“Weirdo,” Alfie laughed. “Are you training to be a dog?”
He picked up the expensive-looking envelope. On the front, in beautifully neat handwriting, were the words:
For the attention of Alfred Bloom
He made a face. Only people like his headmaster, the landlady or angry old Mr Filbert upstairs assumed his name should be lengthened to Alfred. On the back was a large wax seal with two ravens perched on a pair of scales. He thought it a shame to break it, but within seconds it was lying in pieces and he was holding an official-looking letter. Alfie took a deep sniff of the thick cream paper – it smelt like old books. It was embossed with a gold crest that matched the seal and read:
Muninn and Bone Solicitors (Established 1086)
Dear Master Bloom,
An appointment has been arranged for you with one of our senior partners on Saturday 23rd July at 11.59 p.m. to discuss the transference of your substantial inheritance.
We are legally required to also request the presence of your father, Mr William Horatio Bloom.
Our carriage will call for you at 11.26 p.m. prompt.
Sincerely,
Emily Fortune
Senior Administrator
Substantial inheritance? Had someone left him something in a will? Alfie read the card again, his head spinning. It was the twenty-third today. He raced to his dad’s workshop with the strange invitation.
“You’re absolutely sure it isn’t someone from school playing a joke on you?” said his dad as he read through the letter at the rickety kitchen table, scratching the back of his neck thoughtfully.
“Yes, I’m sure, Dad, for the fifth time!” Alfie mumbled through a mouthful of tuna, sprout and pickled-egg sandwich. Breakfast was often a creative mix of whatever was left in the cupboards. “I don’t know anyone who could forge something that well.”
Alfie’s dad was a tall man with dark hair that tended to stick out all over the place. Alfie thought it was most probably because he spent so much time scratching his head. He was wearing his favourite cardigan – the green one with lots of pockets that his mum had knitted. Alfie noticed it was a lot baggier on him than it used to be. He risked another sandwich as he waited impatiently for his dad to finish analysing the letter. This one contained crisps, beetroot and gherkins. At long last his dad got up.
“Cup of tea, son?” He rummaged around in the murky green cupboards above the sink for teabags and clean cups. Mrs Craddock the landlady hadn’t decorated the flat for about forty years. They had moved here a few years ago to save money to build their own house, but since Alfie’s mum died their savings had dwindled away. His dad didn’t talk about building a house anymore. Alfie understood why – even if they could afford it he didn’t want to live in Mum’s dream house without her either.
“Well, Alfie,” he said as he poured the tea. “I’ve never heard of this Muninn and Bone, but I have to admit, the letter does look genuine.”
“What do you think they mean by substantial inheritance?” asked Alfie. No one they knew had died – not recently – and they didn’t know anyone even remotely rich.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out.” His dad smiled and passed him one of the steaming cups.
At quarter past eleven, Alfie and his dad were already sitting on the wall outside their basement flat in Abernathy Terrace. It was a warm summer night and the scent of jasmine from the garden next door filled the air. The sweet smell began to give Alfie a headache as he sat uncomfortably straight, trying not to crease his clothes. They had spent the afternoon scouring charity shops for smart clothes. Alfie was quite pleased with his dark grey suit, but had to fasten his belt very tightly to stop the trousers dropping down around his ankles. He had managed to talk his dad out of buying a tartan blazer and into getting something quite smart and sensible, although the effect was rather spoilt by slightly short trousers, which showed his odd socks.
The minute hand on his watch drew nearer to eleven twenty-six. Alfie looked up and down the street anxiously. He began to feel silly. Maybe the letter really was a joke. What kind of solicitor would want to meet at midnight? Just as he was about to suggest they go back inside, there was a clatter of hooves on the street. He nearly toppled back over the wall in shock when he saw what was standing there.
