Crowns and Codebreakers (9 page)

She had to talk to Piotr.

She got up early on Tuesday morning and dressed quietly. At the kitchen table, she swallowed her cereal almost in one gulp, rinsed the bowl and left a note for Mum and Dad.

Outside, the market traders were beginning to set up: carts rumbled into position, awnings swayed into place,
goods arrived from vans and car boots. Most people had a friendly ‘Morning!’ for her as she walked through.

Piotr lived in the same block of flats as Andrew, at the far end of Marsh Road, beyond the market. She took the lift up to the fifth floor and rapped on his front door.

Piotr’s mum answered. She was carrying his little sister, Kasia. ‘Good morning, Minnie,’ she said. The ‘r’ in the middle of ‘morning’ rolled like trolley wheels on cobbles in Mrs Domek’s Polish accent. ‘Piotr is awake, I think. Go through.’

Piotr was, but he was still in his Superman pyjamas. His room was small, but less crammed with furniture than hers, so it felt bigger. He sat on his bed. She could see the comic he’d been reading tucked beneath the duvet like a teddy.

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Mum and Dad,’ she said simply. ‘We have to find out what’s going on to save Mum and Dad.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘They’re sniping at each other worse than me and Andrew. Worse than me and Sylvie!’

Piotr recoiled. ‘That’s bad. What do you need us to do?’

‘Did you get to the railway station yesterday? Was there a Left Luggage place? Are we on the right track?’

‘Yes, yes and I think so.’

‘Good. I think my family are depending on it.’

The railway station was at the top of the town. The tracks climbed up over arches, then ran behind the main shopping street until they reached the platforms of the old sandstone building. Trains shuttled past regularly, pushing through the air on their clattering journeys.

At 2.30 p.m., Flora was already there, waiting at the passenger drop-off point outside the main doors. She was wearing a pale lemon top with pale brown trousers. Minnie thought they might even be slacks. They made Minnie’s jeans from the market look tatty. She scowled and let Piotr and Andrew say the hellos.

‘No Sylvie today?’ Piotr asked.

Flora flushed a little, but just shook her head.

Minnie felt a prickle of discomfort. Guilt? No. She squished the thought immediately.

‘Any sign of Omar? Or Marcus?’ Piotr asked.

‘Omar, I expect,’ Andrew said hopefully, not ready to admit Marcus was up to no good.

‘Neither so far,’ Flora replied. ‘Lots of people in business suits and trainers queuing for coffee, but that’s about it.’

There were lots of people at the station – women on phones, men carrying briefcases, all ignoring each other, like ants in an anthill.

‘Left Luggage is inside,’ Piotr said.

The station was big, with six platforms beyond the ticket barrier. The main concourse was breezy, with a glass ceiling high above their heads and pigeons patrolling the area, searching out unauthorised crisps and pecking them into submission.

The ticket office was on one side, along with a tourist information booth. The other side of the concourse had coffee bars and news-stands and was more crowded.

‘This way,’ Piotr said. He led them away from the bustle of people staring up at departure boards. They passed the ticket office and information booth, and with the main concourse behind them they were getting closer to a smaller, side entrance to the station. Black tape had been stuck to the tiled floor to show the way out. Their footsteps echoed on the white tiles and the sound bounced back off the glass roof. There were fewer people in this part of the station.

The Left Luggage office was just before the side entrance.

‘I want to see locker 3,’ Minnie said to Piotr.

She could still just about make out the departures board, black panels with the destinations glowing orange. The time, like a retro digital watch, ticked above the town names: 14:38.

‘Let’s take a look,’ Piotr said. ‘But we have to be quick. Whoever the hidden message was for, they’ll be here any minute.’

Andrew and Flora stood on guard outside, while Piotr and Minnie went in. Left Luggage was a small room lined with lockers, a bit like a leisure centre changing room but without the smell of sweat and socks. Some lockers had keys hanging in the doors, others were shut with the keys missing. They were all a shade of beige; the walls were beige too. It wasn’t a room anyone would want to spend time in. Each locker was numbered. Minnie found locker number 3. It was locked tight, with the key missing. She rattled the door, but it didn’t open.

Whatever was inside was important enough to commit a break-in for, to use a child messenger, to frighten Gran and set her parents fighting.

She had to know what was worth all that.

