Archer's Mystery At Mainswell

by Edward Fisher

  ARCHER’S MYSTERY AT MAINSWELL

  Edward Fisher

  Published by Fiction4All at Smashwords

  Copyright 2011 Edward Fisher

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedication

  For my own adventurers in life,

  Harry and Abigail,

  with the love of a father for his children

  Chapter 1

  The evening brought an air of gathering gloom for the two teenagers as they packed bags in preparation for the start of their summer holiday. Mark Hammond looked with discontent out of the window, the streetlights illuminating the rain that had been falling for several hours. As he looked, he brushed his fingers through his shoulder-length fair hair. His square jaw was grim with determination as he packed the camping provisions. In the light of the dining room, where the assembly of rucksacks, sleeping bags and other holdalls had been gathered as the evening had progressed, Mark Hammond looked older than his fifteen years. His fixed expression revealed an underlying confidence in his general manner. That confidence and his general good looks made him a firm favourite with the opposite sex at school.

  By contrast his brother James, younger by almost exactly a year, was tall and wiry. His narrow face and short black hair strengthened his appearance of height, and already he was a good two inches taller than his older brother.

  As the evening passed, and the rain hammered at the window, both teenagers looked periodically and with growing dismay at the scene outside. They discussed with muted excitement the finer details of the journey proposed for the next day. That journey would take them from their home village of Nailsbury to their Uncle Jack’s farm in Mainswell, Devon. They had arranged with him to camp in one of the fields for a fortnight and had planned to spend their days at a number of adventure sites and a theme park in the area. The new sports and leisure complex, only a few miles from the farm, was also high on their agenda. As they watched the rain, their excitement at this, their first holiday on their own, dwindled.

  Now though, the tent and camping gear was all packed and the arrangements had been made. Kitbags were crammed full of clothes and other bags held their supplies for the first few days. Both boys were experienced campers, having spent several summers under canvas with various youth organisations. This time though, they would be on their own. Their parents had agreed to such a holiday because the boys were staying on their Uncle’s farm and could, therefore, easily get help if they needed it. There was a second reason for their parents’ consent, and that reason was Archer.

  Archer came complete with four thick legs, a long, continuously wagging tail, a bark that would worry the life out of almost anyone, and the reputation that goes with being an Alsatian. Archer was not, however, most people’s opinion of what an Alsatian should be. His temperament had always been very mild and, with one exception from his puppy days, his bark was much worse than his bite.

  Archer was now very fully grown, and that particular evening he sensed something was up. He sniffed the bags that were stuffed full of clothes and food until he found the one that had excited him, the one that contained his favourite chews. Then he stood over the bag, looking at it with his big, doleful eyes. When, after a few minutes, he realised no one was paying him attention he began to whine. Very softly, almost inaudibly, the whine began. As the humans continued to busy themselves elsewhere the whine got louder until the boys’ father yelled from his study.

  ‘Someone sort that dog out! I’m trying to work, and with a noise like that I can’t think.’

  Mark ran down the stairs and at the foot of the study yelled back.

  ‘It’s not an it, it’s a dog, it’s a he, and he’s got a name, Archer. Here boy,’ he continued as he entered the dining room. ‘What’s the matter, eh?’

  Mark looked at the dog, and the dog in turn looked down at the bag.

  ‘Something in there, hey? Let’s see what it is shall we?’ The boy opened the backpack and rummaged around. ‘I’ll bet I know what it is. Chews?’ He looked mischievously at the dog. Archer, by way of reply, wagged his tail furiously and then, impatient at the time it was taking to extricate the chews from the bag, he let out one very loud, very excited, very penetrating ‘woof’.

  The study door flew open and the boy’s father appeared at the dining room door. His red face was one of anger, and he vented that anger in the boy’s direction.

  ‘If you can’t keep that blasted animal quiet when I’m working, then he’ll have to go. You know the house rules. It stays away from my study. Now keep it quiet or it goes. What’s all this?’ he continued, questioning the pile of bags on the dining room floor.

  ‘It’s our camping gear. Remember we’re going away for a fortnight tomorrow, and yes, we’re taking the dog too, so you’ll get your precious peace and quiet.’

  ‘Camping? Who said anything about camping?’

  ‘It’s been arranged for weeks. We’re going to Uncle Jack’s remember. You agreed so long as Archer went too.’

  ‘Did I? Must have forgotten.’ The voice was calm again, almost quiet. ‘Must have forgotten’ he repeated as if trying to remember, though this was his manner rather than any attempt at recollection.

  ‘Woof’.

  ‘Yes and you’re going too. Peace at last. Now I must get back to work.’

  ‘Are you working on anything exciting?’

  ‘All my work is exciting to me. That is the advantage of being at the cutting edge of your field. Electronics is a wonderful area to work in, so much invention, so many new things being developed all the time.’

  ‘What exactly are you working on?’

  ‘That’s top secret. I can’t tell you, but I can tell you it will greatly help those who seek to keep the law of this land.’

  ‘Great, another radar gun, more sophisticated than the last time.’

  ‘No, it’s not a radar gun, something much more useful. Now, I must get back to my office.’ The boy’s father returned to the study and shut the door loudly.

