Return to Groosham Grange

by Anthony Horowitz

  But already there was something wrong. David looked one way, then another. Something had caught his eye. What was it? And then he saw, right at the back, near the entrance, an empty seat.

  Mr. Kilgraw had begun to speak, but David didn’t hear a word. He was scanning the audience, searching through the faces, the boys and the girls, the teachers and the parents . . .

  But she wasn’t there. The empty seat.

  Jill had promised to keep an eye on Vincent. Vincent had overheard her. And now Jill had disappeared.

  Cracks

  Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Kilgraw began. The flaps had been drawn across the tent to protect him from the sun, but just to be safe he was also wearing a slightly incongruous straw hat. “Welcome to Groosham Grange on this, our annual prize-giving day. May I begin by apologizing on behalf of the heads, Mr. Fitch and Mr. Teagle, who are unable to attend today. Mr. Fitch has yellow fever. Mr. Teagle has scarlet fever. If they get too close to each other, they go a nasty shade of orange.

  “This has been a very successful year for Groosham Grange. Some might even say a magical year. I am pleased to tell you that our new biology laboratory has been built by workmen who were actually created in our old biology laboratory. Well done, eleventh graders! Our Ecology Club has been busy and we now have our own Tropical Rain Forest on the south side of the island. Congratulations also to the Drama Club. They really brought Frankenstein to life. So, for that matter, did our physics class.

  “It’s not all work at Groosham Grange, of course. Our French class visited France. Our Ancient Greek class visited Ancient Greece. A school inspector visited us. And if you happen to pass through the cemetery, I hope you’ll visit him. As usual, our staff has made many sacrifices. I would like to thank them and I ought also to thank the sacrifices . . .”

  David found it hard to concentrate on what Mr. Kilgraw was saying. He was sitting between his mother and father. Aunt Mildred, who was next to Edward Eliot, had already fallen asleep and was whistling softly through her nose. David was in the middle of the tent, completely surrounded by parents: bald parents, fat parents, parents with red veins in their noses and wax in their ears, parents in expensive jewelry and expensive suits. He felt as if he was drowning in parents. Was this what he would be like one day? It was a horrible thought.

  And it didn’t make it any easier to think. David knew that the next few minutes would be critical. Once Vincent had the Unholy Grail, anything could happen. How would Vincent get the Grail off the island? Would he carry it himself, slipping away with the crowd? Or would he pass it to someone in the crowd—and if so, who? And what about Jill? David wanted to get up and look for her now, but he knew that he couldn’t. He was too close to Vincent. He was trapped.

  “At Groosham Grange there is only one winner,” Mr. Kilgraw was saying. “And there is only one prize . . .”

  David turned his attention back to the platform and saw that the assistant headmaster was holding something in his hands. Even from this distance he knew what it was. For the parents—bored and beginning to fidget—it was no more than a silver chalice decorated with red stones. But for David, the Unholy Grail seemed to glow with a light of its own. He could feel it reaching out to him. He had never wanted anything so much in his entire life.

  “It is the school’s most valued trophy,” Mr. Kilgraw went on. “In fact you could say that without it there would be no Groosham Grange. Every year it is presented to the student whose work, whose general behavior and whose overall contribution to school life has put him or her at the top of the class. This year, the contest was particularly close . . .”

  Was David imagining it or did Mr. Kilgraw search him out, his eyes glittering as they locked into David’s? It was almost a challenge. For the space of a heartbeat the two of them were alone beneath the canvas. The parents had gone. Vincent had gone. And David’s hands twitched, reaching out to take what was rightfully his.

  Then it was over.

  “. . . but it gives me great pleasure to announce that the winner, our most distinguished pupil is—Vincent King!”

  David reluctantly joined in the general applause, at the same time trying to smile. Vincent stood up and went onto the stage. He shook hands with Mr. Kilgraw. Mr. Kilgraw muttered a few words. Vincent took the Grail and sat down again. The applause died away. And that was it. The Unholy Grail was his.

