The Cadwaladr Quests

by S L Ager

  Not fooled for a second, she clamped his wrist harder and took the fine, slender object from his hand. Holding it between two impeccably manicured fingernails, she sighed.

  ‘At last you are home,’ she cooed at the inanimate373 object she held, abruptly letting go of Evans’s wrist.

  As she admired the Cutter, an egotistical374 rush of success oozed through her veins, invigorating her entire devious375 being. She spun on her beige high heels, flicked her blonde hair over the shoulder of her tailored cream suit and marched swiftly away, back into the light. An exquisite aroma of custom376-blended fragrance following her.

  As she stepped over the threshold back into the cavernous377 Via-Corp headquarters, displaying no contrition378, Jayne Lewis wasted not one single thought on the subordinate379, puny380 man she left on the floor.

  ‘Bring the prissy381 fool in after I have gone,’ she instructed tersely382 to the black-clad men guarding her. ‘Be lenient; he may prove superfluous383, but we might need the snivelling traitor again,’ she said in a humiliating tone. ‘Ensure he recuperates384 and remains onside,’ she finished. Then she was gone.

  Evans didn’t hear the disparaging385 scorn and belligerence in her voice as he sobbed into his grubby waistcoat, just thankful to be alive now he had delivered the goods. He prayed she wouldn’t leave him here, condemned to rot alone.

  As he mewled386 like an abandoned kitten, he didn’t see the two oval387-shaped eyes observing the happenings patiently from an obscured alcove388. Deftly hidden, they peered from amidst389 the cables that carried unprecedented390 quantities of data391 into the building.

  As two uniformed men gathered up Evans’s forlorn392 body from the soil, the eyes’ astute393 gaze missed nothing. Bolstering394 the slight man up under both arms, the muscled guards escorted395 the whimpering396 Evans into Via-Corp’s basement.

  Watching the opening disappear in the same stupendous397 way in which it had appeared, the piercing398 oval eyes blinked, their pupils expanding like pools of spilled ink as they acclimatised399 to their murkier surroundings. They stared inquisitively400, trained onto the vast steel wall. Informed and certain the transaction401 was finalised, the green eyes conscientiously swept the immediate area once more. Satisfied at what it saw, and with a swish of its tail, the soot-black cat slinked away into the darkness, manoeuvring attentively402 through the tunnels, heading for home.

  SATURDAY

  18. A Silent Witness

  What Claire saw rocked her very core. Sickened, she watched from the shadows, paralysed by a piercing stab of anguish as her eyes tracked the scene with disbelief. Should she stay? Should she run? She was a lone witness to this unfolding crime; no one could help her.

  She knew she should intervene1 – scream, fight, stop her somehow – but this time, she knew she could not. Having to endure this despicable2 act, this loathsome betrayal, was unavoidable3 because, undoubtedly4, Claire had neither the skill nor the might to conquer5 this perpetrator6.

  How could this be happening? How had she misjudged her so badly? How could someone she had trusted so implicitly7, so explicitly8, deceive her so convincingly? Gwilym and Gladys had been wrong about her so-called Instinct. She didn’t have any. If she did, surely she would have seen or at least suspected this duplicity9. Either way, the deceit unravelling before her eyes broke her heart.

  Just yesterday, when she had achieved such incredible heights, she had felt invincible. Now as she froze into submission10, her limbs numb with delayed shock, everything she believed, all her hopes, dreams and aspirations11, dwindled into nothing as desolation12 seeped through her body.

  Although the woman’s long blonde hair lay slicked13 back and knotted into an austere chignon14, Claire would recognise her anywhere: the outline of her willowy15 figure; the unmistakable shape of her long, lean limbs; the elegance of her stance as she stalked16 like a hungry cat; her body cloaked17 in a black all-in-one that hugged her enviable18 figure as snugly as a surgeon’s glove. Even in flat ballet shoes, Jayne Lewis stood almost six feet tall.

  Rooted to the spot, Claire watched, obscured by the same towering bookshelves she had hidden behind only yesterday. Jayne, her dad’s wonderfully kind girlfriend, who Claire had adored, who she had admired even more than her own mother, was standing over the glass case that held the Gwalch Gem bracelet. The bracelet of which Claire was supposedly a ‘Keeper’ and which, in the wrong hands, could cause devastation. As Claire observed, lost in shock, Jayne’s bewildering perfection now seemed obscene19. Claire realised that hitherto every meeting, every conversation, every action had concealed a depraved20 lie. Jayne Lewis was a Mal-Instinctive.

