Under The Mountain (8 page)

They saw the second boy, freckle-faced, sturdy, with his red hair tied in a knot. He was throwing pipi shells into the wind, curving them first to the left, then to the right. ‘He was the one who designed the canoe. See, he even made a sail of flax. And his stone – he never stopped peering into it, trying to see what made it work. It gave him a burn now and then when he got too cheeky.’

The picture faded. She saw a lean-to hut under the stars. The boys were sleeping on beds of fern. Mr Jones sat in the doorway, watching.

‘I came to think of them as my sons. I didn’t want it to end.’

The greyness came down on her mind again. It lasted a long time.

‘Don’t go on if you don’t want to.’

But slowly a day dawned – sunny, cloudless, blue. She felt a breeze on her cheeks. The canoe was skimming along on the sea with its flax sail round as a melon and its outrigger lifting. Lenart was in the stern, using his paddle as a rudder, and Johan at the bow. Mr Jones was crouching by the mast, staring at Rangitoto straight ahead.

‘Why there?’ Theo’s voice said.

‘Because that’s where the red stone must be used.’

The island came closer, grew taller. They saw its black reefs jutting into the sea. Johan had his stone clutched in his hand.

Abruptly the view changed. They were somewhere below the surface. Overhead the waves sparkled, undulated. The canoe cut through them, leaving a silver trail. And deep down, among the spines of petrified lava, something moved. At first it seemed a growth on a jutting stone. Then it detached itself and slid into the open. In shape it was between shark and stingray – in colour black and grey. They saw it passing their faces only a body’s length away. Its thick tail drove it with threshing motions. It drove up towards the canoe, aiming for the centre of the hull.

The blow of its snout broke the canoe’s back, lifted it clear of the water. The boys turned in the air in slow motion, flopping like broken dolls. They splashed down, yelling with terror, and Mr Jones, flickering now, turning into a figure of light, plunged towards the nearer – Lenart. He could save only one.

They saw Johan go down. The shark – the Wilberforce – had grown a bulbous limb and with this it held Johan’s hair in a thick unbreakable grip. They went down, trailing bubbles, and vanished into a cave in the lava flow.

The red stone had dropped from Johan’s hand. It sank with a gentle motion and settled among the anemones on the bed of the sea.

Greyness came down. The kitchen was utterly quiet. Large warm tears rolled down Rachel’s cheeks. The stone in her hand had the warmth of blood.

By nightfall Theo could see the shape of his stone for almost half a minute at a time. He had tried holding it, had held it for as long as seven seconds. But the pain had been too great. He felt as if the skin were shrivelling on his palm. When he looked at it afterwards he was astonished to find it as pink as ever, unblistered.

Rachel watched, pale-faced. She had spoken very little through the afternoon. The story of the Swedish twins throbbed in her mind. Mr Jones had recovered Johan’s stone – the Wilberforces could not touch it. He had found his body floating in the sea. They buried it beside Deep Creek. Then he had taken Lenart back to Sweden. But the boy had lost all interest in life. He died on the journey.

‘I’ll hold this thing if it kills me,’ Theo said.

‘That’s enough for today. I’ll take you home now. You can get a good night’s sleep and we’ll try again tomorrow.’

‘What if the Wilberforces come after us?’

‘Lock all the doors. All the windows. I’ll be outside. I’ll be guarding you every minute.’

‘Can I take my stone? Johan’s stone?’ Rachel asked.

Mr Jones went to his bedroom. He came back with two small bags made of a cloth like silk. They were white, threaded with draw-strings, one blue, one red. ‘Wear them round your necks. They’re yours now.’

They put the stones in the bags – Theo handling his like a hot potato. But when it lay against his chest it had only a faint warmth.

They walked home through the dusk with Mr Jones between them. Theo felt he was the old man’s protector rather than the other way round.

The stone – Lenart’s stone he had to think of it now – was warm against his breastbone. Tomorrow he would hold it. For the moment it was a companion. It made him less afraid.

8

IN TIME FOR THE PARTY

Aunt Noeline had left them a note on the dining-room table:

Dear Twins, Uncle and I have gone out to a bridge evening. We’ll be home about midnight. Ricky will look after you. Don’t stay up too late. Love, Auntie.

