Under The Mountain (4 page)

‘We won’t,’ they breathed. They were too frightened to tell him Mr Wilberforce had one of Rachel’s hairs.

‘But now, my dears, put them out of your minds. They will not harm you. They think I can only use identical twins. They have no way of knowing I found you when you were babies, and taught you many things. Yes, without your knowing. Now let’s get on to more pleasant things. I must teach you to speak.’

‘Speak?’ Rachel asked.

‘What you call telepathy.’

‘Do we sort of think what we want to say?’

‘Nothing so simple, Theo. You use a little poetry.’

‘Poetry?’

‘We’ll start with you. Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then make your mind clear. Push everything out of it. Not a single thought left. Your mind is a pool of water, very clear, absolutely still. Now Rachel is going to drop some pebbles in. Concentrate on that with all your mind. And forget me, forget my voice. Rachel, this isn’t hypnotism. I’m not making him deaf, he is making himself. He can’t hear me now. His mind is a pool of water.’

Theo sat with a faint smile on his face. He saw nothing, heard nothing. He waited for pebbles to drop.

‘Now, Rachel, your mind must be cleaned out too. Get all that rubbish out. Decide what you want to tell your brother. Have you decided? Now turn each word into a little pebble. What colour do you want them? White? Now hold them, my dear, hold them in your hand. I’m going to leave it to you now. When you are ready, when you have them – are they warm? – just drop them one by one into the pool …’

She held the words in her hand. They were white as ivory and warm as blood. She dropped them one by one … and Theo felt them sink into his mind and turn as they settled. ‘Theo, I’m not the least bit scared, are you?’

‘No,’ he said, and the word made him wince with pain. He had not expected sound.

‘Theo, you can speak as well as hear,’ Mr Jones said.

It took them little more than half an hour before they were able to do it perfectly. Each could ‘speak’ and ‘listen’. Soon they were able to do it without the image of pebble and pool. They simply dropped words into each other’s minds – although Rachel named the process ‘pebbling’. Then they found they could ‘pebble’ with Mr Jones, and to two minds at once. For another half hour they sat holding a soundless conversation – smiling, frowning, looking earnest. It was tiring at first, and each of the twins, resting for a short while outside the ‘talk’, had a moment of panic at the weirdness of it. But quickly they were drawn back in and then it seemed the most natural form of speech and the use of the tongue, the making of sounds, clumsy and primitive.

‘Can anyone do this?’ Rachel asked.

‘No. Just a few. Just a few of your race.’

‘Why can we? And why is it so easy?’

‘It’s easy because it’s not a skill, it doesn’t have to be learnt. The ability has always been in you and Theo. It was simply waiting for you to discover it – like a new land in a strange sea.’

‘Is it because we’re twins?’ Theo asked.

‘Yes. Because you’re bonded. Your minds work together. But it’s also because you’re different from each other – a sort of north pole and a south. Theo, you’re practical – you like to know why and how – and Rachel, you’re intuitive. You understand without knowing the reasons. But also it’s because you have red hair. That gives you special qualities.’

‘Have you taught other people to pebble?’

‘I’ve tried. For many years I’ve hunted for a pair. But some have gone only a little way and then grown scared – and one …’

His face grew dark with sadness and the twins trying to send words through found them bouncing back. It was like being struck with fists.

‘I’m sorry, my dears. That was stupid of me – and cruel. But it still makes me sad, you see. They were twins, like you. But identical. Two boys. And they learned as quickly as you. They had red hair. They were amazing children. They were brave and clever and quick – and I grew to love them so much that I became careless. I forgot to watch – to remember I was watched …’

‘What happened?’

‘They died.’

Rachel felt herself almost in tears. ‘How?’

‘I can’t tell you. Not yet. I will one day.’

‘Was it long ago?’

‘A very long time. Many many years.’

Theo sat with his head bowed. Suddenly he looked up. ‘It’s going to be dangerous for us too, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Theo. I told you that.’

‘There’s something you want us to do. You wanted those others to do it and they got killed. Isn’t that right?’

