Obsidian Pebble (11 page)

Savannah was saying, “There's an attachment for a camera, too, if you wanted—”

“—to take pictures,” Sydney finished off the sentence.

“Really?” Oz said, and pulled back as the twins leaned in close to show him. When he looked again through the eyepiece, Caleb and Lucy Bishop were gone.

They spent another half-hour with the telescope. The girls took it to the other side of the loft, where another window looked down over Seabourne itself. It was even possible to see the names of the tankers as they pulled in and out of the docks, kids playing in the street a mile away, dogs in the park where Ellie and Ruff had played football that morning. But Oz was relieved when Sydney eventually said, “Are you hungry? I'm starving.”

Downstairs, the sandwiches were mainly pink, too—prawn mayonnaise, salmon, honey roast ham and tuna spread. But they were delicious, and especially so with the pink lemonade. He couldn't believe how neat everything was. After he'd eaten a plateful under the girls' watchful eyes, Oz was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable. Long stretches of silence were a feature of spending time with S and S. They didn't seem to need to speak, and sometimes Oz wondered if they could communicate telepathically. Desperate for something to say, Oz ventured, “Did your mum and dad make you tidy up because of the party?”

“We didn't tidy up. This is how it always is,” Savannah said.

In his head, Oz could hear Ruff saying “buzzard.”

“So, what about this video game you were going to show me?”

Sydney got up and walked over to a shelf and came back with what looked like a pair of very chunky sunglasses. “It's not really a video game, because there isn't a video or a DVD.”

Oz frowned.

“It's called a Spectrum Experience Unit. SPEXIT for short. It's not on sale yet. My dad knows the owner of the company that makes it and they gave us one to try out. Go on, it's amazing.”

Oz took the glasses. They were heavier, and the arms slightly thicker, than ordinary sunglasses. They fitted snugly over his ears and once on, the room descended into darkness. All he could see through the lenses were the vague shapes of S and S and outlines of tables and chairs.

“There's a switch and a toggle wheel on the top,” Sydney said, and Oz felt his index finger being placed on the right spot. He pressed the button, and instantly everything changed. A 3D image of a pyramid floated in front of him and then a logo for something called JG Telecom, over which a transparent menu appeared. There were three choices—‘Wild White Water', ‘Bungee Blast' or ‘Roller Coaster Reality'. Oz toggled to Wild White Water and pressed the button.

“Good choice,” Savannah murmured from somewhere beyond his vision.

Instantly, the faint noise of music from the party below faded and was replaced by the muted rush of running water, with the faint but unmistakable roar of rapids in the background. The room, which up to that point Oz could see plainly around the rim of the glasses, disappeared. And there was the weirdest sensation of floating. Ahead of him was a canyon. In fact, all around him was canyon. Beneath him was a yellow fibreglass hull and he realised that he was in a virtual canoe. Superimposed on the vista ahead, there appeared another transparent menu. Oz toggled to play and pressed the button.

Immediately, Oz felt himself moving forward on the river. Instinctively, he put his hands out for balance and saw that he held a paddle. It even felt like he was holding a paddle.

“Don't worry, it never capsizes,” a voice said from somewhere behind him.

Oz was gathering speed as the canyon walls began to slide by. Above, the sun shone in a cloudless sky. Incredibly, when he turned his face upwards he could actually feel its warmth. He put his right hand down to break the surface of the water and felt a cold, silky flow over his skin. Yet when he pulled his hands free and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, there was no dampness.

The canoe continued to accelerate as a bend in the river loomed ahead. He felt himself pulled along by the current and experimented with his virtual paddle, and quickly saw how he could slow down or turn. Then he was at the bend and the noise of the rapids doubled in volume. He turned the corner and shot forward towards the rushing, boiling water. He dipped and swerved, plummeted and crested. Sometimes he even felt the splash of water on his face, but it was nothing compared with the sheer exhilaration of the adrenaline rush.

Never, in all the games he'd ever tried, had he experienced anything at all like this. It wasn't just the incredible graphics and the noise of the roaring water, it was the fact that it was so lifelike. The glasses cut everything else out and he felt immersed, surrounded by the environment. In short, it seemed…real. He fought the white water, relishing its power, using all his strength to steer away from the treacherous rocks and swirling whirlpools that threatened to suck him down.

