London Belongs to the Alchemist (Class Heroes Book 4) Page 27

  ‘New Cross Empire Casino. Proprietor Nicholas Alexander Cairo. Entry by Exclusive Invitation Only.’

  “Ooops. I haven’t been invited,” said Al. “I’ll try knocking.”

  He tapped lightly on the door. It was barely audible.

  “No. Nobody in,” he confirmed for the audience. “Actually, I know that, because I saw Mr Cairo and a large number of his gorillas leave several hours ago. They looked like they were going to a violent meeting. I know, let’s let ourselves in through the back door.”

  As he walked away, he pretended to catch his hand on the brass plaque. The metal snapped out of its bolts, masonry crumbled, and Al was left holding the plaque.

  “Clumsy me,” he said, offhand, and discarded the metal plaque on the steps.

  Steve roared with laughter. Sam giggled, but her heart was in her mouth. What if Nicky came back? He’d want blood. Was Super D making Al over-confident?

  The camera followed Al to the back of the building. He walked up to the large double doors that were situated under the fire escape.

  “I’ll check if it’s open,” he said, and then kicked the doors off their hinges.

  “It’s open,” confirmed Al to the camera, to hoots of laughter around the playground.

  He entered the casino through a long corridor of matte white walls. Sam caught a glimpse of a large kitchen off to the right.

  At the end of the corridor, Al forced open a black fire door, which led into another, plusher corridor with deep red carpet and chocolate brown walls. Al passed through a restaurant into the main gaming area. There were numerous tables and a long bar that took up one entire wall of the room. To Sam’s relief, there was nobody else visible. Her heart felt like it would burst.

  “This is where the money is made,” said Al. “Or lost, if you’re a punter. You ever seen that film Casino, where De Niro takes you on a tour of the Tangiers? This is the same, only different.” He indicated the nearest gaming table. It had a roulette wheel in the centre.

  “Fixed, five percent in favour of the house, probably,” said Al. He brought his fist down on the wheel. It shattered, and the table splintered in two, with both ends collapsing in on themselves.

  “Clumsy me,” Al apologized. “Might take more fixing than normal.”

  He continued his amble through the lounge, reaching the bar and vaulting over it. He then made a big show of perusing the impressive selection of bottles that was lined up on the long rows of shelves.

  “I’ll try this one,” he said, reaching up and grabbing hold of one of the main supporting struts upon which the shelves were attached. With an exaggerated wrenching movement, Al pulled it clear of the wall. Sam guessed that over a hundred bottles must have pitched forward and smashed across the bar and the floor, sending a river of alcohol washing across the carpet.

  Al hopped back over the bar, waded across the soggy carpet, and the camera followed him out of the lounge. After breaking down a door, Al entered another corridor, then took the lift up to the top floor of the building.

  This was familiar territory to Sam, as it led to Nicky Cairo’s office. The door to the office presented no greater problem to Al than the others had, and once inside, Al made for the wall behind Nicky’s desk, just to the left of the window.

  “This is what we’re here for,” he said, pointing to a large metal safe mounted low on the wall, right in the corner of the office. Sam hadn’t even noticed it before.

  Al crouched down next to the safe and tapped the door.

  “Feels pretty solid, doesn’t it?” he asked his audience. “Good job, too. Lot of money in there, I bet. Men like Nicky Cairo don’t believe in banks. They don’t believe in burglar alarms, either, because they wouldn’t like the police to come poking their noses around their private files.”

  Al picked up a piece of paper from Nicky’s desk. “Files like this, for instance.”

  He removed his black skeleton gloves and held the piece of paper in one hand, then touched the door of the safe with the other.

  “Watch carefully,” said Al, and then fell silent as he concentrated.

  To gasps and whoops from around the playground, and no doubt in select enclaves all over London, the metal door of the safe transformed into a lumpy, misshapen paper block.

