Dan and the Shard of Ice

by Thomas Taylor

  ‘This is what Mrs Binns wanted me to see.’ I jump to my feet. ‘Even Venn Specter has heard of the poltergeist. He’ll be taking some of his audience along with him, Si – that’s how we’ll get into the Shard.’

  ‘But… but…’ Si starts flapping, obviously torn between not wanting to admit that I might have been right about Mrs Binns after all, and wanting to see a real live TV show being made.

  ‘Keep your “but” to yourself,’ I say, as I pull my leather trenchcoat back on. ‘Si, we need to get down there. We need to get down there now!’

  3

  VENN SPECTER INVESTIGATES

  ‘You The again?’ security guard at the revolving doors of the Shard looks down and screws his brow at me. I look back at him through my trademark purple specs. Most of the rest of my face is hidden behind an enormous woolly scarf – it’s blinkin’ freezing, after all – so I’m surprised he recognises me.

  ‘I told you last time,’ the guard rumbles, ‘the building has been closed for…’

  ‘For routine maintenance, yeah.’ I finish the sentence for him. Then I lean in and raise my eyebrow. ‘But I think we both know that isn’t true.’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me, kid.’

  I sink into shadow as the guard looms over me.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ I say, holding my hands up. ‘I doubt anyone would ever get smart with you.’

  And then I slide back into the crowd before he can work out whether or not to be offended. There’s no point trying to get in that way, anyway – I’ve already tried. Besides, I’m here for Venn Specter and his TV spectacle.

  The columned space in front of the main entrance to the Shard is packed with gawpers, cameraphone jockeys and fans of Venn. Everyone is muffled up to the nostrils against the cold, but the lights of a DazzleTV film crew throw some welcome warmth down onto us. I glance at Si, and see that he’s staring straight up, his mouth hanging open. I don’t blame him. Above us, the great glass tower of the Shard rises high into the winter sky, blazing with light.

  ‘Pretty cool, huh?’ I whisper.

  ‘’Tis folly to build so tall,’ says Si, shaking his head. ‘Folly! This is not a building, Daniel, but a monstrous great crystal monument to the pride of man.’

  I roll my purple eyes – I’m not in the mood for one of Si’s lectures – and push my way into the crowd.

  Beside a gaudy Christmas tree, a group of people in Charles Dickens get-up are singing Christmas carols, but no one’s interested in them, not while Venn Specter is communing with the spirit world on live TV. I push in further, trying to get near the front. And then I see him, bottle-green pullover and everything.

  ‘I feel a message coming through,’ Venn cries, waving his arms like they’re his psychic antennae or something. ‘Someone from the other side wants to get in touch. It’s a message from beyond the grave!’

  The audience holds its breath, everyone glancing at everyone else to see who will react. Venn darts about, holding his hands out toward people, tuning in. I’m at the front now, and for a moment he looks straight at me, but one glimpse of my raised eyebrow and purple specs is enough for him, it seems, and he passes on.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ says Si, floating right above me in a ghastly cloud of ectoplasm. If Venn Specter was even half the psychic he claims to be, he’d be all over Si like a rash. But it’s clear he can’t see my right-hand spook any more than anyone else can.

  ‘They call this “cold reading”,’ I mumble in my scarf to Si, hoping no-one notices me apparently talking to myself. ‘He’s searching for clues in the way people look and behave. Then, if he guesses something right, he can pretend a ghost told him.’

  Si scowls. ‘So he really is nothing but a cheap fraud?’

  ‘You bet. And since it’s those who’ve lost loved ones who are most attracted to Venn’s shows, he won’t have long to look.’

  Sure enough, Venn Specter’s hands come to rest pointing at a little girl.

  ‘Oh, poor sweet child!’ Venn says, hamming it up. ‘Your darling little heart has been broken. Has someone dear to you passed away?’

  The little girl – who wears a glitzy plastic tiara and a princess dress under her coat – can’t be much more than four years old. She wipes a green bogey from her nose and sniffs, her eyes as big as oceans. The crowd gives a collective gasp of concern. A woman, who must be the little girl’s mum, nudges her and says, ‘Go on, Stacey. Tell the nice man.’

