Free Beautiful Freaks by Katie M John Page A

looked like a string of pearls. His lips were blue from the cold , and with a passing thought, he noted how he was shivering . There were so many questions and so few answers – and h e’d known – Heartlock had known all of this time. Suddenly the irony of his guardian’s name seemed so funny that Kaspian fell int o the sand in a fit of giggles that soon turned to sobs.
    It’s what boys do – they cry when they think they are alone – when there’ s no witness to their shame. But he wasn’t alone. She was there, s tanding on the cliff- top looking down at the exquisite little phantom through the lens of a camera.
    She leant forward, with her ‘good’ eye pressed against the viewer, and looked down the channel of black le ather at the small glass lens . Kaspian was caught at the centre of her tiny upside down world, like a fly spinning in a spider’s web. The shutter fell, burning him into the celluloid.
    By the time she’ d pulled back, replaced her monocle and looked back to the beach, he had vanished. She recovered her noteboo k from one of the pockets hidden in the voluminous silk of her skirt. She li c ked the nib of the pen, loosening the ink before writing down the time and date, which she read from her pocket watch contraption . She wore it in the fashion of a gentleman, the same way her father had. 
    She folded the concertina camera back into its wooden box, snapped shut the brass latches , and grabbed it by the handle before striding over the fields towards the train station. She would be back in London within two hours . It would be just in time for supper at Rules. 

 
     
     
    6
    SUPPERTIME
     
    Kaspian’s trip away had gone unnoticed. Heartlock had spent most of the day in his study working on an article for a small periodical that still viewed his expertise to be of some value. When Kaspian wandered into the study, brushing away the last few tell-tale signs of beach as he went, Heartlock did not raise his head from his papers but did at least show the manners to enquire after Kaspian’s day.
    “Have you had a good day, Kaspian?”
    “Yes, Sir. A fine day. I took a turn out in the air.”
    “Anything of interest in the world?”
    “Not much, Sir. The usual; s ome scandal in parliament about one of the MPs being discovered with his mistress , and some gossip about the White Chapel Murders. There’s a rumour on the streets that it is starting again.”
    “Ah, well you know what they say, boy, ‘Cold weather, cold hearts .’ ”
    “No, Sir, I haven’t heard that before.” Kaspian walked over to the smaller of the two desks, the one that he’d adopted as his own from his first day at school . In contrast to Heartlock ’ s, Kaspian’s desk was a disorganised world of pamphlets, books , and half - written letters. He’d left the lid off his ink well and the residue had dried into a small, cracked lake bed. His gold wire spectacles lay on top of a sheet of paper charting the lunar cycle. One of the arms was too bent for him to wear them comfortably. Being as he secretly hated them, he hadn’t made the effort to replace them.
    Kaspian spoke with a tone of feigned disinterest, “Sir, I have heard some talk in town of the coming Blood Moon. It’s raising some superstitious talk. The bookseller, Foxglove , told me that his busi ness was on the up because of it. A lot of customers have been coming in to enquire about rituals and … other stuff. ”
    “ It’s always a str ange time when the Blood Moon waxes .”
    “What do you mean?” Kaspian knew that he had asked the question too keenly, given away the level of his curiosity and Heartlock had noted it; enough to put down his pen and turn his wheelchair so that he could look at the boy as he spoke.
    “The Blood Moon is a bad omen. It always has been, and it’ s been proven to take note of its coming . I say this from personal experience.” Heartlock removed his glasses, and folded them on his lap. Kaspian felt the intensity of