Chaos Clock

by Gill Arbuthnott

  Under a clear sky he could make out the empty car park that lay below the tower, and to the right, the jumbled shapes of the building site, patchily illuminated by security lights, and perfectly, blissfully normal.

  ***

  Anger powered Gordon all the way to Princes Street, past the fog-free Gardens – no sign at all of the Nor Loch. It wasn’t until he had to stop and wait to cross the road there that he began to calm down.

  The old man must be touched, that was it, no point in being angry with him. Still, how had he known about what Gordon had seen and heard in the Gardens? And what had gone on in that room this afternoon?

  It was all rubbish, that’s what. Maybe he was ill, maybe he should go and see the doctor, but all that nonsense the old man had been spouting about power and time and monkeys – monkeys, for goodness sake! – was rubbish; the ramblings of some sort of dementia.

  And yet, how could he have known about the boat in the fog? Gordon would have died before he would have told anyone about that. And something had happened in the room.

  He became aware that as he stood there the green man had come and gone. He roused himself from his reverie and when the lights changed again he strode off.

  It was a crisp autumn evening, and from George Street he could see the city strung with lights all the way to the Firth of Forth. He continued down the long slope towards home, turning along Northumberland Street with its tall houses. He always liked to glance in at the windows as he passed. Lots of folk never seemed to draw their curtains nowadays and he loved that snapshot of other people’s lives. He looked in at kitchens, playrooms and sitting rooms, and some that were definitely drawing rooms. There were families eating or talking or watching television, and one household was having some sort of mock-Victorian evening, with a piano and costumes and everything.

  He stopped dead, looking at the gaslights flickering in the drawing room, and the half a dozen men and women gathered round the piano.

  This room wasn’t like this!

  He knew this street, played his spying game here two or three times a week. Everything about this room was wrong: the heavy curtains, the fire, the lights, even the paintings.

  I will not panic.

  He forced himself to close his eyes, counted to ten and opened them. A man turned the music for the woman playing the piano. Gordon turned away and walked as fast as he could without running to the end of the street, and stood at the corner taking in cars and electric street lamps and normally dressed people.

  You can only deny the truth for so long.

  LIES

  David was drowning in sleep. Every night now, he went to bed yawning ostentatiously as early as he reasonably could, and every morning he shut his ears to the sound of the alarm clock.

  His days were increasingly focused on the moment when he could lie down in bed, switch off the light and launch himself willingly into the void of the dream.

  He’d stopped being afraid of the Lightning Man; now he was little more than a distraction. He was there each night, sometimes on the lake, at other times already sitting on the shore. He would talk to David for a few minutes, mostly asking him questions for which he had no answers, about what it was like to live in a world in which time was so constrained. David replied as best he could, but all the time he was waiting for the sounds that told him his mother was approaching.

  For the first few days he’d done little more than hold her, unable to stop the tears that slid down his face, but gradually he began to believe that she would be there the next night, and the next, and to talk to her. She asked questions as well, and these he had no trouble answering: they were about his dad and school and Kate and his other friends. She wanted to know about his life since she’d gone.

  Time passed at a different rate in this dream world, where lightning coiled upwards like smoke from the man who sat silent, white teeth showing, watching and listening through the constant growl of his own thunder. He knew he slept for hours and never woke before the alarm forced him, but although he felt as though the dream had lasted all night, he never felt he’d had more than an hour or so with his mother.

  It wasn’t enough.

  He found it hard to be enthusiastic about school, or football practice. Nothing seemed very important compared with the time he spent with his mother. He’d missed her so much and for so long, without realising quite how deep the tear in his heart was. Now by some miracle he had her back every night.

  He should have rushed to thank Mr Flowerdew for giving him the courage to look up, but something he couldn’t put into words stopped him. He told no one, not even Kate, what was going on.

  She had asked, of course, as soon as she saw him, the day after he decided to confront the dream; and for the first time ever, he had lied to her.

  Not lied … It wasn’t really a lie. He’d told her about the Lightning Man, and said he’d asked some questions and described the tendrils of lightning. He just hadn’t mentioned his mum, and when Kate had asked him about the hiking boot, he shrugged and said quite smoothly, “I don’t know. I didn’t see it last night.”

  He kept to that story with Mr Flowerdew too, sticking as close to the truth as possible, but not mentioning his mother, admitting that the Lightning Man asked him questions, and that he was no longer afraid.

  “So it is the Lightning King who troubles your dreams. I wondered when he would show himself. He is one of the Great Lords of Chaos. So is your dream visitor, Kate: Tethys the Water Witch. You have no need to fear them, as I’ve said. They can do you no harm, but they will try to persuade you to aid them instead of the Guardians.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Kate, “we’re on your side. Aren’t we, David?”

  “Of course we are,” David replied automatically. “How did things go with Gordon Syme?”

  This was the reason for their latest meeting.

