and examined them curiously.
‘Do you want to keep these?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t wear that hood here.’
‘Why not?’
Otto looked at him with contempt.
They returned to the kitchen.
‘Where are the others?’
‘They will be back by nightfall.’
As an answer it was inadequate. Then, dismissively,
‘You can have today free.’
Free from what? Joe hovered but Otto turned his back. Joe left the kitchen and found his way back to his room. He hid his hoody under the mattress and wondered what to do. He felt aimless and disoriented and, for lack of any other activity, decided to explore the house.
On the landing below two heavy oak doors either side led to rooms facing the front. He pushed one open. He was in a large, rectangular room. Heavily boarded windows let in a modicum of light, enough for him to proceed and see that it contained no furniture, hangings or rugs. A door at the far end led into a second, larger room. Here too the windows were boarded, not even the faint daylight from the landing filtering in. The layout was the same, a long inner wall on his left, windows from floor to ceiling on his right and a door corresponding to the one he had entered. One room led into the other, corridor fashion. He went into the third room. This was the most spectacular, dominated by a huge mantelpiece over an open fireplace. He groped his way towards it, attracted by elaborate carvings of an extraordinary intricacy, even luminosity, for what had first drawn his eye towards them were pinpoint reflections of the sparse light. He ran his hands over the polished wood, felt the round heads and elongated bodies of carved animals, sharp pointed ears with intricate veining on the inside, the spiky leaves of ilex, circling one into the other in infinite complexity. He longed to tear the boards from the windows so he could feast his eyes on such remarkable workmanship. Instead, he touched it all over like a blind man, felt the shapes and sensed its life.
Other rooms had similar carvings but none as magnificent. All were boarded and empty.
It was eerie, alone in the semi-dark in the huge mansion.
A corridor running left and forming the corner of the house revealed a wing. Four doors corresponded to four unshuttered windows overlooking a yard. Joe opened one door. A wild young man looked at him in surprise. Joe muttered excuses and slammed out. Who could that have been? Randolph had said there were only five inhabitants, with him making the sixth. And he had seen them all. None looked like this boy. Yet there was something familiar about him, something that made Joe open the door again. The boy stared back. Joe moved further in. The boy moved too. With a galvanising shock Joe recognised himself reflected in a long mirror. He was tall, much taller than when he had last seen himself. The schoolboy had metamorphosed into a young man, tough, rough, hair jagged where he had tried to cut it, falling below his shoulders. He was thinner. Stubble covered his chin. The new clothes, the tunic hanging gracefully to his thighs, were not displeasing. He lingered, absorbing his new image.
That he was in someone’s bedroom he now noticed. Two beds stood in the corners, two chairs beside them, a small table and colourful, handmade rugs on the floor. He hastily withdrew and descending a narrow, winding staircase, found himself back in the kitchen.
Otto was still there.
‘Where do you come from?’ he asked, not turning towards him.
Joe was shocked by the unexpectedness of the question. He hesitated.
‘I have been living in a cave,’ he said.
An inadequate reply but it was all he was prepared to give away. He did not trust these people.
‘And you, where do you come from? Who are you?’
Otto ignored the questions as though they had not been uttered and Joe felt too intimidated to repeat them. He turned away, uncertain where to go or what to do. He wandered outside and sat on a tree stump facing the house whose worn red bricks
‘Do you want to keep these?’
‘Yes.’
‘You can’t wear that hood here.’
‘Why not?’
Otto looked at him with contempt.
They returned to the kitchen.
‘Where are the others?’
‘They will be back by nightfall.’
As an answer it was inadequate. Then, dismissively,
‘You can have today free.’
Free from what? Joe hovered but Otto turned his back. Joe left the kitchen and found his way back to his room. He hid his hoody under the mattress and wondered what to do. He felt aimless and disoriented and, for lack of any other activity, decided to explore the house.
On the landing below two heavy oak doors either side led to rooms facing the front. He pushed one open. He was in a large, rectangular room. Heavily boarded windows let in a modicum of light, enough for him to proceed and see that it contained no furniture, hangings or rugs. A door at the far end led into a second, larger room. Here too the windows were boarded, not even the faint daylight from the landing filtering in. The layout was the same, a long inner wall on his left, windows from floor to ceiling on his right and a door corresponding to the one he had entered. One room led into the other, corridor fashion. He went into the third room. This was the most spectacular, dominated by a huge mantelpiece over an open fireplace. He groped his way towards it, attracted by elaborate carvings of an extraordinary intricacy, even luminosity, for what had first drawn his eye towards them were pinpoint reflections of the sparse light. He ran his hands over the polished wood, felt the round heads and elongated bodies of carved animals, sharp pointed ears with intricate veining on the inside, the spiky leaves of ilex, circling one into the other in infinite complexity. He longed to tear the boards from the windows so he could feast his eyes on such remarkable workmanship. Instead, he touched it all over like a blind man, felt the shapes and sensed its life.
Other rooms had similar carvings but none as magnificent. All were boarded and empty.
It was eerie, alone in the semi-dark in the huge mansion.
A corridor running left and forming the corner of the house revealed a wing. Four doors corresponded to four unshuttered windows overlooking a yard. Joe opened one door. A wild young man looked at him in surprise. Joe muttered excuses and slammed out. Who could that have been? Randolph had said there were only five inhabitants, with him making the sixth. And he had seen them all. None looked like this boy. Yet there was something familiar about him, something that made Joe open the door again. The boy stared back. Joe moved further in. The boy moved too. With a galvanising shock Joe recognised himself reflected in a long mirror. He was tall, much taller than when he had last seen himself. The schoolboy had metamorphosed into a young man, tough, rough, hair jagged where he had tried to cut it, falling below his shoulders. He was thinner. Stubble covered his chin. The new clothes, the tunic hanging gracefully to his thighs, were not displeasing. He lingered, absorbing his new image.
That he was in someone’s bedroom he now noticed. Two beds stood in the corners, two chairs beside them, a small table and colourful, handmade rugs on the floor. He hastily withdrew and descending a narrow, winding staircase, found himself back in the kitchen.
Otto was still there.
‘Where do you come from?’ he asked, not turning towards him.
Joe was shocked by the unexpectedness of the question. He hesitated.
‘I have been living in a cave,’ he said.
An inadequate reply but it was all he was prepared to give away. He did not trust these people.
‘And you, where do you come from? Who are you?’
Otto ignored the questions as though they had not been uttered and Joe felt too intimidated to repeat them. He turned away, uncertain where to go or what to do. He wandered outside and sat on a tree stump facing the house whose worn red bricks
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