Von Gobstopper's Arcade (3 page)

Finn and Fennel’s assimilation into Drabville wasn’t without some early mishaps. Due to their upbringing the twins were a little short on social graces. They tended to laugh too loudly and point at anything that delighted them. At first, they walked around Drabville in a state of wonder, especially struck each time a citizen performed an act of courtesy or kindness. They were amazed to see the fit willingly give up their seats on buses for the elderly or infirm or to hear one person begging the pardon of another they had accidentally knocked against. They would duck instinctively if someone tried to shake their hand, and anything free—like sugar cubes on café tables—was a source of great excitement. It took some time before they could be dissuaded from pocketing sugar cubes when they thought the staff weren’t looking. The townsfolk, however, were patient, understanding that these children had grown up accustomed to cruelty and indifference.

Initially the twins had stayed with the Klompets but then a lady with impeccable
credentials offered to adopt them. She was none other than teacher and librarian Miss Linear, who was positively ecstatic about the prospect of offering the twins a home. Miss Linear had never got around to having children of her own. This was ascribed to the well-known fact that she had not as yet found a member of the opposite sex whose company she could tolerate long enough to share a cup of tea with let alone contemplate the idea of breeding with. Milli suspected Miss Linear’s lack of a partner might have something to do with the revolting mustard-coloured cardigan she wore every day of the year, coupled with woollen stockings and brown brogues as unflattering as bricks. But Miss Linear made no such connection, proclaiming that she had yet to meet a man whose company she preferred to that of her cat, Pocket.

After only a month of living with Miss Linear, Finn and Fennel had filled out, and their eyes had lost their haunted look and gained a new lustre. The twins wore with pride the matching vests Miss Linear knitted them, and pounced on the printed word like hungry
wolves. They started by reading bus tickets and the jokes on the backs of cereal boxes, but quickly progressed to books and became voracious and critical readers. It was Finn’s personal mission to read every title in the town library’s historical fiction collection, whilst Fennel loved nothing more than a good romance in which the hero rode a black stallion and the heroine always wore white. Neither, however, could bear to read books in the fantasy genre.

Nonna Luna was a hit from the start. By selling some Lampo family heirlooms originally intended for her grandson, she was able to set up a nice little business she called The Pasta Train. Before long she had a massive following amongst the mothers of Drabville. Not only did her food develop a reputation for quality and generous portions, but Nonna made her pasta in full view of her customers. It wasn’t a bad way to spend your lunch break, standing outside Nonna’s front window, watching her skilled hands knead and work the dough, then cut it into various shapes and sizes before hanging it up to dry. Spectators often broke into spontaneous applause and invariably bought something for dinner. Sauces,
too, were available in little tubs and needed only gentle heating once you got home. Some type of dish from The Pasta Train appeared on Drabville dinner tables at least once a week after Nonna’s arrival, and suddenly mothers found they had more time for important matters like visits to the hairdresser or those golf lessons they’d been forever putting off.

The other thing Nonna introduced to Drabville was real coffee. Up until then Drabville coffee had been a bitter brew, made by pouring hot water over brown granules that bore a remarkable resemblance to rat poison. But now the townsfolk could choose between a velvety smooth
cappuccino
or an
espresso
guaranteed to recharge one’s batteries just in time for that morning board meeting. In the more cosmopolitan Drabville it wasn’t long before people started saying ‘Ciao’ instead of their usual ‘Cheerio for now’.

Nonna Luna refused to dwell on past experiences; she had drawn a curtain across them. If Milli or Ernest ever attempted to engage her in conversation about their time at Battalion
Minor, or Queen Fidelis and her Kingdom of Mirth, she would immediately put up a hand in warning and offer them a pastry to change the subject. Finn and Fennel were so grateful to finally be part of a caring home that they too had little interest in recalling the past. But Milli and Ernest had no intention of forgetting and often privately shared their recollections. They could not look at a patch of wild mushrooms growing in the woods, or a cluster of daisies by the roadside, without being transported back to Mirth and reliving the magic they had experienced there. In fact, for Milli and Ernest there wasn’t much that did not trigger memories of the Conjurors’ Realm.

The normally reserved Ernest made a huge admission to Milli one afternoon. ‘Sometimes I actually miss the Realm,’ he said with a degree of surprise.

