Demon Storm (2 page)

J
UST A YEAR
,’
SAM
H
AD SAID.
B
UT TO
B
EN A YEAR
seemed a very long time.

Even so, the days became weeks and the weeks became months. Ben saw less of Sam. She was studying for her GCSEs. Whenever she could, though, she spent time with Ben. They would walk in the grounds or, better still, go down into the town.

But they never went to the lake. That was a special place, reserved for the promise meeting. Waiting for them to return on Ben’s birthday.

And because a year had seemed such a long time, Ben was surprised how soon it passed. How soon his birthday approached again …

‘It’s only two weeks until your birthday,’ Sam said as they returned late from a stolen walk.

They weren’t supposed to be out together and already it was getting dark. Ben was going slowly,
taking as long as he could to walk back to the home.

The lights of a car swung across the gravel drive as it turned in at the gate behind them. Sam pulled Ben to one side to let the car go by. It gave a brief toot of acknowledgement as it passed. It looked like an old car – classic rather than vintage. It parked outside the home. By the time they reached the front door, there was no sign of the driver.

Two of the bulbs in the main chandelier had gone. The entrance hall was a criss-cross of shadows and light. A figure stood in the darkness by the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. His face was in darkness.

‘Samantha?’

He stepped into the light and Ben saw that it was Mr Magill. Ben liked Mr Magill – he was friendly and fair. He always wore a tie, and he made jokes while he was teaching the younger boys maths. On Fridays he gave them lollipops.

‘We just went for a walk,’ Sam said quickly. ‘Round the grounds, that’s all. Didn’t notice the time.’

Mr Magill raised his eyebrows. ‘Or that it had got dark? You’re a senior, so you’re allowed out. But Ben’s only a junior.’

‘I’m thirteen,’ Ben told him. ‘And it’s my birthday in two weeks.’

‘Really?’ He smiled at them – a real smile. ‘But even so … As long as it was just round the grounds,’ he said, in a voice that made it clear he knew it wasn’t. ‘Now, be quick and hang your coats up. There’s a special assembly in the main hall in ten minutes, so it’s lucky you got back in time.’

‘What’s the assembly for?’ Ben wondered.

‘If you wait ten minutes I expect you’ll find out. Make sure you’re there.’ He was looking at Sam as he spoke.

There was a large walk-in cupboard under the main stairs where the children kept their coats and outdoor shoes. By the time Ben and Sam had hung their coats up and put on their indoor slippers, some of the other boys were coming down the main staircase from their dormitory or the social room.

Miss Haining was with them. She was a sour-faced middle-aged woman who taught literacy, as thin as a street lamp. Her long fingers were like gnarled sticks and she pointed one of them crookedly at Sam.

‘You, girl!’ She called everyone either ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ despite knowing all their names. ‘What are you doing here, girl?’

‘I’m going to the assembly, like everyone else.’

‘And where have you been? You know you’re not
allowed in the boys’ dormitories and social rooms.’

‘This is the hall,’ Sam said coldly. ‘I haven’t been anywhere. Certainly not up in the boys’ dormitories or social rooms.’

‘Then what are you doing here? Your room’s in the new block.’

‘She came to meet me,’ Ben said. ‘So we can go to the assembly together.’

Miss Haining stared at Ben through flint-cold eyes. ‘I didn’t ask you, boy.’ She turned back to Sam. ‘I haven’t seen you since lunch.’

‘I haven’t seen you either,’ Sam said.

‘Where have you been?’

‘I was reading. Where were you?’

Miss Haining seemed to swell up as she drew a deep breath. Finally she said, ‘Don’t let me catch you somewhere you shouldn’t be again.’

‘You didn’t catch me this time,’ Sam muttered, making Ben grin.

His sister’s irritation didn’t last. ‘Come on. Let’s go or we’ll be late.’ She smiled and took Ben’s hand. He was tempted to pull it away. He was too old to hold hands. But he knew it wasn’t really that Sam wanted to hold his hand. She wanted him to hold
her
hand. To keep her safe from the ‘nothing’ she saw all around them.

