The Time of the Ghost (9 page)

“Yes, Imogen,” Cart said unkindly. “Do that or go away.”

Imogen bit her beads, not knowing what to do.

Julian Addiman laughed. “She'd better go. The presence of an unbeliever could be fatal.”

“I'll stay and write it down,” Imogen said defiantly, which was what Julian Addiman had intended her to do. Sally could see it in his face.

I can't think how I ever liked you!
she said to Julian, and Oliver growled again.

“Calm down,” Ned said to Oliver. “What do we do, Julian?”

“Everyone sits round and puts one finger on this glass,” Cart said briskly. “After a bit it should start to move. Then we ask it things, and it spells out the answers.”

“I
don't
think!” said Howard. “I'm another unbeliever in your midst. Shouldn't we turn out the light?”

“Stupid! How do we see the letters?” asked Fenella.

Sally hovered over the table, above the bent tops of five heads and five arms stretching star-shaped out to rest a finger on the glass. This was decidedly where she did some haunting. The first thing she would do was to give Cart a piece of her mind, she thought, looking at Imogen, sitting bowed over a pad just beyond the table. Slowly, a little fearfully, Sally descended toward the fingers and the glass.

“What happens if your parents come in?” Julian Addiman laughed.

Everyone's arms at once went tense. Even if Sally had had the strength to move the glass against their five stiff arms, she could not have gone near it. Their nervousness crackled in the field of life round their fingers. It was like an electric shock. Sally bounced up from it with a yelp. The rumbling of Oliver vibrated the letters on the table.

“They never do come in,” said Imogen beyond the circle.

Nonsense
, said Sally.
Of course they do. It would serve you all right if they came this moment!

“Cool it, everyone,” said Cart. Her face was still firm and glowing with her feelings about Julian Addiman. “Nothing's going to happen unless we all relax. Sit quiet. Somebody tell a silly story or say something interesting.”

“The ghost of marmalade,” Ned Jenkins said suddenly. “There was a rhyme when I was a kid, see. I think it went ‘I am the ghost of Able Mabel, This parrot cage goes on the table,' but I didn't know what it was about. I thought it said ‘the ghost of marmalade.'”

This caused a mystified silence. Sally nervously descended. The glass, in the middle of the fingers, was quite bearable to touch now. She gave it an experimental shove. Her hand—or what seemed to be her hand—went down inside it, in the midst of five sizzling, living fingers. It was like being inside a gas ring. But this gas ring was fixed in place by five stiff arms and would not move.

“Just what does that mean?” Howard said to Jenkins.

“I was thinking of the sticky table,” Ned said apologetically.

“Were you indeed?” said Howard. “Now I'll tell you something really interesting. You know, don't you, that I'm the proud possessor of a metal detector? Usually I use it to go round picnic places on the downs, and you'd be surprised how much money people lose there. Now, today at lunchtime, Greer borrows my metal detector, just for kicks, and goes pottering off with it along the trees across the playing field. And the thing shouts at him. There was obviously a whole heap of metal hidden in the ground there.”

Sally felt the glass sliding gently away with her.
Help! There's a ghost!
she exclaimed, and nearly snatched herself away from it. Then she realized that the muscles were slyly flexing in the longest arm. Julian Addiman's finger was fizzing just a little harder than any of the others', and that finger was bearing the glass softly sideways.

No, you don't!
said Sally, and pulled against the finger. Between them, she and Julian brought the glass to a trembling standstill. The smile which had been curling Julian Addiman's red mouth faded to a look of surprise.

“It's moving!” Ned whispered.

“Take no notice,” Fenella said reprovingly. “You were saying, Will?”

Howard's eyes were very round and fixed on the glass, but he went on. “Well, Greer knew he'd found something big, but being a prat, he doesn't dig it up himself or even tell me. No. He reports it to Himself. And Himself steams off there this evening with all of us and tells us we may have found a hoard of Roman coins.”

