The Scattersmith by David James Kane

13. SCRAMBLED LINES

  There was a loud rapping at the porch door. I braced for another attack.

  "It's OK, Paddy," said Mum, still holding Joke. "It's just your Aunt. Go let her in."

  Aunt Bea unbolted the door from the outside, and I went over and opened it. The little woman marched in, rubbing her hands against her dress and the cold.

  "Has he gone?" she huffed. "What was that smashing sound? Did you call the police?"

  "He's gone," said Mum. "He dropped the boys' project, but left quietly after that."

  "He didn't drop it, Mum," I said testily. "He threw it on the floor. Shattered it deliberately.

  "What a mess!" cried Aunt Bea looking at the wreckage on the reading room floor. "Boy, go and get the dustpan and clean this up. The blue one. I'm going to call Henry."

  Henry Lam was the town sergeant - the closest thing we had to a sheriff in Quakehaven.

  Joke began to sob, like a teething baboon. "No need to do that, Beatrice" said Mum. As she looked at her sister, her eyes positively shouted: 'the boy's had enough, don't make things worse'.

  Aunt Bea shook her head, and Mum nodded: "Come on, Beatrice, it's over now. He was just drunk. He must have had a few too many drinks before he picked me up. I should have called it a night earlier."

  "But dad doesn't drink," said Joke, quietly, his voice muffled into Mum's shoulder. "Not since she -"

  "Shh!" soothed Mum, rubbing Joke. "Don't worry about it. None of this is your fault, and I'm sure your father will be over first thing tomorrow to apologise. We'll talk it out then."

  "We most certainly will," said Aunt Bea. "He attacked me, a defenceless woman, in my own house."

  "Hardly defenceless," snorted Mum. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't decided to dredge up the past and then to threaten his livelihood."

  "Well, he's unstable. We need that park to function properly. Quakehaven's depending on it."

  "Your outburst wasn't about the town," said Mum. You didn't have to be so cruel to the poor man. I mean, what were you thinking mentioning Vivian?"

  "Please," cried Joke.

  "Sorry, Jokkum," said Mum massaging his shoulders and glaring at my Aunt. "That was insensitive of me: must run in the family."

  Aunt Bea said: "I don't know why you're being so hard on me, Bridget. Would you have been satisfied if he'd hit me? Or the children? Is that what you wanted?"

  "Beatrice," said Mum quietly. "Let's discuss this later. I don't think any of us handled the situation well.”

  For once in her life, Aunt Bea had no immediate retort. She shrugged her shoulders, and pointed at me.

  "Clean this mess up, boy. I'm going to bed, and I want this room spotless by tomorrow morning." Without another word, she tromped across the room, out into the hall and stomped up the stairs.

  "Just leave this, Paddy," said Mum. "I'll clean up. You take Jokkum up to bed."

  "No, I'll clean up," I said, "You go to bed. You don't look too well." Mum was doing her best to mask it, but the stiffness of her neck and shoulders was a dead give-away that a migraine was on its way.

  Joke squirmed in Mum's arms. He clearly didn't want her to let go. "Thanks, Paddy," said Mum, breathing heavily. "I just need to lie down. Joke, you want to bunk in with me tonight?"

  Joke nodded his head violently. "OK then," said Mum, "Let's go. Can you walk?"

  "Yes," said Joke. Mum took Joke's hand and led him through the saloon doors into the dining room.

  The three of us walked around the dining table and headed for Mum's bedroom. At the doorway to the conservatory, Mum turned and blew me a kiss. Then she went into the conservatory and slid the door half-closed behind her.

  Joke stood outside the door while Mum changed. He looked wrecked. "Sorry about the bridge and, well, everything else. Dad and stuff."

  "No worries, Joke," I said mustering a smile. "It wasn't your fault. You get some rest and we can talk about rebuilding the bridge tomorrow. Maybe Mr Lyon's will give us an extension."

  "Don't worry about it," said Joke sadly. "I don't want Mr Lyons to know what happened. The park opens in two weeks and they need to start building it straight after the Barn Dance. There's no time." He was right of course.

  "Well, it's just a project," I said. "There's far more important stuff in life."

  "Like what," said Joke. "Without that Pinkerton scholarship, my life is over."

  "And you think I'm the dramatic one!" I said, shaking my head. "You're smart enough to ace anywhere, even if you end up at Raglan." Raglan was the local high school. Although not terrible, it was pretty rough and tumble.

