The White Tower

by Cathryn Constable

  The boy looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Dr Smythe’s study was broken into last night. Everything was destroyed. You shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘It wasn’t me!’ The boy’s eyes flashed. ‘Although I would destroy all of Temple College if I could. I’d smash it to the ground and send it up in flames! I would do anything to stop what is about to happen.’ He took a step towards her. ‘You should stop what you are doing. You are playing with things you don’t understand and can’t control.’

  ‘But I’m helping you!’ Livy cried. ‘I’m doing your experiment. In your room. I read your books. I’m sorry I ate your food, but I’m going to help you find a cure for . . .’ Even as she said it she knew it sounded foolish. How could a powder made from grey metallic dust alter anything? ‘I am going to make a powder of alteration that will heal any sickness in the blood!’

  The boy looked shocked and took a step back as if he had been pushed. He shook his head, trying to shake her words out of his mind.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he looked calm. ‘You really want this. You want to change. To alter. To be something else. Well, I know a cure for the chaos in your blood. And it will work, believe me.’

  The boy tilted his face to the sky, flared his nostrils and breathed in deeply so that his chest rose. He seemed to coil upwards into the air. And, without Livy knowing how, or even seeing how, he was on the parapet of the roof. The wind took his black coat and it flapped like an enormous black wing. Something in the way he stood, looking down, right on the tips of his toes, frightened her.

  ‘I don’t want to be alone . . .’ It was a small voice, a young child’s voice. ‘Hold my hand.’

  It was what Mahalia had said to her the last time Livy had seen her. But it wasn’t Mahalia on the roof. Another child stood next to the boy. And a man wearing a long dark cloak. The man raised his arms, and, as if this were a signal, Livy saw the boy bend his knees.

  ‘Be careful!’ Livy cried out, but the wind took her words, blew away the image of the child and the cloaked man. The boy leant even further into the empty air. ‘Stop!’ Livy lunged forwards to grab him back.

  ‘I’ve seen the smoke at the window . . .’ The boy’s words swirled around her. He was on the brink of falling, she was sure. So why didn’t he? How could he hang in the air like that?

  ‘Please . . .’ Livy tried to control her voice. She sensed that if she startled him, he would fall. She put out her arm to pull him back and just as her fingers grazed the inky black of his coat, he turned towards her. His eyes sparkled, the gold glinting in the green.

  ‘Why don’t you come closer, Livy,’ he whispered. He leant further forwards.

  ‘You’re going to fall,’ Livy blurted out. Her nerves were screwed tight. She no longer felt mixed with the air and the night. Her legs felt heavy and she could hardly breathe. She grabbed the sleeve of his coat, but he shook her off.

  ‘Come up here,’ he said. ‘Come and stand next to me.’

  In spite of herself, she put out her hand and pulled herself on to the parapet.

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ the boy’s voice was soft and reassuring. ‘It seems hard at first, but you learn to trust yourself and do it.’

  ‘Do what?’ Livy looked at the angle of the boy’s body. She felt her own body tilt.

  ‘You know what,’ he said. And she did know.

  Livy looked down at the flagstones. She felt the blood leap in her veins.

  ‘You won’t know if you don’t try,’ the boy whispered as the wind moved his hair across his moon-white face. ‘Imagine . . . to mix your blood with the air and sweep through the heavens, the stars at your heels . . .’ His lip trembled. ‘Leave all the heaviness and unhappiness down there and come with me. Don’t you want to? I can take you wherever you want to go.’

  Livy’s toes were right on the edge of the roof. She could imagine herself turning and swooping through the infinite sky in a body that was weightless. Or perhaps she was feeling the sky moving through her skin and bone that were no more substantial than smoke.

  ‘We can fly through star nurseries,’ the boy’s whispered voice urged her and his words threw up images of great chambers of coloured clouds with pinpoints of bright light, ‘as we chase comets’ tails towards ancient suns.’

  Livy felt the last of the weight of her body balanced on the very tip of her toes, her muscles twitched as if she would jump.

  ‘Do it,’ the boy whispered. ‘You can’t know what will happen until you . . .’

  But the scream of a siren and the flashing lights of an ambulance tearing up the embankment knocked Livy out of the moment.