‘Yes Theo, it’s right.’

‘What is it then? I think it’s time we knew.’

The old man looked at them for a moment. They did not try to send any words to him. The deep withdrawn look on his face told them his mind was closed. Then he sighed – the first sound in the room for many moments – and stood up.

‘I want you to learn to use these.’ He walked across the room and took something from the window-sill over the sink. He came back to the twins and held them out, one on the palm of each hand: two stones. In size they were somewhere between a golf ball and a tennis ball, but flattened slightly. They were river-bed pebbles, Theo thought, and not especially good ones – smooth enough but without any life in their colour. It was simply white, flat white, like milk, although one had a faint tinge of grey.

‘What are they?’

Mr Jones made no answer. He placed one pebble on the palm of Rachel’s hand and the other on Theo’s. They were warm from the sun which had been shining on the sill, and heavier than the twins had expected.

‘These are what took me so long. I had to get them ready again. It’s years since anyone tried to use them.’

‘They’re just stones,’ Theo said.

‘Not just stones.
The
stones.’

Theo did not care for mysteries. ‘Yes, but what are they for? I mean, they must be special the way you’re talking about them. Are they magic?’

‘They’re a weapon,’ Rachel said. Her face had gone pale.

‘I can’t tell you, Rachel. You must see them first. And so far you can’t. I didn’t expect you to. It’s possible you may never be able to.’

‘What do you mean “see”?’ Theo persisted.

‘They aren’t what they seem. But I can’t tell you what they are or how to use them.’

‘What do we do, then?’

‘Slow down, Theo. Take it slowly. You’ve got to see the stones the way they are. The only way to do that is to take them into your mind. Make your mind a pool of water again and drop the stone in gently. No splash. This one’s yours. Turn it round, look at it. You too, Rachel – this one here. Don’t be frightened. It won’t hurt you.’

They tried. They looked at the stones from every angle, let them float like balloons and settle gently, spun them, turned them, peered at them closely, into their grain, as though through a microscope. Theo even tried to break his in half. But they remained heavy, white, dull, flat, impenetrable – stones.

‘I’m sorry …’ Theo said.

‘Me too.’

‘They’re just …’ He shrugged.

‘Do you see nothing? In the shape? The colour? Try again.’

But it was no good. When the twins looked at the old man again he looked tired, sick. His face had fallen into lines of pain and age.

‘We’re sorry, Mr Jones. If you could give us a clue …’

‘No. I should have known … It’s no good. They have won. You need to be identical twins.’ He looked at them angrily. ‘Why aren’t you identical?’

For a long time there was silence. Theo and Rachel stared at the stones hopelessly. Mr Jones had closed his eyes. At last he smiled. ‘I’m sorry. It isn’t your fault. I must let you go now.’

‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’

‘Forget. That’s all. I must apologise for what I’m going to do. But it will be better if you forget this afternoon. I’ll give you some new memories – an afternoon on the beach. Will that be all right?’

‘No. You mustn’t.’

‘It will be better, Rachel.’

‘But just because of a pair of stupid old stones. I mean, they’re exactly the same, just old white pebbles.’

‘Nearly the same,’ Theo said.

‘Oh, stop being like a schoolteacher. Can’t you see what he’s going to do?’

‘I know. But they’re not exactly the same. It’s not important, but my one’s a little bit grey.’

The old man caught his breath. For a moment it seemed he was about to break in, then he drew back and let them carry on.

‘It isn’t. You’re making it up just because you think he wants to hear something. It’s white. Dead white. Like paper. My one’s the one that’s different.’

‘Phooey. How?’

‘Can’t you see, it’s got a little bit of brown in it. Just a tinge. But it’s something. Not just stupid old white.’

‘Stop,’ a voice said quietly in their heads.

They looked at Mr Jones guiltily. His face was very calm and no longer old. ‘What else do you see? You, Theo?’

‘Nothing else. Just a bit of grey – I mean, off-white. Like paint that’s had a drop of blue put in.’

‘Blue. Rachel?’

