Curse of the Ancient Mask Read online

Izzy’s essay was going to be called Global Warming and Sun/Cosmic Ray Activity and be packed with diagrams. Muddy was doing a how-to thing about making your own self-propelling bicycle.

  ‘Have you worked out what he’s doing yet?’ whispered Muddy, when we spotted Jeremy coming out of the busy Staff Room one afternoon with a bundle of notes under his arm.

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘Well, he’s not been in the Staff Room because he’s got into trouble with a teacher. Jeremy Sweetly does not get into trouble. Sooooo . . . Yes, having observed him over the past few days, I think I’ve got a good idea of what he’s writing about.’

  Have you worked it out?

  ‘He’s writing about the school,’ I said. ‘More probably, the history of the school. He’s been looking up local records and talking to people who’d know about that.’

  Muddy whistled with admiration. ‘Now that is a real teacher-pleaser,’ he said, scratching his knee and sending a little shower of dried mud to the floor.

  ‘I think our Jeremy’s going to do it again,’ I said, nodding.

  I was completely wrong!

  The following morning, a crime came to light. Mrs Penzler gave us half an hour to work on our essays before starting the first lesson. We all reached into our school bags and pulled out our various notebooks and print-outs. Jeremy Sweetly pulled out the CD on which he’d stored all his research.

  The disc was ruined! It had been coated in a thick, purple substance which had dried all hard and rubbery. Slapped in the middle of this stuff was a slip of paper, neatly cut from a magazine of some sort, on which was printed in large letters:

  He held the CD up between thumb and forefinger, speechless with shock. At that moment, the entire class gave what would become, during this case, the first in a trilogy of loud gasps.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I QUICKLY MADE A MENTAL list of suspects. The list read:

  • Everyone!

  The whole class had a motive. The whole school had a motive! We all knew that Jeremy Sweetly had the best chance of winning the competition. Anyone might have done it, in order to knock the favourite out of the running.

  Which didn’t exactly make things easy. As soon as the entire class had stopped gasping, they looked straight at me. This was clearly a case for my detective skills. (At least, I hope that’s why they looked straight at me . . .)

  ‘Aren’t the files still on a computer, Jeremy?’ asked Mrs Penzler. She hadn’t gasped. Mrs Penzler was a no-nonsense sort of teacher. Whatever she wore always looked like it was standing to attention, and she had strange, pebble glasses which made her look as though she had no eyes whatsoever.

  ‘I transferred everything off the school computer to this disc yesterday,’ wailed Jeremy, ‘and I was going to back it up on my home computer tonight. I never kept the hard copies of my notes. I’ve lost the lot!’

  ‘Oh,’ said Mrs Penzler, sadly. For Mrs Penzler, this was showing great sympathy. A sad ‘oh’ was her equivalent of rushing over and giving him a hug. ‘You’ll never have time to do it all again before the essays are due to be handed in,’ she said.

  Jeremy’s lower lip started fluttering like a leaf in a hurricane. Meanwhile, my attention was drawn to the back of the classroom. My list of suspects might have included everyone, but there was one person who was sure to be at the top of it: that low-down rat Harry Lovecraft. Sure enough, he was sitting there, at his desk, smirking evilly to himself.

  After the bell rang for break time, Muddy and I went over to Jeremy Sweetly’s desk. Once we’d given him a tissue and he’d given his nose a good blow, he started to feel a bit better.

  ‘I’m out of the competition now,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe you could scrape that stuff off the disc?’ said Muddy. ‘I dropped my alarm clock down our loo by mistake once, and it still works. Mostly.’

  ‘That’s not really the same thing, Muddy,’ I said. ‘And how on earth did you . . .? Hmm, never mind.’

  I examined the ruined disc. What was that purple stuff? From the way it formed a sort of gloopy shape, it had obviously been some kind of thick liquid, which had then dried to form a rubbery, slightly sticky layer. The piece of paper had been pressed into it while it was still wet. On closer inspection, the paper was from a comic strip – there was half a face and a bit of speech bubble.

  ‘So who’s The Purple Avenger?’ asked Muddy.

