The Serpents of Arakesh (6 page)

The door opened, and I blinked in the sudden spill of light. An enormous man was silhouetted against the brightness. I felt so dazzled that for a second I had the crazy impression he was a giant.

‘Well, my giddy aunt,' goes the giant. ‘What 'ave we 'ere? Where in carnation 'ave you come from, young feller? But never mind that, come in outta the cold. And as fer
you
—' he bent and scratched the dog behind one ear — ‘Call yerself a guard dog, yer old shandy-pants!'

A huge hand was on my back, gently propelling me into a flagged hallway the size of a soccer field. I shuffled in, digging in my sodden bag for my letter.

‘Please, sir,' I said, my voice sounding thin and quavery. ‘Please, sir, Mr Quested, I'm Adam Equinox, and —' my fingers found the letter at last, and I held it towards him. It looked very damp and dog-eared — ‘and this is my letter.'

The huge man stared at me, making no attempt to take
the letter. He scratched his head.

‘You're
Adam,
are yer?' he said at last. ‘The wee boy with the chicken pox? And bless yer barnacles, sonny, I'm not Q — I'm Shaw.'

My head was spinning. What was Q? And why was the big man telling me that he was sure he wasn't it?

‘You'll not be wantin' to go to the party in that state.' He opened one of the heavy wooden doors off the hallway, and ushered me through into a room I realised must be a library. It was lined with books, stretching from floor to ceiling. In one corner was a massive wooden desk with a computer. A fire was blazing in an enormous stone fireplace, with battered-looking leather armchairs on either side. On one of the chairs, a small cream-coloured cat was curled up asleep.

I took a couple of steps into the room, and gasped. Shuffling towards me through an ornate golden doorway opposite was a creature that could have come straight out of the fantasy world of Karazan. It looked half animal, half human. A bowed, shaggy head covered in matted hair, with spikes of straw sticking out at odd angles. A face so streaked and smeared with mud that it gave the impression of being some kind of weird war paint. Its clothes were a dirty brown, like old sacks, and the creature was so filthy it was impossible to make out where they ended and its skin began. Weirdest of all was a visible aura around it of wavering steam, like something out of a horror movie. I gaped, and rubbed my eyes. Surely I must be dreaming? Maybe the whole thing was one long, incredible dream!

And the creature in the mirror gaped right back at me and rubbed its eyes, too.

The man — his
name
was Shaw, it turned out — went
and fetched a lady with a face like a hawk, and they hustled me up a staircase, along a couple of corridors and into a bedroom the size of the entire boys' dormitory at Highgate.

‘This is the room you'll be sharing with Richard Osborne, one of the other finalists,' the lady told me. She pointed to a door over on one side of the room. ‘In the bathroom you will find soap, shampoo and towels. I suggest you have an extremely thorough bath. While you do that, I'll see what I can arrange in the way of clean clothes. Leave yours in the laundry basket, and we'll deal with them later. Once you're presentable, we'll introduce you to Q. No doubt he'll have his own ideas about how to cope with your unexpected arrival.'

I guess I must have looked confused. The woman reminded me uncomfortably of Miss McCracken, though I could tell she was trying to be kind.

Shaw gave me a grin and a wink. ‘Usherwood's the real boss,' he whispered. ‘We all jump when she says jump, even Q.'

‘
Ms
Usherwood, if you please, Shaw.' She gave him a small frown and me a cool, rather distracted-looking nod, and away they went.

I peeled my clothes off and left them in a soggy clump on the bathroom floor. There was something I guessed must be the laundry basket, but it was made of white wickerwork and I didn't have the nerve to put my clothes anywhere near it.

I must have stayed in the bath for half an hour, wallowing in the hot water and shampooing my hair into a lather that flew round the room like snow. At last, reluctantly, I got out, wrapped one of the thick, fluffy towels round my waist, and headed through to the bedroom.

There, laid out on one of the beds, were clean clothes:
a pair of jeans, a dark blue T-shirt, and a hooded grey sweatshirt. Way cool — all the kids at school wore hoodies on mufti day, but at Highgate my chances of getting one were about the same as flying to the moon. I guessed the clothes must be borrowed from one of the other finalists. I picked up the sweatshirt and held it up to check the size. Underneath it was a pair of boxers — real satin ones. They were black, with a picture of Bart Simpson doing a brown-eye, and the words
Kick my butt.
I grinned, wondering what Ms Usherwood made of
that
.

Just when everything was starting to feel more normal, the door opened a crack, all by itself. I froze, and clutched my towel tighter round my waist. What now?

