Itchcraft (37 page)

‘Can you spare Chloe or Lucy? Need more hands here. If they’re up for it . . .’ He headed for the sealed cupboard while Tobi shouted his request. He crouched down in front of the brown jars and read the label of the largest one out loud. ‘
AgNO
₃
. Silver nitrate.’

‘What’s that, Itch? Missed that . . .’

‘Oh, nothing, Tobi. Forgot everyone can hear what I’m saying.’

‘No worries. Chloe’s coming up . . . Chika, can you help her?’

‘On it,’ came Chika’s voice.

Itch was back with the jars. He knew he needed to piece together his silver knowledge from Madrid and his explosive knowledge from
The Golden Book of Chemistry Experiments
. He was looking at three large vessels of silver nitrate, and rows of sulphates and oxides. A jar marked
ALCOHOL ABSOLUTE
caught his attention, and he gently eased it off its shelf.

‘You’ll do nicely,’ he muttered. Small samples of europium oxide were piled neatly on top of each other. Next to them were jars of picric acid, filter papers, and piles of what Itch assumed were fake euros. ‘Someone’s been practising . . .’

The lab doors burst open and Chloe ran in. ‘Itch! What are you doing? You said you’d come straight back!’

‘I’ll explain later. Now I need some nitric acid – might say HNO
₃
on the bottle. And something to mix it in. And heat. And matches. And gloves. And if we don’t get this done in time, Leila kills Flowerdew.’

‘Is that bad?’

‘Probably.’

Chloe scanned the shelves and reached for a bottle with a handwritten label. ‘Nitric acid. Got it.’

‘Now the largest glass container you can find. I’ll look for some heat.’ Brother and sister ransacked the
Strontian
’s lab for what they needed; cupboards, drawers and shelves were pulled apart.

Matches and thick heatproof gloves appeared, then, from under a sink, Chloe called, ‘Is this big enough?’

Itch saw that she was holding a ten-litre flat-bottomed flask. ‘It’s huge – doubt there’s anything bigger. Let’s try.’

‘Itch, is this safe?’ said Chloe.

‘No, Chloe, it isn’t. And do you think anything “safe” will actually help anyone? If we keep the windows and door open, I reckon it’ll be safe enough.’

Chloe held her breath as she watched her brother work. From the acid and alcohol mix came wisps of steam and brown fumes, and a fierce, sharp, chlorine-like smell filled the lab. Itch’s eyes watered and he looked away. ‘Need safety glasses and a fume cupboard,’ he said, and coughed as his throat started to burn. ‘Pass the brown jar, Chlo.’

She handed him the silver nitrate. He unscrewed the top and poured in another colourless liquid mixed with a sediment of silver crystals.

‘Itch, what are we doing?’ said Chloe, agitated now. ‘You’re not being fair!’

‘Have you seen a thermometer?’ he said.

‘Yes – in that drawer next to you. What are we doing?’

Itch swirled the mixture round and placed the flask on a stand. He slid a burner under the mixture, turned on the gas and lit it. ‘How long have we got, Chloe?’

It was Leila who answered. ‘Thirty minutes max. That ship is getting closer.’

Itch grabbed another gas burner and lit that too. He placed it next to the first and the mixture started to react: bubbles formed, steam rose and the crystals started to dissolve. ‘OK, this part takes a bit of time,’ he said. ‘Did you get the thermometer?’

‘Like I told you, it’s in that drawer. But if you won’t tell me what we’re doing, I’ll go back to the RIB. I thought you needed help.’

‘What?’ said Itch, turning to look at his sister. ‘Of course I need you. You should have said. We’re making silver fulminate. We need to heat and cool; but it mustn’t boil or it won’t work.’

‘
Itch
!’ shouted Chloe. ‘
I don’t understand!
What does silver fulminate do? Why are we making it? How is it an alternative to shooting Flowerdew?’ Itch stared at her, at last realizing his mistake. ‘Sorry, Chlo. Silver fulminate . . . It’s an explosive. When this mixture is ready, we can paint it on – it’s safer while it’s wet. As soon as it dries it becomes dangerous. Any movement can set it off. If I paint it on too thickly, it could detonate under its own weight. If I get it right, it’s a paint-on prison for Flowerdew and Wing. They’ll be trapped. If they keep still, they’ll live; if they move, they’ll set off the explosive.’

Before Chloe could respond, Itch’s headset buzzed with reactions from the divers:

‘That’s cool!’

‘Yeah, that’s a plan!’

‘Go, Itch!’

He smiled. ‘That’s the theory anyway.’

‘Where do you do the painting?’ It was Leila with the practicalities.

