Ribblestrop Forever!

by Andy Mulligan

  ‘It’s a fossil,’ said Millie. ‘You’re saying someone put it in your pocket?’

  Sanchez said, ‘It’s got a hole in it – can you see? It’s like the one in the museum, I don’t know if you saw it. I was hearing wind in the branches, like we all do. There’s leaves moving all the time, but I was lying awake and there was Miles on one side of me, Eric on the other. The tree house was moving, of course – we’re used to that. But I felt someone sitting right by me, close to my shoulder. I heard him laugh and I . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He touched my hair.’ Sanchez paused. He was flushed. ‘I had my eyes open. I was not asleep, but everyone else was. I swear it. I was wide awake and when I looked . . . there was nothing, obviously. Just the laughter again. Not mean laughter – not spooky, even, just . . . playing laughter and a hand pressed me. Just here.’ Sanchez touched his chest. ‘I sat right up and the next morning I find this under my pillow. A gift.’

  ‘You think it was a ghost?’ said Millie.

  ‘I know it was a ghost. I know it. And what I want to know, Millie, was what you saw in the museum that made you so upset. You know, when we were standing round the urn with the little baby inside – Eleudin. What did you see that made you crack up like that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Was it just the fact it was a skeleton? Did it scare you?’

  Millie looked hard into his eyes. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It didn’t scare me at all. What’s scary about it?’ She paused. ‘Look . . . this is really hard to put into words, but I was . . . staring, like everyone else. And the glass . . . you know how you see reflections, so you see yourself? We were all standing around him and it was just that, for a moment, for a second, the glass wasn’t there and I saw us. It was our child and he was one of us. We were gathered round him and it was us putting the thread round his wrists and feet and . . . do you remember? She told us they even had earrings for him and he had long hair. We were there with him, like they must have been. He was one of ours. All we wanted was for him to get to heaven and I thought, Poor baby. Poor us, grieving for him. It’s not them, it’s us – we’re no different. History’s about studying ourselves.’

  Sanchez nodded. A tear rolled down his cheek.

  ‘I showed the fossil to Asilah,’ he said. His voice was shaking. ‘He said he has one. He said Nikko has one too and Nikko found it in his pocket. Just a little one, but sharp as a razor.’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘I don’t know, but they’re all around us! I showed mine to Doctor Ellie and she said it’s a protective thing to ward off . . . whatever’s out there. So I don’t think we should go out on the moor. I think something really bad’s coming.’

  Millie touched him gently on the shoulder. ‘I know it,’ she said. ‘I’m sure you’re right and everyone feels it. But whatever’s coming is going to find us, wherever we are, isn’t it? It’s going to push us to the limit, because it always does.’

  Sanchez sighed. ‘We don’t have to go! We can just stay here!’

  ‘No we can’t.’

  ‘Tell me we’re friends, please. We are friends, aren’t we? You and me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you think we should just wait? And see what happens?’

  ‘Sanchez, yes. What else can we do? We stick together and we look after each other.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The next sensation was at the museum.

  Doctor Ellie had sent a message that everyone was to meet at two o’clock on Wednesday. The children had been upgrading camp defences, for they didn’t want the place spoiled in their absence. A new man-trap was dug, close to the main access trail, and camouflage had been renewed to disguise the tree houses. They would leave for the moor properly armed, so axe-heads were fitted onto hard wooden poles, which were left in water to swell and tighten. Swords and daggers were sharpened twice a day.

  They decided to rest the donkeys by cycling into town, and were through the doors right on time. They piled their cloaks in a heap and those that had dared to wear their weapons – for the teachers still threatened to confiscate any they saw – remembered in time and hid them. Sanjay led everyone through to the conservatory and was stopped in his tracks. A dozen children in smart blue blazers had got there first and were sitting crosslegged in rows. They swung round at the intrusion and gazed at the Ribblestrop pupils, open-mouthed.

  ‘Wow!’ yelled Anjoli. ‘There’s kids here! Little ’uns!’

  The children in blue could only gawp as the savages piled in. Asilah fought his way to the front to restore order, but it was a chaotic scene.

