Steve Cole Middle Fiction 4

by Steve Cole

  I stared at her. “So really . . .”

  “Yes, Noah. I fear it is MY fault, all that has happened to her . . . and to you, too.” Jem cried a single ghostly tear. “Oh, my dear boy. If my heart were still beating, I fear it would stop in shame at being the cause of so much pain and distress to your family. But . . . I . . . I simply did not mean for this to happen.”

  For a moment, I felt angry. But I knew that wasn’t fair.

  “I know you didn’t, Jem.” I took a deep breath. “Just like I didn’t mean to run out of the house, leaving the front door open for Mr Butt to take my mum.”

  “And I did not mean to scare you into doing so, lad. I have ever been impulsive, eh, Maloney? Rushing in where fools fear to tread on angels . . . or something.” Sir Guy sighed and patted the horse. “It seems my heroic deeds do oft-time lead to folly.”

  “I guess we all messed up,” I said. “But hey, we’ve done some good stuff, too. You guys beat the poultry-geists the first time they showed . . .”

  “And you sorted out the second,” said Sir Guy.

  “And the lorry robbery went surprisingly well, all things considered,” Jem reflected. “Although we must be sure to pay back the metal company when we successfully complete our tasks.”

  I looked at her and smiled slowly. “When we successfully complete our tasks?”

  “Yes. You are right, Noah,” Jem said firmly. “We are a team.”

  Sir Guy smiled – then frowned. “What is a team again?”

  “It’s you and me and Jem and Maloney,” I reminded him. “Invisible Inc. We can’t give up now. We’ve just got to pull this off.”

  Jem gestured at her workbench. “But these circuits . . .”

  “I know my mum’s credit-card number,” I revealed. (Well, I’ve had to buy my own baked beans on occasion.) “Is there anywhere around here that sells better circuits?”

  “I . . . I believe so, yes.” Jem’s face was brightening. “There is a specialist electronics supplier close by – just on the outskirts of town. To get parts from there would certainly save us some time.”

  “Will they have what you need?”

  “I think so. I have browsed its shelves many a time to soothe my troubled mind.”

  “Then order what you need online,” I urged her, “and we’ll get them to deliver . . . No, no time. Why don’t I go and collect it for you while it’s night time and no one’s there? I know enough about electronics spares from my mum to find what we need, and Sir Guy could take over my job here for a while.”

  Sir Guy nodded eagerly – then grew suddenly forlorn. “One snag,” he said. “I am very sorry, but . . . if I am concentrating hard . . . I will be unable to sing.”

  “Sir Guy – you’re hired.” Jem smiled and turned to her laptop. “Now, then. No more unseemly outbursts. I’ll order the parts we need!”

  Relief rocketed through me.

  Invisible Inc. was still in business!

  *

  So Jem did her online shop and emailed the list of supplies to my phone, which I collected from my house.

  I felt weird standing in the quiet of the lodge. Mum wasn’t a ghost – I knew that; her head was too important to Seerblight – but she still haunted the place. It should’ve felt like home, I suppose. But no. This lodge was more like a place from another time. Even the old me was never sure he belonged there. As for the invisible me? No way.

  I checked the email had arrived on my poor, cracked and battered phone. It had. Weirdly, it was already open, waiting for me on the screen. She was just TOO clever, that Lady Jem . . .

  So I went back to her place, where Sir Guy waited outside with his loyal pony.

  “Maloney!” Sir Guy patted him. “Are you sure you remember Lady Smyth’s directions?”

  Maloney reared up and waved his wire-wool hoof-mittens.

  “Very well.” Now he pointed to me. “Take the boy straight there . . . and guard him well!”

  Sir Guy gave me a bag of tinfoil and some WC powder so I could dust my hands when I got to the shop (the better to pick out parts with), then I climbed onto the patient Maloney and off I went.

  I’d never ridden a horse before, but how hard could it be?

  The night was dark as we galloped, the town twinkling with lights. Seerblight’s tower stood up like a crooked spear in the distance. An orange glow burned like a dying match in the uppermost window. Was Seerblight up there alone right now, plotting and planning? Where was my mum?

