Toby Fisher and the Arc Light

by Ian McFarlane

  ‘Go on then,’ said Toby, feeling he was probably going to be very disappointed. The ghostly delivery boy seemed to be the type: all wind and no substance.

  ‘I met the general once. ’E’s a scary one ’e is.’

  Toby hadn’t expected that. ‘And?’ he said encouragingly. His curiosity peaked in an instant.

  ‘It was just after I’d gone over, you know, dead like. I think I was still in shock. I was cycling on my paper round with me Chopper,’ he said, pointing to his pushbike. ‘I knew I was kind of dead but I guess it ’adn’t fully sunk in. Anyway, I’d stopped by Jimmy’s Café for a cuppa as I normally did. Not that I could drink or anything. Jimmy couldn’t see me neither. ’E was there, the general. I didn’t know ’oo ’e was at first. Some’ow ’e knew I was just dead an’ that. He was trying to comfort me but me being a proper East End lad I saw straight through ’im.’ The ghostly delivery boy laughed. He had returned to his normal chatty, jovial self. ‘You get it, see right through ’im.’ He carried on laughing. Toby didn’t laugh at all. He wasn’t angry either – he had just missed the joke. As soon as he heard the general’s name mentioned by a stranger it brought back horrible images of the night of the explosion, the night he first saw him.

  ‘Anyway, ’e said ’e was trying to ’elp new dead people adjust to life after death. I must admit I was tempted at the time. So we agreed to meet again. But I did a bit of sleuthing in between time. Wha’ I found out wasn’t good so I didn’t go back. I waited for Tintagel to come to London and ’opped aboard. And ’ere I am.’

  Village come back? Hopped aboard? Toby had no idea what he was talking about – neither was it important, at least not at the moment.

  ‘And,’ prompted Toby, ‘what did you find out about the general?’

  17

  The General

  ‘Well, I went to the British Library, didn’t I. I thought it was as good a place as any to start. I bumped into Mrs Frobisher. She’d died at ’er desk in 1923 and she ’adn’t left the library since. She was brilliant. D’you know the first thing she said was “Stay away from him, he is a bad man.” I was kinda chuffed ’cause I’d sussed him out already.’

  Toby sighed impatiently.

  ‘This fella, the general, used to hunt witches. ’E nearly got executed for it as well but escaped at the last minute. Then there was this other fella called Laken who was chasing ’im. ’E missed a few times but eventually caught up. The general ’ad wormed his way into the Army to escape but Laken found ’im and took ’im away in the middle of the night. ’E then tortured ’im to within an inch of his life and executed ’im just like the general did with those witches, burning him slowly, and I mean really slowly at the stake. This general geezer begged for more wood so ’e could die quicker but Laken wouldn’t. ’E wanted him to suffer really badly. After that ’e turned ghost and disappeared. Mrs Frobisher said the ghost-vine said ’e first went to France and then ended up in Scotland. She reckoned ’e’s looking for this Laken geezer, you know, revenge. She thinks ’e returns to Scotland every now and then but is often seen in London trying to recruit ghosts – but that won’t happen as cockneys are far too bright, see.’ The ghostly delivery boy seemed to be so proud of the information he’d provided Toby could imagine him boastfully adjusting a neck tie had he been wearing one. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, there’s somethin’ else too – this Laken fella ’as a grandson or somethin’.’

  ‘Nephew,’ confirmed Toby without thinking.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. Anyway the word is that this kid has this special magical gift or skill or somethin’ that the general wants. I was told that if you eat the liver of someone you absorb all their gifts, magic and the like. If only I could do that with a live person, I wouldn’t be a ghost anymore. Problem is I can’t eat anyway.’ The boy chuckled. ‘You all right, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ he said, laughing.

  Toby was stunned. He didn’t know what to think. So the general was after Toby after all, and he wanted the professor dead and Toby’s liver. That was what Charlie couldn’t tell Toby at the Greasy Witch Café. Toby’s face was a true ghostly pale colour. The ghostly delivery boy nudged him with his elbow. He appeared to have enjoyed the joke.

  ‘I’m fine. I didn’t have any breakfast,’ fibbed Toby.

