Wraith

by Shane Smithers

  They dashed around a corner and up another street before they found another alley to hide in. James was certain he’d been in more alleys in the last twenty-four hours than in his entire life. He slumped into the chair, breathless. Aureole collapsed against a wall, her face flushed. Neither had the energy to talk. Once the sirens had died down, Aureole went off to find something to remove the cuffs.

  ‘Bolt cutters would have been better,’ grumbled James when she returned with a hacksaw.

  ‘They were too expensive. Besides, it would have looked suspicious, walking around with bolt cutters.’ She motioned for him to put his wrist on the chair and, as she positioned the hacksaw over the metal cuff and pulled back, James quickly turned his head away.

  ‘I can’t look,’ he breathed. The vibration went through the metal and up his arm.

  ‘Don’t be a baby,’ Aureole replied. She’d used another contraction, but now was not the time to inform her. She might lose concentration and slip.

  Nervously, James watched her close one eye behind her rose-coloured sunglasses and line up the blade again. After several more attempts, the cuffs were still undamaged. ‘They must be made from toughened steel. A hacksaw’s not going to do it,’ he said, wanting her to stop.

  Aureole stepped back, and sighed. ‘I will just have to cut the chair.’

  ‘What, and walk around with cuffs hanging from my wrist?’

  ‘You never know, you might start a new fashion.’ She stifled a laugh as James glared at her. ‘Anyway, you do not have much choice.’

  ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘Do I need to tell you the story about the time I was locked in handcuffs?’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes. It was many years ago when I was a little boy, not unlike yourself . . .’

  Erebus’s Lair, Adelaide, South Australia

  ‘That was a close one,’ said Wilson, stepping briskly through the apartment door. ‘He nearly had you, Collins.’

  ‘Only because you toppled a garbage bin in front of him,’ said Erebus, walking in behind them, and tossing the car keys onto the coffee table.

  Wilson shot Collins an apologetic look. ‘I thought he was the copper chasin’ us. And . . .’

  ‘Go and count the money in Mr Watanabe’s suitcase,’ said Erebus. He wasn’t in the mood for another one of Wilson’s stories.

  ‘Sure thing, Boss.’ Wilson rubbed his hands together in glee. ‘I love countin’ money.’ He walked over to the table with the suitcase, snapped open the locks, pushed the clothing to one side and gazed longingly at the wads of cash. He rolled his shoulders in a circular motion, stretched his neck by tilting it to one side then the other, and then cracked his knuckles. Just before he sat down, he adjusted his suitcoat by pulling down on each sleeve. ‘Ten thousand, six hundred and fifty-five dollars,’ he said moments later.

  ‘What?’ said Erebus, who had barely walked ten steps towards his bedroom door.

  ‘That’s how much money there is,’ said Wilson, closing the suitcase with a thud.

  ‘You only just sat down to count it. How do you know that?’

  ‘I’m an expert at countin’ money. Me mum trained me since I was in nappies. I can count it blindfolded if you want.’

  Erebus shook his head. ‘No, that won’t be necessary.’ ‘An’ you want to know the real amazin’ thing?’ said Wilson, holding the lapels of his suit and jutting out his chest proudly. ‘That’s exactly how much this coat cost.’

  Erebus stared at Wilson’s coat, suddenly noticing that it was miles too small for him. The sleeves came halfway up to his elbows and the buttons looked as if they were about to spring off at any moment. ‘Where did you get that?’ he said slowly.

  ‘It was in Mr Watanabe’s wardrobe,’ said Wilson, brushing lint off his shoulder and looking pleased with himself.

  ‘And how do you know it cost that much?’ asked Erebus.

  ‘’Cause,’ replied Wilson, producing a small piece of paper and waving it in the air. ‘I found a docket in one of the pockets.’

  ‘Give it to me,’ said Erebus, holding out his hand and snapping his fingers. It was like talking to a five-year-old.

  ‘Fine. If you don’t believe me, here . . .’ Wilson handed over the docket, and shrugged his shoulders at Collins, who was looking on with some interest.

  ‘This is a receipt for the SAFFIRE,’ said Erebus, inspecting it closely.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Wilson.

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure,’ said Erebus excitedly, pointing to the name on the docket, and continued, ‘We need to find this shop.’

