“What other things do you know?” Vivi said.
“There are too many to list right now. Far too many.”
“Name some,” I ordered.
“Some?”
I sighed. “Yes. Some.”
It gave the impression of thinking for a moment or two. “Okay. I can tell you the Latin and common names of every bird native to Britain and mainland Europe. I can tell you the Latin and common names of every tree native to Britain and Europe.”
“You can recite poetry,” Vivi added.
“Yes. I can recall every poem written by all the major world poets from approximately 3000 BC onward. I can identify and comfortably discuss every single significant piece of art—in all its forms—created over the last two thousand years. I can provide you with a list of constituent gases that make up the atmosphere of every planet in our solar system. I can tell you the quickest route between two places. I can list the members of every single government that held power in every single country of the world over the last three hundred years. I can also tell you the best way to make Welsh rarebit.” It paused. “That sort of thing.”
“So, you can tell us lots of stuff that we can just look up on the etherweb?” I sniffed. “Things that I can just find out from messing about on my QWERTY.”
“Ah yes,” Paragon replied. “But can your QWERTY do it with a smile on its face?” Paragon pointed comically with both hands to its shiny, metal, unmovable mouth.
“Is that meant to be a joke?” I found myself grinning.
“Of course. As well as being extraordinarily clever I have also been blessed with a tremendously advanced sense of humor!”
“Advanced, ha!” I spun around and stared up at the rest of the hill above us.
“Yes.” Paragon came alongside me and leaned in close. “A sense of humor that doesn’t rely as heavily on sarcasm as other people I could mention.”
I ignored it and continued up the hill.
At the top, I pushed into the thick, dark wood, picking my feet over the fallen, rotting timber and slippery moss until I stepped out into a small clearing where brambles seemed to be taking over, snatching at the bottom of my trouser legs like the fingers of a Flute drone. A minute or so later Vivi and Paragon came into the gap, Paragon turning aside and tapping the bark of an ancient-looking tree.
“Engish oak. Quercus robur.”
I tutted and Vivi frowned at me.
“What?” I perched myself on the edge of a half-toppled log.
“It’s all right, Vivi.” Paragon picked its way over to where I was sitting. “I’m getting used to him now. I don’t think he’s particularly impressed by all the things I know.”
“Yes, well—”
But Paragon cut me off—a rude thing for a robot to do, in my opinion. “I don’t think Auden Dare has any time for flowers or trees or poetry, do you? I think he finds it all a little…” It pretended to struggle for the right word. “… useless. Yes. He finds all my knowledge a tad too impractical.”
“It’s not that—”
But it cut me off again. This time with an enormous flourish and a flick of the trench coat. Within a second, the coat was on the floor at the machine’s feet.
“Excuse me,” it said, “but I really feel I need to get this off my chest—if you’ll pardon the pun. I’ve tried to put it off but I just can’t any longer.” It jabbed a finger toward the point a little below the on/off button. “There is a light—just here—that appears not to work. I’ve a feeling it should be red. Every other light on my body works, but this one does not. I’ve run diagnostics to try to isolate the problem, to no apparent avail. I initially assumed it was merely a faulty LED, but alas, no. I can’t even work out what it is connected to. And I’m starting to feel a touch frustrated with it, to be honest.” It turned and took both Vivi and me in before whispering, “I’m a bit worried about it.”
“It’s probably not important.” Vivi talked in the sort of smooth, soothing voice that I sometimes used on Sandwich whenever she got a thorn or a piece of glass caught in her paw. “It’s probably something that doesn’t need to work, or something small that just wasn’t finished.”
Paragon seemed weirdly reassured. “You think so, Vivi? Yes, perhaps you’re right. It might be just nothing, don’t you think?”
A small light that didn’t work? A tiny, almost insignificant thing that didn’t seem to stop it from functioning correctly! I found myself virtually hissing in anger. Perhaps it was going to be one of the bad days after all. Paragon noticed.
“Auden? Are you okay?”
