The Mirror of Pharos

by J S Landor

  ***

  ‘Sorry ’bout last night,’ said Jack, flicking a stray crumb from his T-shirt. ‘Dunno what came over me.’ He and Charlie sat cross-legged on the bedroom floor, the tin of biscuits between them.

  ‘Forget it,’ mumbled Charlie, her mouth full. ‘Blame it on the weather. That wind was enough to drive anyone … Mmm … What flavour’s this? Marshmallow and –’

  ‘Bonfires. New recipe.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘So where’s my surprise?’

  ‘Oh yeah!’ Charlie licked her fingers, then wiped them on her jeans. Hauling the rucksack towards her, she tipped it upside down. A large slab of a book dropped on the carpet, sending up a puff of dust. ‘Ta-da! The Seven Wonders of the World,’ she announced, and before Jack could interrupt, she began reading aloud.

  ‘“Thousands of years ago, the tallest lighthouse of all time was built in Egypt on an island called Pharos. A giant skyscraper, more than a hundred and thirty metres tall, it guided sailors into the great harbour of Alexandria. The building was a miracle of science, art and human endeavour and became known as the seventh wonder of the ancient world.”’

  ‘Charlie, I know this stuff –’

  ‘Wait, there’s more. This book came from the library and look what’s inside.’ She unfolded a yellowing newspaper cutting.

  ‘“Divers have found a lost world on the sea floor at Alexandria in Egypt,”’ she read. ‘“They believe they’ve uncovered the ruins of the great Pharos lighthouse, which was destroyed six hundred years ago by an earthquake. No one knows exactly what it looked like. But all that is about to change.”’ Charlie’s eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘Jack, this is about your parents! Look, there’s even a picture of them …’

  Jack turned away. ‘Charlie, please stop –’

  ‘I can’t believe you never told me! How could you keep this a secret? Jack, look at this place. It’s incredible!’

  Charlie turned the book to face him and Jack was confronted with a picture he hadn’t seen for years. It was an artist’s impression of a vast three-storey building which stood on a tiny island at the end of a long causeway. It had a base shaped like a massive box, a tall octagonal middle section and a rounded tower on top like a mosque. It was meant to be beautiful, but to Jack it looked like a crematorium.

  ‘I can’t believe you found this,’ he said, touching the edge of the newspaper. ‘I’m surprised it’s still there.’

  The brightness faded from Charlie’s face. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve seen this book before,’ he said. ‘When I was five … after Mum and Dad died.’ For a split second he found himself wishing he could burn the wretched thing. ‘Nan got it from the library and we looked at the drawing together. It was her way of explaining, I suppose. I didn’t understand where they’d gone.

  ‘She told me they’d found this wonderful place under the sea. She made it sound like a fairy tale – a fallen tower smashed into a thousand pieces.’ Jack shook his head. ‘It was her idea to put the cutting in there – to keep them safe. Daft really. But it sort of helped.’

  Charlie closed the book quickly. ‘Jack, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. You didn’t know.’

  ‘I only went to the library cos the internet was down! If the power had been on, this would never have happened.’

  ‘Honestly, don’t worry.’

  Charlie slumped into the chair in front of Jack’s computer. She’d meant to make him proud, not miserable. She stared glumly at the screensaver lighthouse which bobbed gently up and down on a perfect sea of turquoise and green pixels. From the beam on top, the word Pharos materialised in a burst of yellow before disintegrating into the waves.

  ‘Why’s this lighthouse named after the old one?’ she asked grumpily.

  ‘Pharos is an ordinary word now,’ said Jack. ‘It means lighthouse in lots of languages – French, Italian, Spanish. That’s just a graphic, nothing to do with the old Pharos.’

  ‘What’s it doing on your computer then?’

  ‘It downloaded itself. Someone sent me a disc.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I dunno!’

  Charlie’s eyebrows disappeared upwards beneath her black beanie.

  ‘I found the parcel at the back of the house,’ said Jack. ‘No message, no stamp, no postmark. Nothing to show where it came from.’ He fished the brown bag out of his wastepaper bin. ‘It came in this.’

