‘Oops, careful there,’ Grayson says. ‘We wouldn’t want any accidents, would we?’ He flicks his fingers and Michael takes a step closer to the edge.
I suck in the thin air around me, trying to calm down, but the effort of keeping the Orb up is taking its toll. The nausea has multiplied into a splitting headache, and the bitter taste of adrenalin makes me retch. My hands start to shake and sweat springs up on my forehead. My eyes flicker between Kit and Michael, and the doll hanging suspended under me. I can’t protect them all, and Grayson knows it.
‘Come on, now, James, let’s try to be a bit more decisive,’ he says encouragingly. ‘The Nativity play isn’t going to last that much longer. I’ll tell you what; you release the Orb to me in the next ten seconds, and I’ll have your father drop the Guardian slut rather than have him jump off holding her.’
So that’s it. That’s how it’s going to end. I’m going to drop the Orb to catch my friend and my father before they hit the ground, because it’s inconceivable to do anything else, and then have the privilege of knowing that they’re safe for ten seconds before all our minds are wiped blank by an evil headmaster. And that’s the best I can hope for.
The worst, of course, is that the evil headmaster will then go on to drain all the power out of the Twelfth Dimension and end the world. If I don’t want to be responsible for that, I have to let Kit and Michael die.
I drop to my knees, head pounding and power waning. It’s hopeless. I am alone, just when I was feeling like I had some good friends looking out for me. Will and Mr Lancer will still be looking after Pippa, Claire is trying to fix Mum, Peter is out the back taking care of Win and Garth, and God knows where Jem is by this stage.
Hang on.
Jem is by this stage.
He’s standing in the wings below where Kit is dangling, holding a long, gleaming sword and looking up at us, his face illuminated by the lights of the stage. Then he turns and runs to the ladder on that side, and starts climbing swiftly. Within seconds I see a cautious hand, still holding the sword, appear a few yards behind Mr Grayson’s legs on the walkway.
Catching sight of more movement down in the wings, I look and see the familiar shape of Will in his black coat, bending down to whisper urgently at the blonde head of Claire. Claire darts away, but reappears in a second, dragging something very big and strange-looking behind her.
My heart starts pounding at the realisation that I’m not alone.
I glance back up at Mr Grayson, who’s taken a few more steps in my direction and is now standing above the middle of the stage, looking very much like the self-satisfied bastard that he is.
They’re all behind him. He doesn’t know they’re there.
I get to my feet and glare at this evil man who doesn’t have any friends, let alone rescuing ones. I swallow down the nausea and push the pain in my head aside. I double my protection shield and start raising the doll against him. ‘Go to hell,’ I tell him quietly, before giving a final mighty yank on the Orb.
The second I feel him pushing it down in resistance I let go, and the doll goes plummeting towards the stage. Several people in the audience yell in surprise, but before it hits the ground Will tears across the stage, launches himself off the manger and grabs the doll by its head. Then he runs for it, dodging screaming miniature shepherds and disappearing through the wings at the other end.
Mr Grayson’s face contorts with rage, and his mouth opens in a mighty roar that is cut short by the pummel of Jem’s sword coming down squarely on his head. The second Mr Grayson loses consciousness, Michael collapses onto the walkway. His loose arms drop Kit over the edge of the railing, and she falls down through the black curtains of the wings to land softly on the giant foam Christmas pudding Claire has positioned underneath her.
I look at the body of my headmaster, draped casually above the chaos that is now the junior school’s Nativity play. ‘You’re getting good at that,’ I tell Jem, panting.
‘Thanks, I’ve been practising.’
‘Now let’s get out of here before he wakes up again.’
‘Hang on,’ Jem says. He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out another envelope, then hands it to me. This one says “MUNKERS, MICHAEL” on it. I look at Jem gratefully and step over Mr Grayson’s body, then we both run over to where Michael is lying. Jem turns him over while I rip open the envelope and tip a small syringe of blood into my hand, the needle still attached. I look at it for a second, feeling queasy. Then I push Michael’s sleeve up his arm, close my eyes and jab.
