by Glenn Dakin
‘Call me Sir Peregrine,’ the old man said, shoving the dirty plates aside with sudden energy and spilling spoons all over the carpet. ‘Now, let’s begin properly.’ He pulled out a small lined card and poised an ink-stained fountain pen above it. ‘What was your name again?’
‘My real name or my pretend name?’ Theo asked.
‘I’m sorry, Luke is slightly confused,’ said Chloe, smiling through gritted teeth as she kicked Theo in the ankle. ‘The fact is, Luke Anderson has been told for many years by an, err … private doctor, that he has a rare skin condition. We want you to either confirm or deny that.’
Sir Peregrine motioned for Theo to stand.
‘Take off your shirt,’ he said, ‘and your gloves.’
‘Don’t touch me!’ Theo suddenly shouted.
Sir Peregrine stepped back.
‘I mean, in case I’m … I’m contagious,’ Theo collected himself.
The doctor’s face flushed an angry purple. ‘I have been in this profession for more years than I care to recount,’ he said. ‘And I believe I know how to conduct an examination! Now you take off your gloves and I will put on mine, and I will undertake to look at you without dropping dead on the spot!’
An unexpected sense of relief flooded through Theo as he held his thin white arms up to be studied. Unfortunately, the nearer Sir Peregrine got, the more obvious it became that the old man stank. The collar of his white shirt was frayed to a fine haze, as if it had been worn out decades ago. Silver stubble grew patchily on his heavy cheeks, looking as if it had been randomly hacked at by a disinterested party.
Theo stood like a pale reed awaiting a winter blast as the doctor inspected him from all angles.
‘I suppose you think I’m a disgusting, decrepit, foul-smelling old monster of a man,’ Sir Peregrine muttered.
Chloe smiled. ‘I’m told the best experts are often rather, um … unique people,’ she said.
The doctor shone a light in Theo’s left eye.
‘Head circumference fifty-nine centimetres,’ interjected Theo helpfully.
‘Why did you say,’ Sir Peregrine began, ‘that perhaps there is no difference between reality and fantasy?’
Theo frowned and ignored the fact that Chloe was making frantic faces at him and waving for him to shut up.
‘Well, I’ve only been in the world a couple of days and it seems like everything that I believed was true actually isn’t true, and some things I was told were just fairy tales are actually –’
‘Luke is a very unusual young man!’ Chloe butted in.
Sir Peregrine straightened up. He replaced his instruments in his bag and took off his surgical gloves. He walked over to the blinds, touched a cord and let a tiny glimmer of daylight into the room.
‘I suppose,’ he said, vaguely addressing them both, ‘that when you woke up this morning, the fresh new day dazzled you with the infinite wonder of its possibilities?’ There was a moment’s silence.
‘Of course,’ said Chloe, smiling.
‘Well, when I woke up I saw this,’ Sir Peregrine said. He jerked the cord of the blinds and revealed a horrible grey fog pressing at the windows. ‘Murk. I’ve lived so long now that day and night seem to sort of blur together and become one thing. A perpetual dreary gloom that never goes away or leaves you a moment’s peace.’
He turned and pulled a pained grimace at them, which could have been an attempt at a smile.
‘And I suppose,’ he continued, ‘that when you see people passing in the street, it would fill you with pleasure to meet them?’
‘I would be glad to meet anybody,’ Theo said eagerly. ‘There have been thirteen so far if you count a skeleton and don’t count – what does Sam call those flying things?’ Theo asked Chloe, remembering the garghoul.
‘Birds,’ snapped Chloe.
The doctor sighed. ‘It’s a world of miracles when you’re young,’ he observed. ‘But to me those people out there are a stream of rubbish. A pointless, annoying, spiritless tide of universal waste flowing through the sewer of existence. I’ve finished my examination.’
The huge figure heaved himself back towards Theo and sat on the edge of his desk, his enormous backside bulging out in all directions.
‘I’m glad you two came here today,’ he said, digging in a pile of papers for a big black notebook. He opened it and began writing. ‘I’ve been numb with boredom,’ he said. ‘Endlessly going through the motions of life. I thought I knew everything, had seen everything. But you are an unusual pair of youngsters. You’ve given me something I haven’t had in a long while. A feeling of … surprise.’
