by J S Landor
‘Not yet.’
He scribbled some more.
Lily squinted at his untidy writing. ‘Far-os.’
‘Not “far”, but “fair”. Fair-os. It’s named after an ancient lighthouse in Egypt which actually did fall down.’
Lily snatched the crayon back. ‘Then how about …’ Her tongue stuck out while she drew some fish shapes under the sketch. ‘... we build it where the old one used to be?’ α
‘A new lighthouse floating over the old one? Lily, that’s amazing. Then people can see the ruins!’ His parents would definitely have approved. He grabbed another crayon and coloured in a fish. So would Alpha.
Glancing up, he caught Lily watching him closely.
‘How do you know my name?’
‘Um …’ His mouth opened and closed. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you? When you were little, your pram almost ran off the quay. I caught it.’
‘Wow, thanks! Were Mum and Dad there?’
He shook his head.
‘Busy working, I ’spect.’
‘Are they here now?’
‘Nope. Paris. They’re always off somewhere.’ Lily stared glumly at the sea. Then her face brightened. ‘Anyway, it’s my turn soon. We’re going on a cruise. Gran promised and it’s her boat so everyone has to do what she says.’
A knot tightened in Jack’s stomach.
‘She’s organising a party and everything,’ Lily continued. ‘I’m going to be seven!’
He swallowed hard. ‘And your grandmother is Lady Harington?’
‘You know her?’
‘Sort of. I went to her house once.’
‘Osmaston Hall! Isn’t it great? You know the suit of armour? At Christmas, Tux made the head fall off. Stupid dog! He scared himself so bad, he had to sleep with me.’ She leant in close, lowering her voice as if confiding a secret. ‘I’m in a bunk bed now. Gran says I’m old enough. Plus I need to practise for The Empress!’
Jack forced a smile. It was hard to look impressed when all he wanted to say was ‘don’t go’. But it was the adults in charge he had to warn. Telling Lily would only terrify her.
The sun glinted on top of the lighthouse and for a moment the red and white stripes seemed to go blurry. He suddenly felt lightheaded, as if standing on the edge of a cliff.
‘So you live in Wakeham?’ he said, blinking hard.
‘Yep.’
‘Ever been inside that place?’
Lily eyed the lighthouse and shook her head furiously.
‘Why not?’
‘It has ghosts.’
‘Says who?’
‘Mrs Mortimer in the chip shop.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’
‘She tells everyone. When the wind blows, you can hear a wolf howling. And a child crying.’
Jack got unsteadily to his feet. The sunlight on the tower was almost blinding and he could feel the familiar tug of the mirror. ‘She’s after more customers. People like ghost stories.’
‘Well, I don’t! Sometimes at night I hear it.’
His head swam. The bus shelter, the quayside, the harbour itself were beginning to slip away. He grabbed Lily’s hand.
‘Listen to me. Forget Red Riding Hood, okay? Wolves aren’t big and bad. They’re amazing.’ He wanted to tell her about Alpha, how it was because of him they’d met. ‘Only the luckiest people hear them. Next time it happens, I want you to try something.’
Lily looked at him wide-eyed.
‘Make a wish. A big one.’ He glanced at the hills. ‘It’ll work, you’ll see.’
She nodded solemnly. ‘Do you have to go?’
‘’Fraid so.’
Jack let go of her hand and tried not to think of the last time he’d left her. He’d hardly rewritten events. He wondered if he’d made much difference at all.
Then, as he walked away, hurrying out of sight along a lane behind the shelter, he heard her talking to herself. Her voice sounded stern and unafraid. ‘I know a wish. That wolf better get ready. One day I’m going to build –’
***
‘Pharos,’ he said, leaning into the pram. ‘Not far, but fair!’ A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes and he thought of his parents. Lily’s sketch had made him feel closer to them. Not far, but fair. Strange how that distant place connected them all.
He gently prized the mirror from the tiny clenched fist and Lily’s bottom lip trembled. Quick as a flash, he covered his face with his hands. When he pulled them away, her eyes danced.
