Sky Lights

by Barclay Baker

  And crush them til there’s naught but stoor

  Birl a’thing roon

  Then set it doon

  Now give your trust

  ‘Tis fairy dust.’

  ‘No wonder the pirates can’t make head or tail of it. It sounds like old Scots,’ said Jack.

  ‘But it explains all the references to a bygone age that were in the Seeker’s Agreement though. Remember how we couldn’t figure out what that meant. Well now we know. Our great grandparents must have used these words and they lived in a bygone age,’ observed Shelley.

  ‘That’s all very well, but can we figure out what it means?’ said Jack. ‘Let’s start at the beginning again. Read it line by line Amy.’

  ‘First haud a puckle in ae haun, fit wid gae in a tassie’

  ‘That’s probably the first dust we collected, the two buttercups full of yellow ochre from the volcano. It’s all in this bag here,’ said Shelley.

  ‘How much do we need?’ said Peter, feeling more confident now and anxious to help.

  ‘I think a tassie is a small cup,’ said Shelley. ‘We learned a dance in school that was called “The Silver Tassie”, and I remember the teacher said that tassie meant cup.’

  Jack measured out a buttercupful of the powder and emptied it into the leather pouch. ‘Right what’s next?’

  ‘Sine noo coup the ither tae the tap o’ae shoon o’ a bonnie lassie’

  ‘Well the end part is easy. You’re a bonny lassie, Amy,’ said Jack in a low voice. He gave her an encouraging smile. ‘But what’s a shoon?’

  ‘Something’s ringing a bell!’ Shelley frowned. ‘Amy, remember when we were doing a project called ‘In Granny’s Day’, we read a poem that our grandmothers had learned at school?’

  ‘Vaguely,’ replied Amy. ‘How’d it go again?’

  ‘Slowly, silently, now the moon, Walks the night in her silver shoon,’

  ‘Yeah…I remember it now,’ said Amy, her voice rising with excitement. ‘It had something about fish in a silver stream.’

  ‘Shush!’ said Jack urgently. ‘Keep your voices down. The pirates’ll hear you. So what is shoon?’

  ‘It has to be shoes if the moon walked about in them.’

  Amy took off one of her slippers and handed it to Peter, anxious to include him in the process. He carefully filled it with enough yellow dust to reach the top, before pouring it into the leather pouch with the rest. ‘It’s a good job I wasn’t wearing my crocs.’ Amy smiled for the first time since their capture. ‘The dust would have spilled out all the holes.’

  Jack, meanwhile, was looking in the second bag. His face fell. ‘Oh no! The eggs we took from the Growzli hen are broken,’ he said. ‘What’ll we do now? They must’ve broken when that bully threw them on the floor.’

  Amy read,

  ‘Fit chookies lay, ye brak the twa, crush them up then let them fa”

  ‘It’s all right Jack, they’ve to be broken anyway, so the spell will still work,’ said Peter, pleased to be back in charge. He took the bag from Jack, picked out the broken egg shells, crushed them in his hand and dropped them into the leather pouch. ‘What’s next Amy?’

  ‘Tak a’ the seeds o’ the poppy floo’er

  And crush them ‘til there’s naught but stoor.’

  ‘The first bit’s easy. The seeds o’ the poppy floo’er are just the seeds of the poppy flower,’ said Amy, ‘but what’s stoor?’

  ‘I remember my Granny describing Granddad’s shed as a stoory place,’ said Shelley. She’d say, ‘Dinnae gae in there hen, its fu’ o’ stoor’. I think she meant dirty and dusty.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ said Jack. ‘We crush them till they’re like dust. I guess we can use our feet to do that job. We’ll grind them with our heels.’

  The two girls looked down at their feet. Their rubber-soled slippers wouldn’t be much use for grinding seeds. ‘Count me out of that job,’ said Peter. ‘My boots are made of soft leather. No heels at all. Looks like you are the only one with proper shoes on Jack.’ So Jack ended up with the job of grinding all the seeds until they were powder and he added it to the mixture in the bag.

  ‘Next?’ said Peter.

  ‘Birl a’thing roon then set it doon’

  Jack tied the leather thongs tightly round the bag and whirled it above his head before setting it down on the floor in front of them all. The three children and Peter stared at the bag wondering if the magic was working inside. Amy had her fingers crossed. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ muttered Jack. ‘Making fairy dust? I’m going soft in the head.’

