Campion's Choice

Back at number 5 Fen Street, Jack stayed in his bedroom waiting for his mum to get back from work. He stared at a poster on the wall. It was a picture of Crazy Horse, the Sioux Chief. He bought it as a joke and added red war paint streaks on the warrior’s cheeks. Usually the grizzled face cheered him up. Not today.

Some of the fog of confusion from earlier had lifted but his brain still buzzed.

He was sure that his parents would get divorced. His mum was miserable because the Dadster was damaged goods. She had tried really hard but now, every time they started to speak, one dumb look from his dad killed all their conversations. The Dadster was a ghost. A presence that just floated around the house.

That must be it. His mum went back to work because living with the Dadster was like being haunted.

Jack took the ban liang from his pocket. He was about to drop it into his piggy bank when, glancing to his left, his heart missed a beat. There was the Dadster, looking just like a ghost, all shimmery, with a shocked look on his face, hovering near the bookcase.

It must be a trick of the light because his dad seemed to be glowing, his body surrounded by a fuzzy halo.

‘Dad?’ Jack gasped.

He let go of the ban liang which dropped noisily through the slot and into the piggy bank’s belly. There was a clink against china and then the piggy staggered, like it had been stabbed. It tottered drunkenly on the windowsill. Well, somehow, he must have accidentally knocked it.

As he reached towards the windowsill the pig dodged sideways, came to rest a couple of feet away and then exploded, disintegrating in a silent cloud of dust.

Where the piggy bank used to be there was a tiny tail, shattered feet and a heap of shiny coins. In the middle of the money the ban liang stood proudly upright.

‘D… did you see that, Dad?’ Jack looked shakily around. The door was shut. His glowing father had disappeared.

‘D.. dad … d .. ?’

The ban liang slid down the heap of cash and stopped. As he stared at the pig’s severed head something fell out of its snout. Something bright, tiny and square. It looked like a computer chip.

After carefully placing the tiny piece of electronic equipment on his desk and tidying the remains of the smashed piggy bank into a bedside bin Jack glanced outside. Sunlight spilt across the garden.

He closed his eyes and tried to line his thoughts up in a row.

Today had been strange. There was the whoosh when Clamp took the coins and an elephant arriving from nowhere. There was an exploding pig, a shimmering, mysteriously disappearing Dadster and now some sort of computer chip.

Looking up at the night sky Jack saw Sirius and, not far away, Orion’s belt. Between the two there was a glowing purple star. What was that? He was pretty good at stars but he didn’t recognise this one. What now? New stars in the sky?

For the first time in his life he wished his birthday was over.

‘Beam me up,’ he muttered because it would be a relief to get away from it all.

Down below he heard the sound of a door banging and knew his mother, Kimberley Laight, was home. Then Lettie screamed.

Presents were delayed.

Lettie, who had been out on a play date, was now back home and had been released from Olga, the Nanny’s clutches. Free and unsupervised she had managed to get her arm caught in the cat flap.

‘How did she get her arm in there?’ Jack’s mum demanded. She grabbed a bottle from the fridge, poured a glass of white wine, drank it, threw off her jacket and noisily dumped a briefcase on the kitchen table. She glared at Jack.

‘It’s not my fault. Do you think I tried to post her early for Christmas?’ he argued.

They had to unscrew the cat flap and Lettie bawled from beginning to end.

‘I so do not need this,’ his mum said with a sigh as she pulled up a chair and began to mechanically push spoons full of lemon and lime mush into Lettie’s smiling face.

‘Presents!’ she called out.

An empty-handed Dadster came into the kitchen. For a moment his parents stared at each other in silence until Grampus appeared, stumbling through the doorway, bearing gifts. He handed a multi-coloured parcel to his grandson.

‘This is from us. It’s trousers, for school,’ Grampus said with a shrug.

Jack hugged the old man and kissed his whiskery cheek.

‘Thank Nance for me,’ Jack smiled.

