Return to Ribblestrop (32 page)

The sting of a North African Death-stalker scorpion, they say, is one of the most painful in the world.

Meanwhile, Caspar Vyner was making his escape from the south tower.

His grandmother had closed her eyes at last. The mouth was open and there was drool – but she had been known to fake all that in the past, so he was rigid with tension. A glass of booze
had been upended over her knees and her breathing was turning into a noisy snoring – these were encouraging signs. With a trembling hand, he squeezed her nostrils together and waited for the
startled grunt. It came and she didn’t wake up. That meant she really was unconscious.

He let himself out of the front door and ran briskly down the staircase, pulling on his blazer. He had so enjoyed his fortnight as a true Ribblestrop pupil! Home, now, was a prison – he
had never wanted to return to it. He remembered Doonan’s kindness; he remembered Imagio in the Tower of Science, sharing his rat on the dissecting bench. He had learned so much! He had
done
so much. He was soon at ground level and his excitement was rising. He would not miss the party!

Lady Vyner kept the tower door locked, but he knew the window was loose and it was a small drop. He let himself out over the sill and did a neat paratrooper’s roll – Sanjay had
taught him that. Sanjay had taught him to ride a bicycle too, though he hadn’t dared tell his gran. As he came across the courtyard, the noise from the orphans’ tower was still blaring.
The drumming had stopped and they were singing. Caspar hurried round the corner and gasped in shock. He stopped dead and found himself staring into the eyes of a lion.

All he could do was gape.

‘Caspar?’ said a voice.

Caspar didn’t move. Nor did the lion. The creature was so big! Dimly, through his terror, he remembered a much-loved storybook with a talking lion. It had been kind and comforting –
wise, even. This one looked senile and the voice had sounded rather reedy and tired.

‘Caspar! Is that you?’

The boy stared harder, wondering whether he should bolt, or move away slowly. Then he saw that there was something in the creature’s mouth, dangling between the monstrous forepaws. It was
a mess of grey and black and . . . Caspar found a tiny fragment of courage and went slowly down on his haunches to get a better view. It was a boy and the boy was Sam Tack.

‘Sam,’ said Caspar.

The lion growled and Caspar whimpered. He took a few steps back and found himself pressed to a wall.

‘Caspar, don’t be scared!’ squeaked Sam. ‘It’s Sushamila – she won’t hurt you. Look: you’ve got to help me.’ His voice sounded tearful.
‘We’re in a mess, Caspar. You’re the only one who can help us. Raise the alarm!’

‘What alarm?’ said Caspar.

‘I can’t do it myself. She usually lets me go after about twenty minutes, but it might be different tonight. Look, Caspar – I’ll do anything you want – you can have
my . . . digger. But this is the most urgent thing I’ve ever asked you. Can you find Sanchez?’

‘That’s where I was going,’ said Caspar. ‘Imagio’s party!’

‘Find him immediately. Tell him . . .’ Sam struggled. ‘Sorry, it’s hard to talk in this position. Tell him that Ruskin and Oli are prisoners. OK?’

‘Ruskin and Oli are prisoners.’

‘That’s right. Tomaz’s house is being burgled. I saw a man and it was that referee – the policeman’s brother. There might be more. And there’s a boy by the
Neptune statue, but I think he’s probably dead.’

‘OK,’ said Caspar. ‘Tomaz’s house is being burgled.’

‘And they’ve got Ruskin.’ The enormity of the situation suddenly hit Sam again and he started to cry. ‘I’m not joking, Caspar, this is the most serious thing ever.
They’ve got my friends and they were
hurting
them – Ruskin and Oli. Please help us!’

‘But . . . what about you?’

‘Don’t worry about me! Run, Caspar. Run!’

The expression on the child’s face killed the singing dead. A silence fell, worse than deafness. Even the hissing of the cooker died and every eye bored into Caspar
Vyner.

Sanchez was upside down, dangling from a trapeze. The rest of the children were on the ground, looking up. He swung himself upright and dropped. Imagio steadied him and everyone’s eyes
were fixed on Caspar.

‘Ruskin and Oli are prisoners,’ he said, breathlessly. ‘There’s a man down there: the referee called Cuthbertson, but Sam thinks there may be more. He thinks one of them
died, but he’s not sure. Tomaz’s home is being burgled and Sam was very upset because his friends are being hurt. That’s the message.’

‘Where’s Sam?’ said Millie.

‘He’s been taken by a lion. He hopes to be free in about twenty minutes.’

