by Martyn Ford
‘An axe? What? We’re not cutting my leg off, Dee. And surely, if anything, we should at least attempt to break these shelves.’
‘Of course we’d try that first,’ Dee huffed. ‘I’m just saying, don’t hold your breath on that leg.’
‘No.’
‘Timothy,’ Phil said, ‘you do have another one.’
‘No! I’ll create a drill, and you can dismantle these shelves and free me that way. It’ll take a bit longer but—’
Dee sighed in defeat, slumping on her knees. Her hair was slick wet now, her clothes shining and clinging to her goosebumped flesh. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘Look.’
Arching his neck, Tim saw that in the open doorway of the vault stood maybe five or six armed officers – Grey Guards – all wearing gas masks and heavy vests. They paused there, guns pointed low, clearly in disbelief at the destruction and the two children – and a tuxedo-clad finger monkey – sitting amid it all.
‘Um,’ Tim said, propped up on his elbows. ‘Sorry?’
Chapter 14
Sorry, apparently, didn’t quite cut it. However, the Grey Guards were relatively kind to them. Perhaps they were relieved that Tim and Dee didn’t seem to pose much of a threat. Maybe they had expected someone far more dangerous would be behind such a break-in. Nevertheless, they still arrested them.
‘We’re bringing them down,’ one of the guards said into his radio after they’d all heaved Tim out from under the rubble in Crowfield Tower’s vault.
‘No, no,’ a voice crackled back. ‘Take them to the helipad – the street is crawling with press now. Let’s keep them off the ten o’clock news.’
As they were escorted out of the vault and through some offices, Tim’s shoes squished in puddles on the soaked carpet – the sprinklers had pretty much destroyed everything the bomb had missed. Honestly, he did feel a little bit guilty. Near the lift, he had a chance to peer out through the window. Below, he could see the crane, the pile of pillows on the lower glass roof and, sure enough, all kinds of commotion on the street. Blue siren lights flickered and reflected off everything – there were perhaps twenty police cars, two fire engines and countless police officers. As well as this, there were hundreds of civilians, camera crews, photographers, all the guests from the neighbouring charity do they’d attended – they really had caused quite a scene.
Tim was still wet and, as he began to sweat, it seemed he might never dry. This really was serious stuff, he thought, feeling a confusing mix of emotions – mostly though he felt sorry. Not just for all the damage, but for failing so spectacularly.
‘They evacuated every building in this street,’ the guard said – only one of them seemed to speak. ‘What the hell were you kids thinking? Where did you get a bomb?’
‘It’s a long story.’ Tim sighed, as they stepped into the elevator. ‘One you almost certainly wouldn’t believe.’
He glanced up at the man – Tim had forgotten that all these guards were clones. They were all wearing helmets with visors which hid their faces, and Tim wondered if they all looked identical too. It must get confusing, he thought. Maybe they’ve got numbers? He looked then at the guard’s uniform – sure enough, on his arm there was a badge. It had a grey ‘GG’ in the middle, a small crow, then a four-digit number beneath.
‘Try me,’ the guard, Mr 2767, added, pressing the button for the top floor.
Tim shrugged, then told him everything. Front to back. The whole story. And why not? They couldn’t possibly get in any more trouble.
‘You’re right,’ the man said. ‘I don’t believe you. Come on.’
On the roof of Crowfield Tower, Tim and Dee were bundled into the back of a helicopter. It hissed and beeped as it warmed up, then the blades roared and rumbled above them. The pilot said his name was Barry, then slammed the sliding door, locking them in. He had the imagination box and climbed into the cockpit with one of the Grey Guards.
This evening really had gone wrong, Tim thought to himself, staring out of the window. He wondered where on earth the imagination station might be – then he sighed at how much weight they’d given to the map he’d created with the imagination box. How flawed and sloppy his mind had become. For all his efforts, for all the rules and laws they’d broken, they’d essentially achieved nothing.
Actually, no, it was worse than that, Tim thought. They’d made their predicament even more difficult to escape. Dee was right, they’d just bombed a government building. Even if you explained the reasons, Tim realised how bad that sounded. He could quite clearly picture a judge – wig, gown, everything – reading out a list of what they’d done. People in court would gasp and shake their heads. ‘Yeah, but …’ Tim might try and say, looking up with his best ‘sorry’ face. It’d be no use.
