BARRY & the Dinosaur King

 

 Barry & the Dinosaur King is now available  at Smashwords, iTunes, Kobo and Amazon.  Also available at Barnes & Noble .

Well, it's gone. Barry & the Dinosaur King is now waiting at Amazon and Smashwords, awaiting release on 6th April 2017 (GMT, I think, for Amazon).
You should also be able to get it as a paperback, if you've a dinosaur loving 12+ needing a birthday present.
You can order now. The eBook is $3.99 and I think the paperback is $8.99. Go on. You know you'll forget otherwise! And, yes, the cover has changed again.

24th March 2017

At last!

 (unless I wake up in the middle of the night, suddenly realising there's a HUGE plot hole) we're ready to publish.

 

 

News about Barry

22nd January 2017

 

After much deliberation, I have decided to rename Barry "Barry & the Dinosaur King", partly because the title will give some indication what it's about, but mainly because I know a potential money spinner (about £6.00) when I see it.

Also, as the story features my nephew-number-one, I will no doubt, in the interests of fairness, have to write one for nephew-number-two and niece-only-one, and I think it would be quite nice if the stories followed on from each other. So, here it is- the new cover- ta-tah!

 I'm hoping Barry is now on the last read-through, and should be with you shortly.

 

 Barry

& the Dinosaur King

 

 

The first six chapters

  The rest is atan ebook retailer near you- now 

Chapter 1

A Close Encounter

Elian sat in bed reading his book, an ear cocked, conscious of the rain battering the window pane. He really ought to get up and close the window. He could see raindrops settling on his bedside table.

It was late morning and he was still in bed. His parents and younger siblings had gone into town to do some shopping, and Elian had been allowed to stay home on his own for the first time. He smiled smugly. He could think of nothing better than being snuggled up in bed while the rain hammered down. He wondered how wet the rest of his family was getting.

He settled back into his book, and started suddenly at the sound of knocking on the front door. He sat frozen for a moment. His mother and father had been at pains to tell him not to open the front door. The knocking continued. They'll go away in a minute, Elian told himself. They'll realise no one's here and go away.

But they didn't go away, and the knocking became louder and more urgent. Elian frowned. What could be that important? Anyone would think the house was on fire or something. Elian thought for a moment. It wasn't on fire, was it? He sniffed the air. He couldn't smell anything burning.

He slipped out of bed and checked all the rooms in the house, sniffing as he went, but there was nothing to indicate a fire. And still the knocking persisted. It was getting on Elian's nerves.

He reached the front door. It was visibly shaking with every blow. Should he open it? Elian stood hesitantly. No, he thought. This wasn't normal behaviour. Normal people knocked on the door and then went away when they didn't get an answer. Perhaps he should find his mobile phone and call his dad. This might be someone dangerous trying to get in, someone with several counts of murder to his name, who was getting angrier and angrier with every knock on the door.

Elian tried to think back to yesterday evening's news. He hadn't really been paying much attention to it, but he was pretty certain there hadn't been anything about a murderer or a dangerous convict being at large. There had been something about an explosion in the sky and the possibility of some light aircraft blowing up mid-flight. Elian remembered that, because they had heard the explosion a couple of hours before, and Elian's dad had commented they were lucky it hadn't blown up over the house, or anyone else's house, for that matter.

The knocking stopped. Elian stood tensed for a few minutes, waiting for it to resume. But it didn't. Of course not, thought Elian. They've gone away at last. He suddenly realised he had been holding his breath. He let out a long sigh. Back to his bed then. Mum and Dad wouldn't be home for a while yet. He could snuggle into bed and finish the book off before they got home.

He padded back to his room and pushed the door open. And stopped. There was something—someone—on his bed. Elian's stomach lurched. The creature was lying curled up on its side. It looked up at Elian and raised a hand. "Help... me," it said.

Elian's jaw dropped. "Wha—?" was all he could manage, as his mouth caught up with his brain and stopped working in disbelief.

"Help... me," came the plaintive voice.

Elian's heart was beginning to hammer inside his chest. Help me, it had said. Unconsciously, Elian took a step closer to his bed. The creature struggled to sit up. Elian stopped. The creature had managed to get onto its knees. It held its hands out as if in supplication. "Help!" it gasped and keeled over onto its side. It lay there, panting, looking at him with large, green, catlike eyes.

Still Elian remained rooted to the spot. Do something, his brain urged him. You can't just stand here. Do something. He cleared his throat and tried to speak. "What?" he began hoarsely. He cleared his throat again. "What," he resumed, "can I do? To help?"

The creature half sat up, pulled up its trouser and pointed to its leg. There was a long gash along its calf and Elian now noticed the bloodstains on the cover of his duvet. First aid box, his brain told him. Go and get the first aid box. "I'm just—just going to get... something." Elian's voice trailed off as he backed out of the door. He rushed into the bathroom and grabbed the box off the top of the cabinet. He hurried back to the bedroom, but the creature was no longer on his bed. "Where—?" began Elian.

"Help me," came a barely audible whisper. Elian looked down. The creature was on the floor, by his feet. Elian had almost trodden on it.

The boy knelt down and hurriedly opened the box. The first thing he saw was a pack of disposable gloves. Yes, that would be a good idea. He vaguely remembered something about always wearing gloves when dealing with body fluids, particularly when they weren't your own. And as he wasn't too certain about the origins of the creature before him, it would probably be a very good idea to put the gloves on.