They followed the other children along the corridor to the main hall. Sam looked neither left nor right. She gripped Ben’s hand so hard it made his eyes water. But he didn’t tell her. It was bad here in the old Victorian mansion. Steeped in memories and echoes of the past, it had been a house, a school, even a mental hospital. They all left their impression – impressions that you could almost feel.

Impressions that Ben knew his sister could
see
.

The main hall had once been the dining room. It was a large, rectangular room, its ceiling crisscrossed with dark wooden beams. The windows were set high in the walls – arched and framed with pale stone. Double doors opened into one end of the room and at the other end there was a small gallery looking down into the hall. There was another, smaller doorway beneath the gallery.

A narrow staircase led up to the gallery from the corridor that ran behind the hall. The door was kept bolted and the children were forbidden to go up there, because the floor wasn’t safe. But of course they did.

Ben and Sam were among the last of the children to arrive. There weren’t that many children at the home, but the hall was crowded when they were all together. Mr Magill had everyone lining up between the long, narrow tables where they ate their meals.

‘Any order, it doesn’t matter. And it won’t take long, so let’s keep it quiet and sensible, shall we?’

Miss Haining was watching through narrowed eyes. Mr Casswell, the history teacher, was talking quietly with her. Ben picked up some of their conversation as he and Sam walked past to join the line-up.

‘I don’t recall such a thing happening before,’ Mr Casswell was saying.

‘Mental aptitude inspection,’ she muttered back. ‘As if you can tell just by looking at them if the children are in sound mind or need special treatment.’

‘Well, he is an expert, apparently …’

Ben glanced at Sam, but she was still looking straight ahead. They stood between little Chris Summers and Jaz Amrij.

‘What’s going on?’ Jaz asked Sam. ‘Identity parade, is it – someone been shoplifting again?’

Sam shrugged. ‘Dunno. Some sort of inspection.’

‘They going to look in our ears or check for nits or something?’ Chris wondered.

There was silence as the door under the gallery opened and a man stepped into the room. He was tall and broad, dressed in a dark suit and a plain white shirt with a navy-blue tie. His black hair was cut short, so he looked like a businessman. Or an off-duty soldier. He was carrying a wooden box.

Behind the man was a young girl – younger than Ben, perhaps ten or eleven years old. She was pale and thin, with her mouse-brown hair tied back in a ponytail. Her eyes were wide and were constantly moving, looking at everyone and everything, darting back and forth. She was wearing a pair of charcoal-grey trousers and a white blouse with a plain blazer over it. Maybe it was her school uniform, but there was no insignia or design on the blazer.

The man put the wooden box down on the dining table opposite where the children had lined up. The top was rounded and there were metal handles fixed to each end. It looked more like a small trunk, or a pirate’s treasure chest. Metal bands were braced round the wood and there was a large keyhole set in the front.

The man’s voice was strong and deep, echoing
in the large room. ‘You may ask your colleagues to leave now, Mr Magill. I’m sure we can cope between us.’

Ben grinned at Miss Haining’s expression as she stamped from the room. Mr Casswell raised his eyebrows at Mr Magill, who spread his hands as if to say it was nothing to do with him. Mr Magill followed Miss Haining and Mr Casswell to the door, then closed it firmly behind them.

‘Thank you all for coming. This won’t take long,’ Mr Magill announced, turning back to face the line of children. ‘And it’s absolutely nothing to worry about. No one’s in trouble or anything.’

The man with the box was standing looking at them, his hands thrust deep in his jacket pockets. After a short pause he spoke. ‘As Mr Magill says, this will only take a few moments. I shall probably ask one or two of you to stay behind for a few words, but the rest of you – as soon as I tap you on the shoulder, you can go.’

He started at the end of the line furthest from Ben and Sam. Bradley Mulverton was the first and he stared back at the man sullenly. The man turned to glance at the mousy-haired girl, who was now sitting on the table beside the wooden box. She was swinging her legs and now shook her head.

The man tapped Bradley on the shoulder. ‘You may go.’

It was different with Megan Philps, who was next in line. The man seemed hardly to look at her. He had taken a mobile phone from his pocket. It was the sort that folded shut and he flipped it open, holding it up in front of Megan and staring at the screen.

‘Yes, please, if you would stay behind for now.’

‘Can I sit down?’

