Ribblestrop Forever! (27 page)

‘You can stay up for a while? Keep track of them?’

‘I’ll be all right. I’ll be with you after dark, after touch-down.’

‘You can see Routon, can you? Big chap, bald on top?’

‘I can see him. Red coat – stands out a mile.’

‘We’re going to need to identify him tomorrow, once my brother gets here. Keep high and don’t screw up. I’m entering the codes.’

‘What codes?’

‘The explosives, Timmy. I’m entering the explosive codes – have you forgotten the plan?’

‘No. I’m . . . on the ball, Cuthbertson. I’m up to speed.’

The Ribblestrop children reached Flashing Tor after six hours, and sang when they saw it.

It was a spontaneous song, led by Israel – a chant he’d learnt from an old monk in Tibet, used for paying homage to creation. Their voices rose and they flung the chorus at the
landscape, for the sun had turned into a great ball of red gold and its heat was gone. As they came to the foot of the crag, it rolled lower, and rested on a shoulder of cloud. Flashing Tor seemed
like a vast and mighty mountain, rearing up and begging to be climbed. When they had sung the song five times, they set off at a run – they had to make the top, for the sunset would be the
miraculous climax to a miraculous day. They scrabbled up, using hands and feet, for the slopes were steep. After half an hour they came to a great granite plug, that was more like a chimney. They
swarmed up it as one and they found there was just room for everyone to sit on its sloping summit.

They watched a melting world. The cloud had been stirred into a furnace of black, pink and red, and the sun was at last being swallowed. The dark of the evening came down like a soft ink-wash,
bleeding through a papery sky, and when Sanchez found a hand holding his own, he realised with a little lurch of joy, that it was Millie’s. She pressed against him.

‘It’s even better than Columbia,’ she said. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘All right, then. It’s as good.’

‘How can anything be the same after this?’

‘What do you mean?’

Sanchez found that the words he wanted to say were thick in his mouth and useless. He felt an arm round his shoulders and saw that Miles had squeezed in from the side. He was grinning and his
eyes were full of sunset. Sanchez gave up on words and pulled his two friends closer, with all his strength, as far off in the valley there was the first, distant flash of lightning.

‘You think they sat here?’ said Sam.

‘Who?’ said Ruskin.

‘The tribe – the Caillitri. You think they would have come up here?’

Ruskin took his glasses off and cleaned them, thoughtfully. ‘I think they would have,’ he said. ‘They’d have been stupid not to. What would they have talked about,
though?’

Sanjay leaned in. ‘Maybe they imagined us.’ He grinned. ‘Maybe they sat here and said, “You think they’ll ever be kids up here, wondering if we
existed?”’

The teachers had stayed at the bottom, looking after the donkeys and camel. If their maps were right, then the rendezvous point with Mr Ian and The Priory children was just
three kilometres further, on the far side of the tor. They drank water and moved on along the track.

‘You know,’ said Professor Worthington, from her perch, ‘this feels like a holiday to me. I haven’t actually relaxed like this for quite some time.’

The headmaster looked up at her and smiled. ‘I agree,’ he said. ‘Once term starts, it’s absolutely non-stop. When they disappear off in their groups, I’m going to
do some serious reading. Some of the books in your library, Ellie, are quite extraordinary. I’m getting all sorts of ideas for the end of term. A nice series of tests, perhaps, to consolidate
what we’ve been teaching. How are you, Routon?’

Routon was driving the second chariot. He had zipped up his hood, so only his eyes were visible.

‘Caught the sun, I’m afraid, sir. I should have known better.’

‘I think the weather might be changing,’ said Doonan. ‘I can smell rain.’

‘Well, Ian’s the expert on that one,’ said the headmaster. ‘He’s our reconnaissance man and he says it’ll be fine. Are you going to be out there with
them?’

‘We’re not supposed to be,’ said Doonan.

Captain Routon nodded. ‘According to the rules, the children have got to go it alone. We won’t be far away, though – me and Ian.’

‘What’s the finishing post?’

‘I’m afraid that’s classified, sir. Only Ian knows that.’

Doctor Ellie laughed. ‘I must say this has whet my appetite,’ she said. ‘You ought to have a staff team, next time. I’m tired of the children having all the
fun.’

‘How are supplies?’ said Doonan. ‘Do you think they’ve got what they need?’

