by Emily Rodda
The young man’s face took on a regretful expression. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “Miss Varga isn’t here. She’s not at all well, as a matter of fact. Not at all well.”
Patrick’s stomach flipped sickeningly. “Miss Varga? A.V. Varga? The owner of the shop? The clockmaker?” he persisted, to make sure.
The man nodded, eyeing him curiously.
Patrick found himself clasping his hands tightly together. He forced himself to relax. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked. He heard his own voice trembling.
The man’s face changed from curiosity to concern. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you a friend of Anna’s? I didn’t realise. Well, I’m afraid it’s her heart. Last Saturday she took a very bad turn.”
“When – when the clock, the big clock, struck ten twice?” Patrick had to know.
The young man looked surprised. “Well yes, as a matter of fact. It was a strange coincidence,” he said. “The clock, of course, really is her life’s work. Yes, well, Miss Varga was here at the time – actually in her apartment behind the shop – and I heard her call out. The clocks in the shop were chiming the hour, too, you see, and at first I didn’t hear her, unfortunately. By the time I did, she was in a very bad way. And I remember the clock in the plaza was still striking. A second set of ten. Very strange.” He thought about that for a minute, shaking his head.
“Where is she now?” Patrick urged. The clocks in the shop were ticking, ticking away the seconds, like the big clock in the plaza. He had to find Anna Varga.
“She’s out of intensive care now, so they sent her back to the Community Hospital just across the road,” the young man answered. He looked down at his hands. “But – ah – they say she’s not likely to get better, you know. And she’s not really with us, if you know what I mean. They’re trying to trace her relatives. It’s sad, though. They can’t find anyone at all. She seems to have been absolutely alone in the world.” He raised his eyes to Patrick and went on gently, “I think we have to accept that it’s just a matter of time. After all, she’s had a marvellous innings, hasn’t she? Heavens, no one knows how old she is. She seems to have lived in the district for ever. And she seems never to have had a day’s illness in her life. No health records whatever, apparently.”
Patrick stared at him. “Can you fix the clock?” he demanded abruptly.
The man looked confused. “Well, no, of course not,” he said. “And anyway, no one touches that clock but Miss Varga. No one else would dare to. No one else has the authority.” Then his brow wrinkled and his expression became suspicious. “Listen, are you sure you’re a friend of hers?”
But Patrick had heard enough. He knew what he had to do. “Thanks!” he said hastily, and backed out of the shop. He turned towards the escalators and started running.
11
Rescue
Claire struggled to her knees in the rough grass, only to be sent sprawling again by a wild gust of wind. She lay still for a moment, head spinning, eyes and ears straining. Where was she? What had happened? Something hard – the wall of a building, she thought – pressed against her back. The sky above her was dark and threatening. Shouts and whistles rose above the roaring of the wind. Then her mind cleared and she remembered. Danny! She had to find Danny! She pushed herself from the ground again and this time she managed to stay up. She crouched in the grass, her hair flying back over her shoulders, and forced her watering eyes to focus.
She was huddled against the back wall of a little red hut halfway down a hill in some sort of field, or that’s what it looked like. The field – all of it that she could see, anyway – was surrounded by a high wire fence, against which crowds of shouting people were pressing. They looked as if they wanted to get in. Men and women in black uniforms – police, or soldiers, maybe – were patrolling the inside of the fence, sometimes threatening the crowd with wicked-looking black sticks.
Claire shook her head. None of this mattered. What mattered was Danny. She had to concentrate. She looked to her right and left. More people in uniforms – mostly red uniforms this time. They seemed frantically busy, staggering here, there and everywhere, shouting to each other. But there was no little figure in bright blue T-shirt and baggy shorts to be seen. No Danny.
Claire gripped the clumps of grass under her hands and began to crawl away from the shelter of the red hut. It blocked her view. Danny might be further down the hill, where she couldn’t see him. She reached the corner and pushed herself into the open. The force of the wind nearly bowled her over again, but she was ready for it this time, and braced herself against it. She looked down the hill and her mouth fell open.
