Eloise let out another scream and he stopped and saw that he’d missed one. It stabbed at her head through his coat, its beak hammering at her skull, determined. He knocked it away, but even as he did, three more swept in, grappling at her coat, pecking furiously.
He stopped trying to lead her forward and concentrated on defending her, knocking the birds out of the air, grabbing them when he could. But there were too many, and those he didn’t kill swept in again relentlessly. He couldn’t protect all directions at once, fearing even he would be overwhelmed.
Finally he realised there was only one option, to get Eloise inside. He started to pull her forward again, knocking the crows away when he could, reacting to her cries when they got through and clawed and pecked at her through the thick overcoat.
Then they reached the point where the woodland stopped and the drive curved round across the open parkland to the school, and as suddenly as the attack had started, so it stopped. One last crow, bigger than all the others, swept across the air in front of them, then arced up into the night sky and away.
Will and Eloise came to a halt. He could still hear the wingbeats high above, though the cawing had stopped now. And gradually the sound of the birds grew more and more distant. Eloise pulled his coat free and handed it back.
The coat had apparently saved her from any further injury, though she frowned as she rubbed her head. The wound on her forehead had also stopped bleeding in the cold air, but the blood still made Will almost lightheaded with longing.
She realised immediately what was troubling him and said, “Sorry.” She stepped back and took a tissue from her pocket and held it over the wound.
“It’s not your fault, but you’re right, it’s better that you cover it.”
He put his coat back on.
Eloise looked around. “What, I mean, what was that all about?”
Will looked back at the drive, littered with the bodies of birds, and said, “Let’s get inside first – it serves no purpose to discuss it out here.”
They walked swiftly along the remainder of the drive, easily visible now against the frosty parkland, though no lights were showing from the school. For the most part they were silent, but just once Eloise said, “At this time of night, and they were only attacking me,” and then she became quiet again.
She showed him to a side door and Will worked open the lock. Once inside, she said, “We can go to my room – lucky that I’m in on my own this term.”
“Can we be overheard there?”
She shook her head. “It’s nicely tucked round a corner on its own. But we’ll have to be quiet getting there.”
The school was quite dark, but it said something for how well Eloise knew the place that she walked ahead of him with as much confidence as if every light was on. When they reached her room, she shut the door behind them, drew the curtains, placed a scarf over the bedside lamp and turned it on. She searched in a cupboard for something, then said, “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Will got the scent of blood as she walked out, almost as if the blood sought him out, calling like a siren to tempt him where he knew he could not go. He heard her walking along the corridor, could hear and sense beyond her the quiet, sleeping breaths of other healthy children.
Will tried to put it out of his mind by concentrating on the room in front of him. He stood exactly where she’d left him, letting his eyes slowly adapt to the dull light from the lamp, and took in the posters, one of a bare-chested young man with dark hair, another of a group of young men in dark clothes with make-up on their faces, another for a German production of Mozart’s The Magic Flute.
There was a bed, a chair, a desk, various personal items, shelves full of books. He wanted to move across the room, to look at the books and see what she’d been reading, but he felt he didn’t have permission somehow. This space was so intimate that, as well as he knew Eloise now, as deep as the bond was between them, it felt intrusive for him to be here.
He heard her return and when she came into the room, a strong smell of antiseptic masked the blood and she wore a plaster across the wound.
“It wasn’t as bad as it looked – just a scratch really.” She smiled as she closed the door again and said, “Come and make yourself comfortable.”
Will stepped forward, forgetting to glance at the books as he pulled the chair from the desk and sat down. His eyes drifted from the bed in front of him and back up to the posters.
“Don’t look at my posters – just too embarrassing.”
Eloise pulled off her boots and sat cross-legged on the bed. She’d sat like this on the daybed in his chambers, which at least brought a touch of familiarity. His sitting here was no more a breach of intimacy than it had been for her to see where he lived.
“Are the people in those posters renowned in some way?”
She pointed behind her without looking, “He’s an actor. They’re a band – I used to think the one on the right was quite cute.”
“But you don’t any more?”
“No, because I have another cute boy now, just as unattainable as the ones in the posters.” She laughed and he laughed a little too. “Actually, I only put them back up this term because the other girls would have been suspicious otherwise.”
Will nodded, relaxing now as he said, “I like it in here; it has your scent, your presence. I feel peaceful in here.”
Eloise smiled, but her mind was already elsewhere. “What happened out there?”
“Wyndham. It can only be. Otherwise what are we to believe, that it was some freakish natural occurrence? Wyndham brought it about, I’m sure of it, and in some way he must have discerned that you are important to my destiny, that it’s easier to attack you, a normal, living girl, than it is to tackle me.”
“Then he’s a fool.” Will looked confused and Eloise said, “If he’s coming after me, he should have made his first attack during the day, when you’re not around to protect me. Now I’ll be on my guard whatever happens.”
“It’s a worthwhile point, but given the wound on your head, I don’t think we should underestimate him. And I’m sure you didn’t fail to notice that Chris was never away from us in the time between our confrontation and depositing us at the school gates.”