Chloe grinned.
‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Luke Anderson,’ the doctor said. ‘Nothing known to medical science anyway. Your rare skin condition is a figment – I would guess – of an oversensitive parent’s imagination. What I am a little concerned about,’ – here he placed a hand on Theo’s chest – ‘is a slightly underdeveloped chest, some muscle wastage, signs of too little physical effort and fresh air, so I would –’
Sir Peregrine let out an ear-splitting cry and fell to the floor. Theo and Chloe leapt back as the great man’s vast limbs thrashed about. Wracked with pain, the bulky figure rolled over and began to change.
His eyes sank into his head, dark circles of scaly skin forming around them. His nose protruded in a grotesque hooked lump. His skull seemed to shudder and throb, expanding into an ugly, immense dome. His clutching hands stiffened into hideous talons, while his body grew and twisted into a misshapen hulk.
As Theo backed towards the door, a shrivelled, grey claw pointed a crooked finger at him.
‘It … it’s you!’ he gasped. ‘What a fool I’ve been! Why didn’t I realise that it was you?’
Chapter Nine
The Unextinct
‘Go! We’ve got to get out of here!’ shouted Theo, grabbing his shirt and rushing for the door.
The grotesque shape of Sir Peregrine rolled itself on to its side. A claw-like hand hammered down on a red button built into the side of his desk. An alarm bell shrilled through the enormous old building.
‘Get them!’ the doctor screamed into a large box-shaped intercom. ‘Don’t let them escape!’
Chloe clutched at Theo’s shoulder as he darted into the waiting room.
‘What are we running for? We should help him!’
‘He’s – it’s the Dodo!’ blurted out Theo, tearing himself from her grip.
Chloe raced after Theo as he headed back the way they had entered.
‘The Dodo?’ Chloe’s jaw dropped and she clapped a hand to her head.
‘Theo, what the heck do you know about the Dodo?’ she shouted. Theo was now running through the reception area, not looking back. ‘Not that way!’ shrieked Chloe, over the din of the alarm.
Two men in white coats had appeared in the hallway ahead of Theo and were blocking their way out. From his surgery, they could hear the doctor roar, ‘Help me!’
‘This way!’ Chloe raced along a corridor that led towards the back of the house. Soon they were lost in a maze of featureless white corridors.
‘There’ll be a service entrance,’ she said. Rounding a corner they saw a white figure up ahead, with its back to them.
‘Down here,’ whispered Theo. They slipped through a side door that led to a flight of steps.
‘This is bad strategy,’ hissed Chloe as they descended. ‘We’ll end up trapped like rats.’
Theo ignored her and just kept going. The stairwell went deeper than he had expected. Finally they ended up in a dank basement. Here the alarm bell was a distant sound, forgotten. Theo raced off down the first subterranean corridor he found, but Chloe easily caught up with him.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she asked.
‘If we keep going then we might find another way out – that they don’t expect!’ Theo said, making hopeful eyes at Chloe. She put her finger on her lips and they both waited in silence for sounds of pursuit. They could hear n
one – so far.
‘They don’t realise we headed down here,’ Chloe whispered, ‘because any sensible people would have looked for the quickest, ground-level exit.’
‘Exactly!’ replied Theo brightly. Chloe sighed and kept walking onwards. They soon arrived at two thick metal doors. Theo pushed on one and it opened easily. They were at the entrance of a vast, dimly lit chamber.
‘All right, we’ll try it your way, but remember – I’m in charge!’ Chloe snapped, following him into the shadows. Then she stopped. She choked on the reeking air inside and pinched her nose.
‘Wow!’ she gasped. ‘This place stinks!’
‘Even worse than the Dodo!’ said Theo, treading cautiously ahead.
‘I wish you’d stop saying that name,’ said Chloe. ‘Sir Peregrine Arbogast can’t possibly –’
Whack! There was a sound ahead like someone banging a stick on metal. They stopped. All they could hear was their own breathing.
