mutant wolf.
It was a new year, a new term, and she would be fourteen, yes, fourteen in less than a month. They couldn’t keep the truth from her forever. She licked her teeth. It was a strange feeling to roll her tongue across them without the braces, removed by the school dentist that morning. She was free to eat popcorn and caramel, and she could even smile if she wanted to.
You’re a special girl, and other pupils will look to you for guidance as the winner of the Falcon Queen games. That means you need to be the bigger person—a role model.
Ms. Parr’s words echoed in her mind. Rosie frowned. Why did she need to be the bigger person? She’d just gone through her first Christmas as an orphan. She looked down at her phone again.
NO NEW MESSAGES
She glared at the empty screen.
Ada, Miss Churchill’s long-eared rabbit, had curled up fast asleep on the bed, her paws over her nose like a kitten. Ada had been Rosie’s stand-in roommate since Bina had gone abroad to visit her extended family. Charlie’s family was having building work done, so Rosie had nowhere else to go. She remained at Bloodstone, alone except for Ms. Parr, a few staff who lived on the island, and some other leftover students like Hitomi, who had turned out to be quite nice—and a brilliant fencing teacher.
Christmas had highlighted everything Rosie didn’t have: a mother, a father, or a home. The rattle of the old radiator echoed as if in agreement.
On Rosie’s first night alone, Ada had nuzzled into her cheek, wiping Rosie’s tears with her soft fur. And just like that, Rosie hadn’t felt quite as lonely anymore. She had gotten the idea of emailing the lawyer Colin Fletcher directly while ranting to Ada that Miss Churchill was wrong for keeping her in the dark about her mum’s death. Ada had silently agreed on all matters. She was a perfect roommate.
Rosie lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Her muscles ached; she was exhausted. Ada snuggled into the crook of her arm.
Why? Why? Why? Who would kill my mum?
She reached across the side table and looked at her phone.
NO NEW MESSAGES
What to do? She sat up. Bina had left her a new notebook for Christmas—a fat one with a lock on it and a huge pineapple on the cover. Just what she needed! The little note was still attached.
Write to your mum?! Or another song?
You can keep it locked this time!
Love, Bina xxx
your friend always
Rosie began to write.
Dear Mum,
Everything feels weird without you. I don’t think I have any words left in me. The thought of a song feels wrong.
I have Bina and Charlie, but I miss you so much.
She crossed it out.
Dear Mum,
How could anyone hurt you??
She bit her lip. Started again.
Dear Mum,
What happened to you? Why so many secrets? I need answers.
That’s all I got, Mum. Sorry.
Oh, P.S. This girl called Hitomi in the year above me is an Olympic fencing champion. Pretty badass, with two pink streaks in her hair. She’s teaching me to fight!
En garde. Rosie xx
* * *
Aooooooooooo!!!!!
Rosie froze. Was that a howl?! She closed the book. The sound was long and deep, rising up from north of the woodland. A mournful cry? Or was it rage? She glanced at Ada, whose eyes were shut in blissful sleep. Rosie stepped up to the window and peered into the darkness. The same surge of purple and green light streaked across the sky. It was like lightning, with soft edges.
A group of people were coming up the driveway toward the school from the helicopter pad, then they turned, moving across the gardens. Rosie caught glimpses of them in the light of their bobbing torches. They looked like security guards, with helmets and radios on their jackets. Two of them were carrying a kind of stretcher thing between them with a large black box balanced on it. It glimmered, as though made of black glass.
Rosie closed the curtains and sighed. Enough questions for one day.
Her phone flashed.
NEW EMAIL NOTIFICATION
From: Colin Fletcher
At last!
Dear Rosie,
I have news about your mother.
I shall come to talk to you in person. Meet me tomorrow at 12:15 pm.
I suggest Miss Churchill’s office, where we can discuss these delicate matters in private.
Yours,
Colin Fletcher
Rosie clenched the ruby pendant. Finally, tomorrow, she would get the truth.
Chapter 3
The Meeting
Monday, January 9th. 11:15 a.m. Heverbridge School.
“En garde!” The blades flashed through the air like flickers of lightning. Rosie stepped backward and intercepted her opponent’s strike with the side of her saber.
“Good parry, well done!” said Hitomi, who was standing at the side of the mat. Her hair was in an immaculate, shiny black bob, with symmetrical streaks of pink down each side of her perfect middle parting. Her eyes watched Rosie’s every move.
Rosie didn’t know who she was fighting; the person had joined them with their mask already on. She pushed forward, and her opponent stepped swiftly back. They parried, and the blades sang against each other with a brisk clash. Rosie swiped her saber swiftly on the top of her opponent’s helmet.
“Touch!” said Hitomi, clapping. “Rosie, you’re doing great!”
The opponent then knocked Rosie’s strike away, and suddenly the point of their saber was on her chest. Then the sword was flicked and struck across her heart, leaving a red chalk mark.
“Touch! So what do you think of my star pupil?” Hitomi asked the masked person. Rosie stared down at the gloating red chalk mark on her chest.
“She’s a killer,” the fighter said. Then he took off his mesh mask and lowered his sword. Rosie looked up, and her face flushed.
It was Jackson Sterling. Jackson was back, and so were her butterflies, damn it. Rosie took off her mask and pushed her curls behind her ears. He must have arrived last night on the late ferry.
“Hey, Rosie,” he said, looking at her as he smoothed down his ruffled hair and smiled. “It’s good to see you.” Even in the tight padded suit he wore for fencing practice, he looked hot. “You must have been training hard over the holidays.”
“Yes,” she replied.
Why can’t I just say “hello” like an ordinary person?
“You look different.” He tilted his head and stared at her.
Her familiar butterflies flickered.
“I had my braces off.”
She looked at the floor.
