The Mirror of Pharos

by J S Landor

  Blunt lagged well behind the others. He’d never been a good runner and was nearly out of steam. Glancing back, he let out a scream. The creature was so close he could see its shining teeth and the saliva hanging in glossy threads from its jowls. He made a break and bolted towards the nearest tree, snapping several branches as he scrambled his way up.

  For a moment the wolf slowed, then appeared to change its mind, continuing its pursuit of the other boys. Jack’s heart sank. ‘Don’t let him get away,’ he murmured.

  Jago raised the whistle to his lips again, and even though the wolf was more than two hundred metres away, he stopped in his tracks and turned to listen. Jago signalled towards the tree where Blunt had taken refuge and the wolf began galloping back up the hill.

  ‘So he’s yours!’ gasped Jack.

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Jago. ‘No one owns Alpha. He’s a wild animal. But wherever I go, he follows. So if he has a master at all, it’s me.’

  Alpha had reached the tree and was up on his hind legs, growling savagely. Blunt, meanwhile, scrabbled to a higher branch, but he had chosen a spindly-looking tree and the further he climbed the more it bent under his weight.

  ‘Now then,’ said Jago, offering the whistle to Jack. ‘It’s your call.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Alpha will stop when you tell him. One short blow on this will suffice.’

  There was a crunch as the slender branch on which Blunt perched began to give way. Jack watched as the thug who had terrorised him for the best part of a year attempted to edge his way to a safer spot. But his movements only prompted another ear-splitting crack. The branch crashed to the ground, leaving Blunt hanging by his fingernails to a jagged stump. His legs were dangling only a few feet above the wolf.

  Alpha leapt in the air, catching one of his trainers in his mouth. Blunt flailed and kicked out. ‘Lemme go, lemme go,’ he squealed.

  The trainer came off. Alpha tossed it to one side, growling, and Jack glanced down at his own feet and the black plimsolls. His fist tightened around the whistle. Blunt and his crew were nothing but worms. He hated them.

  ‘Stop him! Please! Call him off!’ Blunt screamed at Jago. He was losing his grip and blood trickled down his ankle. But Jago merely held up his hands and shrugged, as if confirming he had no say in the matter.

  Alpha lunged again. This time Blunt fell to the ground, landing on his back with a heavy thud. Too winded to move his body went still, and for a second he blacked out.

  When he came round, two huge paws were on his chest, pinning him to the ground. He stared up in terror. The wolf’s amber eyes were locked on to his with such intensity it was impossible to look away. Alpha curled back his lips and snarled, showing his long, white incisor teeth. Blunt began to weep.

  And then it was over. The weight suddenly lifted from his chest and he could breathe. He turned to see where the wolf had gone.

  Standing nearby with the whistle in his mouth, Jack stared down at him. Alpha sat at his feet, waiting for the next command.

  Blunt’s eyes grew wide.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Jago, pulling him up by the sleeve. ‘You’ve been given a last-minute reprieve. Count yourself lucky, because I’m not sure you deserve it. Now get out of here before he changes his mind.’ He jerked his head at Jack.

  Blunt backed away, tripping over the discarded trainer. Then he turned tail and fled as fast as he could down the hill towards the river where the other boys had gone.

  Alpha watched until he became nothing but a speck in the distance. Then he threw back his head and howled.

  The hairs stood up on Jack’s arms. The noise rose high then changed pitch, ending so abruptly it sounded as if Alpha’s voice and heart were both breaking at once. ‘It’s okay, you did enough,’ he said. Without thinking, he reached out to touch the ruff of fur below the wolf’s ears.

  Alpha froze. The contact, though slight, seemed to confuse him and his hackles rose.

  Jack looked anxiously at Jago. ‘I didn’t mean to –’

  ‘Let him be,’ said Jago. ‘He doesn’t understand. You can’t befriend a wolf.’ He took the whistle from Jack and pointed in the direction of the wood.

  For a moment Alpha stood his ground, his eyes fixed on Jago in a long stare. His nose wrinkled with the beginnings of a snarl. Then his tail went down and he shot away.

