Chester Parsons is Not a Gorilla

by Martyn Ford

  ‘Tito,’ I whispered. ‘Be quiet.’

  Right, I would need to get back into him, I thought, before he kicked up a fuss. I stared, frowned, winced and knew almost instantly that I couldn’t mind jump. Of course. Typical. It only worked sometimes. Hardly a superpower.

  Luckily he seemed calm. Until, that is, one of the people on the floor turned and looked again.

  A loud – oh, it was so loud – scream echoed around the room. And I sighed.

  Every single bald head spun round to the doorway.

  Tito, who was not a fan of loud noises or eye contact, stared at the crowd, snarling and sniffing with anger. Then, rearing back to stand upright in the smoke, he hit his chest and roared. So much for sneaking. I think the best way to describe what followed would be: absolute carnage. Chaos. Pure gorilla mayhem.

  At the time, I didn’t give it much thought. But the more I’d learned about the star swimmers, the dodgier they seemed. Trapping children in rat minds, forever, as a punishment? That’s got to be illegal. Actually, it probably isn’t. Why would anyone write that law? It’s definitely wrong though.

  Another question was – and this sounds like something my mum might say – why weren’t these kids in school? They’re all here, learning to be mind jumpers. Like, where are their parents? The Whispered Manor was full of pigeons, bald children and questions.

  But none of that mattered more than the mission. What if I lost the ability like Carlos? What if I got trapped?

  So what was the plan? Oh yeah, that’s right. Run upstairs into Cold Rain’s room, find that cell and rescue myself. Easy.

  Well, it would have been, but the gorilla was going absolutely bananas.

  Everyone seemed to run and scatter, shouting, screaming, panicking. Tito grabbed the bottom of the entire wall of birdcages, lifted it and tipped it over. A hundred pigeons escaped at once. Yep, it’s safe to say the relaxing atmosphere was now well and truly disturbed.

  Within this madness, I ducked past Tito into the hall, turned for the stairs and was knocked off my feet by a hard leather shoulder. That was the problem with being in a half-starved body. Carlos was nice and all, but man was he weak. Must have weighed less than, I don’t know, a bag of walnuts. That’s a weird thing to compare it to, sorry. He was skinny, that’ll do.

  ‘Oi, watch out, sonny jimbob,’ Detective Pepper said.

  Amy was by his side, Silent Cameraman filming them both.

  ‘It’s me,’ I said, clambering back to my feet. ‘It’s me, Chester.’

  ‘You wot? This is your body? Cos no offence, chief, but I preferred the gorilla. I could snap ya like a warm KitKat. You need a sandwich – what’s ya favourite filling eh? I like blue cheese and yella jam, dipped in a sweet cuppa coffee.’

  ‘No, you … no … This isn’t my body, this is Carlos’s body. And, what, that snack sounds horrible.’

  ‘Who’s Carlos?’ Amy shouted over the noise.

  Kids in white robes were barging past, shoving and running – most seem too scared to notice us.

  ‘My friend. He’s a rat. Look, it’s a long story all right. Why is Tito in here? What happened to the plan?’

  A pigeon cage flew over our heads. We all ducked as it exploded on the wall.

  ‘Cor. Let him out the car for a whiz innit,’ Detective Pepper said, standing up straight again. ‘Greedy sausage got a whiff of the food from the kitchen – does smell naughty to be fair. Smashed the gate open, bolted for the door. Classic silverback.’

  Tito picked up a tall teenager and threw him at a group of adults, who caught him somehow – all knocked to the floor like bowling pins.

  ‘Nah, nah, nah, this is getting out of hand.’

  ‘Listen, my body is upstairs in Cold Rain’s room,’ I said. ‘Maybe this is a good thing – Tito is very distracting. I’m gonna head up there – you sort all this out.’

  ‘Aye aye, laddie. I’ll give him a li’l’ cuddle. That oughtta calm him down. Gorillas love cuddles.’

  Detective Pepper strutted confidently towards Tito and, I presumed, his death. Amy followed and, unsurprisingly, Silent Cameraman was keen to film it.

  I found the stairwell and ran, then jogged, then walked up to the top floor. I was panting like crazy when I arrived. There was a door at the end. I pushed it open and stepped inside.

