himself facing a library – a modern building that already looked down-at-heel, with shabby, pebbledash walls and rusting window frames. He thought for a moment, then went in through a revolving door and up a staircase that was signposted REFERENCE. He found himself in a wide, brightly lit room with about a dozen bookcases arranged along the walls, a bank of computers and an enquiry desk, where a young man sat reading a paperback.
Something nasty, something very dangerous, was going on in the village of Lesser Malling. Somehow it involved many of the villagers, Mrs Deverill, an abandoned nuclear power station and something called Raven’s Gate. It also involved Matt. That was what unnerved him most of all. He had been chosen. He was sure of it. And before he left Yorkshire, he was determined to find out why.
Raven’s Gate. It was the only clue he had, so that was where he decided to begin.
He started with the books in the local history section. The library had about a dozen books on Yorkshire and half of them made brief references to Greater and Lesser Malling. But not one of them mentioned anything by the name of Raven’s Gate. There was one book that seemed more promising and Matt carried it over to a table. It was called
Rambles Around Greater Malling
and had been written – some time ago to judge from the old-fashioned cover and yellowing pages – by a woman named Elizabeth Ashwood. He opened the book and ran his eye down the contents page. He had found it. Chapter Six was entitled
Raven’s Gate
.
Matt turned the pages and found Chapter Seven. He went back and found Chapter Five. But Chapter Six wasn’t there. A jagged edge and a gap in the binding told their own story. Someone had torn out the whole chapter. Was it just a random act of vandalism or had it been done deliberately? Matt thought he knew.
But the library offered more than books.
Matt went over to the man at the enquiry desk. “I need to use the Internet,” he said.
“What for?” the librarian asked.
“It’s a school project. We’ve been told to find out something about Raven’s Gate.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Nor have I. That’s why I want to go on the Internet.”
The man pointed and Matt went over to the nearest computer. There was a girl clicking away with the mouse at the next desk but she ignored him. He called up a search engine, then typed in:
RAVEN’S GATE
He remembered the words scrawled on the farmer’s wall in green paint. Once again he saw the dead man, his body torn apart, his eyes wide and empty.
He pressed ENTER.
There was a brief pause and then the screen came up with a list of results. Matt saw that his search had listed over twelve thousand possible sites relating to ravens and to gates, but none of them were even slightly relevant. There was an American football team, the Baltimore Ravens, whose players had walked out of the gate. There was a Golden Gate park, also in America, where birdwatchers had spotted a variety of ravens. Apparently ravens were also nesting in the Kaleyard Gate in Chester. But there was no Raven’s Gate… Not on the first page, not on the second, not even on the third. Matt realized he would have to scroll through all twelve thousand entries. It would take him hours. There had to be another way.
He was about to give up when a pop-up window suddenly appeared on the computer screen. Matt looked at the three words, floating in the white square:
>Who are you?
There was no way of knowing who they had come from.
He didn’t quite know how to answer, so he typed back:
>Who r u?
There was a pause. Then:
>Sanjay Dravid
Matt waited a moment to see what would happen next.
>You have made an enquiry about Raven’s Gate. What is your field of research?
Field of research? Matt didn’t know how to reply. He leant forward and typed again:
>I want to know what it is.
>Who are you?
>My name is Matt.
>Matt who?
>Can you help me?
There was a long pause and Matt began to
Something nasty, something very dangerous, was going on in the village of Lesser Malling. Somehow it involved many of the villagers, Mrs Deverill, an abandoned nuclear power station and something called Raven’s Gate. It also involved Matt. That was what unnerved him most of all. He had been chosen. He was sure of it. And before he left Yorkshire, he was determined to find out why.
Raven’s Gate. It was the only clue he had, so that was where he decided to begin.
He started with the books in the local history section. The library had about a dozen books on Yorkshire and half of them made brief references to Greater and Lesser Malling. But not one of them mentioned anything by the name of Raven’s Gate. There was one book that seemed more promising and Matt carried it over to a table. It was called
Rambles Around Greater Malling
and had been written – some time ago to judge from the old-fashioned cover and yellowing pages – by a woman named Elizabeth Ashwood. He opened the book and ran his eye down the contents page. He had found it. Chapter Six was entitled
Raven’s Gate
.
Matt turned the pages and found Chapter Seven. He went back and found Chapter Five. But Chapter Six wasn’t there. A jagged edge and a gap in the binding told their own story. Someone had torn out the whole chapter. Was it just a random act of vandalism or had it been done deliberately? Matt thought he knew.
But the library offered more than books.
Matt went over to the man at the enquiry desk. “I need to use the Internet,” he said.
“What for?” the librarian asked.
“It’s a school project. We’ve been told to find out something about Raven’s Gate.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Nor have I. That’s why I want to go on the Internet.”
The man pointed and Matt went over to the nearest computer. There was a girl clicking away with the mouse at the next desk but she ignored him. He called up a search engine, then typed in:
RAVEN’S GATE
He remembered the words scrawled on the farmer’s wall in green paint. Once again he saw the dead man, his body torn apart, his eyes wide and empty.
He pressed ENTER.
There was a brief pause and then the screen came up with a list of results. Matt saw that his search had listed over twelve thousand possible sites relating to ravens and to gates, but none of them were even slightly relevant. There was an American football team, the Baltimore Ravens, whose players had walked out of the gate. There was a Golden Gate park, also in America, where birdwatchers had spotted a variety of ravens. Apparently ravens were also nesting in the Kaleyard Gate in Chester. But there was no Raven’s Gate… Not on the first page, not on the second, not even on the third. Matt realized he would have to scroll through all twelve thousand entries. It would take him hours. There had to be another way.
He was about to give up when a pop-up window suddenly appeared on the computer screen. Matt looked at the three words, floating in the white square:
>Who are you?
There was no way of knowing who they had come from.
He didn’t quite know how to answer, so he typed back:
>Who r u?
There was a pause. Then:
>Sanjay Dravid
Matt waited a moment to see what would happen next.
>You have made an enquiry about Raven’s Gate. What is your field of research?
Field of research? Matt didn’t know how to reply. He leant forward and typed again:
>I want to know what it is.
>Who are you?
>My name is Matt.
>Matt who?
>Can you help me?
There was a long pause and Matt began to
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