Текст книги "Carry On"

Автор книги: Rainbow Rowell

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“Let him. I could use the free time.”

I get out of bed and stand over her. Her dark hair is spread out over the pillowcase, and her glasses are smashed into her cheek. Her skirt has hiked up, and her bare thigh looks plump and smooth.

I pinch her. She jumps up.

“Come on,” I say, “I’ll walk you.”

Penny straightens her glasses and untwists her shirt. “No. I don’t want you to see how I get past the wards.”

“Because that’s not something you’d want to share with your best friend?”

“Because it’s fun watching you try to figure it out.”

I open my door and peek down the staircase. I don’t see or hear anyone. “Fine,” I say, holding the door open. “Good-night.”

Penny walks past me. “Good-night, Simon. See you tomorrow.”

I grin. I can’t help it—it’s so good to be back. “See you tomorrow.”

As soon as I’m alone, I change into my school pyjamas—Baz brings his from home, but I like the school ones. I don’t sleep in pyjamas when I’m at the juvenile centres, I never have. It makes me feel, I don’t know—vulnerable. I change and crawl into bed, sighing.

These nights at Watford, before Baz gets here, are the only nights in my life when I actually sleep.

*   *   *

I don’t know what time it is when I wake up. The room is dark, and there’s a shaft of moonlight slicing across my bed.

I think I see a woman standing by the window, and at first I think it’s Penny. Then the figure shifts, and I think it’s Baz.

Then I decide I’m dreaming and fall back into sleep.

6

LUCY

I have so much I want to tell you.

But time is short.

And my voice doesn’t carry.

7

SIMON

The sun is just rising when I hear my door creak open. I pull the blankets up over my head. “Go away,” I say, expecting Penny to start talking at me anyway. She’s good at immediately making me forget how much I missed her over the summer.

Someone clears his throat.

I open my eyes and see the Mage standing just inside the door, looking amused—at least on the surface. There’s something darker underneath.

“Sir.” I sit up. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, Simon. You must not have heard me knock.”

“No … Let me just, I’ll just, um … get dressed.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” he says, walking to the window, giving Baz’s bed a wide berth—even the Mage is afraid of vampires. Though he wouldn’t use the word “afraid.” He’d say something like “cautious” or “prudent.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to welcome you back yesterday,” he says. “How was your journey?”

I push the covers off and sit at the edge of my bed. I’m still in my pyjamas, but at least I’m sitting up. “Fine,” I say. “I mean, I suppose … not exactly fine. My taxi driver was a goblin.”

“Another goblin?” He turns from the window to me, hands clasped behind his back. “Persistent, aren’t they. Was it alone?”

“Yes, sir. Tried to scarper off with me.”

He shakes his head. “They never think to come in pairs. What spell did you use?”

“Used my blade, sir.” I bite at my lip.

“Fine,” he says.

“And Into thin air to clean it up.”

The Mage raises his eyebrow. “Excellent, Simon.” He looks down at my pyjamas and bare feet, then seems to study my face. “What about this summer? Anything to report? Anything unusual?”

“I would have contacted you, sir.” (I can contact him, if I need to. I have his mobile number. Also, I could send a bird.)

The Mage nods. “Good.” He looks at me for a few more seconds, then turns back to the window, like he’s observed everything about me that he needs to. The sunlight catches in his thick brown hair, and for a minute, he looks even more like a swashbuckler than usual.

He’s in uniform: dark green canvas leggings, tall leather boots, a green tunic with straps and small pockets—with a sword hanging in a woven scabbard from his tooled belt. Unlike mine, his blade is fully visible.

Penny’s mum, Professor Bunce, says that previous mages wore a ceremonial cowl and cape. And that other headmasters wore robes and mortarboards. The Mage, she says, has created his own uniform. She calls it a costume.

I think Professor Bunce must hate the Mage more than anyone who isn’t actually his enemy. The only time I ever hear Penny’s dad talk out loud is when her mum gets going on the Mage; he’ll put his hand on her arm and say, “Now, Mitali…” And then she’ll say, “I apologize, Simon, I know the Mage is your foster father.…”

But he isn’t, not really. The Mage has never presented himself to me that way. As family. He’s always treated me as an ally—even when I was a little kid. The very first time he brought me to Watford, he sat me down in his office and told me everything. About the Insidious Humdrum. About the missing magic. About the holes in the atmosphere like dead spots.

