Gauge (6 page)

Higson gave an interested nod. “And where’s that?”

“Why, there,” said Sir Rufus. In a flash, he seemed to disappear and reappear instantly on the other side of Gauge. He pointed to a long piece of rope which dangled down into the depths of the tower. “The balancing weight is missing. If this were adjusted and the counter-sprocket oiled, my clock would run appropriately and the chime would be restored.”

“Oh, would it?” Higson grunted.

He sounded disappointed. Then Sir Rufus added, “Of course if the weight be far wrong then the mechanism will altogether stop.”

Higson narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, he noticed Gauge balancing on the rail. Though he was clearly confused and wondering why a clay dragon was in the tower, he nevertheless snatched Gauge up. “How about this for a weight?” He tossed Gauge loosely in his hand.

“A most unlikely prospect,” said Sir Rufus.

The man gave a villainous smile. “Let’s try it.”

Before Sir Rufus could argue, Higson had drawn up the rope, tied Gauge to the end of it and thrown him down the tower shaft, into the darkness. The old clock ground to a weary halt.

Sir Rufus made a strange kind of wailing sound. “Treachery!” he cried. And he stretched out a hand as if to rescue Gauge, but his hand passed straight through the rope.

“Stone me, you’re a ghost!” Higson cried. And with a gurgling scream he fled down the stairs, leaving the clock in silence and Gauge still dangling somewhere in the darkness…

Until that point, the policemen had been struggling to clear the library. But things were about to change. As Councillor Trustable’s assistant burst through the door crying, “A ghost! Help! There’s a ghost in the tower!” half the protesters leapt to their feet. No one needed to be convinced of Higson’s sincerity. His hair was as stiff as a row of staples and his face as white as a ping-pong ball. He ran for the glass doors, hit the pane when it didn’t open automatically and almost knocked himself out.

“Ghost?” someone queried.

Henry Bacon helpfully put in, “Rumour has it that the spirit of Sir Rufus Trenchcombe roams the tower. Utter nonsense, of course.”

“You’re the librarian. Go and look!” someone cried.

Henry glanced uncomfortably at the stairway. “Not in my job description.”

Just then, the library clock gave a deep and resounding bong. Then another. And another. And another. And after a few seconds’ gap, another.

“The ghost’s angry,” someone suggested nervously.

But Lucy thought she could hear a joyous wail floating down the stairs. A ghostly breeze whooshed through the library. People screamed and ran for the street. To Lucy’s relief, the policeman who’d been escorting her mother to the door buckled at the knees and promptly fainted.

Lucy saw her chance. She tugged her mum’s sleeve and whispered, “Mum, I let Gauge go up there.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “Then you’d better go and see what he’s up to,” she hissed.

Lucy ran towards the tower door. “It’s all right, I’m not frightened of ghosts,” she shouted. And up the steps she pounded – not, of course, expecting to encounter Sir Rufus Trenchcombe at the top.

She stopped by the platform, too scared to even shake. The clock bonged again, almost deafening her.

“Ah, child,” said Sir Rufus. “Canst thou free the spirit caught on the rope?” He pointed a wispy finger.

Lucy glanced sideways and saw the pendulum rope jigging about. Suddenly, Gauge appeared. His wings were beating like mad. He was trying to escape from the shaft but the heavy rope was making it hard for him to fly. With an exhausted
hrrr
he fell back into the darkness. The clock responded with another loud bong.

Lucy ran to his aid. She grabbed the rope and pulled it up to the platform rail. Her nimble fingers quickly released the young dragon. “Are you all right?” she asked.

Gauge shook a cobweb off his tail and nodded. He frowned and turned his head towards the clock. Before Lucy could ask what he was doing, he had flown to the housing and was hurring deeply on one of the big wheels. To her surprise, Lucy saw that a patch of gooey gunge around the wheel was suddenly flowing like oil. The clock gave a heave and the wheel moved freely.

Sir Rufus Trenchcombe whooped with joy. “The counter-sprocket! The dragon creature has released the counter-sprocket. Now the clock may run more keenly.”

Lucy stepped forward and stubbed her toe against something on the floor. “Ow, what’s this?” She picked up a heavy piece of metal.

“’Tis the weight for the pendulum arm,” said Sir Rufus. He pointed to the rope.

“You mean, if I tie this on the end the clock is fixed?” Lucy asked.

“Almost certainly, child.”

So Lucy tied on the weight and let it fall down the shaft. Immediately, the clock gave a sequence of chimes. “It works!” she shouted. “It works! It works!”

Sir Rufus drifted towards the clock’s machinery. “Hmm. I fear some adjustment may yet be needed. The warmth of the dragon’s breath might have caused some damage to the chime counter.”

Gauge gave a
hrrr
that sounded like “Oops”. He blew a smoke ring and looked a bit sheepish.

Lucy flapped a hand. “Well, you look after that. I’ve got to save my mum from going to prison, now.”

“A noble gesture,” Sir Rufus said, bowing. “I am indebted to you, child.” He put out a hand and tried to shake Lucy’s. It was a bit scary, watching a ghost hand bobbing up and down through your own, but Lucy was brave and didn’t even squeak.

Gathering Gauge to her she said her goodbyes and hurried down the stairs.

To her relief her mum was still there, fanning the policeman who had fainted with a book. “Mum,” she cried. “Gauge mended the clock!”

The word quickly went round. Those protesters that were still about shouted hooray.

“What about the ghost, then?” one of them asked.

Lucy said, “He’s happy. And the clock properly works.” As if to prove it, high above them the clock began to bong. The crowd cheered loudly.

“Now we can all go home,” said Lucy.

“Just one second,” a smug voice said. It was Councillor Trustable. He turned his wrist and tapped his watch. “I make it four o’clock precisely.” He paused and cupped a hand around his ear. “Your clock has just chimed seven…”

The next day, it was in all the papers. The protest. Councillor Trustable’s new plans. The policeman’s purple boots (“Local Teacher Let Off With Warning”). The mystery of the ghost of Sir Rufus Trenchcombe. The strange goings-on with the clock.

Lucy sat, deflated, at the kitchen table, reading one paragraph over again. It said:

Lucy let her head sink onto her arms. “We’ve failed,” she said.

Liz sighed and glanced at Gauge. The young dragon looked terribly crestfallen. “It’s no one’s fault. We all tried our best. Gauge probably wasn’t meant to mend clocks anyway.”

Nevertheless, the dragon let his shoulders droop.

“Look, let’s go out for a walk,” said Liz. “Round the library gardens. We’ll take some bread for the ducks.”

Lucy sighed. “Only if Gauge can come, too.”

Twenty minutes later they were on their way to the library again. Lucy held Gauge to her chest all the way. As they walked down the precinct the little dragon could hardly bear to look at the clock. But, strangely, as they drew closer, a series of clicks and a few light flashes made him raise his eyes. A large group of people had gathered outside the library again. Most of them were carrying cameras.