Page 63 of Deposed

Patterson-Bourke’s gaze fixed on the one person he probably thought was unlikely to jump his squat, little bones: me. “Wh-what do you want?”

“Where are Underwood and the others?” asked Edward.

He flinched, as though the question was the crack of a whip. Still keeping his eyes on me, he said, “They all boarded the coach.”

“Where’s it going?” I asked.

“I-I don’t know. Underwood didn’t tell any of us the address. May I go, please?”

My heart sank. Charlotte had outsmarted me. Again.

“Come on,” said Edward. “There’s a driveway on the other side of the pitch. Maybe we can find some clues there.”

We left Patterson-Bourke quaking on the steps of Elder House under his bout of homophobia and headed down the gravel pathway past International House and toward the playing fields.

“I’m not holding out much hope for finding them,” I muttered. “It looks like she’s thought of everything.”

Blake stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his jeans and kicked a foot-full of gravel. “Me, neither.”

“We’ve got to try something,” said Henry.

I pressed my lips together and continued down the path, flanked by Edward and Blake. Even if Charlotte left behind another invitation to a sex party, it would probably lead us into another ambush, or into the deepest dungeon of the Tower of London or somewhere equally as ridiculous.

The afternoon sun shone from the direction of the tuck shop, obscuring my view of the path leading to the fields. A lone figure with flame-red hair emerged from the building, holding a stack of papers. From his petite stature, he looked like a fourth year. I couldn’t tell because the sun lit him from the back, obscuring my view of his face.

As we continued along the path, he froze.

Edward placed his hand over his brow and squinted. “That’s Blackwell, isn’t it?”

“Who?” I asked.

“The four-eyed wanker who hoards all the newspapers,” said Blake.

“Duncan?”

“That’s him,” replied Henry.

I narrowed my eyes. “He told me Charlotte would start a new regime and said lots of other cryptic things about her plans to take over the school.”

Henry lengthened his strides. In an uncharacteristically cold voice, he said, “Did he really?”

The red-haired boy turned, dropped his bundle of papers, darted toward the tuck shop, and grabbed a bike. Then he cycled down a path leading toward the playing fields.

I ran a hand through my hair. “What on earth is he doing?”

“He knows something!” Henry picked up his pace and raced after him with Edward on his heels.

I chased after them. Each time my foot landed on the hard gravel, my bruises throbbed as though tiny fists were punching them back to life. I winced and slowed my steps, hoping to lessen the impact. Blake jogged at my side, keeping his gaze on me as though checking that I hadn’t collapsed from the effort. We rounded the tuck shop and entered the playing fields, where the ground was softer underfoot and didn’t hurt so much. Duncan cycled with the speed and proficiency of someone training for Tour de France.

I turned to Blake and offered him a smile. “Run ahead with the others if you like. I’m fine.”

“Not likely,” he replied. “It’s during situations like these that people get snatched. Henry will—”

Before Blake finished his sentence, Henry leaped through the air and tackled Duncan, bike and all, to the ground. Duncan let out a high pitched shriek.

I winced and slowed my steps. That looked like it hurt.

“See?” Blake walked at my side. “What did I tell you?”