did just made it worse.” He sighed. “Why did you think it was me? Why me?”
“I don’t know.” David thought back. “I saw you coming out of the tower,” he said, knowing how lame it sounded. “And that night, when I was caught looking at the exam papers . . . did you come here then?”
Vincent nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent thought for a moment, then answered. “I smoke,” he said. “I started smoking cigarettes when I was at Sourbridge and I’ve never given up.”
“Smoking!” David remembered the smell. He had come across it twice, but he hadn’t recognized it: stale tobacco smoke. “I don’t believe it!” he said. “Smoking is crazy. It kills you. How can you be so stupid?”
“You’ve been pretty stupid too,” Jill muttered.
David fell silent. “Yes,” he agreed.
Vincent struggled with his ropes. “I suppose it’s a little late now to think about giving up.”
The words were no sooner spoken than there was a distant rumble, soft and low at first but building up to a sudden crash. David looked out of the window. The sky was gray, but it wasn’t the color of nightfall. It was an ugly, electric gray, somehow unnatural. There was a storm closing in on Skrull Island, and sitting high up in the tower, right in the middle of it, he felt very uncomfortable indeed.
“I think—” he began.
He got no further. The whole tower suddenly trembled as if hit by a shock wave and at the same moment Jill cried out. A great chunk of wall right next to her simply fell away, leaving a gap above her head. Outside, the air swirled around in a dark vortex and rushed into the room. There was a second crash of thunder. The chamber shook again and a crack appeared in the floor between David and Vincent, the heavy flagstones ripping apart as if they were made of paper.
“What’s happening?” Jill cried.
“The Grail’s left the island,” David shouted. “It’s the end . . .”
“What are we going to do?” Vincent said.
David glanced at the door, at the symbol painted in white on the woodwork. Even if he could have reached the eye of Horus, he would have been unable to rub it out. But while it was there, there was no chance of any magic. If they were going to escape, they would have to use their own resources. He searched the floor, trying not to look at the crack. There were no broken bottles, no rusty nails, nothing that would cut through the rope. Opposite him, Vincent was struggling feverishly. He had worked his hands loose, but his wrists were still securely tied.
A third crash of thunder. This time it was the roof that was hit. As Jill screamed and rolled onto her side to protect herself, two wooden rafters crashed down, followed by what felt like a ton of dust and rubble. Vincent completely disappeared from sight and for a moment David thought he had been crushed. But then Vincent coughed and staggered onto his knees, still fighting with his ropes.
“The whole place is falling apart!” Jill shouted. “How high up are we?”
“Too high up,” David shouted back. The crack in the floor had widened again. Quite soon the entire thing would give way and all three of them would fall into a tunnel of broken stone and brickwork with certain death six hundred feet below.
Then he had a thought. “Vincent!” he called out. “After the prize-giving you came in here to have a cigarette.”
“Yes,” Vincent admitted. “But don’t tell me it’s bad for my health. Not now!”
“You’ve got cigarettes on you?”
“David, this is no time to take it up,” Jill wailed.
“Yes,” Vincent said.
“What were you going to light them with?”
Vincent understood at once. For the first time, David found himself admiring the other boy and knew that if only they’d been working together from the start, none of this would have happened. Contorting his body, Vincent spilled the contents of his pockets onto the floor—a handful of coins, a pen, a cigarette lighter.
Moving with his
“I don’t know.” David thought back. “I saw you coming out of the tower,” he said, knowing how lame it sounded. “And that night, when I was caught looking at the exam papers . . . did you come here then?”
Vincent nodded. “Yes.”
“Why?”
Vincent thought for a moment, then answered. “I smoke,” he said. “I started smoking cigarettes when I was at Sourbridge and I’ve never given up.”
“Smoking!” David remembered the smell. He had come across it twice, but he hadn’t recognized it: stale tobacco smoke. “I don’t believe it!” he said. “Smoking is crazy. It kills you. How can you be so stupid?”
“You’ve been pretty stupid too,” Jill muttered.
David fell silent. “Yes,” he agreed.
Vincent struggled with his ropes. “I suppose it’s a little late now to think about giving up.”
The words were no sooner spoken than there was a distant rumble, soft and low at first but building up to a sudden crash. David looked out of the window. The sky was gray, but it wasn’t the color of nightfall. It was an ugly, electric gray, somehow unnatural. There was a storm closing in on Skrull Island, and sitting high up in the tower, right in the middle of it, he felt very uncomfortable indeed.
“I think—” he began.
He got no further. The whole tower suddenly trembled as if hit by a shock wave and at the same moment Jill cried out. A great chunk of wall right next to her simply fell away, leaving a gap above her head. Outside, the air swirled around in a dark vortex and rushed into the room. There was a second crash of thunder. The chamber shook again and a crack appeared in the floor between David and Vincent, the heavy flagstones ripping apart as if they were made of paper.
“What’s happening?” Jill cried.
“The Grail’s left the island,” David shouted. “It’s the end . . .”
“What are we going to do?” Vincent said.
David glanced at the door, at the symbol painted in white on the woodwork. Even if he could have reached the eye of Horus, he would have been unable to rub it out. But while it was there, there was no chance of any magic. If they were going to escape, they would have to use their own resources. He searched the floor, trying not to look at the crack. There were no broken bottles, no rusty nails, nothing that would cut through the rope. Opposite him, Vincent was struggling feverishly. He had worked his hands loose, but his wrists were still securely tied.
A third crash of thunder. This time it was the roof that was hit. As Jill screamed and rolled onto her side to protect herself, two wooden rafters crashed down, followed by what felt like a ton of dust and rubble. Vincent completely disappeared from sight and for a moment David thought he had been crushed. But then Vincent coughed and staggered onto his knees, still fighting with his ropes.
“The whole place is falling apart!” Jill shouted. “How high up are we?”
“Too high up,” David shouted back. The crack in the floor had widened again. Quite soon the entire thing would give way and all three of them would fall into a tunnel of broken stone and brickwork with certain death six hundred feet below.
Then he had a thought. “Vincent!” he called out. “After the prize-giving you came in here to have a cigarette.”
“Yes,” Vincent admitted. “But don’t tell me it’s bad for my health. Not now!”
“You’ve got cigarettes on you?”
“David, this is no time to take it up,” Jill wailed.
“Yes,” Vincent said.
“What were you going to light them with?”
Vincent understood at once. For the first time, David found himself admiring the other boy and knew that if only they’d been working together from the start, none of this would have happened. Contorting his body, Vincent spilled the contents of his pockets onto the floor—a handful of coins, a pen, a cigarette lighter.
Moving with his
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