Читать книгу Henry and the Guardians of the Lost - Jenny Nimmo - Страница 8

Henry reached for Pearl’s hand. He could feel nothing.

‘It’ll be all right, Henry.’ Her voice came from a long way away.

Slowly the impenetrable darkness began to lighten. The smothering feeling lifted and Henry could hear the reassuring purr of the engine. They were moving again, and as they moved a peculiar thing happened. Ahead of them the sun began to rise; higher and higher, faster and faster. The night clouds melted away, leaving the sky a clear ice-blue.

‘There,’ said Pearl, pulling down her sunshield. ‘All is well.’

‘Is it?’ Henry was baffled by the sudden appearance of the sun. What had happened to the hours between midnight and sunrise? ‘You said there were birds on the arch. Those weren’t birds.’

‘Treasure’s writing is a little . . . untidy.’ Pearl gave an unconvincing chuckle.

They were travelling along a road that ran between rows of warehouses. Beyond them a vast forest stretched as far as the eye could see. The huge doors in every warehouse had been thrown wide open, as though in expectation of some giant delivery.

‘Weird,’ said Henry. ‘We seem so far from anywhere.’

‘The equinox,’ his aunt murmured.

‘The equinox?’ Henry inquired.

‘The sun tips over the horizon,’ she said, ‘and night is as long as day.’ It was the only explanation that she seemed prepared to give.

When they had passed the warehouses, a church spire came into view, and then a cluster of roofs. Pearl was driving dangerously fast, Henry thought. Perhaps she was trying to catch a mirage before it disappeared. But as they drew closer to the buildings, Henry could see that it was a mirage; they were about to enter a small town.

‘Timeless’ said a sign beside the road.

Henry could see nothing special about the place, except that the frost and sunlight made it look very bright.

‘There it is,’ cried Pearl. ‘I’m dying for a cup of tea.’

They stopped outside a cafe with a pink and orange awning. Above the awning, the words, ‘Martha’s Cafe’ had been painted in blue and orange, the top of each letter decorated with a pink cupcake. Behind the cafe, trees loomed – their naked branches festooned with ivy.

Henry was hungry again. Pearl ordered eggs on toast for them both, tea for herself and hot chocolate for Henry. Her mood had changed again. Her smile had gone. She ate quickly and when she had finished her breakfast, she stood up, saying, ‘I’m just going to tidy my hair.’ And then she came round the table and kissed Henry’s cheek.

It was the first time that Pearl had kissed him before going to the toilet. He hoped she wasn’t going to make a habit of it.

Henry finished his meal and drained his cup. Pearl was taking a long time. Her hair had looked perfectly tidy. After all she’d been inside a car all day, or was it all night? He noticed two children sitting at a table by the window: a boy and a girl, about his age. They wore purple-coloured sweaters and grey trousers. The girl had long brown hair, a small nose and a wide, serious face. They boy looked exactly the same, only his hair was short. They were both staring at him.

Henry returned their stare and then, feeling self-conscious looked down at his plate. Several minutes passed. What was Pearl doing? He didn’t like to go and look in the Ladies’ cloakroom.

The children were still staring at him. Henry felt uncomfortable. All at once the girl stood up and came over to his table.

‘Are you meeting someone here?’ she asked.

‘Er, no,’ said Henry.

‘Was that your gran who just went to the cloakroom?’

‘My aunt,’ said Henry.

‘Well . . .’ The girl swung from foot to foot. ‘I think she’s forgotten you.’

‘No, she hasn’t,’ said Henry indignantly. ‘She’s just taking a long time.’

The girl shook her head regretfully. ‘We just saw her get into a blue car that was parked outside.’

‘I expect she was fetching something she’d forgotten,’ said Henry, wondering why Pearl had gone out without telling him. He had his back to the entrance and couldn’t see the cloakroom door.

‘She drove away,’ said the girl.

Henry felt a bit sick. He chewed his lip. ‘She couldn’t have.’

The girl pulled out a chair and sat opposite him, then the boy came over and stood between them. He had a calm, confident expression. ‘She hasn’t come back,’ he said. ‘I’ve been watching.’

Henry was slightly annoyed. What business did these children have, watching him and his aunt? He felt his heart thumping and told himself he wasn’t worried.

‘D’you want to come home with us?’ asked the girl.

‘No,’ Henry said fiercely. ‘I’ll wait here. I know my aunt will come back.’

‘We’ll wait with you.’ The boy pulled a chair across from another table and sat down.

Henry could see now that the boy was older than the girl; he was also quite a bit taller. He obviously liked to take control of certain situations.

