by V M Jones
And at last she shot me her special zillion-dollar grin. ‘Hi, Adam. Thank goodness you’re here. Boy, do we need you!’
It was great to see the others again, but I hardly had time for more than a grin for the girls and a high five and sweaty handshake for Rich and Jamie before we were set to work, the girls in the kitchen helping Nanny, us boys rearranging the computer room for the TV shoot. Shaw was in charge; he gave me a shrewd look and a brief ‘Adam, good ter see yer.’ But for once I had a feeling I could tell what was behind his broad, impassive face: there was more he wanted to say. I was right. It wasn’t long before he took me aside, supposedly to help carry some water jugs and bowls of peppermints into the library for the press conference.
‘So, Adam,’ he rumbled, ‘wot’s all this about Usherwood, then?’
I shrugged awkwardly, shuffling my feet. ‘I dunno,’ I mumbled. ‘It’s weird. She’s … fostering me or something, I guess.’
‘That’s wot I ’eard,’ said Shaw grimly. ‘Though not from ’er, mind. Odd, ain’t it? ’Oo’d ’ave thought Usherwood was the broody type? Now listen ter me, Adam: you ’ave any problems — any worries at all, mind — and you come straight ter me. Right?’
I looked up into his deep-set dark eyes and nodded. ‘Yeah,’ I told him. ‘I will. But don’t worry, Shaw — I’m sure Ms Usherwood means well …’ But even I could hear the doubt in my voice. Shaw shook his big head dubiously, and laid a heavy hand on my shoulder for a moment.
Then there was the sound of an engine outside, and car doors slamming. The press had descended — and from then on it was all action.
Q reappeared, shepherded by Usherwood, dressed to the nines in a starched white shirt, shiny-looking black suit and black bow tie. He looked miserably uncomfortable, and kept tugging at the tie — which was already creeping round so the bow was under his ear — and fiddling unhappily with his specs, which for once were sparkling clean.
What seemed like a battalion of men and women with tape recorders, microphones and notepads disappeared behind the library door, which was firmly shut. ‘The press conference will take place first,’ Usherwood had informed us earlier, ‘and your presence is not required. You will be involved in the television segment, however — there’ll be a brief interview with Q, and then a sequence of shots involving all or some of you in front of the computer. Just do as you’re told and don’t fidget.’
We waited in a nervous huddle by my desk in the computer room. All the other tables had been moved over to the sides of the room to make space for what Usherwood mysteriously called ‘the equipment’.
‘I’ve never been on TV before,’ admitted Rich with a bashful grin. ‘I hope we don’t have to say anything.’
‘Don’t worry, Rich — just be natural,’ advised Jamie, who was looking anything but natural in a pale grey suit and tie. ‘I’ve been on TV heaps of times — well, once. They were interviewing kids from my school about our views on the future of education —’
‘Shhhh, Jamie — here they come!’ hissed Gen, with a little squiggle of excitement. Into the room marched Usherwood, Q trailing reluctantly behind her with a strange man in smart grey slacks, a jacket and a tie.
‘The reporter,’ Jamie whispered. Behind them came Shaw and a scruffy-looking guy in jeans, hiking boots and a T-shirt, both almost hidden under a mountain of equipment. ‘That’s the cameraman,’ breathed Jamie reverently. ‘Bet you can’t guess how much one of those cameras costs! It —’
But we never got to find out, because the cameraman gave us a grin and a wink and said cheerfully, ‘So: you kids are the real stars of the show, eh? Come on over here and give me a hand with these lights!’
As I helped the cameraman — whose name was Carl — plug in the two tall free-standing lights and position them, I listened with half an ear to the reporter briefing Q. ‘I’ll start off by setting the scene, Mr Quested — then we’ll switch to you, and I’ll run through some basic questions — the title of the game; as much as you’re prepared to say about the content; how long it took you to write; any problems along the way … nothing tricky. When we edit later on back at the studio, we’ll intersperse the interview sequence with shots of the children turning on the computer and loading the game for the first time … the aim is to build up a story in pictures. Carl will want to film four or five shots of the same bit of action from different perspectives … but he’ll have a chat to the kids about that shortly. Now, are we ready?’