  "I don't know," said Joke. "Maybe dad's right: I should go work with him in a couple of years. The other kids at Raglan, they -"

  "You're staying in school," I said, shocked at the idea of Joke wielding power tools. "And don't worry about the kids. I'm going to Raglan. Anyone that gives you trouble will have to deal with me. Consider me your personal bodyguard, in return for letting me copy your maths homework!"

  Joke smiled wanly: the first flicker of life I'd seen since Mum and Mr Fisk had crashed our building session. The door slid open, revealing Mum. She must have been eavesdropping. She embraced Joke and, over his shoulder, mouthed "thank you, Paddy" to me.

  I nodded and waved Mum and Joke adieu. As Mum slid her door closed, my smile faded. I was dead on my feet. A lot had happened that day. But more had to be done.

  First, the easy job. Through the dining room I walked, out to the hall and then turned into the kitchen. I took a deep breath and entered the walk-in larder.

  When I'd first moved to Sub Rosa, I had found the larder weird, a little spooky, even. I descended the five steep stairs that took me under the floor of the dining room. Unlike the rest of the house, the larder hadn't been re-wired. A single bare light-bulb cast a feeble light that barely lit my way.

  In winter, the larder was an ice box, and I shivered. Eight bare hooks hung from the roof. Three of the eight were little more than jagged strips of wire, rusted through.

  The walls were white washed and the paint had flaked off in parts. The western wall of the larder adjoined the conservatory. A small mesh grille high on that wall allowed air and light in from outside, but kept out the flies. Shelves had been built into the eastern wall and stored boxes of cereal, bags of flour and sugar, stacks of canned vegetables and jars of jam.

  In the centre of the larder sat a simple grey-stone slab. Aunt Bea called it a thrawl. It was originally used for fish salting before fridges. But, under the hooks, it looked like a sacrificial altar.

  I retrieved Aunt Bea's dustpan and duster from a narrow ledge underneath the thrawl. I tore a translucent white garbage bag from a spool. Then I hightailed out of the larder as quickly as I could, almost tripping up the stairs in my eagerness to get out.

  Back in the reading room, I devoured a half-stale chicken sandwich. Then I stooped down by the velvet curtains, and swept up the bits of dinosaur, emptying them into the bag. As I'd suspected, the pieces were baked dry, like they'd been blasted in a kiln. Many of Joke's spine palings crumbled when touched by the quills of the brush. There were simply too many pieces to glue the model together.

  After I'd emptied the final remnants of Minmi into the garbage bag, I returned the dustpan and duster to the kitchen. I walked back into the dining room and stuck my ear to Mum's door. But for Joke's light snoring, all was quiet. I hoped Mum was fast asleep.

  Ashen features stared back at me from the mirror as I closed my bedroom door. Across the landing, Aunt Bea's light was out.

  I lowered the plastic bag gently, just inside the door, and went over to my bed. I was tempted to lie down and rest my eyes. I scratched myself, hard, on the arm. "Stay awake, Paddy," I muttered. "You're not done yet."

  He was sitting on the windowsill. Nervously, I picked him up and shook his case like a tambourine.

  "Wake up."

  No response. I felt ridiculous, talking to my calculator. But there w
as no-one around, and it was hardly the craziest thing I'd done recently. I squeezed the case, and shook him harder.

  "Platykuk," I said. "Answer me!" The calculator was unmoved.

  "Listen up!" I continued. "I need to talk to Mr Seth. Urgently. Can you tell me where he is?" Still no response.

  Frustrated, I hurled the calculator at the corner of the silver stamp safe. It glanced off the safe and clattered onto the floor, letting out a slow, inhuman hiss, like a tractor tire deflating. I strode over to the silver safe, and tapped Platykuk's case with my foot, a little harder than I intended. The hissing box began to vibrate.

  "I know you're in there," I said. "And I know Mr Seth ordered you to watch me. You've been doing a lousy job by the way. Now, enough of this hide and seek. Tell me how to find Mr Seth."

  The box growled, and two sharply spurred feet sprung out of each of its flanks. The lid flipped open with a clack, and a long buck bill slid out and rolled back, like a wave of blackened honey, enveloping the creature's case in an armour of chiton. White translucent lids, closed and opened over two red beady eyes raised slightly from the solar panel, above his keys. He growled and snapped his bill open and shut like a caiman. His case emitted a malevolent stink, like stilton cheese dipped in petrol.

  My heart tunnelled up my throat like a disorientated earthworm, but I stood my ground. Despite Mr Seth's words of encouragement, I'd seen what Platykuk could do; seen Mark's arm ripped to shreds.

