TIME QUAKE (11 page)

‘It’s all right,’ said Anjali. ‘Tom likes it. You’ll see.’

For a moment the nurse looked furious but Anjali flashed her such a winning smile that the nurse relented.

‘If that mouse escapes my head’s going to be on the chopping block . . .’

‘It won’t. Tom is its home.’

The nurse shuddered. ‘How could he bear those scratchy little paws walking all over his bare skin . . .’

The nurse passed Anjali an antiseptic wipe and took one for herself even though she hadn’t touched the animal.

‘I knew you’d want to kill me for bringing a mouse into the hospital.’

‘Well I should . . .’

Anjali turned to look at the nurse. ‘Thanks. For being good to him, I mean.’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I don’t think many people have in his life. Including me.’

‘It wasn’t easy coming back, was it? You did the right thing.’

Anjali’s voice nearly cracked. ‘I owed him.’

The minutes passed and then the hours. Once Anjali woke up to find her head in the nurse’s lap. She murmured her apologies but the nurse only rubbed her back. The mouse emerged for a few seconds at ten o’clock but immediately disappeared again. Now it was nearly midnight and it was the nurse’s turn to have fallen asleep. Her head hung over her knees, her mouth half-open. In the eerily silent ward Anjali stood guard over her friend and relived that awful moment. She recalled Tom’s white and terrified face as he jumped onto the back of her attacker. The difference in size between the two youths was so marked it reminded her of the time she saw a hissing kitten jump onto the neck of a snarling Alsatian. And Tom, clinging on like the kitten, had been finally shaken off and hurled down those steep, hard stairs, rolling over and over and over, gathering momentum until, with a sickening crack, his head had hit the wall and he moved no more. She wondered if she would have the guts to risk her life for another as this skinny boy had for her. In real life, she thought, heroes come in all shapes and sizes.

Anjali scraped back her chair and stood up to stretch her legs. If she were dancing in a club the night would still feel young but in the twilight world of a quiet hospital ward it seemed late, so very late. Yawning silently, she got her things together, uncertain whether she should wake up the nurse to tell her that she’d had
enough for one night. She decided it was best just to go. But as she zipped up her leather jacket Anjali realised that she was going to have to take the mouse back with her. Reluctantly she peeled back the sheet and the white cotton blanket and observed Tom’s hospital gown. The mouse suddenly darted out of Tom’s sleeve and ran over the tips of Anjali’s fingers which made her cry out in surprise. The nurse awoke, groaning a little, and opened her eyes, and when they focussed she saw that a smile had appeared on Tom’s dry lips. She grabbed hold of Anjali’s arm.

‘He’s awake!’ she exclaimed.

‘And he’s moving!’ said Anjali.

Then, infinitely slowly, they observed Tom’s right hand drag across the sheet and move, by degrees, towards his left shoulder. His wrist flexed and he cupped his fingers close to the opening of his sleeve. After a moment, white whiskers quivering, the mouse crept cautiously out of a fold in the pale blue cotton and sat on the palm of Tom’s hand. It sniffed his skin and appeared to lick it. The smile on Tom’s face grew wider and one eyelid flickered and opened. The mouse disappeared back into his sleeve.

‘Tom!’ cried Anjali, throwing herself at him. ‘You’re awake!’

The nurse had to dive over to save the stand that held the intravenous fluid from toppling to the floor.

‘Anjali?’ said Tom in a weak and croaky voice.

‘I’m here! I think you’re gonna be all right!’

The nurse put one hand on Anjali’s head and the other on Tom’s.

‘I thought you was dead or I’d never have left you! It was only ’cos the bloke next to me on the bus was reading the local paper that I’m here now . . .’

Tom’s eyes grew wide and moved about the room trying to take in his strange surroundings. Anjali and the nurse just looked at him. It was a little like witnessing a birth. Anjali fought hard to
hold back the tears. The nurse looked over at her and stroked her cheek with the back of her hand.

‘Let it out, love. It’s allowed.’

‘I don’t do crying.’

