Who Goes Home?

by Sylvia Waugh

  Videos were a Saturday evening treat, together with pizzas delivered to the door in their boxes.

  Philip shrugged, as if he didn’t care. At eleven, he was a shade more defiant than his younger brother. ‘Don’t look at me,’ he said. ‘Most of that mess is his, not mine.’

  ‘But you made it,’ said Anthony, stifling a yawn. ‘It was you knocked the training tower down.’

  ‘You told me to dive-bomb it!’ said Philip, outraged. ‘You can’t dive-bomb it without knocking it down!’

  ‘Look,’ said their mother, ‘I don’t care who did what, I want this place tidied up.’

  ‘Tidyin’ up’s women’s work,’ said Anthony in a sleepy voice. He was echoing words he had heard others say, without paying much attention to their meaning. He was just nine and small for his age, not robust like his brother. He usually went to sleep well before the end of any video.

  ‘And untidying is man’s work?’ said his mother drily as she picked up a pyjama top and threw it in his direction. ‘Don’t try to be clever. It doesn’t suit you. Just get on with the job. And don’t leave it all to Philip!’ With those words, she went out and closed the door behind her.

  Immediately, the two were friends again, for a while anyway.

  ‘Let’s just put the light on,’ said Philip, ‘and not draw the curtains. I don’t know why she’s so fussy. Nobody can see in, unless they’re in a low-flying aeroplane!’

  ‘Or on a double-decker bus maybe?’

  ‘Double-decker buses don’t come here,’ said Philip as he languidly pulled the toy box to the middle of the floor and began throwing things into it just any old how.

  ‘That’s not the way to do it,’ Anthony protested.

  ‘If you want it done any better,’ snapped Philip, ‘you can do it all yourself.’

  Anthony reddened and looked close to tears.

  ‘Come on,’ said Philip, ‘we’ll not fight about it. Tell you what – let’s play spies first.’

  Anthony brightened. ‘We’ll watch for the woman from The Grange,’ he said.

  ‘Too soon for that,’ said Philip. The woman from The Grange walked her Alsatians around midnight. The boys had already spied on her two or three times and identified her as the leader of a witches’ coven.

  ‘So who’ll we spy on?’ said Anthony.

  ‘We’ll watch for who gets off the next bus. There’s bound to be some suspicious characters.’

  ‘Like Mrs Bigwood?’ said Anthony.

  ‘Nah – stupid! Mrs Bigwood only wears funny hats. We’ll look for strangers wrapped up in mufflers or wearing balaclavas.’

  Philip switched off the light again.

  They both went to the windowsill and picked up the binoculars they’d each been given for Christmas. They weren’t high-precision instruments, but they were adequate for bird-watching on a modest scale, and looking at unsuspecting people passing along the street.

  The bus came. At the stop at the end of Merrivale, five passengers alighted.

  ‘There’s Mrs Bigwood!’ said Anthony excitedly. ‘And she’s got her umbrella hat on again!’

  Philip did not deign to answer him. The bus went onwards to the stop beside the Green. He trained his binoculars on it and Anthony followed suit. The bus carried on out of the village, leaving just two more passengers standing in its wake.

  ‘There’s a man with a muffler,’ said Anthony, nudging his brother’s arm. ‘A tall man with a long overcoat. He looks like a Russian.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ said Philip loftily. ‘That’s Nico Montori’s dad. He always wears that scarf.’

  Anthony was resigned to spying failure when Philip said, ‘But you have missed the obvious. What about the girl who got off the bus at the same time?’

  At that moment, Mr Montori could be seen speaking to this other passenger. Then he waved both arms and walked briskly away from her. She looked around as if puzzled. Then she sat on Councillor Philbin’s park bench. Her back was to the boys but they both saw her bend forward as if crushed by some great problem.

  ‘I’ve never seen her before,’ said Philip. ‘Now that’s a real mystery.’

  ‘There’s Mickey Trent,’ said Anthony, looking further up the road, towards the church. ‘I bet he’s been to his Auntie Fay’s.’