  ‘Hey, look who it is!’ yelled Sam. ‘Look at that, guys, it’s Scottie!’

  ‘There’s Jacqueline!’ shouted Kenji. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Sure enough, the two children they’d met with Mr Ian were in the group, looking as pale and bewildered as the rest.

  ‘Hey,’ said Imagio, kneeling down beside a frizzy-haired eight-year-old. ‘What’s with the clipboards, man?’

  ‘Look at this!’ said Israel. ‘They got questions!’

  ‘You guys doing a test?’ said Eric.

  ‘They’re making notes,’ shouted Vijay. ‘Look at this guy’s handwriting! Look!’

  ‘That is neat,’ said Imagio, squatting next to him.

  Miles had pushed through, straight to Vicky. ‘Miss!’ he said, hugging her. ‘You’ve started without us! Where’s the stone gone?’

  Vicky struggled to make herself heard above the din and fought her way out of Miles’ embrace.

  ‘Listen, please!’ she cried. ‘Listen! We’re double-booked, I’m afraid. There’s been a bit of confusion, so . . . please! It’s going to be quite a squeeze. I’m sure we can do it if we’re organised. Can everyone just sit down for a second?’

  It was just at that moment that a voice bellowed from the hall and the glass shook in the windowframes. Even the Ribblestrop pupils were silenced and Vicky jumped as if she’d been struck. All eyes turned to the teacher, pressing through the tangle of bodies; it was, of course, Mr Ian.

  ‘Silence, the lot of you!’ he yelled. He waited for two seconds and then said in a serpent-like hiss, ‘What the hell is going on? Who are these ruffians?’

  ‘Hey, Mr Ian,’ said Miles, from under his nose. ‘You’re looking good.’

  ‘Better than ever,’ said Anjoli.

  Mr Ian changed colour. His face went pale, as if the blood was draining into his beard, and his lips twitched.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Tomaz, from behind. ‘We’ve got to get Henry in still. Can you move up a bit?’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Mr Ian. ‘I thought . . .’

  ‘Oh, this is my fault!’ said another voice, from even further back. ‘Is that the Ribblestrop children? I’m afraid we got muddled – we get so few school groups and now we have two at the same time.’ Doctor Ellie was easing herself into the room, pressed to the wall. She slid round to the front, eyes shining. ‘What an absolute treat!’ she cried. ‘You’re going to have to forgive me, Mr Ian – it’s a genuine mistake. Your children can squeeze to the front, can’t they? Can you move forward, dears?’

  ‘This is intolerable . . .’ said Mr Ian. ‘I reconfirmed this only yesterday!’

  The look of horror on his face was intensifying. He was taking in the details, now, as his eyes sprang from child to child. Sanjay was wearing multiple necklaces of stones and birds’ feathers and his blazer had no sleeves. Kenji had tied his hair up in dreadlocks and was wearing nothing but shorts. Every inch of skin was painted deep red, though the red was slashed with black tiger stripes. Henry was actually breathing down Mr Ian’s neck as he was led past. He wore the yellow and black of Ribblestrop and even had a tie on. He was carrying a dozen dead rabbits, though, that Sam had killed with his slingshot on the journey. They hung from a stick, tied by the feet, and The Priory children couldn’t take their eyes off them.

  ‘This is impossible,’ whispered Mr Ian.
/>
  ‘Oh, we’ll manage if we work together,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘I suggest everyone sits down and Vicky finishes her introduction. The Ribblestrop children have heard it before, so they’ll just have to be patient. There’s the big surprise coming, don’t forget. So let’s get on. Anyone for juice, by the way?’

  The two schools settled.

  Vicky resumed her lecture, but Mr Ian was more entertaining. His expression switched from horror to hatred and then to nausea. Millie and Miles sat next to him, one on each side, and because of the limited space they were obliged to press quite close. His blue-blazered pupils scratched away at their clipboards, heads down. Each child had a cap folded neatly into their right pocket, and Anjoli removed one secretly and put it on. The boy they’d already met – Scott – noticed this and stared, blinking at the blasphemy. Then, suddenly, he grinned, and the joy in the room passed from child to child like a dangerous, silent electricity.

