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  Max swallowed hard. ‘That they’re missing.’

  ‘Missing!’ Kensy laughed. ‘They’ve just been delayed. It’s not the first time it’s happened. You know that as well as I do.’

  ‘Not like this,’ Max insisted, biting his bottom lip. ‘Think about it, Kens. For some reason unknown to us, Fitz drove us across three countries for hours on end and we haven’t heard from Mum and Dad for three days.’

  Kensy felt a twinge in her stomach. It did seem strange when her brother put it like that. Their parents had been away for almost six weeks, having enjoyed a long-overdue holiday in the Maldives before travelling to Africa to work with a children’s medical charity, and they were all due to be reunited yesterday. Kensy and Max were the ones who had convinced them to go in the first place, and their parents had only agreed because Fitz was there to look after the twins.

  Their mother, a doctor, and their father, a paramedic, were both expert skiers and had fallen into a nomadic existence, working with ski patrols and in medical clinics in resorts all over the world. When the twins were born, Ed and Anna Grey didn’t see any reason to change their way of life. Hence, the family never stayed more than six months in the same place. It was unconventional, but the twins wouldn’t have swapped it for anything. The past year had seen the Greys and Fitz bounce between Cervinia in Italy, and Thredbo in Australia. Before that, they had enjoyed stints in Queens town, New Zealand, and Whistler, Canada, as well as resorts in the United States and Japan.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Kensy said, turning her back to her brother. She gripped the banister and peered at the vestibule below. ‘You must have imagined it.’

  Max had initially thought the same thing, but he was more convinced than ever of what the man had said. He turned his attention to the portraits that lined the landing, as if they might hold the answer. But their vacant stares only looked through him. ‘I know what I heard, Kens,’ he said softly.

  His sister huffed and pushed away from the rail. ‘You were probably sleepwalking or something stupid like that. Mum and Dad are fine,’ she said, and flew down the staircase. ‘I know they are. You’re just being horrible.’

  Max watched helplessly as she stormed towards the front door. ‘Where are you going?’ he called.

  ‘I need some air, and there’s not enough out there for the both of us!’ Kensy wrenched open the giant panel and thundered down the front steps. The door creaked to a close behind her.

  ‘Fine,’ Max sighed. In his experience, it was best to leave his sister alone when she was upset. Besides, it would give him a chance to find Fitz and get to the bottom of what was really going on.

  Kensy bristled as she ventured out into the chilly winter morning. There was something alive in the air – perhaps it was the smell of the sea. Her light cotton cardigan wasn’t the best choice, but she’d rather freeze to death than be back inside with Max right now.

  The fountain she’d spied from the window towered in front of her. It was even more impressive up close. Standing in the centre of a pond that was bigger than the average swimming pool was a bronze statue of Atlas, a Titan in ancient Greek mythology, holding up the globe. Kensy knew exactly how he felt. Her brother’s words had made her feel a little like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders too. She banished the thoughts from her mind and consoled herself with the knowledge that transport in central Africa was notoriously unreliable at the best of times.

  Kensy hurried along a gravel path bordered by hedges so perfect she imagined they could have only been cut with a laser beam. She spun around to look at the mansion, its symmetry flawless but for a square tower that rose at the rear on the right-hand side. Kensy wondered what was up there. With double-height bay windows at either end, the building resembled something from a fairytale, except at that very moment it gave her a horrible sense of foreboding. Kensy shivered and rubbed her arms.

  Breaking into a jog, the girl passed the pristine lawn and rows of manicured flowerbeds, which soon gave way to wildflowers and century-old trees just begging to be climbed. She thought how Max would love them too, then remembered she was supposed to not think about him. Kensy pushed the notion from her mind and snatched a couple of daisies that were poking untidily from a voluminous bush.

  Directly ahead, she was confronted with a high stone wall covered in ivy. It seemed to go on forever, running perpendicular to the side of the main building and creating a dead end. Kensy was about to turn back when she heard voices on the other side of the wall. They belonged to two men. One fellow sounded as if he’d been gargling gravel while the other had a strong Irish accent. Intrigued, Kensy took a step closer.

