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Authors: Gill Arbuthnott
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that it’s okay with your parents. You didn’t say anything about the pastels when you got home, David.”
“Ummm … no, I forgot.”
“It’s not very good manners to forget when someone’s given you a present. Make sure you apologise on Wednesday.”
“Yes, I will, Dad.”
Safe in David’s room they exchanged wide-eyed glances.
“There wasn’t any set of pastels, was there?”
“No. I would hardly forget to take something like that with me.”
David flopped onto his bed, kicking off his shoes.
Kate sat down next to him. “You’d almost think he knew we were trying to find an excuse to see him.”
“He did.”
“What?” She turned to look at him properly.
“Well, can you think of a better explanation?”
“It could be a coincidence. Maybe he meant to give them to you and forgot.”
“Yeah, right. Come on, Kate, you don’t believe that any more than I do. Why won’t you be honest with yourself about this?”
She turned away to the window and looked out over the garden, struggling with herself. Finally, she said:
“Because if I keep pretending, then maybe none of it will be true. I wish I’d never heard what he told us yesterday. I want life to stay normal.”
“So do I,” David said from the bed, “but if what he told us is true, then pretending isn’t going to help, is it?”
THE MONKEY
She had waited so long to be out in the light; to hear, to taste air; such a long time.
They had taken the wood and carved her and she had waited patiently to be freed by their tools, as she had done already, century after century, and at last there she was: complete and carved, coloured and gilded, with gold on her wrist as she deserved.
She had thought she was free, and they had thought she was their prisoner, and they were both right and both wrong. When she had discovered what they planned, when they trapped her in place, she would have howled if she could, but they had not carved her a voice.
At first she tried to be content out in the light, hearing, tasting air, but she wanted to be free. Truly free.
They had not realised, of course, how she would focus all the power from round about on herself. Stupid. So she waited again, still patient, feeling the power loosen the trap around her, until the first night her spirit stepped free, and left the carved image standing there.
There were many places in the museum where a small monkey could hide unnoticed.
THE TASK
The squeaky gate did its work again and the door opened as they walked under the rowan tree. Mr Flowerdew gave them a brief smile as they entered the house.
“Thank you for coming back,” he said, and handed a small package to David. “The oil pastels you’re supposed to have come to collect, in case we forget later.”
“Thanks.” David put them carefully away in his bag.
“Come up to the study.”
Accompanied by the deep tick of the clock, they went upstairs. Mr Flowerdew waved them to a couple of armchairs but remained standing himself, looking out of the window down the long garden.
After a minute he passed a hand over his face and turned back to the room, pulling an old wooden swivel chair away from the desk for himself. “Is there anything you want to ask?”
They looked at each other.
“No. We want to hear what you have to say first, then we’ll ask.”
“Very well.” He drew a breath. “I am one of the Guardians of Time. There are several hundred of us around the world, always watching for signs that the Lords of Chaos are trying to break through into this existence. The war between the Lords and the Guardians has gone on since time began to flow here,and now we are both bound to this planet.
“We have feared for a long time that they would attack again in Edinburgh. The past and present are only loosely anchored here – partly because it has been a battleground for us before – so two or three Guardians have made it their home, until now. Now we are stretched so thin that I am the only one.
“I
“Ummm … no, I forgot.”
“It’s not very good manners to forget when someone’s given you a present. Make sure you apologise on Wednesday.”
“Yes, I will, Dad.”
Safe in David’s room they exchanged wide-eyed glances.
“There wasn’t any set of pastels, was there?”
“No. I would hardly forget to take something like that with me.”
David flopped onto his bed, kicking off his shoes.
Kate sat down next to him. “You’d almost think he knew we were trying to find an excuse to see him.”
“He did.”
“What?” She turned to look at him properly.
“Well, can you think of a better explanation?”
“It could be a coincidence. Maybe he meant to give them to you and forgot.”
“Yeah, right. Come on, Kate, you don’t believe that any more than I do. Why won’t you be honest with yourself about this?”
She turned away to the window and looked out over the garden, struggling with herself. Finally, she said:
“Because if I keep pretending, then maybe none of it will be true. I wish I’d never heard what he told us yesterday. I want life to stay normal.”
“So do I,” David said from the bed, “but if what he told us is true, then pretending isn’t going to help, is it?”
THE MONKEY
She had waited so long to be out in the light; to hear, to taste air; such a long time.
They had taken the wood and carved her and she had waited patiently to be freed by their tools, as she had done already, century after century, and at last there she was: complete and carved, coloured and gilded, with gold on her wrist as she deserved.
She had thought she was free, and they had thought she was their prisoner, and they were both right and both wrong. When she had discovered what they planned, when they trapped her in place, she would have howled if she could, but they had not carved her a voice.
At first she tried to be content out in the light, hearing, tasting air, but she wanted to be free. Truly free.
They had not realised, of course, how she would focus all the power from round about on herself. Stupid. So she waited again, still patient, feeling the power loosen the trap around her, until the first night her spirit stepped free, and left the carved image standing there.
There were many places in the museum where a small monkey could hide unnoticed.
THE TASK
The squeaky gate did its work again and the door opened as they walked under the rowan tree. Mr Flowerdew gave them a brief smile as they entered the house.
“Thank you for coming back,” he said, and handed a small package to David. “The oil pastels you’re supposed to have come to collect, in case we forget later.”
“Thanks.” David put them carefully away in his bag.
“Come up to the study.”
Accompanied by the deep tick of the clock, they went upstairs. Mr Flowerdew waved them to a couple of armchairs but remained standing himself, looking out of the window down the long garden.
After a minute he passed a hand over his face and turned back to the room, pulling an old wooden swivel chair away from the desk for himself. “Is there anything you want to ask?”
They looked at each other.
“No. We want to hear what you have to say first, then we’ll ask.”
“Very well.” He drew a breath. “I am one of the Guardians of Time. There are several hundred of us around the world, always watching for signs that the Lords of Chaos are trying to break through into this existence. The war between the Lords and the Guardians has gone on since time began to flow here,and now we are both bound to this planet.
“We have feared for a long time that they would attack again in Edinburgh. The past and present are only loosely anchored here – partly because it has been a battleground for us before – so two or three Guardians have made it their home, until now. Now we are stretched so thin that I am the only one.
“I
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