by James Erith
Isabella groaned. ‘I forgot to tell Old Man Wood about his cattle.’
Archie and Daisy looked confused. ‘What about them?’ Daisy said.
‘When I ran off to find you, I went up to the corral in the ruin and counted the cows and the sheep – two were missing. I was going to say something but we got caught up in all ... this.’
‘He’ll be gutted if it’s true,’ Archie said. ‘Especially his cows. But they can’t exactly go anywhere—’
‘Unless they’re stuck in the mud,’ Daisy said.
‘Or they’ve been struck by lightning and gone A.W.O.L.’
‘Or washed away in a mudslide.’
‘We’d better check – it’s the least we can do.’
‘You two go,’ Isabella said, a little too quickly, ‘while I look after Old Man Wood.’
‘Why?’ Daisy snapped back. ‘Are you afraid of the dark?’
‘No, of course not,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I’ve already been, and you haven’t.’ But Isabella wasn’t telling the half of it. She’d been scared out of her wits by a strong sensation that invisible eyes had bored into her and somehow talked to her brain.
Archie grabbed her arm and pulled her up. ‘Come on. We could do with some fresh air, and that includes you, Bells,’ he said. ‘We won’t be long and besides, he needs quiet and rest.’
Old Man Wood’s chest moved slightly and the briefest sigh passed his lips. The children looked at one another and smiled.
Archie studied Old Man Wood’s unmoving face. ‘By the looks of things, he’ll be out for hours. With any luck, in the morning he’ll be able to help us with the next riddle. And anyway,’ he said, as another thought struck him, ‘if any of the animals are stuck it’ll take all three of us to pull them free,’ and he smiled at his sisters, ‘Superman-boy or not.’
ABOVE THEM, a large moon emerged low in the young night sky, chasing away the remnants of the storm. It cast a thin light over the sodden ground, the starlit sky mirrored in large, overflowing puddles. The children picked their way carefully up the hill towards the cattle, avoiding fallen trees and deeper pools, using torch and moonlight to guide them.
By the edge of the ruin they stopped and sat down on a low stone wall – part of the old escarpment – and looked out across the valley at the immense, grey, moving mass of water reflecting the crisp moonlight.
Now they listened, the whirl of helicopter blades – way off in the distance – cut across the silent night, and this sound seemed to jolt them back to reality.
‘I hope the Talbots are OK. Their house has probably been submerged,’ Isabella said, brushing away a strand of hair with her gloved hand.
‘What about old Granny Baker?’ Daisy added. ‘She’s not moved in years. I wonder if anyone managed to get her onto a rooftop.’
‘What, in her wheelchair?’ Isabella scoffed. ‘Poor thing, she’s probably floating towards York with all the rest of them.’
‘You are unbelievable sometimes,’ Daisy remonstrated. ‘There’s suffering down there in the valley on a scale we simply can’t appreciate. People are hurting, their loved ones missing and, just because we survived and Sue and Gus survived, it doesn’t make it OK. Think of those messages on your phone, Bells! Houses ruined, possessions gone. Death, everywhere. Don’t you get it?’
‘Of course I do,’ she fired back.
They looked forlornly over the mass of water until Archie broke the silence. ‘They’re looking for us, you know. We’re wanted like … like murderers, like escaped convicts. Maybe we should turn ourselves in and tell the authorities everything we know—
‘Seriously?’ Daisy said, appalled.
‘Yeah?! Why not?’
‘Because they simply won’t believe us, that’s why.’
Isabella nodded. ‘The mere fact that Sue was telling us to get on with finding these tablets and went so far as to stand in front of TV cameras and come up with an appalling anagram means that she has to be deadly serious. If she thought it was a better idea for us to come in, she’d have probably turned to the camera and said, simply, “Come on in, de Lowes, you have nothing to fear”. The fact that she didn’t, and then had to shroud it behind some dodgy word-play, means, in my humble opinion, that we have everything to fear.’