‘Up there,’ he said. ‘That way it’s well away from the crew. Can we get Wing up there?’

‘I’ll haul her sorry ass there now,’ said Dada.

‘But why don’t we just lock Flowerdew up in a room or something?’ said Chloe. ‘Wouldn’t that be easier?’

‘Because this’ – Itch waved at the flask – ‘will be beating him with science. Beating him with chemistry. Beating him at his own game . . . and that will be the ultimate humiliation. He will hate it. That’s why.’

‘OK’ – Chloe smiled – ‘understood. Let’s do it.’

Itch checked the thermometer and removed the heat.

‘You said it mustn’t boil . . . What would happen if it did?’ Chloe saw the glance he gave her. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I get it. I’ll watch the thermometer for you.’

‘Sea lanes getting busy,’ said Chika. ‘Radar showing quite a few ships coming our way. Any way you can speed that magic potion along a bit, Itch?’

He stared at the contents of the flask. The silver crystals had dissolved, the temperature was steady, but the cooling process took time.

‘No, sorry . . . Wait, yes,’ he said. ‘Ice would be good. Anyone seen any?’

‘Sade here . . . I’ll check the galley. They’ve got a freezer.’

‘Leila here. We need to be gone in fifteen. I shoot Flowerdew if you’re not done.’

Itch pulled a face and checked the flask again. ‘OK, Leila, it’s show time. Tie him up. Tie them both up. Tie them up together.’

‘Is it ready?’ asked Chloe. ‘Just going above sixty.’

‘And that is what we’ve been waiting for!’ He pointed at the liquid: small white crystals were now suspended in it.

Chloe stared too. ‘Silver fulminate?’

Itch nodded. ‘Gas off,’ he said. ‘We need it at room temperature.’

Sade appeared with a bucket of ice. ‘Where . . .?’

‘Here!’ She set it down on the bench, and with gloved hands Itch put the flask in the bucket. They all stared at the changing mixture.

‘More crystals appearing, Itch,’ called Chloe, pointing to clumps of white in the solution.

‘They’re precipitating, not appearing,’ said Itch absentmindedly, and missed her look of exasperation.

‘Flowerdew and Wing strapped up and ready . . .’ Leila again. ‘You better get painting soon. We need to be gone! Your plan’s artistic and everything, but it’s not worth getting arrested for.’ He heard the click as she removed the safety catch on her gun.

‘We’re coming, Leila!’ he shouted. ‘Just let me try this, OK?’ He turned to Chloe and Sade. ‘This next bit will need to be done quickly. The crystals are settling, and the solution will clear. We’ll need to drain the acid, wash what’s left, and then we can go. It gets more dangerous as it dries. Ready?’ They both nodded.

Grabbing filter papers and another glass beaker, Itch stood next to the ice bucket and flask, pushed his hair out of his eyes and balanced himself. Taking a deep breath, he picked up the flask with both hands and with all the care he could muster, tipped most of the liquid into a sink.

‘Itch, where are you?’

He mouthed, ‘Shut up, Leila.’ Then, nodding in Chloe’s direction, said, ‘Fold the filter paper and make a cone and shove it in that beaker. Quickly.’

When it was in place, Itch poured the wet sand-like sludge into the paper. It folded slowly into the improvised funnel.

‘Need you here!’

‘Leila, he’s handling high explosive,’ barked Sade. ‘He’s going as fast as he can.’

‘It’s getting busy. Someone is going to get very suspicious of a ship that isn’t moving. If we’re approached, I’m pulling the trigger.’

Tobi’s voice next. ‘I’m going off the starboard side. Less traffic. You’ll all be jumping.’ It wasn’t a question, just a statement, but Chloe looked horrified.

‘I’d thought I could climb back . . . Not sure I’m ready . . .’

Sade took her hand. ‘We’ll jump together. Of all the things you’ve done today, trust me, this’ll be the easiest.’

‘Can we just concentrate here!’ Itch was rinsing the white mixture under the tap. ‘Three more of these and we’ll be done. I’ll finish this one and you can take the first batch up to the helipad.’

‘Me?’ said Chloe. ‘I thought you’d—’

‘Both of you. I’ll bring the second batch.’ Itch poured and rinsed again, then offered the first beaker to Sade. ‘This is a quarter of a kilo. It’s stable at the moment. Don’t drop it.’

Sade took the still warm container and shot them both a nervous glance.

‘And hurry,’ said Itch.

‘Carefully,’ added Chloe.

Sade picked up a large spatula, hooked it onto her belt and strode out of the lab cradling the silver fulminate.

‘Sade’s on the way with batch number one!’ Itch called.

Someone whistled though the comms system. ‘Go, Sade!’ whispered Tobi.

