Henry and the Guardians of the Lost. Jenny Nimmo
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was slanting and spidery. It said:
Forgive me, Henry. I did it for the best. I’ve no time to explain. I have to be out within the hour. Go round to the trees behind the cafe. Keep yourself hidden and wait for Mr Lazlo. Ask him where the white bird flies. He must reply, ‘In the Little House.’ Anything else and he’s the wrong person. Tell no one!
I’ll think of you every day.
Your loving aunt,
Pearl x
Henry pushed the note back into his pocket and kept on walking. Polly and Peter paid no attention. They probably thought he’d found an old message from a friend.
They reached the gate at Number Five and, all at once, Henry felt uncomfortably shaky. He stood by the gate while the others walked up to the front door. I’m in the wrong place, he thought. Tell no one, the note said. So how could he explain it if he decided to return to the hiding place behind the cafe?
‘You OK, Henry?’ Peter asked.
Henry nodded. He smiled uncertainly.
‘Maybe it’s jet lag?’ Penny offered.
‘I didn’t fly here,’ Henry mumbled. Pearl wasn’t coming back and he’d missed the person he was supposed to meet. He followed the Reeds into the house. Where else could he go?
Mr Reed appeared at suppertime. He had a wide face and thinning black hair. His cheeks were rosy and he smiled easily. He shook Henry’s hand and patted his shoulder, saying, ‘Things will be all right, Henry. We’ll make sure of that.’
How? Henry wondered.
‘Should we let the mayor know?’ Mrs Reed asked her husband.
Mr Reed shook his head. ‘Not yet.’ He darted a look at Henry and smiled. ‘We haven’t heard Henry’s story.’
Henry had nothing more to tell. He certainly wasn’t going to reveal his secret to these strangers, or mention Pearl’s note.
They sat round the kitchen table, eating bacon, beans and eggs. Enkidu was given some bacon fat. The smallest baby was in bed, the toddlers ate noisily. No one else said much. Henry kept thinking of the note in his anorak pocket.
‘So are you going to tell us why your aunt brought you here?’ Mr Reed asked Henry halfway through the meal.
Henry hesitated. He had to say something, and he wouldn’t be giving anything away by describing his journey. ‘She got a letter, my aunt. I don’t know what it said. She never told me. She was in an awful hurry. We drove all day and then went through an arch carved with bones and stuff. The next moment we were in total darkness, and the car was floating, then suddenly it was morning.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We went to Martha’s Cafe, and when I wasn’t looking my aunt left.’
Mr Reed nodded. He didn’t seem at all surprised. ‘And your aunt gave you no instructions, nothing to indicate where you should go, what you were to do?’
Henry thought of the note. Tell no one. He shook his head.
Peter gave him an odd look. It made Henry feel uncomfortable. He couldn’t stop his cheeks from reddening. He wondered if the Reeds noticed. He felt very hot.
‘Just like the other one,’ Penny said thoughtfully. ‘She disappeared in the night, after curfew.’
‘Curfew?’ 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