Ribblestrop Forever! (14 page)

‘Doctor Ellie said no weapons building,’ said Sanchez. ‘So did Professor Worthington. So I don’t think we ought to be . . . going behind their backs.’

Sanchez found that everyone was looking at him.

‘Okay then,’ said Vijay. ‘Let’s call it “tools building”.’

Millie laughed and punched Sanchez on the shoulder. ‘Got you!’ she cried. ‘A weapon’s a tool – get out of that one.’

Sanchez kept his patience. ‘They were a non-violent people,’ he said. ‘That’s what Doctor Ellie told us, again and again.’

‘That’s why they got wiped out,’ said Miles. ‘If they sat around eating nuts and playing flutes, they were pretty much asking for it. We’re just learning from their
experience.’

‘I’m going to sit at the forge and make a big, sharp battle axe,’ said Millie, slapping Sanchez again. ‘And I’m going cut another of your toes off, Head Boy . .
.’

In the basket of the balloon stood an ex-pilot: Timmy Fox.

He gazed down through binoculars and licked his lips. A week had passed since the trauma of meeting Miles, Millie and Sanchez – and he could still feel the bruise of the gobstopper, deep
in his windpipe. He was still prone to hot flushes and fits of trembling.

He was bankrupt and he’d been stripped of all licenses.

‘There’s a clearing,’ he said, quietly. ‘No signs of life, though.’

‘They’re down there somewhere,’ said his passenger. ‘I sold them twenty choc ices a few days ago. They’re in the woods, playing games.’

‘Do you want me to go lower?’

‘No, Foxy. I don’t.’

‘What do you want to do? What exactly are we here for?’

‘Monitoring, lad. Hovering and thinking. I’m enjoying the breeze and you’re getting over a nasty experience.’

Ex-Inspector Cuthbertson had not found it difficult to trace the unfortunate airman. He had visited Deputy Chief Constable Eddy Shackleton, and doors had been opened. Old friends tapped into
police computers and he heard the whole story of the ill-fated flight. He went straight to the hospital.

‘Lost everything, have you?’ he said. ‘I saw the newspapers.’

Timmy Fox barely registered his presence. ‘
Maisie
,’ he said, at last.

‘Maisie who?’

‘I’d had her less than six months, you know. Half a million pounds, spread all over the motorway.’

‘And the insurance, Timmy?’

‘No.’

He raised damp, sightless eyes and blinked. He shook his head and the ex-policeman drew his chair a little nearer.

‘No insurance, Timmy? How’s that then?’

‘No flight plan,’ whispered the Fox. ‘I didn’t file a flight plan, so I don’t get a penny. I’ve got creditors chasing me. My wife . . .’ He laughed a
thin, unnatural laugh. “‘Final straw,” is what the wife says. She visited yesterday, you see. Took away my door key. That’s her ring, look. Next to my tablets.’

He blinked again, as if trying to focus. Tears rolled down his cheeks.

‘What am I going to do? Just a few, reckless minutes and the Fox loses everything. They’re going to prosecute, there’s no two ways about that. Had the accident investigators in
all morning. I’ll never fly again.’

Cuthbertson touched his arm. ‘I think you will, son. If you want to, that is.’

The airman shook his head and laughed. ‘I broke too many rules. It’s over . . . and all because of a South American gobstopper.’

The ex-policeman pulled out a small hip flask and poured whisky into a nearby beaker. He passed it to the Fox and poured another for himself.

‘What if I made you a little proposition?’ he said, inching even closer. ‘What if we threw our fortunes together, so to speak? I might pull a few strings for you.’

‘How?’ said Timmy Fox. ‘Why?’

‘I’m looking for someone I can trust. I need a fearless pilot, who doesn’t ask questions and takes a few risks. A man like you, Timmy, who breaks the rules now and then, and
isn’t scared of danger. I know people in high places, son – are you listening? Friends, Foxy, who just might make a certain prosecution disappear if you could see your way to helping me
out.’

He let the words sink in and watched the colour return to the man’s face.

‘Go on,’ said the Fox.

‘Not yet. It’s complicated, Timmy. I need air cover – and that’s why I thought of you.’

That evening, Timmy Fox discharged himself and drove with his new friend to the Somerset and Devon Balloon Club. They filled out some forms and by the end of the week they were
floating high over Ribblemoor.

