Ribblestrop Forever! (18 page)

‘No, miss,’ said Israel. ‘It just looks like a pot. What’s inside it?’

‘The lighting’s terrible. We applied for a grant, but it never came to anything. Look, if you hang on . . . I’m not supposed to do this.’

She produced a torch and switched it on.

‘It’s bad for the surfaces,’ she said, ‘but I want you to see. On the inside of the pot – how they did it nobody knows – but they drew the planets and the
stars. Can you see now?’

Her torchlight picked out indentations and little swirls of dark colour.

‘When the pot was intact,’ she said, ‘he would have been surrounded by comets. Comet tails. Moons – they loved the moon. We had someone examine it and he said there were
seven planets, which is pretty amazing, isn’t it, considering they had no telescopes. At least, we assume they didn’t. There’s the moon in all its phases and fourteen
constellations, all of them accurate. He’s got a map of the heavens to look at. Feathers to fly with.’

‘Why though?’ said Imagio, quietly. ‘If the pot hadn’t bust, nobody would see them.’

‘Oh, but the baby would,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘They weren’t drawn for you and me – they were drawn for him.’

‘Why?’

‘I presume it was to help him,’ said Vicky. ‘I think, when he died, they made sure he had wealth – that’s all the gold thread. They made sure he looked beautiful
– he used to have long hair, but it came off when we moved him. Such long hair! You see, his parents carried him with them. They must have been taking him somewhere. And he had a map for
whenever he needed it, so he could find God.’

A strange thing happened then.

Millie had been standing with everyone else, looking at the objects. And like most of the others, her mood had been shifting between curiosity and the mild boredom that cases of old remnants
usually produce. But the skeleton-child was having an effect she hadn’t expected and she found that she was trembling. She turned away from him, but was ringed in by Sam, Imagio and several
orphans. Then she caught sight of Israel’s black eyes and, when she looked back at the dead child, which she had to do, Vicky’s torch made the gold around the wrists glimmer and a
purple star blazed out of the pottery background. For a moment, in the glass, she saw not the Ribblestrop children, but the children of the tribe. She found her eyes were full of tears. She was
about to cry and – worse – the crying was rising up from some deep place within that she couldn’t control and, before she knew it, a terrible sob burst from her and her eyes were
swimming. Eric thought she was laughing and grinned at her, but Millie was lost to a grief she didn’t understand. She choked and put her hands over her mouth. She turned away again and broke
out of the crowd. She thought she would fall, for the sobs were now coming one after another, and she could hardly breathe.

Strong arms held her.

Doctor Ellie had her arm right round her and was leading her to a chair.

‘Don’t worry,’ she was saying. ‘You’re all right. Sit down, my dear.’

Millie found herself sitting and then her head was in her hands. The sobbing would not stop – the tears were pouring through her fingers. The rest of the children stared, bewildered. Tomaz
was kneeling in front of her and Doctor Ellie was beside him.

‘Take them upstairs,’ she was saying to Vicky. ‘Take them up to the conservatory.’ Then she was pressing Millie’s hands. ‘It’s all right, love.
It’s all right – he has this effect on people. You’re not the first . . .’

‘I’m fine,’ sobbed Millie. ‘It’s nothing!’

‘Anjoli, leave her alone. Go upstairs, please.’

‘No, miss.’

‘Go upstairs and leave us. Tomaz, too.’

‘No, miss.’

There was a clattering of feet and the room emptied. Tomaz remained and Anjoli pressed himself against Millie’s shoulder. She had her eyes closed now, because she was feeling sick. She
felt Anjoli’s warmth and had never been so glad of human contact, for she was as cold as a corpse. He moved so that he was sitting across her knees, hugging her. Tomaz was still there,
kneeling, and she could still hear Doctor Ellie, but she was some distance off. There was a strange music in her head and she felt desperately tired.

‘She’ll be fine,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘It’s the heat, that’s all it is.’

Anjoli had his arms right round Millie’s neck and she hugged him. She let the tears flow and pressed him to her, feeling his heartbeat. She kept her eyes tight shut, and all she could see
were moons and comets and the empty sockets of the child, drinking in the heavens.

‘Don’t leave me,’ she said.

‘Who is he?’ said Tomaz.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’ve seen him before. Haven’t you?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Why is he here, Millie? He shouldn’t be here!’

