The Black Room (16 page)

Rats, Tom thought. He went down flat on the ground, sticking his head into the opening and looking along the shiny plastic. Beyond the pool of light from Robert's flashlight, he could see more space, going back all the way to the house. He reached up and took the light so that he could shine it to the far end.

And he saw—something.

Someone.

There was a crouching figure huddled into the far corner, close against the foundation of the house. Its head was turned away, and it had both hands pressed tightly over its mouth. But, above the hands, he could see the glint of its eyes looking sideways at him.

“Hello?” he said softly. Stupidly. He could hear his voice shaking.

The head shifted slightly, turning farther away. The eyes couldn't see him now, but the creature's whole body was tense. Until that moment, Tom hadn't been able to tell anything except that it was human. Now he could see that it— she—was a small, thin girl, maybe seven or eight years old, with pale skin and peculiar, matted hair.

She was wearing a strange collection of garments layered one over another, but her legs were bare, and her feet and hands were much darker than the rest of her skin. She looked terrified.

Robert nudged him out of the way, edging in so that he could see as well. But as he put his head through the opening, Emma's voice came through from the hall, very loud and clear.

“I'm really sorry to have been such a nuisance. I do apologize for my dog.”

That was a signal. It meant that she couldn't spin it out any longer. She was standing in the doorway, with her foot on the threshold—and they had to get out of the conservatory as fast as they could.

There was no time to think. Nothing else they could do. Tom grabbed Robert's shoulder and pulled, expecting him to resist. But he didn't. He was on his feet instantly, reaching for the lid. The two of them dropped it back into place and Robert knelt down to fasten the catches. In less than ten seconds, everything was just as it had been before they came, with the rug spread neatly over the opening and the television standing on top of it.

The moment it was done, Tom darted through the door and ran for the hedge. He assumed that Robert would be right behind him, but when he looked around, he saw him still at the conservatory door, fumbling at the lock. Leaning out of the hedge, Tom beckoned frantically.

Robert turned around and flew, crossing the narrow strip of grass at top speed and throwing himself into the hedge. He didn't stop to say anything to Tom. He went up the nearest tree and over the fence in almost a single movement.

Tom looked back nervously. As he did so, Emma's voice floated over from the front of the house.

“Good-bye, then. Thanks for the chat.”

Helga barked, the front door banged shut—and Tom hauled himself up the tree and over the fence, as fast as he could. He came down on Robert's back and rolled clear, landing in an ungainly sprawl.

Robert was on all fours, with his head bent, shaking and retching. His face was white, and he'd just been sick in a patch of brambles. Tom sat up and looked at him.

“Is it her?” he said.

Robert nodded and sat back, wiping his mouth. “But she‘s—” He shook his head and stopped, turning his face away.

Tom didn't know what to say. He was trembling, too, and his head was full of desperate, urgent questions. But it wasn't the right time to ask them. He crawled back to the fence and put his eye to a crack in the wood, looking back at the house.

The woman was just walking through the French windows, into the conservatory. Tom tensed, trying to see if there was anything wrong, anything to show that he and Robert had been there. But the woman didn't even glance around. She went down on her hands and knees beside the television, with her head close to the floor. He was too far away to hear what she was saying, but he could see her lips moving and her head bobbing about. After a couple of minutes, she stood up and brushed off her skirt. Then she went out through the sitting room, pulling the French windows almost shut behind her.

Tom turned around, to describe what he'd seen—but Robert had gone. He was already moving up the embankment, squirming forward on his stomach. For a second, Tom wanted to yell after him.
We can't just go! What are we going to do?
But Robert didn't look back. He wriggled behind a clump of bushes, and Tom had to scramble to catch up before he lost sight of him.

Robert didn't stop until he was back on the piece of waste ground beyond the houses, pulling his bike out of the bushes.

“What are we going to do?” Tom said, panting up behind him.

“Not yet,” Robert said grimly. He was already on his bike. “Let's get home first.”

He didn't speak again until they reached his house. And then it was only, “Around the back!” as he headed for the side gate. Tom went patiently after him, propping his bike against the side wall of the house and following him into the kitchen.

Helga came bombing through from the front of the house and flung herself at his ankles, barking hysterically. He went down on his knees and let her lick his face all over. It was a relief to have something familiar and safe and normal.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “Good dog. You're a heroine.”

“
I'm
a heroine,” Emma said from the doorway. “Have you got any idea how hard it was to go on talking to that woman?”

“Did you find out anything new?” Robert said. He was quite different now. Cool and controlled. Totally focused on Emma's answer.

She shrugged. “All pretty negative. No, she doesn't like dogs. No, they don't do barbecues. No, she hasn't got a daughter—she was very sharp about that one. Told me right off the bat, the moment I mentioned the word. How about you? Did you manage to open up that place under the floor?”

“There's a girl down there,” Robert said baldly. “Shut in, so she can't get out.”

Emma stared at him for a moment without speaking. Then she pulled out a chair and sat down, very slowly. “Is it Lorn?”

“I think so.” Robert nodded. “She's certainly
like
Lorn. And her hair's full of weird braids.”

“I didn't really think—” Emma took a long breath. “Are you
sure
she's shut in? She wasn't just playing some kind of game?”

“No,” Robert said shortly. He looked across at Tom. “Tell her, Tosh.”

Tom stood up, keeping hold of Helga's collar. He wanted to explain to Emma what the hole in the ground was like. He wanted to make her smell the air and imagine the way the girl had crouched against the far wall, looking strange and terrified. He wanted her to feel the shock of it. But he didn't know how to communicate that.

