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construction
     of that megalithic monument.”
    “Might be an idea, sis,” Tim suggested pensively, “to copy off him in history tests.”
    “It may well be,” Sebastian agreed, “for Scrotton is not as stupid as he may seem. He is, after all, a familiar.”
    “A familiar what?” Tim replied.
    Sebastian smiled a little indulgently. “I use the word as a noun, not as an adjective. A familiar is a companion, sometimes
     to an alchemist, sometimes to anyone who is involved in the magic arts.”
    “You mean like witches always had black cats or toads or something?” Tim suggested.
    “In a manner of speaking,” Sebastian agreed, “although talk of such things is more folklore than fact. A true familiar was
     more like a personal servant,” he went on, “who catered to his master’s or mistress’s needs and assisted them in their work.
     In time, the most experienced familiars became almost as learned as those for whom they worked, for they picked up experience
     and knowledge along the way.”
    It was then that Pip and Tim remembered the words of the boy standing next to them by the lockers:
he sucks up to teachers.
This remark suddenly took on a whole new meaning — Scrotton might be Yoland’s familiar. Pip, for what she thought must have
     been the first time in her life, felt for her brother’s hand on the duvet and held it tightly.
    “So,” she asked quaveringly, not wanting to hear the answer, “who — or what — is Yoland?”
    “You will recall,” Sebastian commenced, “my speaking to you of my father who was alchemist to the court of King Henry the
     Fifth. When the King died, you remember how there was a power struggle to gain control and how Humfrey, Duke of Gloucester,
     claimed the regency of the infant King Henry the Sixth?”
    Pip and Tim nodded.
    “When Gloucester’s plan to be regent was thwarted,” Sebastian went on, “and his brother, the Duke of Bedford, was appointed
     regent, Gloucester set about seeking to gain power by all means. He became Protector and Defender of the Kingdom and Church
     and was ennobled as the Earl of Pembroke. Deeply embroiled in political activities, he needed to be able to assess what his
     opponents were planning. To achieve this, he needed assistance and turned to Yoland, taking him into his employ. They had
     first met when Yoland was a student of theology at Balliol College, in the University of Oxford.”
    “So Yoland was employed by Gloucester as an alchemist like your father?” Pip suggested.
    “Yes!” Tim exclaimed, a sequence of events rapidly unfolding in his mind. “If he could find the way to turniron into gold, Gloucester could have become immensely rich and raised an army and then…”
    Sebastian held up his hand. “A fair hypothesis,” he said, “but incorrect, for Yoland was not an experienced alchemist. The
     transmutation of metals or the fashioning of a homunculus was quite beyond his abilities. Although he possessed some alchemical
     knowledge from his studies, he was more of a mage, what one might call today a magician.”
    “A magician?” queried Tim. “You mean he pulled rabbits out of hats and eggs out of your ears?”
    “No,” said Sebastian with a hint of impatience at Tim’s frivolity. “He was a mage, a wise man, someone who accumulated knowledge.
     What you describe were the actions of court entertainers and jesters.”
    “What sort of knowledge?” Pip asked.
    Sebastian thought for a minute. “Yoland was fascinated by alchemy, as were many educated men at that time, but his real interest
     lay in…” He paused and looked out of the window towards the river, “… understanding the baser instincts of men. I suppose
     you might call him a kind of an…” Sebastian paused again, “… evil psychiatrist, a man who seeks to…”
    “… get inside other people’s heads?” Tim suggested.
    “In a manner of speaking,” Sebastian responded. “His aim was to comprehend people’s motivation by searching