  Amy pleaded, ‘Come on Jack, do it for me. It could be our only chance. We have to trust the magic’s going to work.’

  Jack took charge again. ‘Right, all hold hands and concentrate as hard as you can.’ Peter hesitated; he didn’t like to take orders. Finally, he gave his hands to Amy and Shelley and the four sat there more in hope than expectation. Each of them was lost in thought. Shelley was confident that they would get home eventually but was worried about what they would have to go through first. And what she would tell her worried parents was also preying on her mind. She was going to be in big trouble. Amy was more frightened than she had ever been and was wishing for something magical like the appearance of a fairy or an angel to resolve this awful situation. Jack was disappointed in himself for not being able to do more to protect his sister and Shelley. While Peter’s main concern was how to get back his status as the boy who knew everything and could do anything. ‘It will be time now,’ he said, but made no move to break the circle.

  It was Jack who leaned forward, his hand hovering above the bag. ‘Should I?’ he whispered, looking at the other three. Each nodded in answer to his unfinished question. He lifted the bag and undid the cords. As he put his fingers inside to prise open the leather pouch, a faint glow began to shine out. Pulling it open, he revealed the pile of sparkling fairy dust that lay inside.

  ‘Oh,’ sighed Amy. ‘Now do you believe it, Jack?’ Her eyes shone as she stared at the glistening crystals.

  Jack blew out his breath. ‘I have to admit something’s happened.’

  As Amy leaned over to give Peter a hug, he jumped up. ‘I did it! I did it! I have made the fairy dust that will save us from the pirates’ clutches,’ he boasted. ‘Oh, how clever I am! No one can get the better of Peter Pan!’ He was about to start up with his crowing, when Amy and Shelley pounced on him and clapped their hands over his mouth.

  ‘Be quiet, you idiot, the pirates’ll hear you!’ said Shelley.

  ‘Don’t be too sure, Peter,’ said Jack. ‘We haven’t escaped yet. We still have to figure out how to get past our jailers. And that just might be more difficult than making the fairy dust.’

  The three children and Peter sat down again and stared at the leather pouch full of fairy dust lying open in front of them. The dust seemed to be alive as it sparkled and shimmered in the shaft of strong sunlight streaming through the round porthole window.

  ‘Now what do we do?’ asked Shelley, running her hands through her hair. ‘We’ve made the fairy dust, but will it work? Is it possible that if we sprinkle it on ourselves we can really fly out when they open that door? It’s not a very big door. I can’t see how we could possibly squeeze past these two yobs. They’re massive.’ Shelley stood up to stretch her legs. ‘So what are we going to do with this?’ she asked, giving the leather pouch a poke with her toe.

  ‘Careful,’ said Jack. ‘You’ve just spilt some fairy dust on the floor.’

  ‘You clumsy girl! You have to be more careful with my precious fairy dust,’ said Peter.

  The sparkling powder began to drift over the floor, tracing what, at first, appeared to be a random path. Ignoring Peter’s outburst, Jack said, ‘Look at the dust. It’s following your shadow, Shelley. Look! What’s going on?’

  Shelley’s shadow lay behind her across the floor and partly up the far wall of the cabin. The magic dust trickled and danced round the outline of Shelley’s shadow; up o
ne side, round her arms and head and down the other side until there was a silvery border all around it.

  ‘Wow!’ said Amy. ‘What next?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Shelley, and she began to do a dance, while watching the gyrations of her shadow on the wall. ‘This is brilliant. Wait till the kids at school see this.’ She twisted and turned, making more and more complex movements.

  ‘Hey, look,’ said Jack. ‘Shelley’s shadow has stopped moving! She’s still doing this crazy dance but her shadow is motionless now.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ replied Peter. ‘Fairy dust spilt on a shadow gives it a life of its own. It will be tired of the dance.’

  ‘You knew about this already? Why didn’t you tell us?’ said Jack.

  ‘I know something else too; something even more important. Pirates are terrified of shadows,’ said Peter. ‘We could get our shadows to overcome the pirates.’

  ‘And just how’re we going to do that?’ asked Amy. ‘Our shadows are still attached to us.’