  ‘He’s stopping,’ said Philip, adjusting the binoculars to get the best possible view. ‘He’s talking to the girl.’

  The girl stood up and she and Mickey walked across the Green towards Merrivale. They went in through the gate of Number 12. Mrs Dalrymple opened the door to them. Then Mickey walked quickly away and the girl went inside the house.

  ‘She’s gone into Mrs Dalrymple’s,’ said Philip. ‘Now what can that be about? Maybe she knows something. Maybe she’s found Thomas Derwent!’

  The disappearance of Thomas and his dad was the biggest mystery the village had ever known. It definitely gave inspiration to young sleuths, constantly looking to find something that their elders and betters had missed.

  The bedroom door opened and Mrs Swanson switched on the light.

  ‘That’s it,’ she cried, stomping over to the window to close the curtains. ‘You’ll tidy this place within the next half hour and then you’ll go straight to bed. I might as well talk to myself as try to tell you two to do anything!’

  ‘But there’s a strange girl gone into Mrs Dalrymple’s,’ said Philip, anxious to calm his mother down and distract her attention. ‘Mickey Trent took her there. And we’ve never seen her before.’

  But Mrs Swanson would not be placated or diverted. ‘Tidy up,’ she said shortly, ‘and then bed. I don’t want to hear anything about anybody. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, Mam,’ said both boys together.

  The girl who had just entered Number 12 Merrivale was Nesta Gwynn, the runaway from York. For the past three nights she had stayed in the garage at the back of her friend Amy’s house. Amy had made a great job of hiding her, but she couldn’t stay there on Saturday because Amy’s brother would be home from college and he used the garage for his motorbike. So Nesta had taken the train north and was resolved to meet the one human being she felt sure would understand about Ormingat. This was Stella Dalrymple, who had featured in the newspapers her mother had given her to read. Stella had spoken of ‘starlight’ when questioned about the Derwents’ disappearance, and in such a tone that the reporter had woven a tale of extraterrestrial visitors that was just too near the truth. Stella obviously knew something. She might be Nesta’s one chance of a friend in need. She could hold the key to this terrible riddle.

  CHAPTER 19

  * * *

  Watchers in the Night

  In London that Saturday evening, Jacob went to bed early. He was determined to be wide-awake in the hours after midnight. He wanted to see whatever there was to see when the spaceship in York took flight and left the Earth. His heart ached with the thought of it. Though it was not just one thought. There was pity and anxiety for Nesta, yes. The blue-grey eyes still haunted him. Then, the thought of all three Gwynns hurtling off into space was an uneasy one. And under all that there was envy. These were pure-bred Ormingatriga going to a place where they belonged. Do I belong anywhere? he wondered. Who is Jacob Bradwell?

  After midnight, when he got to the computer room, Steven was already there, looking somewhat dazed in front of the Brick’s screen. He did not even speak as Jacob came and sat beside him.

  ‘What’s wrong, Dad? What is it?’

  ‘Just look,’ said Steven. ‘Can’t you see?’

  Jacob leant forward to look more closely at the screen. The picture, bathed in reddish light, was of the Gwynns’ back garden. To the left he could see, at an angle, the rear windows of the house and the projecting sides of the porch. Then there were the flower borders with shrubs at intervals around them. In the centre was a stretch of lawn. And to the right, massive and ugly, was the grey stone frog.

  ‘It’s the Gwynns’ back garden,’ said Jacob. ‘That is what we are supposed to be watching, i
sn’t it?’

  ‘And why are we watching it?’ asked Steven through clenched teeth. ‘Think about it. Give it thought.’

  Jacob looked at the picture again, but still could reach no conclusion. ‘We are watching for the spaceship to leave the Earth,’ he said, though this was so patently obvious he didn’t see why it needed to be said.

  ‘Yes,’ said Steven, ‘and leave the Earth it will, less than two hours from now. I have made very sure of that. But it will leave without its passengers.’

  ‘How do you . . .?’ Jacob began, and then knew the answer to the question without asking it. ‘The frog’s still in place! It’s not lying on the grass! They’d need to move it to get in. And once they were in, there would be no one there to put it back.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said Steven.

