“What do you think you’re doing, Merry?” demanded Timmy Trial, as, panting and hot and flushed bright red, he stumbled around the corner of the farm shed and faced Jack.
Jack, trying to hide his dismay at the locked shed door, decided that a literal answer was his safest option. “I came to see my Grandad’s sheds,” he said. “I told you I had things to do.”
Timmy stared at him. Timmy could talk a great deal about himself and how good he was at everything. He could talk a lot about how rich and important his Dad was. And he could beat up any kid in the school. But Jack had noticed before now that Timmy wasn’t the best at dealing with cool, calm, logic. It was a convenient thing to remember.
“My Dad has got bigger sheds than these,” said Timmy, looking around with a show of disdain.
Jack shrugged. Timmy always said things like that.
“You’ll get into trouble for leaving school,” said Timmy.
Jack shrugged again. “So will you,” he replied.
Timmy was clearly startled as he realised, for the first time, this undeniable fact. It did not occur to him before now that they were both in the same predicament.
“I was following you!” said Timmy.
Jack kicked a small stone at his feet. He was glad that Timmy appeared to have forgotten that Jack was due at least one hard punch for ignoring him and running away. In fact, Timmy wasn’t concentrating on Jack at all. He was looking at the second, smaller farm shed in some surprise.
“What’s that?” he demanded.
Jack turned to look more closely at the shed that had drawn Timmy’s attention. And then he looked again, moving closer, following Timmy, both boys drawn slowly and irresistibly to what should have been an ordinary farm shed. There was a strange sign above the door to the shed.
“What’s Aletheia?” asked Timmy, peering at the sign.
Jack didn’t like to admit that he had never heard of Aletheia. Since they were his Grandad’s sheds Jack thought that he ought to know what Aletheia was and what it was doing there. “I think Grandad changed the shed,” he said.
Timmy shot him an impatient glance. “I can see that,” he said. “What does it mean?”
“It’s the entry to Aletheia,” said Jack.
Timmy snorted. “Entry to Aletheia,” he said, reading the sign. “Well, that’s obvious isn’t it, Merry? It says that there!” He pointed to the large sign which was hanging above the door of the smaller farm shed, which unambiguously stated, ‘Entry to Aletheia’. “Is your old Grandad making money from it?” asked Timmy. “I’ll ask my Dad if he’s ever heard of a business called Aletheia.” He sounded derisive, as if Jack’s Grandad was stupid and not half as good as Timmy’s Dad.
“Well, if you really want to know,” said Jack, annoyed at Timmy, “why don’t you go and have a look?”
Timmy looked uncertain and Jack was pleased. Secretly he was every bit as unsure as Timmy was about approaching the shed: it had changed so dramatically that it didn’t look like a farm shed at all. It not only had the strange sign about the unknown Aletheia above the door, but now it looked more like an odd sort-of office: with lots of windows, with people clearly moving about inside, with wide steps leading to the entrance door which didn’t look anything like the entrance to a farm shed.
“Are you going in then?” asked Jack.
“Well, you go first then,” returned Timmy, scowling at Jack, “otherwise I know it’s a trick!”
Jack shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or another; as if he were used to exploring the shed-office that was now called Aletheia. “Alright,” he said.
And Jack led the way up the new entrance steps to the unknown door.
The entrance door clicked shut behind the two boys and their eyes gradually adjusted to the dimness of the office after the bright, hot sunshine they had left behind. At first it seemed that they were in a building not unlike a very ordinary office. Around them they could hear the murmur of voices, the faint hum of a machine, the tapping of keys as if someone was working at an old fashioned typewriter. It all sounded quietly business-like, as if the people working around them were meant to be there; everyone apart from them of course.
“Is Aletheia a business?” whispered Timmy. “Does it make lots of money?”
Jack was heartened by the fact that Timmy was whispering. He thought that now was as good a time as any to hint that he didn’t have a clue what was going on.
“I don’t really know,” said Jack.
They were standing in the reception area of the office which was a bit like the one at school. There were sliding glass panels behind which were a large desk, a chair, and something that looked like a computer screen except that the writing on it looked like someone’s handwriting. It said, ‘Contamination Detector’ in big letters which flashed on and off. There was no one in sight and on the glass panel there was a handwritten note which simply said, ‘Dealing with Snares. Back soon.’
Timmy stared at the note. “What on earth are…?”
“I don’t know,” said Jack, wishing Timmy would stop asking questions he didn’t know the answer to.
There were pegs on the wall close to the glass screened area. The nearest one was labelled ‘Mr Hardy Wallop, Supervisor’, and there was a navy blue coat with lots of shining silver buttons neatly hung there. It looked like the posh uniform of a very important man. Timmy reached and touched one of the shiny buttons.
“What is this?” he asked.
“It’s a coat of course,” said Jack, glad he could answer at least one question.
“Well, I know that,” retorted Timmy, his voice getting louder. “Of course I know that! I only meant that since we’re in your Grandad’s shed…” He made it sound like an accusation, as though Jack should know perfectly well what strange place they had come to.
