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He looked back. Jeffrey and William were far behind. Vincent had overtaken Jill and was only about fifty feet away. With his attention on the other boy, David almost ran straight into the giant spiderweb that was the next obstacle. It had been spun between two trees, almost invisible until you were in it, and David had to twist desperately to avoid the threads. Even so, a single strand—thick and sticky—caught his arm and he had to waste precious seconds tearing it free. Somehow, though, he managed to get through. He tumbled to the ground, somersaulted forward, then got up and ran.

“Come on, Vincent! You can do it!”

David knew that there were as many people cheering him as there were Vincent. But it still irritated him to hear Vincent’s name being called out by his friends. His anger spurred him on and he easily cleared the six hurdles ahead of him without even thinking about the ten thousand volts of electricity to which they were connected. That just left the bottomless pit with two narrow planks to carry the runners on to the end.

His foot hit the left plank. It was less than three inches wide and bent slightly as it took his weight. David swayed as he fought to regain his balance and that was when he made his second mistake. He looked down. The pit ran all the way through the center of the earth and out the other side. One slip and he would find himself in New Zealand. David had never been fond of heights and right now he was suspended over what looked like an impossible elevator shaft, though without the advantage of an elevator. Again he had to waste time fighting off the rush of dizziness and nausea. And that was when Vincent overtook him.

David didn’t even see the other boy. He was aware only of a shape rushing past him on the other plank. Biting his lip, he forced himself forward. Ten steps, the wooden surface bouncing and bending underneath him, and then he had reached the other side with Vincent between him and the finishing line. Meanwhile, Jill had caught up. She had taken the same plank as David and she was so close that he could almost feel her breath on the back of his neck.

With one last effort, David pushed ahead. The red tape that would end the race was fifty yards ahead. Vincent was just in front of him. The cheering spectators were on both sides, Mr. Kilgraw holding a stopwatch, Mr. Fitch and Mr. Teagle applauding and Mrs. Windergast giving mouth-to-mouth to the injured crow.

David didn’t know what he was going to do until he did it. He was still holding the strand of spiderweb, and with a flick of his hand, he threw it in front of him. Even if anyone had been close enough to see what he had done, it might have looked like an accident, as if he had just been trying to get rid of it. The piece of web twisted around Vincent’s left ankle and hooked itself over his right foot. It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it made him stumble, and at that exact moment David overtook him and with a final gasp felt the tape of the finish line break over his chest.

It was over. He had won.

The entire school went crazy. Everyone was yelling now. David collapsed onto the soft grass and rolled onto his back, while the clouds, the people and the fluttering tape spun around him. Vincent thudded to a halt, his hands on his thighs, panting. Jill had come in third, William fourth. Jeffrey had managed to get himself stuck in the web and was still hanging in the air some distance behind.

“Well done, David!” Mr. Creer was standing by the finish line with a ghost of a smile on his lips. But all his smiles were quite naturally ghostly. “Well run!”

David had beaten Vincent, but he felt no pleasure. As he got to his feet, he was ashamed of himself. He had cheated in front of the entire school, he knew it, and it only made him feel worse when Vincent came over to him with an outstretched hand.

“Good race,” Vincent said.

“Thanks.” David took the hand, wishing he could undo what he had just done but knowing that it was too late.

He turned to find Jill looking at him strangely. Of course, she had been closest to him when it happened. If anyone could have seen what he’d done, it would have been her. But what would she do? Would she tell?

“Jill . . .” he began.

But she had already turned her back on him and now she walked away.

D
avid was sitting on a long, rocky outcrop, with the cliffs rising up behind him and the sea lapping at his feet. It was one of his favorite places on Skrull Island. He loved the sound of the waves, the emptiness of the horizon, with the great bulk of the Norfolk coastline a gray haze somewhere beyond. He would sit here with the wind rushing at his cheeks and the taste of sea spray on his lips. This was where he came to think.

Twenty-four hours had passed since Sports Day and the excitement of the obstacle course, and in all that time his mood hadn’t changed. He was depressed, disappointed with himself. There had been no need to win the race. There were no prizes or cups given out on Sports Day. So what reason did he have to cheat?

“Vincent King . . .” he muttered to himself.

“What about him?”

He looked around and saw Jill Green walking toward him. She had changed as much as he had in the year she had been at Groosham Grange. She was quieter, more relaxed . . . and prettier. With her long dark hair and pale skin, she looked rather like a young witch, which was, of course, exactly what she was.

She sat down next to him. “I can’t believe what you did yesterday,” she said.

“You saw . . .”

“Yes.”

“I was stupid.” David was glad she had brought up the subject even though he was almost too ashamed to talk about it. “I didn’t mean to do it.” He sighed. “But I couldn’t let him win. I just couldn’t. I don’t know why.”

“You don’t like him.”

“No.”

“But why not? Vincent’s bright. He’s popular. And he’s very good-looking.”

“That’s why I don’t like him,” David said. He thought for a minute. “He’s too perfect altogether. If you ask me, there’s something funny about him.”

“And if you ask me,” Jill said, “you’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” David picked up a loose stone and threw it into the sea. He waited until it had disappeared, then reached out with one hand. The stone rocketed out of the water and slapped itself back into his palm. He handed it to Jill.

“Very clever,” she muttered sourly.

“Why should I be jealous of Vincent?” David said. “If you’re talking about the Unholy Grail, he hasn’t got a chance.”

“He’s only thirty points behind you. He could still catch up.”

There were just two weeks until October 31—Halloween—the most important day in the school’s calendar. For this was when the Unholy Grail would be presented to the new Student Master. Throughout the year, all the marks from all the exams had been added up and published on a standings list that hung on a wall outside the heads’ study. David had been top of the list from the start.

