Ribblestrop Forever!

by Andy Mulligan

  ‘It’s a woman,’ said Sanjay, after five minutes of walking.

  ‘What’s she doing?’

  ‘No idea. Looks like a . . . survey, maybe. She’s got some kind of tripod.’

  ‘She’s looking at the burial chambers,’ said Miles, softly. ‘We were never allowed near them, but we did some project—’

  ‘Who’s buried there?’ asked Sam.

  ‘No idea. I hated rubbish like that. I know tourists used to come and look at them, because we had to tell a teacher if we saw any. They have rich kids here, so they’re terrified of kidnappers.’

  Millie grinned. ‘Just like Sanchez, huh? Feeling nervous?’ she called.

  ‘No,’ said Sanchez. He looked grimly around him. ‘But I want to find the road, so let’s ask her if she knows the way, and get out of here.’

  The figure still had her back to them as they approached. A stiff breeze was blowing her hair about and flapped the hood of her anorak. She was so immersed in her work that she didn’t look round, even as Asilah coughed. Her eye was in the viewfinder of a large camera and she seemed determined to get close-ups from above and below. They could see now that she was focusing on a pale white stone that was embedded in the hill, about the size of a small tombstone. The children stopped, not quite sure how to start a conversation with someone so intent.

  ‘Hello?’ said Sanchez. ‘We’re sorry to bother you . . .’

  The woman didn’t hear him. She moved her tripod again, a metre to her left. She lowered the legs and crouched, and they heard her camera click. The white stone had lumps and carvings on it and she was zooming in on the fine detail.

  ‘Hello!’ called Sanchez more loudly. This time she swung round and started with surprise. The tripod fell onto its side.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said, frostily.

  The children came closer and saw that her face was pink and weathered. ‘Sorry to bother you,’ said Sanchez, ‘but —’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say,’ she interrupted. ‘I was told the same thing yesterday. By a little crowd of joggers and your wretched teacher.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You may as well save your breath.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sanchez.

  ‘Why it’s any of your business,’ she cried, ‘I just don’t know. I’m on a historic bridleway and I have every right to be here.’

  Sanchez swallowed. ‘I see. We were just wondering—’

  ‘Apart from that, I’m doing absolutely no harm – so why you children can’t live and let live is quite beyond me. I do not recognise your school’s jurisdiction over trade routes that have existed for five thousand years, so I suggest you clear off.’

  The children stared from the woman back to Sanchez and waited for him to reply.

  ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘We’re actually looking for a telephone box,’ said Ruskin. ‘So we can phone someone.’

  ‘Do you know the significance of this stone?’ said the woman. ‘I bet you’re not even interested.’

  Miles spoke up. ‘We didn’t want to bother you, honestly. It’s just that we’re a bit lost and getting quite hungry.’

  ‘Then I suggest you go back to school!’

  ‘Er . . . that’s what we’re trying to do. But not this one.’

  The woman put her hands on her hips, and looked harder at the children. ‘You’re not from The Priory?’ she said, slowly.

  ‘No,’ said Millie.

  ‘Oh. I thought you were another bunch of those snotty-faced little snobs. Sorry, I rather jumped to that conclusion because . . . well, there’s so many of you, and I . . . No, your uniform is totally different – I’m so sorry.’

  ‘We’re from Ribblestrop Towers,’ said Ruskin, showing a damp blazer badge. ‘Though we’re not from there, as such. We’re trying to go there.’

  ‘We’ve just come down the river,’ said Anjoli. ‘We had some accidents.’

  ‘Ribblestrop?’ said the woman. ‘Ribblestrop town, formerly the settlement known as Volara? Gateway to the silver and tin mines of Ribblemoor? Market town, granted its first charter in 1302, but a thriving Iron Age trading post on account of the minerals? I was there last week, at the museum.’ She swallowed. ‘I got the wrong end of the stick, my dears. That seems to be something I do rather a lot, so people say. I’m Ellie Mold, by the way – Doctor Ellie is what people call me. You want the nearest road, right? That will mean following the bridleway I mentioned back to the school’s main entrance. Or you can take the shortcut I took and hop over the gate. Rather depends where you want to get to.’

