THE BRICKS IN THE CAVE

CHAPTER ONE - THE CHASE

2010-03-23T13:09:00.002Z

Charlie pressed through the undergrowth. Brambles caught on his jacket; nettles brushed against his legs. The earth underfoot was dry and powdery. He slipped. There was nothing to grab hold of except clumps of tough grass which cut into his palms or came out in lumps, roots and all. Only cutting, prickly, stingy, itchy things grew here; forests of gorse, acres of blackberries, deep beds of nettles, three foot high.

Below the cliff, the sea sparkled blue. He could hear children shrieking on the narrow beach. The tide was coming in. They’d be leaving soon. Then, there’d be only him.

Him . . . . .

. . . . . and Ed.

Ed - not far behind.

The terrain changed. It was now a more open landscape of tall, reedy grass. The going would be easier here, with badger paths tracking the way through hillocks of ants' nests and mole mounds. He'd be able to run faster - except the tracks led upwards and he would be more exposed. He stopped to listen and think. Grass, gulls, dunnocks, and occasional outbreaks of laughter from the children on the beach, one lark. No foot-thuds.

He let out a sigh of relief and took a bottle of water from his pocket, unscrewed the cap and swigged three mouthfuls. The more he drank, the lighter the bottle. It distracted him, the way it banged against his side as he ran. On the other hand, he didn't want it empty; not on a hot day like this.

He was pretty certain Ed would be expecting him to make for the safety of the beach where the adults were always watchful. He could hide himself amongst the bathers.

But where was the fun in that?

He didn't want to go home yet either.

Urgent risk assessment needed.

If they fought and pushed and shoved on the edge of a fragile cliff . . . . .

Charlie risked a glimpse over the edge. Safe-ish. Lumps of earth and multiple ledges. Each season claimed another piece of land and the grassy top narrowed. If he tumbled here, it would be uncomfortable, but the debris left by landslides could certainly break his fall and he'd roll to a stop. The only danger would be in slipping to the left. Then, he'd end up on an almost vertical slope and be tipped over a sheer-rock drop to the boulders below.

Fatal.

The safest thing would be to make his way to the right - which meant going further up.

Ed was a laughable thug. But he was also the 'power' in the street. He had only to stand perfectly still, looking faintly interested in the contents of your pockets - and you'd run. You learnt to do this when you were very little. The first day you came out to play in the street, he'd take your bricks, your balls, your plastic animals, your dolls, your skipping rope, your teddy, the knights that lived in your plastic castle, the biscuits your mum had given you only a moment ago, your half eaten packet of crisps, anything you had. The smaller it was, the better he liked it; if he could drop it down a drain, it saved him the bother of chucking it over a wall. He didn't want your things, he wanted to annoy you.

There was no indignity in getting out of his way. Everyone did it. Result? One heavyweight and a street full of athletes. Ed must have been exceptionally bored and lonely today. Charlie couldn't remember him bothering to give chase before, not like this - not right out of the street and onto the cliffs. This was different.

It frightened him a bit.

But as long as he couldn't hear Ed directly behind him, he reckoned he was the one in control. He'd be setting the pace. He'd be deciding the route. He'd be leading Ed for a change, taking him into places he didn't know, tiring him out and, best of all annoying him.

He imagined Ed puffing away behind. He imagined him getting red in the face; hot, cross and mad. It was a good feeling. He sucked it in with the little breeze that came ahead of evening.

There would probably be a mist following soon. Even if the tide hadn't been creeping up the beach, the bathers would turn now and set off for home, before the air grew chill.

At the top of the cliff he found a place in the tall grasses to crouch down and listen.
He thought he was safe.

But he was wrong.

Ed was almost upon him.

And he knew Charlie.

He knew Charlie would keep going.

He knew Charlie thought the short-cut climbs were bound to give him an advantage.

They didn't.

Ed might know only one path - but that didn't matter because it was the only path he needed - the one that would cut across Charlie's secrets ways.

Ed was paying Charlie out like a kite. He might be on a long string but Ed only needed to give it a jerk and Charlie would fall straight into Ed's waiting hands.

__________

For - TWO

Charlie Hiding Behind Reeds

ALASTAIR TOFT AND VIDEO OF THE BRICKS IN THE CAVE

2007-10-21T11:08:00.000+01:00

This video of the events on the cliff top (Chapter 32) was made by Alastair Toft when he was eleven years old.

Alastair has his own web site and you can see more of his films there.

http://www.addymotion.com/ .

Click for CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - CHARLIE AND SIMON CLAIM THEIR REWARD

2007-10-20T20:48:00.011+01:00

"We should have expected this," Charlie groaned. "Ed always gets the best of everything." He didn't. But that was how Charlie was feeling.

"How could we have done?" Simon too was feeling grim and miserable. "We couldn't have known there'd be mountains of people at the foot of the path, simply longing to greet him as the greatest plastic brick modeller the world has ever seen!"

They were sitting on Charlie's bed. Both held their heads between their hands. Both rested their elbows on their knees. Neither knew what to do. Out of all their work, they'd achieved exactly the opposite of what they wanted.

Instead of taking Ed down a notch or two, he'd been turned into a celebrity.

He'd been on every television news that morning. There had even been interviews with his Dad, who'd said how amazed he was - and how proud too! Until now, he said, Ed had kept all these artistic talents secret from his family.

"As well he might," commented Simon bitterly. "Since he hasn't got any."

Tomorrow, the papers would be full of him. Ed and the dragon he'd made in the holidays. Ed and the skeletons he'd pieced together in his spare time; Ed standing bravely, as if in a giant's mouth, ready to be gnashed by those wonderful false teeth. Ed, Ed, Ed and Ed yet again.

The door bell went. They took no notice.

Charlie's mum was talking to a young man. Their voices mingled and muffled and drifted up the stairs. They didn't listen. Nothing, today, held any interest.

Mrs Hethering knocked at the bedroom door.

"There's a young man called Fred Carter downstairs. He says he's got something important to discuss. Do you know him?"

"Huh!" said Charlie. "Him!"

Mrs Hethering read their faces.

"So I'll tell him to go away then?"

She was cleaning the cooker and wanted to finish it off before lunch.

Charlie looked at Simon. Simon made a face and shrugged. Who cared?

"Can he come up here, Mum?"

A few moments later, Fred stood in the doorway, watching the disconsolate pair as they did nothing and said nothing. Their shoulders were hunched and they stared emptily at the floor. There was a plate of uneaten biscuits on Charlie's beside table. That proved it! He was definitely needed here!

"May I come in?"

Nothing.

"He can't get away with it, you know. I've got it all on film."

The boys looked up now but stayed silent. Charlie raised an eyebrow to show they were interested and that Fred should continue.

He came and sat on the floor, opposite them.

""I've got a film of everything you've made, right from the moment you, Charlie, fell through the tunnel roof. The early pictures aren't good, just a series of stills. But, later on, we bought proper cameras. We've got it all! (It wasn't sinking in yet. It was too extraordinary.) "How you made the mermaids and the bridge and the teeth - and . . . . . everything. And it's good enough to be shown on television - if you're willing."

Charlie frowned.

Suddenly he was very angry.

"You filmed us?" his voice squeaked and cracked. "Are you allowed to do that? Is it legal to film people without asking them first?

"Probably not," Fred admitted. "Nothing of this has been very well thought through. My uncle simply bought far too many bricks." He watched their faces. He wondered whether they'd be able to understand the gravity of what Mr Platt was up against. "He's got five container ships full."

Their eyes opened in shocked amazement. They'd never had anything to do with business or shipping before but it was obvious, even to them, that Mr Platt really had got very carried away. Several times during the summer, they'd borrowed Simon's dad's binoculars and watched container ships on the horizon. They were H U G E . And Mr Platt had five!

"I think he must've bought enough bricks to rebuild all our major cities," said Simon, wondering if Mr Platt had had any maths lessons at school.

Fred smiled.

"Perhaps not quite that many! But, the thing is . . . . . there are other people involved. If he sells the bricks, his friends will make a fortune. If he makes a loss, they'll owe money for mega-years and have to sell their homes. So you can see why he's worried. In fact, he's been almost desperate. That's why I wanted to help. For me, I've not just been doing a job!"

Charlie frowned again.

"When you say 'job'," he asked carefully, "- does that mean he's been paying you?"

Fred nodded uncomfortably.

"While we did the work?"

He was scathing.

"But you were having fun," Fred protested.

Charlie was now very angry. He would have liked to shout and spit in Fred's face.

But he didn't. Instead, he took a deep breath and decided to stay calm.

"Right," he said. "Let me get this straight. You get paid. Mr Platt gets his advertising. And we'll be able to prove we made the models, not Ed?"

Fred was beginning to think things were turning out alright after all.

He was wrong.

Simon leapt to his feet.

"I can't believe it! I can't believe it!" he screeched.

Fred was frightened Mrs Hethering would hear - but she had the radio on loud.

"Ed only got the chance to claim the credit because your uncle brought all those people. If they hadn't been there - he couldn't have."

"Yes," agreed Charlie, also leaping to his feet. "And if you hadn't brought all those people to watch, our friends wouldn't have had any trouble getting home."

Fred struggled to his feet. He felt silly and vulnerable, sitting on the floor while they loomed over him.

"Couldn't we all sit down again?" he asked, weakly.

They sat down.

Fred thought.

Everything they had said was fair.

The only people to gain out of all this were himself (with his trip to Australia) and Mr Platt (with the advertising). Charlie and Simon had nothing to gain except to prove they made the models - which they wouldn't have had to prove if Mr Platt hadn't sent for the journalists.

Charlie couldn't resist standing up again.

"We want money!" he said.

Fred's grimace was almost scornful.

"Haven't I said it already? Mr Platt doesn't have any money! That's the point!"

Charlie decided he'd better sit back on the bed next to Simon so they'd look like a bargaining team.

"But he's got bricks."

"Millions of them," Fred agreed wearily. "An almost unlimited supply."

"Then that is how he'll pay us," said Charlie in a plain, calm, matter-of-fact way. If he gives us as many bricks as we ask for, we'll say no more about it."

"You'll not sell them," said Fred suspiciously.

"We won't," Charlie assured him.

"And we'll not do anything with them outside our street either," said Simon, wondering why Charlie wanted so many bricks and hoping he was saying the right thing.

"More than that," said Charlie. "We'll let Mr Platt use anything we do with them for advertising."

Simon decided they could probably chance their arm a bit further.

"As long as he pays us," he said.

"What!" said Fred, thinking they were going round in circles.

"Just for what we do with the bricks from now on," said Simon, emphasising his words in a 'can't you understand simple things' sort of voice.

"Oh, alright," Fred agreed, hoping his uncle would too. After all, they couldn't possibly need that many bricks!

He was wrong. For what Charlie had in mind, they'd need thousands. But, given that Mr Platt had millions . . . . . Well.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was the Easter holidays. The sky was blue, the air was chill, the weather was dry and the daffodil buds were still tightly furled.

Fred was back from Australia - and about to be run over by a 'Big-Bus'!

Just in time, he stepped into the kerb. The bus hurtled further along the pavement, jolted and stopped. Immediately, three small and terrified passengers leapt down from the top deck and ran.

"It's mine!" shouted a boy who had been chasing uselessly behind. Ed got out, the little boy got in - turned the bus and pedalled it back the way it had come, looking round from time to time to check he wasn't being followed.

"Phew!," said Ed, lifting his knees up and down and reaching round to rub the base of his spine. "That's hard work!"

He smiled and tried to look benign.

"I never feel I'm properly appreciated around here!" he said. "Give them a ride and look what . . . . . " He trailed off.

Fred laughed and ruffled Ed's hair.

"I'm sure you're not!" he agreed - and walked on.

Since Fred was last in the street, there had been several innovations.

Every hundred yards or so, there was a Big-Brick bus shelter for teenagers to gather and chat in. Real buses never came down the street but that, Charlie and Simon had written to him, was irrelevant.

Over almost every garden wall and fence and hedge, Fred could see the top of a Big-Brick shed or den or a play house.

And the park was full of Big-Brick shapes; huge, brightly coloured structures, over which children of all ages swarmed and climbed. And round the edge, was a tarmac track where Big-Buses raced.

And there, in the middle of it all, was Charlie and Simon's Art gallery, its Big Brick walls topped off with a sloping roof made from beautiful, thick, blue, recycled glass - which was corrugated so a skirt of water cascaded round it when it rained and the wind blew tunes across the grooves when it came from the west.

Fred stepped inside. It was warmer in here and the air was scented with a faint, fishy smell coming from 'The Ancient Lobster Pot' - which had pride of place in the entrance foyer and could be bought for £100.

There was a table of bottles. Some of them were encrusted with barnacle shells. Some were brightly polished. - £20 each!

"We've paid for the Big-Bus Track with what we've sold so far," came a voice from behind him. Simon. "And Mr Platt paid for the roof. The money's rolling in now!"

Fred looked round.

"I wasn't sure whether to come," he said. "Am I forgiven?"

"I think so," said Simon. "We're pleased you're here, anyway."

Charlie emerged from a room which had 'Office' written on the wall beside the empty doorway.

Fred shook his hand.

"I bumped into Ed just now, or," he said, "Ed nearly bumped into me!"

"Sounds typical," said Charlie, grinning.

"You've still not managed to change him then?"

"Huh!" said both boys together.

"We've changed though," said Charlie. "And my Mum and John Benson say if we stick by him, he'll change too - eventually. At least in time to grow up."

"Some hope!" said Simon, who didn't believe a word of it.

"Meanwhile," said Charlie, raising his arms so he could waggle his fingers menacingly. Simon did the same.

They pulled their lips into tight grimaces and widened their eyes, as if communicating alarm.

"Don't go near the edge of the cliff! !!! "

Their voices had become weird and shrill.

Fred laughed.

"I promise you," he said, dramatically. "For as long as Ed lives in this street, I won't . . ." He too raised his arms and waggled his fingers, "I wouldn't dare . . . ," he changed his tone to sound as evil and as threatening as he could. He looked as if he was about to leap forward and strangle them. "I won't go anywhere near the edge of that dastardly cliff!"

__________

THE END

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - SKELETONS ON THE CLIFF

2007-10-19T21:22:00.006+01:00

"Are you sure we can trust him?" asked Simon, as he and Charlie hurried towards the dimly lit crowd at the cliff end of the street.

"I think so," said Charlie, hoping he was right. "If we've understood things properly, Fred and that man want to interest the journalists in their bricks, not in us. It's a bit of a nerve!"

But Simon had weightier things on his mind.

"Our parents are bound to find out now, aren't they?" he said regretfully.

"Can't avoid that," agreed Charlie. "But this way, they needn't know until morning. By then, they may even be proud of us."

"Huh!" said Simon. But, secretly, the thought cheered him. If his models were shown on television, his parents would probably forgive him anything! Especially if everyone said how brilliant they were!

A few steps further and they could see Mr Platt fluttering amongst the journalists like a butterfly in a suit, nattering urgently to everyone.

Fred was there too but standing on his own, slightly to the edge of the crowd. When he saw Simon and Charlie, he greeted them as friends.

"Hello!" what are you doing here?

"Fred," said Charlie firmly but quietly. "We know you weren't looking for a Caribbean Wading Gull. There's no such thing."

Fred gulped. He felt accused, mean and underhand.

"They're your bricks, aren't they? We heard you talking to that man."

Simon nodded towards Mr Platt.

"My Uncle Arnold," Fred said.

"We know the police are coming," said Charlie.

"And the N.S.P.C.C.," added Simon, glaring hard. "Which means the social services won't be far behind."

"Don't worry," Fred assured them. "It'll all be sorted out. No-one will be cross."

"Except our mums," said Charlie and Simon together.

Fred's heart sank in sympathy. He'd meant the police wouldn't do anything. They'd warn the children they shouldn't play with bricks that didn't belong to them and say they shouldn't have been coming out at night like this - and that would be that.

But he could understand what the boys were saying about their mums. His mum would have been awful if she'd found out he'd been playing in a cave without telling her! - or had set out with friends after midnight to tease and terrorise a boy from down the road! That would be even worse.

"I see what you mean," Fred agreed. "I also sense you have a plan."

"We have indeed," said Charlie, taking hold of his sleeve and gently pulling him further from the crowd. "You do what we say - and we'll not mention your part in this. But if you don't . . . . . ."

"We'll say you put us up to it," Simon said. "We'll say you showed us the bricks and if it wasn't for you . . . . . ."

"The bricks wouldn't have been there and you wouldn't have been out at night?" Fred finished for him.

Charlie and Simon nodded.

"Ok." he said, hoping they'd thought of something sensible. "What are you suggesting?"

* * * * * * * * * *

At that moment, P.C. Brent and P.C. Elliot were driving along the main road at a leisurely pace.

How could they know there was any reason to hurry? How would anyone expect them to believe a crowd of children were being walled up that very night, in a prison specially built for the purpose? And on the coastal path too! Where it would be found first thing tomorrow morning when everyone came to exercise their dogs. Clearly, it was a hoax!

None the less, they were obliged to check it out. So here they were and on their way!

They didn't mind though. There wasn't much to do at this time of night and they liked the road. It was really good and hilly. Driving along it was like having a switchback ride.

P.C. Brent and P.C. Elliot loved the way their stomachs lurched every time the car reached the bottom of a hill. And they liked the exhilaration of heading straight up the other side - ready for the car to plunge again as soon as they'd reached the next summit.

They'd also invented a game called 'I'd Spy It, If It Wasn't for the Dark!'. And they enjoyed that too.

They were playing it now.

" 'If it wasn't for the dark' - I'd spy something beginning with 'O T'" said P.C. Elliot.

P.C. Brent pretended to think. They both knew the answer was 'Oak Tree'. Soon, there'd be one in the field over to their left.

"Ostrich Territory?" P.C. Brent suggested. "Oversized Tortoise? 'Orange Tent'? Oh! I know! It must be 'Oak Tree'!"

They laughed - and caught their breath yet again as the car hit the latest hill top. To them, it was rearing up like a stallion. Its engine was nudging the sky, its wheels pawing the air. Then it lowered its nose and they zoomed down the other side.

"My turn," said P.C. Brent. " 'If it wasn't for the dark' - I'd spy something beginning with 'S'".

The answer was always the same when they reached this point. In a minute, they'd be coming over the brow of the last hill. Then they'd be looking across a narrow plane towards a dark line on the horizon - the back of the cliff. And, beyond that was the sea.

"'S'," said P.C. Elliot, thoughtfully. "Could it be 'sharks'? - or 'Sofas'? What about 'sky'? No?. 'Star-shine'? 'Sign-post'? 'Strawberries'?.

The car crested the hill, made another exciting lurch and began to zoom down again.

But the view ahead wasn't quite as they'd expected for leaning against the cliff and pointing directly to the sky, was a long, white finger of light.

* * * * * * * * *

Within a few minutes, the police car was sliding into the street.

It came to a halt.

The generator shuddered, spluttered and stopped.

The sudden silence was eerie. Unnaturally deep.

Grown ups in the street stirred, thought uneasily of men floundering in cold seas, offered brief prayers and went back to sleep. They'd assumed the rescue helicopter was overhead. They hadn't heard maroons - but the wind was probably in the wrong direction. No-one had looked out when the generator roared into life. No-one took much notice now.

The revolving blue light flickered against the houses on either side.

It was, thought Mr Platt, like being in a film.

Just what he wanted!

(Fred hoped the children had had enough time now to bring their statues forward, refill their fading glow in the arc-light's beam and to retreat once again so no-one could see them.)

P.C. Brent put his hand on P.C. Elliot's arm.

"Look up there," he whispered. "What's that?"

A strange figure was staggering sideways, away from the empty darkness where the beam had been.

A skeleton!

Because P.C. Elliot and P.C. Brent were standing several yards behind the journalists, they didn't have to crane their necks back very far before they could see the top of the bank - which meant they were the first to know the skeleton was there.

A skeleton!

A six foot high skeleton, newly powered up with a silvery green glow!

(A skeleton that had been built only for moving forward - and even then with difficulty. The only way Ernest Scott could make it could go sideways was by rocking it and dragging it and scraping it along the ground. Sometimes, it leaned so far forwards, it started to sway right away from him. Ernest Scott thought it might even crash down onto the upturned faces of the journalists. This was hair-raising!)

Now they too had noticed!

A buzz of conversation broke out.

Then it stopped.

Another skeleton was moving forward!

It came and stood by the first.

It seemed to study the crowd with its black, empty, paper eyes.

The crowd stared back.

Then something else happened.

An impressive dragon came gliding forward.

It was crouched and ready to spring.

Any moment now, it might leap on the unsuspecting skeletons!

P.C. Brent was beginning to feel brave enough to remove his hand from P.C. Elliot's sleeve. He'd stopped being frightened now. He was beginning to enjoy the unfolding scene as if it were a show.

"Like puppets!" he breathed.

P.C. Elliot wasn't listening.

He'd seen the teeth.

They were coming from a different direction.

Even from here, they were extraordinary!

Amazing.

"Wow!" he said.

* * * * *

The children were getting tired, the models seemed to be getting heavier with every second. They longed for their beds. They were cold.

But still they brought the monsters forward in waves.

The ones carrying lighter models even managed to stagger down ramps and ridges in the rough ground before propping the models up against the bank. Then they climbed back with the others to wait by the top of the path.

Spotty's head fell off. So Kieran Hill propped its long neck at an angle against a hawthorn bush and let it watch the crowd with evil eyes. Its feet and body tried to follow but the slope was too steep and Oscar Evans began to slip. He laid the rest of Spotty on the ground - and gave up.

Gradually, they all came to a weary stop.

"Look at that!" said P.C. Brent, gazing up at the tableau. "I hope we didn't miss anything!"

Abandoning their statues, the children gathered in a line, readying themselves to make a dash down the last bit of the slope. It wasn't long now. Soon, the adventure really would be over. Everyone was relieved.

The generator burst back into life.

The children stood waiting for Trevor's command.

The light swung round onto the path and the journalists began to run up the beam.

Trevor Marks shouted "Now!"

Trainers beat on the ground. Small black figures were careering downwards as fast as the journalists were running towards them. A few anxious seconds - and they were past - and away - and off into the distance - and home!

. . . . . . . . . . And Mr Platt's reputation was made!

Only one child left.

He was standing right in the path of the beam; a mysterious, pale looking boy wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown.

Who could he be?

The journalists stopped short to study his face.

