The Charmed Children of Rookskill Castle (7 page)

The Lady left the hall.

Every male eye in the place followed her sweeping form. Robbie, Kat understood. But she admitted to being disappointed in Peter. And disappointed in herself for caring what he thought.

After the great doors closed behind the Lady with a
thud
,
they ate in silence, the boys' chatter dropping away so it was quiet all around. Even Mr. Storm was silent, although he made loud unpleasant noises as he chewed his food and heaped his plate.

Marie came in with hot chocolate, and Kat wondered at such extravagance, having cocoa in the midst of war, and remembered that the Lady said she'd stockpiled sweets. But she must have had some foresight, since even Kat's own parents hadn't guessed the war would last so long. The children each drank two full cups, even Kat, while Mr. Storm helped himself to several glasses of claret.

The fires burned lower and lower and the room grew dim, and Kat found herself nodding in her chair, even as they drank their chocolate. The next she knew, Mr. Storm was gone, the fires had smoldered to ashes, the room was thick in shadow, and they all sat as if in a stupor. Kat couldn't tell how much time had passed.

Peter stood up. “Got to get to sleep,” he mumbled. “Must be the long trip, but I'm beat.”

They left the hall as a group, the half-eaten meal remaining on the table, with no sign now of Marie nor Cook, and somehow they found their way to the stairs, dragging themselves up to their rooms. Kat held Amelie's hand as much for herself as to keep Ame moving. As they passed the portrait in the hall Kat could have sworn the blue eyes of the Lady Leonore followed her.

Isabelle, Jorry, and Colin had rooms down the hall from Kat and Ame, but they were barely able to murmur good nights before falling into their chambers.

Kat must have washed and changed and helped Amelie wash and change, but she didn't remember a thing about it later. At some point she heard the lock on the door snap shut from outside.

Trapped,
was her last waking thought.

Tricks of Magic

G
REAT-AUNT MARGARET
looms.
“Do you hear me, Katherine? Magic is tricky. There
is always a price to pay for its use.”

“What
price?”
She doesn't really want to know. She doesn't believe in magic, after all.

Her great-aunt holds out her hand and it changes from flesh and bone to something terrible—a hand made of shining silver, with fingers like knife blades—and she drops her chatelaine onto Kat's open right palm. The chatelaine glows blue and grows colder and colder until it's so icy, Kat must let go. When it hits the floor, the three silver charms—the pen, the scissors, the thimble—shatter into a thousand pieces.

Great-Aunt Margaret screams like a high-pitched bird.
“You did not pay the price!”

Moon

I
T IS 1747.

With the second charming Leonore pulses with joy. Although she hears Tim's cry of pain and sees his face go blank like Rose's, she dismisses it. She has rescued the hunchback boy from a miserable childhood and terrible memories. She will give her lord the gift of a son and has saved herself in the bargain.

Her chatelaine weighs heavier on her belt, but it is a weight she can bear. This weight feels almost . . . glorious.

Leonore brings the boy before her lord.

But that very night her lord wakes from his accident at last, and by the light of the full moon, he sees her. He sees her shining silver ear, her mechanical finger. He sees her deformity,
hears the whining of wheels within her mechanical finger, and calls her a witch—and he is revolted. He does not love her; he will not keep her; the children make no difference; and he casts her away, staggering from his bed, brandishing a blazing stick from his fire.

Weeping, Leonore gathers the children and goes no farther than the ancient keep, for it is a cold dark night and the woods are full of wolves. She huddles in the keep with Rose and Tim, who watch her with blank eyes.

The Lord of Rookskill Castle, hearing rumors, burns to the ground a ramshackle hut at the edge of Craig village that is said to be cursed by evil.

Leonore sees from her tower when her lord takes a new young wife who promptly gives him a son, and Leonore's heart breaks with the pain of rejection. But then she wonders, for her lord and his new wife grow old and die, and their heirs, and great-heirs, all grow old and die—and she does not. She and the children remain in the keep for many, many years, she and Rose and Tim, always young.

What kind of magic does she possess?

The rooks keep her company. They have unnatural skills and whisper their news. She hides with the children in the keep's dark shadows. Her hair will change from black to black and white to white and black, and finally to silver-white.

The cold color of the moon.

Storm

T
HE WORDS ECHOED
in Kat's head as she heard the snap of the lock in the door.
You did not pay the price!
She lay in bed, shaking, clenching her fist as if it still felt cold.

Sunlight streamed through the open curtains, a rare sunny day in Scotland. She'd have taken a dreary London rain for anything, and Father and Mum and even Great-Aunt Margaret. Outside the glass Kat heard the harsh call of a rook:
Off, off, off,
it cried. And then, more distant,
War, war.

War. Why had Father sent them to this awful place?

Father. She had to prove to him that she could survive.
Keep your chin
up, my girl. Keep calm.

Kat splashed cold water on her face and got herself dressed in her uniform before dragging Ame out of bed. As soon as
Ame was moving about, Kat opened the door and peered into the hall. Light spilled along the hallway from the far windows, and from somewhere below she could hear the clatter of dishes.

