Once on the street, he turned left and headed for the station. The air was full of grit. He felt strangely exposed after the bright, enclosed world of the mall, but the eyes of the people he pa.s.sed simply slid over him. His skirt swished around his ankles: a very peculiar sensation. He could taste lipstick.

When he reached the station, he bought a ticket from a machine. Every platform was crowded with people, but the train that he caught wasn't very full. Though he moved from carriage to carriage, no one seemed to be d.o.g.g.i.ng his footsteps. After about forty minutes, when he finally reached his stop, he sat by the door until the last possible moment.

Only as it was sliding shut did he suddenly fling himself out onto the platform, nearly knocking down an elderly lady.

He would have apologised, if he'd trusted his voice. But he couldn't. So he brushed past her rudely and bounded up the stairs to the street, two at a time. He saw Chinese families, slouching skateboard riders, a woman with a baby in a stroller a nothing suspicious. Weatherwood House was a half-hour walk away, down a very long road. He had checked his street directory before coming. He knew exactly what to do.

It was overcast, though dry. The walk seemed endless. On and on he went, tripping sometimes on the badly maintained pavement, barely noticing the apartment blocks and brick-veneer houses that lined the road on each side. At one stage he thought he'd reached Weatherwood House, only to discover that he was looking at a nursing home. And Weatherwood House, when he finally got there, wasn't at all what he had expected. Somehow he hadn't pictured so many entrances and exits a so many signs saying 'Visitor Parking', 'Ambulance Only' and 'Kyle Manly Wing'. There were trees, and a big white house, but the photograph on the website hadn't encompa.s.sed all the gla.s.s breezeways, car parks, ramps, patios and ugly additions.

He didn't dare hesitate, however. He had to look purposeful. Briskly, he crossed the front lawn and headed for the nearest entrance, which was the door to an enclosed verandah. The verandah contained all kinds of odd chairs, a wicker side-table stacked with boxes of jigsaw puzzles, and an electric urn a but no people. From one end of this airy but slightly depressing s.p.a.ce, a pair of double doors opened onto a wide hallway. Here everything looked far less run down. There was carpet on the floor and a plant in a pot. Bright pictures hung on the wall, interspersed with several noticeboards. A faint smell of cooking lingered in the air.

'Can I help you?' a female voice inquired.

Cadel whirled around. He saw a compact, grey-haired woman in slacks and a short-sleeved blouse, carrying a pile of folded sheets. She was emerging from what appeared to be a storeroom or linen cupboard.

Her manner was anything but friendly.

'Uh...' Cadel was so nervous that his voice was a startled squeak. 'Kay-Lee McDougall?'

'You want Kay-Lee?'

Cadel nodded, relieved that the woman didn't seem to find the pitch and tone of his request at all suspicious.

'Kay-Lee hasn't finished her shift,' she said. 'Are you sure you want to wait?'

Cadel nodded again.

'Well . . . perhaps you'd better come through here.'

The woman led Cadel down the hallway, past lots of wide-open doors. Cadel saw an office, a bathroom, a floor strewn with toys. He had to dodge a wheelchair, which was being pushed by a young man in a pink t-shirt; the child in the wheelchair rolled his eyes at Cadel, his head juddering.

'In there,' said the woman, and stopped. The hallway had widened into a large area that was in fact the vestibule of the old house. A polished staircase swept up to the second floor; it had some kind of stair-lift attached to it. There was also an elevator, Cadel saw, and a row of upholstered seats placed near the ma.s.sive front door.

'Just sit down and I'll tell her you've arrived,' his companion instructed. 'Who are you, anyway?'

She couldn't have been more blunt. Cadel was reluctant to advertise his presence, just in case the danger that Kay-Lee had warned him against lurked inside Weatherwood House. So he picked a fake name.

'Fe,' he shrilled.

'Fee?'

Cadel nodded. Fe, of course, was the symbol for iron a Eiran. He hoped that Kay-Lee would understand.

'As in Fiona?' the woman pressed.

'Just Fe,' he said firmly, hoping that his voice wasn't going to give him away. Perhaps if he pretended to have a cold? He coughed into his hand, wishing that he'd brought a handkerchief. Alias would have brought a handkerchief.

'Right,' the woman sighed. She was clearly losing patience. 'Just wait here, then.'

And she left. Cadel was relieved. He sat down and picked up a brochure from the table next to him. It looked more interesting than all the dog-eared Women's Weeklys and torn picture books underneath it because it was scattered with photographs of computer keyboards. Cadel soon realised, however, that these keyboards were of a kind utterly strange to him. There were keyboards with extra-large keys, with multi-coloured keys, with a feature ensuring that each key would only type one letter no matter how long you held it down. There were removable key guards, for people with a tendency to hit more than one key at a time. There were programmable membrane keyboards, with their own types of key guards.

Cadel was fascinated. He knew that keyboard shortcuts a or mouse keys a were usually employed by disabled people who couldn't use a normal mouse, but he hadn't been aware that special keyboards were being made. And special mice, too, by the look of things. He pored over descriptions of mice with extra-large roller b.a.l.l.s, with joystick configurations, with drag locks, with different cursor speeds, with removable guards...