Isabella grabbed hold of Archie’s hand and looked into his eyes, as though in reassurance. ‘Archie, whatever Kemp may have told them, it’s more than likely that we are presumed dead. I mean, just look at the destruction out there and the list of lost and missing people on the texts on my phone.’ She swept her hand over the wreck of the Vale of York in front of them. ‘Sue won’t have told them anything. Solomon might have, but there’s every chance he’s been struck down with this disease. After all, he was bang in the middle of it. So the mere fact that they had to put out a wanted notice on national telly after a monumental announcement means that they’re grasping at thin air.’
Archie wasn’t so sure. ‘Do you think they’ll come after us?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know what to think, bro,’ Isabella replied. ‘But don’t you think they’ll have other things to worry about? There must be over a million people displaced, or dead – and that alone is going to keep them pretty preoccupied.’
‘Yeah, of course,’ Archie agreed. ‘But what if they’ve figured it out?’
They fell silent again, none of them volunteering a response.
Archie thought it might be the right time to bring up the extraordinary revelations of Old Man Wood. ‘Where do you think Old Man Wood comes from? He ... he’s ... he’s ... do you think he’s an alien?’
‘Alien!’ Daisy said. ‘What deranged alien planet would have an old bodger like him? Planet “Apple”?’
Archie chuckled. ‘So you think he’s human; human-ish, like us?’
‘Yeah, of course he is,’ Daisy said. ‘He’s just a bit of a stir-fry, slightly bonkers, kinda random, super-old, wizardy-person.’
Archie and Isabella exchanged sideways looks.
‘Then how do you explain how he fits in?’ he said.
‘Some deep, ancient magic he knows about – or it’s a bloody good illusion,’ Daisy replied. ‘He’s probably been practising since he was a little boy—’
Isabella guffawed. ‘The only thing Old Man Wood practises is making apple juice and growing weird-shaped carrots,’ she said. ‘Of course he’s an alien,’ she said. ‘As everybody knows, producing apple juice from sixteen varieties of apple tree is a well-known alien trait.’ She smiled at her sarcasm. ‘Seriously, if his bed and the rugs are not of this Earth, what other conclusion can there be?’
Daisy took off her pink glasses and rubbed her eyes. ‘What if,’ she started, ‘an alien took over Old Man Wood’s form—?’
Isabella spluttered.
‘No, really. I mean, how else can we explain his weird songs and strange rugs with moving poems? He might be part of an advanced alien race from space—’
‘Advanced?’
‘OK, maybe not so advanced—’
‘Daisy,’ Isabella said, ‘if you were an alien, would you really choose Old Man Wood as your representative on Earth over five billion other possible candidates?’
Daisy looked offended. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘He’s the kindest, sweetest man in the universe and he wouldn’t harm a fly. If you were an alien wouldn’t you go for the kindest, nicest person?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, frowning. ‘Probably not—’
‘Well, I would. It’s stereotypical nonsense stirred up by Hollywood that aliens are always bad, apart from, of course, ET.’
Isabella shook her head. ‘There’s a perfectly logical reason for this though: bad people are generally manipulative and don’t care about anyone or anything aside from their own circle. Therefore, they crush good people and win—’
‘No, they don’t. Good people have a habit of coming out on top. That’s why the human race has been so successful—’
‘Nonsense,’ Isabella said. ‘Huma
ns are only winners because their brains are more advanced than anything else’s. We can think things through – unlike someone sitting pretty close to me. It doesn’t make a spot of difference if people are nice or decent or—’
‘Stop it, Bells,’ Archie interjected. ‘Daisy was only offering a theory on the back of inexplicable evidence. Have you got a better explanation?’
Isabella poked at the see-through hole in her hand, her hair over her face like a veil, and held her silence.
Archie rubbed a hair spike through the cloth of his beanie. ‘What if he’s actually telling the truth?’ he said. ‘What if he really has been around for all this time and he simply forgot everything – like he said?’
Isabella guffawed again.
‘I mean, they used to live to a great age in the Bible didn’t they – so maybe he’s from Old Testament times and got stuck in a time-warp ...?’
‘Oh, shut up, Archie,’ the two girls said in unison.
