‘Do you trust me?’
‘Always.’
Holding his hand, they both moved in a circle, dragging their staffs on the ground, drawing out power. They could not stop the train, nor escape, but they no longer cared about that. They could feel the power of the Earthsoul all around them, its eternal strength keeping them safe. Esther could see into Tom’s mind and he into hers. The orphans raised their hands and, with the smallest of movements, brought the walls crashing in on them.
The water that gushed into the tunnel wiped out everything in its path: the train, Olwyn, Kiyaya, Mondriat and Sir Tyrrell. All were caught in its ferocity. Tom squeezed Esther’s hand tightly and, in place of the rushing violence of the water, was a vision: a memory.
Five years old, Tom sat in a corner, crying. The other orphans ignored him. The nuns had no words of comfort. He was all alone. He was sobbing because his aunt had left him and his mother was dead and if there was ever any hope, it was not here in this place. He had never felt such unending sadness, when a girl appeared. She was the same age as him but confident and with eyes that shone like pennies in the dirt.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘There’s no need to cry. It will be all right.’
Tom turned away and continued to sob.
‘I’ll be your friend if you like,’ she said. ‘My name is Esther.’
Tom looked up at her. He stopped crying and smiled.
Epilogue
Amy knows she should go home. It is cold. It is late. The miserable soaps finished ages ago. She has been out too long. Her grandparents will have noticed she isn’t in her bedroom. Perhaps they will call the police. Perhaps they will call the lady who comes on Wednesdays. Amy tries to remember if she’s told her about the cemetery.
The cemetery reveals different things at night. When Amy moves the torch up her favourite gravestone she notices something she has never seen before. The shadows of the torchlight reveal a shape above the name. Carved into the stone is a circle inside a triangle inside a larger circle. Amy runs her fingertips over it. She swings the torch around to the other two gravestones and sees that the same shape is on them too. How has she never noticed it before? She wonders what it means.
Voices call her name.
‘Amy? Amy?’
‘Are you out there, love?’
‘You’re not in trouble, Amy. Just answer us, please.’
The voices belong to her grandparents and to other people. She thinks the lady who comes on Wednesdays is one of them. A blue police light flashes through the trees. Amy is about to call out when she hears a tapping.
She turns. Sitting on top of Lord Ringmore’s gravestone is a magpie. Its feathers are tattered and ruffled. She has never seen a bird like it. It reminds her of something but she’s not sure what. It taps the gravestone with its beak. It taps the shape above Lord Ringmore’s name. The circle within a triangle within a circle.
Amy looks down at the stick she picked up to protect herself. The bird flutters down to the ground and she understands what it wants. It wants her to draw the shape in the ground. She doesn’t know how she understands this but she is sure this is what it means. Carefully, she does so.
‘Amy … Amy … ’
The voices are growing nearer.
The bird taps the middle of the shape on the gravestone. Amy understands. She steps into the centre of the shape and feels a sudden rush. She is dizzy and yet everything is clearer than it has ever been. She hears every rustle of every leaf in the cemetery. She can see her grandparents and the others, even though they cannot see her. The lady who comes on Wednesdays is with them. They don’t look as angry as she expected. Amy wishes they would go away. She opens her eyes. She didn’t even realise they had been shut. She looks at the bird.
‘So?’ says the magpie. ‘Would you like to disappear, then?’
Q & A with Gareth P. Jones
Where did the idea for The Society of Thirteen come from?
I’ve always wanted to write a book involving magic, but I needed it to be a magic I could believe in. Last year, I was up in Chester for a book festival when I wandered into a museum and saw a notice about a local history group called The Society of Thirteen (named so because of the number of people who formed it, I believe). I really liked the name so I jotted it down in my ideas book. It remained there for a while until I looked at it out of context and got thinking about how thirteen is an unlucky number. It occurred to me that there was a direct link between superstitions and stories of magic. They all have their roots in folklore, and there is lots of overlap. When I had made that connection, I realised that I’d found my way into magic. If I began with the idea that every superstition had some basis in the reality of magic, it would help ground my magic and make it something I could believe in. It became a very earthy magic, not something that could be bought in a magical shop, but rather something very natural. Once I began to see how it would work I realised that it wouldn’t be something that would yield to anything as modern as language. My spells wouldn’t be spoken while waving a flimsy wand. They would be drawn out of the earth.
Where did the word ‘Conjury’ come from?
