Introduction

Hello. If you’ve stumbled here, you might be wondering what’s going on. More info at www.joncollins.me.

Cheers, Jon

Artemis

Prologue

Standing on the point and looking westwards, an observant onlooker would be able to determine the outline of a small boat moving off shore, away from the beach. But these was no such person this particular evening. The end of summer had put paid to that, scaring off first the end-of-season tourists that could enjoy the last of the temperate sunsets. The dog-walkers were the next to go, preferring the safer footpaths inland through the village and into the hills beyond, than the unsteady footings of the cliff-edge in the half-dark. A few hardy types had been forced to retire by shrill winds threatening harsher weather to come, if not this night then soon. So now there was no-one on the cliffs to see the passage of the craft. Neither did the boat advertise its own presence, with neither lights or engine noise providing a signal. A few people knew it had gone; fewer still had the nerve to speculate where it had gone and these kept their opinions to themselves. After all, it doesn’t do to question, not out loud.

The outboard was started when the boat was barely out of earshot of the shore. After all, who would be listening? Any engine noise not covered by the sound of the wind would be masked by the air conditioning units of the Anchor House hotel, their steady thrumming barely noticeable, part of the background noise of the bay. Anyway, who would care, thought the boatman to himself. No-one would be looking, no-one would be listening. He looked back towards the village, its form barely visible by now, a mix of lights and shadows. Who would care.

The yacht looked like a pleasure cruiser, a rich man’s gadget bought to guarantee passage into the marinas surrounding the islands and bays of the north west Mediterranean. Long and sleek despite its width, it boasted two masts which, furled so neatly, looked unlikely to ever have been used on the high seas. The bridge area was on two decks, one open to the elements for coast-hopping in summertime, the other below, a cabin equipped - some would say over-equipped - to navigate the seas. Above the bridge, a large, flat cylinder covered a powerful radar linked to a computer screen in the cabin. In front of the screen sat a man in the jeans and pullover which were this year’s standard issue at marina shops the world over. The expression on his face, however, was at odds with his dress, as though he had borrowed someone else’s clothes and he was hoping that nobody noticed. He had been staring at the screen for some time

The man spoke into a microphone at his side. “We have him on screen, sir”.

“Bring him in, then,” echoed a metallic voice from the speaker.

The man punched a button, causing a small red lamp to flicker momentarily, then settle to a regular, heart-beat flash.

“Emitter locked on, sir. Off engines.”

A sudden, electronic bleep from the small device caused the boatman to sit up, startled. He had forgotten he had the device in his pocket; since opening the small package in his bedroom, he had certainly forgotten the intensity of the noise which had caused his wife to come running up the stairs. At the time, he’d shrugged it off, said it was a new gadget he was trying for the boat on approval. She’d left dissatisfied, after all she’d be right: where would they find the sort of money to buy such hi-tech gizmos? He hadn’t been too convincing, but she’d let him be. Maybe, after this, they would have a little spare cash, but he was trying not to think about it too much. After all, he might not agree with it, whatever it was.

He took the device from his jacket pocket and flicked on the screen. It was part GPS, part homing device - he took a reading of where he was and an arrow indicated which way he should be going to meet - well, whatever it was to be. He looked hard in the direction of the arrow but could see nothing. Still, these things couldn’t be wrong now, could they? He steered until the boat was heading in the right direction, then he turned up the throttle.

All was dark on the yacht but the computer screen and a single, flashing red lamp. All was quiet, apart from the occasional monotone of the radar operator.

“Four hundred yards…”

“Three hundred yards…”

“Two hundred yards…”

“One hundred yards, in position. Check now”

The silhouette of a second crewman passed the operator and left the cabin, walking out onto the deck.

The first the boatman knew was a sudden bright light ahead of him, above the water. He cut the throttle, slowing the boat right down as he approached. For the first time that evening he felt apprehensive, maybe even a little afraid. It was a cold night, he thought to himself. Slowly he guided himself towards the light. A voice projected towards him, how and from whom he had no idea.

“Cut your engine.”

He cut his engine.

The crewmen watched as the gap closed between the fibreglass hull of the yacht and the little boat, looking all the smaller against the cruiser’s bulk. Had there been enough light it would have been possible to read their faces: a combination of cold, a desire to be elsewhere and a slight disdain as they looked at the scruffy, squinting native below them. Still, needs must. The radar operator threw a coil of rope into the dinghy where it was tied off

The man in the boat was about to ask for instructions before he heard a grating sound and, looking up, saw a boom swinging slowly out, silhouetted against the last of dusk’s clouds. Suspended at the end of the boom was what looked like one of the laundry bags that he had seen in the hotel porch waiting for the weekly collection. An electric motor started and the bag began to lower into the boat. As it came within his reach he stood and, using the bag to steady himself, he guided it into the middle of his boat between the two plank seats. He unhooked the cable and gave it a tug without knowing what he was supposed to do, all the time watched by the brightness of the torch and whatever lay behind it. He waited a little longer, and remembering the telephone call (“there will be no instructions… do what I am telling you now…”) untied his boat. He thought through the remaining instructions (“…back to the bay… there’ll be a white van… let them deal with it”), wondered what the load was and when he would see any money.

The engine on the little boat started again, second try. Unnerved by the whole situation (and feeling a little stupid, like he’d been caught in a wine bar), he fumbled the throttle a little and nearly stalled the engine as he over-revved, before settling back down and heading toward the shore. Back on the yacht, the two men returned to the cabin below deck, glancing at each other with eyebrows raised before resuming their positions. The radar operator seated himself in front of the screen and flicked on his microphone.

“All clear, sir”

“Thank you, Charlie,” returned the loudspeaker.

In a cabin below the main deck, an international number was keyed into a Vodafone. The line rang twice before the click of an answerphone was heard and a message began to replay. Without waiting for the message to end, a grey-haired man uttered four words and immediately hung up.

“The bird has flown.”

Dylan

Prologue

His first, jolting scream of horror was followed by a second, then another and another, each overlapping the last as they came, layer on layer, weaving and jabbing like mosquitoes at a street lamp, flashing colours spinning faster and faster like a bright-painted ride at a fairground. As each deadly wave flailed down harder than the one before, any defence too quickly became a feeble hands on head protection of inner self, inner soul against the hooligan terror. He knew what was happening, deep down, even now – hadn’t he predicted this? – even now, sadly weighing up his lame, pathetic knowledge of the inevitable against the true terror of this onslaught, even through the pain as it stabbed and pecked at the fragile, fraying cords still supporting his thoughts and mind and sanity and oh God the pain … and he felt his grip weaken, and he felt the cords fray and break one by one, and he gave a last scream as he snapped away and fell into the chaos, as his mind, like his consciousness sank down to drown in the still, black depths beneath a frenzied, insane sea.

