The teacher laughed, a booming, hollow laugh tinged with malice. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “You really believe you can catch me off guard?” Mr. Helliwell reached out with his foot and pushed David back down on to the grass. David cried out and the world swam in front of his eyes, but still he forced himself to stay conscious. “You are searching for magic, boy. But you have none. We’ve talked enough. It’s time for you to join the dust of the earth . . .”
The Grail came up again.
“Why did you do it?” David shouted. “You were the best. One of the great voodoo magicians. You couldn’t have faked that. You were famous . . .”
“I was converted!” Mr. Helliwell snapped out the three words, and even as he spoke them a strange light came into his eyes. “An English missionary—the Bishop of Bletchley—came to Haiti and I met him. My first thought was to turn him into a toad or a snake or a watermelon. But then we got talking. We talked for hours. And he showed me the error of my ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“All my life I had been evil, child. Like you. Like everyone at Groosham Grange. He persuaded me that it was time to do good. To crush the school and to kill everybody in it.”
“That doesn’t sound very good to me,” David remarked. “Crushing and killing! What had we ever done to you?”
“You were evil!”
“That’s nonsense!” And even as David began to speak he at last understood what Mr. Fitch and Mr. Teagle had been trying to tell him. The difference between good and evil.
“Groosham Grange isn’t evil,” he went on. “It’s just different—that’s all. Monsieur Leloup may be a werewolf and Mr. Kilgraw may be a vampire, but that’s not their fault. They were born that way. And what about Mr. Creer? Just because he’s a ghost, it doesn’t mean he hasn’t got a right to be left in peace!”
“Evil!” Mr. Helliwell insisted.
“Look who’s talking!” David replied. “You’re the one who’s been lying and cheating. You’re the one who pushed me out of the tower—and when that didn’t work, you tied me up and left me to die. You stole the Unholy Grail—my parents have probably been disintegrated by now—and you’ve also destroyed half of Margate. You may think you’re some sort of saint, Mr. Helliwell, but the truth is you probably did less damage when you were a full-fledged black magician back on Haiti!”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, boy . . .” Mr. Helliwell’s face had grown pale and there was a dull red flicker in his eyes. “I did what I did for the good of mankind.”
“It doesn’t matter why you did it or who you did it for,” David insisted. “It’s easy enough to say that, isn’t it? But when you stop and think about what you’re doing . . . that’s different. You’re crushing and killing. You said it yourself. And I don’t think that makes you a saint, Mr. Helliwell. I think it makes you a monster and a fanatic.”
“I . . . I . . . I . . .” Mr. Helliwell was beside himself with rage. His eyes were bulging and one corner of his mouth twitched. He tried to speak, but only saliva flecked over his lips. “Enough!” he hissed. “I’ve listened to enough!”
Mr. Helliwell raised the Unholy Grail. For a moment it caught the sun, magnifying it and splintering it into a dazzling ball of red light. The shadow cast by the one, solitary spire reached out for the Grail.
And David pushed.
In the last few seconds he had formed a plan and had stored up all his remaining strength to make it work. He had argued with the teacher to keep him busy, to divert his attention from what was about to happen. Because as long as the Unholy Grail was out of the shadow, some power remained. David used that power now. Guided by him, Mrs. Windergast’s broomstick suddenly leaped off the grass and hurtled, faster than a bullet, toward Mr. Helliwell’s head.
The teacher ducked. The broomstick whipped over his shoulder and continued its journey up.
“Missed!” Mr. Helliwell threw back his head and laughed. “So that was what you were trying? Well, it didn’t work, David. And so . . . good-bye!”
With a malevolent smile, he jerked his arm out, thrusting the Unholy Grail into the shadow of Canterbury Cathedral.
But the shadow was no longer there.
Mr. Helliwell frowned and looked down at the grass. The sun was shining, uninterrupted by the spire.
“What . . . ?” he began.
He looked up.
When David had sent the broomstick on its final journey, he hadn’t been aiming at the voodoo teacher. Its flight had continued, over the man’s head and up into the air, toward the cathedral. It had found its target in the church spire, and strengthened by David’s magic, the wooden handle had passed clean through the stone, slicing it in half. The top of the spire had been cut off. The sun had been allowed through. The Unholy Grail was still protected by its light.
“You—” Mr. Helliwell growled.
He never finished the sentence. The broomstick had sliced through a ton of stone. The top of the spire, a massive chunk that tapered to a point, crashed down.
It landed on Mr. Helliwell.
David couldn’t look. He heard a single, high-pitched scream, then a sickening thud. Something fell onto the grass, next to his hand. He reached out and took it. It was the Unholy Grail.
Moving slowly, David forced himself up on to his feet and staggered away from the rubble, taking the Grail with him. Every movement hurt him. After every step he had to stop and catch his breath. But soon he was away from the shadow of Canterbury Cathedral, and pressing the Grail against his chest, he continued on through the safety of the dying evening light.
