Secret Inventions Of Elmswood Street

Chapter 10: The Secret Basement

Everything about Elmswood Street looked as fine as peaches to Zoe's eye. The sky was a late afternoon blue, a new pair of trousers was stuck to Mr Fredericks' mailbox, and best of all she was alive and breathing. Young Amy Fredericks in blonde pigtails was setting a match to the trousers as her parents burst out the door to stop her. A few in the neighbourhood were out walking dogs or running. But as their chrome robotic taxi driver took them further down the street Zoe realised her neighbours were all headed in the same direction.

'Could you pull over to the side, driver?' said Michael, pulling out a credit card to swipe on the robot's arm.

'Certainly, sir.'

Michael had handled the small private airport at Newman's too. A credit card, a rare smile, and an extra wad of cash for the teller to look the other way.

'Have a pleasant day,' the taxi driver said, tipping its black hat.

Zoe stepped into what felt like a war zone. Police everywhere, ambulances. Barriers had been put up around their house to keep media reporters back. Sirens flashed all over. Zoe's father was holding her mother, who was crying inconsolably. Cameras were snapping pictures or recording. 'What do we do?'

'Stay cool,' said Michael. 'Look surprised. I called you from school to help me with homework. We just got back. Focus on that story. Simple is best. You're doing great. I'd almost think you've done this before.'

'Not this, Michael. If that's your name.'

'It is.'

They walked towards the police cordon with yellow DO NOT CROSS tape across Number 25 Elmswood Street. 'Look, maybe I should come clean and tell my parents about the lantern,' said Zoe. 'And about the professor.'

'What good would that do?'

'We know where he lives, the police will find evidence, arrest him, everyone lives happily ever after.'

Michael shook his head. 'If there's one thing I know about the professor it's that he covers all his angles. No police detective will ever set foot on Von Cassel's property. And involving your parents will only get in the way.'

'Whose way?'

'Mine. The professor's. They could end up dead. Please Zoe, trust me. Krakken will come again. Let's stick to my plan.'

'I'm not sure what that is,' said Zoe.

'Neither.' He grinned. 'That's why it's called improvising. Zoe, I watched you in the greenhouse. Some people crack under pressure. Others run. But you – you got even. And most important you were thinking on your feet. You convinced three assassins over to your side. Smart. But I need your help again. Are you with me?'

She nodded. 'Fine. I won't tell.'

'There you are! Leave her, she's my daughter.' Her mother grabbed and then hugged her fiercely. 'What on Earth happened in there, Zoe? You all right?'

'I – uh – no idea. What did happen? Michael rang. I was helping him with homework in the library. He's a little slow.'

'While you were sick?' Mrs Bell asked, ignoring shouts from reporters. 'What – how – who could have done this to our home?'

'I suspect gas mains and electrical wiring, and never the twain should meet,' Mr Bell smiled weakly. A fire warden approached.

'Are you the homeowners of this house?' Mr Bell nodded that they were. 'Sir, I'm afraid the damage is extensive. Upstairs, one bedroom in particular was decimated. There are acid traces on the kitchen and dining ceilings and – er – pie stains. It's a mess. What happened in there? The chief thinks maybe a herd of Martian farm animals passed through.'