I was still trying to get it through my head that magic was real, and there he was telling me that something was killing it—eating it, ending it—and that only I could help:

“You’re too young to hear this, Simon. Eleven is too young. But it isn’t fair to keep any of this from you any longer. The Insidious Humdrum is the greatest threat the World of Mages has ever faced. He’s powerful, he’s pervasive. Fighting him is like fighting off sleep when you’re long past the edge of exhaustion.

“But fight him we must. We want to protect you; I vow to do so with my life. But you must learn, Simon, as soon as possible, how best to protect yourself.

“He is our greatest threat. And you are our greatest hope.”

I was too stunned to respond or to ask any questions. Too young. I just wanted to see the Mage do that trick again, the one where he made a map roll out all by itself.

I spent that first year at Watford telling myself that I was dreaming. And the next year telling myself that I wasn’t …

I’d already been attacked by ogres, shattered a circle of standing stones, and grown five inches before I thought to ask the real question:

Why me?

Why did I have to fight the Humdrum?

The Mage has answered that question a dozen different ways over the years:

Because I was chosen. Because I was prophesied. Because the Humdrum won’t leave me alone.

But none of those are real answers. Penelope has given me the only answer that I know what to do with.…

“Because you can, Simon. And someone has to.”

The Mage is watching something out my window. I think about inviting him to sit down. Then I try to remember whether I’ve ever seen him sit down.

I shift my weight, and the bed creaks. He turns to me, looking troubled.

“Sir?”

“Simon.”

“The Humdrum—did you find him? What have I missed?”

The Mage rubs his chin in the notch between his thumb and forefinger, then jerks his head quickly from side to side. “Nothing. We’re no closer to finding him, and other matters have needed my immediate attention.”

“How could anything be more important than the Humdrum?” I blurt out.

“Not more important,” he says. “Just more pressing. It’s the Old Families—they’re testing me.” He balls his right hand into a fist. “Half of Wales has stopped tithing. The Pitches are paying three members of the Coven to stay away from meetings, so we don’t have quorum. And there have been skirmishes up and down the road to London all summer long.”

“Skirmishes?”

“Traps, tussles. Tests—they’re all tests, Simon. You know the Old Families would seize the reins if they thought for a moment I was distracted. They’d roll back everything we’ve accomplished.”

“Do they think they can fight the Humdrum without us?”

“I think they’re so shortsighted,” he says, looking over at me, “that they don’t care. They just want power, and they want it now.”

“Well, I don’t care about them,” I say. “If the Humdrum takes our magic, we won’t have anything to scrap over. We should be fighting the Humdrum.”

“And we will,” he says, “when the time is right. When we know how to beat him. But until then, my first priority is keeping you safe. Simon…” He folds his arms. “I’ve been consulting with the other members of the Coven, with those I can trust. We think maybe our efforts to protect you have backfired. Despite the spells and surveillance, the Humdrum seems to have the best luck getting to you when you’re here, at Watford. He spirited you away in June without triggering any of our defences.”

It’s embarrassing to hear him say this. It feels like I’m the one failing, not the Mage or the protection spells. I’m supposed to be the only one who can fight the Humdrum. But I finally got a chance to face him, and the most I could do was run away. I don’t think I’d have managed even that without Penelope.

The Mage clenches his jaw. He has one of those chins that flattens out in the middle—with a sharp dimple, like he was nicked by a knife. I’m dead jealous of it. “We’ve decided,” he says slowly, “that you would be safer somewhere other than Watford.”

I’m not sure what he’s getting at. “Sir?”

“The Coven has secured a place for you. And a private tutor. I can’t talk about the details now—but I’ll take you there myself. We’ll leave soon; I need to be back by nightfall.”

“You want me to leave Watford?”

He narrows his eyes. The Mage hates to repeat himself. “Yes. You won’t need to pack much. Your boots and your cloak, any artefacts you want to keep—”

“Sir, I can’t leave Watford. Our lessons start this week.”

He cocks his head. “Simon. You’re not a child. There’s nothing more for you to learn at Watford.”

Maybe he’s right. I’m a hopeless student; it’s not like this year is going to make or break me, but still … “I can’t leave Watford. It’s my last year.”

The Mage rubs his beard. His eyes narrow to slits.

“I just can’t,” I say again. I try to think of why not, but all that comes to me is no. I can’t leave Watford. I’ve been waiting all summer to get here. I’ve been waiting my whole life. I’m always either at Watford or wishing I was at Watford, and next year that will change—it has to—but not yet. “No,” I say. “I can’t.”

