The Book of Lies - James Moloney

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saw the faintest glow rise from the cover, until his attention was drawn again to the old man.

      Lord Alwyn’s lips had curled into a brief smile. “What is your name?”

      She told him.

      “Well now, Bea,” he said, “you are braver than your friends but you will have no gossip for them. Go,” he commanded, “and tell the others in the dining room to stay away.”

      He turned to Marcel. “Tell me about yourself,” he said, with less threat in his voice.

      “I can’t remember anything, sir.” As Marcel spoke, Lord Alwyn stared at the book, which remained still and silent on the table, though this time there was no doubt that it glowed a rich reddish-gold to match the sunlight outside in the courtyard.

      “I believe you,” he said at last. “But tell me: how did you come by your name?”

      “I don’t know. The name simply came to me, as though it had always been there, in my –” He stopped talking and turned in horror towards the book. It had opened again, hurrying to that same page, where it began to write everything he had just said.

      “Now I don’t believe you. Someone told you.”

      “No, sir!” Marcel insisted. “It’s true. I would never forget my real name.”

      There was no quill, no pot of ink, but the book recorded his words again. Lord Alwyn eyed him impassively as the book worked its telling magic. What could he do? The book knew he was lying, yet to tell the truth would betray Bea. He stayed silent and closed his eyes, waiting for a harsher magic to strike at him. The next few moments seemed like hours.

      Then he dared open his eyes and found the old man staring at him thoughtfully. “You need not be afraid of me,” he said, though that voice remained as hard as steel. “Not as long as you do what I say.”

      He turned slightly and called out to Mrs Timmins and Albert, who came scuttling through the doorway. “Listen to me, all three of you,” he said. “What I intended has somehow been foiled. All of the other children have heard his name now, and to alter the minds of so many would be too much for me. There is nothing else for it. You, Marcel, are to live here in this foundling home until I say otherwise. When people come looking for children to adopt they will not choose you. They will not even see you. No one must know there is a child here by that name. Do you understand?”

      He paused, considering whether words were enough to ensure obedience. Then his face became even harder. “If you take one step beyond the boundaries of this orphanage,” he told him ominously, “I will know and I will send my companion in the tower to fetch you.”

      He thrust his arm upwards, and at that moment a terrible growling erupted above them, building relentlessly until it exploded in a furious roar that turned their blood to ice.

      The old sorcerer did not wait for their promises. He rose from his chair and shuffled to the stairs, leaving Marcel to ponder what was so special about his name that it needed a savage beast to keep it secret.

       Chapter 3 Old Belch

      ALL THE BOYS SLEPT in one room, and since there were seven of them, it was crammed with two large beds that could fit three boys in each, and a narrow cot for the seventh. The room at the end of the hall, Marcel learned, was reserved for sick children or for new arrivals who came in the middle of the night. Marcel found he was to share a bed with Hugh and Dominic, and though it was a squeeze he was too exhausted to care.

      In the morning, he was just another of the orphans who had to dress quickly when Albert called them and hurry down to breakfast before it was all gone.

      “I want you to help Old Belch today,” Albert told him. “Hugh and Dominic can take you along to the stables.”

      When the three boys reached the well in the middle of the courtyard, Marcel looked up again at the tower that brooded over them. The sight of those two small windows set in the stone put him on edge. Though he tried to shut it out, he heard that vicious roar again in his head and it sent a shudder through his entire body.

      “Have you ever seen it?” he asked.

      “Seen what?” responded Dominic.

      “The creature he keeps up there. The one that made that terrible noise.”

      “Never. We’ve heard a few strange things but nothing like yesterday.”

      In the silence that followed, each boy conjured a picture of the beast in his mind. They were about to walk on when Hugh let out a rasping cough, then asked, “What do you think he feeds that thing?”

      The other two stared at him. What kind of a question was that? They didn’t even want to think about it. But Hugh had a point to make. “It sounded pretty big, don’t you think? It’d need quite a bit to eat, but all Mrs Timmins ever leaves outside that strange door is a small tray for the old man.”

      “Maybe he lets it out at night, to go hunting in the forest,” suggested Dominic.

      “How does it get out, then? We’ve never heard it going though the house.”

      “There’s a tunnel,” said a voice.

      They spun around, all three of them trying to find who had spoken. Marcel was the first to see her. “Bea,” he breathed in relief when the girl appeared from the shadow of the well where she had just filled a bucket. “How do you know there’s a tunnel?”

      “Because I’ve heard strange noises in the wall beside my bed. They started soon after that man came to live in the tower.”

      “But where does it come out then? I’ve never seen a hole in the wall,” said Dominic sceptically.

      “It’s on the other side of the house, where we don’t go very much, near the orchard. There are bushes up against the wall, that’s why you haven’t noticed it. I’ve seen some tracks there – giant paw prints, they looked like – but the opening is hidden somehow. I need to take another look.”

      “No!” blurted Marcel, horrified. “Don’t go near those bushes. Whatever’s up in that tower, well… I don’t think any of us wants to meet it face to face.”

      Before they could say another word, little Dot called from the kitchen door. “Bea, Mrs Timmins is waiting for that water.”

      Bea hurried off, easily visible to them all now in the sunlight. Very strange, Marcel thought to himself yet again.

      Though they were meant to be on their way to the stables, the boys couldn’t resist detouring to the far side of the house, where they stayed well back from the overgrown bushes that hugged the walls. “In there somewhere, eh?” said Hugh.

      None of them went in for a closer look. They could still see that tower from here, though. There was only one window on this side. Marcel scoured the glass for a glimpse of Lord Alwyn. “Why does a sorcerer live here?” he wondered aloud. “A man like him would have a house of his own, don’t you think?”

      “Or a whole castle.”

      “If you ask me, he’s here because of you,” said Dominic. “You heard Mrs Timmins at dinner last night. We’re not even supposed to mention your name over in the village.”

      “And if I go there myself, he’ll send that beast after me.” I don’t think I’ll ever find out who I really am, Marcel added to himself.

      Hugh broke into his thoughts with another loud cough. “Come on,” he said to Dominic, “Albert’ll be wondering where we’ve got to.”

      They walked silently back into the courtyard and to the stables, where they parted company. Marcel pushed aside the groaning door and called tentatively, “Hello, anyone here?”

      When there was no answer, he sank down

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