A young man stepped forward, scribbling something in the notebook he was holding. “Mr. Baxter, as far as I can work out, that still means that the apartments won’t allow enough space for a kitchen.”
Baxter dismissed this comment with a wave of his hand. “I think you’ll find kitchens are out of fashion these days—young people want fast food and takeout; they don’t want to be slaving over a hot oven for hours. But,” he added quickly, noticing the look of concern on Sheila’s face, “we have allowed for a counter in each bathroom that is big enough for a small microwave and a toaster. So . . . problem solved,” he said, grinning.
Sheila nodded and looked down at her clipboard. “And what about the green space we asked for?”
“Ahhh, yes! Well, I think you’ll be very pleased to hear that we have incorporated a multiuse park area for the residents. Baxter Park will bring nature back to urban living,” he said grandly, reciting the line he had been practicing all morning. “Children will have the use of a swing, and there is even a park bench for people to sit on.”
“One swing and a park bench for more than five thousand people?” asked the young man. Baxter curled his lip at the interference.
“Yes, well, perhaps we could double that,” said Baxter, placing his hand on Sheila’s arm. “So I’m sure you’ll agree that we have taken your concerns seriously. Now all you have to do is to sign here, and we can all be on our way. I’m sure you must be very busy.”
Sheila hesitated. “Well, yes, I suppose . . . ,” she said. “Do you have the papers?”
“Of course,” he said, tapping on his briefcase. He walked back over to his car and placed his briefcase on the hood. He smiled to himself as he pulled out a pen and a piece of paper and laid them out in front of him. “Now if you just sign . . . ohhh,” he said, turning to see that Sheila had somehow managed to transform herself into a clown with full makeup. He shrank back, terrified.
“Why . . . why are you dressed like a . . . clown?” he whispered, his eyes wide.
“Mr. Baxter! I find that rather insulting,” said the clown, looking down at the enormous yellow buttons on the front of her oversized red jacket.
“You—you know,” said Baxter.
“Know what?” said the clown, tilting her head so that the tip of her conical hat pointed toward him, the frown that was painted on her face curling farther downward.
“That . . . that I’m scared of clowns,” cried Mr. Baxter, and he began to whimper.
“Mr. Baxter, are you okay?” asked a voice. Baxter looked over and saw that the young man was also dressed as a clown and, looking round, that so were the other people in the group. The clown who had spoken walked over to him, his curly orange wig looming nearer.
“Stay away,” he said, putting his hands up to his face and pressing his back into the front of his car. “Stay away!” he shouted.
“Mr. Baxter, I don’t think you’re well,” said the female clown, leaning over toward him.
“Aaargh!” cried Baxter, pushing the clown backward. He started to run, but the rest of the group closed in around him.
“Mr. Baxter, I think you need to sit down,” said an old clown with a large single tear painted on his white face. He took Baxter by the arm.
“Get off me!” screamed Baxter as he pushed the old clown backward to the ground.
“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded the clown in the green wig as he helped the old clown up to his feet.
Baxter looked around at the growing group of clowns surrounding him and realized with horror that he was trapped. He put his hands up to his mouth and screamed as loud as he could.
“SOMEBODY HELP ME! I’M SURROUNDED BY CLOWNS!”
A large clown that Baxter hadn’t noticed stepped out suddenly from the crowd, his enormous purple shoes causing him to waddle as he strode toward him. Baxter looked up and saw the clown’s red nose and black-rimmed eyes staring down at him.
“Mr. Baxter, I think you need some help,” said the clown sinisterly.
“Oh, oh . . . oh . . . please don’t kill me,” whispered Baxter, beginning to hyperventilate.