Was this, at last 'The Child'? The one who might have been sealed up behind a brick wall if they hadn't arrived in time to rescue him?

How disappointing to find there was only one!

But he looked so small and forlorn, with a puzzled, lost, uncomprehending expression on his face; and he blinked so very anxiously every time the cameras flashed, some of the journalists wondered if they might offer to take him home with them so he could be cared for properly.

For the last half hour, Ed had been left out of the drama, abandoned to potter around on his own, not sure what was going on and horribly bored. Now, the cliff top was empty except for the statues - and for these strangers who were advancing on him. All the other children had gone. They'd forgotten him. Completely and utterly. Well, if Ed had any quality that gave him reason to be proud, it was in making good use of bad situations.

A quiet but delighted smile spread across his face and he raised his hand to give them a slow, regal wave. .

"This is fun," thought Ed, seeing the television cameras. "I'm going to be famous!"

__________

http://www.addymotion.com/

ALASTAIR TOFT . This video of the events on the cliff top (Chapter 32) was made by Alastair Toft when he was eleven. Says Alastair: “I enjoy making lots of different sorts of films from live action to stop go animations with Lego (like this film).” . Alastair has his own web site and you can see more of his films there.

http://www.addymotion.com/

FOR THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - JOURNALISTS

2007-10-19T08:54:00.004+01:00

It's a wonder Ed survived, he was so frightened. One moment, he was walking on air, uplifted by loveliness and supported by fairies. The next, he was out here alone, high on an empty cliff top, with no-one to help and nothing for company except horror and awfulness.

The contrast was almost unbearable.

One by one, the statues were turned round, until he was surrounded by fearful images of dragons and skeletons, all of whom were taking it in turns to shout out a long list of the terrible things he did to cause trouble.

He frightened old people by kicking his ball against their walls and windows.

He threw things into people's gardens.

He rattled letter boxes and broke milk bottles on doorsteps until there was glass everywhere.

He taunted other children.

He stole balls and bikes and skipping ropes and anything else he could lay his hands on. No child was too small for him that he didn't take their toys.

He grabbed shopping from people's baskets. He had even taken Mrs Estraval's medicine and lost it. What kind of person did that?

He trampled people's plants and tore branches from their trees.

In fact, he was a terrible pain and everyone was fed up with him.

It didn't take him long to realise who was behind all this. Even though the children were trying hard to disguise their voices, to make them fierce and gruff, he knew who they were. And once he'd got over his initial terror, he could cope with the skeletons. The dragons, he could even admire!

But he was frightened, none the less.

He hadn't known children in the street could be this well organised! Nor would he ever have thought they disliked him so much they were prepared to tell him about it in this very disturbing way! Couldn't they take a joke?

Nor did he like the way they were advancing towards him. Soon, he would be pressed right up against the false teeth which were loudly reciting all the names of those people, young and old, who didn't dare leave their houses if they thought he might be lurking somewhere nearby.

But no! The teeth were sliding sideways; gliding out of his way until there was nothing left between him and the long drop to the hard rocks and the cold sea. This wasn't exactly the place from where Charlie fell. That was further along; where the ground was rougher and the grass grew high. But it wasn't many yards from it.

It had been a daily puzzle to him, how Charlie had survived. One moment he was bouncing from breaking ledge to breaking ledge. And the next - he seemed to have vanished into the face of the cliff! Now, he had the answer. Charlie must have tumbled into that hole where all those mermaids and things were stored.

And everyone had known about it except him. Everyone. He had been the only one not to have a share in the secret.

Strangely, he had always thought he was at the centre of street life. Now, he knew, he had put himself right to its very edge.

"Charlie!" he shouted. "Charlie! I'm sorry!"

__________

But Charlie wasn't there. He and Simon were walking out through the garage with heavy hearts. They were leaving the cave for ever.

It wouldn't be safe to go back now. The secret was out and all the smugglers and pirates for miles around would know the bricks had been interfered with.

Sadly, they'd said 'Goodnight' to the boys who were still dismantling arrows and packing bricks back into boxes.

'Goodnight. And thanks for everything," they said to the children wiping black make up from each other's faces and using the work bench as a dressing table. Packs of tissues and bottles of face cream intermingled with Australian cookery books, and a couple of mirrors had been propped up against the chocolate biscuits on the shelf.

As Charlie and Simon walked through the yard, the final sections of Ed's slide were being brought in. When everything was tidy and as many things as possible had been restored to their right places, the last child to leave would press the button, the shutter would come down - and that, thought Charlie, with a dead-stone feeling at the bottom of his stomach, was end of the adventure.

In the morning, as soon as they could see what they were doing, they'd go up to the cliff top, dismantle the teeth, destroy Spotty and peel the black paper cavities from between the skeleton's ribs. Then they'd lower the last remains of their beautiful creations down through the spotlight for the smugglers and pirates to sort out. Charlie and Simon hoped they wouldn't mind. Well, that was the plan! Some of the more foolhardy children had decided to take bricks home with them!

(Charlie and Simon had tried to point out how dangerous this might be. Did anyone really want angry pirates banging on their front doors, demanding to have their bricks back? But Rufus Washpool, who was hoping to take the most, said his mum'd soon see them off - and everyone laughed because Rufus Washpool had the kind of mum who'd be able to see anyone off if she wanted.)

As the two boys walked back down the concrete lane, side by side, they felt they were drowning in sorrow and tiredness. It was over. They had lost interest in Ed. The bricks were what mattered; the bricks and the models and being in the cave. They loved working there. They didn't want to stop.

They turned left. Disconsolately and slowly, they began to walk up the path beside Ed's house. But stop! Something unexpected was happening. There were people in the street. Lots of them! Strangers!

Creeping closer and taking shelter under the hedge near Ed's front door, they peered out at a crowd of excited grown ups who were marching purposefully towards the landward side of the cliff. Some were carrying cameras; others, notebooks. They were all being as quiet as they could and some were helping to tow a large engine thing on wheels.

"A generator!" whispered Simon excitedly.

"This lot are going to be a problem," said Charlie, wondering who on earth they were and what would happen when Ed and the other children came back down into the street.

"They look like journalists and television reporters," said Simon, puzzled. "Hey!" His whispering dropped even lower. "Watch out! There's someone's coming from behind!"

They pressed themselves further into the hedge. There was a sort of little den in the middle where no leaves grew.

The footsteps hurried closer.

Fred!

He came by at a rush. He'd been trying to leave the van for ages but there'd been too many children around so he hadn't been able to make a move until now. But there'd been a sudden lull and he'd taken his chance - so here he was!

"Uncle!" he called, spying Mr Platt, who was at that moment coming along the pavement, beaming widely and ticking names on his clip board. "How did you manage to bring so many people?"

Charlie and Simon could hear from his voice that he was really pleased.

A group of men came past with huge lights on poles. Mr Platt and Fred stepped aside. They were so close now, the backs of their legs were almost pressed against the boys' noses. Charlie and Simon held their breath.

"Well," said Mr Platt happily. "I was so excited when I phoned them and they were so sleepy, I didn't manage to explain things very well, so they got the wrong end of the stick. So they think there's some strange and evil ritual going on. When I mentioned the bricks, they thought I meant real ones and some of them got the idea that children are about to be sealed up behind great walls - and the word spread. Now, someone's sent for the police and the N.S.P.C.C.."

"Oh no!" whispered Charlie and Simon.

"Didn't you put them straight?" asked Fred, astonished.

"Of course not!" his uncle answered blithely. "The more the merrier. This way, we'll get our publicity, whatever happens. And if police come and storm the cliff, what will they find? Bricks so wonderful, children are prepared to creep from their homes in the dead of night, specially to play with them! What a story!"

"Oh brilliant!" groaned Charlie. "This is all we need!"

Mr Platt was asking Fred about the models.

"Are they really, really good?"

"Excellent," said Fred. "Beyond what we'd imagined. They've got monsters and skeletons and dragons up there." He nodded towards the cliff which, in the night, loomed blackly over the street. "But in the cave - well, those are incredible too. There was this boy, Ed, and the whole display seemed to be for him. Once he'd walked through, they began to dismantle everything and pack away the bricks. But the models are so good, not everyone could face taking them apart which means you'll be able to see some of them for yourself."

Fred and Mr Platt started to walk towards the cliff, their voices drifting back through the quietness.

"Well, that just shows, doesn't it Fred! If it works out well, as it surely will, I think we'll have to think about giving you a bonus."

"What's going on?" asked Charlie incredulously, "And how do they know about our models?" He was getting alarmed. "Is Fred a smuggler? Or a pirate! I didn't know pirates and smugglers could get bonuses!"

"Never mind that!" Simon said urgently. "We must warn the others!"

"What?"

Charlie was so amazed and so indignant and so tired, he couldn't think properly.

"We must warn the others!" insisted Simon, gripping Charlie's arm tight. "If the police think they're in danger, the N.S.P.C.C.'ll cart them away and it'll take ages to sort out. Our parents will go berserk!"

"My Mum!" cried Charlie, horrified. "I'm dead! Oh no! We've got to warn them!" (Simon had to hold him down in case he popped up through the hedge in his agitation. They absolutely had to stay hidden!) "But we can't!" Charlie couldn't stop ranting and rattling on. "There isn't time! And the staircase has been taken down so we can't go that way. And we can't go up the slope, we'll be seen!"

Simon pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket and waved it triumphantly in front of Charlie's face.

"Simon! You're brilliant!"

Charlie couldn't think how walkie-talkies would help but the prospect of using them at last made him realise there might still be some adventure left in the night and he calmed down almost instantly.

"The trouble is," Simon whispered ruefully. "The signal isn't strong enough. Trevor Marks has the other one. He thought we mightn't feel so left out if we could hear what people were saying."

("We can't risk you wanting to take your revenge up there," Ashley McCloud had announced pompously, the day before. "We can't take the risk that you might tip Ed back over the cliff. So we've decided you can't come when we go for the 'grand finale' ".)

They regretted ever having told the others that they'd leave Ed in the cave to starve. They wouldn't actually have done it. But this was the result!

(Who did Ashley McCloud think he was anyway!)

"We might get a better signal from higher up," said Charlie, coming to his senses. "My room's on that side of the house. It might work. We'll have to be quick though!"

It was nerve racking, getting in without waking anyone.

They were so nervous, they tripped over each other's feet on the stairs and knocked a book off a table.

But no-one stirred and they were soon leaning out of Charlie's bedroom window, straining to make Trevor understand. The microphone was very efficient at amplifying little breezes into a tornado but was turning out to be totally useless when it came to transmitting voices.

Then when Simon moved to one side, ever so slightly, they were blasted with a massive, whistling screech, which was so terrible they thought their ears might drop off. Worse still, it might wake Charlie's parents and, even worse than that, his little sisters might hear and come in, demanding to have a go.

Eventually, Trevor's voice floated into the room, complaining they should have tuned in earlier because the task of confronting Ed was nearly complete.

"Can't he shut up and listen," Charlie moaned.

"Shut up!" Simon snapped into the walkie-talkie.

Trevor's hurt feelings surged through the airwaves..

At last, Simon had the chance to explain.

"We're going to be on television!?" exclaimed Trevor Marks, who was now having difficulty with keeping his voice low. "Wow!"

"It's not exciting Trevor!" Oh this was exasperating! "The police are on their way!"

Trevor's manner changed instantly.

"My mum'll kill me!" he wailed. "She's already cross because she thinks I don't help properly with my sister. I mean, she's . . . . ."

Charlie grabbed the walkie-talkie.

"Listen Trevor! Can't you pretend you're in the army or something? We've got an emergency on our hands. You can tell us about your sister's nappies later. If we don't keep our minds focused, we'll be carted away by the social services. They think our parents are planning to wall us up . . . "

"My mum will wall me up if she finds . . ."

"Trevor!!!!!" It was almost impossible not to shout at him! "If we commandeer the generator and the big lights they've got down here, would you, will you please lead everyone to the front of the cliff? I mean the side nearest here, the bit that looks down on the houses. Start from the northern end and head south. Distract the journalists and run home. I reckon, it'll almost guarantee you a place on television!"

There was a pause. Trevor wasn't thinking. He was experiencing the thrill.

They could hear him taking a deep, deep breath.

"You bet!" he said.

__________

FOR THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY - WAITING FOR ED

2007-10-18T08:46:00.007+01:00

The flat area of grass between the cliff edge, and the path which led down to the street, throbbed with so much excitement it was like the opening night of a show. Thirty children were waiting in darkness, crouched uncomfortably behind models of dragons and skeletons, monsters and false teeth, dark sides facing seawards. Any minute now, Ed's silhouette was expected. It would rise in front of the first glimmers of morning and take its first, unknowing steps towards them.

The wait had been difficult. Keeping everyone quiet wasn't easy. There were a lot of 'ssshhhh'-ings and 'will you please shut-up'-ings and, every so often, bouts of silliness which made the models wobble dangerously.

There had been one moment, about twenty minutes earlier, when some of the boys found they just couldn't stay still any longer and they had started to push and poke and tickle and tease their companions until the whole project was put in jeopardy.

Oscar Evans and Kieran Hill were in charge of the giant giraffe. It was one of the best animals Charlie and Simon had built but, much to their irritation, Deborah Green had fallen in love with it and had insisted on giving it a name; 'Spotty'. Now, everyone called it Spotty. Simon complained this was an insult but, as Trevor Marks pointed out, there wasn't a name in the whole of the world that was so undignified it could remove the terrible and carnivorous glint from Spotty's black and staring eyes.

Nearly everyone had wanted to look after him. Oscar Evans and Kieran Hill were very proud to have been chosen but this didn't prevent their ill-timed attempt to re-enact a conversation they had overheard between Mr Braintree (their gym master) and Miss Suffolk (one of the lunchtime supervisors at their school). And they got so carried away, what with putting on funny voices and 'improving' on what Mr Braintree said to Miss Suffolk, adding in lots of silly and rude remarks, Spotty began to shudder violently. And the funnier Oscar Evans and Kieran Hill thought they were, the more dreadfully the giraffe shuddered until, in the end, he toppled right over and broke his neck and everyone got cross.

After that, they all stayed very still and quiet, especially Spotty and Kieran Hill and Oscar Evans.

John Benson and Denise Elliston were guarding a very solid, crouching dragon. It was so stable, they didn't have anything to do except wait. They'd have had to try very hard indeed to knock this model over, so they let it shield them from the chill little breezes that were ruffling the grass and listened to their consciences.

"What if he's really frightened?" asked Denise.

"That's why we're doing it, isn't it?" John whispered back. "We've put up with Ed frightening us for as long as we can remember. It's his turn to be frightened now."

"This much? Really?" Denise had been very enthusiastic about their plans when they'd first made them but the longer she waited in the cold and the dark, the less sure she was that frightening anyone could ever be a good idea. Even if it was Ed.

John Benson was more concerned that Ed wouldn't be frightened enough. Possibly not at all! What if, confronted with the army of glowing monsters, he merely laughed? It would be humiliating!

On the other hand, the wait had given him time to think about Ed's boring life. The rooms in his house were always tidy and John doubted if there was anything much there except furniture and gardening books. Not that Ed spent much time indoors. He was out in the street most of the time. And John couldn't remember him ever bringing toys with him, so perhaps he didn't have any? What would that be like?

"You know, I don't think he even has a bike," he whispered to Denise Elliston. "If I didn't have a bike or anything, I might be tempted to grab ones belonging to other children."

Denise huffed.

"He could have one if he wanted. His parents aren't poor."

John Benson, found he was suffering from an increasingly inconvenient sympathy for Ed.

"They spend it all on their garden," he said.

Both children stayed silent for a while after that, shifting their positions uneasily from time to time. They had to kneel because, if they stood up, their heads would poke over the dragon's back, and they couldn't risk walking about, however many pins-and-needles they got in their legs because Ed might appear at any minute.

"That boy in Pittover Crescent doesn't have a bike," Denise remarked, eventually.

John Benson immediately knew the one she meant. He was thin and pale and badly dressed but he was always even tempered, despite having a mum and dad who shouted so loud everyone could hear.

"True," he agreed. "But he must have been born with a good nature. Ed can't help it if he wasn't."

They laughed quietly.

"People like Ed," he added wisely. "Need friends like us."

__________

FOR THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - MERMAIDS IN THE DARK

2007-10-17T08:48:00.011+01:00

Except adventures don't usually end in front of commercial garages. It was lonely round here. A dead end. Lonely and chill. He shivered, did up his dressing gown properly and wished he hadn't told the fairies to stop ringing their bells.

But this was clearly where he was meant to be for the final arrow had its nose pressed right up against the rolled down door of the third garage along. Its glow had almost expired but it was still there - like a dent in the atmosphere - just about visible and eighteen inches from his foot.

Kicking distance!

Stupid fairies! Leaving their arrows lying around on the ground like this!

He was desperately disappointed.

He lifted his knee, drew his leg back and readied to strike.

This was the third crisis in ten minutes!

If Ed kicked that arrow, he'd know instantly it was made from extra-large, plastic, glow in the dark bricks and the plot would be spoiled!

Charlie struck the control button just in time. The garage door gave a little 'thump' and began to wind itself up into the roof.

Ed put his foot back on the ground and peered in.

Slowly, everything in the garage was revealed. First, the floor, littered with scraps of numbered paper; then, the big wheels of the yellow van; a wire basket of old rags; a work bench piled with books about Australian cooking and, finally, shelves stacked to the roof with tins of paint, cans of oil, tins of baked beans and packets of extra-scrumptious chocolate biscuits - Fred's supplies for the duration!

But he hardly had time to notice.

No sooner had the roll up door curled itself completely into the ceiling than it began to come down again! Simultaneously, the wall at the far end of the garage began to shudder. A small crack was appearing between it and the ground.

This was exciting! In an instant, Ed knew there was a secret way through the back of the garage to . . . . . Well he didn't know where to! That was why it was so exciting!

He lurched forward and dashed under the descending metal, back bent, head down. Made it! The lowest slat clipped the back of his slipper but he wriggled his foot and pulled it free. He was in!
Fred watched him arrive on the screens in the van. He'd seen Ed a few times before and had noticed how most of the children tried to keep out of his way. Yet here they were, luring him forward. Fred shifted uneasily in his seat and watched the monitors while Ed hurried into the tunnel. He was making straight for a beautiful, glowing mermaid sitting on a rock about thirty feet ahead of him. Her tail was a mesh of delicate scales and her hair hung loose and long with a few damp strands partly hiding her face. She was holding a fish.Ed knew about mermaids. He knew they could lure sailors to their deaths. Men would drown rather than lose sight of such loveliness.

So he wasn't surprised when this one vanished before he reached her. She was obviously trying to lure him on. And Ed was perfectly happy to be lured. If this wasn't the sea, he couldn't be drowned - and it made him feel very manly, the thought that he was being 'lured'.

Fred watched as Ed trotted happily past the empty space where she had been and on towards another lovely figure which was gliding into view quite a long way further down the tunnel. She too had long hair but, instead of a fish, she was holding a mirror. If Ed had been listening properly, he would have heard her laugh. Very high pitched.

(It sounded just like Anthony James when he was feeling nervous. Charlie bit his lip and glared through the dark.)

But Ed hadn't noticed. He was thinking how much better the experience would have been if there had been a little train to ride on. Then it would have been just like the ghost ride at the carnival fair. Brilliant!

Only a few more feet and he'd be in the cave. Luminous bricks laid on the floor showed him how the tunnel curved to the right and there was an arrow pointing invitingly round the corner.

At the last moment, Simon flicked a switch so the cave was plunged into darkness, with the models shining at their utmost, totally filled with light and fully charged with glow.

Ed came puffing round the corner - stopped - opened his eyes wide - and gasped.

Spread in front of him was a scene so mind-bogglingly beautiful, so mega-dazzling and lovely, he felt he might be transformed in some way merely by the sight of it. And, indeed, for a moment, he was. For the whole of the time in the cave, he didn't try to approach the models. He didn't see if he could push them over or search his pockets for something to scratch them with. He wasn't fully convinced they were supernatural but he somehow knew they shouldn't be touched.

Dominating it all were the buildings - rows of houses, churches and cathedrals; a supermarket and three fairy castles with little faces peeping between the battlements.

But there were also mermaids draped languorously upon rocks, with turtles and dolphins looking up at them. There were lighthouses, ships and rowing boats; treasure boxes and aeroplanes, and, to crown it all a beautiful vintage car, good enough to sit in, with a giant spider suspended above it from a gossamer thin web.

Slowly, Ed made his way through the cave. Whenever he faltered, wondering which way to go, he saw another arrow, not far away, which pointed invitingly towards yet more wonders.

Finally, he found himself confronted by the wonderful staircase. He'd seen old fashioned black and white films with crowds of people singing and dancing on staircases like this. Glittering girls and men in top hats ran up and down them. Sometimes, there were orchestras at the bottom and they revolved.

Mesmerised, he put his foot on the first step.

He began to climb.

Behind him, black-clad children were stepping silently forward, sliding blankets and spare curtains over the models. When he turned to take one last look - everything had gone!

Even the staircase was vanishing - with the darkness creeping at his heels.

Alarmed, he pulled himself up through the spotlight, before it could catch up with him.

The children held their breath and listened. Yes! It was working. There was a slither and a scrape and the rattle of small stones, then the sighing sound of slippers scrabbling up a dry and dusty cliff-side.

It was working! In a few minutes, he would be arriving on the cliff top where the biggest and fiercest statues were waiting for him.

__________

FOR THIRTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - THE CONCRETE LANE

2007-10-16T08:44:00.006+01:00

No sooner was Ed sitting on the slide, than he'd reached the bottom, his feet landing, squelch, on an extra big slug. (About nine inches long with a thick, silver trail.) He wiped his slippers vigorously on the grass and wondered if he should have another go.

"Yes! Got to make the most of it!" he thought.

It wasn't often this kind of chance came along!

The slide was steep and fast and exhilarating. He went down three times.

"Thank you, fairies!" he whispered.

Deborah waggled her fishing rod and the wind chimes tinkled like little voices.

"Wow!" thought Ed. "They can hear me!"

Then, he realised he had better speed up. The apparitions had already stayed much longer than usual. If the slide was that good, what had he been missing all these other nights? Better find out.

Proudly, he hurried past the ghostly and greenly gleaming ED. Fancy the fairies going to the trouble of putting his name up in big letters! If they hadn't done that, he might never have been tempted down that wonderful slide!

