The Clockwork Conspiracy, page 3
‘Isaac’s staying with us while we find Diggory,’ her dad explained, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
‘What happened to him?’ asked Hattie.
‘He vanished,’ said Isaac. ‘From the belfry. Last night.’
‘From the belfry?’ Hattie’s mouth widened into an O.
‘Yeah. Why?’ Isaac peered at her.
‘No reason.’ Hattie’s eyes flicked to her dad. ‘Just weird.’
‘He’ll turn up,’ said Solomon briskly. ‘The police are searching the place. Old boy can’t have gone far.’
Hattie swallowed, trying to keep her face blank while she picked up her cutlery.
A tablet, leaned against a plant pot, was showing a Sunday news programme, and in the brief silence the presenter’s voice filled the kitchen.
‘… The New Time bill has its third reading in the House of Commons next week, when MPs will meet to cast a final vote on whether the UK will switch to a ten-hour day, making us the first country in the world to have metric time. Joining me now to discuss the bill is the Prime Minister, Simon Rose.’
Hattie glanced up at the screen and saw the slim, smiling figure of the Prime Minister, the studio lights shining in his slicked-back chestnut hair.
‘Thank you, Laura. Though I should say we won’t be the first country to have metric time. Ancient China, India and eighteenth-century France have all made use of decimal time systems before.’
‘And they abandoned them,’ the presenter pointed out. ‘Why is this something we need today?’
‘The world is digital,’ the Prime Minister said, opening his hands. ‘Why shouldn’t time be too?’
‘Is that really happening?’ Hattie asked. ‘They keep talking about it at school. We’re not going to have ten-hour days, are we?’
‘The law might not pass, angel,’ said her dad, slicing into his bacon. ‘But it’s close. The debate’s going to be fierce tomorrow, it’ll be like wrangling wild dogs in the chamber.’
‘And do you want it to pass?’ Hattie asked. ‘Do you want us to have a hundred seconds in a minute or whatever?’
‘You know perfectly well I can’t answer that,’ her dad said with a wink.
‘Why not?’ asked Isaac.
‘My job is to be completely impartial.’
‘What do you think?’ Hattie asked.
‘Me?’ Isaac looked up.
‘Of course you.’
She watched him scratch the shoulder of his jumper.
‘Um. I guess I don’t see the point. In changing everything. It works fine as it is. Right?’
‘If we never changed anything that worked OK we wouldn’t have the jet engine or the internet,’ said Hattie.
‘Those were inventions,’ Isaac replied. ‘New things that solved problems – what does a ten-hour day solve?’
‘Isn’t maths hard with time because the numbers go up to twelve instead of ten?’ Hattie asked. ‘What’s, like, fifteen per cent of an hour? Who knows! Time’s so fiddly – like with leap years, and time zones. And last night – they wound the clocks back by an hour, but in the spring we’re just going to wind them forward again? Doesn’t that seem kinda dumb?’
‘Hattie likes to argue,’ said her dad. ‘Don’t mind her.’
‘Nine minutes,’ said Isaac.
‘What?’
‘Fifteen per cent of an hour is nine minutes,’ said Isaac. ‘It’s not that hard.’ He took a bite of his bacon and looked Hattie directly in the eye. She couldn’t help but smile. ‘And I like turning the clocks back,’ he added. ‘My dad says it’s like a sign the seasons have changed. Autumn’s here.’
‘A fine sentiment,’ said Solomon, putting down his coffee. ‘And exactly the kind of argument I expect to hear tomorrow. I’ll be preparing for it this afternoon, Isaac, so the two of us should get going now.’
‘Where?’ Hattie asked.
‘To Isaac’s house,’ her dad said. ‘To fetch some things.’
‘And see if my dad’s there,’ Isaac added.
‘Of course.’ Solomon gave a weak smile. ‘I hope there’s news.’
Hattie watched Isaac get up from the table. She felt sorry for him, but grateful that he hadn’t told on her. She bit her lip. What she’d seen last night could be important.
Maybe she should tell him what she knew.
NINE
Isaac opened his garden gate with a squeak and unlocked the front door of his house with a key from under a flowerpot.
