Calgacos

  **********

  Mannik wrote a letter than night. He placed it in the post box in the morning, on his way to breakfast. The box looked more like a ballot box than a post box, and, like everything else at Calgacos, it was ancient and dusty with lack of use. Lennox watched him post it, silent but furious. She was convinced he was making a big mistake. As if they weren’t I enough trouble already. He was stirring up a storm.

  She waited all week for Torkil to haul them up to his tower, interrogate them, and find out why they’d gone to the ruins. Yet everyday passed as the one before, without any words spoken about their escapade.

  She began to wonder if Mannik’s parents were not as naïve as Mannik. Maybe they’d heard that kind of story from him before, and knew better than to take it seriously. Whatever the reason, nothing happened, and Mannik’s eyes grew dimmer with each passing day, like an ember dying.

  But even if Mannik’s parents said nothing, there was still Kearns and Conley to worry about. The two Masters had been in the courtyard, watching and waiting, when they got back from the Hidden Fells. The masters knew where they’d gone and had no reason to keep quiet. Kearns hated her. Yet nothing happened. The incident appeared to sink into school life unchallenged, almost unnoticed. Kearns simply looked through her whenever she walked past him, in the dining hall, at assembly, or along the school corridors. Conley, at least, appeared to notice her, though he said nothing. Kellas, as usual, made no effort to approach her. Occasionally she saw the back of his head, disappearing into a classroom, or through an open doorway, but she had not once heard his distinctive voice inside her head again. His silence was a valley, vast and empty.

  Then, just when she began to think they had escaped unscathed by the whole incident, something did happen.

  It began on the Monday after he had posted the letter. Lennox waited for his customary tap on her door, but it never came. Instead, she tapped on the boys’ door. Henry opened the door, and addressed the wall beyond her.

  ‘He’s not here.’

  She could see through the open doorway that everyone else had already gone to breakfast. Henry was the last one.

  She was instantly suspicious. It was just not like Mannik to go without her.

  ‘But he always knocks for me before breakfast.’

  ‘Not today.’

  Henry turned away and the door swung shut.

  Puzzled, Lennox went down to breakfast. She couldn’t think of anything she might have done to upset Mannik. At least, not yesterday.

  To her surprise, Mannik wasn’t at breakfast either. She got a bowl of porridge and tea, and sat in an empty space next to Rick. She knew he would tell her what was going on. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

  ‘Kearns knocked on our door at 6 this morning,’ he told before she even asked. ‘Told Mannik to get up and follow him. We’ve not seen him since. Any ideas what that’s about?’

  ‘No.’ She lied effortlessly. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘No clue,’ Rick eyed her as she sipped her tea. ‘We were hoping you knew.’

  ‘Well, I don’t.’

  But she did. It was the letter. It had to be.

  She didn’t see Mannik until first lesson, history. He was sat in his normal spot, in the front row, book open, pen in hand, though the lesson had not yet begun.

  ‘Was it the letter?’ she whispered as she slid into her space, next to him.

  The hand which was holding the pen quivered. He stared at her, with no recognition, as if she were a stranger, then beyond her, to the boys filing into class.

  ‘Well?’

  He nodded. His face a white mask, and that was all he ever said. Whatever Kearns had said to him, he did not repeat, and Lennox knew better than pester him with questions.

  From that day onwards, Mannik was different. There was a haunted look in his eye. He was on edge, jittery, noticing everything around him, saying nothing. His hopes of a quick and decisive response from his parents were gone, and had been replaced by fear.

  He also acquired a knife. He never said where it came from, never mentioned it at all. But one day he pulled it out, with a chunk of rough wood, and began whittling, scraping, and carving. From then on, it was always with him, and Lennox was very soon weary of the endless scraping, scratching and flakes of wood which fell like snow wherever Mannik was stood.