The clown’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to kill you; I just want to help you, Mr. Baxter. Don’t be scared,” said the clown, raising his arms. Baxter saw the giant yellow gloves coming toward him and, with pure panic sweeping over him, he realized that the clown was about to strangle him. Baxter’s very worst fear of coming face-to-face with a killer clown now appeared to be a reality. He staggered backward as the clown approached him, and he bumped into the crowd that encircled him. Baxter turned round and saw what appeared to be hundreds of colorful conical hats and white faces with painted frowns looking at him. The clowns all watched as Baxter screamed and began to run around in a circle trying to escape, until finally he collapsed on the ground, sobbing.
The group of clowns looked down with curious expressions as Baxter finally turned silent, and then his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he fainted.
• • •
Ernest giggled.
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” said Mortimer, watching as Richard Baxter was strapped onto a stretcher and wheeled toward the waiting ambulance. Sheila and her colleagues gathered around the vehicle, dressed exactly as they had been on Baxter’s arrival. They watched in shock as the doors closed and the ambulance sped off in the distance.
“I can’t believe he was scared of clowns,” said Ernest, amazed, jumping down from the cabin of the bulldozer they had been hiding in. They walked behind Baxter’s car and turned out into the street.
“It’s easy if you know how. You just have to find exactly what they’re most frightened of and replace everything in their mind with that one thought so they think that it’s real.”
Ernest nodded, deeply impressed, although a part of him felt a bit sorry for the man, even though he would never have admitted it.
“Quick, let’s get back to Mother,” said Mortimer, breaking into a run.
“She’s going to be so happy,” said Ernest, following behind.
• CHAPTER TWELVE •
That evening, while Ernest and Mortimer were treated to a sumptuous banquet by their mother, and the pupils of Myers Holt were relaxing in the Map Room, an unmarked car pulled up outside 10 Downing Street. A waiting police officer with an umbrella opened the car door and escorted Sir Bentley in through the front door.
“The prime minister’s expecting you,” said the butler. Sir Bentley followed him down the hallway and into a dark study, where he found the prime minister standing by an open fire.
“Prime Minister,” said Sir Bentley, shaking the prime minister’s hand.
“Please, Bentley, call me Edward; we’ve known each other for more than thirty years now. I got your message—what’s the urgent news?”
Sir Bentley looked at the prime minister. “Richard Baxter has been the victim of Inferno.”
“What?” exclaimed the prime minister, louder than intended. He coughed. “When?”
“Today, this afternoon. He’s in the hospital now, but it looks irreversible—the doctors say that there’s not much they can do for him.”
“Poor man,” said the prime minister sadly, looking down at the roaring fire. After a few moments, he looked up. “What is going on?”
“I don’t know,” said Sir Bentley, “but we’re going to find out. You obviously remember Richard Baxter; he was a pupil at Myers Holt when you were there.”
“My roommate,” said the prime minister, walking over to the bar in the corner of the room and pouring them each a drink. He walked back over and handed one of the crystal glasses to Sir Bentley.
Sir Bentley took a sip and continued. “As you also know, Cecil Humphries was a teacher at the same time. The coincidence is just too great. The only pupils not to have their knowledge of the Ability wiped at the end of their time at Myers Holt were the last set of pupils we trained—we just closed down after . . . that night . . . and as far as I knew, nobody ever spoke of the Abil
ity again . . . until now. I have spent the last few hours trying to work out what this could all be leading to and I’m afraid that I can only come to one conclusion: Your life is in danger.”
The prime minister considered this carefully. “I understand. But not my life only, is that right? You were also there.”
“Yes, I imagine that I’m a target too, if the pattern continues. The only other people who are still alive and were there that year are Lady Magenta and Clarissa Teller. Everybody else is either dead or locked up in a hospital room.”
“Do you think one of them could be responsible for this?”
“I really can’t, but I keep asking myself who could have knowledge of Inferno and be able to train children to use it. Danny Lyons and Anna Willows both died that night. Jenkins and Basil both died of old age some years ago. We know where Cecil and Richard are, so that leaves you, me, Clarissa, and Arabella Magenta. If you were training up twelve-year-old children to use the Ability, we would know about it.”