  ‘I’ll give you one guess,’ I said. I raised my voice, to make sure that low-down rat Harry Lovecraft heard me. He was passing us, on his way out of the classroom.

  ‘Don’t look at me, Smart,’ he said. ‘If Sweetly here can’t look after his stuff, that’s his own problem.’

  ‘I saw you smirking!’ I told him. ‘I know you’re behind this!’

  ‘Not guilty,’ said Harry. If he was any slimier, he’d have been a toad. Harry Lovecraft was the only person I’d ever met who could play football in February and not get mud on his shorts. He had shiny black hair cut in perfectly straight lines, and shiny black shoes, and weasely eyes. He had the sort of face that demanded a thin, twirly moustache, like a baddie in an old movie. The guy just oozed snottiness.

  ‘Accidents will happen,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘convenient accidents that put the front runner in the competition out of the picture.’

  ‘Oh yeeeeees,’ said Harry, pretending to be surprised. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  And off he smarmed. Eurgh!

  ‘Don’t you worry, Jeremy,’ I said. ‘Saxby Smart is on the case! That low-down rat won’t get away with it.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ said Jeremy. ‘He’s right. It was an accident. I don’t need you to investigate anything, really.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ said Muddy. ‘That disc’s been wrecked on purpose.’

  ‘I’m sure something just tipped over into my bag. That’s all. Just an unfortunate accident. Honest,’ said Jeremy. ‘It’s probably jam. My mum probably knocked a jar over and in it all plopped. Never mind.’

  I frowned. ‘You don’t think it was sabotage?’

  ‘Oh, no, no.’

  ‘Then how do you explain the note from The Purple Avenger?’ I asked.

  ‘It must have torn out of the superhero comic I was reading. Look!’

  And out of his bag he produced a recent issue of a comic book that was indeed entitled The Purple Avenger (Trouble in the Skies! The Avenger Faces DOOOOOM!). It certainly looked tatty, all ripped at the corners and wrinkly.

  ‘Oh,’ said Muddy. ‘Well, perhaps it was an accident after all.’

  But I was highly suspicious! From my examination of the disc, I knew that the piece of paper hadn’t simply been torn out of Jeremy’s comic book. How?

  I knew because that paper, stuck to the disc, was neatly cut. If it had been accidentally torn from the comic book, it would have had rough edges.

  ‘So, Jeremy,’ I said. ‘You’re convinced it was an accident?’

  ‘Must have been,’ said Jeremy quickly. ‘I put the disc in this bag yesterday, straight out of one of the computers in the ICT suite. It’s never left the bag. I swear!’

  ‘Do you mind if I peek inside the bag?’ I asked.

  ‘No problem,’ said Jeremy. He emptied out the contents on to his desk. There was:

  • One homework book

  • Two paperbacks

  • One pencil case

  • One tatty Purple Avenger comic book

  • One miniature teddy bear called Norman

  He put them in a line, all clean and tidy (well, except the comic book!). I looked inside the bag. Empty. None of the grit and stains that seem to generally collect inside school bags!

  ‘And the disc hasn’t left the bag?’ I asked. ‘Not once?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Jeremy.

  I knew he was mistaken. The disc must have been taken out of the bag at some point.

  How did I know?

  The contents of the bag, and the bag itself, were clean. If that purple-something had
been tipped into the bag like Jeremy thought, it would have ended up on more than just the disc. Therefore, the disc must have been removed. Which made it all the more likely that it had been deliberately ruined.

  ‘Well, I’m so glad we’ve sorted all that out,’ said Jeremy. ‘Just my bad luck! Oh well, there’s always next year.’

  ‘Do you mind if I keep the disc?’ I said.

  ‘Not at all,’ said Jeremy, handing it over. ‘It’s no good to anyone now.’

  He gathered up his stuff and hurried away.

  ‘So,’ said Muddy, ‘looks like there’s no case for Saxby Smart after all.’

  ‘On the contrary!’ I said, turning the disc over and over in my hands. ‘He’s hiding something.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ said Muddy. ‘If he thought it was sabotage, he’d have said! The only reason he’d start covering it up was if he’d done it himself! And that’s just plain maaaaad!’ He made a twirling motion with his finger and pulled a loopy face.