‘I don’t see it. But mine’s got a tiny bit of brown – almost gold.’

‘Anything else? Look closely.’

They looked but there was nothing.

‘It’s heavy,’ Theo said. ‘Heavier than it should be. Not like lead though. Lighter than that.’

‘Rachel?’

‘Yes. And it’s still warm. I mean, a stone shouldn’t stay warm that long should it? Twenty minutes?’

‘Rachel, these stones don’t feel the sun. Or the cold. They are always the same.’

‘They were warm when you gave them to us. Weren’t they, Theo?’

‘A bit.’

‘That means they recognised you.’

‘Recognised? Stones?’

Mr Jones shook his head. ‘No. You’ve had enough for today. You’ve come very far. Much farther than I had any right to hope. I’m going to do something now that you won’t like. Give me the stones.’

Reluctantly they handed them over. He put them back on the window-sill.

‘If they’re so important you shouldn’t leave them there,’ Theo said.

The old man smiled. ‘They’re safe, Theo. And I like to remind certain prowlers I have that they exist.’

‘Who?’

‘Tomorrow. You must learn more about the stones first. Now take them into your minds. Have you done that? I’m going to lock them there and when you come back tomorrow you’ll know a good deal more about them. But I have to stop you poking at them and wondering what they are. So I’m going to make you forget. I’ll give you the memory of an afternoon on the beach. You won’t remember this visit till I call you tomorrow.’

‘No –’

‘Yes, Rachel. It’s necessary.’

‘Will we be able to pebble?’

‘No. I’m sorry. Not until I clear your minds again.’

‘But can’t you tell us now what it’s about? I don’t think it’s fair –’

‘Very few things are fair, Theo. And tomorrow I’ll tell you everything, I promise. Now are you ready?’

‘But –’ He was going to ask what the creatures were that had attacked the
Sea Lady
. But Mr Jones raised his hand and Theo found he could not speak, either with his voice or with his mind.

‘I’m sorry, Theo. I must do what has to be done. Now, do you have the stone in your mind? Hard and clear?’

‘Yes.’ He was able to say that.

‘You, Rachel?’

‘Yes.’

‘Goodbye, my dears. Sleep well. You are very special people. You are the hope of your race.’

They were walking along the road towards home. The sun was low in the sky and a cool wind had sprung up from the sea. They shivered and wrapped their towels around their shoulders.

‘Are we late?’ Rachel asked.

Theo looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly six. We’d better run. Auntie’ll be mad.’

They began to jog.

After a while Theo said, ‘It’s funny Mr Jones didn’t get in touch.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that too.’

‘Are you still warm from yesterday?’

‘Yes. Not as much though.’

‘I can still smell the lake.’

‘So can I.’

‘Do you think Mr Jones can smell it?’

‘I don’t know, but I wish he’d come.’

Theo was quiet for a time. ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘maybe he put us through a test yesterday. Holding our hands like that. And maybe he discovered we were no good.’

‘Yes,’ Rachel said, ‘that’s what I’ve been thinking.’

It made them unhappy.

4

THINGS THAT GO QUACK IN THE NIGHT

Rachel was sleeping fitfully, dreaming of fish and rubies and fires that licked round her face without burning, when her door opened and Theo came in. She woke at once and sat up.

‘Have you been having dreams too?’

‘Nightmares,’ he said. ‘About those things that chased us. Listen, Rachel, there’s something wrong. We spent the whole afternoon on the beach and I even swam out to that big yacht. But I didn’t think about the sharks once.’

‘I didn’t see you swim out,’ she said. ‘We spent all the time lying in the sun – and my sunburn’s no worse than before.’

Theo sat down. ‘Someone’s fooling round with our minds.’

‘Who? Mr Jones?’

‘It’s got to be. If he doesn’t come tomorrow we’ve got to ask Auntie where he lives. We can’t just sit here.’

She saw he had Uncle Clarry’s binoculars round his neck. ‘What are you doing with those?’

‘Watching the Wilberforces’ house. I thought I might see Mr Jones.’