On he went, through the gap in the nut bushes. But before he stepped onto the bridge, he turned back to take another look.

The dots down the middle of the slide were already beginning to fade and the 'ED' sign had gone. If the slide went, he'd be stuck in the garden till morning! The doors to his house were locked and the windows all had little screws that his dad tightened at night to keep burglars out.

He thought of the slugs.

Then he imagined what it would feel like never to have stood on a fairy bridge in his very own back garden. The chance might never come again . . . . . .

The nut bushes gave a little rustle. It was as if they were urging him on and he hurried to cross the bridge.

When he reached the middle, he stopped and leant over the rail. He couldn't see very much but his eyes were making ripples against the darkness. If there was a stream under there, a real stream, with real water, there'd probably be fish too. That was a thought!

He grubbed around in his dressing gown pockets for something to throw. Old tissues wouldn't be of any use. He tossed them aside. There was a tube of glue, a toy car and a tiny plastic brick he'd nicked off Brian the day before. The door to Brian's house had been standing open so he'd wandered in as a way of passing the time. Brian's mum had wanted to know what he was doing when she found him nosing around in her living room. He'd said he'd come to ask for a biscuit. She'd told him to get lost - so he grabbed the brick as a souvenir and ran.

Now, it was coming in useful. He dropped it over the rail and listened hard. But all he heard was a small tap as it hit the dry ground. No water? Ah well. He couldn't expect everything.

An arrow, glowing beyond the bridge, pointed through the garden gate, as if inviting him to step into the concrete back lane. He did. And there were more arrows beyond that. Ed followed.

Behind him, the bridge slid round and disappeared.

Marcus Bates and Selina Brookes had been given the job of turning the dark side to face him. Everything, so far, had been running to plan but now a metal button on Selina's cardigan rattled against the plastic bricks. It was only a tiny 'click' but Ed's reaction was fast and he swung round in time to catch the last flicker of a glow. Selina Brookes and Marcus Bates held their breath, hearts pounding. They stood absolutely still.

Ed too was standing still - and his heart was pounding!

What would have happened if he had been standing on the bridge when it vanished? Would he have vanished as well? He shuddered.

Then he heard the wind chimes.

The chimes in the lane had been silent since he left the slide. But now they started to ring again, softly and sweetly, gradually growing louder. Behind the garden hedges, Deborah Green's friends lifted their rods high and gently swung the lines forward until the chimes were suspended invisibly over Ed's head. He looked up. Little sparkles of reflected light were flitting into the night air.

Fairy wings.

Alicia Trimble

Eleanor Bartholomew

Mary Bentley

Bridget Hughs

Petra Jenkins

Eleanor Radcliffe

Alexandra Stockwell

Briany Tate and

Brittany Zimm

tried hard not to giggle.

But Ed looked so funny.

There he stood, in his floppy old slippers, with his loosely tied dressing gown coming undone and about to trail in the dust, with his face anxious and his neck craning up, clearly under the illusion that, if he looked hard enough, he'd see fairies hovering above the back lane. Alicia's hand shook.

The others too were beginning to lose control.

The pocket money wind chimes waggled on the ends of their hooks. Some even dipped perilously close to Ed's head.

"Shush, fairies," he said in a loud whisper. "You're giving me a headache!"

The girls hung onto their rods extra tightly and rammed their lips together until they tingled. All sorts of snorts and splutters were getting stuck in their throats. It was getting more and more painful to keep them in. Another crisis!

Eleanor Radcliffe realised the danger and passed word down the line that the chimes should be stilled. One by one, they stopped swaying their rods, brought them back over their shoulders and laid them to rest on the ground behind them. Merrily, they crept away and back to bed.

"Wow!" thought Ed, relieved to find the jangling in his head was evaporating as the concrete lane returned to its natural silence. "The fairies are doing what I ask them to! Amazing!"

But there were more arrows for him to follow. So off he went. Ed, the intrepid. Ed the strong. Ed the bewitched. Ed, in search of adventure!

__________

FOR TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - ED IS LURED INTO THE NIGHT

2007-10-15T09:02:00.004+01:00

Ed woke up. There was a faint tinkling noise in the air; as if the fairies had come visiting.

Tentatively, he put one foot out of bed. He didn't really want to look out of the window, not really. He couldn't work out how frightened he was. He didn't like being frightened. He didn't like being worried either. And he was worried.

It wasn't just the peculiar happenings in his garden. Daytimes felt uncomfortable too.

He was used to being in control.

Now he wasn't. Neither by day, nor by night.

He was used to things going just as he expected.

But they didn't any more.

It used to be, that if he took a toy from a little child, the older ones just stood by and watched. For some reason, they'd never done anything about it. He'd never understood why. Who cared? As long as they left him alone!

But, nowadays, things were different. It had all changed.

If he took something, a whole load of other children seemed to appear out of nowhere. Sometimes, they assembled in a crowd nearby. Sometimes, they stood round him in a circle. Sometimes, they said he had to give the toy back but, mostly, it wasn't necessary. He simply felt compelled.

It never crossed his mind to fight. He wasn't the fighting kind. He usually got what he wanted without having to use any kind of effort. Violence simply hadn't been needed.

And since what he wanted wasn't really what he wanted, there was no point in fighting for it - so he wasn't going to start now. It was better to give up and wander off. Let the kiddies keep their pathetic little toys! . . . . .

* * * * * * * * * *

He didn't have many toys of his own.

Admittedly, he was getting a bit big for 'toys', but a bike would have been good, and a great big stack of footballs so, however many he kicked over people's fences, there would always be some left at home.

He would have quite liked it too, if he were allowed to invite boys back to his house. That way, he might have been able to make proper friends. But his dad was definitely more interested in growing vegetables than in pleasing Ed. He was also convinced Ed and his friends would trample his turnips if they had half a chance.

This, thought Ed, was probably true.

But he also thought his dad should take account of how many boys liked to play football in back gardens. And who liked turnips anyway?

And now, on top of problems with his dad, he was having to put up with night-time apparitions! Was that the right word? 'Apparitions'? Probably. Because they appeared out of no-where. Then they disappeared. He wondered what his dad would say about sets of giant false teeth floating along between the rows of cabbages. Ed had even seen a giraffe by the compost heap.

They were beautiful though. They might even be described as 'perfect'. Perfect representations of teeth and ships and bridges and giraffes!

. . . . . There was that tinkling again! Did fairies really exist?

(No. Not in Ed's garden. Unless Deborah Green was a fairy! For she had suspended tiny wind chimes from her fishing rod and was shaking them outside his window.)

Ed lowered himself to the floor, crawled across the room and rose again by the window ledge, hoping to see some of the fairies before they saw him.

He peered into the darkness. Last night, there had been a ghostly dragon crossing behind a gap in the hazel bushes. Would it be there again? Ed hoped so. It was frightening; but it was good.

No dragon.

Instead, his name was standing on the grass. It was about three foot high and glowing. ED. Beyond that, there was an arrow, and through the hazel gap, he could see the bridge had returned. It was so inviting. It looked as if it wanted him to come out and cross.

He could hear fairy bells in the distance as well now.

He waited for something to move; for his name to vanish, for the bridge to get up and walk away.

Everything stayed as it was.

Unusual.

Slowly, he rose until he was standing up properly. Immediately, he saw something new and strange and unnerving below his bedroom window. Indeed, it was so close, he could touch it if he reached out. Not that he dared quite yet.

It was a straight dotted line, like the ones in the middle of the road, only it fell away in a gentle slope.

He stood there watching it for a little but it didn't move. Feeling very brave, he opened the window to get a closer look. He touched the nearest dot. It was very smooth and held firm. He pressed. Still, it didn't budge. He tried to feel down its side and found he couldn't. It was set into something hard and invisible. He inclined his head from side to side and, eventually, caught a glint of the something. The more his eyes got used to the dark, the more he could see. There seemed to be a giant slide, leading down into the garden!

It didn't take a great brain to know what to do next! Dressing Gown. (Dressing Gown.) Slippers. (Slippers.)

Whoosh!

Down he went!

__________

FOR TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - THE ADVENTURE BEGINS

2007-10-14T12:04:00.024+01:00

It was a week later.

Twenty-past-two in the morning,.

And Fred was going frantic.

He'd turned the cameras off, just as he usually did, and had gone to bed soon after ten, tucking himself up comfortably in the back of the yellow van.

. . . . . Except he hadn't turned the cameras off!

He'd just turned off the one that scanned the yard outside, when the milk for his bed-time cocoa boiled over. And while he was clearing up the mess, he began to wonder what echidnas tasted like.

And after he'd finished clearing up the mess and stopped wondering what echidnas tasted like, he boiled some more milk, drank his cocoa and went to bed - with the rest of the cameras forgotten and running.

Neither Fred, nor Mr Platt had realised Charlie and Simon ever went into the cave at night. It didn't take long to pick up a model, nor to put it back. And their visits hadn't once coincided with a brick delivery.

Tonight would be different.

The cameras were on.

Fred was snoring.

He didn't notice the warning 'beep' when the first camera was activated. Charlie and Simon were walking through the garage.

'Beep' - they were in the tunnel.

Fred pulled the covers snugly over his ears.

'Beep' - they were in the cave.

Fred rolled over in his sleep.

If he had opened his eyes and looked at the screens, he would have seen that all the lights were on. The models were being charged up with their biggest glow yet.

He would have seen Charlie and Simon arranging some of the bigger, fiercer looking models near the tunnel mouth, to wait for collection.

He would have seen them lifting rows of terraced houses onto piles of empty boxes so they looked like a village on a hill.

He would have seen Simon arranging a sea scene, with the galleon as its centre piece.

He could have watched as Charlie and Simon transformed the cave into a wonderland.

But he didn't.

He simply slept and slept while Charlie and Simon worked.

And still he slept!

* * * * *

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

Fred nearly fell off his camp bed, so many children were speeding through the garage, the little movement-detecting beeps had started to join up into one long note of alarm.

He sat up, pushed his hands through his hair and fixed his eyes on the row of screens.

Children!

Children everywhere!

Hundreds of them, it seemed. He was so sleepy, he thought there might even be thousands!

He flicked the switch for the outside camera. In the yard, even more were arriving - but almost invisibly! They were dressed in the darkest clothes they had been able to find and their faces and hands were painted black. He could only catch glimpses of them when they moved through the patches of dim light which leaked over the rooftops from the main road.

Almost silently, they filed past the van.

The air was dense with excitement.

Down the tunnel.

Into the cave.

It was the first time any of them had seen it - and they were clearly impressed.

Fred was too!

Now Charlie and Simon had put all the models on display, Fred realised they'd made even more than he'd reckoned on! It was staggering! There were masses of them!

And the finishing touches were being put to an incredibly grand staircase that led up, and through, one of the spotlights. Charlie and Simon had prepared it like a kit and, as the last piece was fixed into place, a group of children stepped forward to press glow-in-the-dark bricks onto every tread so the whole structure would shine like mad when the lights went out.

By the entrance to the cave, a group of girls were gathering with fishing rods. What on earth for? Mr Platt would be thrilled though!

Fred reached for the phone.

* * * * *

.For the next ten minutes, Mr Platt was waking every reporter on his long list.

Then he contacted the captains of his container ships waiting in the channel.

At last, they could come into port.

Mr Platt's fortune was about to be made.

__________

FOR TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - THE MEETING IN THE PARK

2007-10-11T14:22:00.007+01:00

The next morning, there was a meeting in the park. With so many boys crammed onto the benches at the central picnic table, Ed didn't dare go near. It made him wonder what the street would be like with a gang in it.

It would be nice to be part of a team.

That is, if you were allowed to join!

'If' ! He'd be lucky!
He leant against the railings and wondered if he'd been too nasty to too many people, too many times. There wasn't one boy on those benches from whom he hadn't stolen something. They wouldn't want him.

Well, he couldn't stand here all day! He went to buy an ice-cream. It might take his mind off the idea that life was bound to get worse.

Charlie was glad to see him go. As Simon had said, their plan for revenge wasn't very 'nice'. It was going to be hard enough persuading the other boys not to interfere, without Ed lurking nearby, making them feel self-conscious. He couldn't hear but, all the same . . . . ..

The meeting began ok.

When they described the chase on the cliff top, the other boys were indignant on Charlie's behalf. They were thrilled by the thought of him falling into a secret tunnel. They were fascinated by the idea of huge, plastic bricks hidden in a cave (especially the glow in the dark ones). They were awed by the idea that pirates and smugglers might be operating in their very own street. (Though Kieran Hill was emphatic that his mum and her friend Mrs Osprey definitely weren't smugglers. In fact he was so indignant when Simon suggested it, he nearly left the meeting in protest - but he was finding everything so interesting, he didn't.) Nearly all the boys were proud of Charlie and Simon when they explained how they had pieced together the code for the garage. (Some thought it sounded suspiciously easy - it might be a trap! But they didn't interrupt. They were as keen as the others to know what happened next.)

And then things began to get difficult.

Charlie and Simon explained how they'd been parading their ghostly models around Ed's garden at night, carrying them smoothly between the vegetables to make it look as if ships and snakes and giant sets of false teeth were floating around all on their own in the dark. When Ed looked out of his window, he'd catch glimpses of castles and bridges and things crossing between the ranks of hazelnut bushes and wonder what was going on. (The boys listening to Simon and Charlie were wondering the same thing!)

Every night, they did a bit of scuffling under his window to attract Ed's attention and every night, they found him easier to wake.

Before long, he'd be ready to follow them. He'd leave the safety of his bedroom and follow the glowing arrows, into the garage and beyond!

The narration ended. There was silence and thought; not a lot of understanding but a growing sense of unease.

Why did Charlie and Simon want to entice Ed into the cave? What would they do with him once they'd got him there?

Trevor Marks spoke first.

"What next?"

"Leave him there," said Simon, pulling his mouth into a pretend smile.

"Spook him out with the models and leave him there," agreed Charlie.

"Gradually," said Simon dramatically, "the light will fade, the castles and ships and dragons and houses will disappear and he'll be left in the dark, all on his own and wondering where everything's gone."

"By then," added Charlie, "he'll probably have forgotten even where he is. Hopefully."

"Then what?" asked Ernest Scot, a delegate from the far end of the street.

"What d'you mean, 'then what'?" asked Charlie with a shrug, the palms of his hands upturned. "There isn't a 'then what'. That's it."

"So how does he get out?" asked Ashley McCloud anxiously. "I'm sure he'll not be able to make a staircase like you."

"And if even if he did," added Trevor Marks, frowning. "He'll not want to climb the cliff in the dark. What if he falls!"

Charlie and Simon said nothing.

"I think he's frightened of the cliffs," said Oscar Evans. "He's alright in the street. The street is his world. He hardly ever leaves. But beyond that . . . . . " He trailed off for a moment. "I expect he's frightened of the dark too," he said when he started again. "That kind of boy is always frightened of things. That's why he picks on little kids."

They all had something to say.

"He's a good climber though," said Barnaby Green. "He can climb onto my mum's shed alright."

"So he can throw stones at our cat," said Deborah Green.

The boys all turned and stared at her. They had been so engrossed, only Barnaby had noticed when she'd crept up and wedged herself in beside him on the end of the bench. It hadn't been said explicitly that this was to be a 'boys only' meeting but everyone had taken it for granted that girls weren't allowed. What was she doing here?

They transferred their glares to Barnaby.

He shrugged.

"She can join in if she likes," he said stoutly.

Deborah gave him one of her best smiles.

"There isn't a wall or a fence in the street he hasn't been over, one time or another," said John Benson, trying to reassure himself and everyone else that Ed would be safe if he were left to escape on his own from the cave.

"He got onto our roof once," said Anthony James. "He said the pigeons were damaging the slates. When my dad said he had to come down, he said he was chasing them away and, since he was being helpful, my dad should be paying him to be up there!"

Everyone laughed. And everyone had something extra to say as well. Swapping tales about Ed bound the street together. Ed was a kind of mascot. He was a problem they had in common. No-one was ever left out if conversations turned to Ed and most of the things he got up to were funny once they'd stopped happening.

Ashley McCloud, though, stayed silent. He was waiting for the chatter to die down because he wanted everyone to be serious when he asked

"What about the pirates?"

"Smugglers," said Simon. "I'm sure they're smugglers."

"It doesn't matter what they are," Ashley snapped. "What happens if Ed doesn't get out of the cave before they come back for their bricks?"

Most of the boys frowned. They all looked to Charlie for an answer but he just shrugged again and looked as if he couldn't possibly be interested.

"Oh!" squeaked Anthony James anxiously. "It's not just people coming to attack him. If he has to stay in the cave because he can't climb the cliff, he won't have anything to eat."

Ed had come back with his ice-cream and was sitting on the slowly revolving roundabout. They cast surreptitious glances in his direction, wondering what his skeleton would look like.

He got off the roundabout, kicked it so it went faster and jumped back on. He was trying to look as if he was merely spinning it for something to do while he waited for his friends to arrive.

The sun shone and Ed smeared ice cream on the handle of the roundabout to make it sticky.

A dragonfly scooted by, a dog barked, a mother shouted because her child wouldn't wash his hands.

A taxi drew up at the kerb, gulls quarrelled over a bag of rubbish, the coast guard van parked behind Mr Delter's tractor, the gas man read meters, the Divi man began a long conversation with Mrs Lomax

and

Charlie Hethering,

Simon Cotts,

John Benson,

Oscar Evans,

Barnaby Green

Deborah Green

Kieran Hill

Anthony James

Dene Manning

Trevor Marks

Ashley McCloud and

Ernest Scott

All contemplated the sad prospect of Ed Pimm's skeleton.

"It's definite!" said Ashley McCloud. "He'll definitely die one way or another. If he doesn't starve to death he'll be murdered by smugglers."

"No-one kills someone else for messing around with their bricks!" scoffed Trevor Marks.

"People don't usually hide plastic bricks in caves!" said Kieran Hill. "There must be something special about these ones. You're sure they haven't got gold hidden inside them, Charlie? Sort of stuck up the bits where they join together?"

"Absolutely certain," said Charlie, trying to look as if Ed's possible demise would be nothing to do with him. 'Murder'. He hadn't thought of it like that. "We've examined them carefully. There's nothing in them."

Simon had been trying to keep calm but now he was suddenly very angry. He went very hot and very red and very loud.

"Ed should have thought of all this when he chased Charlie over the cliff and didn't wait to see if he was alright. He didn't even go and tell Charlie's mum!"

"Don't be silly," said Anthony James, giggling. "He couldn't have expected you to stick him in a cave so he could be murdered by smugglers. He didn't have any choice about that! Don't be daft."

Ashley McCloud got in again before Simon could reply.

"I don't think I'd have told Charlie's mum either. I mean, how could you just go round to Charlie's house and say to his mum, 'Excuse me, Mrs Hethering, I thought you might like to know, I've just chased Charlie over the cliff. I expect he's been dashed to death on the rocks! See you later. Bye!'?"

There was some uneasy laughter. It was perfectly clear that chasing a boy over the edge of a cliff would be much easier than telling his mum you'd done it. They all felt the same. It was embarrassing!

The park was filling up so Ed was finding new ways to pass the time while he tried not to think what the boys at the picnic table might be discussing. Having kicked Philip Manger's ball into a patch of long grass, he'd now gone to persuade a small girl called Alice that she wanted him to 'have a go' on her tricycle. It was far too small for him and his knees bashed his ears every time he tried to turn a pedal but he wouldn't give it back, all the same.

"She'll be crying soon," said Anthony James, noticing.

"He's not very bright, is he?" asked Dene Manning.

"I would have thought that was stating the obvious," scoffed Kieran Hill.

Some of the others said the same. They copied remarks like that automatically, whether or not they were true.

"No," said Dene Manning earnestly. "I'm not talking about his brain. He gets quite good marks at school. I mean he hasn't thought what the street'll be like in a few years' time - when all the people he's being rotten to will suddenly be older and have the nerve to stand up against him. They won't want him at their parties. They won't meet up with him in town. We won't even invite him to our weddings or ask him to baptisms." Some of the boys looked at Dene in surprise when he said this. Hardly any of them thought that far into the future. But they knew what he meant. They'd be a strong community of adults and he'd have no-one to turn to. "The day will come when he realises he's on his own. We're a crowd and he's not. He should plan ahead more."

"But that's true now!" said Ashley McCloud, standing up. "Why wait? We don't have to let him walk all over us. At least, not if we stick together. At least Charlie and Simon were doing something. They wouldn't really have locked him in that cave. Not when it came to it. But they were doing something!"

Charlie and Simon looked at the ground. Charlie wasn't sure which was worse, being accused of wanting to murder someone or no-one thinking you really would have done it.

"Listen!" Ashley McCloud was having to raise his voice to be heard over the growing chorus of agreement. "Ed troubles us all." Even more agreement. "So we need to think of something which will make it truly, absolutely and perfectly clear that we've all had enough!" He banged his fist on the table and everyone cheered. Even Charlie and Simon managed a grin."

"Well," said Trevor Marks tentatively. Ashley had made such a grand speech, it was awkward following on. "I've got a suggestion." Everyone looked interested. "I think we should get that little girl's bike back for her."

"Does anyone remember the Three Musketeers?" asked Ernest Scott.

They did. It had been on television.

So, they all stood up and shouted.

"All for one and one for all!" they yelled, waving their fists in the air.

Ed heard them. He got off the trike, told the little girl it was rubbish anyway and hurried home before anything uncomfortable happened. He didn't like uncomfortable things if it was him they were going to happen to!

__________

FOR TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - SIMON AND CHARLIE ARE FOUND OUT

2007-10-10T20:57:00.010+01:00

Something was indeed coming.

Floating towards them, as if on the night breeze, was a beautiful galleon. They couldn't see it properly at first because the prow was very narrow but, as it passed beside them, they were astonished by its loveliness. Silently, it sailed through the night, pale, ethereal and magically, silverly green.

(Later on, when they looked back on it, they had to admit the fairy tale impression was spoilt, somewhat, when they saw legs walking along beneath it. They could only just make them out but they were definitely there. Two pairs.)

All this time, Trevor Marks had been crouching uncomfortably beneath the hedge, with his dressing gown wrapped tight around his knees so he could keep it off the ground.

Then, just at the wrongest moment, the strength in his ankles ran out.

In the same instant, Anthony James pulled back because he was frightened of the ghostly, shiply vision and Ashley McCloud lurched forwards to see it better - so Trevor Marks was sort of spun round between them on the soft bits below his toes - and fell over.

