“How was the journey?” Dr Babbage asks, sinking into the low sofa with a cup of tea and saucer in his hand.
“I didn’t come here for small talk, Babbage. As you should know by now, I’m not one for tea and cake and a nice chat. This place isn’t bugged, is it?” His little head flicks back and forth like a bird, taking in the ceiling, the lamps and the walls.
“Why would it be?” says Dr Babbage. “We’ve only been here two days - I don’t think anyone even knows we’re here, yet.”
“What's the status on the next-door-neighbours?”
“I don’t think the house next door is occupied. Not at the moment, anyway. The curtains are drawn, and I haven't heard a peep from inside.”
“Good. Let’s hope it stays that way. If any of this gets out, it’ll be your curtains that are being drawn, Babbage. You understand?”
Dr Babbage grunts, and I can almost hear his thoughts, silently cursing the ruddy-faced little colonel.
“Wasdale,” says the colonel, addressing me. “Listen carefully, because I’m not one to repeat instructions.”
I feel a bit of sick rise in my throat. I swallow slowly. Now would not be a good time to throw up.
“The only reason you're going to this school is to befriend a girl called Ruby Ramsbottom. She’s twelve - the same age as you. You must get to know her, find out as much as you can about her, and somehow get yourself invited to her house. For tea, or to play, or whatever the hell kids do. With me so far?”
I nod.
“Her father has some information that is important to us. Something vital to the success of our project. Without this information, our little miss Mannequin will be gone, and our clients will pull out, taking their filthy money with them. So, when you get invited to the house, make sure you turn up in the evening, when the girl's father is there. Your first task is to find and steal a pair of yellow key cards that belong to her father. These are the ones he uses to open the doors to his office at the barracks. I don't know where he keeps them in the house, but you're going to find them. The codes on the cards are updated every day, so once you find them, we must act fast. Make any excuse you can dream up, then get the hell out of the Ramsbottom's house. With me so far?"
I would nod if I was with him, but I'm not. Stump's face has now flushed to the colour of beetroot, and he looks to Dr Babbage who does the nodding for me.
"Good. The army barracks that Lieutenant Ramsbottom works at is in the process of being wound down and merged with another base in Essex. Equipment and soldiers are being moved out every week. So, this is a good time to make our move, and get to the documents before they're shifted to a higher security establishment. The base itself is not heavily guarded; barbed wire, dogs, infrequent patrols. It’s only ten miles from Ramsbottom's house, and I will drive you there myself, once you have the keys. You should be able to get over the fence without cutting yourself up too much. Gaining access to Ramsbottom’s office should be easy. The next bit is tougher, and you'll have to act quickly. The documents you're looking for will be in a safe, and of course we don't know the combination. You are to blow the lock. I will provide the charge and the ignition. There'll be quite a blast, a lot of heat and dust, but nothing you haven't handled before. If I've done my calculations properly, the blast will be big enough to blow the lock but not the whole door. You need to get in the safe and take all the documents inside. Be extremely careful that they do not ignite in the heat. Once you have the documents, haul you zombie ass back over the fence without being caught. If they shoot at you, just take the bullets. I will be waiting for you in the car. Clear?”
Clear? Not really. And feasible? I don’t think so. Stump’s plan seems to contain a lot of assumptions: that this Ruby girl will actually like me, for a start; that her father doesn’t keep the key cards in his pocket, or in his own safe. You can probably see more holes in his plan than there are in your socks, and so can I. But I don’t dare communicate these concerns to Stump. Instead, I let out a groan, and a belch.
“Wasdale... you’re an ugly son of a bitch and you have some damned disgusting habits.”
He’s not wrong there.
“Now listen to me, Wasdale. It is important that you keep yourself a low profile at school—at least as low as a funny looking kid like you can. Stay off the radar. Don’t upset any teachers. Don’t tell anybody you’re a zombie. Any untoward attention could jeopardise the whole mission. And you know what that would mean, don’t you?”
I groan the affirmative. I just want Stump to leave.
“Good," he says, stepping into the hallway. “No need to show me to the door, Babbage. I am not a fool.”
