Arthur dropped the dictionary, picked up his inhaler, and took several puffs. As he went over to shut his door, he was surprised to find that his legs were trembling and could barely support him. On the way back, he patted the Komodo dragon on the head and briefly considered putting his hand in to check that the Key and the Atlas were still there. But that seemed like something that could best wait for morning.
Back in bed, Arthur looked at the clock again as he pulled up the covers. Surely it was no accident that this had happened first thing on Monday.
It’s going to be an interesting day,
he thought. Deliberately he turned away from the window, so he wouldn’t be tempted to look at it, and closed his eyes.
He left the light on.
A
rthur was not looking forward to school that Monday morning, to a much greater degree than usual. After the events of the early morning he had enjoyed only brief moments of sleep. He’d woken up every hour or so in incipient panic, his breathing ragged, only to find that his light was still on, the night was quiet, and there was no trouble. The Komodo dragon stayed immobile at the foot of his bed, and with sunshine filling the room it was hard to believe that the lizard had come alive and beaten back the horrid thing that had flown up to his window.
Arthur wished he could dismiss it as a nightmare, but he knew it had been all too real. The Key and the Atlas were proof of that. He thought about leaving them behind, inside the ceramic lizard, but after breakfast he took them out and put them in his school backpack. Then he checked the yard carefully through the window before running out to join his mother in her car.
In their previous town, Arthur had walked to school. Here, he would eventually ride his bike. But his parents insisted it was too soon for him to exert himself and his mother said she would drive him to school before going to the lab.
Normally Arthur would have made some show of independence, particularly in front of his brother Eric, who he looked up to. Eric was both a basketball and a track star. He’d had no trouble adapting to the new school. He was already on his way to being a stand-out player for the school’s top basketball team. He had his own car, bought with the proceeds of a weekend job as a waiter, but it was assumed that he wouldn’t take Arthur to school in it unless there was a real emergency. Being seen with his much younger brother was bad for his image. Despite saying this, he had intervened at various important stages in Arthur’s life in their old city, putting bullies to flight in the mall or rescuing him after bicycle mishaps.
Arthur was glad to go with his mother that morning. He had a strong suspicion that the bowler-hatted dog-faced men—or manlike creatures—would be waiting at the school. He’d spent quite a few wakeful hours earlier worrying about how he could protect himself against them. It would be particularly difficult if adults couldn’t see them, which seemed possible from what Ed had told him.
The trip to school was uneventful, though once again they passed the bizarre castle-like monstrosity that had replaced several suburban blocks. To test whether his mother could see the House, Arthur commented on its size, but just as with his dad, his mother could only see the normal buildings. Arthur could remember what the area used to look like, but try as he might, no matter how he squinted or suddenly turned his head to look, Arthur could only see the House.
When he looked directly at the House, he found that it was too cluttered, complex, and strange to reveal its many details. There were simply too many different styles of architecture, too many odd additions. Arthur got dizzy trying to follow individual pieces of the House and work out how they all fitted together. He would start on a tower and follow it up, only to be distracted by a covered walkway, or a lunette that thrust out of a nearby wall, or some other strange feature.
He also found it very difficult to look at exactly the same place twice. Either the House was constantly changing when he wasn’t looking at it, or the car was going past too quickly and the complexity and density of all the various bits and pieces made it impossible for his eyes to regain their focus on any particular part.
After they passed the House, Arthur was put off guard a bit by the normality of the rest of the drive to school. It seemed just like any other morning, with the usual traffic and pedestrians and kids everywhere. There was no sign of anything strange as they drove up the street the school was on. Arthur felt relieved and comforted by just how boringly normal it seemed. The sun was shining; there were people everywhere. Surely nothing could happen now?
But as he stepped out of the car at the front entrance and his mother drove away, he saw five bowler-hatted, black-suited men suddenly rise like lifted string puppets between the cars in the teachers’ parking lot, off to his right. They saw him too and began to move through the ranks of cars towards him. They walked in strange straight lines, changing direction in sudden right angles to avoid students and teachers who obviously couldn’t see them.