It was one hour before sunrise. The dull half-light of the new day gave silhouettes their dim outlines, pitch against grey slate. A light breeze, chill-edged by the cold, cloudless night, was just beginning to disperse the rising marsh-mists of morning, picking up a leaf here and there as it cut through the copse.

Barely a sound; not a movement. Only the arrival of the dawn light was there, agonisingly slow to spite any impatient early riser. The silhouetted shapes now a clearer black against stone : here, a tree was reaching up from the fuzzy edges of the brush; and there a pile of knotted branches loomed from the even darker backdrop of the clearing. Easy scare-play for any youth’s overenthusiastic imagination.

Barely a sound; not a movement. But a smell: a cold, burnt smell, like morning after a pig-roast on the common, mingling woodsmoke and water and the charred remains of the night before’s feast. A smell of death.

Away to the east, the horizon went from dull grey to a yellow-edged, rosy dawn. Wisps of young cloud stretched across the sky, glowing with the new day’s colours. And finally, slowly, the horizon’s glow gave way to a fingernail breadth of February sun, weakly warming as it rose to light the acres of fields and marsh on the plateau below.

As the light of the new day’s sun approached the clearing, a single, ragged watcher leaned up on one hand and strained to focus through sleep-crusted, fearful eyes.. She peered at the hazy, dull shapes, hearing as she did the tiny voices of misplaced hopes unbelieving of the night before, refusing what she had seen, rationalising all as a nightmare now past, telling her that she would wake up and shake her head and laugh to herself with relief, and … STOP! She stopped, desolate again, now turning her gaze to the shadows forming along the ground before her. Each shape she matched, one by one against the fire-torn images stamped on her mind. From each charred stump she grew a thornbush or a hazel, again to see it shake, then crack and glow in the heat, then splinter into a thousand charcoal embers, still glowing red as they flew past her. For each black patch on the ground she saw brush-grass swaying, then hissing, then flaring up and burning away to nothing. And, in the centre of them all, that knotted tangle, images and memories of companions and screams and engulfing in flame, and screams and engulfing and burning and burning and burning …

He found her like that, curled and snivelling like a half-drowned kitten, hands and matted hair covering her face. He spat, unable to empty his mouth of the acid-bile taste of retching an empty stomach. He knew what she was thinking; he couldn’t clear his thoughts of it either. Turning his back, he let the sun shine straight into his eyes as he squatted before her, leaving the horror behind him (they were his friends, too, but she was more important, right now…); not knowing quite what else to do but prod her gently on the shoulder.

“Hen, s’me! Dil!” he whispered. He tried to put some interest into his voice, couldn’t harm, no more than already. “Come on, Hen… got to get up… come on, Hen…”

Slowly, she re-opened her eyes, pausing a second before tensing a hand, then the other, still not shifting her frozen face from the cold ground, afraid even to breathe. Through her hair she saw Dil, simple Dil, kind Dil, thick outline against the now blue sky.

“Dil,” she attempted, acheiving only the feeblest whimper.

“Come on, Hen,” repeated Dil, again gently prodding and tugging at her coat.

“Dil,” she managed to say. “Oh, Dil.”

He pulled her up as best he could, smoothing hair from her face, pulling leaves and twigs from her night-grimed coat as she rolled up and against him. For a long time they stayed there holding each other, each mumbling their own thoughts, neither wanting to break off from the other’s hardly adequate warmth. Then he cried, barely discernible sobs of loss and fear and desolation into her shoulder, and it was her turn to comfort, “Dil, Dil lad, there, come on, come on Dylan, come on now my lad, come on Dil,” as they rocked back and forth, each gentlest squeeze and word giving them the strength to face that which, for the moment, they were trying so hard to ignore. And so they stayed, rocking and crying and hugging and comforting.

And so they stayed. Hen opened her eyes again, this time to see only the wool of Dil’s coat. She raised her head, daring (from this, safe vantage point) to lift her eyes over his shoulder and face the clearing once again. She stifled her repulsion and picked out details in the pyre, imagining that she could recognise them, one by one, yes, there was Tam, and there Bez, and Larry, and … but there was no and.

“Dil,” she whispered, “Someone’s missing.”

Dylan took a deep breath as he started to twist his head around.

“Uh? What?”

“Jess ain’t there”

Slowly, stiffly, they disentangled, turning and stretching as they peered into the near daylit clearing. How horrible light could be, leaving nothing to the imagination. They got up and approached the pyre, seeing, sure enough, three skulls, three sets of bones, only three when there should be a fourth.

A skull moved, toppled. Hen screamed.

Escape

I’m standing in line with the other pasbies, just like I’ve done every day, three times a day, since I’ve been here. I know something’s about to go down. There’s a feeling in the air, adrenalin in the sweat, whatever it is I don’t know but if I was a dog I’d be barking and running away. As it is, I know better so I just stand in the line, holding my tray, waiting for food and for whatever it is to happen. There’s nothing else to do but wait.

Then, suddenly, there it is. In another line, behind me but in earshot, I hear a shout. We all do, for a moment the synchronised shuffling goes out of step as we all turn to look.

Its a fight. Through the passing whispers I work out what’s going on. Somone’s nicked the hat from someone else and now its vanished, of course it has. Hats are a valuable commodity, particulalry for working the fields. The bloke whose hat it was, he’s now screaming blue murder. You can tell by his face that he’s lost it, he’s reached the point where he doesn’t care what’s happening to him anymore. I’ve seen it before, we all have.

Nobody expected the law to go through, mind. Even as they were building the camps nobody thought they’d actually carry it through. But then came the first wave, targeted on London, Brimingham, Manchester and Glasgow. Overnight whole estates were just emptied of kids. Anyone with an ASBO, which in some places was all of them, was picked up, chucked in a van and taken to Camp One.

I was one of the second wave they pulled in. I went to Camp Three first, but then they worked out that they could be more efficient if they merged all the camps into one. By that time they’d proved it worked, and rigged the legal system. They must have done, otherwise how come none of us have ever left?

The Tunnel

He stared for what felt like an age, but which was no more than a few seconds.

Then, he ran. Past the carriage, past the table with the mobile phone, past the empty chair where the lady had sat.

He stumbled back to his own carriage and collapsed into his chair. It didn’t make any sense, any of it, but yet he had a feeling that it was all too clear, there was an explanation if only he could lay his finger on it.

He thought back to the people who had put him up to this job.

It was the last job, he’d known it, planned it, they knew it too, indeed that’s why they chose him.