I’m about to push the pushy bit when we hear a snarl behind us from Mr Grayson and I feel something grasp my neck. My eyes snap open and I see Michael under me, awake and glaring, cutting off my windpipe with his strong hands.
Jem leaps to his feet, sword swinging up to face the oncoming Mr Grayson, who is charging towards us with murder on his face. Jem’s thrown over the edge of the walkway before his sword can connect. Through the grating I see him land on the edge of the pudding next to Claire and fall heavily onto the floor.
Grayson is only feet away, and Michael is still wringing my neck, so I can’t move or breathe. I try to get a better grip on his arms, and feel something under my right hand – the syringe still sticking out of him. I ram the handle home, and feel Michael’s body relax under me, his hands sliding off my throat. Gasping for air, I grab his jumper, build a protection shield around father and son, and lift us over the railings just as Mr Grayson reaches us. We go spinning down to land next to Jem and the pudding.
Still choking, I let Claire take hold of Michael under his arms, and she pulls him onto the pudding next to Kit. They’re both still out for the count.
‘Look after them,’ I gasp at Claire.
She nods, white-faced. Then I grab Jem’s arm and pull him to his feet.
‘Have to draw him away,’ I say, pointing overhead. Jem nods, and we both go running across the now-empty stage. Above us, we hear heavy footsteps following along the walkway. As we tear through the wings and the door beyond it, there comes a crash just behind us as Mr Grayson jumps from the walkway onto the props beneath him, shattering them in all directions. We slam the door shut behind us and race up the nearest set of stairs.
We burst out into a room packed with people, most of them under four feet tall, and quickly skirt the edge of the room, taking an exit that leads to the junior school classrooms. I can’t hear Mr Grayson following us yet, but I’m not slowing down. I want a good mile between us before I do that.
We turn a sharp corner into a classroom, and I run straight into something that grabs my arm and painfully twists it upwards. I cry out as I land on my knees and fall against the person’s legs, which are sopping wet.
Martin. That guy never gives up, does he?
‘Now, I understand you might be experiencing some inner tension about me,’ I try to say calmly as Martin grabs my hair and tries to rip my head off.
Jem’s approach is different. He yells and leaps onto Martin’s back, and they both come crashing down on top of me. Once more this evening I find it impossible to breathe, as my mouth is covered by wet jumper. Then they shift and I’m able to roll out from beneath them. Jem jumps up and pulls me up by the elbow. We start running again and I stumble, but Jem’s hand is there and I regain my balance.
Blimey. The things I need to apologise to Martin Hacker for are really banking up.
We go running out the far door into an art room, only to smash into someone else. In my panic a burst of blue energy comes zipping out of me, a bottle next to us explodes, and red paint splatters all over us.
‘Hey, watch it!’ a familiar voice says. I look up and it’s Will, still holding Baby Jesus by the head. I feel sick again at my proximity to the Orb, but it’s not nearly as bad as it was when Grayson was using it in the hall.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ I ask Will, irritated that he’s prowling about pretending to be a bad guy. ‘You’re supposed to be taking that thing out the back.’
&
nbsp; ‘I’m bloody well trying to,’ he snaps, wiping the paint from his eyes with his free hand. ‘This place is a damned fire trap, I can’t find an exit out into the grounds anywhere.’
‘Down here,’ Jem calls, and we follow him along a hallway and down a set of steps towards a glass door leading out into a playground. We’re just about there when two Hoarders – the ones that chased Claire, Win and me through the woods – appear outside the door, snarling in at us. The three of us skid to a halt.
‘Or we could go a different way,’ Jem says, and we turn and run back up the stairs just as the door explodes behind us.
We race back through the dark maze of the deserted junior school, the Hoarders on our tail. Every now and then a light explodes overhead, or a bookshelf begins to topple onto us, and I have to throw up a protection shield like a big umbrella over the three of us. Only we’re getting further apart from each other as my lungs start to cramp up, and the protection shield gets thinner the further I stretch it. Will pauses for a second to grab my arm and pull me forwards, shouting, ‘Get a move on!’ It’s alright for him – he hasn’t been strangled and smothered, and the Jesus doll is making me feel ill again, and they’re both all athletic and stuff. I’ve never been good at sport.