‘Me too,’ agreed Milli, not the least bit surprised. ‘Things have changed too much around here,’ she complained. ‘Nobody seems to have fun any more.’

‘Perhaps it’s time we stopped thinking about fun,’ Ernest suggested without much conviction.
‘After all, we start senior school next week and there’ll be plenty of study to keep us occupied.’

‘Thanks, Ernest, for those words of comfort.’

‘What I mean is, the concept of fun can be redefined as you get older. It doesn’t mean you stop having it.’

Milli gave him a ferocious frown. ‘Anything that has to be
redefined
doesn’t sound much like fun to me.’

We can hardly blame Milli for feeling this way. Who could welcome a return to routine after visiting a world filled with such wonders as convicts imprisoned in cobblestones, giants, hags, shiny citadels made of precious stones, and shopkeeper pixies that like to play practical jokes on their customers? I am not saying that Milli did not relish the security of home; merely that being home and safe did not necessarily obliterate the thrills of their past experiences. Even Ernest gave himself away once by unthinkingly asking whether Admiral’s Beard was on the menu at the local pub, and on more than one occasion Milli found herself asking her mother if she might have three soots instead of pennies to spend at the corner store.

S
oon there really wasn’t the time to reminisce about the past, or speculate about Hog House or slippery silver bells. When Mrs Klompet had discovered that the children were snooping around the building site, she emphatically forbade them to visit again. Not wanting to cause further trouble Milli and Ernest listened. Besides there were other things for them to worry about.

Milli and Ernest started as juniors at St Erudite’s Academy and their new school presented them with such a host of requirements and expectations that survival soon became their prime objective. No sooner did they feel
that they had things under control than another challenge was thrown at them. Never in their entire lives had they had to manage their time so carefully, but now it was a necessity if they were to complete what was required of them and not fall behind. Suddenly every half-hour had to be accounted for, and leisure became something you had to block out time for along with everything else. Needless to say, Ernest fared better than Milli in this regard.

St Erudite’s Academy was no ordinary school; it was the oldest and most well-regarded secondary school in the region. It had been carefully selected by Milli’s and Ernest’s parents as it offered a wide range of academic studies and was the only school that still taught Latin. It had an unrivalled music department with numerous orchestras and ensembles, as well as lush sports ovals, tennis courts and a newly built pool and gymnasium, and a veritable smorgasbord of co-curricular activities. In addition it boasted an impressive array of luminaries amongst its alumni. Ernest had been granted a full scholarship and was very conscious of living up to the expectations associated with
this position. He regularly reminded Milli that she should feel privileged to have been accepted to St Erudite’s, as many were on waiting lists and had been since birth. Milli rolled her eyes but didn’t argue the point.

St Erudite’s school motto was ‘Plan, Strive, Soar’. In keeping with this theme, someone had come up with the ingenious if corny idea of identifying the different levels by bird species. First years were Sparrows, second years Starlings, the middle years were Kestrels and Hawks, and by the time you reached your final years of secondary education you were first an Eagle and finally an Owl. How eagles could precede owls wasn’t immediately clear to Milli and Ernest, but after some heated debate they decided it probably had something to do with the value of wisdom over skill and confidence.

One chilly Monday morning a few weeks into term, the children shuffled their way to school carrying bulging satchels, violin cases (both had just started lessons) and their art folios. They had missed the school bus, as a result of Milli being unable to find her shoe, and were now forced to walk despite the foul
weather. Drabville’s usual school calendar had been revised to accommodate the kidnapped children’s return, so it was already late October by the time lessons resumed. The day was overcast and the wind seemed to bite right through them. There was snow on the distant hills; their tips appeared only as a whitish blur. The children hoped the streets, too, would soon disappear under a layer of white.

Milli couldn’t suppress a smile as she glanced at Ernest. Mrs Perriclof had bundled him up as if his destination were the Antarctic rather than St Erudite’s. The black coat he was wearing over his school blazer was made from a quilted fabric that made him look as though he was encased in bubble wrap. His arms stuck out a little from his sides and his usual walk was restricted to a waddle. From a distance he looked like an overgrown penguin. He also wore thick mittens, a knitted scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and a hat lined with sheep’s wool pulled firmly over his head. All Milli could see of him was the tip of his very pink nose. This was one morning when Ernest was envious of his siblings who, considered too
unprepared for the demands of’institutionalised education’, remained at home under the tutelage of their mother, an enterprise so exhausting that Mrs Perriclof often had to have a lie-down in the afternoons.