  ‘But you said they would want to go,’ said Jacob. ‘You were sure they would.’

  ‘Want or not want,’ said his father, ‘they clearly are not going. My guess is that they have stayed behind because of their runaway daughter.’

  ‘Runaway daughter?’ said Jacob, amazed. ‘You never told me Nesta had run away.’

  ‘It didn’t seem necessary for you to know,’ said Steven. ‘I learnt of her disappearance on Thursday. There was no way I could help. But I naturally assumed that if she didn’t turn up in time they would go without her.’

  ‘Of course they couldn’t, Dad,’ said Jacob. ‘You’re not thinking straight. Would any right and responsible parents desert their child like that? Would you?’

  ‘What a question!’ said Steven indignantly. ‘Do you think I’m heartless?’

  ‘If you’re not,’ said Jacob, ‘why do you expect them to be?’

  Steven sat back in his chair with a sigh. It was a mess, the biggest mess he had yet encountered. The parents were presumably looking for the daughter. The daughter was hiding goodness knows where. And the spaceship hidden under the frog was on a fast countdown to take-off.

  Then came another appalling thought. The frog was in the ship’s flight path. What if it couldn’t penetrate the stone? The beam had not penetrated it. What would happen to all that energy if it were hemmed back into the ground?

  ‘What do we do now, Dad?’ said Jacob anxiously.

  ‘Nothing we can do – but watch,’ said his father. He kept to himself his own fears about what calamity might ensue when the countdown ended.

  ‘They might do a last-minute run for it,’ said Jacob, staring towards the porch.

  ‘They might,’ said Steven, ‘but I doubt it. I don’t even know if it is possible. Doors are shut tight; shields are set up. Taking off is not accomplished in a matter of minutes.’

  The next two hours felt like for ever. Steven and Jacob grew weary with watching. Steven was sick to the stomach, thinking silently of what might yet ensue.

  And then came two o’clock.

  Countdown complete.

  At countdown plus one minute, there was suddenly a great heave from the frog, as if it had decided on a froglike leap commensurate with its size. It appeared to fling itself right up into the air and then it disappeared over the roof of the house. In the sky above it a red pinpoint of light left a trail across the clouds before it vanished.

  ‘Gone,’ said Steven tersely.

  ‘The frog?’

  ‘The ship.’

  ‘But what has happened to the frog?’ said Jacob. ‘Where is it now?’

  Steven manipulated the Brick’s controls till he was able to see the front of the Gwynns’ house. There they saw the chaos the flying frog had caused. The road was gashed with great holes. A spurt of water from a main was shooting up into the lamplight. A policeman got out of a car and went towards the house.

  Steven groaned. ‘More work for me,’ he said. ‘Always more work for me!’

  The screen went blank, of its own accord and with no intervention from Steven.

  Then on it appeared the message:

  GO TO YOUR SHIP. YOUR ATTENDANCE IS REQUIRED

  Steven sighed. This was a not unexpected consequence of the events of the night. The ship without passengers could cause no end of trouble.

  Jacob looked at his father anxiously. They had never been to the spaceship at dead of night. It was, to be honest, a bit scary. Yet he wouldn’t think of holding back. He felt too deeply involved.

  The first message disappeared off the top of the screen. A second one scrolled into place:

  DO NOT BRING THE BOY. COME ALONE

  Jacob gave the screen a look of disgust. Why was he to be excluded? Did they think he was still a child? ‘The Cube said I should always come with you,’ he said. ‘So why not this time?’

  Steven looked at him apologetically. ‘We can’t go against orders,’ he said. ‘You must stay here.’

  ‘Till when?’ said Jacob aggressively. ‘Doing what?’

  Steven thought rapidly. ‘Stay by the Brick. I’ll set it ready for you to watch. You will see me go into the spaceship and come out again. Then you can watch me safely home.’

  ‘What will you be doing inside the ship?’ asked Jacob. ‘Why is the Cube in such a hurry to see you at this time of night? Could it not have waited till tomorrow evening? And why does it not want me?’

