Col waited outside the dining room door in the Mastersons’ house, sitting on the bottom of the stairs. The hall was cold and smelled of the pile of farm boots stacked by the front door. From the murmur of voices inside, he knew that Mr. Coddrington was still questioning Rat and taking much longer with him than with Col’s interview. That did not bode well. Col felt terrible that he had been the one who had started all this by making Connie’s problem public.
Dr. Brock came in from the kitchen carrying a mug of cocoa.
“Here, drink this,” he said, handing it to Col.
“Thanks,” Col replied, staring down miserably into the swirling contents.
“It’s my fault, you know,” Dr. Brock said, sitting down beside him, his wrinkled face somehow looking much older tonight. “I should have seen this coming a mile off. Ivor’s been against Connie from the beginning. Of course, the first thing he would do with his power is seek to use it against her, and we handed him the opportunity on a plate.”
The door opened, and Rat came out looking bemused. It snapped shut again behind him.
“What did you say to him?” Col asked angrily.
“Keep your hair on,” said Rat. “I told him the truth, of course. I told him what we saw.”
“And did you tell him what you said to Connie on Monday?” Col pressed him. Dr. Brock looked up, not having heard about Rat’s falling out with Connie.
“Well, he did get it out of me, yeah,” said Rat, wrinkling his nose. “Creep, isn’t he? Are all your Society people like that?”
Col brushed aside the question. “You’ve gone and done it now!” He jumped up, slopping the cocoa onto the carpet.
“Done what? I just told him the truth, all right?” Rat squared up to Col, fists clenched. “Anyway, why blame me? You were the one who told on her in the first place, weren’t you? She wouldn’t have been so angry that night if you’d kept your mouth shut!”
“Now, boys, boys!” said Dr. Brock, barging between them. “You’ve been put in an impossible position tonight. You mustn’t come to blows over it. We’ve got enough problems to deal with as it is. Col, Rat’s right to tell the truth; Rat, Col is right to want to protect Connie—you don’t understand the man we’re dealing with as he does.”
The dining room door opened again and Mr. Coddrington strode out, appearing immensely pleased with himself. He stopped short upon seeing them huddled outside.
“Oh, didn’t I make myself clear?” he said, his manner lordly. “You’re all free to go. I’ll expect the universal tomorrow at noon.” He gave them a dismissive nod before disappearing into the kitchen.
“Ivor, have a drink after all your labors!” Col heard Mr. Masterson call out heartily.
“Don’t mind if I do,” said the Trustee with a note of glee in his voice.
6
Inquest
Dr. Brock came to fetch Connie from the cottage the following morning. She was very quiet and did not dare meet his eye as she climbed on the back of the bike, afraid of what she might see.
“All right, Connie?” he asked. His mouth was set in a firm line, quite unlike his normal friendly expression.
“I’m okay,” she said bleakly. There seemed no point in telling him that she was worried sick and scared to death. “What’s all this about?”
“Ivor Coddrington wants to see you.”
“What for?” Connie never liked him at the best of times; he was the last person she felt like meeting right now.
“He’s been made a Trustee. He’s been sent down here to look into what happened last weekend.”
“Oh,” said Connie, fumbling nervously with the strap of her helmet. “Does he know much about storm-raising?”
The frown deepened on Dr. Brock’s face. “It’s not that. I don’t know how to say this, Connie…but it’s bad. He’s investigating you. He’s on a witch hunt.”
“Then I’d rather not go,” she said, removing her helmet.
“I’m afraid you’ve got no choice in the matter, Connie. He has the Society’s rules on his side.”
“What can he do—I mean, do to me?”
“I don’t know,” Dr. Brock said, firing up the engine. “But I don’t expect any of us will like it much, whatever it is.”
Mr. Coddrington was holding court in the dining room.
“Bring her in,” he announced when he learned that Dr. Brock and Connie had arrived. Steering Connie by the arm, Dr. Brock directed her to a seat on the opposite side of the table from the Trustee. The last time she had met Mr. Coddrington, he had been all smiles and compliments; today he frowned at Connie as if she was a particularly stubborn bit of dirt he wanted to rub off the pristine reputation of the Society.
