Crowns and Codebreakers (6 page)

Minnie took in everything in an instant. Then she looked at the man, Omar.

His eyes flicked behind them, obviously waiting for a grown-up to follow them inside.

Minnie gave him her widest smile.

‘Can I help you?’ Omar said. His voice was frostier than a husky’s toes.

‘I hope so,’ Minnie said brightly. ‘I’m doing a summer holiday project for school on the best industries to work in. I wonder if I could ask you a few questions?’

‘I’m busy,’ Omar said.

‘It won’t take two minutes. What do you like best about your job?’

Omar shrugged. ‘I get paid. It is important to be paid.’

‘What about the worst bits? For example, what are the hours like? Do you have to work weekends?’

‘We clean every day. Every day except Sunday,’ Omar said.

‘And you do deliveries of clothes?’

‘For regular customers only,’ Omar replied.

‘On Sundays?’ Minnie asked.

‘Sometimes. Why is this question in your project?’

Minnie smiled again. Omar was as friendly as a wasp with a parking ticket, but that didn’t mean she was ready to give up.

‘We have to decide what job we’d like to do when we grow up. I like clothes. If I can’t be a fashion designer, maybe I can clean clothes. But I don’t want to work on Sundays. My family go to church on Sundays, you see.’

She watched him carefully as she spoke. Was that a flicker of fear on his face? Of recognition?

Piotr stepped up to the counter. ‘Do you work here by yourself? What about Mr Ahmed? Could we interview him?’

Omar folded his arms. His strong-looking, thick arms. ‘There is no Ahmed. I called the shop Ahmed’s so I would come top of the list in the directory. There is only me.’

‘Oh,’ Piotr said. ‘Would you mind if we took a picture? For the cover of our project?’

Omar shook his head. ‘No, you certainly may not. You are very annoying to me now,’ he said in disgust. ‘I have no idea why my mother is so sad not to have grandchildren. Children are more trouble than verrucas. I will ask you to leave now. I do not want to be in your project.’

Piotr glanced at Minnie. He looked frustrated, his brow creased.

She gave him a quick wink. ‘Thank you, Mr Omar,’ Minnie said brightly. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

She tugged at Piotr’s arm as she headed for the door. He stumbled a little, but followed behind her. Outside, in the fresh air, Minnie checked the road before dashing across to the shade of the plane trees. She threw herself down on to a bench with a triumphant yelp.

‘What?’ Piotr asked. ‘Why did you thank him? He was worse than useless.’

‘Was he?’ Now it was Minnie’s turn to grin smugly.

Piotr noticed right away. He sat down beside her. ‘What did you see?’

‘Did you notice anything about the clothes waiting to be cleaned?’ she asked.

Piotr looked thoughtful, mentally trying to recreate the shop. ‘I don’t know. Fancy. Expensive. I think some of them might even have been animals once. Oh!’ He grinned too. ‘Except the T-shirt!’

‘Exactly, a small green T-shirt with a crocodile logo! One that looked as though it could have been bought in the exact same place as the orange T-shirt in the suitcase.’

Minnie could picture the scene. The heat of Lagos, the sound of traffic roaring in the background. A boy, excited by his upcoming trip, being taken to a stallholder in a covered arcade. Cheap cotton T-shirts piled high on the tabletop, higher even than the boy’s head. He’d have watched as someone, an older someone, held the T-shirt against his chest. Finding one that fit. Buying three, haggling over the price. Was the boy excited to see his new clothes? Was he looking forward to his journey? Or was he frightened by what was to come?

Minnie shivered.

Yes, Gran was scared, and yes, the flat felt weird, but somewhere there was a boy who was living with the people who had done that. People who cut the eyes from boys in postcards, who made her dream of knives.

That boy needed their help.

Minnie and Piotr walked back to the cafe and went to sit at their usual table.

Minnie felt a worried fizzing inside: it was the same way she felt before tests. How were they going to help the boy from Lagos?

Bam!

A slap on the window made her jump.

Andrew.

He pressed his mouth up against the glass and blew. His cheeks ballooned out like some deep-sea fish.

‘Oi!’ Eileen shouted from behind the counter. ‘You’re smearing the clean window.’

Andrew stopped smearing the window and wiped it with his sleeve.

Gross.

Seconds later, he was inside the cafe and at the table.
‘Flora just went home for a minute. She’s got something she wants to show us,’ he said.

‘What?’ Piotr asked.