  At first she was patient. She thought if she simply gave Mannik time, he would, eventually, relax, and they could return to their pursuit. After all, it was Mannik who had recruited her to uncover the truth behind Calgacos, not the other way round. But though she waited, nothing changed. After several weeks, Lennox began to feel she was treading water. She was achieving nothing, and Mannik was barely talking, only whittling, and watching. Their search for the truth had actually produced results. They just needed to dig a little deeper. They could find the proof he needed if they just kept on searching. Her patience was running out.

  She waited until a Sunday, when they were cleaning the common room fireplace, and all the other juniors were on duty, to see if she could persuade Mannik to pick back up where they had left off.

  'I think we should go back to Mr Christie,' she explained, as Mannik loaded fresh piles of wood into the basket. 'I'm sure he will know more than what he's out in the book.'

  She swept the hearth so vigorously a cloud of soot rose up and settled in her hair, and on her lashes, and lips.

  'He's lived here all his life and written many books on the area. He must have known that village was called Calgacos. But he didn't mention it in the book and I want to know why.'

  The door to the common room opened, and someone came in, but Lennox and Mannik did not notice.

  'I want to go to Balreaig next Saturday, during personal pursuit...'

  Her voice tailed off. She had just heard the nearby armchair creak. She turned and saw Duncan, his long legs stretched out straight, reclining, watching, listening.

  'So you want to go to Balreaig?'

  Lennox nodded slowly, reluctantly. Duncan was friendly, but he was also the house captain, and at Calgacos house captains and prefects were one step away from being Masters.

  She glanced at Mannik for help, but he had dropped his chin to his chest and was studiously sweeping the fireplace she had already swept.

  'So what have you chosen for your personal pursuit that means you have to go to Balreaig?' Duncan asked. 'Chocolate?'

  'History.' Lennox replied evasively.

  'Oh?' Duncan leant forwards. 'Of the world?' He chuckled.

  'No, just this area.' She was instinctively cautious. She did not want to mention Calgacos at all. 'And there's a local historian at Balreaig I'd like to talk with.'

  'And who’s going with you?'

  Lennox stared back at Duncan, unsure what to say, unsure what he was asking. Mannik was continuing as if nothing was happening, emptying a pan of soot into a bin bag. School rules forbade her from going alone. She had to go with someone. She wanted to go with Mannik.

  ‘Not asked anyone yet?’ Duncan stood up abruptly. 'Then I’ll will take you. Next Saturday.'

  Halfway through the door, Duncan paused and looked back.

  ‘At least this way we can make sure you don’t get into any more trouble.’

  As soon as she was sure he was gone, she turned to Mannik.

  His face had gone white, his mouth was wriggling like a caterpillar but it was shut, and he was mute.

  'Sorry,' she mouthed.

  He shrugged and said nothing. Lennox thought there were tears in his eyes.

  The following day brought a sudden drop in temperature, and a frost thick as snow spread over the surrounding hills and valleys. Lennox went out to fitness wearing every jumper she owned, all 4 of them. Nighten made her take them all off and leave them in the courtyard. When she returned from the run, they had turned to ice, and she had to wear her coat for the rest of the day just to keep warm.

  Lessons suddenly became pleasant. As a recent extension, the classroo
m block was heated and was the warmest part of the castle. Mannik liked to be at the front of every line at every classroom door ready to go in, partly because the classrooms were warm, and partly because he liked to be close to the teachers, even Kearns and Bambridge, when his peers were around. Lennox, though she said nothing to Mannik, still hated lining up first. She found it hard not to look down the line towards the back where she could have stayed out of sight from the teachers, and where Connel was most often chatting with Rick, or antagonising Henry.

  In the evenings, Lennox retreated to her room to light a snug fire. Mannik, she knew, was next door, in the boys’ room. He didn’t dare venture into the common room without her. And she could guess what he would be doing. Head down, bent over his wooden block, he would be scraping and whittling, the knife flashing in his hand, his knuckles white. Next door, she sat alone, firelight licking her toes, reading and rereading Mr Christie's The Clan that Vanished.

