by James Erith
Gus beamed his biggest, toothiest grin at Sue as she walked through the door, a big suit covering her from head to foot like a spaceman. She ran over and, without thinking, jumped up into his arms.
‘Missed you,’ she said, as tears formed in her eyes.
‘Me, same,’ he replied. ‘Though it’s not quite the same kissing a plastic helmet.’ He put her down and stepped back. ‘Cor! I’m digging the sexy outfit,’ he joked.
Sue hit him playfully on the arm.
‘I’ll leave you two to it, then,’ said the nurse who’d accompanied Sue in. ‘To be perfectly honest with you, there’s nothing wrong with you, is there, Gus?’ The nurse looked her up and down. ‘I have a strong feeling, young lady, that you’ll survive without the suit,’ she added, winking.
The door snapped shut.
‘When are they letting you out?’ Sue said through the protective helmet.
‘Don’t know. No one knows anything round here. They’re all shit scared, apart from that nurse. She’s totally chilled, but if I go “BOO” to the others they shriek and run away!’
Sue held his hand.
‘Thing is, I’m fine, one hundred percent. All I had was a twenty-four hour bug, nothing serious. Certainly not this Ebora, otherwise, by the sounds of it, I’d already be dead.’
‘Thing is,’ she said, ‘you’re a survivor. So they’ll want to know what makes you so special.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Course I do,’ she smiled. ‘Just the other numpties round here.’
Even though her surveillance bug was pinned to her clothes in the changing room she knew she should keep her voice down. ‘Gus. Do guards watch over you?’
‘Not really,’ he shrugged.
‘What about doctors?’
‘Nah. The nurses are alright. There’s a camera over there and someone outside, but I’m pretty sure they’re asleep half the time. Last night whoever it was slipped off at about ten o’clock. When I popped off to the toilet there was no one around. But they do the rounds in roughly four-hour cycles. Yesterday they came in to take blood three times, urine twice and ... it’s a wonder there’s anything left. Do I look a bit pale?’
Sue laughed. ‘Very—’
‘Anyway, for the last twelve hours I’ve been the last thing on their minds. They’re trying to make a serum or something. They’re really not interested in me.’
‘Good,’ Sue replied, moving close. ‘That creepy Commissioner is close to finding out about Archie and the others. We’ve got to help them. So I’m getting you out.’
‘Cool,’ Gus said. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What you’ve come here without a plan?’ Gus said feigning shock. ‘How very un-Sue like.’
‘Actually,’ she said as an idea rocketed into her head, ‘I have. Where are your clothes?’ He pointed at the cupboard. Sue marched across, took them out and, as subtly as possible, placed them on the bed.
Sue searched the small room and pulled up a privacy screen at the far end spreading it around the bed as far as it would go. She sat down on the bed and beckoned Gus to do the same. She unzipped her headpiece, detached the poppers and pulled it over her head. Her hair tumbled out.
In the confines of the small bed, she began to slip the remaining part of the protective suit down her body. ‘Give me a hand, please.’ Her eyes twinkled.
Gus’ smile spread across his face, a mix of glee and nervousness. In a short while, Sue lay naked on the bed save for her underwear. She looked up at Gus beside her who was painfully trying not to look.
She giggled. ‘Kiss me.’
Gus hesitated, stunned by Sue’s directness. ‘You’re kidding!’
‘Go on,’ she whispered.
Gus hesitated.
‘Don’t worry – it’s all part of the plan.’
‘This is your plan?’
‘Yes, and you’re on camera, so it had better be good!’
Gus didn’t need to be asked again.
IN THE CORRIDOR OUTSIDE, the nurse hurried down to the desk outside Gus Williams’ door and checked the clipboard.
Time to get the girl out. She looked up at the screen and for a moment couldn’t think what she was looking at. Then it dawned on her.
She readied herself to march in but then she remembered being fourteen and the feeling of being kissed. She smiled. If the news was as bad as everyone said, how many more youths would miss out on this simple pleasure?
Better to gently warn them.
The nurse knocked on the door. ‘Miss Lowden. Time to go! And don’t think I don’t know what you two are up to!’