Andrew shrugged. ‘We found the photographer – he’s an art dealer. Some of the paintings in his shop are worth an absolute fortune! But some of them look like they were painted by a class of Year Ones who’ve eaten too much Haribo, so I wasn’t that impressed.’

‘Did he say anything about the burglary?’ Piotr asked.

‘No. He didn’t see anything except for some pretty excellent bricks.’

‘Bricks?’

Minnie couldn’t ask him any more, because Flora walked in. She was already rooting in her backpack. She pulled out her notebook. When she sat down, it was open on a blank page, ready to take notes. ‘What did you find out about the dry cleaner?’ she asked. Her voice sounded strange, tight and high.

‘What’s the matter?’ Minnie said. ‘Where’s Sylvie?’

Flora flushed an immediate, violent pink. ‘Well, that’s the thing. You see. So I saw Sylvie at home. And the thing is …’

‘Spit it out.’

‘I’m sorry, but Sylvie won’t come back until you apologise to her.’

Minnie’s mouth goldfished in astonishment. ‘Me? Why does she want me to say sorry? What for?’

‘Derek the window cleaner. She thinks you did it deliberately.’

‘Did what?’ Minnie’s fists curled in her lap.

‘Sent her on her own to be insulted.’ Flora sounded forlorn. ‘Sorry,’ she added.

‘It’s not your fault. But it isn’t mine either! I don’t care if Sylvie comes back or not. As if I’m going to say sorry.’ How dare Sylvie? It was as though the whole world revolved around her. Well, not Minnie. No one told her what to do. Unless they were related to her.

‘Well,’ Flora said. ‘I’m just passing on the message.’

‘We know,’ Piotr said gently. ‘It’s really not your fault.’ From his tone, it was hard to work out whose fault he thought it was.

‘Did she tell you what Derek told her?’ Andrew asked.

‘She said he was worse than useless. He just got upset. Did you have any luck with the dry cleaner?’ It was obvious that Flora was changing the subject. Minnie was willing to let her, though she was still fuming at Sylvie.

It didn’t take long for Piotr to tell them all about Omar and the green T-shirt.

They sat in silence for a moment, thinking about the little boy.

Then Flora pulled something out of her notebook. It was a replica she’d made of the postcard. The boys near the sea. ‘I think it’s the right size,’ Flora said. ‘I put your photo through postcard-making software. Does this look the same?’

Minnie took it. It was a bit thinner, a bit lighter than the original, but otherwise it was a perfect copy. Flora had even cut out squares where the holes had been. ‘It’s amazing,’ Minnie said.

Piotr took it. ‘It is really weird. Creepy,’ he said. ‘No wonder you didn’t like it. What sort of magic is it for, do you think?’

‘Bad magic,’ Minnie said. ‘My second cousin, Temi, said witches put curses on enemies to make them die.’

Flora pressed down the centre of her notebook, ironing out the spine with a
crack
. She held her pen tightly, her fingertips bone pale. ‘Omar is suspect number one,’ Flora said as she wrote his name at the top of the page. ‘How do we find out if he’s hiding a little boy against his will?’

‘Stake-out,’ Andrew said. ‘We need to creep in under cover of darkness, search every inch of the dry cleaner’s and use our deadly ninja skills to find him.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Minnie raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Our deadly ninja skills. Silly me. I’d forgotten about those.’

‘Maybe we won’t break in,’ Piotr said. ‘I’d prefer not to break the law if we don’t have to. But we can definitely watch the shop, see if anyone goes in or out. Watch for anything suspicious.’

‘We’ll have to take shifts,’ Andrew said. ‘Five kids standing outside staring at the shop? He’ll know we’re on to him.’

‘Four kids,’ Flora said forlornly.

‘
Pff
,’ Minnie said, not wanting to think about Sylvie just now. Or ever.

‘OK,’ Piotr said, ‘me and Andrew can take the first shift. Minnie and Flora take over in an hour. All right?’

Flora didn’t reply. She didn’t move. Her pen hovered in mid-air, pointing. She was stock-still, almost bristling, like a terrier about to chase a cat.

‘Are you OK?’ Minnie asked.

Flora gestured with her pen, pointing at the table.

The grey plastic wipe-clean surface was the same as it ever was. Salt, pepper, sachets of sugar. Normal.
A laminated menu smeared in places with dried-on mustard. The postcard thrown down on top of it.

All normal.

Then Minnie saw what Flora could see.

Where the postcard overlaid the menu, the empty cut-outs framed certain letters beneath: ‘gs’, ‘au’, ‘ra’, ‘ak’ – parts of words where eyes should be. The postcard was highlighting letters!