The smash and crackle when the older twigs snapped was alarming enough but one of the sharper, thicker bits of broken hedge pierced his dressing gown and plunged straight into his arm. The hole was small but the pain was great and Trevor Marks howled.

Simon and Charlie heard it, dropped the ship and ran. That howl sounded so very much like Ashley McCloud's terrifyingly fierce dog when it was preparing to savage, shred and chew the nearest boy it could get its paws on.

But Simon couldn't run more than a few steps. He couldn't abandon his beautiful ship!

He'd spent hours cutting the rigging from black paper and sticking it on; he'd made really good outlines for the sails so they looked like proper sails instead of a stack of bricks. He'd cut the little loops for an anchor chain and designed the black ring portholes. The figurehead had been the hardest to make. He'd cut a silhouette of Queen Victoria from a big piece of black paper so the jaggedy lines around her where the glowing bricks joined the black ones couldn't be seen at all.

There wouldn't be time to do it again. Nor did he want to give Ashley McCloud's dog the pleasure of ripping his work to bits.

"Charlie!" He was calling out loud - whispering wouldn't work in an urgent situation like this. "We've got to go back! We can't leave the ship there."

Charlie stopped.

"We'll be eaten alive!" he complained, as loudly as he dared. He was trying to keep his voice low and steady. If Ashley McCloud's dog realised how frightened he was, it'd probably bite him first.

He took a few steps towards Simon, so he was close enough to reduce the volume to a forceful whisper.

"It'll be the ship or us!" he said. "And Ashley McCloud's dog definitely prefers meat to plastic!"

Behind the hedge, Ashley McCloud prodded Anthony James to find out if he recognised the voices.

"Watch out!" squeaked Anthony James. "You'll be impaling me on a twig if you're not careful!"

Simon swung round and stared at the hedge.

"Anthony James. Is that you? What's that noise?"

"It's Trevor!" said Anthony James, emerging from the hedge, into the lane.

Simon went cold. If Ashley McCloud's dog was already eating Trevor Marks, what would they do? He hadn't even done a first aid course!

"Simon!"

It sounded like Ashley McCloud's voice.

Simon leaned into the hedge.

"Ashley McCloud! What's your dog doing to Trevor? Can't you stop him?"

Ashley McCloud was offended. He thought his dog was a very nice dog.

"It's nothing to do with my dog! Trevor's got a stick stuck in his arm."

"Well tell him to un-stick the stick and shut up!" said Simon, unsympathetically.

"How many people are there in that hedge?" asked Charlie, hurrying back, now it seemed to be safe.

"Just three," said Anthony James. "You see, I needed the loo and . . . "

Charlie wasn't interested. The galleon was still glowing and, with all that howling going on, someone was bound to start looking out of a window soon.

"Ashley," he commanded, still talking into the hedge. "We need you. Come out and give us a hand. We must to turn this round before someone notices."

Ashley Mc Cloud pushed his way out of the hedge and he and Anthony James held the ship steady while Charlie and Simon twisted it round to make the glowing side face away from the houses.

"Can't someone take Trevor back to his house?" Charlie asked, once the ship had been settled firmly back on the concrete.

"He's frightened of his mum," whispered Anthony James. "He doesn't know how to explain why there's a tear his dressing gown and a hole in his arm."

"Tell him to blame it on Ashley's dog," Charlie said, firmly.

"Oy!" said Ashley, loudly.

"Ssssshhhhh!" said Charlie and Simon and Anthony James. Even Trevor said 'Sssssshhhhhh'. "Never mind oy-ing," said Charlie, trying to sound jovial. He didn't want to challenge Ashley McCloud's affection for his dog just now. It was imperative that they get the ship back to the cave before anyone else saw it. Three was bad enough.

**********

Trevor's mum was tired. She was too tired to understand why Ashley's dog had been in their kitchen. As long as Trevor was alright and the dog had gone away, she didn't think she minded anything any more.

She washed Trevor's arm, put a bandage round it and told him to go to sleep.

Trevor hadn't, so far, been convinced that having a baby sister in the house was worth the hassle. But now . . . . . now he knew she was worth every smell and every noise she made.

If his mum couldn't be bothered to tell him off because too many broken nights had worn her out, this new sister deserved a special welcome. Before he went back to bed, he crept into her room and leant over her cot.

"Thanks Lucy!" he whispered.

__________

FOR TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - UNDER THE HEDGE

2007-10-10T10:59:00.014+01:00

SATURDAY

Trevor Marks was awake. He had been wakened by his baby sister crying. She was ever so new and needed to be fed and changed in the middle of the night and she was always waking him up.

Whenever Trevor Marks woke in the night, he found he needed the loo.

It was odd, that. When he used to sleep all the way through to morning (before his sister was born) he never woke up in agony, wishing he had been to the loo in the night. He didn't have to leap out of bed the moment he opened his eyes and rush to the bathroom before he had an accident. But now, whenever he woke in the night, he always needed to 'go'.

In some ways, he was a bit like his friend, Anthony James. Whenever he woke in the night, he liked to look out of his bedroom window before he went along the landing. Unlike Anthony James, he wasn't interested in the street. His bedroom looked over the back garden where he had a little patch of earth all to himself. Sometimes, he wondered if he would catch sight of his plants getting bigger. They were growing all the time but he never saw them actually doing it. So, he'd open the curtain just a little crack and peep out at them, trying to catch them out.

In so far as he could see through the dark at all, he had never yet detected any movement.

Having got it clear that his plants weren't zooming up when they thought he wasn't looking, he opened the curtain a bit wider so he could look out properly. Not much light drifted into the garden from the street but there was a bit of a moon and by the small light it let drip into Trevor Marks' garden, he could see that something interesting was happening. Not what he had been hoping for but interesting all the same.

Anthony James was crawling about in the back hedge!

Trevor Marks put on his dressing gown and crept down stairs. His mum and dad were still sorting out the mess his sister had made so they didn't notice. Even if they had, he would have said he was going to pour himself a glass of milk. But they didn't.

Quietly, he turned the key in the kitchen door and went out onto the lawn. His slippers were instantly soaked in dew. He hoped there weren't too many slugs around and, if there were, that he wouldn't tread on them.

He crept down the garden with one eye on Anthony James and the other on the ground looking for slugs.

He gave a little cough to show he was there. He did it quite quietly and discreetly but Anthony James nearly jumped out of his skin all the same.

He turned round sharply.

All he said was,

"Oh!" but Trevor Marks knew that if he could have seen his friend's face it would have been looking startled and embarrassed all at the same time.

Trevor Marks gathered up his dressing gown so it wouldn't trail in the dirt and crouched down in the hedge with Anthony James.

"Whatever are you doing?"

Anthony James explained about the castle that had floated along the lane, gone into Ed's garden and come out again.

Trevor Marks was impressed. There was no way he believed in floating castles but he did think Anthony James was brave to go searching for them in the middle of the night - and on his own!

They heard something rustle in the garden next door. They grabbed hold of each other's arms. They might now have to be really, really incredibly brave because Ashley McCloud's family owned an exceptionally unfriendly Alsatian dog. Even if it couldn't get at them through the hedge, it would make a lot of noise trying. It could snarl and bark all at the same time. Not very nice!

The rustling came closer. Something was crawling towards them under the low growing branches. It wasn't the dog. It was something smaller than the dog. What?

"Hello!" whispered the something. "What are you two doing out here?"

Ashley. Relief!

Trevor explained.

"But how did you know?

"I looked out of the window when I got up to go to the loo," whispered Ashley. "First I saw Anthony. 'What's he doing in Trevor's garden?' I thought. Then I saw you going after him so I followed too. What's going on?"

Anthony James told him about the luminous, floating castle.

Ashley McCloud crept under the few branches that still separated them.

"I'm so glad!" he said, once he had crawled right up. "A few nights ago, I thought I saw a set of false teeth floating along down here. They were a kind of ghostly, greeny, silvery colour."

"Then why didn't you tell anyone?" Trevor Marks asked, incredulous that anyone could see anything so amazing but never get round to mentioning it.

"I didn't believe I'd really seen it. It seemed real enough at the time but, by the morning, I'd convinced myself I must have been dreaming."

"Yes," said Trevor Marks, very seriously, as if he was a detective gathering a clue. "I can see that. Well you would, wouldn't you. But now we know Anthony has seen a floating castle and you've seen a set of floating false teeth, I think we can assume that something serious is going on. Very serious indeed!"

"Sssshhhh!" said Anthony James, urgently. "Something's coming!"

__________

FOR TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - ANTHONY JAMES NEEDS THE LOO

2007-10-09T02:56:00.012+01:00

MONDAY

It was half-past-two in the morning and Anthony James needed the loo.

The night was warm and a tiny little breeze was ruffling the curtain on the landing. He pulled it back a bit so he could look out of the window on his way to the bathroom. He always did this if he woke up in the night. He'd look out again on his way back too. It was interesting to see the stillness outside.

It was always the same view. That was what was so special about it. There was always a car parked opposite. Trevor Marks' family always had their landing light on. Ashley McCloud's family left their living room curtains open. Alicia Trimble's were always closed.

He liked to imagine his friends sleeping. He wondered how many of them had teddy bears; how many shared rooms with their brothers and sisters; how many read themselves to sleep until books and comics and football cards all slipped off their beds until morning.

There was a light that kept appearing between the houses opposite. It was going along the back lane, towards Ed's house. It was long and silvery and seemed to be drifting along on its own. He thought it might be luminous paint along the side of one of the vans that were kept in the garages. Some of the traders had to set off very early to claim their pitch in markets far away, or to collect vegetables for sale while they were fresh.

He let the curtain fall back into place, went to the bathroom, padded back to bed and went back to sleep.

TUESDAY

Anthony James needed the loo.

It was half-past-two in the morning.

He looked out of the landing window, on his way to the bathroom.

He could see something bright travelling along the back lane to the garages. He caught glimpses of it between the houses as it went. It seemed bigger than yesterday. He felt sorry for the street traders and vegetable shop owners who had to get up so early when everyone else was asleep.

He went to the bathroom and looked out of the window again on his way back to bed. The light was going the other way. The driver must have forgotten something. Anthony James hoped this wouldn't make him late for whatever it was he was doing next. Anthony James went back to bed.

WEDNESDAY

Anthony James needed the loo.

He got out of bed and set off, along the landing, for the bathroom. He looked out of the window. His mother used to complain about him needing the loo in the night. It used to disturb her.

"How come you always need the loo at the same time every night. Can't you go before you go to bed?"

"But I do!"

He did. He always did.

In the end, she got used to it. He woke up but she didn't. So it didn't worry either of them any more that Anthony James always went to the loo in the early hours of the morning and enjoyed his little looks out of the landing window.

The light was going along the backs of the houses again. He could see it every time it crossed the gaps between them.

THURSDAY

Anthony James needed the loo.

The van was passing by when he looked.

The glow on its side was even bigger than on the previous nights. Was the driver planning to paint it all over?

FRIDAY

Anthony James had been to the loo.

He had willed himself to wake up earlier tonight. He was going out to look at the van. He felt very brave.

Brave - but cold.

He hadn't realised it would be so chilly. He'd got a jumper on over his pyjamas but it wasn't enough to stop him shivering.

He wouldn't be gone long though.

He'd stand on the pavement at this end of the alley and try to catch a glimpse of the van as it turned right. It'd be a long way off, there wasn't much light and he'd be standing at an odd angle.

But it was an adventure.

He'd never been out on his own like this before; in the dark.

His mum would be very cross if she knew. But his mum didn't know. And it wasn't his fault that he was out here. How was he to help it if he always needed the loo in the night so he saw strange things happening? And she couldn't blame him for wanting a bit of adventure. It was the kind of thing that happened to a person sometimes - that sudden desire for adventure.

He stood at the end of the alley, trying not to let his teeth chatter. He hoped Ed wouldn't look out and see him standing there. What if Ed always went to the loo in the night and looked out of the landing window on the way and on the way back - just like him?

He couldn't hear a van. But something was happening in the alley. A luminous castle had arrived and was turning in at Ed's back gate.

It made Anthony James shake more than he was already shivering.

He carried on standing there - he was so frightened.

He couldn't go home.

Then, the luminous castle came out of the gate and returned the way it had come.

Anthony James waited a few moments longer - until he was certain the castle had really gone away.

Then he ran.

He ran as fast as he could. Home.

__________

FOR TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - ED

2007-10-05T21:36:00.010+01:00

The concrete back lane that linked the commercial garages to the rest of the world ran parallel with the street for about a third of its length behind some of the gardens - and these nearly all had gates. So children could take their bikes round to the street without having to rattle past the dustbins.

Then, after a bit, it bent sharply right between a double row of smaller garages. After that, it joined the main road.

On the outer edge of this bend, there was a rough path that linked it with the street where Charlie and Simon lived. It was all pitted and rutted from children bringing their bikes round in wet weather and from the thousands of push-chair wheels that had been forced along by mothers using it as a short cut to the shops.

In the daytime, it was well used, just like everywhere else. There were always children running up and down in it, or hiding in it or lying in wait for their friends somewhere along it.

But after dark, it was empty. Always empty.

For as long as they could remember, children had been told not to go down that 'dark alley' at night. The notion that it was infested by evil men simply longing to jump out on anyone and everyone was so strong, there wasn't one single resident in the street who dared use it after dark. Even the rowdiest of the party goers and the drunkest of the drinkers would avoid that alley, however long it took them to go home another way.

But Charlie had a theory. He reckoned people were only frightened of the alley because it was so terribly close to Ed's house. At the street end - was his front door. At the other - his back gate. And, unlike other back gates, Ed's was tucked right inside the alley instead of opening directly onto the concrete lane. Who knew what awfulness might be going in and out? It might even be Ed.

By day, the cheerfulness of children playing up and down, and the importance of remembering how many things had to be brought from the shops, made even grown ups forget its possible dangers. But at night, the thought of 'Ed - ness' hung over the alley like a ghastly, nightmarish mist.

It was amazing how many things which seemed perfectly ordinary in the daytime felt very, very different at night.

If Ed did something irritating during the day, everyone sighed and wished he'd grow up. But if he did the same things at night, they could be really frightening.

When Ed rattled people's letter boxes and ran away to hide round the corner before he went to school, or rang doorbells on the way home for no other reason than that he happened to be passing, nobody took much notice. All the time, you could hear people shouting . . . . . .

"It was that Ed again!"

"Go away, Ed!"

Or,

"Stop it, Ed!"

Or,

"It wasn't me, it was Ed!"

(And it usually was.)

Sometimes, one of the grown ups would get really annoyed and start shouting. But, mostly they ignored him. They were used to him. He was part of the scenery.

If he thumped his football against the walls of people's houses, it sounded more like a battering ram than a ball - but everyone knew who was doing it - and he always went away in the end. If he nicked the children's toys, their parents went and fetched them back.

It was an almost daily ritual. He'd start by saying he hadn't taken anything from anyone else and that everything he had was his own and had been in his possession for a very long time. After a bit of a dispute, he'd generally agree they weren't his after all and, as long as he hadn't already lost them, parents were always able to make him give them back. (It was different if you were a child and didn't have any grown ups to look out for you, for then your favourite toy might well be gone for ever.)

But if he made trouble in the night, it was frightening.

Bangs against the wall sounded even louder than they did by day. It was unnerving to open a door when it was dark, only to find no-one there. The sound of bottles being kicked off the step was menacing. Footsteps scrunching on gravel might be Ed looking for his frisbee in your garden - but how could you tell it wasn't a burglar?

In Charlie's opinion, nearly all the frightening things in the street could be traced back to Ed. People who had lived there a long time would say 'it’s a nice place to live but you must always keep your eyes peeled for Ed. You never know what he'll be doing next,'.

Going down beside his house when you definitely couldn't see him because there were no street lights in the ally, only darkness, well, that was simply courting disaster.

Charlie smiled.

Darkness.

So far, it had been Ed's friend.

No longer!

For darkness had changed sides.

__________

FOR TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY - CHARLIE AND SIMON SET TO WORK

2007-10-05T08:34:00.007+01:00

It was hard to find a time, day or night, when someone or other wasn't walking about in the street.

During the daytime, which, in summer meant from when it got light at about five in the morning, children would be outside playing. The mums got up a lot later but then they came out for a chat, walking over to their friends or standing outside their houses - and delivery men would be there too, shouting at taxi drivers and complaining there was no-where to park while they unloaded their beds and sofas and fridges.

On Mondays, dustmen would be piling black sacks of rubbish across the pavement.

On Fridays, the milkmen would be knocking on doors, collecting the week's money.

Every day, the postman came (he could come at any hour) and he'd lean his bike against a lamp-post while he sorted letters in his hand.

The window cleaners, the raffle-ticket sellers, the health-visitors, metre readers and missionaries, they were all there. And children too little to go to school or staying at home with sore ears, they'd be there too, falling over and getting in the way and knowing what everyone was doing.

At night, it wasn't much better. Some of the younger children played out until well after dark and only went in when the teenage skateboarders got fed up with them running up and down on the ramps. Older teenagers drifted back from parties; others shouted their way home from pubs. People who'd been to clubs came home after midnight, soon to be followed by waiters and barmen returning from work. Most came by bus but those who had cars opened and shut their doors for twenty minutes, not willing yet to go to bed and letting heavy blasts of music loose into the street.

Then the family arguments began. More doors to bang. Men walked away shouting. Half an hour later, they came back again.

There was hardly a gap before bus drivers were setting out for work, followed by factory workers on early shift, post-workers off to sort the mail, then the children again. On school days, they'd fit in an hour's play before leaving for their classes. In the holidays, when it was fine, they'd be up and out before their parents even stirred in their beds.

There was no end to it. Someone was always there to take an interest in what you were doing. Charlie studied the matter carefully.

Taking all things into consideration, he reckoned the only time he and Simon had any chance of walking up the street without being noticed was somewhere between a quarter past two and three o'clock in the morning. And it would be dark then. Good.

But they weren't ready yet.

**********

It took more than a week to prepare.

This revenge on Ed.

And, for a long while, no-one knew.

Whenever Charlie and Simon were planning to be gone for long, they said they were going to the beach. And their mums said that was ok as long as they stayed together. The beach was always full of people they knew. Simon just had to remember he wasn't allowed on the cliff top, even if Charlie was.

But Charlie and Simon weren't at the beach. They were busy in the cave.

And Mr Platt and Fred were watching them, ever more hopeful that the boys would build an advertising coup big enough to save their company from bankruptcy.

For a veritable town was growing up in the cave, made entirely from large, plastic bricks. Every stage of its construction was being filmed and neither Fred nor Mr Platt could really believe their eyes when they saw how wonderful and how clever it was! It was so good, and they had so much footage, they were no longer quite so bothered that Simon and Charlie were keeping their work secret. It was, they decided, understandable. After all, the boys didn't have permission to be there. Fred also thought they liked having the bricks to themselves. They clearly got on very well and were working in an extraordinarily concentrated way. They'd probably find it irritating if other children came to disturb them, wanting to share the bricks. And all the comings and goings would make it all the more likely that they'd be found out.

At first, Charlie and Simon stayed for less than half an hour at a time, constantly made anxious by the thought of smugglers or pirates arriving to reclaim their treasure. But, as Mr Platt and Fred observed, their confidence was growing every day until, in the end, they were busy from after breakfast until tea time, stopping only to eat the packed lunches their mums had made for the beach.

By now, Fred had wired up the microphones. When he heard Charlie saying the owners of the bricks obviously didn't mind him and Simon being there, otherwise the smuggler or pirate who had saved his life by pulling the rope through the hole would have pushed him down the cliff rather than risk letting the secret escape - he couldn't stop laughing for hours.

So they thought he was a smuggler or a pirate! Fred liked that idea!

And another thing that amused him was the way neither Charlie nor Simon were surprised that they never ran out of bricks. However many they used, there were always more. Every morning, after taking some of the empty boxes away and putting full ones in their place, Fred waited for them to say something about it - but they never did!!.

As for Mr Platt - he was very excited.

When he visited Fred in the yellow van, he couldn't take his eyes away from the screens. For him, it was better than going to the cinema!

He was especially interested when Simon walked across the cave to inspect a suspension bridge. First, he admired it, then he made suggestions for improving it. Charlie set to work straight away, even though it meant dismantling some parts first.

"Both will make pretty good structural engineers when they grow up, don't you think," said Fred.

Mr Platt nodded and sat back comfortably in his chair and poured himself some coffee.

"We've struck gold here. They're a good team, aren't they?"

Fred went over to his little camping stove and got ready to cook. He'd decided to cook bush-baby goulash but, lacking the bush-baby, he'd have to use tuna from the box of provisions Mr Platt had brought with him. Never mind.

"You know," said Mr Platt, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen. "I know the bricks are brilliant. Of course I do. I wouldn't have bought so many if I didn't expect there'd be a lot of money in them. But I'm sure there's something we don't yet understand; something behind all this activity. Something we haven't yet guessed at."

"I know what you mean," Fred agreed, steadying the saucepan. "They work with such intensity, it's hard to believe they are just playing. They don't talk much. They just work."

For a while, they too were silent, watching the screens while Mr Platt sipped and Fred stirred..

"You know," said Fred, throwing in a handful of brown leaves. (Mr Platt wondered what they were, he wasn't very much looking forward to bush-baby goulash.) "There's another thing that's odd about what they're doing. Have you noticed how many glow-in-the-dark bricks they've used?"

(Mr Platt wondered if Fred would be offended if he went home before lunch.)

"I've noted that," he said. "It looks as if they'll be especially popular."

"Perhaps," said Fred, pouring the gunge he'd made into bowls. "But I think Charlie and Simon have a special reason for using them. They're building everything, absolutely everything, with glow-in-the-dark bricks on one side and ordinary ones on the other."

Mr Platt took a mouthful of goulash. 'Not bad', he thought.

"It's very clever," Fred went on, handing Mr Platt some bread, then sitting himself down on the floor. "It means they can make everything appear or disappear, simply by turning it round. When the lights are off, I mean."

"It's intriguing, isn't it?" said Mr Platt.

When he'd finished his meal. He stood up as far as the van roof would let him. "Do the coloured bricks vanish as easily as the black ones?"

"No. They cast off glints. At first, the boys enjoyed making things with the coloured ones best but, since they've realised the black ones are better at disappearing, they prefer them."

"You should have told me!" said Mr Platt, lowering his voice as he opened the van door. "I'll bring some more black ones tonight. I'd like to know what those boys are up to."

