Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives

Twin Vice Paranormal Detectives

Casebook 01: Apples

oOo

Fred and George were ready upon that appointed Saturday at Kings Cross Station. It had been remarkably easy to locate Rosewood Estate due to their client's renowned stature in society. Nox was already waiting at the designated platform beside a train bound for Dartmoor, Devonshire when they arrived. A large rucksack bursting at the seams was slung across her shoulder. Being short and a little weedy, she looked quite funny under the enormous bulk.

"Blimey, Nox!" Fred remarked gawping. "Just planning on staying there a year or two?" He poked his silvery head into the pack and rummaged about a bit, calling back to her every now and again, "What's with all this junk? Ooh, what does this do?" and, "Crimeny, do you actually read this trash?"

Ears burning, Nox shuffled away from the spectre and heaved the pack off her shoulders. "I've come prepared that's all," she defended as the bag landed with a clank on the platform floor. George gave Fred a despairing look then dragged the heavy luggage onto the train with exaggerated huffs and puffs.

Together, George and Nox walked down the narrow aisles, searching for a relatively quiet carriage while Fred slid easily through the seats as if they were was nothing but air in his way. When they were seated comfortably, Nox turned to Fred, looking thoroughly bewildered.

"Are you sure you should be out in the open like this?" she asked him, checking round to see if the other passengers on board hadn't noticed the semi-transparent figure sitting across from her.

"Don't worry about it," Fred waved his hand in the air with an air of negligence. "Muggles can't see ghosts, remember?"

"Unless they consume mouldy Jammy Dodgers," grumbled Nox and leaned her head against the window. "Which, for your information, had me locked in the loo for a good hour yesterday."

Fred snorted. "Glad you didn't move in last night then. We only have the one bathroom, and that would be a terrible loss." He smiled cheekily at her. "For you and George, of course. One of the benefits of being a ghost is the non-existence of habitual bowel movements."

"Alas! I must admit I envy you that, Fred," said George with dramatic flair.

Nox reached deep inside her jacket, pulling out a little red notebook and a chewed pen, which she repeatedly tapped against her knee. "Alright, well on to the subject at hand," she began and pushed her flopping hair out of her eyes. "What do we know about the case so far?"

Fred and George had both whipped out a piece of parchment and a quill, seemingly from thin air, and were pretending to jot down notes.

"We know that the rich and handsomely splendid Miss Audra Beckinsale is something of a royalty, don't you know!" Fred heartily declared as he dipped his quill in a bottle of ink. "Dashing creature, it will be absolutely spiffing to make her acquaintance. What say you, old boy?"

"I do agree, Fred," said George, clutching his quill to his chest. "A fine filly; really top notch!"

During this to and fro, a grey-faced ticket-master had slid back the carriage door and was now droning monotonously by their seats, "Tickets please."

"Oh, ticket-master! How absolutely corking to see you, old boy!" cried George. "By Jove, you wouldn't happen to have a handkerchief upon your fellow? I'm afraid I've spilt my ink."

Nox quickly lent forward before George could say anything else and handed the dour man their tickets while her ears turning pink in embarrassment. "I must be mad taking you two anywhere near civilised people."

George jeered at her. "Oh, but it will be such jolly good fun."

"Don't get your knickers in a knot, Nox," Fred chimed in. "We wouldn't dream of embarrassing you in front of royalty. Besides, we plan on making a name for ourselves with this case. If we solve it, we'll be the most sought after paranormal investigators in the country. Then the clients will come rolling in, my debt'll be paid off and you can do whatever it is your nutty, Noxy noggin wants," he declared and his twin nodded confidently beside him.

It certainly sounded like an easy plan, but the twins seemed to think just about anything in the world was achievable if you had enough nerve, and Nox didn't believe that was an entirely safe philosophy to live, or, as it were, die by.

Across the aisle a small child was staring over at them with large, curious eyes. It took a moment for Nox to realise that it was in fact Fred who was holding the child's attention so rapt. Fred, who had also noticed his new audience, began to pull a range of silly faces at the girl who giggled and pointed excitedly.

"Hey, stop it!" Nox whispered in alarm. "She can see you."

"Stop worrying. Grown Muggles can't see a lot of what's right in front of them," George began passively, "but they're a bit different as children. Most Muggle children can see, not because they want to, but because they absolutely do believe. They've got no reason not to, after all." He sighed and leaned his head against the seat. "They change as they grow up, but. First adults swear blindly that the world is full of magic to their kids, then a few years down the line they turn around and tell them 'sorry, that was just a little white lie so you'd shut your great, howling yapper at night'."

