Table of Shadows

THE TABLE OF SHADOWS

Š 2006 by Alan Parker. All rights reserved.

2

For Caragh,

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Chapter One

An Unexpected Arrival The City Of Coventry, February 1850 Gem pulled the blanket tightly around herself in an attempt to fight off the biting cold of the night air. She wanted to turn her body over, but feared exposing a gap in her covering by doing so, and thereby letting out what little warmth she had managed to accumulate. She realised, however, that on a night like this, a bed in the dormitory of Dr Vandell’s Refuge for Homeless and Destitute Children was infinitely better than sleeping in a pile of rags in some forsaken basement, or worse. She was fortunate and was well aware of the fact, but the thought helped little with the cold that evening as she lay huddled, her eyes peering out from beneath the blanket as the moonlight fell through the windows above the beds and softly illuminated the long room.

The other girls were long asleep. The only sounds came from the occasional mouse scurrying across the floorboards. Time and again, the children were instructed not to bring food into the dormitory, yet it would be relentlessly smuggled in and hidden; well enough from other people, rarely well enough from the mice.

Gem did not mind the mice too much, her indifference fuelled by an intense dislike of the refuge’s resident feline custodian, Earl Grey. The Earl would be slinking around somewhere, she imagined, carefully evaluating everything around him through cold, self important, eyes. No, he was a quiet detestable animal, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend, she had reasoned.

A clock deep within the refuge chimed two, the wavering notes echoing about the building. Two, thought Gem, it meant she would have to wake up in just over four hours, that was if she could get to sleep. Why couldn’t she sleep?

It was Gem’s third year at the refuge. Her mother had been lost to her through consumption without Gem knowing much of her at all. By her fifth birthday Gem lived alone with her father, who had provided for them both, if not well, then sufficiently. He worked as many of the hours that the factory could provide, until one day he took to bed complaining of a headache and never awoke again. Gem had been only ten years old at the time. The day following the funeral, help found her. It came in the guise of Dr Vandell, and he sat before her that afternoon, at the table in the single dank room, whose rent was shortly to expire, and explained of how he had heard of her father’s passing. He told of how he had recently opened a refuge for children finding themselves in circumstances such as hers. The doctor promised to take care of her and to provide two meals a day and a bed each night 5

until her fourteenth birthday, at which point she would be considered an adult and would then be able to look after herself.

Fourteen. That was now barely six months away. Where she was going to go, she had not a clue. Gem closed her eyes and tried to push away the looming issue, as she had recently done so often. Right now, she was safe and dry, if not warm. Right now, she had a job at the Hillfield’s textiles factory and had routinely given Dr Vandell half her earnings for over two years; a quarter for him to aid her keep, and a quarter he put aside for her, so that the day she left the refuge she would at least have something with which to meet the world.

Why was she still not asleep? It was driving her to distraction. Turning restlessly on her bed, Gem realised her mistake a moment too late as her feet were exposed to the cold night air and what little warmth she had managed to trap beneath the blanket dissipated into the dormitory.

She swore under her breath, pulling the blanket back around her feet and wrapping it tightly again about her body. Too late, she thought.

A noise in the yard outside the window stole her attention; a clattering of horse’s hooves upon the cobblestones, followed by a carriage brake being set and some muffled voices.

Curiously, and having already lost her battle to keep out the cold, Gem jumped to her feet, pulled the blanket about her shoulders, and climbed up towards the frosted window panes. She stepped on the iron railing at the head of the bed, thereby enabling her to peer through the glass and down upon the courtyard. The ironwork was uncomfortably cold against her bare feet, but her insatiable inquisitiveness, which had been her undoing many times, was getting the better of her.

In the courtyard below, a woman dressed in dark clothes, perhaps mourning attire, stepped down from the door of the carriage that Dr Vandell held open for her. The doctor was smiling welcomingly, despite the hour of the night, but that was not at all unusual; Gem did not recall him ever being sullen, serious certainly, but never sullen.

Following the woman, a boy began climbing down from the carriage. He was poorly dressed in little more than hanging rags and a mop of dark hair that hung well into his eyes.

His unshod toes touched the stones as Dr Vandell put a hand gently behind him and ushered him towards to the building’s front entrance.

As the boy timidly slipped down from the carriage seat, a cloth cap dropped unnoticed behind him upon the cobblestones underfoot.

‘Careful, doctor. He’s a biter,’ warned the woman. ‘He doesn’t like to be touched.’

‘This way,’ said the doctor to the boy.

The woman nodded while the boy glanced around, studying his surroundings with a look of apprehension, shrinking away from the doctor’s arm before it contacted with him.

‘Come, please, come,’ said Dr Vandell, holding an arm in indication of the direction towards the entrance of the refuge. He then began to lead the way forward, his large frame shadowing the boy and woman as he moved.

Gem wiped with her fingers at the glass pane as her breath began to mist it, ducking back quickly as her movement appeared to attract the boy’s attention and he glanced up. She held her breath for several seconds, before slowly raising her head sideways to peer over the window ledge and back down on the courtyard. The boy had already looked away and was heading nervously towards the house, following the woman dressed in black and being gently herded by Dr Vandell. Gem released her breath in a long exhalation.

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It was then that the most curious event in Gem’s thirteen and a half years of existence happened.

As the boy moved away from the carriage, he turned and looked back over his shoulder at the cobblestoned yard. Noting his cap lying on the ground, he started towards it, but found himself being ushered into the refuge, surrounded by the large arm of Dr Vandell.

The doctor and the woman noticed nothing, for they were engaged in conversation as they entered the building. The boy stretched an arm towards the cap, but was unable to reach it by at least a dozen feet. Suddenly, as if lifted by an invisible hand, the cap flew through the air and into the boy’s open hand, which immediately closed about it and pulled it tightly into his chest.

Steps rapidly approached along the corridor leading to the dormitory and Gem dropped down onto the bed. She quickly arranging the blanket along the length of her body before lying still and pretending to be asleep, feeling that she might be given away by the thumping of her heart racing in her chest. A glow of a candle broke briefly across the room as the footsteps passed the doorway without stopping and Gem breathed a sigh of relief.

Standing once again, Gem peered out of the window, but saw only an empty courtyard below, before returning to her bed and there she lay for another hour until she fell asleep, thinking of the strange event that she had witnessed from the window.

Dr Vandell was a well-dressed and tidily groomed man. His white beard was as short and as precise as his manner of speaking.

‘So, you are Tom?’ he asked, smiling at the boy across a desk littered with numerous files and collections of paperwork.

‘One of my men noticed a mark on his wrist,’ answered the woman in black on the boy’s behalf. ‘The boy hasn’t said a word.’

‘A mark on his wrist?’ repeated the doctor curiously.

‘A tattoo. It says the word “Tom”, so of course we assumed it to be the boy’s name,’ answered the woman curtly.

‘Why would anyone tattoo a child?’ said Dr Vandell as he reached forward, taking the lamp upon his desk in both hands and twisted the glass casing that surrounded the flame, to ensure its secure positioning. He had thrown several scoops of coal from the scuttles upon the fire as they had entered the office and removed the fireguard. ‘I don’t believe I’ve been woken quite so late for such a circumstance before,’ he said calmly as a point of conversation that went untaken as he carefully set the lamp back upon the desk.

The boy sat in a chair, opposite the desk and alongside the woman. The leather enveloped him with its luxurious qualities as he studied the room around himself. He said nothing but his keen eyes darted from item to item in the study, assimilating it all.

‘Do you have a surname, Tom?’ asked Dr Vandell, pushing his fingertips together and leaning back in his chair.

For a moment, Tom’s eyes met with Dr Vandell’s, but he said nothing. He looked nervous and edgy, as if he might take flight at any moment and were working on possibilities for escape.

‘Rest assured, you are with friends now, Tom and nobody is going to hurt you, or make you do anything you don’t want to.’

‘It’s yourself that maybe hurt,’ interrupted the woman from her position alongside Tom. ‘He’s a biter. Leonard has the marks to prove it! I’d suggest not touching him.’

‘Oh, he has nothing to fear from me,’ replied the doctor, studying Tom carefully.

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‘Yes, well, I’m not sure what more I can do here,’ said the woman. ‘I’m not at all sure he’s right in the head,’ she remarked crudely. Wrinkles lined her face, and although an observer would have had to place her on the far side of fifty, the lines were clearly born through many years of disapproving of many different things. Her eyes were little more than narrow slits and her mouth was thin and puckered. She held her hands on her lap and studied the boy uncomfortably.

‘So, you say he was found living in your cellar, Lady Cavlert?’

‘Yes, well, the servants tell me that is where they found him. It appears he may have been there for some time, perhaps as much as a week. Naturally, when we caught him, the first thing we did was contact the constable, and he, in turn, suggested you. Well, being a woman of Christian virtues, I’m in no need of seeing him punished for my satisfaction alone, but would far prefer to see the boy set on the correct path in life. I believe that is what you do here, Dr Vandell?’

‘Quite,’ replied Dr Vandell, his eyes never leaving the boy. ‘So do you talk then, Tom?’ The boy’s eyes continued to flicker about the room uneasily.

‘Do you have any family, Tom?’ Dr Vandell asked.

The boy slowly looked directly up at Dr Vandell, his dark eyes peering out from beneath the brim of his heavy cloth cap, which he had pulled onto his head the moment he had sat down.

‘Well, Tom, what we do here is help young people like yourself. I believe that adults can very much help themselves, but children need someone to guide and support them. With that in mind, I opened this refuge to anyone under the age of fourteen, to make sure they have a roof over their heads, a place to sleep and enough food. Any children of the ages twelve to fourteen are expected to find employment locally and to contribute towards their upkeep, whatever they can afford, in preparation to meet the world,’ he added with a deep smile.

Tom looked up, but the eye contact with the doctor proved clearly too much and he let his gaze fall.

‘Would you like to stay with us for the time being, Tom?’ asked Dr Vandell. ‘We can offer you food, a bed and some warm clothes.’

The boy paused for a moment and looked at the woman beside him, drawing his feet back and under the chair he sat upon, burying himself deeper into its protection.

‘Well then, it is settled,’ concluded Dr Vandell from a non-existent reply. ‘Tomorrow we will discuss your future, but for tonight, we will find you a bed. No, perhaps some food first. Are you hungry?’ asked the doctor, interrupting himself and putting out an imploring and apologetic hand.

‘I should think not!’ remarked the woman vigorously and pursing her lips even more than naturally. ‘That boy has eaten the best part of a cured ham this evening!’

Tom looked at her, recoiling in his chair slightly, a mounting fear in his eyes.

‘Now, Lady Cavlert,’ interjected Dr Vandell, quickly assessing the frightened look on the boy’s face. ‘You have done an eminently Christian thing today, in helping this young destitute boy and bringing him to me, but there is little more that I can ask of you this evening, so perhaps I may escort you back to your carriage?’

Lady Cavlert looked slightly flummoxed, but quickly gathered herself. ‘Well, of course, thank you,’ she replied.

Dr Vandell stood, towering over them both with a naturally impressive height and broad physique. He pushed his chair backwards slightly and moved delicately around the 8

table, offering his hand to the seated Lady Cavlert. ‘Then it would be my honour,’ he said amiably, taking her gloved hand and helping her from her seat.

‘Now, Tom, if you would stay seated here for a moment, while I escort Lady Cavlert to her carriage. I will be back shortly.’ He held the door open for Lady Cavlert to pass through and leant back towards Tom and whispered to him, ‘I do wish to help you, but if you would prefer to take flight while I’m gone, then; out of here, left along the corridor and first right. That will take you out the back way!’ he said with a grin and a wink. ‘But, I hope you remain. I’ll be a few minutes,’ he added as he left the room to meet further incessant whining from Lady Cavlert. ‘… after all, I survived London’s Second Great Fire!’ she squawked as she was led away.

‘Yes, of course, Lady Cavlert…’ replied Dr Vandell as their voices trailed away.

It was a good five minutes before Dr Vandell returned to the study, by which time the fire was beginning to warm the room comfortably. He resumed his position in his chair on the opposite side of his desk and looked across at Tom, studying him for a few seconds while thoughtfully stroking his beard.

‘What of your family, Tom? Is there no one for you to turn to?’

Tom did not reply, his eyes lost in a gaze at the fireplace. His hair was clearly too long, protruding from beneath his cap on both sides and overhanging his collar at the back. His hands and feet were blackened with dirt and his face smudged across the left cheek with a greased smear of some kind. He looked thin, tired, and very frightened.

‘How old are you, Tom’ asked Dr Vandell, leaning back in his chair, which creaked as he moved. ‘Eight? Nine?’

Tom shrugged in what the doctor took to be a response.

‘You’re not sure?’ remarked Dr Vandell incredulously, and then he nodded to himself.

‘Were you left at an orphanage as a baby?’ knowing this happened more frequently than he cared to imagine.

Tom did not offer a response.

‘So you don’t know your mother?’ asked the doctor, raising his eyebrows curiously.

Tom said nothing. His eyes moved up from the fireplace for the first time and only fleetingly met the doctor’s own.

‘How old are you?’

Tom moved uncomfortably in his chair.

‘Have you run away from somewhere? Is someone looking for you? Someone you want to see?’

Tom’s eyes dropped away and traced the contours of the rug underfoot.

‘I see,’ said the doctor, stroking his beard in contemplation again. It was not the first time he had met such a difficult to reach child. ‘Well,’ he began, putting his hands on the table with a gesture of intent, ‘I think we need to get you a bed, I’m sure you are tired. In the morning, we can see to it that you get some fresh clothes and take a bath. Then, if you want, we can discuss things some more.’

The doctor stood and walked around his desk towards Tom, who shrank away from the tall man as he approached, clearly frightened of the possibility of being touched.

‘Oh, it’s alright! I won’t hurt you, Tom,’ he said with a reassuring step backwards.

‘Come, let’s find a bed,’ he said with a further comforting smile.

9

Tom relaxed his defensive posture slightly and slowly stood from his seat. He took a final look around the room as the doctor opened the office door and held it for him as they left.

Dr Vandell walked beside Tom along the corridor that housed his office. They followed it past several closed doors, before turning a corner and the doctor directed Tom up a thin metal staircase.

‘The place used to be coachworks,’ said Dr Vandell in explanation of the unusual structure. ‘We converted it into what you see now when it closed it down.’

Tom did not appear to pay much attention to the doctor’s words as he followed him, his eyes rapidly flowing over his surroundings.

‘Well, let me introduce you to Mrs Johnson,’ said Dr Vandell, stopping at a closed door just off the staircase and tapping upon it very gently.

‘Come in!’ called a voice from within.

Dr Vandell opened the door, and as if to check the appropriateness of his action, he slowly peered around the frame, before opening it fully.

As the door swung inward, the scent of lavender washed through the air and a small oil lamp sitting on a high chest of drawers near the doorway cast forth a soft light.

‘Tom, this is Mrs Johnson. Mrs Johnson, this is Tom,’ introduced the doctor as he carefully put an arm around Tom’s back and guided him just within the doorframe, using the boy’s dislike of being approached to manoeuvre him.

‘Ah, Tom, it’s a pleasure to meet you!’ exclaimed a rotund and happy looking lady perched on a chair beside her dressing table in the comfortable looking, but cramped bedroom. Her hair had been pinned up beneath a white nightcap laced with frills around the edges and she wore a heavy looking pink robe that did nothing to hide her stout frame.

‘Did you ready a bed, Mrs Johnson?’ enquired the doctor.

‘Yes, yes!’ she answered, smiling towards Tom. ‘Let’s get him up there.’

Mrs Johnson put her hands to her nightcap to straighten it, but with little effect. She then stood, collected the lamp from the chest of drawers and followed Dr Vandell and Tom from her room.

Dr Vandell led the way, looping back on the direction from which they had come and taking to the staircase again, following it up a further floor. All the time, the lamp that Mrs Johnson carried cast heavy shadows on the walls as they walked through the passages.

Tom looked like an uncomfortable volume between two enormous bookends as he followed the doctor along a short passageway and into a long dark room.

‘Here!’ whispered Mrs Johnson, taking Tom’s hand without seeking permission and leading him into the room, holding her lamp before her to illuminate their path.

Before them was the boys’ dormitory, stretching back some fifty to sixty feet, surrounded on each side by plain brick walls and small frosted windows above eight beds in mirroring rows on either side of the room. It was too dark to discern much more as Mrs Johnson led Tom along three positions until she reached an empty bed on the right.

‘Twenty-six,’ he said, looking up at her, forcibly pulling his hand from her grasp.

‘Sorry?’ she whispered, putting a finger up to her mouth to indicate he should not wake the other boys.

‘Twenty-six,’ he repeated loudly.

‘Yes, well, I will come and fetch you in the morning, don’t you worry,’ she said, looking flustered and confused, patting him gently on the shoulder. ‘For now, just take off your clothes and slip into bed’.

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Tom looked at her and shook his head, gripping the collar of his ragged shirt and tightening his fist about it.

‘Oh, I see,’ whispered Mrs Johnson. ‘Well, no matter. If you’d rather keep them on, then just get into bed like that.’

Tom sat on the bed, looking up at the woman as she pulled back the covers and waited patiently for him to lie down.

‘Come now, lay down,’ she said, removing his cap from his head and handing it to him.

Scraggly dark hair fell about his head and Tom peered out from beneath a heavy fringe at the woman. Slowly, he slipped his feet beneath the clean white sheets and dark wool blanket, before leaning backwards against the soft pillow.

‘That’s right,’ assured Mrs Johnson, putting out a hand and brushing some of the hair away from Tom’s eyes. ‘Now you get some sleep, and stay here until I come and get you in the morning.’

Dr Vandell stood silently in the doorway, watching as Tom lay down and Mrs Johnson pulled the blanket up to his chin.

‘Oh,’ remarked Mrs Johnson, nearly forgetting to whisper, ‘if you need to go during the night, there’s a po under the bed, alright?’

Tom failed to reply, simply pulling the blanket over his jaw line.

‘Good night, Tom,’ said Mrs Johnson with a broad smile before she left and followed Dr Vandell from the dormitory. The light of her lamp diminishing with each footstep as she walked away, until it gave way to darkness.

Tom lay staring at the ceiling, his eyes wide and frightened. He remained like that until the following morning.

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Chapter Two

Inquisitive Minds Gem woke easily. For what little sleep the night had allowed her, it had never permitted Gem to fall into a deep slumber. She was irritable and groggy, rubbing at her eyes with her fists as the girls around her began to wash in the bowls beside their beds and dress.

She sobbed theatrically to herself, wishing she did not have to get up and go to the factory, but there was little choice. Slowly, she emerged from underneath her blanket and put a foot down on the cold wooden flooring beneath her bed.

‘Oh,’ she sighed, flinching at the touch of the floor and the air.

‘Mornin’, grumpy,’ said an irritatingly happy voice from the next bed. Gem brushed some of the blonde hair from her eyes and glanced up to see Ellie already dressed and hunched on the bed next to her.

‘Urgh,’ was all Gem could reply.

‘Didn’t sleep well?’ asked Ellie in a cheerful manner that made Gem want to set about her, and thereby bring the girl down to her own level of misery.

‘Whatever made you think that?’ asked Gem with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

‘Come on, breakfast is ready,’ said Ellie, climbing off her bed and skipping away. Gem assumed the skip was a deliberate ploy to irritate her even more, and it succeeded.

Standing, Gem brushed down her nightgown, before reaching for the water jug and pouring some into the washbasin on the small cabinet beside her bed. She sighed heavily, looking up at the window above her, where light was pouring down through a clear and crisp wintry morning sky. It triggered the memory of the previous night and the strange boy who came from the coach. She wondered if he would be at the refuge.

With a newfound interest in the day, she hurriedly made toilet and rushed her dressing. She folded and placed her nightdress in the heavy wooden box positioned at the end of her bed, where the children could store personal items under lock and key. She secured the padlock and tucked the key back on its piece of string, inside the neckline of her drab grey cotton dress. Sitting on her bed, Gem pulled her boots on and buttoned them up before running to catch up with the others, who had all made their way to breakfast long ago. She followed the corridor and traced the iron steps down two flights before making her way into the dining room.

The smell of porridge was in the air, but then, the smell of porridge was in the air every morning other than Christmas day and Easter, and of course, their birthdays, when they were each treated to their choice of favourite meals for that day.

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The room was long and narrow, stretching a good twenty feet in height above Gem’s head up to thick iron rafters. The whitewashed walls did nothing to hide the brickwork underneath and the long benches set side by side stretched out the entire length of the room, stopping only for a table where the large looming pot of porridge sat ominously at the far end on a hearth.

Children mixed and chatted over their meals, none paying any attention to Gem’s entrance. She made her way quietly along, scanning the room for the strange boy, but finding him absent.

Helping herself to the porridge ladle, Gem scooped herself a small bowlful, knowing she would regret not eating later if she did not manage to get something before the evening meal, no matter how unappealing it felt at that moment. As she did so, she noted the cook, a brittle and worn looking woman, sitting nearby at a bench, looking forlornly at the cup of tea in front of her.

‘Is there a new boy?’ asked Gem as politely as she could, as if it were something she were idly enquiring about, hoping to mask her need to feed an insatiable appetite of inquisitiveness.

‘What?’ replied the cook gruffly, looking up from her tea, interrupted from her meditation.

‘A new boy. I thought I heard someone come in last night?’

‘Eh? I dunno. I’d be the last to know,’ snapped the woman, returning to her tea staring.

Gem raised her eyebrows in mock indignation, which went unseen, before walking away and taking a seat on the bench next to Ellie. A small huddle of boys opposite were clearly discussing something between them of importance and shifted away as Gem approached.

‘So, you got up, then?’ said Ellie glancing up from the porridge she had almost finished.

‘No, I’m still in bed, and planning on staying there for the rest of my life,’ answered Gem glumly. ‘Have you seen a new boy?’ she asked.

‘No. No new boys here today. Not that I’ve seen, anyway,’ answered Ellie, rolling her spoon around her bowl, scraping the remaining contents up in a most undignified fashion, turning Gem’s stomach as she watched.

‘Must you do that?’ pleaded Gem. ‘Must you watch?’ answered Ellie with a shrug of her shoulders and twist of her lips, turning her head back to the remains of her bowl and missing Gem’s scrunched face and poking tongue return her thoughts.

‘I saw a new boy arrive last night. Out the window,’ said Gem, matter-of-factly.

‘Oh? I ‘spose you love him already? Love at first sight!’ teased Ellie, rolling her head upon her shoulders and her eyes in her sockets, mimicking a delirious desire.

‘No! I just saw a new boy is all,’ answered Gem aggressively, focusing her full attention on pushing the grey looking porridge around her bowl without managing to eat any.

There was a distinct pause for a moment before Ellie broke the silence, ‘So, what was he like, this boy?’ she asked.

‘Tired, frightened, alone,’ replied Gem, finally mustering up enough courage to eat a spoonful of porridge.

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Ellie nodded knowingly. The description would fit nearly all of the children that had come to the refuge. It was common that children were brought to Dr Vandell, and almost as common that they would run away at the first opportunity. Those that stayed realised what they had stumbled across, but few ever waited long enough to find out, bolting the second they found a free door.

‘I just wondered about him, was all,’ followed Gem. ‘No matter,’ she said, pushing aside the bowl. ‘I can’t eat that today.’

‘Come on, let’s get to the factory,’ said Ellie, picking up Gem’s bowl for her and climbing off the bench.

Gem looked up. With a sigh, she nodded and followed Ellie as she returned the bowls and spoons to the far end of the bench where the cook was still sitting and looking into her tea.

The girls wove through the refuge’s corridors before making their way outside into the crisp air.

‘Morning girls!’ remarked Dr Vandell as he stood just outside the doorway, puffing on an enormous cigar, apparently taking pleasure in a mixture of smoke and morning air.

‘Dr Vandell,’ replied the girls in simultaneous greeting.

The doctor billowed a cloud of white smoke and warm breath in front of himself.

‘Ellie, Gem,’ he said with a nod and a slight raise of his cigar.

The girls smiled and walked on across the cobble-stoned forecourt, hugging each other’s arms to keep warm. Ellie looked up into the sky, drawing Gem’s attention after her own. Two giant airships crossed each other’s paths in the sky, their engines buzzing far overhead, leaving dark trails of slowly dissipating black smoke behind them. After a dozen strides Gem stopped, holding back Ellie. ‘Just a moment,’ she said and sprang off in the direction of Dr Vandell.

Gem ran back to the doctor and looked up at him. He wore a long black jacket, buttoned at the front, looking as impressive and an imposing figure as ever, towering above her.

‘Err, Dr Vandell,’ she prompted.

‘Yes, Gem?’ he replied, cocking an inquisitive look down at her.

‘I, err,’ she stuttered.

‘Don’t mumble, Gem. It won’t do you well in later life,’ he said.

‘No, sir,’ she answered, rocking uneasily in her stance. ‘I, err. Sorry. I wondered if a new boy had arrived yesterday. Last night in fact. I thought I heard someone arrive during the night.’

‘Did you indeed?’ replied the doctor, pausing to puff twice on his cigar. ‘And, how, in fact, did you “hear” it was a boy?’

‘Err, I… Well… I did look out of the window for a moment, perhaps,’ she said awkwardly.

‘Hmmm… perhaps. Well, Gem, yes, a young boy did join us last night and today he will determine if he wishes us to help him, or not, as the case may be.’

‘Oh,’ she said simply.

Dr Vandell puffed again on his cigar, appearing to contemplate a thought for a few seconds. ‘Of course, if he does choose to stay, he will need someone to help him find his way. Perhaps that person could be you, Gem?’ ‘Of course, Dr Vandell,’ said Gem with a growing smile, raising herself excitedly up on her toes.

14

‘Well, off to work then, and we can discuss it more this evening.’

‘Yes, sir,’ she said, whirling around to run back towards to Ellie, who stood shivering and waiting with a look of exasperation on her face.

‘Good morning, Dr Vandell!’ followed Gem’s departing cry as she ran to rejoin her friend.

As the other boys had washed and dressed themselves, Tom stayed under his cover, attempting to block out the noise and confusion he found himself in by humming.

The boys of various ages and shapes were boisterously fighting and chasing around the dormitory, paying Tom little notice where he lay huddled under the blanket, waiting for them to leave.

Suddenly, Tom felt a heavy weight on the bed beside him and found the covering being pulled away. Desperately, he attempted to snatch it back, but not before Mrs Johnson’s face loomed over the top of it. She wore a thick looking dark blue dress, covered by a large white apron at the waist, and had a matching white mobcap on her head finished with a small red bow, looking much like the nightcap she had worn the previous night.

‘Good morning, Tom,’ she said. ‘Did you sleep well?’

Tom continued humming, simply staring back at her.

‘Well, first nights in strange places can be like that, can’t they?’ she said, slowly pulling the cover from him.

Tom released his grip upon the blanket and lifted himself onto his elbows.

‘Come on, come on,’ repeated Mrs Johnson, rotating a hand in a hurrying gesture.

‘The other boys are going to breakfast, but we have a bath ready for you.’

Mrs Johnson stood from her seated position on the bed alongside him and roughly rolled the blanket up in her arms before putting it down upon the bed sheets. ‘Come along!’ she said, putting out one hand for Tom to take. A scent of lavender drifted from her, which he found comforting. Tom gingerly shook his head and pulled his feet from underneath the blanket.

Gradually, he stood up, stopping his humming and looked around at the remaining boys who were still dressing themselves, with noticeably less volume than had been experienced before the adult had entered the room.

‘This way!’ remarked Mrs Johnson, nearly whipping him off his feet as she turned and led Tom by the arm in the direction of the doorway. They passed through, baring left and following the hallway to the end of the passage, finding a half open door from which steam was rolling up and over the doorframe.

‘Here,’ she said, ushering Tom through and into the room, just as he managed to break free of her grasp. ‘We do expect levels of cleanliness here, Tom. You wash each morning and evening with the water placed beside your bed and you will have a bath twice a week, like it or not.’

The air was warm and the room large and open. The floor consisted of bare wooden boards running to a plain brick wall at the far end, with a large window, heavily misted with condensation, overlooking what appeared to be a field behind the refuge. In the centre of the room sat two large high-backed copper bathtubs alongside each other, one of which had been filled with warm water. A chair had been placed beside each tub, and on one sat some towels, a hand scrubber and a worn bar of soap.

Two baths, two chairs. It was symmetrical and Tom liked that.

‘Twenty-nine,’ he said. ‘One, eight.’

15

‘I’m sorry?’ questioned Mrs Johnson, looking with bewilderment at Tom, but he did nothing to elaborate on his statement. ‘Well, now, you look old enough to bathe yourself, but I will be inspecting you once you are out, and if you haven’t made a good job of it, then I’ll put you back in and clean you myself,’ stated Mrs Johnson, firmly, but not unkindly.

Tom looked up at her, lost as to what to do next.

Mrs Johnson led the way over to the bath and picked up the towels on the chair. ‘Use this one to dry yourself off with,’ she said holding the largest up before dropping it back on the chair. ‘This one is a flannel, use it well,’ she said holding forth a small and coarse looking piece of material. ‘Make sure you wash your hair!’ she remarked, running a hand over his head and then looking at her palm distastefully before rinsing it in the bath water and drying it upon her apron.

‘Can you do all that on your own?’ she asked in very slow words, ensuring she had his established eye contact.

He nodded.

Mrs Johnson was taken aback, as if not expecting a direct response from the boy. She paused for a second before nodding at him. ‘Go on then, cast your skin, and I’ll leave you to it. Try not to get any water on the floor,’’ she said, briskly leaving the room and pulling the door closed on her way.

Tom stood alone, looking around himself. After a time, he put a hand into the bathtub. The water felt inviting and warm, so he undressed and laid his tattered clothes on the back of the chair. Picking up the bar of soap, he stepped up to the bath and carefully put a foot in the water to test the sensation. He climbed in and sat down, slowly allowing his body to relax against the warmth of the water. It felt good.

He lay in the bath and closed his eyes, resting back against the upright of the bath, succumbing to the accumulated tiredness that had clung to him. The soap slipped from his fingers and disappeared down into the water as he drifted away from the world for a time.

How long he remained like that, he did not know, but was brought back to the world with a sudden fluttering of his heart as the door burst open, causing him to sit bolt upright and splash a substantial amount of water over the edge of the bathtub.

‘Oh, now!’ said Mrs Johnson, marching over to the bath and reaching towards the chair beside him. ‘Be careful!’ she said, tutting at the water rolling across the floor. She picked up all of Tom’s clothing and whisked them away without a word of explanation, leaving through the door again. ‘Make sure you use that scrubber!’ she barked behind her, before closing the door on her way out.

Tom located the soap and employed the scrubber to good effect. Eventually, he was left in a bath full of very murky looking water, but feeling better for the experience. He stood, taking the large towel and dried himself. Wrapping the towel about his shoulders, it still reached his ankles.

Before long, Mrs Johnson reappeared and seemed happy enough with the job Tom had made of his bathing.

‘I’ve put some clothes on your bed, which you should find will fit you. Boots are a bit more difficult, so I put a couple of pairs out for you to try on. They aren’t new, but they’ll do you better than nothing,’ she said, leading him from the bathroom back to his bed in the dormitory.

Mrs Johnson left Tom to dress himself. He did not want to wear the new clothes, they were not his, but there was no choice, as he wanted to remain in a bath towel even less. He 16

tried on the boots he liked most first, and they fit. They were brown and he liked their colour and smell. He left the laces trailing across the floor.

Mrs Johnson returned to find Tom wriggling in his new clothes, looking uncomfortable.

‘Here is the one thing I could save from your clothes’, she said, handing him his cap.

Tom grabbed at it; it felt warm, as if it had been near a fireplace. He pulled it on his damp hair and looked up at Mrs Johnson, who stood with her hands on her hips studying him.

‘Now, young, Tom, look at you. You need to tie your laces. Have you had laces before?’ she asked.

Tom shook his head negatively.

‘Well then, jump up and sit on the bed,’ she said patting the mattress behind him.

Tom followed her directions.

‘Now, give me your foot,’ she requested, kneeling down and reaching out, her hands offering to take his shoe.

An inch at a time, he put his right foot forward. She took the boot in her hands, positioning it on her lap and straightened the laces, holding each one in either hand.

‘Watch what I do,’ she said. She snapped her fingers several times in quick succession, before pulling on his trouser leg to obtain his attention. ‘Now, watch! Left over right end and through,’ she commented as she threaded the laces, pausing to ensure that Tom was following her actions. ‘Left end under right loop and through,’ she said, completing the knot.

‘Understand?’ she enquired of the boy watching her through wide eyes.

Tom pulled his left foot towards himself and carefully tied his lace in the same manner.

‘Oh, you do know how to tie your laces then, you should have said!’ exclaimed Mrs Johnson, pushing his boot from her lap and taking to her feet.

Tom stood, feeling uneasy in the new boots. He had not worn shoes for a long time and they felt heavy on his feet. The socks felt comfortable though.

‘Hungry?’ she asked.

Tom shook his head in reply.

‘You can speak to me, Tom. I know you can speak.’

He said nothing.

‘Very well, let us find Dr Vandell. He wants to talk to you this morning. Come on,’ she said, issuing an open hand for him to take.

Tom shrank back, not wanting to hold her hand.

Mrs Johnson sighed, dropped her hand away, turned and began to leave the dormitory without looking to see if Tom was following her, which he did. She led him through the large building, down two flights of stairs and traced the corridor back to Dr Vandell’s office, where Tom had first been brought to during the previous evening.

‘Wait here for a moment, dear,’ said Mrs Johnson, lightly pushing Tom on the chest and back against a wall, out of the way of anyone that should be passing along the corridor.

‘I’ll be but a moment with the doctor first,’ she said, knocking on the door before entering to an acknowledgement from beyond.

Tom stood where he had been told, looking up and down the hallway nervously. He could hear a muffled conversation unfolding on the other side of the door, but paid it little attention.

17

After several minutes had passed, Mrs Johnson reappeared and indicated that Tom should enter the study. She left him seated opposite Dr Vandell before closing the door and retiring elsewhere.

‘Well, Tom,’ said Dr Vandell, leaning forward on his desk. ‘You look a lot better than you did last evening,’ he said with a casual gesture at the boy’s new attire. ‘New clothes,’ he prompted, as if the meaning of his words were not clear.

‘Socks,’ said Tom, lifting his feet up, his eyes flitting over the many books and objects that lined the study’s shelves and desk. ‘Socks,’ he repeated.

‘You are most welcome, Tom,’ replied Dr Vandell. ‘What else did Mrs Johnson give you?’ he asked.

Tom drew his eyes to Dr Vandell. ‘Mine,’ he said, pointing to his cap.

‘Yes, it is all yours now, Tom. Nobody will take them away from you.’

‘Mrs Johnson had to throw away your old clothes. They had served their purpose, Tom. Some things have to be thrown away because they are too old.’

The boy’s eyes broke away again, falling on a polished marble ink blotter resting on the near edge of the desk. The doctor followed his gaze, ‘Do you know what that is for?’ he quizzed.

Tom said nothing, his eyes moved on.

‘It’s an ink blotter. A rather old one, which I was given as a present. Your new clothes are a present, from me.’

A rocking motion took Tom. Dr Vandell reclined in his large leather chair. ‘You are a most curious one,’ he said, mainly to himself. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a silver cigar case, from within which he removed a pre-cut cigar and a match.

‘Forty-seven,’ said Tom, his eyes still tracing about the room.

‘Forty-seven?’ enquired Dr Vandell. What’s Forty-seven, Tom?’ There was no answer.

‘Me? The cigar? The case? Something in this room? Are there forty seven books, Tom? On the shelves?’

Tom shrugged in an ambiguous manner.

‘I’m fifty-three years of age. Quite old?’ he said with a laugh. ‘But, I’m not fortyseven.’

The boy nodded several times, causing the doctor to laugh louder. ‘Well, now, what would it be?’ he asked, tucking away his case and lighting his cigar. He blew upon the match with a meditative thoughtfulness, dropping it carefully into the ashtray on his desk. He stood and walked to the bookshelf, and began running his finger over the spines of the books, rapidly counting them aloud to himself. He reached thirty and decided there must be more than sixty books on the shelves. He shook his head, attempting to cast away the confusion and retook his seat. He paused for a moment.

‘How many books are on the shelf, Tom?’ he asked carefully.

Tom stopped his gentle rocking action and shuffled from the chair. He walked to the shelf and starting with the lowest book in the nearest corner, he began mimicking the doctor’s previous action and counting each individual book.

‘One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six,’ ‘No, Tom. It’s alright. I don’t need to know how many books there are anymore.’

‘Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten,’ ‘No, Tom. I’m sorry, I don’t need to know. It’s alright.’

18

‘Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.’

Dr Vandell rested his cigar on the lip of the ashtray and drew his hand across his forehead. He stood and walked beside the boy and looked down at him.

‘I know you don’t like people to touch you, Tom. So, would you please stop counting the books?’

‘Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-one.’

‘Tom!’ ‘Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four.’

Dr Vandell clapped his hands together and the air snapped sharply.

Tom stopped his counting, looking up through alarmed eyes.

‘It’s alright, Tom. I’m not going to hurt you. Please sit down again,’ he asked, smiling down at the boy. He stepped backwards carefully, retaking his seat behind his desk. ‘Look, see? Please, take a seat,’ he said, opening his hands towards the chair Tom had recently vacated.

Tom’s eyes welled with tears and fear. He stood and rocked in tiny back and forth motions and hummed a quiet and tuneless note to himself, pausing only for further breath.

‘Tom, I…’ began Dr Vandell, shaking his head. ‘Ah!’ he said, breaking his sentence and picking his cigar back up, drawing upon it and then poking the air. ‘I have something you may like!’ The doctor reached into one of his lower drawers and pulled out a wooden box. ‘Look,’ he said, putting the box on his desk, unhooking a tiny brass latch and opening the lid. ‘Have you played with these before?’ he asked, tipping the box up to show a collection of various coloured glass marbles.

Tom paid no attention. He was staring intently at the bookshelf, continuing with his actions of rocking and humming.

Dr Vandell took to his feet, and placing his cigar between his teeth, he lifted the box from the table and carried it to Tom, showing him the contents, to little reaction.

‘Very well, perhaps that is enough for the time being,’ sighed the doctor, placing the box of marbles upon the desk. ‘I’ll go and find Mrs Johnson and see if she can take you somewhere you find relaxing. Just wait here for a moment, Tom,’ he requested, hurriedly opening the study door and looking along the passageway, before vacating the room completely.

‘He’s such a curious lad,’ remarked Dr Vandell, leading Mrs Johnson back to his office after several minutes of searching.

‘Well, like I said, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he hasn’t been mistreated by some deviant somewhere,’ replied Mrs Johnson, following a pace or so behind the doctor. ‘People can be truly wicked.’

‘Possibly, if not probably,’ said the doctor, largely to himself. ‘He seems a mixture of contradictions, in psychological terms. He appears to be largely cut off from the rest of the world, but I’m sure things are going on inside his brain. It simply seems he has difficulty in relating to us. Time will tell,’ he said, turning in to his study, pushing the door inwards and stopping with such an instant halting action that Mrs Johnson walked directly into his back.

‘Oh, pardon me!’ exclaimed Mrs Johnson.

‘No!’ murmured Dr Vandell under his breath, blocking the doorway from Mrs Johnson with his body.

‘No?’ 19

‘Sorry, not yourself, Mrs Johnson. Look!’ he said, opening the door fully and taking two steps into the room.

Mrs Johnson leaned around the large frame of Dr Vandell’s shoulders and gazed into the study.

Upon the rug in the centre part of the floor, Tom sat cross-legged. About him lay ten neat piles of the books he had taken from the shelves. On top of each pile, he had carefully placed a marble.

‘Fourteen. Eight. Eleven. Six,’ he said, clinking a handful of marbles.

The small brass bell mounted over the door rang out, announcing an entrance into the pawnshop. Mr Obadiah Hill paid little attention though, as his concentration had already been stolen by the foot square wooden box he held on his lap as he sat in his chair behind his long counter. He continued his rummaging through the contents with his arthritic hands, muttering to himself as he moved the collection of household items around in swirling motion, to the sounds of clashing of metals.

‘Excuse me,’ said a voice from above him, in little more than a whisper.

Obadiah looked up from his rummaging, pausing to squint at the two dark shapes looming over the counter of his dingy, cluttered, little shop.

‘Yes?’ said Obadiah.

‘Perhaps you may be able to help us,’ replied the man, a gravelled quality underlying his speech, while each “S” hissed snake-like through the air. He stood next to a companion, who was also dressed in a dark suit and hat.

‘Oh, of course. If I can, if I can,’ said Obadiah, lifting up his spectacles from his chest by the string that held them around his neck. He attempted to focus on the men, for what little help the lenses and the dim light falling upon their backs through the shop window assisted him. He shrank back into his chair as he peered up at them. Obadiah did not like the look of either of them, but the silent one’s silhouette was particularly burly.

‘We are in the vicinity looking for a certain young boy. A very special boy,’ said the man, each word came as little more than a faint whisper that Obadiah had to strain his worn out ears to take in. ‘We know that an establishment such as yours often knows much about the local community.’

‘Sometimes,’ replied Obadiah, wearily.

‘Then, perhaps, you may know something of this boy. His name is Tom, a name he carries… written upon his wrist. He is approximately ten years of age, has dark hair and blue eyes. He speaks very little.’

‘Have you tried the orphanages, or the police?’ suggested Obadiah uncomfortably, wanting to get rid of the unusual men as quickly as possible.

‘Most of them,’ said the shadow before him. ‘Coventry is very large.’

‘Yes,’ said Obadiah, his thoughts on the green safe he had at the back of the shop, and the money within.

‘You are quite certain you have not heard anything about a runaway boy?’

‘Yes, quite certain,’ answered Obadiah, hoping that it signalled that the men would be leaving his shop.

‘Very well,’ said the dark shape of the man.

Obadiah found a small headache suddenly developing and he lifted his hand to his temple. His mind ran away from his control and his body began to tremble, as if no longer under his own command. His eyes rolled back in their sockets and hundreds of images of 20

recent events over the past several days rushed through his mind’s eye in a stream of disconnected thoughts. Pressure was building within his forehead and he found himself falling away from the world and towards darkness. The box on his lap tumbled to the floor.

‘Thank you for your time,’ said the man.

A suddenly as it had began, the intruding pain and images subsided and Obadiah shook his head, feeling small drops of perspiration running down his brow. The dark and cramped shop fell in around him.

‘Goodbye,’ said the man, as he and his companion turned their backs on Obadiah, leaving through the shop door to a chime from the bell above.

‘I…,’ said Obadiah, as the strange men left. It took him several minutes to compose himself before he felt well enough to stand, by which time, he could not remember for the life of him what had happened in the past quarter of an hour, or why a box of assorted household items lay scattered across the floor.

21

Chapter Three

Responsibilities Gem walked along the Plymouth Road with slumped shoulders and small steps. The flagstones underfoot were uneven and slippery with ice, particularly perilous in the diminishing evening light.

‘Come on!’ she whined at Ellie, who was several paces behind her.

‘I ain’t in no hurry, and you seem to be forgetting that I’ve been injured,’ replied Ellie, dragging her feet more than Gem found necessary, while cradling one hand in the other.

‘Your mistake, and it’s not that bad,’ replied Gem, turning and waiting for her friend to catch up. ‘You know better than to go messing with the bobbins when the looms are going.’

‘I do now,’ was the simple reply as Ellie drew up to Gem’s shoulder and they continued the path together.

‘I gotta go see Dr V when we get back,’ stated Gem mysteriously, deliberately so.

‘Why, has he asked you to look after the new boy?’

‘How did you know that?’ asked Gem, with a disappointed look across at Ellie.

‘It don’t take a detective to work it out, Gem. You were all curious about some new boy, and then you have a quick chat with Dr V on the way out this morning, now you can’t wait to get back.’

‘Oh,’ she replied sullenly.

‘What is it about him that interests you so much?’ asked Ellie.

‘Oh, I dunno. The beard, I think.’

‘Not Dr V, the boy!’ replied Ellie with a shake of her head.

Gem laughed, ‘I told you; he just looked like he needed help, is all.’

‘And this you could tell from a glance through a window?’

‘Yes, I could,’ answered Gem. ‘And, I’ve never known you to worry about someone else,’ stated Ellie.

‘That’s just not true!’

‘Well…’ trailed Ellie, attempting to depart from the subject.

‘Dr V did ask me to show him about and look after him. I expect he’ll want to speak to me the moment we get back,’ stated Gem with a cocky waver of her head.

It was at the end of dinner and an unexceptional meal of stew and dumplings, when Dr Vandell requested Gem’s attendance in his office.

22

She knocked on the office door and waited, her heart thumping in he chest as she stared at the dark wooden face of the door and hand painted letters that read “Dr J. Vandell”. Every time Gem had to speak to Dr Vandell and gave herself enough time to think about it, she always managed to work herself into a nervous and flustered state, never knowing exactly why.

‘Come in,’ replied the doctor’s voice from behind the door.

Gem twisted the heavy handle and opened the door, stepping into the room before turning and closing it behind her. The warmth of the fireplace was almost overwhelming.

‘Ah, Gem,’ said the doctor, looking up from his paperwork and placing his dip pen in its gold looking holding fixture beside its ink well. She saw no signs of a cigar, but the smell hung in the air and she wanted to cough and clear her throat.

‘Take a seat, Gem’ offered the doctor.

‘Thank you, sir,’ responded Gem as she lifted herself onto the first of the two chairs seated across from Dr Vandell.

‘So, you are aware of the new boy. Well, his name is Tom.’ Gem nodded in reply.

Dr Vandell pushed his fingertips together studiously and rested his elbows upon his desk, looking over his hands at her.

‘I think he needs some help,’ he said after a moment of reflective thought. ‘He may relate better to someone nearer his own age, than to adults. We think he’s about nine years old, which would seem about right, although he is physically and mentally underdeveloped for his age. Anything else you can find out about where he comes from, or any details of any family would help immensely.’

‘Anything I can do, sir,’ responded Gem. Dr Vandell appeared not to even notice her comment, flexing his fingers against each other and almost staring through Gem in her seat. ‘I want you to introduce yourself to him, but there are going to be some rules.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Firstly, and perhaps most importantly for yourself; you must not try to touch him.

Tom seems to dislike physical contact, to the extent that it causes him distress. Secondly, he seems distant, as if your words cannot reach him; so do not get angry with him. No shouting, stamping or clapping around him. Nothing boisterous.’ Dr Vandell stopped, lowering his hands slightly and ensuring he had strong eye contact with Gem, ‘Nothing boisterous,’ he repeated in careful syllables.

Gem simply nodded her acknowledgement.

‘If at any point his behaviour seems threatening to you or endangering himself or someone else, you are to immediately seek a member of my staff, or myself. Is that clear?’

Gem was beginning to become worried. She had never been asked for such responsibility in her life. Perhaps she did not want to know about this strange boy so much.

‘Gem,’ began the doctor, lowering his hands to the surface of his desk and rocking slightly in his chair. ‘If I can suggest one thing to you?’

Nodding, Gem replied, ‘Of course, Dr Vandell,’ thinking to herself that he had just supplied her with a long list of requests.

‘Try to contact him on his level. Don’t ask or expect him to relate to you on your level.

Treat him the way you would a much younger child who simply cannot understand you. I think he may be a little slow, and very frightened.’

‘Yes, sir.’

23

‘And, if you can, see if you can work out what the numbers mean.’

‘The numbers?’ she asked with a confused look in her eyes.

‘You’ll see,’ answered Dr Vandell smiling. ‘You’ll find him with Mrs Johnson. I shall have a walk about and talk to the other children about Tom, and that they are best to leave him alone for the time being.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Gem heard Mrs Johnson before she saw her, her voice booming through a doorway and along the corridor. She seemed to be talking to someone. ‘… thankfully, we don’t starch, there just aren’t enough hours in the day, or hands to do the work, for that kind of treatment,’ Mrs Johnson was saying.

Rounding the corner of the door, Gem found Mrs Johnson running a box-iron over some sheets she had draped over a long ironing board, happily talking away to a seemingly empty laundry room. The air in the room was warm and smelt good to Gem. ‘And to be totally honest, if things are running behind, then we don’t always iron the sheets…’

‘Mrs Johnson?’ said Gem, by way of introducing herself.

Looking up from her iron with a startled expression, Mrs Johnson clearly did not had it in her mind that she could be interrupted from her monologue on daily activities. It seemed to take her a moment to realise who she was looking at.

‘Ah, Gem!’ she said with a flustered smile as she rested the iron on the metal stand beside her. ‘We were expecting you.’

Gem crinkled her forehead in confusion, as she could not see anyone else in the room, simply four large metal tubs, one of which was full with soapy water, accompanying washing peggys and several piles of folded, but crumpled, linen in baskets.

‘This is Tom,’ said Mrs Johnson, holding a flat hand out in indication of someone behind the door. Gem leant around the door and found a small boy sitting on a round stool looking up at her through wide blue eyes from beneath a rough fringe of dark hair and a sagging cloth cap. Most of his clothes did not fit, and his whole demeanour seemed to say he did not belong to the clothes, anymore than they did to him. Between his hands, he held a small wooden box, fastened with a brass catch.

‘Hello, Tom,’ said Gem, closing the door slightly so she could better face the boy. ‘It’s nice to meet you. My name is Gem,’ she said, thrusting a hand out in offer. After a few seconds, she retracted the handshake and glanced sideways at Mrs Johnson. ‘I’m sorry, I forgot. I know you don’t like to be touched.’

‘Tom, now you go along with Gem and play. Perhaps you can show her your marbles?’ suggested Mrs Johnson helpfully.

‘Marbles?’ said Gem, ‘I love marbles!’

Tom shook his head and held the box tightly against his body, clearly reluctant to have anyone touch it.

‘Well, we don’t have to. Perhaps we can just have a look around.’

‘Come along now,’ said Mrs Johnson, cocking her head at Gem and the door.

