The 58th Keeper

by R. G. Bullet

  The giant didn’t give the trolley a second look but if he had, he would have seen several items of luggage stacked rather precariously. The first contained Ward’s dirty clothes, a second contained a rubber dinghy, and a third, a longer package poorly wrapped in bin liners was the one he would have happily killed everyone in the airport to get to.

  Chapter 7

  Orientation

  What on earth are you trying to do?” said Winnie from the doorway of Archy’s bedroom.

  Archy scrambled to his feet. He had been kneeling on the floor trying yet another way to fold the corners of the rug.

  “For Pete’s sake stop worming around up here. This is the third time this week I’ve found you doing that,” she said, and she shuffled off.

  Archy knew it must have looked strange. At odd times during the day he thought he’d remembered the sequence Alturus used to make the rug disappear, and he’d dash up-stairs to try it out. But nothing worked. It simply lay lifeless in the middle of his room with not a flicker of anything magical. He became more frustrated with every failed attempt.

  Winnie was far too absorbed in her latest book, Transcendental Weight Loss, to be bothered about him and a silly rug, and her only comment since his return had been: “A fool and his money.” It is true she had tried to spark up a conversation about Mr. Maynard-Bull when Archy returned but he found the questions a bit odd: “Did Mr. Maynard-Bull spend a lot of quality time with his wife?” and “Do you think he’s happy with all that money?” But Archy didn’t really know how to answer her, so she ended up ignoring him, mostly.

  He spent the remainder of the holidays in a state of escalating panic. The horrifying image of the monstrous man at the airport haunted his dreams. Archy had a strange feeling that he was somewhere in England hunting for him.

  Archy wished he could have spoken to Vincent and Georgia, but when he had rung their house the butler told him that Vincent was at advanced math camp and Georgia was at riding camp.

  The temperature had dropped during the last few days of the holidays and on the very last day the rains poured from the gray skies. The thought of returning to school filled Archy with more dread. The menacing feeling only lifted fleetingly when he thought about seeing Vincent.

  His cab arrived to take him back to school and he entered through the black iron gates around dusk. The words Rushburys–Leadership through Discipline were being welded into position as he passed underneath. As the cab wound around the twisting drive, Archy noticed the groundskeepers moving a three-wheeled cart along the edge of the playing fields, laying out the white lines for the rugby season.

  Vincent was up in the dormitories when Archy found him, and it wasn’t long before his spirits lifted and they were both laughing. Vincent had secured his place near the radiator again and had a shiny-looking new trunk open. He was distributing as many things as possible to stake his claim before anyone else.

  “You’ve got a tuck box, that’s a start,” said Archy.

  “Yeah. I got first place at the camp. It’s a present from Dad.” Vincent reached in a pulled out a stack of unopened magazines on economy, an ancient sextant, and a set of fine screwdrivers used for repairing jewelry that Archy toyed with as he listened to Vincent jabber on about his unending gripe with Georgia.

  With the last of his possessions strategically positioned, Vincent took out some photos of the holiday in Turkey and they sat on his bed to look through them. The first picture was of their whole group by the tents, another of everybody standing by the rental van, others of Professor Sidley down in the site, and a few blurred shots of Ward scampering over the dunes completely nude.

  “Yeah I know—I’m going to burn them later.” Vincent laughed. “Check out this one, though.” Vincent handed over a picture that knocked the wind out of Archy. It was of the giant crossing the airport lounge in mid-stride. The sheer size of him was a shock against the background of people.

  “How did you get this?” Archy gulped dryly.

  “I grabbed Ward’s camera—much more interesting, eh? Take ‘em without anyone looking—makes much better photos.” And he spread them out on the blanket in front of them. “There’s none of Georgia though... Oh, speaking of Georgia did you write to her yet?” continued Vincent, not fully aware of the effect the pictures were having on Archy. “I think she’s waiting for a letter from you or something.”

  “Seriously? She asked about me?”

