Big Change for Stuart

by Lissa Evans

  ‘So where do we go now?’ he asked, looking at the next three pictures. They showed a loaf of bread (Teeny-tiny Dough-ny Horten?), a needle and thread (Teeny-tiny Sew-ny Horten?) and a series of stripes, shading from white, through pink, to red (no idea).

  ‘I’ve already worked it out,’ called April. ‘It’s the third one.’

  ‘How does a set of stripes represent Toe?’

  ‘It doesn’t. It represents Tone. As in tones of the same colour.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely certain. I’m already standing on it.’

  Despite everything, Stuart actually laughed. ‘I thought you said you were going to stop making snap decisions.’

  ‘I’m in a hurry. Come on!’

  ‘OK.’ He made the jump.

  Tea Knee Tine E Tone.

  There wasn’t far to go now: the path was curling up towards a terrace, and the walls were shrinking with every step.

  ‘Right,’ shouted April. ‘A mountain, a donkey and a light bulb.’

  ‘E for Everest?’ suggested Stuart.

  ‘Or the formula for the speed of light?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘E equals mc squared?’

  ‘Might be, I suppose.’

  ‘Shall I try?’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Stuart, before April could go leaping off again. ‘Why’s the donkey got its mouth open?’ It was a fat, jolly-looking donkey, its mouth wide open and its head tipped back.

  ‘It’s braying, I suppose,’ said April doubtfully.

  Stuart nodded slowly. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘It is braying. It’s going, Hee-haw.’

  There was a pause, and then they both spoke in unison.

  ‘Tea Knee Tine E Tone Hee Haw.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ shouted April. ‘Nearly there.’

  They both leaped onto the donkey stone at the same time, and Stuart’s saw April’s head bob briefly above the wall.

  ‘There’s a white one after the light bulb,’ said Stuart, jumping again.

  And now there were only three more patterned paving stones, and after that, a set of steps leading up to the parapet.

  ‘So what do you think?’ he asked, looking at the last three pictures. The first was marked with a large green X, the second showed a seagull with a pointed red beak, and the third was printed with a can of baked beans. ‘April?’ he asked again.

  But instead of an answer, he heard a distant, desperate scream for help.

  ‘JUNE!’ SHOUTED APRIL. ‘That’s June, I know it. And she never asks for help; she must really be in trouble,’ and her voice wobbled with anxiety. ‘I’m going to make a run for it.’

  ‘No, don’t,’ said Stuart urgently. ‘It’s not going to help June if you get into trouble as well. What if you fall down a hole? I wouldn’t know who to rescue first, would I?’

  ‘No, but …’ He could hear that she was near tears. ‘One minute to solve it,’ she said. ‘I’ll set my watch timer. OK? And if we’ve not solved it in one minute, I’m just going to guess.’

  ‘OK.’

  He looked at the paving stones again.

  X. Gull. Beans.

  ‘Beans, Gull, X,’ he said, out loud.

  ‘X is the Roman numeral for ten,’ said April. ‘Tony Horten?’

  ‘Except it’s not pronounced like that. All these clues have been about how the words sound, not how they’re spelled.’

  ‘Tin, then,’ said April impatiently. ‘The third one’s a tin of beans. Tony Hortin.’

  ‘It’s still not right.’

  ‘Thirty seconds to go.’

  ‘You pronounce it more like turn,’ said Stuart. ‘Tea Knee Tine E Tone Hee Haw Turn.’

  ‘Turn?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s not a gull.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s not a picture of a gull. I did a summer holiday project on sea-birds when we went to Pembrokeshire last year. It’s not a gull – their beaks look different. It’s a tern!’ And she was already off, jumping ahead, the minute timer on her wristwatch beeping, and Stuart hurried to catch up with her, galloping up the steps to the parapet. And from there, when he turned, he could see all four paths stretching back to the far wall. Two of them – the two that Stuart and April had completed – were no longer patterned, but had turned to solid paths of pure white flagstones. Halfway along one of the others was a dripping black blob.

  ‘That’s May!’ shouted April, waving both arms. ‘She must have fallen in that horrible bog. May!’