Nox raised her dark eyebrows. "You're quite scathing against my lot."

"I don't mean to be," George answered truthfully. "But that kind of attitude stops our folk living alongside yours."

"I dunno...your lot," said Nox, blowing her heavy fringe out of her eyes. "You still haven't got me convinced. Maybe once I see something..." she said, with a rather obvious hint.

George smiled knowingly at her. "I told you I can't perform any magic until you sign that contract, and you won't do that until after the trial week."

"Besides, am I not enough to convince your noggin?" said Fred indignantly. "Blimey you're hard to impress. Such a cynical, Muggly realist."

The rest of the journey continued in much the same way; Fred and George keen on taking the opportunity to make a more intimate acquaintance out of their newfound companion, who, equally to their delight, was very reluctant to comply.

The hours passed and several platform changes later the view outside changed from the muggy, rain spattered streets of Greater London to the green, well-hedged fields and ruddy plains of Devonshire.

After four hours of travelling and extremely informal questioning, the trio arrived at their destination and stepped out onto the platform.

Nox took a deep breath of clear country air and sighed contentedly. "It's nice to get out of the city for once, don't you think?"

George shrugged nonchalantly. "We grew up around here."

"Our family home's in Ottery St Catchpole," added Fred. "Visited just last week. Oi, Georgie, that's a point, we could pop round to the Burrow for tea afterwards."

George looked thoroughly disgusted at the notion. "Are you mad? With Mum going nuts over Ginny's pregnancy?" He shook his head, as if trying to shake the terrible images from his mind. "I'd rather move in with Looney Lovegood and her nargles."

"That's a shame, I haven't had a home-cooked meal in yonks," said Nox with an amused smile. "Come to think of it, it's been a good few years since I've been home."

"Oh?" said the twins together in a tone that suggested nothing but evil intent. "And that would be?"

"Absolutely not!" Nox snapped, suddenly very stern. "You're not getting any more personal details out of me. Haven't the last four hours taught you that?"

"We're slow learners," said Fred beaming.

"Damn tenacious twins." She heaved her heavy rucksack onto her back and struggled down the platform's rickety old stairs, grumbling to herself.

The railway station they had departed from was quite small and desolate, completely befitting of the forbidding landscape which now surrounded them. Beyond the green fields and pastures stretched a barren countryside where only the wildest and hardiest of flora dared to take up root upon the treacherous, rocky hills and jagged summits.

"Don't think there's a chance her Ladyship will have a horse and carriage picking us up from Rosewood," George commented dryly.

"Unlikely," Fred agreed, looking glum as he drifted along beside them. "That Beckinsale girl said they'd be expecting us in the afternoon. She didn't say anything about how we were going to get there. In fact," he said thoughtfully, scratching his head, "she didn't say much of anything."

"Well it's about two o'clock now," said George, "and it looks like all Muggle transport stops short here."

Nox pulled out a map from a side-pocket in her rucksack and spread it across the ground. "Let's get our bearings then."

Fred and George squinted at the ancient map in bemusement. "Well it's a hundred years out of date, but it'll have to do," said George smirking. "There it is, three miles West. You're lucky the estate's a grand old two hundred years."

Nox laughed, feeling a bit sheepish. "Better than nothing, isn't it? Come on, let's get moving. What's three miles anyway?" she said confidently and marched ahead of the twins down the path, adding, "I walk at least ten around London every day!"

An hour later Nox was trailing sluggishly behind Fred and George, sweating and dragging her feet along the dusty white roads. During their hike the warm afternoon sun had come out, changing the melancholy Dartmoor landscape to a beautiful picturesque scene, filled with colour. There were very few farmhouses along the road - in fact the only sign of any civilisation was the occasional ruin amongst the enormous grey boulders or abandoned gabled house peeping out from behind the high green foliage.

At last they swung into a very familiar side road, which sloped up a steep hill and disappeared from sight. On either side there gushed a bubbling stream, hidden from sight by the bracken and ferns which grew there. There were no trees to block the view as they climbed and now they could see all around them the Dartmoor countryside, bright and cheerful in the sunlight, but every time a cloud passed over the sun the moor would take on a different character - perhaps its true character - a sinister, unpredictable land.