  “No, not really, she hasn’t mentioned you once,” said Vincent, toying with him.

  “Vincent, come on!” Archy said, still looking down at the scary figure in the photograph and not wanting to reveal the twinge of excitement over hearing about Georgia.

  “She kept asking questions. She thinks you’re fun. Oh—she wanted to know what you’re going to do with the rug.”

  “I don’t know...” said Archy, handing back the picture of the giant.

  “I’d better hold onto this photo, then,” said Vincent. “You know, to show the police if you ever go missing.”

  Vincent shoved the photos back into his nightstand and together they dragged their tuck boxes downstairs. On the way, they had a quick look around to see what was new. They saw Wagstaff in the hallway playing with a gadget that had a brightly lit screen. He barely took his eyes off it. Archy noticed Wagstaff had put on a lot of weight and was now wearing an ugly pair of stretch pants that were pulled tight across his knees.

  Mr. Elms buzzed straight past them without so much as a glance, his jacket brushing them as he went. Archy could see that the headmaster had dyed the remaining part of his hair jet black.

  Archy was stunned when they passed the entrance of the library. It was crammed full of boys lining up by the far wall. They weren’t getting books out, but rather were waiting in line to get to a bank of computers. The Internet now connected Rushburys to the outside world.

  Down in the tuck room they found their places and slid their boxes onto the metal shelves. There was an overpowering smell of fresh paint there and Archy held his breath, which amused Vincent.

  “Your eyeballs are going to pop out one day. Are you over two minutes yet?” he asked, watching Archy with a fascinated stare.

  Archy let out his breath. “It’s bugging me,” he panted. “I get so close—then I wimp out.”

  “That’s because you are a wimp,” Vincent taunted. “You need a goal, Archy. If I gave you a million pounds to hold your breath for two minutes, could you do it?”

  “No, I don’t think I could, and anyway, you don’t have a million pounds—do you?”

  The bell started clanging outside and everyone in the tuck room scrambled from all directions.

  “What’s that for?” said Archy, edging away from the small crowd rushing for the doors. “It’s not dinner yet.”

  “Orientation. Didn’t you read the notice board?”

  “No, I didn’t see a thing.”

  “Classic! Elms has been busy adding rules to the rules. The first new rule is to read the rules. You’d better follow me.”

  Chapter 8

  The Unseen

  They assembled with three hundred and thirty other boys in the auditorium where the teachers sat in a row on the stage. Mr. Rose, who arrived first, forced his frame into his chair, his legs and torso at perfect ninety-degree angle. Matron Overly perched on the end seat with her hands on her knees, and cast a wary eye over the juniors. And there were two new teachers among them all who kept leaning across to each other. One was nodding meaningfully while the other kept brushing imaginary specks from his trouser legs.

  Mr. Elms entered from the right and everyone stood up.

  “Be seated!” he fired, taking his place behind the podium. He paused for a moment, pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger, and then started to read from a notepad.

  Mr. Elms didn’t welcome anyone in his remarks. Instead he blasted an endless list of new rules and Archy’s mind wandered. Only occasional words popped to the surface; out of bounds... detention..
. stupidity... report... illegal. Elms's stream was interrupted when a boy, who sat in front of Wagstaff, gave out an agonized yell and began holding his ear.

  “You, boy! To my office!”

  When Mr. Elms finished, everyone stood up. He gave one more threatening glower, then left with a swoosh.

  “Classic,” said Vincent under his breath.

  ***

  The next morning Archy was first to wake in his dorm. He clicked his watch—he had a few minutes before first bell and the hectic scramble to get ready for the day. Taking some paper from his bedside table, he started a letter to Georgia. It was difficult to know what to write, but he wanted to say something to her. After five pathetic attempts he ended up with just a few lines. It still felt awkward.

  Hi Georgia,

  How is St. Catherine?

  I got back to Rushburys and Vincent gave me a photo of us all by the van. You weren’t in it. I didn’t know if your address was right or not, so I am writing to find out anyway, and if it is—Hello! Do you have an e-mail address?

