Gideon the Cutpurse (2 page)

* * *

Peter did not notice his father turning on his heel, wincing visibly. He fled into his bedroom, slamming the door so hard that fragments of gloss paint fell onto the carpet. Peter stood at the foot of his bed, kicking and kicking at the wooden leg until it hurt, holding back the tears, listening to the sound of crunching gravel as his father drove his car up the drive. He refused to give in to his impulse to rush to the window and cry, "Dad! Come back!"

TWO
Peter Misses an Important Telephone Call
In which Peter makes the acquaintance of the Dyer family and a hair-raising encounter with a Van de Graaff generator triggers an extraordinary chain of events

Margrit had witnessed many arguments between father and son but had never seen Peter this upset. She had grown very fond of him and did her best to cheer him up. Peter scarcely talked during the long journey up to Derbyshire. He stared out of the car window while Margrit sang German folk songs. He was too preoccupied to notice the hedgerows covered with hoarfrost or the cows huddling together for warmth, or the rooks cawing from the tops of giant trees, their nests clearly visible against the pale winter sky. Peter played all the games on Margrit's mobile, his thumbs striking the keys so fast and so hard that she had to ask him to stop before he broke it. London was left far behind, and by half past eleven a wilder, rugged landscape announced they were drawing near to the Dyer family's farm.
"I am sure you will like the Dyer children," Margrit told Peter. "There are six of them--four girls and two boys. You won't be bored this weekend, that's for sure."
"No," said Peter, unconvinced.
"And on the way back I'll take you to Lichfield, where I have some friends. Doctor Samuel Johnson was born there."
"Who?"
"You must know of Doctor Johnson! You are English! He lived in seventeen hundred and something, I think. He's the one who wrote the first--no, I will not tell you. If you find out by yourself, I will give you a present."
"What sort of present?" asked Peter, with a little more enthusiasm.
"Something that Doctor Johnson would approve of..."
"So not sweets, then."
"No!"

* * *

The Dyers' stone farmhouse, flanked by a barn on one side and an ancient beech tree on the other, stood huddled at the bottom of a long, deep valley crisscrossed with dry stone walls. A small, fast-flowing stream burbled alongside the road that led to the house.
"It's in the middle of nowhere," said Peter. "What a lonely place! It's ages since we went past the last house--let alone shop. What do you do if you've run out of milk or something?"
"I don't think the Dyers ever have to worry about running out of milk!" said Margrit, pointing to some black-and-white cows in the distance. "Besides, you can get just as lonely in the city."
Margrit parked the car next to a mud-splattered Land Rover, and Peter got out and stretched his legs, stiff after the long journey. A biting wind whistled through the few dry leaves that remained clinging to the beech tree that towered above the house. Otherwise all was silent. Peter shivered, and not just because of the cold. This was his first visit to Derbyshire, yet the landscape seemed inexplicably familiar. The skin on the back of his neck began to tingle as if an invisible hand had stroked it.
"Are you okay, Peter?"
"Yeah...I'm fine."
Margrit reached over to smooth down his shiny brown hair, which wanted only to stand upright in the mornings.
"You need a haircut."
"No, I don't. I'm growing it," he replied, messing it up again.
Margrit smiled. "You're feeling better."

* * *

At the sound of Margrit's car the whole Dyer family trooped out into the farmyard to greet them. Margrit was delighted to see her friend, Mrs. Dyer, and they flung their arms around each other and talked breathlessly in a mixture of English and German, as though they were making up for lost time.
Mr. Dyer shook Peter's hand and made him feel welcome. He was a tall thin man with coarse red hair and so many freckles they almost joined up. With him were five children, who ranged in size from just above Peter's knees to somewhere below his shoulder. The biggest boy was Sam; next came twin girls, Issy and Alice; and then little Sean. The youngest, Milly, her cheeks glowing in the cold, stood unsteadily at Peter's feet, holding on to his corduroy trousers at the knees. Soon the sixth and eldest of the Dyer tribe arrived.
Kate was a little taller than Peter, and wisps of long red hair flew around her face as she bounded, breathless, into the muddy yard, closely followed by a golden Labrador.
"Katie!" Little Milly and Sean ran excitedly toward their big sister, and she lifted them both up high into the air before letting them clamber down her legs to the ground. She knocked Sam's woolly hat off before she noticed that the visitors had already arrived.
"Oh,
meine liebchen
, I can't believe how you've grown. You're nearly grown up!" exclaimed Margrit when she saw her. She kissed Kate and gave her a big hug.
Kate blushed, which caused Peter to smirk. He knew just what it felt like when grown-ups you could scarcely remember insisted on making personal remarks and kissing you. And you weren't supposed to wipe your cheek on your sleeve immediately afterward, either.
Why,
thought Kate,
is that boy pulling such a stupid face at me?
Her expression changed into a lopsided frown. Margrit introduced them to each other.
"Hello, Kate," said Peter.
"Hello," she replied, warily, taking in his designer jeans and expensive sneakers, suddenly conscious of her own muddy ones. "How long are you here for?"

