The Secrets of Drearcliff Grange School (39 page)

In her rush to impress Frecks, she had forgotten.

‘Would putting your spares back help?’ Devlin asked.

Laurence nodded again, eyes watering. She put the two purple paperweights into her pocket.

‘They won’t need to be brought back. Nothing that comes from the pocket does.’

‘Your pocket is like the secret passages,’ said Frecks. ‘Only the space doesn’t have to fit into the walls or the architect’s plan. Where do you suppose the extra room comes from?’

Amy thought Paule might be able to answer that.

‘I’ve been looking for the secret doors ever since I came to Drearcliff. Just out of interest. Cupboard handles that bend the wrong way, carved fleur-de-lys with push-buttons, false book-spines attached to levers. But I only started exploring behind the walls since the Black Skirts got on to me. Those portraits of Dr Swan in gown and mortar board in all the hallways have removable eyes. If you pull out these little plugs with painted eyes on, you can peep through the holes from the passages and keep abreast of the latest news.’

‘So Headmistress prowls the place by night like a wraith,’ said Light Fingers. ‘Seeing all, doing little.’

‘Where is she now?’ asked Devlin.

‘I thought I’d found her a couple of times,’ said Frecks, ‘but Swan takes precautions. I nearly stepped in a pit with spears in, and I saw other booby traps. There’s a whole world in the walls and under School. Not just passages, but rooms. There’s an underground river, flowing to a cave on the beach – with a smugglers’ jetty. I’ve barely explored a fraction of it. Headmistress could hide for
years
.’

‘But we need her
now
,’ said Amy.

Amy and Light Fingers found a locked roll-top desk which seemed significant. The smallest purple key opened it. Inside was a large book, like a monastery Bible. Too heavy to pocket, it was chained to the desk, which was bolted to the wall. Intrigued, Amy ran her fingers over the thick cover. It was bound in leather with stiff fur. Opening the book, she saw lists and charts, handwritten and drawn. Some in code.

She remembered Paule had said ‘Knowles should read the big book.’

This book? It was big enough. It couldn’t be taken out of the study. Maybe what was in it could be borrowed, though.

‘Miss Memory, over here a mo,’ Amy said.

‘What’s up?’

‘This weighty tome. I think it’s the full map of the School Buildings and Grounds, with secret places marked and instructions on how to avoid pits of spears and the like.’

Knowles looked through the pages. Others craned around.

‘Some of this is Double Dutch,’ said Knowles.

‘Can you get it all in your head, though? Double Dutch or not?’

‘I learned Single Dutch once, so I should be able to cope about half-way. Do you want me to cram?’

Amy nodded. ‘I think that’s why you’re here.’

‘Knowles should read the big book,’ said Paule.

‘Okey-dokey,’ said Know-It-All. ‘Here goes…’

She narrowed her eyes and began turning the pages.

K
NOWLES HAD BEEN
a dedicated Spook-Spotter before they went Black Skirt Only. The society had later disbanded. As per their treatment of Mauve Mary, Black Skirts were militantly anti-ghost. Amy supposed Rayne didn’t like competition when it came to being terrifying. Thanks to her one-time enthusiasm, Know-It-All had a Psychic Investigator kit in her satchel. Most usefully, a battery torch. That – along with details of Drearcliff’s within-the-walls and under-the-basements byways now crammed into her head – equipped her to guide an expedition into secret passages.

Amy remembered Dyall was tucked behind the Budgies and decided it probably best to leave her there. In enclosed spaces, she was as dangerous to allies as the foe. The conscience twinge Amy had about this went away when she looked out of the window and saw Poppet wandering off across the Quad. She thought to call down, but decided against it. Dyall could take care of herself. She was reminded that the Remove – Unusual though they might be – were still a rabble of schoolgirls. She couldn’t expect them to be Royal Marines, holding a position under fire until orders to stand down came. She wasn’t Major Arthur Roy or General Flitcroft. She could only make suggestions. It was a wonder they’d come this far without mutiny.

Having paged through the whole of the big book, Knowles showed the strain of swallowing so much information. She had to blot blood from her ears with a hankie. Amy was concerned, but Know-It-All claimed she was all right.

‘Does it hurt?’ Frecks asked.

Knowles shook her head. ‘It’s like being stuffed after extra helpings of Christmas pudding,’ she said. ‘Only behind the eyes rather than in the tummy. It’ll settle in a moment.’

‘Where should we go?’ Amy asked.

