Torquil was in a side chapel. Knowing what Torquil was like, Howard thought the chapel ought to be dedicated to Saint Torquil—if there was such a saint—but it was called Dedicated to Private Prayer. Erskine stopped outside the chapel and edged himself, in a guilty, apologetic way, into a handy empty niche in the wall. “You speak to him,” he whispered to Howard. Knowing what Erskine was like by now, Howard looked at him suspiciously. Erskine put on his most placating grin. “Torquil hates me,” he explained, and he took hold of Awful’s arm to stop her from going with Howard.
This made Howard quite sure that Erskine was pushing him into something else, but he could not see what it might be. He unlatched the wrought-iron gate to the chapel and slipped inside. Torquil did not seem to see him. He just sat on the altar steps, clasping his knees, under banners saying “British Legion” and “Mother’s Union,” staring unhappily at nothing. Howard was surprised. On a Saturday night there ought to be enough music and dancing coming up to keep Torquil happy for a week. And he was ashamed to be there. He could see Torquil wanted to be alone.
That took him back to the views he had had of all six, just now in the future. Torquil was not the only one who had been alone. Archer had been. So had Dillian. So, too, had he, as Venturus, been alone in his great marble temple. Shine had people with her, but they were minions. And Erskine’s people in yellow coveralls were minions, too. The only one of them who had proper company was Hathaway, and he had to live in the past to have it. What a strange family they were, all sitting alone, all spying on one another, as if that were the only kind of company most of them knew. Thinking this, Howard began to wonder if his real reason for being a baby twice had much to do with the spaceship at all. It could well be simple loneliness. And he began to suspect what might be wrong with Torquil.
He went up to Torquil and coughed. Torquil looked up. Howard saw him hoist a look of joking superiority onto his face. “If it isn’t limpet boy Sykes again!” he said. “Or is bad penny or yesterday’s chewing gum a better name? Go away. I want to be alone.”
“I’ve come about Fifi,” said Howard.
Torquil put his elbows on the knees of his priestly robes. He sighed. “Archer wants her back, I suppose. Tell him I haven’t let Shine at her, but he can’t have her.”
“Why? Are you using her to help you take over the world?” said Howard.
“I don’t want to take over the world!” Torquil said irritably, much to Howard’s surprise. “I don’t see why Archer should either.” He stared dolefully into distance and said, as if he had forgotten Howard was there, “I wish I knew what I did want. Nothing seems fun anymore.”
“But you told Mum you wanted America,” Howard said suspiciously.
Torquil noticed him again. “Of course I did,” he said. “I wasn’t going to let the others know I was looking for a way to stop them. What was I supposed to do? Go on bended knees to your parents and say, ‘Pretty please help me play a dirty trick on the rest of my family’? I’ve got some loyalty.”
Howard chuckled. “It might have done more good with Dad. Have you ever thought why you called me limpet boy?”
“I did a good job keeping him obstinate,” Torquil said. “And I’ve got Fifi. But I can’t for the life of me think where to go from there. What did you say? I called you that for grabbing sleeves in grubby hands, of course.”
“No, you didn’t,” said Howard. He pushed his fringe out of the way.
“Headache?” inquired Torquil, not at all sympathetically. He stared. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and he shot to his feet, towering over Howard in his black and white robes. Howard found it hard not to back away. Torquil was the most unpredictable one in the family. “Great Scott!” said Torquil. “You’re Venturus! And you’re a foul little beast! It’s you keeping us here, isn’t it?”
He seemed to be hovering between rage and laughter in a way that was even more unpredictable than usual. Howard did not quite know what to say next. He was quite glad when Awful suddenly appeared at his elbow, having escaped from Erskine somehow. “You helped rescue us from Shine, didn’t you?” Awful said to Torquil. “I saw you wink.”
“Paint got in my eye,” Torquil said haughtily. “I see you’ve got a limpet of your own now,” he said to Howard.
“I’m not a limpet. I’m Awful,” said Awful.
“I shouldn’t admit it if I were you,” said Torquil.
