Alex, the Dog and the Unopenable Door

by Ross Montgomery

  The diners were all tucking into their oysters, their eyes glazed. Matthew saw his chance to escape. He pushed himself up from the table quietly.

  ‘Er, excuse me, I …’ he began. Before he could utter another word the Major had delivered another back-breaking wallop to his spine, sending him crashing back to his chair.

  ‘Never you mind this old gossip, Reverend!’ the Major bellowed. ‘Charles is renowned for having the biggest mouth in the Order!’

  Charles rolled his eyes as he guzzled down another oyster. ‘It just seems’, he mumbled as he chewed, ‘… a little strange to bring forward an Expedition when it’s clearly not ready.’

  ‘Raspberries, Charles,’ said a woman across the table wearing spectacles. ‘There’s no way that an Official Head of Expeditions would take a chance on something that wasn’t properly organised.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said the pickled herring, taking another gulp of wine.

  ‘You think so?’ said Charles. ‘Kyte’s got a lot to prove on this trip. Remember, he’s hated that Alex J. Jennings ever since he threw him off his team for the Expedition. And that’s to say nothing of the money he owes the Order – hundreds! Thousands! Millions! How do you think all this “cutting-edge technology” has been financed? Let alone these “experiments” everyone talks about, going on at the other base … not all of them savoury, I’ve been told.’

  ‘Someone say savouries?’ muttered a woman across the table eagerly.

  Matthew suddenly found himself sitting in front of a bowl of steaming mulligatawny soup without even having noticed the plates being cleared away. The other diners wiped their lips hungrily and dived in. He made another break for the exit.

  ‘Excuse m––’

  He was immediately flattened onto the table.

  ‘Outrageous, Charles!’ the Major boomed. ‘What must our guest think? Look, you’ve made him go red and choke with embarrassment.’

  ‘Really?’ said Charles with a devilish grin. ‘Well, if you’re averse to gossip, Reverend, then I suggest you cover your ears …’

  He glanced around to see if anyone could hear, and leaned with some difficulty over the table. The others all craned their necks forward eagerly, even the Major, their helmets clanging loudly against each other.

  ‘Seems the Cusp had an intruder the other night,’ Charles whispered. ‘And who do you think it was …? Our old friend, Mr Alex J. Jennings!’

  ‘Hmph! No surprises there,’ said the bespectacled woman.

  There was a general murmur of agreement that Alex J. Jennings was two partridges short of a boating luncheon.

  ‘Well, get this!’ whispered Charles. ‘Kyte’s been going around telling everyone that they caught him and that he’s being kept in the cells. Only my sources at the prison say that no one’s been brought in for weeks – not a sausage!’

  ‘Well, what’s your point, Charles?’ snapped the Major.

  ‘Well, Major, if you’ll kindly let me finish,’ Charles hissed back, ‘I was about to add that in fact, no one knows where old Alex J. Jennings is. Not even Kyte! Apparently they never managed to catch him when he broke over the fences. They’ve been looking for two days straight. Kyte’s going out of his mind with worry! They’ve turned the Cusp upside down, and there’s been no sign of him … with one exception.’

  Charles took another glance over his shoulder. Everyone stretched closer. The table strained.

  ‘The grassland beyond the boundary’, Charles hissed, ‘was noticed to be visibly disturbed.’

  He leaned back triumphantly. The others stared at him, blank-faced.

  ‘Well, can’t you see?’ Charles gasped. ‘It was Jennings! Alex J. Jennings escaped over the boundary!’

  There was a collective sigh of exasperation. Matthew tried to drag himself from the table, and was immediately pounded back.

  ‘Listen to him, Reverend!’ the Major howled, shaking Matthew as he retched into his soup. ‘What nonsense! Escaping over the boundary!’

  ‘Laugh if you want, Major,’ Charles snapped, his face turning red. ‘But answer this: why do you think that lunatic has been trying to break back into the Forbidden Land all these years? Maybe he did find something in the centre after all – something that’s been covered up. Maybe that’s what he’s been trying to get back to all this time. And maybe Kyte’s terrified he’ll now get to it before he has a chance to.’

