‘Fran, what’s she doing down here?’ He frowned.
‘Lydia was thirsty, Dad. We just came downstairs for a drink,’ Fran replied quickly.
‘Hhmm! Well, get your drink and go back upstairs,’ said Fran’s dad.
‘I’ve already had it. We were just on our way upstairs again,’ Lydia said.
‘Is your meeting over then?’ Fran asked her father.
He nodded before turning to Lydia.
‘Come here,’ he beckoned.
After a brief nod from Fran, Lydia did as she was told. With reluctant steps she made her way over to Fran’s dad.
‘Let’s see your arm.’
Fran pushed up the left sleeve of her shirt. Fran’s dad carefully removed the bandage. Then Lydia saw her wound for the first time. It was S-shaped and looked like a snake weaving its way up her arm. Placed at regular intervals along the wound were the grey, plastic staples which Fran had told her about. Lydia lifted her arm and bent her head for a closer look, but she didn’t get it! Fran’s dad reapplied the bandage, thwarting her attempt.
‘It’s just as well you were with Fran when the Night Guards shot you,’ Fran’s dad growled. ‘Any longer and your arm could have been seriously infected.’
‘I thought you thought I was a spy,’ Lydia reminded him.
‘I said you were lucky, I didn’t say we were.’ Fran’s dad sniffed. ‘Now keep that sterile dressing on for at least two days.’
‘Yes, Mr Weldon,’ Lydia said.
‘The name is Mr Lucas. Shaun Lucas. Not Weldon,’ said Fran’s dad. ‘That was my wife’s name.’
‘Sorry,’ Lydia murmured.
Lucas . . . ? Shaun Lucas . . . ? Lydia stared at the man before her.
‘Frankie married you?’ She grinned with delight. Just wait till she told Frankie that she was going to marry Shaun Lucas!
It was only when she saw the deepening frown on Fran’s dad’s face that Lydia realized what she had said.
‘Er . . . I’m sorry . . .’ Lydia began. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’
‘Never mind!’ Fran’s dad shook his head. ‘No doubt the pain in your arm is affecting your mind.’ He straightened and bent her arm, gently turning it first this way, then that.
Shaun Lucas . . . He was the first one who’d called her a thief . . .
‘Your arm will be fine,’ said Fran’s dad.
‘Thank you.’ Lydia pulled her arm out of his grasp.
Mr Lucas frowned suddenly, leaning closer to Lydia.
‘You look kind of familiar. Have I seen you before?’
‘No, you haven’t,’ Lydia denied, flustered. ‘I’m new here. I . . .’
Fran tugged at Lydia’s sleeve. ‘You said you wanted to talk to me,’ she interrupted.
Lydia nodded and quickly ran upstairs ahead of Fran. She was aware of Fran’s dad standing at the bottom of the steps, his eyes boring into her back. They entered Fran’s bedroom and Lydia closed the door carefully behind her.
‘Fran, the weirdest thing of my entire life has just happened to me . . .’ At Fran’s puzzled look, Lydia broke off.
‘What’s the matter?’ Fran asked.
‘Fran . . .’ Lydia began slowly. ‘I need to see Daniel Henson.’
‘Are you nuts? What on earth do you want to see him for?’ Fran asked, appalled.
‘I can’t explain but I have to see him. Can you get me into his mansion?’
‘Don’t you understand? If you go in there, you’ll never come out again.’
‘I’ll risk it.’
‘Why?’
‘I can’t tell you. Not yet at any rate.’
Fran scrutinized Lydia. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
Lydia nodded.
‘I’m not going to help you unless you tell me why,’ Fran said stubbornly.
Anxiously, Lydia chewed her bottom lip. This was it. What should she do?
‘Fran, I’m twelve years old but . . . but I was born over fifty years ago,’ Lydia said slowly.
Silence.
‘I don’t understand,’ Fran said at last.
Carefully picking her way through the words, Lydia explained what had happened from the time she got on the bus which took her to the moors. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about the sports cup being found in her locker and her classmates calling her a thief. That wound was still too raw, too painful to expose.
‘. . . so I woke up on the moors and the ground was bone dry. The rest you know,’ Lydia finished.