Finally we spot a green exit sign and race towards it. I swing the door open with my mind before we get there, then slam it shut and lock it once we’re through. It’s not going to hold them for long, but it might give us a few extra seconds.
‘Round the back,’ Will roars at us, and he and Jem take off like it’s the start of a one hundred metre sprint, not the end of a marathon. I try to keep up, but they disappear round the corner of the building miles ahead of me. My legs are shaking, my eyes are watering, and I’ve got a stitch in my side. I hobble to the corner and turn around it.
I don’t get more than a couple of steps before I stop dead.
Will and Jem are standing a few yards in front of me. Beyond them is a mound of wood, twigs, hay, and what looks like a hastily demolished cardboard sleigh, all piled up in the middle of a snowy courtyard. Peter is standing next to it, holding his hand out to shield Garth. And beyond the pile of wood stands Mr Grayson with Winifred in his arms.
I look at my little sister in despair. We should have left her back in the flat, I think sadly.
She wouldn’t have been safe in the flat, Mr Lancer’s voice says in my mind.
Mr Lancer, I think in surprise. Where are you?
Coming, now that I’ve found you all.
Come faster, then. Win’s in trouble.
She’ll be alright, he says. She’s got her big brother there to protect her.
The urge to vomit returns, but I don’t think it’s the Orb this time.
Me? But I can’t protect her! I can’t protect any of them!
‘I’m disappointed in you, my old friend,’ Mr Grayson is saying to Will. ‘The William I knew didn’t mess up his priorities with something as sappy as emotions.’
Yes, you can, Mr Lancer says. I’m not going to get there in time, James. You’re the one who has to stop Grayson.
But I can’t. He’ll use the Orb.
So use it against him. Take control of it.
What?
‘What is it with you and pathetic little girls, anyway?’ Grayson jiggles Winifred up and down, looking at her curiously, obviously trying to work out the attraction. Winnie screams and kicks her legs ineffectually at him. ‘Now why would you give up my company for that?’
‘Well, she’s a lot cuter than you are,’ Will says.
Mr Grayson laughs. ‘Granted,’ he says, ‘but your preference for the cute things in life has left you a wee bit powerless.’
You’ve got a connection to the Orb, Jim. You said it yourself. Use it. Reach out to it and take control.
But Kit said the connection was there because it’s controlling me! She said I was dangerous and I couldn’t be trusted and –
It doesn’t matter what Kit said, or what anyone else says, Mr Lancer says sharply. Just trust yourself.
I think of all the times I’ve made mistakes or made a fool of myself. I think of the last few weeks and how I thought I was going crazy. I think of the lies I’ve told the people around me, and Michael calling me irresponsible. I think of Mum, my aunts, the four policemen, the three neighbours and the seven therapists who didn’t believe me when I was four years old.
Nobody’s ever trusted me. Why should I?
I can’t.
Try.
I take a deep breath and push my mind out towards the Orb in Will’s hand. I ignore all the talking and yelling and just concentrate on getting to the doll’s head. The closer I get, the stronger the resistance becomes and the sicker I feel. I push on anyway, until I’m an inch away from it, wavering on the brink. Hatred pulses from the Orb, telling me to get away, that I can’t have it, that I’m useless and powerless and pathetic and I can’t do this.
Yes I can, I tell it.
I close my eyes.
‘My dad disappeared when I was four,’ I whisper.
The resistance stops. The nausea fades. I plunge into the Orb, and a scream that seems to come from the direction of the woods echoes around my mind before everything goes dark.
It’s warm.
I open my eyes and find myself in a sphere of blue energy, pulsing gently around me. It’s quite relaxing, actually. I watch the shades of colour as they cascade down the sides of the sphere, melding into each other like different flavours of ice-cream when they start to melt and you swish them around with your spoon until –
Did you want something?
Jeepers! Who said that?
‘Hello?’
