What's the Time, Mister Wolf?

Part One. The Moon Comes Lower

Last time, a moon sat down on our school roof, and a girl on a faraway hill waved at Alex and Felix out of a puddle.

On Tuesday morning, the moon was so low that we had to duck.

Not really. But it was low enough that Kenji said he could have touched it with a long stick, and Mister Harris said he wasn't going to try, and the roof of the school had a small, worried creak in it, like a shelf with too many books.

"I'm so sorry," said the moon, as we came through the gate. "I'm doing my best to hold myself up. It's only that I'm a bit heavy, with all the crying."

"You're doing really well," said Dot, who is in Reception and says this to everything.

There were more silver puddles. They had spread all over the playground in the night, like a shiny rash. Some of them showed a hill, and some showed a golden hall, and some showed a river with a boat on it that was shaped like a fingernail. Willow sat beside the biggest one, in the same place as yesterday, as if she had not moved at all.

Alex and Felix told us afterwards that they had both looked in it, as soon as they got there, to see if the girl was still on the hill.

She wasn't. There was only the grass, and the two moons, and the stump with nobody sitting on it.

"They've gone for their breakfast," said Alex.

"Or they've gone to hide," said Felix.

Part Two. Where Is Mister Loki?

Maya had a plan.

It was a good plan, and it was written on four pages in her best handwriting. It was called HOW TO MAKE MISTER LOKI TELL THE TRUTH, and it had arrows. The first arrow said, Catch him.

That was the hard part.

We looked in the staff room, and he wasn't there, but there was a green jumper on a peg, very still, with a gold stripe, and when Kenji said "Mister Loki?" it said, "No," in a small voice, and shuffled round the corner. We looked in the playground, and there was a bin that had not been there on Monday. It had a lid, and it was humming. We looked in the hall, and there was a coat stand with a guilty face.

"I can see your shoes," said Maya, to the coat stand.

"They are the coat stand's shoes," said the coat stand.

"Mister Loki," said Maya. "We just want to ask about your children."

There was a long pause. Then a small tree, in a very small pot, at the end of the corridor, said, "I'm only a tree. I don't have any children. I have leaves."

A gold thread crept out from under the pot and wriggled across the floor.

"I think it's Thursday," said the tree, hopefully. "Ask me on Thursday. I'm much better on Thursdays." And then it went pop, and there was only a pot, and a few green leaves on the floor, and a smell of fish-finger sandwiches.

"He's so good at it," said Maya, furious. She sat down on the floor. "I'm going to the library. Mister Jackson will have a book about wolves. Come with me, Kenji. I need someone to carry things."

So the two of them went to the library, and that is why they were not there when it happened. Maya has never forgiven herself, and she says the library was nice, though.

Part Three. Day Two of Different

By ten o'clock, the whole school was worn out.

It turns out that you cannot be different all day. By the second day, we had run out of ways. Ollie had tried standing on one leg for the whole of maths, and now he had to be carried. Dot had spooled so much that she had to lie on the floor. The big kids had invented a new way of walking through a door that took eleven minutes.

The staff were no better. Mister Thor was trying to sneeze differently from the way he sneezed yesterday, and had to hold on to a drainpipe. Mister Hadad had tried to make it rain in one corner of the playground only, as a kind of treat, and now a little one was standing in it, soaked, and enjoying himself very much. Miss Namaka the lollipop lady had crossed the road eleven times to get to the same side, and said she would never be the same again.

Mister Harris came out onto the playground with his clipboard. His hair was standing up at the back. He looked at it, and at us, and at the moon, which was looking at him, and gave up.

"Right," he said, in a flat, tired voice. "Everyone. Ten minutes of anything. It's an emergency. You may do any game you like, so long as it is a different game from your neighbour's. And so long as it is not loud. Mister Hanu will be in charge."

"I have a whistle," said Mister Hanu, cheerfully. He was sitting on the wall in his orange tracksuit, with his long ponytail. He blew the tiny silver whistle on the chain round his neck, which has a picture of two people on it. It made a sound like a bird that has just thought of something. "I am good at emergencies. I once carried a mountain."

"Please don't carry the school," said Mister Harris.

"I will not," said Mister Hanu. "I will only watch it."

That is how Alex and Felix, and Dot and Ollie, came to be standing at the bottom of the school field at ten past ten on a Tuesday, with the moon over their shoulders, and nothing to do.

Part Four. A Creeping Game

"What shall we play?" said Ollie.

"Tag," said Dot.

"Somebody else is playing tag," said Felix. He pointed. Three of the big kids were doing it, in slow motion.

"Hide and seek."

"Somebody else is doing hide and seek," said Alex, "very badly." A boy from the top class was lying flat on his front under a bin lid, and everybody could see his trainers.