  When he’d finished, Al simply ripped the mass of paper away, leaving the contents of the safe exposed. Al moved aside so the camera could get closer and show the audience what was inside. Stacks and stacks of fifty pound notes. Sam had never seen so much money; never even dreamed of it.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Al. “That I’m going to steal Mr Cairo’s cash. Well, I’m no thief. And this is blood money in here. Nobody should have that. Certainly not Mr Cairo. So, I’ve decided to show Mr Cairo what his money is worth to him. For those of you out there who are easily grossed out, or a bit squeamish, look away now.”

  Al reached out towards the lens, and the camera operator’s hand could be seen briefly in shot passing something to Al.

  “Here’s something I definitely didn’t make earlier,” said Al, holding up the small plastic container that he had just been given. “But next-door’s dog did,” he added, removing the lid and showing it to the camera.

  “Aaaah that’s sick!” James yelled, laughing. Steve was practically hopping up and down with delight and the other boys in the group were crying with laughter. Sam felt sick and so obviously did Nina and Sasha, judging by the expressions on their faces.

  “This is going to be far worse for me than it is for you,” promised Al. “But sacrifices have to be made for the revolution. And don’t worry, I will wash my hands after.”

  Sam could barely watch as Al dipped his forefinger into the disgusting dog poo in the container, and then placed his hand on the nearest pile of money. As revolted as she was, she couldn’t take her eyes off the screen as the paper darkened in colour, softened, and became molten and lumpy. Perhaps deliberately, Al took his hand away before the conversion was complete, so what was left looked like some crazy pudding of dog mess and paper, with an image of the Queen sitting on top.

  Al moved on to the next pile, then the next and then the next until the entire contents of the safe were a horrible brown munge of poo and bank notes.

  “That is so gross,” Sam put her hand over her mouth. She could never hold Al’s hand again.

  “And that, class, is the end of the lesson,” said Al to camera, wiping his hand on a tissue. The camera operator handed him a small dispenser of alcohol gel.

  “Thanks,” he said, cleaning his hands. “While I’m taking care of this, it’s time for me to give something to you. Over the last two weeks, I and some of my good friends have been planting presents around the city. There are exactly 1,000 of them dotted all across London. At exactly nine a.m. tomorrow, the Party Jacker app will locate the nearest cache to you. Find the cache, get the prize, and you’ll be told what to do next. There’s a party starting at midday, if you want to be there, you’ll have to join the treasure hunt.”

  And the video ended.

  ***

  “That was awesome,” cooed Steve, looking like he was going to faint with excitement.

  It was, thought Sam. But what was Al giving away in the cache? Money? He’d said he wanted to cause a riot. Would a stampede for pots of money cause a riot? Or Super D? Surely he wouldn’t be so stupid.

  She got out her phone and texted Al.

  ‘What’s the treasure hunt for?’

  The reply came back quickly.

  ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’

  He was talking to her again, at least! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

  Sam texted back so fast she made numerous misspellings and had to keep correcting the words.

  ‘Can I see you?’

  The reply:

  ‘ur not mad at me for ignoring u?’

  ‘No. Just worried about you. Is this about starting riots? Please don’t.’

  The reply.

  ‘I have to d
o this Sam. Trust me.’

  Sam wanted to, but this was all wrong. Whatever his intentions, she was sure Al was going to unleash something that he would have no control over.

  Sam thought about it, then replied.

  ‘I’m going to join treasure hunt.’

  Seconds later, her phone rang. It was Al.

  “Hello,” said Sam, walking away from her friends. She needed some privacy. Nina tried following her, but Sam waved her away.

  “Sam,” Al’s voice was serious. “I don’t want you to come to the thing tomorrow.”

  “What thing?” asked Sam, testing him. There was a delay.

  “I can’t tell you. But I’ve been thinking about what your parents said and they’re right. I don’t want you involved.”

  “Why not? I thought we were all in it together.”

  “We are,” he sounded less sure now. “But it could get rough. I don’t want you in trouble.”

  “So you are planning riots?”

  “You could get hurt.”

  “You know that I can’t.”

  “You might. I don’t want that. We can see each other afterwards.”

