Eve Griffiths
Megan’s hands shook. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘It’s never worked for anyone except me.’ He stared at her. Eleven other people had held the navigator. Never once had the needle moved for any of them. What was different about Megan? ‘What does it do?’ she asked. ‘I—’ Robin stopped. That was the problem. He didn’t know. The rain returned. The alley seemed darker. Somewhere out there the old man was looking for him. A group of people came around the corner wielding umbrellas and laughing loudly. Robin stuffed his dripping wet school books back into his bag. He put the navigator’s wooden case on top and tucked the bag under his arm. He took the navigator from Megan. It slid into his hand like it belonged there. ‘In here.’ Robin ducked into a doorway set deep into the alley wall. They both leant against the door. Megan pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at the scrapes on her knees. There were holes in her tights and blood on the tissue. Robin dropped his bag to the ground and curled his hands around the navigator. ‘Is it a compass?’ Megan asked. ‘It can’t be. There aren’t any marks for north, south, east and west.’ The silver needle spun clockwise then slowed, stopped, and began to spin anti-clockwise. In the very centre of the navigator a small sphere rotated swiftly, showing first a gold side and then a black side. ‘So, what is it?’ Robin stared at the mysterious object. ‘It’s called a navigator. That’s all I know. My grandad gave it to me just before he died.’ The familiar prickly pain erupted between his stomach and heart. Grandad died two years ago, but it still hurt when Robin thought about him. Robin never had the chance to ask him anything about the navigator. ‘You should do an internet search,’ Megan said. ‘I tried that. Do you know how many results there are when you Google ‘navigator’?’
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