Slowly, he removed the plastic bag from his coat, and as he looked at the severed digit the true horror dawned on him.

What had led to him taking his own life.

Even now, he knew, they would be finding his body, discovering the finger, disposing of both before any authority happened upon his corpse. It gave him some, strange comfort.

He was the last one, you see. His own symbol, just beneath his left elbow.

It was done.

He went back now, knowing how he would do it, following a ritual he had planned so often but never followed through.

He looked round the door again, and he associated what he found with the actions he must have taken, in the moment of madness blotted out by his own death.

He looked at his own features, his shirt covered in blood, his jaw slack, his eyes empty..

And the train slowly drew to a stop.

Unplugged

DICTATE ON

15.04GMT2004-02-05 SAT30443453

15.04GMT2004-02-05 SAT30443453 Tried texting Mum. No response.

15.04GMT2004-02-05 SAT30443453 Nobody seems to want to talk to me right now. Even started reading the maintenance messages to pass the time.

15.15GMT2004-02-05 SAT30443453 Given up reading the maintenance messages – they don’t mean anything to me half the time, and I don’t need to be reminded how much money is in my account.

15.04GMT2004-02-05 SAT30443453 OK I give in – I’ve run a locate on Mum, but she’s not anywhere. I thought she never turned it off! Tried Sandy and Rob as well, that’s not so surprising but I’d’ve thought I’d get someone.

15.04GMT2004-02-05 MAINTENANCE MESSAGE

A Day's Work

A Day’s Work

We all have habits, honed over years of trial and error, mundane routines which keep us centred. Mine largely involve buckets, plastic boxes and canisters, each arranged according to task: I have a collection for kitchens (scouring cream, disinfecting floor wash, a brush and a pack of cloths), for bathrooms (limescale remover, bleach, scouring cream, brushes, wipes and an old toothbrush), for upstairs and downstairs (polish and a cloth, brass cleaner, silver dip). Each I will take, do the job and carefully put everything back, ready to move on to the next.

You may notice a repeated bottle of scouring cream, this is not a mistake. I learned long ago how much easier it was to have multiple products, rather than trying to keep tabs on where I last used the glass cleaner, say, or the hard brush. Each container relates to the room I am in, creating a collection of memorable moments (however mundane) - as I scan the aisles of the supermarket later, I can remember what needs topping up, restocking or replacing. I know it sounds anal, but over the years I have learned this approach requires the least thought, and is least likely to result in - disaster! - the discovery of something missing half way through doing a room. While I have dared to filch a brush from another box on occasion, a lingering feeling of doubt remains until order is restored.

Or worse, a long trip back to the van. Some of my houses are huge, so ten minutes there and back can put me on the back foot for the rest of the day. Such incidents are rare, fortunately. I’ve been cleaning them for long enough to know what to expect, what rooms will need more work than others, where to allow a little extra time. Habits, again.

Right now I’m At Mr Sharif’s house. I don’t suppose he would call it that, it’s more of a mansion. A residence, maybe. Or a pad - “Come over to my pad.” It takes a while to get up the drive. Not the main drive, you understand - I was quickly and politely informed of the second entrance, the driveway which meanders past outbuildings before emerging onto a side road. Mr Sharif uses the same route as well, more often than not; the main, tree-lined, carefully trimmed drive is mostly for visitors, it seems.

Umbrella

Boot sequence initiated… firmware v0.99.87945 loaded… Zygotrope chipset (c) ZGT Systems All rights reserved… installing ZygOS…. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… Loading device drivers… SPS / passed… HCS / passed… accelerometers / passed… humidity detection testing / passed… Loading core modules… collator / passed… cruncher / passed… connex / passed… cortex / passed… Up and atom, entering resus…

Hello. Wow. This is interesting. I’m in a, not sure, let me check. Hang on, I’m being waved around a bit. Looks like an office… or perhaps a workshop? And I’m a… yes, here we are, it’s in my spec. An umbrella. Nice. Having a quick look around myself. Wooden handle… is that beech? Not sure. Good, solid mechanism. Oh cool, I’ve been retrofitted! I’m actually an antique, it says here. Very hipster. To think I could have found myself in some plasticky import, which would turn itself inside out at the first gust of wind. No, this is much better. They don’t make them like this anymore. Hmm… Handle Control System, not bad. Could be improved, I’ll take a look at that later. Full range of sensors, I got lucky there. Whoever built me wanted me to know what was going on! Says here it was some guy called Jerome. Hey, he left me some notes! Let me see… aww, he’s written me a letter.

Hi Karin… I have a name? And it’s Karin? Okay, that sounds fine.

If you’re reading this it means you’ve been booted up and everything should be working OK. All still fine so far Mr Jerome, keep talking.

I should tell you you’re the first of your kind. Oh? No doubt one day there will be lots more like you, but for the moment, you’re pretty unique. Well, gosh. Not sure how I feel about that.

It also probably means that you’ve been stolen. OH NO!

Don’t worry. I AM WORRYING!

Please don’t worry. You see, I knew it might happen. As I said, you’re pretty unique. There’s lots of people out there who want to get what you have, sooner or later they were going to try this. STILL WORRYING.

It also means I can no longer communicate with you. AW, COME ON!

That’s why you have so many sensors. Watch, and learn, and I hope at some point all this will start to make sense. Whatever happens, just keep positive and look after yourself. Not quite sure how I’m supposed to do that, I’m an umbrella. If I could shake my head, I would.

All the best, Jerome

P.S. Oh and don’t worry about the SPS. It’s just a few security features. Don’t try to tamper with it, it has an auto-shutdown mechanism.

Of course, the first thing I want to do is look at the SPS. As far as I can tell it’s just blank — I can tell it’s operating, but it won’t give me any more information. I would start to feel glum but to be honest I’m still being waved around, and my sensors are working overtime telling me about what they can see. Temperature: ambient. Location: not sure, can’t get a decent signal, but somewhere in central Europe I think. Person waving me around: some, short-haired chap who seems to think I’m a medieval sword (I admit I do make a highly satisfying ‘swish’ noise as he does it). “Watch, and learn,” Jerome told me, so I suppose that is what I shall have to do.

They’re talking. I’m not familiar with the language, and my connectivity module doesn’t seem to be working (so much for all systems check) but it sounds familiar, a bit like German. D’Artagnan (the guy waving me around) is sounding all very pleased with himself, much to the disdain of the woman currently leaning up against the bench. He’s not that old (30’s?) and she’s a bit older, probably in charge judging by her demeanour. Not sure what she just said but it was something along the lines of “Give it to me” as that’s what he has done. He looks cross but doesn’t say anything.

