For Seán

  CHAPTER ONE

  Just when Drew thought he’d broken free, he heard the hounds.

  He quickly dropped to his knees and crouched in the bushes, trying to slow the hammering of his heart. Alarms were still screeching all around Madame Strang’s Academy for Incredibly Irritating Children and yellow searchlights were combing the lawn down to the fence and beyond into the forest: to freedom. Now, mixed in with the sound of chaos, came the piercing yowl of dogs. How many are there? thought Drew. Ten? A hundred?

  He darted out from the bushes and across the gravel to the lawn. Dodging the huge circles of light, he carefully picked his way past the statues that dotted the grass. The sound of the dogs grew louder behind him, and Drew chanced a quick glance back at the building that had been his home for six long months. Small shapes were moving like lightning across the lawn, yapping madly.

  He had almost reached the enormous wire fence that separated the lawn from the forest when he felt the first nip at his ankle. He yelped and leapt for the fence. As he scrambled to get a grip, another set of jaws clamped themselves round his ankle, tugging him down. He fell backwards, landing on the lawn with a thump.

  The sausage dogs were waiting for him. As Drew tried to pull himself to his feet, dozens of them swarmed over him: nibbling at his ears, drenching him in saliva, gnawing at his shoes and hanging off his clothes. He yelled out, struggling to fight them off, and dragged himself back towards the fence.

  He scrambled up to the top and straddled it for a moment, gasping and gulping in the delicious night air. The sausage dogs prowled like panthers below. It will only be a matter of time before their mistress follows, Drew thought to himself.

  A guilty feeling gnawed at his stomach as he looked back at the academy. It wasn’t meant to be this way. Could he still go back? Was it too late to rescue what he’d left behind?

  The dogs below snapped and snarled, bringing him back to the situation at hand. There was no going back. He could only go forward, and it was time to move.

  ‘I’ll come back for you!’ he called out weakly, the wind snatching his words and whipping them away into the night.

  He swung his leg over the fence and began to shimmy down the other side. Something prodded him in the back. Twisting round, Drew came face to face with a small, furry head poking out of his backpack.

  He squealed. The dog, a nasty-looking sausage with a gold collar and a tag marked MANGLER, nipped his nose hard. Drew lost his balance and plummeted, landing with a hard thud before rolling down the hill into the forest below. The sausage-shaped lump of fur jumped out of his backpack at the very last minute with a yowl.

  The world whirled in front of Drew like a washing machine spinning out of control and he jammed his eyes shut. He remembered a crash. And then nothing.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Two weeks later

  Riz squinted at the jar of mud in front of her and tried hard to look interested.

  ‘Now, this particular specimen,’ Olly told her, holding the jar up to the light, ‘is one I picked up on a family holiday to Crabthorpe two summers ago…’ He paused and threw a suspicious glance at Riz. ‘Are you listening?’

  ‘No… I mean, yes.’ Riz nodded vigorously.

  He wagged a finger at her, peering over his glasses. He often reminded Riz of a ten-year-old version of her headmaster, or of the grumpy librarian at their school who scolded Riz for using a banana skin as a bookmark. ‘I can always tell when you’re not paying attention, Riz.’

  Riz knew that wasn’t true. A few months ago, she’d had time to go downstairs, eat three slices of bread with butter and jam while chatting to Olly’s mum, and return upstairs. Olly had still been talking, oblivious to the fact that he had been alone.

  ‘This muck really is fascinating,’ she lied. ‘What’s it called?’

  Olly sniffed disapprovingly.

  ‘If you’d read the latest edition of Unearthed, then I’m sure you’d be able to tell me its name. I wrote an entire two-page spread about it.’ Olly frowned.

  ‘Of course,’ Riz replied, plucking the jar from his hands and giving it a violent shake. ‘It’s called mud!’

  ‘Be careful with it!’ Olly snatched the jar back and cradled it like a baby. ‘It’s very delicate.’

  He pulled a copy of Unearthed from a drawer and flicked to the page he wanted. ‘Here it is,’ he said. ‘A very well-written article, if I do say so myself. Then again –’ he sniffed – ‘I am currently the most knowledgeable journalist writing for Unearthed.’

  ‘Aren’t you the only journalist writing for Unearthed?’ Riz asked, frowning. ‘Isn’t it your newspaper?’

