Read Eight Days of Luke Online
Authors: Diana Wynne Jones
Eight Days of Luke
For Colin
Excerpt from
Howl's Moving Castle
  Â
Chapter One: In Which Sophie Talks to Hats
Excerpt from
The Merlin Conspiracy
  Â
Chapter One
Excerpt from
Dark Lord of Derkholm
  Â
Chapter One
  Â
Chapter One
THE FIRST TROUBLE
U
nlike most boys, David dreaded the holidays. His parents were dead and he lived with his Great-Aunt Dot, Great-Uncle Bernard, their son Cousin Ronald and Cousin Ronald's wife Astrid; and all these four people insisted that he should be grateful for the way they looked after him.
David tried to be grateful. They sent him to a boarding school which, as schools go, was not bad. Most holidays they arranged for him to go on an Educational Tour or to a Holiday Camp, and these were usually interesting enough to make up for David's not knowing any of the other boys who went on them. He did feel grateful when Cousin Ronald pointed out that he had opportunities which few other boys were given. But when he was at home in Ashbury and not on a Tour or at Camp, he found it much harder to be grateful. And the older he grew, the harder he found it.
This particular summer no Tour or Camp seemed to have been arranged. Aunt Dot usually sent David a postcard before the end of term to tell him what Tour he was going on, and this time no postcard had come. David's heart sank a little on the way home, when he thought about it; but he was in a very cheerful mood and did not think about it much. He had taken five wickets for four runs in the match against Radley House, and had capped this by bowling his own games master middle stump, first ball, in the Staff match. It was enough to make anyone cheerful. Cousin Ronald was interested in cricket. He could tell Cousin Ronald all about it.
The railway work-to-rule meant that David had to wait two hours for a train in Birmingham, but he was so happy thinking just how he would tell Cousin Ronald about those wickets that he did not mind at all. He merely bought some bubble gum and sat cheerfully chewing as he thought.
When his train drew in among the red houses of Ashbury, however, his heart sank another notch or so, and by the time he had changed from the Wednesday Hill bus to the Lockend bus, he was feeling definitely depressed. But as he stood up to get off the bus, he remembered that the Clarksons lived at the corner of the road, and cheered up a little. The Clarksons were the only children near and they were both younger than David, but they liked cricket and they were not bad fun, considering. The only trouble was that Aunt Dot said they were vulgar. David could never see why. He thought, as he climbed off the bus, that it was a habit of Aunt Dot's to call things vulgarâlike Kent at school calling everything spasticâand it didn't mean a thing.
As he turned the corner, David took a look over the Clarksons' front gate. There was none of the usual clutter of bicycles lying about, and someone had weeded the front drive and planted a lot of useless flowers. That was ominous. David's heart went down another notch. He walked on up the road and opened the gate to Uncle Bernard's big red house, where there were never any weeds, or bicycles, and lines of geraniums were drawn up like guards on either side of the drive. David went up the steps and opened the front door and the smell of the house hit him. David had lately developed a theory that the sense of smell was much more important to the human race than anyone believed. The house smelled thick and dampish, of polish and old cabbage, the most dismal smell David knew. Like a proof of his theory, his heart went down about seven notches with a rush.
The hall was empty. This meant that, because of the railway work-to-rule, his trunk had not arrived yet. That was a nuisance. David's cricket bat and the only pair of trousers that still fitted him had been in that trunk. It meant borrowing a bat and being stuck with short, tight school trousers until it arrived. He was rather sadly looking at the empty space in the hall where his trunk usually stood, when the door of the study opened. Cousin Ronald, balder and stouter and busier-looking than ever, came hurrying out, and with him came a gush of cricket commentary from the radio in the study.
David remembered his six triumphant wickets. “Oh, Cousin Ronald, do you know what?” he said happily.
Cousin Ronald seemed dumbfounded. He stopped in his tracks and stared at David. “What are
you
doing here?” he said.
“It's holidays. We broke up yesterday,” David said. “But do you know whatâ?”
“Oh, this is too bad!” Cousin Ronald interrupted peevishly. “And I suppose they've sent you home early because of some blasted epidemic and we'll all catch it now.”
“No. Honestly,” protested David. “It's just the end of term.” He was beginning to lose all his joy in telling Cousin Ronald about those wickets; but it was too fine not to tell, so he tried again. “And do you knowâ?”
“It
can't
be the end of term!” said Cousin Ronald. “Not already, boy.”
“Well, it is,” said David.
“What a confounded nuisance!” Cousin Ronald exclaimed, and plunged back into the study again and shut himself and the cricket commentary away inside it.