  ‘Do you think they’ll be staying long?’ the Irishman grunted before a loud, heavy thump shook the ground.

  Leaves from a nearby oak tree fell in protest.

  ‘I can’t imagine it,’ the gravel-grinder replied, followed by another loud thud. ‘They say she’s the image of ma’am in her younger years and he’d give a young Robert Redford a run for his money.’

  Kensy thought the men must have been carrying something awfully heavy to have made the ground tremble in that way. All sorts of possibilities flashed through her mind. Not one to be kept guessing, the girl swung herself up onto the lowest branch of the oak tree, but it was nowhere near high enough to see over the wall. Kensy reached through the leaves for another branch and almost lost her balance as it came away in her hand. She steadied herself and saw that she wasn’t holding a twig at all. She had dislodged an arrow from the tree trunk. Upon closer inspection, it appeared as though the tip was covered in crusty blood. How odd. Kensy wondered about the poor creature that might have died at the end of it. She clutched her prize and studied the tree, looking for another route skywards. At least the men’s voices were clearer from up there.

  ‘When are you going down to London?’ the Irishman asked.

  ‘When I get word,’ the other fellow replied. ‘First, we have to deal with these bodies. Gawd blimey, this one’s a brute.’

  Bodies! Kensy’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. The arrow fell silently to the ground.

  ‘’Urry up, will ya? I need to get that fancy soil round to Mim or she’ll be baying for my blood,’ said the man with the gravelly voice.

  The two men grunted, as though lifting another sizeable weight, and another dull thud sounded.

  ‘Rightio, I’d better attend to old Atlas,’ the Irishman said.

  There was a scraping noise and a door in the wall below opened. Kensy hadn’t even noticed it there, concealed as it was beneath the thick blanket of ivy. She flattened herself against the largest branch, hoping the man wouldn’t look up.

  ‘Oh, on second thoughts, I’d better go with you. I need the trailer,’ he said, and disappeared back through the secret door.

  Kensy sighed with relief as she heard the bolt slide across. With her heart racing, she jumped down from the tree and ran along the wall towards the house, splashing through puddles in her haste. She wished she’d been able to get a look at the men so she could give the police a proper description. She was on the edge of the pathway that led back to the front of the house when she spotted another door. It was almost obscured but for the glint of a brass handle. Kensy made a dash for it – perhaps she could still catch a glimpse of them from a distance.

  She wrenched open the door and charged through into a jungle. Kensy hadn’t experienced humidity like this since her family was forced to make an unscheduled stopover in Singapore a couple of years ago. She took off her cardigan and tied it around her waist.

  It seemed she’d stumbled upon a glasshouse. The high stone wall she’d just come through formed the back of it, but the rest of the elaborate structure was made entirely of glass, much like an ornate Victorian dollhouse. It appeared to house a vegetable patch the size of at least two tennis courts and a variety of plants – some she recognised and others that were completely unknown to her. Banana trees heaved under huge hands of fruit, and something that look
ed like strawberries flourished, except these were white with red seeds. There were bright orange cubes that resembled pumpkins but for their square shape, as well as fruit she would have guessed to be avocado were it not for the fact they were glowing an iridescent yellow.

  Unfortunately, there was no sign of the men, and as much as she was keen to explore, Kensy knew she had to find her way back to the house so she could tell Max what she’d heard. On her way out, she turned into another row and came across the most extraordinary-looking cherry tomatoes. They were plump and red with a purplish tinge to them. Unable to ignore her grumbling stomach, Kensy plucked one of the fruits and popped it into her mouth. A flavour like nothing she had ever experienced flooded her tastebuds. It was tomato but with a burst of passionfruit.

  ‘Spit that out!’ a voice shrieked. ‘Spit it out NOW!’

  Kensy almost jumped out of her skin. She looked up to see a woman hurtling towards her, waving a rake in the air as if she were about to swat her with it. Fearing the worst, Kensy hoiked the masticated red ball as far as she could. It landed with a splat on the woman’s left cheek.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Kensy squeaked, shielding herself from imminent attack.

