Two days later my grandfather and I stepped from the hansom cab we’d caught at

Victoria station and stood in front of Giovanni’s town house.

"Well," said my grandfather.

"I don’t think much of your students location," I said dryly, noticing the grime and desertedness that hung over this section of London like a cloak. Even the Rapidash that pulled the coaches round here were dull, their flames muted and their white coats tarnished with soot.

"From the point of view of a researcher it has definite advantages," my grandfather pointed out. This area of London is quiet, conducive to observations while being close to the town and contacts Giovanni needs."

"Tell me again what he does?" I said as we rang the bell and waited to be received.

"When he studied with me he was a researcher on pokemon genetic structure. We were, as I still am trying to unlock the key to their unique ability to transform themselves."

"And you lost touch when he went commercial."

"I wish you wouldn’t put it like that. He hadn’t much choice. He was young, recently married and Delia had just given birth to a son. He needed the money to provide for his family and unless you’re a man of private means, like myself, research is an unprofitable career. He undertook much the same sort of research as we’d be doing although for a firm I do not know much about."

"And he’s Italian?"

"His father was, a political refugee who fled to England and married an English girl."

The door opened then and a surly manservant looked out at us.

"Yes?"

"Professor Oak and grandson," My grandfather handed the servant his card. "We’re expected."

The servant snorted and shut the door in our faces.

"Of all the nerve!" My grandfather huffed indignantly.

I decided not to comment. A few minutes later however the door opened again

and a different servant ushered us into the hall.

"Allow me to apologise for the doorman. He has not been with us long."

"I understand . . . James, isn’t it?"

"Why, Professor Oak! How nice to see you again." The manservant appeared to recognise my grandfather. "It is a long time since we’ve had a visit from you."

"Yes, I’ve been far too neglectful of my friends."

"You’ll find many changes about the house I’m afraid," the blue haired servant warned us, taking our coats. "Mr Giovanni will receive you in the drawing room. He begs that you will pardon his absence, he has a matter to be taken care of first."

The inside of the house was indeed superior to the outside. Smartly furnished in the latest style, it was like finding a diamond amongst rubble. A crimson haired maid brought us tea, pausing a few moments to chat with my grandfather.

"Tell me, Jesse," he said, as she was about to leave. "How is your mistress? I heard from a friend that she’d been unwell."

"That’s right, sir. She hasn’t been well for years. She can’t talk, and sometimes she has fainting fits."

"I’m sorry to hear that," my grandfather murmured, concerned. "Has she seen a doctor?"

"No sir, the master won’t have them." Jesse curtsied and left.

"How very odd," my grandfather murmured. "But Giovanni’s absolutely devoted to Delia. You’d never find a better matched couple."

"Maybe things have changed," I shrugged. "This atmosphere of conjecture is starting to get me down. Didn’t you say something about a son?"

"Yes, little Ashton. A year younger than you I think, a charming child. Incidentally, I was asked to be his godfather." My grandfather chuckled. "It will be nice to see him again." He sighed. "You know, after your parents moved to America, they became almost like a second family to me."

You know, I’d never imagined my grandfather getting lonely . . .

"Samuel," a heavy voice greeted us. "You are a most welcome sight."

"Giovanni!" My grandfather clasped his hand warmly. "It’s been too long, old friend.

"Too long indeed. I must say though, you look as well as the last time I saw you."

While they exchanged pleasantries, I observed the Giovanni I’d heard so much about. According to my grandfather he was a brilliant scientist. He was dark haired and rather tanned, well dressed in a rich crimson smoking jacket. However there were more than a few tinges of grey in his hair, something that did not match up with his apparent age.

"Allow me to present my grandson, Garrick. He’s just come from America, he’ll be staying with me while he completes his schooling."

Giovanni’s grip was strong—almost painfully strong.

"Delighted to meet you. What do you think of the old country then?"

"It’s very different from home," I answered.

Luckily he chose to take that as a compliment. "I can imagine it would be. Now let’s see, being your Grandfather’s blood, you must be studying at Oxford?"

"Cambridge," I answered.

"And doing exceedingly well no doubt," Giovanni gave me a smile I didn’t entirely like. I didn’t answer.

"Garrick is having some trouble acclimatising, I’m afraid," my grandfather excused me. "Let’s see, Ashton would be in his final year of schooling this year. Has he decided where he’s going?"

Giovanni started. "Oh, of course, you don’t know."

"Know what?"

"You’d better sit down," Giovanni ushered my grandfather to a chair. "I should have told you earlier, we all knew how fond you were of him."

"What has happened?" my grandfather asked.

"Three years ago there was an accident. No one knows entirely what happened but Delia and the shock of it was enough to render her mute." Giovanni sighed.

"You remember how much Ash enjoyed hanging round the pokemon we used for research?"

My grandfather nodded, his hand tightening on the hand of his chair.

"At that time I was paid by the firm to trial some new drugs on the pokemon to investigate whether the evolution change is chemically or hormonally induced. The subjects were not responding well to the treatments, becoming very violent. Ashton . . . well, he insisted that I should let him work with them, he was sure he could calm them. I forbade him to go anywhere near them, of course, but Ashton was so cursed sure of himself. The next time I went away on a business trip . . . well, when I got home it was too late. Ashton was dead."

My grandfather bowed his head. "I’m very sorry to hear that. A tragedy . . ."

"We should have told you. I’m afraid my response to my loss was to bury myself in my research. I’ve neglected almost all my social contacts and such for years. Delia also buried herself in her grief—She stopped speaking entirely after the accident."

"How hard it must have been for both of you," my grandfather murmured. "Please forgive myself for bringing up memories which I’m sure have been painful for you."

Giovanni smiled sadly. "You had to know. You were his godfather."