  Mr. Kilgraw spoke for another five minutes and David counted every one of them. The prize-giving might be over, but he knew that his work was only beginning. Whatever happened, he intended to stick close to Vincent—and to the Grail. He would just have to worry about Jill later.

  But it wasn’t as easy as David had hoped. As soon as Mr. Kilgraw had finished his speech, everyone stood up at once in a rush for the sherry and sausage rolls that Gregor and Mrs. Windergast were serving at the back of the tent. At the same time, Vincent was surrounded by people, examining the Grail and congratulating him, and it was as much as David could do to keep sight of him at all.

  Worse than that, he still had his parents to deal with. Mr. Eliot was in a bad mood. “I am disappointed,” he was saying as he tore a sausage roll into shreds. “I wish I wasn’t your father, to be frank. In fact I wish I was Frank’s father. He won three prizes at Beton College.”

  “I just hope the neighbors don’t find out,” Mrs. Eliot wept, gnawing at her fingers. “My own son! I can’t bear it! We’ll have to move. I’ll change my name. I’ll have plastic surgery . . .”

  Aunt Mildred nodded in agreement. “My neighbor’s children won lots of prizes,” she announced. “But then, of course, they have a Japanese au pair . . .”

  David craned his neck, searching for a gap between the three of them. The crowd that had formed around Vincent had separated again and suddenly Vincent had gone. David wasn’t sure how he’d done it. But he had left the tent.

  Then Gregor limped over to them with a tray of food. “Sumfink tweet?” he gurgled.

  “What?” Aunt Mildred asked.

  “He’s asking if you want something to eat,” David translated. He glanced at the tray. “It’s toad-in-the-hole,” he said. “And I think Gregor’s used real toads.”

  “I think it’s time we went,” Mildred whispered, going rather green.

  Ten minutes later, David saw his parents into the car that would take them back down to the jetty and the boat.

  “Good-bye, David,” his father said. “I’m afraid I have not enjoyed seeing you. I can see now that your mother and I have always spoiled you.”

  “We ruined you,” Mrs. Eliot wept. Her makeup was flowing in rivers down her cheeks.

  “I blame myself,” Mr. Eliot went on. “I should have beaten you more. My father beat me every day of my life. He used to buy cane furniture so that he could beat me with the chairs when he wasn’t sitting on them. He knew a thing or two about discipline. Whack! Whack! Whack! That’s all boys understand. Start at the bottom, that’s what I say . . .”

  “Don’t excite yourself, dear,” Mrs. Eliot murmured.

  Just then Aunt Mildred came running up to the car. “Sorry I’m late,” she whined in her thin, nasal voice. “I couldn’t find my handbag. Bye bye, dear.” She pecked David on the cheek. “Do come and visit me in Margate soon.” She got into the car, heaving her handbag onto her lap. “I’m sure it wasn’t as heavy as this when I set out this morning,” she prattled on. “I can’t think how I lost it. That nice teacher found it for me. Honestly, I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t . . .”

  She was still talking when Gregor started the car and they rattled off down the hill. David watched them until they were out of sight. Then he set off in the direction of the school.

  Where could Vincent have gone?

  David’s first thought was the jetty, but he decided not to go down there yet. He didn’t want to follow his parents and the more he thought about it the less likely it was that Vincent would try to stow away on the boat. Captain Bloodbath was too careful—and anyway, it would
be far easier to give the Grail to someone else and let them carry it for him. Vincent had to be somewhere in the school. David would find him and confront him with what he knew. But he had to move fast.

  First he checked the tent. The parents were starting to thin out, a few clusters of them still chatting with the staff, the rest walking with their sons and daughters toward the jetty. Mr. Kilgraw had left. He would have gone inside to escape the sunlight. Mrs. Windergast was still there, clearing away the food, and David went over to her.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Have you seen Vincent?”

