“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, we come to the matter of you stealing.”
“Stealing?”
“Yes, the money that you didn’t pay the taxi drivers.”
“Oh,” said Chris quietly.
“Just because they weren’t aware of what you were doing doesn’t make it any less of a crime. I have to say that I’m absolutely disgusted that you would use your Ability in that way. It’s particularly surprising to me given that you stole from people in your attempt to pay back somebody else. I am greatly disappointed.”
Chris hung his head in shame. “I know I shouldn’t have done it—I felt really bad. It’s just . . . well . . . I didn’t have any money, and I only remembered when I got to the shop,” said Chris, knowing that it wasn’t going to be an acceptable explanation.
“That’s no excuse at all. There is never a good reason to steal, and you are the last person I thought I’d have to explain that to. You will have to make amends. I expect that you remember the registration plates of the two taxis?”
Chris nodded, the image of both taxis suddenly clear in his mind.
“Good. After Christmas, when you come back, you will be earning the money back by helping Maura. Then we will find the drivers, and you will return the money and apologize. Is that a fair punishment?”
“Yes, sir,” said Chris.
“And finally, and I mean this, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, you will be out of here. This is your last warning. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” repeated Chris.
“Good. Now . . . it’s late. Go to bed.”
Chris walked out of the room and found Ron and John standing in the hallway.
“I’m so sorry,” said Chris, looking up at them both.
“Do you have any idea what kind of danger you put yourself in?” asked Ron.
“I know,” said Chris, his head bowed.
“No, I don’t think you do,” continued Ron, clearly furious. “What you did tonight was a breach of security. You know what I think should happen to someone who deliberately breaches security . . . I’ll tell you what I think should happen. I think that person should be lined up against the wall and—”
“All right, Ron, that’s enough. You can see the boy’s upset.”
Chris, tears welling up, looked away and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Well, John, he should have thought of that before he decided to break the rules.”
“We’ve all made mistakes, Ron, or do I need to remind you about a certain night in Hong Kong?”
Ron snapped his head round, alarmed. “That wasn’t a mistake, John; it was a misunderstanding,” he said, nevertheless suddenly looking a lot less annoyed.
John, satisfied, turned back to Chris and put his hand on his shoulder. “You’ve learned your lesson, and that, as far as we’re concerned, is that. I know you were trying to do the honorable thing, son, but I don’t think I need to tell you that you went about it in the wrong way.”
Chris nodded, grateful for the words of comfort.
“Go back to your room now and get some sleep,” said John. “Tomorrow’s a new day.”
• • •
Chris walked back into his bedroom to find Philip sitting up in his bed, waiting for him.
“Are you okay?” asked Philip.
“Yeah. You were right—I shouldn’t have gone.”
“But you’re staying, right—you didn’t get expelled?”
“No,” said Chris, climbing up to his bed, “but it’s my last chance.”
“Phew. We all thought you might not come back. Everyone’s going to be really happy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, of course. We’re a team, aren’t we?”
Chris smiled. “I guess we are,” he said, laying his head on the pillow. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN •
Friday, December 21
Though they were over an hour away from each other and their motives were poles apart, the pupils of Myers Holt and the Genever brothers at Darkwhisper Manor were following an almost identical schedule of preparation in the week running up to the Antarctic Ball. Both sets of children had received their gilded invitations, been fitted for their white tuxedos (and sparkling white ball gowns for the girls), and had undergone intensive training in the Ability—with particular emphasis on understanding Inferno. But while Mortimer and Ernest Genever were focused and somber in mood, Chris and the rest of the Myers Holt pupils were counting down the days with giddy excitement, much to the displeasure of Ms. Lamb.
“Can you all stop this racket immediately and get back to your desks!” barked Ms. Lamb, having walked in to find them all huddled about Philip’s desk, talking loudly about what they thought the ice palace at the ball would look like.
The children all ran back to their desks and took their seats.
“You all seem to be under the impression that we’re going for a jolly day out tomorrow. Let me tell you now—you are all very much mistaken. Forget the palace, the dinner, the ice cream—”
“Ice cream?” said Rex, delighted. They all grinned.
“For goodness’ sake, you’re all behaving like children—grow up! The only reason that any one of you good-for-nothings is invited to this ball is that you are expected to work and to protect the lives of the very important people who will be there. I have here the security schedule for tomorrow, and I want you to listen very carefully. You,” she said, pointing at Chris, “as we all know, can’t be trusted, so you’ll be stationed with Sir Bentley for the evening. Don’t take your eyes off him for one moment.”
Ms. Lamb walked over to the wall and pulled down the screen. She picked up the remote control on her desk, and the projector in the ceiling whirred into life. A photograph appeared of Clarissa Teller.
“This is Clarissa Teller, the author. Some of you may know her already. A number of generous patrons to children’s charities are invited to the ball each year. Miss Teller donates the entire proceeds of her writing to a number of charities, making her the most high-profile of this group of people, and as such she will be seated at the top table. You,” she said, pointing to Lexi, “will be watching her for the evening.” Ms. Lamb pressed a button, and the photograph switched to one of the prime minister.
