Jumper_ Griffin's Story Part 11

"Uh. Did that last year. I'm homeschooled, you know? Work at me own pace. Do okay with the math." I reached up to touch his hair, a foot above me. "Over your head?"

"Oh, very funny." He licked his lips. "Give a guy a hand, could you? I was supposed to work on it over the hols and I spent all my spare time, uh ..." He blushed.

I sat up. "Oh, this has got to be good. Let's guessthere's a girl involved."

He punched my arm. "Well, it wasn't a boy, that's for sure."

"Jordanian?"

"Nah. Tricia Petersonknown her for years. Her mother is the protocol officer at the emba.s.sy, longtime friend of my parents."

"So you didn't do the math because you were snogging in the bushes."

He blushed redder. "Going around to see the sights. She doesn't live there, either. Visiting for the hols. Her school is out in the wilds of Oxfords.h.i.+re. Girls' h.e.l.l, she says."

I nodded. He had a girlfriend. I was thinking about Alejandra and I could sympathize and even be a little jealous.

"Show me what you're having trouble with. And I don't mean the snogging bit."

We did simplification of fractions with exponents until he had to run for the Tube. "Don't slip," I said. "It's like gla.s.s out there."

"Thanks for the help. Maybe you could help me again Sat.u.r.day? I could ask for extra leave. We could do it at your place."

"That's a thought," I said, stalling. "Take us forever to get out there, though. Can you have guests in at your school? Never seen a boarding schoolnot outside a movie."

He looked at me like I was crazy. "Well, if that's your idea of fun. Sure. We'll go back there."

"Right."

I took a westbound train and transferred to a southbound at Earl's Court. Somewhere between Southfield and WimbledonPark I jumped away to the Hole.

It snowed again, Friday night, very odd for London. Walking to the Tube station after cla.s.s, Henry said, " 'When men were all asleep the snow came flying, in large white flakes falling on the city brown.'"

I looked at him blankly.

"Robert Bridges. 'London Snow.'" He kicked at the snow on the sidewalk. "You know . . . poetry?"

"Ah. Me, I'm more of an 'As I was going to St. Ives' kind of guy. The b.l.o.o.d.y over the beautiful. Though I'm quite fond of Coleridge. And Green Day."

"But look at the snow"

I scooped up a handful. "You look at it," I said, and flung it in his face. Much icy cold violence ensued and we had to shake the snow out of our clothes and hair while we waited on the platform.

St. Bartholomew's Academy is in an old Georgian mansion south of Russell Square . "But, of course, since Prisoner of Azkaban came out, we call it St Brutus's."

I looked at him blankly. The book had only just come out.

Henry explained. "His uncle pretends that Harry attends St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys."

I laughed. "Ah. Very good. Only read the first one so far."

"You could go blindl Look, I'll lend you two and three, okay?"

I nodded. I had odd feelings about it. Harry was an orphan, after all, whose parents were killed by someone out to kill Harry. A little too close to home, that.

We had to sign in with the school porter, a friendly man in a cardigan, in a room off the main hall.

The interior of St. Bart's was all polished wood and fusty old portraits staring disapprovingly at everyone. The students' rooms were somewhat better and you were more likely to see Manchester United or band posters instead.

Henry took me around to the dining hall and pulled some fruit ("All healthy snacks hereenough to make you croak") from the kitchen, then introduced me to a few people on his floor: "Griff, here, in my karate cla.s.s. Helping me with my algebra."

His roommate, being a weekday boarder, was off with his folks in Ipswich, so we sat in there, the door open. I got to see his shrine, a shelf with a cotton meditation cus.h.i.+on before it, and some souvenirs from all over the world.

We did an hour of polynomials, then took a break. He showed me the gym in the bas.e.m.e.nt, complete with boxing ring and some gymnastic equipment and b.a.l.l.s and rackets and cricket bats. "Weather allowing, we use the green over at Brunswick Square for football and cricket. And the phys ed teacher's a right b.a.s.t.a.r.d about running. In any weather."

We did another half hour of math, then he lent me his copies of Chamber of Secrets and Prisoner, and saw me down. On the stairs, he got asked, "Who's your girlfriend, 'enry?" by a large youth sitting on the landing with two others, all older than Henry.

