Storm Hound Page 4

  ‘Young lady,’ Professor Utterby said firmly, ‘we are on the trail of a dog and, hard as it is to believe, the trail led us to this place.’ He looked around and saw the door behind the desk. ‘They are through there, I take it?’

  The woman blinked several times as if she were trying to stay awake. ‘My name is Seren Granger. Welcome to Abergavenny Dog Rescue Centre. How may I help you? The dogs are in the kennels.’ She held out a bunch of keys.

  ‘Thank you,’ Utterby said, taking them. ‘Please do not move until we return.’

  Ryston began to wheeze the moment Utterby opened the door.

  ‘You two, stay here and watch Miss Granger,’ Utterby said.

  Dogs cowered away from him as he strode through the door. Professor Utterby carefully scattered handfuls of powder across each pen and examined the dogs one at a time. Two Labradors, several medium-sized mongrels, but nothing that matched the description of a stormhound.

  Then he sensed something else – dog, amplified a thousand times over, and overlaid with the sharper smell of magic.

  Utterby walked closer. It came from the end pen. It was down to a mere shadow, but he could tell it was different to the elemental magic he used. Something that didn’t belong to this world.

  He threw a handful of powder into the pen, and then another. An old dog in the next pen scrabbled back, whimpering. Utterby paid her no attention because, where the powder landed, a shadow formed – the vast and terrible outline of a giant dog.

  Professor Utterby had seen many terrible things during his study of the dark arts, but even he suppressed a shiver. He turned round slowly. A white terrier in the opposite pen gazed at him with a terrified expression.

  ‘The hound was here,’ Utterby whispered.

  Here? But why? The beast didn’t appear to have attacked the dogs. Maybe it had been attracted by their scent. It might be looking for a new pack to be part of.

  He strode back out, elbowing Nuffield and Ryston aside. ‘You, Miss Granger, wake up.’

  Seren Granger grunted and stirred in her chair.

  ‘There was a dog here,’ Utterby said. ‘A big one. Where did it go?’

  ‘A family . . . Children.’ Her head slumped forward and she began to snore.

  ‘Could the animal have been adopted?’ Nuffield asked. ‘If it was clever and it was looking for a place to hide, maybe it’s posing as a mortal dog.’

  ‘Are you serious? A stormhound?’ Utterby sighed in frustration. ‘This may take a little more work than I’d anticipated. The hound is cunning. Where do children congregate these days?’ he asked.

  Ryston poked Seren Granger, who snored even louder. ‘Parks?’ he suggested. ‘Hospitals? Schools?’

  ‘A school might work,’ Nuffield said. ‘We could be visiting teachers. It’s a long time since I taught a class.’ He sounded a little wistful.

  ‘I don’t think they teach our kind of lessons,’ Utterby said. But he too felt a sudden nostalgia. Why not a school? They needed a reason to stay here or the locals might start wondering what they were doing, and it was always tiresome when people became suspicious.

  ‘We shall return to the hotel,’ Utterby said. ‘Ryston, you’ll look up the local schools. Nuffield, you and I shall scour the mountains – carefully. We know the stormhound is here, and it is probably hiding. We don’t want to act in haste and frighten it away.’ He brushed the chalk dust off the sleeping woman’s glasses. ‘Forget we were here.’

  Some time later, long after the noise of the professor’s car had faded, the sound of a lone engine broke the silence. A motorbike purred along the road and came to a gentle stop outside the animal shelter.

  The bike was the orange of sunset and various black lines and squiggles crawled over its sides. They looked a bit like writing, but it was anyone’s guess what they meant – not that anyone looked long enough to wonder. For some reason, when the bike had passed people in town, everyone glanced away and walked purposefully in the opposite direction as if they’d just remembered something important. Even though a large white hare, missing the tip of one ear, sat upright on the pillion.

  The rider removed her helmet, revealing short, silver hair and an expression so stony it could have been cut from the Welsh hills.

  ‘You can’t go in looking like that,’ she said.

  The hare shrugged and jumped off the bike. A moment later it had vanished and a boy stood in its place. He still looked quite hare-like – short and sturdy with white-blond hair. The tip of his right ear was missing.

