Eden Chronicles Box Set Books 1-3

by James Erith

  His entourage swept into the confines of the hospital unit and surgical masks and gloves were put on following a spray down with a fine decontamination mist. It reminded him of the outbreak of foot and mouth disease on cattle. He pulled in a secretary. ‘Is there a report on livestock? I want one in an hour.’ The secretary scurried off, phone at the ear.

  Kemp lay in the same bed, in the same room behind the glass. This time he was sitting up with all manner of medical equipment plugged into him: drips from his arms and patches that covered his head and upper torso where the burns had been most severe.

  Commissioner Stone turned to Doctor Muller. ‘What progress? Is he ready to talk?’

  The doctor contemplated his answer. ‘He’s hardly said a word, just stares into space. Whatever he’s been through has scared him terribly.’

  Commissioner Stone clenched his fist. Interrogating people was a skill he prided himself on. From a young age he had had the knack of prising information out of people, whether by charm, force or by verbal intimidation. But a sick boy? He contemplated his approach.

  Doctor Muller showed him into the changing cubicle. ‘Sorry, Commissioner, but not a whiff of germs allowed in here. You’ll need to pop these on,’ he said, handing him a sterile set of overalls. ‘He’s doing fine in a medical sense, but we’ve got nothing out of him so far. Not a jot.’

  ‘Can he speak, though?’

  ‘Oh yes. He’s been repeating the words “Go away” in his sleep – and various other short, garbled sentences. To be honest, nothing that makes any sense.’

  Minutes later Stone, looking like a plastic yeti, entered the boy’s room. He walked round the bed, nurse and doctor flanking him, and noticed the boy’s eyes, wide open and, just as the doctor said, staring fixedly at a point on the wall.

  STONE DIDN’T FEEL sorry for many people. In truth, he despised those who portrayed any form of weakness and that’s why, as a rule, he disliked children. But, as he took a seat next to this boy, a sense of sadness filled him. Here was a boy who no one knew – who no one claimed – but who had clung onto life so bravely.

  ‘Hello, my name is Commissioner Stone,’ he began. ‘I’m thrilled you’ve woken up at last.’

  The boy didn’t move a muscle.

  ‘You’ve been on quite a journey by the looks of things,’ he went on, noticing a strange shift in the boy’s eyes – a small sense of panic, perhaps. ‘But we’re here to make you better, get you back on your feet,’ he continued chirpily, ‘with the best medical staff looking after you. And you’re safe here, we’ll make quite sure of that.’ Stone looked at the nurse and doctor for encouragement. They nodded. ‘We would like you to tell us what happened – as much as you can remember, OK?’

  Still the boy stared into space.

  ‘I’m going to tell you some pretty scary stuff about what’s been going on, so it’ll really help if you can answer some of my questions. Then we’ll try and find family and friends to come and get you. How does that sound?’

  The boy remained impassive, but he licked his fat lips.

  A sign that his mouth works, Stone thought. ‘Can you tell me your name?’ he asked.

  He waited for a response.

  The boy closed his eyes.

  ‘Can you tell me where you live?’

  The boy opened his eyes, this time fixing the commissioner with his gaze.

  That’s a start, Stone thought. ‘What do you remember about the storm – can you tell me anything about it?’

  The boy stared into the distance, his eyes unwavering.

  Stone sighed. He wasn’t going to give anything away. He was wasting his time. Perhaps he needed a different approach. ‘Look, buddy,’ he began raising his voice. ‘There’s a disaster happening outside these walls which might affect the whole world. Somehow, and Lord only knows how, you survived with inexplicable burns all over your body. We are here to help you, but we must find out what you know.’

  The boy shut his eyes again and swallowed.

  The doctor, nurse and commissioner waited with bated breath for some words. The doctor made as if to speak but Stone shot him a glare. Aside from the bleeping of the monitors, silence filled the room.

  ‘Alright, I understand,’ he said. ‘I understand what you’ve been through. But we know you can speak. You see, you’ve been talking in your sleep.’

  The boy’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘And the longer you refuse to talk,’ Commissioner Stone added, ‘the more I think you’re hiding something. Because experience tells me that people who don’t say anything have nasty little secrets. What do you think, boy?’

