Big Change for Stuart (23 page)

And then April straightened up again, and Stuart realized that she was holding something brown and white with a briskly wagging tail.

‘You got him!' he yelled, arms in the air.

‘I got him!' repeated April. ‘I heard little footsteps coming up the staircase and I knew it was him!' And she started back towards the steps, her arms firmly wrapped around Charlie.

‘What's happening to the path?' asked May.

‘What?'

‘The path behind April.'

Stuart looked towards where she was pointing, and his blood seemed to freeze. The paving stones were turning white, one by one, as if a giant paintbrush were sweeping along the path, blanking the patterns, filling in the holes and cracks. ‘Run!' he screamed at April, his voice scratchy with fear. ‘
Run!
'

She glanced behind her, gave a yelp of fear and began to hurry.

‘Come on!' screamed May.

‘This bit of the dream must represent a more major worry,' remarked June. ‘Perhaps my upcoming Grade Two Piano exam.'

‘Will you shut up about your stupid piano exam!' shouted May over her shoulder. ‘Don't you get it? For once in your life, you're
wrong
. This
isn't
a dream, this is
real
.'

‘Hurry!' shouted Stuart, his voice cracking, but April was only a few stones ahead of the paintbrush now, and her footsteps were uneven with panic. She managed the long jump from
Tone
to
Hee Haw
, but then stumbled, tried a desperate half-hop and landed squarely on the picture of the light bulb.

And stuck there, like a mouse trapped in glue.

‘I can't lift my feet,' she shouted, struggling frantically. ‘You'll have to help me.'

Stuart leaped forward, but May was even faster, knocking him aside as she thundered down the steps to save her sister, and he was just picking himself up again when June surged past, shouting, ‘I can't work out the logic of this at all, but I'm coming, April! I'm coming to rescue you!' and treading heavily on Stuart's foot along the way.

So he was a few steps behind them when they reached the pathway, and could only shout in horror when the white tide engulfed first April and the dog, and then both her sisters, leaving nothing behind but blank stones and emptiness.

‘COME BACK!' STUART
yelled. ‘
Please!
' But no one answered. The lights in the huge room began to dim.

‘April!' he called, his voice lost in the vastness. On the path ahead of him, a glowing letter ‘I' flickered briefly on every paving stone, and then, with a neck-clicking jolt, Stuart found himself back in the shed again.

The door opened, and a man in overalls looked in.

‘You still here?' he asked. ‘I'm just locking up for the night, and Mr Kingley asked me to check round before I left. Where are the girls?'

‘Gone,' said Stuart. He felt limp with shock, his voice a husk.

‘OK, well, out you come.'

‘Just a minute …' Desperately needing some time to think, he looked about for an excuse, and saw his own feet, one in a trainer, one in a filthy, slime-covered sock. ‘My shoe,' he said. ‘I've lost my shoe in here somewhere.'

The man shrugged. ‘You've got two minutes while I go and get my stuff. After that you're out of here, shoe or no shoe.'

He left the door open and the early evening sun flooded in. Only one of Great-Uncle Tony's illusions seemed to reflect it back; the only illusion that hadn't been used yet – the Book of Peril, its dented satin surface glowing in the reddish light, the lettering on its door a fiery warning:

OPEN AT YOUR PERIL

And Stuart knew that the only possible route to getting the triplets back was through that door – a door that was damaged, a door that might lead to a world that was more dangerous than Great-Uncle Tony had ever intended.

You wanted to go on the last adventure on your own
, he reminded himself grimly.
You wanted to be the only one to find that final clue. Well, you've got your wish
. It seemed so trivial now, all those worries about April finding the will first.

He only had a minute before the workman came back, and he hurried over to the Cabinet of Blood, feeling around between the sword hilts for the Magic Star, but his fingers found only an empty gap. He looked around wildly; it must have fallen onto the floor, but the floor was a mass of shadows and cracks – it could have rolled
anywhere
.

‘Found it?' asked the man, returning.

‘No, not yet.'

‘Sorry, mate, you'll just have to go home in your sock. I'm sure the boss will let you in first thing on Monday to find it.' He was steering Stuart by the shoulder as he spoke, guiding him out into the yard.

‘Monday?' echoed Stuart stupidly. ‘But today's Friday. I can't wait two whole days.'

‘You'll have to – we're closed all weekend. And I'd
hop
across here if I was you – you don't want to get a nail through that foot, do you?' He was locking the shed door, pocketing the key, pointing to the exit, and Stuart was left with no choice but to accompany him (hopping) across the yard and out. The gates clanged shut, and the man bolted and padlocked them and then strode away whistling, and Stuart was left standing alone, staring hopelessly up at the high wall that ran around the yard, knowing only that he had to get back in. Somehow.

‘Ladder,' he said out loud. ‘I need a ladder,' and then pictured himself trying to scale the wall in full view of passers-by. Not that there were many – across the road from the yard there was only an empty shop, a piece of waste ground and a large locked garage with EL-ECTRIC painted on the doors. Even so, it would be best to wait until dark before starting.

Torch
, he thought.
Screwdriver. Shoe. Some kind of brilliant story to explain to my father why I have to go out for the entire evening (and possibly half the night as well)
.

