The Mirror of Pharos

by J S Landor

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ she muttered. Alpha had altered his course slightly, heading for a section of road just beyond the next bend. Nan ducked her head down like a rally driver. ‘You won’t stop me this time!’

  Teeth clenched, she took the corner fast, crunching the rear of the Beetle against a grassy bank. The steering wheel spun in her hands and the engine screamed in protest, but she managed to keep going, pulling out of the turn with the car rocking on its axles.

  For one jubilant moment, she thought she’d made it. The wolf seemed to have vanished; the way ahead was clear! She rammed the gear lever into fourth and put her foot down.

  But as the needle of the rev counter climbed, her throat grew horribly dry. Suddenly her eyes were stinging as if she’d rubbed them with soap and she couldn’t stop coughing. Dense black smoke was billowing from the engine, filling the car interior, making it impossible to see where she was going.

  It was too late to brake. Too late to scream. The Beetle swerved from one side of the road to the other, then hit the verge with such force it cleared the ditch, crashed through the hedge and surged upwards, turning a giant somersault in the air.

  As its headlights searched the sky, a ghastly screeching broke out. Nan knew it must be Odin, yet the noise sounded strangely far off. Her head felt heavy, she couldn’t catch her breath and the world seemed out of focus, spinning and fading to an endless grey.

  With a deafening crunch, the car fell to earth. Barely ten metres from where the cliffs met the sea it ploughed forwards on two wheels, then crashed down on all four before creaking to a standstill.

  A bright circle of blood bloomed on the windscreen. For a few seconds the only sound was the incessant blaring of the horn. Then the petrol tank ignited. The explosion ripped open the front bonnet and a wall of flames poured out, crackling and licking at the night sky.

  As Nan came round, a desperate sob escaped her. Her head rested awkwardly against the steering wheel and she couldn’t move or feel her legs. Her magic had been right; her life was over. ‘Jack,’ she moaned weakly. ‘Oh Jack, I’m sorry.’

  She closed her eyes, accepting the inevitable. And it was then she felt it: a sharp breeze blowing in through the smashed windows, sweeping the hair from her face and dispersing the smoke in an instant. Though it hurt to lift her head, she made herself look out.

  The flames had changed direction, bending up and away from the car in a great curving arch which looked almost like a rainbow. The Beetle jolted forwards and she groaned. Its front wheels had jammed against a rock. Whatever was drawing the fire away was strong enough to move the entire car.

  The fiery arch lit up the surrounding hills as brightly as if it was day. Stunned, Nan’s eyes ran along it to the place where it touched the ground. Standing on a boulder, near the cliff edge, was Alpha. His head was tipped back and fire came from his mouth, like a dragon. Except he wasn’t creating the flames, he was consuming them, sucking them in and making them disappear.

  She could hardly bear to watch. The grass streamed towards him on all sides, a whirlwind of debris spun over his head and his whole body shook as the column of fire drilled into him.

  ‘Stop, please!’ she muttered. ‘What are you doing?’ By removing her pain, the wolf was inflicting a terrible torture on himself.

  She slumped back in her seat, her spirit fading again. As the blackness invaded her mind, she prayed Alpha wouldn’t destroy himself. She needed him to stay alive – for Jack’s sake.

  Chapter 30

  The first fingers of dawn smeared the sky with an ugly bruised purple as Jack and Jago set out to meet Tattoo. Jack pulled his red hood over his head, shivering, and scanned the coastal path. There was no sign of Alpha but he was hardly surprised. He’d woken with a hollow ache in his chest and known the wolf was nowhere nearby.

  A small motor boat bobbed up and down by the jetty, and at the sound of their footsteps, Tattoo rose out of it like the Incredible Hulk. The boat had seen better days. Blue and white paint flaked from its battered hull, and on the prow where the name should have been, a bare rectangular patch was visible.

  ‘What’s she called?’ asked Jack, clambering aboard.

  ‘Ent got no name,’ grunted Tattoo. ‘Bought her off a marine salvage bloke. Couple of months back.’

