The Seventh Key

By Andrew Batley

For 16 years, Toby Jones had plodded though life without exerting himself, that is until a letter arrives that turns his whole world on its head. In three eventful days, he changes from a carefree teenager into an intrepid treasure hunter as he is drawn into the hunt for a stash of diamonds that disappeared a hundred years before. A frantic quest to find the diamonds is set in motion when television historian Lucien Blake arrives at Toby’s school to film a documentary about missing millionaire Thomas Wenlock. When Toby discovers that Wenlock was his great, great grandfather and he is heir to the missing fortune, he realises he has to beat Blake to the diamonds or lose them forever. With the help of four school associates, he embarks on a journey of twists and turns that grows ever more dangerous as a determined Blake pursues them all the way.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mirador Publishing
• Release date: May 31, 2011
• ISBN: 9781908200112

Andrew Batley

Andrew Batley is a car wash installer born in Reading, Berkshire in 1954."My job takes me all over the world and so I spend a lot of time sitting at airports, which gives me plenty of time to think up plots. I am married with four children. My interests are sports, reading, and writing."

Book preview

The Seventh Key

By

Andrew Batley

Mirador Publishing

First Published by Mirador Publishing at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 by Andrew Batley

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers or author. Excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

First edition: 2011

Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflect the reality of any locations involved.

A copy of this work is available though the British Library.

IBSN : 978-1-908200-11-2

Chapter One - Time Tecs

You probably don’t realise it, but a letterbox isn’t the simple mechanism it appears to be. The humble letterbox is actually a portal that connects you to the vast world outside your four walls, a device that allows news and information into your home. Each envelope that passes through its hungry jaws can lead to such a wide range of possibilities: the offer of a job, news from a distant friend, it can even bring you great wealth. However, a letterbox can just as easily be the bringer of bad news and just one swing of its flap can change your life forever, as one sixteen year old was to discover.

Toby Jones was a highly intelligent boy, someone who hadn’t missed a day’s schooling in the eleven years he’d been in fulltime education. Now, that sounds an admirable feat; well, it does until you realise it had been eleven years of doing just enough to keep out of trouble until he could return to his games console. Because of his sharp mind, Toby found all his lessons easy; he didn’t need to try hard at any subject, which was good, as he rarely exerted himself. His time at school drifted serenely along, with each year passing by without major problems.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end, and in keeping with his blasé attitude, he hadn’t prepared for life after school. During those eleven long years, he’d given future employment little consideration, in fact, it was only on entering his final term that he’d bothered to consider it at all, assuming he had plenty of time to sort out his life. Time though, has a nasty habit of catching up with people when they least expect it and for Toby Jones, that time was 7:11 a.m. on Monday 14th June 2008.

At that precise moment, Toby was eating breakfast. He’d just shovelled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth when the distinctive sound of the letterbox echoed through the house. Hearing the sharp metallic clang, he stopped mid mouthful, it wasn’t that he hadn’t heard the noise before, but that it seemed louder than usual, almost as if it was taunting him. For the last week, he’d been expecting a very important letter and each day it hadn’t turned up, he’d grown more anxious to receive it, though dreading its arrival in equal measure.

Knowing that the postman had called, Toby’s gaze turned anxiously towards the hallway. Would today be the day the letter finally arrived. His stomach bubbled as he considered the implications of the news he may receive; it felt like he had a million maggots squirming inside his guts. At first, he resisted going to see if the letter was there, but then a morbid curiosity swept over him, he had to know. Sighing forlornly, he dropped his spoon into the bowl, flicking soggy cornflakes over the dining room table.

Resigned to discovering his fate, Toby rose unsteadily to his feet and traipsed out to the hallway, fearful of what he may find. He gulped when he saw the mountain of envelopes and leaflets lying on the mat beneath the brass letterbox. His pulse quickened as he knelt to gather them in. He straightened slowly, sorting through the post as he rose, as usual, it was either junk mail or for his parents. Toby was just beginning to relax when he turned over the last envelope. His eyes nearly popped from his head when he saw his school’s crest stamped on the envelope; the dreaded letter had indeed arrived.