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘Just plain mad . . .’

  A Page From My Notebook

  Fact: Jeremy Sweetly IS covering something up.

  Question: WHY??? He is the only person in the school who would NOT have a motive for ruining his work!

  Fact: Harry Lovecraft is a low-down rat. (BUT I must be fair at all times. So far, there’s nothing to link him to the disc.)

  Fact: Even if Harry Lovecraft DIDN’T do it, that still leaves a couple of hundred possible suspects . . . Including all my friends!

  I must try to do three things:

  1. Work out why Jeremy would want to lie.

  2. Work out what that purple stuff is – this might be an important lead.

  3. Work out if there are any other clues to be had from this disc.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THERE WAS ONE FURTHER CLUE to be had from the disc. That message from The Purple Avenger - You have been got . . . – on closer examination looked like it had been printed separately on top of the cut-out piece of comic book. If I could trace the computer it had been printed from, that might give me a lead.

  It was a pretty thin clue, as clues go, but it was the only one I had. I went to Izzy Moustique’s house after school, and explained the problem.

  ‘That’s a pretty thin clue, as clues go,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ I grumbled.

  She took a quick scan of the disc, for her records, and held it under the light from the pink-shaded lamp on her flower-stickered desk.

  ‘I doubt there’ll be much info to be had from this,’ she said. And when a brainbox like Izzy says something like that, you might as well give up. ‘Could Saxby Smart have met his match?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ I said with a sly smile. ‘Every problem has a solution.’ I rubbed my chin in a particularly detectivey way. ‘Why go to the trouble of creating the note? Why not just ruin the disc?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Izzy. ‘The note shows that the damage can’t possibly have been accidental.’

  ‘It’s as if this Purple Avenger person is gloating,’ I said. ‘Ha ha, you can’t catch me. By the way, have you any idea what that purple stuff is?’

  ‘I’ve come up with some possibilities,’ said Izzy. She picked at a bit of the stuff and it snapped off with a rubbery twang. She swung around on her brightly cushioned swivel chair and pulled a couple of print-outs across her desk.

  ‘It’s not any type of paint,’ she said, running a finger down the print-out. Most of her fingers were sporting chunky rings with fake jewels today. ‘And, as you say, it must have started as liquid and then set. There are three things it might be . . .’

  And they were:

  1. A type of heavy-duty sealant, used in DIY for making things waterproof.

  2. A glue used by people who install kitchens, for sticking worktops together, that sort of thing.

  3. An insulator, normally used in very small amounts inside computers, to protect the most delicate circuits.

  ‘And would Jeremy Sweetly be likely to have a supply of any of those to hand?’ said Izzy, shrugging her shoulders. ‘He’s not exactly into things like DIY and kitchen installation, is he?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t find them in many . . . Wait!’ A memory flashed across my brain. A memory from that morning, rushing to school! ‘Wait!’ I cried. ‘I know what it might be! It is one of those three possibilities!’

  Have you spotted it?

  ‘It’s waterproof DIY sealing thingummy whatsit!’ I cried. ‘The school caretaker was fixing the leaky roof this morning. I bet he used something like that.’

  ‘So the disc was damaged at school,’ said Izzy. ‘Not at Jeremy’s house.’

  ‘Most probably.’

  Of course, this didn’t help me work out who had damaged the disc, but it gave me an important starting point. I left the disc with Izzy, thanked her for her help, and dashed home.

  I needed my Thinking Chair. I went to the garden shed, plonked myself down and propped my feet up on my tiny, overcrowded desk. I stared out of the perspex window at the rapidly fading daylight, and considered things.

  Jeremy said he’d run that disc off yesterday, in the school ICT suite. Assuming that was true, then the disc must have been ruined during school hours yesterday. It couldn’t have been damaged this morning, because the waterproof DIY sealing thingummy whatsit had dried hard, and that would have taken a while.

  So when could The Purple Avenger have struck? During lunch break? Possibly, but surely Jeremy would have noticed the disc was damaged, or at least missing, by the afternoon?