He shook out a pair with a flourish. The creature gave him a worried look as it watched Elian struggle to put the gloves on properly. Suddenly, it spoke. "You could try putting some talcum powder on your hands first," it said. Elian stared at the creature and then back at his gloves. "Or," continued the creature, "you could try blowing them up at the cuffs." Elian still stared. "Then again," said the creature, "you can just carry on as you are and let me bleed to death." It sighed. "Shall I do it myself?" it suggested. It pulled the box over to itself and began rummaging. "Poor," it muttered. "This is really poor. There doesn't appear to be... well, they're obviously not expecting more than a paper cut here. And only on their fingers, apparently. Oh—that'll do." It pulled out a folded wad of material and a box of lint dressings. The creature examined the ends of the box, tutting. "Two years out of date. You guys really take this stuff seriously."

It pulled a couple of the lint sheets out of the box and examined them before looking down at the wound on its leg. "A bit late to shave the hair off, do you think?" Elian opened his mouth to reply. "It's a rhetorical question," said the creature. "It doesn't require a response."

It rummaged in the box again and this time found some antiseptic wipes. It pulled one out of the packet and expressed surprise. "Hey! They're still wet!" it said. It wiped the blood away from the wound and carefully applied the lint dressing.

It turned its attention back to Elian. "I think you can dispense with those," it said, nodding to the gloves that were still half on Elian's hands. "I appreciate the effort, but really. It wasn't much use, was it?"

Elian looked down at the gloves and peeled them off. He threw them petulantly back into the first aid box. The creature wagged an admonishing finger at him. "Strictly speaking," it said, "they should go in the bin. I mean, did you wash your hands before you tried to put them on?" Elian shook his head. "Then definitely in the bin," instructed the creature.

It picked up a wad of material which became a sling of some sort when the creature shook it out. It folded the point of the triangle back up to the edge opposite, and used it to make a bandage over the top of the dressing. As it tied the knot to secure the bandage, it examined its work critically. "Hmm," it said. "Not bad. Given the tools." It glanced back up at Elian. "You need to upgrade that," it said nodding towards the first aid box. "It really isn't good enough."

"Right," said Elian, "I'll speak to Mum about it. Erm—"

"Yes?"

"You suddenly seem a lot better. Given how pathetic you were to start with."

"Just a little psychology," said the creature carelessly. "To engage your sympathy. And to disarm you."

Elian nodded to show the creature he understood what he meant. "And—er—"

"Yes?"

"What are you?"

"That's a little rude, don't you think? Surely the question should be, who are you?"

Elian thought for a moment and then said, "No. What are you?" The creature sighed and tentatively stood up. It tried the injured leg and winced. "Well," it said, climbing with some difficulty onto the bedroom chair, "would you like to hazard a guess? What do you think I am?"

Elian shrugged. "You're a bit like a monkey," he said. The creature looked offended. "Or possibly a bear," continued Elian. "Though the eyes are definitely cat."

"Monkey!" the creature spat out. "Monkey? I have a bigger brain in my little finger than you have in your whole head. Monkey, indeed!"

"Well, you asked me to guess," Elian reminded it.

"Yes—well, okay," the creature conceded. "Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Peryzactle-ogam-dijkhamngon-barricomptzk, and as you've probably already guessed, I am not from this planet."

"Where are you from then?" asked Elian. The creature told him. Elian had never heard of it. "And your name?" said Elian. "Could you say it again? I didn't quite catch it the first time around." The creature told him again. "Nope," said Elian. "I still didn't get it all. Just the Barricomptzk bit. Do you think I can call you Barry? For short? I mean, it's ridiculously long, isn't it?"

The creature sighed. "Very well," it said with exaggerated patience. "You humans," it continued, "you have such poor brains. It's probably not your fault you can't hold on to any information longer than five letters."

"And," said Elian. Barry raised a substantial eyebrow. "Um, if you don't mind me asking—are you a him or a her?"

Barry thought for a moment. "Probably a him," he said.

"Probably a him? Don't you know?"

Barry paused. "It's complicated," he said slowly. "And a little embarrassing."

"Oh?" said Elian, suddenly very interested.

"That's all you need to know," said Barry firmly.

"Oh," said Elian, disappointed.

"Now," said Barry, making himself comfortable, "down to business. How are we going to get me home?"

Chapter 2

The Plan

There was a rattling of keys in the lock and then the front door slammed open. "Mum! Dad!" gasped Elian. "They're back! You're going to have to hide."

"Am I ?" said Barry.

"Well..." Elian paused. "I'm not sure how they'll react," he said.

"Oh? You think badly might be a realistic possibility?" Barry suggested.

"Not sure," admitted Elian. "But if my brother and sister see you, it'll be all over the street by tea time."

Barry frowned. "Yes, that could be a bit of a problem," he agreed. "So where...?"

There was a thudding of approaching feet out in the corridor. "Quick! Under the bed," hissed Elian, giving the creature a helpful push in the right direction. "You might be able to hide behind the toy boxes," he said as he turned over the duvet to hide the blood stains.

Barry's feet had barely disappeared under the bed when the bedroom door burst open and Elian's young brother tumbled in. Elian eyed him coldly. "Get out," he said flatly. "I'm busy."

The boy ignored him. "Hey, guess what?" he almost shouted. "We saw soldiers! Soldiers with dogs! And they stopped us and searched our car!"

"Oh?" said Elian, suddenly taking an interest. "And did they say what or who they were looking for?"

"They said an escaped convict. A very dangerous escaped convict."

"Escaped from where?" The boy shrugged. "And they hoped to find him in our car?" continued Elian.

"Maybe they thought he had a gun and he was making us take him somewhere." The child was breathless with excitement.

"Where did they stop the car?" asked Elian. His brother told him. "So not that far away," said Elian thoughtfully. "And which way were they heading? This way or back to the river?"

His brother thought this over. "This way," he said uncertainly. "Dad said they would be searching our house soon."