With a slight tilt and sway, the helicopter lifted and flew off across the London skyline. Tim looked down at all the lights, the weaving river, black and glinting in the night. The image was not that different to the map he’d made. Maybe it was just a premonition, maybe this was always how it would end.
Sitting opposite, Dee was also thinking silently to herself – picking at her sleeve, planning something maybe. However, Phil had found his way into the cockpit and was in the middle of a long conversation with Barry – oddly they seemed to get on well. (Once Barry had come to terms with a talking finger monkey, of course, which always takes a bit of time).
‘Yes, precisely,’ Phil was saying. ‘Little black rim, white band round the bowl – just like a gangster hat.’
‘Tim, what are we going to do?’ Dee whispered. ‘Do you honestly think Clarice will kill us?’
‘I’d assume so, wouldn’t you?’ Tim said. ‘She snuffed Fredric on a whim. She can’t have us telling everyone the truth.’
‘We could just ask them what’ll happen to us?’ Dee suggested. ‘Then we can react accordingly.’
‘No harm in trying.’
‘Excuse me,’ Dee leant forwards in her seat, peering into the cockpit. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Taking you to GGHQ,’ Barry said, pressing a couple of buttons. ‘You just sit tight.’
‘What will they do with us?’
‘Who knows?’ The pilot turned in his seat. He was wearing a black helmet with a strange, high-tech visor. ‘I ain’t got a clue what’s going on. All I know is that there are four levels of security clearance. And you guys are marked as a level five. Someone wants you bad. I don’t get paid enough to know why.’
‘What about me?’ Phil asked. The monkey was sitting in amongst all the dials and buttons in the helicopter’s cockpit.
‘Oh, there’s no mention of you, furry man,’ Barry said. ‘You’re in the clear.’
‘Superb.’ Phil smiled. ‘I should go on record, however, as expressing an explicit desire to stay close to young Timothy and Dee.’
‘All right, let’s assume the worst,’ Dee whispered, shuffling back next to Tim. ‘We cannot allow them to take us to HQ, wherever that is. That can’t happen.’
‘Shall we open the door and jump out?’ Tim said. ‘Might land in water?’
Dee put her face against the glass, and looked down at the city below. ‘Yeah but, like, we might not?’
Tim could still hear Phil chatting with Barry and the guard. ‘Might I enquire: what type of helicopter is this?’ the monkey asked.
‘This is a Cobra 2000,’ Barry said, proudly. ‘Whitelock Industries’ finest.’
‘A Cobra – what an interesting name.’ Phil stroked his chin. ‘I would have called it a spinny float box.’
‘Ha, nice,’ Barry said. ‘Or … or a shouty hover van?’
‘Oh jolly, yes, wonderful work.’
‘Seriously though, I think it’s called a Cobra to sound cool,’ Barry said.
Still wearing his reader hat, Tim noticed that the imagination box was in between the two seats in the cockpit.
‘Come on,’ Dee said. ‘Think. Think.’
‘All right, I’ve got a plan. We …’ Tim began but stoppe
d when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something terrible.
‘What? What is it?’ Dee asked.
In the cockpit, emerging from the imagination box as though being charmed from a basket, a cobra was standing tall. An actual cobra. The snake came up to the same height as Barry and the guard’s heads. Between the men, it looked left, then right, swaying slightly in that predatory way cobras do. Its pale-scaled skin was shining with all the colours of the helicopter’s controls. So far, no one besides Tim and Dee had noticed the creature.
‘Tim,’ Dee said through clenched teeth. ‘That does not appear to be a solution.’
‘I know, but they just kept saying “cobra” and I kept picturing one and, well, you can see what’s happened.’
‘Guys,’ Dee said quietly, leaning forwards, trying to sound reassuring. ‘You need to keep calm, and, most importantly of all, don’t make any sudden—’
‘OH, NOW WHAT IS THAT?!’
The helicopter lurched violently to the left, Tim and Dee slammed against the opposite window – then it flung them suddenly back to the other side, like ragdolls. In the cockpit, the cobra had struck twice, biting Barry on the arm and shoulder. Clearly terrified, he had abandoned the controls and was pressed against the door.
