Faerie Wars

Fifteen

Henry walked into another heap of trouble when he got home. Aisling, who didn't believe their mum and dad would split up and didn't believe anything was ever going to interfere with her perfect world, had suddenly decided to believe that Henry thought he'd rescued a fairy. Or maybe she was just stirring it.

'We're worried about this fairy business,' his father said abruptly after supper.

Henry looked at his parents. 'What fairy business?'

'With Mr Fogarty,' his mother said sternly.

Aisling had told them! The little cow had told them! He hadn't thought she'd take him seriously, not the way he'd put it. She probably didn't believe it for a minute, but she'd told them anyway. 'Not much to say,' Henry shrugged.

'Well I don't suppose there is,' his father said. He smiled. 'I mean, I can't see a sensible boy like you suddenly starting to believe in fairies.' The smile faded. 'But I've made enquiries and I know a few things about your Mr Fogarty now. Frankly, he leaves a lot to be desired. He believes in fairies, doesn't he? And invasions of little green men? And a secret Jewish plot to run the world?'

'He never said Jewish – ' Henry tried to put in.

But his father wasn't really listening. 'There's a word for that,' he said. 'I'm not sure if you know it, Henry. Paranoia. It's a sort of madness.'

Henry knew the word paranoia all right. He even knew Mr Fogarty had it big time. It was one of the most interesting things about him. But that didn't make Mr Fogarty some sort of, like, Hannibal Lecter who'd cut you up and eat you. He sounded off a lot about stuff and he was a tough old fart, but Henry liked him. 'Dad, I – '

'The thing is, old man,' his father said soberly, 'just because Mr Fogarty believes in flying saucers doesn't mean you have to. And just because he's anti-Semitic – '

'Dad, he's not anti-Semitic.' He just didn't like the Swiss very much, as far as Henry could tell. The Swiss weren't Jews, were they? Henry thought most of them were Protestants.

' – doesn't mean you should hate Jews. And just because he believes in fairies doesn't mean you should waste your time chasing after moonbeams.'

'Dad, I said that about the fairy to annoy Aisling.'

'I thought it was something like that,' his mother said. 'All the same, that's hardly the point, is it? Mr Fogarty can't possibly be considered a suitable…' She hesitated. '… friend for you, can he, Henry?'

'Mum, I just clean up the house for him,' Henry said, trying to retrieve the situation.

'Your sister seems to think it may be more than that,' his mother said.

'Mum, Aisling doesn't know anything about Mr Fogarty. And even if she did, she's not exactly – '

'But you have to admit she has a point,' his mother cut across him.

'A point about what?' Henry asked.

Martha Atherton sniffed. 'Middle-aged man… young impressionable boy. You're not a child, Henry.'

'First off, Mr Fogarty isn't middle aged. He's old. Really old, like seventy-five or eighty or something. He's not interested in sex any more.'

'Who mentioned sex?' his mother asked. 'I didn't mention sex.'

It was one of her tricks, but Henry wasn't going to let her get away with it. 'It's what you meant, isn't it, Mum? You're worried in case Mr Fogarty and I are… are -' He couldn't even say it.

'You have to admit it's a possibility. You have to – '

This time it was Henry who cut in. 'It's not a possibility, Mum. I'm not interested in old men – I'm interested in girls!'

Henry's mother said coldly to her son, 'Did you know your precious Mr Fogarty has a police record?'

Up in his room, long after the hassle, Henry stared at his sculpture of the flying pig and wondered what had gone wrong with his life. He turned the handle and the pig took off smoothly, flapping cardboard wings. He felt as if he'd made it in some other lifetime. Some other lifetime when he was just a kid. He didn't feel like a kid any more. At that exact moment, he felt older than Mr Fogarty who he'd been forbidden to see ever again.

A police record? His mother refused to say anything more, not even where she'd heard it, but his dad looked sheepish so Henry suspected this little titbit of information was part of the few enquiries he'd made. Not that Henry believed it for a minute. His dad could get things wrong just as easily as his mum. There was no way Mr Fogarty could have a police record. He was nearly eighty, for God's sake, maybe more than eighty. What sort of police record could anybody have when they were over eighty? Swatting somebody with their pension book?

His parents wouldn't listen. Neither of them. Not even when Henry tried the old ploy of playing them off against each other. Where it came to Fogarty, they stood shoulder to shoulder, all differences forgotten. Henry was not to see him again.