  The boy swallowed again but continued to stare at the wall. They waited.

  ‘You’re scared. I can tell,’ Stone said, lowering his voice. ‘Come on, fella or I’ll be forced to fill your veins with a truth serum and you’ll be singing like a bird before you know it.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Doctor Muller said.

  It was exactly the response Stone had hoped for. ‘Yes, I damn well will!’ he yelled. ‘I have the authority to do anything to get to the bottom of this mess, so back off.’

  Doctor and nurse wore shocked expressions.

  The boy moved his eyes from the doctor to the commissioner and back again.

  A tiny indication of fear. Good, Stone thought as he leaned in. ‘And the other thing you need to know is that we’ve found your friends,’ he lied.

  The patient’s eyes widened but still he uttered not a word.

  But Stone was just getting going. ‘Let’s start again. Your name, your school and how you ended up at the top of a tree when everyone else was swept away. You’ve got till the count of five to answer me or I’m throwing you out of this hospital.’

  Next to him, the nurse gasped. Commissioner Stone turned on her. ‘You, out!’ he commanded. ‘Get out! Both of you.’

  ‘Never!’ the doctor replied. ‘You have no right – we have a duty of care to the boy.’

  ‘Oh really,’ Stone said sarcastically. ‘How frightfully honourable. For your information, I have a duty of care to the rest of the bleeding world.’ His eyes were cold. ‘Security!’ he yelled.

  Within seconds, the doctor and nurse were man-handled from the room.

  Now it was just him and the boy.

  For the first time, the boy’s face looked scared.

  ‘Five.

  Four.

  Three,’ he counted down, leaving longer and longer pauses.

  ‘Two.’

  ‘One.’

  Still nothing.

  ‘Kemp,’ the boy croaked.

  The Commissioner thought he’d misheard. ‘What?’

  The monitor by the boy’s bedside started bleeping faster. ‘My name is Kemp.’

  Stone smiled, marched over to the monitor and switched it off.

  ‘What else?’

  The boy’s face was contorting. Was he in pain? If so, he deserved it.

  ‘What else?’ he demanded.

  ‘If,’ Kemp tried to work up enough saliva to speak.

  ‘If what, Kemp?’

  ‘If you want to know,’ the boy said, his voice shallow and faint, ‘find Archie de Lowe. If he isn’t dead.’ Kemp’s head fell back limply on his pillow.

  Commissioner Stone turned and stormed out of the door, ripping at his overalls as he went.

  ‘Damn that Solomon!’ he cursed. ‘He knew. He bloody well knew it was de Lowe after all. Archie bloody de Lowe!’

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  CLEAN RUGS

  Archie appeared with the basket and the gleaming rugs and they gathered round as he unfolded them and laid them on the floor.

  ‘Where did these come from?’ Isabella asked. ‘They’re beautiful.’

  ‘They’re certainly not the rugs from Old Man Wood’s floor,’ Daisy said as she stroked the soft, downy material. As Mrs Pye had also noticed, they seemed to purr with pleasure. As she took in the bright patterns, her heart beat with excitement. ‘Let’s hang them up – p
erhaps there’s a map on them.’

  Archie found a box of tacks and climbed up the stepladder with the first one. He pushed the tack into the corner of the rug and, as he started to push it in, the weight of the rug forced him to drop it on the floor. Archie frowned. He tried it again, with exactly the same result. On his third attempt, as he pushed the tack into the corner he felt it almost wriggle free. ‘We’re going to have to come up with another plan,’ he said. ‘I can’t get these in.’

  Daisy moved beside him. ‘Come on, Winkle. You’re normally pretty good at this kind of thing.’

  ‘I’ve got a much better idea,’ Isabella said. ‘Lay them out in the hallway. Then we can examine them from the stairs. Old Man Wood, is there any chance of a bit more light? And can you make the generator run a little longer?’

  As Old Man Wood strode off to find a lamp in his store and check the fuel in the generator, Isabella, Archie and Daisy laid out the five carpets neatly below the stairwell.

