Archer's Mystery At Mainswell

by Edward Fisher

  ‘Right, declared Mark. ‘It’s time to tell Mum and Dad we’ve arrived, and time to show Bec how Cyclops works.’

  They reached the front door of the farmhouse and the girl let them inside. Leaving muddy boots in the porch, they quickly went upstairs and entered the girl’s bedroom. In a few moments the computer was humming, the lights on the front of the box indicating that the power was on and the hard disk was operative. Finally, the familiar prompt appeared. Mark Hammond fished inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a thin, rectangular, blue-coloured object that was a little larger than a credit card.

  ‘This disk contains a system I call Cyclops,’ he explained. ‘It’s not fully developed yet, but it’s adequate.’ He loaded the disk and in less than a couple of minutes the software had been copied to the computer.

  ‘So what does Cyclops do?’ Bec asked him while the disk whirred as the software was copied onto the PC.

  ‘It’s basically a message sender. I can program it to send a message to a predetermined target at a specific time. The software will dial the required number and send the message. In this case, all I’m going to do is send a simple message to my Internet mailbox. Sometime later on this afternoon our home computer will look up the mailbox, read any messages and print them. Then an alarm will sound and hopefully Mum or Dad will read them.’

  ‘So you can send any message at any time to any location you want to?’ she queried.

  ‘Near enough, but it can do more than that. It can also receive messages from predetermined places at given times, cycles or specified frequencies. So I could set it to receive a message directly from home at, say, ten tonight and it would sit and wait for it to happen and then display or print the message.’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Oh yeah, it can also be used to transmit programs and run them on remote computers at certain times. For example we have a pseudo-virus here we could put on someone’s computer when we want to. All we’d need to know is that the other computer was on and that it could receive messages.’

  ‘So, what are you planning?’

  ‘Well, we have this computer we know about that’s been doctored to automatically kick in the modem at certain times, just in case we want to talk to it directly. Cyclops can send suitable messages at those times, and the recipient will see them almost immediately.’

  ‘Great. Now Mark, can we just send the message to your parents and get back outside again?’

  ‘Sure. Do you mind if we leave this on for the rest of the day, just in case Dad wants to reply to us?’ He omitted to tell his cousin that his father had no idea how to do that, and also had no access to Cyclops even if he had wanted it. Instead, the older boy had something else up his sleeve.

  ‘Hmm. Okay, I guess, but we’ll have to check it at tea time and turn it off.’

  ‘That’s okay. Dad’ll reply within an hour or two if he’s going to. Now, let’s send that message.’

  Mark composed the short message telling his parents that they had arrived safely and were well. He soon transmitted it to his Internet mailbox and then turned Cyclops seemingly into a wait mode. His younger brother and cousin had no idea that in just a few minutes the other predetermined messages would be sent to their own very different locations. As a safety precaution they turned off the screen before leaving the room. For Mark, that only added a sense of security to the game he was about to play.

  While the youngsters had been occupied upstairs they had completely forgotten about Archer. He had not come into the house with them. Instead he had retraced his steps to the building where the grinding sound had been coming from. He knew it not from the sound, but rather from a scent, and it was a scent that troubled him because he couldn’t quite remember where it came from. He stood outside the shed’s door, which was still ajar, and sniffed as delicately as a fully-grown Alsatian can sniff. He found his suspicions were confirmed, and it created within him a mixture of satisfaction and confusion. The scent was still there. He also noticed that the sound had stopped. Slowly and carefully he nudged the door. It gave way easily and soon he stood in the open doorway. He looked round furtively and observed that the room was empty. He sniffed again. The scent was stronger now. His nose twitched as he turned his head to locate the scent’s source. He began to walk forward, when suddenly from a room at the back of the shed, he heard low voices. Archer wasn’t interested in what they were saying, which was a shame, because if he could have shared this conversation with his human companions it would have been extremely interesting to them. He was still sniffing in the shed when the back door opened. Tom the farmhand came out purposefully. He espied the canine intruder and froze momentarily as he tried to recognise it.