Cuk-aaaark! They both jumped out of their skin as a weird, piercing cry shrilled through the air. It was followed by a muffled but heavy stomping that stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
They crept forward, their eyes getting adjusted to the eerie light provided by a blue electric strip in the ceiling far above. Rows and rows of elaborate enclosures loomed up on either side.
‘Cages!’ breathed Chloe. ‘What on earth …?’
Theo stopped at the first one to look at a strange misshapen tree inside. Chloe came to join him. Theo peered through the bars and realised they were not looking at a mass of leaves, but feathers. The tree suddenly moved and waddled jerkily into the shadows of its pen, an enormous beaked head turned away from them.
‘An elephant bird!’ said Theo. ‘Mr Nicely told me I’d never see one!’
Chloe gulped. ‘They’re extinct,’ she said.
Holding their breath, they arrived at the next cage. At first it appeared empty, but Theo drew Chloe’s attention to a slumped, bony creature at the back of the pen. The moth-eaten, scraggy great cat was slumbering next to a pile of its own dung.
‘Caspian Tiger,’ said Theo, ‘figure seven, page three, Woolcombe’s Bestiary of Post-Diluvian Extinctions.’
‘Very appropriate. Because he’s extinct too,’ said Chloe again.
Now Theo was picking up pace. He beat Chloe to the next enclosure, an enormous walled pit. His eyes aglow, Theo gazed at the outlandish striped giraffe standing silently within.
‘Sivatherium!’ he whispered. ‘Look at those antlers! I’m glad he made it on the ark!’
‘OK, OK, I get it!’ Chloe hissed. ‘Sir Peregrine is a descendant of the original criminal zoologist known by some as the Dodo – he’s inherited this insane zoo of illegally hoarded rare animals –’
‘Illegally?’ Theo echoed. It had an odd sound coming from Chloe.
She ran up to the next pit and stared down at a serpentine head rising from an inky, stagnant pool. She looked back and forth as if committing everything to memory.
‘Err, Chloe … what do you call those things with wings?’ Theo asked.
Chloe stopped in her tracks. She walked over to join Theo, who had now reached the far end of the chamber.
‘Do you mean the garghoul?’ she asked.
‘Well, there’s a statue of one here,’ Theo replied.
Chloe rushed over and joined him at a thick concrete parapet that overlooked a bleak stone pit. Iron bars and a fine steel mesh partially blocked their view, but crouched in an alcove under the far wall was a grey, man-like figure, apparently made of stone. It had pointed horns curling up from its brow and a pair of bat-like wings folded behind its back. Its eyes were lost in shadow. A large hooked nose dominated its face, with a glimpse of a thin-lipped, expressionless mouth. Chloe gulped again.
‘You idiot!’ she breathed to Theo. ‘This isn’t a statue of a garghoul. It is a garghoul. It appears to be in its stone dream – a kind of trance they use instead of sleep. Mr Norrowmore told me about them.’
She gazed in awed silence.
‘I’ve never seen one before. I suppose I never really believed …’ her voice trailed away.
‘Sam said one of them helped me in the escape,’ said Theo. ‘But I never saw anything. It all happened too fast.’
‘We have to get away and report this,’ Chloe said. ‘Lots of little things are adding up. Come on, let’s find your mythical hidden exit! Maybe the garghoul nips out the back way to go shopping.’
Theo smiled. That was more like the Chloe he knew. But now they could hear the distant thunder of footsteps in the stairwell. Chloe pulled at Theo’s coat and they explored the far wall of the chamber. Theo’s heart sank. There was no doorway here, just a strange circular plaque set into the wall. Chloe stood frozen before it as if she had seen a ghost.
In the corridor beyond the chamber, voices were echoing.
‘Well, I say it is possible!’ an angry voice shouted. ‘No one has yet seen them leave, so I say they could be down here!’
Theo joined Chloe to peer closely at the plaque. In the centre of the circle, in jet on an ivory background was a queer representation of a black stream. ‘The sign of the River Styx! The way through the underworld,’ she said, her voice hushed with excitement. ‘This is the symbol they used to mark an entrance to the network!’
