“Where to next?” asked Rich. “You okay?”
Darwen nodded and pulled the notebook with the gate codes from his back pocket, thrusting it at Rich. “Here,” he said. “See what will get us back to the Great Apparatus. I just need to get my breath back.”
As Rich flipped through the book, Alex watched Darwen, frowning. “What’s happening to you, Darwen?” she asked.
Darwen just shook his head slowly. It felt impossibly heavy.
“This one,” said Rich, checking the number.
“Okay,” said Darwen wearily. “Let me try.” He was able to open the portal, but it wasn’t easy, and closing it behind them was more difficult still. It took three more portals to reach the Great Apparatus, and by the time they got there, Darwen was so exhausted he could barely stand.
They crawled up the chute to the oven door, but at the portal into his bedroom, Darwen hesitated. “Hold my hand,” he said.
“What?” asked Alex. “Why?”
“I’m tired,” Darwen snapped. “I can’t do it by myself.”
The gift is leaving me. I can feel it.
Rich and Alex exchanged looks but then nodded.
“That was a disaster,” he said.
They had learned nothing from their excursion to Wales, and they had watched Blodwyn Evans—one of those rare allies they had been trying to recruit—get cut down in front of them. As Rich and Alex discussed their plans to slip out unseen, Darwen sank onto the bed and put his head in his hands. He didn’t notice the precise moment that they left.
• • •
Darwen watched Aunt Honoria over breakfast for any sign that she had noticed his absence the night before, but she was merely clipped and businesslike, one eye on her phone at all times as she had been since the day she had fired Eileen. Though it was a relief not to be in trouble, Darwen found himself oddly disappointed, as if a part of him wished she had been paying more attention. She sighed when she realized it was time to take him to school and muttered something about needing to find a new babysitter.
“I’m all right by myself most of the time,” said Darwen, in a voice that was supposed to sound encouraging. “And when it’s just the two of us, that’s, you know, nice.”
He had avoided her eyes, slightly embarrassed by what he had said, but when she said nothing, he looked up to find her studying the screen of her laptop.
“Things are very busy at work right now,” she muttered absently. “Did you take the homework sheet? I signed it last night and put it by your door. Did you not pick it up? Really, Darwen, you need to take responsibility for this stuff. I can’t be late today.”
“Right,” said Darwen, feeling lost and sad for reasons he couldn’t pinpoint. “Sorry.”
“I thought this school would be good for you,” she said, as much to herself as to him, smoothing her black pantsuit in the mirror and adjusting the silver necklace. “Maybe we’ll try somewhere different next year. Somewhere more reasonably priced.”
Stunned, Darwen just stared at her.
“Come on,” she said, irritation wrinkling her brow as she held the apartment door open. “I’m going to be late.”
“Tonight I’ll be working after school,” Darwen improvised as they rode down in the elevator. “Preparing for the gala.”
Yesterday the very thought would have been absurd, but Darwen suddenly found he wanted to talk to her about it.
“The what?” asked his aunt, checking her watch.
“You remember,” said Darwen, trying to sound cheery, “the end- of-year gala and talent show. I’m working with Rich and Alex.”
Even though he would have no answer for her, he suddenly wanted her to ask what they were planning to do.
“Oh,” said Aunt Honoria. “That.”
“It’s tomorrow night and we have to practice.”
“Till when? And I won’t be able to drive your friends home.”
“I’m staying with Rich tonight, didn’t I tell you?”
“Okay,” she said as the doors opened and she stalked out.
“I could have Rich’s dad call you—”
“It’s fine. Walk a little faster, Darwen.”
“And you’ll be at the gala, right?”
“What? Oh. Well. I’ll try. Maybe I’ll make it for the end, but things at work are—”
“Busy,” Darwen completed for her. “Yeah, I know.”
