“Its trigger?”
“The monkey’s just half of the bomb, Wilfred, one of a pair. You need two of them to connect for the explosive elements inside, I don’t know what they are, to touch and go off.”
Sir Justice nodded, his broken leg hanging heavy as he leant on the buggy for support.
“Anyway, these notes just kept on coming so in the end I just stopped answering them.”
“And then the notes stopped?”
“Eventually, yes,” Giles conceded. “Then about three weeks later our office was burgled. I don’t know how they got into the safe. Oh, I knew the kids could do it but no one else. And before you ask, why the hell would Six or Tucker want to steal a bomb to kill Lord Truth? They were going out on that bloody mission.”
“The mission to find an antidote to the blood plague,” Sir Justice puffed quickly on the pipe, now hanging on the cook’s every word. “The mission to London, was that a part of the plan?”
Giles shrugged grimly, his lower lip trembling. “I guess so, I mean, I had no idea at the time. But when she got back, that’s when I knew, that’s when I knew what I’d done. I’d tried to help them kill my own grand-daughter, Wilfred!”
The cook broke down but Sir Justice gripped his shoulders with both hands. “What else, Giles? I need more.”
A squirrel hopped on a branch behind them as the last of the sun’s rays caressed the golf course in a final dance of purples and orange.
“I need to know who those conspirators are, do you hear me? Did you ever meet any of them? Did they give names? Did you recognise their handwriting?”
Giles wiped at his tears with his sleeve, frustration mounting in his voice. “No, I told you, all the notes were printed, like one person was collecting everyone else’s thoughts and then typing them out. No one knew who they were speaking to.”
“Well someone knew. Someone knew it was you, Giles, otherwise why did they rob the ruddy safe?” Sir Justice was getting desperate now. “The postman, did you ever see him?”
Slowly the cook nodded as the sun disappeared in a blaze of colour, coating the lowest clouds in muted shades of pink. “I wanted to know, Wilfred, I wanted to know who it was. Each time the notes would appear in different places, pushed through the window or tucked between the milk pales outside - places where only I would find them. So one night I just waited. I set myself up on a chair in the shadows and opened the back door a crack just to let the bastard in, and I sat there all night.”
“And?” Sir Justice bit deeper into the pipe.
“And it must have been four or five in the morning. I was about to fall asleep when I heard something in the dark. I looked up and there it was, him or her or whoever it was, slipping a card under the flowers on the windowsill. And in a second he was gone.”
“So? What did he look like?” Sir Justice’s breath was coming in thick swirls of smoke as blood pumped furiously around his body.
But the cook was already shaking his head miserably as the gloom of dusk descended. “I’m so sorry, Wilfred,” he wailed. “I couldn’t even tell you whether it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was they were hidden under some kind of cape. I didn’t recognise them at all.”
“There must have been something, Giles, think! A voice, or, or a smell?” Sir Justice was bouncing on his toes now, pain shooting from the pressure of his plaster cast up his leg.
“There was nothing,” Giles pleaded. “Like I said, in a split second it was over and he’d gone. There was no voice, Wilfred, barely a sound. All I could hear was,” the cook struggled to recall the memory. “I don’t know, as he left there was this noise following him. Kind of a...”
“By my hairy balls, Giles, what?” the sheriff yelled.
“Just a sort of tinkling,” Giles sniffed simply.
“Tinkling?” Sir Justice fell quiet.
Dusk was upon them now, and soon the moon would rise. “What, like glass or, or a ringing noise, you mean?” the sheriff tried again, his mind a whirl, grappling for inspiration. They’d run out of time. “Like a bell?”
“Yeah, sort of, but not a big one. A little one. Kind of like a...”
But Sir Justice had already pushed him aside and was climbing back into the cart. “Like the bell on a cat’s collar.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“WHAT’S that?” the Pirate Prince asked Neon. They were still standing at the water’s edge, his bottle slowly drifting out of sight.