  ‘We’re trying to find some shops, and a phone box, and—’

  ‘We’re starving,’ said Israel. ‘We got lost and we haven’t eaten for about a day.’

  ‘Anjoli!’ said Asilah, sharply. ‘Don’t touch it!’

  Everyone swung round in time to see Anjoli step back abruptly from the fallen tripod. For the first time, the woman smiled.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ she said. ‘You won’t damage it. I’ve knocked seven bells out of it over the years and it’s pretty much indestructible. Rather like me. You can have a look through it, if you want. I was about to pack up now the light’s going. It’s part of a project I’m working on – decoding the stones. Ribblestrop Towers, though . . .’ She thought hard. ‘Doesn’t that belong to the Vyner family? You say it’s a school?’

  ‘It’s a kind of school,’ said Miles. ‘It’s a pretty strange place.’

  ‘So you’re a kind of schoolboy, are you? You do look a bit unusual, you know. The Priory children dress rather more smartly.’

  Miles grinned. His shirt was more torn than usual and the tails came almost to his knees. ‘They have to,’ he said.

  ‘So why are you taking so many pictures?’ said Oli. ‘Are you an archaeologist?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘I don’t want to bore you, especially if you haven’t eaten, but that’s exactly what I am. I’m an amateur archaeologist – full marks for guessing. And these stones are a mystery I’m determined to solve. They’re part of a very elaborate system of markers, but what they mark exactly . . . well, that’s the mystery. They’ve been found all over the moor, though I expect you know that if you live at Ribblestrop – you study local history, I assume?’

  ‘No,’ said Sam.

  ‘Look, why don’t I get you to the road, and I can . . . well, I can drive you to the nearest supermarket, I suppose. I can at least get you fed.’

  ‘All of us?’ said Millie. ‘Have you got a bus parked somewhere?’

  ‘I’ve got a fairly big van, so it depends how small you can make yourselves. It’s in a lay-by over there – other side of that hedge. If The Priory lot haven’t towed it away, that is. They think they own the whole earth and sky. Follow me, why don’t you? We can slip out quietly. Oh . . . too late. Dammit.’

  ‘Why?’ said Eric.

  The children turned to look where Doctor Ellie was looking, and a voice floated over the field towards them.

  ‘You there! Stay where you are!’

  ‘Oh Lord,’ said the woman. ‘Here comes the tyrant.’

  ‘Who’s he?’ said Sanchez. ‘Is that the teacher?’

  A large man was hurrying over the grass with another figure behind him. He had an arm raised, and his anger was obvious even at sixty or seventy metres.

  ‘It’s the same one as yesterday and one of the guards. He’s an absolute rogue – no manners at all.’

  ‘We could run,’ said Israel. ‘They don’t look too fast.’

  ‘Why should we?’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘We are not trespassing and I will not be chased off like a peasant. You have to stand up to these fellows.’

  The two men broke into a jog and the children saw that there was yet another cluster of blue-suited children behind them. The taller of the men blew a whistle and waved. His voice floated across the plain again. ‘Stay exactly where you are, please! You’re under arrest.’

  ‘He’s a history
teacher,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘Can you believe that? He teaches history and knows nothing about it. They call him “Mr Ian”.’

  ‘Mr Ian?’ said Miles. ‘History teacher?’

  She shuddered. ‘He’s completely ignorant. We’ll ignore him, I think. Follow me.’

  She started walking purposefully towards the hedge and there was another long blast on the whistle.

  ‘I order you to stop!’ shouted Mr Ian. ‘I order you to stand still!’

  Chapter Seven

  Doctor Ellie held the children to a dignified walk and it was soon clear that the two men would cut them off before they reached the hedge.

  There was a gate through to the road but it was padlocked. Everyone converged and Mr Ian thrust his way to the front, blocking all chance of escape. He was puffing and wheezing, and his security-guard companion was red-faced too. This man was dressed from head to toe in black and the letters SSS were inscribed on both breast pocket and cap.

  ‘Mr Ian,’ said Doctor Ellie, politely. ‘How nice to see you again. I expect you’re going to give me a good telling off, aren’t you? But do you really think you have the power of arrest?’