‘It really is too cold to be outside,’ Milli said, turning up the collar of her school blazer and sniffing audibly as they made their way down the street. She had been battling a minor cold for weeks now but unfortunately it hadn’t developed into anything more serious, like bronchitis or pneumonia. It was really of no use whatsoever—bad enough to block her nose so she couldn’t sleep properly, but not bad enough to warrant any time off school.

‘Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman and beast,’
Ernest said as Milli blew her nose noisily into a hanky. He had to tilt his head right back to look at her, so low was his hat pulled over his eyes.

‘What?’
Milli said, but regretted it almost immediately.

‘I am quoting from the Bard. It’s remarkable how poetry can provide us with insights into everyday life.’

Even though Milli knew Ernest ought not to be encouraged, her curiosity was piqued. ‘Quoting from a bird?’ she repeated. Her ears were also slightly blocked.

‘Not bird,
Bard.
It’s another name for the most famous of all playwrights—even you must have heard of Shakespeare.’

‘Course I have,’ Milli said defensively. ‘I just got confused when you called him a bird.’

‘I plan to be an aficionado by the time the year’s out.’

Milli was finding Ernest’s train of thought increasingly difficult to follow. ‘A fishy what?’

‘Very funny. It’s Spanish and means to become really passionate about something. Have you seen the posters advertising the competition the library’s running—
Who Said What?
They give you dozens of quotes from Shakespeare and you have to name the character who said it.’

‘Didn’t he write a lot of plays?’

‘Twenty-three in total, but I’m hoping they’ll focus on the better-known ones.’

‘What’s the prize?’ Milli asked, more interested in suppressing the sneeze that was coming than in Ernest’s answer.

‘A leather-bound edition of his complete works for the school library.’

‘Wow. And for the winner?’

‘Only glory,’ Ernest replied, clicking his tongue. ‘Sweet, sweet glory.’

When they reached the turn-off for Drabville Elementary, Milli unconsciously made towards it and Ernest had to pluck her back and steer her left. Milli made this mistake every time they were forced to walk, particularly when she was preoccupied.

Within weeks of arriving at their new school both Milli and Ernest felt far removed from their old lives. So much more was expected of them. Classes were held in various musty buildings sometimes at opposite ends of the grounds and the children often had to rush in order to avoid a Late Mark. There were books and folders, diaries and sports bags not to mention special equipment for electives to juggle as they made their way through corridors crowded with seniors who chatted away in doorways and never seemed to be in a hurry.

We know that organisation was not one of Milli’s strong points, so if it hadn’t been for
Ernest she would have been a total disaster. ‘Don’t forget your safety glasses—it’s Science after Oratory,’ he would remind her as they both tried to wrangle their things out of tiny wooden lockers on the bottom row.

Milli continued to miss her old school longer than any of her peers. She missed the intimacy of it and the leisurely pace, how a whole day could stretch out in front of you, full of promise. She missed the afternoons of reading in the corner set aside expressly for that purpose and scattered with an array of colourful floor cushions you could arrange for your own comfort. She missed the projects that could consume hours of your time on presentation alone before you felt they were impressive enough to submit for assessment. Their classroom at Drabville Elementary had been a welcoming place with every available surface displaying their dioramas of the solar system and models of the pyramids. Milli envied Finn and Fennel, who were still there, having been held back a year to allow them to catch up on all the things they’d missed during their years with the Lampo Circus. Milli was finding the
transition to senior school difficult, and although she was growing accustomed to St Erudite’s culture, she really had to wonder about the pedagogy (a word she had recently learned from Ernest) behind some of its practices. How could poorly heated, Spartan classrooms be conducive to learning? And how ludicrous was it that access to students’ lockers was barred other than at break times, which meant you had to remember to collect what you needed for several lessons in a row. And that meant you had to remember what those lessons were. Often there wasn’t the time to be searching for timetables (sensible Ernest had taped a copy of his to the inside of his locker door). Milli was forever picking up the wrong folder or leaving behind her Mathemat. For the life of her she couldn’t see why most of their classes couldn’t be held in the one room, where they could have assigned desks to store their things in. And how hard could it be to fit pegs to the walls to hang up the blazers that barely fitted inside their minuscule lockers?