Ribblestrop Forever! (15 page)

Miles stood up. ‘Gotta go, miss,’ he said. He pulled on a feather headdress. ‘I’m in the hunting party.’

‘That’s another thing I’m dubious about,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘They were farmers rather than hunters and a vegetarian diet would have been quite
sufficient.’

‘Not for us, though.’

‘I think you like killing things, Miles. You’re making me nervous.’

‘We’ll protect you, miss. The hunters are guards, as well, and we’re always vigilant.’

So it was that Mr Ian and his two small Priory children were spotted that very afternoon, as they fought their way through the forest.

Mr Ian was in the lead, followed by his blue-blazered pupils. Lady Vyner was lagging behind, dehydrated and giddy. She had fallen twice and the absence of alcohol was causing severe
distress.

‘I have no idea where you’re taking me,’ she wheezed.

The two children looked at her with undisguised fear. They were Mr Ian’s special ambassadors, selected because of their neat haircuts and polished faces. Unfortunately, the heat was
getting to them too and they were now dripping in sweat. The little boy’s cap was damp and his knees were filthy. The little girl’s jacket was wet and muddy down one sleeve and she had
lost a shoe.

They had both been trained, however, never to cry in public.

‘Are we even going in the right direction?’ said Mr Ian, trying to keep his temper. ‘You said you saw smoke?’

‘God knows. It looked like smoke, but then again everything’s pretty blurred. You haven’t got any water, or . . .?’

‘Nothing.’

‘This isn’t really a footpath, is it?’ said the boy.

‘Shut up, Scott. How is that a helpful remark?’

‘Sorry, sir.’

Mr Ian brushed at his tie, which was dotted in the old lady’s spittle. He had dressed extra smartly for this meeting and his clothes were now in ruins. He was supposed to be back at school
that night for boarding-house duty and there would be many questions if he and the pupils were late. He felt a pang of hatred for ex-Inspector Cuthbertson and wondered if he should simply abandon
the mission. If he did, he would face curses, followed by sarcasm, followed by threats. And he’d most likely be forced to make the journey again. The kidnap plot was thickening around him and
he was powerless.

He would have to press on.

‘Have you been eating sweets?’ he said to Scott.

‘No, Mr Ian.’

‘Well your mouth’s disgusting. Wipe it.’

He took the child’s ear and drew him closer.

‘I’m very nervous at the moment,’ Mr Ian whispered. ‘I won’t deny it. And when I get nervous, boys like you suffer. Do you understand me? There’s a lot at
stake here today, so I need best, best behaviour and a positive attitude. I don’t know where this mad woman’s taking us, but we’re going to smile and be nice and get what we came
for.’ He pinched hard. ‘Got it?’

‘Ow! Yes, sir.’

Mr Ian turned to Lady Vyner, and called out brightly. ‘Shall we press on? It can’t be
much
further.’

‘What?’

‘Their hideout. Whatever it is.’

Lady Vyner swore obscenely and spat onto a rock. ‘I’ve had enough,’ she said. ‘I should have brought the dogs. Dogs and policemen, that’s what we need. Which
way’s back?’

‘Well, I’m not entirely sure.’

‘Downhill, I know that much. Wretched, evil nonsense of a school . . .’

She swore more brutally and turned back the way she’d come. A moment later, she had disappeared into thick brushwood and her cursing faded from earshot. A bird cried out, there was a
flapping of wings, and then silence. Mr Ian stood with his two miserable pupils and wondered what to do.

Vijay saw them first.

He was in the stream below. Miles and Nikko were close by, comparing arrowheads. He shushed them with the cry of the raven and they turned to him, frozen. They had got tired of hunting some time
ago, for there were no birds or animals to be seen. Instead, they had worked on another man-trap, binding timbers and fitting weights for an hour. Mr Ian’s voice carried through the trees
loud and clear, and there was a great deal of twig-crunching.

‘No,’ shouted the teacher. ‘We’re going on! If you didn’t bring water, that’s your problem.’

A plaintive voice said something inaudible.

‘I don’t need this, Jacqueline! I have no time for weakness! Not today!’

There was another crack of brushwood and they heard a squeal.

The three boys grabbed their spears and shouldered their bows. They moved noiselessly into the undergrowth and Nikko led them up the nearest trunk, into the treetops. They crossed carefully from
branch to branch, following a creeper trail. They were soon directly over the intruders, looking down.

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Miles, peering through the leaves.

‘What?’ said Vijay.

