The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead (2 page)

Gunshots sounded from above, accompanied by barking dogs.

“Was ist das?”

“Ich erklärte Ihnen, dass ich etwas gehört habe.”

“Wo ist Hans?”

“English and answer the question.”

The March Hare went over to the corner and pulled out some rifles wrapped in rags, which he handed to the others.

“Haben Sie Ihren Revolver?”

“Ja!” said the Gardener’s Hand. He took out a revolver from a holster hidden beneath his coat, flipped it open to check it was loaded, and then tucked it back beneath his layers.

“Ich sollte das überprüfen.”

“Konnten Sie gesehen werden?”

“All this show… excuse me, I am speaking!”

“Nein, aber wir müssen gehen.”

“Und die Kinder?”

“Wir können nichts anders; die Zukunft von Europa ist in Frage.”

The Gardener’s Hand pointed at the glaring Earnestine: “Und sie?”

“Was!?”

“Wir nehmen sie mit uns.”

“Wir können das nicht.”

“Wir lassen sie nicht,” said the Gardener’s Hand standing directly in front of the tallest.

“Wir können sie nicht mitnehmen. Gehen wir.”

“Wir können sie nicht verlassen.”

There was a stand–off now between the Gardener’s Hand and the others: the Cheshire Cat looking up to the bigger, older and well–built Mad Hatter, but the Cheshire Cat dominated.

“This is all jolly fascinating, I’m sure, but–”

“You are coming with us,” said the Gardener’s Hand.

“I most certainly am not,” Earnestine said.

“I am afraid you must.”

“Who are you to be giving orders?”

“I am…” He looked at the others briefly. “Pieter.”

“Well, Mister, I don’t care if you are Peter the Great, I am not–”

He looked over her shoulder: “Metz.”

Earnestine was seized from behind, a greatcoat thrown over her, and they bundled her backwards. As she struggled defiantly, she lost her footing and dropped the lantern; it clattered away, its light useless in the enforced, suffocating darkness. Her boots struck it a few times. Her hand found her flashlight, which she held like a baton, but her arms were pinned so it too slipped from her fingers. She kicked out, some of her attacks found their mark, but the thick material was smothering, overpowering, all encompassing…

…I must not explore, I must not explore…

Miss Georgina

Georgina could see distant figures moving towards the college in an arrow formation. They were dark shapes against the virgin snow like a daguerreotype negative of Miss Price’s screeched chalk didactics on the blackboard. She longed to be out there, or indeed anywhere, instead of being trapped in the airless sepia dungeon of Classroom 5.

“Again!”

Georgina joined in the monotone: “Amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant…”

It was a lovely day, or had been before the grey clouds rolled over the distant mountains, and the time should have been spent striking out amongst the peaks and valleys on a long, bracing walk, but the School Rules were very clear on the matter: girls were not to exert themselves. They had to stay indoors in an ever diminishing Bastille as the Principal, Miss Hardcastle, strove to save on heating. Everyone knew that Miss Hardcastle would rather squirrel away their fees in a local bank than stock up the coal bunker. Classes were now forced to cram together in one half of the sprawling building as the entire East Wing had been abandoned early.

Through the ice crystal–etched window and across the quad, Georgina saw the supposedly dark windows of the forbidden wing. There had been a light, she was sure of it, just before that huge shadow had travelled over the school accompanied by the whirring sound of… who knew what? Certainly something like a firefly had flitted from window to window on the ground floor. The East Wing was occupied; she was sure of it. Before first bell, she and her sisters had gathered in the ski locker room and Georgina had told the others of her observations: the lights, the smoke and the ice melting from the eaves – all sure signs of occupation. All the girls had been in class, she’d pointed out, and all the teachers never left the roaring fire in the staff room.

But Earnestine had told her not to be silly: Oh Georgina, how foolish, the caretaker must check for leaks in the roof and needs a light to see his way; he must check the chimneys, hence the smoke, and, finally, did she not realise that the sun does melt ice. The East Wing was ‘Out of Bounds’ and that’s all there was to it.

Georgina had looked to Charlotte for support.

Charlotte had beamed with pleasure at being included in the discussion and had said: “Do you think soldiers polish their buttons every day?”

Charlotte – oh, honestly.