This was the most important letter of his short life, the reply to his request to attend the following year’s sixth form college. Toby knew he’d done badly in his exams; he didn’t need to get the results to confirm it. If he wanted a decent job, which he did, then his only hope was to retake the exams. The only problem with that was it meant spending another year at school, but that year wasn’t his to demand. He’d never been a swot and the school made it clear that’s all they wanted in sixth form. However, given the chance he would have tried much harder; though in reality, all he needed to do was just try, full stop.

Being scared that the envelope contained a refusal, he was tempted not to open it, but knowing that the consequences would be the same even if he didn’t, he got on with it. With trembling fingers, he ripped open the flap and peeked inside; he paused nervously before dragging out the single sheet. The crisp letter unfolded on its own, saving him the bother. His eyes flicked rapidly across the computer generated note; the bad news leapt from the page like a pouncing tiger. The Thomas Wenlock Academy is sorry to inform you... He read no more.

With the bitter sting of disappointment numbing his senses, the letter slipped from his grasp and fluttered gently to the floor. Toby was distraught; he struggled to hold back tears. ‘Pull yourself together,’ he told himself defiantly, ‘big boys don’t cry’.

Though he’d anticipated a refusal, it still took a few seconds for the full implications to sink in, his school days would soon be over. Then an even worse thought hit him, he’d have to find a job. His father had always told him, There are no free rides in this house. If you’re not at school or not in work, then don’t expect to live here for long. The thought of making his way in the real world was terrifying. He grabbed the letter and read it fully, hoping that he’d got it wrong and the good news came later, sadly, it didn’t.

With a heavy heart, Toby trudged to the lounge and slumped on the sofa. His head swirled as he came to terms with those three devastating words, ‘no places available’. That was nonsense, there had to be a place for him; most of year eleven at Wenlock already had jobs and of those that hadn’t, few were coming back for sixth form. Why didn’t the school just tell him the truth, he wasn’t welcome because he messed about too much. What they didn’t know, he’d realised how stupid he’d been over the years; he would’ve given sixth form his all, sadly, it wasn’t to be. Knowing his parents would be angry that the school had turned him down, he hid the letter; he’d tell them at a more opportune moment, like when he had no option.

Toby felt disheartened as he pondered his future. What would he do now that the academic road was closed, and not just for repairs? How could he earn a living? What was he actually good at; all that came to mind was playing computer games, only that wasn’t something he could make money from, was it. Okay, what sort of job did he want; luckily, that was an easier question to answer. He wanted a job that threw up new challenges every day, a job that paid well and was fulfilling. He wanted to be a doctor, a lawyer, or a vet. His mood sank again as reality set in; without the relevant qualifications, he had little chance.

If nothing else Toby was a realist, or at least enough of a realist to know that jobs like that don’t go to people who fool around at school and waste what little talent they do have. Neither do they go to those who flunk exams because they didn’t take them seriously enough. He had no illusions, he knew he’d screwed up his education and would suffer for it, even if it had taken several intense arguments with his parents to make him realise. Eleven years of trying to beat the system had caught up with him in one fell swoop.

With the qualifications he expected to get, the list of jobs he could apply for would be a short one; it wouldn’t fill a page, in fact, it would struggle to fill a paragraph. His best option now was to join his dad in the building trade. When Toby thought of the long hours his father worked, of how he came home covered in muck and dust, he quickly changed his mind, that wasn’t what he wanted at all.

Given the choice, he’d stay at Wenlock for another year, or longer, he was happy there. He was in no hurry to become an adult, burdened with adult responsibilities; even though he moaned constantly that everybody treated him like a child. However, what choice did he have now, none sadly. In four short weeks, he’d be thrown into the adult world whether he liked it or not; there was no ‘get out of growing up card’ he could play to stop the ageing process, so he might as well enjoy what little was left of his childhood.

Realising that he couldn’t change anything, Toby cheered slightly. He spent a few minutes filling a mental wish list with the things he wanted to achieve before the dark days of full time employment overwhelmed him. He wanted a girlfriend, wanted more out of life than just playing his Xbox on his own. He wanted some excitement in his life. He wanted a brighter future; it felt like he wanted everything.

