by Emily Rodda
He stared at it. The beeper-brooch peeped wildly.
And then he understood.
“A tree has died to give me birth …” Paper came from trees. Books came from trees.
“But still I shelter feathered friends …” The book was filled with pictures of birds.
“I’m large and heavy …” – it was – “… coloured earth …” The cover was dusty brown.
“With golden fringes my tail ends …” The bookmark.
“And where my name and others be …” He crouched down quickly and turned to the front of the book. There were the names – the title of the book, Birds of the World, and the author’s and illustrator’s names, and …
“… My owner’s name is plain to see.” There, faintly, in spidery handwriting, was the name of the book’s owner. Clyde O’Brien.
Trembling, Patrick picked up the book, and clasped the singing beeper-brooch firmly in his other hand. He looked at his watch. A minute to ten. He still had time. He ran towards the entrance to the department store where the TV sets were. No time now to explain to Estelle.
She saw him as he ran, and half rose to her feet. “Back in a minute, Estelle,” he roared, ignoring her startled cry and charging on. He swung into the store, panting.
He reached the TV set he’d used before, and switched to Channel 8. He heard the clock begin to strike. He saw Lucky Lamont’s face appear on the screen.
“Has our Finder been successful?” Lucky was shouting. “We’ll find out, right now. Patrick, are you ready to go on playing Finders Keepers?”
“YES!” Patrick shouted joyously, and closed his eyes.
11
Boopie Helps Out
The audience was clapping and shouting, Lucky was pounding him on the back, rollicking music was playing. Patrick blinked, dazed, at the bright lights.
Lucky took the book from his hands and held it high above his head. “Clyde O’Brien!” he shouted dramatically. “Is this your missing object?”
Clyde O’Brien stumbled from his place and, escorted by a beaming Boopie Cupid, half ran to Lucky’s side. He didn’t have to answer the question. The relief on his grim face was answer enough. He held out his hand for the book, and Lucky gave it to him. Eagerly he thumbed through the pages.
Patrick stared at the book. It didn’t look faded and shabby any more. Now the cover was rich leathery brown, and the pictures were bright, glowing with life. Even the ribbon bookmark was shining like silk, its golden fringe catching the light. But Clyde O’Brien wasn’t stopping to look at the pictures or admire the bookmark. He was looking for something. And about three-quarters of the way through, he found it.
He pulled a folded, yellowing piece of paper from the book, and opened it with strong, blunt fingers that trembled with excitement.
“Eureka?” bawled Lucky.
Unable to speak, Clyde O’Brien nodded. He dropped the book to the floor, pulled out his wallet, and carefully put the paper inside it. Then he suddenly turned and bolted away, without another word.
“Well, now, folks, there’s one very happy man,” cried Lucky, looking after him in some confusion. “He’s so happy he forgot to say goodbye. Or thank you to his Finder. So we’ll do it for him, will we folks?” He and Boopie clapped, and the audience joined in enthusiastically, but Patrick stood looking after the man who had left, then slowly picked up the book. It was too beautiful just to lie there underfoot, and it reminded him of the old books his father treasured at home.
“Now Pat, time to spin that wheel,” cried Lucky. “Let’s see what you can win!”
Boopie Cupid took Patrick’s arm and led him to the glittering wheel.
“Look at all those prizes, Pat,” drooled Lucky. “I’ll bet there’s something there you’d really like, eh?”
“The computer,” said Patrick loudly. He had practised this. He had thought about this moment so often in the last week. “The Ezy-way computer and the games.”
“Well, we’ll see if you’re in luck!” smiled Lucky happily. “Spin that wheel, Pat!”
Patrick stared at him dumbly. He’d thought he’d get to choose his prize! He’d thought …
“Give it all you’ve got, Pat!” urged Lucky.
Patrick took a deep breath, and spun the wheel as hard as he could. It whirled round with enormous speed. He crossed his fingers and hoped with all his might, holding the picture of that computer in his mind as if by doing that he might make the wheel stop in the right place.
It was slowing down. It was stopping. It had stopped.