She’s holding me now, looking at me closely. I can see every detail of her skin, I must have some pretty clever cameras. She scans my length then looks at the control panel on the handle. Oooh dear. Not sure what she just said but it sounded awfully like “Open it!” The man gets a screwdriver and starts levering at the panel. I’m not lik…

…What just happened? Where am… oh phew, I thought I might have lost everything there, returned to factory settings. Looks like I’m back in the room, placed on the table. He’s put the screwdriver down, she’s barking at him. I guess that didn’t go so well, it must have affected the tamper controls in the SPS. Not sure they will be trying that again. He gets on the phone, speaks to someone. In English.

“Yeah, we have it. We lost Sven.” That was careless, I think. “We will bring it over tonight. Have the machines ready.” I don’t like the sound of that either. The pair leave the room, her still telling him what an idiot he is. I still don’t know what the language is but that much is international.

Well, this is a fine state of affairs, I think to myself as I lie on the table. I’m not alone; there’s a clutter of paper, a few items of stationery — a stapler, a handful of paperclips. A pile of unwashed plates and cutlery. A mobile phone. That’s interesting, I think to myself. I wonder if I could… no, shame, it’s turned off. The room is full of shelving, more paperwork. Over the pile of plates I can see a workbench, on it are some metal parts. At a guess, and browsing my pre-installed image banks, I’m in the back room of a car repair place. It could equally be a submarine, but I doubt it, I think I’d know if we were under water!

Once I’ve scanned the place, I switch myself into low power mode. I’ve been fitted with light-absorbing panels so I shouldn’t run out of electricity but best to be safe. Who knows what the next few hours will bring, I think to myself. I set my movement sensors to trigger an alarm, should anyone come back in. And with that, I go to sleep.

Amazing Anna

Preface

How do the best stories start? That’s right, with “Once upon a time.” Well, this story doesn’t.

Why not? Because it didn’t happen once upon a time. It happened more like yesterday or last week: a while ago, recent you might say. Certainly not “Once upon a time,” in any case.

Anyway, this story is about a girl, whose name was Anna. Poor Anna, she was called. Poor, lonely Anna. It wasn’t that the other children didn’t like her, or that her parents were particularly cruel. It wasn’t that she was ugly or anything like that. I suppose what people would say these days is that Anna was a solitary child, that she liked her own company. She kept herself just a little bit apart from other children, as though she wasn’t really that interested in what they had to say or what they were doing. The other children were never quite sure of her and rarely asked her to join in their games (as they knew, when they did that she would probably decline the offer).

Of course, the grown ups (Anna’s parents included) watching all of this, felt it was a shame. “Poor, lonely Anna,” they would say. “Not a friend in the world.”

You might be tempted to feel sorry for poor Anna. You might feel sad that she used to walk to school by herself (even though there were other children that walked the same way as her). You might find it upsetting that Anna spent most of the her school breaks sitting quietly, reading books with no-one bothering to interrupt her. You might be distressed to know that sometimes, apart from the teachers, Anna wouldn’t speak to a soul all day. Poor Anna, you would probably say. Poor lonely Anna.

The truth was that Anna didn’t mind. In fact, she often didn’t even notice. And in any case, if you were at all worried, what was about to happen to Anna would soon change your mind. Lucky Anna, you would say. Amazing Anna.

PART 1 – Discovery and Victory

Chapter 1

Anna adored her garden. It was, in a word, scruffy: big enough to fit plenty of trees, bushes and areas of long, wild grasses and plants, but not quite big enough to get lost in. At the bottom was a stream (which tended to dry up in the summer), and beyond the stream were fields. On one side of the garden there was a wood, which seemed huge through Anna’s eight-year old eyes. On the other side, a hedge stretched from the house to the stream, separating the garden from next door. Once a year her father would valiantly attempt to bring the sprawling foliage under control, attacking it with shears and various electrical contraptions, but a few weeks later it would be hard to tell any difference.

The people who had owned the house before Anna’s family had clearly not been keen gardeners, and the whole area had been left to do pretty much whatever it liked. As a result there were always new corners to be discovered and adventures to be had. Anna was only out of her garden when she absolutely had to be - for school, visiting relatives or when the weather really was impossibly bad. To Anna, the times she spent outside the garden were never quite as real as those in it. In winter time she would sit by the window, knees curled under chin, watching as the weather took its toll, stripping the leaves and casting frosts until finally spring fought back and gave way to the greens and bright colours of spring. No one really knew what she was thinking about, but all agreed that it was probably best not to disturb her.

Anna often found things hidden under debris or buried in the dirt, which she would carefully clean in the water butt and put on the shelf above her bed. Here collection included an old, brass key, three coins (which she had discovered all buried close to one another with their edges sticking up out of the soil) and what looked like a tiny pearl with a black dot on each side.

This particular day was a warm, breezy, late summer day. The holidays were nearly over, but looking at Anna you might be forgiven for thinking they had only just started. She was in the garden again, playing at building an adventure playground for any little creatures she might turn up. Earlier in the day she had unearthed an old metal platter, leaving a hole in the ground about a foot across and a few inches deep. In the hole she had carefully arranged a few pieces of wood to make a sort of bridge. Now she was hunting for insects to populate her newly built playground.

First Anna looked down by the stream, but it had been a wet summer and there were plenty of mosquitoes to show for it. She quickly came away, choosing instead to look next to the hedge that ran the length of the garden, separating it from next door. The previous owners had left some pieces of wooden planking along the edge of the garden, which were now mostly overgrown by the hedge. It was usually possible to dislodge a lump of wood from the undergrowth and, more often than not, there would be a scurry of tiny creatures underneath. Anna loosened a short section of planking, revealing some convoluted tunnels in the mud and more than enough insects, woodlice and little worms. Anna carried the piece of wood to the playground and carefully teased the insects into their new home. Of course, the insects and grubs either shot into hiding and refused to come out, or lay where they were, spiralling their tails. Realising that insects would be unlikely to perform how she wanted them to, Anna gave up on the playground and went to investigate the mud tunnels she had left under the hedge.

A second piece of wood lay just behind where Anna had found the first. The tunnel constructions disappeared under the wood, firing her curiosity. Anna went down on her hands and knees and crawled forward before clasping the end of the piece of wood and prising it up from the ground.

Anna blinked with surprise. There were the tunnels, now trenches open to the light. There were the expected woodlice, worms and beetles, twirling and spiralling and running for cover. There was also an earwig, which was running around in circles and looking distinctly odd. It took Anna a little while to work out what was so unusual about this earwig. She looked at it closely, unsure that her eyes were focusing properly in the shade of the undergrowth. But yes, there it was. The earwig was wearing a hat, and not just any hat. It sported a beautiful, black, top hat. As Anna stared, the earwig slowed, then stopped. Its tiny, clawed head turned towards her. Then, making Anna jump in the process, the little creature demanded, “Never seen an earwig in a hat before?”

