Ned's Head: The Boy With The Unforgettable Memory

By Seán Connors

Book One of the Ned's Head Trilogy. Includes a free eBook for all readers.

Nanites! Intelligent, microscopic technology that could cure fatal disease or create the deadliest smart weapons ever conceived.

The psychopathic 'Conductor' wants them, and with his own private army of assassins, nothing will stand in his way - until thirteen-year-old Ned Jones arrives home.

Ned is devastated when he discovers that his mother has been kidnapped, and when the assassin's bomb destroys the nanite colony, there's nothing left to trade for her return.

But the nanites find an unexpected sanctuary. One which transforms Ned and grants him some remarkable abilities in return.

Now, with time running out to save his mother, Ned, helped by two new friends, Ali and Jamie, must prepare to confront the deadliest killer...

No-one has ever seen!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seán Connors
• Release date: Jun 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781999958213

Book preview

PART 1

HOME

CHAPTER 1

JONES! NED JONES! Any of you lot seen Ned Jones?

A blond, gangly youth appeared around the corner of the school’s main building and stood with his hands on his hips. He wore a prefect’s jacket and a look on his face that said he deserved it. The boys he addressed were relaxing in small groups on the grassy bank leading down to the stream. A few looked at him, squinting against the evening sun and shrugged in reply, but most ignored him completely.

You there... Joshi, he addressed one boy directly. He’s in your form. Have you seen him?

A disinterested Indian boy looked up from his chess game and answered in a very upper-class accent.

Not since breakfast. Have you tried the dorms?

A movement close by caught his eye.

Oh sorry, Ned – didn’t see you there. Fletcher seems to have the hots for you. He grinned at his playing partner.

There was a slight commotion as a dark haired boy rose from where he was sitting at the edge of the group. He was used to not being noticed. Stuffing an old, worn-out road atlas into a tatty, brown satchel, he threw a resigned glance at the chess player and scrambled up the slope. He paused at the top to give his dark, leather jacket and faded blue-jeans a rough brush down. He was slightly shorter than the prefect but noticeably broader.

Here I am, Fletcher, he said, looking at the taller boy with calm, brown eyes. What’s the panic?

The prefect cast a critical look over the boy’s clothes.

Goodness sake, Jones, there are standards you know. Must you dress like a lost child?

Ned stifled a groan.

We all know you were the first teenager, Fletcher. Tell you what. When I grow up, I’ll try to be just like you.

A number of boys around them laughed out loud.

Good one, someone said.

Yeah, answered another, must’ve been hard staying back a year.

Fletcher whirled around.

You lot mind your own business or you’ll go on report, he warned them. You’re wanted in the headmaster’s study right away, he said, giving Ned a final once over. You won’t have time to change.

The Head? asked Ned in surprise. What does he want?

Nothing good I’d say, answered Fletcher with a smug grin. You’ve got visitors, and they’ve put him in a foul mood.

That stopped Ned in his tracks. In six years at Landing’s Preparatory School for Boys, he never had an unscheduled visit.

Visitors? he asked. For me? I wasn’t expecting anyone. Is it my parents?

Not your parents, Jones, replied Fletcher over his shoulder, and I wouldn’t keep them waiting if I were you – they look serious.

Ned hitched his satchel on his shoulder and headed quickly around to the front of the building. As he turned the corner he gave a low, appreciative whistle. A large, black, four wheel drive SUV had been abandoned beside the ‘No Parking’ sign at the school’s main door. Sunlight glinted off the chrome wheels and made the dark paintwork ripple like liquid gloss. He couldn’t see in through the darkened glass. With its blunt nose already pointing towards the avenue, it looked like an aggressive beast, impatient to be somewhere else.

He hurried through the doors and across the tiled entrance hall to the Headmaster’s office. Tea was about to be served in the dining hall, so the lobby and stairs were unnaturally quiet. His mind was racing as he stood outside the door.

"Oh well, he thought, only one way to find out."

His knock seemed loud in the silence and he stepped back with a start. He wasn’t normally nervous and got a bit annoyed with himself.

"Get a grip," he thought. Can’t be that bad.

Come in, called a voice sharply and Ned, taking a deep breath, stepped inside.

Mr Bernard, the balding, slightly plump Headmaster of Landings, was standing at a large, sash window, fuming at the offending vehicle blocking the steps outside. His appearance, like the room about him, was neat and tidy, although for once his usually pleasant face was red with barely contained anger. The cause was obvious. Two men, dressed in identical black suits and ties, and who obviously owned the car outside, appeared to have taken over his office.

