by Heather Dyer
Hannah knew then what she must do. She must go and tell her parents what had happened. They would call the police, and a helicopter would be dispatched to find the boys and bring them home safely. Hannah left the window open in case the boys returned, and went to her parents’ room. She knocked softly. There was no answer, so she crept in and stood beside the bed. Her parents were both lying perfectly still. “Mum?” she whispered.
Her mother didn’t move.
Hannah reached out to touch her mother’s shoulder, then hesitated. If the boys didn’t need rescuing, they’d be furious with her for telling. Her parents would confiscate the carpet when the boys returned, and then Hannah would never get to ride it. Perhaps she should wait a little bit longer before she raised the alarm?
Hannah tiptoed back to her room and got into bed. Her feet were freezing. She curled up, shivering, and wondered what the boys were doing. She didn’t know why they had wanted to go to the Tower of London. If it had been up to her, she’d have chosen somewhere much more exciting, somewhere like the great white roof of Millennium Dome. It might be fun to land on it and walk about a bit; she’d always wondered if it was bouncy, like a trampoline. Or maybe she would go all the way to North America and hover in the mist above Niagara Falls, or fly through the Grand Canyon.
Hannah lay awake, listening for the boys’ return. But the house was so quiet that eventually she fell asleep. While the stopwatch counted down in the room next door, Hannah dreamed that she was sitting cross-legged on the magic carpet, wearing baggy harem trousers and pointy silver slippers. By the time the stopwatch had reached zero, Hannah was sailing high above the sleeping town of Agra, with the distant spires of the Taj Mahal pinkish in the sunrise.
CHAPTER 4
LONDON AT NIGHT
The boys flew on, high above the city. It was a cool, clear night, and far below the lights of London glittered.
“What’s that?” asked Simon, pointing to a dark pathway winding through the lights.
“It must be the River Thames,” said Jake.
As soon as he said “Thames,” the carpet started dropping. Soon they could see roads streaming with traffic and office buildings all lit up like cages of light. Down and down went the carpet, straight toward the glittering black water of the River Thames. For one awful moment it seemed as though it was going to skid to a stop on the surface like a giant swan. But the carpet seemed to know better. It flew on, upriver, low enough that Simon could trail his fingers in the water.
The carpet passed a tour boat called The Pride of London, with lots of people on board, all drinking champagne. Simon stood up and waved. “Hi!” he yelled.
“Sit down!” snapped Jake.
A little farther on, the carpet passed beneath a bridge, sending a flock of roosting pigeons flapping out from underneath. And when they rounded the next bend they could see a huge building on the bank of the Thames, with dozens of spires and four Union Jacks flying.
Jake unzipped Simon’s backpack and got out the Pocket Guide to London. “That’s the Palace of Westminster,” he said, consulting the guidebook, “and Big Ben.”
Obediently, the carpet left the river and headed north, but just as they were approaching Big Ben’s huge clock face, Simon shouted, “LOOK! The London Eye!” So the carpet swung east and flew so close to the giant Ferris wheel that they could see tourists riding in the capsules. Jake and Simon waved, and the tourists crowded against the glass to take photographs.
“Where next?” said Jake.
“Buckingham Palace!” said Simon, and the carpet flew straight up the tree-lined Mall and circled the palace so closely that the boys could see people drawing the curtains in upstairs rooms.
It can go to your head, being above everyone else. Jake started flicking through the guidebook shouting out landmarks: “Hyde Park! Kensington Palace! Trafalgar Square! Regent’s Park Mosque!”
The carpet flew back and forth across the twinkling city. They passed through Euston Station and heard the train announcements. They circled the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral, and they flew low over Piccadilly Circus, calling down to people in the streets.
But eventually, far away above the city skyline, the night sky began to pale. One by one the streetlights went out. The twinkle of the night was giving way to the cold light of dawn. When they passed Big Ben for the second time, it was chiming five o’clock in the morning.
“We’d better get to the Tower,” said Jake, “before it opens for the day.”
The carpet turned and headed east.
“I’m tired,” said Simon, yawning. “Let’s go home.”
At the word “home,” the carpet did a U-turn.
“Not till we’ve been to the Tower,” said Jake.
The carpet turned around again.
“Home!” said Simon.
“The Tower!”
“Home!”
“THE TOWER!”
The carpet swung first to the left and then to the right, confused, until the boys began to get dizzy.
“Cut it out!” yelled Jake.
“But it’s starting to rain,” said Simon. “The carpet doesn’t like the wet.”
Jake looked up. Sure enough, storm clouds were gathering. Then he felt a speck of rain upon his eyelid. “All right! Home,” he said.
The carpet turned around again. But it was flying into the wind now, and it moved slowly, as though it was a struggle. And the wind was getting stronger. The carpet began to get buffeted left and right, and soon the boys had to hold on to the edges to avoid being thrown off. A moment later there was a low rumble overhead, and then the rain began in earnest.