‘I can only tell you what’s in the big book,’ said Knowles. ‘If you want the wine cellars of the Old Grange or the underground Museum of Curiosities or the Staff Turkish baths, I know the ways to get there. I can’t say whether Headmistress is in any of these places. It’s not as if she put a marker to lead us to her. That would be too easy.’

‘So that whole procedure wasn’t much use?’ said Devlin. ‘Boning up on the maps and doors?’

‘Information is always useful,’ insisted Amy. ‘Just in case.’

‘Do you know where the traps are?’ asked Frecks.

‘The old ones, yes. The ones you said Dr Swan rigged up recently
ought
not to be charted, but I think they are. There’s something about the big book. It changes of its own accord. If you knocked down Hypatia Hall, the labs would disappear from the map. If you put up a tea-tent on the cricket pitch, it would appear. It’s not so much a blueprint…’

‘…as a purple print,’ said Paule, clapping.

Everyone except Amy looked at her suspiciously.

‘She’s not mad,’ said Amy. ‘She’s like School. There’s the part we can all see and walk around and then there are secret passages.’

‘What’s all the persiflage about purple?’ asked Devlin. ‘It keeps coming up.’

‘I don’t know how to explain,’ said Amy. ‘I don’t think it
can
be explained. Having a map or book of instructions isn’t possible… though having a Dora Paule helps.’

‘I know what the Purple is,’ said Laurence. ‘My pocket is there.’

‘Yes,’ said Amy, patting Larry’s head. ‘I think so too.’

‘Let’s ask Paule where we should go, then,’ suggested Frecks. ‘We’ve got a sane person with maps in her head and she’s – sorry to say, Know-It-All – of limited use… so why not consult the oracle? She can gaze into chicken innards or a crystal ball.’

Knowles was stung by that. Amy knew she had to stick up for her.

‘Paule told us Knowles should use her Ability,’ she said. ‘It’s important to her.’

‘Knowles should read the big book,’ said Paule.

‘She’s done that,’ said Amy, trying not to be irritated. ‘What next?’

‘Into the walls and down the well,’ said Paule.

They all looked around Headmistress’s study for a well or clues to a well.

‘Should we go back to the Britannia door?’ Devlin suggested.

‘That wardrobe is a more direct way down,’ said Knowles, indicating an unexceptional item of built-in furniture.

Devlin tried to open the wardrobe. It was locked.

Light Fingers, custodian of the purple keys, picked out the correct implement and unlocked the doors. Black gowns hung inside, like curtains. Light Fingers parted them and disclosed a polished fireman’s pole. For sliding down. A ladder was fixed to the wall. For climbing up. Amy wasn’t the only girl who giggled. It was comical to imagine Headmistress using the pole or the ladder.

‘It leads to an underground crossroads,’ said Knowles. ‘Seven passages converge. It’s in the big book as Seven Dials.’

Devlin stretched her hands around the pole, taking a grip.

‘
Don’t!
’ said Knowles. ‘There’s a trick.’

Devlin looked puzzled… if she got caught up in something, her expressions became exaggerated. Her quizzical look practically turned her eyebrows to question marks.

She didn’t let go of the pole. A mechanism sprung with a whoosh.

Amy peered into the chimney-like space. Razor-edged blades sprouted from the walls, a little below the level of the wardrobe. Anyone sliding down the pole would get to the bottom in pieces.

‘I’ve read that book,’ said Devlin. ‘
Cut to Ribbons
, by Will B. Gutted.’

Knowles showed Light Fingers how to twist the key the wrong way in the lock to retract the blades. They ratcheted into the interstices of the brickwork.

Devlin admitted that Know-It-All’s boning-up
was
useful after all.

The retractable knives made the enterprise of venturing into secret passages seem less like a lark.

‘It’s safe now,’ said Knowles, with authority.

Gould volunteered to go first and disappeared into the dark hole. The others crammed around the wardrobe and tried to look down.

Gould called up that she was still alive.

Amy went next…

Gripping the pole lightly with her hands, elbows and knees she made herself light. She didn’t plunge like Gould, but floated down, past the folded blades, into a well of darkness.

The light from above dwindled.

The pole went down much further than the ground floor of the Swanage. Brick gave way to rock.

Eventually she landed, light on her feet, in Seven Dials.

Gould had found a switch. Dim lamps glowed in sconces. There were seven passages leading away. Seven paths to death in the dark, she supposed.

Knowles came down next. She shone her torch into each of the passages, demonstrating that two were dead ends.