"Grandmother's footsteps," said Ollie.

"Everybody's doing that," said Felix. "They're all good at it. They've had two days of practice."

"Then what?" said Dot.

There was a pause. It was one of those pauses that you only get on a Tuesday, when you are small and the sky is low. A cold breeze came across the field. Willow had trotted down after them, and sat on the little bump at the bottom, in the long grass, her golden eyes half closed.

"What's the time, Mister Wolf?" said Dot.

We have to be honest. When Alex and Felix told us this part afterwards, they both went a bit quiet. Because Alex remembered the creeping puppy on the hill, and Felix remembered the girl with her back turned, and for about a second, both of them nearly worked it out.

"Isn't that a creeping game?" said Alex, slowly.

"It's tiptoeing," said Dot.

"It's a bit creeping," said Felix.

"It's not creeping," said Alex, who was thinking very hard. "Creeping is when you creep. This is when you ask the time."

"And nobody said anything about tiptoeing," said Felix.

"They didn't," said Alex. "Not Maya. Not anybody."

They both looked across the field at the moon. It looked back at them with its big sad face, and said nothing at all. It was too far away.

"It's a different game," said Felix, finally.

"It's got a hill in it," said Alex, "but it's only a bump."

"Right," said Dot, and ran to get in line.

Part Five. The Rules of Mister Wolf

Dot explained the rules to Ollie, because Ollie didn't know them, which is strange, because he knows all the rules about food.

"One person is Mister Wolf," said Dot. "He stands over there, with his back to us. The rest of us stand in a line, a long way away. And we say, What's the time, Mister Wolf?"

"And Mister Wolf says a time," said Alex.

"Any time," said Felix. "And we creep up that many steps. If he says five o'clock, we do five."

"What if he says bedtime?" said Ollie.

"Then you don't know how many to do," said Dot. "It's tricky. You have to guess."

"And when he says dinner time," said Alex, "he turns round and runs after you, as fast as he can."

"And if he catches you?"

"You're Mister Wolf next," said Felix.

"I'll be Mister Wolf first," said Dot. "Because I know the rules."

"No," said Felix. He had already put up his hand. He was thinking about the girl on the hill, and who had been standing still with her back to the puppy. He thought that, if he was the one who stood still, then that was not creeping. That seemed sensible. "I'll go. I'll be Mister Wolf. It's the best bit. I don't have to move."

"Then I'll creep," said Alex, "slowly."

"That's not the same as creeping," said Ollie, who had caught on.

"Exactly," said Alex, with great relief.

Felix climbed up the little bump, and stood at the top with his back to them. He was not very tall, even with the bump. But he stood straight, with his hands behind his back, and his chin up, like a wolf who has been asked to be in charge.

Part Six. What's the Time?

"WHAT'S THE TIME, MISTER WOLF?" we shouted. Well, they shouted. Dot shouted the loudest, because she was the smallest and had the most to prove.

"Three o'clock," said Felix, without turning round.

They took three tiny steps. Dot took three huge ones, which was cheating, and Ollie took three that were really only one slow one.

"WHAT'S THE TIME, MISTER WOLF?"

"Half past ten," said Felix.

"That's not a time," said Ollie. "That's a half."

"It's a time," said Felix, loftily. "It's two and a half steps."

"WHAT'S THE TIME, MISTER WOLF?"

"Fish-finger o'clock," said Felix. They stopped. That was a good one. It was the best time that anyone had ever said, and nobody knew how many steps it was. Dot decided it was seven.

Alex took seven very careful steps through the long grass. They were not quite creeping. He crept, but he did it gently, with his tongue out, as if he were walking across a field full of sleeping dragons. He could see Felix's back, and the little bump, and the moon behind it, and Willow sitting at the bottom with her tail round her feet.

He felt a bit funny. It was a bit like when you walk down the stairs in the dark and you think there's one more step than there is.

"WHAT'S THE TIME, MISTER WOLF?" he said, in a small voice.

"Ten o'clock," said Felix, and for a moment, behind him, nobody spoke.

Part Seven. Don't

That's when Willow got up.

She did it slowly, as cats do when they have decided something. She stretched. She walked up the bump and stood in front of Alex's feet, and looked up at him with her golden eyes, and made a sound.

It was a long, low, rising sound. It was not a purr. It was the sort of noise she makes when somebody has put the wrong food in her bowl.

"Hello, Willow," said Alex.

She made it again. It was louder, and it had a lot of no in it.

"She wants a lap," said Ollie.

"She doesn't want a lap," said Dot. "She's telling him."

"She always wants a lap," said Alex. He scooped her up, because he is Alex and she is Willow and that is what you do. She went stiff as a plank. She put out all four legs. She said something, loudly, into his ear. He held her for exactly two seconds, which is how long she lets anybody.

