Endymion Spring by Matthew Skelton

Author:Matthew Skelton [Skelton, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy - Unread
ISBN: 9780141320342
Google: -dpsY7pUBhcC
Publisher: Penguin UK
Published: 2007-02-01T00:00:00+00:00

A

The mist was thicker away from the city and swans glided towards them along the water in silver Vs, like ghostly ballerinas. It was too early for rowers or joggers, and they were alone on the muddy path. They meandered past boggy fields and yet more boathouses, where the colleges kept their long racing boats and sculls.

Blake could see the shadowy outline of the city's buildings growing ever more distant behind an avenue of trees on the far side of the river. Its spires and domes dissolved in the dim light. Yet hidden somewhere inside that impressive backdrop, he was convinced, lay the secret of Endymion Spring, and he was determined to find it — no matter what it took. Even if it meant opening every book and following every clue until he tracked it down.

The mud squelched underfoot and spattered against his jeans as he walked. Duck had been sensible enough to put on boots, but she was cold. The morning chill penetrated her thin raincoat and she shivered.

To be kind, he offered his jacket, which she accepted with a small, grateful smile. She didn't say anything, but kept her eyes fixed ahead, her thoughts far away.

Was she envious because Endymion Spring had singled him out for attention? Or had she, too, heard what his mother had said last night — that they weren't going to be a family together after Christmas — and wanted to get her own back by disappearing?

He wasn't sure what to think; yet he was grateful for her company, a feeling that surprised him, even though he didn't mention it to her.

They trudged on in silence.

Behind them, a chorus of bells began to strike the hour. Four, five... six o'clock. A medley of bangs and bongs circled the city like a flock of iron birds. Blake raised the hood of his top and squirreled his hands into his pockets, hunching his shoulders.

This world seemed strangely unreal to him this early in the morning — like a dream. Mist clung to the trees on either side of the river like fragments of sleep, draping their silvery fronds in the murky water. The sun, he noticed, was struggling to burn through the haze, but it was too weak. Only a ring of dim gold leaked through the cloud. Clumps of mud stuck to the soles of his shoes like hoofs.

Just when he was beginning to tire of walking, he spotted a small village on the brow of a hill overlooking a narrow waterway in the distance and heard a rush of water spilling through a weir. It sounded like a waterfall. A sign indicated they were entering Iffley Lock and that cyclists should dismount and dogs be kept of short leads.

The homeless man's dog paid no attention to the sign, but guided them over a stone bridge towards a strip of tarmac with neatly tended flowerbeds planted along its sides. The children looked around them. The water flowing into the lock was deep, black and flecked with leaves and litter.

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