  ‘Yes,’ blubs Venn, pursing his lips like he’s talking to a baby. ‘Tell me who you have lost, dear, sweet little girl.’

  ‘It’s my Pop,’ says the girl, sniffing again, and looking close to tears. ‘But he’s not lost. Pop’s dead.’

  Venn turns to the crowd.

  ‘The little girl has lost her pop! Her father has died!’

  The crowd gasps and sighs. Women clasp their gloved hands to their bosoms. A DazzleTV cameraman zooms in so close to the little girl’s face, that he’s in danger of getting snot on the lens.

  Venn, clearly seeing the chance to dial up the emotional tone a point or two, crouches down beside the girl, so that they can both be in camera shot.

  ‘Poor Stacey.’ He wipes a fake tear from his eye. ‘It must be so hard. Tell us about your pop.’

  ‘Well,’ says Stacey in a small voice. ‘He did good cuddles…’

  The crowd goes ‘Aaaaw!’

  ‘… and he was very hairy,’ Stacey adds, with a sniff.

  Venn blinks, and seems briefly at a loss to know what to say, but he recovers quickly.

  ‘Ah, he had a beard, did he, your pop?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Stacey, her bottom lip trembling. ‘Pop had a wuvely fuzzy chin.’

  Well, the crowd and the film crew can’t get enough of this, can they? I even hear the cameraman say something about ‘televisual gold!’ to one of his colleagues. Venn knows he has everyone’s attention now, and starts giving poor little Stacey a heartwarming message from her dead father.

  Now, ordinarily I’d be disgusted by this – Venn Specter should be thoroughly ashamed of himself – but I’ve just noticed something. Something no-one else can see except me.

  There’s another ghost here.

  A ghost that’s keeping very close to little Stacey. Or rather, close to Stacey’s feet. And believe me, it’s not the girl’s dad. I point it out to Si as discreetly as I can.

  ‘But what is that?’ says Si, squinting down. ‘It looks like a rat.’

  ‘Not a rat, Si,’ I say. ‘It’s a hamster.’

  And it really is. A little furry, ectoplasmic hamster ghost, snuggling up to the girl’s twinkly shoes.

  ‘That,’ I whisper to Si, ‘must be Pop.’

  ‘But…’ Si clearly needs to think about this. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Si!’ I hiss. ‘The hairyness, the cuddles, the “wuvely fuzzy chin”. Pop isn’t Stacey’s dad – “Pop” is the name of her pet!’

  Si’s eyes go wide. One look at Stacey’s mum’s face is enough to show I’m right. She looks completely confused by what’s happening, but at the same time, she’s obviously too shy to challenge the star of Venn Specter Investigates while the cameras are rolling.

  But shyness has never been my problem. Behind the scarf, an enormous grin spreads across my face. Suddenly I see a way to make Venn Specter look like a complete dufus, and on national TV too.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ I say.

  ‘Wait, Daniel…’ Si starts to protest, but I tune him out. He’s probably going to remind me why we’re really here, but I just can’t resist it. Venn Specter feeds on other people’s grief like a parasite. But not tonight. Tonight I’m going to serve him up a very public slice of humble pie.

  ‘Can you really see the ghost of this girl’s dad?’ I shout out to Venn, making everyone turn to face me. The cameras spin my way too.

  ‘Why, yes,’ says Venn, looking not too pleased at being interrupted. ‘And I was just passing on his message of hope to poor little Sta
cey here, so if you don’t mind…’

  ‘But I’d like to know,’ I go on regardless, as everyone watches me, ‘did Stacey’s Pop like going round in his little wheel?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ squeals Stacey. ‘He went round and round!’

  ‘And did your Pop like to hide in the straw at the bottom of his cage?’

  ‘Yes, oh yes!’ Stacy is jumping up and down now. ‘He always did his poos in the straw. Naughty Pop and his poppy poop!’

  Confused laughter ripples round the crowd. Everyone is staring at me, then at Stacey, then at Venn. Venn Specter goes suddenly pale as he realises he’s made some error. He gives me a furious look, and gets ready to launch a desperate bid to save the situation, but I call out again before he can.

  ‘So Pop isn’t your dad at all, is he, Stacey?’ I say. ‘He’s your pet hamster.’

