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“Seen anything?”

Jill had come up behind him and caught hold of his arm. David had told her everything that had happened the morning after his fall from the East Tower. Only Jill, his closest friend on the island, would have believed him—and even she had taken a lot of persuading. But in the end she had agreed to help.

David shook his head. “No. Everything’s so ordinary. But I know it’s going to happen, Jill. And soon . . .”

“Maybe you should go to the heads, David.”

“And tell them what?” David sighed. “They’d never listen to me.”

“Look out!” Jill gestured in the direction of the school. “I think your parents are coming back.”

“Do you want to meet them?”

“No thanks.” Jill hurried off. She stopped a few paces away and turned round. “Don’t worry, David,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye on Vincent.”

Over by the tent, Vincent glanced suddenly toward them. Had he overheard what she had just said?

But then Mr. Helliwell reached David, still pushing his father in the wheelchair.

“An excellent school,” Mr. Eliot was saying. “I am most impressed. Of course, it is a little unnatural for boys and girls to be here together. At Beton College, where I went, there were only boys. In fact, even the headmaster’s wife was a boy. But I suppose that’s progress . . .”

“Absolutely.” Mr. Helliwell smiled politely. “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .” The teacher hurried off toward the tent.

Mr. Eliot turned to his son. “Well, David,” he said. “I can see it was a good decision to send you here.”

“Your father does make wonderful decisions,” Mrs. Eliot agreed.

“I have suggested to Mr. Helliwell a little more use of the cane,” Mr. Eliot went on. He nodded to himself. “What I always say is that a good beating never hurt anyone.”

Mrs. Eliot frowned. “But, darling, if it didn’t hurt, how could it be a good beating?”

“No, my love. What I mean is—”

But before Mr. Eliot could either explain or demonstrate what he meant, a bell rang. The prize-giving was about to begin.

Mr. and Mrs. Eliot, Mildred and David joined the other parents. What with the narrow entrance and the number of people trying to get in, it was another quarter of an hour before they finally took their places. David looked around him, at the rows of seats stretched out underneath the canvas and the platform raised at the far end with the staff of Groosham Grange taking their places along it. He saw Vincent, sitting on his own. Then Mr. Kilgraw stood up and everyone hushed.

But already there was something wrong. David looked one way, then another. Something had caught his eye. What was it? And then he saw, right at the back, near the entrance, an empty seat.

Mr. Kilgraw had begun to speak, but David didn’t hear a word. He was scanning the audience, searching through the faces, the boys and the girls, the teachers and the parents . . .

But she wasn’t there. The empty seat.

Jill had promised to keep an eye on Vincent. Vincent had overheard her. And now Jill had disappeared.

G
ood afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Kilgraw began. The flaps had been drawn across the tent to protect him from the sun, but just to be safe he was also wearing a slightly incongruous straw hat. “Welcome to Groosham Grange on this, our annual prize-giving day. May I begin by apologizing on behalf of the heads, Mr. Fitch and Mr. Teagle, who are unable to attend today. Mr. Fitch has yellow fever. Mr. Teagle has scarlet fever. If they get too close to each other, they go a nasty shade of orange.

“This has been a very successful year for Groosham Grange. Some might even say a magical year. I am pleased to tell you that our new biology laboratory has been built by workmen who were actually created in our old biology laboratory. Well done, eleventh graders! Our Ecology Club has been busy and we now have our own Tropical Rain Forest on the south side of the island. Congratulations also to the Drama Club. They really brought
Frankenstein
to life. So, for that matter, did our physics class.

“It’s not all work at Groosham Grange, of course. Our French class visited France. Our Ancient Greek class visited Ancient Greece. A school inspector visited us. And if you happen to pass through the cemetery, I hope you’ll visit him. As usual, our staff has made many sacrifices. I would like to thank them and I ought also to thank the sacrifices . . .”