  A wail of rage floated up from the black blob. ‘I said … I said that it might be dangerous, and nobody listened – nobody ever listens to meeeeee.’

  ‘And there’s June,’ said Stuart, pointing at a tiny figure in the far distance. ‘She’s not in trouble, she just hasn’t got started yet. I’ll go and get her, if you like.’

  April nodded gratefully, and Stuart hurried away down June’s path, happy to have avoided the task of escorting a smelly, furious May to safety.

  Negotiating the path the other way round was harder than he’d imagined, involving a number of tricky leaps, and it wasn’t until he had nearly reached June that he realized she was sitting with her eyes tightly shut and her fingers jammed in her ears, water pooling around her. She had obviously fallen into the icy water beneath the second flagstone.

  ‘June!’ he shouted from the paving stone with the picture of the teapot. ‘It’s me, Stuart.’

  ‘Go away,’ she said, removing one of her fingers. ‘I’m having an extremely vivid dream.’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  ‘I must be. It’s the only possible explanation.’

  ‘But how could I be in the same dream as you?’

  ‘Because you’re not actually Stuart, you’re just a projection of my imagination. You probably represent a minor worry I’m having.’

  ‘But—’ He could see from her face that arguing was going to be a waste of time. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘you’re totally right, June, this is all a dream.’

  ‘I knew it!’ For the first time, she opened her eyes.

  ‘And what I represent is’ – he thought extremely hard – ‘your minor worry about having to be in charge the whole time.’

  ‘Yes, that is a worry,’ she said, looking slightly pleased. ‘My sisters don’t understand what a responsibility it is.’

  ‘So the thing about this dream is, you don’t have to be in charge.’

  ‘Don’t I?’

  ‘No. In this dream, you just have to listen to what I say, and do exactly what I do.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘With no arguing. Is that clear?’

  She nodded slowly.

  ‘So stand up,’ he said, ‘and follow me.’

  Ordering a Kingley sister around was a new and enjoyable sensation, and they reached the end of the path with speedy efficiency. As they mounted the steps, Stuart turned and saw the jumbled pattern of June’s path change, paving stone by paving stone, to an unbroken white, and then he hurried up to the parapet.

  The other two triplets were still only halfway along May’s path, and April was engaged in dragging her sister onto the alphabet stone. May had obviously almost missed the jump, and had accidentally kicked open the dank, dark entrance to the spiral staircase.

  ‘This part of the dream shows exactly what happens when I’m not in charge,’ remarked June, watching with interest.

  Her sisters had nearly reached the steps when April paused and looked back.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ called Stuart.

  ‘I thought I heard something,’ she shouted. ‘Hang on a moment,’ and she turned back along the path.

  May stood there, paralysed.

  ‘You’re almost there,’ said Stuart, coming down the steps towards her. ‘Just jump onto the picture of the gull, and then onto the steps.’

  ‘Yes, do what he says,’ called June. ‘He might look like Stuart, but he’s actually a figment of my imagination, and therefore completely tr
ustworthy.’

  In the distance, April was kneeling, peering down the spiral staircase.

  ‘Do I smell?’ asked May, squelching up the steps and leaving a repulsive smudge on each one.

  ‘No,’ lied Stuart, trying to breathe through his mouth.

  ‘I do. I smell like an outside toilet.’

  And then April straightened up again, and Stuart realized that she was holding something brown and white with a briskly wagging tail.

  ‘You got him!’ he yelled, arms in the air.

  ‘I got him!’ repeated April. ‘I heard little footsteps coming up the staircase and I knew it was him!’ And she started back towards the steps, her arms firmly wrapped around Charlie.

  ‘What’s happening to the path?’ asked May.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The path behind April.’

  Stuart looked towards where she was pointing, and his blood seemed to freeze. The paving stones were turning white, one by one, as if a giant paintbrush were sweeping along the path, blanking the patterns, filling in the holes and cracks. ‘Run!’ he screamed at April, his voice scratchy with fear. ‘Run!’

  She glanced behind her, gave a yelp of fear and began to hurry.

  ‘Come on!’ screamed May.