  The electronic store was in a business park. Maloney was racing through a car park towards it when suddenly he slowed, his wire-wool hooves scrubbing at the mud.

  “What is it, boy?” I asked. Then I saw the reason. Up ahead, the electronics store’s front doors stood wide open – smashed apart, in fact. Parked just outside was a large, old-fashioned car like something out of those black-and-white movies you always skip channels to avoid. The interior light was on and there were people huddled inside.

  No, not people.

  A poultry-geist filled the front passenger seat, scrying spectacles hiding its eyes. Another was wedged in the back. And sitting there beside it was . . .

  “Mum!” I breathed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  On Horseback and Under Car Bottom

  Mum! MUM! She was ALIVE! I knew it!

  What a rush! It was her. Really her! Sitting in the back beside the poultry-geist, with her battered white Dr Dre headphones on, looking down at her lap. It was really, really her!

  Wasn’t it?

  I suddenly grew cautious. What was this – a trap? The car had to be from Seerblight Solutions, so what was it doing parked here? Was there a really good sale on at the electronics shop? Duh! Not at this time of night!

  What if Seerblight knows about Jem’s invention ideas? I thought. What if he’s stealing the parts she needs so she can’t make them?

  Nah, how COULD he know?

  Meantime – Mum! She looked okay! She looked normal and wonderful and maybe kind of tired, but that was nothing new. Mum! I wanted to race over with Maloney, get him to kick in the door, reach inside with my tungsten-carbidey hands and pull her to safety. Only, even if the poultry-geists didn’t stop us, Mum wouldn’t see it was me, of course. And she’d fall straight through Maloney, too, which might be kind of a problem.

  Possible plans occurred to me: I could carry her over my head, maybe? While balancing on Maloney’s back?

  Maybe if I took out both poultry-geists – who were so big their heads were squashed up against the car roof, sonic blasters clutched in their claws – I could get Mum to drive the car away? Assuming the keys had been left in the ignition, which they probably hadn’t. And assuming the poultry-geists didn’t get me, which they probably would.

  As plans went, it was rubbish.

  Ohhhh! MUM! If only I could contact her . . .

  What was I going to do, bellow into a tin can? Jem had used my mobile phone and tablet to communicate with me, but, even if I knew how to do that, I doubted Mum would have her phone still on her, or any useful tech like that. But what she clearly DID still have were . . .

  Her headphones, I realised. There was metal in those, metal I could maybe manipulate.

  Could I? Did I dare?

  I wondered . . . and I fretted . . .

  How long before whoever had driven the car here returned from his late-night shop? Maloney was smart – I knew he understood plenty of human speech after living around them for all these centuries – but would he be able to do just what I wanted?

  I had to try.

  “Maloney,” I whispered in the pony’s ghostly ear, “here’s the plan. . .”

  A few moments later, Maloney charged up to the car and reared up with a neigh. Mum heard and saw nothing, of course, until the poultry-geist in the front reacted with a loud “BUKKKKKKKK!” It pushed open the door and squeezed outside.

  Maloney turned his back on the poultry-geist and wiggled his horsey butt at it in an insulting manner – just as I’d re
quested! The chicken-monster in the back opened its door, too – I willed it to get out and leave my mum unguarded, but no, it stayed clutching its gun and clucking malevolently. As the first poultry-geist lumbered after Maloney, and Maloney galloped away, and the second poultry-geist watched, I galloped towards the car. Of course, I couldn’t pass through the door to sit beside Mum: I’d bump into the metal and the chicken-thing would get me. And, if I tried to shout at her, the chicken-thing would get me, too.

  I slid underneath the car instead and closed my eyes, tried to concentrate. Mum, I thought as hard as I could, picturing her headphones, imagining the wire leading down to her ancient MP3 player. I knew how it worked because she’d bought me one at the same time, when I was small. I’d taken it apart on my eleventh birthday, trying to boost the volume. I didn’t succeed – in fact, the stupid thing never worked again – but hey, we learn from our mistakes, right?

