Losing the Plot

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Losing the Plot Page 2

by Annie Dalton


  I realised Lola was talking to me. “Mel, are you OK?”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “When do we go?”

  “As I was saying, now would be best,” said Michael.

  “Can’t we at least go home and change?” I protested. I have these perfect trouble-shooting outfits in my wardrobe, but nine times out of ten I have to charge off in whatever I happen to be wearing at the time, which is usually something v. short and sparkly. Just what you need, when you’re off to do battle with the Powers of Darkness.

  “All right,” Michael sighed. To my surprise, he affectionately ruffled my hair and I felt about a zillion angel volts sizzle through me. “But be quick,” he added with a smile.

  With archangel fingerprints tingling all over my scalp, I said hoarsely, “I will.”

  “Do you guys get the feeling this mission could be really big?” Reuben said, as we hurried back to school.

  “Really vague, more like,” I grumbled. “I mean, first it’s a situation. Then it’s a glitch. Ooh, then it’s only a potential glitch. And we’re not on a mission. We’re just taking a look. No, scrub that! I should have said ‘Unofficially taking a look’!”

  “It has to be vague, Mel, you know that,” said Reuben. “Humans have free will. You can’t say what’s actually going to happen. You can only say what might happen.”

  “Reuben Bird, will you just listen to yourself?” I exploded.

  “Hey, what’s your problem, girl?” Lola’s tone was sharp.

  I took a deep breath. “We’re supposed to be divine messengers, or whatever. Only we never actually materialise, so most humans never get the message! Duh! So can someone please tell me what we’re even FOR!”

  My friends were both staring at me in surprise. I was quite surprised myself. Michael was right. I did have doubts, loads of them. Now they’d all come bursting out at once.

  “I just want to know what we’re for,” I repeated in a quieter voice. “Like, if humans have this free will everyone goes on about, how come we’re allowed to influence them, anyway?”

  “You said it,” said Reuben. “We influence them. Beam vibes. Help them remember who they are. We don’t make them do stuff.”

  “Totally,” agreed Lola. “The PODS put on enough pressure as it is.”

  Reuben grinned. “If it helps, just think of us as alarm clocks.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “You what?”

  His eyes glinted. “We wake humans up!”

  Lola put her arm round me. “Come on, Boo. You’ve got to be just a tiny bit excited! Can you believe they’re letting us do a solo trip this early in our training?”

  “Yeah, this sounds much more up Orlando’s street,” Reuben agreed.

  Orlando is one of our seniors. Not only is he an angel genius, he’s heart-meltingly gorgeous. But he’s so into his studies, he genuinely doesn’t notice the effect he has on girls.

  Lola gave me a sly nudge. “Melanie wishes Orlando was coming too.”

  “I do not,” I said huffily.

  “He’s probably off on some hush-hush Agency project,” said Reuben.

  “They didn’t pick us because Orlando’s unavailable, you know,” I objected. “They picked us because we’re good.”

  “Oooh!” teased Lola. “Someone’s feeling better!”

  I was, actually. “Hey,” I said suddenly. “Do you think angels are wired so they like, need to do angel work?”

  My friends exchanged weary glances, zipped their lips and threw away invisible keys.

  “OK, OK, I’ll read the boring cosmic manual, all right!” I sighed. “Now can we just drop it?”

  Back at the school dorm, I put on my new T-shirt, a pair of skinny jeans and big funky boots. I swapped a couple of hoop earrings for business-like little studs. Then I threw a few girly necessities into my rucksack, grabbed my jacket and I was ready to go.

  I checked out of the window and saw an Agency limo already waiting, its lights blinking in the dark. Lola tapped on my door. I’m not exaggerating, we’re such close friends we’re practically twins. And our taste in clothes is so similar, it’s spooky. Except that being from the future, my soul-mate always looks that bit more outrageous! Tonight, she had on the coolest sunglasses, with misty blue lenses. One lens had a tiny diamante star in the corner.

  “You look great!” I told her.

  The limo dropped us back at HQ then we hurtled down to Departures. Michael looked pointedly at his watch.

