Demon Storm (5 page)

T
HE ONLY WAY
BEN COULD DISCOVER
WHAT
had happened to Sam was to find whoever had taken her that night. Miss Haining had known, but now she knew nothing at all. The man in the suit who’d brought the box might know, though. Miss Haining had been spying on him and Mr Magill – perhaps to find out how much they did know. He should have told Mr Magill, but the chance had gone now – as had Mr Magill. He’d left for his new job just before Ben’s birthday.

Ben couldn’t think of any way to track down the fair-haired, lopsided man he’d seen on the night Miss Haining was attacked. So the man in the suit was his only lead. And his only way of finding him was to go to Mr Magill. Sam was out there somewhere. He didn’t understand why she’d run
away from him, why she’d left him on his own by the lake. But he’d find out.

Discovering where Mr Magill had gone was easier than he expected. He just asked. And Mrs Alten, who was covering the maths teaching, told him.

‘Oh, I think he went to a boarding school near Bristol somewhere. Did you want to write to him? How thoughtful. If you give the letter to me I’ll pass it on to the office and I’m sure they’ll send it for you.’

She probably didn’t know the address, or even the name of the school, Ben thought. He considered writing to ask Mr Magill to come and visit him. If he said he knew where Sam was, would that bring Mr Magill and the man with the suit? He thought about it for a long time, then he wrote a short note saying how much he missed Mr Magill and hoped he was enjoying his new job and that Mrs Alten was very nice but didn’t give out lollipops.

Ben sealed the note in an envelope he got from Big Jim. The envelope was a distinctive pale blue, but to be sure Ben wrote Mr Magill’s name is spiky capitals on the front.

Mrs Alten was as good as her word. The post going out from the home was left in a special tray on the desk in the main office. Ben thought of
several different excuses to go to the office during the day. But he needed only one. The corner of a small blue envelope poked out from under a pile of official-looking large brown ones in the tray.

‘I think it’s Charlie’s birthday this week,’ Ben told Mrs Trundall. ‘I’d like to give him a card, but I want to be sure I get the right day.’

‘Why don’t you just ask him when it is? Or one of the other boys?’

‘I want it to be a surprise.’

Mrs Trundall smiled. ‘That’s very sweet, Ben. Wait a moment and I’ll check for you.’

As soon as she turned away to open the filing cabinet, Ben lifted the brown envelopes. Sure enough, the blue envelope had Mr Magill’s name on in Ben’s writing and underneath that was the address of the school where he was now working.

‘You’re right. Charlie’s birthday is on Thursday.’ Mrs Trundall sat down at her desk again. ‘I must remember to wish him a happy birthday myself.’

They received a little pocket money in the home. Not much, but Ben had been saving his for a while. He never spent a lot anyway. Some of the boys had Nintendos and PSPs and spent their money on
games for them. But Ben wasn’t really into that. He just bought a few books, the odd bar of chocolate or bag of sweets. So even before he started saving, he had some funds.

More than enough for a train ticket to Bristol.

He got the train times off the Internet from the library computer. He decided to catch the last train of the day. That way he shouldn’t be missed until morning. Seeing how little effort had been put into hunting for Sam, he didn’t think anyone would spend much time trying to track him down. Mrs Alten might recall he had written to Mr Magill, but that was a chance he’d have to take.

Ben drifted off to sleep soon after the train pulled out. He was jolted awake as it left Cheltenham and again a few minutes later at Gloucester. He hadn’t really planned much further ahead than getting on the train. He knew there were two stations at Bristol and he wanted the one in the city centre – Temple Meads. But there was no point in trying to find St Humbert’s School at gone midnight. He just needed somewhere to wait in the warm until morning …

There were several waiting rooms at the station. Ben chose the smallest, where there were only a few other people. A young man was stretched
out on one of the bench seats, his head resting on an enormous rucksack. An old woman with a supermarket carrier bag burped and smelt of drink. A man in an expensive coat complained into his mobile that he’d missed the last train and would have to wait until five a.m. for the next one and what was the country coming to and how awful it was and did they call this a
service
when you couldn’t even get coffee after midnight, never mind a brandy?