  ‘She’s definitely seen better days,’ grumbled Jago. He cast a disparaging glance over the boat. ‘She’s watertight, I assume?’

  ‘Course!’ Tattoo tugged violently at the starter cord on the outboard motor. The engine spluttered into life and he sat down heavily, clutching the tiller in silence.

  The stink of diesel fumes gradually wore off as the boat bumped over the waves out of the harbour. Behind them, the Lock and Quay pub grew smaller and smaller until very soon Wakeham had disappeared in a misty haze.

  Ahead, the Pentland lighthouse rose out of the sea, tall as a church spire. Sitting in the prow, Jack’s spirits lifted. At last he was going to meet the keeper and he might even be Bill’s father. Hugging the thought to himself, he wondered what sort of man he’d be. Patient and kind, he hoped. A good listener too. He wouldn’t bat an eyelid when he heard the incredible story of The Empress. ‘Forewarned is forearmed,’ he’d say, or something like that. Then he’d promise to warn the authorities and everyone would be safe.

  White caps of foam danced on the waves and a fish jumped alongside the boat. Jack smiled to himself, remembering Lily’s drawing. He turned to see if Jago had seen the fish too. But Jago sat hunched over, looking so grim-faced Jack wondered if he was seasick.

  ‘Hey, you okay?’ he called.

  The corners of Jago’s mouth twisted in a strange smile. ‘Never better,’ he replied, before resuming his vacant study of the boat’s hull.

  Jack frowned. Maybe he was wishing he was elsewhere. For the first time it occurred to him that he’d taken his friend’s help for granted. Without this detour, Jago could be halfway to Belgium by now – on business of his own.

  Feeling guilty, Jack delved into his rucksack and edged towards the stern. He nudged Jago with his elbow and held out a clasped hand.

  ‘Now then. What’s all this about?’

  Jack’s fingers slowly unfurled to reveal Indigo, his blue horse. ‘I want you to have him.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘As a thank you. I’d never have got this far without you.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly –’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s from your parents.’

  ‘That’s the point; he’s special. Look, he’s even got a J on his back!’

  Jago shook his head.

  ‘Remember you predicted I’d find something important – right under my nose,’ Jack persisted.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does! You’ve been right all along about everything. I didn’t believe in magic then. And I wasn’t sure I could trust you. I didn’t even want to tell you about …’ he glanced sideways at Tattoo and whispered, ‘the mirror.’

  ‘You didn’t know me. You still don’t,’ muttered Jago.

  ‘I do! You’re my friend. Take him, please, to remember me.’

  The boat bounced hard over a choppy wave and a gull screeched wildly overhead.

  ‘No, it’s yours. And if you’re not careful, it’ll get smashed. What made you bring such a fragile thing anyway?’ Red-faced, Jago turned away, glaring at the sea.

  Jack’s fingers tightened around the horse until its tiny hooves dug into him. Why was Jago being so pig-headed? It was a gift; he should be happy! He looked at Tattoo, who’d been listening to the exchange. The hard man turned away too, a smirk of amusement creasing his cheeks.

  The boat bumped over another wave. Jack felt like flinging Indigo in the ocean and for several moments he could think of nothing else. He stared at Jago’s fiercely jutting jaw. What was eating him that he looked so miserabl
e? He copied the expression, making a face like a gargoyle. Somehow it helped and feeling slightly better, he slipped Indigo in his pocket.

  By now, the lighthouse loomed over them, a stern-looking building with vertical arrow-slit windows. Close up, its thick red and white stripes looked hard and uncompromising, nothing like the candy-cane tower Jack had seen from the Ferris wheel.

  ‘Where are we going to land?’ he asked.

  A jagged reef of rocks sprang up like teeth and huge waves crashed over them. Tattoo raised his eyebrows and said nothing. With difficulty, he steered them around the other side of the island where a landing stage revealed itself below two flights of steps. While Tattoo and Jago struggled to secure the boat, Jack wriggled past them. Unable to wait a second longer, he scrambled up on the prow and leapt off, slithering on the wet stones.