His story had obviously affected my grandfather deeply. He was dispirited for the next part of the conversation, making rather desultory attempts at conversation. In the end it fell to me to carry the burden of the conversation. I asked Giovanni about the research he was doing at the moment.

"A continuation of the work I did under your grandfather," the researcher smiled. "Trying to isolate the source of pokemons’ special powers."

"You must be lucky in your sponsorship," I remarked. "I didn’t know the business community was so interested in scientific speculation."

"And what makes you think my research is mere scientific speculation,

Garrick?"

"Well, while a fascinating problem, finding the source of pokemon’s special powers has no practical application."

"Allow me to disagree," Giovanni said smarmily and a bell echoed from within the house. "Ah, dinner."

We were joined at the table by two women. My grandfather took the hand of the elder with no introduction. "Delia," he said sympathetically. "I just heard . . . I’m so sorry."

She hugged him, and when she pulled away I caught glimmerings of tears on her cheeks. Her son might be three years gone but his loss was still keenly felt. "My ward, Miss Waterflower. My good friend, Professor Oak, his grandson Garrick."

Misty nodded to us. She was a very pretty girl with copper hair gathered in fashionable ringlets, but she seemed strangely ill at ease. I noticed that she fiddled continuously with the cuffs of her long sleeves throughout the meal. I could agree with Goodwin’s conclusion—she was afraid.

Upon learning that I had yet to see the famous sites of London, Giovanni offered to be our guide around London. Delia smiled that she’d like to accompany us, Misty excused herself on the grounds of a headache. The afternoon and early evening passed quickly, Giovanni treating us to a meal in one of the better London restaurants. By the time we returned home I was ready to retire.

"Delia will take you to your room," Giovanni said. "I trust you’ll find it comfortable. If you need anything just ring. A servant has been placed at your disposal."

I felt very awkward following Mrs Giovanni through the house. I commented on the furnishings and thanked her for the welcome but it is difficult having a conversation with someone who doesn’t talk back.

We went through numerous corridors before she paused outside a room. My luggage had already been collected there for me. Mrs Giovanni hovered as I inspected the room. It had a pleasant aspect and was comfortably furnished although it had that feeling of belonging to someone else. A closer look at the furnishings confirmed this. The shelves held a rather exhaustive collection of pokemon models, carefully painted so that they resembled the mysterious creatures. On the book case was a familiar collection of books—most of which I had on my shelf at home. I had an awful suspicion.

"This was your son’s room, wasn’t it?"

Mrs Giovanni nodded.

"I can’t stay here, I mean, I don’t want to intrude . . ."

She shook her head, and planted her hands on my case, preventing me from lifting it away.

"You want me to stay here?"

She nodded.

"I, well, thank-you." I didn’t really know how to react. I returned to the book case. "He has almost all the same books as me. I bet he’d have liked Washington Irving . . . what was he like?"

She blinked at me.

"I mean to look at." How could I be so thoughtless? Of course she couldn’t tell me, could she?

However Mrs Giovanni didn’t seem offended. Instead she took my hand and led me through the house again, this time to what I guessed was their grand dining room. Above the mantelpiece was a family portrait. I recognised a younger Giovanni standing with his smiling wife, and standing in front of them, holding a Pikachu, Ashton.

I knew I liked him immediately. He had a slight smile on his face, and his dark brown eyes, almost obscured by his untidy coal-black hair, seemed warm and understanding. I felt that he was the one person in England that might understand me . . . too bad he was gone.

"He looks a nice person," I told Mrs Giovanni sincerely. "I’m sorry we never got the chance to meet. We might have been friends."

She smiled and squeezed my arm. I think she agreed.

I didn’t feel like an intruder when I returned to the room. Not now that I’d met Ash so to speak . . . Just like Goodwin couldn’t be Richard, I knew he had to be Ash. It just worked that way. I fell into bed with relief, I was tired.

Dreams followed almost immediately . . .

I’m not sure the cause, whether Goodwin’s fears, the exertions of the day, even the tragic loss of our host but I had a nightmare, one that I’d not had since my childhood. In my dream I was looking for my parents and my sister and could not find them anywhere. The more I searched, the more urgent it became that I found them . . . I passed people and buildings, none of them able to hear me . . . I awoke suddenly, gasping.

I couldn’t shake of the sense of worry and disquiet that dream had caused.

Sighing I settled back down into bed, thinking wistfully of my family so far away . . . were they safe? Would I see them again? I tried not to think of all the things that might go wrong . . .

A warm hand brushed my shoulder in a gesture of comfort. I relaxed, soothed by it, until I remembered I was alone in the room.

I made a grab for the light. My hand shook as I tried to light the candle . . . yet the little flame illuminated no one. I was alone . . .

So had I imagined that sympathetic touch? I left the candle burning and settled back against the pillows to think. I was sure I’d felt a hand distinctly. But that didn’t seem possible . . . so was this a dream?

I settled back into bed. It had to be a dream, that was the only possible explanation. And as far as dreams went it wasn’t so bad. Granted it had startled me—but that was only the unexpectedness of it. The rest had been quite pleasant—I’m sure the gesture had been intended to comfort me. I hesitated a moment then blew out the candle and tried to get back to sleep.

A mournful howl echoed across the house. For a moment I was startled—until I remembered Giovanni saying he kept pokemon on the premises for research purposes, although under heavy lock and key. This must be one of them . . .

Although I had divined it’s origin, the howl continued to unsettle me. It sounded so sorrowful, so full of pain . . . the gentle touch at my shoulder was felt again, and I relaxed. Looked like my guardian angel was back . . .

"Thank-you," I murmured, as I fell back asleep. I’m sure that I felt a hand ruffle through my hair . . .

And then I was blinking in the harsh light of morning.