The Serpent in the Glass (The Tale of Thomas Farrell) (8 page)

‘This be Marvin Plundergeese, no — Blunderguess, Blenderghost?’ Mr Clear fumbled hopelessly trying to remember the boy’s name.

The boy screwed up his nose. ‘Penderghast.’

‘Yes, yes that be it,’ Mr Clear said, waving a hand at the boy behind him. ‘’E’ll be startin’ at the ol’ Manor this year too.’

‘But please,’ the boy began more enthusiastically, ‘call me Penders, everyone else does.’

‘Don’t you like “Marvin”?’ Jessica asked.

The boy shot her a hurt look. Thomas winced inside. Why did his sister have to be so blunt? True, he’d thought the same thing on seeing the boy’s reaction, but he’d never have asked the question in public. Jessica held no distinction between private and public when it came to talking. Mr Clear closed the door and resumed his seat. Penders sat down next to him, looking awkwardly between Thomas and Jessica as the train began to shudder and whine slowly out of the station.

The boy sighed. ‘It sorta sounds like a hamster.’

Jessica looked out the window. ‘The train?’

‘No, ‘Marvin’.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Jessica said, although Thomas doubted she saw at all. ‘My name’s Jessica, Jessica Westhrop, and this is my brother, Thomas Farrell.’

Thomas saw the slight frown momentarily cross the other’s brow. He didn’t voice his question, though there really was no need to as Jessica began to fill him in anyway.

‘He’s adopted, that’s why he’s got a different surname.’

Ideally this was something Thomas liked to explain, but many years of experience had taught him that Jessica’s gregarious nature was as unstoppable as a steamroller with no brakes going down a perilously steep hill in very icy conditions.

Penders nodded, still looking a little confused though daring not to interrupt as Jessica continued.

‘We’re from Hertfordshire, from Holten Layme. It’s a nice enough village I guess, but there’s not many shops —’

‘And,’ Thomas broke in, ‘where do you come from, Penders?’

‘Oh,’ Penders turned to Thomas and seemed to become more at ease for some reason. ‘I live just north of here, in east Lincolnshire, but we only moved a couple of years ago. I was born in London.’

Jessica’s ears pricked up. ‘I hear they’ve got big shopping centres in London, and big shops that sell everything you could imagine.’

Thomas knew where this was leading. The conversation was heading back toward shopping. ‘Are you excited about the new school?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ Penders replied. ‘I can’t wait to see what it looks like!’

‘You didn’t visit with your parents first?’ Thomas asked.

Penders shook his head. ‘Nope, my dad said a boarding school would be good for me and that was that.’

Thomas nodded.

‘D’you know who your real parents are?’ Penders asked Thomas tentatively.

Thomas recovered from the unexpected question surprisingly quickly. ‘They’re both dead. I never knew them.’

‘I’m sorry. That’s harsh. I lost my mum when I was four. I guess I don’t remember her much. Dad’s remarried now, but his new wife doesn’t like me much. It’s been difficult for Dad, looking after me an’ all. I guess that’s why I’m going to a boarding school. It’d give him more time to get on with his research too.’

‘Research? Is he a scientist?’ Jessica asked.

‘No.’ Penders turned to Jessica. ‘He’s in sales. He does market research.’

Thomas wondered what researching markets involved. Counting how many fruit-and-veg stalls there were in a given town? Perhaps finding out how much cod was sold on Wednesdays or asking customers why they preferred street markets to normal, warm shops? Thomas suddenly realized that the subject was getting dangerously near to shopping again. He glanced at Jessica and was relieved to see that particular glint absent from her eyes.

Thomas grabbed for the first question that entered his head. ‘So, what’s your gift?’

‘Gift?’ Penders asked.

‘Yes, Darkledun Manor’s a school for gifted children,’ explained Jessica enthusiastically.

‘It is? Well, the only gift I’ve got is for getting into trouble.’ Penders grinned. ‘What about you two?’

Jessica stared back blankly and then shook her head, perhaps all too aware that her attendance at the Manor hadn’t been by invitation.

Thomas shrugged. ‘Do you think they made a mistake?’

‘I guess we’ll find out.’ Penders grinned again, then leant back on his seat. Mr Clear was looking at them all with what Thomas thought a twinkle in his grey eyes.

‘Where are you from, Mr Clear?’ Thomas asked. The other two children looked at Thomas and then at Mr Clear.

‘I be from the ol’ Manor, Master Farrell,’ he said in such a way as to make Thomas think it a stupid question.