  “We aren’t that late,” I panted.

  Lola grinned. “Plus, like you always say, Michael, Time doesn’t actually exist!”

  Michael hustled us along corridors, giving us a last minute briefing as we went. “You’ll be splitting up, I’m afraid. Each of you has been allocated—” he coughed “I mean, will be monitoring a different human.”

  “So much for the’ research trip’,” I mouthed at Lola.

  I heard Michael say casually, “I think I’m right in saying it’s not a plague year.”

  Workers in white fluorescent suits were giving our portal a last-minute service. The chief maintenance guy gave us a bashful grin. On Earth, Al would be an ideal heavy, like a doorman at a nightclub.. But he’s actually incredibly shy. He makes these agonizing little jokes but he totally can’t look you in the eye.

  Michael dished out our angel tags while we waited. We always wear them when we’re on official business. They help us stay in contact with other angels through the Link. Plus they’re v. useful if we want to get somewhere in a hurry. Since we were going to Earth without a supervising adult, we also got issued with these really hi-tech Agency watches.

  “Ready when you are, kids,” said Al, and we stepped into the portal.

  Reuben was singing under his breath. I recognised the lyrics of a tune he’d been working on. “You’re not alone,” it went, “You’re not alone,” over and over.

  “That’s a cool tune, Sweetpea,” Lola said. “Let’s put a little harmony in there.” Lola has a beautiful voice. She literally sings like an angel.

  I sing like a frog, basically, but I joined in just the same.

  When Michael heard us singing in the time portal, he got this really weird look on his face. At first I thought it was because regular agents don’t tend to sing on take-off. But he didn’t actually look like, annoyed. He looked sort of touched and upset. He actually made a move towards us, as if he was going to say something, then at the last minute, he checked himself and gave Al the thumbs-up.

  “Remember,” he called, “stay alert.”

  The door slid shut.

  “Yeah, the Agency needs Lerts,” Lola quipped under her breath.

  I waved at Michael through the glass, trying not to laugh.

  “What’s plague, Mel?” Reuben hissed into my ear.

  I explained that the plague was one of the most terrifyingly contagious human diseases ever. I’d just reached the part about those disgusting purple boils when our portal lit up like a fairground and we were blasted out of Heaven and into the slipstream of history.

  Time-travel, Agency-style, is unbelievably speedy. Entire centuries flash past your eyes in a multi coloured blur. Shortly after take-off, we passed a major Opposition outpost. They’re quite easy to spot showing up as whirlpools of dark icky energy. The Agency only sends really top-flight trouble-shooters there. Personally, just whizzing past one gave me the chills.

  Then I remembered something that Mr Allbright said. He said nothing in the cosmos ever stays the same. Like, a golden era can collapse in ruins and a dark one can suddenly have a major change of heart.

  I remembered something else too. He said it only takes one wide-awake human to make a difference.

  But as we hurtled towards our destination, we started getting a weird strobing effect. Dark light dark light dark light. Like a cosmic zebra crossing.

  It looked as if we were heading for a time and place where the forces of light and darkness were totally and utterly equal. It was deeply disturbing to look at. I ha
stily put on my shades.

  “Aren’t fifty-fifty set-ups incredibly dangerous?” I asked, swallowing hard. “Aren’t they the ones which tip really easily like, either way?”

  I never got my answer. With a final blinding burst of light, we were catapulted into Time. When I opened my eyes, the time-portal had vanished. So had my friends.

  I was alone in Elizabethan London. It was raining heavily. And there was no light anywhere.

  Chapter Three

  Eventually I twigged. This was not Cosmic Darkness with a capital D. It’s just that street-lights hadn’t been invented yet!

  “Aargh! What is that?” I clapped my hands over my nose.

  Think of your local rubbish dump on a sweltering summer’s day, add a spot of raw sewage and a dash of wood-smoke, and you’ll get an idea of the extreme niffiness of Elizabethan London.

  My Agency watch flashed, informing me I’d been on this mission for exactly thirty, oops, thirty-one seconds.

  We’re meant to run through this three-step procedure, as soon as we touch down. Luckily, I’d memorised this section of the manual.