"Oh. Now, go away."

There was a shout from the kitchen, calling Elian's brother to come and hang up his raincoat. The boy stuck his tongue out at his older brother and left the room with a slam of the door.

Quickly, Elian got down on his knees. "Did you hear that?" he called to Barry. "The army—the army, mind—are doing house to house searches to find an escape convict!"

A dust-covered Barry crawled from under the bed and sneezed violently. "Except," he said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, "there is no escaped convict."

"There isn't?"

"No, there isn't."

"How—? Oh! It's you, isn't it? They're looking for you."

Barry nodded. "I guess they picked up the signals from my craft, or maybe the escape pod," he said.

"Craft? Escape pod?"

"Yeah. Pod. Or vehicle. Or whatever you want to call it. Or did you think I just floated down to this planet on some freak solar flare, and then fell to earth, landing with a gentle bump, despite a thirty kilometre drop?"

"Well, yes, duh!" snapped Elian. "What I mean is, what craft? What happened to it?"

"I believe it was what is termed an electrical fault, only this one resulted in me screaming through the atmosphere, then blowing up, mid air, a few miles from here. Luckily, I'd got out in the escape pod before it all went bang."

"So that's what we heard earlier—your spaceship blowing up?"

"Probably. Now, what are we going to do about the immediate problem of keeping me hidden from your soldiers?"

Elian got up and looked out of the bedroom window. It was still raining, and heavily at that. "Don't much fancy going out in this weather," he commented.

"It's just water," replied Barry. "Hardly deadly in that form."

"I suppose," suggested Elian, "the water will wash away your tracks and the dogs won't be able to follow your scent."

"I doubt the dogs are following me at all," replied Barry. "Their handlers are probably hoping the animals will get excited by my unusual smell, and alert them to my whereabouts."

He dragged the chair over to the window and climbed up to take a look.

"Careful," said Elian. "You don't want anyone to see you."

Barry screwed his face up in disgust. "It's certainly awful weather," he commented. "Is it always like this?"

Elian shrugged. "It has been, this year. Rain, rain, rain. Nothing but rain."

"You'd better find me a coat then," suggested Barry.

Elian thought for a moment. "My sister might have one. One of her old ones might fit. Hide, in case someone comes in while I'm out. I'll be back in a minute." Barry pulled a dissenting face, but did as he was asked.

Elian slipped out of the door and made his way nonchalantly to the hallway and the coats. His mother intercepted him on the way. "We're going to have lunch early," she told him. "Your brother's got a new DVD he wants us all to watch. So I thought, lunch early rather than interrupt the film."

"Fine," muttered Elian as he slid past her. "Any chance of pizza?"

Mum pursed her lips. "Maybe," she said. "It's quick, isn't it? And not a lot of washing up. I'll see what we've got." She went back into the kitchen and Elian continued on to where the coats were hung. There it was, his sister's pink raincoat. He rolled it up and tucked it under his arm, and tiptoed quickly back to his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

He knelt and looked under the bed. "Got it," he whispered. "I'm sorry, it's p—"

"Hey! Pink!" exclaimed Barry. "I L-O-V-E, love pink!"

"You don't mind?"

"Wow, no!" He crawled out from under the bed and tried the raincoat on. "Got a mirror?" he asked. Elian opened the wardrobe door. Barry stood in front of the mirror and examined himself from all angles. "Yeah," he said, a note of satisfaction in his voice. "Rad-ic-al."

"Yeah, radical," muttered Elian. "Not the most subtle of colours, though. You're going to stick out like a sore thumb." Elian thought for a moment and then said, "I wonder if I can get my sister's Wellington boots. Then they might think I'm just taking my sister for a walk in the rain."

"What?" said Barry, with a look Elian rightly assumed was disgust. "You want me to pose as your sister? As a human?"

"Wow, nothing gets past you, does it?" said Elian sarcastically. "How else do you propose I get you past those soldiers?"

Barry opened his mouth to say something, found there was nothing to say, and shut it. "Anyway," continued Elian, "we're going to need more of a plan than that. We might be able to get past the soldiers and the police, but then what? I'm only thirteen, you know. I can't take you very far."

"Well," said Barry. "You are the adventurous one, aren't you? Can't have you missing your lunch, can we?"

"That's a point. It's pizza. I'm going to miss pizza for this."

"And that's good, is it?"

"Well, yes," said Elian incredulously. He paused. "Have you never had pizza?" he asked.

Barry pulled a face and shook his head. "Nope. I've not been here that long. I haven't had time for pizza. Visiting alien, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. But it's not a bad idea—"

"What? Pizza? What is pizza anyway?" Elian thought and then told him. "And you eat it?" Barry commented.

"Well, yes," Elian said defensively. "But—"

"And what exactly is cheese?" asked Barry. Elian explained. "What!" exclaimed the creature. "You're telling me you take milk from a breeding cow's udders, let it rot for a bit, and then spread it over fermenting grain and bake it?"

"Er—yes," agreed Elian reluctantly.

"And then you eat it?"

"Er, yes," said Elian.

"Weird," muttered Barry. He examined his wounded leg. "Looks like it's stopped bleeding," he said. "So, are we going or not?"

"Now?" exclaimed Elian. "But the pizza! She's cooking it especially for me."

Barry sighed. "Look," he said. "I'm not asking you to travel through time and space with me. I just want to get past these soldiers, then I'll be on my way. The same soldiers who are, even now, doing house to house searches and won't give a damn about your pizza. You'll have some awkward questions to answer, I should think, when they find me hiding under your bed." He paused, and with a grave face said, "I doubt they have pizza in prison. Ever."

"Prison!" exclaimed Elian in alarm.