  Olly ignored her and went back to talking about the muck. ‘Its scientific name is Squelchius Repulsia, or to those less educated in the matters of soil –’ he threw her a glance – ‘it’s called Lesser-Spotted Cumbrian Sea Muck. Quite a rare find in the wild, I’ll have you know.’

  This had been Riz’s entire afternoon – sitting in Olly’s bedroom, watching him label and re-label his mud collection.

  It was a blazing hot day, uncommon in Snoops Bay, and Riz could hear the screams of a gang of kids next door – it sounded like they were having a water fight. She wished she was having a water fight.

  Riz was renowned in town as a fearsome water-fight opponent. She would tie her jet-black hair into a tight bun and daub red face-paint across her cheeks. She was small for her age and had a wiry frame, allowing her to seek cover in the smallest hiding places.

  That’s what summer holidays were for, after all. She thought of the Snoops Bay harbour, mere minutes away from Olly’s house. Kids would be chasing each other, brandishing their ice-cream cones, or leaping off the pontoon into the icy water of the bay.

  Olly didn’t like fights – with water or with mud. And he didn’t like the hot weather either. ‘It dries the mud out,’ he explained, as Riz begged him to let them sit outside that afternoon. ‘And, frankly, I haven’t got time. Editing a newspaper is no easy task, Riz,’ he reminded her. ‘There are stories to chase, sources to interview, conspiracies to uncover…’

  ‘Conspiracies about mud?’ Riz frowned.

  ‘Mud is only the beginning,’ Olly replied. ‘One day I’m going to crack open the biggest story Snoops Bay has ever seen! It’s out there, right now, waiting to be revealed.’ His eyes glazed over as he imagined winning some huge prize for outstanding journalism – for toppling a corrupt organization, or finding long-lost treasure buried under Snoops Bay’s community gardens.

  As the afternoon wore on, Riz tried to suggest some other ways to pass the time, all of which Olly shot down with a hurried shake of his head.

  Should they get some ice cream? Dairy gave Olly wind.

  Should they play hide-and-seek in the forest? Olly was worried he’d get lost and never be found.

  Should they build a fort and start a war with the neighbours? Olly told her he was a ‘pacifist’. When she asked him what that meant, he admitted he didn’t know.

  So all that was left was Olly’s mud newspaper.

  Riz flopped to the ground with a dramatic sigh and began to leaf through the countless copies of Unearthed that littered Olly’s carpet. She studied the front cover of the January issue: a group of children kneeling over a large puddle of mud, laughing at some joke that one of them had made. Emblazoned in huge letters under the picture was the headline: CLAY-MAZING! ONE HUNDRED MUDS, SILTS AND CLAYS TO WATCH OUT FOR THIS YEAR. FREE POUCH OF MUCK WITH EVERY ISSUE!

  She tossed it over her shoulder with a shudder.

  ‘That was a brilliant issue!’ gushed Olly. ‘The first mud of the year was Flaming Banzang!’

  ‘Flaming what?’ Riz asked, confused.

  ‘Flaming Banzang. It’s a mud that originated in the Kalahari Desert. If you sing at it – in the key of A-flat major – it explodes!’

  Riz was unimpressed. ‘Ridiculous. For a journalist, you seem to fall for fake news very easily, Olly.’

  ‘It is not fake news!’ he insisted, turning back to his work, grumbling.

  Poking out from under Olly’s bed was a copy of the Snoops Bay Sniffer, their local newspaper. Riz’s dad bought a copy every week for the back-page puzzles, but she knew for a fact that he’d never finished one. A few weeks ago she’d found that in answer to the clue ‘Name six animals that live in the Amazon rainforest’ he’d written ‘A jaguar and five monkeys’.

  Riz grabbed the paper and was about to flick to the sports section when her eyes caught sight of the picture on the front page. A huge building, fenced in on all sides by barbed wire, sat between a range of crooked hills. It was surrounded by hundreds of brooding trees. The front of the building itself seemed to be frowning down on the hillside, which was bare and barren except for a winding dirt road.

  Riz lowered her eyes to the headline below the picture: CHILD MISSING FROM MADAME STRANG’S ACADAMY FOR INCREDIBLY IRRITATING CHILDREN!

  ‘What’s this about?’ she asked Olly.