  Bye,

  Archy Bass

  Rushburys Junior School

  Windsor, Berkshire

  Archy and Vincent wandered down to the mailroom after breakfast and Archy handed over the letter to the student on duty.

  “Bass, Archy. Hang on—you’ve got a parcel.”

  When the student came back with a brown package about the size of a shoebox, Archy thought it could only be a book from Winnie. The last one, The Laws of Childhood (Vol. 2), was still unread but was occasionally useful for stepping on to reach the top shelf of his gym locker. This parcel, however, had unrecognizable handwriting. It had been postmarked two days before.

  “It’s lucky you’re the only Archy in this school, isn’t it?” said the student, inspecting it scornfully. “It’s amazing it got here.”

  The package had “insufficient postage” stamped in the top right-hand corner and was tied carelessly with string. Part of the address, scrawled on the front, simply said: Archy, Rushburys School, England. A postal clerk must have added the exact address because it was the only thing written clearly.

  Vincent peered over at Archy. “Looks like a bomb,” he joked. Then he looked at the clock in the mailroom. “What am I doing here? I’ve got Science in 14-C.”

  Archy watched Vincent sprint up the hall, dodging people as if he were on the rugby field, till he disappeared around the corner.

  Archy slit the parcel open on his way to his first class. Inside was a leather-bound book with various pieces of paper stuck between the yellowed pages. An envelope lay on top. London Underground was printed on it. He stopped abruptly like a branch caught midstream while people rushed past him. The letter was signed: Alturus.

  Dear Archy,

  How are you?

  Here’s Keeper’s Log. And instructions I promised I show you.

  Seeing you at the airport so much happened. SOTS Agent helps me escape. I’m in England. I meet sentinels soon and explain why I choose you for next Keeper. They don’t know you. Have BIG favor must ask you.

  A lot for you to learn and there isn’t time please trust me start to read. Start to learn. Do in private. Do not tell peoples about it. Could be very dangerous.

  I contact again you soon, yes?

  Alturus

  Heart pounding, Archy pocketed the book and hurried to the tuck room, weaving his way through crowded halls. The tuck room was on the ground floor of Rushburys. The music rooms adjoined it by a passageway (conveniently placed to keep the screeching violins and clanking pianos away from the teacher’s ears). The tuck room itself was a large storeroom. Metal shelving divided the stone walls into four separate aisles, where the students’ trunks and boxes were stacked. The sound of someone going through the piano scales drifted out of one of the cubicles and a few boys were milling around, chatting by the radiator when Archy burst in.

  Archy pulled his box from the middle shelf and opened it up. There was a rugby ball, a mauve sweater, several books Winnie had forced on him, a small bag of dog treats and a sack of Turkish coins piled on top of the rug.

  He waited until the others had left and then pulled out the rumpled rug, closed the box, and went off to find an empty music room.

  The book was small but thick. It contained hundreds of handwritten notes in many different languages, most with translations underneath in English. The first few pages were so old it looked like they would disintegrate when touched. The hairs on the back of Archy’s head prickled as he studied them closely.

  “Invisibility,” he read out loud. “Fold the corners following diagram one to five without error and the Shroud will vanish. Shroud?” Archy was confused. He continued reading. “Unfold one corner for reappearance.”

  Archy pushed the piano stool back and rolled out the rug in the center of the small room. Along the sides were intricate woven patterns with faded browns and crimson. Its edges were frayed and it had curious elaborate motifs near the corners. He noticed something odd about the rug that he hadn’t noticed before. He knelt, and for a split second, was convinced it vibrated, as if it held an electrical charge.

  Moving quickly but trying to keep quiet, Archy squatted in the center, reading the instructions under his breath. “The top right corner must be folded inward to touch the star…” He spun on his heels. “The bottom left corner must be folded in to the middle equidistant from the center of the star facing the middle of the gold spiral.”