  The familiar museum, the bracelet’s safe place, was deserted. There was no sign of Mr or Mrs Evans, who were supposed to guard the hallowed21 bracelet. Where were Gwilym and Owain? Claire willed them to appear, to land in the helicopter she had waved them off in just hours before from Gladys Jones’s front door.

  With a futile wish, she glanced at the basement door. In earnest she hoped Jack might appear to save the day, his teeth bared and hackles up, ready to outdo this immoral charlatan22.

  But as case 111 cracked and shattered before her eyes, its millions of sparkling crystals tinkling and scattering onto the floor amid plumes of noxious smoke and the incongruous smell of lilies, no one came. No knight in shining armour materialised, no rufty-tufty Jack Russell or smiling octogenarian appeared. A huge wave of disappointment, almost grief23, washed over Claire, and any semblance24 of hope was swept clean away.

  Jayne was in the process of stealing the Gwalch Gem bracelet from the glass case. This meant only one thing: she must have both halves of the Cutter, the only tool capable of fracturing the magical glass.

  Claire’s mind raced. How had this traitorous imposter25 managed to do this? Claire knew the Master had escaped with one half of the Cutter, and Gladys had said the knight Evans had taken the other half away to safety. Claire had never trusted Robert Evans.

  Her heart was beating in her throat as she saw several things simultaneously: her once-beloved Jayne plucking the Gwalch Gem bracelet from the case and slipping it ceremoniously26 onto her wrist as a crumpled Marjorie Evans appeared from the shadows behind, handing something to Jayne. Claire squinted to make out the object and realised the bird-like Mrs Evans was handing her school bag to Jayne. Claire had left it at the museum earlier. Then, without a word, Jayne took the bag and pirouetted in her ballet shoes, leaving the building, making no more noise than a shadow.

  Claire felt like she’d swallowed a bag of snakes. Stricken by the injustice27 of Jayne’s deceit, she knew if she tried to move, she would sob out loud and give herself away.

  Powerless, Claire lay on her side as hot, silent tears sploshed down her face, trickling off the end of her nose onto the floor. A blanket of despair smothered her. Unable to collect herself, she pulled up her hood and snuggled hopelessly into the fur trim that surrounded her wet face.

  Transient28 shadows scattered hither and thither29, ducking back and forth, hiding amidst a thick murk of fog. Unsure of how long she had lain there, minutes or hours, Claire blinked furiously, urging her eyes to focus. A shard of stark, bright light shone in a horizontal strip to her right whilst a soft orange haze glowed down to her left. Then she remembered. The horror of Jayne’s vile betrayal surfaced like a waking monster. She had lain so still, in such comatose desolation, she must have dozed off.

  Sitting up slowly as her eyes adjusted to the light, she was struck by something oddly familiar. The outlines and silhouettes30 in the room now comprised shapes she recognised well. Instinctively fumbling to her right, she found the switch and turned on the lamp. She lay in bed, her own bed, in her room, at home.

  Reeling, she snatched at her duvet31 and threw it off. She was wearing her pyjamas; they had stuck to her skin, soaked and cooling rapidly to a chilly sog. She shivered. She’d experienced this feeling before but never so strong as now. Waking from a dream so vivid, so palpably real, for several confused secon
ds, she had almost believed it was happening. The immense relief hit her so hard she laughed out loud.

  ‘I knew it!’ she said. ‘I knew it! Jayne would never do that to me,’ she laughed.

  When her heart had slowed and some semblance of calm had worked its way through her, she hopped out of bed and quickly changed her pyjamas. On her chest of drawers, Wallace’s head lay next to Gromit, but now the clock was ticking again. She picked it up and put it to her ear, listening to the rhythmic tick-tock. The clock said 3.30 a.m.

  Having no idea whether it showed the right time, she crawled back into bed. As she was wide awake now, she leant across and grabbed her book from her bedside table and read a few pages. But the words refused to register32, and after repeatedly reading the same sentence over and over, she gave up and returned to where she had started, re-creasing the triangle at the top corner of the page.

  Putting down her book, leaving her lamp on, she closed her eyes, but her mind tormented her, insisting on revisiting the nightmare she had just woken from. It had been so graphic33, so detailed, the feelings it evoked so realistic that she had fought to discern between the imaginary and the real. Tossing and turning, counting sheep and forcing pleasant thoughts, she fended off34 intruding images until finally, as dawn broke, she drifted off into a fitful35 and restless sleep.