“This, as you all know, is Prime Minister Edward Banks. We consider him to be the prime target at tomorrow’s event. You and you,” she said, pointing to Philip and Daisy, “are in charge of watching him and anybody near him. He will likely be surrounded by people, so you will have to keep your wits about you—if you have any.”
“Finally, you two,” she said, looking over at Sebastian and Rex, “will be standing at the entrance with the security guards, checking everybody who enters. If this boy appears”—Ms. Lamb pressed a button, and a blown-up photograph appeared of Mortimer Genever, sitting cross-legged in front of the stage where Cecil Humphries had given his talk—“you must immediately detain him by using suggestion to have him lie flat on the ground. Once he has been handcuffed, you must use your Ability to escort him outside to the waiting police van and remain with him until you arrive at the prison, where a special cell has been prepared with a lining of lead so that his Ability is rendered useless. At that point your services will no longer be required, and you will be escorted back to the group. While he is under your care, as you have already learned, you must fill his Reception with a clear block. What block have we all agreed to use?”
“ ‘Twinkle, Twinkle,’ ” answered Rex.
“Precisely. That way he can’t use his Ability while in transit. Now, I want you all to commit this photograph to memory. The boy may come in another way, so you must all be able to identify him immediately if he appears.”
Chris looked up at the picture of the pale boy with slicked black hair. He was surprised at how young he looked, even though he knew they were both the same age. It was hard to believe that this was the boy who had manag
ed to willfully destroy three lives in as many months.
The picture disappeared, and Ms. Lamb pulled up the screen.
“Your success or failure tomorrow will reflect directly on my teaching, so I expect you all to take this seriously and study every piece of information tonight that you have been given in your time here. I don’t want any mistakes. That’s all. Now get out, all of you.”
• • •
The day of the Antarctic Ball had finally arrived, and at three in the afternoon, after some halfhearted studying and a picnic in the Dome, the children were all led upstairs by Maura into two large rooms aboveground that had been transformed into dressing rooms for the day, one for the girls and the other for the boys. Chris and the rest of the boys walked in to find a large team of people waiting for them. Chris was led over to one of the four large chairs that had been placed in a row in front of a line of full-length standing mirrors and took a seat as the man behind him began to cut his hair. The radio blasted, and the boys chatted excitedly among themselves as they waited for their tuxedos to be steam-pressed.
“I could get used to this,” said Rex, as a woman did up his bow tie. Only Philip, who wore a bow tie every day, was able to do his up by himself.
“Do we get to keep these tuxedos?” asked Philip.
“Yes, they’ve been made especially for you,” said the man, taking out a pair of polished white leather shoes.
“Fantastic!” said Philip. “I was thinking I needed something more formal for dinner in the evenings.”
“More formal than a three-piece suit?” asked Rex.
“That’s daywear, my friend. Dress to—”
“Impress,” said Rex, Sebastian, and Chris at the same time.
“You’re learning,” said Philip, smiling.
The boys thanked the team and walked out into the hallway to wait for the girls. Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, the door to their room opened, and Daisy and Lexi stepped out. The girls were dressed in similar, but not identical, white dresses, with a full satin skirt and long sleeves that had been painstakingly adorned with hundreds of crystals, which sparkled under the hallway lights. Daisy’s hair had been curled, and her blond ringlets were pushed back off her face by a diamond tiara, on loan for the evening from a jeweler in Soho. Lexi’s hair, normally a wild mass of dark hair, had been straightened, slicked back, and pinned up behind a tiara also on loan from the same jeweler.
“Ooh la la,” said Sebastian.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” asked Daisy, holding her tiara in place as she spun around.
“You actually look like a girl,” said Rex, looking at Lexi.
“Shut up, Rex,” said Lexi, blushing.
“Well, well . . . what have we got here?”
The children all turned to see Sir Bentley come in through the front door, dressed in a white tuxedo.
“You look just like James Bond, sir,” said Lexi.
“Thank you, and you both look very beautiful,” he said to the girls.
“What about us?” asked Rex.
“You look very beautiful too, Rex,” said Sir Bentley, smiling.
They all laughed.
“Really boys, you all look very dashing—like young James Bonds. Now . . . we have our cars waiting outside.”
“I thought we were going in the carriages,” said Daisy, looking disappointed.
“We are, but they collect people from different places in London. Our ones will meet us at Marble Arch at five, so we’d better get a move on—remember, we have to be at the palace before any of the other guests arrive. Do you have your invitations?”
The children all held up their cream-and-gold cards.
“Excellent. Let’s go,” said Sir Bentley, leading them out into the dark winter night.
• • •
The area around Marble Arch was closed off to traffic, and crowds of excited children, all dressed in white tuxedos and dresses, filled the pavements as they waited to be allowed in. John pulled up as close to the security barrier as he could and dropped them off, then drove away as arranged to park the car at the ice palace. Sir Bentley led the way as they pushed through to the front, much to the annoyance of the waiting guests.