‘Mr Ian. The Priory.’

Nikko took his arm. ‘What? That guy from the crazy school?’

‘He must have come for his wallet. Damn, this could be bad. How did he find us?’

‘Who are the little dudes?’ whispered Vijay. ‘They look scared as hell.’

‘What do we do?’ said Miles. ‘Can we lure them to Anjoli’s pit? Where is it?’

‘They’re walking in the woods, Miles! You can’t drop them in a pit for taking a walk. Anyway, they’ve stopped.’

‘You think they’re lost?’

‘Maybe. They may have come in peace – we need to find out. Nikko, swing down and see what they’re saying.’

Nikko did so at once. The orphans had set vines in many of the key trees, so it was easy to wrap one that was close to hand several times round his middle. Pushing off from his branch, he let
himself down silently, until he was a couple of metres above Mr Ian’s head.

A minute later, he’d wound himself up again.

‘He’s rude as hell,’ he said. ‘He’s in a bad, bad mood – gave the boy a slap, right in the face.’

‘What’s he saying?’

‘He said they’re going to go on looking, through the night if necessary. He keeps telling the kids they’re useless. Boy and girl, about ten years old. They’re pretty
done-in, by the look of it. They’re nice kids, though . . . they’re brave, anyway.’

‘He’s a barbarian,’ said Miles. ‘I wonder if we can separate him from his pupils. We could lead him back to the stream and drop a rock on his head.’

Vijay laughed again. ‘He’s a human being, Miles! You can’t murder him – you’ll go to prison.’

‘You don’t know how bad he is. If I told you what he did to me, you’d have a different attitude.’

‘What did he do?’

‘Whipped me till I bled.’

‘Everyone gets whipped,’ said Nikko. ‘Maybe we should just—’

‘Shhh!’ hissed Vijay.

They listened carefully and through the trees came a long, sweet trill, rising to a piercing warble.

‘I don’t believe it!’ hissed Vijay. ‘What’s Doctor Ellie doing? This is bad . . .’

‘What?’ said Miles. ‘What is that?’

‘She’s playing that damn flute again. Listen! It’s getting louder.’

The flute became penetrating, for the notes were climbing higher and higher, like the call of some magical bird. The three boys looked down and saw Mr Ian turn and sniff the air. He said
something to the little girl, and the boy put his cap back on. Mr Ian led decisively, turning right through some bushes and then left towards an enormous beech. He soon found a track and started to
climb. Nikko and Vijay followed in the trees above, keeping pace. It was twenty minutes later that they caught their first whiff of woodsmoke and Mr Ian’s voice rang out confidently.

‘I think we’re warm, you know. You let me do all the talking, all right? I want nothing from you but smiles. If the teachers speak to you, you agree with whatever I’ve
said.’

When they came into the village, the first thing they saw was half a pig roasting. Tomaz was under it, basting carefully. When he stood up, the three visitors could only stare,
open-mouthed.

‘Sir,’ said Tomaz, ‘we’ve got company.’

‘What’s that, Tom?’ said the headmaster. ‘The trotters won’t cut . . .’

‘Later, please, sir. It’s easier when the meat’s cooked. I said we’ve got company. I think it’s that teacher. From that school.’

‘What school? Where do you mean?’

The headmaster had been crouched down in one of the fire holes and, when he stood up, Mr Ian’s mouth opened still wider. He was wearing a tunic made of old circus tent, with a handwoven
cloak attached round his shoulders by a black-and-gold tie. The loom classes had started on day four and most of the children were now dressed in appropriately tribal gear made of multi-coloured
wools and feathers. Doctor Norcross-Webb had wild flowers in his hair and an amulet made of twisted straw and pheasant bones.

Mr Ian came forward. His ripped trouser leg flapped damply.

‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ he said, ‘but I’m looking for the headmaster of Ribblestrop Towers.’

‘Are you?’ said the headmaster. ‘I’m happy to say you’ve found him.’

‘Oh. Where?’

The headmaster clambered out of the fire hole and dusted himself down. ‘I am he,’ he said, ‘and you’re our very first visitors from outside, so you’re particularly
welcome.’

‘You’re . . .’

‘Who are these youngsters? What a lovely surprise.’

His eye had fallen on the two children, who were hanging back, bewildered and nervous. A crowd of Ribblestrop tribesmen had gathered and, as some were now experimenting more confidently with war
paint, the effect was alarming. The flute music was strangely disorientating too. It had attracted birds that wheeled screaming overhead and there was also the sound of hammers on metal. Into the
mix came the occasional bray of a donkey.