Across the bottom Ricky had scrawled:
Hey you kids, where in hell have you been? Couldn’t wait. I’ve gone to pick up the gang. We’re going to have a party. See you soon. Ricky.

‘That’s great, isn’t it? Are you sure the doors are all locked?’

‘I don’t want a party, I want to sleep.’

They turned on the TV set and watched part of a programme. Neither of them could get interested.

‘Did you see Mr Jones when that thing attacked? He turned into fire. Do you think he’ll ever let us see his real shape?’

‘He wants to be human. Just think how lonely he is.’

Theo got up and turned the TV off. ‘I wonder why he hasn’t told anyone. The army for instance. They could plant explosives down there. Blow those things sky-high.’

‘It isn’t the army’s war.’

‘Why? They’re going to turn the Earth into mud.’

‘It’s the war of the Wilberforces and the Joneses. We’re Joneses now, not Mathesons.’

‘Honorary Joneses.’ Theo warmed his hands an inch from his stone. ‘I wonder how these things work. Do you think they explode?’

‘No.’

‘What then?’

‘I don’t know. Theo, have you thought, the Wilberforces are the last ones too? The last of their kind in the whole universe.’

‘It serves them right.’

‘No it doesn’t. They’re only doing what they have to do. I think – I think we should try to save them. Like the Notornis – and the blue whale. Otherwise they’ll be extinct. We could give them a place to live – put a bog wall around them.’

Theo shook his head. ‘You saw what they did to Johan. And remember that model under the lake, with the world turned into mud.’

‘Yes.’ As usual she could not answer him. But she felt she was right. Only when she remembered the smell – it was strong tonight – and the slugs sliding out of the cellar, and Johan, did she feel there was something evil about the Wilberforces. But pigs smelled, and hippopotamuses. Crocodiles, octopuses, snakes, worms, were ugly or slimy. Lions killed. Hawks killed. That didn’t make them evil, simply different. She sat at the table worrying about this. Theo had gone to his bedroom with Uncle Clarry’s binoculars.

‘It’s all quiet over there,’ he called.

‘All they are is different, Theo. Octopuses are different too.’

‘Octopuses don’t want to turn the world into mud. I’m going to do some practice with my stone. I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Is Mr Jones out there?’

‘I couldn’t see him. But he’ll be around somewhere. Don’t worry.’

The doorbell rang. It rang with a long hard clangour, like a burglar alarm.

‘Who?’ they pebbled, staring wide-eyed.

‘Ricky?’

‘He wouldn’t ring. Besides, there wasn’t a car.’

‘Mr Jones then?’

‘He can just hop straight through.’

The bell rang again. Theo crept down the stairs and approached the door. Its wood suddenly seemed flimsy and the fastened safety-chain no stronger than a thread of wool.

‘Do you think it’s them?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I’m going to turn out the light.’

‘No. They’re better in the dark.’

‘Theo, the smell, it’s stronger.’

‘You get back. Get in your bedroom and lock the door.’

‘I’m staying with you.’

A heavy knocking sounded on the door, which vibrated under it.

‘Let’s try calling Mr Jones. Together.’

‘What will we say?’

‘S.O.S. Ready?’

They sent the message out – once, twice, three times. No answer came.

‘He promised he wouldn’t go away.’

The knocking sounded again and as it finished a voice called, ‘Is there anybody home?’ It seemed to belong to a young man. They sighed with relief. Theo went close to the door.

‘Who’s there?’

‘Police. Open up.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Is this the Cooper place?’

‘Yes.’

‘There’s been an accident. I’ve got a message for the twins.’

There was something wrong about this and Theo began to be suspicious. But Rachel cried out, ‘What is it? Is it our parents?’

‘Yes. Your parents. They’ve been hurt.’

At once Rachel rushed to open the door. Theo caught her arm. ‘Wait. Don’t. There’s something fishy.’

‘Come on, young fellow. Don’t fool about. Open the door.’

‘We’ve been told to keep it locked. What’s your name?’

‘Brown. Constable Brown.’

‘What’s your number?’

‘Seven four six two.’

‘What sort of accident was it?’

There was a pause. Then the voice said, ‘Their house burnt down.’