  “STEP ONE,” I recited. “Adjust angel senses, if necessary. Conditions may be primitive, causing distress to divine personnel.”

  Tell me about it! I hastily made the necessary adjustments, doing my best to avoid taking in any actual oxygen. To my relief, the pong immediately became more bearable.

  I was becoming aware of low grumbling sounds. Suddenly my surroundings lit up with a lurid blue light. The lightning lasted long enough for me to see scruffy thatched roofs and timber house-fronts, all leaning every which way, and several rats scavenging in the garbage. Then I was back in darkness.

  Since I became an angel, I kind of tolerate rats, but I’m not what you’d call a fan. I carried on bravely with my check-list.

  “STEP TWO. Acclimatise to local thought levels…”

  Elizabethan thought-levels turned out to be soothingly low-density. Plus, they had a bubbly feel good vibe, which I totally wasn’t expecting.

  My watch let out a beep; time for Step Three. I should be homing in on my subject any minute now.

  The rain was totally hammering down by this time, and the flashes of lightning were v. close together.

  Two men in cloaks hurried past. One held up a burning torch to light their way. It gave off a strong, vaguely familiar smell, like creosote or tar.

  Roars of laughter were coming from a house with a green bush over the door. Stale beer fumes and savoury cooking smells wafted out. The door opened and someone lurched into the street, singing at the top of his voice.

  This is the place, I thought. I can’t explain how I knew. It’s an angel thing. Like a tiny zing of angel electricity inside your heart.

  I took a deep breath and went in.

  Inside, yellowish candles gave out a spluttering light and a strong smell of fat.

  I dutifully scanned my immediate environment, like Mr Allbright says we should, in case any other cosmic agents were passing through. They weren’t, which I found quite surprising. We usually spot loads of Earth angels knocking around.

  The tavern was crowded with customers, all quaffing ale and tucking into platters of stew. It was a real mix. Well-off types wearing starched ruffs and gorgeous silks and velvets, mingling cheerfully with poorer people. Though I think there must have been some law which said the poor had to wear depressing clothes, because the majority of the customers were dressed in these like, dingy dung colours.

  All this candlelight was highly atmospheric, but unfortunately it didn’t quite reach into the corners. I had to wander around, peering foolishly into shadows. Where oh where was my human?

  One corner was filled by a huge snoring drunk. As I watched, he scratched furiously at his head. Still totally zonked, the drunk then began foraging in his armpit. Hey, fleas and body lice, I thought. Groovy!

  In another corner, a young man was scribbling on a piece of parchment, between mouthfuls of stew. Homesick foreigner, I decided, possibly French. Could this be my human? He was definitely WAY the most stylish dresser in the tavern. I listened hopefully to my heart. Uh-uh, I decided regretfully. No zing.

  A plump woman was ferrying flagons of ale between the tables, looking hot and flustered. “Where’s that girl got to?” she complained to a man in an apron. “It’s all me and Nettie can do to keep up.”

  Being an angel, I understood her perfectly, but her words had an almost American twang; nothing like English speech in my day.

  “Don’t be hard on her, wife,” said the man calmly. “Tis my brother’s last night in port. He and Cat will be saying their farewells.”

  ZING!

  That’s her, I thought. That’s my human!

  I made my way around the tavern, as if I was being pulled along by an invisible string, until I reached a dark winding staircase. By the time I reached the top, it wasn’t a pulling sensation. It was a shout. She’s here!

  A girl’s voice floated through an open door “Why won’t you take me?”

  I slipped through the door into a little room. By modern standards it was empty. Bare floorboards, a bed, a wooden chest, a jug, and a small basin. Two stubs of candle gave a flickering light.

  Cat had her back to me. She seemed to be in the middle of a big argument with a wild-haired man in sea-boots. He was big and burly with an impressive collection of scars. A pearl, the size of a pear-drop,. dangled from his ear.

  “I told you before! It’s no life for a little maid at sea.”

  “I’m not a little maid, I’m thirteen,” Cat snapped “I can do anything a man can do and more.”

  She turned and I saw her properly for the first time.