It all seemed perfectly normal. But she was sure now that it was not.

There was only one other person she could talk to about it, even if he was a boy. A bold American boy who made her feel shy, so that she had to remind herself again to keep calm.

She knocked at Robbie and Peter's door, and Peter opened it almost at once; they were both dressed, although Robbie looked like he'd wrestled with his bedclothes and lost the battle.

Kat tugged Peter's arm to pull him into the hallway, out of Robbie's hearing.

“I think we were drugged,” she said in a low voice.

He ran his hands over his face. “I did sleep well, but I thought it was because I was exhausted.”

“I didn't sleep well. And it felt wrong, that kind of sleep.”

He pursed his lips. “Why would we be drugged?”

She placed her hands on her hips. Bad dreams and poor sleep made her shyness give way to irritability. “I don't know. Because we're in the house of a spy, maybe? Maybe someone is using us as a cover for spying, and when that someone wants us out of the way, we're drugged.”
That, or we're in a house haunted by
evil magic, and we're being enchanted,
she thought, but didn't want to say that out loud.

She wanted to pry the puzzle apart, piece by piece, attack it logically. But what if there was no logic to it? What if this castle
was
haunted and there
were
ghosts?

For once, Peter said nothing. She didn't want him to think she was being silly, with her imagination running wild.

“It's the only thing that makes sense,” she said. “You just don't see how important it is because America isn't in the war.”

“Okay,” he said with a sigh. “I get it. If there is a spy about, we'll unearth something eventually. Then we can make your Mr. Churchill happy.”

Marie appeared at the end of the hallway and began knocking on doors. “Breakfast. Come at once. Come along, now, all of you.”

As a still-sleepy Isabelle, silent Colin, and staggering Jorry joined the other four to troop downstairs, Kat whispered to Peter, “I wouldn't drink any chocolate.”

“I don't think . . .” he began, but when she cast a look his way, he shrugged and said, “Okay, fine.”

At any rate, there was no chocolate at breakfast, and no Lady Eleanor, either. Mr. Storm was there, however, heaping food from the buffet onto his plate.

“History lessons straight after breakfast,” he said in a blustery voice, sounding every inch the tutor. “The other instructors will be up later today, and then we'll fix our permanent schedule.”

It was Robbie who spoke up. “You have the strangest accent.” When Mr. Storm turned his head sharply toward Robbie, Robbie added more softly, “Sir.”

Mr. Storm smiled with his teeth. “I'm Welsh. But I was raised in a far corner of the country, so my accent is unusual.”

“Mr. Storm lost his small sailing vessel on the rocks off the point.” They all turned as one as the Lady Eleanor entered the hall. “It was quite propitious. I was seeking instructors as I set about to open my little academy, and the sea brought us Mr. Storm. He was on a circumnavigation of the British Isles at the time. A naturalist's hobby. Quite extraordinary that he should wash up here, and that he should have this expertise in history and natural sciences,” the Lady continued. “Later this afternoon, thanks to referrals from Mr. Bateson, a Miss Gumble and a Mr. MacLarren will be arriving to instruct you in grammar and maths.”

Robbie raised his hand. “Will we be learning any fighting skills?”

The Lady looked puzzled. “Fighting skills?”

“You know, fencing and archery, that sort of thing. We need to be ready for the Jerries.”

“I don't think—” she began.

“Just the thing!” spouted Mr. Storm. He grinned like a madman, and once again Kat had the feeling that he was in on some private joke.

“Well, perhaps,” said the Lady with a dark sideways glance. “Maybe Mr. MacLarren—”

“Nonsense! I can assist. Fighting the Jerries, eh? I have all the necessary skills,” said Mr. Storm.

Robbie grinned and shot a look at Kat.

The rest of the meal was conducted in silence. The Lady didn't appear to touch her food. The same could not be said of Mr. Storm, who ate like a trooper.

Straight after breakfast they were shown into the morning room off the entry hall. It was made up to serve as a classroom, with a handful of desks and a chalkboard up front. They chose seats and they found small notebooks and pencils ready, but no textbooks.

“Right, then,” said Mr. Storm, rubbing his hands and marching back and forth at the front of the room. “Who can tell me something of the geography of Scotland?”

After geography Mr. Storm gave a rambling lecture on recent history of the British Isles, and then more ancient history, and then he launched into something more than a little unexpected.

“I should like to discuss historical artifacts,” Storm said. “As part of our lessons touching on archaeology, yes?” Storm smiled with his large teeth. “My area of expertise is in the realm of artifacts that may have peculiar properties. Magical properties, as evidenced by the association of these artifacts with mysterious and unexplained events.”

They all waited in utter silence; even Jorry was still.

Storm held up a small black-and-white photograph. “Who can tell me what this object is called?”

Kat almost fell out of her chair.

Isabelle raised her hand, and Storm said, “Yes?”

“It's a chatelaine,” Isabelle said. She glanced sideways at Kat, who was trying to keep her face from showing her surprise.
Another chatelaine?