  The first recorded mention of a McTarn is in a census dating back to the 7th century. It records only their name. The most significant fact relating to the McTarn’s within this ancient manuscript is that they were not required to provide either boats, or men at arms, to the ruling King, Eorchard. In this they were unique. Every other named, and titled, family, was required to provide either one or both. This begs the question: why were the McTarns exempt? Was it because they were already a law unto themselves? Or was there another explanation. They were unwanted, and unreliable. Even a danger. We can only pose the questions. We cannot answer them.

  There were a lot of unanswered questions in both books, a lot of conjecture and rumour, many disappearances of sheep, cattle, and unknown, and unwary travellers. The style was definitely that of an amateur historian, more interested in the mystery, and less in the facts. The more Lennox read, the more she came to believe that Mr Christie would talk, and talk at length, if she could just get him started.

  Lennox said nothing to Mannik about the books, or her hopes. There was no point. He was so withdrawn, he didn’t speak; he barely listened to her. They ate breakfast in a cocoon of silence, sipping tea and fishing for burnt lumps in their porridge, saying nothing. During lessons, he was either writing or, more often, staring into space: his lips quivering, forming words, sentences, or exclamations that died before they were spoken.

  The night before her proposed trip to Balreaig with Duncan, Lennox coaxed Mannik into the common room; they sat huddled round the far end of the table. The castle had dropped into a deep chill, and the common room, with its monstrous fireplace and raging fire, was the warmest place to be.

  Amongst the noise and banter, Lennox and Mannik were left alone. Their isolation was a curtain of privacy. Mannik was whittling again; his block of wood was now as white as bone.

  'Tomorrow...' Lennox began.

  Mannik's eyelids convulsed.

  Lennox stopped. She felt guilt, like a lump of lead, pressing on her heart.

  'I won't go,' she decided rashly. 'I won't go if you don't want me to. I'll stay here with you.'

  'You have to,' whispered Mannik, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring at Duncan on the far side of the common room, long legs up, surrounded by seniors.

  'No I don't. I'll just tell Duncan...'

  'No!' Mannik squeaked. '

  'But he won't know...'

  'No.' Mannik flushed, but instead of red his skin was turning a pale greenish hue, as if he were ill. 'Go. See what you can find.'

  His head jerked from side to side, and he scowled at the juniors clustered round the fire.

  'Just go,' he repeated, and buried his face downwards as his knife scuttled across the wood like a mouse across floorboards.

  So Lennox wrapped up warmly the following morning, and made her way down to the courtyard apprehensively. Duncan was there, waiting. He was wearing a great coat, double breasted and buttoned up against the biting wind. He looked as if he could have just stepped out of the trenches, wearing a soldier’s coat, his face dark, sceptical. But when he saw Lennox, a smile spread across his face, and he hurried to meet her

  Lennox was wearing three of her four jumpers, and a cheap coat she had bought years ago. Since coming to Calgacos, she had 'found' a thick woollen scarf and it was wrapped so many times round her neck that it covered half her face.

  'Anyone at home?' Duncan asked, peering at her under the scarf.

  She nodded and stamped her feet. Her toes were already icy.

  They left the courtyard self-consciously. Duncan towering over her and trying to slow his colossal strides so they kept side by side. Lennox, hiding beneath her scarf, only a sliver of ice white skin exposed, her lids lowered, unsure what to say or expect.

  It was Duncan’s great coat that unnerved her. She had not seen it before, and that bothered her. It marked out this trip to Balreaig as something different, something out of the ordinary. She wished for the thousandth time that Mannik was with her, by her side.

  'So what history have you so far uncovered about this godless place?' Duncan asked, as they set off up the valley, their backs to Calgacos.

  But if Duncan was hoping Lennox would open up, this was the wrong question to ask.

  ‘That the last person to been mauled by a wolf walking through the forests surrounding Balreaig was in the 1700’s.’ It was the first fact that came to her mind that had nothing to do with Calgacos. She didn’t want Duncan, or anyone, to know about Mannik’s and her particular focus.

