London Belongs to the Alchemist (Class Heroes Book 4) Page 9

  “Nobody knows what it really is. Only that DJ Alchemy can get it.”

  “I know who DJ Alchemy is,” said Nicky. “But where is he getting it from?”

  “Nobody knows. Honest. He just gets it. I mean, you want to ask him. Please can I go?”

  Nicky released his grip on the kid’s chin, looked up at Monkey and nodded.

  Monkey lifted the kid up off the floor and punched him in the stomach, then handed him to Mountain like he was a piece of rubbish.

  “Get rid of him,” said Monkey. “But make sure you dispose of him a long way from here.”

  Mountain nodded.

  The kid looked horrified.

  “No! Please. I helped you. You said you’d let me go. Please!”

  Monkey socked him in the gut again, and that silenced the tiresome waster. Mountain dragged him out.

  Nicky looked at Zak.

  “I’m convinced,” said Zak.

  “Me too,” said Nicky. “Ok. I want a couple of the boys to follow this Al kid tomorrow. See where he goes. See if he meets anyone, collects these drugs. The kid must be getting them from somewhere. Then bring him in for a chat.”

  Nicky poured himself a drink. He was starting to see a glimmer of hope.

  Chapter 15

  Tuesday 17 April

  Sam’s brain had burned with anticipation and fear all morning. She could only think about Al. She barely registered Lolly at the breakfast table and it didn’t even bother her when the girl waved from the window as Sam got into Dad’s car to go to school.

  Form and lessons were a blur. For her session with Ms Pope, the school counsellor, Sam was on auto pilot.

  All she could think about was whether she had the courage to leave school at lunchtime, walk down South Ealing Road and wait for Al in The Bean Counter. She was scared of being found out, but she was also scared of meeting a boy she barely knew.

  The only thing that did register with her that morning was when Steve Roadhouse, still looking rough from Friday, shyly gave her a present on the way to class.

  “A sort of ‘welcome back’,” he said, shyly. “And to say sorry for getting you in trouble with your parents. I know you like these, sort of, classic books.”

  He was nervous and kept looking around as if afraid somebody would see him handing her the gift. It was wrapped up, albeit in newspaper. Sam was stunned. She unwrapped the present, revealing the title of the book: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Sam smiled.

  “Thank you,” she said, politely. He’d tried, and Sam couldn’t help but be touched. “That’s really kind of you.”

  “Hope you like it,” Steve mumbled. “I’d better go,” and he shambled off, looking like a zombie himself.

  Sam flicked through the book. More to Lolly’s taste, she reflected, but very sweet of him. She put the book in her bag, suddenly feeling a lot better about the world. She’d only been back at school for less than a day and a half, and already one cool DJ had asked her out and a mad party animal had given her a present. Weird.

  ***

  When the bell rang for lunchtime, Sam made a quick dash to the toilet to avoid speaking to James as they left the classroom. He’d probably stuff his face with his sandwiches in the playground before kicking a football around with his friends. If she was quick, she could mingle with the hordes of other kids walking out through the school gates without him spotting her.

  She took a brush out of her bag and did her best to sort out her hair. She wanted it to look salon-styled, but a hasty one-minute attempt in the school toilets produced a far less satisfactory result. Some of the other girls in her year wore make-up and she wished she was allowed to.

  Sam took a deep breath and exited the toilets. Such was her guilt that she discovered she couldn’t even walk normally along the corridor. She tried to affect an air of nonchalance which felt totally fake, and probably drew more attention to her rather than less.

  As she reached the main doorway, which led out to the playground, someone grabbed her arm. Sam nearly leapt out of her skin.

  To her relief it was Nina.

  “Sam, where are you going? I was looking for you.”

  Sam blushed, a fact that didn’t escape her best friend.

  “Look at you all tarted up,” Nina teased, with mock horror. Then she frowned. “Are you meeting that boy?”

  Sam went even redder. Nina had a habit of knowing what Sam was thinking, to the point that Sam was starting to wonder if Nina had a telepathic superpower.

  “Please, you mustn’t say. Especially not to James,” she begged in a whisper.