When Stump is outside with the door shut behind him, I make my way to the downstairs toilet and relieve my stomach of everything it’s been trying to push out of me. Dr Babbage stands behind me, passing me tissues, until I’m done.
“Come on, Frank, time for your supper - you’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
Feeling shaky, I take Dr Babbage’s hand, and we walk slowly towards our little kitchen.
*
It’s Tuesday morning. My first day at Cheasley High School. Dr Babbage walks me up the hill, through the school grounds and into the reception area. It's early, and hardly anyone is around. Then he says a quick goodbye, leaving me all alone. Fortunately, a nice lady with a smiley face is opening up the reception hatch. She has lovely round hazel eyes and spends a while fussing over me. She tells me that my first day will probably not turn out as bad as I'm imaging it to be. That sounds reassuring, but I feel increasingly nervous as the clamour and activity around the school picks up. Everyone here is familiar with the place. Everyone except me.
Suddenly a bell rings, signalling the start of the day, and the lady asks me to follow her into a corridor which is filling with the sounds of shuffling feet and excited voices. I'm already getting odd looks, but the lady keeps smiling and reassuring me that everything will be alright. She guides me on a bewildering route through the turmoil towards my new classroom.
I might as well be a bear with a machine gun, such is the reaction I get as I walk through the door. There are audible gasps from the children, and an air of fear and bemusement. One boy makes a show of getting out of his seat and moving defensively to the back of the room as I stagger and shuffle into view.
A man with a fat moustache and dark glasses - who I assume must be my form teacher Mr Balls - claps his hands and calls for order. When the chatter has died down, he thanks the smiley lady, and closes the door gently behind her.
“Everyone,” he booms, “this is Keith Wasdale, our new boy. I’m sure you’ll all make him feel welcome.”
“Frank,” I grunt, sounding more like an angry seal than a boy.
“No need to thank me, Keith, that’s quite alright. Do take a seat, there’s one at the front here... now, get back to your quiet reading, everyone.”
I push my big floppy rucksack under the desk and sit down on the red plastic chair. Facing forwards, I feel the pressure of all those unseen eyes behind me, drilling into the back of my head. A scrunched-up bit of paper hits me on the ear, and I look up to Mr Balls, unsure what to do. He hasn’t noticed, though - he’s too busy rummaging through a big pile of papers on his desk. Eventually he finds what he’s after, then looks across to me.
“I’m going to pair you with Ruby,” he says quietly. “She lives near you, and she’s quite new to Cheasley, too.” I turn and watch him walk to the back of the class where he talks to a girl with a round white face and little black pigtails. The girl seems quite alarmed that he’s speaking to her.
Did I hear him right? Ruby? It couldn’t be, could it?
The rest of the class are glaring at me, so I turn once more to face the front, where I pretend to study the silver rim of a huge wall-mounted whiteboard. After what seems like hours, the bell goes again, chairs are scraped, bags are hauled, and all hell breaks loose. After the fury has subsided, there’s only three of us left in the room: me, Mr Balls, and the gi
rl called Ruby. She’s about my height, but quite a bit fatter.
“Keith, this is Ruby Ramsbottom. She’s going to show you the ropes, aren’t you Ruby?”
The girl looks me up and down.
“We’ve got science first, with Miss Bagley,” she says grumpily. “It’s this way.” And with that, she hoists her bag over her shoulder and walks out into the corridor, without looking back to check that I’m following. Colonel Stump’s words come into my head: get to know her, find out as much as you can about her. Looking at her slumping off down the corridor, I fear that getting to know her might be easier said than done.
I run to catch up with her and reach her just as she pushes through a big double door that leads out onto a concrete yard. Tentatively, I tap her on the left shoulder. She whirls around and gives me the sort of look that I might deserve if I cursed her grandmother.
“What is it?” she says, through clenched teeth.
Quickly, I reach down into my big floppy bag, rummage around amongst my lunch and my tubs of cream, and eventually come out with what I’m looking for: my blue writing pad and pencil. Fearing that Ruby might not stand still for long, I frantically scribble my question, and hand her my pad. She takes it and squints at it.
