The 58th Keeper

by R. G. Bullet

  Archy followed, panic rising. He made his way as quickly and as quietly as he could but things already felt way out of control. Stopping occasionally to listen for signs of Vincent’s whereabouts, he passed the empty classrooms calling out as he went.

  “Ssst, ssst. Vincent, you there?”

  With a few more stops along the way and still no sign of Vincent, Archy arrived at the tuck room door and nudged it open. It was as quiet as a tomb and just as creepy. An emergency exit sign cast a red glow across the cold stone floor, giving the room an ominous atmosphere. Archy kept to the sides and used his luminous watch dial to find his way up the dingy aisle, to reach for his box and heave it down. He strained to listen before opening it, in case anybody was nearby. The thump, thump, thump in his head didn’t help and he tried to suppress his panting to keep the noise to a minimum. He had to stay focused and find Vincent.

  When the rug was unrolled he put on the sweater, folded the corners, and vanished. The only thing betraying Archy’s position was the watch dial, which displayed for a few brief seconds before it timed out.

  He crouched in the middle of the aisle, completely invisible. He held the edges of the rug like the reins of a horse and rose effortlessly above the floor. Then he motioned it forward. He looked down and saw the dark floor moving beneath him but nothing of his own body—no feet, no legs. It was as if he were dreaming.

  He leaned over, pushed open the tuck room doors, and glided out into the main corridor. The feeling was incredible. The rug moved to the left and right and then accelerated, with only the slightest shift of his body.

  He moved higher, speeding up to the pace of a fast runner, rushing past the classrooms and into the dining hall. With the full length of the room in front of him, he flew back and forth, each time increasing his speed. At last he pulled up on the corners till he came to a smooth halt. He couldn’t wait to find Vincent.

  He drifted to the window, swung it open and floated out into the chilly night. A slight pull on the edges and he zipped along, faster than he thought possible. Feeling the cold night air rush through his hair, he pulled to the left, banking around and circling above the rugby posts. He could smell the wet playing fields forty feet below. From this new height he could see the lights of the houses beyond the school grounds. Farther still the city lights glowed orange.

  Archy flew around all the school buildings. When passing the tuck room window, he spotted Vincent dashing across the floor. Archy landed outside, reappeared, and tapped on the glass. He waited and tapped again. He watched Vincent steal toward him. Vincent’s trembling hands released the latch and he pushed the window open.

  “What happened to you?” Archy whispered.

  “I freaked, I couldn’t stop running. I don’t know what happened. I can’t even remember where I went—what on earth are you doing outside?”

  “Never mind,” said Archy. “Get out here before we’re seen.”

  Vincent climbed up on the radiator and dropped to the ground outside—straight onto the rug.

  “Sit here in the middle,” said Archy, illuminating the exact spot with his watch. “And whatever happens, don’t shout out, all right?”

  “Shout? Don’t you know Elms lets his dogs out at night?” Vincent sat as Archy folded the edges of the rug. “Archy,” Vincent said finally. “I want you to see my aunt’s doctor; he can help.”

  “Shh. Shut it or we’ll both need doctors.”

  “Classic! You’ve changed, Archy,” Vincent said. “You used to say please and thank you and be so polite—”

  Archy folded the last corner and they vanished.

  They lifted straight off the ground and hovered for a few seconds. Then Archy unfolded a corner and they drifted to the ground and became visible again. Even in the pale, silvery moonlight Archy could see that Vincent’s face was ashen, his lips a thin, morbid line.

  Archy started laughing and waved his hand vigorously in front of Vincent’s face. “Aha! That shut you up, didn’t it? Are you all right?”

  Vincent nodded slowly.

  “…‘cause I’m going to do it again, but this time we’re going to fly out of the school grounds. We’re leaving and no one will ever know. Hold tight.”

  Archy flew up and over the building and across the school grounds, accelerating smoothly through the cool night air. Vincent seemed totally and utterly dumbstruck and Archy thought that if Vincent decided to panic it would be better to fall from here than from two hundred feet up, so he kept the rug just a little above the ground.

