The Castle Read Online Free PDF Page B

paperweight on his desk.
    With the normal hotel sounds going on reassuringly around me, I finally managed to doze off. At lunchtime, with Grandad busy downstairs in the restaurant, I put my laptop on the bed and waited. After half an hour, I got a new Interface friend request from a boy called Omar Wahool. I accepted, and messaged Luke to tell him to come up. Soon after, Luke arrived and ‘Omar’ started a chat conversation with me.
    Are you hiding?
    Sort of.
    Where are you?
    Can’t say.
    There was a pause. Then:
    That is good!
    I could almost hear the delight in his voice again. He seemed to enjoy the game of lying low from these people, whoever they were. However, something bothered me.
    Who’s the other person I spoke to? I typed.
    The other person?
    I called you, and someone else answered. Also named Omar? He didn’t know who I was.
    Did you tell him?
    No.
    Good. He is – there was a long pause – my brother. He plays tricks. He is mean and stupid. You must not talk to him.
    OK. Who told you about my power? This was what I really needed to know.
    There was a long pause.
    Mr Allud. He is a prisoner , the boy wrote.
    A prisoner? What does he look like?
    Very dirty. And very hairy. This place is not good
    And then nothing. For a long time, Luke and I watched the screen and no further message came.
    â€˜Oh, great,’ Luke sighed. ‘Well, that was rubbish. All we know is there’s a prisoner somewhere, we don’t know where, called Mr Allud. Does that mean anything to you?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Oh yeah,’ Luke added snarkily, ‘and there are two boys who call themselves Omar. That’s helpful.’
    â€˜Actually, it is,’ I said, thinking hard. ‘Omar Wahool. We’ve got his Interface profile. That should tell us something.’
    â€˜Ah yes.’ Luke’s face lit up. ‘You’re right.’
    Luke went off to get his laptop so we could work together. Meanwhile, I rescued the canister of Toxic Waste from my bag. I took a thoughtful mouthful and started exploring Interface.
    Omar hadn’t used his profile for a while – two years in fact, judging from his timeline. He listed his interests as ‘Girls, parties, champagne, skiing, beach, adventure’. He went to school somewhere in Switzerland and many of his friends seemed to be princes, princesses and aristocrats from around the world. The photos were all of people making funny faces at parties, generally dressed in ball-type clothes or swimming costumes, and usually clutching champagne bottles. For his birthday, he’d been given a customised silver Ferrari.
    He couldn’t wait, he said, to learn to drive.
    â€˜How’re you doing?’ Luke asked a few minutes later, panting slightly from the stairs and hugging his laptop tightly under his arm. I should have offered to get it for him, but I was glad I hadn’t – he’d have hated that.
    â€˜It’s all a bit weird,’ I said. I showed Luke the profile. ‘The dad must be a millionaire. I mean, who gives their kid a Ferrari for their birthday?’
    Luke looked wistful. ‘Not mine.’
    â€˜I got a kitten. And it gets weirder. This profile hasn’t been used for ages. He’s got another one now, see?’
    I clicked to a new page. New Omar was nineteen, and going to college in America. He was driving a blue Lamborghini now. Presumably he’d got his licence.
    â€˜How about you do a bit more research on Interface, and I look him up on Google?’ Luke suggested.
    â€˜Fine.’
    We worked away in silence, punctuated by tapping keyboards and the happy crunching of Toxic Waste. After about fifteen minutes, I shouted ‘Aha!’ and Luke stopped typing.
    â€˜OK, come on, Miss Clever-Clogs. What have you found?’
    â€˜You go first.’
    â€˜Fine. So Omar’s dad is Emil Wahool. He was the Minister of Finance for a country called Marvalia, but he got booted