With the exception of the letter, that morning started like any other school day, breakfast thrown down his neck, a grunt to his mother and a lonely walk to school. Despite everything happening just as it had done for the last five years, that day wasn’t to be like any other. That day, a chain of events was set in motion that was to change his attitude to life, his self-inflicted isolation, even his family history.

Due to the bad news, Toby couldn’t settle and knowing his mother would want to know why, he left for school before she could ask questions. Still simmering at the perceived injustice, he pulled on his maroon blazer, fastened his maroon and yellow striped tie, and stomped from the house. However, once outside in the warm June sunshine he quickly realised he was the only miserable soul around. The familiar faces he saw each day were more animated than usual, most were only smiling, but some bordered on hysteria. The atmosphere was so buoyant that it was easy to tell something unusual was happening in the sleepy town of Stalton Meadows; not that Toby cared, he had his own problems. After the bad start to his day, he walked with his head down and his I-pod turned up, ignoring the excitement sweeping the town.

Despite dawdling, he reached Wenlock three quarters of an hour before the day was due to begin. Being so early, he was surprised to find the place swarming with people. He’d expected it to be empty; it normally was at that time. Something unusual had to be happening; there hadn’t been this many people at the school this early since Cooper’s High - the other comprehensive school in that part of the town - had challenged Wenlock to a mass fight. For a split second, Toby thought it was strange, but ignored it, turned his I-pod up and carried on up the long tarmac drive that bisected the school’s vast grounds.

With his thoughts consumed with the trance music banging in his head, Toby was oblivious to everything happening around him. Not paying attention, he collided with several people, resulting in a series of petty squabbles. With each spat, his irritation grew, until his patience finally snapped. Ripping out his earphones, he slowly looked around the school grounds, wondering what was going on. Registration wasn’t for another forty minutes, so what was everyone doing there?

His confusion increased further when he saw a tall, slender boy trying to sell cigarettes to a group of girls. ‘What the hell is Harry doing here’? Toby couldn’t think why classmate Harry Cook would’ve turned up at that time, especially as he was notorious for being late. The only time Harry had been at Wenlock this early, the clocks had gone back, and he’d forgotten to alter his alarm. Toby knew there had to be a good reason for him being there, Harry never did anything that didn’t benefit him in some way, though usually that was financially.

Harry Cook was as devious as they come, he could find a way of making money at a funeral. Because of his wide range of dodgy deals, virtually everybody at Wenlock had experience of his underhandedness. However, most people saw him as the school trendsetter as he always dressed in the latest fashions and was usually the first to get the latest gadgets. He was a handsome boy with thick blonde hair that flicked up at the front, reminiscent of a cockatoo.

As Toby watched Harry pull his latest scam, he wondered why so many people were at the school. Several thoughts ran through his head, though none that made sense. He was sure Harry would know what was going on; he always did. What’s up Harry? he called as he sauntered over. You wet the bed again.

Harry broke away from the crowd of girls and ambled over, tucking his wares inside his blazer. That’s so funny, Jones, he said with a mocking grin. You should be a comedian.

Seriously though, Toby said, what are you doing here so early?

Harry’s face scrunched. Yeah, like you don’t know?

Toby, not knowing, frowned. Know what?

Stop messing about, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Actually, I don’t.

A doubting smile rested on Harry’s lips. Yes you do, you know all about Time Tecs turning up.

Yeah right, Toby scoffed. Like Time Tecs would come to Wenlock, the most boring place in the history of boring places.

But they have, Harry insisted, ask anyone.

You mean ask anyone who’s in on your pathetic little wind up.

Honestly Toby, Time Tecs are here, why won’t you believe me?

Oh I don’t know, Toby said, slowly panning around the school grounds. Probably because I can’t see any sign of a television crew.

What do you mean, no sign, Harry said, frantically pointing back down the drive. Surely you saw their trucks parked outside the school. When Toby shook his head, Harry gasped. How could you miss them, they’re... He paused and tapped Toby’s I-Pod. I forgot about that bloody thing. If you don’t start paying attention, you’ll end up getting splattered.