  Mr Ian fought for breath. He wore a tracksuit with a shapeless tweed jacket over the top, both elbows patched. His eyes were bulging slightly and he was chewing his lips through a shaggy, sandy beard.

  ‘I thought I told you,’ he said, at last. ‘I told you to . . . to stay off our land!’

  ‘I thought I told you,’ said Doctor Ellie, ‘that it’s not your land to control.’

  ‘It most certainly is.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘You had your warning. I am now—’

  ‘This is a path,’ said Doctor Ellie, ‘that has existed for thousands of years, and if you think your tin-pot college can privatise and close it, you’re demented. Now, does this gargoyle have a key to the gate, or do we have to remove you and climb over?’

  The children could see that there was a lay-by on the other side of the gate with a large blue van parked at the end of it.

  ‘I do have a key,’ said the guard, ‘but Mr Ian’s quite right. The fact you’ve ignored the sign means that you are in breach of by-laws, and—’

  ‘The by-laws are illegal.’

  ‘Oh no they’re not!’

  ‘I also happen to know that your security company – this SSS nonsense – is unlicensed and unregulated.’

  ‘We are not!’

  ‘Yes, you are, and—’

  ‘This is school property, woman!’ exploded Mr Ian. ‘You can’t just clamber over our gates and go where you like!’

  ‘I can and I do. This land was made public by Oliver Cromwell, and the right to freedom of passage—’

  ‘You’re trespassing!’ shouted the teacher.

  Doctor Ellie nodded. ‘Well, I can see that there’s no point standing here contradicting a fool,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re not a man who listens, and I should save my breath. But I can tell you now what I told you yesterday: no court in the land would uphold your fraudulent claim and, if you molest and bully me, then I’ll be bringing a civil action against you. The land is free and part of our heritage. I’ve been showing these lovely children living history, and I defy you, sir. You should be looking after your own pupils, not harassing mine.’

  Mr Ian had turned crimson and his lips twitched. He turned to see that the cluster of blue joggers had come close. They had overheard every word – and one or two were smiling happily. They were gazing at the Ribblestrop pupils with fascination.

  ‘Get back to the house!’ barked Mr Ian. His voice was a curiously high squeak. ‘Get into your togs – greys only – and get to prep.’

  ‘It’s Monday, sir,’ said a boy. ‘Shouldn’t we wear our—’

  ‘Get back to the house!’ roared Mr Ian, and the children fled without another word.

  Doctor Ellie broke the short silence that followed with a cool line of contempt. ‘You know, I have always despised grown men who shout at small children,’ she said. ‘Herodotus, writing in 429 BC, tells of a tutor in third century Athens. The man was stoned out the city for that offence, because it was seen as an affront to civilised values. It also suggests mental infirmity.’ She turned to the security guard. ‘Unlock the gate, please.’

  The guard did as he was told and wrenched off the chain.

  Mr Ian stood aside. ‘You are all on camera, you know,’ he said. ‘We shall be circulating your images.’

  ‘Completely illegal,’ said Doctor Ellie as stepped into the lay-by. ‘Any film you’ve shot is protected material and cannot be circulated by civilians.’

  ‘Now you listen to me!’ said Mr Ian, pushing through the gate after her. ‘We have a duty of care here to all our pupils. Who are these . . . ruffians, anyway? Look at the state of them!’

  His eye had been caught by Anjoli, who had one arm round Sam and the other round Israel. He was bare-chested, his blazer tied round his waist. He stuck his tongue out rudely.

  ‘I will have your names, every one of you,’ hissed Mr Ian. His hands were clenched into fists and he snatched a pen from his jacket pocket. ‘I will be making a formal complaint to your so-called school.’

  ‘Shall I call the police, sir?’ asked the security guard.

  Mr Ian swung round and glared at him. ‘Yes!’ he cried. ‘I thought they were on their way!’

  The man muttered into his radio and the children pushed through the gate towards the van. Doctor Ellie strode ahead to its rear doors and pulled them open. The first orphan struggled up onto the step.

  ‘All aboard!’ she cried.

  ‘Do not attempt to leave!’ shouted Mr Ian. ‘I need names and addresses!’

