The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle (17 page)

Kat moved forward, toward Jorry. The boys followed her. “I think he's exercising. But it's a weird form of exercising. Like he's a puppet. You know, like he's hanging from strings.”

“Hey,” Rob called out. “Jorry?”

Jorry froze, midleap, one foot still up. His head swiveled in their direction.

“You all right?” Peter called. “You're not sick anymore?” He dropped his voice so that only Rob and Kat could hear. “Something's not right. He is sick. And it's not spots or influenza.”

They'd drawn within a few yards of Jorry, where they paused.

Jorry was definitely not all right. His eyes were blank, black holes. His face was a mask. His mouth formed an
O
. His right foot was still suspended in the air, as if he'd been frozen in place.

“Oh, my,” said Kat.

“He's a ghost,” said Rob.

Kat did not contradict him.

Without warning, Jorry turned and ran, fast, across the expanse of lawn toward the old keep, speeding away in the blink of an eye and disappearing into the shadows.

They couldn't chase after Jorry; they were already late.

The three made for the kitchen. Cook was not about, although some things were laid out for dinner, ready to be taken to the table. They stashed the backpacks with the wireless and encryption device in the pantry, in one of the low cupboards that held large flat baking pans, shoving the packs and the sword into the corner.

“Jorry couldn't be a ghost,” Kat said, panting. “He just couldn't be.”
That would mean he was dead,
Kat thought but couldn't say out loud.

“Whatever he was, he wasn't himself,” said Rob.

They ran back to the main stairwell so that they could enter the dining hall in the usual way.

“We're ten minutes past time,” Peter said, glancing at the great clock on the mantle. The eyes in the painting of the Lady Leonore glared at them as they passed.

As they came in, everyone went still. Dinner had begun. Silence settled over the room, broken only by the crackling of the fires.

The Lady rose from her chair. “This lateness is intolerable. This is a school, not a playground. Lessons must be learned. I believe a punishment is in order.”

Kat's heart pounded in her ears.

“Marie?”

Marie appeared out of nowhere, standing before them.

“Take them upstairs,” the Lady commanded. “Lock them in. No supper.”

Rob groaned. Marie began to usher them out.

“And Marie?”

They stopped.

“Move one of the boys. Separate rooms tonight.”

From where she stood, Kat could see the Lady's cold smile.

On the way up the stairs, with Marie leading the way, Rob whispered, “Colin still wasn't there. He wasn't in the dining hall.”

Kat and Peter exchanged a glance. “I'm sure he's here somewhere, Rob,” Kat said in a low voice. “He turned up the last time, remember?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Enough chattering,” Marie called. “The Lady'll have my head if you go on scheming. You're lucky it's just supper.”

At that moment, Kat didn't feel lucky.

Hand

W
HEN THE NOISES
come, the room grows so cold that Kat shivers even under all her blankets. If only she had her great-aunt's chatelaine. She lit a fire in her fireplace before climbing into bed, but it goes out with a
snuff
as the shadows begin to descend. The only light comes from the waxing moon.

She's pinned to the bed, her legs and arms useless dead weights, her right arm trapped outside her blanket. The smell of cold steel rubbing against cold steel fills her nostrils.

She has a hard time keeping the tears from filling her tightly closed eyes.

She imagines Rob, in a separate room, alone. And Amelie and Isabelle, oblivious.
Keep calm.

Something scrapes along her cheek, something smooth and
sharp, so sharp she doesn't dare move for fear of slicing her cheek open, her eyes shut tight. And then it scrapes down her right arm to her hand, where it stops.

Her right hand makes an involuntary fist, and she can hear wheels turning and gears meshing, and she realizes with a shock that those noises come from her.

And then she hears an intake of breath, as if whatever is hovering over her has seen her hand and expressed surprise. She cannot open her eyes.

The monster hovers, and then cold steel presses on her right hand, and then with a hiss and growl the monster moves off and leaves Kat alone with her fear and her spinning mind.

Kat flexes her fingers without opening her eyes and hears it again. Feels the strength of her hand, an unnatural strength.

What is inside her hand that sounds so much like the monster itself? She opens her fist, and there it is yet again, the faintest sound of cogs and gears.