"So would I," said Fred, settling back in front of the controls while Mr Platt climbed out into the garage. "But I'm not sure we're going to like it. I have an ominous feeling that something not very nice is going on here."

"Really?"

Mr Platt leaned back into the van and looked at him thoughtfully.

"Well, Fred" he said. "I've always found that you have a good judgement about most things but, this time, I hope you're wrong. I hope, very, very much, that you're wrong."

__________

FOR TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER NINETEEN - THE IDEA

2007-10-04T08:49:00.011+01:00

Fred had had a busy night. First, he'd had the cameras to install. Then, he'd decided to make the cave even more interesting than it was already. The main consignments of plastic bricks were still at sea but Mr Platt had arranged for one container-full to be firmly sealed and stored anonymously in a warehouse. Then, once the cave had been found for hiding them in, he'd started bringing some down in small batches, using a delivery lorry like the green-grocer's in the next garage along. That way, he hoped, no-one would realise there was anything specially interesting happening.

The latest batch had arrived at one o'clock that morning and, instead of putting the boxes directly into the cave, Fred had tipped out the bricks and made a luminous path with them, starting half way down the tunnel and leading almost as far as the main light switches. He didn't want to make any hint too obvious, but nor did he want Charlie and Simon falling over things in the dark.

He sighed. Keeping boys safe hadn't been part of his contract!

But when they saw the path, he was really chuffed, for they fell under its spell straight away. It was as if they were being drawn towards the kind of magical treasure which exists only in fairy tales and pantomimes.

Slowly, they followed it, their eyes always fixed a little way ahead. It mesmerised them They could have walked for ever. They were in a kind of trance, hypnotised by its unusual, shining beauty.

They arrived at the row of light switches.

Charlie's hand rose automatically.

"No!" Simon whispered urgently. Don't turn them on yet!"

Charlie was puzzled. He was all geared up to show Simon the stacks of boxes and even the wonderfulness of this path hadn't made him forget the red and green and yellow and blue bricks. He'd even thought they might make something with them if they were quick.

"What?"

Simon gripped his arm.

"I want to see how long the glow lasts."

They sat on the cave floor in cross legged silence, watching the bricks fade. Fred had been powering them up all morning and it seemed to be ages before anything changed at all. Even then, it was a long time before the light left them completely.

"Well?" asked Charlie, standing up and putting his hand on the first switch. "Can I put the lights on now?"

Simon nodded into the dark.

"What d'you think?" Charlie asked, turning on all the lights, then crouching down beside him. He hadn't moved.

"I've just had an idea," he said slowly. The expression on his face was new. Charlie felt disconcerted. "It's not a very nice idea though," Simon added. "But it's good!"

Back in his van, Fred was watching intently. The new cameras were filming from several angles but the boys were laying the bricks flat on the floor so he couldn't properly see what they were doing. They seemed to be making some kind of pattern. He hadn't anticipated this and not one of the cameras allowed him to look down from the ceiling.

Patterns on the floor?

Not very interesting yet!

His hopes lifted a little though when he saw how they were joining them together. Then they sank again when he realised they had made nothing more interesting than a two dimensional shape. Mr Platt wouldn't be pleased. He'd hoped Simon and Charlie would build something worth putting on television; something impressive like a castle or an aeroplane - not a flat shape!

Then Charlie turned off the lights and Simon lifted it high.

Oh! Yet another disappointment! A huge, glow-in-the-dark arrow? Was that all? It was almost exactly like the ones directing people to the right theatre in a multiplex. The world had enough of them already.

But still he watched. What were they doing now? Simon was slowly turning away. Gradually, the arrow disappeared. Fred moved to another screen. On that, it looked as if a new arrow was appearing out of nowhere. So, they'd got glow-in-the-dark bricks on one side and ordinary, black ones on the other. Well, Fred could see that might be fun after all. You could play some good tricks with an idea like that.

After a few moment's discussion, Simon put the arrow back on the floor, luminous bricks up, so it glowed greenly where it lay. Then, they picked it up between them and carried it across the cave. Although it must have been quite light, they walked very slowly, thoughtfully, almost reverently. And this couldn't have been because the arrow wasn't put together very well and they were trying not to let it fall to bits, for when they leant it up against the wall, they plonked the blunt end down quite roughly.

Charlie turned the lights back on.

Simon was explaining something. Fred wished he had had time to get the sound recording system up and running. If only he could hear what was being said! Charlie made a few comments, then they started taking it in turns to pick up the arrow and throw it around a bit, making it land heavily at each other's feet, over and over again.

What on earth were they doing?

After a while, they stuffed it behind some boxes and left.

It was tantalising. So frustrating to watch and not to understand.

He waited until the boys were well on their way back to the street, then he phoned Mr Platt. Mr Platt was not pleased.

"You mean, these boys took all this trouble to get into the cave, specially so they could go through some strange ceremony thing with a luminous arrow?"

He was incredulous.

"What kind of advert is that going to make? I thought, at the very least, they'd build a hut or a house, or a tower they could pop up through! Even another staircase would have been of some interest. But gliding around in the dark with a glowing arrow? What do they think they're doing? And trying to smash it up as well? Mad! Absolutely ridiculous! Couldn't they have made a castle or an aeroplane or . . . . . " he was so disappointed he couldn't think properly.

Fred rang off. He was as confused as Mr Platt. Charlie had begun by building a staircase that was so strong and so well put together, he'd been able to escape up it. And now what was he doing? Glow-in-the-dark-arrows? Very strange!

__________

FOR TWENTY

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - DOES CHARLIE PLAY THE FLUTE?

2007-10-03T09:12:00.009+01:00

Mr Platt's advertising ideas weren't brilliant but they were the best he had managed to come up with. So, when Charlie fell into the cave, Mr Platt decided his months of worrying would soon be over and that things were turning out very well indeed.

'BOY FINDS GIANT BRICKS IN CAVE'

That would be a good headline! For two mornings running and for the whole day in between, he watched the television attentively, listened to the radio non-stop and scanned the newspapers for a mention of the bricks. Nothing. Silence. Very aggravating. What on earth was the boy thinking of to keep his discovery secret like this?

And from the reports Fred was sending in, Mr Platt was beginning to wonder if they wouldn't be dealt a blow worse than silence. Unless they prevented it, the first inkling anyone had of there being brightly coloured and mysteriously glowing treasures in the cliff was when

'PLASTIC BRICKS LURE BOY TO HIS DEATH'

appeared on boards outside newsagents.

Charlie definitely had to be kept safe!

Overnight, Fred had begun to replace the old stop-start CCTV cameras with the best surveillance and recording equipment his uncle could borrow at short notice. Most of the new cameras were up and running but the microphones would have to wait until later. Charlie and Simon might arrive at any moment.

What Mr Platt wanted now was for Charlie to lead a procession of children right out of the street and into the cliff so they could see the wonderful hoard that was stowed there. He'd asked Fred to find out if Charlie played a flute. Wouldn't it be wonderful if it turned out like a full-scale re-enactment of the Pied Piper story? No, no, that wasn't very likely. None the less, if they did manage to get footage of an event even a bit like that, it would just have to be put on the news! This could be a once-off, never-happened-before-or-since scenario - so it was really important to have the right cameras ready to record it!

So when Simon and Charlie arrived to let themselves in through the garage, Fred was waiting in the back of the yellow van, with a huge number of controls at his finger tips, passing the time by reading a book on Australian Bush Recipes. When the outside surveillance camera beeped to let him know people were moving around on the other side of the shuttered door he leant forward and flicked a switch. Now he could see them.

Good. They'd taken the bait. He'd had a frantic few minutes last night, writing out the security number over and over again and tearing up all those sticky bits of paper while Charlie stopped to look at the glow-in-the-dark bricks. And it hadn't been at all certain, even then, that he would find his way through to the garage, or that he would dare! But here he was, back again, with Simon beside him, both of them looking furtive and clearly nervous.

Here goes! Fred flicked a row of switches. Cameras on!

Charlie pressed the buttons: 1 .. 4 .. 9 .. 3.

The garage door rolled up.

Charlie and Simon peered inside.

Good.

They thought no-one was there.

In they came.

Crept passed the van.

Pressed the next button and

Holding their breath

Stepped into the tunnel

That led

To the cave.

__________

FOR NINETEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - THE CODE

2007-10-02T10:42:00.006+01:00

Simon was furious.

He and Charlie were in the park again and sitting on the same bench. The street was perfectly quiet because nearly everyone was sleeping late. There'd been a good funfair after the carnival and the chip shops and cafes had stayed open till midnight.

"You went back to the cave without me!"

He couldn't have been more angry.

"You went to the funfair without me," Charlie said, trying to sound as if he minded. "And," he added, with emphasis. "You were the one who said he didn't want to go to the cave when there might be smugglers about!"

"That didn't mean I wanted you to go on your own. I'd imagined we'd do it together when the smugglers weren't there."

"I thought I was doing you a favour," Charlie said indignantly. "I was keeping you out of danger. After all, I am older than you."

Simon was insulted.

"Ten days!" he said scornfully. "You're ten days older than me and you think this gives you the excuse . . . . ."

Charlie realised he'd taken the wrong approach and tried to divert Simon into other, more companionable matters.

"Would you like a mint?"

Simon shoved him off the bench.

Now Charlie was angry.

"Look what you've done!" he shouted. "As if I weren't in enough trouble already, now you've made me get mud on my sleeve!"

He pulled a tissue from his pocket and a grubby snowstorm of small scraps of paper burst out all over the place.

Simon ran to catch them.

"What are these?" he asked, deciding it was the wrong time for a quarrel. If Charlie was worrying about mud on his clothes, his mum must really be cross with him. Charlie's clothes always had mud on them.

"I don't know. They were stuck all over me when I came out of that garage. I bunged them in my pocket so they wouldn't leave a trail if they fell off. I thought I'd look at them later; see if they're a clue or something."

Simon was arranging them on the ground in a line. He looked up. Charlie had finished rubbing his jumper but he hadn't done very well with the tissue. The mud was still there, except now it had little bits of white fluff stuck to it.

"Clue to what?"

"How do I know?" Charlie asked crossly. "I haven't looked at them yet. I just bunged them in my pocket."

He knelt down beside Simon.

"They're all the same!" he exclaimed.

"Well," said Simon modestly. "They weren't to start with. They are now because I've peeled them apart and matched them up."

1493; 14 / 93; 1 / 4 / 9 / 3; 1 / 493; 1493.

Charlie examined them closely.

"How d'you know they're meant to be like that?" he asked. "You've matched the numbers but the edges of the papers don't join properly. Perhaps they're meant to be different numbers. You could make 1411 and 9431 just as easily as 1493. And why can't there be fourteens and ones and things? Why must they all have four digits?"

"I don't know," Simon agreed. "Maybe when we've separated them all out, I'll think differently. Charlie picked up one of the larger bits and turned it over. "That's odd," he said. "They're torn up sticky backed labels. That's why they stuck to me."

"Yup," said Simon, pulling a pale blue thread from one of them. "But most of their stickiness came off on your clothes, which was lucky, or we'd never have got them apart. I'd say you were wearing a red jumper and frayed jeans yesterday."

He showed Charlie the thread and turned over one of the pieces. A fine, red, fluffyness was stuck to the back of it.

"That's off my socks," said Charlie. "Not my jumper."

"Anyway," said Simon, resuming his theme. "It would be a bit of a coincidence if two of the scraps had 1493 on and the rest could be put together to make 1493 if they weren't all 1493 to start with."

Charlie wasn't convinced.

"It's amazing what you can do with a few numbers," he said. "Computers are run on combinations of 0 and 1. Just them. 0 and 1."

Simon added two more scraps to the row.

One said 'Re'.

The other said 'doo'.

Charlie couldn't think of anything they might mean.

"'Redoo?' 'Redoo' what? Re-doo the numbers? I'd have thought they'd got enough to last for ever. These are just the ones which stuck to me. There were millions more on the floor. Are you saying someone didn’t like the handwriting or something? Like homework? 'You've got to doo better with your 1493s and will have to 'Re-doo' them by tomorrow' ? "

He rattled along wildly like this for a while, with Simon standing there and grimacing patiently. Charlie was clearly tired and needed some allowances made.

"Why," Simon asked, in the tone of one who already knows the answer, "would anyone write this many in the first place?"

"And then tear them up," said Charlie wearily. "Go on," he said. "You tell me."

"To make them remember!" Simon said triumphantly. "Imagine this. 'Re' has been torn off from

'Remember'. What do you think 'doo' means?"

Charlie shrugged.

"Smugglers who can't spell?"

Simon was beginning to feel rather pleased with himself. Charlie was usually the one who understood things first.

"How about 'door'?" he suggested, trying not to be smug. " 'Remember door - 1493' . Get it?" Charlie's eyes lit up.

"Combination lock!" he said. "Someone's been practising the number for the combination lock, so they don't forget!" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "But why would they have to write it down this many times before they could remember? It's not very long, is it?"

"Mental block?" Simon suggested. "Perhaps he keeps thinking its 1934 by mistake?"

It sounded a bit lame.

"I know," Charlie said, with a big smile. "My mum wrote these. She can never remember anything. Four digits is a Big Number for my mum."

"Your mum is a smuggler?"

"No," said Charlie. He studied Simon's face for a few moments. It was interesting to watch his friend being puzzled. Then he slapped a cheerful hand across his back. "She's having a lie in . . . . . which proves . . . . . that she's a pirate! But you, Simon, are a genius! Come on," he shouted, gathering the scraps of paper and stuffing them back into his pocket. "Come on! Let's see if we can get into the garage before they realise we've cracked the code. If we wait too long, they'll have changed it!"

__________

FOR EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - GLOWING IN THE DARK

2007-09-30T15:17:00.005+01:00

.There weren't many dangerous lumps and bumps on the floor so Charlie decided to leave his torch in his back-pack. He could find his way easily for now by brushing along the wall. He'd take it out when he needed it. Meanwhile, he didn't have time to waste.

As fast as he could, he followed the twists in the tunnel, then, coming round the last turn, he was disconcerted to see a pale, strange light hovering in the atmosphere ahead. It wasn't an ordinary light. It wasn't the kind of light cast by one small electric bulb in a big room. That kind has a yellowish tinge. It didn't come from a neon strip either - for that is very white and flickers. And, as he knew, it was too late, and on the wrong side of the cliff, for the last of the sun to have any chance of filtering into the cave.

No. This light was a mysterious, and eerie green.

Charlie came to a stop, then he crept forward slowly and very quietly, until he was near enough to see properly.

His eyes widened. His breathing took a pause. Awesome!

A dozen or more of the boxes lay open on the cave floor and from them came an alien, ghostly glow. The same glow was seeping from the corners of other boxes still stacked against the walls.

It hardly took a moment to know the answer.

Glow in the dark bricks!

Glow in the dark bricks! Fantastic! And they were bright, so very bright, the lights that had powered them up must have been very powerful indeed. He'd have to investigate this!

Charlie got the torch out of his rucksack and turned it on. Except for the boxes on the floor, nothing seemed to have been disturbed. No! Hang on! Surely there were more boxes than he remembered being here yesterday? At least two or three piles more!

His torch picked up a glint under one of them - wheels! These new piles were resting on low metal frames with wheels at each corner. The entrance he was seeking must be very large if the boxes had been pushed in on these. So how was it that he'd never come across so large a door, or hole in the cliff, or, or . . . . . something?

'The entrance'!

Oh no!

He'd been so absorbed in examining the bricks and the boxes, he'd forgotten to hurry. The smuggler-pirate would be far away now and Charlie'd lost the chance to follow. Never mind, he'd just have to revert to Plan A.

He cast the beam of his torch along the far wall of the cave and found the exit he expected. Good. There was only one. That kept things simple. He didn't want a maze to negotiate!

He took the compass from his rucksack and cautiously walked forward with his torch pointing at the ground. If the smuggler-pirate was still hanging about somewhere, Charlie didn't want to let him know he was being followed. But the torch still cast enough light against the walls and ceiling for Charlie to see how broad the path was. It shouldn't be too difficult to wheel stacks of bricks down here. But why would anyone want to?

He wondered if he should phone Customs and Excise tomorrow and ask how much duty should be paid on a consignment of extra large, plastic, glow-in-the-dark bricks. Would they be suspicious and send officers round to his house, wanting to know why he was interested? How would he explain this to his parents?

Eventually, the tunnel widened into a kind of commercial entrance bay with a wide steel shutter at the end. Beside the shutter was a large button. He pressed it. Slowly and silently, the shutter folded itself upwards.

Quietly and slowly, Charlie stepped forwards.

Peculiarer and peculiarer!

He was in a garage with a large yellow van in it. He'd seen it before. Not in his own street, but coming up the main road a couple of times when he'd been at the shops.

He was thinking about this, and memorising the registration number, when something absolutely massive exploded overhead.

He was so jittery, what with the drama on the cliff and the strangeness of the bricks and the darkness of the tunnels and the oddness of finding himself in a perfectly ordinary garage at the end of it all, he seriously thought a war must have broken out since tea time. Could this be possible? Or was the garage so deep underground there was mining going on above him?

He dropped to the floor and flattened himself against it.

Should he get himself under the van for extra protection? Probably.

He wriggled towards it, staying as flat against the ground as he could.

Then he had another alarming thought. If a bomb fell near the garage, the van might explode, especially if the engine was full of petrol. He sniffed. Yes, he could smell petrol. Worse! He could smell gunpowder.

Staying flat against the floor, he twisted round and began to slither back the way he had come, but he wasn't sure whether it'd be best to get behind the shutter again and close it, or to stay in the garage. If bombs were falling or miners were mining, dislodged rubble could well tumble across one of the entrances and, if he was on the wrong side of it, he might be squashed, or buried alive and stuck in the cliff for ever! Where should he go? Where could he possibly be safe?

There was another explosion.

The ground beneath him vibrated and the garage shuddered.

He must get out!

Lifting himself onto his hands and knees, he crawled towards the garage door, the one the van must have come in by. It was much the same as the shuttered one behind him, and it too was controlled by a button on the wall. He pressed. The mechanism was impressively smooth and well synchronised. As one door went up, the other was lowered. But they moved so slowly, he nearly panicked. If they didn't hurry, the roof would fall in while he was still waiting. He put his tummy back to the ground and squeezed under the rising metal.

On the other side, he was relieved to see an ordinary street light and some low, flat roofed buildings that looked vaguely familiar, and to feel perfectly normal, everyday fresh air on his skin. He stood up. Then, when he was just about to take advantage a good, deep, thankful breath - yet another explosion crashed into the night sky. He shielded his ears with his hands and looked up to see a myriad of tiny stars falling towards earth. His hands and clothes were sticky with oil. Little bits of grit and torn up scraps of paper were stuck to his hands and his jumper and his jeans, even to his socks. He knocked the grit from his knees and screwed the little bits of paper into a ball and stuffed them into his pocket. He didn't want to lay a trail for pirates to follow.

There was a gigantic woosh and a screech and the sky was filled with red and yellow and green. Sparkly white rockets were criss-crossing the heavens like searchlights and he was sure he could hear shouting.

Panic?

War?

Another flash of light showed where he was - beside the garages in a road quite close to his own; the garages used by greengrocers and street traders. They kept their vans round here - and sometimes the things they sold were in them too.

Another ear shattering crash.

The noise ricocheted backwards and forwards between the buildings.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Chimneys and trees were suddenly backlit by a white flare. Their silhouettes flickered with menace.

He began his dash towards home before any fell on his head.

Another whoosh and the sky was totally filled with beautiful golden chrysanthemums. He gasped at their beauty.

Now he understood what was happening.

The carnival fireworks!

Oh no! There really would be war now. He was supposed to be watching them with his mum.

She'd kill him!

__________

FOR SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - THE MYSTERIOUS RESCUE

2007-09-28T13:43:00.008+01:00

Charlie never knew how long he clung to the cliff with his brain numb and his body immobilised. Fear anaesthetised him. And even if his limbs had been prepared to move, there would have been no point - for he had no-where to go.

He'd known he wasn't directly above the hole when he looped his rope over the rock but he hadn't realised he'd be so far away from where he wanted to be. He'd been thinking the most important challenge was to fix himself to something which wouldn't roll down on top of him! Once he was level with the hole, he'd edge sideways until he was close enough to drop through.

But his plan wasn't working. He was only a short distance from the cave but every time he moved, the ground flaked away and tumbled over the last edges of the cliff. He listened as it fell - but he couldn't hear it land. The rocks below were too far down!

It wasn't long before his feet had loosened every bit of earth and his shoes had scuffed away any stones and clumps of grass that might have given him a toe hold.

He tried hard and was brave for a long time but, in the end, he gave up. It was all he could do to grip the cliff with his hands. He wouldn't be able to manage it for much longer. One of his knots was wedged painfully under his ribs but he left it there. His life probably depended on it!

When the rope moved, he thought his end had come, that he was hallucinating as his strength gave way. He thought a bit harder. No. The rope really did seem to be coming to life. It made a jerk that dizzied him. It was pulling him sideways. It was dragging his hands away from the cliff! His left hand lost its grip. Quickly, he slammed it onto the rope. His right hand was twisting now as his body scraped over it. He wriggled his fist free and flung it above his head to catch hold of the rope there too.

This was really alarming!

Yet the sudden change in his circumstances worked like tinder. A little flame of hope jumped up.

He could feel it warming through the numbed space between his tummy and his chest.

Where, a few moments before, the rope had been slack, it was now tense. He didn't know what was going on but it seemed to make the world a safer place.

Oh! No it didn't!

The rope had moved so far to the side, his feet were being pulled into empty space. He swung them onto a knot, one on top of the other, and gripped tight with his knees.

Slowly, gently, he was being pulled towards the hole.

He risked looking.

The rope seemed to have found its own way into the tunnel!

It moved further, then went still.

Now, if he dared go down to the last knot, he'd be near enough to drop through after it! Half expecting the rope to swing free, he lowered first one foot, took a breath, then lowered the other - but the rope hardly twitched. It must, he thought, have got tangled round one of the rocky lumps in the tunnel walls.

Warily, and making ready to jump through the hole, he eased his right foot into the emptiness of the air but, to his surprise, his toe struck down against something hard and flat. Odd . . . but it felt stable! Carefully, he put both feet onto its smooth surface, tested it with his weight and let go of the rope. The thing he was standing on held firm.

