Toby Fisher and the Arc Light

by Ian McFarlane

  Toby nudged Arty. ‘We’ve got to get to the house. Manic is getting restless. I am too.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know. That hag-siren thing seems to have her eyes everywhere,’

  ‘Maybe we could ask?’ suggested Arty.

  ‘You’re feeling brave!’

  ‘Ugh, ugh, no way, not me,’ said Arty, shaking his head.

  ‘My name is Guy Fawkes and I was part of the team that discovered this gateway – our link between our worlds. It has advanced greatly over the last few centuries since we started to work on it but there is still more we wish to achieve. We are connecting with new worlds and learning more every day, and this is where you can help by telling us about your experiences.’

  ‘Oh, Guy is far too modest,’ interrupted Deirdre boldly. ‘He has made it his after-life’s work to understand these gateways. He is regarded as the world’s expert, and what is setting tongues wagging so deliciously is the potential of harnessing the power and magic of the gateway. I am referring to that same kind of magic that could be used by you as individuals.’

  ‘What on earth is she going on about? This is so boring,’ whined Arty.

  ‘Shhh!’ snapped Toby. He stepped forward turning his ear keenly in the direction of Deirdre.

  ‘Guy has learnt how to capture this gateway’s magic so that it will allow creatures like you to lead normal lives in a world that would shun you as freaks,’ said the siren passionately.

  This time it was the turn of the creatures to lean forward. It wasn’t Deirdre’s siren powers that were drawing them in, it was her knowledge, and Toby could feel their growing excitement. She was actually telling them that the salivating rumours they had heard about, that had meandered their way across the length and breadth of the country were true: the art of theatre, being something you are not, the magic of being invisible. Any creature listening to this would be completely enthralled with the feeling of a million butterflies in their stomach dancing the Fandango. Living normal lives in the human world was exactly what they wanted. The creatures continued to edge forward as Guy Fawkes appeared to freeze in the background. And it had occurred to Toby that this was exactly what the general had already discovered – invisibility.

  Deirdre continued.

  ‘Think of what could happen if you could harness that gateway magic and create your own mask. You choose the mask, and with that choice comes the privilege of choosing who sees the real you. Instead of being a hideous-looking troll, what if you could wear a human cloak and walk freely around their streets? What if that cloak could protect you from the discrimination which you would undoubtedly experience from their narrow, spiteful minds?’ hissed Deirdre animatedly. ‘And what if that cloak could enhance your prospects so greatly that one day you could suddenly find yourselves managing a business of a thousand humans?’ she finished suggestively.

  ‘We paint whatever image we want the humans to see, and be free,’ grinned an older elven man. Some of the creatures cheered and some murmured with excitement. Guy Fawkes just simply raised a ghostly eyebrow as if he deeply disapproved of Deirdre’s tone.

  ‘Purely to allow mythical creatures like yourselves to integrate into human society, that’s all. I lived in seventeenth century England, a time full of fanaticism, paranoia and violence. I witnessed at firsthand what severe intolerance can do. I would not want this knowledge to be used as a tool for anything other than cooperation, for cultural exchange,’ interjected Guy.

  Deirdre looked as if she was biting her lip hard at Guy’s rushed interruption. The level of excited chatter grew. The creatures did not seem interested in Guy’s plea at all.

  ‘I could go to ballet classes,’ said the smaller of the two trolls dreamily.

  ‘Prince Harry could be mine,’ sighed a rather large goblin with mountain-sized green and yellow dribbling spots. ‘Urrgh, he’s sooo ugly,’ groaned another goblin, whilst others muttered and whispered what appeared to be darker, more sinister thoughts.

  ‘We need to speak with Mr Fawkes urgently,’ whispered Toby, hurriedly turning to Arty.

  ‘How are we going to do that with her hanging off his arm?’

  Toby gave Arty an unmistakable Do you really need me to say it kind of look.

  ‘No, absolutely not! She was going to have me for Sunday lunch with roast potatoes an’ . . . an’ sprouts and things!’