"Of course. Hiding a fugitive under your bed. Definitely a prison sentence."

Elian frowned. "How are you suddenly an expert on prisons," he asked suspiciously. "How do you know what food they have? You don't even know what pizza is."

"I'm an expert on everything," said Barry airily. "What! You don't think I'd come all the way to this crummy planet without doing my homework? Though, admittedly, not the bit about pizza. Now, come on. The longer we wait, the closer they get. Just get me past them, and then you can come back to your baked fermented bread with rotten milk. Okay?"

"Oh, all right!" said Elian ungraciously. He thought for a moment. "I suppose we'll have to go out of the window," he said. "Everybody's home now. There's not much chance of you and me getting through the house without being seen." He pulled a face. "I should have got my coat while I was getting yours. Right. Wait here a minute. I'll go and fetch it. And stay under the bed until I get back."

"Aw, no!" moaned Barry. "It's all dusty under there. Awful. Don't you people ever clean?"

"Under the bed!" insisted Elian. "If my sister comes in and sees you, she'll go running to Mum and Dad."

Barry gave a shrug of resignation and crawled back under the bed. Just as Elian's hand lighted on the door handle, the creature's head popped out. "And human?" he called out.

"What?" snapped Elian.

"Don't forget my Wellington boots."

Chapter 3

Stealing Pizza and Revising Plans

They decided to stick to the plan—the one where Barry pretended to be Elian's little sister. There were protests again from Barry, and language a thirteen year old shouldn't be subjected to, but in the end, as Barry hadn't anything better, Elian's plan was adopted.

"Right," said Elian. "I'm glad we got that settled. Now—hold my hand."

"What!" squeaked an indignant Barry.

"You're supposed to be my little sister," said Elian impatiently. "Little sisters hold on to their big brothers' hands." Barry opened his mouth to protest again, but Elian had already had enough. "One more moan," he told the creature, "and I'm climbing back in that window and leaving you here. Understand? Now, what's it going to be?"

The creature scowled and took Elian's hand. Elian pulled his hood over his head with his free hand and listened to the patter of the rain. "So, where are we going?" he asked Barry. "Where have we got to get to?"

"Back to my escape craft, I guess. If your lot haven't found it, I might be able to re-use some of it to get back home." Barry paused. "It'll need some modification, that's for sure," he said thoughtfully. "Yes. It'll definitely need some modification." He looked up at Elian. "We're going to need a bag, I think. To bring the stuff back."

"What stuff?" exclaimed Elian. "And what do you mean, bring it back? I thought the deal was I help you escape those soldiers. Now it sounds to me like you're planning to stay!"

"Well, now I'm thinking about it, I don't think going on the run is necessarily a good idea, especially with the weather this place is having at the moment. No, no. We go back to the escape craft and bring back some bits."

"Bring them back?" exclaimed Elian. "To here? Where are you going to put them?"

But Barry either wasn't listening or was ignoring Elian's protests. "And the Inter-dimensional Navigator," he continued. "Yes, we mustn't forget the I.D.N. Then all we need is... to find a simple working engine and... yes, I think that will work." He fell silent while he pondered.

"So?" said Elian impatiently.

"Yep," nodded Barry. "We're going to need a bag. A big one."

"Fine," said Elian tersely. "I'll get back through the window, shall I?" He dropped Barry's hand and faced the wall. "You wait here," he told Barry, bracing himself with one foot on the wall, ready to climb back in. "Don't go anywhere."

But Elian couldn't get back in the window. He swore in his frustration as he realised the only way in for him was through the front door. "We'll just have to do without the bag," he said, finally giving up his efforts.

"We are going to need a bag," repeated Barry, underlining the sentence and putting it in bold letters. "We won't—correction, you won't—be able to carry it all back without a bag." He said the last three words in italics, just to make his point. "And," he added, "we don't want anyone to see what we're carrying. So the only option is—I'll have to go in and get it."

"What!" exclaimed Elian. "What if they see you?"

"They won't," said Barry confidently. "Come on. Let's get on with it."

Reluctantly, Elian gave Barry instructions as to where a large rucksack could be found, and lifted him up to the window sill. And then he waited. And waited. And all the time it rained. His trousers and shoes were soaked through and his feet were freezing. He had just arrived at the point where he had resigned himself to incurring his mother's wrath by knocking on the front door, when Barry's face re-appeared at the open window.

"Where have you been?" hissed Elian.

"Well," said Barry as he clambered back down to the boy, "it's a busy household. It took time."

He handed the bag to Elian.

Elian took it. "Is there something in here?" he asked, noticing the bag had a bit of weight to it.

"There might be," conceded Barry.

Elian unzipped the rucksack, and groaned in disbelief as the smell of cooked cheese hit him. "Pizza?" he said. "You stole some of the pizza?"

"No," said Barry nonchalantly. "I stole all of it."

"What!" exclaimed Elian. "The whole pizza? Mum will think it was me! I'm going to get grounded for the rest of my life."

"I can take it back if you want," offered Barry.

Elian looked at the pizza in the sack. It was still hot and Mum had sliced it, ready to eat. Barry had tipped the whole lot into the rucksack and now it lay on the bottom, in one congealed mass. "Is this why you were so long?" asked Elian. "You were waiting for the pizza?"

"Well, you said you wanted pizza. Now you've got pizza. Problem solved. Shall we get on?" He offered his hand to Elian.

Elian gave his deepest sigh yet, slung the rucksack over his shoulder and took the creature's hand. "So, where are we going?"

"To Dune du Pilat—I believe that's what it's called. It buried itself in the sand. My craft, that is."

"But that's miles away. We can't walk that. It'll take a week. At least!"

