The Tunnel of Dreams

by Bernard Beckett

‘One at a time, that’s all you have to worry about,’ Arlo replied, holding out his hand, and helping her to her feet. ‘If others keep falling at this rate, you won’t even have to finish.’

  ‘No, don’t worry about me. You go on. Look at you. You’re up in seventh place already. I counted. And you don’t even look that tired. I don’t know how you do it.’

  And I can’t tell you, Arlo thought to himself.

  ‘One more flight, and I promise not to push you again,’ Arlo replied. Unless Harriet moved off, the next swap was impossible.

  ‘Okay,’ Harriet said, nodding to herself. ‘Here goes.’

  She stood up, closed her eyes, grimaced, and with a grunt of pain rose slowly into the air. Although it was clearly exhausting for her, she found the will to rise centimetre by centimetre until finally she was level with the top of the wall. She tucked her feet up and moved slowly over.

  ‘That’s the way,’ Arlo yelled from below, before turning back to the shed and swapping with Stefan.

  For all the remaining competitors the rests were getting longer, and each faced the same cruel decision. Wait too long recovering, and slip behind in the competition. Leave too early, and risk crashing out altogether, as happened to another three competitors. There were now only eighteen still in play. Harriet, despite still being last, had at least managed to clear the hurdles each time. Out ahead, even the marvellous Malcolm Strawbridge was spending longer and longer on the ground between each flight, and flying lower and lower with each pass.

  By the time they had carried six of their ten puzzle pieces across, Stefan could count only four competitors left ahead of him. He was safe, he was sure of that now. But he didn’t just want to be safe. He wanted to win. That meant overcoming two problems. The first was the size of Malcolm’s lead. Stefan wasn’t closing it fast enough. The second was making the changeovers work. Now that the field was more evenly spread out, and recovery times were longer, it was harder and harder to find a gap when there was no one there to observe the twins swapping places. Seymour had noticed this too and her flight patterns were becoming more erratic and anxious.

  Stefan landed beside his puzzle pieces and waited, while either side of him a competitor lay sucking in air, recovering. Meanwhile Malcolm was getting further ahead. Stefan’s panic knotted inside him. If he was to have any chance of winning, he would have to take a risk.

  He groaned as he got to his feet, pretending to be overcome, then staggered back to the supply shed and leaned against it with one hand, as if about to vomit. He made a loud retching noise and saw one of the competitors turn for a moment, then look away. The other didn’t stir.

  ‘Now!’ Stefan whispered, knocking quietly on the door. Arlo took his cue, spilling out and rolling on the ground, holding his stomach, while Stefan slipped inside. Alice was furious.

  ‘There was no signal,’ she hissed. ‘Seymour didn’t give the signal.’

  ‘There was no time. Malcolm’s getting too far ahead.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Malcolm,’ Stefan answered.

  ‘He doesn’t matter,’ Alice said. ‘You have to stop worrying about him. Just make sure you stay in the top ten. You don’t have to take any risks.’

  ‘No,’ Stefan replied. ‘The winner gets an extra life. It means I can skip the final elimination. Win this and I make the guard. That’s what we want, isn’t it?’

  ‘Get caught and we might all be killed,’ Alice countered. ‘Have you thought about that?’

  ‘Of course I have!’ Stefan hissed. He stared into Alice’s angry eyes. She stared fiercely back. He could see she was forcing herself to stay calm.

  ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘I have to help my sister.’

  Stefan watched the tears roll down his friend’s proud face and felt a pang of guilt. ‘I am sorry,’ he said, head bowed. ‘That was stupid of me.’

  Alice moved forward and hugged him. It was all Stefan could do not to break down and cry.

  The next changeovers went smoothly. Arlo delivered the seventh puzzle piece and Stefan the eighth. It was a two-horse race now, between Malcolm and Stefan, although perhaps three-horse race was a fairer description. But Malcolm had just brought his ninth puzzle piece. It came down to this: could Stefan and Arlo complete four passes before Malcolm could complete two? It seemed unlikely, but Stefan was not about to call it impossible. Malcolm had been pushing his rest times shorter and shorter as victory beckoned. There was still a chance he would pay the price for it.