‘We need to find somewhere to keep watch,’ Minnie said.

Back outside, Andrew was facing the distant concourse; Flora was facing the side entrance. They both turned as Minnie and Piotr joined them. ‘No sign of Omar yet,’ Andrew said.

‘Nor of Marcus,’ Flora added.

‘We’ll stake out the Left Luggage,’ Minnie said, ‘but we can’t just stand here in a big group, we’re really noticeable.’ They were the only group at the station without a harassed-looking adult counting heads.

‘Trainspotting,’ Flora said.

‘What?’ Andrew wasn’t the only one who was confused.

‘Trainspotting. I brought us all a notebook and pencil. If anyone asks, we’re looking out for a rare engine that’s due to pass through later today. We can split up and keep an eye out for Omar or Marcus. One of us should stay near the Left Luggage at all times.’

‘Great,’ Andrew said, taking his notebook. ‘I love trains. If I wasn’t going to be a global superstar when I grow up, I’d be a train driver.’

Minnie and Piotr took theirs too.

‘Trainspotters usually stand at the ends of platforms,’ Flora said, ‘but anywhere you can see the tracks is good. Andrew, come with me, we’ll watch the main entrance to the station.’

Flora and Andrew set off towards the open concourse with their notebooks open.

Minnie wanted to stay close to Left Luggage. A section of the walkway had been fenced off by a cordon of orange plastic barriers, there was some kind of maintenance work going on. It caught her attention. It was far enough from the Left Luggage office that anyone visiting the lockers might not notice it, but close enough that it still had a clear view of the door. She crept closer to the barriers and a big Health and Safety notice:
NO HARD HAT, NO JOB
. No workers around. Good. No one looking in their direction. Perfect. Minnie vaulted the barrier, crouched behind the big sign and shuffled up to let Piotr in too.

They waited.

The clock flashed the minutes. Time seemed to slow right down. Minnie was getting cramp in her leg from being so hunched up.

They watched the side entrance for Marcus, for Omar. Which one of them was at the heart of this?

Then Piotr gasped. Minnie felt him freeze beside her. She realised why.

Two people sauntered through the side entrance. Two people were approaching Left Luggage.

Minnie didn’t dare move a muscle. Hardly dared breathe.

Omar and Marcus might see.

They were both here, walking side by side.

They were both criminals.

‘They’re working together,’ Minnie whispered once the two men had gone inside.

‘But to do what?’ Piotr replied.

‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Minnie crept out from behind the barrier and scurried across the tiled floor. Piotr followed. They both pressed their backs to the outside wall of the Left Luggage office and crouched down. Minnie risked leaning to her right so that she could peek around the door frame. She felt Piotr ducking to see through the crook of her arm.

Inside, Omar and Marcus stood before locker 3. Omar ran his hand along the top of the bank of lockers. His fingers clasped something. He took it down. A key! Minnie covered her mouth to stop a groan. The key had been left inside the room. If only they’d looked they might have found it! She cursed the fact that it was too late now.

Omar slid the key into locker number 3 and opened the door with a squeak of rusty hinges.

Minnie held her breath as Marcus reached inside. He lifted out an object carefully. It was the size of a football, round, wrapped in a loose cloth cover.

He flipped the cloth aside.

Minnie caught a glance.

She saw a brown nose. A copper cheek. A bronze eye. A drape of metal beads picked out in red and orange across the smooth plane of a forehead.

She bit her lip. Marcus was holding a head.

He flipped the cloth back and turned to Omar, who was leaning in close and breathing hard. ‘Don’t watch the merchandise, watch the door!’ Marcus complained. ‘You’re here as hired muscle, not as an art critic.’

‘You say I am hired, but you are very bad at paying my bills,’ Omar replied. He stepped back with a sullen grunt.

Minnie pulled away from the door and hustled Piotr to move, move, move.

He broke into a run.

They both raced towards the busiest part of the concourse, ducking under a window cleaner’s ladder, dodging around groups of families watching the departures flicker and flutter.

Minnie glanced back. Omar stood outside Left Luggage like a bouncer outside a nightclub. He hadn’t seen them. They had better keep it that way. Minnie pulled Piotr inside a newsagent. A bank of chocolates and newspapers stacked in a plastic holder hid them from sight.

‘A head!’ Minnie whispered. ‘A head in a storage locker! What’s going on, Piotr?’

