“Fourteen.”
“You shouldn’t be here. Listen to me. I only came to this place a year ago. I was left money. I always wanted to have my own place. If I’d known… If I’d even had the faintest idea…”
“If you’d only known what?”
“Mrs Deverill and the rest of them…”
“What about them? What are they doing?”
There was a rustle in the undergrowth, followed by an angry snarl. Matt turned and saw an animal appear, stepping out of a patch of fern a couple of metres away. It was a cat, its eyes ablaze, its mouth wide open to reveal its fangs. But it wasn’t just any cat. He recognized the yellow eyes, the mangy fur…
He relaxed. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s only the cat. It must have followed me here.”
But the farmer’s face had turned white. All at once he had snapped the barrel of his gun shut and raised the whole thing to his shoulder. Before Matt could stop him, he pulled the trigger. There was an explosion. The cat had no chance. Tom Burgess had emptied both barrels, and lead pellets tore into its fur, spinning it in a horrible somersault over the grass, a ball of black that spat red.
“What did you do that for?” Matt exclaimed. “It wasn’t a fox. It was just a farm cat.”
“Just a cat?” The farmer shook his head. “It was Asmodeus, Mrs Deverill’s cat.”
“But-”
“We can’t talk. Not here. Not now.”
“Why not?”
“There are things happening… things you wouldn’t believe.” The colour hadn’t returned to the farmer’s face. His hands were trembling. “Listen!” he whispered. “Come to my farm. Tomorrow morning – at ten o’clock. Glendale Farm. It’s on the Greater Malling road. Turn left when you come out of Hive Hall. Will you be able to find it?”
“Yes.” Then Matt remembered. “No. I’ve tried finding my way round these lanes but they don’t seem to lead anywhere. I just end up where I began.”
“That’s right. You can only go where they want you to go.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s too difficult to explain.” Burgess thought for a moment. Then he grabbed hold of a leather cord around his neck. Matt watched as he drew it over his head and held it out. He saw there was a small, round stone – a talisman – dangling from it, and on the stone was a symbol engraved in gold. The outline of a key.
“Wear this,” Burgess said. “Don’t ask me to explain it, but you won’t get lost if you’re wearing it. Come to my house tomorrow. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
“Why not now?” Matt demanded.
“Because it’s not safe – not for either of us. I have a car. You come to my house and we’ll leave together.”
Tom Burgess strode away, heading for the line of trees.
“Wait a minute!” Matt called after him. “I don’t know how to get out of the wood!”
Burgess stopped, turned round and pointed. “Look under your feet,” he shouted. “You’re standing on the road.” Then he was gone.
Matt examined the ground around him. There was a line of black tarmac, barely visible beneath the weeds and the pine needles. He would have to follow it carefully, but at least it would lead him out. The stone talisman was still in his hand. He ran a finger along the key, wondering if it was real gold. Then he slipped it around his neck, making sure it was hidden under his shirt.
A few minutes later, Matt found himself back on the main road. He examined the entrance to Omega One carefully. It was nothing more than a gap between two trees in a line of several hundred. He had pedalled past without even knowing it was there and it would be almost impossible to find again. He took off his jacket, tore a strip of material from his T-shirt, and tied it in a knot around a branch. Then he stepped back and examined his handiwork. The tiny, pale blue flag he had created would show him the way back if he ever needed it. Satisfied, he put his jacket back on and set off to retrieve his bike.
About forty minutes later Matt arrived back at Hive Hall. It was almost midday. Noah was working on the side of the barn, painting it with creosote. Matt could smell the chemical in the air. Mrs Deverill would be in the farmhouse, making lunch.
Brushing a few needles off his jacket, Matt walked up to the front door. He was just reaching for the handle when he stopped and stepped back with a shiver of disbelief.
Asmodeus was there, sitting on the windowsill, licking one of its paws. The cat wasn’t dead. It wasn’t even hurt. Seeing Matt, it purred menacingly then suddenly leapt away, disappearing into the house.
WET PAINT
Matt didn’t sleep well that night. He had too many unanswered questions in his head, and the fact that Tom Burgess had promised to answer them made him tense and restless. He couldn’t wait to find out the truth. But that was exactly what he had to do, tossing around in his narrow bed as the sky became grey, then silver, then finally blue. Mornings on the farm normally began with breakfast at seven o’clock. Mrs Deverill was already in the kitchen when he came down.
“So what happened to you yesterday morning?” she demanded. She was wearing a dull yellow cardigan, a shapeless grey dress and wellington boots. All the clothes she wore at Hive Hall looked as if they had come out of a charity shop.
“I went for a walk.”
“A walk? Where?”
“Just around.”
Mrs Deverill took a pan off the Aga and spooned thick porridge into two bowls. “I don’t remember you asking permission,” she said.
“I don’t remember you telling me I had to,” Matt replied.
Mrs Deverill’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t say I’m used to being spoken to in that way,” she muttered. Then she shrugged as if it didn’t matter anyway. “I was only thinking of you, Matthew,” she went on. “If you look at the booklets provided by the LEAF Project, you’ll see quite clearly that I’m supposed to know where you are at all times. I’d hate to have to report that you’ve broken the rules.”
“You can report what you like.”
She placed the two bowls on the table and sat down opposite him. “There’s a lot of work to be done today. The tractor needs hosing down. And we could do with some firewood being chopped.”
“Whatever you say, Mrs Deverill.”
“Exactly.” The pale lips pressed together in something like a smile. “Whatever I say.”
It was nine o’clock, one hour before Matt had arranged to meet Tom Burgess. Matt was working on the tractor, washing it down. For the fiftieth time he looked around him, and realized he was finally alone. Noah was on the other side of the barn, mending some pipes. Mrs Deverill was feeding the pigs. Neither of them was watching him, nor was there any sign of Asmodeus. Matt dropped the hose, then turned off the tap and waited until the last jet of water had splashed on to the ground. Still nobody came. He had left the old bicycle in the yard, close at hand. He stole over to it and pushed it out of the farm. Pedalling would have made too much noise.
A minute later he was through the gate and on the lane. He looked back with a sense of relief. It had all been much easier than he had thought.
Too easy? Matt remembered the way Mrs Deverill had smiled at him in the kitchen. He had wondered then if she knew more than she was letting on. All the time he had the feeling she was playing with him, and the photograph and police report hidden in her bedroom cupboard had only confirmed it. She knew who he was. He was more sure of it than ever. He had been chosen on purpose.
Matt got on the bike and began to pedal, turning left as Tom Burgess had told him. The last time he had attempted this journey, the lane had simply looped him back to where he had started. But this time was different. He was wearing the talisman that the farmer had given him. He reached up and felt it against his chest. Why a stone with a picture of a key should make any difference was beyond him. It was just one of the many questions he intended to ask.
The lane led uphill but there was no crossroads at the top. Instead the road continued past a series of fields. A low, stone wall rose and dipped ahead. He came to a signpost and this one wasn’t broken. It read: GREATER MALLING 4 MILES. Matt stared at it. It was the first reminder he’d had that there was an actual world outside Hive Hall and he had no idea how he’d managed to miss it when he made the journey two nights before.