  ‘So they say.’

  ‘It’s a fact. Everyone knows wolves died out hundreds of years ago. It’s not a story.’

  Duncan laughed.

  ‘If you were a sheep farmer, you might think differently.’

  ‘Sheep can disappear for all kinds of reasons that have nothing to do with wolves.’

  ‘True. But if you never find the body, you never know.’

  She thought about this.

  ‘You’re not seriously suggesting there are still wolves in these hills?’ she asked incredulous.

  ‘I’m just saying you never know. My father farms sheep. Every year we lose one. Sometimes its disease, frailty, a severe frost. But sometimes, they just never come back. It’s a mystery. ’

  'Where? Near here?' she asked, wondering how local a boy he was.

  'Further north,' he told her, 'And even more remote. It’s a working farm and the only building in the valley, down the far end of a track with more holes than a pin cushion. It's 10 miles to the nearest village. Dad made me run there on errands as soon as I could open the gate. This school was the obvious choice as soon as I was old enough.'

  She noticed he said nothing about a mother. Most people, she had discovered, mentioned their mother first when talking about their family. If they didn’t, it was for a reason. Maybe Duncan was more like her than she had thought. It had just been her and her Dad all her life. She wondered what had happened to Duncan’s Mum, but she knew better than to ask. She hated people asking about her family. Instead she chose a more innocent question.

  'So where did you go before here?'

  Lennox herself had been to so many schools, she had lost count.

  Duncan shrugged.

  'This is it; my first school.'

  Lennox pulled her arms tight around herself, hugging her withered old coat to her skin.

  'So home, then this. Sounds perfect,' she told Duncan.

  He laughed in reply, a hollow sound, more like a cough, but did not disagree.

  'No neighbours, nobody to watch you, or judge you, or tell you what to do,' she continued. 'Just one school, the same one, all your life, and miles and miles of mountains to call you own. I wish that had been me.'

  He gave her a sideways glance.

  'It would have been perfect if you’d been here from the start.'

  She coloured, and did not know what to say.

  They reached the outskirts of Balreaig before lunch. Lennox's feet were numb and her fingers, curled inside her pockets, were as rigid as claws. They stamped down the
main street, shrunk inside their coats, saying little. Lennox was relieved to see the lights on in the Heritage Centre. Before they reached it, the door opened, and a small stooped figure emerged and tottered down the library steps. His back was curved as if he were carrying a large weight, and though the wind was cruel he wore no hat on his head, and his ghost like hair floated round the sides of his head.

  It was Christie.

  Lennox broke into a run, and sprinted after Christie.

  'Mr Christie?' she called. 'Excuse me!'

  He stopped and turned slowly, just his head. His feet kept pointing homewards.

  'What?'

  He didn't seem to recognise her or question why she knew his name.

  I've read both your books,' she exclaimed.

  'Both!' he muttered. 'I've written almost 50 books.'

  'Well, I read the two in the library.' Lennox.

  'They all used to be in there.' Mr Christie threw a black look in the Heritage Centre's direction. 'Back in the day when it was a proper library, I was the most prolific author in Balreaig, until...' Mr Christie made a deep guttural sound at the back of his throat, as if he were preparing to spit, '…it was turned into a heritage centre.'

  'Were your other books local history as well?' Lennox asked, walking round him so she stood in his path.

  'Some, not all.'

  'Any about the ruined Calgacos?'

  His eyes narrowed.

  ‘There's only one Calgacos. And it’s not a ruin.'

  ‘I’m not talking about the school: not Donnhegil Castle,’ Lennox explained, hurriedly. ‘I mean the other one. Up in the Hidden Fells…’

  Lennox stopped. Mr Christie had recoiled, his face altered. Every crease and shadow on his skin had come alive, his teeth were bared.

  ‘No!’ his voice was broken, like a wave on rocks. ‘I won’t tale about it anymore. Some crimes are too awful.’

