CHERUB: Brigands M.C. - Robert Muchamore Page 0,44

something?’

‘I thought you were together,’ Dante explained awkwardly.

‘We’re just mates,’ James explained, but Dante wasn’t convinced: James and Kerry sat with their chairs close together reading the same newspaper, and although Kerry’s arm wasn’t actually around James’ back she had it hooked around his chair.

‘No lessons?’ Dante asked, as he bit the corner off a potato waffle.

‘Free period,’ James explained. ‘We’ve taken a bunch of GCSEs and our handlers haven’t quite noticed that our schedules aren’t very full.’

‘Long may it last,’ Kerry added, as she gave James a smile and flicked crumbs off his T-shirt with her little finger.

‘Sneaky,’ Dante laughed. ‘I’m almost fourteen, so I’m guessing they’ll start me off with a bunch of GCSE courses.’

‘Most likely,’ James nodded. ‘Just avoid history. It’s all long essays and you have to read so much boring crap.’

‘I like history,’ Dante said. ‘Battles and stuff.’

‘Me too,’ Kerry agreed. ‘The thing is, James is a maths geek. He has such an easy time that he resents putting work into anything else.’

‘I think I’m screwed on languages,’ Dante explained. ‘I did intensive French and Spanish for a year before basic training, but I’ve been off campus for three years and all I’ve had are normal school French lessons.’

‘That’s rough,’ Kerry said. ‘Like, I speak Spanish, French, Japanese and a bit of Mandarin. Because I’ve learned them from when I was six I could easily pass A-levels in them and get into university without doing any hard work.’

Dante looked at James. ‘And I guess you’re the same with maths?’

‘Oh he’s a smartass,’ Kerry smiled. ‘He’s already got three maths A levels, plus physics.’

‘Maths is easy,’ James said.

Kerry wapped him around the back of the head. ‘Oh shut up, you smug git.’

James moved his pointing finger as if he was going to poke Kerry in the ribs and she burst out laughing.

‘You try it and I’ll break that finger off.’

‘You two remind me,’ Dante smiled. ‘A nice fit campus girlfriend is another item on my to-do list.’

‘We’re just friends,’ Kerry emphasised.

‘Obviously,’ Dante said wryly, as he crammed a rasher of bacon into his mouth.

‘There’s something else I never got a chance to talk about last night,’ James said. ‘I’m friendly with Terry Campbell, do you know him?’

‘CHERUB technical director,’ Dante nodded. ‘White beard, bit of a boffin.’

‘That’s him,’ James nodded. ‘You see, I’m really into motorbikes and there’s a battered old Harley stored in the vehicle workshop that I’d love to fix up. Terry says it’s yours.’

Dante nodded. ‘It belonged to my dad.’

‘I’ve been learning about bikes,’ James explained. ‘I read all the motorbike magazines. I could buy it off you. You’d get a fair price.’

Dante looked surprised. ‘Nah, sorry James. It was my dad’s bike. Our house burned down after he died and the bike is about the only thing of his that’s left.’

‘So your dad was into bikes?’ James asked.

Dante stopped eating and his face flushed red. ‘Sorry,’ he said clearing his throat. ‘It’s complicated and I’d rather not talk about my family to be honest.’

James was surprised by how upset Dante looked and felt really bad. ‘No worries,’ he said. ‘Everyone on campus has a past and you’re not the only one who doesn’t like dwelling in it.’

Kerry thought it would be tactful to change the subject and tapped on the CD reviews on the paper in front of her. ‘So, Dante,’ she said. ‘What kind of music do you like?’

*

When Neil Gauche woke up the first thing he saw was ants crawling up the arm spread in front of his face. His head throbbed, his ear rang and a bloody cut ran from his temple across to his right eyebrow.

It was some kind of miracle. He remembered everything, right up until the gun fired next to his ear and the bullet punched the ground a few metres from where he now lay. Then he’d been knocked cold, with a boot or more likely the butt of the gun. But why?

Maybe the Führer had listened to what he said about the heat he’d bring down if he killed a cop. Or maybe he’d only ever planned to scare him and rough him up. Neil felt his pockets and realised his cellphone and wallet had stayed in the Führer’s Mercedes when he’d stepped out.

A shocking pain ripped through his head as he rolled on to his back and sat up. The sun was rising, his arm and cheek were pockmarked with the shapes of dry grass and pebbles where he’d lain still for five