"You should moan. I've already done it once. And with an injured leg. Stop moaning about it. Besides, you'll need a long walk by the time you've eaten that pizza."

"Oh? And how did you manage to get here from there if you only landed yesterday?"

"Used my brain, human, which is more than you're doing! I knew I had to get away from the pod, in case your lot were able to track it. So I got into the back of a truck. Okay?"

They met the soldiers at Avenue des Provinces. A tall, burly officer, wearing totally unnecessary sunglasses, strolled over to them. Elian was alarmed to see he wore a holster with a gun in it, on his hip. "Don't let them see your face," muttered Elian. "And hide your hands." Barry began to wander away from Elian, trying to look interested in the puddles.

"What are you doing here?" the soldier shouted as he approached them. "There's a dangerous criminal at large! It's not safe to be about!"

"Just taking my sister for a walk. Sir," explained Elian. He wasn't sure why he'd added Sir to his explanation, but given the gun, it seemed appropriate. He felt his face redden as he added, "She was being a pain and getting on Mum's nerves. Er—we're looking for some puddles to jump in."

"Huh, no shortage of those today," said the soldier, looking at the sky while at the same time taking a notebook out of his breast pocket. "So," he said. "What's your name?" Elian told him. "And your sister's?" Elian gave him his sister's name. "And your address?" The soldier wrote it all down. "And what's in the bag?"

Elian gave a guilty shuffle. "Er, nothing," he lied.

"Let me have a look," said the soldier. Elian reluctantly handed over the bag. The soldier unzipped it and peered inside. He looked at Elian. "What is it?" he asked. "It smells like—"

"Pizza," nodded Elian. "I told you she was being a pain."

The soldier zipped the bag up and threw it back at Elian. He nodded to something behind the boy and said, "Yeah, I can see that. You'd better go and retrieve her, and when you have, I suggest you take yourselves home. It's not safe out here today." With that, he hurried after the rest of his men.

Elian nodded and turned to find Barry. The creature had crossed over the road, and was swinging on a child's swing in the front yard of one of the houses. Elian ran over to get him.

"What do you think you're doing?" hissed Elian.

"Swinging," explained Barry.

"Get down from there right now, or we're going back home!"

"Okay, Dad," said Barry, jumping off the swing as it reached its zenith.

"Watch out for the—" began Elian. But it was too late. Barry hit the boundary fence, bounced over it and landed in a crumpled heap on the tarmac. "Oh, my God, are you all right?" cried Elian, the panic evident in his voice.

Barry staggered upright, a wide-eyed look on his face, let out a long, slow breath and yelled, "WOW! WHAT A RIDE! LET'S DO THAT AGAIN!"

Before Barry could turn to go back on the swing, Elian grabbed hold of him. "Shut up!" he hissed. "You're supposed to be a little girl!"

"Oops. Sorry. But, man, what a rush! I have to have one of them when I get back home."

"If you get back home," Elian reminded him soberly. "And at the rate you're going, it doesn't look very likely. Now, will you please stop mucking about and be sensible?"

"Yes Dad, sorry Dad," said Barry, trying, but failing, to look suitably chastised.

"Right. We've got past the soldiers by the look of it." Elian paused, thinking. "You could," he suggested, "get to the pod on your own now, couldn't you?"

"Don't be silly," replied Barry. "I'm supposed to be a little girl. Seriously, how far do you think I'm going to get on my own, dressed like this?"

Elian groaned. "I can't just disappear from home for the time it's going to take to get you to Dune du Pilat! I'll be in serious trouble. I'm going to get the blame for the pizza as it is."

"And what's the worse that will happen? Grounded, that's all. If I get caught—well, I don't even want to think about it. Elian, I'll be in real trouble. I'll never see my family, not ever again. Please, Elian. I need your help. I can't do this on my own."

Elian gave another groan. "All right," he said at last. "I'm going to so regret it, but... all right. Now, let me think. Can I remember how we get to the coast in the car?" Elian thought for a moment. "We go on the big road," he said eventually. "It's very busy. We can't walk along it." He sighed. "Sorry Barry," he continued. "We need transport. We need a car or something."

Just then, the heavens opened and the rain hammered down. "A car?" groaned Barry. "We're going to need a boat at this rate."

Chapter 4

Captain Durant

Captain Arman Durant put a fresh wad of chewing gum into his mouth and crushed it with his jaws. He always loved starting new gum. There was something satisfying about grinding that little powdery block into an eternally malleable lump. It was, he felt, a suitable analogy for the army.

As he knocked on the door of number four, he pondered the way his career was taking shape. Banging on doors, looking for little green men, hadn't been high on his agenda when he joined up. He had expected a life of derring do, defeating the enemies of France, or at least defending a threatened indigenous population in a troubled hotspot, on behalf of the United Nations. But so far he hadn't even left France, in all the fifteen years he'd been serving his country. To say he felt let down and disappointed would be an understatement. But what else was there to do? There was nothing in civilian life that appealed to him, and he did look good in the uniform.

The door opened and an anxious looking woman appeared. "Oh," she said. "You'll do. My son—my son has gone missing—disappeared from his room!"

"Madame?"

"Disappeared! Gone for over an hour!" She gave a description of her son. The description stirred a memory in a quiet corner of Captain Durant's brain.

"Madame!" he interrupted. "I am here to search the house, not look for missing persons. There is a dangerous convict on the loose."

"Exactly!" said the woman. "It's not safe out there and the weather is awful. Surely you can at least tell your men to keep an eye out for him."

"All right, Madame. I will radio my squad and alert them to this. However, I doubt very much he's been kidnapped by the convict."

