CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

We racked our brains all evening in search of the answer to who else could be on the hunt for Phineas Scrimshaw’s lost gold, but we were stumped. The next morning we were no closer to having an answer. Unfortunately there was not a lot left for us to do when our investigation had hit such a dead end. We had no idea who had dropped the clue or dug the hole, and my brain was absolutely full of questions wriggling all over each other, like piglets at a trough of tasty slop.

It was day two of Parents’ Weekend and I was up super early. Not only did I have a hidden treasure to locate, but I had an appointment with Pym that I definitely didn’t want to miss. I wandered down to the dip in the school grounds where the circus had set up the big top tent and their trailers, ready for my first bit of trapeze practice in weeks. My stomach was skittering with anticipation and nerves, wondering what it was that Pym was going to give me, and how it related to the mystery of my parents.

When Pym arrived I was already hanging with my legs hooked over the trapeze, and it felt wonderful to soar back and forth in a wide, swooping arc. Pym clambered up on to the trapeze opposite me and held out her hands.

“Come across!” she called, and I threw myself forward, tumbling through the air and reaching for Pym’s hand.

In a flash I was back in my dream, and for a moment I hesitated, my hand not quite reaching out far enough. That was all it took. Missing Pym’s fingers by millimetres I found myself falling through the air and hitting the safety net with a terrific bounce.

“Rats!” I wheezed, feeling the air rush out of me like a popped balloon.

“Needs some work. . .” Pym’s voice floated down to me.

With a groan I heaved myself out of the net and perched on the edge, dusting off my purple tie-dyed leggings on the way.

“You’re just a bit out of practice,” Pym said quietly when she had climbed down and reached my side.

I put my hands on my knees and squinted up at the empty trapeze swaying above. “I know,” I grumbled. “What sort of school doesn’t have a flying trapeze? I mean, you can’t move for TEXT BOOKS,” I huffed. “And if you want to play netball they can’t do enough for you. Nets, balls, they’ve got it all. But you make one tiiiiny suggestion that they build a nice, simple trapeze and they LAUGH at you like you’re JOKING.” I threw my arms in the air.

“I thought you liked being at Saint Smithen’s?” Pym asked gently, her bad eye scrunched up in my direction and watching me carefully.

“I do,” I said with a sigh. “But I miss the circus, and you, and all of this –” I looked around me, taking it all in. “I just feel like I understand things better when I’m with you. I understand who I am. But when I’m here by myself it’s just a bit . . . different.” I rubbed my nose, puzzling over the churned-up feelings that were swirling away inside me.

After a thoughtful pause Pym piped up. “Well, I think that’s a good thing, love. It’s good to see lots of different things and go to different places. To think about what makes you, you, and where you come from.” She looked around the big top with a grin.

“Where I come from –” I frowned.

“Yes,” Pym smiled that smile again, the one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I always knew that you would ask me about your parents one day, and that it wouldn’t be easy. . .” she squeezed my hand, “. . . for either of us.”

I started to say something, but Pym held up her hand. “This is for you,” she said solemnly, reaching into her pocket and handing me a brown envelope. I opened it and shook the contents out into my hand. A blank sealed envelope, and a battered receipt fell out. I looked up at Pym. “That’s not all,” she said, reaching into her pocket. I gasped as she pulled out a beautiful silver necklace. She laid it in the palm of my other hand, and I stared at the little silver heart on the delicate chain, feeling the tug of familiarity. Had this belonged to my mother?

“I’m not sure if this holds any of the answers you are looking for,” Pym murmured. “But these are the things that you had with you when you arrived at the circus. If you do want to know more about your parents, this is a good place to start.”

My mouth opened, ready for the thousands of questions I had inside me to come spilling out, but instead I was distracted by a terrible wailing noise. Pym’s body tensed. “Oh dear, is that BoBo?”

“Neeeeee-naaaaaaaaa, neeeeee-naaaaa.” BoBo sounded like a disaster siren as she raced towards us at full speed, the rest of her body struggling to keep up with her short legs. “Pym! EMEEEERGENCY!!!!” she screeched, tumbling over herself and rolling across the floor. She came to an untidy stop below my feet. I swiftly pressed the necklace and envelope into Pym’s hand and she slipped them back in her pocket. I think she knew that I just wasn’t ready to share them with anyone but her just yet.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as I helped BoBo up.

“Marvin . . . guinea pigs . . . won’t . . . stop. . .” BoBo panted, running outside and pointing back the way she came, towards the school. Pym and I both groaned and ran over as fast as we could.

As we approached the main school building it was clear that things had gone very wrong. Sounds of smashing and shouting drifted out of the open door. We were almost knocked down by two ladies who were presumably parents, scuttling past us. They were wide-eyed and trembling. “The guinea pigs. . .” one lady croaked in a haunted whisper.

Inside the dining hall, instead of a few early risers munching some breakfast, what we saw was a disaster zone. Furniture was tumbled everywhere. Chuckles was standing on top of a chair miming breathing into a paper bag, and Sharp-Eye Sheila and Boris were cowering in one corner. Boris was holding a broom out in front of him with shaking hands, while a cluster of parents huddled behind him.

“Stay back!” he boomed.

Fanella was standing on top of one of the dining tables.

“MARVIN, YOU GET THESE RODENTS GONE OR I LET OTIS LOOSE RIGHT NOW!” she shrieked. It was then that I noticed the whole floor seemed to be moving, or more precisely, wriggling.

“Are those—” I began.

“Guinea pigs,” Pym agreed flatly. “Hundreds of the things.”

In the corner of the room I spotted Marvin and Doris huddled over a gleaming black top hat, which was spilling over with an ever-growing number of wide-eyed, snuffley guinea pigs. Marvin was desperately thrusting guinea pigs back in the hat. “Abracadabra! ABRACADABRA!” His shouts were increasingly shrill and panicked.

“I don’t think Abracadabera’s going to cut it this time,” Doris huffed. “Where’s the off switch? I told you we needed a safety measure. Where are my blueprints?”

“I keel you, Marvin,” Fanella screeched, dragging a finger across her throat, threateningly. “I keel you dead. This is worse than octopus. And you know that octopus is steal my earrings!”

Marvin jerked up, guinea pigs tumbling merrily from his hands. “You and I both know there WERE NO EARRINGS!” he yelled, his face a deep, beetrooty red. “And that was ONE TIME!” His protests were drowned out by another wave of cheery, squeaking guinea pigs.

“You might want to have a look at that hat, Doris,” Pym said.

Doris nodded briskly and pushed her glasses up her nose. “Problems with the regulator,” she said thoughtfully. “Need to do some calculations. One guinea pig is probably enough.”

“Bah! One of these terrible guinea piglets is more than enough,” Fanella grumbled. “Me, I never want to see a guinea piglet never AGAIN. One more thing goes wrong before my big performance and I keel you, Marvin! This time I mean it! I keel you and I bury your bones in the ground and then I dance on them. I DANCE ON THEM!”

“I say, Fanella,” said Luigi, squeamishly, “I think that’s a bit much.”

But I didn’t hear anything else because my brain was whirring away at an alarming rate.

“Bury your bones . . . bones . . . bones . . .” I muttered. Something was gnawing away at me, like a guinea pig on a bourbon biscuit. Suddenly the thing that was nagging at my brain became as clear in my mind as the scene before me. I needed to talk to Kip and Ingrid. Right away.