Then Tom noticed the nurse. He looked wildly at this stranger in uniform and suddenly he panicked and tried to get up but could not. He clawed desperately at the intravenous drip.

‘Ssssh!
Easy! Easy!
’ said the nurse, gently pushing him back onto the pillow and smoothing back the tape over his wrist. ‘There’s no need to be scared . . . We’re trying to make you better.’

Anjali grabbed hold of his mouse, who had surfaced in all the commotion, and gently put the creature back into his hands.

‘Am I in prison?’

Anjali burst out laughing. ‘If
this
is your idea of a prison, your century ain’t as bad as you’ve made out! Can’t you see that this is a
hospital
?’

Anjali met the nurse’s confused stare. ‘Just our little joke. Me and Tom go back a long way . . . Especially Tom!’

Tom was breathing more slowly but he continued to give sidelong glances at the nurse. ‘Where is Blueskin?’ he asked abruptly.

Anjali was taken by surprise and since no plausible deception immediately sprang to mind she had to resort to the truth. ‘I told him you were dead. I thought you were! It was right after it happened. He didn’t take it too well. He said he never wanted to clap eyes on me again . . . And now he’s disappeared off the face of the planet.’ Anjali hesitated for a moment and then said: ‘There’s no easy way to say this – but I think the Tar Man’s gone back.’

‘Blueskin’s left me behind!’ Tom looked stricken. ‘But how can I survive here without him?’

He tried to sit up again and the nurse pushed him firmly back down.

Anjali frowned and then her expression cleared as if she had come to a decision. ‘I’ll sort something out, Tom. I don’t know what yet. But something. Anyway, you ain’t alone. You got your mouse.’

The nurse looked shocked. Anjali laughed her fruity laugh.

‘And maybe, if you keep your stinky little friend away from me, you got me, too . . .’

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Ring! Ring! Ring!

In which Peter says sorry to Kate and
Bartholomew’s Fair hosts a family quarrel

Peter did not react to Kate’s touch but let his head hang forward towards his knees. His legs had turned to jelly and the insides of his lungs were burning. He forced himself to stand upright and shouted at Gideon, sucking in a rasping breath after every few words.

‘Don’t wait . . . Don’t let . . . the Tar Man . . . get Kate!’

But Gideon was staring in astonishment at something to Peter’s left.

Peter followed his gaze and saw Kate standing next to him, hands on waist and head tipped to one side, a half-smile on her face. She had something tucked under one arm but Peter could not tell what it was in the semi-darkness. He stood up.

‘I wondered when you were going to notice me.’

‘Kate! How did you get here?’

‘I’m a fast mover!’ she said and suddenly started to giggle.

Peter shot a puzzled glance at Gideon as he started to jog back to join them. He was out of breath. ‘The Lord be praised that you
are safe!’ he panted. ‘Featherstone came after us and confessed that it was but a ruse. Alas, he has too many dependents to dare refuse Blueskin, though I do not think he is a wicked man. You are not hurt, Mistress Kate?’

‘No – though my heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to die of fright!’ Kate held out her hands and wriggled her fingers. She mimed bringing down the blade of a knife on them. ‘The Tar Man said he’d chop them off if I didn’t tell him the code. He must have believed me, otherwise he’d have done it. I know he would.’

Peter stared at his friend then gulped and looked down, consumed by guilt. But it was raw fury that blazed in Gideon’s eyes. His nostrils flared.

‘It’s funny,’ continued Kate, ‘I was so scared I could have sworn I felt the blood trickling down my fingers.’

‘Where is the brute now?’ Gideon asked. ‘Has he already skulked back to his lair?’

‘If you hurry, you’ll find him in the fortune-teller’s tent. I tied him up – but I don’t think I made a great of job of it.’

Gideon raised his eyebrows. ‘
You
tied up
Blueskin
?’

‘I’d go after him right now if I were you,’ she replied. ‘Before he gets away.’