Jessica frowned. ‘Your accent doesn’t sound Scottish.’

‘No, I didn’t say I grew up in Scotland,’ Mr Clear added, though he didn’t see fit to add where he had grown up — despite a considerable and intentional pause by Jessica.

‘And what do you teach, Mr Clear?’ Jessica asked.

‘Teach?’ the black-clad, wiry man replied.

Jessica nodded. ‘Yes, at the Manor?’

A broad smile appeared on Mr Clear’s stubbled face. ‘Oh, I not be teachin’. No, no. I do be the Undertaker.’

‘The Undertaker?’ Penders said, swallowing hard. ‘Does the school need one?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Clear said emphatically. ‘There do be a very great need, especially with so many young’ns about making a mess — and that ‘as to be dealt with. And there’s no ’alf measures taken at the ol’ Manor y’know. We go all the way.’

Penders’ mouth hung open. He looked as if he wanted to get off the train. Jessica looked more confused than afraid.

‘Especially those crisp packets,’ Mr Clear went on. ‘They stuff ‘em everywhere y’know — but as I always says, you can’t pull an ol’ woolly jumper over Stanwell’s ‘ead without him findin’ an ‘ole.’

‘Erm, Mr Clear, did you mean that you’re the Caretaker?’ Jessica asked.

Mr Clear shook his head as if displeased with himself. ‘Yes, yes! Darn it, I do be always getting those words mixed up!’

Thomas heard Penders give a sigh of relief, one Thomas echoed less audibly. It wasn’t long before Mr Clear was off in the land of nod again, or at least that is what the three of them supposed as his fedora had fallen over his eyes. Jessica had gone back to her crossword.

Thomas watched Penders as he stuck a stick of gum in his mouth. ‘Do you play marbles?’ It wasn’t an invitation of course. There was nowhere to play marbles on a train.

Penders’ eyes lit up. ‘No, but I’ve always wanted to. Never had any marbles though.’

Thomas smiled. Pulling out the bag of marbles from his pocket, he eagerly opened it so that Penders could see his collection.

Penders eyes widened. ‘Craters! That’s the biggest marble I’ve ever seen! Is that thing inside real?’

In his excitement Thomas had forgotten that he’d put his father’s orb in the bag. He liked to keep both the marbles and the Glass on him, so it seemed only natural to keep them in the same place.

‘I don’t think so, it’s a serpent — a sort of dragon,’ Thomas explained.

Penders nodded his head. ‘Where’d you get it?’

‘It was my father’s,’ Thomas said.

Penders raised his eyebrows. ‘Your dad played marbles?’

‘Oh, it’s not a marble. I’m not sure what it is exactly, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a marble.’

Penders frowned at the Glass. ‘It looks a bit creepy if you ask me.’

After Thomas showed Penders his favourite marbles they ate their packed lunches. The came to a stop in Newcastle as Thomas bit into an apple. He idly wondered if there was an Oldcastle too. As the train leapt into action again, Thomas cast his eyes about the compartment. Stanwell Clear appeared to still be asleep. Penders chomped on the chewing gum he’d removed temporarily while he ate his sandwiches. Jessica had her head in a book she’d pulled from her luggage. Thomas didn’t notice its title. He was too busy thinking.

He didn’t think quite as fast as Jessica, but he tended to think longer, which sort of compensated. Penders’ words about the Glass seeming creepy floated around in his head. There was some truth to it. The Glass did look a little weird. Why would anyone make such a thing? And what was its purpose anyway? Perhaps it was just an ornament. The movement of the train lulled him from consciousness so that his thoughts shifted more and more into the world of dreams. His hand drifted to his pocket and as his eyes closed his fingers slipped almost unbidden into the bag of marbles and gently wrapped around the Glass.

Thomas opened his eyes. The others all seemed to be asleep. He looked out the window. The trees and meadows outside were still. The train had stopped, and they weren’t even at a station.

He stood and asked Mr Clear what was happening, but he didn’t wake up. He tried to rouse Penders and Jessica, even prodding them. Neither of them stirred. Jessica’s head was down, but her eyes were open, so she couldn’t have been asleep. Jessica hardly ever slept anyway, and when she did she was a light sleeper. When they’d shared a bedroom some years ago (before Jags had died) Thomas had often woken up in the night to see torch light spilling through the ends of Jessica’s blankets. She was always reading and could never bear to have Mr or Mrs Westhrop turn out the lights before she’d finished the chapter she was on. Mr Westhrop never had worked out why his torch batteries had kept running down so quickly. No, Jessica shouldn’t have been asleep. Thomas started to feel nervous. Something was wrong. Maybe he should find someone who could help?

