Fleeced (11 page)

XIII

S
TONE THE
C
ROWS

Museums, like elephants, wake up slowly in the mornings.

Next morning, as the heating and plumbing wheezed into life – the museum’s that is, not the elephant’s, although if it’s an old elephant it could be both – the night guards switched off the intruder alarms, brewed their morning mugs of tea and unlocked the doors to the cleaners waiting outside. It was behind just such a small army of men and women, struggling with bags of overalls, polish and rubber gloves, that Rose walked in. Behind her, at the foot of the steps, her mother’s car zoomed off, heading in the direction of the airport and Athens to visit Professor Papadakis, the caryatid expert. She’d left Rose with a kiss, a banana and strict instructions to go straight to her friend Lucy’s house that evening as she, her mother, wouldn’t be back till tomorrow night. (Suiting Rose perfectly since, despite telling
her mum all about it, she still hadn’t remembered Lucy was on holiday with her family in Lanzarote until the following Tuesday.)

Rose hitched her rucksack onto her back and walked across the museum’s Great Hall, its white floor bright with sunshine streaming through its vast glass ceiling. She knew she ought to feel relieved about Professor Papadakis fixing the caryatid, because it would mean that the portal was in place and Alex and Aries could go home again, but another part of her hoped it wouldn’t be too soon. After all, it had been a long time since Rose had felt so excited or useful about anything. Or had real company.

She walked past a couple of guards scratching their heads over a collapsed dummy in the Tudor collection and turned towards the lost property office on the western side of the museum. Her footsteps echoed along the empty corridors and up the short flight of steps to the little office, stuffed full of lost things that the attendants found scattered every day round its halls and corridors. Checking first that no one was around, Rose stepped inside and worked quickly. A few minutes later she had found a navy blue jumper, a white T-shirt and a pair of boy’s jeans. How someone had managed to walk out into the middle of London without their jeans on puzzled
her until she noticed the price tag still hanging off them. She held them up in front of her: they looked about right for Alex and would certainly help him blend in when they left the museum. Rose stuffed them into her rucksack, hurried out of the office and made her way to the basement.

She knocked lightly on the storeroom door and stepped inside to find Alex and Aries arguing about something.

“But I liked it,” Aries was saying.

“That’s hardly the point!” replied Alex, his arms folded tightly over his chest.

“Hello?” said Rose. “Something wrong?”

Alex turned and smiled quickly. “Only that Aries took himself off on a midnight tour of the museum last night and went to bed in some fancy dress.”

“
On
it,” corrected Aries. “Not in it!”

“You were supposed to stay here,” said Rose, beginning to wonder what the security cameras had picked up.

Aries sniffed and stared up at the ceiling.

“Luckily I found him before the doors opened,” said Alex. “So I suppose there’s no harm done.”

Hardly
, thought Rose, remembering the guards she’d walked past, wondering if they might at this
discovering where Alex and Aries were hiding. Realising that she needed to delete whatever was recorded before they checked, she hastily unbuckled her rucksack and pulled out the clothes from the lost property office.

“Put these on!” she said, handing them to Alex. “I have to nip upstairs a minute.”

Alex examined the jeans and frowned. “They’re like yours,” he said suspiciously. “I don’t want to wear girl things.”

“They’re jeans,” she replied patiently, or as patiently as she could manage, talking to a boy in a Greek tunic that looked like a minidress. “And everyone here wears them.”

“Xerxes of Persia wore trousers,” muttered Aries. “And a right berk he looked in them too. Not that anyone mentioned it to his face, of course. Not with his being so handy with a sword.”

“Look,” said Rose, walking quickly towards the door and glancing back at Alex. “Just change into them, okay? It’ll make life a lot easier.”

“And what about me?” sniffed Aries sniffily. “What am I supposed to wear?”

“I’m still thinking of something for you,” said Rose.

“Something in gold,” said Aries as she stepped
out into the corridor. “It is my best colour, you know.”