Tentatively, and concentrating hard to keep his balance in the darkness, he crouched down and felt around with his hands. Extraordinary! Now he knew precisely what ‘the thing’ was. He was standing on the top half of his own staircase!

Someone must have dragged it under the hole when they saw he was in danger so they could stand on it while they pulled him to safety.

He listened.

Yes!

Distantly, he heard a click and a crackle. It sounded like electric lights being turned out. Surely that couldn't be? Then he heard footsteps fading further into silence.

He waited politely. If the smuggler (or pirate) didn’t want to be seen - then, for certain, he should let him go! Pirates (and smugglers) might be criminals but this one had saved his life! The least he could do was to let his rescuer remain anonymous. Once he was out of the way, Charlie could tow the staircase back along to the cave, join it up with the lower part, if it was still there, and escape through one of the spotlights, like last time.

No! What was he thinking? If he followed the footsteps they might lead him to the hidden entrance!

Maybe he was brave. Maybe he was foolhardy. Maybe he was simply ungrateful. But it took him only two seconds more to come to a decision. As fast as his weakened legs would allow him, he hurried down the tunnel that led towards the cave.

__________

FOR SIXTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - CHARLIE CLIMBS DOWN

2007-09-27T13:36:00.014+01:00

Charlie was alone.

Taking the rope, he cast his loop over a conical rock about twenty feet below the summit of the cliff. Drawing in a deep breath, he pulled the noose tight.

"Good," he thought. That should hold."

He gave it a few extra tugs to make sure. Yes, it was fine.

He'd made lots of knots in it, spacing them evenly so he'd get a good hold. At the bottom, he'd tied an extra specially strong and lumpy one so he wouldn't fall off the end if he slid down by mistake.

Very carefully, he started the descent, sliding his tummy over the rope but hanging onto the cliff with his hands and feet.

The first part wasn't too difficult; the ground was rough and there were lots of things he could hold on to so he practised shifting his weight between the cliff and the rope.

It was getting dark now. Soon it would be difficult to see properly. This side of the cliff was falling into ever deepening shadow and the light was getting dimmer the further down he went.

He'd told his mother he was going badger watching so she'd handed him the torch herself. (Luckily he'd remembered to put it back under the bed when he'd gone in for tea!) Not that he was able to use it yet. He'd tried - but the beam just disappeared into twilight - and he couldn't hold onto it properly anyway, he needed his hands for climbing. But it was reassuring, simply to know he had it in his back-pack, wrapped up in jumper along with his compass and a bottle of water.
Charlie reckoned the most likely way the smugglers (or pirates) would have organised an entrance to their cave would have been by building a tunnel from the land side of the cliff. If he made a map, using the porthole as a reference point and taking compass bearings as he explored, it shouldn't be too difficult to determine where the entrance would be when he and Simon looked for it tomorrow.
He was also planning to climb out through a spotlight and mark the exit with a secret sign. Like Fred, Charlie had realised it would take him years to find the right crack in the right rock if he had to investigate every hole there was, but, judging by the ease with which he had been able to escape last night, he and Simon would soon learn to hurry down that bit of the cliff and, with a cross or something by which to identify it, they'd be able to zoom down through the spotlight and on down the rope which they could dangle through if ever the staircase were to be moved.
Charlie was feeling very noble. He'd noticed how anxious Simon looked when they'd peered over the edge together, earlier in the day. He hoped Simon would appreciate his thoughtfulness.
Now, he risked looking below. It was odd seeing the beach from here. It was unusual too, to see it deserted. Everyone was at the carnival. Either that or sitting at home waiting for the fireworks. That was another good reason for doing this climb now. There was no-one to look up and wonder why he was there. He'd remind Simon about this if he didn't turn out to be as grateful as Charlie wanted him to be. There was a slight worry that he'd complain about being left out. Hmmmm.
Some earth skitted away from underneath his foot, making him slip a few inches.
His hand banged against the next knot down and he came to a halt.
"Thank heavens for that," he thought. "The knot system works."
All the same, his arms hurt and there were pains in his shoulders. He felt shaky. Slightly sick. His other foot came away from the cliff. For a moment, he hung there by his hands. Then he found a stone jutting out and wedged his right foot above it. For the moment, he was safe!

**********

Fred had stayed on the cliff top as long as he dared. If he was still looking through his telescope when it was too dim to see much through it, people would notice and he didn't want to draw attention to himself. On the other hand, he was keen to stay there until he was sure the boys were safe. He looked at his watch. Almost certainly it would be too late for them to attempt a climb now.
He folded his telescope and packed his stool into its slim, canvas bag.
It was pleasantly quiet. He looked around. On one side of the cliff, the sea rippled gently against the sand. He could hear its slurp and shshsh, even from up here. On the other side, down a gentler, longer slope, he could see the street where the boys lived. There were usually children down there, running around in the road with their balls and scooters and toy prams. Nearly always, a pack of them was racing up and down on their bikes or hanging around in the park. But, this evening, they were gone. The carnival had sucked them into town with their parents and the silence was almost unnerving. In the roads beyond, no cars moved. Occasionally a bus went by but that was it. There was hardly a human being left in the whole area. Burglars, he thought, must have a wonderful time on carnival nights!
Perhaps he should go to the carnival too?
No! He wasn't in the mood. He phoned his uncle, reported on the days events and, duties done, went for a walk on the beach instead.
It was a lovely evening. And how good it was to be down here without having to watch for dog walkers flinging sticks all over the place!
He enjoyed leaving crisp footprints in the wet sand and began to walk back the way he'd come, making some more. Very satisfying!
He sniffed in the sea air and smiled contentedly.
He thought of Charlie and Simon and wished they'd hurry up and tell their friends about the 'Big-Bricks'. Then, when all the children were interested and excited and asking and asking their parents for bricks big enough to build houses, and when their parents were despairing of ever finding a shop that sold them, Mr Platt would come from London and deliver truck loads into the street and say they were theirs to play with.
Fred was really looking forward to hearing their 'hurrahs' and seeing their big, happy smiles because they'd been given such a wonderful present to share.
And he'd be glad for his uncle too if it worked out right, with masses of newspaper pictures of grinning children in front of amazing models. If they were as good as Charlie's staircase, it could be turned into a fantastic advert!
He let his eyes wander up and along the cliff, and then down again, trying to trace the path of Charlie's fall. The poor child must have been terrified, crashing through the ledges like that, tossed and tipped towards that final drop, with no idea that the ground would open up to catch him at the very last moment!
Terrified!
Now he wasn't the only one!
The pleasures of a sea-side evening fled.
Suddenly, Fred too was frightened!
He was gut sickeningly horrified!
Frightened like mad!
For spread eagled on the cliff, with his hands gripping grimly at its worn, grey face and with the rope dangling loose beneath him was that dreadful child - Charlie!

Charlie who was supposed to have been at the carnival, or asleep, or eating his supper, or anywhere except trying to get back to the cave with the dark expected in less than an hour!

His breath caught. His muscles tightened. He wasn't sure if he could make his legs move but, with a burst of suddenly super-human energy, he abandoned his evening walk and ran faster than he'd ever known it was possible to run towards the gully that led through the cliff. Lung burstingingly, heart painfully, he pounded his way to the top. If his head had exploded before he got there, it wouldn't have taken him by surprise - for seeing a boy suspended above his death like that was one of the worst things he would see in the whole of his life.

__________

FOR FIFTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - IN THE GORSE DEN

2007-09-27T09:22:00.005+01:00

Simon chucked the rope down the bank and made it slide ahead of them into one of Charlie's more spacious gorse dens. There was a lot to think about and they'd be able to do it better if they were comfortable.

"Well, that's blown it!" he said, lying on his back and staring up at the lattice of prickles. Sparkles of light filtered through the branches, along with small glimpses of a dazzlingly blue sky beyond.

"Now we'll never get in."

"It's all right for you," Charlie said through gritted teeth. "You weren't the one who found it."

"Then it's worse for me, isn't it! At least you've been in. I've never crept along a secret tunnel and found a load of mysterious boxes secretly piled up by smugglers in their secret, underground cave. I expect that was the only chance I was to be given in my life-time - and now it's gone," he added, "unfulfilled".

"Whose cave is this?" whispered Charlie. He would have liked to shout but people walking on the cliff top would have heard and that would have given away their hiding place. Having a secret den wasn't as exciting as being in a secret cave but any old secret was better than not having a secret at all. The trouble was, having to whisper made his voice sound vicious - in a way he hadn't intended.

Simon stared at him. He was so distressed by the way Charlie sounded, a lump came into his throat and he realised he would like to cry.

"Well, it's not 'yours', is it?" he murmured under his breath.

"What did you say!" Charlie was still trying to keep his voice down.

Simon stared at him grimly. Ever since they had been friends, they'd shared everything. If he had found a cave, he wouldn't have thought of it as 'his'. He would have reckoned it belonged to him and Charlie together.

"I said, 'it's not yours . . . . . .' "

He was gearing up to say more, to remind Charlie of everything their friendship meant to them, the years of trust, of selflessness, of how, if he had found a cave, he would definitely have shared it when, all of a sudden, Charlie leapt across the narrow, dusty space and started bouncing up and down on him, shouting

"You're a genius, you're a genius, you really are a genius," as quietly as he could make a shout be.

Simon struggled to sit up. He was pleased Charlie had decided to be friendly again but was confused as well.

"What?"

"Of course it's not my cave! If it's anyone's at all, it belongs to the people who put the bricks there!" This wasn't what Simon had wanted Charlie to say but he listened anyway. "And who put them there?" Simon opened his mouth to speak but Charlie hadn't left a gap big enough.

"Grown ups! That's who put the bricks there!"

Charlie sat back, cross legged, self-satisfied and smug.

Simon was stunned into silence. Why was this supposed to be such a revelation?

"So?" he said, at last.

Of course grown ups had put the bricks there. As far as he was aware, you had to be grown up before you could be a smuggler and no-one except a smuggler want to hide such a wonderful pile of bricks in a cave.

On the other hand, smugglers didn't collect plastic bricks.

Plastic bricks were for children and children didn't bung their toys in caves. They played with them.

Not that any child he knew possessed bricks as big as these.

And if Charlie's estimates were right, there were more bricks in that cave than any child might be given in a hundred years of birthdays. If any child really was lucky enough to be given that many magnificent bricks they wouldn't cast them aside. No! They'd invite all their friends round and have a fantastic time building things. Just think! You could build real houses with bricks like that! You could make castles and blocks of flats with lots of different floors. If you built them well enough, your parents might even let you sleep out in them at night!

Even more to the point, suppose there was a child nutty enough to throw out such a wonderful mountain of plastic bricks, how would they get them into a cave right under a cliff?

Simon sometimes wondered if Charlie could read his mind for he was now asking, very excitedly,

"How did they get them there?"

"I don't know," he said. "That was what I was wondering." He shrugged his shoulders. "Same way as you?"

"No, no, no!" said Charlie. "That hole wasn't there till I fell through it."

"Some other way then."

"Precisely!" Charlie was triumphant. "And it couldn't have been through the porthole in the cliff. They'd have needed pulleys and things to get the boxes up from the beach. People would have seen."

A warm glowy feeling was beginning to spread through Simon's brain.

"You mean, there must be another way in? One that we could go through too!"

"There must be. And a big one! There are so many boxes: boxes upon boxes upon boxes. It would have taken a lifetime to bring them in one by one. Come to think of it, they're piled on wooden pallets. I expect they wheeled them in using one of those hydraulic trolley things."

Simon didn't know what Charlie meant by a 'hydraulic trolley thing' but his interest was reviving.

"If we could get in that way," he agreed, it would be much safer than risking our necks on the cliff!"

"Yes - and probably a lot less visible too. If the entrance is as big as we think it must be, it would have to be very well hidden."

"There's a down side to that though, Simon suggested."

He was back to normal now; back with an enormous spirit of adventure.

"What?"

"If it's that well hidden, how're we going to find it?"

Charlie immediately realised this truly was a problem. He knew this cliff so well, and all the area around it, the only way an entrance as big as this could be hidden would be if someone cast a spell upon it.

He didn't believe in spells.

But what other explanation could there be?

__________

FOR FOURTEEN

CHAPTER TWELVE - THE CARIBBEAN WADING GULL

2007-09-25T15:33:00.014+01:00

Fred was hard pressed to get into town and back before Charlie and Simon came looking for him on the cliff top. He had lied about the knife. He hadn't a telescope either. Both had to be bought in the next couple of hours if he was to make friends with the boys.

He'd bought the sharpest knife he could find in the shop, but even then it took him a long while to hack through the rope and bring it down from the tree. He only just made it to the cliff top in time to hear Charlie and Simon chatting away as they approached from the other direction. He quickly unfolded his three legged canvas stool, adjusted the telescope so it was focused close to the place where Charlie had fallen into the tunnel and began to look earnestly through it - as if he had caught a glimpse of an interesting bird and was desperate to see it again.

When he was sure Charlie and Simon must have noticed him looking through his telescope, he took a bird watching book from his pocket and turned a few pages thoughtfully before looking up with a startled expression, as if he hadn't heard them coming.

"Oh, hello!" he said. "You've found me then?"

Charlie and Simon came and stood beside him.

"Any luck with your gull?" Simon asked.

"Not yet. But I think I've just seen a kestrel hopping around on the lower bit of the cliff. Can you see where the rough earth ends and the smooth rock face begins? Around there."

Charlie immediately felt anxious. Fred was pointing almost exactly to the place where he had fallen into the tunnel.

"May I have a look?"

He took a step towards the telescope but he wasn't really very hopeful. It looked expensive and new. Not many grown ups would allow someone they didn't know to touch it but it was worth a try!

"Go ahead," said Fred encouragingly. "You may be luckier than me. The gull I'm hoping to see is something like a herring gull - about the same shape and size - but it has longer legs and a forked tail - a bit like a tern."

Charlie looked through the lens, taking care not to touch anything. He wanted to know precisely what Fred had been looking at. If he jolted the telescope even a little, the view through it might have changed by quite a long way.

His heart sank. Although the focus wasn't exactly on the ragged hole, it wasn't far out. Fred had probably scanned over it, searching for the gull.

"May I move it? He asked. Have a look at other things too?"

"Of course you can," Fred agreed. "As long as you're gentle, you can't harm anything."

Charlie swung the telescope round, stopping to look at a few boulders and things on the way so Fred wouldn't be alerted to what really took his interest. Then he brought it back to the starting position and then ever so slightly to the left. He breathed a sigh of relief. The hole was hidden behind a hillock. The telescope could pass right over it without Fred noticing anything unusual.

"Where else are you looking?" Charlie asked, hoping he didn't sound too anxious.

"Well," said Fred thoughtfully. "I've been looking all over the place but now I've seen the kestrel I think I'll fix the telescope there. I can't believe my luck! Both birds eat small rodents - mice and things like that. If the kestrel spends much time on that part of the cliff, a gull like the Caribbean Wading Gull is sure to follow suit."

"I've never heard of a Caribbean Wading Gull," Simon said suddenly, with a good deal of doubt in his voice.

Of course he hadn't. Fred had made it up.

"No? Well I suppose you wouldn't have," said Fred, crossing his fingers that Simon wasn't a bird watcher."It's a rare visitor. As its name suggests."

He laughed uneasily and the boys laughed with him.

"What colour legs does it have?" Simon asked.

"Oh help," Fred thought. "This is going to be harder than I had expected." But out loud, he said, "According to one of my books, they are supposed to be green but another says pink, so I'm not sure. It'll be interesting to find out."

"What books do you use?"

This was beginning to seem like an interrogation. Fred searched about in his head for names to make up. He should have done more research. On the other hand, if he mentioned real books, the boy might go to the library and try to find the non-existent gull.

"My best book is Fisher," he said. There was a slightly wild look in his eye as he said it and a tinge of panic in his voice. "Sometimes, I back it up with Boscombe and Platt."

"Oh?" said Simon. "I haven't heard of them."

Fred could feel a slight perspiration breaking out under his green, bird watchers, sun-hat.

"No? Well I suppose you wouldn't have. They deal mostly with Caribbean birds. There's no point in using them most of the time. It's only when a Caribbean gull goes astray, blown on the wind most likely, that they are any use round here."

In fact, Simon didn't know anything about birds but he was quite a good judge of character. So far, his judgement was that Fred was a nice young man but almost certainly had something to hide. He was also a good guesser when it came to asking the right questions for leading someone into making mistakes and Charlie caught his drift.

"If this is a wading gull, why isn't it wading?" Charlie asked, nodding towards the sea's fringe. "And, come to think about it, why would a wading gull eat rodents? Why doesn't it eat lug worms and shell fish and microbes or whatever they are that other wading birds are supposed to sift out of the water?"

"It depends on the time of year," said Fred, hoping this was the right kind of thing to say. Then, to change the subject as quickly as he could, he asked Simon if he would like a turn at looking through the telescope.

Charlie had been scanning the horizon and then the shore line but now he returned the telescope to its starting position and moved aside for Simon to look through.

"That's where Fred saw the kestrel," he said, widening his eyes slightly to emphasise the significance of what he was saying. "Maybe you'll be lucky and catch sight of the gull."

Simon doubted it. He no longer believed in the Caribbean Wading Gull. If it existed at all, it wasn't here.

He put his eye to the lens and saw immediately what Charlie's widened eyes had told him to look for. If Fred was going to spend his time gazing at the only way they'd found into the cave, they'd never get in. What a disaster!

He lowered the telescope so the beach came into view and began to follow the tide's edge until he could see the furthest rock-pools just before the shoreline curved out of sight. Suddenly, he shifted his weight forward, as if he'd been startled by something, lifted his hand and re-focused without asking.

"What colour did you say its legs were?".

Fred couldn't remember which colour he had said was most likely.

"Could be any colour. That's one of the reasons I want to see one - to find out what colour legs its legs are."

"Green!" said Simon firmly. "They're green. There's one down by those rock pools, I'm sure of it."

"Let me see, let me see," yelled Charlie. He pushed Simon roughly aside shouting "Yes! Yes! I can see it too!" Then he let his expression fall. "Oh no, it's gone. It's pottered off round the corner. And before you had a chance to see it too!" he said sadly to Fred. "I am sorry, I should have let you take over from Simon but I got so excited! But that's the direction to fix your telescope - down there by the rock pools. You'd better make sure to do that, or you might miss it!"

__________

FOR THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN - THE ROPE IN THE WOODS

2007-09-24T13:00:00.007+01:00

By the time they had finished their cheese sandwiches, Charlie was completely and utterly and totally fed up with Simon wittering on about things like what time pirates ate breakfast and whether Mrs Hill, of the Residents' Association, was really a smuggler in disguise. What they really needed to be thinking about was where to find a rope!

Eventually, Simon noticed Charlie's irritation.

"I wish you'd stop getting quite so het up about this rope," he complained. "We've known all along it's a problem, haven't we? After all, ropes don't just grow on trees."

"They do, they do!" cried Charlie, chucking his apple into the air and catching it joyfully with both hands, as if it was a cricket ball. "Simon! You're a genius after all!" and he slapped Simon so hard on the back that he spluttered his water all down the front of his T-shirt.

"What?"

"Ropes do grow on trees!" Charlie shouted excitedly. "Come along. We're going to the woods."

As soon as they got there, Simon saw what Charlie meant. Lots of the older trees had ropes hanging from their branches. Teenagers used them for swinging, Tarzan-like, over the tarmaced path which led through the woods. In some places, the ropes were quite short, yet they could fly out twenty feet from the ground because the branches were long and the banks below them were steep.

The boys who used these were the experts. Most people started with ropes so long they didn't allow you to do much more than drag your feet over the ground and scuff your shoes. It was fun though - and some had bars of wood tied to the bottom for people to sit on.

Knowledge of where most of the ropes had come from and who had first hung them there was lost in the mists of time. Some were so old and grubby and frayed, they looked as if they had been in the woods for generations; hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years. The boys who swung on them now had inherited them from earlier boys who had taken them over from other boys who had grown too old to play.

"So they can't complain if we take one, can they?" asked Charlie, "if they didn't put them there in the first place?"

Simon knew Charlie didn't really believe this. There were traditions about which boys used which ropes and it was impossible to imagine any of them would think Charlie and Simon had the right to take them down so they could go cliff climbing.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snorted. "People can complain about anything if they want to, and there are some people I would rather not be complained of by."

But Charlie was not expecting trouble. Rope swinging hadn't been in fashion for a while. The craze would probably be revived in the autumn when it could be combined with conker gathering. For now, they should be safe.

Just as well because Charlie hadn't realised the difficulty they would have in getting one down. Most had been put in place without anyone ever having climbed up to do it. A loop had been slung over a branch. When it dropped low enough to reach, the other end had been threaded through. It had only to be pulled tight once and it would be there for ever. There wasn't much Charlie and Simon could do about it.

Their only hope was to climb up and ease the rope through the noose. But the trees were big and old and even the lowest branches were unbelievably high off the ground.

Then, when at last they came across a climbable tree with a long enough rope, they found it had worn a groove in the bark so deep it was impossible to get a grip. And the loop had been left undisturbed in its present shape for so many years, it was as hard as if it had been turned to stone and there wasn't one single fibre they could pull away. They scrabbled and scraped with their fingers and nails but it was like trying to unravel a fossil: impossible.
Bother.

They were standing under this tree, half way up the bank, hot, exhausted and almost in despair when Fred Carter caught up with them.

"Hello!" he called, in a friendly way. "Are you alright or do you need help?"

Fred was Mr Platt's nephew. He was twenty three years old and had agreed to guard the bricks in exchange for a lot of money because he was saving up to go to Australia. Having to stalk Charlie and Simon complicated things. It was a dreadful responsibility. He shuddered to think what would happen if Charlie tried to get into the cave by going through the tunnel ceiling again. It was only by incredible chance he hadn't fallen right off the cliff yesterday.

And now, it seemed, there were two of them preparing to go down - if he was right in thinking this was why they needed a rope.

Fred shuddered.

The ledges which had softened Charlie's fall were gone, so they couldn't retrace that route.

Nor would they be able to find the spotlight entrance. The cliff was so steep and uneven in that area and there were so many boulders in the way, it simply couldn't be seen from above. What's more, the folds and fissures in the cliff face were too numerous and looked too much alike for anyone without experience to tell them apart. The boys might spend days clambering around, squeezing through gaps and never find the right one, how ever hard they tried.

It was awful. He couldn't let them risk their lives for the sake of some brightly coloured plastic bricks! Ridiculous! He had to stop them! But he had to protect his uncle's secret too - until the right moment. This wasn't going to be easy.