“Number nineteen, number nineteen!” shouted Lucky. “Boopie, tell us what Patrick has won!”
Boopie looked up from a list in her hand. Her cheeks were flushed. “Patrick has won this adorable music box, Lucky.” She threw out her arm, shedding a few more feathers as she did so. The makeup girl in the pink smock rushed from the sidelines and put something small and brightly coloured in her hand. Boopie teetered over to Patrick, smiling rather stiffly.
“Hey, isn’t that cute!” crooned Lucky admiringly. “What a great prize! The Toytown Musical Merry-go-round, from our friends at the House of Bonning, makers of fine china and bathroom products.”
Boopie wound the musical box. The little horses went round, and a chiming tune played. The audience sighed with pleasure. Patrick couldn’t remember ever having been so disappointed before in his whole life. He blinked hard, and tried to smile.
“Well, this is exciting,” said Lucky hastily. “Now, Patrick, you’ve got the big decision to make. Will you risk this fabulous prize, and go on to try for a second Find? It’s up to you. You can go away now, and take home your musical merry-go-round with no strings attached, yours to keep. Or you can stay on, to try for more great prizes. What do you say?”
“I don’t know,” muttered Patrick, eyeing the tinkling merry-go-round. A week’s misery and trouble, just for that! He didn’t know if he could go through it all again for such an uncertain result. He might win something even more useless next time.
“Great idea! Leave it to Boopie Cupid!” cried Lucky. Patrick looked up and saw Boopie just stepping back after whispering in Lucky’s ear.
“Boopie thinks we can make Pat’s choice a little bit harder, folks!” Lucky said, twinkling at the audience. He turned to Patrick. “I know it must be hard to think about risking your prize, Pat. But we want to tempt you. You want that computer, right?”
Patrick nodded dumbly.
“OK,” said Lucky, pointing a finger at him playfully. “How about if we say to you that if you come back with Find number two, and guarantee to go on to Find number three, we give you that computer as a bonus prize. Now, what do you say to that? Will you leave us, or go on?”
“I’ll go on!” yelped Patrick, and beamed at Boopie Cupid.
The audience went wild, and Lucky announced a commercial break.
Boopie had her nose powdered by the girl in pink, and then trotted over to where Patrick stood.
“Thanks for suggesting about the computer,” said Patrick awkwardly.
“Oh, sweetie-pie, I nearly died when I saw what you’d won!” whispered Boopie in a shocked voice. “It was the least I could do. Really, they have a hide on this show sometimes. And as for that Mr O’Brien! Well! We’ve never had a ruder Seeker on the show, ever. I mean, he didn’t even thank you, or us, or anything! Some people!” She sighed. Under her makeup she looked tired and strained.
“What was that paper he got out of the book?” asked Patrick curiously. “A treasure map, or something?”
Boopie sniffed. “Oh, nothing as interesting as that. It was a will – a mouldy old will. His grandpa died, you see, and left him all his money. Well, that’s what Clyde said his grandpa had promised him, anyway. The rest of the family didn’t believe it. No wonder, because you couldn’t say Mr O’Brien was very likeable or charming or anything, could you? So he had to find his grandpa’s will, to prove it. Anyway, old Grandpa O’Brien, whose name was Clyde too, was a great bird-watcher, or somet
hing, and that book was his most precious possession. Everyone thought his will would be in the bank, but it turned out it wasn’t. They looked everywhere. Then they finally thought of asking his doctor, who was about the only person who’d been near the poor old chap for months, and he said the old man had showed him the will, tucked into his favourite book, in his study.” She made a face.
“That was when Clyde O’Brien realised he’d made a big mistake. He’d cleaned out all his grandpa’s ‘rubbish’, as he so charmingly put it, so he could move into the house himself. He’d sold all the books – including the old man’s favourite, Birds of the World, to a secondhand shop down beside the Barrier. So he was in the biggest panic by the time he wrote to us. Because the shopkeeper said he hadn’t sold the book, but it had gone. Right after a truck ran into the Barrier and split it, just opposite his shop. He knew where the book, and the will – and his hopes of all his grandpa’s money – had gone. Over to your side.”