Don’t you start, Toby said. I get enough of that from my mum."

And so you should, those things can be…. Harry stopped when an awkward thought struck him. If you didn’t know about Time Tecs, then what are YOU doing here?

Not being in the mood to answer questions, Toby put the onus back on Harry. And why would the country’s most popular television programme want to film here?

Apparently they’re making a documentary about Thomas Wenlock.

Thomas Wenlock, Toby repeated, the man the school’s named after? When Harry nodded, Toby’s eyes narrowed. Why would they want to do that?

How should I know, Harry said, his arms stretching so wide his backpack dropped from his shoulder. I’m not the shows public relations man.

No, but you always know what’s going on around here.

Harry grinned, proudly. Yeah, I do, don’t I.

Don’t you just, Toby said, sarcasm dripping from each word. He started to walk away but stopped after a few paces. Are you coming to see what’s happening or not?

In the general run of things, they were no more than classmates, mingling only when the need arose, which is why Harry looked to see who Toby was talking to; when he realised it was him, he grabbed his backpack and hurried to catch up. All anyone they met was interested in was Time Tec, but the slim chance of appearing on television wasn’t what thrilled them; it was the thought of meeting the popular host of the programme, Lucien Blake.

Gangs of excited kids roamed the school looking for Blake and on discovering he hadn’t turned up yet, most decided to wait for his arrival. Every vantage point overlooking the main entrance was crammed with people hoping to catch a glimpse of the famous presenter. Kids hung off the ornate iron gates, sat on top of the brick gateposts, they were everywhere. All they saw was the row of blue and white trucks parked on the road outside, the very trucks that started the euphoria in the first place.

The four seven and a half ton Ford trucks first appeared at seven thirty that morning and though few people witnessed their arrival, the news shot through the town faster than a greyhound on crack. In minutes just about everyone was talking about Time Tecs arrival, courtesy of the mobile phone, well everyone except Toby that is.

At eight thirty, the four vehicles started their engines and pulled away in an orderly line. Like four mechanical elephants travelling in convoy, they headed up the tree-lined drive towards the heart of the school. Despite it being only three hundred metres, the journey took five minutes, due to the number of kids lining the route; there were hundreds of them. Being desperate to know what was going on, the crowd continually spilled on to the road to get a better look, blocking the trucks path. After several near misses, the four wagons finally reached the end of the drive, the staff car park. With nowhere else to go, they pulled up and waited to receive further instructions.

Mr. Jackson, the school janitor, spoke to the lead driver and redirected the convoy to its allotted parking area, a coned off section of the playground. The four trucks bumped over the curb and drove across the parched grass that separated the playground from the car park. As soon as they pulled up on the tarmac, a team of men began unloading the equipment. In no time, they’d created a mountain of plywood and aluminium crates. A crowd quickly formed, wanting to know what was happening.

Around eight forty, a small blue van pulled up beside the crates and two men got out, stretching and yawning. After pulling on crisp blue overalls, the men removed their toolboxes from the rear of the van; these were the show’s technicians. The first job they tackled was unpacking the crates and setting up the equipment. The sight of television cameras caused another flurry of euphoria and the crowd swelled further, Toby and Harry hurried over to see what was going on.

At nine o’clock, the starting bell rang, but with the majority of children mesmerised by the Time Tecs activities, the academy’s staff struggled to gain their attention. Getting everyone to their classes was difficult at the best of times, with the added distraction of a television crew, it was all but impossible. Teachers pleaded with their students to attend registration, few obeyed; amazingly, Harry Cook did, the first time he hadn’t been late in weeks.

Toby knew he should follow Harry, but he didn’t. He was too interested in what the technicians were doing, and besides he’d be leaving soon, so time keeping didn’t matter anymore. Feeling justified, he wandered over to where the technicians were setting up the equipment. Their work looked interesting, the sort of job he’d like to do, exciting and unusual. However, he was smart enough to know he had no chance of gaining employment like that; poor qualifications equal a poor job, and you don’t need a calculator to work that out.

