The Burning (6 page)

“It’s creepy,” Rachel said.

“Cool,” contradicted Adam.

The body under the brocade waistcoat began to twist as if alive and, sounding like a musical box, it began to play a tinkling melody from an old nursery rhyme. Rachel shuddered and Van der Zee grinned at her. The monkey’s head jerked forward again and thin leather lips drew back across its face in silent laughter, revealing a row of tiny, yellow teeth. The twins jumped as the monkey’s arms suddenly sprang together, making tiny crashing sounds with the cymbals, its head flipping from side to side and its body twisting.

Van der Zee turned it off. “Great, isn’t it?”

He showed them a few others: a tiny canary in a gilded cage that let out a breathy whistle and flapped its wings; a rubber-faced chef who flipped tin eggs in a pan; a clockwork clown in tartan pants who rotated and drank non-existent beer from a bottle. Rachel and Adam were most fascinated by the mechanical bee that flew on a wire round a small, metal honeypot, its wings whirring as they flapped.

“That one’s
my
favourite too,” Van der Zee said.

Rachel suddenly pictured their friend Jacob Honeyman and wondered what the old beekeeper would make of a mechanical bee. “Yeah, it’s pretty neat,” she said.

Finally, Van der Zee drew the twins’ attention to a wooden box on top of his desk. It was about the size of a shoebox,
but made from heavy, dark wood. Inlaid on the lid, in something that looked like bone, was a Triskellion. Rachel and Adam exchanged a look. Their fascination with the automata replaced by a stab of apprehension.

“I was wondering if you guys could give me any clues about this?” Van der Zee unlocked the box and lifted the lid. Rachel felt a throb of power, like a vibration, as the dull gold of the Triskellion was revealed, shining against a plush red lining. Van der Zee picked up the amulet and instantly the throb seemed to fade away.

“It’s a Bronze Age artefact, as far as we know,” Rachel said.

Adam could sense that she wanted to keep their answers simple; to give nothing away. “Most people think the design is of Celtic origin,” he added.

Van der Zee looked from one twin to the other, as if he were trying to size them up. Apparently changing his mind, he casually put the Triskellion back in the box, locked it, and grinned.

“Here’s a good one for you guys,” he said. He guided them to an old-fashioned fruit machine in the corner of the room. “The one-armed bandit.” He picked up a stack of worn brown coins and handed one to Rachel. “Put a penny in the slot,” he said. “See if you can guess what you’ll get.”

Rachel dropped in the coin, pulled the handle and momentarily shut her eyes. Small red blotches immediately
began dancing again in the darkness behind her eyelids.

“Cherries. Four cherries,” she said. The wheels clunked into place. Four cherries lined up. Coins spewed from the metal mouth of the machine and bounced across the floor.

Van der Zee smiled. “A winner every time. Now that’s what I call intuition.”

“I’d call it
super
-intuition,” said an Australian voice from behind them. Rachel and Adam twisted round to see Laura Sullivan standing in the doorway. Holding her hands, one on either side of her, were a small boy and a small girl, each wrapped in a bright, tartan shawl.

Twins.

I
’m Morag
, the little girl said.

Rachel was about to introduce herself, then realized that the girl had not opened her mouth. She watched the girl smile and straight away she could feel the connection between them, like a deep vibration moving along an unseen wire. It was a comforting feeling. Familiar…

Laura Sullivan cleared her throat as though prompting someone who had forgotten their cue.

“I’m Morag.” This time it was spoken out loud. A high-pitched, sing-song accent. “And this is Duncan. We’re twins, like you.”

Like you
.

Rachel stepped across and introduced herself and Adam. The younger children were both redheaded, their hair neat and shining, with co-ordinating clothes: trousers and skirt in green and black tartan. Adam thought they looked like the drawing on a biscuit tin he’d seen at his grandmother’s house.

“You’re Scotch, right?” he asked.

