by Cliff McNish
Inside the knight’s room everyone – young and old, alive and dead – instinctively held each other. Janey put her arms around the ghost children, as naturally a part of them as she had always been.
Outside, the leaves of the massed trees heaved. Many shapes they formed, framed by branches. Only Cullayn recognised those shapes, because they dwelled entirely and solely in his own nightmares. It was all a game being played, just a game – one of Cullayn’s very own – but even the best games have to end. And finally the hunting ground chose that end. It selected the longest path a wounded victim had ever had to crawl on Cullayn’s slope, and, in a final heart-stopping shriek it did not even allow the owner to complete, it made him dance along it until he was gone.
It was over. The trees stilled, relaxing into themselves again. Birds rose skyward, their beaks dipped in silence. Beneath them, the cleansed oak trees, dappled in sunshine, wrapped themselves in evening dew.
27
A MILDEWED BENCH
A week later, once the worst of Dad’s injuries were mending, and Elliott’s cheekbone had been set, and everyone living and dead could do so, they gathered in the warmth of a late summer evening in September on the western lawns of the Glebe estate.
The western lawns were the finest of the venerable old property. Glebe House had possessed gardens long before Cullayn arrived, and they had been laid by people who loved to grow things, and though the grass was now patchy and waist-high, tree saplings sprouting everywhere, and most of the garden ornaments falling to pieces (Dad still hadn’t found a single one of the gnomes), the quality of the original landscape gardeners’ vision remained. Never more so than to the ghost children. They had witnessed the grounds in their golden years, and remembered them that way still.
It was a sultry day. Summer cumulous had built all afternoon in the heat haze, but now the sky was a smooth ceramic blue.
Elliott stood with the others. With sleeves rolled up, he stared at the East Wing, giving it his full attention.
Something special was about to happen. Dad had managed to persuade the owners of Glebe House that the East Wing was an eyesore that reduced the estate’s value. The owners were only interested in selling it, and when he offered to take care of the problem for a modest fee a deal was done.
To bring down a building Dad normally used a straightforward wrecking ball. He’d been toying with something economical and sensible like that for the East Wing as well, but he was glad when both Ben and Elliott came to him early in the planning stage to request something slightly more spectacular.
‘I want it to be exactly like a bomb going off,’ Ben said.
‘Yeah, it needs to be impressive,’ Elliott agreed. ‘Flames. Lots of flames. Portraits on fire flying out of the building, that sort of thing.’
‘Mm,’ Dad mused. ‘Of course I’ll have to place the portraits on the outer walls to create that effect. But I guess that’s not impossible. Any more requests?’
Ben beamed. ‘I want to be the one who blows it up.’
‘You OK with that?’ Dad asked Elliott.
‘Sure,’ Elliott said. ‘As long as I can drive the tractor that wrecks its foundations.’
‘It’s illegal for you to drive a piece of machinery like that,’ Dad told him. ‘You’re underage. Unless …’ he pretended to sort through papers ‘ … I’ve somehow got your date of birth wrong.’
‘You have,’ Elliott said. ‘I’m legal to drive anything. I’m seventeen.’
Dad peered at the East Wing, then back at Elliott. He gazed at his son’s cheek, still full of temporary pins holding it together.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You are.’
*
It was an enormous pleasure for Janey, assisted by Elliott, to hoist the hydraulic drill up to her shoulder and punch the first holes into the East Wing’s walls for the explosives. A demolition team then rigged the building to blow, using special shaped charges to make sure it did not damage the main house.
The last act was to carefully remove the tapestry of the knight. Elliott undertook this with Janey, and they were watched as they did so by Eve and Theo. Like the other ghost children they had stayed behind, and for the last few days Janey had been their go-between in many conversations with the living. At first talks were halting as everyone felt their way towards an understanding despite all the years between them, but they soon got over that, and now there was nothing the children, living and dead, did not know about each other.