Awful laughed. “He’s funny,” she said to Howard. “And he’s nice underneath. Erskine told me to tell you if I thought he was.”
Torquil put his hands on his hips. “Erskine?” he said. There was a moment when Howard thought he was going to tower into a rage as bad as Archer’s. Then Torquil laughed and relaxed. “All right, Erskine!” he called. “You can come out now!” He watched in a resigned way as the metal gate clicked and Erskine, at his most sheepish and Goonlike, came sliding around it into the chapel. Torquil began to laugh helplessly. “Erskine! You should just see yourself! What a look!” He pointed at Howard, still laughing. “And look at this! Limpet! I must have known deep down, Erskine. Wherever we went, it always used to come trotting along. Clung like a limpet! But he took care to have his face bashed up the first time I saw him and appear in the half dark the second time.” Before Howard could protest that both those things had been accidents, Torquil had sobered up. He folded his arms and looked at Erskine. “What’s it all about?”
“Where’s Fifi?” said Erskine.
“In the crypt,” said Torquil. “And Archer’s not having her.”
“Need her,” Erskine explained. “Help to get rid of Archer.” Torquil stared. “Shine and Dillian, too,” he added placatingly.
Torquil looked around all three of them. “But my dear children!” he exclaimed. “Those three are fixtures! I’ve been trying to get rid of them for years, and it’s like trying to move the sun and the moon and a rather fat star!”
“Thought you had been,” Erskine said, satisfied. He did not quite look at Howard, but Howard knew he wanted him to know that he had been misjudging Torquil for many, many years.
“We’re going to try to send them off in my spaceship tonight,” Howard said. “Do you want to help?”
“Want to help!” Torquil was so delighted that he hitched up his robes and danced around the chapel. Then he let go of his robes, still dancing, and flung up his arms. The cathedral organ burst into sound and thundered out “Here Comes the Bride,” louder even than the television at home. Torquil picked up Awful and swung her around as he danced. “Get rid of Shine! Get rid of Archer! Get rid of Dillian, and everything is fine!” he sang to the tune. Awful was laughing when Torquil finally dumped her on the ground, with another of his quick changes of mood. The organ stopped. “This is going to take careful planning,” Torquil said. “Come to the vestry. It’s more comfortable there.”
He led them across the cathedral in great strides, with his robes rippling. Erskine followed, also in great strides. Howard and Awful followed, in a rapid procession, which the ladies doing the flowers watched disapprovingly, even though the procession looked more official now, with Torquil at the head of it. Torquil ushered them into the vestry, which was a great deal warmer and lighter than the chapel, a plain whitewashed room with cupboards at one end, and hung with black robes and white surplices for choirboys. Here Torquil sat on a damaged chair, Erskine doubled himself onto a worm-eaten pew, while Howard and Awful perched on leaking hassocks, and they discussed what to do.
It took longer than Howard hoped. He found he was thinking anxiously about Ginger before long. He hoped Ginger would be careful. No one had laid it on Shine not to hurt Ginger. This was during the first of their two long arguments after Awful had pointed out that Fifi would probably turn into an old woman when she went into the marble temple. Erskine, who was evidently feeling vicious about the whole thing, said, “Serve Archer right!” Howard said that was not fair on Fifi. Torquil said he did not think it was fair on Archer either. So that took planning for. And it all ended
on a dubious note because no one knew if Howard’s powers were far enough advanced to do anything about it.
The second argument was over who was to tell the right lies to Shine and Dillian. Erskine insisted that the only person to do it was Hathaway. “Only one they won’t suspect,” he said. “Nothing in it for him.” Torquil refused to have anything to do with Hathaway. He went proud. He towered on his wobbly chair and said Hathaway had insulted him years ago and they had not been on speaking terms since. Erskine, in reply, went obstinate. There seemed to be a deadlock. Then Torquil haughtily consented to let them ask Hathaway, provided Torquil was not there when they did. Howard thought that would do, but Erskine went more obstinate still. Torquil, even more haughty, said very well, he would be in the room while they asked Hathaway, but he was not going to speak to him. Erskine stuck even at that. Torquil was to ask Hathaway himself, or nobody would. Torquil drew himself even taller and refused. Utterly.