Tentatively, Tom stood, still clutching the box in his hands. He was a good head and shoulders shorter than Gem and looked up at her through brilliant blue eyes.

‘I’ve got a toy,’ attempted Gem as a point of conversation. ‘She’s a doll, and her name is Lady Fairchild. Would you like to see her?’

Tom looked back at her through unchanging eyes.

24

‘Maybe not,’ sighed Gem, leaving the laundry room. ‘I would expect a boy not to be interested in the finer things in…’ she stopped herself, realising Tom was not following her.

Quickly, Gem looped back into the laundry room, witnessing Mrs Johnson with her hands on her hips, looking down at Tom, who had retaken his position on the stool.

‘Now, Tom!’ chastised Mrs Johnson with a firm look and tightly pursed lips. ‘Off you go with Gem.’ She held up an arm and pointed at the doorway where Gem stood.

Tom looked at Mrs Johnson for an instant before sliding back off the stool and taking two short steps towards Gem. ‘That’s right!’ said Gem, resisting the urge to put a hand out to guide the boy.

Mrs Johnson positioned herself behind Tom as the opportunity presented and hurried him from the room. ‘I will see you later, Tom, before bed,’ she said, ushering him out and closing the door after him.

Tom looked back anxiously at the closed door.

‘It’s alright,’ comforted Gem, as best she knew how. She slowly led him, checking every few feet or so that he was following.

As she toured him through the building, several other children met them as they passed, but none took particular interest in Tom, other than to look him up and down curiously. Tom however, seemed to shudder away from each person as if pre-empting any form of possible confrontation.

The first thing Gem decided to show him was the dining hall and its benches set along its long white walls. It was largely empty apart from a handful of girls sitting talking to each other, who immediately stopped and looked at Gem and Tom as they entered and stood in the doorway.

‘That the new boy?’ one asked, clearly knowing the answer.

‘Yes, this is Tom,’ replied Gem with a flourish of the hands towards the boy beside her. ‘And this is Edith, Merrill and Flo,’ introduced Gem in reverse.

The girls turned away, indicating the two were not worth their interest, before resuming their conversation.

‘Really!’ remarked Gem under her breath. ‘Well, this is where we come for our meals, but there’s not much more to say about it than that,’ she stated loudly, turning on one heal indignantly and marching from the room.

Tom waited for a moment and then followed her, still holding his box of marbles tightly in his arms.

The next stop was a large room at the back of the second floor where two younger boys, near Tom’s own age, sat at the far end, playing with a castle, which was little more than four pieces of painted wooden boards slotted together, and a small collection of knight figurines.

‘Do you like knights?’ Gem asked.

Tom’s eyes wondered about the room, surveying its contents, but he did not answer.

Gem tried again, ‘Do you like knights?’ she asked louder.

Tom turned to her and shook his head.

Letting out a deep breath, she showed him some of the items in the room. ‘Skipping rope. Although, you must use that outside in the courtyard. Blocks. Hoops, trap and ball, tip cat… Oh, you might like this,’ said Gem, pointing to a corner. ‘A toy theatre, but I think most of it has been put together already. Doesn’t mean you can’t play with it though!’ she said hopefully. ‘Do you wanna make a play?’ she asked.

Tom looked on at her, displaying no signs of interest or desire.

25

‘Do you want to play with the marbles? I’m quite good!’

He shook his head and clutched the small box even tighter to his body.

‘I won’t take them away from you, they’re yours,’ she tried in an attempt to relax him, but to no avail.

Gem’s shoulders sagged. She was beginning to feel defeated. ‘There ain’t much here,’ she said. ‘I mean, not much more to show you. I can’t go into the boy’s dormitory and I don’t think you’d like the club room.’ She waited for a while, pondering within her own thoughts. ‘Would you like to go outside?’ she asked suddenly.

Tom gave no reply.

‘Well, let’s go have a look,’ said Gem, leading him away from the room.

They threaded their way through the building’s twisting corridors before they reached a heavy looking door on the ground floor. Gem pushed it open, and, as drafty as it had been in the building, a new level of coldness washed over the pair as the night air spilled in across them. Gem stepped out, into the dark courtyard as Earl Grey slunk in past her ankles, having been waiting for someone to open the door for him.

‘Do you like cats?’ asked Gem to no reply. ‘Me neither,’ she said.

Turning, Gem watched as Tom walked forwards, a tentative step at a time. She took a deep breath of the frosty air, looking up at the starry sky.

‘Mmmm…,’ she murmured.

Tom stepped up to her and looked upwards. It was the closest he had ventured towards her in the past half hour, and for that Gem was pleased.

‘My real name is Gemma. Gemma Lightfoot,’ she said. ‘But I hate Gemma, so everyone calls me Gem.’ She hesitated, unsure of what to say next. ‘Dr Vandell told me what it means. Gemma is Latin. Do you know what it means? It means…’

Tom spoke, ‘Jewel’.

Her eyes widened, and she looked down at the boy, bathed in the gaslight from the street lamp across the courtyard. ‘You can speak!’

Tom looked away across the frosted cobblestones, his eyes darting from one point of interest within the courtyard to the next.

Gem contained herself, she wanted to grasp his arms and shake him into sentiency.

‘Gemma,’ she said. ‘It means…’

There was no answer.

‘My name is Gemma. It’s Latin. It means….’

Nothing.

‘I really don’t know…’ she said to herself, turning away from the boy, folding her arms across her chest and looking into the night. She shook her head several times before glancing back at the boy. For once, he was studying the same thing as her. She looked back at the stars.

‘That,’ she said, pointing at a bright constellation, ‘is Orion,’ looking back at Tom. The boy shook his head.

‘Yes, it is. That is the group of stars called Orion. I learned it.’

Again, the boy shook his head.

‘Yes, it is,’ replied Gem resolutely.

Tom shook his head.

Gem dropped her face from looking at the sky and turned to the boy.

26

Very slowly, Tom placed his wooden box on the shining wet cobblestones underfoot, and crouched to open it. From within he took eight of the marbles and held them flat upon his hand as he stood straight again.

‘Jewel,’ he said, raising his hand forward. The marbles levitated from his palm and a few feet forwards into the night air. They rotated around each other before stopping in a pattern that Gem recognised as being Orion. They floated up until they were high in the night sky. Tom turned and the marbles turned with him, aligning themselves with a group of stars above Gem’s head, displaying the true Orion constellation.

Tom smiled back at Gem’s own smile of wonder, but she failed to notice it, mesmerised by the event before her. Each marble aligned itself with a bright star in the night sky.

‘I knew it,’ she said, excitedly bouncing on her toes. ‘I knew it! You’re not normal!’ As the words fell from her tongue, she knew that therein lay a problem.

27

Chapter Four

The Incident with Mrs Davis The pair stood in silence as Gem wrestled with the experience.

Carefully, she walked around the marbles, which were still hanging in the night air before them. Standing on tiptoes, she reached up and took the bottommost one between her fingertips. It came away in her hand with the slightest of pulls, but all the time she held the little glass ball, she could feel it wanting to return to the pattern. She opened her fingers and let it float back through the air again, where it retook its former position. She spluttered, unable to vocalise her wonderment.

‘Who left this door wide open?’ demanded a voice from within the building, clearly approaching them.

The marbles fell from the air to the stones underfoot, clinking and scattering themselves across the yard. Immediately, Tom rushed forward and began picking them up, chasing the rolling spheres as they dispersed in different directions.

‘Who left this door open?’ repeated the voice. Gem recognised it as belonging to Mrs Davis, a heavily built and imposing Welsh woman who answered to Mrs Johnson, and liked nothing more than to terrify the children.

‘So, it was you, was it, Lightfoot?’ came the booming voice as Mrs Davis reached the doorway and looked down on the pair of children in the courtyard through narrow eyes and a thin, disapproving, down turned mouth. Lines of middle age ran across her forehead and around the corners of her lips in deep furrows. ‘I should have known,’ she said bitterly, looking at Gem and shaking her head.

‘And what’s this?’ she said abruptly, pointing at Tom. ‘Tom, ma’am’, replied Gem. She disliked three things at the refuge immensely and they had never gotten any better over the years. Privacy was one that you simply had to learn to deal without, and was to Gem’s mind, unavoidable, so you just had to get on with it.

Secondly, the overgrown mog, Earl Grey. However, he largely kept out of her way and she out of his, and they found a balance to their mutual dislike. Finally, and vastly outweighing all of her previous list, Mrs Davis.

Mrs Davis was unusual in the respect that she, like Dr Vandell, did not reside at the refuge itself, choosing to live in town. It was not clear as to why the woman had taken a role working with children when it was obvious that she had little or no time for them, but the refuge’s residents largely believed that it was because she liked to torture them. Indeed, many myths had arisen regarding Mrs Davis. One being the reported fact that she did not at all retire to her home in town at the end of her work shift, but to the cemetery, where she 28

received instructions from Old Nick as to how to make children’s lives even more miserable the following day. Another tale whispered late at night told of how Mrs Davis fed off the bones of children, having developed a taste for people after eating her own husband when he came home drunk one night.

Dr Vandell did not believe in beating the children and therefore prohibited it as a method of punishment, but Mrs Davis found this simply increased her creativeness, and the children feared many forms of her wrath; from spoonfuls of sickening soda and rhubarb, to being locked in various cupboards or scrubbing floors for hours upon end. In fact, if any of the children came across a locked cupboard, they would often comment that someone must be on the inside for having looked cross-eyed at Mrs Davis.

Mrs Davis folded her arms under her breast, signalling her disapproval. Her spidery black hair was pinned up in a tightly twisted pile, and it made her look even taller as she looked down on the pair of children.

Gem bent and collected two of the marbles that had landed at her feet.

‘And what, exactly, is it that you two are doing out here at this time of night? And why, exactly, have you left the front entrance wide open?’

‘I…’ began Gem, unsure of where to take her reply, but straightening herself upright and trying to present some form of composure to Mrs Davis.

‘Do you think for one moment that Dr Vandell pays good money for you to heat the whole of Coventry city by leaving the doors wide open in the middle of winter?’ questioned the woman abruptly.

‘No, ma’am,’ was Gem’s weak reply.

‘And you, what’s wrong with you?’ demanded Mrs Davis of Tom. ‘Dr Vandell asked me to look after him,’ interrupted Gem. ‘I don’t recall asking you. I was speaking to the boy,’ she spat acidly back at Gem. Again, she looked towards Tom, who was opening his wooden box and putting the marbles in, paying no attention to the daunting figure of Mrs Davis at all. Gem realised this was aggravating the situation significantly.

‘Mrs Davis, Tom isn’t…’ but Mrs Davis cut Gem off before she could finish her sentence.

‘Enough. Inside, the pair of you!’ snapped the woman in reply, pointing an arm and extended finger at the doorway.

Gem began to make her way back into the refuge before looking across at Tom. ‘Come on, Tom,’ she said, waving her hand, indicating that he should join them by her side.

Tom looked at her and simply shook his head, turning back to hunching over and searching across the cobblestones for the missing marbles in the dark.

‘I have them,’ said Gem, taking a step towards Tom, holding her hand out to show him the marbles.

‘Get in the building at once!’ barked Mrs Davis at Gem. Gem shuddered and bent backwards, as if pressured to do so by the force of the order. ‘But, Mrs Davis…’ she began.

‘But, nothing!’ screeched the woman, thrusting a finger at the open door.

Gem obeyed, taking a few steps towards the door, shaken by the nature of the order and the strength of the woman’s anger.

Mrs Davis marched across the courtyard to Tom, grabbing him by the arm and lifting him towards her, before wrenching the wooden box from his grip and pulling him towards the door.

29

‘Don’t touch him!’ cried Gem in warning.

‘I beg your pardon!’ snapped Mrs Davis, pulling the frightened looking boy behind her. It was then that he growled and bit her hand. Gem gasped in surprise.

Mrs Davis stopped dead and turned on Tom, ‘OW! You bit me, you little devil! How dare you?’ she screamed. She drew one of her arms across her body, as if she were about to backhand the boy.

Tom looked terrified and retreated away from the woman the second her hand released its grip about his arm.

Mrs Davis appeared stunned for moment, before shaking off the surprise and lunging again at Tom’s wrist.

Tom withdrew, pulling away before crying out at her. ‘No!’ As his word echoed about the dark courtyard, Mrs Davis was cast back, physically knocked from her feet by a tremendous invisible force, by which time Tom had retreated several paces from her.

Mrs Davis fell like a rag doll, dropping the box, which shattered on the cobblestones and the marbles escaped in all directions. Gem rushed to her side and knelt over her.

‘Are you alright?’ asked Gem hurriedly, picking up Mrs Davis’ hand.

The woman looked shocked. For a moment, she stared silently across the courtyard at Tom. ‘Why the evil little…’ she began.

Dr Vandell and Mrs Johnson came rushing into the yard, as did a group of three of the other children, following them out into the courtyard to investigate the commotion.

‘Whatever is going on?’ cried Dr Vandell as he ran out into the yard. He looked about the scene and moved quickly to Mrs Davis’ side, helping Gem to assist the fallen woman to stand.

‘He knocked me clean off my feet!’ said Mrs Davis, raising a finger towards Tom, who had retreated several more paces and had covered his eyes with his hands and began to hum loudly to himself, rocking back and forth in his stance. Mrs Johnson looked between the two sides of the yard and quickly made her way to Tom, where she stopped and got down on her knees, preventing herself from touching him by placing her hands on her lap.

‘What happened?’ asked Dr Vandell, looking at Gem. ‘Mrs Davis wanted us to come inside, but Tom was collecting the marbles which he had dropped, and when she pulled him…’ Gem was unsure of what to say next, but clearly, Mrs Davis was not trouble by such difficulties.

‘The little rat bit me, then pushed me off my feet.’

Gem let a breath of relief out, unsure though if Mrs Davis was trying to convince herself that Tom had physically pushed her, or that she believed that is what happened.

Either way, Gem left it unchallenged. ‘I tried to explain,’ she said.

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ replied the doctor, looking with concern at Mrs Davis. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked of her.

‘No. Nothing broken. Although, I was lucky the terror didn’t break the skin where he bit me!’

‘Are you sure you aren’t hurt?’ asked the doctor again.

As if in answer, Mrs Davis shook both the doctor and Gem away from her as she straightened her hair and clothing.

Aside from the others, Mrs Johnson was still attempting to calm Tom without touching him, to little avail, as he continued rocking and humming loudly to himself, his hands pressed tightly on his eyes, largely covering his face.

30

‘Perhaps you ought to retire for the evening, Mrs Davis?’ suggested Dr Vandell.

‘No, no I just arrived. You cannot allow these children to get the better of you like that! Show no weakness, Dr Vandell,’ she replied, shaking her head.

‘Yes, of course,’ he answered. ‘This whole situation is unfortunately of my making, as I failed to inform you of our new boy, Tom. I was going to tell you a little later.’

‘I’m sure you were,’ replied Mrs Davis, looking sideways at a growing group of on looking children gathering by the door, peering out with unchecked curiosity at the dramatics. ‘I expect them both to be punished, you understand?’ she said to the doctor. ‘I must insist upon it!’

‘Well, we can discuss that, but Tom is a unique boy, who needs great understanding and…’

‘Yes, well, Doctor,’ she said interrupting him. ‘I should get back to work.’ Mrs Davis turned on a heel with a newly cultivated look of sternness upon her face and began striding back into the building, pointing at the group of children in the doorway and flicking her fingers at them. ‘What do you all think you are doing?’ she said, and the onlookers scattered back into the building as she moved towards them.

Soon, Gem and Dr Vandell were the only ones left, watching Mrs Johnson attempting to calm Tom. She was singing gently to him, with some measure of success.

We very much fear, That we have lost our mittens.

Lost your mittens!

You naughty kittens!

Then you shall have no pie.

Mee-ow, mee-ow, mee-ow.

She sang the words soothingly. Eventually the humming stopped and Tom timidly reappeared from behind his hands, his eyes reddened and wet.

Gem began to collect the marbles from the ground, scooping them up into a makeshift pocket she made from a fold in her dress.

Mrs Johnson continued to whisper gently to Tom as Dr Vandell assisted Gem with the collection of the marbles.

‘I fear I’ve made a terrible mistake, Gem,’ he said, bending beside her and shaking his head.

‘Why, sir? Mrs Davis didn’t understand that Tom doesn’t like to be touched.’

‘No, Gem. The issue is that this is a refuge for children. Somewhere for those who are without homes to stay. It is not an orphanage, and we don’t have the resources to look after someone like Tom in the way that they, or perhaps a hospital, would be able to,’ he said, straightening up and passing Gem a handful of the glass marbles.

‘No, please, sir! Not somewhere like that,’ pleaded Gem. ‘It’s just a matter of time.

He’ll fit in. I’m sure of it.’

‘It’s not that easy, Gem. You’ve spent some time with him and seen how he is. He cannot relate to people properly. You’ve seen what can come of that. He could have bitten Mrs Davis’ finger off, or considerably hurt her when she fell.’

‘She brought that on herself,’ replied Gem coldly.

‘It may well have been, but the result is the same. Tom needs far more supervision than we can offer here. The refuge is about helping young people become adults, and begin 31

to look after and provide for themselves. It’s clear already that Tom won’t ever be able to do that.’

‘You don’t know that!’ said Gem, disappointed in the doctor’s failing attitude.

‘Not for certain, but I’m sure that in order to find the answer, he needs to look for it elsewhere. No, my mind is made up. In the morning, I will contact some people and find somewhere far more suitable for Tom. Somewhere that he will be happy.’

‘But, he’s special!’

‘Of that I have no doubt, Gem, but that only emphasises the need he has for special care. Anyway, let’s sleep on it, and if you want, we can discuss it tomorrow.’ With that, the doctor signalled the end of the conversation by turning towards Mrs Johnson and Tom, who were deep in a conversation of their own, although it appeared heavily one-sided in Mrs Johnson’s favour.

‘Perhaps a nice cup of hot coco too,’ she said to Tom, smiling. ‘I think a boy would like that before bedtime!’

Gem ambled towards the pair of them and showed the contents of the pocket she had made with her dress to Tom. ‘The box is broken, but they’re all here,’ she said, with a nod towards the marbles.

Tom shook his head and looked up at Mrs Johnson, who smiled in return and stood.

Gem watched them leave and a feeling of failure washed over her.

Dr Vandell reached inside his pocket and took out his cigar case, removing a cigar and striking a match to light it.

‘Fifteen,’ Tom said to Mrs Johnson, as he followed her back through the doorway.

Gem awoke early the following day, washed in the most superficial manner using the bowel and jug beside her bed and dressed herself in a hurry. She was the first to receive breakfast and the first to leave for work, not waiting for Ellie or anyone else to accompany her. As she wove through the grey morning streets towards the textiles factory, she thought about Tom and wondered what would become of him, and of what she wanted to say to Dr Vandell later that evening, when he promised they would talk.

Gem made her way into the factory through a side entrance and Mrs Catt recorded her arrival in her logbook as she did every day, her pen audibly scratching away at the paper.

‘Mrs Catt?’ she asked.

‘Yes, dear?’ replied the silver-haired woman, rubbing her eyes with hands wearing fingerless gloves, and looking up at Gem from the table beside the doorway.

‘I ain’t actually starting work yet. I got something I wanted to do first. I wondered if you thought it would be alright if I took some of the off-cuts. You know, just a handful of patches?’

‘Well, I don’t see why not, you choose a few bits and show them to me and we’ll see.’

‘You ain’t got a piece of string I could have, do you?’ asked Gem, crinkling her nose and eyes in hopefulness. ‘I got a needle and some thread.’

‘Well, let’s see, dear… What are you up to?’

Shortly after evening dinner, Gem stopped by Dr Vandell’s office, but found it empty. She did, however, manage to find Tom silently following Mrs Johnson about the building as she went about her duties.

‘Have you seen Dr Vandell?’ asked Gem as she stood beside Mrs Johnson, watching her sowing a patch onto someone’s trousers at the kitchen table. Tom was seated next to her, 32

his eyes floating between the numerous objects on the kitchen shelves that lined the room.

The large black aga appeared of particular interest to him.

‘No, dear. Why don’t you sit here with us for a while?’ replied Mrs Johnson, her focus remaining almost entirely on her darning.

‘No, thank you,’ said Gem. ‘I wondered if Tom would like to come with me for a walk?’ she suggested, knowing the answer before Mrs Johnson gave it.

‘I don’t think that would be wise, not after last night. It was all we could do to stop Mrs Davis from demanding to administer punishment to Tom herself.’

‘Has he been punished?’

‘No, well, the doctor doesn’t think that would be wise, in the circumstances.’

‘Oh.’ ‘Well, Tom is very unique and requires a lot of supervision. I believe that is where the doctor is at the moment; arranging something.’

‘He said we could talk!’ complained Gem. ‘And you will, I’m sure. The doctor is a man of his word. You can rest assured of that.

Anyway, I don’t understand your attachment to the boy. He’s only been here two days.’

Gem paused, hesitating. She did not want to tell anyone about what she had witnessed Tom do. ‘He’s special,’ is all she managed to say.

‘We all agree on that, Gem. Which is why he needs special care, and we can’t give it to him here,’ said Mrs Johnson, shaking her head as she pulled back on the needle and cotton.

‘I made you this,’ murmured Gem, facing Tom. ‘I got them all,’ she said, lifting a small multicoloured patchwork bag, no bigger than her fist, with a tight drawstring top. She placed it on the table, and pulled the drawstring open, widening the neck of the bag so that its contents could be seen. Inside, she had placed the marbles that she had collected from the courtyard. She pushed the bag across the kitchen table towards Tom. ‘Here,’ she said offering the collection of marbles. ‘It’s for you.’

Tom stopped distracting himself for a moment and looked at the bag. He reached forward and took out a marble, turning it in his fingers before his eyes, staring into the coloured glass surface. His eyes drifted towards Gem and he spoke, ‘Jewel’.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said with a weak smile back at him.

Dr Vandell did not reappear until late evening. He had barely set foot in the refuge when Gem accosted him outside his office.

‘Dr Vandell,’ she said, ‘you promised we would talk about Tom.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, clearly flustered. ‘Come into my office,’ he invited, unlocking the door using one of the keys upon a chain hooked to his grey waistcoat. The room was cold and dark through a lack of fire. Dr Vandell swept across the room, lit a match and transferred its flame to the oil lamp on his desk. ‘There, that’s better,’ he concluded. ‘Now Gem, what is it that matters to you so much about Tom?’ ‘He… It’s Christian, is all,’ she said folding her arms defensively and dropping into a chair.

‘Well, in the years I’ve known you, I’ve never known you to fall back on religion, but you are quite right. We must attempt to do the best for Tom, and that is clearly by passing him to others that can better care for him.’

‘Who would that be?’ questioned Gem angrily.

33

‘I don’t know that, yet. It is what I have been spending most of the day attempting to find out; visiting colleagues and asking if anyone felt willing and able to take on such a burden.’

‘He’s not a burden, he’s a boy!’ cried Gem. ‘Now, Gem!’ said Dr Vandell, raising his voice for the first time, but quickly calming himself, as if to show he was in control of his emotions where Gem was not. ‘We mustn’t be selfish. I myself would like to study Tom more closely and to help him. I find him fascinating, and a lovely chap, but I must put his welfare before my interests, as must we all.

I’ve also spent a great part of the day, trying to find out where he may have come from.’

‘Did you find out anything?’ Gem asked, carefully lowering her temper to a more moderate level.

‘Unfortunately not,’ replied the doctor, shaking his head and reaching for another cigar. ‘But I’ve asked a great many people, so I would hope that one of them may come across the information we seek. Anyway, at the very earliest, Tom will not be leaving us for a few days, Gem. Not until I have made absolutely certain to my mind that whoever takes him from us is able to look after him in a manner that I find suitable. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ replied a crestfallen Gem, looking down at her feet.

As if to change the angle of the subject slightly, Dr Vandell took a deep breath and arched his eyebrows over his pale grey eyes. ‘So, what did you make of Tom? Did you hear any of those numbers?’

‘No, not until Mrs Johnson took him away last night.’

‘Hmm… I had thought them to be some form of counting, or something similar, but I can’t establish a pattern. Not that I’ve heard enough of them to do so, but they certainly aren’t any form of multiplication or prime numbers pattern emerging. Not that mathematics has ever been my strong point, I’m afraid.’

‘Maybe he names things by numbers? Like, he gives objects and people numbers instead of names? Or, he could be adding letters together to make numbers? Say, “A” is “One” and “B” is “Two”, or something.’

‘Hmm… maybe…’

‘I know he understands me,’ she added. ‘He told me what the meaning of my name was?’

‘Go on,’ prompted the doctor, looking intently at her for the first time.

‘I was saying how my name was really Gemma and how you told me that it was Latin and its meaning was “jewel”. Well, just as I was about to say what it meant, he said it, “jewel”, but then he was as if nothing had happened. He said my name again earlier today, in the kitchen, where he was sitting with Mrs Johnson. You can ask her,’ she added, as if to prove something to the doctor.

‘Interesting,’ replied the doctor, billowing smoke carelessly across the desk and in Gem’s direction. He looked up at the ceiling, rubbing his chin through his beard, deep in thought.

‘Why does he hum like that when he is frightened?’ asked Gem. ‘I suspect it is to block out the world when things get too much for him.’

‘Like one of those ostriches that shoves its head in the sand?’ asked Gem. ‘Yes, well, sort of like that,’ answered the doctor, stifling a laugh, clearly amused by something Gem had said. ‘He is already very much cut off from the world and communicating with the rest of us, and sometimes he has to withdraw completely, when things get too much for him.’

34

‘Have you ever seen someone like him before?’ asked Gem. ‘No, but I’ve read articles on such strange behaviour.’

‘Perhaps you can help him?’

‘Now we’re covering old ground, Gem,’ answered the doctor, pulling with one hand at his white beard. ‘Come now, let me get on,’ he said, shooing her away with the other hand.

Gem stood and turned towards the door to the office.

‘Dr Vandell,’ she said, as she was about to leave.

‘Yes, Gem,’ he replied, looking up from the paperwork he was pushing about the surface of his desk.

‘I… he… When we…,’ but it was futile. She was unable to finish the sentence. If Tom has chosen not to share his gift with anyone else, then it would remain that way for the time being. ‘If he does go somewhere, would I be able to visit him?’

‘Of course, Gem,’ he agreed. ‘I will ensure it is somewhere we can visit regularly.

Gem felt slightly better and left the office in a more buoyant mood.

35

Chapter Five

The Dark Men The following day was Sunday, which meant no work and a short reprieve from the relentless motions of the rest of the week. Other than the Reverend Grant’s visit and testament readings after dinner, the day was the children’s own.

The refuge was largely empty by mid-morning, as many of the children had gone outside, leaving only a few behind in the club room, and some playing with toys on the third floor.

The weather was bitter and everyone expected the darkening grey of the sky to bring snow with it before long, and it seemed an adult could not pass another without mentioning it.

Gem had tried to follow Tom and Mrs Johnson about the building, but had grown bored quickly and so she chose to lie on her bed with her shoes on the blanket, knowing she would be in trouble if she were found doing so. She felt grumpy and lazy, and willing to argue with anyone that came near her. She stared at the high ceiling, sighing to herself, with her arms folded behind her head. Outside, she could hear a mixture of children’s voices in a cacophony of shrill screaming, calls and chants as they played games in the courtyard.

‘Urgh,’ grunted Gem, rolling onto her side, placing her hands under her face as a makeshift pillow.

Gem continued to lie in that position for a further fifteen minutes, closing her eyes, but never falling asleep, further fuelling her dislike that afternoon of the rest of the world.

Eventually, she noticed a difference. At first she was unable to put her finger on it, but quickly she realised that the children outside had become quiet. Mentally she thanked them and assumed they had moved on elsewhere, but a click-clack of horses’ hooves and a rumbling of a carriage soon followed it across the cobblestones of the courtyard.

Curiously, Gem lifted herself from her bed and climbed upon the ironwork bedstead to peer down through one of the windows.

The children had fallen silent because of the arrival of a strange coach that had pulled into the yard and forced them to move back in order to make way for the horses.

The driver sat on the front of the coach and reigned in the horses, bringing the carriage to a gentle halt. After only a moment, the door opened and a man stepped out of the coach, closely followed by a companion.

36

The striking men both appeared to be dressed identically. Each wore a black suit, with long black frock jackets reaching to slightly above the knee, at which point perfectly matching trousers ran down to meet highly polished dark shoes. Both wore crisp white wingcollared shirts, showing just an inch or so at the wrist. Around the neck, each man wore a well-secured black bow tie, and both carried matching derby hats. Together the men struck an imposing image and the children in the yard watched silently as they approached the door to the refuge, at which point they disappeared from Gem’s line of sight.

In all her time at the refuge, Gem had witnessed many visitors. None had ever been so formal looking, not even the occasional visits some of the refuge’s children had warranted the police to make over the years. A feeling rose in her stomach and she instinctively knew something was happening concerning Tom. Leaping from the bed, Gem ran from the room and raced to the ground floor.

Breathing heavily, she made her way to the hallway that homed Dr Vandell’s office, just in time to catch sight of the strange men being led in by the doctor, who closed the door to the office as they disappeared inside.

Gem ran quietly on tiptoes up to the door and put her head towards its frame, holding her ear only an inch from the wood, as she attempted to hear the conversation on the far side.

‘Welcome, gentlemen.’

‘Thank you, Dr Vandell,’ said one of the men in a voice that was difficult for Gem to discern, as he spoke in little more than a whispering tone. ‘Please allow us to introduce ourselves properly. This is Mr Voyce, and I am Mr Payne.’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you both,’ replied the doctor genially. ‘Perhaps, I may offer you a cigar?’

‘No.’ replied Mr Payne abruptly, apparently catching his own rudeness before suffixing his response with, ‘Thank you, we do not smoke. Now, if we may begin’ said Mr Payne wasting no time, ‘I shall move on, to the issue at hand. We understand that you currently have a boy in your possession. A boy by the name of “Tom”. An unusual boy.’ The words seemed to hang in the air, long after they had been spoken, each passing “S” hissing in a snakelike manner. Gem disliked him immensely, without a pause or reasonable hesitation in doing so.

‘Well, sir, I don’t know if I would go so far as to describe him as being in my possession, but yes, there is a young boy who has recently joined us, of that name,’ replied the doctor, giving nothing more away. ‘Perhaps, I may ask you how you came to hear of this?’ he questioned. Gem made out the sound of a match being struck and bursting into flame.

‘Yes, of course,’ answered Mr Payne. ‘The boy we seek ran away from St. Andrew’s Home for Boys, in Stockwell, London, some three months ago,’ he replied, employing syllables held onto for too long and letters sharply over-pronounced.

‘Really?’ remarked Dr Vandell, clearly surprised by the related information, as was Gem. ‘Yes, and we have been sent to collect him. We heard that he was in the area, and were referred to you only this morning by Lady Cavlert, a friend of yours, we believe.’

‘Mmm... Quite. And would you be able to give me a better description of the boy you seek?’

‘Of course, doctor…’ came the elongated reply. ‘He is a young boy, of ten years of age, small in height and frame for his age. He has dark hair and blue eyes, but perhaps the 37

most significant comment to be made about him is that he speaks very infrequently and has acute difficulties in communicating with others.’

‘Yes, that would be Tom alright,’ agreed the doctor.

Gem leant painfully close to the door.

‘But, please humour me gentlemen,’ continued Dr Vandell, ‘when I enquire as to why an orphanage would send two men, such as yourselves, in search of just one boy, acknowledging the harsher facts of the unfortunate world in which we live.’

‘We were hired by Reverend Stewart, who patrons the orphanage, to find Tom and return him. Ours is not to reason why.’

‘So, you’re not directly involved with the orphanage?’

‘No, doctor. However, we do have paperwork in our possession, which is a letter from Reverend Stewart outlining the situation. Perhaps you would like to view it?’

‘Please,’ replied Dr Vandell simply.

‘Mr Voyce, if you would be so kind as to hand the doctor the papers, please,’ requested Mr Payne.

There was some rustling and creaking of chairs, which Gem assumed were the men passing the papers.

After a pause, Dr Vandell spoke up. ‘Yes, well, thank you,’ he said, clearly content with what the men had shown him. ‘So, how is it that Tom managed to get as far as Coventry, on his own?’

‘It would appear that the boy has made something of an odyssey, travelling between circumstances and carried between places, much more by luck then by any particular design,’ replied Mr Payne, elaborating none to clearly.

‘Tell me, do you know what the numbers are that Tom keeps using?’

‘Numbers?’ questioned Mr Payne.

‘Yes, often he will suddenly come out with numbers. Low ones, say between one and a hundred. I have been unable to determine a pattern myself, and had hoped you would be able to enlighten me?’

‘I am afraid not, doctor,’ came the whispering reply. Gem’s flesh crawled, desperately hoping that the foul man was not deceiving Dr Vandell.

‘When would you like to take him back to London?’ asked Dr Vandell.

‘We are prepared to take him now.’

‘I’m not sure that would be the most appropriate thing, gentlemen. The evening is growing in and I doubt that if you left this very moment, you would make the last train to London. That given, it would be better to keep Tom with us for the evening, where he appears to be comfortable, and thereby minimise any disruption. Perhaps tomorrow afternoon?’

‘Very well, doctor, as you suggest.’

‘Perhaps you would like to see Tom?’ suggested the doctor.

‘No. As you say, it would be better to minimise any disruption.’

‘Quite. Where are you staying at the moment? I’m sure we could find somewhere here for you to spend the night.’

‘No. Thank you doctor, but we have accommodation.’

‘Oh?’ ‘We have rooms at the Red Lion Inn, in Brook Way.’ ‘Well, that is a good establishment, and unless you have any further questions, or anything I can help with, I should let you gentlemen get on with things.’

38

‘Yes,’ answered Mr Payne.

Gem could hear the men within the room standing from their seats, so she quickly pulled away from the door, looking along the hallway for an avenue of retreat. Deciding upon the direction from which she had originally come, she ran lightly back around the nearest corner and waited.

The door to the office clicked open as the handle of the door was turned and Gem could hear the clatter of shoe heels upon the wooden floor.

‘This way, gentlemen,’ said the doctor, clearly showing them from the building. ‘And at what time tomorrow would you like to collect Tom?’ The echo of footsteps and voices dissipated as they followed Dr Vandell towards the courtyard, allowing Gem’s heart to calm itself. She leant against the wall thinking the situation through. Surely, Dr Vandell could not be contemplating such an action.

Gem had wrapped a scarf around her neck with a tight knot and pulled her worn navy blue overcoat about her body. The sky had fallen into a clouded darkness and the early evening streets lay largely empty. The stone pavements were damp and shining beneath her. Still the expectation of snow hung heavily in the bitter air.

Brook Way, she thought to herself. She knew where that was. It was a good half hour of walking across the populated part of the city, on the fringe of a working class and run down areas.

A shrill wind forced Gem to tuck her head down as much as she could into her scarf as well as thrusting her hands into the small pockets over her overcoat, in search of some protection from the chill. Despite her efforts, her ears began to ache before long and her fingers would barely flex with numbness.

She turned along a dark and narrow pathway between two opposing high buildings, forced to jump across several large silvery puddles that lined the way. She missed her footing attempting to jump the final puddle, landing at its far edge and splashing herself with muddy water. Gem swore, and shook her damp foot violently. She sobbed only twice before resigning herself back to her objective. Crying would not help.

She found herself looking at a park and a cluster of oak trees that interspersed a wide expanse of grass. She knew the area well, but was uncomfortable crossing it at night while alone. She wanted to waste no time though, so soon found herself trotting quickly across the grass, into the unknown darkness, constantly looking about her surroundings.

Gem reached the far side of the park and congratulated herself on her courage, before continuing her brisk pace along several winding streets. A mixture of shops, inns and residences lined her way.

Only once, did anyone attempt to interrupt her progress. She had passed a darkened doorway in front of which two broken looking men stood on either side, smoking long, thin pipes while watching the street.

‘Oiye, girl!’ shouted one.

Gem kept her head directed at the unpaved street beneath her feet.

‘Come ‘ere and talks to us!’ cried the man in the darkness as Gem passed. ‘Oiye, girl!

I’m talkin’ to you!’

She did not acknowledge, simply kept on her way, holding her breath, only to release it once she had turned from the street and ensured herself they had not followed her.

39

Gem’s pulse raced with both the speed of her walking and the tension that began to mount within her. She did not feel at all comfortable alone on the streets in this area after dark. Her stomach was beginning to feel strained and sick with the worry.

It was another ten minutes before she reached Brook Way and began to walk its length, looking about her for The Red Lion Inn. The road was paved with large flagstones and ran up in a gentle twisting incline, followed by a footpath of small cobbles at its side, which meant Gem had to continue walking around the curved path before any more of the street was revealed to her. On her left was a small park, no more than fifty or sixty yards wide, and on her right, a small dry-stack wall mirrored the curve of the road ahead before both the park and the wall gave way to white Elizabethan buildings lining either side of the road.

The buildings were tall, constructed on three levels, each one displayed a red brickfronted lower level, intermittently broken by black doors and window frames that were layered above by white faces interlaced with heavy looking dark timber framing. Each building seemed to loom down over the road and pathway. Only a handful of people walked under their shadows, along the quiet street.

Gem followed the path, and although it was not a steep incline, she found herself puffing as she walked. She passed twenty or so buildings before she found the inn. A large sign hung above it from a post, depicting a lion rearing on its back legs and clawing at the air.

The inn was larger than any of the other buildings in the area and stood impressively detached from the other properties. It continued the Elizabethan architecture, but on a larger scale. Several of its windows were casting shifting lights out and across the street from each of its three levels, indicating a great deal of movement within. At the southern end of the inn, a covered walkway led up a steep flight of steps to the third level, where it continued to run along the side of the building, giving access to dark doors, which appeared to be rooms for rent.

Gem crept to one of the lower windows and peered inside.

The inn was crowded, and there was a busy atmosphere of ale drinking and food ordering. The inside was littered with a number of crude and mismatching wooden tables and benches, arranged sporadically around a large central open fireplace and flume. A large man in a red coat seemed to be agitatedly calling to the bar about something from the table where he sat at alone. All Gem was interested in was finding Mr Payne and Voyce, but she could not see them anywhere, and had not come so far at night to give up so easily.

Gem moved away from the window, stood straight, stamped her feet and rubbed her hands together briskly, attempting to put some feeling and courage back into herself. After a period of focus, she marched towards to main door and pushed it open.

‘Oiye! You! No children in here!’ barked a gruff voice as she stepped into the warm room and had taken no more than two paces across the wide timber floorboards.

Gem looked around and saw a great bulk of a man standing behind the bar, his arm outstretched and pointing back towards the door in indication of which way Gem should be heading. He was surly looking and wore a thin looking shirt with the cuffs rolled back along thickly haired and tattooed forearms.

‘Out!’ he barked at Gem. ‘Er, sir,’ replied Gem meekly, ‘I’m looking for Misters Payne and Voyce. I’m running an important errand for them.’

‘Oh,’ replied the man gruffly, clearly surprised at the mention of the two names. ‘Up the stairs, turn left and along the passageway. Rooms five and six. But, be quick about it!’ he 40

said, pointing a thumb in the direction of the far side of the room and a narrow looking staircase. Immediately, a barmaid stole his attention away by placing a tray before him and requesting several ales.

Gem confidently strolled through the tables and took the thin and creaking staircase.

She followed it up and around a sharp corner, finding herself facing a long dark passageway, where a single paraffin lamp hung from the ceiling halfway along the hall, casting shadows off the intermittent doorways and herself. She walked along the passageway, painfully aware of the creaking floorboards underfoot, choosing to move quickly and confidently, rather than to prolong the moment and risk drawing any curious attention. Rooms five and six faced each other at the far end of the hall and both doors were closed. Gem became acutely aware that her plan had no further parts beyond simply spying, and now she was faced with the two doors lying closed before her.

As quietly as possible, her feet and hands still numbed from the cold, Gem bent down and looked through the keyhole of door five. Never one to curtail her curiosity, she did acknowledge the unprecedented fact that this was the second time in one day she had eavesdropped against a door.

The room through the keyhole was small, but neat. It held a large oak writing table with three wide drawers, two chairs, a dark wood cabinet, a bed and small nightstand. A single candle in a glass-domed holder, which had been placed on the nightstand, illuminated the room. There was no one inside.

Gem swung herself around to room six and slid up to the doorframe, again peering through the keyhole.

Inside, Mr Payne stood, his jacket off, pacing the room. He had harsh looking eyes and pale lips, which pulled back to reveal sharp teeth. The room was identically set out with the same items of furniture, of slightly differing styles, as the previous room. Mr Voyce silently sat on a chair to one side.

Payne appeared agitated as he paced back and forth along the room, talking to Mr Voyce. Gem’s attention was immediately drawn to Payne’s forearm, the sleeve of which had been rolled back and he appeared to be wearing some form of heavy golden looking amulet, perhaps as much as four inches in length.

‘Causing us a delay of one day,’ he said, his voice more forceful than it had been earlier when addressing Dr Vandell. ‘For which I suggest we despatch the ship to receive us at approximately seventeen-thirty, at the aforementioned contact point, while it is still dark.

Beyond this, the boy will be in your possession shortly thereafter. It is far better to undertake his retrieval in this manner, than by alerting Dr Vandell, and anyone else, through direct confrontation.’

‘You will, of course, sedate the boy,’ came a reply. Gem looked about and assumed it must have come from Mr Voyce.

‘Of course, Gabriel. We appreciate how gifted the boy is, but we are not without abilities. We do not foresee him as being a difficulty.’

Gem crinkled her forehead in confusion. Payne was not in fact speaking to his companion. She had watched for a reply and was almost certain that it was not Mr Voyce that had responded. In fact, as she studied the ever-silent companion of Mr Payne, she realised that there was a thick scar across the front of his throat, and she wondered if he could speak at all.

‘Perhaps, if you foresaw him as being a difficulty, and planning for such, he would not have escaped in the first place,’ came a chastising response from someone.

41

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Mr Payne, sneering slightly as he paced back towards the door.

‘I will speak with you in the morning,’ came the reply.

‘Very well, sir,’ answered Mr Payne. ‘Until the morning.’ He lifted his wrist and pressed upon a piece of the heavy bracelet he wore.

Gem sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, the voice had been coming from the bracelet, not a third person in the room. She took a stumbling step backwards across the creaking floorboards, her eye coming away from the keyhole as she automatically covered her mouth with her hand, to stop any further involuntary escapes from her lips. Instantly, she knew she had given away her position and should retreat. She turned and took a number of rapid strides along the hallway, back in the direction of the staircase.

There was a thud behind her as she heard the door being pulled open, followed by heavy adult steps.

‘You there!’ came the hoarse voice of Mr Payne from behind her. ‘Stop!’ he ordered.

Gem felt a tingling sensation about her. For a moment, she almost answered his demand, but a surging feeling of panic overwhelmed her and flushed through her body and she continued, not daring to look behind her. Gem walked briskly, her legs failing yet to break into a run as she made her way onto the staircase and began dropping down the steps, a pair a time, holding the handrail for support.

‘Stop!’ she heard behind her again, this time followed by a number of footsteps in quick succession.

Gem entered the bar and hastily crossed it, her back straight and upright, and a cold sweat breaking along her spine. Nobody appeared to pay her attention as she passed through and reached for the black iron thumb latch that would release the bolt on the front door.

The noise of the bar became abstracted from her situation, as all she listened for were the rapid footsteps behind her and the voice of Mr Payne. All she had to do, she thought to herself, was get to the street and then she would be away in the darkness.

‘Stop!’ cried Mr Payne from somewhere behind her. Gem knew she had a few seconds before he would be upon her.

Pushing down hard on the latch, Gem pulled at the door handle, but it stuck fast. She pulled again, this time panicking, expecting to be grabbed by the arm at any moment.

The latch on the door refused to open. Gem turned her head across one shoulder as she continued to desperately push and pull at the door. Behind her, Mr Payne was following and was almost halfway across the room. He held his arm outstretched, his palm facing towards her with his fingers wide apart, as if he were able to reach across the several yards that separated them and grab her within one step. Again, she pulled and pushed at the door, crying out in frustration. Some of the customers within the inn sat watching with curious looks upon their faces.

Gem gave up on the door and released the handle, turning towards Payne, but shifting to her left to put several tables between them and stop any immediate lunge at her that he might be considering.

‘Stop! Thief!’ he cried, changing his grasping hand to an accusatory pointing finger.

‘No, I’m not,’ shouted Gem in response, shaking her head and continuing to circle to her left.

‘Stop her!’ demanded Mr Payne of the people at the tables, but nobody responded, preferring to watch the proceedings than to get involved directly in them.

42

Payne turned his attention directly to the large barrel chested man in the red coat, who sat on his own at a table near Gem and she had first noticed as she entered the inn. ‘Stop her!’ he said in a cold and vicious voice.

The man stood instantly, his immense frame violently pushing back the table he sat at as he rose, its feet crying out as they scraped across the flooring. His pint of beer spilled across the table’s surface and his plate of food slid forwards several inches. He turned clumsily and lunged at Gem with both arms, who screamed and recoiled in terror, barely eluding his fat fingered grip. As she looked up at him, she saw his eyes were vacant looking and bloodshot, rolling backwards in their sockets. His mouth hung open and he appeared terrifyingly crazed. He grabbed at her again, but was less accurate the second time and Gem was able to back away from him and put a table between the two of them.

Mr Voyce appeared at the bottom of the stairs, clearly regarding the situation and assessing how best to cut off Gem’s lines of retreat and corner her.

Gem looked around and saw the only other exit at the same moment as Mr Voyce.

Beyond the bar, a doorway led to the back of the inn. It was not clear what was beyond the door, but anywhere else was a preference to Gem, who began to run towards the bar.

Mr Voyce raised an arm at the barman, as he did so he released a long and horrible rasping breath of fury that sickened and terrified Gem to the very pit of her stomach.

The barman, who had until that moment been leaning against the bar surface watching the proceedings with interest and a quizzical expression, turned to face Gem, who was now crawling under the opening in the bar hatch and running for the doorway beside him.

Gem knew she was not going to make it if the barman gabbed for her, but she saw little choice in the heat of the moment, other than to attempt a run for the exit. She heard a table being knocked over somewhere behind her and items being scattered across the floor, but she did not give her attention to anything other than the looming barman and his big tattooed arms that were reaching towards her.

She attempted to duck under him and wriggle her way past, but the barman caught her easily, holding her by her left wrist, while attempting to grab her right one as well. The barman’s face was empty, devoid of emotion. His eyes reflected a nothingness of his soul in the same way as the man in the red coat who had tried to stop her. He appeared to be nothing more than an empty husk of a body without any will or emotion. It made the experience even more terrifying to Gem, who struggled furiously, unable to break free from his grasp, but was managing to keep her second hand away from him. She kicked at his legs and twisted her arm, hoping to break away, but it was hopeless as he was several times stronger than she was.

‘No!’ she screamed in frustration and fear as she continued her fight to free herself.

Behind her, she heard the bar hatch slamming down and she glanced away from her struggle, to see Mr Payne approaching her, an evil and angry look in his eyes, perhaps only a half dozen yards from her.

Gem screamed, ‘Please! You’re hurting me!’ but it went unheeded. Desperately, she grabbed a handled pint glass from the shelving beneath the bar with her free hand. She swung her arm and hit the barman on the side of the head.

The man staggered on his feet. The glass did not break, but it struck with force enough to knock him sideways. He did not release his grip, but it did slacken enough to allow Gem to wrestle her wrist away by turning it against the natural movement of his thumb, and make her escape through the door.

43

Once on the far side of the door, Gem took a fleeting look at her surroundings, noting briefly a small storage area, a closed door to her left and hallway to her right. With no time to waste on checking beyond the door, she raced along the length of hall, which opened into a kitchen. A woman sat at a large table in the middle of the room and looked at Gem with a look of surprise. She froze, the knife in her hand hovering above a chopping board of carrots and potatoes.

Gem panted a sigh of relief as her eyes fell upon an exit from the kitchen, a sturdy black door beside a latticed window that looked out across a dark street. Gem ran to the door and pulled on the latch, tugging it free. The wooden frame was old and warped and caught on the ground as she pulled it, but the door opened and she spilled onto the street, welcoming the cold air as it flooded her lungs. She looked up and down the street for only and instant before choosing a direction and disappearing into the night, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might give her away before her footsteps did.

44

Chapter Six

The Six Twenty-Five to Euston Gem ran through the night as fast as she was able for a solid five minutes before she had to slow down and regain her breath. She knew where she was in relation to the refuge, as she could see Coventry Cathedral’s steeple and eastern face from where she stood, rising high above the surrounding buildings and into the dark clouds above. However, she had not thought about where she was running to until it was too late and she had removed herself some distance out of her way.

She murmured a curse at the stones underfoot as she bent double and gasped for breath. Her hair was clinging to her face and she perspired heavily under her overcoat, despite the temperature of the night air. She felt sick and shaky. Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt swollen.

‘You alright?’ called a woman passing on the opposite side of the wide street.

Gem turned her head and looked at the woman, who appeared to displaying genuine concern.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’

‘Alright,’ answered the woman before continuing on her way, shaking her head to herself.

Taking several more deep breaths, Gem raised herself up and began to walk, feeling that if she stopped any longer, it would take her some time to get going again. She walked along a narrow alleyway, threading her way through to a street that she knew would take her nearly the entire way to the refuge. Her feet dragged along the pavement and she desperately wanted a glass of water.

Some of the road she followed led her downhill, and for that, she thanked the night about her. She crossed a thin piece of canal and continued to make her way as quickly as she was able.

A further twenty minutes later, Gem found herself pulling her burning calf muscles across the courtyard of the refuge. She lopped to the door and pushed it open, meeting Mrs Davis on the other side, carrying a candleholder in front of her, apparently about to open the door before Gem had.

‘And where have you been?’ she questioned, a harsh glare riding her face.