A moment later the shop door jingled and footsteps thundered towards them. He wrinkled his nose in disappointment and to his surprise Lily copied him, pulling a silly, lopsided face that made him want to laugh and cry all at once.
‘Oh my God, Lily, no! What happened?’ The woman he’d seen earlier raced towards them, clutching a magazine.
‘The brake came off,’ he called. ‘It’s okay, I stopped it in time.’
‘But I was only gone a minute!’ Arriving breathless, the woman swept Lily into her arms. ‘My poor darling. There, there, hush. I’m here now. I should never have left you. Think what would have happened if … oh God, I’m done for. What if they find out?’
Jack looked at her blankly.
‘It’s my job!’ she wailed. ‘I’m supposed to look after her.’
‘I won’t tell, don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault anyway. The wind blew and then …’
He decided to say no more. And when, eventually, the woman stopped wringing his hand, he smiled politely, did his best to ignore Lily’s outstretched arms and turned away, relieved to escape without an inquisition.
If she only knew, he thought as he hurried off to find Jago. With a sniff, he peered back through the dusky gloom along the jetty.
The tide continued to rush in. Above the distant bawling from the pram, the boats clanked, rising on their moorings as if lifting from graves. The lighthouse had come on, casting its long beam across the harbour. But Alpha, the cause of the drama, was nowhere to be seen.
Chapter 28
The fire crackled in the Lock and Quay and shadows from the crowded bar leapt across the ceiling. The warmth was overpowering. Despite the raised voices and raucous laughter, Jack’s eyes began to droop.
As promised, Jago had found them a boat. But the owner, a scrawny man called Tattoo, was in no state to take them out. He leant heavily on Jack’s shoulder and burped like a foghorn. ‘Yous’ll have to wait fer mornin’,’ he said. ‘I’s three sheets to the wind.’
Jack’s eyes batted sleepily. Tattoo’s words made him think of Lily’s drawings floating across the quay.
Jago steered him away from the bar and settled him in an old leather armchair, using his rucksack as a pillow. ‘You hungry?’ he asked.
Jack shook his head. All he wanted was to sleep.
‘I’ll have them fix us some eggs in the morning.’
Jack felt so tired it was an effort to speak. ‘Jago,’ he murmured.
‘Hmmm.’
‘Alpha’s here. He made it!’
‘I know. Now get some rest.’
‘You do? How?’
‘You don’t have to see him to know where he is. You sense him. I thought you worked that out on the train.’
‘Yeah, but … I really saw him. We were on the jetty. He came close enough to let me stroke him and –’
‘Yes?’
‘I got this feeling … he wants to help me.’
Jago’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to reply. But it was pointless. Jack was already fast asleep, oblivious to the world.
***
Much later, as the bar began to clear, an old man struggled to his feet from a seat in the corner. On his way to the door, he paused in front of the armchair where Jack lay curled up. He wagged a finger at Jago: ‘You take care of ’im, yo
u hear. Precious, he is.’
‘Of course,’ replied Jago, curtly.
The man swayed on his feet a little. ‘Don’t know how lucky you are. You got yer boy with you.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘Mine’s gone,’ the man blurted.
‘I’m sorry to hear it. Keep your voice down, you’ll wake him.’
But the man paid no attention. ‘Went to sea, you know, on them damn cruise ships.’ His voice grew louder. ‘What could he do, eh? Didn’t need no keeper no more, did they? Run the light by computers now …’
‘Enough!’ Jago rose quickly to his feet. ‘You’ve had a skinful, old man. Go home, sleep it off.’
The man stared at Jack without moving. ‘Can’t sleep,’ he muttered. ‘Broke my ’eart when he went away. My job, my boy, my life – all gone! ’Ere, stop it. What yer doin’?’
Jago had caught him by the sleeve, spinning him round so their faces were only inches apart. ‘What is your problem?’ he hissed. ‘This boy of yours – dead, is he?’
‘Why no! Leastways, I ’ope not.’
‘Then don’t talk as if he is. Your child’s alive. Stop whining and be thankful. Now then. Get out of here!’