  ‘Oh, best meal of the day. I’m Jack by the way,’ said the boy, holding his hand out.

  ‘Toby,’ announced Toby. He thought of his friends back at the Greasy Witch Café and felt sad and angry at the same time. They had died because of him. There was no denying it – the general was after Toby first. It hurt Toby to think that Charlie or the professor did not have the courage to tell him.

  ‘Wow, it’s true, you really can touch ghosts. And your hands, they’re so warm,’ said Jack in delight.

  Toby removed his hand assertively. Jack sighed. Toby suddenly realised that he had no way of contacting Charlie. They had forgotten to organise that. He needed to speak to Magenta the witch urgently. He said his goodbyes, almost forgetting to thank Jack, and headed off across the cobbled yard.

  ‘I’m sorry, Toby, my long-range broom is in the garage for its MOT and service, and the other brooms aren’t good for big journeys. I get mine back in two days. I can fly to London then for you if you want?’ said Magenta. Toby couldn’t think of anything else to do. He just nodded blankly and left. It was now dusk outside and it didn’t help Toby’s mood. He stopped outside Magenta’s, thinking hard.

  ‘There’s got to be a way,’ he muttered in frustration.

  Arty arrived. ‘What way?’

  ‘I’ve found out about the general. I need to get to see Charlie but I’ve got no way of contacting her.’

  ‘Brilliant – how about Broom Taxi, or hire one yourself. They’re reasonably priced,’ suggested Arty.

  ‘Nah, I can’t fly,’ said Toby as his face half froze. What an idiot, he thought, I can fly.

  So much had happened since he’d arrived at Tintagel village he had completely forgotten he could fly. He felt stunned.

  ‘Arty, I can fly.’

  ‘Of course you can. I hired a broom myself once. Fell off and broke my nose, mind!’

  ‘No, I really can . . .’ Toby stopped mid-sentence. He briefly saw Charlie in his head wagging her finger at him saying ‘Don’t tell, it’s too dangerous.’ But her kind soft features were smashed to pieces in a blink of an eye as a hard, vengeful face appeared directly in front of Toby. Toby rubbed his eyes vigorously until there were stars flickering all over his vision.

  ‘The general,’ he whispered.

  Toby wanted to shout the name out as loud as he could and run but his voice stubbornly remained muted. His legs were frozen in fear.

  ‘You all right, Toby? You look like you really have seen—’

  ‘The general!’

  ‘Where?’ said Arty, panicking.

  ‘There.’ Toby pointed. Arty spun around.

  ‘I don’t see anything.’ The relief in Arty’s voice was almost palpable.

  Toby was still frozen to the spot. ‘Here, in Tintagel,’ squeaked Toby.

  ‘I don’t see anyone, mate.’

  Toby could see the general and he looked exactly as he had on the night of the meeting at Trafalgar Square. His medals gleamed and his ghostly grey hair flowed off his shoulders. The general’s lower body was gradually appearing from beneath the stone courtyard as he got closer. It was as if he was walking up some ghostly stairs. His whole body became visible as his trailing leg lifted above the final invisible step. He marched directly at Toby.

  Toby’s throat dried up. A single tear of fear ran down his face. After all he had been through from leaving London to arriving in Tintagel and nervously meeting new people it had come to this. For a moment a glimmer of anger found its way into his mouth. He would have cursed someone had it not been so dry. With shame he thought of Charlie. She said it was safe. She had promised.

  Toby half heard Arty talking to him but it didn’t register. Time froze as the ge
neral steadfastly walked closer. There was a glint of triumph in the general’s eyes.

  After Toby’s capture it would be the professor next and then it would all be over. Whatever it was.

  The general reached out with his hand. He grabbed hold of something at waist height – something Toby couldn’t see. The general looked straight at Toby one final time and then he started to disappear back into the courtyard as if he was on a night-time stroll. This time he was walking down some invisible stairs. His head finally disappeared a three feet short of Toby’s frozen feet. Toby stared at the ground, waiting for the general’s hands to reappear, to suck him below the stone.

  Nothing happened.