  “If you want to be with me, then you’ll want me with you tomorrow.’

  “But your parents?”

  “Do you want me? We’re talking about me!”

  “I can’t, Sam. I couldn’t live with that.”

  “You told me your mum died when someone mugged her. I don’t understand why you’d want to start a riot after that. People will get hurt. Someone’s mum, maybe. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “Just leave it, all right? This is important. I’ve told you why. But I just don’t want you there in case anything bad happens.”

  “Then you don’t believe in your cause, do you?” challenged Sam. “You’re not willing to make sacrifices.”

  There was no reply.

  “I’m coming to the party tomorrow.” She’d made up her mind.

  “I’m sorry, Sam. Please. I don’t want you there. I promise we’ll get together on Sunday.”

  “You could be in prison on Sunday!”

  “All the more reason for you not to be there. Your dad would kill me if that happened to you, too. Please. Stay at home tomorrow. I don’t want you there. I mean it.”

  The phone went dead.

  Sam stood looking at it, not sure whether to ring back. It was a minute or two before she realized James was at her side. He didn’t say anything.

  “I feel stupid,” she said. “I’ve only known him a week. I can’t exactly be heartbroken, can I?”

  “What did he say?” asked James.

  “Not much. Just that he didn’t want me to join the treasure hunt tomorrow, or be at the party.”

  “What do you reckon about that?”

  “He isn’t the boss of me, and he may think he knows what he’s doing, but he doesn’t. I’m going on the treasure hunt and I’m going to the party.”

  “Mum and Dad won’t allow that.”

  “I know. But somehow I’m going.”

  “Cool. And I’m coming with you.”

  ***

  When they got home from school, Sam and James sat in the kitchen with Mum and Dad, discussing the message from Al.

  “I think it’s Super D,” said Sam. “Has to be.”

  “Could be gold. Didn’t he say something about Dick Whittington in his message yesterday?” said James. “You know, like the streets are paved with gold.”

  “Why give out gold?” asked Mum.

  “Why give out Super D?” countered Dad.

  “Because Al has it in his head that everybody is oppressed,” explained Sam, testily. “He’s obsessed with how evil money is, and how the rich have everything and everyone else has nothing.”

  “Which is, admittedly, hard to argue with,” agreed Dad. “But he’s a 15-year-old boy. He’s hardly Che Guevara, is he?”

  “Who?” asked Sam.

  “You’re so thick,” said James. Sam pulled a face at him, but laughed.

  “I know he’s still at school, but he’s got powers,” Sam reminded them. “I saw him turn a metal spoon into gold. And I’ve seen a fight start in the playground over a pound coin. Imagine what would happen if he’s left gold bars all round London.”

  Dad sucked air in through his teeth, and put his hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  “Sometimes, sweetheart, you are wise beyond your years.”

  Sam placed her arms on the kitchen table, rested her head on them and closed her eyes.

  “I like him,” she said, mournfully. “I really do. Is that wrong?”

  “’Course it’s not, sweetheart,” said Dad, reassuringly. “You can’t help who you like.”

  “He could end up in prison,” said Sam. It was the wrong thing to say.

  “Which is exactly why neither of you two are going anywhere near this treasure hunt thing, and you’re not even allowed to utter the word ‘party’,” said Dad, firmly.

  Sam sat up sharply.

  “I mean this, you two. I don’t want to hear ‘sorry’ afterwards. We’ll go out for the day tomorrow. Weather is supposed to be nice, so we’ll go to Brighton. Lolly can come, too.”

  Sam’s heart pounded. No! This couldn’t be happening. Why didn’t Dad understand? She looked at James, who was clearly trying to think of a way out of it. But did he have to make it so obvious what he was thinking?

  “And no, James, there is no way out of it,” added Dad. “So you can get that look off your face for a start.”

  Sam dropped her head back onto the table.

  “I hate my life,” she moaned.

  “Where is Lolly, anyway?” asked James.

  “We’re not sure,” admitted Dad. “She said she had to pay money to Nicky Cairo.”