"I'm not suggesting he has," replied the woman indignantly. "He's obviously run away because he thinks he's in trouble."

"Oh?" said Durant, only mildly interested in the unfolding saga. "Why's that then?"

"I baked a pizza for lunch and when I went into the kitchen to serve it up, it had gone. The whole pizza. That big," she indicated, in case the captain underestimated the enormity of the crime. "He asked me for pizza for lunch, you see, and I think he might have—"

"Pizza?" repeated Durant, his memory now making a better effort to stir itself. "Cheese and tomato?"

"Well, yes," said the woman, her speech faltering.

"Describe him again," insisted Durant. The woman did so and Durant grinned, magnanimity steaming from every pore. "Madame," he said, flourishing a salute, "I believe I met your son on Avenue des Provinces."

"Are you sure?" gasped the woman hopefully.

"Yes, Madame, I am sure it was him. He had a rucksack full of pizza." Durant's brows knitted in puzzlement. "He was taking his sister to splash in the puddles—"

"His sister?" queried the woman. "No, that can't be him. His sister is here. She's in the kitchen, complaining about the lack of pizza."

"Oh?" said Durant, gripped by a feeling of uncertainty. "Are you sure? She was wearing a pink raincoat and lime green Wellington boots."

"Oh, how strange!" exclaimed the woman. "She has got an old pink raincoat, actually—and some green wellies that are too small for her. But, as I said, she's in the kitchen, and her old raincoat—" She disappeared from the doorway momentarily. "Oh!" came her voice. "Oh!"

She reappeared in the doorway. "That's odd," she said, looking back perplexedly into the hall. "Her pink coat is missing and so are her green wellies." She looked into the hall again and then back at Durant. "It is odd, isn't it?" she said.

Durant shot her his most dashing smile. "Madame," he said, "do you think you can find me a recent photograph of your son? I can get it circulated among the units working here today. If we find your son, we can pick him up and bring him back home to you."

The woman smiled gratefully and went back into the house to fetch a photograph. Durant waited patiently, a growing sense of excitement bubbling up in him. Yes, he had to agree. It was odd, wasn't it? Durant didn't believe in little green men from outer space, but maybe, just maybe—

The woman returned and handed Durant the photograph. Durant stared at it, not a shadow of a doubt now left that this was the boy he had met on Avenue des Provinces—the boy with the little girl in tow.

"Is it him?" A voice interrupted his thoughts, and Durant realised he had been nodding and smiling to himself.

"Er, it might be," he said, trying to sound as off-hand about it as he could. He wrote the boy's name, address and telephone number on the back of the photograph. "I'll—er, I'll send someone to Avenue des Provinces as soon as we've finished our search here, just to check." He realised he was nodding again. "Leave it with me," he told her. "If he's around here, I'm sure we'll find him. Leave it with me." He turned to go.

"Don't you want to search the house?" the woman asked. "I thought you were searching everyone's house."

"Er, no," said Durant slowly. "No, I don't think that will be necessary. I don't think you need that right now, do you?" He smiled brightly at her. "Good day, Madame."

As he turned onto the pavement, Durant looked at the photograph again. It was definitely him. It was definitely the boy with the pizza filled rucksack. He looked up and down the road. His men were well under way with their search of the street. He signalled to a corporal in a Jeep, who drove over to him.

"Right, Corporal," Durant said to him. "You can go and join the search on foot. I need to use this Jeep for a while."

"Sir! Yes Sir!" barked the obliging Corporal, and vacated the Jeep. Durant sat behind the wheel and took off his sunglasses. Yes, he thought to himself as he wiped his sun-glasses clear of rainwater. He would drive back to Avenue des Provinces and see if he could find the boy—what was his name? He turned the photograph over. Elian. He would drive over and see if he could find this Elian and have a look at just who his so-called sister was.

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine coughed into a start. Yes, if this was what he thought it was, if he was about to catch this supposed "dangerous criminal"—well, it had to be at least the rank of Major, maybe even Lieutenant Colonel. And his long-stagnant career might start to move, taking him to the action at last. And Durant so wanted to see some action. He was sure it was what he was born for. When he was a child, he had spent hours in his garden and the surrounding fields, diving, rolling, crawling on his belly, evading unseen adversaries and shooting invisible snipers, dreaming of the day he would be old enough to join the real army. But the real army had been a vast disappointment to date. He spent his days behind a desk, dreaming of action, of heroic deeds, of vanquishing the enemy.

He longed for action, for any action—and it seemed, at last, he was about to see some. He placed his sunglasses back onto the bridge of his nose, turned the steering wheel sharply and screeched out into the road.

Chapter 5

The Accommodating Monsieur Du Pont

Elian felt thoroughly miserable. He was cold and soaked to the skin. Even the usually chatty Barry had lapsed into silence. They had been waiting in the shrubs around this car park for what seemed like an eternity—waiting for some likely looking vehicle they could stow away in and get to Dune du Pilat. So far, most of the vehicles seemed to be cars and the occasional white van. Elian couldn't understand it. In all the adventure books he'd read, a convenient van or lorry always turned up to take the heroes to wherever they needed to be. Admittedly, the van usually turned out to belong to the villain of the piece, and the heroes usually ended up in the villain's hide out, captured and imprisoned. But, reasoned Elian, that bit was just fiction and didn't happen in real life.

There was a tapping on his knee. Elian looked down at the somewhat soggy face of Barry. "What about that one?" suggested the creature, pointing into the car park. "That black van," he continued. "The one with the conveniently open doors and a ladder poking out."

Elian peered out through the murky rain. It was difficult to make anything out in this weather. He screwed his eyes up, trying to read the writing on the side of the van. "Meven du Pont," he read. "Building and roofing, Biscarosse." Biscarosse? Biscarosse! Yes, this was it! "Yes," he hissed at Barry. "I'm sure that's near the sand dune. Quick! Let's go!"