While he watched the men assemble the cameras, another truck with the Time Tecs logo plastered down each side bounced over the curb of the staff car park and drove towards him. This one was much bigger, an eighteen-wheeled articulated juggernaut. The behemoth came to a halt beside the other trucks with its air brakes gushing. As the truck’s diesel engine faded away, the whirr of electric motors quickly took its place.

Toby turned in the direction of the noise and was amazed to see the back half of the truck slowly extending outwards; it kept going until it had doubled in size. When it locked into position, the driver and another man dropped legs from underneath the extended section to support the weight. With everything secure, they began removing the side panels, revealing the truck’s contents, a mobile television studio. The cameras and Time Tecs paraphernalia behind the plate glass windows entranced Toby. He wasn’t going to leave now; surely, it was only a matter of time before Lucien Blake arrived at his mobile studio?

The two technicians began running cables from a control box mounted beneath the studio to a similar box on the next truck. Intrigued as to their purpose, Toby crept over to find out. Just as he got to the back of the truck, the two men disappeared around the side of the vehicle. Toby poked his head around the corner, but they’d gone. That’s when something else caught his eye, two smoked glass doors set into the driver’s side of the truck.

The nearest one was roughly centre of the vehicle and wondering what was inside, Toby went to investigate. He slyly checked that no one was watching before creeping up the four steps to the aluminium platform. The sun reflected sharply from the door, he had to use his hand to shield the glare before he could to see through the heavily tinted glass. Inside was a small room, which contained a desk, a computer, a fax machine, and a filing cabinet, obviously an office. Being of no interest, he headed to the next set of steps. The second room was more interesting; it contained a bank of small televisions and loads of mixing equipment.

As he checked the hi-tech equipment, the whirr of another electric motor resonated from the far side of the truck. Interested by the noise, Toby sidled back to the studio section and peered around the end. The noise was coming from a large satellite dish that was rising from the roof of the next truck. After passing the vertical, the dish ended up leaning back at a slight angle. With a clunk, it clicked into place. A higher pitched whine then resonated as it rotated.

Toby looked from the dish to the studio and back again, several times. Slowly everything fell into place; the dish was to communicate with the television station. The screens inside the studio suddenly burst into life; the flickering images of Lucien Blake captivated Toby; so much so, he didn’t notice a man approaching.

You, boy, a stern voice shouted from behind.

Toby turned nervously and looked straight into the face of his science teacher.

You’re supposed to be at registration, Jones, Mr. Wilkes said angrily.

Sorry Sir. Toby knew how fond he was of handing out detention slips and hurried away before he became the latest victim. He may be leaving soon but he wasn’t wasting good game playing time stuck in detention, especially as he’d never done one in his life.

As he headed for registration, Toby thought about the letter, about potential employment, about anything but school. What sort of job could he get when his qualifications were likely to be about as much good as an ashtray on a motorbike, not a decent one that’s for sure? The main reason he’d done badly in his exams was he hadn’t revised; but when did he have the time, there was always an Xbox game demanding his attention. Besides, he believed you’re either good at something or you’re not; obviously, he wasn’t good at sitting exams.

Despite his grades, Toby wasn’t stupid. For someone so young he had a wise head on his shoulders. He knew he wasn’t going to be a brain surgeon, he’d end up in some dead-end job, earning a pittance; and now, thanks to Wenlock’s refusal, he couldn’t do anything to alter that. As he strolled in the warm morning sun, a thought struck him; as he couldn’t change things, he might as well enjoy the time he had left at the school, he had the rest of his life to be an adult. Time Tecs would make his last days at Wenlock memorable; he should make the most of it. They were bound to shoot crowd scenes, he’d slip his ugly mug into one of them; his mother would like that. Toby continued towards registration feeling much happier.

A long harsh blast of a whistle cut short his musing. At the top end of the playground, several teachers were trying to disperse a large crowd. Whistles blew continually as they tried to get everyone moving; they stood little chance as few people could hear them over the raucous din that was sweeping through the school. Reaching the crowd, Toby stretched to see over the heaving swell of excited teenagers, hoping to find out what was causing the fuss. The much-loved celebrity striding towards him answered all his questions.