  ‘Will it hurt?’ she gasped, pulling herself back. ‘If I fall?’

  ‘You won’t fall –’ The boy’s voice was rich and full of the starlight he promised her – ‘if you hold my hand.’ He put out his white hand to her. All she had to do was grasp those fingers and step into the sky. She reached out her hand, but her fingers didn’t quite meet his. ‘Trust me,’ he whispered.

  Livy put her foot out into the air.

  ‘Up there,’ the boy’s voice drifted towards her, ‘the clouds are made of emeralds and sapphires and the sky is an endless rainbow.’

  Livy felt her heels rise up off the parapet.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said, his voice reassuring. ‘It’s just a step away.’

  Livy looked up into the infinite sky. She leant towards him and stretched out her fingers.

  ‘Close your eyes.’ The boy’s voice was hardly more than breath. ‘We will mix our blood with the air.’

  She would fall: they both would. But perhaps that was what she wanted. To fall. Just a moment in the air, not much of a price to pay to see Mahalia again . . .

  She tipped forward, felt the air press against her . . .

  Her stomach turned. What was she doing?

  ‘Wait!’ she cried. ‘I’m frightened!’ Livy felt a little tug on her hand. The air around her quivered.

  She opened her eyes. She was alone. Of course, he’d been playing with her, had enjoyed making a fool of her, was probably even now laughing at her from behind one of the chimney pots.

  ‘I didn’t believe you!’ she yelled. ‘Not for one second!’ She felt small and foolish. ‘And you can keep your stupid roof!’

  Shocked at what the boy had almost made her do, Livy climbed down to the room at the top of the White Tower. If she saw him in the room, she would tell him exactly what she thought of him. But she wasn’t concentrating, her thoughts taken up with how she had felt on the edge of the roof, how she had nearly stepped into the air. She missed putting her foot on to the metal bracket that attached the drainpipe to the wall. She nearly fell and clung to the cold metal, frightened and tearful. How could she have been so stupid? She had put her trust in someone and look what had happened – she had nearly thrown herself into the air. He had told her that this would be a cure for the chaos in her blood. And now she was clinging to the side of the White Tower, too scared to move.

  She had to force herself to jump on to the window ledge, her eyes closed, expecting to fall, and cried out with relief as she pushed open the shutter.

  The fire was burning, there was food on the table, and a book left open on the desk in the place where the other book, the book she had thrown on the fire, was usually left. ‘How dare he make fun of me like that,’ she muttered.

  Livy lifted the heavy flask of grey dust. Her pulse was so violent that her hands shook.

  Her anger subsided as images flickered in her mind. The boy had hung in the air. She saw the angle of his body again in her mind’s eye. The grey powder inside the flask jumped.

  ‘Help him.’

  Livy swung round. ‘Who’s there?’ she called out. But she knew that sing-song voice, she knew who had spoken to her. ‘Mahalia?’

  ‘He’s so lonely.’

  Livy closed her eyes to hang on to the clearness of Mahalia’s voice. Would th
e girl speak to her again? She cried out as her hand jerked up as if someone had pushed it, hard.

  Livy opened her eyes to see the dust swirling in the bottom of the glass. She watched in surprise as three large droplets of red liquid appeared on the side of the glass and trickled down to be swallowed greedily. Livy looked at her hand; she had cut it on a chip in the neck of the flask when her arm had been jerked upwards.

  She lifted her fingers to her mouth, tasting the salt and iron in her blood.

  In the depths of the tower a door slammed shut. And now she could hear footsteps running up the stone stairs. The boy? Well, she wouldn’t let him laugh at her! It wouldn’t be long until the door in the corner of the room burst open. She had to leave, and quickly. She lunged at the window and climbed out.

  She had left the shutters open enough that she could see just the bench. For a few minutes, she could hear someone moving around in the room, but she couldn’t see who it was.

  And then she saw a figure, but it was not the boy. A woman, dressed in blue velvet, a sheet of blonde hair falling across her face as she leant over Livy’s flask. Even though she knew that her experiment was worthless, even though she had enjoyed watching that book go up in flames, seeing Dr Smythe so engrossed in the contents of the flask made Livy angry.

  ‘Keep away from my things,’ Livy whispered through her clenched jaw. ‘Don’t touch anything!’