“No. I’m not okay. There you are worried about some silly little light not flashing, but you still seem to be working properly. Other people—real people—have more to struggle with than just a faulty light, you know? They have real problems. Real difficulties. Not just a stupid section of faulty wiring.”
The machine’s head tilted to one side and its eyes lowered their glow. “Are we”—its voice was quiet and soft—“talking about you, Auden?”
“What do you mean?”
“Is there something that troubles you, Auden Dare?”
Vivi answered instead of me. “Auden can’t see color.”
I sneered toward her. “Yeah. She’s right. I can’t see any color. Never have done. I suffer from … what is it? Aachrom … achromatopsia. So when you—”
But I stopped.
Upon hearing the word achromatopsia, Paragon did something strange. Something it hadn’t done before. It suddenly jerked to attention. Not with the smooth humanlike movements that it had always used so far, but with stiff, quick, and regular movements. Like a robot. Like a proper robot, designed for building warships or something. It locked its arms at its sides, pulled its legs straight together, and fixed its head level and stared into the distance.
“Paragon?” I found myself asking.
Then it spoke. Not with the easy fake-human voice that it had been fooling Vivi with since we found it, but with a dull, monotonous robot voice.
“My … name … is … Paragon.… I … was … created … by … Dr.… Jonah … Bloom … fellow … in … physics … and … mathematics … at … Trinity … College … Cambridge … and … of … Unicorn … Cottage … Cambridge.… Dr.… Jonah … Bloom … has … no … children … of … his … own.… His … nearest … living … relatives … are … his … sister … Christabel … Dare … and … her … son … Auden … Dare … of … Forest … Gate … London.… Auden … Dare … suffers … from … achromatopsia … a … rare … inability … to … see … color.”
It suddenly stopped its chant and remained completely still. Vivi and I just stared at Paragon as the breeze battled its way through the trees and into the clearing.
Then Paragon moved again with the free-flowing, almost natural movements that it normally made. It was a bit like it had been holding its breath and had suddenly exhaled, relieved to do so.
“The word unlocked him,” Vivi said. “The word achromatopsia actually unlocked him.”
“Huh?” I asked.
Vivi shook her impatient head at me. “That word was obviously used as a key by your uncle. By saying the word, it triggered some information.” Vivi stood in front of Paragon—ridiculous now with the hat half-dangling off the side of its head—and stared straight up into the face. “Did it release any other information? Did you find out anything else?”
Paragon seemed to stumble before adjusting the hat. “No. I don’t think so. Perhaps a little of the nature of Dr. Bloom’s work, but nothing much.” Vivi picked the trench coat up from the musty ground and held it out to the machine. Paragon took it and, this time, slowly swung it onto its shoulders, less enthusiastic than before—maybe even a little shaken up. “A bizarre sensation,” it rather mumbled to itself. “Very, very odd.”
I got up from the log. “So you did know my uncle,” I said. “Did you know him well? Can you remember him?”
“I remember … a little.”
“Like
?”
“Like the way he hummed to himself as he fitted my central flange cooling system. Or the time he was adjusting my lower carotid piston and he nearly lost one of the primary T-junction valves. Things like that.
“I only knew him whenever he switched me on, I suppose.”
“How many times was that?” Vivi asked.
“Seventeen times. Fifteen if you ignore the two accidental bumps from his elbow.”
Fifteen times? And each of them just a few minutes long?
“What about the rainbow machine? Project Rainbow?” I asked. “Do you know where the battery for the machine is? Do you know how to operate it?”
Paragon shook its head and I could barely contain my frustration. I punched the air in anger.
“But don’t you see, Auden?” Vivi said. “If he was triggered with a word, he might be triggered again. By another word. Or by many different words.” She stopped directing her speech at me and aimed it at Paragon instead. “Who knows what information you’ve got hidden away inside you? I think we can still find out your purpose. I think we can still find out about the rainbow machine. In fact, I’m certain we can.”