  Mr Ian was powerless.

  When Vicky invited questions, there was a forest of hands.

  ‘Where did they get the gold?’ said one boy.

  Vicky explained that they had brought it with them, from far-off places.

  ‘Why didn’t they just bury their dead?’ said someone else. ‘I mean, why didn’t they have graves, like most people?’

  Israel answered this one, reminding the girl who’d asked that they were always ready to move. Ruskin said that in any case, putting someone in the earth must have seemed so rude, and it made much more sense to keep someone you were fond of close by.

  A high-pitched voice then broke through the debate and the frizzy-haired boy stood up. ‘What I want to know, miss,’ he said, ‘if you can tell me, please, because I find this ever so interesting, is where these “flare paths” actually lead to, and do you think there’s any treasure at the end?’

  ‘Harry,’ hissed Mr Ian. ‘Grow up and shut up.’

  ‘It’s a good question,’ said Millie. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘He’s always asking about treasure,’ said Jacqueline. ‘It’s a bit of an obsession.’

  ‘Well,’ said Doctor Ellie, ‘it’s a question that actually gets to the heart of the matter. Your name’s Harry, is it? I can tell you, Harry, that there is undoubtedly treasure out on the moor. The idea that everything’s been found is ludicrous. As to where the flare paths lead, well, that’s harder to answer – and Vicky and I have been hoping to find out for many, many years.’

  ‘And we’re closer than we were,’ said Vicky, smiling broadly.

  ‘Much closer. Thanks to a discovery made by our resident explorer, Caspar Vyner – who’s sitting at the back and deserves a round of applause. As I think you know, Caspar, the stone is now complete, thanks to your eagle-eyes.’

  There was a burst of applause and Caspar turned pink.

  ‘The flare paths lead off in different directions,’ resumed Doctor Ellie. ‘Tracing them has been a very difficult job, because so many stones have been uprooted and moved. The only way to really see them is to get out into the moonlight and look. But even that’s not easy because they don’t always shine the way you expect.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Eric. ‘I thought you said they just kind of . . . glowed.’

  ‘Not exactly. It’s hard to say how they work, but my theory is that they were cut at very precise angles. The moonlight falls on the reflective side at very particular times – the moon has to be aligned in just the right way, you see. So in other words, you can stand in the darkness looking for them and see nothing. And then, when the moon climbs into right place, they light up like someone’s pulled a switch. Of course, at some point, they all go off again.’

  ‘Have you seen that, miss?’ said Imagio.

  ‘Yes, I have. It’s very moving. It’s rather frustrating, too.’

  ‘So where do they lead?’ said Sam. ‘Where do you go if you walk down one?’

  ‘Well, this is the point, Samuel. We’ve never been able to walk down one for any distance. And when we do, it’s guesswork and we tend to veer off in a wrong direction. So . . . I can’t really answer the question, because I just don’t know.’

  ‘We think,’ said Vicky, ‘that they probably lead to a very special place. Tomaz, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing, miss.’

  ‘Are you feeling unwell?’

  Tomaz put his head down and Vicky continued. ‘If it is a special place . . . sorry, I’ve lost my thread. If the flare paths lead to a special place, then it would have to stay a secret. You wouldn’t want people going there, unless they had good reason. I wonder if it’s actually a sacred spot . . . some kind of graveyard, perhaps.’

  ‘Like for that kid in the vase,’ said Vijay.

  ‘You think they would have buried them,’ said Jacqueline, ‘in the end?’

  ‘In most cultures, even wandering tribes create a necropolis. That’s a place for the dead – a final resting place.’

  ‘And you think it’s on Ribblemoor?’ said Miles.

  ‘It’s a theory.’

  Vicky took over. ‘Would it be easier if we just went outside, Ellie? I’m worried about Tomaz. I think we need fresh air.’

  ‘Outside where?’ said Mr Ian. ‘I don’t want muddy shoes.’

  ‘Can you open that door, Sanchez?’ called Doctor Ellie. Everybody was on their feet. ‘I think it’s time we showed you the stone.’