‘Did you hear what he said? He called it merchandise. Art.’

Minnie felt her cheeks redden. Of course it wasn’t a real head; it was a sculpture. She knew that. But it had still shocked her; it had looked so lifelike. She didn’t have time to answer though. Flora and Andrew dashed into the shop.

‘We saw you run,’ Flora said. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Oi!’ the person behind the counter said. ‘No more than two unaccompanied schoolchildren in the shop. Two of you, hop it.’

‘It’s all right,’ Piotr said. ‘We’re all going.’

He checked the concourse before leading them out of the shop – no sign of Marcus or Omar. They tried to blend in with the crowd, while also watching for the criminals. But there was no sign of either man. They must have taken their prize and left in a hurry.

‘So,’ Flora said. ‘What did you see?’

Minnie described it quickly – the metal eyes, nose, cheek. It still gave her the shivers, but it was better to be able to say it was made of bronze and not someone’s body parts.

Flora pulled out her phone and tapped quickly. ‘I’m just searching “bronze” and “Nigeria” to see what comes up,’ she explained.

They were walking out of the station and across the car park towards the footpath that was a shortcut back to Marsh Road, when Flora whistled. There was nowhere to stop, so Minnie had to crane her neck to see what she was looking at.

On the screen were tens of photos, all showing different bronze heads.

‘It must have been a bust,’ Flora said.

Andrew sniggered.

‘Not that sort of bust,’ Flora said. ‘It means a sculpture of a head,’ she explained.

‘Then why’s it called a bust?’ Piotr said, laughing.

‘I don’t know.’ Flora blushed.

‘And it was Marcus and Omar?’ Andrew asked. ‘Not just Omar? That’s so unfair. I liked Marcus.’

‘I wonder,’ said Piotr. ‘I wonder if Marcus gets
Omar to do his dirty work for him? I wonder if Marcus was lookout in the alley when Omar burgled your flat?’

‘Like a minion?’ Andrew said. ‘Oh, I’ve always wanted a minion.’

They had reached the footpath and dropped down off the road. They had to walk in single file past the overgrown buddleia bushes and the archway lock-ups.

Once they hit the open space in front of the arches, they spread out again.

Minnie could still picture the bust – she couldn’t help smiling at the word too – cradled in the cloth in Marcus’s hands. Its nose and lips, so haughty and proud. The swathe of beads across its forehead.

She gasped. ‘A crown! It was wearing a crown!’ Something Gran had said came back to her. Stories tumbled around in her mind in a whirl of words and images. ‘The kings of Ife wear beaded crowns. That was the head of a king!’

Flora tapped her phone again. The pictures changed. This time all the bronze heads wore crowns, just like Gran had described.

‘There was something else,’ Minnie said. ‘Gran said that the king of Ife had nightmares that his ancestors
were angry. He shut down an archaeological site where they were digging up the heads of the ancestors.’

‘What if someone didn’t listen to the king?’ Flora said. ‘What if someone has been digging up the bronze heads anyway? They’d have to do it in secret, without anyone finding out. They’d have to smuggle them out of the country and use hidden messages and ciphers to avoid being caught.’

‘But they’re just plain metal heads,’ Andrew said. ‘They’re not made of gold. They’re not covered in jewels. Are they really worth going to all that trouble for?’

Flora tapped once more at her phone. No one spoke. In the distance, they could hear the rattling roll of a train pulling into the station.

Then Flora said, ‘They’ve got one head in the British Museum; there are a few others, not many, in other museums around the world. But an Ife head hasn’t been sold at auction since the 1980s … and when it did,’ she said slowly, ‘it went for more than a million pounds.’

They walked back to Marsh Road in a stunned silence. A million pounds! Last century! What would it be worth now? Two million? Ten million? More?

Except that however much it was, Minnie didn’t think it was worth scaring Gran for. Or using young boys as messengers. Or disturbing the dreams of a king. The bronze heads had been buried with their owners hundreds of years ago. They shouldn’t have been touched at all.

Until a few days ago, Minnie had never heard of Ife. But now she felt as though her life had become tangled up in a web going back centuries and crossing continents. She remembered how her Nigerian cousins had laughed at her for sounding funny, for eating weird food like chicken nuggets, for not knowing how to light a lantern when a power cut happened.