‘Out,’ replied Gem simply, pushing past.

45

‘Mind your manners!’ exclaimed Mrs Davis. ‘You will remember who you are speaking to and how to address them. Bedtime was fifteen minutes ago!’

‘I’m sorry,’ answered Gem, walking away from her, not meaning a word of it, but simply paying lip service.

‘You will stop this instant, turn around and come back here, young lady!’ cried Mrs Davis after Gem, but to a now empty corridor.

Gem ran up the stairs, choosing not to respond. She had more pressing issues at hand than fuelling a conflict with Mrs Davis, no matter how much it appealed to her current temperament.

‘Dr Vandell will hear about this! You must learn respect for your elders!’ threatened the woman as Gem left her behind.

The girl’s dormitory was silent, but as Gem marched in, she could hear some of the girls rising in their beds to see who was entering the room.

‘What you doing?’ asked Ellie as Gem hunched and used the key on the string about her neck to open the padlock securing the box at the end of her bed.

‘Leaving,’ replied Gem, honestly.

‘What?’

‘I’ve got to go.’

‘Where?’

‘Dunno, I’ll send you a letter when I do,’ Gem answered, concentrating on pulling the contents of the box onto the bed. There were several items of clothes, a toy doll and a book entitled “The Rambles of a Rat”. She looked about and her eyes fell upon a half full laundry bag at the far end of the room. She ran, picked it up, pulled the drawstring neck apart and dumped the contents on the floor. Rushing back to her bed, she began filling it with her own clothes, pushing the other possessions aside.

‘Why? What’s happened?’ begged Ellie.

‘Nothing. Go to sleep!’ whispered Gem, putting a finger to her lips to indicate silence, but knowing it was futile as more of the girls raised themselves up in their beds to see what the commotion was about. She secured the bag, and picked up the doll she had placed on her bed, pulling its dress away from its back and pushing her fingers into a small hole in the material. Gem pulled free a few coins in a mixture of florins and half crowns. It was not much, but it would buy food for some time. The rest of her savings were with Dr Vandell and she would have to forego them. She thrust the money into her overcoat pocket and picked up the white laundry bag, putting her head through the loop in the string so that it hung over her shoulder.

‘Please,’ she begged of the enquiring faces around her, ‘be quiet and go back to sleep.

I’m leaving and I need you to be quiet!’

There were a few murmured voices and several questioning replies, but Gem had no time for them. She looked firmly at Ellie and nodded. ‘I’ll write to you. Soon. I promise,’ she said.

Ellie looked confused and frightened. ‘Don’t go,’ she pleaded.

‘Please, don’t draw attention to this,’ replied Gem. She looked around the familiar room for a brief moment before leaving, knowing deep within herself that she would never see it again. Something wrenched inside her, but she pushed it away and left them behind.

Tom sat upright in his bed, the blanket stretched over his head. It was pitch black, which he liked, and the room was silent apart from one of the boys nearby snoring. It was rhythmic 46

and calming, he liked it, but then something broke the calm and somewhere nearby there was agitation which he felt penetrating the air and his body. It made his heart thump and his blood run fast. He did not like the feeling at all and tried to shut it out with humming. Soon, he had to combine the humming with rocking as the feeling increased to the point where it was an almost overwhelming sensation.

The blanket was torn from his head and he found Jewel looking at him. Tom sensed she was frightened and angry, in overwhelming waves of emotions. Although he had difficulty in reading faces, he could feel her emotions clearly.

Tom thought she was going to reach for him and pulled away.

Jewel bared her teeth at him, but she still felt overwhelmingly frightened and that in turn frightened Tom. His breathing was becoming rapid and difficult.

‘Come on,’ Jewel whispered, waving her hand at him in some manner.

Tom did not understand the movement, or the statement, but he sensed she desperately wanted him to do something.

Jewel moved away from Tom and to the end of the bed where she opened the unlocked box, which was empty because Tom did not trust it. Perhaps she wanted the marbles he had hidden under the pillow, he thought. He did not want to give them away, but she was so upset. He reached under the pillow, withdrew the bag of marbles and offered them to her.

The girl stopped and looked at the bag he offered. She did not want it, but started to cry tears. He felt she was upset and frustrated but could not understand why.

‘Please,’ she said. ‘There are men coming for you.’

Tom swung his feet down onto the floor. Jewel wiped some of the tears from her face and a flood of her relief touched Tom. This is what she wanted, he thought to himself. She wanted him to come somewhere. It was confusing him. The words people said, the gestures they made and the feelings they had all seemed to contradict, overwhelm and confuse him.

Tom pulled his pyjamas off and began to put his clothes on. Jewel wanted him to go outside with her. The other boys were looking at them. Some were upset and shouting at them, but Jewel was arguing back.

Tucking the marble bag into a pocket, Tom looked up at Jewel. She offered her hand to him, but he refused. He liked her, but the touch of another person was too much.

Jewel gave him an overcoat. It did not belong to him, so he pushed it away, but she thrust it against him again, he did not want it, but it calmed her, so he pushed his arms into it and allowed her to button the coat along its front. Then she dropped his cap on his head, which he pulled on tighter himself.

Before him, Jewel led the way from the dormitory, stopping to look at him every few feet and encourage him to follow her. It did not take him long to realise that she wanted him to follow and that he was to start when she started and stop when she stopped.

‘Twenty-six. Eighty-two.’

‘What?’ said Jewel, leading the way down the staircase, gripping the railing in her hand.

‘Never mind, shhhh…’ she said, holding her finger to her lips. ‘Be quiet.’

She did not want him to make noise, thought Tom. People were always asking him to do that. She felt frightened and lost. He knew those feelings.

‘This way,’ she whispered, opening the door to the building and leading Tom into the courtyard. ‘Come on!’

Tom followed Jewel, but found himself looking around the courtyard. The cobblestones formed an intricate pattern, but they did not fit together in the same manner as 47

the brickwork of the walls and were of uneven sizes and shapes. Tom did not like to look for too long at the stones at his feet as they made his head dizzy and his thoughts unordered.

The brickwork of the walls, however, was consistent and regimented. Each line of the wall was made of whole bricks of the same size next to each other, and every other line was made from half bricks.

‘Tom!’ cried Jewel in little more than a frenzied whisper. He could feel her agitation as he looked at her. She wanted him to focus on her, and he would try.

‘Please, Tom!’ begged Gem, ‘Just follow me,’ she said, clicking her fingers as to gain his attention. It was difficult focusing him on what she wanted and Gem had managed to lead him no more than a hundred yards in five minutes.

‘Come on!’ she pleaded, but Tom’s eyes would rest upon her for an instant, before flitting off to look elsewhere.

Kneeling on the wet ground of the yard, Gem held out a hand towards Tom. She did not reach for him or say anything, other than to do so with every imploring piece of her heart. Please take my hand and follow me, she begged of Tom. Please Tom. Tom looked at Jewel. She was very upset and a feeling of frustration was foremost in her thoughts. He knew she wanted him to follow and to concentrate, but the influx of emotions and sensory information were overwhelming.

Standing still for a moment and looking at Jewel, he studied her hand as she held it outstretched towards him.

I will lead you. Gem thought. Safety.

Tom looked at her eyes. He felt her concern was solely for him. Nobody had ever shared that emotion with him since his mother.

‘Please, just take my hand and come with me! I’m trying to help!’ cried Gem, her throat tense and her eyes welling with frustration.

Jewel was upset, flooding Tom with her feelings. She desperately wanted him to take her hand, but touching her meant he would know everything she knew and felt; an overwhelming influx of knowledge and emotion he avoided at almost any cost. If the person were bad, it would try to make him bad.

Slowly, he reached out and put his fingers in her palm. Her skin was warm and damp, and she gently closed her hand around his. It did not hurt him. Her touch was calming and for a time, the world dissolved about him until the only thoughts were their own. Touching anyone before had always been traumatic, but Jewel was different.

A strong sense penetrated Tom’s mind. It was the dark men. The dark men frightened Jewel, and the dark men frightened him. He did not want to be near them again. The dark men were a bad feeling, worse than letting people touch him.

Where are the dark men? He thought to himself, looking about. He did not feel them nearby, but he had not tried to search for them for a long time, perhaps they were hiding nearby.

48

*** For an instant, Gem gasped as she touched Tom’s hand, but soon the shock passed and she found herself feeling much calmer, as if all her frustration and fears were washing away.

Gem continued to feel the pulling anxiety created by the need to escape, but it was no longer as acute as it had been, as if her emotions had been halved.

She shook her head and gently pulled Tom towards her. He responded by moving a few steps closer, his attention apparently focused on her for the time being.

‘Good, well done,’ she said and smiled briefly. ‘Now, follow me,’ she said, standing from her kneeling position on the ground, adjusting the angle of the laundry bag hanging over her shoulder for comfort, and leading Tom behind her, holding his hand firmly.

Again, Tom responded and began to trot after her, compensating for her quicker and longer stride pattern by adding an extra skip every few paces to his own walk. He looked up at her through his big blue eyes beneath the shaggy fringe that rolled out from under his tired looking cloth cap and Gem tried to smile reassuringly at him, but did not feel convincing.

Soon, the pair were out of eyesight of the refuge and making quick ground. For the first time since the inn, Gem began to notice the bitterness of the evening as she walked, using her free hand to pull her coat and scarf tightly around her neck. She glanced back at Tom, but he did not seem to mind. His eyes had begun to drift about the streets at the things they passed, but he was obediently following her while she held his hand. Occasionally, he would say numbers aloud, but they meant nothing to her.

They were following the route Gem took to the textiles factory each morning, so she knew it well, but the factory was not her destination today; her thoughts being entirely of the train station. Gem barely looked at the factory as they passed it, there was very little about it that she would miss. She continued to pull Tom along behind her as she followed the line of factories towards the railway station. It would take a further hour of walking before they reached the station, but for the time being Gem began to feel safe.

Eventually, the sky broke, delivering on its promise for the past several days and snow began to fall. At first, only several rogue flakes floated down towards them, but soon the air grew quiet and thick with white flakes.

Tom reached up, grabbing at the snowflakes as they fell. They gathered comfortably on his cap and he turned his face up at the sky, closing his eyes and allowing the flakes to settle and melt on the skin of his cheeks. Gem watched, a smile growing across her own face as she witnessed his pleasure, but more than that, she shared his excitement. She released his hand, and he thrust both into the night air, grabbing at the snowflakes, whirling around on his feet in a manner that made Gem feel dizzy simply watching.

‘One! Eight!’ he said. ‘One! Eight!’ he repeated, looping around in circles, his arms outstretched, eyes towards the clouds, dancing in the snow.

Gem laughed, it was the first time she had seen Tom excited. He seemed momentarily happy and unafraid of the world.

Standing at his side, she began to copy his movements, throwing her head back to the sky, watching the swarming snowflakes descend towards her eyes, as she twisted around in circles and lost herself with a laugh.

‘Wooooo…,’ said Tom as he spun.

‘Wooooo…,’ mimicked Gem ‘One! Eight!’ he cried.

‘One! Eight!’ she copied, spinning on her heels, laughing and beginning to feel giddy.

49

‘One! Eight! One! Eight!’

The sun began to rise as the children sat huddled together, side-by-side, looking out across the train yard as the station began to wake. The snow had fallen for no more than an hour, settling for a short time, before disappearing as the sun rose, clinging only to some of the slated rooftops and shadowed patches of ground. Tom shivered uncontrollably and Gem worried that he needed warmth before he caught a chill or worse. They had spent the better part of the evening taking cover upon a wooden bench in a high arched bricked shelter, beside the railway tracks. Now they were able to see signs of activity as the first train was prepared, with coal and water being transferred to the dark green engine. The passenger carriages had yet to be connected, and could be seen several hundred yards back down the track in an open storage shed.

Gem asked one of the men preparing the train what time the ticket office would open, and was given the reply that it already was. She collected Tom and they went inside the office without hesitation. While cold within, it provided some protection from the outside elements, including a rest from the relentless and penetrating wind, for which she was thankful. Gem approached the hatch, seeing a thin looking man seated behind it. A clock overhead showed that it was six o’clock, which surprised her.

‘Excuse me,’ said Gem to the man behind the counter, while Tom stood quietly at her side. ‘What time is the first train to London?’

‘Euston Station? That’ll be the first train of the day. Six Twenty-five.’

‘How much for two tickets to Euston, then please, sir? Third class.’

‘That’ll be five shillings and six pence, each’ replied the man.

Gem gulped at the cost, but handed over the money. She took the tickets in her numbed hand, which closed about them with some difficulty, and looked up at the man behind his counter. ‘Is it alright to wait in here?’ she asked. ‘It’s so cold outside.’

‘Yes, my dear, take a seat on one of the benches over there,’ he replied pointing at several open wooden benches that lined up in front of a window that overlooked the thin platform. ‘I got the fire on back here. It’ll warm up a bit, soon.’

Gem took Tom’s hand and led him to a bench, where they sat down and began to wait. At least, thought Gem, there was a clock to watch, as the past several hours had been painfully slow without any aid to measure the passing time.

Over the next quarter of an hour, people began to come into the station and order their tickets. Some chose to take seats on the benches beside Tom and Gem, others preferred to wait outside, watching the preparations of the train. A paperboy took up a position on the platform and began to shout at people as they passed. ‘Papers, papers, papers! I got all the papers!’ he bawled relentlessly, occasionally interspersing it with ‘all under one!’ At no point did he appear to stop, save for breath, including when he served a customer. As the boy shouted, so the station seemed to come to life about him.

Before too long, the train engine blew steam and began to move backwards along the track, a yard or so at a time. Several men ran beside the engine before it stopped on a turntable, which they pulled around until the engine was facing the opposite direction, and then continued up the track for a hundred yards. Someone threw a track switch, the train’s whistle blew, and she began to slowly roll backwards, passing the ticket office window and along the track for some distance, disappearing from view. Tom pointed as the train rolled past the window. Gem nodded in response, but said nothing. There was a heavy bang out of 50

sight and within a few minutes, the engine pulled up to the station platform, this time towing behind it the passenger carriages.

‘Come on,’ said Gem, taking Tom’s hand and leading him out, onto the platform.

There were perhaps thirty other people surrounding them, climbing on board the train’s carriages.

The step from the platform to the train footplate was higher than Gem had expected, and barely made it herself, having to partially lift Tom into the train by his arm before they were able to board. More than once, Gem’s heart fluttered as she saw men dressed in dark suits, only to assure herself they were not the Payne or Voyce, but the sensation of panicked alertness never entirely left her.

They walked along the length of the train, passing the first class section and eventually finding seats in a third class compartment that was empty for the time being. The compartment was sparse, little more than two plain looking wooden benches facing each other. Gem slumped into a position next to the window and pulled Tom down beside her.

She realised her mistake immediately, and swapped positions on the seat with him, allowing him to look out of the window and feast his eyes on the activity. The train was still in the station, yet he found so much to take in.

Outside the train, somewhere in the distance along the track, Gem could hear someone shouting and the striking of metal with what sounded like a hammer. Looking through the window, she saw that several people were still milling about on the platform. A porter helped an elderly couple with two large cases on a sack trolley that he pushed in front of them as he led them further along the train. To the far end of the platform, near the ticket office, the paperboy continued to bellow at passers-by with enthusiasm. Gem fidgeted in her seat and looked up and down the platform as much as her position allowed; she would not be able to settle until they were underway. She began to recognise the chance that anyone searching for them would probably begin with the station. She cursed herself for the carelessness of taking the first train.

A thin man entered the compartment, and sat against the window, opposite Tom and Gem. He wore spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, which in turn appeared to be resting on an oversized moustache. He paid them the briefest of looks, but gave them no further attention. Instead, he unfolded a newspaper, shook it open and began to read silently.

A plume of steam flushed along the side of the train and floated past the window as the engine hissed, seemingly straining at its driver to be allowed to run free along the tracks.

Gem reached beside her and took Tom’s hand. The curious sensation flooded her again and she felt his excitement. She squeezed his fingers, more in her agitation than any reflection of his exhilaration, as she continued to glance around to ensure that nobody was following them. She questioned what she was doing, shaking her head with disbelief at her actions. Tom looked at her curiously for a moment, before she released his hand and withdrew her own, resting it in her lap. It was her third ever journey on a train and she was worried that she had done everything correctly.

Gem gazed through the compartment’s interior window, noting several passengers still assuming their seats. As they continued by, she turned her head back to the platform and saw them in a break in the steam; Voyce and Payne standing calmly beside each other on the platform, studying the train. Tom grasped her arm, his panic overwhelming her temporarily as it mixed with her own rising fear, before the wave receded and she was able to think clearly.

51

Tom tugged on her, ‘Dark Men,’ he said with agitation. ‘Dark Men’. In that moment, Gem realised why Tom referred to them as the Dark Men. It was not simply their solemn dark clothing, but how he viewed them as people.

‘Yes,’ nodded Gem. ‘I see them,’ she said, pulling Tom away from the window and leaning herself back. ‘Come on!’ she said, standing and tugging him from his seat. ‘Follow me.’

Tom followed, but Gem had to pull on his arm to get him to move as quickly as she wanted. She briskly strode along the length of the carriage they had chosen, away from the engine and towards the rear of the train, glancing sideways at the platform periodically to see if she could track the men, but she had lost sight of them both.

They reached a door that concluded the carriage. Gem pulled on the heavy handle, towing Tom through the doorway and into the frosty air. She moved across the metal plating, which covered the coupling mechanism, before stopping and leaning forward a fraction to peer carefully out along the platform. There were a couple of passengers still boarding the train and a platform guard, who was speaking to an elderly woman, but no signs of Payne or Voyce.

‘I can’t see them,’ she murmured, chiefly to herself. ‘Where are they?’ They must be on the train, she reasoned. Gem began to grasp a handrail and climb down the steps, readying herself to jump to the platform below. She tried to release Tom’s hand in order to do so, but he refused to let go and pulled heavily on her arm.

‘Come on!’ she implored. ‘The dark men are on the train and we have to get off. We can make it over to that shed,’ she said pointing away from the train and along the track.

Wisps of steam flew along the footplate, drifting the length of the platform. The engine hissed loudly in the distance.

Tom pulled on her arm again, catching Gem briefly off-guard and she toppled back towards him before standing herself upright.

‘Tom!’ she chided. ‘We haven’t the time!’

The boy’s eyes were wide and imploring. Gem could sense a certainty within him that overtook her own doubts. She would not be able to verbalise the feeling to anyone in a way that would have given it justice, but for the first time, she followed Tom, trusting his belief.

Tom reached forward and opened the door to the next carriage. Gem trailed behind him, closing both doors as they passed through the train and into the next carriage and along its narrow body. As she followed him, she realised what Tom had done. Passing a near window, she saw Mr Voyce standing on the platform, looking along the length of the train towards its engine, his eyes frighteningly sombre. Gem would not have seen him at first, had she stepped off the train, but he would have seen her the second her foot had alighted. Only Tom’s intervention had saved them.

Tom dragged Gem behind him for a dozen paces before entering an empty first class compartment. The seating was made of fine red leather and the windows had tiny green drapes on them. He let go of her hand and dropped to the floor, sliding under one of the benches, lying flat and still, his eyes looking up sideways at Gem. Gem shook her head, but followed his action, climbing down and pushing herself under the opposite bench. ‘What if someone comes in?’ she found herself whispering. ‘Then what?’

Tom did not answer, nor look like he understood her question. He pushed himself deeper under the bench until his back was flat against the wall of the compartment and the bench’s shadow hid him almost completely.

52

Footsteps thudded along the floorboards outside the compartment and vibrations of the surrounding activity could be felt as strange noises seemed to echo about them. Voices from the platform filtered through the windows, muffled and indistinct. Gem began to perspire through her forehead, even though she felt horribly cold.

Someone tried the handle to the compartment door, but it did not open. They tried again, still the door failed to open, seemingly jammed. Gem looked across at Tom, whose eyes were closed and he was humming gently to himself.

‘Shhh…’ whispered Gem, but to no avail. ‘Shhh…’ she begged, but Tom had blocked her out.

The door handle stopped shaking and whoever was on the other side of it gave up.

Gem could hear footsteps begin to move away from the door and she issued a sigh of relief.

‘Tom,’ she said, attempting to get his attention, but he continued to close his eyes tightly and hum to himself, shutting the world out. Gem stayed pressed against the wall, staring across at the strange boy she hardly knew, wondering what she had done.

On the platform, the guard blew on a whistle twice, and the train answered back with its own loud cry. Seconds later, there was a sudden lurch of the carriage which rocked both Gem and Tom forward, followed by a heavy clanking and scrapping of metals against each other as the engine began chugging them slowly forward.

Crawling out from under the bench, Gem needed to know if the dark men where still on the train, or had returned to the platform. She crept to the window, keeping her head as low as possible, so that she was just able to peer through the glass pane and outside.

She could not see them. They were not there! They must have gotten on the train! Gem’s heart beat furiously and her pulse thumped in her throat. They were trapped on a train with the dark men and there was no escape for the better part of two hours. Tom stayed under the bench, his humming lost under the building noise of the train.

Dr Vandell sat staring at the fireplace in his office. He had already smoked one cigar while he thought through the situation and had immediately lit another as he continued to wrestle with what had unfolded. He blew a long stream of smoke at the fire as he mulled over this thoughts.

The facts were undeniable. During the night, Gem had clearly taken Tom and absconded from the refuge. Mrs Davis had seen Gem enter the building, and after a brief altercation, had witnessed her retiring to the girl’s dormitory. Mrs Johnson herself had placed Tom in bed an hour earlier.

The other children were remaining tight-lipped, and even though he had interviewed several of them independently, none of them had said anything of use.

The doctor was concerned and chewed at his cigar as he circled his thumbs around each other.

It had been shortly after one o’clock when Mrs Davis had sent word to the Doctor’s private residence that there had been a commotion at the refuge. Mr Payne and Mr Voyce had turned up unexpectedly and demanded access to Tom. Rightly so, the formidable Mrs Davis had refused them both and had it not been for a police officer walking in the area, and several others drawn to the commotion, it may have turned out differently, and that concerned Dr Vandell deeply.

The doctor had been woken by his manservant, who in turn had been awoken by the officer who had witnessed the situation with the men in matching black suits.

53

On arrival at the refuge, the doctor had been informed that both Tom and Gemma were missing, presumably with each other, an assumption with which he did not disagree.

The black suited men had returned at dawn, demanding to be seen by Dr Vandell, who admitted them, but he received no answers in return for the little information he was able to give them. The knowledge he offered was minimal, but he did not appreciate the men’s deep penetrating stares as he relayed it.

Quite simply, he did not trust them, or anything they had said in relation to their interest in the boy Tom. Dr Vandell pulled the cigar from his mouth, rotating it in his fingers and blowing on the lit end until it glowed with a bright orange. The children were in serious trouble and the police officers seemed quite content with the interest shown by the two men enquiring about Tom, after all, thought the doctor, who would be interested in the welfare of two runaway orphans?

There was a knock upon the door to his office, which jarred him back to the moment.

‘Enter,’ he called out, strangely detached from himself.

Mrs Johnson tucked her head around the door before moving into the room. She was carrying tea in a fine white china teacup upon a saucer in her hands. ‘I thought you might care for this,’ she said, placing the tea on the desk beside Dr Vandell.

‘Oh, yes, thank you,’ replied the doctor, barely looking at her for any length of time.

‘You’re worrying about the children,’ she stated, standing before the desk and looking at him with a kindly smile.

‘Yes,’ he replied simply, still distractedly staring at the fireplace. ‘I’ve always thought highly of Gem. I thought she would come to me first, rather than do something as extreme as this. As for Tom, I doubt he is at all equipped to cope with such a situation.’

‘Well, sir,’ said Mrs Johnson in a very soft voice. ‘He must have spent quite some time on his own before he ever came to us. He’ll be alright, I’m sure of it.’

‘I wish I were,’ replied the doctor forlornly. ‘This entire situation is wrong,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘Was Ellie of any help?’

‘No. I can only ask and impress upon her the importance of the situation, but she tells me she knows nothing. I doubt she really does anyhow.’

‘Gem is a, largely, sensible girl,’ said Mrs Johnson comfortingly. ‘She knows what she’s doing. Eventually, she’ll realise that she needs help and will be in contact. I honestly can’t see her turning to anyone else.’

‘I hope so,’ answered the doctor. ‘I really do.’

Mrs Johnson nodded. ‘Well, if you need me…’ she said and began leaving the office.

‘Yes, thank you Mrs Johnson,’ answered Dr Vandell, looking up at her and smiling in reply.

Mrs Johnson began to pull the door closed after her, but seemingly thought better of it and turned back to the room. She glanced at the doctor and paused for a moment.

‘Doctor,’ she began, ‘you can’t save everyone, no matter how much you want to. Some journeys people have to take alone,’ she said, before leaving.

‘I don’t know what to do!’ said Gem agitatedly. She was trembling and barely able to stop herself from shaking violently. ‘We’re trapped!’

54

Tom continued hiding under the seats and Gem was tempted to slide back under, but felt that it would not be long before someone found them and when they did, she did not wish to be quite literally trapped in a corner.

Gem bent down and looked under the seat where Tom hid and found him with his fingers held to his eyes and was still humming to himself. She reached out and gently pulled his hands away.

‘It’s okay. I want you to stay here,’ she said, looking him directly in the eye and then pointing with one hand under the seat. ‘Stay here! I’ll be back for you.’

She pulled at the door to the compartment. It slid open without any difficulty and she realised it had to have been Tom that jammed it, rather than some kind fate. Of course not, there was no such thing, she thought as she carefully peered along the train’s interior, but then three days ago there had been no such thing as magic. The way was clear.

All Gem wanted was to either locate the baggage and mail carriage at the far end of the train, or find out where the dark men were. Beyond that, she had no clear idea of how they would escape, but she felt it better to do something than to do nothing at all. She moved into the corridor, looking back at Tom, who was surprisingly well hidden, but not entirely from her vantage point with the door now open. He had returned to his actions of trying to block out the world almost immediately. Gem gently pulled the door closed.

The train was swaying with motions that Gem found difficult to counteract. More than once, she found herself reaching for a handhold to keep upright as she slowly and carefully negotiated the train, looking through compartment windows before passing, each time with her heart in her mouth.

Gem moved between the carriages, opening and closing the doors after peering through the end windows and ensuring the way was clear. She attempted pass the ticket inspector who was moving along the compartments, clipping tickets, but he blocked her way and demanded to see a ticket.

‘Ticket, please, young lady,’ he said, extending a hand and waiting while Gem hunted through the pockets of her overcoat. Finally, she located them and handed across the tickets.

‘Why two tickets?’ asked the conductor, punching them both with his tool. His bushy eyebrows curled questioningly at Gem. ‘Er, um, my brother is on the train with me, and he is a bit younger than me, so I’ve got his ticket too.’

‘Where is he?’ asked the ticket inspector.

‘A few carriages back there,’ replied Gem. ‘You’ve been moving between carriages?’

‘Yes, sir,’ ‘Hmm… well, I suggest you go back and stop moving about the train.’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Gem, nodding in agreement and attempting to look humble, while in reality feeling that the inspector was slowing her down. It struck her suddenly that perhaps he could actually be of use. ‘Sir, would you happen to have seen my father and my uncle anywhere?’

‘I don’t know. What does your father look like?’

‘Well, he’s tall and thin, with dark hair and a black suit. In fact, both he and my uncle have similar suits on today. My uncle is the one you would notice the most, perhaps. He has a large scar across his neck.’

The ticket inspector started nodding knowingly, ‘Yes, yes, I’ve seen them. Well, I saw them on the platform earlier, but they certainly aren’t this way down the train, I’ve just come 55

from the back, and they aren’t down there. Perhaps they are forward, but no unnecessary moving between carriages!’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Gem, turning about and retreating the way she had come. She had all the information she needed. All she had to do was to get Tom and come back. They could slip by the conductor when he went into one of the compartments to punch tickets. It should not be too difficult, she thought.

Gem quickly retreated her way back through the train to the compartment where she had left Tom, or at least, the one where she thought she had left him, as she was unable to see him. She pulled at the door, which opened without difficulty and Gem saw his legs first, tucked into the shadows, but still visible once the door was open. She knelt down and tapped him on the shoulder. Tom shuddered convulsively, pulling his head back and banging it hard on the wall of the compartment, clearly shocked at Gem’s touch. His hands slipped from his eyes and he let out a short scream.

‘It’s alright!’ she cried, reaching forward to comfort him, but Tom pulled away. His eyes were wide, reddened and terrified. Gem could not understand why he appeared to be frightened of her. She leant closer to the floor in an attempt to coax him from his hiding place. Tom shook his head and tried to withdraw his body from her grasp using what little space he had available to him.

‘Don’t be silly!’ pleaded Gem. ‘I know somewhere safe!’

Tom shook his head in refusal. ‘Dark men!’ he said.

‘Come on, Tom!’ barked Gem, her desperation turning her temper. She caught herself and quickly recognised that shouting at Tom would not help, in fact, she knew it would have the reverse effect. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I know somewhere better to hide.’

The door to the carriage slammed shut and Gem jumped, her heart fluttering. Tom had pulled his fingers over his eyes again and was humming. Gem shook her head, not knowing what to do next.

The following moment, the compartment grew heavy in shadows and Gem looked up from her position on the floor, seeing the window of the door blacken. The door flew open with a bang and Gem startled, leaping up from the floor, throwing herself back into the corner of the compartment, falling against the far window.

At the door stood Mr Payne, smiling malevolently down through piercing eyes and extraordinarily pale lips.

‘Ahhhh…!’ he said, in a long whispering breath.

56

Chapter Seven

The End of the Line Mr Voyce moved to Payne’s shoulder as his colleague stepped into the compartment. The men blocked the exit in its entirety and loomed over the children.

‘Get him out,’ ordered Payne, pointing at Tom hiding in the gap beneath the seating.

Voyce lent down and grabbed Tom by one ankle, dragging him from under the seat.

Gem watched in horror as the big man treated the small boy with a terrifying callousness.

Tom slid into the middle the compartment floor, and tried kicking out ineffectually at Voyce, who deflected his strikes easily.

Tom unleashed a scream and a wave of undirected energy ballooned out of him in a hazing of the air, filling the entire compartment. The force of the energy ball pushed Gem further into the corner, simultaneously knocking Voyce and Payne from their feet, throwing the unprepared men back on the seating and against the partitioning wall.

Payne immediately turned and directed his hand at Tom in a retaliatory attack. A focused wave of energy issued from his palm and struck Tom in his chest, causing him to sharply contract into a tight ball on the floor of the carriage, where he stayed, unmoving.

Gem immediately leapt to Tom’s side and shook him by the shoulders, but failed to get any response. She shook him again to no effect, before putting her ear to his nose and her hand to his chest to feel for a heartbeat.

The men regained their composure, clearly taken off-guard by Tom’s assault, but Mr Payne had dealt with it with ruthless efficiency.

‘He’s considerably stronger than I expected,’ remarked Payne sideways to Voyce, clearly surprised. Voyce nodded in silent reply.

‘He’s not breathing!’ screamed Gem. ‘Tom!’ she cried, futilely shaking him again in panic.

‘Stand aside!’ hissed Payne, pushing Gem away with a strong arm. He knelt beside Tom and removed one of his dark gloves before feeling for a pulse in the boy’s neck.

Gem studied Tom’s face. His eyelids were partially open, showing pupiless eyes rolled back in their sockets. Blood ran from his nose and onto his lips. The trauma of Payne’s attack had killed him.

‘He’s dead!’ cried Gem, grasping her face in her hands. ‘You killed him!’

‘Be quiet!’ barked Payne.

57

A short man with grey patches of hair on either side of his bald pointed head stood in the doorway, behind Mr Voyce.

‘I heard some commotion, can I help?’ he asked, his eyes running over the compartment and reviewing the scene before him.

‘Get rid of him,’ ordered Payne of Voyce.

Voyce turned on the man and pushed him squarely in the chest, away from the door.

He seemed to growl at the man who looked up at him with indignation before loosing all signs of emotion on his face. His face trembled slightly and his mouth pulled down as if he were beginning a seizure, and then he turned and walked away without further question or statement. Mr Voyce pulled the door closed and turned back to the scene in the compartment.

Payne rolled Tom from his side onto his back, unbuttoned the boy’s overcoat and put his hand on Tom’s chest. For an instant, Gem heard a snap of some kind and felt something penetrate through her. Tom’s eyes opened wide and they centred in a stare at the ceiling. He gasped a deep breath as his back arched and his limbs went ridged, before he collapsed back down on the floor, unmoving. Payne felt for a pulse again.

‘There,’ Payne stated simply. ‘He is breathing,’ he said as he stood from his position, leant down, wrapped one hand around the collar of Tom’s coat and the other around a trouser leg and picked him up, as if some form of human barbell, before throwing him onto the bench he had recently been hiding under. Gem pushed her way across to Tom, where she sat on the edge of the seat and examined him. His breathing was shallow, but she could feel it, and she dropped a lungful of air that she had held for the past minute.

‘You won’t get away with this!’ spat Gem at the men, still focusing her attention entirely upon Tom. She held his hand and brushed his hair away from his forehead.

Payne sat on the opposite bench, casually crossing one leg over the other and pulling his gloves back on, their leather creaking as he did so. He shrugged, but it was unclear if he was unbothered by being caught, or did not think it a possibility.

Mr Voyce assumed a position next to Payne. He brushed the arms of his jacket silently, looking away from Gem. ‘What do you want with us?’ demanded Gem. ‘Nothing with you, everything with the boy,’ Payne answered simply. He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a handkerchief, tossing it roughly at Gem’s body. ‘Here,’ he said, ‘clean him up.’

Gem gathered the handkerchief up, folded it around her first two fingers and dampened it with saliva, before using it to wipe away the blood around Tom’s nose. When she had finished, she tucked the piece of material into her pocket.

‘Why were you running?’ asked Payne, his voice cold and emotionless, as if he had no real interest in the reply.

‘You know why!’ answered Gem abruptly, her attention still on Tom. She held his hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb.

‘Please, assume I do not.’

‘I heard you talking, back at the inn.’

‘Mmm…’ murmured Payne. ‘And, what is it that you heard?’ he asked. Every ‘s’ hissing as he spoke, the effect quite sickening Gem. ‘I heard you talking about Tom. You were talking about how you are taking him to someone. Tom don’t want to go nowhere with you! He’s just a little boy. He ain’t no criminal or piece of property that can be ordered about!’

58

‘Really,’ began Payne, carefully aligning the seam along his trouser leg in a straight line with his hand. ‘Your grammar aside, you do seem to have reached a great many conclusions with very little information.’

‘I don’t need anymore proof of what to think of you. Look at what you’ve done to him!’

‘I was under the belief that it was he who attacked us first,’ replied Payne. Voyce sat beside him, staring out of the far window without any apparent interest in the situation.

‘You’re turning it around!’ cried Gem. ‘Gem, it is Gem, is it not?’ asked Payne.

There was no response from Gem; she simply looked him coldly in the eye.

‘Well, Gem,’ he said continuing without her acknowledgment, ‘Tom is a very special young boy, who needs to go home. You must realise that we have things in common with him by now,’ he added, indicating between himself and Mr Voyce with and open hand. ‘He really is best off with us.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ she replied indignantly.

‘It would be a lot easier if you did, young lady. It would be easier for Tom and everyone involved with him, including yourself.’

‘Don’t threaten me!’ said Gem, her voice rising.

‘Calm, young lady,’ replied Payne, raising a hand to entreat her composure.

‘If you have our best interests in mind, then you wouldn’t mind me getting help for Tom, would you?’ snapped Gem. ‘I do not believe that would be wise. The boy is breathing, is he not? I think you may try to complicate matters.’

‘That’s all the proof I need,’ replied Gem, turning her full attention back to Tom, who seemed to be breathing easier with each moment, the colour steadily returning to his face.

‘Tom is a very unique boy, who requires very unique care. We are here to make sure he gets it, like taking medicine that tastes bad, but ultimately you trust that someone has your best interests at heart when they ask you to do so.’

Gem attempted to ignore Payne, but his voice penetrated any form of mental block she tried to put up, his words crawling across her skin.

‘Where better for Tom to be, than with his own kind?’ asked Payne, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

‘He’s not like you!’ retorted Gem, flicking her head back to look at the man. ‘You may have magic like him, but he’s nothing like you!’

‘Magic?’ sneered Payne, almost breaking into a laugh. ‘Magic? Is that what you believe it is?’

Mr Voyce scoffed, his head still facing the far window. Clearly, he had been listening to the conversation.

Gem between them both, her eyes filling with confusion.

Payne traced a thumb along the seam of his trouser that ran along his leg. ‘Was it “magic” when they discovered electricity? Alternatively, when Helter invented the telephone?

Or when they discovered how to get an airship into the sky?’ he asked. ‘Tom is not…’ he stopped abruptly, and shook his head. ‘Tom is not to be discussed here,’ he said, obviously manoeuvring the conversation away from an avenue he did not wish to enter.

‘What are you going to do with him?’

‘We are not going to do anything with him, other than simply returning him to London. A task which you had set yourself upon anyway, so I fail to see your objection.’

59

Gem twisted her face in a grimace and looked away from the men, focusing again on Tom. ‘It’s alright,’ she said to him softly. ‘It’s alright, Tom,’ she repeated, gently brushing his brow.

Tom groaned, but his eyes remained shut. His breathing became fuller and more rapid. Gem panicked and tried to calm him with her voice. ‘Tom, I’m here, Jewel is here.’

‘Jewel,’ he said deliriously. He began to move his arms and legs on the bench and Gem tried to restrain him. He opened his eyes and looked at her. Immediately, they flooded with fear and shock. He lifted himself up and backwards along the seating, maximising the gap between himself and the dark men.

Gem took up his hand and moved closer to him. ‘It’s alright, Tom. You’re with me.

Everything is alright.’ She tried to assure him in as calm a voice as she could muster, relieved that he seemed unharmed after his assault.

‘Interesting,’ remarked Payne. Voyce had turned his head for the first time to look at the children and saw what he needed to see before returning his gaze back to the window through to the corridor.

‘He lets you touch him,’ remarked Payne.

Gem ignored the statement. She did not want to volunteer any further information to them.

Mr Payne removed his hat carefully and placed it on the seating beside him. He then reached inside his jacket and withdrew a short complicated brass looking mechanism, much like a revolver with a smooth grey metal cylinder where the chamber for the shells would be.

Indeed, he slotted his finger into the device in the way one would hold a trigger, and aimed it at Tom. An explosive snap of the air followed and Tom dropped against the seat upright, his eyes closed again.

‘That was to make him sleep,’ said Payne, reached forward and pulling a thin needle from Tom’s chest. ‘We do not need any further trouble from him. Another shot will undoubtedly kill him. You will do well to remember that,’ he said, slotting the device back into his jacket and settling back in his seat, his cold eyes remaining on Gem. The train continued on its journey, passing through the countryside and between working fields. Gem chose to stare through the window than to further acknowledge the dark men.

She held Tom to her body, her arms wrapping around him. It was comforting to feel his breathing, but he showed no signs of awakening. She felt like crying with frustration, but would not allow the men to see her do so, and attempted to turn her upset into anger that she could direct at them.

Payne spoke only once more before they arrived in London, but it was not to Gem. She watched his faint reflection in the glass of the window as he unfastened his cufflink and pulled the shirt and jacket sleeves on his right arm back, uncovering the peculiar device he had attached just below his wrist. Its surface shone with a metallic golden effect in the glass reflection. Payne seemed to fiddle with it and then he spoke.

‘We have the boy and are returning to London within the half hour. Send our carriage to Euston station and be ready,’ he said. ‘Ensure our progress is reported to Gabriel,’ he added.

It was some form of portable telephone, thought Gem, but one the likes of which she had never seen. It had no earpiece or wires; it was simply some kind of device attached to his arm. She bit her lip and forced herself not to turn away from the window to look closer at it.

‘Understood,’ came a clear voice from the device.

60

Payne touched the amulet again and then covered it up with his sleeve, reattaching his cufflink, before sitting in silence and resuming his cold stare at Tom and Gem. The country began to dissolve away as more townhouses appeared and roads began to twist, intersect and snake beside the rail tracks. Bricks rose and walls developed, shepherding people between their tight lines as London grew around them. Horse drawn coaches and carts began to swarm the streets, while people flocked along the pathways, going about their business. Gem had never seen London before and while Coventry city centre could be busy, she had never witnessed anything like the relentless throngs of the streets that flickered past the train’s windows for minute after minute. She held tighter to Tom, feeling they were quickly reaching their destination, and not knowing what to do next.

‘We either carry a sleeping boy off this train and a walking girl,’ began Payne, ‘or, we carry a sleeping boy off this train and leave a dead girl behind. The choice is yours.’

Gem looked him in the eye, wanting to display a lack of fear, despite the counter being true within her.

‘There are things we can learn from you, Gem,’ added Payne. ‘However, there are things others can learn from you, as well. It would be preferable if you came with us, quietly.’

Payne’s tone was measured and calm, each word left his mouth fully formed and carefully pronounced. Gem despised him with every ounce of her being.

‘I’ll not cause any trouble,’ she said simply, turning away from the man to look out of the window. The scene outside was changing by the second, where the buildings were becoming more densely populated and rising ever higher into the sky, casting long shadows down over many of the streets below. As the city rose, she began to see the great gothic architecture favoured for the tall buildings they called “cloud-breakers”. The unique sight of London’s mono-tram system wound between structures, high above the city streets below.

Other train tracks began to join them and Gem knew they were drawing close to the station.

‘Good,’ replied Mr Payne, lifting his hat from the seating beside him and placing it on his head. ‘A wise choice for such a young lady,’ he added.

The train clunked rapidly as it crossed a narrow bridge with thick looking iron railings on either side. Below, on the street, a motor car travelled in the direction of the bridge, weaving around a cart and horse. Its driver sat high up in his seat, shouting at the cart owner as he passed. Gem had never seen a motorcar before, and now she had, the experience was lacking. Numerous airships hung in the sky like great behemoths, trailing heavy clouds of oil rich smoke behind them. Gem assumed the London skyport terminal would be nearby. She had seen many pictures of it and had longed to visit for years.

The train began to reduce its speed and its breathing became less frequent as the steam release from its engine slowed. The outside world began to catch up with them and nearby objects became easier to view. Gem tried surreptitiously pinching the flesh of Tom’s upper arm in an attempt to wake him, but with no result. He breathing was strong and constant, but he had not moved in any other way in the time Gem had held him.

‘Here is how it will proceed,’ began Mr Payne. ‘Mr Voyce will carry Tom. Few people will question a sleeping child in someone’s arms, especially when another child walks so well behaved just in front. Any attempt to escape would be very unfortunate. If anyone speaks to us, I will answer, not you.’ Mr Payne interlocked his fingers, pushing his gloves on tighter, the leather squeaking. ‘Understand this; the only way in which this situation will unfold will be of my choosing,’ he said carefully, looking at Gem without blinking his eyes.

61

Gem nodded and began to release her hold on Tom, her arms aching now she tried to move them.

Outside, the train entered the station and the platform ran alongside the carriages.

There were numerous other platforms, some occupied with trains and hundreds of passengers moving along them. High overhead, an interwoven design of white painted girders supported a vast roof covering, which arched up to a central point.

The train came to a halt, shuddering and rocking its passengers back and forth slightly.

Great clouds of steam rose along the platform as the engine hissed into its resting position and finally came to a stop. Gem could hear voices outside on the platform and began to see people rushing from the train to their appointments. Train doors slammed along the platform, echoing out and around the vast station.

‘If you would be so kind as to stand up and lead us out,’ requested Mr Payne. Mr Voyce moved across the carriage and lifted Tom easily in his large arms, the boy flopping between them.

Payne withdrew the device he had used to make Tom unconscious and thrust it into his outer coat pocket. ‘Move,’ he said at Gem, as he stood up and placed his right gloved hand upon her shoulder. He gripped her firmly, causing her to wince.

‘Not so tight!’ she said, attempting to shrug her shoulder away from his grasp.

‘I will decide how tightly to hold onto you. Not another word,’ he replied.

Gem moved forward with Payne close behind her. For the first time she could smell him, a musky scent that Gem usually associated with people much older than Payne appeared. She soon forgot about the smell as she felt his thumb, pressing against her shoulder, indicating she should move faster.

The party worked their way through the carriage and to an exit. The door had been left open and Gem carefully stepped down to the platform, jumping slightly to reach it, momentarily loosing Payne’s grip upon her, but within a breath he had hold of her again.

Gem was pulled back in an attempt to stop her from moving any further ahead and she glanced back to see Payne waiting for Voyce, who was sliding through the door sideways, angling the Tom’s feet through first, before alighting himself. She looked up at Payne, whose eyes swung about the station in wide arcs, either looking for something, or ensuring they were not being paid undue attention to.

‘Forward,’ he said simply, kneading Gem with his thumb on a pressure point in her shoulder. The pain was significant, but Gem knew passers-by would not notice anything untoward. She moved quietly, following the direction she felt indicated through his hand.

Mr Voyce carried Tom calmly. His steps were long and each footfall was heavy, resonating about the platform as they walked its length.

They navigated around several passengers who were removing heavy looking luggage from the train with the assistance of porters, none of them paying beyond cursory interest to the group of two men and children as they passed by.

Gem led them into the main ticket hall and across its polished stone floor. A great clock hung overhead and the bustling noise of commuters filled the air. Dozens of people wove between each other, dancing an intricate waltz of near misses and apologetic collisions.

Payne pushed Gem onwards, straight through the ticket hall and down a flight of steps that opened onto the street. A great mass of cabs and carts congregated near the entrance to the station, making navigation treacherous through their ranks.

Another sharp pain in Gem’s shoulder directed her towards one particularly large looking carriage. A well-built and heavy featured driver was positioned high up on the 62

carriage roof upon a seat, the horses’ reigns tightly held in his hands, and his foot resting upon a brake peddle.

‘Open the door and get in,’ said Mr Payne.

Gem did as she was told, taking a position on the cold leather seat inside. Voyce moved to the door and tossed Tom onto the seat beside Gem, his head falling in her lap, his eyes still tightly closed. Gem put a hand protectively around Tom as the two men climbed inside and sat on the opposite seat, looking across at the children.

Mr Voyce pulled free the device he used to put Tom to sleep and Gem tracked its movement, realising too late that he was pointing it at her and he…

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Chapter Eight

The Onward Journey Dr Vandell arrived at Euston station just after three in the afternoon. The sun was falling in the sky and the overwhelming smell of London’s pollution hung in the air. He had never liked London, but there seemed little sense in vilifying the place for the reason behind his current trip. He stood on the steps of the station and lit a cigar, looking across the sea of carriages congregating before him. The smoke from the cigar hung under his nose and blocked out the smell of some of the unappealing London air.

He stood for some time, watching the scene before him before he let forth a sigh and eventually continued down the steps and approached the first hansom cab waiting at the bottom.

‘Where to guv’,’ asked the driver.

‘Do you know St. Andrew’s Orphanage, in Stockwell?’ replied the doctor with his own question.

‘Well, I don’t know it, but I know I can find it,’ was the answer.

‘Very well, take me there then, please,’ requested the doctor, opening the door to the cab.

‘Well, you’d probably be better takin’ the tram or somethin’. It’s about four miles,’ said the driver.

‘Will you take me there or not?’

‘Of course,’ answered the driver.

Dr Vandell climbed up into the hansom, sat in the seat and pulled the door shut. He lay back as much as he was able and closed his eyes. Sounds washed by as the cab rattled and rocked its way through the twisting London streets. More than once the cab was brought to an abrupt halt, but on no occasion did the doctor open his eyes. He did not feel tired, but simply wanted to remove himself from the situation as much as possible. London was a fast paced, rude and erratic city with no charm or redeeming features to his mind. The sooner he was back in Coventry, the better, he thought, sucking at his cigar.

In time, the cab pulled up and the driver knocked on the roof, signalling they had reached their destination. Dr Vandell sighed, opened the door and climbed down onto the mud washed street underfoot. The sky was growing dark as the night was rapidly approaching and the air had dropped noticeably in temperature.

‘That’ll be 4 shillings’ please guv’,’ requested the driver, holding calloused hand forward with notably long and unsanitary nails.

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Dr Vandell shook his head to himself, reached for his purse and paid the man before moving from the road and to the pavement. He barely noted the cab pull away as he looked up at the immense building before him.

St Andrew’s was a red faced, wide bricked building with more than four stories of windows hanging over thick white ledges. It stretched perhaps a hundred yards to his left and right sides, but from this angle, it was not clear as to the buildings depth. A high black iron railed fence ran around it, separating it from both the street and other properties.

Dozens of children played in premises’ grounds and the air was full of their yells and games, making it the only redeemable thing he had seen in London for many years.

Dr Vandell walked to the front gate and opened it, passing through into the midst of the children, before closing it carefully after him. A small girl almost collided into his leg as he made his way across the yard and she played a game of chase with several other children.

Dr Vandell caught her gently before smiling down at her big eyes and redirecting her.

He trotted up the handful of steps to the front door and tugged upon the bell's hand pull. He faced back towards the courtyard and watched the children playing.

The door opened behind him, and Dr Vandell turned to see who had answered it. He found himself looking into the eyes of a thin and worn looking elderly woman. She wore a heavy looking cardigan that swamped her body, seemingly physically weighing her down.

‘Ah, hello,’ greeted the doctor. ‘I was wondering if I might be able to speak with the Reverend Stewart?’

‘Reverend Stewart?’ repeated the woman back at him. Wrinkles and signs of tiredness overrun her face.

‘Yes,’ he answered simply.

‘Come in,’ she said, opening the door wider. ‘If this is about an admission, then I can tell you we ain’t got any more spaces for anyone at the moment,’ she said, pre-empting anything the doctor may have to say.

‘No, no. Nothing like that,’ he replied, attempting to get the woman to warm to him.

‘Wait ‘ere,’ said the lady coldly as she left the doctor standing alone in the hallway, the wall lined with numerous hooks, some of which homed small children’s overcoats.

