Higher Institute of Villainous Education (7 page)

‘Who would teach you then?’ Mrs McReedy seemed slightly confused.

‘I would,’ he replied calmly. ‘Most of the teachers at the school are just reading the textbooks out loud. I can do that myself, and a whole lot faster than they can. You would just say that you’re giving me private lessons here. Nobody ever needs to know otherwise.’ He looked pleased with the idea.

Mrs McReedy considered Otto’s suggestion for a moment. It did make a certain kind of sense, even if it wasn’t strictly honest. It was clear to anyone that met Otto that he didn’t want or need a traditional education, and at least this way there wouldn’t be any awkward questions asked about her orphanage. In fact, being seen as the teacher of an apparent child genius would do her reputation no harm at all. She eyed Otto carefully.

‘Let’s just say for a moment that we went with your plan. You’d have to tell everyone that I was giving you lessons, and only you and I would know the truth.’

‘It would be our little secret, Mrs McReedy,’ Otto smiled. ‘I imagine there’s some sort of grant paid to people who provide a first-class education to a boy like that. Quite a substantial grant, several thousand pounds a year I should think, at least . . .’

A switch seemed to flick in Mrs McReedy’s brain. There was a brief look of calculation on her face and she struggled in vain to suppress a smile.

It wasn’t just books or machines that Otto could understand at a glance, it was people too. When he talked to someone he could understand precisely what made them tick and what to say to get exactly what he wanted. In Mrs McReedy’s case it was surprisingly easy pride and greed – the two best instincts to appeal to when trying to manipulate anyone. Machiavelli had taught him that one.

‘Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be much.’ Her face betrayed the fact that she appeared to know otherwise. ‘Let me make some enquiries. I can’t promise anything but it might be worth looking into the possibility, at least.’

‘I do hope it’s possible,’ Otto replied. ‘I just think it would be so much better for everyone.’

Me most of all, he thought to himself.

It came as no surprise to Otto that the new arrangements for his education by Mrs McReedy were subsequently made with almost indecent haste. He also noticed that her clothes suddenly seemed more expensive, and he occasionally caught a glimpse of some new piece of jewellery glittering on her wrist or at her throat. Clearly he was a profitable student. He didn’t mind her spending the money on herself – indeed, if it meant that she was as eager as he was to keep the details of their ‘arrangement’ to herself then so much the better.

And so it was that for the next three years Otto was free to do essentially as he pleased. He had meant what he had said when he spoke to Mrs McReedy – he really did plan to educate himself, and over the following months he set about that task with a vengeance. He continued to read everything he could get his hands on and started to experiment with building more and more complex devices and machines of his own design, testing the limits of his knowledge. Every time he encountered a problem he didn’t understand he would find the answer or study the theory that might lead to an answer. As his experiments grew more complicated he soon found that he needed a larger private space where he could work in seclusion, and had set about converting the orphanage’s cavernous attic space to that end. The narrow flight of stairs that led up to the roof space was tucked away in one corner of the top floor of the building and he was fairly sure, judging by the state of the room, that no one had been up there for years. It suited his purposes perfectly and he spent several weeks clearing out the junk that had accumulated in this abandoned space over the years, preparing the attic for his use. He had even decorated the room after a fashion.

He wasn’t sure what had made him put the desk and large leather chair at one end of the room but, like the map of the world that hung on the wall above them, they just seemed right somehow.

In tandem with his ongoing studies he had also started to build up stronger relationships with the other children at St Sebastian’s. At least the ones that he considered to be most useful. Many of the others, even those a few years older than Otto, seemed to regard him as some sort of leader for reasons that Otto didn’t quite understand at first. The children, for their part, reasoned that here was a boy who apparently didn’t have to go to school, who seemed in fact to be able to do exactly as he pleased whenever he wanted and whom Mrs McReedy seemed strangely reluctant to criticise. His example seemed to them to be an excellent one to follow.

St Sebastian’s, however, had continued to fall into disrepair. There were even some sections of the building that had now crossed the line from being a bit battered and rickety to actually becoming genuinely unsafe. Otto was determined that he would try to arrest this process and had set about a new project of restoring as much of the old building as possible to its former glory. It wasn’t that he rolled up his sleeves and got on with the repairs himself, which seemed to him to be dangerously close to hard work. Instead he employed the services of companies from all over London which seemed all too eager to believe that the BBC were making a programme about the renovation of the building and understandably provided their services free of charge to such a worthy cause. This new show,
Please, Think of the Children
, was, of course, a complete fabrication on Otto’s part, but he had discovered that one could work wonders with a big lie, some headed notepaper and an anonymous PO Box address. The donations from companies did not stop at repair work, though. Over the next few months the orphanage received free books, DVDs, games consoles, TVs, stereos, sports equipment and a host of other well-meaning donations. Otto was not interested in keeping any of these things for himself – he knew that if he could keep the other children at St Sebastian’s happy then he wouldn’t have to worry about them sticking their noses too far into his business or drawing inspectors to the orphanage with tales of inadequate facilities or poor treatment.

