Return to Groosham Grange (11 page)

He reached the door of the tower and without stopping to think, kicked it open and ran in. After the brightness of the afternoon light, the darkness inside the building was total. For about five seconds David was completely blind and in that time he realized three things.

First, that Vincent had been there recently. There was a smell in the air, the same smell that David had noticed the night he had nearly been killed.

Second, that he should have gone in more cautiously and allowed his eyes time to get used to the darkness.

And third, that he was not alone.

The hand that reached out and grabbed him by the throat was invisible. Before he could utter a sound, a second hand clamped itself over his mouth. This hand was holding a pad of material soaked in something that smelled of rotting fruit and alcohol. And as David choked and struggled and slipped into unconsciousness, he thought to himself that the hand was very big, surely far too big to belong to Vincent.

But if it wasn’t Vincent, who on earth could it be?

D
avid’s arms, wrists and shoulders were hurting. It was the pain that woke him—that and someone calling his name. He opened his eyes and found himself hunched up on the floor with his back against the wall of a room that he recognized. He was in the upper chamber of the East Tower. Somebody had knocked him out, carried him upstairs, tied him up and left him there.

But who?

All along he had been certain that Vincent King was his secret enemy and that it had been Vincent who was plotting to steal the Grail. Now, at last, he knew that he had been wrong. For there was Vincent right opposite him, also tied up, his hair for once in disarray and an ugly bruise on the side of his face. Jill was sitting next to him, in a similar state. She was the one calling to him.

David straightened himself. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m awake.”

He tried to separate his wrists but it was impossible. They were tied securely behind his back with some sort of rough rope. He could feel it cutting into his flesh and it was as much as he could do to wiggle his fingers. He pushed himself farther up against the wall, using the heel of his shoe against the rough flagstones. “Just give me a few seconds,” he said. He shut his eyes again and whispered the first few words of a spell that would bring a minor Persian demon to his assistance.

“Forget it,” Vincent cut in, and David stopped in surprise. The other boy had hardly ever talked to him. Usually they did their best to avoid each other. But now it seemed that they were on the same side. Even so, Vincent sounded tired and defeated. “If you’re trying some magic, it won’t work,” he said. “I’ve already tried.”

“Look at the door,” Jill said.

David twisted his head around uncomfortably. There was a shape painted on the closed door. It looked like an eye with a wavy line through it.

“It’s the eye of Horus,” Vincent said. “It creates a magical barrier. It means—”

“—it means we can’t use our powers,” David concluded. He nodded. “I know.”

Gritting his teeth, he seesawed his wrists together, trying to loosen the rope. It cost him a few inches of skin and gave him little in return. His hands had rotated and his palms could meet. He might have been able to pick up something if there was anything in the tower to pick up. But that was all.

He gave up. “Who did this?” he asked.

Vincent shook his head. “I don’t know. I never saw them.”

“Me neither,” Jill added. “I was following Vincent like you said. But just before the prize-giving started, I decided to take a quick look in here. Someone must have been waiting. I didn’t see anything.”

“Neither did I,” David muttered gloomily.

“Why
were
you following me?” Vincent asked.

Jill jerked her head in David’s direction. She was unable to keep a sour tone out of her voice. “He thought you were going to steal the Grail.”

Vincent nodded briefly. “That figures,” he muttered.

“I knew
someone
was going to steal the Grail,” David said. He was blushing again. He had been wrong from the start, horribly wrong, and his mistake could end up killing all of them. He thought back now, remembering everything that had happened. And the words poured out. “I was set up that night in the heads’ study. I wasn’t trying to steal the exam. And I did know what
thanatomania
means. Somebody stole part of my answer. And what about the waxworks? Okay—maybe it wasn’t you who sent them after me, but I wasn’t making it up. Somebody stole the statuette so that you could win.” David realized he wasn’t making much sense. He slumped back into silence.

“Is that why you were against me from the start?” Vincent asked.

“I wasn’t . . .”

“You never gave me a chance.”