The doctor stood quietly with his hands held behind his back, rocking on the balls of his feet while he waited, until after no more than a minute, a short man wearing a dog collar and black suit appeared in the hallway, his eyes alight and a welcoming smile on his lips.

‘I must apologise,’ was the first thing the man said, in an altogether better pronounced manner than the woman who had answered the door. The reverend was almost entirely bald, other than a final line of hair running from the back of both ears around the base of his skull.

‘Mrs Sheldon always forgets to take the names of any visitors when they introduce themselves,’ he said, extending his arm in an offering of a handshake.

‘That’s quite alright,’ replied Dr Vandell, responding to the warm attitude and gesture.

‘I am Doctor James Vandell, and you must be Reverend Stewart?’

‘Yes, indeed! Please come through to my study, it’s much warmer in there!’

‘Thank you,’ answered Dr Vandell, following the reverend as he led the way into a second hallway and took the first door through to a small, but comfortable looking office.

‘Come in,’ said the reverend, holding the door open and ushering in his guest.

Dr Vandell entered and stood by one of two seats opposite a small, but well made desk and comfortable looking chair. He smiled to himself. The layout of the room was almost identical to his own, other than the room being slightly smaller and the fireplace being behind the reverend’s desk, rather than beside it. He warmed to the reverend slightly, finding 65

himself not so quick to judge the man he had come to see concerning Tom, and possibly Gem. ‘Sit down, sit down!’ said the man hurriedly as he closed the door on the office to keep the warmth in the room, and made his way to his own seat.

The doctor sat as instructed, where he crossed his legs and folded his arms across his lap in a relaxed manner.

‘Now, Dr Vandell,’ began the reverend. ‘How may I be of assistance?’

‘Well, I run an institute much like yours, but in Coventry,’ started the doctor.

‘Coventry? My, you are a way from home,’ replied reverend Stewart with an inquisitive look.

‘Yes, quite. Although, mine is a refuge for children who would not otherwise be accepted by an orphanage. For those who are expected to find employment, but have nowhere to stay at night. We attempt to help them in the difficult and often perilous transition into adulthood.’

‘Ah,’ remarked the reverend, nodding in understanding.

Dr Vandell paused for a moment while ordering his thoughts. ‘Yesterday evening, two of the children ran away and have not been heard of since.’

‘Well, I can tell you that if they made it as far as London, they did not make it as far as here, I’m afraid,’ responded the reverend quickly.

‘No, I’m sorry, that is not my intent behind visiting yourself. One of the children had only been with us for a matter of days before absconding. Two gentlemen came to the refuge presenting paperwork, supposedly from yourself, requesting the boy’s return to London, and this orphanage. We could not reach you by telephone, hence the reason for my visit.’

‘Ah, yes, well, we run on very limited funds here Dr Vandell. A telephone is a luxury we cannot afford, what with them being so costly.’

‘Quite,’ agreed Dr Vandell, nodding his head. ‘Would you have any knowledge of a Mr Voyce and Mr Payne?’ he asked.

‘Yes, yes,’ replied the reverend. ‘I asked them to find a boy who had run away. A very special boy.’

‘Tom?’ asked Dr Vandell, pulling out a photograph and passing it across the desk to the reverend.

‘Yes, Tom,’ said the man, studying the photograph for a moment before passing it back. ‘He needs great care and attention, that boy!’ The smiling face first met had now become a far more serious one.

‘So the documents shown to me were authentic, and you yourself wrote them?’

‘Yes, yes.’

‘Why?’ ‘I’m sorry?’

‘That is to say, why did you pay for these men to track down a boy who was lost to the world for several months? With all respect, children run away from establishments such as ours from time to time, yet none of us can launch elaborate manhunts for them.’

The reverend flushed, although it was difficult to tell whether it was with anger or he was growing increasingly uncomfortable.

‘Mr Voyce and Payne are members of my church, who were willing to assist in finding the boy you speak of.’

‘They claimed they were being paid by yourself,’ said the doctor forcefully, liking the reverend less by the second.

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‘Well, of course we had to offer them something,’ said reverend Stewart, in a flustered and stammering voice.

‘Yet you can’t afford a phone?’

‘No, well…’

‘Are you going to tell me about Mr Voyce and Payne, Reverend Stewart, and then perhaps we can help these children?’

‘I think you’d better leave,’ said the reverend in indignation, rising from his chair, his face bright red.

Showing no signs of being hurried from the room by his host, Dr Vandell nodded deeply and reached into his pocket, pulling free his cigar case and carefully lighting one. ‘Yes, I think that perhaps I should,’ he said in reply, looking back at the shaking man opposite.

As the doctor left, walking along the street in an attempt to find some form of transport to a hotel, he felt angry, but knew that Gem and Tom were in great danger if they were found by anyone other than himself. He also knew one more interesting thing; Reverend Stewart had never laid eyes on Tom before. The photograph he had been shown was not of Tom, it was of a small boy, of Tom’s age, but was of Dr Vandell’s own nephew, a happy and well adjusted child, smiling at the camera from underneath a crop of carefully combed, golden hair.

A pounding headache first woke Gem, rather than the light and the strange noise surrounding her. A rhythmic humming, seemingly mechanical, penetrated everything about her, including her body. She raised herself onto her elbows and looked about, but her eyes were blurry and it was difficult for her to see.

Gradually, Gem’s sight focused and she found herself in a small bedroom, lying upon a well-made and soft bed. Her mouth was dryer than she could ever recall it being. She tried to salivate, but with little effect. She stood, finding the room swaying about her for a few seconds and her action only amplified her headache.

The ceiling was low, and she felt she would be able to touch it easily if she reached up with her fingers. Across the small floor space, she saw a cabinet with a sink fitted into its surface, accompanied by actual taps. Gem had not seen personal taps in a bathroom before.

She reached for them and clean water came out, cleaner than she had seen in a long time.

She lowered her face under the flow of water and gulped hungrily at it before tipping her head back and gargling for several seconds and then spitting the water into the sink. Feeling better, she cupped her hands and splashed some water onto her forehead, which helped her clear her thoughts slightly, if not cure her headache.

She gazed up, finding a pair of reddened eyes looking back at her from the small mirror attached to the wall above the sink. None of it made sense. The last thing she remembered was being roughly handled into the back of a carriage outside the train station, when… When, what? How long had she been asleep? Where was Tom? Gem looked about the room, seeing only a small nightstand beside the bed, a tiny lamp fitted to the wall that glowed with a constant light and a delicately constructed chair.

She staggered towards the pine door, unsteady on her feet. She grasped at the handle and twisted, expecting it to be locked.

To her surprise, the door opened and a gust of fast moving icy air rushed across her face. Gem realised why the door to the room had not been locked; it had never been designed to lock from the outside and there was no need to restrain her, she was not able to go anywhere. It was a cabin.

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Her jaw dropped as she stared out into a clear blue sky. Thin strips of cloud drifted far away in the distance, high above the ground, which stretched endlessly beneath them.

She lurched back into the cabin as a wave of cold terror washed through her blood.

She was on an airship, thousands of feet in the air.

Gem hated heights and put her hands against the doorframe to hold herself back from the relentless pull of the edge of ship and the ground below.

Before her was a small metal walkway which clearly followed the outside length of the airship. It was perhaps three feet in width and only stopped by a railing that ran beside it in two horizontal pieces, the topmost rail running just at the height of her chest. The wind howled and whistled as it passed across the face of the ship. The great twin gas balloons overhead cast a heavy shadow across the decking below, and disturbing creaking sounds came from all directions.

Gem felt nauseous and faint as she looked out, compelled to stare at the terror unfolding before her. The ship’s engines roared in the distance and her legs trembled with a mixture of fear and vibrations. She forced herself through the door and pushed herself flat against the outside wall of her cabin, keeping her back pressed against it and her arms stretched across its length. Desperately, she wanted to look away from the edge, but the sight of the vast sky and rolling green landscape below mesmerised her with its horror. One slow shuffling step at a time, she moved along the wall before coming to a corner and finding a metal staircase leading down a level.

Gem swung herself around carefully to face the staircase and gripped the handrail that ran down it until her knuckles whitened. Her headache pounded and she felt like at any moment she might explode as the limits of her endurance were reached.

Each footstep Gem took on the shaking staircase clanged loudly, even above the sounds of the wind and humming of the engines. She made her way down, a step at a time, before reaching the bottom and finding herself on a similar looking level. However, this time she was faced with a white door which looked far more appealing than further inching around the outside of the body of the airship. Gem pulled upon the long handle, tugged the door open and stepped inside.

She found herself in a long lounge. A rich red carpet covered the floor that Gem could feel through her shoes. The room ran back thirty feet before becoming a bar, surrounded by four freestanding metal and leather barstools, beyond which a dozen or more decanters of various alcoholic drinks sat upon glass shelves. Mirrors behind the bar propagated an illusion, which seemingly made the room even longer. Every several feet were positioned a cluster of low chairs seated about glass-topped tables. A baby grand piano was located in the near corner of the room, its covers down and a small stool tucked under the keyboard. She had never witnessed luxuriance like it in her life. Everything was so comfortable looking and well made. In the centre of the room sat a man in a well-tailored brown suit, with his legs stretched out before him and his feet crossed, casually reading a thick book. A glass of what looked like brandy sat before him on the table.

‘Hello,’ said the man, looking up from his reading, his smile serene. ‘Can I help you?’ he offered. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties and well groomed. His hair was a burnt auburn and his eyebrows thickly lay over soft eyes.

‘Help,’ said Gem simply. ‘My friend and I have been kidnapped. I don’t know where he is.’

‘Ah, now, Gem, come and take a seat,’ he said, pulling his legs back and sitting upright in his chair.

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Gem took a step backwards, ready to retreat through the doorway.

‘There really isn’t anywhere to go,’ he said, closing the book and placing it carefully upon the table in front of him.

‘I,’ began Gem, not knowing what to say or do next.

‘Please, come in, I won’t harm you,’ he said, offering a hand towards the chair next to him. ‘Would you like a drink? I’m sure you would, the dose we gave you has an unfortunate side effect of leaving one with a very dry pallet,’ he said.

Gem backed another step away, putting her hand out to feel for the doorway behind her.

‘Please, come in and close the door,’ asked the man, almost imperceptibly more forcefully. We are at a cruising altitude of approximately four-thousand feet. I can assure you that there is no getting off. It was I that insisted on you being given your own cabin, and not treated like a criminal.’

‘I ain’t done nothing wrong,’ spat Gem. ‘You’re the kidnappers here.’

‘Hmm, quite,’ answered the man reflectively.

‘Where’s Tom?’ demanded Gem. ‘Start acting like a grown up, if you wish to be treated like one. Come in, close the door, and then I will happily tell you anything you want to know. If not, we can always do all this the hard way; for you that is.’ He said, picking up the brandy before him and finishing the contents in one simultaneous tilt of his head and the glass.

Gem thought for a moment, the man was right, there was nowhere to go and the more information she was able to get, the better. She pulled the door closed and the room instantly grew much darker and quieter as the sound of the airship was dimmed considerably.

‘Good decision,’ said the man.

‘Where’s Tom?’ asked Gem again.

‘Safe,’ replied the man simply as he stood from his seat and walked to the far end of the room, sweeping around the bar to help himself to its contents.

‘Where?’

‘Onboard the ship with us,’ he replied. ‘Would you like a drink? I’m having another one. You can have anything you want; ginger beer, milk, lemonade. Hell, I don’t much care if you want a whiskey. What’ll it be?’

Gem took a step further into the lounge, pausing in deliberation. She did not much want to collaborate easily, but it seemed the most sensible thing in the short term.

‘How about a ginger beer? You look like a girl who would enjoy a ginger beer,’ he said, pulling a glass out from beneath the bar and placing it on its surface. Shortly after, he joined the glass with a small white stone bottle with a flip-capped top on a small metal clasp about its neck, the label of which read “Morrison’s Ginger Beer”.

‘Are you Gabriel?’ asked Gem, remembering the name she had heard Mr Payne use.

‘Oh, clever girl!’ he said, grinning to himself and pouring the contents of the bottle into a glass. ‘Clever, but incorrect. I’m not Gabriel,’ he answered, shaking his head. ‘I can see how you could reach that conclusion.’

‘Who are you then?’

‘Oliver. You can call me Mr Oliver. I’m an assistant of Gabriel’s.’

‘Where is Tom, Mr Oliver?’ asked Gem again, deliberately employing the use of his name.

‘I’ve told you, onboard. Although, we’ve had to keep him sedated because he can be troublesome and an airship several thousand feet in the air, filled with highly flammable 69

gasses, is not the place for a temperamental young boy with extreme remote influencing powers. Lord knows what would happen to us if he threw another tantrum.’

‘What powers?’

‘Remote influencing. The ability to control objects with the powers of one’s mind.’

‘The magic?’

‘Not at all,’ replied the man, pushing the ginger beer across the bar toward Gem. She walked to it and looked at it, feeling more than slightly tempted.

‘Take a seat,’ said Mr Oliver, nodding in the direction of the barstools.

Gem looked at him suspiciously, but her legs were still lacking in strength and her balance was not quite right, so she climbed onto one of the stools.

Mr Oliver poured himself another brandy from a decanter he took from the shelving behind him. ‘Tom is in some ways more advanced than any other human being that has ever lived. Eventually, we will all be like him, when we learn to use the power he has unlocked.’

‘Like Mr Payne and Mr Voyce?’ asked Gem. ‘To an extent,’ replied the man, lifting the glass of brandy to his nose and sniffing it.

‘Where are they?’ asked Gem bluntly.

‘Onboard as well,’ answered Mr Oliver, sipping his brandy and closing his eyes for a moment as he did.

‘He threatened to kill me.’

‘Who? Mr Payne? Well, he can be a little much at times, I doubt he meant it.’

‘What do you want with us?’

‘Well, that is a pertinent question, and one that deserves an answer,’ said Mr Oliver, casually resting on one arm pushed against the side of the bar. ‘What we want is Tom to help us with our understanding of the way in which his brain works. So that we can study how he does what he does.’

‘You’re going to cut him up!’ said Gem, her voice climbing alongside her panic.

Mr Oliver raised a hand to calm her, ‘No, no! We simply wish to study him, to better understand how his brain functions and how he is able to do the things he does.’

‘Why kidnap him, why not explain yourselves to Dr Vandell?’

‘Ah, yes, Dr Vandell. Well, Gem, do you think that Dr Vandell would have believed us if we said some of the things that Tom can do?’

Gem considered it, but not for long. ‘No,’ she replied weakly.

‘As for kidnapping him, I would hardly say that is what we did. After all, we did approach Dr Vandell and request Tom’s transfer to ourselves, did we not? It was yourself who initiated this entire farce of running away, train rides to London and attempting to hide Tom from everyone, was it not?’ questioned Mr Oliver.

‘Let me be clear,’ he continued. ‘Tom is dangerous, very dangerous. To himself and others. You must realise that?’

‘I’ve never seen him hurt anyone,’ snapped Gem defensively.

‘Really? That’s not what I hear with regards to a Mrs Davis, back at your refuge?’

Gem’s lips tightened and she was feeling manoeuvred into a loosing position, which she did not like.

‘He is capable of far more than that,’ added Mr Oliver, swirling the glass in his hand, watching the contents running around the inner edge.

Gem took up the ginger beer and sipped. It tasted sweet and good. ‘I’ve been kidnapped against my will, though,’ she stated.

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‘Yes, indeed. Perhaps, Mr Payne was over zealous, but I promise you, that the second this airship lands, you can take its return flight back to London, and I will have someone take you back to Dr Vandell without a moment’s delay, should you so wish it.’

Gem thought about his words, but said nothing.

‘However, you would be of far more assistance to both ourselves and Tom, if you were to stay and help us, and thereby help him,’ he said, looking her directly in the eye. ‘You seem to have a connection with Tom that we did not think possible. Nobody has ever been allowed to touch him. Not even… Not even his own mother,’ said Mr Oliver, his eyes dropping downwards. ‘Only yourself.’

‘He has a mother?’ asked Gem curiously.

‘He had a mother,’ corrected Mr Oliver. ‘She died several years ago when Tom was very small. It was very sad,’ he said simply.

‘Who is Gabriel?’ asked Gem, drinking again from her glass, her mouth continuing to be distractingly dry.

‘Professor Gabriel is my superior. I report to him, and him alone. Gabriel is a very strict man, so, I hope you understand that when I say Voyce and Payne will both be dealt with strongly, with regards to the way in which they handled both yourself and Tom.’ ‘They almost killed Tom,’ said Gem, remembering the terrible incident on the train.

‘Well, Mr Payne is many thing, but a liar, he is not. As I understand the situation, it was Tom who attacked Mr Payne first, was it not? And, Mr Payne resuscitated Tom when he realised the consequence of his overly excessive retaliation? That is also correct is it not?’

‘Yes,’ agreed Gem grudgingly. She wanted to say more in argument, but felt as though Mr Oliver was turning her words against her effectively, leaving her confused and muddleheaded. Her headache was not helping at all.

‘You see?’ said Mr Oliver, pointedly. ‘When you view things from a different angle, suddenly they aren’t quite so obviously black and white, as you might imagine they were.’

‘Where are you taking us?’

‘Ah, yes. Well, we are heading for the Isle of Rhum, a small island off the western coast of Scotland.’

‘Why?’ ‘That is where Professor Gabriel has his laboratories at his research station. Why, the entire island was given to him by no less than Her Majesty, herself.’

‘Queen Victoria?’ asked Gem. Mr Oliver nodded in confirmation. ‘Yes, in response to services rendered to Great Britain by the professor.’

‘She gave him an entire island?’

‘Yes. Professor Gabriel is a great man, who has helped England forge itself into the world’s most powerful empire. No empire has ever been as large, or as rich. It is largely down to the professor’s great achievements in numerous scientific fields that have been fundamental in bringing this about. His only request has been for funding to continue his research and for a place away from the distractions of society, in which to continue his work.’

‘This seems like a lot of effort for one little boy,’ replied Gem coldly.

‘I thought I had impressed upon you how important Tom is, and how potentially dangerous he is, which is exactly why he requires the right sort of care.’

‘If you cared for him properly, why did he run away?’

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‘Tom is difficult to reach, that is to say, nearly impossible to communicate with. In short, we don’t know why he ran away. Perhaps, you can tell us?’

‘No, I don’t know why.’

‘Hmm...,’ mused Mr Oliver, emptying his glass and setting it down on the surface of the bar before him.

A deep rumbling of a horn sounding somewhere nearby made Gem jump on her stool. It seemed Mr Oliver himself was at the very least slightly taken aback by it as well.

‘Ah, that will be the descent warning. We shall be landing soon,’ he said. ‘I need to attend to some things. I’ll find you once we have landed and ask you again.’

‘Ask me what?’ replied Gem. ‘Ask you if you wish to stay with Tom, or return to London.’

Gem knew the answer, but she said nothing.

‘I’ll catch up with you later. Stay here, or return to your cabin, but be warned, when we descend, you’ll feel an odd sensation of dropping in your stomach, which can be quite disconcerting. Well, at least, I always do,’ he added, striding to the doorway. In an instant, he was gone and had closed the door behind himself.

Gem sat alone, looking at the bottle of ginger beer before her. She was no fool, and did not trust much of what Mr Oliver had told her, but she wanted to see Tom desperately.

She also knew that there was no way in which she was going to go back through the door and edge her way along the perilous walkways while they were still in the air. So, she emptied the remaining contents of the bottle into the glass and sat alone in the lounge, sipping at her drink.

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Chapter Nine

The Isle of Rhum Gem managed to summon enough courage to slide up to one of the round windows in the lounge and peer through, finding the glass and wall between herself and the outside world feeling like scant protection against the overwhelming drop.

Below, she could make out the shore of a large island coming into view as the airship passed over an expanse of sea. The water looked calm, but the clouds seemed to be gathering as the sun began to lower itself in the late afternoon sky. The rate of their descent did not appear to be correct for the island before them, and soon Gem realised they were heading for a second, larger island, beyond the first. As they approached, the island began to reveal itself in a smooth mixture of browns and greens, and she noticed two distinct banks of what she would describe as mountains. As they moved closer, Gem realised the lower slopes were lush with thick grass and sporadic trees, while the upper parts were more or less devoid of any vegetation, giving way to bare brown rugged earth.

The airship continued its decent, lowering itself until Gem could begin to discern the crests of the waves on the sea below. The ship banked gently, arcing right to follow a break in the beach which formed a cove. They passed over a collection of boats harboured in the waters, including a magnificent yaught, a large single funnelled steamer and a number of what appeared to be smaller fishing vessels.

Their path then began to cross the main body of the island, banking around its western slopes, heading inland. As they flew, Gem was soon able to see the far side of the island and the open ocean that stretched out beyond. The entire length of the island could be no more than five or so miles, she approximated.

The airship’s speed reduced until Gem thought she would be able to get off and run faster. The ground was little more than a hundred feet below and Gem could begin to make out details clearly. The great engines attached overhead roared and pushing the airship around, and Gem saw where they were heading, a large open concreted area wider than the whole of the grounds the textiles factory. There were a number of painted markings on the ground, which made no sense to her, but seemed to be for the ship’s guidance. Several small huts littered the airfield and two large hangers stood at the far end.

Gem rushed across the lounge and peered out of the opposite window, noting a large complex of white buildings located two or three hundred feet away from the airfield. She

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assumed that was where the professor would be and found herself wondering what he would be like, before returning her worried thoughts to Tom. The airship slowed to a stop and began lowering itself directly downwards. The warning horn blasted, once again catching Gem unexpectedly and causing her to jump a second time. She chastised herself for a repeated performance.

On the ground, a dozen or so men looked up as the airship descended. They began grabbing cables being lowered from the airship and securing them to strong looking brackets fastened into the concreted ground. Beside each cable securing, several lamps sat scattered about on the ground, directing their illumination up into the early evening air, adding unusual and stark patterns to the airship as they bounced their lights off its body.

Black smoke from the engines began to drift past the window, as they were angled to control the final decent of the airship. Gem’s anxiety at the height at which the ship had travelled now dissipated as it descended, and she found herself wanting to leave the lounge and look around outside. She moved to the door and pulled it open, an inch at a time, smelling the fumes from the engines mixed with the cold darkening air. She choked slightly, coughing against the taste as the smoke found its way into her lungs. Her eyes watered and she rubbed at them with her fingers, screwing her face up in revulsion.

The airship concluded its docking with a gentle bump that shook the unprepared Gem on her feet slightly. Below, some of the men running to and forth on the ground shouted instructions at each other.

The engines began to whine as they shut down and almost immediately, the smoke began to clear, assisted by a stiff wind that tore across the airfield, for which Gem was thankful.

Walking to the edge of the airship, Gem put a hand out and held the higher of the two safety railings, peering over the edge. There was still another level to the ship that she had not yet seen and the ground was a good thirty feet below that. A heavy metallic clang crashed nearby as someone dropped the gangway that led from the airship’s lower level at a steep incline down to the airfield below. One of the crew ran down to the ground, the pathway bending and bouncing with each footfall as he did. More shouting from the men about something soon followed, along with some frantic pointing. After the better part of a minute, the crew appeared to relax and began to assist with the unloading of the ship, sliding baggage and containers down along the gangway.

Gem raced around the outside walkway of the airship, not wishing to miss the opportunity of finding Tom. She skirted along the wall of the lounge and past several doorways that seemed to be entrances to further cabins, similar to the one she had awoken in earlier. Bounding down a stairwell, Gem began to step forwards onto the walkway that led around the lower edge of the airship and towards the gangway that extended to the ground, stopping as she saw Mr Oliver talking to one of the crew ahead. It was then that she saw Mr Payne and Mr Voyce, appearing from a doorway in the airship’s main body. They had their large dark jackets pulled around them, with the collars turned up to keep away the bite of the cold air, and began making their way down to the ground without further interaction with anyone, walking into the distance until they disappeared from Gem’s vantage point. She found herself growing angry, simply at the sight of them both.

It was then she saw Tom, and a relief washed away the aggression in an instant. At first, she noticed the commotion of people, who had gathered in a tight group around something and were walking quickly alongside it, hurriedly talking to each other. Whatever it was, it was on wheels and was being moved briskly along the airship’s walkway. A gap 74

emerged in the people and Gem’s heart rushed as she saw Tom being pushed in a wooden wheelchair towards the ramp to the ground. His eyes were closed and ringed with darkness.

His face was pale, as were his lips, and his head slumped raggedly to one side. A hideous patchwork blanket had been placed over his body and his head jostled as the man behind him, dressed informally in a waistcoat and white shirt, directed the wheelchair down the gangway. Two of the people had arms outstretched, grasping the sides of the wheelchair to stop it from accelerating away from the man pushing it, as they ran down the metal platform and alighted onto the concrete below.

‘Tom!’ cried Gem, without consulting herself, stretching out an arm in an impossible attempt to reach him.

Mr Oliver turned back at the cry, his eyes falling on Gem who was shouting out over the edge of the airship’s rails. He waved an arm at her and began a slow run towards her, puffing as he went.

‘Ah, Gem!’ he said, finally reaching her, his cheeks reddening and his breath scant despite the short distance he had run. ‘Tom is still sedated, but if you come with me, I’m sure we can get you visiting him in no time.’

Visiting, thought Gem, but said nothing.

Mr Oliver put out a hand for Gem to accept, but she ignored it. He shrugged to himself and withdrew the offer.

‘Come,’ he said, ‘let’s get you inside, it’s very cold out here. I’m sure you could do with some food as well.’

Hunger was the furthest thing from Gem’s mind at that moment. She continued to have an all-consuming headache and was interested only in catching up with Tom. ‘I want to see Tom first,’ she demanded.

‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. As I said, he is still asleep from the journey.’

Gem huffed.

‘Come on,’ said Mr Oliver, turning away from her, leading the way along the airship, and beginning down the gangway to the ground.

Seeing no other choice, Gem followed a pace or two behind him, her eyes suspiciously taking in her surroundings.

They walked across the airfield away from the airship and towards the nearest of the white buildings, passing the two large hangers as they did. Gem initially only gave a fleeting look towards the hangers, but turned her head and her jaw dropped as she found herself making a double take.

Within the hanger, surrounded by a half dozen men, some of whom were climbing ladders, illuminated from above by hanging lights, Gem saw what she could only described as three monstrous looking contraptions. Each one was long and thin in length, covered in twisting external pipe work and rose up high off the ground on two front legs, which appeared ill constructed to support such weight.

‘An experimental design,’ said Mr Oliver, catching Gem looking at the machines.

‘What are they?’

‘Flying machines. We call them “Ravens”. I can assure you that it takes an extraordinary person to test fly one of those. They are the future. Airships are strong and able to lift immense weight, but the Raven X1 will be able to cross the Atlantic in a matter of hours, the generations after that may be able to make the same journey in minutes.

Imagine…,’ he said simply, smiling to himself as he spoke.

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They approached a door at the bottom of a short flight of steps to a sunken entrance.

Mr Oliver led the way down before opening the door and holding it for Gem as she entered the facility.

‘Welcome,’ he said, ‘to research laboratory “Prometheus”.’

Mr Oliver lead Gem through two innocuous small rooms which appeared to do little more than act as breakers between the interior of the building and the outside world. After these, a flight of steps led downwards and then hooked sharply back. As Mr Oliver led the way down, Gem expected to find herself entering a basement, but was surprised to find the steps led to a lower level opening out into a long passage that stretched in front of her for several dozen yards before taking an acute right angle ahead. Blood red tiles covered the floor, shining with polish. Gem imagined it would be little short of treacherous when wet, causing her to twist the toes of her boots on the tiles to assure herself of their grip.

Mr Oliver displayed no such concerns and continued to guide Gem along the corridor, passing several doorways, some of which were open and appeared to be staff resting rooms and kitchen areas, with little inside them apart from plain looking furniture. A strange and distant humming sound began to mount as they walked the corridor’s length.

‘Most of the facilities here have been built underground,’ Mr Oliver began by way of an explanation. ‘The surface level buildings are largely living quarters and recreational areas.’

They followed the turn in the passage as it bent round to the right and Gem found her eyes widening with surprise as she looked on the scene that presented itself before her.

‘This is the power and heating chamber,’ said Mr Oliver, raising his voice above an unusual humming sound emanating around them. ‘I’d like to be able to explain how it all works, but I really haven’t a clue, I’m afraid. The mechanics of the thing don’t really interest me, only its application.’

Gem stared in disbelief at the chamber before her. She had never witnessed anything as immense on a purely mechanical scale. They stood on a platform, which ran in a rectangle around the upper level of a vast cavern.

As if in answer to her thoughts, Mr Oliver spoke, ‘Everything you see before you was brought to the island upon Professor Gabriel’s instructions. This entire chamber is manmade. Impressive, isn’t it?’

Gem nodded absentmindedly, gazing around herself in astonishment. The air was warm, but not oppressive. Below her, reaching up at least fifty feet, was a great and intricate machine. It whirred to itself and Gem assumed that it must have been idle because a machine of that size would create a vast amount of noise as its parts moved and water or steam was pushed through it. Pipes twisted through themselves like a mass of various sized snakes, climbing around, through and over the machine before stretching off and running in smaller groups away and into the rock walls. At the base of the machine, a man sat in a chair beside a panel of switches and levers. Gem could not work out his function, but assumed he was monitoring the great machine.

‘The professor once told me that just three of these machines could power all of London down to the south coast of England. That is, if every workplace and residence had electricity.’

‘Why doesn’t he then?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Power all of London?’

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‘I’m sure he will share the invention when he is ready, as he does with so many things.

Science is not to be rushed, Gem,’ Mr Oliver stated matter-of-factly.

‘What is he then?’ asked Gem, turning away from the machine and looking coldly at Mr Oliver.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘What type of scientist, or whatever, is he?’

‘I don’t understand,’ replied Mr Oliver, shaking his head and raising his eyebrows in a signal of confusion.

‘Does he invent mechanical things, or is he a doctor who can help Tom?’ ‘Ah, well, the professor is a man of many talents. He is easily the cleverest man on the planet. He is also a very gifted healer. His talents seem to know no bounds.’

The corner of Gem’s mouth twitched slightly, she wanted to say something, but decided better of it and bit her tongue, so as not to share her thoughts.

Mr Oliver began to walk away, along the catwalk that travelled around the upper edge of the cavern. After a moment of reflection, Gem silently followed, continuing to study everything around herself with keen interest, but holding tightly to the railing as she navigated the precarious high pathway.

The man led Gem to an opposite doorway, which reminded Gem of the airship in that she had to step over the lower lip of the doorframe as she passed through. Mr Oliver closed the door behind her once she was fully on the other side.

‘This section is a mixture of research laboratories. Your sleeping quarters are on the far side.’

‘I thought you said that the living was done on the surface?’

‘It is, for the staff. We are giving you a room of your own down here.’

‘Oh?’ ‘You will be nearer to Tom, and I assume you have no objection to that?’

‘No,’ replied Gem, following the man through a series of interconnecting white passageways. The floor sloped downwards and she found herself having to counterbalance actively against the steep gradient. Doors to empty looking laboratories opened to her left and right periodically as she trotted behind Mr Oliver, who walked so fast that she found it difficult to keep up without running.

‘I’ll say this now,’ he began, quite firmly. ‘If you come across a door which is closed, it will be closed for a reason, and as such you must consider it as being off-limits. Understood?’ he asked, without turning to look at Gem. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘When can I see Tom?’ she asked, with a request of her own.

‘Soon,’ was the only answer she was afforded.

Mr Oliver led Gem through the maze of passageways, causing her to become disoriented. She knew they had headed further into the complex and deeper underground, but found it impossible to say with any degree of certainty how much on either scale. They took a flight of stairs down a further level, and as they reached the bottom of the stairwell, Mr Oliver began to slow his pace noticeably.

‘If I may say this, Gem,’ he said, this time looking to his side and establishing firm eye contact, to ensure she was near him and paying attention. ‘Professor Gabriel is not a man with whom to enter into with a battle of wills. It will be best for everyone if you simply do anything asked of you.’

‘Asked of me?’

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Mr Oliver did not elaborate, he simply continued his brisk stride and led Gem to a door marked “B101”. ‘Here,’ he said, opening the door inwards. He reached into the dark and seemed to search for something, as he did so, the room illuminated softly, the light growing gradually at his control.

‘There,’ he stated, moving himself into the room properly. ‘Ah, they seem to have gotten it all ready in advance for you. Quite comfortable looking, if I may say so,’ he stated with a brief smile.

Gem followed him into the room, looking about herself. It was largely unremarkable and bare looking. The room was no more than twelve feet in width and perhaps double in length. In the far left corner stood a plainly constructed double bunk bed, both halves of which were covered with crisp looking sheets and blankets. There was a small wooden table with a chair positioned under it in the opposite corner, next to a wastepaper bin. There were no windows, but that came as little surprise. Gem thought it looked very much as she would imagine a prison cell to look, only with painted white walls instead of what she envisaged would be dark grey, and a doorway where there would be bars. She realised that her comparison was not far from the mark as the door closed behind her and she heard the lock turnover, leaving her alone and confined to her new surroundings.

Nobody noticed the vagrant, nobody ever did. Those that saw him looked through him as if he were not there. Even if they struck him on the shoulder as they passed along the street, still they would not turn back and offer a common courtesy of apology, simply because they had struck nothing of consequence.

This was the way in which he liked it.

The vagrant walked along the street, humbly bent low, avoiding eye contact with anyone, making it his duty to step aside when faced with someone approaching towards him, thereby ensuring his invisibility. He sniffed and wiped at his bent nose with the back of his tattered overcoat sleeve, following it with a most hideous inward snort that would unsettle the most iron of stomachs to hear. The vagrant stopped and turned in to an alleyway beside a butchers shop, studying the street from the shadows the high brick walls cast upon him.

There he stood for a further five minutes, observing the street like an owl, his head moving from side-to-side in sharp movements, his dark and recessed eyes assessing each person that went by.

There were easier ways, but this was the way in which he liked it.

Then, in an instant, he grew as still as the bricks around him, his eyes keenly focusing on their target.

A man on the far side of the street walked briskly, his cane striking the pavement half a second before his right foot. He was well dressed and walked so far in an upright position that it appeared as if he wore an iron bar along the length of his spine. The man seemed pleased with himself, and even went as far as to tip his hat to each woman he met upon the street, accompanying each pleasantry with a wide smile and suggestive twitch of the eyebrows.

The vagrant saw what he wanted and made his move. He pulled out of the shadows and quickly strode along the opposite side of the street, overtaking his quarry before pacing some distance ahead. Skilfully, he crossed the busy road, weaving between the horses and carriages that made their way along the London streets at a speed often fatal to those caught in their path.

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Once the vagrant reached the same side of the road as the man he had targeted, he turned back to face him, catching sight of him through the other pedestrians between them.

Remaining invisible to the world and staying close to the roadside, the vagrant maintained a keen eye on the approaching man until he was within ten feet. When the timing was right, he willed the cane to miss its placement, causing the man to fall forwards as his own weight unbalanced him and threw him towards the pavement underfoot. The vagrant reached out and grabbed the man by the arm, helping break his fall and returning him safely to his feet.

For a moment, he was no longer invisible.

‘Why! I… I almost fell then! Thank you… sir!’ said the man, hesitating on what to do next, he decided on lifting his hat in acknowledgment of the vagrant and then took off on his way, quickly and less sure-footedly.

The vagrant faded away from the world again, scurrying along the street in the opposite direction of the man, grinning malevolently to himself, pleased at the success of his endeavour. His thrust his hand deep into his overcoat pocket, where his thumb traced the contours of the gold pocket watch he had stolen.

‘I’m afraid, doctor, that there really isn’t any more that I can do.’

Dr Vandell sighed and rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. He sat in the most uncomfortable chair he believed the police had to offer, in a busy and cold office, talking with Inspector Scott, a man who taxed even the most composed of souls. The desk rocked unsteadily on three of its legs every time the inspector leant any weight on it and Dr Vandell found himself wondering why the man did nothing to rectify it, not even slip a piece of folded paper under the odd leg.

‘Now, inspector, I’m not asking for anything other than for you to speak with Reverend Stewart of Saint Andrew’s Children’s Orphanage. I’ve outlined the situation, in a manner which I believe is quiet clear.’

‘Yes, doctor, you have, but as I have explained, or at least tried to, I cannot go accusing a man of the church of abetting child kidnapping, simply based on your opinion.’

‘I never said anyone was kidnapped, only two children are missing, and that Reverend Stewart is being less than honest about his involvement. Also, there are two disagreeable thugs, out there hunting them down, for reasons which are not at all apparent.’

‘We have the details of the children, who I might add were last seen in Coventry. If we hear anything, we will contact you immediately.’

Dr Vandell sighed a long breath, picked up his hat, uncrossed his legs and took to his feet, glad to leave behind both the chair and the inspector. He felt he had finally exhausted any avenue of investigation the police might offer in the circumstances.

It had been the better part of two days since Gem had gone missing along with Tom. Frequent telephone calls to the doctor’s estate in Coventry had reported no new information in the past twenty-four hours, except that the men enquiring about Tom had not been seen since, and that fact more than any other worried Dr Vandell. Mrs Johnson had reported back, having searched many of the streets and harbouring places with no success. Dr Vandell eventually had to insist that she took some time for herself, and while she had agreed under his persistence, he suspected that she was at that very moment treading the streets of Coventry in an attempt to locate the children. They had however been assured that a young girl with blonde hair, and a boy matching a description of Tom, had been at the train station the morning following their disappearance. The children had been unaccompanied and without any notable luggage, but nobody was able to recall seeing them on a train, or 79

boarding one. It was this report alone that kept Dr Vandell in London. He cursed himself for not having thought of asking himself when he departed Coventry, and it had been Mrs Johnson’s clear thinking that had thrown them their only scrap of information, but how reliable it was, they did not know.

‘I’ll see myself out,’ said Dr Vandell, turning without offering to shake the inspector’s hand as he left the office.

‘Goodbye, doctor,’ was all he heard after him as he left the room and took the stairwell down to the street level. ‘Fat lot of use they were,’ mumbled Dr Vandell. ‘Really!’

The doctor pulled open one of two swinging doors and stepped onto the London street, immediately having to dodge a passer-by who seemed intent on running him underfoot. Taking a step back, the doctor studied a particularly lurid advertisement on a gigantic boarding overhead that was attempting to sell him “Gulliver’s most durable gents shoe to date!” London acquired yet another black mark in Dr Vandell’s mind as he grimly pursed his lips and pulled on his gloves and hat before joining the crowded street’s ebbing flow of people.

Dr Vandell walked the pavement quickly, attempting to release some of his anger with each deliberate stamp of his feet. He knew the way back to the Grosvenor Hotel, as it was located at Victoria Station. His suite there was comfortable and a welcome reprieve from the constant fighting with the crowds and abrasive attitudes he found everywhere he went. A piece of screwed up paper dropped at his feet and he looked upwards, to see that it was in fact litter, wantonly thrown from a window of a mono-tram which passed over the street on its track high above them.

Shaking his head in bewilderment, the doctor was never sure of how other people must view the world and what would pass as acceptable behaviour. He paused for a moment and lit the remaining half of the cigar he had extinguished before visiting the police. For a time, the world seemed almost bearable as he breathed in the tobacco and his body responded with pleasure, but it was over all too quickly as someone struck him squarely in the shoulder, passing roughly by.

It took the doctor a further twenty minutes of brisk walking to reach the hotel. He knew he could have made the journey shorter and more direct, but he attempted to stay off the main streets where possible, something which did his temperament a great deal of good.

The Grosvenor hotel was a large regal looking building with a French-style pavilion face, sitting only slightly back from the road. Upon its ground floor, large hanging baskets of flowers adorned the walls between each of the large windows, their winter colours seemingly an oasis in the middle of the cold London street. The doctor entered the lobby and walked confidently through the main hall, across the luxuriously carpeted floor interrupted with solid looking columns that reached up to the second floor corridor. Heading directly for the staircase, the doctor climbed the steps, which took him onto the first floor. He followed the hallway and quickly reached his suite. He unlocked the door and entered, closing it swiftly behind him, and tossed his hat across the lounge into an empty armchair. The doctor moved to the polished oak cabinet that was set against the near wall and pulled down a folding door, revealing a well-stocked drinks cabinet. He poured himself a whiskey and gulped it down in one swift action before refilling his glass more than adequately. He then dropped his weight into one of the armchairs and pushed his feet out, allowing himself to relax and the tension of the day to begin to drift away.

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The doctor rested for no more than half a minute before there was a repeated knock at the door to his suite. He sighed and took to his feet, keeping his glass with him, and answered the door.

‘Yes?’ he said, before even taking an opportunity to see who stood before him.

‘Ah, Dr Vandell?’ asked a cautious looking man in a poorly fitting and equally poorly tailored suit.

‘Yes,’ replied the doctor wearily.

‘I wonder if I may have a moment of your time? I believe that you are looking for two missing children?’

‘Yes,’ answered the doctor, instantly giving the shabby looking man more of his attention.

The man smiled nervously, but it soon dropped from his face as the effort clearly proved too much, his confidence belying itself in numerous pieces of posture. ‘Perhaps I could come inside?’ he asked.

‘Oh? Yes, of course. Sorry, please, come in,’ said the doctor widening the door to invite the man inside his room.

The man stepped into the room and immediately offered his handshake. ‘If I may introduce myself, my name is Charles Wyncote, and I may be able to help you.’

The doctor felt bemused, but accepted the handshake, balancing his glass carefully as he did so. ‘Mr Wyncote,’ he said, in acknowledgement of the name.

‘Yes,’ replied the man, walking away from the doctor, and looking distractedly about the room. ‘Very nice,’ he commented distractedly.

‘Mr Wyncote?’ prompted Dr Vandell, watching with increasing puzzlement.

‘Sorry, yes. I believe I know where the children you seek are. That is to say, Tom and Gemma. I believe I know where they are and I have some grave news for you, sir, but perhaps we can assist each other. I believe they are in terrible danger.’

Tom woke slowly, finding himself lying on his back. His head hurt and so did his eyes. He had tried to open them, but had been overwhelmed by a bright light hanging overhead and was forced to close them.

Tears welled around Tom’s lids as the light made his eyes begin to water. He attempted to rub at them with his hands, but a panic overtook him as he found something stopped him from moving his arms. He wriggled against whatever restrained him for several seconds, and then began to struggle, but still something held him firmly in place, at not only the wrists, but also the ankles, chest and forehead.

He let out a frustrated moan as he fought the securing, the light stabbing through his eyelids.

Somebody spoke, but he did not hear the words, only the voice. He continued to struggle, holding his breath and fighting the bindings that held him.

‘Calm,’ said the voice nearby, one word among many.

Tom continued his fitful movements, attempting to twist and turn his body in some way that he might get free of his bonds. He let his breath escape in a single rush before sucking in a deep lungful of air and fighting again. His head pounded and was spinning uncontrollably, overwhelmed by the frustration of fighting his incapacitation and the bright light.

Soon, he was able to open his eyes enough to look down the length of his body for a fleeting glance of his surroundings, before they were involuntarily shut again by the 81

brightness of the light. He found himself lying on his back, with thick leather straps wrapped across his body, securing his chest and limbs from any movement. It felt as if another strap held his head down. He tried to control his thoughts and focus them on breaking the straps, but he found it impossible to do so, his mind reeling in the pain and overwhelming confusion that flooded him.

Tom panicked until it became too much and he shut out the room and the voices which kept talking, by closing his eyes and humming. Louder and louder, he hummed as he attempted to counterbalance both the world outside and the growing fear within.

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Chapter Ten

Internal Workings Gem had twisted and pulled at the door handle for the best part of half an hour. She had peppered the fruitless efforts with screams and erratic curses, knowing it was pointless, but it felt better than doing nothing. Eventually, she threw herself onto the bottom bunk bed, her throat now as sore as her hands from the screaming and pounding. She felt like crying, but her frustration and desire to be near Tom were the stronger emotions for the time being.

Studying the room in more detail, Gem gave the smaller items more attention, attempting to see if anything might help her. The floor was rough bare grey with a small drainage grating, no bigger than her hand, in the middle. There was a strange brass wheel attached to the wall beside the door, the turning of which enabled her to dim the single electric light bulb that hung from the ceiling by two feet or so of cabling. The bunk beds were of a plain build, with thick looking bolts in each joint and a wooden slated framework under the mattresses, which she could tell by looking up at the underside of the bunk above her. The table and chair were simple furniture too, purpose built rather than as any kind of aesthetic pieces. The wastepaper basket was wicker and not very strong, something Gem was able to testify to as it was the first thing she had stamped on in frustration, having been locked in the room, and so it sat in pieces in the corner of the room, where she had kicked it.

There was a turning of a key in the lock and the door gradually opened. Gem sat up on her bed, narrowly missing hitting her head on the upper bunk as she did so. She swung her legs round and put them on the floor, readying herself.

‘We need you to come with us at once,’ said Mr Oliver, looking surprisingly stern.

‘Why?’ asked Gem. ‘Get up!’ he demanded, abruptly and clearly indicating he was not going to discuss the issue at any length.

Gem did as she was ordered, a growing fear taking her.

‘Come here,’ he said, grabbing her dress at the shoulder and pulling her towards himself.

As she was yanked across the room, she glanced through the doorway, seeing a man in a dark blue uniform standing in the passageway. He appeared to be holding a rifle of some kind and loomed substantially over her, watching with dark, unblinking eyes as she was physically manhandled into the corridor. Mr Oliver pushed her squarely in the back.

‘Move!’ he demanded.

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Gem’s emotions rushed and she kept turning her head as she walked, only to be shoved forward again every time she attempted to look behind herself at the two men.

‘What? Where are you taking me?’ she asked.

‘To Tom. Quickly!’ barked Mr Oliver. His behaviour seemed even more savage after the change from what she had previously found to be approachable and polite, if not trustworthy. The second man, she decided, was some sort of guard or soldier. He looked strong, detached and cruel.

‘Left! In here!’ snapped Mr Oliver from behind her, indicating she should take a nearby open doorway on her left side.

Gem did as instructed and turned in to the doorway, finding herself moving into a laboratory more than three times the size of the room she had been locked in. The floor was tiled white and a waist high steel trolley immediately before her was the first thing she noted.

‘His heart rate is up again, at two-twenty. He is going to arrest if this continues!’ shouted a voice from somewhere in the room.

A few feet in front of her, Gem saw Tom, convulsing on another, longer trolley. He had thick leather straps belted across his ankles, body, wrists and forehead, and she could hear them straining under the effort Tom was pulling at them as he arched and contorted his body. He was screaming.

‘Aaaaaaagggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Aaaaaaagggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’ screamed Tom repeatedly, barely stopping to take a breath.

There were three other people in the room; two men in suits, and one woman in a long white coat who was attempting to hold Tom down.

‘Get off him!’ screamed Gem, running forward and pushing at the woman, who fell back against a free standing glass cabinet in the far corner of the room and then turned on Gem with a startled look on her face.

‘Wait!’ said one of the men. ‘Let her try!’

‘Put him back under!’ shouted the other man.

‘No! He will die if this is not handled correctly. He already has sedative in his blood and the suppressant. Anymore might kill him! It’s too volatile!’

‘If you don’t, he’s going to kill himself!’

‘No! Let the girl try!’

Gem ignored the arguing and ran to Tom’s side. His eyes were open, but rolling back in their sockets and his body jumped up and down uncontrollably. She was frightened and engulfed by everything that was happening on several fronts, but she reached out and took his hand. Tom convulsed again, causing Gem to cry out as he crushed her hand, but there was something else within the pain. For an instant, his confusion and fear became her own and she went rigid along the length of her body as her muscles contracted, and she would have fallen to the floor had she not held onto Tom. Tom dropped flat onto the surface of the trolley, but then began to shudder, unable to control the surging power in his body. She knew his terror and the overwhelming sensory input along with his inability to feel the world in the way he should. Gem knew this as if it were her own fear and confusion. She gasped, but continued to hold tightly onto his hand.

After a few seconds of rushing panic and pain, they achieved a balance and Gem once again sensed the halving of whatever she was and felt, with Tom. ‘Jewel,’ said Tom weakly. He then stopped moving and let out a long breath. His head dropped to one side, his body fell motionless and Gem felt his heart begin to slow with each passing beat.

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‘Remarkable,’ said a voice somewhere in the room.

Gem collapsed upon the floor and fell into blackness.

Gem woke slowly. It felt as if she had slept for too long and for a moment, she was disorientated and shaky. As she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw were thin wooden planks and a grey striped material. Then she remembered, and it all fell into place. She was staring again at the underside of the upper bunk in the holding room. The last thing she remembered was holding Tom’s hand, and then exhaustion had overcome her.

‘You collapsed,’ said a voice somewhere to her left.

Gem pushed herself up slightly from her position and rolled onto her side to see who it was.

‘Don’t get up too quickly,’ said Mr Oliver, who was sitting on the chair beside the bed.

‘You need to let the blood circulate a bit first,’ he suggested, sitting with his legs crossed at an odd angle, so that he was looking sideways at her.

Always one to take advice, and do exactly the opposite, Gem pushed herself up to a seated position, regretting it immediately as her head swayed and her heart raced to supply enough blood to it.

‘You’ll be alright,’ said Mr Oliver in a tone Gem assumed was supposed to be comforting.

She threw him a look of disdain.

‘Ah,’ began Mr Oliver, ‘you’re upset about earlier.’

Gem put a hand to her forehead, but she was feeling better by the second, if a little groggy. ‘What do you mean,’ she snorted. ‘The kidnapping, locking me in this room, strapping Tom down to experiment on him, or the way you pushed me about earlier.’

‘I’m sorry about that, I really am. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t, did I?’ He had, but Gem shook her head.

‘Good. I…’ he faltered, which was unusual for him and then he changed his approach.

‘My role is better explained as a trouble-shooter. Do you know what one of those is?’

