Blackout (9 page)

Ten
minutes later the children were skipping up the stairs towards the very top of the Shard. Professor Cortex was puffing behind. If they'd had time to look at the view, they'd have noticed the whole of the capital city spread out below, a giant Google map that was about to go offline.

Sophie was first to the top. She caught her breath and waited for her brothers. The professor's footsteps were at least two floors away and she didn't have time to wait. ‘Shakespeare is in here,' she said, turning the handle, and burst into the top-floor apartment.

Dozens of old people's eyes looked their way, many over the top of their spectacles. Already furrowed brows became even more creased. Jigsaws and crosswords ceased.

The grandfather clock ticked towards midday
and the kettle boiled in an otherwise silent stand-off. The children stared at the small army of pensioners and the pensioners blinked back until the kettle boiled violently and clicked itself off.

‘Young people,' said a voice, breaking the silence.

‘I would imagine you'd like a biscuit?' suggested a helpful old lady.

Ben stepped forward first, his protective instinct taking over. ‘We don't want your biscuits. We just want our cat back,' he demanded.

‘And our diamond,' gasped the professor, stumbling into the room. ‘The big one that was round the cat's neck. Long story, but it's not really ours …'

‘Maximus,' smiled Maude. ‘So good to see you again. But I'm afraid you're too late to save the world. Maybe you'd like a nice cup of tea instead?'

Shakespeare ran to Sophie and leapt up into her arms, the little girl squealing in delight.

‘Where's the diamond?' demanded the professor. ‘And can you please tell me why there are dozens of pensioners at the top of the Shard?'

‘We're having a bit of a do,' said one of the old ladies. ‘Aren't we, Gladys?'

‘We're going back to the good old days,' agreed Edna. ‘When I was your age,' she said, looking at the children, ‘television was called books. The world today …' she began, before cutting herself off with a sigh, ‘… is ruined.'

‘The world isn't ruined,' said Ben. ‘It's just different.'

The man who was tending to a machine stood up and everyone fell silent.

He's clearly in charge
, thought Shakespeare.

‘We rather like the world as it was,' he said calmly. ‘In the good old days. So I've invented a time machine that is going to take us back to the last millennium.'

‘Good heavens,' spluttered Professor Cortex. ‘You've worked out a way of distorting the space-time continuum? Did you have to reverse the polarities of the modulating flux capacitors or did you …'

‘A
sort of
time machine,' interrupted the old man. ‘But Maude's right. You are too late.' His bony fingers stretched towards a big red button. The room began to shake as the huge glass windows started to slide apart and the top floor
of the Shard opened up like a tulip on a summer's day. In less than a minute the sides had slipped away and the top floor had become an open-air apartment.

The wind whipped up and Edna lost her wig. Hundreds of jigsaw pieces scattered upwards and away into the London sky.

Barry had received the nod. He bent down and yanked at the lawnmower cord. The engine spluttered but failed to start. The Past Master looked frustrated. He nodded again and Barry yanked even harder; this time the engine spluttered into life and the Past Master fiddled with the machinery while it whirred into action.

Professor Cortex and the children had no idea what was going on.
This is my moment
, thought Shakespeare.
I have thirty-six seconds to save the western world from an Internet blackout
. The wind was howling and the old people were hanging on to their hats and dresses. Dorothy pulled her cardigan tighter.

The glitter ball had already begun to glow as Shakespeare launched himself from Sophie's arms. It wasn't so much a plan as an instinct.
I can't stop the machine
, he thought, but he remembered the Past Master saying that precision was
everything. He knew that the satellites would be aligned in a few seconds, but that the slightest nudge would send the laser beams off track.

‘Shakespeare!' yelled Sophie as she watched her cat take a running jump at the glitter ball. The little girl's hair swirled in the wind as he leapt higher than she thought possible. The glitter ball was glowing as Shakespeare hit it. He yowled in agony, the smell of singed fur blowing across the open-plan apartment, and his body landed in a heap. Ben held Sophie back as the ball grew brighter and a dozen beams of bright light shot harmlessly into the sky.

Shakespeare peered into the clouds, hoping he'd hit the ball with enough force to divert the lasers. He righted himself. His fur was smouldering, but he was very much alive. He ran to Sophie and curled himself round her ankles, the little girl crying with joy.

The Past Master looked up at the sky, horrified. ‘You've ruined my plan,' he cursed, pointing a bony finger at Shakespeare. ‘You've sent the lasers off course. You're an evil cat.'

Sophie hid Shakespeare in her coat. ‘He's a hero,' she glared. ‘He's put a stop to your wicked plan.'

They were very high up and the wind was howling. Cups and saucers whipped off the table into the city below. ‘It's a bit blowy,' shouted one of the old ladies. ‘Like the gale that brought the trees down in 1986.'