  ‘And how do you propose mad old Jennings is going to make it there, Charles?’ cried the Major, hammering the tabletop in hysterics. ‘Is he just going to saunter across the Forbidden Land?’

  ‘Who knows,’ Charles shrugged, slurping loudly at his soup. ‘Maybe it doesn’t affect him like it does everyone else. Maybe he came back from the Expedition with special powers …’

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Everyone fell silent. Matthew looked up. The diners were staring over his shoulder. Silence fell like a lead weight. Matthew turned round slowly.

  Standing behind him was a group of security guards, armed with handcuffs. Two men stood in front of them. They were both in their underwear, and both glaring furiously at Matthew.

  ‘I believe’, said the Reverend Trebell through gritted teeth, ‘that those are my clothes.’

  Matthew opened his mouth, and the Major delivered another crippling wallop on the back.

  ‘I say, Reverend!’ he bellowed. ‘That man’s not wearing any clothes! Bet you don’t see that sort of thing in Zanzibar.’

  11

  The great hour was almost at hand.

  The Cusp had changed overnight. Everywhere was full of jostling crowds. They bustled anxiously down the main runway that led from the warehouses to the boundary, their feet itching, a sea of towering helmets and tuxedos boiling over with enraged and sweaty mutters. The Conduct Yourselves youth orchestra squeezed themselves through towards the bandstands lining the runway, panicked and exhausted. The moment of their great performance had almost arrived, and their only chance to practise was as they made their way to the bandstand. They squawked and bashed and howled their way through the packed crowd in single file, Steph at the front waving her clipboard with misery.

  The chaos suited Alex perfectly. He peeked out from inside his hooded top, glancing behind him at Martha through the jostling excitement of legs.

  ‘I can see it!’ he whispered excitedly. ‘We’re almost at the bandstand!’

  She nodded irritably and kept parping away at her horn. In this madness, no one could tell if Martha was secretly playing all Alex’s parts herself, which of course she was. Her plan was simple. Once things kicked off, she said, the orchestra would be the last place any sane person would look. When everyone’s attention was diverted, Alex could sneak out the back, find his father and be out of the base before anyone even realised they were gone. As long as he kept his face out of sight until then, it was foolproof.

  The line in front suddenly stopped, and he walked smack into the back of Trent Davis. Alex grimaced. He really did stink of farts.

  ‘Watch where you’re going!’ bellowed Trent.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Alex, quickly hiding his face and peering round. ‘What’s going on?’

  Trent nodded to the front. They were blocked off from the bandstand by a velvet rope, behind which stood Greg, scribbling away at his Rota. The bandstand was full of fat, sweaty men on deckchairs, fanning themselves with their feathered plumes and staring at Steph, who was screaming at Greg till she was blue in the face.

  ‘Booked?’ she shrieked, grabbing at her hair with trembling hands. ‘The bandstand is booked?!’

  ‘Esteemed Members of the Order of the Sword and Torch,’ said Greg apologetically, nodding at the men. ‘Nothing we can do.’

  ‘Then … then where are we supposed to perform?’ Steph gasped.

  Greg shrugged. ‘Let me check the Rota.’

  ‘Rota? Rota?!’ Steph screamed, throwing herself over the velvet rope. ‘I’ll show you what I think of your Rota!’

  Greg leaped back, clutchin
g the clipboard like it was a picture of his mother.

  ‘OK, OK!’ he said testily, pushing her back. ‘Calm down! There’s one place left. Quick!’

  He jumped over the velvet rope and flew into the crowd. At once the orchestra followed him, parping and screeching and drumming. Alex looked behind him nervously.

  ‘Er … Martha?’ he whispered. ‘Where are we going?’

  Martha shook her head and kept playing. So far she hadn’t said a word to him all day. She was quickly shoved forward by the bassoonist and the bandstand was once again lost behind a crowd of people.

  ‘The bandstand!’ Alex whimpered. He made to stop, to look for a spot in the crowd to slip out, but the file kept pushing him on, on through the sea of legs. They were heading towards the boundary. He threw his head round frantically. The crowd was at bursting point. The hour had almost arrived. They danced on their itching feet, nudging each other, peering around for the first sign of the great moment. Under his hooded top Alex was dripping with sweat. There was nowhere to go but forward.