Gem nodded. She had no idea.

‘I am a problem solver. I’m not a scientific man, but I am a logical one. Professor Gabriel gives me orders and it is for me to carry them out as I see best. My most recent orders were to bring yourself and Tom here, to the island, safely, with the assistance of Mr Payne and Mr Voyce. Unfortunately, when Tom woke up, he had some form of seizure, which we did not expect, nor, it would appear, know how to counteract.

‘It was the Professor who first suggested that perhaps yourself and Tom were sharing nervous systems when you touched each other, following our report to him that the boy appeared to allow you, and you alone, to do so. He believes that whatever it is that Tom… No, it’s not for me to say these things.

‘Anyway, the Professor is not at the research facility at the moment, which leaves me in ultimate charge. I saw the rather unpleasant situation unfolding with Tom when he awoke, and I decided the best course of action was to get you promptly. There was no time for me to convince you that I was acting in Tom’s best interest, so I decided to “strong arm” you.’

Gem looked coldly at him. ‘Are you Professor Gabriel?’ she asked.

Mr Oliver laughed and put a hand up in defence. ‘No! No!’ he said. ‘You will meet him, soon. Anyway, I should leave you. I have things to attend to, and I told them I would sit with you until you awoke. Tom is fine, by the way.’

‘Can I see him?’ asked Gem. 85

‘Not at the moment,’ replied Mr Oliver, taking to his feet. ‘I must be going. There is some food for you on the side,’ he said, pointing casually at a metal plate with a bread roll, some cheese, meat and other items on its surface. A glass of what appeared to be milk sat next to it.

Gem watched him walk towards the door. She chided herself for once again allowing Mr Oliver to manipulate her. Everything he said seemed so plausible, but ultimately she knew his true role as he pulled the door closed behind him and left. The turning of a key in the lock said more than any word or gesture he had made. She was a prisoner, and he was her captor.

Gem stood, walked to the door and kicked it. Her boots were thin and did little to protect her toes, which began to throb immediately.

The vagrant settled down on a park bench and reached inside his long and tatty overcoat.

The previously sole occupier of the bench, a rotund man with a monocle thrust into one socket and a huge framing moustache, glanced sideways, not seeing the vagrant, but deciding it was time to fold up his newspaper and move on. The vagrant looked at the man and sniffed as his big form waddled away in a hurry.

This was the way in which he liked it.

From within his right overcoat pocket, the vagrant pulled out a dirtied white handkerchief that had been tied into a neat bundle at each of the four corners. The contents clinked as the man put the bundle upon the bench, next to himself. Carefully, he untied the knot made from the corners, and laid the handkerchief flat, exposing the contents.

The man pushed about the pile of delicate looking pieces of metal, sorting through a mixed collection of small screws, tiny bolts, short pins, cogs, gears and numerous other delicate looking items. The vagrant stretched himself out and reached into his opposite pocket, pulling out the gold watch he had stolen. He began turning it in his hands and studying its craftsmanship, his grimy fingernails tracing its contours.

As if he lost interest suddenly, the vagrant struck the watch against the bench with a sharp violent slap of his hand, its glass face shattering. He began pulling at the broken watch face and feverously striking it against the bench several more times. Eventually, the casing and inner mechanism fell apart in his hands and he sifted through the inner workings of the watch, shaking them out onto his handkerchief and adding the mechanism’s parts to the assorted items. He took particular interest in a coiled spring, which he squeezed between his thumb and forefinger, before nodding and adding it to the pile of parts. He casually discarded the gold casing into a park bin next to the bench.

Mr Wyncote had refused to say anymore while they remained in the hotel room, insisting that the doctor accompany him elsewhere before he elaborated on his statements of dangerous circumstances surrounding the children. He had requested that Dr Vandell met him an hour later in Hyde Park, and to ensure that to the best of his knowledge he was not followed. Dr Vandell had more than raised an eyebrow at the request, but agreed, needing to know anything that may help him locate the children, and having no other avenues to explore.

The men walked through the park, crossing a wide expanse of grass and passing under a cluster of large oak trees, having taken a peculiarly convoluted route while discussing little other than the weather.

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‘I’m sorry for the cloak and dagger theatrics,’ explained Mr Wyncote, looking at his feet as he strode slowly across the grass.

‘Not to worry,’ replied the doctor, thoroughly baffled and concerned.

‘You’ve come a long way on very little trust,’ said the man, looking at Dr Vandell and issuing a faltering smile.

‘Well, I see very little option. The police have been of practically no help.’

‘Good. You must keep them out of it, doctor.’

‘Perhaps you can shed some light on the allusions you keep making, sir?’

‘Yes, yes. I’m sorry, but I have to be more than careful. There is so much at stake. I don’t in all honesty know where to begin, or what to tell you.’

‘Perhaps you can start with where the children are,’ suggested Dr Vandell, stopping in his walking and thereby forcing Mr Wyncote to come to a halt and face him directly.

‘Of course. I believe they have been taken to a research facility on the Isle of Rhum, which is off the coast of Scotland, approximately a hundred miles north-west of Edinburgh.’

‘I don’t need a lesson in geography, sir. I need to know why you believe the children are there.’

The vagrant finished selecting parts from the pile of tiny components he had arranged before him on the handkerchief. He laid them each beside one another and studied his selection for a moment before raising his hand over them, palm downward. The parts vibrated for only a second before they began to gather themselves together. Each cog and spring rolled across the material of the handkerchief before locking themselves together with the pins and tiny screws they accompanied. Soon, a frame had formed itself and a mechanical scorpion, no more than two inches in length, wondered about the handkerchief, probing its surroundings with its claws. The vagrant smiled and once again reached into his long shabby overcoat, withdrawing a small tin box, which he opened and from within, removed a glass vial. The vial was no bigger than the tip of his thumb, holding a dark yellow liquid inside, and was fixed at one end with a short corked cap. The man carefully removed the cork and held the vial up to the clockwork scorpion, which raised its tail, and slowly dipped its stinger inside the liquid. The creature’s claws snapped open and closed in front of its eyeless body as its six metallic legs scuttled back and forth, displaying an apparent eagerness to act.

Picking up the scorpion by its tail, while carefully avoiding touching its sting, the vagrant placed it on the ground by his feet. Nobody paid any attention as they passed him sitting on the bench, because he was invisible to the world, and that was the way in which he liked it.

The scorpion darted away, under the bench and through the long grass beyond.

‘Perhaps, if you will permit me to back up a step. Have you heard of a Professor Gabriel?’ asked Mr Wyncote.

‘No, should I have?’

‘Yes, indeed you should, but that is quite my point; nobody ever has.’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘Well, Gabriel is a scientist of an extraordinary calibre who has made many of the most outstanding technological breakthroughs of the past twenty years. Primarily, his work has pioneered both the fields of the combustion engine and electricity, along with other new experimental forms of power. Without him, England, and therefore the world, would still be 87

stuck in the dark ages. He revolutionised mass transport with his design of the engines used on most airships. For this reason alone, you should know his name.’

‘Well, I don’t, and I fail to understand why my ignorance of energy production is of interest.’

‘It’s exactly my point. A man that has given so much to the world lives in relative secrecy. No more than a handful of people in Westminster know his name, or his involvement in any of these things. In fact, he gives away all recognition to others. His achievements are filtered through other fine, yet in comparison, ultimately second-rate scientists. It is they that take public credit, not he.’

‘Very well, if it is as you explain, but where do the children fit into this?’

‘What do you know about Tom?’ asked Mr Wyncote eagerly.

‘Not a great deal. The boy was only with us for a matter of days before absconding with Gem.’ ‘But, what is it that you do know about him?’

‘I fail to see the relevance. Why can’t you simply explain where they are and why?’

‘Please, doctor, bear with me. I’m trying to explain as best I can.’

‘Hmm… Well, Tom is approximately nine years old, has dark hair and is small of build, even for his age. He suffers from acute problems of social interaction, to the point where he is barely communicative and fears almost any human contact. I was unable to find out why, but when the boy does talk, or attempt to communicate, it is largely in a riddle of numeric or abstract patterns. Gem seemed to be the only person that was able to communicate with him on any real level at all.’

‘Ah! There!’ said Wyncote, pointing his finger at the doctor.

‘What?’

‘What you just said! Tom seems able to communicate on some level with this girl Gemma. It is self evident in the fact that they managed to run away together. The boy wouldn’t have followed just anyone.’

‘And?’ ‘Well, Tom is of great interest to Gabriel and in honesty, I don’t know why. It is my conclusion that because Gabriel wishes to study Tom, he also wishes to study Tom’s relationship with Gemma. Tom may have some of the same qualities as displayed by a number of what we refer to as “The Table of Shadows”.’

‘I’m afraid, that I’m not following you at all.’

Mr Wyncote took in a deep breath in preparation for his next sentence and looked Dr Vandell in the eye.

‘I’m a representative of Her Majesty’s Government,’ he said, following it with a small pause to measure the doctor’s response, but there was nothing perceptible. ‘More specifically, I work in the Secret Service Division, SSD.’ Dr Vandell gazed up at the fast moving clouds overhead. He bit his lip and readied himself to walk away, and under normal circumstances, he would have done so without hesitation, but Mr Wyncote had been the only person to offer him any information on the children to date, so he found himself pausing longer than his good sense would have had him do so.

‘I am an agent of the government and am investigating Professor Gabriel on direct behalf of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. Professor Gabriel is a most powerful man and one who has received immense funding in return for his scientific assistance to the country, little 88

of which has been accounted for. It is our task to fully understand what Gabriel is doing, what he is capable of doing and what his plans are.’

Dr Vandell had several conflicting thoughts running through in his head, but the overwhelming one was telling him he was talking to a lunatic.

‘You must think me insane,’ said Mr Wyncote, ‘but I assure you, I am far from it. My story may sound extreme, but it is quite true. I can prove it.’

‘How,’ asked the doctor, grasping onto the only thread of logic offered to him.

‘I have a spy on site at the isl…’ Mr Wyncote went suddenly rigged, his eyes widened and his hands raised before his body in spasm induced claws. ‘Agghh!’

‘What is it?’ cried Dr Vandell, reaching out and grasping Mr Wyncote by the arms as he began to topple to the ground.

The doctor lay the man down on the grass and looked into his eyes, noting the pupils dilated, before listening at his mouth for a breath. He was no longer breathing.

The doctor removed his gloves and felt for a pulse. Finding none, he began resuscitation exercises, but quickly realised they were fruitless. The man had been poisoned.

Dr Vandell looked up and around himself, seeing nothing but an empty park bench twenty or so yards away and several passers-by on the nearby path. He looked back at the body of Mr Wyncote and noticed something shining in the grass. He reached out and took up a small brass cog, before curiously realising there were a number more tiny separate mechanical items buried in the long grass. Indeed, they appeared to be pocket watch parts.

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Chapter Eleven

Awakenings Gem woke, not knowing whether it was day or night outside in the world having been incarcerated deep under the surface of the ground. She had, in fact, turned out the light, so at least it felt as though she were waking at what she approximated to be the morning.

There came a heavy knock at the door and she concluded that it must have been that noise which had originally woken her.

She rubbed at her face and called out, ‘What?’

Mr Oliver’s voice came from the far side of the door in reply, ‘May I come in?’ he asked.

Gem groaned and rolled onto her side. She had not undressed other than to remove her shoes, nor had she gone under the covers, finding the underground heating almost unbearable.

The door opened slowly and a voice came from the other side, ‘I’m coming in!’

Gem lay on the bottom bunk and watched the door as it opened. A hand was first to appear from behind the door as it felt for the dial to raise the lighting in the room. The light bulb acknowledged and began to illuminate the room harshly, causing Gem’s eyes to water and forcing her to shield herself with a hand from the light.

‘Turn it down!’ she ordered of the hand.

The lights dimmed slightly as the door opened more fully and Mr Oliver looked around its edge.

‘What time is it?’ asked Gem groggily, unaware of how long she had been asleep for, but from the overwhelming bad temper which clung to her, she imagined it had been for quite some time.

‘A little after six,’ came the reply as Mr Oliver moved more fully into the room and made his way to the chair before seating himself.

‘Six in the morning?’

‘Yes.’ ‘Where’s Tom?’ came the inevitable question.

‘Still asleep himself. It would appear that he fell into some form of deep sleep, or trance, or coma, or whatever the medical terminology is, following last night’s events.’

‘What do you want?’ asked Gem, deciding not to engage in the polite nature of the conversation the man was attempting to bring about.

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Mr Oliver folded his legs and arms at the same time, reclined in the chair and narrowed his eyes. ‘I want you to help Tom,’ he replied.

Gem studied him, but said nothing.

‘Indications are that he will be returning to consciousness in the next hour or so, and we felt it would be best if you were with him as and when he did, thereby negating any form of reoccurrence of the situation that arose yesterday.’

Still, Gem said nothing.

‘I know you don’t believe we have either your or Tom’s interests at heart, but I can assure you we do. How many times have you been upset by something your parents have done…’ Mr Oliver caught himself, realising his oversight. ‘I’m sorry, my mistake, but I’m sure you understand what I say when I refer to adults acting in your best interests, even if it does not appear so at the time.’

‘Yes,’ replied Gem coldly, but feeling compliant if it led her to Tom. For a moment, her thoughts turned to her father and the years he had left her at home to go to work, and what it had eventually done to him.

‘Well, yesterday I acted on the best of intentions for Tom’s welfare. I’m sorry if I upset you.’

‘You didn’t,’ lied Gem. ‘Good, I would have hated to have upset you,’ answered Mr Oliver, his highly polished black shoe bouncing before him as he spoke.

Gem quickly pulled on her boots, buttoned them and slid off the bunk to stand before Mr Oliver, her hands resting expectantly on her hips. ‘Take me to him,’ she demanded.

‘First, I think, if you will excuse me, that perhaps you would enjoy a wash? We have most excellent facilities here.’

Gem nodded and in no time, she had been taken to a large washroom, which she was given sole access to, and had sunk her head into a basin of cold water. She emerged feeling better for the experience.

‘Please, don’t try and wake Tom,’ requested Mr Oliver as he led Gem through the maze of passages and laboratories. ‘He must bring himself out of the state he is in on his own, otherwise it could be disastrous. In this alone, I hope you trust us. He must wake of his own accord, as and when he is ready. It shouldn’t be long, his pulse and breathing have been growing steadily stronger, which I’m assured indicates he will wake naturally within the next four hours or there about. It’s all an approximation.’

Mr Oliver led Gem back to the room she had been taken to the previous evening.

This time it was empty of people, other than Tom himself, still lying upon the brush polished metal trolley that served him as a bed. There was a thin mattress and two pillows under him, and a coarse looking blanket had been draped over his body.

Gem ran to Tom and grasped his hand, which was curiously cold to her touch. She looked back at Mr Oliver in an attempt to seek reassurance.

‘He’s fine,’ replied Mr Oliver, clearly noting her concern. ‘Just don’t try to wake him before he is ready.’

Gem looked around again in order to double-check the assumption that they were alone. ‘Where is everyone?’ she questioned.

‘Nearby. They’ve been ordered to stay out of the way, unless there is imminent medical concern. If you need anyone, push on the button in the far corner.’

‘Button?’ asked Gem. 91

Mr Oliver stretched out an arm and pointed across to the other side of the trolley, at the wall where a round embossed disk, no larger than a half crown, was embedded into its surface. ‘Press that,’ he said.

Gem nodded, and immediately focused her attention back on Tom. She felt his calmness washing through herself as she held his hand. Her heart slowed and her breathing began to relax to a comforting rhythm approximating Tom’s own.

‘Would you like some breakfast? I can have some brought to you?’

Leaving the question unacknowledged, Gem continued to look at Tom, brushing his hair away from his forehead. He felt cold to the touch, but everything else seemed to be reasonable.

‘I’ll have something sent to you, and perhaps a cup of hot chocolate?’ suggested Mr Oliver.

Gem leant over Tom and resisted the urge to hug him. She knew nothing about medicine and was only able to assume that Mr Oliver’s plea to allow Tom to awake of his own accord was legitimate. She looked horrified at the straps that secured him to the trolley and glanced back at Mr Oliver with a look of condemnation.

‘Well, perhaps they aren’t necessary,’ he said. ‘Feel free to remove them. I have been informed that he has been given the inhibitor drug which should stop, or at least considerably dull, any use of his extraordinary powers.’

Without any hesitation, Gem began to pull at the straps, struggling to release the buckles that had been bound tightly into place.

Mr Oliver walked beside her and began to reach forward to assist Gem with the removal of the straps, but she pushed his hands away.

‘I’ll do it!’ she snapped.

Raising his hands in defence, Mr Oliver backed away from the trolley and observed from a respectful distance.

After a brief struggle with the straps, Mr Oliver vacated the room and Gem pulled a stool across from the edge of the cabinets and sat beside the trolley, tenderly holding Tom’s hand, watching his eyes carefully for any signs of regaining consciousness. She felt comforted, finally able to be with Tom and feeling of some use, rather than being trapped in a locked room where she was unable to reach him.

Gem looked up and around the room, taking the opportunity to study it in more detail, not even entirely sure if it was indeed the same one she had been escorted to so suddenly the previous evening.

The first thing she noted was the cleanliness. Everything was either painted white or of a polished metal finish, and the room was clean to the point of obsession. The floor’s tiles actually reflected her image using the room’s harsh lighting. Opposite, beside a narrow mirror, stood a wooden cabinet with glass paned doors, allowing her to see the contents within, but Gem saw nothing of interest beyond odd-looking instruments and a dozen or so small labelled bottles of substances. She wondered why she was now allowed to be unaccompanied and looked back at the door, noting it had been left open. Perhaps they realised that it did not matter, that she would not leave Tom, or perhaps it was a test of some kind.

Gem turned her attention back to Tom. His breathing was still deep and slow and she wondered how they knew that he would wake soon as he appeared to be in a deep sleep. She sat watching him, calmed by his serenity.

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Despite saying he would send the food, Mr Oliver returned after a time with a tray. He set it down next to Gem and she looked down at its contents, taken at first by the smell. A plate overwhelmed the tray’s surface, alongside a large mug of what appeared to be the hot chocolate Mr Oliver had mentioned, something she had not had since the previous Christmas. The plate contained a meal of ham and eggs, accompanied by a slice of buttered bread. Gem looked at the food with suspicion, but she was ravenous, so she lifted the plate up to her nose and smelt deeply of its aromas, the heat from the food gently warming the skin of her cheeks.

‘It’s very good,’ remarked Mr Oliver, standing quietly over her and observing her, quite forgotten.

Gem returned his comment with a cold glare, laying the plate back upon the tray beside the chocolate.

‘Aren’t you hungry?’ asked Mr Oliver.

‘Maybe in a minute,’ replied Gem, stubbornly wanting to undertake everything on her own terms where possible.

Mr Oliver seemed taken aback, which pleased Gem. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ before turning back towards the doorway. ‘If you need me, or any help at all, just ask, or press the button. Any of the people you see will be more than willing to assist, and they all know who you are.’

Mr Oliver was almost through the door before Gem stopped him.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Sorry?’

‘Why all this? What do you want with Tom?’ The man paused, clearly contemplating his words carefully before he responded. ‘In honesty, Gem, to study him and help him. He is quite unique,’ he added. Mr Oliver, before he left the room silently.

Gem returned her attention back to the breakfast beside her. Had Mrs Johnson been there to witness Gem’s behaviour in the next few minutes, as she unceremoniously wolfed down the ham and eggs, interspersed with quick mouthfuls of hot chocolate, she would have cuffed her around the ear in an instant. However, as it was, that life already seemed like a long way from Gem. It did not take long for Gem to clear the plate and finish off the chocolate.

Immediately, she began to feel stronger within herself, realising how much she had needed the food.

Once again, she took up Tom’s hand, his skin warmer to the touch, and it seemed to Gem that his breathing was becoming slightly more rapid.

She sat in silence upon the stool for a further hour before she was able to say with any certainty that Tom was emerging from his sleep. Although, had she been asked to voice why, she would have been lost for an explanation beyond the fact that she felt it.

Soon after, physical signs began to manifest themselves. At first, Tom began to twitch in his fingertips, which as Gem continued to hold his hand, she noted immediately. Then, his heartbeat became stronger, until eventually, he began to move slightly in his facial muscles.

From nowhere, a thin, balding man dressed in a speckled grey suit worn under an open white coat, flowed into the room and up to Tom. He reached down and held his fingers to the side of Tom’s throat for several seconds, while studying a pocket watch. He nodded to himself and looked at Gem. ‘He’s waking,’ remarked the man.

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Gem was surprised at the man’s sudden appearance. ‘How did you know?’ she asked.

‘We’ve been watching, through that window,’ replied the man, pointing to the oblong mirror on the far wall, his focus remaining entirely upon Tom. ‘Oh,’ said Gem, everything snapping into place. ‘You can see through that from the other side?’

‘Yes,’ was the short answer returned. The man began to drape the straps back over Tom’s body and slot them through the securing buckles.

‘No!’ cried Gem, horrified at the thought of restraining him again.

The man looked up with a disapprovingly stern look at her as he leant over Tom to fasten the belt in his grasp.

‘Very well,’ he said, dropping the buckle and strap before standing upright. ‘However you think it best handled.’

‘I think it best handled, if you get out of the room and leave us alone. Even if it’s back behind that stupid little window.’

The scientist nodded and left the room, leaving Gem surprised that her request had been carried out, before returning her attention entirely to Tom. Moaning under his breath, Tom’s eyes were beginning to move slowly under their lids.

His hand tightened around Gem’s own and she knew he was on the very verge of awaking.

‘Tom?’ she asked gently.

There was no response beyond a stirring of his head and a moan that ended in a sigh.

‘Tom?’ she said again, in the gentlest voice she could muster. ‘It’s Gem, Tom. Jewel.’

‘Jewel,’ he said weakly, opening his eyes for an instant before they rolled back and closed. His grip tightened about Gem’s hand, not enough to hurt her, but enough for her to realise he was truly regaining consciousness.

‘Yes,’ she replied to him, stroking his hand and lower arm with her own free one.

‘Everything is alright. There’s no need to be frightened.’ Immediately, Gem regretted using the word ‘frightened’ and she chastised herself. The last thing she wanted to do was to seed thoughts that were not already there as he awoke.

Tom’s eyes opened again, this time more fully and lucidly, but after a few seconds, they fell closed again. Gem realised instantly that it was the brightness of the overhead lighting that caused his eyes to close. She considered seeing if there were a control to allow her to dim them, as there had been in her room, but she overruled her own thought, choosing to stay holding Tom’s hand.

‘Jewel,’ said Tom in what seemed to be a more natural, yet still dazed tone. His left knee lifted slightly, gathering the blanket with it.

‘Yes, Tom. Good boy.’ What was she doing? She was not talking to some type of dog, this was a person. She restrained herself from saying anything else for the time being, for fear that it would be equally as foolish.

Tom moaned loudly before turning his head from side-to-side slowly and then opening his eyes. He blinked a few times and Gem saw him begin to realise where he was.

For a moment, he struggled, attempting to sit up, with Gem feeling a sudden dropping within herself as he panicked and passed the sensation to her.

Gem pulled the pillows under his shoulders in order to prop him up, so that he was better able to look around. He seemed to calm the instant he realised he was not bound to the trolley. She smiled at him and he looked back at her for a moment before his eyes began to make the familiar darting movements over his surroundings as Tom scanned about the room.

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Gem reached out and brushed his hair from his forehead and away from his eyes, but it fell back into its usual position again once she removed her hand.

He looked up at her, not attempting to withdraw his hand. Their eyes met and Gem felt his confusion. As she experienced the world through his emotions, she decided something was missing.

‘No,’ he said, his eyes widening in question at Gem. ‘It’s alright,’ she replied, considering the possibility that the drug Mr Oliver had referred to as the inhibitor, may be dulling Tom’s perceptions and causing him to panic.

Tom swung his legs around and off the side of the trolley, banging Gem as he did. He let go of her hand and pulled his arm free, his eyes shifting about the room. He slid out from under the blanket and put his bare feet down onto the floor’s tiles. He was wearing thin white pyjamas several sizes too big for him, and gathered at the wrists and ankles as he stood.

He walked to the cabinets and began looking in them, before turning his attention to the mirrored window, which he studied for a few seconds, causing Gem to wonder if he was able to detect the people behind it. He skittered across the room towards the open doorway and Gem only then leapt to his side.

‘You can’t go out there at the moment,’ she said, holding him back by the shoulder.

Tom looked at her, but continued forward towards the door, only to stop dead after a few steps and then retreat a half pace.

Gem glanced up from Tom and towards the doorway where Mr Oliver stood, looking down at the children, his arms held behind his back and a broad smile on his face.

Tom retreated several more steps before hitting the foot of the trolley and stopping.

He looked warily up at Mr Oliver before back at Gem and then around himself once more.

‘Well, look who has risen,’ he said, bringing his hands in front of his body and clasping them together in a silent clap. ‘Well done, Gem. We have a much calmer young man on our hands now.’

‘What are you going to do with us?’

‘I think it best if you both return to your room and wait there for the time being, that way you can be together and help Tom adjust.’

Tom was being pulled by Jewel along a corridor. The big man with orange hair followed them. He felt dull and separated from the world and his head was hot and felt as though giant pillows were being held on either side of it. Noise and colour were not as sharp as usual. His mouth was dry and he wanted water. None of this worried him as much as the fact that he was unable to feel anything but Jewel.

Tom had attempted to reach out repeatedly, but could not sense anything from the big man with orange hair. He was terrified and confused without it, unable to tell what people wanted from him or if they were happy or angry. Jewel continued to tug his hand and lead him along. She was frightened, he knew that, and she was very upset. He did not know what he had done wrong and felt ashamed.

Looking around himself, Tom wanted to examine the tiles on the floor, but Jewel kept moving him along and made it difficult for him to study them. She turned in to a room and he followed, glancing back at the big man behind them. He was bearing his teeth at Tom and that frightened him even more.

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Jewel climbed onto the bottom of two beds that had been placed on top of each other and pulled Tom heavily by the arm until he sat beside her. He looked up at the tall man with orange hair who was still bearing his teeth, and squeezed Jewel’s hand.

‘Now, Gem, if you stay here for the time being we…’

Tom looked away from the man and down at himself. He sat upon the iron bed with large bolts protruding from each corner of the frame. His senses. None of it was right. The number. He knew it, but could not sense it.

‘Twenty-six,’ he said.

‘What?’ replied the man with orange hair, as Tom looked up.

‘Twenty-six,’ replied Tom, this time turning his attention to the wooden table and chair opposite. The floor had no tiles, it was a plain grey cement covering. He gazed upwards and saw the single light fitting hanging from the ceiling.

There was a sudden bang and Tom’s heart jumped. He turned quickly to see that the door had been slammed shut and the tall man with orange hair was no longer there. Jewel held his hand tightly and looked at him. She put a hand up and touched his cheek. He reached and held her hand against himself. Her hand was cold, but when she held him, he did not feel alone.

Gem pulled Tom into the room and dropped herself onto the lower bunk of the pair.

She had to pull Tom down beside her as his attention seemed elsewhere and she wanted to show Mr Oliver that she was the only one that could effectively control Tom. She pulled slightly harder than was necessary, but he complied and settled beside her.

Mr Oliver smiled at Tom before turning his attention to Gem as the mediator.

‘Now, Gem,’ he began, ‘if you stay here for the time being, we can leave you together before we need to take any further tests. This way, Tom can remain as comfortable as possible in the meantime. Sound agreeable?’

‘What would be agreeable, is for you to let us go,’ ‘Now, you know very well that…’

Mr Oliver was suddenly cut short by Tom, who said something that Gem missed.

‘What?’ asked Mr Oliver, looking at the boy curiously.

‘Twenty-six,’ replied Tom, before turning his attention away from him.

‘Twenty-six?’ replied Mr Oliver fruitlessly.

Gem realised he was unaware of the numbers, but was not going to offer any elaboration, not that she had any to give.

Mr Oliver crinkled his forehead in confusion and looked back at Gem. ‘How long do we have to stay here?’

‘Oh, an hour or two, I would imagine,’ answered Mr Oliver.

‘No, I mean, how long in total do we have to stay on this island?’

‘Oh, well, that is to be determined,’ replied Mr Oliver evasively.

‘People will be looking for us,’ said Gem. Mr Oliver nodded simply and withdrew to the door. He looked back as if he were about to say something to Tom, but changed his mind and left. He slammed the door closed harder than was necessary after him, causing Tom to startle and cling tighter to Gem’s hand.

Gem looked at Tom, relieved to be with him again, and felt stronger and more in control than she had in a long time, despite the situation. She carefully put a hand to his cheek, which he in turn reached for and held.

‘Oh, Tom,’ she sighed. ‘I think we are in a lot of trouble.’

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*** Dr Vandell was already travelling by train to Edinburgh, his only choice of destination that took him anywhere near the Isle of Rhum, and had been advised by the ticket clerk that he would have to take a connecting service onwards.

The doctor had awaited the police the previous day at the park, staying with the body of Mr Wyncote after he had raised the alarm and an officer arrived. He had been questioned at length as to why he had been with Mr Wyncote, and he had chosen to tell the truth as he knew it, explaining about the meeting at the hotel and the subsequent meeting at Hyde Park, in reference to the missing children, of whom he had already lodged a request for investigation. The only details he omitted were the references made by Mr Wyncote to Professor Gabriel and Rhum Island, feeling it would weaken his credibility in the eyes of the police. The information seemed an incredible stretch of the imagination, but his only afforded opportunity, and the police had shown little interest, so he had decided to keep it to himself.

When asked about the curious circumstances surrounding the cause of death, the doctor had lied, suggesting that he thought the man had died of a sudden and massive heart attack. He knew any investigating coroner would reach the same conclusion as himself; that some extremely fast acting toxin had poisoned Mr Wyncote. His veins were black under the skin and his eyes had immediately dilated. The tremendous spasm with which Wyncote had suffered also indicated foul play to the doctor’s mind. However, that would all take time for the police to conclude, and he did not want it to interfere with his own plans.

Dr Vandell considered all these points as he rested in his hotel room before making his decision to go to the Isle of Rhum. It did not take him long to reach a conclusion of conspiracy at the very least before he packed his belongings and began to enquire about the rail journey, knowing that airship tickets would need to be booked well in advance of departure.

Which brought him to here, staring from the window of a train as it meandered through the countryside, where exactly he knew not, hoping to reach the Isle of Rhum before lunchtime the following day.

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Chapter Twelve

Ash Gem had no method of telling the time, but having Tom with her helped her with estimating its passing better than being alone. She would have put anything she had on betting that substantially more than two hours had passed.

Tom seemed even more despondent than usual. Gem could sense he was removed from the world and was still terribly frightened. She was having difficulty understand the nature of the suppressant drug Tom had been given. It seemed in someway targeted at his interaction with objects, or people over distances, because when they touched, she could still feel Tom’s overwhelming sense of confusion.

Gem watched Tom as he huddled in the corner of the bottom bunk, where she had lain herself, near her feet, enwrapped in the blanket taken from the upper bed. His eyes were closed and his breathing steady, but she could not tell if he were asleep or not.

A scratching noise attracted her attention to the floor, where she noted a small piece of folded paper being slipped under the gap under the door. Whomever it was had to push several times before the small crack would allow admittance to the paper and Gem wasted no time in rushing towards it.

‘Jewel?’ said Tom, stirring from his rest.

‘Look,’ she said. Gem took up the paper and unfolded it from its quartered shape and began to read the scrappy handwriting, quickly concluding the writer had to be left handed because of the slop of the writing.

She took the paper back to the bunk and sat down, her eyes reading over the words before she turned excitedly to Tom and read it aloud.

‘You are in great danger. The boy must not be brought before Gabriel. I will help you escape. Destroy this paper and await my return. Always be ready to run,’ read Gem. She twisted the paper in her hand, bringing it closer to her face for better inspection. ‘He’s signed it,’ she said. ‘It’s signed “Ash”.’

Curiously, Tom appeared to be listening to Gem. ‘Ash!’ he said, rather too loudly for Gem’s comfort.

‘Shhhhh…,’ calmed Gem in an attempt to quiet Tom, waving her hands at him.

Tom looked upset and Gem reached forward, taking his hand. She sensed his overwhelming disorientation and a settling depression.

I’m not upset at you. Thought Gem, saying the words aloud at the same time. We need to get out of here and I don’t know how to do it.

Tom slipped his hand from hers and pulled it underneath the blanket with which he wrapped himself even more tightly in.

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Gem’s eyes returned to the piece of paper. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said despondently to herself as she stood up and walked about the room. She tore the paper into as many pieces as possible before pushing them through the grating of the drain in the centre of the floor, not knowing what else to do with them.

No more than ten minutes later, to Gem’s estimation, the door was once again unlocked and opened. Gem expected to see Mr Oliver looking back at her, but only found two of the guards towering over her.

She realised her mistake as the guards parted and Mr Oliver stepped from behind them. For an instant, she actually felt relieved.

‘What do you want?’ sprang from her mouth without consultation with her brain.

‘Time for more tests, I’m afraid. Professor Gabriel has arrived on the island and is keen to meet you both.’

Gem stumbled back a half step, before catching herself, not wishing to display any fear to these men.

‘There’s nothing to worry about, I’m sure,’ added Mr Oliver, but the effect was less than satisfactory for Gem. She glanced back across the room to Tom, who stared out from beneath his covers, pulling himself into a tight ball.

‘Let me get him,’ she suggested as Mr Oliver approached closer.

‘That is what you are here for, Gem,’ he replied with a thin smile and dip of his head.

Gem walked to Tom and put her hand forward, offering it to him, rather than grabbing at him. Slowly, he dropped the covering and reached out, taking her hand. All the time the words upon the piece of paper slipped under the door were ringing in Gem’s mind.

The boy must not be brought before Gabriel. She knew her mistake as she made it, but could not stop it unfolding.

Tom took hold of her hand and immediately sensed her own panic. His eyes widened and he cried out, pulling away from her and back into the position he had adopted on the bed. He drew the blanket over himself and hummed loudly.

Gem started forwards towards Tom, lowering herself under the second bunk until she sat perched on the side of the mattress and could reach across to Tom. Carefully, she pulled the blanket down from Tom’s face, but she realised she was only able to do that because he had tightly pressed both of his hands to his eyes and was continuing to hum with vigour.

‘Come on Tom,’ she said, looking back at the guards and Mr Oliver with a look of concern.

As if in answer to the look, Mr Oliver took a single step forward and shook his head.

‘You are here to help keep him calm. If you cannot do that, I’m sure he is strong enough now for us to take him ourselves,’ he said sternly, once again all the civilities he masqueraded dissolving away to show his true character.

Gem nodded and turned back to Tom. She did not need to hold him to know how distressed he was. Careful not to touch his skin, she leant forward and wrapped one arm around his back, which was a struggle in itself, before using the position to attempt to lever him from the bed.

‘Please, Tom,’ she said, as she began to pull him from the bed, surprised at his ability to resist her without using his arms. His eyes remained tightly closed and his face contorted in what looked like pain.

Abandoning her attempts of force, which seemed only to be aggravating the situation, Gem attempted to correct her original mistake and held him at the wrist. For an instant, she 99

was almost overcome with the sheer terror awash within Tom before once again, the balance was attained and she was able to think clearly.

‘Tom,’ she said, focusing her thoughts entirely upon him, while trying to muster some courage and conviction within herself. ‘It’s alright. We need to go with these men and meet a doctor. Like Dr Vandell.’

The men watched on as Gem attempted to calm Tom with some measured success.

After a minute, she was able to get him to release his hands from his face and open his eyes.

‘Please come,’ she said to him, pulling gently at his wrists.

Slowly, Tom slid from the bed, his eyes focusing fearfully on Mr Oliver and the guards, who moved aside to allow Gem and Tom to leave the room ahead of them.

‘Right,’ said Mr Oliver in simple indication of direction.

Gem walked along the passageway and pulled Tom alongside her. She listened to every footstep behind them and found herself turning around more than once to see Mr Oliver pointing ahead with one hand in reply.

Once again, the floor sloped downwards and Gem knew they were working their way deeper into the facility and further underground. She was completely lost to the complexity of turns they had taken.

‘Stop,’ said Mr Oliver simply after some time. They had come to face two double doors that lay closed before them.

Gem held Tom back by the arm, bringing him to a halt beside her. He fidgeted uncomfortably under her touch.

The two guards edged around the children, and, in mirrored postures, pulled open the doors to allow the party through and into the room beyond.

Tentatively, Tom broke Gem’s hold on him and entered the room, this time leaving her to trail behind. Gem made a quick double step to catch up to him and looped her own arm through his, holding him close for her own comfort, finding her grip tightening with every movement further into the room.

Mr Oliver’s footsteps cracked rhythmically across the curiously ornate polished wooden flooring as he followed behind them.

Before them, the room opened up dramatically. The ceiling was some thirty to forty feet overhead and was once again the crude unfinished rock surface that Gem had noted in the machine room. The walls too had been left in the same fashion, giving the entire room the dark and foreboding feeling of a cave. Lights were fitted periodically around the walls, facing upwards, illuminating the rock itself and adding to its haunting quality. The flooring opened out and ran back sixty feet. At the far end of the room stood an imposing looking family of machines. Dials, handles and lights seemed to be everywhere. The entire collection of machines hummed in a singular voice that resonated about the room.

Tom continued to lead Gem further into the vast area, his eyes moving across all the surroundings, before paying greater attention to the machines at the far end.

‘What is this?’ asked Gem, but to no answer.

Great pools of darkness fell around them where the directed lights failed to reach and Gem found it difficult to adjust her eyes from the harshness of the lights outside of the room, to the darkness within. Someone moved in the shadows before them.

‘Gem and Tom, sir,’ said Mr Oliver in presentation, before turning and leaving them.

Gem watched him go, wanting him to stay, even though she did not trust him, fearing the unknown more. The doors closed as Mr Oliver removed himself, filling the room with echoes that bounced off the vast rock walls and ceiling, long after he was gone.

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Gem and Tom stood alone, holding each other, staring into the darkness, waiting for it to reveal itself.

‘Tom,’ said the shadows. The voice was deep, strong, clearly pronounced and penetrating, yet had a quality of gravel within it. Footsteps began towards them from the dark, resonating all about them.

Tom looked intently into the shadows. For the first time, he paid direct attention to someone other than Gem, without great effort on the other party’s behalf.

The darkness began to move and shift before baring a tall and well-built figure in dark clothing towards them. A man walked into the light before them. His skin was notably pale, and contrasted with heavy eyebrows beneath a smooth and hairless skull. Covering his eyes, he wore the most peculiar pair of dark spectacles Gem had ever seen; they flashed a reflective glint of the light from their blackened lenses. The man was dressed strangely, but immaculately, in a black suit. He wore a tightly fighting waistcoat, black cravat about his neck and a jacket tailored from a shining fabric that reached almost to his ankles and swayed with his movements. Gem approximated the man was in his late forties, but she had been expecting someone far older. The man stepped closer, a look of removed analysis on his face as he examined Tom. As the man approached, Gem realised that what she had first assumed to be eyeglasses, were in fact some form of lenses actually buried into his eye sockets. Two thin vine-like pipes ran from the implanted devices back along his temple on either side in a manner similar to spectacles, but rather than hooking around the ear, they ran directly in through the bone of his skull. Gem found herself repulsed at the thought of having such a device buried in her flesh, and her arm gripped firmly about Tom’s. A thin white scar ran from the top of the man’s forehead to just below the cheekbone, a smaller mark intersected it above the left eye-lens, making it appear like a cross.

The man’s footsteps continued to pierce the silence until he towered over the pair of children, glaring down upon them. The implanted lenses in his face issued a clicking sound as he studied them. He shifted his study away from Tom and towards Gem. His cold, unemotional face seemed to burn through her very body as he looked down upon her.

‘Release his hand,’ ordered the man, his voice dry and rough.

Gem did as she was told, dropping Tom’s hand away from her own, terrified.

‘Hmmm,’ reflected the man. ‘How old are you?’

‘Thirteen,’ replied Gem, her throat catching upon the word and unable to do little more than croak in response. She withered under his glare.

‘Really? I would have put you as older,’ answered the man, turning to study Tom in more detail. He held his hands behind his back and leant forward until he was almost noseto-nose with the boy.

Tom simply looked up from beneath his mop of unruly hair at the man.

‘What is your name, boy?’ asked the man in a commanding and heavy tone. Gem immediately did not understand, as the man had already referred to Tom directly by name.

Continuing to look directly back, there was no response from Tom. ‘Hmmm,’ repeated the man once again. After a few moments of further close quarter’s examination, he stood up straight and moved from the children, pacing away for several strides before stopping, facing back towards them and directly addressing Gem. ‘Does he talk to you?’ there was a rough gravelled quality to his voice that Gem found chilling.

Gem cleared her throat before replying, ‘Sometimes.’

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‘About what?’

‘Nothing much. He says numbers sometimes, words, never sentences.’

‘And he allows you to touch him?’

‘Yes.’ ‘Do you feel what he feels?’

‘Yes.’ ‘It is quite improbable that it should happen. However, improbable does not equate to impossible. Have you seen him move things with his mind?’

‘He made some marbles lift into the air.’

‘Marbles?’

‘Yes.’ The man tapped his foot several times against the wooden flooring before continuing his questioning. ‘Has he influenced a person’s behaviour? Made them do something against their will?’

‘No. Not that I know of.’

‘No, that kind of focus is probably beyond him,’ said the man, clearly to himself.

‘You’re from the refuge in Coventry? Your meeting with him was entirely coincidental?’

‘Yes.’ ‘Mmmm.’ The man began to pace away and disappeared back into the shadows.

‘Who are you?’ called Gem. ‘Gabriel,’ replied the man, swallowed by the darkness. His footsteps returned towards them from the shadows and he emerged again, this time holding a metallic syringe with a viciously long needle fixed upon it.

‘You may leave,’ said Gabriel, looking directly at Gem. As he spoke the words, the doors behind them opened and Mr Voyce stepped into the room.

‘What are you going to do?’ demanded Gem. Gabriel simply waved her away with his free hand, indicating that Voyce should remove her from the room.

Gem took a step forward and demanded again to know what was happening. ‘What are you going to do with Tom?’ she shouted to no reply.

Voyce roughly wrapped an arm about Gem’s waist and hauled her from her feet. She tried to kick and scream, but the big man was unmoved. She bit him as hard as she could on the wrist as his free arm came about to take a better hold on her, but it did not appear to cause him any noticeable discomfort. After several seconds of applying as much force through her jaw as possible, Gem released him and returned her efforts to screaming. Her voice bounced off the walls of the chamber as Voyce carried her away, leaving Tom alone with Gabriel.

The train came to a shuddering halt at Arisiag station, a tiny village on the western coast of Scotland between Fort William and Mallaig, and which, Dr Vandell had been assured, would be the best place to travel to the Isle of Rhum, or at least as close as he would get, as several people on his journey had informed him.

As the doctor stepped down onto the platform, he found that he was the only person to disembark from the train. He placed his travelling case down, removed a cigar from his case and began to light it. To one end of the platform, he noted a high signal house overlooking the station. Inside, a man was sitting back in his chair, drinking a cup of tea, and 102

the idea of a warm drink suddenly seemed like a fine one to the doctor. Beyond the signal house, woodland rolled up the hills and met a late, bitingly cold, afternoon sky. A small ticket office stood not far from him on the opposite end of the sleepy station’s platform.

The station itself stood high above the village and the doctor could look down upon twisting paths and tracks leading to a scattered collection of white buildings at the heart of the community and a harbour beyond.

The steam train sounded its whistle and hissed its way along the tracks as its wheels turned and it began to pull away. The doctor’s eyes followed the train’s departure while he finished lighting his cigar.

The smell of salt water was in the air and the doctor breathed it in deeply. Two seagulls swooped high overhead and squawked as they dropped down the slope, following the rocky bay containing several boats out to sea and away from the mainland.

‘Well,’ said the doctor to an empty platform, there seemed little option, so he picked up his case and began the long walk down the hill towards the centre of the village.

The walk did some good in allowing the doctor to stretch his limbs, which had been cooped up for far too long in the uncomfortable trains he had taken in quick succession to reach his destination. He had found himself with little opportunity to do anything other than reflect about his course of action while making the journey, and was far from convinced that he was making the best one, but ultimately there seemed to be little choice to his current decision, other than to return to Coventry and wait and hope. He knew that Mrs Johnson would be there and it afforded him some comfort, but his concern for Gem’s welfare was consuming his thoughts almost entirely.

The afternoon sun fell quickly in the sky until it was possible to call it early evening and the doctor reached the village, finding himself wandering aimlessly along thin dirt tracks and narrow pathways, looking for anywhere that might suggest lodgings were available. All the while, the streets grew increasingly dark as the only light afforded to the small village pathways spilled out from within some of the larger windows. The village was not big, and before long, the doctor found himself standing in front of a public house with a sign fixed to its low white stoned surrounding garden wall, that clearly indicated it had rooms for rent.

Dr Vandell pushed his way through the entrance to the building, causing more than a slight commotion with negotiating his baggage through the narrow opening, to which the door did not fully open. He was soon assisted by a hand from the other side, which reached out and pulled the door open more fully with several tugs.

‘Ah’m sorry about that, sir,’ said a thick Scottish accent that caused the doctor to have to repeat it through his head a second time before he fully understood what had been said.

‘Been meaning to fix it, but I keep putting it off!’ A deep chortle followed the explanation and the doctor found himself face to face with a large man, as tall as himself, with a broad chest and thick neck supporting a grizzled, yet friendly looking face.

‘Not to worry,’ replied the doctor, looking around at the inn.

The man reached forward and took the luggage from the doctor, who entrusted it to him with a thankful nod. The room was pleasantly warm with a heat that emanated from a large central fireplace in the middle of the room, which was accessible from all sides and had been heaped with a mixture of coal and logs. As the fire snapped and crackled, the rest of the room bathed comfortably in its glow.

The pub was not large by any means, and there were no more than a half dozen tables tightly slotted together set out around a short bar overcrowded by hanging mugs and 103

measures. A dartboard was fixed to the far wall and appeared to have been missed more times than it had been struck as the surrounding wall was peppered with tiny dark dart holes.

‘Come in,’ said the man, jarring Dr Vandell out of his moment of observation.

‘Thank you,’ replied the doctor as he stepped in and began to remove his gloves. ‘You are most kind.’

The man pushed the door closed in several shuddering attempts and then placed the doctor’s case down on the floorboards near the entrance. He swooped around and put himself behind the bar, reaching for a glass without hesitation.

‘Ha, an Englishman! A pint of Ale?’ he asked.

Although still with tea paramount in his thoughts, the doctor nodded and thanked the man for his suggestion as he drew himself closer to the bar.

The publican pulled on a pump with what appeared to be no small amount of effort.

After no more than a minute, a fresh pint of ale had been placed before the doctor, who sipped it politely in return.

‘I was wondering if you had any rooms available?’ asked Dr Vandell.

‘Aye, sir, we do indeed,’ replied the man in his thick Scottish tongue. ‘Three and eight for the night,’ he added.

‘That sounds very reasonable,’ responded the doctor, feeling himself beginning to warm, particularly in his extremities, after walking the cold winter lanes.

The conversation faltered for a moment, but the man behind the bar continued to smile while enthusiastically watching the doctor, ensuring he enjoyed his ale.

The doctor sipped at the pint before looking up over it at the man. ‘Is it possible to reach the Isle of Rhum from here?’ he asked.

‘Well,’ hesitated the man as he brushed down the front of his thick jumper with both palms. ‘It’s not far, that’s for sure, but you cannae go there. Nobody goes there since the government took over the island for their research or suchlike.’

‘Government?’ queried the doctor.

‘Aye, that’s what they say. You see the airships flying in all the time, and occasionally boats are chartered out of the bay here, but rarely.’

‘Would somebody be able to take me to view the island? From the water,’ he added in explanation. ‘Could I charter a boat?’

‘Well now, I should think so, but there’s not a great deal to see. If you tell me what it is you’re after, then I might be able to suggest other islands hereabouts which would do you better,’ assisted the man, his voice growing quieter and his eyes more curious.

‘Tell me,’ began Dr Vandell. ‘Have you heard of a Professor Gabriel?’ he asked.

‘Professor Gabriel? I don’t believe I have. Does he live hereabouts?’

‘No matter,’ replied the doctor, pausing for a time. ‘What is it the government do on the Isle of Rhum, exactly?’

‘Well, I don’t know, but it seems a busy place, like I said. The men that work there never come aground here.’

The doctor nodded in contemplation before tasting once again from his drink. He could not face the second half, but thanked the man for the beer.

Shortly after, he was shown to a small room that was reached by a staircase at the near end of the bar. The room itself was small and crowded with a single bed, leaving no more than an arm’s length of space for the doctor to manoeuvre himself about in. There was a tiny writing desk and chair at the far end of the room, slotted beneath a small window that 104

overlooked the bay where moonlight danced across the remarkably calm surface of the water.

The doctor changed from his crumpled travel clothes into more appropriate evening attire before returning downstairs to a gladly accepted hot meal of stew and dumplings. The tiny pub had begun to fill around him with several local men who each greeted the publican as “Douglas”. The men took seats and spoke with each other, but their eyes kept finding the doctor until he found it necessary to remove himself from their glare.

After issuing his thanks for the meal, the doctor decided that despite the cold and dark evening outside, he would follow the footpaths that led to the bay. He ventured out into the night, comfortably full, and glad to get away from the curious eyes and walk off the meal.

It took some time to reach the bay, which he was unsure of how best to reach, but eventually he found himself standing on a high crag, his arms folded, overlooking the water which hooked around on itself like a giant horseshoe. Beyond the moonlit entrance to the bay, the doctor could make out two islands, dark and foreboding against the horizon. The nearer, and the smaller of the two, he understood to Eigg, the second, and larger, he assumed to be Rhum.