Round the edge of the door, at about waist height, came what looked like a chopstick. It wavered about for a second or two. I watched, mesmerised. Then the door swung open a bit further, and in popped a little girl.

I guessed she must have been about five. She had on bright lime-green leggings and no shoes. Her toenails were painted purple. She was wearing a white top — none too clean — with little pink and purple flowers. Her face was thin and serious-looking, framed with honey-coloured hair cut in a blunt bob, topped off with a plastic headband with two pipe cleaners sticking up from it, a bit like a moth's antennae.

The little girl waved the chopstick, did two skipping steps sideways, and dropped me a curtsey. Her headgear fell off, and she reached down and grabbed it and quickly jammed it back on, shooting me a glance to see if I'd noticed.

I pretended I hadn't.

‘I am Fairy Princess Fenella Foo-Foo,' she announced. ‘And who, pray, are you?'

I wasn't about to be outdone by a five-year-old.

‘I'm Crown Prince Adam Equinox,' I told her grandly,
and bowed. ‘And I am charmed to make your acquaintance.'

‘Good,' she goes, and nods, as if I've passed some kind of a test. Then she trots across and hops onto my bed. ‘I'm Hannah Quested,
really
,' she admitted. ‘Who are you, really?'

‘Oh, I'm just Adam,' I told her.

She nodded again.

‘I know that. I came to look at you.'

‘Oh, yeah? What's so interesting about me?'

‘Usherwood said you were a
real little savage
,' she told me, and her face lit up with sudden mischief. ‘I wasn't supposed to hear. I've never seen a savage, so I wanted to come and have a look.'

‘And what do you think?'

‘I think Shaw's right.
He
says you must be a magician, because Sabre didn't gobble you up. Anyhow, I
like
savages,' she said, wiggling her toes. ‘Have you unpacked?'

‘Nah,' I said.

‘All the others have. Shall I help you?'

‘I don't really need much help, thanks all the same.' I lifted my bag onto the end of the bed, and opened it. ‘This is all I brought.'

Unfortunately, the first thing to emerge out of the bag was my spare pair of Y-fronts, grey and sad-looking. Her eyes brightened. ‘Q has ones like that,' she told me.

‘Who's Q?' I asked, though by now I was pretty sure I knew.

‘Q is Q,' she said. ‘He's Quentin Quested. He's my daddy.'

‘And who's your mummy?' I asked. ‘Is it Usherwood?'

She giggled, and rolled her eyes. ‘No, of course not, silly,' she said scornfully, ‘though sometimes I think she'd like to be. But
I
wouldn't, and neither would Tiger Lily, so it won't happen. No. My Mummy was a gold-digger, but now she's gone. And Q doesn't care because he has me,
and I don't care because I have Q and Nanny and Withers and Tiger Lily …' a slightly doubtful look crossed her small face, ‘and Usherwood and Shaw, too, I suppose.'

I was battling to keep up with all this. ‘Who's Withers?'

‘Oh, he does the sums and counts all the money. And sometimes he reads me stories. He's nice.'

I fished out my spare T-shirt. It was wetter than the Y-fronts, so I took it through to the bathroom and hung it on the warm towel rail.

Hannah was still there when I got back, admiring her toenails.

I took out my shawl. It felt a bit damp, but it seemed OK. I gave it a sniff. It smelled the same as always.

‘Is that your blanky?' asked Hannah.

‘Yeah, I guess it is, in a way.'

She nodded approvingly.

‘Tell me about the other kids,' I said. I figured I might as well make the most of my uninvited visitor.

‘Well, there are cool ones and not cool ones,' she told me. ‘There's one called Genevieve. That's her real name,
really
. I wish
my
real name was Genevieve,' she said wistfully.

‘Yeah, and who else?'

‘Well, there's a fat piggy one who has a whole suitcase full of sweets and doesn't share.' No need to ask what she thought of
him.
‘And there's a mean foxy boy, and a big boy like you with hair like an ant's nest, and there's Richard, whose clothes those are, and heaps more. But five of them will go home tomorrow, after you've done the test.'

My stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. ‘Oh, yeah?' I said casually. ‘What test is that?'

‘The Quest Test, of course. Q made it up. He's good at making things up. Is your daddy good at making things up?'

‘Hard to say,' I muttered. I took the
Bible
out of the bottom of my bag, and put it in the drawer beside the bed.

‘Is that all you have?'