“Simon”—his voice is stern—“this isn’t a suggestion. Your life is at stake. And the entire World of Mages is depending on you.”

I feel like arguing that point: Baz isn’t depending on me. None of the magicians who stand with the House of Pitch believe I’m their saviour.…

I grind my teeth so tight, I can practically feel the shape of them. I shake my head.

The Mage frowns down at me like I’m a child who’s refusing to listen. “Hasn’t it ever occurred to you, Simon, that the Humdrum attacks you only when you’re here?”

“Has it just now occurred to you?” I swallow. “Sir,” I add too late.

“I don’t understand this!” he says, raising his voice. “You’ve never questioned my decisions before.”

“You’ve never asked me to leave Watford before!”

His face is hard. “Simon, we’re at war. Do I need to remind you of that?”

“No, sir.”

“And we all make sacrifices at wartime.”

“But we’ve always been at war,” I say. “As long as I’ve been here. We can’t just stop living because we’re at war.”

“Can’t we?” He’s finally lost his temper. He jerks his hand back down to the hilt of his sword. “Look at me, Simon. Have you ever known me to indulge myself with a normal life? Where is my wife? My children? Where’s my house in the country with my cosy chair and a fat cocker spaniel to bring me my slippers? When do I go on holiday? When do I take a break? When do I do anything other than prepare for the battle ahead? We don’t get to ignore our responsibilities because we’re bored with them.”

My head drops down like he’s shoved it. “I’m not bored,” I mutter.

“Speak up.”

I lift my head. “I’m not bored, sir.”

Our eyes meet.

“Get dressed. Gather your things.…”

I feel every muscle in my body grab. Every joint lock. “No.”

I can’t. I just got here. And this summer was the worst summer yet. I held on because I was coming to Watford at the end of it, but I can’t hold on any longer. I don’t have it in me. My reserves are empty, and the Mage won’t even tell me where he wants me to go—and what about Penny? And Agatha?

I’m shaking my head. I hear the Mage take in a sharp breath, and when I look up, there’s a haze of red between us.

Fuck. No.

He steps away from me. “Simon,” he says. His wand is out. “Stay cool!”

I fumble for my own wand and start running through spells. “Keep it together! Suck it up! Steady on! Hold fast!” But spells take magic, and drawing on my magic right now just draws it to the surface—the red between us thickens. I close my eyes and try to disappear. To think of nothing at all. I fall back on the bed, and my wand bounces onto the floor.

When I can focus again, the Mage is leaning over me, his hand on my forehead. Something is smoking—I think it’s my sheets. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he says, but he still looks scared. He pushes my hair up off my forehead with one hand, then brushes his knuckles down my cheek.

“Please don’t make me leave,” I beg.

The Mage looks in my eyes, and through them. I can see him deliberating—then relenting. “I’ll talk to the Coven,” he says. “Perhaps we still have time.…” He purses his lips together. He has a pencil-thin moustache, just above his lips; Baz and Agatha both like to make fun of it. “But it isn’t just your safety we’re concerned with, Simon.…”

He’s still leaning over me. I feel like there’s nothing to breathe between us but smoke.

“I’ll talk to the Coven,” he says. He squeezes my shoulder and stands. “Do you need the nurse?”

“No, sir.”

“You’ll call for me if something changes. Or if you see anything strange—any signs of the Humdrum, or anything … out of the ordinary.”

I nod.

The Mage strides out of the room, his palm resting on the hilt of his sword—that means he’s thinking—and closes the door firmly behind him.

I roll around and make sure that my bed isn’t actually burning, then collapse back into sleep.

8

LUCY

And the fog is so thick.

9

SIMON

Penny’s sitting at my desk when I wake up again. She’s reading a book as thick as her arm. “It’s past noon,” she says. “You’ve become an absolute sluggard in foster care; I’m writing a letter to The Telegraph.”

“You can’t just let yourself into my room without knocking,” I say, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “Even if you do have a magickal key.”

“It’s not a key, and I did knock. You sleep like a corpse.”

I walk past her to the bathroom, and she sniffs, then closes her book. “Simon. Did you go off?”

“Sort of. It’s a long story.”

“Were you attacked?”

