‘So how did training camp go?’ asked Clancy.
‘Good,’ replied Ruby.
‘Good? That’s it?’
Silence, and then Ruby’s head appeared through the leaves. She shuffled along the oak’s limb to where a skinny boy sat, binoculars around his neck and a sun visor shielding his eyes.
‘Good to see you Clance. What gives?’
‘Truth is, it’s been kinda boring without you, but I’ve been making it work – getting by,’ said Clancy.
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Ruby.
Clancy was eager to get back to the subject of Ruby’s agent activity, but Ruby just wanted to hear about Twinford life and what was going on with Clancy and his efforts to train his dog, Dolly, and had his sister Minny managed to get out of trouble or was she going to be grounded for life?
Clancy saw Ruby wasn’t in the mood to talk about herself and if she wasn’t in the mood, then there was no point trying.
So instead they talked about Clancy’s fortnight, and after that they discussed Redfort home affairs: in particular how Consuela, the brilliant if temperamental chef loathed by Mrs Digby, had resigned in the most dramatic of ways and left to go work for the Stanwicks.
And when they had exhausted these topics, they talked about the amazing events of just one month ago, the museum, the bank, the gold and the Jade Buddha of Khotan. They talked about Nine Lives Capaldi and the diamond revolver she had held to Clancy’s temple.
They talked about Baby Face Marshall, now safely incarcerated in a maximum-security prison somewhere far from Twinford. And they shuddered when they remembered the Count, still at large and free to practise his evil-doing – where in the world was he?
When the sun had gone down and it was beginning to get chilly, Clancy and Ruby climbed back down the oak, picked up their bikes and set off in opposite directions.
‘So see you tomorrow!’ shouted Ruby.
‘My place or yours?’ Clancy shouted back.
‘Mine!’ called Ruby, as she disappeared round the corner.
THE NEXT DAY WAS A SCORCHER – it came out of nowhere and the whole of Twinford seemed to have unfolded their sunloungers and lit their barbeques.
Ruby Redfort and Clancy Crew were sitting on the roof reading comics. It was late afternoon, but the sun was still warm and Clancy was sporting a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses; they were his sister Lulu’s. Nothing wrong with a thirteen-year-old boy wearing heart-shaped sunglasses, nothing at all; plenty of hip boys his age might want to express their sense of style and individuality by wearing heart-shaped sunglasses. But Clancy wasn’t wearing them as a style statement: he didn’t know what a style statement was; they were simply the first thing in the form of eyewear that came to hand. No one could accuse Clancy Crew of vanity – he always wore exactly what he felt like wearing. Didn’t matter how ridiculous he looked – it was one of the things that Ruby liked most about him.
‘Hey Rube,’ he said. Ruby was concentrating hard on the RM Swainston thriller she was reading and didn’t respond.
‘Rube! Can you hear me?’ He prodded her with a stick.
‘Huh?’ She peered up at him. The large red floppy sunhat obscured most of her face and she managed to appear at the same time comical and stylish – neither look, however, was intentional. Like Clancy, she wore what she liked; unlike Clancy, she had an innate sense of style. Style was just something she had. She even managed to lend a certain chic to her T-shirt, which bore the less than elegant words shut your pie hole. Most of Ruby’s T-shirts were emblazoned with upfront messages of this kind; her mother, in particular, loathed them.
‘So?’ said Clancy.
‘Huh, what?’ said Ruby.
‘You were gonna tell me about your training – in Hawaii – remember?’
‘Oh, that,’ said Ruby. ‘It’s kinda confidential, I’m sure you understand.’
Clancy started flapping his arms. ‘What are you saying, confidential? You promised me you were gonna tell me, you promised Ruby, you weasel.’
‘I’m just kidding with you, don’t get your underwear in a bunch,’ said Ruby.
She put the book, The Strangled Stranger, under her chair, took a breath and paused; she did this not only for the sake of drama, but also because, well, everything she was about to tell Clancy was strictly confidential. Classified information. Spectrum had forbidden her to tell anyone, anything about the code breaking and undercover work she was doing for them, but then Clancy Crew was not anyone. Clancy Crew knew how to keep his mouth shut. Clancy Crew would rather die a painful death than betray a secret.
Ruby sucked the last dregs of her banana milk up the clear curly straw sticking out of her glass, swallowed and said, ‘OK, the training basically involved scuba-diving.’
‘Really?’ said Clancy. ‘That’s kinda cool, so you actually went in the ocean?’
‘Yeah Clance, I went in the ocean. Where dya think I went, the paddling pool?’
Clancy had a deep fear of the ocean: it wasn’t just the sharks, it was everything.
Though it was mainly the sharks. He had once read a book when he was younger, a novel, that had given him cause for many sleepless nights. Admittedly, the book had been one his mother was reading and not recommended for fourth graders – he had spotted it on her nightstand and was lured in by the image of the huge shark’s head shown on the front cover, its dead eyes staring up at a lone swimmer. It had made quite an impression. Clancy had found it to be unputdownable and read the whole 649 pages in four sittings, locked in the bathroom. He had paid for this every night of his life for the next 1,366 days – his dreams invaded by this great white monster.
Ruby always did her best to reason with him.
‘Clance,’ she said. ‘Sharks are not interested in human flesh – most attacks happen by accident. The shark spots a swimmer, mistakes it for a seal and goes over to investigate. The problem comes because sharks explore with their teeth – more often than not they take a bite and think better of it.’
‘That’s very reassuring Rube – I feel a whole lot better – just wait while I go dive into the ocean.’
‘What you gotta do,’ continued Ruby, ignoring her friend’s sarcasm, ‘is try not to pee – they take this as a sign of vulnerability. Failing that, if he’s got you in his jaws, bop him on the nose with your fist. The nose is very sensitive on a shark. He’ll soon let go – on the whole sharks can’t be bothered to fight. They’re not used to it.’
‘Well,’ said Clancy, ‘that must be the only thing that sharks and I have in common.’
‘In any case, it’s very rare – I mean you probably have the same likelihood of being trampled to death by a rhinoceros.’
‘Yeah, well, the difference is I would see the rhinoceros coming – at least I could run for it.’
‘Well, you say that Clance, but rhinoceroses are awful fast runners – personally, I’d rather take my chances with the shark.’
Perhaps because of his terror, Clancy also had a deep fascination for anything to do with the sea. He liked to read about all those things that kept him awake at night sweating with fear. Killer jellyfish, killer whales, poisonous coral, giant squid, killer squid, killer-giant-squid, tuna fish, anything aquatic. He was a bit of an expert.