  ‘This bit of the dream must represent a more major worry,’ remarked June. ‘Perhaps my upcoming Grade Two Piano exam.’

  ‘Will you shut up about your stupid piano exam!’ shouted May over her shoulder. ‘Don’t you get it? For once in your life, you’re wrong. This isn’t a dream, this is real.’

  ‘Hurry!’ shouted Stuart, his voice cracking, but April was only a few stones ahead of the paintbrush now, and her footsteps were uneven with panic. She managed the long jump from Tone to Hee Haw, but then stumbled, tried a desperate half-hop and landed squarely on the picture of the light bulb.

  And stuck there, like a mouse trapped in glue.

  ‘I can’t lift my feet,’ she shouted, struggling frantically. ‘You’ll have to help me.’

  Stuart leaped forward, but May was even faster, knocking him aside as she thundered down the steps to save her sister, and he was just picking himself up again when June surged past, shouting, ‘I can’t work out the logic of this at all, but I’m coming, April! I’m coming to rescue you!’ and treading heavily on Stuart’s foot along the way.

  So he was a few steps behind them when they reached the pathway, and could only shout in horror when the white tide engulfed first April and the dog, and then both her sisters, leaving nothing behind but blank stones and emptiness.

  ‘COME BACK!’ STUART yelled. ‘Please!’ But no one answered. The lights in the huge room began to dim.

  ‘April!’ he called, his voice lost in the vastness. On the path ahead of him, a glowing letter ‘I’ flickered briefly on every paving stone, and then, with a neck-clicking jolt, Stuart found himself back in the shed again.

  The door opened, and a man in overalls looked in.

  ‘You still here?’ he asked. ‘I’m just locking up for the night, and Mr Kingley asked me to check round before I left. Where are the girls?’

  ‘Gone,’ said Stuart. He felt limp with shock, his voice a husk.

  ‘OK, well, out you come.’

  ‘Just a minute …’ Desperately needing some time to think, he looked about for an excuse, and saw his own feet, one in a trainer, one in a filthy, slime-covered sock. ‘My shoe,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost my shoe in here somewhere.’

  The man shrugged. ‘You’ve got two minutes while I go and get my stuff. After that you’re out of here, shoe or no shoe.’

  He left the door open and the early evening sun flooded in. Only one of Great-Uncle Tony’s illusions seemed to reflect it back; the only illusion that hadn’t been used yet – the Book of Peril, its dented satin surface glowing in the reddish light, the lettering on its door a fiery warning:

  OPEN AT YOUR PERIL

  And Stuart knew that the only possible route to getting the triplets back was through that door – a door that was damaged, a door that might lead to a world that was more dangerous than Great-Uncle Tony had ever intended.

  You wanted to go on the last adventure on your own, he reminded himself grimly. You wanted to be the only one to find that final clue. Well, you’ve got your wish. It seemed so trivial now, all those worries about April finding the will first.

  He only had a minute before the workman came back, and he hurried over to the Cabinet of Blood, feeling around between the sword hilts for the Magic Star, but his fingers found only an empty gap. He looked around wildly; it must have fallen onto the floor, but the floor was a mass of shadows and cracks – it could have rolled anywhere.

  ‘Found it?’ asked the man, returning.

  ‘No, not yet.’

  ‘Sorry, mate, you’ll just have to go home in your sock. I’m sure the boss will let you in first thing on Monday to find it.’ He was steering Stuart by the shoulder as he spoke, guiding him out into the yard.

  ‘Monday?’ echoed Stuart stupidly. ‘But today’s Friday. I can’t wait two whole days.’

  ‘You’ll have to – we’re closed all weekend. And I’d hop across here if I was you – you don’t want to get a nail through that foot, do you?’ He was locking the shed door, pocketing the key, pointing to the exit, and Stuart was left with no choice but to accompany him (hopping) across the yard and out. The gates clanged shut, and the man bolted and padlocked them and then strode away whistling, and Stuart was left standing alone, staring hopelessly up at the high wall that ran around the yard, knowing only that he had to get back in. Somehow.