  He was suddenly heaved out of the crowd, onto the bare tarmac beside the boundary. People everywhere were pointing at the orchestra, muttering with excitement. Alex buried his head deeper into his top and looked around. In front of them lay the vast expanse of the Forbidden Land. Greg flashed a series of passes to the guards and led the orchestra across the baking tarmac and past their barracks, to where the great Unfinished Pier stood on its shaky legs, jutting over the boundary. Steph grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him round.

  ‘No way,’ she said firmly. ‘There is no way you are sending the children out onto that thing.’

  ‘There’s nowhere else!’ Greg snapped, pulling a set of keys out of his pocket. ‘Once the ceremony starts the main runway will have to be kept clear. We’ve got one minute left before it starts. Hurry!’

  He marched up to the iron gates and started unlocking them. Alex spun round. There was no way back. In the distance, giant cameras on cranes were being lifted up, ready for the ceremony to begin. Alex grabbed Martha’s arm.

  ‘Martha, quick!’ he hissed. ‘I’ll be on camera! I’ll be seen by everyone! The whole base!’

  Martha said nothing. Alex shook her arm.

  ‘Why aren’t you saying anything?’ he cried. Trent Davis leaned in with a grin.

  ‘Yeah, what’s the matter Martha?’ he smirked. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  Martha turned to Trent, her eyes glinting with suspicion. Her lips stayed sealed. Trent snickered and reached into his pocket.

  ‘You’re … not looking for these, are you?’ he said, holding something out towards her.

  Alex looked down.

  It was a set of false teeth.

  Martha’s eyes flashed.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ a voice suddenly blared out across the Cusp. ‘Welcome to the Four Hundred and Thirty-seventh Expedition of the Order of the Sword and Torch.’

  The crowds broke into a roaring applause. Martha made to grab at the teeth, but in one movement Trent had snapped his hand up, balled in a fist high above his head.

  ‘Not so fast, Grandma!’ he shouted. ‘I thought we could use them for the castanet solo!’

  ‘Give them back, Trent!’

  Alex was surprised by the sudden anger in his own voice. Trent stopped pushing forwards and stared back, apparently rather amused.

  ‘Or what, midget?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows. ‘Your girlfriend going to beat me up for you?’

  ‘Give them back,’ Alex said slowly, his breath coming in a hiss, ‘or I’ll take them back.’

  ‘May we please remind you’, the voice continued, ‘that we will soon have to ask you all to clear the main runway, for reasons that will become apparent.’

  The base had fallen silent, breathless with anticipation for the main event. From across the Forbidden Land, a cooling wind blew strong and steady. Trent grinned and turned slowly back round to the gate.

  ‘Well, good luck with that,’ he said calmly.

  In one movement he threw the teeth clear over the fence.

  The two halves fell apart as they dropped past the legs of the Pier, where they were swallowed up by the grass and instantly lost from sight.

  There was a great roar of bending metal at the back of the base, and the crowd suddenly swung round. The warehouses had burst open, their curved roofs splitting straight down the middle and opening up like bear traps in the glinting sun. They came crashing down to the tarmac with an ear-splitting racket. The audience gasped.

  ‘Look!’ someone gasped behind Alex. ‘I don’t believe it!’

  From inside each warehouse, a great balloon was rising. They were vast, like black moons, and their shadows left the runway below them in utter darkness. Their sides were emblazoned with a picture of a knight, holding a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. There were dozens of them. From each of their fronts a hundred steel chains dangled down to the tarmac below. Alex’s eyes widened.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ he muttered.

  Great hordes of dogs were emerging from the darkness of the warehouses, their necks chained to the enormous zeppelins above them. They barked and struggled and whined against their steel collars, pulling with all their might against the balloons in a bid to escape, but it was no use. The crowds gasped as the nature of the new Expedition was finally revealed.

  ‘Sixty full-size zeppelins!’ Kyte’s voice suddenly boomed from the speakers around them. ‘Each one pulled by a hundred dogs! Each one capable of journeying to the centre of the land beyond the boundary in less than five days!’