The largest was at least a head taller than most men and built to match. He had dark, close-cropped hair and stood with his back to one wall, hands clasped behind him. His feet were slightly apart and he stared straight ahead from behind dark glasses, like a soldier on parade. The other was obviously in charge. He was slender and shorter than his colleague, with a thin face, very black hair and a slightly hooked nose. Studiously ignoring everyone, he casually flicked a long finger across the screen of the slimmest, blackest smart phone Ned had ever seen. Neither seemed to register him as he entered.

Ah, Mr Jones, come in. The headmaster turned from the window and tugged the bottom of his green, tweed jacket in irritation. "These... gentlemen... he glanced pointedly at each of his visitors, have been sent by–"

My name is Mr Thompson, interrupted the thin man, without looking up from his phone. I am Gatekeeper of Bailiwick Hall.

He had a quiet voice and a neutral accent but arrogance dripped from every syllable.

Now just look here, Mr Bernard said angrily, this boy is still my pupil. It’s my duty to expla–

Your father has sent me to take you home, Thompson interrupted again, totally ignoring the headmaster. He turned to look directly at Ned for the first time. You may pack a bag with some personal items. The school can forward the rest.

Mr Bernard couldn’t believe he was being so completely ignored in his own office. He mouthed silently at the back of Thompson’s head, bristling with indignation.

Home? asked Ned in disbelief, looking at each of the men in turn.

He wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. Since the day he arrived at Landings he had never once been allowed home, and whenever his parents visited, they wouldn’t even let him speak about it.

Yes, Ned, Mr Bernard reasserted himself. Home. Your father called just before these two arrived, he flicked a thumb in Thompson’s direction, and assured me you would know them and be happy to leave. Gone was any attempt at good manners.

Ned looked more closely at the two men. He was sure he didn’t remember either of them, but it had been so long, he didn’t think he’d recognise anyone from there.

His headmaster saw Ned’s confusion.

Do you know them, Ned? he asked with some alarm. You must assure me that you’re happy to leave or I can’t allow it. This is all very irregular. Very irregular indeed!

Ned hesitated.

I... Well..., he stammered. I’m not sure. He was becoming alarmed himself. My father does work there, he said, feeling the usual embarrassment he got whenever he had to talk about his parents. He’s a caretaker, he mumbled, as though confessing a guilty secret.

In fact, it was the strangest thing about Ned’s situation. Both his parents were servants. His father was a caretaker and his mother was one of the maids, at an ancient estate called Bailiwick Hall, where Ned had been born. He just never understood how they could afford to send him to one of the most exclusive schools in the country – or why they would bother. He had nothing in common with anyone at Landings, and as soon as the other boys knew his background, they had very little interest in him. Now, he was torn between an instant desire to go home at last and his immediate dislike of this arrogant stranger. He was about to suggest something sensible, like calling his father again.

I’ve never seen these men before, Sir, he said. Maybe we should–

Thompson closed the gap between Ned and himself in two swift strides. He placed one hand on the door frame and leaned forward, trapping Ned with his back to the closed door.

Mr Bernard exploded from behind his desk.

GET AWAY FROM THAT BOY THIS INSTANT! he shouted. DON’T YOU DARE–

The other man acted immediately. Turning on his right foot, he held out arms of steel, forming a barrier that prevented the headmaster from getting near Ned.

GET – YOUR – HANDS – OFF – ME! shouted Bernard, trying to force his way past.

The large man remained silent and immobile, looking past Mr Bernard as though checking the weather outside. The Headmaster’s efforts were wasted on him, so he turned to grab the telephone on his desk. Before he could lift it however, the silent bodyguard placed a powerful hand over it and shook his head slightly – just enough to indicate that there was nothing Mr Bernard could do. He was as trapped as Ned.

Ned could feel the door handle pressing into him and reached back to grab it. Thompson leaned closer so only Ned could hear him.

Your father wants you back at Bailiwick Hall immediately and I don’t have time to waste with explanations. So do as I say... without delay. He gave me a message for you, he said, staring directly into Ned’s eyes. Lord – Goldstone – Requests – It!

He spoke each word slowly as he stood to his full height, noting Ned’s reaction with an almost mocking expression.

Ned was frozen to the spot. The colour drained from his face and he only managed to stay upright by gripping the door handle tighter.

"Lord Goldstone requests it!" He thought he must have been hearing things. "Lord Goldstone requests it!" Their secret password.

He used to think it was only a childhood game when he was younger. Pass the milk, Ned, his dad would say, Lord Goldstone requests it. Or, Time to leave now, Ned. Lord Goldstone requests it.

But the game become more serious when he left home to come to Landing’s.

Remember our password, Ned, his dad said, every time they spoke. Never tell anyone. If you ever hear it from anyone else, you’ll know it’s a message from me.

Ned used to laugh at his father. Okay, dad, he’d say. Our secret. But he never took it seriously. Not until now.