I see how to do it
, said Sally.
You have to brace yourself against the fingers. The fizzing thing round them is quite good for pushing at. Here goes!
She heaved the glass over in the direction of
C
, meaning to begin on Cart.

“And was it a Roman hoard?” Cart asked breathlessly as the glass stirred.

“No,” Howard said distractedly, mesmerized by the glass. “I mean, I don't know. Himself forgot to bring anything to dig with.”

“It's definitely moving,” said Ned. It was. Sally was exerting all the force she had. And still, the glass only crept.

“Here's where we ask,” said Julian Addiman. His eyes were glowing with excitement, very blue, and so luminous that they looked odd. He said, very loudly and precisely, “Is there anybody there? Move to
Y
for yes if there is.”

“And
N
for no if there isn't,” murmured Ned.

If you insist
, said Sally. She looked over her nonexistent shoulder and found the
Y.
It took a mighty heave. The five arms were not ready to give way at all. Then they did, and the glass slid with a rush.

“Z,”
said Julian Addiman. “Got that, Imogen? I think we take it that means yes. Put ‘Y query.' This really is working, isn't it?” He spoke loudly and precisely again. “Would you spell your name please?”

If you say so
, said Sally.
I wish I knew the alphabet better.
She stared round in search of the
S.

“It's stopped,” said Fenella, bitterly disappointed.

“Shsh!”
said the others.

The
S
was not far from the
Z
, of course. Sally dragged the glass round there.

“S,”
said Julian Addiman. “Next letter please,” he added loudly.

All right
, snapped Sally.
I'm doing my best. This is hard work.
Heave on the fizzing fingers and heave. They had the idea now. The arms were yielding more easily. She heaved toward the other end of the alphabet. And stopped.
How do I spell my name, anyway? A vowel next. There's one.

“E,”
said Julian Addiman. “Next letter please.”

The next part was no one's fault exactly. It was simply that excitement seized them all, Sally included. She was really communicating! It was the best thing that had happened all day. When she pushed the glass, the arms yielded swiftly, readily—too readily. She had been aiming for the
L. Never mind. There's two
L'
s in Sally. Bother—missed again! They're letting it go too hard. Ah, got it. Now I know the rest. There, there, there.
Exhausted, Sally pulled away from the ring of fingers and hovered toward the ceiling.
Wow, that was hard work!
The five round the table took their fingers off the glass and rubbed aching elbows, almost equally exhausted.

“Imogen, can you read that back?” Julian Addiman said, puzzled.

Imogen's voice shook. “S-E-M-O-L-I-N-A,” she said. Then she gave a squawk of laughter and covered her face with the pad.

“It's a ghost called Pudding,” said Fenella.

“Ask them to spell it again,” Ned said urgently.

“Yes, do,” Howard said, catching the urgency. Sally could actually feel the surge of worry coming from them both. It piled upward out of them like smoke from a bonfire.

“Why?” said Cart. “Oh, we might as well, but it seems to have gone dead.” She shoved the glass with her finger and nearly toppled it over.

“See if it will come back again,” said Ned. “Howard and I will if you don't want to.”

Ned Jenkins and Will Howard looked at one another. Both of them put their fingers back on the glass.

“What's the fuss?” said Julian Addiman. “We've got a ghost with a strange sense of humor, that's all.”

Cart and Fenella put their fingers to the glass again. Julian Addiman sighed and did the same, with a flourish.

“There,” he said. Then, loudly, “Spell your name again, please.”

Oh, very well!
said Sally.
You're trying to bore me, aren't you? But it's the only way I've got to talk to you, so I'll have to do it.
She descended once again and pushed her nonfist into the gentle heat of the gas ring of fingers.