  Arty’s voice finally reached Toby’s ears.

  ‘Talk to me, mate, what’s going on?’ Arty sounded scared.

  Toby wasn’t too sure why he was still standing there. Why he wasn’t in the clutches of the general? He wasn’t, and the general had not returned.

  ‘I’ve got to get to London,’ he murmured.

  There was a high wall near the village gardens with a walkway on top. That was where he would change. That was where he would begin his flight home as a falcon. It was the quickest way. He was not going to wait for the plane or speak to Mr Kapoor, he wouldn’t understand anyway. It was a big journey and he didn’t know how long it would take but he would make it. He couldn’t have felt surer about anything than he did then about flying, even though he hadn’t flown for some time.

  Toby reached the top of the walkway and found the perfect spot. He had left Arty behind. He stood on top of the wall and wasted no time. He closed his eyes as he reached out with his arms and jumped. The tingling had already started.

  But then something felt wrong.

  The tingling faded. It stopped. Toby opened his eyes. He was falling. He tried to flap his wings but there were no wings, just skinny human arms that had no strength to lift a human body. He plummeted down towards the ground faster than a high-speed train.

  Splat!

  Toby hit the ground in a dead, wet thud.

  18

  The Boy Eating Cabbage

  Toby shook his head to try and clear the fuzziness. He felt like he had been sitting on a super-fast merry-go-round. The world was a spinning blur of pukey colours. He slapped both hands over his mouth and swallowed hard, waiting for the queasiness to go. As his head and his stomach started to settle he remembered falling. He felt confused. And then he felt upset. He couldn’t fly, which meant he couldn’t get home to London and he couldn’t tell Charlie about the general.

  He retraced his steps in his mind, desperately hoping he was imagining things – the wall, the tingling, the jump . . . but no falcon. He didn’t understand.

  ‘I can’t fly anymore,’ spluttered Toby.

  Toby slammed his hands down on the ground in frustration. They made a soft splat sound as his body was sprayed with something very squidgy. The juices of whatever it was had started to seep through his trousers too. It felt disgusting. The smell wasn’t helping either. It reminded him of something out of a baby’s messy nappy. Instinctively he covered his nose with his hands and immediately regretted it.

  ‘Urrgh, that’s . . .’

  Toby didn’t finish the sentence. He looked at his hands. They dripped with a thick and slimy green mess. Toby breathed in and felt something gooey block his nostrils. He suddenly felt very hot around the collar as the sickly feeling returned. He had to try very hard not to throw up.

  ‘What do you think you are doing?’ growled an unfriendly voice.

  Toby looked up. A pair of beady red eyes stared at him. They looked like they could kill at two paces, which was roughly how far away they were. Toby immediately braced himself by putting his hands down, right into the same gooey patch as before. Gross!

  ‘I’m having such a bad day,’ he pleaded in a whisper.

  The unfriendly voice belonged to a very ugly garden gnome – a very miserable looking garden gnome, Toby would later reflect. Toby was in a right pickle and he needed a way out.

  ‘Husband!’ growled another, disconcertingly similar masculine voice.

  ‘Yes, my dear,’ grumbled the red-eyed garden gnome. It sighed heavily in a brow-beaten kind of way.

  ‘The sprouts are terrorising the petunias. Deal with it,’ commanded the voice.

  ‘Aren’t they always,’ he muttered under his breath, as he hobbled off to somewhere else in the village garden. Toby watched as a red jacket and black welly boots disappeared behind an enormous multi-coloured hedge. He could still hear the gnome muttering miserably in the distance as another ugly garden gnome waltzed into view. This must have been the one that had said ‘Husband’; the one with the equally masculine voice. She or he, Toby wasn’t too sure, spoke again. This time the voice was calm and far more feminine.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, my lovely. He’s a right pain in the bum but an excellent gardener – his courgettes are to die for. Now then, what would a nice, good-looking young man like you be doing sitting in the cabbage patch, then?’ she asked. Her voice had morphed into a soft, undulating, West Country accent. She held her hand out. Toby instinctively grabbed hold and despite the slippery mess she gripped surprisingly tightly with shovel-sized hands, hoiking Toby to his feet. He sprung out of the cabbage patch as if he was in a man-size catapult.