“No,” I shut the door to the bathroom and raise my voice: “I’ll tell you later.” Penny’s going to flip her shit when I tell her the Mage wants to send me away.

I look in the mirror and try to decide whether to shower. My hair’s matted to my head on one side and standing up on top—I always break into a sweat when I lose control like that. I feel grimy all over. I examine my chin in the mirror, hoping I need a shave, but I don’t; I never really do. I’d grow a moustache just like the Mage’s if I could, and I wouldn’t care at all if Baz took the piss.

I strip off my shirt and give the gold cross around my neck a rub. I’m not religious—it’s a talisman. Been passed down in Agatha’s family for years, a ward against vampires. It was black and tarnished when Dr. Wellbelove gave it to me, but I’ve rubbed it gold. Sometimes I chew on it. (Which is probably a bad thing to do to a mediaeval relic.) I don’t really need to wear it all summer, but once you get used to wearing an anti-vampire necklace, it seems stupid to take it off.

All the other kids in care always think I’m religious. (And they think I smoke a pack a day, because I always sort of smell like smoke.)

I look at the mirror again. Penny’s right. I’m too thin. My ribs stick out. You can see the muscles in my stomach, and not because I’m ripped—because I haven’t really eaten for three months. Also I’ve got moles all over my body, which make me look poxed even when I’m not suffering from malnutrition.

“I’m taking a shower!” I shout.

“Hurry—we’ll miss lunch!” I hear Penny moving around the room while I climb into the shower; then she’s talking to me again from just outside the door: “Agatha’s back.”

I turn on the water.

“Simon, did you hear me? Agatha’s back!”

I heard her.

*   *   *

What’s the etiquette for talking to your girlfriend after three months, when the last time you saw her, she was holding hands with your nemesis? (Both hands. Facing each other. Like they were about to break into song.)

Things had got dodgy with Agatha last year even before I saw her with Baz in the Wood. She’d been distant and quiet, and when I was injured in March (someone tampered with my wand), she just rolled her eyes. Like I’d brought it on myself.

Agatha’s the only girl I’ve ever dated. We’ve been together for three years now, since we were 15. But I wanted her long before that. I’ve wanted her since the first time I saw her—walking across the Great Lawn, her long pale hair rippling in the wind. I remember seeing her and thinking that I’d never seen anything so beautiful. And that if you were that beautiful, that graceful, nothing could ever really touch you. It would be like being a lion or a unicorn. Nobody could really touch you, because you wouldn’t even be on the same plane as everyone else.

Even sitting next to Agatha makes you feel sort of untouchable. Exalted. It’s like sitting in the sun.

So imagine how it feels to date her—like you’re carrying that light around with you all the time.

There’s a picture of us together from the last winter solstice. She’s in a long white dress, and her mother plaited mistletoe into her milky gold hair. I’m wearing white, too. I felt naff, but in the photo—well, I look fine. Standing next to Agatha, wearing a suit her father lent me … I actually look like I’m who I’m supposed to be.

*   *   *

The dining hall is half full today. The term starts tomorrow. People are sitting on tables and standing in loose circles, catching up.

Lunch is ham and cheese rolls. Penelope grabs a plate of butter for me, and I smile. I’d eat butter with a spoon if it were acceptable. (I did it anyway, my first year, whenever I was the first one down to breakfast.)

I scan the room for Agatha but don’t see her. She must not be at lunch. I can’t believe she’d be in the dining hall and not sit at our table, even considering everything.

Rhys and Gareth, the boys who live in the room under mine, are sitting at our table already, at the far end.

“All right, Simon?” Rhys says. Gareth is shouting at someone across the hall.

“All right, fellas?” I answer.

Rhys nods at Penny. Penelope has never had time for most of our classmates, so they don’t really have time for her. It would bother me if everyone ignored me like that, but she seems to appreciate the lack of distractions.

Sometimes when I’m walking through the dining hall, just saying hello to people, she’ll drag me by my sleeve to hurry me up.

“You have too many friends,” she’ll say.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not possible. And, anyway, I wouldn’t call them all ‘friends.’”

“There are only so many hours in the day, Simon. Two, three people—that’s all any of us have time for.”

“There are more people than that in your immediate family, Penny.”

“I know. It’s a struggle.”

Once, I started listing off all the people that I truly cared about. When I got to number seven, Penelope told me I either needed to whittle down my list or stop making friends immediately. “My mother says you should never have more people in your life than you could defend from a hungry rakshasa.”