As the doctor surveyed the scene, puffing idly on his cigar, he looked out at Rhum Island and wondered whether Gem and Tom were somewhere nearby, making a silent prayer for their wellbeing.

At first, it happened so quickly that the doctor wondered if he had imagined it, but in the widening of an eye, it happened again.

Far in the distance, on an upper slope of the second island, a light blinked through the night, rapidly flashing in and out of existence. After a moment, the tiny, but bright light stopped for no more that a few seconds before it flickered into view again. The light repeated the unusual behaviour several times, and it did not take many more repetitions before the doctor realised what he was witnessing, concluding that it was some form of Morse code being transmitted to the mainland. The doctor was at a loss to understand its message, as he had no practical experience of Morse code at all, other than its basic concept of exchanging letters for a combination of short and long pulses of light, but the patterns in which the light was flashing were unmistakable.

The doctor cast his eyes around the bay as the thought occurred to him that whoever was sending messages from the distant island, there would inevitably be someone receiving, perhaps nearby. He looked along the shore and the village, but saw nothing but an empty darkness and the occasional steady light from the nearby houses.

Turning his attention back to the light coming from Rhum Island, the doctor watched as it continued to flicker in and out of the night, cursing himself for not even having a notebook to hand to attempt to write some of it down.

The flashing light did not last for much longer, and when it had finished, the doctor once again looked around to see if there was to be any reply from the mainland.

Disappointedly, the he gave up any expectations of observing a reply after two or three minutes of waiting, so he began to make his way tiredly to the inn and his room, with long plodding footsteps along the winding path that led back up towards the village.

‘What have you done with him?’ Gem had screamed and beat at the door of the holding room for as long as she had enough energy. Eventually, she realised she was doing no good and should save her efforts for a more appropriate time.

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She lay on her bunk, immersed in tears and the endless horror of not knowing as to Tom’s situation. She had cried, but Dr Vandell had not answered, nor had anyone else she had begged for help.

It was the better part of an hour later when the door opened and Tom stumbled in.

Gem ran to him and caught him in her arms as the door was pulled shut behind him.

‘Are you alright?’ she asked, looking him over, while escorting him back to the bunk.

She could feel that he had been in pain, but it was lessening by the moment.

Tom looked tired. His skin was a pasty white and he looked back through unfocused bloodshot eyes.

‘What did they do to you?’ she asked.

Tom tried to say something, but it came out as little more than a garbled murmur.

Gem sat Tom on the bunk and pulled off his shoes, before lifting his legs onto the bed and laying him down. ‘If I ever…’ she began, a fury building within herself. She pulled a blanket over Tom’s body and brushed at his forehead with the back of her hand.

‘I don’t understand why someone would do this,’ she said to herself. ‘What could be worth hurting a child for?’

It was a question that went unanswered as Tom rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. Gem held his hand and sensed that all he wanted to do was to sleep.

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Chapter Thirteen

A Bolt from the Blue It felt like the room shook and Gem woke with a startled confusion, her eyes scouting about and widening to the darkness she found surrounding her. She was lying beside Tom, her arm stretched across his body while he curled beneath a blanket facing the wall. After a moment of disorientation, she began to hear raised voices passing on the other side of the door. The room had been plunged into a pitch black, although she clearly remembered that she had left the light fully on.

‘What?’ said Gem aloud to herself as she shook free from her confusion.

Tom curled up into a tight ball beside her and moaned briefly as though his sleep were being disturbed.

Somewhere in the complex, there was a second explosion. This time Gem both heard and felt it clearly.

Beyond the door, bells began to ring as if echoing the frightening panic unfolding about them.

Gem jumped to her feet and stumblingly made her way to the doorway, holding her hands in front of her as she felt about in the darkness. On reaching the entrance, she put her head against the door in an attempt to understand what was happening outside, but finding the exercise futile as the bells continued to ring incessantly and overwhelmed almost all other sounds. She turned her attention to the dial that turned up the lighting in the room, but nothing happened and she began to panic in her blindness.

‘Tom,’ she cried.

‘Jewel?’ replied a voice from the far side of the room.

‘Stay there,’ she managed to get out as she felt the door begin to open under her hands, and she startled back and away from it.

‘Hello?’ called a voice over the commotion outside.

Gem took another step back and cautiously looked to the doorway where a hand emerged around the frame, holding an oil lamp outstretched.

‘Gem?’ asked the voice.

Still Gem did not answer. She reached behind herself and felt for the bunk beds.

‘My name is Ash. I’ve come to get you out of here.’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Gem.

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The door opened fully and the light fell upon a boy, perhaps only a year older than herself. He held forth the lantern, his sandy hair and wide eyes revealed in its light. He wore a dark blue shirt that had been rolled back to the elbow at either sleeve. In his other hand, he held forth Gem’s laundry bag of possessions.

‘I set off two explosions. People are coming to help us, but we must get to the surface.

As soon as Gabriel realises what’s happening, he will send for Tom.’ Gem took a step towards the boy and took up the laundry bag. Something deep within his eyes echoed a sincerity that she trusted and she turned to pull Tom towards herself.

Surprisingly, it took only the smallest of tugs to make Tom follow her and Gem was thankful. She looped the laundry bag over her shoulder by its drawstring.

‘Who are you?’ asked Gem as she followed the boy from the room, her hand tightly encapsulating Tom’s wrist.

‘My name is Ash. I work for Her Majesty’s Secret Service and I’m here to get you out.’

‘Why?’ ‘Because those are my orders!’ snapped the boy, leading them into the main passageway and looking up and down its dark length.

‘I don’t understand!’ shouted Gem above the relentless ringing of the alarm bells.

‘There will be time for explanations later!’ replied the boy, grasping at Gem’s free arm, and so forming a chain between the three of them. He pulled her along the corridor, in a direction that Gem would have sworn took them deeper into the research complex, not out of it.

‘Where are you taking us?’ she screamed through the confusion of the darkness and shouts from other people who pushed past them in the passage, attempting to gain their own way out.

‘To the surface!’ cried Ash in response, but his attention was elsewhere as he led the party around a trolley of various equipment that had been abandoned by someone in their haste to escape.

There was a further explosion, which shook Gem off her feet and she found herself dragging both Tom and Ash down with her. The ceiling above crumbled and a showering of dust fell over them.

‘Are you alright?’ asked Ash as he quickly regained his feet and attempted to pull Gem to hers.

‘Yes,’ she replied, shaken, but unharmed. She turned and looked at Tom. His face mirrored the disorientation she felt from him, his eyes wide and darting about.

‘Come on!’ cried Ash, pulling at Gem, who in turn found herself tugging Tom behind her.

The trio wove through the passageways, with Ash leading, while holding the lamp out in front of him. On occasion, he stopped and looked through doorways, before leading them on and continuing through the confusing array of tunnels. Finally, Gem began to feel as if he knew where he was going when he reached a wrought iron stairwell that twisted upwards in a cylindrical fashion.

There was a further explosion, but somewhere far off. Gem felt Tom squash her hand and she looked at him as reassuringly as she could.

Dr Vandell awoke with a start. He found himself sitting upright in his bed before he realised where he was. An explosion cracked in the distance, and he immediately pulled back the 108

curtains of the window overhanging his bed and looked out across the village leading down to the bay and beyond.

There, surrounding the Isle of Rhum, Dr Vandell could make out the silhouettes of two battleships in the waters just off its shore. Great white wakes trailed each ship as they pierced through the surface of the waters.

Overhead, a medium sized airship was hanging directly over the island, where below, a dark cloud indicated the scene of a recent explosion. Smoke rose high into the sky and began drifting with the northerly wind.

‘What on earth?’ said the doctor to himself. He turned out of bed and hurriedly pulled on his suit over his pyjamas, before tucking his bare feet into his shoes and grabbing his overcoat. The doctor ran from his room and clambered unceremoniously down the stairs, flattening his hair down and wiping at his eyes with his hands as he went.

Spilling onto the street, the doctor met several other people who all seemed as shocked as he did at the scenes across the bay. The innkeeper stood in his dressing gown beside a woman, who the doctor supposed was his wife, staring down the rapidly filling street and out across the bay.

The airship appeared to be lowering itself nearer to the island, but the events before them were so far away that it was difficult to tell anything with certainty.

‘What’s happening?’ shouted the doctor to anyone in the street who would answer.

Douglas responded with what seemed to be the common opinion. ‘Cannae say!’

The doctor attempted to straighten his clothing slightly, embarrassed beyond measure that his shirt was replaced by his pyjama top, but it seemed that he was one of the more overdressed people on the street at that moment, as everyone else appeared to still be fully attired in their night clothes and dressing gowns.

‘Do you have a telescope, or something similar?’ cried the doctor across to Douglas.

‘Aye! That’s good a thought, sir!’ replied Douglas, nodding repeatedly and trotting back to the inn while the doctor and the developing crowd stared out to sea at the dramatics.

Douglas returned only a short time later with a spyglass in hand, which he pulled until it extended into its viewing configuration. He held it up to his eye and peered through its length, his mouth puckering tightly as he more closely observed the situation.

‘Well, what do you see?’ asked the doctor hurriedly.

‘I can see the island. It looks as if the airship is dropping ropes down to the ground and…’

‘I’ll buy the spyglass from you!’ exclaimed the doctor, wanting desperately to see the situation for himself.

‘Aye,’ said the innkeeper, lowering the telescope and looking at the doctor with a raising eyebrow. ‘And what be the offer?’

‘Whatever you think reasonable!’ shouted the doctor in quick response.

‘Three pounds,’ suggested Douglas, his eyes hopeful and the corner of his mouth curling upward as he studied the desperate nature of the doctor.

‘Yes, yes! Three pounds!’ responded the doctor abruptly, attempting to calm his growing concern. ‘Add it onto my bill!’

‘Well, here you go then,’ replied Douglas, handing the spyglass towards the doctor.

‘Thank you!’ exclaimed Dr Vandell, reaching out and almost snatching the spyglass before quickly holding it up to his eye.

Thankfully, the lenses were of excellent quality and the doctor could easily make out the situation as it unfolded with much more clarity.

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The airship, which hovered above the island, had indeed dropped ropes to its surface, and armed men were beginning to slide down them, a pair at a time, and drop onto Rhum.

The airship itself was noticeably smaller than the standard passenger ships commonly seen in the skies, and unlike any design the doctor had ever seen. The ship was ironclad on its lower, ground-facing, belly and great shields of armour skirted the undersides of the two oval balloons above the main decks. A union flag whipped violently in the wind from a short mast on the ship’s aft. The doctor did not need to witness any more to conclude that this was in fact a military airship and the men sliding down the ropes beneath were soldiers.

Rotating several degrees, the doctor focused on the sea and began to examine more closely the two battleships that were surrounding the island. The farther of the two ships was moving across the far side of the island and quickly disappearing out of sight. The nearer of the two stood closer and its oil engines, while still billowing great clouds of smoke across the water, appeared to be idle. Two great cannons mounted on the ship’s bow and stern aimed directly at the island, but for the time being, remained silent.

‘It’s the army!’ exclaimed Dr Vandell, commentating on the events wide mouthed as he peered through the viewfinder.

‘What?’ asked the woman beside Douglas.

‘I think the army is attacking the island,’ replied the doctor, not paying a great amount of attention to the woman, his interest focused on the situation playing itself out before him.

The doctor collapsed the spyglass with a slap of the hand and began to run down the path that led towards the water, threading his way between several groups of people that had congregated on the paths to witness the incident on Rhum.

‘Excuse me!’ cried the doctor as he slipped between people and hastily made his way to the bay.

Gem realised that Tom was becoming increasingly frightened by the minute despite her attempts to calm him, and it seemed that the only thing stopping him from retreating within himself entirely was the fact that she held his hand so tightly that she physically propelled him along behind her as she traced the curling iron staircase upwards. The stairs seemed unrelenting and her legs burnt with effort as she climbed. Dust fell about them, making it difficult to hold her head up to see where she was going, or take deep breaths.

‘How much further?’ she called up to Ash who had broken away from her and was now a good ten or twelve steps in front. Behind them, Gem could hear the repetitive clanging of footsteps of others following them up the stairwell. She could only hope that none were the likes of Voyce or Payne, searching for them.

‘Don’t worry!’ shouted Ash backwards at Gem. ‘We’re almost there! This is an emergency exit and leads directly to the surface!’

Gem was thankful for the fact and glanced at Tom, his eyes wide and terrified. She could feel his flagging strength, but she knew she would not be able to lift him and move quickly enough should the situation require it. ‘Come on! Not much further!’ she said to Tom, trying to convince herself of the fact as she continued never-ending ascent of the stairwell.

As Dr Vandell reached the bay, the rapidity of his breathing difficult to control, he found he was not alone. Numerous people had also rushed to observe the nearby events at closer range, leading to groups of onlookers standing along the shore, staring out at the islands before them.

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The airship had begun moving in the direction of the mainland and Dr Vandell held the spyglass to his eye in order to closer inspect its course, which seemed to be gaining in both speed and altitude. The outline of a tall figure in a scarlet tunic drew the doctor’s attention, the man’s arms outstretched and leaning on the rail as he studied the scenes below him. The man flagged his arm at someone and then pointed, before the ship circled about and he disappeared from view.

Smoke continued to drift across the island, but it was unclear as to where it was originating. The soldiers had begun to form themselves into tight groups and were moving across the lower lands, their postures crouched and their rifles ready, but it seemed that the most part of the action was taking place on the far side of the island, out of sight.

Ash looked back down the tunnel from the hatchway that led into the bright sunlight and Gem welcomed the smell of fresh air.

She spilled out from the hatch and onto the wet grass, pulling Tom along behind her.

She began coughing as she cleared her throat and swallowed a great lungful of clear air.

Ash leant over her and patted her on the back, but Gem found herself pushing him away, needing a moment of solitude to compose herself.

‘Are you alright, Tom?’ asked Ash, turning his attention to the boy who looked back at him through a ghostlike face and hair covered with dust, his eyes red and muddy from tears.

Small groups of people gathered on the grass, a number clearly thankful to be free of the facility below and looked to be in a numbed state of shock, but most were staring into the sky. Gem looked up, following their eyes.

They were on the western side of the island, not far in a straight-line distance from the airfield where they had originally landed upon arrival, but were now in a more elevated position upon a hilltop with a commanding view of the area. High in the brilliant blue sky, little more than a mile off, a strange looking airship was moving south to north, trailing a great black cloud of oil rich smoke behind it as it went. The entire ship was armoured along the full length of its underside.

‘What’s that?’ said Gem, her eyes tracking the airship as it crossed before them.

‘Captain Bolt,’ replied Ash, as if it answered the question sufficiently. He crouched next to Gem and scanned the surroundings.

‘If you’re ready, we’d better move. We aren’t out of this yet,’ he said as a chilling reminder of the situation.

‘Where?’ she asked simply.

‘Army forces are moving from the east across the island and towards us. Some have been dropped about the facility to spearhead the attack, but they are too dangerous for us to attempt to reach, and they have their own problems to keep them occupied. We should get somewhere safe and wait until we see an opportunity.’

‘That’s it? That’s a plan?’ asked Gem with incredulity, reaching out and dusting Tom’s hair clean, a little harder than was necessary.

‘I…,’ began Ash, but faltered in his speech before shaking his head to himself and beginning to move away, keeping his body low against the hillside. ‘Rescuing you is not their first priority,’ he muttered as he went.

‘Come on,’ said Gem, looking at Tom and taking up his hand. ‘We don’t have much choice.’

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The trio retreated up the hill and they found themselves crawling between bushes until Ash decided they were concealed well enough.

Gem watched the mayhem act out below them as troops in scarlet tunics started to converge about the airfield where the great airship that had brought them to the island was attempting to take to the sky.

The facility guards began to make their presence felt as they rushed to defensive positions in an attempt to secure the airfield from the attack. Several rifle shots rang out and a soldier collapsed to the ground, clutching at his chest before falling still. Something small and dark flew through the air in the opposite direction, followed by a deafening explosion, billowing white smoke and a scream.

Gem wrapped Tom in her arms and shielded his eyes from the scenes, but she found herself unable to look away. Beyond the shore, a large ship cut a thick wake across the sea as it ran horizontally to the island, its two massive guns trained on the research facility.

The airship’s attempt to take off was brought to an abrupt end as its airborne counterpart swooped low over it and a repeated volley of cannon fire struck its growling engines, which then exploded in a torrent of smoke and flames. Immediately, the gangway was dropped and people began running back down to the ground, despite the fact it remained unsecured and swung dangerously free, several feet over the ground.

There were perhaps fifty troops approaching the airfield from numerous directions and approximately half the number of guards attempting to hold them off. The guards however, had secured themselves much better fortified positions from which to defend.

Shots began to crack out with increasing regularity, and from her higher purchase, Gem observed patterns in tactics beginning to develop from both sides. Small groups of soldiers were crawling through the high grass, attempting to outflank some of the positions where the guards had held up behind equipment and buildings.

Gem watched with cold horror as her eyes were drawn across the airfield to where Mr Payne and Mr Voyce exited from one of the main buildings, calmly walking side-by-side through the action without any apparent consideration as to their own wellbeing. Bullets and explosions went off around them, yet neither did as much as flinch, despite the close proximity of the dangers. After a further half dozen paces, the men split apart and faced in opposite directions. Both of the dark suited men stretched out their arms, and the following moments seemed almost surreal as they began directing their hands in what appeared to be orchestrated manoeuvres.

An invisible force began to cast soldiers backwards through the air and up to thirty feet across the ground.

Items scattered throughout the compound suddenly became weapons as the dark men focused on them and willed them into the air, where they became crude missiles aimed at the opposing forces. A nearby discarded toolbox presented an almost ceaseless supply of ammunition for Payne as he hurled its contents at the soldiers and began to halt their advance. Any returned fire that came particularly close to the men were met by something surrounding them that Gem could only liken to waves of heat shimmering from a stone on a hot summer’s day. The shimmering flashed on and off as opportune shots were taken, all to no avail.

Gem tracked one soldier as he industriously crawled around the men in a wide circle until he found a position from which to target Voyce. She held her breath in anticipation, wanting to stop the soldier from endangering himself, but all she could do was watch in mortified silence as the soldier fired a shot. The round failed to do anything other than draw 112

Voyce’ attention to his would-be attacker. An instant later, the young soldier found himself flailing in the air, his limbs writhing ineffectually as he struggled against the invisible force that had lifted him from the ground.

‘No!’ cried Gem. Ash put a hand to her arm, as if ready to hold her back should she attempt to run towards the action.

Voyce flung the solider into the distance with so much force that Gem could not see where he landed. She put her hand to her mouth and sobbed into it.

After that, the soldiers began to realise the futility of attacking Payne and Voyce, and started retreating.

The military airship had since turned its starboard side to face the dark men, and was aiming its cannons towards the ground. Three of the cannons fired simultaneously and each shell departed from the airship in an explosion of smoke. Gem looked back at Payne, who stood with both arms outstretched before his body and appeared to have caught the first of the three shells in mid flight, where it hovered several feet away from him. Voyce stood at his side and had done the same with the remaining two. Payne pulled his arm back and then thrust it quickly forward. Even across the distance that separated Gem from him, she could make out a look of cold cruelty that accompanied the shell as it returned through the air and struck the airship on the armoured skirting beneath its twin balloons. Voyce returned the remaining two shells, this time aiming at the underside of the airship’s decks. One deflected harmlessly away, but the second tore through between two plates of armour and devoured a large hole that ran deep into the heart of the lower platform of the airship’s body.

The ship rocked violently and its engines roared as its pilots attempted to turn it away from the men.

Voyce and Payne directed their attentions fully towards the retreating airship, which began to be dragged towards the earth. The great turbines screamed with effort at the escape, but the men were succeeding in pulling it from the sky. A disaster loomed and Gem watched helplessly while people on the decking struggled to hold onto the railings as the ship’s rear section tilted sharply towards the ground.

‘Wait!’ said Ash, putting his hand on Gem’s arm.

She had no idea to what he was referring to until it happened. The airship had afforded the ground troops enough opportunity to retreat at a rapid pace. Gem saw it before she heard it; the battleship in the nearby waters unleashed a barrage of fire from its two main guns, aimed directly at the complex. The guns visibly rocked on the surface of the ship and white clouds spat from their barrels. In the following short moments, Gem heard a piercing whistling coming towards them, before the hangers at the edge of the airfield exploded in a fierce fireball that engulfed the better part of the complex.

Payne and Voyce fell from their feet and were scattered across the ground.

Immediately, the screaming of the airship’s engines became a triumphant roar as it accelerated away from the ground and each second bought by the explosion put distance between it and the island.

A second set of shells released by the battleship struck a nearby building, almost entirely obliterating it, leaving only a burning framework behind.

A clearly dazed Payne and Voyce took to their feet, dusting themselves off. Both men looked around the scene before retreating to the doorway from which they had originally emerged.

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Tom pushed his face hard against Gem’s body and held his hands tightly to his ears.

She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and attempted to calm him.

Clouds of smoke and flames drifted across the airfield and many of the defending guards had fallen during the shelling of the compound.

‘That’s done it!’ exclaimed Ash, pointing at the battlefield where the army troops were already taking advantage of the absence of Payne and Voyce to force the remaining guards back.

Gem watched thankfully, as several guards lowered their weapons to the ground and surrendered. This had an immediate knock-on effect and other groups of guards, who decided they were better off appealing for mercy, followed suit and began to emerge from their positions.

The airship continued to gain both height and distance from the island, despite the significant damage inflicted upon it by Payne’s attack. It moved over the water and came to a position near that of the battleship below her.

‘Where did they go?’ asked Gem. ‘Payne and Voyce,’ she elaborated.

‘Back underground,’ stated Ash with a shrug.

‘What do we do now?’ questioned Gem, studying the boy as he looked down at the airfield and remains of the complex, his eyes narrow and observant.

‘We should wait a while longer, to make sure we don’t walk down there and blunder into any situations while the soldiers are finishing things off.’

Gem took a dislike to the term. ‘Who is Bolt? she asked, her arm still wrapped around Tom’s shoulders.

‘Captain Bolt,’ replied Ash in correction. ‘He is in charge of the operations. A great man. I’m sure you will meet him soon.’

‘I can’t wait,’ responded Gem with thinly veiled sarcasm. ‘He’s on the airship?’

‘Yes. Well, I assume so, he is better able to view the entire battlefield from there and direct the attacks.’

‘So, why is a boy like you in the army? Aren’t you a bit young to be a soldier?’

‘No,’ he answered sharply. ‘I’m fifteen.’ Several seconds passed before he continued.

‘I’m a spy, anyway.’

‘Aren’t you a little short to be a spy, then?’ she asked, deliberately goading him.

‘No, the best defence against them is children.’

‘What?’

‘We know that they can control people’s minds. Make them do things they don’t want to. They can’t do it to children, see? We think they might be able to read the thoughts and stuff of adults, so I was sent to infiltrate the base as a work-hand and report back on whatever I found.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Gem. ‘Who is Professor Gabriel? What does he want with Tom?’ ‘I don’t know,’ answered Ash, looking her directly in the eyes and Gem saw the sincerity within them. ‘I collect information. I don’t get given any, except what I need to know. Like you two, for example. My orders have been to destroy the facility’s power machine for over a week now, even before you got here. Two nights ago, I reported two children being brought onto the island by airship, and then last night, when I went to the shore to meet my contact and collect the bombs, I got told to bring you with me. I think it’s me that’s got the most questions, not you.’

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Chapter Fourteen

The Gallant Dr Vandell had peered through his spyglass until his eye was sore, learning little more than he had realised to begin with. Two gigantic plumes of smoke had belched into the air from the far side of Rhum, but what the cause had been, he could not tell. His fears for the children’s safety grew through the passing minutes as he watched helplessly from a distance.

A single battleship had remained in a stationary position off the nearside of the island, but it indicated nothing of the dramatics clearly underway on the western slopes.

Several people asked Dr Vandell what was happening, and he in turn asked several people if they had any better understanding of the events, until it became clear that nobody could enlighten anyone else.

During a period of seeming inactivity, the doctor spoke to the surrounding villagers until he located one who owned a fishing boat in the bay.

‘Will you take me out, closer to the island, so I can see for myself what is going on over there?’ he enquired hopefully. ‘I would be willing to pay quite handsomely.’

The thick-necked fisherman shook his head, steadfastly refusing to allow his boat out amongst the dangers before them. Dr Vandell understood well enough the man’s hesitation and did not pressure him any further to risk his life and livelihood.

Growing numbers of the village’s residents joined the increasing crowds around the bay. Some had viewing aids, but not many, and more than once Dr Vandell had been asked if he would share his spyglass, but he declined each request politely.

It was not long before a cluster of soldiers came running down the path leading out of the village and took positions along the bay front. They held their weapons across their chests and did not pay the people any attention, even when addressed directly. Silently, they held their positions, facing inland with blank expressions on their faces. An officer accompanying the soldiers proved more helpful, as he began to answer questions thrown at him, in a polite, all be it brief, manner.

‘What’s going on over on Rhum?’ shouted one voice from the small, but tightly packed crowd swelling around the officer.

‘Now, now,’ he replied in a very well to do English accent, raising his hands to plead for calm. ‘I am simply here to ask that nobody goes out of the bay for the time being, and to ensure nobody comes in through it. I wish I could supply more information at this time, but I can only ask you to stand back and not to interfere with Her Majesty’s military undertakings.’

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Dr Vandell smiled to himself at the phrase, but the request was ineffectual in its objective, as people began to push forwards and harass the officer, demanding fuller explanations of what was happening to their community.

The doctor elbowed through several villagers with forcefulness, apologising as he went.

‘What of two children on the island? A Tom and Gem, do you know anything about them?’ he shouted across at the now vastly overwhelmed officer who was retreating in a backwards manner to some of his troops.

‘No sir, I’m afraid I know nothing of any children! I will attempt to find out for you!’ he replied, before a dozen other questions being thrown at him stole his attention away.

Dr Vandell allowed the crowd to follow the harassed officer and he gave up on trying to find out any useful information, instead turning his spyglass once again to the island.

After remaining hidden for a good length of time, Ash finally decided it would be safe for them to move out. Gem had not pressured him as it had afforded an opportunity for her to calm Tom down considerably, and explain to Ash that Tom did not often talk, along with his dislike of being touched by anyone other than herself. She had also been pleasantly surprised to find Tom’s overcoat had been placed inside her laundry bag, and she carefully helped him on with it.

Gem decided to keep Tom’s powers to herself for the time being. Her trust was not something she arbitrarily gave away, and certainly not on a matter of this importance, thinking it wise not to vocalise any parallels between Payne, Voyce and Tom until she knew exactly what was happening.

Ash led them down to the airfield, but before they reached it, a group of three soldiers, holding their rifles extended, clearly unready to trust anyone, approached them.

Ash only had to mention his name and the soldiers afforded the party safe passage.

Gem followed, with Tom holding her hand and casting his eyes seemingly everywhere at once. She had asked Ash not to take them near any of the fallen or injured men, and he readily agreed, vocalising his lack of enthusiasm to do so himself.

The troops had directed the children around the far end of the airstrip, beyond the now silent airship and its crippled engines, that had failed to take off from the island during the battle. The airstrip itself was a confusion of debris and the air was still mixed with the burning scent of oil, but thankfully, a strong wind was largely carrying it out to sea.

Soon, they were walking towards the shoreline, leaving the facility well behind them and Gem was thankful for the fact. A soldier told them to remain where they were and the children stood against the chill of the wind, shivering while they waited, watching the great battleship patrolling the expanse of ocean before them.

The cold began to dissolve away as the military airship banked about and came back towards the island. It began loosing altitude slowly until its engines roared and it made a swooping manoeuvre that took it directly over their heads at a height of no more fifty feet and then continued inland some hundred yards or so. The soldiers and children watched as the airship came to a full stop and hovered above the ground. Its engines humming to keep it from drifting in the stiff wind.

Gem could clearly see the damage the airship had sustained during the battle in better detail, now she was closer. A long part of the walkway encircling the ship had been destroyed and hung over the lip of the armoured skirting beneath. Large pieces of a cabin had collapsed in on itself, and at points, she could see clear gaps straight through the body of the ship. She 116

heard a booming male voice breaking through the air, in what sounded like the barking of an order, and found herself jumping involuntarily as four small cannons from each corner of the airship fired shots at the nearby ground. Gem realised that the cannons were firing hooks to the ground, attached to thick metal cables, which were being reeled in, thereby anchoring the ship and allowing it to put down without the assistance of ground troops.

Dust from the dry earth was fed into the air as the engines whined with a final cry before falling idle. Shortly after, the crew lowered two gang walks to the ground and a number of further soldiers ran along their lengths to the island below.

The soldier that had been accompanying the children led the way forward until they were at the bottom of the gangway once it had cleared. Gem looked up at the ship, daunted at the prospect of another flight, before glancing towards Tom and Ash for confirmation, who both seemed unafraid and confidently strode up the gangway onto the lower deck. This time, it was Gem that needed calming from Tom as he pulled her by the hand and along the thin walkway, and she knew she would not be letting him go should the airship take to the air again.

Gem, Tom and Ash were shown up a number of steps to the second deck and wove their way along the busy walkways, moving aside to let serious faced soldiers pass, who gave the children no more than a passing glance. The leading soldier opened a door in the last section before the front nose of the airship, and waited while the children filed into the room.

Captain Bolt was the first thing Gem saw. His uniform was a far grander affair than any of the others, by a long way. The shoulders and cuffs of his red, tightly buttoned jacket had been intricately laced with a thick golden braiding. A sash cut across his chest from his right shoulder and under the other arm, crossing a large white belt running in the opposite direction, which carried the emblem of his regiment. The captain had a magnificent sword slung low on his hip in a black and silver scabbard. Two long pistols were carried tucked in the back of his belt in a crossed formation. Everything about him said military and his stern face, neatly side-parted hair and narrow eyes amplified a seriousness about him.

Bolt leant forward with both hands on a table that supported a large map and was in the process of talking to one of his officers. He tapped the map several times and finished his sentence before looking around at the children.

Gem assumed they were on the bridge of the airship. Endless banks of dials and handles littered the forward section of the room, surrounding a large brass wheel that was clearly used to steer the ship. Three other officers accompanied Bolt on his far side and had already cast their eyes on the children as they came into the room.

Bolt looked at the children and nodded seriously before striding forward to meet them. His chest and shoulders were enormous and he towered over the children like a colossus.

‘Dismissed,’ said the captain to the accompanying soldiers, who quickly turned and left.

‘Welcome onboard Gallant, and extremely well done.’ commended Bolt, reaching out directly towards Ash, who apprehensively responded to the gesture and shook his hand.

‘Thank you,’ said Ash. ‘You are quite a remarkable young man,’ said Bolt, putting his other hand to Ash’s shoulder. ‘Your country asked a great deal from you, and you responded with notable merit.’

Ash’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

‘It’s not to be underestimated just how much you contributed today.’

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‘Gabriel and the others?’ asked Ash, voicing Gem’s own question.

‘Well, they’ve gone back into the facility, but given that we have entirely destroyed their air vehicles and have control of the surrounding waters, I cannot see them going anywhere quickly. However, that is not to say that we are finished just yet. It would be a fool who lowers his guard now. Frankly, Voyce and Payne came as a shock, despite all we knew of them. They damn near took this ship down.’

‘Yes, we saw, sir,’ replied Ash. ‘And these must be the children brought to the island recently?’ said Bolt, turning his attention to Tom and Gem, who stood beneath him, holding hands and looking up.

‘Yes, sir,’ said Ash. ‘Gem and Tom,’ he added, pointing unnecessarily to each in turn.

‘Welcome aboard, Gem and Tom,’ said Captain Bolt, smiling for the first time, but all too quickly it disappeared, as if the effort were too much.

‘Thank you,’ said Gem. A young officer, flustered and bearing an expression of anxiety, burst into the room.

‘Sir!’ he said, breathless. ‘They’re escaping!’

‘Escaping?’ replied Bolt. ‘How?’ ‘Through the sea, sir. They’ve got some kind of submarine. It’s bigger than anything we’ve ever seen!’

‘Well, get us in the air and ready the charges!’ barked Bolt, walking away from the children.

‘Yes, sir!’ responded the soldier, saluting before removing himself in the anxious manner in which he had entered.

Bolt shook his head, ‘Damn!’

He pushed past the children, and through the door they had entered by. Gem and Ash looked at each other before timidly following. Bolt leant with both hands upon the railing, staring out to sea, the children at his back.

A horn blasted the air in two quick successive cries and troops on the ground cut away the ropes that held the great airship down. Numerous voices shouted orders and soldiers took positions throughout the ship as the engines powered into life. Within no time, they were airborne again. Gem gripped the railing beside her. She felt she would be alright, so long as they did not go too high, but a panic was mounting notably within her stomach. She managed to reach out and grasp Tom’s hand, who was curiously studying everything around him. A detached calmness washed through her, emanating from him, for which she was grateful.

The Gallant turned gently and headed out to sea at a steady pace, low over the water.

Soldiers leant over the edge of the railings, looking into the waves for any signs of the submarine. Several took up viewing positions and surveyed the surface of the sea with telescopes mounted on pivot points along the edge of the ship.

On the ocean ahead, the battleship was turning in as tight an arc as it seemed it could, heading out to deeper waters, and Gem noticed something flashing on its decks, looking like a mirror catching and reflecting the sun.

Captain Bolt watched the flashing intently, before shouting back to the bridge through the open door. ‘Take us due west, directly over the Defiant. She sees them!’

In little more time that it took the order to be understood, the airship was following the battleship out to sea.

‘There!’ shouted a soldier with a telescope trained upon the water. ‘I see it! A submarine! It’s huge!’

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‘Mark!’ cried Bolt at the man.

‘Five degrees, port side, sir. Just out in front of the Defiant.’

‘Five degrees, port side!’ shouted Bolt once again at the pilot. ‘Are the charges ready?’ he asked as the fresh faced officer reappeared once again.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good. Have the men wait for my order.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said the man, stepping back slightly and waiting.

There was a further series of flashing from the ship in front.

‘They’re loosing them. Flank speed, Mr Campbell.’

‘Aye, sir,’ replied the pilot, pushing forward a heavy looking leaver beside him one more notch until it locked in position and could move no further forward.

The engines simply screamed and began thrusting the airship across the sea at a remarkable speed. The ocean waves beneath began to blur, and within half a minute they had overtaken the battleship Defiant and Gem began to see what it was they were chasing.

Noticeably faster than its top-side counterpart, a vast dark shape sliced through beneath the ocean’s surface, attempting to make an escape to deeper waters, but the Gallant was able to make steady ground on the submarine.

‘Ready charges!’ shouted Bolt, leaning far over the railing, in an apparent attempt to reach the target before the airship.

‘Ready!’ shouted the young officer in response.

‘Ready…’ said Bolt as they began to creep slowly over the dark shape beneath them.

The submarine was at least the length of the airship, but narrower, in a sleek and fishlike design. Details were not clear, but Gem could sense the evil men below. She realised that it was not she who could sense Voyce and Payne, it was Tom. He looked agitated and frightened, and Gem knew that the inhibitor was loosing effect, allowing him to begin to sense things again, and she was thankful.

‘Fire!’ shouted Bolt.

‘Fire!’ repeated the officer, repeatedly pulling a brass handle which signalled three sharp shrills from bells about the ship.

Gem looked back along the Gallant’s body as objects she could only describe as iron barrels, as large as the washtubs used at the refuge, were cast over the edges of the ship and to the ocean beneath.

The barrels sunk quickly away but were soon followed by tremendous explosions which threw giant fountains of water into the air.

‘Again!’ ordered Bolt.

Once more, the officer rang the bell and a new set of barrels were thrown overboard, followed by a further round of detonations.

Gem felt several drops of water spray across her body, and had to wipe one from her forehead.

‘Wait!’ said Bolt, holding one hand up in signal, staring intently at the ocean’s surface.

He waited until the disturbances had subsided and they all looked across the ocean for the dark shape of the submarine.

Nothing.

Bolt struck the rail with a clenched fist. ‘Damn!’ he swore. ‘Slow to one third and take us up to two-hundred feet.’

‘Aye, sir,’ replied the pilot, quickly taking measure to ensure the order was carried out.

They rose into the sky and the soldiers studied the water apprehensively.

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‘Maybe we sunk them, sir,’ suggested Ash. ‘I doubt it, young fellow,’ replied Captain Bolt, his eyes remaining trained on the sea. ‘I doubt it… Damn!’

‘Damn!’ said Tom. ‘Tom!’ cried Gem. Bolt look intently out at the sea, his eyes still scanning the distance. ‘Yes, young man.

Profanity is not something you should take to so early in life,’ he said.

The Gallant and Defiant scouted the waters in increasing circles for a further hour before Bolt agreed that they were not going to locate the submarine. In the meantime, the children had been brought to the bridge and given food and water from the soldiers’ rations.

Captain Bolt returned from the walkway, closing the door behind him. The bridge room was not warm by any stretch of the imagination, but it was at least sheltered from the wind and kept away the worst of the bitingly cold sea breeze.

‘Turn us about and take us back to Rhum at three quarters,’ he said to the pilot.

Bells rang and the pilot pulled a handle and turned the huge steering wheel in great arcs, until the airship was facing inland and they began their return journey.

‘Well,’ said Bolt, crossing his arms and looking down at Gem and Tom. ‘Perhaps now is a good time for you to explain what you are doing here?’

‘We were brought onboard, sir,’ replied Gem in a flustered confusion, daunted by the imposing form of the captain.

‘No, my dear. I mean to ask; what brought you to Rhum? You’re important to Gabriel, and that makes you important to me. I need to know why.’

‘Oh, erm…’ she looked about helplessly, not quite knowing how much to say. ‘We were kidnapped, sir.’

‘Really?’ said Bolt, doing little more than raising his eyebrow a mere fraction.

‘It’s Tom, sir. They’re after Tom.’ ‘Ah, and why would that be?’ he asked. Every word seemed to reach deep into Gem and crumble any defences she tried to put up.

‘I honestly don’t know, sir. He seems to have the same abilities as Payne and Voyce; to move things with his mind.’

‘Dear God!’ exclaimed Bolt, turning all his attention to Tom. ‘Dear God!’ copied Tom in a sudden exclamation.

Bolt’s eyebrow arched even more to indicate his surprise, ‘Try not to blaspheme, boy,’ he replied. ‘You must excuse me,’ he said in apology. ‘I’m not often around children and I find my manners lacking.’

‘Twenty-nine. Forty-seven. Seventy-nine,’ responded Tom, pointing at the captain.

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Bolt, clearly thrown off his guard.

‘He does that. He says numbers. I think he means your medals,’ said Gem, pointing back to where Tom had indicated to a cluster of medals hanging from the captain’s tunic.

‘He finds it difficult to communicate with people,’ said Gem, outlining the situation as simply as she could. ‘Please don’t touch him. He won’t allow anyone else to touch him.’

‘Oh?’ said Bolt.

‘Dr Vandell says Tom needs special care.’

‘Really? And who is Dr Vandell?’

‘He runs the refuge in Coventry, where we ran away from.’

‘Ran away? He’s an undesirable character, is he, this Dr Vandell?’

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‘No, sir, he is the best man I know.’

Bolt shook his head, clearly confused and with a great deal on his mind. ‘Let me ask you this, Gem; if I were to sit down and discuss everything in detail with you later, is there anything I need to know, right now, that may have a bearing on all this?’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Gem. ‘No.’ ‘Very well. Then,’ he said, turning to Ash. ‘I want you, Ash, to take them to my personal quarters and wait there. In the meantime, we will return to Rhum and assist with the operation there. This evening, we will find somewhere to discuss all this.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Ash, nodding resolutely.

Ash escorted Gem and Tom to Captain Bolt’s cabin, and it quickly became apparent that he had little idea of where he was going, as he stopped to ask several soldiers for directions as they passed.

Gem refused to let go of Tom’s hand while they skirted around the ship, knowing that the instant she did, she would be plunged alone into her fear of heights. Once inside the body of the airship, she felt a little safer, and notably better after she sat down when they had finally found the captain’s quarters. The room was not large, but at least seemed slightly more personalised than the rest of the interior of the Gallant. A single thin window allowed them to see little of what was happening outside, much to Gem’s relief, but it did provide a good natural light source.

A table pushed against the far partitioning wall had two small chairs tucked under it, upon which Gem and Ash seated themselves and took up a pack of cards in order to pass the time. Tom lay on the captain’s bunk, and despite Gem’s efforts to remove him, he steadfastly refused to comply, curling up into a tight ball before falling asleep. She found it difficult to blame him, she still had no idea herself of what it was Gabriel had done to him at the facility.

Ash disappeared for a time before returning with milk and shortbread, which he handed around, but little else happened until night fell and they had to light the oil lamp on the table to see each other clearly.

The wall-mounted clock showed it was approaching seven o’clock in the evening when Captain Bolt finally reappeared.

‘You made yourselves comfortable?’ he said, surveying the scene before him, his eyes falling over scattered objects, ruffled bed sheets, half eaten biscuits and a pack of playing cards that looked as if they had been wantonly thrown about the room, which they had.

‘Er, yes sir,’ replied Ash, nervously standing and rushing to collect up the playing cards.

‘This Dr Vandell, you mentioned earlier,’ prompted Bolt, shaking his head at the mess presented to him.

‘Yes,’ answered Gem. ‘You have complete faith in him?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And how is it you know him?’

‘He owns the refuge for homeless and destitute children, where I lived. Live. Lived,’ said Gem, floundering to answer the question accurately.

‘He’s on the mainland, nearby. Do you want to see him?’ asked Bolt, studying Tom, who was stretched out on his bed, his eyes still firmly closed, his shoes making muddy marks on the bedding.

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‘Oh, please!’ cried Gem, a wash of pleasure seizing her for the first time in as long as she could remember.

‘Apparently, he spoke to one of my officers, and by chance I heard about it. Well, in this case, we’ll put down at Arisiag and meet with him. Then, perhaps you can all tell me you full stories from your perspectives and we can begin to form something out of this… mess,’ was the word he chose to use, looking around the room.

Half an hour later, the Gallant had landed in a field occupied by a group of clearly unimpressed sheep, and Gem was bouncing down the gangway to the ground, her eyes as wide open as her arms, running towards Dr Vandell, who she recognised immediately by his shadowed frame and posture in the moonlight.

‘Dr Vandell!’ she cried, hugging him tightly.

‘Gem,’ answered Dr Vandell, holding her head to his chest. ‘I…’ he stammered.

‘Well!’ was all he could manage.

Gem wept, hiding her face against his jacket. She did not want anyone to see how pleased she was to see the doctor, but the emotion was overwhelming her. The previous days had taken more of a toll on her than she had realised and the relief at seeing Dr Vandell was too much.

The pair stood hugging each other for what seemed like an eternity as Tom and Ash caught up to them.

‘Tom,’ said Dr Vandell, in acknowledgement of the young boy, but Tom’s attention was occupied by the sheep.

Gem finally released the doctor and took a step back, rubbing at her eyes and trying desperately to hide the fact she had been crying. ‘This is Ash,’ she said. ‘And, this is Dr Vandell,’ she added, introducing the pair to each other.

‘Hello, Ash,’ said Dr Vandell, stepping forward and shaking the boy’s hand.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr Vandell,’ replied Ash with a smile.

‘Who brought you here?’ questioned the doctor, looking down at Gem. ‘I did,’ remarked a strong confident voice from some way behind them.

Captain Bolt strode down the gangway and across the field, his gloved hand on the hilt of his sword.

‘Then, I am in your debt…’

‘Captain Bolt, sir. At your service,’ he said, shaking hands while introducing himself to the doctor.

‘Dr Vandell.’

‘Hello, doctor.’

‘Hello, captain.’ Dr Vandell rubbed his hands together, signifying the cold. How long he had stood there, Gem did not know, but he looked chilled to the bone, as if his grey hair and beard were actually white with frost. ‘Shall we go inside?’ he suggested.

‘You have somewhere in mind?’ asked Bolt.

‘I’m staying at a local inn, and your soldiers seem already to have set themselves up somewhat in there.’

‘Very well. Please, lead the way, doctor,’ said Bolt in agreement.

‘I’m sure the inn keeper can whip you up some hot food, if you would like,’ proposed Dr Vandell.

Gem walked alongside the doctor, more than elated at being reunited with him, despite the events of the day and the awful things she had witnessed.

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The field soon became a dirt track, which in turn became a cobblestoned pathway and led them, more or less, directly to the inn.

The warm air greeted them as the doctor opened the door and led them inside. A group of a dozen or so red-coated soldiers were sitting about the bar, drinking pints of ale, while others played darts. Their eyes passed over the doctor and the children as they entered, but suddenly widened when they saw Captain Bolt.

‘Sir!’ said one, standing to attention, knocking his pint mug, causing some of its contents to slop across the table’s surface.

‘At ease, soldier,’ replied Bolt. ‘I trust you are all off duty,’ began the captain, surveying the apprehensive looking men.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied one of the men with a lack of confidence as he addressed the captain.

‘Well, as you were then,’ answered Bolt, ‘but I don’t need drunken soldiers in the morning.’ Slowly, the men began to talk again, while observing the captain warily.

Dr Vandell stepped to the bar and leant across to speak to Douglas. ‘Is there perhaps another room, we could use?’ he asked of the man behind the bar.

‘Aye, doctor, there’s the dining room.’

‘Dining room?’ remarked the Dr Vandell, taken aback. ‘You have a dining room?’

‘Aye, although we don’t use it often, only when we have guests and seeing as it was just yourself staying with us, I thought you’d not mind taking your food in here.’

Douglas shifted his big frame around the bar and led the party through a low doorway, which while the doctor stooped to get through it, Captain Bolt had to duck noticeably to enter the room.

‘Here you are,’ said Douglas, showing them into a small, but functional dining room.

There were four tables, each large enough to seat up to six people. A gas lamp hung low in the middle of the ceiling and Douglas pulled on a chain to turn it up. There was a fireplace at the far end of the room, but it had not been lit, and the temperature provided from the next room seemed sufficient without it.

Bolt unfastened his sword and scabbard, and laid them on the table nearest to the door. He then pulled his gloves off and dropped them beside the sword while his eyes took in the room.

Dr Vandell sat himself at the room’s central table and reached for his cigar case before lighting a remaining length of a half burnt cigar. Gem felt strangely comforted by the smell and took a seat next to him.

‘Is there any food this evening?’ he asked of the innkeeper.

‘Oh, aye, we have a good rabbit stew which we put on for the soldiers. There’s plenty.’

‘Good, would you be able to bring us some?’

Everyone nodded in agreement and took their seats around the table.

‘Well,’ began Captain Bolt, pushing his hands together and out upon the table. We have a great deal to discuss. I need to hear everything that brought you here, from each of you. And, I need to know why this boy is so important to Gabriel.’

The doctor nodded deeply, continuing to puff upon his cigar, but said nothing.

‘Who was the first to meet him?’ asked Bolt, looking between Gem and Dr Vandell.

‘Well, I suppose that would have been me,’ answered the doctor.

During the next hour and a half, Gem and Dr Vandell began to tell of how they had met Tom and what they had discovered about him. They recounted the stories of Voyce and Payne, and Gem began to explain about how she had witnessed Tom’s strange abilities, all of which seemed almost too much for the doctor to take in as he learnt about it.

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It became necessary for Gem to ask Tom to display his ability, and holding his hand, while calmly talking to him, he did as he was asked; levitating Dr Vandell’s cigar case before an incredulous audience. The story then turned to the island and of how Gem and Tom had met Professor Gabriel and their subsequent escape.

Eventually, they had explained everything they knew and looked back at Bolt, waiting for him to elaborate his side of events.

‘Professor Gabriel became an unacceptable threat to the security of the British Empire. After receiving almost unlimited resources and becoming less appreciative and accountable for the fact, my orders were to defeat him in any way possible.’

‘You knew what Voyce and Payne could do?’ asked Gem. ‘Not entirely. We understood they had certain abilities, but had little idea that they were so… well developed.’ Gem thought for a moment that he had backed away from the use of the word “powerful”.

‘There is more,’ he added. ‘I think you are entitled to know, but equally, I don’t believe that you will comprehend what I am going to tell you, unless you see it for yourselves. For that, I think we have to return to London.’

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Chapter Fifteen

The Thunder and the Fear It was early the following morning, just after an overcast dawn heavy with grey clouds, when Dr Vandell led the children across the field and they boarded the Gallant for the journey to London. Something was clearly bothering him, but he did not wish to discuss it.

‘It’s alright,’ he had deflected, when lightly pressured by Gem. ‘It’s alright.’

Captain Bolt had returned to the Gallant with Ash the previous evening, and they were both found waiting on the airship’s bridge. Ash stood several paces back from Captain Bolt, who was huddled over the map table with four of his officers.

‘Good morning, Dr Vandell,’ said Ash, shaking the man’s hand in a warm greeting as they entered.

‘Well, good morning to you, too,’ replied Dr Vandell.

‘Hello,’ greeted Ash, leaning around the doctor and waving at Gem and Tom. Tom was bleary eyed and only too happy to follow Gem as she held his hand and led him about the airship.

‘Good morning,’ said Gem, waving in response with her free hand.

Captain Bolt turned his head away from his meeting for a moment and nodded at the party. ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid the weather today is going to be a little on the grim side. We can expect some heavy rain, or so I’m informed. It shouldn’t hamper us too much in our journey to London. All being well, we will arrive at about eighteen hundred, or six o’clock, this evening.’

Dr Vandell nodded. ‘Thank you captain,’ he responded with a deep bow.

‘I had the cargo hold on the lower deck fitted with a table and some chairs. It should be reasonably comfortable for the duration of the flight. I’m sorry that I cannot offer more.’

Gem wondered how much Bolt had resented them using his personal quarters the previous day, finding herself smiling at the thought.

‘You’re all most welcome to move freely about the ship, and, of course, to stay here for the ascent, if you would like.’

Gem found herself answering on behalf of the group. ‘No, thank you,’ she said firmly.