Morag giggled and shook her head. “Nooo! Scott
ish
.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Adam said, not quite sure what he had done wrong. “You from Glasgow? Or…?” He knew Edinburgh was the capital, but hesitated as he had never been quite sure how to pronounce it.

“We’re from Orkney,” Morag said. “It’s a tiny island. Have you heard of it?”

Adam hadn’t. He leant down towards the boy who was staring at the floor as if studying the grain in the bare, polished boards. “Hello,” he said. He waited for a reply, but the boy did not even look up. Adam glanced at Rachel and shrugged.

Rachel reached out to her brother. Adam seemed livelier than he had for days. Perhaps something had worn off? She could feel channels reopening…

He’s shy
, she said with her mind.

Or dumb
, Adam replied with his.

“He’s not dumb,” Morag said out loud, shocking Rachel and Adam, pulling them up short. “Duncan just doesn’t speak much.”

“Doesn’t he say
anything
?” Adam asked aloud, trying to cover his embarrassment.

Morag shook her head. “Nope, not really.” She put an arm round her brother. He tensed, tapping the sole of his shiny black shoe against the floorboards.

Morag’s stare was intense, and Rachel found it hard to drag her eyes away from those of the younger girl. The
vibration that Rachel had felt moving between them was suddenly intensified – the gentle buzz becoming jagged and almost deafening.

“Rachel?”

Her brother’s voice was all but lost beneath the noise in Rachel’s head, as she struggled to break free from whatever was passing between her and the young girl: to disconnect herself.

And then it was over.

Rachel blinked and tried to clear her head. When she focused again, she saw that Morag was already skipping past her and throwing herself on to the lap of Clay Van der Zee. He welcomed her warmly, smiling happily at Duncan, who calmly followed his sister across the room and settled into a small armchair to the side of the doctor’s desk. Morag stared at Rachel with big eyes, fixing her in their beam, calling out, trying to say something that Rachel could not read.

“Morag and Duncan have been here a long time,” Van der Zee said. He pulled the girl close and squeezed her. “Ever since they lost their parents, more or less.”

“Four years, eight months and twenty-three days,” Morag said.

“They’re part of the family.”

Morag smiled widely at Van der Zee, but it was the kind of stiff smile a little girl puts on for a photograph: not quite real. She then turned the smile on Rachel, fixing her again
with her eyes as if trying to tell her something. “Have you done the tests yet?” she said aloud.

Rachel dragged her gaze away from the strange little girl and looked across at Laura Sullivan. “Er, tomorrow, I think.” Sullivan nodded.

Morag had obviously heard the apprehension in Rachel’s voice. “It’s really nothing to worry about,” she said. Rachel guessed that Morag and her brother were eight or so, but suddenly the girl sounded mature beyond her years. “They’re a lot of fun actually. Just like games.”

“Speaking of which” – Van der Zee nodded towards the board lined with coloured pegs – “Rachel here is pretty good at this one. Almost as good as you in fact.”

Rachel blushed and felt foolish. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Can I play her?” Morag squeaked. “Please?”

Van der Zee chuckled. “Maybe later,” he said.

Morag looked sulky for just a second or two until Van der Zee muttered something to her and quickly the two of them were whispering and laughing, as if there were no one else in the room at all. Behind the desk a large wooden wall clock ticked loudly, and logs spat and crackled on the fire.

It was all very cosy, and horribly strange.

Rachel wandered across to join Adam. They exchanged nervous smiles with Laura Sullivan, who moved past them and began clearing away Van der Zee’s board game.

Rachel kept her voice low. “Did you feel it?”

“What?” Adam asked.

“With the girl? Just after she told us about her brother not speaking.”

“I felt something. I didn’t know if it was coming from you.”

“It was definitely
not
coming from me,” Rachel said. “It felt like someone was drilling inside my skull. I don’t know what was going on inside her head, but they weren’t happy thoughts.”

Morag laughed loudly at something Van der Zee whispered. “She looks happy enough,” Adam said.