  ‘Yes, my little fuzzy hamster.’ Stacey’s face lights up. Then it falls. ‘I miss my Pop. My little Popsy!’

  She sits down on the pavement and bursts into tears.

  Some of the audience are laughing out loud now. Other people are staring in disbelief at Stacey. Some are even looking imploringly at Venn, apparently waiting for him to explain how he can make such a terrible mistake. And me? Well, I’m still grinning from ear to ear. Venn Specter’s made a right chump of himself this time, hasn’t he?

  Then I catch the look of ice-cold hatred on Specter’s face, and the grin slips a bit. I look to the TV crew for support but they turn their backs on me, taking the camera off into the crowds. I see Venn click his fingers. A shadow looms behind me, and a hand the size of a gorilla’s paw lands on my shoulder.

  4

  THE CAMERA NEVER LIES (IT DOESN’T NEED TO)

  The next thing I know I’m being escorted – politely, but firmly – to a small bus with a DazzleTV logo on the side. Considering I’ve just been the centre of everyone’s attention, it’s shocking how quickly the crowd have turned away from me. But the eyes of the crowd are on Venn again, as he hastily changes the subject back to the mystery of the Shard poltergeist.

  The man who is nearly crushing my shoulder with his beefy hand is enormous. A name tag on his lapel says simply ‘Ned’. He pushes me through the door of the bus, and I find myself in the glitzy, slightly stinky mobile dressing room of Venn Specter.

  ‘Make yourself at home, sir,’ says Ned, with an American drawl and the cool eye of an ex-soldier. ‘Mr Specter will be along in a moment.’

  I raise my finger to say something witty and devastating, but he slams the door in my face. Which is probably just as well.

  ‘Daniel?’ says Si, swooshing in through the door, and coming to my side. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, rearranging my lapels. ‘Just a bit confused. Didn’t those people see what happened? Venn dropped a clanger, but they’re still out there listening to him.’

  ‘I’m afraid you are forgetting the power of belief, Daniel. These people want to believe in Venn Specter. More than they want to believe in you.’

  ‘But he got it wrong!’

  ‘For a moment, yes,’ says Si, with his best gothic butler’s expression. ‘But alas, he has already won the crowd back. I fear that you have done nothing but draw attention to yourself, Daniel.’

  I snort, and push my hands into my pockets, searching for something to say. But I’ve got a horrible feeling Si’s right, as usual. And after what I’ve just done, will Venn let me follow him into the Shard as we’d hoped? The look on Si’s face says it all.

  Ah, crapsticks.

  The door of the bus bursts open, and Venn Specter storms in. Ned, the polite gorilla, pulls the door shut behind them. The inside of the bus seems to shrink as the two men loom at me.

  ‘Name?’ snaps Venn.

  ‘Er…’ I say. ‘Well, you’re Venn Specter, and he’s Ned…’

  ‘Your name, wise guy!’ Venn blazes at me.

  I gulp, and tell them.

  ‘Now then, Dan, I’ve just checked with the girl’s mother. You have no connection with the family at all, so how in hell’s name did you know about the hamster?’

  I open my mouth to speak. Then I shut it again. I haven’t quite thought this bit through.

  ‘Um…’ I say at last. ‘Lucky guess?’

  Venn grinds his teeth and tugs his goatee.

  ‘Too lucky! Now I’ve got to get back out there and work this crowd again, thanks to you. And then I’ve got to get into this stupid great building and give them a poltergeist they’ll never forget, or my ratings will slide.’ He leans over me till his hooked nose is almost touching mine. ‘And I don’t like it when my ratings slide. I don’t like it at all. It makes me…’ more grinding of teeth ‘… cross.’

  And he gives me a little shove with his forefinger that sends me staggering back.

  The atmosphere’s pretty nasty in the bus now. Probably I should shut up and keep my head down, but this just isn’t fair. He’s the one who should be trembling, not me. He’s the bad guy, after all. I set my specs.

  ‘You don’t scare me,’ I say, and I hope it sounds like I mean it. ‘You lie to people when they’re sad and vulnerable. You deserve to be found out for what you are: a lousy, low-down conman, with a black conscience and a… a… bad taste in pullovers.’

  Veins bulge on Venn’s forehead and he goes bright red.