‘My name’s Peter,’ said the boy. ‘Peter Reed. And this is Penny.’ He nodded at the girl who gave Henry a weak smile.

Henry thought it would be churlish not to give them a bit more information about himself, so he told them his name and where he had come from. When he described the hurried drive through the night, Peter gave Penny a slightly furtive smile. Henry kept his secret to himself. In the friendly school at home, they were used to him and never pried. But now he was in unfamiliar territory and he knew he must be ‘on his guard’.

‘We always come here early on Sunday mornings,’ said Peter. ‘You get the best doughnuts.’

‘Want one?’ asked Penny.

Henry hesitated. Nothing wrong with a doughnut, he thought. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

Peter went to the counter to buy three doughnuts. When he came back, Henry glanced at the clock on the wall. It had said half-past twelve when he and Pearl had come in. It still did. He looked at his watch: half-past twelve.

‘The clock’s stopped,’ Henry remarked. ‘So has my watch.’

‘No time here,’ said Penny. ‘Not in Timeless.’

‘No time like the present,’ Peter said with a grin.

‘Time flies,’ trilled Penny. ‘Time stands still.’

Henry had an urge to tell them both to shut up. He felt angry and confused.

‘You’d better come home with us,’ said Peter. ‘Our parents will help you.’

Henry didn’t like being bossed. ‘I think I should stay and wait for my aunt,’ he said, biting in to his doughnut.

‘Leave a note for your aunt with Martha,’ Penny suggested. ‘Tell her you’ve gone to Number Five, Ruby Drive. You can’t stay here all day.’

Henry could see that she had a point. The cafe was filling up and people were searching for spare tables. When the doughnuts were eaten, he went to the counter and left a note with the friendly woman called Martha. The note said:

Dear Auntie Pearl,

You didn’t come back, so I’ve gone to Number Five, Ruby Drive. I’ll wait for you there.

Love from Henry

When they stepped outside a large black and white cat came running up to them.

‘Enkidu!’ Henry knelt and flung his arms around the cat, burying his face in the long, soft fur. ‘Did Pearl throw you out?’

‘He was already out when the car left,’ said Peter. ‘I noticed him sitting behind the bins.’

‘Hiding,’ said Penny. ‘He wanted to stay.’

Henry gathered Enkidu into his arms. ‘Thank you! Thank you, Enkidu,’ he whispered in the cat’s hairy ear.

Number Five, Ruby Drive was only a few minutes away. It was a red brick, modern-looking house with a small front garden and a path paved with red and black tiles.

Peter unlocked the front door and Penny followed him into the house. Henry hesitated on the doorstep.

‘Come on,’ said the Reeds.

Henry carried Enkidu into Number Five. It seemed welcoming. There were red tiles on the floor and the wall was covered with framed photos of Peter and Penny holding silver cups, bronze medals and official-looking certificates. Henry had never won anything.

Peter and Penny led Henry past a red-carpeted staircase to a room at the back of the house.

‘Look, Mum,’ said Peter, opening the door with a bit of a flourish, ‘another one. Ta da!’ He shoved Henry into a room that seemed to be crammed with children; three small ones to be precise.

Two toddlers and a baby were playing on the floor. A woman with short brown hair and spectacles stood at the kitchen sink, peeling potatoes. She turned to Henry and said, ‘Ah! I see. What’s your name, dear?’ Her eyebrows were raised in an interested but not exactly friendly way.

Henry didn’t reply. He was wondering what they meant by ‘another one’.

‘His name is Henry Yewbeam,’ Peter told his mother.

‘Come in, dear, and have a cup of something,’ said Mrs Reed.

‘Tea,’ said Penny firmly. She filled a kettle and put it on the gas stove.

Peter pulled out a chair, saying, ‘Sit down, Henry. You’ll be OK. We’ll try to make sure of that.’

Try? thought Henry. He sat down and put Enkidu on his lap.

‘That’s a very fine animal,’ Mrs Reed remarked.

‘His name’s Enkidu,’ said Henry. ‘I hope you don’t mind cats.’

‘Not at all.’ Mrs Reed smiled. ‘Our old tabby died a month ago, and we’ve been looking for a replacement. Your cat can use Tibby’s cat-flap.’

Henry’s grip on Enkidu tightened. ‘What did you mean when you said you’d found another one?’ he asked Peter.

Penny put a cup of tea in front of Henry. ‘There was a girl,’ she explained. ‘Just like you, left in Martha’s cafe, all alone, no mum or dad, just a suitcase. Mum brought her home, didn’t you, Mum?’

Henry stared at Mrs Reed. ‘What happened to her?’

‘She disappeared,’ said Mrs Reed in a matter-of-fact way.