  Toby felt dejected. ‘I’m not normal. I can’t change into a falcon.’

  ‘A falcon, eh? Well, Toby you need to be very careful who you say that to. People don’t trust your kind, you know, metamorphs that is. They just don’t, okay?’ she said matter-of-factly.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said, thinking multiple thoughts: Why didn’t I change into a falcon? What is a metamorph? And how does she know my name?

  ‘Shhh! Not now. Your friend Charlie should have realised that and told you. She’s a ghost, isn’t she? She should know about how dangerous it is. Your kind is not liked. Read it up in the library. Actually, it’s best to just keep it quiet.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ he said again.

  ‘First things first, let’s get you away from the cabbage patch before it eats you. It’s probably feeling quite angry at the moment and it has a voracious appetite for small boys. Husband does insist on keeping it. I think he loves it more than me.

  ‘Tasmanian Cabbage: no good for the dinner table but great for keeping the rabbits away from the carrots. It can eat fifty a day – probably why it’s so big. We used to have a very big rabbit population here at the village and the castle but not anymore,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘For some reason the rabbits could always get past the village’s protective screen. I bet they wish they hadn’t now. Look at it, it’s eaten so many rabbits it’s bigger than a bullophant,’ she said, almost with a hint of pride, although it was uncertain whether that was aimed at her husband or the cabbage.

  Toby didn’t have a clue what the gnome was talking about. But he was very glad to have not been eaten.

  ‘My name’s Maggie. That’s Clarence over there, the miserable one,’ she said, jerking her head. ‘Come on. Let me make you a nice cup of tea. I’ve got a lovely slice of cake to go with it as well. You can tell me what’s got you so het up to jump off the wall like that. And maybe we can get that slime off you . . . stains badly . . . purple patches . . . all over your skin,’ she said smiling. Toby didn’t know whether she was joking or being serious but he was glad she was on his side. He needed that at the moment.

  Toby followed Maggie towards the garden shed in the corner. She almost blocked the sun out. She was surprisingly huge. Toby couldn’t believe she was supposed to be a garden gnome.

  Toby cleaned off the slime filling three buckets, which Clarence claimed eagerly, muttering under his breath as he did so. Maggie and Toby sat outside amongst the roses and watched the butterflies flitter around the flowers. In between mouthfuls of unexpectedly tasty spinach and lemon tea and a gorgeous banana cake, Toby told Maggie about the general and the professor and about his spying mission. Mag
gie listened carefully and without interruption. When Toby had finished he felt as though a great weight had lifted off his shoulders.

  ‘I still need to let Charlie know, though,’ said Toby soberly.

  ‘I know,’ said Maggie sympathetically. ‘And there is a way you can do it without giving away your flying secret. There’s a train leaving for London tomorrow. Essentially it’s a sightseeing tour for the villagers, a kind of familiarisation trip.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Never mind. I’ll have words with Mr Shenanigan. I’ll get you and Arty a ticket each if you like?’ Toby nodded eagerly. ‘On one condition – you return on the same train and you do not stay in London. Agreed?’ Maggie’s voice almost reached the masculine tone Toby had heard earlier.

  Toby smiled. ‘Agreed.’ He was returning to London; he would have agreed anything. He couldn’t be happier.

  19

  The Flying Ferret

  The following morning arrived very quickly. With all the excitement around the London trip Toby would have normally struggled to sleep but yesterday had been exhausting. He told Arty about the tickets the night before. Arty had been gobsmacked and overjoyed at the same time. And whilst he had leapt around the house singing at the top of his voice (very out of tune), Toby had fallen into an uneasy but otherwise uninterrupted sleep. The general had appeared in his dream: he was with the professor laughing over a joke about something. Toby couldn’t hear what they were talking about. They had been drinking rhubarb and custard tea and enjoying a slice of ginger cake. Toby had shouted out angrily in his sleep and woken Arty up. When Toby eventually woke in the morning he had remembered the dream vividly and had felt very disturbed by it. Arty didn’t mention it or maybe he simply had forgotten.