The 58th Keeper

by R. G. Bullet

  The roaring engine of a squad car drew near and the two men dove belly first straight into the sludge of a ditch beside the road. A blue light flashed. Archy had to think fast. The police car was only a hundred feet away when Archy swooped in, grabbed the plastic bag, and then threw it in front of the speeding vehicle. The bag split open, spewing its silvery contents all across the road.

  “Noooooooo! What d’ya do that for?” one thief yelled just as the car screeched to a halt. He jumped up and bolted for the woods.

  Archy and Vincent could only watch as a dog burst from the car and bounded after the thief with the officer shouting behind: “SEEK! SEEK!”

  The dog leapt at the man’s arm, bringing him headlong into a huge wall of stinging nettles, and started shaking him like a sewer rat.

  “AAHHH. Get off, ya bleeder… AAHHH… me arm!”

  The other thief remained still, seeming utterly bewildered, with his hands raised high above his head. It took just minutes before both thieves were handcuffed and put into the back of the squad car. Archy heard the policeman talking breathlessly into his radio.

  “Sarge! Sarge! I’ve just apprehended two suspects on Tilley Lane. They had items of Mr. Blakey’s in their possession.”

  Archy banked the rug to the right and sped away, the excited voice of the policeman and the barking dog growing fainter by the second. Within minutes they were gliding through the open dining room window of Rushburys. Archy pressed his watch: 2:59 a.m. He maneuvered skillfully through the empty corridors, up the stairs, whooshed passed the sick room and stopped outside of Vincent’s dormitory. Vincent stepped off and re-appeared alone in the corridor. As Archy turned to his dormitory, he heard Vincent’s voice, strained but excited.

  “Archy, that was the most amazing thing that has ever happened. Archy, are you there? Goodnight.”

  Archy opened the door to find his bed just as he had left it, with the pillows under the covers in the shape of his body, and everyone still sound asleep. He lowered himself to the floor, folded the rug, placed it quietly under his blanket, pulled the covers over his head, and quickly fell asleep.

  Chapter 13

  Dr. Jellybean

  Archy woke just before the bell rang at six-thirty the next morning. He touched the rug with his toes and then stowed it under the covers for safekeeping until he could get it back down to the tuck room. The thrill of freedom and flying so fast and of nearly being caught echoed in his mind. He wondered how Vincent was coping with it all.

  Although his mind raced his body couldn’t keep up—he felt shattered. He could hardly get out of bed he felt so exhausted, and when he did, he moved like a defective robot, hobbling out of the dorm toward the washroom. Every muscle in his body ached. It felt like he’d played three rugby matches back to back. Another three hours sleep would have been just fine. Fat chance! Every morning in Rushburys was a mad scramble to be on time or pay the penalty.

  Approaching the sinks he came face to face with three other boys who stood in his way, gawking at him. What’s their problem? he thought. Too dazed to care, Archy edged his way through them, dragging his towel off the hook, but when he turned around they were all still staring. A ginger-haired boy stood in the middle and spoke, with an eyebrow pitched high, wearing a look of suspicion.

  “Your legs! What happened to you?”

  Archy looked down to see his shredded pyjamas dangling around his legs and grazed knees. His feet were so filthy they were black, and to make matters worse his muddy footprints had trailed across the wet floor.

  “I tripped up,” Archy said weakly, wrapping the towel swiftly around his waist in an attempt to hide his legs but noticed his hands were plastered in dirt too. He pushed through the wall of onlookers and went over to the mirrors. His face bore a long scratch down his right cheek and a small leafy twig poked out from his hair.

  He cleaned himself quickly and changed into his uniform before Matron Overly or the prefect could see him. By the time the second bell rang he was presentable enough to enter the dining hall for breakfast and join Vincent at the table.

  Vincent beamed back at him. Archy’s smile faded when he noticed traces of dirt around Vincent’s temples and his neck where the towel had missed. They exchanged knowing glances and purposefully left a space between themselves, not trusting their own fervor to talk about their adventure. If somebody had heard anything and started to add up the evidence, it would lead straight back to them.