  ‘Come, Archer, let’s see what we’ve got. Hmm, your favourite chews. Who’s a good boy then?’

  ‘Woof.’ This time the bark was playful and not loud.

  ‘Better not do that again. We don’t want Father out here in a rage again tonight. Must be very important what he’s doing. He’s spent days in that study.’

  This time Archer wagged his tail, being unable to bark lest it should lose the chew it had just grabbed hold of. The evening passed, and the rain continued to pour down outside the window. Both teenagers finally decided they were packed, and eventually retired gloomily to bed.

  ‘Hope it’s not raining in the morning,’ quipped James.

  ‘Yeah, let’s hope so. Night then. Alarm’s set for eight tomorrow.’

  ‘Night.’

  Both bedroom doors closed and a few minutes later an observer outside would have seen both lights go out. Night had fallen, and with it the opportunity for adventure loomed on the horizon.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning dawned with the promise of fine weather. The boys woke early enough to watch the dawn uncertainly stagger into being, early enough to watch the first rays of sunshine glisten off the roof tops that were still wet from the deluge of the previous night. Archer too was awake. In fact, Archer had been aw
ake most of the night. He had lain outside the older boy’s bedroom door, and his wakefulness was not of his doing.

  A low-pitched humming sound from the other side of the door had held his attention. It had begun soon after the boys had gone up the previous evening, and Archer had made a mental note of it as he had nestled down in his basket in the utility room. After the adults had gone upstairs he had become curious by the continuing sound. Softly, slowly, carefully, lest he should disturb anyone, and please God don’t let it be the master, he had padded up the stairs, his ears pricked as he sought out the source of the hum. He had reached the boy’s bedroom door and stuck his nose to the small crack beneath it. He was sure the hum came from within, his sixth sense, his in-built radar, told him where the sound was coming from. His curiosity aroused, yet fearful of spending the rest of the night outdoors, he had simply lain by the door waiting for the teenager to open it so he could satisfy his curiosity.

  He had been awake, more or less, all the night. Twice he had really stirred. On both occasions the hum had changed into a cacophony of digital notes. No earthly music was this, much rather something created by a machine. Each burst lasted only a few seconds, and in reality wasn’t really loud at all, but to Archer’s supersensitive ears it was an unnerving sound. His ears had been pricked and the hackles on the back of his neck had risen. Even after the sound had died away it had taken him several minutes to settle back into his resting alertness. Thus when morning came, Archer was already awake.

  Finally the door opened and the teenager came out, rubbing his eyes that were still heavy with the sleepiness of the night.

  ‘Good morning, Archer, what are you doing there? I nearly fell over you,’ he exclaimed as he fell out of the doorway and almost tripped over the prostrate canine. By way of reply Archer roused himself, stood on all four feet and, as if to say ‘How do you expect me to sleep when you’re making all that noise all night long?’ shook himself vigorously. As the boy went off to the bathroom, the dog padded into the bedroom. He came face to face with what looked awfully like a television screen. The hum was coming from the box on which the screen was sitting. Archer looked at the blank screen. He’d done this many times before and, almost without thinking, his tongue flicked quickly over the bottom of the screen, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake. Then his nose found the on/off button and pushed it. Suddenly, with a faint popping sound, the screen came to life, filled with many colours, and an awful lot of writing.

  ‘Grr,’ Archer instinctively growled at the computer terminal. ‘Grr.’ He knew all about the computer. He’d watched the boys for hours as they worked and played on it. He’d tried endlessly to catch the missiles, aircraft and creatures that formed parts of the games the boys played, and he always failed. Now though, he watched with intrigue as the colours changed and the writing moved up the screen. Now the boys weren’t playing on the computer, it was doing it itself, and this confused Archer. ‘Grrr,’ he repeated, but the dumb machine just continued with the task it was performing.

  ‘Grrr,’ he repeated more loudly.

  ‘Grrr,’ the speaker behind the screen suddenly replied. Astounded by this attempt to communicate with him, Archer whined a long, low whine. A second later his effort was repeated by the machine. After the initial shock, this became fun. Archer could hear water running in the bathroom and knew he would be alone for a while yet.

  ‘Grr, woof, grrrrrrrr,’ he snapped at the computer.

  ‘Grr, oofff, grrrr,’ came the reply.

  ‘Woof, woof, woof,’ he barked rapidly but not too loudly. Even as the screen replayed his dialogue, another bedroom door opened. An untidy mop of hair appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Archer, what are you doing?’ the younger boy laughed.

  ‘Woof,’ barked the dog.

  ‘Woof,’ added the computer.

  A third door opened and was rapidly followed by a deeper, tired, annoyed exclamation; ‘Shut up, some of us are trying to sleep’.

  ‘Morning, Father,’ chirped the younger boy. ‘It’s time to get up. It’s time to send us on our cheery way. It’s time for peace to reign here once again.’

  ‘Oh. Well, at least shut the dog up. Its bark gives me such a headache.’

  ‘Okay, but it’s the last morning for a fortnight. Fancy old Archer getting the computer to talk to him.’