Smack bang in front of him stood the grandest coach imaginable – bigger and better than all those in the Tower of London put together. The varnished ebony wood was so highly polished that it could have been mistaken for glass. Even the ornately framed windows were black. A shiny silver cap bearing the same crest as the invitation sat at the centre of each wheel. He looked up to see a man in a top hat and travelling cape sitting high at the front. The man held the reins to six huge black horses, which snorted and stamped the ground impatiently. Alfie couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard their approach before the sudden clatter.
The driver tipped his hat. “Johannes.” He was a giant of a man with neat grey-flecked sideburns that framed his good-humoured face, and he introduced himself in a gravelly voice with a hint of a German accent before nodding towards the coach door. It opened and two steps slid out of the frame. “Please take your seats, sirs.” Alfie felt a shiver of excitement as they climbed inside the coach and settled into the luxurious purple velvet seats.
“Fasten your seat belts.” Alfie jumped as the driver’s voice boomed through a brass funnel on the wall in front of them. “The boiled sweets provided will ease any discomfort you feel in your ears during the journey.”
Alfie gingerly helped himself to a sweet from a silver dish fixed to the wall as his dad admired the plush interior of the carriage. “I’ve never been in anything this fancy in my entire life,” he whispered as though half afraid the driver was listening to them. “Whatever they want to speak to you about must be very important.”
The steps folded back into a small compartment with a quiet whirring noise, and the door closed making barely a sound. With a tiny jerk, they were on their way.
Alfie could hear the horses snorting and the coachman half singing, half shouting to them as they galloped.
“Dad,” said Alfie. “We must be going very fast. You don’t think we’ll crash do you?”
“I’m sure the driver knows what he’s doing,” said his dad, although he didn’t look entirely convinced.
The coach began to travel faster and faster until Alfie was sitting right back in his seat, hands gripping the silver handles on the walls as he glanced worriedly at his dad. There was a sudden jolt and everything tilted backwards. Alfie felt as though an invisible hippopotamus was sitting on him. The feeling lasted for about a minute before the pressure eased, the carriage stopped juddering and he could move freely again.
“Whoa! That was weird,” he exclaimed, swallowing to pop his ears while gathering up the sweets that had slid into his lap.
“It gets stranger,” said his dad, sitting up and leaning his head towards the window. “Listen carefully. Tell me what you hear.”
Alfie strained to hear anything. “Nothing. Just a whistling noise.”
“Exactly. Why can’t we hear the horses galloping any more?” Alfie stared at his dad. Surely they couldn’t be … flying?
Alfie pushed his face to the window, cupping his hands around his eyes like binoculars. It was dark outside and the thick, tinted glass made everything even darker. He could just about make out flashes of colour and light. He spent much of the journey grinning at his dad who beamed back at him as though too full of anticipation to even talk. Alfie felt as though they were on a marvellous adventure together, and he wrapped his arms around his stomach to try to trap the warm feeling it gave him inside.
After about twenty minutes, the whole coach jarred with a loud thud. Alfie grabbed his seat again as they were bounced up and down. The whistling had stopped and he could hear the sharp sound of horses’ hooves slowing to a trot as the coach
rolled to a halt.
The door opened with a pop, and Alfie nearly fell out face first. His dad caught his arm as he half jumped, half toppled to the cobbles below. They were in an old coach house the size of a warehouse with vast oak doors that were now closed.
Steam rose from the horses as the driver placed a barrel of water in front of each one. He spoke to them gently in a horsey language full of neighs, nickers and snorts. In the dim light cast by the flickering torches on the walls, Alfie could see coaches of all shapes and sizes. He ran over to an enormous one that looked like a golden barge from Ancient Egypt, but with wheels.
“Look at this, Dad!” he shouted as he discovered a green-and-gold coach half his height and peered through the tiny windows. Surely no one could fit into something so small.
“It must be a toy.” His dad squatted down for a closer look. “Look at these tiny symbols around the sides.” He adjusted his glasses and leant forwards for a closer look.
