Her golden hair was pulled back into a neat bun and her grey suit, tailored and tight fitting, made her body look as if she had been dipped in a dull metal. ‘So chic,’ Celia whispered.
Dr Smythe leant against the teacher’s desk at the front of the room and looked around the class. No one moved.
‘Last week we talked about some of the scientists who have been educated at Temple College. We spoke about Emily Woodstock. Can anyone remember why she was important?’
Celia put her hand up. ‘The first woman to be accepted at Temple College. She researched the effects of magnetic fields, building on Michael Faraday’s pioneering work.’
‘Very good, Celia. Now, today, I want us to think about the most visionary scientist that Temple College has produced: the founder of Temple College, Peter Burgess. Does anyone know why he was so important?’
No one replied. After a few seconds, Dr Smythe said, ‘Livy, do you have any idea?’
Livy heard Alex shift in his seat behind her. ‘Blood,’ he whispered.
But Livy felt awkward and shook her head. Dr Smythe had spoken about Peter Burgess in her interview, something to do with the Garden of Eden, but she couldn’t remember exactly what had been said.
‘He wrote about something he called a mortal force that pulled all objects towards the surface of the earth. What does that sound like? Alex?’
‘Gravity, Dr Smythe.’
‘Creep,’ Livy heard Amy mutter to Martha.
‘Peter Burgess also believed that there was a living force inside us that filled our body with air. What does that sound like? Amy, why don’t you tell us?’ Dr Smythe stared at Amy, who fiddled with her pen. ‘Perhaps I will ask Alex again as he has been paying attention. Alex?’
‘Blood, Dr Smythe.’
‘Excellent. Peter Burgess carried out many experiments on this living force. Do you have any idea how he collected samples of blood?’
‘He used leeches,’ Alex blurted out.
‘Indeed. You are very knowledgeable, Alex. Leeches, for those who don’t know their medical history, are a sort of worm found in the river. They were placed on the skin and they would suck blood until they became full and fell off.’
‘Urgh,’ Celia said beneath her breath.
‘A rather ingenious way of collecting fresh blood samples for Peter Burgess’s scientific work! He was a daring and visionary early scientist.’
Alex coughed.
‘Peter Burgess understood that science is about asking questions and then designing experiments to answer those questions. What I want you to do now is to think about a big question or problem you would like to solve and then devise the most daring experiment you can. And tell me how you would go about it. Be brave! Shoot for the stars! You may not have the ability to talk to angels, as Master Peter Burgess believed he had, but you may come up with something interesting. Try and think about the challenges the world is facing – there are many – and find a solution. Surprise me!’
Livy’s hand hovered over the paper. What would she change if she could? Well, that was easy . . .
‘I’m going to write about artificial intelligence,’ she heard Amy say. ‘It’s got to be the way we solve things in the future. Wars and stuff.’
‘What about you, Livy?’ Celia asked.
Livy felt awkward. ‘A cure for leukaemia,’ she muttered.
‘Boring,’ Martha mouthed.
Livy turned away. She wouldn’t risk telling them about how she wanted to find a way of taking all the bad things out of a child’s tainted blood and altering it until it became strong and healthy.
As they left the classroom, Livy found Alex walking at her shoulder. Amy giggled to Martha.
‘Why does Dr Smythe always speak of Peter Burgess as if he was this amazing scientist?’ Alex asked Livy. ‘She says he did all these experiments, but where is the proof? I could say that I discovered uranium, or plutonium, or . . . or . . . cheese if I didn’t have to prove it!’
Livy looked at his ragged blond hair; the collar on his shirt was too big and his blazer pocket was torn. She was surprised at the intense look on Alex’s face. ‘It’s not just Dr Smythe, Alex. Everyone thinks Peter Burgess is a legend.’
‘Livy?’ They both turned to see Dr Smythe standing in the doorway. ‘Your essay?’