‘No, no,’ he countered, refusing to give in. ‘I’m betting Old Man Wood was the exact same person he is today when Dad was a little boy. And I bet you he’s the same person in all those oil paintings we collected from around the house.’
‘Thank you, Winkle—’
‘I just don’t believe he’s capable of making up such a tall story.’
Archie paused, allowing the girls a moment to respond. They didn’t. ‘So, maybe he’s a wizard. We’ve seen the moving bed panels, so we know he’s full of magic tricks, and he’s full of pain about forgetting his “life mission” which, as far as I can tell, involves saving this place called the Garden of Eden. And we all know Eden existed in biblical times, either as a real place or as part of the creation story.
‘Maybe,’ he continued, ‘it’s not only an allegory for early man, but a story about an entirely different planet? Maybe the whole story at the beginning of Genesis is a kind of code, a cleverly plotted fable full of clues, before it delves into the history of the early Israelites?’
Isabella flicked the hair off her face, her eyes glowing with wonder. ‘I’m quite amazed,’ she said, ‘that you were actually paying attention to my lecture.’
Archie grinned. ‘Yes, of course I was. The thing is, there are too many oddities. He talks to trees and grows star shaped carrots and is fixated by apples. And the tablet only came out after we all sang his weird song which blew the house apart and in so doing proves that the riddles on the rugs are true.’
The girls nodded in agreement.
‘More importantly, he featured vividly in our dreams as a great, old, wise, mystical man who may well be part of time eternal and who is actually trying to help us.’
They sat silently on the cold stone. A chill grey wind blew gently across them, smelling of damp, matching the girls’ mood. What he’d said rang true; they just didn’t want to believe it.
‘OK, Mr. Know-it-all,’ Isabella said. ‘Explain why it happens to be us and not anyone else.’
Archie shrugged. ‘Perhaps it’s because we just happen to be the poor sods who live in Eden Cottage, who he looks after,’ he said. ‘Think about it. The cottage is full of curiosities, like the rugs and your atrium-y place, Daisy—’
‘But why can’t he remember anything?’ Isabella said bluntly. ‘He’s no help whatsoever. Every time we want to know something, he dithers, or goes off on one of his walks, or gets giddy, or drunk or ... or he dies.’
‘Isabella!’
She put her hands in the air. ‘What I’m trying to say is that he hasn’t actually helped us with anything—’
‘Don’t you think there’s a reason for that?’ Archie said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The reason he can’t tell us is because he doesn’t know. He sort of knew it once but doesn’t anymore.’ Archie removed his beanie and scratched first one, and then another hair spike. ‘Anyway, if he is as old as he says he is, no wonder he’s forgotten everything.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Archie shook his head. ‘Seriously, can you remember things from when you were three or four years old?’
Both girls shook their heads.
‘Exactly! You can’t. If Old Man Wood’s as old as he says he is, it’s going to be a pretty big struggle to get him to recall detail from hundreds, if not thousands, of years ago. When the tablet came out of the fire, he knew about it in a vague, roundabout way – like with the song – and he needed us to prompt him and vice versa—’
‘Problem is, Winkle,’ Daisy said, ‘we still have to solve the riddles.’
Isabella nodded.
‘And we’re running out of time.’
Isabella looked sheepish. ‘I know, and it’s my fault,’ she said quietly.
‘That’s irrelevant now,’ Archie said, warmly. ‘Deep down, Old Man Wood knows everything – we need to coax it out of him, show us how to do it.’
‘Certainly won’t be easy if he’s dead,’ Daisy added.
‘Even if he’s alive,’ Isabella added, ‘he’s going to slow us down.’
Spitting rain now fell. They screwed up their faces as larger drops began to fall. The children stood up ready to move.
‘Tomorrow we have to find the remaining tablets,’ Archie continued, adjusting his beanie. ‘They hold the key to finding this ‘Eden’ world – whatever it is – even if we don’t know why it involves us.’
Daisy put a hand around Isabella and Archie’s shoulders. ‘Don’t get me wrong, guys, but let’s be honest. Without Old Man Wood, I don’t think we’ve got a chance of finding anything.’