  Chapter Thirty

  The conservatory doors opened onto an overgrown garden and Sanchez threw them wide.

  Thirty-five children were soon pushing through long grass towards a set of crumbling steps. There had been a rain shower that morning and everyone was soon wet-footed, slipping and sliding. They climbed down past shaggy trees and sprays of bramble – the temptation to shove was overwhelming and there were shrieks of laughter. When they got to the bottom, however, a silence descended, for the last section of the garden was a curious oval shape, almost completely surrounded by an ancient wall, and it held in its centre – like a jewel – a circular fish pond.

  Out of the water rose the stone, white and shining.

  It was cracked in two places, but the cracks were thin, and it was obvious that the structure was now complete. The whiteness gleamed far brighter than the Ribblestrop children remembered, but what was so beautiful and extraordinary was the perfection of the stone’s reflection. The water was still and black, and held the reversed image as clear and exact as a mirror. It was as if the stone had doubled itself and, when the children peered down, they saw themselves and the sky and some immediately felt dizzy, for it was like looking down into a perfectly inverted world into which you could all too easily fall.

  ‘It was Vicky’s idea,’ said Doctor Ellie quietly.

  ‘Well, not really . . .’ whispered Vicky. ‘It was just a suggestion, because—’

  ‘Because we were getting nowhere,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘Let’s be honest, we’d been up all night with it. We’d been copying the symbols and cross-referencing every piece of text we thought might help us. Could we work it out? No, we couldn’t.’

  ‘I started to look at it upside down,’ said Vicky. ‘I was very tired and I think I had a line of symbols the wrong way up and they seemed to make more sense that way. So I got a mirror and we looked at it then through the mirror.’

  ‘We saw things differently. We saw that what we’d thought were simply runes, or lines, were actually trees. We began to see fish and feathers. And the fish repeat in certain ways that we think might replicate the flare paths themselves. How good is your Ancient Celtic, Mr Ian?’

  ‘Non-existent.’

  ‘Are you familiar with Bede?’

  ‘No. We don’t study that period.’

  ‘Do you study the lives of the saints? Paganism and Christianity?’

  ‘We do twentieth century.’

  ‘Nazis,’ said a boy.

  ‘We’ve been doing Nazis for three years,’ said another.

  ‘That’s because they come up in the exam,’ said Mr
Ian. ‘If you can write an essay on the Holocaust, you sail through. Even the stupid can understand Hitler.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘That’s a comforting thought. Well, Bede was an eighth century monk who translated many texts, including some very early ones that were based on old, oral traditions. There’s a fragment of an epic poem – nobody knows where it comes from and very little exists. It’s called “Hymn to St Caspar”, and the more we looked in the mirror, the more we thought of it.’

  She concentrated hard, and spoke carefully:

  ‘When the river runs full and the valley fills,

  When the fire leans to the wind in the hills:

  Look not for the children, if they choose to be lost,

  For the earth stays warm under summer frost.

  In through the pool of the solemn-eyed,

  Look not for the dead, for they have peace –

  You’ll find the soul of those who died,

  Changed yet again, when the birds fly east.’

  ‘But that’s so similar,’ said Miles, quietly. ‘That’s almost the same. Isn’t it?’

  ‘As what?’ said Vicky.

  ‘As the poem we know. About the sword, last term! That’s got such similar words.’

  ‘Bede said it was about one of the earliest saints, but we all know he had a habit of mucking things about to suit his purposes. St Caspar was a holy man who passed through here. According to legend, he prayed here – in this very garden.’

  ‘Miss,’ said Tomaz quietly, ‘you’ve got to stop this now.’

  Doctor Ellie laughed. ‘What do you mean, Tom?’

  ‘How do you read it, then?’ said Ruskin. ‘It it left to right, or—’

  ‘Look down into the water, children. If you look hard and if you wait a moment – don’t disturb the surface. Kneel down, some of you, then everyone can see. Can you see the feathers? They’re carved in deeper and under them – in the reflection, I mean – can you see the flames? I think a feather might represent death, I don’t know. Or possibly the soul. What’s happening?’