Livy blushed as she pulled her book from her bag and handed it to Dr Smythe. She felt awkward; no one else had had to hand in work. The woman flipped it open and scanned the opening paragraph. Livy held her breath. This was excruciating. ‘Interesting.’ Dr Smythe smiled. ‘You want to find a cure for leukaemia? A noble cause, indeed.’ She closed the book. ‘I think you should pursue these ideas, Livy, and we can discuss them in our next lesson. In the meantime . . .’ She closed the book and slipped it into her sleek red leather briefcase. ‘I’d like to read this in more detail.’
‘Weird,’ Alex said as Dr Smythe disappeared, Livy’s book in her hand. ‘She never bothers marking anything. What’s got her so interested?’ He pulled a face. ‘I mean it’s not as if you’re going to find a cure for anything!’
But, Livy thought as they walked slowly down the corridor, if I could find a cure . . . She saw herself standing up in class and explaining how she had devised an experiment that could miraculously transform diseased blood and smiled as she imagined Dr Smythe’s admiring expression.
‘Uh-oh,’ Alex nudged her. Livy looked at him, surprised he was still walking alongside her. ‘Forget it.’
‘Forget what?’
‘You’re thirteen, remember? Thirteen-year-olds don’t find cures for anything!’
Livy left the others in intense discussions over whether they should follow Joe Molyns to the bus stop.
‘I’ve got lip gloss,’ Amy whispered to Martha as Celia was busy swapping her books in her locker. ‘Your favourite shade. We’ll look super cute for Joe.’
‘Are you sure you won’t come?’ Celia said to Livy, oblivious.
‘She’s really tired, can’t you see?’ Martha was brushing her long hair and the static made the hairbrush make odd scratching noises. ‘It’s probably very tiring starting a new school.’ She smiled at Livy, but Livy understood what the girl really meant.
‘Does anyone have any lip gloss?’ Celia asked. ‘My lips are so dry.’
‘Amy’s got some,’ Livy said. Amy glared at her. Livy ignored her. ‘I’m sure it will make you look super cute.’
‘Come on, let’s go.’ Amy pushed past Livy. ‘I’ll give it to you on the way.’
Livy was relieved. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts about the roof of the White Tower, the Sentinel and a boy who was not confident, popular Joe Molyns. The girls would laugh at her, she was sure. And even if Celia was kind to her and took her seriously, telling her would make it less real, less hers. She didn’t want to share the roof with anyone.
That night on the roof the moon hung ahead of her like a silver coin tossed into the sky. The chimney pots cast dark shadows, true ‘moon shadows’. Livy skipped over them as if they were puddles. She stopped halfway to catch her breath. Or perhaps it was her body that she needed to catch, because she felt as light as the air itself. Surely, if she let go of the chimney stack, she could float over the roof towards the Sentinel as easily as Tom’s red balloon. She let go of the bricks and chased the clouds, kicking the night air with her heels.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of movement in the street below. She dropped down behind the next chimney stack, her heart pounding in her chest. Had she been seen? She peered round and made out someone hurrying down the street.
She was a fool. She should have been more careful. But who would look up at the roof to see a girl running through the sky?
One leap, it seemed hardly more than a small step, and Livy was clambering over the parapet of the White Tower.
‘Did you miss me?’ She laughed as she put her hand out to the Sentinel’s broken carved wing. It was ridiculous to talk to a piece of stone this way, but she coul
dn’t shake off the feeling that it would be rude to ignore that stern, unchanging face.
She settled down under the broken wing, reached into her rucksack for her vocabulary book and looked at the list of French words she still had to learn.
The book with the seagull on the cover had fallen out and she picked it up. She flicked through the pages, blurry photographs of seagulls against leaden skies. A page must have come loose, and a gust of wind caught it and it flapped across the roof. Livy jumped up and put her foot on it, then bent down to pick it up.
The paper was thicker and coarser than the smooth pages of the book. The ink was a faded brown and the letters were written in such curls and flourishes that it was at first hard to read what was written there.