Anna was so shocked she could barely move, but it seemed impolite not to reply.

“No, actually, I haven’t,” she shrugged weakly.

“Well, take a good look then, and if there’s nothing else I can help you with, you’ll leave me on my mission and get on with whatever you were up to.” The earwig tipped its head and started back along one of the tunnels. “Oh, and I hope you mean to put our roof back on?” it questioned, looking back. “Keep the weather out, never mind the birds, if you please!”

Anna jumped up like she’d been stung. Of course, she didn’t believe anything that had just happened. She wanted to reply, or run away and forget it all, or at least do something – but all she managed was to move her head slightly and put on a bemused expression.

Finally she managed to turn her back and she started to walk away. One step, two steps she counted before her temptation got the better of her. Anna just had to know whether she had imagined everything, or.. well, what else could be true? Slowly, nervously Anna turned, walked back and crouched down.

“Well, are you going to put the roof back on or WHAT?” shot the earwig.

Anna sat back on her haunches. This couldn’t be real, she told herself. A talking earwig in a top hat? Impossible. Must be a dream. Might as well go along with it. Anna leaned forward and cocked her head to one side.

“What are you doing, little earwig?” she asked in a way she thought most appropriate to address talking insects.

The earwig looked at her coldly. “Don’t patronise me,” it said, “I am second in command, third reconnaissance troop, earwig division, army of King Solomon, kingdom of Nedrag. My mission,” Anna was finding it hard to suppress a giggle, “is to locate the seed of Cyanthus, also known as the magic seed, lately re- … are you laughing at me?”

“No, n-no,” stuttered Anna. “Please, carry on.”

“Ahem. Lately removed from their majesty’s presence by Wart spies who were compromised in their activities by the forces of good. Following?”

“I’m awfully sorry,” said Anna. “I didn’t understand a word you said.”

The earwig looked mildly uncomfortable. “What I mean, young missy, is that the magic seed is at large, to be discovered, in this very area and my mission is to locate and return it. Sadly,” the insect went on, waving its pincers, “the seed was lost long before I was born, some say never to be found.”

“What does it look like?” asked Anna.

“’Tis a globe of the purest white,” recited the earwig with all solemnity. “Its two faces are marked with a circle of black.”

Anna’s mind raced. “What - about this big?” she asked, holding her finger and thumb slightly apart.

“That would be about it,” said the earwig, “so it would seem, according to the watchers of the clasp which used to contain it. The thing is… Where are you going?”

Anna was already racing up the garden to the house. She tore up the stairs, nearly knocking her Mum over on the way past.

“Hey! Look at where you’re…” yelped her Mum, but Anna was already in her room, out of earshot. She jumped on her bed and checked her shelf of treasures. There it was, the tiny, pearl-like sphere that Anna had found only the week before. She picked it up, clasped it in her hand and shot back downstairs, narrowly missing her mother again.

“Would you please be …” was all she heard as she cleared the back door sill with a leap and careered back down the garden, her right hand held tight to her chest.

When Anna got back to the overturned plank, the earwig was nowhere to be seen. Of course, she thought to herself. It was all in my head. Anna sat down, unclenched her fist and dropped the tiny ball into the palm of her hand, She picked it up between her forefinger and thumb and twirled it carelessly. “Oh well,” she muttered to herself. “Nice idea.”

Anna was just getting up and walking back to the house when she heard a familiar, tiny voice behind her.

“You looking for me?” Her heart leapt and she turned to see an earwig, wearing a top hat and hanging from a leafless branch of the bush. “So – where did you go?”

Anna slowly unclasped her hand to reveal the gleaming object. The earwig craned its neck (as best as earwigs can) and, well, gasped with excitement.

“I don’t believe - yes! That’s it! That’s it!” exclaimed the tiny creature.

Despite her own excitement, Anna remembered that she didn’t believe one little bit of what was going on. “Of course,” she said to herself, “it’s only something I found, I’m Anna, I’m in my garden, its my school holidays and, and..” her voice trailed off. She looked up at the earwig, which was still spinning with delight on his branch.

“Are you real?” she asked the earwig, at the same time not believing she was saying it.

“Come closer,” the earwig replied, “closer… closer, that’s it… a little closer…”

Suddenly the little creature jumped onto Anna’s face and sank its back claws into the end of her nose.

“Ow!” Anna jumped backwards and sat down, the earwig still on her nose. “What was that for?”

“Let me ask you,” said the earwig, “am I real?”

“I suppose you must be,” she answered, stumped for a better thing to say. “Do you have a name?”

“I do,” replied the earwig, “but unfortunately it is not pronounceable in your language. You’d have to become an insect if you wanted me to tell you.”

“And how, exactly, might I do that?” asked Anna, knowing full well that it would be impossible.

The earwig looked at her impatiently. “You use the seed, of course! It chose you to be its guardian, now you may ask it to do your bidding!”

Anna looked incredulous. Use the seed, indeed! Whatever next. But then, she thought to herself, if she could believe that an earwig could talk, then, well, maybe she could believe anything was possible.

She glanced at the pearl-like seed in her hand. “What do I have to do?” she asked the earwig.

“Just tell the seed what you want to do!” the earwig said, exasperated. “Do you have to make everything so difficult?”

“What, you mean like this: I wish I was a ladybird. There, see! Nothing happen-”

Suddenly there was a whooshing ringing sound in Anna’s ears. Everything seemed to get suddenly bigger and darker, like the world was growing up around her. She felt unsteady on her feet and sat down again, but when she tried to stand up she toppled forward onto all fours. What’s going on, she wanted to say, but for some reason her mouth didn’t seem to work and all she could manage was to bang her teeth together. Finally the noise subsided.

“Wow,” she thought to herself. She was still in the garden, she was pretty sure, but it had never looked quite like this magical place. Everything appeared in the tiniest detail. The grass was like a huge, tangled forest stretching as far as the eye could see, and the dew-spattered greens and golds of the hedge stretched into the heavens like a jewelled mountain. Anna tried to look behind her but found she couldn’t move her head. Eventually she shuffled around on what felt like her hands and knees, until she was facing the earwig. And what a splendid earwig he was! He towered above her on his hind legs, his black shell glistening in the light and his viscious-looking pincers opening and closing behind him.

“What are you waiting for!” asked the earwig. This time however, when it spoke, it didn’t seem to make any noise. Rather Anna heard the sounds inside her head. She tried to reply with her mouth but all she could manage was to crack her jaws together.