But Vincent had risen so fast that his name was now only one below David’s, and although everyone agreed the distance between them was too great, nothing was ever certain, particularly in a school like Groosham Grange. There was, after all, one exam still to go—Advanced Cursing. And David had to remember, it was also possible to lose points. You could have them deducted for bad behavior, for being late . . . and for being caught cheating in a Sports Day race.

“Do you like him?” David asked.

“Yes.”

“Do you have a crush on him?”

“That’s none of your business.” Jill sighed. “Why are you so bothered about him?”

“I don’t know.” David shivered. The waves were whispering to him, he was sure of it. But he couldn’t understand what they were saying. His hand felt cold where it had touched the stone. “There’s something wrong about him,” he said. “Something phony. I can feel it.”

In the distance, a bell rang. It was a quarter to four, almost time for the last two classes of the day: French with Monsieur Leloup, then general witchcraft with Mrs. Windergast. David wasn’t looking forward to French. He was almost fluent in Latin and spoke passable Ancient Egyptian, but he couldn’t understand the point of learning modern languages. “After all,” he often said, “I can summon up fourteen demons and two demigods in Egyptian, but what can I ask for in French? A plate of cheese!” Nonetheless, Groosham Grange insisted on teaching the full range of academic and college-prep subjects as well as its own more specialized ones. And there were serious punishments if you traveled forward in time just to miss the next class.

“We’d better move,” he said.

Jill took hold of his arm. “David,” she said. “Promise me you won’t cheat again. I mean, it’s not like you . . .”

David looked straight into her eyes. “I promise.”

Ahead of them, Groosham Grange rose into sight. Even after a year on the island, David still found the school building rather grim. Sometimes it looked like a castle, sometimes more like a haunted house. At night, with the moon sinking behind its great towers to the east and west, it could have been an asylum for the criminally insane. The windows were barred, the doors so thick that when they slammed you could hear them a mile away. And yet David liked it—that was the strange thing. Once it had been new and strange and frightening. Now it was his home.

“Are your parents coming?” Jill asked.

“What?”

“In two weeks’ time. For prize-giving.”

David had hardly seen Edward and Eileen Eliot since the day he had started at Groosham Grange. Parents very rarely came to the school. But as it happened, he had received a letter from his father just a few days before:

And that was where it ended. The page had been torn neatly in two.

“Yes. They’re coming,” David said. “How about yours?”

“No.” Jill shook her head. Her father was a diplomat and her mother an actress, so she hardly ever saw either of them. “Dad’s in Argentina and Mom’s acting in
The Cherry Orchard.”

“Has she got a good part?”

“She’s playing one of the cherries.”

They had reached the school now. Jill glanced at her watch. “It’s two minutes to four,” she said. “We’re going to be late.”

“You go ahead,” David muttered.

“Cheer up, David.” Jill started forward, then turned her head. “You’re probably right. You’ll win the Grail. There’s nothing to worry about.”

David watched her go, then turned off, making his way around the East Tower and on through the school’s own private cemetery. It was a shortcut he often used. But now, just as he reached the first grave, he stopped. Before he knew what he was doing, he had crouched down behind a gravestone, all other thoughts having emptied out of his head.

Slowly, he peered over the top. A door had opened at the side of the school. There was nothing strange about that except that the door was always locked. It led into a small antechamber in the East Tower. From there, a stone staircase spiraled more than five hundred feet up to a completely circular room at the top. Nobody ever went into the East Tower. There was nothing downstairs and the old, crumbling stairway was supposedly too dangerous to climb. The whole place was off-limits. But somebody was about to come out. Who?

A few seconds later the question was answered as a boy stepped out, looking cautiously about him. David recognized him at once: his blond hair thrown back in a fancy wave across his forehead and his piercing blue eyes, which were now narrow and guarded. Vincent King had been up to something in the East Tower and he didn’t want anyone to know about it. Without turning back, he pulled the door shut behind him, then hurried away in the direction of the school.

David waited a few moments before rising from behind the gravestone. He was going to be late for his French class and he knew it would get him into trouble, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. What had Vincent been doing inside? He started forward. The tower rose up in front of him, half strangled by the ivy that twisted around it. He could just make out the slit of a window beneath the battlements. Was it just a trick of the light or was something moving behind it? Had Vincent been meeting someone high up in the circular room?

He reached out for the door.

But then a hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him around as somebody lurched at him, appearing from nowhere. David caught his breath. Then he relaxed. It was only Gregor, the school porter.

Even so, anyone else being stopped by such a creature on the edge of a cemetery would probably have had a heart attack. Gregor was like something out of a horror film, his neck broken and his skin like moldy cheese. At least the javelin had been removed from his back, although he evidently hadn’t changed his shirt. David could still see the hole where the javelin had gone in.

“Vareyoo goink, young master?” Gregor asked in his strange, gurgling voice. Gregor chewed on his words like raw meat. He also chewed raw meat. His table manners were so disgusting that he was usually made to eat under the table.

“I was just . . .” David wasn’t sure what to say.

“Butzee classes, young master. Yoom issink zee lovely classes. You shoot be hurrink in.” Gregor moved so that he stood between David and the door to the tower.

“Hold on, Gregor,” David began. “I just need a few minutes—”

“No minutes.” Gregor lurched from one foot to the other, his hands hanging down to his knees. “Is bad marks for missink classes. And too many bad marks and there izno Unnerly Grail for the young master. Yes! Gregor knows . . .”

“What do you know, Gregor?” Suddenly David was suspicious. It was almost as if Gregor had been waiting for him at the tower. Had he seen Vincent coming out? And why had he suddenly mentioned the Grail? There was certainly more to this than met the eye . . . which, in Gregor’s case, was about an inch below his other eye.