  Mr Flowerdew – it was no good; they’d tried but couldn’t call him John – made a face as though he’d bitten into something sour. “Not very well. I took him down to the round room and let him hear what you heard, then met him later and explained. He knows I’ve told him the truth, but he’s trying to pretend to himself that it’s all lies.” He sighed, suddenly looking his age, whatever that was. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure what to do next about him. I think I will have to wait until he approaches me, but for once I am finding waiting a difficult task.”

  “We could try talking to him,” suggested Kate.

  “I don’t think so … he will see you only as children.”

  “Maybe we could convince him somehow.”

  “I don’t see how you could.”

  “Anyway, there’s no reason for us not to go to the museum, is there?”

  “None at all – the more you know about it the better – but be careful what you say to Gordon Syme. We mustn’t push him further away accidentally.”

  ***

  That had been a week ago, but they hadn’t yet got round to visiting the museum. When Kate had suggested it, David said vaguely that he had stuff to do at home. He wasn’t actually avoiding her, but he didn’t seem interested in talking to her. In fact, he didn’t seem interested in anything much except this mysterious stuff.

  When she called round for him on Saturday morning for football practice, Alastair had to shake him awake and chivvy him out of his bed. He dressed with a bad grace and was sullen and off-form all morning. Kate was glad to say goodbye to him, irritated and worried at the same time.

  Her concern for David made her restless and irritable, and for the rest of the day she found herself getting into fights with Ben over even less than usual. After one of them she shut herself in her room and took out Grandma Alice’s gold necklace.

  It was made of flattened links of gold, all identical and completely plain, except that when she turned it over she could see shapes engraved on some of the links which she swore had never been there before. They were very small, but quite clear, tiny picture shapes a bit like Egyptian hieroglyphs. Ho
w had they suddenly got there? They couldn’t have been there before without her noticing, could they?

  She kept going back to the necklace during the evening, half expecting the engraving to be gone, and the links to be blank once more, but they were still there. When her mother had come in to tell her it was bedtime, Kate had been terrified that she would take the necklace from her hand and see how it had changed, but she hadn’t seemed to notice it.

  Suddenly very tired, she turned off her lamp and squirmed down under the covers. She could hear the soft mutter of the television from the sitting room, otherwise it was quiet apart from an occasional car going past. She let her eyes close and stretched out yawning …

  ***

  … and was standing once more in the cold desert.

  This time, the woman who called herself Tethys was beside her at once, water slipping and dripping ceaselessly from her, her too-bright mouth curved in a smile. In the distance the wolves howled, but Kate couldn’t see any sign of them.

  “Kate, my dear. I have been impatient to see you again. I have a present for you.” She held out a hand. Dangling from finger and thumb was a magnificent gold bracelet, set with pearls and emeralds. “It is for you, my dear. Isn’t it beautiful? Look.” She moved it so that the light flashed off the polished surfaces. “It’s for you. All I ask for in exchange is that plain little gold necklace of your grandmother’s.”

  Kate moved slowly back. “No! You can’t have that. It’s mine. I’ll never give it to you.”

  The bracelet of gold and pearls and emeralds swung before her eyes.

  “Come, let me fasten it for you,” said Tethys, her smile as sweet as ever. She held the bracelet in both hands and reached towards Kate’s left wrist. Kate tried to move away, but something was behind her, rough hair against her legs, hot breath on her skin. She didn’t dare turn to see it, and instead shouted desperately, “No! I don’t want it. Leave me alone. I know who you are.”

  She sat up trembling in her own bed, her grandmother’s necklace clutched so tight in her hand that the links had left an imprint.

  ***

  By Sunday afternoon it was raining and the house was seething with bad temper.

  “We need to get out somewhere,” said Ruth.

  “I don’t want to go out in the rain,” wailed Ben.

  “Why don’t we go to the museum?” Kate suggested.

  “That’s a good idea, Kate. What do you think, Ben? You can go and see the dinosaurs and you won’t have to get wet.”

  “Good,” said Ben emphatically.

  The hall was crowded with people intent on finding a way to pass a wet Sunday afternoon. Damp tourists mingled with families, umbrellas dripped, and the fish spent their time speeding away from a hail of small change.

  Ben pulled at his dad’s hand. “Dinosaurs! I want to see the dinosaurs.”

  “All right, Ben, don’t pull so hard, you’ll have my arm off.”

  “Can I go round on my own for a bit?” asked Kate.

  “I don’t see why not. Don’t go off with …”

  “I know, Mum.”

  “Sorry, love. We’ll meet you in the café in half an hour, okay?”

  “Forty-five minutes?”

  “All right. Don’t be late.”

  They separated and, walking quickly through the ground floor galleries, Kate began to look for Gordon.

  No sign; but then, she didn’t even know if he was here today. She paused to stare at the clock, looking especially hard at the little monkey in her golden clothes. Sometimes she had trouble believing that all this was really happening.

  Should she go upstairs next, or into the new museum? She could wander round all afternoon and just keep missing him; and if she did find him, what exactly was she going to say?

  She would worry about that if she found him.

  She turned away from the clock towards the Information Desk, scanning faces.