Frecks gave out a
yaroo!
as if on a ride at a funfair. She arrived, and gushed about the sensuous joy of sliding down poles.

‘Better than spooning with Clovis,’ she exclaimed. ‘Much!’

Light Fingers, Paule and Marsh joined them in Seven Dials. Laurence came down last and needed a lot of coaxing. Even without the ring of daggers, she wasn’t keen on sliding. Eventually she gave in, but screamed all the way down… then had to be detached from the pole and cajoled into opening her eyes. She was surprised not to be dead.

Paule wandered off into the largest of the tunnels. Knowles kept the torch aimed at the errant Sixth. One of the things Know-it-all knew was not to lose sight of Daffy Dora. They didn’t have time to waste wandering through a labyrinth looking for her, even if Knowles had the maps and instructions off by heart.

Light Fingers looked to Amy for orders. That was happening a lot.

‘We follow Paule,’ said Amy, trying to sound sure of herself. ‘Knowles, good thinking with the torch. Gould, keep track of her. Frecks… take up the rear and holler if anything nasty comes after us. Everyone, watch your step… and listen to Knowles. Especially you, Stretch.’

‘I’m not opening an envelope unless Miss Memory says it’s safe so to do,’ said Devlin.

Knowles smiled slightly. ‘The way Paule’s gone is clear, just so long as you don’t walk too close by the knight at arms…’

A crash came from the passage.

They rushed there to find Dora Paule sat on the ground – rock with wooden planks laid over the more uneven stretches – with a disassembled suit of armour scattered around and a long-handled battleaxe in her hands. She’d caught it falling towards her head. It would have done more than parted her hair.

‘Before you get killed, perhaps you could tell us where we’re going,’ said Amy.

‘…to the seaside,’ said Paule.

‘The whole school is by the seaside,’ said Laurence. ‘Before I saw it, I reckoned there’d be sand and Punch and Judy and ice cream at the end of the pier and bathing machines. Then it turned out to be shingles and seaweed and sudden tides and breakers you can’t paddle in. Mouldy chiz, I thought.’

‘One sympathises, young Larry,’ said Frecks.

Marsh was appalled by Laurence’s idea of the seaside, but didn’t start an argument. Amy gathered the American girl had definite views about bank-holiday excursionists who went for a quick dip then drank beer and ate fish and chips on the pier before chucking their waste paper in the sea. She sometimes spat out ‘surface-dwellers’ the way Light Fingers said ‘Ordinaries’.

‘…to the
underground
seaside,’ said Paule.

‘She’s off again,’ said Gould. ‘Awa’ wi’ the faeries…’

‘No, hang on,’ said Knowles, shutting her eyes and pressing forefingers to her temples as if picturing pages turning to the one she wanted. ‘Daffy Dora’s on the money! At the end of this road there’s a cavern with tidal waters. A hidden harbour.’

‘Smugglers?’ asked Amy.

She had known smugglers would come into it eventually!

‘Pirates, more likely,’ said Knowles. ‘Or sea-raiders.’

‘There’s a difference?’ asked Amy.

‘Pirates prey on ships from ships, sea-raiders prey on coastal settlements from ships,’ put in Devlin, who was up on nautical matters. ‘Many believe Sir Wilfrid Teazle, Squire of Drearcliff in the 1750s, was the masked sea-raider Cap’n Belzybub, but no one has ever proved it. The Cap’n hated the Welsh. He plundered the Severn Estuary in his fast frigate the
Johanna Pike
, named for the Bristol lass who threw him over for a poet from Pontypool.’

‘Ouch,’ said Frecks. ‘Hellish heartbreak!’

‘Cap’n Belzybub ran through the parson of Llantwit Major in a cutlass duel,’ said Devlin, ‘and sank the Navy brig
Glendower
off the Mumbles. Sir Wilfrid made the Grange a retreat for retired sailors, supposedly out of the kindness of his heart – though no one ever noticed him doing anything else kindly. The magistrates thought he was Belzybub because the old salts knocking about the estate very much resembled a crew of ruthless sea-raiders. But Sir Wilfrid seemed to have nowhere to dock any vessel larger than a rowing boat. The mystery of the Home Harbour of the
Jo Pike
stands to this day.’

‘It might be solved now,’ said Knowles. ‘The big book shows a ship in the cavern.’

‘The
Johanna Pike
was said to have sunk with all hands in a storm. Neither Cap’n Belzybub nor Sir Wilfrid were heard tell of thereafter, so conclusions were drawn. The retired sailors disappeared too, though few thought to look for
them
.’