“It’s a cuckoo’s egg. I found it in a bush in Albion,” Neon replied, staring at the white object she had pulled from her top pocket, remembering her trip to the farm and how she’d plucked it from a sparrow’s nest.
“Really?” The prince’s eyes widened. “You should throw that away, filthy thing.” He scratched his head. “Its probably got flees.”
“Flees? No, I don’t think so,” Neon shook the egg gently by her ear. “I can’t hear any. I’m keeping it.”
The prince shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said and he began walking back up the beach.
The rain had long since passed and a white fog was beginning to roll across the ocean in the Other Worlds. Soon, a line would be drawn behind it, and whites would turn black, and blacks would turn white as the sun rose over the sea. Or was it the moon? Neon could never be sure if it was day here, or night.
“So, you’re an emissary?” she asked, walking after him.
“Yes,” the prince agreed.
“That sounds very important. Just how do you become an emissary, exactly?”
“Well,” the prince whispered as if he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “I guess you could say I was plucked from obscurity. Myself and my friend the wolf,” he added.
“So what were you before that?” Neon wondered.
Crabs were scuttling beneath their feet, returning to the safety of their rock pools after the storm. “Excuse me, princess,” they said.
The prince kicked one aside. “Oi!” it shouted as it flew through the air, “Watch out!” But the boy didn’t seem very bothered. Instead he looked rather impatient, and a lot angrier than before, Neon thought.
“Well, I’m a spirit, if you must know. My body is dead, princess, but I have a talent. I can attach myself to others, like Klaus the werewolf,” he said proudly.
“I see,” Neon persisted. “Is that like the way you’ve attached yourself to this place, this island? I mean, it’s not really yours, is it?”
“Sort of,” the prince sighed. “In truth, the Other Worlds is a dimension between what you’d call the waking world, the ‘real’ world, and death. It’s no one’s to command. I’ve just,” he paused, “borrowed it for a while,” he smiled.
“Yes, but is it real?”
“It’s as real as anywhere else, princess” the pirate shrugged.
“And what about the animals?” Neon wondered.
The prince waved his hand airily. “They’re just lost souls, stupid mainly...”
“Oh, thanks very much!” the hummingbird squeaked as it hovered over Neon’s left shoulder.
“Too stupid to make their way into the light. Instead they got lucky and found themselves here, so they’ve just,” the prince struggled to find the right word. “Settled, I guess.”
And, as if remembering himself, he took her hand. “And with the help of the Seekers we can settle here too, can’t we? Everyone can make this their new home. That’s what you want, right?”
Neon gazed into his black eyes, glistening like fresh dew, his black freckles curling over his dimples as he smiled. Even now, she still wanted to believe him, but how could she after what she’d heard him say to the werewolf? After she had felt her father’s pain?
“Of course,” she muttered.
“It’s all because of you, princess,” he squeezed her hand tighter. “You see, many can walk these plains between the waking world and the next but few can have a foothold in both, and none permanently.”
“Which is why my body is vanishing,” Neon frowned, “in the waking worl
d?”
“Correct,” the prince smiled.
But I’ll die soon, Neon thought, I’ll die and he’s killing me!
The hummingbird was still following her, but Neon barely noticed. She was still playing with the cuckoo’s egg, marvelling at its smooth texture. She could still feel that at least.
The prince let go of her hand. “You know, you really should give that to me. It will only upset you in the long run. It will remind you of your past, won’t it? And you’ve got no need for that now. Your home is here, princess.”
“Yes, but I still miss Albion,” Neon started. “I mean, it isn’t as nice as here but I still love the Seekers, my mother and father, and my grandfather the King. And I miss Brian, my teddy bear.”
“A teddy bear!” the Pirate Prince chuckled.
But Neon wasn’t laughing. “My teddy has an egg in him too,” she said grumpily. “That’s what makes him special. He’s a toy but he has a heart, more than you have.”
She stopped and looked out at the black pirate galleon moored offshore and the white causeway leading up to it. The birds of the forest had begun singing just as the black sun burst into life. Instantly, the ship was turned white, the rocks black.
