Ribblestrop Forever! (30 page)

Vicky dropped to her knees.

The floor, that she had brushed herself that morning – it was one of the first things she did – was completely covered in feathers. Some were long and large, and others were light as
down. Some were still floating in the air, white, with a little brown and silver. The police officers strode through them to the main door and the feathers whirled.

‘How many ways out are there?’ said Deidre.

‘Two.’

‘I’ll stay here, Brian. I’ll hear if anyone moves. You go upstairs, see if they went that way.’

‘There’s nobody upstairs,’ said Vicky. ‘I’d have seen—’

‘Shut it,’ said the policeman. ‘Don’t say another word. We’re not messing about here. We’re not playing games with these kids – not any more.’

Miles, Sanchez, Millie, Anjoli and Vijay were making excellent progress.

The map was easy to follow, for there was a whole range of very simple landmarks. There was Flaming Tor itself, which was now some distance behind them. There was a bridleway, clearly taking
them alongside the stream, which they crossed together, so they could make their way round Robbers’ Tor. Robbers’ Tor was a huge, lumpen thing, and their first destination – Hell
Tor – was on the far side of it. Once they’d climbed that, they were confident that Mr Ian’s clue would be easy to solve. It read,
Two black eyes, that’s what you can
see. Look between, that’s where I’ll be.

‘Black eyes,’ said Miles. ‘That’s going to be two black pools, or shiny stones or something.’

‘That or a dead sheep,’ said Millie.

‘Maybe a crow,’ said Vijay.

‘Thing is,’ said Miles, ‘we need to get to the top by evening. You think we camp up there?’

‘Depends how exposed it is,’ said Millie. ‘Let’s decide when we get there. Keep moving.’

They were all out of breath.

Their packs were not heavy, for they were carrying only bare essentials. Vijay had a sling-shot and would kill rabbits later that evening. They knew they’d be passing springs, so they
hadn’t bothered with water. They each had a long stick and Anjoli carried a roll of canvas that would do for the bivouac shelter. They each had a dagger for digging and Miles also had a sword
and a hand-axe. Sanchez carried the field telephone, though everyone else had told him to ditch it.

Most of the children had found that it was more comfortable to wear shorts and shirts again, as the sun had blazed on their bare skins and made them sore. Miles had his hair tied back and had
put a wild flower behind his ear. He peered up at the summit of Robbers’ Tor, selecting the best path.

‘Let’s go up it,’ said Vijay. ‘If we head straight, we can do some proper climbing – get a view from the top.’

‘Think you can make it, Sanchez?’ said Millie.

Sanchez smiled and she put her arm round him.

The Captain Routon assassination squad was making progress too.

Darren led, having been set on the right path by Gary Cuthbertson. After the first cigarette break he came to a signpost.
Hangman’s Drop
was carved into a piece of wood, and there
was an arrow that pointed to a stile. Gordon went first and a track took them steeply upwards.

They raised their hoods and pulled the strings so just their eyes were visible. When they reached the viewpoint, they stared out over the moor, blinking.

‘We shouldn’t be standing here,’ said Gordon.

‘Why not?’ said Darren.

‘He might still recognise us.’

‘Yeah, but he’s going over. So what’s it matter?’

‘What are we going to hit him with?’

‘Nothing. Just push him. Shove him.’

‘No,’ said Gordon. ‘I want a weapon. I want to smack him one.’

There was a small information board beside them, screwed to a sturdy post. The two lads stared at it and learnt that Hangman’s Drop was a one hundred metre precipice that had been
mentioned in a poem by William Wordsworth. A number of the great man’s friends had since visited and one had declared the spot ‘truly sublime, raising one’s spirits to
heaven’. On a clear day, said the sign, the sharp-eyed hiker could see fifteen tors and three church steeples.

Gordon leant his full weight against the post and then jerked it backwards. It took a few tugs and a full-on kick from Darren – but at last they’d snapped it at the bottom and had a
good, heavy-duty club. Almost at once, they heard an irritable voice.

‘Is that Charles or Harry? I want you . . . What?’

A large man in a red coat came into view. He had his hand clamped to his ear inside a capacious hood. The hood concealed most of his face and he didn’t notice the two High School boys duck
out of sight.

