Second Night (6 page)

‘I want him where we can keep better control over him,' said Charles bluntly.

‘That is understandable, but I think you may find him rather more difficult to control than you imagine. More to the point, he cannot be relied upon to respect my leadership.'

Charles sighed. ‘We should have put him to the oath two years ago.'

‘As I previously proposed, even urged upon Council, but you will recall that he was generally considered to be too young to embrace such a move at that time.'

‘You were younger.'

‘I was indeed, but my circumstances were radically different. I had been brought up in an atmosphere of learning where the oath was a natural progression in my personal experience. I must tell you directly that I foresee no small difficulty in persuading this young man to pledge himself as we would require.'

‘As we will insist,' corrected Charles. ‘We have no choice, Jonas. He must join us in Council before the next vigil. Otherwise I see a very real danger of jeopardising all that has been achieved. We cannot risk any possibility of defeat due to carelessness.'

Sir Jonas studied a photograph of Caz riding Bryn that Maddie had pinned on the wall behind the desk. Kyri had been only a few months old when it was taken. She ran free beside her mother, her coat a dark iron-grey, the white star on her forehead still clearly defined.

So much has been gained and already lost,
he thought.
Charles is right, there is no other choice. For the present, by fault of circumstance or some greater plan, the boy is Valkyrjan's accepted rider and allowances must be made.

‘Very well,' he said at length. ‘However, I'm sure you will agree that our traditional practice of inheritance of artefacts should be ruled out in this case.'

‘Obviously.'

‘Then I will notify Guardian Armourer to prepare the articles for initiation. Guardian Archivist will be also instructed. The scroll and all related objects must be removed from the corridor as soon as possible. As for the procedure involving the extension of the invitation to the candidate, I will reflect upon it without delay. I look forward to our meeting at the end of the month, Charles. I bid you good morning.'

‘And a very,' Charles Fordham-Marshall heard the line click, ‘good morning to you too, Jonas,' he finished, wondering how many years had passed since they had last spoken together on the telephone and realising, surprisingly, that he had never kept a record of it.

Greatly relieved, Sir Jonas wiped his brow with his pocket-handkerchief. He adjusted the eyepatch and straightened his cravat.

I must make a note of Charles's number and keep it to hand in the study should a future and equally important need arise. In the meantime this infernal room shall no longer play host to the dreadful infection of my father's bitterness. That evil can, and will, be purged.

The blue eye gleamed. He stood up brandishing his walking stick, fervent with decision. ‘The hour of bell, book and candle is upon us. The agent of exorcism must be summoned and no ghost can prevail against the coming of his particular wrath!' he declared confidently, striding back to the kitchen where Daisy was preparing his morning tea.

‘I'm just doing the tray. I'll be along directly,' she said.

‘Thank you, Madame Marguerite.' He cleared his throat and coughed. ‘Eh, to the best of your knowledge, has Mister Jasper ever expressed any particular affinity with the process of the successful application of paint?'

‘Paint!' Daisy could not keep the incredulity out of her voice. ‘What sort of paint?'

‘House paint, Madame Marguerite!' he replied firmly. ‘The office is long overdue for refurbishment.'

Daisy dropped down into the nearest chair and put her hand to her forehead. ‘You want Jasper to redecorate the office?'

‘Indeed I do.'

‘Don't you think this is a job for the professionals, sir?' she asked.

‘Absolutely not! We have no need for such extravagant intrusion! I am confident that Mister Jasper's unique style of self-determination will more than compensate for any lack of experience. After all, Madame Marguerite, there is only so much even he can find to do with a paintbrush, other than to aim it at the wall.'

Daisy looked doubtful. ‘You're probably right, technically speaking.'

He must be sickening for something,
she decided.
He does seem a bit flushed. Maybe he's had a queer turn, like his mother did just before she died. She didn't make any sense either. We'd better get the doctor in to have a look at him.

Sir Jonas beamed. ‘Excellent! I knew you would agree with me. I would be obliged if you would inform both Mister John and Mister Alan that I wish them to start clearing out the furniture immediately after lunch this afternoon. Mister John must bring samples of the paint we have in stock to the study as soon as he comes in.'