* * *
“What are we doing here?” Vivi stepped softly into the room behind me and I pushed the door shut.
The room was much neater than the last time I was here—Immaculata was right about that. After she’d discovered me in Uncle Jonah’s rooms, she had arranged for college cleaners to straighten the place up. So now, all the papers and books and folders and files were neatly stacked in no particular order on the desk and on a couple of the shelves. Even the hearth where I’d found the Project Rainbow sheet had been emptied and brushed clean.
“There must be something here. Something that will tell us … something. Anything.”
Vivi positioned herself behind a teetering pile of folders.
“Do you think Dr. Bloom left information on Paragon in one of these files?”
I shrugged. In all honesty, I wasn’t that bothered about Paragon. My mind was still on the rainbow machine. That was the ultimate prize as far as I was concerned. We’d left Paragon switched off in his room beneath the shed that morning and hopped on a bus to Trinity. For some reason, I felt drawn back to Uncle Jonah’s rooms.
We stood side by side, working our way through tons of scientific waffle that meant absolutely nothing to me. Once or twice Vivi gave a little appreciative noise as if she’d just read something that impressed her—her massive brain obviously understanding a lot more of this stuff than mine ever could.
After dismissing a file, we would dump it heavily onto the floor before picking up another and flicking our way through the pages in that. It was in file number seven that I came across something.
Tucked into a plastic pocket on the cover was a sheet of looseleaf paper folded in half. I eased it out and opened it up.
It was a letter—a copy of a letter, at least. A handwritten note to Uncle Jonah. I flattened it on the desk and started reading to myself.
Dear Dr. Bloom, it began.
Thank you for your letter dated 2 November. I need you to understand that failure to complete the allotted work will result in your prosecution at the very least. These are dangerous times, Dr. Bloom, and we must all do our very best to keep our country safe and our citizens protected.
And then, a slightly menacing last line.
I do hope you take very good care of yourself.
At the bottom was a signature I couldn’t fully decipher. The first word clearly started with an H before becoming illegible, and the second initial was either an M or a W—it was difficult to tell.
I showed Vivi.
“What does that mean?” she asked, frowning. “You don’t really think he was a spy, do you?”
I shook my head and looked around the room.
“There’s no QWERTY screen,” I said, suddenly noticing. “He didn’t have a QWERTY screen? Where is his QWERTY screen?”
Vivi looked. “That’s strange. I’m certain he did have one. Perhaps the university authorities took it away. Gave it to another lecturer. They do that sort of thing sometimes.”
But I wasn’t so sure.
* * *
Walking back home from Trinity that afternoon, I couldn’t help feeling that someone was following me.
As I turned a corner and passed one of the enormous and scary Water Allocation Board posters that warned everyone to BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR BLACK MARKETEERS. THE WATER THEY SELL YOU WILL KILL YOU!, I glanced over my shoulder to check.
A man—a youngish man in his twenties—wearing a long coat and one of those tweedy flat caps was about thirty feet behind me. As soon as he saw me looking, he stopped and tried to pretend to stare in at a shoe shop window. There was something about him—the way he walked, the way he held himself, the cold eyes—that said soldier to me.
I suddenly felt sick. Why was he following me? Rounding the corner, I started to sprint, quickly diving down a small side street and then another.
Looking back, I couldn’t see the man so I slowed down and took a shortcut through one of the cobbled lanes.
Bam!
I walked straight into someone, my shoulder knocking solidly into the arm of another boy who twisted and half fell into the road.
“Aaargh!” the boy barked.
One of the two companions with him—the one with the fat nose—lurched forward to try to catch him.
“Careful!” cried the other companion—the one with swollen lips. “Watch where you’re going.”
“You okay, Fabius?” said the one clutching on to the fallen boy’s arm. “You ain’t hurt, are you?”
“Gerroff me!” He jerked his arm away from Fat Nose and straightened up. “I don’t need yer help.”
It was Fabius Boyle.
Boyle looked angrily at me and then, as recognition slowly squeezed its way into his thick skull, he smirked.