So he just said, “Robbo's right. They're keeping her a prisoner.”

Emma shook her head slowly, as though she couldn't believe it. “Who is she? How did she get there?”

Tom shrugged. “How should we know? But we'll find out, won't we? When the police get her out.”

“No!” Robert was almost shouting. “We're not going to tell the police.”

Tom couldn't believe it. “We can't just leave her there.”

“We've got to get her out.” That was Emma.

“Of course we're going to get her out,” Robert said impatiently. “But we don't want the police involved. They'll whisk her off and put her in foster care or in a hospital or something like that.”

“Isn't that where she ought to be?” said Tom, remembering the girl's pale face and stick-thin arms and legs. “She needs people to look after her.”

“We'll
look after her,” Robert said. “We'll get her out of there and take her to the woods. Nothing will do her any good until she's back together.”

“How are you going to do that?” Emma said. “The trick with Helga won't get you into the house again.”

“We don't need that.” Robert put a hand into his pocket. “We can get in whenever we like.” He held out his hand, balled up like a fist, and opened the fingers slowly, one by one.

Lying in his palm was the key to the Armstrongs' conservatory.

21

“WE CAN'T DO IT,” EMMA SAID. “WE CAN'T JUST TAKE things into our own hands.”

“You don't understand!” Robert said fiercely. “Nor do you, Tosh. You've always had someone around to bail you out: Mom and Dad, doctors, experts—people like that. You don't know what it's like to face real danger. When there's no one except you to take responsibility.”

“There
are
people,” Tom said. “All we've got to do is make a phone call.”

“That might save the girl under the floor. But it won't help Lorn.” Robert was leaning forward urgently now, with his elbows on the table. “And Lorn's the one who needs help first. Because if we don't rescue her—she'll die.”

Lorn's not real,
Tom wanted to say.
Not the way that other girl is real.

But he didn't feel so certain anymore. The pale girl in the black room seemed just as remote and fantastic as the little people living under the ground. If one thing was true, why not the other?

“Look,” Robert said desperately, “give me twenty-four hours. That's all I need. After that you can go to the police—if you still want to.” He watched Tom's and Emma's faces, turning the conservatory key over and over in his long, strong fingers. “Just help me get that girl out of there first, so I can take her to the woods. We could do it tonight.”

“You think so?” Emma said impatiently. “Just because you've got that key? That's not the answer to everything. What about the security light? And burglar alarms? I bet they've got one of those.”

“There must be a way to deal with things like that.” Robert's face was stubborn. “We've just got to think.”

But Emma hadn't finished. “And suppose you succeed and Lorn—
comes back together.
What happens then? Does she have to go home to that hole in the ground?”

“Of course not. I'll look after her.”

“Oh yes?” Emma raised her eyebrows. “So will you be wanting Mom and Dad to adopt her?”

“How should I know?” Robert was starting to look annoyed now. “We can't worry about details like that—”

“Yes, we can, Rob.” Emma shook her head at him. “You've got to
think.”

Tom wanted to shake her and make her be quiet.
Same old hag,
he thought.
Still trying to take charge.
But then he saw her expression—and a switch flipped in his head. She wasn't putting Robert down because she liked to. She was trying to take charge because she was afraid.

He could understand that. He was afraid, too.

“Look, Robbo,” he said. “We've got to be practical. Emma's right about the burglar alarm. They're bound to have one of those. And they're bound to be on their guard when they find that the key's disappeared.”

“They'll think
I
stole it,” Emma said grimly.

At last something seemed to register with Robert. He sat back on his heels, looking thoughtful. “If they're really worried, they might get the lock changed. I need to get the key copied, don't I? And try and sneak the original one back before anyone notices.”

Emma gave a short, harsh bark of laughter. “So who are you now? The Invisible Man? Stop daydreaming, Rob. None of it's going to work. Not unless you've got a double agent on the inside?”

Robert had no answer for that. But it sparked off something in Tom's mind.

“Not a double agent,” he said slowly. “But there's someone on the inside who might be ... persuaded to help us. If we have a little talk with him.”

 

IT WAS EASY TO HANG AROUND BY THE BUS STOP WHEN THE school buses came through. Robert went ahead, to stand at the corner of the street, and Tom and Emma watched the buses come past.

Warren was on the third one. He got off with a crowd of other boys, but Tom could see he was really on his own, just tagging along at the back. The others went up the road in little groups, chatting and fooling around, and Warren trailed along behind them, laughing self-consciously whenever he overheard a joke.

“The others aren't a problem,” Tom muttered to Emma. “They'll shake him off in a minute, when they start going different ways. We just need to wait for the right moment.”

They strolled along behind Warren, watching the other boys pull away from him. Gradually a gap opened up. By the time Warren reached his street, he was three or four steps behind the others.

Robert was standing on the corner, pretending to make a phone call. He let the others go past and then stepped out, immediately in front of Warren, so close that their noses were almost touching—or they would have been if Robert hadn't been a good six inches taller.

It was meant to be threatening, and it was. And Warren reacted just as Tom thought he would. He stopped dead for a moment, looking down at the pavement. Then he took a step backward and tried to walk around Robert, with his face turned away.

It was the instinctive defense of someone who expected to be a victim. And it didn't work. Robert simply stepped sideways to block his path, and Tom came up behind and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hi, Warren,” he said. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Warren stopped dead. Then he turned around, slowly and warily, and looked at Tom's face. As the message traveled from his eyes to his brain, his hand went up to his bag and the fingers clamped tightly around the strap.

“That's right,” Tom said cheerfully. “I'm the one who stole your bag. But it was very disappointing. I was hoping for something much better inside.”