  The matron smiled at him. “Not for a while, my dear. I suppose you want to congratulate him.”

  “Not exactly.” David left the tent.

  In the next half hour he tried the library, the dormitory, the dining room, the hallways and the classrooms. He looked into the heads’ study and Mr. Kilgraw’s study. Both rooms were empty. Then he tried the cemetery at the edge of the wood. There was no sign of Vincent.

  David walked back to the school, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Everything felt wrong. It was about two o’clock and the sun was shining, but there was no warmth in the air, and no breeze, not even the faintest whisper of one. The light hitting the school was hard, unsparing. It was as if he had stepped out of real life and into a photograph, as if he were the only living thing.

  He heard a sound high up, a faint rattling. He looked up, then blinked as something hit him on the side of the cheek. He rubbed the skin with the tips of his fingers. He had been hit by a pebble and a scattering of dust, but he was unhurt. He squinted up in the direction of the sound. One wall of Groosham Grange loomed high above him, a gray gargoyle jutting out at the corner. There was a crack in the brickwork. It was only a small crack, zigzagging horizontally under the gargoyle, but David was sure it hadn’t been there before. It looked too fresh, the edges pink against the gray surface of the bricks. It was no more than four inches long. It was a crack, that was all.

  But even as David lowered his head there was another soft rattle and a second shower of dust. He looked up again and saw that the crack had lengthened, curving up around the gargoyle. At the same time a second crack had formed a few inches below. Even as he watched, a few pieces of mortar detached themselves from the wall and tumbled down to the earth below. And now there were three cracks, the longest about six feet and perhaps a half inch wide. The gargoyle was surrounded by them. Its bulging eyes and twisted mouth almost looked afraid.

  Suddenly David knew. He remembered the verse:For if the Grail is carried here

  Then Groosham Grange will disappear

  The disappearance of Groosham Grange had begun.

  The Unholy Grail had already left the island.

  The question was, had Vincent gone with it? David knew that he had to find the other boy fast. How far away was Canterbury? He had no doubt that the Grail was already on its way there. Perhaps it was already too late.

  But with the onrush of panic came another thought. He had forgotten to look in the one place where he was most likely to find Vincent, the one place that had been tied in with the mystery from the start: the East Tower. Even if the Grail had gone, Vincent might be hiding out there, and if he could just find Vincent, he might yet be able to recapture the Grail. David broke into a run. As he went, a fourth, larger crack opened up in the wall just beside his head.

  He reached the door of the tower and without stopping to think, kicked it open and ran in. After the brightness of the afternoon light, the darkness inside the building was total. For about five seconds David was completely blind and in that time he realized three things.

  First, that Vincent had been there recently. There was a smell in the air, the same smell that David had noticed the night he had nearly been killed.

  Second, that he should have gone in more cautiously and allowed his eyes time to get used to the darkness.

  And third, that he was not alone.

  The hand that reached out and grabbed him by the throat was invisible. Before he could utter a sound, a second hand clamped itself over his mouth. This hand was holding a pad of material soaked in something that smelled of rotting fruit and alcohol. And as David choked and struggled and slipped into unconsciousness, he thought to himself that the hand was very big, surely far too big to belong to Vincent.

  But if it wasn’t Vincent, who on earth could it be?

  Vincent

  David’s arms, wrists and shoulders were hurting. It was the pain that woke him—that and someone calling his name. He opened his eyes and found himself hunched up on the floor with his back against the wall of a room that he recognized. He was in the upper chamber of the East Tower. Somebody had knocked him out, carried him upstairs, tied him up and left him there.

  But who?

  All along he had been certain that Vincent King was his secret enemy and that it had been Vincent who was plotting to steal the Grail. Now, at last, he knew that he had been wrong. For there was Vincent right opposite him, also tied up, his hair for once in disarray and an ugly bruise on the side of his face. Jill was sitting next to him, in a similar state. She was the one calling to him.

