The singing gets softer as soon as he walks out of the gate. Thank God. But where to now? He doesn’t dare to leave Erebos just like that. Who knows where he will find himself next time? Or if there will be a next time.
Then he hears something. A pounding, a knocking. Like sounds from a mine. He draws his sword. In the dark forest the noise is alarmingly loud, as is each of his footsteps. The closer Sarius comes, the louder and clearer the knocking rings out. It’s soon accompanied, to his relief, by a gleam of light.
It’s another of those gnomes, of course – one of the messenger’s minions. He’s sitting in a wooden shed with his back to Sarius, a stone tablet in front of him on which he’s working with a hammer and chisel. So now Sarius knows where the gravestones come from.
If I stand behind him and look over his shoulder, he’ll probably be hammering my name into the stone, to frighten me.
Sarius sneaks closer and looks over the gnome’s shoulder. Wrong. The stone bears another name. Shiyzo. And even better, Sarius doesn’t know him. Once he’s standing right behind him, the gnome turns his ugly face towards him.
‘Unusual hour for a visit, Sarius.’
‘I know. I actually don’t want to be here either.’
The gnome gives a screeching laugh.
‘Who does?’
‘Can you tell me how I get back?’
‘Get back where?’
Yes, where? Sarius chooses his words carefully.
‘I would like to leave Erebos briefly, but I don’t want to suffer for it.’
The gnome hammers at his stone, and appears to be thinking about it.
‘It’s not that simple.’
If it were, I wouldn’t need you, would I? Sarius takes care not to say that out loud. He waits patiently while the gnome scratches himself behind one ragged ear.
‘All right then, go. We will expect you back tomorrow afternoon. It is in your interest not to disappoint us.’
‘Yes. Of course,’ Sarius says with relief.
‘And give Nick Dunmore the following message: He should not forget the rules; we would find out. And he should keep his eyes open.’
‘Yes. Sure. After all I don’t want you to have to make me one of those,’ Sarius says, pointing at the gravestone in front of him.
‘Oh. But I made one already. A long time ago. For all of you. Most of you will need one after all, won’t you?’
The gnome is still grinning when the screen starts going dark.
Four-forty-two. Too early to get up, and too late to crash again properly. Although he probably wasn’t going to be able to sleep, Nick lay down again, pulled the bedclothes up over his ears and closed his eyes. Tried to breathe steadily, but gravestones were dancing around in his thoughts.
Would the others still be on the move? He would ask Colin in a few hours. No he wouldn’t, it wasn’t allowed. Damn. But at least he was sure to see on Colin’s face how frustrated he was at being thrashed as Lelant in the Arena. On this comforting thought Nick finally fell asleep.
CHAPTER 13
The broken night’s sleep, complete with graveyard visit, had left its mark on Nick. On the way to school he was already feeling a slight pressure in his temples, like the start of a cold. The feeling stayed with him the whole day, even if it occasionally got pushed into the background by other things. For example by the sight of Jamie, Emily and Eric Wu standing at the school gate, huddled together.
Eric. He was leaning towards Emily, talking forcefully to her. She wasn’t flinching; in fact she was smiling. Jamie was standing with his arms crossed and nodding. Nick pretended he was looking for something in his bag and studied the trio out of the corner of his eye. Eric must have said something witty, because all three were laughing, which made Nick realise how seldom he saw Emily laugh, and how much he wished that he was the reason for it, and not Eric.
Did Eric have to be such a pompous git, Nick thought, and nearly forgot to keep rummaging in his bag. Was that the sort of guy that Emily went for? Lanky, Asian, with a Prince Valiant haircut and nerdy glasses? A Literature Club weirdo? He wasn’t creepy, oh no, if he gave her something she’d definitely accept it. For heaven’s sake.
Nick would have given two . . . no, one of his levels to hear what they were talking about. If he hadn’t got into a fight with Jamie yesterday, he could have simply joined them.
‘Dunmore, stop standing in the way like a complete idiot.’ Jerome barged into him on the way past, and Nick nearly dropped his bag.
