52 original exam-style questions - 15 pages of questions with a full mark scheme - free printable PDF.
Original fiction written for Revision Library; no external source reproduced.
Priya Chakrabarti tugged her cousin Kwame Mensah through the gap in the yew hedge, ignoring the small brass sign that read PRIVATE: GARDENERS ONLY. Their aunt ran the tea room at Foxglove Hall, a crumbling manor near Faversham that opened its gardens to the public only on Sundays, and today, a damp Tuesday in the October half-term, the walled garden belonged entirely to them.
"We shouldn't really be in here," Kwame said, though he was already crouching beside an overgrown flowerbed, examining a stone sundial half-buried in ivy. Rust had crept across its bronze plate, but a line of tiny engraved letters still ran around its edge: WHEN THE SHADOW TOUCHES NOON, LOOK BENEATH THE ROOT.
Priya knelt beside him and cleared away a tangle of ivy with careful fingers. "Noon," she murmured, checking her watch. "It's twenty to twelve. We could actually test this."
They waited, crouched in the drizzle, watching the sundial's thin metal shadow creep slowly across the numbers. At exactly twelve o'clock, the shadow lay directly along the line marked XII, pointing towards a gnarled old apple tree a few paces away.
Kwame reached the tree first and dropped to his knees among its thick, twisted roots. Between two of them, almost hidden by moss, sat a small tin box, its lid rusted shut. He worked it loose with a stick, and inside, wrapped in a scrap of oilcloth, lay a folded letter and a single brass key.
"Whoever left this obviously wanted it kept safe," Priya said, unfolding the brittle paper with enormous care. The handwriting was faded but readable: To the gardener who solves this riddle: the key opens the old potting shed door, where you will find something that once belonged to Foxglove Hall's very first gardener. Look after it well.
Kwame's eyes widened. "The potting shed's locked. Nobody's been able to get in for years, Aunt Yemisi said."
They hurried across the garden, rain now falling properly, and Priya's hands trembled slightly as she fitted the old key into the stiff lock. It turned with a reluctant click, and the door creaked open onto a room thick with dust and the smell of old timber. Leaning against the far wall stood a wooden wheelbarrow, its sides carved with delicate flowers, clearly decades older than anything else in the garden.
"We have to tell Aunt Yemisi," Priya said firmly, though part of her wished they could keep the discovery to themselves for just a little longer.
Kwame nodded, already imagining how impressed their aunt would be, and pulled the shed door carefully shut behind them, the brass key still warm in his hand.