“What are the ropes for? What kind of stupid question is that? And where’s your tongue?”
I take the pad and write some more:
Mr Balls said you’d show me the ropes.
“You’re weird,” she says, thrusting the pad back into my hands and walking away. I follow her across the yard towards a series of huts that look a bit like the barracks back at Camp Tiger. I get jostled on some steps by dozens of huddling children and their bags. We go through some more doors, and Ruby joins a queue that’s lining up along a dimly-lit corridor. I step in behind her and try to look anonymous.
“Hey, Ramsbottom, how’s your freak?” shouts a stocky boy with cropped hair, further up the line.
“He’s not my freak, Wayne,” replies Ruby, her white cheeks filling with red from the bottom up.
The stocky boy called Wayne laughs, spits on the floor, then turns to face a female teacher who has appeared at the head of the line. The teacher is wearing a white cotton coat over a long flowery dress.
“Books and pencil cases out, bags on the shelves,” she barks with a surprisingly masculine voice. “Make a mess of it like yesterday, and you’re all back in here lunchtime.”
I copy what everyone else does, flinging my floppy bag onto a rickety-looking frame in the corner. I try my best to look like I’ve been doing this for years, and casually take a seat at a big bench covered in scratches, right next to Ruby.
“Miss!” shouts a short, freckly boy. “Miss! Frankenstein has pinched my seat!”
The boy looks across to Wayne, as if for approval. Wayne starts to do a movie-style monster walk around his bench.
“Enough!” yells the teacher. “Harley - you sit at the front near me, where I can keep a close eye on you. And there’s no need to be annoyed with Frank - he wouldn’t know that’s your usual seat, would he?”
Well, at least she got my name right. I wonder how she knew.
The freckly lad does as he’s told but takes the opportunity to scowl at me before he reaches his seat. The teacher calls a register, and I get a few sniggers when I groan in response to my name. She then stands at the front of the classroom, arms raised like a preacher.
“I am an element!” she shouts, with undeniable gusto. Confused looks all round, except from Wayne who’s busy crushing the end of his pencil into his desk. “I am an element!” repeats Miss Bagley, with serious enthusiasm. “I am a colourless gas, and if you put me in a test tube and hold a lighted splint above me, I go pop! What am I? George?”
I have no idea what she’s on about, but I try my best not to look hopelessly baffled. George, a tall boy with glasses, tells her that she’s hydrogen.
“Good!” exclaims Miss Bagley. “Now, Frank, since it’s your first day here, you can try the next one!”
It’s all I can do not to poop in my pants, there and then. Stay off the radar; don’t upset any teachers - Colonel Stump’s words appear again from the mists of my mind. I look into Miss Bagley’s eyes and have a quiet belch to myself.
“I am grey, Frank.” More sniggers. “I am a metal, and if you sprinkle pieces of me over the flames of a Bunsen, I burn with a beautiful bright white light. What am I?”
All I can do is stare at her with my boggly eyes. She hands me a thick pen.
“You can write your answer on the board, Frank. Doesn’t matter if it’s wrong. I like to get everyone involved.”
Feeling embarrassed almost to the point of stupor, I pull my stool from under the bench and lumber across to the whiteboard. Everyone is watching me. As I stand there, chunky pen in hand, I realise that I’ve completely forgotten the question. I look to the teacher for support.
“I’m burning brightly,” she says. “Burning white in the flame. What am I?”
She’s burning? What is she, if she’s burning? You know what? I think I know the answer! With a trembling hand, I write it up there on the board for all to behold:
You’re hot, Miss.
The class erupts with laughter, and I stand at the front trying to comprehend the daftness of my answer. Eventually, Miss Bagley says “No, Frank, I’m magnesium." She seems flustered as she wipes my answer of the board. "Good to see you getting involved though- well done. Give him a clap, everyone!”
I return to my seat, and if my face could flush red, I’m sure it would. And if you’re thinking things couldn’t get much worse for a new boy in his very first lesson, you’re wrong. Next up is something called ‘laboratory work’. I find it difficult to concentrate on Miss Bagley’s instructions, partly because half the words she says don’t make sense, and partly because I’m still feeling really embarrassed about my wrong answer. I decide to just wait and watch what Ruby does.