  Vincent made some gulping noises behind him and Archy quickly pulled over to a house on the main road, landed on a flat roof, and undid a corner of the rug to make them reappear.

  “Talk to me Vincent. Are you all right?”

  Vincent was wearing a strange, green look as he spoke. “Tell me this isn’t real, Archy. Am I dreaming?”

  “It’s all real, Vincent! And I’ve got a lot to explain to you. But right now I need to know you aren’t going to freak and fall off. I mean, don’t start dancing around or anything stupid,” said Archy.

  “No, I won’t freak, Archy, but—”

  Vincent scuttled over to the edge of the roof, slid onto his knees and threw up into a garden below.

  “Do you want some of Dr. Krankheit’s Liver Salts?” said Archy, patting Vincent on the back.

  “That’s not funny,” said Vincent, heaving for air. “I think I hurled on something.”

  Archy looked down over the edge into the darkness and heard a dog growling. A man across the street was looking up in their direction. They were already attracting far too much attention for his liking and he pulled Vincent away, keeping low.

  “All right, that’s the first and last time we land like this,” Archy whispered. “Move up closer to the front here with me.”

  “This is insane!” said Vincent, wiping his chin on his sleeve. “This means you’re the ghost of the tuck room!”

  “Yes, that’s me,” said Archy, “at your service. I’ve got a lot of other things to tell you about, too.”

  Chapter 12

  The Sweeney

  Let’s go again,” Vincent said, sitting back down and crossing his legs. “I feel better now.”

  Archy pivoted the rug around and faced the school, its dark form peppered with lights across the upper floors. He knew it well enough to pinpoint exactly where the dormitories were, and headed toward its windows. He flew over the roofs and down the other side to the inner quadrangle and the sick room. He drifted slowly toward the window. The light was on and he gently glided over so they could take a peek. Hovering outside, they could clearly see Jude lying on the bed. A thermometer was sticking out of his mouth and the sheets were tucked around him were so tight that he looked like a freshly embalmed mummy. Archy grinned and inched the rug forward. He was almost touching the glass when Matron Overly appeared with what looked like another beaker of Liver Salts. Jude’s face contorted in misery.

  Matron Overly jerked the digital thermometer from his mouth. “How’s anyone supposed to know what 37.2 means,” she said, squinting under the bare bulb.

  “It’s normal Matron, honest,” said Jude, sounding desperate.

  “Normal for you boy, but not in my book,” she said, thrusting the fizzing cup at him.

  As Archy got closer he misjudged the distance and knocked into the gutter that ran along the roof. A couple of pigeons that’d been huddled under the eaves started flapping excitedly and took off, bumping into him. Archy reversed as quickly as he could. Matron Overly came over to the window and swung it wide open, missing them by an inch. She peered out into the dark of the quadrangle as more pigeons flapped around her.

  “What is it, Matron Overly?” said Jude.

  Matron Overly leaned farther out, narrowing her eyes to focus. Archy and Vincent were so close they could see her bushy, wrinkled brow.

  “Nothing to concern yourself with, lad. Just flying rodents.”

  “What?”

  “PIGEONS, child!
Pigeons. Now drink up!” With that, she closed the window and briskly shut the curtains.

  Archy rose smoothly to go over the school. He didn’t want to push his luck but he couldn’t resist a more daring flight. He sped off in a wide, sweeping arc and circled the grounds, only faster this time, taking them just seconds to complete the short trip. Pulling back on the corners, he went again, tearing across the field. His mouth filled with air and he had to turn his head to draw breath. His eyes watered from the rushing wind. Within seconds they reached the other side of the grounds and were hovering above the roofs of the terraced houses. Archy dropped down to fly slowly above the road. After a while he felt comfortable enough and to start talking to Vincent.

  “Amazing isn’t it? I couldn’t tell you about it. I had to show you.”

  “I love it!” Vincent shouted back. “It’s incredible!”