‘Disappeared?’ Henry’s voice was tight and dry. ‘Did you phone the police?’

There was a troubling silence while Mrs Reed took off her apron and sat at the table. ‘There are no police here, dear,’ she said, patting Henry’s hand.

‘No police,’ Henry croaked. ‘None at all? Not even one?’

‘We have the mayor and his councillors,’ Mrs Reed told him in a firm voice. ‘They uphold the law. And then there are the henchmen, of course. Even they couldn’t find the girl.’

‘Oh.’ Henry felt weighed down by all this unwelcome news. The faces round the table were friendly enough, and the noise of chortling toddlers and boiling potatoes, and the sunshine outside the window should have made him feel cheerful, but he couldn’t rid himself of the thought that if someone else had been left in Martha’s Cafe, and then disappeared, he might disappear too.

Mrs Reed suggested that the children should go into the garden until lunchtime. Henry refused. So Peter took him up to his bedroom. Enkidu followed. He was keen on bedrooms.

There was a spare bed in Peter’s room, already made up for his friend, Bill, who often slept over. ‘So we’re always prepared, you see,’ said Peter.

Enkidu jumped on the bed, curled up and closed his eyes.

Lunch wasn’t tasty but it was very filling. In the afternoon Peter and Penny persuaded Henry to walk between them a little way up the road. Timeless looked like any other small town. A few of the neighbours waved, and a friend cycling past cried, ‘Hi, Peter!’

Henry noticed that there were very few cars, and several people were pale and dishevelled. Peter saw Henry staring at a woman whose face was so white she looked like a ghost. She appeared to be exhausted and could barely put one foot in front of the other.

‘She tried to get through,’ Peter said with a grin.

‘Through?’ said Henry. ‘Through what?’

‘You’ll find out.’ Penny gave a giggle. ‘You’d think they’d know better by now.’

Henry felt very uneasy. He wanted to ask more, but guessed that no one would tell him anything – yet. He’d have to find out for himself.

At the end of the road a sharp rise led to a grand house standing behind ornate iron railings. It was four storeys high, with a steep slate roof and many sparkling windows. Shiny brass studs decorated the tall front door, and there were two door knockers. One a plain ring, the other a large hand.

‘The mayor’s house,’ Polly told Henry.

As she spoke the door opened and two men walked out. They wore midnight-blue suits, the jackets covered in gleaming insignia and the breeches tucked into tall polished boots. Each man carried an iron club and wore a steel helmet.

‘Henchmen,’ Peter said, almost reverently. ‘They keep the law very efficiently.’

I bet they do, thought Henry, observing the long, thick clubs.

The children turned and walked back to Number Five. A cold wind had sprung up and Henry put his hands into his pockets to keep them warm. His fingers curled around a scrap of paper.

At first he thought it was an old note from school that he’d forgotten to give Pearl. But when he opened the folded paper he saw that the note was from Pearl. She had obviously been in a hurry; the writing was slanting and spidery. It said:

Forgive me, Henry. I did it for the best. I’ve no time to explain. I have to be out within the hour. Go round to the trees behind the cafe. Keep yourself hidden and wait for Mr Lazlo. Ask him where the white bird flies. He must reply, ‘In the Little House.’ Anything else and he’s the wrong person. Tell no one!

I’ll think of you every day.

Your loving aunt,

Pearl x

Henry pushed the note back into his pocket and kept on walking. Polly and Peter paid no attention. They probably thought he’d found an old message from a friend.

They reached the gate at Number Five and, all at once, Henry felt uncomfortably shaky. He stood by the gate while the others walked up to the front door. I’m in the wrong place, he thought. Tell no one, the note said. So how could he explain it if he decided to return to the hiding place behind the cafe?

‘You OK, Henry?’ Peter asked.

Henry nodded. He smiled uncertainly.

‘Maybe it’s jet lag?’ Penny offered.

‘I didn’t fly here,’ Henry mumbled. Pearl wasn’t coming back and he’d missed the person he was supposed to meet. He followed the Reeds into the house. Where else could he go?

Mr Reed appeared at suppertime. He had a wide face and thinning black hair. His cheeks were rosy and he smiled easily. He shook Henry’s hand and patted his shoulder, saying, ‘Things will be all right, Henry. We’ll make sure of that.’

How? Henry wondered.

‘Should we let the mayor know?’ Mrs Reed asked her husband.

Mr Reed shook his head. ‘Not yet.’ He darted a look at Henry and smiled. ‘We haven’t heard Henry’s story.’

Henry had nothing more to tell. He certainly wasn’t going to reveal his secret to these strangers, or mention Pearl’s note.

