James Munkers (12 page)

‘It flew up,' Winifred repeats, dancing around the boxes. ‘It's a Christmas miracle!'

‘Don't be silly, Win,' I say, and try for an indulgent laugh. ‘I just reached up really high.'

‘You couldn't have reached up there,' Claire says.

‘Just because you couldn't. I'm taller than you.'

‘You're not taller than me,' Peter says, walking up to us, ‘and it's higher than I can reach.'

‘Well, I threw it, then!' I cry desperately, backing up towards the tree as the others surround me.

‘There's no way you could have.'

‘Yeah, you can't throw to save your life.'

‘He didn't throw it at all,' Win says, laughing. ‘It flew up by itself. It's magic!'

‘Don't be stupid,' I snap. ‘Magic doesn't exist.'

‘Don't talk to Win like that.'

‘Oh, Claire,
shut it
!'

SMASH!

I jump away from the tree as shards of a glass bauble fly in every direction. We all stare at it, wondering if it's done, but a tinny buzzing starts up all around the tree. Dark light plays along the branches.

Oh no.

‘Don't!' I scream at it.

SMASH!

‘Stop it!'

SMASH! SMASH!

Decorations start exploding all over the damn thing. Win and Claire scream and run around to the other side of the table for protection. Peter and I shield our faces with our hands and watch through our fingers as balls and angels and reindeer explode in front of us. Then the fairy lights start shattering, sending sparks flying every which way until –
whomp!
– the tinsel catches fire. The whole tree is alight in seconds.

Peter dashes to the kitchen while I stand there staring at the flaming disaster I just created. ‘Move it,' Peter yells, as he charges back with a fire extinguisher. I step numbly to one side and he douses the flames. Then Michael runs into the room with Garth in tow, and starts coughing at the acrid smoke filling the room.

‘What happened?' he splutters, but nobody answers. Mum comes in, takes one look at the mess, grabs Claire and Win and pulls them towards the front door.

Once the flames are well and truly put out, the rest of us retreat outside into the cold fresh air, the thick smoke billowing out behind us. The road is filling up with villagers, watching us splutter our way along the front drive.

‘Peter, what happened?' Michael says again once he's got his breath back.

Peter shakes his head helplessly, and looks to me for answers. But I'm not paying attention to him just at the moment. I'm paying attention to the crowd of villagers watching our every move. Pippa's voice comes back to me:
there is a higher number of Hoarders in this village… at least fifty, I'd say
.

How many are watching us now?

‘Jim?' Michael's saying. ‘How did the fire start?'

I straighten my shoulders. ‘It was the fairy lights,' I say firmly. ‘They sparked and the tinsel caught. Must have been faulty, I suppose.'

Michael looks blankly up at the house, scratching his head. ‘I suppose so…'

‘Same thing happened somewhere in Kent last week,' I continue loudly. ‘Anyway, we should clean up the mess in there. I'll go get the wheelbarrow from round the back.' And I turn on my heel and walk calmly round the side of the house.

As soon as I'm out of sight of the road, I sprint like hell across the back garden and down the track in the woods. Ten minutes later I'm hammering on Will's door.

‘You stupid bloody idiot,' he greets me when he opens the door.

‘Is Pippa here?' I ask, pushing past him into the house.

‘No. She's out assessing the damage you've done,' he says, following me into the living room. ‘Tell me, do you do these idiotic things on purpose or do they just come naturally to you?'

I turn in the middle of the room to face him. ‘Well you can all breathe a sigh of relief, because I won't be doing anything from now on.'

He frowns. ‘Come again?'

‘I'm out. I'm not doing this anymore.'

He rolls his eyes. ‘You can't be out. You're the One. There's a whole bleeding prophecy about you, for crying out loud.'

‘Well, someone else can be the One!' I yell at him. ‘Someone else can have the power and tip the balance or whatever it is the stupid prophecy says.'

‘Do you think we picked you for this?' he says incredulously, bearing down on me. ‘Do you think we wouldn't hand the title to someone infinitely better than you if we could? You're weak and lazy and cowardly and emotional – you reckon you were our first choice?'

We're nose to nose now. I can practically smell the contempt coming off him.

‘It's putting my family in danger.'

This stops him in his tracks. He raises an eyebrow. ‘You're only just working that out now, are you? You were happy enough with the idea of Jeremy taking a lethal blow for you.'

‘That's different,' I say. ‘It was his decision. He knew the deal and went all in anyway. My family doesn't know anything about this.'

‘Good. Keep it that way.' Will falls backwards into an armchair and puts his feet up on the coffee table. ‘We're all safer with them not knowing.'

