Interlopers From Hell

Chapter 3

3

Later that evening, Richard sat at the kitchen table, absently poking through his mother’s stir-fry, not in the least bit hungry.

“Are you feeling all right, Rich?”

Richard shrugged his shoulders, pushed his plate away and sat back, staring into space. “I’m okay, it’s just, I met this boy in school. New boy. He invited me back to his house, and I met his folks. But they were odd. And him, he’s …weird.”

“Weird?” His dad stood up, crossed to the cooker, and helped himself to more food. “This is really good, Rich. You should try it.”

“Why’s he weird?” asked Mum.

“Dunno. The way he talks. Like he’s a character in a book.”

“Well, what’s so wrong with that?” Dad slumped down again and shovelled noodles and vegetables into his mouth.

Richard sighed. “It’s not normal – like he’s from a different age or something.”

“Different age?” His dad sucked in a particularly long piece of noodle, making a loud slurping noise as he did so. “What does that mean?”

“You know – from the past. The words he uses and the way he uses them…weird.”

“You keep saying that, but it takes all sorts.” Smacking his lips, his dad ran his tongue around them one more time. “That was delicious, Gail. What’s for afters?”

“A cup of tea,” Richard’s mum said and leaned forward. “Look, Rich, if you’re not sure, well, just leave him alone. You don’t have to be his friend.”

“Yeah, but he’s invited me round tomorrow – for tea.”

“You don’t have to go, not if you don’t want to. Just come up with an excuse.”

“Well…that’s it…he’s strange and stuff, but he’s got these soldiers. Thousands of them. And…I don’t know how to explain it, but…he’s nice. And his mum is nice too. Friendly, you know.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Richard held his head in his hands. “I don’t know. Just…just a feeling, that’s all.”

His dad clamped a hand on his shoulder. “Why not just go round tomorrow, see how it goes? Then, if you’re still feeling unhappy, just…don’t go there again. You don’t have to be rude about it, but it’s your decision, Rich.”

For one of the first times in his life, Richard felt grateful for his dad’s advice. It mirrored his own thoughts almost exactly, but to hear it from someone else made it more reassuring. He pulled his hands away. “Yeah. I think you’re right. Can’t do any harm, can it?”

Mum shook her head. “No, Rich, it can’t do any harm.”

Richard decided to visit the local library the following day. He’d tried the Internet, but the information there was either too vague or referred him to books and magazines. At the library, he found some catalogues, but it was the librarian herself who used online guides to help him. “It’s just a matter of knowing what keywords to put in,” she explained, leaving Richard to look through what appeared on the screen. There were enough photographs and descriptions to verify what Eddy had said. His toy soldiers were immensely valuable and incredibly rare.

He sat back and mulled over his day. Eddy had a manner which was at once engaging and mysterious. Clearly intelligent, his knowledge of history was broad, and his vocabulary hinted at him being well read. There was more, too. When he’d involved himself in the Poker Dice game, he instantly worked out what he had to do in order to win. And he did win. Constantly. Then there was his attitude towards Stanmore. Assured. Almost arrogant. As if he were used to that sort of confrontation and knew how to handle them. Eddy’s words confirmed it: ‘You must trust me when I say, I can control the situation.’ What did that mean, exactly? Control the situation…

And now he seemed to have latched onto Richard, almost in a desperate sort of way. Desperate for what? Friends? Sighing, Richard thought back to the visit at the house and the reaction of Eddy’s grandfather. So unlike that of his mother. One antagonistic, the other openly welcoming. Weird.

Perhaps he was reading too much into it, he mused, trying to find reasons why not to be Eddy’s friend. He may be weird, but he was nice. Kind. Friendly. And those soldiers … and yet, no matter how hard he tried to push all his concerns aside, niggling doubts remained. Eddy’s manner, his speech. It just didn’t seem right.

Closing down the workstation, Richard wandered over to the fiction section. He pulled out a few copies of Dickens and went over to the receptionist.

“Are there other Victorian authors?”

The man looked at him over the rim of his spectacles. “Quite a few, yes.”

“I just need a selection. Three or four, just to get an idea of how people spoke in those times.”

“How they spoke? You mean accents?” Richard nodded. “That’s quite difficult. Most novels from that period describe scenes and the like, records of how people, mainly from middle-classes, lived their lives.”

“What about Fagin and all that lot.”

“Yes. Dickens isn’t bad. But the others won’t really tell you very much unless it is how middle-class people acted; is that the sort of thing you want to know about?”

“I think I am. Yeah. Middle-class. Rich were they, big houses and the like?”

The man frowned. “Not exactly…Look, I'll pick out a selection of books. See how you get on. You can always come back for more.” He came around the desk and smiled. “Actually, they’re darn good books as it is – classics. You won’t get much better than these.”

Some twenty or so minutes later, Richard struggled home with an armful of books. Two about model soldiers, and a further eight more from authors who wrote throughout the Victorian period. He also had a social history of Britain in the Victorian period. By the time he reached his house, he was out of breath and not feeling at all sure if any of his research would prove to be of any help. What would any of it reveal to him anyway? Could he use any of it to help him understand Eddy’s curious ways? Well, even if nothing proved useful, it might teach him something of an era he knew little about. All his delving into the past made him excited, like a real scholar. He laughed at that. If he wasn’t at the bottom of his class, he must be close to it, but at least the thought of unearthing historical details gave him a sense of purpose. So, pushing any remaining doubts about the usefulness of what he was doing to the back of his mind, he fumbled his way through the front door and instantly stopped. Suddenly, his thoughts and feelings became more confused than ever as he gaped in total surprise.

Smiling, waiting in the lounge, sat Edwin.