The doctor smiled at Captain Bolt, an eye half on Gem, clearly understanding her reluctance to observe their departure. ‘Apparently not, but thank you. We’ll go below for the time being.’

Captain Bolt nodded in agreement and Ash led the way as the doctor herded Gem and Tom out of the door.

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Gem looked up to follow Ash along the walkway. The sky seemed even darker in the short moments they had spent in the bridge, and rain began to dust her face. The best thing she could do, she surmised, was to go below and pretend it all was not happening.

The vagrant saw an opportunity.

The servant boy had darted out of the door without pausing to close it fully, and down the street, disappearing into the dark morning rain, It would be dangerous, but the vagrant had certain advantages, and with the boy gone, so had the most unpredictable element.

He quickly lurched from his shelter under a shadowed alcove across the alleyway, and began to approach the rear of the house through the iron gate.

The terraced property was tall and narrow. Its white painted brickwork face reached up a good four levels. Undoubtedly, he would have to make his way to the topmost level for what he sought.

The yard was tidy, paved, and devoid of anything beyond a padlocked coal shed. The man shifted sideways through the yard, his tattered overcoat flowing about him as he moved.

He paused for a moment, studying the windows in an attempt to see if anyone overlooked the yard and had observed his entrance. The rain fell upon him as he gazed up, and a thin streak of water ran down his forehead, accumulating brown dirt on its journey.

It had been the previous evening, when he had watched the thin silver-haired woman, and her equally gaunt looking husband, leave the theatre. She had been covered in a collection of jewellery, which she took great lengths to carry before her in an extravagant posture of display. Her head had been held slanted to one side and tossed back to ensure passers-by were engaged by both her earrings and necklace at the same time. Her hands had been hooked under her chest, emulating the posture of a rodent on its hind legs, enabling her to flaunt the overwhelming number of rings and bracelets she had forced on. The entire display had ultimately been a more than effective exercise in attention seeking, leading to the vagrant following the pair home, mesmerised by the trinkets. He could, of course, have taken the jewellery at anytime he wished, but that was not his way.

The vagrant pushed the rear door to the house, which the boy had left open, and it swung easily at his touch. He could sense people in near proximity to him, but it meant little.

They could be through the wall, in the neighbouring house, or on the floor above. He took a cautious step into the house, droplets of rain falling from his overcoat to the wooden flooring as he moved inside.

Two voices came from nearby, but nobody was visible and they sounded dull, as if from another room. He poked his long face around the door, finding himself in a short hallway, from which two further doors led into the house. He listened for a moment and determined the voices were coming from the kitchen, through the door to his right, where a man and woman were discussing the sharp rise in price of something, and it sounded as if one or both of them were washing dishes by the repeated chinking of porcelain.

He moved swiftly by, taking the remaining doorway before him.

Pushing the door open a fraction, he peered through the gap as it widened, seeing a longer hallway that ran alongside the main staircase and up to the front door.

The hallway was empty, so he slipped quietly through, closing the door behind himself with only the faintest of clicks from the latch.

The rest of the house was silent, other than a tall grandfather clock positioned at the foot of the stairs near the front door, ticking rhythmically to itself.

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The vagrant scurried along the hallway, hooking quickly around the bottom banisters of the staircase and quietly creeping up it.

As he reached the second floor, the staircase ended and he found that he needed to walk a short way along the next hallway that it fed onto before he would be able to climb up the next set of stairs. Glancing back on himself, he scowled, seeing a trail of muddied footprints tracing his path.

His dirt-embedded hands held before him, the vagrant skulked along the passage and up the second stairway, the floorboards creaking with each footstep.

As he reached the top of the second set of stairs and examined his surroundings, he found that he needed to turn about on himself before taking the final flight of steps to the uppermost floor. He was about to do so, when he heard a deep rumbling emanating from a nearby room.

The man came to a dead halt, listening intently to his surroundings. It happened again; a muffled rumbling from a room at the end of the hallway.

He smiled.

Sliding silently along the hallway, the vagrant reached the closed door from behind which the noise issued. He wrapped his dirty, long-nailed fingers around the polished door handle and turned. The lock clicked and he waited. The rumbling came again. He carefully pushed the door open and looked upon the room beyond.

The thin woman from the previous evening lay on her back, mouth agape, snoring. A white sleeping mask beneath a frilled nightcap covered her eyes. Her husband lay quietly on his side, curled under the blankets, as meek looking in his sleep as he had appeared the night before.

Pushing the door open wider, the vagrant entered the room with a growing confidence. He saw the dressing table at the end of the room, a horrendous looking piece of excessively decorative craftsmanship. Upon its surface was a large jewellery box, segregated into numerous little drawers. He opened the first compartment and immediately liked what he saw; a broach encrusted with scores of tiny black stones. He pushed the item into his pocket and pulled open the next drawer. This time he found a collection of delicate silver hairpins with small animals at the end of each one. They interested him only for their pins.

The following drawers revealed dozens of pieces that he enthusiastically thrust into his overcoat. He was almost finished when he heard a deep voice cry out and rapid steps behind him.

Instantly, the vagrant knew his trail of footprints had been discovered and were leading a servant straight to him. He was more than capable of dealing with the approaching man, but he chose instead to complete his venture with a conclusion that would leave the owners and the police at a loss to explain.

Moving to the bedroom window, he pulled down on the curled iron handle and pushed the frame open.

Cold air rushed in and the rain hit the outside window ledge with an audible force.

Behind him, the vagrant heard the woman stirring, her snoring abruptly halting. He climbed upon a nearby chair and out onto the window ledge overlooking the paved yard forty feet below. A man shouted behind him, and he jumped.

In the following weeks, Mr and Mrs Banner became minor celebrities within their social circle as they told, and retold, of how the most undesirable man had stolen their precious jewellery and then leapt an impossible height from their bedroom window to a certain death, only then to have subsequently vanished. Of course, Mrs Banner would then 127

display her newly purchased replacement jewellery upon conclusion of the story, for all to see.

The airship’s journey was becoming more turbulent by the minute. Thunder boomed in the near distance and Gem could hear the heavy rattling of rain striking the outer skin of the cargo hold, despite the sound of the engines.

A game of gin rummy was in full flow, with Gem and Tom playing together against Ash and Dr Vandell. Gem allowed Tom to hold the cards, which he quite happily did, but her mind was elsewhere as the thunder cracked again.

‘What happens if we get hit by lightning?’ asked Gem, looking from side to side, as if she were able to see through the walls of the hold.

‘Oh, I’m sure this is a common occurrence with airships. I doubt its anything to worry about, Gem,’ replied Dr Vandell attempting to comfort her.

‘Common occurrence? Meaning that they get hit by lightning, or, that they commonly fly recklessly through storms?’

‘Now, now,’ said Dr Vandell, reaching across the table and exchanging a card from his hand for one from the pile. ‘I’m sure we are safe. Wouldn’t you say so, Ash?’ he asked of the boy beside him.

‘Oh yes,’ said Ash, taking a card, but discarding it immediately. ‘I’ve been through worse...,’ his words were cut off by a clap of thunder so close that Gem jumped from her seat, bumping the table and pushing her chair backwards.

‘I can’t stand this!’ she cried, pacing away, putting a trembling hand to her mouth.

Tom looked up at her from beneath his shaggy fringe and showed her the cards he held in a tight fan. ‘Jewel,’ he said, prompting her to return to the game.

‘I can’t, Tom. Not now,’ she replied, nervously wringing her hands together. ‘This is too much to bear. How high are we?’ she asked of Ash. ‘Well, I don’t know. When I went up earlier, I could see the tops of trees, perhaps as much as a tall cloud-breaker beneath us. Captain Bolt doesn’t like to take the Gallant too high.’

‘That’s reassuring,’ said Gem sarcastically, unsure of whether the shaking sensation she felt was in her legs, or the floor of the airship.

‘You asked,’ replied Ash coldly, returning his eyes to his cards.

‘Gin!’ said Dr Vandell, placing his cards down in a flourish upon the surface of the small table.

‘Gin!’ repeated Tom, mimicking Dr Vandell’s actions and looking pleased with himself.

Gem found herself smile for an instant, but it disappeared too quickly at a further thunderous rumbling nearby.

‘I don’t think we should be flying through a thunderstorm,’ said Gem, shaking her head vigorously. ‘Why couldn’t we take the train back?’ she asked of nobody in particular.

Dr Vandell sighed gently and lifted himself out of his seat. He walked to Gem’s side and wrapped his large arm around her shoulders. Gem turned in to him and laid her head on his arm.

‘It’s alright, Gem,’ he said in a confident and reassuring tone.

‘Jewel?’ said Tom from somewhere beside her.

Gem looked down and found Tom slipping his hand around her own and immediately she began to feel stronger.

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*** Gem’s nerves were thoroughly shattered by the time the airship’s horn sounded in recognition of its landing and she felt the shudder of the engines shutting down. She breathed a sigh of relief and elatedly kissed Tom on the forehead, who returned her affection with a bemused look. The thunder had long since stopped, but it had not completely vanquished her fears.

‘Thank you,’ she said, letting him go and taking to her feet from the curled position she had adopted against the far corner of the cargo bay.

Ash and the doctor returned down the steep iron staircase that gave access to the cargo hold. They both looked wet, but were smiling.

‘The view over London is magnificent!’ remarked Dr Vandell, wiping raindrops from his jacket. ‘But, it’s still raining out there.’

‘We’ve docked?’ asked Gem of Ash. ‘Yes, we have. We’re here!’

‘You could see the Thames and Parliament,’ described the doctor excitedly. ‘I’ve never liked London, but from the air, you can see for miles, and as it’s dark, the lights give it all a certain quality that’s hard to describe.’

‘I’m just pleased we got through the flight,’ said Gem, unable to join them in their enthusiastically buoyant moods.

‘Yes, that wasn’t pleasant,’ agreed the doctor.

‘Wasn’t pleasant?’ repeated Gem with a rising pitch of incredulity in her voice.

‘Still, it’s over now.’

Gem released a tut and shook her head, amazed at how lightly they all seemed to treat the voyage.

‘We’re to meet Captain Bolt once we are off the ship,’ said Ash, clearly waiting for Gem and Tom to join them in returning outside.

Tom was busily fastening the buttons along his jacket.

‘Come on, take my hand,’ said Gem, reaching out towards him.

Tom slowly completed buttoning his jacket and then took Gem’s hand, who tugged him behind her as she stomped up the stairs and pulled open the heavy door which lead to the airship’s outer walkway.

‘Gem!’ cried the doctor. ‘There’s something you need to know!’

It was too late. Gem had already come face to face with the continuance of her nightmare. Rain and wind pitched from the dark night sky whipped about her face, throwing her hair in every direction as she stood open mouthed, staring ahead, gripping Tom’s hand tighter by the second.

The airship had indeed docked, but she had not expected it to do so at the top of one of the highest cloud-breakers London appeared to have to offer.

‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’ cried the doctor, rapidly approaching up the staircase behind her. ‘I didn’t think. I was thoughtless!’

London stretched in a vast blanket of lights and silhouettes of buildings before her.

Neighbouring cloud-breakers rose with them and far beneath she could see the high network of mono-tram rails stretching over the roads. In the distance, she could see the face of the Parliament clock tower framed by a full moon partially overcast by dark clouds.

‘Oh, my,’ she said simply, the colour fading from her cheeks.

‘Jewel!’ said Tom from beside her.

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Steeling her wide eyes away from the terror, she looked down at him.

‘Jewel!’ repeated Tom. ‘I’m sorry!’ she said, realising she was crushing his hand. She released some pressure, but could not let him go. ‘I’m never flying again,’ she said. ‘Ever.’

‘Come on,’ said Dr Vandell, putting his hands on her shoulders and actively turning her away from the scene. ‘Let’s get down.’

The group descended the gangway and onto the rooftop of the building to which they had moored.

The roof itself was approximately twice as great in width and length as the airship, and was interrupted with several levels of structure. A safety rail ran around the edge of the building, but to Gem’s horror, it was little more than knee height, and looked totally ineffective. She felt a sickening pull of the edge and a familiar cold perspiration began to creep over her.

‘Hello!’ cried a voice nearby, through the high howling wind. They all turned their heads, finding Captain Bolt walking towards them, the sword at his side swinging wildly and Gem wondered how he tolerated it.

‘Hello,’ replied Dr Vandell.

‘Rather rough trip, which I feel I must apologise for,’ said Bolt, reaching them.

‘Oh, not at all,’ remarked the doctor.

‘Come, come,’ said Bolt turning back on himself, and indicating they should follow with a sweep of his arm. ‘Let’s get out of this damn rain!’

‘Quite,’ agreed the doctor.

‘Damn,’ said Tom. ‘I thought we’d discussed verbal vulgarities, Tom,’ shouted Bolt over the gale, glancing over his shoulder at the boy.

Gem followed Bolt, finding it difficult to get her legs to move as quickly as the rest of the party. She decided to keep her eyes fixed on the twin pistols tucked in the back of Captain Bolt’s white belt. It was a trick that worked effectively enough to allow her to get across the rooftop without too much difficulty. She trailed everyone through a doorway and down a twisting staircase into the building’s interior.

The stairs curved down and through an entrance that opened into a corridor separated along the length of its polished wooden floor by double doors, the uppermost parts being windowed with a frosted glass. Offices fed off the corridor at intervals. Each door had a small sign on it indicating the room number. There nearest read, “Room 102-B13”, the next “Room 102-B14”. Occasionally the doors had more explanatory signs alongside such as “D.S. File Archive”. ‘We’re on floor one-hundred and two, aren’t we?’ she said to Ash. Ash smiled, but it was the smile of someone that was not about to confirm a detail that was likely to upset someone further.

‘What is this place?’ asked the doctor.

‘Her Majesty’s government’s eyes and ears,’ replied Captain Bolt, leading the way, pushing through the double doors before him. ‘MID.’ ‘Military Intelligence Department,’ added Ash in explanation.

‘Oh?’ said Gem, a growing intrigue enveloping her enough to dampen her fear of heights.

‘Yes,’ continued Bolt. ‘Ash and I are attached to the Secret Service Division, SSD. Every piece of information our spies gather worldwide is fed back here and examined 130

thoroughly for anything it might offer us. If something warrants further investigation, or action, then we, at SSD, are brought in.’

‘Do you run this place?’ asked Gem. Bolt laughed briefly, bringing the group to a halt beside a recessed break in the corridor’s wall and pushing a big black button mounted on its surface. ‘No, my dear. I wouldn’t like to be stuck in one of these stuffy offices too much. To be honest, I’m simply using it for the moment as somewhere to anchor the Gallant, while we are in London. She’s going to need repairs soon,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘She’s quite a magnificent ship, captain,’ said Dr Vandell.

‘Thank you. She is rather, isn’t she? She’s unique in her design. Unfortunately, the engines are based on a design by Gabriel, which leads me to believe he has kept faster for himself. Take that damn submarine; we’ve nothing approaching it. The Defiant couldn’t keep up with it, and she’s one of the fastest ships we have.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ash. ‘For what?’ asked Bolt.

‘For not knowing about the submarine. It must have been in one of the areas offlimits to me.’

‘It’s alright, Ash. You did more than we could have hoped for.’

‘I should have found a way, and then perhaps they wouldn’t have escaped.’

Bolt directly faced the boy and put his hands on Ash’s shoulders. ‘There will be many times in life as you get older, Ash, when you look back and think of how things could have been, actions you could have taken. Reflecting upon such things is worthwhile, because we learn from them, but dwelling upon them is destructive. The fact is, you didn’t know, and you weren’t supposed to. Gabriel went to great lengths to keep the submarine a secret, but with your help, we dealt him a crippling blow. You also did something that may yet have a major impact. You brought him to us,’ said Bolt, pointing at Tom. ‘Now, where’s this damn thing?’ cursed Bolt, pressing again at the wall-mounted button, only for a bell to ping a fraction of a second later. ‘Ah!’ he remarked, pulling at a handle on the door before them, sliding it back to reveal a tiny enclosed space. Bolt stepped inside the compartment and turned to face the party. ‘This will take us down.’

Gem was slightly apprehensive, but the doctor showed no such concerns as he joined the captain and stood at his shoulder in the box. She had heard of ascending rooms, but had never been in one before and imagined that if she stood in the centre of it, she would be able to reach all the surrounding walls without moving. The ceiling, however, was high, and illuminated the most part of the ascending room with a single weak light source. As the remaining party moved inside, it bounced slightly disconcertingly with each footstep.

Bolt did not appear to be concerned, which inspired some fortitude in Gem, and once they were all in, he pulled the door closed and pressed one of the lower collections of buttons on a large panel. Immediately, the ascending room shuddered into life and Gem felt a strange sensation of falling in her stomach. She realised the room was going down, but was ill prepared for how quickly it would do so. She felt Tom squeeze her hand for a moment and was secretly pleased she had not been the only one caught off-guard.

‘Well, I’m afraid this ascender doesn’t run all the way to the ground floor, so we have to change and take another one.’

Which is what they did, and Gem was happy that the second time she was more prepared for the dropping sensation, and actually found herself enjoying the experience.

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A few minutes later, the ascending room door slid open and presented a vast twolevelled marble-floored entrance lobby. The lower level housed several long chairs in a waiting area, and a reception desk with a guard, who sat up straight in his seat as he saw Bolt approaching.

‘At ease,’ boomed Bolt’s voice across the open area as he trotted down the half dozen steps separating the upper and lower sections of the lobby.

‘The carriage is ready, sir,’ said the guard, looking no more at ease following the captain’s command.

‘Good. Thank you,’ replied Bolt.

The party exited the building and onto the drizzling London pavement. Gem looked back up at the MID building they had vacated, but it was a fruitless task to try to see how tall it was from that angle, it simply stretched up into the dark night and clouds above, making her feel dizzy.

Bolt held the door of the carriage open, and Ash and Dr Vandell had already climbed inside. The horses seemed quiet and resigned to the rain that pattered off their backs and dripped from their manes to the guttering below. To her surprise, the driver seemed like any carriage driver she had ever seen, having expected a soldier. He sat high up on the carriage, a long driving whip in hand, dressed in a long rain cloak and wide brimmed hat.

‘To the site,’ ordered Bolt, as Gem and Tom climbed in and sat upon the long leather seating next to the doctor, their backs to the front of the carriage.

‘Yes, sir!’ replied the driver and the wasted no time in moving the horses on, once the door of the carriage was pulled closed.

‘The site?’ asked the doctor.

‘I’ll explain when we get there. It should take no more than fifteen minutes or so.’

The rest of the journey unfolded in almost total silence. Anticipation was in the air, and it seemed that everyone knew that any other form of discussion was without merit for the time being.

Gem watched the London streets pass by, a blurring mixture of lights, rain and darkness. She was truly taken aback by the vast difference between Coventry, where she had spent her life, and the London before her. Coventry seemed relaxed and beautiful, in vast contrast to the rising gothic architecture, busy streets and relentless advertisements. The words “mysterious” and “alive” entered her thoughts, but for the moment, she simply stared through the rain-beaded window as the buildings and people passed by, finding herself being immersed by London’s essence.

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Chapter Sixteen

Beneath the Feet of the Empire Gem had no real concept of where the carriage had taken them when it came to a final rest and Captain Bolt had offered her his hand as she stepped down. All she knew was what she saw, and that was very confusing indeed.

They stood outside a gate set in a high and ornate looking iron fence, before a low, but sizeable building. Two soldiers stood before the gates, on either side, and Gem counted three more positioned at visible sentry points within the grounds. The building itself was a grey and drab ministerial looking affair, with only two floors. Even the residential properties surrounding it seemed to dwarf it in height, but it was notably wider and had extended grounds surrounding it.

Captain Bolt saluted the soldiers, who returned with vigorous and formal salutes themselves.

‘Captain Bolt, welcome back,’ said a soldier on the left.

‘Yes, welcome back, sir,’ added the other, before returning to his very formal looking guard position.

‘Good to see you, men,’ replied Bolt, patting one on the shoulder as he passed into the grounds of the building.

The rest of the party looked at each other and followed the Captain across the gravelled forecourt, which crunched underfoot as they walked up to the main building.

Other soldiers were milling informally within the grounds, but each had a rifle hooked over the shoulders. They stopped and saluted the captain, who returned the salutes before entering the building through its large main, black enamelled door.

Ash was the last to enter and pushed the door closed.

They stood below a wide flight of stairs that led up to a balcony above, but also down to what appeared to be an underground level.

‘What I’m about to show you now, is strictly confidential, and must not be discussed with any other person, unless I give express permission to do so, even if you believe they are already aware of Project Coal.’

‘Project Coal?’ asked Gem curiously.

‘You’ll see shortly, Gem,’ answered Captain Bolt.

He led them down the wide stone stairs. The air felt colder with each step of the descent. ‘You know of the history of London’s Second Great Fire?’ he asked of the group.

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‘Yes,’ replied Dr Vandell. ‘Awful.’

‘Well, a great deal of the story was fabricated for public consumption, to hide the real cause. It was not, as reported, a lightning strike on a gas storage depot.’

‘What was it?’

‘Twenty years ago, a meteor crashed into the planet, right here in London, at this very location. It decimated the better part of a square mile and embedded itself more than a hundred feet underground. The loss of life was in the thousands and fires spread throughout this side of the Thames.’

‘Oh my,’ said the doctor.

‘Voyce and Payne were two of a handful of survivors within that square mile of destruction. The chances of them surviving the impact were minimal, but they had been underground, working in the sewage pipes when the meteor hit.’

‘Is that when Voyce’s throat was damaged?’ asked Gem, thinking immediately of the scar that ran across the man’s neck.

‘No. I did that,’ replied Bolt. He paused for a period of several seconds before continuing with his explanation. ‘It is, however, what gave them their powers. How, I don’t know, but what we do know is that everyone who survived within the immediate area of the blast when the meteor struck found themselves with such extraordinary powers. Powers that have steadily grown over the years to the startling level we witnessed at Rhum when we attacked. We had no idea they were so well developed. They damn near dragged the Gallant right out of the air, with the thrust she produces! Our rifles were totally ineffective.’

‘How many were there?’ asked Dr Vandell.

‘I’m sorry?’

‘How many people survived the blast and took on these new abilities?’

‘We believe it was twelve, excluding Gabriel.’

‘Gabriel was here, too?’ asked Gem. ‘He has these powers as well?’

‘No. Not at that time, I’ll come to him in a moment, but they’ve come to be collectively known as “The Table of Shadows”.

‘Anyway, following the impact, Her Majesty’s forces were mobilised and brought to the area in an attempt to fight the fire and help the injured. You have no idea of what it was like. The destruction of the immediate area was complete. Nothing was left standing, not one building.’

‘I’ve seen photographs, it was dreadful. You were here?’ asked the doctor.

‘Yes. I was a young soldier stationed at the palace in the Queen’s Guard. Every available hand was called to help, and I was only too eager to contribute. My unit assisted the fire service wherever we could. It took nearly a week to put out the fires, and then only with the assistance of a heavy rainstorm. I swear it was God weeping when the dust settled and he saw what had happened.

‘Anyway,’ he said, shaking his head, as if to throw a memory away, ‘we eventually made it through to the impact site.

‘There had been reports about the meteorite’s impact, but it had happened early in the morning, during heavy smog and eyewitnesses were few and considered unreliable.

Especially when so many people automatically claimed it was the gas depot that had exploded. It soon became a propagated myth that became a reported fact, or so we would have it, after we found the true cause.

‘I returned to my regiment after I had finished assisting the fire brigade and I was soon stationed here, which was at that time simply a deep crater. We were told to keep the 134

public from crossing the mile radius of the blast, as the area was considered too dangerous to allow the public to enter.

‘When you went near the meteor, which one or two of us did, you could feel heat rising off it, and this was from at least a hundred yards away, and the better part of two weeks after the impact.’

The captain came to a halt, and looked around at the faces watching him recount his story. They stood before two great double doors. Stationed before the doors, two guards both saluted the captain as he approached. Two poor looking fittings provided the lighting, helping to give the room a basic and dingy, infrequently visited, feel to it.

‘Some of what now happens in the story,’ continued Bolt, ‘I can only relate it to you as it was related to myself, because at the time, I was only stationed here on guard duty, to protect the public. I was not privy to the discussions and testing that subsequently went on.

However, what our scientists first concluded was that the damage was not nearly enough.’

‘Not enough?’ repeated and questioned Dr Vandell in an unusually high voice of disbelief.

‘No. They said that an object of that size, travelling at enough speed to pierce the earth’s atmosphere, should at the very least, have destroyed an area the size of greater London. Entirely.’

‘How big was the meteorite?’ asked Gem. ‘It has a cubic capacity of one thousand square feet. Which to put into terms for you, is about the size of a large house.’

‘It has, that is to say, it is still in one piece?’ asked the doctor.

‘Yes,’ replied Bolt. ‘It is.’ He nodded and two soldiers pulled the long metal handles attached to the giant doors. The doors screeched as small metal casters fixed to the bottom of each one followed deep groves on the floor and assisted the soldiers in their efforts.

The doors opened slowly and revealed a metal walkway that very much reminded Gem of the underground power machine Mr Oliver had shown her at Gabriel’s facilities on Rhum, giving an elevated position to those standing on it and allowing them to overview the entire area.

Bolt led them inside. The ceiling was of red brickwork, supported with thick iron girders and fitted with six electric lights that buzzed loudly. The air was chilling and damp and a strange musty smell was in the air. It reminded Gem of the cellar at the refuge, somewhere the wise did not venture if possible. The grated steel mezzanine walkway gave a view of the crudely concreted floor several dozen feet below. Chains secured to the roofing girders above them suspended the walkway, which swung noticeable as they moved along its length. Gem looked down through a gap between the hand railing and walkway. Reaching a foot or two above the walkway at its centre, and thirty feet or so in length, the meteorite was black and shining, and if an inanimate object could do such a thing, sleeping. Its surface was rippled with contours, yet it was smooth in its irregularity, as if it had been polished for years.

Tom followed her, his eyes fixated on the rock’s black, absorbing, surface.

‘Have you seen this before?’ asked Gem of Ash, who was staring at the meteorite.

‘No,’ he replied, his mouth agog. ‘I didn’t know any of this. I don’t understand why he’s telling me.’

‘Because you proved yourself to me, Ash,’ answered Bolt, leading the party down a nearby staircase that stretched to the base of the meteorite. ‘There is no doubting your heart, your loyalties to your country, nor your abilities.’ Bolt walked alongside the meteorite, dragging his fingers along its surface as he passed along its length.

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‘We can’t move it,’ he said. ‘Its density makes it heavier than lead, as best we can approximate.’

‘Approximate?’ questioned the doctor, walking alongside the meteorite, looking up its great body.

‘Every attempt has failed to penetrate its surface, whatever we’ve tried. Drills, explosives, heat, cold; nothing enables us to make the slightest chip in it. And, in that shape, we can’t move it. So, we decided to leave it here and build this facility around it.’

Tom carefully stepped up to the side of the meteorite and put his hands against the smooth surface, stretching his fingers out across it. ‘Sixty-Eight,’ he said, looking back to Gem. Everyone stopped and all eyes fell upon the boy who rarely spoke.

Captain Bolt nodded and smiled to himself, clearly realising something.

‘What is it?’ asked Gem. ‘Those numbers he fires off, I think they’re elements from the periodic table.’

‘The what?’

‘Everything in the world, on the most microscopic atomic level, is basically made up of chemical elements. These elements can be arranged in a table diagram and each assigned a number. I’m not a scientist, but I had read about it, and have spent many years around people who have tried to analyse this piece of rock. I looked it up again yesterday evening, after I first met Tom and he looked at my medals. He said the numbers twenty-nine, fortyseven and seventy-nine. These are representative of copper, silver and gold, on the periodic table, and are exactly what the medals are made from.’

‘Of course!’ remarked Dr Vandell. ‘How could I have missed it? When I first met him, he said forty-seven to me. He must have been referring to my silver cigar case at the time!’

‘There are, however, certain gaps in the periodic table, where we know there are elements that should fit in, but we have yet to discover them. The meteorite is made from just such an unknown element.’ Captain Bolt pulled a folded piece of paper from within his tunic. ‘I took a page with a diagram of the table from the book. Never tear a book up, Tom,’ he said as he unfolded the paper. ‘It was, in this case, unavoidable.’ He studied the piece of paper for several seconds. Sixty-eight is “unknown”. I believe he can read the physical composition of items somehow.’

‘You think Tom is related to this meteorite?’ asked Gem. ‘He couldn’t have been, could he? He’s too young.’

‘Well, those that were in the radius of the blast have not visibly aged a day since, but I very much doubt it. Very much,’ he repeated. ‘Perhaps he…’ Bolt left the thought verbally unfinished.

Tom continued to walk along the length of the rock, holding his hands against it and looking across its surface.

‘You said something about Gabriel, not being one of the twelve who survived the impact, but you seemed to suggest he has powers too?’ asked Ash. ‘Yes,’ replied Bolt. ‘The meteorite did change him. It made him more intelligent, several-fold, and he was our leading scientist before that happened.’

‘How did it happen?’ asked Gem. ‘Again, I must emphasis that I wasn’t here at the time, and so didn’t witness the events, but I’m told that when the residual heat of the meteorite had subsided enough for closer inspection of it, Gabriel was the first man they turned to. He spent weeks down here 136

with it. Eventually, the thing, although still very warm, got cold enough to touch, and that is when it happened.’

‘What?’ Gem asked anxiously.

‘He touched it,’ said Bolt with a shrug. ‘He is reported as then falling unconscious and remaining like it for four days. At first, it was thought that he had suffered some kind of collapse following endless hours of research and not enough rest, the way these people seem to do things. Between then and him waking up, many people touched the meteorite, which had mysteriously not only cooled, but remains at a lower temperature than the surrounding air by several degrees. None suffered from the same symptoms.

‘When Gabriel came around, he wasn’t the same man anymore. He seemed removed from everyone, cold, and as I’ve said, it became apparent that his intelligence had grown exponentially. He suddenly became the foremost scientist in every field. Every single one. He would invent things and assist other researchers whose work interested him, or he felt he could benefit from, pushing them in directions they would never have dreamed of, but never concerned with taking any direct credit. His only desire was to have access to almost unlimited funds from the British government, who, we thought, were the major benefactors of his studies. Suddenly, England was thrust into the forefront of a new scientific age, where transport and power took amazing new directions, based solely on Gabriel’s work.’

‘So, if everything was going so well in favour of Britain, then where did it go wrong?’ asked Dr Vandell, removing a cigar and lighting it.

‘In my opinion, it went wrong the second Gabriel woke from his comatose state, and that from that very moment on, he was playing us for fools. He would deliver so much that the government was ecstatic, and they in turn, made a vast fortune in selling technology and assistance to other nations. Whatever Gabriel asked for, they gave him, including Rhum.

That is when they stopped keeping an eye on his work. It never struck anyone that Gabriel might be holding back and only giving the government enough to keep them satisfied, more than satisfied, but ultimately second-rate developments when compared to his other work.

All the time, he seemed to hold some kind of control over the others who had been exposed to the strange properties of the meteorite. All of them underwent changes, not only in their abilities, but in their personalities too. Family ties were no longer important to any of them, only Gabriel’s bidding. Something that became more apparent as the years passed and they soon came to call themselves “The Table of Shadows”.

‘A number of investigations, and altercations, throughout the British Empire, later, and we find ourselves in a position whereby Gabriel was actively defying Her Majesty and her government, and therefore England. That was not to be tolerated and, upon my own advice, we struck at Gabriel’s heart. Which is where we met you,’ concluded Bolt, looking between Dr Vandell and the children.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ replied Dr Vandell, clearly flustered, something Gem had only witnessed from the man once before, on the previous day when Tom had lifted the doctor’s own cigar case with only his will.

‘I’m sure you’ll have numerous questions, but for the time being, I think we should find some dinner, as I am absolutely famished.’

The vagrant sat hunched in a barbershop doorway, sheltering from the rain. The night was growing late and the street was largely empty, but his eyes still flickered up from time to time to ensure he was not attracting attention.

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He spread his handkerchief of parts wide on the step beneath him and looked across its contents.

The vagrant had already dismantled the items he had stolen from the house for any components that he had wanted. Links of chain, pins, clasps and a number of the stones had been added to the collection, which he now mulled over.

He nudged the pile of pieces around with his dirt-engrained fingers, looking at the combinations. First, he chose two small, silver-framed and coloured glass insect wings and pushed them to one side. The vagrant followed these with a selection of a dozen tiny shinning black stones, each one no bigger than a grain of salt. He completed his selection with a number of pins and the most delicate of cogs, before he was finally happy.

Holding his hand flat over the parts on the handkerchief, the man concentrated and the components began to draw themselves together, slotting almost naturally into one another. The coloured glass wings lifted up and flapped with several slow and careful movements. Two thin antennae twitched into life and the butterfly awoke.

The vagrant put his grimy hand down to the material under him and the butterfly climbed up his fingers and onto the back of his hand. He studied its elegant form, smiling as it stretched its wings and its tiny black stoned eyes surveyed its surroundings.

Gem, Tom and the others had left the meteorite and returned upstairs, where Captain Bolt escorted them to a dining facility on the upper floor. It was sufficient and quiet, but ultimately basic and designed for keeping the soldiers nourished, not for entertaining. After dinner, the children excused themselves to beds and were each escorted to private rooms, which provided single beds and washing facilities. Gem found a collection of papers in a drawer within the room she was assigned. She looked through them, but was lost in a sea of scientific notation.

The doctor and Captain Bolt stayed behind for a nightcap from a half bottle of whiskey that Bolt managed to secure from a drawer in a cramped and untidy office.

‘May I speak with you candidly for a moment?’ asked Dr Vandell, looking Captain Bolt dead in the eye.

‘Of course, doctor, always. I would imagine we have a great deal to discuss without the children around.’

‘Yes,’ replied Dr Vandell, opening his cigar case, and removing his last cigar but one.

‘I can have someone fetch you some more, if you would like, doctor?’ offered Bolt, watching as the cigar was lit.

‘That would be most kind, thank you,’ said the doctor, billowing smoke into the air. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Tom and Gem.’ ‘Of course.’

‘Whatever it is Tom can do, he is just a child, and one with severe difficulties.’

‘I realise that, doctor,’ replied Bolt.

‘No doubt you do, but you must not loose sight of that in your pursuit of Gabriel and the others.’

‘I can’t let him go, doctor, if that is what you are going to ask.’

‘No, I can understand his importance, but equally, he’s no match for the likes of Payne and Voyce, given what I was told happened on Rhum. He’s not a weapon.’

‘No, he isn’t,’ agreed Bolt. ‘But what he gives us is a window into that world. We have never had an opportunity like this and we need to understand more about them before it is too late.’

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‘Too late, for what?’ asked Dr Vandell, leaning forward in his chair slightly.

‘I don’t know what it is that Gabriel has planned, but we need to deal with him sooner, rather than later. All our intelligence information indicates development programs of machinery of war and power, and Rhum was only his main research facility, there are almost defiantly others. That cannot have a good outcome.’

‘I understand.’

‘Then, what is it you are asking for, doctor?’

‘That you understand.’

Bolt sighed, swilling his scotch around the sides of his glass. ‘I’m not a father, doctor.

I do not have any family to speak of, and I’ve been married to the military and my country for nearly my entire life, but I am not a monster. I wouldn’t knowingly put Tom in a position where I thought he would come to any danger. Understand this; if I let Tom go now, and asked you to help him disappear, they would never stop looking for him. They found him once, and they’ll do it again and again, until they have what they want. Tom, and anyone around him is in direct and very real danger, this includes yourself and Gem. He is far safer at my side, where I can at least attempt to protect him.’

‘And Gem, where does she fit into this?’

‘Gem is the key to Tom. For some reason, nobody else is allowed anywhere near him, and nobody can focus him in the way she can. I would ask, but not demand, that she remains with him. I would imagine she would insist on doing so anyway, they seem inseparable.’

‘Yes,’ agreed the doctor, studying the glowing end of his cigar in a distracted manner.

‘And yourself, doctor? Will you be staying? I sincerely hope so.’ Bolt smiled and half laughed to himself. ‘If Gem is the key to Tom, then you are the key to Gem. That girl has an iron will.’

Dr Vandell laughed and nodded in agreement. ‘Yes,’ he replied simply.

‘In seriousness, I need someone qualified to try to understand Tom, and help us understand him. It would be far safer for you to stay with us, for the time being, at least.’

‘He fascinates me, at the same time as he frightens me. I know he’s the most pure soul I’ve ever met, but the power he has…’ the doctor left the thought unfinished. ‘Yes,’ he said suddenly and resolutely. ‘I will stay, for the time being, until we know a little more about how this will all continue.’

‘Good. In fact, excellent!’ remarked Bolt, tilting his head back and clearing the remaining contents of the glass. ‘Tomorrow we need to report our situation to my superiors.’

‘Oh? Who would that be?’

‘Tell me,’ he said, with a grin and a mischievous look at the doctor, ‘have you met Her Majesty or the Prime Minister?’

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Chapter Seventeen

With Heart and Voice Had anyone stopped that morning and looked for it, they may have noticed the tiny glasswinged butterfly that followed them. Tom noticed it, but to him, it was just one curiosity amongst a wealth of others.

‘Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, is a wise woman,’ said Captain Bolt, leading the disparate group through a magnificently ornate hall in the west wing of Buckingham Palace. Tom’s head did not stop moving as he absorbed everything the palace had to offer the eye.

‘She is giving the country back to the people and becoming a monarch who expects to be advised and consulted, not to dictate,’ continued Bolt. ‘Her counsel is valued and her outlook is as strong as anyone I’ve ever met. She has been of great importance when Prime Ministers have changed, and along with them their politics. Her Majesty has remained a constant and valued ally. She is, in a word, “formidable”.’

‘How many people know about the rock?’ asked Gem, increasingly frustrated with Tom’s desire to investigate everything as they walked behind the captain.

‘Surprisingly few. Fewer still, know of its true origins and only a handful knows the complete story.

‘When introduced to the Queen, it is normal to bow slightly and address her as “Your majesty”, after that, you should refer to her as “Ma’am”, and on departure once again as “Your majesty”. Gem, you should curtsey. Do you know how?’

‘Of course,’ she lied. Since she had been told whom she was to meet that morning, she had practiced with every available moment that she had been able to afford herself some privacy.

‘Well do your best. And, Tom,’ said Bolt, ‘Try not to swear at her majesty.’

Gem had fully expected to be shown to a throne room of some kind, and so it came as both a shock and disappointment when the group were led to a more than comfortable, but homely, sitting room. In a far armchair, nearest to perhaps the largest fireplace Gem had ever seen, was a man in a dark suit, who had clearly fallen asleep. His hair was balding back beyond the crown where a ring of wavy grey hair began to curl and retreat into large sidewhiskers. His winged shirt collar had been secured with a neat bow and a relaxed position pushed his chins into his plump face. Gem thought he looked rather grandfatherly. Tom pointed at a remarkable watch chain that hung across the front of his waistcoat.

‘Seventy-nine,’ he said, looking at Gem, who nodded. ‘Yes, gold.’

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Bolt walked towards the man, but stopped a few feet away and coughed loudly into his hand.

The man stirred with almost instant alertness, nearly leaping from his chair. ‘Oh my,’ he said. ‘I must have dozed off for a moment there. Oh my!’

‘I’m sure we can overlook a man, with such a heavy weight of responsibility on his shoulders, stealing a moment to rest his eyes,’ replied Captain Bolt, offering his handshake.

‘Captain!’ remarked the man, standing and warmly responding to the gesture.

‘Prime Minister.’

‘A long night, I’m afraid,’ said the man in defence of his discovery.

‘Please, no need to explain,’ answered Bolt, holding his palm up to the Prime Minister to stop him from elaborating further.

‘Everyone,’ began Bolt, turning to the group behind him. ‘I’m honoured to introduce Lord Russell, our Prime Minister.’

‘Good morning!’ replied Lord Russell, with a smile at the party who had positioned themselves in a formal looking alignment.

A far door to the room opened with a click, causing everyone to turn towards it in anticipation. A footman stepped into the room and held the door open. There was no mistaking the Queen as she entered. Gem had seen many pictures of her, not the least being on the coins she had in her possession at that very moment, but she was taken aback at the Queen’s presence.

Queen Victoria wore a wide and ruffled dark blue satin dress that brushed across the rug underfoot as she walked. Her dark hair had been tied back with a piece of white lace that matched well with a heavy pearl necklace. Gem did not know the Queen’s actual age, but her skin was smooth and her face framed rosy cheeks above a gentle smile, and she estimated her to be no more than thirty. An aura filled the room and Gem felt that if she had closed her eyes while the Queen had entered, she would have instinctively known it was her.

‘Captain Bolt!’ said the Queen, her smile growing wider as her cheeks rose and narrowed her eyes. ‘What a pleasure to see you!’ she remarked, holding her hand out to Bolt.

‘Your Majesty,’ said Bolt, taking her hand and kissing it affectionately. ‘An honour, as always.’

‘I married too soon,’ she said with a sigh and a laugh. She turned to the Prime Minister and smiled again. ‘Lord Russell.’

Lord Russell bowed deeply and kissed her hand in response. ‘Your Majesty.’

‘And, who do we have here?’ she enquired, looking past Bolt at the group.

‘I would like to take the opportunity to introduce you to some people who have recently served their country well,’ said Bolt, extending his arm towards the children and Dr Vandell.

‘Ah, yes. I’ve read your report.’

‘First,’ began Bolt, moving to the doctor. ‘It is my pleasure to introduce Dr Vandell.

He runs a refuge for homeless and destitute children in Coventry.’

‘Dr Vandell,’ said Queen Victoria with a gentle nod of her head.

‘Your Majesty,’ replied the doctor, bowing formally.

‘And this here is one of the most heroic young men I have ever had the honour of working with. His name is Ash Pitt.’

Gem sniggered in a burst of nervousness and found everyone in the room looking at her, clearly not finding Ash’s combination of given names amusing. She quickly felt herself 141

flush and knew she had turned a bright red without the need of a mirror. Ash looked icily at her through the corner of his eye, and she knew there would be a price to be paid later.

‘Which brings us to Gemma Lightfoot,’ said Bolt, feeling no need to point her out.

‘Gem, please, Your Majesty,’ she said, compounding her embarrassment with a rushed attempt at a courtesy.

The Queen’s smile turned to one of bemusement.

‘Gem has shown great character and resolve in helping protect young Tom, here,’ continued Bolt, holding his hand out towards Tom, who looked up at the Queen through his heavy hair, which, as usual, was falling into his eyes.

Tom wrung his cap nervously between his hands and his face looked confused. He studied the Queen up and down before he put an arm forward and nearly succeeded in touching her abdomen, had Gem not lunged forth and intercepted his hand before it reached her. ‘Two!’ he said loudly.

‘No, Tom!’ she said, a little too harshly. ‘He never wants to touch other people. I don’t know what came over him. I’m sorry, Your Majesty!’

‘The report says he can sense things,’ said the Queen directly to Gem, looking slightly puzzled.

‘Yes, Ma’am,’ replied Gem, remembering her etiquette in addressing the Monarch. At least she had managed to do one thing right, she thought to herself.

Bolt spoke up, ‘As best we can tell, he is able to sense people’s emotions as well as chemical elements, and to manipulate them to an extent. He refers to elements by their according number value on the periodic table.’

‘Yes, I noticed that in the report, but in this case, I think it is something else.’

‘Something else, Ma’am?’

‘I believe he senses the baby,’ said the Queen, drawing her hands across her dress and around her abdomen, pulling the material across a most definite bulge.

‘Oh, I see,’ replied Bolt.

Gem had not realised the Queen was pregnant, but assumed the dress had been chosen for exactly that effect.

‘How much longer until the happy occasion?’ asked Captain Bolt.

‘Not too much longer, thankfully! Early May.’ ‘Well, my sincerest best wishes.’

‘Yes, Ma’am’ added Dr Vandell.

‘Such a remarkable young boy,’ said Queen Victoria, studying Tom for a time before taking to an armchair opposite the one the Prime Minister had been napping in. ‘Please, sit down,’ she encouraged of everyone, indicating to the chairs surrounding her.

The Prime Minister retook his original position, while the others arranged themselves across two long sofas.

‘Tea?’ asked the Queen.

‘Please,’ replied everyone in unison, while Tom mimicked the general confirmation of head nodding.

The Queen asked the nearby footman to offer tea to the guests, which he promptly did by lifting a silver tray from a sideboard and placing it on a low table between the seated group. He first served the Queen, followed by the Prime Minister and the captain, and then the others.

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‘So, Captain Bolt,’ began Queen Victoria, holding her teacup in its saucer delicately in front of herself on an upturned hand, ‘what do you believe the Table of Shadows will do next?’

‘I honestly don’t know, Ma’am. I know what I would do, but Gabriel is chillingly unpredictable.’

‘What would you do, captain?’

‘I would retreat, gather my resources, assess my effectiveness and determine a strategy for going about my objective.’

‘Which is?’ asked the Prime Minister.

‘I don’t know at this time. It maybe to acquire Tom, here. They seem to have gone to great lengths to do so previously. However, I cannot directly answer that question because I don’t know what it is Gabriel sees as his objective. Frankly, Prime Minister, it’s like playing a game of chess and not being allowed to view the other player’s moves. I can’t attempt to counter something when I don’t understand what it is he wants. And after Rhum, it is appears he is playing with more knights than pawns on his side of the board.

‘However, you’ve seen the proposal?’ asked Bolt.

‘Yes.’ ‘And?’ The Prime Minister shook his head, indicating unease with Captain Bolt’s suggestion.

‘If I may,’ said the Queen. ‘I see it as a dangerous course of action. We would be creating a state, as if we expected the threat of invasion. How can we possible explain that to a people who know nothing of what is going on?’

‘I understand, Ma’am, but it is my belief that they will make some kind of retaliatory strike at our heart. At London. Posting troops here may make all the difference.’

‘It may well do, but all too late,’ replied an unsettling gravelled voice from the doorway.

The group looked up in unison from their seats and Gem audibly led their surprise with a sharp gasp.

‘It’s him!’ she shouted, pointing to the doorway where Gabriel stood calmly observing the room through the dark embedded lenses where his eyes should have been.

Bolt instantly took to his feet, drawing both of his pistols from his belt, and positioned himself between the Queen and Gabriel. He fired twice at Gabriel in quick succession. The shots crashed into a large mirror behind Gabriel, which shattered and fell in a cascade of broken pieces across the mantelpiece and floor underneath. Captain Bolt’s eyes widened with surprise, just for an instant, before hardening with resolve.

‘At ease, captain,’ said Gabriel. ‘That will be most unlucky,’ he added, looking behind himself at the shards of scattered mirror.

Tom stood from his position next to Gem and was out of her reach before she realised what he was doing. He walked confidently across the room to a chorus of screams of concern, and reached forwards to touch Gabriel. His hand disappeared into the professor’s leg, only to reappear when he removed it.

‘This boy is good!’ said Gabriel, shaking his head with incredulity. ‘I suspect his potential is boundless.’

Gem began to comprehend what had happened; Professor Gabriel was not there at all.

‘This is simply a projection of my will,’ said the professor, looking at them through his reflective black lenses and between the faces that watched him. His pale white skin, bald 143

head and deep scar seemed all the more repulsive to Gem in the bright lighting of the room, when compared to the encounter within dark shadowed facility.

An explosion suddenly filled the room and caused Gem to jump in her seat. She turned to find Bolt had taken careful aim with the pistol in his right hand and had fired once more, this time aiming squarely at Gabriel’s head. The shot had embedded itself in the wall alongside the previous two.

‘Just to be certain,’ said Bolt, thrusting both guns back into his belt. ‘Not that I would miss,’ he added.

‘You make a worthy opponent, captain. Your singular lack of intellect and Neanderthal reliance upon force makes you quite unpredictable, like any wild animal.’

‘And your lack of sanity, makes you quite unpredictable, sir,’ replied Bolt with barbed hostility.

A tiny butterfly fluttered across the room, before landing upon the mantle beside Gabriel. The outline of its wings seemed to be almost a real silver to Gem’s eye. Should butterflies be out at this time of year? She thought, distracted by the curiousness of the event.

‘Now we have each finished our opening gambits, and can afford to be slightly more candid, understand this; I’m going to make your death one that people will speak about for years to come. I will ensure that it is something quite magnificent.’

‘Really? Quite conversely, I was thinking that when you go, it will be with a whimper and nobody will miss you,’ replied Bolt casually. ‘Instead of the threats, Gabriel, why don’t you tell us what it is that you came for?’

‘The boy,’ he answered, pointing towards Tom and then opening his hands as if the answer were obvious.

‘And, why would we allow that?’ questioned Bolt.

‘Because if you don’t, I’ll take him by force, and that will be the worst course of action possible for everyone here. It will also be very costly for those that are not directly involved, but perhaps you would consider such meaningless deaths as collateral damage.’

‘You realise of course, that it is not going to happen?’ said the Queen, stepping out from behind Captain Bolt’s protection. ‘England will not give up a child under such a threat.’

‘Your Majesty,’ said Gabriel, bowing in acknowledgement. ‘I want the boy. If he is not handed over immediately, I will send Mr Payne and Mr Voyce to retrieve him. I will also order the destruction of the palace and everyone within it. So that we are clear, that includes you, Ma’am.’

Bolt edged forward, reaching for the sword at his side before seemingly realising it would be of no assistance against the phantom projection of Gabriel. ‘The Queen is appointed by God Himself, how dare you threaten her!’ he shouted. It was the first time Gem had seen him overtly emotional, even for a second.

‘It’s alright, captain,’ said Queen Victoria, putting a hand out to stay his sword arm. It is not the first time I have been threatened, nor the will it be the last, I’m sure.’

Almost forgotten by Gem during the turn of events, the Prime Minister spoke up, his eyes thin and his voice powerfully deep and carefully measured, ‘You will not threaten her Majesty, nor will you take by force a British subject from her heart. You will pay dearly for this, Gabriel. I will see to it Bolt is given everything he needs. We never shall be slaves to your demands, not for one moment!’