“I don’t know what that is,” I told her, “but I’m not worried; I’m good in a fight.”

I like having people. Close ones like Penny and Agatha and the Mage and Ebb the goatherd and Miss Possibelf and Dr. Wellbelove. And just friendly ones like Rhys and Gareth. If I followed Penny’s rules, I’d never find enough people for a football match.

She waves halfheartedly at the boys, then sits between me and them, turning towards me to close off our conversation. “I saw Agatha with her parents,” she says, “earlier, in the Cloisters.”

The Cloisters is the oldest and largest girls’ house, a long low building at the other side of the grounds. It only has one door, and all the windows are made up of tiny panes of glass. (The school must have been mega-paranoid when it started letting girls in back in the 1600s.)

“You saw who?” I ask.

“Agatha.”

“Oh.”

“I can go get her if you want,” she offers.

“Since when do you pass notes for me?”

“I thought you might not want to talk to her for the first time in front of everyone,” she says. “After what happened.”

I shrug. “It’ll be fine. Agatha and I are fine.”

Penny looks surprised, then dubious; then she shakes her head, giving up. “Anyway,” she says, tearing off a piece of her sandwich, “we should track down the Mage after lunch.”

“Why?”

“‘Why?’ Are you playing dumb today because you think I’ll find it cute?”

“Yes?”

She rolls her eyes. “We need to track down the Mage and make him tell us what’s been going on all summer. What he’s found out about the Humdrum.”

“He hasn’t found out anything. I already talked to him.”

She stops mid-bite. “When?”

“He came to my room this morning.”

“And when were you going to tell me this?”

I shrug again, licking butter off my thumb. “When you gave me a chance.”

Penny rolls her eyes again. (Penny rolls her eyes a lot.) “He didn’t have anything to say?”

“Not about the Humdrum. He—” I look down at my plate, then quickly around us. “—he says the Old Families are causing trouble.”

She nods. “My mum says they’re trying to organize a vote of no confidence against him.”

“Can they do that?”

“They’re trying. And there’ve been duels all summer. Premal’s friend Sam got into it with one of the Grimm cousins after a wedding, and now he’s on trial.”

“Who is?”

“The Grimm.”

“For what?”

“Forbidden spells,” she says. “Banned words.”

“The Mage thinks I should go,” I say.

“What? Go where?”

“He thinks I should leave Watford.”

Penny’s eyes are big. “To fight the Humdrum?”

“No.” I shake my head. “To just … go. He thinks I’d be safer somewhere else. He thinks everyone here would be safer if I left.”

Her eyes keep getting bigger. “Where would you go, Simon?”

“He didn’t say. Some secret place.”

“Like a hideout?” she asks.

“I guess.”

“But what about school?”

“He doesn’t think that’s important right now.”

Penny snorts. She thinks the Mage undervalues education at the best of times. Especially the classics. When he dropped the linguistics programme, she wrote a stern letter to the faculty board. “So he wants you to do what?”

“Go away. Stay safe. Train.”

She folds her arms. “On a mountain. With ninjas. Like Batman.”

I laugh, but she doesn’t laugh with me. She leans forward. “You can’t just leave, Simon. He can’t stash you in a hole your whole life.”

“I’m not going,” I say. “I told him no.”

She pulls her chin back. “You told him no?”

“I … well, I can’t just leave Watford. It’s our last year, isn’t it.”

“I agree—you told him no?”

“I told him I didn’t want to! I don’t want to hide and wait for the Humdrum to find me. That doesn’t feel like a plan.”

“And what did the Mage say?”

“Not much. I got upset and started to—”

“I knew it. Your room smelled like a campfire. Oh my word! You went off on the Mage?”

“No. I pulled back.”

“Really?” She looks impressed. “Well done, Simon.”

“I think I scared him, though.”

“It’d scare me, too.”

“Penny, I…”

“What?”

“Do you think he’s right?”

“I just said I didn’t.”

“No. About … me being a danger to Watford. A danger to—” I look over at the first year tables. They’ve all skipped sandwiches and are eating big bowls of jam roly-poly. “—everyone.”

Penny starts tearing at her sandwich again. “Of course not.”

“Penelope.”

She sighs. “You pulled back, didn’t you? This morning? When have you ever hurt anyone but yourself?”

“Smoke and mirrors, Penny—should I make a list? I’ll start with the decapitations. I’ll start with yesterday.”