‘They're not,' I say. ‘They're not safe from me, blowing things up every time I sneeze, and they're not safe from the Hoarders breathing down my neck. I don't care how important this prophecy is – it's not as important as my family.'

Will stares up at me. ‘If you don't help the Guardians,' he says, ‘you won't have a family. Or anything else, for that matter. The world won't exist anymore.'

‘Stop being dramatic.'

‘I'm serious. You think we use the phrase “end of the world” because it sounds cool?' He sits up straighter. ‘Listen, this war between the Guardians and the Hoarders – you know what it's about?'

‘I don't care what it's about,' I say.

‘Quit being childish and pay attention. It's about the energy in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Dimensions. It's what we're made out of, it's what we consume – and it's running out.'

‘So you all go on a diet!' I yell. ‘What do I care if your dimensions run out of energy?'

Will picks up a mug that's sitting on the arm of his chair and slams it down onto the coffee table so hard that a crack runs up it from the base. I jump back in surprise and fall onto the couch.

‘Mug,' Will says, pointing to it.

I look at it warily. ‘Mug?'

‘It's a three-dimensional object, right?' he says. ‘It has height and width and depth.'

‘Right.'

‘So what would happen if you took one of those dimensions away? What would happen, for instance, if you took away its depth?'

I hesitate. ‘Well, you wouldn't be able to drink tea from it anymore,' I say.

‘Exactly,' he says. ‘It would cease to be a working mug. And it's not three-dimensional, it's thirteen-dimensional – the whole world is, and it needs all of those dimensions working to exist.'

‘So, if the energy in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Dimensions runs out…'

‘If the energy runs out in either one, that dimension falls. And if any dimension falls, so do all the others. The fabric of existence will tear apart.'

I'm silent for a moment, thinking this over. ‘You mean…'

‘The world will, quite literally, end.'

Oh.

‘Now,' he says, leaning back in his chair again and crossing his arms, ‘are you ready to dig in?'

As soon as it's light enough to see I creep to the kitchen, leave a note saying I'm spending the day with Pippa, and let myself out the back door. I hurry through the woods, stumbling over every branch in the gloom and jumping at every sound, until Will's house comes into view. My knock at the door starts up a rousing bark from inside.

‘Shut it, Gwen,' I hear Will's voice. He named his vicious Alsatian Gwen? He opens the door, pulling a T-shirt over his head, and looks at me in exasperation. ‘Bit early for house calls, isn't it?' he says pointedly.

‘I'm training with Pippa today,' I explain, hopping about on his doorstep to keep warm.

‘Well, she's not here yet.'

‘Oh.' Hop hop hop. ‘Can I come in?'

He gives me a withering look but holds the door wider. I sidle in and skirt round the dog. Nice Gwen, don't bite my hand off. Will leads me into the kitchen. ‘Do you want some tea?' he asks.

‘Oh, no. No thank you. I don't need anything. I've got to relax, Pippa said to relax, on the phone last night she said to relax, and tea would just be… Tea would be lovely, thank you. Nice.'

Will watches me jitter about his kitchen, then pulls out a chair for me. ‘I've got decaf,' he says, flipping the kettle on.

I feel better once I'm sitting down with a steaming mug in my hands, although my right leg is still bouncing up and down like a ping-pong ball. ‘So, what's the best way of using the power in a calm way?' I ask Will.

He shrugs. ‘No point asking me. I used to be a Hoarder. We're all about the smash and bash – never worried too much about control. That's what makes us so wasteful of the power.'

‘Is that why the energy in the Thirteenth Dimension is disappearing?'

‘That's a big chunk of it, yes.'

‘Then why don't the Guardians just explain to the Hoarders about having to save the energy?' I ask.

Will snorts. ‘You've never been in a war, have you, peaches? Communication and trust aren't high on either side's agenda. The Hoarders won't listen to the Guardians, and they wouldn't believe them even if they did listen. If the Guardians told them to stop using energy right in the middle of the war, that's like asking them to disarm their nuclear weapons. They'd just think it was a trick to sap their strength.'

‘But you believe them?' I ask.

‘I do now, yes.'

‘Is that why you're not a Hoarder anymore?'

He takes a long drink of his coffee. ‘No,' he says eventually. ‘I only found out about that later. I'm not a Hoarder anymore because I was defeated by one of the most powerful Guardians to come to this dimension. I was stripped of my powers, my connection to the Thirteenth severed, and exiled to this dump. Cursed for all eternity to help those who brought about my downfall.'

‘Cursed to save the world,' I say, swilling my tea around my mug. ‘I guess we do have something in common after all.'