Behind a screen of black scaffolding a shimmering wall rose up before her. A wall that seemed to have no beginning and no end. But it had been damaged. Badly damaged. Its shining surface was ripped and torn, and all sorts of things – clothes, books, bowls, tins, lids, toys and a hundred other things – were bursting through from the other side, and tumbling to the ground. Figures in overalls and yellow crash helmets were swarming over the scaffolding, and hundreds of the red-coated people clustered at its foot, dodging the falling objects and trying to push them back through the wall.
Claire, huddled on her hands and knees in the long grass, stared hypnotised at the weird scene before her. She couldn’t move, or think. She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know what she was going to do. And Danny was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh!” The shriek burst from her as something hit her hard in the side. She tumbled over and someone fell with her, rolling her over, pressing her down, smothering her. She struggled violently to free herself, pushing and shoving at her attacker.
“Oi, take it easy!” Warm, plump hands grabbed her own and held them. Claire opened her eyes, her heart beating violently. This didn’t sound like an enemy. She looked up into the pleasant, worried face of a young woman with a mop of curly red hair. Claire opened her mouth, but no words came.
“You OK?” asked the young woman. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there. Tripped straight over you.” Her forehead wrinkled as Claire struggled to sit up. “You OK?” she asked again. “You’re awfully pale. Better just lie there for a minute.” Her fingers found the inside of Claire’s wrist and pressed down on it. Claire realised she was taking her pulse. She licked her lips.
“I’m all right,” she managed to croak. “I’m fine. I just got a shock. I …” To her horror she felt her eyes fill with tears.
The young woman’s forehead wrinkled even more. “Hey, don’t cry!” she said, looking away and rubbing at her freckled nose roughly, in embarrassment. “Nothing to cry about. You shouldn’t be inside the fence, you know that. How you got in I don’t know. But I won’t turn you in. Not this time, anyhow. If you promise on your honour you won’t try to get in again.” She stood up, staggering against the wind, and began brushing busily at her red jacket, as if it was the only thing she had on her mind.
Claire pulled herself together and sat up. She sniffed. The young woman stopped brushing and crouched beside her. She looked keenly at Claire. “Bit young to be a Barrier-comber, aren’t you?” she asked casually. “And you don’t look the best, kid. Pale as a ghost. What happened? Trouble at home? Run away, did you?”
Claire shook her head. “I – I’m looking for my brother. My little brother, Danny. He’s lost here. He’s all by himself. He’s only four. I’ve got to find him.”
The young woman looked shocked. “Four! How on earth? Look – we’d better report this.” She scrambled to her feet, and pulled Claire up beside her. “A kid like that could get into a lot of trouble in this place.” As she spoke there was a rumble, like thunder. The ground trembled under their feet. Claire screamed. The young woman’s eyes darted anxiously to the shining wall in front of them, and the working red-and-yellow figures. “Better make it snappy,” she said. “I’ve got to get back on duty. Look, first things first. I’ll call from my box here and put out a warning to all the Guards, all right? They’ll be able to keep an eye out for the l
ittle kid – Danny, was it?”
Claire nodded. She felt exhausted. But at least something was happening. She was no longer alone.
“This yours?” The young woman pointed to Claire’s shoulder bag, lying beside the red hut, its contents scattered in the grass.
“Oh, yes.” Claire bent to retrieve her belongings, shoving them back into the bag. Comb, tissues, keys, wallet – and the book she’d bought from the Chestnut Tree Village bookshop. That book! How dearly she had paid for it. If only she’d let Danny stay with her. If only she’d waited, and bought it later. If only … Her eyes filled with tears again.
Her new friend punched gently at her arm. “Hey, don’t worry,” she said. “We’ll find him.” She led Claire around to the front of the hut. “Come in out of the wind, and I’ll call,” she said. “Come on.”
The hut was shaped like a sentry box, with a sharply sloping roof and tiny windows on either side of the door. Claire followed the young woman inside, and almost lost her balance as the walls closed round her, cutting off the fierce wind that had buffeted her for so long. And the silence! It was blissful! She let out a long breath and took note of her surroundings. She was standing in a neat little office, with a desk and a chair, a filing cabinet, a noticeboard, a pot plant and a phone. Everything fitted together perfectly, like the furniture on a boat or a caravan.