  ‘Hey Fred,’ he called to the other occupant in the back room. ‘There’s a dog in here listening to us.’ He laughed, and as he did so Archer growled softly. Archer didn’t much like Tom. ‘Oh, it’s all right,’ said Tom. ‘I remember now. It’s just the dog that those cousins of Jack’s girl brought with them. Go on, boy, I can’t have you in here getting in the way. Out you go.’

  He started shepherding Archer to the door. The dog sniffed once more. The scent was definitely coming from the back room. Just as he was turning to leave the shed he caught a brief glimpse of the other occupant, a short, ruddy-faced man with a large nose. Archer thought he recognised him. Then, as he walked outside, he heard the door shut behind him. Curious, Archer thought to himself. He couldn’t quite place the other person, not yet.

  Chapter 7

  After lunch on their first full day at Mainswell, the teenagers decided a visit to the village was called for. So, with canine companion in tow - quite literally, because Archer did not view a visit to the village as something appealing to him - they set off from the farm. Ten minutes later, with James complaining that the dog was like a dead weight, they turned the final corner of the twisty country road that led from the farm to the village, and the boys caught their first sight of the main road through Mainswell. It was not a particularly inspiring sight, as the village comprised a handful of cottages, a couple of smallish shops, a newsagent and post office, and a building that the sign outside proclaimed as The Sickle and Scythe Inn.

  ‘Not quite what you’re used to, is it?’ queried the girl as she observed the boys’ glum expressions. ‘No major shops, no computer outlet, no this, no that. But it’s all we need. Those two shops will sell you just about everything you need. And don’t forget, we still have the camp shop for those little extras.’

  ‘It’s not the shops I’m concerned about,’ quipped Mark. ‘It’s just a bit of a surprise remembering that it’s all so small. I’ll bet everybody knows everybody else, don’t they?’

  ‘Pretty much, why?’

  ‘Not many secrets hidden hereabouts, I shouldn’t think.’

  ‘Not many! I daresay most of the faces behind the twitching curtains even knew you were coming here. I’m sure Dad will have said something to someone and the news will have spread.’

  ‘Oohhh, that’s spooky. Everyone knowing who we are, and we don’t know them!’

  ‘Not really, it’s just the way community life works out here. Everyone watches everyone else. Quite useful really.’

  ‘Come on,’ said James as they neared the newsagents. Who wants an ice cream?’

  There was a general consensus that this was a good idea and the trio entered the shop.

  ‘Afternoon, Rebecca,’ the cheery voice behind the counter greeted them.

  ‘Afternoon, Mary. Let me introduce Mark and James, my cousins. They’re staying on the farm for a couple of weeks, and knowing their appetite for ice creams they’ll be spending a good part of it here, I should think.’

  ‘Afternoon, Mark. Afternoon, James.’ The voice was polite and informal.

  ‘Hi there,’ Mark replied on their behalf. ‘We’ll take these please,’ he continued as he placed the three ice creams on the counter.

  ‘One pound twenty-five please. Oh Rebecca, have you heard the news today?’
<
br />   ‘No. Do you mean local or national.’

  ‘Local, of course! The Manor House was burgled last night. I heard it said they got four really expensive pictures as well as a load of jewellery. That’s the third big burglary round about in the last month.’

  ‘Are you sure about it?’

  ‘Well, not totally, but a couple of folk have been in here and talking about something like that, so I reckon it’s true.’

  ‘Well, we’ll be back tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll be able to tell us some more then. Meanwhile, we’ll keep our ears open and let you know if we hear anything. It would be quite a strange coincidence. We’ve been at least a year without anything like this, and then all of a sudden there’s been a spate burglaries.’

  ‘Strange indeed.’ Mark joined the girls’ conversation and then continued, ‘Look, I hate to break up the party but we have a ratty dog tied up outside and if we don’t get back to him soon he’ll do his nut or something.’

  ‘Bye then, see you soon.’

  ‘Bye.’

  The shop door shut behind the teenagers and a very grateful Archer was unleashed from the railing to which he had been tethered. He looked at each teenager in turn and then, realising they had not even bothered to buy an ice cream for him, he sat down with his mouth open and resolutely refused to move.

