Ribblestrop Forever! (17 page)

Yet again, the phone in his pocket was ringing. He wanted to hurl it over the treetops, but he didn’t dare. Cuthbertson had to be obeyed and he had to get down and out and back to The
Priory. The first part of the mission was a success, surely. He comforted himself with that thought as he wiped his eyes and mouth. He might, possibly, have got what he wanted. They might have
swallowed the bait. If he could hang on to that positive fact, he might just get back to order and sanity.

‘Would you like to spend the night here?’ said someone behind him.

He swung round and saw Millie staring at him. Asilah was close by.

‘Your kids are human,’ she said. ‘Even if you’re not.’

‘No,’ he whispered.

‘They don’t want to leave. It’s the first time they’ve ever had fun.’

‘We’re leaving now,’ said Mr Ian, quietly.

‘But we’ll see you again,’ said Anjoli.

Mr Ian glared. ‘When we get back to school,’ he said, ‘we’ll disinfect ourselves, head to foot. You stink of corruption, the lot of you!’

‘Can we guide you to your car?’ said Millie. ‘We want to hear more about The Darkroom and what you did to Miles.’

‘Sounds like you had a jolly time,’ said Asilah. ‘What did you hit him with, Mr Ian?’

‘He got nothing he didn’t deserve. He got what
you
deserve – all of you. A good old-fashioned, uninterrupted thrashing.’

Millie stared. ‘You believe in pain, don’t you?’ she said. ‘I wonder how much you can take?’

The donkeys didn’t improve.

The orphans tried carrots and sticks. Then they tried sharp sticks. They heated the sticks in the fire and put chilli pepper on the tips. But the animals just bared their teeth and endured. They
would not pull the chariots.

Luckily, Israel had a reasonable relationship with the camel and she was reversed into the harness. The arguments raged about historical authenticity with some children saying that camels were a
relatively recent invention. Eric and Podma had done their research, however. They had spent two hours in the library van and argued that, as the lost tribe of Ribblemoor had come by the silk
route, they would have undoubtedly brought such a beast. When the camel herself proved willing and strong, her critics fell silent. Everyone piled on and there was a certain grace to her
hip-swaying, Egyptian roll. They trundled out of camp, singing lustily. Oli and Sam had translated the school song into Latin and, though the tune was more awkward now, the words sounded
heroic:

‘
Ribblestrop, Ribblestrop, nobis super omnia

– amaaaa-ta!

Deliciae somni puerisque academia – (ooh la!) cara!
’

They waved their spears and stamped to the beat, and they came, after some time and some grass nibbling, along the old Ribblestrop High Street.

They had high hopes of the great museum, for Doctor Ellie had often spoken of it. Ruskin had described his trip to a museum in London, years ago, and had mesmerised his audience with tales of
wonder. He explained that he’d seen only a fraction of the exhibits, for the halls were too vast to see everything in one day. There had been a space rocket that really flew and a full-size
battleship. There were two raptors fighting a whale and a room full of mummies in bandages that sat up and spoke. He recalled the last dodo, flapping in a cage, and a real volcano that erupted
over your toes.

It was inevitable that the Ribblestrop Museum would be a disappointment in comparison. When they pulled up outside the address they’d been given, the grey façade was an instant
let-down. It stood next to Spare Ribb – a kebab shop that had closed soon after opening, due to its undisguised foreignness.

‘It’s a house,’ said Anjoli. ‘Just a normal little house.’

‘That’s not quite true,’ said Doonan, who was wearing a dressing gown and pith helmet. ‘It’s a
converted
house. A very old one, apparently.’

‘It’s so tiny,’ said Podma.

‘It’s closed, as well,’ said Sanjay, looking at a scrap of paper taped to the window. ‘It doesn’t open till nine.’

The children had been up with the dawn as usual, so they were very, very early. This had been lucky from a traffic point of view, as the handful of cars they’d passed were distinctly
unnerved by the slow-motion chariot – there had been two near-collisions. Doonan suggested they stayed put and waited – so Miles went off with Henry to get refreshments. Dave’s
Diner was nearby, open for bargain breakfasts, so he used the last of Mr Ian’s cash to buy bacon butties. By the time they were finished – and Doonan had collected all the rubbish
– they could see Doctor Ellie.

