‘Oh, just a bit,’ Chester answered. With a sour expression, he carefully picked off a soggy cornflake from where it had fallen on his shirt and flicked it away.
‘I’m sorry you are. I can’t pretend to know how you feel.’ Stephanie said this genuinely because the last news Old Wilkie had received was that her parents and brothers had managed to escape abroad and were safe. Chester had lost everything. ‘I just wish I could do something to help you.’
‘There’s nothing you can do, but thank you, anyway,’ he said, his head jerking as they heard the crash of the crockery shattering on the cobblestones out in the yard. ‘You know, if Parry had opened up to me about it as soon as he’d found out, I might feel differently now. But no way can I forgive him now.’
‘Maybe he was going to tell you after that meeting you went to?’ Stephanie suggested.
‘Well, he didn’t, did he?’ Chester snapped. ‘And if he had, then it would have only been because the US President put his foot in it.’ Chester snorted angrily. ‘No, I can’t get over the fact that my mum and dad died because that creep Danforth had cooked up a stupid, screw-brained scheme all by himself. If that’s actually the case.’
‘But Parry said he didn’t know Danforth was going to do it. You don’t believe him, then?’ Stephanie asked.
‘Who knows with these people? These army types are in such a mad rush to save lives that they end up killing everyone in the process,’ Chester said. ‘Collateral damage and practical military necessity, laddie,’ he added, moving his head haughtily and doing a passable impersonation of Parry, complete with Scottish accent. ‘Drake could be a bit like that too sometimes, but with Will and Elliott it was different – we always played it straight with each other. We would never have let each other down like that. Never.’
‘I’d never let you down either, Chester,’ Stephanie said, but Chester didn’t seem to register this as he began to work himself up into a lather.
‘I mean, why couldn’t bloody Danforth have just pretended to the Styx that he’d done the dirty on us? He didn’t have to go all the way.’ Chester had jumped to his feet and was pacing furiously around the room. ‘I wonder if he really enjoyed killing my parents! The sick bastard!’ he spat.
Chester was as big as a fully grown man and his aggression made him very intimidating. Stephanie began to think it hadn’t been such a good idea to try to talk to him.
He abruptly stopped his pacing and said, ‘The murdering bloody bastard.’ With a curse, he aimed a kick at one of the chairs around the table. An alarming smile spread across his face as a leg broke off and clattered onto the tiled floor. Then he really went for the chair, kicking and punching it again and again, until there was nothing more than splintered wood where it had been standing. Panting from the exertion, he shouted, ‘And what the hell am I still doing here? In this bloody armpit of a place?’
Martha had walked in and was looking at the wrecked chair. Chester didn’t acknowledge her as he pushed by and went into the hallway. There he snatched up a pair of gloves and a hat from beside the front door and stormed outside.
‘What was that about?’ Martha demanded, narrowing her eyes at Stephanie. ‘I hope you haven’t been botherin’ him.’
‘I really don’t know what set him off. I didn’t say a word. All of a sudden he started to go on about his parents and Danforth, and …’ Stephanie didn’t finish as Martha moved quickly over to the window.
‘But why doesn’t he talk to me about it?’ she complained.
He came back later that evening after many hours’ absence, arriving just in time for supper. His face was blank and nobody dared to speak to him as he took his place at the table. It was easy to tell what they were eating from the smell – it was what they always had – lamb stew. Martha elbowed open the door as she brought it in, plonking it clumsily down on the table in front of them.
As she took her usual seat, Chester was simply staring down at his food. ‘Um, Martha,’ he said.
‘Yes, my sweet?’ she replied.
Using both hands he held up his plastic bowl, as if inviting comment from her. Along the side of the bowl was DOG in large, unmistakeable letters, and while it must have once been a rather striking red colour, it was so worn and the plastic so abraded by years of cleaning that its colour had dulled and the edges begun to flake off. In comparison, Stephanie hadn’t come off too badly with the chipped melamine bowl she’d been given.