• • •
Darwen was quiet all day. Their failure to reach Mr. Peregrine hung about him like a cloud, but it was more than that. His aunt’s lack of interest, his anxieties about his own fading gift and, by extension, his own importance to the Peregrine Pact left him feeling as isolated and homesick as when he had first left England. He thought of those Welsh fields and the little roads that reminded him of the villages close to his hometown and it occurred to him that he belonged nowhere, that he was suspended between worlds, always just out of the reach of the people he cared about.
Though they had made it home without incident or awkward questions, Rich was tired and subdued. Even Alex, usually a force of nature, was quiet and introspective. Darwen guessed she was thinking about the man in the gas mask, about Blodwyn, about the security guard they had left behind at Conwy castle. And she would be thinking of Mr. Peregrine, who seemed as far away as ever, and of Greyling’s power rising, something they seemed completely incapable of slowing this time. The very last thing any of them wanted to think about was their contribution to tomorrow’s talent show.
“Everyone else has some kind of talent listed,” said Mr. Sumners, studying his clipboard with a satisfied smile as he made the homeroom rounds at the end of the day. “But not you three. Trouble identifying your particular area of genius, Arkwright?”
“Just been busy, sir,” said Darwen.
“So I hear,” said Mr. Sumners, his smile tweaking slightly. “I look forward to what you do tomorrow night. Up there on the stage. With all your friends, family, and teachers looking on. I’m sure it will be dazzling.”
“Boy, are we screwed,” muttered Alex as he sidled away. “We should have just picked a song and you could have been my backup dancers.”
“No,” said Rich and Darwen together.
“We could do something with computers,” said Rich, watching the workmen running wires for the new school network.
“Like what?” said Darwen.
“I don’t know,” said Rich. “We could write a program or something. Something with lots of pictures and noise. People like pictures.”
“We have—” Darwen checked his watch, realized that it was still broken, and cursed. “A day,” he concluded. “And I’m useless with computers.”
“I’m not,” said Alex.
“Yes, you are,” said Rich. “Unless it’s picture-editing and stuff, which doesn’t count.”
“Then doing something with computers wasn’t much of an idea, was it?” returned Alex tartly.
“We need to get back to Wales,” said Darwen, lowering his voice. “To the castle. Try that other portal.”
“And walk into the guy in the gas mask who is waiting for us?” said Rich. “He’s bound to be there, Darwen. He knows what you are trying to do.”
“How?” asked Alex.
“What do you mean?” said Rich.
“I mean that you are right,” said Alex. “That he knows what we were trying to do and he knew where we would be. Blodwyn was expecting someone from the Guardians, but the guy who showed up has to be working for Greyling, right?”
“I don’t see who else he could be working for,” said Rich.
“I mean,” Alex continued, “we trust the council, right?”
Rich frowned, then nodded. “Yes,” he said. “We have to. And Blodwyn worked for them, so they wouldn’t attack her.”
Darwen said nothing. All he could think of
was the image of the masked man sitting in the driver’s side of the little Fiat, and though he wanted to tell his friends, he knew he wasn’t ready to put it into words.
“Which leads us back to my original question,” Alex continued. “If this gas-mask guy is working for Greyling and came after us specifically, how did he know where we were?”
Rich’s frown deepened.
“You think someone on the council is a spy?” he asked.
Alex shrugged. “Blodwyn thought we were going to have a chat with someone from the council,” she mused. “But instead, right on time, we get gas-mask guy coming out shooting. Something isn’t right.”
Gas-mask guy.
Darwen had not told them about the pictures of the man in the Fiat. For all Rich and Alex knew, the man in the gas mask was just another of Greyling’s agents like the scrobblers and gnashers they had encountered before. They didn’t know why he felt so different to Darwen, why Darwen’s fear of him was touched with hatred. Darwen didn’t like keeping it from them, but he couldn’t talk about his parents. Not yet. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind and kneaded his temples.
“Maybe I could ask Moth for advice?” he ventured. “Or Weazen?”
