by J S Landor
The winking lights turned out to be nothing but a pair of yellow glass marbles which had spilled out of a board game. Yet he scooped them up in delight, polishing them on his sleeve before adding them to his haul.
Then he did something even more remarkable. Instead of walking down the stairs, he swung one leg over the oak banister and slid to the bottom, flying off the end and landing silently on the chequered floor with his arms raised. Two cartwheels, a backflip and several deep bows to an imaginary audience concluded the performance before he hurried back to the office.
With a great deal of effort, he dragged the prostrate body of Herbert Lonsdale towards the desk. From his tracksuit pocket, he produced a small electronic device and connected it to the laptop. It was a portable palm reader. This would give him top-level access to the Harington bank accounts. He put the unconscious accountant’s hand on top of the device and dialled into the bank.
Within seconds Lonsdale’s fingerprints were verified and the thief gained entry into The Empress Trust Fund. He keyed in a figure – £2,000,000. In the next moment, the money disappeared from the account.
***
Less than ten minutes later, Herbert Lonsdale began to stir. He hauled himself into his leather chair and slouched over his desk, his head throbbing. For a moment he couldn’t think what had happened. Then, with a shudder, he remembered the grotesque sight in the garden. He pulled himself up, clutching his back in pain, and staggered to the window.
Yes, it was still there. Percy the peacock hung from the silver birch, his long turquoise neck bent at an awkward angle. Most of his beautiful tail feathers lay scattered on the lawn amidst a pool of blood, their round blue-green tips like staring eyes. Percy had paid the price for being a much better guard dog than Lady Harington’s two retrievers who were, even now, still slumbering in the kitchen.
Lonsdale rubbed his aching temples and turned back into the room. He noticed the safe door was open and finally it dawned on him: there had been a burglary. He looked around nervously. The safe was bound to be empty but he went to check anyway.
All at once there was an explosion of screeching and chattering and Lonsdale almost leapt out of his skin. Some sort of creature was inside the safe. He backed away as a blur of black and white flew up into his face and clawed his cheek. Shrieking in pain, he put his hands up to bat the thing away.
Now, at long last, the dogs began barking in the kitchen and footsteps thumped on the stairs. Lonsdale wheeled around frantically but he couldn’t see his attacker anywhere.
The door creaked open and, very slowly, the barrel of a shotgun appeared. Lady Harington stood at the other end of it, wearing a fearsome expression, her long white nightdress billowing out like a galleon in full sail.
When she saw Lonsdale, she lowered the gun. ‘What the devil’s going on? Herb, are you all right?’
Herbert Lonsdale sat on the floor, gibbering. ‘W-w-w-one for s-s-sorrow,’ he stuttered, pointing a finger heavenwards.
Lady Harington crouched down and put a comforting arm around him, appalled to find her old friend in such a state. He was trembling with fear and blood trickled like a teardrop from a cut near his eye. She looked up and saw something white flash near the ceiling where he kept pointing.
‘I say, there’s a magpie on the curtain rail. How on earth did he get in?’ She bustled over to the window and undid the latch.
The bird let out a jarring rattle of a cry as she approached. ‘Tsche, tsche, tsche …’
‘It’s no good scolding me. It’s not my fault you’re stuck inside,’ she said. ‘Out you go.’
The bird swooped down. As he flew off shrieking into the night, the deer which had regrouped in a huddle by the woods dived for the ink-black shadows.
Chapter 21
Nan was slicing a loaf of bread with such vigour the table shook as if an avalanche was approaching. Jack’s cornflakes slopped from side to side in his bowl, but he pretended not to notice and carried on reading the back of a cereal packet. Odin sat on the windowsill, perfectly still, his green eyes flicking from one human face to the other.
Last night’s angry words hung between them. Nan wanted an apology; Jack remained tight-lipped. Apart from anything else, saying sorry seemed two-faced when he was about to embark on a trip that would make Nan’s hair stand on end. She couldn’t cope with him straying one mile from home, let alone a hundred or more.