  But even as she said those words, Dr Smythe bent forward and lifted the flask.

  ‘How interesting,’ the woman mused.

  ‘Put it down,’ Livy wanted to cry out to her. ‘It isn’t interesting to you! Your work is on gravity. Why do you care what’s in my flask? That won’t help you.’

  Because, Livy now realized, her work with the metal and the candle was harmless, a waste of time.

  Dr Smythe picked up the flask and shook it. Livy saw her smile by the light of the fire as the contents jumped.

  ‘This is just what I was hoping for,’ the woman tapped the glass with her nail. ‘The experiment that will finish Alan Hopkins for good. Tempus fugit? Hah! Time will not fly for him. He’ll be done for. I have everything, in this one little flask, to ruin him.’

  Livy felt light-headed. She swayed on the window ledge and had to grab at the window to prevent herself falling. The noise startled Dr Smythe, who looked up, frowning. Livy pressed herself into the stone as the woman quickly crossed the room and slammed the shutter closed.

  That dear little room, Livy’s refuge, had been ruined by the presence of that woman. The work that Livy had done, trying to make a powder of alteration, would now somehow be used to harm poor Mr Hopkins.

  ‘Help him . . . He’s so lonely.’

  Mahalia’s voice.

  Moments later, Livy had grabbed at the drainpipe and scrabbled for the roof, almost falling as she put out her hand to heave herself on to the parapet.

  She had only managed to pull one leg on to the roof.

  ‘You’ve done it now!’ the boy’s voice spat at her.

  Livy stood up.

  ‘I’ve done nothing,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Who will save him?’ The boy’s arm shot out and he gave her a little push. ‘When the time comes!’

  She toppled slightly. ‘Hey! Stop that!’

  The boy scowled, unrepentant.

  Livy took to the roof, tears pricking at her eyes.

  ‘I’m going to big school.’ Tom sat on the end of Livy’s bed. Livy felt as if she had fallen asleep only moments before, but it was already morning. ‘I’ve got big school boots on.’

  ‘Clear off,’ she said, lifting her legs and tipping Tom slowly towards the floor. He squealed in delight. ‘This big girl has got to get her uniform on.’

  By the time she got downstairs, her father was already in his heavy winter coat, a scarf wrapped around his neck.

  ‘Do you have to go so early?’ Livy’s mother asked him, still wearing her dressing gown.

  ‘Lots to do,’ her father muttered. ‘I wish I’d never signed up for this “take a child to work” day. It was Dr Smythe’s idea. You’d think she sees enough children at Temple College, but she seemed very keen to have Tom.’

  ‘Well, he is adorable, James.’

  ‘You keep him today, then!’

  ‘You can’t disappoint him,’ Livy’s mother said. ‘He’s been looking forward to it. And so have I! I’m going out all day!’

  Tom jumped up and down in his ‘big school boots’. ‘Can we go? Can we go?’

  ‘Hang on, tiger.’ Livy’s father sighed, wearily. ‘Have you said goodbye to your mother? Otherwise she’ll cry and cry and cry all day long.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Tom said, seriously. ‘Don’t be sad while I’m gone.’

  ‘And a kiss for Livy?’

  Tom blew Livy a raspberry.

  ‘Do you have your briefcase?You can’t go to the office without it!’

  Tom lifted up his Count Zacha sandwich box. ‘Let’s fly!’

  The air was so cold as Livy stepped out of the house some minutes later that it caught at her throat. She pulled her scarf up over her mouth and pushed her hands deep in her pockets.

  She was relieved to see Mr Hopkins waiting at the end of Leaden Lane. ‘You mustn’t stay here,’ she said, slightly out of breath from running towards him. ‘You have to leave and leave now. If Dr Smythe sees you . . .’ She shivered: not because of the cold but because she again heard that biting tone of pleasure in the woman’s voice: He’ll be done for.

  Mr Hopkins looked anxious. ‘But my books, Miss Burgess. I find it so hard to leave them.’ He coughed.

  ‘Dr Smythe is serious,’ Livy said.

  The man sighed. ‘So it’s goodbye.’

  Livy nodded.

  ‘I feel I should thank you, Miss Burgess.’

  ‘I’ve not done very much for you. In fact, it’s my family’s fault that you have no home and no job.’

