Death & Co. Read online

  Adam stared at him half suspiciously and forced a ghastly smile. ‘I have to say you’re taking this well.’

  The man glanced over his shoulder and beckoned him closer. ‘Let me be honest with you, amigo. When I was younger, I … was not such a nice guy. So when I saw my body lying there I looked around, expecting all the devils in hell to be coming for me. And instead there you are! Much better than anything I expected – no pitchfork, you know?’ His teeth gleamed and he gave Adam a conspiratorial look. ‘So maybe we can keep away from el Diablo, eh?’

  Adam felt little prickles rise on the back of his neck. ‘Well, that sounds great.’ He tried to sound casual – nonchalant even. ‘You know, I think I can help you. Maybe I can send you on a journey somewhere really nice.’

  The man shrugged. ‘Why not? There is nothing for me here now. My house is gone, my dog is gone, my mistress is gone – even my wife is gone. I have nothing. Where are you sending me?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ Adam confessed. ‘But you should be able to see it. Just ahead of you there is a Light. There’s a road on the other side and it’s going to take you somewhere very special.’ He could hear his own voice changing, taking on that magical sing-song quality. ‘Can you see it?’

  The man swore softly. ‘Si! There, I see it!’

  ‘That’s great. No, wait a minute, don’t go yet! There are some things I need to tell you first.’ The man’s eyes narrowed. Adam hurried to reassure him. ‘Nothing bad – I just need to give you a few directions.’ He took a deep breath and stepped in closer to the soul, placing a hand on his shoulder and his mouth close to the man’s ear. He started to chant, slowly at first, worried that he would forget a step in the sequence and send the man wandering blindly along the Unknown Roads. Without directions he could wander for a hundred years on the other side. But as the words tumbled from his mouth Adam’s confidence grew and he picked up the pace, almost singing. He could feel the man relaxing, his shoulder loosening beneath Adam’s hand, jaw slackening, staring at his Light with a mixture of confusion and longing.

  It was done. Adam lifted his hand away from the man’s shoulder and took a step back. He could see the soul had forgotten about him already, was already walking forward. There was a brief flare of light and the man was gone.

  He breathed in slowly and tried to enjoy the moment. After all, he had done a good thing. He had sent a soul on to the next stage, without fear, onto the Unknown Roads. Mission accomplished. One down … He looked around and felt his spirits sink. Lots to go. Some of them were staring at him, faces half pleading and half afraid. One of them reached out towards him, her mouth moving. She might have been praying.

  He was going to help her, he really was. Unfortunately, without warning, his stomach lurched and her soul was treated to the sight of Adam vomiting on his own shoes.

  Back home several hours later Adam crept up the stairs in his bare feet, his trainers and socks festering in the garden. Other ‘fast response’ Lumen had arrived from every part of the globe – borders didn’t matter when there was a big disaster and lots of sudden deaths. Nobody had said a word to him as he sat weakly beside a rubble pile – but they didn’t have to. The weight of his failure felt heavier than the house.

  Once upon a time his family had found the nosebleeds and projectile vomiting fascinating, like a strange illness or a really ugly insect. Most Lumen found the shift from physical world to Hinterland confusing – but in a good way. Their bodies forgot to feel hungry or thirsty. It helped Lumen do their work without discomfort. Adam got confused too – but not in a helpful way. His body reacted angrily and lashed out, protesting against the strangeness of it all. And even if he wasn’t technically physical in the Hinterland, his body still thought it was. The consequences were all too real – and vomit-spattered – when he returned to the normal world …

  He eased his bedroom door shut and leaned against it with his eyes closed, wishing he could wipe his humiliation away. It was still dark outside. With any luck he could get another hour of sleep before he had to get up and get ready for school.

  Clutching the keystone beneath his top helped his mind to quiet down. It was a small, carved, charcoal stone dangling from a fine titanium chain – lightweight but very strong. The smooth, oval edges of the keystone fitted neatly into his palm and a brief flare of energy buzzed up his arm. His own keystone vibrated slightly with the energy of the family Keystones kept in the vault beneath the house. These acted as something between a homing beacon and an energy source, helping Lumen to swoop to a death scene and then find their way home.