  ‘But that looks like your handwriting! Did you send a self-addressed envelope anywhere? To a games company or something?’

  Jack shook his head.

  ‘Maybe you did and just forgot.’

  ‘Charlie, I didn’t forget! And look, this isn’t an envelope. It’s more like a sandwich bag.’

  ‘Okay, okay. Where’s the disc then?’

  Jack pulled open the middle drawer of the desk. ‘Here.’

  As the disc changed hands, the lights in the room flickered. Jack and Charlie looked at each other, half expecting the power to go off. But, if anything, the lights seemed to burn more brightly.

  Charlie made a face. She could see herself reflected in the metal disc. Scruffy spikes of ginger hair stuck out from under her hat. ‘Odd-looking CD,’ she said. ‘What’s this here?’ She traced her forefinger around the tiny fish shape near the centre.

  ‘Ow!’ She slammed the disc down on top of the book and rubbed her palm. ‘Damn, that thing’s hot!’

  All at once, a flare of blue light enveloped the disc, illuminating the room like a lightning flash. It lasted barely a second, and though there were no flames, a strong smell of burning paper filled the air.

  ‘Jack! The book – it’s on fire!’ shrieked Charlie. ‘Take it out. Quick! Before it sets the place alight!’

  Jack picked up the book with the disc on top of it. He raced for the stairs with Charlie at his back, thumping him to make him go faster. The back door bounced on its hinges as they flung themselves outside into the darkness.

  Instantly, the lights in the house flickered and went off. The rock music on the radio died and a wail of despair came from the kitchen where the cooker had cut out.

  Jack kept going. Halfway down the garden, the fish pond glimmered in the moonlight. He hurled the disc in, the water gurgled and a cloud of steam hissed into the night air. Dropping the book, he threw himself down, gasping for breath.

  ‘What the heck happened there?’ Charlie flopped on the damp grass beside him and nudged the book with her foot. It was still smoking. ‘Look at that, what a mess! I’m in trouble now. There’s bound to be a huge fine … Hey Jack? What is it?’

  Jack crouched over the book. The disc had burnt a perfectly circular hole not only in the front cover but also in hundreds of pages inside. He flipped through them. The cavity was cone-shaped and the further into the book he went, the smaller the hole became. He reached the seventh and last chapter. There the burning had stopped. All that could be seen was a dark brown ring, the size of a small coin, directly above the picture of the famous lighthouse.

  ‘Spooky,’ said Charlie, peering over his shoulder. ‘It looks like there’s a sun in the sky now.’

  Jack frowned. It reminded him of something else. ‘Looks like an enormous mirror to me.’

  Charlie squinted at him.

  ‘That’s what was on top of the lighthouse,’ he said. ‘A gigantic mirror to reflect the sun. They could see the beam fifty miles away.’

  ‘You mean the lighthouse was solar-powered?’

  ‘No, silly! They used the sun to reflect the light in the day and fires at night. They didn’t have our technology or –’

  He broke off and looked at the darkened house. He could hear Nan cursing and banging cupboard doors as she hunted for matches and candles, and suddenly his mind raced like a hot–wired car. He leapt to his feet and scrambled back to the pond.r />
  Lying on his stomach, he dipped his arm through a layer of thick, green algae. A frog belched close to his ear and something scaly slithered over his fingers, but at last his hand brushed over a cool, metallic surface.

  ‘Watch this,’ he said. Drying the disc on his shirt, he walked towards the house, slowing as he reached the back door. He hoped the water hadn’t ruined it.

  Charlie clamped her hand to her mouth. As Jack stepped over the threshold, the whole house lit up. From inside, the beep and whirr of various electrical gadgets could be heard and a blast of music came from the kitchen, accompanied by a rowdy cheer from Nan.

  ‘So that’s your source of power!’ she said, hurrying over.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘A-mazing!’

  Jack turned the disc over in his hands. ‘Maybe it’s a solar-powered device. Wonder how the energy’s stored?’

  ‘It’s magic,’ whispered Charlie.

