by Garth Nix
Jaide slammed the Compendium shut, but the cat had seen the page they’d been staring at.
‘No, we didn’t,’ she said.
‘Your grandmother’s deck is securely hidden and I won’t tell you where,’ Kleo said with feline smugness. ‘Back to bed, now. Troubletwisters aren’t supposed to be nocturnal creatures, like cats.’
The twins let her lead them back past Cornelia’s cage, to the elephant tapestry that hid the door to the upper floor. Jack listened for any sign of life from the macaw, but heard only a faint, stealthy shuffling of feathers.
‘Promise me you won’t tell Ari about Cornelia,’ said Kleo. ‘You can come back to say hello, but no other visitors are allowed. Not until she’s settled, anyway.’
‘All right,’ Jack promised. He would come back as often as he could. Cornelia must be lonely, he thought, without Young Master Rourke. Surely she would get used to him, and wouldn’t bite his finger off.
‘Goodnight, Kleo,’ said Jaide, scratching the cat under her chin. Kleo leaned in with a purr. The two of them had had their differences in the past, but they were now firm friends again, even if they were keeping small secrets from each other. Jaide imagined how surprised Kleo would be when the twins completed Grandma X’s mission on their own. The thought made her smile.
‘At least now we know what the card looks like,’ she whispered when they were back in bed. ‘That’ll make it easier to find.’
Jack’s eyes were heavy. ‘It must be especially well hidden if no one’s found it before now,’ he observed.
That sobering thought followed Jaide into sleep.
There were no answers waiting for her in her dreams.
CHAPTER FIVE
Monsters Old and New
THERE WAS NO TIME TO ask Rodeo Dave about the Rourke library that morning because the twins slept late and had barely enough time to scoff down some toast and hot chocolate before riding their bikes to school. They had hoped to visit Grandma X on the way, but Susan explained that it wasn’t possible that morning.
‘I rang as early as I could,’ she said. ‘The results of the scan were inconclusive. Someone’s coming in from Scarborough today to look at them, a specialist in brain trauma.’
The twins looked at each other with concern. ‘Brain trauma’ sounded like something to worry seriously about.
‘Will you go to see her?’ asked Jaide. ‘Will you make sure she’s okay?’
‘I promise I will,’ their mother said, giving them a squeeze. ‘The nurse said they’re keeping her in strict isolation so she’s forced to rest. You can imagine it, can’t you? I bet she’s bossing them around at every opportunity, when the sedatives wear off.’
Jack could imagine it very well, but he didn’t find the thought amusing or reassuring. It worried him that she hadn’t tried to contact them since the brief vision yesterday. He was afraid that, once again, all the important goings on in Portland were being kept from them, because they were too young.
Mr Carver’s ‘Happy Song of Beginning’ was already underway when they ran through the front door of school. It sounded like a flute being tortured.
‘I thought you weren’t going to make it,’ whispered Tara as they slipped into their seats at the desk they shared. ‘What’s that?’
The phone had slipped from Jack’s bag and slid across the desk. He snatched it up.
‘Uh, it’s a phone,’ he said.
‘I thought you weren’t allowed to have one!’
‘Dad thought we should,’ said Jaide, which was true enough.
‘Great! What’s your number? I’ll put it into my phone and we can text each other.’
Jack and Jaide stared helplessly at each other.
‘We’ve forgotten it,’ said Jack.
‘That’s okay. I’ll give you mine, and then you can text me.’
She wrote down her number and Jack put it into his phone’s memory. He texted ‘testing testing’ and waited. A second later, Tara’s phone buzzed.
‘Got it,’ she said. ‘But your dad must’ve blocked your number. Why would he do that?’
‘Maybe to stop us wasting all our credit,’ improvised Jaide. ‘If people can’t text us, we can’t text them back.’
‘What’s the point of a phone if you can’t text?’
‘Phones away, please,’ said Mr Carver as he came into the room, massaging his nostrils after a long session playing his welcome music on the nose pipes. ‘Today, we’re going to start with a short discussion. As many of you will be aware, Portland lost one of its most venerable citizens over the weekend: George Archibald Mattheus Rourke the Third. He was a very rich man, and a recluse, but I expect he touched all of our lives in one way or another. What can anyone here tell me about him?’