  It was cold, slightly blue in there, lit by the faint glow of the moon from the open window. A bookshelf ran all the way round the circular room. In the middle there was a huge table with a leather journal resting on top of it. There was something eerie about this place – like it was from another time. No electricity, no light bulbs, just a cool breeze from the night sky. One shelf on the left had hundreds of ornaments, golden statues and rubies and treasure and other mystical stuff. Weirdly, it was familiar. Maybe it reminded me of a film I’d seen, a fantasy or … I don’t know. A dream maybe?

  Then I thought that perhaps I could steal something. Why not? Cold Rain was definitely a bad guy. Maybe he deserved it. No. See, there it is again, that voice. Stealing things is not OK. Could just steal one thing. No, I was getting distracted.

  Of course I was curious about all this, but my sights were still set firmly on finding my body. Opposite me, I saw another wooden door.

  This was it, the last place it could be. I had reached the top of this tower, the heart of this mad place. It was time to end it.

  I stepped towards the door, grabbed the handle, but stopped dead when I heard something.

  Scrunching my face, I turned to see a black figure standing behind me. Against the open window he was just a silhouette over the stars. But I could see he was holding a sword.

  ‘What are you doing in my room, Carlos?’

  I felt slightly embarrassed, like I’d been caught doing something wrong. I guess in a way I had – this was Cold Rain’s private quarters. But it was totally justified. He was the one who should feel bad. He’d stolen my body.

  ‘Your crimes end here,’ he said. ‘You have brought shame enough to the order.’ Cold Rain walked forwards, out from the slight blue haze of the moon, and struck a match. Now I could see his face and his long black plaited hair clearly in the glowing red candlelight. He lifted the match to his lips and, with a quick puff, blew it out. ‘I permit last words, but make them swift, Carlos, for your head must roll this night.’

  ‘A sword?’ I said. ‘What the hell is this? Grow up.’

  ‘A poor choice. Goodbye.’

  Cold Rain spun round and swung his katana right at my face. I ducked just in time, feeling a whistle of air across my scalp.

  ‘Whoa, man, seriously,’ I said, touching my head. ‘Chill out.’ I held up my bony hands and stepped backwards. ‘Look, listen, Cold … Mr Rain, I am not actually Carlos.’

  ‘You continue to speak as though the bells of your demise beckon you not. You are Carlos, but not for long.’

  ‘Wait, I thought star swimmers didn’t have names?’

  ‘You were exiled to a more fitting creature, boy – you are a brother no more.’

  He swiped his blade through the air again. I heard the tip hiss like a whip.

  I leapt back, bumping into the bookshelf. ‘Wait.’

  But he drove the sword towards me, showing his teeth and grunting – I fell sideways and it stabbed straight into the wood.

  ‘Please, Mr Rain,’ I shouted. ‘You’re being unreasonable.’

  A faint roar echoed from somewhere in the building.

  ‘You summon jungle beasts to do your bidding – it is you, not I, that holds a slender grip on reason.’

  ‘Sorry, yeah, the gorilla thing is my fault. But listen, I’m an eleven-year-old kid. My name is Chester Parsons. I am here to get my body back. We don’t need to be silly about it.’

  He frowned, slowly pulling the blade out of the bookshelf. ‘Speak again the name you claim to be yours.’

  ‘Chester. Chester Parsons.’

  Cold Rain strode past, swaying his sword like he was painting with it – the metal glist
ened orange and silver in the candlelight. He kept circling me – I turned and turned on the spot to face him.

  ‘You take me for a fool,’ he said. ‘Am I to believe you are child-actor Chester Parsons on your word alone? Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.’

  I smiled. (Yeah, I was pleased he had heard of me – so what?)

  ‘I mean … sure, happily,’ I said. ‘But how could I prove it?’

  He stopped and pointed the sword at my face. ‘Sing the song of the Puff Puff Wheat Puffs.’

  ‘Aw … really?’

  ‘Serenade the stars or die, sir!’

  ‘Put a little smile on the—’

  ‘No, SING!’ He stamped his foot. ‘Move. Dance. Tell a story with your body.’

  ‘Put a little smile on the Puff Puff Wheat Puff,’ I sang, jiggling slightly from side to side. ‘A bowl of sunshine, a bowl of fun. A bowl of smiles for everyone. I say, yum-yum puff-puff. One more time it’s a yum-yum puff-puff.’

