The days slipped by quickly at Highdon School.
Within a fortnight, the new first-year boys had settled into Ash House. They no longer became lost on the way to lessons, and they had begun to understand the daily rhythm of boarding-school life.
Peter, Andrew, Simon and David found themselves enjoying being among the older boys.
There was a quiet satisfaction in helping newcomers find their classrooms or explaining the best way across the grounds when autumn rain turned the paths to mud.
Mrs Bellamy often smiled as she watched them.
“You’ve all grown up this past year,” she remarked one evening.
“You’ve become exactly the sort of boys Highdon hopes to produce.”
David smiled modestly.
“We’ve had good people to learn from.”
Mrs Bellamy nodded.
“And never stop learning.”
Autumn settled over Sussex.
Each morning the mist hung low across the rugby pitches.
The oak trees surrounding the school slowly turned from green to gold, then from gold to deep copper.
Leaves drifted across the ancient stone paths like tiny boats floating upon a river.
The chapel looked even older beneath the grey skies.
Sometimes Peter found himself looking towards its tower without really knowing why.
It seemed to be waiting.
Highdon itself had changed very little over the years.
Its new Headmistress, Miss Bowflower, believed that good manners, honesty and discipline were the foundations of a happy boarding school. She was a tall lady with silver hair always neatly pinned beneath a dark green hat. She spoke quietly, but every boy listened the moment she entered a room.
On the wall of her study hung a thin, polished school cane, while inside an oak cupboard rested the old carpet slipper with its black rubber sole. Miss Bowflower rarely needed either. Most boys behaved well simply because they knew she expected the very best from them. When serious misbehaviour occurred, however, she dealt with it firmly, fairly and without fuss, believing that discipline should be remembered but never enjoyed.
One Thursday afternoon Miss Blyton called the four friends into the library once again.
This time several old maps were spread across a large oak table.
Beside them stood three dusty wooden boxes.
“I’ve been searching through the school archives,” she explained.
“I think I’ve found something important.”
Simon carefully opened one of the boxes.
Inside lay faded letters tied together with green ribbon.
The oldest carried the date…
1894.
Andrew looked surprised.
“That’s before Highdon opened.”
“Exactly,” said Miss Blyton.
“The letters belonged to the woman who planned the school.”
Peter looked up.
“The first Headmistress?”
Miss Blyton nodded.
“Her name was Miss Eleanor Ashcombe.”
David unfolded one fragile sheet of paper.
The writing had faded with age, but one sentence remained perfectly clear.
Never disturb the chamber beneath the chapel, for it guards a promise older than the school itself.
The boys looked at one another.
Peter whispered,
“There really is something down there.”
Miss Blyton gently unfolded another map.
Unlike the others, this one showed tunnels beneath the buildings.
Peter recognised one passage immediately.
“We’ve been here.”
His finger rested upon the hidden tunnel they had discovered the previous year.
Miss Blyton smiled.
“Yes.”
“But look.”
She pointed further underground.
The tunnel simply…
Stopped.
“It can’t end there,” Simon said.
“No.”
“I don’t think it does.”
Miss Blyton reached into the final box.
Inside lay an old brass compass.
Its glass face had cracked long ago.
“What does it do?” asked Andrew.
“I don’t know.”
“But according to Miss Ashcombe…”
She opened one of the letters.
“…it never points north.”
David carefully lifted the compass.
The needle spun wildly.
Then settled.
Not towards the north.
Not towards the south.
Instead…
It pointed directly at the chapel wall.
“That’s impossible,” Peter murmured.
Miss Blyton smiled.
“Highdon has never cared very much about what is possible.”
As the boys prepared to leave the library, the distant sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Miss Bowflower passed the open doorway carrying a bundle of school papers. The polished cane rested beneath one arm as she walked towards her study. She paused only long enough to smile at Miss Blyton.
“Good afternoon. I hope our young gentlemen are keeping out of mischief.”
“They’re trying their best,” Miss Blyton replied with a smile.
“I should hope so,” said Miss Bowflower warmly. “The slipper and cane are happiest when left quietly where they belong.”
The boys exchanged nervous smiles after she had gone.
“She always knows exactly what everyone is doing,” whispered Andrew.
“I think she has eyes in the back of her head,” Simon replied.
Later that evening the four friends quietly crossed the school grounds.
The setting sun painted the old buildings orange and gold.
Everything was peaceful.
Until they reached the cedar tree.
The compass needle suddenly began spinning again.
Round and round.
Faster than before.
Simon stared.
“It’s doing something.”
David stepped closer to the tree.
“It wasn’t like this last year.”
Then Peter noticed something strange.
One of the great roots had moved.
Not much.
Only a few inches.
But enough to reveal a narrow crack in the earth beneath it.
Andrew knelt down.
“I’ve never seen that before.”
Peter brushed away damp leaves.
Hidden beneath them was a flat stone carved with the same ancient symbol they had seen on the standing stone.
A circle.
Surrounding a five-pointed star.
David carefully pushed against it.
Nothing happened.
Simon tried.
Still nothing.
Peter reached into his pocket.
He pulled out the tiny brass key the raven had dropped on his windowsill.
“I’ve still got it.”
The others stared.
“It can’t…”
Peter slowly lowered the key.
In the centre of the carved star…
Was a tiny keyhole.
Exactly the right size.
The four boys looked at one another.
Nobody spoke.
Peter slowly inserted the key.
It turned with the softest click.
Deep beneath the earth…
Something answered.
A low rumbling echoed through the ground beneath their feet.
The stone slowly slid sideways.
Cold air rose from the darkness below.
A narrow flight of ancient stone steps disappeared into the blackness.
Simon swallowed.
“I don’t think anyone has opened that for a very long time.”
David picked up the brass compass.
The needle had stopped spinning.
It pointed directly down the staircase.
Peter took a deep breath.
“I think…”
“…Highdon has just shown us another of its secrets.”
Behind them, unnoticed among the branches of the great cedar tree, three ravens watched in complete silence.
And far below the chapel, where no living person had walked for generations, a single lantern suddenly burst into life.g person had walked for generations, a single lantern suddenly burst into life.
