Soul Stealer (10 page)

Sebastian took a small metal clicker from his pocket like the ones found in Christmas crackers. He snapped it once. Tim felt
a tiny charge run through his body and his hand lifted from the table as if by its own volition.

“Your soul is now closed to me,” Sebastian declared.

“And what did you learn?” Tim asked.

“Much of your basest desires and greatest fears,” Sebastian replied. “I will give you an example. You wish your father would
give you the money you inherited from your mother’s father rather than make you wait until you come of age.”

Tim was flabbergasted. He had never mentioned that to anyone, not his father, not Pip — and certainly not Sebastian.

“You see?” Sebastian said. “If I can discover your most precious secrets, I can steal your soul.”

As Sebastian was speaking, Pip noticed what she took to be a square glass screen about the area of a hard-backed book mounted
on the wall. Displayed in it was a vague moving picture in muted colors.

“What’s that?” she said.

“It is a
camera obscura,”
Sebastian answered.

“A what?” Tim asked.

“It is an optical device.”

“Did your father invent it?”

“Indeed he did not,” Sebastian admitted. “The Chinese philosopher M’o Ch’i, five centuries before the time of Our Lord, knew
of it. The great Aristotle knew of it also, as did the Arab scholar Alhazen of Basra in the tenth century. However, my father
improved upon it and I too have made several minor modifications based upon the writings of Giovanni Battista Della Porta
in his publication,
Magiae Naturalis,
published in 1558.”

“What does it do, exactly?” asked Pip.

“It captures an image,” Sebastian went on, “with the use of a convex lens and projects this onto a flat surface. It is based
upon the principle that light travels in a
straight line but, when its rays pass through a small hole in a thin material, they do not scatter but cross and reform as
an upside-down image.”

“Where’s the hole the light comes through from outside?” Tim wanted to know.

“In the attic,” Sebastian told him. “The light rays travel down through the house walls in a cavity, guided by prisms.”

“What is that a picture of?” Pip asked.

“The fields outside,” Sebastian said.

“But how can you see them?” Tim demanded. “First, it’s night, and second, it’s chucking it down frogs and fishes.”

“That was my most difficult modification,” Sebastian admitted, “which involved the magnification of all available light to
provide enough to form an image. As you can see, I have only partially succeeded, for the image has no color resolution and
is not very defined.”

“Looks pretty good to me,” Tim complimented him. “Certainly as good as those night cameras wildlife documentary makers use.”

“What’s that?” Pip remarked, peering closely at the screen. “There’s something moving in the field.”

“Sheep,” Tim suggested.

“In this rain?” Pip responded. “They’ll be under the hedge, sheltered.”

Tim studied the screen and said, “I can’t see anything.”

“Just there.” Pip pointed to the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. “Moving towards the house.”

“It is of no consequence,” Sebastian announced dismissively.

“But I can see it!” Pip retorted. “And it’s not a sheep.
Sheep don’t creep along on their bellies.” She squinted at the glass plate to get a better view. “It’s a dog.”

“Look again,” Sebastian instructed her, gazing briefly but intently into her face.

Pip peered closer to the screen. The animal moving across the grass was a two-meter-long crocodile, its mouth open, its teeth
sharp, its yellowish-green scales polished by the falling rain. As she watched, it reached the ha-ha, and slid down the bank,
disappearing under the surface, leaving a flurry in the water.

“Have you ever seen one of these creatures alive in the English countryside?” Sebastian inquired.

“No!” Pip answered emphatically. “Of course not. They live in Africa.”

“Precisely,” Sebastian answered. “What you saw, Pip, is your chimera, the beast of your fears and nightmares, which I have
called up from the depths of your soul.”

Once again, he snapped the clicker, handing one to Pip and another to Tim. “You must each have one of these. When you feel
your soul being touched by another, press the device just once. It will break the hold upon you. But do not use it frequently.
The more you press it, the less power it will retain. Now,” he went on, “we have other matters to attend. It is time for us
to commence our investigations of Yoland and Master Scrotton. First, we must ascertain the location of their domiciles.”

“You mean check out their addresses,” Tim replied, putting the clicker safely in his pocket. “Talk modern speak, follow me
and prepare to be amazed.”

They left Sebastian’s subterranean lair and headed for Tim’s bedroom. Once there, Tim sat at his computer
and accessed the Internet, logging on to the British Telecom site. Twenty seconds after clicking on to Directory Inquiries,
Yoland’s address appeared on screen:
47, Keats Road.
A search for Scrotton, however, drew a blank.

“He’s got to live somewhere,” Pip said.

“Is it possible he lives with Yoland?” Tim suggested. “After all, he is his familiar.”

“Now that would raise a few eyebrows,” Pip remarked.

“Quite,” Sebastian concurred. “And neither Yoland nor Scrotton will wish to draw attention to themselves. However, if Scrotton
is as I believe him now to be, his place need not be a house.”

Pip and Tim stared at each other, flummoxed.

S
ebastian was not walking along the road as they drove to school the following morning. As both Pip and Tim had expected to
see him, they cast nervous glances at each other.

“Where’s Sebastian today?” Mrs. Ledger remarked.

“Maybe he’s farther down the road,” Tim suggested. “We did leave a few minutes later than usual.”

“He is a most remarkable young man,” Mrs. Ledger said. “Well-mannered, obviously clever. Very good-looking, too — the new
haircut aside. Where did you first meet him?”