In her instructions, Miss Bagley kept mentioning buns and burners. I don’t see any buns, but Ruby has brought some kind of burner over (a metal thing with a rubber tube sticking out of its bottom) and plonked it on the bench. I watch, fascinated, as she slides a square mat beneath the burner, attaches the tube to a tap, then trudges off to the back of the class. When she returns, she’s holding a burning stick! She holds it above the metal thing, turns the tap, and a lovely dancing orange flame appears, inches from my face.
“I’ll get the goggles, shall I?” says Ruby, and off she goes again, shaking her head. She returns, muttering something under her breath, and hands me some plastic goggles. I've never worn any eye protection, and probably don't need it, but everyone else is wearing the goggles so I put them on enthusiastically, then I lean forward and peer into the golden-blue flame. A girl behind me screams.
“Miss! That boy’s hair is on fire!”
I look all around the classroom, but I can’t see anyone with their hair on fire. Miss Bagley comes running across the front of the room, knocking some stools over in the process. She has an intense look on her face, like she’s chasing after the dog who stole her dinner. She grabs me by the arm and pulls me over to a sink which she slowly fills with water. Before I know it, she’s pushed my head in, and I’m beginning to think this might be some initiation rite, like they give to new recruits at the base. After a few seconds she lets off the pressure, allowing me to lift my head out and run my fingers through my hair. It feels sticky and warm up there at the top of my head, and suddenly it dawns on me what has happened. Someone at the back of the classroom starts to cry.
“We need to get you to the nurse,” says Miss Bagley, and she leads me by the hand out of the classroom, out of the science building, and across the yard to a little hut with a cross on the door. She tries pulling the door, but it’s locked. She begins to look worried. I wish I could tell her that she doesn't need to worry, that I’ve been on fire before. But I don't have my pen or pad.
It begins to rain, first a light drizzle then great big drop
lets, and Miss Cheasley becomes quite irritable. “Where the hell is Mrs Smith when you need her?” she snaps, rattling the door to the hut once more. We must look quite a sight, me with the frazzled scalp and her with her white coat and her rosy-patterned dress, getting all blotchy with water. And we’ve both still got our goggles on.
“Does it hurt?” she snaps. “Are you in pain?”
I shake my head and she shakes hers, as if emulating my actions.
“I’ve been teaching science for fifteen years, Frank, and I’ve never seen anyone’s hair go up like that. What did you put on it?”
Aha! That must be it! The lotion that Dr Babbage smears on my hair every morning, so that my scalp doesn’t smell too bad! It must be flammable. That would explain why he insisted I was lotion-free on the morning of last week’s tank trial.
Another teacher, a thin man with a high forehead, sees us in distress and comes dancing across the rain-splattered yard, holding a briefcase over his head.
“Terry!” shouts Miss Bagley. “Terry, thank God you’re here! Can you watch my class for a while - science room 112? I need to call an ambulance and get this lad to a hospital.”
Terry nods, eyeing me suspiciously, then dashes across to the science block and disappears through the big doors.
“Come on, Frank. Let’s get you to reception.”
Thankfully, the receptionist - the smiley one - calls Dr Babbage first, and Dr Babbage manages to convince her that an ambulance won't be necessary and tells her that he’ll pick me up right away.
It’s 10.30 on my first ever day at school, and already I’m going home.
Chapter 4 - The trouble with Wayne
“I can’t believe it!” says Dr Babbage later that afternoon, after he’s washed and treated my blistering scalp, and fed me sausages and mashed potatoes with a double dose of magic juice. I wrote him a summary of the morning’s events, and he’s just finished reading it. “Really, I can’t believe it. Stump will kill me when he hears about this!”
He’s pacing back and forth, up and down the front room, and in and out the conservatory. I notice that he’s bought a few rubber plants and put them on the shelves in there. He’s also nailed wooden boards over the smashed window panes. It’s starting to look quite nice, almost homely.
Frank Wasdale- First Mission Page 3