Timmy Fox was nervous. ‘This is their school, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Ribblestrop Towers.’

‘That’s where they come from, son. And this is reconnaissance. All we do at the moment is monitor.’

‘There’s a car coming down the drive. Is that what we’re looking for?’

‘That’s a friend of mine working on phase two. Let’s just go up a bit, eh, Foxy? I don’t want to be recognised . . .’

Lady Vyner saw the balloon, too.

She was standing in the window of the east tower, which was the former orphans’ dormitory. She gazed out over her grounds and she saw the little burst of flame which made the thing go
higher. She even saw a glint of sunlight on the binoculars and then she turned her eyes back to the drive. There was a car, zooming closer, and her first thought was that it might be another
customer for the nursing home. She turned to the door, noticing the orphans’ hammocks that still hadn’t been cleared. Scribbled timetables were tacked to the wall and a soft toy lay
abandoned on its side.

She smiled. The school had withdrawn – retreated – and she was in charge of the building again. She wasn’t sure it was total victory, yet, because she didn’t trust the
headmaster or the pupils – and she’d heard the sound of chainsaws. It had all been much too easy. Nonetheless, it felt good to wander at will from room to room and take possession of
each tower. She had been going through the children’s things, wondering if there was anything that old people might like. When she had money, she mused, she would have a lounge for them with
a huge television. Drugged, they could watch it all day – all night if they wanted to. For now, they would have to share her flat. The two that arrived seemed comfortable enough, though their
chatter got on her nerves.

‘Junk,’ she said, turning over a discarded sock. ‘All of it.’

‘That’s kids for you, isn’t it?’ said the guard who’d been helping her.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, it’s all kids’ stuff.’

‘Obviously, it’s kids’ stuff. It was kids who were living here – what do you expect it to be?’

The guard decided to be silent. Lady Vyner came closer.

‘How does a grown man like you force himself into a uniform like that?’ she said. ‘You look like one of Hitler’s bully-boys. Don’t you have any kind of conscience
about what you do?’

The guard looked baffled. ‘Just doing a job, ma’am.’

‘That’s what the gas chamber repairman probably said in Belsen. What I want to know is where they’ve all gone? They’ve not disappeared, you know!’

‘Who?’

Lady Vyner swore under her breath. ‘The children, you dolt.’

‘We evicted them.’

‘I know you evicted them. That’s what I’m paying you to do – not that I’m paying a penny until the job’s done properly. They didn’t vanish into thin
air, that’s what I’m saying. And what was that noise coming from the woods? Have you investigated that yet?’

‘I don’t know nothing about no noise.’

‘I spoke to you about it. Three days ago.’

‘This is my first shift.’

‘Is it? Well, you look all the same to me. You ought to have your names on your foreheads, then I’d stand a chance. You do have a name, do you?’

‘Terence Perkins, ma’am. Lads call me Terry.’

‘Well, Perkins. I want you to have a word with these so-called “lads”, and find out who investigated my complaint about chainsaws in the woods. You can do that, can
you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes,
ma’am
. It’s Cuthbertson I need to see again. He can lead a manhunt – we’ve got the dogs for it, haven’t we? Get him on the phone for me. You
won’t get a farthing, you know, until the whole site’s been checked and cleared. I’m going to need to talk to that Lacson fellow too – is he around still? Why isn’t he
suing them properly?’

In the distance, a doorbell rang.

‘Ah!’ cried Lady Vyner. Her eyes gleamed. ‘That will be another inmate, I presume. Do me a favour, Jenkins. Trot down to the main door, quick as you can. We don’t want
anyone escaping. I’ll be right behind you . . .’

The guard set off, relieved to get away. Lady Vyner followed more slowly, clinging to the banister. By the time she reached the bottom step, she was dizzy again, and her head was full of the
barking of dogs. She leant against the wall and felt for her vodka flask. It was all the way upstairs, in her own flat – she remembered Crippen, her butler, refilling it. Now someone was
shouting and she felt a wave of irritation rise up like a sickness. She tottered towards the confusion, cursing under her breath. She could hear someone yelling and the barking was constant.

‘Silence!’ she yelled.

The dogs backed off at once.

Mr Ian lay between them, curled into a ball. One trouser leg had been ripped off and he was hyperventilating.

‘He just barged through the door!’ said a guard. ‘Tried to stroke Buster – there was nothing I could do!’