“Ah!” said Julian Addiman, and his eyes glared laughing excitement. Ned and Will, however, were entirely serious. Their eyes flickered nervously to each letter in the circle as the glass trundled off toward it. This time it was easier. Sally was getting to know where the letters were. The others were ready for the movement of the glass when it came, and there was less excitement to interfere. With very little trouble, Sally spelled out S-A-L-L-Y.

“I thought so!” said Ned, and Cart burst out, “It can't be! It must be some other Sally!”

“Everyone in School House calls your Sally Semolina,” said Howard. “Because of her being Selina.”

“I tell you it
can't
be!” Cart said vehemently. “Our Sally's all right! She's just gone to stay with Audrey Chambers—just up the hill.” This was news to Sally. She stared at Cart to see if she was telling the truth. She seemed to be. Cart was a bad liar. Then she stared at Fenella as Fenella said, “But don't tell anyone. That's the other part of the Plan.” Fenella was a good liar. There was no way to tell if this was the truth or not. Sally turned to Imogen as Imogen added, “We hope the parents will think she's dead or kidnapped—if they notice at all, that is.” Imogen was a rotten liar. This was obviously the truth.

Then what's going on, then?
Sally cried out.

“Come on,” said Ned. “Before it goes away again.” He spoke clearly to the air in front of him. “Prove to us that you're Sally Melford.”

“By saying something we know only you could know,” Howard added.

Sally could think of one thing—only one. It seemed a pity it was going to embarrass Howard, but she had to make them sure. She heaved on the fizzing space between the fingers again.
Where's the
H
?
Down that side.
The glass traveled easily to
H
to
O
to
W
, but after that Sally lost her way again. She stopped beside the
W
, looking at everyone's intent face, wondering where she was supposed to be taking the glass next. Nobody spoke. Somebody breathed heavily. Beyond Cart and Ned, Imogen sat bowed toward the pad of paper, pencil ready, still with that odd listening look. Again Sally was struck with how miserable Imogen was. She was supposed to be talking about Howard and Imogen, of course. Where was the
I
now?

“I-M-O,” everyone murmured as the glass slid. Sally was rather put off her stride by it. When people spell a thing out as you write it, you feel you have to hurry to provide them with the next letter.
Hurry!
thought Sally.
What comes after Imo? Obvious, really.
“G-R-I-V-I-E-N-G,” everyone murmured. Sally paused, rather pleased she had remembered to put the
E
in
grieving.
It was so easy to get lost between letters.

“That doesn't prove much,” Howard murmured to Ned. They both seemed disappointed, but oddly relieved at the same time.

That reminded her.
Oh, this is bothersome!
She set the glass trundling again. W-L-L—there should have been an
I
in that, but too late now. H-O-M-S-J—
Bother! Missed!
—K-I-N-H-E-D-G-I-M-O-G—

“Oh, good gracious!” Imogen shrieked, jumping up. “It really
is
Sally!”

Sally hovered, resting from her labors, watching two round, heavy tears roll across Imogen's cheeks. Howard's otter face glowed dark pink.

“Why is it Sally?” Julian Addiman asked, leaning back and stretching. “What's Homsjkin? Somewhere in Holland?”

Cart explained, “Imogen found Will being homesick in the hedge. But Imogen—” Julian Addiman looked round at Howard and chuckled, not kindly.

Imogen clenched her hands and dug the air with her elbows for emphasis. “I
know
it's Sally! She's reminding me about Will,
and
she's worrying about me. That's just Sally all over!” She spoke to the air above Julian Addiman's head. “It's all right, Sally. You mustn't worry about me. You tell us what's the matter with you. Move up, Cart. I'm sure she'll find it easier to talk if I'm holding the glass, too.” And Imogen thrust Cart sideways to plunge one of her fingers down on the glass. “Now, Sally,” she said, “tell me all about it.”

Sally was touched. Another tear was trickling down Imogen's face. All the same, she was a trifle annoyed. She had not meant to ask about Imogen, and she did wish everyone would not speak to her so loudly and slowly, as if ghosts were deaf or very stupid.