‘State your position, child. Have you reformed as a group?’

There was a silence.

‘You know how to read a map! What do you mean, you’re lost?’

Darren and Gordon peered out from their hiding place. Darren put his thumb up and then pointed sideways. ‘Get round the back!’ he whispered. ‘Cut him off.’

The man in the red coat was speaking loudly. ‘If you’re by the stream, then I should be able to see you. Is that where you are?’

He stepped to the edge and gazed out across the valley. High above, he saw the hot-air balloon. Far below he could see a tiny cluster of blue dots.

‘You’re moving south!’ he shouted. ‘I can just see you. How many of you are there?’

Darren and Gordon jumped him together.

They were one either side and the distance was perfect for a good swing. Mr Ian turned, hearing the noise, but his hood got in the way so he never saw faces. He never saw the sign-board which
caught him like a sledge-hammer and he never saw the expressions of glee at the perfect strike. The phone was crunched against his skull and he dropped like a stone. His legs didn’t bend and
he couldn’t put his arms up because the blow had knocked him unconscious. He did a three-hundred and sixty degree loop and plummeted eighty metres into treetops below. Darren and Gordon
watched and threw the sign after him.

They were breathless and excited and it was hard to make the phonecall.

‘Done the deed?’ said Gary Cuthbertson.

‘What?’

‘Have you . . . have you made contact with Routon?’

‘We’ve smashed his head in. He’s dead.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Coz I just watched him fall off a cliff after we battered him.’

There was a pause.

‘Good lad. Get back to the car.’

‘They knocked him over the edge,’ said Timmy Fox. ‘I saw everything.’

‘He’s definitely gone?’ said Percy Cuthbertson.

‘He didn’t stand a chance. Is that . . . what you wanted?’

‘It’s part of the plan, Foxy. It means the Ribblestrop kids are in the valley, now. Unprotected. How’s the weather?’

‘Look, I can see the storm from here. It’s heading straight for me, so I—’

‘Are you losing your nerve, son?’

‘No. I’ll make for Lightning Tor now, shall I?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve got to find the right . . . air current, so it could take a while.’

‘I’ll call Ian. He can get The Priory kids out of the way, then it’s D-day, Foxy. It’s going to be real flying – that’s what you wanted, isn’t
it?’

‘I’m very nervous, Cuthbertson—’

‘Think of the money. If you get nervous, think of the money. And the freedom.’

‘Yes. We can do it – and then I’m off.’

‘That’s the deal, Foxter. Keep it in mind and don’t screw up.’

Timmy Fox’s basket shuddered and he felt a blast of wind drag him forward. He clutched at the safety cords. It reminded him of
Maisie
for a moment, the dear little plane that had
once meant everything. Again, he felt the sickness of loss. The gust was an outrider for major currents, for there was no doubt about it: a real hurricane was approaching. He could see it, riding
in from the ocean, and it was laden with foul weather. The sun was bright still, so he turned up the burners and rose. There were thunderclouds sitting on the horizon, moving towards him. He
swallowed and licked his lips. That’s where he was flying: straight into a storm.

Doctor Ellie was deep in the woods and had found another stone.

She was surrounded by some of the oldest trees on the moor and, though she’d come this way several times before, she’d never been so lucky. What made her stray from the footpath, she
couldn’t say – but she was amongst oaks more gnarled and knotted that anything she’d ever seen. They might be a thousand years old. Ever since she’d met the Ribblestrop
children, she had known some force was guiding her – perhaps she was now more confident in simply obeying her instincts.

The stone lay half concealed by mossy roots.

She knelt over it with flashlight and paper. The carvings had all but disappeared, weathered away to so nearly nothing – but her eyes and fingers were trained and she could read the
symbols like Braille. The feather, again – there was always the feather. There was a cluster of little trees all around it and a single flame. There was a spring, and another feather, and
there was the bolt of lightning. She was used to reading them as columns now, rather than lines: the bolt of lightning, this time at the bottom.

What if she followed the oldest trees?