He lay down on the bed, not bothering to take off his trainers, and ran a replay of the last conversation he'd had with Mr Fogarty.

'So where do we get them?' Henry said, asking about the components of the Hieronymous Machine.

And Fogarty told him, 'You'll have to steal them from your school.'

Henry blinked and said something really dim. 'It's closed for the summer holidays.'

'Make it easier to nick them, won't it?' Fogarty sniffed.

'I'm not going to steal stuff from my school!' Henry protested. 'No way!'

'Well, I can't do it,' Fogarty said. 'Can hardly walk to the end of the road, let alone climb a wall. You'll have to do it, Henry. Pyrgus will help you. Won't you, Pyrgus?'

'Yes,' said Pyrgus promptly.

'Are you mad?' Henry asked them. 'What happens if I get caught?'

Fogarty gave him a withering look. 'Know how many larcenies ever get solved in this district? Ten per cent. Ten per cent. One in ten -know what I'm saying? Even then, half of them walk for lack of evidence or some legal crap. And it's only the stupid ones get caught in the first place. Little bit of planning, little bit of common sense and you'll be through that place like a dose of salts. It's an empty school! Not like I'm asking you to nick the Crown Jewels.'

'I'm not doing it,' Henry said.

'You want Pyrgus to get back, don't you?'

'Yes,' said Henry angrily. 'I want Pyrgus to get back. But I don't want to steal things from my school. Or anywhere else.'

'Tell you what,' Fogarty said, 'we'll put them back afterwards. So it won't be stealing – just borrowing. Short-term-loan sort of thing, if you're going to be prissy.'

Henry bristled at the prissy crack, but forced himself not to respond. 'What do you mean, we'll put them back? Pyrgus will be gone and you can't walk to the end of the road. You mean I'll put them back. So I'm supposed to break into the school twice. I'm not doing it.'

'Suppose I got somebody else to put them back, would you do it then?'

'Who?' asked Henry. 'Who would you get to put them back?'

'I got contacts,' Fogarty said.

'Then get your contacts to steal them!' Henry told him crossly.

'No time,' Fogarty said. 'Pyrgus has things of his own to do.' He sniffed. 'Anyway, I see you don't have any objection to taking the things just so long as you don't have to do it.'

'Of course I have an objection to stealing – breaking and entering and stealing. Of course I do. I'm not going to do it.'

Pyrgus said, 'Look, Henry, would you at least be prepared to show me where your school is? I'll go in and get the things we need.'

Henry glared at him. 'You can't just go around stealing things!''

'Yes, I can,' Pyrgus said. 'I don't like it, but somebody tried to kill me and I think my father may be in trouble and there's a factory drowning kittens in glue, and if it means stealing a few things to put a stop to all that, I'll do it. Especially if Mr Fogarty can arrange to put them back.'

Henry's mouth opened and shut a few times, but nothing came out. Fogarty said, 'Won't work, Pyrgus.'

'Why not?'

'You don't know what you're looking for.'

Pyrgus frowned. 'You can give me a list.'

'Sure I can,' Fogarty said. 'But it won't mean anything to you. Do you even know what a transistor looks like?'

After a moment Pyrgus said, 'You could draw it for me.'

'I'm not that good at drawing. Besides, we need a lot of parts. I can give Henry a list. Henry goes to the school. Henry gets taught in the lab. Henry knows where everything is and what it looks like. It has to be Henry.'

Pyrgus looked pleadingly at Henry. 'Would you at least come along with me and point things out, Henry? I'll do the actual stealing. And if we get caught, I'll say I forced you to help.'

Henry sighed. 'All right – I'll do it. I'll get you what you need. Make out a list.'

'That's the ticket!' Fogarty said enthusiastically.

'You don't have to come, Pyrgus,' Henry said. 'No sense in both of us getting caught.'

'I'm coming,' Pyrgus told him firmly.

Henry turned to Mr Fogarty. 'When do you want me to do this?'

'Tomorrow morning,' Mr Fogarty said promptly. 'Tomorrow's Sunday – there won't be anybody about.'

Tomorrow was still Sunday, but as Henry lay on his bed in a haze of frustration, he couldn't see how he was going to do it. The plan had been to meet up with Mr Fogarty early in the morning to pick up Pyrgus and the list. Then he and Pyrgus were to head for the school, break in if the coast was clear, and bring the necessary components back to Fogarty like two characters out of Oliver Twist. The three of them would spend the rest of Sunday constructing Fogarty's weird machine. The cover story was simple: Mr Fogarty wanted Henry to work an extra day.