‘No, I have a couple more things.' I took out my penny whistle. Normally I would rather die than show it to anyone, but somehow Hannah didn't seem to count. Her eyes grew very round, and her face even more solemn. ‘Can you play it?' she whispered.

‘Not much use having it if I didn't play it.' I put it up to my lips and played a few bars of one of my songs.

‘More,' she said, when I stopped.

So I finished the song.

‘You're not a savage,' she whispered. ‘And I don't think you're a magician. I think you
are
a prince,
really.
I'm going to tell Q.'

She hopped off the bed and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Once I was dressed, there was a brisk rap on the door. Feeling a bit shy, I called, ‘Come in.'

The door opened and in came Ms Usherwood. It struck me for the first time how smartly dressed she was — not what I'd call party clothes, but a tight dark skirt and jacket, almost like a uniform. She stopped dead in the doorway, staring at me as if she'd never seen me before. There was something in her eyes … a look of surprise, of confusion, almost … as if whoever she'd expected to see, it wasn't old Crown Prince Adam Equinox in his borrowed finery. ‘Well, you certainly scrub up well,' she remarked dryly. ‘I'd hardly have recognised you. Give you a year or two, and you'll be fighting the girls off. Now, are you ready to meet Q? I dare say you're hungry — we'll see what we can do about that. Follow me.'

Obediently, I trailed after her. She marched back down the same corridors we'd come along before, down the stairs to the door leading into the library. This time I was in a
better state to take in my surroundings: the deep carpets, the rich wallpaper and the paintings — mostly men and women in old-fashioned clothes — that hung on all the walls, and peculiar moulded ceilings so high I had to tilt my head to see them.

Outside the library she paused, nodding over to one of the doors opposite. ‘The reception's in there. All getting on like a house on fire, but I dare say it'll be a different story tomorrow, once the selection's been made. Well, in you go.'

I gave my jeans a hitch up, and pushed my hair out of my eyes. Suddenly I felt a flutter of nerves. Ms Usherwood gave a little laugh, almost like a snort. ‘Oh, don't worry, Adam, Q wouldn't notice if you walked in stark naked. He doesn't see that kind of detail.'

She swung the library door open and gave me a shove. ‘Adam Equinox, Q,' she announced, and closed the door behind me.

This time a very different boy was reflected in the gilt mirror. Curious though I was to see the famous Q, I could hardly drag my eyes away from my reflection. I looked way cool. If you hadn't known, you'd never in a million years have guessed I lived in an orphanage and usually wore hand-me-downs. I looked like the kind of dude whose dad owned a mansion with a swimming pool and a tennis court, with a couple of limousines parked out the back. No wonder Usherwood had stared. I squared my shoulders, lifted my head, took a deep breath … and suddenly I wasn't the least bit nervous about meeting Quentin Quested.

My eyes swivelled round the room. The first person I saw was Hannah, sitting in one of the chairs by the fire, the cream-coloured cat asleep on her lap. She gave me a solemn, measuring look.

A man in the chair opposite was levering himself to his
feet. ‘So you are Adam Equinox,' he said, holding out his hand. I shook it firmly, looking him in the eye like Matron told us to when we were introduced to someone. He didn't seem interested in shaking back, though — he held my hand in his gently, as though it might break, and smiled at me with a curious, questioning expression.

He was nothing like I'd imagined. He was tall and thin, and his clothes hung on him like a scarecrow. He had on these old corduroy trousers — none too clean — and a checked shirt with a frayed collar and the top button hanging by a thread.

The weird thing was, though, that his scruffy clothes didn't matter. My eyes were drawn to his face — such an odd, knobbly, ugly, interesting face that I knew at once I would never forget it. He reminded me of a very kind, clever tortoise. His skin was pale, and faintly freckled — the sort of skin that belongs to red-haired people, though it was impossible to tell what colour his had been from the few faded, cottony tendrils that floated round his bald head. A pair of smeary rimless glasses sat askew on his crooked nose, and from behind the glasses peered eyes of a startling blue. His expression was honest, friendly and had a peculiar innocence that reminded me of Hannah.

He was drawing me closer to the fire. ‘Hannah, my sweetheart, hop up and let Adam sit there.'

‘But I have Tiger Lily on my lap!'

‘Well, perhaps Adam would like to have her on
his
lap — if he likes cats, that is. And
you
can sit on
my
lap.'

‘She may not stay with Adam,' warned Hannah. ‘You know how fussy she is.'