More than a little dashed, David went slowly away upstairs, trying not to feel miserable, trying to think about the cricket books in his bedroom. He came across Uncle Bernard on the first landing. Uncle Bernard did not seem to see David. He just tottered away to the bathroom looking frail and vague. David was heartily relieved. When Uncle Bernard noticed him, he always noticed the color of David's fingernails, the length of his hair and the fact that his tie was comfortably in his pocket. It was much better not to be noticed by Uncle Bernard. David turned thankfully to go up the second flight of stairs and found Aunt Dot's tall figure coming down them.
“David!” exclaimed Aunt Dot. “Whatever are you doing
here
?”
“It's the holidays,” David explained once more. “We broke up yesterday.”
“Broke up
yesterday
!” said Aunt Dot. “I thought there was another week to go. It was extremely thoughtless of you not to let me know.” Since David knew that the school always sent Aunt Dot a list of terms and holidays, he said nothing. “What a nuisance!” said Aunt Dot. “Well, since you're here, David, go and wash and I'll see Mrs. Thirsk. Supper's in half an hour.” She came on downstairs. David, knowing what a point Aunt Dot made of politeness, stood aside to let her pass. But Aunt Dot stopped again. “Good gracious, David!” she said. “Whose clothes are you wearing?”
“No one's,” said David. “Mine, I mean.”
“They've shrunk abominably,” said Aunt Dot. “I shall write to the school and complain.”
“Oh, please don't,” said David. “It's not the clothesâreally. I think I grew very fast or something.”
“Nobody grows that fast,” Aunt Dot decreed. “Those clothes were a good fit at Easter. You must go straight upstairs and see if you have anything else to wear. You can't come to supper looking like that.” And she sailed away downstairs.
David went on up to his bare, tidy bedroom. While he searched for clothes, he could not help forlornly wondering whether any of his school friends were having such a cheerless homecoming as he was. He rather thought that most of them had parents and brothers and things who were actually glad to see them. Some of the lucky so-and-sos even had dogs. David would have liked a dog above all things. But the thought of Uncle Bernard being asked to countenance a dog was almost frightening.
The only clothes he could find were smaller than the ones he had on. When Mrs. Thirsk rang the gong, David was forced to go down to supper as he was. He met Mrs. Thirsk in the passage and she looked him over with utter contempt.
“You do look a proper scarecrow,” she said. “Your Uncle's going to have something to say about that hair of yours, if I know anything about anything.”
“Yes, but you don't,” said David.
“Don't what?” said Mrs. Thirsk.
“Know anything about anything,” said David, and he escaped into the dining room, feeling a little better for having annoyed Mrs. Thirsk. He had been at war with Mrs. Thirsk from the moment he came to live in Uncle Bernard's house. Mrs. Thirsk hated boys. David loathed every inch of Mrs. Thirsk, from her blank square face to her blunt square feet. So he smiled a little as he slipped into the dining room.
The smile vanished when he found Astrid there. Astrid was sitting beside the French window with her feet up, because, as everyone knew only too well, her health was bad. Astrid was quite pretty. She had fairish hair and big blue eyes, but her face was always pale and peevish, or it would have looked prettier. She dressed very smartly and told everyone she was twenty-fiveâshe had been telling everyone this, to David's certain knowledge, for six years now.
At the sight of David, she gave a cry of dismay. “Never tell me you're back already! Oh, this is
too
bad! Ronald, you might have warned me!” she said, as Cousin Ronald came in.
Cousin Ronald was carrying a sheet of paper which David recognized as the list of holiday dates that the school had sent last autumn. “It came as a shock to me too,” he said. “But they do seem to give the twentieth here.”
“But you told me the twenty-eighth!” Astrid said indignantly.
Aunt Dot came in at this moment, with her diary open in front of her nose. David drifted away to the other end of the room. “Ronald,” said Aunt Dot, “I have the end of term down here clearly as the twenty-eighth. Why was I misinformed?”
“Trust Ronald to get it wrong!” said Astrid. “If we have to miss going to Scarborough because of this, I don't know what I shall do. One of my heads is coming on already.”
David, having no wish to hear any more about Astrid's head, reached out and gently twiddled the knobs of the radio on the sideboard. He was in luck. An announcer said: “Now, cricket. England in the Third Test areâ”
“David!” said Aunt Dot. “People are talking. Turn that off at once.”
Sighing, David turned the knob and silenced the announcer. But, at the same moment, Cousin Ronald hurried across the room, saying irritably: “I tell you I've no idea how it happened!” and snapped the radio on again.
