Before he could finish the sentence the world had turned upside down, and the night watchman found himself rapidly ascending skywards. He shrieked and waited for the horrifying drop, but none came. He opened his eyes again. The world was still upside down. He was dangling from a branch by a rope snagged round his ankle. He looked down. Far below, the Royal Family were staring up at him. The night watchman could swear they were all wearing fancy-dress costumes.
‘Oh wow,’ said the Queen. ‘Nice trap, Justin.’ She turned round to the bushes. ‘Come on out, guys!’
The night watchman gasped. Hundreds of boys in camouflage were suddenly emerging from the darkness on every side, their clothes and faces covered in mud. The Queen tore off her wig and stuffed it into a pearl-snap handbag before looking back up at the night watchman. Even with her expertly applied make-up it was now rather obvious that she was not the Queen of England.
‘Good evening,’ said Laurence Davy with a sweep of his arms. ‘May I introduce the Wolf-Tiger Fighter Jet Squadron. Say hello, boys.’
‘Hello,’ said the army of boys.
‘Hello,’ said the night watchman. ‘Can you let me down, please?’
‘Not till you punch yourself in the face,’ one of them said.
‘And the bum,’ someone added.
‘Let’s lock him in the toilet,’ said Laurence.
19
The zeppelin swayed and dipped in the desert heat like a ship on a groaning ocean, and would no doubt have made anything on the shelves fall off had there been anything left on them. In the two days since they had left the boundary, Kyte’s quarters had become almost unrecognisable. Gone were the chandeliers, the vases, the paintings, all thrown to the ground below. Only the enormous wooden desk had managed to keep its place, not to mention – Matthew noted with some confusion – the paperweight and the egg whisk.
He sat on the floor with the rest of the esteemed members of the Order, rubbing at his aching feet. They were all suffering from it. With each step of their journey a new symptom cropped up. A deep throbbing pain in the stomach, constant watering of the eyes, hair standing on end. Matthew hadn’t been able to get the taste of lemons out of his mouth since yesterday afternoon.
A series of delicate chimes suddenly rang out and the huddled crowd of prisoners immediately fell silent. Matthew looked around at what had become of Kyte’s ‘guests’ over the last two days. The esteemed members of the Order were frightened and shaking, stripped of their helmets and suits and wrapped in the old wolf furs that the guards had humiliatingly made them swap for their clothes. Matthew turned to Martha, sitting beside him in a heap of furs. She was the only person who didn’t look in any way frightened.
‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered to her. ‘He won’t make us do it. Remember, he needs us. Just don’t punch him again.’
Martha shrugged, promising nothing.
In front of them stood Kyte, with his back curled in a great hunch over his desk. When he was certain everyone was listening he closed the xylophone with a set of long, gnarled fingers and turned back round to face them, his back releasing itself in a reel of cracks.
‘Let’s get started,’ he muttered.
The prisoners looked round nervously. No one wanted to go first. Kyte rolled his eyes, huffed and pointed to a man in grey furs sat next to Matthew.
‘You,’ he said.
The man pointed to himself in horror. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you,’ Kyte snapped. ‘Have you prepared your speech?’
‘Er … I …’ He shyly held up a crumpled sheet of paper.
‘Well, go on then,’ said Kyte irritably. ‘Stand up, so we can all hear.’
The man got to his feet and looked around him. He was bald and visibly sweating. He straightened out his sheet of paper with trembling hands.
‘H––’ he began.
‘Aren’t you going to say your name?’ Kyte interrupted.
‘Er …’ said the man. ‘Reginald.’
‘Well, Reginald, let’s begin,’ said Kyte, taking out an egg timer. ‘Nice and loud please.’
Reginald looked back at his paper, which was now shaking violently, and spoke just about as loudly as you can without actually shouting.
‘“Hello everyone – I’m Reginald. I think I deserve to stay on this wonderful zeppelin because of all the Order experience, know-how and problem-solving skills that I can bring to the challenges which lie ahead. Being a lawyer by day, I …”’
‘A lawyer?’ Kyte snapped. ‘You’re a lawyer?’