‘Shove off!’ Nick bellowed after him. He would have liked to run after him, grab him by the collar and punch his lights out – because now, of course, Emily, Eric and Jamie had noticed Nick. Jamie threw him a quick glance and turned away again, Emily lifted her hand in a half-hearted greeting. Eric – of all people – looked the friendliest.
Nick turned away and went into the school building. Where had this rage come from? Must have been the sleepless night he’d had.
It was peaceful in Maths class for a Monday morning, but Brynne intercepted Nick right at the door.
‘Well?’ she whispered. ‘Well?’
He put a finger to his lips. How convenient it was that talking about the game was forbidden.
The expression on Brynne’s face changed from beaming to knowingly conspiratorial. ‘I knew you would love it,’ she said. ‘Yeah.’ Nick forced a smile.
Brynne looked exhausted too, he saw, but she’d taken great pains to cover her fatigue with make-up.
An attempt that wouldn’t have served any purpose at all in Helen’s case. Her hair was uncombed, her eyes half closed, and her mouth slightly open. She’d probably start dribbling any minute. Jerome and Colin were staring at her constantly; they were imitating her expression and laughing themselves silly.
Helen wasn’t taking in any of it. She was staring at nothing, and even starting to sway slightly. Something like pity glimmered in Nick. Maybe she was one of those in the graveyard. Maybe she was Aurora, and I left her lying in the labyrinth.
He went up to her. ‘Helen?’
She hardly registered him, just frowned slightly. Colin and Jerome killed themselves laughing.
‘Helen? Are you okay?’
She looked up. There were dark-brown shadows under her eyes. ‘What?’
‘Are you all right? You look . . .’ – dreadful, he’d been going to say, and bit his lip – ‘. . . sick.’
A scratchy laugh emerged from Helen’s throat. ‘Mind your own bloody business, Dunmore.’
‘Fine. Keep right on dribbling to yourself and making yourself a laughing stock.’ He pointed in Colin’s and Jerome’s direction. ‘At least they’re enjoying it.’
Why did he have to go and play the good Samaritan to Helen, of all people? You know exactly why, a nasty little voice in him said. She could have told you something. About last night, for example. Or about how she passed away. Then you would have asked her for her name, wouldn’t you? So you’d be able to cross off one of the many unknowns.
He rubbed his face with both hands. God was he knackered today. But at least he had succeeded in getting Helen to look more normal. She was sitting upright in her seat, with her mouth shut and her fists clenched.
‘Nick, you pillock,’ Colin greeted him. ‘What did you want from Helen?’
‘Shut your trap, Colin. She looked done for – that’s why I spoke to her. Stop behaving as if you were twelve.’
‘Fine. What else? Any news?’
‘No.’ Nick eyed Colin up and down. Of course he didn’t look pale, but his skin had an unhealthy grey tone that was new.
‘Wicked day yesterday,’ Colin said.
‘You can say that again. And what a cool night!’ He could pretend, couldn’t he? As if he’d been there, and hadn’t nearly wet his pants in the graveyard.
‘Yeah, what a night,’ Colin mused. ‘That was ace. I wouldn’t have thought it would turn out like that. Would you?’
‘Nope. Me neither.’ Oh come on, a few details, please!
/> ‘And that was just the beginning,’ Colin said. ‘You can bet your life.’
‘Yes. Of course. Can’t wait to see what’s next. What do you reckon?’
Colin raised his arms. ‘Do I look psychic?’
There was no point. Nick was never going to get anything more than vague hints out of his mate. But maybe he wouldn’t object to taking a few guesses?
‘I would love to know what name Helen is using,’ he murmured so quietly that no-one except Colin could hear.
‘Yeah well, that would be interesting. Not everyone gets around with their own face. I wouldn’t do it either if I were Helen.’
Nick had caught the reference and opened his mouth, but shut it again quickly. Colin grinned.
‘Don’t worry about it. I know it’s not you. He’s been there for much longer. But I don’t think most people are onto it.’ He interrupted himself when Jerome strolled over.
‘Insider talk?’ he asked.
‘Are you daft?’ Colin retorted. ‘Think I don’t know the rules?’