  Olly swiped the paper from her grasp and peered at it. ‘That’s a proper news story.’ He beamed. ‘A real DUM-HINGER!’

  ‘Don’t you mean “hum-dinger”?’ asked Riz.

  ‘That’s the one,’ he agreed. ‘Mark my words, Riz, I’ll be writing stories like this when I’m older.’

  Olly suddenly leapt to his feet, brandishing the newspaper. Riz ducked to avoid being thwacked in the face. He bounded onto his bed, and rolled the paper up as if he was about to swat a fly, before

swinging it like a sword and holding it high above his head.

  ‘To find the truth,’ he declared, ‘and to tell it!’

  ‘Are you finished?’ Riz asked after a long pause.

  Olly glanced down snootily, clearly upset at being disturbed. ‘That’s the mission of every journalist, Riz. That’s what Moonyoung says.’

  ‘Who?’

  Olly looked shocked and jabbed a finger at the wall. ‘Moonyoung Choi!’

  Riz followed his finger… There, stuck above his bed with a huge splodge of glue, was a black-and-white photograph of a young woman. She was striding down a busy street, the collar of her coat pulled up high towards her chin. A red birthmark spread across one side of her face, and her eyes glared suspiciously at the camera.

  ‘And who’s that?’ Riz said bluntly.

  Olly flopped onto his bed and leant over to pick off a few flecks of dust that had gathered on the photograph. ‘Only the finest journalist in Snoops Bay,’ he said with a sigh. ‘The chief investigative reporter for the Snoops Bay Sniffer – and my future boss!’

  Riz frowned at the headline. ‘She’s misspelled “academy”.’

  ‘She always does. She’s not the greatest speller,’ snapped Olly. ‘She’s the greatest journalist!’

  Riz nodded, feeling her eyelids growing heavy. Olly was still talking.

  ‘She’s blown open every big story in town in the last three years.’ He counted them out on his fingers. ‘The soap shop that was actually selling bars of cheese to unknowing customers. The horse that got elected to the town council by accident.’

  ‘Oh, Umberto?’ Riz remembered. ‘My granny voted for him.’

  ‘And the ear doctor at the hospital who was moulding patients’ earwax into luxury scented candles and selling them for fifty pounds a pop!’ Olly sighed again, staring dreamily at the photograph of Moonyoung Choi. ‘She’s been doing an investigation into Madame Strang’s Academy.’ He drew closer to Riz and shot a furtive glance around the room as if a crazed criminal was hiding in the wardrobe. ‘The most badly behaved kids in town go there to learn how to behave. They get a complete makeover – inside and out!’

  Riz folded her arms and leant in. ‘Go on,’ she prompted, despite herself. Olly had a flair for the dramatic and liked to dangle pieces of information in front of her like fish in front of a hungry seal.

  ‘No one knows how Madame Strang does it. One of the boys from school, Tamilore, went up there for a few months. He never did a single bit of homework, always had the biggest scowl on his face, and one time he filled the school soap-dispensers full of custard. Well, three months later, when he came home –’ Olly clapped his hands together and Riz jumped in fright – ‘he was a new person. Like a completely different person. Now he never stops smiling, always brings presents in for the teachers and is the best-behaved kid in class. Oh, and his hair, skin and teeth are all perfect too.’

  Riz grimaced at the thought.

  ‘But according to Moonyoung’s reporting,’ Olly went on, ‘one of the trouble-makers that got sent to the academy has escaped, and he’s on the loose somewhere right now!’

  ‘On the loo somewhere?’ Riz chuckled.

  ‘The loose!’ Olly repeated, before gazing out of his bedroom window. ‘The police have been combing the whole town for over a week now, and they still haven’t tracked him down.’

  ‘Combing? I thought they were policemen, not hairdressers!’

  ‘It’s another word for searching.’ Olly tutted, clearly not impressed by Riz’s jokes.

  ‘So this kid up at the academy has just vanished into thin air?’ Riz asked, feeling a thrill of excitement fizz up her spine.

  ‘That’s what they’re saying. He’s a kid about our age,’ said Olly, studying the picture on the front page grimly. ‘He’s only been at the academy for about six months.’

  ‘So where did he come from?’