  ‘How we gonna do that?’ asked Wilson.

  Erebus pulled out his phone and started dialling.

  ‘There’s a number on the docket.’ He placed the phone to his ear. The reception wasn’t great, and while it was connecting he glanced at Wilson, who was chewing on one of his fingernails with some vigour. ‘Get your gear together . . . and take off that coat, you look ridiculous.’

  Wilson muttered something under his breath as he squeezed out of the coat. ‘If this shop does have the SAFFIRE, what are we going to do about it?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Erebus, happy again. ‘Just a bit of breaking and entering.’ Much to Erebus’s surprise, a smile suddenly appeared on Collins’s face.

  ‘Collins likes breakin’ an’ enterin’,’ explained Wilson with a grin. ‘Mainly breakin’ though.’

  FIFTY-ONE

  Alleyway, Port Adelaide, South Australia

  James and Aureole waited till a long time after dark before they emerged from the alley. James shoved his cuffed hand into his pocket, feeling like a criminal.

  ‘It is going to be hard to find any place that is private now that the police are looking for us,’ said Aureole.

  James nodded glumly, and then he let out a laugh. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,’ he said, snapping the fingers on his free hand. ‘My grandmother lives about an hour from here. It might be far enough away.’

  ‘Is she trustworthy?’

  James looked at her. How could she ask such a question? ‘Of course she’s trustworthy, she’s my grandmother.’

  To get to Lyndoch, where James’s grandmother lived, was not simple. They had to catch a train to Gawler and then hire a taxi to get the rest of the way because buses didn’t run that late at night. By the time they reached James’s grandmother’s house it was well after midnight.

  ‘This is quaint,’ said Aureole, opening the little green picket gate and walking up the path.

  James saw her cast an inquisitive eye over a gnome in the garden, bent over, baring its bottom to all. ‘I gave that to Gran,’ he said proudly. ‘She called him Norbit Moon.’

  ‘Well, don’t you have great taste.’

  James grinned. ‘Thanks.’ He raised his hand, hesitated for a second, and then banged loudly on the front door. ‘She’s a little deaf,’ he explained.

  ‘She does not have a door bell?’ asked Aureole.

  James gave a shrug. ‘She doesn’t believe in them.’ He was just about to knock again when he heard footsteps shuffling down the hallway and the outside light flickered on.

  ‘Wh-who is it?’

  ‘It’s James,’ he said, leaning in close to the door.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘James!’ he said a little louder.

  ‘Who dear?’

  ‘JAMES! YOUR GRANDSON!’

  ‘Just a moment.’ There was a fumbling of the lock and then the door opened. James quickly shoved his cuffed hand into his pocket, not wanting to alarm his gran. James’s grandmother slipped on her spectacles, which had been hanging around her neck by a gold chain, and peered at him. ‘James!’ Then, before he could respond, she reached out, grabbed him by the arm, pulled him inside and slammed the door behind him. A second later, she opened the door again. ‘You’d better come inside, dear,’ she said to Aureole, who was still standing on the doorstep.

  Aureole nodded and stepped inside. Gran closed the door and
slipped the chain back on, turned to James. ‘It’s about time you showed up! Melissa rang – the poor woman was beside herself.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said James loudly. ‘I came as soon as I could.’

  ‘There’s no need to shout,’ said Gran, giving him a funny look. ‘Come into the kitchen, we can talk there.’ She turned and shuffled down the hall past various vases and other ornaments‘ I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ she added. James gave Aureole a faint smile; for his gran, every occa-sion provoked the making of tea.

  They reached the country-style kitchen, sat down at a large wooden table with a red-and-white checked tablecloth spread across it. Aureole gazed up at the copper pots and pans hanging from the ceiling.

  ‘Here, place these in front of you,’ said Gran, handing James a couple of crocheted doilies. Her eyes fell on Aureole. ‘Hello, dear.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, Gran,’ said James quickly. ‘This is Aureole.’

  ‘Do you have a last name, dear?’

  Aureole shifted uncomfortably. ‘Welkin.’

  Gran paused, momentarily, scratched the side of her face thoughtfully. ‘Nice to meet you, miss Aureole Welkin,’ she said at last. ‘I’m Coral. But you can just call me Gran, if you like.’