* * *

All the children were very proud and excited about a newborn calf and insisted that Peter should see her. The twins dragged him forcibly across the farmyard. The barn was dark and smelled of warm straw and milk and cow flesh. The black-and-white heifer was less than three hours old, and for a few moments everyone stood in solemn silence, suddenly conscious of the miracle of life. She lay close to her exhausted mother in a pool of weak light cast by a bare electric bulb. She peered at them through long black eyelashes.
"Isn't she the most beautiful calf you've ever seen?" asked Alice.
"It's the first calf I've ever seen," admitted Peter. "I mean, I've seen pictures...but it's not the same."
"Mummy's going to call her Einstein," said Issy.
"What's the mother cow called?" asked Peter.
"Erasmus Darwin," called out several voices.
"I see," said Peter, who did not.
"It's a family tradition," explained Kate. "Naming cows after scientists and astronomers, I mean." She pointed toward a young calf in the adjoining stall. "That's Galileo. She's three weeks old.... Erasmus Darwin was a famous scientist, in case you didn't know."
"Yeah, I know," said Peter, a little too quickly.
It was Kate's turn to smirk.
Little Sean reached out his hand for the calf to suck. Galileo swallowed his chubby arm practically up to the elbow, sucking noisily. Sean squealed with pleasure.
Peter watched from the edge of the human circle. He wanted to join in but was unsure whether he wanted such close contact with the animal. All of a sudden he felt his arm being pulled toward the calf. It was Kate.
"You're a real townie, aren't you? Don't be scared. It's not as if she's got sharp teeth or anything. Her tongue feels like sandpaper."
Peter pulled back his hand. "No, thanks."
Kate grabbed it again and held his clenched fingers near to the calf's wet nose. Peter looked round at Margrit for moral support. She was laughing! Peter flashed her a furious look. The calf licked his knuckles--her tongue really did feel like sandpaper.
"Kate likes to be in charge," said Margrit. "Isn't that right, Sam?"
Sam started to chant, "Bossy pants, bossy pants, Katie is a bossy pants!" and the little ones started to giggle.
Kate shoved him with her elbow. "Shut up, Sam."
"Nobody tells me what to do," retorted Peter, instantly wishing he had been cool enough just to shrug his shoulders.
"Well, we can all see that," said Kate, releasing his wrist.

* * *

When they stepped back out into the chilly farmyard, blinking in the wintry sunshine, Mr. Dyer was getting into the Land Rover.
"Where are you going, Dad? I thought you were going to take us to Dovedale this afternoon."
"I'll only be gone twenty minutes, nosy. I'll be back in time for lunch. Tim's gone away for the weekend. I promised to adjust the new generator on his blasted antigravity machine. I'll never hear the end of it if I forget to do it."
Kate suddenly turned to Peter, an excited gleam in her eye.
"Have you ever seen a Van de Graaff generator?"
"A what?"
"You'll see." Kate turned back to her father. "Can you take Peter and me with you? We could show Peter our party piece."
"I don't see why not...but we musn't be long."
"Can I bring Molly?" asked Kate.
"As long as you tie her up outside--we'll only be there a couple of minutes anyway. Run along and tell your mother we'll be back in time for lunch, will you?"

* * *

Peter got into the back of the old Land Rover and squeezed in between a child's car seat and Molly, who stretched herself out on a red tartan rug covered in golden hairs. There were empty drink cartons and comics and a bag of animal feed tucked underneath the front seat. Peter thought of his father's spotless car with its leather upholstery and how he wasn't even allowed to suck a sweet in it. Molly rested her head on her paws and looked up quizzically at Peter. He met the animal's kindly, thoughtful gaze and patted her head. Alone with his thoughts, Peter suddenly felt sad and lonely. Today could have turned out so differently.

* * *

If Mr. Dyer had checked his rearview mirror as the Land Rover juddered noisily down the uneven drive, he would have seen his wife running and calling after him, a mobile phone in her hand. However, he did not, and soon his wife had to give up the chase.
"I'm so sorry," she panted into the receiver. "You've just missed Peter, but I'm expecting them all back at about one o' clock. Can I take a message?"
"No, I need to speak to him," replied Peter's father. "I'm afraid we had a bit of a row this morning. I just wanted to talk to him, put matters right. I'll try again later."