She knocked lightly on the symbol, tip-tap-tip, and a thin circle of light appeared in the wall. The fine line of brightness widened, and a perfectly circular section of wall withdrew slowly backwards, allowing them entrance to a secret passage beyond.
‘It works!’ Chloe grinned. ‘We’re saved!’
As they vanished through the doorway, a stone head turned slowly and a pair of wings flickered with life.
Chapter Ten
Lord Dove’s Kindness
Mr Nicely collapsed to his knees. He had tried not to scream at first, but after a while he had warmed to the idea. It gave him something to do rather than just wait for more pain.
Remember, they aren’t torturing you, Dr Saint had explained kindly. They are simply doing their best with a rather experimental mind-reading machine. The agonising pain is a by-product of Lord Dove’s truth-seeking process.
‘I don’t know where she is!’ Mr Nicely cried, his voice becoming hoarse.
Again the questions came, seeming to appear in the depths of his mind, and his brain felt like someone was pouring liquid fire into it.
‘No – Clarice and me were never close! I didn’t turn a blind eye to anything! I never wanted us to lose Theo!’
Just speaking that name took Mr Nicely back to a better time. He had been happy then. He had enjoyed the pretence of everything being wonderful. He had realised at an early age, in one of the Society of Good Works’ orphanages, that life couldn’t really be nice, but you could pretend. And it was in the perfection of the pretence that you found your happiness.
With Theo around, it had been nice to have someone to look after, someone completely in your power. It had been fun to see the disappointment on his little face when his hopes and plans were crushed on a daily basis. Misery brought out a nice side in people, Dr Saint was right about that.
‘How could you not have known – not smelled that Clarice was a spy? The two of you worked side by side for years!’ Lord Dove was screaming at him now.
And he had hit a nerve. There had been something about a smell. One day Clarice had surprised him by wearing a really chic perfume – the kind of scent a very elegant lady would wear, not a dull little maid. But he had only noticed the smell once, never again. That wasn’t worth mentioning.
Mr Nicely was in such a state of exhaustion and distress now, he was flat out on the floor, his clothes soaked in sweat. His head was singing with pain from where those robbers had struck him two days ago, and it felt like it was about to explode.
He came back to his senses and found Lord Dove looking down on him, holding the headset and electric leads that had been attached to the butler moments before. Mr Nicely gazed up at h
is tormentor with well-concealed loathing. The soft lavender-coloured gloves, the white suits, the affectation of a monocle. Dr Saint would never dress in such a vain fashion.
‘That was most unpleasant!’ Lord Dove complained. ‘You said you wouldn’t scream. Not in the tradition of the regiment, indeed. You nearly popped my ears, you big baby.’
The butler sat up. His head was spinning. For an instant he recalled Theo staggering out of the Mercy Tube. Perhaps this was how Theo had felt too, every day of his life.
‘You have Dr Saint to thank for curtailing the process. He said you would have blabbed by now if you were hiding anything,’ Lord Dove said, turning away to accept a cup of chilled kiwi juice from Masters, his own servant.
Mr Nicely rose to his feet and took a deep breath. He hadn’t been hiding anything before, but he might do so one day – under the right circumstances.
Dr Saint was in Theo’s old room, which in the space of the last twenty-four hours had been turned into a laboratory. The Mercy Tube was now connected by several wires to a control panel the butler had never seen before, and all around there were computers and monitors. The master of Empire Hall had set up a workstation in the middle of all this technological clutter.
‘Where’s my tea?’ Dr Saint asked abruptly, without looking up from a screen he was studying.
‘I shall fetch it straight away, sir,’ said Mr Nicely, who had recovered enough to resume his duties. ‘The new girl, Veracity, didn’t have the kettle on. She doesn’t – you know – anticipate things like – like the other one did.’ The butler suddenly had a distinct feeling of having said the wrong thing.
‘Oh, the other one anticipated things, all right!’ replied Dr Saint. ‘The coming Liberation, for instance, the fulfilment of my plans … and she tried to destroy everything you and I have worked for our whole lives,’ he added bitterly. ‘So it is generous of you, Mr Nicely – exceptionally generous – to have fond recollections of her tea-making ability!’
‘Yes, sir.’ The butler turned to leave but his employer called him back.