  ‘Oh, that’s easy,’ said Peter. ‘We just have to pull them off. Remember how I lost my shadow in the nursery? The window was slammed down before the shadow could get out and it was left behind while I escaped.’

  ‘I believe he’s on to something,’ whispered Jack. ‘Let’s all bring our shadows to life, and then we’ll chop them off.’ He took a sprinkling of fairy dust and carefully dropped it on to the shadows of Amy, Peter and himself. They watched fascinated as the dust ran round each shadow until the complete outline was shimmering. Jack gave the orders. ‘Now we need to separate them from our bodies. Shelley, can you stand on one leg, so that there’s only one part to rip away. Now, the rest of us, stand on the shadow of Shelley’s leg and you, Shelley, you hop off that leg as high as you can.’

  Amy and Peter did as Jack suggested and Shelley gave an almighty hop into the air. The shadow remained firmly stuck under the weight of the three of them. Peter snatched the shadow from the floor and rolled it up. ‘That will keep it quiet for a while,’ he said.

  The other shadows were rapidly torn off in the same way and the four friends sat down to consider their next move. ‘Now we’ll need to wait till the pirates come back in here and we’ll set the shadows on them,’ said Amy.

  ‘The pirates have pistols, remember,’ said Shelley. ‘If they get frightened, they’ll probably start shooting and we won’t stand a chance in here.’

  ‘I know what we’ll do, ‘said Jack. ‘The shadows are flat. We can feed them under the door. Look, there’s a tiny wee gap. Once they are on the other side maybe they can frighten the pirates and get us out of here.’

  ‘That’s my plan, too,’ said Peter. ‘It’s my very best plan and I know it will work.’

  CHAPTER 12

  A Matter of Life and Death

  The pirates had brought Professor John Dante to the grounds of an abandoned hospital and bundled him through an opening in the fence. He had no idea how they had found this place but it was certainly secluded. The back door had been forced by MacStarkey on an earlier visit when he had checked that the morgue facilities were still useable. In fact they were in immaculate condition. They had led him through deserted corridors and down into the basement, where he now stood. Empty boxes littered the floor. He’d spent the last hour unpacking the equipment he had brought from Roslin, and setting up a make-shift laboratory. His machinery, medical tools, metal and glass containers, and drugs were all laid out neatly. All he knew was that the pirates wanted him to ‘work a miracle’ and it was to do with his ABR technique. But exactly what the miracle was, he was waiting to find out. And his daughter’s life depended on it. As he placed his notebooks for recording his experiments and results on the table, his thoughts were interrupted by Skylights, Fitzsmee and O’Mullins bursting in through the plastic curtaining separating the work space from the entrance to the autopsy suite. O’Mullins pulled a bright orange wheelie bin behind him.

  ‘In here Prof?’ The pirate indicated the large, empty metal trough sitting on the autopsy table. The professor nodded. It took two of the pirates to lift and upend the bin. Instantly the room filled with a putrid stench as the gunge from the crocodile’s stomach slopped from one end of the trough to the other before quivering to a glutinous stop. Some solid bits floated to the top of the thick greenish soup. It was a sickening sight. Professor John Dante screwed up his face in disgust at the contents of the beast’s stomach lying in the trough. He wore green surgical robes with plastic overshoes on his feet, latex gloves on his well scrubbed hands and a plastic cap on his head to prevent stray hairs from contaminating the workplace. He placed the mask that was hanging round his neck over his nose and mouth. He was suddenly aware of a loud steady beating; he had never known his heart to thump this hard. He was terrified. At the thought of the task ahead of him, his spirits sank ever lower.

  ‘What do you expect me to do with this?’ he exclaimed. ‘I am not God. I can’t produce life from this primeval soup.’

  ‘You sounded like God in that TV interview. ‘We are proud to present a miracle of Biblical proportions’,’ mimicked Skylights. ‘You said it and you’re going to do it. Produce a miracle for me. Just remember we’re not fussy if your girl lives or dies. It’s up to you,’ he threatened.

  The professor started towards him with both fists raised. ‘You touch one hair on her head and I’ll……’

  ‘You’ll what?’ said Skylights. ‘You just do as you’re told, you pompous partridge! Or else.’

  John Dante weighed up his chances and backed up to the metal table. He was no match for his captors. ‘All right. Tell me exactly what you expect me to do.’

