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  Seeing Richard, as if for the first time, his face cleared and he waved. “Well, got to hurry, lots of mail to deliver!” And he was off, whistling once more.

  Richard shook his head, wondering. He turned to look more closely at the structure. Then he walked back up the hill until he was level with the top of the building, so that he could see the battlements on the far side again. There were two turrets, one at each end, and the section in between was about sixty feet long and thirty feet wide. Each turret looked to be about forty feet in diameter. The walls were curved, bulging out somewhat, reaching their widest point about eight feet above the patchy grass that surrounded them.

  Even stranger than this, Richard realized as he continued his scrutiny, was the fact that the battlements were obviously a cheap addition to the building, as patches of light-coloured rock could be seen where the paint, or whatever it was that had been used to cover it, had flaked off, whereas the main walls were like the finest ebony, but without even a dull gleam in the early morning sunlight. Richard walked back down to the gate, and was contemplating climbing over it, when he changed his mind. There aren’t any windows on the other side; I just know it - much less a mailbox. But I do feel like there is a presence here, something inside, that is watching me. He shivered slightly, although he did not feel particularly cold, and, after a final glance, hurried off towards the town.

  Further down the slope he passed the two roads that led up the hill away from the sea. A length of shattered branch lay at the side of the pavement where it had fallen in the previous night’s rain, the leaves still green and healthy.

  With a whoosh of wind, an old truck rushed by, throwing up a handful of dried leaves which danced around Richard as he walked on. To the right, the foliage thinned out until the harbour came into view. A couple of old wooden boats, their planking visibly worn and warped even from this distance, sat at crazy angles in the mud at low tide. He walked around the gentle curve until he reached the far end of the harbour. Turning left, Richard started up Main Street. He passed the Redcliff Store and continued on, after contemplating a candy bar and rejecting the idea, as he had not liked the selection when he had bought groceries there the previous day.

  As he walked around the next curve he stopped abruptly, staring intently at the scene ahead. This is the place I saw in my dream last night! He glanced around nervously. The street remained empty; there were no cowled figures to be seen. A small green car pulled out of a side road on the left and drove off into the distance, trailing a thin blue-grey cloud of fumes behind it. Finally, he took a deep breath and walked on.

  Another general store, just past the town centre, advertised on a large handwritten sign hung in the window that it carried tourist books and brochures, maps and supplies, in addition to the inevitable convenience goods. Richard went inside and looked through the book section. One called ‘Redcliff, Historic Buildings, Historic Town’ caught his eye. He thumbed through it, looking briefly at pictures of General Redcliff’s birthplace, the mill, the church, the old barn, but not finding the castle. He checked in the index.

  “Looking for something in particular?”

  Richard looked up from the book to see the store clerk slipping her straight blonde hair behind her ears as she leaned over the counter. “Yes, I was wondering if you had any information about the black castle up near the top of Daniel Street.” He paused, but her face registered no recognition. “You know,” he continued, wondering if she really did. “The long black building with the walls with gaps in… ah,” Richard stopped, baffled.

  “Oh,” the girl finally replied, her plain face illuminated by her startling deduction. “You must mean the old mansion in Rockland on Nathaniel Street; you must have seen it at night, I suppose? No, I’m sorry,” she continued without waiting for a reply. “We only stock local information, just about Redcliff. There’s a good store in Rockland, though; it has lots of books, probably several of them mention the mansion. Would you like me to write out the address for you?” She reached for a cheap pen and grabbed a large block of notepaper from beside the cash register.

  “Ah, no, thanks. I’ll check it out myself sometime,” he declared somewhat vaguely. “I’ll just take one of these for now.” He picked up his favourite candy bar from the display counter in front of the blonde-haired girl and dug out some loose change.

  “Thanks again.” He left quickly, pocketing the candy bar for later consumption. Once out on the sidewalk he chuckled softly as he walked on up Main Street. “No one else notices it; I suppose I’m going mad or something,” he muttered to himself. “But I feel more sane than ever before.” Even if I am talking to myself! He chuckled as he looked around, finding that no one had observed him, so he was safe from stigma, at least for a little longer.

  Checking his watch, he found that it was nearly time for school to begin, so he hurried off towards the big grey building in the distance. Following the throughway around a couple of ninety-degree turns, he negotiated his way through an older residential part of the town and into the new development where the school was located. He continued along the road where it crossed a small bridge over a sparkling stream and up the last few yards to the front entrance. Walking through the double doors, he collared a younger student, who gave him directions to the office. A few minutes later he had completed the formalities begun remotely from Boston, and he hurried down towards the classroom where his first lesson, and most of his other classes, would be held.

  He walked down the corridor and stopped in the doorway to check out his new peers. It was quite a small group; his aunt had told him that there were only twelve others in his year, and one of them – a girl – had started about a week before, after her private tutor had died. Richard counted eight in the room, all gathered around a couple of desks on the left at the front, discussing the previous night’s television shows. (There were only a few choices available; most of the final year students were in the same classes as he was taking, and they were all held in the same classroom). They took no notice of him standing in the entrance to the room, and Richard tried to decide if this was a deliberate ploy to intimidate newcomers or just an indication of self-absorption.