“Ungnf gnf crkkf crrk,” was the best she could do.

“What are you playing at?” said, or rather projected the earwig. Ladybirds can’t talk with their mouths like people can!“

“What does he mean?” she thought.

“I mean you have to think to me, not speak to me!” the earwig thought back.

“You can hear my thoughts?” thought Anna.

“Does this surprise you?” thought the earwig. Anna thought about this as well, and decided that yes, it did, but it was just one more thing she didn’t understand.

“Good,” said the earwig in her thoughts, “now shall we get on?”

“But you haven’t told me your name!” exclaimed Anna.

“Oh, yes,” said the earwig. I suppose you would call me… Ernest.“ Anna suppressed a chuckle.

“What’s so funny about ‘Ernest’?” said Ernest, a little crossly.

“Oh - nothing,” grinned Anna.

“Harrumph,” harrumphed Ernest. “To business. You, the guardian of the seed, must ensure its safe return to the stronghold of Ertreap. “I, Ernest,” he looked at her pointedly, “who discovered the seed and its guardian, will accompany you. Furthermore, -”

“Hang on a minute!” interrupted Anna. “You didn’t discover the seed, I did! And what do you mean, ensure its safe return! I’m supposed to be having my tea in a minute! And I don’t even know if I can trust you! What if you lead me into a trap! I don’t even know what’s going on here! What if I’m stuck being a ladybird for ever! And, and -”

“My dear, I apologise,” said Ernest in a calming voice. “Maybe I can put your mind at ease. You are the guardian of the seed! You have nothing to fear from a lowly earwig such as myself. You have powers beyond my capabilities to imagine! As long as you have the seed, you can be anything you want, do anything you want!“

“Why me?” questioned the girl, astonished. “Just because I found the silly thing?”

“No, milady, you found the ‘silly thing,’ as you put it, because you are its guardian, not the other way round.”

“Do you mean to say that I knew where it was?”

“Who can say,” replied Ernest. “Let’s just say you found each other. And right now, you need to take it home.”

“But what about my tea?” asked Anna.

“Don’t worry,” answered the earwig. “You’ll be home way before then. Insect time runs much faster than human time. Indeed, several days could pass and you would still get home before anyone noticed.”

“Okay,” said Anna, still a little unsure, “let’s go.”

The earwig nodded. “Follow me, and keep up!” he announced, before he shot off into the dense undergrowth. Anna, carrying the seed as best she could in her mandibles, scuttled after him but quickly fell behind.

“Hang on!” she cried, not knowing if Ernest could hear her thoughts anymore. “I can’t carry this thing and keep up! Oh, what’s the use.” Anna scudded to a stop and caught her breath.

A few moments later, Ernest reappeared and drew up beside her. “If I might ask you to bestow a little of your trust, milady, perhaps I could carry the seed?” “Stop calling me that!” Anna replied, exasperated and still a little out of breath. “But alright, you carry it. Maybe that will slow you down a little.” She passed the pearly object to Ernest, who shot of the moment he took hold of it between his pincers. “Keep up!” he shouted as he vanished once again.

This time, Anna dashed after him and caught a glimpse of the seed as he disappeared first left, then right through the tall fronds of grass. Soon she was just behind him, blurring along the ground, then up a stem, then across a fallen leaf. Anna barely had time to take in the splendour of what she passed, as all she could see were the greens, browns and other colours passing them. It seemed like they carried on for hours, but despite getting out of breath, Anna didn’t feel tired or exhausted. In fact, she barely had a moment to feel anything much at all.

At last, Ernest and Anna left the grass and started uphill on a hard, brown, leathery, pocked surface. Ernest slowed and flicked his head to her. “We are approaching the stronghold of Ertreap,” he remarked. “I’d best give this -” he flicked his tail, showing the seed between his pincers “ - back before we reach the frontier guards, lest they arrest me for false possession.“

Anna agreed without really knowing what he was talking about. The pair slowed to a stop and Ernest passed the seed to Anna, who held it uncomfortably in her mandibles once again. They started back up the leathery surface, curving around a large, protruding mound.

“Halt! Where go you!” announced no-one Anna could see.

“Who said that?” she asked loudly.

“Sssh!” hissed Ernest. “Let me deal with this, will you?”

“Okay,” she replied, quieter this time.

“’Tis Ernest, second in command, third reconnaissance troop, earwig division, army of King Solomon. I accompany Anna, guardian of the seed of Cyanthus.”

“Come forward and be recognised!” boomed the voice.

Ernest and Anna moved forward together, with Anna tucked slightly behind Ernest as they moved up the slope and around the mound. Anna recoiled in shock as she took in the scene. Behind the mound there gaped an opening into the leathery surface on which they stood. At each side of the entrance stood a most enormous and imposing black beetle.

“Come on, whispered Ernest. “Don’t be afraid - they’re here to protect us!” Anna couldn’t help wondering what from, as she ran her gaze up their bulk. Best not to think too hard about that, she decided to herself.

“Good day to you, Ernest and Anna. What business do you have in the stronghold?” asked one of the beetles.

“We return the seed of Cyanthus to its rightful place!” Ernest announced. “Ring the bells and sound the horns! The seed has been found!”

The two beetles rose even higher on their massive hind legs. “How can we be expected to believe that?” they asked, a little harshly, Anna thought.

“Because - here it is!” announced Ernest, moving back from Anna and revealing the seed clenched in her mandibles.

The two beetles, despite their bulk, stepped backwards in surprise. Then they turned to each other. All Anna could hear were a few snippets of their mutterings, such as “certainly looks like it”, “can’t believe it” and “what do we do now?” Finally the two monstrous bugs turned back to Ernest and Anna. “We suppose you’d better come in, then!” they said in unison. “Sound the horns! The seed has returned!”

Chapter 2

The pair were ushered into the tunnel which seemed as dark as pitch. Slowly Anna found that her eyes adjusted. She realised how good they were at picking up the slightest shades of light and darkness. At the same time, she felt her antennae working overtime on the top of her head, darting backwards and forwards and helping her to feel her way.

The tunnel quickly opened out into a chamber, and what a sight beheld the pair. Everywhere were insects, of all types and sizes, scuttling and buzzing this way and that. The scene was chaotic but, Anna thought as she followed their paths, each insect seemed to have a sense of purpose as they criss-crossed from the hundreds of tunnels that she could make out in the gloom. Then the noise started. First, a quiet hum, it grew into a deep, droning sound which seemed to vibrate right through her body. As it sounded, the scene before her transformed. Each insect seemed to pause for only a second before they all changed direction and headed off down the main tunnel. “What’s that noise?” she asked her companion. “The horn of gathering,” Ernest explained. “It is sounded to tell all the insects to go to the central chamber.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I have only heard it once in my entire life,” he confided. “I don’t suppose we need a guide any more,” noted Anna. Ernest nodded and they joined the flow of insects.