First, he decided, he must introduce himself to the boys, let them know he was around and that he was the kind of person who might notice what they were doing. That should put them off for a bit. Then he'd ask if Mr Platt wanted a trail laid, or clues left around, so Charlie and Simon'd be able to find their own way to a safer entrance. He didn't want to put the project in jeopardy but neither did he want Charlie and Simon to die!

Of course, like other boys, they'd both been well drilled in the usual stuff about not talking to strangers so they eyed him doubtfully when he offered help with the rope. They knew their parents would have wanted them politely to decline, to say they'd be 'ok, thanks' and 'goodbye'. On the other hand, they needed it - and it had become very clear to them, they would never be able to get it on their own.

"At the very least," whispered Charlie, "The bigger boys won't attack us if he's here."

But even Fred couldn't shift it.

"I know," he said, after a quarter of an hour of pushing and shoving without getting anywhere. "I've got a sharp knife at home. I'll get it."

Charlie and Simon wanted the rope very badly but they didn't like the idea of hanging around in the woods while they waited for him to come back.

Fred saw their discomfort.

"Tell you what," he said. "I've been wanting to see a Caribbean Wading Gull and there's supposed to be one hanging around below the cliffs. I've got a new telescope and I'll be taking it up to the top, this evening. I should get a good view from there and can bring the rope with me if you like. You'll easily see where I am."

Charlie and Simon breathed sighs of relief.

Only later did it strike Charlie that the stranger hadn't asked why they wanted a rope. That was odd!

__________

FOR TWELVE

CHAPTER TEN - MR PLATT'S MEETING

2007-09-23T15:48:00.006+01:00

Far away. In London. On the seventeenth floor of a smart office skyscraper, Mr Platt, Mr Boscombe and Mr Fisher were engaged in a worried meeting.

"The cave has been entered," explained Mr Platt to his anxious partners.

"By whom?" asked Mr Boscombe and Mr Fisher together, clearly very startled.

"By a boy," said Mr Platt. "He fell through the ceiling."

"What?" shouted Mr Fisher and Mr Boscombe together.

The secretary, in the office on the other side of the door, stopped typing and went to put the kettle on. She'd bring them a tray of tea. It sounded as if they would need it.

"Watch this," said Mr Platt - and he pressed a button on his desk.

A black and white screen lit up on a table nearby and, fascinated, they watched as a CCTV image of the tunnel leading to the cave flickered into view. It wasn't a proper film but a series of still photographs taken a few seconds apart and joined together. The result was really very funny, with everything speeded up into sharp, unnatural jerks. So when Charlie fell through the ceiling, a couple of feet in front of the camera, it took him only a few moments to sit up, flick the earth out of his hair, crawl at break-neck speed to the porthole, stick his head out, draw it in again, crawl back, stand up, inspect the place where he had fallen and rush precipitously into the dark tunnel.

"Now we move to Camera 2," said Mr Platt. And he pressed another button.

Charlie burst into the cave, rushed over to the boxes, lifted one and nearly fell over backwards, built a staircase and disappeared through one of the spotlights. Gone.

The men stood gazing at the screen. Hardly any light was left in the cave. The only thing Mr Platt and Mr Fisher and Mr Boscombe could really make out now was the impressive stairway, its smooth, shiny surface reflecting dim glints from the outside world.

"Well I never!" said Mr Fisher.

The secretary came in and placed the tea on a small, round table. They walked over.

"Biscuits?" asked Mr Platt, politely, lifting the plate.

"Only if they're chocolate," said Mr Boscombe.

"None left," said Mr Platt, apologetically. "Only plain ones. Will they do?"

Mr Boscombe sighed. How could he possibly think clearly without chocolate biscuits? Ah well! He made a great show of inspecting the plate before choosing one with a broken corner.

"Well," said Mr Fisher regretfully, sipping his tea thoughtfully and shaking his head when Mr Platt offered him a biscuit too. "Our secret is out now and our rivals will be getting big bricks like ours into the shops as fast as you can say 'Pirates of Penzance'."

Mr Boscombe took another biscuit and wondered why anyone would want to say 'Pirates of Penzance'.

"No!" said Mr Platt quickly. "That's the odd thing. This boy - Charlie - doesn't seem to have told anyone. He's got a best friend - Simon - who lives in the same street. Fred Carter's been following them today and they haven't been near the cave. Fred phoned shortly before you arrived. Apparently, they've done nothing but muck around on the beach and stack junk behind rocks. In the past few minutes they've eaten their sandwiches and now they're heading towards the woods - which are right away from the cave, at the other end of the street. If Charlie'd told him about the bricks, they'd have gone straight to the cave, wouldn't they?"

"I agree," said Mr Boscombe, taking his fourth biscuit while brushing crumbs from his third off his jacket. "When I was a boy, I'd have told everyone! I mean, those bricks are pretty special."

"But this boy is special too!" said Mr Platt, with emphasis. "He might even be useful to us. Did you notice how he built that staircase? He's got real skill. It's not easy to build something like that which doesn't keep falling over. He clearly knows what he's doing."

"Why is life so difficult?" sighed Mr Boscombe, taking his fifth biscuit, even though it wasn't chocolate. "We sent that consignment of bricks into the country because it's hard to keep a secret like this in London. I must say I thought it was a pretty good plan when you mentioned it but the bricks have only been in that cave for three days and they've been discovered already!"

"We could hardly reckon on a boy falling through the ceiling," said Mr Platt defensively.

"Perhaps it wasn't such a very good plan after all." Mr Fisher suggested thoughtfully. "After all, we don't have much experience of this type of thing."

"Of course it was a good plan!" exclaimed Mr Platt. "It was a brilliant plan. Indeed it may still work. We've been wanting a group of children who'd be so very pleased with the bricks, they'd advertise them for us. The situation has simply been reversed. Instead of having to find children, the children, or rather, a child has found the bricks. And with no effort on our part!" he said, trying to look gleeful. "All the better!" he added hopefully, rubbing his hands and waiting for his colleagues to agree. (He didn't want to catch the blame if everything went wrong.)

This was a new company, this one; 'BIG TOYS FOR LITTLE BOYS' and the 'BIG-BRICKS' were their first venture. 'BIG-BUSES' were to follow - double-deckers, so 'BIG' your friends could sit upstairs while you pedalled madly in the drivers seat trying to make the vehicle move. (They would probably have to be re-labelled 'BIG TOYS FOR LITTLE BOYS WITH VERY STRONG LEGS' - but never mind.)

"When are the rest of the bricks arriving?" asked Mr Fisher, changing tack.

"Some are here already, of course. Then, there are two more container ships waiting in the Channel. I'm leaving them there for the moment. If Customs and Excise get a look at them, word might get out. Three more ships are on their way from China.

Mr Fisher stared at him.

"Are you saying we have ordered five container ships of plastic bricks from China?"

Mr Platt nodded uncomfortably.

"That's an awful lot!"

"They're awfully big," said Mr Platt.

"And awfully good," said Mr Boscombe. "Like these biscuits." Another one left the plate and went into his mouth. "But we won't sell anything if no-one knows what we've got. If this boy doesn't hurry up and tell people about them, we'll have to revert to plan A. Otherwise, we'll be bankrupt!"

__________

FOR ELEVEN

CHAPTER NINE - BEACH COMBING

2007-09-17T16:10:00.007+01:00

They didn't have much luck with their beach combing. The tide had thrown up several pieces of rope but they were all too stiff and short. They were interesting though. One had some good knots, one had come unravelled and looked like a cat o' nine tails and another had hardened into a wonderfully weird shape.

"I'm wondering if there's some way I could smuggle them into our house," said Charlie, longingly. "But my mum wouldn't like it. She says I've got too many pieces of rubbish in my room already."

"These aren't pieces of rubbish!" Simon exclaimed indignantly. "They're beautiful."

"Of course they are," agreed Charlie vehemently. "But my mum would say they were rubbish. She's already complaining that my lobster pot smells. I brought it home thinking it would make a good cage for a parrot but, so far, she hasn't even let me buy the parrot."

"Do you think they would count as art?" Simon suggested thoughtfully. "We could hold an exhibition."

"And make people pay to see it!"

They gathered up the ropes, some distorted shoes, half a wooden pallet and some glass bottles which they shook vigorously to see if there were any messages inside. There didn't seem to be any messages but there were so many bits of grit and broken shell that wouldn't come out, it was hard to tell for sure.

Charlie reckoned they could write their own messages. No-one would be able to tell the difference if they soaked the paper first in sea water. It would add interest to the show. Simon found several thin stones with holes in.

"We could hang these on shoe laces and sell them as jewellery!" He stuffed them into his pockets and dreamt of riches. They'd have an art empire! If only they'd started last week! Then they'd have money for rope today!

They stashed the rest of their treasures behind a rock for safe keeping.

"What if someone comes along and nicks them?" asked Simon.

"Of course they won't!" said Charlie witheringly. "No-one will even know they're art. We'll have to point it out to them. After that, they'll come in droves. I expect we'll make a fortune."

Simon was taken by surprise. He thought they were so obviously beautiful and so very clearly 'art', he couldn't imagine anyone not wanting to take them home to exhibit, even if a bedroom was the only place available for the show. He decided to change the subject.

"I thought we might test these out while we're here," he said, burrowing into his back-pack.

"Walkie-talkies!"

Charlie leapt forward to admire them.

"Wow! I didn't know you'd got these! Where'd you get them?"

"They're a birthday present from my gran," said Simon, turning one on and handing the other to Charlie.

"But that was ages ago!"

Simon grinned.

"Oh," he said nonchalantly,. She never remembers when it is so she gives me birthday presents three or four times a year."

"I wish my gran was forgetful like that," said Charlie, moving far enough away for the other hand-set not to whistle. "Hang on, they may be useful."

He disappeared behind one of the concrete lumps left over from the second world war. They'd been put there to stop tanks landing.
"Oscar, Oscar, can you here me?" he asked. "Over."

"I hear you Charlie. Loud and clear. Over," said Simon.

Charlie came out from behind his concrete block.

"It's not fair," he said. "How come you get a special 'radio' name and I don't."

"Well it's not my fault your parents decided to call you 'Charlie'. I suppose I could call you 'Foxtrot' instead."

He doubled over, laughing.

Charlie gave him a shove and he fell onto the pebbles.

"You like them then?"

He stood up.

"They're brilliant," said Charlie, resisting the temptation to knock him down a second time. (It wasn't the right moment for a fight. Finding a rope today was much more important.) "And they might come in useful. You could explore the cave while I keep watch on the cliff for pirates and smugglers and parents and things and I could keep in radio contact so I could let you know if any were coming."

Simon doubted if the walkie-talkies were that good. There was no way they'd send signals which could get through solid rock. These ones were probably going over, or round the concrete lumps, not through them. But he didn't say so because he was now wondering what would happen if the smugglers did come along and find them looking at their bricks.

He didn't know much about smugglers. He couldn't even imagine what they looked like. He knew pirates wore big black hats, carried cutlasses and left bits of their bodies around the world. Legs, arms, eyes, you name it, there was bound to have been someone prepared to have cut them off - or out! But what about smugglers?

His ideas about these were a bit vague. Perhaps this was because the nature of their profession meant they had to work nights and that meant nobody had ever been around to see them properly?

Of course! That was the point! Pirates could afford to work in the daytime because they were able to make a quick getaway while the 'good sailors' tended their wounded. In his mind's eye, he could see them stowing their stolen goodies onto their pirate ship and making for the horizon as fast as they could sail or disappearing rapidly into the sunset!

Simon reckoned this was fortunate, because he knew how dramatic pirates were. There was nothing they enjoyed more than flourishing their cutlasses, and shouting 'yo ho ho me hearties' while they struck interesting poses. And there would be no point in striking an interesting pose if you were in the dark - for no-one would be able to see. No. Pirates were clearly day time folk. On the other hand, smugglers had to work incognito - at night. (He liked that word - incognito.) They were generally fine, upstanding members of the community like lords of the manor. There wasn't a lord of the manor in their street but Kieran Hill's mum was chairperson of The Residents' Association and Mrs Osprey (at number 94) was Treasurer. Perhaps they were smugglers! Oh my! Just think of it! They didn't look like robbers and murderous villains when they were setting out cake stalls at the local fete but . . . . . maybe that only emphasised the efficiency of their disguise!

He hadn't, until now, realised how lucky Charlie had been to escape safely yesterday evening. There wouldn't have been any pirates wandering around and checking their treasure after six o'clock but that was exactly the time of day when smugglers would set out for work.

He sighed with relief. How glad he was to have thought this out before they made the mistake of exploring the cave tonight! Clearly, it would be better to do it in the morning. He and Charlie could go there straight after breakfast - before pirates got up. (He was sure they slept in in the morning. That was why they all had stubble or beards - they never rose in time to shave before they began their daily pirating.)

He'd better explain all this to Charlie while they ate their sandwiches. He'd be disappointed when he understood there had to be a delay but this new plan did have the advantage of giving them more time to prepare.

After all, they hadn't found a rope - yet!

__________

FOR TEN

CHAPTER EIGHT - 'WE'LL NEED A ROPE'

2007-09-16T15:40:00.012+01:00

"I'm not going down there," Simon said, peering over the cliff where Charlie had climbed up from the cave, the evening before.

Even Charlie had to admit it looked a bit steep. In other circumstances, he would never have climbed around here.

"We'll need a rope, a proper torch, walky-talkies and some biscuits," he said authoritatively.

"Oh yeah? Where'll we be getting this rope from then? We can't just waltz into town and march into a chandlers and buy a rope without being asked what we want it for. And even if we could, we don't have the money for it."

"We'll find one," said Charlie.

Simon was scornful.

"I suppose you've just got bits of spare rope lying all over your house have you?"

Charlie looked at him witheringly.

"Of course not. We'll go beach combing. As long as the tide's going out and we promise to stay together, I expect we'll be allowed."

"Brilliant!" said Simon, relieved that he wouldn't have to begin his mountain climbing career quite yet. "We'll go and ask. We can grab a torch and some biscuits at the same time."

Charlie's mum did better than biscuits. She was so glad the boys had decided to stick together for the day, she made them a proper picnic. If Charlie was with Simon, she wouldn't be so worried and she didn't want to spoil the end of his holidays by making him stay at home.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, handing them a pile of cheese sandwiches in a bread bag, two apples, two pieces of cake and two bottles of water.

"Nothing especially. We just felt like a walk and it gives us something to do while we go along; looking for things," Charlie said, handing Simon the bottles and packing the rest into his own back-pack.

"Right," said his mum. "Now tell me where you'll be doing this beachcombing."

Charlie told her. They'd be going round the headland to where there was a wider, steeper, more pebbly beach, where storms tossed up more interesting things, leaving them well above the high water mark so they dried out and stayed put for weeks. Wet rope would be too heavy to move, let alone use.

"Don't go near the sea," she said, escorting them to the front door.

"What do you think we are, stupid?"

It was more or less the same question he had asked the policeman the day before and he thought his mum might inwardly be answering 'yes'. But the swell and the undertow on the other side of the peninsular were far too strong, far too dangerous for swimming in; and Charlie and Simon would never, ever risk approaching the huge, drenching plumes of spray or the dense, white, frothing foam at the sea's edge, which constantly sucked and spewed and slid over the noisy, grinding pebbles.

They'd be safer by that wild sea than by the calmer one near home because they'd definitely make sure to keep their distance!

Simon asked Mrs Hethering if she'd be going to the carnival. It was Charlie's cue. Ducking under his mum's arm, he dashed up the stairs, shouting over his shoulder,

"I need the loo before we go!"

Checking, with a glance, that she still had her back turned, he hurried into his parents' bedroom where his dad kept a powerful torch under the bed, 'for emergencies'. (Charlie always hoped this meant 'in case they ever needed to hit a burglar over the head' but his dad said, not at all, it was 'in case of power cuts' - even though they never had any.)

Simon droned on loudly about aerobatic displays. If he were to stop, Charlie would take it as a warning to be careful.

"I like spitfires, the best," said Simon cheerfully, at the top of his voice.

"He doesn't have to shout," thought Charlie. "Yelling on about ancient aircraft for no reason definitely sounds suspicious!"

Simon wasn't very good at subterfuge.

Ah, here was the torch at last; good and big and draped greyly with strings of fluff and dust. Brushing off the worst, he stuffed it into the side pocket of his ruck-sack, dashed into the bathroom, flushed the loo without using it, ran the tap for a few seconds, pulled the hand towel off its loop and flung it on the floor (because that was where he always left it after he'd washed his hands) and leapt down the stairs, taking several at a time so he could bundle Simon quickly out of the front door before his mum should think of anything to delay them.

__________

FOR NINE

CHAPTER SEVEN - SIMON

2007-09-16T08:17:00.016+01:00

The most important thing Charlie had to do the next day was to meet up with his friend Simon but it was difficult to think of somewhere they could talk without being overheard or disturbed. Charlie sometimes wondered if his mum had bugged all the rooms in the house, she was so good at knowing every detail of what was going on. And he wasn't allowed round Simon's because his dad had been on night-shift and needed to sleep.

The street was no good for conversation. Sometimes, they could sit, undisturbed, with their feet in the kerb, for half an hour at a time. But it wasn't guaranteed. Small children usually came by and wanted to know what they were talking about or whether they were good at skipping or what school they thought they were going to next year - even though they knew already.

Further down the road, there was an extremely boring park. There were no trees and no bushes and by the end of the summer, there wasn't much grass in it either; it had all been worn away. There probably isn't a park in the land with enough swings in it. Charlie and Simon thought a row of about twenty might just about do, but this had only three. There was a small roundabout, a football goal (just one) an empty pond and some picnic tables with benches. That was it.

In fact, there was so little there, the children of the street had got bored with what there was long ago and the only fun anyone could find most days was to disturb everyone else who happened to be around, running in and out of their games or hanging about nearby, wanting to overhear secrets, if there were any. It was almost as bad as the kerb.

Today, though, Charlie and Simon were lucky. It was empty. Most children had walked into town with their parents for the Carnival. There'd be races and exhibitions all day and a procession in the evening, followed by fireworks after dark. It was the last high point of the summer and hardly anyone missed it.

For a while, they didn't say much. They just sat at a bench sucking mints companionably while a flock of racing pigeons flew in tight circles overhead. Every time they wheeled by, Charlie wanted to duck, the rush of air through their wings was so noisy.

Fffffffwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhooooooooooooshshsh!

And he was glad they were there too! The excitement of their flight created a good background against which to tell an exciting story. It sort of built up the tension.

Fffffffwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhooooooooooooshshsh!

Charlie waited for them to go round just one more time, to be dazzled yet again by their whiteness against the intense blue of the summer sky.

Fffffffwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhooooooooooooshshsh!

- and he was ready.

When Charlie began to speak, Simon was immediately gripped by the tale. There was the chase; Ed suddenly appearing at the top of the dog-walker steps; the fall; the tunnel; the cave; the bricks; the staircase and his climb out through the spotlight; everything.

Fffffffwhhhhhhhhhhhhhhooooooooooooshshsh!

Simon's eyes flickered momentarily away from Charlie's face every time the pigeons rushed by. Then, he looked back again. This was brilliant!

"The trouble is," Charlie confided. "I've got to think of a way of getting back at Ed. For all he knew, I was lying wounded and dying down there and he did nothing about it."

"Like what? What could you do?" Simon asked, cracking his mint in half.

"I don't know," said Charlie. "That's the problem. I lay awake half the night trying to think of something. Result? Zilch."

"Well," said Simon wisely. "There's no rush. Let him stew in his own juice. I take it he knows you survived?"

"He was hanging around outside our house this morning. Once he'd seen I was there ok, he scarpered."

"I don't expect he'll cause you much trouble for a bit," Simon suggested. "He'll be wondering what you'll do next and worried to death that you'll tell."

"Hmmmm."

Simon looked up sharply.

"Would you tell? I mean really?"

"I might," said Charlie, feeling his jaw set and his insides getting cross. "After all, as I said, he did nothing to help me. What if I had died? And there's another thing. I may be forced to drop him in it. If my mum realises I didn't tell her everything, she'll be furious. In which case, I'd rather sacrifice Ed's skin than lose mine!"

"What about the bricks?" Simon asked. "Have you told her about them?"

"Of course not!" Charlie snorted indignantly. "Would you tell about that? I mean it's too exciting to share. You're the only one apart from me that's going to know."

Simon looked impressed and pleased and felt honoured and asked if he might have another mint.

Then his face clouded.

"I won't be able to see them," he said abruptly, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

Charlie started.

"Why ever not?"

"My mum. 'No going on the cliff'', remember?"

"Well, we'll just have to go without saying," said Charlie. He didn't even need to think about it. "If she's under the impression we're here in the park, she won't worry, will she? She won't be able to." He stood up, all determined and business-like. "Come on.!" Then he realised there was yet another reason for haste. "I've just thought! If we're not quick, the smugglers might take them away! Come on!"

_________

FOR EIGHT

CHAPTER SIX - THE POLICE

2007-09-14T18:56:00.004+01:00

Charlie arrived home at the same moment as the police were drawing up outside his house. They'd got their blue lights flashing and all the neighbours were coming to their windows to see what was going on. The front door flew open and Charlie's mum spilled out, waving and shouting at the police to show them this was Charlie, here at last - and safe.

Then she grabbed him and pulled him into a massive hug. It was such a big hug, Charlie was worried she might suffocate him.

Only when the police got out of their car, did she let go. All at once, she turned from being pleased to very cross.

"Where have you been?" she shouted. "Didn't you know how worried I'd be?"

Charlie didn't know what to say. He was so taken aback by her shouting, he couldn't speak. How unfair! He'd just gone through one of the worst experiences in his life, probably the worst - and this was the welcome he got when he arrived home, tired and hungry and rather fragile-feeling!

He'd fallen down a cliff after all!

And if he hadn't been brave enough to follow those wisps of mist, he wouldn't have found the cave!

And if pirates or smugglers hadn't stored giant bricks there, he wouldn't have been able to build a staircase.

And if he hadn't known how to build a staircase, he might never have escaped!

No-one had known where he was - so he might never have been rescued!

Well!

If she didn't ask - he wouldn't tell!

(Not the interesting bits, anyway. )

The policemen stood by, and smiled discreetly and waited for Mrs Hethering to calm down.