With the sun now hanging low in the sky, Ben stood beside the plunger, gripping the handle. Theo, Eve and the other children were next to him, adding ghostly weight to his hand. The plunger was linked by neat wires to explosive devices. They were only waiting to be triggered.
Dad gave Janey the nod. Smiling, she wiped a grey curl out of her eyes, and quietly said, ‘Now.’
Seven sets of hands lowered the plunger.
For a moment nothing happened. It looked as though the signal to the charges had been jammed, and everyone collectively held their breaths.
Then they picked up the internal crump of the first detonations. It was one of the most beautiful sounds any of them had ever heard.
Milliseconds later the entire front portion of the East Wing blasted into the sky.
‘Whoa!’ Ben cried, as hundreds of the owner’s portraits spewed outward in three directions, sheets of fire ripping through their canvases, and for one glorious and surreal moment the air was loaded with the tang of ancient linseed oil, paint and preservative fluids.
Then came the furniture. In a great blaze curtains burned, bathroom mirrors cracked and beds roasted in their own linen. Unseen by any of them, the East Wing’s rich burgundy carpet blackened and fused to the floorboards. The brass handles, clinging to the doors, began to melt.
No one could take their eyes from the destruction. Ben stood there, his hand still on the plunger, with Elliott and Janey beside him, and all around them the sky turned a dirty, indistinct orange. But it was not over yet. Dad had arranged a finale. Ten late charges detonated, and suddenly the corridor walls, which had held so many prisoners inside the East Wing, imploded and then exploded. Sparks burst up like swarms of fireflies through the gaps, and with a shivering whoosh the roof collapsed.
For two or three perfect minutes it was like the middle of the night as a pall of reeking smoke rose up and up. Then, with tongues of flame still curling inside the ruin of the East Wing, it was over.
*
Everyone turned away from the destruction. Instead, they looked at Eve. Elliott realised that she was trying to mouth sorry to them all. But the time for apologies was over. Janey pressed her hand, and it was Janey, not anyone else, who, opening her arms, said to all the ghost children, ‘And now you can go.’
They gazed at her, blinking uncertainly. It wasn’t an easy thing Janey was asking. Alice, Leo, Nell and Sam had been here for so much time that they had almost forgotten what was waiting for them on the other side.
‘It’s all right,’ Janey said. ‘Didn’t I say that if we waited for long enough something wonderful would happen?’
The ghost children smiled. There was no sense of being rushed. There was time for embracing and for kisses. And then, once they were ready, it was Sam Cosgrove who took the lead. He rose up, high over the burning remnants of the East Wing, and made a long, slow circle over what had been the hunting ground. Now that Cullayn was gone the slope and the trees had returned to what they had been all along: a beautiful wooded upland, a place for butterflies and meadow-grass.
For a few minutes the other ghost children watched Sam flying overhead. Then Alice, Leo and Nell joined him and the four of them drew together, holding hands in a line and disappearing one at a time quietly over the horizon.
Theo and Eve remained. There was an awkward moment when no one knew what to say.
‘What do you want us to do with your diary?’ Ben asked at last, and everyone laughed.
‘Publish it,’ Theo said, grinning. ‘Thank you,’ he sai
d to them all and, beside him, Eve nodded, clutching her brother’s arm tighter.
Elliott took a deep breath and stepped forward. As he did so he automatically put out his arm to shake Theo’s hand, then realised he couldn’t. Theo laughed, raised his own hand in a half-salute instead, and glanced behind him.
Something was beckoning. A warm gusting wind.
‘It’s OK,’ Janey said in the softest of voices to Theo. ‘You really can leave, you know. If you’re ready.’
At that, Theo nodded to her, and suddenly the breeze that was not from the garden became stronger and wilder, stirring his hair. Feeling it, the living stepped back, knowing its passion was not for them. But, before the wind could take Theo, Janey couldn’t help herself – she rushed into his arms. She kissed him and he kissed her old, wrinkled face back, and they held each other, and something was said between them that would always be theirs alone.