  ‘Proud of that little speech, are you?’ he snarls. ‘You’re better than me, I suppose. You think that your “sad and vulnerable” people want the truth? I give them hope! I give them comfort when they are lost in despair. What would you give them? Hamsters? And the cold hard truth that there is nothing after death, nothing at all? You think they’d rather hear that?’

  I glance at Si, and he glances back. Venn’s wrong about death, about as wrong as he can be. But it’s hard to avoid the thought that he might – just might – have a teeny tiny point about the other stuff. I find I don’t know what to say.

  ‘Now, I need to get into the Shard,’ Venn continues, mastering his temper. ‘And I need to take someone from the audience with me, because those dimwit TV people think it’s good for the show. So cancel your plans, Danny Boy, because I’ve got a poltergeist to bust and you’re coming with me.’

  ‘What?’ I can hardly believe my ears.

  ‘You heard. There’s something about this hamster business that I need to work out. Until I have, I’m keeping you firmly in my sights.’

  There’s a knock on the door, and Ned opens it. A woman with a clipboard pops her head in, and says, ‘Everything okay, Venn? Did the boy agree?’

  ‘Oh yes, he’s agreed all right,’ says Venn Specter before I can say anything. ‘But I’m only taking him. No one else.’

  ‘No can do, I’m afraid,’ says the woman. ‘The producer wants you to take the little girl.’

  ‘What?’ Venn looks appalled.

  ‘She’s perfect,’ says the woman. ‘So sweet and telegenic, and the audience adore her. And you need to get the live audience back on-side after what just happened.’ She gives me a disapproving look.

  Venn grinds his teeth yet again, but there’s nothing he can do. Then the bus gets even more crowded as little Stacey and her mother are led in.

  I look at the mother, and wonder if common sense will prevail and make her take her daughter away from all this madness. But one glance at her star-struck expression, and I see it’s no good. I bet she’s already dreaming of Stacey becoming a film star. Someone from Makeup comes in and starts powdering my nose. Stacey’s nose needs a good wipe with a tissue first.

  I look down at the little girl, and find she’s staring up at me. I try a grin, and waggle my fingers at her. I can deal with ghosts and ghouls and the undead, but little girls dressed up as princesses are way beyond my experience. Then I notice that the scrawny spirit of Pop the hamster is still snuffling about at her feet.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry about Pop,’ I say to Stacey, crouching down so that our eyes are level.

  She gives me a brave sniff.
<
br />   ‘But I’m glad you had the time with him that you did.’

  I reach down to Pop, and put my hand on him gently. I know he won’t be able to feel me – he’s just a ghost, after all – but he sees my hand and tries to snuggle up to it. I make an action as if stroking him. He gives a single spectral squeak of pleasure, rolls over onto his back, and vanishes in a puff of golden ectoplasm.

  That’s all he wanted, you see – one last stroke. And now he’s gone, off to whatever part of the Hereafter has been reserved for small fuzzy rodents.

  Stacey gives me a funny look. I wink at her, and stand up again. I promise myself there and then that whatever insanity is about to happen to us, I won’t let any of it impact on Stacey.

  Then the TV people lead us out of the bus to the waiting crowd.

  5

  TELEVISUAL GOLD

  We’re a funny little group as we’re led through the cheering crowd toward the top of a downward escalator. Venn in the lead, all goatee beard and mystery; me behind trying to hide behind my lapels; Stacy holding her mum’s hand; and then Ned. I try to spot signs that the crowd might have lost some of its faith in Venn Specter, but it’s almost as if my little exposé of earlier never happened. I glance at Si, and he shrugs as if to say ‘People, eh?’ or ‘What did you expect?’

  Venn begins talking to the crowd – and the lens of a huge TV camera – explaining that we will now be entering the ‘zone of poltergeist activity’, and that as few people as possible will be permitted, so as not to ‘disturb the ghostly essences’ and blah-di-blah.

  As he speaks, some technicians come forward and start strapping a power-pack onto Ned’s back. Then they give him a surprisingly small camera that looks ridiculous as they mount it on a bracket that he braces on his vast shoulder. It’s obvious he’s going to be the only film crew for this moment of television madness. By the calm look on his face, I’d say this is how all Venn Specter’s investigations are filmed.