  The family Keystones were bigger than the personal keystones – some of them were the size of a gold bar and far more valuable. No one really knew where the Keystones came from originally. Luman mythology said that they had come from a power beyond the Unknown Roads, to protect Lumen from disease and help them do their work.

  Over the centuries, certain Luman families acquired more and more Keystones and when a Luman died he could take a family Keystone through his Light to ‘recharge’, before returning it to the Lumen who had guided him, waiting patiently in the Hinterland. A recharged Keystone helped the owners to feel deaths sooner and swoop faster. They were also worth huge amounts of money. The older Luman families like the Mortsons had even sold off Keystones in the past and used the money to invest for future generations. The profits nestled safely in Swiss bank accounts.

  Of course nowadays it wasn’t the done thing to sell a Keystone – only to chip off a fragment to make personal keystones for women, children and animals. No one knew exactly how many Keystones existed but those not owned by families were carefully guarded by the Curators, the Luman authorities.

  After a few minutes holding his keystone, Adam felt tolerably calm. He inched across the dark floor, tripping over his school bag and cursing. The bed felt cold. Closing his eyes, he fought to keep his mind blank and empty. There would be plenty of time to feel crap in the morning. For now, all he had to do was relax and drift off into sleep …

  His alarm blared into life, a radio jingle making him jump. The excited reporter was shrieking about some breaking news – a devastating earthquake in a minor Mexican city, hundreds feared dead. Adam slammed his hand on the clock radio, stunning it into silence, and stared through the darkness at the ceiling. ‘I hate my life,’ he muttered.

  Chapter 2

  Adam usually liked walking up the long avenue leading to Bonehill Charitable School. In springtime squirrels and rabbits ran between the trees and the drive was lined with gravel which crunched satisfyingly underfoot. The main school building was an old manor house, made of sandy stone. It always looked warm, even on the wettest, gloomiest January day.

  Bonehill had been established as a charity school two hundred years before. It was an eccentric place funded by a Trust. Places were mostly awarded by lottery and pupils travelled there from all over London. Most Luman children went to primary school to learn the basics, then left to be ‘home schooled’. Of course the authorities had no idea about the kind of education they were really getting! Aron, Luc and Chloe had liked school OK but they hadn’t cared about leaving. They knew the Luman world was waiting for them.

  It had taken a lot of begging for Adam to stay on at secondary school. Nathanial and Elise had totally opposed the idea. After all, what was the point of school when your life was already mapped out? As usual it was Auntie Jo who had put up a fight on his behalf. Adam had no idea what she had said to convince his parents – but he didn’t care. He felt fortunate to get a place at Bonehill at all.

  He didn’t feel very fortunate today. It had been tempting just to stay in bed that morning and only a superhuman effort got him on the bus. By the time he had finished his chemistry test first period, Adam was in truly foul form. Even the freezing cold lab couldn’t keep him alert and he had to pinch himself under the bench to stay awake. He tried to concentrate on the questions but the numbers and letters kept swimming about on the page like lazy tadpoles.
r />   Afterwards he stumbled along the corridor in a daze, weaving between the laughing, jostling crowds. He really hoped they were going to do something interesting in biology – maybe it would help him stay awake. Failing that he wouldn’t mind just lurking in a corner and dozing …

  His hopes were dashed when he reached the lab. Their tiny but terrifying teacher, Mrs Buzzard, was lining the class up along the wall.

  ‘Because this is a mock practical I’m going to put you into pairs alphabetically.’ She ignored their groans and muttered protests and began distributing them round the room. Adam leaned against the wall with his eyes closed until he heard, ‘Melissa Morgan and Adam Mortson, over here.’

  Adam mooched over to a bench near the back and joined his partner. They took a second to stare at each other in silence, then they both looked away, busying themselves with other things. Adam sneaked a sidelong glance at Melissa. He knew who she was but they had never really talked. They were in the same form but she always sat with her friends. He had a vague idea that she was good at art. She was pretty with long dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, and very blue eyes. He suddenly realised they were fixed on him, one eyebrow arched into a question.