  “What?!” exploded James. “And you let her go and see that sicko? After what Al has done he’ll kill her. I’ve got to find her.” He got to his feet.

  “And I said stay where you are,” commanded Dad, putting a hand on James’s shoulder. “Lolly can look after herself. She’ll be back. You know she will.”

  “I’ll put out a saucer of milk for her,” cracked Sam, but instantly regretted it when she saw the look on James’s face. “I’m sorry,” she said, but James just walked out of the kitchen.

  Chapter 45

  Lolly Rosewood felt desperate. Her left arm was agony and it was refusing to heal. It must be broken. Her whole body was covered in cuts and bruises. She had been stumbling barefoot across waste ground and alongside the river for several hours and her feet were bleeding and raw.

  She felt horribly vulnerable. She couldn’t risk going into any kind of built-up area. Her appearance would instantly draw attention, the police would be called, and she would be quickly identified and locked up. She barely had enough strength to keep walking, so there was no way she could defend herself in a fight.

  She’d had a near miss with a crowd of men as she’d picked her way along the river bank. They were drunk, stripped to the waist and had a dog on a piece of string. When the dog saw Lolly, it came bounding up to her, snarling and barking. Lolly hastily grabbed a nearby stick to fend it off, or it would surely have bitten her. This seemed to enrage the drunkards, who shouted abuse, chased her, and only gave up when the leader of the group pitched face forward into the mud and the others toppled over him. The dog had started biting them instead.

  Lolly kept going.

  Eventually, she collapsed into a heap in a clump of reeds at the top of a muddy beach. She lay there, looking up at the grey sky, cold and lifeless, trying to work out how she had been brought so low. Eventually she lapsed into sleep. She was grateful that it had stopped raining.

  ***

  When she woke up, it was getting dark. She must have lain in this spot for hours. She felt weak and stiff. It would be so easy just to stay here until somebody found her. She didn’t care what happened to her after that, as long as she didn’t have to make any decisions.

  What would her father do? Thinking of
him stopped her from giving up.

  Wearily she picked herself up, clutching at her growling stomach with her good arm. She stumbled on through the reeds, watching boats sailing along the Thames.

  There was a large clearing ahead of her and she could make out numerous lorries parked in neat rows. She didn’t care why they were there, or even where there was — if there was a lorry park, there must be food. That she did understand.

  Cautiously, she approached, keeping low against the wall that ran around the perimeter of the park. In the nearest lorry, a big guy was sitting in the cab, eating a large bap. Bacon? Sausage? Egg? Lolly nearly fainted at the thought. She looked around until she found a large rock. She couldn’t lift it with just her right hand. She found a smaller chunk of broken concrete that she could manage. If she was quick, she would be on the guy before he knew what was happening. She would strike him across the temple, killing him instantly, and leaving her free to take his food. Nobody else would even notice.

  Except she couldn’t do it. She didn’t know if it was weakness, or exhaustion, or something else, but she just couldn’t imagine killing the driver while he sat there peacefully eating his dinner.

  She dropped the slab, walked up to the cab and tapped meekly on the door.

  As soon as the guy saw her, he swore in disbelief, leapt out of the cab and kept asking her if she was all right.

  He grabbed a blanket from his cab and put it across her shoulders.

  “I’ll call the police,” he said.

  “Please, don’t,” said Lolly, wrapping the blanket around her body. “I’m on the run. My stepdad beats me. If you call the police they’ll send me home. It’s happened before.” She buried her head in his chest and started crying.

  The guy swore again, then apologized for the profanity.

  “I’m so sorry,” Lolly bleated. “But have you any food? I haven’t eaten in two days.” She sobbed for good measure.

  The driver shouted out to the guy in the next cab.

  “Ravi! I need help here. Some kid. Get Barbara to bring some food over. Whatever she’s got cooked. I’ll pay.”

  Ravi jumped down from his lorry and ran across the tarmac towards a small grey building.

  “We’ll look after you,” the driver said to Lolly, patting her on the shoulder. “I’m Bill, by the way.”