The Thief of Always. Clive Barker
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the House.
‘What does that mean?’ said Harvey.
‘It’s what my father used to say all the time. Another day, another dollar. He’s a banker, my Dad. Wendell Hamilton the Second. And me, I’m—’
‘Wendell Hamilton the Third.’
‘How’d ya know?’
‘Lucky guess. I’m Harvey.’
‘Yeah, I know. D’ya like tree-houses?’
‘I never had one.’
Wendell pointed up at the tallest tree. There was a platform perched up amongst the branches, with a rudimentary house built upon it.
‘I’ve been working up there for weeks,’ said Wendell, ‘but I can’t get it finished alone. Ya want to help me?’
‘Sure. But I’ve got to eat something first.’
‘Go and eat. I’ll be around.’
Harvey headed back inside, and found Mrs Griffin setting out a breakfast fit for a prince. There was milk spilt on the floor, and a cat with a tail hooked like a question mark lapping it up.
‘Clue-Cat?’ he said.
‘Yes indeed,’ Mrs Griffin said fondly. ‘He’s the wicked one.’
Clue-Cat looked up, as if he knew he was being talked about. Then he jumped up on to the table and searched amongst the plates of pancakes and waffles for something more to eat.
‘Can he do whatever he likes?’ Harvey said, watching the cat sniff at this and that. ‘I mean, does nobody control him?’
‘Ah, well, we all have somebody watching over us, don’t we?’ Mrs Griffin replied. ‘Whether we like it or not. Now eat. You’ve got some wonderful times ahead of you.’
Harvey didn’t need a second invitation. He dug into his second meal at the Holiday House with even more appetite than he had the first, and then headed out to meet the day.
OH, WHAT A day it was!
The breeze was warm, and smelt of the green scent of growing things; the perfect sky was full of swooping birds. He sauntered through the grass, his hands in his pockets, like the lord of all he surveyed, calling to Wendell as he approached the trees.
‘Can I come up?’
‘If you’ve got a head for heights,’ Wendell dared him.
The ladder creaked as he climbed, but he made the platform without missing a step. Wendell was impressed.
‘Not bad for a new boy,’ he said. ‘We had two kids here couldn’t even get half-way up.’
‘Where’d they go?’
‘Back home, I s’pose. Kids come and go, you know?’
Harvey peered out through the branches, upon which every bud was bursting.
‘You can’t see much, can you?’ he said. ‘I mean, there’s no sign of the town at all.’
‘Who cares?’ said Wendell. ‘It’s just grey out there anyway.’
‘And it’s sunny here,’ Harvey said, staring down at the wall of misty stones that divided the grounds of the House from the outside world. ‘How’s that possible?’
Wendell’s answer was the same again: ‘Who cares?’ he said. ‘I know I don’t. Now, are we going to start building, or what?’
*
THEY SPENT THE NEXT two hours working on the tree house, descending a dozen times to dig through the timbers heaped beside the orchard, looking for boards to finish their repairs. By noon they’d not only found enough wood to fix the roof, but they had each found a friend. Harvey liked Wendell’s bad jokes, and that who cares? which found its way into every other sentence. And Wendell seemed just as happy to have Harvey’s company.
‘You’re the first kid who’s been real fun,’ he said.
‘What about Lulu?’
‘What about her?’
‘Isn’t she any fun?’
‘She was okay when I first arrived,’ Wendell admitted. ‘I mean, she’s been here months, so she kind of showed me the place. But she’s got weird the last few days. I see her sometimes wanderin’ around like she’s sleep-walkin’, with a blank expression on her face.’
‘She’s probably going crazy,’ Harvey said. ‘Her brain’s turning to mush.’
‘Do you know about that stuff?’ Wendell wanted to know, his face lighting up with ghoulish delight.
‘Of course I do,’ Harvey lied. ‘My Dad’s a surgeon.’
Wendell was most impressed by this, and for the next few minutes listened in gaping envy as Harvey told him about all the operations he’d seen: skulls sawn open and legs sawn off; feet sewn on where hands used to be, and a man with a boil on his behind that grew into a talking head.
‘You swear?’ said Wendell.
‘I swear,’ said Harvey.
‘That’s so cool.’
All this talk brought on a fierce hunger, and at Wendell’s suggestion they climbed down the ladder and wandered into the House to eat.
‘What do you want to do this afternoon?’ he asked Harvey as they sat down at the table. ‘It’s going to be really hot. It always is.’
‘Is there anywhere we can swim?’
Wendell frowned. ‘Well, yes …’ He said doubtfully. ‘There’s a lake round the other side of the House, but you won’t much like it.’
‘Why not?’
‘The water’s so deep you can’t even see the bottom.’
‘Are there any fish?’
‘Oh sure.’
‘Maybe we could catch some. Mrs Griffin could cook ’em for us.’
At this, Mrs Griffin, who was at the stove piling up a plate with onion rings, gave a little shout, and dropped the plate. She turned to Harvey, her face ashen.
‘You don’t want to do that,’ she said.
‘Why not?’ Harvey replied. ‘I thought I could do whatever I wanted.’
‘Well yes, of course you can,’ she told him. ‘But I wouldn’t want you to get sick. The fish are … poisonous, you see.’
‘Oh,’ said Harvey, ‘well maybe we won’t eat ’em after all.’
‘Look at this mess,’ Mrs Griffin said, fussing to cover her confusion. ‘I need a new apron.’
She hurried away to fetch one, leaving Harvey and Wendell to exchange puzzled looks.
‘Now I really have to see those fish,’ Harvey said.
As he spoke, the ever-inquisitive Clue-Cat jumped up on to the counter beside the stove, and before either of the boys could move to stop him he had his paws up on the lip of one of the pans.
‘Hey, get down!’ Harvey told him.
The cat didn’t care to take orders. He hoisted himself up on to the rim of the pan to sniff at its contents, his tail flicking back and forth. The next moment, disaster. The tail danced too close to one of the burners and burst into flames. Clue-Cat yowled, and tipped over the pan he was perched upon. A wave of boiling water washed him off the top of the stove, and he fell to the ground in a smoking heap. Whether drowned, scalded or incinerated,