“Well, you wanted to come,” said Jack, sticking to the obvious and avoiding the unexplainable.
“Is it a secret?” asked Timmy, and his eyes gleamed. “I bet your Grandad isn’t paying tax or is making something illegal here. Perhaps the Contamination Detector is about nuclear waste or something, right in our village!”
“Don’t be stupid,” said Jack, nettled at the accusation.
“Well, if it’s not that, then what is this place?”
“If you really want to know, why don’t you ask him?” said Jack, pointing at a closed door which was labelled in neat, gold lettering ‘Mr Wallop, Supervisor of Entry to Aletheia’. He watched Timmy hesitate. “Go on, unless you’re scared!” said Jack.
Timmy glanced back at the entrance door. And then he made a sudden move. “Alright!” he said, “watch this!” and he darted to Mr Wallop’s door and knocked three times: loud, sharp raps on the door which shattered the quiet of the office. Then Timmy flung himself at the entrance door with a triumphant yell.
Jack hadn’t known that Timmy was capable of moving so quickly but he might have guessed that Timmy’s plan was to leave Jack to face the consequences with the disturbed Supervisor called ‘Mr Wallop’. But, oddly enough, Timmy’s attempted escape failed spectacularly. The entrance door stuck fast and remained immovable despite Timmy’s efforts to yank it open, and the two boys faced each other across the reception area in sudden, disquieting silence. They both glanced at Mr Wallop’s office door. And then back at each other again.
“It’s stuck,” hissed Timmy, pulling at the unyielding entrance door again. “Is it a trap? Why have you brought me here?”
“I didn’t bring you,” retorted Jack. “You followed me, remember?”
“What is this place?” demanded Timmy. “What is Aletheia? I know it’s illegal!”
“You don’t know anything,” said Jack, feeling that was about the only thing he could be certain of at that moment.
Then both boys froze in sudden silence as the closed door to Mr Wallop’s office slowly opened and a tall, stern, most forbidding man emerged.
“Aletheia is certainly not illegal anyway,” said the tall man in a gruff, displeased tone. He had thick, dark eyebrows, a bushy moustache and a fierce look in his dark eyes. He wore a navy blue suit with bright silver buttons, just like the ones on the overcoat on the peg that Timmy had examined. He looked like a General in the army. He looked very important.
“He told me to knock,” said Timmy, pointing at Jack.
Jack saw Timmy surreptitiously try the door handle again, as if he could escape from the office and leave Jack alone to face the consequences. But the door remained jammed shut.
“I see,” said the tall man, Mr Wallop. “And do you always do what he says?”
“No!” spluttered Timmy, indignant at the very thought of following Jack Merryweather’s lead in anything. “But…well, they’re his Grandad’s sheds!”
Jack could see that this did not make sense to the tall, stern Supervisor man. “I see,” the man said, “that’s how you came here, is it?”
Timmy hesitated, puzzled at the question. “Of course it is,” he said, sounding, however, more polite than usual.
“We were at Grandad’s sheds,” added Jack.
The Supervisor, Mr Wallop, considered this. “I see,” he said at last. “There are many ways to get to Aletheia from other countries and towns. I’ve never heard of Grandad’s Sheds, but that’s interesting, very interesting.”
Jack wasn’t sure how to explain that his own country wasn’t called Grandad’s Sheds. It was a surprise to him that this formidable man, who appeared to be in his right mind, was talking to them as if they had entered another place altogether: a place called Aletheia.
Timmy was looking at Mr Wallop as if he was certain the man was completely barmy. But he was clearly too much in awe of him to make such an accusation. “I think we should go now,” Timmy said as firmly as he could. “We’re going to be in trouble at school.”
Jack didn’t bother to say that Timmy had never before shown any concern for being in trouble at school. Timmy was always in trouble at school.
Mr Wallop did not appear concerned about them being in trouble at school either. “You’ll be back at school in plenty of time,” he said, as if he was quite certain of this. “Now, where’s Tilly?” Mr Wallop looked at the vacant reception desk.
“It says she’s dealing with Snares,” said Jack, wondering whatever it meant.
“Ah,” the Supervisor took a step closer, read the note, and nodded without surprise. “That explains it,” he said. “We’ve had a run of contamination from Meddlers and Snares, and last week we even had a Sloth at work! We hardly got any work done that day! Well, I’ll take you to get Checked In, although I really don’t know why you couldn’t find the way!” He still sounded stern, and Jack realised that there was a big sign on the wall behind reception which said, ‘Checks Room this way,’ with an arrow pointing further down the hallway.
Timmy was clearly incredulous, as if he was certain the whole conversation was gobbledygook. “Checked In?” he managed to splutter. “Checked In where…?”
The Supervisor interrupted Timmy sternly. “Where?” he repeated, as if he feared Timmy might be stupid or even mad. “Why, into Aletheia of course!”
