Dan and the Dead, page 7
So there I am, on stage.
Despite everything I ever said, I’m appearing at the school show. And everyone’s watching.
The ghost of Silas Lugubrian appears at my side.
It’s just so not fair!
19
CURTAINS
The silence is so intense you can hear Mrs C’s lipstick crack as she smiles encouragement at me.
No one in the hall knows what’s going on outside. I can feel the eyes of everyone there shift from me to the golden cage in my hands, and back to me again.
They all read the papers, watch the telly – they must know what it is I’m holding. They know about the spring-loaded blades on Gubie’s apparatus and about what happened to the Gentleman of Miracles one snowy London night in 1882.
They must all be wondering if I’m mad enough.
Just then Bagport and Ringpull burst onto the stage, and are so surprised to find themselves there that they skid to a halt too, just beyond the spotlight. I glance past them and see uniforms scrabbling into the wings, but even the police seem reluctant to break the spell.
And you know, I can’t help thinking that Gubie’s right. It really is like the Fates have conspired to get me here, on stage, with his wretched magic trick in my hands. As I look down at the audience and hear the way it holds its collective breath, I’ve half a mind to put the blasted thing on, chop my head off and just have done with it. I even hold the apparatus up in the light.
As if on cue, my hand catches the mechanism, and the skull falls out. It lands right at my feet and grins up at me.
There’s a smattering of automatic applause.
Beside me in the circle of light Silas Lugubrian strikes a dramatic pose. He’s standing before the audience as if they can see him.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he declares, even though no one can hear him except me. ‘I give you the amazing, the stupefying, Lugubrian’s Head-in-his-hands Illusion!’ And he bows.
‘I…’ I begin, looking up at the golden cage which I’m now holding above my head, seeing that the two steel blades are primed to snap shut either side of my neck. ‘I perform this magic trick in the name of… of…’
But do you know what?
Cobblers to it!
I mean, what am I, a puppet of Dame Fortune or something? Don’t I get a say?
I give the skull at my feet an almighty kick, sending it sailing into the dark above the audience, and I turn to leg it off the other side of the stage. This is one head that’s going to stay on its shoulders.
There’s screaming chaos in the hall, and I’m wishing this nightmare would just come to an end, but before I can get off the other side of the stage two enormous hands grab me.
It’s Ringpull.
Before I can even react he’s dragged me back centre stage and plonked me down in a chair, directly in the spotlight, my hands clasped behind my back in one of his. The police jump forward, from both sides of the stage, but before they can get there Bagport grabs the golden cage and rams it down over my head.
Suddenly I’m staring out between the bars, the edges of the blades scraping my neck as I struggle.
So I don’t struggle.
‘Get back!’ shouts Bagport, his clumsy great fingers grabbing the hair-trigger release mechanism of the twin blades. The edges tremble and I go very, very still.
The police skid to a halt. As I thought, everyone knows what Lugubrian’s apparatus is capable of.
‘Now now, sir. This isn’t the way…’ says a copper, who tries to edge a little closer.
‘Get BACK!’ shrieks Bagport. ‘Or the kid gets his first shave!’
The police edge away again. Silence falls once more, and everyone is watching. The spotlight has never felt hotter.
‘Daniel…’ says Si, and I can see him and Ems standing down in the audience, but there’s nothing Si can do to help me now, and nothing he can say. The only one who isn’t frozen to the spot is Silas Lugubrian.
‘No no, no!’ he cries. ‘This isn’t how it goes. I introduce the trick, you flourish it around, then you press the lever. How can I work in such conditions?’
‘I want a clear path out of here,’ calls Bagport to the police. ‘I’m bringing the kid with me. If anyone even comes near… SSHNICK! Comprendez?’
Lugubrian strides up to Bagport.
‘You are ruining everything! The adjustments have been made. Let the boy operate the apparatus!’
But of course, no one can see or hear him.
‘All right, sir,’ says the policeman to Bagport. ‘We’ll clear the stage. Just go nice and easy now.’ And with that the police edge back further still. The girl with the violin finally realizes that her act is over and flounces off in a huff. Mr Big is back in control.
And I’ve just about had it up to, well, up to where Gubie’s blades will meet in my windpipe if Bagport presses that lever. Why is it always him who calls the shots? Why am I the doormat every time? The blades dig further into my neck.
But then I remember that adjustments were made to the mechanism, and that old Silas Lugubrian was a noted stage magician. This deathtrap apparatus over my head is a trick, after all. So what if…?
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ I declare in a voice even Gubie would be proud of. Everyone goggles back.
‘Shut up!’ snarls Bagport.
‘…I give you the amazing, the stupefying, Lugubrian’s Head-in-his-hands Illusion!’
And before anyone can say or do anything more I reach up and press the lever. The steel blades spring together.
SSHNICK!
20
THE END OF IT ALL
My head falls forward and there’s blood everywhere.
For a moment I can actually feel the blades.
Then I raise my head again and grin up at Bagport, because the ‘Head-in-his-hands’ Illusion only freakin’ well works, doesn’t it? It works!
The blood? Oh yeah, that’s not me. Bagport got his little finger in the way, didn’t he? And if you look carefully you can see it, rolling off the stage.
There’s a sudden mixture of screaming and confused applause from the hall, and I stand up – Ringpull is too astonished to remember to hold me down – and take a bow.
I hear Bagport start screaming himself, but just then the police snap out of it and pile into the stage like a rugby match, wrestling the bad guys to the ground. One policeman comes at me, but I hold up the wrist that’s handcuffed to the golden cage and he pauses. Then he nods, puts his hand on my shoulder, and speaks out in a clear voice.
‘All right, son. We’ll have you out of there in a jiffy.’
Incredibly, the audience takes this as if it’s the end of the act and the crowd goes wild.
