James Munkers (20 page)

I race back down the main corridor and turn right down a stairwell. When I open the door at the bottom I'm hit with the smell of chlorine. The school's indoor swimming pool glistens in the dark in front of me. If I'm right, the door at the other end leads to the backstage area of the hall. It leads towards the Orb, in any case – I can feel the nausea starting to build. I reach out to touch the wall as I jog along beside the pool, my trainers squeaking on the wet tiles.

All of a sudden a figure looms out of the changing rooms in front of me. ‘You just keep walking into it,' it intones hollowly.

Martin Hacker. Grayson must have mind-numbed him in his office the other day. That's unfortunate.

You know what, though? I don't have time to deal with him right now.

Without even breaking my stride I give him a little push with my mind and he falls sideways into the pool, splashing water over the bottom of my jeans and into my shoes. I levitate a life ring after him, just in case. ‘We'll talk later,' I call over my shoulder as I reach the door at the end of the room.

I come out into the wings of the stage. It's dark and crowded here, with an assortment of kids in various costumes looking out on the activity of the brightly-lit stage, their faces illuminated by the glow. The strains of “Away in a Manger” float through the stillness. I look over their heads to the stage and see the traditional set-up of the Nativity play, complete with Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus with a mind-controlling device embedded in his innocent little head.

Oh man, is that making me queasy. I bend over, put my hands on my knees and breathe deeply like a woman in labour. The kids around me give me strange looks, but I can't save the world if I'm puking my guts up, can I?

It's okay, I'm not vomiting. I can do this. I just need to focus.

I start pushing my mind out to the doll on the stage, but then a cow moves between us, breaking my line of sight, as the kids all sing, ‘The cattle are lowing; the baby awakes…'

Hoping the baby is doing no such thing, I look around for something to stand on to get it into view again – I seem to be able to focus better when I'm looking at it. Then I spot a ladder leading up to the suspended walkways hanging high over the stage. Dodging a donkey, I run to the ladder, grab a rung and start climbing, trying not to think about how many little kids I'm going to crush if I fall.

‘You can't go up there,' a nearby twelfth-grader hisses at me. Oh, bog off. I'm trying to save your life.

I keep climbing and finally reach the walkway leading right over the stage, out of sight of the audience. I pull myself up onto it and grasp its flimsy railing, then take a few tentative steps forwards and peer down at the tea-towelled heads beneath me. My word, that's a long way down. Oh, nausea combined with vertigo – nice. I suck in some oxygen to stop my head spinning, and peer about for the doll. “Mary” wriggles back on her stool and there he lies, waiting for his moment.

I push my mind out to him – it's like swimming against the tide – and realise with a shock that his moment is nigh. Chaplain's Orb is pulsing in anticipation, ready to send its rays out towards the audience.

Okay. No, this is good. I just have to stay calm. And, also, not faint from the waves of sickness I'm feeling.

‘And he truly was the son of God,' a tiny angel with a big voice shouts at the audience from the front of the stage, as I carefully create a protection shield around the Orb. The misty, glowing light of the shield appears around the doll's head, like the haloes you see on Christmas cards, and the audience gasps in delight. Mary and Joseph look at each other in confusion. The sheep back away a bit.

‘And he would do miraculous things during his life,' the tiny angel screams on, oblivious to what's happening behind her. I start pulling the swaddling-wrapped babe towards me with my mind, and little Baby Jesus goes floating up into the air, shining down upon all around him. Mary and Joseph go running for cover, and one of the three kings falls off his camel.

‘Healing the sick and helping the poor,' she roars, as I suddenly feel a resistance to my power. It hits me like a blow, making me feel even more ill, and the doll's progress towards the heavens comes to a halt. Its halo has now turned dark, making the doll look like some creepy antichrist, like the toy of a punk-rocker.

Is that me doing that? Has my power gone dark again?

No, it hasn't. I can still see my blue protection shield inside the black one. Someone's gone and created a protection shield around
my
protection shield, and they're pushing down while I'm pulling up. The doll quivers in mid-air, trapped in a vertical tug of war.

