Thief! (12 page)

Authors: Malorie Blackman

Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Horror & Ghost Stories, #Science Fiction

BOOK: Thief!

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Fran’s frown deepened. ‘Our house robot of course. It’s only a model GH-1042-A so it’s really slow but it gets the job done – eventually.’

Mum was always saying, ‘If you two are waiting for someone to clean your rooms for you, you’ll have to wait until some time in the twenty-fifth century when housework robots are available. Until then, get to it!’

So Mum was right. Housework robots were coming – and sooner than she thought!

‘The Tyrant won’t allow anyone he doesn’t absolutely trust to have any robot that’s more advanced than the model GH-1042-A,’ Fran added bitterly. ‘He’s probably afraid we’ll re-program them or something and send the robots after him.’

Lydia walked over to the heavy curtain which hung from ceiling to floor before the front door. She pulled it aside. The front door wasn’t made of wood. It was made of steel.

‘How d’you get in and out?’ Lydia asked Fran.

‘There’s a keypad outside and a control switch inside.’ Fran frowned.

‘So you don’t need a key?’

‘A key for what?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Lydia let the curtain fall over the door again. She looked up. Sprinklers had been placed at regular intervals along the ceiling. All of the downstairs wallpaper was covered in a mass of pink and burgundy swirls now.

‘What’re you doing?’ Fran asked curiously.

‘I’m not asleep. I’m not dreaming all this, am I?’ Lydia said slowly.

All the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fit together. Lydia swallowed hard. Somehow the storm on the moors must have pitched her forward in time – decades into the future . . . It was impossible – and yet here she was. And the searing ache of her arm was too painful to be anything but real.

And Daniel Henson . . . Was he really her brother or was it just a coincidence? Daniel Henson was a common enough name. It
couldn’t
be her brother. He’d never do all the bad things that everyone was talking about. He would never do anything to be so
hated
. Never. But what if it
was
her brother . . . ? Then something else occurred to Lydia.

‘Fran, what was your mum’s maiden name? Her full name?’

‘Frances Weldon. I was named after her. I wish Mum and Dad had picked something else. I really hate the name Frances,’ she grumbled.

Frankie . . .

So Fran was related to Frankie after all. Frankie was Fran’s mother. That meant that Frankie was all right. She’d survived the accident and woken up. She’d even grown up and had a daughter. Lydia’s smile faded. Fran said that her mum had died when she was a lot younger – killed by the Night Guards. Lydia wanted to cry because she wasn’t sure how she felt. Relief that Frankie had survived her accident in the past, but then what? To be killed so violently, so horribly . . .

Maybe, after the accident, she and Frankie had made up? Maybe the truth had come out about the sports cup? Maybe – hopefully – they’d become better friends than ever before?

‘I really
am
in the future,’ Lydia realized.

‘What did you say?’ Fran asked.

Lydia stood up slowly. She had a problem. She needed help, desperately. But could she trust Fran? Would Fran turn her back on her just as Frankie had done? Even now a flare of the old burning bitterness swept through Lydia’s body. Just as quickly, it died. She had a more urgent problem now. How was she going to get back to her own time? Beside that, every other problem was minuscule. With a sigh, Lydia realized that she didn’t have any choice. She needed Fran’s help.

‘Fran, I need to talk to you.’

Just at that moment, Fran’s dad emerged from the basement.

‘Fran, what’s she doing down here?’ He frowned.

‘Lydia was thirsty, Dad. We just came downstairs for a drink,’ Fran replied quickly.

‘Hhmm! Well, get your drink and go back upstairs,’ said Fran’s dad.

‘I’ve already had it. We were just on our way upstairs again,’ Lydia said.

‘Is your meeting over then?’ Fran asked her father.

He nodded before turning to Lydia.

‘Come here,’ he beckoned.

After a brief nod from Fran, Lydia did as she was told. With reluctant steps she made her way over to Fran’s dad.

