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‘Excuse me, Professor Worthington?’ said Brother Doonan. He was standing excitedly. ‘We were reading
The Snow Queen
, me and the little ones, and there’s a scene
when young Kay gets a piece of glass in his heart and it’s washed out by tears.’

Miles cried out again and Doonan hesitated.

‘Go on. We’re nearly there, Miles. You’re doing very well.’

‘The glass was washed out via his eye by his tears,’ continued Doonan. ‘Is that scientifically possible?’

‘No, it’s not.’

‘Oh. I thought it . . . probably wasn’t.’

‘Tears come from tear glands and have nothing to do with the bloodstream. What you were reading was a fairy story, and in my experience fairy stories have very little connection to
science.’

She turned back to Miles and put a hand on his forehead, pushing his hair back. ‘Now, class – can you see how much sweat Miles has produced over the last two minutes? You can see his
shirt is quite wet with it. Sanchez, we did this in the reproduction project . . .’

‘It’s because his nerves are being overstimulated, Miss. That leads to heat. He’s trying to keep his body temperature normal and the sweat helps that.’

‘Very good. And what is the normal body temperature, Nikko? Put the abacus away.’

‘Ninety-eight point . . . six, Miss?’

‘Spot on. Another example of the body working to keep itself safe and alive. Are you all right, Henry? You’re looking very anxious – there’s no need to be. Now, Miles.
I’m going to ask Caspar to apply the iodine, is that alright?’

‘Yes.’

‘It will sting, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘And well done, Imagio. You have the hands of a surgeon: that was beautiful work.’

The final stitch came out and Imagio dropped it into a dish to a smattering of applause. Miles was rocking slightly and his face looked grey. Caspar stood beside him and applied the iodine
gently. Miles gasped and went totally rigid.

‘Very painful stuff,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘Put more on – don’t worry, Miles, we’re very nearly there.’ Miles cried out yet again, through
gritted teeth. The veins stood out in his neck. Caspar kept the wad of cotton-wool firm against his wound, staring anxiously.

‘Any questions?’ said Professor Worthington. ‘Miles?’

She freed Miles’s arms and took over. She mopped the excess alcohol off and, with a clean bit of cotton-wool, she dabbed away his tears. The room was silent, and Miles looked drained and
exhausted.

‘What questions do you have?’

‘None, Miss.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Miss.’

Another tear ran from his eye.

Professor Worthington turned back to the class. ‘I have to say that this is an extraordinarily brave boy.’ She stroked Miles’s cheek, gently. ‘I was a field-doctor for a
while, in Beirut, and we had to do similar things – no anaesthetic. Grown men would scream the place down, so I was predicting a fainting.’

She moved her hand to his chin and tilted his head up. ‘Promise the class that you will never hurt yourself again, Miles – not on purpose.’

‘I promise,’ said Miles, softly.

‘Keep yourself safe,’ she said to the children, slowly. ‘If you want to experience pain, I can organise it: you don’t need to inflict it on yourselves or each other. I
don’t usually dictate notes, but I want that in everyone’s book. Ruskin, did you get it down? I will repeat: Keep. Yourselves. Safe.’

She waited as the children copied down her words.

‘Right: blazers on, all of you. We have a treat in store and I want us all to stay together. You have that key, Caspar? Good boy. Off we go, then – line up outside.’

In half an hour they were at the top of the Brethren’s secret staircase. The air was instantly clammy as they descended and the darkness was soon total. Every boy –
and Millie – had a torch ready.

Caspar fitted the key proudly. The door swung open with a satisfyingly ghoulish creak and some children screamed.

‘Is anyone scared of the secret tunnels?’ cried Professor Worthington.

‘No!’ cried the children.

‘Well then, let’s see what’s underground.’

On the lawns, Captain Routon, Flavio, and the headmaster were pacing out the site of the big top. The scout tents had been tailored and stitched, and Sanjay had cut sixty tent
pegs from an old set of railings. The three men started at the circumference and met in the centre.

‘There’s something on my mind, sir,’ said Routon.

‘I thought there was,’ said the headmaster. ‘I can always tell, Flavio. When this man has something on his mind, I lose sleep myself. It’s about Speech Day, isn’t
it?’

‘Yes. It’s something you mentioned yourself, sir, and it’s been nagging at me. Flavio too.’

‘I don’t think it’s gonna work,’ said Flavio. ‘Who’s gonna come? Most of them don’ have no parents.’