Hi, there.
Still nobody. ‘Are you the Orb?’ I ask.
Sure am. What can I do you for?
Huh. Seems friendly. Is this really the thing that’s been making me hurl all over the countryside?
‘Well, we’ve got a bit of a situation outside, don’t know if you’ve noticed. There’s this Hoarder that needs mind-controlling.’
Which Hoarder?
‘The one just outside. Evil. Red jumper.’
Who, Grayson?
‘Yeah, that’s the chap.’
The Orb hesitates. You want me to mind-control him more?
I frown. ‘What do you mean?’
I’m already controlling him. Been doing it for weeks.
‘What? He’s being controlled? By who?’
Whom.
‘Whom, then.’
I don’t know.
‘Well, that’s very helpful,’ I say sarcastically.
Look, the Orb says in a testy voice, I don’t take inventory on who uses me. I just do what I’m told. You don’t like it, take it up with the person who made me.
‘Alright, alright.’ Blimey. It’s like dealing with a petulant teenager. ‘Well, we don’t like the way he’s being controlled. I’d like to change it, please.’
To what?
‘Oh, I don’t know. Can’t you just wipe his whole mind? I think that would solve our current dilemma.’
I could do that, sure, the Orb says. It takes a lot of energy, though. You might want to stand back a bit, or you might lose your French vocab or early childhood or something.
‘Okay, no worries. Hey,’ I say, thinking of something. ‘Energy from where?’
Huh?
‘Where does your energy come from? Kit said you weren’t powered by the Twelfth or Thirteenth Dimensions.’
Oh, no. I’m a human-dimensional power… thingy.
‘Hey, me too!’
Oh, nice!
Well, how about that. I made a friend.
‘Okay, well, I’ve gotta go. You’ll handle the Grayson mind-wiping stuff?
Leave it to me.
Suddenly I’m back outside again, the cold night air biting at my face. Grayson and Will are still exchanging unpleasantries, Peter’s still shielding Garth, and Winifred’s still squirming in Grayson’s arms. I must only have been gone for
a second.
I quickly move my power out of the Orb and into a protection shield surrounding it. I have to time this right.
‘Here you are,’ Grayson is saying to Will, ‘about to give the evil genius a device that will give him total power over an entire town, all for a couple of girls.’
‘Am I?’ Will challenges.
‘Yes, you bloody well are,’ Peter says in a choked voice, staring helplessly at Winifred. ‘You have to!’
‘Do it,’ I say calmly.
Will hesitates. I can’t tell him my plan, but he must know something’s up – he’s never heard me be calm before. Then he steps around the pile of wood and holds out the doll towards Mr Grayson, who reaches out his hand and grasps it. Will continues to hold onto it. ‘Hand her over,’ he says dangerously.
Mr Grayson’s mind prods at the Orb, and finds me there skulking around it. ‘I’ll take it without the protection shield, thank you, Mr Munkers,’ he calls out across the courtyard.
He can only feel me there. He can’t feel the Orb itself, growing hotter and faster and more insistent, pushing at my shield, trying to break its way out.
‘Give her to Will, and I’ll take it off,’ I tell him.
‘I don’t actually think you’re in a position to give orders, sonny,’ he says, giving Winifred a squeeze that makes her cry out. ‘Take the shield off.’
Fine. Have it your way.
I rip my shield away from the pulsing Orb and surround Winifred with it. Then I hurtle her into Will’s chest with such force that they’re both sent flying backwards to land in the snow on the other side of the wood pile. A second later a bright blue light springs out of the head of the doll and surrounds the roaring headmaster in its sizzling sphere. The light reflects off the snow, and the rest of us jerk our heads away from the bright glare.
Then suddenly it disappears and, turning back, I see an ordinary-looking man standing in a snowy courtyard with a rather dirty doll in his hand, a blank look in his eyes. We all stand around looking at this empty man. Then Mr Lancer appears from behind me, puffing a little. He pats my arm, walks up to the ex-Mr Grayson and takes the doll out of his loose grip.
James Munkers Page 21