  Steven was too preoccupied to notice that his son was speaking as if the cube were itself a person and not simply a channel of communication.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I simply don’t know.’

  CHAPTER 20

  * * *

  Orders

  The ship that left York is unmanned.

  Steven looked up at the cube, which at that moment was deep purple, not its usual reassuring green. That the Gwynn ship was empty was no surprise to him, but the circumstances of its departure were still uppermost in his mind.

  His opening words were the speech for the defence.

  ‘Before we begin,’ he said, ‘let me make it clear that I know that things have gone wrong. But I am in no way responsible. When the frog flew over the rooftop I was as much taken by surprise as anyone could be.’

  The cube had faded to a less livid shade as soon as Steven began to speak, but at these words it went completely dead, as if it had blown a fuse.

  Steven pulled on the lever he knew should summon the communicator back to life.

  Nothing happened.

  He leant forward and vigorously wrenched the lever from side to side.

  The cube glowed mauve but said nothing.

  ‘Why am I here? Why have you summoned me?’ said Steven, remembering that it was best to ask basic questions if the communication seemed slow.

  The colour of the cube returned to its normal hue, so clearly that was the right thing to do.

  Steven was still intensely worried about the frog. So he added nothing to his original question and just waited to see what the machine would say. An extended silence eventually forced him to prod the communicator’s memory.

  Keep it simple, Sterekanda. Say something that will provoke an answer.

  ‘What about the frog?’ he said. ‘Is it a cause for concern?’

  We know nothing of any frog. Data on the subject of flying frogs is not available. Relevance is not understood. The ship that left York is unmanned.

  Steven then realized how little aware the communicator was of all the commotion at Linden Drive. Quick thinking made him decide not to pursue this: more knowledge might well mean more work!

  ‘The ship is on course,’ said Steven. ‘I checked its flight path. In spite of everything, it is on course.’

  The ship is unmanned.

  ‘The Gwynns must still be searching for their daughter,’ said Steven. ‘They must have found it impossible to leave without her.’

  And now they will find it impossible to leave at all. Such are the rules. Earth has claimed them. Earth must keep them.

  ‘So there is nothing left to do,’ said Steven, content to let it go at that.

  You must watch the house in York and report how things are. We do not wish to have
unforeseen dangers.

  ‘For how long?’ said Steven, immediately worried that the communicator was going to demand too much of him. But at least if he were to be the sole observer, he would have some control over what went into the report. (No frogs!)

  Till you know all we need to know.

  ‘What do we need to know?’

  Anything that further threatens our security. When the girl is found, you must discover where she has been. You must find out if any outsider has been given secret information.

  That sounded a very tall order, but worse was to come.

  You must test the attitudes and emotions of her parents and bring influence to bear on them so that whatever of Ormingat remains will be lost.

  ‘How do I do all that?’ said Steven harshly.

  Begin by eavesdropping.

  Steven decided to pursue this no further.

  ‘I should perhaps go now,’ he said. ‘Valuable watching time is being wasted. My son is waiting for me.’

  Not yet. There is one other thing here that you must do. It is of supreme importance and will need your undivided attention. That is why you had to come alone.

  ‘Yes?’ said Steven, his mouth dry already and his nerves stretched.

  You must adjust the clock in this ship. Set its return for the first of March. That will give you time to finish your work with the Gwynns, and to deal with the problem of Stella Dalrymple.

  This left Steven gasping. Reset the clock? Deal with Stella Dalrymple?

  ‘I need time to think.’

  Resetting the clock comes first.

  ‘I really do need time to think,’ said Steven anxiously. ‘Let me go home and return tomorrow. I have data there that will assist me – I ran check on the method I used to reset the clock in York.’

  Resetting must be done now.

  It was as if the Cube could recognize his special pleading.

  ‘I haven’t got time to do it now,’ said Steven firmly. ‘I expected this to be a short visit. You gave me no proper warning.’

  Resetting must be done now.

  ‘I can’t and won’t do it,’ said Steven. ‘You must give me at least until tomorrow night.’