David found it hard to concentrate on what Mr. Kilgraw was saying. He was sitting between his mother and father. Aunt Mildred, who was next to Edward Eliot, had already fallen asleep and was whistling softly through her nose. David was in the middle of the tent, completely surrounded by parents: bald parents, fat parents, parents with red veins in their noses and wax in their ears, parents in expensive jewelry and expensive suits. He felt as if he was drowning in parents. Was this what he would be like one day? It was a horrible thought.

And it didn’t make it any easier to think. David knew that the next few minutes would be critical. Once Vincent had the Unholy Grail, anything could happen. How would Vincent get the Grail off the island? Would he carry it himself, slipping away with the crowd? Or would he pass it to someone in the crowd—and if so, who? And what about Jill? David wanted to get up and look for her now, but he knew that he couldn’t. He was too close to Vincent. He was trapped.

“At Groosham Grange there is only one winner,” Mr. Kilgraw was saying. “And there is only one prize . . .”

David turned his attention back to the platform and saw that the assistant headmaster was holding something in his hands. Even from this distance he knew what it was. For the parents—bored and beginning to fidget—it was no more than a silver chalice decorated with red stones. But for David, the Unholy Grail seemed to glow with a light of its own. He could feel it reaching out to him. He had never wanted anything so much in his entire life.

“It is the school’s most valued trophy,” Mr. Kilgraw went on. “In fact you could say that without it there would be no Groosham Grange. Every year it is presented to the student whose work, whose general behavior and whose overall contribution to school life has put him or her at the top of the class. This year, the contest was particularly close . . .”

Was David imagining it or did Mr. Kilgraw search him out, his eyes glittering as they locked into David’s? It was almost a challenge. For the space of a heartbeat the two of them were alone beneath the canvas. The parents had gone. Vincent had gone. And David’s hands twitched, reaching out to take what was rightfully his.

Then it was over.

“. . . but it gives me great pleasure to announce that the winner, our most distinguished pupil is—Vincent King!”

David reluctantly joined in the general applause, at the same time trying to smile. Vincent stood up and went onto the stage. He shook hands with Mr. Kilgraw. Mr. Kilgraw muttered a few words. Vincent took the Grail and sat down again. The applause died away. And that was it. The Unholy Grail was his.

Mr. Kilgraw spoke for another five minutes and David counted every one of them. The prize-giving might be over, but he knew that his work was only beginning. Whatever happened, he intended to stick close to Vincent—and to the Grail. He would just have to worry about Jill later.

But it wasn’t as easy as David had hoped. As soon as Mr. Kilgraw had finished his speech, everyone stood up at once in a rush for the sherry and sausage rolls that Gregor and Mrs. Windergast were serving at the back of the tent. At the same time, Vincent was surrounded by people, examining the Grail and congratulating him, and it was as much as David could do to keep sight of him at all.

Worse than that, he still had his parents to deal with. Mr. Eliot was in a bad mood. “I am disappointed,” he was saying as he tore a sausage roll into shreds. “I wish I wasn’t your father, to be frank. In fact I wish I was Frank’s father. He won three prizes at Beton College.”

“I just hope the neighbors don’t find out,” Mrs. Eliot wept, gnawing at her fingers. “My own son! I can’t bear it! We’ll have to move. I’ll change my name. I’ll have plastic surgery . . .”

Aunt Mildred nodded in agreement. “My neighbor’s children won
lots
of prizes,” she announced. “But then, of course, they have a Japanese au pair . . .”

David craned his neck, searching for a gap between the three of them. The crowd that had formed around Vincent had separated again and suddenly Vincent had gone. David wasn’t sure how he’d done it. But he had left the tent.

Then Gregor limped over to them with a tray of food. “Sumfink tweet?” he gurgled.

“What?” Aunt Mildred asked.

“He’s asking if you want something to eat,” David translated. He glanced at the tray. “It’s toad-in-the-hole,” he said. “And I think Gregor’s used real toads.”

“I think it’s time we went,” Mildred whispered, going rather green.

Ten minutes later, David saw his parents into the car that would take them back down to the jetty and the boat.

“Good-bye, David,” his father said. “I’m afraid I have not enjoyed seeing you. I can see now that your mother and I have always spoiled you.”