‘Let’s see your arm.’

Fran pushed up the left sleeve of her shirt. Fran’s dad carefully removed the bandage. Then Lydia saw her wound for the first time. It was S-shaped and looked like a snake weaving its way up her arm. Placed at regular intervals along the wound were the grey, plastic staples which Fran had told her about. Lydia lifted her arm and bent her head for a closer look, but she didn’t get it! Fran’s dad reapplied the bandage, thwarting her attempt.

‘It’s just as well you were with Fran when the Night Guards shot you,’ Fran’s dad growled. ‘Any longer and your arm could have been seriously infected.’

‘I thought you thought I was a spy,’ Lydia reminded him.

‘I said
you
were lucky, I didn’t say
we
were.’ Fran’s dad sniffed. ‘Now keep that sterile dressing on for at least two days.’

‘Yes, Mr Weldon,’ Lydia said.

‘The name is Mr Lucas. Shaun Lucas. Not Weldon,’ said Fran’s dad. ‘That was my wife’s name.’

‘Sorry,’ Lydia murmured.

Lucas . . . ? Shaun Lucas . . . ? Lydia stared at the man before her.

‘Frankie married
you
?’ She grinned with delight. Just wait till she told Frankie that she was going to marry Shaun Lucas!

It was only when she saw the deepening frown on Fran’s dad’s face that Lydia realized what she had said.

‘Er . . . I’m sorry . . .’ Lydia began. ‘I didn’t mean . . .’

‘Never mind!’ Fran’s dad shook his head. ‘No doubt the pain in your arm is affecting your mind.’ He straightened and bent her arm, gently turning it first this way, then that.

Shaun Lucas . . . He was the first one who’d called her a thief . . .

‘Your arm will be fine,’ said Fran’s dad.

‘Thank you.’ Lydia pulled her arm out of his grasp.

Mr Lucas frowned suddenly, leaning closer to Lydia.

‘You look kind of familiar. Have I seen you before?’

‘No, you haven’t,’ Lydia denied, flustered. ‘I’m new here. I . . .’

Fran tugged at Lydia’s sleeve. ‘You said you wanted to talk to me,’ she interrupted.

Lydia nodded and quickly ran upstairs ahead of Fran. She was aware of Fran’s dad standing at the bottom of the steps, his eyes boring into her back. They entered Fran’s bedroom and Lydia closed the door carefully behind her.

‘Fran, the weirdest thing of my entire life has just happened to me . . .’ At Fran’s puzzled look, Lydia broke off.

‘What’s the matter?’ Fran asked.

‘Fran . . .’ Lydia began slowly. ‘I need to see Daniel Henson.’

‘Are you nuts? What on earth do you want to see him for?’ Fran asked, appalled.

‘I can’t explain but I have to see him. Can you get me into his mansion?’

‘Don’t you understand? If you go in there, you’ll never come out again.’

‘I’ll risk it.’

‘Why?’

‘I can’t tell you. Not yet at any rate.’

Fran scrutinized Lydia. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

Lydia nodded.

‘I’m not going to help you unless you tell me why,’ Fran said stubbornly.

Anxiously, Lydia chewed her bottom lip. This was it. What should she do?

‘Fran, I’m twelve years old but . . . but I was born over fifty years ago,’ Lydia said slowly.

Silence.

‘I don’t understand,’ Fran said at last.

Carefully picking her way through the words, Lydia explained what had happened from the time she got on the bus which took her to the moors. She couldn’t bring herself to talk about the sports cup being found in her locker and her classmates calling her a thief. That wound was still too raw, too painful to expose.

‘. . . so I woke up on the moors and the ground was bone dry. The rest you know,’ Lydia finished.

‘You’re from the
past
?’ said Fran, slowly.

‘Look, if someone told me this story I wouldn’t know what to think either!’ Lydia said. ‘I’m finding it hard to believe as well and it has actually happened to me.’