“Nice! You’ve been busy.”
“Wasn’t much else to do,” she mumbled as she rubbed away the red chalk mark from over her heart.
Heverbridge had loads of PE rooms and gyms. The fencing club room had really high ceilings, with large windows, worn wooden floors, and a gallery round the edge.
“Hee hee,” someone giggled. Rosie looked up. A couple of the year sixes were peering down at them from the upper gallery.
Jackson followed her gaze. “I guess you’ll have to get used to being famous now, Rosie, after winning the games like that. ‘There’s only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that’s not being talked about.’ ”
“Still quoting Oscar Wilde, then?” asked Rosie.
Hitomi gave her a side hug and smiled. “It’s all good. She’s our shining star now, aren’t you?”
Rosie folded her arms and shrugged. She didn’t want to look like a big head.
Rosie still wasn’t sure how she felt about Jackson after everything that had happened last year. She’d thought they were friends. Then he’d betrayed her, stealing her diary and giving it to his godfather, Mr. Hemlock. Bina had told her she should never trust anyone who had Cromwell blood in their family, like Jackson and Hemlock. But Jackson had confessed, stood up to Hemlock, and then helped Rosie save the wildcats from Hemlock’s horrendous mining schemes. And there was still this annoying butterfly feeling she got every time he came near her.
The door leading into the changing rooms opened, and a group of year-six pupils came out, chattering like starlings. Hitomi looked round.
“Jackson, can you be a hero and show our new members the stance? I want to do a couple of bouts with Rosie.” Jackson nodded and headed toward the new arrivals.
“Thank you, bae!” Hitomi called after him, then put on her mesh mask.
Hitomi saluted her and Rosie quickly saluted back, another strange fencing tradition she’d learned.
“En garde!”
Why was Hitomi calling Jackson “bae”? Rosie frowned. And why was he just doing what she asked, like an obedient puppy? Suddenly Hitomi’s blade came flashing through the air toward her.
Focus, Rosie, focus.
She breathed in, stepping back. The blades clanged loudly together. The force of the blow shuddered against her.
Focus!
She pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin.
Game on!
Fast and fluid, like a dance, they moved back and forth with confined precision. Rosie felt like a hero in an old movie full of men in ruffled shirts leaping on chairs and swatting away palace guards with one hand.
Back, back, forward, attack, parry, riposte.
“Better! Focus on your stance, Rosie. Again!” Hitomi commanded.
Hitomi came at her harder this time. Rosie swiped and her parry swung out into nothing. A sharp sting swiped across her ungloved hand.
“Ow!”
“Stop!” Hitomi called and pulled off her mask. “Sorry, Rosie!”
Rosie looked down at the back of her hand. A thin sliver of blood glimmered at her. Hitomi’s blade had sliced the skin.
“I thought I was using the blunt practice blade! I had this one out ready for the tournament training; it’s the real thing, then,” she explained. “Goodness, you’ve gone pale. Are you okay?”
Rosie frowned and sucked the cut. “It’s fine.”
“It’s bleeding!” Hitomi frowned. “Oh no, hemophobia! Isn’t that, like, your greatest fear?”
Hemophobia was the intense fear which could cause people to act irrationally when confronted with blood. Rosie had admitted it on her fear card during the final challenge of the Falcon Queen games. But since she’d faced her fear during the games, the sight of blood hadn’t bothered her anymore. That chapter was over.
Or was it? Rosie looked down at the sliver of crimson, like an angry reptile tongue snarling at her. Blood dripped between the crevice of her thumb and finger—it was deep. Her head began to get hot, her skin was clammy, and the ground beneath her felt unsteady.
Maybe she wasn’t over the hemophobia? She gulped, then quickly looked up. No, there was no room in her life for that, not anymore.
Above their heads the school bell chimed the hour: twelve o’clock.
“It’s fine,” Rosie said. “I have to go. Thanks, Hitomi!”
She was due to meet Colin in fifteen minutes. What does he know? No time to worry about a tiny bit of blood or get changed now. She sucked on her hand.
Rosie ran up the stairs two at a time to the corridor where Miss Churchill’s office was. Her hand was still bleeding. She wiped it clean and wrapped it in a tissue.
“Answers, Mum, finally,” Rosie whispered.
She knocked on the door and waited, clearing her throat and pulling her fencing jacket straight. She suddenly felt restricted in the heavy breastplate; she’d forgotten to remove it in the rush.
“Hi, Rosie!” Two year-six students who’d been peering at her from the gallery came charging round the corner. The girl held up her phone and took a picture of Rosie. “I’m Tilly Cleves. I’m your biggest fan. We both are. Are you okay? Hitomi said you were bleeding, and we were really, really worried, weren’t we, Gilly?” She elbowed the boy next to her.
“Yeah,” the boy mumbled.
“I’m fine, thanks,” Rosie said, knocking on the door again.
“Are you sure?” Tilly nodded down to the crimson-soaked tissue, the trickle of blood running down her fingers. The blood glared at Rosie, red and oily, demanding her attention, a reminder that she, Rosie Frost, was still weak.
“Can we help? This is my twin brother, Gilly. We’re experts on all the students who’ve competed in the finals of the Falcon Queen games, you know. It’s like our thing. Your mum won in 1994, didn’t she? She’d be so proud of you…if she weren’t dead.”
Dead…Rosie flinched and turned the door handle. “Yeah, that’s right. Bye, Tilly.” She wiped her hand across her jacket, then pushed the door open and closed it firmly behind her. Tilly and Gilly? And Cleves…that had been the last name of one of Henry VIII’s wives. More Tudor descendants. Half this school seemed to be connected to the great Tudor houses. Her head pounded and her stomach lurched. She needed a bandage, but it would have to wait. She sucked on the cut again.