The prime minister smiled at the thought.
“And if I were responsible, then I wouldn’t be bringing it to anybody’s attention. That leaves only the two of them.”
“And where are they now?”
“As you know, Clarissa only leaves her home in the Outer Hebrides once a year, for the Antarctic Ball. She spends the rest of her time writing her books. Lady Magenta is still in London, hosting dinner parties every night. I’ve had my men watching them both, and they’ve seen nothing suspicious at all.”
“So what now?”
“It’s still early in their training, but I have some very talented pupils. I’ll take them tomorrow to meet Lady Magenta and Clarissa and see if they can find out anything.”
“Very well,” said the prime minister, nodding. “You know that you have my full support and any resources that you need.”
“Edward, you must take care. I’m afraid this makes the situation far more serious than we had even imagined. Perhaps you could consider canceling any public appointments until we’ve worked out what’s going on.”
“I appreciate your concern, Bentley, but I simply can’t do that. I’m the prime minister; I have responsibilities. I’ll increase security for us both and trust that you will resolve this situation as soon as possible.”
“I understand,” said Sir Bentley, shaking the prime minister’s hand. “Thank you.”
• CHAPTER THIRTEEN •
Wednesday, November 28
Chris sat down at his desk in the classroom and waited nervously for Ms. Lamb to arrive. Rex had been winding him up all morning, and the other children hadn’t argued in his defense, suggesting they might not think Rex’s ideas for his punishment so far-fetched. He looked down sheepishly as the door opened and Ms. Lamb stormed in, her heels making loud clacking sounds on the hard floor.
“Today,” she began, looking at everybody except Chris, “we will continue our lesson on telepathy. We will be learning to extract memories and then writing them up as reports. When you begin working for us, you will need to pass the information you find to the authorities, so it’s essential that you are able to communicate exactly what you have seen with as much detail as possible. You,” she said, pointing to Sebastian, “hand out these forms.”
Sebastian stood up and walked over to Ms. Lamb, who handed him the papers and some pens. He handed one of each to all of them.
Chris looked down at the printed sheet.
“On here, you must fill out the relevant information. Name, date, time,” said Ms. Lamb, running her finger across the top of the sheet. “In which street and building you found the information, and in the large box below, a detailed description of exactly what you saw. Understood?”
The children nodded.
“Now all we need is somebody’s mind to access. Let’s have . . . you,” she said. Chris looked up and saw that Ms. Lamb was pointing at him.
“Come now, don’t be shy. You certainly weren’t yesterday. As you clearly have no need for any training, the others can test their Ability on you.”
“I . . . um . . . would prefer not to.”
“Unfortunately for you, it’s not an option. Get up here . . . now.”
Chris stood up slowly and walked over to the front of the class. The rest of the pupils looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and relief that it wasn’t them.
“Your task today is to find out what this boy’s most embarrassing memory is.”
Chris looked over at Ms. Lamb, horrified.
“But—I—”
“Stop talking, boy. Now, to access that memory you must walk up Emotions Street which is . . . here,” she said, pointing to a long road on the left-hand side of the diagram on the wall. “Find the building marked ‘Embarrassment’—a red building, of course—and look on the ground floor for the largest and most prominent filing cabinet. Open that up, remove the largest folder, and make a mental note of everything you see. When you have finished, withdraw back to Reception and out; then write a detailed description of the memory. And if any of you decide not to do this, I will choose one of you to take this boy’s place instead. Begin.”
Chris looked over at Philip, who gave an apologetic shrug. He looked at the door and considered making a run for it before suddenly coming up with a better plan.
Chris closed his eyes and started singing to himself, louder and louder.
Ring a ring of roses, a pocket full of posies, a-tishoo, a-tishoo, we all fall down. Ring a ring of roses, a pocket full of posies, a-tishoo, a-tishoo, we all fall down. Ring a ring—”
All of a sudden, a loud knock to his left disturbed him from his thoughts. He opened his eyes and saw the door open and Sir Bentley walk in.