‘Relax,’ Tim yelled. ‘It’s not poisonous.’
‘How do you know?’ Dee shouted back – she was upside down, getting rocked and thrashed about on the floor. Her shoe flung off into the air.
They were in a crazed spin; Tim watched the horizon zip round, tilting and wobbling – sky, earth, moon, sky, earth, moon. All he could be sure of was that they were falling. That was obvious as he and Dee were pressed against the ceiling now. Up front, there was still just unmitigated cobra carnage in the cockpit. The snake was out of its box and it was going absolutely mental, striking wildly in all directions. Warning lights and beeps were sounding as they fell.
The ground was sickeningly close when their spin evened out. A frantic drumming came around them, and then leaves and twigs and broken branches were bouncing off the windscreen. Beeping, shouting, beeping, shouting. Then, with a final crunch, they were completely stationary. The rotor blades were still spinning loudly, but they appeared to have crash-landed quite neatly in a tree.
Barry opened his window and threw the cobra outside, shuddering as he did so. Phil darted back towards Tim, slipping straight into his top pocket.
Dazed and perhaps in shock, Dee slid open the door and started to clamber out, even though they were still high up.
‘Where are you going?’ Tim asked, quickly following her on to a slightly lower branch.
However, with a quick creak the wood gave way and they both fell through twigs and landed in a heap on some grass.
Tim looked around – they were in a park. There didn’t seem to be anyone in sight. It was late after all. The helicopter – still very much running – was right above. But, with another snapping branch, it tilted and came falling down the face of the tree. Deadly spinning blades, like an upturned blender, roared towards Tim and Dee as they scrambled to their feet. Behind, Tim watched the chopper come down heavily, the rotor tearing a trench into the ground, mud and turf thrown up like water from a sprinkler. The blades spiralled off and the helicopter rolled over entirely, the main rotor just buckled stumps. It whirred to silence amid a huge amount of mess and smoky steam.
‘Wow,’ Dee said, picking a leaf out of her hair. ‘That actually went quite well, all things considered.’
After checking that Barry and the guard were OK, Tim reached in and grabbed the imagination box. Perched on top of the broken husk of steel, he created some anti-venom and passed it back inside. The two men were visibly shaken, but alive. It was clear they were both trapped in the half-crushed cockpit.
‘I just want you to know that I am very sorry about that,’ Tim said.
‘Help us out of here,’ the guard yelled.
‘Yeah, come on, guys,’ Barry added.
Dee appeared at the windscreen, which was pressed sideways into the earth. ‘No, sorry,’ she said. ‘As long as you’re both OK, then we’re going to leave you here and run away.’ She jutted a thumb over her shoulder. ‘Little runsies – escape sort of thing, yeah?’
‘Oh, please don’t,’ Barry said, struggling with his seat belt. ‘I’ll get fired.’
‘Nah,’ Tim said. ‘This isn’t your fault. The cobra was my bad. Just explain what happened and they’ll understand.’
‘Toodles, gentlemen,’ Phil added. ‘Send Pam my regards.’
Mouthing ‘sorry’ one final time, Tim slid off the helicopter and pulled the straps on his rucksack tight.
‘Wait, come back,’ a muffled voice yelled. But they were already running.
Chapter 15
Two very strange things happened as they travelled back to the Dawn Star Hotel. On the way, they rushed straight into a public toilet where Tim created a change of clothes, as well as hats and glasses to conceal their identity. Also – and by now he was way past feeling guilty about such things – Tim made a few big wads of cash to buy train tickets to Glassbridge. Again, he shook his head at Clarice’s face on the notes.
After this they headed towards the train station, passing through a familiar part of London. It was so familiar, in fact, that Tim had to stop and study his surroundings. It took a few seconds, but then he realised they were standing on a quiet side street right next to where the Diamond Building should be. But TRAD’s headquarters were now nothing more than a block of flats. The area looked rough – broken windows and boarded-up, derelict shops, covered in graffiti and dirt. Up ahead, Dee turned and waited near a doorway which was glowing red with a flickering neon light. Tim was about to explain why he’d stopped, but—
‘Spare any change, lad?’ a husky voice whispered from low down. Tim was startled. He hadn’t even realised a person was there, sitting on the damp pavement next to a scraggy dog.