He barely noticed the commotion at the other side of the room as his headmaster tried to help him.

How did you...? He spluttered. That was... I mean... no one...

He blinked slowly a couple of times as the message sank in. There was no other explanation, he decided. His father had sent this man to collect him.

It’s okay, Sir, he said, still sounding a little uncertain. My father did send them. I’m going to have to leave.

The large man had already stepped back against the wall, leaving room for a shocked Bernard to brush past him.

Ned? he asked, taking him by the elbow and leading him across the room. Are you certain about this? Your father said they were coming but I never expected anyone like these two. Are you sure there’s no mistake?

Yes, Sir, I’m sure. Ned replied, trying to sound calmer.

Sorry about all this, he said quietly. It’s just come as a surprise. May I go up to my room? I’m going to have to pack a bag. I don’t want to keep them waiting, he added in a whisper.

Well yes... yes, I suppose so, answered Mr Bernard, still agitated. Once you’re happy to go I must let you. Your father was very clear about it. He wants you home as soon as possible.

And, you two, he added, as Ned left the room. There isn’t anything else for you to do in here. I think you’d be more comfortable waiting with your vehicle.

He stared directly at each of his unwelcome guests and held the door wide open. Without another word, Thompson walked through, followed by his minder. Both still ignoring him completely.

CHAPTER 2

Ned sat on the bed in his room, head bowed, with his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging limply between his legs. He was breathing heavily from taking the stairs two at a time and the excitement of his sudden departure. His heart pounded in his ears like deep drum beats as he tried to clear his mind, but too many questions were spinning around. He took a deep breath and gave himself a shake, trying to concentrate on packing. He remembered hearing a question once about someone in a burning house.

"If your house was on fire and you could save only one thing, what would it be?"

He looked at the three posters on his walls – an old one of Concorde and two of outer space.

"They can stay," he thought.

He checked his satchel. His road atlas and English journal were inside, complete with unfinished essay.

Not my fault now, he thought. "What else?"

He checked his bedside locker. Some model planes, a magnifying glass.

No.

Digital camera.

Yes.

Wallet, with the last of this month’s allowance.

"Yes," he thought and grabbed it.

Two pictures of Ned with his parents and his Aunt Helen – the only other relative he knew of. In they went too.

Then he stood quietly for a last look around the small room. Books. Clothes. A few comics. Nothing he couldn’t do without, at least for a while. The question repeated like a ghost voice in his mind. ‘If your house was on fire...?’ He looked into his satchel and felt a small surge of pride. It was still half empty. Everything he really wanted was packed and over his shoulder in less than five minutes.

It suddenly occurred to him that this was it. He was about to leave his home of six years for the last time. He crossed to the window for a final look at the sports fields and buildings. They had become so familiar that he had stopped noticing them. Should he feel sad? Lonely? He shrugged once and realised that he didn’t feel much at all.

As he turned to leave, a scraping noise, accompanied by grunts and loud puffing, announced the arrival of Timms, his next door neighbour and class glutton.

What’cha up to, Timms? he asked the rotund boy, struggling into the room beside him.

Timms looked up while heaving two stuffed shopping bags through his door. He shoved round glasses back up to the bridge of his nose with a podgy finger and brushed away some crumbs stubbornly sticking to his dark fringe.

Midnight feast Sunday night... End of term in case you’ve forgotten, he puffed. Just back from the tuck shop. I think I’ve got just about enough. Fiver each was cutting it fine though. What are you doing here? he asked, cramming the bags into a trunk at the foot of his bed. Tea started ten minutes ago. Everyone is down in the dining hall. You know the rules at Landings, he said, leaning heavily on the protesting bed frame to hoist himself upright. If you want to dine – be on time!

I’m not going down, answered Ned, noticing the finality of the statement. I’ve got to leave straight away.

What do you mean leave? asked Timms. What’s happened? Is everything okay?

Not sure, said Ned with a shrug. My dad sent someone to pick me up. I don’t think I’m coming back.

Oh, said Timms in surprise. Then he glanced at the trunk. No refunds now... money’s all spent. Got the bulk discount from Sweetie.

Geez, said Ned, try not to miss me too much.

A faint odour of food cooking reminded him that he was leaving on an empty stomach.

Here, he said going to the locker, might as well get my money’s worth now.

He opened the lid before Timms could answer.

Blimey, Timms, there’s enough here for the entire school, he exclaimed, looking into an Aladdin’s cave of confectionery. I’ll just take some to eat in the car, he said, opening his satchel.

Well, I suppose, mumbled Timms, but go easy, Ned, I’ve got to have enough for everyone.

Relax, said Ned, with a knowing grin, there’s plenty. You might even have some left over, eh, Timmsy?

Timms smiled in reply.

