Raven's Gate

was now empty. How could an entire village simply disappear overnight? There were a hundred questions hanging in the air – and Richard’s article provided at least some of the answers. Why did nobody want to publish it?
    There was also an unspoken worry between the two.
    Matt knew that he was living on borrowed time. Mrs Deverill was dead and any minute now the authorities in London would take note of the fact that she had disappeared and wonder what had happened to him. The LEAF Project would reclaim him and he would be sent somewhere else. It was obvious that he couldn’t stay with Richard much longer. Although there was enough room in the flat for the two of them, a fourteen-year-old boy couldn’t move in with a twenty-five-year-old man he’d only known for a matter of weeks. Worse still, Richard was out of cash. He hadn’t shown up for work for a week and as a result he’d lost his job on the
Gazette
. The editor hadn’t even sent him a letter. His dismissal was simply announced on the front page: JOURNALIST FIRED. Richard couldn’t help being gloomy. If he wasn’t going to have an award-winning scoop, he would need to find work. He had mentioned that he might go back to London.
    “You know what I think,” Richard said suddenly.
    “What?”
    “I think somebody is doing all this on purpose. I think somebody’s put a D-notice on the story.”
    “What’s a D-notice?”
    “It’s a government thing. Censorship. When they don’t want a story to get into the papers for reasons of national security.”
    “You think they know what happened?”
    “Maybe. I don’t know.” Richard crumpled a newspaper into a ball. “All I know is that somebody should have said something and I can’t believe that no one has.”
    The doorbell rang. Richard went over to the window and looked down.
    “Postman?” Matt suggested.
    “No. It looks like a tourist. He’s probably lost.” A lot of tourists went past the flat, but it was unusual for one to ring the bell. “I’ll go down and get rid of him,” said Richard, and left the room.
    Matt finished his tea and rinsed his mug in the sink. At last he had begun to sleep properly again – and there hadn’t been any more dreams. And yet, even so, he knew that they were still waiting for him, the four children on the beach. Three boys and a girl. With him, that made five.
    One of the Five.
    That was what this had all been about: four boys and a girl, who had saved the world once and who would return to do it again. At the museum, Matt had told Richard what he believed – that he was one of them.
    Yet how could that be possible when they had lived thousands of years ago? Matt had some sort of power. That much was obvious. But it wasn’t something he could control and, as far as he was concerned, he never wanted to see it or use it again. He sank his head into his hands. He had never been in control of his life … not for as long as he could remember. And right now he felt more out of control than ever.
    Richard came back into the room, accompanied by a man dressed in a pale suit. He was certainly foreign, with very black hair, olive-coloured skin and dark eyes, but he didn’t look like a tourist. He was carrying an expensive leather briefcase and appeared to be more like a businessman – some sort of international lawyer perhaps.
    “This is Mr Fabian,” Richard said. “At least, that’s what he says his name is.”
    “Good morning, Matt. I’m very glad to meet you.” Fabian’s voice was soft. He pronounced each word carefully, with a strong Spanish accent.
    “Mr Fabian has read my article,” Richard continued. “He’s from the Nexus.”
    The Nexus. The secret organization that both Miss Ashwood and Professor Dravid had mentioned before Dravid was killed.
    “What do you want?” Matt demanded. He’d had enough. He just wanted to leave this all behind.
    Fabian sighed. “Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked.
    Richard gestured to a chair.
    Fabian took it. “Thank you, Mr Cole. First of all, let me say, Matthew, that I am very glad – indeed very honoured – to meet you. I know what you’ve been through. I hope you are fully recovered.”
    “You don’t know the half of it,” Richard growled.
    Fabian turned to him. “You were, of course, at the Natural History Museum when Professor Dravid was killed,” he said. “I would be interested to know how it was that you survived.”
    Richard shrugged. “It was the ribcage,” he said. “I was