“Weazen!” said Alex. “He would be perfect.”
“For what?” asked Rich.
“The gala, obviously,” Alex said with withering scorn. “We do an animal act. Weazen pretends to be, like, a regular otter or whatever he is, and we make him do tricks. Weazen walks on his hind feet! Weazen jumps through a hoop!”
“Weazen shoots us with his blaster for even suggesting it,” inserted Darwen.
“No,” said Alex. “Weazen’s sweet. He’d help us out. It would look like we’d been training him for months.”
“And then Mr. Iverson remembers that this ‘otter’ destroyed his lab and mysteriously escaped,” said Rich, “and we’re out of here before you can say ‘expelled.’”
“I might be out of here anyway,” Darwen blurted before he could stop himself.
“What?” said Alex.
“My aunt isn’t happy with my progress,” said Darwen. “And things are rough at work. Money’s tight and this place is kind of . . .”
“Expensive?” Alex supplied. “Exorbitant? Extortionary?”
“Well, it’s not cheap,” said Darwen.
“Ah,” said Alex, “the great British art of understatement. Not cheap. No, it’s not. Try preposterously, outrageously overpriced.”
“I can’t afford any more screwups,” said Darwen miserably.
“Guess we better find ourselves a talent,” said Alex. “Blowing off the gala might be just what your aunt needs to drop-kick your sorry tail out of here.”
“Okay,” said Rich, “but no animal acts.”
“I could bring Sasha, my dog,” Alex suggested, ignoring Rich’s comment.
“What can she do?” asked Darwen.
“Oh, you know,” said Alex. “Dog stuff. Sit. Walk around. Lie down.”
“When you tell her to?” said Rich, his eyes narrow.
“Not as such,” said Alex. “But if you’re fast, you can order her to do something as she starts doing it so it looks like she’s obeying you.”
“Next idea?” said Rich to Darwen.
“We’re not done with this one,” said Alex.
“We really are,” said Rich. “Next?”
“You both covered for tonight?” asked Darwen, changing the subject.
“My dad thinks I’m staying with you,” said Rich.
“My mom thinks I’m doing a sleepover with Genevieve Reddock.”
Darwen pulled a disbelieving face.
“What?” said Alex. “It’s possible.”
“It’s really not,” said Rich.
Genevieve, like Nathan, had much cooler friends than Alex and thought her a bit of a goofball. Alex looked away and didn’t speak for almost a minute.
“And we have permission to stay at school for a while at least,” said Rich, breaking the silence. “I told Mr. Iverson we were having an archaeology club session. He thinks it’s connected to our talent event.”
“You’re staying here tonight?” asked Simon Agu as he passed, carrying a stack of books. “After what happened yesterday? You’re braver than me.”
“What happened yesterday?” asked Darwen.
“You’re kidding, right?” said Simon. “Naia, Melissa, Jennifer, and Bobby Park all saw ghosts. Separately. Naia saw two at the same time. They were in our homeroom. She was just finishing up some work and there they were: two of them. Floating about.”
“What did they do?” asked Rich.
“Do?” said Simon. “They scared her half to death is what they did.”
“Just by being there, though, right?” Rich pressed. “Not by attacking her or something.”
Simon was affronted. “There were two ghosts in the room with her!” he exclaimed. “One of them had this really weird face with big teeth. That’s not scary enough?”
• • •
At the end of the day, as the other kids filed out to their clubs and the waiting cars driven by their attentive parents, Darwen, Rich, and Alex found themselves alone in the very homeroom class where Naia had had her spectral encounter.
“Just close the door when you’re done,” said Miss Harvey, who seemed more cautious than usual. It was rumored that the janitor had reported seeing a spectral apparition in the basement of the clock tower and that he had discussed it with Mrs. Frumpelstein, who had confessed to glimpsing something similar while she was grading papers after school the previous evening. Even the teachers were getting nervous. “Don’t get in the way of the workmen,” said Miss Harvey, “and if you see anything . . . out of the ordinary, stay together and call the principal’s office. Principal Thompson will be working late this evening.”