  His head snapped away from her, and he resumed his disjointed walk back down the high street.

  ‘Who was that?’ Duncan asked, joining her belatedly, silently.

  ‘No-one.’

  She couldn’t tell Duncan anything, though she wanted to. He was a local boy. He might know something. But it would be unfair to Mannik. It had to be their pursuit.

  Fortunately Duncan did not press her for details. Instead, he patiently escorted her to the library, and stood, tapping a foot idly, while she feigned an interest in the few books on the shelf. Mr Finn eyed Lennox with interest, but did not approach her and offer assistance as he had when she had been accompanied by Mannik. Duncan was just so tall, and broad, he seemed to cast a shadow over people. Instead, Mr Finn retreated behind his desk, and did not come out.

  Lennox decided to borrow a book on local walks of interest, which was grey from cover to cover, with a few hand drawn maps sketched in so minute a hand they were illegible.

  ‘Still interested in our local history?’ Mr Finn asked as she presented him with the book.

  ‘Sort of,’ she agreed, and then, as he was looking at her expectantly, she added: ‘It just seems little has changed for a long time.’

  ‘Apart from this Heritage Centre,’ Mr Finn smiled whimsically.

  Once outside, Duncan headed off across the street.

  ‘Come on,’ he told her. ‘It’s my turn to choose where we go.’

  He took her to the village pub, The Bloody Well, ushered her into a seat in an alcove, then advanced on the bar and ordered an ale for himself and a coke for her.

  ‘Juniors aren’t supposed to come in here,’ he explained, handing her the coke. ‘So we’ll have to keep you hidden.’

  Lennox wasn’t really sure who she was hiding from. There were a handful of elderly gentlemen sitting at the bar, a bar tender who looked even older. The crackle of the open fires almost drowned out the conversation.

  Duncan took a long drink of his ale, then eyed her speculatively.

  ‘So,’ he said, leaning forwards, ‘You’re a bit of an enigma.’

  ‘That’s not what Kearns thinks.’

  Duncan raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Really? What makes you say that?’

  ‘He hates me and wants me gone. It’s that simple.

  ‘Has he told you that?’

  Lennox paused. Kearns had said nothing to her, but she thought he might have said something to Duncan. After all, Duncan was his head of house.

  ‘He doesn’t need to. I can see that’s what he thinks.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ Duncan shrugged and took another long drink. ‘But that doesn’t explain why you’re here in the first place?’

  His glass went back down. He eyed her expectantly.

  ‘Does it?’ he prompted.

  ‘A mistake.’

  ‘Never.’ Duncan was firm, ‘Calgacos doesn’t make mistakes.’

  ‘But it wasn’t their mistake,’ she explained. ‘It was my last head master. He didn’t know what he was doing. And he was more than capable of making a mistake.’

  ‘Then why are you still here? The first girl ever to study at Calgacos.’

  Lennox thought back to meeting in Torkil’s study, the table of cold faces. No one had bothered to pretend. Only Torkil had wanted her to stay.

  ‘There was nowhere else for me to go.’

  Duncan nodded, and upended his drink. When he got to his feet, Lennox jumped up too and began making her way out. Her coke was untouched.

  ‘Steady on,’ muttered Duncan. He had been about to get another. But it was too late now. All three men had now noticed Lennox, and were scrutinising her with unabashed interest.

  She kept her head down and walked straight out the door. Duncan was seconds behind her.

  ‘Leaving so soon?’ he asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I feel uneasy…in there. And they’ve all seen me now.’ And it hadn’t helped that Duncan had wanted to talk about her. There was nothing she liked less. ‘I’ve been in trouble since the day I arrived. I just don’t want anymore.’

  ‘The Masters never come here.’ Duncan countered. ‘It’s only the teachers you have to worry about. And it’s a bit early for any of them. Besides you’re with me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.’

  But there was no way she was going back in The Bloody Well, and Duncan could see that. He swung his great coat onto his back.