‘Did you see anything?’

‘Only the man. He was standing on the lawn. The door’s open. Have a look.’

He handed her the binoculars. The lake was lit by the moon shining from behind Uncle Clarry’s house. The Wilberforces’ lawn was silver, with black tree-shadows slanting across it. The house lay deep in shadow, but when she had focused the binoculars she saw the cave made by the porch.

‘You can’t tell if the door’s open or not.’

‘I haven’t heard it close. The slightest sound carries. I heard a noise like ducks quacking a while back. And a sort of coughing.’

‘Coughing?’ She remembered the dream she had had the night before. But before she could tell him about it she felt a prickling in her mind, the pins-and-needles again. She had turned away from the Wilberforces’ house, but felt her eyes drawn back to it. A voice whispered hoarsely in her head, ‘Help me. Please help me.’

‘Theo.’

‘I heard it.’

‘Help me, twins. Before it is too late.’

‘It must be Mr Jones.’

‘Quiet.’

‘Help me. He-elp.’ The voice faded away, died with an echo.

‘It came from over there. They must have him prisoner.’

‘Unless it’s a trick.’

‘But he’s the only one who can talk to us like that. Remember Mount Eden.’

Suddenly the voice was back. It gave a long agonised cry that made them clutch their heads with pain. ‘He-elp.’

‘Oh, Theo, it’s got to be him.’

‘Yes.’

‘What shall we do?’

‘We’ve got to go over there.’

‘No –’

‘There’s no other way. He saved us, remember.’

‘We could tell Uncle Clarry.’

‘He’d think we were mad.’

That was true. She shivered. ‘What’s the time?’

‘Half past two.’

‘How will we get there?’

‘In the canoe.’

‘But he said not to go on the lake.’

‘It’s the quickest way. And the quietest. We’ll take the torch from Uncle Clarry’s car. And my camera.’

‘Why the camera?’

‘We might get some shots of something. For the police. We can use the paddles for clubs. If we have to.’

They dressed. Soon they had the canoe on the water. Theo worked it silently along the band of shadow by the shoreline. Rachel sat in the bow holding the camera and torch. No sound or movement broke the stillness of the lake. Several cars went by on the road to Milford but they seemed in another world. Rachel felt the rushes brush her arm. Three houses slipped behind them. She kept her eyes on the jutting piece of land where the Wilberforces’ lawn met the water. The smell was very strong. She was sure the Wilberforces were somewhere in the night.

Theo nosed the canoe into the reeds beyond the vacant section. A faint bluish light showed in the Wilberforces’ porch.

‘That means the door’s still open. Quiet.’ He heard the creaking sound of something heavy moving on floor boards. A dark shape came down the steps with a smaller one behind.

‘It’s both of them. Keep as still as you can.’

The Wilberforces moved down the lawn, keeping in the shade of trees. They stopped out of the twins’ sight. One, two, three minutes passed. A single cough sounded, a single quack.

‘What are they doing?’

‘Shsh.’

Suddenly two shapes, one large, one small, rushed from behind the tree towards the lake. They moved with the speed of running dogs – for a moment Rachel thought they were dogs. But the large one was too large. And she saw as they crossed a patch of moonlight that their shape was wrong. They were as low to the ground as hedgehogs – lower, as slugs. They slid down the lawn, down the bank, into the water without a splash, and were gone. A small ripple moved into the reeds and rocked the canoe.

She had felt Theo’s arm reach round her and grab his camera. ‘Too late. Damn.’

‘What were they?’

‘I don’t know. But I’m not staying near the water.’ He propelled the canoe forward. She clambered along the bow and jumped onto the lawn. He followed, splashing in the reeds. Ahead, Rachel ran towards the stone wall at the front of the house.

‘Rachel.’

She stopped.

‘We’ve got to look for Mr Jones.’

‘He hasn’t called again.’

‘He might be knocked out. Just a quick look. If he’s in there we’ve got to try and save him.’

She had never been so frightened. But she followed him up the steps into the porch. ‘I forgot my paddle.’

