Soul Stealer (7 page)

“I think,” Tim said to his sister, “that means he doesn’t like it.”

At breakfast the following day, Tim was very pensive. Usually chatty with his parents, he seemed deep in thought. Pip knew
what he was thinking, for she too had the same concerns. It was one thing to cut Sebastian’s hair and teach him to either
keep his mouth closed or speak slightly more modern English, but quite
another to get him a uniform and enter his details onto the school server.

For most of the morning, Tim pondered the problem. The only computers he saw were those in the school secretary’s office or
the IT classroom. At the mid-morning break, he sauntered into a joining-up meeting for the computer club, solely in the hope
that it might give him access to the IT computers. It did: but they were not connected to the school intranet.

“We’re out of luck,” he told Pip as the bell rang, but, in the period after break, he saw his chance.

A library prefect came around the school to take all new pupils for a library orientation session.

Just inside the main library door was a large wooden desk behind which sat the librarian. As the pupils entered, they lined
up at the desk and were issued library cards, the information entered into the computer. Tim watched as the librarian logged
on, typing in her user name and password. It was simplicity itself— her name, according to a badge she wore pinned to her
sweater, was Mrs. Anne Patterson. Her user name was
pata.
Her password, Tim saw as she typed it, was
books.

Waiting until everyone had been issued with their library cards, Tim murmured to Pip, “Distract her. Get her away from the
desk.”

Pip nodded.

A few minutes later, she went across to the desk and said, “Excuse me, miss. Could you please explain the classification system
to me? We didn’t have anything like this in our junior school.”

“Well, certainly,” said the librarian, evidently surprised that here was a child actually asking to be shown
around the library rather than taking it for granted and later mixing up all the books on the shelves. “Come with me and I’ll
show you how it works.”

The librarian stepped out from behind her desk. Tim waited until she and Pip were out of sight around the end of the first
row of shelves then, checking that he was unobserved, he slid behind the desk and quickly punched in the woman’s access details.
Immediately, he was into the school server.

As quickly as he could, he made a new entry in the registration file. For Sebastian’s Christian name he entered
Sebastian,
thinking the less complicated he made things the better; for his surname he put down
Gillette,
the name of the razor his father used. Where the software requested a previous junior school address, Tim invented one off
the top of his head and located it in Manchester, as far away and in the biggest city he could think of on the spur of the
moment. As for Sebastian’s home address, he typed in
The Cottage, Rawne Barton,
grinning as he did so. After all, he thought, Sebastian did have an entry to his underground laboratory there and the building,
the old coach house which was going to be converted into an office for his father, was a genuine postal address. He typed
in Sebastian’s parents as being Mr. David and Mrs. Anna Gillette.

No sooner had he pressed
return
and logged off than the librarian and Pip reappeared. Pip gave Tim a quick look to make sure he was finished. He gave her
a sly nod and walked out.

Sitting together eating their sandwiches in the dining hall at lunchtime, Tim said in an undertone, “He’s Gillette, Sebastian,
and he’s in our homeroom.”

At the end of the day, as they were about to leave the school, Pip said, “Only one obstacle to go now. Gillette, S. needs
a school uniform.”

“No problemo!” Tim remarked. “Just stand outside that door and keep your bag open.”

Pip did as she was told. Tim opened the swing door and disappeared through into the boys’ locker room. Beyond, in the gymnasium,
two soccer teams were warming up. Tim quickly worked his way along the row of hooks, looking for a jacket and a pair of pants
that might fit Sebastian. It was not a difficult task, for Sebastian was more or less his size and Tim did not have to search
for long. In under thirty seconds, he had them bundled under his arm. Walking as nonchalantly as he could towards the door,
he stepped outside, checked that the corridor was empty and dumped them in Pip’s bag. She rapidly zipped it up.

“I feel really guilty,” Pip admitted.

Tim smirked and said, “All for a good cause.”

It was only as they set off down the corridor that Tim realized he had forgotten something.

“Hold on,” he said. “Got to go back.” He disappeared into the locker room again, to reappear with a school tie scrunched up
in his hand.

“Cinch!” he exclaimed to Pip, and they left the building.

That evening, in Tim’s bedroom, Sebastian put on his school uniform with a pair of Tim’s sneakers and one of his shirts. As
he dressed, Tim collected together some ballpoint pens, pencils, an eraser and a ruler as well as an old calculator, put them
in a tattered pencil
case he had used in primary school and placed that in an airline bag he had picked up on vacation two years before.

“Very sharp,” Pip said sarcastically when Sebastian was dressed. “You look like one of us.”

“Really?” Tim replied.

“Well, almost,” Pip said.

“He is what he is,” Tim retorted. “A fifteenth-century imitation of a twenty-first-century kid.”

“Certainly with the haircut,” Sebastian ruefully agreed. “Yet I shall do my best to conform to your standards.”

Tim shrugged.

“There is one thing,” said Pip. “We’d better cut out the name tag of the boy whose jacket and pants we stole.”

She took the clothes and removed the owner’s name tags with a pair of nail scissors, replacing them with some of Tim’s.

“That won’t just fool the school,” Pip said, “but Mum as well. It means we can put Master Gillette’s laundry in with ours.”

“I have been considering another quandary,” Sebastian remarked. “How do I get to the school? It is some distance.”