“Up! Up!” yelled Jake.
The carpet started rising. Higher and higher it went until it was up inside the clouds, and for a while the boys could see nothing but rushing mist. Then the carpet shot out above the mist, and the boys found themselves blinking in bright sunshine. The sky was an endless blue and the clouds were spread out below them like a vast white duvet.
Simon put his hood back. “Is this heaven?”
“Nope,” said Jake. “It’s the troposphere. What people don’t realize is that it’s always sunny above the clouds.” He rummaged in Simon’s backpack and took out a bag of cheese and onion chips, half an egg-and-cress sandwich and a chunk of fruitcake wrapped in foil. It was the remains of the packed lunch from the day before and was a strange sort of breakfast, but after riding a magic carpet all night it was just what they wanted. “Cake?” said Jake.
“Yes, please,” said Simon.
The carpet floated on. It was peaceful above the clouds, and very quiet. “The best place to be in a storm,” said Jake, opening the bag of chips, “is above it. It’s because of the turbulence.”
“Turbulence?” said Simon, through a mouthful of cake.
“Rough air,” explained Jake. “In fact, aircraft often fly at this altitude because there’s less risk of —”
From out of nowhere came an airplane. The boys barely had time to glimpse a row of little round windows, each containing one astonished face, before the carpet was tossed aside in a roar of hot air. “Hang on!” screamed Jake.
The chips went fluttering to the winds like autumn leaves. The fruitcake and the sandwich were flung in opposite directions. Round and down the carpet went, through the swirling mist, and when it finally stopped spinning it was back below the clouds again. It was still raining.
“Up! Up!” yelled Jake. The carpet rose briefly but sank again, as though the effort was too great.
“We’re sinking,” said Simon.
Jake seized a corner of the carpet and tried to wring it out. But it was no use. The carpet was waterlogged. Down, down, down they went, toward the waking city. Soon they could hear the clang of recycling trucks and the roar of traffic. The day had begun, and the carpet was heading straight into the rush hour.
CHAP
TER 5
THE UNIDENTIFIED FLYING OBJECT
When Hannah woke up, the clock on her bedside table said 8:55 a.m. Downstairs she could hear voices and the clatter of dishes. She had fallen asleep! She jumped out of bed, put on her fluffy pink robe and monster-feet slippers and went and knocked on the boys’ bedroom door. There was no answer, so she opened the door a crack and went in. The beds were empty, and the window was still open exactly as she’d left it. Where were the boys? Were they still out there somewhere on the magic carpet? Or were they in the kitchen, eating breakfast?
Alarmed, Hannah hurried downstairs. Only her father and Aunt Rachel were at the table. They were eating toast and marmalade and watching the nine o’clock news.
“Hello, sweetheart!” said Aunt Rachel.
“Hello,” said Hannah. Her aunt was wearing a floral kimono, and her long, wavy hair was pinned up with butterfly clips. Not for the first time, Hannah thought how strange it was that Aunt Rachel and her mother were sisters. They were so different.
“Come and sit by me,” said her aunt, “and tell me everything. What have you been doing?”
“Nothing!” said Hannah guiltily. “I mean, nothing much.”
Hannah’s mother came over then, with the coffee pot. “You’ve had a nice long lie-in,” she remarked. “Did you sleep all right?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Hannah.
“Any sign of Jake and Simon?”
Hannah stared at her mother. “What?”
“Jake and Simon. Are they awake?”
“I don’t know,” said Hannah truthfully.
“Perhaps I ought to go and wake them.”
“No!” cried Hannah. “You shouldn’t wake people up when they’re on holiday.”
“Well, all right. I’ll give them a little bit longer.”
Hannah sat down and began tapping the top of her boiled egg with the back of her spoon. Normally, she enjoyed a boiled egg, but today her mind was elsewhere. Where were her cousins? Had they been blown off course and out to sea? Were they stranded on a rooftop? Or lost? What if one of them had fallen off the carpet and was lying in some alley with his head cracked open and his brains spilled out like Humpty Dumpty’s … Ugh! Hannah pushed her egg aside. She should have woken her parents last night. If something terrible had happened to the boys, Aunt Rachel would never forgive her. Nobody would. You could probably get sent to prison for keeping a secret like that — and the longer she kept it, the worse things would get. She had no choice. She would have to confess.
“Dad,” said Hannah. “I need to tell you something. Last night I —”
“Shhh!” said her father. “Listen to this!” He turned up the volume on the television.
“ — completely gridlocked,” said the announcer, “after sightings of an unidentified flying object.”
“A what?” said Aunt Rachel.
“At seven thirty the aircraft was seen flying at low altitude down Kensington High Street. Eyewitnesses report that there were at least two individuals on board. The following footage was posted on YouTube by a member of the public.”
