Ribblestrop Forever! (32 page)

‘Twice. There’s something I don’t understand, though. It’s the place Doctor Ellie was talking about, ages ago – the army place she tried to get to. Closed to the
public.’

‘So what?’ said Vijay.

‘So why would Mr Ian send us there?’

‘Maybe it’s now
open
to the public.’

‘Doctor Ellie said it wasn’t. She said she’d tried to get in and it had fences and guards. It’s the one place she really wants to explore.’

Millie laughed. ‘That answers your question, then. She must have chosen it with Mr Ian. Maybe that’s where she’s going to meet us with Eleudin.’

‘Where’s Eleudin now, d’you think?’ said Anjoli.

‘On his way, hopefully.’

‘Hey,’ said Millie. ‘Put your head up.’

‘Why?’

‘Look at the sky – just do it for a second. Look.’

Everyone watched, as Anjoli rocked back where he was sitting and gazed upwards. Millie started to laugh. ‘You look just like him,’ she said. ‘You’re even wearing the
bracelets.’

Anjoli smiled then and there was the first, distant peal of thunder. It was as if the rain was encouraged and decided to start beating the earth properly. The children heard the new note of
intensity, for the rock they were on was being scoured. They put more sticks on their fire, huddled closer, and the cave filled up with warmth.

‘We’re staying here, then?’ said Vijay. ‘For the night?’

‘Yes,’ said Millie. ‘Soon as it’s dawn, we’ll push on again. There’s no point walking in darkness.’

Everyone nodded.

They were a silent for a while, gazing out at the weather. Then, after some time, Sanchez spoke. He talked about a mountain he’d climbed in Columbia. It was like the one they were on and
he’d scaled it with his bodyguards.

‘You getting homesick?’ said Vijay.

‘No.’

He started to tell them more and Millie suddenly realised how little she knew. He told them about his strange upbringing in a vast hacienda in Old Bogotá. He told them about the servants
and tutors, and his parents’ parties that had gone on night after night.

‘I was always getting presents,’ he said. ‘Gifts, from people I didn’t know. I never knew why.’

He talked about the clothes that were tailored for him and piano lessons on a huge veranda surrounded by jasmine. There’d been a cook that used to let him sit in the kitchen and make
pastries. At last – after another, long silence – he told them about his mother and how wild she’d been. He was smiling as he spoke. He’d had to tell her off sometimes, he
said, because she was never serious – she used to hide and read stories to the servant girls.

‘Always laughing,’ he said. ‘She was like a sister. Well, that’s not true. A friend. Then a mother at night, I guess. Especially at night. Whatever time she got home, she
came in to see me. Woke me up to say goodnight. Ha!’ He laughed.

‘You got kidnapped, right?’ said Vijay.

Sanchez nodded. ‘My driver,’ he said. ‘He’d worked for the family thirty years, but he had no money, and they promised him a fortune. I guess my dad didn’t pay
high-enough wages.’

He talked more and again he was uninterrupted. He described where they’d taken him and the negotiations. He told them about the moment they’d come for him again and cut his foot. He
talked about the phonecalls – the crying and screaming – and at last the shoot-out, bullets smashing through glass, and the eventual rescue. Finally, he spoke of his mother again and
how he had come home to find her gone.

‘They didn’t tell me for a while,’ he said. ‘I was in shock. And when they did, I couldn’t believe it – not for ages and ages.’ He smiled. ‘They
said she had a weak heart. But I never understood that, because she had such a big heart. I never understood.’

The children sat close and Anjoli gently fed the fire.

Sanchez described the funeral and the grave, and how on the Day of the Dead the whole household had gathered, to talk to her.

He said: ‘My father kept saying, “Shhh!” He got so drunk. We asked him, why are you shushing us? He said he was waiting to hear her laughter. We listened all night, but . .
.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. I pretended I heard it, but it was just to keep him happy.’

‘Who?’ said Millie

‘My father. He was crying, you see. He was saying, “I can hear her! Listen!” So I pretended I could, but I didn’t hear anything.’

As night fell, a small ice-cream van moved through the same storm.

It was rocking in the wind and the Cuthbertson brothers sat crammed inside it with Timmy Fox. They parked on a high shoulder of the moor, where satellite reception was better. The antennae stood
bravely upright, searching the air for signals, but Mr Ian’s phone remained unobtainable.