'Ahem,' someone said.

Cadel jumped, and glanced up.

He was face to face with Kay-Lee McDougall.

She looked exactly the same as her picture. There were no visible scars. Her sandy-coloured hair was pulled back in a ponytail; she wore black mascara, a touch of lip gloss, and a plain white polo shirt over a knee-length skirt. Her arms were lightly dusted with freckles.

She looked tired.

'I'm Kay-Lee,' she said. 'Do I know you?'

Cadel stared. He was suddenly frightened a frightened and confused. It was as if he didn't know this woman. As if she was a stranger. She seemed so old.

What am I doing here? he wondered. This is insane.

'I a I a '

'What?'

'I've got a message,' he said hoa.r.s.ely. 'From a friend.'

He didn't want to spell everything out. Not in this public place. But Kay-Lee was disappointingly slow on the uptake.

'What friend?' she asked, sounding impatient. After glancing around quickly, Cadel fluttered his fingers, like someone using a keyboard.

Kay-Lee's head suddenly jerked back, as if she'd been slapped. Shock registered on her face.

'Christ,' she said. 'You mean a you don't mean a Tom Carter?'

Cadel frowned. Who was Tom Carter? 'No,' he said. 'Eiran Dempster.'

'Yeah, right.' Kay-Lee had recovered, somewhat. Her drawl was flat and nasal a almost sarcastic in tone. She folded her arms. 'Alias Tom Carter.'

'I don't know any Tom Carter,' Cadel said impatiently. He wasn't bothering to disguise his voice, and Kay-Lee narrowed her eyes. She peered at him. Then she suddenly caught her breath, and coughed.

'Christ,' she exclaimed. 'Christ, you're a you're not a '

'I'm a boy,' Cadel said. 'Don't talk so loud.'

'You're him, aren't you? You're Tom Carter!'

'Look, will you stop?' Cadel grew more and more angry as it dawned on him that he didn't know this woman. He didn't feel any connection with her at all. 'I told you, Tom Carter doesn't mean anything to me! My name is Cadel!'

'I don't believe it.' Kay-Lee was shaking her head in amazement. 'This is unbelievable. You really are thirteen.' This time it was Cadel's turn to be shocked. He changed colour. He nearly choked.

'Who told you I was thirteen?' he demanded.

'The coppers.'

'The what?'

'They came here,' Kay-Lee revealed. 'On Thursday. Barged right in, told me they had some information. About Partner Post.' She spoke sharply. 'Said it was all a big scam, run by some thirteen-year-old kid named Tom Carter. Said he made up all the partners a wrote the stuff himself. Showed us printouts.' She paused, and waited. But Cadel was struck dumb. 'Pretty smart thing to do,' she continued. 'Pretty low as well, I reckon.'

Cadel put his hands to his head. 'But a but this isn't right,' he stammered. 'I'm not Tom Carter. I'm Cadel Piggott.'

'So you really did it? Shame on you.'

'But they couldn't have found out! They couldn't have!' Cadel had been so cautious. And who was this Tom Carter person? 'I was so careful! This doesn't make sense!'

'You're telling me,' said his companion, watching him. There wasn't a spark of affection in her eyes. 'Why did you do it? What for? How could a kid your age be so b.l.o.o.d.y cruel?'

Cadel flinched. The last word was like a whiplash. Frightened and disoriented, he gazed up at Kay-Lee in supplication. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled. 'I'm so sorry.'

Kay-Lee stared at him for a moment, before looking away. When she spoke again, some of the steely quality had left her voice.

'Don't apologise to me,' she said gruffly. 'You didn't break my heart. It's someone else you should apologise to.' Cadel didn't understand. 'Someone else?' he echoed, and Kay-Lee took a deep breath.

'I might as well tell you,' she said. 'You haven't been talking to me. I'm just a front. All this time, you've been talking to someone who was using my name. And my face.'

Cadel blinked. He was already so overwhelmed, this new information didn't even affect his heart-rate.

'I a I have?' he said, in dazed accents.

'That's why she couldn't stay mad at you. She was mad at first, obviously. But then she reckoned, well, she hadn't exactly been honest with you, either. So she wanted to warn you. That you were under investigation.' Kay-Lee c.o.c.ked her head, arms still folded. 'Personally,' she drawled, 'I still don't think you deserve it. In my opinion, you're a parasite.'

Cadel accepted this insult without comment. He was beginning to piece things together.

'You mean a this was all done for my sake? Jorge, and the hidden message? It was to warn me?'

'That's right.'

'Because the police are after me?'

'At long last.'

'But how can they be after me, when they're talking about Tom Carter? I'm not Tom Carter. I've never even used that name.'

'I don't know and I don't care,' Kay-Lee snapped. 'All I'm worried about is Sonja.'

'Sonja?'

'Sonja's the one you've been tricking all this time. That's why she deserves an apology. In person.' Kay-Lee grabbed Cadel's arm and yanked him to his feet. 'Come on,' she ordered. 'I'm taking you to visit Sonja.'

