by Martyn Ford
Sure.
And what happens in hospitals?
Loads of stuff. They heal people, do surgery, X-rays … alcohol gel … beds on wheels … expensive car parks?
Know what the maternity ward does?
Takes care of women having babies?
Bingo.
Wait, they mind jump into babies?
That’s right. They can live forever. Once your body gets too old, just get an upgrade. Like a mobile phone.
Well, it’s not quite the same but … yeah … I see what you mean. Surely this is wrong though? Stealing a baby’s body? Do the parents know?
What do you think? Of course not.
And then, what, they bring the kids here and retrain them?
Exactly. Some time after their eighth birthday – before that they’re hard to teach. I was ten when I arrived.
But … that’s kidnapping … it’s illegal … How do they get away with it?
The children want to come. Or at least they think they do …
What do the parents say?
Nothing … These elders, they have the power to change anyone’s mind. To make them forget. To make them agree to anything. That’s sort of the main point of the star swimmers. Controlling people is what it’s all about.
And the kids themselves? Can they remember it all?
With help, and guidance, yes.
So Wise Earth must have done it loads?
Yes, about fourteen times I think. Makes an average of a new body every seventy-ish years.
What does his latest one look like?
He’s fairly old now – grey hair, in a long plait. Black robe. Can’t miss him. As for where he might be, that’s a different matter.
I’m guessing this journal will have answers. We need to find Amy and Detective Pepper too – it’ll take us ages to read this book with stupid little rat hands.
I thought again about Carlos’s human body.
Look, I meant what I thought earlier. I want you to come live with us. It’s the least I can do. We’ll get a wheel, cool cage, everything. You’ll be the happiest rat in town. We need a new pet anyway. Our dog died.
Aw no, how?
Well, I left— sorry, MY SISTER left the garden gate open and she ran away.
Shame, what was her name?
D … um … Da … Dummm … I … I can’t remember.
I really couldn’t remember. This was a horrible feeling. I know my dead dog’s name. I know this. Come on. Daaaah …
Uh-oh, Carlos thought. Not a good sign.
What … Why?
You’re forgetting. Pretty soon you’ll forget how to mind jump, then you’ll stop being Chester altogether. You’re smoke in a breeze, a morning fog, a melting flake of late winter snow. There, and then not.
All right. OK. OK. So we have to be fast – I get it. But, wait, what about your memories?
How do you mean?
Don’t they live in your brain? Like a computer’s hard drive?
It’s possible, yes. What’s your point?
Well, your brain is clearly smashed to a pulp.
It’s what?!
We looked out through the dark swaying leaves and twigs at Carlos’s body on the broken stone path.
Oh yeah, of course. I guess memories are strange?
Also, I was wondering, why do you think sometimes I can mind jump so easily, and other times I can’t do it at all?
It depends partly on your body. If it’s relaxed, in a trance, you can do it – if it’s disturbed, you can’t. That’s why you make sure you leave it somewhere safe, like in bed.
Hey, look who it is …
Cold Rain appeared at the front door. He strode over to Carlos’s body, laughed, then started searching for the journal. We were perched on top of it, safely hidden in the gloomy undergrowth. Brown rat on a brown book – great camouflage. After a while a young star swimmer came outside and stood behind him.
‘Lord Rain, we have a problem.’
Pfft, Lord Rain, I thought. Losers.
‘Indeed, brother, we do,’ Cold Rain said. ‘Wise Earth’s journal has gone missing. The man who has taken it will meet a fate worse than Carlos. Find the book.’
‘Certainly,’ the man said, with a bow. ‘But you are needed in the kitchen – we’ve managed to lock the gorilla in the pantry. However, its mind is relatively advanced. We need an elder to escort it away from the manor.’
‘I care not for such distractions,’ Cold Rain said, crouching and checking around the path for clues. He picked some grass and sniffed it, then squinted. ‘If you cannot tame the beast, I suggest you kill it.’
This guy sucks, I thought. Right, let’s leave the journal here and go save Tito. Can you get us into the pantry?
Chester, I’m a rat. Getting into the pantry is my speciality.