‘Nothing,’ said Percy, slamming his own down. ‘Sounds like he’s got the wretched thing turned off.’

‘He should have been back ages ago,’ said Gary. ‘Or at least checked in.’

‘I know.’

‘If something’s gone wrong, then it means his kids are still on the moor.’

‘What do we do?’ said Timmy. ‘Should we abort?’

‘Shut up. No.’

‘All I’m thinking—’

‘We’re going through with it, Foxy! There’s nothing to discuss, because this is the last chance. Ribblestrop won’t be opening again – it’s as good as
closed.’

‘How do you know that?’ interrupted Gary.

‘I heard this morning. The police are moving in again. First light tomorrow.’

‘Police? On the moor?’

‘I’ve still got my contacts,’ said Percy, ‘and that’s what I’ve heard. They’re going to raid the camp and grab everyone in it. So this is “final
conflict”, boys. I’ll do it alone if necessary.’

Gary swore. ‘We’ll have to move fast,’ he said. ‘The police will come looking for the children—’

‘Those explosives,’ said Timmy Fox. ‘Surely we can’t detonate—’

‘No changes.’

‘But if the police are right behind us—’

‘Everything is ready. We blast the lot of them – soon as we have the kid.’

The three men stared at each other.

‘You sure they’ll get to us?’ said Gary. ‘If the weather’s this bad, they may turn back.’

‘Give me the whisky. They’ll make it, I know they will.’

He poured everyone two thick fingers of drink and they drank together. Then he pulled the photograph of Sanchez from the wall and stared into the soft eyes.

‘Five million,’ he said. ‘His dad’s worth . . . a hundred times that, but we’re not going to be greedy. Keep it simple and quick.’

Gary touched Timmy Fox’s arm and the man jumped. ‘You ready, Foxy?’ he said, softly. ‘Those cables will hold?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you can fly in this? You sure you’re up to it?’

Timmy Fox swallowed more liquor and his eyes welled with tears. He nodded.

‘Trust the Foxter,’ he whispered. ‘It can be done and I’ll do it. Up and out, yes? Up and out . . . and away, for the rest of our lives.’

Dawn broke, but there was no sign of a sun.

The world was saturated, for the rain had come down all night until the ground was mud and sponge. The rocks ran with it and the streams were bulging. Clouds rolled into the valleys and rained
yet harder, spurting water that the wind took upwards and sideways, creating cold, wet tornadoes that spun across the moor.

Sam’s team had managed to sleep in shifts, for their canvas worked well under the trees as long as nobody moved about too much. Mr Ian was unconscious, with a waxy look to his skin. They
found he had vomited in the night, which Ruskin said was a good sign.

‘It’s like when our cat got food poisoning. Do you remember, Oli?’

‘Jake, he didn’t have food poisoning.’

‘He did. He ate that rat.’

‘I meant Mr Ian. He didn’t have food poisoning.’

‘Yes, but what I’m saying is, the body always knows how to look after itself. Being sick usually means you’re on the road to recovery.’

‘He’s a weird colour still,’ said Caspar, poking his neck. ‘He’s cold, as well.’

‘At least he’s not shaking any more,’ said Sam. ‘He’s stopped swearing at us, too. I say we get moving, quick as we can.’

‘Move where?’ said Oli, peering into the misty gloom of the woods.

‘Back to the car park.’

‘We’ll need a stretcher,’ said Caspar. He took an axe out of his bag. ‘Can you give me a hand, Hen? It needs to be light, but strong.’

Half an hour later, they were ready to go.

They’d finished breakfast and rolled their casualty onto a kind of tree branch ladder. When they lifted it, they found Mr Ian’s bottom sank through, so they had to roll him off again
and put in more cross-pieces. When they tried a second time, his head lolled backwards, so they wedged in a large piece of tree bark. Ruskin and Sam led, with Henry taking the rear and Caspar
carrying the packs. Unfortunately, this meant Mr Ian’s feet were much higher, and it wasn’t long before the whole body had slipped and slithered over the boys’ shoulders, onto the
soaking ground.

Mr Ian lay in the mud and started to cry.

They put the stretcher down beside him and tried a third time. This time they lashed him to the wood with his shoelaces and tucked the canvas neatly around him. He was wet, of course, and the
tree bark had spawned a hundred woodlice, which were now busy in his beard. But there was a redness in his face again and when they lifted him they heard a familiar string of curses. They got him
up on their shoulders and made better progress. Before long they were on the edge of the woodland and they stopped to catch their breath and gaze at the storm. The wind gusted noisily, nagging and
scratching.

