dusty and faded as its owner. Books lined the shelves, squeezed together tightly. Ness had tried to pull down a book on swordsmanship once and nearly been buried in an avalanche of other titles. A small table huddled by the fire, surrounded by four wooden stools. Clothes hung on the backs of doors and flags draped from the walls. At the side of the door, four rifles stood sentry next to each other.
Above the fireplace, a ragged standard hung from the chimney breast, with guns crossed over a leering demon’s face and fiery gold letters that declared, Fourth Hinderton Rifles: Satan, Do Your Worst. Ness often puzzled over this flag but all Morris would ever say was, ‘Hindertons, my old regiment. Unique, we were.’ And he would stiffen to attention for a second.
‘So, Nick, what brings you here on such a dark night?’ Morris said, planting himself on a stool and leaning forward to stare at Ness.
‘I can’t bear it at the Academy any longer,’ Ness sighed, leaning on the table. ‘Why did my parents send me here? Do they really care about me so little?’
Morris’s eyes twinkled in the firelight. ‘Sometimes parents have to make hard choices,’ he whispered hoarsely.
‘Hard choices? Such as keeping me in a dump like this?’ Ness muttered.
‘Sit tight,’ Morris said. ‘You’re safe here. They won’t get you here.’ But he leaned closer towards her, a haunted look in his eye. ‘They lurk in every shadow of the empire.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Ness said, her voice faint.
Morris stared at her blankly for a second, then shook himself and glanced out of the window. ‘Toop’s out there looking for you,’ he murmured.
Ness peered out into the darkness. A faint glimmer of a storm lantern flickered between the branches.
‘How d’you know it’s Toop?’ Ness said, blinking to see the faint light.
‘The man has a limp,’ Morris said, winking. ‘The lamp swings awkwardly. Besides, Miss Pinchett wouldn’t come out in the dark looking for you.’
‘I’d better go,’ Ness said.
‘Keep your wits about you,’ Morris said, opening the door.
‘I can get past Toop.’ Ness grinned.
‘It’s not Toop I’m worried about,’ Morris called after her as she plunged into the darkness.
With wishing comes grieving.
T raditional proverb
Chapter Three
A n U nwel c ome V isitor
A sliver of bright moonlight illuminated the slumbering shapes in the dormitory as Ness crept back in. She could make out Hannah’s face, serene, secure in the knowledge that she was loved and would soon be going home. The heaviness in Ness’s heart returned. Her trembling hands rattled the iron bedhead as she grabbed it to steady herself after her headlong flight through the woods. Her heart pounded. As she had predicted, Toop had been easy to evade, but Morris’s parting words had unsettled her.
The bottle still lay on Ness’s bed, and she slid it out from the rough sack. It felt solid and icy cold. She couldn’t tell whether it was made of thick glass or metal but even in the half-light, Ness could make out the dancing figures that decorated the main body of the bottle – hideous heads with horns and leering faces. She shuddered.
Are they a warning? She traced a finger along the neck of the bottle, which ended in a snarling dragon’s head, jaws wide, the stopper clamped between its teeth.
‘I can’t decide if you’re horrible or beautiful,’ she whispered.
Why would Uncle Carlos send her something like this and tell her never to open it? Ness shook the bottle. No liquid swirled within; nothing rattled. As far as she could tell, it was empty. She sighed, placing it on her pillow, then undressed, wriggling into her thick nightdress. It must be one of Uncle Carlos’s jokes . Ness always remembered him laughing, usually in the hallway at home when she was young. Her parents never laughed though. She’d never thought of that before. She could remember Uncle Carlos smiling up at her as she peered through the
Above the fireplace, a ragged standard hung from the chimney breast, with guns crossed over a leering demon’s face and fiery gold letters that declared, Fourth Hinderton Rifles: Satan, Do Your Worst. Ness often puzzled over this flag but all Morris would ever say was, ‘Hindertons, my old regiment. Unique, we were.’ And he would stiffen to attention for a second.
‘So, Nick, what brings you here on such a dark night?’ Morris said, planting himself on a stool and leaning forward to stare at Ness.
‘I can’t bear it at the Academy any longer,’ Ness sighed, leaning on the table. ‘Why did my parents send me here? Do they really care about me so little?’
Morris’s eyes twinkled in the firelight. ‘Sometimes parents have to make hard choices,’ he whispered hoarsely.
‘Hard choices? Such as keeping me in a dump like this?’ Ness muttered.
‘Sit tight,’ Morris said. ‘You’re safe here. They won’t get you here.’ But he leaned closer towards her, a haunted look in his eye. ‘They lurk in every shadow of the empire.’
‘What d’you mean?’ Ness said, her voice faint.
Morris stared at her blankly for a second, then shook himself and glanced out of the window. ‘Toop’s out there looking for you,’ he murmured.
Ness peered out into the darkness. A faint glimmer of a storm lantern flickered between the branches.
‘How d’you know it’s Toop?’ Ness said, blinking to see the faint light.
‘The man has a limp,’ Morris said, winking. ‘The lamp swings awkwardly. Besides, Miss Pinchett wouldn’t come out in the dark looking for you.’
‘I’d better go,’ Ness said.
‘Keep your wits about you,’ Morris said, opening the door.
‘I can get past Toop.’ Ness grinned.
‘It’s not Toop I’m worried about,’ Morris called after her as she plunged into the darkness.
With wishing comes grieving.
T raditional proverb
Chapter Three
A n U nwel c ome V isitor
A sliver of bright moonlight illuminated the slumbering shapes in the dormitory as Ness crept back in. She could make out Hannah’s face, serene, secure in the knowledge that she was loved and would soon be going home. The heaviness in Ness’s heart returned. Her trembling hands rattled the iron bedhead as she grabbed it to steady herself after her headlong flight through the woods. Her heart pounded. As she had predicted, Toop had been easy to evade, but Morris’s parting words had unsettled her.
The bottle still lay on Ness’s bed, and she slid it out from the rough sack. It felt solid and icy cold. She couldn’t tell whether it was made of thick glass or metal but even in the half-light, Ness could make out the dancing figures that decorated the main body of the bottle – hideous heads with horns and leering faces. She shuddered.
Are they a warning? She traced a finger along the neck of the bottle, which ended in a snarling dragon’s head, jaws wide, the stopper clamped between its teeth.
‘I can’t decide if you’re horrible or beautiful,’ she whispered.
Why would Uncle Carlos send her something like this and tell her never to open it? Ness shook the bottle. No liquid swirled within; nothing rattled. As far as she could tell, it was empty. She sighed, placing it on her pillow, then undressed, wriggling into her thick nightdress. It must be one of Uncle Carlos’s jokes . Ness always remembered him laughing, usually in the hallway at home when she was young. Her parents never laughed though. She’d never thought of that before. She could remember Uncle Carlos smiling up at her as she peered through the