The tramp was huddled over, wearing a thick brown jacket and holding a small cup in his lap, which was covered by an old blue sleeping bag. Like his skinny dog, he had scruffy hair on his head and his face. His fingers were black with grime and shivering, even though it wasn’t cold.
‘Um … I,’ Tim started. But then he paused and squinted in the faintly red light. ‘Rick? God, Rick, is that you?’
The man was alarmed by this, and nodded warily. ‘Aye, do I know you?’ he said, his accent just how it used to be.
Tim snatched his disguise glasses off, exposing his face, but then sighed when there was no reaction. ‘No. You don’t,’ he whispered. ‘Of course you don’t.’
Earlier, Tim had blamed Rick Harris for everything. But seeing him like this – this new version of the man – he only felt sorry for him. He looked up at Tim – his eyes were bloodshot and wet with absolute, pure sadness. A sudden guilt hit Tim and all he wanted was to help however he could.
‘Come on,’ Dee said from further up the street, waving him along.
But, before he left, Tim took his rucksack off his back, crouched and reached inside. He grabbed the big wads of cash – he had no idea exactly how much – and placed them gently into Rick’s dirty hands. His mouth hung open. He was so surprised that he looked almost scared. Maybe scared to believe it was actually happening.
‘I am sorry,’ Tim said. ‘Things will get better. I promise.’
Everyone will have a safe place to sleep in the next universe, Tim decided.
‘Sorry?’ Rick hugged the money against his stomach, still stunned. ‘Why are you sorry? You’re some kind of angel.’
Was this another one of Clarice’s punishments, Tim wondered, or had Rick’s life just gone differently in this universe? Either way, Tim knew there was more to him than met the eye. He knew there was a reason, a story, a cause for him sitting on the damp pavement.
Tim tried to smile, then stood and caught up with Dee – it was clear Rick wanted to thank him more, but they didn’t have the time.
‘Who was that?’ she asked
.
‘Nobody,’ he whispered. For some reason he didn’t feel like discussing this difference.
At the end of the street, they took cover in a dark doorway as a procession of Grey Guards, marching like soldiers, and a huge armoured van, trundled past. Like all the vehicles, it was electric, but so big that it still managed to be loud. Heavy metal tank-tracks rumbled over the tarmac, tingling in Tim’s chest and feet. He saw the ‘GG’ logo stamped on the side. Above, three drones flew, spinning slowly as they went, scanning and searching with slow rhythmic beeps. They’d know by now that the helicopter had crashed.
Tim, Dee and Phil made it to the station and boarded their train to Glassbridge, sitting quickly and not speaking at all. The whole way, which was quite a journey, Tim was poised to spring into action, ready to take flight again and run and hide, things which were becoming quite a habit. At one point two Grey Guards, armed with black machine guns, passed through the train carriage – Tim heard their beeping radios, little crackling conversations echoing from within. One of them stopped and looked right at him. Tim stared back, through the helmet’s tinted visor and swallowed his terror. He couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but it was obvious where they were pointed. This was it, Tim thought. But then the guard hesitated and headed off up the carriage.
‘Phew,’ Tim said, all his muscles relaxing.
‘Maybe they didn’t recognise us,’ Dee whispered.
Having snuck back into the hotel, they both dived to hug Eisenstone up in room ninety-eight – relieved he hadn’t been arrested. The professor, still wearing his tuxedo, said he’d been worried sick when he watched the news and heard that two suspects were in custody over a break-in at Crowfield Tower.
‘Clarice herself was on Black Feather News. She said it was all under control,’ he explained. ‘Am, am I right to assume you were unsuccessful in finding the imagination station?’
‘Sadly, yes,’ Tim said. ‘Not there.’
Although they were in an almost completely hopeless situation, Tim was still able to relax in room ninety-eight. It was now his favourite place in any universe. So much comfort and safety. Being back here was like pressing pause on it all. Again, as before, he wished they could stay forever, tucked away in this cosy nest.