Departure
The waves rolled in toward Skrull Island, glittering in the morning sun, then broke—silver—on the slanting rocks. A gentle breeze wafted over the shoreline, tracing patterns in the sand. Everything was peaceful. Butterflies danced in the warm sunshine and the air was filled with the scent of flowers.
It was actually the first week of December and the rest of England was covered by snow, with biting winds and cloudy skies. But the magic had returned to Groosham Grange along with the Unholy Grail. And after all the excitement, Mr. Fitch and Mr. Teagle had decided to give everyone three weeks’ extra summer sun as a reward.
The school had been quickly restored. The moment the Grail had been put back in its right place, Groosham Grange had risen out of the rubble as proud and as strong as it had been before. Indeed, there were even a few improvements. Several of the classrooms had repainted themselves in the process and a new computer wing had mysteriously risen out of the swampland that lay to the west of the cemetery.
The staff had also been busy. It had taken a long and complicated spell to repair all the damage that had been done to both Margate and to Canterbury Cathedral, but they had managed it. Then they had made everyone involved—from the waiters and waitresses at the Snappy Eater to the police and ordinary citizens—forget everything that had happened. The Eliots and Aunt Mildred had been restored and returned home. It was small wonder that the entire school was in need of a vacation.
Two months had passed since David’s flight to Canterbury. He was sitting now in Mr. Kilgraw’s darkened study, one leg in a cast, his face still bruised and pale. The assistant headmaster was sitting opposite him. “So have you come to a decision?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” David said. “I’ve decided I want to leave the school.”
Mr. Kilgraw nodded but said nothing. A chink of sunlight spilled through a crack in the curtain and he glanced at it distastefully. “May I ask why?” he said.
David thought for a moment. It seemed to him that he had been thinking about what he was going to say for weeks. But now that it was time to put it into words, he wasn’t so sure. “I do like it here,” he said. “I’ve been very happy. But . . .” He drew a breath. “I just think I’ve had enough magic. I feel I’ve learned everything I want to learn and now it’s time to go back into the real world.”
“To learn about life.”
“
Yes. I suppose so. And anyway . . .” This was the difficult part. “When I look back at what happened with Vincent and everything, I still think I was to blame. The truth is, I really wanted the Unholy Grail. I wanted it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life and that made me behave . . . badly.” He broke off. The words sounded so feeble somehow. “I’m worried about how I behaved,” he concluded. “And so I think it’s time to go.”
“Maybe you want to learn more about yourself,” Mr. Kilgraw said.
“I suppose so.”
The assistant headmaster stood up, and to David’s surprise, he was smiling. “You’re a very remarkable young man,” he said. “Our top student. The rightful winner of the Unholy Grail. And you’re right. We’ve taught you everything you need to know. We already knew that. Why do you think we allowed all this to happen?”
It took David a few seconds to play back what Mr. Kilgraw had just said and understand the meaning. “You knew about Mr. Helliwell!” he stammered.
“We knew more than perhaps we pretended. But, you see, we had to be sure that you were ready. Think of it as one final test. Before your departure.”
“But . . .” David’s mind was reeling. “The Grail! Canterbury Cathedral! He came so close . . .”
The smile on Mr. Kilgraw’s face broadened. “We had complete faith in you, David. We knew you wouldn’t let us down.”
He went over to the door and opened it. David stood up, supporting himself on a stick. “Where do you think you’ll go?” Mr. Kilgraw asked.
“Well, I’m not going home, if that’s what you mean,” David said. “I thought I’d see a bit of the world. Mrs. Windergast says that Tibet is very interesting at this time of the year . . .”
“You’ll fly?”
“Yes.” Now it was David’s turn to smile. “But not on a plane.”
Mr. Kilgraw held out a hand. “Good luck,” he said. “And remember, we’ll always be here if you need us. Make sure you keep in touch.”
They shook hands. David left the study and went back outside. One of the lower classes was out on the lawn—or rather, as they were practicing levitation, just above it. Gregor, who had been trying to get a suntan, was sitting in a deck chair, his body gently smoking. The sun was still high in the sky. David followed the path over to the top of the cliffs. His favorite place on the island.
Vincent and Jill were waiting for him, sitting together, looking at the waves.
“Did you tell him?” Jill asked as he arrived.
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He wished me luck.”
“You’ll probably need it,” Vincent said. “I’m sorry you’re going, David. I’ll really miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too, Vincent. And you, Jill. In fact I’ll even miss Gregor. But I expect we’ll meet again. Somehow I don’t think I’ve heard the last of Groosham Grange.”
Vincent nodded and stood up. Jill took David’s arm. And together the three friends walked down toward the sea.
1 Ready, set, go!
Anthony Horowitz, Return to Groosham Grange
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