David knew it was true. He wasn’t blushing because he had been wrong but because he had been cruel and stupid. He had thought the worst of Vincent for the simple reason that he didn’t like him, and he didn’t like him because the two of them had been in competition. Vincent was right. David had never given him a chance. They had been enemies from the start.

“How was I to know?” David muttered. “I didn’t know you—”

“You never asked,” Vincent said. There was a pause and he went on. “I didn’t want to come here,” he said. “I didn’t have any parents. My dad left when I was a kid and my mother didn’t want to know. They put me in an institution . . . St. Elizabeth’s in Sourbridge. It was horrible. Then I got moved here.” He took a deep breath. “I thought I’d be happy at Groosham Grange, especially when I found out what was really going on. All I wanted was to be one of you, to be accepted. I didn’t even care about the Unholy Grail.”

“I’m sorry . . .” David had never felt more ashamed.

“I did try to be friends with you, but everything I did just made it worse.” He sighed. “Why did you think it was me? Why me?”

“I don’t know.” David thought back. “I saw you coming out of the tower,” he said, knowing how lame it sounded. “And that night, when I was caught looking at the exam papers . . . did you come here then?”

Vincent nodded. “Yes.”

“Why?”

Vincent thought for a moment, then answered. “I smoke,” he said. “I started smoking cigarettes when I was at Sourbridge and I’ve never given up.”

“Smoking!” David remembered the smell. He had come across it twice, but he hadn’t recognized it: stale tobacco smoke. “I don’t believe it!” he said. “Smoking is crazy. It kills you. How can you be so stupid?”

“You’ve been pretty stupid too,” Jill muttered.

David fell silent. “Yes,” he agreed.

Vincent struggled with his ropes. “I suppose it’s a little late now to think about giving up.”

The words were no sooner spoken than there was a distant rumble, soft and low at first but building up to a sudden crash. David looked out of the window. The sky was gray, but it wasn’t the color of nightfall. It was an ugly, electric gray, somehow unnatural. There was a storm closing in on Skrull Island, and sitting high up in the tower, right in the middle of it, he felt very uncomfortable indeed.

“I think—” he began.

He got no further. The whole tower suddenly trembled as if hit by a shock wave and at the same moment Jill cried out. A great chunk of wall right next to her simply fell away, leaving a gap above her head. Outside, the air swirled around in a dark vortex and rushed into the room. There was a second crash of thunder. The chamber shook again and a crack appeared in the floor between David and Vincent, the heavy flagstones ripping apart as if they were made of paper.

“What’s happening?” Jill cried.

“The Grail’s left the island,” David shouted. “It’s the end . . .”

“What are we going to do?” Vincent said.

David glanced at the door, at the symbol painted in white on the woodwork. Even if he could have reached the eye of Horus, he would have been unable to rub it out. But while it was there, there was no chance of any magic. If they were going to escape, they would have to use their own resources. He searched the floor, trying not to look at the crack. There were no broken bottles, no rusty nails, nothing that would cut through the rope. Opposite him, Vincent was struggling feverishly. He had worked his hands loose, but his wrists were still securely tied.

A third crash of thunder. This time it was the roof that was hit. As Jill screamed and rolled onto her side to protect herself, two wooden rafters crashed down, followed by what felt like a ton of dust and rubble. Vincent completely disappeared from sight and for a moment David thought he had been crushed. But then Vincent coughed and staggered onto his knees, still fighting with his ropes.

“The whole place is falling apart!” Jill shouted. “How high up are we?”

“Too high up,” David shouted back. The crack in the floor had widened again. Quite soon the entire thing would give way and all three of them would fall into a tunnel of broken stone and brickwork with certain death six hundred feet below.

Then he had a thought. “Vincent!” he called out. “After the prize-giving you came in here to have a cigarette.”

“Yes,” Vincent admitted. “But don’t tell me it’s bad for my health. Not now!”

“You’ve got cigarettes on you?”

“David, this is no time to take it up,” Jill wailed.