  Mum! I tried to imagine my voice coming through the MP3 player, up the connecting leads and into her headphones. But nothing happened. Was I too tense? Was I just useless at this? I knew I didn’t have long. I had to make this chance to speak with her count.

  I just had to!

  Mum, it’s me! Switch off the music for a sec! I could hear the faintest tinny racket. God, Mum, is that Def Leppard? Why? Are things really that bad?

  Still nothing, but I knew she hated it when I dissed her music. Mum, seriously, that is, like, the least cool comeback album ever. Why don’t you listen to more electro-pop like—

  “Noah!” Mum shouted.

  My eyes snapped open. She’d heard me!

  She called my name.

  I heard a suspicious round of BUK-BUK-BKKKKS.

  “Noah,” Mum said again. “Oh, I wish I could speak to you again! I wish I knew where you were now . . .”

  I’m underneath the car, Mum! But I’m invisible, obviously. I screwed up my eyes, willing the words out of my brain. I’ve got some friends and we’re going to come and get you out of Seerblight’s tower!

  “Ouch! I’ll just turn my headphones down.”

  I was just TOO GOOD at speaking through tiny loudspeakers from underneath an old car! If my physics teacher could see me now, maybe she’d rethink that ‘Lacks application’ comment, huh? Except she couldn’t see me now; no one could. That was why I was here. Mum, we’re going to rescue you, as soon as we’ve built some things to help. We know where your lab is, but where do they put you when you’re not working?

  “I’m always working there, up on the ninth floor,” Mum said bitterly. “Isn’t that right, chicken-monster, eh? I’ve had to make tons of pow-powder for Seerblight – if I didn’t, he said he’d hurt my poor dear Noah . . .”

  I’m okay, Mum!

  “Good, because when I’ve finished building what Seerblight wants, he will let me go . . . That’s defo safer than any other course of action anyone else could take.”

  I realised Mum was trying to warn me off.

  He won’t let you go, Mum. My brain was aching, but I kept transmitting. Seerblight’s planning something big and terrible. It must be to do with all that pow-powder – and whatever else you’re making for him. What ARE you making for him?

  “You know what, chicken-monster?” Mum said quickly, as if startled. “I hope that lovely son of mine stays out of this whole business. It will all be okay. It will. Everything will get back to normal . . .”

  Then I heard the clawing stomp of something heavy approaching the car. Peeping out past a wheel, I saw the poultry-geist coming this way, felt the car lurch overhead as it sat back inside.

  “Where have you been, Big-beak?” came a rough, low voice that sent shivers through my non-existent spine. “Why did you leave the car?”

  It was Mr Butt. So he was the one who’d been out shopping.

  “BUUUUK,” said the poultry-geist (predictably).

  “You saw that stupid pony?” He paused. “Well, well! Could it be that little Noah Deer and his invisible gang are back in town?”

  I held my breath – until I remembered I didn’t actually have any breath to hold. Please don’t let the poultry-geists scent me hiding under here, pleeeeeeeease . . .

  “Of course Noah hasn’t come back,” Mum said. “I mean, he and his friends wouldn’t come back . . . No way.”

  Mr Butt seemed amused. “You don’t reckon they’ll try and rescue you, then?”

  “They wouldn’t be so stupid.”

  “Oh, come on. They are pretty stupid.”

  Just you wait, Butthead! I thought fiercely.

  “Well, anyway, Professor Deer,” Butt went on, “guess what? Good news. I got the last components you said you needed for the job. Here, check them.”

  I listened, holding my breath. Components? What components?

  “Yes, that’s good,” said Mum faintly. “All I need to finish Seerblight’s machine is right here. Thank you.”

  “Then it’s back to the tower, so you can complete the job ready for the big moment at midnight on the 27th. And, in case you had any secret hopes for a last-minute rescue by your son and his friends, I can promise you: FORGET IT. Because after what I’ve just done . . .”

  What machine? What big moment? And what had Butt just done? His words were drowned out by the rattle and roar of the old car engine starting. Exhaust clouded right through my face, which was kind of weird – it was a good thing I couldn’t breathe or choke or I’d have been in big trouble.