But there was one last surprise.

The other children had followed Vicky back up to the ground floor, and she led them out the back to a glass extension. There was a single, solitary exhibit there and everyone recognised it at
once: it was the white stone they’d used in the lay-by to prop up the car jack. It had been cleaned and polished, and it was laid against an almost identical piece, edge to edge. The crack
between them was jagged and uneven and, though the stones looked similar, it was clear that they were two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite match.

‘You’ve been told about the flare paths?’ said Vicky, quietly.

‘We know a bit,’ said Ruskin.

‘If we could decode this stone, we’d know where they ran and what they led to. There’s a flare path close to here.’

Sam said, ‘Doctor Ellie thought she had the code. She thought this stone would help her crack it.’

‘Oh, we’ve been trying. There’s still a piece missing, though. I’m afraid it’s the main piece.’

Caspar had come to the front. ‘Where did you find it?’ he said. ‘You should have told me.’

He reached out then and put his hand on the surface. He let his fingers trace over the runes and the children waited for Vicky to tell him not to touch. She didn’t.

‘Are you looking for another one?’ he said.

‘It must exist,’ said Vicky. ‘Somewhere.’

Caspar turned and looked up at her. He went to speak, then thought better of it and looked back at the stones. He touched them both and shook his head.

‘What’s wrong?’ said Asilah.

‘I know where the missing bit is,’ he said, simply. ‘It’s in the South Tower – where my gran lives. I climbed up there, about two weeks ago, when I was escaping.
You know where the roof’s pointed? You have to crawl right up . . . there’s all sorts of things up there. But right at the top, where the weathercock sticks, that’s where the rest
of this stone is.’

He looked around the group.

‘I’m not lying!’ he cried. ‘I’ve seen it. I’ve touched it.’

Doctor Ellie was at the door. She spoke very quietly. ‘Are you sure, Caspar?’

‘Yes.’

‘You actually touched it?’ said Sanchez.

‘Why would it be in the roof of a tower?’ said Eric. ‘That makes no sense at all.’

‘I’m telling you,’ said Caspar. His face was red. ‘Why do you always think I’m lying?’

‘Then the last piece is the keystone of the house,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘The keystone for Ribblestrop Towers. The south tower is the highest of the four, yes?’

The children nodded.

‘It makes perfect sense. The builders, when they finished the south tower . . . they capped it with . . .’ She licked her lips. ‘. . . with a stone they knew to be magical. Of
course they did. They would always try to do that.’

Vicky had her hands clasped in front of her face, as if she was at prayer. ‘How do we get it?’ she said, softly. ‘We have to get it!’

‘Oh, you can’t!’ said Caspar. ‘My gran would kill me. None of us are allowed anywhere near it.’

Everyone was looking at him.

‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘It’s not even worth thinking about! Apart from anything, it’s holding up the roof . . .’

Things started to move fast.

The headmaster spoke to both Professor Worthington and Doctor Ellie, and agreed that Mr Ian’s proposal regarding the Pioneers’ Award was just too good to miss. Could it be combined
into an ancient history project, involving the exploration of flare paths? Of course it could. He cycled into town the same afternoon and found a payphone. He got straight through to Mr Ian and the
details were confirmed. They would all meet together in two weeks’ time for the expedition of a lifetime.

On his way back to Ribblestrop, he was almost forced off the road by a convoy of speeding police cars. They swept past him and swerved through the school gates. He pedalled as fast as he could
and was in time to see them disappear up the main drive, lights flashing. There were unpleasant interviews ahead, he knew, so it was a relief to dismount and push the bicycle quickly into the
trees. Surely everything could wait until the camping trip was over? Perhaps even until the end of term? Professor Worthington had reminded him that they would all be facing court summonses in the
not too distant future, but the incidents on the motorway and river now seemed in the distant past – especially when the sky was as blue as it was that morning. The children had forgotten the
chaos and were getting on with life! Surely the police would have the same, practical common sense.

‘We’ve been caught out, sir,’ said Captain Routon, as the headmaster approached the camp.

‘Oh,’ said the headmaster. ‘Are they here?’

‘They’re waiting for you.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘I thought you’d forgotten, sir. I said I’d call them and I never did!’

Professor Worthington trotted towards them. ‘It’s so embarrassing,’ she cried. ‘The school diary’s in your office, Giles, so nobody remembered! We haven’t
even got a pitch!’