  ‘Come on then. Let’s go.’

  The sky was a purple tinged grey, ominous clouds bringing an abrupt end to the winter’s day. Duncan forgot to temper his stride and set a fast pace. Lennox was happy not to be by his side, but she had jog to keep within a close distance.

  ‘Will you be back at The Bloody Well tonight?’ she asked, curious.

  ‘Yes.’ Duncan had less to say now. Lennox was sure she had disappointed him.

  ‘The castle always has an empty feel on a Saturday night,’ she added.

  ‘The Bloody Well doesn’t!’ Duncan gave her a sideways glance. ‘In the crush of people, you would NEVER be seen. I could hide you there, like a secret.’

  ‘No thanks.’

  She didn’t mind roaming the hills, alone, at dusk. But walking back from the village pub with upwards of several dozen, unsteady seniors would only end in disaster.

  ‘The enigma grows. I never thought you’d be the type of girl more interested in staying put, rather than a night out.’ Duncan’s great coat swung left to right as he took colossal strides ahead. ‘When you came here, I was glad. There was something about you. The first girl ever to walk our hallowed corridors, and you did it with your head held high. You outstared Gram. Kearns snarled at you, and looked annoyed. Mannik looked up at you as if you were a goddess. And he was not the only one. Torkil frowned, and you looked oblivious. Here is a girl with guts, I thought. But now I find out you’d rather stay at Calgacos than venture out with me.’

  ‘Self preservation.’

  ‘From what? I would look after you. As I said, I am not house captain for nothing. If I took you out, nothing would happen to you
.’

  Lennox eyed his broad shoulders and thought that he was right. Even Kearns, she guessed, would listen when Duncan spoke.

  ‘Maybe…’ she began.

  Duncan interrupted her with a curt gesture. He had stopped, and was motionless, like a hunter.

  Then he pointed ahead, into the forest. Lennox could see nothing but trees.

  'What?' she asked.

  'People. In there. I can't tell how many,' Duncan spoke softly, slowly. ‘Just inside the forest. Come.'

  They were not far from Calgacos. It could be juniors, late, on their way back from personal pursuit, or seniors, slipping out early for the evening.

  ‘Off the track,’ Duncan muttered, and crept forward.

  Lennox did not hesitate. She moved like a breeze, soundless, light. She heard the voices before she saw the figures, peppering the trees, moving like a ghastly mime.

  'No!' Lennox's eyes widened. One of the voices was terrifyingly familiar. 'It’s Mannik!'

  She ran like fire across dry land, under the dark boughs of the tightly woven forest, until she saw Gram, tall as a man already, and like a gladiator, legs astride, facing his enemy except all he faced was Mannik lying in the dirt.

  'You haven't been trying hard enough!'

  Gram placed a foot on Mannik's back, and stamped, hard.

  There was a crunch of bones, and a sickening whine.

  ‘I gave you a job to do. And I’m getting impatient waiting for results.’

  ‘But I don’t know.’ Mannik whimpered. ‘I never see it.’

  ‘Of course not!’ Gram snarled, swivelling his foot from side to side as if he were cleaning it on Mannik’s back. ‘She's not just going to show it to you. She’s hiding it! You have to be clever!'

  Gram raised his foot to stamp again but his foot never landed. Instead he was raised up into the air, and thrown across the forest floor. When Gram raised his face from the dirt, standing over him, shouting, was Duncan, his face scarlet, his temples purple, his lips white lined.

  'What are you doing?' he bellowed.

  From the ground, Lennox could see Duncan's large hands opening and closing as he shouted.

  ‘Since when did you become a Master? Since when did you give orders? Get up!’

  Gram scrambled to his feet. He brushed off the leaves and said nothing. His lips were compressed, like glaciers, holding in a mountain of pressure.

  'Get back to Calgacos,' Duncan thundered, his body as imposing as his voice. 'And if I catch you giving orders again, I’ll drop you at John O Groats and order you to walk back.'