Henry kept walking, his face still. When we were down in the main hallway and out of earshot he said, "That b.a.s.t.a.r.d is the reason I started karate."

"You turned your back on him."

"But you didn't. I noticed." Henry tilted his head. "Watters is the kind who'd go for your back, too, but not in front of witnesses. Last time he gave it a go I bloodied his nose. I got in trouble but so did he. He does petty things like pinching one's cla.s.swork or putting p.o.r.n in your room and reporting it."

"That's why you locked your room."

"Yeah, had to start last year. Honor among gentlemen, my a.r.s.e."

"Your parents know?"

"My dad went to this school. In his time, the odd bit of involuntary sodomy happened, so he thinks this is all just good, characterbuilding experience. I mean, no danger of hemorrhoids, after all." Henry saw my face. "Hey, it's not that bad. My roommate's quite decent though his math is worse than mine, if you can imagine."

I shook my head. "I'll never badmouth homeschooling again."

I spent Sunday at Hogwarts. Well, reading on the beach in Oaxaca, really, but the books were good. I tried to get together with Sam and Consuelo but the code phrase "No la conozco " let me know they still thought they were being watched.

So I read. I'd finished both books by Monday night, so, having neglected my own schoolwork, I did an essay comparing the evolution of the magic use in all three books, in French. That's what I do when I miss Mum the most. Work in French.

I gave Henry a printout of the essay when I returned the books to him at Tuesday cla.s.s. "Well, you're right about my vocabulary. Have to hit the Dictionnaire FrancaisAnglais for this one. Probably be good for me. Yuck." But he folded it carefully and tucked it into Prisoner before packing the books away in his bag.

We did the cuppa after and he said, "You know, I've got February halfterm holiday coming up. Going to camp at my cousin's in Normandy. Think you could talk your folks into letting you go with me?"

I stalled. "Normandy? Where? Cherbourg?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Little village called Pontorson less than ten kilometers from MontSaintMichel."

I'd seen pictures of MontSaintMichel. Who hasn't?

"Pretty. How do you go?"

"Train to Portsmouth. Night ferry to SaintMalo. Cousin meets me at the ferry in his Citroen and takes me back to his cottage."

"There's no problem because of your age? Traveling, I mean?"

"Ah, there's more of a ha.s.sle coming home, so my cousin usually crosses back and gets me through pa.s.sport control, does a bit of shopping, and then heads back."

"What's he do, your cousin?"

"Retiredreally my grandmother's cousin, what, mine twice removed? Something like that. He likes his wine. Likes to garden. Was a civil servant before. Transport, I think."

"Sure he'd be all right with it?"

"Oh, yeah. Suggested it before. Not you specifically bring a chum, he said. He pretty much turns me loose when I'm there. I mean, if there's any heavy work in the garden, I pitch in, but there's woods and a river and there's a tenminute bus you can take to the coastthe tide comes in like thunder, just miles of sand and then, whoosh, in it comes."

"Well, it sounds brilliant. Tell you what, I'll run it past ma mere et mon pere and see what comes of it."

"I can have my mum call, if it'll help."

"Noted," I said. "If needed."

I should've said no.

Chapter Eight.

Incursions The smell woke me up, carrionrotten, retch inducing. I followed it back through the cave toward the battery rack, a faint breeze in my face. Something odd about that, since the airflow was usually the other directionthrough the rubble that closed my little branch and up. It's two thingsthe water brings a bit of air in but also a network of cracks near the spring. The other thing is that the sun heats the rock around the upper end of the shaft, sucking up air from below.

But today, something else was happening and it really stank.

It had been so long since I'd been at the mouth of the mine that I couldn't remember it well enough to jump there. I finally had to jump to the pit toilet at the picnic area where I dumped my bucket toilet. It was overcast and surprisingly cold, unusual for here. That explained the airflow issue. The cold air was flowing down into the shaft. I jumped back for a jacket before I started the threemile hike from the picnic area to the mineshaft.

When I got there I found the gate in the grate was wide open, the lock missing, the hasp mangled and streaked with copper. I looked at one of the depressions and realized someone had shot the lock offthe metallic streaks were from copperjacketed bullets.