“Then it was like she just … released me.” Rachel remembered the vibrations surging through her. It had been like an arcade game at the fairground their mother took them to every summer. For a dollar, you could grip a plastic handle as an electric current passed through it – the voltage increasing every few seconds – while you tried to cling on, until the shocks became too painful and you had to let go.

Adam read her thoughts. “I was always good at that game,” he said.

“Then she switched the power off, or something.”

“They’re the same as us, aren’t they?” Adam said.

“Better than us.
Way
better…”

They stared at the Scottish twins for a few seconds. Morag was listening intently to something Van der Zee was telling her as she played with the buttons on her cardigan, while her brother sat a few metres away, staring into space, his face screwed up as he concentrated on something they could not begin to guess at.

Adam shrugged. “Maybe they’ve just been doing this for a lot longer than we have.” His voice was certainly not loud enough to have carried across to where Duncan was sitting, but suddenly the boy looked over at them and gave Adam the hint of a smile.

Rachel looked across at Van der Zee. “Why does everyone around here wear those weird headphones?”

“Yeah,” Adam said. “I thought they were listening to music, but—”

Van der Zee smiled. “Not music. And not everyone. I don’t need to wear them.”

Adam looked at Rachel. “Neither does Laura. Or Mr Cheung.”

“They’re inhibitors,” Van der Zee said. “They protect the wearer from having their thoughts … interfered with. That’s one of the things kids like you can do.” He gave Morag a squeeze and nodded at Duncan. “These two used to have quite a lot of fun with the staff until we kitted everyone out with the inhibitor kits.”

“You’re such a big spoilsport,” Morag said, grinning.

“So how come you don’t need them?” Adam asked.

“I used to work with the military,” Van der Zee said. “We were taught certain … techniques.”

“Like anti-interrogation stuff? I saw that in a movie once.”

“Right, and Dr Sullivan has learnt some of the same techniques.” Van der Zee pulled a face at Morag. “Ways of handling troublemakers like these.”

Like us, Rachel thought.

“What about Mr Cheung?” Adam said.

“Ah, now Mr Cheung is a special case. He used to be a Shaolin monk, did you know that? He has a very powerful mind; it’s one of the reasons we hired him.” Dr Van der Zee smiled. “That, and the fact that he makes the finest hot and sour soup outside Shanghai.”

“I’ve got a surprise for you…”

Rachel turned at the voice, to see Laura Sullivan at her shoulder. “Another one?”

“Life’s been pretty full of them lately,” Adam said.

Laura nodded a little sadly, but then her features softened and broadened into a smile. “OK, but this is one I think you’ll like.” Adam and Rachel looked at each other. “Promise.”

Rachel started to wonder how much Laura Sullivan’s promises were actually worth, but, before the thought could take real shape, she was startled by a knock at the door. From the corner of her eye she saw Van der Zee ease Morag from his knee, as though something were about to happen that he did not want to miss.

“It’s OK, Kate,” Laura said. “You can come in.”

Kate?

Before the name was out of Laura’s mouth, Adam and Rachel were moving quickly towards the door and throwing themselves into their mother’s arms as she stepped into the room.

“That’s something special to see,” Van der Zee said, patting Morag on the top of her head. “Very special…”

The phone on the desk across the room bleeped, and, grinning all over his face, Van der Zee dragged himself away to answer it.

Rachel hugged her mother close. “I was so worried,” she said.

Adam rubbed his mother’s arm. “We both were.”

“We didn’t know where you were.”

“Or if you knew where
we
were.”

“I’m fine,” Kate Newman said.

Laura Sullivan stood near by. “I
told
them you were OK.”

Wonderful as it was to see her mother again, Rachel knew that something was wrong. Insisting on seeing her had paid off, and Laura had obviously caved in. But now Rachel realized that Laura may have been protecting them: worried about the twins seeing their mother in this … state. Rachel clung to her, but there was no urgency in the embrace she received in return. Her mother’s arms had been slow to move round her and there was no pressure from them against her back, no hand stroking her hair.