*
We scurried round the back of the building, staying hidden in the shadows – only patches of grey moonlight and cats could find us now. Luckily there didn’t seem to be any cats about. Being a rodent is ridiculously stressful – so many things are trying to kill you. Even owls. When you’re a human, owls seem so friendly, but they’re really not. They’re terrible. Three-hundred-and-sixty-degree, telescopic night vision, perfect hearing, stealth wings, razor-sharp claws and, if that’s not scary enough, they can fly. But you won’t see them coming. You’ll just be chilling out in the grass, maybe humming a little rat tune to yourself and then BAM. They swoop down, grab you in their talons, literally rip you to pieces with their hooked beak, eat everything, then cough up the fur and bones and teeth in neat little pellets. Don’t let all that ‘Whooo, whooo, whoooooo’ stuff fool you. Owls are wrong. Owls are actual monsters.
Why do people think nature is nice when, clearly, it’s completely horrible?
Anyway, I could smell the food more and more as we got closer to the kitchen. No wonder Tito had been tempted by this – it smelled amazing. The rat in us was getting excited – I felt its nose twitch and its tiny stomach grumble.
Beneath a glowing window, we approached the dark stone bricks. There was a tiny black crack near the ground and a narrow tunnel had been dug in the dry earth.
We squeezed through the gap, sniff-sniff-sniffing the warm air in front of us. It took a real wiggle to crawl inside but, with a final push, we arrived in a dark cave of foody wonders. Huge sacks of potatoes and cereal and chocolate and bread and hundreds of jars filled with all sorts. So much food. So much temptation – I felt my little body shaking with excitement.
This rat needs to calm down, I thought.
Nah, that’s me. I love breaking into the pantry. Let me show you the secret biscuits.
No. We’re here for Tito.
Aw, but …
Biscuits later.
We scampered towards the light and, from under the wooden shelf, saw a huge black mass of fur – Tito’s thigh. He was sitting on the reddish tiles of the pantry floor. We crawled out and stared up.
At first I was worried. Maybe they had hurt him? I still felt responsible for the gorilla – he was, after all, kind of mine.
You said you stole him from the zoo?
That was narration, Carlos, I wasn’t speaking to you.
Well, who were you speaking to?
The … the reader … I’m telling a story.
Uh-oh, you’re losing your mind …
No. This is … Stop making me doubt myself.
Either way, he looks fine to me.
Carlos was right. In fact, I’d never seen a happier animal in my life.
Tito was slouched on the ground, leaning against the shelves. He was surrounded by countless wrappers and half-eaten fruit and vegetables and jars of this and that. There was jam on the floor, broken crackers, thousands of grains of rice and dented tins. He’d had a feast. His stomach was bulging and his breathing sounded almost like he was asleep – like he was snoring.
Then we spotted the bottles.
Is that …? Is that wine?
A deep gorilla
burp echoed in the pantry.
That, Carlos thought, is not a good smell.
Tito’s eyes were half closed and his head looked too heavy for him to hold up. He hiccupped and grunted. Hiccupped and grunted.
Right, Carlos, I’ll speak to you soon, I thought, as I lined us up and stared at Tito.
The sound of mind jumping was, now I think about it, a bit like the wind when I was falling earlier. A quick whistling whoosh and then bam. Done. Just like that I was back in Tito’s mind. In a strange way, it felt like home. Which was comforting and terrifying.
Now my vision was blurry, I had peanut butter all over my left hand and an empty wine bottle in my right. Look at the state of this, I thought. I frowned down at Carlos – I could see two of him. Two small brown rats waving at me. Double gorilla vision. Swaying, I threw the bottle – it smashed on the back of the pantry door.
‘He’s getting angry again,’ a voice from the other side yelled. Then the door opened quickly and another bottle of red wine rolled inside and stopped at my hairy knee. Carlos sniffed it.
They were getting Tito drunk. This was probably cruel. I admit it was less cruel than killing him like Cold Rain suggested. But still. I mean, it was funny too, don’t get me wrong, but this was a cult of mind jumpers. Surely they could figure out a way to get rid of a gorilla? Maybe they were softening him up with wine first. Not on my watch.