  The Information Desk … Oh, she was such an idiot sometimes.

  She hurried over. “Excuse me,” she said to the woman on the desk, with her best smile. “Is Mr Syme working today? His first name’s Gordon, I think.”

  “Let me check … Do you know him, dear?”

  “Oh no, not really, but my friend David and I were here for the sleepover a few weeks ago and had a really good time, and he was helping with it and I wanted to say hello.”

  Where on earth had all that come from? wondered Kate as it tumbled breathlessly out.

  The woman smiled as she looked up from the form she was checking. “Yes, he’s here.” She looked at her watch. “He should just be coming back from his break. The best place to catch him is the room where the elephants are.”

  “Thank you.”

  Kate went to lie in wait among the elephants. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Gordon appeared round the corner, hands clasped behind his back, treading slowly. Kate pretended to be absorbed in the information board in front of her until he was almost level with her, then turned away from it as though lost in thought, and was able to literally bump into him.

  “Oof!” he said as she stood on one of his feet and bounced off his stomach.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She shook her hair out of her eyes. “Oh hello, Mr Syme,” she said as though she had just realised who he was. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” She could see him trying to place her in his memory. “I’m Kate Dalgliesh … from the sleepover. I was here with my friend David.”

  “Ah yes, I remember. Is he here today too?”

  “No. I’m with my family. Mum and Dad and my little brother are up in the dinosaur bit.”

  “Say hello to your friend for me.”

  “I will.” She paused. “Did you ever catch the rat or whatever it was that ate our biscuits?”

  He looked suddenly wary. “No. No, we never did. It’s gone anyway though. Must have sneaked out somehow. Don’t you worry, it won’t bother you if you come to another one.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried about that. It’s just the dream.”

  “The dream?”

  “Don’t you remember? I disturbed you in the middle of the night by shouting out.”

  “Oh yes,” he said, remembering vaguely.

  “I keep having the same dream. I’m sure it’s connected to being here. And my friend David – he’s had really strange dreams since then too.”

  Gordon’s face was pinched. “Have you told your parents?”

  “No. Just Mr Flowerdew.”

  His eyes widened in shock, and she thought for a moment he would walk away from her. “How do you know him?” he said with a struggle.

  “He was a friend of my grandma’s. I’ve known him all my life. I know you didn’t believe what he told …”

  “Kate! Kate! Mum says I can have a cake because I’ve been good.”

  Oh no – of all the moments! …

  “Please, talk to him again. He’s told you the truth and he needs your help. We all do.”

  It was all there was time to say before Ben cannoned into her and her parents appeared at the other end of the gallery.

  Would it be enough?

  CAKES

  “All right, I’ll listen to you.”

  The old man had been in the Main Hall sitting on the whale rib chairs for an hour or so every afternoon for the last week. Gordon had avoided him until today, still wrestling with the thing in his head.

  He looked up, keen-eyed, measuring. “What has changed your mind?”

  “Partly what the wee girl said, and partly … I know something’s not right. I haven’t imagined all this.”

  “Will you come to my house?” He passed Gordon a small printed card. “The children will be there too. They have a part to play in this.”

  ***

  The boy opened the door to him before he’d had a chance to knock. What was his name again?

  “Hello, Donald.”

  “It’s David.” He smiled as he said it. “Come in.”

  He remembered him now h
e saw him again, but he didn’t look well. His face was pinched with dark smudges under his eyes; not the cheery child he’d met at the sleepover.

  Gordon stepped into the hallway and looked round, taking in the great clock with its leisurely tick, the pictures and polished wood. It had been no surprise that the little printed card had led him to a fancy house in Bruntsfield.

  David showed him into a big, bay-windowed room, crammed with books and pictures and an incongruous wide-screen TV. Gordon stared at it.

  “Why is it,” John Flowerdew said, coming into the room, “that everyone who comes to this house is surprised by the fact that I own a big television? I sometimes feel as if I’ve been caught breaking some sort of rule.”

  “You just don’t look like the sort of person who has wide-screen,” said Kate from behind him, catching Gordon’s eye conspiratorially. “Hello, Mr Syme.”

  “Hello, Kate.”

  “Let’s sit down,” said Mr Flowerdew. Once they had done so, he went on, “How have things been in the museum?”

  “Quiet,” said Gordon, knowing he wasn’t asking about visitor numbers or anything like that. “Whatever’s been wandering about at night has stopped just now. It’s just as well: people were starting to get a bit rattled. It’s a wonder nobody blabbed to one of the papers about it all.”

  “If things continue to progress at their present rate it won’t be long before something gets into print.”

  “I think I understand what you meant about all the power massed in the museum, and how it’s begun to leak out. Is that what happened in the round room? Those voices?”

  “Not exactly.” Mr Flowerdew cast about for the right words. “Although the power is particularly strong in that room because of what it contains, on that occasion it was me acting as a channel for it, allowing the past to seep through. If the flow of time weakens further however, it will start to happen more and more of its own accord.”