  ‘What is it Archer? Look pal, you can’t keep on like this all fortnight. We’re gonna get really fed up with you.’ Mark sounded cross, but as he spoke James nudged him.

  ‘He’s thirsty, and by the look on his face he wants a nice cold ice cream too.’

  ‘Well, he’s not getting one. What a waste of money - buying an ice cream for a dog! He’ll just gulp it all down in one go anyway.’

  ‘Okay, Mark, it’s just that it’s your turn to pull him along. It might have been easier if you’d bought him an ice cream.’

  ‘Rubbish. Now Archer, we’re going to walk. Up you get.’

  Archer just looked stubbornly at the teenager. Mark pulled on the lead and succeeded in moving the dog about six inches along the pavement. As he did so Archer let out a warning growl.

  ‘Archer, heel!’ The voice was one of authority and increasing anger.

  ‘Heel yourself,’ the reluctant dog was thinking. Instead, as if to make his position absolutely clear, Archer lay down. His face seemed to say, ‘I’m really not going to move until I get what I want.’

  ‘Okay. You win.’ As Mark went into the shop to buy the dog an ice cream he was sure his companions were only just stifling a laugh.

  Mark returned a minute later, slightly red-faced and clearly not in a good mood. ‘Here’s your ice cream.’

  He unwrapped it and stuck it in front of the dog’s face. True to his earlier prediction, Archer opened his big Alsatian mouth and gulped the ice cream down in one swift and almost clinically precise movement. After the last morsel had been swallowed, Archer obediently stood up as if saying, ‘Thank you. Now what are we waiting for?’

  ‘That dog is the most single-minded, arrogant beast I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting,’ bemoaned the older boy, much to the mirth of his brother and cousin.

  The youngsters jostled each other as they walked further down the village road until they reached the other two shops. The first was a mixture of a greengrocer’s, butcher’s and general store, whilst the second was clearly a baker’s. The youths looked in through the window of each shop in turn, noting the produce that would be available to them.

  ‘Could get some fresh veg and fruit while we’re here,’ suggested James.

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea. What do you think Bec?’

  ‘Hmm, might as well, I suppose. It’s no more expensive than the camp shop. In fact, and don’t tell anyone I told you this, we have a sort of arrangement with our neighbours. We both price the same produce at the same level, and we always tell each other if a price is going to move. It means everyone’s happy and the campers reckon they’re getting a fair deal too. It also means we don’t get any aggro from the villagers. It’s been like that for about three years now. We used to cut prices on certain products and then the shops would too; we were basically losing out all round and making enemies, so we formed a pact which has worked ever since.’

  ‘Sounds a good idea to me.’

  ‘Yeah, it is. The main thing is you can get a wider choice here in the shops because they can afford to stock more items than we can. And because they have a bigger turnover, if you want any perishables that don’t come from the farm you’re more likely to find them here.’

  ‘Okay, let’s get some veg then, and some fruit.’

  The trio entered the greengrocer’s shop and duly made their purchase. Archer again was tied to a railing outside the shop. While his owners were inside he sat down, a prisoner of circumstance.

  His thoughts drifted up and down the road, which happened to be empty of any other life form, human or otherwise. Having looked carefully in both directions, he lay on the pavement, spread his front paws out before him and rested his face on his fur. Archer could not explain that he was bored, but his motionless posture indicated that he was. His total lack of interest in his surroundings indicated that Archer did not want to be where he was, but that he had resigned himself to the situation he, as a dog, would have to endure when others took him shopping.

  From his early days as a puppy he had learned to take these situations in his stride and he now affected an uninterested nonchalance whenever the situation demanded it. This was just one of those situations. He was vaguely aware, a few minutes after he lay down, of the shop door opening, but Archer had turned uninterested nonchalance into an art form and he did not even raise an enquiring eyebrow or look round to prove his mental observation. He became aware of the voices that had filled so much of his time during that day and soon felt the lead being loosed from the rail. The studded collar was still round his neck, and it still pulled at his fur whenever he failed to walk in precisely the correct manner. He hated that collar and he didn’t like being led by the lead that was attached to it. As he felt the first pull on the lead he also recognised the familiar command, ‘Come on, Archer.’