Except now the cover story wouldn't work. Henry was forbidden to see Mr Fogarty.

Worse still, there was a family picnic planned for tomorrow. His mum was having an affair. His dad was going out of his mind with worry. His sister was in love with a horse. So the thing to do was have a family picnic, pretend everything was normal, thank you very much. Henry closed his eyes. With the picnic thing, he couldn't just sneak away to Mr Fogarty and hope his parents never found out. He was expected to fight flies off his food with the rest of them. He'd more than half decided the picnic was just a way of keeping an eye on him.

But what to do about it?

After a while, he got up and took off his trainers, then walked to the door of his room and listened. The house was quiet. He'd heard his parents go to their separate rooms more than an hour ago, so with a bit of luck they might be asleep. But even if not, they weren't likely to come down again. He'd heard Aisling come home earlier – she was a door slammer – and assumed she'd be in bed by now as well.

Henry opened the door. The landing was dark except for the glow of a little low-wattage light plugged into a wall socket so people could go to the bathroom in the night without falling downstairs. In his stockinged feet, he crept across the landing and looked over the balustrade. The lights were off downstairs too, but he could still see well enough thanks to the moonlight streaming through the curtains. He glanced around. There was a sliver of light under the door of the spare room. His father was probably reading, but once he went to bed, he never got up again before morning. The lights seemed to be out in his mother's room and Aisling's room. Henry tiptoed down the stairs.

There was a phone in the living room and an extension in the kitchen. He picked the living room because it was that much further away from the stairs. He had two numbers for Mr Fogarty – his house phone and his mobile. You never rang the house phone during the day because Mr Fogarty refused to answer it, but Henry didn't think he'd leave his mobile switched on late at night so he dialled the house phone anyway. On the fifth ring, he heard Fogarty's rough voice.

'Mr Fogarty – ' Henry said quietly, then realised he was listening to an answerphone.

'… in South America,' said the answerphone message. 'Don't leave a message because I won't be back this year.' There was a click and Henry was listening to empty space.

He hung up, then dialled Mr Fogarty's mobile, praying he hadn't switched it off. There was a pause, then a ringing tone. Henry waited nervously. If Fogarty didn't answer, the call would be re-routed to his answering service, but he wouldn't check that before tomorrow, which would be too late.

'This better be good,' Fogarty's voice growled. Tm in bed.'

Henry glanced over his shoulder. There were still no sounds in the house. 'It's me, Mr Fogarty,' he whispered. Tm sorry to get you out of bed, but – '

'Who the hell is that? I can't hear you.'

'It's Henry,' Henry said, raising his voice only a fraction, but trying to enunciate very clearly.

'Well, which is it – CIA or FBI? Don't you know what time it is over here?'

'It's Henry,' Henry said again in something closer to his conversational voice.

'Henry? That you, Henry?' Fogarty asked. 'What's the problem?'

'My mum and dad won't let me work for you any more. That means I – '

'I can't hear you, Henry. You're whispering. Can't stand people who whisper. Most of them are sly.'

Hell with it, Henry thought. 'My mum and dad won't let me work for you any more, Mr Fogarty,' he said loudly enough to be sure Fogarty would hear him.

'Been expecting that,' Fogarty grunted.

Henry wondered why, but only said, 'You know the job tomorrow? The one Pyrgus and I have to do together?'

'Yes,' Fogarty said quickly.

'I thought if we went early – very early in the morning, yes? If we did that, I might get back here before anybody wakes up. So they wouldn't know. You and Pyrgus will have to work on the machine without me.'

'Yes, that's OK.'

'Thing is,' Henry said, 'I'd need to be back here by eight. Get to you and then on to the sc – to where we'll be working, I'd need to leave here half four or so; before five anyway. To be on the safe side.' He took a deep breath. 'Buses don't run that early.' He couldn't see how it was going to happen, but at least he was showing willing.

To his surprise, Mr Fogarty said, 'Get to the top of your road by quarter to five. You'll be picked up.'

'Picked up?' Henry echoed.

'In a car,' Fogarty said.

'You don't have a car,' Henry said.

'I'm not picking you up,' said Fogarty.