‘Rise, ye children of golde,’ Livy whispered. Her skin itched on the inside as her words were taken away by the breeze, like smoke. The next few words had been scratched out. ‘Something something bloode is lighter than an Angell’s wing,’ she read.
How had this piece of paper got trapped in a book about seagulls? And why would such words have such an effect on her? As she had read those words, she had felt as if she could rise effortlessly into the air – in fact, she was having to clutch on to the Sentinel’s stone feet to keep herself on the roof.
‘What are you doing here?’
Livy – intent on trying to keep herself heavy enough not to float away – was so startled by the voice that she looked up into the Sentinel’s face. Had he spoken?
‘I asked you what you’re doing here!’
The boy with the green eyes stood in front of her.
Livy hastily closed the book with the paper inside. She felt guilty, somehow, although she hadn’t been doing anything wrong.
‘Nothing!’ she blurted out. ‘Just reading.’
But of course, now that he was standing just feet away from her, she knew that she had not been remotely interested in learning French vocabulary on the roof. She had wanted to see him all along.
She wrinkled her nose as that strange smell of burnt metal surrounded her. She felt light-headed.
The boy stepped closer. ‘I told you to stay away from here. You’re not wanted.’
As he spoke, Livy heard again his strange accent, the words clipped and almost swallowed. The wind took hold of his coat and it flapped around him like a crow’s ragged wing. The gold flecks in his eyes flared.
‘I don’t have to do what you say!’ Livy’s voice struck the air like a lighted match. ‘I can come up here whenever I like and you can’t do anything to stop me!’
‘Can’t I?’ the boy said. ‘You’d better not test me!’
He was taller than her, it was true, but painfully thin. His skin, luminous as the moon, was drawn tight over his cheekbones, and his narrow shoulders looked as if they could scarcely bear the weight of his coat.
Seeing how frail he was, Livy felt braver. ‘You don’t scare me.’
The boy looked shocked. ‘I’m not trying to scare you. I’m warning you. Stay away. Don’t come near me.’ He closed his eyes, looking pained. ‘It’s all beginning again. I can feel it in my blood . . .’ He clutched at his temples.
‘Are you OK?’ She put out her hand.
‘Get away! It’s all happening because of you!’
He snatched up the book that she had been reading, that stray piece of paper tucked inside. ‘Keep your books and your ideas away from here!’ He flung the book into the air and it seemed to hover for a second before it fell into the Court of Sentinels below.
‘Hey!’ Livy yelled. ‘You’ve got no right to throw my things around!’ She scrambled to her feet and looked over the parapet. The book had fallen open and the pages were blowing mournfully back and forth in the wind. The strange handwritten paper was nowhere to be seen.
‘These books will cause a fever in your brain,’ the boy cried, ‘and then you will start it all again!’
‘I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about. I won’t start anything. I promise.’
‘You’re a Burgess. Your promises are worthless! You won’t be able to stop yourself!’ He leant in closer. ‘Tempus fugit,’ he hissed.
Livy felt the lead tremble beneath her feet. A door had been slammed shut somewhere deep in the tower. She felt the bitter air stir around her and heard the flapping of a bird’s wings as it took to the sky.
‘Get away,’ the boy’s voice whispered in her ear. ‘There’s bad blood between you and me.’
She turned. The boy had gone. Escaped across the roof.
‘Hello?’ she called into the night. ‘Where are you?’ She once again felt her anger rise. ‘You can’t just throw my book off the roof and disappear!’ She screwed up her eyes to try and focus on the roof of Temple College. Where had he run to? ‘Come back here!’
No answer.
Livy was aware of how cold it was on the roof; the wind had picked up and found its way through her clothes, chilling her bones. She shivered and her teeth chattered. But her body’s tremors were not only due to the cold; the boy’s words had affected her in a way that she couldn’t understand.
‘He can’t tell me to stay away,’ Livy said to the Sentinel, as if the stone head might turn and agree with her. She sat back down as if she could once more feel that the roof was hers. But Livy no longer felt safe. She felt that the night was trying to push her off the White Tower. The clouds reared up like vast white waves and she had the impression that they might roll towards her and crush her. Livy wrapped her arms around her knees and closed her eyes. She would not move.