  ‘It’s all right, sir,’ said a voice. ‘I’ve got her.’

  Everyone looked down to see who had spoken. There was a second security guard who had been hidden by the side of the vehicle. He was kneeling close to the back wheel and was smiling grimly.

  ‘Two-hundred and fifty pounds,’ he said. ‘That’s just the release fee.’

  ‘They’ve clamped us,’ said Doctor Ellie, quietly. ‘How typical.’

  ‘College property, madam,’ said the man. ‘Signs up for all to see.’ His radio squawked like a bird and he spoke into the microphone. ‘Unit Foxtrot reporting. Blue van immobilised, driver and passengers apprehended. Can you send recovery asap – need a ten-tonne flat-bed, couple of crew. Police alerted – she’s about to get nasty, by the look of it.’

  ‘Do you have a tool kit?’ said Sanjay, quietly.

  ‘What for?’ said Doctor Ellie.

  ‘Get Cuthbertson,’ said the first guard. ‘Might need a bit of muscle.’

  ‘Miss,’ said Asilah, ‘we don’t really want to meet up with the police right now. It would be best to get out of here.’

  ‘I don’t either, but I’m not sure we’ve got much choice.’

  Even as she spoke, Israel was emerging from the driver’s door with a long metal box in his arms. The wheel-clamper stepped back as the boys pressed in to look at his work. The tyre was encased in yellow bars and familiar letters were stenciled over their centrepiece: SSS.

  ‘Stay away from that!’ said the guard. ‘Don’t even think about interfering – that’s another offence.’

  Seconds later, however, Podma had a crowbar slotted behind the clamp. One quick jerk twisted the main hinge clear of the hubcap.

  The guard was outraged. ‘That is vandalism!’ he cried. ‘Come and look at this, Brian! They’re forcing the metal!’

  The children took no notice for, once again, they were working together. Podma bent the second part of the mechanism, while Miles added his weight. Vijay moved in under them with a large spanner and eased it in over one of the wheelnuts. A number of other boys had dragged suitable stones from under the hedge, and Sam and Israel had crawled beneath the chassis on their bellies with a jack. In half a minute, a large rock had been rolled into position and slid through the mud. The jack was under the axle, and the c
orner of the van was rising into the air.

  ‘Do not remove that wheel!’ said the guard. ‘That is forbidden, totally, and there’s a fine of six hundred pounds—’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Vijay, adding his weight to the spanner.

  Mr Ian could stand it no longer. ‘Give that to me, you little beggar!’ he cried. ‘Give that thing to me!’

  He was a big man and he strode into the scrum of children, knocking two to one side. He slammed Vijay against the side of the vehicle and went for Anjoli, who was working on the second nut. Anjoli ducked, but the man was too quick. He grabbed the boy by the hair and drew him backwards. The next instant, however, his legs had buckled under him, and he was on his back. Asilah crouched over him, trembling with rage, a finger close to the man’s nose. Sanchez tried to hold him back, but Asilah was bristling.

  ‘Don’t ever, ever do that,’ he hissed.

  ‘Assault,’ said one of the security guards, backing onto the road in terror. He had a small camera in his hand. ‘Did you all see that? That was a martial arts move, that was! Did you see what he did?’

  Mr Ian lay still, winded and shocked. He had received a sharp kick to the back of his left knee, and it had completely disabled him.

  ‘You touch one of us again,’ said Asilah, ‘and you’ll get badly hurt.’ He looked up at Vijay. ‘Finish the job. Help him, Miles.’

  ‘I say, leave this to Cuthbertson,’ said the guard. He was filming everything. ‘This is one of those London schools, isn’t it? Thugs and druggies, that’s what you lot are.’

  Mr Ian managed to sit up, but he still hadn’t caught his breath. There was blood on his beard from where he’d bitten his lip, and he was shaking his head as if to clear it.

  ‘Miles,’ he said, quietly. ‘You said Miles, didn’t you?’

  Anjoli said something in his own language and started to slide the wheel off. Mr Ian was staring round the group, his eyes wild. ‘I thought I . . . Where is he?’

  ‘Take no notice,’ said Sanchez. ‘Get the job done and let’s get out of here.’