  They ate breakfast in silence and let the other boys chatter away. Everything was going so smoothly until Jude squeezed in across from Vincent. He sat down heavily, slamming down his tray and slopping porridge over the side of his bowl.

  “I drank five cups of Overly’s stuff last night,” he said, his bloodshot eyes bearing down on Vincent. He looked as bad as they did. “You told me I’d get the day off for my arm. Liar!”

  “Go away. I’m not in the mood,” said Vincent.

  “I don’t care. You’re going to pay for it. Jenson saw you get into the dorm really late last night. Anyone with half a brain can see you’ve been out and we can prove it. And you know what that means?” Jude said, dragging his index finger across his throat in a slashing motion, his threats becoming loud and dangerous. “My dad’s chairman of Seratron. That’s a huge company too, just like your dad’s.” Jude rose and so did his voice. “You know what else? By the end of today you’re going to be standing in Elms's office. I’m going to make sure of it. AND you,” he added, looking at Archy, “you’re going to get it too!” He pulled a folded local newspaper from his jacket pocket and pushed it across the table at them. Flashing a glib smile he went off to sit at another table.

  Archy opened it up. Three photos were spread across the top of the page. One was of a man with a bandage on his head and the other two were mug shots of men with their names hung around their necks.

  The headline read:

  Thwarted Thugs: Two Men Arrested on Tilley Lane

  Archy’s stomach tightened as he read the article.

  Windsor Police received an emergency call in the early hours of this morning after shop owner Mr. Arthur Blakey was assaulted inside his home at number 37 Hargrave Road. Two men, Andrew Colt and Russell Gool arrived by train from London earlier in the day and stole a motorbike from Windsor train station, intent on carrying out a series of robberies in the area. Deputy Chief Constable Stephen Brown praised the arresting officer, who apprehended the suspects on Tilley Lane shortly after the attack on Mr. Blakey. Both men were captured trying to flee the scene on foot.

  A boy is suspected in connection to the burglary, and is wanted for further questioning. He was witnessed running from the scene wearing torn clothes. The witness additionally notes that the suspect was carrying a rug. Anyone who has any information, please contact:

  www.WindsorPoliceStation.com

  Underneath the article was a police sketch of a boy who was the spitting image of a younger Prince Harry.

  Jude’s threat caught him off guard and it lingered like a death sentence.

  “There’s always a way out—always a solution! We just have to find it, Archy,” said Vincent without a tinge of doubt. He grabbed the newspaper out of Archy’s hand and crumpled it before him.

  Archy raked over the problem again and again for the remainder of the morning but didn’t produce a solution, and when they bumped into Jude coming out of the library he played his trump card one more time.

  “My last class at four o’clock is with Elms,” he sang, brushing past them. “Good luck!”

  “We’re doomed,” said Archy, watching Jude walk away. “Elms is going to hang us.”

  Vincent started chuckling to himself. “I’m so slow, Archy.” he said, slapping him on the shoulder. “I think I’ve just gotten us out of a lot of trouble. Come on.” And without an explanation he doubled back, running, until he caught up with Jude.

  “Seratron,” Vincent said, puffing. “Your dad’s company. I knew I’d heard of it. What’s the name of that guy t
rying to buy it? It’s all over the news.”

  Jude looked perplexed. “I know who it is, but who cares? My dad is still the chairman and you’re still going to Elms. But if you’re so stupid, and if you must know, it’s a doctor named Jellybean.”

  Vincent let out a snort of a laugh. “Yes, that’s it. You’ve got it. The papers called him Dr. Jellybean, didn’t they? But his name was Murray Jellybean, MD.”

  “So?” said the boy, beginning to sound suspicious.

  “Well, not that it matters much to me, but it should to you because this Dr. Jellybean is now the owner, and your dad works for him. But come on! No one’s really called Dr. Jellybean, are they? Even the papers didn’t figure it out right away.”

  “Figure out what? What are you talking about?”

