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“Yup — I'm a Valer,” he yawns, as though it's the dullest thing in the world. “I used to live a few miles over — in a cottage smaller than this stable — until Mom died. Then I moved in with my grandparents — ‘the original Spleens,’ as Mom used to call them. They're OK, just a bit old-fashioned and straitlaced.”
Bill-E studies the disturbed nails and horseshoes on the ground and grins. “You won't find any gold here,” he chortles. “I've been through these sheds more times than I can count, looking for old Lord Sheftree's treasure.”
“Treasure?” Bill-E's a little too chummy for my liking — I've never been fond of people who come along and immediately start acting as though you're old friends — but I don't want to say anything to insult him, at least not until I know a bit more about him.
“You don't know about the treasure?” He hoots as though I've admitted I didn't know the world was round. “Lord Sheftree — he owned this place years ago — is supposed to have hidden cases full of treasure somewhere on these grounds. His getaway stash, in case he ever had to make a quick exit and needed some ready cash. He was a real swindler. He used to keep a fish tank full of —”
“— piranha,” I interrupt. “And he fed a baby to them. I know.”
“Dervish told you?” Bill-E looks disappointed. “I love telling that story. Just about everyone in Carcery Vale knows it, so it's not often that I have the chance to break it to someone new. I'll kick Dervish's ass for spoiling it for me.”
“Excuse me,” I mutter, exasperated, “but who the hell are you and what are you doing here?”
Bill-E blinks. “No need to speak to me like that,” he sniffs. “I'm only trying to be friendly.”
“And I just want to know who you are,” I respond coolly. “You come in here, telling me your name and that you know all about me, but I've never heard of you before. Are you a relative of Dervish's? A paperboy? What?”
“Paperboy!” he snorts. “I don't think Dervish ever bought a paper in his life! If it doesn't come bound in leather or bat's wings, packed full of spells and dark incantations, he isn't interested!”
Bill-E steps to the left, into the light shining through a hole in the roof. “I'm no relative,” he says. “Just a friend. I hang out with Dervish, play chess with him, do some odd jobs. He takes me for rides on his bike in return, and teaches me some spells. Has he taught you any spells yet?”
I shake my head.
“They're cool.” He grins. “I don't know if most of them really work, but the words you use are wicked. I feel like a real magician when I'm casting them.”
“Could you teach me some?” I ask.
“No,” Bill-E answers promptly. “That's the first thing Dervish taught me — only a teacher is allowed to teach. He says if he ever catches me passing on my spells to anybody, he'll can the lessons and ban me from coming here. And he means it — Dervish isn't the sort to yank your chain about stuff like that.”
I'm warming to Bill-E Spleen — I like the way he talks about Dervish — but it's been a while since I made a new friend, so instead of saying something simple, I find myself asking cynically, “Did Dervish tell you to come chat to me? Are you supposed to be my new best friend?”
Bill-E sneers. “My friendship can't be bought or bartered. I usually come over a few evenings every week and on the weekends. Dervish asked me to stay away this week, to give you a chance to settle in. I was looking forward to checking you out and showing you around the Vale — as a fellow orphan, I thought we might have stuff in common — but now I don't think I'll bother. You're a bit too up-your-own-ass for my liking. I'll just go see Dervish and leave you to scurry around out here on your own.”
Bill-E turns to leave in a huff.
“When did your Mom die?” I ask quietly.
He stops and squints at me. “Nearly seven years ago. I was just a kid.”
“And your Dad?”
He smiles crookedly. “I never knew him. Don't even know who he was. He's still alive — I think — so I'm not an official orphan. But I've felt like one since Mom died.”
“My folks only died a few months ago,” I say. “It still hurts. A lot. So if I act like a spaz, sorry, but that's just the way I feel right now.”
Bill-E's features soften. “When my Mom died, I didn't speak to anyone except Grandma and Grandad for almost a year. If other kids came near, I'd scream and attack them. Their parents stopped them from hitting back. One day, in a shop, I tried it on a kid when there was nobody around — he knocked the crap out of me. I was fine after that.”
I offer my chin. “Take a pop if you want.”
Bill-E pads over, makes a fist, then taps my chin lightly. “Come on,” he laughs. “Let's go see what whirling Dervish is up to.”
The study. Dervish and Bill-E catching up. Lots of names I don't recognize. Bill-E talking about school, looking forward to the summer break. Dervish telling him about a new book on Bavarian sorcerors which he bought off the Web.
“What about the eye spell?” Bill-E asks. He looks at me and points to his lazy left eye. “I'm supposed to have this operated on in a few years, but I'm sure Dervish can conjure up a spell to spare me the hassle.”
“I've asked around,” Dervish laughs, “but the great magicians of yore didn't bother much with drooping eyelids. Besides, magic shouldn't be used for personal gain, Billy.” Dervish always refers to Bill-E as Billy. I guess he's known him so long, he finds it hard to change.
“Tell that to great-great-wotsits Garadex!” Bill-E snorts. “He used his magic to make millions, didn't he?”