The man ignored her, but Mr Magill told her she could wait on the bench beside the other dining table. Soon a couple more children had joined her. The man passed slowly along the line, still glancing at his phone every now and again – occasionally staring at it for a while before deciding whether to keep someone behind or let them go.

Sometimes he turned to the girl, who either nodded or shook her head to give her opinion. The man always did what she suggested – if she nodded they stayed, if she shook her head they could go.

Finally, the man reached Chris, who was standing next to Sam. Ben could see that the man’s face seemed lined with sorrow and dark determination. He glanced at the phone and Ben leaned out of line to try to see what he was looking at. But the man
lowered the phone again. Was he getting texts or checking his email or something?

‘You can go,’ the man told Chris.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Chris mumbled. ‘See you,’ he said to Sam and Ben and Jaz, before hurrying over to where Mr Magill opened the door for him.

The man stepped across to look at Sam. He glanced at her and began to raise his phone. Then he hesitated and frowned.

‘Have we met before?’ he asked.

Sam shook her head. ‘Don’t think so.’

‘Maybe at another home or school?’

‘I’d remember,’ she told him.

The man clicked his tongue, but did not reply. He raised the phone and held it in front of Sam. His frown deepened. He turned to look at the girl sitting on the table behind.

She was also frowning, her mouth slightly open as if surprised. Staring at Sam.

‘Gemma?’ the man prompted.

She swallowed and nodded quickly. ‘Yes.’ Her voice was quiet and nervous. ‘Definitely yes.’

‘Please wait with the others,’ the man told Sam.

He barely glanced at Ben, didn’t even bother to check his phone. ‘You can go,’ he said. ‘And so can you,’ he told Jaz.

‘Why are you keeping them here?’ Ben demanded. His voice was shaking, but he had to know what was going to happen to Sam.

The man turned away without answering. Mr Magill patted Ben on the shoulder.

‘Come on. Time to go. Sam will be OK. It’s nothing to worry about. Just a quick test. And I know how much you hate tests. Both of you,’ he added, leading Ben and Jaz to the door. ‘It’s nearly time to go up for bed. You’ll see Sam in the morning and she can tell you all about it then. OK?’

‘OK,’ Ben agreed sulkily. But it wasn’t OK. And he wasn’t going to bed until he knew what was happening.

The bolt had already been drawn back. Maybe someone had left the door unbolted by accident. Or maybe, Ben realised, someone was already up on the gallery, watching what was happening in the main hall.

He couldn’t think who it might be – unless Jaz or one of the other kids was as curious as he was about what was going on. Just in case, Ben took the steps carefully and slowly. He kept close to the wall, knowing from experience that this
meant the old wooden stairs were less likely to creak.

He paused almost at the top and peered round the corner, across the dimly lit gallery.

A dark shape stood at the other end – stick-thin arms outstretched as she held the gallery rail. Her nose was a distinctive blade of shadow. Miss Haining.

For a moment, Ben wondered if he should creep back down the stairs. But only for a moment.

There was a table along the gallery. A long, narrow table used by the decorators who had finished and left months ago. They’d also left rolls of lining paper and a pot of dried-up paint with a brush stuck into it. You could pick up the whole pot by the brush handle.

The table cast an even darker shadow across the gloom. Ben waited until he was sure that Miss Haining’s attention was entirely fixed on the hall below, then darted out and into the shadow. He crouched down, hidden by the table, and looked out between the balustrades. He held his breath, alert to the silhouette of Miss Haining and ready to run if she came his way.

But she too was watching events below. The half-dozen children who had been kept behind
were sitting on the bench beside one of the dining tables. Ben could see Sam beside Big Jim at the end of the bench.

The man in the suit was standing by the other table. His voice carried easily to where Ben was hiding.

‘I want you all to look at something. That’s all. Nothing difficult.’

The girl – he had called her Gemma – was sitting beside the box, her attention fixed on the children opposite. The man took a large black key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the box.

He spoke quietly – so quietly that Ben couldn’t hear what he said. Then he leaned across the table and opened the lid of the box. Keeping his eyes on the watching children, he slowly began to tilt the box so they could see inside.

From where he was, Ben could see nothing. Miss Haining was also leaning out, trying to see into the box, but with no more success than Ben.