Now, as he sat alone at his desk rereading the ominous letter that had arrived that morning, he began to suspect that all of his efforts might have been for nothing. He had only just managed, after years of work, to get St Sebastian’s into a state that he was happy with, and now some faceless bureaucrat was trying to take all of this away from him. It would take for ever to recreate such an elegant setup at a different orphanage and he had neither the time nor the inclination to start over from scratch like that. Indeed, without someone who was as easy to influence as Mrs McReedy running the orphanage it might not be possible at all. There must be a way to stop this, he just had to figure out what it was . . .

‘PM’S CHILDCARE CRUSADE’ was the headline of the newspaper article that Otto sat reading. The article neatly summarised how the plans for wholesale changes to the nation’s orphanages were part of a personal project for the Prime Minister and that he alone was the driving force behind the rapid journey of these new plans through parliament. The plans were not that popular with the rest of his party but the Prime Minister’s personal backing had ensured that they were being pushed through regardless. Otto put the paper back down on his desk and considered the plan that was forming in his head. It was risky, audacious, stupid, even, but it was the only solution of the many he had considered that might work.

He pressed a button on a small intercom unit on his desk. There was a slight delay and then the voice of Mrs McReedy replied.

‘Hello Otto. Is there something you need?’ She still sounded upset.

‘Yes, Mrs McReedy. Could you send Tom and Penny up, please?’ Otto asked politely.

‘Certainly, Otto.’ The intercom went dead and Otto sat back in his chair, still analysing the finer details of his plan.

A few minutes later there was a soft knock at the attic door.

‘Come in,’ Otto said loudly, and Tom and Penny walked into the room. Tom was the older of the two; he was good-looking and tall for a boy of his age. Penny, meanwhile, was about the same age as Otto and looked like the sweetest, most innocent little girl that you could ever hope to meet. Anyone who met the pair of them would think that butter would not melt in their mouths. It would only be later that they would notice that the rest of the butter had mysteriously disappeared along with the silverware . . . and the DVD player.

‘Morning, you two,’ Otto addressed them both cheerfully. ‘I’ve got a bit of a shopping list and I was wondering, if you weren’t too busy, if you could just run out and pick up a few things for me.’

‘Sure, Otto. What do you need?’ Tom replied, apparently eager to help.

‘Oh, nothing especially difficult, a few new components, a couple of books, some software, the usual kind of thing.’ Otto offered a piece of paper to Penny. ‘Everything’s listed there; if there’s anything you’re not sure about just let me know.’

Penny read the list carefully. ‘Shouldn’t be a problem, Otto, might take a couple of days, though.’

Otto had chosen these two for this task carefully; they had certain unique skills that marked them out from the other children. Simply put, they seemed to be able to get their hands on just about anything that Otto needed, no matter how rare or obscure. He was reasonably confident that if he told them that he wanted the London Eye dismantled and rebuilt in the orphanage garden that they would at least give it a try. They both insisted that they never stole anything, though, and that their talent apparently lay in convincing other people to give them the things that they needed.

Otto always kept a sharp eye out for the children at the orphanage who, like these two, had unique ‘talents’. In his experience people were far more willing to trust children, a belief that when properly exploited could prove extremely useful. Add in the fact that they were orphans and they’d soon have most sympathetic adults eating out of the palm of their hands. Otto discouraged the children from taking part in any overt criminal activity, as it was far too likely to attract the wrong kind of attention, but there was no problem with a little harmless dishonesty or mild trickery to get what you wanted.

Penny handed Tom the list, which he quickly scanned. ‘What do you need all this for?’ he asked, a slight frown on his face.

‘Oh, nothing important. Just a couple of experiments that I want to run.’ Otto had no intention of revealing the details of his plan to these two – they’d probably just think he’d gone quietly insane up here alone in the attic.

‘OK,’ Tom still didn’t seem entirely satisfied with the answer he’d been given, ‘but like Penny said, it could take a while.’

‘A couple of days should be fine,’ Otto replied, ‘just make sure that you don’t leave any tracks that can be followed back here.’ His plan would only work if it came as a complete surprise. He couldn’t afford any slip-ups. ‘And if you manage to get everything on that list, there’ll be a bonus in your allowances this week, a generous bonus.’

Tom and Penny both smiled at this.

‘That would be nice,’ Penny replied. ‘We could do with a new TV in the girls’ dormitory as well.’

‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Otto smiled at her. ‘The quicker you get me everything on that list, the bigger the television. How’s that sound?’

Penny nodded at this, returning his smile. ‘Seems fair. Come on Tom, we’d better get cracking.’

As the pair of them headed off down the stairs Otto opened the paper again. There was the other headline that had caught his attention that morning:

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PM PREPARES FOR BRIGHTON PARTY CONFERENCE

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The article went on to describe how many commentators felt that this would be the Prime Minister’s toughest speech to the party yet. Otto stared at the accompanying photo of the PM looking stressed and tired as he left Number Ten.