crispina kemp

Continuing the story of Thredwyl’s adventure. Read it all FOR FREE on Thredwyl’s very own site

* * *

Two days later, Daisy again visited Thredwyl in his cell. She timed it for the afternoon, to avoid collision with Dr Ireson.

“Got them,” she announced as soon as the camera and mike were off.

She rummaged around in her Olly Owl bag. Not so large as her schoolbag, she used it for her ‘must haves’, such as her phone, money, a bottle of water, and a small packet of biscuits. She pulled out two fist-sized pieces of grey flint and held them out with pride for Thredwyl to take.

“They are the right ones, aren’t they? But you didn’t say how big. And I know you’re Stone Clan, and these are stones, but, well, they’re not alive like you, are they?”

Thredwyl wanted nothing more than to hug them to his chest, but he didn’t want Daisy to get the wrong idea, not after that question. He wanted to kiss them too, but…. He sniffed them instead. And listened to them.

“They’re not alive, nix, not in the way I am.” They weren’t alive because Grandma’s magic didn’t work in this Land of Giants. But jumps and juices, he had the flints. Now for something to strike them against. Something harder than flint. Something like ironstone.

Not his bedstead: that was wooden. Yet it would take flame so that was good. Ah, the chair: that was metal. He dismissed that Night-Shift Louisa passed her shift sat upon it. He’d already realised his only chance at this would be when she went to ‘spend a penny’. But he didn’t know the chair’s breed and how hard it might be. He had already disallowed the squidgy white window frame. Ubiquitous Plastic, Blessed Bessy called it. Which left only the door and he couldn’t use that. It would make too much noise. As to the timing, that would be tricky.

“And Jason says to give you this.” Daisy held out her hand to Thredwyl, palm up. Upon it sat a thick red stick.

“A crayon?” Thredwyl frowned. What was that for?

“No, silly, it’s a cigarette lighter.” She folded her hand around it and thumbed the silvery tiny-toothed wheel and, lo, it spluttered a flame. “He says it’s an old one, so there’s probably not much gas left in it—a breath, he said, but a breath ought to do it.”

Thredwyl stared at the unexpected gift. He wanted to hug Daisy, hug Jason too. But he held back, his brow in a serious furrow.

“You told Jason?”

“I didn’t say a word, honest. Just he thrust it into my hand, said it would be faster than the flints you’d asked for.”

“He knows about the flints?” Thredwyl gasped.

He hadn’t wanted to involve Daisy but, well, where was the harm in asking her to gather the flints. And now her brother knew about it too? And he’d sent him this fire-stick to help him? Thredwyl wearily waggled his head. If the professor should discover their collusion….

“I didn’t tell him,” Daisy repeated. “Dwayne did.”

“What? How does he—?”

“He didn’t know you’d already planned it, but Bessy told Dwayne about how they’re treating you here, and Dwayne told Jason that this isn’t a ‘government facility for illegal aliens’, not of any size nor origin. It’s an Admin Building for the School of Theology.”

“Professor Angelus—”

“That’s what I said. Jason says once we get you out of here, him and Dwayne are going to blow the whistle and instigate investigations. He says everyone knows about the professor, that he’s a kiddie fiddler—though he’s never touched me, but Jason says that’s cos I’m a girl. So, see, they want to get you of here before the shit hits the fan—that’s how Dwayne said it, he has such a vulgar mouth. Mum says that’s where Jason picks it up—she doesn’t rate lab techs.”

She held out the red fire-stick again. He was smaller than her, would he be able to spin its wheel and draw the spark? He needed both hands just to hold it. And still he frowned. Daisy’s story sounded credible, yet he knew she’d said something to someone somewhere. It was too much a coincidence.

“Jason says sorry that he and Dwayne can’t help you more, not while you’re inside the building—and obviously we mustn’t involve Bessy. But once you’re out he says Dwayne and him will have a car waiting, only they can’t park it too close, cos if they’re seen…well, we don’t want them charged with arson. You’re to head for the train station.”

