19. PACT OFF
"Dearest Patrick
By now, you know who I am. But you do not know what I need from you; nor what I'm prepared to do to get it.
I need a favour. You need one in return.
I know where the Zealtor resides.
Come to the Lake at noon. I will wait for you at the pier.
Come alone. Tell no-one of this missive, especially the Smith. I have sent him out on a wild goose chase so that you and I may speak without interference.
Do not tell Jokkum I am alive. He will understand none of this. It would not be safe for him at the lake. For the sake of your friendship, keep him away.
If you are not at the Lake at noon precisely, I will join forces with the Zealtor to get what I need. My parlour trick with the scarab beetles at Mark's party will pale in comparison to the panic the Zealtor and I, aligned, could inflict on Quakehaven.
I look forward to seeing you at noon. Read the enclosures carefully and make the right decision.
Yours sincerely
B.F.
Enclosures
Enclosure I - to be sent at 12.05pm if Master Patrick Lee does not attend on me at Lake Ebb at noon precisely:
The Principal
Pinkerton Grammar
[Address]
Dear Sirs
Re - Master Jokkum Fisk
Your school is for idiotic buffoons with too many dollars and no sense. Your insulting scholarship is hereby rejected. For the avoidance of doubt, it is my express wish that my son never suffer the mediocrity of your hollow halls or talentless teachers.
Yours faithlessly
Mr Balder Fisk
Enclosure II - To be sent if Master Patrick Lee attends on me at Lake Ebb at noon, as requested:
The Principal
Pinkerton Grammar
[Address]
Dear Sirs
Re - Master Jokkum Fisk
As Jokkum's father and legal guardian, I am delighted to accept your very generous offer of a fully funded scholarship for my son to attend your distinguished school.
Yours faithfully
Mr B.F.
So Mr Fisk had been behind Mark's birthday beetles!
The attachments weren't signed and were both watermarked with an italicised "draft" stamp. Otherwise, I would just have forged Mr Fisk's signature, sent the second letter to the Grammar, and then gone to find Mr Seth to help deal with the Witch. I dressed in a hurry, stuffed the letter into the back pocket of my jeans, and set off to look for Joke.
It didn't take long. Joke sat on the second bottom step of the hall stairs, humming to himself. Half way down the stairs, I cleared my throat theatrically and he turned. I nearly fell down the stairs. Joke was grinning.
"Um, you all right?" I asked, worried.
Joke nodded. "I'm fine, Paddy. Sorry I was such a jealous brat last night. Everything's going to be OK."
"You found your dad?" I asked, nervously.
"Well, no," he admitted. "But I know he's OK, and he'll be back soon."
I was stumped. "Look," said Joke. "I know I'm not exactly the most, well, the most open minded guy you know when it comes to, um, supernatural stuff."
Understatement! Just after I arrived in Quakehaven, Joke and I went to an old black and white Swamp Thing movie. He'd driven everyone six rows on either side of us nuts scoffing at the plot and complaining that the creature's gills were too small and wrongly shaped, and how it would have drowned the first time it dove into the lagoon!
"I haven't been completely honest with you, Paddy."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Science and history are the two most important things in my life; the best kinds of knowledge," said Joke. "But you know me. I'll read anything by anyone if there's nothing else around. Even Puppetslasher and the other novels under your bed."
"Dad's penny dreadfuls?" I asked using Dad's name for old, cheap horror novels, including the ones I'd brought with me to Quakehaven.
"I'm not completely ignorant of other systems of knowledge," said Joke. "And books aren't the only ways to get it."
"What are you talking about?" This was getting weird.
"Don't laugh, Paddy. You promise?"
"Depends."
"Promise," pleaded Joke.
"OK," I said. "Now lay it on me."
"A ghost."
"What?" I asked, tension pinching between my shoulders.
"It - he - visited me while you were sleeping," whispered Joke. "Told me dad was fine. On his way back. That dad wanted me to get to Pinkerton and nail the interview."
I scoured Joke's face. "How do you know you weren't dreaming?"
"He left this." Joke thrust his hand into his shirt pocket and pulled out a shiny object. I leaned forward. It was a misshapen disk about the size of a large thumb nail, and with silver flecks glinting through a coat of what looked like black rust. Joke passed it to me. It was cold, and heavier than I expected. One side featured an owl, the other a hook-nosed queen or princess.
