“Quickly!” cried Miss Ashcombe.
“The passage will not remain open for long.”
The walls of the underground chamber trembled again.
Tiny stones rattled across the floor, and dust drifted down from the ancient ceiling.
Peter carefully placed the Keeper’s journal back into the wooden chest before closing the lid.
“We can’t just leave,” he said.
“There must be something we can do.”
“There will be,” replied Miss Ashcombe calmly.
“But not tonight.”
She pointed towards a narrow archway hidden behind one of the great stone pillars.
“That passage will return you to the school.”
“It has remained hidden for over a hundred years.”
David picked up the brass lantern.
To his surprise it felt warm, yet incredibly light.
As soon as his hands touched its handle, the trembling of the chamber stopped.
Everyone stared.
Miss Ashcombe smiled.
“It has accepted you.”
David looked puzzled.
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
“In time.”
The boys hurried through the narrow passage.
Unlike the first tunnel, this one was lined with smooth stone walls.
Ancient carvings covered every few yards.
Some showed ravens flying above forests.
Others showed circles of standing stones beneath the stars.
Peter shone his torch across one carving and stopped.
“There are four figures.”
Each wore a school blazer.
Each carried a lantern.
Below them was a single sentence.
The Keepers serve knowledge, never power.
Simon quietly read the words twice.
“I like that.”
“So do I,” Andrew agreed.
After several minutes the passage sloped gently upwards.
At last they reached a heavy wooden door bound with iron.
David pushed carefully.
The hinges creaked.
Fresh autumn air drifted inside.
They stepped out…
Into the old school library.
Peter looked around in surprise.
“We’re behind the bookshelves!”
Miss Blyton was waiting for them.
She didn’t appear surprised at all.
“I wondered which exit you’d find.”
David looked at her.
“You knew about this?”
She nodded.
“I knew there were stories.”
“I never imagined they were true.”
Her eyes fell upon the lantern.
“You found it.”
David slowly placed it upon the library table.
“It seems to belong to the school.”
Miss Blyton studied the gentle golden flame.
“It belongs to something much older than the school.”
The following morning Highdon carried on as though nothing had happened.
Lessons began on time.
The chapel bell rang as usual.
The younger boys hurried between classrooms.
Yet Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching.
At break time he looked towards the cedar tree.
The ravens had returned.
Not a handful this time.
Nearly fifty perched among the branches.
They sat in complete silence.
Watching the school.
Watching the chapel.
Watching…
Him.
During history, Mrs Fenwick noticed Peter staring out of the window.
“Something caught your attention?”
Peter quickly smiled.
“Just the birds.”
She looked outside.
“The ravens?”
“There do seem to be rather a lot of them.”
Even she sounded puzzled.
That afternoon the four friends walked around the edge of the playing fields.
David carried the brass compass in his pocket.
Ever since leaving the tunnels it had behaved strangely.
Sometimes it pointed towards the chapel.
Sometimes towards the cedar tree.
Now…
It pointed towards the old boathouse beside the school lake.
Andrew frowned.
“I’ve never seen it point there before.”
Peter looked across the still water.
The boathouse stood beneath overhanging willow trees.
It hadn’t been used for years.
Its windows were dusty.
Its roof sagged with age.
“Perhaps we’ve found our next clue.”
As they approached, they noticed the door was slightly open.
David gently pushed it wider.
Inside were old rowing boats, fishing nets and shelves covered in dust.
Nothing seemed unusual.
Until Simon looked upwards.
“There.”
Hanging from one of the roof beams was another raven.
Unlike the others, it did not fly away.
Instead it dropped a folded piece of yellowed paper onto the floor.
Peter unfolded it carefully.
The handwriting matched that of the enchanted diary.
It contained only one sentence.
When the Harvest Moon rises, gather where water reflects the stars.
David looked towards the lake.
“The moon will be full tomorrow night.”
Simon smiled.
“I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
Andrew folded the note carefully.
“Then tomorrow night…”
“…we come back.”
As the four boys stepped out of the boathouse, the afternoon sun disappeared behind dark clouds.
Across the lake, the water—which had been perfectly still only moments before—rippled in a perfect circle, as though something beneath the surface had just begun to rise.
