Finders Keepers Read online

  Also by Emily Rodda

  Finders Keepers 2: The Timekeeper

  The Wizard of Rondo

  The Key to Rondo

  Deltora Quest series

  Rowan of Rin

  Rowan and the Travellers

  Rowan and the Keeper of the Crystal

  Rowan and the Zebak

  Rowan of the Bukshah

  Crumbs!

  Dog Tales

  For Narelle Spencer, with love

  Contents

  Cover

  Also by Emily Rodda

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1 Beginnings

  2 The Invitation

  3 “Nobody Listens to Me!”

  4 At Chestnut Tree Village

  5 Meet Lucky Lamont

  6 The Seekers

  7 “Good Finding!”

  8 The First Find

  9 Problems

  10 Feathered Friends

  11 Boopie Helps Out

  12 The Barrier

  13 Lost and Found

  14 Stitches in Time

  15 The Second Find

  16 Patrick’s Argument

  17 Time to Decide

  18 The Show Must Go On

  19 “That’s All, Folks!”

  20 Win Some, Lose Some

  21 Third Time Lucky

  22 Keep in Touch

  The Author

  Copyright

  1

  Beginnings

  “Patrick, turn that TV off! Patrick, are you in there?”

  Patrick stayed where he was. His mother sounded hassled – up to her ears in supermarket shopping in the kitchen while his little brother fussed around her, “helping”. With a bit of luck she wouldn’t call out again and he’d get another ten minutes of peace.

  Not that there was anything worth watching. You’d think they’d try a bit harder on Saturday morning. He carefully aimed the remote control and flicked through the channels. Sport, sport, test pattern, old black-and-white movie, snow, snow … a quiz program – that was more like it, but it wasn’t on a proper channel – some country station probably – bad luck.

  He squinted at the spotty, jumping picture on the screen. A quizmaster with a bow tie and a moustache introduced a confused-looking contestant.

  “Patrick, d’you want to see what I found at the shops? Can I watch my movie? Will you put on Mickey now?” His little brother was hanging around the door, eating a biscuit.

  “No, Danny. Not now. I’m watching,” said Patrick impatiently.

  Danny screwed up his eyes and took a breath. Patrick put his hands over his ears and stubbornly stared straight ahead. On the blurry TV screen, the round-faced quizmaster opened his mouth and laughed. In Patrick’s living room, four-year-old Danny opened his mouth and roared.

  “Patrick! What’s happening in there?” Dimly Patrick heard his mother’s voice, over Danny’s yells and the roaring from the TV, and through his hands. She must have reached screeching point. He eased the fingers covering his right ear. He’d better do something fast, or there’d be trouble. He sighed and walked over to the TV.

  “Don’t cry, Danny,” he said in a kind, reasonable, loud voice. “I’ll put on your movie, will I?”

  He pushed a few buttons. The grinning quizmaster was cut off in mid-giggle.

  “You said you wouldn’t put Mickey on!” protested Danny. “You said …”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Patrick!” howled the voice from the kitchen.

  Patrick sighed again and pushed the last button. Danny’s movie began its twenty-eighth run, and Danny retreated to the couch, his eyes fixed to the screen.

  “I was watching something, you know,” mumbled Patrick, suddenly angry again. He felt unloved and hard done by. He went over to a chair and curled himself up into a ball. He began to imagine that he was being held prisoner by a hideous monster with three eyes and slimy green tentacles. He couldn’t move. He struggled against the invisible web that bound him. He had to get free. He writhed, and butted his head against the chair back, grunting with effort.

  “Patrick!”

  He slowly raised his head. Judith, his mother, was standing over him, her hands on her hips. She was shaking her head.

  “Patrick, I’ve told you and I’ve told you. Don’t be rough on that chair! It’s on its last legs already.”

  Patrick guiltily slid his feet to the floor, and unclenched his fists. He regarded the old armchair gloomily. It was big and comfortable, and just the right size for curling up in, but there were already darns and patches on the arms, and in other places the threads of the covering were worn thin and you could see the stuffing underneath getting ready to burst through.