Tim, trying hard to recall if he had been asked this before and, if so, what answer he had offered, said, “When I was fishing.”

“Did you?” Mrs. Ledger answered.

Tim, thinking he had given the wrong information, said, “I think so.”

“It can’t be hard to remember,” his mother replied. “You’ve hardly made many friends since we moved here.”

“It’s been a long summer,” Pip said, defending her brother.

“A lot’s gone down,” Tim added evasively.

“I should very much like to meet his guardians,” Mrs. Ledger continued. “Have you met them?”

“No,” Pip admitted, “but we’ve seen the cousin’s husband in the distance with a herd of cows.”

As they reached the outskirts of Exington, the traffic became heavier and Mrs. Ledger became a more nervous driver. However,
it was not until they were two streets away from the school that she had a fright.

The street was residential, lined by detached houses with trim hedges, neat front lawns and tidy driveways. Dark-green garbage
cans stood at the curb, awaiting emptying.

Suddenly, a handsome tabby cat ran out into the street from behind one of the cans. Mrs. Ledger rammed her foot on the brake.
The car stopped abruptly, Pip and Tim thrown against their seat belts. From behind came the squeal of tires on tar as another
vehicle did an emergency stop to avoid hitting Mrs. Ledger’s car. At the sound of the screeching tires, the cat paused, looked
at the vehicles, then fled with considerable speed down a driveway. Mrs. Ledger pulled in to the side of the street.

“People really should not have cats if they live in a town,” she declared, her hands shaking as she fumbled in her handbag.
“They cause accidents and it’s unfair to the animals. Cats like fields and woods where they can hunt. Besides, they always
get run over.” She studied her makeup in the rearview mirror, licking her index finger and tickling the corner of her eye.

“You know, Mum,” Pip said, “you’re like a cat.”

“And how do you make that out, young lady?” her mother retorted.

“Whenever something fazes you, you check your eyeliner or something. Just like a cat. When they’re fazed, they wash their
faces with their paws.”

As they arrived at the school, Sebastian was just entering the main gates, ten paces behind Scrotton.

Catching up with Sebastian, Pip said, “How did you get here ahead of us?”

“But for the stopping capacity of your mother’s vehicle…” Sebastian began, ignoring Pip’s question and leaving the rest of
his sentence unspoken.

Pip and Tim exchanged a look.

“You told us you wouldn’t shape-shift…” Tim said.

“I stated that I could not move around the school in the shape of an animal,” Sebastian corrected him. “However, to arrive
in the vicinity of the school before the arrival of the pupils and teachers I deem to be of no considerable risk.”

“But why did you…?” Pip began.

“I have my reasons,” Sebastian cut in on her. “You should not be so inquisitive.”

“What were you looking for?” Pip ventured.

“I was looking to see if there was evil hereabouts.” Sebastian walked on in silence.

“And?” Tim goaded him.

“Suffice to say I have regrettably discovered nothing of immediate importance.” With that, Sebastian walked away, aloof and
unapproachable, as if the feline qualities of the cat had yet to wear off him.

During the mid-morning break the library was busy, but Tim was still able to briefly access the librarian’s computer, which
she had left on. He logged on to the general database and entered Scrotton’s name. His age came up as
11,
his address as
14 Peelings Lane, Brampton
and his mother’s name as
Mrs. Mary Scrotton.
No father’s name was listed.

“He’s from a single-parent family,” Tim reported as they walked to their next class.

“Or no family at all,” Sebastian remarked.

“What do you mean?” Pip asked. “Everyone has parents. They’re a biological necessity.”

“Not necessarily,” Sebastian said enigmatically. “In some cases, such as in that of a…”

“A what?” Tim interrupted.

However, at that moment, Scrotton appeared walking towards them and Sebastian ceased talking.

By a row of lockers outside the classroom, Pip noticed a Year Seven girl standing with her left hand thrust deep into her
skirt pocket.

As they passed her, a Year Eight girl said spitefully, “You want to watch out for that Julia. She’s a witch, she is.” She
then deliberately fell against the girl, knocking her into the wall. The girl started to sob.

“Is she?” Pip whispered to Sebastian.

He briefly sniffed the air and shook his head.

Pip, Tim, and Sebastian approached the girl. “Why did that dunce-in-a-dress say that?” Pip asked her quietly.

The girl made no reply but half withdrew her hand from her pocket. It was dotted with large warts. “The doctor says I’ve got
too many,” she replied in a crestfallen voice. “He can’t take them all off at once.”

Sebastian leaned casually against the wall next to the girl and, waiting until Scrotton was out of sight, lightly touched
her on the neck. She jerked as if she had touched a live wire and stumbled against the lockers. Sebastian moved away and went
into the classroom.

“Are you OK?” Tim inquired, pretending to be anxious. The girl was ashen-faced, her hands unsteady: she dropped her books.

“I… I think so,” she answered. “Something strange just came over me.”

“Go to the girls’ room,” Pip suggested. “Get a drink of water.”

Tim, picking up the girl’s books, said, “We’ll save you a seat.”

A few minutes later, as the lesson was beginning, the girl came in and sat beside Pip. She was smiling broadly.

“All right now?” Pip whispered.

“It’s really weird,” the girl replied. “I can’t believe it.” She held out her left hand. The skin was completely unblemished,
with not so much as a red mark where each wart had been. “They’ve gone!”