Daisy stared at him, totally bewildered. ‘But we don't have any house paint in stock. The last of it was thirty years old and set solid as stone in the cans when we cleared it out of the shed.'

‘Then we must purchase some more without delay.' The blue eye twinkled. ‘And perhaps Madame Madeleine could be prevailed upon to provide me with the appropriate catalogue so that I may be better informed as to what is considered suitable décor in an office these days.'

CHAPTER 7

Lauren peeped through the classroom door to make sure she had found the right place. The teacher came up behind her.

‘Are you the new girl?' he asked.

She nodded.

He checked his list. ‘Lauren?'

‘That's me.'

‘Have you been provided with books?'

She indicated the bag on her shoulder. ‘Hundreds.'

‘Well, come along then and we'll get you settled,' he said briskly.

She pointed to the bench beside the door. ‘Could I just sit out here for a couple more minutes, please? I'm a bit nauseous, still jetlagged I guess.'

‘You don't need to go and lie down?'

‘No, I'll be okay in a minute.'

‘Well, don't come in until you're sure.'

She hadn't totally lied. Jetlag had been a minor problem for the first few days while she and her parents were settling into the house they had rented until Christmas. She had thought she was over it, until her mother had had to shake her awake just before eight o'clock that morning. She got up dizzy and disoriented, but luckily no pale-faced wreck with bags under its eyes stared back at her from the bathroom mirror and she had arrived for her first day at the school looking none the worse for a bad night.

Nevertheless, just for a moment her eyes misted and made her head swim as Caz came slowly down the corridor, his book bag slung over his shoulder and a large thermos flask under his arm. He was reading a paper.

Lauren swallowed and stood up. ‘Hello, I'm Lauren. I just started here this morning.'

He glanced down at her. ‘Okay.'

‘And you're Caz.'

‘I know.'

‘Do you mind if I sit with you for class?'

‘Please yourself.'

The teacher was writing rapidly on the board. ‘Late again, Mister Wylde,' he remarked acidly, without turning round.

Caz sat down in one of the two empty seats at the front of the class. Jen nudged Bryony. Shriek nudged Gin. Lauren flushed triumphantly, aware of Melanie's eyes boring holes in her back as she sat beside Caz.

The teacher stood over them. ‘I see you have recovered, Lauren.'

She smiled up at him. ‘Yes, sir.'

He picked up the paper Caz had been reading and glanced at it briefly. ‘This has nothing to do with the subject of mathematics, Mister Wylde. I have come to appreciate that your willingness to apply your apparently superior mind to the pursuit of mathematics is limited but, in this case, if you will humour me, I will humour you. Is that understood?'

Caz did not reply. He leaned back in the chair and held out his hand. Irritated, the teacher slapped the paper down on the desk. A general titter went around the room. He spun around and glared at the class. The phone on the front table rang once. He swallowed an upsurge of impotent rage.

‘Page thirty-two!' he barked. ‘I will be back in exactly five minutes. Upon my return I will expect correct answers from all of you, beginning with Mister Wylde.'

The titter broke out into laughter and a rush of conversation. Gin saw Melanie take out her phone. Lauren opened the book and scanned the required page, writing rapidly. She handed her notes to Caz.

‘What's this?' he asked.

‘It's for when he comes back.'

‘He doesn't expect me to have the answers.'

‘So surprise him for once.'

Caz shrugged. ‘He's been around too long to appreciate surprises.'

‘You really don't like math, do you?'

‘I don't need it.'

He continued reading. She glanced at the impressively headed document:
The Northern Pantheon Institute of Academic Research, The Skaldic Poets, Paper Twelve.
As he turned the page, she noticed the peculiar white scar slashed across the palm of his left hand. It was deeply knotted at either end and completely smooth in the centre. His fingers were long and tapered, the tips slightly worn. Both hands were heavily calloused. His wrists looked abnormally strong and he had an unusual way of flexing his fingers when he was concentrating. She wondered what it would be like to be touched by hands like that.

