Martin King and the Space Angels (Martin King Series) (2 page)

‘But what if the machine made a mistake?’

Falcon smiled. ‘Only people make mistakes, Martin.’

‘Enough,’ said his father. ‘We are leaving.’

‘But… he was just trying to help us,’ shouted Martin.

‘We must obey the
Charter
,’ said Falcon’s father. ‘It’s all we have. The
Charter
is the only thing keeping our society from crumbling into dust and anarchy.’

The chief Axis Lord ripped away Falcon’s cloak to reveal a pair of clockwork wings. He activated a switch and the wings began to beat.

‘Find the magician,’ said Falcon. ‘It is imperative that you find the magician. And remember that the Truthful Eye is the only eye that never lies.’

The Axis Lords took hold of Falcon, and they began to rise into the sky together. They gradually became smaller until they were but shining stars in the sky, and then they were gone. The dark rain began to fall again.

Martin turned to Darcy.

‘What do we do, Darcy?’

Darcy pulled out the brass monocle and handed it to Martin.

‘What do we do, Martin?’

Chapter 3:
The Immaterial Voice

Spit bubbled up in the corner of Martin’s dad’s mouth. The drop grew bigger and heavier, and trickled down his chin. Another bubble began to form.

‘Morning, dad,’ said Martin.

‘What?’

His dad opened his bloodshot eyes. He was slumped over the battered sofa; a bottle of vodka lay partially concealed by the table beside him. His blotched face was overgrown with six months’ worth of beard.

‘Sleep well?’ said Martin.

‘What? Yes.’

‘I said—did you sleep well?’

‘Yes! I said yes—what’s the damn matter with you?’

Their flat was poorly lit and very untidy. Martin tidied up whenever he got the time, but he always seemed to be busy with homework. A fly buzzed around the bare light-bulb, and Martin glanced around the living room. The carpet was torn, the back of the TV was cracked and covered with sellotape, and the coffee table was covered in a thick layer of dust.

It had been three days since Falcon’s visit to Earth. Despite what the alien had told them, none of the three friends had developed any sort of special power. The Axis Dust had done nothing. The events of that night now seemed like a faded dream.

Martin pulled the brass monocle from around his neck, where it was hanging from its leather strap, and ran his fingers over the edge, as if convincing himself that it was real. He held the lens up to his eye and surveyed his dad through it. It revealed nothing. He just saw his father, the same as ever, lying in a stain of his own sweat.

‘What’s that?’

‘Nothing.’

Martin pushed the monocle back behind his shirt.

‘Damn kid. Nothing? Damn kid.’

‘I’m going to school now, dad. See you later.’

‘Damn kid.’

Martin hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder and left the room. He reached the end of the corridor and stood before the lift.

The lift. Martin pressed the glowing switch, and the steel doors rattled open. Inside, the lights were dim and a tall mirror spat back a slightly warped reflection. Martin took a step forward.

‘It’s just a lift,’ he said, under his breath. ‘It’s just a lift.’

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t just a lift. It was a steel tomb, a coffin, a death trap. He took a step backwards.

Martin and his dad lived at the top of a tower block, and Martin stood outside the lift every day, preparing himself to climb fearlessly into the tiny box.

Martin hated any enclosed space, but lifts were the worst. He knew that his fear was irrational, but he could never stop himself wondering what if…?

What if I got stuck in the lift, and died from lack of water before anyone found me? Or what if I ran out of oxygen in there? Or what if the lift came loose from its cable and crashed down to the ground—with me inside it?

But Martin felt that, maybe, if he could summon the courage to travel in a lift all his other problems would also be solved. He would no longer seize up with rigidness around girls at school. He would have the bravery to ask Darcy to go out with him.

So every day he would stare at the lift, and the lift would stare back, and Martin would keep pressing the button, keep opening up the elevator when it closed, keep staring into the metal box… and then eventually he would walk away and take the stairs.

Today was no exception. Martin sighed, and turned his back on the lift.
There’s always tomorrow
, he thought,
I’ve got enough to worry about at the moment—XO5, and the end of the world. There’s always tomorrow…

As Martin made his way down the hundreds of worn steps, his drunken father pulled himself upright and glanced at an old photograph.