“Really? And where’s the chuffing whatever you called it?”

He didn’t want to go to any chuffing station. Once out of this place he knew exactly where he had to go. And he knew what he had to do once there. But Jason and Dwayne had made their plans and here little Daisy delivered them to him. She thrust a piece of paper into his hand. He dropped the red fire-stick. She quickly tucked it beneath his covers, beside his leg. He knew a moment of panic in case she saw his padded pants.

He unfolded the paper. “What…?”

“Yea, well, I’m not much of a cartographer, but this square here is where we are now, and that across there is the train station, and Jason and Dwayne will keep an eye out for you as they drive along here—see this red line, yea? That’s a road. You do understand that?”

Not really, but he nodded the same. “And where on your plan is Trinity Hall?”

A frown scrunched her face. “But I said, you needn’t worry about him cos Jason and Dwayne are going to fix him good and proper.”

“But where is it?” he pressed. ‘Trinity Hall?’

“Here—ish.” She marked it with a cross.

He wanted to hold his head to contain the confusion. It wasn’t that it ached, not at the moment, but he knew it would just as soon as he tried to tie his own plans into those made by Jason and Dwayne. The problem was how to persuade them to take him to Trinity Hall, for he could see it would be too far for him to walk and there might be people looking for him. But he knew before he ever opened his mouth that Jason and friend would try to keep him from it. They’d think he sought revenge.

“Is tonight okay for you?” Daisy asked.

He nodded. “Did they say a time?”

She shrugged. “Nothing precise, just that for a couple of hours after twelve they’ll circle around. All you need do is to keep on this road, and they’ll find you, no panic.”

“Aye,” he said, feeling anything but confident. “And to reach that road all I need do is to set fire to this room?”

There wasn’t much combustible material. His bedding. And Night-Shift Louisa’s magazine – she always left that on the chair when she left to ‘spend a penny’. Would that be enough? And was Daisy right, that the fire alarm would trigger the lock on his door?

Continuing the story of Thredwyl’s adventure. Read it all FOR FREE on Thredwyl’s very own site

* * *

Daisy turned, and turned again, looking round Thredwyl’s high security room. “They never should keep you in here, it’s appalling. If it weren’t for that window I’d think it a cupboard.”

“Nay, Little Daisy,” Thredwyl objected, and why were they wasting time talking of this? “I’m only small, I don’t need it big.”

“Are they feeding you?” she changed her focus.

“Seeds, exactly as I asked,” he assured her.

“But they keep you in bed.” Her lip curled in disgust which didn’t make her look pretty.

He knew he ought to put her straight on the bed-thing, like he’d nipped into bed rather than have his visitor see him in his padded pants. But he couldn’t bring himself to speak of it.

They talked some more. Or rather, she rattled non-stop with her chatter while he reeled through his thoughts for how best to make use of the windfall, this gift horse, this unexpected golden ticket. His nocturnal cerebrations still lay heavy with him, and he’d still more to think of regarding his sacrifice. Such would-be thoughts ducked and dived and consistently escaped him as if afraid to come into the light. Daisy sighed, shrugged, dangled her legs on the hard-seated chair, and looked at him with a gamut of emotional expressions. Though Thredwyl didn’t sigh and shrug, he did look at her in much the same way.

A companionable silence settled between them…which then lasted overlong and morphed to almost full gaucherie. How to break it, how to broach it? Ah! Inspiration took hold. Thredwyl looked at the door.

“How does that work?” he asked. “Did you happen to notice as you came in?”

Daisy looked around at the door. At first, she seemed not to understand.

“Oh, the lock? Yea, sure, it’s a simple press-pad.”

He’d been in this land long enough now to know what was simple to her was nothing similar to him. “You mean it’s tied into technology? Like your magical box of Information and Games.’

She scrunched her nose. “Not quite the same, though probably that lock has the same gadgetry in it.”

“You mean a chip? Everything here works on chips.”