  Aureole smiled politely. ‘Nice to meet you too, Gran.’ ‘You have a lovely name, most unusual,’ continued Gran.

  Behind her sunglasses, Aureole’s eyes flicked to James. ‘Thank you, I like it,’ she said.

  Gran gazed at her for a few more moments, looked as if she was going to say something, changed her mind and then said with a smile, ‘How do you have your tea?’

  ‘Black, thank you.’

  Gran turned the teapot several times and then, with a shaky hand, poured Aureole and James a cup. ‘James is a bit of a sissy when it comes to drinking tea,’ she said.

  ‘Gran!’ His gran always said the most embarrassing things about him.

  ‘He has milk and two sugars,’ she said chit-chattily, seemingly oblivious to her grandson’s scowl.

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ muttered James, stirring his tea.

  A small laugh escaped Aureole’s lips as she took a sip from her cup.

  Gran poured herself a cup and then sat down. ‘So, tell me what’s going on,’ she said in a more serious tone. ‘You disappear for weeks. Everybody thinks you’ve been abducted. I can’t get a hold of your mother and father. It’s been utter chaos. Where have you been?’

  ‘Here and there, nowhere in particular,’ said James, his eyes fixed on the floor.

  ‘Melissa rang yesterday, said you wouldn’t come home. You know you’ve caused that woman a lot of worry and grief?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to,’ mumbled James.

  ‘The police came around today. They said you assaulted a man and then ran from the scene. They asked me a lot of questions.’

  James jerked his head up. ‘I didn’t assault anyone. He threatened us!’

  Gran didn’t let up her interrogation. ‘And what’s all of this about a secret mission?’

  ‘What? There’s no secret mission.’ Bloody Darren can’t keep his mouth shut.

  Gran eyed James over her glasses. ‘I’m supposed to ring the police and tell them you’re here.’

  James shot Aureole a worried look. ‘That might not be such a good idea,’ he said to Gran.

  ‘Then, maybe you should tell me what’s going on.’

  James lowered his eyes. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

  Gran sighed. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Don’t tell me.’

  ‘So . . .’ he said shortly, after Gran had offered Aureole another cup of tea. Aureole had politely declined because she hadn’t finished the first. ‘You haven’t heard from Mum or Dad, either?’

  Gram looked concerned. ‘I received a postcard from them a week ago.’ She got up and shuffled into the hall. ‘Here it is,’ she said on her return, passing it to James.

  James looked at the picture on the front and his eyes widened. ‘What? This can’t be right,’ he spluttered.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Port River, Adelaide, South Australia

  Cirro paused, took a deep breath and then pressed the flashing button on the hopper’s dash. A dark wisp of cloud appeared before him, twisting and turning, like smoke curling above a bonfire. He watched as it slowly formed into a small solid shape.

  ‘Primary Agent Cirro Welkin reporting in,’ he announced.

  The three-dimensional shape rotated, revealing a miniature Nimbus. ‘What news do you bring?’ he said.

  ‘The prototype is secured, Your Excellency, and on its way back to Nebulosity,’ replied Cirro.

  ‘And what of your sister and James?’ asked Nimbus.

  Cirro hesitated – this was the part he had been dreading. He’d delayed his report for over a day for that reason. ‘They are not secured.’

  The tiny figure of Nimbus frowned. ‘They are not objects, Cirro,’ he said sharply.

  ‘Sorry, Your Excellency,’ said Cirro. ‘Aureole and James refused to come back with me.’

  The cloud projection suddenly showed the Empyrean’s hair glow red. ‘Refused? Since when did they have a choice?’

  ‘You know how stubborn Aureole can be,’ Cirro reminded him.

  ‘Where are they now?’ growled Nimbus.

  ‘I do not know. But another problem has arisen,’ said Cirro.

  ‘Oh?’ said the miniature Nimbus.

  Cirro hesitated, took a breath, and then said, ‘There are others looking for the SAFFIRE.’

  Nimbus silently pondered for a few moments and then said, ‘Have you seen them?’

  ‘Negative,’ said Cirro.

  ‘Any idea who they are?’