  Nina’s face lit up.

  “I knew it! Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you, on the condition that you tell me everything when you get back.”

  Sam’s smile was out of control and, in truth, she probably wouldn’t be able to stop herself relaying every detail.

  “Deal. I got to go. Don’t want to keep him waiting,” she said.

  Nina hugged Sam.

  “Hey, you’re worth waiting for, and if he doesn’t realize that then I’ll come and kick him up the backside.”

  Sam giggled and hurried off.

  She integrated herself into a large group of older, taller girls who were walking out through the gates. She was fairly sure James hadn’t spotted her. As soon as she was on the main street, she started running.

  ***

  Sam had a dicey moment as she approached The Bean Counter. She was heading for the door when it opened and Mark Foster, of all people, stepped out. Sam ducked her head down and hoped he wouldn’t notice her. Of all the coincidences. Why did he have to be here? Fortunately, he was totally preoccupied by whatever he was putting in his inside jacket pocket.

  Sam gave him half a minute to get clear and then entered the cafe. It was busy, almost full. There was a long queue at the serving counter. Lots of men and women in suits, looking impatient, some talking on their phones. There were no other pupils from the school, she was glad to see. To her left, a boy stood up. Sam felt butterflies in her stomach. It was definitely him. There was the cheeky, charming smile, the confident but kind eyes. Today he had a blonde streak in his short black hair. She was glad to see he wasn’t wearing the skeleton outfit. He wore jeans, a T-shirt and a leather jacket. He gave her a little wave. Nothing show-offy, just a tentative greeting that said ‘it’s me’.

  Sam walked over to the table. It was right in front of the window, which wasn’t ideal, but she couldn’t ask him to move. Al indicated the spare chair in a gentlemanly display of chivalry, which Sam liked.

  “I got you a coffee and a croissant, hope that’s ok?”

  “Fine, thanks,” said Sam, who hated coffee but loved croissant. Al had some shortbread and a glass of coke.

  Sam busied herself sitting down, fiddling with her bag, taking her phone out of it and putting it back, and adjusting her chair.

  “You’re more nervous than when we met on the rooftop,” joked Al.

  Sam laughed, feeling more at ease.

  “Silly, isn’t it?” she admitted.

  “I feel the same,” said Al, sipping his coke and picking at the shortbread.

  Al didn’t strike Sam as the nervous type, so he was probably just saying it to make her feel better.

  “How did you get home that night?” she asked.

  “I swam to Tower Bridge. Then I ran home. That’s the beauty of Super D. And I was almost dry by the time I got back.”

  “How did you get hold of Super D in the first place?” asked Sam. She was feeling more confident now. Sam knew as much about the history of Super D as anybody, and she felt like she had a natural right to question Al on the subject. She knew how dangerous it could be in the wrong hands, and there were a lot of hands at that party.

  Al sat back in his chair and eyed her keenly.

  “You’re some funny kind of honey,” he said.

  Sam wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. Al leaned forward in his chair and lowered his voice.

  “I see you at the
party, waving your arms around and fire coming out of your hands. And then you run after me like a greyhound chasing a rabbit. I know the drug makes people strong and fast, but it don’t do anything like what you did with the fire. And the kid who looks like he must be your brother, he just disappeared in front of me.”

  Sam gulped. She could hardly deny it. What was curious was the tone of Al’s voice. He was impressed, but he wasn’t astounded. He wasn’t looking at her like she was a freak who had done something beyond his wildest imaginings. He was excited rather than scared.

  “I’m quite a good singer and dancer too,” said Sam, matching him for coyness.

  Al laughed.

  “I’ll bet you are.” He looked at her thoughtfully and Sam’s heart did another little leap. He had such nice eyes. She was enjoying this.

  Sam ate some croissant, then took a sip of coffee. Yuck. Bitter. She had to make an effort to stop herself grimacing, in case it made her look ugly.

  “Ok, I’m just going to put this out there,” he said. “You can do incredible things, which have nothing to do with Super D, am I right?” He raised an eyebrow. “So can I,” he added, with obvious delight.