“I know, that’s why everyone’s so fat,” she said, slapped her hands and spread them in a theatrical flourish. “Tra-la.”

He stared at her.

“Something Pops says.”

It wasn’t her fault he hadn’t laughed. And he shouldn’t have let his lack of lustre show, and her so good as to sneak and wangle a visit to him. It was just in his world magic worked everything. Now exiled to this world, without his magic he was but a step removed from impotent. And what male of any species, little or not, enjoys that feeling. Still, he pursued the thought.

“If it’s all chip-work,” he said, with another look and a nod at the door, “would you be able to open it? If you went outside, would you be able to come back in?”

Daisy was a bright child, she knew what he meant. But she didn’t smile. Her face grew long. “Threddy, I can’t get you out of here—I can’t even get me out of here, I have to wait for Bessy. The door can only be opened from outside. Truly, it’s just like a cupboard.”

“But if you were outside…?”

“If I was outside and knew the code, then I could do it, easy, yea.”

“Would Bessy and Louisa know the code?”

“I guess, but…Threddy, I want to help you—I’d do anything to help—but I don’t know what I can do. And even if I could get you out, what then? I couldn’t take you back to Oldham House—Pops would go ballistic.”

“Nix nay, that wouldn’t do anyway. In here or out there, I know my end and I don’t want you involved in it.” He’d said too much. Too late he tightened his lips. He didn’t want Daisy to know his ultimate fate. She’d cry – he’d noticed that on her magic-box, how easily females of the species cried. Better that she remembered him smiling and happy.

He looked down at his hands as another silence washed over the room like a flood of wet-season gault.

Though this wasn’t the best time for the full realisation to clobber him, yet another piece of his midnight revelation now slotted into place. It seemed most likely that Professor Angelus Margev had had him ‘picked up’ by warrant of the Home Office and held safely out of public notice in this place of high security until he – Thredwyl – was ready to do the deed. Yet something in that scenario screamed for attention and he couldn’t attend it while Daisy visited. That wouldn’t be fair on her.

Daisy looked again at the featureless high sheened metallic door. “You know, that’s dangerous.”

“What is?” Thredwyl asked.

“That door, locking only on the outside—or rather, opening only from that side. What if the building caught fire? How would you get out, and how would Bessy?”

Thredwyl shrugged, his thoughts not really aligned with Daisy’s.

“Though I suppose during the day that’s not such a problem. Always someone in a place like this. But at night…?”

“What sort of place is it?” he asked.

“Offices, from what I’ve seen of it. It’s not a prison or a hospital. Your little room is well out of place—that’s why I thought it a cupboard.”

“Food…” Thredwyl said, mostly to himself.

“I didn’t bring any. Sorry.”

“I mean food for thought – something to ponder upon. And it’s in Cambridge?”

“Mmm.”

“Close to the Anthropology Geeks?”

“Gosh, no, they’re slap in the middle of the old town. Here, we’re out in the subs—something-or-other Business Park.”

Thredwyl didn’t say any more for many long ticks of the clock, deeply cogitating. He knew how to escape this place, but he’d need to acquire a certain stone. And if he did escape, then he knew what he must do, and how to do it. It was the bits in between he didn’t know.

“Will you visit me again?” he asked his freckle-faced friend.

She nodded and smiled and hugged him. He sighed, if only she’d brought her schoolbag with her. He’d endure the smells. But no, he mustn’t involve her beyond the inescapable.

“Daisy,” he said as she pulled out of the cinch. “Do you remember those stones I showed you in your garden?”

“And then you told me, none of those were your clan.” She sadly laughed.

“They’re the ones, aye. Do you remember that grey one?”

“With the conchoidal fracture?”

“With the what?”

“It means shell-like—that’s what wiki says.”

Thredwyl nodded. “That will be the one. Well, could you find me one of those and bring it with you next time you visit?”

Though how he’d hide it from Night-Shift Louisa he didn’t yet know.