Agatha Oddly

‘Why does the school always insist we come back here after a trip?’ complains Brianna. Then she waves goodbye and walks over to a red sports car – her brother’s. He’s revving the engine, as if he can’t wait a moment longer. He’s one of those impatient, unreliable types and frequently lets Brianna down. But, as her parents are rarely in the country, he’s pretty much all she’s got.

I walk with Liam to his bus stop. I’m wearing my beautiful red wool coat (a birthday present from my dad), and my matching beret to keep my head warm, but there’s a cold wind that makes my ears ache. I pull my hat down as far as it will go and stuff my gloved hands in my pockets. It’s already dark and the streetlights cast orange reflections in the puddles.

‘Any word from the Gatekeepers?’ Liam asks as we walk.

‘Only the homework they keep giving me – no sign of an actual case,’ I reply.

The Gatekeepers’ Guild is the secret crime-fighting organisation that I’m an agent for. I’m their newest and youngest recruit – Agent Cipher X (OK – I made up the code name, but maybe it will catch on).

‘I don’t know why the professor said I’d be getting my first case soon,’ I grumble. ‘I haven’t heard a thing from her or from Sofia.’

Professor D’Oliveira is high up in the Gatekeepers’ organisation. She assigned the second-youngest Guild member, Sofia Solokov, to me as my mentor. The last four times when I’ve been over to HQ, there’s just been a folder full of homework waiting for me – ciphers to solve or information on new Guild rules and policies (as if the 3,051-page rule book wasn’t already enough).

We reach his bus stop and he waits in the shelter, rubbing his arms for warmth. I can see the steam from his breath in the bus-stop lighting.

‘I’m sure you’ll hear soon,’ he says. ‘After all, they were clearly impressed by your work on the museum murder and the water poisoning.’

‘I guess,’ I say with a shrug. ‘But sometimes I worry they’re going to forget about me.’

‘Forget about you? Agatha Oddlow, crime-fighter extraordinaire?’ he says in mock horror. ‘Never!’

I laugh. Liam’s always so good at cheering me up.

‘Anyway,’ he continues, ‘since when have you waited to be allocated an investigation?’

‘True … Maybe I should go over to headquarters,’ I say, ‘and ask for a case. It might just be that the professor is waiting for me to be proactive.’

Liam nods. ‘I think that’s a good plan. And if all else fails, we could always investigate that woman over there,’ he says, pointing to a middle-aged woman across the street, who’s rummaging in a plastic bag. ‘She looks very suspicious.’ As he says this, the woman draws out a banana, peels it and takes a bite. ‘Definitely sinister,’ he says. ‘Could this be one for the Oddlow Agency?’ He raises an eyebrow.

I laugh. We’ve neglected our detective agency since I became a real investigator. TheOddlow Agency (‘No Case Too Odd’ – its motto inspired by my surname) seems a bit like a game now – almost as if we were different people back then. It feels as though we’ve done a lot of growing up in a short space of time.

Liam’s bus approaches, and he holds out his arm to signal to the driver to stop. It pulls up and Liam climbs aboard. I wave through the window at his outline, which is strangely distorted by the glass, then I continue along my way. I’ll drop off my school bag at home and change into more practical clothes, before heading over to the Guild headquarters.

It’s not far to get home to Hyde Park, and I walk quickly. The embassies are all lit up as I pass. When I reach the park, there aren’t many people around. All the dog-walkers have their collars turned up and woolly hats pulled down low, exposing as little skin as possible to the cold wind lifting off the Serpentine lake. Even their dogs look subdued.

When I open the door to Groundskeeper’s Cottage and step inside, our cat comes running up to meet me, winding himself tightly round my legs and knocking me off balance.

I laugh as I try to right myself.

‘Hey, Oliver, boy! Did you miss me?’

‘Meow!’

‘What you’re really missing is dinner, aren’t you?’ I check my watch. It’s only four thirty. ‘It’s a bit early, though, isn’t it?’

Oliver’s unimpressed when I open the door to the staircase and run up to my bedroom. I can hear him wailing at me from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Sorry!’ I call down. ‘You’ll get fat if you start eating between meals.’