  “Sorry, Mum,” he mumbled. “I forgot.”

  “Well, don’t forget!”

  “You forgot about my new sneakers.” Patrick decided that the best means of defence was attack. “You said last Saturday we’d get them this Saturday. And you forgot.”

  Judith clasped her hand to her forehead. “I did!” she groaned. “I clean forgot. Oh, dear – you could have reminded me, Patrick!”

  “Sshhh,” hissed Danny from the couch.

  “Oh, pardon me!” exclaimed Judith, but she lowered her voice. “Well, you’ll just have to manage till next week, Patrick. I’ll get your father to mind Danny and we’ll go next Saturday morning. OK? I just couldn’t face Chestnut Tree Village again today. It’s a madhouse.”

  “Mum! Have you seen my sunglasses?” Patrick’s older sister Claire strode into the room. “They were on the kitchen bench and now they’re gone! Someone’s taken them.”

  “No one’s taken them, Claire. And what were they doing on the kitchen bench anyway? No wonder you’re always losing things.” Judith shook her head and went back to the kitchen.

  “I didn’t lose them,” Claire shouted after her. “I put them there so I’d know where they were. And I’ve got to go to my piano lesson now. I’ll go blind if I have to go out in that sun without my sunglasses.”

  “I saw them,” volunteered Patrick. “They’re on the kitchen bench.”

  Claire stamped her foot and tossed her hair back. “They’re not!” she fumed. “Someone’s moved them.” Her eyes narrowed. “I bet you did, Patrick. I bet you were playing with them. Where are they? You’d better not have broken them.”

  Patrick lost his temper. “I didn’t touch your stupid sunglasses,” he yelled. “They’re on the stupid kitchen bench. I saw them, stupid!”

  “Stupid yourself!”

  “Stop fighting!” roared Judith from the kitchen. “Claire, come here.”

  “I can’t HEAR!” shouted Danny from the couch.

  “Mum, Patrick’s taken my sunglasses,” cried Claire passionately. “He’s always taking my things. One of my best, best earrings has gone too. You know, the stripy ones Julia gave me? He’s a little pest! He’s – oh.”

  Judith stood in the doorway, arms folded. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses.

  “Where were they?” Claire exclaimed.

  “On the kitchen bench, in plain sight. Why don’t you look!” sighed her mother, pulling off the sunglasses and tossing them to her.

  “They weren’t there,” Claire mumbled stubbornly.

  “Well, obviously they were,” said Judith drily, going back to the kitchen. “Now, get off to piano and watch out for the traffic.”

  “And say you’re sorry to me,” chipped in Patrick. “Because I didn’t take them, did I?”

  “It’s usually you,” retorted Claire. “And what about my earring? I saw you looking at them. Now you’ve gone and lost one. Pest!” She turned and went out of the room. “’Bye, Mum!” she shouted from the
hall, and the front door slammed.

  “She’s the pest,” muttered Patrick. “I never touched her stupid earring.” He punched the back of the chair viciously. With a soft little sigh, the material split like a sausage under his knuckles, and a lump of white filling burst through. He stared at it, aghast.

  Danny turned his head to look. His eyes widened with delight, and he scrambled from the couch. “Hey, Mum,” he laughed. “Look what Patrick found in the chair! White stuff!”

  “What!” The voice from the kitchen was furious.

  With a sinking heart, Patrick heard the mother-is-on-the-warpath footsteps approaching. This was not turning out to be a very good day.

  2

  The Invitation

  After school on Monday, Patrick walked home as usual from the bus stop with his friend Michael.

  “What would you do if you had a million dollars?” he said. It was one of their favourite questions.

  “Buy a Ferrari,” Michael answered instantly.

  Patrick nodded. Michael always said that. Or at least, he always said he’d buy some car or other. Sometimes it was a Jag, sometimes a Mercedes. Today it was a Ferrari.

  “What would you?” asked Michael carelessly.