  ‘Mr Fawkes can tell me why the general is invisible to other ghosts. It’s exactly what the siren just said – the general knows how to build his own personal invisibility cloak around himself. He can be invisible or visible to anyone he chooses. It must be that. And I reckon this is also linked to the Arc Light. This is amazingly important – it could be the difference between me being caught by the general or not,’ pleaded Toby. Arty’s eyes dropped to the floor in resignation. Toby continued to force the point home.

  ‘You don’t need to go too far, just far enough that I can talk to Mr Fawkes without her hearing. Go on. I reckon you’ve got some great chat-up lines,’ said Toby desperately.

  23

  Merlin's Son

  Guy Fawkes led the visitors to the wide stairs, and Deirdre eagerly followed. The stairs spiralled downwards for a short while and then opened out into a large chalk-stone chamber. It was very bright with modern halogen lights illuminating various sections, each one labelled with the name of a different region: Troll Nation, Draconia, Darkling Forest, and so on. Most areas were empty except for somewhere called Griund that was full of wooden crates and large drums.

  ‘That’s a new contact. We just trade in goods at the moment: Romanian diamonds for bullophant dung. That recent explosion down in Devon was after a large male bullophant broke its chains in a specialist holding pen on Exmoor. When bullophants get nervous all they do is poo, and boy can they poo,’ said Guy Fawkes, grinning broadly. ‘Some of these chambers are just trading posts but the main use is immigration, as you already know.’

  The visitors followed Guy Fawkes to a metal railing. He beamed as he stepped aside allowing the visitors to jostle for a good position. It was the first time they’d got a clear view of the gateway since their initial arrival.

  They were standing on a platform twenty feet above a very large open chamber that butted up against a gentle waterfall in the distance. The waterfall was tall enough and wide enough to allow two forest trolls to walk through shoulder to shoulder. The water fell like a light curtain from a river overhead, radiating out along the ground until it naturally soaked into the chalk.

  ‘That’s nice,’ mumbled Arty unenthusiastically.

  Standing just in front of the waterfall and blocking the exit were two enormous armour-clad stone soldiers. They held two long swords each. One was pointed diagonally down, resting on the ground between them. The second sword was held parallel to the ground pointing at the other soldier. The swords created a large metallic triangle, a symbolic ‘No entry’. Arty appeared to change his tune. He seemed very impressed with these two military leviathans. He leant forward with his eyes wide open drinking in every armoured detail.

  ‘We should get a new arrival any second now,’ announced Guy excitedly.

  Deirdre had remained by his side wearing a deadpan expression. She clearly did not share Guy’s excitement, or his point of view about the purpose of the gateway.

  With a loud, stony, grating sound, the two giant stone soldiers started to move slowly, withdrawing their swords smoothly as they stepped to one side. With the silver handles held firmly in their stone gauntleted hands the tips of the swords were driven hard into the chalk floor. A wisp of orange dust floated away as the soldiers froze with their empty stone eye sockets staring ahead. The pathway from the waterfall was now unobstructed.

  Uniformed elves stepped forward from the shadows of the chamber. Toby thought they looked like some kind of welcoming committee although they looked far too serious to suggest there was any warmth in their greeting. The waterfall split like two curtains folding back on a stage revealing a black
tunnel behind. The remnants of the river dried up very quickly, just in time – the new arrivals had appeared. They were draconians. Their fellow countryman on the viewing platform cheered loudly. The new arrivals cheered and waved in return, much to the disapproval of the elves who groaned and tutted. Whilst everyone was distracted Toby pushed Arty in the back.

  ‘Go and chat her up or something.’

  Arty shuffled forward nervously and said what was in all likelihood the first thing that came stumbling into his head. ‘Uhm, hello, your . . . uhm, your clothes . . . they’re very nice. Where did you get them from?’ said Arty. Toby winced.

  ‘You’re interested in my clothes, are you?’ said Deirdre suspiciously, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow.

  ‘U-huh . . . you’re very pretty,’ said Arty, sounding increasingly nervous.

  Whatever he was trying to do it seemed to be working. Deirdre’s back was turned just enough that she couldn’t see Guy Fawkes. Toby edged forward. He hoped she didn’t have eyes in the back of her head too. He had not planned on what to say and for a brief moment froze as Guy Fawkes waited expectantly.

  ‘Do you know Professor Laken?’ asked Toby.