Fred planted his hands on his hips and whistled at the view. "Creepy," he remarked, though quite clearly impressed. "Don't fancy a stroll down there tonight, Georgie?"

George grimaced and shook his head. "Not for a hundred Galleons, mate."

Fred looked askance at his twin. "Hmm, what's that?"

George, however, ignored his brother and turned back to the last of their group who was struggling up the hill. "Need a hand, Nutty?" he called.

"Nah, I-I'm fine!" Nox wheezed, forcing a grin. "Just taking my time to enjoy the scenery," she panted. "Aren't you fiends even remotely tired?"

"Course not!" George answered. "I'm in the prime of my life."

"And I'm in the prime of my death!" Fred laughed, flexing his silvery arms. "You going to give in and request our gentlemanly assistance yet?"

"Not a chance," said Nox, squatting at their feet. "But I'm going to stay down here a minute. I want to really appreciate the view," she said and promptly rolled onto her back.

"No lying down on the job! Besides, we're here." George motioned, flinging his arm out towards the elegantly wrought iron gates behind them which twisted this way and that into a high arch before meeting at the centre to create a beautiful rose motif. At either side of the gate there grew tall rosebushes that appeared to encircle the entire Rosewood Estate. The combination of twisted metal and bright flowers was both beautiful and foreboding.

Nox swallowed thickly. "This reeks of trap."

"Yeah?" said George.

"So?" Fred shrugged. "That's the fun part. Really, did you live in a box before we came along?"

Nox ignored him and began to struggle to her feet - having been lying on her large rucksack, however, Nox found she had to rock from side to side, until she had created momentum enough to push herself onto her knees and back onto her feet; all to the twin's great amusement. "Why do I have the feeling you're going to be the death of me?" she muttered ruefully.

"Stop worrying, Nutty," said Fred. "If you do pop your clogs, I'll keep you company."

Nox wasn't sure if that was a thoughtful comment or a malicious threat. George bent in front of her, a kindly look on his face. She took an involuntary step back.

"A little fear is good for your health apparently," he told her. "So we don't mind if you're a bit of a coward, Nox." George patted her head in what she supposed was meant to be a sympathetic gesture, but felt more patronising than anything else.

She felt her cheeks turn pink. "It's a detective's business to address a situation as they see it," she remarked stiffly, then swiftly grabbed her rucksack and tossed it onto her back with ease. Her injured pride had evidently given her an extra boost of strength. "I'll go first, shall I?" she said pointedly.

Fred and George grinned wickedly at each other and followed her through the iron gates.

The grounds of Rosewood Estate were not at all the grand, trimly kept gardens they had come to expect. The grass had been allowed to grow long and wild to the point where it resembled a small jungle. Wild flowers grew in abundance and along the main avenue rows of apple trees had been planted. Between each apple tree was stationed an old stone soldier, each unique and more gruesome in appearance than the last.

Fred stopped to get a better look at one such statue whose fanged, toad-like face glowered back at him. "Ugly looking blokes," he said. "Here, George, this one remind you of anyone?"

George peered closer at the statue and a grin began to spread across his freckled face. "Dolores! When did you get out of Azkaban? You should have called! We would have taken you out for dinner."

"With Fluffy." Fred smirked.

"Thy's got some cheek about thee!" barked an angry voice from behind the statue.

Fred and George leapt back with a start as a gruff old man limped towards them, waving a pair of gardening shears menacingly. The sun-weathered skin of his face was brown and wrinkly like a prune and his small black eyes eyed them with distrust. Although his legs appeared stiff with rheumatism, the old man still looked as though he could run a good few miles without breaking a sweat if he was angry enough, so making a dash for it seemed out of the question.

"What's tha' doin' here?" he asked, furiously. "All thy bloody ramblers think they own the whole damned countryside! Get out of it or ah'll call th' police!"

"We've been hearing that a lot recently," Fred muttered in George's ear, who readily nodded in agreement.

Nox stepped between them, waving her arms to calm the old man down. "Wait, we're not ramblers. We're here on business with the Beckinsale family," she said and quickly handed him their card. "We have an appointment." She hesitated then added, "Sort of."

The gardener, for that was what the old man appeared to function as, snapped the card up in one grubbily gloved hand and examined it carefully. It seemed to satisfy him because he was off at once, beckoning them to follow with a short wave of his arm.

"Tha'll have t' answer to the Missus," he told them as they travelled the road to the main house. "And don't touch the apples!" he barked, batting George's hand away before his fingers could even brush the skin of the fruit.