Suddenly shaking with effort, I glance up from the shining, twitching bundle to see Mr Grayson emerging from the darkness at the other end of the walkway. His arm is reaching out to the hovering Orb but he's staring at me, his eyes shining with excited ambition. His smile is unpleasant, wide and confident.

‘I think,' he says, ‘the first thing I'll do when I have control over your mind is walk you straight off this platform. You really shouldn't be up here, you know.' He takes another step towards me, and I feel his power pushing the Orb down towards the audience. My hands grip the railing beside me as I struggle to keep the Orb aloft and out of his control.

He laughs softly. ‘What are you going to do, James? Stand there tugging away at it until the play finishes and everyone goes home to snuggle up in their nice, safe beds?'

‘It's an option,' I say through gritted teeth.

‘One I think you won't be taking,' he purrs at me, gesturing over his shoulder with his head. ‘Not when I hold something so important to you in my power.'

Behind him another walkway runs out at right angles to this one, high over the wings. Michael, blank-faced and empty-minded, is standing on it, holding the unconscious form of Kit over the edge.

My mind reels in panic and rage at the sight, and I feel myself start to lose control of my power. I'm still hanging on desperately to the Orb, but the spotlights clamped to the rail next to me start to fizz and the walkway under our feet wobbles unsteadily.

‘Oops, careful there,' Grayson says. ‘We wouldn't want any accidents, would we?' He flicks his fingers and Michael takes a step closer to the edge.

I suck in the thin air around me, trying to calm down, but the effort of keeping the Orb up is taking its toll. The nausea has multiplied into a splitting headache, and the bitter taste of adrenalin makes me retch. My hands start to shake and sweat springs up on my forehead. My eyes flicker between Kit and Michael, and the doll hanging suspended under me. I can't protect them all, and Grayson knows it.

‘Come on, now, James, let's try to be a bit more decisive,' he says encouragingly. ‘The Nativity play isn't going to last that much longer. I'll tell you what; you release the Orb to me in the next ten seconds, and I'll have your father drop the Guardian slut rather than have him jump off holding her.'

So that's it. That's how it's going to end. I'm going to drop the Orb to catch my friend and my father before they hit the ground, because it's inconceivable to do anything else, and then have the privilege of knowing that they're safe for ten seconds before all our minds are wiped blank by an evil headmaster. And that's the best I can hope for.

The worst, of course, is that the evil headmaster will then go on to drain all the power out of the Twelfth Dimension and end the world. If I don't want to be responsible for that, I have to let Kit and Michael die.

I drop to my knees, head pounding and power waning. It's hopeless. I am alone, just when I was feeling like I had some good friends looking out for me. Will and Mr Lancer will still be looking after Pippa, Claire is trying to fix Mum, Peter is out the back taking care of Win and Garth, and God knows where Jem is by this stage.

Hang on.

Jem
is
by this stage.

He's standing in the wings below where Kit is dangling, holding a long, gleaming sword and looking up at us, his face illuminated by the lights of the stage. Then he turns and runs to the ladder on that side, and starts climbing swiftly. Within seconds I see a cautious hand, still holding the sword, appear a few yards behind Mr Grayson's legs on the walkway.

Catching sight of more movement down in the wings, I look and see the familiar shape of Will in his black coat, bending down to whisper urgently at the blonde head of Claire. Claire darts away, but reappears in a second, dragging something very big and strange-looking behind her.

My heart starts pounding at the realisation that I'm not alone.

I glance back up at Mr Grayson, who's taken a few more steps in my direction and is now standing above the middle of the stage, looking very much like the self-satisfied bastard that he is.

They're all behind him. He doesn't know they're there.

I get to my feet and glare at this evil man who doesn't have any friends, let alone rescuing ones. I swallow down the nausea and push the pain in my head aside. I double my protection shield and start raising the doll against him. ‘Go to hell,' I tell him quietly, before giving a final mighty yank on the Orb.

The second I feel him pushing it down in resistance I let go, and the doll goes plummeting towards the stage. Several people in the audience yell in surprise, but before it hits the ground Will tears across the stage, launches himself off the manger and grabs the doll by its head. Then he runs for it, dodging screaming miniature shepherds and disappearing through the wings at the other end.