I sat in the huge old chair, which folded itself round me in a wonderful, luxurious embrace. Hannah put Tiger Lily on my knee, and there was a tense pause while she decided whether to give up her place by the fire on principle, or settle down and continue her snooze. I gave
her a stroke to help her make up her mind.

Q sat in the other chair, and Hannah snuggled down on his lap. Tiger Lily started to purr.

‘She likes you,' announced Hannah, and craned her neck to look up into her dad's face. ‘What did I tell you?'

Q smiled. ‘I've been hearing all about you,' he told me. ‘But first, I must tell you how glad I am that you could come.'

‘How glad
we
are,' corrected Hannah.

Q stroked her cheek. ‘Now, you will be interested to know I've had a phone call from a Miss — Miss — oh, lord, what was her name again?'

‘Miss Pilcher,' Hannah supplied.

‘Yes, that's it, Miss Pilcher, of …'

‘Highgate,' said Hannah.

‘Yes, Highgate.'

My heart sank.

‘She seemed upset,' said Q. That would be putting it mildly — she'd more likely be ballistic, and I was pretty sure she'd have let Q know in no uncertain terms. In fact, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been sitting there with singed eyebrows, and Quested Court a smouldering ruin around him.

But Q seemed unperturbed. ‘It appears there was a misunderstanding about my invitation,' he went on.

‘
And
about the chicken pox,' goes Hannah, rolling her eyes.

‘Yes, that too. In view of the inconvenience, I have made a … ah … strategic donation to Highbury …'

‘High
gate
.'

‘Thank you, Hannah, to Highgate, which seems to have smoothed things over. I think you will find all will be well, even when you return.'

And something about the way he said it made me believe that maybe it would all be OK, after all.

‘Now, are you hungry?'

‘Yes, I am, a bit.' I suddenly realised I was starving, but even as I admitted it, I found myself hoping desperately I wouldn't have to go through to the reception and meet all those strange people. I really didn't feel ready for that.

‘Chatterbot, could you run through to the kitchen and ask Nanny to organise something for Adam — something simple he can have in here, by the fire? Tell her he needs something
substantial
.'

‘Something
substantial
,' she repeated. ‘How about a fairy sandwich? That's white bread with hundreds and thousands. Would you like that, Adam? It's my
best
!'

She slid down and trotted over to the door. Disappeared for a second, then popped her head back round. ‘Q,
what
was that word again?'

‘Substantial.'

‘Sub
stantial
, sub
stantial
,' she chanted, disappearing again.

We both sat there smiling at the closed door. ‘Cool kid,' I said.

‘She is the light of my life,' said Q simply. I wondered what it must be like to be the light of someone's life; to be loved like that.

‘Now,' said Q, ‘tell me. Are you comfortable? Do you have everything you need?'

‘Yes, I'm fine. I've borrowed these clothes from someone called Richard, till my own are dry.'

‘Good, good,' said Q vaguely. ‘More importantly, is there anything you need to know? Any questions?'

Well, of course there were heaps of questions. Like, what would happen tomorrow? What about the test? Would it be hard? Would there be a spelling one? What were the other finalists like? When would I meet them? Were they all super-cool and rich and clever? Did it matter that I didn't know a single thing about computers? How
would I get back to Highgate, if I wasn't chosen? And what would happen if I was?

I made a kind of gulping sound, and opened my mouth without the least idea which question was most likely to come out.

‘Was it just luck that my card was picked?' I heard myself ask.

‘How interesting you should ask that, Adam,' said Q. ‘Of all the finalists, you are the only one to whom it seems to have occurred. Very few things in life are just luck, and this certainly was not. The entire selection process has been carefully orchestrated, in a way that will become more apparent as your visit progresses. Because of the numbers involved and the distance factor, the criteria employed in the initial selection were less specific than they will be in the later stages. But they were critical, nonetheless. Yes, critical.'

‘Huh?'

He beamed at me, took off the specs, and polished them on his jersey. ‘In answer to your question, Adam: no, you're not here by chance. You have qualified to be here, just as the other nine have, and your chances of progressing further are predetermined, just as theirs are. It is a question of correctly identifying the final five, rather than randomly selecting them. There are patterns to these things; it's just that, being caught in the weave, we find the pattern hard to see.'

The door opened and in came Hannah, backside first. She bent down, and picked up a tray from the floor outside the door.

‘
I
said fairy sandwiches, and
Nanny
thought a pie,' she said. ‘So, you've got them both. And look! There are two sandwiches!'

‘Yup, I see there are.' I smiled at her. ‘I think you'd better have one of them, don't you?'