The Ability (Ability, The) (32 page)

“Welcome to the Antarctic Ball,” said the security guard, taking the invitation from him without looking up. He scanned the bar code, and there was a loud beep. Ernest held his breath. The light went green.

“Enjoy your evening,” said the guard, holding out the invitation. Ernest reached out and took hold of it, but just as he was about to take it out of the guard’s hand, the man looked up and a look of recognition flashed across his face.

Ernest quickly looked the man in the eyes and tried to enter his Reception, but his heart was pounding, and he struggled to keep focused.

“You!” the man shouted before Ernest had a chance to pull himself together, and within seconds he was being flung down on the ground and his hands were being pulled back behind him and secured with handcuffs. Ernest looked up in horror as the biggest man he had ever seen walked over to him and lifted him up horizontally, placing him under his enormous arm as if he were just a rather large book.

Ernest heard gasps from onlookers as he struggled to get away, but the guard didn’t flinch, and his arm stayed firmly locked, pinning Ernest’s arms to his side. Though unable to move, Ernest did manage to twist his head round enough to see two boys, both dressed in white tuxedos and one of whom he recognized from their surveillance at Lady Magenta’s house, running over toward him.
He looked behind him, out into the night, and saw his mother standing in line, watching him calmly. Panicking and realizing that there was no way he was going to be able to escape without help, Ernest tried to send her a message, but instead he heard her thoughts, as clearly as if she were whispering them into his ear.

“Good. He’s out of the way, as planned. Now the other can get on with his work; then I’ll be rid of both of them.”

Ernest felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. He suddenly realized that the last few years had meant nothing to his mother, and that he and Mortimer were no more than pawns in her plan, to be dispensed with like unwanted rubbish once she’d done what she had set out to do. He tried to scream to warn Mortimer, but no sound left his mouth as the familiar sound of ringing in his ears washed over him and rendered him speechless. He looked up at the boys and recognized their blank stares. At that moment he knew they were standing in his mind, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“I’ll bring him round,” said the gruff voice of the guard carrying him. Ernest looked up helplessly as he was lifted to his feet and dragged out toward a side exit, surrounded by policemen and guards. Guests stared at him as he passed them, and although he could see their mouths moving and the orchestra behind them, all Ernest could hear in his mind was the sound of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” being sung loudly by the voices of the two boys trailing behind him, blocking any chance he had of using his Ability to get away.

The giant guard carried Ernest out into the cold night
air toward a waiting police van with its lights flashing blue. He heard the faint sound of the men talking and watched the police van doors open.

“Take him to the cell at Waterloo and don’t take your eyes off him for a moment,” said a skinny guard in sunglasses. “He may be a child, but he’s extremely dangerous.”

“We’ve got it all under control, Ron; this is a police matter now. You two go back to the others and we’ll take it from here,” said a policeman, climbing into the van. Ernest felt himself being lifted up into the van, and then the giant man laid him down on the metal floor. Turning his head, he saw the two boys taking a seat at the back of the van and watched as the doors closed. The floor of the van rumbled as the engine started up.

•  •  •

Fifteen minutes later the van doors opened, and Ernest was lifted back onto his feet and down into the police parking lot.

“You boys are all done here now,” said a faint voice that seemed to come from an older man in police uniform in front of him. “One of my men will take you back to the ball.”

Ernest saw that the two boys had heard what the man said, but they remained still and staring at him.

“I said, you boys are dismissed. We’ll take the boy up to the cell.”

Ernest felt the sound of “Twinkle, Twinkle” fade as the boys turned to face the man.

“We have to stay here until he’s locked up,” said one of the boys, “just in case.”

“Just in case what?” said the man, clearly annoyed. “I think between five men we can handle a twelve-year-old boy. Arthur, take these boys back to Hyde Park.”

“Yes, sir. Come with me, lads.”

“No! We can’t—”

Ernest, his mind suddenly clear and his thoughts on his brother, realized that this might be his only opportunity. He looked over at two of the largest men and, focusing his mind, sent them flying back suddenly into the rest of the group. The two boys fell to the ground beneath the mass of bodies, and Ernest turned and ran over to the driver’s side of the van. He looked at the ignition and used his Ability to make it move forward. Spinning the van around, Ernest felt the change of gears in the van, and he sped off past the gates as the men struggled to their feet and tried to run after him.

Meanwhile, back at the ball, Sir Bentley was congratulating his security team.

“Absolutely fantastic news! I’ll leave after dinner to interview the boy. Christopher, I think it would be useful if you came along with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In the meantime, you can all relax and enjoy yourselves. Dinner starts after the speeches in twenty minutes. I’m going to go and have a word with the prime minister and tell him that everything has been taken care of.”

Chris, Philip, Daisy, and Lexi ran off toward the tunnel to grab some skates and hurried out onto the lake of ice outside to join the hundreds of children gliding around, until the sound of a single trumpet called them
to dinner and they joined the line to get back in.

“How do we know where to sit?” asked Daisy. “Do we have to check each place?”

“There’s a table plan next to the polar bear statue—on the wall—it’s carved into the ice. I saw it earlier,” said Philip, as they walked back into the main hall.

The guests were all seated in order of their carriage number, which made it easy for them to find their names, once they had managed to jostle their way past the crowds to the wall. Carriages two and three were sat at the right side of the room, with the exception of Sir Bentley, who sat at the top table alongside Clarissa Teller and another woman they didn’t recognize—a first-time attendee to the ball called Dulcia Genever, who had in the last year, for reasons unknown, matched Clarissa Teller’s substantial donations to various children’s charities around the country. Her generosity had earned her a coveted seat at the top table alongside other dignitaries and donors. It had also earned her the trust of the organizers of the ball, who were about to find out just how misplaced their trust had been.