If only she could get out, Georgina thought: somewhere else, anywhere else, anywhere at all.

Outside, the men were closer, tearing up the white landscape as if scrawling black marks across an empty page. They reached the border of the college and filed through the stone archway into the quad. Behind them, shambling through the snow, were numerous other figures like an approaching army.

Miss Price thwacked Georgina on the back of her hand to snap her attention back to the lesson. The other girls giggled until Miss Price’s angry scowl raked the classroom.

“Miss Georgina,” Miss Price said, “do pay attention.”

“Miss?”

“And?”

Georgina panicked: “And, Miss?”

“The third person second participle?”

“The third person… of…”

“Amo?”

“Oh, yes, Miss, am, er…um?”

Miss Price sucked on her teeth and then tutted, an angry explosive sound that was her habit.

“Am
erum
, a novel conjugation, certainly,” said Miss Price. The rest of the class giggled at their teacher’s wit. “Honestly, Georgina, you are an utter disappointment. Your mind wanders like the tributaries of… what was that river your father and mother went up: the Nile, the Amazon?”

“Miss, it was–”

“I wish…” Miss Price searched her mind for the most cutting remark possible and, with an unerring accuracy, she found the most apposite phrase: “…you were more like your sister?”

Georgina’s face burned more than the back of her hand. She wanted to see Miss Price dead. She knew to which sister the Latin harridan was referring and it wasn’t Charlotte. Charlotte was silly, Charlotte was foolish, Charlotte was… never even expected to emulate the oh–so–wonderful eldest. Everything Georgina did was measured against the yardstick of the perfect Miss Deering–Dolittle, Earnestine, who never did anything wrong; whereas Georgina was always considered lacking.

“Julietta.”

“Amazo,
amazon
… sorry Miss – I was a little lost. I mean, amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant.”

“Very good, Julietta.”

Julietta beamed a smile just for Georgina.

It was so unfair, because it had been Charlotte whose action had led to their incarceration in this Swiss–bordered prison, and yet somehow it was Georgina’s fault for not keeping an eye on the wayward child. The responsibility was surely the faultless Miss Deering–Dolittle’s: after all, it had been her idea to delegate. But the blame had landed on Georgina, who was such a disappointment: the older Earnestine had even gained credit for having the fortitude to bear the indignities heaped upon her by her younger sisters.

The problem was that no–one understood how much worse life was for the middle sister of three: Earnestine had that bearing and deportment that came naturally to one with such a regal, elegant appearance, and Charlotte had blonde prettiness on her side, but Georgina knew that she was dumpy with a round, blank face. She was the one who would be passed over when it came to marriage.

Miss Price marched between the desks to the front and began stabbing the Latin word for ‘love’ with her long rule.

A pellet of paper struck Georgina from behind and when she turned round, several of the other girls were pulling faces. Georgina ignored them and tried to concentrate on the board instead, but her gaze was drawn back to virgin snow before Miss Price reached the first person plural.

When the first group reached the College buildings, men split off to go left and right around the building. Georgina continued to watch as the distant majority, a mass that lurched forward with a strange mix of marching and stumbling, negotiated the stone archway into the grounds. There were dogs too, great barking beasts that strained at their leashes with a wild ferocity.

In the first group, the lead figure, striding ahead, looked by his bearing like an officer. He pulled off his leather gloves, gathered them together and then slapped his palm before glancing up: Georgina caught sight of his aquiline features, dark moustache and saturnine beard. She jerked back like any guilty schoolgirl and when she leant forward again, her breath freezing on the pane and creating a complex craquelure of ice, he had vanished from view.

“…amant,” said Miss Price.

Somewhere in the distance, a bell jangled for attention and Georgina heard barking and male voices.

Glancing across to the East Wing, Georgina saw that light again and this time it was joined by another.

There was pounding on the front door and she heard the Caretaker’s voice, shouting and then subdued. It couldn’t have been the Caretaker in the East Wing then, Georgina realised, could it, because he couldn’t be in two places at once? She’d tell Earnestine and that would show her, the pompous–

There was a sharp crack, like a distant shot.

“Georgina!”

Georgina snapped her head round to study the conjugation of ‘amo’.

“The third person second participle is?”

Georgina was saved by a commotion outside the room.