“Yes,” Vincent said.

“What were you going to light them with?”

Vincent understood at once. For the first time, David found himself admiring the other boy and knew that if only they’d been working together from the start, none of this would have happened. Contorting his body, Vincent spilled the contents of his pockets onto the floor—a handful of coins, a pen, a cigarette lighter.

Moving with his hands tied behind his back wasn’t easy. First he had to turn himself around, then grope behind him to pick up the lighter. At the same time, David shuffled across the floor, pushing himself with his feet. He stopped at the crack, feeling the floor move. Jill cried out a warning. David threw himself forward. The thunder reverberated all around—closer this time—and a whole section of the floor, the section where David had just been sitting, fell away leaving a jagged black hole. David crashed down, almost dislocating his shoulder. Far below, he heard the flagstones shatter at the bottom of the tower and breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t fallen with them.

“Hurry!” Vincent urged him.

Bruised and aching, David maneuvered himself so that he was back to back with the other boy. For her part, Jill had edged closer to them. The whole chamber was breaking up. Nowhere was safe. But if one of them went, they would all go. There was some sort of comfort in that.

“This is going to hurt,” Vincent said.

“Do it,” David said.

Fumbling with his fingers, afraid he would drop it, Vincent flicked the lighter on. He had to work blind, sitting with his back to David, and there was no time to be careful. David felt the flame of the lighter sear the inside of his wrist and shouted out in pain.

“I’m sorry . . .” Vincent began.

“It’s not your fault. Just keep going.”

Vincent flicked the lighter back on, trying to direct the flame to where he thought the ropes must be. The wind was rushing into the chamber through the holes in the wall and ceiling. David could hear it racing around the tower. He winced as the lighter burned him once again, but this time he didn’t cry out. He was grateful the flame hadn’t blown out.

More brickwork fell. Jill had gone white and David thought she was going to faint, but then he saw that falling plaster had covered her from head to toe. Jill wasn’t the fainting sort. “I can smell burning,” she said. “It must be the rope.”

“Unless it’s me,” David muttered.

He was straining his arms, trying to avoid the flame. It felt like he had been sitting there forever. But then there was a jerk and his hands parted. Another few seconds and he was standing up, free, the two ends of the singed rope hanging from his wrists. Next, he released Vincent. The cigarette lighter had badly burned the other boy’s thumb and the side of his hand. David could see the red marks. But Vincent hadn’t complained.

Then it was Jill’s turn. With Vincent’s help, the ropes came away quickly and then the three of them were racing across the floor even as it fell away beneath them. Soon there would be nothing left of the tower. It was as if there were some invisible creature inside the storm, devouring the stone and mortar.

David reached the door first. It was unlocked. Whoever had tied them up had been confident about their knots. Clinging to Jill, with Vincent right behind him, David made his way down the spiral staircase. About halfway down, two more flagstones fell past, narrowly missing them before shattering with an explosive crash. But the lower parts of the tower were holding up. The farther they went, the safer they became. They reached the bottom unharmed.

But when they emerged into the open air, everything had changed.

Skrull Island was black, lashed by a stinging acid rain. The clouds writhed and boiled like something in a witch’s cauldron. The wind stabbed at them, hurling torn plants and grass into their faces. There was nobody in sight. To one side, the cemetery looked wild and derelict with several of its gravestones on their sides. Groosham Grange itself looked dark and dismal, like some abandoned factory. A latticework of cracks had spread across it. Many of its windows had been smashed. The ivy had been torn away and hung down, a tangled mess. There was a flash of lightning and one of the gargoyles separated from the wall, launching itself into the blackness of the sky with an explosion of broken plaster.

“The Grail . . .” Vincent began.

“It’s begun its journey south,” David shouted. “If it reaches Canterbury, that’ll be it . . . !”

“But who took it?” Jill demanded. “If it wasn’t Vincent, who was it?”

“And what can we do?” Vincent held up a hand to protect his eyes from the hurtling wind. “We’ve got to get it back . . . !”