  “Attention please, may I way in the classroom?” A quiet voice, not much more than a whisper, spoke from behind him.

  Richard turned, realizing belatedly that he was blocking the doorway, and saw the new girl. She seemed fairly short to him, only about five foot five inches, but the aspect that caught his attention most was her incredibly pale complexion. In the dimly lit entrance to the classroom it seemed to him as though she must never have sat out in the sunshine, never have gained even the slightest hint of a tan. Her skin was so pale that it was almost translucent, and it seemed to glow in the light from the fluorescent fixtures that were mounted somewhat frugally across the ceiling.

  “Sorry.” With a start, Richard stepped awkwardly aside and looked away, self-conscious of the fact that he had been studying her for some time; then, as he glanced quickly back at her face, he saw that she was looking directly at him. She stepped forward into the room, and focused her regard on the other students. Richard found that he could not persuade himself to look away, so he watched as her expression changed to one of intense concentration, and her eyes seemed to change from deep sky blue to cloudy grey, and back again. Then she looked at him once more.

  “We are become good friends,” she stated emphatically. “I am known with names as Karen Amer.”

  He grinned, strangely attracted by her unusual style of speech. “I’m Richard Fletcher, and I’d like to be your friend,” he said warmly.

  Her eyes grew cloudy again as she looked across the desks at the other students; then she walked over to a desk on the right and sat down by the wall. The teacher walked in as the bell rang in the hallway, and all the others rapidly took their seats. Richard sat on an empty one, which fortunately was available right next to Karen’s.

  “I’m Jack Wright, and I’ll be your teacher for the sciences,”
the instructor began, looking at Richard. His bushy black eyebrows seemed to form a continuous line across his forehead and his chequered pants and roll-neck sweater set him firmly in the same category as all the other slightly eccentric science teachers that Richard had known back in the big city. “I’m sure you’ll get to know your schoolmates, soon,” he indicated the rest of the class with a wave of his hand. “This is Richard Fletcher; he just moved here from Boston.” He dismissed the topic quickly. “Now, today we’ll be starting with a review of the principles of magnetism...”

  Richard lost track of Jack’s monologue as soon as he glanced over at Karen. She still appeared to be aglow in the rather poor light of the classroom. Her eyes seemed grey again, and her face, framed as it was by platinum blonde hair, was characterized by a look of intense concentration once more. She was looking directly at the teacher, so Richard continued to study her: Karen’s almost white hair was loosely pulled back at the nape of her neck with a silver ring an inch or so in diameter, then it fanned out over her shoulders and hung in gentle waves down her back, almost to her waist. I wonder how she gets that ring around her hair; it looks like a continuous loop.

  She was wearing a grey jumpsuit that seemed about four sizes too big for her; the sleeves piled up at her wrists, and the pant legs were stuffed into the loose tops of floppy grey boots with rounded toes. Around her waist there was a wide belt of ribbed grey fabric, reminiscent of the material used to make seat-belts. This was punctuated every couple of inches by thin strips of silver. Richard assumed that the belt was elastic, as he couldn’t see any buckle. He glanced guiltily back at the teacher, realising that he had already missed several minutes of the class, but Jack seemed to have dismissed Richard from his mind immediately after he had introduced him to the other students.

  Suddenly, and unbidden, the image from his dream of the grey-robed figure appeared in his mind. With an abrupt, inexplicable intuitiveness, he knew that, had he remained asleep a moment longer, he would have seen her glorious hair cascade out over her shoulders like a waterfall in bright sunshine as she pulled back her hood. Richard felt a shiver run up his spine, and he glanced over at Karen again. She was still staring at Mr. Wright, apparently oblivious to his scrutiny. I’ve met the girl of my dreams, and I didn’t even realise it!

  Chapter Six

  Above all, engender no fear – Penchetan

  Somehow, Richard made it through the morning, although afterwards he could recall nothing that had been taught. In the second subject of the day, three of the students had left to attend another class, and two others had entered, but the new additions – new at least to him – did not make an effort to befriend him, and in fact seemed to hardly notice he was there. With no distractions from the teacher, who also seemed to find his area of the classroom almost invisible, he had spent almost the entire time intently studying the compelling image of the girl beside him, unintentionally committing the delicate profile to memory, and was caught by surprise when, as soon as the third teacher he had seen that day completed the last lesson before lunch, Karen turned abruptly towards him.

  “I must talk with you where no other someones can hear us,” she said awkwardly. “Will you do this with me?” Her eyes deepened to their blue hue once more, as she seemed to look right inside his head.

  Richard realized belatedly that the morning was over, and noticed the other students (now there were only five) looking at the two of them and whispering to each other. Suddenly they had become a source of entertainment for the rest of the class, he recognized with a modicum of frustration.

  “Strangers! Typical.” The tallest of them said loudly as the group prepared to leave.

  A couple of the others sniggered.