‘Er … yes,’ said Reginald.
‘No,’ said Kyte, shaking his head. ‘Throw him out.’
Within moments the guards had dragged him out the room. Everyone muttered in horror.
‘You please,’ Kyte now said, pointing at someone else and turning the little egg timer back over.
With considerable difficulty Charles got to his feet and held up a sizeable heap of papers.
‘Friends,’ he said loudly to the room with a dramatic sweep of his arm. ‘The phrase “solid all-rounder” is used all too often nowadays …’
Kyte groaned and waved his hand irritably. ‘God, just throw him out.’
Charles was dragged out of the crowd as quickly as the man before him. Kyte’s eyes scanned the room and finally settled on someone new. He smiled.
‘You,’ he said.
The man got to his feet. He looked phenomenally angry.
‘I’m Greg,’ he snapped. ‘And I deserve to stay on this zeppelin because, as I’ve explained quite a few times now, I’m the only person here capable of flying it!’
Kyte sighed. ‘You’re not flying it now, are you, Greg? The wolves are pulling us along quite admirably.’ Kyte waved a hand to the guards. ‘Throw him out.’
‘Not so fast, Kyte!’ a voice cried out.
Matthew turned round. Behind him, the Grand High Pooh-Bah was getting to his feet. He had long ago lost his special sash and his helmet. His face had managed to keep its familiar shade of braised-beef red, and his fists were clenched.
Kyte smiled sarcastically. ‘Have you prepared a speech, Your Lordship?’
‘No, I haven’t!’ he roared. ‘I refuse to take part in this monstrous game of yours!’
Kyte turned to the guards.
‘Get Number 51,’ he croaked weakly, waving them away with his crooked fingers. The guards looked at each other.
‘Sir?’ said one. ‘Are you sure you don’t …’
‘Now!’ Kyte suddenly roared, slamming his hands down on the desk. Everyone leaped back. His eyes had clouded white with anger, and his mouth had twisted into a furious snarl. It was like something terrible was digging itself out of him. But whatever had overcome him quickly passed as he fell hunched over the desk, heaving for breath. The guards dashed up the stairs and out the door, closing it behind them. The crowd of terrified prisoners shrank back.
‘Kyte,’ the Pooh-Bah muttered, ‘what on earth have you done to yourself?’
Kyte was now breathing calmly. He slowly raised his head to look at them.
‘Pooh-Bah,’ he said. ‘As I’ve explained many times now, we have to lose as much weight as we can. The centre is trying to push us away and we’re losing speed. Unless everyone can prove their importance to this Expedition then …’
‘What about you, Kyte?’ the Pooh-Bah snapped. ‘Have you prepared a speech?’
The room fell silent.
‘That’s right,’ the Pooh-Bah smiled. ‘So far, all you’ve done is doom this Expedition from the word go!’
The crowd of prisoners mumbled their approval.
‘He’s right, you know!’ said the Major, standing up. He was almost unrecognisable since he’d been forced to shave off his moustache and throw it overboard. ‘What say we give you a quick trip out the window, Kyte?’
The guards looked at each other, growing in confidence, and stepped forwards.
‘They have a point, sir,’ said one of them. ‘We lost a lot of men greasing up the side of t
he zeppelin to get over the trees. There’s been no sign of the boy or his father. I really think it’s time to turn back.’
‘The way I see it, Kyte,’ said the Pooh-Bah, stepping forward and jabbing a finger into Kyte’s shoulder, ‘there’s far more of us here than there are of you. Democratic vote, mutiny … call it what you like, I don’t think we need your leadership one moment longer! And what’s more …’
‘I’ve already prepared a speech,’ said Kyte, matter-of-factly.
The Pooh-Bah smiled and crossed his arms.
‘Go on, then!’ he said. ‘Let’s hear it!’
The crowd waited expectantly. Kyte stood up painfully and leaned forwards, nodding to the egg whisk on the desk before him.
‘Anyone know what that’s for?’ he said.
The Pooh-Bah snorted. ‘Whipping cream?’