I wonder if I’ve changed too? Neon thought.
She felt his hand touch her back and she tried not to flinch. “Well, they’ll be coming soon won’t they, your friends and family?” he cooed. “Maybe they’ll bring your special bear with them?”
“Maybe,” Neon’s eyes widened as she looked up at the pirate’s face. It was still white, but the new sun’s rays formed long shadows across his nose and mouth. He looked older.
“You know, in many ways,” Neon stuttered, “you’re a bit like a cuckoo, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry?” the Pirate Prince looked confused, his black eyes swimming.
“Yes,” she smiled. “You see, cuckoos lay their eggs in other bird’s nests but they don’t really belong there do they?”
“I guess not,” the boy shrugged, his hair now bristling white and black in a sudden breeze.
“The good ones, not like this one, but the good ones, they can even change the colour of their shells to match others in the nest. They’re like parasites,” she reached for the prince’s hand. “And you’re like a parasite, aren’t you?”
“Am I?” As the fog washed around them the prince stepped back, clearly alarmed.
“Oh, don’t worry, that’s not to say that you’re ugly, you’re still very handsome,” the princess smiled again. “After all, pearls are made from parasites too, aren’t they?”
“Erm, yes, I believe they are, but...”
The wind was building up again, so much that pieces of flotsam and jetsam began drifting up the beach.
“A parasite gets trapped in a shell and slowly transforms into a jewel,” Neon continued. “It’s amazing, really, when you think about it.”
“Yes,” the prince said, stumbling through their sandcastle. His boots crashed over its ramparts and ornate turrets, tripping over its moat. “But we’re...”
“But you said it yourself, didn’t you? You were a spirit and you attached yourself to that werewolf, because you had no form of your own,” Neon persisted. “It’s your talent.”
That’s why he can always communicate with him, she thought. They’re still linked.
“Yes, but I don’t have to be like that, princess. I can change,” the prince frowned, brushing the sand from his breeches before pulling off his boots, now filled with the stuff.
“Yes, because now you’re a pirate. But when you think of it, a pirate’s like a parasite too, isn’t he? Because he doesn’t have a ship of his own, so he lives in someone else’s. Like the way you’ve made this island your own. But it’s not is it?”
“Well no...” the pirate began, flinging his boots aside.
“But,” Neon nodded excitedly, “perhaps with the Seekers help, you could be made whole again? You could have your own body.”
“That’s right,” the prince stumbled again. “I mean no, no,” he said taking her hand. “With the help of the Seekers we can make this a new home. Remember? We can save the world by bringing everyone here.”
Neon watched as a beautiful white falcon flew high above the prince’s head, circling them once before flying over the jungle.
“And that,” the pirate continued, clearly flustered. “Is what we’re going to do.”
.............
“He lies.”
The body of Neon Way had all but disappeared in the hospital room. Jon and Serena had joined the circle of children surrounding her, their hands linked. Each was wearing a metal helmet, their crystals beating in time.
“He is a parasite.” Serena spoke for all of them, the bird, Buckley, nowhere to be seen.
“The cuckoo’s egg, the pearl, the pirate. She reads them,” Tim, the curly haired boy, added.
“She guards her mind against his. She no longer trusts him,” Makoto said, her eyes, like the others, tightly closed. “She is ready.”
“So how do we beat him?” Philip sucked his thumb under his crystal unit as the tempo of the group gathered. Electricity sparked along the wires that connected them, infusing the dull room with a blue light.
“We kill the wolf.”
“Destroy the nest.”
“Scuttle the ship,” each member of the circle repeated in unison. “Trap him on a desert island of his own making.”
Beneath his steel and leather headset, Jon Way couldn’t help but smile, his eyes shut behind his mirrored shades, his crystal pulsing a vermilion red. “Let’s go,” he said simply.
“Wait, wait a minute, is this right?” the old King sat in the centre of the circle. His seat was pressed up against Neon’s bed with only a pile of feathers on the floor to indicate that Buckley had once perched on the chair’s back.
