Gauge (5 page)

“Save our clock!” Miss Baxter shouted. The crowd cheered. The camera turned towards them again. (Lucy immediately hid her face.)

Roger Trustable raised an important finger. “The hour beckons and time marches on—”

“Not if you have your way,” said Henry Bacon. He was standing, arms folded, by the library doors.

“—Progress must be made.”

“Boo!” went Liz.

Lucy gritted her teeth. “Mum,” she hissed. The camera was squarely on her mother now. They were going to be on the news!

Liz would not be stopped. “We don’t want progress of the kind you’re talking about! We want history! We want our clock restored!”

“Save our clock! Save our clock!” the crowd began to chant.

Councillor Trustable jiggled his tie. “Our reports indicate that the existing clock cannot be repaired—”

“Pah!” Miss Baxter expostulated. “You’re just too mean to spend money on it, that’s all!”

The Councillor laughed. “If you look at our record over the past two years, madam, you’ll see that we’ve been—”

“Playing the same one!” a heckler shouted.

Lucy did not understand this remark, but it caused a great ripple of laughter all the same. She looked at Councillor Trustable. His cheeks had flushed. He seemed a little annoyed.

“Perhaps if you were to come into the library and view the Council’s plans?” he suggested.

“Oh, we will!” said Liz. And she thrust her stick forward so hard that the cardboard sign came off and struck Councillor Trustable in the chest.

The crowd cheered and surged towards the library doors. Lucy squirmed. The dreaded ‘sit-in’ had started. Worse still, she could see a police car pulling up on the High Street. All the protesters were now heading for the library, leaving just her, Henry Bacon, the film crew, Councillor Trustable and his guard, Mr Higson, behind. This was it. Her life of crime had begun.

The Councillor stepped down off his podium. His expression was very harsh. He waved the camera away then whispered something snappy to Mr Higson. Higson gave a curt nod and went into the library. He brushed hard past Lucy’s shoulder, spinning her round. She turned to find herself in the eye of the camera.

“Want to say something, kid?”

The reporter, a young woman with flyaway hair and very tight blue jeans, thrust a microphone under Lucy’s nose.

Lucy gulped. Two policemen strolled past, behind her. In about one minute from now, they would probably come back the other way, carrying her mother kicking and screaming to their waiting car.

“Anything?” the reporter tutted.

Lucy dipped her hand into her deep coat pocket. She brought out Gauge and showed him to the camera. It was time she put her own plans into action. “Dragons rule,” she said, and dashed into the library.

Lucy couldn’t believe her eyes. She had never seen the library so full before – not even on Wildest Read Day when a famous explorer had brought in a snake. The crowd of protesters had swarmed into the gaps between the book shelves. They were all sitting cross-legged on the floor. All except two: her mother and Miss Baxter. They were standing beside a display board in the Local History section. The two policemen and Henry Bacon were making their way towards them.

“Now then, ladies,” one of the policemen began.

“This is a peaceful protest!” said Miss Baxter, wagging a finger as if he were her pupil.

“Not from where I’m standing,” the second policeman said. “This is public disorder. If you don’t clear the library, we’ll have to arrest you.”

“Unless they all take out a book,” whispered Henry, who was never one to miss an opportunity for a loan.

The policeman waved him aside.

“Boo!” went the crowd. “Save our clock!”

“At least hear us out,” Liz said boldly. “We’re here to demonstrate how much the people of Scrubbley are against these plans.” She pointed to the board, where there were some drawings of Councillor Trustable’s proposed new clock.

The first policeman sighed. “Between you and me, madam, I don’t care for them either, but invading the library is not the way to get them stopped.”

“Then try this,” Miss Baxter cried. And she pulled a can of spray paint from her handbag and sprayed a large purple ‘X’ all over the plans.

“That’s it, you’re nicked,” the policeman said.

Miss Baxter promptly sat down and sprayed his boots purple.

To Lucy’s horror, she saw her mother sit down as well.

That was it. Lucy knew, unless she acted, all hope was lost. Quickly, she hurried to the main library desk. The librarians who normally issued the books had deserted it to watch the hilarious goings-on. Lucy slipped behind it and went to the door which led to the clock tower above. To her surprise it was ajar. She peeped inside. It was dark and slightly musty, but she could see a spill of yellow light where the stairs wound upwards. A chill breeze whistled down the old stone steps. Lucy jumped back. She didn’t like the dark – or the thought of ghosts. But the thought of going to prison was even worse. She glanced over her shoulder. The policemen were trying to drag Miss Baxter away. Unbelievably, she had stolen their handcuffs and chained herself to a library trolley!

Checking to see that no one was watching, Lucy whispered urgently to Gauge. “Fly up there and see if you can fix the clock. If you only make it properly bong, that will be enough.”

Gauge twizzled his nose. He wasn’t sure about this. He’d had words with Gruffen before they came out and Gruffen’s book had clearly stated that Pennykettle dragons were not to be let loose in human society unless Liz said so. But on this occasion, he didn’t have much option.

“Go!” Lucy hissed, and threw him up the stairs.

He fluttered round the curving walls, up towards the light. In a matter of moments he had settled on a dusty wooden platform that was built around the workings of the ancient clock. Its cogs and wheels were huge compared to Mr Bacon’s watch. Gauge looked on in fascination as they ground slowly round, making a lovely deep tock every time one of the wheel teeth engaged.

High above, a pigeon cooed. The clock groaned and gave a dull sort of clunk. Gauge knew that it was trying to chime. But something was preventing it. Something unnatural. It was just as if the clock had been wounded in some way. He flew forward to investigate and landed on a rail just beside the main housing. As he did he heard a footstep. Instantly, he turned himself solid.

From the far side of the platform a figure appeared. It was Higson, Councillor Trustable’s assistant. Gauge recognised him because he’d watched all the hoo-hah outside through a hole in Lucy’s pocket. Higson was carrying a long piece of wood. He kept jabbing it at the clock, trying to wedge it between the wheels. It seemed to Gauge that the man was trying to break the clock or stop it from working. That made him very angry indeed. He was wondering if he dared risk scorching Higson’s ear when a foggy voice said, “Oh no, sir. That won’t do the job at all.”

Gauge rolled his eyes. From out of nowhere, another figure had appeared. He was very old and had no hair, apart from two bushy growths on either cheek. He was wearing a waistcoat, which had watch chains looping out of both pockets. Gauge smiled. His angry mood lifted. Here was a man who cared about time.

Higson whipped around in surprise. “What the…? Where did you come from?”

“Ah, that is a difficult question,” said the figure. “I seem to live here permanently now, if that’s any help.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Sir Rufus Trenchcombe. Clockmaker to the Crown.”

Higson shook his head in confusion. “Are you the, err, keeper of this clock or something?”

Sir Rufus’s chest seemed to barrel with pride. “Indeed, one could say so. Do you have an interest in time-pieces, sir? Were you seeking to release the stuck counter-sprocket by striking it with your planking?”

Higson clicked his tongue. “I was sent here to, err, service it, yeah. This, erm, counter-sprocket. Is that what’s wrong with it, then?”

“Indeed so! Faulty these three years past.”

Higson lifted his piece of wood. “So if that broke, then…?”

“It would need a vast repair. But the part is sturdy. The King’s cannon would surely struggle to break it. ’Tis made from the finest metals in Kent. A greater problem lies with the pendulum arm.”