“Pardon the interruption, Ms. Lamb.”
Ms. Lamb looked annoyed but said nothing.
“I have a rather urgent matter to discuss with the children. Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” said Ms. Lamb. “Sit down, boy; we’ll continue this later,” she whispered to Chris, who rushed back to his seat in relief.
“There has been a rather significant turn of events in the last twenty-four hours. Although we wouldn’t normally ask pupils to begin work before the New Year, I’m afraid we are going to have to speed things up. Ms. Lamb, I will need to take two pupils with me now. Perhaps you could tell me who would be most able to take on a Mind Access job so early in training.”
Ms. Lamb thought for a moment, her lips pursed.
“I recommend you take that boy,” she said finally, looking over at Rex.
“Yes, ha!” said Rex, standing up.
“I need two, Ms. Lamb. Is there anybody else who is particularly strong in this area?”
Ms. Lamb shifted uncomfortably and grimaced.
“I suppose you’d better take that one,” she said at last, pointing at Chris.
Chris stood up and smiled at Rex, who gave him a thumbs-up.
“Excellent, thank you, Ms. Lamb. Christopher, Rex, follow me. The rest of you, enjoy your lesson. I’ll see you all later.”
Chris practically skipped down the hall behind Sir Bentley, who led them out past the Dome and into his office in the staff quarters.
“Take a seat, both of you,” said Sir Bentley, sitting down slowly in the leather chair behind his desk.
Chris and Rex sat down and listened carefully as Sir Bentley explained the situation as simply as he could, beginning with Cecil Humphries and Richard Baxter and finally leading to the conclusion that the person responsible had to have something to do with Myers Holt.
“And so,” he continued, “I need you both to interview two people, Lady Magenta and Clarissa Teller, today and find out if they know anything.” Sir Bentley slid two photographs across the table.
Chris looked surprised. “Clarissa Teller, the writer?”
“Yes, do you know her books?”
“Of course, everybody knows them! You know her, Rex, right?”
Rex nodded. “Yeah, and I hate to read. They’re the only book
s without pictures that I’ve actually finished.”
“Wonderful, I’m sure she’ll appreciate meeting some fans of hers. Now, back to business. You’ll be using your Ability to access their minds. Listen carefully. I want you to go to Calendar Street, go into the first building on the street, which houses all memories for this year, and find the filing cabinet for yesterday. Check it to see what they were doing at midday exactly—that’s the time that the Ability was being used on Richard Baxter. Then I want you to go down People Street and find the building marked ‘Old Acquaintances.’ There you should find a drawer for Richard Baxter. The drawers are labeled alphabetically, so it shouldn’t be too difficult. The folder at the front will contain the most recent encounter that Clarissa and Lady Magenta have had with Baxter. If they aren’t involved with what happened yesterday, you should find that their last memories of Baxter are from some time ago. As far as we know, neither Clarissa nor Lady Magenta stayed in contact with him since leaving Myers Holt. Any questions?”
“So,” said Rex, leaning forward, “we are basically working for the prime minister.”
Sir Bentley nodded.
“The prime minster needs me, Rex King, to help him?” asked Rex, checking.
“Yes, Rex, that is correct.”
Rex grinned. “Wow! Chris, we’ll be famous! This has got to get us a medal or something.”
“Now, now, let’s not get carried away,” said Sir Bentley. “You haven’t actually done anything yet, and let me remind you, all your work here must be carried out in the strictest confidence. Let’s go.”
Rex stood up and saluted. “Let’s save the world,” he said. Chris laughed, and Sir Bentley smiled.
“Come on, Superman, we have work to do.”
“Where are we going?” asked Chris, as they stood up.
“To a small island in the Outer Hebrides to meet Clarissa Teller,” said Sir Bentley, leading them out of the room.
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