As always, Lucien Blake was wearing his Time Tecs outfit of knee-length denim shorts, a denim shirt open to the waist, with a white Time Tecs t-shirt underneath. With him was a tall, immaculately dressed, young woman. Tagging behind them were two squashed faced men who looked as if they’d fought Mike Tyson several times, Blake’s security staff.

A thunderous cheer followed Blake’s march through the grounds. Every few steps he’d stop to sign autographs, expertly milking the attention of the adoring crowd. He oozed confidence, he made an impact on everyone he met, even streetwise teenagers were all but fainting in his presence; but then he was an impressive man. Lucien Blake was one metre ninety in height and exceedingly muscular, like a modern day Tarzan. His rugged good looks were enhanced by a deep tan and designer stubble; it was easy to see why he was so popular, especially with the ladies.

Watching how the crowd worshipped Blake, Toby wished he was the one that everyone was desperate to meet; oh how opposite the truth that was. These days, his life revolved so much around his Xbox that he rarely socialised outside of school, unless you included online gaming. Due to his console addiction, he had gradually become more withdrawn and solitary. At school, he still mixed with the other boys, but he was more everyone’s pal rather than anyone’s friend, if you know what I mean. He knew most boys by name, but that was about it, once he knew they didn’t share his gaming obsession, he wasn’t interested in being friendly.

Girls were even more of a mystery, and as his hormones were raging, he felt awkward mixing with them. He was desperate to ask a girl out on a date but as he rarely spoke to any, so far he hadn’t. The problem wasn’t that he was shy; it was the fear of rejection and humiliation. There was one girl in particular he liked, a girl he’d had a crush on since the day he started at Wenlock, Madison Taylor.

Madison was slim, blonde, and gorgeous - as it seems most girls are that teenage boys have crushes on. Despite being only just sixteen, she had curves in all the right places. She was by far the most popular girl in the school, especially with the boys.

Toby was certain she’d never go out with someone like him, he was far too ordinary. His looks were at best average, like his physique. Though he was tall, he wasn’t muscular, like he assumed she desired. He wasn’t in any of the sports teams, didn’t get into trouble, didn’t hang around with the wild boys, so why would Madison Taylor ever notice him? She wouldn’t, would she?

He came crashing back to reality when the rapidly dispersing crowd jostled him along the tarmac path towards East block. The Wenlock welcoming committee had swept Lucien Blake and his associates into A Block. Toby headed for registration expecting to be in a lot of trouble, but with there being so many people involved would the school bother handing out detentions, he’d soon find out.

Chapter Two - The Competition

Once the excitement of Lucien Blake’s arrival had died down, the academy’s staff quickly regained control and manoeuvred everyone to their classes. Due to the unusual circumstances, the school applied a great deal of common sense that day, no one was punished for being late, even though the entire day’s schedule was disrupted. Mrs. Newman, Toby’s form tutor, took registration in class 11K twenty minutes later than normal; not that Toby cared, he had too much else bouncing around his head.

After registration, Mrs. Newman wandered through the class, handing each pupil a glossy leaflet. Everyone seemed confused, until they realised the leaflet was from Time Tecs. Under the shows elaborate logo was a photo of the deeply tanned host, grinning as usual; if his teeth were any whiter they’d need warning signs - extreme brightness, eye protection recommended. Below the photo was the word COMPETITION, written in large blue letters. To draw more attention, red arrows pointed towards it from every angle. Toby scanned the leaflet, wondering what competition it referred to.

Dear Wenlock Student,

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lucien Blake, writer, producer, and presenter of the popular documentary series, Time Tecs, The programme that makes history come alive. You’re probably wondering why you’ve received this memo, so I’ll get straight to the point. My crew and I have come to your school to shoot a documentary about Thomas Wenlock, from whom this academy takes its name. This will be the first episode in our new series, ‘Where Did They Go’. Each of the eight programmes will investigate the story behind a well-known personality that vanished in unusual circumstances.