‘You’re from the past?’ said Fran, slowly.
‘Look, if someone told me this story I wouldn’t know what to think either!’ Lydia said. ‘I’m finding it hard to believe as well and it has actually happened to me.’
Fran grinned suddenly. ‘This is a wind-up – right? Where are you really from?’
‘I’ve told you. You’ve got to believe me.’
Fran’s scepticism was obvious.
‘What can I do to prove it?’ Lydia pleaded.
‘Turn around. Let me see your ID implant,’ Fran ordered.
‘My what?’
‘Your identity implant,’ Fran said impatiently.
Lydia turned around. ‘What’s one of those?’ she frowned.
Fran carefully examined Lydia’s nape, from the bottom of her hair-line to where the back of her neck joined her shoulders.
‘You don’t have one . . .’ Fran whispered, astounded.
Lydia turned around. ‘What are these . . . implants?’
‘The moment anyone’s born, they get an ID implant put into the back of their neck. They’re tiny computer chips that look a bit like old-fashioned buttons. The implants tell who you are, who your parents are, date of birth and other stuff that they call – classified,’ Fran finished with a scathing snort.
‘But why? What’re they for?’
‘They’re meant to be the way of knowing who everyone is, especially those who move around a lot. The leaders of every town have implant readers, so you can’t lie about your identity. And then of course they can call up your file and get your full background and history.’
‘We don’t have those in my time.’ Lydia shuddered with relief. What a horrific idea. Having a computer chip installed in your head from the moment you’re born . . .
‘They started using implants in this country years ago,’ Fran said slowly. She turned Lydia around and examined her nape again. ‘Everyone who’s twenty-four or under definitely has one, and most people over that age too, unless they’ve gone underground. Of course you could have had yours surgically removed . . . but then there’d be a scar. You don’t even have a scar . . .’
‘That’s because I’m not from your time. D’you believe me now?’
The two girls spent countless moments just watching each other.
‘You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?’ Fran’s voice was filled with wonder. ‘H-How did it happen? How exactly did you get here?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure.’ Lydia sighed. ‘I’m here with you, but I don’t belong here. I belong in the past and I’ve got to get back.’
‘How’re you going to do that?’
‘I don’t know. That’s why I have to see Daniel Henson.’ Lydia lowered her voice.
‘But why? He’s . . .’
Fran stared at Lydia, her eyes getting wider and wider as at last she realized what was on Lydia’s mind.
‘I think Daniel Henson is my brother. And if he is, he’s the only one who can help me,’ Lydia said.
‘How?’
‘He’s the only one around here who knows what happened to me. If he’s my brother he can tell me what happened . . . happens to me. He’ll know how I got back to my own time,’ explained Lydia.
‘If you got . . . got back,’ Fran said.
‘If,’ Lydia agreed. ‘Now do you understand why I must see him?’
Chapter Thirteen
Mike
Fran jumped up off the bed and paced up and down the room. Lydia watched her,
her heart in her mouth. What would Fran do? Would she tell her father . . . ?
‘Maybe there’s a way for you to find out what you need without having to speak to the Tyr . . . er . . . to Daniel Henson,’ Fran said.
‘How?’
‘My dad might know. He might be able to help.’
‘No! I don’t want anyone to know that I might be related to Daniel Henson. Not until I know for sure,’ Lydia said firmly. ‘If . . . if he is my brother then I want to find out what’s going on. I want to ask him why he’s doing all these terrible things.’
‘And you think he’ll tell you?’ Fran raised her eyebrows.
‘I’m his sister.’
‘He’s ancient and you’re twelve! If he is your brother, why should he tell you anything?’
‘Because I’m still his sister,’ Lydia replied, adding with a smile, ‘His older sister!’
Fran smiled reluctantly.
‘Fran, I can help you, all of you. I’m sure I can,’ Lydia persisted.
‘OK, but let’s talk to my dad first. He’ll . . .’
‘NO!’ Lydia interrupted. ‘I don’t want him to know who I am. Promise me you won’t tell him.’
‘I promise. I’ll be careful what I say. Trust me,’ Fran said.
