had the real sword to show her,” said David, “and not two bits of stick.”
“But haven’t you noticed?” said Roland. “The Treasures still feel their own shapes when you hold them. They only look like scrap.”
“Oh, I don’t know anything about that,” said Nicholas. “Yours may feel different, but a stone’s just a stone when you’re humping it around.”
C HAPTER 9
S TAT
R oland decided to fetch the Treasures at the end of the first week in the cottage. Every Friday he brought his games clothes home from school in a rucksack, and there would be plenty of room for the cup and the stone, while he could manage the other Treasures easily.
It was left to Roland because he was the only one to go to school by train. He would get off at the station for the old house, collect the Treasures, and catch the next train home.
It felt strange to walk down from the platform with the usual travellers – other schoolchildren, and businessmen old and rich enough to leave their offices at half past three – to walk down the steps, and then to see not the hall light shining through the stained glass of the front door, but a ‘For Sale’ board behind the hedge, and the windows blank.
When Roland unlatched the gate he realised how much of his life had not moved with him to the cottage. The unique sounds of a house: the noise of that gate, ofhis feet on that path. Wherever he went he would never take those with him. And yet already there was something different about the house, even after a week. Roland felt it as a kind of awkwardness, almost uneasiness, in his being there, and as he reached the door this suddenly became so strong that the hair on the back of his neck tingled, and his palms were cramped with pins and needles.
It was a sensation so close to fear, and yet Roland was not afraid – then the door opened in front of him as he put the key in the lock.
There was a man standing in the shadowy hall.
“What are you on, son?” said the man in a hard, flat, Manchester voice.
“Noth – nothing,” said Roland.
The man was wearing overalls and carried some electrical equipment. Once Roland saw this he was reassured.
“I used to live here. We moved last week, and I’ve come back to pick up a few things.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, just some bits and pieces.”
“You’re not one of these here radio enthusiasts, by any chance?” said the man. “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, you know. You could do yourself a mischief.”
“Oh, no,” said Roland. “My brother’s keen, and I’ve another brother with a transistor set, but I’m no good at that sort of thing.”
“Ay,” said the man. “There’s summat peculiar going on here: there is that.”
“What do you mean?” said Roland.
“Well,” said the man, “all this week we’ve had nowt but complaints at the post office from the streets round here about radio and TV interference, and a lot more besides – a proper deluge. So me and me mate comes out in our detector van this afternoon, and there’s no two chances about the signal we’re getting from this house. There’s summat here jamming every frequency we’ve got and a few more on top, I’d reckon.”
“But the electricity’s switched off at the meter,” said Roland.
“I know it is,” said the engineer. “I had to go to the house agent’s for a key, and I’ve checked mains and wiring. No, it’s summat like a generator going full belt – and then some.”
“Can’t you tell which room it’s in?” said Roland.
“Not a chance. It’s too strong. Every needle’s peaking high enough to kench itself as soon as we switch it on. We’ll have to come in the morning and try again. It may just be a freak, though I doubt it.”
He looked back up the stairs.
“And I’ll tell you another thing. This house is full of stat.”
“What?”
“Stat – static electricity. And I’ll tell you summat else. I can’t earth it! What do you say to that?”
“Er – oh,
“But haven’t you noticed?” said Roland. “The Treasures still feel their own shapes when you hold them. They only look like scrap.”
“Oh, I don’t know anything about that,” said Nicholas. “Yours may feel different, but a stone’s just a stone when you’re humping it around.”
C HAPTER 9
S TAT
R oland decided to fetch the Treasures at the end of the first week in the cottage. Every Friday he brought his games clothes home from school in a rucksack, and there would be plenty of room for the cup and the stone, while he could manage the other Treasures easily.
It was left to Roland because he was the only one to go to school by train. He would get off at the station for the old house, collect the Treasures, and catch the next train home.
It felt strange to walk down from the platform with the usual travellers – other schoolchildren, and businessmen old and rich enough to leave their offices at half past three – to walk down the steps, and then to see not the hall light shining through the stained glass of the front door, but a ‘For Sale’ board behind the hedge, and the windows blank.
When Roland unlatched the gate he realised how much of his life had not moved with him to the cottage. The unique sounds of a house: the noise of that gate, ofhis feet on that path. Wherever he went he would never take those with him. And yet already there was something different about the house, even after a week. Roland felt it as a kind of awkwardness, almost uneasiness, in his being there, and as he reached the door this suddenly became so strong that the hair on the back of his neck tingled, and his palms were cramped with pins and needles.
It was a sensation so close to fear, and yet Roland was not afraid – then the door opened in front of him as he put the key in the lock.
There was a man standing in the shadowy hall.
“What are you on, son?” said the man in a hard, flat, Manchester voice.
“Noth – nothing,” said Roland.
The man was wearing overalls and carried some electrical equipment. Once Roland saw this he was reassured.
“I used to live here. We moved last week, and I’ve come back to pick up a few things.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, just some bits and pieces.”
“You’re not one of these here radio enthusiasts, by any chance?” said the man. “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, you know. You could do yourself a mischief.”
“Oh, no,” said Roland. “My brother’s keen, and I’ve another brother with a transistor set, but I’m no good at that sort of thing.”
“Ay,” said the man. “There’s summat peculiar going on here: there is that.”
“What do you mean?” said Roland.
“Well,” said the man, “all this week we’ve had nowt but complaints at the post office from the streets round here about radio and TV interference, and a lot more besides – a proper deluge. So me and me mate comes out in our detector van this afternoon, and there’s no two chances about the signal we’re getting from this house. There’s summat here jamming every frequency we’ve got and a few more on top, I’d reckon.”
“But the electricity’s switched off at the meter,” said Roland.
“I know it is,” said the engineer. “I had to go to the house agent’s for a key, and I’ve checked mains and wiring. No, it’s summat like a generator going full belt – and then some.”
“Can’t you tell which room it’s in?” said Roland.
“Not a chance. It’s too strong. Every needle’s peaking high enough to kench itself as soon as we switch it on. We’ll have to come in the morning and try again. It may just be a freak, though I doubt it.”
He looked back up the stairs.
“And I’ll tell you another thing. This house is full of stat.”
“What?”
“Stat – static electricity. And I’ll tell you summat else. I can’t earth it! What do you say to that?”
“Er – oh,
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