“What a pig!” exclaimed Patrick indignantly. “He didn’t care about his grandfather’s lovely book at all. Or about his grandfather either. He just cared about the money.”
Boopie shrugged. “It takes all kinds to make a world, I guess,” she said. But Patrick was angry.
“Why would you choose someone like that to be on Finders Keepers, anyway?” he demanded.
Boopie shrugged again. “Well, I don’t choose the Seekers, sweetie-pie,” she said. “Don’t blame me. The producer chooses them, with Max. They pick people whose things Max can get a fix on, and who’ve got interesting stories. The audience likes to know the Seekers are really desperate. We always tell the Seekers’ stories, before the Finder comes. That makes it more exciting, you see. Just like you, the Seekers only get to play in one game, you know. If you don’t find their missing object, they don’t get another chance.”
“I didn’t realise that,” said Patrick slowly. “You mean, for all three of them, this is the only game?”
She nodded seriously. “That’s why they all look so nervous, you see, and why Eleanor Doon and Wendy Minelli were as glad as horrible old Clyde to see you come back with the Find and decide to go on playing. If you’d failed, or chosen not to go on, they’d have lost their chance to have their things found. And they care. They care a lot.” She sighed and her painted lips tilted into a rather sad little smile. “It’s no fun being a Seeker,” she said.
Patrick looked at her doubtfully. It was bad enough when he’d been trying to win just for himself. But now he had to worry about the Seekers as well!
“Anyway, cheer up, sugar-plum,” said Boopie, smoothing her feathers. “The ad break’s nearly over, and you’ve got to choose another Seeker. I wonder which one you’ll get this time!”
12
The Barrier
“Which Seeker will our Finder choose this time?” boomed Lucky Lamont. “Wendy Minelli? Or Eleanor Doon?” He grinned feverishly at the two Seekers left behind the desk. They looked anxiously back.
Boopie held up the silver basket. The drum roll began. “You’re chosen by chance and you take your chance in Finders Keepers,” crowed Lucky. Patrick took a folded slip of paper between his fingers. He gave it to Lucky, who looked inside and beamed at Wendy Minelli. She went pink with excitement and leaned forward in her chair.
“Sorry, Wendy, you’ll have to wait a little longer!” Lucky laughed, wagging his finger at her. The audience laughed with him and Wendy Minelli sank back, baffled and embarrassed. Patrick looked at Lucky disgustedly. What a mean trick to play, just to get a laugh.
“Eleanor, you’re the lucky one,” Lucky cried. “Boopie, will you read Eleanor’s clue again?”
Boopie took the paper and read it in a careful, high voice:
“My first is in fur, but not in fun,
My second means just me alone,
My third is third as well in run,
My fourth begins my saddest groan.
I have three hearts of deepest red,
In shining gold they make their bed.”
She handed the clue to Patrick, who bit his lip and pushed the paper into his pocket. The rhyme still made no sense at all to him.
“Not so hard, Pat, eh?” teased Lucky. “All right then, off you go. Boopie, take him away! Good Finding, Pat!”
“Good Finding!” roared the audience.
Again Patrick let Boopie take his arm and lead him away. Wendy Minelli gave him a little wave as he passed, but Eleanor Doon leaned over and grasped his arm with a cold, damp hand. The knobbly rings that clustered thickly on her fingers bit uncomfortably into his skin. “Good Finding!” she murmured through tight lips. “Don’t fail me, will you?” Patrick met her dull grey eyes, and couldn’t look away.
“Come on, Finder,” trilled Boopie Cupid, pulling him away from the long, clutching fingers. She hurried him to the studio door, and into the corridor.
“Gosh, she’s a bit of a horror, isn’t she what!” she exploded, and giggled. She kicked off her shoes and began to trot down the corridor. “Come on, lovesy!” she called, beckoning to Patrick. “We’re behind time. Got to hurry.”
But before they got to Max’s door, it flew open, and Max himself appeared, pulling at his tufty hair and dancing around in frustration. Through the open door came the sound of a computer having hysterics. Beeping, pinging, whistling and clattering, Max’s Ezy-way Plus 3 was making its opinion of things in general very clear.