Ben huddled into a fixed plastic seat in the corner of the room and eventually fell asleep.

When he woke, the station was coming to life. His watch told him it was just after half past five. The man with the mobile had gone and a few more people had arrived. A young couple with huge suitcases plastered with tags and airline labels were laughing together.

Ben forced himself to wait a bit longer, then found a taxi at the front of the station. He told the driver the name of the school and the address.

‘You’ll be a bit early,’ the driver joked.

‘Extra maths with Mr Magill,’ Ben said.

‘At seven in the morning? That’s keen.’

Ben settled back into the seat as the taxi pulled out into the start of the early-morning rush hour.

‘What do I say to Mr Magill?’ he wondered.

Ben saw that the driver’s eyes were fixed on him in the rear-view mirror. Had he spoken out loud?

‘You all right back there?’

‘Fine, thanks.’

Ben waited outside the school gates until it was half past eight. Although it was a boarding school, some children obviously came each day. Ben tagged on to the back of a group of children who arrived together and walked up the long drive from the road. The main school building was red brick, imposing and Victorian. It was a bit like the home, only less forbidding and better cared for.

Ben followed the signs for ‘Reception’ to a large wooden door. Inside was an entrance hall with another door leading into an office. The door was wedged open so the lady at the desk could see anyone who came in.

‘Can I help you?’ she called. ‘Sorry – I don’t think I know your name.’

‘It’s Ben. Ben Foundling.’ He went into the office. She looked like a kind lady, with grey hair
and glasses hanging on a chain round her neck.

‘Foundling.’ She frowned. ‘Have you just started this term?’

‘I need to see Mr Magill. It’s very urgent.’

The woman’s frown had deepened as she absorbed the details of Ben’s appearance. His coat was crumpled from being slept in and he didn’t have the same bright blue blazer as the other boys he’d seen arriving.

‘I have to see Mr Magill,’ Ben repeated. ‘He teaches here. He’s new.’

The woman barely took her eyes off Ben as she picked up the phone on the desk.

‘It’s Miss Flecker. Could you see if Mr Magill is still in the staff room and ask him to come to the office. I think it might be rather important. He has a … visitor.’

There were two armchairs in a little waiting area in front of the desk, but Ben didn’t sit down. He stood and waited while Miss Flecker got on with her work, glancing up at him occasionally.

Several minutes later, Mr Magill appeared and was more than surprised. ‘Ben! What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I needed to see you, sir.’

‘You
do
know this boy?’ Miss Flecker asked.

Mr Magill nodded. ‘I, er, used to teach him. Perhaps you could give us a minute, Miss Flecker?’

He waited for Miss Flecker to give a loud sniff and leave, then nudged the wedge out from under the door with his foot and let it swing shut.

‘So what’s going on, Ben? Does anyone know you’re here?’

Ben shook his head.

There was silence for several moments. Then Mr Magill sighed. ‘Are you in trouble? Some problem at the home?’

Ben shook his head again, not trusting himself to speak.

Mr Magill sighed again. He took a mobile phone out of his pocket and flipped it open, holding it up and staring for several seconds at it. Just as the man in the suit had done.

‘It’s Sam,’ Ben blurted out.

‘Sam? Have they found her?’

Ben hesitated. Should he tell Mr Magill he’d seen Sam?

‘Look,’ Mr Magill went on, ‘I’m going to ring your housemaster at the home, Mr Logan, and tell him you’re here and that you’re safe. Then we can arrange to get you back. I can maybe get you something to eat here. OK?’

Ben looked down at his feet. This wasn’t going well, but he didn’t know what to do or say. It had all seemed so simple when he set off. All he had to do was find Mr Magill and ask him about the man in the suit, or if he knew yet what had happened to Sam. But now he didn’t dare say a word.