‘I could help you,' she said brightly.

He did not look up. ‘Why?'

‘So you'd get better marks.'

‘Why would I want that?'

‘Because it would make math more fun.'

‘For you or for me?'

She looked at him from under her lashes. ‘For both of us. How about my place after school?'

‘I don't do maths after school.'

‘So what about lunch then?'

He didn't reply.

That was such a dumb thing to say
, she told herself. ‘I guess you don't do lunch either.'

He turned and looked her levelly. ‘You're picking me up, right?'

‘Yes. So when do we start?'

‘Monday, ten minutes to three in the coffee shop.'

‘That's very precise.'

‘It is.'

‘And it means we miss last class, right?'

‘We do.'

‘So what's wrong with today?'

‘You need time to think about picking me up.'

She looked at the clock on the wall. ‘I've already thought about it for nineteen hours and twenty-six minutes. Isn't that time enough?'

‘Monday, ten minutes to three in the coffee shop,' he repeated. ‘And as you're doing the picking up, you can buy the coffee.'

‘And you drink a lot.'

‘I do.'

‘That's okay, my dad does too.' She calculated rapidly. ‘So I've got another seventy-four and a half thinking hours then.'

‘If you say so.'

‘Can we talk before Monday? I mean, can I call you? Or do you want to call me?'

‘No one talks when they're thinking.'

‘So that means no then.'

‘That's the general idea.'

Caz carried on reading. The teacher returned. Lauren answered most of his questions.

‘I'll see that you are transferred to a more mathematically capable group, Lauren,' he remarked irritably, glaring once more at the pack of insufferable idiots it was his misfortune to have to endure at the end of a long and undistinguished career.

The lesson ended. Caz ignored Lauren and waited for Melanie to pick up her books.

‘Band practice,' she said solemnly, but her eyes were twinkling.

He nodded. ‘Red alert.'

CHAPTER 8

Jasper started work on the office that same afternoon, as soon as John had given him the news about the job. He looked around the room, scratching his head nervously, his usual confidence for once decidedly on the ebb.

‘How am I supposed to go about this, Al?’ he asked.

‘We’d best get the place cleared out first,’ Alan answered. He heaved one of the empty filing cabinets away from the wall, surprised at how heavy it was. ‘That’s a tidy old weight.’

‘That was made in the days when wood was wood,’ said John mournfully.

‘What are we supposed to do with it?’ asked Jasper.

John shook his head. ‘Sir Jonas wants the whole lot broken up and burnt. He wants everything new and a.s.a.p. he told me.’

Jasper looked around the cracked and peeling walls. ‘Did he say anything about paying professional rates?’

‘I expect that’ll depend on how much of a professional job gets done,’ said John, bending down to lift a corner of the worn linoleum. The floor beneath was a mosaic of coloured stone.

‘That’s not bad!’ exclaimed Jasper. ‘Why did they cover it up?’

‘Maybe because it was too cold underfoot in an already too cold house?’ suggested Alan.

‘Nothing that a couple of good mats and a bit of polish won’t sort out,’ said John.

‘Not to mention a couple of new radiators,’ said Jasper, kicking at the ancient relic barely attached by a frayed, purple-coloured flex to the old brown socket beside the fireplace. ‘Has he said anything about what colours he wants?’

‘He’s seen a picture in some fancy magazine your mother brought in for him,’ said John. ‘It’s got to be a pale gold colour and white, with a bit of grey so it blends in all right with the rest of the house. He wants it done by the end of the month before Charles gets down here with the accounts. So if you think you’re up to it, boy, you’d better get cracking.’

Jasper scratched his head again. ‘It depends how long it’s going to take. What do you reckon, Al?’

Alan picked at the flaking paint around the fireplace. ‘These walls are going to need sealing after you’ve filled in the cracks, unless he wants a couple of centuries of grease and grime seeping straight back through his fancy paintwork. If you’re going to do it properly, you’re better looking at three weekends and a few hours here and there in the evenings during the week.’