into the flames. The floor was made of black marble, and there was no carpet. The bookcases, filled with ancient books like the one Jeffrey had been reading, reminded him of pews and there was even a pulpit in one corner, a carved eagle supporting a Bible on its outstretched wings.
The room had one riddle of its own. There were two headmasters at Groosham Grange. So why was there only one desk, only one chair, only one gown on the clothes-stand behind the door? David could find no answer to that – and no answers to anything else. The desk drawers were locked and there were no papers lying around. He spent five fruitless minutes in the study. Then he left as quietly as he had gone in.
It took more courage to sneak into Mr Kilgraw’s study opposite. David remembered the last time he had been there – he still had a mark on his thumb to show for it. Eventually he opened the door. “He can’t eat you,” he muttered to himself, and wished that he believed it.
There was no sign of the assistant headmaster but as he crossed the carpet, he felt he was being watched. He stopped, scarcely daring to breathe. He was quite alone in the room. He moved again. The eyes followed him. He stopped again. Then he realized what it was. The pictures…! They were portraits of grim old men, painted, it would seem, some years after they had died. But as David moved, their eyes moved with him so that wherever he was in the room they were always looking at him.
He paused beside what looked like a chest of drawers and rested his hand against it. The wood vibrated underneath his fingertips. He pulled his hand away and stared at it. Had he imagined it? No – standing there alone in the study, he could hear a faint humming sound. And it was coming from the chest.
Squatting down, he reached for one of the drawers and pulled it. That was when he made his first discovery. The whole chest was a fake. All three drawers were no more than a front and swung open like a door. The chest was actually a modern refrigerator.
David peered inside and swallowed hard. The chest might be a fridge but it certainly didn’t contain milk, butter and half a dozen eggs. Instead, about thirty plastic bags hung from hooks, each one filled with a dark red liquid. “It’s wine,” he whispered. “It’s got to be wine. Of course it’s wine. It can’t be anything else. I mean, it can’t be…”
Blood!
But even as he slammed the door and straightened up, he knew that it was. Wine didn’t come in bags. Wine was never labelled A B P OSITIVE . He didn’t even want to ask what thirty pints of it were doing in Mr Kilgraw’s study. He didn’t want to know. He just wanted to get out of the study before he ended up in another eight bags on a lower shelf.
But before he had reached the door, he managed to stop himself. It was too late to back out now. This might be the last chance he had to search the study. And time was running out for Jeffrey. He took a deep breath. There was nobody around. Nobody knew he was there. He had to go on.
He walked over to the desk. The book that he had signed on his first evening at the school was still in its place and with a shaking hand he opened it. He tried to lick his thumb but his mouth was as dry as sandpaper. His eye fell at once on the last three names: D AVID E LIOT , J ILL G REEN , J EFFREY J OSEPH . Although they had faded from red to brown, they were still fresher than the names on the other pages. Leaning over the desk, he began to read.
It took him about thirty seconds to realize that there wasn’t one single name in the book that he recognized. There was no William Rufus, no Bessie Duncan or Roger Bacon. So he had been right. The other pupils had taken false names some time after their arrival. The only question was – why?
He closed the book. Something else had attracted his attention, lying at the far corner of the desk. It hadn’t been there that first night. In fact David had never seen one before, at least not
The room had one riddle of its own. There were two headmasters at Groosham Grange. So why was there only one desk, only one chair, only one gown on the clothes-stand behind the door? David could find no answer to that – and no answers to anything else. The desk drawers were locked and there were no papers lying around. He spent five fruitless minutes in the study. Then he left as quietly as he had gone in.
It took more courage to sneak into Mr Kilgraw’s study opposite. David remembered the last time he had been there – he still had a mark on his thumb to show for it. Eventually he opened the door. “He can’t eat you,” he muttered to himself, and wished that he believed it.
There was no sign of the assistant headmaster but as he crossed the carpet, he felt he was being watched. He stopped, scarcely daring to breathe. He was quite alone in the room. He moved again. The eyes followed him. He stopped again. Then he realized what it was. The pictures…! They were portraits of grim old men, painted, it would seem, some years after they had died. But as David moved, their eyes moved with him so that wherever he was in the room they were always looking at him.
He paused beside what looked like a chest of drawers and rested his hand against it. The wood vibrated underneath his fingertips. He pulled his hand away and stared at it. Had he imagined it? No – standing there alone in the study, he could hear a faint humming sound. And it was coming from the chest.
Squatting down, he reached for one of the drawers and pulled it. That was when he made his first discovery. The whole chest was a fake. All three drawers were no more than a front and swung open like a door. The chest was actually a modern refrigerator.
David peered inside and swallowed hard. The chest might be a fridge but it certainly didn’t contain milk, butter and half a dozen eggs. Instead, about thirty plastic bags hung from hooks, each one filled with a dark red liquid. “It’s wine,” he whispered. “It’s got to be wine. Of course it’s wine. It can’t be anything else. I mean, it can’t be…”
Blood!
But even as he slammed the door and straightened up, he knew that it was. Wine didn’t come in bags. Wine was never labelled A B P OSITIVE . He didn’t even want to ask what thirty pints of it were doing in Mr Kilgraw’s study. He didn’t want to know. He just wanted to get out of the study before he ended up in another eight bags on a lower shelf.
But before he had reached the door, he managed to stop himself. It was too late to back out now. This might be the last chance he had to search the study. And time was running out for Jeffrey. He took a deep breath. There was nobody around. Nobody knew he was there. He had to go on.
He walked over to the desk. The book that he had signed on his first evening at the school was still in its place and with a shaking hand he opened it. He tried to lick his thumb but his mouth was as dry as sandpaper. His eye fell at once on the last three names: D AVID E LIOT , J ILL G REEN , J EFFREY J OSEPH . Although they had faded from red to brown, they were still fresher than the names on the other pages. Leaning over the desk, he began to read.
It took him about thirty seconds to realize that there wasn’t one single name in the book that he recognized. There was no William Rufus, no Bessie Duncan or Roger Bacon. So he had been right. The other pupils had taken false names some time after their arrival. The only question was – why?
He closed the book. Something else had attracted his attention, lying at the far corner of the desk. It hadn’t been there that first night. In fact David had never seen one before, at least not
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