  “A computer,” said Patrick firmly. “I’d buy a really great computer, and lots of games. And then I’d buy a house for myself to live in, that was mine. With my own TV, and my own chairs, and a lift, and a swimming pool and a garden. And no one could come in unless I said.”

  Michael shrugged. “A Ferrari’s better,” he said flatly. He had a computer already. And as for the rest, he was an only child and no one got in his way at home.

  They went on talking about cars after that, but after Michael had turned off down his own street Patrick started thinking again about the house he’d have if he had a million dollars.

  It would all be new – new chairs, new paint on the walls, new carpets – everything clean and bright and new. Nothing that had to be mended, like the old chair that Mum had had to fix on Saturday. The tear he’d made in the cover was only small, but she’d got out her work basket and stitched it up straight away – well, almost straight away. She’d yelled at him for quite a while first.

  “A stitch in time saves nine,” she said, sucking at the cotton to make it stiff so she could thread the needle. “That’s an old saying. It means it’s easier in the long run to fix something as soon as you can. If you leave it, the tear gets bigger and bigger so it’s much harder to mend. Now, Patrick, I beg of you, keep out of this chair. Please, darling. Try to remember.” He’d apologised, and promised. Again.

  He came to the last little group of shops before his own turn-off. His mother complained that they weren’t useful shops at all. One sold office furniture. The one next door to it used to be a dry-cleaners, but had been shut up for a long time. Then there was a real estate agent, with lots of pictures of houses in the window. So far, Patrick agreed with Judith. But the fourth shop was a very different matter, because it sold computers, and to Patrick it was the most interesting shop in the whole street – by a very long way. If – when – he got his own computer, it would be very handy to have a place so close to home where he could buy extra games and get advice. And in the meantime …

  He pressed his nose against the window and looked in, as he did almost every afternoon. The man who owned the shop was huddled over a computer in one corner, talking hard to a woman and a girl in school uniform. Patrick wrinkled his nose enviously. There was a kid who was in luck.

  He slipped into the doorway, stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered casually down the rows of gleaming grey machines, looking for one that was switched on. Sometimes the computer man got cranky if he caught you playing with the stock. If he thought you weren’t a customer, that is, and he’d given up on Patrick long ago. But today he’d probably be too busy making a sale to complain.

  In the middle of the back row one of the machines was quietly humming to itself. Patrick sat down in front of it and smiled gleefully. A games program! So he was in luck, too. He chose the game called Quest and settled down to play, hunching quietly over the keyboard. It was some sort of treasure hunt. A little figure on the screen was walking through rooms, and you could control which way it went. There was a scoreboard in one corner. That must be where the treasure you found was written up. Patrick frowned in concentration. He wanted to find one thing at least before the computer man finished with his customers and threw him out.

  The little figure on the screen trotted through a doorway. “Come on!” Patrick whispered. He wished he’d been able to read the instruction book. There must be clues to where in this maze the treasures were. Then he noticed a slight break in one of the walls. He drove his figure straight to it – and yes! A little chest piled with jewels flashed into the scoreboard. Success!

  The computer gave a sharp pinging sound. Patrick looked anxiously over at the group in the corner. The shop owner glanced at him but didn’t say anything, turning back instead to his customer with a gracious smile. Relieved, Patrick looked back to the screen, and jumped. It had gone completely black, except for three words flashing in the middle.

  WHO ARE YOU?

  Patrick hesitated.

  WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU? flashed the computer.

  Patrick shrugged. He hadn’t read the instruction book, and he didn’t know the right answer. Oh, well. PATRICK, he typed, just for the fun of it, and waited for the “Game Over” sign to appear.

  But it didn’t. And he watched in amazement as something else did.

  CONGRATULATIONS PATRICK!

  YOU ARE NOW INVITED TO COMPETE IN

  FINDERS KEEPERS

  THE MILLION-DOLLAR TV GAME SHOW

  FABULOUS PRIZES!

  YOU’RE CHOSEN BY CHANCE AND YOU TAKE YOUR

  CHANCE IN FINDERS KEEPERS

  DO YOU ACCEPT THE INVITATION?

