Deep Amber (2 page)

Lizzie joined Dora in the pigsty to report that Jem had even managed to get a picture of Sir Bedwyr in the privy.

“He's charging all the castle ladies a silver piece each to look at it,” she giggled. “Sir Bedwyr's fuming!”

Finally, Jem froze an image of Sir Roderick falling off his horse. It was the last straw. Sir Roderick and Sir Mortimer cornered the kitchen boy and boxed his ears, and Dora was given the strange box to take to the Druid.

“Camera,” said the Druid, when Dora brought it to him.

“I'm sorry?” said Dora, frowning.

“It's no good,” he said, looking worried.
“Something is going to have to be done, before it all gets out of hand.” He stood for a moment, frowning. “I'm not going,” he muttered to himself. “I can't… I
promised
. It will have to be Ravenglass, or the forest. They'll have to deal with it.”

Dora didn't have any idea what he was talking about, but that was quite normal with the Druid. She waited, while he ran his hands through his messy dark hair, thinking hard, and then sat down on a nearby bench. He gestured to Dora to sit beside him.

“Dora,” he said encouragingly. “How would you feel about taking a message to the palace?”

Dora looked down at her feet. She didn't know quite what to say. On the one hand, the journey to the city was a long one and the thought of having to deliver an important message to the royal palace made Dora feel so nervous she thought she might be sick. But on the other hand, the chance of getting away from the castle – and Violet's gang – was very tempting.

“Um… I think I could do that,” she said cautiously, looking up at the Druid. “What would the message be?”

The Druid turned the camera over in his
hands, and seemed to hesitate for a moment. He sighed.

“These objects come from another world,” he said. “One I happen to know rather well, in fact. Now, it's not that unusual to get one coming through every now and again. But more than one thing at the same time, from the same world, is… rather odd. Possibly dangerous.”

“They're from another world?” said Dora. How could there be another world? Other worlds were just things that you got in the old stories, from the time when the heroes had lived. They didn't really exist. And yet – when she thought of the goggles, and the strange camera box with its buttons and bright shiny blackness, she realised that they were like nothing she'd ever come across before – not to mention being completely empty of magic.

“Yes,” said the Druid, handing her the camera and stretching out his long legs. “Another world. A whole other place, quite different from ours. Hardly anyone knows about the other worlds these days, but there are lots of them. Some have magic, some have plumbing.” His voice sounded wistful.

Dora had no idea what plumbing was, but it sounded alarming.

“We need to send a message to the palace,” the Druid continued, “and whoever takes it will have to go through the Great Forest – it's the quickest way. It could also be important that the forest folk are told about this as well. So I need a magic user. I can't really spare anyone else, and besides, you
did
find the goggles. Do you think you could manage it?”

“Through the forest?” Dora said, in a slightly shaky voice. “But it's…”

“Dangerous, deep and thoroughly enchanted,” said the Druid. “I know. But it's not as bad as people make out, you know. The forest folk like to keep its reputation fearsome – it keeps the idiots out. But it'll be easy for a powerful magic user like you, Dora. They'll like you.”

Dora couldn't help feeling pleased by the praise – and although going through the Great Forest and possibly meeting one of the magical forest folk was a scary prospect, it was also undoubtedly an adventure. Besides, the thought of Violet's face when she heard that Dora was to go to the palace was too satisfying to resist.

“Um… all right,” she said, trying to make her voice sound confident. “I'll go.”

The Druid looked down at her with a grin and patted her on the shoulder.

“Good, I was hoping you would. You have just the right sort of magic for dealing with the forest. But we'll have to send a companion with you – you are a bit young to go on your own.”

He looked thoughtful.

“I'd send Sir Bedwyr, but he's heading off on a quest tomorrow,” he mused. “Most of the other knights are busy with the Summer Fair preparations. And you need someone with a bit of cunning, really.”

He pondered for a moment, and then clicked his fingers.

“I know! We'll send Jem with you!”

He brightened at the thought of getting rid of Jem for a week. But Dora looked horrified.

“No! Not Jem… Please! I can manage on my own, honestly!”

“Sorry,” said the Druid happily. “Out of the question. Jem's as sharp as a needle, and handy with a sword as well. He'll make sure you get there safe and sound. Go and tell him to pack at once!”

Chapter Two

No one was particularly bothered when the swimming goggles went missing – things had a habit of disappearing in Great-Aunt Irene's rambling old house. Simon, his mum and his big sister Catrin had only moved there a few months ago, when Great-Aunt Irene died, but already they were used to things getting lost and then reappearing a few days later.

But when the camera disappeared it was different. Cat had been banking on being able to take her camera to photography club, and maybe have half a very slim chance of meeting someone she actually liked at the horrible school she'd been dragged to when they moved. So she was madder than a nest of hornets when she found her camera had gone.

“I left it here! In my bedroom! Only last night!” she stormed at Simon. “It can't just have gone! You must have moved it!”

Simon shrugged and raised one eyebrow, which just made her crosser than ever, and it wasn't long before she was slapping and he was kicking and their mum was shouting at them both.

“For goodness sake! It's just a camera! It'll turn up. It's probably under the bed,” she said, exasperated.

But it wasn't under the bed, and it didn't turn up, and Cat was convinced Simon had lost it somewhere. In retaliation, she administered a few swift and secretive kicks in Simon's direction when their mum wasn't looking.

Simon was used to rough justice from his older sister, and ignored her. But it was hard for either of them to ignore what happened next.

Disappearing objects was one thing, but
appearing
objects was quite another. Especially when what appeared was a large and elaborately engraved sword.