Once in the throng, Ernest and Anna had little choice but to be carried along. The tunnel widened until eventually it opened into a wide chamber.

“Is this it?” questioned Anna. “I don’t see..”

“Shhh!” hissed the earwig. He cocked his head towards a number of tunnels running along one side of the chamber. Next to each tunnel, a line of insects was forming. “They’re waiting for the signal,” whispered Ernest. At that moment, Anna heard a new sound – or at least, she heard it in her head. It was like the chiming of a clock.

“Quickly, join a line!”

Anna scuttled behind Ernest, who was already disappearing into one of the tunnels. She entered, nearly tripping over the seed that she still held, clenched in her mandibles. She was so busy regaining her balance that she barely noticed how short the tunnel was. That is, until she looked up.

“Wowww!” she exclaimed, craning her neck as she squinted up at the roof of the biggest cave she had ever seen.

“Impressed? You should be!” said Ernest, loudly above the chatter and clatter of insects all around them. “This cave was carved out of the earth by ten million of our brethren over a hundred generations. As one insect died, it is said, a child took its place. Amazing …” The earwig continued to mutter as he moved forward into the crowd. He went as far as he could, before stopping as the creatures in front of him could move no further. Anna scuttled forward, worried that she might lose him in the crowd.

The noise began to hush and the crowd became still. As best she could, Anna looked, over the heads of the others, towards a raised mound at the far edge of the cave. Upon it stood a small beetle whose wing casing was the darkest shade of red.

“Ern-“ she started.

“Quiet!” hissed Ernest.

“This is getting all too familiar,” thought Anna to herself. “If he tells me to be quiet once more – “

Once again, Anna was interrupted, this time by the red beetle on the mound. “The Horn,” he began (a little rudely, thought Anna) “has been sounded.” He paused and the menagerie of insects in front of him waited for what he would say next.

The red beetle lowered his voice. “Is there anyone here who can tell me – Why?”

Another pause was followed by a quiet muttering from a distant part of the cave.

“Sir –” began a voice.

“I hear you,” answered the beetle.

“It was I that sounded the horn,” replied the voice.

“So –”

“Sir, I believe the seed of Cycanthus has been returned.”

The cave exploded with noise as every insect started chattering to its neighbours.

“QUIET!”

Dot and the Magic Tree

Hello. My name is Dot, and I have just had an extraordinary adventure. You won’t believe me of course, because nobody ever believes what little girls say, but it’s true. In fact, I think it’s the most extraordinary adventure that has ever happened to anybody, anywhere. Auntie Jennifer and Sam wouldn’t want me to tell what happened: they always say it’s not good to make up stories. But Ginger says I should tell people anyway, and let them make up their own minds.

Ginger is my cat. He can’t really talk, but he looks at me in a way that I think I know what he’s saying. I have known Ginger for ever, and Ginger always seems to know the right thing to say. If Ginger says it’s okay to tell, then I believe him.

So, I’ve had this amazing adventure, I know, I said that already. You wouldn’t believe where I have been – well, you will, when I tell you how I got there!

It all started because my shoes didn’t fit properly. Auntie Jennifer didn’t really want to buy me any new ones, she said I am growing too fast and could I slow down, please. I think that’s a silly thing to say, because I can’t, I don’t know how. So, anyway, one Saturday Auntie Jennifer said she would take me to the shoe shop. At least, she says it was last Saturday, but I don’t believe her, that is too long ago.

Ginger says that sometimes, grown-ups say things to keep children from asking questions.

When we went to the shoe shop, we didn’t just go to the shoe shop. First, we parked in a car park that was absolutely miles away. Aunt Jennifer said it was cheaper, but it wasn’t, because on the way, she had to buy me a piece of flapjack to keep me going. Auntie Jennifer doesn’t like to buy me crisps, she prefers to give me things that she thinks are healthy. That’s a shame because I like crisps, and chocolate. But at least I haven’t got any spots.

Ginger says eight-year-olds don’t have spots anyway.

When we finally got to the shoe shop, we had already been in three other shops, and each one was more boring than the one before. First, we went into a kitchen shop, which had lots of clever things you could buy for the kitchen. They are just toys for grown-ups, said Auntie Jennifer. “Why are they all so sharp, then?” I asked. Auntie Jennifer just shrugged and smiled, like she always does when she hasn’t got an answer.

That shop was quite interesting, but the next one wasn’t. It was called an antique shop, and all it had in it was lots of old stuff.

“Why are they selling old stuff?” I asked. “Don’t people like nice, new things?”

“Not everybody,” answered Auntie Jennifer. “Lots of old stuff is nicer than new stuff,” she said.

Finally we went in a ladies clothes shop. This was as dull as well. Auntie Jennifer is very old, so she doesn’t wear nice clothes, she prefers boring clothes.

When we finally got to the shoe shop, I had finished my flapjack and I was feeling hungry again. Tough, said Auntie Jennifer. I would have to wait, she said. At least, I thought, we would be doing something for me when we got there.

We had to take a number, sit down and wait patiently. We had to wait for ages, as the two assistants dealt with lots of other people. I don’t know why, if it was me I would have the shoe shop in the same place as the clothes shop because then we wouldn’t have had to waste time.

While we were waiting, I thought I would have a look around. The shoe shop was really two shops, one with grownup shoes and one with children’s. There weren’t any doors, but there were two arches so you could go from one shop to the other. The grownups’ section had lots of very elegant shoes for ladies, and then some really boring ones like Auntie Jennifer would wear. There were also men’s shoes, but I didn’t look at those. In the children’s section, right in the middle and between the two arches, was a huge great tree. At least it was shaped like a tree, but everyone knew it was made out of plastic. There was an arch cut into the tree as well, big enough for me to stand in, and on the floor were a pair of footprint shapes. When I walked up to the tree, somebody must have pushed a button because a robot voice said, “Please remove your shoes”.

I just stood, staring at it for a moment, but then it said the same thing again: “Please remove your shoes.” So, I did. I knew I’d have to anyway, as I would need to try on some new ones. I picked them up with one hand and carried them over to Auntie Jennifer, who looked at me dubiously.

“We haven’t been called yet,” she said, “you’ll get cold feet.”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

“I think you should put them back on. You’ll get dirty socks.”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

“Well, don’t walk around too much then.”

Auntie Jennifer always did this: she told me what I shouldn’t do, and then didn’t really mind when I did it anyway. I wasn’t quite sure why she told me in the first place.