He felt Mr Magill’s reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘You can wait here. Take a seat for a minute, because I need to make a couple of calls.’

Ben slumped down into one of the armchairs, while Mr Magill stepped out into the corridor. Ben could hear him talking on his mobile phone. He couldn’t catch the whole conversation – just enough to know he was in trouble and he was going back to the home.

His mind drifted off. Where was Sam? How could he ever find out about the man in the suit now? He had to ask – when Mr Magill came back, he’d ask him about the man in the suit. He’d demand to know who the man was and what he knew about Sam and the people who’d taken her away.

Suddenly, something was different. Maybe it was the tone of Mr Magill’s voice. But Ben could tell he was talking to someone else now – not the police or Mr Logan at the home.

‘Yes, just turned up here …’ Mr Magill was
saying. ‘No sign of the girl, and the boy’s showing no sort of ability …’ He lowered his voice further and Ben couldn’t hear any more.

What should he do now? What would Sam do? What would she say? Ben tried to pretend she was there with him in the room.

‘He’s talking to the man in the suit,’ Ben whispered, imagining he was talking to Sam.

He imagined he could hear her reply. ‘You need to get hold of his phone.’

‘Why do I need his phone?’

‘Ben?’

He leapt to his feet in surprise. ‘Mr Magill.’

‘I thought I heard you talking to someone.’

There was a chill breeze against Ben’s neck and he realised that the office window was open. He could hear the sound of traffic from outside.

‘Just thinking out loud, sir. And I was thinking …’

‘Yes?’

‘I was thinking that I’ve been very stupid,’ he lied. ‘It was just … You know.’

‘We all have stupid moments.’ Mr Magill smiled. ‘Whatever’s wrong, Ben, we can get it sorted out. All right?’

Ben nodded. ‘All right. I’d like to call Mr Logan at the home. To say sorry.’

‘I think that’s a very good and sensible idea.’

‘Thank you.’ Ben held out his hand, hoping that Mr Magill wouldn’t just tell him to use the office phone on the desk.

But, perhaps instinctively, Mr Magill handed Ben his mobile. And Ben could see in the man’s eyes that he regretted it immediately.

Ben took the phone and turned quickly away, as if embarrassed.

Mr Magill seemed to understand this and said, ‘I’ll give you a minute. It’ll be fine.’ Then he patted Ben gently on the shoulder, smiled reassuringly and left the room.

The phone was quite complicated. It had a menu of small icons – many of which Ben didn’t understand. But he managed to find the call register and the list of calls made.

The last was simply: ‘Knight’.

‘Check in the contacts list or address book or whatever it has,’ Sam would have suggested. ‘See if there’s an address.’

There was:
Knight – Gibbet Manor, Hangman’s
Lane, Dartmoor.

Ben closed the phone and put it down on the desk. It would be useful to keep it, but that was stealing. And mobile phones could be tracked, couldn’t they?

The wedge from the door was lying on the floor. Ben pushed it under the door and kicked it into place, jamming the door shut. Then he climbed out of the open window.

He didn’t know how long he had before Mr Magill realised he’d gone. But he did know where he was heading now. For the first time since Sam had disappeared, Ben felt he was in control.

O
F
COURSE, IT WASN’T QUITE THAT SIMPLE
.
BEN
had a name and an address. But he had no idea where Hangman’s Lane was and Dartmoor was a big place. He didn’t like to think about what would happen if this man, Knight, knew nothing about Sam. But he knew that Knight had been worried about her – so surely he’d help Ben find Sam, even if he knew nothing … At last he was doing something. He was making progress. He’d find her again no matter what it took, or how long he had to search.

Ben didn’t want to spend his money on another taxi. Even though it was a long walk back into the centre of Bristol, it was still early – the school run had barely ended and the streets were busy with cars taking people to work. By the time he found a shopping centre with a bookshop it was almost eleven o’clock.