Kyte nodded. ‘Exactly. Only, interesting fact: cream whips itself this side of the boundary. Another one of the strange and wonderful things that happen once you step into the Forbidden Land. So the egg whisk isn’t really needed on board. It’s a symbol, more than anything else. A symbol of everything that is wholly unnecessary once you pass over that line. To remind me, at all times, what is of no use on this Expedition.’
The crowd glanced at each other. Kyte laughed.
‘Well, actually I’m lying,’ he said. ‘It’s not just a symbol. It’s a lever, disguised as an egg whisk.’ He reached out and delicately placed a hand on it. ‘A lever that, when pulled, drops the floor of this whole room.’
Everyone froze. Behind the doors, something was approaching, crashing against the corridor walls, getting louder.
‘You see,’ said Kyte, ‘I don’t really need any of you. I don’t even need the guards. You’re useless to me. All that matters is that I get to the centre before Alex or his father does. All I need are the wolves.’
The crashing in the corridor was getting louder. Shouts and cries could now be heard outside the doors.
‘For now, maybe,’ Greg cried, standing up. ‘But how long until your precious zeppelin starts falling apart, Kyte? How do you propose to get back on a disintegrating ship?’
Kyte revealed a dazzling set of hungry teeth.
‘Who said anything about going back?’
The doors burst open. The prisoners flew back with fear. At the top of the staircase stood an enormous grey wolf, twice the size of the others, straining at the collar, held by two guards with long poles. Its eyes scanned the room as it bared its teeth and flung itself against the banisters, howling, howling, howling with fury. From its collar hung a tag: 51. Kyte smiled and pushed himself away from the desk.
‘Have you ever wondered’, he began, speaking over the howls of the wolf, ‘why it actually is that we can’t cross the boundary?’
‘That … that’s just the way it is,’ said Greg, rooted to the spot with fear.
Kyte shrugged. ‘So everyone thinks. But not me. I’ve spent a lot of time looking at the Forbidden Land. And I’ve always found myself thinking – why is it so perfectly round? A perfect circle. How often do you see that in nature?’
Kyte stepped carefully over the crowd of trembling prisoners, his eyes fixed on the wolf at the top of the stairs.
‘The way I see it,’ Kyte continued, ‘there must be something at the centre of it. Something that doesn’t want us to go near it. Keeping us a fixed distance away, on every side. Making sure us humans can’t ever reach it. Pushing us out.’
He was at the bottom of the staircase now. The wolf had stopped roaring at the room and was now glaring at Kyte, its back curled with each heaving breath.
‘Alex J. Jennings knew it, for certain,’ said Kyte calmly. ‘Despite all his lies about there being nothing in the centre. Tell me this – does it really seem as if Jennings is after nothing? He’s on his way there now, no doubt strapped up to his mangy dogs …! After nothing? I don’t think so.’
‘But then … what about the boy?’ said the Pooh-Bah.
Kyte smiled to himself. ‘Indeed. What about him?’
He raised himself up the first step. The guards holding the wolf pulled back with all their might.
‘Sir!’ one cried, struggling with his grip. ‘Don’t get any closer! It’s gone mad!’
‘Of course it has,’ said Kyte absent-mindedly. ‘I haven’t fed it since we left.’
Kyte took another step forward. The wolf’s eyes widened and fixed on him, its neck craning, its mouth hung with reels of saliva.
‘I worked on the Jennings Expedition,’ Kyte began, his gaze never leaving the wolf. ‘A lot more than most people realise. Before he threw me off his team, of course. If he had only listened to me, let me help him … well. Things might have turned out very differently.’
Kyte fell quiet and took another step. The wolf started quietly growling.
‘I wasn’t there when they wound him back in,’ said Kyte. ‘But I learned all about it afterwards. No one had heard from him in days. Everyone expected him to come back dead. He came back alive, but absolutely raving, desperately trying to get back over the boundary. He was absolutely furious at having been brought back early.’
The wolf was straining at the collar around its neck, its back arched, its chest heaving. The prisoners watched in horror as Kyte took another step forwards.
‘The question is,’ said Kyte, ‘why did he want so desperately to get back? What is it he’s been after all this time?’
He took another step up the staircase. His eyes and the wolf’s eyes were locked.