Simon found it in the middle of the stairs when he came down for breakfast the next morning.
He nearly tripped over it, but stopped just in time. He was a bit bleary-eyed from a late night and strange dreams, so he had to blink a few times before he was sure it was real. But there it was – a long shining sword, lying on the stair-carpet. He crouched down and reached out to pick the sword up. It was heavy, and there was something about it that made his hands tingle – something like electricity, or the feeling you get when someone traces a feather down your arm.

He sat for a moment, just holding it, then continued down the stairs and put the sword carefully on the kitchen table next to his old red DS before getting himself a bowl of cornflakes.

“What the…? Where did you get
that
?” said Cat, who was sitting at the kitchen table, dressed in a sloppy jumper and pyjama bottoms, and on her second round of toast. It was Sunday, and Mum was out for the day. She'd left early for a conference on ancient Saxon grave goods and wouldn't be back till late, so they had the house to themselves. “Is it something Mum left behind?”

Simon frowned. “I don't think so. It's something very weird. It was in the middle of the stairs. Touch it – see what you think.”

Cat reached out one hand and gingerly touched the sword. Instantly she drew her hand back.

“Urrghh! It's like it's alive or something. What
is
it?”

They looked at each other across the table. Cat ran her hands distractedly through her short blonde hair. At thirteen, she was two years older than Simon, and she was officially in charge on the days when Mum was away. Their dad had died when Simon was three, and since Mum did a lot of travelling to different conferences and archaeological digs and museums for work, they were quite used to having to fend for themselves. Cat was good at organising things and being bossy, and Simon was used to doing what she told him to, so things generally worked out just fine. But things didn't usually include a large sword appearing in the house without warning.

“You can't have found it on the stairs,” she said with a frown. “There was nothing there when I came down earlier.”

As they looked at each other, there was a sudden knock at the front door. Cat jumped. Simon carefully pulled the sword off the table and slid it underneath, on to his knees. He wasn't sure
why he did this, but something about the sword made him feel very protective – he didn't want anyone else to see it until they'd had a chance to have a proper look at it.

There was another knock, sharp and imperious. Cat got up, and went to the door. Standing outside were two men dressed in shiny black suits. Both were tall and thin, but one was younger and glossier and the other more gaunt and somehow dusty.

“Ah, good morning,” said the glossy one, in a nasal voice. He stretched his mouth into the semblance of a smile and nodded at her briskly. “The name's Smith – and this is Mr Jones.” He gestured at the dusty man, whose face twitched briefly.
Only his eyes look in the least bit alive
, thought Cat, but as if to make up for the rest of him, they seemed more alive than was quite bearable.

“We're here from the National Radiological Protection Board,” said Mr Smith, waving a laminated card in front of Cat's face. “We have reason to believe there may be a radiation leak in this area, so we're checking out all the homes at risk. It's quite routine. Just a precaution. So if
you could just…?” He gestured into the house, and as Cat hesitated, gently inserted himself into the hallway.

“Thank you very much, Miss Arnold,” he said, in his nasal voice. “If we could just take a few measurements around the house…”

Mr Smith set off down the hallway, his movements oddly jerky, his fingers brushing the walls as he passed as though he were trying to feel what was behind them. Mr Jones slid past Cat, holding his large briefcase in front of him, and walked stiffly after his companion. Cat, taken aback, wasn't sure what to do. Should she call the police? She hesitated, but it was already too late – the men had almost reached the kitchen and Simon was alone in there. She hurried down the corridor after them.

“Ah, good morning, young sir,” said Mr Smith, as he walked into the kitchen and spotted Simon, frozen at the table. “Don't mind us, we're just checking the radiation levels. If you would, Mr Jones…?”

Mr Jones put the briefcase on the table very gently and his long white fingers moved rapidly over the complicated set of catches and locks. The
briefcase sprang open and revealed a dull grey cube, with a number of dials and knobs, which appeared to be making a low humming noise.

Mr Jones made some adjustments to the dials and watched as various displays flickered and moved. As he observed them, his face hardly changed, but his strange bird-like eyes seemed to grow even brighter. Simon began to feel increasingly nervous. The sword on his knees seemed to become more obvious with each passing moment.

“Very high,” muttered Mr Jones. He had an old, rasping voice which fitted with his dusty greying hair but not the quick movements of his hands or his alert eyes. “Two centres. One… close. The other… ” he paused, and looked hard at Simon, “
very
close.”

Mr Smith clapped his hands and stretched his mouth into another thin-lipped smile. “Well, well. Good job we came to investigate. A potentially dangerous leak, it would seem. We'll have to do some more tests. But just now – I wonder – could we perhaps…”

He moved towards Simon in a sudden rapid stride that took him halfway across the
kitchen before either Simon or Cat could react. He was reaching out for Simon's shoulder, and Cat was just about to shout at him, when there was a phenomenal explosion of banging from the front door.

Mr Smith and Mr Jones froze. Mr Smith tipped his head to one side, as if listening intently, and then bared his teeth in an angry snarl.

“Jemmet,” he said under his breath to Mr Jones, who flicked the briefcase shut in one smooth movement. The two stood and bowed slightly to Simon and Cat.

“Afraid we must be off,” said Mr Smith. “But that's a nasty leak. We'll be back soon to seal it off for you. Good day.”

The loud banging resumed. With an irritated glance at the hallway, the two of them sidled out through the back door into the garden, just as the front door crashed open. Almost immediately a short, fat, balding man in blue overalls burst into the kitchen. He looked rapidly round the room, strode to the back door, and peered out into the garden.