by Martyn Ford
BOOKS BY MARTYN FORD
The Imagination Box
The Imagination Box: Beyond Infinity
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2016 by Martyn Ford
Cover art copyright © 2017 by Steve Scott
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Originally published in paperback by Faber & Faber, London, in 2016.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 9781101936313 (trade) — ebook ISBN 9781101936320
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Contents
Cover
Books by Martyn Ford
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
About the Author
FOR TOP PARENTS, BARBARA AND MICK
Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited, whereas imagination embraces the entire world, stimulating progress, giving birth to evolution. It is, strictly speaking, a real factor in scientific research.
—ALBERT EINSTEIN
The Dawn Star Hotel’s sign was bold, glowing in the gray air. Heavy hats of fresh snow, orange under spotlights, sat atop it. The bronze D, in particular, was creaking under the weight—a small gust was all it took to dislodge the letter, causing it to lean and fall.
Inside, in reception, Elisa flinched at the deep thud. After a swift inspection outside, she stomped back through the hotel’s new revolving doors, shaking away the chill.
“The D snapped off,” she said. “The place is falling apart. I’m getting the builders to look at that too. It could have killed someone.”
“What’s that?” Tim said from the sofa in the lobby. He didn’t look up—his hand continued flowing left and right as he shaded a picture in his sketch pad.
“It’s just outrageous. ‘The awn Star Hotel’? What next?”
“The A?” Tim suggested, changing his pencil for another.
Unimpressed, Elisa disappeared through the tall oak doors, deeper into the building. Tim put his feet up on the small coffee table in front of him—tilting his head, inspecting his work. The hotel’s reception area was huge. In fact, you could probably fit an average-sized house in there and it wouldn’t touch the sides. Tim enjoyed a big room—it was as though the farther he could see, the more clearly he could think. This was never more so than at night when he would look up at the stars.
His thick sketch pad, perched on his lap, was opened to an incredibly detailed picture of a tortoise. Not just any tortoise, no—this was Astro-Turtle, the Shelled Cosmonaut. And it was good work, Tim thought, adding a final reflection to the turtle’s visor with the corner of his eraser. He’d drawn enough for today, so he shut the pad, put it under his arm, and headed for his bedroom.
In the hall, Tim was greeted by a ripping noise that echoed all the way to the stairwell. Two decorators were tugging up the last strips of carpet, the dust making him think of a vacuum cleaner as he resisted the brewing tickle of a sneeze.
The patterned carpet—on which Tim had spent much of his youth hopping up and down, pretending the red parts were lava and the spirals were stepping-stones—was going. It was to be replaced, he had been told, by well-polished floorboards. The hotel was growing up.
Not letting the demise of fond memories bother him too much, Tim went up to the second floor and into his bedroom—his sanctuary. It used to be just another guest suite, but aside from the layout, it was now unrecognizable as a hotel room. Colorful and messy, it was decorated and cobbled together with artwork and things he had created in his Imagination Box: his clapper lamp, his glow-in-the-dark clock, the bubble machine, Merry Monkey Circus (a dollhouse-sized tent of fun for Phil), and everything in between.
You see, during last year’s summer vacation, a man named Professor George Eisenstone had stayed at the Dawn Star Hotel. As a consequence of being pretty curious, Tim had found his invention: the Imagination Box. This was, basically, a gadget that created whatever the user was imagining. Things like, say, a pencil or party poppers or a self-aware, talking finger monkey named Phil. Pop the reader (a hat-type thing that downloaded your thoughts) on your noggin, picture what you want, and, bam, there it was. Tim had even used the contraption to create his own Imagination Box. Clever. Like wishing for more wishes. To date, however, he was still the only person who could successfully operate the device.
Some other stuff had happened too. There was a jetpack, some goo, a few robotic bees, the occasional explosion, and even a monster at one point. Now, though, things had simmered down and normality was the order of the day. Good old-fashioned, monotonous normality.
Elisa, who ran the hotel, was reverting to some of her old ways too. There had been a distance between Tim and her in the past, and the summer’s events had certainly brought them closer. Even though he would now refer to her as his mother if someone asked—something he never used to do, as he was adopted—she would still sometimes appear detached and hopelessly preoccupied with managing the hotel. And her partner, Chris, was just as absent as always.
Elisa’s newest focus, and therefore source of sustained stress, was the refurbishment of the Dawn Star. However, her frenzied renovations hadn’t infected Tim’s bedroom—it was just as it had always been. This really was his cave. A place that would always be his, would always—
BANG! The door swung open. Elisa waddled in backward, holding a large cardboard box with candlesticks and plates and other such clutter jutting out at wild angles.