“Right, miss,” said Darwen, eyeing the scaffold in the quadrangle, where two men were hoisting tools up to the new window in the clock tower. “I mean, ma’am,” he added to her retreating back.
They listened to the clack of her heels down the hall.
“She seems back to normal,” said Alex. “I mean, normal for here.”
“The Hillside teachers aren’t that weird, Alex,” said Rich. “My dad says you have an unhealthy fixation with everyone around you being strange.”
“Your dad said ‘unhealthy fixation’?” said Alex, dubious rather than offended.
“Got it off some TV show,” Rich began, stopping when he realized that Alex was looking past him to where a face had appeared in the glass panel of the classroom door.
“Eileen!” Darwen exclaimed, getting to his feet as she came in. “What are you doing here?”
Rich nearly fell out of his chair. He stood hurriedly, his face flushing.
“Hi,” said Eileen. She looked small, Darwen thought, and a little sad, as if their last disastrous return to the school was still on her mind. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to see whether you guys were making any progress with regard to Octavius. I can’t go to your place anymore, so I figured I’d try to catch you here.” She had a huge canvas duffel bag slung over her shoulder. To Darwen’s inquiring look, she just shrugged. “Blaster,” she said. “Only has a few shots left, but I take it everywhere now. Paranoid, I guess.”
Eileen set the bag on a nearby desk, and Rich immediately opened it and began studying the blaster. “I can’t get any more power to this,” said Rich, looking up from the triple-barreled blaster, “but if you adjust these gauges here, I’ll bet you could get one big punch out of it. ’Course, it may just turn it into a giant flashlight. . . .”
Before Eileen could respond, the classroom door cannoned open and Mr. Stuggs lumbered in. He was stooping, his head thrust forward in a way that looked oddly bearlike, his beady eyes scanning the students as if choosing which to go after. Eile
en took a step back, snatching up the blaster, and Stuggs advanced on her, his arms bent and fingers spread like a wrestler in his fighting stance. Rich stood too, ready to step into the teacher’s path if he attacked, and Mr. Stuggs considered him, snarling. Darwen was the furthest away and could only watch anxiously. Stuggs’s eyes had none of the casual smugness they usually held: they were mad and cruel. This was going to be bad.
And then the electric light in the room brightened and the distant humming sound they had barely been aware of went away. Mr. Stuggs considered his hands for a moment, bemused, then straightened up and ducked out of the room quickly, as if embarrassed.
“An unhealthy fixation, huh?” said Alex.
Rich said nothing. He was trembling with tension.
“It’s getting worse,” said Darwen. “Whatever it is, it’s lasting longer.”
“Yes,” said Rich. “The lights dimmed, did you notice?”
“They did before too,” said Darwen. “So that means what, that it’s electrical?”
“Or spectral,” said Alex. “Maybe there’s a link to the ghost stories. Some kind of energy spike.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” said Rich.
“Got any better ideas?” asked Alex.
“Actually,” said Rich, “I might.” He went to the door, angling his head so that he could see across the corridor and into the quadrangle beyond, where the workmen were carrying tools and spools of wire. “What exactly are they doing out there?” he said. He was looking through the classroom door and out to the quadrangle, where a man in blue coveralls was unrolling a spool of cable across the grass at the foot of the clock tower.
“Supposed to be a computer-and-communication system, right?” said Alex with a shrug. “They are probably connecting speakers out there. If the weather is fine, that’s where they’ll be holding the gala. See? They’re building a stage.”
“The cable could be for the PA and lights,” said Rich thoughtfully.
“But we already know that that window is a portal to the shadow school,” said Darwen. “So laying lots of cable round it worries me.”
Darwen Arkwright and the School of Shadows Page 21