  “I’ll give you a hint.” Vincent took out his pen and wrote in large blue letters: Murray Jellybean, MD across Jude’s cast. “It’s an anagram. The real owner used that name to buy Seraton shares without revealing his identity. If you’re smart, you’ll get it and if you’re really smart, you’ll come to the rec hall later where we’ll watch you beg for forgiveness,” he said smugly. Then he turned to Archy. “I’ve got math in 12B. He isn’t so stupid,” he added and walked off down the corridor.

  ***

  “Got it!” Archy raced into the recreational hall. Vincent was hunched over a table, trying to fix his old pocket watch, which lay in pieces in front of him. He was wearing a set of magnifying glasses. He looked up with a grin, his eyes large as coasters.

  “Finally!” said Vincent.

  “It took me half the English lesson, but I did it.” Archy continued, pulling up a chair. “Dr. Jellybean saves lives!” They both started laughing.

  Archy didn’t know if the watch would ever tick again but was impressed by Vincent’s ingenuity. Vincent’s smile faded and then he took a stealthy look around the room and leaned closer to Archy.

  “We’re going on the rug again, right? Come on. I can’t stop thinking about it,” Vincent whispered.

  “Not now.” Archy held up his hand. “We’ve got company.”

  Jude came over holding out a piece of paper. Archy could see dozens of attempts at the anagram and the answer circled rather angrily on the bottom. Jeremy Maynard-Bull.

  “Uh… sorry about that,” Jude said feebly to Vincent.

  Vincent, still overjoyed about the prospect of getting back on the rug, gave Jude an overbearing hug. “No problem, me old fruit bat.” Then he stepped up onto the sofa and bounced up and down, spilling everyone’s tea. He broke into dance and started singing. “If you want my body and you think I’m sexy, come on sugar let me know.” Some of the boys started to laugh. “Just reach out ‘n touch…”

  “MAYNARD-BULL!” Mr. Rose bellowed from the doorway. Vincent froze in the middle of an embarrassing move. “Have you completely lost it, boy?”

  “Sorry, Sir I was just—”

  “Report to the kitchen. They’ll want your body to clean under the sinks. Move!”

  Vincent dismounted, cursing under his breath, and Mr. Rose ushered him from the room.

  “Anyone else see think himself—sexy?” asked Mr. Rose.

  No one responded.

  ***

  Archy knew the overpowering feelings Vincent was going through. Nevertheless, invisibility or not, there was no way he could spare Vincent from an all-nighter in the kitchen. Vincent would probably spend the entire time scraping grease from under the gas cookers or stripping cabbage.

  It would be fine if everything just settled down and Archy could learn about things in his own time, at his own pace. He still hadn’t found out anything about the former Keepers or SOTS. And now he was wanted by the police and hunted by the two men at the airport.

  What he really wanted to do was take the rug on a long ride and show it off to Georgia. He pictured her face and imagined what her reaction would be. But instead he settled on the sofa of the recreational room with a tired sigh, and opened the Keeper’s log.

  Questions loomed. Why had he crashed it so easily last night and how could he store the rug safely and properly? he thought. Archy tried to read another page but the old English and different handwriting needed careful study. The effort became too much and he lost the struggle. In a minute he had dozed off.

  Some time passed undisturbed, in a peaceful, dreamless nap, until a junior kicked the bottom of the sofa. “BASS, I’ve been looking for you; there’s a call waiting. Booth seven.”

  “A call, who?”

  “I think he said his name was—Arduous.”

  Archy rushed to the phones. “Hello, Archy speaking.”

  “Archy Speaking! Is safe to talk?”

  “Is this you, Alturus?”

  “Hi Archy, how are you?”

  “Alturus, You have no idea—it WORKS! IT WORKS! It happened last night—”

  “Archy, I know, I know. I remember feeling. But Archy, calm, calm—calming down. Please to listen. I cannot send letter anymore, I need you come and see me in London. You can do this trip now, no? You read book, know how to—move?”

  Archy pulled the booth door shut. “You said it was dangerous. The rug—”

  “Calming, Archy! Calming,” said Alturus.