‘Running low on plates. Nothing much left in the cupboards,’ Martha said by way of explanation, dipping her spoon into her bowl, which was a battered enamel dish probably also used by the owners’ pets.
Chester had put his dog bowl carefully back on the table. ‘I can’t take any more,’ he said hoarsely.
‘What – of my stew?’ Martha asked.
‘No, no, of feeling like this,’ he mumbled. His head was bowed and Stephanie couldn’t be certain if he was crying or not, but she thought that she spotted a tear dropping into his bowl.
‘Oh, my poor sweet boy!’ Martha rushed over to him, and hugged him tight. ‘What is it? What can I do to make things better for you?’
Of course Stephanie knew how severe his depression had been during the weeks in the cottage, but this display of vulnerability shocked her. He was more fragile and more disturbed than she’d ever imagined.
‘Tell me what to do?’ Martha asked, almost pleading. Her eyes too were brimming over.
Chester sniffed. ‘You said that your Brights can find anyone for you?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Martha replied. ‘They can. Just as they could always lead me to you, wherever you went. If you have something with a trace of scent on it, my fairies will keep on looking, even over hundreds of miles, and they won’t stop until they’re successful.’
‘Purger,’ Chester mumbled. It was barely audible.
‘What did you say, my sweet?’ Martha asked.
Chester’s shoulders heaved with a sob. ‘I’ve got one of his Purgers in my Bergen. It will smell of him.’
‘Whatever that is, I’m sure my fairies can use it,’ Martha said. ‘I’ll send them out.’
It was obvious to Stephanie that Martha didn’t really understand what he was asking for, but right then she was prepared to agree to anything to ease his pain.
‘Thank you,’ Chester croaked. Martha was still hugging him, and he put his hand on her forearm and squeezed it back. As he raised his head, Stephanie could see how his eyes shone with his tears. But she could also see how firmly he’d set his jaw. He stared into Martha’s eyes. ‘I want him so badly. Can you really find him for me … find Danforth? Will you do that for me?’
‘You know I will,’ Martha replied, the tears streaming down her face. ‘You only have to ask,’ she said, repeating the words over and over.
For the next twenty-four hours the New Germanian contingent hovered around Elliott, as if they were hoping that she’d perform one of her miracles for them again.
She didn’t, and they had obviously grown tired of waiting when, out of the blue, Werner announced that they should all return to the city to stock up on supplies and gather some equipment that they needed. It was true that food was running low, but Jürgen’s priority was clearly the research: he was firing on all cylinders as he planned a full scientific evaluation of the tower and the pyramid, and also an expedition to the other two pyramids to assess the changes there.
Will didn’t take any part in the discussions but listened with interest as Werner and Jürgen kicked around ideas about how they might use seismic equipment in the tower to detect even the smallest vibrations if anything mechanical was operating. They also debated about using a portable X-ray machine on its walls, and how they might measure the level of any electrical activity in the tower.
The final topic on their agenda was to film a record of the space views, as they referred to them, of the Earth the next time Elliott operated the console. It was then that Will really picked up on the sense of disappointment emanating from t
he two New Germanians because Elliott wasn’t revealing more of the tower’s secrets, if indeed there were any. She’d become very moody and uncommunicative again, spending much of the time asleep, although the two brothers weren’t so bold as to try to force her to do anything that she didn’t want to.
But when Werner made the suggestion that they all prepare to head back to the city, Elliott reacted strongly to it. At first she was shaking her head and saying she wouldn’t go, and when Werner talked to her and tried to convince her, she began to shout, declaring there was absolutely no way she was leaving the tower. The bushman was standing beside her, his body language increasingly belligerent as if he was prepared to take on anyone who tried to strong-arm Elliott.
Werner remained calm, but refused to take no for an answer, saying that he wasn’t even prepared to leave Woody behind either. ‘What if we have discovered a weapon here?’ he posed. ‘We have a responsibility – all of us – to ensure that it isn’t misused, particularly by the tribesman, who may know more than he’s telling us.’