Then she wriggled out, dropped onto the grass, and ran in a circle round his feet, and stopped, and looked at him. Then she ran round the other way.

"She wants to play," said Alex.

"She's herding you," said Dot.

"Away from what?" said Felix, from the top of the bump. He had not turned round. He is good at the game.

From somewhere over the roof of the school came a very small voice, as soft as warm water, and as worried as anything.

"Boys?" said the moon. "Boys, I really don't think..."

But Alex had already stepped over Willow, and was holding up his hands, and shouting, with the biggest voice he had. It was a game, and it was nearly the best bit.

Part Eight. Dinner Time

"WHAT'S THE TIME, MISTER WOLF?"

For a moment, the whole field held its breath.

It was quiet. There were no birds. A silver drop fell from the edge of the moon, slowly, and landed on the grass between Alex's shoes, and made a perfect round puddle. In it, you could see a hill, and two moons, and a grey dress, and a small girl, standing with her back to a wolf.

Alex saw it. He looked down. He saw her. And he saw that she was standing exactly where Felix was standing, and that he was standing exactly where the puppy was creeping.

"Felix," he said. "FELIX. It's..."

"DINNER TIME!" shouted Felix.

He spun round on the top of the bump. He threw out his arms. His whole face was one big grin, ready to run.

And on the other side of the world, or the sky, or wherever it was, a girl in a long grey dress spun round on the top of a different hill, threw out her arms, and shouted, in the very same moment, in the very same breath:

"DINNER TIME!"

There was a pop, and the world turned silver.

Part Nine. What We Saw

This is the part we did see.

We were standing in the playground, in a bunch, watching from a long way off. At the end of the field, where the bump was, there was a flash, like somebody had opened the oven door on the sun.

When it faded, the bump was still there. So was Willow, with her paw up. So were Dot and Ollie, with their mouths open.

But Felix was not on the bump.

There was a girl on the bump instead.

She had very dark hair, and a long grey dress, and a face that was pale as milk on one side and pink as toast on the other. She had her arms thrown out, and her mouth open. She was shouting, "Dinner time!" in a serious voice, to the whole of the school field.

And where Alex should have been, in the long grass, there was a large grey puppy, with paws like frying pans, flat on his tummy, and a tail that went round and round.

He looked up at Dot. Dot looked down at him.

"Hello!" said Dot, who is not frightened of anything. "You're not Alex."

The puppy wagged his entire back half.

The girl lowered her arms slowly. She looked at the field, and at the school, and at the very low moon, and at us. She had a deep, solemn, important look, as though she was about to make a speech.

"Excuse me," she said. "Who is in charge of this hill?"

"It's a field," said Dot.

Part Ten. Nobody Has Been Swapped

Mister Harris arrived at the end of the field in under eight seconds, with his clipboard. We have never seen him move so fast.

"Right," he said. "What's all this? Is everything all right? Why is Alex... why is... where is..." He looked at the girl, and at the puppy, and at the place where the twins weren't, and went rather grey. "Nobody," he said, "has been swapped."

"They have," said Ollie, who is honest. "Alex and Felix have gone. And there's a girl, and a wolf."

"There is not a wolf," said Mister Harris. He turned his back on the puppy, firmly, with the clipboard held up in front of him like a shield. "There are no wolves on this field. I'd have been told. I'm in complete control of the situation."

Behind him, the puppy walked up and began to eat the corner of the clipboard.

"With help," said Mister Harris, in a smaller voice. He did not turn round. "I'm in control with help. Could somebody please get help?"

"I'll get Mister Janus," said Ollie, and ran.

The girl on the bump had climbed down and stood in front of Willow. They regarded one another for a long moment, a serious girl and a Bengal cat. Willow blinked, slowly, once.

"Is this your school?" said the girl.

"Yes," said Dot. "It's got a moon on it."

"I can see that," said the girl. She looked up. "She is looking very dreadful."

Part Eleven. Mister Janus Says It Plainly

Mister Janus came across the field at a slow walk, because he did not dare to hurry. He carried his big ring of keys against his chest, in both hands, like a man carrying a very large soap bubble. Both his faces were looking at the girl.

"Oh, dear," said the bright face.

"Oh, dear, oh dear," said the quiet face.

By then the puppy had finished the corner of the clipboard, and had moved on to Ollie's sandwich. Ollie had held it out, politely, because he said anyone who looked that hungry should be fed. The puppy ate it in one go, paper and all, and then looked up at Ollie with such deep gratitude that Ollie nearly cried.

"That was my best one," said Ollie. "It had pickle."

"He eats everything," said the girl, with the calm face of someone who has seen a great many dinners. "It's not personal."