‘Here’s our stuff,’ his mum said, putting two parcels on the kitchen table, both marked, ‘To JC. Lots of love, from Mum and Dad and Lettie. xxxx’. One parcel was soft and squidgy. More clothes. The other was lumpy. Jack chose the lumpy one. When he peeled back the tape he was disappointed to find a plastic carrier bag.

‘It’s your dad’s old one,’ his mum said apologetically.

Jack’s eyes got wide as he opened the bag.

‘Ooooohhh!’ He gazed at a jumble of wires, at the charger and at the Dadster’s old smartphone. Okay, it wasn’t new, but it could play music, and go on the Internet and take pictures. It was brilliant.

‘It’s to replace your rubbish one. Your dad doesn’t need this one. It’s all charged up. They put in a new Sim card at the shop and I got you a new case but you’ll have to do the rest. It won’t work until it’s registered. I mean you can’t make calls and stuff yet. You will have to go online and sort that out and put in all your numbers and stuff. But I want your pass code. And don’t waste hours on apps or that face thing or messaging friends. If you do, I’m taking it back.’

Yeah, right. What friends? Jack thought.

‘I love it,’ he squeaked but then made his voice sound deep and added, ‘I mean .. er .. thanks.’

He picked up the other parcel.

‘More trousers?’ he asked. When his mother nodded he forced out a smile and ripped open the wrapping paper.

‘Wow.’

It was a brand new pair of skinny fit Levis. The ones cool kids were wearing.

‘Katie in the office got them for me in New York. Are they okay?’ His mum was peeping nervously at him from beneath the fringe of her hair.

‘Okay? They’re brilliant. Thanks.’

‘Hurrah. A hit. A palpable hit. ’

His mum’s laughter sounded slightly hysterical and, when she jumped up and kissed the top of his head, he inched away.

Kimberley Laight took a party popper out of her pocket and pulled the string.

Crack! Streamers covered the table.

Lettie clapped and spat out a mouthful of goo.

‘Mind my stuff!’ Jack yelled. His sister laughed and banged her head with a sticky plastic spoon so he grabbed the phone.

‘Smile!’ he ordered and clicked. That was his first snap.

It was brilliant timing. He hit the button just as the Dadster put his elbow into Lettie’s bowl. Jack clicked again and this time caught Grampus spilling toddler slop on the floor. Like a fashion photographer he tapped away a few more times. He was sure he got a picture of his mother screaming as she realised she had lemon mousse, sprayed like heavy rain, down the front of her best white top.

‘Don’t you dare put any of those pictures on line,’ his mother warned.

‘Of course not, mommie dearest,’ Jack said as he turned to creep off upstairs, desperate to check out the pictures of chaos in the Campion household.

’Where are you going? Birthday or no birthday, chores first.

Jack hesitated for a second but then obediently picked up the pizza box, the empty Coke can and a bag full of torn wrapping paper. Like a good son he dutifully carried all the rubbish down the garden path to the recycling bins.

When he was outside, behind the garden shed, he bumped into a thin man in a Parka jacket who was carrying a motorcycle helmet.

‘It’s you!’ Jack said loudly. Up close he recognised him straight away. It was Elvis, the young man at school by the rubbish bins, the guy on the moped. Elvis was staring up at the sky.

‘I just saw you outside Mister Phillip’s house. What are you up to? What are you doing here?’

‘I’m looking at that purple thing,’ Elvis answered and added, ‘It’s weird. It’s not a star or a comet or …’

‘I mean, what are you doing in my garden?’

Elvis dragged his eyes from the stars and looked confused.

‘Oh! You’re a boy … I mean … I thought you were a gir…er..,’ the young man mumbled from beneath his hood and held out a bony hand to shake.

Jack backed away. Up close he looked like he needed a wash and a haircut and a good meal. He was scraggy, badly dressed and painfully thin. He looked a bit like Shaggy in Scooby Doo. Jack pointed an accusing finger.

‘You’re a policeman. I saw you at my school. You were talking to Carl the caretaker. What are you doing lurking by my recyclables?’

Elvis was silent for a few seconds before sputtering out an answer.