* * *

The laboratory where Kate's father worked was only a short distance away by car, at the top of the valley, set in a small forest of pine trees. An inconspicuous sign at the beginning of the long drive announced: NCRDM--ALL VISITORS MUST REPORT TO SECURITY. Soon several high-tech buildings, apparently constructed entirely from glass, and invisible from the road, came into view. Two security guards waved them through with a smile and a friendly word. They addressed Kate's father as Dr. Dyer.
What is this place?
wondered Peter.
What does Kate's dad do?

* * *

Dr. Dyer parked next to a long three-story building surrounded by fir trees. The frosty grass was littered with thousands of pine cones.
"Sit!" commanded Kate. "Stay! Good dog." Molly sat down obediently on the grass next to a door labeled: DR. A. DYER & DR. T. M. WILLIAMSON--DEPARTMENT OF COSMOLOGY. Kate's father keyed in a security code on a metal number pad, and the sleek electronic door swooshed open. "Welcome, Dr. Dyer," said a robotic voice.
"Poor Kate wishes she had one of these doors to keep the rabble out of her bedroom," remarked Dr. Dyer, amused at the expression of awe on Peter's face. "NASA--the American space agency--helps fund our research. We might not have discovered anything yet, but we have fabulous doors!"
They went into Dr. Dyer's laboratory, and Kate opened a window so she could keep an eye on Molly outside. There were papers everywhere--stacked on tables, in boxes on the floor, balanced on the windowsills--and there were
four
computers. But what immediately caught Peter's eye were the photographs. On every wall there were beautiful images of a blue Earth seen from space, of planets and their moons, and distant galaxies like jewels laid out on black velvet. Mathematical formulae were scrawled in green ink on two large whiteboards. Peter felt Kate nudging his elbow, and he turned to look at her. She had a grin on her face and was indicating her father with a nod of her head. Dr. Dyer stood lost in thought in front of one of the formulae. He had such a vacant look on his face that it made Peter want to laugh. Suddenly Dr. Dyer leaned forward, rubbed out something illegible with his forefinger, and scribbled something equally illegible in its place.
Kate cleared her throat.
"Right," said Dr. Dyer, oblivious that he was the focus of attention. "I had better see to Tim's generator before it goes out of my head. There's not a great deal to see, but you're welcome to come along."
Peter and Kate followed Dr. Dyer. They went down a long corridor and then descended a steep flight of stairs to the basement. Dr. Dyer opened a door, and they entered a large, cool room. Down here the windows were above eye level, and it felt gloomy compared to the ground floor. Kate and Peter watched as Dr. Dyer approached a machine in the center of the room. It was about the height and width of a man. The base of the machine consisted of a gray metal cube that displayed a series of digital readouts. Above it there was something that looked like an oversized streamlined lightbulb made of highly polished silvery metal. Metal brackets fixed it firmly to the base and to the walls of a Perspex box that encased it.
"Here it is," said Dr. Dyer. "Here's Tim's precious machine that's eating half our budget."
"What is it?" asked Peter.
"It's
supposed
to generate tiny amounts of antigravity--which it hasn't yet managed to do."
"I think it's lovely," said Kate. "It looks like a sculpture, like something you'd see in Tate Modern--a giant elongated tear."
"Mmm."
"It sounds like a fridge," said Peter.
"Well, it is in a way--though not so useful, if you ask me. It's the compressor that you can hear. There's liquid helium in there keeping it at absolute zero. Unless, of course, it's the nuclear generator that's humming, but I doubt that."
Peter took a step backward in alarm.
"Shouldn't we be wearing space suits or something this close to one of those things?"
Dr. Dyer laughed. "No, it's encased in a triple layer of lead and steel. In theory a generator like this could run safely for hundreds of years unless you did something stupid like dropping it--but even then it's got an inbuilt fail-safe. It'll only work if it's on the level."
Dr. Dyer then took out a piece of paper from his pocket, peered at it, and crouched down to look at one of the digital readouts.
"What does he want me to turn it up to?"
He looked at the paper again.
"Six point seven seven megawatts," he said to himself as he turned a knob and checked the digital display. "Temperature: minus two hundred and seventy-three centigrade--yes; speed: three thousand rpm--yes; vacuum: one hundred percent. Good, good. Mission accomplished. Let's go. I'm starving."