"Mister Janus," said Dot. "Where are Alex and Felix?"

"On the other side of the sky," said the quiet face, "standing exactly where these two should be standing."

"They are quite safe, I think," said the bright face. "A swap is an even thing. They have only landed in the shoes of whoever they matched."

"Can they come back?" said Dot.

"They can," said both faces. "But it is not like a sandwich. A thing swaps, and swaps back at once, when the matching stops. A person swaps, and stays. They stay until the same moment comes round again."

"What same moment?" said Ollie.

"The same game. The same words. The same breath. On both sides at once," said the bright face. "And I'm afraid that is hard to arrange between two skies."

"And if we can't?" said Dot.

The two faces did not look at each other, which they can do now. They looked up at the moon, which was dripping on the roof, plink, plink, plink.

"Missus Ibbs's Record," said the quiet face, softly. "On Friday."

Nobody said anything. The girl in the grey dress looked at the moon, and at the school, and at the empty bump, and her serious face got even more serious.

"I am very good at waiting," she said. "I live in a house where everyone waits. But I do not like it."

"You can sit with me," said Dot, and took her by the pale hand. "I've got a spare chair. And you can have my jam sandwich, if the puppy hasn't had it."

The girl looked down at Dot's hand in hers. She did not seem to know what to do with it. After a moment, she held on.

Part Twelve. The Wrong Hill

Now we have to tell the other half, and we weren't there. Alex and Felix told us afterwards, and Maya wrote it all down, and Ollie asked a great many questions, so this is how they told it.

The silver went out, and the grass was different. It was evening there, though it had been ten past ten in the morning a moment ago. Time wobbles first, Mister Janus had said, and it had.

It was longer. It was cold, and it smelled of stone and woodsmoke. There was a tree, and a bench round it, and a big golden hall at the top of the hill, with a great curved roof like the back of a whale. And above the hall, two moons: the big, low, familiar one, and a small cold one, just behind it, like a sad little brother.

Alex was on his hands and knees in the grass. He was close to the ground. He had been creeping, and he was still creeping, and for a moment he could not think why.

Felix was standing on top of the hill with his arms out. He had just shouted "DINNER TIME!" and turned round. He expected to see Alex, and Dot, and Ollie, and the playground, and Willow.

He saw a stump. A tree. A very large golden hall. And a hill that went on for a long time.

"Alex?" he said.

"I'm here," said Alex.

"Where's here?"

"I don't know." Alex stood up, and brushed the grass off his knees. His voice was steady, in the way that Alex's voice is when he is more scared than he wants to be. "Felix, I think it was the bump."

"I think it was me," said Felix.

"I think it was both of us."

They held hands. They didn't plan to. They just found they were doing it.

"Pockets," said Felix, because it was the only sensible thing he could think of. "What have we got?"

Alex checked. He had half a pencil, a very old tissue, and a conker with a hole in it. And in the other pocket, where it always was, a heavy, dull, golden key with two teeth, like two faces.

Felix checked. He had a hair bobble that was not his, a crayon, and the other key.

"We've still got these," said Alex, holding his up. It was warm.

"They're Mister Janus's keys," said Felix. "They're meant for doors."

"Is this a door?"

They looked all round at the long grass, and the tree, and the hall. It did not look much like a door. It looked like the biggest, wrongest place that either of them had ever been.

"Not yet," said Alex, and put the key back in his pocket, carefully, as if it might wake up.

Part Thirteen. Somebody Dropped a Ribbon

There was a sound on the hill.

It was a small sound. It was the sound of a ribbon, a long pale silk one, slipping out of a man's hand and landing in the grass.

He was standing by the stump. He was tall, and had a rough brown beard, and one hand that was not made of hand. His other hand was open, and empty. He was looking at Alex and Felix as if they were two small, strange, impossible things that had dropped out of the sky.

"Hel?" said the man. He said it in a quiet voice. "Fenris? Where are you?"

"We're not," said Felix.

"They're not here," said Alex. "We're swapped. It's a long story. It's a game. It was only a game."

The man took a step towards them. His face went through a lot of things very quickly, as faces do when they have been tired for a long time. It stopped at one.

"Children," he said. "You're children. You are not meant to be able to... oh, no. Oh, no."

Behind him, the door of the golden hall swung open, and a great deal of noise and light came out. A lot of voices were shouting. A great many chairs were being scraped back all at once. And a very big, deep voice, which was close to bellowing, said:

"WHAT IN ALL THE NINE WORLDS IS THAT?"

"I think," whispered Alex, "we're about to be in trouble."

Felix squeezed his hand. Neither of them knew why they said it, because it was Tuesday, and nothing about it was ordinary. But they said it together, in the very same breath, at exactly the same time. "Monday."

The End.