They regarded each other for a few moments. Then Lydia nodded.
‘OK,’ she said at last, knowing that she didn’t have much choice. Lydia knew that she wasn’t being fair to Fran. Just because Frankie had let her down, that didn’t mean that Fran was going to do the same. But Lydia felt like deep inside she was holding her breath, just waiting for Fran to do the same thing as her mother.
Frankie’s death . . . Was Daniel Henson responsible for that, too? Lydia sighed, a peculiar, hollow ache inside her. She hoped that she and Frankie had become good friends again. She hoped that very much.
Lydia followed Fran downstairs and into what Lydia assumed was the living room. A huge black table dominated one end of the room. At the other end, closer to the door, were a couple of armchairs and some other kinds of chairs that Lydia had never seen before. They looked like hammocks with backs, perched between cylindrical, metal pedestals. Another huge viewscreen completely covered the wall opposite the door.
‘Dad?’ Fran called out. ‘Dad?’
‘What’s the matter, Fran?’ Fran’s dad appeared behind them, making both Lydia and Fran jump.
‘Dad, I need to ask you something,’ said Fran.
‘Let’s sit down then.’ Fran’s dad followed them into the room.
Lydia tried out one of the hammock chairs. To her surprise it was much more comfortable than it looked. Fran sat next to her dad.
‘Dad, what did the Tyrant do before he bought Hensonville?’ Fran asked.
Fran’s dad glanced quickly from Lydia to his daughter.
‘No one knows,’ he answered. ‘He came from London but that’s about all anyone has been able to find out about him.’
‘Where’s the rest of his family?’ Lydia asked.
She held her breath as she waited for the answer. Fran’s dad shrugged.
‘I don’t know about his parents. He had a sister once but no one knows what happened to her. Why d’you want to know?’
‘I just wondered,’ Lydia whispered.
A dead end. Fran’s dad didn’t know anything about her.
Fran stood up. Lydia followed her lead. But before they’d taken a step, the viewscreen crackled. Without warning, a man’s face and shoulders appeared on the viewscreen. The face by itself was at least two metres high. The man’s lips were turned up in what was supposed to be a smile but the man’s dark eyes were ice-cold. Lydia felt an electric chill shoot down her back. She didn’t recognize the man’s face at all, but looking into his eyes was like looking into a mirror at her own . . .
‘Good evening, citizens of Hensonville!’ the man said. His voice dripped with sarcasm like blood from a vampire’s fangs.
Lydia turned to look at Fran and her father. They both glared at the screen. And the looks on their faces made Lydia’s heart jump in her chest. The air between both of them and the screen almost crackled with their hatred. Lydia’s blood ran cold as she watched. She felt sudden fear. Would Fran keep her promise?
‘It has come to my attention that some of you are still roaming the streets after curfew,’ the man continued with a snake-like smile. ‘Once again let me remind you that if you are caught outside after curfew, you cannot hold me or my Night Guards responsible for the consequences.’
‘Let’s get out of here before I throw up!’ Fran’s dad said with disgust.
Fran turned to Lydia, her eyes narrowed. She tugged at her dad’s arm.
‘Dad . . .’
In that instant every sound and every sight in the world melted away. There was just Lydia and Fran – and what Fran would say next.
‘Dad, can Lydia and I go to Mike’s?’ Fran asked at last.
‘At this time of night?’
‘Please, Dad.’
‘Why?’
‘Lydia and I need to talk to him. It’s urgent. Please.’
Fran’s dad looked from Lydia to Fran, then smiled. ‘Oh all right then. But use the tunnels and be careful.’
‘Come on, Lydia.’ Fran smiled.
Lydia slowly smiled back. She followed Fran out into the hall and down into the basement.
‘I thought . . . I thought you were going to tell your dad about me,’ Lydia said at last.
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Fran simply.
They entered the tunnels and travelled in silence for several minutes with only the yellow-white beam from Fran’s wrist-watch to light the way. Lydia tried to memorize the route they were taking but in less than two minutes she was totally lost. It was dark and smelly in the tunnels and Lydia wished that the torch in Fran’s watch was a lot stronger. Ahead and behind them the torchlight was quickly swallowed up by shadows and darkness. And it was so quiet.