Itch handed the next beaker to Chloe. ‘Before you ask, I’m not going without you,’ she said quietly. ‘We do this last bit together.’ Her tone brooked no argument.

‘Of course,’ he said, putting down the beaker. ‘Last two.’

Between them they poured and folded the white slurry into the remaining beakers.

Nervously Chloe picked up one; Itch the other two.

‘On our way,’ said Itch.

‘One minute . . . or less,’ warned Leila.

Chloe led the way, arms outstretched. Itch followed a few paces behind, his exhausted arms straining under his half-kilo of explosive. The ship rolled, but they walked across the deck with the fierce concentration of tightrope walkers. Sweat streamed into Itch’s eyes. He blinked, but dared not risk wiping them with his sleeve. His focus was on the wet crystals in each hand. He was sure the grains were becoming more defined by the second. The drying-out process – and the increased instability that followed – was happening right in front of his eyes.

‘Where are you?’

In silence they climbed the steps to the bridge, where Sade was waiting for them. Itch handed over a beaker so that he could use the handrail for the last ascent.

‘You first,’ she said. ‘This is your bit.’

The last few steps to the helipad were an agony of drying explosive and screaming muscles. Itch knew that he had only seconds to finish the job: the urge to hurry was overpowering. He tried to take two steps at once, but his foot caught the tread. He grabbed the handrail, his knee crashing into the step, and he gasped in pain. The flask tilted sharply, the explosive sliding up the glass. He righted it quickly but some white slurry slopped over and splashed onto his trousers. He swore loudly.

‘Slow down, Itch!’ cried Chloe behind him.

Alarm now from all the divers:

‘What just happened?’

‘Everyone OK?’

‘Itch, talk to us!’

He steadied himself, blinked away the pain and continued climbing. ‘I’m fine. I’m here.’ He emerged slowly onto the helipad, both hands holding the flask in front of him. He paused, looking up at the scene in front of him. Flowerdew and Wing were handcuffed and tied together, back to back on the large yellow H. Aisha, Dada, Chika and now Sade stood around; Leila was still aiming her gun firmly at Flowerdew’s head.

‘The confessions went well,’ she said. ‘We only got a fraction of what they’ve been up to, but it’ll do. Enough to send them away. We strapped the camera to the deck.’ She indicated a small package covered in black masking tape a few metres away. Leila then pointed at the flask. ‘Is it going to work?’

Itch knew there were ships around – he could see them in the distance – but he only needed two minutes. Just two minutes to stop Flowerdew and say what he needed to say. Sade handed him the spatula and, ignoring the pain in his knee, he knelt in front of Roshanna Wing. She was now in jogging gear, her eyes closed against the rising sun and the faces of her accusers. Itch’s shadow fell across her face and she opened her eyes and stared at him, then at the flask of white slurry in his hand.

‘You hunted Flowerdew,’ said Itch. ‘You knew what he was like. And yet you still wanted to be a part of his future . . . Well, congratulations – you’re tied to everything coming his way now.’

‘I’m not the same as him!’ Her voice was croaky and desperate. ‘I could get you—’

‘Not interested – it’s too late!’ shouted Itch.

He dipped the plastic spatula into the silver fulminate and started painting it onto the deck. He applied it in a broad stripe around Wing’s feet, her legs, then followed the curve of her body. As he came to Flowerdew, he dipped the spatula in again.

‘What are you doing, Lofte?’ he whispered. ‘You know this makes you a criminal, don’t you? These girls are just crooks in wetsuits—’

‘Shut up, Flowerdew,’ said Itch, applying the paste around his legs. ‘They wanted to kill you. Actually, they still do. And maybe they still will . . . But this’ – he waved the dripping spatula in Flowerdew’s face – ‘is so much better. I am proving to you – how did you put it? – that I have won, you have lost, and why.’ He painted around Flowerdew’s stockinged feet. ‘If you hadn’t been such an arrogant cretin of a teacher and scientist, you might not be sitting here, humiliated. If you’d been a better oilman you wouldn’t have killed those seventeen men in the oil spill. If you’d been a better teacher – any kind of a teacher – you’d have stayed at the Cornwall Academy. If you’d been a better scientist you wouldn’t have tried to sell the 126 for millions.’

Chloe passed him another flask of the silver fulminate; Itch circled round Wing again, adding to the layer of explosive.

‘But you’re none of those things. So this silver fulminate is for Mr Watkins – a better, nobler man than you have ever been. It’s for the hurt and misery that follow you everywhere. It’s for my parents’ marriage, for Jack lying in that boat, and for Chloe and Lucy.’ Itch’s hand had started to shake. He breathed deeply.