For the first time in a long time, Doctor Ellie did not note the location of the stone. She put her map away and looked up at the sun. Perhaps that had been the problem, she thought – this
relentless plotting of routes? Instead of marking the spot and cross-referencing, what if she just set off with her eyes open? She plunged into a thicker part of the wood and was soon in a gully.
The branches swept the floor and she was climbing over them. There were flowers everywhere. The light was green around her. She walked on and on, and when she came upon a stream she knew just what
to do. She planted her feet either side of it, at the obvious crossing point and, as if at last she was reading the land correctly, she saw the next white stone.

It was in the water, flat on its back, and a fish was resting above it, gills wide. Feather, water, feather, fish. Fish, tree. Tree followed by larger tree – she felt the symbols with her
fingers. Feather and, of course, the lightning. Somebody laughed to her left and she stopped. If it was a Ribblestrop or Priory child, he or she had come a long way off-course. She pulled her flute
out of her rucksack and blew a loud trill – it was better than shouting.

The laugh came again, from close by, and she swung round nearly tripping on roots. She put her hand out to steady herself and, when she brought it close, she found she had a feather in it.

‘Thank you,’ she said, softly.

She listened to the water.

‘I need a guide, my dear. More than ever.’

Almost at once huge raindrops started to fall, pattering through the leaves. She could not see the sky, but was aware that the light was dimming as clouds rolled in. She stepped into the stream
and walked along its bed, the rain drumming all around her. She didn’t look up. She knew she was going the right way.

Two hours later, in a part of the wood she knew she’d never explored, she found the third stone and there was a small fire burning beside it. She knelt down and touched the symbols gently,
and then – as the rain fell harder and harder – she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She looked round slowly, praying for contact. There were the prints of two small feet in the mud and there was laughter all around her, echoing through the trees.

Asilah, meanwhile, was leading two groups that had refused to separate.

The orphans liked to work together and felt anxious if they were too fragmented. Anjoli and Vijay had a streak of fragile independence, but the rest slept together, ate together, and fought
together. They came upon some of The Priory children just before dusk, and it was lucky they did.

Two of Mr Ian’s groups had met, but they didn’t know where the third one was. They texted their teacher several times and tried to call him. When he didn’t answer, they called
their school number – and that’s when the clouds rolled in and network coverage came to an end. They put on their waterproofs and reminded each other that they weren’t lost. It
was just that they couldn’t work out how to get to the right side of Broken Tor, which was their destination. All they had to do was try again, but they’d come several kilometres out of
their way.

‘He’s going to be mad at us,’ said Charlie.

‘It’s not our fault,’ said Jacqueline. ‘He’s still not answering, so do you think we just sit tight till he finds us?’

‘No. We’d be better off pushing on.’

‘If we try climbing in the rain, it’s going to be slippy.’

‘What do you want to do then?’ said Harry. ‘Stay here?’

‘No.’

‘Go back to camp? I’m not even sure . . .’

‘I’m having a muesli bar.’

‘It’s not an emergency, Tutton! They’re for emergencies.’

‘To me, this is an emergency. You can eat yours during your emergency.’

‘Shut up, both of you.’

When the orphans found them, they weren’t desperate, but things were getting tense. They had decided to make a hot drink as they were cold and anxious. Harry found that the matches were
damp, and their back-up lighter wouldn’t work. The stove remained obstinately unlit, and when Eric whistled to them from the rock above, they almost cried with relief.

‘Where are you heading?’ said Podma.

The orphans carried lighters and flints, and the stove was soon blazing. Better still, they’d found plenty of dry brushwood in a nearby copse and they lit a proper fire in the mouth of a
small cave. It was a bit smoky, but they had enough shelter to sit back and watch as the mist rolled up the valley. Mercifully, the smoke was visible for some distance and it attracted the final
Priory team. Everyone came together, relieved and happy, and it was time to unfurl the blankets and get dry. The sun was nowhere to be seen.

‘We’ve got to get to Broken Tor,’ said Jacqueline. ‘He said we should stay in one group and he’d meet us there.’

Asilah was studying the map. ‘It’s a long way back. You won’t make it today.’

‘He’s going to be so cross.’

‘Just tell him you had an accident,’ said Kenji.