‘Me too. Give me the torch.’ He stood in the doorway and pointed it into the room. A blue light shone out from a small leaded window straight across from him. This was the light they had seen from the lake and from Rachel’s bedroom. Round to one side ancient curtains, black and still as water in a well, hung from brass rings on a wooden bar fixed to a lintel. Their heavy dusty tassels drooped on the floor.

Three doors led out. Each was bolted and padlocked. The only other window was boarded over.

That was all – unless … Something in the back corner of the room caught his eye. He shone the torch at it. A trapdoor lay open against the wall, with a dark hole leading down.

‘If they’ve got him, he’s either down there or behind that curtain.’

‘I don’t want to go in.’

‘We’ve got to. Come on. The trapdoor first.’

They stepped into the room. At once they were struck by its coldness. Their skin seemed to shrink and the warmth drain out of their bodies before they had gone two steps. Then they felt a stickiness on their feet and lifting them saw their soles were coated with the same grey dust Uncle Clarry had found on his lawn.

‘It’s all over the floor.’

They crept to the trapdoor. Concrete steps went into the gloom, which seemed to swallow the light of the torch when Theo shone it down.

‘I’m going to have a look.’

‘No, Theo.’

‘He might be down there. You stand at the top and shine the torch in.’

She knew that once he had started on something he would carry it through.

‘I’ll give you till I count twenty. Then I’m going.’ She knelt on the floor and shone the torch into the cellar. Theo went down the steps.

‘They’re covered with dust. Phew, the stink. Like a dunny … Shine into the corners, Rachel.’

In a moment he gave a soft cry. ‘There’s a tunnel. I think it slopes down. Give me the torch.’

‘Theo, they might come.’

‘I’ve got to see in. Hurry up.’

She ran down the steps, her feet puffing up dust, and crossed to where Theo was kneeling in a corner. The mouth of the tunnel was round like a culvert and about a metre across. Rachel shone the torch into it.

‘It goes down all right. Just a small slope,’ Theo said. ‘And it curves out of sight about five metres along.’ He reached in and felt the walls. ‘It’s glass. Some sort of grey glass. I wish we could go down.’

‘No, Theo.’

He put his head into the tunnel. ‘Mr Jones,’ he called softly, ‘are you there?’ His voice seemed to hiss and whisper and slide down into the dark. ‘Mr Jones.’

‘He’s not there, Theo. Let’s go.’

‘All right.’ He was reluctant. ‘We’ll have a look behind those curtains.’

Rachel started up the stairs. She shone the torch behind her to light him up. But he turned. He went back to the mouth of the tunnel and crouched, listening.

‘There’s a noise down there,’ he whispered.

‘Oh, do come on.’

‘It’s like a flight of ducks, high up.’ Suddenly he felt a puff of cold air from the tunnel. It made his hair whisper about his ears. At the same time he heard a rushing slithering sound.

‘Something’s coming up. Quick, out.’

She kept the light on the steps until he was up. Then they ran to the door. The rushing sound was closer and the air forced from the tunnel raised dust in the cellar and lifted it like smoke through the trapdoor hole. ‘Put the torch on it. I’m going to get a photo.’ But Rachel had gone ahead into the porch. She ran back to his side. ‘She’s there, on the lawn. Mrs Wilberforce.’

A loud sudden quack came from the lake. They peered through the door. Beyond the shape of the woman on the lawn, silver water stretched to the opposite shore. They saw a dark shape on it, close to the foot of the hedge.

‘It’s the canoe. It must have floated out.’

Suddenly there was a cracking sound, a thrashing on the surface. The canoe vanished.

‘It must be Mr Wilberforce. He’s pulled it under.’

‘Theo,
she’s
coming inside.’

‘Quick, behind the curtain.’