She was walking briskly along the pavement with an extremely pretty young woman, and they were in such deep conversation that they didn’t notice the chariot and camel until they came
alongside it.

‘You made it!’ gasped the librarian. ‘You got the thing working and you’re all in one piece! Look at the costumes, Vicky! Aren’t they wonderful?’

There were a few shy thank yous, because for the first time in a while, the Ribblestrop pupils were rather lost for words. Some were even blushing under the intense gaze of Doctor Ellie’s
companion, whose jaw had dropped wide open.

‘I’ve told you all about this young lady,’ said Doctor Ellie, nudging her forward. ‘It gives me great pleasure to introduce her in person. Our curator, our inspirational
leader – and very personal friend – carrying a torch in the darkness! I present, Vicky Stockinger.’

Vicky blinked and smiled. Several orphans blushed more deeply and wished they were wearing shirts. Vicky’s smile was the prettiest thing some of the boys had ever seen.

‘I’m hardly any of those things!’ she said. ‘But I’m so pleased to meet you – I’ve heard all about you and I’m so glad you’re here.
You’re so punctual, too!’ She was searching the pockets of her dungarees. Her long hair was tied back into two bunches and she wore a striped sweater that blazed with every colour of
the rainbow. Her mouth settled naturally into a grin and her eyes were the luminous blue of bright skies. She produced a key with a cry of triumph.

‘Here we are! I thought I’d left it at home. Now, I hope you’re not expecting very much . . .’

‘They’re expecting everything,’ said Doctor Ellie.

‘It’s a very small collection and it’s so dusty. The ceiling collapsed last week and we’re still in chaos. Now, if you’ve got questions, I can’t promise to
answer them, but I will try.’ She laughed. ‘I’m not an expert on anything, whatever Ellie says. You’re very welcome, that’s the main thing – and I have to say
I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for since I saw your circus.’ She smiled at Anjoli. ‘I recognise you!’ she said.

‘Me?’ said Anjoli.

‘Oh yes. You were so fearless! ’

The children leapt down from the chariot and filed in through the doorway. Vicky was chattering all the time and, if she was surprised by how close some of the boys were pressing, she
didn’t say anything. ‘Now I know you’re doing this project on the Caillitri,’ she cried, ‘so I have mugged up on them. Oh, and I’ve been hearing all about the
tree houses! So . . . let me just get the lights on. Ah, now this is one of my favourite items! Can you see? Stand back a little . . . Oh, the light’s gone out. Can you jiggle that switch,
one of you?’

The door had opened straight into a room the size of a small classroom. It was wallpapered in ugly brown and cream, as if an old-fashioned family had recently lived there. The musty smell
suggested that they might have slept there too, or even died and been buried under the floorboards. Whoever cleared up their mess had left a tatty rug and an old gas fire. Dark cabinets were ranged
along the walls, some high, some low. There were pictures and postcards with inscriptions in faded ink on the wall. Several fluorescent tubes flickered and Vicky pushed at a wire so another popped
on in a dazzling burst.

‘What do you think it is?’ she said, excitedly.

The children weren’t quite sure what they were being asked to look at, but they did their best to work it out. Vicky’s voice was musical and they wanted to enjoy themselves. The
problem was, all they could see was a handful of tarnished coins and what might have been mouse droppings. Next to them was a chunk of old food, possibly discarded banana, turning from yellow to
brown.

‘We’ve got three of them,’ said Vicky. ‘Can you guess what they are?’

Nobody could.

‘Is it someone’s thumb?’ said Ruskin.

‘No.’

‘A sweet?’ said Imagio.

‘You’re not even warm. They’re from a children’s game, we think. I can’t get it out, but it’s a bit like a chess piece. We’ve also got . . . over here .
. . what we think might be the first ever playing cards. Can you see these?’

They shuffled to the next case and saw six metal disks the size of small plates. There were designs etched on them, but it was hard to make them out. ‘Playing cards were first found in
China,’ said Vicky. ‘So this tribe – the one we’re studying – brought them to England. We think they were the first people in the whole of the British Isles to play
games and make music! They had the time and the imagination to create little sets of cards and . . . they’re very lovely. Now, come and have a look at this. There!’

She turned to the far wall and there was a rather childish painting of some semi-naked people grouped on the brow of a hill. The colours were lurid and it reminded Millie of something she might
have drawn when she was five.