  This thing was a predator. Dad taught me never to run from something stalking you. "Act like prey and you will become prey," he'd said. We'd been at the local park - I was four or five - and I'd been chased by a toy poodle. "Carnivores respect only those that can hurt or kill them," said Dad. I wondered whether Dad had been preparing me, even at that young age, for worse things than show-pooches.

  Platykuk raised itself on its short, clawed legs and advanced. I gulped.

  "Don't move!" I commanded and slammed my foot onto its bill.

  Platykuk growled again, and raised its front claws. They were webbed. Long, hooked spurs jutted out from the backs of its ankles. For a moment, I thought it would attack and rip out my throat. But I kept my foot planted, and slowly, Platykuk dropped its claws.

  Carefully, I lifted my shaking foot. Then I marched forward, taking advantage of his retreat to show him I was the boss. "Tell me where Mr Seth is," I ordered. "I need him. I've found another Blackgum."

  Until that moment, I wasn’t sure if Platykuk could understand a word I was saying. But, at the word 'Blackgum', I knew he comprehended me. He vaulted into the air, yanked in his legs and bill, and slammed his case shut.

  "Hey," I said. "Don't be such a coward."

  But I'd misunderstood. Platykuk wasn't hiding. He was changing again. The calculator case bounced twice and landed on my card table with a light thud. His case stretched and narrowed, then and flipped open again to reveal a key pad. Instead of six rows of four buttons, the keys were laid out in four rows of three. The screen lit up, and three bars flashed in the top right corner of the display.

  "You're a smart-phone," I said, surprised. Platykuk answered by self-dialing ten digits, beeping loudly as he went.

  "Who are you calling?" I asked, as the number rang over and over.

  "Yes?" barked Mr Seth.

  I was on speaker, but Mr Seth's voice was very faint. "Oh hi," I said, whispering into what I hoped was the receiver.

  "Who is this and what do you want?" demanded Mr Seth.

  "You, Mr Seth. It's me. Paddy."

  "Paddy?" he rasped uncertainly. A few seconds of silence passed, as a terrible thought drifted through my skull. What is the Zealtor had caught Mr Seth, made him forget all about Quakehaven? All about me?"

  "Master Lee. Why are you calling me so late, lad? Do you have any idea of how much this call is costing me?" I wondered, absurdly, what phone plan Platykuk was on!

  "Um. Sorry," I floundered. "I need to talk to you. Something's happened. There was a fight. Mr Fisk and Aunt Bea and Mum, and Joke and well, we -"

  "Who's this Fisk?" said Mr Seth.

  "Joke's dad."

  "Who's Joke?"

  "You met him."

  "I've met lots of people."

  "This morning. After the Ferine killed the Blackgum. Joke was the serious kid. With the set square fetish."

  "Careful, Paddy," snapped Mr Seth. "This line isn't secure - they might be listening." I wondered how one would bug Platykuk. With great care, I concluded.

  "Um, well, at first I thought it was a normal argument. Mum and Mr Fisk had a bad night out. The movie and dinner were disastrous."

  "A date?" asked Mr Seth. "Is your Mum dating again?"

  "No," I said crossly. "Just a dinner and a movie."

  "Sounds like a date to me," said Mr Seth. "Things always go wrong on dates, if I remember correctly."

  "It wasn't a date!" I said. I'd forgotten how irritating the old man could be. "Anyway, that's not the point. The argument at our house got out of control. Mr Fisk tried to hit Aunt Bea and Mr Fisk ended up smashing the project - you know the bridge."

  "Is anyone dead?" asked Mr Seth.

  "What? No, nothing except the model, and -"

  "Then what's the problem? You're calling me because the bad man smashed your little assignment? People are dying all over the place. I have better things to do than -".

  "No, it's not about the assignment. Although it kinda is," I said weakly.

  "Spit it out, lad. I don't have all night."

  "I was angry about the project. Joke and I had spent all night on it. And there was something wrong with it - it shouldn't have smashed like that. It was still wet clay. But it shattered like glass."

  "Was it set? Like it had been heat-blasted?"

  "Yes, exactly like that."

  "Mmmm," said Mr Seth. "Go on."

  "Anyway, I didn't really think things through."

  Said Mr Seth,: "No surprises there."

  "I was going to smack Mr Fisk for wrecking our work. I tried to run forward, but my legs wouldn't work."

  "Because you were scared? It's quite common for small mammals like you to seize up when they're frightened.

  "It wasn't like that at all. He was pinning me down - with his mind. You know, with telekawhatnot."

  "Telekinesis," said My Seth. "A Blackgum? So soon? Did Platykuk slaughter him?"

