Free Conrad's Fate by Diana Wynne Jones Page A

large stone lobby at the bottom of the stairs. There was a huge board there with row upon row of little round lights on it. One was flashing red more or less in the middle of it. A lady in a neat brown-and-yellow-striped dress and a yellow cap on her gray hair was looking up at the light rather anxiously.
    â€œOh, Hugo,” she said gladly as we clattered off the stairs. “It’s Count Robert.”
    Hugo strode across to the board. “Right,” he said, and unhooked a sort of phone from the side, which seemed to stop the light flashing at once. I looked up at it as it went off. White letters under the light said CR Bdm . All the lights had similar incomprehensible labels. Stl Rm , I read. Bkfst Rm , Dng Rm , Hskpr , C Bthrm , Stbls . The only clear one was in the middle at the bottom. It said Mr. Amos .
    Meanwhile, a voice was distantly snapping out of the phone thing. It sounded nervous and commanding. “Coming right away, my lord,” Hugo said to it. He hung the phone up and turned to us. “I’ve got to go. I’ll have to leave you here with Miss Semple. She’s our Under-Housekeeper. Do you mind showing these Improvers round the undercroft?” he asked the lady.
    â€œNot at all,” she said. “You’d better go. He’s been ringing for three minutes now.” Hugo grinned at all of us and went racing up the stone steps again. We were left with Miss Semple, who smiled a mild, cheerful smile at us. “And your names are?”
    â€œConrad T—Grant,” I said. I only remembered my alias just in time.
    Christopher was just the same. He said, “Christopher—er, er—Smith,” and backed away from her a little.
    â€œConrad and Christopher,” she said. “Two Cs.” Then she made us both start backward by pouncing on us and straightening our neckcloths. “ That’s better!” she said. “I’ve just been putting your duty rosters up on our bulletin board. Come and look.”
    It was really more like school than ever. There was a long, long board, taking up all the wall beside the stairs. This was divided into sections by thick black lines, with black headings over each section: Housemaids, Footmen, Parlor Staff, Stillroom, Laundry, Kitchen , we read, and right at the end beside the stairs, we found Improvers . There were lists and timetables pinned under each heading, but it was like school again in the way there were other, less official notices scattered about the board. A big pink one said, “ Housemaids’ KneesUp, 8:30 Thurs. All Welcome .” Miss Semple tut-tutted and took that one down as we came to it. Another one read, in dark blue letters, “ Chef wants that hat returned NOW!! ” Miss Semple left that one up. She also left a yellow paper that said, “ Mrs. Baldock still wants to know who scattered those pins in the Conservatory .”
    When we came to the Improvers column, we saw two large sheets of paper neatly ruled into seven and labeled with the days of the week. Times of the day, from six in the morning until midnight, were written on the left, and lines ruled for each hour. Almost every one of the boxes made like this was filled with neat gray spidery writing. “ 6:00 ,” I read on the left-hand sheet, “ Collect shoes to take to Blacking Rm for cleaning. 7:00, Join Footmen in readying Breakfast Rm. 8:00, On duty in Breakfast Rm … ” My eyes scudded on, with increasing dismay, to things like “ 2:00, Training session in Laundry, 3:00, Training sessions in Stillroom and Kitchen annex 3 with 2nd Underchef. ” It was almost a relief to find a square labeled simply “ Mr. Amos ” from time to time. On down my eyes went, anxiously, to the last box, “ 11:00–12:00 .” That said, “ On call in Upper Hall .” Bad, I thought. I couldn’t see one spare minute in which I might manage to summon a Walker, once I knew who was causing