… ‘More to the point,’ said Tusia, ‘what’s it doing here?’ She broke free of the group and led the way through the rain towards the lower left of the graveyard and the pyramid which appeared to be bursting from the ground. The dark-grey stone structure dwarfed the gravestones jutting like teeth from the damp grass around it.
‘What in the name of Creme Egg filling is that?’ mumbled Hunter. ‘I mean, forget Mad Jack Fuller’s grave. This has got to be the maddest thing I’ve seen.’
Tusia called back to him over her shoulder. ‘We shouldn’t forget Mad Jack Fuller’s grave,’ she said.
‘Are you sure, Toots, cos it’s going to have to go a long way to beat this?’
Tusia scowled. ‘It is this.’
‘You what?’
‘I said, it is this,’ Tusia said again, slowly, as if speaking in a foreign language.
‘It’s what?’
Tusia folded her arms across her chest. ‘This is the grave of Mad Jack Fuller.

… It was about a quarter of a mile south-east of Brightling Park and Hunter calculated it was about ten metres high. Brodie was so excited. She couldn’t help but imagine the Lady of Shalott locked in a tower just like it and forced to look down as the world passed her by. ‘Why did Fuller build it?’ she asked as they cut their way through the trees. ‘Surely not to keep people prisoner?’
Hunter looked down at the map and the notes printed on the reverse. ‘No one’s really sure. There’s a theory that the tower was put up so Mad Jack could keep an eye on workmen who were building other things. But the dates don’t really fit.’
Brodie looked up through the shadow cast by the thick stone walls. ‘Can we get inside?’ she asked, striding towards a gated doorway. A push against the metal bars and the swing of the gate gave the answer.
Inside, the tower stretched up towards the sky and an iron staircase curled around the internal wall. A metal walkway stretched across the tower, breaking the view of the sky above into tiny squares. Hunter read more from the notes. ‘There were wooden floors,’ he said, ‘but according to this, some local boys set fire to them.’
‘Shall we climb up?’ said Tusia, making for the metal stairwell.
‘Oh no,’ groaned Sicknote, who’d only just made his way into the tower. ‘I cannot be party to any more climbing.’
Tusia was undeterred. She clambered on to the metal stairwell and pushed her way up to the opening in the roof. ‘The view’s amazing,’ she called down. ‘Come and see.’
Brodie gripped tightly to the handrail and climbed behind her friend. ‘Will it take my weight?’ she called nervously.
‘Not after that extra hot cross bun,’ yelled up Hunter.
Brodie’s hand tightened on the rail. The view from the top was beautiful. The village of Brightling stretching out in front of them framed like a picture, or a reflection in a mirror.

… ‘The second one in the quartet,’ panted Tusia as they circled around its base. ‘It’s sort of a tower.’
Brodie wasn’t sure. ‘Why was this here?’ she asked, her voice catching in her throat.
Hunter peered through the fading light at the notes on the map. ‘No idea. Just something he built.’
‘And something he didn’t bother to put any writing or inscriptions on,’ moaned Sheldon from his position on his knees at the base of the needle.
‘It’s just an obelisk,’ said Sicknote, joining Sheldon as he scrabbled at the base searching for any signs or plaques.
Sheldon looked at him quizzically.
‘Just a tall thing stuck in a field.’ Brodie ran her fingers through her hair. ‘But it makes no sense. Why would he build it? Where’s the message? What does it mean?’

… asked Sheldon as the van bumped along the narrow lane, Kitty’s motorbike following in its wake.
‘He wasn’t sane,’ cut in Hunter.
‘But why a temple?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Hunter, searching the map again for clues. ‘But the message has got to be there! The next building on the list.’
They pulled the van over to the side of the road and peered across the valley. ‘There. D’you see?’ Tusia was pointing out of the window through the beam of the headlights. ‘It looks like a Greek temple. The sort of thing the Dilettanti Society would have loved. Come on!’

… Brodie tried to talk as she ran, her voice leaking out in spluttered gulps. ‘It’s a pointed building that looks like a Victorian cone of sugar,’ she said. ‘At least we know why Fuller built this one.’
‘We do?’ came Kitty’s voice from behind her.
Brodie swallowed and tried to read from the map with a torch as she hurried onwards. ‘It says Fuller once made a bet he could see the spire of St Giles church in Dallington from his home in Brightling Park. When he got home and found he couldn’t, he had builders work overnight to put up this thing that looks like a church spire so he’d win the bet. Look, see. There’s a picture of St Giles’ church spire. And here,’ she said, pushing her way through the overhanging branches, ‘is Mad Jack Fuller’s Sugar Loaf.’

… ‘It’s not one of the four follies. Not something he built just for fun.’ She paused, and took the crumpled map they’d used and turned it over. ‘See. Somewhere very serious. Fuller built it for study. Because he wanted to find out all he could about how the universe worked. We’ve still got two hours. Jack Fuller’s observatory’s the only place left to try.’