They stood in silence.

‘You’re quite right,’ said the headmaster. ‘The audience
will
be a bit thin.’

‘I just think it might be seen as a bit insensitive, sir. I mean, who can we actually invite? Sam told me his dad can’t travel at the moment. Miles’s mum – where’s
she now?’

‘Tokyo. Making a commercial.’

‘What she say about his accident?’ said Flavio.

‘She said she was going to have a serious word. I’m not altogether sure she understood the gravity of the situation, though. She was calling quite late, from a bar.’

‘Flavio’s had an idea, sir. I think it’s one in a million.’

Flavio looked embarrassed. ‘I don’t know anything, OK? And it’s your school, so if I’m out o’ line, you just gotta say so. But I never seen nothing like these boys.
That little one, Anjoli – he’s the best acrobat I ever see and I see all over the world. Look.’ He paused and went slowly. ‘What about we take the show on the
road?’

‘On the road?’

‘On the road. We practise. We get it ready. We load up the truck, take it to the people. Make a poster, make up a load o’ tickets. Make a fortune.’

‘What do you think, sir?’ said Routon. ‘I think it’s a winner.’

The headmaster was silent, pondering quickly.

‘Circus Ribblestrop,’ he said. ‘Touring the south-west over the Easter holidays. We could play in the park, here in the town.’

‘Play anywhere, sir. Take it to the coast and play on the beach.’

‘And that way, of course . . . the orphans would get a proper holiday. I was talking to Professor Worthington, only last night – they’re so cooped up here. Nothing to do,
nowhere to go. They could see a bit of England – spread their wings a bit. You know what the problem’s going to be, though? You know what we’re dangerously short of at the
moment?’

‘Money,’ said Routon and Flavio together.

‘It’s those animals,’ said Flavio. ‘They eat through everything!’

‘It’s not just the animals,’ said the headmaster. ‘A school is an expensive thing to run.’

‘I turned all the boilers off, sir,’ said Routon.

‘I didn’t know they’d been on. Oh Lord . . .’

‘What, sir?’

‘Don’t turn round. Don’t look.’

‘What’s the matter?’ said Flavio.

The headmaster was peering short-sightedly into the distance.

The two men turned and followed the headmaster’s gaze. A small figure was crossing the gravel drive in a strange, lopsided walk. It struggled down the steps and a thin voice floated over
the lawn.

‘Don’t you run away from me, headmaster! I’ve got you this time!’

‘Lady Vyner,’ said Routon.

‘She’s got a legal summons for me. I don’t think I can avoid it this time, unless I run.’ He waved, cheerfully. ‘Good afternoon, ma’am!’

He sighed. ‘It’s the one thing I always leave until last: the wretched rent. We simply don’t have it.’

Lady Vyner reached them at last, white-faced. She was wrapped in an old fur coat, buttoned crookedly over her wounded arm.

‘I’m here to serve you notice,’ she said, breathing heavily. ‘Two weeks. Final demand for a full cash payment. Then you’re all out – all of you. Down the road
and gone, back to your cesspools.’

She produced a bottle of rum. ‘The end of the road, headmaster. Shall we celebrate?’

Tomaz, meanwhile, was sitting all alone.

D.C.C. Cuthbertson had been clear and firm. ‘Let him think about it,’ he’d said.

Father O’Hanrahan stood outside his cupboard, his back against the door. He pressed the earpiece into his ear and pulled up the microphone.

‘How long shall we give him?’

‘The longer the better. Believe you me, a bit of solitary brings them round. I’d say to my junior officers, “Why use your fists? Let them sweat.” There’s nothing
worse than waiting for pain. Give him time, Father, and then show him that blueprint.’

‘Ah,’ said Father O’Hanrahan. ‘I haven’t actually got that with me.’

‘What do you mean, you haven’t got it? Who has?’

‘It’s in my room, but in all the hurry of the morning, I couldn’t lay my hands on it. It’s not a problem. I’ve done a little sketch of the tunnels as I remember
them—’

‘Not a problem? What do you mean, it’s not a problem?’

‘It’s in my room, man! Don’t panic. Doonan was clearing up and he must have popped it in a drawer. I’ll find it tonight when I see him.’

‘I don’t like the risks you take,’ said Cuthbertson, quietly. ‘We are on the edge of something very special and I don’t want it blown.’

They were silent for a while.