  Yeah. Like I wasn’t in enough of THAT already.

  I forced myself to sink into the ground as the car pulled away, so none of the metal bits hanging down could get me. Then I let myself rise back up to the surface and just lay there for a few moments.

  Mum . . .

  She had gone again. We’d spoken and now suddenly I could think of all the things I wanted to say to her – the simple, scared-silly you-rock-Mum-please-tell-me-this-will-be-okay stuff that’s so easy to forget when you’re hiding under a car filled with giant deadly chickens.

  Midnight on the 27th. That was our deadline to stop all this: midnight on the day after tomorrow. If Invisible Inc. had no game plan by then . . . it wouldn’t matter any more.

  Nothing would.

  A soft neigh from the low wall beside the store told me Maloney was back. He watched me, ears pricked, head held a little to one side, then came over and nuzzled me. Man, was I grateful for the contact.

  I went into the store and started picking out the things we needed. I managed to get all the little bits and pieces in my tinfoil pouch in the end, though it wasn’t easy. Let me tell you, ghostly tears are a flip to blink out of your eyes.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Being a Most True and Worthy Account of High Adventure and Heroism by I, Sir Guy deYupp, Most Famous Swordsman in the Whole of France (Probably)

  Ahhhhhhhhh! Yes, thy wait is over! Here I am, Sir Guy deYupp, taking my turn to record the heroic trials of our toil and trudge. While jeune Noah helped Milady Jemima in the final phases of our war effort, I oversaw all other matters.

  After the boy had cunningly communicated with his mère, we knew we must move against Seerblight on the day after tomorrow, by midnight. After that, this evil machine of his would surely be ready for its sinister work – whatever that might be. Milady Jem would have to work very fast, and so too would mon brave, Noah.

  Ahhh, how noble it is to stand on the eve of battle! How fine the view from there, eh?

  Forgive me – I am unused to writing down words, particularly with this strange metal quill. It makes me wish to record our exploits as did the monks of old. But no! For, like Milady Jemima, I can use your modern tongue! It is the piece of pie!

  We threw ourselves into our labours with joy. Especially me. “PIGABUNGA!” I shouted. I shouted it often, many times an hour, loudly and at random, to give cheer to my fellows!

  Verily did Milady Jemima work tirelessly, charging through her work like the finest foot soldier through the front lines of the enemy’s ranks. Her designs seemed sound eno
ugh, and so too did their execution. (By execution I mean the carrying out – not the slicing off of a head! Ha ha!)

  I was the appointed weapons tester, as I had most experience of fighting in the field (and in the swamp, the hillside, the beach, and ONCE even in a large tin bath! But I digress). Soon – with but a day and a half before glorious battle commenced – I was testing new weapons for the first time in 500 years!

  WEAPON 1.

  THE SWORD OF HELLFIRE

  IT’S SICK! But not like someone with cholera!

  I studied this weapon first with some surprise. It was made of the mighty metal, WC, and sat well in my hand.

  However! I had thought a sword was felt to be too – what do you say – primitive for modern combat?

  Not so the Sword of Hellfire!

  Yes, the Sword of Hellfire (well named by jeune Noah) has a power pack and trigger built into the hilt and, it says here, fires a ‘high-energy light ray’. I believe this is fancy speak for IT IS A SWORD-GUN THAT SMITES THINE ENEMIES DEAD AS STONES AND ROASTS THEM AS GUINEA FOWLS O’ER A FLAME! Ha ha. Result!

  WEAPON 2.

  THE LANCE-A-LOT

  IT’S WICKED! Like a witch. And yet, do not burn it like a witch. That would profit ye not.

  This lance looks and feels like an ordinary lance except the tip glows red-hot and can burn through any armour! COOL! Only, hot. Ha! Such is science.

  WEAPON 3.

  THE SHIELD HOLLY-CARRIER

  MAX OUT YOUR FURY! This was my own design. Who needs technology! ’Tis a shield upon which I have stuck bits of very pointy holly – ouchie! Ha ha! Not only that, but the berries are poisonous! BEWARE.