Even though a part of him knew that this was a game and nothing else, he was so caught up in it, so totally immersed in its reality, that he gave no thought to stopping. At last, after yet more bends and thrills, a little heads-up display appeared and indicated a two-kilometre mark. The rapids passed and Oz drifted out into flat calm and sat back, exhausted.

“Hello?” said a voice, which he recognised as Savannah's. Oz felt some pressure on the nosepiece of the glasses, and the canyon and the river faded into blackness. And then the glasses were off and he was blinking into the daylight coming in through the windows of S and S's suite.

“Well?” asked a grinning Sydney.

Flabbergasted, Oz couldn't speak for twenty seconds. He was too busy catching his breath. Finally he managed to say, “But I could feel the sun. I could touch the water. It splashed my face…” He put his hand up, but his skin was bone-dry.

“Amazing, aren't they?” Savannah said. “Sydney threw up on the roller coaster.”

“I did not,” Sydney protested.

“Almost did,” taunted her sister.

“But…how?” persisted Oz. “I mean, this is way better than anything I've ever played before.”

“You'd have to ask Mr. Gerber.” Savannah shrugged. “He's the G in JG Industries.”

“And the J,” corrected Sydney. “Jack Gerber.”

“Hang on, I thought he sold property?”

“He does lots of things. But JG Industries have been working on these SPEXITs for years, or so my dad says.”

“But I've never seen these in the shops.”

“Not yet. They're being tested—”

“—by us.”

“But…” Oz got no further with his questions. Someone was calling his name from downstairs. He went to the landing and looked down. His mother was standing there looking apologetic, while Mr. Fanshaw hovered in the background.

“Oz,” said Mrs. Chambers, “can I have a word with you?”

Oz ran down. Mrs. Chambers stood with her back to Mr. Fanshaw and Oz watched as she explained what was going on. “Sorry, Oz. I've got one of my migraines.”

The words came out ordinarily enough, but Mrs. Chambers' eyes and eyebrows were doing a dance of their own as they veered in a direction over her right shoulder, where Mr. Fanshaw stood by anxiously. Oz watched as his mum brought her hand up to her throat and feigned strangulation, complete with protruding tongue. It was all Oz could do to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Oh, no,” he said, laying on the concern.

“Do you mind terribly if we leave?”

“It's no trouble if Oscar wants to stay for a while. I could escort him back to number 2,” Mr. Fanshaw offered.

Mrs. Chambers' face cracked into a rigor of panic.

“No,” Oz said quickly, “sometimes she has difficulty seeing with her migraines. I'd better go with her. Thanks all the same, Mr. Fanshaw.”

Oz turned to go back upstairs to say goodbye to S and S, but they were already on the landing peering down, looking like two pink bookends.

“I, uh…”

“Thanks for coming,” they said together, then looked once at each other and went back up to their pink suite.

Oz and his mum made it to the pavement after five minutes of profuse well wishes and goodbyes from Theo and Leticia Fanshaw. As they stepped into the road, Mrs. Chambers let out a huge sigh of relief with her back to Number 3. “Sorry, Oz,” she explained, “I just could not take another minute of it. Fanshaw kept introducing me to estate agents and solicitors. I suppose it serves me right for bumping into Lorenzo, who has a mouth like the Channel Tunnel. Every single one of the people I spoke to in there had heard that I was thinking about putting Penwurt up for sale.”

“And are you?” Oz took his mother's arm and “helped” her across the street.

“No,” said Mrs. Chambers, but without as much conviction as Oz would have liked. “Well, I mean, of course I've thought about it. You know how expensive it is to run—”

“Yes, but what about Dad?”

A tiny little thundercloud of anger gathered on Mrs. Chambers' forehead, but then her shoulders slumped. “Oz, I know your dad was enthusiastic about this house, but I just don't see the attraction. I don't know what he saw in the place.”