Jago’s eyes glinted and the old man backed away. ‘You – you ent got no heart,’ he stammered. ‘Yer son’s ’ere, safe by the fire! Mine’s gone!’
Jago shook his head. ‘No, old man, you’re mistaken.’ His voice dropped to a growling whisper. ‘My son died, many lifetimes ago. And if that has made me heartless, so be it.’
He opened the door.
An icy draught swept into the pub and with it there came a harsh cry: ‘Tsche, tsche, tsche.’
Something sharp brushed across the old man’s face and his hand went up to his cheek. A paper-thin scratch had appeared, a tiny drop of blood weeping from it like a tear.
‘Whassat?’ he gasped, staring into the rafters.
Jago didn’t reply but took his arm again, propelling him into the night. ‘Goodnight, sir,’ he said through clenched teeth.
‘All right, I’m goin’! Get yer ’ands off me.’
The door closed with a thud and Jack stirred in his sleep. Jago threw himself angrily into the chair next to him.
Outside, the old man rubbed his cheek with his coat sleeve. It was cold and the sound of the sea hitting the harbour wall made him dizzy. He steadied himself against a dustbin and as he waited for his strength to return, a flash of black and white caught his attention.
He ducked his head to get a better view through the pub window. Two black eyes appeared to be watching him from one of the beams near the ceiling. He blinked, trying to focus more clearly, but when he looked again, they were gone.
Frowning, his gaze fell on Jack once more. Something about that lad made him think of his own son. What in the bloomin’ world was it?
The fresh air nipped his ears and a memory stirred: two boys playing on a beach, his own dear Bill and a smaller, dark-haired child. He’d watched them run into the sea. Of course, how could he forget? It was the day the Brethren had come to tell him the lighthouse would be automated.
Frank Armitage, former keeper of the Pentland lighthouse, scratched his head. It was like seeing a ghost. The boy in the armchair was the spitting image of the lad on the beach. But no way could he be the same child. Years had passed and he’d be a grown man by now, same as Bill.
The old keeper gave a shrug. The beer must be rotting his brain. Pulling up his collar, he shuffled away.
***
Jago scribbled furiously, irritated beyond all reason. The piece of charcoal in his hand flew across the paper as if it had a life of its own. Dark, smudgy lines radiated outwards, and rather than forcing their direction he let them flow.
There was a flutter of wings overhead.
‘Come here, Pi,’ he snapped, without looking up.
A dark shape shifted from one beam to another and a cascade of dust fell to the floor.
‘Don’t be stupid. Why are you hiding?’
A boy in a black tracksuit and trainers emerged from the shadows. ‘That man, he saw me. And I –’ his voice trembled ‘– I don’t like it when you’re angry.’
‘Well, he’s gone, interfering fool. And I’m not angry now.’ Jago placed the charcoal on the table and rubbed his blackened fingers. ‘Come.’
‘What’ya doing?’ said Pi, creeping forwards. He leant over the broad arm of Jago’s chair, his white blond hair flopping over his pale face. ‘You’ve drawn him!’ he gasped, pointing at Jack.
‘Yes.’
‘But … you never draw people! Only houses.’ Pi took the sketch in his hands. ‘It’s good … different. No straight lines, just a jumble of swirls.’ He looked at Jago out of the corner of his eye. ‘You like him, don’t you?’
A muscle twitched in Jago’s jaw.
‘He makes you think of your own son. That’s it, isn’t it? You were thinking of him!’
‘Quiet! Or I shall be angry again.’ Jago snatched the drawing back and tossed it on the fire. The edges turned brown and flames danced briefly in the grate.
‘Now then,’ he growled. ‘Tell me what you’ve been up to. I hope you’ve brought me good news?’
‘Better than that.’ Pi’s face lit up. ‘I’ve brought you treasure!’
He crouched down behind the armchair, unzipped a backpack and reappeared with a small black box. His fingers traced the swirling gold letters on the top. ‘Amos, Jeweller,’ he whispered, opening the lid with a flourish. ‘Look at that. Sweet, innit?’