  YES typed Patrick carefully. What a great game! He’d never seen anything like this before.

  The computer screen went black again, and he waited impatiently. But when more words finally appeared, he stared at them, baffled.

  TURN TO CHANNEL 8 AT 10 A.M. SATURDAY

  TO MEET

  YOUR HOST LUCKY LANCE LAMONT AND PLAY

  FINDERS KEEPERS

  UNDERSTOOD?

  Patrick’s mouth fell open. This didn’t seem like part of a game.

  The computer gave another sharp ping, and the last word on the screen started flashing. UNDERSTOOD? UNDERSTOOD? UNDER …

  “What are you doing over there, son?” asked the computer man with a menacing smile. He said something to the woman and half rose from his seat.

  YES Patrick typed rapidly.

  The screen flashed, the computer hummed loudly. Eyes wide, Patrick jumped up from his chair as the man strode, grumbling, towards him.

  “Just looking,” gabbled Patrick, making for the door. “Sorry.”

  He ran out of the shop and down the street. He ran all the way to his own front gate. He had to tell someone about this.

  He rang the bell, panting. He heard soft, trotting footsteps, and with a little lurch of disappointment remembered that his mother wasn’t home. It was Monday, the day Estelle came to babysit while Judith was working.

  The door opened a crack and a nose advanced cautiously, followed by two nervous pale-blue eyes. As soon as they saw him the eyes lost their frightened look. “Oh, Patrick, it’s you, dear heart,” twittered Estelle. She shut the door again and the door-chain rattled. Patrick waited impatiently. Estelle was afraid of burglars, so she always kept the door-chain on. The trouble was, she always got in a tangle when the time came to get the door open.

  “Come in out of the heat, Patrick.” Smiling her sweet, timid smile, Estelle swung the door open at last. “Did you have a good day? My word, you look hot! Have you been running? You really shouldn’t …”

  Patrick gulped, swallowed, and grabbed her arm, stopping her in mid-flutter. “Estelle!” he gasped. “You’ll neve
r believe what just happened!”

  Estelle looked at him in alarm.

  “Nothing bad,” he quickly assured her. “At the computer shop. I got the chance to go in a game. I think. I mean, I got invited …” His voice trailed off. Estelle smiled at him kindly, her pale face and light, wispy hair hovering above him in the dimness of the hall.

  “That’s nice, Patrick,” she said, nodding encouragingly. “A new game, is it? You love those computer games, don’t you?”

  “No, Estelle, it wasn’t a game. At least, it was at first, but then … It was – like a message. To me. With my name.” Patrick couldn’t believe how hard this was to explain.

  “Oh, well, isn’t that marvellous? The things they think of!” exclaimed Estelle, taking his schoolbag and putting it neatly on the hall stand. “How about a nice drink, now, dear heart? Come on.”

  She wafted off in the direction of the kitchen. Patrick trailed after her. He should have known it would be no good trying to tell Estelle. He’d have to wait till someone else came home. He pressed his hands together. They were trembling. His heart was beating fast, not just from running. Every time he thought about the message it gave a hard flutter that made him catch his breath. Especially when he thought about the very last words that had flashed up on the screen before it went black and he ran from the shop.

  SEE YOU SATURDAY!

  3

  “Nobody Listens to Me!”

  For the rest of the afternoon Patrick thought about the message. You are now invited to compete in Finders Keepers … Channel 8 … 10 a.m. Saturday. He wrote the words down carefully, as he remembered them. He shivered as he finished. Understood?… See you Saturday!

  At five o’clock a key turned in the front door lock and the door slammed open against the chain.

  “Estelle!” called Claire through the crack, and Patrick heard Estelle let her in. Claire’s feet pounded up the stairs. Patrick went to his door and peeped out at her.

  “Hi, Patrick,” she said cheerfully, and disappeared into her bedroom, which was beside his own. She kicked the door shut. Her schoolbag thumped to the floor and music began to beat through the wall.