“Oh, look who it is! The kid with the magnifying glass! Whatsis name again? Dare. That’s it. Dare.”
“Whaddya think you’re playing at, Dare?” said Putter, positioning himself a little behind Boyle.
“Yeah. Running into Fabius like that,” said Keane, shuffling alongside Putter. “Could’ve caused an accident.”
“Shut up, Keane,” Boyle growled. “I’ll deal with this.”
I looked past the three boys. There was nobody else in the lane.
“Look, Boyle,” I started. “I’m sorry I nearly ran you over but—”
“Sorry?” Boyle frowned. “Oh yeah. You’ll be sorry all right.” He reached out and grabbed me by the collar before lifting me up and pinning me against a wall. He glanced around and started whispering. “See, I don’t like little freaks like you. Little freaky fellas who think they’re better than everyone else. Weirdos who have … magnifying glasses around their necks.” Holding me in position with one hand, he ripped my magnifying glass away with the other. He looked briefly at it before tossing it away to Putter. “You see, I think you need to be taught a lesson. See anyone, boys?” he asked Putter and Keane.
“No one around, Fabius,” one of them said.
“Go on. Hit him,” said the other.
“Yeah! He deserves it, the little freak.”
Boyle pulled his arm back into position and clenched his fist.
But not before I reached into my jacket pocket.
“You’re gonna be sorry for coming to Cambridge, Freak Show,” Boyle hissed smugly through his rotten teeth. “This is gonna be the worst beating you ever had.”
“I doubt it.” I smiled.
“Wha?” He looked confused.
And that was my moment to strike. My hand whipped out of my pocket and—slam!—Snowflake 843A smacked down hard on the side of his head. He staggered backward, dropping me back onto my feet.
Putter and Keane, as slow-witted as their leader, both stood there stunned as Boyle stumbled out into the middle of the lane, dazed.
So I took my oppor
tunity and leaped over Boyle’s hobbling body (see, my gymnastics training does sometimes come in useful), before shooting off past the two henchmen—snatching my magnifying glass out of Putter’s weak hands—and running as fast as my quivering legs would allow. Halfway along the lane I heard a loud voice booming behind me.
“I’LL GET YOU, DARE! I’LL GET YOU AND I’LL GET THAT STUCK-UP GIRLFRIEND OF YOURS! JUST YOU WAIT AND SEE!”
I didn’t even bother to look back.
* * *
I took a slightly different and roundabout route home after that. I kept checking over my shoulder to see if anyone was following me—Boyle or the soldier. But there was nobody.
Arriving back at Unicorn Cottage, I immediately closed the curtains and curled up on the sofa with Sandwich, who launched into one of her dribbly tickle episodes.
Just after half past six, Mum arrived home from work.
“What have you got the curtains closed for?” she asked, opening them up again. “It’s summer. It’s still light out.”
“I … er … had a headache,” I lied. “Mum. Can I ask you a question?” I said, getting up from the sofa and dropping Sandwich onto the floor. “When they found Uncle Jonah … in the field … did he have his QWERTY on him?”
She turned and looked straight at me.
“No. That was the strange part of it all. He wasn’t wearing his QWERTY. Unusual for Jonah because he loved his QWERTY—always had the latest model.” She put her hemp bag on the table. “I assumed someone at the hospital must have taken it. Either by accident or deliberately. I was going to report it but … well … in the end, I was too upset to. It doesn’t really matter after all, does it? It was just a … thing.”
“No.”
I thought back to the letter—the horrible, menacing sneer of the words. I thought back to the soldier following me. I thought of the missing QWERTY and the missing QWERTY screen. They’d been taken, all right. Taken to see what information Uncle Jonah had stored on them. Or taken so that nobody else could find the secret information. Whatever the reason, it didn’t really matter.
Now I was certain.
Uncle Jonah didn’t just die.
He was murdered.
The Extraordinary Colors of Auden Dare Page 11
