“Actually,” said the figure in the shade of the doorway, “you’ll be open for me.”
Grinn found himself staring into the shadow beneath a dark hat, at the face of a remarkably good-looking young man. He was wearing a suit fit for royalty, though he could hardly be out of his teens. Grinn liked a good suit himself, but this boy wore his like an insult, and Grinn felt suddenly small and insignificant, which was certainly not something he was used to. The stranger raised his hat slightly and locked his coal-bright eyes onto Grinn’s.
“My name is Adam. I’m looking for Charles Bartholomew Grinn. And I’ve found him, haven’t I?”
“No, he … he ain’t ’ere,” said Grinn, unexpectedly flustered by the intensity of the young man’s gaze. He suddenly wished he hadn’t drunk so much. Then it occurred to him that this wasn’t the cleverest answer he could give, so he spoke again.
“I mean, I don’t know anyone of that name.”
“Don’t mess me about, Grinn,” said the visitor. “I have a job for you, that’s all.”
“Job? What job?”
“There’s someone I want you to find. A boy. Shouldn’t be difficult, just a little boy. And when you’ve got him … well, I’m sure a man with your reputation will know what to do.” And Adam’s handsome face split into a demonic smile as he drew his finger across his throat.
Grinn backed away, shaking his head. There was something about this Adam that wasn’t right at all, something that seemed completely out of place in the world of hard men and easy murder Grinn was used to — something wholly unnatural. He tried to shut the door, but his arm wouldn’t obey.
“This is me being nice, Grinn,” Adam said, anger rising in his voice. “Or would you prefer me to get nasty?”
Grinn swallowed, hard. Adam’s voice, which had had honey in it just a moment before, now hammered through his head with unconcealed menace, while his eyes narrowed to two points of fathomless black, drawing Grinn’s in deeper and deeper …
“I … I can’t help yer.” Grinn’s own voice was almost a squeak now. “Get lost!”
And he slammed the door, though it took an enormous effort of will to do so.
“Bloody snoop.” Grinn shook his head to clear the confusion that had come over his mind. What was it about that boy’s eyes? He shuddered and took a deep breath, then another. He went back to his glass, refilled it, and drank it dry. When he finally dared look back at the door, the dark shape had gone.
He picked up his darts, testing the weight of one to stop his hand shaking. He turned to the board and eyed the triple twenty. But he couldn’t concentrate. It felt as though those black eyes were still on him. He blinked, and then sighted his dart again.
Those eyes.
As Grinn looked, it suddenly seemed as if the visitor’s face was indeed staring right back at him from the bull’s-eye. He gave a strangled gasp and let the dart go. It flew wide and bounced off the metal lines.
Grinn’s mouth dropped open in terror.
The face of the strange boy really was emerging from the middle of the dartboard.
Grinn staggered back and sent his whiskey bottle crashing to the floor. The boy named Adam was now standing in the room — Grinn had just seen him step through twelve inches of solid brick! He reached for his gun.
“Get back! Blimey, what are you?”
“In a hurry, Grinn, that’s what I am. And in no mood to play ‘chase me’ with you.”
Grinn was once again transfixed by the two points of darkness in the very centers of the boy’s eyes. His heart pounded in his chest. There was a roaring in his ears, and what little willpower the whiskey had left him began to crumble as the uncanny visitor came closer.
“Get back!” Grinn cried again, and he fired his gun while he still could.
The shot boomed in the office, followed by two more as Grinn panicked. The bullets spattered plaster from the wall right behind their target, but Adam was entirely unaffected. Instead he stepped forward again and into a shaft of the weak sunlight that was beginning to filter through the morning mist.
At the touch of the sun, the boy’s body changed. It took on a ghostly quality as the tones of his clothes and skin took on an eerie bluish light. Grinn dropped his gun in disbelief. His knees gave way, and he tumbled to the ground beside his weapon. He stared up in shock as the ghostly figure came to stand above him. Then Adam spoke again.
“You are right to fear me, Charlie Grinn.”