Q nodded unhappily, tugging at his tie. Rich lowered himself back-to-front on my computer chair to watch the fun, grinning broadly. The chair gave a loud squeak as he settled more comfortably, and Usherwood glared at him. ‘There’s no need for you children to be here,’ she said crisply. ‘Q will feel more at ease without an audience, I’m sure. Out you go!’
‘Oh, but Usherwood —’ began Gen pleadingly.
‘Ms Usherwood to you, Genevieve,’ she snapped, holding the door open. I sighed and led the way out into the passage. Even a short time in the company of my newly appointed guardian had taught me that arguing would be a waste of breath.
As I’d expected, we couldn’t hear a thing through the thick wooden door. ‘I’ve been dying to find out about that new game,’ Jamie complained. ‘And now I guess we’ll have to wait till the news tonight, just like everyone else! It doesn’t seem fair, when we’re the ones who’ve actually been to Karazan, and we’re right on the spot, here at Quested Court —’
The door popped open and Carl the cameraman poked his head round. ‘OK, kids,’ he said cheerily. ‘That was short and sweet. You’re up next. Let’s hope we can pad it out a bit with some really exciting visuals. Now,’ he went on, putting his hands on his hips and inspecting us with a mock frown, ‘we’ll need a driver for the computer. Who’s volunteering to be the one to press the magic button?’
‘I will!’ said Jamie instantly, raising a pudgy hand. ‘I’ve got the most experience — I’ve been on TV before. And I don’t mind saying a few words, if you’d —’
‘Hmmm … I think not, young man; we’ll use you to add a bit of … background interest.’ His cellphone rang, and he answered it with an apologetic smile. ‘Yeah, all under way. Right on schedule. No problems.’ The phone went back into his pocket; then: ‘You.’ To my horror he pointed decisively at me. ‘You’ll do just fine. Sit down in the chair and pull it up in front of the box. That’s the ticket. Now: I want the rest of you grouped round — what’s your name, son?’
‘Adam,’ I muttered reluctantly.
‘Grouped round Adam, as if he’s been given the game for his birthday and you’re all his mates, just dying to watch him open it for the first time. Ms Usherwood —’ she hurried forward — ‘pass over the cover of the game, would you? I’ll set it up beside the computer; we’ll start with a close-up of it, then pull focus to a wide shot; then another close-up of Adam’s hands on the keyboard …’
His voice rattled on, but I didn’t hear a word. I was staring at the shiny cardboard sleeve covering the box of Q’s new computer game. I’d seen the covers of the other five games, and they were all super-cool — they had a kind of magnetism that would make them stand out anywhere, even in a shop crammed full of computer games. This one was even more awesome than the others … but it had an ominous, sinister quality that filled me with a sickening sense of foreboding.
In the background was a towering, many-turreted castle set high on a mountain peak. Not Shakesh — I saw that at once. While Shakesh had been squat and brooding, this castle’s turrets were like long, skeletal fingers clutching at the sky … a sky bulbous with purple clouds like tumorous growths, shot through with vicious forks of jagged lightning.
Behind the castle, so huge it almost filled the sky, was a massive face. It was faint and shadowy, like a face in a dream. You didn’t even see it at first … but once you had, you couldn’t see anything else. The skin had the grey pallor of a corpse, the dark hair under the twisted crown blending into the gloom of the surrounding sky. The mo
uth was thin and cruel. And the eyes … the eyes were staring and bloodshot, and seemed to be boring straight into my soul. I barely saw the five small figures in the foreground of the picture, silhouetted against the menacing sky; barely saw the name of the game, emblazoned in bold scarlet letters over the dark plain at the foot of the mountain:
POWER QUEST TO KARAZAN
My whole being was focused on that shadowy face; those hungry, searching eyes.