“Sit down, why don’t you?” the red-headed woman said kindly. “Take the weight off your feet while I make this call.”
Claire sank gratefully into the desk chair. Her knees were weak. She gazed vaguely at the noticeboard. A neatly printed notice took pride of place in the centre. It was headed “Barrier Guards – Sector 9 – Duty Roster”. Her eyes travelled over it, took in the other items pinned around it. There were dozens of them: reminder notes, programmes, notices, and photographs. This little place was obviously a home away from home. She half-smiled, looking at the photographs. A big old dog, an older couple in a swinging chair, some people at a beach, and at the end her new friend smiling nervously between a smarmy-looking man and a blonde girl in a yellow dress, under a glittering sign. What did the sign say? She leaned forward to look more closely. “Finders Keepers”. What? She drew a sharp breath, and the young woman looked round at her, the phone in her hand.
“You OK?” she enquired.
Claire pointed at the photograph and swallowed. “Finders Keepers,” she said.
The woman grimaced self-consciously. “Oh, yes,” she said, and turned back to the phone. She pushed impatiently at its buttons. “I can’t get through,” she complained. “Lines are jammed, I suppose. This could take a while.”
Claire’s thoughts were racing. Finders Keepers. Patrick’s game show. The game Danny was so fascinated by. “That’s where he must be! At Finders Keepers,” she blurted out, still staring at the photograph.
The woman turned around again and shook her head sadly. “Oh, no, love. He couldn’t be there. The show’s been shut down.”
“But it couldn’t have. My brother was there,” Claire persisted. She jumped up, nearly knocking over the chair. “We have to go and see.”
Her friend’s pleasant, freckled face grew concerned. “Sit down, love,” she advised. “You’re a bit confused. They wouldn’t have a four-year-old for a Seeker. Come on, think about it.”
“No, no!” Claire cried. “Not that brother. Not Danny. My other brother, Patrick. He was there. He won prizes. I saw them. And Danny wanted to …”
“What!” The young woman’s jaw dropped, and she clapped the phone down. Her freckled cheeks blushed bright red. “Patrick!” She smacked her forehead with her open hand. “Oh, what an idiot I am!” she exclaimed. “Of course! No wonder you look like a faded-out ghost. You’re from the other side! Well paint me purple and put a clothespeg on my nose! Danny! Yes, I remember, that was his little brother’s name. He told us. And you’re the sister. The big sister. You’re Claire!”
12
The Finder
Things were moving too fast for Claire. “You know Patrick?” she whispered, at last.
“Know him! Know him!” grinned the young woman. “I owe my job to him, that’s all. I was a Seeker on the show. He was my Finder. And, boy, did he do his job! He saved my bacon. You just ask him if he didn’t. Wendy Minelli’s my name. You just ask him …” Then suddenly the colour and excitement ebbed from her face and it grew serious. “But listen, how did this happen?” she said slowly. “How come you’re here? And the little bloke? We’ve got big trouble in this Sector, you know. The Barrier’s unstable. The Agents are as nervous as cats about the other side. You shouldn’t be here. There’ll be huge trouble if anyone finds out.”
She spun around, pulled open a cupboard and took out a red jacket like the one she herself was wearing. “Put this on,” she ordered, holding it out to Claire. “Put it on quickly! Then if any of the Agents see you, they won’t twig. They’ll think you’re one of us.”
Scared and confused, Claire did as she was told, pulling the jacket on over her T-shirt. It felt scratchy and stiff. She did up the shiny buttons with shaking fingers. Wendy pursed her lips and looked her up and down. “You’ll do, I guess,” she pronounced finally. “As long as no one gets too close. Now …” She sat on the desk, clasped her hands and leaned forward. “You’d better fill me in. What’s been going on? Where’s Patrick?”