  Spurred on by the moment Archy wove in and out of the lampposts like a slalom racer, then rose up over a parked van up and back down into the street. All of a sudden a police siren wailed right below them.

  The shock made Archy wrench the corners of the rug up and they quickly spiraled out of control, swirling down to the ground. He saw a thick hedge a tenth of a second before they crashed straight through it and hit something large and wooden. The sound of breaking glass could be heard halfway down the street and out of the corner of his eye, Archy saw two figures running.

  Archy bounced off the ground and slid across a lawn, coming to a halt near a gang of plastic gnomes. Vincent rolled several times and wound up wedged between a fence and a wall of a tool shed. It took a moment before Archy got up and got his senses back. “Vincent,” he whispered. “Vincent!”

  Archy could feel his sweater pulled tight under his armpits. His pyjama legs were ripped down one side. The crisp night air bit at his skin, and the rug lay crumpled in a heap near the side of a garage. Archy sat on his heels and scanned the area. They’d crash-landed onto the middle of someone’s front lawn. Just then a row of porch lamps came on and flooded the area with light. Archy heard voices and the rattle of door chains.

  “All right, Elizabeth, I’m going.” Archy heard a man’s voice. His reaction was instant. He seized the rug and started to run. He leaped over a hedge and hurtled along the pavement. He shot a glance over his shoulder, desperate to spot Vincent but only saw the man coming out of the house, hopping around, pulling his shoes on.

  “Hey, YOU THERE! Stop! What are you up to?”

  Archy hurtled one hedge and then another, crossing lawn after lawn, his vision filled with the blue flashing lights of police cars ahead of him.

  He sprinted along the pavement, his shredded pyjamas flapping around his legs, and turned down a passageway between two houses. He dashed through to another garden and sped down an outside stairwell to a basement door. It was locked. The place stank of rubbish. He heard men shouting somewhere above him in the gardens. Archy pushed himself into a brick alcove, the rug at his side.

  “Check over there. If he’s not around, we’ll get the dogs.”

  Archy could hear someone in the garden above, rustling around in the leaves as they went back and forth.

  “He must’ve gone this way. He’s probably on the other street by now. Come on.” More rustling, footsteps, and then the shouts and noises faded away.

  Archy was desperate to get the rug open and find Vincent but the space was too small to lay it out properly. He became paralyzed with terror. If he were arrested, he would be taken to the police station. The rug would be held as evidence. He couldn’t imagine trying to explain his way out of this.

  He willed himself to calm down and waited until it things were quiet above him. Then he started to climb the basement’s steps. By the time he got to the top he was crawling, holding the rug over his back. He threw it down on the grass, stepped on it and folded the corners, but nothing happened. He tried it again, feeling heat rush up his neck and spread along his forehead. The rug seemed to have lost its power.

  I know this is right, it has to be right! Archy thought desperately.

  The voices of the police and shouts returned. “He must be back here, in the gardens somewhere.”

  A floodlight came on, exposing him. Only then he noticed that he’d laid the rug upside down.

  He heard the crunching of gravel and saw a light flash on the wall in the neighboring garden. The unmistakable sound of a shortwave radio filtered through. It crackled and hissed. “Kkkrrr Foxtrot Tango Charlie What’s your position? Over.”

  A clear and controlled voice replied a few feet away. “This is Foxtrot Tango Charlie Two Nine. I’m in Hargrave Gardens. Search in progress, Hargrave Gardens. Over.”

  Archy flipped the rug the right way up, and jumped on. With all corners completed, he promptly vanished.

  He looked down at the dark grass beneath him at the same time a stocky policeman pushed through the hedge. Archy pulled the corner up an inch and the rug lifted like an express elevator a split-second before the policeman walked underneath.

  “All right, I hear you, lad!” the policeman said, shining the light down the steps. Archy didn’t dare move. Seconds passed slowly before the radio crackled again.

  “Nothing here, Sarge. I’m coming back. Over and out.”