“We ruined you,” Mrs. Eliot wept. Her makeup was flowing in rivers down her cheeks.

“I blame myself,” Mr. Eliot went on. “I should have beaten you more. My father beat me every day of my life. He used to buy cane furniture so that he could beat me with the chairs when he wasn’t sitting on them. He knew a thing or two about discipline.
Whack! Whack! Whack!
That’s all boys understand. Start at the bottom, that’s what I say . . .”

“Don’t excite yourself, dear,” Mrs. Eliot murmured.

Just then Aunt Mildred came running up to the car. “Sorry I’m late,” she whined in her thin, nasal voice. “I couldn’t find my handbag. Bye bye, dear.” She pecked David on the cheek. “Do come and visit me in Margate soon.” She got into the car, heaving her handbag onto her lap. “I’m sure it wasn’t as heavy as this when I set out this morning,” she prattled on. “I can’t think how I lost it. That nice teacher found it for me. Honestly, I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t . . .”

She was still talking when Gregor started the car and they rattled off down the hill. David watched them until they were out of sight. Then he set off in the direction of the school.

Where could Vincent have gone?

David’s first thought was the jetty, but he decided not to go down there yet. He didn’t want to follow his parents and the more he thought about it the less likely it was that Vincent would try to stow away on the boat. Captain Bloodbath was too careful—and anyway, it would be far easier to give the Grail to someone else and let them carry it for him. Vincent had to be somewhere in the school. David would find him and confront him with what he knew. But he had to move fast.

First he checked the tent. The parents were starting to thin out, a few clusters of them still chatting with the staff, the rest walking with their sons and daughters toward the jetty. Mr. Kilgraw had left. He would have gone inside to escape the sunlight. Mrs. Windergast was still there, clearing away the food, and David went over to her.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Have you seen Vincent?”

The matron smiled at him. “Not for a while, my dear. I suppose you want to congratulate him.”

“Not exactly.” David left the tent.

In the next half hour he tried the library, the dormitory, the dining room, the hallways and the classrooms. He looked into the heads’ study and Mr. Kilgraw’s study. Both rooms were empty. Then he tried the cemetery at the edge of the wood. There was no sign of Vincent.

David walked back to the school, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Everything felt wrong. It was about two o’clock and the sun was shining, but there was no warmth in the air, and no breeze, not even the faintest whisper of one. The light hitting the school was hard, unsparing. It was as if he had stepped out of real life and into a photograph, as if he were the only living thing.

He heard a sound high up, a faint rattling. He looked up, then blinked as something hit him on the side of the cheek. He rubbed the skin with the tips of his fingers. He had been hit by a pebble and a scattering of dust, but he was unhurt. He squinted up in the direction of the sound. One wall of Groosham Grange loomed high above him, a gray gargoyle jutting out at the corner. There was a crack in the brickwork. It was only a small crack, zigzagging horizontally under the gargoyle, but David was sure it hadn’t been there before. It looked too fresh, the edges pink against the gray surface of the bricks. It was no more than four inches long. It was a crack, that was all.

But even as David lowered his head there was another soft rattle and a second shower of dust. He looked up again and saw that the crack had lengthened, curving up around the gargoyle. At the same time a second crack had formed a few inches below. Even as he watched, a few pieces of mortar detached themselves from the wall and tumbled down to the earth below. And now there were three cracks, the longest about six feet and perhaps a half inch wide. The gargoyle was surrounded by them. Its bulging eyes and twisted mouth almost looked afraid.

Suddenly David knew. He remembered the verse:

The disappearance of Groosham Grange had begun.

The question was, had Vincent gone with it? David knew that he had to find the other boy fast. How far away was Canterbury? He had no doubt that the Grail was already on its way there. Perhaps it was already too late.

But with the onrush of panic came another thought. He had forgotten to look in the one place where he was most likely to find Vincent, the one place that had been tied in with the mystery from the start: the East Tower. Even if the Grail had gone, Vincent might be hiding out there, and if he could just find Vincent, he might yet be able to recapture the Grail. David broke into a run. As he went, a fourth, larger crack opened up in the wall just beside his head.