Authors: Kerstin Gier
“So where’s the chest, Xemerius?” I asked.
“On the left. Between the wallsh.” I couldn’t make him out clearly in the dim light, but it sounded as if he was picking something out of his teeth.
“Xemerius is
a bit of a tongue-twister,” said Nick. “I’d call him Xemi. Or Merry. Can I go in and get the chest?”
“It’s on the left,” I said.
“Tongue-twishter yourshelf,” said Xemerius. “
Shemi
or
Merry
—no way! I come from a long line of mighty ansheshtral demonsh, and our namesh—”
“Have you got something in your mouth?”
Xemerius spat and smacked his lips. “Not now. I ate the pigeon I found asleep on the
roof. Stupid feathers.”
“But you can’t eat at all!”
“No idea of anything, but always giving us the benefit of her opinion!” said Xemerius, offended. “Won’t even let me eat a little pigeon!”
“You can’t eat a pigeon,” I repeated. “You’re a ghost.”
“I’m a
demon
! I can eat anything I like! I once ate a whole priest. Vestments and all. Why are you looking at me so incredulously?”
“Why don’t you
keep your eyes open for anyone coming?”
“Hey, don’t you believe me?”
Nick had already climbed down the steps into the bathroom and was shining his flashlight along the wall. “I can’t see anything.”
“The chest is behind the brickwork, like I said. In a hollow space, bonehead,” said Xemerius. “And I’m not lying. If I say I ate a pigeon, then I did eat a pigeon.”
“It’s in a hollow space behind
the brickwork,” I told Nick.
“But I can’t see a loose brick anywhere.” My little brother knelt down on the floor and pressed his hands against the wall, testing it out.
“Hello-o-o, I’m speaking to you!” said Xemerius. “Are you ignoring me, crybaby?” When I didn’t reply, he said, “Well, okay, so it was the
ghost
of a pigeon. Comes to the same thing.”
“Ghost of a pigeon—are you trying to be funny?
Even if pigeons did have ghosts—and I’ve never seen one—you still couldn’t eat them. Ghosts can’t kill one another.”
“These bricks are all solid as rocks,” said Nick.
Xemerius snorted angrily. “First, even pigeons can sometimes decide to stay on the earth and haunt it, don’t ask me why. Maybe they have unfinished business with a cat somewhere. Second, kindly tell me how you can tell a ghost
pigeon from all the other pigeons. And third, their ghostly life is over if I eat them. Because as I’ve told you I don’t know how often, I’m no ordinary ghost. I’m a
demon
! Maybe I can’t do much in your world, but I’m big news in the world of ghosts. When will you finally get the hang of that?”
Nick stood up again and kicked the wall a couple of times. “Nope, nothing we can do about it.”
“Ssh!
Stop that, it makes too much noise.” I put my head into the bathroom and looked at Xemerius reproachfully. “So you’re big news. Great. Now what?”
“How do you mean? I never said a word about loose bricks.”
“Then how are we to get at the chest?”
“With a hammer and chisel.” That was a very helpful answer, only it wasn’t Xemerius who gave it, but Mr. Bernard. I froze with horror. There he stood,
only a couple of feet above me on the steps. I could see his gold-rimmed glasses sparkling in the dark. And his teeth. Could he be smiling?
“Oh, shit!” Xemerius was so upset that he spat out water on the carpet over the steps. “He must have inhaled the cold chicken to get it inside him so fast. Or else the film was no good. You can’t rely on Clint Eastwood these days.”
Unfortunately I was unable
to say anything but “Wh-what?”
“A hammer and chisel would be the best solution,” repeated Mr. Bernard calmly. “But I suggest you put it off until later. If only so as not to disturb the rest of the family when you take the chest out of its hiding place. Ah, I see Master Nick is here too.” He looked into the beam of Nick’s flashlight without blinking. “Barefoot! You’ll both catch your death of
cold.” He himself was wearing slippers and an elegant dressing gown with an embroidered monogram, WB. (Walter? William? Wilfred?) I’d always thought of Mr. Bernard as a man without any first name.
“How do you know it’s a chest we’re looking for?” asked Nick. His voice didn’t tremble, but I could tell from his wide eyes that he was as startled and baffled as I was.