‘I’m not a policeman. I’m Elvis. Not the real one. He’s dead. And I’m not dead. I’m real. I’m the living Elvis.’

‘You told Carl you were a policeman. You showed him your ID.’

‘That was my library card. I’m not a copper.’

‘Well who are you?’

Elvis held up his hands like a surrendering soldier.

‘I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to talk. I’ve put out a message and I thought I should try and make contact.’

‘A message to The Orden? I saw you send it. Who are they? Who or what are you? Did you put a computer chip in my piggy bank? Are you spying on me?’

The young man looked stunned.

‘No,’ he protested and added, ‘I just had to talk to you. Is this a good time?’

‘No. You need to leave.’

‘I found this by the front door. It’s for Jack,’ Elvis smiled ingratiatingly and handed over a small parcel. The label read, ‘Happy Birthday to Jack. Love Tia.’

Jack grabbed the present and backed away.

‘Er …do you have a twin sister?’ Elvis asked, staring hard at the boy.

‘What?’

‘Oh, nothing. Look, Jack, I know this sounds a bit off the wall but I belong to this group of people, and yes, they’re called The Orden, and we look into unexplained events and this whole elephant in the school thing seems to be a real mystery.’

Jack looked at the parcel. He shook it next to his ear. It didn’t rattle. He looked back at the young man.

‘So that’s why you were at the school? How did you find my house? You were following me on that moped weren’t you?’

‘Yes. But I’m only using the moped because my 1200cc motorbike is being fitted with new racing tyres. I couldn’t keep up with you but I saw your car turn down this street and then I lost you. I walked up and down here for a time looking for you and then I thought I saw you but I wasn’t sure until later when you came out because I thought you were a gir.. ...’ Elvis hesitated.

‘A what?’

‘A girl,’ Elvis admitted.

‘A girl!’

‘It was the hair. I saw you and that other girl. And I thought you were both girls.’

‘Great. Well at least you’re honest. But I still don’t think you, or this order ….’

‘Orden. We’re called The Orden.’

‘Whatever. Orden, Jordan, Gordon. Whoever you are, whoever you’re with, you’re trespassing.’

‘No, listen, the others in the group will all be in Cambridge, tomorrow. I’d like you to be there. I’m sure they’ll want to meet you. Especially if I show them this.’

Elvis took out his phone and fiddled with the screen and then held it up for Jack to watch a video clip. The scraggy young man gave a running commentary.

‘See, you came out of your house, and you wandered up and down Fen Street. You seemed a bit spaced out. I was going to speak to you but the noises started and I got distracted. Look. See? Before you get to each car its radio comes on. It was amazing.’

Jack watched the little movie and shook his head in disbelief.

‘No way!’

Elvis played it through a second time, turning the volume up high.

Jack began to edge away.

‘That could be anything. It could be noises coming out of people’s houses. That video is fake!’ Jack argued. He edged nervously away.

‘It isn’t. Look!’ Elvis said. He was about to play the clip for a third time but Jack stopped him.

‘I have to get back to my birthday.’

‘Er …’ Elvis mumbled, eyes blinking like an anxious rabbit.

‘So, I’d like you to leave. I don’t want to phone the police. Or call my father, who is a judo black belt,’ Jack said politely. Which was true. The Dadster did have a judo Black Belt.

‘Er … er … um… no, that’s okay. No police. I mean, I’m also a black belt. At Ta Kwan Do. And the thing is, us Black Belts aren’t allowed to fight each other. Unless we’ve been properly introduced. But listen, I really think you should come and talk to us. The Orden. Here’s my card. Ring me.’

The ragged young man pushed a tattered scrap of paper into Jack’s hand.

The small business card had a phone number and was printed with the simple words: ‘Elvis Carter. Fully Equipped’.

Jack pocketed the business card and re-entered the kitchen.

‘Who was that in the garden?’ his mum asked.

‘No one.’

‘Oh, right, because I could have sworn …’

Jack interrupted.

‘It’s my birthday. If I say it’s no one, it’s no one! I’ve done my chores. Now can I please go up to my room?’