  Chapter 18

  For the rest of their brisk walk home Jack bubbled with excitement. He wanted to know everything about Alpha. What was he doing in Morton Muxloe? What kind of wolf was he? Why was he following Jago? If he was wild, why did he respond to a whistle?

  But Jago’s mood had changed. He seemed distant and preoccupied, and Jack’s curiosity only made him irritable.

  ‘I’ve never seen a real wolf before. Does he live in that wood?’ said Jack. ‘You know, I think I sensed him when you were painting. Where does he come from? Obviously not here!’

  ‘Of course not,’ snapped Jago. He strode on so quickly Jack thought he was going to ignore him. Then he added over his shoulder, ‘Algonquin.’

  ‘Al – gon – where?’

  ‘Canada,’ said Jago.

  Jack stopped dead in surprise. How had Alpha travelled across an ocean? He ran to catch up, but on seeing Jago’s furrowed brow, he decided to save that question for later. Instead he asked, ‘Is he really wild?’

  ‘Yes.’

  How, Jack wondered, was Alpha surviving in an English wood? He supposed there must be enough rabbits and deer to eat. Another question occurred to him. ‘Would he attack a cat?’

  ‘If it crossed his path. He’s a hunter, remember. Why?’

  Jack explained about Odin and how Nan had nearly had an accident after seeing the wolf. As Jago listened, his face grew even more serious.

  ‘I see,’ he said. ‘Then Alpha is venturing closer to town than I thought. It’s time for us to move on.’

  ‘You’re leaving?’ exclaimed Jack.

  ‘Yes. My business here is done.’ Jago tapped his pocket containing the wad of cash.

  ‘Where will you go?’

  Jago didn’t answer straight away. Instead, he gazed at the rolling hills in the distance. ‘Which way does the wind blow?’ he muttered. Then, glancing back at Jack, he seemed to recollect himself. ‘What I mean is I’m free as a bird on a breeze. Nothing to tie me down. I shall go to the Pentland coast,’ he said decisively, ‘and from there by boat to Belgium.’

  ‘Belgium!’

  ‘Yes. Why not? They have a saying that every Belgian is born with a brick in his stomach. They love their houses. Even more than the English. They’ll love my paintings too,’ said Jago with a wink.

  Jack smiled half-heartedly. He’d barely had time to take in all that had happened that afternoon, but he was certain of one thing – he didn’t want Jago to go.

  Everything had changed in the past two days. It was uncanny. Since Jago had arrived the sky seemed bluer than usual, the birds were singing more noisily and whatever he wished for seemed to come true. He’d begun to feel lucky for a change. And meeting Jago was part of it. The way he’d stepped in and tackled the bullies had been amazing too. Beneath the funny-man exterior, he had nerves of steel.

  ‘You were great this afternoon. Thanks for helping me out,’ he said. ‘I owe you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. I’ve no time for thugs. Good thing you were in charge. Not sure I’d have been so merciful.’

  There was an awkward pause.

  ‘So when will you go?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Tomorrow morning. Bright and early. The sooner the better, I think – under the circumstances.’ Jago held out his hand. ‘Well, it’s been a pleasure, Jack Tideswell.’

  Jack nodded. There was nothing more to say. He gave Jago a grin and when they shook hands, it seemed as if a surge of electricity passed between them, just as when they
’d met.

  ***

  The front door closed with a gentle click. Jack leant against it and stared at his black plimsolls in a kind of daze. Despite his triumph over Blunt, he suddenly felt flat and empty. Jago had gone and that was that. He’d probably never see him again. If only he’d kept quiet about Nan’s meeting with Alpha. Maybe he’d have been in less of a hurry to leave.

  He crossed the hallway and climbed the stairs, recalling his last glimpse of Alpha as he’d bolted for the woods. What a shame he’d been so frightened. His fingers curled softly over the banister, remembering the feel of the wolf’s coat. It had been so dense and luxurious; he’d longed to lay his cheek against it. He gave a shrug. Odd that a creature who seemed so nervous of humans should have ventured into town at all. What had possessed him?

  A hissing sound erupted under his feet.

  ‘Oops. Sorry, puss. Did I make you jump?’