  Cirro shook his head. ‘I have only acquired the scantiest description of two men. Dock workers are not inclined to talk much, especially to strangers.’

  ‘Are the men Agrariens?’

  ‘Sounded like they were, but you cannot always tell.’ The tiny Nimbus slowly stroked his beard. ‘How could they know about the SAFFIRE?’ he said, almost to himself. ‘There must be a leak inside the laboratories . . . Someone has betrayed us.’

  ‘It seems the only plausible conclusion, Your Excellency,’ said Cirro. This was a grim day for Nebulosity and all Azuriens.

  He heard Nimbus mutter, ‘Heads are going to roll,’ but nothing more.

  Cirro was used to his father exploding in anger, his hair turning all shades of red. But this response was much too calm. When the Empyrean spoke like this, it meant only one thing; God help anyone who stood in his way.

  ‘You know this complicates the matter?’ continued Nimbus a moment later.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cirro.

  The little Nimbus clasped his hands behind his back and started to pace. When he reached a certain point in Cirro’s hopper he disappeared and then reappeared as he paced back again. ‘And the SAFFIRE . . . it is definitely there?’

  ‘From the information I have gathered . . . yes, I think it is here.’

  The Empyrean’s mouth set into a grim line. ‘Nebulosity experienced a severe tremor last night. The worst yet,’ he said.

  Cirro’s stomach tightened. ‘Much damage?’

  ‘The domed roof on the National Theatre collapsed along with a number of houses on level eight and twelve. Luckily no one was killed.’ Nimbus stroked his beard again. ‘Your mission has broadened, Primary Agent. We need the SAFFIRE more than ever, and we cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands.’

  ‘Considering how difficult the children are being, I cannot possibly retrieve them and the SAFFIRE at the same time. I will need agents, Your Excellency.’

  ‘Operations will deploy a response team immediately, if not sooner.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Excellency,’ said Cirro dipping his head.

  ‘There is one more thing,’ said Nimbus, ‘It concerns James’s parents . . .’

  Lyndoch, South Australia

  ‘London!’ James gazed at the picture of Big Ben on the postcard clutched in his hand.
‘No, this can’t be. They went to New Zealand. Why would they be in London?’

  ‘Let me have a look,’ said Aureole. She snatched the postcard out of James’s hand. ‘This is why, stupid.’ She read out loud. ‘Dear Mum, conference was moved. At least the UK’s lovely this time of year. Love Celeste and Robert.’

  ‘Why was the conference moved?’ asked James.

  Aureole shrugged, handed back the card. ‘She did not say.’

  James trailed his gaze over his mum’s message. It was her handwriting. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Gran. ‘I’m sure they’re fine. You know what their work’s like.’

  ‘Yeah, but why haven’t they rung?’ asked James. He waved the card in the air. ‘Why send a postcard? Who sends postcards anymore? And why can’t we reach them?’ He slumped back in his chair. He didn’t like this one bit. They were always mysterious about their work, but James knew something wasn’t right.

  ‘I am sure there is a logical explanation,’ said Aureole. She gave a big yawn and stretched. ‘Which we would figure out, if only we could get a few hours’ sleep.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,’ said Gran. ‘Aureole can have the spare bed. James, I’m afraid you’ll have to sleep on the lounge.’ She ran a sympathetic eye over them both. ‘I’ll get you some different clothes to sleep in.’

  When James caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror he couldn’t help but let out a soft groan. He looked worse than that homeless man in the park. He sniffed under his armpit. He even smelt worse than that homeless man in the park

  Gran returned with some clothes draped over her arm. ‘These were your grandfather’s,’ she said, passing James some striped pyjamas. James’s grandfather had passed away in a fishing accident when James was small. However, his grandmother refused to throw out any of his grandfather’s clothes. ‘Sorry, dear,’ she said to Aureole. ‘These are some of mine.’

  ‘Thanks. I am sure they will do fine,’ said Aureole. Out of sight of Gran, James couldn’t help but release a snigger when he saw Aureole emerge from the bathroom wearing a long cotton nightie. It had elastic around the wrists that gave the arms a puffy appearance, and frilly lace around the neck that refused to lie flat, no matter how much she patted it down. ‘The little pink flowers give it a nice touch,’ he said.