When his mother nodded he grabbed his presents and rushed off up the stairs.

Slamming the bedroom door he dumped stuff on his bed, went over to the shattered piggy bank and pulled out the ban liang. For some reason slipping it in his pocket settled his nerves.

Tia’s present sat on the top of the pile. It was small and light as a feather, with sparkly blue paper and a thin silver ribbon. Unwrapping the present revealed a white box, which contained a miniature silver knife. What was it? A badge? A tiepin?

There was a scratching at his bedroom door and Sol, the family cat, came in. Jack showed him the present.

‘Make any sense to you?’

Jack put the lid back on Tia’s present and set it to one side. He couldn’t wait to get his new phone up and running.

‘What the …’

He almost dropped the mobile when it started up. The screensaver was a picture of Isaac Newton. Not just any picture, but the one the Dadster had with him on the night of the accident. He flicked around the phone screen to investigate. But there were no pictures, no notes, no messages. There was one piece of music. When he pressed play and listened it sounded like a harpsichord and violins.

Sol jumped up onto the desk, settled himself and began to wash behind an ear.

‘Say cheese.’ Jack picked up the phone and took the cat’s picture.

Whilst Sol glowered, he looked at the result.

That shot was pretty good and so were the ones in the kitchen. In fact, they were hilarious. It was a shame he had just taken pictures. That would have been the perfect stuff to capture on film, the sort of stuff that gets loads of hits online.

The funny music was still playing and, as Jack looked at the phone his eyelids began to feel like those metal shutters people pull down in front of shops at the end of the day. He nodded forward. He gave up the fight and let himself slip towards sleep.

There was a moment of darkness. Then his head filled with a bright light.

He was on an unfamiliar, snow-covered street. One that looked like nothing he’d ever crossed in his life.

The street was dirty and cobbled. The air was filled with a musty wood smoke. On his right hand side as he turned, there was a stumpy, round, stone built church. He was pretty sure it was ‘The Round Church’, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, in Cambridge. So, he was in Cambridge?

A group of kids, in tattered clothes ran out from behind some gravestones and he followed but they were quick and disappeared down an alleyway.

In the distance was the smell brackish water. Jack’s heart began to race. He touched the ban liang in his pocket for comfort.

Was this a dream? It had to be. But it didn’t feel like one.

He could feel bare earth under his feet and taste a strange salty wind. He came close to a black and white half-timbered building and reached out to feel its splintery, wooden beams.

A door in the wooden house opened and a man stepped onto the muddy street. The man wore a pair of long, pointed leather shoes, a large black cloak, a green jerkin and a pair of bright red tights. A stooped woman joined him in the doorway. She wore a long, purple coloured dress that dragged on the ground, a simple brown apron and a big white floppy hat. They looked like extras in a ‘Dick Whittington’ pantomime.

The man said, ‘God yif his sole heven grit.’

The woman answered, ‘All is wermes.’

Jack stepped back to let them pass, took a deep breath. He spoke quietly to himself.

‘This is not a dream. This is the City of Cambridge, hundreds of years ago. I am here and it is winter. It looks like the Middle Ages.’

For the first time in his life Jack wished he’d taken a bit more interest in History.

As he wandered along the same street a noise, up ahead, grew, louder and louder. In the distance a mob appeared and they crossed a bridge over the River Cam. It looked like a small army of men, roaring and singing and chanting.

They moved over the bridge. In the chill winter’s morning sweat rose over their heads. They jostled and cheered as they moved. Knights in polished armour were riding on skittish horses. Thin men carried crossbows. Short men carried huge shields covered with scorpions and lion symbols. A group of fat men waved sticks. They were all followed by a pack of sleek, wild-eyed, barking dogs.

In the middle of this swarm, carried high, on a wooden stretcher, swaying from side to side, Jack saw the body of a huge, dead wolf. Its empty eyes stared up at heaven. It’s massive jaw rested on a thin wooden box.

A huge cheer rang out from the bridge and Jack watched as a man in black armour rode out of the crowd holding aloft a bloody wolf’s paw.