Eloise thought back over the evening and said, “I hadn’t thought about it, but you’re right. Which means Chris …”
“No, it tells us nothing about Chris. It tells us only that Wyndham has some other source for our movements. And bear in mind, this is a man who summoned the ghost of my own brother to destroy me – his magical powers are probably such that he needn’t rely on human assistance alone. So it seems we have to be more vigilant still.” He looked at the clock next to her bed and said, “I should let you sleep. We can talk about Wyndham tomorrow night.”
“OK. Oh, no, not tomorrow night, concert rehearsal.” She pointed at an instrument case in the corner. “I play the violin – badly.”
He stood and said, “The next night then, but be careful in the mean time.” Eloise nodded and he reached out and brushed her cheek. She raised her own hand before he could take his away and pressed his fingers for a moment longer against the warmth of her face. Will smiled as she finally released him and he said, “Not quite as unattainable.”
He left her and headed quickly out of the school, which was now in complete darkness. But he’d only walked a few paces when a crack of light appeared in one of the bedrooms high above. Will stopped and for a second the curtain was pulled back and a face appeared, looking out at the night before retreating again. And as much as Will had been intent on leaving, he remained now, staring up at the window. His interest was piqued because it was very late, and because the face which had briefly appeared was that of Marcus Jenkins.
6
The curtains hadn’t closed completely when Marcus stepped back from the window, leaving enough of a gap for someone to see in from the outside – if that someone happened to be on the third floor.
Will moved closer,
crouched and jumped up on to the stone window ledge of the room next to Marcus’s. As little noise as he made, he didn’t want to alert Marcus to his presence by leaping directly to his window. Now though he moved nimbly across the face of the wall and crouched on the ledge outside the lit room.
It took a moment or two for his vision to adjust, closing his eyes, opening them slowly. Marcus was sitting at the desk in his pyjamas, with a reading lamp angled so that it didn’t shine across on the boy sleeping in the other bed.
He was writing in a book, showing great concentration, so much so that this time he didn’t even seem to sense Will’s presence outside. At first, Will wondered if Marcus was in some sort of trance, but the sleeping boy moved and Marcus turned to make sure he hadn’t woken before going back to his writing.
He appeared to fill the page he was on, then turned and wrote a little while longer before stopping. He looked deep in thought for a moment, then put down the pen and closed the book, which Will could now see was leather-bound. Carefully, Marcus put the book into the desk drawer, stood and turned off the lamp.
The room didn’t descend into complete darkness, but took on a blue tinge. Only then did Will notice that the sleeping boy had a nightlight next to his bed. Marcus crossed the room and climbed into bed, turning immediately to face the wall.
Will waited for a few minutes, crouching on the narrow ledge, the wind lightly tugging at his hair and his coat. It wasn’t a diary, he was certain of that, but what could be so important about that book that Marcus would wait until he could be assured of privacy before filling its pages?
The room looked lost in sleep now, the one boy sprawled on his back, Marcus completely still, as he had been since turning to face the wall. The window was shut firm and would be noisy to open, but Will was determined to find out what had been written in that book. He leapt away from the ledge, his coat billowing up behind him until he landed with a soft crunch on the frozen gravel below.
From there he made his way back into the school, climbing the main stairs and slipping quietly along the corridors, trying not to think about the sleeping world he was moving through. He counted along the doors on the section of the third floor that formed that outer wall – he’d reckoned on it being the fifth door along – and sure enough there was the blue tinge showing along the bottom of it.
He stood for a moment, listening through the heavy silence, then gently opened the door and stepped inside. Neither of the boys stirred, but still he waited, listening to the rhythm of their breaths, desperately trying not to think about the life in them and the scent of blood that seemed to fill the room.
They were asleep. Will stepped carefully over to the desk and slid open the drawer, removing the book that sat inside. Either Marcus trusted his room-mate entirely or his only concern was that the boy didn’t see him writing in it.
Will took the book and leafed through the first few pages which were blank. He turned the pages quicker, then flicked through them, increasingly puzzled by the sea of white before him. None of it had been written on. It was definitely the same book and yet it was empty.
He traced his fingers across one of the pages, feeling for the indentations which might have been left by a pen, but there was nothing. He didn’t understand it. He put the book back on the desk, open, and stared down at two dazzlingly blank white pages.
He had seen Marcus writing in it. He’d even seen him reach the end of a page and turn over, but there was nothing here – it could only be something of Wyndham’s design. And it was clear now why Marcus might not want his friend to see him about his work.
Will heard a noise and glanced across at Marcus’s bed, staring in confusion for a second at the crumpled shape of the duvet before realising Marcus was no longer beneath it. He turned quickly, surprised that he hadn’t heard the boy getting up.
Marcus was standing behind him, quite calm, staring straight ahead as if through the top of Will’s chest. Involuntarily, Will stepped backwards, pushing the drawer closed in the process – too much noise – but then stopped himself, the shock subsiding. And it subsided further with the realisation that Marcus was not awake. He stood quite still, his eyes staring ahead with an odd, cold patience, as if he was simply waiting for Will to move.