Is this something growing inside her, a disease? What has she become?

And then anger surges. This is Father's fault. If he hadn't gone, they never would have had to leave London, despite the Blitz. If he hadn't suggested Rookskill Castle, they would not be here. How can she protect her brother and sister from something that might eat them away from the inside? That may already be working inside her like a poison?

Is she, Kat, turning into a monster?

The tears stream down her face as she chokes back sobs. What should she—what
can
she—do? Her chatelaine . . . If only she hadn't lost her chatelaine.

“One must be prepared,” Great-Aunt Margaret had said, “with appropriate countermeasures.”

What countermeasures can
I take now, without the chatelaine?

Sleep comes over her suddenly and without her will, like a drug.

Lost

T
IM HAS NOT
seen the lady saint in a long time, but he so wants to make a gift to her of his chatelaine that he ventures out at night, hoping to find her. He doesn't like the dark of night, but he's willing himself to search the castle for her even so. He's holding the chatelaine in his fist when he wanders into an empty room on a high floor and hears a noise.

Tick, tick, tick.

Tim shakes all over, for he thinks he knows that noise, that terrible clockwork noise, that nightmare noise he has heard only in the black of night. He does not link that noise with the saint but with a dreadful monster. After all, how could a saint make such an evil sound?

Tim goes rigid until his slow mind twists and he sees the
clock upon the mantle
tick, tick, tick
ing, something it has never done before in his long memory of Rookskill Castle.

He flees the room, running silent in the inky dark until he reaches his safe corner, until he can grab his polishing cloth and polish until his heart stops thumping in his chest.

A clock ticks on the mantle. Children sleep fitful, nightmarish.

A shiny silver chatelaine with a pen, scissors, and a thimble lies forgotten where it fell.

Porridge

K
AT HEARD THE
click of the lock and was awake at once. And she looked at her right hand.

It looked like a perfectly normal hand, and felt perfectly normal, and now in the daylight she heard no sounds. It was a normal hand, except . . . it was exceptionally strong. She crushed the bar of soap in the bath to powder.

It was her hand, but it was not.

She dressed, feeling alien to herself. She couldn't tell the others about this, not yet. Maybe it was happening to all of them, each one of them, bit by bit, that they were all becoming monsters. Maybe that's what had happened to Jorry. She couldn't frighten the others with this idea.

It was past time for breakfast. When Kat opened the door to her room she saw Rob slumped against the wall in the hallway.

“Rob!” She hurried to his side, kneeling. “Rob?”

He jumped. “Sleeping,” he mumbled.

She sat beside him. “Bad night?”

He nodded, eyes closed. “Really bad.”

“Me too.” Worse than bad. She swallowed hard so she wouldn't cry.

Peter stepped out, or rather, stumbled out, rubbing his face as if to rub away the memory.

Rob said, “The others have gone down already. I waited for you.”

“Let's go, then,” said Peter, lending a hand to help up Kat and Rob. “I'm starved.”

“Before we go down,” said Kat, “I want to see if Jorry's in his room.”

Rob sighed, but he and Peter waited while Kat knocked at Jorry's door.

By now, they should have been used to Marie appearing out of nowhere, but Kat still jumped at the sound of Marie's voice. “Here, what are you lot up to, now? It's past time to go down for breakfast.”

Kat was so exhausted and hungry and startled, she spoke before she thought. “We need to see Jorry.”

Rob tugged at Kat's sleeve. “Food,” he hissed. “We'll starve if she locks us in again.”

But Marie shook her head. “Too late. The boy's gone.”

“What?” Kat stepped back out of sheer surprise.

“Doctor came yesterday, took him away.”

“Are you sure?” After having seen Jorry she'd stopped thinking of him as ill, unless he was ill in the head.

Marie frowned. “Quite sure.”

“But we saw him last night.”

Marie scratched her head, an odd expression crossing her face. “I don't know. Funny, that. Sure it was yesterday. Sure it was the doctor. Funny.”

Kat went to Marie and stood right up close. She'd never much liked Marie, but now she saw something about her. Kat asked, “What's funny?”