  ‘Can’t I wait here for you?’ he asked, wrinkling his nose. ‘You know I don’t like dogs.’

  ‘It will only take a minute. Come on.’

  She strode across to the building and opened the door.

  A woman was snoring gently, slumped in a chair. She jumped and opened her eyes as the door slammed.

  ‘Welcome to Abergavenny Dog Rescue Centre. I’m Seren Granger, would you like an appointment?’

  She said it all in one breath, with a big smile as if she’d been dreaming the words just before she’d woken.

  ‘Why would we want to make an appointment when we’re already here?’ the silver-haired visitor asked. She set her motorbike helmet on the desk and pulled off her gloves. Her nails were painted dark green with little swirls of gold that seemed to shift and dance in the light. ‘Listen carefully. Three men came here earlier today. One was old, one middle-aged and one was young. What did they want?’

  Seren rubbed her hands over her face, dislodging her glasses. ‘What time is it?’ She blinked blearily, her expression becoming confused. ‘I came in at eight to feed the dogs. Then I sat down for a minute, and then . . . Are you sure you don’t want to make an appointment?’

  ‘Quite sure,’ said the visitor.

  The boy jiggled behind her. ‘I told you I smelled magic here.’

  ‘Yes, you’re very clever. Be quiet now.’

  She turned her attention back to the woman at the desk and held one hand up, her fingers spread. The swirls on her nails twisted faster. ‘Pay attention now and think. Three men. Professors, they call themselves. What were they looking for?’

  Seren’s face twisted with the effort of remembering. ‘A family . . . Children. Something about children.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Schools! They said they were looking at schools.’ She slumped back, breathing fast.

  ‘Try casting another spell on her,’ the boy said, earning himself a frown. ‘Just a suggestion.’

  ‘Magic is not a toy, Morfran.’

  ‘I never said it was,’ the boy grumbled, but his companion ignored him, pulling her gloves back on and picking up her helmet.

  ‘Go back to sleep,’ she told Seren.

  There was enough of the professors’ dark magic still on her that Seren slumped back in her chair, her eyes closing again.

  The two visitors made their way outside.

  ‘Schools,’ the woman said. ‘Why would they be interested in schools? They’re looking for something, I know, but what? We need to find out what they’re up to.’ She eyed the boy thoughtfully. ‘You better have a normal-sounding name. You can be David again if you like – David Morfran. And I’ll be your Auntie Ceridwen.’

  ‘You are my Auntie Ceridwen,’ the boy said. ‘Sort of.’ Then, as his ‘aunt’ continued to stare at him, his face fell. ‘Oh no. Please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.’

  ‘I certainly am,’ she said. ‘I’d hardly fit in at school, would I?’

  An hour later Seren woke again, looked at the clock and jumped up. How had she managed to sleep through the entire morning? She’d come in at eight as usual, fed the dogs, sat down for a moment and . . . She stood up and stretched. Thank goodness nobody had come in and found her asleep like that.

  CHAPTER 8

  The weekend had been bright, but on Monday morning the sky swarmed with grey clouds and Jessie woke with her head full of thunder. She didn’t often remember her dreams, but this morning was different – she�
��d been running through dark clouds with the moon overhead and all around her dogs had howled and barked. Black dogs like Storm, only much bigger, and white dogs with red ears and tails.

  She’d dreamed of dogs because of Storm, of course. She couldn’t believe they’d only had him just over a week – it felt like he’d been part of her life for months. She’d sketched her first picture of him yesterday – the first time she’d drawn anything since they’d moved to Wales. She hadn’t quite got his ears right, but was quite proud of how it had come out.

  She rolled over in bed and felt her sketchpad jutting out from under the pillow. Strange: she was sure she’d left it in her drawer. She opened it and saw that the last page was full of scribbles.

  She got out of bed and opened the bedroom door. ‘Ben, have you been drawing in my books?’

  ‘No.’ He poked his head out of the bathroom and grinned at her. He was wearing his new school uniform – dark grey, like the clouds. ‘Are you taking Storm for a walk?’ he asked. ‘Can I come?’