“Tim,” she huffed, setting it down. “We’re going to put a couple of things in here while we wallpaper the top floors. I hope that’s all right.”
This was not all right. “What about all the other space in this huge building?” Tim asked.
“We can’t give up a guest room—you know we need the money.”
“I see.”
Tim was not happy with this idea, but he knew she was unlikely to change her mind. Once she had an idea in her head, Elisa was unstoppable. Although he understood she generally meant well, it still sometimes felt like the Dawn Star was her number one priority. Meaning Tim came in a close second.
“It’ll only be for a few days, and only a couple of things.” She paused in the doorway, looking back. “Is that all right?”
“You’ve kind of already started.” He pointed to the first box.
“Great, I’ll let the boys know.”
Within half an hour, Tim’s room was full. New corridors had been created by bulging boxes—care
fully constructed pathways of floor. He had a narrow route to his bed, his desk, his door, and his window. Every other inch of space was occupied.
His sanctuary had become Elisa’s dumping ground.
Sandwiched in his bed, Tim didn’t sleep well—it was the last night of the Christmas vacation, and the Sunday blues kept him clinging on to the last few hours of freedom. And when the faded rays of winter sun cut a square around his curtains, his unusual alarm was activated….
“Goooood morning,” Phil sang loudly, clicking along with his tiny fingers. “Young Timothy, it’s time for you to rise. Oh, such a wonderful, glorious day.”
Tim grumbled into his pillow. “What tune is that?”
“I have made it up,” the finger monkey continued to sing. “Made it up to wake, wake, waaa-aake you up.”
“No,” Tim moaned. “It has to stop.”
“Wooo-ah—we’re halfway there…Wooo-ah—wrestling grizzly bears.”
“This song doesn’t even make sense. I am awake.”
Phil deflated. “Are you not enjoying it?”
“It’s just…terrible. Deranged. Maybe even offensive.”
“Oh,” Phil said. “It was merely my heartfelt way of saying good morning.” He bowed.
“Is it really, though?” At times like this, Tim wondered why he hadn’t created Phil to be the kind of creature that liked sleeping in.
“Yes, of course, Timothy. Back to school today,” he said, pacing along the bedside cabinet. “Where is your zest for life, sir? Why are you not more excited?”
“Reasons beside disliking early mornings and disliking school?”
“But school is a wonderful place, full of intrigue and knowledge, things to see, things to learn, things—”
“You have no idea what it is like. It’s not all sunshine and sing-alongs,” Tim said. “It’s easy for you to be so optimistic—you can just think of a rainbow and you’re in a good mood.”
“Now you are dramatically oversimplifying the nuanced, introspective correlation….” A broad smile spread across Phil’s face.
“You’re thinking about rainbows, aren’t you?”
“They are just so colorful, and strange,” the monkey yelled, grinning with teeth. “Ponder them. Go on. Heavens, how do they even work?”
“Refraction.”
“Tim!” Elisa shrieked through his door. “Are you awake? Tim—”
“Yes, I’m awake!” he shouted. “I’m awake. I’m so very awake,” he said, whispering now.
He got up and dressed in his new school blazer, then slung his backpack over his shoulder. It was still early enough for the hands on his clock to glow.
“Right,” Tim said. “I’ve got to go.”
Phil was sitting on the desk, distracted by his own knees. “So, so useful.”
Rolling his eyes and smiling, Tim left the room. He made his way downstairs and paused in the hallway with a sigh.
The carpet was now completely gone.
Nodding to himself, he continued. He had to be careful, because these weren’t just normal floorboards—no, this was the deck of a vast ship, a frigate, and a storm was a-brewin’. He steadied himself on the handrail as waves thrashed and roared up at his sides, great cliffs of black water blocked the horizon, and salty spray rained down on him as fellow pirates rallied around the ropes and secured the sail. They needed to…Oh, what’s the point, Tim thought, looking down at his feet.
This was just a regular wooden floor.
It was quiet in the lobby. However, outside, a man wearing a black leather jacket was standing perfectly still in the light snow, staring through the window into the hotel. Perhaps a potential guest, Tim reasoned.
“The bus is going to be here in three minutes, Tim,” Elisa said, tugging on his tie. “What is…what kind of knot is this?” She undid it, then started looping it back around.
Tim wasn’t paying much attention—instead, he was looking over her shoulder at that man, who was making eye contact now. He had the strangest expression on his face, as though he were sleepwalking or something.
“You know that guy?” Tim said, shuffling out of his view.
“What’s that?”
“That…man. Behind you.”
When she turned, however, he was gone. “There’s no one there.”
“I…” That’s weird, Tim thought, double-checking through the glass.
“Got your math book?” Elisa said, bringing his gaze back.
