He sat listlessly in a triangle with Aaron and Tamara, sorting the light and dark and lightish and darkish piles as if they’d been doing it for a million years. Aaron tried to start a conversation, but Tamara and Call were too bored to talk in more than grunts. But sometimes now, they all looked at one another and smiled the secret smiles of actual friendship. Exhausted friendship, but real friendship nonetheless. At lunchtime, the wall opened, but for a change, it wasn’t Alex Strike. It was Master Rufus, and he was carrying in one hand what looked like a massive wooden box with a trumpet sticking out of it, and in the other, a bag of something colorful. “Continue as you were, children,” he said, setting the box down on a nearby rock. Aaron boggled. “What is that?” he whispered to Call. “A gramophone,” said Tamara, who was still sorting sand, even as she stared at Rufus. “It plays music, but it works with magic, not electricity.” At that moment, music blasted from the trumpet of the gramophone.