“Those were battles, and they don’t count.”

“I think they count.”

She folds her arms again. “They count differently.”

“It’s not even just that,” I say. “It’s … I’m a target, aren’t I? The Humdrum only attacks me when I’m at Watford, and he only attacks Watford when I’m here.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“So?”

“Well, you can’t help that.”

“I can,” I say. “I could go away.”

“No.”

“Compelling argument, Pen.” I spread butter on my third ham and cheese roll. My hands are shaking.

“No. Simon. You can’t just go away. You shouldn’t. Look, if you’re a target, then I’m the most at risk. I spend the most time with you.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean, look at me—I’m fine.”

I look at her.

“I’m fine, Simon. Even Baz is fine, and he’s constantly stuck with you.”

“I feel like you’re glossing over all the times you’ve nearly died just because you were with me. The Humdrum kidnapped me a few months ago, and you got dragged along.”

“Thank Morgana I did.”

She’s looking in my eyes, so I try not look away. Sometimes I’m glad Penny wears glasses; her eye contact is so fierce, it’s good to have a buffer.

“I told the Mage no,” I repeat.

“Good.” she says. “Keep telling him.”

“Nan!” A little girl’s shout tears through our conversation, and I’m already whispering the incantation to summon my blade. Across the hall, the girl—a second or third year—is running towards a shimmery figure at the door.

“Oh…,” Penelope says, awed.

The figure fades in and out, like Princess Leia’s hologram. When the girl reaches it—it looks like an older woman in a white trouser suit—it kneels down and catches her. They huddle together in the archway. Then the figure fades out completely. The girl stands, shaking, and a few of her friends run to her, jumping up and down.

“So cool,” Penelope says. She turns to me and sees my blade. “Great snakes, Simon, put that away.”

I keep it up. “What was that?”

“You don’t know?”

“Penelope.”

“She got a Visiting. Lucky kid.”

“What?” I sheathe the blade. “What kind of visiting?”

“Simon, the Veil is lifting. I know you know about this. We studied it in Magickal History.”

I make a face and sit down again, trying to decide whether I’m done with my lunch.

“‘And on the Twentieth Turn,’” Penny says, “‘when the year wanes, and night and day sit in peace across the table—the Veil will lift. And any who have light to cast may cross it, though they may not tarry. Greet them with joy and with trust, for their mouths, though dead, speak truth.’”

She’s using her quoting voice, so I know it’s from some ancient text or another.

“You’re not helping,” I say.

“The Veil is lifting,” she says again. “Every twenty years, dead people can talk to the living if they have something that really needs to be said.”

“Oh…,” I say, “I guess maybe I have heard of that—I thought it was a myth.”

“One would think, after seven years, you’d stop saying that out loud.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know? There isn’t a book, is there? All the Magickal Things that Are Actually True and All the Ones that Are Bollocks, Just Like You Thought.”

“You’re the only magician who wasn’t raised with magic. You’re the only one who would read a book like that.”

“Father Christmas isn’t real,” I say, “but the Tooth Fairy is. There’s no rhyme or reason to this stuff.”

“Well, the Veil is totally real,” Penny says. “It’s what keeps souls from walking.”

“But it’s lifting now?” I feel like getting my sword out again.

“The autumnal equinox is coming,” she says, “when day and night are the same length. The Veil thins, then lifts—sort of like fog. And people come back to tell us things.”

“All of us?”

“I wish. People only come back if they have something important to say. Something true. It’s like they come back to testify.”

“That sounds … dramatic.”

“My mother says her aunt came back twenty years ago to tell them about a hidden treasure. Mum’s kind of hoping she’ll come back again this time to tell us more.”

“What kind of treasure?”

“Books.”

“Of course.” I decide to finish my sandwich. And Penny’s boiled egg.

“But sometimes,” she says, “it’s scandalous. People come back to reveal affairs. Murders. The theory is, you have a better shot of crossing over if your message serves justice.”

“How can anyone know that?”

“It’s just a theory,” Penny says. “But if Aunt Beryl comes to me, I’m going to ask her as much as I can before she fades out again.”

I look back across the hall. “I wonder what that girl’s granny told her.”

Penny laughs and stacks her dishes. “Probably her secret toffee recipe.”

“So these Visitors … they’re not zombies?” It doesn’t hurt to be sure about these things.

“No, Simon. They’re harmless. Unless you’re afraid of the truth.”