Mr. Bernard straightened his
glasses. “I expect because I walled up that—er—that chest in there myself. It’s a kind of wooden box decorated with valuable inlaid intarsia work, an antique from the early eighteenth century that belonged to your grandfather.”
“And what’s in it?” I asked, finding that I could speak again at last.
Mr. Bernard looked at me with reproof in his eyes. “Naturally it was not for me to ask that question.
I simply hid the chest here on behalf of your grandfather.”
“He can’t try telling me that,” said Xemerius grumpily. “Not when he goes around poking his nose into everything else. And slinking along here after lulling a person into a false sense of security with cold chicken. But it’s all your fault, you silly watering can! If you had believed me, the senile old sleepwalker could never have taken
us by surprise!”
“I will of course be happy to help you to extricate the chest again,” Mr. Bernard went on. “But preferably this evening, when your grandmother and aunt will be on their way to the meeting of the ladies of the Rotary Club. So I suggest that we all go back to bed now. After all, you two have to go to school later.”
“Yes, and meanwhile he’ll hack the thing out of the wall himself,”
said Xemerius. “Then he can get his hands on the diamonds and leave a few withered old walnuts for us to find. I know his sort.”
“Don’t be daft,” I muttered. If Mr. Bernard had wanted to do anything like that, he could have done it long ago, because no one else knew a thing about that chest. What on earth could be in it for Grandpa to have wanted it bricked up inside his own house?
“Why do you
want to help us?” asked Nick bluntly, getting in ahead of me with that question.
“Because I’m good with a hammer and chisel,” said Mr. Bernard. And he added, even more quietly, “And because your grandfather, unfortunately, can’t be here to help Miss Gwyneth.”
Suddenly I felt it hard to breathe again, and I had to fight back tears. “Thanks,” I murmured.
“Don’t get hopeful too soon. I’m afraid
that the key to the chest has … has been lost. And I really don’t know that I can bring myself to take a sledgehammer to such a beautiful and valuable antique,” said Mr. Bernard, sighing.
“Meaning you’re not going to tell our mum and Lady Arista anything?” asked Nick.
“Not if you go to bed now.” I saw Mr. Bernard’s teeth flash in the darkness again before he turned and went back up the steps.
“Good night, and try to get some sleep.”
“Good night, Mr. Bernard,” Nick and I murmured.
“The old villain!” said Xemerius. “He needn’t think I’m letting him out of my sight.”
The Circle of Blood its perfection will find,
The philosopher’s stone shall eternity bind.
New strength will arise in the young at that hour,
Making one man immortal, for he holds the power.
But beware: when the twelfth star shows its own force,
His life here on earth runs its natural course.
And if youth is destroyed, then the oak tree will stand
To the end of all time, rooted fast
in the land.
As the star dies, the eagle arises supreme,
Fulfilling his ancient and magical dream.
For a star goes out in the sky above,
If it freely chooses to die for love.
F
ROM THE SECRET WRITINGS OF
C
OUNT
S
AINT-
G
ERMAIN
TWO
“
WELL
?”
CYNTHIA DALE,
who was in our class at school, had planted herself in front of us with her hands on her hips, elbows pointing out, thus barring our way up to the first floor. Other students, who had to push past to the right or left of us, were complaining of the traffic jam. Cynthia was twisting the ugly tie that was part of the St. Lennox High School uniform in her fingers, and
she had a stern expression on her face. “What are your costumes going to be like?” It would be her birthday at the weekend, and she’d asked us to the costume party she gave every year.
She was getting on our nerves. Lesley shook her head. “Did you know you’re nuttier all the time these days, Cyn? I mean, you were nuts to begin with, but it’s been getting worse and worse. People don’t go about
asking their guests what they’re wearing to a costume party!”
“Exactly. Unless you want to have a party all on your own,” I said, trying to squeeze past Cynthia to one side. But her hand came out, quick as lightning, and grabbed my arm.
“I think up such fascinating themes for my costume parties, but there are always spoilsports who don’t stick to the rules,” she said. “Remember the Carnival
of Animals party, and some people turned up with a feather in their hair and said they were in chicken costume? Yes, you may well look guilty, Gwenny! I know just whose idea that was.”
