Gideon the Cutpurse

by Linda Buckley-Archer

  ‘Don’t hurt it!’

  The Tar Man scrutinised Tom’s face and said: ‘And here is your first lesson: love anything or anyone and it becomes your Achilles’ heel.’

  He moved his arm slowly towards the candle burning in the middle of the table. The poor creature wriggled and squeaked.

  ‘No!’ cried Kate.

  He dangled the struggling mouse high above the flame and gradually lowered it. Suddenly there was a whiff of singeing hair as the mouse’s whiskers briefly passed through the flame. It squeaked uncontrollably. In a turmoil of pain and distress for his pet, Tom launched himself at the Tar Man who coolly threw the animal high into the air towards the other side of the table so that Tom was forced to interrupt his attack in order to leap after the mouse. He reappeared clutching the tiny animal and gently put her into his pocket.

  ‘You would have done anything to stop me, would you not?’ asked the Tar Man calmly. ‘Affection is a fatal weakness. Resist it.’

  Tom sat down, breathing hard, a terrible rage in his eyes.

  ‘And the second lesson,’ said the Tar Man to Tom, ‘as you have this very moment shown us, is that anger is stronger than fear. Make anger your weapon, not your downfall, unlike most men.’

  ‘You beast!’ shouted Kate. ‘No wonder someone gave you that scar. I dread to think what you must have done to them!’

  ‘Such emotion, Miss Dyer! You would be surprised to learn how I got that scar. But I’ll tell you how I got my scar if you tell me how to master that contraption of yours.’

  ‘I don’t know anything …’

  Peter interrupted her. ‘I know how to make the anti-gravity machine transport us anywhere we like,’ he said.

  The Tar Man swung round to look at Peter. He had his full attention, his eyes burned with intense interest. Peter suddenly realised that it was not only Lord Luxon who desired the machine, it was also his henchman. Even though he could not know what the anti-gravity machine could do, it was clear to him that the Tar Man wanted it badly. Kate looked at Peter, aghast.

  ‘But,’ he continued, ‘in return I want you to release Gideon Seymour.’

  The Tar Man had recovered himself and was feigning little interest in Peter’s bargain. ‘Now that is a powerful high price, Master Schock. We have spent nigh on three weeks trying to persuading Gideon to return home. Gideon has scruples which sometimes blind him to the greater truth. Besides, Lord Luxon would be ill pleased, indeed, if I were to release him before he has remembered why he should remain with those who appreciate his talents the most …’

  ‘You’re not saying that Gideon won’t want to come with us?’

  ‘Gideon is as a brother to me and is fortunate enough to be the favourite of Lord Luxon. And surely you are old enough to know that it is those closest to us who cause us most grief? I can assure you that once he has been reunited with Lord Luxon, he will not want to return with you.’

  Peter and Kate looked at each other, unsure of how to react to what the Tar Man was telling them. He was very convincing even though they knew he must be lying. Kate turned to Tom.

  ‘Gideon would never go back to work for Lord Luxon, would he?’

  An unfathomable look passed between the Tar Man and Tom. Tom shrugged his shoulders nervously.

  ‘It’s not for me to say. Lord Luxon saved his life. It is common knowledge.’

  ‘But he made him steal for him!’ cried Peter.

  ‘Only from those who stole from his master,’ said the Tar Man.

  ‘That’s not the point! He’s a good man! He didn’t want to steal!’

  ‘You have a lot to learn about the way of the world, Master Schock. But this I will promise you: your mechanism intrigues Lord Luxon and he has taken a fancy to it. If you will open up its secrets to us, I will take you to Gideon and you can advise him in person to turn his back on those who have his best interests at heart.’

  Peter looked from the Tar Man to Kate and back again. He suddenly felt out of his depth – what should they do? If they refused to go with the Tar Man, what would he do to Gideon – and to them for that matter? But if they went with the Tar Man and pretended to know about the anti-gravity machine, could he be trusted to take them to Gideon?

  ‘What do you think, Kate?’ he asked.

  ‘I … think we should go,’ she said doubtfully. ‘But you’ve got to take us to Gideon first.’