‘Is that the tribe?’ she said. ‘The lost tribe of Ribblemoor?’

‘Well, it’s just an impression,’ said Vicky, apologetically. ‘It’s based on a grave site that was found.’

‘Did you paint that?’ said Israel.

‘Yes. I used to be an art student. Can you see what they’re wearing?’

‘Is it jewels?’ said Nikko. He had managed to get close and his nose was up against it.

‘Yes! We’re sure they wore jewellery. It was the obvious way of carrying wealth, of course, as well as being decorative and fun to make. I’ll show you downstairs. We’ve
got quite a little collection . . . And there’s our prize exhibit, of course. You’ve heard about Eleudin?’

Vicky led them down to a cellar where there were yet more cases. The children moved among them, trying to conceal their disappointment. It was tempting to call it junk, for everything was so
mottled and decayed, and the light wasn’t good. Gradually, though, as Vicky explained, they started to realise that what they were looking at was a kind of treasure. They began to understand
that when you dug treasure up, this was what it looked like, and a little thrill of reality went through the group. Vicky fluttered around them, pointing out hairpins and anklets. Then she turned
on a projector and an enormous bracelet was thrown up onto a blank wall. Some of the younger children gasped.

‘It’s a reconstruction,’ she said, for it was gleaming brightly. ‘We tried to imagine what it would have looked like . . . Ellie and I went to the British Museum and
talked to one of their experts. You see, we’re confident that the Caillitri were metalworkers, and when they came to the moor they discovered silver deposits. They would have found tin, as
well – they might have been hoping for gold. They brought gold with them, you see. Children’s games and gold! Can you imagine what people must have thought? People would have assumed
they were fairies or magicians. Maybe they were. Look at this . . . am I going too fast?’

‘No, miss,’ said Miles. ‘You’re doing great.’

‘They were a wealthy people. They were a very spiritual people. Eleudin’s the most amazing exhibit, though – we’re very lucky to have him. In fact, we’re fighting
to keep him . . . but that’s another story. Stand back, or you won’t see – can you little ones come to the front? We have to keep him in the dark.’

‘This is scary,’ said Sam.

‘Oh no – it’s just that he’s falling to pieces. The name Eleudin means “One who is lost”, by the way. Can you pull that string, please? What’s your
name?’

‘Tomaz.’

‘The string works the curtain, Tomaz. Ellie, would you turn all the other lights off?’

Vicky turned a switch and, as she did so, the curtain moved. They were plunged into darkness and a curious silence descended. The curtain shifted and the glass case was revealed, glowing in soft
blue light. There was an earthenware pot in the centre, but it was broken into three pieces.

Another bulb came on and some of the children gasped and pressed closer. The pot contained something small, made of what looked like twigs – but now they could see better, they realised
that it was, in fact, a tiny child. The sections of the pot had been separated, so they could make out the little body, laying on the largest. There were tiny legs, which were folded so the knees
were tucked under the bottom jaw of a delicate grey skull. Arms clutched the knees, and you could make out the curve of the spine and the shoulders. The skull was tilted slightly, as if the child
was resting. The eye sockets stared as if they were concentrating hard. He was surrounded by feathers.

He only looked a few months old.

‘Eleudin,’ whispered Tomaz.

‘What’s the matter, Tom?’ said Vijay, softly. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I’ve seen him before.’

‘You’ve seen him before? What do you mean?’

‘Miles?’

Tomaz looked round and found that Miles was right next to him. He grabbed his wrist. ‘I’ve seen him,’ he hissed. ‘Or maybe his brother . . . He’s older than you
think. I’ve seen him in the trees.’

Seconds passed as the children breathed and gazed. Vicky let them take it all in and Doctor Ellie stood at the back, waiting.

‘Can you see what he’s wearing?’ said Vicky, at last.

‘Bracelets,’ said Sanchez. He had his nose pressed against the glass. ‘Are they bracelets?’

‘Ankle bracelets too,’ said Sam.

‘Gold thread,’ said Vicky. ‘There’s a necklace as well, but it’s hard to see. There were little earrings on his ears and there was a ring on each finger. They were
sent off for carbon dating and never made it back – but it’s the same principle as the Egyptians. Can you see the inside of the urn? How good are your eyes?’