  The woman came to a screeching halt. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and calmly wiped the splodge from her face. ‘Oh, thank heavens for that.’

  ‘What’s the matter with it?’ Kensy asked, lowering her arms. She wiped her tongue on her sleeve to make sure there were no remnants of the suspect fruit, at the same time wishing she could have another bite.

  ‘Nothing, I hope,’ the woman said. ‘They just haven’t been tested yet and they were sprayed with organic fertiliser yesterday, straight from the dairy.’

  Kensy registered the woman’s meaning and began wiping her tongue more vigorously.

  Out of nowhere, a grey squirrel ran up the woman’s back and sat twitching on top of her floppy straw hat.

  ‘I’m sorry I startled you, Chester,’ the woman said, her voice softening. She reached into the front pocket of her overalls and held out an acorn. The creature grabbed it in both paws and began nibbling away.

  Kensy was mesmerised, and for a moment all thoughts of murderers and missing parents had evaporated. ‘Is he your pet?’ she asked.

  ‘His mother was killed in a storm. I found the poor little fellow shaking in the bottom of a felled tree. I raised him, but he knows he’s free to go anytime he likes,’ the woman explained. Perhaps it was the unruly grey plait that fell over her shoulder almost to her waist, or her kindly eyes, but something about her put Kensy at ease.

  ‘I’m sorry about before,’ the girl said, smiling. ‘I’ve got to go and report a mur–’

  Her words were drowned out by a loud whumping noise.

  Kensy glanced up at the pitched glass roof as a helicopter rose into the sky. Painted on its underside was a lighthouse that was square at the base and circular up top. The helicopter hovered for a few seconds before it disappeared over the woodland and into the blue sky beyond.

  ‘You must have some important guests staying here,’ Kensy remarked. The only times she’d seen helicopters were during rescues on the ski fields or in Queenstown, where there seemed to be as many helicopters as tourists some days. She’d seen people plucked off mountains in Canada and Switzerland and more recently in Australia, usually with a broken bone or two or sometimes worse.

  The woman chortled. ‘No, dear, that’s Cordelia. She owns Alexandria.’

  ‘Wow. It must be amazing to own a hotel.’ Kensy looked around the glasshouse, wondering what on earth a rich lady who owned a helicopter would want with all these vegetables. Perhaps she was some sort of fancy organic farmer. ‘If I were Cordelia, I’d eat my body weight at the breakfast buffet and would never make my bed ever again.’

  ‘That does sound devilishly good, but Alexandria is not …’ The woman stopped, distracted by the squirrel scampering down from her hat to her shoulder.

  In the distance, Kensy caught sight of a couple of chaps who had popped up at the other end of the garden. One was tall and broad-shouldered while the other was thin and wiry. They were both wearing green overalls and the shorter chap had a flat cap on his head. Kensy gasped, realising they could be the men from before. Although, not having seen them, it was impossible to know for sure. They both turned and stared at her. She shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other, debating whether to tell the woman what she’d overheard.

  ‘I should go and find my brother,’ the girl said, deciding against it. She gave the woman a quick wave, then turned on her heel and hurried back to the door she’d come through. Kensy didn’t see the men smile and wave, nor did she see the woman brush tears from her twinkling grey eyes.

  ‘Oh, darling girl,’ the woman breathed, clasping her hands in front of her, ‘it’s so good to have you home.’

  After almost an hour of wandering the halls, Max was yet to encounter a single soul. He had passed through sitting room after sitting room, each warmed by a crackling fire, and had even happened upon a grand dining room set for at least fifty guests. It was all rather eerie, especially with the faint twang of country music that was drifting from the air vents. Fitz was nowhere to be found either, and Max was beginning to wish he’d gone after his sister.