Fred and Nox chuckled while George cursed and grumbled, his stomach replying in like. "I haven't eaten since we left London," he told them with a sigh, "and these apples look delicious."

"Of course they do!" the gardener replied, testily. "These orchards are tended to by tha' little ladies of the house." The old man's face softened a little. "All thy sweetness an' light have gone into these trees."

It was a short walk to the main house. Not that any of them thought that 'house' was an accurate description for the place. It wasn't so much a house as a small fort, and looked just as wild and unpredictable as the country and grounds it inhabited. Hundreds of dark windows, draped with curtains of heavy burgundy velvet, reflected the craggy moors beyond the Estate. The old gardener stopped at the foot of a short flight of stone steps and ushered them on to the main door, whose oak face was adorned with a gold knocker in the shape of an apple tree.

Fred, George and Nox stared at the door, feeling overwhelmed by the immensity of the place.

The gardener stared at them as if they were utterly stupid. "Well? Knock! Can't a great big city detective figure that out, or is thy head too full of smog?"

Nox flushed and stuck her hand out towards the knocker, but before she could grasp it the door suddenly swung inwards. In its place stood the towering figure of a terrifying, austere woman who gazed down her long nose at them with an air of repugnance.

"I think you will find that the entrance for the help is by the stables," said the woman in an extremely affected tone. "Weatherby, please show them the way," she instructed then turned to go inside.

"Beggin' thy pardon Missus, but these gentlemen say tha' have an appointment with thee," the gardener, Weatherby, informed her.

The woman's small black eyes slid between the two visitors, critically. Nox was a little taken aback by this Victorian master-servant exchange; even more so when she realised she had just been referred to as being a gentleman. She hoped upon hope that neither twin had caught this remark, but sadly she wasn't in luck.

"Nox!" exclaimed Fred, feigning a hurt expression. "You never told me you were a cross-dresser! Had my suspicions mind," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "And I did wonder why I wasn't remotely attracted to you."

Nox grit her teeth. 'If only he were made of flesh and blood,' she fumed, 'I'd kick him.'

"I don't recall making any such appointment," the tall woman drawled, with an arched eyebrow. "May I have your names?"

"I'm Detective Nox Wolfe," said Nox and bowed her head courteously. "And this is... the tea boy."

George visibly stiffened but this revelation seemed to please the woman somewhat, for her demeanour softened now that she believed Nox was travelling with a servant.

"Well, we shall have to see about your business at once," the woman said, suddenly all action, and opened the door wider. "I am afraid the Lady and Lord of the estate are abroad on business. You shall have to speak with their daughter, Miss Audra, instead. Weatherby!" the woman called, tartly. "Take Mr...."

"Weasley," said George, acidly.

The woman looked at George with irritation. Something about his unruly red hair, purple waist coat and green slacks had must have offended the woman most grievously, for she refused to address him directly. "You will take Mr Weasley to the kitchens and have him wait forthwith." She turned back to Nox and smiled what she must have believed to be a pleasant smile, but looked altogether creepy upon her tight-lipped face. "You will follow me, Detective."

"Why did you say that?" George growled at Nox as she was lead away. "It was Fred who made fun of you!"

"And he's your twin," Nox whispered back, a small smile on her lips. "Thereby, you are responsible for everything he says and does."

"Tough luck, mate." Fred strode over and clapped a hand on his twin's shoulder, smiling wickedly. "I never was much good with responsibility anyway. See you later!"

George could only glare and mouth a few choice obscenities at them before they disappeared inside the house.

oOo

Much to George's pleasant surprise, the kitchens were full of life and sound. The ashes of the fire crackled and popped, and an old gramophone was belting out a jaunty ragtime tune. From the bare rafters above hung an assortment of kitchen utensils, meat-hooks and bunches of dried flowers and herbs. There were baskets of apples everywhere that George looked and the smells of fruit tarts, stuffed duck, and apple crumble were a painful reminder that it had been at least six hours since his last meal.

In the centre of the room a plump, red faced woman was humming along to the lively old tune and vigorously plucking the feathers from a pheasant. The old gardener hobbled inside and dumped himself into a moth-eaten armchair by the hearth where a spaniel padded happily up to him, and licked his fingers by way of a greeting. The cook, however, wasn't so pleased to see him.

"Ben, what are you bringing into my kitchen?" she exclaimed, looking up from the half-plucked game-bird.