  Archy took the rug high above the roofs of the houses and saw several police cars with their lights still whirling. Most of the street seemed to be awake. People were standing in their doorways, while others looked out of their windows. Archy noticed a house’s broken window, most probably the reason the police were there in the first place. Now, thanks to his terrible piloting, he was bound to be their main suspect.

  Archy flew higher but still saw no sign of Vincent. He could see two people in white clothing helping an elderly man into the back of an ambulance. The man walked with a limp and held the side of his head. Archy lowered the rug down to get a better look and spotted the man who had chased him from the house. He was talking to three policemen. Archy flew down and hovered just above, so that he could listen to what they were saying.

  “…as I opened the door this young scruff bolted from my front garden and tore off down the street.” The man waited while the policemen took their notes.

  One of the officers spoke. “Did you get a good look at this boy, sir? Did you see what he was wearing—his height, hair color, any distinguishing features?”

  “Of course, I’m not stupid. He was about five-foot nothing. And wearing old clothes, all ripped, dirty. He was a lout, a street kid probably from the fairgrounds. Had a nasty look about him. You know, you police have seen it many times. That up-to-no-good desperate kind of face.”

  “Yes, sir, but if you could elaborate a bit, it would help our investigation.”

  “I remember now! He was carrying a rug.”

  “A rug?” the officer repeated. “Are you sure it was a rug, sir?”

  “Yes officer. Absolutely! I saw it quite clearly. It was definitely a rug, obviously stolen. Oh! And he was wearing a sweater, looked like one of those punk rockers. His hair was brown but with the orange streetlights, he could have been blond. I couldn’t tell for sure...”

  The man’s voice drifted off, so the police officer put the pencil back into his little notebook and snapped it shut with an elastic band.

  “Thank you, sir. You’ve been very helpful. If anything else does come to mind please do get in touch with Constable Philips here.”

  “Yes, of course. Aren’t you going to be taking any fingerprints?”

  “No, sir. With the description you’ve given we shouldn’t have too much trouble. Besides, hedges aren’t very good places to dust for prints.”

  “Quite so. I hope you find him. He’s a dangerous type.” The man turned and walked away.

  Archy, the three policemen, and half the street watched as he sauntered off, his bathrobe flapping around his thin white legs, and his black office shoes clicking as he went. Archy spun the rug toward the house, desperate to find Vincent before the man started sea
rching the damage in his garden. Archy flew so close over the man’s head he saw the part in his hair, right down the middle.

  Archy stopped over the garden and simply shouted, “VINCENT!”

  The fence trembled and Vincent’s head popped out from beside the tool shed. Archy landed in front of him, and reappeared long enough for Vincent to get on. Just then the man swung open the garden gate.

  “They’re over here! Police! What on earth?”

  Vincent hung on as Archy shot up and sped across a field. As they flew back to Rushburys, Archy heard the sound of someone trying to kick-start a motorbike and he stopped above the treetops in the middle of the field to listen.

  “Let’s get out of here, Archy. Let’s get back!” Vincent urged.

  “Wait a sec, something’s wrong.”

  Muffled voices came from below. The boys peered down through the branches and could make out two shadowy figures standing near a motorcycle. One of the men was trying to kick-start it but the bike’s engine rattled noisily. Its headlight winked for a second and then went out.

  “It was workin’ fine a coupla ‘ours ago. Give it ‘ere, I’ll sort it.” The other shadowy figure grabbed hold of the handlebars, straddled the bike and tried, but it still didn’t start.

  Archy had a strong sense that these two were the ones who had caused the disturbance in the first place. He whispered to Vincent. “I’ll bet these are the blokes the police are after.”

  In the distance the sound of a police siren started wailing.

  Archy knew he had to deliver the two of them into the hands of the police. At least then they wouldn’t suspect him.

  “Come on. Let’s leave this heap,” one of the thieves said, slinging a plastic bag over his shoulder. The two men trudged through the undergrowth and out across the open field with Archy and Vincent hovering closely above. As they approached the road the men moved warily.