‘Anything’s possible.’ Jerome walked off again, smirking. Helen’s cloudy gaze followed him.
‘He’s right,’ said Colin. ‘Time to shut up. But Jerome was chatting himself, before. He can’t talk.’ He grinned. ‘Besides – I won’t get chucked out anyway.’
When the bell rang for the first period Nick did a headcount. Alex was there, Dan was missing. Aisha was there, Michelle was missing. On closer examination Aisha did look peaky; her head-scarf was a mess, and she kept blinking all the time.
Jamie was there, of course, and Emily. Gloria was there. Greg, the quiet one, was there, and obviously doing the same as Nick: scanning the rows and making mental notes. Then Mr Fornary’s Maths class started and put an abrupt end to Nick’s research project.
* * *
The coffee vending machine was his last hope, but even from a distance Nick could see the giant queue that had formed in front of it. Damn. He desperately needed something to help him survive the next three periods.
Jerome was standing at the window and crushing an empty can of Red Bull in one hand. Smart guy, that Jerome. Tomorrow Nick would bring a supply of energy drinks too. Yawning, he collapsed onto one of the benches in the atrium. It occurred to him that this was the first time in ages that he was spending a recess completely on his own. Jamie was chatting with Eric Wu again; at least Emily wasn’t with them this time. Colin was being conspicuous by his silence and was doing surveillance round the corridors. The last time Nick had seen him, a girl from one of the lower years had been the object of his attention. Her name was Laura, unless Nick was mistaken. And she had been carrying a small package.
He looked at the clock. Still five minutes before the next class, just enough time to go to the loo.
The toilets were the scene of a heated discussion. Nick, who’d already grabbed hold of the door handle, took a step back.
‘ . . . not allowed – you know that. Leave me in peace.’
‘But it doesn’t make sense! Just copy it for me again and I can at least try. I won’t tell anybody.’
‘I said no.’
‘Whoa, you’re mean. It’s no big deal, and you know it!’
‘No, I don’t. Why should I break the rules for your sake? You know he’ll find out. He always finds out.’
The door flew open, and a boy whose name Nick didn’t know stormed out. One of the younger students, Martin Garibaldi, followed right behind, his face bright red and his glasses sitting crooked. ‘Wait!’
Nick watched as the two pushed their way past the students and out into the yard. It was quite easy to pick who was a gamer and who wasn’t. The non-gamers looked astonished; the gamers grinned and shrugged their shoulders. When Nick turned away he found Adrian McVay standing next to him, waiting to be noticed.
‘Hi, Adrian.’ He always found the sight of the boy oddly touching. Life had dealt him a hard knock, and it showed. He was missing a defensive layer, a cool facade. Something in Nick made him want to stand in front of Adrian with his arms outstretched protectively, every time.
‘Can I ask you something, Nick?’
‘Of course.’
‘What’s on the DVDs that you’re all swapping back and forth?’ Nick said the first thing that occurred to him. ‘We’re not swapping them back and forth.’
Very true. We’re copying and passing round. That’s quite different, right?
‘Yes, okay. But people are slipping DVDs to each other. Can you tell me what’s on them?’
‘Why are you asking me, of all people?’
‘I don’t really know.’ The corners of Adrian’s mouth lifted in a small smile. ‘To be honest, you’re not the first person I’ve asked.’
‘But the others wouldn’t give you an answer?’
He shook his head ‘And you’re not going to give me one either, huh?’
‘I can’t, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.’
Colin marched past and waved, his eyebrows raised inquiringly. No, Nick thought. I’m not telling tales out of school. For God’s sake, was Colin checking up on him? Every time he conducted a conversation now, was someone going to assume that he was breaking the rules?
Adrian studied his own hands pensively.
‘You all say that you can’t. Is that true? Or is it that you just don’t want to?’
‘I heard that someone already offered you the DVD. Why didn’t you take it, if you’re so curious?’
The question wiped the smile from Adrian’s face. ‘Because it’s not possible in my case. That’s just how it is.’
‘Even though you don’t even know what’s on it? Sorry, but now you’ve lost me.’
It was a few seconds before Adrian answered. His voice was low.