‘If they haven’t they’ll be sorry,’ said Captain Routon. ‘It’s the only way to learn, you know. I was in Siberia once, crossing the steppes with a husky team
– everything in tins. Food, water, fuel – all in tins. We’d gone through that list so many times and do you know what? We got to base camp and we’d forgotten the most
important thing.’

‘What was that?’

‘A tin opener.’

‘What on earth did you do?’ said Doonan.

‘As it turned out, we were very lucky. There was a youngster on the team who’d lost part of his jaw in a sniper attack. Smashed up his bottom teeth, so his dentist had replaced them
with metal. He had to open his mouth, and we had to press his head against a box, and I had to kind of rotate the edge of the tin between two molars. You find a way when you have to.’

‘They’ve got what they need,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘And whatever they lack in equipment, they make up for in spirit. Ah, look down there! Can you see what I
see?’

‘Is that a minibus?’ said the headmaster. ‘That will be The Priory.’

‘By the way, sir,’ said Captain Routon, ‘did the High School ever make contact about that bicycle outing? I thought that young teacher was just what they needed.’

‘Johnny Jay? He was good, wasn’t he?’ said the headmaster. ‘He left a message on my phone – said it was a bit short notice this time, but he’s still
hopeful.’

‘It was nice to see that co-operation,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘We should build on that, Giles. Our lot can be very shy with strangers. Are we late, by the way?’

‘We said just after sundown,’ said Doonan. ‘We’re right on time.’

The Priory had arrived.

They had taken the road, of course, and it ended in a gravel car park, with a toilet block at the far end. Beyond that was a lawn area with a sign reminding the public that camping beside
Flashing Tor was allowed if all fees had been paid in advance and licences obtained. There was another, larger sign screwed to the gate, listing various things campers shouldn’t do. Park
rangers, it said, had the authority to remove people if the necessary paperwork was not produced. One such officer was going through Mr Ian’s file, ticking boxes on a checklist.

‘How many have you got, sir?’

‘Fifteen,’ said Mr Ian, coldly.

‘And the other school? Ribblestrop Towers?’

‘Twenty-two. They’ll be here later.’

‘Good. We’ve had a severe weather warning, you know. Thought you might cancel the trip.’

‘We won’t be going far.’

‘No? So you’re just here for one night? You’ve booked in for three, but—’

‘We’ll see how it goes. We didn’t expect bad weather.’

‘Happens all the time round here. Spoils a lot of plans. Do you need any extra bin bags, by the way? Oh . . . sir.’ He was peering through one of the side windows. ‘Is that a
gas stove under the seat? Behind the little lad’s feet? With a T36 gas cylinder?’

‘Yes. It’s to heat our evening meal.’

The ranger shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir, you’re not up with the latest regulations.’ He pulled out another form and began to fill it in. He smiled at Mr Ian.
‘Bit of an incident with a T36 last summer, so they’re on our “not permitted” list. Seems the valves can be a bit unpredictable in hot weather, specially if they’re
kicked over. You can phone for a pizza delivery, perhaps?’

Mr Ian closed his eyes. ‘We’ve been using these stoves for fifteen years. It’s how we cook supper.’

‘Can’t allow it, sir. If it was up to me, I’d turn a blind eye. You should have said it was a TD50 – they’re allowed if the user has a certificate. If you could
just sign here and here, to say you’ve agreed to comply. Have you got any dogs with you? No? In that case, I’ll show you where you can put your tents.’

He pulled out two small, orange flags.

‘Can you stay in first gear, sir? I’ll guide you into your bay.’

The ranger beckoned and waved, and Mr Ian was soon on his allotted patch of grass. The children clambered out and once they had their tents unrolled the man departed. Everyone
worked hard and fast and three blue tents were soon neatly parallel to one another, the guy ropes just touching. They’d brought a small storage tent, which housed other equipment, and they
sited their windbreaker. Two boys went to fill the water container and pots and pans were set out ready to go. Mr Ian put up his own tent and then checked the children’s. Their sleeping bags,
torches and pyjamas were arranged properly, according to the diagrams he’d issued.