  “They’re both pretty weird;” the lanky youth said in a stage whisper. “Do ya suppose they’re, like – related or something?”

  The other four laughed and followed the first one out.

  Richard ignored them, but waited until they had all left before replying to Karen’s question.

  “Let’s go for a walk; there must be somewhere we can get some lunch. Maybe we will find a bench where we can sit down and talk.”

  “This is a good thinking.” Karen nodded, and she followed Richard outside. The initial cool of the morning had faded away, to be replaced by almost perfect fall mildness. They walked back across the bridge in an uneasy silence to the convenience-tourist store where Richard had searched in vain for information about the castle, and he turned to her as they stopped in front of the cold counter.

  “Would you like a submarine, or maybe just a regular sandwich?”

  Karen looked puzzled, then nodded hesitantly.

  Richard decided to get them both sandwiches.

  “How about chicken salad?” he inquired, as they stood next to the display.

  “I do not know ‘chicken salad’.” Karen looked baffled.

  “Well, it’s good,” he assured her, after a moment of surprise, and got two. “How about apple juice? Or grape?”

  She nodded a little blankly again, so Richard got a bottle of each and moved to the cash register. The straight-haired blonde girl was still there, so he smiled politely in recognition and pulled out his wallet.

  Karen watched intently as he handed over a few dollar bills and received his change.

  “Have a nice day.”

  “You, too,” Richard replied shortly, and he led Karen across the street and down two blocks to where he found a bench that overlooked part of the harbour in the distance. He opened the brown paper bag, passed her one of the sandwiches, and started to eat the other one.

  Karen struggled with the plastic-wrap and eventually managed to get it off and take a bite of the brown bread and filling. After chewing a few times, she looked at him and smiled slightly.

  “This is good taste. I have not taste ahead.”

  “What, chicken salad?”

  “Yes – and ‘sandwich’,” she emphasized.

  Richard began to wonder what kind of life she had lived before her tutor had died.

  “What would stop the other someones from thinking towards me?” she asked suddenly, totally derailing his train of thought with her question.

  “Who do you mean?”

  “The students, the teachers, and Mr. Stranberg.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “He is the man who leads the school. He said I could be at the school. I will learn about science. I gave him a writing requesting a place at the school. I know many about geography and history already, and I know a little thing about mathematics, but I do not know many about science.”

  Richard tried to digest all this, along with his sandwich. He took both bottles out of the paper bag and offered them to Karen. She made no move to choose one, so he gave her the grape juice and, unscrewing the lid, took a quick swig from the apple juice.

  Karen copied him, removing the lid from her bottle; then she tasted it, decided she liked it, and drank about a third. “What would stop these someones from thinking towards me?” she repeated.

  “What makes you think they are?” Richard finished his sandwich and screwed up the wrapping, dropping it into the brown bag. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the candy bar. He broke it in half and put one part down beside him for her when she finished her sandwich.

  “I can tell, most when they are near to Kir… Karen. Mr. Stranberg thinks about my parents. He now begins to wonder why the writing I gave him was written by me and not by my Father. He does not know that my Father is dead. That my Mother is dead, as much.” She turned and looked at Richard intently, the half-eaten sandwich still in her pale hand. “I can tell you that you have parents… are dead,” she stated, flatly.

  Richard knew somehow that she had not heard this from anyone in town. She’s not part of the gossip network. His heart felt like a lump of ice inside him, and his head seemed to be spinning.

  He reached down and gripped the park bench for support, and a connection with the familiar. An anonymous bird
sang briefly from a stunted pine to their left, unconcerned by his agitation, happy it had already found enough worms and grubs for the day.

  “How did you know that?”

  “I… heard you think it, when I told you about my Mother and Father.” She paused. “Colin... he was a good brother, he die too, at the same day. There was something big; … wheels… it–” she shuddered, stopped herself as she raised her hand as if to ward off the blow. “I have sadness that you lost all your family.” Karen turned to face him, aware that she had his undivided attention. “I know that telling you this thing makes you sad, but I need to… must… you to believe me. And to help me. Please… how do I stop these someones?”

  Richard took a deep breath. “Before I try to answer your question, I’ve got to ask you some of my own. You say your parents are dead. Who else knows about this?”

  “No person, except Richard.” Blue eyes glanced at him, and then stared unseeingly out at the misty line where the sky met the sea.

  “Was there something wrong about this? Did someone…” he hesitated, running the fingers of one hand along the edge of his jaw. “Kill them?”

  “No, they died because they had lived much long years, and the ‘medic’ could not keep them health any more,” she replied, sadly.

  “How long?”

  “Richard,” she turned her head back towards him, her eyes brimming with tears. “‘Xot’, um… ‘xot ab’… I do not know how years. I was… very young.” A level of maturity far beyond his initial impression was evident in their compelling blueness, now.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said gently, his eyes glistening, too. “We have the same kind of sorrows, I understand that now.” Without any further consideration, he was surprised to discover that he had decided to help, so when he continued, he sounded more positive. “The answer to your question… is you need a diversion, something to keep them busy, and distracted.”