Having worked out the mechanics of my magic, I had to decide on the lexicon. Would I be writing about wizards, witches, warlocks, magicians or something else? Would they have wands, staffs or broomsticks? The solutions to these questions came from some background reading. While looking into stories of magic I came across the idea of Cunning Men. These were folk healers, generally considered less threatening than witches, due to their usefulness. As my story developed, I realised that there would be an element of non-magical trickery and misdirection. I began to see a link between cunning men, conning men and conjurors. That’s when it became apparent my wizards would be known as conjurors. The more I thought about it the more I liked the idea that one could literally conjure up power from the earth.
Why did you choose the term the ‘Infected’?
I knew very early on that gaining magical powers was going to involve some sacrifice. Given the orphans’ Catholic upbringing, it felt right that there would be an element of selling one’s soul in order to obtain such power. After all, if thirteen is the age one must be to discover magic then there must be a reason that has been remembered as an unlucky number. Of course, once you’ve established that terrible things will happen to those who don’t perform the Mirror Spell, it would be disappointing not to see them.
How much research did you do for the book?
As usual, not as much as I’d have liked. I’m sure a good pedant could find lots of historical inaccuracies. I have taken various liberties with my London of 1891. The Theatre Royal, where Clay performs, would actually have been called Royal Standard Music Hall, although I did retain the real name of the proprietor, Mr Dickey. There was no flood in the tunnel under the Thames in 1891 either. More important than details like these is the evocation of a world that seems convincingly like late Victorian London. I relied on the same resources I used when writing Constable & Toop, but I also read a book about the relationship between Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Harry Houdini, elements of which dripped into the characters Lord Ringmore, Harry Clay and Mr G. Hayman.
What is the purpose of the epilogue and prologue in this book?
When I started, I thought Amy’s story was going to be a much bigger part and run alongside the Victorian action but, as I wrote, the Victorian elements elbowed their way to the front, while Amy’s story got pushed to the sides. That means there is a danger that some readers will consider those two chapters irrelevant and distracting. I hope not. I left them in for a reason. There are several points where characters think about the connection between story and history. This is one of the themes of the book. Amy creates her own stories from the snapshots of the past she finds on the gravestones. This is precisely what I do when I wander through cemeteries stealing names from gravestones and using them in my stories. Who knows if Amy’s (or mine) are any more fantastical than the real lives of the real people?
&n
bsp; Do you wander through cemeteries, stealing names from gravestones a lot?
Quite a lot, yes.
As with your previous books, this one delves into the darker aspects of life. Do you think subjects such as murder, death and disease are suitable for children’s literature?
I do. I think children spend a lot of time making sense of all these things, and literature should not shy away from addressing them. It’s only ever the adults I worry about when I do public readings. They’re much more scared of this stuff than my usual readership.
Religion doesn’t come out very well in this book …
I don’t think that’s true. Mother Agnes abuses her position. She is sadistic and mean and has nothing to do with what Christianity is supposed to be about. I intentionally made sure that Inspector Longdale had a more Christian approach to life. In an earlier draft, John Symmonds also demonstrated these qualities but then, unfortunately, he went and got himself killed.
Do you believe in magic?
No.
Finally, is it true you always write a song about each of your books and, if so, have you written the one for this book?
Yes and yes. I have finally got it in a shape I’m happy with. One of the biggest challenges with new songs is coming up with an interactive element that is different to my other songs, but, as I say, I think I have it now. The song is called Thirteen is Unlucky for Some.
Gareth P. Jones
Gareth spends most of his time writing. When he’s not doing that he has been known to produce the occasional TV programme. He lives with his wife (Lisa), son (Herbie) and a lot of musical instruments. He won the Blue Peter Book of the Year Prize 2012 for THE CONSIDINE CURSE. THE CASE OF THE MISSING CATS, the first book in The Dragon Detective Agency series, was nominated for the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize. THE THORNTHWAITE INHERITANCE won the Hounslow Junior Book Award, the Calderdale Book Award, Leicester Children’s Book Award, Sefton Super Reads, Doncaster Book Award, Rotherham Children’s Book Award, and Fantastic Book Award, Lancaster. He writes songs inspired by his books, which he plays on a ukulele when he visits schools.
Follow Gareth at www.garethwrites.co.uk or on Twitter: @jonesgarethp
First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Hot Key Books
Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street, London EC1V 0AT
Copyright © Gareth P. Jones 2013
The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-4714-0056-8
This eBook was produced using Atomik ePublisher
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Hot Key Books is part of the Bonnier Publishing Group
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