  ‘If you want.’ She dressed, frowning. If Ben hadn’t drawn in her book, who had? Could she have done it in her sleep? She looked at the page again. The thick, scrawled lines were nothing like her neat, lifelike drawings. At first glance they seemed like random scribbles, but when she kept looking they took on a pattern of rushing wind and lightning flashes. They made her feel restless, as if she’d been cooped up inside for too long.

  She pushed the book aside. She needed to get outside, to run.

  Downstairs, Storm jumped up, his tail wagging. Dad was already dressed for work and smiling as if he’d been practising the expression. ‘So. New start today.’ His smile faltered for a second. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right going by yourself?’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Jessie said, though her stomach filled with dread. This was worse than when she’d started high school in London last year. Everyone had been new then, but now she was going straight into Year Eight where everyone else would already know each other.

  But it was just as bad for Ben, she reminded herself, and Ben’s school was in the opposite direction to hers so Dad couldn’t go with both of them anyway.

  Jessie fetched Storm’s lead from the hook Dad had put up by the door. ‘We’ll take Storm for a walk first.’

  ‘Don’t be long,’ Dad said. ‘You don’t want to be late.’

  She’d rather not go at all, Jessie thought, but she didn’t say so.

  Storm seemed to realize something was different this morning. Every time they’d taken him out so far, he’d wanted to stop and examine everything, but today he trotted along the road, tugging at the lead and after only ten minutes he turned back in the direction of the house.

  ‘It’s like he knows,’ Ben said.

  Storm turned his head and gave him a stare. Ben laughed, then heaved a sigh. ‘Do you want to go to school?’

  ‘No, not really,’ Jessie admitted. She twisted Storm’s lead round her hand. ‘But it’ll be fine, you’ll see.’ She tried not to think about all her friends back in London, excited to see each other after the holidays. She probably wouldn’t see them for ages. ‘It’ll be fine,’ she repeated, walking faster. That was what Mum always said. Even if things looked bad, they usually worked out for the best in the end.

  Jessie kept repeating those words all the way to school. Everything works out for the best. It made her feel a bit better until she caught sight of the school gates. She paused in the road, her stomach dropping to her feet.

  A group of girls barged by, knocking Jessie’s school bag off her shoulder. ‘Sorry!’ one of them called as they hurried past. Jessie bent to retrieve the bag, her hands shaking a little. She didn’t belong here – she didn’t want to belong here. She hadn’t realized how small she’d feel here, and how alone.

  She almost turned back, but then she heard the growl of a motorbike. She stepped behind a tree as a bike appeared. It was orange and covered with dark squiggles – some sort of writing or symbols. The rider wore an orange helmet, and someone much smaller clung on behind – someone in a school uniform.

  The bike stopped. ‘Do I really have to do this?’ the passenger asked. He removed his helmet. A boy, about the same age as Jessie. His pale blond hair blew across his face as he climbed off the bike. ‘I’ve never been to school,’ the boy protested. ‘I don’t even know what they do there.’

  Jessie drew further back behind the tree, watching. It looked like she wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to go to school today.

  The bike rider took off her own helmet. She didn’t look like the sort of person who’d go around on a motorbike. She was old, grey-haired, though she had earrings all up her left ear.

  ‘They learn things,’ she said. ‘You never know, you might even enjoy it.’

  She raised her helmet to put it back on, then paused as she spotted Jessie behind the tree. ‘What are you staring at?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jessie said quickly.

  The woman’s expression reminded Jessie of stone. ‘You were looking at the bike,’ she said.

  ‘Um, yes. It’s a nice bike. Very orange.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be looking at it,’ the woman said. She stood up off the saddle. ‘Who are you? Where are you from?’

  The boy grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t cause a scene, Auntie Ceridwen. People will see.’

  His aunt paused, then shook her head and sat back down. ‘Keep an eye on her,’ she muttered.

  Why? What had she done? Jessie backed away and hurried through the school gates. What a strange woman.