“Ahem!” A huge hand landed on each of their shoulders and Alfie looked up to see Johannes towering over them. “This way, sirs. Mr Bone is waiting.”
He led them to a gigantic door made up of lots of other doors of decreasing size, one inside the other, like Russian nesting dolls. The smallest only came halfway up Alfie’s knee. “Just through there. Ms Fortune will sign you in.”
“Which door do we open?”
The coachman chuckled as he filled a nosebag for each horse. “Whichever one fits, Master Bloom, whichever one fits.”
Alfie stared in awe as he swung the human-sized door open to reveal a magnificent round room. The floor was made of marble with the now familiar Muninn and Bone crest set into a disc of polished brass in the centre. The walls were covered in dark wooden panels and the stone arched ceiling was so high that he felt as if he was in a cathedral. At least twenty suits of armour in all shapes and sizes lined the panelled walls.
“Mister and Master Bloom?” said a bright little voice from behind them. “How do you do?”
Alfie span around in surprise. They had walked straight past a young woman behind the huge desk near the entrance. Her long dark hair flowed out behind her as she skipped over to shake hands.
“I’m sorry, we didn’t see you!” he stammered.
“Not a problem, not a problem at all. Everyone reacts like that when they first come here.” She span on the spot with her arms outstretched. “Such a grand old hall and such a little old me.”
Alfie liked this tiny woman with her sing-song voice, huge green eyes and pointy face. “You’re not old,” he said, unable to keep from blushing.
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. It all depends on how you look at it.” She smiled. “I think I’m going to like you a whole bunch, Master Bloom. Now wherever did I leave my manners? I’m Emily – Emily Fortune – originally Amelia Fortuna but that sounds far too much like a frumpy old fish, so I tweaked the first name and swapped an A for an E. Much more modern now, isn’t it? Very classy, very sassy, very now! One should always keep up with the times, don’t you think?” Alfie didn’t have time to reply as she ushered them over to her desk. “Anyhoo, chop-chop, let’s get you signed in before you head on up to your meeting. If you like this room, just wait until you see Mr Bone’s office. Very swish.”
Alfie finally exhaled as Emily finished talking and plonked a large book in front of them. He took a deep breath and noticed his dad do the same. He wondered how she found time to breathe.
“OK, just press your thumbs on this ink pad for me … good, now stick your thumbprint next to your name and the time … thank you. Now, if you could both shimmy on to the crest, please.”
Alfie wasn’t quite sure how to shimmy but followed his dad and stepped on to the brass disc in the centre of the room.
“Lovely, thank you. Now hold still and keep your feet away from the edges. This won’t hurt a bit and you’ll be there in a jiffy.”
“Wait, what’s going to happen?” asked Alfie apprehensively as he noticed a long brass cylinder descending from the ceiling like a telescope extending. “Ms Fortune?”
“Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe,” she assured them. “Well, as long as you don’t touch the sides…”
Everything went black as the cylinder dropped down over them. With a click and a whoosh, the crest beneath their feet propelled them upwards at a startling rate. Beyond the brass cylinder that had descended from the ceiling the walls were stone, worn smooth as marble by the disc’s passage. Alfie fought the urge to touch them as they whizzed by and stayed as close to the centre of the crest as he could. Light flickered into the lift as door after door with porthole-style windows zoomed by. Alfie thought that it was the best lift he had ever travelled in and tried to glimpse whatever was through the little windows as they flew past.
“What an ingenious system!” In the flickering light Alfie could see that his dad was grinning from ear to ear. “Do you hear that whooshing noise? I’ll bet the disc we are standing on is being propelled upwards by air alone. The pressure required to lift both it and us must be immense.” Alfie smiled. His dad was always happiest when trying to figure out how something worked. “Hmm, something would be needed to stop us at the right floor – there must be a powerful clamp on each level. It would need to grab the edge of this disc at exactly the right millisecond to stop us shooting through the roof.”