  Odin, who’d been curled up on the landing, lifted his nose and sniffed Jack’s outstretched hand. A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat.

  ‘Hey, silly! It’s only me.’ Jack bent down to stroke the cat’s head. Odin’s claws flashed at him and a bright bead of blood appeared on the back of his hand. ‘Ow! What was that for?’

  Odin was on his feet, his back arched, the ugly black stitches on his neck bulging. He spat savagely and for a moment it looked as if he was about to attack again.

  ‘Oh no you don’t.’ Jack shooed the hissing cat with his foot, forcing him down the stairs. ‘Get out of here!’

  ‘Jack? Is that you?’ called Nan from the kitchen.

  Odin fled, colliding with Nan’s legs as she appeared in the hallway.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said.

  ‘Stupid animal scratched me,’ replied Jack, sucking at the blood.

  ‘What! Here, let me see.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  Nan frowned in the direction of the study where the cat flap was banging to and fro like a machine gun going off. ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Out.’ Jack started back up the stairs. He was in no mood for one of Nan’s inquisitions.

  ‘What do you mean “out”? I thought we had an understanding. You’re supposed to tell me when –’

  ‘You weren’t here.’

  ‘I was at the garage. I told you, I wanted to get the car checked. Jack, wait. Don’t turn your back on me!’

  Jack stood still. He hated the way she worried all the time. It didn’t do either of them any good.

  ‘Don’t ignore me,’ said Nan. ‘I’m your grandmother. I’m supposed to take care of you.’ Her voice was fretful. ‘If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.’

  Jack swivelled to face her, his eyes burning. ‘And nothing ever will happen to me if you have your way,’ he said. ‘Nothing at all! Stop going on. Let me live!’

  Nan stared at him in astonishment. ‘What’s got into you? How dare you talk to me like that?’

  Jack didn’t reply and a silence followed which seemed to go on for ever. He knew she wanted an apology but he didn’t see why he should give one.

  ‘Right then,’ said Nan eventually. ‘Have it your way. Get on with your life. I assume that still includes school. For your information, you start back tomorrow.’

  Jack’s heart sank. He’d hoped the unscheduled holiday would go on much longer. And after the excitement of the last two days, school was the last thing he wanted. He glared at Nan. She couldn’t have dreamt up a worse punishment if she’d tried.

  ‘Dinner’ll be on the table in ten minutes,’ she snapped.

  Jack watched her walk towards the kitchen, her bony shoulders hunched and stiff. There was only one way to retaliate. ‘I’m not hungry,’ he snarled, and marching up to his room, he slammed the door.

  Chapter 19

  He flung himself on the bed, punched the pillow, then lay face down, waiting for the anger to subside. When it didn’t, he grabbed a tennis ball from the windowsill. Thok. The ball belted the wall opposite, leaving a small, satisfying indent in the plaster.

  The computer screensaver flickered.

  Distracted, he watched the blue-domed lighthouse shuttle across the screen, its slender spire glinting like a needle. At least he still had the disc. He slid off the bed, fished out the DVD case from the bookshelf and stood for a moment, tapping it against his side. Maybe he should call Charlie. Nope. On second thoughts, bad idea. She’d only try to cheer him up. He was in no mood for company.

  Music blared from the radio downstairs and his eyes closed in frustration. Nan was singing along with some cheesy boy band – out of tune. It drove him nuts the way she pretended to be happy when she was cross. If only he could switch her off.

  He slumped down at the desk, remembering the previous evening’s fun. What a laugh! How she’d screamed when the appliances had cut out. He removed the disc from the DVD case. What kind of crazy technology could power a house like that anyway?

  His fingers brushed the keyboard and his homepage appeared. He punched in a question.

  ‘Which metal conducts electricity best?’

  236,000 results in 0.3 seconds.

  “At ordinary temperatures silver is the best conductor, followed by copper, gold and aluminium,” read the first entry. “However, when supercooled, some pure metals become ‘superconductors’ with nearly zero electrical resistance.”

  Jack sat back and flipped the disc over to examine it. No electrical resistance? That made sense, sort of. His index finger tapped the keyboard as he thought about it.

