LITMIR.BIZ

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learn to live without the sea for a while.’ The man’s voice had the echo of a damp cavern.

      ‘Yes.’ The boy put his hand in his pocket. A restful look came into his face at the comforting touch of sea-gold. In his pocket he carried a golden fish, a sea urchin and several golden crabs. They were gifts from his dead mother who had made them from gold found in wrecks beneath the sea. ‘These sea-gold creatures will help you to survive,’ she had whispered to Dagbert. ‘But never let your father know of them.’

      As the boy began to mount the steps his father said, ‘Dagbert, remember what I said. Try to restrain yourself.’

      Dagbert stopped and looked back at his father. ‘What if I can’t?’

      ‘You must. We are here to help.’

      ‘You are to help. I am to learn.’ Dagbert turned and leapt up to the top step. His long legs carried him across the courtyard in a few swaying strides, and then he was pulling a chain that hung beside the tall oak doors. A bell chimed somewhere deep within the building. Dagbert peered at the bronze figures that studded the doors.

      ‘They are older than the house.’ Lord Grimwald ran his fingers over the figure of a man holding what appeared to be a bolt of lightning. ‘Our ancestor, Dagbert. Remember. We talked about Petrello, the Red King’s fifth child.’

      One of the doors creaked open and a man appeared. He was a burly fellow, completely bald and with a square face and small, expressionless eyes. ‘Yes?’ he said.

      ‘We’re expected,’ Lord Grimwald announced imperiously.

      ‘Name of Grimwald?’ The man’s eyes narrowed.

      ‘Were you hoping it might be someone else?’

      The man muttered, ‘Tch!’ and opened the door wider. ‘Come in, then.’

      Father and son followed the burly figure down a long stone-flagged hall to a door set into one of the oak-panelled walls. ‘The music tower,’ announced their guide, turning a metal ring. The door swung open and he ushered the visitors into a dimly lit passage. At the end of the passage they passed through a circular room and then up a spiralling staircase. On reaching the top of the first flight they turned to their right and entered a thickly carpeted corridor.

      ‘The doctor’s study is second left,’ said the bald porter. ‘As you said, you’re expected. The Bloors are there. All three of them.’

      ‘Your name?’ Lord Grimwald demanded. ‘I like to know these details.’

      ‘Weedon: porter, chauffeur, handyman, gardener. Is that enough for you?’ He stomped back down the stairs.

      ‘Insolent fellow.’ Lord Grimwald’s greenish complexion turned a nasty shade of terracotta. When he got to the study door he gave it several hard bangs with his fist, instead of the polite knock he might otherwise have used.

      ‘Yes!’ answered two voices, one deep and haughty, the other an eager screech.

      Lord Grimwald and his son went in. They found themselves in a gloomy book-lined room, where a large man stood behind a desk. To one side of the desk an ancient creature sat in a wheelchair. He was wrapped in a tartan blanket and wore a round black hat on his bony head. A few white hairs fell to his shoulders like waxy string. Behind him a log fire lent warmth to the room and a welcome touch of colour.

      ‘Lord Grimwald.’ Dr Bloor walked round his desk and shook his visitor’s hand. ‘It’s good to meet you. I am Dr Bloor, the headmaster. I trust your journey wasn’t uncomfortable.’

      ‘We came by sea.’

      ‘Impossible. We’re miles from the sea,’ said the creature in the wheelchair.

      ‘We came as far as we could, then took a boat up the river.’ Lord Grimwald shook the clawlike hand that thrust its way out of the tartan blanket.

      ‘I’m Mr Ezekiel,’ said the ancient man. ‘I’m a hundred and one. What about that, eh? Don’t look it, do I?’ Without waiting for a reply he went on, ‘And this is the boy.’ He made a grab for Dagbert’s hand.

      ‘His name is Dagbert,’ Lord Grimwald told the old man. ‘He has many other names, but we have decided on the surname Endless.’

      ‘Because my names are as endless as the ocean.’ Dagbert didn’t flinch when his fingers were crushed in the skeletal hand. In fact, he hardly looked at Ezekiel. His gaze was drawn to a figure in the corner; hunched and dark, its face was averted from the visitors, though it gave the impression that it was listening intently to every word. Dagbert was so taken with this sinister form he forgot to restrain himself.

      The flames in the grate flickered and died. A damp mist filled the room and the musty-coloured books that lined the walls were bathed in eerie sea-light.

      ‘What the dickens?’ uttered Ezekiel, drawing his blanket closer.

      ‘It’s what he does,’ Lord Grimwald said impassively. ‘Soon Dagbert will achieve his full power, and it will be greater than mine.’

      ‘Indeed?’ Dr Bloor regarded the boy. ‘An uncomfortable thought for you, Lord Grimwald.’

      ‘Not at all. Dagbert will not disobey. If he does, he will die. He knows this.’ Lord Grimwald spoke as if his son were not in the room. ‘I didn’t want a child,’ he went on, ‘but then this miracle happened,’ he indicated Dagbert, ‘and I found I couldn’t be parted from it. Our family is cursed, you see. Every time a boy has achieved full power, he has turned against his father and one of them has died. But we have made a pact, Dagbert and I, to work together always. Haven’t we, Dagbert?’

      Dagbert gave his father a curt nod.

      ‘Now, Dagbert, control yourself !’

      Dagbert smiled. The sea-light faded and the logs in the grate gave a damp hiss and burst into flame.

      ‘Interesting.’ Dr Bloor frowned at the boy. ‘As long as he uses his endowment in the right places.’

      ‘Keep an eye on him for me,’ said Lord Grimwald, ‘and I’ll do what you want.’

      ‘We’ll put him in Charlie Bone’s dorm,’ Ezekiel said gleefully.

      ‘Please, take a seat, both of you,’ said Dr Bloor. ‘Dagbert, fetch those chairs by the bookshelf.’

      The boy pulled two chairs up to the desk while Dr Bloor continued, ‘Charlie Bone is getting too strong. He needs reining in.’

      ‘I can do that, sir.’ Dagbert took a seat beside his father.

      For the first time since the visitors arrived, the figure in the shadows turned his face to the light. Lord Grimwald gave an involuntary gasp but his son stared at the ruined face of Manfred Bloor with a mixture of awe and fascination. Four great scars ran from the youth’s hairline to his chin. His eyelids were puckered with stitches and his top lip dragged upward in two places, giving the face a permanent grimace.

      ‘Terrible, isn’t it?’ Ezekiel looked round at his great-grandson. ‘But we’ll get even with them, Manfred.’

      ‘How did it happen?’ asked Lord Grimwald.

      ‘Cats,’ said Dr Bloor.

      ‘Cats?’ Lord Grimwald repeated in disbelief.

      ‘Leopards,’ came a husky croak from the corner.

      ‘They lacerated his throat,’ said Dr Bloor in an undertone. ‘Every word he utters causes him pain.’

      ‘Leopards.’ Dagbert’s eyes hadn’t left the ravaged face.

      ‘The Red King’s leopards,’ came the dreadful croak.

      Dagbert turned to his father. ‘We’re descended from the Red King.’

      His

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