Rose hurried back the way she had come to the security office. Located at the museum’s front entrance, it was a small glass-fronted room set behind a counter, which doubled as an information point during the daytime. Now, glancing through its window, she was relieved to see that no one had checked the surveillance footage because the monitors were still showing live views of the exhibition rooms. She tapped in the room’s security code and stepped inside. Half a minute later she’d wiped the night’s recordings and was just about to stand up and leave when a sudden rapping on the glass startled her. Twisting round, she saw a sharp-featured old woman wearing strange
black-rimmed
glasses with lenses shaped like lemons. Her grey hair was pulled tightly back off her face into a bun and bundled up in her thick black cape, far too warm for the summer. She reminded Rose of an old-fashioned nanny, a particularly stern and short-tempered one.

Rose stood up, wondering how the woman had even managed to get in since the museum didn’t open to the public until ten, and walked over to the glass, opening the panel. “Can I help you?”

Twitching, the woman craned her neck forwards,
revealing a wattle of yellowed skin beneath her chin. “I need to see the museum director,” she said, her voice low and croaking.

“She’s on holiday,” Rose said. “My mum said—”

“Your mother?” The woman tipped her head to one side and regarded Rose with cold glittering eyes.

“Yes,” Rose went on, feeling her smile slip as a sour smell wafted through into the small office. “She works here, Dr Pottersby-Weir. She’s an archaeologist. Anyway, she says that Mr Roper, the chief curator, is in charge for now.”

“And when is Mr Roper in?”

“About half nine, usually. Shall I give him a message for you?”

“Tell him,” the woman bustled her shoulders, “that I am calling about the sheep-related incident yesterday.” She jerked her head to the other side. “I am Ms De Mentor from the Department of Art, Culture and Ruminants.”

“Culture and Ruminants?” said Rose uneasily, because even though she hardly knew anything about politics, she was sure that the Department of Arts and Culture didn’t have any special departments for sheep.

“This museum was a laughing stock yesterday,” said Ms De Mentor, leaning towards the glass,
“and it can’t be allowed to happen again. Sheep’s cud will stain marble permanently, you know, while stray boluses of food are worse than dried bubblegum to shift. And don’t get me started on what a sheep’s other end can do.”

“I wasn’t going to,” said Rose, feeling her nose tingle. The mouldy smell was getting stronger now and for some reason reminded her of the school’s budgerigar cage when it needed cleaning.

“My department requires me to track down the sheep,” added Ms De Mentor.

“Ram,” said Rose.

The woman drew her red lips into a tight line. “And the boy. He, in particular, needs to be dealt with.”

“Look. I’m sure it won’t happen again,” said Rose quickly. “The ram was just frightened, you know, being a long way from home.”

The woman arched an eyebrow suspiciously. “And how would you know that?”

Rose swallowed. “I’m, um, just guessing. You know, a ram turning up in the middle of London?”

Ms De Mentor smiled cheerlessly and glanced over at the wooden chairs and tables of the museum café.

“I shall wait over there,” she said crisply. “And
I shall not be leaving. Make sure that you let the chief curator know.”

Rose waited until the woman had stalked away. Then, horribly unsettled, she let herself out of the office and hurried back across the Great Hall and through the door to the basement stairs, unable to shake off the sensation of being watched until she stepped back into the storeroom.

Inside, Alex was stretching out his arms either side until his hands appeared at the end of the jumper sleeves.

“I’ve just met the strangest woman,” said Rose, closing the door quickly behind her. “Says she wants to see the director. Something about improving security against ruminants.”

“Charming,” muttered Aries, about to add something else when the door slammed loudly against the back wall.

Rose spun round to see Ms De Mentor filling the doorway.

“You can’t—” squeaked Rose, as Ms De Mentor shoved her out of the way and marched into the room.

“Khryos Khrysamallos,” she rasped, her head jutting forwards on its thin stalk of neck. “So this is where you’ve been hiding!”