  19. The Flying Sponge

  Claire woke weighed down with a portentous1 sense of doom. Although she realised it was probably the lingering effects of the worst nightmare she had ever had, she struggled to quell the bubbling niggle of apprehension in the pit of her stomach.

  Wallace and Gromit reckoned it was 7.30 a.m., but what did they know? They had let her oversleep yesterday morning. Was that due to the broken clock or, as Gladys had said, the Knights Hawk having tangled time for her? In the cold light of a Saturday morning, after barely any sleep, yesterday’s extraordinary happenings seemed utterly preposterous.

  What does tangling time mean, anyway? Claire asked herself.

  Maybe that was all a dream too, she thought as she headed downstairs to face her family.

  ‘Hey, Choccy Eclair, how’s Chorlton’s resident heroine feeling this morning, then?’ joked Pete. He lay sprawled lethargically2 in his usual place on the sofa, controller in hand. ‘You, my sis, are the talk of the town,’ he continued to tease.

  Claire ignored him and headed for the kitchen. She was surprised to find that Dee wasn’t parked in The Throne, getting ready for work. Saturday was a hairdresser’s busiest day.

  ‘Where’s Mum?’ she asked Pete as he crashed through the kitchen door in search of food.

  ‘She’s in bed; she’s taking the day off to keep an eye on daft Becs,’ he answered.

  ‘Oh,’ said Claire, thinking about how appalling and vulnerable her sister had looked last night.

  ‘I don’t reckon Mum slept much last night; she had Becs in with her,’ Pete continued.

  ‘Right,’ said Claire.

  ‘Come on, spit it out,’ Pete said. ‘What really went on yesterday with you and Drane at that museum? I know you’re not telling all,’ Pete asked, squinting at her.

  ‘I am; I have,’ she answered in too shrill3 a voice. ‘Honestly, I just got lucky. I saw red and shoved Drane as hard as I could. He must have hit his head when he landed or something, and he let go of Becs. Honestly, Pete, it’s nothing more than that; how could it be? I’m hardly tiny though, am I? Let’s face it, I bowled4 him over with a fair bit of heft5 and a lot of luck,’ she finished, avoiding all eye contact with her brother.

  Claire hurried her breakfast; Ben would be calling for her at nine-ish. She quickly finished her cereal and rinsed out her bowl and spoon.

  ‘One day, I’m buying Mum a dishwasher,’ she said to Pete.

  ‘No room,’ drawled Pete, his mouth full. ‘And anyway, no need, Eclair; we’ve got you,’ he added, ducking the wet sponge she threw at him. It narrowly missed Pete but hit Dee, who had just walked through the kitchen door.

  ‘Oh, Mum, I’m so sorry,’ Claire gasped, her hand over her mouth. The square yellow sponge, like a Post-it note, had stuck to the front of Dee’s fluffy dressing gown before plopping to the floor.

  A silence fell as Claire and Pete exchanged glances; Dee had not had her coffee yet – this did not bode6 well.

  Dee’s face was unreadable; then, uncharacteristically, she burst out laughing. Both her kids exhaled in relieved sighs.

  ‘Phew, you were lucky!’ Pete whispered out of the corner of his mouth as he squashed past Claire to leave.

  ‘Hey, where are you going, laddie?’ asked Dee, back to her normal self in a flash. ‘Bowl!’ she said, pointing to his detritus7 on the table. ‘Sink!’ she ordered. ‘And don’t expect Claire to clear up after you; she’s not Cinderella,’ added Dee, much to Claire’s amusement.

  ‘Nah, but she’s got an ugly sister,’ retorted Pete in Claire’s ear.

  Claire laughed out loud, hoping her mum hadn’t heard, especially given the state Rebecca had come home in last night.

  ‘How are you this morning, Claire, love?’ asked Dee.

  ‘I’m fine, Mum. Is Becs OK?’

  ‘She seems to be,’ replied Dee. ‘She slept well, but then she would do, wouldn’t she, drugged up to the eyeballs by that boy,’ she finished.

  ‘I’m so glad she’s OK, Mum, I really am. I need to rush now though, if you still don’t mind,’ replied Claire, swiftly closing down the oncoming8 debrief9.

  ‘Rush?’ asked Dee.