Incredibly — impossibly — it was the face of King Karazeel.
A message from another world
It couldn’t be.
I knew that the whole history of Karazan — King Zane and Queen Zaronel and evil King Karazeel, and a past that stretched back thousands of years before them — was part of what Q called ‘spontaneous evolution’, a process I sensed even Q didn’t fully understand. Basically, it meant that Karazan had developed into a real world, with heaps of stuff in it even Q didn’t know about. Q hadn’t invented King Karazeel: he’d simply happened, in the separate dimension that was Karazan. And Q hadn’t ever been to Karazan. So how had Karazeel’s face got onto the cover of the game?
Jamie’s elbow connected painfully with my ribs. ‘Adam — wake up! If you’re going to be the star of the show, you might at least pay attention!’
‘You OK, son? You look a bit green about the gills. No need to be nervous — there’s nothing to it. Like I was saying before, all I want you to do is reach over and turn the computer on. I’ve already done a quick test run and made one or two adjustments to the camera, so we won’t have any problems with strobing when we film the screen. While it’s doing its stuff just sit quietly. That’s when we’ll slot in some footage of Mr Quested. Once the booting up’s finished, I want you to reach out for the mouse, nice and slow. Don’t mind me — pretend I’m not even there. Move the cursor to the Power Quest icon and click. I’ll shoot the intro sequence — from what Mr Quested tells us, it’s pretty spectacular. Then we’ll cut, and do the whole thing over again. All clear?’ He gave me an encouraging grin and positioned himself behind the camera; then his cellphone rang again, and he turned away to answer it.
‘Adam?’ Kenta was looking at me with a worried frown. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’
The cameraman was talking rapidly into the phone, sounding hassled. ‘Couple more minutes — say ten, fifteen tops — and it’s a wrap. Right. Yes, dammit, we’re moving along as fast as we can!’ Scowling, he snapped the cellphone shut and dropped in back in his pocket. ‘Sorry, kids, we’re running out of time. Busy schedule. Now, Adam: all set?’
‘I — I don’t know!’ I said desperately. I pushed away from the table, my eyes searching for Q. I needed to talk to him …
There he was, hovering like a proud parent. He gave me an encouraging beam. ‘Just you wait, Adam!’ he called over. ‘Go on, my boy — turn it on!’
‘Yes — come along, son.’ The cameraman was starting to sound impatient. ‘We haven’t got all day!’
I pulled my chair back into position and sat staring at the blank screen. I was conscious of the others grouped round me, bright, artificial looks of excitement on their faces. ‘Ready to go?’ asked the cameraman.
‘I guess,’ I croaked.
‘Rolling.’ Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little red light on the camera blink on. This was it. As if in slow motion, I reached out my hand and pressed the switch on the side of the computer. Stared at the screen as the familiar words flashed across it. Usually, it took forever. But today it seemed only seconds before the last line scrolled up into blackness, and the screen flickered to a marbled blue background with the icons of the six games in the Karazan series arranged in sequence. Relax, Adam, I told myself. What can possibly go wrong? Open the game; get this whole drama over with. Then you can talk to Q — there’ll be some kind of logical explanation, you’ll see.
I reached out my right hand and cupped it over the mouse. Moved the mouse a fraction, so the arrow was directly over the Power Quest icon.
Took a deep breath, and clicked.
The screen flicked into darkness, softly diffusing into a momentary glimpse of a road winding away into swirling mist. What could have been a flute played half a bar of eerie, other-worldly music … then there was a sudden electronic ping, and the screen went totally black.
Nobody moved. We all stared at the blank screen, fake smiles plastered in place. I guess deep down we were all hoping it was supposed to happen that way — part of Q’s stunningly original opening sequence.