  “I AM CALMING, Alturus, but I have a thousand questions—and I need a million answers. Who are the SOTS and the Kurul—and you don’t understand. Those guys in the airport. They nearly found me. I had to be smuggled out under a lot of dirty laundry. How did you get away? Hello?”

  Archy could hear a rumble of trains in the background and Alturus's voice was drowned out. It seemed that he hadn’t heard a single word Archy said. When he came back on the line, Alturus’s voice was tense. “You must be coming tonight, Archy. Come talk to me before SOTS take rug away from you. There’s no rain, I see forecast. Do you have pen? Take address. You know Wormwood Scrubs?”

  “You’re in PRISON?”

  “No just outside—and come tonight. All I can say.”

  Archy took down the exact address, but Alturus was pushing far too hard. Anxious thoughts quickly filled his mind. He was exhausted. Vincent couldn’t join him. A long trip would be extremely dangerous. Fly to London by himself—he could barely get across the fields last night. He started to explain how he couldn’t possibly do it, but the pips went on the phone and Alturus got disconnected.

  Chapter 14

  Henchman Street

  Archy used every ounce of energy he had to get ready. He took the rug out and set it up in the dormitory while no one was around. He was able to leave it hovering just out of reach above his bed. And later after lights out, when he was sure everyone was asleep, he dressed under the sheets, slipping on an extra sweater. Then he stood on his bed to lower the rug so that he could roll onto it.

  He left the dormitory without incident, opened the landing window, and sped off toward the main road. His watch flashed 10:55 p.m.

  The instructions to get to Alturus’s place sounded simple. He needed to follow the main road (careful to avoid the electric wires), and make his way to the highway, then right into the heart of the city. He was extremely wary as he made his way. Crashing the night before with Vincent had unnerved him and he willed himself to keep calm. He figured that if he started off slowly, everything would be okay.

  It didn’t happen that way though because he took off too fast, snapping off the tip of a tree just outside the grounds of Rushburys. It brushed his fingers, grazing his skin, and he heard the treetop scrape the underneath of the rug.

  At first Archy found it a bit frightening being so high above the houses. With his courage building, however, he went higher and increased the speed till once more the thrill of flying coursed through his body.

  Lying flat and gritting his teeth against the wind Archy heard nothing but the whooshing air stream over him, but after a few minutes, becoming seemingly louder and draining his attention was Alturus’s voice, echoing in the back of his mind. “You must be coming tonight, Archy. Come talk to me be
fore SOTS take rug back from you…” Who were SOTS anyway, and why did they want the rug back, Archy wondered. He couldn’t give it back—wouldn’t give it back. With the rug he felt could do anything, go anywhere. He didn’t have to obey anyone ever. He pulled back as far as he could on the corners as if the speed would wipe out his very thoughts.

  He recognized the first signs of London by the million lights in the distance. He slowed, swooping lower. He passed under a bridge along the River Thames to get to Alturus’s neighborhood. When he flew under London Bridge he kept going and slowed so he could read the street signs.

  Alturus’s street was difficult to find. It was small and the traffic was so heavy it took several minutes to locate a suitable place just to land undetected. Choosing a dimly lit alley just outside the high walls of the prison, he dismounted. The weather had held so far but now it threatened to rain. Archy smoothed down his hair, rolled the rug, and stuffed it into his backpack to keep it dry.

  A crack of lightning lit the dark sky. Seconds later thunder rumbled somewhere overhead and at once it started to rain. Archy shuddered as the trickles snaked down his neck as he searched for 312A Henchman Street. Drenched from head to toe, he finally rang the top bell and waited patiently, watching a puddle form around his feet. It was time to meet up with Alturus and ask all the questions the Keeper’s log hadn’t answered.

  At last Alturus opened the door. The gash on his cheek had nearly healed and his hair had grown out. He wore a ragged T-shirt, track suit bottoms, and no shoes.

  “Archy. It is you! Good gracious, good golly! Come! You dripping.” He slapped Archy on the shoulder with a resounding splat and pulled him inside. The entrance hall smelled of mold and was dimly lit. Several old photographs hung from the faded wallpapered walls, hinting that someone had cared about the place a long time ago.