Deep Amber by C.J. Busby

he said.
    â€œI don’t know,” said Cat. “I think Mum put it down in the cellar, after we went to bed. But they’ve got that machine, haven’t they? They’ll be able to trace it… or anything else strange in the house.”
    She looked at the box, and Simon reached out and slipped it under his pillow.
    They could both hear the noises from downstairs now. There was a crash that soundedlike a kitchen chair falling over, and then the bang of the back door – or was it the cellar door? There was silence for a minute, then the stomp of footsteps along the hall, followed by what sounded like someone knocking over the hat stand and cursing in a loud voice.
    They looked at each other in sudden relief.
    â€œThat wasn’t Smith or Jones!”
    â€œThat was— ”
    â€œAlbert Jemmet!”
    Nervously, in case Smith or Jones was still there, they crept out of Simon’s bedroom and peered down the stairs. It was indeed Albert Jemmet, just picking himself up off the floor and replacing the tall wooden hat stand in the corner of the hallway.
    â€œMr Jemmet!” called Simon, and a jolly face looked up at them, smiling cheerily.
    â€œGood morning!” he said. “Nothing to worry about – just me down here now. What do you say to a spot of breakfast?”
    Simon padded into the kitchen after Cat to find Albert cracking eggs into a large frying pan and slicing bread for the toaster. Next to him stooda strange contraption. It was rather like an old-fashioned bicycle horn attached to a paint spray can. Simon could see a black rubber bulb and a trumpet-like mouthpiece, and under them both a small brass cannister.
    â€œMy fumigator,” said Albert, picking it up and squeezing the bulb. A fine mist sprayed from the mouthpiece towards Simon and he caught a fresh smell of new-mown grass, overlaid with a faint tang of wood smoke. Then it was gone, and all he could smell was frying eggs.
    â€œI got a call from… your mum. Asking me to come over and check your pest problem,” said Albert, gesturing with the fumigator. “And while I was here, I thought I’d dish you up some breakfast and we’d have a little chat.”
    â€œPest problem? What pest problem?” said Cat. “And I thought you were electricals anyway.”
    â€œAh, yes,” said Albert, sliding two fried eggs onto buttered toast and plonking it down on the table. “Well, pests are one of my sidelines.”
    He handed them each a card, a green one this time, with Albert Jemmet, Senior Pest Control Executive embossed on one side. On the other side was a black rat in silhouette and the words All your pests dealt with, no questions asked .
    â€œBut we don’t have any pests,” said Cat. “Did Mum really ask you to come? And what about… I thought I saw…?”
    She trailed off as Albert lifted up his fumigator and directed it with a stern expression at a large black feather lying close to the back door. It looked like a crow’s feather, thought Simon, but what was any sort of feather doing in the kitchen? As the fumigator’s spray reached it, the feather suddenly curled up and dissolved in a fine scattering of grey ash.
    Albert looked pleased with himself and put his contraption back on the kitchen table.
    â€œ No questions asked ,” he said meaningfully, and tapped the side of his nose with his finger. “Although,” he continued cheerfully, “in this case, that’s not strictly true. I do need to ask a few questions, as it happens. So – tuck into your eggs, and then we’ll have a little talk, shall we?”
    Simon and Cat looked at each other, and then sat down at the table. Ever since he had found the sword, Simon felt as if the world around him had shifted. It felt as if he suddenly had extra senses he’d never needed to use before.Albert Jemmet seemed to have some connection to all this weirdness, and Simon wanted