Cadel didn't protest. He allowed himself to be hustled through another pair of double doors and down another corridor. He hardly noticed where they were going. He was too appalled by this new state of affairs. The police! How had the police ever tracked him down? Why had they? Why bother with a silly little scam like Partner Post when there were international drug cartels to worry about? Was it something to do with his father? Were they trying to get at Dr Darkkon through Cadel?

But no, that couldn't be right. The police had been talking about someone called Tom Carter. Could they have made a mistake and traced Cadel's messages back to a hapless nerd of that name? Or were they concealing Cadel's actual ident.i.ty from Kay-Lee, for reasons that Cadel simply couldn't fathom?

It was all so strange. So very, very strange.

'Here,' said Kay-Lee, and abruptly stopped. They were standing outside a closed door. Kay-Lee knocked at the door, and raised her voice.

'It's Kay-Lee, Sonja! Can I come in?'

There was a long pause. Then a strangled noise, which Cadel couldn't decipher. 'Okay,' said Kay-Lee, and pushed the door open. She dragged Cadel into a large, sunlit room. A mobile of numeric symbols dangled from the ceiling, each symbol made of blown gla.s.s. As it moved in the draught caused by Kay-Lee's entrance, coloured shards of light danced around the walls, which were covered in pages of printout, a photo of Stephen Hawking, a poster of a geometric eye-puzzle, a hologram of Albert Einstein, a giant number '2' executed in red paint, and a picture of the Count from 'Sesame Street', torn out of a colouring book. Beneath this dazzling array of images stood a bed, equipped with various poles and mounting arms. It was draped in a beautiful patchwork quilt, and Cadel suddenly remembered talking to Kay-Lee a Sonja, that is a about the geometric perfection of patchwork quilts. They had traded various formulae for the 'log cabin', 'monkey wrench' and 'courthouse steps' designs.

There was also a desk near the window, fitted with various adjustable shelves. A computer monitor was perched on one. The only thing Cadel could see which remotely resembled a keyboard was more like a small laptop, propped up on a mounting arm, which in turn was attached to a wheelchair.

In the wheelchair was a girl. She had dark hair, caught up in a barrette. She wore baggy jeans (from which her feet stuck out at a slightly uncomfortable angle) and a crumpled green blouse. The muscles in her neck were taut, as if she was straining to see something. Her arms were very thin, and her fingers almost claw-like. She had enormous, haunting brown eyes in a narrow face.

Her head jerked uncontrollably, and her mouth was open. Cadel could see her tongue writhing behind large, crooked teeth.

The wheelchair moved slightly, with an electronic buzz. He couldn't tell why.

'This is Sonja,' Kay-Lee declared. 'Sonja has cerebral palsy. Sonja, this a believe it or not a is Eiran Dempster.

'He's come to pay you a visit.'

THIRTY-ONE.

Cadel was speechless. He simply gaped, like a fish.

Sonja also said nothing, though the muscles in her face worked convulsively.

It was Kay-Lee who finally broke the silence.

'Like they said, he's just a kid,' she went on, closing the door behind her. 'And he's not Tom Carter at all. He's Cadel Somethingor-other.'

'P-Piggott,' Cadel supplied unsteadily. 'Cadel Piggott.' He couldn't believe his eyes. This, then, was the real Kay-Lee, the mysterious 'Sonja'. A disabled girl in a wheelchair, whose fingers were twisted into painful shapes, and whose head twitched as she craned to look at him.

'He must have taken you seriously,' Kay-Lee remarked, addressing herself entirely to Sonja. 'This get-up is meant to be a disguise, I reckon. And let's just hope it's worked, or we're going to be in big trouble with the coppers, Son. They still think you're me, remember. I'm going to cop the flak here if anything goes wrong.'

But Sonja was moving her arm. It lurched across to the device in front of her a a device that had 'Dynavox' printed across its base a and began to skitter along the screen. For a moment one rigid finger remained at rest in a particular spot; then it jerked onwards. Eventually, the machine began to speak for her.

'X-is-the-sum-of-unknown-quant.i.ties-y-over-one-x-minus-u-to-thepower-of-twenty-six,' it said, in a toneless girl's voice a and Cadel knew, then. He knew that he really was talking to Eiran Demp ster's perfect partner. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled. 'I'm so sorry.' 'You owe her,' Kay-Lee pointed out. 'Must be a what? Over a hundred dollars?' 'I'll pay you back,' said Cadel, even as Sonja threw her head from side to side, making strained noises. 'Nyaa,' she protested, and jabbed at her Dynavox. 'No,' it said. 'I will, though. I a I...' Cadel didn't know what to say. Not with Kay-Lee there, listening. It was all so terrible. Sonja couldn't even talk. She couldn't even talk. Her mouth didn't move well enough a her face kept stiffening and bunching up. Her hands didn't always do what they were meant to do. She was fighting against herself all the time.

Cadel's eyes suddenly filled with tears.