‘Go on, then,’ said the policeman at last. ‘Get back to your man. And don’t overdo it. I had a prisoner once so scared he died of heart failure. That was a paperchase, I
can tell you – it would be worse with a kiddy.’

Father O’Hanrahan breathed in and out a few times, and pulled his satchel round. Opening the flap, he pulled out his own sketch of the tunnels. A green leaf fluttered from his fingers and
he sighed in irritation. The children were constantly interfering with his things.

‘How are you feeling there, Tom?’ he said, from the doorway.

‘I’d like to go now, please,’ said Tomaz, in a small voice.

‘I’m sure you would. I’d like to let you go as well. But I’ve just been talking to the headmaster and he said to me that these sessions have to take priority. That
captain fellow too. Respect your elders, that’s what he said. So if you know what’s good for you, you’re going to answer my questions. I’ll ask you again: how do you get to
that house of yours?’

The old man sat down heavily in the chair and bolted the door.

‘Through Neptune,’ said Tomaz.

‘That’s a start, that’s a start.’

‘He knows you know about Neptune,’ said Cuthbertson, through the earpiece. ‘He’s given you nothing.’

‘But I think you know that I know all about Neptune. So I don’t think you’re giving me much by mentioning him. Once you’re down the Neptune fella, where d’you go
then?’

‘Along the tunnel.’

‘To a secret door?’

‘No.’

‘What, then? Some kind of passage?’

Tomaz licked his lips. He was hot in his blazer and he was sweating all over. ‘I don’t really remember,’ he said, at last.

‘Little liar,’ hissed Cuthbertson, through the earpiece.

Father O’Hanrahan leaned forward and took a gentle hold of Tomaz’s tie. He wrapped it round two of his fingers and drew the boy just a little closer. In the candlelight, Tomaz
noticed how the man’s hands appeared to get lumpier: they threw awful shadows. Then he caught the subtlest whiff of alcohol on the man’s breath. He tried to sit back and the tie grew
tight.

‘How do you get to your house?’ said Father O’Hanrahan. ‘I’m asking as your spiritual father and as a friend. I want to know where your home is and how a man gets
in.’

Tomaz nodded. He could think of nothing to say.

‘I was hoping you’d give me a little help, Tom. I didn’t think I’d get the
I-don’t-remember
treatment.’

‘Careful,’ said the voice of Cuthbertson. ‘You’ve got him where you want him. Go easy.’

The old man released the boy’s tie and smiled. ‘So, let’s start again,’ he said. He unfolded his paper and spread it on the table.

‘Help me with my little survey,’ he said. ‘I’ve drawn the Neptune thing there. There’s a tunnel coming off him, isn’t there? So what I want you to do is draw
me the best route.’

‘I can’t draw,’ said Tomaz.

O’Hanrahan sucked in his breath and stared. The boy met his eyes.

‘He’s playing games,’ hissed Cuthbertson. ‘Time to be firm.’

Father O’Hanrahan slapped Tomaz hard across the face. The weight of the blow spun Tomaz in his chair and he nearly fell. The old man’s voice changed and the new register was deep and
hard.

‘What I want you to do,’ he said, ‘is draw me the route. If you don’t want to do that, my friend, I’ll thrash you. And then you can draw it.’

Tomaz closed his eyes, briefly, and discovered he was trembling all over. He could not marshal his thoughts and he could not think of a way out. He knew that the next remark he made would be
very important. Before he could speak, though, the man had his tie again and was drawing him forward, half out of his chair.

‘Will you tell me where the door is?’

‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘Please don’t—’

‘Smack him,’ said Cuthbertson.

The blow came from above this time – another stinging slap that whipped the back of his head. Tomaz was knocked to the floor. The table was on its side and the candle flames were dancing.
Worse, the chaplain was now bending over him, a huge shape in the darkness. Tomaz curled up out of instinct.

‘I didn’t want it to be like this!’ cried the voice. ‘I gave you every chance, but I don’t have time to waste!’

Tomaz peered up and hunted for a way out: there wasn’t one. He could see the man’s hands and, before he knew it, they were coming at him again. He was lifted. He was back in his
chair. He put his arms up, fearing another blow from the side, and received one between his shoulder blades. He was knocked forward and winded, totally helpless.

‘How do you get into your house, boy?’

‘I don’t know!’ It was all he could think of.

‘What’s going on?’ hissed Cuthbertson. ‘Play your advantage – is he scared?’

‘What you little fellows need is a bit of discipline,’ said the chaplain. ‘Where is your house? Where is your house?’