  ‘Again!’

  I repeated the performance, now kind of whimpering with fear.

  ‘You could have heard that tune sung at any tavern, on any moon. This proves nothing. But if your petty games will sow the seeds of a quick death, I shall play them also. I know not of Chester Parsons’ body.’

  ‘What? You mean the star swimmers haven’t kidnapped me?’

  ‘Why would we do such a thing?’

  ‘Because of Amy and Chester … I pretty much spilled the beans on mind jumping.’

  Cold Rain blinked, then tried to hide a smile. And then he yelled with laughter. ‘Sir, this show is of such poor quality, should anyone have the misfortune of enduring it they would take the claims of animal control to be that of lies. Jest. The work of smoke and trickery. We do not fear such exposure. Certainly not from such a pathetic programme.’

  ‘All right, it’s not that bad,’ I said. ‘Didn’t you like the swan bit?’

  ‘Fine. I’ll concede, that part was funny. But that was the only good scene in the entire six sorry episodes. Believe it or not, I am somewhat of a television connoisseur. Mark my words, that show will be cast into the abyss of obscurity. Just. Like. You.’

  The sword swished my way again. I dodged it. ‘Dude. Stop.’

  I bolted for the other door and barged it open. A cell. A bed. A shelf. A bucket. Some candles. But nothing else. No sleeping Chester. Maybe he was telling the truth – maybe it really wasn’t here. I swung round and faced him. If I couldn’t jump into my body, I would jump into his. But, somehow, I could feel his mind was locked.

  ‘Please,’ he said, coming towards me again.

  This guy is actually going to kill me, I thought, running out of ideas. If my body wasn’t here, then where the hell was it?

  ‘Tell me about … tell me about Red Fire and Wise Earth,’ I blurted – just trying to buy time really.

  ‘You wish to learn the truth? There’s the journal you’re so desperate to read. Help yourself.’

  The leather-bound book was on the table next to the candle – it was just like the one we found in our loft only it was covered in dust. Clearly no one had touched it for years. He smiled when I looked at it. There were answers inside. There had to be. Somehow this was all connected. To me, to my dad, to Dr Vladovski. To my missing body.

  Without thinking, I dived for the journal, screaming as the sword slammed down into the table, slicing near my wrist. ‘Aw, you’re a maniac,’ I said, clutching the book under my arm.

  As he started slashing at me again, I scrambled through the window, clambering over the balcony railing. He sighed, and calmly followed. Now outside, I climbed up the steep slope of the black slate roof. The old tiles clattered under my feet – one of them came loose, slid and disappeared over the edge. I didn’t hear it hit the ground, that’s how high it was. Holding the book to my chest, I grabbed a brick chimney pot and looked for somewhere to go. I could see for miles – I could see the perimeter wall, the sprawling land, the trees, the stars, the moon, the distant lights on the horizon.

  Then I slid down the other side of the roof, bouncing on Carlos’s bony behind, landing on a flat section. I turned and searched, but it was a dead end. There was simply nowhere left to go. I stepped to the edge, leant carefully over and felt instantly sick.

  The tower was ridiculously tall. Dizzy, dizzy – no, concentrate.

  Maybe there’s some guttering or—

  ‘You appear to have depleted your reserves of roof, Carlos,’ Cold Rain said, striding towards me, his sword pointed at the ground.

  I faced him, my back to the fall. The wind, cold on Carlos’s bald head, whipped my white robe around my ankles.

  ‘Now pass me the book.’

  I looked down at it. Somehow, in my heart, in Carlos’s heart, I knew I needed Wise Earth’s journal. I didn’t know why, but my instincts were screaming at me, don’t give it to him.

  Although there was no real plan, I decided handing it over wasn’t an option. I held the book for him to take. But, as he reached forwards, I snatched it back and threw it over my shoulder. It disappeared, spinning over the edge and, like the tile, we didn’t hear it land.

  ‘Whoops,’ I said.

  He tilted his head and held up his sword. ‘Defiance matters not. The wolf eats the brave lambs first.’

  ‘Why do you speak like that?’ I said. ‘This is all so strange. This situation. This is not normal by today’s standards. People just don’t behave like this.’