I carefully reached down, picked up Carlos and let him scurry along my tree-trunk arm and perch on my shoulder. To him I must have seemed gigantic.
Right. It was time to leave. I stood, pressed my fists into the floor and got my balance straight. Then I dragged out a huge sack of potatoes.
These star swimmers were in every flavour of trouble now. I counted backwards, three … two … one.
I took a breath, then leapt forwards, ripping the door from its hinges and slamming it flat on to the ground like a matching card in a game of snap.
BANG. SNAP. WHAT’S ALL THIS?
The sight of a drunk silverback gorilla with a rat on its shoulder must have been shocking because the people in the kitchen just stared at me. There were three star swimmers – bald, white robes and scared faces. They were all just standing there. Stunned. No one knew what to do.
But then one of them stepped forwards and hit me over the head with a broom.
‘Urrgh.’
It was more annoying than painful. I turned to him, swaying a little. He looked truly sorry.
‘Nice gorilla,’ he whispered, holding up his hands.
Leaning sideways, I drew the sack of potatoes behind me like it was a baseball bat. Then, with a grunt, I swung it with everything I had. GRRR-BOOOF.
The man went flying across the huge kitchen, over the counter, knocking pots and pans and plates and thudding to a stop against the wall.
Another incredibly brave (stupid) one came forwards, so he also got dealt a powerful potato blow and off he went, spinning in a blur of white robes. I laughed – hahahargh – and heard a squeak of satisfaction by my ear. Tito was so outrageously strong – it was such an unfair fight. Also, I think alcohol makes gorillas more aggressive than normal, which is why this potato violence felt … well … it just felt right. Besides, it was self-defence. They started it.
The third and final guy stood in my way, holding a knife. A knife. Surely he’d run away, I thought. And yet he didn’t. I looked down at him, frowned and slowly shook my head. He was shivering with terror and, after a couple of seconds, the knife fell to the floor, bouncing on the tiles.
Then he stared back into my eyes, squinted and rubbed his temples. Ha. He was trying to mind jump into me. I guess you have to respect him for trying. There was a slight tingle on my forehead. It gave me goosebumps, the fur on my neck standing on end. So this is what it feels like, I thought. However, I could tell, as he was young and not particularly relaxed, that he didn’t stand a chance of breaking in.
But still, he was in my path. So I grabbed him by the scruff of his robe, pulled him close to my face and yelled, ‘GOOOOAAAH AAAAHHWAAAY!’ as loud as I could. Which is very, very loud.
And he fainted. Just turned to jelly in my hands. The little loser. I frowned. I was sort of annoyed. I wanted him to attack me so I had an excuse to throw him or dip him in the soup or whack him with the potatoes. Grunting, I gave him a shake. His head just jiggled and lolled about. Out cold. Seemed unfair to chuck him around now, so I just placed him carefully on the kitchen floor and patted him on the cheek.
The other two had got to their feet and, sensibly, limped away.
Stumbling against the wall for balance, I strode over to the tall fridge, grabbed the door but, instead of faffing about with the handle, I just slammed the whole thing on to its side. Milk, old salad leaves, a half-eaten chicken, broken eggs, all strewn across the tiles. Looked like the fridge had been sick. I reached inside and grabbed a wedge of cheese, took a bite, then rested it on my shoulder for Carlos.
I heard more of them outside the kitchen. Instead of fighting (which was tempting), I decided to leave via a large hole in the wall which was conveniently there after I threw the fridge at it a couple of times.
Back outside in the chilly night, I went round the side of the building to the bush. I leant low, reached inside and found Wise Earth’s journal. Holding it tight to my chest I ran back down the path towards the gate on my three remaining limbs.
‘There you are,’ Amy said, walking out from behind a tree. I skidded to a stop. ‘I take it that’s you, Chester? Hey, cool rat.’
‘Carlos, eeergh is Ameh. Ameh, eeergh is Carlos.’