  ‘Are you all right? Only you look a bit … spacey.’

  Adam felt his cheeks flame. ‘Huh? Oh yeah. I mean, yeah, I’m fine.’

  She nodded and started reading their method sheet. Adam breathed an inward sigh of relief. He hated it when girls started asking a million questions. His sister Chloe could ask him one thing – ‘Just one thing!’ – and suddenly, thirty minutes later, Adam would realise that she was still grilling him.

  They worked in silence, gathering equipment. Adam didn’t really hang around with girls and he never knew what to say to them, especially when they looked like Melissa. He couldn’t stop watching her as she weighed out crisps and bits of bread. Eventually she turned and glared at him. ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Adam said. ‘I was just making sure you were doing it righ— I mean, I was just checking you’re OK.’ He gave her a smile so fake he might as well have been wearing a clown mask. ‘You know, I don’t want you having to do all the work.’

  She rolled her eyes and didn’t answer, concentrating on setting up a Bunsen burner. Her silence was starting to unnerve him. ‘I need an A in this, especially after how crap I just did in that chemistry test.’ He stopped and blinked, startled at his outburst of honesty.

  When he looked at her she was smiling, just a little. ‘Yeah, don’t we all?’

  ‘I want to do all the sciences in sixth form, if I get the grades. I think I want to be a doctor. First one in the family.’ Adam froze. Where were all these words coming from? He didn’t even know this girl! ‘What about you?’

  For just a second a shadow passed across her face. Then she shrugged. ‘Dunno. Don’t know if I’ll be coming back here. Haven’t really thought that far ahead.’

  Something about her tone made it clear their brief conversation was over. They didn’t exchange a word for the rest of the experiment. Adam was glad to start clearing things up at the end. What was her problem? Why was she so huffy?

  Just as he was congratulating himself on escaping from her the Buzzard spoke. ‘You will be staying in your current pair for the next few weeks, until just before February half-term. You’ll be devising a project for your coursework. I’ll give you the details next lesson.’ Adam threw a horrified glance at Melissa. To his outrage she was mirroring his expression. ‘It won’t be that bad,’ he blurted out and she flushed and looked away.

  The bell rang, saving him from any further mortification. As he stomped down the corridor he surprised himself. For just a fleeting second, he wished he was at home.

  Adam’s friends were already in the library, at the best table, hidden behind the stacks. Spike was totally focused on his laptop, his head weighed down beneath enormous headphones. Archie was sketching something, forehead grooved with concentration. From here the ‘something’ seemed to be a girl with manga eyes and a very short skirt. Dan was leaning back in his chair and throwing peanuts up in the air so he could catch them in his mouth.

  Adam pulled out a chair, grunted a greeting and got a grunt back. Clearly nobody was feeling talkative, which suited Adam fine. He pulled out his maths textbook, trying to skim through his homework. He was interrupted by a peanut ricocheting off his simultaneous equations.

  He glared at the culprit, who grinned back. ‘Sorry, Adam. Trajectory was all wrong on that one.’

  ‘Yeah, just a bit, Dan.’

  ‘Call me Frodo.’

  ‘I’m not calling you Frodo.’

  ‘You don’t mind calling me it when we’re gaming.’

  Adam thunked his textbook closed. ‘I would call you Princess Tallulah as long as I’m shooting you in the head at the same time.’

  Dan scowled and jabbed a finger sideways. ‘You call him Spike. Why does he get a nickname and I don’t?’

  ‘Because he has spiky hair. Hence Spike. You, on the other hand, may be a hairy-footed midget but your dad is the only Dark Lord you have to worry about.’

  Archie sniggered and dropped his pen on the table. ‘Yeah, how is the Dark Lord these days, Dan?’ He turned his picture round so they could admire it. ‘What do you think?’

  Adam pretended to study it. ‘Never seen those proportions in real life.’

  Archie grinned and winked. ‘You’re looking at the wrong websites, mate.’