*

He still hadn't thought of one when he turned the corner into Beech Road, and his worries weren't helped by the fact that the first person he saw was Mrs Kingley, the triplets' mother. She was standing on the front step of her house, peering along the road, and she smiled in relief when she saw Stuart.

‘Aha, here's someone who can tell me when those girls are getting back.'

She waited expectantly, and Stuart summoned up all his acting powers and replied, ‘Oh, I don't think they'll be long – they were a bit busy when I saw them last,' and then limped quickly towards his house before she could ask him anything more.

His father was in the kitchen, chopping beetroot and frowning at a recipe book, opened at a page entitled ‘Multi-Vitamin Bake'. A radio programme about the history of encyclopaedias was on in the background.

‘Dad,' said Stuart hurriedly, ‘I'm not being rude or anything, and I'm sure that the Vitamin Bake would be really delicious, but if it's OK with you, I've got to dash out again and I wondered if I could
just
have a sandwich. A healthy one, obviously. It's only that I've got to go and … and …' His imagination failed him, and he found himself (sort of) telling the truth. ‘I've got to go and get the triplets. They're lost in a book.'

His father smiled nostalgically. ‘Ah yes, how well I know that feeling. How many times have I found myself wandering in a pathless thicket of words … Beetroot sandwich?' he added. ‘Or I could offer curly kale, spinach or shiitake mushroom.'

There was a pause.

‘Cheese?' suggested his father.

‘Yes please.'

‘And this post-prandial book-extraction expedition – can you assure me you'll be safely with the Kingley sorority throughout?'

Stuart swallowed. ‘They're waiting for me and I won't come back without them, I promise, Dad. I absolutely promise.'

His father nodded, satisfied. ‘Before I forget, you've just missed an unexpected maternal telephonic communication. However, I assured
your
mother that your health was fully restored, which I hope was an accurate report?'

‘Yup,' said Stuart, grabbing his sandwich and taking a large bite. ‘Thanks, Dad. I've just got to get something before I go out again.'

He headed for the hall and rummaged around in the cupboard under the stairs. The only torch he could find was a miniature key-ring in the shape of the Eiffel Tower, and the only screwdriver was bright pink and out of a cracker. The ladder was just a kitchen stool with a couple of steps attached – mainly useful for getting jars of pickled onions out of high cupboards – but it was better than nothing, and he was about to hurry out with it through the front door when the phone rang.

‘Hello?' he said, snatching up the receiver, expecting to hear his mother.

There was a rattle of static on the line.

‘Hello?' he repeated.

‘
Stuart
.'

That voice again; a vigorous rasp, old yet full of life.

‘Miss Edie,' said Stuart.

‘MADE ANY PROGRESS?
'

‘A bit.'

‘
Only I've just recalled something else my gramma told me about the will – it jumped into my mind when I was sitting thinking about her. She was a stern lady as well as a smart one, and when she talked, you listened. You listening now?
' she added sharply, almost as if she could see that Stuart was distractedly hopping from foot to foot.

‘I don't have much time,' he said. ‘Something's happened.'

‘
You've got a problem?
'

‘Yes, a huge problem and I've got to sort it out.'

‘
Don't forget what I told you. If you're rich enough, then problems just melt away
.'

‘It's not that sort of problem. I could have fifty billion pounds and it wouldn't solve this one. I've got to go.'

‘
No, you've got to stay and listen
.' Her voice was suddenly fierce, and Stuart felt as if he'd been poked with a skewer. ‘
I told you that my gramma said Tony Horten's will was well hidden – he told her that himself – but what I've recalled now is this: she said you should use the male to find it. The male. Does that help you any?
'

‘No.'

‘
You sure? You haven't put your mind to it for more than a single second. Take some time and see if you can figure it out
.'

‘Don't you understand?' Stuart was almost shouting with exasperation. ‘I don't have
time
to worry about the will – I'm trying to find something that's loads more important than a piece of paper. I'm trying to find my
friends
.'

There was a short, sharp pause.

‘
Well now
,' said Miss Edie coldly, ‘
my gramma always said that you were nothing but trouble and sass, and I can see now that she was—
'

There was another burst of static on the line, and then nothing but an echoey hiss. Stuart stared at the receiver; his mouth was dry and he felt as if someone had just dropped an ice-cube down his back.

‘Your grandma never met me,' he whispered into the silence. ‘She died years before I was born.'

The kitchen stool was awkward and surprisingly heavy to carry, and it was dusk by the time Stuart arrived back at the yard. A woman was walking her dog along the road, but once she'd gone past there was no one else to be seen. Stuart climbed onto the stool. Stretching to his full height, he was still nowhere near the top of the wall, and he could now see that there were pieces of glass embedded in the mortar at the top. He got down again, went over to the double gates and fingered the enormous padlock. He took out the elf-sized screwdriver, compared it to the size of the screws in the gate hinges, and put it back in his pocket again. It was too small.
He
was too small. In frustration, he kicked at the base of the gates and heard the
hollow
boom of metal. He kicked at it again, and missed, his foot slipping into the gap between the gates and the ground.