Elliott wasn’t having any of this, and simply went over to her sleeping bag and slid down inside it, pulling it over her head. Werner then asked Will to try to reason with her, but she wouldn’t speak to him either. And when Will raised his voice in frustration because she was continuing to hide herself, the bushman stepped close, standing over Elliott’s cocooned form in the sleeping bag.
‘Woody, what do you think you’re doing? Keep your bloody nose out of this!’ Will barked at him.
When the bushman steadfastly refused to move, Will’s temper snapped. ‘This is nothing to do with you!’ he shouted at the bushman. ‘Go on – make yourself scarce, twig brain.’
The bushman jabbered something back at him, his expression unpleasant.
‘You shouldn’t insult Woody. He understands more than you know,’ Elliott said, her voice muffled in the sleeping bag.
‘Oh,’ Will said, feeling rather small. As Elliott clammed up again, and Will knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere with her, he made a counter-proposal to Werner. He suggested that he remain behind to look after her, and also keep an eye on Woody. There was sufficient food to tide three people over for several days, and Will promised that he would update them regularly over the radio, calling them the moment anything unusual happened.
Short of kidnapping Elliott and forcing her to go with them, Werner didn’t have much choice but to accept this suggestion. So, within an hour, he, Jürgen and Karl had got themselves ready and trooped off across the bare plains towards the half-track.
It was a lonely time for Will after they’d gone, because if Elliott wasn’t asleep, she shunned any contact with him, roaming aimlessly around the tower. But she never once put a foot outside, as if she couldn’t bear to leave the tower, although Will sometimes caught her by the entrance. At these moments, she seemed to be staring out across the fields of dried-out earth, as if waiting for someone to appear on the horizon.
Elliott’s continued reluctance to have anything much to do with Will made him question what had changed so radically in their friendship. He didn’t delude himself that the carefree way of life that had meant so much to him in the weeks after the nuclear explosion had gone for good. When the traction beam, as Jürgen had called it, had stripped the old pyramid away, it had also obliterated any trace of the base in the nearby tree that had been their home. It was emblematic to Will because he knew that they could never go back to those halcyon days again, particularly not with the New Germanians and the ever-watchful bushman in attendance.
Will let out a long sigh. There was an inescapable inevitability to his life, as if some higher power was intent on disrupting it as soon as he found anything approaching happiness and contentment. But why did it have to be that way? Why didn’t anything good ever last for long?
And now, as he lay in his sleeping bag in the entrance chamber of the tower, he was staring despondently up at the walls, and at the twin columns housing the lifts. Part of him wished they’d never come back to the pyramid and found the tower, while another part was burning with curiosity about who had built it, and what its true purpose was. There was something so contemporary, so incredibly modern about the interior, although it was nothing of the sort because it had remained hidden in this world probably since time immemorial.
As if to emphasise this, the bushman’s hushed, repetitive mumbling, like some sort of religious incantation passed down through the centuries, drifted over to Will. Woody had lit a fire just outside the entrance, where he was cooking some grubs he’d foraged from the new fields, and every now and then the wind fanned smoke into the tower.
‘This is hopeless. I can’t sleep,’ Will announced, throwing a look across at where Elliott was curled up. The bushman was occupied with his food so Will quietly pulled himself from his sleeping bag and went to sit near Elliott.
‘I don’t know what’s the matter … but I wish you’d at least talk to me and let me in on it.’ Will’s voice turned to a croak with all his emotion, and he swallowed several times before he was able to continue. ‘You know, I’ve never felt so alone. I don’t have anyone any more. Mum’s a thousand miles away, and Dad’s gone, and all the others like Chester and …’ Will couldn’t think who else to add to the list, so quickly moved on. ‘Well, there’s no one. No one except you. So please tell me what’s wrong, because—’
A distant shout echoed through the tower.
‘Huh?’ Will said, suddenly very concerned, because it had sounded like Elliott. He leant over and pushed the sleeping bag. Something rattled inside. Whatever Elliott had stuffed in it was hard and nothing like a human body.