He's saved from having to answer that by the arrival of Pippa and Jem. ‘Good, you're here,' she says briskly. ‘Let's get started.'

Jem and Will disappear into the back room again. Pippa directs me to the middle of the living room, near the safety of the couches, and stands in front of me.

‘The protection shield,' she begins, ‘is the most basic and adaptable of all the uses of our power. Once you master it, you have the building blocks of ninety per cent of what we can do.'

‘The protection shield,' I repeat. ‘Is that what I was using when the dagger and the piano stool got thrown at me?'

‘That's it, yes.'

‘Then I can already do it,' I say, feeling proud of myself.

‘Yeees,' Pippa says, unconvinced. ‘But you want to be able to do it without draining all your power, lighting up the northern hemisphere and flying backwards ten feet. That's where the control comes in.'

She gets me to breathe deeply and then instructs me to let a little of my energy out and stretch it into a shield in front of me. I try and try, but nothing happens.

‘I can do stuff when I'm angry,' I say.

‘And then you lose control and set Christmas trees on fire.'

‘Hey, that was an accident.'

‘An accident you can't afford to let happen again,' she says.

‘Well, how am I supposed to conjure up this damn thing, then?' I ask. ‘Should I just pretend that a heavy object is flying at my head?'

Pippa puts her head to one side. ‘Show me “James has a heavy object flying at his head”,' she instructs.

I duck and cower and look mighty afraid.

‘You'll be glad to know,' she says coolly, ‘that you looked nothing like that when the piano stool was hurtling at you. Is that how you felt?'

‘No, actually,' I say, straightening up. ‘I was surprised, but then I went all hyper-aware. It was like I could sense everything in the room. Well, until I got knocked unconscious, anyway.'

‘That's how you should be all the time,' Pippa says.

‘What, unconscious?'

‘No, darling: aware. You should be able to feel everything around you, and know exactly where you are and what's happening. Concentrate on that feeling while we try again.'

I take a deep breath, jiggle my shoulders, and then still myself. I take in the sounds of the guys in the far room, the ticking of the clock, the sunshine coming softly through the window, my own breathing. I close my eyes. And then I feel it – the core of energy deep within me, pulsing gently. I push at it with my mind until a small amount comes away from the whole. Opening my eyes, I can see it hovering in front of me. Again I push my mind out to it, pushing at its edges, trying to make it bigger. But then it tears right down the middle and disappears.

My shoulders sag in disappointment. I look over to Pippa, who's sitting on the arm of a chair. ‘Good,' she says. ‘Again.'

I find my core faster the next time, but again the shield rips in two. I try taking more energy the third time, but it's too much for me to handle. It goes zipping around the room, knocking a bowl of fruit to the floor.

Pippa shakes her head. ‘You don't need more. You just need to do everything more smoothly. Here.' She gets up and stands next to me. ‘Follow my actions with your mind.' I focus my attention on the small girl next to me, feel her building the energy she needs, sending it gently out, moulding it with her mind to spread in front of her as a glittering white veil. ‘You see? It's like singing a hymn – solemn, but beautiful.'

I try again, trying to mimic her, and the energy flows much more easily this time. It blossoms out to form a circle of blue light in front of me. Pippa smiles at me through it. ‘Much better,' she says.

I smile back, letting the protection shield fade. ‘Not bad for a morning's work,' I say.

‘It's only nine-thirty, Jim. You're not nearly done.'

She spends the rest of the morning throwing things at me. At first it's just screwed-up bits of paper, then she upgrades to cushions and books. When she throws a knife at me a few hours later I'm only just able to throw up a protection shield swiftly enough to stop it braining me.

‘Hey, no fair!' I say as the knife clatters across the floor.

‘No difference,' she says, picking it up. ‘Your protection shield will work for anything from flies to fire. The challenge is not to get flustered and drop your concentration just because the thing heading your way is big and sharp.' She glances at the clock. ‘Why don't you take a break? I need to make a call.'

She heads for the kitchen and I wander into the back room to see what Will and Jem are up to.

They're working on the swords again, Jem wrapped up in padding but Will bare from the waist up, no doubt to show off his rippling muscles. They move under the skin of his back as he advances on Jem with wide strokes. Jem retreats, face shining with sweat, and blocks each blow with his sword, effectively enough but with obvious effort. One blow from Will comes at a difficult angle, and Jem's sword clatters to the ground as his back hits the far wall. He slides down it, puffing.

Will holds his hand out to help him up again. ‘It's better,' he says, ‘but you're still trying to defend yourself as if you only had a foot of weapon to help you. Use the length of your sword to maintain some distance between us.'

‘Sorry,' Jem says. ‘I guess I've been practising too much with the short-handled axe this morning.'