‘A cipher,’ Flora whispered.

‘What?’ Piotr asked.

‘A cipher is a code, a way to send a hidden message. The boy was carrying the cipher to someone who needed to read a hidden message. You have to send the cipher and the message separately because if they get intercepted, it’s too easy to decode. He was delivering the cipher.’

He was a delivery boy? Not a walking larder of curse ingredients? The relief was like a wave crashing over Minnie. He was going to keep all his fingers. But the feeling didn’t last long. Only criminals would need ciphers smuggled across borders. A shiver caterpillared up her spine. The boy was being used by criminals. Minnie leaned forwards, her elbows on the table. ‘What’s it for?’ she asked. ‘What does it decode?’

Flora looked up from her notebook, where she was scribbling furiously. ‘I have no idea. There must be a message somewhere. A letter or a flyer. It could be anything!’

Glances passed around the table like a relay baton, each person wondering if the others had any bright ideas. No one did.

Minnie picked up the replica postcard and flipped it between her fingers. Flora had done such a good job, she’d even printed the back of the original.

The back!

Minnie laid the postcard down with a wide grin and stabbed at it with her index finger. ‘Post in two days!’ she said.

‘What?’ Andrew asked.

‘Post in two days! That’s where the hidden message is. The boy was supposed to deliver this by hand, then the letter would follow in two days. Just in the regular post. I mean, if the secret message is hidden, then it can be delivered by the postman and no one would ever even know it’s there.’

‘Hiding in plain sight,’ Flora whispered.

‘Minnie, you’re a genius!’ Piotr said.

‘So,’ Andrew said, ‘the ninja stake-out needs to watch for suspicious people and suspicious post. Got it.’

Minnie wasn’t sure what to do with herself for an hour while she waited for her turn to keep watch. She felt as though she had energy zipping right down to the tips of her toes. She left the cafe and bounced into the salon. Bernice, Mum’s assistant, was looking harassed. Her face glistened with sweat, and patches had formed under her arms. She ran between three customers, plaiting and weaving and braiding hair like a machine. A sweaty machine.

‘Where’s Mum?’ Minnie asked.

‘An excellent question,’ Bernice said. ‘If you could find her and ask her to come and take care of her one o’clock appointment, that way I might not hand in my resignation.’

‘OK,’ Minnie said. It wasn’t like Mum to forget an appointment. She raced up the stairs to the flat. ‘Mum? Mum!’ she called.

Mum didn’t reply, but she could hear her voice. And Dad’s. They were speaking softly, but with a crisp tone, like swirling autumn leaves. Minnie crept to the kitchen, where the voices were coming from.

‘There is nothing wrong with keeping eggs in a cupboard,’ Mum was saying. ‘They don’t need to be in a fridge.’

‘I know that,’ Dad said.

‘So why has she moved them?’

Eggs? Were they really cross about eggs?

‘She’s just trying to help,’ Dad said. ‘Listen, I have to go to work now. So do you. We can talk about this later.’

Dad turned and saw Minnie in the hallway. A pained look flashed across his face, then it was gone and he gave her a sad smile. ‘See if you can entertain Gran, will you? That might stop her grocery stealth tactics.’

Mum didn’t say goodbye to Dad as he left. She stood at the sink with her back to the rest of the kitchen. ‘Why does everything have to be such a drama?’ she said, a bit too loudly.

Minnie didn’t know what to do. She’d hardly ever heard her parents raise their voices at each other. She dithered in the hall. Then she remembered that Dad had asked her to take care of Gran, so she went to look for her.

She found Gran in their bedroom. Her bedclothes were smoothed and wrinkle free, despite the fact that Gran was forced to sit on the bed. She was dressed, with her hair done, her coat on and her handbag clasped in her lap. It looked as though she was intending to go somewhere.

As soon as Minnie stepped into the room, Gran spoke.

‘Drama, eh? I’m making drama? That’s what your mother believes? Three days I’ve been here and already
I’ve lost my belongings, we’ve been burgled, the police have taken no interest, and it’s me creating drama? This place is worse than a Nollywood home video. I moved some eggs. Is that a crime, eh?’

Minnie
really
couldn’t believe that the grown-ups were arguing over eggs.

Gran stood abruptly. ‘Well, I’ve had enough,’ she said. ‘If Mohammad cannot go to the mountain, then the mountain must come to Mohammad. And you’re coming with me.’