The Past Master knew that Plan A had been foiled so he went straight to Plan B:
Escape. Live to fight another day
. The old man walked calmly to his wheelchair. ‘You've heard of the saying “it ain't rocket science”. Well, this is!' he yelled, his voice trailing away in the wind. He pressed a button and wings flipped out of the side of the chair. Button number two ignited the engines, flames billowing out of the back. He fixed his goggles into place and struggled to strap himself in.

Shakespeare was proud of foiling the plan and thrilled at knocking the laser beams off target.
But the mission isn't over. There's no way I can let him get away
! The cat leapt out of Sophie's arms and launched himself at the wheelchair, gripping the man round the neck.
You're not allowed to escape, you evil baddie
. The old man tried to release the handbrake on his chair, but Shakespeare sank his claws in. The man gripped the feline scarf, trying to tear Shakespeare away from his neck.

Sophie, seeing her cat was in peril, threw herself at the wheelchair. The man screamed as the cat's claws sank in. He swatted Shakespeare and a ball of ginger hit the floor. Sophie landed on the launch button and the chair accelerated towards the edge of the eighty-seventh floor.

Dorothy spilt her tea as the jet-powered wheelchair was catapulted into the London sky.

Shakespeare righted himself, his head spinning. The wheelchair was spluttering into the early afternoon sky, the pensioner strapped in and Sophie's legs dangling off the edge.
That wasn't supposed to happen!

Ben was yelling something that was lost in the wind. Shakespeare looked at the professor. He looked back, his face white and drawn, his mind whirring. You didn't need the biggest brain in the world to know that this wasn't good.

‘But it's untested,' yelled Professor Cortex as he pulled and stretched the Lycra suit on to the cat. ‘I mean, it works in theory, but,' he gulped, ‘we're a long way up and this isn't a theory.'

Shakespeare had conquered his fear of dogs.
And water's not as bad as it used to be. Now I've got the chance to tick ‘heights' off too
.

All eyes were on the cat dressed in a tight-fitting orange suit. He stood tall like he'd seen superheroes do.

‘The idea is that you hold your legs out and catch the wind,' yelled the professor. ‘But, up here, it's very windy,' he said, stating the obvious. He carried the Lycra-clad cat towards the edge of the roof.

Shakespeare could see the microlite wheelchair wobbling in the near distance, Sophie's
legs kicking as she struggled to stay aboard. He suspected it had been designed for one passenger and that Sophie's weight wasn't helping matters. If he'd thought things through, he wouldn't have done it. But he wasn't in thinking mode – he was in Spy Cat mode.
Rule number one! My favourite person in the whole world is in danger and I'm the only one who can help
.

‘
Geronimooooo!
' wailed the cat, spreading his legs and plunging off the side of the Shard.

He remembered the professor saying that it's gliding, not flying. He recalled the video of the squirrels. They simply extended their legs and soared effortlessly through the air. ‘Except it's not as easy as it looks,' he yowled, legs flailing as he whooshed past floors 86, 85, 84, 83 …

It was at floor 33 that he stopped scrambling and started gliding. His legs extended and instead of falling he started swooping.

‘
Woaaa
,' he meowed, catching an upward current and zooming past the huge windows out towards the big city.

George and Jess were from America. They were dining in the Shard restaurant and George had been commenting that everything was
bigger and better in America. ‘I mean, darlin',' he drawled, ‘the Brits have Cheddar Gorge and we have the Grand Canyon. We have steaks the size of plates and the Brits have this …' He
lifted the limp lump of meat off his plate with a fork.

His wife gazed out of the window just as Shakespeare sailed by. She watched as the cat turned and swooped back, this time taking time out to salute her. And then he was gone.

Jess looked around to see if anyone else had seen the flying cat. The other diners were tucking into their small British steaks, the chatter and clinking of cutlery carrying on as normal.

She looked out across London. ‘Their food might not be up to much, honey' she admitted, ‘but their cats are pretty cool.'

The winged wheelchair was one hundred metres in front, wobbling wildly as the old man struggled to keep control of the vehicle with one hand and the little girl with the other. He wasn't evil. He just wanted the world to be a better place. And he certainly didn't want this little girl to die. The Past Master had a strong mind, but his body wasn't what it used to be. The effort of hanging on to the child was taking its toll. Add in the excitement of flying across London and his heart rate was racing dangerously. ‘Hang on,' he shouted. ‘I'll try and land.'

The
lawnmower-powered engine was already spluttering. There was a loud explosion and it stopped. Sophie had righted herself so she was sitting on the old man's knee, just like she had with her own granddad a thousand times. The balance was better, but the microlite wheelchair was now a glider instead of engine-driven. The only way was down. Sophie felt the man's grip loosen and she gripped the sides of the chair extra tight.

‘Where are we going to land?' she yelled.

There was no answer. She wasn't sure whether he had died or just passed out. The only thing she knew was that she was going to have to land the craft herself.