"Let tha' dog alone, Martha," Ben grumbled and patted the spaniel's head.

"I'm not talking about the dog!" said Martha and pointed a floury finger at George. "Who's this one?" She frowned at George, suspiciously. "We're not selling or buying anything if that's what you're after."

"I'm not here to buy or sell anything, Madame." George made a gallant bow and swept up her hand. "In fact, I am entirely at your service," he said, in his most charming tone.

"Oh, well in that case..." Martha's cheeks turned pinker still when she looked George over then waved him away in a fluster, laughing heartily. "We never get boys visiting us! Regretfully I'm not young enough to warrant a visit and Ben's about as friendly as an old goat, but we have two girls here who get a might lonely. I'm sure they'll be glad of your company! So, where are you from lad? What's your name?"

Ben Weatherby scoffed. "He came with some city boy who says he's a detective."

Martha scowled. "I wasn't asking you."

"Actually that's about the truth of it," George told her honestly. "We were invited just yesterday. You mentioned there were two girls here? I was under the impression that there was only a Miss Audra Beckinsale living here?"

Martha's bright eyes dimmed a little. "So that's what you're here for." She pushed back the frayed ends of mousy hair straying from beneath her cap and huffed. "Well yes, Audra lives here with Mrs Ternwip, her guardian. And then there's our Lucie."

Just then a pretty girl with cropped golden hair came tottering through the door, her arms full with yet another massive basket of apples. George had to leap nimbly out of her way to avoid her crashing into him.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" the girl gasped. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not a bit. Let me help you with that." George smiled warmly and took the basket of apples from her hands. He was instantly taken with her. Lucie was slight and undeveloped to the point that she looked no older than fifteen, but her bright, beautiful eyes told him she was a good ten years over that. She smiled appreciatively at his kind gesture.

"What's going on then?" asked Lucie, wiping a hand across her brow. "I saw Ben coming up the drive with two men." She grinned at George. "I'm guessing you're one of them."

George set down the basket of apples then lifted his hands in the air. "Guilty as charged," he said and smiled brazenly.

"Tha've got city folk invading the premises," muttered Ben Weatherby. "Smog-heads and thieves, all!"

Martha cocked a sharp eye towards him. "Ben! One more spiteful word out of you and you can sleep outside with that wretched dog tonight!"

"No, no, that's fine!" George laughed, finding his current situation all too familiar. "I'm afraid he's got me clocked again," he admitted, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Your apples were just too tempting, I couldn't help myself." George smiled guiltily at Lucie. "Actually, I hear they're your triumph," he flirted.

Lucie blushed and mumbled inaudibly.

"Pah!" Ben grunted, derisively. "Don't be so stupid. Thy runt couldn't grow a weed. No, tha' Lord and Lady's daughters reared those trees. Tending the orchards has been a tradition passed down to every daughter in the family for two hundred years."

"But they've been left to Ben since Catherine went missing," Lucie explained while busying herself around the kitchen table in an obvious attempt to avoid George's watchful, smirking eyes.

"Lucie!" Martha cautioned. "It's not your place, girl. Start the pastry for tonight. We'll be having two more guests for dinner."

George frowned. If tending to apple trees was the high point of the sisters' lives at Rosewood Estate, he couldn't very well blame one for wanting to escape. Maybe this wasn't as sinister a case as Nox had wanted to believe. Despite this, George still didn't think it would be wise to mention Audra's visit to his house as it was becoming glaringly obvious that no one had expected their arrival.

"It's true I'm with a private investigator," George admitted to Martha in his most gentile tone of voice. "But that can wait 'til later. At the moment think of me as your temporary kitchen help!" he said, whisking a white apron off a peg beside the door. "Will Audra be available to interview after dinner?"

"Oh my dear, no!" Martha exclaimed. "Audra hasn't seen a raw bit of sunshine in weeks and she rarely ever leaves her bedroom. Poor soul only ever goes out in the evening when the sun's set. The daylight makes her weak, you see, and her bones just can't carry her anymore." The woman hiccupped, her eyes becoming red and teary. "Little lamb just doesn't want to go on without her sister."

George glanced at the three faces around him. He could tell the situation had broken their hearts, but something wasn't sitting right with him. George felt like he was missing some vital piece of information. As if in answer to his thoughts, Lucie spoke up.