  Come on, Stefan whispered to himself, willing himself to sit up. Find your strength. Find your strength.

  A shadow fell over him and he opened his eyes, squinting up to make out the figure of Malcolm, swaying uneasily. He looked different, older. His eyes were baggy and his skin blotched. His hair, damp from exertion, sat flatly across his head. For the first time since Stefan had met him, Malcolm Strawbridge looked vulnerable.

  ‘Second place is all right,’ Malcolm said. Even speaking seemed to require significant effort. ‘Let’s not push ourselves too hard now. Let’s not make that mistake.’

  Perhaps it was just a tactic, a way to earn himself more time, but his tone surprised Stefan. Where was the gloating? Had the competition taken so much out of Malcolm that even his basic self had been lost?

  Stefan shook his head. There was only one outcome that mattered now. He stood up, unsteady on his legs, and looked at his taller opponent.

  ‘If you want to win this,’ he said, ‘you’d better be prepared to risk everything.’

  And with that Stefan rose into the air, his ascent jerky and unconvincing. But just two more passes was all he needed. Arlo would take the rest.

  There was no time for talking on the handover. Arlo rose quickly, the second-last piece in his hand. As he cleared the wall, he could see Malcolm, still on the other side, struggling to maintain his height over the stones.

  ‘Fool!’ Malcolm spat at him as their paths crossed. His eyes were fiery with something deeper than hatred.

  Arlo shook it off. All he knew was that he had to hurry. He landed across the line and added his piece to the pile. One to go. He turned and watched Malcolm working hard on the arduous ascent of the wall. It took him three full attempts to clear it, and at one he slipped back almost as far as the ground. But Malcolm’s will was steely strong and on the third effort he managed. When he landed he would pick up his last puzzle piece, and have only one journey left to make.

  Arlo’s vision was blurry and his head throbbed. One more he told himself. One more. He stood up, felt his legs give way beneath him, sat down, waited, and stood up again.

  Stefan pressed closer to the door, his chin resting on Alice’s head, as they both peered out through the crack.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ Stefan asked.

  Malcolm had picked up his last puzzle piece and was sitting, legs crossed, head still, focusing on the wall.

  ‘He’s waiting,’ Alice replied, only now beginning to understand.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Arlo. He’s getting as much rest as he possibly can. He’s probably going over the puzzle in his head. He knows that until he sees Arlo come over the top of that wall, he doesn’t need to hurry. Once he sees him, he’ll fly. He knows he’s won. Don’t worry. You did well. Second is good enough. Second is all we need.’

  Stefan felt his stomach grow both heavy and light at the same time. A little ball grew in his throat, pushing up and out, making it difficult to breathe. He had his own reasons for being disappointed in second.

  ‘Even with two of us, we haven’t been able to defeat him,’ Stefan whispered, admiring and hating Malcolm at the same time. ‘And he will become a guard, just like I will, and rescuing Jackie will mean dealing with him.’

  Alice said nothing to that. There was nothing to say.

  Sure enough, when Arlo stormed over the wall, his eyes full of fire, his part in the competition complete, Malcolm calmly stood up and rose slowly into the air. Arlo landed heavily, exhausted. Inside the shed
Stefan was eager to make the switch, to give it one last effort.

  ‘Where is she?’ he asked. ‘Can you see Seymour?’

  ‘Ah…’ Alice paused. ‘I think we have a problem.’

  Another of the competitors had risen, disorientated, and now staggered towards the shed. Alice jumped back at the sound of the boy hitting the door. They heard him slump against it, blocking the way forward and making any further swap impossible.

  A part of Arlo screamed out in surrender. It was over. Malcolm was rising, a metre from wall, as far again from its top. He only had to gain the altitude and he could make a controlled cruise over the finish line. He knew the puzzle; he had studied it carefully and followed a system throughout. A refreshed Stefan was their only hope, but he was trapped behind an unconscious competitor. Arlo considered taking the boy by the feet and dragging him clear, but at that moment another competitor came over the wall.

  Seymour, unable to contain herself, swooped in low. ‘You have to do it, Arlo. You have to fly again,’ the ruru urged.