‘There’s no doubt about it now,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s what I’ve always suspected. Alex J. Jennings saw something on that Expedition. Something that he won’t tell us about. Something that he’ll do anything to get back to. He and the Forbidden Land have some kind of … deal. There’s no other explanation for it. How else can you explain why his own son can walk on it, for heaven’s sake! Can any of you explain it? Unless, of course …’
Kyte paused for a moment, and for a single second his eyes seemed to glaze over with doubt. And then he took a grip on the wood of the banister and shook it away, and it was gone. He glared back up at the wolf, his eyes pierced with hunger.
‘No,’ he whispered, staring into the wolf. ‘There’s no other explanation. They have a deal with the Forbidden Land. It’s giving them something in return. And I’m going to find out what it is, once and for all. What it is that they’re after. What they’ve always been after.’
The room was silent. Kyte breathed out, and stepped forwards.
‘… Squiggles.’
With a great heave, the wolf wrenched itself free of the guards and flung itself with all its might down the staircase towards Kyte. The prisoners on the floor screamed with horror. Matthew threw himself against Martha.
‘Martha, don’t look!’ he cried. ‘Cover your eyes!’
But she sat stock still, her eyes unblinking, staring open-mouthed. Matthew turned round. The guards had stopped dead, and one by one were dropping their hands to their sides with shock.
Kyte and the wolf were embracing in the centre of the staircase. The wolf was on its hind legs, leaning on Kyte’s shoulders, licking his face. Kyte turned to the room, stroking the wolf’s nose calmly.
‘This is Number 51,’ he said. ‘And he’s going to stop Alex and his father from getting to the centre before we do.’
The wolf stepped gently off Kyte’s shoulders and skulked down into the room. The prisoners flew back against the desk and the guards pressed themselves to the walls.
‘The wolves and I are in charge now,’ said Kyte calmly, following Number 51 down the stairs. ‘Guards, if you would like to sit with the others and prepare your speeches.’
They didn’t need asking twice. The guards dropped to the ground, quickly followed by Greg and the Grand High Pooh-Bah. Kyte sat down with difficulty in his chair. The endless desert spread out in the window behind him, the wolves below powering across the dunes like a black sandstorm.
‘You ca
n’t be serious,’ said Matthew emptily. ‘Those wolves, they’ll … they’ll tear Alex apart.’
Kyte smiled. ‘With any luck, Mr Price, they’ll tear Alex and his father apart.’ He leaned over the desk. ‘All that’s left is to find out who will be staying with us in the kennels when they do.’
Kyte picked up the egg timer and turned it back over.
‘So,’ he said, ‘who’s next?’
20
Far away, at the other end of the desert, Alex stood at the edge of a dune, panting. The sand ended at his feet, and before him an endless plain of water frothed and boiled before his eyes.
‘The ocean,’ said Alex. ‘Just like he said.’
He turned back around, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘And … and the dogs.’
All around him in every direction stood thousands upon thousands of dogs, stretching as far as the eye could see. There were dogs of every age, every shape and size, every colour, and the air was filled with their howling and whining and barking. They lined the vast circle of raging sea for miles in either direction, shifting on their feet, too frightened to take another step forwards. They were all barking at something in the distance.
There, on the far side of the ocean, stood a single dot on the horizon. It was surrounded by a haze of smoke, almost erasing it from view. Alex’s eyes flickered.
‘The centre,’ he whispered.
Alex stood staring at the dot for some time. Then he looked back down at the water before him. It heaved and sank in great foaming waves, crashing against the bank and sending the dogs scattering backwards.
His heart sank. There was no way he could possibly cross it. There was no way anyone could cross it.
So where was his father?
There was a sudden tug at his leg. The dog with the black patch was yanking furiously at his trousers again, its paws scuffling in the sand. It was the only dog in the thousands around them that wasn’t standing barking at the water’s edge.
‘What?’ Alex snapped, shaking his leg irritably.
The dog let go and bounded a few paces along the bank, looking back at him expectantly. It wanted him to follow again.
Alex, the Dog and the Unopenable Door Page 14