  ‘Agreed, Miss Dyer! Come, I shall take you to him directly.’

  The four of them walked up Drury Lane, the Tar Man striding ahead with Tom at his side, his hand resting lightly on the boy’s shoulder. Peter and Kate followed, Kate struggling to keep up in her cumbersome skirt. We’re caught in his web, thought Peter, but what choice do we have if we want to get Gideon back – or the machine for that matter? His hands were clammy with fear. Tom had told them that in this part of London you would be lucky to walk fifty yards without having your life threatened at least once. And it was true, nearly everyone they passed looked as if they would knife you for a sixpence, but what set the Tar Man apart, Peter decided, was that he was clever. Too clever. When he looked at you, you had the feeling that he saw more than you wanted him to see.

  Thick, purple clouds now covered the city and when forked lightning illuminated the sky overhead, the crack of thunder followed almost instantly. A warm breeze started to gust fiercely, heralding the imminent cloudburst. At the corner of Russell Street they heard the sound of hooves galloping towards them.

  ‘Master Blueskin!’

  They all looked up and saw a large man with a lantern jaw astride a black horse. He wore a snowy white wig and what the children now recognised as a footman’s uniform.

  ‘Lord Luxon requests that you return with all haste – Mr Seymour has escaped.’

  ‘Escaped! How in damnation did he escape?’

  ‘I do not know, sir, all the doors were locked and bolted when we entered the room.’

  The Tar Man gave a snort of exasperation.

  ‘Must I oversee everything myself? Tell Lord Luxon that I will be with him within the half-hour.’

  He turned to the children. Peter and Kate exchanged triumphant glances.

  ‘We must make our way to St James with all speed. Follow me.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Peter, ‘there’s not much point now, if you don’t mind …’

  ‘I said follow me,’ repeated the Tar Man coolly. ‘Lord Luxon anticipates meeting you with pleasure.’

  ‘Another time, perhaps,’ said Kate, looking around to see who would be likely to help them if she screamed. ‘Tom?’ She looked pleadingly at him.

  Tom could not meet her gaze and looked at the floor. The Tar Man took first Peter’s and then Kate’s elbow in a vice-like grip and dragged them up Drury Lane. Tom trailed after them, an expression of anguish and helplessness on his face. A few drops of rain started to splatter on their hot faces and soon they were walking through a torrential downpour.

  The Tar Man continued at such an energetic pace that Peter and Kate quickly became out of breath. Suddenly, as a wagon weighed down with barrels of ale of rolled past, spraying them with mud to shoulder height, Kate cried out in pain and fell against the window of a milliners’ shop. Peter felt the Tar Man’s grip loosen as he was forced to stop. Kate was now slumped at the bottom of the wall and tears were running down her cheeks.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Peter exclaimed, kneeling down next to her.

  ‘It’s my ankle,’ she winced. ‘I can’t walk.’

  To his surprise, she put her arms around his neck and put her head on his shoulder furthest away from the Tar Man. She whispered furiously in his ear: ‘There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s only one way out of this – we’ve got to blur.’

  Peter wanted to say that there was a fat chance of that happening and ask if she’d always been able to cry at will but instead he turned to the Tar Man and said: ‘Could we stop for a moment? She must have twisted her ankle. I’m sure she’ll be all right in a minute or two.’

&nbs
p; Water dripped from the corners of the Tar Man’s hat onto his already damp shoulders. He scrutinised Kate’s face, evidently concluding that her tears and pain were genuine.

  Well done, Kate! thought Peter to himself. Oscar!

  ‘Tie this around your ankle, Mistress Kate,’ said the Tar Man, offering her his cotton handkerchief. ‘But kindly do not take too long to recover yourself else we shall all drown …’

  He stood between the children and the street, legs apart and with his back to them, and turned up the collar of his jacket. Tom stood, looking vacantly at the window full of gorgeous hats decorated with ribbons and flowers and fruit, his eyebrows knitted together as if debating some weighty problem.