  His long black robe stretched out at his side, rippling like a flag, dragged by the wind.

  ‘The truth is – I killed Red Fire,’ he said, raising his voice over the weather. ‘Wise Earth … well, he escaped my wrath and disappeared long ago. He deserted the star swimmers. It seemed right that he should take the blame. I suspect he too is long dead. Should you meet him on the other side, do send him my regards …’

  Then he gently placed the tip of his sword on my chest and pushed it against me. Not enough to cut, but plenty to knock my balance. My tiptoes were the only thing on the edge of the roof. My back arched, my arms flailed and swung round in big desperate circles, but it was too late. I turned – there was nothing to grab.

  And I fell.

  Screaming silent nightmare screams I fell and fell. The ground roared towards me, the orange windows of the tower zipping past, like windows on a train that isn’t stopping at this station. Stone steps, the building black and blue in the moonlight and the wind howling past. I was falling for the blink of an eye, enough time to spin and realise I was falling head first. The stones rushing up and up and a tiny brown shadow and—

  THUD.

  It made a sort of FFFF-DUUMMMM sound. Carlos cracked into the ground, bouncing slightly, throwing up gravel and dust from the impact. And yet, no pain. I wasn’t dead. In fact, I was conscious, I was alive. I was on the ground, sure, but I wasn’t Carlos any more. I was …

  I take it your body wasn’t up there? I heard him think.

  Aw, thank you, thank you, I thought. Right place right time, man.

  I looked down at the scraggy brown fur and squeaked. I’d never been so happy to be in a rat. I could have kissed that manky thing.

  How did you manage to jump? While falling? That … that was amazing. What a shot.

  Um … I … I don’t know, I thought. I just kind of did it. Like a reflex. Like when you blink. It just happened.

  So it’s true … You must be a Daahsuti master … A prodigy.

  Yeah, I guess so.

  Nearby, I could see the body I’d just vacated – the head was on backwards, the legs were somewhere near the shoulders – it was all wrong. It looked like an old rag doll that had gone through the wash. A real mess. I felt bad.

  Dear me. Sorry, Carlos. That is … I mean that really is not cool.

  It’s fine.

  I was taking good care of it, but Cold Rain pushed me.

  I told you he was bad news.

  But hey, look, I stole the journal.

  Near
the mangled mass of arms and legs and muddy white robes, the book was lying face down on the grass. We scurried over, bit it, and dragged it to a nearby bush, where we pushed it right against the side of the building, making sure it was properly hidden.

  I think we need to speak to the police, I thought. I am pretty sure that was a murder.

  Honestly, Chester, don’t worry about it. Body wasn’t great anyway. Creaky knees, wonky nose. Besides, I had no use for it any more.

  Still, pushing people off roofs is not OK.

  Carlos was being incredibly reasonable about all this. I wouldn’t have taken it quite so well if he’d ruined my body. Aw, I really do miss it. Even that weird mole I have on my leg. Even the strange whistle my nose does every now and then. Even when it catches a cold, even when it makes weird smells, even when it moves wrong and I bump my head or stub my toe. I still love it because it’s mine. It’s my silly sack of squishy meat and clumsy bones.

  We nestled deep in the bush. Now I could smell the mud and, sniff-sniff-sniff, the dinner from the Whispered Manor kitchen. I guess they were cooking for loads of people.

  How many star swimmers are there? I wondered.

  What’s a …? Oh yeah. Globally a few thousand. Here only about two hundred.

  Need to find Tito, I thought. And hey, you were right by the way – Cold Rain said he killed Red Fire. He blamed it on Wise Earth.

  I knew that story didn’t add up.

  But he said Wise Earth went missing – do you reckon he stole my body?

  It is possible. Yes. But finding him probably isn’t. He hasn’t been seen for ages.

  Have you got any idea where we should start looking? What do you know about him?

  Wise Earth founded the star swimmers about nine hundred and ninety years ago. So as you might have guessed, he’s pretty old.

  How is that even possible? A human body can’t live that long, no matter how much you meditate.

  You’re right, Carlos thought. One human can’t live that long. But I never said he used the same body. This is what Daahsuti elders do.

  What do you mean?

  So when they get old, they go to hospital right?