The driver had got out of the van hurriedly. That suggested to Elian he was just popping in for something and wouldn't be lingering in any of the shops here.

The pair rushed out of their hide-out, and dodged their way through the parked and moving cars to the van. Elian almost threw Barry into the back before clambering in himself. "Right to the back," instructed the boy. "Find something to hide under."

There was a small tarpaulin stuffed in the back of the van. Elian and Barry hid gratefully behind it. They had barely sat down when there was the slamming of a door and the engine started. Elian sighed with relief. They were off.

There was a considerable silence before Barry voiced a thought Elian had been thinking. "Of course, we are assuming he's going back to Biscarosse, and not coming from it."

Elian stirred uncomfortably and pulled the tarpaulin down from in front of him. "It's starting to get dark," he commented. "Well, darker. He wouldn't start out on a job at this time of day. Would he?"

Barry shrugged. "It's your world, not mine."

Elian stared out of the open doors. It was getting very dark now. Mum and Dad would have discovered his disappearance hours ago. They were probably getting worried. He felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't thought much about them when he started out on this adventure. To be fair, he had thought he'd only be gone an hour or two. Now it looked like he wasn't going to get home until tomorrow morning. The police were probably looking for him. He groaned quietly to himself. He was so going to be grounded when he got back home.

There was some fidgeting beside him and Barry dug him in the ribs with his elbow. "Now we're here and there isn't much to do for the moment, how about we try some of that pizza in your bag?"

Elian shrugged and unzipped the rucksack. He put the open bag in front of Barry. "Help yourself," he told the creature. Barry crawled forward and put his head into the bag. After some scrabbling about, he emerged clutching a huge chunk of bread, tomato and cheese, and sat back next to Elian. He sniffed the chunk suspiciously, pulled a piece off and put it gingerly into his mouth. He chewed.

"Hmm," he said thoughtfully. Then, "Hmm?" followed by, "Hmm!"

"Something wrong?" asked Elian.

Barry shook his head slowly. "No!" he whispered, that one simple word steeped in awe. "No, nothing's wrong. Nothing at all." He took a huge bite out of the lump of bread in his hand and munched thoughtfully. Eventually, he turned to Elian and said, "This is the best thing ever!"

"Really?" said Elian. "It's only pizza. It's nice, but the best thing ever? What have you been eating all your life?"

Barry stopped mid-munch and thought for a moment. "You really don't want to know," he said at last. "But, are you telling me there are things on this planet better than pizza?"

"Quite probably," said Elian. "Hey, you're not going to eat any more of that, are you? You'll make yourself sick."

"Yes, Dad," said Barry, totally ignoring Elian's concerns and pushing another chunk of pizza into his already full mouth. "So," he said as he churned the food around, "how long do you think it will take to get to this place—what's it called?"

"Biscarosse?" said Elian. "Half an hour? An hour? I really don't know."

"Right. So, at least half an hour, you think?"

Elian thought for a moment. "Yes," he said with a nod. "At least half an hour."

"That's good," said Barry, taking another chunk of pizza out of the rucksack, "because I hate having to bolt my food."

The conversation lulled and all that could be heard was the growling of the engine, the creaking of the suspension, and the slurping of Barry as he began to munch his way through the whole pizza. Elian's stomach gave an ominous rumble. He sighed and said to Barry, "Pass me the bag."

"The bag?" repeated Barry. "You want the bag?"

"Yes, the bag," replied Elian, a little tetchily. "I'm not sitting here listening to you eating while my stomach's rumbling. Now, pass the bag!"

Barry hesitated. For one moment, he clearly thought of denying the boy the food. "Um," he started.

Elian tutted and snatched the bag from him. "I'm not going to eat it all," he muttered as he rummaged in the bag, "not like some people I could mention." He rummaged again and pulled out a broken slice of pizza. The cheese appeared to have slid off this slice, leaving just a thin layer of tomato sauce. He held the piece in his mouth and rummaged once more.

He turned to Barry, taking the pizza out of his mouth as he did so. "This is it?" he said, waving the slice in front of Barry's face. Barry's eyes followed the pizza, transfixed. "You've guzzled the whole lot?" continued Elian.

"Well, you said you didn't want any," protested Barry. "And, hey, someone had to eat it. We're going to need all of the room in that bag later. And... are you really going to eat that last piece?"

Elian glared at him and ripped a bite out of the slice. Barry whimpered. Elian ignored him and sat against the van's side. He didn’t like pizza cold, but it wasn't too bad without the cheese on it. He munched quietly, wondering how they were going to get to Dune du Pilat from Biscarrosse. Walk, he supposed.

He finished his pizza off and wiped his hands on his trousers. The material was still wet. His feet were also wet and very cold. He banged them together to try and get them warm.

"Are we nearly there yet?" asked Barry.

"How would I know," snapped Elian, still cross with him about the pizza. "I don't even know if we're going in the right direction."

"You're a bit bad tempered now, aren't you?" Barry sniffed. "I bet it was that pizza. I bet you've got a food intolerance."

"It is not the pizza," said Elian tersely. "I haven't got a food intolerance. There wasn't even any cheese on that piece."

"No cheese? What happened to it?"

"I suppose it slid off in the bag. How should I know?"

"In the bag? Here, hand it over!"

"Why? Oh, no, you're not going to—?" began Elian as Barry snatched the bag from him. The creature had his head in the bag before Elian could finish the sentence.

Barry reappeared from the depths of the bag, chewing. "Oh, no," groaned Elian. "You didn't find the cheese topping in there? And ate it? Oh, gross!"