EIGHTY-FOUR
PRESSURE MOUNTS
Stone yawned. Another fitful sleep – four hours tops. He needed twice that. He stared at himself in the mirror, noting dark purple bags under his eyes – even darker than the last time he’d looked. As he dragged a razor across his face, even his stubble felt harder than usual.
He needed caffeine.
‘Good morning, sir,’ came a muffled cry from outside the door. ‘We have the deputy PM and the Head of the European Commission waiting for you.’
Stone nicked his narrow, bony chin and a bubble of blood dropped into the basin. He swore. ‘Tell them I’ll call back – give me ten minutes.’ He cupped his hands and splashed cold water on his face, the shock running through his body. Exactly what he needed.
He repeated his actions, adding more to his forehead and letting the cool water flatten his silver hair. Quickly, he towelled his face, hoping the cut would start to congeal, and applied a generous splash of cologne. The liquid stung. But it was nothing, he thought, to what lay ahead.
He opened the bathroom door, his dressing gown fastened around his midriff, to find his room packed with people. On seeing him, they all spoke simultaneously.
Stone stared open-mouthed.
‘Sir, you need to see this,’ said a large lady with short red hair, thrusting a file at him. He brushed it aside.
‘We need to speak, urgently,’ a small, squat, dark haired man with a bushy beard demanded.
Stone ignored all of them and made his way through the throng to the bed. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he yelled as he spotted Dickinson remonstrating with a man in a white coat. ‘Dickinson,’ he roared. ‘What is the meaning of all this?’
The officer extracted himself. ‘Bedlam, sir,’ Dickinson said, calmly. ‘I’ve kept them at bay for the last half an hour but couldn’t keep them out. We’ve got trouble from just about every department in this country. Actually, more like the world.’ He cocked his head. ‘Best if we head back to the bathroom.’
Stone grabbed his trousers and looked around at faces he’d previously noted from the newspapers or television.
‘Why in hell are they here?’
‘All the Government facilities are overwhelmed, sir, or unobtainable. The PM has vanished.’ He locked the door. A strange silence filled the cubicle.
Commissioner Stone dressed, then closed the lid and sat down on the toilet. Dickinson settled on the edge
of the bath.
‘The Ebora virus has spread overnight, massively,’ Dickinson began. ‘Apparently, you’re the only person with any real authority – that’s what they’re saying – and this is according to the PM’s office. Most of that lot arrived in the last hour – it’s like a helicopter park out there. One hundred and five at the last count. Amazing no one’s been killed if I’m honest.’
Stone swore under his breath. ‘Right, here’s the plan. Set up three secretaries with desks in the hall and we’ll process this lot like a post office queue. While they’re doing this, I want you to go and find Doctor Muller and my cousin, the headmaster, Solomon. Bring them in straightaway.’
Dickinson unlocked the door, fought his way across the room and stood up on the bed. ‘Your attention!’ he shouted. The noise level abated. ‘Commissioner Stone will come out and address you if you give him some room. So please, let’s have a little decency and order in here.’
He slipped off the bed and wormed his way out of the room.
Stone made his way over, clambered onto the bed and addressed the room.
‘Thank you for barging your way in,’ he said, his Yorkshire accent heavy with sarcasm. ‘Having woken up barely fifteen minutes ago, I must inform you that I am not as yet up to speed with developments. As you can see, I am not even fully dressed.’
He smiled and scoured the room, reading their faces. They’re on edge, scared witless, he thought, the whole damn lot. Time to be friendly, reassuring. If they want leadership, they’re going to have to wait for it, not swamp me.
Dickinson poked his head around the door and nodded.
Stone cleared his throat. ‘Now, please. In order that we can deal which each one of you, I would like you all to give your details to my secretaries who are waiting in the main hall. I will then be able to get round to seeing you as soon as I can, in an orderly, civilised manner.’ He sounded like a customer relations officer.
‘And if your query cannot be met by me, then you will be referred to the correct department—’
‘But this is urgent, it cannot wait—’ a suited gentleman with a foreign accent shouted.