Couldn’t take the risk, Ned. This mob will kill me if they run out. Got enough?

Yeah, grunted Ned, standing. Well, I suppose that’s that.

Yeah, Timms replied. Suppose it is.

They faced each other awkwardly, feeling a little shy all of a sudden.

See ya then, said Ned, throwing the leather strap over his shoulder.

Yeah. See ya! Timms jerked a hand in the air and down again.

Ned turned and within two steps was sprinting towards the stairs and the rumbling engine waiting outside. He knocked again on the headmaster’s door, which this time stood ajar.

Ah, Ned, said the Headmaster, stepping into the hall. "Your father was unavailable just now, but I’ve spoken with your housekeeper. It seems everything is in order. Apparently, Mr Thompson is just as... ahem, endearing shall we say, towards everyone."

He studied Ned with a troubled look.

This isn’t how I like to say goodbye to my students. Like to give you all something to think about for the future. You know... Something inspirational.

Ned groaned to himself. Mr Bernard’s pep talks were legendary.

It’s okay, Sir, he said, looking behind the teacher and thinking quickly, I think our motto says it all.

They both looked up at the yellow, red and gold, stained-glass window over the stairs. The evening sun glowed warm against the letters. ‘Traditional Values in a Modern World’. Ned knew his headmaster had composed it himself.

Why... yes. Mr Bernard said, looking pleased. Yes, I suppose it does. In that case, Ned, all that remains is for me to wish you the very best, and hopefully, we’ll meet again sometime in the future.

He held out a hand for Ned to shake.

Oh, said Ned, suddenly remembering. Could you give this to Miss Monroe? I didn’t get a chance to finish it.

He took his English journal from his bag and placed it in Mr Bernard’s open hand.

Well... bye then. A small tinge of nostalgia crept over him. And... thanks.

He took a last look around and surprised himself with a small catch of emotion.

Thanks for everything.

*

Outside, the car looked enormous in the evening shade. Dark windows, black paint and the impatient rumble of the engine. It was like the start of some kind of magical, mystery tour – only without the magic. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

It was equally imposing inside. Three dark leather seats – each as big as the armchairs in his common room – filled the back, with plush, navy carpet lining the floor. He felt small as he stepped up onto the running board. Taking the centre seat, he gave himself a clear view of the road and at least a partial view of his two escorts. Even to Ned – who had only ever travelled in his parents’ old bangers – the new car smell was unmistakable. He inhaled the delicious scent deep into his lungs. It was wonderful. The leather creaked under him as he stretched his legs fully and twisted deep into absolute comfort. The front seats were at least ten inches away from his outstretched feet. Despite his apprehension, he couldn’t fail to be impressed.

"This," he thought, "is definitely the life."

Settle down back there, Thompson ordered, giving Ned a withering look from the passenger seat, and keep quiet! We’ve got a long journey ahead, so no distractions. Those buttons, he indicated the side of the arm rest, will allow the seat to recline fully if you want to sleep. There’s water in the fridge between the seats.

Fridge? Ned asked looking around. Wow!

He was deeply impressed now. His fingers had already found the control buttons and his seat-back and foot-rest whirred in response.

Nice, he nodded in approval. I like it!

I’m so glad, said Thompson sarcastically. Now stop fidgeting with it and take your shoes off – she’s brand new. We only took delivery on Tuesday morning and I don’t want it ruined by you.

Where are my parents? Ned asked, giving the button a couple of extra jabs in defiance. Why couldn’t they pick me up?

Your father has some pressing business, Thompson answered, turning his back. Now, be quiet! As Gatekeeper, I have the security of Bailiwick Hall to take care of and I’m too busy to waste my time answering questions.

He gave the driver the smallest nod and the big machine lurched forward.

Pressing business? thought Ned. A door hanging emergency... or some broken windows maybe.

But my dad’s a caretaker, he said aloud. What could be so important? Was there a flood or something?

Thompson turned and stared at Ned for a long moment.

He thinks his father is a caretaker, he said, almost to himself. You hear that? He smirked at the driver. He thinks his father’s a caretaker.

The driver gave a twitch that might have been a smile but said nothing.

"Your father is not a caretaker, he said, as though Ned was the greatest idiot he had ever met, he is The Caretaker – of Bailiwick Hall. I’m sure he’ll be happy to enlighten you on the difference as soon as we get you there. Now, as I said. I’m busy. We have a long journey, so..."

He waggled his smart phone in front of Ned and turned to face the front, signalling the conversation was over.

Big deal, thought Ned. "So he’s the chief caretaker. Still don’t see why he couldn’t come – or send Mum."

Ned was resenting this sudden uprooting without explanation. He turned for a last look at Landings. The big car had left a trail of swirling