  The base was a sea of flashing cameras, pushing and shoving to get a better view of the dogs. The only person who didn’t look was Martha. She stood staring at the spot in the grass of the Forbidden Land where her teeth had landed. Trent turned back to her triumphantly.

  ‘Well, I think we’re about even now, Grandma,’ he smirked. ‘Maybe next time you’ll think before …’

  He didn’t finish his sentence because Martha had already leaped onto his back and was pummelling him to the ground. Within moments Steph had dragged the two of them apart and was once again screaming at the top of her voice, heaving them out the group.

  ‘That’s it!’ she cried. ‘I’ve had it with you two! You’re out of the performance!’

  She threw them both to the side. At that moment Greg flung open the gates, and the rest of the orchestra poured inside. Steph grabbed Alex by the shoulders.

  ‘Jeremy,’ she stammered, ‘we’re on in ten seconds. You’ll have to open the performance instead of Trent.’

  Alex froze in horror.

  ‘… What?’

  ‘It’s simple,’ she snapped, dragging him to the gate. ‘You read the sheet music we sent you, right? Just play the first note. The rest of the orchestra comes in after you. And for heaven’s sake take off that hoodie.’

  In one movement she had ripped the hood off his head, thrust Alex through the gate and slammed it shut after him. Alex took a moment to register what had happened before staring back up at Martha. They shared the same look of faint surprise at how spectacularly wrong the foolproof plan had gone.

  ‘Martha!’ he wailed. Steph grabbed her by the arms and started dragging her away from the gate.

  ‘Jutht play the firtht note!’ she lisped back at him toothlessly, waving her hands like a madwoman.

  ‘I don’t know what the first note is!’ Alex wailed.

  ‘G!’ she screamed, jabbing her fingers at the horn and waving it above her head. At least, it sounded like ‘G’. It could have been ‘D’.

  ‘Jeremy, come on!’ someone behind him hissed.

  Alex spun round. The rest of the orchestra were in their places, waiting for him. Alex looked back up in dismay.

  ‘Did you say “D”?’ he cried.

  Martha shook her head frantically. ‘…!’ she mouthed.

  Alex looked desperate. ‘E?’

  ‘Jeremy, come on!

  All of a sudde
n someone grabbed Alex from behind and dragged him into place. He looked up in terror. The zeppelins were waiting for the music to begin. The television cameras in the distance had started filming the orchestra. An audience of several thousand were now gazing at the Unfinished Pier. All eyes were turned to Alex.

  The audience waited expectantly. The boards of the Pier groaned beneath him.

  ‘Jeremy!’ someone whispered behind him. ‘Start playing already!’

  The cellist suddenly stepped forwards and shoved him furiously to the front of the orchestra.

  ‘Just play the first note, you idiot!’ he seethed.

  Alex stumbled across the boards and looked up. Except for the straining of the Pier beneath him, there was total silence. Up ahead, Alex’s terrified eyes gazed back at him from the giant television screens that lined the base.

  ‘When all this is over,’ said a flautist behind him, ‘you are so dead.’

  Alex sighed.

  Just play anything, Alex, the voice in his head said. It’s already over.

  With a grand flourish Alex brought the horn to his lips, gulped in a great lungful of air, and blew a faultless F sharp.

  The sound was lost to the terrible groan of twisting metal that suddenly rang out beneath him, trembling up through his legs and into his stomach. Alex gasped, and dropped the Horn. The orchestra behind him screamed. Ahead, the rotten boards of the walkway were bending into splinters, snapping one by one in front of their very eyes. Slowly, very slowly, the Pier began tilting to one side.

  ‘It’s going to fall over!’ cried a bassonist. ‘It –’

  It was too late. All four legs of the Pier suddenly snapped like matchsticks, and before anyone could register what was going on the entire orchestra were flung off the boards to the ground below in a wave of twanging instruments and reams of sheet music. The crowds screamed with horror.

  They were going to land on the other side of the boundary.

  The cameras spun round to film the devastation.

  The crowds jostled for a better view of the monitors.