"It's not bad," replied Barry, picking at his teeth. "A bit fluffy and there were a few crunchy bits. But tasty, nevertheless."

The van lurched suddenly, throwing the pair to one side. "I think we've just turned," said Elian, struggling back up. "Maybe we've come off the road." He listen briefly. "Yes. He's slowed down. Maybe we've reached Biscarrosse."

Elian crawled over to the open doors and leaned out. "Yes," he said, over his shoulder. "We're in a street. There are houses and everything."

He crawled back to Barry and slipped under the tarpaulin. "If he bothers unloading," he continued, "he'll probably take the ladder out first. That will be our chance, okay?"

The van gave another sharp turn and slowed to a crawl. There was the sound of wheels on gravel and then they stopped. Bright light swamped the open end of the van, which had clearly triggered some security lights. The engine stopped. There was the slam of the driver's door, a further crunch of gravel and the slam of a front door. Evidently Meven du Pont was in no hurry to empty his van. The security lights went out.

"Come on," whispered Elian. "Now's our chance." They crawled quickly to the doors and Elian carefully poked his head out. "Right, there's a gate, just to the left of us," he told Barry. "We'll have to run for it, because we're going to set off the security lights as soon as we move. Right? Ready? Go!"

Chapter 6

Meanwhile

Arman Durant had had a frustrating day. There had been no trace of the boy, Elian and his so-called sister, on Avenue des Provinces or anywhere on the surrounding roads. He had checked the parks and the playgrounds, and spent a miserable end to his afternoon searching in the shrubs on all the waste ground he could find in the area. But all he had to show for it was a number of rashes and lacerations, from the gorses and stinging nettles that seemed to take umbrage at his presence there.

He took off his sunglasses—which were becoming superfluous now the sun was sinking below the horizon—rubbed his forehead, shut his eyes and sat back in his seat.

Where were they, he pondered. He'd been back and forth all over the place. There was nowhere left to look. Where could they have got to? He sighed as he saw his bright new future slipping away from him. Maybe he was wrong, he conceded. Maybe this boy, Elian—or whatever his name was—was genuinely taking his sister for a walk in the puddles.

He felt in his pocket and withdrew his notebook, and read the details the boy had given him. They didn't match the details given by the missing boy's mother. But that didn't prove anything. It wasn't beyond the wit of the child to give a false name and address.

He felt in another pocket (he had a lot of pockets) and found his mobile phone. He'd better check with the boy's mother. Maybe the child had come home or rung.

He hadn't, it transpired. They had not heard anything, she told him. Her husband had rung the police and now this was a missing persons case. She was so worried and so tearful. What about his friends, he asked her. No, they had called all of them and no one had seen or heard anything. Now her friends were driving around the city and its suburbs, looking for the boy. Her husband was also out searching, while she was here with the two younger children, hoping for a telephone call and some good news. Captain Durant thanked her and assured her he would keep looking.

He ended the call and sat in the Jeep, staring into space, wondering what to do next. His stomach gave a hollow gurgle which saved him from further decisions for the moment. Food, he thought. Get something to eat and drink and then decide what to do.

He drove around the streets, looking for somewhere that might do take-away food. He found a place that claimed to do some form of chicken wrapped in breadcrumbs, bought food and a couple of bottles of mineral water and, after he'd finished marvelling at how simple water could command such a high price, headed back to his Jeep. He slumped in his seat and unwrapped his food. The smell of spices and herbs hit him in the face. He turned on the radio, tuned into the police frequency and wrestled with the bottle top of one of the waters he'd bought. If the chicken was as bad as he thought it was going to be, he would need a lot of water to wash it down with.

Having overcome the bottle, he braved the chicken. It wasn't as bad as he thought. The breadcrumbs did the job they had been paid for, totally hiding the fact the chicken they were covering had no flavour whatsoever. He took a swig from the bottle and listened to what the police were up to tonight.

He had nearly finished his meal and opened the second bottle of water when he heard it—a conversation between the controller and an officer on the beat, regarding the possibility of two runaways in Biscarosse. A local builder had reported seeing what appeared to be a boy and a younger girl leaving his front yard. The builder, one Meven du Pont, was of the opinion the children had stowed away in his van somewhere en route from Bordeaux.

Durant froze and slowly swallowed a mouthful of water. Not another coincidence, surely? He drained the bottle, put it down, and searched for a map of the area. He found one, but it was too big to open up in the cab of the Jeep. He grabbed a torch, left the cab and opened the map out on the bonnet of the vehicle.

He located Biscarrosse. It was near the coast. Why would they want to go to Biscarrosse? He knew little about the area, and so studied the map intently as fine rain drizzled on him. Assuming he was right and the pair of runaways weren't as they seemed, what was in Biscarrosse for them? Well, the sea, for a start. Did they need to be near the sea for something? That could be it, couldn't it? A beach pick up and no one around to see it. Perfect.

He carefully folded up the now thoroughly soggy map and threw it onto the back seat of the Jeep. He would find them on the beach somewhere, he was sure he would. If he hurried, he might be able to catch them before they—no, it—was rescued.

He threw the tub of chicken and some untouched fries onto the passenger seat. The food slid onto the floor. Durant swore and threw the errant chicken back into the tub, leaving everything on the floor, together with the empty water bottles.

His dream of glory and a newly burgeoning career returned to greet him. He turned the key in the ignition, put the Jeep into reverse—and stalled.

Another set of expletives issued from Durant's lips. Calm down and concentrate, he told himself. He turned the key in the ignition again and the Jeep coughed into life. Gently, he slipped the gear into reverse. And screeched out of the car park.

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