cloak couldn’t be left in an empty house, so it was decided that Gabriel was the best person to take charge of it. After all, no one would believe that a mere boy would be in possession of such a garment.
Today there was chaos in the Silk household. The girls were upstairs preparing for their holiday. There were arguments over clothes, bags of toys, shoes (lost and then found), crisps, car-seats and even bananas. Sylvie was eight and Sally a year younger. Bonnie was five and had the loudest voice. Gabriel was twelve.
‘You can still change your mind,’ Mrs Silk told Gabriel.
Gabriel grinned and shook his head.
‘I don’t like to think of you going all that way with the cloak,’ went on Mrs Silk, ‘but I promised my sister I would visit, and the girls are dying to see their cousins.’
Alice and Annie were the same age as Sylvie and Sally.
‘There wouldn’t be room for me,’ said Gabriel, ‘and anyway Dad’s friend Albert will be travelling with me, all the way.’
Mrs Silk sighed. ‘If only Dad didn’t have to go to this wretched convention. He’s not even an alchemist.’
Gabriel rolled his eyes. ‘But it’s an honour, and he’ll get loads of ideas for his books.’
‘So he says,’ muttered his mother, tight-lipped.
Sylvie burst into the kitchen, waving a pink bag. ‘We’re ready,’ she cried.
Gabriel and his mother went out to the car. Arguments over, the girls were waiting happily beside it. After many hugs and wet kisses, Gabriel and his father watched the girls pile into the car. There was a loud toot, much waving and then Mrs Silk’s car was bumping down the muddy lane.
It was time for Gabriel to begin his own journey. But first – the cloak. He followed his father upstairs. Mr Silk had already taken the cloak from its hiding place in the attic. It was lying on Gabriel’s bed. The cloak might have been a thousand years old, but its original bright crimson had hardly faded, and when Gabriel half-closed his eyes he could see tiny stars glittering on the hem. No harm could ever come to the wearer of this garment, but as it was such a priceless treasure the Silks had to keep it as safe and secret as they could.
Mr Silk folded the cloak and rolled it in an old jacket. He placed the jacket on top of a thick sweater in Gabriel’s travelling bag and zipped it up. ‘Albert will keep an eye on things,’ he said cheerily, ‘and when you get to Uncle Jack’s the cloak will be quite safe. Your uncle never leaves the house.’
‘Poor Uncle Jack,’ said Gabriel.
‘Wicked woman,’ muttered Mr Silk, referring to his brother’s ex-wife, ‘leaving him under such a monstrous spell.’
‘D’you think she’ll come back?’ asked Gabriel.
‘Not a chance,’ said his father.
‘Sadie said she was living in a Russian castle, the last time they heard.’
‘There you are then. Come on, Gabriel. Have you got everything you need?’
Gabriel eyed his bag. ‘I hope it won’t be stolen on the train.’
‘There’s no fear of that.’ Mr Silk patted his son’s shoulder. ‘Very few people outside the family know about the cloak. Albert knows, of course, but he’s my oldest friend.’
‘Charlie Bone knows, and Tancred and Emma, and all my friends at Bloor’s Academy.’
‘They are family,’ said Mr Silk. ‘They’re the Red King’s descendants, too.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to take the cloak to Belgium with you?’ Gabriel asked.
‘To an alchemists’ convention?’ Mr Silk shook his head. ‘It’ll be crowded with sorcerers and their like. They’d sniff it out in no time.’
‘You said that very few people can wear the cloak safely.’
‘Indeed,’ said Mr Silk. ‘But who knows if this applies to sorcerers. Come on, let’s get you to the station. I’ve got a plane to catch when I’ve seen you off.’
Gabriel picked up his bag and followed his father downstairs. In the hall he shrugged himself into his anorak, while Mr Silk put on a grey woollen coat. It made him look far more important than he usually did. He was a small man, with thinning, sandy hair, mild grey eyes and rimless spectacles.
Gabriel didn’t resemble his father in the least. He was tall for his age, lanky and dark. His hair had a habit of flopping over one eye and Gabriel was happy to leave it that way.
When Mr Silk opened the front door the mistletoe over his head swung wildly in a cold breeze. It was only three days after Christmas.
The train station was quiet, their platform deserted. But on the other side of the rails a few passengers stamped up and down, trying to keep warm. All were travelling south.
A blast of freezing air bowled dust and paper down the platform. Wind from the north, where Uncle Jack and Sadie lived. Gabriel turned up his collar. Soon he would be travelling into the mountains and the icy home of the north wind. But Sadie would be there, cooking wonderful things to eat.
Ten minutes passed.
Mr Silk kept staring at his watch. He was beginning to look anxious. ‘Train’s late,’ he muttered. He paced up and down the platform, his hands in his pockets, whistling. There was a note of unease in the whistles. ‘The train can’t have gone through already,’ he said. ‘We were here in good time.’
‘Perhaps it’s been cancelled,’ Gabriel suggested.
His father looked even more worried. ‘No, no, impossible. I’ve got to go soon, Gabe. I must get to the airport in time.’
Another ten minutes passed. Mr Silk took out his mobile and called a number. ‘Ugh. I’m not getting through,’ he said. ‘They’re probably in a tunnel.’
A few minutes later his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and held it to his ear. ‘Albert!’ he said. Scattered sounds came from the mobile and Mr Silk replied, ‘Great! Sorry to miss you, but Gabriel’s here, all ready with the –’ he glanced over his shoulder – ‘you know what.’ After another short burst of sound, Mr Silk said, ‘Good! Good! Catch you in the new year, Albert. Thanks for this.’
‘Is your friend . . .?’
‘He’s on the train, but he got the time wrong. It’ll be another fifteen minutes, and I must dash, Gabe, or I’ll miss my plane.’
‘Aren’t you going to –’ Gabriel began.
‘Sorry, son, I’ve got to go. Albert’s nearly here. You’ll remember him when you see him. Big man, white moustache. He’s going to be wearing a black hat. My oldest friend. You’ll be fine.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Gabriel repeated. He wished the phrase didn’t have a whiff of bad luck about it. ‘Bye, Dad. Have a good convention.’
‘I will. Bye, Gabe.’ Mr Silk patted his son’s shoulder and walked briskly to the exit. He gave a quick wave and left the station.
Gabriel clutched his bag. He looked over his shoulder, then up and down the platform. A woman in a red coat was now sitting on a bench quite close to him. Gabriel thought she had been staring at him. She quickly glanced away.
The minutes ticked by. Gabriel kept consulting his watch. He had never known fifteen minutes to last so long. On a sudden impulse, he pulled out his phone and rang his friend, Charlie. There was no reply. Gabriel remembered that Charlie was in some far off place with his cousin, Henry. He tried Tancred Thorsson’s number.
‘Hi, Gabe,’ came Tancred’s cheerful voice. ‘How –’ His next words were drowned by an explosive sneeze in the background. ‘Dad’s got a cold,’ Tancred explained. Gabriel could