  As for whether this place was actually a hotel, Kensy’s theory was looking more plausible by the second. None of it added up. Max had happened upon a whole room dedicated to one hundred samurai swords (he’d counted them in his head). They were mostly sheathed and hanging on the walls, although there were several on display in a glass case alongside three full suits of samurai armour. If Kensy had been queasy about the weasel upstairs, she was definitely going to hate the billiard room, which, apart from boasting a magnificent full-sized table, played host to a comprehensive collection of antique hunting trophies. Max found them strangely fascinating and utterly repulsive at the same time. He couldn’t help wondering if any of the poor creatures had acquired names during their residency. The Javan rhino over the fireplace looked like a Herbert to him.

  Max’s favourite room by far, however, was the library. He loved to read and this one had the most impressive collection he’d ever encountered. He had hesitated for a mere second before scurrying up one of two ladders that ran around the mahogany bookshelves on a well-oiled rail. From this vantage point, he spied works by the world’s greatest authors. Dickens, Shakespeare, Austen and just about every other writer worth their salt lined the shelves.

  When Max stumbled upon a copy of Treasure Island, the boy’s mind turned to more sober thoughts. His parents had given him that book on his last birthday. What if something really had happened to them? He jumped to the floor and was about to leave when a particularly colourful cover caught his eye. It was displayed on a little brass stand beside a stripy armchair. Max picked it up and ran his fingers along the embossed title – The Caesar Shift – then thumbed through the first chapter. He loved codes and puzzles, so this was right up his alley. Max flicked back to the title page. Halfway down was a handwritten inscription, except that it too was in code:

  Max was keen to crack it and began hunting around for a piece of paper and a pen when there was a loud skirmish outside the room. He quickly returned the book to the stand. Seconds later, two West Highland terriers skittered into the library and danced at the boy’s feet.

  ‘Hello, where did you come from?’ Max leaned down to give them a pat. He noticed they were wearing identical blue collars, both glittering with diamantes and a shiny name tag. Max peered at the first one. ‘Wellington. That’s cute. And you are?’ He reached for the other tag. ‘Mackintosh.’

  Max knelt on the floor as the dogs nuzzled and sniffed and lolled about.

  ‘Wellie and Mac.’ The boy chuckled to himself. ‘Like gumboots and a raincoat.’

  ‘Ah, you have a masterful brain, Master Maxim,’ a man said.

  Max looked up to find the fellow from the previous night standing before him. Only, this time he wasn’t weari
ng his dressing-gown and slippers. Instead, the man was immaculately dressed in a black dinner suit with shoes so highly polished Max could see his own reflection in them. The man smiled at him.

  ‘H-hello,’ Max said, pushing up his spec tacles. He scrambled to his feet. ‘I didn’t mean to snoop about. I was looking for Fitz. Have you seen him? And have you seen my sister? She went for a walk in the garden.’

  Running feet thudded in the hallway.

  ‘That will be Miss Kensington now,’ the man said. He turned towards the door just as the girl ran past.

  The sound of her sneakers skidding on the floorboards caused them both to wince, before she doubled back and appeared in the doorway. The girl was quite a sight to behold with her flushed cheeks, muddied jeans and her wild hair speckled with leaves. Max was puzzled to see that his sister had her cardigan tied around her waist on a chilly autumn day.

  ‘Max!’ Kensy exclaimed breathlessly. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you. I met this lady with a pet squirrel! And I found a greenhouse with tomatoes that taste like passionfruit. And there were two men who said something about getting rid of bod–’ She stopped abruptly when she realised they had company.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Kensington,’ the man in the dinner suit said pleasantly. ‘I was just coming to find you and Master Maxim for breakfast. Although, perhaps at this time of the morning, we should call it brunch.’

  The man bowed deeply as the girl hurried to her brother’s side. The two dogs had scampered around behind the fellow and were now sitting at attention.

  ‘How do you know our names?’ Kensy asked, as the thought also formed in Max’s head. He vaguely remembered thinking the same thing last night, when they’d arrived.

  The man’s dark eyes twinkled. ‘Forgive me. I am Song, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintances.’ He bowed once more. ‘I am your butler.’

  The twins glanced at each other, then turned back to Song.

  ‘For the hotel, you mean?’ Kensy said, a crease forming on her forehead.