The creatures at the fence took one look at the travelling storm cloud and turned and fled. Zenufius and Zenobius sighed, wiped their brows and stood to attention. The storm cloud stopped near them. Zenufius stepped up to it and disappeared inside.
‘D’you think it’s eaten him?’ Tiberius asked.
‘I doubt it,’ said a strange voice in the darkness.
They heard the sound of a twig snapping and a footstep. They turned towards the sound. A small hunched figure was moving towards them. There was the rasp of husky breathing.
‘And what are you two young ones doing up and about at this time of night?’
It was old Rafe, still in his shabby trousers and cardigan.
‘We… just came for a walk sir.’
Rafe looked at the two new intakes. He’d seen plenty in his time. Full of curiosity and naïve bravado.
‘The Grange is a strange place,’ he muttered to them, ‘a portal to other worlds. Take great care. Especially at night. And…’ he beckoned them closer with his gnarled finger, ‘go to bed!’
They nodded and started to back away.
‘And you,’ old Rafe pointed at Normal. ‘You take special care.’
With that old Rafe coughed and shuffled away.
‘He’s the one who should be in bed,’ whispered Tiberius.
‘I heard that Tiberius Sky!’ said old Rafe and he carried on walking.
‘Maybe we should wait to see what happens to the storm cloud,’ said Normal.
‘Go to bed!’ said old Rafe.
They went to bed.
‘A history of angels,’ said the tufty haired Hygbald, scribbling on the white board with his finger. The writing was completely unreadable.
‘Not more history!’ said Tiberius.
‘Shush tot!’ said Hygbald, without looking round.
It was the next day and the class of Q1 were back in class again.
‘How can you know anything about the future…’ he jabbed his finger at a word on the board which apparently must have been ‘future’, ‘unless you learn about the past.’ He jabbed at another word which clearly must have been ‘past’.