“Can’t you sort of use magic to make your way there?” Tim suggested. “Turn up as a bird and change into human mode in a stall
in the boys’ room or behind the bike sheds.”

“Yes,” Sebastian agreed, “that is possible but not wise. When I arrive, it must seem as if I am doing so in the fashion of
my peers. Yoland and Scrotton will be
watching. A boy appearing suddenly around the end of a building he had not already stepped behind might arouse suspicion.”

“We’ll have to give him a lift,” said Pip.

“Mum’ll pull up at the side of the road if she sees him,” Tim stated. “She thinks the sun shines out of his earhole. What
I suggest you do, Sebastian, is stand on the first corner of the road after the Rawne Barton turn-off. Our mother will have
to slow down there to take the bend. Just put yourself where she can see you and keep walking slowly as if you’re on your
way to school.”

“Very well,” said Sebastian, “but what do you mean by your remark concerning the sun?”

“Let it go,” Tim replied, grinning. “It’s just an expression. Take it as a compliment.”

Sebastian shrugged, shook his head and said, “I will bid you goodnight and shall see you on the morrow at the aforementioned
location.”

“Try that again,” Tim requested.

Sebastian thought for a moment and then replied, “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning at the place upon which we have agreed.”

“Better,” Tim said. “Not perfect, but definitely better.”

With that, Sebastian stepped through the panel in the wall and disappeared.

“Think we can pull this off?” Pip asked as the faint sounds of Sebastian’s descent down the hidden passage receded.

“Do you?” Tim replied.

“It’s going to be a long haul,” she answered. “Getting him on the school register and making him look like Joe Bloggs in Year
Seven was a cinch compared to what’s coming.”

“Tell me about it,” Tim replied. “If we get a ‘quandary’ or two and a couple of ‘See you on the morrows’ on the morrow, we’ll
be in for it.”

The following morning, as arranged, they came upon Sebastian walking along the side of the road as Mrs. Ledger slowed for
the corner.

“Is that Sebastian?” she remarked.

“Yes, it is!” Tim replied, feigning surprise. “Do you think we can give him a lift?”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Ledger. “If we don’t he’ll be very late.” She paused. “How does he usually get to school?”

“He walks, I think,” said Tim.

“Walks!” exclaimed Mrs. Ledger. “It’s over six miles!”

“Well, maybe he walks to the crossroads and catches the bus,” Tim added.

“Maybe he’s got a bicycle,” suggested Pip.

“Well, he hasn’t got it now,” their mother answered. She pulled in to the side of the road and leaned across to open the front
passenger door.

“Good morning, Mrs. Ledger,” Sebastian said politely.

“Good morning, Sebastian,” she greeted him. “Would you like a lift?”

“Yes, thank you very much,” he replied.

Sebastian got in the front seat.

“Seat belt,” Mrs. Ledger said as she put the car in gear.

Sebastian looked a little confused and glanced at Pip. Sitting in the back, she tugged at her seat belt and pretended to pull
it across herself to the buckle. Sebastian got the message and buckled up.

“The first of many faux pas…” Tim muttered to his sister.

Mrs. Ledger concentrated on her driving. None of them spoke very much during the journey to the school and, on arrival at
the gates, they joined the throng of other pupils arriving by parent’s car, bicycle, school bus, or on foot. Half a dozen
teachers stood around in the playground watching the arrivals, prefects guiding those new pupils with bicycles towards the
cycle racks. Pip and Tim headed for their classroom, followed by Sebastian. They noticed how Sebastian looked around all the
time, not so much out of curiosity, but fleetingly scrutinizing the faces of the other pupils and teachers.

Reaching the corridor near the chemistry laboratory, Tim opened his locker, telling Sebastian the combination to the padlock.
This done, the three of them entered the laboratory.

Yoland was standing behind the demonstration bench, engrossed in setting up equipment for a senior-school experiment. He only
looked up briefly to acknowledge their entrance. Sebastian walked right around the outer walls of the room, glancing from
cupboard to cupboard, studying the bottles of reagents and acids, the jars and tins of chemicals behind the glass doors. He
then came
and sat next to Pip and Tim at the end of one of the benches.

“Do you see anything?” whispered Tim.

“I see many things,” said Sebastian enigmatically.

“I think what Tim meant was,” murmured Pip, “do you see anything interesting?”

“Oh, yes,” Sebastian went on obtusely, his voice disguised by the sound of pupils talking and laughing in the corridor. “I
see much of interest every day when I am abroad in your era.”

Gradually, the room filled. The pupils sat on the stools at the benches, arranging their books for the morning’s lessons,
taking out their pens, a few of them switching off their mobile phones. The last person to enter the room was Scrotton.

“Good morning,” Yoland said loudly, his voice silencing the pupils’ hubbub. “I’ve mentioned to you already a few basic rules
to be observed in here. I will now elaborate upon these. Pay particular attention. Do not put your food on the benches. Do
not lick your pencils or your pens. Many of the substances in here are poisonous and are sometimes spilled on the benches.
Keep your hands washed. Move around the room slowly and with caution. Just a swing of your coat pocket or a nudge of your
elbow can be dangerous. Whenever I come in the room, you fall silent. This is not just out of manners and due deference to
me as your teacher but, more importantly, so that you hear instructions.”

As Yoland spoke, Sebastian continued to study the contents of the cabinets, taking in all the equipment
and considering how it might be used. There was much with which he was not familiar.