  I phoned Izzy back. ‘Could you get me a list of everyone who was in school yesterday after normal hours? Apart from the staff; they’d have no motive.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll have it in the morning,’ said Izzy.

  Our head teacher is very keen on sticking to the rules. And Rule Number One in her rulebook is ‘Nobody Is Allowed In School After Hours Without Permission’. Not so much as an ant could wander the corridors without appearing on the official lists. Which, in this case, was good news for my investigation.

  I sat in my Thinking Chair until it was nearly dark. By then it was getting cold outside, and I was getting hungry, but, as I tried to leave, the door to the shed wouldn’t budge. I realised Humphrey must have escaped again. I was pushing and yelling for twenty minutes before the wretched hound would move his fat behind.

  A Page From My Notebook

  SO! The Purple Avenger must have taken the disc from Jeremy’s bag at school, covered it in waterproof DIY sealing thingummy whatsit, let it dry, then replaced the disc in the bag. IF Izzy’s list shows that Jeremy was in school after normal hours, then THAT would seem the likely time that The Avenger struck. (Because there would be far fewer people around after school to notice the disc being nicked in the first place.)

  WHICH MEANS! Izzy’s list will also be a list of suspects! (Because everyone else will have gone home by the time The Avenger struck.)

  BUT! If The Purple Avenger had to remove the disc from Jeremy’s bag . . . Why not just steal it? Why risk being spotted putting it back? Why all The Purple Avenger bit? Unless the note is a fake clue, to throw suspicion AWAY from Jeremy. Which implies that . . . Jeremy . . . did it . . . himself . . .

  It looks more and more like Jeremy DID do it himself. For whatever reason. He IS our class’s only reader of The Purple Avenger comics. Maybe he didn’t want to give in his essay because he thought it wasn’t very good? No, not at all likely. Besides, nobody HAS to enter the competition, it’s purely by choice.

  Fact: I am very confused.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ON THE WAY INTO school the next morning, I passed the caretaker’s ladder. Once again, it was propped up beside the leaky roof over the toilets. The caretaker was slapping on the waterproof DIY sealing thingummy whatsit with a huge, sticky-looking brush. And the sticky-looking bit was purple.

  ‘Morning, Mr Gumm!’ I called.

  He gave me a nod.

  ‘Er, Mr Gumm
,’ I continued, ‘you haven’t, by any chance, possibly, maybe, had some of that waterproof DIY sealing thingummy whatsit nicked, have you?’

  His head suddenly popped into sight over the edge of the roof. ‘Yes!’ he said. ‘I had the end of a pot of it go missing the other day. How did . . .? Hang on, was it you? It was you, wasn’t it?!’

  ‘No, I’m just a brilliant detective!’

  ‘Oh yeah? Who’s your form teacher? What’s your name? You thieving little monster! Oi, come back here!’

  I legged it. Quick.

  At least I’d all-but-confirmed what The Purple Avenger had used to purple that disc. However, as soon as I got to class, the happiness I felt at my own cleverness fizzled away like air escaping from a balloon.

  The bell was about to go. Mrs Penzler was about to arrive. The entire class stood frozen to the spot, mouths gaping, staring at the large sheet of paper that Izzy had pulled from her desk.

  Yesterday, this piece of paper had been covered in a complicated hand-drawn diagram. Today, it was covered in purple goo. And slapped into the centre of the now-dry goo was a note, printed on top of a cut-out section of comic book:

  At that moment, the entire class gave the second in their trilogy of loud gasps! Izzy Moustique was furious. ‘That took me DAYS!’ she wailed.

  ‘Oh dear,’ smarmed Harry Lovecraft. ‘Looks like Moustique’s out of the running in the competition too.’

  I glanced at Jeremy Sweetly. He was trying so hard to look innocent that he might just as well have had IT WAS ME! GUILTY! stamped across his face. He was going redder in the cheeks than a toddler who’s just done something nasty in his pants.

  ‘Dear me,’ oozed Harry Lovecraft. ‘Looks like this Purple Avenger is getting the better of our class detective.’

  Everyone looked in my direction. ‘I’m following up a number of important leads,’ I said grandly. I don’t think they believed me. I didn’t even believe me.