Sanchez looked at Asilah. Asilah looked at Millie. Tomaz looked at the ground.

‘This is it,’ said Anjoli. ‘What are we waiting for?’

Sanchez said, ‘Caspar, are you absolutely sure—’

‘Of course he’s sure,’ shouted Millie. ‘He wouldn’t lie about it, would he? Sanchez, where are the plans? Get the plans . . .’

Vijay dived to one of the wardrobes and came back with an armful of papers. The older children huddled around them.

‘Plan E,’ said Asilah. ‘If they’ve taken hostages, it’s Plan E – no other option.’

‘I agree,’ said Millie.

‘Plan E’s major,’ said Anjoli. ‘We wrote that one after three bottles: we better be sure, because that is . . .
ultimate
. Ultimate force.’

Everyone now looked at Sanchez.

‘Ultimate force,’ he said. ‘If they’ve touched Ruskin or Oli . . . God help them.’

He turned to Brother Doonan.

‘Brother Doonan,’ he said. ‘I’m really sorry about this, but I don’t think we have any options right now, so please don’t take what we’re going to do
personally.’

Brother Doonan laughed. ‘I’m afraid that most of this is going over my head,’ he said. ‘Is this one of those pranks you boys like so much?’

‘It’s the first part of Strategy E,’ said Asilah. ‘We have to be independent now.’

‘Yeah,’ said Sanjay. ‘We like you a lot. That story, man, about the mirror – I still can’t sleep . . .’

Doonan was confused. All the children were moving towards him and their expressions seemed so tender. He realised something was wrong, but he hadn’t quite digested the substance of
Caspar’s message.

He smiled happily. ‘Boys,’ he said, taking charge, ‘I think it’s time for bed. If Imagio’s off tomorrow, it’ll be an early breakfast!’

Suddenly, he found that he was being lifted. There were hands holding his arms and legs, and supporting his back, and he was being moved swiftly towards a cupboard. He cried out, ‘No,
boys!’ but it did no good. He’d been the victim of practical jokes all too often over the last few weeks. He’d had his socks sewn up; he’d had chilli powder mixed into his
toothpaste. Nikko had hidden in his pillowcase one night and frightened the life out of him as he dozed off – but imprisonment seemed unusual. And it was odd to see Asilah and Sanchez joining
in.

He decided to be firm. ‘I’m going to count to three, children,’ he said. He was now inside the cupboard. They were sitting him on a chair. ‘One.’ He was wrapped in
a blanket. ‘Two – I want you to think very hard about this . . .’

There was a rum truffle on his lap and a candle between his feet. The door closed and he heard the key turn. ‘Three,’ he said, quietly.

Then he listened hard and heard a multitude of feet padding out of the dormitory.

The children formed into groups, dragging on blazers and stamping into shoes.

There were to be three detachments and each had a commander and a radio-man. Henry was designated a ‘special weapon’ and could be called upon by all three companies. To start,
he’d be with the Sanchez contingent, which would attack through Neptune as the advance party. Asilah led the tools and hardware group, whose brief was flight prevention. They were down the
stairs in seconds and on their bicycles. Within minutes they’d skidded up to the circus tent. Flavio and Routon had left, so they set to work at once.

Eric moved to the cages and dealt with the animal chains. The tigers sensed the excitement and it was all Podma could do to control them. He led them out onto the mud and Ivan sniffed the air
hungrily. Prince strained at the leash, pulling the boy forward so that Eric had to run ahead and seize him by the collar.

Meanwhile, Asilah supervised the truck-loading.

He found the explosives and took three coils of wire. The concrete pipe required block and tackle, but that was one of Kenji’s specialities. It was swung onto the truck and Nikko secured
it. Israel revved the cab unit and reversed it to the trailer. It took two minutes to check the coupling and another one to manoeuvre the thing back through the cages, to the track. At last the
truck was on its way to the lakeside, its giant wheels hammering over the mud.

‘We’re rolling,’ cried Asilah to the radio. ‘Come in, Sanchez! Unit two reporting, over.’

‘Unit one receiving,’ said Sanchez. He confirmed his position. ‘We’ll be by Neptune in two minutes, over.’

‘Tigers on their way. Truck to lakeside reconnaissance, over.’

‘Unit three’s on its way to the pump-room, Millie’s leading. Have you seen Miles? He’s the one person missing. Over.’

‘No. Over.’

‘Was he at the party? Did you see him at the party?’ Asilah asked the boys in the cab.