This was hopeless! Howard sighed. “Oh, well, if you’re too proud—”
“I am not too proud!” Torquil cried, springing up indignantly. “I’ll show you!” He strode to the cupboard that filled one wall and flung it open. Inside, there were rows of priestly robes, but hanging among them were a great number of silken garments that did not look priestly at all. Howard recognized one as the Aladdin outfit, and then the Egyptian one, as Torquil rattled them along to leave bare wall. Luckily Torquil was too busy doing that to see the way Erskine turned and winked at Howard.
Awful went over and examined the garments admiringly. “You are vain, aren’t you?” she said. “You’re far too wicked to live in a church!”
This pleased Torquil. Though his face still had a proud, tense look, there was also a slight smile on it as he seized a bishop’s crozier from the corner of the room and pointed it at the wall. “Hathaway,” he said.
A square of the whitewashed wall cleared mistily, until it looked like a window. Beyond it Hathaway looked up from reading a book in his study. “Torquil!” he exclaimed. He was so delighted that he fairly shouted it. He threw his book down and jumped up, laughing. “Torquil, this is marvelous!”
The proud look on Torquil’s face wavered and broke up into a proper smile. “Hathaway,” he said, “I’m sorry.” He sounded as if he might be crying.
“Don’t be stupid. I was to blame,” said Hathaway. “Is something wrong? What’s the matter?”
“No, no.” Torquil wiped a hand hastily under his nose. “We’re getting rid of the three elder ones. We want your help.”
Hathaway picked his book up again in order to throw it in the air as he cheered. He was as delighted as Torquil had been, although, Howard soon gathered, it was the thought of getting rid of Dillian and Shine that pleased him most. His face took on a grin as evil as Awful’s as Torquil explained what they wanted him to say. “I’ll do it!” he said. “How shall I tell you the outcome? To you here?”
Erskine stepped up beside Torquil. “Make you free of drains,” he said. “Get me through a drain anywhere I am.”
“Ah! Here is the mastermind,” Hathaway said, laughing. “Erskine, how long have you worked for this?”
Awful began shouting that it was her turn to talk to Hathaway, so that Howard did not quite hear what Erskine answered. But he rather thought Erskine said, “Last thirteen years.” After that Awful got right into the cupboard and pressed her face against the windowlike piece of wall, where she talked eagerly until Hathaway stopped her. She came sulkily out and said to Howard, “He says it’s your turn now.”
“Did you know me?” Howard asked, crowding in beside Torquil. This had been puzzling him.
Hathaway nodded. “Not straightaway,” he said. “But when I learned you were adopted. Forgive me that I couldn’t say. I had given you one shock by telling you that, and it seemed laid on me not to give you another.”
“That was our parents,” Torquil said, “of honored memory.”
“Oh, forget that, Torquil!” said Hathaway. “Come visit me in the past when this is done!”
“I’d love to,” said Torquil, and wiped his hand under his nose again.
After that they all went down into the crypt to look at Fifi. The crypt was low and dark and vaulted in all directions. It was so cold there that as they went down the stone stairs, their breaths came out as steam.
“She’s quite warm,” Torquil said defensively. “I wrapped her in all the bishop’s robes.”
Fifi was peacefully sleeping on top of a flat stone tomb, tucked in cloth of gold and hand embroidery, with white and purple gowns heaped on top of that. She was perfectly warm. Howard and Awful felt her to make sure.
Erskine looked somberly down at her. “Won’t wake her after all,” he decided. “Don’t trust her not to tell Archer. Big bubble hanging over her with Archer in it.” He sighed, but he did not seem nearly as unhappy about it as Howard had expected.
“We could lay it on her to go to the ship,” Torquil suggested. “If we both do it, it should take.”
Erskine agreed. They stood beside Fifi, Torquil stretching out his crozier, Erskine with his hands on his hips. Their breaths rolled out in clouds, from the effort they were putting in. Nothing seemed to happen—or perhaps a faint silveriness seemed to grow out of the embroidered coverings and gather round Fifi’s head. Howard was not sure.