‘Who’re we going to see?’ Lydia whispered.
‘A friend of mine – Mike Joyce. I don’t know the way to the Henson mansion. Not via the underground tunnels at any rate,’ said Fran. ‘But Mike does.’
‘Will he help me?’
‘I don’t know. Mike’s OK. I don’t like his mum much though. My mum always said she couldn’t be trusted.’
They carried on walking, lapsing into silence. Minutes passed.
‘We’re here,’ Fran whispered at last.
She shone her torch on a ladder that led up to another trapdoor with a keypad beside it. Fran climbed up first. She keyed in several letters of the alphabet before pressing the key. A door swung open.
Once up the ladder, they walked through the basement which was almost identical to the one in Fran’s house. It was filled with junk and discarded furniture so they had to pick their way through it carefully.
At the top of the basement stairs, Fran opened the door which led into the hall. Lydia wrinkled up her nose at the dusty, musty smell. And there was an unpleasant pervasive aroma behind that – kind of like sour milk or food that was just beginning to go off.
They stepped out into the hall which was even more full of clutter than the basement. Broken bits of furniture and machinery were strewn throughout the hall and even old bits of crockery were lying about. In one corner of the hall was something covered with blue-green mould. Lydia decided she’d keep her distance from that! It looked like something out of a horror movie. If she got too close, it wouldn’t have surprised her if the mould leaped up and bit her ankle! Mike’s house was a total contrast to Fran’s house.
‘They leave the house like this because every time they clear up, the Night Guards arrive and smash the place to pieces again,’ Fran explained.
‘Will they mind us just coming into their house like this?’ Lydia frowned.
‘Mike and I are like brother and sister. In case of emergencies, I have his code and he has mine.’
‘Oh, I see.’
A tall boy with light
-brown hair and dark-brown eyes emerged from the living-room. Lydia reckoned he must be about fifteen or sixteen.
‘Oh Fran, it’s you,’ he smiled. Then his smile abruptly vanished. ‘Who’s that?’ The boy pointed to Lydia but didn’t look at her. His eyes never left Fran’s face.
‘Hiya, Mike. This is Lydia. She’s a . . .’
‘Did you come via the tunnels?’ asked Mike.
‘Yeah, but . . .’
‘Fran, you shouldn’t have brought a stranger through the tunnels,’ Mike said coldly. ‘Did you show her my access code?’
‘No, I promise,’ Fran answered quickly. ‘She didn’t see it, did you Lydia?’
Lydia shook her head. Mike turned to look at Lydia for the first time. His eyes narrowed. Lydia looked at Fran, uncertainly. What was wrong with this boy? What was wrong with everyone she’d met so far in Hensonville? Were they this unfriendly with everyone? Was this what the Tyrant had done to them?
Mike scrutinized Lydia without blinking until it was all Lydia could do to stop herself from squirming on the spot.
‘Mike, Lydia is my friend,’ Fran said, pointedly.
Mike relaxed visibly. ‘I’m sorry to be so unwelcoming, but I’m sure you can appreciate why we have to be so careful.’
Lydia nodded but said nothing. She wasn’t sure about Mike.
‘Now that both of you are here, what d’you want?’ Mike asked brusquely.
Lydia and Fran exchanged a look.
‘He’s a real charmer, isn’t he?’ Fran chuckled.
‘Mike! Who’re you talking to?’ A woman’s voice called from up the stairs.
‘Fran and a friend of hers,’ Mike called back.
‘That’s Mike’s mum – Mrs Joyce,’ Fran whispered to Lydia.
A tall, blond woman began to walk down the stairs, her attention focused on tightening her belt around her overall. Before Lydia could do more than glance at her there came a sudden urgent banging on the front door which echoed like thunder all around them.
‘THIS IS THE NIGHT GUARDS. OPEN UP IN THERE!’
‘Fran, Lydia – get lost! Now!’ Mike didn’t mince his words.
Without another word, Fran pulled Lydia into the basement.
‘OK! OK! I’m coming,’ Lydia heard Mrs Joyce call out.