"I'd rather not have wizards meddling in our affairs. Let Richard go with you and see on the spot what kind of 'alien' this is. If a farmer managed to knock it out, then the creature must not be dangerous."
"Dad, are you seriously suggesting I skip my tutoring sessions and go to some farm to catch aliens?"
Richard crossed his arms over his chest in indignation.
"Richie, the Creeveys are our tenants. I would prefer our family name not be tarnished by any mention of aliens. Nothing terrible will happen if you miss half a day of lessons."
"Wonderful!" Richard's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Simply marvelous! And what am I supposed to do with the alien?"
"You'll figure it out on site. Son, you need to gain experience making decisions in crisis situations. Here you've been handed a sheltered problem on a silver platter. If you truly consider yourself grown-up, you will solve it. I believe in you."
"Super!" Richard replied ironically, then turned to Alex. "Agent Blade, will you be traveling alone with me?"
"I'll be driving my own car, Lord Grosvenor," Alex answered to the boy. "Several of our agents are already on site, so they'll provide backup."
"Let's go, then, sir… By the way, could you tell me about your father?"
"No. That's classified information."
"And about the device they used to send him to parallel worlds?"
"No. That's classified information."
"There was magic involved, wasn't there? Our world's technology hasn't yet advanced enough to transfer consciousness into a counterpart in a parallel universe."
"No comment."
"So magic was definitely involved! And your father really was the coolest MI6 agent?"
"Yes… Lord Grosvenor, no more questions. You don't have clearance for most of our secrets."
The drive was short. Just half an hour later, the procession of a black Jaguar followed by a Bentley passed through wide wooden gates hanging between posts of a low fence made of crossbeams. The fence's purpose was obvious—to keep the animals from wandering off the farm. Such a barrier could hardly protect against thieves or prying eyes, as there was a considerable gap between the beams.
The cars passed a spacious cow pen and stopped near a red wooden two-story house.
Richard stepped out of the Bentley and joined the special agent. At that moment, Alex Blade was speaking into his radio:
"Can you see him through thermal imaging?"
"Yes, sir, we see the target," came the reply through static. "We have him in our sights."
"If there's any threat to civilians, open fire to kill."
"Understood, sir."
The agent slipped the radio into his inner pocket and turned his gaze to the boy.
"Master Richard, everything is under control. Please."
A round-faced man with mouse-brown hair stepped out of the house, visibly agitated. His brown eyes studied the visitors anxiously.
"Who are you?!" he demanded sharply.
"Agent Blade, MI6," Alex introduced himself. "And this is Lord Richard Grosvenor, who has personally decided to assist his tenants. You are Mr. Adam Creevey?"
"Yes, sir," the farmer's combative tone instantly vanished. He nervously wiped his palms on his jeans, as though trying to rid them of dirt. "Sorry, and you're… Lord… uh… I pictured you a bit older."
"Mr. Creevey," Richard inclined his head politely. "You must be confusing me with my father, Gerald Grosvenor. He asked me to handle your situation. Tell me, did you truly capture an alien?"
A big man, Mr. Creevey thought, not even bothered by the fact that the Lord was so young, looking no more than ten.
"Oh! Sir…"
Adam didn't know what to do with his hands. At one moment he shoved them into the pockets of his blue work overalls, then thought it impolite to stand before the lord with his hands hidden, and pulled them out again.
"Don't think I'm crazy like those morons on television… Oh, pardon my French, Lord," the farmer corrected himself hastily. "Uh… I'm not crazy!"
"Mr. Creevey, no one thinks you're insane," Alex said calmly. "Otherwise, it wouldn't be us here—it would be orderlies and police officers. Tell us everything that happened."
"Yesterday after lunch, me and the kids were out in the field, herding the cows into the pen. Then I see someone sitting in the grass. Scary-looking! I figured it was some kind of predator. So I got a better grip on my shovel."
"You were holding a shovel?" Alex asked.
"Yes, sir. Well, so anyway… I'm creeping up with the shovel, and when I get close, I see it ain't no animal—but it ain't human either. Small, grayish, huge ears, long fingers. Right then I knew—it's an alien! Must've hidden a flying saucer somewhere nearby!"
"Were its eyes big?" Richard asked.
"Yes, yes!" the farmer exclaimed, nodding eagerly. "HUGE EYES! Like this!"
Mr. Creevey formed circles with his thumbs and index fingers and held them up to his eyes, demonstrating the size he meant. Then he continued:
"And it had a massive nose! Not like an elephant trunk, but bigger than a human's."
"Go on, Mr. Creevey," Alex prompted.
"Well, I figured if I chopped that alien with the blade, it'd die. So I quietly flipped the shovel around—what with those ears, it might've heard me!—and I whacked it with the handle right on the head, straight between the ears!"
"And then what?" Alex asked.
"That's it."
"What do you mean 'that's it'? It died?" the agent clarified.
"No, no, sir. I mean the alien went limp. I grabbed it by the ears and dragged it down to the cellar. Tied it up and called the constable. I told him I had an alien in my basement, and he starts laughing, says, 'Adam, go sleep it off!' So I spent half an hour trying to convince him I was sober."
(End of Chapter)
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