“So, Miss Lionheart, you understand why you have been brought here?”
Connie nodded.
“What was that? I require an answer.” Mr. Coddrington’s watery eyes blinked at her.
“Yes,” Connie whispered.
“I’ve heard from the witnesses, and I must say that things do not look too good,” Mr. Coddrington continued, flipping through his notes. Dr. Brock stirred restlessly on her right. Connie looked over anxiously at the papers, wondering what the others had been saying about her. Not even Col had stood up for her? She knew Rat blamed her, but she had hoped Col believed her when she said she hadn’t really wanted to harm him. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’ve told Dr. Brock already,” she said in a quiet voice.
“But now I want you to tell me,” he said, “and speak up when you answer me.”
“Ivor!” protested Dr. Brock. “Can’t you see how hard this must be for Connie? You’re not making it any easier for her by talking to her like that.”
“It’s not my job to make things easy. It’s my job to find out the truth. Go on, Miss Lionheart, answer my question.”
Connie cleared her throat. Given the choice, she would have bolted from the room there and then, but Dr. Brock placed a hand on her arm as if he guessed what she was feeling.
“I think I’ve summoned a storm twice, once last weekend and once in November—”
“You think? You mean you might have done it more times?”
Connie was startled by this suggestion. “I suppose so,” she replied honestly. “But I’ve only been aware of two times: once when I sleepwalked—and last weekend.”
“Ah, so you were aware of what you were doing,” he said triumphantly, noting this down.
“No, no, not exactly ‘aware.’ I only really knew what I’d done afterward.”
“So you knew what had happened?”
“I sort of did.”
“So you must have been aware of it while you were doing it?”
Connie felt confused. She knew she had watched herself direct the storms, but it had been like being a spectator to a dream. “It wasn’t like that.”
“What was it like? Try and help me understand you here.”
“It was like…it was like…” She faltered.
“You were aware that you had cast a lightning bolt at three Society members?”
“Yes, but I didn’t want to hurt them.”
“So you did it against your will?”
“No,” Connie wavered, “it wasn’t like that.”
“So you have already said, Miss Lionheart. Forgive me for not believing you as you are unable to say exactly what it was like. From your own admission, you knew what you were doing. What are we supposed to make of that?”
Connie could feel Dr. Brock looking at her. A sob rose in her chest, but she was determined not to cry in front of them.
“I don’t know,” she said in a strangled voice.
Mr. Coddrington got up from his chair and strode to the mantelpiece; he flicked some dust off the frame of the Mastersons’ wedding portrait.
“Tell me what powers you are calling on, Miss Lionheart.”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know or you don’t wish to share your secret with us?” He moved
back to the table.
Connie shook her head miserably.
“Answer me!” He leaned forward over her, his face so close that she could smell the faint sour scent of his breath.
“I don’t know.”
“Now, come on, Miss Lionheart. You must know that only weather giants have the skill to manipulate the wind and rain as you have done. Which ones are you working with? None of my contacts have channeled their powers through you.”
“I’m not working with anyone!” Connie protested.
“So you’re stealing power from them, are you? You’ve found a way of bypassing their consent and thought you’d have some fun? Thought you’d show everyone what the universal could do, did you?”
“Now, Ivor, what’s your evidence for that?” Dr. Brock exclaimed, looking from Connie to the Trustee.
“I’m sorry to say, Francis,” said Mr. Coddrington, smoothing his hair down, his anger scarcely hidden under his formal manner, “my pupil, Miss Masterson, and I have not been able to find any weather giants who have collaborated with the universal in the district. It stands to reason either she is working with renegade forces—such as Kullervo’s supporters, with whom we, of course, have no contact—or she has found a way to use their powers without their knowledge. Who knows what a universal can do? Do you?”
“Of course I don’t, but it’s Connie we’re talking about. Look at her! Does she look as if she would do these things? To me, she looks miserable and scared—she’s not enjoying her powers in the slightest!”
