Cy was running. Running as fast, and as hard, as he could. But his legs were heavy, his thighs and his ankles weighted down so that he could barely lift his feet to make each step. He knew that he had to keep going. Something urgent, something important to do. Suddenly he stopped. What was it? What was it that he must find? He looked around in the grey fog. All he could see was a small figure dressed in a black cape walking in front of him, marching upwards in the long, dark tunnel. Cy reached out and touched the person’s back.
As the cloak fell away from his shoulders the Dream Master turned round. ‘Where’s Aten?’
Cy let his hand fall to his side. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘He must have got lost.’
‘Lost!’ shrieked the dwarf. ‘Lost! Great Galloping Goddesses! How can you mislay an Ancient Egyptian boy?’
Cy shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I was . . .’ he stopped. What had he been doing? How and when had he lost Aten?
‘Listen.’ The dwarf pushed his face angrily close to Cy’s own. ‘I have broken two hundred and twenty-two types of rules and regulations to get myself into your TimeSpace to collect that boy and replace him in his TimeSpace, and when I do . . .’ the dwarf drew in a deep breath, ‘. . . he’s gone. Can’t you keep your eye on him for a single swithering second?’
‘Something happened,’ said Cy, ‘but I can’t remember what it was. And now there’s something I’ve got to do, and I can’t remember that either.’
‘I’ll tell you what you’ve got to do,’ snarled the dwarf. ‘Find Aten and help me send him home.’
‘He doesn’t want to go back,’ said Cy.
‘He must return.’
‘Why?’
The Dream Master hesitated. ‘Time and fate . . . and, er . . . sequence of events. There could be dreadful historical consequences if he doesn’t.’
‘Like what?’ asked Cy.
‘For goodness’ sake! I don’t know, exactly.’
‘Aten is not going back into the tomb to die,’ declared Cy.
‘He has to go back.’
‘No,’ said Cy.
‘Yes,’ said the Dream Master.
‘NO!’ Cy shouted. ‘NO! NO! NO!’ He grabbed the cloak and tried to throw it over the Dream Master’s head, but it ended up over his own. The more Cy struggled, the more entangled he became. The dwarf was pulling against him, and he seemed to have grown an extra pair of hands. ‘No!’ Cy kept yelling as he fought against the darkness.
‘It’s all right. You’re OK.’ His dad was beside his bed. ‘I’ve got you, son.’ He put his arms around Cy’s shoulders and helped him sit upright, free of the duvet covers. ‘You’re having a bad dream. It’s all the worry about Grampa. You’re fine now.’
Grampa! Cy leant back on his pillow as it all came flooding back. The ambulance ride to the hospital. Mum and Dad arriving. Hours of waiting. Grampa lying in bed, not looking like Grampa. The doctor saying it was a very mild stroke; just to go home now; that Grampa was in the best place. The journey home . . . He must have fallen asleep on top of his bed almost as soon as he lay down.
‘Come down to the kitchen,’ said Dad. ‘Lauren’s put the kettle on.’
‘Here, Beansprout, have some tea.’ Lauren thrust a mug under Cy’s nose. ‘Hero of the hour according to Mrs Fortune,’ she said as she slid a plate of chocolate biscuits across the table. ‘Managed to dial 999 and get Grampa to the hospital double-quick.’
Behind Lauren’s head Cy’s dad winked at him and rolled his eyes madly. Cy smiled as he unwrapped a biscuit.
His mum put her hand on his arm. ‘I phoned the hospital again since we came home. They say Grampa’s doing fine. And I let Mrs Turner and Mrs Fortune know. Oh,’ she added, ‘Mrs Fortune said to tell you that Aten said he would be OK. He would find his own way back.’
Later, Cy lay in bed and stared at Luke Skywalker, Han Solo and Princess Leia. Where is Aten? he asked them silently. The trio stared back. Princess Leia’s face showed not a flicker of sympathy. Aten had told Mrs Fortune that he’d find his own way back. And with all the confusion about Grampa no-one asked the question that was now bothering Cy.
Back to where?