  Guy Fawkes’s eyes lit up. ‘My dear Ambrose. Of course, we’ve worked on many projects together. Do you know him? How is he?’

  ‘He’s missing!’ blurted Toby. It didn’t come out quite as he would have liked. Guy Fawkes looked stunned. It would have taken his breath away had he had any to lose.

  ‘How, where?’ he said, sounding mightily concerned.

  ‘I need your help,’ pleaded Toby.

  Arty was in full stride doing a brilliant job of keeping Deirdre distracted with the worst possible chat up lines in history: ‘Roses are red, violets are blue . . .’

  Toby continued. ‘How can a ghost see me back through an Arc Light yet appear in Tintagel village and not see me?’ Toby said it so quickly he thought Guy Fawkes didn’t understand. He didn’t have to wait long. The ghost’s expression changed as quickly as the passing of a train. His smiled morphed into a peculiar facial torsion that made him look as if he had been slapped across the face by a dead fish in the hands of a mountain troll. For a moment he seemed stuck for words, or at least ones that made up a sentence.

  ‘Back . . . Arc . . . Tin . . . uhm!’

  Meanwhile Toby could hear Arty going strong. ‘You look like an angel that . . .’

  He was also starting to look very dreamy. The siren was clearly so impressed with his amorous approach she had decided to keep him. Arty’s mind was slowly and visibly turning into mush under the influence of the siren. If Toby didn’t hurry up it was quite possible Arty would be lost forever.

  ‘Mr Fawkes?’ prompted Toby hurriedly.

  ‘Tintagel you say, well, that’s easy. Tintagel has an incredibly powerful force field that protects its occupants from prying eyes. Merlin made it, therefore only Merlin would have the necessary power to break it. Yet it was a ghost, an outsider ghost I presume, and not Merlin you saw?’

  Toby nodded.

  ‘Were the ghost’s features seen clearly?’

  Toby nodded again.

  ‘Remarkable! Sometimes you can get faint or blurred images or noises, ghost-like, when someone tries to break through, but never with clarity. Well, in that case there is only one possible answer: the ghost must be carrying something that belongs to Merlin, an amulet of some kind that would break the barrier, but, hmm . . .’ Guy Fawkes shook his head pensively. ‘You simply can’t get hold of those kinds of things, believe me I wanted one for centuries, even when I was alive. It was definitely you that saw the ghost?’

  Toby nodded.

  ‘This is a little complicated. It’s possible an amulet wouldn’t be powerful enough. Yes – that’s it – the ghost would have to be a relative of Merlin. The ghost is family, it’s in his blood, the magic would be in his blood,’ said Guy Fawkes excitedly as if he had just won first prize at the annual Bodleian Library Ghost Christmas Lectures.

  Toby couldn’t quite believe it – the general, a relative of Merlin. It just didn’t make sense.

  ‘Chu wanna go get a cappurrcheeno somewhere? I’ll fry,’ slurred Arty with criss-crossed eyes, as he clumsily fumbled in his pockets for money. Deirdre looked highly amused as her hypnotic glare slowly absorbed the last few ounces of Arty’s mind. His mind wasn’t much at times but Arty did need it and Toby knew if he didn’t hurry up then Arty would be nothing more than a mindless empty blob of flesh and guts.

  ‘The Arc Light?’ Toby’s eyes flickered back from his increasingly delirious best friend.

  ‘Ah, now that is an incredible piece of machinery, wonderful invention. You know it runs on pixie gold – very rare!’ Guy Fawkes seemed to be thinking out loud rather actually being aware of what he was saying. ‘Where was the ghost at the time?’

  ‘In a meeting room in London,’ said Toby.

  ‘Could he be seen by others, ghosts for instance?’ Toby shook his head. ‘Do you know how the Arc Light works?’ Toby was starting to feel under pressure. Arty’s face was performing a very good impression of a melting blancmange. ‘This ghost seems to have been able to transcend time, not much, but enough. It’s as if he’s found the ability to be out of synchronisation with his surroundings – just like moving lips and sound in one of those fantastic movies. It is funny when that happens. I watched all the movies at Somerset House last year, amazing. When someone can do what your ghost did, crossing parallel universes, well, that would need some very powerful magic.’