“Looks can be deceptive, Francis.”
Connie felt the pressure of emotion building inside her as she heard Mr. Coddrington’s accusations. Had she been doing this? How could she know if she did not understand what was happening to her? What was she?
“I think I’m going mad,” she said in a desperate undertone.
“What was that?” Mr. Coddrington turned toward her. “Claiming insanity as your excuse now, are you?”
Connie looked up at him, her eyes stinging with tears. She managed a hopeless shrug.
“Is that your attitude?” he said indignantly. “Either you are willfully causing harm to others or you have been driven out of your mind by the powers of the universal—not a very attractive choice of explanations.”
Connie took a deep breath, desperately trying to stop herself from breaking down in front of him.
“Mr. Coddrington, I really don’t know what’s happening to me, but I do know I’m a danger. I just want this to stop. I don’t want to harm anyone. I don’t care what you do, but please help me stop this.”
Dr. Brock took a sharp intake of breath, letting her know that he thought this last speech unwise.
“Yes, I’ll help you, Miss Lionheart,” said Mr. Coddrington, “I’ll help you by suspending you from the Society effective today.” He strode to the fireplace to take center stage to pronounce his judgment. “You are to have no contact with any members, particularly none of the mythical creatures; you are not to access the universals’ reading room again; you are to wait until you are invited to rejoin us once you have proved that you are no longer a danger. That should help you curb that will of yours—or give you time to recover from your insanity, if you prefer. And when you return—if you return—you will restrict your dealings to one companion species only, to be specified by the Trustees. Do I make myself clear?”
Connie sat in stunned silence. Her appeal for assistance had somehow been thrown back at her as suspension. How could she hope to solve this problem on her own?
“Do I make myself clear?”
“Ivor, think what you’re doing!” exclaimed Dr. Brock, half-rising in his chair.
“I am quite within my powers, Francis,” he replied coolly, still looking at Connie.
“I’ve no doubt about that, but we’re talking about a child in need of our help!”
“It’s not a child; it’s a universal.”
His words pounded into Connie’s stupefied brain. “That’s what Kullervo once said,” she whispered.
“In communication with him, are you!” Mr. Coddrington gloated. “Oh, it’s all coming out now.”
“I am not!” Connie shouted, stung. She got unsteadily to her feet as outrage at his unfairness shattered her self-control. “But you’re just like him. You see my gift and you hate me for it! You don’t want to help me: you only want to use me or get rid of me!”
“Connie!” Dr. Brock said in warning.
“Doing Kullervo’s work for him now, are you?” she continued recklessly, her voice cracking. “I always thought you were on his side. Well, he’ll be thrilled to hear what you’ve done. He’s been trying to get me away from the Society for ages, and you’ve done it for him. Congratulations!”
“You heard that, didn’t you, Francis: she accused me—a Trustee—of working for Kullervo,” Mr. Coddrington said, his voice brittle.
“Yes, but she’s upset!”
“I can’t let this pass.” Mr. Coddrington clasped his hands sanctimoniously in front of him, eyes raised to the heavens. “I said suspension, but I think I shall make that expulsion. Yes, that’s best—best for us all.” He turned to Connie, his pale face radiating his righteous anger. “Your membership in the Society for the Protection of Mythical Creatures is rescinded. You must hand back your badges and have no further communication with any of us. You continue to be bound by your pledge to keep our existence secret.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going,” said Connie, thrusting back the chair so that it clattered to the floor. She ripped the badges from her jacket and threw them on the table. “You know what? The Society’s a waste of time—just like Kullervo says. I’ll be better off without you.” She shook off Dr. Brock’s arm and ran out of the room.