  ‘Ladder,’ he said out loud. ‘I need a ladder,’ and then pictured himself trying to scale the wall in full view of passers-by. Not that there were many – across the road from the yard there was only an empty shop, a piece of waste ground and a large locked garage with EL-ECTRIC painted on the doors. Even so, it would be best to wait until dark before starting.

  Torch, he thought. Screwdriver. Shoe. Some kind of brilliant story to explain to my father why I have to go out for the entire evening (and possibly half the night as well).

  *

  He still hadn’t thought of one when he turned the corner into Beech Road, and his worries weren’t helped by the fact that the first person he saw was Mrs Kingley, the triplets’ mother. She was standing on the front step of her house, peering along the road, and she smiled in relief when she saw Stuart.

  ‘Aha, here’s someone who can tell me when those girls are getting back.’

  She waited expectantly, and Stuart summoned up all his acting powers and replied, ‘Oh, I don’t think they’ll be long – they were a bit busy when I saw them last,’ and then limped quickly towards his house before she could ask him anything more.

  His father was in the kitchen, chopping beetroot and frowning at a recipe book, opened at a page entitled ‘Multi-Vitamin Bake’. A radio programme about the history of encyclopaedias was on in the background.

  ‘Dad,’ said Stuart hurriedly, ‘I’m not being rude or anything, and I’m sure that the Vitamin Bake would be really delicious, but if it’s OK with you, I’ve got to dash out again and I wondered if I could just have a sandwich. A healthy one, obviously. It’s only that I’ve got to go and … and …’ His imagination failed him, and he found himself (sort of) telling the truth. ‘I’ve got to go and get the triplets. They’re lost in a book.’

  His father smiled nostalgically. ‘Ah yes, how well I know that feeling. How many times have I found myself wandering in a pathless thicket of words … Beetroot sandwich?’ he added. ‘Or I could offer curly kale, spinach or shiitake mushroom.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Cheese?’ suggested his father.

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘And this post-prandial book-extraction expedition – can you assure me you’ll be safely with the Kingley sorority throughout?’

  Stuart swallowed. ‘They’re waiting for me and I won’t come back without them, I promise, Dad. I absolutely promis
e.’

  His father nodded, satisfied. ‘Before I forget, you’ve just missed an unexpected maternal telephonic communication. However, I assured your mother that your health was fully restored, which I hope was an accurate report?’

  ‘Yup,’ said Stuart, grabbing his sandwich and taking a large bite. ‘Thanks, Dad. I’ve just got to get something before I go out again.’

  He headed for the hall and rummaged around in the cupboard under the stairs. The only torch he could find was a miniature key-ring in the shape of the Eiffel Tower, and the only screwdriver was bright pink and out of a cracker. The ladder was just a kitchen stool with a couple of steps attached – mainly useful for getting jars of pickled onions out of high cupboards – but it was better than nothing, and he was about to hurry out with it through the front door when the phone rang.

  ‘Hello?’ he said, snatching up the receiver, expecting to hear his mother.

  There was a rattle of static on the line.

  ‘Hello?’ he repeated.

  ‘Stuart.’

  That voice again; a vigorous rasp, old yet full of life.

  ‘Miss Edie,’ said Stuart.

  ‘MADE ANY PROGRESS?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘Only I’ve just recalled something else my gramma told me about the will – it jumped into my mind when I was sitting thinking about her. She was a stern lady as well as a smart one, and when she talked, you listened. You listening now?’ she added sharply, almost as if she could see that Stuart was distractedly hopping from foot to foot.

  ‘I don’t have much time,’ he said. ‘Something’s happened.’

  ‘You’ve got a problem?’

  ‘Yes, a huge problem and I’ve got to sort it out.’

  ‘Don’t forget what I told you. If you’re rich enough, then problems just melt away.’

  ‘It’s not that sort of problem. I could have fifty billion pounds and it wouldn’t solve this one. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘No, you’ve got to stay and listen.’ Her voice was suddenly fierce, and Stuart felt as if he’d been poked with a skewer. ‘I told you that my gramma said Tony Horten’s will was well hidden – he told her that himself – but what I’ve recalled now is this: she said you should use the male to find it. The male. Does that help you any?’