  Dan was still muttering to himself. ‘If he gets a nickname I should get one too.’ He glared at Spike and unleashed a handful of peanuts. They pelted off the laptop, taking Spike by surprise. He tore his headphones off and cursed them. The other three laughed, although their mirth was tinged with awe. Spike could turn swearing into a kind of poetry.

  ‘Morons,’ he muttered to conclude his rant. ‘I shouldn’t tell you what I just found.’ He held them in suspense for a minute then grinned at each of them in turn. ‘But if I didn’t tell you then you wouldn’t see how clever I am.’

  ‘What is it?’ Dan was almost drooling.

  Spike’s grin was truly shark-like now. He turned the laptop towards them and spoke in hushed tones. ‘Only The Bulb’s emails.’

  A howl of amazement and disbelief rang out and Spike hissed and flapped his hands frantically until they shut up. Even Adam was impressed. The Bulb, aka Mr Bulber, was their head teacher. He was a short, powerfully built man with massive hands, cold, snake-like eyes and a shiny, bald head. At one time he had been a wrestler and rumour had it that he had retrained as a teacher after paralysing an opponent in a dirty fight.

  The Bulb’s son Michael was a pupil at the school, a sixth-former, two years older than Adam. His nickname was the Beast, which summed him up pretty well. Like his father (who had obviously pulled strings to get him in) he had a face like a spade and a reputation for solving disagreements in dark corners. The Bulb preferred boys who weren’t too bright. He didn’t like computers, manga, science or Lord of the Rings freaks, which put Adam’s friends in particular jeopardy.

  All of this made the head an irresistible target. Adam joined the goggle-eyed group around the screen. ‘OK, let’s have a look,’ Spike muttered, fingers skimming over the keyboard. He ran a practised eye down the list of emails, scanning the subject lines. ‘Boring … boring … budgets … boring … Ah-ha!’ He clicked on something, eyebrows drawing together. ‘Interesting.’ He zoomed in on the screen so they could see.

  A collective groan broke out. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Archie whispered.

  Dan gaped at the screen. ‘Compulsory after-school wrestling? With that … psycho as a coach?’ His face was pale. ‘But I have my orcs and elves role-play after school on a Wednesday!’

  Spike looked gloomy. ‘Apparently we spend too much time playing online games and he “wants to make men of us all”.’

  Adam had finished reading The Bulb’s rant. His eye ran down the other subject lines and froze. He poked Spike’s should
er. ‘Tell me I’m hallucinating.’ He pointed a trembling finger at an email near the bottom of the screen. There was a stunned silence.

  Spike swore but it lacked his usual gusto. ‘He can’t be serious!’

  Four pairs of eyes locked onto the subject line, written in capitals, shouting across the screen. ‘JAPAN TRIP CANCELLED BY ORDER OF PRINCIPAL’. Adam felt weak with horror. In a long and awful year their planned trip to Tokyo had been the one bright spot on the horizon. It had been organised and funded by a Japanese former pupil who now ran several major businesses in Tokyo. As the words sank in a chorus of outraged voices broke out at once.

  Spike slammed his fist on the table. ‘I was supposed to be going to the supercomputer convention!’

  Dan’s face had gone from pale to bloodless. ‘Never mind your computers! It’s the World Role-playing Game Exhibition!’

  Archie picked up his picture of the manga chick and waved it round like a madman. ‘How can I meet someone like her if I don’t go to Japan?’ His voice rose to a kind of shriek at the end.

  Adam didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He’d been abroad lots of times but it always involved a war or a disaster or an epidemic … It was going to be his first real holiday abroad. First holiday full stop! His family didn’t do holidays. Day trips, yes – but even then they were almost always on call, unless some of the northern Lumen could help out. Death was a 24/7 kind of business. ‘He can’t cancel the Japan trip.’ His voice was grim.

  Spike was drumming his fingers on the table top. ‘No, you’re right – he can’t. We’re not going to let him. We need a plan.’ His face brightened. ‘But in the meantime …’

  Adam frowned. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Just sending an email.’ Spike returned to the first email – ‘Compulsory wrestling after school for boys’ – and pointed at the subject line. ‘In this age of equality a wrestling club shouldn’t be for boys only, should it?’