Patrick was hurrying down the ramp that led out of Chestnut Tree Village. The ticking of the clock, loud, harsh and fast, seemed to follow him as he ran. He was on the trail, but there was so little time. Twenty-five minutes till eleven o’clock. Twenty-five minutes to find the clockmaker, to fix the clock, to stop Max from having to throw his life away by crossing the Barrier, to stop the Barrier breaking to bits. Twenty-five minutes. He wondered briefly what Claire and Danny were doing now. Happily having morning tea in a cafe, probably, without a care in the world. He’d promised to meet them at eleven. Eleven o’clock again! He wondered if he’d be able to keep his promise.
Hot and panting now, Patrick ran off the ramp and on to the baking footpath, swerving to avoid two boys on skateboards as he pounded towards the pedestrian crossing. Thank heavens he knew where the hospital was! Thank heavens it was so close! What on earth would he have done otherwise? He resisted the temptation to check his watch. No point in fretting. He was going as fast as he could.
He waited at the lights in a fever of impatience, crossed the busy highway and started running again, his chest tight, towards the high gates that had looked, from the other side of the road, so much closer than they really were. And then at last he had reached them, and entered, and was running down the long drive, through a corridor of giant trees, up the few stairs to the hospital’s main entrance. There he paused. He had to calm down. They wouldn’t let him in if he seemed silly or wild.
He combed his hair with his fingers, wiped the sweat from his hot face, and brushed at his jeans. Then he pushed open the door and moved into the coolness of the hospital.
A nurse in a pale blue uniform sat writing at the reception desk. She had smooth hair, blue eyes and very thin, high eyebrows. She looked up at him enquiringly, raising her eyebrows even higher and twisting her pen between her long fingers.
“I’m here to see Miss Varga,” said Patrick firmly. “Miss Anna Varga. Please.”
“Are you a relative, dear?” the nurse asked rather sharply, and tapped the pen on the desk.
“No. Um – I’m a friend,” Patrick said. It wasn’t quite true, but he had to say something.
The nurse lost interest. “Visiting hours on this floor begin at two-thirty, dear,” she said. “You can come back then, all right?” She flashed a smile at the top of his head and went back to her writing.
Patrick stood his ground. “Please,” he said loudly. “Please. I can’t wait till two-thirty. Couldn’t I see her now? Only for a minute.”
The nurse looked up again, thin eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said, not looking as if she was sorry at all. “You’ll ha
ve to run along. Come back this afternoon.” She waited for a moment. Patrick didn’t move. “Off you go, then,” she added impatiently.
There was nothing to do but obey. Patrick couldn’t just run past the nurse and start searching from room to room. She’d have him caught and thrown out as quick as a flash. At the door Patrick turned to look over his shoulder. The nurse was watching him coldly, making sure he really left.
He pushed through the door and the warm air outside hit him like a wave. He wandered down the steps and sat down on the clipped green lawn under a tree. He looked at his watch. Twenty to eleven. Twenty minutes to go. He picked aimlessly at the grass beneath his hand. What on earth was he going to do now?
Back on the other side of the Barrier, Danny was wondering the same thing. If this was Finders Keepers it wasn’t what he had imagined at all. The people who shouted and pushed around him were like the people in the shopping centre, when he had got lost in the fruit shop queue. They were all much taller than him, they all looked angry, and none of them seemed to notice he was there. He couldn’t see anything, in front of him or behind, because of the forest of legs. But he knew he was outside, of course, because of the grey, rumbling sky above, and the trampled grass under his feet. He couldn’t understand it.
Then an idea came to him. Maybe Finders Keepers was played in a big tent, like a circus. Maybe all these people were waiting to get in. They were certainly trying to get into something further down the hill. He could tell that from the things they were shouting.
He patted his pocket for the twentieth time, checking for his golf ball. But the pocket was flat and empty. He’d dropped the ball in the department store. His lip trembled. It had seemed such a clever idea, to come here. But now it didn’t seem clever at all. He thought about Claire, back in the shopping centre. She’d be looking for him. She wouldn’t know where he was. He whimpered, and his thumb crept into his mouth.