“It is the way of all things,” Oric whispered into the King’s mind, the crippled child half staggering, half crawling around the room as he checked each member of the circle was linked securely. “We must all vanish at some point.”
“Yeah, but,” King Jason looked upon the empty bed in which his grand-daughter had slept. Only her left hand now remained. He took hold of it. “She’s coming back, right? You all are?”
Carefully the disabled boy picked up Brian, the teddy bear, from Jon Way’s lap. Oric’s movements were awkward, his still legs unsteady, and he peered at the sopping toy through cracked glasses. His blue eyes dulled. “We might, but we will need your help, your highness.”
“Me? What can I do?” the King muttered as the boy offered him the bear, the black stitching loose at its front.
“Take this toy,” Oric said, his thoughts coming clearly as a string of saliva fell from his lips. “Together, you and it must act as a tether, an anchor if you like, between this world and Neon’s.”
The King fingered the bear’s flaccid arm. Now empty of stuffing, it dangled limply at his side. “But what do I do with it?”
Oric slumped to the floor in front of him, almost as broken as the bear, his romper suit stained with piss and dribble. But his thoughts were no less potent. “The bear is the key, your highness, the tool Neon used to make her journey to the Other Worlds. Without it she is trapped, so between us we must return it to her,” he smiled gamely.
“Okay, so I just sit here? Guard it with my life or something jazzy like that?” Jason King’s thin body shrugged within his purple and turquoise tracksuit.
“I’m afraid nothing is that easy, Sire,” Oric pulled himself into a seating position between the King and Serena. She, like all the others in the circle, now sat frozen, her helmet pulsing wildly, her eyes transformed into misty pools. “As you can see, your family, these children, they are leaping into the abyss. But they cannot do so alone, not without a harness.”
The King shook his head and cocked a gap-toothed smile. “Okay kid, this is starting to sound a little flaky, even for me.”
Oric grinned, his large head nod
ding. “Then I will keep it simple. I will take one leg of this bear, your highness, and you will take its arm. When you see it beginning to disappear, you pull.”
“What?” the King cried, his sagging skin creasing wildly. “Do you realise how old I am, kid? Because this toy’s almost older, and you’re sick - which just about adds up to the crappiest tug of war ever! How’s that gonna help anybody?”
Oric closed his eyes, grabbing the arm of the teddy, his thoughts becoming quieter. “We will not be pulling with our muscles, your highness, but our minds.”
“Wait a minute,” the King shook his head. “You can’t leave me like this, I’m not a...” as if lost for a moment the King paused. Gripping the bear, he desperately scoured the circle for allies but Jon and Serena were now fast disappearing. As well as their eyes, other parts of their bodies had vanished. Jon’s hands, Serena’s feet, while some of the children’s heads had already gone, their helmets crashing to the floor.
“I can’t do this,” Jason King panicked, gripping Neon’s last fingers in his other hand. “Why me?”
Oric lay sprawled on the floor before him now, his small body shuffling towards the edge of the circle, the bear lifted between them. “Because, even together, we are all weak, your highness,” his thoughts whispered. “Only with your strength can we survive.”
“What?” the King barked.
Oric’s left hand reached out for Serena’s. She grabbed it instantaneously without breaking her trance.
“I know how powerful you are, Jason King,” Oric’s final thoughts came faint but sharp into the King’s mind. “And I know what you’ve done.”
Chapter Thirty
IT HAD BEEN a long time since Klaus Gravenstein had killed a man in his human form, and yet here he was strangling Edwin Manifold, the city’s clerk.
“Tell me! Who are the others?” he bellowed as his left hand tightened around the conspirator’s throat.
Klaus watched as Manifold’s cheeks reddened, the veins in his eyes exploding like fireworks. The clerk’s legs thrashed below him, kicking an old typewriter off his desk as he struggled for breath. His fingers reached across a wax seal, still damp from the message he’d stuck to Missus Wiggins, until he grasped a pair of gold scissors.
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