Will stepped to one side and Marcus approached the desk. Without looking down, he closed the book and placed it back in the drawer. Once the drawer was shut again, Marcus turned and crossed the room, climbing into bed and resuming the same position with his face to the wall.
Had he been sleepwalking or was even this some control of Wyndham’s? And what was the sorcery of this book – some form of communication? Will wondered if Marcus had been using the book in some way to relay a general report or something more specific, the attack by the crows perhaps.
He looked at the boy sleeping peacefully, and though Will couldn’t think why, he was desperate for Marcus to be no more than a spy. Will thought back to his behaviour that night by the river and it made him want to leave Marcus Jenkins unharmed, though he’d kill him without a second thought if he believed he was actively part of a scheme to hurt Eloise.
It was something Will would have to find out one way or another, but for now he retreated, moving silently back into the corridor, closing the door behind him. He moved quickly, back down the stairs and then to the side door. Only as he was about to open it did he hesitate, sensing something behind him.
He turned and looked along the corridor that led off through the ground floor of the school. He’d heard nothing, could see nothing, but for a moment, he’d sensed there was someone there. There was no one there now, but had someone seen him come in, had the same person waited for him to leave? Will took a few steps along the corridor, but there was still no movement, no scent.
Perhaps he was simply spooked by the strangeness of what he’d just witnessed in Marcus’s room. On the other hand, his instincts told him somebody had been there, and that served as a reminder that Wyndham undoubtedly had more than one person working for him in the school.
Will gave up and left, and set off across the parkland to the new house, but his thoughts were full of this troublesome sorcerer. Who was he, why so determined to destroy Will, possessed of how much power, how much knowledge?
Wyndham could summon the dead, that much Will had seen, and yet strangely Will was more unnerved by the oddity of that empty notebook, perhaps because it suggested a magic that worked on many different levels. And that thought in turn gave rise to another question – how dangerous was Marcus to Eloise?
The potential answers to that question filled him with fear. Without thinking, he reached up and held the broken half-medallion that hung round his neck and was surprised to find it warm, almost as if it had been resting against her flesh, not his.
The metal’s heat radiated through his hand, reminding him of Eloise and her room. Will didn’t understand how it could be so, but it reassured him nevertheless because it suggested they had a sorcery of their own, and because right now he held within his hand the only piece of warmth in that vast icy landscape.
7
At the time of my mother’s collapse she had no way of knowing what this creature was that had reappeared in her life after so long an absence. Nor at the time could I fully understand the role she foresaw for me. Clearly she felt she had been haunted by a demon, and sensed in its return that it wished harm to her soul. What is more, for some unimaginable reason she saw in me, her youngest child, the one person who could save her from it.
Only with hindsight can I see that William of Mercia had no designs on my mother’s soul. Indeed, given that he resisted his ample opportunities to feed on her, I still wonder to this day what interest he did have. I suspect further that he chanced upon her that night in 1742 quite by accident.
But when a small child receives entreaties from his mother, asking him to act as her protector, to study hard that he might be equipped for the role, what is his response likely to be? I was an enthusiastic soldier in her army agai
nst evil long before I even realised that it was evil we were fighting, or that she was training me not to be a foot soldier, but a general.
My father encouraged me further, seeing the apparent happiness and strength that the scheme brought to Lady Bowcastle. It helped too that it was a whim which could be afforded, for unlike many a younger son, I would not be required to become a clergyman or follow a military career to earn my living.
My mother was an only child and both families were equally wealthy. Most of my maternal grandfather’s fortune was settled on me, as was that of a childless maternal great-uncle. I would have no title, but my fortune would rival my brother’s.
So it was decided. I would not go to boarding school. I would be kept close, all the better to offer my mother constant assurance of my progress, and carefully selected tutors would be brought to me. For though I studied many of the subjects familiar to my contemporaries, I studied them towards specific ends and saw them supplemented by lessons of a rather more exotic nature.
I learned Latin and Greek, better to appreciate the classics, but also that I might understand the arcane and mysterious texts that were acquired for me. I learned science that I might understand the riddles of the world and be better equipped for the work that lay ahead. I enjoyed sporting pursuits, though with much more emphasis on the combat skills my mother imagined I would sooner or later require.
I studied the occult too, with a stream of scholars and priests brought to me from all over these islands, and from France, Germany, Italy and beyond. I devoured this part of my curriculum, but knew from the outset that it was the one subject I was not to discuss freely outside of the schoolroom. Even my mother never discussed it with me, all the better to encourage my discretion.
Such was the liveliness of my intellect and the completeness of my general education that I hardly wanted for other subjects of polite conversation. Indeed, to the wider world, I was a bright but ordinary boy of my class, enjoying healthy outdoor pursuits and the society of my equals. And in that way, the eager child grew into an accomplished young man.
Alchemy, Book Two of the Mercian Trilogy Page 4