  “Uhhh?” said Sam, dumbly, dropping a chunk of croissant onto the table. She hadn’t seen that one coming. Did he mean he had a superpower, or was he showing off about his DJ’ing skills or something?

  “I’ll show you,” whispered Al. “What’s your necklace made of?”

  Sam fingered the thin chain around her neck. Nan had given it to her last summer. She wasn’t supposed to wear it for school but it was the most beautiful thing that Sam owned, and it made her feel connected to her grandmother.

  “Gold.”

  “Do you mind if I touch it?” he asked, politely.

  Sam nodded. She felt self-conscious as he leaned closer and brought his hand close to her neck. As he touched the metal, she could also feel the contact of his fingers on her skin. It was warm, soft, and it gave her goosebumps. Then the touch was gone as he held the chain between his thumb and forefinger.

  With his other hand, Al held the metal spoon from Sam’s coffee cup. Then his face went blank, as though he was doing some difficult mental arithmetic.

  To Sam’s amazement, the dull, grey metal of the spoon slowly transformed to become bright and lustrous. The shape of the spoon changed, got a bit smaller, a bit lumpier, and when Al finally let go of it, the spoon looked like it was made out of gold. The whole process had taken about a minute. Al let go of her necklace. He was grinning from ear to ear. He looked around again, as did Sam. Nobody appeared to have noticed.

  “DJ Alchemy,” he whispered.

  Chapter 16

  Sam spent the next few minutes studying the spoon. Strange how, despite her own powers, she was totally entranced by this one.

  “It’s amazing,” she kept saying.

  “I dunno,” said Al.

  For the first time since Sam had met him, he suddenly looked less like a brash, confident superstar, and more like someone who’d just been told they have an incurable illness.

  “Can you turn anything into gold?” she asked in wonder.

  Al shook his head.

  “Not exactly. I just copy stuff. That teaspoon is now made of the same thing as your necklace, but I could have turned it into glass, if that’s what I’d been touching.”

  “Can you copy everything?” asked Sam, her mind buzzing.

  “Nah. Just simple objects like metal, most liquids and even plastic. But I can’t create a car or a phone, or a chicken.”

  “It’s still awesome,” said Sam, almost overcome with excitement.

  “Thing is, I don’t understand how I got it. I can’t tell anyone in case they think I’m a freak. I love what I can do, but I don’t know whether it’s a disease or something,” he said in a low whisper so that Sam had to strain to hear him. “I can’t go to the doctor about it. I tried looking it up on the internet, but there’s nothing. Am I sick? Am I going to die? You got a power too — do you know?” He looked earnest, scared, almost desperate.

  Sam sighed. She felt sorry for Al because she knew from her own experience how frightening it was to get these powers. She’d been unable to control them at first and had woken up, many times, in the middle of the night to find her bed on fire; then cried herself to sleep worrying that she would accidentally kill her family. She’d had strange sensations sweep through her body, and had spent a week convinced that she was about to grow another arm. For all the wish-fulfilment of having some kind of special ability, it was actually quite terrifying not knowing what might happen to your body next.

  But that wasn’t what had elicited the sigh. She felt disappointed. She’d built this moment up in her mind as a date. She’d thought that Al was just some really cool boy who fancied her. But it was more complicated than that. He had superpowers and he was reaching out to her because he had nobody else who could understand what he was going through.

  “If you’re the same as me, then you’ll be fine,” she said, gently. “You’re not dying. At least, other people who I know have had their powers for years and they haven’t got sick or anything.” Sam was thinking primarily of Sir Michael Rosewood and Lolly.

  “There are others like us?” asked Al, as though he hadn’t considered that possibility.

  “A few.”

  “Do you know all about powers then?” Al looked like a drowning man who’d been thrown a lifeline.

  “A bit. How long have you been able to do that?” Sam pointed at the spoon.

  “About a year.”

  “And did something bad happen to you just before? Like a near-death experience?” Sam asked.

  Al slumped back in his chair, puffed up his cheeks and blew out through his mouth.

  “Yeah, kind of. How did you know?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “What happened?”

  “You know all the riots in London last year? I was part of that.”