"It's a condition, I think," said Lucie, carefully, "of being a twin. One just can't live without the other."

oOo

Fred wiped his finger along the marble mantelpiece in the drawing-room and pulled a face. "Urgh," he remarked, an exaggerated look of disgust on his face, "dusty."

Nox sighed. Fred had been dogging her around the mansion for the past two hours during which Mrs Ternwip (for they had been informed of their host's name) had taken them on a grand and painfully boring tour. Nox eyed her strange, semi-transparent companion. It felt like she'd picked up a stray mutt that had taken a liking to her and decided to take it upon himself to become her loyal companion. "You're dead," Nox said at length. "What do you care about a little bit of dust?"

"Hey, a ghost's still got standards." Fred rested his back against the mantelpiece and crossed his arms over his chest as he turned to look at her. "Where is this woman? I'm going to die of boredom all over again if she doesn't hurry up."

"Do you really have to stick about?" she asked him despairingly. "Can't you go irritate your brother?"

"Now, now, I couldn't leave you all alone in a spooky old mansion." The corner of Fred's mouth lifted in a wicked smirk. "What if you saw a ghost?"

"Hmm, I wonder," Nox remarked, dryly. A thought suddenly crossed her mind and she turned to Fred looking alarmed. "Fred, now that I can see you, does this mean I can see other ghosts too?" The idea frankly horrified her. She didn't think that she could stand another Fred attaching itself to her.

Fred looked quite surprised by the question. "Of course you can. That was the deal with the dodger, remember? And I'll wager it won't just be ghosts neither," he laughed.

"Oh God," Nox moaned, tangling fingers in her hair. "I'm sitting with a ghost, in an ancient house in Dartmoor that's renowned for being one of the most haunted places in the country!" She flumped against the cushions on the couch. "Clever Nox, real smart. No wonder I didn't get past my one year probationary period."

Fred walked towards the window, looking bored. "Well then, you shouldn't go stuffing strange objects into your big gob."

Nox couldn't bring herself to agree with him, but she knew that Fred was right. What had she been thinking back in Weasley Manor; and after all the anti-drugs campaigns she had been submitted to as a child growing through the eighties, too.

Nox glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was closing in on half past six and despite it being mid-summer, the light was already beginning to fade due to the heavy rain clouds forming over the moors. Her empty stomach ached and began to protest loudly. Fred almost jumped as one such outburst gurgled forth.

"You got nargles in there?" He looked at her with astonished wide eyes. "Didn't you pack any food in that ruddy great big pack of yours?"

Before she could answer him, Mrs Ternwip strode briskly into the drawing-room. Her tight-lipped face was ashen and it looked as if she was doing everything in her power to keep her countenance in check. "Your dinner will be served in your room," she informed them, curtly. "I will show you there now."

Fred looked at Nox, who frowned at their host, a bit baffled. "Won't Audra be available to talk with me tonight?" she asked.

"No, I'm afraid not." Mrs Ternwip looked as if she wanted nothing more than to dive out of the drawing-room window head first. "Miss Beckinsale is far too ill. Perhaps tomorrow. I will show you to your room now, please, if you will follow." And with that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the drawing-room at a brisk trot.

Fred thrust his arms behind his head and followed after her at an easy gait, while Nox trailed at a more reluctant pace. Every single hair on her arms and neck was tingling with apprehension - this didn't feel right, and not in the same way Weasley Manor had felt 'not right'. Nox sensed there was a tinge of danger in the air, but one glance outside at the thunderous looking sky told her they were going nowhere tonight.

Fred stopped to peer around at her when he realised she was lagging behind. "Come on, Nutty! Or I'm going to go deaf with that stomach of yours. It complains almost as much as you do." He poked a finger in his ear, pretending to clean it out. "And just as loudly, too."

She caught up to Fred and, keeping an eye on Mrs Ternwip's tall, straight back, she said to him in a hushed voice, "Fred, I think you should go and check on George. Just in case."

"What? Why?" he asked, unfolding his arms from behind his head and looking perplexed. Then he raised an eyebrow and considered her, suspiciously. "Trying to get rid of me again? You really don't want to do that."

"Oh, don't argue with me," she hissed, waspishly. "Just go and find him!"

Fred glowered at her then rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine," he said, "but don't moan my head off when I say I told you so." With a turn and a loud crack, he disappeared into thin air.

Nox looked dismayed at the spot where Fred had vanished into thin air, and despite Mrs Ternwip walking down the other end of the hall, she couldn't help the feeling of loneliness that was already creeping over her.

oOo