  ‘Oi, watch it! What the ’ell you playing at?’ bellowed Tattoo.

  Jack paid no attention. He was already racing up the steps, the roar of the ocean in his ears. Perhaps it was his own excitement, but even the shrieking gulls seemed to will him on. Finally, he was here: the Pentland lighthouse. With a whoop of joy, he tore across the patch of grass in front of him, climbed two more steps and flung himself, breathless, against the painted white door.

  To his surprise, it fell slightly ajar and a bunch of keys clanged to the ground inside. He glanced back at Jago and Tattoo. They were still busy tying up the boat, cursing and shouting at each other.

  ‘Hello?’ he called through the gap. ‘Anyone home?’

  No reply.

  The heavy hinges creaked as he opened the door wider. Hoping the keeper would hear him, he cleared his throat loudly and took a step or two inside.

  The air was chilly and his footsteps sounded hollow on the stone floor. Half expecting a hand to grab the scruff of his neck, he turned slowly. The circular room was nothing like the cosy interior he’d imagined. On one side, there was a small kitchen with a kettle on the cooker and a single mug by the sink. But apart from that and a faded red sofa, most of the space was occupied by equipment.

  Orange wiring ran down the walls to a row of sealed grey units, the largest of which had a display of tiny red, green and yellow lights. Frowning, he went over to it. The living quarters must be on another floor. This was obviously a control room. His fingers brushed across the lights, pausing at the last one. ‘Power Fail’ read the label below it.

  A fluttering sound came from overhead.

  His eyes travelled up the spiral staircase, which curled like a serpent to the floors above. A sprinkling of dust cascaded down, and someone giggled.

  ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Who’s there?’

  He started up the stairs, half wondering if the ghost story Lily had told him might be true. On the first floor, he passed a room containing two curved bunks. There were no mattresses on them, just a pile of old crates. It’s empty, that’s all, he told himself.

  A scuffling sound came from higher up.

  ‘Hey!’ he yelled.

  He could have sworn he’d seen a trace of a boyish grin and a flash of white blond hair. He raced up two more flights of stairs and arrived, panting for breath, on the landing at the top. Ahead of him, a door stood partly open. Lantern Room, he read. So this was where Bill’s famous lamp must be … along with the joker who wanted to play hide-and-seek. He gave the door a wary shove with his foot.

  Daylight flooded in on all sides through shiny latticed windows. The room appeared to be empty apart from the light itself, which stood on a platform in the centre like an exhibit in a gallery. Puzzled, Jack advanced slowly towards it. ‘I know you’re in here,’ he said.

  Three circular lenses enclosed the lamp like giant shields. They were covered in rings of polished glass in which he could see his own image, repeated dozens of times. He frowned. Not even a toddler could have squeezed behind them and yet … that was where the watching eyes seemed to be.

  He went over to the window. No one in their right mind would have hidden on the walkway outside; it was far too exposed. He checked anyway and, as he’d expected, found it windswept and empty.

  Below, the door clicked gently shut.

  ‘Jack!’ thundered Jago.

  ‘Up here! I saw someone – a skinny kid with blond hair.’ Jack ran from the room and hung over the banister. ‘The keeper’s not here.’

  Jago’s upturned face showed no surprise. ‘I know. Come downstairs and I’ll explain. Bring your bag.’ His voice was cold and imperious.

  Jack stepped out of view.

  ‘Hurry up. I want to talk to you.’

  Jack stood rigid, his back pressed against the wall. How did Jago know about the keeper? Why hadn’t he said anything? The whole trip was pointless if … He hugged the rucksack to him, a splinter of suspicion driving deep into his heart. If Jago hadn’t meant to help, then what did he want? Jack bit his lip as the strange comment Jago had made on the boat came back to him: ‘You didn’t know me. You still don’t.’

  ‘What are you playing at? Jack? Don’t mess me around.’

  Footsteps like pistol shots sounded on the stairs.

  Hands trembling, Jack reached into his bag. If ever he needed the mirror to work, it was now. Whoever had sent it to him must have meant him to use it. If only that someone could have taught him how!