The picture changed then, and at first it wasn’t clear what was happening. People were shouting and running and pointing at something in the sky. Then there it was: the carpet! The picture was too blurry to make out much, but it was clear that there were two figures aboard. They both had their hoods up, and one was wearing a backpack. The carpet veered left and disappeared between two buildings.
“The Civil Aviation Authority,” said the announcer, “says there is no reason to think that the aircraft presents a danger to the public. However, drivers are being asked to avoid the city center unless absolutely necessary.”
Then the next news item came up: a donkey rescued from a well. Hannah’s father switched off the television.
“Good grief,” said Aunt Rachel. “What do you think it is?”
“Some sort of hoax, no doubt,” said Hannah’s father. He glanced at his watch. “I thought we could take the boys to the Natural History Museum this morning. What do you think?”
Aunt Rachel stood up. “I’ll go and wake them.”
“No, no. Finish your toast,” said Hannah’s father. “I’ll go.” And before Hannah could stop him, he had pushed back his chair and was heading for the door.
CHAPTER 6
GROUNDED
Jake and Simon were flying down Clapham High Street, level with the upstairs windows. Vehicles pulled over, and people got out of their cars to take pictures of the carpet as it flew past. In the distance, the boys could hear the wail of sirens.
“Nelsons Row!” yelled Jake, squinting at the street signs through the rain. Immediately, the carpet swung left, down a quiet residential road.
“Triangle Place!”
The carpet turned right.
“Park Hill!”
“West Road!”
The carpet zigzagged left and right, taking corners so tightly that the boys had to cling to the edges to avoid being thrown off. Then, at the end of Kings Avenue, the carpet reached a busy intersection. Cars honked and swerved.
“Dulwich!” screamed Jake.
The carpet took a sharp left and joined the flow of traffic on the South Circular. It flew straight over a pedestrian crossing, causing several schoolchildren to jump back in alarm. For a while it tailed a van with a barking dog in the back. Then the turbulence from a passing truck nudged the carpet off the road altogether. And all the while the carpet was sinking. Soon it was barely skimming the sidewalk. In a moment it would touch down.
There was only one thing for it.
“Jump!” said Jake. He and Simon got to their feet and stood like surfers, with their knees bent and their arms held out for balance. “One … two … ugh!”
Jake fell flat on his face, but Simon landed lightly and kept on running. He caught up with the carpet and put his foot on it. “Now what do we do?” he said.
“Walk,” said Jake.
So they rolled up the carpet and set off, carrying it between them. But carpets are heavy when they’re wet, and saggy in the middle, and it was raining even harder now. On they trudged, left-right, left-right through the rain, with the traffic zipping past. Eventually, Jake dropped his end of the carpet. “Stop a second,” he said. “I’m going to flag somebody down.”
Simon looked uncertain. “Mum said if we get lost we should stay where we are until she comes to find us.”
“That was in Value Foods. How will she find us here?”
Simon unrolled the carpet on the grass, sat down and opened his backpack while Jake stood at the roadside and waved his arms. Several cars honked, and a school bus went past full of waving children. But nobody stopped.
Eventually, Jake returned to the carpet and sat down, disgusted. He glanced at his watch. It was ten past nine. Sooner or later, their mother would go upstairs to wake them. She would discover that their beds were empty. Aunt Helen or Uncle Robert would call the police. A search party would be sent out, and everything would be Jake’s fault, just like it always was.
Gloomily, Jake watched the passing cars. It was hard to believe that just half an hour ago they’d been flying across London shouting down to people in the streets. Now here they were, grounded, with everybody passing them by. It was just like life, thought Jake. One day you had your own bedroom and friends and a dad who took you fishing. The next day you had nothing. Oh, why hadn’t they gone to the Tower of London first, instead of wasting the night flying around London?
From his backpack, Simon produced a damp apple speckled with crumbs. “Want some?” he asked.
“No,” said Jake.
Simon polished the apple on his coat and took a loud bite. Jake glared at him.
“What?” said Simon.
“Nothing.”
Simon crunched his apple. “Oh, well,” he said. “It could be worse.
”
“How?”
“At least we didn’t get arrested by the …” Simon’s voice trailed off. A police car had just pulled up beside them with its blue lights flashing. The door opened, and a police officer got out. He came over and stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at them. “Well, well, well,” he said. “What’s going on here?”
“We’re having a picnic,” said Jake.
“A picnic? This is no place for a picnic, boys.”
“We were just leaving,” said Jake. “Come on, Simon.”
“Not so fast,” said the police officer. “Where are your shoes?”
“At home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Dulwich.”
The police officer frowned. “You’re telling me you walked all the way from Dulwich in your socks?”
“No,” said Simon. “We flew.”
“There’s no need to be smart, son. And you,” said the officer to Jake, “are old enough to know better. Now get in the car, both of you. You can put your rug in the back.”
There was no point in arguing. The boys rolled up the waterlogged carpet and put it in the trunk. Then they got into the police car, and it pulled away to join the traffic on the South Circular.