He was proved right when the disc stopped moving with a loud clank in front of a brass door. As their feet landed back on the floor, he laughed with delight and patted the wall.
“Remarkable.”
The door slid open. Alfie stared in awe as they stepped into an enormous round room with a beautiful blue domed ceiling on to which constellations of stars had been painted. A winged device made of wood and canvas hung from the centre. He recognized it from a picture in his dad’s favourite book on Leonardo da Vinci.
“Alfred and William Bloom, I presume?”
A tall, dignified figure had risen from a deep leather armchair in front of a fire that burnt with a green flame.
“It’s just Alfie, not Alfred,” Alfie replied before he could stop himself.
“I will ensure that our records are amended accordingly,” said the man in a crisp tone. “Now, if I may introduce myself, I am Caspian Bone, senior partner at this firm. I have been expecting this meeting for longer than you might imagine.”
Alfie took in Caspian Bone’s quirky appearance as he shook his hand. His sharp, pale face was framed by shining shoulder-length ebony hair. The irises of his eyes were almost completely black. He didn’t look much older than his mid thirties, but wore an old-fashioned, tailored black suit giving him the appearance of a Victorian gentleman. Alfie’s gaze shifted to the cape hanging on a coat stand and something clicked in his memory.
“It’s you!” he shouted triumphantly. “You’re real! You were watching me yesterday from the school field. You turned into a bird, then later, after the car…”
“Perhaps so,” said the solicitor. His head twitched to one side as he stared intently at Alfie. “However, tonight we deal solely with your inheritance and matters pertaining to it.”
“Has someone died?” Alfie barely heard his dad ask the question as he stared up at the solicitor wondering what he really was and why he had been spying on him.
“The inheritance we are here to discuss is not related to the recent demise of any friends, family or acquaintances. It is the legacy of Orin Hopcraft.”
“Orin Hopcraft!” whispered Alfie’s dad, reeling back slightly. “So he was real?”
Alfie was surprised at his dad’s reaction to the strange name. Who were they talking about?
“If you would both take a seat.” Caspian led the way to his stately desk and Alfie found himself dropping obediently into one of the chairs offered.
“Now, to business.” Caspian reached into a drawer and produced a large leather binder, which he la
id on the desk between them. He sat forwards, gazing down his long sharp nose at Alfie, his fingers steepled in front of his chest.
“At four in the afternoon, on the twenty-second of July, you performed an unaided timeslip.”
Alfie snapped his attention away from the binder and looked at the solicitor accusingly. “Wait, I did what?” That was the time he would have been walking home from school.
“Alfie timeslipped on his own?” gasped his dad. “Is this because of where he was born?”
“Indeed,” said the solicitor.
Alfie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Caspian was clearly mad. Looking up at his father’s flushed face, he was even more shocked to see that he wasn’t surprised by the solicitor’s words. “Dad, what is he talking about, and who is Orin Hopcraft?”
“My apologies,” said Caspian, looking from Alfie to his dad. “I was unaware that your father had not revealed the unusual circumstances surrounding your birth.”
Alfie’s dad shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “It hardly seemed real,” he mumbled, trying to avoid Alfie’s gaze. “His mum wanted him to hear about it where it happened, and we just never got around to telling him…”
“Telling me what?” asked Alfie, using all of his reserve to stop himself kicking Caspian’s desk in frustration.
“I’m afraid that conversation is between you and your father,” interrupted Caspian. “At present, we have other matters to discuss.”
Alfie didn’t feel remotely ready to let the matter drop, but the solicitor’s unblinking stare and authoritative tone won the battle. Alfie sank back in his chair as Caspian pushed the leather binder across the desk towards him, looking even more like a raven now as his hair glinted with blues and purples under the light of the oil lamps. Alfie opened the file. It contained a bundle of documents written in elegant calligraphy on parchment that was slightly brown and curled around the edges.
Alfie Bloom and the Secrets of Hexbridge Castle Page 2