The bookshop was one that had a coffee area. Ben bought himself a Coke from a bored, spotty young man who barely glanced at him, then found a good-sized table. He’d already bought a notebook and a pencil, but he didn’t want to have to buy the road atlas or detailed Ordnance Survey map he’d found.

His first task was to find Hangman’s Lane and this took longer than he had expected. It wasn’t in the index of the road atlas and there was no place name in the address – it could be any small stretch of road on Dartmoor. He unfolded the OS map and began to work across it, searching for Hangman’s Lane.

Eventually, he found it. A winding, narrow white line that ended at a cluster of dark buildings. Could that be Gibbet Manor? The road atlas was no help – it showed the whole area as empty ‘National Park’. But Ben made a rough sketch in his notebook of where the major towns were in relation to Hangman’s Lane.

The nearest place was Princetown, which didn’t seem to be on a railway. It looked like the nearest train station must be in Plymouth. Would there be a bus from there? A rough measurement told him that it was fifteen miles from Plymouth to Princetown. Then another seven or eight to get to Hangman’s Lane.

A lady was clearing away the used coffee cups and plates. She took Ben’s empty Coke glass and wiped round his map and notebook.

‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’

Ben hadn’t thought of that. ‘Er – we have a day off today,’ he said. It sounded lame even to him.

But the woman just nodded. ‘More days off than days on. Had my two at home last week. Training day. This some homework?’

‘Sort of.’

‘At least they give you something to do.’ She turned her head sideways to look at the OS map. ‘Dartmoor. Where the prison is.
Hound of the
Baskervilles
country.’

‘Sherlock Holmes?’ Ben hadn’t read the book, but he knew of the story. ‘Are you sure?’

The woman nodded. ‘I work in a bookshop. Well, in a coffee shop in a bookshop. But if you go to Dartmoor, you watch out for the hound.’ She winked, laughed and bustled off.

The train was expensive and Ben didn’t have enough money. He found out the prices from an automated ticket machine at Temple Meads station. Checking the timetables gave him an idea of the route the
train took to Plymouth and he played around with the machine until he found he could afford to get as far as Exeter St David’s and still have a little emergency cash.

It actually wasn’t far from there to Plymouth. Maybe no one would check his ticket. But if they did, he’d pretend he’d fallen asleep and missed his stop.

There was a train at 12.44 and the man in the ticket office told him it would take about an hour to get to Exeter. Ben already knew that from the timetable – just as he knew it would arrive in Plymouth about another hour after that.

But what would he do when he arrived at Plymouth? There would be maybe a couple of hours before it got dark and he had almost no money to get to Princetown …

Ironically, Ben really did sleep through Exeter. But no one came to check tickets. At Plymouth he avoided the automatic barriers and followed a woman with a child in a buggy. He helped her get the buggy down from the train to the platform and kept close as they went through a gate opened by a man in uniform.

The woman fumbled for her tickets and Ben handed his across at the same time, making sure
it was under the woman’s. The man at the gate glanced at the top ticket and waved them through together.

‘I don’t suppose you know how I can get to Princetown?’ Ben asked the woman.

It was a long shot, but maybe that was where she was going and she’d give him a lift. But it wasn’t.

‘I think there’s a bus,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to ask.’

The bus cost Ben the last of his money. If he wanted to return to Plymouth he’d have to find some more money from somewhere. Or walk. He was going to have to walk across the moors from Princetown to Hangman’s Lane anyway.

After about ten minutes, the bus turned off the main road on to a narrower, winding lane. He was warm and safe as he sat staring out of the window, but the grey-green moorland was forbidding and windswept. Dark clouds were rolling in across a grey sky.

Princetown seemed grey as well, in the dying light. A pale moon struggled through the edges of dark clouds, barely illuminating the lane that Ben took out of town. It wasn’t quite five o’clock yet, but it was black as midnight.

Ben hummed to keep himself company. It was so dark that a couple of times he almost walked off the narrow road and into the ditch beside it. Only the change of texture under his feet saved him from a muddy fall.

