Out of Time by John Marsden Page B

transformed. The same cool business transactions during the day but romance and majesty at nights. The food and service often weren’t too good but the surroundings made up for everything. And in this particular one, Castle Dundas, the surroundings were of a mediaeval perfection. The slight early morning haze combinedwith the ageless beauty of the gardens, so that Luke wondered lazily if he had slipped back into the fifteenth century.
    He picked up his watch from the bedside table to look at the time, but the watch had stopped. He replaced it and yawned again. Then he turned on his side to face the door, as a gentle knock signalled a human arrival.
    â€˜Yes?’ he called, before seeing that the door had already opened, and a young pageboy, quaintly dressed in an old-fashioned uniform, had come into the room.
    â€˜You have not put your boots out, sir,’ he said politely. Luke raised his eyebrows. This was another pleasant surprise, another reminder of the way things had once been.
    â€˜They’re on the floor,’ he said, ‘in front of the television.’ The boy looked around him, but in a rather puzzled way, Luke watched him, equally puzzled.
    â€˜There,’ he said at last, pointing, ‘next to the red armchair.’ The boy, with a start, saw them and moved decorously to pick them up. Luke, in his lazily relaxed mood, decided to be friendly.
    â€˜What’s your name?’ he asked.
    â€˜Alexander,’ the boy replied. He still looked puzzled, but now his confusion seemed centred on the uncleaned shoes.
    â€˜How long have you been working here, Alexander?’
    â€˜Oh. . .’ The boy’s forehead puckered in thought. Luke decided that perhaps he was mentally disabled.
    Finally Alexander answered, ‘Oh, a long time sir.’
    â€˜And do you like it?’
    â€˜Oh. . . yes, sir.’ He looked suddenly nervous and covered his eyes with a hand. ‘I don’t feel very well, sir.’ he mumbled.
    â€˜Well, leave the shoes,’ Luke urged. ‘Do you want me to call the manager?’ But Alexander, ignoring him, was walking towards the door. Was it Luke’s imagination, or did the boy seem to be growing smaller, to be shrinking within his clothes? Startled, Luke shook his head to clear the illusion, but by the time he had his clear sight back Alexander had gone out the door.
    Luke lay and lazed for another hour or so. He had no early appointments and, though he did not know the time, he was sure it was still early. Finally, however, he got up, showered, dressed, and went downstairs for his breakfast. On the way to the dining room he passed the manager who gave him a smiling ‘good morning’.
    â€˜Ah, good morning,’ Luke responded, stopping. ‘Look, I hope your bootboy’s all right, is he? He seemed a bit off-colour.’
    The manager suddenly looked remarkably alert.
    â€˜Sir?’ he asked.
    â€˜The bootboy,’ Luke said again. ‘. . . er. . . Alexander.’
    The manager’s face went white, then a slow grey.
    â€˜Sir,’ he said, ‘we have no bootboy.’
    Luke gaped and struggled for words. ‘No bootboy?’ he said at last. ‘No bootboy?’
    â€˜No-one sir,’ said the manager and paused. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘perhaps if you would eat now, I will try to explain to you after breakfast.’
    After the meal Luke eagerly sought out the manager, who, with a grave nod but no words, led Luke down a long corridor, and through a number of heavy doors. ‘We are in the private part of the castle,’ he explained to Luke. It was the first time he had spoken. Luke nodded a response.
    They came to a small room fitted out as an office: it had a desk and two chairs, but these were dwarfed by the books, thousands of them, that filled every shelf and were piled in stacks on the floor. The manager sat Luke at the desk and indicated a row of books that