As they reached it something came with a wet explosion out of the tunnel in the cellar. The twins dived through the curtains and Theo held them with his hands to make them still. He peered through the gap into the room. Rachel stood behind him on tip-toe, stretching her neck to see over his head. Whatever it was that had come into the cellar was mounting the steps. It came up swiftly, with a sucking sound. In the blue light it bent into the room; eased over the top step; undulated towards the door. It was grey, glistening with oil and slime. Its shape was almost exactly slug-like; a little rounder, Theo thought, like a German helmet. It had a white bone beak, a black mouth, perfectly round, that ran like a drain into its body, and two blunt knobs in place of eyes. They glowed with a black radiance. As he watched another followed, then another. They slithered to the door and into the porch.

‘What are they?’

‘Slugs. Some sort of giant slugs.’

‘Oh, Theo, how do we get out?’

‘I don’t know. One of them’s by the steps, I think.’

They turned to face the room behind them. It was empty too. Blue light shone from under a door – the same light that glowed through the window in the other room. It showed a number of flattened piles of dust against the walls.

‘Maybe they sleep on those.’

‘Let’s go. Please.’

‘They’ve nailed boards over the windows.’ He spoke calmly, but he was as terrified as her. He felt like curling up in a corner, hiding his head in his arms. But he pushed Rachel’s shoulder, moved her towards the door. ‘We’ll go through there.’ They had both forgotten Mr Jones.

They reached the door and listened for a moment. There was no sound on the other side. Theo took the handle. It turned easily. He opened the door with a push. At once they were flooded in light. It rushed out like water and washed all over them. They shielded their eyes and peered into it. Thousands of tiny stars floated in the room, tinier than gnats, than motes of dust, each one sending out its ounce of light. In places they were so thick they seemed to run together like swirls of mist. It was a long narrow room, bare as a cell, and painted black – floor, walls, ceiling. A blind pulled over a window beyond the swarming stars was black as tar.

‘Come on,’ Theo whispered. He began to edge along the side of the room.

‘What is it, Theo?’

‘A galaxy, I think.’ He got halfway along and saw one spiral arm was black. The dust motes in it sent out a radiation that touched his eyes like ice. Beyond it, separated by a metre of space, a second model came into view: a dozen balls, the size of marbles, circled about a sun. A solar system, he thought. One of the planets was black. He looked at it a moment, then went on to the window.

‘How do they stay up?’

‘I don’t know. Don’t touch them. They might be electric.’

Carefully he raised the blind until half the window was exposed. The panes were coated thickly with black paint. He saw a piece of dowelling set in a hole running through the window-sash into the frame. It acted as a bar so the window could not be raised. ‘It’s loose. You try and get it out. I’ll do the catch.’ But the catch had not been turned for many years. It was rusty and made grating sounds. At every one he stopped and listened. Outside on the lawn were quacking sounds.

‘It’s moving. Just a bit. If only I had some oil.’

‘I’ve got this thing out.’

‘Good. Hold me a minute. I’m going to spit on it.’

She supported him while he stood on the sill and spat several times on the catch. Then he worked at it again and suddenly it grated round and the window was free.

‘Now slowly, so it doesn’t squeak.’

Gently they worked the window up, one centimetre, two. Theo bent down and looked out. The light from the tiny stars spread across the lawn. ‘Right, a bit more.’

But suddenly something huge and black rushed out from the shadow of a tree. It thumped like a sack of grain on the side of the house. A single angry quack sounded in the night.

Theo slammed the window shut. He grabbed the piece of dowelling from Rachel and rammed it in its hole. ‘The slugs. They’re out there.’

‘Theo …’

‘Yes.’

Their minds were working together now, rushing along the same line of thought. They had no time to wonder at it.

‘Outside and down the steps. We’ll split up. The one who gets away calls the police.’

‘I’m scared, Theo.’

‘Me too. I’m sorry I got you into this. You go straight up the path and over the wall. I’ll duck around and try to make them follow me.’

They edged quickly by the models, ran through the room with the piles of dust, thrust open the curtains. And there, in the porch entrance, dripping with water, was Mr Wilberforce. His eyes glowed with a strange cold light and his wooden mouth smiled. ‘Welcome, children. No, don’t run. There’s nowhere you can run to.’