The headmaster looked bewildered. ‘Are we talking about the . . . police?’

‘What police?’ said Professor Worthington.

‘We’re talking about football, sir,’ said Captain Routon. ‘End of last term, we agreed to that fixture with the High School, and they’ve arrived. The new coach is
quite disappointed.’

‘Oh Lord. You mean it’s today?’

‘That’s what we’re saying.’

‘We must gather the children! We can drum up a side, Routon!’

Professor Worthington was shaking her head. ‘We can’t,’ she said. ‘The children say they’re too busy!’

‘Oh Lord,’ said the headmaster. ‘We’re going to look like terrible sports. And I really did want to cultivate better relations with the locals. Where are they?’

‘Talking to Doonan,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘He’s trying to sort out a cricket match instead, but nobody’s interested. They’re all geared up for
football.’

The headmaster started walking. ‘Let’s go and talk,’ he said. ‘They used the goal nets for those wretched man-traps, didn’t they? Dear, oh dear. Are they in the
arena?’

‘Yes, sir. It’s chariot-racing till eleven.’

‘This is going to be tricky . . .’

The teachers took a footpath where the trees thinned and were soon clambering down to what the children called ‘The Coliseum’. The ground had been cleared with a
bit of careful slash-and-burn, and there were hard tracks where the chariots had flattened the earth. It had become a popular spot for archery practice too and Miles had organised some simple
gladiatorial contests.

The High School children were standing in green track-suits as one group. The Ribblestrop children were some distance away, looking sulky and irritated. The two chariots were parked where the
ground was highest and the donkeys cropped the nettles.

‘Now come on,’ said Doonan. ‘This isn’t good sportsmanship. Can we at least put the stumps in?’

It wasn’t clear who he was talking to and it didn’t actually seem to matter since nobody was listening. He had a bat and ball in his hands and was doing his best to work up some
enthusiasm.

‘I need two captains,’ he shouted. ‘Do we have two captains?’

One of the High School squad called an obscenity and clod of earth was flung high into the air. It burst at Doonan’s feet.

‘Doonan!’ said the headmaster. ‘This isn’t going to work.’

A young teacher with large ears emerged from the High School side and trotted towards them.

‘I’m very sorry about this,’ he said, brightly. ‘You’re the headmaster, yes? I should have called you.’

‘No, no, no – the fault is mine—’

‘Easy to forget fixtures. It’s no problem as far as I’m concerned.’ He shook hands and smiled. ‘We’ve had three suspensions this week, so our team’s not
what it should be. Johnny Jay, by the way. I’m old Cuthbertson’s replacement. Trying to get things going again. Hasn’t been easy, to tell you the truth.’

He grinned. ‘I’m just out of college, so this is a real chance for me – bit of a learning curve too. It’s so hard to get them to practise! They love playing, of course
– they’ve been nagging me to organise matches. But can I get a decent practice? Never. Your lot look a bit . . . distracted.’

‘They’ve been training the donkeys. They had a bit of breakthrough, yesterday, apparently.’

‘Sports are taking a back seat this term,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘I fear you’ve had a wasted trip.’

‘Pity,’ said Johnny. ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen them enthusiastic.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve heard a lot of things about your lads. Good things, too
– which one’s Imagio? He’s the genius, isn’t he? The boys still talk about him – I was hoping to see him play.’

‘The one to the right,’ said Doonan. ‘Sitting in the tree.’

‘Some of our younger ones try to copy his moves. You wouldn’t lend him to us, would you, so he could give us a demo?’

‘He has renounced football,’ said Captain Routon, sadly. ‘I keep trying to persuade him otherwise, but—’

‘Oh, look – a delegation . . .’ said Johnny Jay.

The Ribblestrop teachers looked round and saw that Asilah and Sanchez had broken away from the group and were approaching. They both held spears and were bare-chested.

‘We’ve got a suggestion, sir,’ said Sanchez.

The headmaster smiled. ‘That will be very welcome, Sanchez. This is Mr Jay, by the way. This is our Head Boy.’

‘Mr Jay,’ said Sanchez. ‘We’re really sorry about this. We’re not trying to be rude. It’s not that we don’t want to . . . you know, play, it’s
just that we’re doing other things at the moment. Next term, we’d be well up for it. What we were wondering . . .’