Mr Grayson's face contorts with rage, and his mouth opens in a mighty roar that is cut short by the pummel of Jem's sword coming down squarely on his head. The second Mr Grayson loses consciousness, Michael collapses onto the walkway. His loose arms drop Kit over the edge of the railing, and she falls down through the black curtains of the wings to land softly on the giant foam Christmas pudding Claire has positioned underneath her.

I look at the body of my headmaster, draped casually above the chaos that is now the junior school's Nativity play. ‘You're getting good at that,' I tell Jem, panting.

‘Thanks, I've been practising.'

‘Now let's get out of here before he wakes up again.'

‘Hang on,' Jem says. He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out another envelope, then hands it to me. This one says “MUNKERS, MICHAEL” on it. I look at Jem gratefully and step over Mr Grayson's body, then we both run over to where Michael is lying. Jem turns him over while I rip open the envelope and tip a small syringe of blood into my hand, the needle still attached. I look at it for a second, feeling queasy. Then I push Michael's sleeve up his arm, close my eyes and jab.

I'm about to push the pushy bit when we hear a snarl behind us from Mr Grayson and I feel something grasp my neck. My eyes snap open and I see Michael under me, awake and glaring, cutting off my windpipe with his strong hands.

Jem leaps to his feet, sword swinging up to face the on-coming Mr Grayson, who is charging towards us with murder on his face. Jem's thrown over the edge of the walkway before his sword can connect. Through the grating I see him land on the edge of the pudding next to Claire and fall heavily onto the floor.

Grayson is only feet away, and Michael is still wringing my neck, so I can't move or breathe. I try to get a better grip on his arms, and feel something under my right hand – the syringe still sticking out of him. I ram the handle home, and feel Michael's body relax under me, his hands sliding off my throat. Gasping for air, I grab his jumper, build a protection shield around father and son, and lift us over the railings just as Mr Grayson reaches us. We go spinning down to land next to Jem and the pudding.

Still choking, I let Claire take hold of Michael under his arms, and she pulls him onto the pudding next to Kit. They're both still out for the count.

‘Look after them,' I gasp at Claire.

She nods, white-faced. Then I grab Jem's arm and pull him to his feet.

‘Have to draw him away,' I say, pointing overhead. Jem nods, and we both go running across the now-empty stage. Above us, we hear heavy footsteps following along the walkway. As we tear through the wings and the door beyond it, there comes a crash just behind us as Mr Grayson jumps from the walkway onto the props beneath him, shattering them in all directions. We slam the door shut behind us and race up the nearest set of stairs.

We burst out into a room packed with people, most of them under four feet tall, and quickly skirt the edge of the room, taking an exit that leads to the junior school classrooms. I can't hear Mr Grayson following us yet, but I'm not slowing down. I want a good mile between us before I do that.

We turn a sharp corner into a classroom, and I run straight into something that grabs my arm and painfully twists it upwards. I cry out as I land on my knees and fall against the person's legs, which are sopping wet.

Martin. That guy never gives up, does he?

‘Now, I understand you might be experiencing some inner tension about me,' I try to say calmly as Martin grabs my hair and tries to rip my head off.

Jem's approach is different. He yells and leaps onto Martin's back, and they both come crashing down on top of me. Once more this evening I find it impossible to breathe, as my mouth is covered by wet jumper. Then they shift and I'm able to roll out from beneath them. Jem jumps up and pulls me up by the elbow. We start running again and I stumble, but Jem's hand is there and I regain my balance.

Blimey. The things I need to apologise to Martin Hacker for are really banking up.

We go running out the far door into an art room, only to smash into someone else. In my panic a burst of blue energy comes zipping out of me, a bottle next to us explodes, and red paint splatters all over us.

‘Hey, watch it!' a familiar voice says. I look up and it's Will, still holding Baby Jesus by the head. I feel sick again at my proximity to the Orb, but it's not nearly as bad as it was when Grayson was using it in the hall.