“Yes.”
“Lunch money?” Now she was interfering with his collar.
“Yes.”
“Pencil case?”
“Yes.”
“Did you do your science homework?”
Tim’s eyes widened. “Um…yes?”
“Oh, Tim,” Elisa sighed. “One piece of homework over Christmas, one piece.”
She was right. One piece, so easy and so straightforward Tim hadn’t even needed to worry about it. Or think about it. Or remember it. Or do it.
“How long until the bus gets here?” he asked, placing his bag on the floor.
“Two minutes now.”
“Plenty of time.”
Tim turned and barreled down the corridor—the wood was charmless, and loud, under his feet. Three stairs at a time, yanking at the banister, up to his room. Straight to his cupboard, straight to his Imagination Box. He put the reader on, the hat that would extract his thoughts and send his creation to the contraption, then closed his eyes as the box gently rumbled and fizzled away.
“Bye, Phil,” Tim said, whipping the freshly cooked homework from the sleek metal device. Back in the lobby, he swung his bag onto his shoulder and made for the exit.
Elisa spotted the sheet of paper, realizing what he’d done. “I’m pretty sure that’s cheating.”
“Is it?” Tim said, stepping backward.
“Well, it’ll be interesting to see what mark you get,” she said.
Tim laughed, pressing himself into the swivel door. “I imagine I’ll get an A.”
The following morning, Tim stepped off the bus and headed through the front gates of Glassbridge Academy—the high wrought-iron railings and cobblestones that conjured images of an old-fashioned prison. He passed a cluster of disproportionately tall, dim-faced juniors huddled in a circle.
Today his bag was particularly heavy, as it contained something that it most certainly should not have contained—his Imagination Box. Swallowing, he glared at fellow pupils and the staff as he went, trying his best not to appear suspicious. The decision to bring the contraption into school had not been made lightly. In fact, the day before, he had given it a great deal of thought….
Tim’s vision had been falling in and out of focus. Sitting at the back of the classroom, by the window, he had been leaning in his chair, enjoying long, teary-eyed yawns.
“Well done, Jeremy,” Mrs. Willis had said, placing a sheet of paper on a desk at the front of the room. “Simon, Vanessa, Thomas,” she’d continued, dropping work on each table as she went. “Good efforts all round.”
His tall teacher had stopped in front of Tim, tilting her folder and looking over the rims of her thick black glasses. Tim waited, growing ever so slightly nervous. This had been a last-ditch attempt, this homework he’d quickly imagined into existence. It was only then, when Mrs. Willis was about to deliver the marked paper to him, that he started to wonder whether it could be passed off as his work. He silently wished he’d actually read it before handing it in….
“…And, Tim,” she said, sounding confused, “you got…one hundred percent. Well done.”
He nodded, pleased to have gotten away with it, despite his suspicious mark. Generally, when he remembered to do his homework, Tim’s score would be slightly above average, but rarely this good. He was described by more than one teacher as “full of potential.” This, Tim concluded, was a positive way of saying he could, and therefore should, do better at school.
But the fact was, school wasn’t that much fun. Even art, Tim’s fa
vorite subject, had its downsides. When tasked with drawing something, he felt a sudden urge to draw literally anything else. Especially when it was a choice between sketching some apples and bananas on the desk or, say, a demon-biker hedgehog-wizard named Sir Nicholas of Fiddleberry.
The words “This is very good, Tim. However…” appeared at the bottom of almost every picture in his school sketch pad.
Tim turned to the window and flinched—hand flying to his heart—when he saw Mr. Muldoon standing there, looking right at him. Hesitating, Tim waved, then returned his attention to the desk. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the head teacher wander off across the playground. He briefly wondered if he had something on his face—this was the second time someone had stared at him like that. It was getting creepy.
Slightly unsettled, Tim slipped back into his thoughts. Now…Now, this revelation, this way of getting good—no, great, no, perfect grades with virtually no effort would change things forever. He hadn’t even considered using the Imagination Box to do his homework before, but it seemed so obvious. Another cunning idea had sparked in his head—what if he did all his schoolwork in the Imagination Box? Of course, that’d mean bringing it in his bag, which had been expressly forbidden. Although Elisa and Chris knew about the device, and about Phil, there were still very strict rules about it being kept secret from the rest of the world. Professor Eisenstone had told him never to take it from his bedroom, let alone out of the building.
He shook the thought away and decided, there in the classroom, that he mustn’t. There was no way he could, it was too wrong. It was breaking too many rules. However, during that first grueling Monday—when the clock’s ticks seemed to be slowing down as the day went on—Tim steadily changed his mind. As long as he was extra careful, he told himself, then it’d be just fine and dandy.