*

Darcy and Martin sat together by the dirty classroom window, staring out at the slanting rain. Mr Slater, their maths teacher, was standing at the whiteboard explaining algebra, or circles, or something, and Martin watched the storm through the brass monocle.

Outside, the trees were shivering, the pond was restless, and the plants had drowned. A lot of things had died since the storms began, and the grass had faded away into the mud. The swollen ceiling of cloud still hung over the planet. Martin knew now that the storm
was
a bad omen. It meant that the world was going to end.

Martin longed to speak to Darcy, but the classroom was quiet and he didn’t want people to listen.

He glanced around the classroom through the eyepiece, and stopped breathing. Through the lens, Mr Slater looked different. His hair was white, his skin was paler, and his eyes were blue… no, not blue. Purple.

‘What is it?’ whispered Darcy.

‘King.’

‘Yes, sir?’

The teacher was wearing a golden Double Albert with a velvet waistcoat. Beside his desk lay a silver-topped ebony cane. His face was weathered, and his narrow eyes gave a hint of deep intelligence.

Martin suddenly realised how stifling the classroom was; all the windows were closed to keep out the rain. Everyone was watching him. Mr Slater was looking at the Truthful Eye with an odd expression on his face. It was almost as if he recognised it. Martin hid the monocle back behind his shirt.

‘What did you just have in your hand?’ said Slater.

‘Nothing,’ said Martin.
             

‘Nothing?’ said the teacher, his eyes still narrowed. ‘Well, just get on with your work, please.’

*

‘He recognised the monocle!’ said Martin. ‘Did you see his face, Darcy? I don’t know how, but somehow Mr Slater recognised the Truthful Eye!’

The three friends were sitting in the school canteen. The gravy was starting to congeal on their plates and the table was covered in old crumbs and ketchup spills. They spoke in whispers to avoid being overheard.

‘How can you know that for sure?’ said Tommy.

‘I just know,’ said Martin, and Darcy nodded. ‘And there’s more. I looked at Mr Slater through the Truthful Eye.’

‘It did something?’ said Tommy, his eyes widening. ‘The monocle did something?’

‘Yes,’ said Martin. ‘It made Slater look different. I put the lens to my eye and suddenly he had white hair, and purple eyes. It’s weird, but… he looked like Falcon.’

‘What do you think it means?’ said Tommy.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Martin, shrugging.

Darcy sighed. ‘I wish Falcon had given us more clear instructions.’

‘Maybe he was just a lunatic,’ said Tommy. ‘I mean, it’s not like he was right about the special powers.’

Martin shook his head. ‘That wouldn’t explain everything we saw. We saw Falcon’s people capture him, remember, and fly off into the sky. If Falcon was just a lunatic
we would all have to be lunatics as well.’

Tommy grinned. ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right. But what do we do?’

‘Not much we can do, is there?’ said Martin.

‘Well Falcon told us to find the magician,’ said Darcy. ‘If we could only work out what he meant…’ She sighed. ‘I wish we
did
have special powers. That would have been awesome.’

‘Yeah, well, we don’t,’ said Tommy. ‘All we have is that monocle and I don’t know what good that will do us.’

Martin glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got to go. I left my English book in my locker.’

‘OK, see you in a bit,’ said Tommy.

Martin stood up, and left the canteen to the sound of rain hammering against every window.

*

The corridor was quite empty, and Martin walked along it towards his locker. He passed Slater’s office and stopped in surprise. A scarlet light was glowing from the crack underneath the door. Martin crept closer, trying to breathe more quietly. He heard Mr Slater’s voice. The man sounded petrified.

‘I have tried, Great One, I have tried!’

A deep, pulsing laugh rang out.

‘Tried and failed.’

Martin didn’t recognise the other voice. It was inhumanly deep and devoid of any inflection.

‘One might almost wonder if you have really tried at all.’

‘I swear, I swear…’ said Slater. ‘I have spared no effort in this mission. I will find it. I promise you. I will find it.’