  Beads of sweat pricked his forehead. As his fingers closed on the disc, he noticed the metal had grown warm too. Had his own panicky feelings somehow triggered the magic? He could hear the ocean pounding and seagulls calling as they had in his dream. ‘Tide … swell, Tide … swell.’

  Calm down! he told himself. What if the mirror responded to him as much as the other way round? Wasn’t that what mirrors were meant to do: reflect you back at yourself?

  The metal thrummed but he resisted the familiar tugging. He would go when he wanted, not because he was scared. If there was any element of control in all of this, he needed to discover it. Right now.

  Forget the keeper, forget Jago. It’s up to you to find out what’s wrong with the light. You have to focus!

  He bowed his head and the advice he’d given Lily – his own father’s words – came to him. Use the strongest muscle in your body. It gets you from A to B. Imagination. Picture where you want to be!

  The mirror glowed and, without warning, the forefinger of his right hand stung as if he’d touched a red-hot iron. Instantly, before he could even wince, the tugging ceased. Then, for one extraordinary moment, he seemed to stand outside himself, like a spectator, quiet and detached. He let go of the mirror and it spun in the air in front of him like a tiny blazing sun.

  His whole being grew calm and centred. It felt amazing, as if he’d just learned to walk a tightrope. As his surroundings turned blue-white, he held on a fraction longer, testing himself, astonished that through his own self-control he could keep the mirror so perfectly balanced.

  Nothing could have broken his concentration or diminished his sense of mastery. Not even the advancing figure of Jago – or the wiry blond boy who stole ahead of him, waiting for permission to pounce. The mirror spun faster and faster. When he was ready, Jack closed his eyes and heard the gulls cry out once more as he let his mind go into freefall.

  Chapter 31

  The strange detachment he’d achieved must have had something to do with it, because this leap was unlike any other.

  As he came to, the whole world seemed to be swaying. His head felt strangely light and his feet throbbed and tingled as if he was about to float away. He reached out to steady himself.

  An iron rail met his hand, ice cold but reassuringly solid. While his vision settled, he clung on, watching the waves rise in and out of focus through the darkness below. ‘You did it,’ he muttered. ‘You bloomin’ did it!’ He was ninety feet up on the exterior walkway of the Pentland lighthouse – exactly as he’d intended.

  Behind him, a whirring noise
started up and the metal floor rumbled. With a great mechanical ‘clunk’ the lamp came on. For a second or so, he stood blinking, bathed from head to toe in a luminous haze. Then, very slowly, the three golden lenses began to turn, directing the beam into the night like a giant searching eye.

  In the distance, a curtain of sludge-green rain hung from the clouds. Where it touched the sea, a dark shape moved up and down. Jack drew in his breath. Any moment now the beam would sweep over it and … there! Pitched on her side, with one end submerged, lay the sorry hulk of The Empress.

  The sight of it sent a shudder down his spine. He hoped he’d done the right thing. During those few precious moments, before Jago could get to him, it had seemed the only way. He had arrived precisely at the point in time when his first leap had ended.

  Stay calm, he told himself. The knowledge you need to avoid this is right here. The light went out, then came on again. There has to be a reason …

  ***

  In the semi-darkness of the control room, a red light blinked. With a frown, Jack stood in front of it, wheeling his right arm over his head and rubbing his aching shoulder. The door to the lantern room had proved obstinate but not impossible; he’d made it to the ground floor in minutes.

  On a desk nearby, numbers and letters spilled across a small screen while above him the lenses continued to rotate. Not a soul was about – he’d checked every room – and the lighthouse appeared to be functioning normally. So why was the power-fail light flashing red?

  His eye rested on the telephone mounted on the wall by the main control unit. He let his arm drop and went over to it. Without hesitation, he lifted the receiver.

  There was a click and a man answered.

  ‘Trinity House Operations Centre.’ The voice was gruff, half shouting above a clamour of noisy people. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘I – my name’s Jack. Jack Tideswell.’