‘Ralph?’ It was a child’s voice. ‘I’m scared.’
Livy opened her eyes. ‘Who’s there?’
She could see shadows on the parapet, a row of seven children, standing with their arms in front of them. One, much taller, was trying to shake off a long, ragged coat and the small boy next to him tugged anxiously at the sleeve of the coat. ‘Wait, can’t you?’ He whispered to the younger child.
‘But is it time?’ The voice was small and frightened.
It’s all beginning again. I can feel it in my blood.
They were the boy’s words. But he was no longer there, and now neither were the children – all that was left was a trembling impression in the air.
Livy didn’t want to admit to herself that she was seeing things. That would mean that her situation had become very serious indeed. Her counsellor had told her that ‘feeling odd’ was all to be expected as Livy got over Mahalia’s death but had said nothing about seeing people who didn’t exist, who couldn’t exist. She had allowed things to get out of hand, she had to get back to her room and not let the night air excite her.
So, telling herself that she was going to go calmly back to her room and finish her homework, Livy picked up her rucksack and clambered over the parapet. But her body was not so easily tricked: her legs felt weak and her hands were shaking. The air itself had changed, she couldn’t move through the night with the same careless confidence, instead she felt as if she had to push her way through the air around her – it had become thick and heavy. How stupid had she been to think that she could climb on the roof and not come to any harm? The boy was right. She should not have gone.
Then she heard his whispered words again, but so clearly that they could have been spoken into her ear. She turned her head.
There’s bad blood between you and me.
‘It makes no sense!’ she shouted. But in that instant, she felt no more solid than smoke. She closed her eyes, pushed herself away from the chimneystack and slid down the tiles.
In a state of panic, she opened her eyes. The roof was running out, the ground approaching too quickly. She caught hold of the frame of the open window just in time and, panting, swung her legs over the sill.
Livy sat there for a second as she tried to calm herself. She felt herself settle, as if her body were becoming more solid. Then she jumped down and threw herself on her bed, enjoying her body becoming gradually heavier, like when she let the water out of the
bath.
Livy was startled by the window blowing shut. She got up and fastened it tight, pressing her forehead against the cold glass as she stared across at the Sentinel. Where was the boy? She shivered as she thought how he had stood only feet away from her, the air wrapping itself around them, trapping that strange bitter scent of smoke. Livy lifted her arm and sniffed the jacket of her blazer, inhaling the smell. She drew her hair across her mouth and tasted it. But there had been no fire on the roof, so how was she drenched in that bitter scent?
‘I can’t go to school. I have a headache.’
Livy’s mother sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand to Livy’s forehead. ‘No temperature, so you have to go.’
‘But I feel awful!’ Livy blurted out. She wanted her mother to stop looking at her with that concerned face and she wanted to be alone in her room so that she could think about what had happened on the roof.
‘You know the rules.’ Her mother sounded too reasonable. ‘Unless you’ve been sick or you have a fever, you have to go to school. You promised me, Livy. You’ve missed enough time as it is because I let you stay off for so long when you were so undone over Mahalia. But I’m not being kind to you if I let you start avoiding school now. Otherwise, before we know it, we’ll be back to how it was in the summer when you refused to go to school and all you did was lie around on the sofa all day. I realize now that it wasn’t good for you; you should have been with your other friends.’ Her mother sounded firm, as if she really meant what she said and Livy would be going to school.
‘But I’m ill!’ Livy hit the bedclothes with her fist in frustration.
‘If you’ve got the energy to shout at me, then you’ve got the energy to get up and go to school.’ Her mother stood up. ‘Dressed and downstairs in ten minutes, Livy. I mean it.’
As Livy walked as slowly as possible down the stairs, having dawdled as long as she dared getting dressed, her mind spiralled around the strange occurrences of the night before.
The White Tower Page 9