‘This isn’t going to be easy,’ shouted Sam. ‘I have absolutely no idea where camp is.’

Ruskin had to yell back. ‘I think we go south!’ he cried. ‘I’ve got my compass still.’

They peered at the spinning needle. They were all cringing in the lashing rain and it was hard to keep the stretcher level.

‘Where’s the map?’ shouted Sam. ‘We ought to try and navigate.’

They set Mr Ian down and searched the navigation bag. The map, unfortunately, was watery pulp. They did their best to unfold it, but it came apart in their hands.

‘You know what a lot of people would do now?’ yelled Ruskin.

‘What?’ shouted Oli.

‘They’d panic! They’d lose their heads!’

The boys nodded, wisely, and tried to wipe the rain from their eyes.

‘We are not going to do that,’ cried Ruskin. A jolt of wind knocked him backwards into the grass. His friends helped him back to his feet.

‘We,’ he roared. ‘Are. Going—’

‘What?’

‘Where?’

‘We. Are. Going. To. Get. This . . .’

‘This what?’ screamed Caspar. ‘We can’t hear you!’

‘This. Man. To. A. Hospital.’

They looked down at Mr Ian and saw that he had opened his eyes. They were wide with terror and his mouth was open too, slowly filling with water. He was trying to move his arms, but he was too
securely tied. He managed to roll his head and spit. As one, the boys gathered around him and lifted. As one, they set off along a path that was turning rapidly into a stream.

‘This is south,’ shouted Ruskin, studying his compass. ‘And the one thing we know is that the car park is south.’

‘Keep going!’

They bent their heads and marched, and it was Caspar who started to sing. ‘
Persevere in labour, persevere in pain!
’

‘That’s your song, Mr Ian!’ said Sam, yelling into his ear. ‘We’re going to make it! Don’t worry!’

They started again, singing together, and marching to the beat.

‘Persevere in labour, persevere in pain!

Though the path is thorny, dawn is on her way.

Triumph in disaster! Labour not in vain!

We will pull together, come what may!’

‘Oh God,’ said Caspar, as they floundered in the mud. ‘There are floods everywhere. We ought to turn back! This is terrible!’

As he spoke, the stream – which had become a river – burst its banks. The clouds spouted new volleys of water and the wind slashed the boys’ bare knees until they staggered and
swayed. Somehow they stayed upright and the song turned to a panting mantra as the weight of Mr Ian got heavier and heavier. Soon the water was up to their shins and the path completely
disappeared. When they fell at last, it was into a raging torrent that was carrying all the mud from the Ribblemoor hills and rolling down the valley. They were suddenly up to their chests and Mr
Ian was floating out of their reach. Henry lunged for him and managed to grab a foot. The shoe was loose, but he gripped the heel – a watery scream filled the valley once again as he was
drawn around in a circle. Caspar dived and managed to get a fistful of beard; Oli, Sam and Ruskin trailed after Henry and they were all pulled out of their depth.

They bobbed together into the centre of the stream, one hand each on the stretcher. Almost immediately, they found themselves in white water. The rapids shot them north, into the wildest part of
the moor.

Asilah’s team, meanwhile, was in good spirits.

The group had slept well, for the cave had proved warm. Everyone had been carrying food, so breakfast was hearty. There was also plenty of firewood and they’d had the sense to store it
where it stayed dry – so the cave seemed like the cosiest place on earth. The Priory children told stories about their school and the orphans’ eyes grew wide at the horrors they
revealed. Nobody wanted to set out into the wild weather, so they sat, chatted, and watched the mist.

At last, though, Sanjay grew restless.

‘Are we going to move out or not?’ he said. ‘I’m getting stiff just sitting.’

‘Can I see the map?’ said Tomaz.

They stretched it out and got their bearings.

‘I don’t think we should go any further,’ said Jacqueline. ‘I don’t think Mr Ian would want us to try.’

‘What would he want?’

‘He’d probably want us to stay here and wait for rescue.’

‘No one knows where we are,’ said Eric. ‘And this phone thing is useless.’

Israel laughed. ‘We could be here a long time, man. The rain’s getting worse.’

Imagio said, ‘We can’t sit here all day, guys, we’ll go crazy.’