The bushman had heard the shout too. He abandoned his food and came inside, going straight to the flight of stairs.
‘Bloody hell!’ Will exclaimed, as he grabbed his jacket and Sten gun. He was angry with himself because he must have dozed off long enough for Elliott to trick both him and the bushman. Although he was just as much to blame, he took his annoyance out on the bushman. ‘Woody, you idiot! Why’d you let her pull that stunt on us?’ he demanded.
Knowing that the lift wouldn’t work for him, he tore up the stairs with Woody close behind.
‘Elliott!’ Will shouted as he came to the first landing. She didn’t answer him, but through the archway he saw her standing very still. She was staring fixedly at a particular spot on the outside wall, her eyes unblinking.
‘Why were you shouting? And why are you up here by yourself?’ he asked as he came alongside her. As soon as he could see her face, he was alarmed by the change in her: her expression was haunted and anxious, and there were shadows as dark as bruises under her eyes. He lowered his voice as he spoke to her again. ‘Elliott, I need to know what’s going on with you. And we’d agreed that you and I were going to stick together because we don’t know wh—’
‘Something’s not right,’ she interrupted him.
‘What – over here?’ He went over to the wall she was still facing, and had a cursory look at it for himself. Nothing seemed to be any different there, so he returned to her. ‘And what do you mean? What’s not right? And why did you sneak up here?’ he asked gently, trying to take her hand.
She pulled away from him, then moved to the nearest of the four consoles around the central well. ‘A long time ago,’ she began, ‘something was taken from here.’
‘You mean from the next level?’ Will asked, pointing at the floor above as he recalled what she’d said up there.
She nodded slowly. ‘It was never meant to be away for long, but something happened, and it was lost. I have to get it back. It’s in the wrong place. We’re all in the wrong place.’
Will rubbed his chin, wondering how much he dared ask her in her present state. She didn’t look herself at all, as if she’d been in the grip of a terrible nightmare and wasn’t fully awake yet. But he had to find out what she was talking about, what was troubling her so much. ‘Right … so if this something’s not in the right place, how do we go
about fixing that?’
Elliott laid a hand on the edge of the console, continuing to speak as if she hadn’t heard his question. ‘I have to find it.’ She switched her gaze to Will. ‘And I have to bring it back.’
Will shrugged. ‘Fine. We’ll do it together. Where is it? Somewhere close?’
Without even looking at what she was doing, she stretched out and touched the top of the console. There was a burst of light from the wall behind Will, which settled down in a shimmering square of silver.
He needed a couple of seconds to collect himself after the surprise. ‘What’s that? That’s not another aerial view. What have you done?’
‘It’ll take me close to where the object is.’ Although she’d removed her hand from the console, the large silver square remained. ‘I’m going Topsoil to find it.’
As he absorbed what she’d just said, Will was shaking his head. ‘You mean that’s a way to get to the surface? But how, precisely?’
Elliott just looked at him blankly, so he began to move towards the flickering square. It was around seven feet square, and while the surface appeared to be in constant flux, the edges didn’t vary at all.
‘Don’t get too close,’ Elliott warned.
It seemed vaguely reflective – he could just about see himself and Elliott in it. ‘Mirror, mirror,’ Will mumbled, transfixed by the square. He made himself focus on what he should be doing. ‘So, what, does this magically transport us somewhere?’
‘Yes,’ Elliott answered.
Will thought for a moment. ‘Okay, let’s put that to the test, shall we?’ he suggested dubiously. He hunted around in his jacket until he found something with suitable mass. ‘He’d never forgive me for this,’ he said, as he held up Dr Burrows’ old brass compass.
Will got himself ready then gently lobbed the compass at the silver square. When it was approximately a foot from the surface of the square, its trajectory was completely altered, as if something had hit it. The compass was pulled at such speed into the square that in the time it took Will to blink, it had simply vanished. And there was no sound to suggest that it had struck any kind of surface such as the wall behind, or dropped on the floor below. ‘Wow!’ he whispered. ‘Now you see it, now you don’t!’