  The final part of the diagram showed the fourth corner. Archy placed the open book in the center of the rug and began to make the fold following the illustration exactly.

  “Let’s see what happens,” he said, as he completed the last part.

  One second he was looking at the corner of the rug, the next he was looking at the stone floor of the music room from a few inches up in the air.

  “WWWOoooooooh!” he yelped.

  He reached for the piano to steady himself, but he couldn’t see his hand and it slammed into the keys. CHING!

  Archy kept very still for a moment; he could hear his heart pound in his chest with the excitement. Then he swung his other arm forward, then both hands in front of his face. Nothing! The only thing he could see was the backlight of his watch whizzing around in front of him as he waved madly.

  Archy’s breathing became shallow and rapid, and his mouth went dry. With his right hand, he felt for the edge of the rug and reached under it to touch the cold stone floor. Ever so slowly he stepped off—one foot, then the other. He reappeared, but the rug continued to hover, invisible, inches above the ground. Archy felt for one of the corners, unfolded it, and the rug dropped to the floor, magically reappearing. The book still lay in the center, exactly where he had left it.

  Archy slumped onto the stool in a state of shock. “It’s unreal,” he murmured with a mixture of disbelief and excitement.

  He repeated the sequence. He felt as if his whole world had changed in half a minute. The possibilities were endless. Archy flicked through the tattered pages. Alturus had told the truth. Details of flight, speed control, how to hover and reverse, were spelled out. There were pages and pages of notes, descriptions of complicated maneuvers, recommendations, and personal comments.

  The ring of a distant bell jolted him from his thoughts. He rolled up the rug—only this time very, very carefully—and then made his way back. He had been so engrossed in what he was doing he had missed his first class. If he were caught, it would be straight to Mr. Elms, so he vowed to return later.

  He placed the rug back in his tuck box and as he did he heard the outside doors squeak, then footsteps of someone approaching. He quickly rolled the rug back out, stepped on it, folded the corners and vanished.

  He kept perfectly still, balancing as if he were on a surfboard, and began to hold his breath. One million one… one million two…

  The inner doors of the tuck room opened softly and Wagstaff’s round face peered inside. Archy pulled the folded corners of the rug and moved slowly to
the end of the aisle. He stopped short of the wall and simply watched.

  Archy heard Wagstaff’s labored breathing as he waddled over to the boxes. He glanced furtively around the room and pulled out something that jangled from his back pocket.

  He gave it a slobbering kiss. “Here we are again, my beauties,” he said.

  Archy inched to the edge of the rug and craned his neck. He could see a bunch of metal stems with pieces of bent wire protruding. Archy had seen them before, in an ad in the back of Winnie’s Sunday papers. “Skeleton Key—pick any lock in seconds,” it claimed.

  Archy watched as Wagstaff popped the lock on a tuck box. The name on the lid read R. Simms. Wagstaff rummaged around, pulled out some candies, and hastily stuffed them into his pocket. Next, he pocketed a few loose coins. He put the lock back on and returned the box back to its position.

  “Who’s next?” he muttered, with a sly grin.

  Archy often guessed things were moved around inside his box, but as he only ever kept a few small items in there, he was never very sure. Other boys had claimed some of their possessions were stolen, but since no one could prove anything it was never fully investigated.

  Wagstaff selected one box after another, filling his pockets with sweets, pens, coins, and anything else that took his fancy. All the while he drew closer to Archy. He started to hum a discordant, high-pitched tune and Archy watched in silence as Wagstaff busied himself along the shelves.

  It took a while before Wagstaff spotted Archy’s box on the floor. “Tut! Tut! Very sloppy, Bass. Anybody could steal things from an open tuck box!” he snickered. He reached in with his chubby hands and plucked up Archy’s sweater and blew his nose into it.

  Archy’s anger flared. He leaned in close to Wagstaff’s ear, cupped his hands, and let out his breath with full force. “BOOOO!”