“Maybe if you opened up his study, we might be able to find out.” The taboo word was out before Oz had a chance to stop himself. Mrs. Chambers opened her mouth as if to speak, but then shut it and frowned. She reached into her purse for the door key, but hesitated and looked at him earnestly. “Oz, maybe it
is
time we exorcised a few ghosts around here.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that it's a bit silly to keep your dad's study locked like this. You're right; we may well find a little inspiration in there. Lord knows we need some. Go on, I'll get the key and meet you up there in five minutes.”

Oz didn't need telling twice. He tore upstairs, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. He ran into his bedroom and started changing out of his best clothes, only to remember S and S and their telescope. He went to the window and smiled sweetly up at number 3 before firmly drawing the curtains shut. His phone chirped to indicate a text message from Ellie and he learned that they had drawn their game that morning, two all. He sat on his bed and was on the point of texting her back when his mother, as good as her word, appeared in the doorway.

“Ready?”

Oz was on his feet in an instant, and five seconds later they were outside his dad's study.

“I've warned Caleb that we're going in,” Mrs. Chambers said, putting the key into the lock. “There'll be boxes of stuff to go back to the university, unless I'm very much mistaken.”

She pushed open the door and for a moment they both stood there in silence. A musty, stale smell hit Oz's nose as he peered into the dimly lit space. It was a corner room, one wall curving outwards as the interior of the bartizan, its one small window looking down onto the drive. Mrs. Chambers went to the window and immediately opened the blinds. Thin, watery afternoon light filtered in to reveal a room crammed with books and a desk laden with the most amazing stuff you could imagine. Even from the doorway, Oz could see bits of arrows, the rusted hilts of daggers, and a bird's skull. To the side of the desk and its office chair was a shabby leather armchair, upon which was a pile of unopened letters and packages. On the wall next to the door was the ancient drop-dial wall clock that had never actually worked, but which his dad had loved. Oz breathed in the dusty atmosphere and smiled.

“Just look at it,” said his mother, and let out a deep, theatrical sigh. “Still, no worse than I expected. He couldn't get rid of anything, could Michael the magpie? Well, I don't know if I can face it tonight, that's for sure.”

“Can I take some of his stuff?” Oz asked.

“As I said, Caleb has been warned. He seemed just as keen as you were. So don't take anything until you run it past him, and I don't want your room ending up looking like a museum exhibit, okay?”

“No way,” Oz said, and earned a long-suffering glance from his mother. “Thanks, Mum,” he added, and gave her a hug. A blown-up photo of the three of them on top of a mountain in the rain stared back from the wall above the desk. They both looked at it, and suddenly Mrs. Chambers turned her head away and stifled a sob.

“Mum, we don't have to—”

“Yes…” said Mrs. Chambers in a cracked voice. She began waving her hand in front of her face and shaking her head. “Yes, we do. It has to be done. I'll be okay.” She swallowed loudly and, on seeing Oz's troubled expression, forced a wan smile. “I'll be fine. You just go on in and if you find any treasure, we split it fifty-fifty, all right?”

But she wasn't looking at the room anymore. Oz knew that being in this study, his father's private place, meant being just that bit closer to him. And it was obvious that, even after all this time, she couldn't quite face unearthing all those memories. She would, he knew, come back armed with vacuum and dustpan, and it would be her way of dealing with it.

But not now. Not tonight.

When she'd gone, Oz went straight to the desk like a kid on Christmas morning. He picked up small stone Celtic crosses and held Iron Age boar figurines up to the light for inspection. The bird's skull had something painted on its beak in a writing he couldn't understand. He hefted an eight-inch black statue of a kneeling, jackal-headed Anubis, which had 240 BC written in felt pen underneath it, and smiled at a Saxon shield mount with an intertwined serpent motif, which he remembered his dad using as a door stop.

Oz was inspecting a cardboard box at the back of the desk marked “Medieval Arrowheads” when Caleb walked in, grinning broadly.

“How did you manage to convince her?” he asked.

“I didn't. The Fanshaws did,” Oz replied, and on seeing Caleb's puzzled expression added, “Long story. Do you think I could keep some of these?” Oz held up a three-inch-long pitted metallic arrowhead.