‘Who on earth is he?’ hissed Lady Vyner. ‘Has he brought someone?’

‘Said he was from a school, but—’

‘Get him on his feet!’

Mr Ian was helped into a standing position and he gazed around him, white-faced. There was blood in his beard again. Some bristles had been torn away.

‘I’m . . . I’m . . .’ He could barely speak.

‘You’re what?’ said Lady Vyner. ‘You’re who? What’s your business?’

‘I’ve come . . .’

‘You have old people for me? Where are they?’

‘No. I—’

‘This is a nursing home.’

‘I thought it was a school.’

Lady Vyner cursed. ‘Put him in his car,’ she said to a guard. ‘Turn him round and get him out of here.’

‘No, wait!’ cried Mr Ian. He gulped a deep breath and wiped his eyes. ‘Norcross-Webb is who I’m looking for. Ribblestrop Towers, headmaster. I’ve been phoning and
writing and—’

‘You know him, do you?’

‘I don’t know him—’

‘He’s here somewhere, though – isn’t he? What’s your business with him?’

‘I have a proposal. I’m from The Priory, and I’m hoping we can work together. I’ve even brought a couple of pupils! I was hoping to introduce them.’

Lady Vyner looked him up and down. ‘They’re out in the woods. Somewhere. You can help me find the wretch if you want to. If you can walk, that is.’ She turned to a guard.
‘Get the door open! Idiot.’

The camp, of course, had been substantially developed.

In addition to weapons-construction, the children had enjoyed a whole range of fascinating craft classes. They had developed several more buildings, including a thatched roundhouse –
perfect for meetings and feasts. It had a chimney, so cooking could be done inside, and Tomaz led a team of cooks, experimenting with forest produce. Breakfasts and snacks tended to be eaten in the
treetops, and there were now three lifts up to the highest platforms, running on counter-weighted ropes. Substantial loads could be hoisted, and many evenings had been spent nibbling
rum-and-wild-berry quiche, out on the sun decks. The lifts were enormous fun, for a child could sit in the basket and be shot up at alarming speed. Vaulting and swinging had developed too and there
were now trails in several directions. The challenge was to cover long distances without ever touching the ground. Anjoli said he held the record for the fastest aerial journey from one side of the
wood to the other, but this was hotly disputed. Young Nikko had been the star acrobat in the Ribblestrop Circus and when he got going, his thin body was a blur, hurtling from creeper to creeper. He
hardly disturbed the leaves as he dived and dipped, and he hadn’t been formally timed because the time-keepers always lost track of him.

Metalwork had been a huge success. Professor Worthington had run two classes on metallurgy and shown them how to build a furnace. The highest temperature reached so far had been seven hundred
and fifty degrees, which was enough to make steel. They made nails, ladles, buckles and bridles. They’d been toying with the idea of chariots, so they made an axle and then rimmed two large
wheels, bolting spikes in the centres. When Professor Worthington was called away, they made arrowheads and daggers. Imagio had been brought up in a Colombian favela and knew all about sharpening
blades. He showed them what kind of stone to use and how to hold it. Everyone was amazed, and even frightened, by how cruel a properly honed edge could be and how easily it could cut.

The question of the tribe’s peace-loving ways continued to cause controversy. Miles, in particular, was keen to discuss the question.

‘How do you know they didn’t fight, miss?’ he asked Doctor Ellie.

‘Because no evidence has ever been found of war.’

‘But all that means is it hasn’t been found,’ said Tomaz.

‘You’re right, of course. But there have been Celtic finds and endless Roman finds. The stone, too, makes no obvious mention of combat.’

‘They must have been able to protect themselves,’ said Israel. ‘Everyone has to.’

‘I daresay they did. That doesn’t mean they made a fetish of it.’

‘What’s a fetish?’

‘I mean, they didn’t elevate war to some high art, like so many cultures have done. They didn’t become obsessed with it, the way you are.’

‘Maybe they should have done,’ said Miles. ‘They might have survived.’

Doctor Ellie nodded. ‘I know. You think being peaceful is a weakness rather than a strength. You wait till we go to the museum and meet Eleudin – that might challenge your way of
thinking.’

‘When are we going?’ said Sam.

‘When will the chariot be ready? You want to travel in style, I presume?’

‘Soon,’ said Asilah. ‘We’re giving the donkeys every chance, but . . . we’re going to have to get rough soon. They just don’t want to work.’