  Jack looked up quickly. Her eyes were solemn, full of wonder. She was being deadly serious.

  A light breeze blew over the garden, sending a drift of dead leaves dancing across the lawn. You’re a piece of bloomin’ magic, said a ghostly voice in his head. He felt his body sway slightly, like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff. He could feel Lily’s hand in his, holding on tight.

  He gripped the edge of the doorframe. No. He was just an ordinary boy. There was nothing special about him. It was madness to suppose this was anything other than … than what? A clever piece of science that had found its way into the wrong hands.

  ‘Technology, not magic,’ he said firmly. ‘You should have seen the equations when it downloaded …’

  Charlie marched back down the garden, returning with the book. ‘Are you telling me this is an accident? The last chapter, the seventh wonder – the place your parents found! Apart from one little ring, it hasn’t been touched. Use your imagination, Jack. It means something.’

  ‘Like what?’ He didn’t want to use his imagination. His imagination scared him. Already a dark thought had taken hold. He’d wished for the book’s destruction. He’d actually wanted it to burn – and the next moment it had.

  Charlie shrugged. She had no idea why the final chapter remained intact. She rubbed the red ring on her hand which tingled like a nettle sting.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ said Jack.

  ‘Nah. S’nothing.’ She gazed thoughtfully at the disc and a grin spread slowly across her face. ‘You know what? We could have fun with this.’

  ***

  Jack took a little persuading, but five minutes later they were out in the road and number 12 was in darkness once more. Charlie’s red racing bike, her most treasured possession, stood between them while she fastened the straps of the saddle bag where they’d hidden the disc.

  ‘Just keep clear of the houses.’ Jack checked up and down the road. ‘We don’t want the whole town knowing about this.’

  ‘You worry too much.’ Hopping on the bike, Charlie flashed him a grin. ‘Who could possibly guess what we’re up to?’

  She set off, pedalling furiously up the hill towards the stile. The night air was intoxicating and she seemed to fly along twice as fast as usual. As she approached the first street light, she held her breath. It lit up, casting a circle of white on the tarmac as she passed below. A banshee shriek exploded out of her: ‘Woo-hooo!’

  One after another, the street lights marked her progress up the road, like spotlights in a theatre. The effect was stunning: she felt like a conjurer with a wand. Each light stayed aglow just long enough for her to reach the next and then went out.

  She turned around and raced back downhill, repeating the performance at breakneck speed.

  ‘A-mazing!’ She came skidding to a halt in front of Jack, spraying tiny stones over his feet. ‘Go on, you try. Then it’s me again.’

  Jack needed no invitation. He tore off into the darkness, laughing at Charlie who tried in vain to keep up with him.

  On Osmaston Hill the wolf, who had made his lair in the wood, sat watching. Tiny circles of yellow light appeared and disappeared in his amber eyes as he listened to the children’s whoops of joy. He put his nose to the ground. The wind rustled through the grass as he drew their scent towards him.

  Chapter 16

  By the middle of the next day, normal power was restored to the whole of Morton Muxloe. In the bar at The Feathers, a raucous cheer broke out as the ancient jukebox droned back to life and the embers around the fake log fire began to glow. Someone drummed his fists on the counter and called for drinks all round.

  The landlady eyed the stranger asleep on the long settle in the corner. He had his boots up on the armrest and his wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face like a cowboy in a western. Why she’d let him bunk down there for the night she’d never know. Customers were never allowed to stay beyond closing time. Yet this man, with his tall stories and silly songs, had made her break all the rules. She’d let the carousing go on far too long and when the last of the punters had gone, somehow there was an unspoken agreement he could stay.

  She pulled a pint, knowing he hadn’t a penny in his pocket to pay for it. Gentleman or not, he’d hit hard times. Best send him on his way.

  ‘Rise and shine! Get that down ya, mate. Hair of the dog!’

  Jago Flyn looked up. To the landlady’s surprise, his blue eyes were bright and alive as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all. He shook his head at the glass of beer. ‘No thanks, my lovely. Today I must be sober as a judge. Important business to transact. J has to go-go! It won’t do to be smelling of alcohol.’

