shrug me away. ‘We need to put your coat on first, right? And my coat. Do you know the way back to your room? And to the nanny’s quarters?’
Bertie doesn’t nod or anything, but he turns around and heads back into the castle.
We go up to my bedroom first, where I grab my brown sheepskin coat. Then I follow him up to his bedroom, where he silently puts on his green wax jacket.
I notice Bertie’s bedroom looks out almost over the main entrance, and give a little shudder.
Bertie’s room must be near this mysterious West Tower that everyone is telling me not to go in …
‘It’s cold in this cast le,’ I say, welcoming the fleece on my skin.
Bertie turns and leads us back downstairs, past the great hall and to the back door that leads into the kitchen garden.
Bertie opens it, and I see where he was playing earlier in the snow – if you can call it playing.
The snow has stopped falling now, and I can see a little of the symbols he was drawing before. They look like something you see in a puzzle book – the ones Wila likes to fill in. But I have no idea what they are or what they mean.
Something tells me to look more closely at the sym bols, but Bertie heads towards a tall gate and rattles it.
The lock is too high for him, but not for me.
I open it, and we head out into the grounds.
26
It sure is wild out here.
Past the neat green lawns, t he wind blows and the sky is ashy white, and all around us are craggy grey rocks, thistles and pine trees.
There’s mown green grass all around the castle, with flowerbeds and well-tended trees, but past that there’s nothing but wilderness.
It’s beautiful but wild at the same time. Untamed.
Bertie runs straight over a little rocky bridge and into the woodlands, and I follow him, my cowboy boots slipping and sliding on snow.
He seems to know exactly where he’s going, considering he’s not supposed to play out here.
‘You remember it out here?’ I ask, hurrying to catch up.
Bertie doesn’t answer. Instead, he jumps over craggy rocks and weaves between trees.
He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning either and he seems to feel at home.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, as we head deeper into the woodlands. We’re in so deep now that I can hardly see the castle any more.
Suddenly, Bertie begins climbing a tall pine tree.
‘Bertie?’ I cal l, but within seconds he’s halfway up the tree.
There’s nothing wrong with a little boy climbing a tree, but this is a tall tree and up in the branches I see a bird’s nest.
Oh hell.
If Bertie destroys a nest and Mrs Calder finds out, he’s going to be in trouble. And that’s the last thing we need right now.
‘Wait for me,’ I shout, scrabbling onto a low branch, my c owboy boots scrabbling to get a grip.
I climb up and up as fast as I can, until I’m right underneath him.
Sure enough, Bertie is heading straight for the bird’s nest.
‘Bertie, don’t do anything to the nest,’ I tell him. ‘There are probably rare birds out here. We want to help them, not hurt them.’
Bertie keeps climbing until he’s right by the nest. Then he stops.
I clamber onto a branch beside him.
Then I see it – a beaut iful golden eagle circling above.
Bertie glares at the eagle, sho oing at it with his hands, and it flies away.
Something clicks.
‘You climbed up here to scare the eagle away,’ I say. ‘In case there were already eggs in this nest.’
Bertie doesn’t say anything, but I know I’m right.
‘And Mrs Calder thought you were trying to upset the nests before,’ I say slowly.
What an old witch.
We’re about to climb down, when I sense someone is nearby – even though I can’t hear footsteps.
‘ Wait a minute.’ I grab Bertie’s arm and hold him still.
I strain my ears, but I don’t hear anything else. Maybe I’m being paranoid. But I just can’t shake the feeling of being watched.
And then …
Oh my god.
Down below, I see Patrick Mansfield.
27
Patrick is a hunter all
Bertie doesn’t nod or anything, but he turns around and heads back into the castle.
We go up to my bedroom first, where I grab my brown sheepskin coat. Then I follow him up to his bedroom, where he silently puts on his green wax jacket.
I notice Bertie’s bedroom looks out almost over the main entrance, and give a little shudder.
Bertie’s room must be near this mysterious West Tower that everyone is telling me not to go in …
‘It’s cold in this cast le,’ I say, welcoming the fleece on my skin.
Bertie turns and leads us back downstairs, past the great hall and to the back door that leads into the kitchen garden.
Bertie opens it, and I see where he was playing earlier in the snow – if you can call it playing.
The snow has stopped falling now, and I can see a little of the symbols he was drawing before. They look like something you see in a puzzle book – the ones Wila likes to fill in. But I have no idea what they are or what they mean.
Something tells me to look more closely at the sym bols, but Bertie heads towards a tall gate and rattles it.
The lock is too high for him, but not for me.
I open it, and we head out into the grounds.
26
It sure is wild out here.
Past the neat green lawns, t he wind blows and the sky is ashy white, and all around us are craggy grey rocks, thistles and pine trees.
There’s mown green grass all around the castle, with flowerbeds and well-tended trees, but past that there’s nothing but wilderness.
It’s beautiful but wild at the same time. Untamed.
Bertie runs straight over a little rocky bridge and into the woodlands, and I follow him, my cowboy boots slipping and sliding on snow.
He seems to know exactly where he’s going, considering he’s not supposed to play out here.
‘You remember it out here?’ I ask, hurrying to catch up.
Bertie doesn’t answer. Instead, he jumps over craggy rocks and weaves between trees.
He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning either and he seems to feel at home.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, as we head deeper into the woodlands. We’re in so deep now that I can hardly see the castle any more.
Suddenly, Bertie begins climbing a tall pine tree.
‘Bertie?’ I cal l, but within seconds he’s halfway up the tree.
There’s nothing wrong with a little boy climbing a tree, but this is a tall tree and up in the branches I see a bird’s nest.
Oh hell.
If Bertie destroys a nest and Mrs Calder finds out, he’s going to be in trouble. And that’s the last thing we need right now.
‘Wait for me,’ I shout, scrabbling onto a low branch, my c owboy boots scrabbling to get a grip.
I climb up and up as fast as I can, until I’m right underneath him.
Sure enough, Bertie is heading straight for the bird’s nest.
‘Bertie, don’t do anything to the nest,’ I tell him. ‘There are probably rare birds out here. We want to help them, not hurt them.’
Bertie keeps climbing until he’s right by the nest. Then he stops.
I clamber onto a branch beside him.
Then I see it – a beaut iful golden eagle circling above.
Bertie glares at the eagle, sho oing at it with his hands, and it flies away.
Something clicks.
‘You climbed up here to scare the eagle away,’ I say. ‘In case there were already eggs in this nest.’
Bertie doesn’t say anything, but I know I’m right.
‘And Mrs Calder thought you were trying to upset the nests before,’ I say slowly.
What an old witch.
We’re about to climb down, when I sense someone is nearby – even though I can’t hear footsteps.
‘ Wait a minute.’ I grab Bertie’s arm and hold him still.
I strain my ears, but I don’t hear anything else. Maybe I’m being paranoid. But I just can’t shake the feeling of being watched.
And then …
Oh my god.
Down below, I see Patrick Mansfield.
27
Patrick is a hunter all
Similar Books