‘Well, unfortunately, the enemy doesn't often give you the choice of weapon he's going to attack you with,' Will says. ‘You have to learn how to defend yourself against any kind of weapon. Swords, axes, knives, bricks, signposts –'

‘Teach him how to defend himself against pointed sticks,' I suggest helpfully from the doorway.

‘This is no time for Monty Python, thank you, Mr Munkers.'

‘It's always Monty Python time,' I say.

‘What's the strangest thing you've ever been attacked with?' Jem asks Will curiously.

‘Butterflies.'

I snort. ‘Who won?' I ask. Then I duck out of the room as a sword comes and buries itself in the doorframe right where I was standing.

I walk back to the kitchen and find Pippa sitting very straight in a chair, staring blankly ahead. ‘Hello?' I say, waving a hand in front of her face. She blinks but doesn't respond. I shrug, make myself a cheese and pickle sandwich, and sit opposite her while I eat it. After a few minutes she looks up at me. ‘Ready for lesson two?' she asks.

‘What were you doing just then?'

‘I told you, making a call. Come on.'

The next class is on the various uses of the protection shield. Pippa teaches me how to mould one around an object and then move the protection shield around the room with the object inside it. We start with small things again, like tissues and pencils, flying them from the coffee table to the piano, the dining table to the couch. By the end of the afternoon, though, Pippa's walking about the room knocking priceless antiques off the shelves and my mind is scurrying after her, catching them before they hit the floor and putting them back.

‘Does Will know we're doing this?' I ask, sweat beading on my upper lip.

‘He won't unless you drop one.'

I puff with effort. ‘I thought I was supposed to be calm for this.'

‘Relax,' she says, batting a jade tiger off its perch. ‘You've got this.'

I set the little guy back on his velvet mat, sighing with relief. Then something pointy hits me in the back of the head. I turn and see a book lying on the floor.

‘Where's your attention?' Pippa says, flying another one at my stomach. ‘Where's your awareness?'

I raise a protection shield around me and it flips the oncoming book onto the couch. My mind reaches out and detects something flying at me from the side. I move the protection shield around and a small statue flies back the way it came. Better not let it smash, though. I whip my shield around a cushion and it goes sailing after the statue. The cushion slides underneath the ornament just as it's about to hit the floor.

‘Good,' Pippa says. ‘We'll finish with some meditation. Sit down and be generally aware.'

She's a funny kind of instructor, but I do what she says. I sit on the couch, she sits next to me, and we push out our senses into the room.

My mind flits from one side to the other, checking things out. The clock on the wall whirrs, its clockwork pieces grooving into each other. Rain taps on the window. Gwen, lying under the piano, is bored.

Every time my awareness crosses Pippa's, I feel the warmth of her power. I wonder what on earth she thinks about all the time. I hesitate for a second, wondering if it's a total breach of privacy, what I'm about to do. I decide it probably is, but do it anyway. I move my power until it's hovering just over her head, then my mind nestles down into hers.

Hello again.

Like before, Pippa's inner voice sounds warmer than her normal voice. It's nice to think I'm welcome here in her mind.

Oh, you're not, sweetheart.

Huh?

You're not in Pippa's mind. I am.

I frown. So where am I?

Well, you're skirting it. In the communications room, so to speak. But I don't let just anyone wander around in here. It's crowded enough in her mind as it is without admitting visitors.

You know, you've got a confused attitude towards pronouns, I think. Don't you mean “my mind”?

Of course not. It's not my mind.

Well, whose is it then?

It's Pip's. I am a shareholder, though. I'm her twin sister, Kit. She has mentioned me, hasn't she?

Her twin sister? I thought Pippa made that up. You're not just a figment of her imagination, are you?

Kit laughs.
Would I know it if I were?

I open my eyes and look at the girl sitting serenely next to me. So there actually are two Pippas. That's a scary thought.

Not scary – genius.

If this is your voice, where's your body gone?

You have met it before. I was the one out in the garden putting the protection shield up that first night.

Oh, I thought that was Pippa. So how come you didn't stick around?

She sighs.
I'm sorry, I had to run. I wish I could be there with you guys all the time, but it's been crazy busy all over the place and I'm kind of in charge.

In charge of what?

The Guardians in this dimension. I'm the general, or the cub leader, or whatever you want to call it. Not to brag or anything, but I'm one of the most powerful Guardians ever to come to this dimension.

Now that sounds familiar. Who said that to me recently?

I don't know. I'm in Pippa's mind, not yours.

Are you always in there? I ask.

Well, we don't sit around chatting all day, if that's what you mean, but the line's always open.