At length Erskine nodded. Torquil lowered his crozier and mopped his face with his priestly sleeve. “If that doesn’t take, it never will,” he said.
“Archer now,” said Erskine.
Back they went in procession to the vestry. The ladies had nearly finished doing the flowers by then. They had grown so used to the procession headed by Torquil passing them that they scarcely looked up this time. Inside the vestry Erskine heaved the worm-eaten pew over in front of the cupboard so that Archer would not see that they were with Torquil in the cathedral. He folded himself into it, and Awful and Howard sat beside him, Howard hastily plastering his fringe to his forehead with both hands, while Torquil stretched his crozier into the cupboard from one side. He snatched it out of sight again as soon as Archer appeared.
Archer was in his scoop, moodily eating a hamburger. Awful’s stomach gave a sharp rumble at the sight. “You took your time!” he said angrily. “Where is she?”
They need not to have bothered to be careful, Howard thought. Archer was too wrapped up in himself to notice where they were. “Sorry,” Howard said. “It took awhile because it turned out not to be Shine after all. Torquil and Venturus have got Fifi. We don’t know where she is at—”
“What!” Archer yelled. “Call me up to say you don’t know!” Sparks came spitting out of the wall at them.
“Stop! We know where she’s going to be!” Howard shouted. The Aladdin outfit was smoldering. The sparks stopped. Awful leaned forward and rubbed at burning places until they went out. “Venturus,” Howard said, “is going to carry Fifi off somewhere in his spaceship, but in order to do that, he’s got to bring it into the present. He’ll do that at nine o’clock tonight. If you go where he lives then—”
“I’ll go there now!” Archer said, angrily.
“No. He’s not there. You won’t be able to get in,” Howard said. It astonished him the way Archer did not recognize him. “And if Venturus sees you, he’ll do something else with Fifi. So go there just before nine—”
“You mean I’ve got to wait!” Archer hurled his hamburger at what was evidently his own screen. For a second they could see nothing but flames. But these flames were inside the wall somehow and did not seem to be hot.
Erskine pushed Howard aside and shouted, “Archer!”
The flames cleared away, showing Archer glowering at Erskine.
“Nine o’clock,” said Erskine. “Hide in the ship.”
Archer nodded. He even smiled a little. “All right. While I’m at it, I think I’ll take the ship myself. I fancy owning a spaceship. Is that all?”
They had not needed any of the explanations they had carefully thought up. “
All but one thing,” said Erskine. “Sykes family found Fifi for you. Need rewarding. Thirty thousand pounds. Quentin Sykes hard up.”
Howard was ashamed of this part of the plan, and he hoped Archer would refuse. But Archer said cheerfully, “Fair enough. Let’s make that thirty-five.” He swung casually around in his seat and pressed buttons. Howard tried to console himself with the thought that Archer was after all a millionaire, and he would not need money in space. At this a dim memory came to him. Venturus had ordered gold bullion stored aboard the spaceship. He would in a way be paying Archer back. He was feeling better about it as Archer swung his chair back, saying in his pleasantest way, “There. Thirty-five thousand pounds. It’ll go through on Monday. Is that all now?”
“Yes,” said Erskine.
“Then get out of sight,” said Archer. “None of you are beauties.”
Torquil rapped his crozier on the back of the pew, and the wall became blank whitewashed stones again. “I think he might have thanked you,” he said. “He wasn’t to know you weren’t doing him a favor.”
“Never does thank people,” Erskine said as he heaved the pew away.
Yes, Howard thought, Quentin was right about Archer. He threw money about, and he never thanked people because he thought everything was his anyway.
“I’m starving!” Awful moaned. “Ginger’s mum only had cookies, and there isn’t even any borrowed food at home now.”
“We shall see about that at once,” said Torquil. “Just wait while I get out of my robes.” He pulled his cassock over his head and ducked out of it. Underneath he was wearing black priestly knee breeches and a black priestly shirt. “I might as well stay like this,” he said. He unhooked a black jacket with silk lapels from the cupboard and put that on.
“You need a top hat,” said Howard.