She looked closely at the rat on my shoulder, then at the book under my arm. ‘Oh good, you’ve found Wise Earth’s journal.’
I nodded, holding it out for her. Then I froze.
Wait.
How did Amy know about the book?
She grabbed it, but I didn’t let go – she pulled, but I held it in place.
I glanced around for Detective Pepper and Silent Cameraman. But no. Amy was all alone. We just stared into each other’s eyes. Then, spinning like a grey leaf, a wispy pigeon feather fell slowly out of the tree behind her.
‘Give me the book, brave little lamb,’ she whispered.
This was getting out of hand. I was finding it hard enough keeping track of who I was – one minute I’m a rat, the next I’m a skinny teenage boy, then I’m a boozy gorilla. But now I had to deal with this too?
Standing under that tree in the Whispered Manor garden, in the shaded moonlight that made green things grey and grey things black, I could tell Amy wasn’t herself. This wasn’t Just Amy. This wasn’t Loser Amy. This was Completely New Amy, a.k.a. Cold Rain – the cheeky freak wasn’t even trying to hide in her mind.
Carlos squeaked on my shoulder – even he could tell something was wrong.
Seeing someone else control my sister was obviously creepy, but it also made me feel guilty about the times I had trespassed in her brain. It feels so weird having another consciousness thinking alongside yours – even someone cool like Carlos. But I can’t imagine how terrible it must be if you don’t want it to happen. Worse than someone reading your diary, or snooping through your phone. Thoughts are the one thing that should always be private.
Mind jumping is really dodgy. It’s not a game. Why didn’t someone warn me?
‘Listen, boy,’ Completely New Amy said. ‘It would be a shame if anything were to happen to me, don’t you think? An accident say? I could fall off something high, or perhaps trip on to the point of a sword?’
I grunted.
We were both still holding the journal. Tito and Amy face to face, neither one themselves.
Then I felt that familiar tingle at the front of my head – Cold Rain was trying to access the gorilla’s mind. It was like the star swimmer’s attempt in the kitchen, just a million times stronger. Still, I managed to resist. It’s almost impossible to describe this sensation – it’s a bit like the feeling when you’re straining to remember something, com
bined with that fuzzy head rush after you stand up too fast. You can kind of sense a slight presence pressing against your thoughts and you know, if you relax, it’ll get inside. It requires a lot of concentration to keep a good mind jumper out.
Amy sighed and the tingle disappeared. ‘Well played,’ she said. ‘As strong as your current form suggests. How interesting … I would remark upon this, but I know not of an adage for the stubborn lamb. What possible answers do you seek within those pages?’ She let go of the book. ‘Read it. Go on. If your heart beats hard for truth and soft for life, then peruse the words. It matters not to me.’
Was this a trick? All this hassle and now Cold Rain was just giving up?
Hesitating, but only once, I opened the book.
And all the pages were blank.
‘Wheeaargh?!’ I said, flicking through with my huge black thumbs.
There was just one single line on the first page, written in perfect cursive writing. Old-fashioned, the curly kind you write with one of those feathery fountain pen things. What are they called? A … a … qu …
‘Keep this journal,’ I read. ‘I will return to fill it with tales of redemption. And be warned, brother, I shall use your blood for ink if the grave is yet to claim you.’
Then it was signed, ‘Wise Earth’.
Confused, frustrated, I groaned and threw the book on the grass. All this for a short, meaningless message? This didn’t explain anything. This was just—
A quill. Ah, yeah, that’s it.
Completely New Amy picked the journal up off the ground, clutched it to her chest and walked back to the Whispered Manor. I watched her go, looking back up the front of that huge building with its tall spiked spires and glowing orange windows. The bricks seemed black now, fading out and up to nothing in the night sky. And above I noticed the stars – more than I had ever seen before. So many that, in some patches, they were like fog, like a cloud of glitter flicked across a ceiling that isn’t even there. I turned full circle, space arching over us, reflected perfectly in Carlos’s brown eyes. And the rat blinked. Even with all the anger and mystery, the trouble and sadness, a trillion stars continued to burn in peace.