From behind the door she could hear giggling followed by hysterical laughter.
Oh, to be young and in love, the nurse thought. ‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ she said and then called out. ‘And when I come back, I want you out of there.’
The nurse smiled. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that boy. Cheeky lad and all. She’d give them their last few minutes alone. She sighed. There were more important things to be getting on with than peeping at them on the monitor.
SUE LISTENED as the nurse’s footsteps tapered off down the corridor. ‘Right, Gus. Get in the protective suit.’
Gus leaned in again. She moved away.
‘Uh?’
‘Get in that suit, NOW!’
Gus looked confused.
‘It’s your way out, silly,’ she said, her eyes sparkling. ‘People round here know who I am, but we can’t have you just wandering about. If you put the suit on, no one will know any better.’ She pulled his t-shirt on. It smelt entirely of him and it felt strangely reassuring and manly.
‘I’m going to make a run for the toilet while you get changed. You’ll need to make a dummy in the bed with the pillows – make it look as realistic as you can. As soon as you hear the nurse return, open the door in your protective suit, turn to the bed and blow a kiss, switch off the light, pretend to snivel like a girl and head down the corridor.’ Sue smiled at the thought of it.
‘Go directly outside and walk to the right. I’ll join you. There are loads of people milling about and tents dotted here and there. Just walk like you mean it.’
‘You’re mad!’ he said.
‘I’m not, Gus. We need to help Archie and his sisters and I need you. And besides,’ Sue said with a sparkle in her eye. ‘If you ever want to see me nearly naked again, you’d better do exactly as I say.’
NINETY-SIX
OLD MAN WOOD’S PROBLEM
The willows, Old Man Wood thought, may not know about the water under the house but they are sure to know how to eat Blabisterberry Jelly.
As the children headed up the stairs to their attic room, the old man donned his coat and boots and slipped quietly out of the back door, down the path to the potting shed, selected a clean, plastic, water-tight bucket and, using his torch to help him find his way, he trudged down the steep, treacherous terrain past the decimated remains of vegetables and ruined fruit trees. When he found the brown water line, he followed it, just as he had with Archie, until he came to the impenetrable willow barrier – the Bubbling Brook.
‘Bethedi,’ he whispered. ‘You awake?’
‘Uh! Eh! What time d’you call this?’
‘Who’s there?’ said another voice. More voices joined in and shortly Old Man Wood found he could see the figures of sleepy elf-like tree-spirits rubbing sleep out of their tiny eyes and leaning out from their respective boughs or dangling from branches like bats.
‘It’s me,’ Old Man Wood said, shining his torch around. ‘I need to ask about a few things.’
Bethedi’s gnarly old tree spirit bounded down the tree and perched near his head. The tree-elf stretched his arms wide and yawned. ‘For sure, my old friend. We’ve all got good memories, hum-hum. Ask away.’
‘I’ve discovered many things,’ Old Man Wood began, ‘like those little rugs with verses written on them. And you’re right, time is running out on us.’
‘Now before you start, hum-hum, make yourself comfortable,’ Bethedi said. The old man wiggled his bottom onto a stump and leaned back on a tree trunk. ‘You have questions? Well, good. I am pleased to hear it.’
‘Tell me,’ the old man said, ‘what in the apples is Blabisterberry Jelly? Where would I find it and what do we do with the three tablets if we find them?’
Bethedi roared with laughter.
‘Oi – you – cut it out!’ sang a thrush from higher up. ‘We’re sleeping. You know the rules: no talking after nightfall.’
‘Hum-hum. You are a right one,’ whispered Bethedi. ‘It’s lucky that in the deep roots and folds of our bark we hold your secrets close. You told us Willows about three tablets and a very cunning plan, hum-hum. Well, do not be a-worrying; we remember. Your secrets are safe, even from those a-blasted birds, hum-hum. You want to know about Blabisterberry Jelly.’ Bethedi took a deep breath.
‘Blabisterberry Jelly, my old friend, is the most amazing, cunning, hilarious and terrifying potion ever created. Made from about three hundred ingredients – each one doused in magic – so that even the great wizard, Merlin, your old friend, didn’t like to use it, hum-hum. Remember how you told us that he never really understood it, or how to control it?’