  David straightened himself. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m awake.”

  He tried to separate his wrists but it was impossible. They were tied securely behind his back with some sort of rough rope. He could feel it cutting into his flesh and it was as much as he could do to wiggle his fingers. He pushed himself farther up against the wall, using the heel of his shoe against the rough flagstones. “Just give me a few seconds,” he said. He shut his eyes again and whispered the first few words of a spell that would bring a minor Persian demon to his assistance.

  “Forget it,” Vincent cut in, and David stopped in surprise. The other boy had hardly ever talked to him. Usually they did their best to avoid each other. But now it seemed that they were on the same side. Even so, Vincent sounded tired and defeated. “If you’re trying some magic, it won’t work,” he said. “I’ve already tried.”

  “Look at the door,” Jill said.

  David twisted his head around uncomfortably. There was a shape painted on the closed door. It looked like an eye with a wavy line through it.

  “It’s the eye of Horus,” Vincent said. “It creates a magical barrier. It means—”

  “—it means we can’t use our powers,” David concluded. He nodded. “I know.”

  Gritting his teeth, he seesawed his wrists together, trying to loosen the rope. It cost him a few inches of skin and gave him little in return. His hands had rotated and his palms could meet. He might have been able to pick up something if there was anything in the tower to pick up. But that was all.

  He gave up. “Who did this?” he asked.

  Vincent shook his head. “I don’t know. I never saw them.”

  “Me neither,” Jill added. “I was following Vincent like you said. But just before the prize-giving started, I decided to take a quick look in here. Someone must have been waiting. I didn’t see anything.”

  “Neither did I,” David muttered gloomily.

  “Why were you following me?” Vincent asked.

  Jill jerked her head in David’s direction. She was unable to keep a sour tone out of her voice. “He thought you were going to steal the Grail.”

  Vincent nodded briefly. “That figures,” he muttered.

  “I knew someone was going to steal the Grail,” David said. He was blushing again. He had been wrong from the start, horribly wrong, and his mistake could end up killing all of them. He thought back now, remembering everything that had happened. And the words poured out. “I was set up that night in the heads’ study. I wasn’t trying to steal the exam. And I did know what thanatomania means. Somebody stole part of my answer. And what about the waxworks? Okay—maybe it wasn’t you who sent them after me, but I wasn’t making it up. Somebody stole the statuette so that you could win.” David realized he wasn’t making much sense. He slumped back into silence.

  “Is that why
you were against me from the start?” Vincent asked.

  “I wasn’t . . .”

  “You never gave me a chance.”

  David knew it was true. He wasn’t blushing because he had been wrong but because he had been cruel and stupid. He had thought the worst of Vincent for the simple reason that he didn’t like him, and he didn’t like him because the two of them had been in competition. Vincent was right. David had never given him a chance. They had been enemies from the start.

  “How was I to know?” David muttered. “I didn’t know you—”

  “You never asked,” Vincent said. There was a pause and he went on. “I didn’t want to come here,” he said. “I didn’t have any parents. My dad left when I was a kid and my mother didn’t want to know. They put me in an institution . . . St. Elizabeth’s in Sourbridge. It was horrible. Then I got moved here.” He took a deep breath. “I thought I’d be happy at Groosham Grange, especially when I found out what was really going on. All I wanted was to be one of you, to be accepted. I didn’t even care about the Unholy Grail.”

  “I’m sorry . . .” David had never felt more ashamed.

  “I did try to be friends with you, but everything I did just made it worse.” He sighed. “Why did you think it was me? Why me?”

  “I don’t know.” David thought back. “I saw you coming out of the tower,” he said, knowing how lame it sounded. “And that night, when I was caught looking at the exam papers . . . did you come here then?”

  Vincent nodded. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Vincent thought for a moment, then answered. “I smoke,” he said. “I started smoking cigarettes when I was at Sourbridge and I’ve never given up.”