  ‘Do what I brought you here for,’ snarled Skylights. ‘I want Hook, large as life and twice as ugly. Somewhere in that putrid mix there should be a bit of our old cap’n. Use your skills to reproduce that murderous, vile, individual. Not a clone, mind! I want the original, with all his memories and wickedness intact. Bring him back from the dead.’

  ‘But that’s a preposterous suggestion. And more than likely impossible,’ said the professor.

  ‘Well now, that’s a pity. A real pity. We were hoping we wouldna’ have to harm your bonny lass, but if you refuse to…….,’ began Skylights.

  John Dante interrupted him. ‘Have I your word Wendy will be safe if I bring Hook back to life?’

  ‘You’ve got no choice. If we don’t get Hook, she’s dead as a dodo and you will be too.’

  He knew he was powerless against the three of them. His only option was to humour them. ‘Give me some space and time,’ he muttered. ‘Bringing someone back to life is an entirely new procedure. I’ve no idea how it will turn out.’

  Holding their noses, the pirates turned to leave. John Dante almost smiled. He was wearing a face mask, but they had not been prepared for this abominable stink. Fitzsmee and O’Mullins fled, in danger of bringing up the contents of their own stomachs. ‘You’ve got five hours,’ spluttered Skylights, gagging before following the others.

  John Dante heard the key turning. He was alone with the gloop. He contemplated the enormity of the task he was facing. This was not about re-growing a couple of fingers lost in an accident. Not this time! He had to search in this glutinous mess and find some part of James Hook, the notorious pirate, and re-grow the rest of his body from the small part. Could it be done? He didn’t know, but he was about to find out. John Dante felt sick at heart as well as sick to his stomach. If he didn’t succeed, his daughter would surely die. He realised Wendy’s life depended on what he did in this basement in an abandoned hospital, somewhere in Edinburgh.

  He weighed up the chances of success. Why not? He had to stay positive; it was the only way. The procedure for renewing small parts of the body was so secure the Roslin Institute backed him up on national television. What was to stop it working on a grander scale? And if anyone in the world could do it, then he could.

  He resolved to give it his best try and steeled himself for the moment when he had to immerse
his fingers in the gloop. Yes, he was wearing latex gloves, but the very idea of it disgusted him. He had never done anything like this before. Taking a deep breath, he carefully lowered his hands into the sticky mess and began to separate the solid matter from the sludge. He picked out the largest bits quite easily, and laid them carefully in the Petri dishes prepared with a special solution to keep the parts viable.

  When he had retrieved several large pieces, he identified them and made notes in his book. The largest of his specimens was a human hand, still with flesh on it. ‘Well this can’t be what I’m looking for,’ he said to himself. ‘That’s not been in the stomach very long; much too recent to belong to Captain Hook. Maybe I’ll be able to….hmmm. We’ll see.’ He laid the hand in a dish by itself and covered it in preserving fluid, before sealing it up and labelling it. ‘I’ll save that for later.’

  He set aside several large pieces of fish and a turtle’s head. He lifted out parts of a small reptile. ‘That’s no good to me either.’ Disappointed, he continued retrieving solid pieces; parts of seabirds including feathers, a couple of lobster claws and the leg of some poor mammalian creature, maybe a rat or an otter. A few small unidentifiable fragments of bones also emerged from this first search. He brought them to the autopsy table and laid them out carefully in separate dishes. He took photographs and labelled the dishes, giving each an identification number.

  Taking a deep breath he plunged his hands in once more, this time right to the bottom of the sludge. His hand brushed against something hard and sharp. It felt wrong. It felt different. And it was pulsating like a living thing. He withdrew the alien object from the mix and examined it. It was a fist-size tangled mess of metal and seaweed. Bit by bit he dislodged the plant material until he was left with what looked like the inner workings of a clock; a metal spring, several cog wheels, a winder. So that was what he had heard beating; not his own heart but an ancient clock. Intertwined with the metal pieces were numerous thin bones, green with algae. They looked like human finger bones that had been there for some time. He extricated all but one of the bones and laid them to one side. The final bone seemed to be wedged between two pieces of metal. He cleaned it using a tiny saline spray to dislodge the last of the gunk clinging to the piece. That was when he saw it! Encircling the small bone and jamming it between the cogs was a ring.