‘Oh, Theo –’

‘Keep quiet. Let me handle it. – Where is the house? Where do they live?’

He felt something slow, angular, wet, probing in his mind, and he thought desperately, Hamilton, Hamilton.

‘Hamilton,’ the voice said. ‘Now come on with this door. I haven’t got all night.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Theo cried. ‘It’s Taumarunui. Our parents live in Taumarunui. Ring the police, Rachel. It’s one of them.’

At once there was a heavy blow on the door. Theo flung himself against it. Another blow fell and then the door began to creak under a steady pressure. Timber began to crack around the lock.

‘I can’t find the number,’ Rachel cried.

‘One one one, you fool.’

The lock burst and the door jerked open the length of the safety-chain, knocking Theo off balance. He steadied himself and lunged forward. His weight made no difference. The door stayed a fraction open. A hand came sideways through and pressed down on the chain, trying to tear it off the wall.

Theo grabbed Uncle Clarry’s binoculars from round his neck. He swung them on the end of their strap and brought them down on the hand with all his force. But they bounced off just as the camera had bounced off the baby slug in the tunnel.

Rachel was still fumbling with the telephone book. ‘I still can’t find it,’ she shrieked.

‘One one one.’

He rushed across the room to the telephone, picked it up, dialled one … The chain broke from the wall and the door slammed back with a force that shook the house.

It was indeed a policeman standing there. He lurched in: a young man, pink-faced, two metres tall or more.

‘There’s been an accident,’ he said in a thick ugly voice and he advanced clumsily towards them. An overpowering smell moved along with him. The hand that had broken the chain was not a hand – it was shaped like a huge grey mitten.

‘You’re a Wilberforce,’ Theo yelled. ‘Keep away from us. We can burn you.’

‘Come with me. Come to the lake. One will be enough.’

‘Stay away.’

‘You come. Or else I’ll take your sister.’

The words were spoken with great effort. Theo remembered that keeping a human shape was tremendously hard for a Wilberforce. It took almost all their will, all their strength. Speech must use a good part of what was left.

‘Up the steps, Rachel. Keep away from him. He can’t move fast.’

They backed away and started to mount the steps. The Wilberforce walked after them slowly. By himself Theo would have risked ducking round him and making for the open door. But Rachel was no good at that sort of thing. She was bound to be caught. And getting caught meant being dragged to the lake and drowned. The Wilberforce spread his arms. They covered the whole width of the staircase. Heavily he started to climb. He had not troubled to re-form the hand that had broken the chain from the wall and this flexed in a livelier way, more naturally than the other. His face was calm – pink, young, handsome. He did not bother with speech again.

Theo and Rachel stood at the top of the steps and watched him come. There were ten steps, broad and shallow. He was hardly ten strides away, his head level with their knees.

Rachel grasped her stone. ‘Make the light, Theo. The way we did before.’

At once their minds were together. Light, they thought, light, and the intense invisible beam sprang out, more easily, more powerfully than before. It struck the Wilberforce in the face. It hurt him, blinded him. He gave a quack of pain and recoiled as though he had walked into a wall. But then he stood his ground at the bottom of the staircase. His eyes sank deeper into his head. Their brown began to grow darker, turn into grey, into black. Their aperture narrowed to a slit. Then slowly, painfully, quacking with the effort, he began to advance again. He leaned forward as though against a huge weight.

‘Harder,’ Theo yelled. They increased the strength of the beam. It stopped the Wilberforce but did not drive him back. His face began to lose its pink colour and the fingers of his human hand run together. ‘He’s turning into a slug.’ Theo fought to make the beam even stronger. But he felt himself beginning to falter. It was too much, he could not keep it up. He was on the point of blacking out. The Wilberforce stopped re-making himself. He moved up another step.

‘I can’t keep going, Rachel.’

‘Try, Theo, try.’

‘I can’t.’ But he joined in again and for a moment they held the Wilberforce where he was. Then he moved again, another step, against the full force of the beam.

‘It’s no good.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘You go that way. Split up.’

They ran one each way along past the bedroom doors. ‘Don’t go in,’ Theo yelled.

The Wilberforce climbed more easily. He reached the head of the stairs, looked at Theo first, then Rachel. He began to walk towards her.