  "No, the fight was in the reading room downstairs; my calculator was upstairs."

  "Didn't I tell you to keep Platykuk with you?" He sounded angry.

  "You did," I admitted. "But me and Joke were in the house and you said we'd be safe for a while." I peered out of my window, scanning the street for movement. There was no-one about.

  "Obviously, I may have been wrong," said Mr Seth. "It happens from time to time". Like every time, I thought to myself.

  "No need for that!" said Mr Seth.

  "You can hear my thoughts?" I asked, taken aback.

  "Not from here," he said. "But I saw you roll your eyes. Platykuk's got a video camera - new feature. He should use his energy more productively. He should have sensed that Blackgum a mile away."

  Platykuk shook with what I took to be righteous indignation and emitted a sharp burst of static.

  "So what did you do?” said Mr Fisk, impatient. “Not something stupid, I hope."

  “I burnt him with a piece of clay.”

  "Idiot," said Mr Seth. "So you identified yourself as one of us, and a hopeless beginner at that. Pebble scalding? How terrifying. What's next in your arsenal: ear muff tickling? You should advertise, you know. Scattersmith Novice Lives Here! Would save you time. So how did you kill it? Do I have to come back and mollify another magpie?"

  "Um, I didn't," I said. “He just left.”

  "That doesn't make any sense," said Mr Seth, his voice distant, like he was talking to himself. "After that pebble prank, most self-respecting Blackgum would have snapped you up like a red-light special. Maybe it sensed Platykuk?"

  "
It didn't act like a Blackgum," I said, thinking of the thing that had murdered Tim.

  "And you know so much about them after meeting, what, a grand total of one. They come in different formats, you know. It would be far too easy to track them down if they all looked like creatures from the Black Lagoon. Some of them border on intelligence. Maybe it had just eaten."

  "No," I said. "They left the restaurant before the food came. Mr Fisk had a tantrum about lobster."

  "I wasn't talking about food, foolish boy. I meant souls!" He sounded impatient, but not with me, like he was trying to fit the pieces together.

  "It seemed like Mr Fisk," I said. "A bit sweatier than normal, and wearing a hideous suit."

  "And the sculpture. Is it still warm?" I picked up Platykuk, went over to the door and listed the bag with my other hand. The contents, now like sand, fell out of the bag and scattered onto the floor. They'd burned a hole in the bag.

  "Yes," I said. "What's going on?"

  "The Fisk man's teeth, Paddy. This is important. Did you get a good look at his teeth?"

  I thought back to the moment, just after I had hit Mr Fisk in the head with the book, when he roared, spittle flying everywhere from -

  "Yes!" I said. "They were normal, a bit uneven, but I guess they didn't have braces when he was a kid. Not sharp. And his gums were normal too. Pink, like -"

  "Paddy," interrupted Mr Seth. "I'm leaving now. Don't do anything unusual before I get there. Do exactly what you would do in your daily routine, no deviations. You're probably being watched. Assume that you are. And stay away from this Fisk fellow."

  "What's wrong?" I didn't like the tone of Mr Seth's voice.

  "You need training. An accelerated primer, I'm afraid. I'm going to have Platykuk summon some help to protect you and your family while you are in the house."

  "Like a spell?"

  "Leave that junk to the Witches," said Mr Seth, contemptuously. "It takes a bit more than waving a wand and sprinkling some fairy-dust to deal with this problem, I'm afraid. Take Platykuk down to the trunk-cave tonight, as well as something Fisk has handled recently. What must be done will come at a price, Paddy, and for that I'm sorry. But our arts are not acquired without pain."

  "Why don't I just stay in my room until you get here. Pretend I'm sick."

  "Because he will know you are hiding from him. He mustn't suspect that. If he does, he will move quickly. And Platykuk is no match for him. He will slaughter you and your family in your beds, and anyone else in his way."

  "Who is he?" I asked, petrified.

  "Paddy. I'm afraid you have had the worst of luck. Whatever your natural talents, you're far from ready for this."

  "Mr Seth," I said. "Just tell me."

  "I've wasted all this time," said Mr Seth, "chasing down false rumours in Cheswick, and Daysnow, and Heathershore. I've been an old fool.."

  "Mr Seth!" I shouted.

  "Mr Fisk," said Mr Seth sadly. "He's the Zealtor. Pink gums don't lie."

  The line went dead, and Platykuk's screen faded a sickly green as he converted back – pungently - into a calculator.

  I stood up and closed the blinds. Then I put Platykuk on the bronze floor safe closest to the head of my bed. For the first time since Dad's funeral, I began to pray.