More of the dog-faces appeared to the left. Arthur saw them issue out of the ground, as dark vapors that in a second solidified into dog-faced, bowler-hatted, black-suited men.
Dog-faces to the left. Dog-faces to the right. But there were none straight ahead. Arthur ran a few steps, his breath caught, and he knew he couldn’t run and risk another asthma attack. He slowed down, his eyes darting across at the two groups of approaching dog-faces, his mind rapidly calculating their speed and direction.
If he walked quickly up the main promenade and the steps, he would still get inside before the dog-faced men caught up with him.
He did walk quickly, ducking around loitering groups of students. For the first time, he was grateful nobody knew him at this school, so no one said, “Wait up, Arthur!” or tried to stop him to talk, which would have happened for sure at his old school.
He made it to the steps. The dog-faces were gaining on him, were only ten or fifteen yards behind, and the steps ahead were crowded, mainly with older students. Arthur couldn’t push through them, so he had to zig and zag and weave his way through, calling out, “Sorry!” and “Excuse me!” as he went.
He was almost at the main doors and what he hoped would be safety beyond when someone grabbed his backpack and brought him to an abrupt halt.
For an instant, Arthur thought the dog-faces had gotten him. Then he heard words that reassured him, despite the threatening tone.
“You knock the man, you pay the price!”
The boy who held Arthur’s bag was much bigger, but not really mean-looking. It was hard to look ultra-tough in a school uniform. He even had his tie done up properly. Arthur picked him instantly as a would-be tough guy, not the real thing.
“I’m going to throw!” he said, holding his hand over his mouth and blowing out his cheeks.
The not-so-tough guy let go of Arthur so quickly that they both staggered apart. Because Arthur was expecting it, he recovered first. He jumped up the next three steps at one go, only a few yards ahead of a swarm of bowler-hatted dog-faces. They were everywhere, like a flock of ravens descending on a piece of meat. Students and teachers got out of their way without realizing why they were doing so, many of them looking puzzled as they suddenly stopped or stepped sideways or jumped aside, as if they didn’t know what they were doing.
For a second, Arthur thought he wouldn’t make it. The dog-faces were at his heels and he could hear them panting and snorting. He could even smell their breath, just as Leaf had said. It stank of rotten meat, worse than an alley full of garbage at the back of a restaurant. The smell and the sound of their slathering lent him extra speed. He lunged up the last few steps, collided with the swing doors, and fell through.
He was up again in an instant, ready to run, his breath already shortening, lungs tightening. Fear gripped him, fear that the dog-faces would come through the doors and that he would have an asthma attack and be powerless to resist them.
But the dog-faces didn’t come through the school’s main entrance. Instead they clustered at the doors, pressing their flat faces against the glass panels. They really did look like a cross between bloodhounds and men, Arthur saw, with their little piggy eyes, pushed-in faces, droopy cheeks, and lolling tongues that smeared the windows. Kind of like Winston Churchill on a very bad day. Strangely, they had all taken their bowler hats off and were holding them in the crook of their left arms. It didn’t help the look of them, for their hair was uniformly short and brown. Like dog hair.
“Let us in, Arthur,” rasped one, and then another started and there was a horrible cacophony as the words all got mixed up. “Us, In, Let, Arthur, Arthur, Us, Let, Let, Arthur, In, In—”
Arthur blocked his ears and walked away, straight down the central corridor. He concentrated on his breathing, steadying it into a safe rhythm. Slowly, the baying calls from outside receded.
At the end of the corridor, Arthur turned around.
The dog-faces were gone and once again students and staff were pouring through the doors, laughing and talking. The sun was still shining behind them. Everything looked normal.
“What’s with your ears?” asked someone, not unkindly.
Arthur blushed and pulled his fingers out of his ears.
The dog-faces obviously couldn’t get him here. Now he could focus on surviving the usual problems of school, at least till the end of the day. And he could try to find Ed and Leaf. He wanted to tell them what had happened, to see if they could still see the dog-faces. Maybe they could help him work out what to do about it all.