Theo rushed at him. He gripped the material of his uniform jacket and tried to pull him off balance. But it was not material. It was the Wilberforce’s skin, hanging loosely on the body underneath. It was damp and rubbery and slipped from Theo’s grasp. He lost his balance and sat down heavily on the carpet. The Wilberforce turned. He made a lunge at Theo, but Theo scuttled sideways like a crab, keeping under the grabbing hands. He rolled frantically and jumped to his feet. The Wilberforce followed, then saw that Theo was out of reach. He turned to Rachel again.

Theo tore open the door of the storage cupboard between two of the bedrooms. He had found Uncle Clarry’s golf clubs there in his exploring. He pulled one from the bag – a long wooden one numbered 2 on the leather bag protecting its head. He ripped the bag off and gripped the club near the top of its handle. It was dangerously heavy, and whippy as a piece of bamboo.

The Wilberforce had Rachel trapped against the wall beyond the farthest bedroom. She was holding him off with the light-beam, making it on her own with such force that he was even pushed a step or two back. But Theo could see her exhaustion. She could only last a moment or two more.

He ran at the Wilberforce, swung the club high and wide and brought it down on the side of the creature’s head. It bounced back with such force that Theo almost lost his grip on it. The Wilberforce stood steady as a rock. The skin of his face showed no effect from the blow. But he turned side on, seemed undecided what to do. Theo struck him again, a blow on the chest. And again the club bounced. The Wilberforce made up his mind. He turned back to Rachel. Theo attacked wildly. He struck the Wilberforce a dozen times – shoulders, head, neck, even legs. But only the helmet was damaged. It caved in a little and made a hollow sound. The Wilberforce quacked. He retracted the helmet on his head, made it a plate of rubbery skin.

Theo struck again, again. Rachel was pale as paper. Her strength was nearly gone. The Wilberforce inched forward.

Fire, thought Theo, matches. He dropped the club and ran down the steps, heading for the kitchen. But as he reached the lower level he saw a way Rachel might escape. He had chosen stupidly, going right at the top of the steps and sending her left. On the right the drop from the bedroom level was less than two metres. On the left it was three or more into the conversation pit where the floor was brick under the sheepskin rugs. But the built-in seats around the sides had cushions as fat as mattresses. If she could jump on to those …

He ran into the pit. ‘Rachel,’ he cried, yelling and pebbling at once, ‘jump. Climb the bannister and jump.’

He could not tell if she had heard. All her concentration was in the beam.

‘Jump, jump,’ he screamed.

She heard. She edged towards the bannister. The Wilberforce was released a little. He lurched forward. But she held him off and once again pushed him back a step. She felt for the bannister, gripped it with her hand. And then she had to look away from him to lift herself over and he came at her in three great strides that made the floor shake. She did not jump, she simply pushed herself out and fell. His hands lunged, brushed the cloth of her blouse, but missed their grip. She fell sideways and landed heavily on the cushions, then rolled off on to the floor, tangling with Theo who had rushed forward in an effort to break her fall. He jumped to his feet and tried to pull her up but she was dazed. The Wilberforce had started back and was striding clumsily down the stairs. They were not going to make it. By the time Theo had her on her feet it was crossing the room to the stairs that led to the conversation pit.

‘This way,’ Theo yelled. He dragged her across the pit to the rail by the dining-room door. If they could climb that there was a chance of beating the Wilberforce to the front door or perhaps heading out through the kitchen and getting the back door open before he arrived. But he saw what Theo planned and stopped his advance. He moved across the room to a position that blocked both lines of exit. Then he began to come forward again. He would climb the rail himself, trap them in the pit.

Theo waited. It was going to be touch and go. There would be an instant when they might get away up the stairs again. He felt like a general planning a delicate manoeuvre – except that here failure meant the lake.

He pebbled instructions to Rachel and heard her reply in a tired, dazed way. The Wilberforce reached the rail, gripped it, hefted his leg.

‘Now. Go. Run.’ He pushed her. She went across the pit, up the steps into the lounge, up the second set of steps, all at a tired run. Theo kept at her heels. If he had been alone he could have reached the open door without being caught. But he felt her exhaustion beating on his mind. She would not have been able to move fast enough. Making the beam of light had taken all the strength she had.