‘Is he really dead or just missing?’ muttered a voice at the back.
There was a small amount of laughter, but less than Jaide might have expected. The boy was referring to Rennie, who had, for a week or so, been presumed drowned before revealing herself to be very much alive.
‘He’s really dead,’ said Miralda, who fancied she knew everything about everyone in Portland. ‘Under mysterious circumstances, too. They say his face was awful, like he was scared to death.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Kyle.
‘Oh yeah? How do you know?’
‘Because my dad . . .’ He stopped and looked down, as though he wished he hadn’t spoken up.
‘That’s right,’ said Miralda with a smirk. ‘Your dad worked for him, didn’t he? What was he again – a gardener or something?’
‘Groundskeeper,’ said Kyle with a flash of anger. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with that. He was the second person to see Young Master Rourke . . . Young Master Rourke’s body . . . so he knows what he’s talking about.’
‘Not much call for groundskeepers around here,’ Miralda said. ‘Not anymore, anyway.’
‘Now, now, children,’ said Mr Carver, trying weakly to forestall another argument. ‘Let’s stick to Mr Rourke.’
‘Not Mister Rourke,’ said Miralda, her voice dripping with scorn. ‘That was the father. Young Master Rourke didn’t do anything. Without Mister Rourke, Portland wouldn’t even be here. He built the railway line and the town hall. He brought all the fishermen here—’
‘Whalers, not fishermen,’ said Mr Carver.
‘Fish, whales – what’s the difference? It got the town going properly, didn’t it? Young Master Rourke never did anything with his money except sit on it. That’s what my dad says, and he would know, because the old guy never gave him any.’
‘He sponsored the library,’ said a girl at the back. ‘His name’s on a plaque there.’
‘And the cactus gardens,’ said another.
‘And he paid for the costumes for the annual musical, even though he never went himself.’
‘What about the Peregrinators?’ asked someone else. ‘Didn’t he build their clubhouse or something?’
‘The what?’ asked Jack.
‘A bunch of crazy guys chasing UFOs,’ said Miralda with a sniff. ‘And besides, it’s not a clubhouse – it’s the sport shed on the oval. The Portland Peregrinators only use it once a month.’
‘Yeah, but he paid for it, didn’t he?’ said Kyle.
‘Anyone can buy stuff,’ said Miralda. ‘It takes leadership to do something with it. That’s what Dad says—’
‘Who cares what your dad says? My mum says he’s just a guy who wears an ugly necklace and likes the sound of his own voice.’
Again, Mr Carver was forced to intervene, banging on a drum until he had everyone’s attention.
‘The important thing,’ he said, ‘as I think this all proves, is that no man is an island. Or woman, either. Everything we do affects someone else, even if no one notices at the time.’
For once, Jack thought Mr Carver had a point. Young Master Rourke might as well not have existed for all he and Jaide had known. But now that he was gone, it was apparent that everyone was involved to some degr
ee, either because of things he had done while alive, or because of jobs they might lose now that he was dead.
Kyle simmered silently all through that morning, as the class moved on to various states and countries and the names of their capital cities. Memorising them wasn’t compulsory – nothing at the Stormhaven Innovative School of Portland was compulsory – but Jack didn’t mind paying attention. Thinking about geography distracted him from worrying about Grandma X, and made him imagine all the places his father must have been in his long career searching for such Lost and/or Forgotten Things as the Card of Translocation. Maybe one day, Jack thought, he, too, would travel like that, when he became a Warden.
When the lunch bells chimed, this time without Mr Carver’s nose-flute accompaniment, Jaide took the opportunity to put the next stage of their plan into action.
‘Let’s go see Rodeo Dave,’ she whispered to Jack, just a little too loudly.
‘Can I come with you?’ asked Tara. ‘It’s boring around here when you guys sneak off at lunchtime.’
‘Er,’ said Jack, glancing at Jaide, ‘I guess so?’
Jaide thought fast. Although they had nothing secret to discuss with Rodeo Dave, involving Tara in any expedition back to the estate might make searching for the Card of Translocation that much more complicated. But there was no way to put her off without sounding rude.
