Raven's Gate by Anthony Horowitz Page B

at Hive Hall looked as if they had come out of a charity shop.
    “I went for a walk.”
    “A walk? Where?”
    “Just around.”
    Mrs Deverill took a pan off the Aga and spooned thick porridge into two bowls. “I don’t remember you asking permission,” she said.
    “I don’t remember you telling me I had to,” Matt replied.
    Mrs Deverill’s eyes narrowed. “I can’t say I’m used to being spoken to in that way,” she muttered. Then she shrugged as if it didn’t matter anyway. “I was only thinking of you, Matthew,” she went on. “If you look at the booklets provided by the LEAF Project, you’ll see quite clearly that I’m supposed to know where you are at all times. I’d hate to have to report that you’ve broken the rules.”
    “You can report what you like.”
    She placed the two bowls on the table and sat down opposite him. “There’s a lot of work to be done today. The tractor needs hosing down. And we could do with some firewood being chopped.”
    “Whatever you say, Mrs Deverill.”
    “Exactly.” The pale lips pressed together in something like a smile. “Whatever I say.”
    It was nine o’clock, one hour before Matt had arranged to meet Tom Burgess. Matt was working on the tractor, washing it down. For the fiftieth time he looked around him, and realized he was finally alone. Noah was on the other side of the barn, mending some pipes. Mrs Deverill was feeding the pigs. Neither of them was watching him, nor was there any sign of Asmodeus. Matt dropped the hose, then turned off the tap and waited until the last jet of water had splashed on to the ground. Still nobody came. He had left the old bicycle in the yard, close at hand. He stole over to it and pushed it out of the farm. Pedalling would have made too much noise.
    A minute later he was through the gate and on the lane. He looked back with a sense of relief. It had all been much easier than he had thought.
    Too easy? Matt remembered the way Mrs Deverill had smiled at him in the kitchen. He had wondered then if she knew more than she was letting on. All the time he had the feeling she was playing with him, and the photograph and police report hidden in her bedroom cupboard had only confirmed it. She knew who he was. He was more sure of it than ever. He had been chosen on purpose.
    Matt got on the bike and began to pedal, turning left as Tom Burgess had told him. The last time he had attempted this journey, the lane had simply looped him back to where he had started. But this time was different. He was wearing the talisman that the farmer had given him. He reached up and felt it against his chest. Why a stone with a picture of a key should make any difference was beyond him. It was just one of the many questions he intended to ask.
    The lane led uphill but there was no crossroads at the top. Instead the road continued past a series of fields. A low, stone wall rose and dipped ahead. He came to a signpost and this one wasn’t broken. It read: GREATER MALLING 4 MILES. Matt stared at it. It was the first reminder he’d had that there was an actual world outside Hive Hall and he had no idea how he’d managed to miss it when he made the journey two nights before.
    He found Glendale Farm easily enough. There was a turning about a quarter of a mile further along, with the name printed in bright blue letters on a white gate. Even as Matt cycled down the flower-bordered drive that led from the main road, he thought how much more welcoming it was than Hive Hall. The barn and stables were clean and ordered, standing next to a pretty pond. A swan glided on the water, its reflection shimmering in the morning sunlight, while a family of ducks waddled across the lawn. In a nearby paddock a cow chewed grass, mooing contentedly.
    The farmhouse itself was red brick, with neat white shutters and a grey slate roof. Part of the roof was covered in plastic sheeting, where the farmer had been working on repairs. An old weathervane stood at one corner, a