It takes me five minutes to change out of my uniform and into black jeans, a black sweater and my Doc Martens boots. After a moment’s hesitation, I put on a navy waterproof jacket with a hood. Not my style, but needs must – the tunnel I have to pass through will be dirty and damp. Another five minutes and I’ve assembled a powerful head torch, gloves and my notebook and pen to go in my backpack along with my martial arts outfit. My Guild key is always round my neck, so I’m sorted. The key is my favourite possession. It belonged to my mother when she was a Guild agent – and it opens entrances to underground tunnels all over London.

Downstairs, I scribble a note to Dad, in case he finishes early:

Gone jogging.

Back by 6.

I use a magnet to fix the message to the fridge, while Oliver winds himself round my ankles, meowing to be fed. At last, I take pity on him (after all, he was Mum’s cat, and I’m weak where he’s concerned) and spoon a small portion of food into his bowl.

‘Stinky fish for you,’ I tell him, as I plonk the dish on the floor. Then I leave the house and head over to the locked grille beside the Serpentine – at a jog, so my message to Dad won’t be a lie.

It’s time to head underground.

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Unlocking the grille with my key, I slip inside. The smell that hits me is like seaweed mixed with rotten cabbage – but it’s still far better than when the polluted algae had taken over. Fitting my head torch, I switch it on, and the bright LED beam illuminates the gloomy, uneven space. I hate this passage to the network of tunnels that run under much of London, but it’s my nearest entrance. The low headroom means I have to stay at a crouch throughout. At least experience has taught me to protect my hands with gloves, and to free them up by using the head torch.

I shuffle along as quickly as I can to get through the narrow corridor to the cave at the end. But being in darkness always makes a difficult journey seem slower and I’m soon feeling as though I’ll never get out of this place. I have to stop a couple of times to rub my cramping calves. When I do, the reality of where I am crowds in on me – deep underground, and no one knows I’m here – and I have to slow my breathing and focus on my destination.

At last, I see the passage open out ahead, so I speed up. Reaching the cavern, I stretch and groan, easing out my neck and legs. Then I walk over to the brick wall, where the familiar big cast-iron door is almost fully camouflaged. It opens readily with my key and I step through on to the welcome mat that protects a plush red carpet. I’m inside the headquarters of the Gatekeepers’ Guild.

Professor D’Oliveira’s office is one of many down a long corridor. Along the way, I pass doors bearing other staff members’ names and it occurs to me – not for the first time – how many people are involved in the organisation. I haven’t even met most of these agents and administrative staff, yet they’re clearly an integral part of the Guild. I start to feel quite small by comparison – and I’m not comfortable with the feeling.

At the door marked PROFESSOR D. D’OLIVEIRA, I knock and she gives a brisk ‘Enter!’

Inside, the ‘little old lady’ (her own words, which really don’t do her justice) looks up from a document on her desk and raises her eyebrows.

‘Agatha? I wasn’t expecting you today …?’ Her Caribbean accent is slightly stronger when she’s surprised – it’s the only ‘tell’ she has – the only clue to her real emotions.

I shake my head. ‘I know,’ I say, ‘but I was hoping to talk to you.’ It’s strange how much less confident I feel, now that I’m faced with the professor. She has a big presence for such a small, neat person, and it’s hard not to be … intimidated.

‘Have a seat.’ She gestures to one of the curved wooden chairs in front of her desk, and I sit down.

‘Thank you – I was just …’ I hesitate.

‘You were just wondering when we were going to give you that much-anticipated first case?’ she suggests.

I nod. ‘I just … I feel …’ I take a deep breath: ‘I’ve saved London twice now but you haven’t trusted me with a case of my own yet.’ It sounds slightly childish, but at least I’ve said it.

She surveys me. I can’t read her expression, and I look down at my hands. My purple nail varnish needs a retouch. At last, she sits back in her green leather chair and folds her hands in her lap.

‘You are very young, Agatha …’

‘But I’m more than capable!’

She holds up a hand. ‘Please don’t interrupt. What I was about to say was that, despite your youth and relative inexperience, it has been suggested to me that you might be able to help out with a case I’ve received. We’re short of available agents at the moment.’

Please, please don’t say I’ve ruined it by whining like a spoilt brat …

‘Really?’ I say, holding my breath.