“We were just talking about tomorrow,” Richard said.
“It’ll be here soon.” Chambers blew smoke. “It’s after ten. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
Richard tapped Matt on the shoulder. “After you.”
The three of them went inside. Matt said goodnight to Richard and climbed the stairs to the small room which he had chosen at the back of the house. He liked it there. When he was lying in bed, his head was directly underneath a slanting roof with a skylight so, lying on his back, he could look up at the stars. His case – a small canvas bag – was already packed and sitting on the floor. He wasn’t taking much with him. If he needed anything in London, he could always buy it there.
Matt undressed quickly, washed and slipped between the sheets. For the last few months, he had been searching for Scar in the only way that he could – in his dreams. Time and again he had visited the dreamworld. He had been there so often that he knew the landscape welclass="underline" the shoreline stretching along a great sea with everything dead and grey, the island where he had once found himself trapped.
The dreamworld baffled him. Was it a dream or was it a real world? That was the first question. And was it there to help him or to throw him off balance? On the one hand it was a frightening place, conjuring up strange, violent images that he couldn’t understand: giant swans, walking statues, guns and knives. But at the same time, Matt didn’t think he was in any danger there. The more he visited it, the more he felt it was on his side. He wondered if anyone actually lived there – or was it simply there for the Gatekeepers, its only inhabitants?
At any event, he had gone back there almost every night, floating out of the bed, out of the room, out of himself. Then he had begun to travel, searching for Scar. Sometimes he would see a flicker of lightning, an approaching storm. Once, he found footprints. Another time he came upon a grove of trees, which at least proved that the place wasn’t entirely dead, that things could grow there.
But there had never been any sign of Scar.
There was no point in searching for her tonight. In just twenty-four hours he would be meeting her anyway. But even so – maybe it was just habit – he found himself back in the dreamworld almost at once. As usual, he was on his own. He was climbing a steep hill, but it took no more effort than if he had been walking on level ground. Far behind him, the wilderness stretched out, wide and empty.
And then he noticed something strange. The ground underneath his feet had changed. He knelt down and examined it, brushing aside the grey dust that covered everything. It was true. He was standing on a path fashioned out of paving stones that had been brought here and laid in place. He could see the joins, the cement gluing everything together. Even though he was asleep, Matt felt a surge of excitement. A man-made path! This was completely new and confirmed what he had always thought. The dreamworld was inhabited. There might be buildings, even whole cities there.
He looked up. The path had to lead somewhere. There could be something on the other side of the hill.
But he wasn’t going to find out – not then. Suddenly he was awake. Someone was shaking him, calling his name. The lights were on in his room. He opened his eyes. It was Richard.
“Wake up, Matt,” he was saying. “There’s someone here.”
THE MAN FROM LIMA
Matt heaved himself out of bed, threw on some shorts and a T-shirt and ran downstairs barefoot. The whole house was awake. There were lights on everywhere and the alarm system was buzzing, warning them that somebody was approaching.
It had already occurred to him that this sudden interruption must be connected to the fact that Scarlett had been found. If all five of the Gatekeepers were now out there and known to each other, that made them a greater danger to the Old Ones, and it was no surprise that they’d want to take action. It was exactly what he and Richard had been worrying about. On the other hand, it could be a false alarm. Over the past four months, there had been plenty enough of those. Sometimes the children came out from the town, looking for food or something to steal. Professor Chambers kept llamas for their wool, and one of them might have broken loose. The system was sensitive. Even a bat or a large moth might have been enough to set it off.
Matt hurried into the main room. There was a computer standing on a table in the corner and it had already activated itself, automatically connecting to the radar on the roof. It showed a single blip moving slowly and purposefully towards the front door. It was half past eleven at night. A bit late for a visitor.
Jamie and Scott had come downstairs, fully dressed. Pedro followed them – barefoot like Matt, but then he often preferred to walk without shoes. When the two boys had first met, he had been wearing sandals made out of old car tyres and he still mistrusted proper trainers. He was yawning and pulling on a sweater. Joanna Chambers had arrived ahead of everyone. She was wearing an old dressing gown. Matt watched her open the gun cabinet and take out a rifle. So far, nobody had spoken.
“What’s happening?” Jamie asked.
“A single figure moving through the garden.” She nodded at the computer. “It looks like there’s only one of them, but we can’t be sure.”
Richard went over and examined the screen. “I’d say he’s trying not to be seen,” he muttered. “Why don’t we take a look at him?”
He leaned over and pressed a switch. This was another part of the security system. The entire garden was instantly lit up by a series of arc lamps so bright that it was as if he had set off a magnesium flare. Matt blinked. It was quite shocking to see the brilliant colours, the wide green lawn, so late at night.
There was a single figure, a man, trapped in the middle of the lawn. He was dressed in a linen jacket, jeans and a polo shirt, buttoned up to the neck. There was a canvas bag across his shoulder. As the lights had come on, he had frozen and stood there with his hands half-covering his eyes, momentarily blinded. He seemed to be on his own. He certainly wasn’t carrying any visible weapons. Richard opened the French windows. Professor Chambers stepped outside.
“Stay where you are!” she shouted. “I have a gun pointing at you.”
“There is no need for that!” the man shouted back in heavily accented English. “I am a friend.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to speak to the boy. Matthew Freeman. Is he here?”
Richard glanced at Matt who moved forward, stepping through the French windows. He was careful not to go too far. Professor Chambers lifted the gun, covering him. “What’s your name?” he called out.
“Ramon.” The man cupped his hand over his eyes, shielding them, trying to make him out.
“Where have you come from?”
“From Lima.” The man hesitated, unsure what to do, whether to move forward or not. He seemed to be pinned there by the light. “Please… are you Matthew? I am here because I want to help you.”
Pedro had come over to the window. He was standing next to Matt. “Why does he come, like a thief, in the middle of the night?” he muttered. Matt nodded. He knew that Pedro was the most suspicious of them all. Maybe it was something to do with the life he’d once led.
Richard agreed. “We can ask him to come back in the morning,” he muttered.
But Matt wasn’t so sure. “What do you want?” he shouted.