Henry and the Guardians of the Lost. Jenny Nimmo

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СКАЧАТЬ Henry said. ‘Curfews are for prisons and . . . and wars, not normal towns.’

      The Reeds all laughed. What was so funny? No one explained.

      After supper, Mr and Mrs Reed took the toddlers upstairs for their bath. Penny did her homework at one end of the kitchen table, while Henry taught Peter how to play Battleships at the other end. The room was lit by gas lamps that popped and fizzed from the wall. Henry found that he could hardly keep his eyes open and remembered that he and Pearl had driven through the night. A large old clock hung above the stove. It was stained and rusty and, like the clock in Martha’s Cafe, it had stopped at half past twelve. He asked Peter if he knew the time.

      ‘We won’t know for sure until the town crier comes round,’ Peter replied casually.

      ‘Don’t any of your clocks work? Don’t you have a watch?’ Henry asked anxiously.

      ‘Mm, no,’ said Peter, concentrating on his next move.

      Henry felt a bit light-headed. ‘I think I’d like to go to bed,’ he said.

      ‘Good idea.’ Peter put down his pencil. ‘I want to finish my book before curfew.’

      That word again. Henry asked, ‘What happens at curfew?’

      ‘Of course, you don’t have curfew, do you?’ Peter said in a patronising voice.

      ‘I have bedtime,’ said Henry. ‘At least I used to.’

      ‘Ah, well, the town crier comes round ringing his bell and telling us it’s ten o’clock. Everyone has to be indoors, and all the lamps and candles out.’ Peter said this as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

      ‘Even the street lights?’

      ‘The gas lights? Of course. And then the henchmen come round with a lantern, checking for curfew breakers.’

      ‘And if anyone breaks the curfew? What then?’

      ‘Don’t ask,’ said Peter. An unsatisfactory answer.

      They were given candles in brass saucers to take to bed.

      ‘I expect you have e-l-e-c-t-r-i-c-i-t-y at home,’ said Peter, enunciating jokingly.

      Puzzled, Henry said, ‘Most people do.’

      Peter chuckled. ‘Not us. We do have a telephone, though. Just us and a few others. The mayor has a generator.’

      Henry was glad to see that Enkidu hadn’t moved from the bed. The big cat was obviously making up for his undignified journey. When Henry got into bed he pushed his feet under Enkidu’s heavy body. It was comforting to feel his friend so close.

      ‘Don’t think I’ll read tonight,’ said Peter, blowing out his candle.

      Henry did the same, but he lay awake, staring into the dark. Was he safe in this house? And if he got back to the cafe, would Mr Lazlo be there? He doubted it. He was drifting off to sleep when he heard a bell ringing outside the house. A voice called, ‘Ten o’clock and all’s well.’ Soon after this, the rhythmic sound of marching boots grew louder and louder. Tired as he was, curiosity drove Henry to the window. He looked down on a column of men, their helmets glinting in the fitful light of the moon. Henchmen.

      Later, much later, Henry’s eyes opened again. There wasn’t a sound anywhere. But he was suddenly wide awake. He went to the window.

      The moon was higher and brighter now. Peering through a gap in the curtains, Henry looked down at the road. A black horse stood by the garden gate. Its rider, a cloaked figure in a large beret, was looking up at Henry’s window. The man had a thick black beard and one gloved hand covered his mouth, as though he were puzzled or uncertain. In spite of the man’s forbidding appearance, Henry had to restrain a sudden urge to call out to him.

      The man turned his head and looked up the road. The next minute he and the horse were gone. If it hadn’t been for the fading clatter of hooves, Henry might have believed that horse and rider had never existed.

      And then came another sound. The heavy tread of approaching henchmen.

      Henry slept deeply. When he woke up Peter had gone. Henry crept downstairs, wondering what time it was. The sun was high. Perhaps it was lunchtime. There was no sign of Enkidu.

      The kitchen was deserted but breakfast hadn’t been cleared away. The table was strewn with boxes of cereal, jams, butter and a rack of toast.

      Mrs Reed popped her head round the door and said, ‘Help yourself, Henry. Peter and Penny have gone to school.’

      ‘Have you seen my cat?’ asked Henry.

      ‘Not a whisker,’ said Mrs Reed. It was difficult to tell if she was joking.

      After a large bowl of cereal and several pieces of toast, Henry was just wondering what to drink when Mrs Reed looked in again and asked, ‘How old are you, Henry? The headmaster will want to know.’

      Henry reached for the orange juice. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘Am I going to school?’

      ‘Just a thought.’ Mrs Reed gave him her cool smile. ‘We have to find something for you to do, don’t we, until . . .?’ She seemed unable to finish her sentence.

      Until what? Henry wondered. How long am I going to be here?

      ‘Nine?’ asked Mrs Reed impatiently. ‘Ten? Have you forgotten how old you are?’

      Henry couldn’t see the point of lying. His brain was older than a ten-year-old’s. She would think he was small for his age. Nothing more. ‘Twelve,’ he said quickly.

      ‘Ah.’ Mrs Reed retreated.

      After breakfast Henry wandered into the hall. What was he to do with himself ? The Reeds didn’t appear to own a television set or a radio, or even an electronic game. He was about to mount the stairs when Mrs Reed came out of a bedroom. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a book to read,’ she said. ‘I’ll ring the headmaster in a minute. Don’t leave the house, will you?’

      ‘I want to look for my cat,’ said Henry.

      ‘Don’t leave the house,’ Mrs Reed said harshly. ‘The cat will come back.’

      Henry went into the sitting room. The shelves were full of rather dull-looking books. Henry pulled out a heavy volume entitled, Sailing Ships of the World. Some of the ships popped up when the book was laid flat on the table. He was admiring a sixteenth-century galleon when Mrs Reed made her phone call from the hall. There was something quiet and sly in her tone. Henry could only make out the occasional word. He assumed she felt awkward explaining his small size, and didn’t want him to overhear.

      The phone call ended and Mrs Reed went back upstairs to where the baby was screaming.

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