He walked into the hallway, Uncle Sol following behind him in a smart overcoat.
‘Dad?’ he called out. His voice echoed up the stairs, but there was no answer. He glanced around the kitchen and saw last night’s dinner plates in the drying rack by the sink. He felt a lump in his throat. Ever since his mum died when he was little, it had been just the two of them in the house. But it had never felt lonely, until now.
‘Maybe he left a note,’ said Solomon. ‘I’ll look. You go up and get some fresh clothes on, eh?’
Isaac stamped up the L-shaped staircase to the small landing. His dad’s room was at the front, and Isaac’s was at the back, a bathroom in between. He opened his dad’s door. The room was dull and simple as ever, the bedlinen smooth and undisturbed.
Feeling dejected, Isaac crossed the landing. His own room opened up to him like a cave of treasures. It overflowed with stuff. Heavy shelves lined the walls, crammed with textbooks and atlases, strange rocks, model cars, 3D jigsaw puzzles and notepads frothing with scribbled ink. Posters tacked to the wall showed the solar system and the periodic table. A desk in the corner was scattered with highlighter pens, test tubes and loose coils of wire.
Isaac felt calmer among his own things. He picked up his Swiss Army knife from the bedside table and went to his window, where a telescope stood on a tripod. He glanced down at the chaos of their strip of garden, hoping to see his dad by the shed, working on the motorbike.
Of course it was only the tangle of weeds and tall grass he saw, with paths hacked through it where he and his dad had played jungle explorers a few weeks ago. They’d cleared space for a fire and toasted marshmallows looking up at the night sky, Isaac pointing out all the constellations he’d learned.
‘You’re the smartest kid in the universe!’ His dad had chuckled, ruffling Isaac’s hair. ‘What’s that one?’
‘The zigzaggy one is Cassiopeia,’ Isaac had said, lying down in the grass and pointing up. ‘And that one is Orion, the hunter. Like a rectangle squeezed in at the middle.’
He could still taste the marshmallows, hot and gooey.
‘No sign,’ said Solomon, peering around the doorway with an apologetic smile.
Isaac nodded.
‘That’s an impressive thing,’ Uncle Sol said, eyeing up the telescope.
‘My dad gave it to me,’ Isaac said. ‘Some of the best clockmakers were also astronomers. If you can see the stars, and a clock, you can work out exactly where you are.’
‘And who’s this fellow?’ Solomon asked, pottering over to Isaac’s desk and picking up a metal object the size of a dinner plate.
‘That’s Bolt,’ Isaac explained. ‘He’s my tortoise.’
‘He’s got wheels.’
‘He’s not a real tortoise, he’s one you can program to go places. You put code in his head and he follows the instructions. Left, right, forwards … He fell down the stairs, I’m fixing him.’
‘You’re good at fixing things, aren’t you?’
‘I just pull the back off things and poke around,’ said Isaac, shrugging. ‘I like to know how things work.’
‘Just like your dad.’ Uncle Sol sighed. ‘Look, I hope it won’t come to this, but you might need to stay with me another night.’
Isaac had suspected as much.
‘I think it’s best you pack a bag,’ Uncle Sol continued. ‘Just a few things. You might not need them, but imagine how cross your dad will be if I don’t make sure you have clean socks.’ The doorbell rang. ‘I’ll see who that is,’ he added. He disappeared downstairs, and Isaac wriggled an old sports bag out from under his bed as he heard the high-pitched fluster of Mrs Peach, his neighbour, at the door.
Isaac tugged open his chest of drawers, changing into a fresh jumper and jeans. But as he picked up a pair of joggers, he hesitated. Something was wrong. Usually, his clothes were all helter-skelter. His dad did the laundry in a hurry, and never made him tidy his room much. But the joggers in Isaac’s hands were neatly folded. The T-shirts were too. Isaac turned his head around the room, noticing for the first time that the bed had been made. Just like his dad’s.
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Someone had been here.
He put down his bag and went to tell Uncle Sol. But he heard Mrs Peach’s chattering voice rising up from below, and suddenly felt unsure.