But the stench was up here, too.

I thought they were dogs, but realized after a moment that they were coyotes. Someone had shot them, shot the lock off the grate, and dumped them down.

It was illegal to hunt in the park, I was pretty sure. Even if a ranger had killed a coyote for some reasonrabies control, maybehe wouldn't have shot the lock off and dumped them in the shaft.

b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

I still had some rubber gloves from doing the concrete work in the Hole, but I jumped to San Diego and visited Home Depot for a paintandpesticide respirator mask and some heavyduty plastic bags. The three coyotes were rotten with maggots and fell apart as I shoved them into the bags. They'd probably been there for days, but the change in the weather brought the smell in. Don't know how I could of stood it without the mask.

I left a note under the door at the rangers station telling them about the lock. It was after seven by then and the park had officially closed. It was better, as far as I was concerned, that the note be anonymous. If I started talking to the rangers, they might start wondering where I lived. The park had a residential ranger, but his quarters were way over by the park entrance, a good ten miles away.

I dumped the bags in their Dumpster.

There was a water spigot outside the station and I'd rinsed the gloves and was wiping them on a bit of turf near the station, preparatory to jumping back to the Hole, when I heard a gunshot.

It wasn't nearI didn't jump away or anythingbut it did come from up the ridge, back toward the mine.

I jumped back up to the shaft, where I felt cold and exposed. The sun was going down and the wind was picking up. I walked back to one of the old surface buildings, a roofless rockandmortar sh.e.l.l, one wall tumbled down into a pile of its component rocks, and sheltered from the wind.

After a while, I heard another shot, loud, but still not so loud that it made me nervous. A motor started up in the distance, and then another.

Sounded like motorbikes. I started to leave the old building, trying for a vantage point where I might see them, when I realized the sound was getting louder.

They weren't motorbikesthey were fourwheeled ATVs, camouflage painted, two of them. They roared up the canyon scattering rock and dirt and what little gra.s.s there was and I wondered why I hadn't seen their tracks before. They each had another coyote on the back rack and telescopic rifles on a rack in front.

The gloves in my hand were still wet from was.h.i.+ng, pretty clean, but the smell or the memory of the smell was still in my nose.

They pulled right up to the grate, flipped open the gate, and tossed them down. Just like that, not even looking around.

"Miller time!" one said to the other.

"Miller time," the other agreed.

I thought about tossing them down the shaft, but they hopped back on the ATVs and roared back down the canyon. Offroad vehicles were also illegal in the park.

I jumped back to the Hole and took the binoculars from the dinghy gear. I jumped to the ridgetop above the canyon, using the binoculars to pick my destination. They were easy to spotthey were in the long shadows of the FishCreekMountains and they'd turned their headlights on. I had to move once, as they moved behind a ridge, farther down the hills, but I tracked them all the way to the park's edge, to a light that showed through the gathering dusk.

I jumped back to the Dumpster by the rangers station and retrieved the plastic bags full of rotting coyote and left them, for the time being, in the old stone building I'd sheltered in, near the mineshaft.

I said yes to Henry about the trip to France. That is, I said it was all right with my parents.

"Do they need to talk to Harold? Or my mum?"

I shook my head. "They're cool. Tell you the truth, I suspect they can't be a.r.s.ed."

He got this look on his face, like maybe he should be sympathetic, but then said, "Be a relief, that. Every permission thing I have to do involves faxes and international phone calls and crossing my ?'s and dotting all the /'s. Your pa.s.sport all in order?"

I nodded. "Oh, yeah. Old picturehate itbut it doesn't expire for another three years."

"Right. I'll arrange the tickets."

"How much do you need?"

"Oh, no, Dad's treat. Thinks it's good I've got a friend outside of St. Brutus's. But I also think he wants cousin Harold to vet you since they can't themselves, not until summer."

"Oh, they coming home?"

"July after summer term. Three weeks. You going anywhere?"

"Too far in the future, mate. Anyway, I don't really pay much attention to term holidays, what with the homeschooling. Better to travel when everyone isn't." Or so I heard.