  Outside, the street lights glowed and the dusky fields fell into darkness.

  He clicked on ‘superconductors’.

  A rectangular chart full of squares and numbers and symbols popped up. With a groan, he recognised the periodic table. It showed all the chemical elements known to man – his science teacher was mad about it. For some reason, the fifth column and fifth row were illuminated in blue. And where they met, the symbol ‘Nb’ was raised on a tiny 3D platform.

  ‘Niobium,’ he read. ‘Never heard of it.’

  He put the disc down and immediately the blue highlight disappeared and the platform sank back into a square. His nose wrinkled at the screen. ‘Random,’ he muttered.

  There was a fanfare of trumpets and Mac marched on, throwing an orange ball in the air. A message from Charlie had arrived. Jack clicked on the tiny duck to remove him. Mac blinked and hung his head. Then he lifted one webbed foot, booted the message ball away and trudged after it with a melodramatic sigh.

  Jack drummed the desk. The disc had an antique quality which was why he’d thought it might be bronze. But its bluish tinge made him wonder. His fingers returned to the keyboard.

  He spelt the letters out loud: ‘N-i-o-b-i-u-m.’

  Click went the mouse.

  92,906,308 results in 0.41 seconds

  “Niobium is a rare earth metal with many special properties. It is highly resistant to heat, anti-corrosive and very strong.”

  Impatiently, Jack clicked on. Physicists used the metal in particle accelerators. Click. Special jewellery was made with it. Click. It was mixed with steel in bridges, car bodies, pipelines, railway tracks, ships. Click. Camera lenses, television screens, even people’s glasses were coated with it …

  How can it be rare if it’s everywhere? he thought.

  He picked up the disc again and a memory flashed into his head: Herbert Lonsdale angrily snatching his broken glasses and calling him a thief. Why was every detail of that dream still so vivid? He thought about meeting Lonsdale that afternoon. It had felt weird, especially when he’d started going on about The Empress. What if –

  The screensaver flicked back on and Jack chewed his lip. What if he’d glimpsed a real event, something bad that was going to happen? Not a dream or any kind of premonition. Supposing he’d actually been there
– in the future?

  A sensation like pins and needles shot up his arm. The disc had begun to glow bluish white in his hand. He stood up quickly and it suddenly flared so brightly he couldn’t even see his own feet.

  It was happening again. Only this time he realised that the machine-like thrum wasn’t caused by the computer: it came from the disc itself. He could feel the vibration going right through his skin into his bones and an overwhelming tidal tug drawing him forwards. He reached out to steady himself, but the desk, his bed, the entire room had fallen away.

  He couldn’t fight it and he realised he didn’t want to. He was wide awake, and whatever the disc was made of, it was about to superconduct. You asked for an adventure, he told himself. Well, now you’ve got one.

  ***

  ‘Gotcha!’

  Jack groaned. He was lying face down, his mouth full of grit and his lungs squashed flat. Gulls cried overhead and a sharp rock pressed under his chin. He wriggled desperately, trying to free his arm which was being held behind his back.

  ‘Oh no yer don’t! Yer on my beach. Why yer spyin’ on me?’

  ‘I wasn’t!’

  ‘Liar!’

  As Jack gulped for air, his captor yanked him up by the scruff of his neck and spun him round. An older boy in cut-off jeans and a pale blue shirt stood, hands on hips, glaring at him.

  ‘I saw yer,’ he said, his black hair whipping across his face in the wind. ‘You was watching me.’ He stepped forwards and pushed Jack in the chest, his thick eyebrows daring him to disagree.

  Jack spat the sand from his mouth.

  ‘Why don’t yer fight?’ said the boy.

  ‘I don’t want to.’

  ‘What d’yer mean, yer don’t want to?’

  ‘You’re bigger than me.’

  ‘So? I know plenty of little fellas wot fight.’

  ‘Well, I’m – not – one of them,’ snapped Jack. He wasn’t little; he was tall for his age.

  ‘What’s wrong with yer then?’

  ‘Nothing!’

  ‘There is.’ The boy jabbed him in the chest again. ‘Where’s yer self-respect. What are yer? A man or a muppet?’