They sat round the kitchen table, eating bacon, beans and eggs. Enkidu was given some bacon fat. The smallest baby was in bed, the toddlers ate noisily. No one else said much. Henry kept thinking of the note in his anorak pocket.

‘So are you going to tell us why your aunt brought you here?’ Mr Reed asked Henry halfway through the meal.

Henry hesitated. He had to say something, and he wouldn’t be giving anything away by describing his journey. ‘She got a letter, my aunt. I don’t know what it said. She never told me. She was in an awful hurry. We drove all day and then went through an arch carved with bones and stuff. The next moment we were in total darkness, and the car was floating, then suddenly it was morning.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We went to Martha’s Cafe, and when I wasn’t looking my aunt left.’

Mr Reed nodded. He didn’t seem at all surprised. ‘And your aunt gave you no instructions, nothing to indicate where you should go, what you were to do?’

Henry thought of the note. Tell no one. He shook his head.

Peter gave him an odd look. It made Henry feel uncomfortable. He couldn’t stop his cheeks from reddening. He wondered if the Reeds noticed. He felt very hot.

‘Just like the other one,’ Penny said thoughtfully. ‘She disappeared in the night, after curfew.’

‘Curfew?’ Henry said. ‘Curfews are for prisons and . . . and wars, not normal towns.’

The Reeds all laughed. What was so funny? No one explained.

After supper, Mr and Mrs Reed took the toddlers upstairs for their bath. Penny did her homework at one end of the kitchen table, while Henry taught Peter how to play Battleships at the other end. The room was lit by gas lamps that popped and fizzed from the wall. Henry found that he could hardly keep his eyes open and remembered that he and Pearl had driven through the night. A large old clock hung above the stove. It was stained and rusty and, like the clock in Martha’s Cafe, it had stopped at half past twelve. He asked Peter if he knew the time.

‘We won’t know for sure until the town crier comes round,’ Peter replied casually.

‘Don’t any of your clocks work? Don’t you have a watch?’ Henry asked anxiously.

‘Mm, no,’ said Peter, concentrating on his next move.

Henry felt a bit light-headed. ‘I think I’d like to go to bed,’ he said.

‘Good idea.’ Peter put down his pencil. ‘I want to finish my book before curfew.’

That word again. Henry asked, ‘What happens at curfew?’

‘Of course, you don’t have curfew, do you?’ Peter said in a patronising voice.

‘I have bedtime,’ said Henry. ‘At least I used to.’

‘Ah, well, the town crier comes round ringing his bell and telling us it’s ten o’clock. Everyone has to be indoors, and all the lamps and candles out.’ Peter said this as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

‘Even the street lights?’

‘The gas lights? Of course. And then the henchmen come round with a lantern, checking for curfew breakers.’

‘And if anyone breaks the curfew? What then?’

‘Don’t ask,’ said Peter. An unsatisfactory answer.

They were given candles in brass saucers to take to bed.

‘I expect you have e-l-e-c-t-r-i-c-i-t-y at home,’ said Peter, enunciating jokingly.

Puzzled, Henry said, ‘Most people do.’

Peter chuckled. ‘Not us. We do have a telephone, though. Just us and a few others. The mayor has a generator.’

Henry was glad to see that Enkidu hadn’t moved from the bed. The big cat was obviously making up for his undignified journey. When Henry got into bed he pushed his feet under Enkidu’s heavy body. It was comforting to feel his friend so close.

‘Don’t think I’ll read tonight,’ said Peter, blowing out his candle.

Henry did the same, but he lay awake, staring into the dark. Was he safe in this house? And if he got back to the cafe, would Mr Lazlo be there? He doubted it. He was drifting off to sleep when he heard a bell ringing outside the house. A voice called, ‘Ten o’clock and all’s well.’ Soon after this, the rhythmic sound of marching boots grew louder and louder. Tired as he was, curiosity drove Henry to the window. He looked down on a column of men, their helmets glinting in the fitful light of the moon. Henchmen.

Later, much later, Henry’s eyes opened again. There wasn’t a sound anywhere. But he was suddenly wide awake. He went to the window.

The moon was higher and brighter now. Peering through a gap in the curtains, Henry looked down at the road. A black horse stood by the garden gate. Its rider, a cloaked figure in a large beret, was looking up at Henry’s window. The man had a thick black beard and one gloved hand covered his mouth, as though he were puzzled or uncertain. In spite of the man’s forbidding appearance, Henry had to restrain a sudden urge to call out to him.

The man turned his head and looked up the road. The next minute he and the horse were gone. If it hadn’t been for the fading clatter of hooves, Henry might have believed that horse and rider had never existed.

And then came another sound. The heavy tread of approaching henchmen.