•  •  •

Chris took his seat and poured himself a glass of water from the crystal jug in front of him. He looked around in wonder at his surroundings, taking everything in.

Finally the seven hundred plus guests were seated, and the orchestra stopped playing. Everybody hushed and watched as a man dressed in a white suit and elaborate white feathered hat walked over to the podium at the side of the room and rang a small gold bell three times. The sound, amplified through the microphone, bounced around the walls.

“Esteemed guests, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to the Antarctic Ball. Without further ado, I would like to welcome to the podium your host for this evening, the prime minister of the United Kingdom, Edward Banks.”

The entire room applauded as the prime minister thanked the master of ceremonies and stepped up to the podium.

“Good evening to you all, and welcome. Two hundred seventeen years ago, this ball was established in order to give children from all walks of life and around the United Kingdom a chance to learn about the great achievements of the British explorer James Cook and find out more about the places he discovered. Nowadays, thanks to the power of radio, television, and other media, our knowledge of the world is far greater, and while we still honor the achievements of James Cook every year, we also use this event as an opportunity to acknowledge the generosity of people who choose to donate . . .”

The prime minister stopped and raised his hands to his ears. Chris froze and watched, his heart in his mouth, as the prime minister looked up at Sir Bentley, his eyes wide with horror, and began to sing:

“Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he. Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he.
Old King
 . . .”

All the guests turned to each other in confusion. Chris saw the paramedics at the other side of the hall scramble to grab their bags. They ran over to the prime minister, who was now shouting at the top of his voice.

“Someone’s using their Ability,” said Daisy, in a horrified whisper. “What should we do?”

Chris looked over at Daisy and saw the terror in her face.

“The block’s not working!” he said, as the prime minister’s voice began to fade.

“Do something, Chris!”

And then, with a jolt of clarity, Chris suddenly realized what he had to do. Any nerves or fear he had felt disappeared instantly, replaced with a complete sense of calm and focus. He looked around as the rest of the audience watched silently while the prime minister struggled to regain his composure.

Chris turned to Lexi.

“Put a block in the prime minister’s head! Do it now!” instructed Chris, as he pushed his chair back and stood up, scanning the face of each child seated in turn. Seeing nothing, he began to walk around the tables as quickly as he could without bringing any attention to himself. And then, suddenly, he spotted a lone figure in a dark alcove behind the orchestra. Chris stopped dead in his tracks and ducked. He squinted, and the figure started to come into focus. It was him—the boy from the photograph—standing completely still and staring in the direction of the prime minister, who was now clutching at his throat as he leaned on the podium for support.

Chris didn’t stop to think about how the boy they had only just arrested had managed to reappear. He stood slowly and stared directly at the boy. For a moment nothing happened, and then suddenly the boy jerked his head
round. Chris’s eyes narrowed with concentration, and before the boy had a chance to react, he was thrown violently up in the air and slammed against the wall behind him. The shocked silence of the crowd, who had until that moment been entirely focused on the prime minister, was broken as everybody turned to see the boy landing on the floor with a heavy thud. Chris jumped over the table, knocking glasses and plates to the ground, and, ignoring the screams of panic around him, he ran over to the boy, who was lifting himself up slowly.

“Watch out!” screamed Lexi, as the boy leaned forward, staring at Chris. It was too late. Chris felt himself lifted off the ground and flying back in the air, landing painfully on the hard ground. He lifted his head and saw the boy turn to run. Chris let his eyes glaze over and stared at the boy, who rose up into the air once more and soared backward, landing at the foot of the fountain.

•  •  •

Sir Bentley was already up on his feet and about to make his way over, when the woman next to him grabbed his arm.

“Excuse me!” said Sir Bentley, wrenching his arm away.

“Don’t you know who I am, Sir Bentley?”

Sir Bentley stopped. He looked down at the woman who had been sitting silently next to him and struggled to place the vaguely familiar face.

“I need to go,” said Sir Bentley, unnerved by the woman’s calm tone of voice. She stared up at him and lifted her hands to her eyes. When she moved her hands back, her eyes had changed from a deep black to a brilliant
emerald, and Sir Bentley took a sharp breath. Sir Bentley had only seen eyes like that on one person—a young girl, more than thirty years earlier—and suddenly everything that was happening and all the events leading up to it started to make sense.

“That’s right,” said Dulcia, seeing the recognition sweep across Sir Bentley’s face. “Anna Willows.”

“Anna? I—I don’t understand. . . . I thought you were—”

“Dead?” interrupted Dulcia. “You shouldn’t have given up on me so easily, but I suppose my life wasn’t as valuable as yours.”

Sir Bentley looked horrified. “That’s not the case at all. We came back for you. We found your jacket washed up on the shore, covered in blood.”

Dulcia’s eyes narrowed, and she stood up to face Sir Bentley.

“And that’s it? A jacket with some blood and you gave up all hope. You just went back to your happy lives and left me to rot in a cellar for the rest of my childhood.”

“I don’t know what to say, Anna. We saw you going over the cliff—we didn’t think anybody could have survived that.”

“And yet I did survive, didn’t I?”

Sir Bentley put his hand on Dulcia’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Anna. Please, stop all this and we can talk—there’s no need for anybody else to get hurt.”

“It’s a bit late for talking now, I think,” said Dulcia, her voice so calm it sounded almost robotic.