‘Sure,’ Jaide said. ‘Come along. It’s just an old bookshop, though.’
‘I love books,’ Tara said. ‘Maybe I’ll find something I haven’t already read.’
‘You’re bound to,’ said Jack. ‘Rodeo Dave has everything.’
That wasn’t remotely true, Jack knew, but he had yet to be disappointed. He liked reading, too, and when he had finished the stack of childhood favourites his father had left behind in Grandma X’s house, Jack had gone looking in the Book Herd for something similar. There was row after row of old Westerns. He could read for years without running out.
As they explained to Mr Carver that they were going home for lunch, Jack felt as though he was being watched. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Kyle sitting on his own, staring hotly at them. Jack didn’t know what they’d done to offend him. Maybe he was just upset because his dad might lose his job at the estate. Or maybe it was because they had each other and he had no one.
For a microsecond, Jack considered inviting Kyle along, but there were too many of them already, and Kyle had done nothing to initiate friendship before. The middle of a mission wasn’t the time to start making new friends.
On the way to the bookshop, Tara spotted a carved memorial stone outside the fish markets that had been dedicated by George Archibald Mattheus Rourke the Second in 1923, commemorating the loss of a commercial ship to a storm just outside the harbour.
The Book Herd was open but empty of customers, as it always seemed to be, but Rodeo Dave wasn’t alone. Rennie was there, as well. She and Dave looked up from his desk as the twins and Tara walked through the door.
‘Well, hello,’ said Rodeo Dave, brushing imaginary sticking-out hairs back into line on his thick, proud moustache. He was in his usual jeans and cowboy boots, with a red-and-white check shirt. ‘I wasn’t expecting you kids around these parts on a school day.’
‘Hello, Dave,’ said Jaide, echoed by Jack. ‘Hello, Rennie.’
Tara said nothing, and neither did Rennie. The woman who was Portland’s Living Ward simply nodded her head and almost smiled.
She looked pale and thin, scarred physically and mentally by her time possessed by The Evil. She was wearing a black cotton dress with very long sleeves that didn’t quite hide her twisted right arm or the complete absence of her left hand. She wore a yellow silk bandana to conceal her lack of hair, and the skin of her throat was pockmarked and scarred. The Warden healer called Phanindranath had done her best, but neither Warden Gifts nor modern surgery could correct all Rennie’s injuries.
The almost-smile was new, though. It showed that Rennie was healing on the inside, where it counted.
‘Renita’s going to be minding the shop while I’m busy at the Rourke Estate,’ said Rodeo Dave. ‘I could close the shop, but with Renita living here I figured, why miss out on the custom?’
A flicker of trouble crossed Rodeo Dave’s face as he said the name Rourke, but the twins didn’t notice. This was the perfect opportunity for them to get back to the estate!
‘Mum says the library is huge,’ said Jack. ‘Won’t that take longer than a few days?’
‘We could help you,’ said Jaide brightly. ‘Then you’d be done in no time at all.’
‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea,’ said Rodeo Dave slowly, looking from one to the other.
‘We won’t get in the way,’ said Jack. ‘We promise.’
‘But it’ll be very boring.’
‘Anything’s better than homework,’ said Jaide.
Rodeo Dave laughed. ‘Well, yes, that’s bound to be true. All right, then, fine with me, but I’ll have to talk to your grandmother first.’
‘She’s still in the hospital,’ said Jack. ‘Mum’ll probably be grateful we’re not at home alone.’
‘Sensible thinking, but I’ll be sure to make sure. What about your friend here? Does she want to come, too?’
Tara was staring at Rennie with a blank look on her face. When Rodeo Dave spoke to her, she blinked and looked away, as though waking from a dream.
‘Oh, hello. Do you have anything with vampires?’
‘Over on the far wall,’ said Rodeo Dave, ‘next to the maps of Vanuatu.’
Tara wandered off.
‘She half remembers,’ said Rennie unexpectedly, in a voice both rough and soft.
‘Remembers what, Renita?’ asked Rodeo Dave.