Gideon did not need to be told twice. He turned on his heels and charged up the street in the direction of Bartholomew’s Fair, pale hair flying, swerving out of people’s way. He stopped only to shout back: ‘Peter! Be sure not to leave your friend’s side.’

Peter turned to Kate. ‘I shouldn’t have left you like that. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay. You were worried about Gideon. Anyway, I can look after myself.’

Peter looked at her without blinking. ‘But . . . how did you do it?’

Kate shrugged her shoulders.

‘No. Tell me. How
did
you do it?’

Kate averted her gaze from Peter. While she kept this secret to herself she could pretend it was not happening. She could imagine what it would be like if everyone knew. She slipped her hand into Peter’s. He let her. ‘We’d better get moving. I’ll tell you later.’

Kate set off but Peter pulled her back. She turned around to look at him and he scrutinised her face. ‘What’s up, Kate?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

Kate shook her head again.

As they set off, the thing that Kate was carrying under her arm fell silently to the ground. Peter reached down to pick it up and held it, with distaste, between thumb and forefinger. ‘Was this alive once?’ Peter peered at it in the dark.

Kate laughed. ‘Parson Ledbury is going to be well pleased when we see him.’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Peter, laughing. ‘It’s his wig!’

Kate set off at a run, holding up her cumbersome skirts, already stained with dirt to a depth of six inches.

‘What happened to your trainers?’ called Peter after her.

‘The Tar Man took them.’

‘What!
Why?
’

‘Just what I thought. Come on!’ she said. ‘I really,
really
want to see the Tar Man get what’s coming to him!’

‘Ring! Ring! Ring!’ chanted a swelling crowd as they enclosed the two men in a tight circle. Hand in hand, Peter and Kate drove a path through the mass of onlookers as the news spread like wildfire that a fight was in the offing. They strained to hear the muffled sounds of combat over the babble of the spectators.

‘Do you think it could be them?’ asked Peter.

Kate nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s got to be.’ Her eyes were narrow and shining. ‘And I hope Gideon will beat him to a bloody pulp!’

Peter turned round to grin at Kate. ‘That’s not like you!’

‘It is now.’ Kate did not grin back.

Peter waited until he had turned round again before he let his smile melt off his face. Kate’s ordeal with the Tar Man had been his fault. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

Soon they hit a wall of backs which they could not breach. They jumped up as high as they could, using the shoulders of the protesting people in front to lever themselves up, but still they could see nothing above the rows of tricorn hats. Worse, a troupe of performers on stilts arrived, determined to find out the cause of all the excitement. They wore grotesque head masks, oversized and with bulbous noses and crude gashes of red paint for mouths. They loomed out of the darkness and pushed Peter and Kate unconcernedly to one side. To avoid being crushed the children were obliged to squeeze into the gaps between giant legs clothed with acres of flapping, striped silk. Peter craned his neck upwards at the towering figures that teetered about on their stilts for balance. He thought that he and Kate must look like baby giraffes cowering for protection under their parents.

‘I hope they don’t tread on us,’ shouted Peter above the din.

‘If they do we can always push them over,’ Kate replied.

‘’Tis rare indeed to see Master Blueskin stoop to fist-fighting,’ said a nasal voice ahead of them. ‘He’s a fellow who likes his reputation to speak for him . . .’

‘And see how straight he holds himself,’ exclaimed another. ‘I do believe his neck has healed!’

‘Ay, and look at the cut of his cloth – he’s had rich pickings of late.’

‘Who’s the cove that has the bottom to challenge the Tar Man?’ asked another. ‘Faith, I don’t fancy his chances.’

Peter nudged Kate. ‘It
is
them!’

‘Don’t be so sure,’ called out an older, croaky voice. ‘We was at Tyburn when they tried to hang him. He’s the cutpurse they say was rescued by angels. We was vastly entertained – why, we did not even take it amiss when no one got scragged that day. If memory serves his name is Seymour. I like his looks. He seems a likely lad . . .’

The voice tailed off as a great howl of pain rose up and the crowd at the front winced in sympathy.