branch with one of the white blossoms on it, and showed Benjamin how to hold the glass bell over the flower. Then he snipped it free. They cut two more like that, and the apothecary fastened a piece of cloth tightly over the open base of the bell and dampened the cloth with something from a bottle.
As soon as he’d sealed up the three blossoms, there came a rumbling noise from deep in the earth, among the roots of the tree, and the thick trunk seemed to shudder.
The apothecary looked concerned. “Stand back,” he ordered, and we all moved a step away, transfixed.
One of the white blossoms on the tree trembled and started to wither, then another. As each blossom shrank, turning grey and shriveled, a thick black smoke rose up into the air. The apothecary rushed forward and snipped one more flower while it was still white and fresh. He quickly dissected it with a pocketknife, squeezing oil from the bulb at its centre into a vial.
Then he looked up, and we all watched the smoke from the tree gather itself into a dark cloud. Again there was a rumbling noise, and this time it came from inside the cloud, like thunder. But it wasn’t thunder: It was more like an expression of disapproval. I can’t describe the cloud accurately except to say that it seemed to have intelligence. It seemed like a great being, made of cloud vapour, embodied with the power of intention, of will. That idea seemed foolish to me at the time, but I couldn’t ignore the feeling, and now it doesn’t seem so foolish. The cloud moved away deliberately, as if it knew where it was going, into the sky.
The apothecary pushed his spectacles up on his nose, watching the cloud glide over London. “I was afraid that might happen,” he said.
“What is it?” Benjamin asked.
“A consequence of forcing the bloom. It’s something like the radiation released when they split the atom, I suppose. The Pharmacopoeia calls it the Dark Force.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“I’m not sure,” the apothecary said. “I’ve never seen it happen like that before.” He plucked one of the withered grey blossoms from the tree to inspect it, but it crumbled to dust in his hands.
I looked at the three blooms in the glass bell, which were still perfect and fresh, with thick, waxy petals. “It didn’t affect your flowers.”
“I took precautions,” the apothecary said. “Now we have to collect our provisions and get to the boat.”
“We’ll need warmer coats for Nova Zembla,” Benjamin said. “And boots.”
The apothecary blinked at him. “We? You’re not going to Nova Zembla.”
“Yes, I am,” Benjamin said. “You need me.”
“If Benjamin goes, I go,” I said.
“Me too!” Pip said.
The apothecary, who had been so un-parentlike until now, gathered up all his fatherly indignation and seemed to grow several inches taller. “You think I would take children to the testing of a nuclear bomb?”
“We can help you,” I said. “Jin Lo, tell him we’re helpful!”
Jin Lo shrugged. I was getting tired of her eloquent shrug. “They help some,” she admitted.
“We helped a lot!”
“It’s out of the question!” the apothecary said. “Enough! I need to go over my notes.” He patted his pockets but found nothing. We waited.
“They are lost?” Jin Lo finally asked.
“Oh, dear,” the apothecary said. “They’re in the Pharmacopoeia.”
CHAPTER 25
Science Team
Benjamin and Pip and I went to St Beden’s for the book while the apothecary and Jin Lo set off to collect provisions for the trip. In two hours, they were to meet Count Vili at the icebreaker Kong Olav, docked in the Thames—assuming Vili was safe and uncaptured. We were to go there to hand over the Pharmacopoeia, assuming the book was safe and uncaptured, too.
It was still early and school hadn’t started, but students were arriving and talking in little groups in the yard. I kept an eye out for Mr Danby as we walked up the school steps. I tried to look nonchalant, as if this were just another day at school, but I was uncomfortably aware that none of us had a uniform. I was wearing Benjamin’s clothes, and they looked dirty and slept-in. A mother dropping her daughter at school gave me a pinched look of censure.
We made our way to the chemistry classroom, where the door was open. Benjamin peered inside, then waved us in. The room was empty, and I looked anxiously to the shelf in the back, terrified that we’d let the apothecary down.
But the book was there,