He heard a floorboard creak in his dad’s room and froze. Mrs Peach was gabbling loudly downstairs, but Isaac knew he’d heard something. He opened the door. As his eyes flicked around the empty room, they caught on something he hadn’t noticed before. The built-in wardrobes beside his dad’s window. One of the doors was ajar.
Isaac stalked over to it, suspicious.
He hesitated, and then reached out and yanked the door open. But there was nobody inside – just a row of his dad’s white shirts and, underneath them, his dad’s safe. Isaac crouched down and looked thoughtfully at it. It was black cast iron, the size of his school backpack: an antique they’d found at a scrapyard while hunting spare parts for the motorbike. His dad loved it and kept important things like his passport and Isaac’s birth certificate inside.
‘Maybe he did leave a note,’ Isaac muttered. He twisted the dial, entering their family code: a mash-up of his and his dad’s birthdays. The door swung open. Inside was the usual Manila box file which held their precious documents. Resting on top of it was his dad’s journal.
Curious, Isaac opened the leather-bound book to its most recent page. The graph paper inside was stuffed with drawings, Post-it notes and diagrams. But he couldn’t read any of it: the writing was all numbers and letters mixed together. It looked to be in code.
Something fluttered out of the pages on to the carpet. Isaac picked up a small black envelope addressed to his father, about the size of a credit card. A gold cog with twelve teeth was embossed on the rear flap.
‘Isaac?’ Uncle Sol’s voice called up the stairs. Isaac stuffed the envelope back in the journal and took it to his room to pack with the rest of his clothes. ‘Almost done!’ he called out.
Downstairs, his godfather had made Mrs Peach a cup of tea. She told him how dreadfully worried she was about him, and would have talked forever if Uncle Sol hadn’t chivvied her out of the door. She waved goodbye as Uncle Sol’s chauffeur got out of his sleek black car and put Isaac’s bag in the boot.
‘Did you get everything you need?’ Uncle Sol asked as they got in the back seat.
‘I think so,’ said Isaac, looking back at his dad’s bedroom window as the car began to drive away.
He could have imagined it, but he thought he saw the curtain twitch.
TEN
Big Ben was striking noon by the time they got back to the Palace, the sun winking behind Westminster Abbey as their car drove around Parliament Square. The patch of green was filled with angry protesters holding placards: No New Time! and Get Your Hands Off Hours!
At New Scotland Yard, a big boring office block tucked away by the river, Isaac had been ushered into a small room with two police officers in suits, who asked him a lot of detailed questions about what he’d seen the night before. Uncle Sol had sat next to him, giving encouraging looks. The police took Isaac’s answers down on pads of yellow paper, but he could tell they were completely flummoxed. There was still no word of his father.
A social worker in a grey cardigan sat in the corner, smiling at him all through the interview. Her presence filled Isaac with dread. Uncle Sol spoke to her quietly after they’d finished talking to the police while Isaac ate a dry ham sandwich in the waiting area. They left without her saying a word to him. But she was all he could think about as they drove back to Parliament.
‘What’s going to happen to me?’ Isaac asked as their car purred through the Palace’s cast-iron gates.
‘You’ll stay with me until your father appears,’ said Solomon breezily. ‘Which I’m sure will be very soon indeed.’
Isaac could tell he didn’t believe it.
At Speaker’s House, Uncle Sol disappeared to his office, while Isaac unpacked his belongings. The last thing he took out of his bag was his dad’s journal. He perched on the edge of the bed and retrieved the black envelope, examining the gold copperplate writing. It looked vaguely familiar, and he remembered something similar dropping through the letter box at home before. But he’d never seen his dad open one in front of him.
Inside was a single black card, with a strange message printed on it:
Dial south.
Nine chains a chapter.
The hour points the way.
What did that mean? And why would his dad keep it hidden in his safe?
Feeling lost, Isaac reached under the pillow, hunting for the reassuring weight of his dad’s watch. But he couldn’t find it. He frowned, rooting around the edge of the mattress, until he glanced up and, to his confusion, found it glinting on the chest of drawers in plain view. He leaned forward and grabbed it with relief.