  She was beautiful. Even in this light, I could tell her eyes were green. But it was the colour of her skin which really took me by surprise. It was like Demerara sugar, at the exact moment it melts into caramel.

  I am so dense. I had no idea there were any black Elizabethans.

  Cat twiddled a wiry black curl which had escaped from her cap. “Don’t leave me,” she pleaded. “Living here, I feel like a freak at a fair.”

  She put on a bumpkin voice. “What shall we do tonight, Ebenezer? Oh, let’s go to the Feathers and gawp at the blackamoor. ‘Tis said her father is the most fearsome pirate on the Spanish Main.”

  Her voice shook with unhappiness. But I’m ashamed to say I was totally thrilled. A pirate’s daughter! This had to be my coolest assignment yet!

  Her dad sounded upset. “Was I wrong to bring you to England?”

  “No,” she admitted, in a softer voice. “I was happy when I was little.” She clutched his arm. “Take me with you. Please.”

  Her father sighed. “Not this time, my honey.” He gave her an awkward pat. “Come, let us part as friends. It may be many months before we meet again.”

  Cat fingered a string of cowrie shells around her neck. Her face had gone totally blank and her emotions were so guarded that even I couldn’t tell what she was feeling.

  “You look just like her,” her father said huskily.

  She dropped her shells. “I know who I look like!” she spat. “I see myself in the glass each morning, so if you mean to leave me behind again, go! And don’t bother coming back!”

  The pirate’s face grew dark with anger. Moving surprisingly quietly for such a bulky man, he left without a word, closing the door behind him.

  Cat instantly threw herself face-down on her bed. She cried so hard that I felt the bed shaking, yet she didn’t make a sound.

  I sat beside her in agonized sympathy. “Please don’t,” I begged her. “He hates leaving you. Trust me, angels know these things.”

  After bawling for five minutes max, Cat sat up and gave herself a fierce shake. “The world is full of orphans,” she said aloud. “They manage well enough.”

  She splashed water on her face from the basin, tied an apron around her waist, blew out one candle and used the other to light her way downstairs.

  “Catherine Darcy
, you’ll be the death of me!” her aunt scolded through the uproar. “Me and Nettie’s rushed off our feet. You can start by serving these fine gentlemen by the window.”

  I learned a lot about Cat as I watched her serving customers, demurely dodging the hands trying to pinch her bum or sneak down her bodice, and ignoring stupid remarks about her skin colour rubbing off. She totally didn’t let it touch her. Even though her life was deeply depressing, she had this queen-like dignity which I really envied.

  Suddenly the door opened and two youths burst in. “Didn’t I tell you I’d make Rosalind love me?” the tallest boy was saying. He kissed his hand to the air. “Oh, fair Rosalind, soon you will be mine!”

  “You just love the chase, Nick Ducket,” said his friend, laughing. “The moment she’s yours, you’ll moon over sweet Beatrice or lovely Helena!”

  It was hard to believe they’d been out in the same rainstorm. Nick’s companion looked half-drowned, while Nick himself was just fetchingly rain-sprinkled.

  As well as being good-looking (he had the most gorgeous blond hair!), Nick had bags of confidence. And his clothes were sublime.

  I know it’s not a nice thing to say, but his mate wasn’t in the same league. His boots were so old and worn that water was actually leaking out of them. And his wet hair was plastered to his scalp, emphasising his large, rather vague eyes.

  Suddenly I felt my skin prickle, which is generally a sign that other angels are in the vicinity. Maybe Michael’s checking up on us, I thought. I was completely astonished when my mates appeared. They rushed over and we had a quick hug.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

  Reuben nodded at the boys. “Following them.”

  Nick was waving frantically to Cat. She hastily shooed them into an empty corner.

  “Have pity, sweet Cat,” he wheedled. “Chance and I haven’t eaten since yesterday noon.”

  She glanced around nervously. “All right, but pay for your drinks, or my aunt will get suspicious.”

  Nick threw down some coins. “Some spiced ale, Cat, if you please!”

  She rubbed her thumb across her fingers. “And the rest, Master Ducket.”

 

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