Point Blank by Anthony Horowitz

sentry stood on one of the towers. He had a pair of binoculars around his neck and a submachine gun slung across one arm.
    Armed guards? In a school? Alex had been here only a few minutes and already he was unnerved.
    ‚Through here!‛ Mrs. Stellenbosch opened another door for him, and he found himself in the main reception hall of the academy. A log fire burned in a massive fireplace with two stone dragons guarding the flames. A grand staircase led upward. The hall was lit by a chandelier with at least a hundred bulbs. The walls were paneled with wood. The carpet was thick, dark red. A dozen pairs of eyes followed Alex as he followed Mrs. Stellenbosch down the next corridor. The hall was decorated with animal heads: a rhino, an antelope, a water buffalo, and, saddest of all, a lion. Alex wondered who had shot them.
    They came to a single door that suggested they had come to the end of their journey. So far, Alex hadn’t encountered any boys, but glancing out of the window, he saw two more guards marching slowly past, both of them cradling automatic machine guns.
    Mrs. Stellenbosch knocked on the door.
    ‚Come in!‛ Even with just two words, Alex caught the South African accent.
    The door opened, and they went into a huge room that made no sense. Like the rest of the building, its shape was irregular, none of the walls running parallel. The ceiling was about fifty feet high with windows running the whole, way and giving an impressive view of the slopes.
    The room was modern with soft lighting coming from units concealed in the walls. The furniture was ugly, but not as ugly as the animal heads on the walls and the zebra skin on the wood floor. There were three chairs next to a small fireplace. One of them was gold and antique. A man was sitting in it. His head turned as Alex came in.
    ‚Good afternoon, Alex,‛ he said. ‚Please come and sit down.‛
    Alex sauntered into the room and took one of the chairs. Mrs. Stellenbosch sat in the other.
    ‚My name is Grief,‛ the man continued. ‚Dr. Grief. I am very pleased to meet you and to have you here.‛
    Alex stared at the man who was the director of Point Blanc, at the white-paper skin and the eyes burning behind the red eyeglasses. It was like meeting a skeleton, and for a moment he was lost for words. Then he recovered. ‚Nice place,‛ he said.
    ‚Do you think so?‛ There was no emotion whatsoever in Grief’s voice. So far he had moved only his neck. ‚This building was designed in 1857 by a Frenchman who was certainly the world’s worst architect. This was his only commission. When the first owners moved in, they had him shot.‛
    ‚There are still quite a few people here with guns.‛ Alex glanced out of the window as another pair of guards walked past.
    ‚Point Blanc is unique,‛ Dr. Grief explained. ‚As you will soon discover, all the boys who have been sent here come from families of great wealth and importance. We have had the sons of emperors and industrialists. Boys like yourself. It follows that we could very easily become a target for terrorists. The guards are therefore here for your protection.‛
    ‚That’s very kind of you.‛ Alex felt he was being too polite. It was time to show this man what sort of person he was meant to be. ‚But to be honest, I don’t really want to be here myself.
    So if you’ll just tell me how I get down into town, maybe I can get the next train home.‛
    ‚There is no way down into town.‛ Dr. Grief lifted a hand to stop Alex from interrupting.
    Alex glanced at his long skeletal fingers and at the eyes glinting red behind the glasses. The man moved as if every bone in his body had been broken and then put back together again.
    ‚The skiing season is over. It’s too dangerous now. There is only the helicopter, and that will take you from here only when I say so.‛ The hand lowered itself again. ‚You are here, Alex, because you have disappointed your parents. You were expelled from school. You have had