  Arlo grimaced. He closed his eyes, ignored the pain in his back, his stomach, his shoulders and his feet. He willed himself once more into the air. His whole being shuddered with the effort. On the other side of the wall he could hear the cheering as Malcolm flew into sight. Even sharing the flights, the twins had not been able to keep up with him.

  ‘Come on, don’t give in now. He’s hurting more than you are,’ Seymour called to him as he flew gently overhead. ‘He’s made a mistake,’ the bird continued. ‘He has pushed too hard, showing off. He’s lost too much height. He’s going to have to pull back up!’

  It was probably nonsense, the sort of thing you say to cheer up someone in second place, but it worked. Arlo found a final store of energy and he rose to the top of the wall. He could see the onlookers—instructors, exhausted competitors, those already eliminated—looking at him, and cheering at the prospect of a real competition.

  ‘Come on, faster!’ somebody screamed. Arlo saw Harriet, waving to him, thinking he was her friend. And Seymour was right. Malcolm was struggling to control his wobbling flight through the field of rocks. This wasn’t over yet. Arlo still had a chance. He clenched his fists and tightened his stomach, lifted his head and strove onwards and upwards, clearing the wall in a final burst.

  Then Harriet did the most extraordinary thing. She ran forward and leaped into the air, as if setting off on her next lap, although her true purpose was immediately clear. She feigned a loss of control and veered into Malcolm’s path, forcing him to take evasive action, up and back, away from the finish line. Arlo swooped forward, closing the gap. As he passed over the water he heard a small scream below and a larger splash, and saw Harriet escaping the pool in a flurry of arms and legs and swearing. Eliminated.

  Arlo and Malcolm arrived at their puzzles at the same time. The small audience stepped forward as one, eyes darting from one puzzle to the other. Malcom worked furiously, head down, unblinking. Arlo’s fingers moved automatically through the twists and connections he had practised all morning. He did not look up until at last the final piece clicked into place. He had no idea if he had won or lost, but raised his hand high above his head, as proud as he was tired.

  ‘Finished!’

  A huge cheer went up but Arlo wasn’t certain it was for him. He was too tired to be sure of anything. When his vision cleared he saw Malcolm slumped over his incomplete puzzle, looking as if all the air had gone out of him.

  Madame Latitude strolled towards Arlo, checked his puzzle and made the announcement: ‘We have our champion! Take heart, the impossible is possible. Nine eliminated, one finished, fifteen still alive in the quest for nine last places. Courage, children, courage!’

  On the rooftop of the dormitories, a strange little pukeko danced an unseemly jig.

  Harriet appeared beside Arlo, soaking wet and smiling. ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘I knew you could do it.’

  ‘With your help,’ Arlo answered.

  She shrugged. ‘It’s what friends do.’

  At that moment a message arrived from Stefan.

  Use your extra life to bring Harriet back from the elimination.

  Of course. No wonder Stefan had been so intent on beating Strawbridge. He was trying to protect his friend. Arlo turned to Madame Latitude, grateful Stefan had told him his teachers’ names.

  ‘Excuse me, Madame Latitude,’ he said.

  The tutor turned, with what Arlo could have sworn was a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. ‘Yes, Will?’

  Arlo paused, thrown by her use of the unfamiliar name, and also the fact that everybody else was now watching him, listening to what he had to say. He was filled with the dread that one of them would realise he was an imposter. He had been stupid to put himself in such danger.

  He swallowed nervously. ‘Um, the extra life I have won. I would like to use it to bring Harriet back. To save her from being eliminated.’

  The onlookers gasped. This made no sense.

  ‘Can you even do that?’ Harriet whispered.

  Arlo shrugged. He had no idea.

  Madame Latitude looked at him carefully. His ears reddened and he looked at the ground, dizzy with fear.

  ‘Are you sure this is what you wish to do, use your extra life to save another?’

  Arlo nodded.

  ‘But, Will, the next competition is the final challenge. Save your life for that, and you do not even have to take part. You will be a Royal Guard. Do you understand?’