As many of you already know, local millionaire Thomas Wenlock disappeared in June 1908. However, you may not realise that his vast fortune vanished at the same time. Our programme will not just be concerned with why he disappeared but also hopes to discover the fate of his missing millions. Friday, June 27th, will be the centennial of his disappearance and to commemorate this anniversary, we will be broadcasting our programme live from this school.

That brings me to the purpose of this communication, our competition. A programme like ours needs all the background information it can get, so we’re looking for help from all you Wenlock students. It would assist us if you could write an essay on Thomas Wenlock and his links to this school. We are especially interested in any local folklore regarding his disappearance or the fate of his wealth.

The prize for the student producing the most interesting paper is the chance to present a segment of the documentary, live on television. As an added bonus, the winner will also receive a family holiday to Orlando, Florida. So, get out there and do some research, help us fill the holes in our knowledge. Ask your parents, grandparents, and their friends, what they know, but hurry, you only have until Friday to submit your entry.

Toby had spent five years at the school but all he knew about Thomas Wenlock was they’d named the academy after him, and that he was dead of course. He’d heard stories about Wenlock vanishing and how his fortune supposedly still lay hidden in the school grounds but thought they were just that, stories, made up by bored pupils in the dim and distant past. He was sure that Time Tecs would prove the stories wrong, they usually did. However, perhaps this time he could help them do it.

The more he thought about it, the more Toby liked the idea of presenting a television show, even if it was only for a few minutes. Being famous was something he’d always dreamed of, and better still, it could be the start of a career in television. The devious section of his brain went into overdrive; if he could get a job in television then he wouldn’t have to work on a cold and dirty building site. That swung it; he was going to give the Time Tecs competition his all. Throughout the morning, he thought of nothing else, and paying little attention, got into trouble on several occasions; he only missed getting a detention because of the unusual circumstances.

The afternoon passed more peacefully, even if constantly disrupted by activities outside. When the finishing bell rang, Toby didn’t head home as normal, instead he set off to find out where Time Tecs were filming. His thinking was that by watching them in action, he’d get an idea of what to write, thereby giving himself a better chance of winning the competition. Unfortunately, Time Tecs were nowhere in sight, he had to search the school to find them, and that wasn’t easy as the academy covered such a vast area. The school consisted of five large buildings set in several acres of lawns and sports fields.

His last lesson was in the East Block and there were no cameras in that old and crusty three-storey building. Toby gathered his stuff and headed towards the middle of the three largest buildings, A Block. Finding no signs of a television crew, he continued on to the West Block, an identical building to the East block, right down to the ivy-covered bricks and flaking white paint on the metal windows. A quick look revealed nothing so he checked the two modern aluminium and glass buildings that jutted out from the others like prongs on a tuning fork: the science and the mathematics block, and the technology and computer suite. Time Tecs weren’t in either building.

With nowhere else to look, he headed for the three outbuildings on the far side of the playground. As he passed the Time Tecs trucks he briefly scanned each one, all were deserted. The first building he came to was the annexe, a large wooden building containing two classrooms; there were no cameras in either room. Next to the annexe was the woodwork shop; that too was empty. An alleyway ran between the buildings, leading to the metalwork shop. Toby couldn’t imagine they’d be filming there so didn’t bother looking.

Having exhausted all options, he was about to give up when he remembered the old boathouse. The crumbling wooden structure had been in the grounds since the year dot, surely, it was the sort of building historical documentary makers would be interested in; he should check it out.

Between the playground and the boathouse was a vast lawn, a place where people strolled in the sun or lounged to eat their lunch. As it ran down the long slope towards the river Hood, an ageing tarmac path split the lawn in two. Halfway along this path was a statue of Queen Victoria. The larger than life sized sculpture stood on a rectangular, concrete plinth, forcing the tarmac to pass either side, like a river swarming round a large rock.

Toby was hot and bothered by the time he reached the statue; he leant against the plinth, taking a breather. To his left, next to the boundary fence, was a dilapidated old building, known locally as Wenlock’s Folly. As he wiped sweat from his brow, he glimpsed in the direction of the folly and was amazed to see the Time Tecs