For some time, Bethedi told a few stories about Blabisterberry Jelly and, as he spoke, the nature of the mixture began to come back to Old Man Wood.
‘But why is it dangerous?’ he asked. ‘And how does one of the stone tablets come from it?’
Bethedi hum-hummed. ‘Now here’s the thing, hum-hum,’ the little elf began. ‘If used in the wrong way, Blabisterberry Jelly is lethal. Too many grew frightened of it because they couldn’t trust it. This was the reason you used it to protect the stone tablet. The riddle you found will reveal the tablet, but only to those who truly believe, hum-hum.’
And so, as the night drew on and the rain came and went, Old Man Wood rediscovered some of the mysteries of Blabisterberry Jelly, and bits and pieces of his long life and adventures. Finally, he asked about the water source under the house that Daisy had mentioned. ‘Did I ever tell you of a well under the house?’
Bethedi thought for a while and hum-hummed, knowing what to say, but not quite knowing how to say it. ‘Yes, dear old friend,’ the tree-elf said at long last, rubbing his tiny, long beard. ‘Once you talked of a well, deep in the hillside. The only route to it was through a labyrinth beneath the old castle. It was guarded by a fearsome beast you saved from execution when the Garden of Eden closed.’
‘Why would I do a thing like this?’
‘When the tablets and their riddles were put in place for the new time, the beast would have suffered an eon of sleep and, on awakening, either it would die or the new Heirs of Eden would prevail. Never was there a better test of bravery and cunning than to outmatch and outwit the monster.’
‘Apples-alive!’ Old Man Wood said, shocked.
‘Oh yes, hum-hum,’ Bethedi said, leaning back and gauging Old Man Wood’s reaction. Then he continued, selecting his words carefully.
‘When you put these spells in place many thousands of years ago, you did it to deter impostors who might stumble upon the secrets, but no one wanted you to go so far, hum-hum. The clues were too difficult and we knew you would never be the same person as the energetic youth you were then.’ Bethedi’s voice was deep and sincere.
‘And now, my dear friend, you are old, humanised and soft. You have lost your magic and your youth. You fooled yourself that you would be young forever. You see, we trees understand the ageing process better than most things borne of Mother Nature. With great age comes wisdom and understanding, but also a loss of skill, courage and clarity.’ Bethedi ducked behind a leaf and momentarily rubbed the corner of his mouth with it.
‘I know the water is up and you have to find the tablets and try and get into the Garden of Eden – everything is talking about it – but you will struggle, if indeed your Heirs conquer Blabisterberry Jelly. You told us it was your finest riddle – and your hardest. And you were quick to tell us Willows how clever you’d been, but, hum-hum, unfortunately you kept it from us. Sorry, dear friend, but we cannot help you further. For this, you are on your own.’
Old Man Wood slumped further down the trunk. He, more than anyone, should have known better. Living things never remain the same, they change and evolve. Why would he be any different?
Old Man Wood thanked them and, feeling quite stiff from leaning so long on the tree, bade them goodnight.
He lowered the plastic bucket into the Bubbling Brook and watched as the water filled it. And with his mood as dark as the night surrounding him, the old man started home, slipping up the wet, muddy slope careful to keep as much water in the bucket as possible.
Deep, troubling thoughts filled his mind. From what he’d heard, he was almost certainly leading them to a violent, terrible death. He needed his wits, and a bit of magic wouldn’t go amiss, he thought. But where the apples would that come from?
He heaved the bucket up, feeling the weight in his arms. And how would he try and explain the secrets of the Beast – or whatever it was – when he didn’t have a clue?
NINETY-SEVEN
KEMP GOES HOME
‘Now when we arrive with the woman,’ Cain said, ‘her reaction may be one of profound shock. She will not understand what she sees and nor should she. Together, our appearance is that of an ash-covered human, as if we have climbed out from a foul, sooty chimney.’
Cain mused on his description and wondered whether this was the right approach. ‘Perhaps I should let you talk to her alone,’ he mused. ‘Seeing an ashen man will almost certainly make her nervy.’