A glittering diamond ring winked in the firelight. Pi took it out of the box and tried it on various fingers, all of which were far too skinny.
‘You shoulda seen us,’ he laughed. ‘Easiest night’s work I ever ’ad. Alpha was really on form. A whole bunch of coffins came crashing into the street – shazam! – straight through the window. All I had to do was reach in and take it.’
Jago raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
A shadow of disappointment passed over Pi’s face. ‘Anyways, that’s just for starters,’ he said. He rummaged in the bag again and produced a sapphire bracelet, a gold heart-shaped locket and a diamond tiara, which he arranged on the arm of Jago’s chair. Then came a pair of emerald earrings, an amber brooch and a child’s turquoise necklace.
‘Osmaston Hall, I assume?’ said Jago.
‘Hit the jackpot! What a place, eh? Did you see them stairs? The longest banister in the world. Bleedin’ brilliant!’
Jago massaged his temples. ‘Please don’t tell me you slid down it.’
‘Course I did! Wheeee-Jeronimo!’ Pi mimed the acrobatic landing he’d performed. ‘Don’t look like that. Nobody noticed.’ He clicked his fingers and dug into the bag. ‘Wait. I nearly forgot. Saved the best till last, didn’t I? How ’bout these?’ He held out the two yellow marbles. ‘See how they shine? Like cats’ eyes!’
At last, Jago’s face softened. He pulled Pi towards him and ruffled his hair so that it stood on end. ‘You’re worse than a real magpie. These worthless bits of glass mean more to you than that diamond ring, don’t they?’
Pi pouted. ‘Well, they are bootiful,’ he insisted. ‘And I can’t help it if I’m like that. You’re the one who decided what sort of animus I should be.’
‘True. But there really was no need for you to help yourself to all these trinkets. Those were not my instructions.’
Pi hurriedly scooped the jewels back into the bag. Then he reached inside his pocket and held out a crumpled peacock feather. ‘I did what you wanted too. I gave that mean man such a fright. In fact, I don’t think he’s ever been so stunned in all his life!’ He held an imaginary gun to his own neck, fired it and slumped dramatically into a chair, his tongue lolling grotesquely out of his mouth.
‘Good. He deserved it,’ said Jago. ‘And what about his precious ship
?’
Pi handed him a bunch of rolled-up papers.
‘What’s this?’
‘Plans. You said you wanted to see what it looks like.’
‘Aah yes … And the money?’
‘Gone!’
‘To a good home, I trust? I’m tired of scrimping.’
‘Your account, naturally. Via a hundred others. Lots of toffs will be in trouble before they trace it to you. And by then, we’ll be gone … won’t we?’
Jago clapped him on the back. ‘Yes, my little scavenger. At long last we’ve got a way out.’
‘So …?’ Pi got up and circled Jack’s chair. ‘Where is it, this escape route of ours? Can I see?’
‘Be my guest.’ Jago nodded at the rucksack under Jack’s head.
Pi spat on his palms and rubbed them together. With the dexterity of a pickpocket, he slid his hand inside the bag. ‘Oo, what’s this?’ Indigo, Jack’s horse, glittered in his hand. ‘Pretty! Can I have it?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘But I like it!’ Pi made the horse prance around Jago’s chair. ‘Finders keepers!’
‘No arguments. And you can put the pen back too.’
Pi grinned sheepishly. He returned Indigo to the rucksack along with Jack’s silver pen which he’d hidden up his sleeve. Then he rummaged again, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth and his eyes rolling in mock concentration.
When the mirror finally lay in front of him, his face fell. ‘Is that it? The legendary mirror of Pharos? It’s a piece of old junk! I thought it would be shiny.’
Jago laughed. ‘It’s been at the bottom of the sea for centuries. It’ll shine brighter than anything you’ve ever seen when the time is right.’
‘Come on then. Let’s take it. We’ve waited long enough.’
‘We can’t … Not yet.’
‘Why?’
‘I need to know how it works.’
‘But you’re a Magus.’
‘Not any more. How many times have I told you?’
‘But you still have some power. And now you’ve got this, the rest will come back.’