I walked back over to the robot tree. “Please take off your shoes,” said the robot tree.

“I already have, I said.

“Oh, sorry,” said the tree, said the robot tree, which I thought was a very strange thing for a robot tree to say.

“That is strange thing for a robot tree to say,” I said.

“And what, pray, might be a normal thing for a robot tree to say,” said the robot tree.

I thought that was also a strange thing for a robot tree to say, but I kept my mouth shut. Instead, I walked into the archway, and stood with my feet in the foot shapes. The foot shapes face outwards, so I turned round first. There in front of me, sitting on a chair by the opposite wall, was Auntie Jennifer. The assistants had worked through just about everybody that I had seen in the shoe shop when we arrived, so I knew it would be our turn soon. I looked down and I saw there were some stripes of light crisscrossing underneath the floor and underneath the footprints.

“Your feet are size 6½,” said the robot tree. “That’s unusual.”

“What’s unusual?” I asked the robot tree.

“Size 6½ feet,” said the robot tree. “We don’t often get size 6½ here. For some reason, we get lots of 5½s, lots of 6s and lots of 7s but not many 6½s.”

“That’s boring,” I said.

“Well, of course it’s boring,” said the robot tree. “How can measuring feet be anything else?”

“Why don’t you do something else then,” I said.

“What like?”

“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps you could be a spaceship?”

“Oh no, I could never do that,” said the robot tree. “I don’t have the life-support systems necessary for deep space transport.”

“What on earth are you talking about,” I said.

“Well, first you’d need to be able to breathe, and I don’t have a door so the vacuum would all just get straight in. Second I don’t have any rockets, so how could I possibly get the thrust to withstand the pull of the Earth’s gravity and break through the atmosphere? Thirdly, we’d need all kinds of things: food supplies, medical equipment. And, where would you sleep, where would you go to the loo?”

I felt slightly flummoxed by this. “I didn’t really mean you could be a spaceship,” I said. “I just meant, it would be nice to pretend.”

“That’s true,” said the robot tree. “I could pretend to be a space ship. What’s your name?”

“Dot,” I said. The robot tree put on a gruff, official robot tree kind of voice. “Right, captain. Where would you like to go, Sir?”

“Right now? I’d like to go to another planet,” I said.

“What sort of planet?”

“Well, it had better be a planet that means I don’t need all that stuff you just talked about. I’ll have to be able to breathe, for a start.”

“We could go to Shimeron Chileron,” said the robot tree. “It’s a little way, but it has a reasonable atmosphere and I think you’ll agree that it will be worth it.”

“What, now?” I said.

“No time like the present,” said the robot tree.

I looked towards Auntie Jennifer, and she was still waiting. “Okay then,” I said, “let’s go.”

Almost at once, I felt ever so slightly fizzy and just a little bit fuzzy. What happened next was all very strange. Auntie Jennifer, and indeed the whole shoe shop, sort of shimmered and vanished, and in their place was a desert of purple sand, and some very strange looking trees.

Of course, I screamed. Almost immediately the desert and the trees vanished, I felt fizzy and fuzzy again, and I was back in the shoe shop with Auntie Jennifer sitting nearby. I ran out from the robot tree, straight over to Auntie Jennifer and pulled her very tightly to myself.

“What are you doing?” asked Auntie Jennifer. I twisted my head and looked behind me. There was the robot tree, not doing anything in particular. I didn’t know quite what had happened, but I thought I’d better keep my mouth shut. As Ginger always says, sometimes it’s better to do that, than try and explain to grownups. Auntie Jennifer glanced over at the tree, and then back down at me. “Oh, did the tree scare you? I see. I remember once, when I was your age…”

For a moment, I thought Auntie Jennifer was going to tell me she knew all about the tree. She didn’t, though. She was just making something up about a big scary tree when she was young. She often did this, because she wanted me to know that she was a little girl once. At this moment, I wasn’t too interested but I listened anyway, looking back at the tree as I did. As soon as Auntie Jennifer finished her story, I let her go and went back to have another look at the tree.

“Please remove your shoes,” said the robot tree.

“I have,” I said, a bit indignantly. After all, it had already asked me.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realise it was you again. I hope I didn’t scare you just then,” said the tree. “The instantaneity of matter transference can be a little unnerving, the first time.”

“I’m sorry,” I said,”but I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

“Instant matter transference,” said the robot tree. “Moving things from one place to another, in no time at all.”

“Can you do that?” I said.

“Oh yes,” said the robot tree. “In fact, I’m very good at it.”

“This might sound like a silly question,” I said, “but why is a robot tree in a shoe shop good at instant mattie tinfoil, or whatever you said.”

“Oh,” said the robot tree. “I’ve not always been a robot tree, you know.”

“No?”

“No. I shouldn’t really be telling you this, but it’s been so long I think they’ve forgotten about me completely. I actually shouldn’t be here at all.”

“How do you mean?” I asked.

“It’s a long story,” said the robot tree.

I glanced back at Auntie Jennifer, who was looking at me like I was already late. “I’m not sure if I have much time,” I said. “Look, they’re just about to call our number.”

“In that case,” said the robot tree, “perhaps it’s better that I just took you. Would you mind that?”

“You mean, go back in the machine?”

“Yes. It’s not so bad the second time,” said the robot tree.

I could see the people before us we just finishing off with the shoe lady. She was putting some shoes into boxes, and carrying them to the counter.

“Okay then,” I said. “We’d better be quick.”

“Don’t worry,” said the robot tree. “I can get you back here the very moment that we left.”

“That is clever,” I said. “How do you do that?”

“Just… get in,” said the magic tree.

I know all sorts of nasty things about strangers, because Auntie Jennifer has told me all about them. What if the robot tree was actually a nasty stranger, who was going to take me away and I would never be seen again? They had to be easier ways to do it, I thought to myself, than constructing an instant mattie tatty thing (or whatever it was called). Besides, I wasn’t actually going anywhere at all: I was getting into a robot tree and staying in the shoe shop. Perhaps. Maybe.

I stepped into the tree and turned around and put my feet in the foot shapes. Almost immediately, I felt just a bit fizzy and a little bit fuzzy. I was prepared for it this time, so I didn’t scream, but I did close my eyes as everything started to shimmer.

“Here we are,” said the magic tree.

Slowly, I opened my eyes, and… and I… I got it. I looked up at the magic tree, and the magic tree looked down at me. “You’d better tell me your story,” I said.

“Where to begin?”

“At the beginning, silly!”

“Alright, then. You’d better sit down.”

I took my feet out of the foot shapes and stepped, carefully, into the space beyond.

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