‘I’m afraid I can’t explain it to you. I know it’s stupid. I can’t accept the DVD, but it’s important for me to know what’s on it.’
The bell rang for the next period. Luckily. The conversation had got more unpleasant with every sentence, and Nick was glad to be able to get away with a smile and a few empty words.
He dozed his way through Physics and Psychology.
‘What did little McVay want?’ Colin asked him before English.
‘Nothing much,’ Nick lied, once again feeling the inexplicable impulse to protect Adrian. Oh, and of course himself. ‘He just wanted to chat.’
Colin was satisfied with that – he raised his eyebrows sceptically again, but so what? Nick certainly wasn’t accountable to him, especially if he’d decided to appoint himself the guardian of the rules, the silly git.
At the mention of the name McVay, Emily had turned around briefly and looked at Nick searchingly. Almost scornfully. Now what was that about?
All at once he understood. Of course, Jamie must have told her that Nick now possessed one of the sinister DVDs too. So she could work out for herself why he’d rung her, and that it hadn’t had anything to do with Adrian’s phone number. Shit. Why couldn’t Jamie keep his mouth shut?
Mr Watson strode into the classroom with a pile of books under his arm. His gaze was searching too, and Nick thought he saw him nod knowingly as he counted up the empty seats.
‘How are you?’ he asked, and didn’t settle for the general indistinct murmur for an answer.
‘Six students are missing, if I’m not mistaken. Do any of you know why? There’s an unusually large number of students away sick from the other classes too, but according to the school doctor there’s no flu or gastro going around.’
‘No idea,’ Jerome said.
‘But you were sick one day last week, weren’t you? What did you have?’
Caught unawares, Jerome didn’t answer. After thinking for a moment he said, ‘A headache.’
‘A headache, I see. And has it cleared up in the meantime?’
‘Sure.’
‘Then get your books out. I hope you’ve read Sonnet 18 as discussed. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day . . .
’ They rummaged in their bags. Of cou
rse Nick had forgotten to look at the poem and hoped that Watson wouldn’t call on him. He wouldn’t be able to deliver an instant interpretation today, with his woolly head.
The scream ripped through him like an electric shock, and not just him – the whole class flinched as if a whip had been cracked over them.
Aisha held her trembling hands in front of her mouth; she was white-faced, as if she was about to keel over.
‘What happened?’ Mr Watson, who was as shocked as everyone else, hurried over to her, which instantly caused Aisha to awaken from her paralysis. She hurriedly pulled something from between the pages of her book and crumpled it up in her hand.
‘It’s nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘I thought I saw a spider. But everything is fine.’ Her shaking voice and the tears she quickly wiped out of the corners of her eyes gave the lie to her words.
‘Can you show me what you’ve got in your hand?’ Undeterred, Mr Watson kept walking towards her.
She shook her head silently. Now her tears were flowing freely and copiously.
‘Please, Aisha. I would like to help you.’
‘But it was nothing. I got a fright. Really.’
‘Show it to me.’
‘I can’t.’
Mr Watson held out his hand. ‘It won’t go any further than you and me. I promise.’
But Aisha stuck to her ‘No’.
Mr Watson changed tack; he left Aisha in peace and turned to the class.
‘Aisha doesn’t want to talk about the thing that’s upsetting her so much, but perhaps one of you could? You would be helping her, if she is bound to silence for reasons that I am not aware of.’ He looked at every single one of them. ‘We are a community. If one of us has a problem, we shouldn’t be indifferent to it.’
At first no-one answered. The class had rarely been so silent. Only Aisha sniffed audibly. Greg passed her a tissue, and she took it without looking at him.
‘Maybe she’s getting her period,’ Rashid said.
There was the odd laugh here and there.
Rashid grinned. ‘Well she could be.’
Mr Watson looked at him for a long time without saying anything, until Rashid lowered his gaze. Suddenly Nick understood why quite a few of the girls redid their lip gloss before English class. ‘It was foolish of me to ask you,’ the teacher observed. ‘But in fairness to you I want you to know that I will go to great lengths to find out why Aisha is so distraught. I very much hope that none of you has anything to do with it.’