The chatelaine in Storm's photo held a large number of dangling charms, and Kat strained to see them. Without thinking, she blurted, “But I have one that's nothing like that.”

“Yes, Miss Bateson?” Storm said, watching her carefully. “You have such a thing? A chatelaine?” He tucked the photograph away.

Kat's face went hot. “Ah, well . . . my aunt, she, um, has one.”

Storm stared at her for another minute before saying, “Miss LaRoche is correct. This is a chatelaine. But this one has a special place in history. This chatelaine is said to have the power of enchantment. It once fell into the hands of the cruel prince Vlad of Romania, who used it to overpower his enemies before he sent them to their gruesome ends, and perhaps it explains the rumors of his longevity. But Vlad lost it, alas for him.” Storm smiled, toothy. “Some archaeologists in the service of the Reich should like to find it.”

Kat was stunned. Her teacher, in his first lesson, claimed
that he knew of a chatelaine with the “power of enchantment.” She looked again at Isabelle, who was now taking notes as if her life depended on it and avoiding Kat's glance.

“Yes, many people would like to get their hands on such an object.” He paused, then went on. “After Vlad lost it, this chatelaine was next seen in Scotland some two hundred years ago. This report is one reason I was circling the coastline until the loss of my sailboat.”

“But if this chatelaine thing is found by the Germans, sir,” said Jorry in a buttery voice, “Germany might use it the way Vlad did, to overpower their enemies.” Then Jorry muttered under his breath, “Not that I believe in such nonsense. Utter rot.”

Kat wasn't sure she liked having anything in common with Jorry.

“Ah, yes,” said Storm. “Having that kind of power in Germany is something England and her allies would not like. If it is indeed in Scotland, it is possible that the hunt is on. A scavenger hunt of sorts. We can all keep our eyes open, yes? At least in our own little corner of Scotland.” He paused. “It's what Mr. Churchill would want, eh?” And he stared hard at Kat.

She squirmed.

They were dismissed, “until the other instructors arrive.”

“Good grief,” Kat said to Peter when they were well out of earshot. “What was that all about?”

Robbie, who had hung back in the classroom, ran up, gleeful. “Mr. Storm will teach me sword fighting! Starting this afternoon, right after lunch. He's going to take me out to the courtyard and give me a real sword and everything.”

“Robbie, I don't think—” Kat began.

“Don't be stodgy,” Rob interrupted, glowering. “You're not Mum.” He stuck his tongue out and turned and ran on, whooping, to tell Colin.

Kat clenched her fist.

Jorry, catching up with them, said, “Storm is ridiculous. Why in the world would he mention magical artifacts?” Storm emerged from the room, and instantly Jorry's expression changed. “Interesting lesson, sir,” he said.

Kat bit her cheek.

“Ah, thank you, Mr. Phillips,” Storm said. He turned to Kat. “You have one, then? A chatelaine?”

“It's my aunt's,” Kat said, which was true enough. “A family heirloom.”

“It must be very old, yes?”

“I guess.” Kat fidgeted.

“Perhaps you have a picture?”

“It's not like the one you showed us. It's much more simple.”

“If you should find an image, I should like to see it. These antiquities collect magic just as they collect dust.” Storm smiled his toothy grin.

Collect magic?
Kat searched for words. “I'm sure my aunt's is only a piece of jewelry.”

“Indeed,” Storm murmured, narrowing his eyes at her. He turned back to Jorry. “Keep an eye out for anything unusual, eh, Mr. Phillips?”

“Oh, I will keep an eye out, sir.” Storm retreated down the hall. As Storm disappeared around the corner, Jorry muttered, “Completely daft. Artifacts collecting magic? Bonkers.”

Peter and Kat watched in silence as Jorry marched away.

Kat twisted the watch on her wrist. “I hate to admit it, but Jorry's right. Storm's crazy.” As loony as her great-aunt.

Peter said, “I wouldn't mind having an object with magical power. But here's what I think: Storm is a treasure hunter.”

“Treasure hunter?”

“Yeah. One of those people who hunts for valuable artifacts. He may be an archaeologist or historian or maybe not, and he may or may not be crazy. But I don't think he's done much teaching.”

“That seems certain.” Kat chewed her lip, then shook her head and sighed. “Well, at least Robbie's getting his wish.”

“And it's a sunny day, and we're out of school for a few hours. We can go for a walk and explore the grounds if we get Storm's okay. Maybe we'll uncover some of that spying you suspect is going on.”

“Spying? That
I
suspect? What about you? Don't you
suspect something peculiar's going on here?” she asked.

Kat blushed furiously as she swore Peter was trying not to laugh.

It was a brilliant, blustery day, and Kat's nightmares had begun to fade in the sunlight. Maybe the other children they'd seen were from the town, and the Lady was unaware of them wandering about the grounds. Maybe the Lady was unused to children and put off by Kat's blunt questions. Even Isabelle's mention of the hand sign charm had taken on an innocence in the light of day. After all, the Lady's charm was to ward off evil, wasn't it? Not to invite it in.