He gave the order for the relaxation of the dress code and the children removed their ties and pullovers. These were stowed in specially designed travel bags and the official Priory jeans were
pulled on. If the children felt cold, they had blue Priory fleeces. If it rained, they had blue Priory waterproofs, which were ready in plastic tubes. Mr Ian himself had an all-weather Gore-Tex
jacket in the same shade. He’d had the school crest embroidered onto it and he lay it carefully by his boots. Then, checking to see that the park ranger really had left them to it, he
assembled the illegal stove.

‘I hope we won’t get into trouble, sir,’ said Hubble.

‘Why should we?’ said Mr Ian. ‘The man was talking nonsense. Get the potatoes peeled – that’s your job, isn’t it? Jacqueline – sausages!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Johnson. Do you think you’re strong enough to open a tin?’

‘I’ve got it here, sir—’

‘Decant it, then, and use your initiative. A meal cooked out of doors always tastes better – you did an essay on that last term.’

The Priory children were soon hard at work and as Mr Ian’s watch turned to eight o’clock he lit the burner.

At that precise moment, the Ribblestrop children attacked.

It wasn’t a real attack, of course, because the schools had established such friendly relations – it was a charge for the sheer joy of charging. Sanjay had seen the minibus from high
above and it had been Miles and Anjoli who suggested creeping down to surround them before the Ribblestrop teachers got there. They’d slid down the side of the tor in silence and then fanned
out, rabbit-crawling through the scrub. They used the sounds of skylarks, ravens and owls to communicate, though The Priory children were far too intent on preparations to notice them. Miles raised
his arm when everyone was in position – it was just visible as a black silhouette – and pointed to the blue tents. With blood-curdling whoops and howls they raced in together, vaulting
the hedges. It took only seconds to let the tents down, and then Eric led the assault on the children themselves.

The Priory pupils recognised their friends and fought back vigorously. Ignoring the cries of Mr Ian, there were soon several scrums as hand-to-hand combat turned into fierce wrestling. Eric was
shouting, ‘Take them prisoner! Take them prisoner!’ when a hand was slammed over his mouth and he found himself on his back. He was pinned by the sharp knees of a boy he dimly
remembered – a spiky-looking child with frizzy hair. Kenji and Nikko were rolled up in one of the collapsed tents and then The Priory children regrouped to repel Miles, Sam and Anjoli.

Anjoli, unfortunately, was so excited that he ran straight through the windbreaker and tripped over the stove. Mr Ian could only watch in horror as the sausages tipped onto the grass, and the
hot fat caught fire. Worse than that, the gas canister was booted sideways and the nozzle sheered clean off its tube.

It became a flame-thrower.

There was only one object in immediate proximity, and that was Mr Ian’s personal tent, sited a discrete distance from the others. He raced across to save it, but couldn’t get near:
his sleeping bag, his boots and his beloved waterproof were caught in a furnace, melting together into a sticky mess of zips and rubber. It was Asilah who managed to block the gas and soon everyone
was stamping out the flames.

‘Oh man,’ said Podma. ‘That was a close one! That could have caught the bus!’

‘Look at your food!’ shouted Miles. ‘You got ash in the beans.’

‘Look at his stuff!’ said Sam.

‘Who trod on the sausages? Look at that – they’re ruined.’

Israel was holding his eye. ‘I got punched!’ he said, in disbelief. ‘By a girl!’

Mr Ian looked from face to face. It was too dark to see who was who, though some of his own children had torches. He was so angry he couldn’t speak – his mouth would not work. His
rage was throbbing, but he realised that he had spent so much of his life getting worked up about trivial things – about tie-knots and untucked shirts – that he had no reactions huge
enough for a real atrocity. That a group of children could do so much damage in such a short time and stand there smiling at him, eager and happy . . . His heart was unable to pump enough blood to
his brain. He was about to have a blackout.

‘Something wrong?’ said a voice. ‘What on earth’s that smell?’

He turned and the nightmare got worse. He was tipped from one ring of hell to the next. A donkey was staring at him and in the chariot it pulled was the Ribblestrop headmaster, carrying a
flaming torch. Behind him there was a camel and the stinking savages of Ribblestrop were forming a ring around him. There was a hand on his shoulder.

‘We’ll do the fire, sir,’ said Captain Routon. ‘You’ll have an accident if you’re not careful.’ He called out to the children. ‘We need a bit of
light, first of all. Vijay on the shelters, please – squad of eight. Everyone else, wood gathering – except Tomaz. Tomaz, can you pick your team for kitchen duty?’