Grinn couldn’t speak, his lips drawn back from his teeth in a grimace of pure terror. Cold tears ran down his cheeks.
“But I want more than your fear,” Adam went on. “They say that no one knows the back streets of London like you do. I require your services, and I’m fully prepared to pay. I know about you, Grinn — I know you’re a betting man. I even know you’re going to the races today. So you listen carefully to what I say now. Go to the races as if nothing happened here. When you see a horse called Angel Voice, put all your money on it. Do you hear? All your money. You’ll make a packet.”
“Angel … Angel Voice?” Grinn managed not to choke on the words.
Adam nodded, pouring his gaze down at him. Grinn felt as if his mind was being ransacked for some sign that he would do as he’d been told. Then the young man’s eyes released him and he slumped to the floor like a discarded puppet, not daring to look up.
“Put your money on the horse, Charlie Grinn,” said Adam’s voice, but it sounded different now — distant, and growing farther away. “I will visit you again very soon.”
Then there was silence.
Grinn lay still for a long time before he could raise his head again.
The boy named Adam was gone, leaving nothing but a sense of gaping emptiness in the room.
David was silent as Professor Feldrake led him and Petra out of the extraordinary museum and locked the doors. They followed the old man onto the gallery and down a spiral staircase to the Map Room. As they walked out amid the flickering screens and the tense people who sat in front of them, dozens of pairs of eyes darted his way, and some people called his name in greeting. Everyone seemed to know who he was; everyone seemed to expect something of him. Above them all, the brilliant sphere of the Metascape Map crackled, bathing everything in its syrupy light.
The professor drew David across to the circular desk beneath the hologram and spoke briefly to a Japanese-looking man in a patterned shirt who sat there wearing a pair of wide-lens goggles.
“David, this is Jiro,” said the professor. “He’s our chief talent spotter, and also the lead programmer of the Map. Whenever someone out there in the world accidentally drifts out of their dreams and starts dreamwalking, it’s Jiro here who spots them. That’s how we first became aware of you.”
“Hello, David,” said Jiro, turning to the boy. The lenses in his goggles were concave and either violet or gold, David couldn’t be sure. They made him think of dragonfly eyes. Jiro seemed suddenly to remember he was still wearing them. He shoved them up onto his forehead and gave David a small sitting bow.
“I remember the day exactly. You made an interesting shape on the scopes, young man.”
“Hello,” said David. “You saw me on that?” he added, pointing up at the blazing sphere. “How can you see anything on that?”
“With these,” said Jiro, tapping the goggles, “and with a lot of experience. But I can only see you there when you dreamwalk — I couldn’t track you there now. And of course, I couldn’t do much without Misty.”
“Misty? Who’s Misty?”
“I am,” said a voice out of nowhere. “And I’m pleased to meet you, David.”
“Misty is our computer,” said Professor Feldrake. “The Metascape-Interactive Space-Time Computer System, or MISTICS. We’d be a bit lost without her.”
“Feel free to ask me anything you want, David. I like being useful,” said Misty. “Is there anything you would like to ask me now?”
David felt a pleasant tingle at the nape of his neck when Misty spok
e. Her voice was high and enchanting, calling to mind a beautiful young woman, and yet there was also something fake about it. As if it was too perfect.
“Um … yes,” said David. He felt foolish talking to someone he couldn’t see, but he really wanted to hear that voice again. “What’s that?” He pointed up to where a patch of the Metascape hologram was highlighted with an open blue cube.
“That is dreamwalker number seven,” said Misty. “His name is Théo. He is fifteen years old and was born in Paris. I like him.”
Petra made a face.
David looked again at the cube. There was a patch of shifting color inside, but without the cube around it he’d never have picked it out from the rainbow chaos of the hologram.
“I’m glad to hear that, Misty,” said Professor Feldrake. “But what’s Théo still doing there? I thought he was supposed to have come back by now. Or has he found some sign of Eddie?”