  Isabella climbed a quarter of the way up the staircase. ‘Archie, move that one along a bit. That’s it. And make sure this one isn’t overlapping. Good. Where’s Old Man Wood, it’s too dim under the stairs? I can’t see them clearly. Is it me or are they a little blurred?’

  Old Man Wood returned with two lamps, which he lit and placed at the foot of the stairs. From higher up, Isabella directed Archie and Daisy to move the lights into the optimal place, and then the twins joined her in peering over the banisters. From here, the colours reflecting back were brighter and sharper

  A sense of excitement filled the hall.

  Daisy ran up a couple more steps, peered over and then climbed up three more, then a further four until she was almost at the top. Then down one – her head jigging backwards and forwards.

  Likewise, Archie moved up two steps, then down four and up five. Old Man Wood, who was much taller, stayed on the third step, but then decided to copy the children.

  Isabella moved a couple of steps down and stayed there staring at the five rugs – her lips moving but no sound coming out. It was a most peculiar sight; the four of them shuffling up and down the staircase and, apart from a bit of polite barging and the occasional muffled gasps, there wasn’t a sound from them as they racked their brains.

  Finally, it was Daisy who broke the silence.

  ‘There’s writing,’ she announced, tremendous excitement in her voice, ‘all over them, and it changes at varying distances.’

  Daisy climbed to the top of the stairs. ‘OK. Archie get a pen and write this down.’

  Archie scampered off and in no time was back, armed with a sheet of A4 and a pen.

  ‘Right,’ Daisy began. ‘This is a bit complicated. It appears to work at different levels so I’m going to scoot up and down, OK.’

  She skipped down a couple of risers and then up to the top as if double checking. ‘We’ll start with this one, the second rug along.’

  Archie moved next to it.

  ‘From up here,’ she began, ‘this is what it says:-

  ‘The first you hid in the heart of the house,

  ‘And now if I move down here, the same writing changes to:

  ‘That warms you night and day.’

  Daisy daintily skipped down another four stairs. ‘Get it out by poking me—’

  ‘And singing your favourite song along the way!’ Old Man Wood finished off with her from the foot of the stairs.

  ‘HOW DID YOU READ THAT?’ Archie quizzed, staring at Daisy’s blazing eyes. ‘I can see that each rug seems to change like a kaleidoscope as we move nearer and farther away. But in pictures, NOT words.’

  ‘Same,’ Isabella said. ‘I see tablets and scrolls and fire but …’

  Daisy smiled. ‘You know, magic eyes, remember! Did you write it down, Archie?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Perhaps it’s got something to do with sex,’ Daisy said lightly.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Isabella snapped.

  ‘Per-lease! Can we not have a conversation about that,’ Archie said, turning purple.

  Isabella was slightly irritated. ‘There’s nothing about sex here. It’s merely an allusion to something. Just because it has the word “poke” in it, Daisy, doesn’t mean …’

  Daisy ran up the steps again. Why couldn’t she keep her thoughts to herself? ‘Right Archie, let’s have a go at that one. Yup, there.’ She pointed at the rug adjacent to the first and he moved beside it. ‘Are you ready for number two?’

  He nodded.

  ‘For the second one you find,’ she read, before skipping down a couple of steps, ‘burp it from the family belly.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Archie quizzed.

  ‘Yes! That’s exactly what it says. Just write it down, alright.’

  ‘To do just this,’ Old Man Wood continued from the bottom step, ‘you have to eat—’

  ‘… Blab-ister-berry jelly!’ Daisy said.

  ‘Blabisterberry Jelly?’ Archie repeated, pulling a face as he wrote it down. ‘What’s Blabisterberry Jelly? Is it like strawberry jelly? Or more like an edible jellyfish? Read it again.’

  Daisy did. And this time she even spelt it out.

  ‘Blimey,’ Archie said, scratching a hair spike. ‘How are you supposed to burp jelly without it coming back through your nose?’

  ‘Maybe you have to do a nose trick?’ Daisy said.

  ‘I’m quite sure ancient riddles didn’t have nose tricks in mind when they were created,’ Isabella said.

  Daisy shrugged. ‘Maybe they did, Isabella.’

  ‘What if it’s something to do with marmalade?’ Isabella added.