Cain lunged athletically and jogged up and down on the spot as if to remind the boy who was in control. ‘If I do this, under no circumstances must you make her scream or wake the others. Understand? We do not want to be found. Furthermore, these dreamspinners are a cautious breed, my friend, and we would not want to be accused of being caught meddling with the prophecy. Goodness knows what might happen. I would be stranded and you, dear child, would more than likely lose your life.’
‘‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Kemp said impatiently and he pushed his wet arms up and through the arm-holes of the overcoat that hovered in front of him. Then, as before, he donned the trilby hat that the ghost preferred. Pain prickled through him but, in comparison with the first time, it was like a mild case of pins and needles.
Cain sensed the boy had settled and called out into the dark sky. ‘Dreamspinner, dreamspinner, dreamspinner.’
Seconds later, two tiny flashes appeared. Asgard, along with another, even more grey-ringed dreamspinner hovered above them, their flashing magholes reflecting blue light on Cain’s ashen body.
Cain clapped his hands and a puff of ash exploded into the sky. ‘Excellent. As quick as ever, Asgard. Good, good.’
Asgard floated upon the air as though standing on an invisible cloud. ‘This is Avantis. She travels one last time.’
An ashen Cain bowed low in front of the dreamspinner. ‘We are humbled by your sacrifice,’ the ghost crowed.
‘My sacrifice is nothing in comparison to yours, Master of Havilah.’
‘Time to go. Light breaks on Earth shortly,’ Asgard said.
Avantis moved in front of Cain. ‘I am ready, when you are.’
‘Good,’ Cain replied. And without further ado he dived through the extended maghole.
In the next blink of an eye, Cain and Kemp lay on a cream carpeted floor.
Slowly they picked themselves up and Cain looked around, noting how the woman lay in bed sleeping soundly.
The room, Kemp noticed, was simple, uncluttered and painted in a
soft pink. Photo frames of the de Lowe children in various holders and old wedding pictures of their parents crowded the table and dresser tops. A scrap book on her desk stuffed with local newspaper mentions of the children, and a recent picture of Daisy and Archie in the football team lay on an open page ready to be glued in. On another table surface sat a couple of trinkets, a small silver cup, a necklace and a glass jar with an ornate silver top.
At the far end of the room, in the corner, sat the television and a comfortable armchair with floral pink cushions and a matching blue cover-throw.
Cain stood up as the woman stirred – this was his chance. He moved towards her and sat down almost weightlessly on the bed, close enough to place a hand over her mouth if she were to scream.
Then, true to his word, Cain removed himself from Kemp, his spirit flying freely into the room. ‘Take your hat off, boy. It doesn’t really suit you. And the coat. I’ll hang them up outside the room and wait there for you when the hand on that timepiece moves to here,’ he said, pointing at the clock.
‘Good luck, boy. And if it’s any help,’ he whispered, ‘you are the son of Tobias and Lucy Kemp.’
‘Forty minutes?’ Kemp said.
‘You are on your own now. I need to pay someone a visit.’
DICKINSON KILLED the engine and let the RIB drift in towards the makeshift shoreline. A huge beam of light scoured the scrub for a suitable landing area and within a few moments one of the men, a compact shaven-headed man with a crooked nose, named Geddis, thrust an oar in so that the boat swung round and beached perfectly. Four of the five jumped out and, gingerly, water up to their knees, pulled the boat until it slid noiselessly onto the bank.
‘It’s mud, sir,’ Geddis announced. ‘Damn hellish amount.’ He sniffed the air. ‘And fog closing in fast. Might take some while to get up that hillside, sir.’
Dickinson stared through the misty early morning darkness, a hint of light growing in the east across the hills. ‘You two head right. Two left. Back here in five minutes,’ Dickinson said. ‘Look for tracks – signs of anyone coming or going. And if you spot anyone, take them. Under no circumstances maim or kill. I need these people alive.’ He clicked his radio, snapped his headphones open and pushed them over his ears. ‘Dickinson reporting in. We have touched land.’