Odin gave a querulous mew – and was ignored. He set about licking his wound as if he hadn’t wanted any attention in the first place.
Nan handed Jack his packed lunch. The sandwiches were like doorstops and she hadn’t bothered to cut off the crusts. But he couldn’t help noticing she’d included a generous helping of her special biscuits. He felt a pang of guilt and looked down.
In the hall, she tapped the barometer as usual. The needle moved to high pressure. ‘Fair and warm,’ she said, breaking the silence at last. ‘No need for a coat then.’
‘I’ll take it anyway.’
‘Really?’
‘You never know, I might need it.’
Nan stared at him, shaking her head. The disappointment on her face was unbearable. He wanted to tell her he wasn’t being deliberately awkward. There were reasons – good reasons – for what he was going to do. He wanted her to be proud, not sad. Yet if he told her the truth, would she let him go?
He grabbed his coat and walked out. At the end of the drive he turned to look back, wishing he’d hugged her. Nan stood at the kitchen window, watching him, her shoulders slumped. He waved and saw her hand go up. But her expression didn’t change.
***
Hurrying along the main road, he glanced at his watch. He had twenty minutes to get to the station, buy his ticket and find the right platform. He couldn’t afford to hang around.
As he reached The Feathers pub, however, his pace slowed. Three police cars straddled the pavement outside, one of them with its blue light flashing. A woman in a pink dressing gown stood in the doorway, surrounded by uniformed officers.
‘No. You listen to me,’ she shouted, jabbing the nearest man. ‘This is my pub, you got no right to barge in. I told you, he ent here!’
A rumble of angry male voices followed and one of the men tried to push past. The landlady erupted. ‘Why would he be hiding?’ she shrieked. ‘Are you calling me a liar? He’s gone, I tell ya!’
‘All right, all right.’ A slim man in a long, grey overcoat pushed his way through the uniforms. ‘There’s no need for all this. Look love, I know you’ve had a rude awakening.’ He looked sternly at the officers around him. ‘But we need to find this man. Did he tell you where he was going?’
‘No. As it happens, he didn’t!’ she spat. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘There was a burglary last night,’ said the detective. ‘Up at Osmaston Hall.’
Jack ducked behind a row of wheelie bins that filled one corner of the pub garden.
‘So?’ the landlady said. ‘What’s that got to do with ’im?’
‘He was there yesterday, selling a painting. Her ladyship gave him a tour of the place herself. We just want to ask the gentleman a few questions, eliminate him from our enquiries.’
‘Oh yeah? You reckon he was casing the joint. Is that it? Always thinking the worst, you lot. Well, you’re wrong. He was here with me last night. All night. I can swear to that!’
‘I see,’ said the detective calmly. ‘And was there a boy with him, his nephew, by any chance?’
‘No. Didn’t even know he had a nephew. Why?’
‘He had a boy with him yesterday, bit of a rough sort by all accounts. Poor man who let them in got assaulted last night: knocked unconscious. He reckons the thief was no bigger than a child of twelve or thirteen. Could be the same boy.’
The detective paused and in the silence that followed, a bird screeched overhead. A magpie strutted along the ri
dge of the pub roof, its bright eyes fixed on the scene below.
The detective glanced up, then continued, ‘So if you don’t mind, we’d really appreciate your co-operation. We need you to tell us everything you know about this Mr Flyn.’
Through the gap between the bins, Jack saw the landlady shrug, then jerk a thumb over her shoulder. ‘Go on then. But it won’t take long. Ent much to tell.’
Jack slid slowly to the ground, his heart pumping. A burglary at Osmaston Hall? Lonsdale assaulted! He clutched at the long grass around him. How could they think he was responsible? Part of him wanted to laugh out loud. It was mad. He was the prime suspect! The stench of the bins made him gag and he realised he was about to throw up. He crawled on all fours to the hedgerow.