  ‘You’re a little late,’ a frazzled-looking lady said, pushing various sheets of paper at Jessie. ‘Here’s your timetable, and your welcome letter, and a letter about school lunches. And here’s the list of the school rules. Mr Heron likes everyone to have a copy. Assembly will be starting any minute. You should go straight in. Along the corridor and through the double doors. You’re in class number two. There’s a new boy starting today too, so you won’t be on your own.’

  Jessie had lost track halfway through the stream of words. She smiled politely. Where had the strange boy gone? He should have been right behind her. She shuffled through the pieces of paper as she left the office. A list of school rules, a timetable, a map of the school, a letter from Mr Heron the headmaster with a blurry black-and-white photo of himself. He hoped Jessie would enjoy her time in Abergavenny High School, that she’d work hard, that she’d follow the school rules. Wear the correct uniform, don’t drop litter, don’t run in the corridors, do your homework on time.

  Jessie’s thoughts went back to Storm. It was the first time they’d left him alone in the house. It was only until lunchtime and Dad said he’d probably curl up and sleep, not even noticing they were gone, and Jessie hoped he was all right.

  Stuffing the papers into her bag, Jessie followed a group of girls along the corridor and into a hall that was already almost full. She wriggled into a space at the back, earning a few curious looks from the people around her. Her heart beat harder than normal, making her feel a little giddy.

  She’d only just sat down when a door opened at the front of the hall and a tall man came through.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Bore da.’ He pronounced the last bit ‘bo-ruh daa’. ‘For visitors, that means “Good morning” in Welsh. I am Mr Heron, the headteacher of Abergavenny High School.’

  He didn’t look too bad. Would she have to learn Welsh? Jessie hadn’t thought about that.

  To her relief, Mr Heron continued in English. ‘I’m pleased to welcome some important people to the school today.’

  He meant her, didn’t he? Jessie sank lower, hoping he hadn’t seen her. Where was the new boy? She caught a flash of white-blond hair across the hall. She tensed, waiting for Mr Heron to ask them both to stand up. Instead, he walked back to the door at the side of the hall and opened it wide.

  A low whispering ran through the hall as three men came in.

  The first man was the tallest, and the oldest. His hai
r was a grey bush and he walked a little stiffly, possibly because he was wearing a very tight brown suit. Following him came a short, plump man with a bristling yellow moustache. And, at the rear, a much younger man, younger than Dad. He wore light blue jeans and a pink sweater with a rabbit on the front. A couple of the girls around Jessie giggled.

  ‘I’d like you to welcome Professor Utterby, Professor Nuffield and Professor Ryston,’ Mr Heron said, indicating the three men in turn. ‘They are in Abergavenny on secondment from . . .’

  He paused, frowning, as if he’d momentarily forgotten what he was supposed to say. Something caught the light as Professor Ryston walked – a piece of metal jutting out of his pocket. Jessie sat up straighter, trying to see what it was.

  ‘Bangor University,’ Professor Utterby said. ‘We are from Bangor University in North Wales and we are on special secondment to your area as part of . . . um . . . as part of the schools and universities special secondment scheme.’

  Jessie had never heard of a secondment scheme. They’d never had any visiting professors in London. She could imagine Dad’s voice when she told him about it later: See? There are advantages to living here.

  One of the metal pieces fell from Professor Ryston’s pocket with a clang. He scooped it up. Two boys in the front row laughed and stopped abruptly as Professor Utterby turned to glare at them.

  Mr Heron coughed nervously. ‘We also have new pupils to welcome today. Year Seven, welcome to Abergavenny High School. I hope you settle in quickly and have a happy time here. Then, in Year Eight, we have Jessica Price and David Mor . . . Morgan?’

  He seemed less certain about the name for some reason. Someone stood up behind her – the boy Jessie had seen with his strange aunt outside.

  ‘David Morgan is fine,’ he said. ‘Don’t mind me, I won’t be here long.’

  His words brought a ripple of laughter. Mr Heron frowned. ‘Professor Nuffield will be taking your class for geography this morning. I expect you to show the professors how well you can behave. That goes for all of you, by the way. Next, joining Year Ten . . .’