Professor Gabriel laughed, ‘I’m sure, Lord Russell, that those are sincere words, but you must understand that you have no possibility of putting any weight to them. All of you, 144

stop and listen to me. All I ask for is the boy. You know very well that we can take him, should we desire to.’

The Queen moved to the centre of the room. She seemed undaunted by the apparition before her and resolute in her posture. ‘Enough,’ she said firmly. ‘You will not have him. Not while I am Queen.’

‘Very well,’ replied Gabriel, and his form vanished in a blurred haze, leaving his position within the room vacant. The butterfly fell apart at the same moment, and Gem realised it had been made of tiny mechanical parts.

Bolt wasted no time in issuing orders. ‘Get her out of here!’ he barked at the footman.

‘Get her personal guard around her, and have their man report to me. Immediately!’

The footman looked flustered, but hurried to the Queen’s side, and took her arm.

‘You think he is coming now? To the palace?’ asked the Queen as the footman escorted her from the room ‘You heard him,’ replied Bolt abruptly, clearly with no time for formalities. ‘Take the Prime Minister too!’ he shouted at the footman.

Lord Russell followed in shuffling steps after the footman. Before they were out of the room, several guards who had been clearly been posted outside the room had rushed to their side.

Bolt was quickly reloading his pistols, slotting cartridges from a box mounted upon his belt into their chambers. ‘Damn!’ he said to himself.

‘Surely they can’t attack us here,’ said Dr Vandell. ‘We are in the middle of Buckingham Palace.’

‘He will, just to show he can,’ replied Bolt abruptly. ‘He wants to show he can walk into the very heart of the Empire and take what he wants, and he thinks there’s nothing that can stop him. He’s wrong. You’re best off going with the Queen’s guard,’ suggested Bolt, slamming shut the chambers on his pistols with a flick of each wrist. ‘I’ll look after the children.’

‘No,’ replied Vandell resolutely. ‘I maybe able to help.’

Bolt stopped and looked at the doctor. A smile crept up one corner of his mouth. ‘You’re a bold man, doctor. These children are lucky to have ever found such a man to take care of them.’

Gem cast a glance at Ash, who was looking to Bolt for guidance. She took up Tom’s hand, immediately feeling his perplexity at the sudden change in emotions surrounding him.

She had no idea if he had understood anything of Gabriel’s threats, or what was happening around him. ‘It’s alright,’ she said in an attempt to comfort him, and not least herself.

There was a familiar whistling sound in the distance. Bolt recognised it before Gem and pushed her and Tom to the floor.

‘Get down!’ he shouted at the others.

Dr Vandell simply looked stunned, but Ash did promptly as he was told.

An explosion rocked the palace and plaster dust fell from the ceiling across the room.

‘What was that?’ asked the doctor, taking to the floor.

‘An artillery shell!’ exclaimed Bolt. ‘Right in the damned heart of London! That was a range finder!’

Another whistle could be heard as Bolt finished his sentence. A further explosion, this time closer and causing minor structural damage to the room, followed it. The frame that had mounted the mirror above the mantelpiece fell from its position and struck the floor as a wall cracked in two. A piece of coal rolled out of the fireplace and into the middle of the rug before it. Dr Vandell reached for a pair of tongs and quickly lifted it back to its natural home.

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‘That was close,’ said Ash. ‘Like the other one wasn’t?’ remarked Gem with disbelief at his comment.

‘If we stay here, we are dead,’ said Bolt resolutely, picking himself up off the ground.

‘Move! Go out the way the Queen left!’ he shouted.

Gem pulled Tom, who was tightly squeezing her hand. ‘Come on!’ she cried, climbing from her knees.

A third shell hit the palace’s grounds, but this time it felt to Gem as if it were some distance away.

‘Where the hell are they firing from?’ shouted Bolt, primarily at himself. ‘This way,’ he said, making sure everyone was leaving the room by the door he had designated.

Ash put an arm around Gem and led her from the room. A showering of plaster and gold paint fell upon them as they reached the doorway.

‘Which way?’ called Dr Vandell, reaching the doorway.

Bolt looked confused. ‘I don’t know! Any way that gets us out of here!’ he shouted back.

Dr Vandell disappeared around the doorway and out of sight.

‘Quickly Gem!’ shouted Bolt, waving her towards the door with his pistols.

‘But why would he risk killing Tom?’ she cried while pulling Tom through the doorway, with Bolt and Ash following quickly after them.

‘I think he maybe just trying to flush us out into the open, or perhaps he thinks Tom can protect himself if he brings the roof down on the rest of us! Frankly, I don’t know, but we need to get out and find where that artillery is coming from.’

Gem followed Dr Vandell along a long passage as it continued with a right hand turn.

A further shell, directly striking towards the rear of the palace, rocked the buildings foundations. Several thick glass windows in a nearby room cracked from the shockwave.

‘That’s right, doctor!’ shouted Bolt. ‘Follow this until the end and take the last left doorway.’

They passed an open door to a function room in which a frightened looking young woman in a maid’s uniform was standing upon a chair, attempting to open a high window.

‘This way!’ shouted Ash at the woman. ‘Follow us!’

The woman briefly looked over her shoulder before glancing back at the window. She dropped from the chair and began to follow the group.

Dr Vandell led them quickly along the hall. Several of the great paintings, which had been mounted along the walls, had dropped to the floor and their frames lay broken.

Another shell struck the palace, this time only a room or two away. Gem was thrown from her feet and struck senseless by the blast. Her eyes and ears were temporarily overwhelmed by the smoke and sound, and she felt Tom’s hand slip out of her own and into the grey mist.

‘Tom!’ she cried, unable to hear her own voice. The ringing subsided and the smoke raced along the hallway, thinning itself out. ‘Tom!’ she cried again, pushing herself up the wall and onto her feet.

Gem flinched as an unexpected hand touched her shoulder. Captain Bolt was wiping at his face, where a small gash had opened to the right side of his temple.

‘Damn!’ he said. ‘Are you alright?’

‘No, yes,’ she answered in a flustered confusion, her hearing dull and her head thumping with each heartbeat. ‘I’ve lost Tom,’ she said peering into the drifting clouds of smoke and dust.

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‘Jewel,’ replied Tom, appearing at her side and retaking her hand. His face and clothes had been layered with dust and debris, but the warmth of his spirit flooded through her.

‘Tom!’ she said, crying and wrapping her arms around him. She kissed him on the cheek and turned quickly, looking for the others.

A voice from along the passage ahead shouted out through the smoke, ‘Gem? Ash? Captain?’ It was Dr Vandell, who was coughing almost uncontrollably, but was still alive.

‘We’re here!’ called Gem. ‘Where’s Ash? asked Bolt.

‘Here, sir!’ said Ash, who reappeared from a nearby doorway. ‘We were thrown off our feet and into the room,’ he said sheepishly rejoining the group, the maid following him.

‘Continue on, doctor! Hurry!’ commanded Bolt, ushering everyone forward.

‘This way,’ called Dr Vandell and soon they could see him, waving them towards himself.

Glass crunched under Gem’s boots and she almost tripped over a fallen wooden beam that crossed her path, but she clambered over the debris until she was directly behind Dr Vandell.

They followed the passageway around and along another forty feet or so until they reached its conclusion. Dr Vandell reached out and tried to turn the handle to the door Bolt had indicated would lead them outside to the palace grounds.

‘It’s locked!’ he said, taking a large step backwards and charging at the door. Gem heard a splintering of wood and saw the doorframe give slightly. Dr Vandell gave another push and the door opened under protest, allowing them to enter.

They found themselves in one of many entranceways, and Gem could feel the fresh outside air working into the room through the cracks in the door. Dr Vandell reached for the black iron doorknob and turned, but was unable to open the door. He struck it several times with his shoulder, but it s thick construction refused to allow them to exit.

‘Stand aside,’ said Bolt, pointing a revolver at the door lock.

‘No!’ cried Ash, rushing forward and putting a hand out to stop the captain.

‘With a lock like that, you run the risk of stopping it from opening at all by damaging it, not to mention the shell ricocheting around the room. Let me try!’ he said looking at Bolt through determined eyes.

‘Go on, but quickly!’ said Bolt, nodding at the boy.

Ash knelt at the lock and rummaged in his jacket pockets, removing a rolled up piece of material, which he put upon the ground and quickly unfolded. Within it, he had numerous tools ranging between thin files and wire to a screwdriver and metal picks.

They watched anxiously as Ash took up one of the tools and inserted it into the lock.

Gem was surprised how quickly he worked and how steady his hands were despite the pressures.

A further explosion detonated within the palace grounds somewhere and Gem found herself involuntarily jumping, but noted that Ash did not even twitch.

‘There!’ he said, gathering up the tools and pulling at the doorknob.

The door opened and washed them with clear air. The group spilled out onto a short run of steps that ran up from the lower level into the palace grounds.

‘Thank God!’ remarked Dr Vandell.

They stood at the far right corner of the palace’s foundations, with a clear view of the rear gardens where others were beginning to amass in the confusion.

A group of five soldiers ran past them, their rifles drawn.

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‘You there!’ shouted Bolt, reaching out and grabbing the nearest one by the arm.

‘Yes, sir!’ replied the soldier, visibly shaken by the events around him.

‘What’s going on? Where is the artillery coming from?’

‘We don’t know, sir! We were on our way to find out. They seem to be coming from the direction of The Mall.’

‘And the Queen and Prime Minister, where are they?’

‘Being dispatched to the rear of the palace by carriage, with an escort of redcoats, sir!’

‘Very well,’ replied Bolt, releasing the man and flicking his head to indicate he should carry on with his duties.

‘Thank you!’ said the maid as she followed them out into the grounds. ‘You saved my life. I’m sure of it!’

‘Go around to the back of the palace and get as far away as you can in that direction.

You’ll be safe there,’ answered Bolt. ‘I suggest that you do the same, Ash and Dr Vandell.

Tom, Gem, you stay at my side!’

‘If it’s all the same, I’ll stay too,’ said Dr Vandell, forcefully.

Bolt pursed his lips, there was clearly more he wanted to say to discourage the doctor, but he was rushed.

‘I’ll come as well,’ said Ash. ‘Hmmm,’ said Bolt, turning and walking briskly towards the front of the palace grounds.

Gem followed closely behind with Tom and as they rounded the palace’s long north wall, she found herself looking across a scene of destruction.

The front right wing of the palace had been utterly destroyed, and she could see into a haze of smoke and fire within the interior. Dark clouds were rising from the building, high into the clear sky above, signalling the disaster to the rest of London. On the courtyard, there were two significant holes where shells had fallen and ruptured the great sandstone area.

Soldiers were running about looking bewildered and without orders. A small group of men had gathered behind the great black gates that separated the palace from the road and a growing crowd of spectators.

Gem noted the shelling of the palace had stopped. She looked around, attempting to see where the barrage had come from, but saw nothing other than panic and confusion in all directions.

Bolt strode briskly towards the soldiers at the gate.

‘What are you doing?’ he questioned.

‘We have a report that a submarine has surfaced in the Thames, just after the Hungerford Bridge. It’s armed with a cannon!’

‘So, that’s how!’ said Bolt. ‘But it’s over a mile in range!’ he said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Well, let’s get some men together and go to it!’

‘I don’t think we need to, sir,’ said one of the soldiers, looking up from his kneeling position at the gate. ‘They’re coming to us!’

Bolt looked through the railings of the gate, ‘Well, I’ll be the son of a monkey...’

Gem followed his stare, out and along The Mall, a parade route that stretched for the better part of a mile in a wide straight path directly from Buckingham Palace to Trafalgar Square. Carefully aligned trees ran its length on each side, and deep in the distance, Gem could make out two dark shapes moving towards them.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

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‘Dark men,’ said Tom, pointing along The Mall and looking up at Gem, who could feel a fear pulsate through his hand, but could not tell who it belonged to.

‘Voyce and Payne,’ said Bolt. ‘They’re coming.’

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Chapter Eighteen

The Gates ‘Is there a cannon?’ asked Bolt, turning to one of the nearby guards.

‘Only a ceremonial one, sir!’ replied the soldier.

‘Go get it!’ ordered the captain. He pointed at three other soldiers, ‘You, you and you!

Help him!’

‘On its way, sir!’ cried one of the men as they disappeared towards the rear of the main building.

‘What shall we do?’ asked Gem. Bolt ignored the question and shot a look across Gem at the growing crowds of public gathering along the fences to watch the palace burn. ‘Get them out of here, quickly!’ he barked in order at the remaining soldiers.

‘How?’ asked the nearest private.

Bolt glanced around, and then drew one of his pistols. He fired several times into the air narrowly over the heads of the onlookers. The crowds screamed and began to disperse with a panicked immediacy.

‘That’s how,’ replied Bolt, turning to address the group. ‘No arguments, everyone get back towards the palace!’

Dr Vandell nodded and shepherded Gem away from the gates, her neck straining to turn back on itself so she could see what was happening.

The dark shapes approaching along The Mall were growing more visible by the second and Gem began to understand what she was happening. Far down the road, Voyce and Payne were levitating a dozen or so feet about the ground in upright positions, their arms outstretched at their sides and their long black frock jackets trailing like fans behind them as they made quick progress along The Mall. Mayhem was erupting along the length of the road as people and horses panicked to escape the path of the men, who were clearly intent on reaching the palace.

A column of soldiers ran to the iron fencing on either side of the gates and took up positions along their length. They held their heads low, along their rifles, and trained their weapons on the approaching men. There were now thirty to forty soldiers in defensive positions in front of the palace, with a number audibly voicing disbelief at what they were seeing. Gem found it difficult to disagree with them.

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‘Hold your fire!’ cried Bolt. Gem could almost feel the tensing of fingers upon triggers.

Voyce and Payne were nearing quickly and Gem was now able to make out their cruel features and piercing eyes focusing towards them. She waited, holding her breath, unsure of which side would launch the first assault.

‘Hold your fire!’ repeated Bolt firmly to a nervous looking row of soldiers.

Voyce and Payne gently descended simultaneously in a slow arc before alighting the ground twenty feet from the gates, as casually as if they had stepped from a train.

‘We are here for the boy,’ shouted Payne, straining his broken voice above its usual hoarse whisper.

‘I cannot let you take him,’ replied Bolt firmly.

‘That is your final word on the matter, captain?’

‘Well, I may have others to follow, but yes, for the time being.’

‘Then you leave us without choice,’ answered Payne.

‘There’s always a choice,’ said Bolt tersely.

Payne put his hands out in front of his body and pushed them slowly apart, in a long breaststroke movement. The thick iron gates collapsed in upon themselves with a groaning, looking for the entire world as if they were melting in the sun.

‘Mother of mercy!’ cried one of the soldiers.

‘Fire!’ shouted Bolt, swinging his own pistols up and taking swift aim.

A chorus of thunderous shots rang out as the soldiers fired upon the two men. The world slowed and Gem felt like shouting a warning of the futility of the action, but she knew Bolt too was aware of what the outcome would be.

Voyce stood unscathed beside his companion and began to hurl the right flank of soldiers into the air. Some were fortunate enough to be cast long and low to the ground, others found themselves not to so lucky. Payne handled the left side with equal ruthlessness.

One by one, the soldiers were thrown away as casually as eggshells, including Bolt, who was singled out and cast twenty feet to the rear, where he collapsed and lay unmoving, his pistols scattering across the stone underfoot with a metallic grinding.

Voyce took an apparent pleasure out of controlling one particular sandy-haired young soldier. The soldier’s eyes rolled over white in their sockets and he lumbered around to face his comrades, turning his gun upon them. Voyce then forced him to fire off several rounds at his fellow soldiers, who pleaded ineffectually with him not to do so, before he too was cast aside with a casual disregard.

Soon, nobody stood in defence of the palace or the children, other than Dr Vandell and Ash. Gem held onto Tom tightly and pushed him behind her body as the dark men walked towards them.

‘You!’ said Payne, pointing directly at Ash. ‘Traitor!’

Ash smiled, taking a short step towards the men. ‘Well, when you put it like that,’ he said, ‘I can’t disagree.’

The corners of Payne’s mouth turned sharply downwards, displaying a single-minded hatred enveloping him, clearly enraged by the Ash’s flippancy. He lunged forth, catching him by the throat. His gloved hand wrapping under the boy’s chin and Gem could hear it creaking as the stretched leather tightened about his neck.

‘You feel that, boy?’ Payne asked of Ash, lifting him into the air.

Ash let out a horrible gurgling sound that bit through to Gem’s very core.

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‘Please, no!’ she begged as Tom stepped out from her protection to see what was happening.

‘That is your death,’ said Payne, whispering to Ash’s ear.

‘Let him go!’ cried Dr Vandell, raising an imploring hand.

Voyce pulled out the device that had been used to render Tom unconscious on the train, its brass fixtures glinting in the sunlight. Voyce tightened the cylindrical tube attached to its main body and pointed the device at Tom. The gun snapped at the air and Gem’s eyes flew to Tom beside her. A visible haze rippled across Tom’s body and Gem realised with a rushing excitement that he had learnt how to protect himself against projectiles in the same manner as the dark men. A thin vicious looking needle fell to Tom’s feet with a sharp clink. His eyes looked curiously back at Voyce. An instant later and the weapon had been invisibly wrenched from Voyce’s grip and cast through the air. All the time, Tom kept firmly hold of Gem’s hand, seemingly having no need for the gesticulations which the dark men used. She wondered if he was using her to focus.

Ash struggled against Payne, who continued to hold him out at arm’s length, his face turning a dark purple and feet flailing in the air.

A clap of thunder broke out in the sky above and Gem flinched with a startled surprise. Her heart racing, she looked up and then back to Payne, now standing over Ash, who in turn lay gasping on the ground of the courtyard, holding his hands to his chest. Gem watched on with a detached surprise as she realised Payne had lost an arm. The arm with which he had been holding Ash by the throat.

‘I can see I’m going to have to take you fellows apart, piece by piece,’ said Captain Bolt from Gem’s right side.

Bolt stood supporting himself unsteadily on a wheel-mounted cannon. His forehead awash with his own blood and a deeply split lower lip stopped his grin from being complete.

Beside him, four soldiers held their weapons trained on the dark men.

‘Agghhh!’ screamed Payne, in what appeared to be more in fury than agony, whirling around and grasping at the shoulder where his arm used to be.

Voyce lunged forward and grabbed Gem by her right arm, wrenching her from Tom’s hand and towards his own body.

‘Jewel!’ cried Tom, putting a hand out to reach her.

‘Tom! Stay back!’

‘If we can’t take you, then you will come to us!’ hissed Payne, looking sideways at Tom through bloodshot eyes, his face whitening beyond its usual pallid shade and his forehead glistening with sweat.

Voyce took several backward steps, dragging a struggling Gem with him. He crushed her arm in a vice like grip and she found herself screaming with pain.

Tom started towards her, his hand outstretched. ‘Jewel!’

Again, Voyce crushed and twisted her arm, but this time Gem tried to resist an outburst, swallowing down the mounting pain, trying to keep her frightened eyes from connecting with Tom’s ‘No, Tom!’ cried Bolt, rushing forwards with a notable limp, drawing his sword towards Voyce.

Voyce turned Gem between himself and Captain Bolt, using her as a shield to hold him at bay.

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Payne took to the air, clutching at his wound. He banked around and began to fly rapidly in retreat along The Mall, taking the direction from which they had first approached.

Voyce hooked his arm roughly around Gem’s waist and she felt the air forced from her lungs as they too lifted from the ground and pulled away from the palace backwards.

Tom ran towards Voyce, as did the others, chasing them as they retreated.

‘Jewel!’ he shouted.

Voyce took Gem a good two dozen feet up, where he waited to see Tom’s reaction.

Doggedly, Tom looked up and began to raise himself into the air, his arms trailing behind his body.

‘Tom! No!’ cried Bolt ineffectively.

Voyce backed away, gripping Gem even tighter in his arms, squeezing her until she groaned in agony.

Tom moved closer towards them.

Satisfied that he had drawn his quarry, Voyce swung about and began flying after Payne along the vast length of The Mall. Gem felt the pressure about her body relax slightly and she managed to swallow a desperately needed breath of air. Below, she noted a thick trail of blood on the ground tracing the path Payne had taken.

Gem looked back over her shoulder, she could not see Dr Vandell or the others, but she knew they were lost some distance behind her. The ground moved quickly beneath them and she could begin to see Trafalgar Square looming towards her from her heightened vantage point.

Bolt watched Gem and Tom disappear with the Voyce along The Mall. Some of the more fortunate soldiers who had survived the onslaught were regrouping, looking at each other through dazed eyes.

‘Damn!’ he said. ‘If someone can tell me how today can get any worse, please do so.’

There was a notable silence.

Ash climbed to his feet, the colour returning to his face. ‘Where have they taken them?’ his voice was fractured and rasping.

‘Back to the submarine. When that reaches sufficient depth of water, there is no way we will be able to follow them,’ replied Bolt. He stopped and put a hand to his mouth, rubbing it as he thought the situation through. ‘We need to stop them,’ he said.

‘How?’ asked Ash. Bolt dropped his hand from his mouth and arced his arm across the remaining soldiers able to stand. ‘I want two of your fastest horses!’

‘Sir!’ replied the men without question.

‘Get to it!’ commanded Bolt.

‘Ash, find a length of rope or something from somewhere. Make sure it’s long, at least forty feet.’

‘Yes, captain!’ replied Ash, turning and running away.

‘Doctor, I’m afraid there is nothing I can ask of you for the moment.’

‘That’s alright, captain, there are many here that need my help,’ Dr Vandell answered, attending to a nearby injured soldier.

‘Good work. Now,’ said Bolt. ‘Has anyone seen my guns?’

Voyce held Gem firmly around the waist as they flew along The Mall. When she tried to turn her head to see if Tom were following, she could smell a musty odour coming from Voyce’s 153

clothing, which strangely turned her thoughts to Mrs Johnson and how much she would disapprove.

Nelson’s Column was approaching, rising into the cloudless blue skyline above Trafalgar Square when Voyce took an unexpected bank to the right, through the tree line and across a short stretch of grass that ran alongside a small body of water. They continued, gaining altitude as they approached a road and thick line of buildings.

Instinctively, Gem raised her feet as they rushed over the slated rooftops. As they crested the buildings, she saw the river Thames, separated from them only by a short curving road and a thin gathering of trees along the river’s bank.

They drifted downwards and traced the road towards the Thames. The wind blurred Gem’s eyes as she looked down at the road below. Several carriages and pedestrians had come to a halt, watching and pointing at them with looks of disbelief etched so deeply into their faces that Gem could clearly make them out as she flew overhead. The road running along the riverbank was also thick with people who had congregated to observe the strange looking machine that had surfaced from within the Thames, in the middle of London.

The submarine had remained partially obscured by the thick crowd and its proximity to the river’s high walled banks.

Gem was unable to see the entire machine until they had passed directly over the crowd and slowed to something near a brisk walking pace. It looked simplistically sleek in its design, while trading increased width for a shallower depth. Gem could see a source of broken light shining from the front of the boat out into the dark waters of the Thames, dancing with the undulating surface, beneath which the better part of its black panelled body was submerged.

A raised platform on the boat’s upper deck reminded Gem of the forehead and back of a dolphin; rounded, high and almost muscular looking. At the rear was mounted a formidable looking cannon which was still trained on a position towards the palace. A gunner sat in a seat at its rear, surrounded by a number of gears that Gem assumed allowed him control of the angle of the weapon, and a number of guards held defensive positions on all sides of the deck. At the very aft of the boat, partially breaking above the waterline, two great oil engines, unlike any Gem had previously seen, were mounted on either side of the machine’s fin-like tail.

Payne already stood on the deck of the submarine, still clutching at his shoulder, where he had tied off the remains of his sleeve around the wound in a makeshift bandage.

Blood ran across the plating under his feet and beads of sweat ran down his face.

‘Get her inside!’ he cried at Voyce, arcing his head towards an open hatch. ‘He’s following!’ added Payne in reference to Tom as he looked beyond them.

Voyce drew them closer to the submarine and aimed them directly for the hatch, where they set down. His thick arm released Gem and she swung around immediately to see where Tom was.

A good forty yards away at an elevated angle to the submarine, Tom was crossing through the trees behind them. Members of the crowd along the bank railings began pointing at the boy as he flew above their heads, his eyes trained on Gem the whole time.

‘No, Tom! Go back!’ she shouted to little effect.

‘Voyce pushed Gem towards the hatch and had he not sharply pulled her back at the last moment, she would have fallen through it and down the ladder. He shook her again and she found herself with little choice but to descend into the dark and claustrophobic interior 154

below. She glanced back at Tom who set down on the far end of the ship’s hull, his face full of rage.

Gem climbed down the ladder, using the rungs and handrail carefully to assist her.

The inside of the boat was wider than Gem had expected and a run of lights illuminated a path along its length to where a thin glass window was mounted at the bow, through which she could see into the illuminated underbelly of the Thames’ cloudy waters.

She felt herself drawn along its length, fascinated by the complexity of the controls surrounding her. Brass handles and release valves seemed to be almost everywhere in amongst a sea of dials, knobs and buttons. Four crewmembers sat at stations before the banks of controls.

Voyce slammed down on the metal walkway behind Gem, causing her to turn with a panic and face him, realising there was nowhere to run. He began to walk towards her, forcing her to back away along the body of the submarine. Too late, she realised she had missed a railed staircase that steeply descended to a lower level, and that she had trapped herself on the bridge without anywhere further to go. She retreated into a map table, reaching out behind herself with her hands to trace her way around it, while never allowing her eyes to move away from Voyce.

Payne levitated down the length of the ladder to its base, taking a position behind his companion. He looked up through blood red eyes at the hatch and smiled, the perspiration from his chalk coloured face, dripping off his chin.

‘Turn us around, and get us underway!’ shouted Payne at the crew.

Tom dropped inside the submarine through the hatch. He landed softly, but uncharacteristically, he showed no interest in the wealth of objects surrounding him, only in the dark men before him.

Voyce grabbed Gem by the arm and pulled her from her feet, dragging her towards his body where he held her firmly as she struggled ineffectually in his grip.

‘Be a good boy, Tom,’ rasped Payne, ‘and we won’t hurt her. You understand that don’t you?’

‘Get out of the way!’ roared Bolt at the pedestrians and carriages in the road before him. ‘Get out of the way!’ A coiled length of rope hung diagonally from Bolt’s left shoulder across his body and under his right arm.

Bolt commanded his horse well, guiding it through the London streets, along the least congested paths. He had fired his pistol in warning more than once as he cantered as quickly as the pavements would allow the horse. Several times, the horse and rider had slid, more than turned, around street corners.

Ash rushed after him, mounted on a wild-eyed chestnut horse, closely followed by a group of four mounted soldiers. As good as their riding was, Bolt was stretching away from them by the second.

‘Move!’ Bolt shouted, kicking his horse’s flanks and whipping its reigns across its shoulders. They broke through an alley and onto the Strand, where the far wider road afforded them more room to manoeuvre through the crowds. Bolt threw a look across his shoulder, glancing towards the river where he saw the submarine’s engines beginning to churn the water and turn itself around to head out to sea. He had seen it move once before and he had little time before it completed its change of direction and could begin to pick up speed.

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Several armed men had taken guard positions on the deck of the submarine as it made its way to deeper waters. One was mounted at the rear of the most vicious and unusual looking cannon Bolt had ever seen.

‘All of you,’ shouted Bolt at Ash and the following soldiers, slowing his horse to a canter. ‘Get to London Bridge and evacuate it!’

‘Yes, sir!’ replied Ash, stooping low in the saddle, his hair trailing wildly in the wind.

Bolt threw his horse to the right and broke away towards Waterloo Bridge. As he reached the neck of the bridge, he dismounted and ran the rest of its length on foot, not wishing to draw attention from those mounted on the surface of the submarine, but causing a great distraction among the pedestrians on the bridge.

Bolt pulled the rope off himself and unwound it, glancing over the wall of the bridge at the submarine upstream, which was now facing in the correct direction and heading towards him with a building speed.

Rope in hand, Bolt ran several dozen more yards until he was aligned with the path of the submarine and the arced section of bridge it was aiming towards. He ran across to the far side where he tied off one end of the rope around a thick white wall pillar and glanced over the edge at the water below.

‘How far do you reckon that is?’ he asked of an elderly couple who stood with a growing group of people watching with dumbstruck fascination at the submarine making its way along the river.

‘I reckon about thirty feet,’ said Bolt, answering his own question while measuring off lengths of the rope an arm at a time. ‘Still, better too short than too long,’ he said, continuing to talk to himself. ‘I am going to kill myself one day. There’s no bullet with my name on it, just a damn foolhardy antic somewhere that’s going to end me.’

Wrapping the rope around his left forearm, Bolt pulled one of his pistols from his belt and climbed onto the outer side bridge’s high wall. He waited until he could hear the great engines of the submarine pushing the ship beneath the bridge and leapt.

He jumped out backwards, the jolting demand on his shoulder nearly wrenching it from its socket as he reached the rope’s length, before swinging in along the length of the submarine.

Bolt crashed down several feet onto the bow, landing with an impact that forced him down on one knee and jarred his senses. For everything it had done to him, it had awarded him the element of surprise and he fired a shot at the nearest rifleman.

The man cried out and fell back, toppling into the river where he was quickly left behind. Bolt looked along the length of the submarine, seeing two nearer men and a third some way off, who was already peering down his rifle sight at him and presented a more immediate threat. Bolt fired at the third man, winging his target and buying him enough time to draw his second pistol and make short work of the two nearer threats.

Both men fell to the deck, while the rifleman Bolt had shot in the shoulder dropped his weapon, turned and jumped from the submarine’s surface into the water.

Bolt ran along the surface of the boat, holding his revolvers outstretched, ready for any further resistance, finding only the gunner cowering in the seat behind the cannon. The captain kicked down the hatch door to the interior, span the wheel handle into a locked position and jammed his sword in the winding mechanism. He had no wish to trap Gem and Tom inside, but needing to buy himself as much time as possible.

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‘What was that?’ said Gem, reacting without thinking to the sound of shots outside the submarine and the hatchway slamming down.

Payne looked up as if he were able to see through the metal skin of the submarine surrounding him. He rushed across to a periscope, which he put his eyes to and began to turn as he looked along its mirrored length to see what was happening above them. He turned in an almost complete circle before he stopped and the corners of his mouth turned sharply downwards.

‘Bolt!’ he said, spitting the word out. ‘It doesn’t matter; he can’t stop us from up there.

We’ll reach deeper water soon and submerge. We’ll drown him like a rat,’ sneered Payne, pushing away from the periscope.

All the time, Tom fixed Voyce with an unflinching glare.

Ash rounded his horse onto the entrance of London Bridge. ‘Get everyone off it, now!’ he shouted across to the soldiers who drew up alongside him, their horses restlessly gasping and sweating at the shoulders.

‘How?’ Ash reached across and pulled a pistol from the nearest soldier’s belt holster. ‘Follow me!’ He kicked his horse and galloped along the bridge, shouting at people to move from his path. He reached the middle and looked down the Thames, where he could see the submarine rapidly approaching. He raised his arm and fired the gun into the air. Immediately people began to panic and rush away from him, both north and south off the bridge.

‘That’s how!’ he said to the solider, with a grin. ‘You two,’ he said to the pair of soldiers on his right side. ‘Clear the crowds off the bridge to the north side and we will handle the south.’

Bolt struggled with understanding how the system of cogwheels and levers controlled the cannon, but he had found the control to elevate the barrel, if not how to rotate the gun. He cranked a random handle rapidly in an effort to move the gun, with no success.

‘How the hell do you range this thing!’ he shouted at himself, pulling at some of the other levers, leaving the painted red one for last. The barrel groaned as he released a handlelever that seemed to fix the gun in place. He turned the crank handle next to the elevation control and found not only the gun, but also himself, wheeling around to the left, gradually aligning himself with the bow of the boat.

‘Come on, Ash, clear that bridge!’ he said, looking along the barrel of the gun and seeing London Bridge little more than a quarter of a mile away and rapidly approaching. The outline of people, horses and carriages moved quickly across it, but it was yet to be cleared.

‘Off the bridge now! Clear the way!’ cried Ash, turning his chestnut mare from side to side and moving in a zigzag fashion across the bridge, herding the terrified pedestrians along its road and footpath. He looked back up the bridge, seeing the other soldiers had managed better to move the crowd back to the far side.

‘Off the bridge!’ he repeated, releasing another round from the gun into the air. ‘Off the bridge!’

‘What can the fool possibly hope to achieve!’ sneered Payne, once again peering through the periscope at Bolt. ‘He can’t aim that gun at the deck, so all he could possibly do is fire it at 157

London himself…’ He spun the scope around, looking in the direction the submarine was heading, a realisation dawning on his face, his jaw slackening.

‘NO!’ screamed Payne, slapping away the viewer. He sped towards the ladder leading to the main hatch, where he thrust his remaining arm up and the large iron hatch door groaned and screeched as though someone were putting it through an immense pain.

Gem could see the great toll the action was taking on Payne as he twisted his fist in the air until the hatch exploded outward. Payne leapt up and disappeared onto the deck in a single bound.

Payne exploded through the hatch and onto the deck like a shell fired from a cannon.

‘I’ll be with you in a moment,’ said Bolt, looking up at London Bridge, now only fifty feet off the main bow and pulling the red handle to fire the massive gun.

The gun boomed with a shuddering violence. Bolt found himself thrown back in the seat forcefully by the recoil, which sent Payne tumbling back to the decking behind him The shell struck the west side of London Bridge between the arc of the forth and fifth legs of its foundations, the point through which the submarine was about to enter. Great clouds of black explosive smoke mushroomed into the sky as substantial sections of the bridge gave way and collapsed into the river below. In the following seconds, as the smoke began to clear, Bolt could see through the bridge completely, realising he had blown a hole straight through it. Pieces of masonry on either side of the gap continued to fall into the Thames as the bridge’s middle section collapsed entirely onto its own foundations, blocking the way.

Bolt’s ears rang with the explosion. He could feel the engines desperately trying to alter the submarine’s course, but it was too late. The hull collided with the collapsed section of bridge that had buried itself into the waters of the river.

A wrenching of metal and rock filled the air as the submarine ground to an abrupt halt, its nose rising up out of the water and into the fallen bridge. A gash had opened along the right side of the bow and water was beginning to flood the interior.

Bolt wasted no time. Still disorientated, he clambered down from the gunnery position and stood over Payne, who lay, reeling from the impact. He pulled one of his pistols from his belt and pointed it at Payne; he was not going to give the man a heartbeat of opportunity.

The round cracked out and bounced harmlessly away from Payne, ricocheting off the metallic surface of the submarine. Payne flew to his feet, using his powers to assist himself.

In one fluid movement, he grabbed Bolt by the throat and lifted him into the air.

‘You!’ hissed Payne, his eyes raging. ‘You!’ Bolt struggled to raise his gun, but Payne was causing him to feel as if every bone in his body were being crushed at the same time. The weapon dropped from his hand.

‘You!’ repeated Payne, slowly crushing Bolt’s throat with an unnatural strength.

Bolt struggled, but his limbs felt like they were made of lead and he found it difficult to move. He put both hands up and tried to pry open Payne’s single one wrapped about his throat without success. He dropped his left arm, reaching behind his back and drew his second pistol. His eyes met Payne’s and a moment of pure hatred was exchanged.

Shaking with effort, Bolt kept his eyes locked with Payne’s, keeping him distracted from the gun which he drew up and into Payne’s body. He pressed it hard into the man’s jacket and Payne clearly felt the pressure as his eyes fell down in a dawning realisation and the grip loosened about Bolt’s throat.

‘For England,’ said Bolt, firing.

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Payne dropped Bolt. He held his single arm to the wound and looked at the blood that covered his glove. His face was almost a pure white and his eyes where filled with a startled look back at Captain Bolt. He dropped sideways and fell from the boat, falling away under the dark waves of the Thames surface.

Below deck, Gem and Voyce had been thrown by the force of the impact along the right side of the navigation table. Voyce had managed to maintain his balance through the event and had fiercely held onto Gem, keeping her upright as well. Water was flooding the hull and brought with it an icy chill as it swamped about their feet.

Tom, however, had not once lost his balance or moved from the very position he had occupied before the collision. He stood firmly upright, focusing entirely upon Voyce, his nature beginning to scare Gem. The submarine’s sailors deserted their posts and rushed to the exit, leaving the three of them alone in the increasing darkness as some of the lights began to explode.

Voyce growled at Tom and crushed the back of Gem’s neck where he held her before him.

‘Argh!’ cried Gem, struggling to free herself and twisting under the pain.

Tom took a solitary step forward, which caused Voyce to tighten his grip even more.

‘Argh, no, please!’ begged Gem. She knew what Voyce was trying to achieve in baiting Tom, but she found herself helpless to stop. ‘Tom, go back!’ she said through the blinding agony, disappointed at her own resistance.

Voyce thrust his free left hand towards Tom. Gem could see his hand shaking with effort as he attempted to overwhelm the boy using his will, but Tom remained unphased.

The hazing of the air began to appear along the entire length of Tom’s body, glowing with a light blue in the darkened interior of the boat. The boy took a further step towards Voyce, who in turn cast Gem roughly to one side, freeing his second hand and thrusting it into the air in the direction of Tom. Calmly, Tom raised both of his hands with his palms facing away from the middle of his chest. The aura glowing around him grew stronger and more defined until it began to light the structure around them and dance off the deepening water.

Voyce’s arms began to shake wildly and his face grimaced with effort, yet Tom did not appear to be trying in this strangest contest of wills. It was then that Gem began to realise something of the power of the young boy she had met and had grown to call a friend. He was not exerting force, but allowing Voyce to use all of his against himself.

Groaning, Voyce began to buckle under the pressure until he collapsed onto his hands and knees in the water and gasped for breath.

Tom stepped closer until he was standing over Voyce. He reached out and slipped his hand into Gem’s, it was notably warm and she sensed a strange tranquillity in his emotions.

He reached down with his other hand and laid it upon Voyce’s head.

Later, Gem would have difficulty understanding and articulating what happened, but she doubted very much that Tom had meant for her to receive the images in the way she did.

Like riding on a roundabout that span too fast for comfort, the lights and time surrounding her blurred away to irrelevancy. A flooding of someone else’s thoughts, emotions and memories struck her in a deluge that she found overwhelming. She felt Tom’s hand in the distance, and pulled away, freeing herself from him. The interior of the submarine snapped back into being her reality and the water continued to creep up her legs as controls sparked and the hull creaked eerily around them.

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Tom continued to keep his hand upon Voyce’s head and fill his mind. Gem found herself crying, overwhelmed by the knowledge, she wanted to stop Tom, to pull him away, even from this most evil of men, but she was frightened to touch him.

‘Tom! Please! Leave him!’ she cried in desperation.

Eventually, Tom removed his hand and Voyce fell face first into the water, collapsing upon his elbows. There he stayed, floating in the water for several seconds. Suddenly, he stood, roaring a silent scream of anguish, before pushing himself up and smashing through the upper decking, punching his way through the metal hull to the daylight above in a single terrifying movement. In all she had seen the men do, Gem had not seen anything with such strength of violence. For a moment, she stood stunned, attempting to come to terms with all she had witnessed. She slowly moved forward and looked up through the torn hole in the metal above, seeing only the faintest wisps of clouds passing overhead as Bolt’s bruised and bloodied face looked down on her, over the edge of the hole.

‘They’re all gone,’ said Gem, wiping the tears from her eyes.

‘I saw,’ replied Bolt simply, looking up to the sky. ‘Where did he go?’

‘As far away from Tom as possible,’ answered Gem, looking at Tom, who gazed back up at her as he ever did, through a mop of unruly hair and the bluest eyes she had ever seen.

‘Gabriel?’ asked Bolt.

‘Never here,’ said Gem. ‘And Payne?’ she asked.

‘Dead,’ said Bolt. ‘I was tiring of his conversation. Frankly, I’m more afraid of what Her Majesty is going to do with me when she sees what I’ve done to her bridge,’ said Bolt with a shrug. He smiled and reached down with one arm, ready to lift Gem out of the wreckage.

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Chapter Nineteen

Beyond The Bridge Four days had passed, but Gem was still consumed by the experiences that Tom had given to her within the submarine. The thoughts and imagery had kept her awake at night and caused her to scream into her pillow on more than one occasion.

She stood alongside Captain Bolt, Ash and Dr Vandell, holding Tom’s hand, looking across the nearly empty throne room of Buckingham Palace towards the Queen, where she sat dressed in a beautiful white floor length gown and her crown. To her right, a footman stood beside her holding a tray of small black boxes. On her left, stood Lord Russell, the Prime Minister, smiling broadly.

The room was almost entirely furnished in reds and gold. A vast chandelier hung overhead, which had managed to attract a comment from Ash about its safety, given the damage to the rest of the palace. Rebuilding was already underway, as the Queen had refused to allow the palace to continue looking anything less than complete for a moment longer than absolutely necessary.

‘Lord Russell,’ suggested the Queen, nodding towards the tray the footman held.

‘Of course, Your Majesty,’ said the Prime Minister, taking his queue and briskly walking to the footman to relieve him of the tray.

‘You are excused,’ said the Queen, dismissing the servant.

The footman left the room quietly by the far door. Once he had gone, the Queen stood and walked to the group. She stopped and looked seriously at Bolt with a growing frown.

‘You demolished two of the Empire’s proudest landmarks in the better part of an hour. I have seriously considered having you taken in irons.’

‘As Your Majesty sees fit,’ replied Bolt with a short bow.

‘However, your fearless protection of our country against odds which seemed overwhelming, has earned you our continued gratitude and respect. You looked disaster in the eye and did not flinch. It may be that the public never know the full circumstances of your heroism, but the Prime Minister and I do, and for that, we are England, and we thank you on her behalf.

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‘In recognition of valour of those who rise above their fear in the face of an enemy, we hereby award you with our highest honour. We have decided to call it the Victoria Cross, and you are to be its first recipient, captain,’ said the Queen, taking a medal up from the tray and pinning it to the tunic of Bolt’s uniform.

‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ said Bolt quietly.

‘Doctor,’ began the Queen, moving to her left. ‘I’m told you had opportunity to save yourself, yet you chose to stay for those who needed help. During this time, you are all considered to have been under the command of Captain Bolt, this entitles you to be awarded as well,’ she said, lifting a medal and pinning it carefully to the doctor’s suit breast.

‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ said Dr Vandell, putting his hand up to touch the medal before bowing to his Queen.

‘And, Ash Pitt. You have served your country by infiltrating a hornet’s nest and passing through unbitten. Your efforts have, and will, save many lives. All of us owe you our sincerest gratitude.’

‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ he replied, with a bow.

‘So, to young Gemma Lightfoot, and Tom….’ The Queen stopped mid-sentence and looked about, searching for an answer to an unasked question. ‘You don’t have a surname, do you Tom?’ she said.

Tom shook his head, surprising Gem. ‘Well then, until you find one; just “Tom”. Each time I see the pair of you, you are hand in hand. This reminds us and shows us the way. We need to be mindful of what it is we fight for in times when we find ourselves away from the light. You have both displayed great courage and fortitude in the face of our enemy, and we are proud to award you both with the Victoria Cross.’ The Queen pinned a medal to Gem’s dress and then handed a second one to her. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, ‘you would like to award this to Tom.’ ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ said Gem, getting flustered in Queen Victoria’s presence once again. She took the medal in trembling hands and studied it as she pinned it to Tom’s shirt. As its name suggested, the medal was in the form of a cross, within the centre of which was a representation of the very crown the Queen was wearing at that moment, and over it proudly stood the British Lion. An inscription ran underneath, it read “For Valour”.

Tom looked at Gem as she attached the medal to his chest. ‘Twenty-Nine. Thirty,’ stated Tom, comfortably.

‘Really?’ said Gem, feigning interest while she concentrated on fixing the medal in position. Clearly, she thought, the Queen had a knack for such a task.

The Prime Minister spoke up, ‘Thank you. Each of you. We must consider ourselves at war with an enemy that will not show himself and fights a very different battle. I feel secure, knowing there are people like yourselves, who can take the fight to them. People who are willing to protect those that cannot protect themselves. Again, I thank you. We thank you. England thanks you.’

‘Prime Minister,’ replied Bolt, nodding his head in a bow of acknowledgement.

An hour later, Gem stood on the balcony of her room at the palace, looking out over the rear gardens, staring into an unnaturally blue sky. The air was cold, but she found it rousing.

‘A penny for your thoughts,’ said Dr Vandell approaching from the doorway, where the curtains flapped with the wind.

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Gem was pleased he was there, but she did not want to talk about what was on her mind, unsure that if she began she would be able to say it to completion. The pain had yet to subside and she doubted that it ever would. She remained silent.

‘I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I thought you’d be out here. I saw you earlier when I went for a walk around the grounds.’

‘She’s very kind,’ said Gem. ‘The Queen? Yes, yes, she is,’ agreed Dr Vandell, clearly rolling with the direction of the conversation.

‘What do we do now?’ asked Gem. ‘Well, I intend to spend some time with Tom, and see if we can’t get some answers and help him find himself.’

Gem flinched from the words.

‘The rest seem intent on tracking down Gabriel and this so called Table of Shadows.

Eventually though, I will have to return to Coventry. Perhaps you should write a letter to Ellie, to tell her how you are.’

‘Don’t leave me!’ said Gem suddenly.

‘Not for a while, but you don’t need me as much anymore, Gem. You’re growing up.’

‘I’ll always need you, Dr Vandell,’ said Gem, turning abruptly and hugging his chest. A fountain of emotion was welling up within her and she was struggling to keep it down.

‘I’ll ask you once more, Gem, about what it is that is making you so unhappy. After that, I won’t enquire again, but I’ll always be ready if you wish to discuss it,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Now, something is clearly troubling you, and I want to help.’

Gem pushed away from the doctor, unable to look him in the face. She stared out across the palace grounds, rubbing at her eyes, but it was too much. She broke down. ‘It’s Tom,’ she began, utterly falling apart.

‘What is it? Tom’s alright, isn’t he?’

‘No. He isn’t. I saw what happened. Not all of it, but enough. I couldn’t take it all. I had to stop it. Voyce saw it all, but then he should have. They’re evil, Dr Vandell, evil.’

‘What is this? I don’t understand,’ said the doctor, putting an arm around Gem as she rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Come now, Gem. It’s alright.’

‘It’s Tom… They... They tortured him.’

‘Who did?’

‘I saw Payne and Voyce there. They knew about it. They knew what happened! How could they?’

‘Now, now, Gem. Take your time. I don’t understand.’

‘When we were on the submarine, Tom touched Voyce and released his memories upon him. Memories of what happened before we met him. I think he wanted Voyce to understand what he had done. There was a woman. A kind looking woman, who Tom loved very much. I think it was his mother, but then she was taken away from him and he was put in a tiny dark room and they stopped him from feeling, and they stopped him from hearing, and they stopped him from seeing.’

‘Sensory deprivation,’ said the doctor. ‘I’ve heard of it. Lord God! Not a child! Not to a child!’

‘They kept doing it. Time and time again,’ wept Gem. ‘Leaving him in the dark, unable to feel, unable to scream. Frightened and alone.’

‘How long did this go on for?’

Gem cried uncontrollably.

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‘How long did this go on for?’ asked Dr Vandell again.

Gem said nothing, her face contorting with anguish.

Dr Vandell put a hand under her chin and lifted her face up until he was able to look her in the eye. ‘How long did this go on for?’ he asked gently.

‘Years.’

‘Years?’

‘You can’t imagine the pain,’ said Gem in a voice that would not let itself be any more than a whisper.

Gem felt Dr Vandell shudder and pull her even tighter into his body. She could not tell how long they stood there in mutual silence, but they began to watch the orange sun fall below the trees in the distance.

‘Jewel?’ said a small voice from beside them.

‘Tom?’ replied Gem, looking down to see him peering around Dr Vandell.

Somehow, someone had given Tom two enormous wooden toy pistols, which he now carried religiously tucked, crossed over each other, into the back of his belt.

Gem put out her arm and he responded to her gesture, gathering up her hand. His touch was warm and comforting, and for the time being, her pain fell in two.

‘I’ll leave you alone,’ said Dr Vandell. ‘I’ll see you for dinner.’

‘Yes,’ said Gem as the doctor took his leave.

‘You know, Tom,’ she said, looking down at him through raw eyes. ‘You are the strangest boy.’

‘Jewel?’ said Tom in response.

‘Yes?’ she said, not expecting a reply.

‘I am your mine,’ he replied from beneath a frustratingly long fringe of unruly hair.

THE END

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- A NOTE During the story, many references are made to inventions and events that are not true.

It is not my intention to ‘write over history’ due to laziness, (not entirely anyway) only to provide ‘what if…’ alternatives. To this end, the following facts should be acknowledged.

- There was only one Great Fire of London. It lasted from September 2nd to September 5th 1666.

- The telephone was patented by Alexander Graham Bell in 1876.

- The first powered airship flight was not until 1852, by Henri Giffard in a steampowered design.

- While the first internal combustion engine was patented in 1823, it was not until 1860 that it was brought into production.

- The periodic table was not devised until 1869, by Dimitri Mendeleev.

- The depth of the Thames at Cringle Wharf, is 8.6 metres. This is high enough to fit two double decker buses through, one on top of another, undetected.

- The Victoria Cross was not issued until 1856.

- Electric, or “Galvanic”, lighting was only demonstrated in 1850. Swann and Edison both invented the first electric incandescent lamps in the 1870s.

- Motor Cars using gasoline engines where not patented until 1886, by Karl Benz.

- The first syringe was invented in 1853 by Charles Gabriel Pravaz.

- London Bridge has been demolished and rebuilt several times, but never by Captain Bolt. It is not to be confused with Tower Bridge, the more readily associated London landmark.

- Most of everything else is authentic.

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