He opened the door and stepped into the narrow gangway that ran the length of the carriage. He could see no one. Carefully he moved up the train toward the front. Eventually he found the driver’s carriage but there was no one there. Maybe he’d become confused and he had the wrong end of the train. He turned and looked around the cabin and as he did so he saw a shadow cast itself over the floor. Something huge and tall was behind him. He turned around slowly and saw it. The giant serpent swayed gently outside the train, its eyes boring into him through the glass. Its scales, like plates of metal the size of large coins, glinted silver-grey in the hazy sunlight.

It moved its massive head right up to the glass and Thomas saw its enormous fangs and the great claws of its feet as they clattered against the window. It would easily break the glass, he thought. He needed to run. Run! Thomas fled back through the cabin, but tripped as he went though the door, and as he fell he thought he could hear glass breaking…

— CHAPTER SIX —

Darkledun Manor

Thomas felt himself hit the floor of the compartment as the train lurched to a stop. Jessica and Penders looked at him in surprise. Mr Clear seemed to still be asleep.

Jessica shook her head as Thomas looked around. ‘If you fall asleep on a train, then don’t be surprised if you can’t stay on your seat when it comes to a stop!’

It must’ve been a dream. Yet it had seemed so real, like before at the Westhrops’ when he’d dreamt of the giant serpent in the garden. The vividness of the dream still stood fresh in his memory, as if it had just all happened in another room from which he’d just been cast. But, more than that, the fear of the serpent and its luminous green eyes still filled his beating heart.

Stanwell Clear moved his hat from his eyes. ‘Almost three o’clock. You’ve been sleepin’ for an hour or more I do reckon, which is a good thing as you’ll be more to your senses for this evenin’. Journeys do be so tirin’.’ He yawned on the final word as if to emphasize the point. ‘Now, off your seats — and the floor — and get your things, and follow ol’ Stanwell!’ He helped Jessica with her case, but the two boys had to struggle with their own. Once off the platform, they left the station and walked over to a large car park. There, and not the least bit inconspicuous, sat the ugliest thing Thomas had possibly ever seen on four wheels.

‘Ah, there she be,’ Stanwell said as he nodded toward the monstrosity.

‘What is it?’ Thomas asked. Jessica and Penders looked just as shocked as him.

‘That’s the Darkledun bus. I do call her ”Bessie“.’ Stanwell’s face beamed as he led them forward.

The Darkledun bus had custard-coloured paintwork and, though Thomas hadn’t been alive at the time, it looked to be a relic from the 1970s. He’d seen pictures of Mr and Mrs Westhrop from that era. He hadn’t asked to see them again. The small single-decker bus sported raised, almost bubble-like fenders, rounded windows, and a large bonnet that reminded Thomas of a giant snout. As they drew near, Thomas suddenly noticed that children about his own age filled the bus. Some of them looked a little embarrassed, as if they were pretending they weren’t really sitting in the small, ugly bus at all.

Mr Clear clambered awkwardly up a narrow ladder attached to the side of ‘Bessie’, dragging Jessica’s large suitcase up with him. ‘You children do go on in. Leave your luggage on the ground and ol’ Stanwell’ll put it up for you.’

Thomas looked up at the roof of the bus and saw a varied collection of suitcases and bags — some large, some small, some huge — slotted into metal stands and tied down with straps. Thomas thought it looked far from safe, and it made the bus look even stranger; as if it were a large store’s luggage department gone mobile. All it needed was a till and a sales assistant. After climbing up quite a large step into the bus, Thomas, Penders and Jessica found themselves confronted by ten pairs of eyes casting their inquisitive collective gaze towards them. Thomas looked about nervously, wishing the children would stop staring. Fortunately, Jessica and Penders didn’t seem to share his self-conscious nature, and so he did his best to hide behind them as they moved forward to find a seat.

A woman with a clipboard stood up from a place behind the driver’s seat before they’d gone more than a few steps. She wore a long, brown dress and briefly reminded Thomas of Miss McGritch. But this woman looked a little younger and taller, though she fixed them with a face every bit as dour as the Housekeeper’s.

The woman lifted her pen. ‘Names!’

The three of them, afraid to disobey the firm instruction, gave their names all at once. However, she seemed to extract the names from the simultaneous response and, after making three ticks on her clipboard, told them to quickly find seats.