“No,” said Jiro, “but we picked up a haunter nearby, and since Théo was already in the same geo-temporal locality we diverted him to investigate.”
“And? Where was the haunter exactly?”
“London docks, the morning of December seventeenth, 1940. For a moment Misty thought she detected Adam’s psychic pattern, but whoever it was, he was gone before we could get a proper fix. Théo’s just checking out the area.”
The sight of a dreamwalker being monitored on the holographic map reminded David of something that had been nagging at the back of his mind since his conversation in the professor’s office.
“Why am I only just hearing about all this?” he said. “I mean, if what you say is true, I’ve been dreamwalking for over a year now, and you could even see me on this thing. So why didn’t you come and pick me up before?”
The professor glanced at Jiro, who returned the look. Jiro pulled his goggles down again and turned his attention back to the hologram. The pause before the professor’s answer was just long enough to make David wonder how much was still being kept from him.
“David, you’re a special case. Normally we would have contacted you immediately, but your dreamwalk is just too important. So it was decided to, er, cover you up. To keep you safe.”
“Important how? Why am I special?”
“Well,” said the professor, “it’s Eddie, really — he’s the special one. We couldn’t risk doing anything to disturb your friendship with him. Don’t forget, your dreamwalks with Edmund Utherwise are the inspiration behind all his work. Without them he probably wouldn’t have discovered dreamwalking at all.”
David felt a touch of jealousy at “he’s the special one” and was surprised that such an ordinary emotion could find its way into such an extraordinary day.
“And anyway, your father wouldn’t allow it,” said Jiro, his goggled eyes still fixed on Théo’s cube.
“My father!” cried David. “You met my dad?”
Jiro looked uncomfortable and rolled back around to the other side of his desk. It was the professor who spoke next, and David could tell he was choosing his words carefully.
“Well, of course we had to check with your father. We aren’t kidnappers, David, I’ve already told you that. When we first detected you, your father didn’t want you to come here; he wanted you to live an ordinary life. We respected his decision. Actually, it made keeping you under wraps much easier.”
David said nothing. He could tell the professor was still keeping something from him, but it didn’t feel like the moment to confront him about it. Besides, if the professor was lying, maybe David would be better off trying to find out why some other way. Maybe Petra would help.
“So you’ve been watching over me ever since?” said David, trying to change the subject.
“You bet!” Jiro scooted back around on his chair. “Regular dreamwalker surveillance: at home, at school, in your dreams … you’ve been Petra’s pet project since we first identified you. She’s been your own spectral bodyguard.”
David looked at Petra and felt a blush coming on. How closely had she been watching him?
“Right now, though, David,” said Professor Feldrake, “I propose to send you on a test run with Dishita, one of our most accomplished dreamwalkers. She can show you what all this means in action and answer any more questions you may have.”
“I’m going too,” said Petra, with her hands on her hips and her feet firmly planted. “It’s my job to watch him, not Dishita’s.” And the way she said it made it clear that the professor would have a hard time stopping her.
“Oh, very well,” said the professor. “Let’s go through to the Somnarium and get on with this. Time is short.” But as they turned to leave, a shrill alarm broke out on the console in front of Jiro.
“What’s that?” The professor doubled back. “Is Théo all right?”
“We’ve picked up a new haunter in his location — same date and time,” said Jiro, his fingers darting across a touch screen, shutting off the alarm. “Wait … there’s something else.”
Jiro took hold of two large dials, one in each hand, and began to turn them both. Above him the colored swirls of the hologram danced crazily about before settling back to the same lazy tumble. Only this time the cube around Théo’s location was in the exact center of the sphere. Close by it was another cube, this one colored a vivid red. As they watched, a second red cube formed itself, farther from Théo than the first but slowly closing on his position.
“Two haunters!” cried Professor Feldrake. “Misty, is one of them Adam?”
“I’m trying to isolate their patterns now, Professor, but I need more time for a positive identification of either —”
“Then just get Théo out of there,” the professor interrupted. “We can’t take any risks.”