“Don't know,” Marie said. “Can't remember.” Now that Kat was close up, she could see that Marie's eyes were glazed and her pupils dilated. Kat's practical side kicked in again. There was definitely something wrong with Marie, and it was not natural.

“Okay,” Kat said, trying to sound light. “No problem. We'll head downstairs.”

“Yeah,” Marie said. “You do that, won't you?” And she ran down the stairs ahead of them as if she had the devil on her heels.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Kat whispered to Rob and Peter, “She's been drugged. Or hypnotized.”

Peter said, “That would explain her confusion, but what about Jorry?”

“And Colin?” Rob said. “What about him?”

Yes,
Kat thought,
what about Colin?

They'd reached the dining hall and the smells of the breakfast were overwhelming. Cook stood off to the side, preparing to serve. Rob almost ran to the table.

The Lady sat with the teachers at the head table. She rose as the three children entered and watched as they seated themselves. Cook approached the table with a platter of eggs and sausage.

“Stop,” the Lady commanded.

Cook halted midstep.

“They can have something cold. I prepared porridge for them last night. You'll find it on the sideboard.” She sat again. “This will teach them to be on time in the future. There are many lessons to be learned here in Rookskill Castle.”

Cook grumbled, but she turned away and fetched the porridge.

It was sticky and tasteless, like gluey cardboard, but Kat was too hungry not to eat. Rob looked sick and Peter picked at it.

When the Lady suddenly left the dining hall clutching her chest and looking like she might be ill, Kat felt no pity.

“Evil,” said Rob, heated. “She's evil. And Colin's still missing.”

“The Lady, she was wearing the devil's sign,” Isabelle said to Kat with a knowing look.
“Sur sa
châtelaine.”

At the reminder, Kat felt the tears well in her eyes. She had
to find her own chatelaine, but where to begin? If Storm had it, could she break into his room to search?

In English class, Miss Gumble brought in a small tray. When she lifted the towel, there was a fresh-baked and still warm loaf of bread underneath, and a slab of butter, and she placed the tray on a desk in front of Peter, Rob, and Kat. Kat had never been so appreciative of a teacher.

When Rob, Peter, and Kat had finished eating several slices, Gumble said, “Let's continue to discuss the real and the fantastic from yesterday, shall we? Let's begin with ideas from ancient civilizations. What do you know of how the ancients viewed the concept of magic?”

Kat knew now. She knew. There was magic in the world, and she'd been stupid enough or stubborn enough not to believe it until now. There might even be magic in her missing chatelaine, but she'd been a careless guardian.

In maths, Mr. MacLarren posted a large chart on the board. “This is a representation of the Rosetta stone,” he said. “It contains a simultaneous translation of ancient and Demotic Egyptian hieroglyphs and ancient Greek, and so is a key to the interpretation of ancient Egyptian language.”

MacLarren tacked another chart on the board. “And this is an encryption key used in one German code that was discovered last year in northern France. As math algorithms are used in the interpretation of codes”—and here MacLarren stared
straight at Kat—“I've decided to let you all play with the hieroglyphs and this encryption key, to make your own code today.”

He turned away. “Oh, and I've got something here.” He reached into his large pockets and pulled out five apples, laying one on each desk.

After morning classes, Kat, Peter, and Rob went straight to the kitchen. Cook bustled about.

“Here, you lot, go to the dining hall. I've prepared a special lunch, I have, since her Ladyship has gone off for the rest of the afternoon and you've been near starved to death.”

“We need to fetch something we've left here,” Kat said. She showed Cook the backpacks they'd stowed in the pantry. She didn't seem surprised to see them there.

“You might want to leave them be,” said Cook, “in case.”

Kat exchanged glances with Rob and Peter. “In case?”

“Your rooms may not be the safest,” she said, without meeting Kat's eyes, “if you get my meaning. There's always something prowling about.”

Rob took his sword because, as he put it, “I won't spend another night without it.” They left the backpacks right where they were. “They're not in my way,” said Cook.

“I'm going looking for Colin,” Rob said.

Kat nodded.
And I'm
going looking for Great-Aunt Margaret's chatelaine.
At this moment, that chatelaine and its promise of magic offered Kat her only hope.