Then Theo suddenly laughed, picked Eve up and whirled her round. As she rose from the ground Theo caught her hand and, never letting go of it, led her away across the grass. They walked at first, and then a breeze picked them up and they drifted quietly southwards, skirting the graveyard. They were visible for a long time, and Theo kept looking back at Elliott and Janey. But finally Eve managed to turn his head, and Theo gazed towards the empty sky and clutched Eve, and together they rushed away to meet the future at last.
*
With the embers of the East Wing still coiling with smoke behind them, Janey faced Dad, Ben and Elliott. The sun was beginning to set.
‘Do you need any help?’ Dad said hesitantly to her. ‘Practical support, I mean. I can help find you a place away from here, if that’s what you want …’
‘Oh, I think I’ll be all right,’ Janey replied with a grin. ‘I’m used to looking after myself.’
‘There must be something we can do for you,’ Ben said.
Janey smiled. ‘Nothing. Truly there isn’t. Not one thing. You’ve already given more than I could ever have believed. More than I should have asked for.’
Elliott leaned heavily on his left side. His knee still hurt. ‘But what will you do?’ he asked, worried for her. ‘I mean, without the ghost children to keep you company? Won’t you be lonely?’
Janey gave all three of them a smile that was as warm as strawberries in sunshine.
‘Actually, I’ve made a few plans,’ she confided. ‘Nothing much, but there’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. And, well, if you don’t mind, I thought I might as well begin now …’
Janey’s hand rose to Elliott’s cheek. She left it there for a long time.
Then she turned away from Elliott, Ben and Dad and began to walk away across the western lawns.
A large expanse of grass stretched ahead of her.
Janey strode towards the graveyard. Reaching it, she touched four of the headstones. Soft mosses crumbled against her dry fingers.
In the distance the smoking ruins of the East Wing were still crackling with fire. Janey watched for a while. Then she bent towards a bush. Late-blooming roses poked through its leaves. Smiling, Janey fixed a red rose to a buttonhole in her dress. Then she glanced towards a mildewed wooden bench. It sat like a neglected, lonely thing at the southern end of the graveyard.
Walking across to the bench, Janey sat down. She reached into a pocket of her dress and took out a paperback book. Read a page or two. Slowly lowered the book again.
Stared around.
Peered in all directions.
The graveyard was entirely empty.
In the west, the sun started sinking below the horizon. It would be dark soon, but if she had no disruptions Janey thought she might just have time to polish off the first couple of chapters, maybe more.
She brought the book back up to read. It was an excellent book. A racy thriller.
Crossing her knees, she became quite engrossed.
Nothing interrupted her.
Twenty minutes later, when Elliott checked from the kitchen window of Glebe House, Janey and her bench looked like a joined silhouette against a darkening sky.
Janey read and read.
When the natural light faded, she went back to her own house in the village. But she didn’t stay there. She returned to the graveyard, snugly wrapped in a practical woollen jumper and carrying a flask of tea. She sat back down on the bench, placing the flask beside her.
She pulled the jumper over her narrow shoulders.
She switched on a bright torch.
It was a warm evening. A good evening for staying out late.
Long past midnight, when Elliott checked on her again, Janey was still reading happily.
COPYRIGHT
AN ORION CHILDREN’S EBOOK
First published in Great Britain in 2011 by Orion Children’s Books.
This eBook first published in 2011 by Orion Children’s Books.
Copyright © Cliff McNish 2011
The right of Cliff McNish to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the copyright, designs and patents act 1988.
Lines from the QUANTUM GRAVITY series by Justina Robson are used with the kind permission of the author.
All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978 1 4440 03697
Orion Children’s Books
The Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Orion House
5 Upper St Martin’s Lane
London WC2H 9EA
An Hachette UK Company
www.orionbooks.co.uk