“Wait here, page fifty two onwards,” said Miss Price. She went outside, ready to vent her spleen at the girls responsible for the noise; however, she returned forthwith. “Girls, we’re wanted downstairs. Girls!”

The class rose quickly, eager to be away from Latin, and began filing out.

“Leave that!” Miss Price commanded: “Hurry along now!”

At the top of the stairs, Georgina saw the other classes gathered below in the hallway with a group of officers. There was a barking dog and some strange shambling men. Miss Hardcastle was arguing with them, but they seemed adamant. Charlotte would probably be able to identify them as Dragoons or Fusiliers or–

Oh my giddy aunt!

Charlotte was not with her class. The stupid girl had wandered off – just typical, absolutely typical. Didn’t the silly thing hear any of the taunts and jibes from the other girls? Earnestine wasn’t there either. She was probably searching for Georgina, armed with disapproving looks, to ask why Georgina had lost Charlotte – again.

The man–in–charge was shouting: “All of you in the library! All, I say!”

Georgina tarried, knowing just where to slip out of line and down a side corridor to the back stairs.

A voice shouted after her, mocking: “Off exploring!” It was Julietta, smiling in that sweet and irksome manner.

The others joined in: “Amazo, Amazon, I’m–a–spot, am–as–gone, am–as–lost, as–an–ant?”

Georgina turned back: “Don’t be so childish.”

“Derring–do, derring–do…”

“Drop dead.”

“Oooh…” but one of the teachers shuffled the line along and Georgina slipped away.

The back stairs had been the servants’ stairs before Miss Hardcastle had taken over the building. Down Georgina went and then along to the Geography Room. This was where Charlotte would be, daydreaming about soldiers no doubt.

Except, she wasn’t.

Nor was she in the next classroom, History, reading about famous battles.

“Georgina!” It was Miss Trenchard. Georgina was in trouble now, but at least it wasn’t Earnestine scolding her. “What are you doing here, girl?”

“Miss, I’m trying to find Charlotte.”

“Are you lost, Georgina? Going off to search for another family member?”

Georgina’s face burned: it was awful getting these comments from her school ‘chums’, but utterly unbearable for the teachers to be joining in.

“I’m sure she can find herself,” Miss Trenchard continued. She tapped her yardstick on the floor impatiently. “Come along, you are wanted in the Library.”

“Why, Miss?”

“Don’t be impertinent, girl.”

Miss Trenchard ushered her into the corridor and propelled her along towards the library. When Georgina glanced back, the teacher was just going into the Geography Room, presumably to check for other errant pupils.

Georgina’s head stopped first, her feet a moment later, so that she was left leaning backwards, sniffing. The smell was off–putting and it took her a moment to fail to recognise it. What was that?

At the far end, a group of men shambled towards her. Perhaps they would know, she wondered, but something was wrong, very wrong. They moved awkwardly like puppets, as if they weren’t put together properly, and a low moaning issuing from their throats. Their clothes were old, worn and filthy, and their skin was yellow. On the side of each of their heads was a brass box that – Georgina saw with wide eyes – was nailed into their skulls! A spark, like miniature lightning, played inside the metal casing, and the creatures jerked and straightened up.

“Ach,” said a smart officer standing behind the monsters, “do you like my little pets?”

He held up a device, wooden with brass fittings, and pressed a switch. The boxes attached to the men sparked again and the creatures shuffled towards her.

Georgina turned and fled.

A cry came up behind her: “Achtung!”

The moaning increased and she could hear the sounds of pursuit.

Georgina sprinted back the way she had come, paying little heed to the risk that the polished parquet represented. She had to get away: Earnestine, she needed Earnestine. Her sister would know what to do.

“Don’t run in the corridor!” Miss Trenchard shouted after her. “Girls should not exert themselves.”

Where would her sister be?

Georgina was panicking as she skidded to a halt by the entrance to the East Wing. Earnestine would not have crossed the ‘Out of Bounds’ sign, so where else could she be?

Behind her, Miss Trenchard screamed like a frightened child, a high–pitched and harrowing trill. Georgina looked back and wished she hadn’t. The teacher defended herself, her yardstick striking at the brute, but to no avail. Georgina ran away in the only direction left to her, fear driving her onward, and, without having a plan, she found herself in the ski locker room.