‘I hardly need to state the consequences of disobedience.’

‘Of course not. You have my complete loyalty.’

The voice laughed again. It was like the sound of a drill burrowing a hole into a skull.

‘The loyalty of a man willing to aid the destruction of an entire world?’

‘You know my reasons for that.’

‘Of course. It has been so many years since our mission began, but the time is nearly upon us. You must—’

The voice stopped.

‘Slater.’

‘Yes?’

‘One of your pupils is standing outside your office.’

Martin felt like he was falling. There was no time to run. The door swung open.

‘King!’ said Slater.

Martin froze.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Come inside, please.’

Martin stepped inside Mr Slater’s office. He felt beads of sweat forming on his palms and torso.

‘Sit down,’ said Mr Slater, closing the door.

Mr Slater’s office was very dim as most of the light came from an antique lamp—there was no sign of the bright red light he had seen earlier. It was a very odd room. It smelt faintly of tobacco. Brass instruments were scattered around and old maps and charts hung on every wall. An antique globe stood in the corner.

To Martin’s surprise, Mr Slater smiled.

‘Now, Martin, how long have you been listening?’

‘I wasn’t listening,’ Martin lied.

The teacher smiled again.

‘I believe it is time for us to be frank with one another, Martin.’

Martin looked around the dingy room, trying to find the source of the mysterious voice. But besides the two of them, it was empty. Martin frowned.

‘I believe you are carrying an alien object,’ Mr Slater went on. ‘Well, alien to you, I mean. To me it is a little piece of home.’

Martin swallowed. ‘Home?’

‘Yes, Martin, my home. The planet Hope.’

Mr Slater watched quietly as Martin put the pieces together.

‘So… that’s what happened with the monocle.’ Martin pulled out the Truthful Eye and looked at the teacher through it. ‘You’re an alien. You’re one of Falcon’s species. And that’s what the monocle does—it tells the truth—and so it lets me see through your disguise.’

‘Perfect,’ said Mr Slater. ‘Quite perfect. May I?’

He held out his hand. Martin hesitated, and then he dropped the brass monocle into Mr Slater's creased palm.

‘Wonderful. This is a wonderful piece of craftsmanship, you understand. The Truthful Eye, I feel, is one of the defining inventions of my people. And look—’ Slater reached into his right waistcoat pocket and pulled out another monocle, which was attached to one end of his gold Albert chain. ‘—I have another one here.’

Slater handed back Martin’s Truthful Eye, and peered at Martin through his. Mr Slater’s monocle was silver coloured, and less ornate.

‘What do you see?’ said Martin.

‘A boy,’ said Mr Slater. ‘Simply a boy. A boy that is lost and confused. And I do not need the Truthful Eye to see that.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I presume it was Falcon who gave you the Eye?’

‘Yes.’

‘I am dearly sorry, Martin, for the weight of responsibility that has been thrust upon you. What exactly did Falcon ask you to do for him?’

‘Don’t you know?’

Slater paused. ‘He told you, I believe, to find an object. A powerful, mysterious object that could be very dangerous in the wrong hands.’

Martin nodded.

‘Perfect,’ said Mr Slater. ‘Then our purposes are one. I too seek this object.’

‘Then what is it? What are you looking for?’

Mr Slater sighed. ‘I am not certain. And, I confess, I have little clue where to begin. I have lived on this world for many years. My people have extremely long lifespans, so I decided to…’

Slater sighed. He looked directly at Martin.

‘I said I would be frank with you, Martin, so I will tell you the full truth. Did Falcon explain to you why he chose you and your friends to take the monocle?’

‘Yes. He said he had… a calculating machine. A machine that told him we were the right people to choose, the right people to save Earth.’

Mr Slater nodded. ‘And, I admit, I also have a similar machine. It is called a Foreteller. They are, in fact, illegal on the planet Hope, but I managed to… acquire one. The point is—I have done my own calculations. And, every time, the machine has reached the same result. You, Tommy Walker, and Darcy Williams must be the ones to find the object. The machine even specified the year that you would find it—this year. So I took on a human disguise and a teaching post at this school, to wait for the right time.’