Alex stepped out in front of Aries and the woman’s shadow fell across them both. Winded, Rose stared at the woman’s back. Were Rose’s eyes playing tricks on her or was Ms De Mentor really getting bigger? Her shoulders seemed to be straining against her cape, whilst her chest looked as though it was inflating, puffing up like a balloon. When her cape button popped off and skittered across the floor, Rose knew she was right, but still gasped as a ring of black splintery feathers sprung out from Ms De Mentor’s neck.

“Harpy!” gasped Alex, his eyes growing wide.

With a quick shake the harpy flung her cloak away and stepped out of her skirt and boots to reveal the body of a monstrous bird, thick and bulbous and covered with oily black plumage. A tatter of down stuck out above spindly grey legs ending in wrinkled bird feet with sharp, yellowed talons. The smell of old birdcage that Rose had noticed upstairs was now overwhelming, filling the room with a sickening stench. The harpy rustled her feathers, drawing her jagged wings together so that they jutted out above her head, craned forwards and glowered at Alex and Aries.

“My mistress wishes to see you,” she said.

Throwing back her head she cawed, piercing
the air with a metallic, unearthly screech.

“Aries,” shouted Alex, his face suddenly pale behind his tanned skin. “Run!”

As Aries scrambled away, clattering down the narrow gap left at the ends of the shelves, Ms De Mentor flicked open her wings. They made a sound like an old umbrella opening and sent pots and vases crashing onto the floor. Lurching towards Alex, arching over him, her wings brushed the ceiling.

But he didn’t run.

Rose gasped as he vanished behind a greasy wall of black feathers.

Then there was a thumping sound, like someone hitting an overstuffed pillow, and the harpy doubled over, spluttering. Alex, you see, knew a thing or two about harpies. You can’t not when you have to step into their aviary to feed them three times a week. And what he knew was that they had a weakness. If you could get close enough to avoid their vicious beak, and not be shredded by their savage claws, or blinded by their feathers, their neck was soft, exposed and vulnerable. Just like a vulture’s. Alex drew back his fist again. Sidestepping quickly, he landed a second punch at her gasping throat.

Desperate to help, Rose picked up the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be her rucksack,
and began thumping Ms De Mentor across the back with it. Jerking upright, the bird-woman looked over her shoulder, cawing furiously, her thin black tongue rippling inside her beak, her eyes glittering with hatred. Her hair fell loose from its tight bun, tumbling into a greasy straggle over her shoulders. Rose trembled, drawing away as the harpy jerked forwards and sliced Rose’s cheek with the tip of her wing. Rose yelped and stepped back, reaching for her face, sensing the blood trickle down between her fingers.

Turning back, the harpy cawed viciously, swinging her head from side to side like a T-rex. She didn’t see Alex until it was too late. Crouched down, he seized the harpy’s ankles and yanked hard, sending the harpy over backwards.

Yay! Alex!

As she slammed down onto the floor, air exploded from her lungs. Impressed, Rose jumped away from the winded pile of feathers wheezing at her feet.

“Come on!” yelled Alex. “We have to get out of here!”

Rose was just turning for the door when she heard Aries. Grunting and struggling he was wedged in the corner of the room, pinned between the end of the shelves and the wall, held tight.

Horribly aware of the black shape stirring on the floor, Rose dived towards Aries and seized hold of his horns. She pulled, digging her heels against the floor, leaning back, straining. Alex ran around from the other side and began to push.

“Aries, move!” he yelled. “We haven’t got long before she attacks again!”

“I’m trying!” squealed Aries between gasps.

Rose felt as though her lungs would explode with effort. On the other side of the room, the harpy sat up unsteadily.

Furiously throwing her weight backwards, Rose pulled harder still, her arm muscles burning with effort as Aries twisted and thrashed, kicking and squirming. Behind him, Alex braced his shoulder against Aries’ rump and pushed, his face wrought with strain.