  ‘Fancy old Archer what?’

  ‘He’s talking to the computer. Come and see, if you don’t believe me.’ The boy stood aside as his father appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Woof, grrrrr,’ the dog continued, delighted at his new toy and oblivious to his pending demise.

  ‘Woof, grrr,’ the machine responded. ‘Woof, grr, woof , whhhhiiinnneee, grrrrr,’ the machine continued. Just then the older boy emerged from the bathroom and, rapidly trying to work out why two people were standing at the doorway of his bedroom peering in, he started to say, ‘What’s going on -’ when he heard the almost doggy sounds coming from within. Pushing his way past his father, he let out a roar of laughter as he saw one very bemused Alsatian staring blankly at a machine which was not letting him get a doggy-word in edge-ways.

  ‘Oops,’ the boy continued, ‘looks like there’s a bug in the voice recognition program. Have to sort that out when we get back.’ He reached behind the screen and a second later the sound stopped and the screen went blank. Archer was now very puzzled. From his perspective, his new friend had suddenly been killed off in its prime and he wasn’t happy.

  ‘Woof, woof, woof,’ he yapped in protest.

  ‘It’s all right boy, it was only the computer, nothing to be frightened of.’

  ‘Woof, woof, woof,’ he growled uneasily as if to say he wasn’t stupid, he knew it was a computer and he wanted to carry on talking to it.

  ‘Sorry, old chap, we might get evicted if we carry on.’

  ‘Mark, why was the computer on anyway?’ his father asked out of curiosity.

  ‘Oh, I had some stuff I wanted to download during the night when it was cheap so I just wrote a sign-in batch to do the work at a predetermined time and left it running.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ said his father, who was very much aware that his sons were very computer literate and that he had only himself to blame. He had long since decided it wasn’t worth his while to try to curb their interest in this field as it was he who had encouraged them from a very early age, so he just left well alone these days. They had an arrangement whereby the lads, who both did odd jobs here and there, paid some of the phone bills for their ‘airtime’. As an arrangement it worked quite well, and the boys were responsible enough not to abuse the trust they had been given.

  Half an hour later both boys sat round the kitchen table munching cereals, as bacon and eggs sizzled in the frying pan on top of the hob. Mark was looking intently at a piece of paper which looked like a list of items. Against each item was a tick.

  ‘Still can’t believe we’ve packed everything,’ he quipped as his mother looked questioningly at the piece of paper.

  ‘Course you have dear. You’ve been over that list at least three times and you know that everything’s packed.’

  ‘True enough, Mother, but I just have a feeling we’ve forgotten something.’

  ‘Mark,’ began the younger boy, his mouth still full with cereal.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ came the uninterested reply.

  ‘I know what we’ve forgotten to do.’

  ‘What?’ The interest was returning.

  ‘We haven’t told Bec what time we’re due to arrive at Mainswell.’

  ‘Brilliant. Only that is on the list as something to do this morning.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’d better phone her soon? She may go out this morning.’

  ‘No need to mother dear,’ offered the younger boy.

  ‘No? Why not?’

  ‘’Cos we have the power,’ continued James with a small laugh.

  ‘The power?’ His mother’s back was still turned as she cooked the breakfast.

  ‘Yes. A
ll we do is surf the Internet. We drop Bec a simple message. Leave it in her mailbox and she can pick it up when she’s in. Simple.’

  ‘Yes, simple, almost too simple. What if she doesn’t - what was it - pick it up from her mailbox before you arrive? What then?’

  ‘She will.’

  ‘She might not.’

  ‘She will. She knows we’re sending it so she’ll keep looking till it arrives. Guaranteed first class delivery. Phones are okay but they’re not cool these days. If you want to be really connected you have to use the Internet.’

  ‘Well, we wouldn’t want you not to be cool, would we?’ His mother sounded slightly sarcastic but she knew her younger son was only playing a game. She continued after a breath. ‘How you guys are going to manage without that computer for a whole fortnight I don’t know.’

  ‘Easy Mum, we use Rebecca’s.’

  Rebecca, often called Bec by her closer friends, was also fifteen years of age. She was Mark’s and James’s only cousin and it was her father, Uncle Jack, who was taking ultimate responsibility for the welfare of the three teenagers for the fortnight that had just begun. Rebecca had short, cropped, dark hair and was never more at home than when wearing her riding clothes. Indeed, apart from her real passion for horses, she had few interests other than her shared interest in computers. She spent many hours conversing with her cousins over the computer airwaves.

  ‘Well,’ continued the mother, ‘I think after breakfast you had better get connected don’t you?’

  ‘Already taken care of.’ Mark looked triumphantly at his younger brother. ‘Cyclops will send the message at nine hundred hours precisely.’

  ‘Cyclops?’ queried his mother.

  ‘Yeah, something I’m working on to send messages to people at sometime in the future of when the message is written. You write the message and store it away with the time you want it sent and to whom you want to send it to. Then when the computer hits that time, the message gets sent. I’ve told Cyclops to send Bec a message at nine hundred hours that we will arrive at about half past one this afternoon.’ Mark looked at his watch. ‘In fact, it should have been sent about now.’