  He rose as slowly as he could and gradually it dawned on him that the collar was not tight, or at least it was not pulling. He was soon aware that the girl was holding his lead, and an almost imperceptible glance in her direction told him she was not holding it in the way the boys did. She did not have it wrapped round her wrist, gripping it so it could not be pulled away. Rather the lead was held loosely in her hand, just like a rider holds the reins of a horse.

  ‘Time for fun,’ the dog whispered to himself. ‘After all,’ he reasoned, ‘I’ve done everything they’ve wanted up till now, and now I want to explore.’ With a sudden return to activity, Archer made a dash for it, pulling suddenly and unexpectedly at the lead.

  ‘Whoa, Archer, not so fast,’ she called as he began to run.

  ‘Whoa’ might work for a horse, but not for me, he thought as he increased the tension in the lead. He knew from the outset that he would win. After all, her grip wasn’t strong enough to hold him back. In less than a second Archer had wrested the lead from the girl’s grip and was running off down the road.

  The three youngsters called out to him in vain. Archer had the wind behind him and was on a mission to run. They stood for a moment, possibly a moment too long, watching him. It was James who recovered first. He began to run after the disappearing canine, at the same time shouting to the others, ‘If we don’t stay with him, he’ll get lost.’

  ‘Right,’ said Mark, gathering his thoughts and preparing to join the chase. ‘Any back roads or short cuts round here?’ he questioned his cousin.

  ‘No there aren’t, really. There’s just one main road, a few spurs, and lots of country. Mark, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d do that.’

  ‘He doesn’t usually. It’s not your fault. Come on, let’s catch up with James.’

  The other two teenagers joined in the chase, which led down out
of the village, up a side road on the left-hand side, and ended at the gate of a field through which the dog just managed to pass before James lunged for the disappearing lead.

  ‘Don’t open the gate,’ called Rebecca, running up hard behind the younger of her cousins. James had just reached for the bolt on the gate. His breathless condition did not endear him to climbing the gate.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked.

  ‘’Cos there’s a bull in that field. Firstly it might get you, and secondly, if it escapes, there’ll be hell to pay.’

  ‘Gotcha,’ said James, rapidly sliding the bolt back into position. ‘Bull hey? Hope it likes dogs.’

  Judging by the sudden yelp and bark that came from somewhere in the field, the bull did not take kindly to canine intruders any more than it did to the human variety.

  ‘Don’t think it likes dogs much either,’ Mark joined in, fighting to regain his breath. ‘So what do we do now?’

  ‘Call him and hope he comes running.’

  The three joined to become one voice in yelling the dog’s name. They tried for over three minutes, but Archer did not appear.

  ‘Okay, let’s stop. He’s either gone to ground or disappeared, or the bull’s got to him. I guess we can’t do any more.’

  ‘Guess not. Look, he’s not stupid, he’ll find a way back.’

  The youngsters peered over the gate for some minutes, silently wondering where Archer had gone, puzzled that he had not answered their calls, and deciding what their next course of action should be.

  Archer’s view on the whole incident was quite different to that of the worried teenagers. After the initial excitement of breaking free from the girl and running up the road, just fast enough to allow his pursuers to follow him, he had finally lunged through a hole just to the left of a big metal gate and had found himself in a field where the grass was long, though not long enough to hide an animal of his size. Almost as soon as he had entered the field his nose had detected two scents. The first was familiar to him, and it reminded him of the morning’s antics – it was the aroma of fresh rabbit. Then, almost instantaneously, he had detected the second, and stronger, more pungent aroma. This he did not recognise and it intrigued him. Next he had heard two noises. The first was a sort of bellowing grunt, like that of a large animal breathing heavily as it ran. The second noise was a bit like the horses hooves he’d heard, as they’d come to the farm from the station, only the sound was more dull and deeper. After a few second, as both sounds grew louder, his feet sensed a tremor in the ground that mirrored the sound of the running hooves. He had just enough time to flick his head to the right to see a very large, fierce, snorting creature pounding it’s way across the field in a direct line towards him.