The Power of Five Oblivion

over them, not through them. “If the boy can’t help us, then we’re going to have to decide among ourselves what we’re going to do with him,” she said. “What are the choices? We know how we’ve dealt with intruders in the past.”
    “He’s a child,” Reverend Johnstone said, making the same point as the Flints.
    “He’s at least fifteen,” Dolan countered. “And he knew what he was doing, coming here.”
    “We could give him a home and make him one of us,” Miss Keyland went on. “We would have to watch him, of course. He wouldn’t be allowed outside the perimeter. In normal circumstances, given his age, that is what I would recommend. But these are not normal circumstances, are they, Sir Ian?”
    “Unfortunately not.”
    Sir Ian produced a large white envelope. Even the sight of it seemed to send a collective shudder among the members of the Council and I wondered what on earth it could be about and why it was relevant now. They all knew what was inside, even before he opened the envelope and took out a photograph. He flipped it round so that Jamie could see it – and so I saw it too. There were actually five photographs on a single sheet, the faces of four boys and a girl. And written underneath:
    REWARD. £100,000 FOR INFORMATION
LEADING TO THE ARREST OF ANY OF THESE
FIVE CHILDREN. CALLS WILL BE TREATED IN
THE STRICTEST CONFIDENCE. CONTACT THE
POLICE ON 999 AT ANY TIME .
    Jamie’s face was one of them. No. I did a double-take. His face was actually two of them. There must have been some sort of mistake at the printers because two of the pictures were duplicates, one next to the other. Then I remembered. Before he’d contracted his fake amnesia, Jamie had talked to me about a brother. It must have been a twin brother. But who were the others? And how – and when – had the photographs arrived in the village? There hadn’t been a mail delivery for as long as I could remember. And anyway, nobody used money any more. A hundred thousand pounds was worthless. It could be a million pounds and it would make no difference. I suddenly wished I was in my bed. I didn’t understand any of this.
    “This is not the boy in the photograph,” Mrs Flint said.
    “It’s him,” Dolan snapped.
    “It can’t be. The photograph was taken ten years ago and look at him! He hasn’t grown up at all!”
    “It’s still him. It’s identical.”
    “If the police are looking for him, they should be informed,” Reade said, although I had no idea how he was going to manage that either. What was he going to do? Send them a carrier pigeon? “They can work out why he looks the same.”
    “What will we do with the reward money?” Mr Flint asked.
    “The reward may have changed,” Reade said. “It could be food. Machinery. Seeds. It could be anything we want…”
    “The reward is not the issue,” Sir Ian cut in. “If the police are looking for the boy it’s our duty to inform them. I propose that’s what we do. We call the police and keep the boy in custody until they arrive. Shall we put it to the vote?”
    Reade and Dolan raised their hands straight away. “I agree,” Dolan said.
    Mr Flint shook his head. “I’m not so sure…” he began. “Do we really want to get involved with the police – or with anyone outside the village?” He looked at Mrs Flint, who nodded her agreement. That was three for, two against.
    “I think we should consider the issue further,” the vicar muttered. That was typical of him. He never did anything in a hurry. He was the sort of man who could hum and haw for twenty minutes at a christening before he announced the name. “Yes,” he agreed with himself. “We need to think about it more.”
    Three all. Miss Keyland had the casting vote. I saw her deliberating. She didn’t look happy. But as it happened, she never got a chance to speak.
    “You need your heads examined if you’re going to call the police…”
    The voice came from the back of the church. I twisted round to see who it was, noticing at the same time that all the members of the Council had reacted with outrage. Reade and Dolan were already on their feet. Miss Keyland was shocked, Sir Ian furious.
    A figure moved out of the darkness.
    It was the Traveller. Who else could it have been? And now I’m going to have to stop for a moment to tell you about him, the one man who had arrived in the village during my lifetime, the only outsider who’d been allowed to stay.
    He had come seven years