You can go now." He waved his hand dismissively.
There was a great deal of scraping, stamping, and shuffling as the audience rose from their seats and made for the door. A few of them cast curious glances at the white cube. A sound came from it. Waves perhaps. There was a faint rustle of a tide rolling onto a stony shore.
"By the way," called Manfred, as though to distract them, "Ingledew's Bookstore. Keep an eye on it. Get in there if you can. Old books make good hiding places."
The guests murmured among themselves and left the room.
Six people remained sitting in the front row: Grizelda Bone and her three sisters on one side of the aisle. Norton Cross and the swordsman on the other.
"Bring us some tea!" Dr. Bloor demanded when Weedon poked his head around the door.
"And cookies," added Ezekiel. "And cake!"
"For all of you?" asked Weedon, counting heads.
"All," said Dr. Bloor. "Eleven, to be precise."
With a bad-tempered mutter, Weedon withdrew his head and closed the doors.
"At last, the elite." Ezekiel beamed down at his six remaining guests. "Now we can discuss things more - comprehensively. Ashkelan Kapaldi, welcome!"
The swordsman stood and bowed deeply, first to the stage and then to Grandma Bone and her three sisters. He was a very colorful figure with his wide lace collar and emerald green tunic embroidered with gold. His cuffs were made of lace too, and his breeches were green velvet. Wide leather boots reached almost to his thighs, and a scarlet cummerbund encircled his waist. A broad leather belt hung diagonally across his chest from his shoulder to below his waist, and attached to this was a dark green scabbard.
"In the seventeenth century," Ezekiel announced, "Ashkelan Kapaldi was the greatest swordsman in Europe."
"Swordsman?" questioned Grandma Bone.
"Seventeenth... ?" murmured her sister Eustacia.
"I did it," said Mrs. Tilpin. "That is to say, I did it with the help of the mirror and my son, Joshua, who is endowed with magnetism. Together they"—she made a small circular motion with her hand—"they drew Ashkelan from his painting. And here he is... and his sword!"
At this, Ashkelan pulled his sword from its scabbard and sent it skimming toward the four sisters. They rose as one, with loud shrieks and exclamations, and the sword came to a halt, swaying gently on its point. A deep scratch on the polished floor left no doubt as to the sword's effectiveness.
"Fear not, ladies," said Ashkelan as the sword swept back to him. "See, it is under my command." He grabbed the sword and limped closer to Ezekiel. "I have been told, good sire, that every endowed child in this part of the world is within these walls on a weekday."
"That is so," said Dr. Bloor.
"Not so," stated Ashkelan. "I can sense the endowed and I have seen one, not one hour since, in the very courtyard before your establishment. A boy of medium height, a creeping, prying, nasty boy. And he is protected, sir, by none other than the Red Knight."
"Red Knight," breathed Ezekiel, leaning toward Ashkelan. "A Red Knight, you say?"
"Aye. His mount is a white mare," said the swordsman, "his cloak all red, the helmet's plume a fluttering scarlet. And he wounded me, good sirs and ladies.
He wounded me and I cannot let that pass."
"Of course not, sir!" Ezekiel was now bent almost in half, his breath rattling in his chest. "Whoever this knight may be, we shall put an end to him."
"First the boy," said Manfred coldly. "We can't have an endowed boy wandering the streets without our knowledge."
3. A FAMILY TREE
Tancred got to his feet. Had he known it was Charlie's uncle Paton standing there in the dark, he wouldn't have taken fright. Paton Yewbeam spent much time in the dark. His endowment was an unfortunate one - the ability to make artificial lights brighten. Exploding lights were a terrible mess and quite embarrassing for Paton, so he tended to avoid them whenever possible.
Tancred brushed the knees of his jeans, feeling rather foolish. "Sorry, sir,"
he said.
"On the contrary, Tancred," Paton said in a low voice, "it is I who must apologize. My wretched affliction compels me to walk in the shadows. I'm afraid I've already distressed at least three other people tonight."
"There's a man with a sword ... a sword that..." Tancred hesitated, unsure how to describe the scene that had so unnerved him.
"I know. I saw him, too," said Paton, "and the knight."
"I didn't know where to go, what to—"
"Come with me." Paton took Tancred's arm and hurried him away from Frog Street. "I was on my way to the bookstore. We can discuss things there.
Hurry! And tread softly if you can."
"Yes, sir."
They walked together down High Street, their footsteps light and brisk. Every so often, Paton would stop and hold Tancred still so that he could listen for any following sounds. But there were none. And yet something accompanied them. A hoarse whisper seemed to echo down the street, a faint groan came from a shifting manhole cover, and there was a soft whine in the air above them, either from overhead cables or telephone wires. And then there was the smell, strong and salty, that clung to their hair and faces.
"The father of the boy who tried to drown you is here," murmured Paton.
"I know. I can taste him," Tancred said.
They reached a row of ancient half-timbered buildings standing in the shadow of the great cathedral. Ingledew's Bookstore was one of a dozen small, rather exclusive stores on a sidewalk that ran beside the cathedral square. There was a lamppost standing immediately outside the window, but the light at the top was unlit. The council had given up replacing the bulb as it exploded so frequently. The councillors were all aware of Paton Yewbeam's unfortunate talent and guessed that he was responsible for the power surges. But none of them could bring themselves to mention it, for fear of being ridiculed. They pretended to believe that the constant shattering of glass was caused by hooligans.
Soft candlelight illuminated the bookstore window, where large leather-bound books lay on folded velvet. Paton rang the doorbell, and a tall woman appeared so quickly behind the glass in the door, it seemed likely that she had been waiting for him.
She withdrew the bolts, unlocked the door, and opened it, saying, "Paton, come in."
There was tenderness in the woman's voice, the sort that made Tancred feel a little uncomfortable. And then she saw him and uttered a little gasp of surprise.
"Julia, it's Tancred," Paton reassured her. "I thought it best to bring him here."
"Sorry, Miss Ingledew," Tancred mumbled. "Hope I'm not intruding."
"Of course not." She gave him a warm smile and walked down the three steps into her store.
Tancred followed her while Paton locked and bolted the door again. Miss Ingledew led the way around the store counter, where three candles in bronze saucers burned with a sudden brightness as the visitors stirred the air.
Behind the counter, a thick velvet curtain hid Miss Ingledew's cozy living room. Here a log fire burned in the grate, and shelves of books lined the walls right up to the ceiling. Tancred was surprised to see Miss Ingledew's niece, Emma, kneeling before the fire. She had her back to him, while she brushed her pale gold hair over her head. Tancred gave a polite cough and said, "Em?"
The girl tossed back her long hair and stared at Tancred, her cheeks reddening.
"Hello," she said. "I've... er... got a cold or a sore throat that might soon be a cold. So I didn't go back to school."
"Me neither." Tancred grinned.
"Well, you can't go back, can you?" Emma wrapped a hank of hair around her hand. "I mean you can't ever, now that they think you're dead."
Paton and Miss Ingledew had disappeared through the door into the kitchen, and the clink of dishes could be heard above the low murmur of their voices.
Tancred eased himself onto the sofa behind Emma. "I suppose I could turn up and give everyone a fright," he said.