Arthur had expected to see them at the gym in preparation for the cross-country run. He had a note excusing him, but he still had to go and give it to Mister Weightman. First he had to suffer through a whole morning of math, science, and English, all of which he was good at when he wanted to be, but couldn’t focus on today. Then when he went to the gym, making sure to go through the school rather than across the quadrangle, he was surprised to find that the class was only two-thirds the size of the previous week. At least fifteen kids were missing, including Ed and Leaf.
Mister Weightman was not pleased to see Arthur. He took the note, read it, and handed it back without a word, turning his head away. Arthur stood there, wondering what he was supposed to do if he didn’t go on the run.
“Anyone else got a note?” Weightman called out. “Has some class been held back? Where is everybody?”
“Sick,” mumbled a kid.
“All of them?” asked Weightman. “It’s not even winter! If this is some sort of prank, there will be serious repercussions.”
“No, sir, they really are sick,” said one of the serious athletes. “A lot of people have got it. Some sort of cold.”
“Okay, I believe you, Rick,” said Weightman.
Arthur looked at Rick. He was clearly a clean-cut athletic star. He looked like he could have stepped out of a television spot for toothpaste or running shoes. No wonder Weightman believed him.
Still, it was strange for so many students to be out sick at this time of year. Particularly since biannual flu vaccinations had become compulsory five years ago. It was only two months since everyone should have had the shots, which usually offered total protection against serious viruses.
Arthur felt a small familiar fear grow inside him. The fear that had been with him as long as he could remember: that another virus outbreak would take away everyone he loved.
“All right, let’s get started with some warm-up exercises,” Weightman called out. He finally looked at Arthur and summoned him over with a crook of his finger.
“You, Penhaligon, can go and play tiddledywinks or whatever. Just don’t cause any trouble.”
Arthur nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It was bad enough when other kids made fun of him, but at least there was a chance he could get back at them, or make a joke out of it or something. It was much harder to do that with a teacher.
He turned away and started walking out of the gym. Halfway to the door, he heard someone run up behind him and then there was a touch on his arm. He flinched and half-crouched, suddenly afraid the dog-faces had gotten in. But it was only a girl, someone he didn’t know. A girl with bright pink hair.
“You’re Arthur Penhaligon?” she asked over the laughs and giggles from the rest of the class, who’d seen him flinch.
“Yes.”
“Leaf sent me an e-mail to give to you,” she said, handing him a folded piece of paper. Arthur took it, ignoring the catcalls from the boys behind her.
“Ignore those mutants,” the girl said in a loud voice. She smiled and ran back to join her particular clique of tall, bored-looking girls.
Arthur put the paper in his pocket and left the gym, his face burning. He wasn’t sure what made him more embarrassed: getting told to go and play tiddledywinks by Weightman or getting a note from a girl in full view of everyone else.
He took refuge in the library. After explaining to the librarian that he was excused from gym and showing her his note, he took a good look around, then decided to sit at one of the desks on the second floor, next to a window that overlooked the front of the school and the street.
The first thing he did was build some walls on the desk out of large reference books, to make a private cubby. Unless someone came up and looked over his shoulder, nobody would be able to see what he was reading.
Then he took the Key and the Atlas from his bag and laid them down with Leaf’s note on the desk. As he did so, he caught the flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked out the window, and, as he had more than half-expected, there were the dog-faces. Sliding out from between parked cars and trees. Slinking forward to gaze up at his window. They knew exactly where he was.
Arthur had hoped he would feel more secure if he could actually see them. That he would feel braver for having exposed himself at the window. But he didn’t. He shivered as they congregated into a mob, all of them staring wordlessly up at him. So far, none had shown wings like the one that had flown to his window the night before. But perhaps that was only a matter of time.
Forcing himself to look away, he imagined that he was a white mouse, tearing its gaze away from a hooded cobra. That having done so, he would be able to escape.
He felt a very strong desire to flee into the deeper parts of the library, to hide between the stacks of comforting books. But that wouldn’t help, he knew. At least here he knew where the dog-faces were. What they were was another question, one of the many Arthur was making into a mental list.
Arthur unfolded the printout of Leaf’s e-mail and read:
To: pinkhead55tepidmail.com