  He beckoned her closer and whispered something in her ear. The landlady rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Then, after some deliberation, she produced a key from her apron pocket and pointed to a door marked ‘Private’.

  In less than half an hour, Jago reappeared with his face clean-shaven and his long hair wet and gleaming. He wore a fresh white shirt under the waistcoat and his boots were shining.

  ‘Lord, look at ’im. Don’t ’e scrub up well!’ shouted one of his drinking companions.

  The landlady nodded her approval. Jago was far more handsome than she’d realised. ‘Talk about transformation. You could get a job as one of them quick-change artists. I ’ardly recognise you.’

  Jago said nothing. Instead, he seized her hand and kissed it fiercely before returning the key to her apron pocket. The bar erupted with wild stomping and applause. He tipped his hat and bowed, making his exit to the sound of wolf whistles.

  ***

  At first, Jack thought it was a bird calling. A loud warbling drifted through his bedroom window, echoing the song of another bird some distance away. It sounded like a funny conversation that only the birds could understand. Then he heard footsteps – heavy boots – and a smile spread across his face. That was no bird. He jumped up from his desk and pushed open the window.

  ‘Hey, Jago! Wait up. Where are you going?’

  ‘Osmaston Hall,’ said Jago, without stopping.

  ‘To sell the painting?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I come too? Please!’

  Jago stopped short and studied the pavement for a moment. Then he looked up at Jack, who hung so far over the edge of the window he was in danger of toppling out. ‘Well, all right. But you’d better make yourself presentable. Comb your hair, find some decent shoes and wash those unspeakable hands. Be quick about it. I haven’t got all day.’

  Within minutes, Jack was at his side.

  ‘Now then,’ said Jago. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, haven’t you got anything better than those?’

  Jack looked down at his black plimsolls. ‘Only wellies,’ he replied, casually sliding his hands into his trouser pockets.

  Jago narrowed his eyes. ‘Show me,’ he ordered.

  Reluctantly, Jack held out his hands for inspection. He’d run them under the tap, but
the ink stains were still visible.

  Jago gave a dramatic sigh. ‘They’ll have to do, I suppose. And what about my prediction? Did you find anything important?’

  The question caught Jack completely off guard. He’d forgotten all about the palm reading. His eyes grew wide. Of course – the disc! Jago’s prediction had proved true.

  ‘Yes,’ he said in surprise.

  ‘Excellent! So? Spit it out. What was it?’

  Jack opened and shut his mouth. He’d hidden the disc inside a DVD case among his film collection – a gory werewolf movie he knew Nan would never watch. He didn’t want anyone else to know about it, except for Charlie, who’d sworn herself to secrecy.

  Jago held up his hands. ‘I can see it’s a private matter. That’s fine. You don’t have to say anything.’

  Jack bit his lip. He liked Jago and didn’t want to offend him. On top of that, they’d made a deal. ‘It was my horse, Indigo,’ he said quickly. ‘A little crystal thing. He went missing a couple of days ago.’

  Jago raised an eyebrow. ‘Aha! And he’s special?’

  ‘Very.’ That, at least, was the truth. ‘My parents bought him a long time ago. They’re dead now.’

  Jack stared at the pavement and waited for Jago to come up with the usual sympathetic comments people made when they heard he was orphaned. But to his relief, he only asked, ‘And where was he hiding, this horse of yours?’

  ‘Um …’ Jack felt instantly guilty. Lies had a habit of growing and he didn’t want to continue with this one. ‘Under a book.’

  ‘Something you were reading.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So he was right under your nose after all.’ With a grin, Jago licked his forefinger and drew a vertical line in the air.

  Jack smiled and nodded eagerly. The palm reading had been far more accurate than Jago knew. He was very happy to concede the point.

  ***

  He half expected to see the black retrievers bounding to meet them as they crunched across the gravel in front of Osmaston Hall. But the dogs were nowhere in sight. Only the peacock announced their arrival, his ear-splitting cry echoing around the buildings.