‘Why is it broken?’
Hattie was standing in the doorway, hands thrust into the pockets of a denim jacket. Isaac reached back into his memory, trying to place the girl with round apple cheeks and light brown skin. Had they played in his garden once? Her hair had been longer then, in braids, unlike the shoulder-length brown corkscrews she had now. But she still had the same mischievous glint in her eyes.
‘It’s my dad’s,’ said Isaac, fastening the gold chain around his neck and tucking it underneath his jumper. ‘Why have you been going through my stuff?’
‘Sorry,’ said Hattie. ‘I was just curious. You’re weird.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No, in a good way! I’m weird too.’ She leaned against the door frame. ‘If it broke last night, why’s the date wrong?’
‘The date?’ Isaac pulled the watch out again. Hattie was right. Instead of October, the tiny square cut into the dial’s left-hand side read 20th February. ‘That’s odd.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Hattie. ‘I wondered if you knew why.’
Isaac shrugged, trying to seem disinterested so she’d go away. But it didn’t work.
‘Thanks for not telling my dad you saw me from the window last night,’ she said, coming into the room. ‘He’d have freaked.’
‘What were you doing out there?’
‘Climbing. It’s one of the only fun things to do around here.’
‘What happens if you fall?’
‘I don’t fall. And I don’t get caught either, so you definitely can’t say anything.’
‘I won’t,’ said Isaac.
‘Good.’ She nodded to herself, as if making up her mind. ‘In that case, I’ve got to show you something. It’s about your dad.’
Isaac looked up. ‘What?’
‘Not here,’ she said quickly. ‘Come with me.’
Bewildered, Isaac followed the girl into her bedroom. It was immaculately clean. Hattie went to the window sill, where a gold paperweight in the shape of a dragonfly rested on a stack of schoolbooks. Hattie opened the window, and to Isaac’s astonishment, started to climb through it.
‘Where are you going?’ Isaac exclaimed.
‘Somewhere no one’s going to hear us,’ she said, stepping out on to the sloping roof tiles. She grinned. ‘Are you coming?’
Isaac’s mouth moved like a fish. They must have been five floors up! He ducked his head out and felt the wild autumn air tugging at his woolly hat. Outside, the sloping roof met another, creating a valley in the rooftops. Hattie walked through a gutter at the bottom, waving her hand for him to follow. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed on to the frame and lowered himself out. The sound of a seagull startled him, and he lost his grip. His trainers skidded on the smooth wet tiles as he slid down the roof, landing in the gutter with a splash.
‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’ Hattie said, helping him to his feet.
‘Good at what?’ Isaac demanded. ‘Where are you even taking me?’
‘Just up here,’ said Hattie, pointing to the other side of the roof valley. ‘There’s an old wire you can pull on and brace your feet against that chimney stack. Yeah, like that.’
Isaac grunted as he clambered behind her up the slippery slope, his jumper getting wet and cold on the rain-slicked tiles. Above him, Hattie straddled the apex of the roof, her movements as confident as a gymnast. She reached down to drag him up to join her.
‘So?’ he asked, balancing in front of her, breathless. ‘What are you showing me?’
‘There.’ She nodded upwards at the imposing tower of Big Ben. ‘I was out here last night,’ she said. ‘When your dad went missing.’
‘And?’
Hattie took a deep breath. ‘I think your dad was kidnapped, Isaac. And I saw the man who did it.’
ELEVEN
Hattie watched carefully as the boy took in what she had told him. She’d been nervous to bring a stranger up here, but she felt Isaac was trustworthy. Besides, she hadn’t had anyone to really talk to in days.
‘Kidnapped?’ he repeated, astonished.
‘I saw a man in the belfry,’ she explained. ‘I was here watching the clock being stopped, and I saw someone.’ She pointed up to where she’d seen the figure the night before. ‘It wasn’t your dad: I’ve seen him around the place. He’s always nice to me. This was someone else.’
‘It’s really far away,’ said Isaac, sceptical.
‘I have binoculars,’ said Hattie.
‘It was dark.’