He walked for well over an hour before he found the turning to Hangman’s Lane. The moon emerged for the briefest of moments to shine across the faded finger-signpost. Ben thought this was the first piece of luck he’d had since he got to Plymouth – he could easily have missed the turning and walked on into the middle of nowhere. How far along Hangman’s Lane was Gibbet Manor? He hoped it would be only a hundred metres, but he feared it would be more …

Almost as soon as he had turned on to the single-track lane, he felt he was being followed. He stopped and turned round, but there was no one there. Just shadows. Then the first spots of rain started to fall.

Ben walked on. He didn’t feel like humming any more. The cold wind was pulling at his coat and eating into his fingers and his ears. Rain splashed on his face. And he was still sure there was someone there. He spun round sharply.

Again, just the shadows. The silhouette of the hedge beside the lane. Ben stared hard at the darkest area, as if he could banish the darkness by concentrating hard enough. Was there something – something moving? The hedge rustling in the wind?

He set off again, but his every footstep seemed to be followed by the faintest echo. As if someone – or some
thing
– was taking care to match him step for step.

Suddenly, the whole lane was lit by an explosive flash. A silent blast of light, so bright it dazzled Ben. He shrieked in surprise and sudden fear – his cries drowned out by the percussive clap of thunder that lagged a few seconds behind the lightning.

He was drenched in seconds. Running from whatever was behind him. Sprinting towards whatever lay ahead.

Another flash – and Ben was sure that there was something keeping pace with him. A glimpse, a hint, a suggestion of a shape scuttling up the lane. The skidding click of claws on the slippery surface …

‘Who are you?’ he yelled into the returning darkness. ‘What do you want?’

The sky turned white with another huge flash. Ahead of Ben, standing in the middle of the lane,
just at the point where it turned and sloped away down the hill, a figure was standing. He saw her as clear as day for the flickering instants of the lightning.

‘Sam!’

He ran full pelt, rain streaming into his eyes. At the point where she’d been standing, he slowed, looking all round. Waiting for the next flash of inevitable lightning.

But when it came, there was no one in sight.

Confused and cold and frightened, Ben walked slowly onwards, down the shallow incline and into the deepening shadows. There was no sign of Sam, and he knew he must have imagined her, must have thought he’d heard her voice.

The rain was no longer as heavy. The lightning was weakening. The moon had managed to break through and there was enough light now for Ben to see the house ahead of him. Black against the dark grey clouds and picked out by the lightning, it was just a shape with no detail or character. A cutout.

Huge iron gates barred the lane thirty metres ahead of Ben. They hung from stone posts set in a high wall. The lane went on past the gates, continuing up an incline so that the house was visible above the curling ironwork. In the centre of
each gate was an ornate scaffold – upright, crossbar and noose, like from a child’s game of Hangman.

Ben stood for a moment staring up at the gates and the house beyond. It had to be Gibbet Manor.

Before starting up the lane again, he looked round. It was just an instinct. He hadn’t heard or seen anything. But one glance behind was enough. Something was hurtling towards him – bounding down the lane. The air was filled with the sound of the creature’s growls. For a moment, Ben couldn’t move.

‘
Hound of the Baskervilles
country,’ the woman in the bookshop had said.

Without knowing it, Ben had started to run. He was racing towards the gates, desperate to keep ahead of the hellhound coming after him. But he knew, absolutely
knew
, that the gates would be locked even before he reached them.

The iron was cold and wet under his hands. He could feel rust flaking off as he heaved and pushed. To no effect. A thick metal chain was looped through the gates, binding them together and holding them shut. An enormous padlock hung on the other side, out of Ben’s reach.

He turned. The darkness seemed to have gathered itself into a living thing – a black shape
that leapt at Ben. Black paws lashed out at him. Oily, rancid breath clawed at his nostrils. He thrust his arms out to protect himself and felt the matted warm pelt of the shadows.