‘No one’s seen him. Israel thinks he’s run away. And another thing – your gun. Over.’

‘It’s too late for that. I forgot all about it—’

‘No, listen. Kenji’s just told me. He says it’s gone.’

‘Gone where?’

‘Someone took the key to the safe. Yesterday, when he was in the shower.’

‘Are you saying it’s been stolen? Over.’

‘Sanchez, let me finish.’ The truck reared up onto the school lawn and picked up speed. Asilah had to shout. ‘Kenji says it was taken yesterday, but he didn’t notice
‘cause whoever took it just changed keys – put a locker key in its place. So Kenji didn’t notice. Over.’

‘And that somebody?’

‘He thinks it was Miles.’

‘Oh boy . . .’ muttered Sanchez. ‘Miles with a gun. Again.’

‘Miles was around,’ shouted Asilah. ‘Now he isn’t. All I’m saying is, it’s possible.’ The truck jolted again and Asilah was thrown against the
dashboard. ‘I have to go!’ he shouted. ‘We can see the lake, over and out . . .’

‘Come in, Millie,’ said Sanchez. ‘Unit one to unit three, are you receiving, Millie?’

‘Yes,’ said Millie.

‘We’ve got problems. State your position, over.’

‘I’m on my way to the pump-room. Where’s the freak?’

‘Are you on your own, Millie?’

‘Yes. Miles is missing and so are Ruskin and Oli. I’m by myself.’

Professor Worthington had spent the evening reading the drafts of an article she was writing and was now ready for her usual nightcap with the headmaster – she always
enjoyed the end-of-the-day chats. It was very late, but she could see a light on in his study. She noticed with approval that the east tower was now in darkness. Doonan had been told to end the
orphans’ party soon after midnight: he’d been as good as his word and it seemed every boy was in bed – there wasn’t a sound. She knew that a special farewell breakfast was
planned for Imagio, so that probably explained it.

She knocked lightly on the headmaster’s door.

‘Clarissa!’ said the headmaster. ‘Come in!’

She saw at once that there was something wrong. There were papers all over the floor and both Flavio and Routon looked tired and sad.

‘We’re having a wretched time,’ said the headmaster. ‘We’ve been looking at the bank statements and . . . we need inspiration.’

‘We need cash,’ said Flavio.

‘Things are looking bad,’ said Routon. ‘But the truth has to be faced.’

‘What about the loan?’ said Professor Worthington.

‘Used up. Gone. And the bank’s calling it in.’

‘I feel so bad about this,’ said Flavio. ‘I was jus’ saying, I know where all the money’s gone – it’s those damn animals again.’

‘No, Flavio—’

‘I tol’ you before this thing started, they use up every penny you get . . .’

‘A school is an expensive thing,’ said the headmaster, soothingly. ‘I don’t want you blaming yourself.’

‘The root of the problem, surely, is fees,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘So few children are actually fee-payers.’

‘Did you see the solicitor today, sir?’ said Captain Routon.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Could he see a way forward?’

‘Not really, no. He said we ought to close immediately and auction our assets. Then we should file for bankruptcy and come to terms with Lady Vyner to avoid immediate prosecution. Then he
advised me to leave the country.’

There was a silence.

‘We are in a serious situation,’ said Professor Worthington.

‘What did you say to your solicitor, sir?’ said Routon. ‘I hope you didn’t stand for that kind of nonsense. Surrender and retreat – that’s not a strategy any
of us would even consider.’

‘I said giving in was out of the question, of course I did.’

‘I can take a cut in salary!’ said Routon, standing again.

‘Sit down,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘There
are
no salaries – none of us are paid.’

‘The kids come first,’ said Flavio. ‘We cannot close.’

‘It’s two weeks before the end of term,’ said the headmaster. ‘I told the solicitor that the children look to us as their guardians, and we will not be interrupting their
education, simply because of a . . . cash-flow crisis.’

Everyone was nodding.

‘Stick to your guns, sir – always.’

‘We’ve been up against it before,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘Surely Lady Vyner can wait?’

‘What’s that noise?’ said Flavio.

‘Someone at the door, by the sound of it.’

They listened again and three heavy blows of a door knocker echoed up the stairs and corridor.

‘It’s not those parrots, is it?’ said the headmaster. ‘They imitate everything.’

‘No, sir – they’re asleep.’

The headmaster looked nervous. He stood up and peered out of the window. ‘I just hope it’s not bailiffs or debt collectors. She warned me they’d be showing up soon, and once
they’re in . . .’