  ‘I’ve got Ben’s competition,’ answered Claire breezily10, but holding her breath again, silently praying her mum would still let her go.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ replied Dee. ‘But make sure the snobby11 Brady Bunch let me know EXACTLY what time you’ll be home, won’t you?’ sniped Dee, true to form.

  ‘Course, Mum,’ laughed Claire. ‘They’re hardly snobs12 though, Mum; they wouldn’t bother with me if they were snobbish, would they?’ she said as she left the kitchen and closed the door behind her, hoping her quip13 wasn’t a step too far.

  Halfway up the stairs, she shouted, ‘Oh, Mum, don’t forget I’m out with Dad and Jayne tomorrow too,’ and with that, she ran up the rest of them before Dee could answer.

  20. An Unexpected Change of Plan

  Claire waited for a few seconds, her ear to her bedroom door, fully expecting her mum to thunder up the stairs at the mention of Jayne. Relieved at the lack of impending footsteps, she threw on some clothes and headed to the bathroom to clean her teeth. Surprised, she bumped into a bleary-eyed Rebecca emerging from her mum’s bedroom.

  ‘Becs, you’re up early,’ said Claire, noticing her sister’s raw, puffy eyes. ‘How are you feeling? You OK?’

  Rebecca didn’t look OK, but she nodded, pulling her dressing gown cord tighter around her hunched1 body. ‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ she whispered.

  Claire knew how difficult Rebecca would find admitting her gullibility and vulnerability to her little sister.

  ‘Claire, I’m … I’m so grateful for what you did yesterday,’ Rebecca stuttered, her voice cracking, but Claire interrupted her.

  ‘It’s OK, Becs, really. There’s no need to say anything more; honestly, it’s cool,’ Claire finished. The look on her sister’s face was thanks enough.

  ‘Do you mind if I go in first? Ben’s picking me up soon and I need to hurry,’ Claire asked, nodding towards the bathroom.

  ‘No, course not. You go in,’ answered Rebecca, all fight in her gone. Normally, she’d have physically barged her little sister out of the way and locked the door behind her.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Claire, with not a single smug bone in her body.

  How the heck am I supposed to keep this from Ben? she thought, when her mother’s rapping on the door shocked her into dropping her toothbrush. It hit the sink, flicking white speckles2 across the front of her dark sweatshirt.

  ‘Claire, open this door now,’ Dee hissed in a low, insistent voice.

  ‘What is it? What’s wrong, Mum? Becca’s OK
, isn’t she?’ asked Claire, opening the door, worried her sister might have been taken ill.

  ‘Yes, yes, she’s fine. It’s me that’s not! Your dad has just knocked on the door unexpectedly, and I opened it to him dressed like this!’ Dee groaned, pointing to her dressing gown.

  ‘Mum, is that it? I thought something was really wrong. You’re fine. Pink fluffy suits you,’ she joked as she headed past Dee down the stairs.

  Vince stood in their lounge, talking gaming strategy3 with Pete.

  ‘Hiya, Dad. What is it?’ Claire asked, that earlier niggle returning with a vengeance4.

  ‘Hi, darling. How are you today?’ asked Vince, pecking5 her on the cheek before hugging her.

  ‘I’m fine, Dad,’ said Claire. ‘Why are you here today? Is everything OK?’

  ‘Yes, love, everything’s fine. Did you sleep OK last night?’ he asked.

  Claire knew full well her dad didn’t have good news.

  ‘Dad, what is it?’ she insisted.

  ‘I’m so sorry, love,’ he said, grimacing. ‘Jayne had a work emergency after she dropped you home yesterday evening; she’s been there all night.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Claire, clearly disappointed.

  ‘I hate to let you down, love, but we’re going to have to postpone6 our theatre visit tomorrow. Some sort of catastrophic7 security breach8 has attacked the Via-Corp headquarters’ systems, and I doubt she’ll be able to get away this weekend. It’s pretty serious stuff, I think,’ he finished.

  ‘Oh, that’s a real shame, Dad. Could we go next weekend instead?’ asked Claire hopefully.

  ‘Maybe. I hope so, love. I’m sure Jayne will rebook the tickets as soon as she can,’ he added.

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Dee, clattering down the stairs into the lounge. She had changed out of her dressing gown into jeans and a shirt. Claire didn’t miss the quick application9 of make-up; she suspected Dee would reunite10 with Vince in a heartbeat, given half a chance.