  ‘Oh, you mustn’t be too hard on the Burgesses.’ Mr Hopkins smiled, sadly. ‘You have done more for me than you can ever know. I saw your little brother walk past a few minutes ago.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘I wonder if he’s perfected his landings yet.’

  Livy smiled at the memory of Tom showing off.

  ‘He’s a character.’ Mr Hopkins looked at his watch. ‘Ah well, time for me to go.’ He coughed again. ‘Places to go. People to meet.’

  Livy thought she had never seen someone less likely to have anywhere to go. The man looked as if he was trying to be brave as he raised his hat to bid a final farewell. ‘Tempus fugit, Miss Burgess.’

  Livy waited on the corner of Leaden Lane and watched as he walked away.

  ‘Poor man,’ she said to herself as she went into school. ‘Poor, lonely man sent away by Dr Smythe.’

  But Livy felt uncomfortable too. She had been something to do with this: her father had taken the man’s job and she had made something in the White Tower which Dr Smythe would have used against Mr Hopkins had he stayed. But how could the contents of Livy’s flask – just a teaspoon of metal filings – be of any use to Dr Smythe?

  When the headmistress passed Livy in the corridor, Livy felt her cheeks flare up with anger at the woman’s heartlessness towards such a feeble old man.

  ‘I just saw your brother,’ Alex said to Livy as they lined up to go into the dining hall.

  ‘My dad brought him to work today,’ Livy muttered, her thoughts still on Dr Smythe and the room in the tower.

  ‘I didn’t see him in the library –’ Alex frowned – ‘or with your dad. He was coming out of Dr Smythe’s study.’

  Alex was right: as Livy entered the dining hall, she saw Tom sitting at the top table, next to Dr Smythe, eating a plate of chips, his face very serious.

  ‘She can’t have Tom,’ Livy said to Alex.

  ‘But he’s having a lovely time,’ Alex frowned. ‘What are you worried about?’

  Tom saw Livy at that moment and he waved excitedly. He shook Dr Smythe’s arm and pointed at Livy. Dr Smythe smiled d
own at him, saying something that Livy couldn’t hear.

  ‘I’m going to tell her to leave him alone.’ Livy thrust her tray at Alex.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Celia grabbed her arm and pulled her back down on to the bench. ‘You don’t just march up to Dr Smythe and tell her what to do!’

  ‘But she’s got my brother!’

  ‘And he’s having a lovely time,’ Celia waved at Tom who waved back. ‘What’s got into you today, Livy? You’re so on edge.’

  At the start of afternoon lessons, Alex said he was going to the library. ‘If anyone asks, just say I’ve gone to the sick bay. Tell them I’ve got a headache.’

  ‘Keep an eye out for Tom,’ Livy said as Alex walked away. Alex gave her a thumbs up.

  Their usual French teacher, Madame Smith, was ill and her place was taken by another member of staff who didn’t notice that Alex was absent.

  Perhaps it was the change of teacher, but Livy found it hard to concentrate. The air in the brightly lit classroom seemed heavy and thick. She was happy when they changed classrooms and walked up to the Physics lab, which looked out over the Court of Sentinels.

  ‘And where is Alex?’ Mr Bowen asked as they took their places.

  ‘He’s in the sick bay,’ Celia said. Livy heard Martha snigger behind them. ‘He’s got a headache.’

  ‘A headache?’ Mr Bowen peered at him over his glasses.

  ‘It’s the lights, sir,’ Celia offered. ‘They affect his vision and then he gets migraines.’

  ‘Migraines?’ Mr Bowen took off his glasses. ‘Perhaps you’d let him know, Celia, that if I find that he has spent the afternoon in the library, he will be in trouble.’ He put his glasses back on.

  Livy looked out of the window. Dusk was already falling around the Sentinel on the roof of the White Tower. She realized that she would not be going back now that Dr Smythe had discovered her laboratory. She would never again tuck herself under the Sentinel’s broken wing and look up at Mahalia’s star.

  ‘Sorry I didn’t say goodbye,’ Livy whispered to the sad stone face.

  ‘Let’s get this Physics done!’ Mr Bowen said to the class. ‘Unless anyone else has an allergic reaction to lightbulbs!’