“I’ll have to shut down,” shouted Max above the noise. “Don’t know what’s the matter with the stupid thing now.”
“Oh, no, Max,” cried Boopie. “Not again. Oh, I can’t bear it!”
“Can’t be helped,” grunted Max. He rushed back into the room, and suddenly the noise stopped dead, leaving an eerie silence in the corridor. Max reappeared, shaking his head. “Done,” he said briefly.
“How long will it take to fix, Maxie? How long?” Boopie asked anxiously.
He threw up his hands. “How would I know?” he said grumpily. “An hour? Two?”
Boopie looked worried. “Max, this won’t … hold things up for us, will it? Time’s going by so fast.” She glanced quickly at Patrick and lowered her voice. “The TBE, Max. Every hour’s precious now. We’ll still be able to – you know – later, won’t we?”
Patrick jumped, and looked at Max anxiously. This sounded ominous. He didn’t want to be stuck here for good!
“Boopie, shut up!” snapped Max. “What are you thinking about? Your Finder can hear you, and you’re scaring him to death.” He turned to Patrick. “Don’t fret, son. You’ll be right.”
Boopie looked guilty and rattled. “Oh, of course you will, Patrick. Anyway, I’d better get back to the studio and explain to everyone,” she gabbled. “I hope Lucky won’t blow a fuse. He’s so hopeless in a crisis, and he’s got a couple of screws loose as it is, in my opinion.” She patted Patrick’s arm, and took the heavy book from him. “Look, sweetie-pie,” she said. “I’ll take you to the cafeteria. You can have something to eat while you’re waiting.”
“Ask them where my tea is while you’re at it, will you?” grunted Max. “It’s late, and I’m parched.”
Boopie ushered Patrick out of the room and trotted off down the corridor. She was obviously worried and upset. Patrick followed her nervously.
“It will be all right, won’t it?” he ventured.
“What? Oh, oh yes, sweetie-pie, don’t worry,” murmured Boopie in an absentminded way. But as though his words had spurred her on, she began to walk faster. Patrick jogged along beside her, his heart beating hard in his chest. He didn’t like this. Not one little bit. And what was this TBE?
In the cafeteria Patrick stared into space, wishing he had someone to talk to. The bored-looking girl behind the counter didn’t seem to notice he was there. Several people came in – some he recognised from Finders Keepers, and others were obviously from other parts of the TV studio. There were a couple of clowns in full makeup and a man in a mouse suit at one table. At the table next to his, two m
en in overalls were eating meat pies and talking loudly about a black and oily piece of equipment they’d brought with them in a plastic bag. No one paid any attention to him at all.
“Anyhow, it’ll take a week to fix at least, I reckon,” growled one of the men in overalls, kicking at the plastic bag at his feet. “They’ll just have to wait.”
“There’s something going on round here that we don’t know about, if you ask me,” said the other man. “Why’s everything breaking down all of a sudden? It isn’t normal.”
The first man took a huge bite of his pie and chewed thoughtfully. “It’s been going on for months, in fact,” he said with his mouth full, and then frowned. “Even the pies have gone off. This thing’s dry as old Harry. That woman who used to be here made beauties. That pretty blonde woman. What happened to her?”
“On leave,” said the other sourly. “All right for some. We’ve got no chance of getting any time off for the rest of the year, the way things are going. And you know what I reckon? I reckon it’s that computer – the Finders Keepers computer, that’s at the root of it all. Think of the power it takes out of the system. And I’ve heard it’s been playing up.”
Patrick pricked up his ears.
The first man nodded slowly. “You could be on to something there, mate,” he agreed. “When you think about it, that computer isn’t natural, is it? I always said that. It isn’t natural, bringing Finders through the Barrier. They belong on their side, like we belong on ours, and they should stay there. Were you here when the first lot came over?”
His friend shook his head.
“Well, I was,” said the man, “and I can tell you there were some goings on then that’d make your hair curl.” He bent over the table and lowered his voice. Patrick strained to catch what he was saying.