  ‘Merlin,’ suggested Toby, shrugging his shoulders.

  ‘No, definitely a relative, more like Merlin’s heir, Merlin’s son,’ said Guy Fawkes almost matter-of-factly. ‘The rumours on the ghost-vine tell me the son fell out with Merlin and has been trying to find a way to usurp him ever since. What is your connection with all of this, young man?’

  Someone suddenly squealed, another shouted. There was a lot of pushing and shoving – it was the elves and the draconians having an argument. It spilled out onto the viewing platform and someone brushed by Guy Fawkes’s ghostly shadow. He turned around to see what was going on. Toby didn’t want to answer the last question. It was the perfect moment to go.

  Avoiding Deirdre’s eyes Toby grabbed hold of Arty and dragged him away. Deirdre ignored the boys and turned to watch Guy Fawkes trying to split up an argument between a draconian and an elven man. She looked exceedingly bored now having had second thoughts on the idea of keeping Arty. Perhaps she didn’t think he had much to offer. Toby and Arty headed for the exit and ran up the stairs. Without Deirdre’s mind control Arty started to recover. They reached the street and stood directly opposite the Houses of Parliament. They turned left and started to run across Westminster Bridge. They didn’t look back.

  24

  The Pirate's Gold

  Arty looked terrible. It was as if he had pigged out on a trough full of melted chocolate and was regretting it, severely. His cupped hand hovered near his mouth as a precaution. His eyes looked vacant and his skin appeared almost grey as sweat dripped from his brow.

  ‘What were my chat-up lines like? Did she give me her phone number?’ he said in confusion.

  Toby didn’t hear him. He was reeling from the news that the general was Merlin’s son, which had also stirred up Jack the paperboy’s unwelcome declaration that the general was after Toby’s liver as well.

  ‘I need to go home . . . Richmond,’ said a numb Toby quietly. He jumped on the back of a Routemaster red bus and found a seat downstairs. Arty slumped in the seat next to him. He complained quietly, almost absent-mindedly, throughout the journey to Richmond.

  Toby jumped off the bus as it slowed down and ran towards his house, leaving the protesting bus conductor complaining about safety and broken necks or something equally as dramatic – at least that was what Arty might have recited in a complaining kind of way but he was too busy gasping for air from running. Toby and Arty arrived at the front door of Toby’s Richmond home shortly afte
r. By now Arty was looking very peaky and as soon as Toby opened the door he headed for the nearest toilet. Manic the ferret jumped out of the rucksack and scampered off around the house, disappearing and reappearing from behind pieces of furniture. Manic was apparently doing the spying thing again, darting around the lounge looking for clues, lifting its eye patch to get a closer look at something, anything that could provide a lead. Eventually Manic entered the kitchen closely followed by Toby. Arty soon followed looking considerably more alert; his time in the toilet had left some fresh damp food stains on his jumper and a bit of half-digested spinach on his bottom lip. Manic’s nose started to twitch faster; it had picked up a scent. Its eyes locked onto the refrigerator and it raced over to the large white door and sniffed around the edges. With satisfaction it turned to face Toby and nodded with such enthusiasm it nearly head butted the door.

  Toby knew instantly what that meant. Manic had confirmed his suspicions and the professor had passed through the fridge, which meant it was another gateway of some sort. To where though? And did the professor go voluntarily, or did Robert force him? He had not been convinced after Charlie’s defence of Robert’s loyalty towards the professor.

  When Toby opened the refrigerator door Manic sprang inside. His paw dived into the small haversack over his shoulder and withdrew a small ferret-sized stethoscope. This ferret really was quite a surprise; clearly not your average ferret. Manic held the stethoscope to the white plastic backboard of the fridge and moved it around.

  Nothing! One thing had changed though – there was more furry mould on the cheese that sat on the centre shelf.

  Toby wasn’t about to give up. It was time to find Charlie. He was about to head towards the Greasy Witch Café when a familiar and abrupt voice boomed out from behind him. Toby nearly jumped out of his skin.

  ‘Toby, what on earth are you doing here?’ shouted Charlie angrily. She was standing at the kitchen door. Arty had just returned from the loo. He shrieked.