Then a tiny dot of light appeared in the very centre of the screen. As we watched, it grew gradually bigger, coming slowly out of the screen towards us. Soon I could see that it wasn’t a dot at all, but a line. And then I saw that it wasn’t a line, but words, arranged in two sentences, one above the other.
But it was only when it stopped in the centre of the screen, large enough for us all to read, that I saw it wasn’t sentences after all. It was random words arranged in two lines, and they didn’t make any kind of sense — except for the last two.
stand
take
to
King
we
you
throw
Karazeel
That’s when I knew for sure that things had gone terribly wrong.
I looked at Q. His proud beam was still frozen in place; his bow tie had come undone, straggling untidily down the front of his shirt. Somehow the top button had come adrift, and was dangling by a thread.
He took two small, stumbling steps forward. ‘This isn’t possible,’ he croaked.
‘Is it … part of the game?’ quavered Gen.
‘Cut!’ barked the reporter. ‘What’s going on?’ He didn’t sound pleased.
‘What’s happening, Q?’ Usherwood hurried up, a tense frown in place. She took one look at the screen, and the frown deepened. ‘Q, I thought you said —’
‘This isn’t possible,’ Q repeated numbly.
‘What isn’t possible? Has something gone wrong?’ asked the cameraman.
‘It can’t have,’ said Q.
‘Well, it seems that it has,’ snapped Usherwood. ‘And you promised me —’
The cameraman’s cellphone went again. He punched a button, growled ‘Go away!’ and snapped it shut. ‘Now: what’s the story here? What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you said stunning visuals, Mr Quested. Or do they come later?’ He glanced at his watch.
‘Now, Carl,’ crooned Usherwood, ‘I’m sure Mr Quested can sort this small hiccup out in a moment. Can’t you, Q?’ Her voice was sweet as honey, but it didn’t fool anyone.
Q hustled forward. ‘Yes; yes, of course. If you’ll excuse me, Adam …’ I jumped up so he could have the chair. He stared at the screen for a second in disbelief, shaking his head. His expression was one of complete bewilderment. ‘This is quite literally impossible,’ he muttered, raising his fingers above the keyboard like a concert pianist preparing to play. His hands were shaking.
There was absolute silence. I expected him to start typing; do a quick fix on whatever was wrong and have us all back on track in moments, like Usherwood had said. But all he did was tap one key with his left index finger: the key on the top left of the keyboard.
Escape.
Nothing happened.
He tapped again, decisively; and again. Tap … tap. Shook his head. ‘I … really, I don’t think you can have any idea …’ He tried one last time. TAP!
Nothing changed.
‘Well,’ he said, his voice trembling slightly, ‘I suppose there’s only one thing for it. When all else fails …’ He pressed the Alt key; then Control and Delete, at the same time. I didn’t know much about computers, but I did know what that command was for: to restart your computer if it was hopelessly stuck.
But this time, it did nothing at all.
The impossible truth
A few minutes later the five of us were still huddled round the computer with Q — but now, we were alone. The TV crew had packed
their gear and left, Usherwood hovering behind them making hopeful noises about ‘rescheduling at a future date’.
When the door closed behind them, we all heaved a huge sigh of relief.
‘Now, Q,’ Kenta said gently, ‘sit down quietly and try to relax. Explain to us what you think has gone wrong.’
‘Will it take long to fix?’ asked Rich, ever practical.
‘Might it mean postponing the release date, d’you think?’ asked Jamie with a worried frown.
Gen didn’t say anything — she was staring at the computer screen. As for me — I was watching Q, and the look on his face filled me with dread.
‘It’s more than that, isn’t it, Q?’ I said slowly. Some deep instinct told me it all linked in somehow with the shadowy picture of King Karazeel on the cover of the game … ‘Q,’ I began, ‘the picture —’
‘Hang on a minute, Adam,’ said Gen urgently. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes very bright. ‘Those words on the screen, Q — did you write them?’
Q shook his head numbly.
‘Well then,’ said Rich, ‘where the heck did they come from? Things can’t just appear out of nowhere!’