“Not everyone has a mum whose hobby is making papier mâché elephant masks,” said Lesley. Feeling cross, I just muttered, “Let us by!” I didn’t bother to say how little Cynthia’s party mattered to me right now,
but I expect anyone could see that from my face anyway.
The grip on my arm only tightened. “And then there was Barbie’s Beach Party.” An obvious shudder ran down Cynthia’s spine at the thought of that one—for very good reasons, by the way. She took a deep breath. “This time I want to make sure. ‘Greensleeves Was My Delight’ is a wonderful theme, and I’m not having anyone spoil the party this
time. Just so as you know, green nail varnish or a green scarf won’t do.”
“Would you let me pass if I gave you a black eye?” I snapped. “It’s sure to be fading to green by the time you throw your party.”
Cynthia made out she hadn’t heard me. “I’m coming as a flower girl in a green dress with a basket full of green posies. Sarah is coming as a green pepper. She says her costume is brilliant,
but I don’t know any more about it yet, because she suddenly had to go to the toilet. Gordon is coming as a field of daisies. He’ll be in artificial turf all over.”
“Cyn…” There was just no getting past her.
“And Charlotte is having a costume specially made by a dressmaker, but it’s still a secret. Isn’t that right, Charlotte?”
My cousin Charlotte, jammed in between a lot of other students,
tried to stop, but she had to go with the flow climbing up the stairs. “It’s not all that difficult to guess,” she told us in passing. “I’ll just say tulle in seven different shades of green. And it looks like I’ll be coming with King Oberon.” She called that last remark back over her shoulder. And she was looking at me with a funny sort of smile, the same as at breakfast, when I’d felt like throwing
a tomato at her.
“Good for Charlotte,” said Cynthia, pleased. “Coming in green
and
bringing a boy. That’s the kind of guest I like.”
Surely the boy Charlotte was bringing wouldn’t be … no, impossible. Gideon would never stick on pointy ears. Or would he? I watched Charlotte moving through the crowd like a queen. She had done her glossy red hair in a kind of braided retro style, and the girls
from the younger classes were all looking at her with that mixture of dislike and admiration that comes only from genuine envy. There’d probably be cute braided hairstyles all over the school yard tomorrow.
“So what are you two coming as, and who are you bringing?” asked Cynthia.
“We’re coming as little green men from Mars, O best party hostess of all time,” said Lesley, with a sigh of resignation.
“And you’ll have to wait and see who we’re bringing. It’s a surprise.”
“Okay, then.” Cynthia let go of my arm. “Little green men from Mars. Not exactly attractive, but original. Don’t you dare change your minds.” Without saying good-bye, she homed in on her next victim. “Katie! Hi! Stop right there. About my party!”
“Little green men from Mars?” I repeated as I looked automatically at the niche
where James, the school ghost, usually stood. This morning it was empty.
“We had to shake her off somehow or other,” said Lesley. “Her party! Who wants to bother with that kind of thing?”
“Did I hear something about a party? I’ll be there!” Gideon’s brother Raphael had emerged behind us, and made his way in between us with a confident look, taking my arm and putting his other arm around Lesley’s
waist. He’d done his tie up in a very peculiar way. Well, strictly speaking, he’d just tied a double knot in it. “And there was I thinking you Brits don’t have much to celebrate! Closing time in the pubs and all that.”
Lesley shook free of him. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you. Cynthia’s annual costume party isn’t the sort of party you’d enjoy. Unless you like the kind where parents keep
a beady eye on the buffet to make sure no one mixes anything alcoholic into the drinks or tips over the dessert.”
“Yes, Cynthia’s mum and dad do that, but they always try playing funny games with us,” I defended them. “And they’re usually the only ones who dance.” I glanced at Raphael sideways, and quickly looked away again because his profile was so like his brother’s. “To be honest, I’m surprised
Cyn hasn’t invited you yet.”
“She did.” Raphael sighed. “I said I was afraid I had another engagement. I hate themed parties where you have to dress up. But if I’d known you two were going…”
I was about to offer to tie his tie properly for him (the school rules were pretty strict about that), when he put his arm around Lesley’s waist again and said cheerfully, “Did you tell Gwyneth that we tracked
down the location of the treasure in your mystery game? Has she found it yet?”
“Yes,” said Lesley briefly. I noticed that she didn’t shake herself free this time.
“So how’s the game getting along,
mignonne
?”