Raven's Gate

Matt saw that one of his front teeth had been chipped diagonally in half. “Can I help you?”
    “How long have you been here?”
    “All morning. I got here about half eight.”
    “Do you work for Tom Burgess too?”
    “I’m helping him out with the decorating.”
    “Have you seen him today?”
    “I saw him about a quarter of an hour ago. He looked in to see how I was getting on, then he left… Something to do with his sheep.”
    “That’s what I just told you,” Miss Creevy said.
    Matt felt the blood rush to his cheeks. “He’s lying,” he insisted. “They both are. I know what I saw.” Suddenly he remembered. “Tom Burgess left a message,” he said.
    He swung round and pushed the door shut to reveal the wall behind it. But the wall, which had been off-white before, was now green. And the words that the farmer had painted had gone.
    “Be careful,” Ken Rampton warned. “Wet paint…”
    Sergeant Rivers came to a decision. “We won’t waste any more of your time, sir,” he said. He grabbed hold of Matt, his hand tightening on his shoulder. “As for you, I think we should have a word outside.”
    Miss Creevy followed them back downstairs and out into the yard. Matt wondered if the policemen were going to arrest him. In fact, he suddenly realized, that was exactly what he hoped would happen. If they arrested him, maybe he would be taken back to London. Maybe this sort of behaviour would mean that he could kiss the LEAF Project goodbye. But before anyone could say anything, Miss Creevy stepped forward. “I wonder if I could have a private word with you, officer?”
    They spoke for about two minutes. The sergeant glanced his way a couple of times and nodded, while Miss Creevy shrugged and spread her hands. Finally he walked back over to them.
    “You ought to know that wasting police time is a very serious business,” he said.
    “I’m telling the truth.”
    “Let’s not have any more of that, thank you.”
    The policeman had made up his mind. Matt could see that. He bit his tongue.
    “I understand you’ve been in trouble a few times before,” Sergeant Rivers continued. “You’re with the LEAF Project, is that right? You ought to count yourself lucky. Personally I don’t believe in all this do-good stuff, to tell you the truth. You’re a thief, and the best thing for you would be to be birched and locked up where you can’t do any more harm. But that’s not my decision. The courts have sent you here and if you had any sense, you’d be grateful and stop trying to draw attention to yourself. Now, we’ll say no more about this nonsense. But I don’t want to see or hear from you again.”
    Matt watched as the two policemen drove away. Then he turned round. Miss Creevy was smiling at him, her long grey hair flapping in the breeze. There was a movement at the door and Ken Rampton appeared with the paintbrush still clutched in his hand. He said nothing. But he too was smiling.
    “Go back to Hive Hall,” Miss Creevy said. “Mrs Deverill is waiting for you.”
    “To hell with her!” Matt shouted.
    “You can’t escape from us, Matthew. There’s nowhere you can go. Surely you can see that by now.”
    Matt ignored her and grabbed the bike.
    “There’s nowhere you can go.” The woman echoed the words in a high-pitched voice.
    Ken Rampton began to laugh.
    Matt pedalled away as fast as he could.

LOCAL AFFAIRS
    Greater Malling had once been a small, attractive village but it had grown into a large, unattractive town. There were still a few reminders of what it had once been: a pond, a row of almshouses and a lopsided sixteenth-century pub. But the roads had come, cutting in from every side and joining together at noisy intersections. New houses had elbowed out the old. Offices and car parks had sprung up, joined by cinemas, supermarkets and a clattering bus station. Now it was very ordinary. Somewhere to pass through on the way to somewhere else.
    It had taken Matt an hour to cycle here from Glendale Farm. He had been afraid that the road would play another trick on him and deposit him somewhere he didn’t want to be. But he was still wearing the stone talisman that Tom Burgess had given him. Somehow the little golden key had unlocked the maze of country lanes and allowed him to find his way.
    Matt parked the bike outside a launderette. It occurred to him that someone might steal it but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t be needing it again.
    He was looking for a railway station and a