Bursting from the Mastersons’ house, Connie fled back to the cottage. She ran across fields, scrambling over walls, heedless of scrapes and brambles, not bothering to follow any paths. Her body tingled with rage: she could feel it running through her veins to her fingertips. Overhead, clouds began to gather, shifting rapidly, driven by a mounting breeze. In the distance, out to sea, lightning crackled. Connie could feel the dark wave building inside her as all the old reference points of her life collapsed in the earthquake of Mr. Coddrington’s pronouncement. All she had to do was spread her hands to the sky, and she could call this inner turmoil down on the world outside, force it to share her despair—and this time she did not need to stop. She paused at the edge of the pine plantation, watching the trees creak to and fro under the oppression of the wind, and lifted her hands. Last weekend had proved she could do it: she knew she could summon the storm. She flexed her fingers, poised on the brink of release.
To hell with Mr. Coddrington. To hell with the Society.
In the plantation, a tree crashed to the ground, scaring a flock of seagulls into the sky. Their distressed calls echoed off the cliffs, jolting Connie back to herself. She had a choice. She would not do it. Whatever she felt, she must not impose her pain on others. She had to resist this urge.
Dropping her hands, filled with self-disgust, Connie stumbled back to the cottage and shut herself up in her bedroom.
News that the universal had been expelled by Mr. Coddrington traveled around the Society like wildfire. Col couldn’t believe it when his grandmother told him what had happened. He immediately jumped on his bike and rode to Rat’s house.
Rat was in the garden, playing with Wolf. Col hovered at the gate.
“Rat, come here.” He lowered his voice, conscious that Connie may be next door. “I’ve got bad news.” He quickly filled him in on Dr. Brock’s report of the disastrous interview.
“We’d better go see if she’s okay,” said Rat, frowning.
Col hesitated. “Dr. Brock said Mr. Coddrington has barred anyone from communicating with her.”
“Yeah. But you’re not going to take any notice of what that slimeball Coddrington says, are you?” Rat turned to him with genuine amazement. “Connie’s our friend.”
&nb
sp; “But I thought you were mad at her for what she did the other week?”
“I was, but she’s still my friend. Anyway, sounds as if she had a real go at that Trustee. I want to congratulate her.”
“I hoped you’d say that,” said Col, his face brightening. “That’s what I was thinking.”
The two boys knocked on the back door of the cottage. It was already getting dark, and the lights were blazing in the kitchen. Hugh opened it, wearing a striped apron and hands coated in flour, releasing the smell of baking pastry into the night.
“Oh, it’s you two, is it? Could smell the mince pies from next door, eh?”
“Connie in?” asked Col, looking past him into the kitchen.
“No,” said Hugh, wiping the flour onto his apron. “She’s been feeling off today and said she wanted to get a breath of fresh air. She’s gone out up to the headland, probably wanting to enjoy it before that wretched farmer spoils it with his wind farm—great ugly thing.” He shook his head sadly. “But I’m expecting her back any moment now. Do you want to wait inside? Her brother’s over for the holidays. He’s upstairs playing on the computer. I’m sure he’d like to see you.”
“Thanks, but I think we’ll go and look for Connie,” said Col.
“All right. I’ll have some pies waiting for you when you get back.”
The boys stepped out onto the path.
“Do you think it’ll be safe to go up there?” Rat asked, his hands dug deep into his jeans pockets against the cold.
“Yeah,” said Col, looking up at the night sky. There were no clouds, and the stars were beginning to emerge as the light faded. Only a slight breeze was blowing. “No sign of a storm, is there? I’m sure it’ll be okay.”
Connie was sitting on the highest place on the headland, looking out to sea. Argand was nestled at her side, keeping her warm, breathing gently on her hands to take away the chill. Argand had sought her out after Connie had hidden in her bedroom. She had scratched at the window and finally extracted a promise that Connie would come out to meet her. The dragonet had threatened to burst into the kitchen when Connie’s great-uncle was there if her companion did not agree. Connie leaned against Argand’s neck, feeling the warm scales against her cold cheek. She hoped the Society would not punish Argand for meeting her—it did not matter what they did to Connie herself, if indeed there was any more they could do. Argand was only an infant and could not be held responsible for what she did. Companions suffered if they did not see each other. How was the dragonet to understand that there were rules that said she could no longer be with her companion?