‘Nothing important,’ said Jaide hastily, keen to change the subject before Rennie said something that Rodeo Dave shouldn’t hear. ‘Will you call Mum and ask her? Shall we come back here after school?’
‘Unless you change your mind.’ His usual grin returned. ‘I’m sure you can think of better things to do than hang out with an old man’s books. Now, who’s for lunch?’
‘Me!’ said Jack, opening his lunchbox on the desk. It was lunchtime, after all, and his stomach was complaining. Rodeo Dave joined him, unwrapping a thick ham, cheese and mustard sandwich. Rennie didn’t eat anything, even when Jaide offered her a bright-red apple Susan had insisted on packing for her, even though Jaide didn’t like apples. Rennie just watched them eat, perched on a high stool among the books like a solitary bird in a rookery.
‘You knew him, didn’t you?’ Jack asked Rodeo Dave.
‘Knew who?’
‘Young Master Rourke.’
‘I suppose I did.’
Rodeo Dave thought about his own answer for a moment, then added, ‘If anyone could say that. He was one of my best customers, always calling me up, looking for this or that. I would take him his books in person rather than use a courier, but George was never one for talking, just like his father.’
‘Did you meet him?’ asked Jaide. ‘Mister Rourke, I mean?’
‘I never really met him. But I saw him around. Always out and about the town, always talking, making his opinion known. You could see him a mile off, a tall, rakish man with an enormous nose, and you could smell him, too. Not because he never bathed. He was fussy in that regard. He used to slick his hair back with this gel – I forget what it was called now – but it was ghastly, sticky stuff. The stink of it was enough to make you feel ill.’
Rodeo Dave pulled a face.
‘He sounds horrible,’ said Jack.
‘Mister Rourke had faults. There’s no denying that.’
‘What happened to him?’ asked Jaide.
‘He died in Africa. Some people said he was trampled trying to capture an elephant, but actually he caught malaria and wasn’t treated properly. Which goes to show that money can’t buy you everything.’
‘Nobody’s perfect,’ whispered Rennie.
‘Indeed.’ Rodeo Dave rais
ed the half sandwich he had been holding, uneaten, as though in a toast. ‘The dead outnumber the living. Let’s not tempt fate by speaking ill of them.’
Tara chose that moment to return from the shelves, clutching a scuffed, cloth-covered book in one hand.
‘This is all I could find,’ she said. ‘I was looking for stories, but most of the books you have in that section seem to be non-fiction, which is weird because vampires aren’t real.’
‘Monsters are only as real as we believe them to be, like tyrants.’ Rodeo Dave took the book from her and studied the spine. ‘Ah, Dracula. The original and the best.’
‘There was no price on it.’
‘That’s because it belongs to you,’ he said, giving her back the book with some of his usual sparkle.
Tara looked confused. ‘You’re giving it to me?’
‘Books find their own owners. I just hold on to them until they meet each other. Money is often an unwelcome complication.’
‘But . . . I mean, won’t you go out of business?’
‘Have no fear on that score, Tara,’ Rodeo Dave said. ‘Not with Renita here to keep the shop open.’
‘There’s more to living than busyness,’ said Rennie in a soft but firm voice.
‘Exactly!’ Rodeo Dave grinned widely, as though having someone in the shop to not take money from non-existent customers solved all his problems.
Jack and Jaide could understand Tara’s puzzlement. Her mother ran a gift shop in Scarborough, and her father was relentless in his pursuit of the next business opportunity. It wasn’t surprising that she found Rodeo Dave’s philosophy completely alien.
Come to think of it, most people would find it pretty weird. Not for the first time, Jack wondered whether Rodeo Dave was secretly rich or something. Maybe he owned a cattle ranch somewhere.
His thoughts were interrupted by Tara suddenly leaning close to Rennie and staring at her. Dracula hung limp in her hand, forgotten.
‘Where do I know you from?’ she asked.
‘We drew pictures of her,’ said Jaide quickly. ‘At school, remember? When we thought she had . . . you know?’
Mr Carver had held a small memorial for Rennie when the town believed she had drowned in The Evil’s storm, one year after her own children had drowned.