  ‘No one knows,’ said Olly in an almost-whisper, enjoying the dramatic tension he was building. ‘Moonyoung’s sources tell her that, on the night he escaped, he climbed up the fence and fell over the other side. His fall was broken by a particularly squishy sausage dog. They say the dog was traumatized, but it’s in therapy.’

  ‘Wow!’ squealed Riz, unable to control her excitement. ‘The Snoops Bay Runaway – that’s awesome!’

  ‘No, it’s not awesome,’ snapped Olly. ‘Who knows why he was up at the academy in the first place… or what he’ll do now he’s escaped. He could be anywhere. He could be watching us… right now.’

  They fell silent. Riz glanced towards the window where a breeze was gently dragging a spindly tree branch back and forth across the glass. It creaked. The fizz of excitement in her spine turned to a chill.

  ‘One thing’s for sure,’ Olly continued, dropping the newspaper and returning to his desk. ‘If anyone can find him, it’s Moonyoung Choi.’

  ‘Sounds like you have a soft spot for her.’ Riz waggled her eyebrows as Olly turned red. ‘Anyway…’ Riz glanced quickly at her watch. ‘Time’s up!’

  Olly looked at her quizzically. ‘Time’s up for what?’

  Oops, thought Riz. ‘Er… I mean, time’s up… for me! Mum will be wondering where I am.’

  He shrugged and watched her as she gathered up her coat and bag and made for the door.

  ‘You can come over tomorrow, if you want? We could check out that Himalayan Stinksludge at the quarry? Or there’s a rumour of some Vomitus Oozius bubbling up nicely in the showers at the pool? I’m writing an exclusive about it for next month’s Unearthed that will blow your socks off!’

  ‘As wonderful as that sounds –’ Riz was pulling the door behind her – ‘I can’t make it.’ Olly looked disappointed, but she quickly shut the door tight and exhaled loudly in relief.

  She bounded down the stairs to the front door and spotted the usual small red envelope on the hallway table marked For Riz. She cast a quick glance back up the stairs to make sure Olly was nowhere to be seen, then ripped it open. Inside was a crisp twenty-pound note and a scrap of paper with a scribbled message on it.

  To Riz Sekhon, Professional Friendship Provider,

  Thank you for your services. Olly suspects nothing. We’d like to book you in for another session next Sunday morning at ten a.m. if possible. We know you’re very busy, but hugely appreciate it.

  Yours,

  Mr and Mrs Rudd

  Riz pulled a battered diary from her pocket and flipped to Sunday. She whistled through her teeth – weekends were always busy, so she charged double.

  Next Sunday was a bumper day: attending Harriet Globb’s birthday party (fifty pounds plus the cost of a present); then accompanying Vienetta Muldoon and her mum on a shopping trip to find a dress for her cousin’s wedding, and pretending to love whatever hideous outfit her mum picked out for her (thirty pounds plus ten pounds extra if the dress was particularly bad); and finally faking a trip to the cinema in town with Ebun Bazunu so that Ebun’s mum wouldn’t suspect she was burying her Christmas present – a terrifying antique doll named Kitty – in Snoops Bay Forest (thirty pounds).

  Perhaps she could bump Vienetta’s shopping trip to the Saturday and arrive late to Harriet’s party, pushing Ebun’s ‘cinema trip’ to next weekend? Then she’d just about be able to squeeze Olly and his mud jars in. She sighed – the pay was good, but she’d been dreading the long afternoons inside with Olly and his mud more and more each time. Sometimes, when he was droning on about a weird clay or a news story he was chasing, she could almost feel her brain leaking out of her ears with boredom.

  Riz held the money up to the hall light to make sure it had a watermark, then tucked it into her coat along with her bulging diary. In Snoops Bay, a Fake Friend’s work was never finished.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mr Barnaby Grule had been employed by Madame Sigourney Strang for over a decade but his palms still began to sweat every time he was summoned to her study at the Academy for Incredibly Irritating Children. The wind moaned through every nook of the building, whipping over the roof and whistling through the dark hallways like a ghost’s breath.

  Grule caught sight of himself in a huge mirror by the front door. Today he wore his usual outfit: a crisp tweed suit and muddy-brown tie, a pair of squeaky-clean wellington boots, a quilted sleeveless jacket and a bottle-green flat cap perched jauntily on his balding head. His coiffed moustache glistened from this morning’s oil.

 

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