  Arlo nodded. He did understand, and the more he thought about it, the less sense it made to give Harriet this lifeline. But the decisions was Stefan’s, not his.

  Madame Latitude’s gaze was so intense that it was impossible for Arlo to believe there was anything she didn’t know. ‘Are you sure this is what you want to do?’

  ‘Don’t do this, Will,’ Harriet told him. Every mention of the strange name felt to Arlo like an accusation.

  ‘Yes,’ Arlo said, holding his voice as steady as he could manage. ‘I want to give the life to Harriet.’

  Madame Latitude’s smile was impossible to read. ‘Very well, then. Harriet, you will stay in to face the next round, and Will, you no longer have an extra life. And with Malcolm’s puzzle now completed, we have seven places left to fill. Let’s watch the rest of the competition to see who will be joining you.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you so much!’ Harriet rushed forward and hugged Arlo so hard he couldn’t breathe.

  ‘You would have done the same,’ Arlo answered. It was what people said when they didn’t want to be praised any more. At that moment, Malcolm Strawbridge, who was having difficulty walking in a straight line, staggered over.

  ‘You!’ he cried, pointing his long bony finger at Arlo’s face, and leaning close for extra emphasis. ‘You are a cheat. You cheated!’

  Arlo tried to stay calm. Did he know? Had he seen them swapping? No, Arlo decided, if Malcolm really knew, he wouldn’t be telling me, he would telling Madame Latitude.

  ‘No, Malcolm, you are the one who cheated.’

  ‘Oh really?’ Malcolm reared up and puffed out his chest. ‘And how did I do that?’

  ‘Flying lessons,’ he answered, because that is what Stefan had told him. He saw Malcolm Strawbridge’s eye twitch.

  It was over. He had won.

  THE SWAPPING BACK, though unplanned, went smoothly. With the rest of the competition providing a distraction, Stefan and Alice escaped down the delivery chute with little risk. From the storeroom they made their way to a bathroom, and Stefan sent Arlo a message. Arlo told Harriet he needed a drink of water and hurried off to meet them. Alice and Arlo then followed Seymour back to the gap in the fence, while the bird scanned ahead for potential problems.

  Once outside they allowed themselves a short moment to collapse into the long grass and breathe in their relief.

  ‘We did it!’ Arlo whispered, still barely able to believe their crazy plan hadn’t fallen apart.

  ‘Just,’ Alice said.
>
  Arlo thought she could have sounded a little happier.

  ‘We took too many risks, though,’ Alice said, sitting up. ‘There was no need to save Harriet. I don’t know why you had to do that.’

  ‘It was Stefan’s call.’

  ‘Yeah. Do you think he’s going to tell her?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Arlo shrugged.

  ‘Why would he trust a stranger, like that?’ Alice asked, as if this was the most difficult thing in the world for her to understand.

  ‘We trusted you,’ Arlo replied.

  Alice gave a short, frustrated sigh, as if she had just been presented with a complicated riddle she had no energy to untangle.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said. ‘We need to get back and rest.’

  It was another two hours before the ninth competitor completed the puzzle, and by then few had the energy to celebrate or commiserate. The fifteen eliminated competitors left knowing there was nothing more they could have done, that they had truly experienced their limits. As always, the victors stood in silent salute as those leaving trudged to the main gates. A couple of those leaving looked sideways at Stefan, glances of resentment, for winning and for saving Harriet. You’d resent me even more if you knew how I’d done it, Stefan thought, but he didn’t feel guilty. He would win to rescue Jackie. That was all that mattered. He would do what he needed to, to save her.

  The dinner hall that night was strangely empty, every clang of fork on plate echoing through the space that had once held fifty competitors and now seated only ten. Stefan sat next to Harriet, as he always did, but they did not speak. Malcolm sat alone, aloof and watchful, his pride dented. The others also ate in silence, too exhausted to think of anything but crawling into bed. The last ten. The finest in the land, and the most formidable adversaries Stefan could imagine. He needed to defeat five of them. He looked around and wondered if today he hadn’t made a huge mistake.

  At the end of the meal, when the Major asked for volunteers to scrub the floors, no hands went up. On the second request Harriet raised her hand wearily.