  Kate had closed her eyes. Crouching down next to her Peter did the same, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the voice in his head that was telling him that this was not going to work and that he would never be able to blur at will under these circumstances – if he ever could again for that matter. Nothing happened, of course, but when he opened his eyes only a few seconds later he realised that Kate was indeed beginning to blur – he had the vivid impression that she was dissolving in the rain.

  ‘Blueskin!’ he heard Tom cry in alarm.

  Peter gulped, rigid with fright at the thought of what the Tar Man would do to him if Kate vanished and he did not. Out of the corner of his eye he was aware of the Tar Man turning his head to look at them. Careful not to touch her, Peter held out his hands towards Kate as if warming them in front of a fire. Was it wishful thinking that he started to feel himself sucked in? Now the Tar Man was kneeling down in the dirt next to them, staring at Kate with an expression of awe and fascination and terror. Now he was reaching out a trembling hand towards Kate … Peter took a giant leap of faith and somehow caught hold of this ineffable force, as if diving towards it, jumping without a parachute … The rain was thundering on the pavement like a drumbeat and seemed to synchronise with the fluorescent spirals that passed in front of him and through him … the Tar Man’s anguished cries reached him as though from a great distance.

  ‘How is it done, confound them? As Heaven is my witness, I will learn the secret if I hang for it!’

  When Peter finally opened his eyes, feeling a little sick and dizzy and still crouched down on the ground, he saw black cabs and neon signs and crowds of theatregoers spilling out of Drury Lane Theatre onto the pavements. He laughed out loud in triumph.

  ‘I did it!’ he cried. ‘I can do it!’

  Kate had stood up and was looking down at him, a broad grin on her face.

  ‘You see! I told you that you could do it if you tried!’

  ‘It’s not a question of trying,’ Peter replied. ‘You just have to let go.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Kate and pulled him up from the pavement. Her touch was peculiar – not quite right somehow – but there was no time to dwell on it.

  ‘Let’s get away from here before we snap back again,’ he said.

  They started to jog through the crowded streets. No one seemed to notice them or if they did they must have thought they had come from a fancy-dress party or that their slightly watery appearance was due to the orange street lights or one gin and tonic too many.

  ‘It’s getting harder to stay,’ said Peter, clutching at his side. It felt a little like getting stitch except there was a draining feeling, too, as if somebody has pulled the plug out. ‘Do you feel the same, Kate?’

  There were real tears in her eyes this time.

  ‘Resist it as long as you can,’ she said. ‘We’ve got to work out how to beat it …’

  We can’t just leave Gideon in the lurch, thought Peter but did not say as much to Kate.

  Soon they arrived at Covent Garden Piazza and, another century tugging at them unbearably, they stopped, exhausted, to concentrate their energies on straining against this mysterious force. They stood on the edge of a large circle of people cheering and clapping in time as a man in black leather underpants juggled with three live electric chainsaws.

  ‘He’s certainly got bottom,’ panted Peter.

  ‘Hasn’t he just?’ replied a Japanese girl who was standing next to them, appreciatively. She had long, bright green hair which shone like silk. She glanced over at them and said in an American accent: ‘Why are you so wet? I don’t recall it raining.’ She looked back at the juggler and then, in a double take, immediately back at the children. ‘And how come I can see through you – are you part of the act? … Oh my God!’

  The green-haired girl began to scream hysterically, pointing her finger accusingly at the children. The juggler lost his concentration and dropped one of his electric saws. More and more people spotted the children and, like a wave at a football match, started to scream and point in horror at Peter and Kate. The juggler’s other two chainsaws crashed to the ground and all three of them jiggered around and around as if possessed by an evil spirit. Several tourists trained their video recorders on the bizarre apparition.

  Peter spoke into Kate’s ear. ‘I’m slipping, I can’t hold on much longer.’

  Kate looked at him and sighed resignedly.

  ‘Okay,’ she panted.

  By the look on her face Peter guessed she was in as much pain as he was. In an instant they were back in the rain, and forked lightning streaked across the sky illuminating a Covent Garden that was at once newer and older than the one they had left. Before they had time to recover themselves a fine carriage pulled by a pair of chestnut mares drew up next to them, the door flew open and Parson Ledbury got out, followed by a tall man whose colouring and features declared him to be without doubt the brother of the Honourable Mrs Byng.