“No,” boomed a voice from somewhere in the Map Room, and the man named Roman pushed his way toward them. “Misty, tell Théo to stand his ground.”
“Commander, can’t you see he’s outnumbered?” the professor said. “He shouldn’t be there on his own.”
“Dishita is on her way, and Petra is already here,” Roman replied, indicating to Petra to run. “It will be three against two. A victory for us, I think.”
Petra was just jumping forward when the professor shouted, “Stay where you are!” in such an unexpected tone of command that Petra skidded to a halt.
“I am director here, Roman. We get Théo out. Now.”
“Under crisis security protocols — Director — I too have the right to direct dreamwalkers.” Roman walked up to the professor, dwarfing the old man with his bulk. “This isn’t some archaeological mystery for your little history club, Feldrake. Right now we take every chance we can against the Haunting.”
Above the two men, the second red cube was still closing on Théo’s blue. The whole room had fallen silent, except for the insistent fizzing of the Map.
“Misty, go and see Théo,” said the professor at length, still facing Roman, though clearly annoyed that he had to tilt his head so far back to look him in the eye. “Put him on direct.”
“Yes, Professor,” said Misty, then her voice was replaced by that of a teenage boy with a strong French accent. “Théo here. I have company. What shall I do?”
“Is it Adam?” Roman demanded before the professor could speak.
“No,” said Théo. “No, it is a girl. I am inside a bombed-out warehouse. She is in the shadows outside. Just standing there.”
“Théo, there is a second haunter there,” the professor said. “Getting closer. Can you see who it is?”
“Are you sure, Professor?” said the voice of Théo. “There is only me and the girl.”
“It must be Adam.” Petra couldn’t stop herself from speaking any longer. “Professor, let me go and help Théo.”
“No, Petra! Théo, I want you to get back now. No heroics.”
“But, it is all fine here,” Théo replied. “And I have not yet learned anything of use.”
“Get a better view,” Roman said. “If you see Adam, attac
k him on sight.”
“I am moving closer to the girl,” Théo continued, whispering now. “I don’t think she’s seen me … it is very dark in here, but … wait! There is something else, something moving … it might have been a cat, but …”
Just then the alarm broke out again, high and urgent.
“Haunters!” Jiro cried. “Two more of them, coming through from the eighteenth century!”
All eyes turned upward in time to see further red cubes materialize in the Metascape Map. Now there were four reds, all closing fast on the one blue.
“It’s a trap!” the professor cried. “Théo, get out of there!”
“The girl is moving,” came the voice of Théo. “It’s too dark in here … what’s that?”
“Théo, you have to wake up,” the professor shouted, his fists clenched. “Wake up!”
Before everyone’s eyes, the four haunter cubes converged in a sudden rush, overstamping the blue one with angry red. Théo’s cube winked out.
“Théo?” Petra called out into the silence that followed.
Nothing.
Then Jiro let out a long sigh.
“It’s okay,” he said, jabbing his finger at a little screen. “A green light from the Somnarium — Théo’s just waking up. He always was fast, that one.”
A rumble of voices and a hiss of released breath ran around the room.
“Oh, thank heavens!” The professor sat down heavily in a chair next to Jiro’s. “I’m too old for all this.”
Roman gave him a meaningful scowl and stalked off.
“Are we still taking David in after that?” Petra asked, and David was touched by the protective way she stood beside him.
“We don’t have any choice,” said Professor Feldrake. “But please take him somewhere far, far away. He’s not ready for London 1940 yet — it’s just too dangerous.”
Once the professor had got his breath back and straightened his spectacles, he took David through a gliding door in the glass wall at the end of the Map Room. Beyond was a long chamber. The only light came from blue strip bulbs recessed into the rock, so that the space was bathed in a very soft glow. There were beds along each side of the room, about twenty in all, and beside each bed there was a small workstation with dimly lit screens and touch pads. David looked back through the tinted glass. He saw the faint bustle of the Map Room, but no sound carried through to him. The room was absolutely silent and the air smelled of lavender.
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