  There was a glimmer of a nod from Gram, then he led his gang away, silent and loping, a cross between a run and swagger.

  Lennox had never seen Duncan so angry. She had seen him shout, but not like that. She had thought she was the only one ready to stand up for Mannik. She had been wrong.

  Mannik was till lying face down in the dirt. She knelt down beside him and gently touched his shoulder. He did not move.

  'Why didn't you tell me?'

  He shook his head. There were seeds of dirt lodged in his curls.

  'I would have helped you.'

  'How?' he whispered, his head rising, his eyes red. 'It is you they want.'

  Then his eyes widened as Duncan approached, and stretched out his hand.

  ‘Come on Mannik, We’re not going to let those Caniformia scum get the better of you.’

  Mannik let Duncan grip his hand and pull him to his feet.

  ‘He knows my name,’ he mouthed to Lennox, then smiled. It was the first time he’d smiled in weeks.

  She grinned back.

  'Let's get you both back to Calgacos,’ Duncan added, the calm House Captain once more, and they set off for the track, Duncan leading, Lennox and Mannik side by side.

  That night, Lennox was determined to talk to Mannik, and he seemed to want to talk as well. They sat in the common room, keeping each other company. Lennox teaching him poker, while they waited for the others to go so they could talk in peace. It was late by the time all the juniors had drifted off to their rooms, and the once roaring fire was sunk low into ashes.

  Mannik had smiled a few times as Lennox had given him advice, and then out-played him again and again. But there was still a barrier between them. He sat on the edge on his chair, his feral hair low over his eyes, his shoulders hunched as if protecting a secret hidden deep in his body.

  'Tell me,' Lennox breathed, her porcelain face fixed only on his, her emerald eyes seeking his.

  And he did.

  'They...' He shook his head. 'No, not they, Gram...only Gram. He took my letter. And he showed it Kearns. That’s why Kearns talked to me.’

  ‘And what did Kearns say?’

  She had wanted to ask a long time ago, but hated prying. She had thought he would confide in her of his own accord.

  ‘That I was…’

  He paused. His mouth shuddered.

  ‘That I was here for a reason. My parents had approached Calgacos. They had begged Torkil to take me. They I shouldn’t worry them needlessly.’

  Lennox frowned. His words reminded her of what Duncan had said earlier that day. ‘Calgacos doesn’t make mistakes,’ he’d said.

  ‘So he ripped up the letter, in front of me.’

  ‘And?’ she asked. She knew there was more. There had to be. ‘Why is Gram after you?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Whatever I do, whatever I say, he’s always going to be after me. It because he’s big and I’m a wimp.’

  ‘What is the job he wants you to do?’

  ‘He wants to know what’s on your back. He says Gnarle saw something there and he wants to know what.'

  It was like Gram's hand round her neck all over again, suffocating her, imprisoning her.

  ‘He promised me that if I write another letter, he’ll make sure it’s sent.’

  'No,' Lennox whispered. The words did not come easily, they caught in her throat, like wool on barbed wire. 'No!' she repeated, her voice louder.

  She rose to her feet, her hands went to her neck. 'I won't let him hurt you anymore.'

  She ripped at the buttons on her shirt. She had to do it now, while anger and desperation made her strong. The shirt fell open down her front, revealing her ivory skin, the rising curve of her breasts, her satin beauty. Mannik’s mouth fell open in astonishment and awe. He could not help but stare, and stare, speechless, at what she was showing him. Then she turned; her shirt was open at the front but still covered her back. This was much harder to reveal. The ugliness of her back was all the more hideous after the perfection of her snowy neck, her flawless skin, and her soft breasts. Her hands hovered at her collar, ready to drop the shirt in one hard tug to the ground.

  She was facing the doorway, staring without seeing, looking at the ancient, lined wooden door without noticing the details when her attention was caught sharp. The handle turned. The door opened. In walked Kellas, an expression of horror on his face.

  No! Kellas commanded, striding forwards. Don't.'