Authors: Annie Dalton

Losing the Plot (12 page)

BOOK: Losing the Plot

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“He was a poet who didn’t know it,” Lola finished with a grin. She took off her specs and rubbed her nose. “Hey, wasn’t Sweetpea hilarious about that scar!”

Thanks to the brilliant staff at the Sanctuary, Reuben was almost back to normal and his injuries were healing fast. A bit too fast for Reuben. He’d actually asked if he could keep one particular scar on his chest. It’s shaped like a starburst and is quite stylish in a bizarre sort of way. “Battle scars,” he’d explained. “So everyone knows I’m really hard.”

“You are hard,” I told him. “You were a total hero. You fought for your life, even though you were really,
really
ill.”

Reuben’s strange symptoms had turned out to be the effects of severe angelic shock. Human violence really takes it out of pure angels at first. The bear business must have been the final straw.

“That’s why I want the scar, Mel,” he’d said fiercely. “To remind me. I’m never letting some PODS creep up on me again.”

I leaned back in my chair with a deep sigh, and gazed up at the library ceiling, where the planets were doing their stately glittery dance. “Boys are so weird,” I sighed.

“Hey,” said Lola. “We’ve got work to do, remember?”

We were gradually piecing things together. For instance we now knew that the no-go zone was all the Opposition’s idea. Chance was an important Agency project which they were determined to sabotage. This may surprise you, but the PODS Agency has to abide by cosmic laws just like we do. So their lawyers went through the law books with a fine toothcomb, to find something they could use to their advantage. Finally they found some totally forgotten statute, saying that in the unlikely situation that Earth’s light levels ever reached fifty/fifty, all cosmic personnel should be withdrawn, to let the levels settle naturally. This law was originally intended as a safeguard for Earth. But one of the three fifty/fiftys ever seen in the cosmos, just happened to coincide (yeah, right) with the particular years Chance was at his lowest ebb. In the books, these are referred to as “Shakespeare’s Lost Years”.

The Opposition made it look as if they’d totally tied their own hands, by agreeing with the Agency that they’d only try to influence Chance from a distance. But as soon as the Agency was out of the picture, the Opposition instantly hired Brice to do their dirty work for them. Cosmic laws don’t mean a thing to him, apparently. He’s the original cosmic outlaw.

Lola was frowning at her notes. “I hate to seem thick, but what’s the big deal about Shakespeare exactly? I mean, how come both agencies were fighting over his soul?”

“I asked Michael about that,” I said. “He said the Opposition does everything in its power to make humans forget who they are and what they came to do. But Chance, I mean, Shakespeare, actually remembered, and Michael says it shows in every line he wrote.”

Lola looked awed. “Boy,” she said. “That was some thump you gave him, Mel.”

“You know what’s weird?” I said. “I’ve been flipping through his plays since we got back, and I keep seeing all this stuff Nick said. Remember that crack about ‘Exit pursued by a bear’? That’s in The Winter’s Tale. And that line about a rose smelling sweet by any other name - that’s Romeo and Juliet As for Romeo, he is pure Nick! Before he fell for Juliet, he had a different girlfriend every day of the week.”

Lola looked slightly sad. “I thought exactly the same thing. He’s like the sweet Nick, before he listened to Brice and forgot who he really was.”

I suddenly realised I was fiddling with my hair, something I do when I’m upset. “Tell you what,” I admitted. “I’m really disappointed with Chance.”

“I know what you mean,” sighed Lola. “All that stuff about ‘you are my guiding star and I’ll love you till I die’.”

“Yeah, then he writes a whole bunch of plays which totally wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for his childhood sweetheart, and doesn’t give her so much as a tiny mention. Huh!”

Lola nodded vigorously. “He’s an Elizabethan love-rat, definitely.”

Someone coughed.

I looked up and turned bright scarlet.

Orlando was standing like, two inches from my chair. He must have heard every word we’d just said.

Did I mention that Orlando looks like one of those dark-eyed angels in an old Italian painting? Did I also mention that he’s a total genius? Well, he is. And in two minutes he totally set us straight.

“So what did Shakespeare’s childhood sweetheart look like?” Orlando seemed genuinely interested. Actually, he seemed slightly excited, and he is usually Mister Calm and Collected, believe me.

So I described Cat’s green eyes and golden skin and her springy dark fuse-wire hair and suddenly Orlando broke into this big grin.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You just solved the mystery of the dark lady.” And he whipped a book off the shelves, Shakespeare’s Sonnets.

Apparently William Shakespeare wrote these poems which constantly refer to a beautiful dark lady, but no-one could ever figure out who she was. It’s been driving scholars crazy for centuries!

Orlando gave me one of his heart-melting smiles. “I think you owe Chance an apology,” he said. “He didn’t forget her. He remembered Cat for ever, just like he promised he would.”

And suddenly there was this embarrassing silence, which I knew I should fill with something intelligent, only I just went incredibly shy and tongue-tied instead.

Then I heard scuffling little footsteps and a muffled giggle. A small bossy voice said, “Ssh, Maudie -you’re not allowed to talk in the library!”

A bunch of breathless nursery-school angels appeared at the top of the stairs. They beckoned frantically.

“Mel! Mel! Reuben says come outside!”

“Well, go and tell him to come up here,” I grinned.

“No! Because he can’t,” said the tiniest angel hoarsely.

“Why can’t he come, Maudie?”

“You’ve got to come downstairs and see!” She was practically jumping up and down with excitement.

So me, Lola, and Orlando went dashing round and round the spiral staircase and flew out of the door. Then we stopped dead with pure astonishment.

The library building is surrounded by this big green park and several nursery-school children had been busy picking daisies. Now, with great determination, they were arranging their giant daisy chain around the neck of a puzzled, but not completely unhappy-looking bear.

Lola and I peered at him, hardly believing our eyes. “Sackerson?” we said simultaneously.

Reuben beamed at us. “He just got here. He looks great, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he look great!”

About the Author

Annie Dalton has been shortlisted for the Carnegie medal and won the Nottingham Children’s Book Award and the Portsmouth Children’s Book Award.The twelve Angel Academy books (previously known as Agent Angel), became an international best selling series. Annie lives overlooking a Norfolk meadow with a ruined castle, in a row of cottages that were rescued from bulldozers and lovingly rebuilt by a band of hippies.

www.anniedaltonwriter.co.uk

Also by Annie Dalton

Urban Fantasy Books

Night Maze

The Alpha Box

Naming the Dark

The Rules of Magic

Angel Academy Series

Winging it

Losing the Plot

Flying High

Calling the Shots