‘Is this . . .? I’m looking for a school,’ said Mr Ian, trying to bring his voice under control. ‘I’m looking for a Doctor Norcross-Webb.’

‘Yes. That’s me.’

‘I’ve been trying to telephone, but—’

‘Ah, was that you calling? I am so sorry – to me, a cellphone is more of a curse than a blessing. I find it so hard to see the numbers and reception . . . well, I’m never sure
if it’s me or all these trees. Where are you from?’

‘I’m Ian Keith. From . . . The Priory School. We’ve come to . . .’

Words failed him again.

The children he was looking at were staring at him with cold dislike. He could see that one of them was the girl and she had her hands on her hips. Over her shoulder she wore a longbow and a
quiver full of lethal-looking arrows. He looked around for the boy that had kicked him to the ground, but couldn’t find him . . . nor could he see Miles, which was an encounter he’d
been dreading. At once, Cuthbertson’s instructions came back, like an inner voice, and he managed to force his lips into a smile. He was, after all, making progress, and he was in no danger.
Against all odds, contact had been made.

‘You must be doing a project,’ he said. He tried a chuckle, and the laughter emerged like a series of sharp coughs. ‘How absolutely wonderful. How absolutely . . . Ha!
Ingenious! Can you see what’s going on, Scott? Jacqueline? We’ve walked slap bang into a history lesson.’

The headmaster nodded. ‘I can see I’m talking to a fellow teacher. Some people would look at us and think we’d all gone mad, but this is a very scientific exploration of
Ribblemoor’s history and an ancient tribe. Can I offer you a drink or a snack?’

‘Oh!’ said Mr Ian, remembering to smile again, for the smell of cooking fat was making him feel queasy. ‘How thoughtful. We are a little parched, aren’t we, children?
We’ve been wandering for some time, you see.’

‘Come into the roundhouse. We can have a proper parley in there. Unless, of course, your pupils . . . would they like to see round, maybe?’ The headmaster went down onto his haunches
and addressed them kindly. ‘You must be very hot, Jacqueline. Scott. Why don’t you loosen up a bit? Give us your coats. Israel, could you get some water? What’s that noise? Oh
dear! Sounds like trouble.’

The donkey they’d heard earlier was now braying almost continuously and the headmaster had to raise his voice. ‘See if those biscuits have cooled, would you, Kenji? Come on into the
shade – oh my word, look out!’

A part of the fence behind him gave way with a crunch of timber and there was another almighty bray. It was the donkey, of course, making a desperate bid for freedom – but it was attached
to a huge chariot, the wheels of which gouged ruts into the earth. It was held back by the mighty arms of Henry, but the beast was enraged and desperate. It tried to charge and everyone leapt for
their lives. Asilah was on the animal’s back, surfer-style. He dropped astride her and yanked at her ears. Sanchez was being dragged along under her muzzle, holding the reins in both fists,
and at last they got the animal still.

It reared its head back and kicked viciously. The front of the chariot was split wide open. Asilah twisted the creature’s ears again and the poor animal bared her teeth in rage and brayed
what had to be a string of pure donkey obscenities. Mr Ian realised he was sitting in the mud. He had jumped back and lost his footing. Scott and Jacqueline were nowhere to be seen.

‘Dear oh dear,’ said the headmaster when order was restored. ‘I’m so sorry about that! These creatures are proving impossible and we thought . . . Are you all right, sir?
Do you want a hand?’

Mr Ian was holding his mouth.

‘We’re desperate to be mobile, you see. We want to do some serious racing – this chariot is one of two.’

Ruskin and Sam eased Mr Ian to his feet. He had bitten his lip again and there was that tell-tale smudge of blood in his beard.

‘Do you have donkeys at The Priory?’ said Ruskin, politely.

Mr Ian couldn’t speak.

The young boy, Scott, emerged from under a small sapling. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We don’t.’

Jacqueline, who had got halfway up a tree, said, ‘We do have ponies, but they’re for riding. We don’t . . . We don’t really do what you’re doing.’

‘Well, we’re way off schedule, to tell you the truth,’ said the headmaster. ‘The plan is to take a ride into town on Tuesday and there’s no way we’ll be
ready. We’ve booked the Ribblestrop Museum, you see – for the whole day. We thought it would be rather a hoot if we arrived by chariot, but the best laid plans, eh? What do you think,
Asilah? Would you trust old Mildred?’