“Sorry,” said Chris repeatedly.
The others were also apologizing as the crowd grew more irate. Well, except for Rex, who was very much enjoying the moment.
“Very important people coming through!” shouted Rex, barging his way past.
Finally they reached the entrance, and Sir Bentley flashed a badge and gave a whispered explanation to the security man at the door. The man nodded and opened the door.
“Invitation, please,” said the man. Chris handed him his invitation and in turn watched as the handheld machine scanned the small gold bar code printed on the bottom left of the card. The machine flashed green, and the man waved Chris through.
“Enjoy your evening,” he said, as Chris stepped out onto the ring road surrounding a spotlit Marble Arch. Chris looked around in awe. He felt as if he had traveled back in time—the only transport was a long line of at least a hundred ornate glass carriages, each led by a white horse and a driver in a white top hat and suit.
“Can you see the carriages ‘Vanguard’ and ‘Albemarle’?” asked Sir Bentley, looking at the ticket the security guard had given him.
“They are yonder!” said Sebastian, spotting the gold lettering on the side of the two carriages at the front of the line. They all ran toward them.
“Children, stop!” said Sir Bentley. He walked up to them. “You have to remember to stay with me until we get to the ball, and then you must stay in your assigned places. Please don’t forget that you are working tonight.”
The children all nodded obediently and walked alongside Sir Bentley.
“Chris and Rex, you can both accompany me in the first carriage. The rest of you can follow us in the other.”
Daisy, Lexi, Philip, and Sebastian ran off toward their carriage.
“Good evening,” said the driver, who was dressed all in white and holding the reins to a beautiful white mare, which stood still and majestic, waiting for his orders.
“And good evening to you,” said Sir Bentley. “We’re scheduled to be leaving a bit early—I hope that was explained.”
“Yes, sir,” said the driver. “We’re ready to go when you are.”
Sir Bentley thanked the man and walked over to the glass door of the carriage, turning the gold handle and opening it up to let Chris and Rex in. The boys clambered in and sat in the white and gold leather seat at the back, and Sir Bentley sat opposite them, closing the door behind him.
“And off we go,” said Sir Bentley, as the horses sprang to life and the two carriages, sparkling under the streetlights, set off down the road. Chris and Rex jumped up and down on the seat in excitement, not noticing the note of trepidation in Sir Bentley’s voice.
• • •
The carriages proceeded slowly down Park Lane, which had been cleared of traffic, and behind the barriers that had been erected at the side of the road a growing mass of curious people stopped and pointed in awe at their two-carriage procession, two crystal balls gliding along under the moonlight. A small part of Chris was aware that he should be on the lookout for the boy in the photograph, but except for cursory glances amongst the gathering crowds, he spent the ride laughing and chatting with Rex, who for once had nothing but positive things to say.
“They think we’re famous!” said Rex, waving to the crowds and enjoying the celebrity.
The crowds cheered and cameras flashed as the children grinned.
“I think we’re here,” said Chris, as the carriages took a turn right and stopped at the Queen Elizabeth Gate, which was heavily guarded by what seemed like a hundred police officers. Beside them, less than ten feet from where the carriages stood as they waited for security clearance, the final group of bystanders was jostling forward, trying to get a look at their carriages and perhaps even a glimpse of the palace.
Rex leaned over to Chris’s side of the carriage and looked out of the window.
“They’re practically green with envy!” said Rex, holding up his invitation as a tease to a group of boys on the curb beside them.
“I can’t see the palace,” said Chris, as the carriages were waved through by the line of police.
“It’s just round the corner; you’ll see it in a moment,” said Sir Bentley.
Sure enough, a few minutes later the carriages made their way round the black wall of oak trees that had been blocking their view, and the Serpentine Lake appeared before them, a gleaming blanket of solid ice that had been lit from beneath, as if the moon had been laid down on the ground at the foot of the ice palace standing behind it.
Both boys gasped.
Although they had spent the last few weeks discussing and imagining what the palace would look like, nothing had quite prepared them for the size or magnificence of the scene before them. The enormous palace, supported by crystal-clear carved columns, was made entirely of ice, which sparkled under the cool white light of a hundred spotlights; leading up to it was a path overlooked by two lines of trees carved out of ice, white lanterns hanging from their branches.
“It’s amazing!” said Chris, leaning forward out of his seat, his face pressed up against the side of the carriage.
“It must be as big as Big Ben,” said Rex.
“Almost,” said Sir Bentley, “and made of more than five thousand blocks of ice, each one taller than me. Look”—he pointed to the top of the palace wall—“up there you can see that the ice has been carved out—each section depicts a scene from the voyages of James Cook.”
The boys looked up and marveled at the scenes of ships, icebergs, and animals.
“And if you think that’s incredible, wait until you see inside,” said Sir Bentley as the carriage came to a stop.
“Good evening, Sir Bentley,” said the waiting footman, opening the door for them.
“Good evening,” said Sir Bentley, stepping out onto the red carpet that ran up to the arched entrance of the palace.
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