Fran grinned suddenly. ‘This is a wind-up – right? Where are you really from?’

‘I’ve told you. You’ve got to believe me.’

Fran’s scepticism was obvious.

‘What can I do to prove it?’ Lydia pleaded.

‘Turn around. Let me see your ID implant,’ Fran ordered.

‘My what?’

‘Your identity implant,’ Fran said impatiently.

Lydia turned around. ‘What’s one of those?’ she frowned.

Fran carefully examined Lydia’s nape, from the bottom of her hair-line to where the back of her neck joined her shoulders.

‘You don’t have one . . .’ Fran whispered, astounded.

Lydia turned around. ‘What are these . . . implants?’

‘The moment anyone’s born, they get an ID implant put into the back of their neck. They’re tiny computer chips that look a bit like old-fashioned buttons. The implants tell who you are, who your parents are, date of birth and other stuff that they call – classified,’ Fran finished with a scathing snort.

‘But why? What’re they for?’

‘They’re meant to be the way of knowing who everyone is, especially those who move around a lot. The leaders of every town have implant readers, so you can’t lie about your identity. And then of course they can call up your file and get your full background and history.’

‘We don’t have those in my time.’ Lydia shuddered with relief. What a horrific idea. Having a computer chip installed in your head from the moment you’re born . . .

‘They started using implants in this country years ago,’ Fran said slowly. She turned Lydia around and examined her nape again. ‘Everyone who’s twenty-four or under definitely has one, and most people over that age too, unless they’ve gone underground. Of course you could have had yours surgically removed . . . but then there’d be a scar. You don’t even have a scar . . .’

‘That’s because I’m not from your time. D’you believe me now?’

The two girls spent countless moments just watching each other.

‘You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?’ Fran’s voice was filled with wonder. ‘H-How did it happen? How exactly did you get here?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure.’ Lydia sighed. ‘I’m here with you, but I don’t belong here. I belong in the past and I’ve got to get back.’

‘How’re you going to do that?’

‘I don’t know. That’s why I have to see Daniel Henson.’ Lydia lowered her voice.

‘But why? He’s . . .’

Fran stared at Lydia, her eyes getting wider and wider as at last she realized what was on Lydia’s mind.

‘I think Daniel Henson
is
my brother. And if he is, he’s the only one who can help me,’ Lydia said.

‘How?’

‘He’s the only one around here who knows what happened to me. If he’s my brother he can tell me what happened . . . happens to me. He’ll know how I got back to my own time,’ explained Lydia.

‘
If
you got . . . got back,’ Fran said.

‘If,’ Lydia agreed. ‘Now do you understand why I must see him?’

Chapter Thirteen

Mike

Fran jumped up off the bed and paced up and down the room. Lydia watched her, her heart in her mouth. What would Fran do? Would she tell her father . . . ?

‘Maybe there’s a way for you to find out what you need without having to speak to the Tyr . . . er . . . to Daniel Henson,’ Fran said.

‘How?’

‘My dad might know. He might be able to help.’

‘No! I don’t want anyone to know that I might be related to Daniel Henson. Not until I know for sure,’ Lydia said firmly. ‘If . . . if he is my brother then I want to find out what’s going on. I want to ask him why he’s doing all these terrible things.’

‘And you think he’ll tell you?’ Fran raised her eyebrows.

‘I’m his sister.’

‘He’s ancient and you’re twelve! If he is your brother, why should he tell you anything?’

‘Because I’m still his sister,’ Lydia replied, adding with a smile, ‘His older sister!’

Fran smiled reluctantly.

‘Fran, I can help you, all of you. I’m sure I can,’ Lydia persisted.

‘OK, but let’s talk to my dad first. He’ll . . .’

‘NO!’ Lydia interrupted. ‘I don’t want him to know who I am. Promise me you won’t tell him.’

‘I promise. I’ll be careful what I say. Trust me,’ Fran said.