Afterwards, he sat in a crumpled heap, hugging his knees. So now he knew why Lonsdale had called him a thief. He was tempted to rush in, find the man in the grey overcoat and tell him they’d got it all wrong. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a bad idea. He’d watched enough crime programmes to know he’d wind up in the police station making a statement. And that could take hours.
He scrambled to his feet. Nothing was more important than getting to the lighthouse. Whatever happened, he had to stick to his plan.
***
Morton Muxloe railway station was a grand red-brick building with a high, vaulted roof. As Jack arrived through a side entrance, the chimes of the clock tower sounded. The station announcer was giving details of a departing train, but with all the noise he couldn’t tell if it was his.
He pushed his way through the tide of commuters pouring out of the building on their way to work. He hadn’t realised how much his school uniform would stand out. Deciding to avoid the booking office where someone might remember him, he made for the automatic ticket machine in the main hall.
Luckily, the queue was short, but while he waited in line he got another shock. The police were here at the station, too. Three officers patrolled the platforms and another two were engrossed in conversation with a station official under the departure board.
He scanned the list of trains. The Eastern Express was due to leave platform one in three minutes! He fumbled in his wallet for the right money. Several coins spilled to the floor, bouncing and rolling in all directions, and he dived after them.
‘Need any help?’ said a deep voice. A giant black boot came down, trapping one of the coins.
Startled, Jack looked up. It was the man in the grey coat from The Feathers.
The detective bent down and picked up the runaway coin. ‘Coppers can be useful,’ he said, pressing a two pence piece into Jack’s hand and chuckling with pleasure at his own joke. When Jack didn’t join in, he asked, ‘You from Muxloe High?’
Jack nodded.
‘Where you off to then?’
‘I’m, um …’
‘It’s okay, I don’t bite, you know.’ The detective grinned. His teeth were big and yellow and there seemed to be far too many of them.
‘I’m – er – going to the dentist,’ Jack blurted.
‘Oh, bad luck.’ The detective paused for what seemed a lifetime. ‘Checkup or fillings?’
‘Checkup.’
The detective turned away to survey the rest of the station. Jack thought he’d been dismissed, but as he stooped to pick up his rucksack, the policeman fired another question: ‘So where is this dentist of yours?’
Jack glanced up at the stations listed on the Eastern line and picked one of them. ‘Fenstreet,’ he lied. He could see the station clock over the detective’s shoulder. As the second hand pulsed its way around the dial, he was conscious of his heart knocking against his chest. His train was leaving in two minutes. At this rate he wasn’t going to make it.
He looked up hopelessly at the roof where several pigeons fluttered around the metal rafters in a state of agitation. Trapped, like me, he thought. Please make this man go away. Aloud he said, ‘I’ve got to go. I’m going to miss my train.’
The detective’s eyes rested firmly on Jack. ‘Fenstreet, eh? Bit out of the way for a dentist. I don’t think it’s even got a station, lad.’ He looked at the display board and frowned.
Jack searched the list again. To his dismay, the station had mysteriously disappeared.
‘How old are you, son?’
‘Fourteen.’
‘And what’s your name?’
Jack fought the panic rising inside him. The policeman was tenacious as a terrier after a rat. He struggled to think of a name other than his own. But his mind had gone blank. Jack Tideswell – that was the truth and those were the only words in his head.
He opened his mouth to speak and was about to give himself away when a bloodcurdling scream came from the far end of the station. A woman’s cry echoed to the rafters, sending the pigeons into an even greater frenzy.
A surge of people spilled out from platform seven, running and shouting for help. The newspaper vendor called out, ‘What is it? A bomb scare?’ and when no one replied, he hurriedly pulled down the shutters on his shop with a crash.
The detective was already halfway across the concourse, heading towards the commotion. Jack wasted no time. He pumped the coins into the machine, grabbed his ticket and tore off in the direction of platform one.
The guard stood poised with the whistle in his mouth. He seemed hesitant about letting the train go. There was clearly a security problem, yet no one had told him to hold the train. He waved Jack on board and looked down the platform at the driver, who had his head out of the window.