  ‘Upon my word, where did you spring from?’ asked the Parson. ‘The Piazza was empty one minute past. But it is good to see you! We have been tearing around the city like a band of demented monkeys trying to find you.’

  ‘Gideon!’ exclaimed Peter as he saw his friend emerge from the carriage behind Sir Richard Picard. He was covered from head to foot in soot except where he had rubbed his eyes, so that he looked like an underfed panda.

  ‘Lord Luxon’s study has a broad chimney,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘When I heard where you had gone I feared the worst. Thank God that you are safe.’

  ‘Mistress Kate, Master Peter,’ said Sir Richard. ‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance. But you are soaked to the skin! Come, let us return to Lincoln’s Inn Fields where we can get you warm and dry. Then tomorrow morning – when you have recovered from your adventure – perhaps you could tell me how it is that I saw you appear out of thin air in the blink of an eye?’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Queen Charlotte’s Promise

  In which Inspector Wheeler’s exchange with Dr Pirretti

  takes an unexpected turn, George III lays his hands on Jack

  and Kate resorts to desperate measures

  Standing by the kitchen window, Mrs Dyer pushed back a stray lock of hair with a trembling hand. She watched her husband run to the Land Rover and heard the screech of brakes as he swerved to avoid the press pack who had been gathering in a ragged line on the other side of the stream since early morning.

  Detective Inspector Wheeler had sent over a constable to stand at the gate. The journalists had been trying to get round him with doughnuts and mugs of steaming coffee from their vacuum flasks but, so far at least, the cheerful policeman had succeeded in keeping them out of the farm.

  Mrs Dyer looked across the room at the Christmas tree decorated by Kate’s own hand the morning that Peter Schock had come into all their lives and then glanced down again at the headline that covered half the front page of the newspaper.

  GHOSTS IN COVENT GARDEN

  Underneath the headline there were five colour photographs which depicted Peter and Kate, hazy but perfectly recognisable, standing in the crowds in Covent Garden Piazza. They were wearing mud-spattered, eighteenth-century costume and with each successive picture they were gradually fading from view … In the final image, a Japanese girl
with bright green hair was screaming in horror, her eyes fixed on the empty space where Peter and Kate had been a second before. The caption underneath read: Going, Going, Gone …

  How pale and tired she looks, thought Mrs Dyer. Almost as if she’s in pain. Then Kate’s mother reread the newspaper article for the tenth time that morning:

  Who are they? What are they? Are we looking at a hoax? Or could these images be the most convincing evidence to date of the existence of ghosts?

  Hundreds of tourists in Covent Garden Piazza witnessed the astounding disappearance, apparently into thin air, of a girl and a boy dressed in outlandish historical costume. Caught by a tourist’s video camera, could these baffling images be portraits of Peter Schock and Kate Dyer who disappeared from a NASA-funded laboratory in Derbyshire seven days ago? Recent photographs of the children, below, reveal a striking resemblance to these disturbing apparitions. Detective Inspector Wheeler, who is in charge of the case that has seen over two hundred police officers combing the Derbyshire countryside in search of the children, was unavailable for comment last night.

  Mrs Dyer stroked the photograph of Kate in her Year 7 photograph. Kate looked younger than her age in the picture. Her hair was tied back in two neat plaits and her school tie all crooked.

  ‘Oh, Katie,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how we’ll do it but we’ll get you home somehow, my darling. I promise. I promise.’

  One of the security guards at the NCRDM laboratory, whose own children had often played with Kate and Sam at the farm, smuggled Dr Dyer into the building without the press or the police being aware of his arrival.

  ‘How are you doing? And the family?’ he asked kindly. He had a lot of respect for Dr Dyer and it didn’t seem right that such a man and his family should have to go through such suffering.

  ‘We’re all coping – in our own fashion. Sam’s probably taking it hardest even though he and Kate get on each other’s nerves half the time. Kate’s always been the sensible one – we all think that if anyone is going to come through this she will. Anyway, we haven’t cancelled Christmas … not yet at least.’