  ‘Nah,’ Archie replied. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’

  ‘Well, it’s quite ludicrous,’ Isabella said, shaking her head. ‘Archie’s right, none of it makes sense.’

  Daisy ran upstairs again. She nodded down to Old Man Wood.

  ‘Are you ready for the next one, Archie?’ she called out. ‘It’s that one over there.’

  Archie signalled with a thumbs-up.

  ‘Right here we go: The third you search,’ she began, ‘is underneath your nose. It is clear, pure and cold.’

  She waved at Old Man Wood.

  ‘In order to draw it out,’ his deep, rich voice boomed, ‘you need to send a rose.’

  ‘Send a rose?’ Archie repeated as he scribbled on the pad. ‘What the—’

  ‘Gibberish,’ Isabella said, running her hands through her hair, ‘written by someone with absolutely no aptitude for poetry. It has to be … must be, a red-herring. How can anyone take this seriously?’

  Daisy scampered up the stairs once again. ‘OK, next one coming up. Ready?’

  She leant over the banister and stared hard, her red eyes glowing. ‘Put them all together, then get out of the way …’ she ran down a couple of stairs, ‘what you will find will prove a guide—’

  Old Man Wood joined in, ‘For all the other worlds.’

  ‘Have you got that Archie?’ Daisy asked.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. All down. Pretty weird, though.’

  ‘Final one coming up. Ready?’ Daisy said. ‘Hang on a mo, this one’s a bit faded.’

  ‘I can’t believe you can see anything,’ Isabella said. ‘You’re making it up.’

  Daisy shot her a look which, with her red eyes, wasn’t something you could ignore.

  ‘You have but seven days and seven nights, as Earth moves in its cycle, from first lightning strike and thunderclap,’ she began, ‘the world awaits your arrival.’

  OLD MAN WOOD sat down heavily on the step next to Archie and very quietly read the poem from Archie’s sheet of paper:

  ‘THE FIRST YOU hid in the heart of the house

  ‘That warms you night and day

  ‘Get it out by poking me,

  ‘And singing your favourite song along the way!

  ‘FOR THE SECOND one you have to find

  ‘You burp it from the family belly.

  ‘To do this, you have to eat

  ‘B
labisterberry jelly!

  ‘THE THIRD YOU search for is underneath your nose.

  ‘It’s clear, pure and cold.

  ‘In order to draw it out

  ‘You need to send a rose.

  ‘PUT THEM ALL TOGETHER,

  ‘Then get out of the way

  ‘What you find will prove a guide

  ‘For all the other worlds.

  ‘YOU HAVE but seven days and seven nights

  ‘As Earth moves in its cycle

  ‘From first lightning strike and thunderclap

  ‘The world awaits your arrival.’

  ‘APPLES ALIVE!’ the old man exclaimed after the first verse. ‘Blast!’ after the second and, when Archie had finished, ‘Extra double blast!’ he spluttered his face ashen and twisted. He put his head in his hands and started to sob.

  The children looked at each other – their eyes wide.

  ‘Good Lord. What’s the matter?’ Isabella asked, taking hold of his hand. ‘Is it bad …?’

  ‘Bad, oh yes, my dear,’ the old man replied, his lips trembling. ‘It is VERY BAD.’ Then he looked at them earnestly, tears forming in his eyes. ‘It appears that so great is the stretch of time that has passed … since I wrote it,’ he pointed at the rugs. ‘The greatest length of time you can ever imagine, that I have already failed in the task that was set upon me so many, many years ago.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence. The children looked at each other, and then Old Man Wood as if he had completely lost his marbles.

  ‘I know the poems are pretty awful, but they aren’t that bad,’ Isabella said gently, playing along with him. ‘The rhymes are actually quite sweet. Dear Old Man Wood, I wouldn’t get too hung up on it.’

  ‘But these are the clues, aren’t they?’ Daisy added.

  Old Man Wood shook uncontrollably while muttering. ‘I suppose I just never thought that this … would ever happen. I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I may be to blame for the greatest catastrophe to befall the world.’

  Old Man Wood pulled himself together with a shrug and blew his nose extremely loudly, which in any other situation would have made them howl with laughter.