  “Why?” asked Sam. The question sounded more censorious than she had intended. Sam hadn’t actually been in London at the time of the riots, but she had seen the news reports.

  “I didn’t go out looting or anything,” snapped Al, suddenly defensive. “But I wanted to protest about the cuts. About the government. They don’t care about us, you know? I wanted to make a stand.”

  Sam said nothing. She didn’t feel that it was her place to judge, but the revelation didn’t sit well with her.

  “That’s what the raves are all about,” added Al, clearly feeling the need to explain himself. “It’s all about rejecting the system. Showing the government that people are fed up with having things taken from them. It’s not just the rich that can have a good time and do what they want. You into music? You know about punk? Has your dad got any Sex Pistols albums? Any Bob Marley?”

  “Probably, in between his Spandau Ballet and other weird eighties stuff,” replied Sam.

  Al laughed, but then became serious again.

  “That’s what it’s all about. Anarchy. Freedom of spirit. People have so much taken from them, but I can give something back.”

  “You mean you want to be Robin Hood, but without the stealing?”

  “Kind of. Keep it as a present,” he said, indicating the spoon.

  Sam wasn’t sure if that was allowed. Technically the spoon belonged to the coffee shop. She put it back on the saucer and looked up at Al.

  “I couldn’t. Wouldn’t be right.”

  Al smiled.

  “Where do you live?” asked Sam. “Why aren’t you at school?”

  “I live in New Cross, south-east London. I’m not at school because I wanted to see you.”

  Sam felt a fluttering in her stomach.

  “Do your family know about your power?” she asked.

  Al looked surprised by the question.

  “No! ’Course not. I can’t tell them.”

  “Why?”

  “My dad wouldn’t understand. He’d think I’d got something wrong with me. And my b
rothers would think I’m a freak.”

  “Your family might have powers, too,” Sam explained. “It’s genetic.”

  “They ain’t got nothing. They got no ambition. Dad runs a fruit and veg shop and my brothers work for him. I’m supposed to work there too, but I just do my own thing. Mum died a few years ago. She got mugged.”

  “That’s terrible.”

  “That’s this country. That’s what it does to people.”

  Sam said nothing.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Why don’t I just give my family lots of gold so we’d be rich? ’Cos my Dad would take me straight to the hospital and then they’d cut me open to find out how I can do what I do.”

  That was an argument very familiar to Sam.

  “You can sell the gold yourself.”

  “People would just think I was nicking it. A black kid goes into a gold merchant’s every week with a bar of gold? Get real. That’s the crazy thing. It’s not illegal, and yet if I did it, the police would be all over me.”

  “Can’t you, literally, make money?”

  “No. I can copy the paper, but I can’t create a banknote.”

  Sam saw his problem. If she went home with a solid gold spoon, Mum and Dad would ask questions. ‘Why weren’t you in school?’ being the first one.

  “What about Super D? Have you been copying that?”

  “Yeah.”

  She thought.

  “Have you been selling it?”

  “No, man! I give it away. Sometimes I give it in return for something I need. But I’m not out to exploit people. I’m empowering people.”

  ***

  They sat in silence for a while. Sam had immediately seen the danger in Al’s abilities. Sir Michael Rosewood had been striving for years to create and perfect Super Drug. His biggest problem was how to mass-produce it. And here was Al who could conjure up a batch of it from his bedroom while watching TV.

  “How did you even get hold of Super D?” asked Sam, eventually breaking the silence.

  “One of my mates works at one of the big hotels in the West End. There was a guy staying in a penthouse suite. He looks like some kind of loser, but he’s loaded, yeah? One day he gets shot in his room. My mate is the one who discovers the body. He says it must have been a professional hitman who offed him. He reckons that the guy must have been treading on the toes of one of the big criminal gangs in London — you know, doing jobs on their territory — and they got rid of him. The room safe was ransacked, all the money taken. But lying on the floor is a small packet of pills. My mate pockets it before the police arrive. He’ll take any pill. He tried it and it made him, like, Superman-strong. And he sells one to me. Before I took it, I copied it, and now I have an endless supply.”