Amongst the cheering I can hear Bagport’s manic, freaked-out voice shouting from beneath two policemen.
‘No proof! No proof! It’s the kid… he cut off my finger! I’ve done nothing wrong!’
‘Sergeant,’ I say to a policeman in a flak jacket who might be nothing of the sort, but so what. ‘Officer, this man has been blackmailing kids to shoplift for him, resulting in the death of a girl called Emeline Parker. He’s also into a ton of other dodgy stuff, but you can find all the evidence you need on his hard drive.’
‘If you mean the computers in the back of the burning limo,’ says the copper, ‘I doubt we’ll get much off them now, but at least…’
‘’S’okay, I got copies,’ I interrupt. ‘Shiny suit, top pocket,’ and I nod at Bagsy. A policeman reaches his fingers into the pocket and fishes out the USB stick that Mr Big so thoughtfully tucked in there the first night he had me in his car.
‘NO!’ Bagport’s really yelling now. ‘When I get my hands on you, kid, I’ll…’
But I don’t hear the rest because Carl Bagport’s being dragged away to face the music. And I don’t mean Justin Bieber.
Then someone somewhere remembers that this is a theatre, and the curtains creak in to a close. I catch a last glimpse of the wild, cheering, disbelieving, frenzied audience. Just as the curtains are about to meet in the middle, I see the crooked black shape of Silas Lugubrian standing in the spot-lit gap, one hand fixed as ever in the small of his back, the other flourishing as he bows to his applauding public.
Looks like he got what he wanted after all.
By the time the curtains have closed, he’s gone.
The police don’t know what to do with me straight away. They find me a female police constable to sit next to in the wings, while someone tries to locate my parents. As if they’d have gone to the school show anyway, even if they’d known I’d be popping up on stage.
The lady copper bustles up to make a fuss, but after taking in the death’s head coat, the china false eye round my neck and the bloody golden cage that’s hanging from my wrist, she backs away, mumbling something about making tea.
So then I’m just left sitting there on my own, in the dark. As ever.
Of course, that’s not strictly true, is it? I’m never completely alone. Simon’s there, looking so relieved that there’s almost a touch of colour in his cadaverous cheeks. He’s muttering ‘Zooks!’ and ‘Zounds, Daniel!’ a lot but I just shrug and grin like it’s all cool, even though my left leg is still trembling.
‘You were amazing!’ says a voice.
I turn to see who spoke and I see the ghost of Ems there. She’s looking at me with such soft round eyes that I almost wish she’d call me ‘numpty’ and shout like she usually does. At least then I’d be on the same old ground I’m always on with the opposite sex. But it looks a lot like adoration that’s shining out of those big spooky eyes, and adoration for me at that. Hey, a girl likes me!
Trust me to have a ghost girlfriend.
‘Hi, Ems.’
‘You took control of the whole situation! You were so brave to press the lever yourself, but you must have known all along it would work, didn’t you? Though I can’t see how. You’re amazing!’
I glance at Si and he glances back. I knew nothing of the sort, but it’s not every day a girl looks at me like this, so I just shrug again.
‘All in a night’s work.’
‘You got him for me – Bagport, I mean. I’m so happy!’
‘I’m glad for you, Ems. I hope you can rest in peace now, like Mrs Vicar said.’
‘But there is one thing left to do, isn’t there?’
I groan inside. What does she want now? But then I see she’s coming closer and closer…
‘Your payment, Dan.’
I’m about to mumble something about offering her a discount for all the palaver when her lips reach mine.
Now, imagine you’ve got a butterfly, yeah? And you make it really, really cold? Now imagine it brushes its wing across your mouth, only it’s not really there, at all, the wing, it’s more of an idea butterfly? Yeah? Only, it’s so delicate it turns your heart upside down, and…
Ah, forget it. Ems is kissing me. And it’s… wow!
I open my eyes and I can hardly see her. The air around me feels like a crisp frosty morning with a winter sun, on Christmas Day in the snow.
And then she’s gone.
Once again it’s just me and Si.
‘Daniel?’
‘S’okay, Si.’
He puts his hand on my shoulder. I can’t actually feel it, but right now it’s nice to know it’s there.
‘The shoplifting skills?’ he asks.
And I grin.
‘Yeah, she knew I wanted those all along.’
I rummage my mind and feel Ems’s gift to me nestling there, not far from the blob of escapology experience I got from Gubie. Ems has gone on to the Hereafter, but a tiny part of her will live on in me. And you never know when a little pick-pocketry will come in handy, not with my line of work.
‘Are we really going to wait here for that young police lady to make you tea, Daniel?’
‘Nah,’ I say, and I hold up the handcuffed wrist. Si gives a little bow, pops his pinky into the lock and the stupid thing finally falls off my arm. I get up and drop the golden cage on the chair. The cops’ll need that as Exhibit A.
‘I’d rather have a bag of chips. Let’s get out of here.’
‘Very good, Master Dyer,’ says Si, and I wrap my coat around me, adjust my purple specs, and stroll off into the darkness.
First published 2012 by
A & C Black, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP
www.bloomsbury.com
www.acblack.com
This electronic edition published in June 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
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You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
ISBN 978-1-4081-5412-0
eISBN 978 1 4081 6358 0
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
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WARSUIT 1.0
JAMES LOVEGROVE
Everything changes for Odysseus Fitch when he arrives home to discover his father has been abducted by terrorists. Od then discovers that his father has been designing the most powerful weapon known to mankind, Warsuit 1.0. A 7m-tall robotic exoskeleton designed to form a permanent bond with whoever pilots it first. And that person is Od.
Armed and dangerous, Od is now trapped in a race against time, to save his father… and the world.
Thomas Taylor, Dan and the Dead