"Well," she said at last. "He's here. Thank you for coming. But as you see," she waved a floppy hand at Charlie, rather dismissively he thought, as if he were an empty crisp packet she'd found on the pavement. "He's back. Sorry to have bothered you."

She turned to go inside, clearly expecting Charlie to follow and the police to drive away.

But one of the policemen coughed politely.

"We'll still have to ask some questions," he said. "May we come in?"

His mum huffed and puffed about this but she let them in all the same.

Well, thought Charlie, she couldn't really do anything else, could she? She could hardly tell the police to go away, not when she was the one who'd called them in the first place! He thought it'd be interesting to be a policeman, being able to insist that you see inside someone else's house, whether they wanted you to or not.

One of the policemen held back and winked at Charlie.

"All the mums are like this," he whispered. "She's only cross because she loves you."

"I wish she wasn't cross because she loves me," Charlie whispered back. "You'd have thought she'd have been glad to see me!"

"She is, she is," said the policeman, ushering him through the front door. "Fear does funny things to people."

"You're telling me!" thought Charlie.

His mother led them into the living room and sat down. Usually, she would have waited until the visitors were comfortable first but she was too much on edge to think properly.

Charlie stood to one side, feeling a bit out of it.

But, as soon as she had settled her mind enough to lean back in her chair, Charlie's mum stood up again and offered the police cups of tea. She was half way to the kitchen before she could hear them saying they didn't want it.

"Sorry," she said.

Then she sat back down in her chair with a thump and began to cry.

"She's the only person left in the whole world, still to wear an apron," thought Charlie, as she wiped her hands on it and fiddled with the pockets and the hem. His heart softened, even though she was still glancing at him aggressively.

One of the policemen pulled a chair away from the small dining table in the corner and arranged it so he could sit half facing Charlie, half facing his mum.

"Suppose you tell us where you've been?"

"I fell down the cliff," Charlie said. Then he stopped. His mother had let out a horrified cry, had leapt out of her chair again and was rushing towards him with her arms outstretched.

"Oh no! Oh no! " she cried. "I'm so sorry I was so cross. I was so worried! Fell down the cliff?" She stood back from him a little, still clutching his arms, ready to catch him if he fainted. "Are you hurt?"

Charlie would have liked it better if she had asked this as soon as he'd arrived home - but better late than never. She'd asked now. Relief swept over him and he began to cry too.

The policeman who was still standing asked how he came to fall over the cliff.

"A bit difficult to fall off one of these cliffs, isn't it?" he asked, clearly thinking there was more to Charlie's story than he was wanting to say. (He wasn't a policeman for nothing!) "If you fall over one bit, you just land on the next ledge down. Unless you went over the really steep part where that rocky face is." He looked at Charlie sternly. "That'd be really stupid, wouldn't it? Playing around there."

"Of course I didn't do that!" Charlie snapped. "That would be really stupid and I'm not that daft! And I'd be dead as well as stupid, wouldn't I?"

The policeman nodded, remembering the rocks at the bottom.

His mother pulled at Charlie's sleeve, thinking he was being rude. He was. But the policeman didn't seem to mind. He was probably used to it.

"So . . . . . ?

"I thought someone was chasing me," said Charlie, subsiding. "I turned quickly, lost my balance and all the ledges below me cracked away. Boing, boing boing," he said, thinking it might be helpful to lighten the atmosphere and chopping the air with a flat and horizontal hand with every 'boing'.

At the mention of someone chasing him, the policeman's manner changed again and he got out his note-book.

"Someone chasing you, you say. Have you any idea who it was?"

"No," Charlie said, very firmly. "In fact, I don't think there was anyone. Not really." He'd settle with Ed in his own way. He wasn't a snitch. "Probably a dog walker or somebody. It's just that they startled me because they came up so suddenly in front of the sun."

The policemen looked puzzled.

"Like a silhouette," Charlie explained. "Sometimes, it makes people look like monsters, when they just sort of loom up like that out of no-where.

"You thought you were being chased by a monster?" asked the policeman, amazed that such a boy could be frightened of monsters on a sunny, late summer's afternoon, so frightened indeed that he had hurled himself over the edge of the cliff in order to escape.

"No, no!" said Charlie. And he smiled a watery smile. "Only for a moment - but I was on the edge at the time and being startled unbalanced me and I tumbled down, that's all. It's just taken me a long time to climb back up."

"Ok," said the policeman. "That's all. Glad you're safe. Better have a bath now and an early night. It'll make you feel better. Get your mum to sort out those cuts and bruises," he added kindly. Then he raised an eyebrow at Charlie's mum to show he wanted her to follow them into the hall.

They closed the door behind them but Charlie listened hard. The policemen were telling his mum to let them know if Charlie gave any more hints that anyone sinister had been following him on the cliff.

"Sinister is the word!" thought Charlie.

And he moved away from the door and went into the kitchen so they wouldn't know he'd been listening.

__________

FOR SEVEN

CHAPTER FIVE - THE CAVE

2007-09-14T09:25:00.026+01:00

Four minutes is an eternity when you're on your own, in the dark, under a cliff and no-one knows where you are.

So it seemed to Charlie, as he felt his way along the hard, rocky walls of the tunnel, testing the ground ahead with every footstep. It wasn't fun - and yet it was. There were thin fissures in the rock above, through which crept dim specks of light and little drafts of air. The further he went, the braver he got and the braver he got, the more excited he grew.

Then, just when his excitement was beginning to dwindle and he reckoned he'd be bored before long because there was nothing to see and he wasn't getting anywhere - he suddenly got somewhere - and, wow! he could see a lot!

The passage had wound its way into a substantial cave. Spotlights from the last of the sun criss-crossed the space, bursting through half a dozen holes in the ceiling. Charlie had been imagining the weight and depth of the hill had been increasing vastly with every step but throughout all its twists and turns, the path had been roughly following the steep gradient of the cliff without him realising. Now, when he squinted up through one of the spotlights, he could see there was only about ten foot of rock between him and the open air. The trouble was, the roof of the cave was itself more than fifteen feet above his head so the holes in it were still far too high to make his escape through.

Then, when his eyes had got used to making paths between the dazzle of lights, he saw what his heart had only ever dreamed of. Over to one side of the cave, there were piles of boxes, all neatly stacked. Was this the pirates' treasure everyone wanted to find someday? Or was it a smugglers' hoard?

In awe, he walked towards the boxes. Then, as he drew close, he realised, with a pang of disappointment, they were made of cardboard. Pirates wouldn't have left their treasure lying about in cardboard boxes and smugglers would surely have kept their brandy in kegs.

But then another thought crept uneasily into his head - pirates and smugglers wouldn't have used cardboard boxes in the old days but what about now?

He stood still, apprehensive and thinking. Modern pirates boarded oil tankers and container ships by force. They were as cruel and as ruthless as their forebears. They weren't 'fun'. Sometimes they killed sailors, shooting them and throwing their bodies into the sea. He wouldn't want to come across any of them! They'd be worse than Ed! On the other hand, they wouldn't be able to store thousands of gallons of oil in a cave like this. He breathed a sigh of relief.

He was just beginning to feel comfortable again when he began to think about present day smugglers. What did they do?

He moved forward and touched one of the boxes. He let his hand move over its smooth, dry surface. He decided to pick it up and, expecting it to be heavy, braced his muscles and pulled hard. But it was so light, he was thrown off balance. He staggered backwards as it jerked into the air, his right foot tangled with his left foot and he ricocheted sideways, all the while frantically clutching the box to his chest so he didn't drop it. Whatever could be inside?

He lowered it gently back into place. What would smugglers be interested in that was as light as this? Cigarettes? His heart sank. Imagine getting all excited only to find the boxes were full of boring old packets of cigarettes. Still, it might be fun to go and tell the police and be praised for discovering the cache - and have his picture in the local paper.

Then, his heart gave a lurch. The other possibility was drugs. They were light.

He didn't know much about smugglers but he guessed cigarette smugglers were a bit like characters in the old days, glad to be outwitting excise men and thinking it was fun to make money in such an exciting, lawless way. They might not even reckon they were doing anything especially wrong. They wouldn't want to be caught but they weren't necessarily bad people, perhaps.

Drug smugglers, on the other hand . . . . . . He glanced round anxiously as if one of them might leap out on him at any moment. Would they have guns? If they were happy to sell drugs on the street, they might be happy to throw him out of the cliff and into the sea. Who was to know that he hadn't slipped all the way down when Ed surprised him earlier in the evening?

He listened hard. Nothing.

Then, his brain clicked in again. Just because he couldn't think of anything but cigarettes and drugs to smuggle, it didn't mean the smugglers were never able to come up with new ideas for themselves.

He lifted the box back down from the pile and carried it easily over to one of the spotlights and set it down under the full beam. Not that it gave as much light as he had hoped. It only looked bright because everything else was so dark. When it came to seeing what was in the box, it might not be of much use. The fading of the light outside seemed to be speeding up with every second. He must move quickly or he might never know what the boxes contained. If he ended up having to wait in here till morning, the smugglers might come and take them away before he had another chance to look inside.

Gently, carefully, so there would be no mark to show it had been opened, he pulled up the lid.

If he had been his great-grandfather, he might have exclaimed 'well knock me down with a feather' when he saw what was inside. If he had been his grandfather, he might have breathed 'what on earth!?'. If he had been his mother, he might have said - well, he wasn't sure he should repeat what his mother might have said, even to himself. As for him . . . . . he was perplexed and dumbstruck. For what was inside was . . . . .was . . . . . was a collection of large plastic bricks.

They were almost as big as house bricks but they had the same kind of gaps in their bottoms and lumps on their tops as the toy bricks he had at home.

He suddenly remembered there was a torch on his key-ring. When it was new, he'd played with it a lot but nowadays it was nothing but a useful shape in his pocket that helped him locate keys amongst all the other debris which accumulated throughout the day. Now, he had a real use for it.

He turned it on and directed its beam into the box. There they were, huge, plastic, toy bricks in primary colours. There were four on each layer and they were four layers deep; yellow on top, red below them. Lifting out the top two layers and setting them carefully aside, and poking his torch further into the box, he could see there were blue below the red and that the bottom layer was green.

He stared down at them in amazement. Who would want to smuggle plastic bricks? They were pretty good. Much bigger than any he had seen before . . . . . but all the same!

He put the blue and green bricks back in the box, shut the lid and returned it to its place in the pile. With the help of his torch, he could now see the boxes had labels on, saying what colour bricks were inside. Some contained a mixture - like the one he had opened. But the labels showed there were others containing black and white bricks and there were several stacks with one colour only. He stared at them for a bit, then turned and leant against the nearest pile so he could gaze up at the tantalising holes in the roof.

They weren't very wide - but neither was he. In fact, he was quite thin and small. If only he could reach up as high as one of the spotlights, he might be able to climb out and up the ten foot of rock beyond and escape - and go home.

That was what he wanted most in the world now. He wanted to go home.

Then, it struck him. He could build himself a staircase to the ceiling.

So he did.

With the last of the light and the extra help he got from his tiny torch, he built himself a staircase up to one of the spotlights, pulled himself through, worked his way along the side of the cliff until he came to a bit that was easier to climb, scrambled over the last ledges - and went home.

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FOR SIX

CHAPTER FOUR - THE TUNNEL

2007-09-12T22:01:00.029+01:00

Charlie looked up at the sky and wondered where he was. He seemed to have fallen through a ragged hole into some kind of tunnel. To the right, it narrowed and sloped towards a neat round opening, like a porthole, over which some strands of grass hung loosely. To his left, it widened slightly and its ceiling was higher. He would be able to walk that way if he stooped a little.

He ran his hands through his hair. Lumps of earth fell onto his face and chest. He blinked it out of his eyes and wiped his grazed hands down the sides of his grubby, grass stained shorts. His eyes and nose felt as if they had been crying but his throat was dry and sore with dust. He fished the bottle of water from his pocket and took a few careful sips. Thank heavens he hadn't drunk it all earlier!

With his throat soothed and the bottle safely back in his pocket, he crawled towards the round opening. Gently, he brushed the dangling grass aside and poked his head through.

Ahead was the vastness of the sea; very flat and very pale and dotted with empty tenders chained to buoys.

All around him was cliff. To the right, it was brittle and earthy. Below him and to the left, it was a sheer, smooth, rocky slope down to those boulders. They were good for sitting on at summer picnics but they wouldn't make a good landing place! He'd fallen into the tunnel at the last possible moment for his life to be saved. If the earth hadn't given way . . . . . he didn't want to think any more. He shuddered and shut his eyes.

From the moment he'd realised what had happened, he'd been listening out for his mum's voice. As soon, he thought, as Ed had gone to explain that he was down the cliff, she would have been out of the house like a shot - and everyone took such a close interest in what was going on, half the street would probably come too; especially the children.

But, however hard he listened, he could detect nothing but silence in the stillness of the evening.

He pulled himself back into the tunnel and sat down review his situation.

What would Ed do?

Go round to see Charlie's mum?

It wasn't likely.

What would he say?

"Excuse me Mrs Hethering but . . . . . umm . . . . . I just thought you might like to know I've chased Charlie over the edge of the cliff and I can't see where he is. I expect he fell down that steep rocky bit, got smashed to death on the boulders and his body has now been swept out to sea. The tide was coming in. I just thought you might like to know. Bye."

He wouldn't have wanted to own up to something like that!!

If he, Charlie, would have preferred to slink home and pretend he knew nothing about it, how much more so would Ed!

* * * * *

He opened his eyes and wondered what time it was.

The clouds were thin and faintly white but they were beginning to take on an evening grey.

More time must have passed too than he had at first thought.

When Ed had surprised him, coming suddenly over the brow of the hill like that, a grand bronze sunset was blazing away at his back, turning him monstrously into a silhouette. It was only as he walked forward, that Charlie had been able to see the vengeful delight on his face, triumphant because he had once again been able to catch out a child younger than himself.

So where were the red and gold tints which should have been reflected onto the eastern clouds?

Gone.

His mum must be going frantic by now. There was no way she'd leave his little sisters on their own but the other mums would be far to busy to baby-sit. They'd be cooking. Then they'd be persuading their children to eat the food they'd made and, after that, to get in their baths. Perhaps in an emergency like this . . . . . ? But how would she know where to look? He guessed, as well, that she'd be torn between coming to find him and staying put so she'd be there when he got back.

Returning to the place where the roof had given way, he stretched up and tried to touch the ceiling. He couldn't. Why did the only part he needed to be low enough to reach, have to be so very high? Pushing his head back, he examined the ragged edge to the hole. If he tried to jump up and catch hold of its thin, crumbling rim, he'd probably pull half the bank down on top of him. And he didn't like the idea of adding a landslide to the excitements of the day - especially with him underneath it!

A cold mist was now coming off the sea, drifting in towards him. At first it was refreshing. Then it made him shiver. Thoughtfully, he watched wisps float in from the porthole and rise like dreams through the break in the ceiling.

Then, he noticed something new and interesting. Some of the mist was passing him by; fragments of whiteness were wafting into the rocky part of the tunnel. Come to think of it, there was a dim light along there, not much, but enough to show it had some kind of link with the outside. Otherwise it would have been completely and absolutely and totally black - but it wasn't.

Charlie then did the bravest thing he'd ever done in his life. He decided to follow these tiny fragments of mist into the scary, inner parts of the cliff. From now on, he'd be leaving fresh air behind him and setting out directly into darkness.

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FOR FIVE

CHAPTER THREE - CHARLIE VANISHES

2007-09-11T21:22:00.016+01:00

Ed had never felt so pale in all his life. His blood ran away from his face, into his hands and feet. His hands felt enormous and heavy. They seemed to be stretching his arms, as if he were turning into an orang-utan. His feet felt as if they were in lead boots. He couldn't move.

Ed could never have imagined there'd be a time when he wanted to see Charlie. But he did now.

Urgently. He wanted to see him so much, he almost thought he could. There - partially hidden amongst the grasses, surprise and fear on his face - just as they had been until a moment ago.

But he knew Charlie wasn't really there because he could see right

through his image. He could see right through to the horizon. He was there and he wasn't there - and Ed was frightened.

Really frightened. More frightened than he had known it was possible to be frightened. Stone cold frightened. Can't move frightened. Don't dare to believe what you have just seen frightened. The sun was going down hotly on his back, burning his neck and sticking his shirt to his body. But the evening breeze, coming off the sea, was cool. It flowed around his face and into his nostrils, breathing back the life that heat and fear had taken. Gingerly, he stepped forward. One careful, heavy step at a time, until he was almost at the edge. He lowered himself to his knees and peered over.

Nothing.

Well, a tumble of earth -

- but no Charlie.

The top of the cliff had sheared off, not much of it, only about a foot of it, but enough to unbalance the boy who had been crouching down and glancing round in surprise.

Charlie's fall had taken him first to a lump of cliff that had cracked away in the spring. Then, he had slid from that to the next earthy ledge; Ed could see the marks. He could see dust slides and some crushed grass further down, a few small lumps of stone that had been pushed aside or had tumbled a short distance. But of Charlie himself - nothing. Charlie had vanished.

Gathering his senses, Ed crawled backwards from the edge of the cliff. Leaning his weight on one hand, he swivelled round to see if anyone was there.

No-one.

He could hear the last of the bathers coming up from the beach. They would be walking single file up the narrow path. The best plan would be to join them, to fit himself into the procession and pretend he had been there all the time.

With occasional glances backwards, he made his way along the cliff top and down into the gully that led from the beach. He wished he had a towel or something with him. It was odd to have nothing when everyone else on the path was burdened with buckets and spades and sun creams and rubber rings. Some of the grown ups said 'hello'. Some of the children mustered up a smile. Others turned away, embarrassed and worried. Everyone clutched the things they were carrying tighter than before.

As the procession entered the street, he separated himself from the others. Some of the smaller children playing there, grabbed their toys or leapt possessively onto scooters left lying in the road. They glared at him defiantly until he had passed, whooshed round in circles, then dropped their scooters back onto the tarmac. Cars didn't come down here often. The only real danger was Ed.

Some of the mothers, chatting on doorsteps, were as watchful as the children. Others, convinced Ed would turn out ok if more people were nice to him, called out 'Hello's. He returned their smiles weakly. Usually, he called back a cheery greeting, all sweetness and light. Usually, he pretended he had never climbed on their walls, sent their milk bottles flying or banged on their front doors as he passed. But this evening, he couldn't be bothered to pretend he was the charming boy they knew he could be if he tried: his flame burnt too low. Everyone noticed. Everyone felt sorry for him. They didn't know what bothered him but, whatever it was, they hoped his worries would soon pass. After all, he was still a child.

Charlie's mother saw him from her living room window and waved. She was looking out for Charlie. He would be home soon. She always got a bit anxious at this time of day, wondering if she was right to let him wander on the cliffs like this. Every morning, when she waved him 'goodbye', she was sure he'd be fine. Every evening, doubts floated about in her head and her heart quivered anxiously until she saw him return.

And today - he didn't.

By eight o'clock, she was thinking she had been wrong ever to let him out of the house, let alone onto the cliff. Every minute that passed after that, she thought of something else she had done wrong - until she had soon convinced herself that everything she had done in the whole of her life had been a mistake for it had led her to this moment - the moment when Charlie didn't come home.

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FOR FOUR

CHAPTER TWO - THE FALL

2007-09-10T13:43:00.035+01:00

The cliff top was generally empty of people. Dog-walkers ambled along in the morning and came back for a while in the afternoon - but for the rest of the day it was deserted. Adults were at work and children at school. Even in the holidays, you'd rarely find anyone there outside dog-walking hours. Nearly everyone went to the beach.

Charlie was lucky though. Hardly any of the other boys were allowed to come up this far on their own but Charlie's parents were trusting and imagined him sitting in some quiet place, overlooking the sea, reading a book or watching the waves.

For a lot of the time, that was precisely what he was doing. But he was happiest when he was clambering up and down in the rough places. He liked to explore and once he had explored everything there was to explore, he pretended it was all new to him and explored again.

The secret ways were the best. He slithered along on his tummy until he entered cathedral-like dens under gorse bushes. In these, he could stand up. The pale, twisted trunks which supported their prickly roofs were like ancient pillars; and the arched branches spanning across them and holding the coconut scented walls aside, were as good as any vaulted ceilings. Sometimes, he imagined setting up home in one. He imagined finding a place to plug in a kettle. Once, he tried making a bed of dried grass but it tickled and cut him. Then it rotted and he had to chuck it out, all slimy.

He had to be careful though, when he was playing up here. Gorse burnt quick and free, frazzling in its own oil. There was no road and no fire brigade. Great swathes of bright yellow flowers could be transformed in an instant to an eerie landscape of blackened sticks and stakes and charcoal spikes. All his secret spaces were laid bare every time the gorse burnt. He was glad not to be here when older boys lit fires. He doubted if they'd be brave enough to rescue him. No, he decided. They'd run.

Briefly, he considered hiding in one of his gorse dens now but what was the point? He'd be bored just sitting there quietly, waiting for Ed to give up and go away. Even worse, Ed might find him, find his den. Then it wouldn't be secret any more. And Ed was the last person on earth he'd want to share anything with. He'd be stuck there too, caged and at Ed's mercy, until he tired of the wait and they had to go home together, back to the street, sullen and sulky because neither of them had 'won'.

It was quiet now, just as it usually was. Charlie wondered what had happened to Ed. He couldn't hear him any more. Had he given up?

No.

Not for Ed, the rough paths. He was swinging round in a wide, easy loop, planning to cut Charlie off above a flight of shallow, earthy steps, worn into the ground by generations of dog-walkers. Ed began the climb, happy and smug, confident that Charlie would consider this way so boring, so trivial, so urban, that he wouldn't even remember it. It would never cross his mind that steps could be used in a chase like this one, even if they were made of mud. Ed smiled.

Not that he was experiencing pleasure. Ed didn't really enjoy things. He just did them. He'd found it was the best and most practical way of proceeding. To think - was boring. And such a waste of time!

Little puffs of dust spurted behind his heels, leaving pale marks where his trainers had scuffed the ground. He wiped the sweat from the back of his neck. The sun was behind him and it was hot.

At the top of the steps, he paused. Smiled for a second time.

Just as he had hoped, Charlie was crouching only a few yards in front of him, half hidden by grasses and peering anxiously over the edge of the cliff.

Charlie suddenly heard Ed's sweaty out-take of breath. He turned. He turned back. He lost his balance. He was gone.

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CHARLIE FALLS FROM THE CLIFF

For - THREE