A Raucous Time by Julia Hughes
Chapter Four
Wren had been moved from intensive care to a tiny side room off the children’s ward. His right foot was encased in a strange boot like affair; but he seemed to be sleeping naturally and the scary monitors had been disconnected.
Surprisingly, after cautioning him to be quiet, the duty nurse allowed Rhyllann to stay with Wren. He certainly wouldn’t have allowed himself entry; he looked and smelled as though he’d spent the night crawling in gutters. Which he had. Rhyllann sank into the visitor’s chair, sighing with pleasure as it took his weight. His limbs relaxed and his mind drifted away, putting off the moment when he’d have to visit his gran. Poor gran. One daughter banged up in prison; the other a fanatical eco-warrior. He knew what she thought of him because she never failed to speak her mind. Only Wren remained her blue eyed boy. Rhyllann snorted, thinking of all the trouble Wren landed him in. Thank Christ his step-father David still didn’t have a clue why his new car had developed a terminal case of kangaroo jumps.
A nasty little thought struck up, and Rhyllann couldn’t sit still any longer. Striding past a startled nurse, almost knocking her over as the need for urgency screamed at him, he called back over his shoulder:
‘Sorry – can’t stop – just remembered I’ve left the bath running!’
Rhyllann bolted for home, too anxious to wait for a bus, terrified that someone would get there before him. Someone who would do anything to get their hands on the book Wren had planted in his school bag.
Twenty minutes later, Rhyllann hung onto his front door jabbing the key into the Yale lock. Panting he stooped to collect a handful of post, little black spots floating before his eyes as he straightened to flick on the light switches. The familiar living room furnished by free-cycle welcomed him, fairly tidy, clean enough. Everything seemed the same as … when last night? Yes. Just last night. He’d finally gotten round to his maths homework after watching "Top Gear" back to back for two hours, only to discover – flying into the kitchen Rhyllann retrieved the notebook from the corner where he had chucked it in exasperation. Placing it carefully on the kitchen table, he fizzed coke into a glass, and then yanked back a kitchen chair to sit in and make sense of this nonsense.
Feeling vaguely annoyed with Wren for using such a girly notebook, he tugged at the lock. This felt wrong, like rummaging through someone’s underwear drawer but he pushed that feeling away: He deserved to know.
Turning to the first page Rhyllann let out a groan of anguish then began giggling helplessly as he flicked through.
Only Wren would write in code. Maybe he had an alto ego, and spent nights clubbing with supermodels. This thought made Rhyllann laugh out loud. The pube-less wonder had taken his geekiness to a new level. Closing the covers Rhyllann tried to snap the lock back, cursing out loud when it refused to twist into place, almost crying with frustration when it snapped off completely.
Hell. I’ll say it was like that when I found it. Knowing Wren would give a dorky smile and say "don’t worry. It doesn’t matter." Feeling guilty then annoyed again at Wren for being so geeky, Rhyllann flicked through the diary pages again, wondering what the runic symbols meant. He slowed to study a map, thinking he recognised it as the Scottish Highlands. Flipping to the last page he paused again. Wren had abandoned the code on this page, to issue a stark warning in Welsh.
“But the treasure is guarded by Caliburn. He who wishes to enter the secret chamber must first ensure he knows of the Celtic rites. Another may enter, provided he is accompanied by one who has been initiated into the mysteries. No other hand is permitted to touch Caliburn, sacred sword of the Celtic Nations.”
Beneath this Wren had sketched a pair of cherubic looking dragons, curled protectively around a sword.
Rhyllann shut the book, shaking his head at such naivety. Dragons and magic swords. He’d convinced himself that somehow Wren knew where aunt Sarah’s stolen money was stashed: Bloody Crombie, putting ideas into his head. Money. It all came back to money. Maybe he could convince social services that it’d be cheaper for them to let him cope with Wren while gran recovered … Rhyllann sat bolt upright as his mind threw up the one thing he didn’t want to think about; breaking more bad news to Wren.
‘Tomorrow. I’ll sort it tomorrow.’ He said out loud.
After dragging his duvet downstairs Rhyllann snuggled on the sofa, amused at Jeremy Clarkson raging against bus lanes; feeling envy at The Stig slamming round Gambon’s Corner. In the unlikely event he ever got the chance to roar round that deserted airfield, Rhyllann decided he’d use third gear there, bang the gear lever into fifth for the straight …
Rhyllann drifted off to sleep just before he crossed the finishing line.