‘Well? Are we going, or what?’ the driver bellowed.
The guard took a deep breath and made up his mind. He blew the whistle, the brakes hissed and the Eastern Express bound for the Pentland coast lurched forwards.
***
Everyone in the carriage had crowded on one side, jostling each other for a better position at the window.
‘Good lord,’ said a businessman. ‘Is that a wolf?’
‘Nah, can’t be. Alsatian more likely,’ said another man. But he sounded unsure.
Jack’s heart leapt. He hurried forwards, wriggling through the crush of bodies. It was Alpha! He was running flat out along platform seven, parallel to the departing train. Behind him, a huddle of frightened people gaped and pointed. And in their midst a woman sat on the ground being comforted by a station official. She looked white as a ghost.
Suddenly, the detective in the grey overcoat appeared. He stepped clear of the crowd and pulled out a gun.
A gasp ran round the carriage.
‘Noooo!’ yelled Jack, thumping his fist against the window.
The other passengers turned to look at him and a woman holding a toddler on her hip said, ‘It’s not a pet, love. It’s savage. Gave that poor lady the fright of her life.’
‘Bang, bang,’ said the toddler excitedly.
It was like watching a silent movie. The policeman went down on one knee and took aim. Jack didn’t hear the shot but he saw the pistol recoil just as Alpha took an almighty leap off the end of the platform.
The passengers craned their necks to see what had become of him, but the train had picked up speed and an incoming engine pulling a long line of freight wagons cut across their view. There was a general groan of disappointment.
‘Bad dog all gone?’ There was a tremor in the toddler’s voice.
‘Yes, all gone,’ said his mother, hugging him close.
Jack screwed up his eyes, trying to make out the distant figure in grey. The detective was up and running, his long coat fanning out behind him. He reached the spot where the wolf had jumped, but it was impossible to see his expression.
Jack prayed there wasn’t a body lying on the asphalt beside the track. ‘Run, Alpha,’ he whispered under his breath. ‘Run!’ Why couldn’t these people understand? The wolf hadn’t come to the station to terror
ise them. He was simply looking for his master. Perhaps Jago was on board at this very moment. He glanced around the people in the carriage.
Everyone was talking, their faces animated by the drama. ‘I blame the owner,’ the businessman said. ‘Completely irresponsible. A dog that dangerous should be muzzled. Imagine if it attacked a child.’
The mother with the toddler nodded in agreement. ‘If you ask me, only a thug would own such a brute in the first place.’
Jack pushed past them, angry tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Alpha wasn’t a brute. He was wild … beautiful. Only yesterday he’d transformed his life by seeing off Blunt and his gang. And today he’d come to the rescue again. It was Alpha’s timely diversion that had enabled him to catch the train. So that was twice the wolf had saved him.
He moved down the rocking train from one carriage to another, looking for the one familiar face that would share his point of view. But Jago was nowhere to be seen. Doubling back, he found an empty carriage and threw himself into a seat by the window.
By now, the Eastern Express had left the outskirts of Morton Muxloe and was hurtling through open countryside. Ploughed fields spread out on either side and the Rollright Hills stretched into the distance like sleeping dinosaurs.
Jack pressed his nose against the window and watched his home town grow smaller and smaller. With a pang of loneliness, he opened his rucksack to inspect the nest of tissues inside his red hoodie. Indigo felt warm in his cocoon and the smiling J on the horse’s back gave him a burst of courage. It was just a train ride. And a longish walk. He’d be home before dark.
He sat back, closing his eyes, and tried to picture what Charlie might be doing. He wished she was with him. He knew she would have something sensible to say.
Chapter 22
Stamping her feet against the chilly air, Charlie waited outside the school gates. For the millionth time in her life, she wished Nan would give in and let Jack have a mobile. But no, apparently they not only fried people’s brains, they scrambled dreams too. Nan had made her promise she wouldn’t sleep with hers by the bed, not even under the pillow.