"I think it's a coin," said Joke.
It was a coin, and a very old one at that. Like 1500 years old: a tehradracm from Athens. "Uncle Gerry," I muttered under my breath. Only he knew the combination to the bronze floor safe.
"Said I needed to pull myself together. 'Take the scholarship! Live your dream!'" Joke said, puffing out his chest in a passable impersonation of my uncle.
"You're welcome," said Uncle Gerry, semi-materialising at the bottom of the stairs behind Joke. His hands were crossed over his enormous belly like an apron.
I shook my head.
"What?" said Joke, and swung around. But Uncle Gerry had vanished.
"Nothing, Joke," I said, handing him back the coin. "Take good care of this. Don't you have a bus to catch?"
"Less than an hour," said Joke, checking his watch. "But I've got three problems," he said counting them off on his fingers. "One: I don't have anything to wear for the interview."
"Easily sorted," I said, and ran up the stairs. Joke followed me.
Over to the doorless wardrobe we went. I rifled through my clothes and plucked out the hanger carrying my black suit and formal white shirt. I handed it over to Joke.
"Isn't that?" stuttered Joke, massaging the woollen jacket through the plastic bag. "Is that -?"
"Yeah," I said. "I wore it to Dad's funeral. It's a great suit, and it's too small for me. I'm sure you'll look very professional - if it's not too weird for you."
"No, it’s not weird," said Joke, his face somber. "It's an honour."
"Thanks, Joke" I said, my voice hoarse. I forced a smile. "So what next?"
"Two," said Joke. Tapping his index finger with his thumb. "I don't have any money for the bus."
"How much is it?" I asked.
"Heaps," said Joke. "About $30 for the Express, return."
"Why don't we just ask Aunt Bea for it?" I asked. "I'm sure she'll be happy -"
"Well, that's my third problem, Paddy," said Joke.
"What is?"
"Aunt Bea, and not just her. Doc Vassel and Mrs Kroker too. They all think it's a bad idea for me to go. I tried to sneak out the front door, but that budgie screeched and your Aunt caught me."
I ducked under the card table and crawled behind the silver floor safe. My tired reflection gazed back at me from the amber glass of my money bottle.
Mum's perfume had seemed so important a few days ago. But priorities had changed. Tim, Mr Tangen, Justine, Mick, Mr Dixon and Mr Lyons were gone, all murdered by the Blackgum. Mum was about to be put away in Avonlea - and a Witch was trying to cut a deal with me behind a Scattersmith's back. Against the swamp of lethargy swallowing Quakehaven, the fire in Joke's belly - his ambition to get out of it - was more precious than a dozen bottles of Fabliaux.
I stood up and flipped the bottle over, dumping its contents onto the floor. Without counting the booty - I knew how much I had to the cent - I scooped up the cold coins and tatty notes and stuffed them into Joke's hands.
>
Joke was gobsmacked. "I couldn't. It's too much. I know what you were saving for, and I can't."
I smiled and closed his fist over the money - $83.50 in all. "You'll need lunch when you get there, and supplies when you get in," I said. "If our roles were reversed, you'd do the same for me."
"I'll pay you back," said Joke. "With interest."
"I'll hold you to it," I laughed. "When you're a famous archaeologist, hoarding ancient gold, you'll probably spend more on dinner! Now get changed and let's go!"
"What about the bird and your Aunt?" he said.
"Get dressed and let me worry about that!"
When Joke was ready, I climbed onto the card table and opened the window, being careful not the smudge the silver symbols. I scrambled out onto the pomegranate's biggest bough and gestured for Joke to follow suit.
Like firemen, we shimmied down the tree trunk. Joke nearly slipped a couple of times, but somehow scrambled to the ground in one piece.
Our bikes were still over at the Town Hall. Joke pressed his lucky coin between his palms, and practised his interview techniques. When we got to the crossroads, just outside the cemetery, Joke fell silent.
"Off you go!" I laughed. "It'd be a shame to miss your bus after all this effort! Your dad will be proud of you."
Joke shook my hand then strode confidently downhill towards the Highway bus stop. I watched him disappear round a bend, then set off in the other direction.