Ribblestrop Forever!

by Andy Mulligan

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Harry. ‘How could your parents sell you?’

  ‘Huh?’

  Asilah said something quietly.

  ‘Didn’t they love you?’ said Scott. ‘Or did you do something bad?’

  Asilah looked round the group. It was hard to tell who was who, for everyone was huddled in blankets. ‘They probably liked us a lot,’ he said. ‘They just didn’t get to know us too much . . . And they had to let us go.’

  ‘Do you ever see them?’ said Tilda.

  Nikko smiled and looked down. ‘Every night,’ he said. ‘Every damn night – they don’t leave me alone.’

  ‘He means in dreams,’ said Israel, grinning. He punched Nikko lightly on the shoulder. ‘You don’t want to sleep near this one, man, he howls like a dog.’

  ‘Not as loud as you,’ said Sanjay. ‘I remember you at Christmas!’

  ‘Tell us about the cold,’ said Charlie quickly.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Were you serious? About your pee freezing?’

  A few children giggled. ‘I was serious,’ said Israel. ‘You had to break it off in little pieces, there was no other way! This was way up in China, minus thirty, okay? I ran tea to the railway workers there, and hot tea froze solid before I could get it to them – serious. I saw a man once and he just leaned his head on a rail – next thing he couldn’t get off again. Men had hammers they couldn’t put down – the cold’s worse than the heat.’

  ‘Show your feet, Eric!’ said Kenji. ‘Do your feet thing.’

  Eric grinned and unsquatted. He put his legs out straight, holding his ankles.

  ‘You want to see a miracle? Look at this – I did this in the circus.’

  He put his right foot into the fire and trod down on red-hot embers. He held it there and only when Nikko said something did he take it out. The whole sole was black and there was a smell of roasting.

  Imagio said, ‘You want a toe, anyone? This boy’s better than pork.’

  ‘You could hammer a nail in me,’ said Israel. ‘We don’t feel stuff any more.’

  There was a clink of glass.

  ‘Guys,’ said Asilah to The Priory children. ‘We have rum about this time. It might not agree with you, but you can try it if you want. That’s what really keeps the cold out.’

  ‘Hey, let’s sing your song again,’ said Imagio, as the liquor was poured and the fish unwrapped.

  The rain burst over them, then, and it was difficult to hear voices as they sang. The shadows on the cave walls flickered and everyone ate heartily. When the downpour eased, they told stories. They sang again and the Priory children learnt another filthy ballad – this one about a Bengali farmer who did bad things with a buffalo. They got drunk together and when they heard the laughter of strange children, they assumed it was their own. When they slept at last, listening to the buffeting wind, they didn’t notice the feathers around them.

  They did not feel soft hands drawing blankets up to their chins and touching their hair.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Sam, Ruskin and Oli were arguing over the map.

  Henry stood back and watched, waiting to be needed, and Caspar was too tired even to listen. The problem was that Sam thought the stream should be on the right, whilst Ruskin and Oli thought it was in the correct place. Sam explained that if they turned the map round, then the stream corrected itself, and that would mean that they were moving in the wrong direction.

  ‘The thing is, Sam,’ said Ruskin. ‘We’re lost. Even if you’re right, we’re lost.’

  ‘We’re not lost if we know where we are on the map,’ said Oli.

  ‘That may be true,’ said Ruskin. ‘If we were on the phone to someone we’d be able to say where we were. But if we can’t work out where to go, you know, relative to the things around us, then that is a definition of lost. Isn’t it? And that’s what we are.’

  ‘I can tell you the exact map reference,’ said Oli, sulkily.

  ‘I think we should just wait here,’ said Caspar. ‘This is a footpath. It stands to reason somebody’s going to walk down it. Some time.’

  ‘I think we’re quite a long way from civilisation,’ said Ruskin. ‘I’ve forgotten which tor we were making for.’

  ‘Red Tor,’ said Sam. ‘And I think it’s that one.’

  ‘It’s not red,’ said Caspar.

  ‘It might be at the top.’

  They gazed up at a great, looming headland, with another granite plug sticking up out of it. It seemed to have its mirror image opposite and something similar further off. As they watched, the valleys in between filled up with mist and the first raindrops fell.

  ‘Typical English summer,’ said Ruskin. ‘All promise. No delivery.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’ said Caspar.

  ‘I say press on. A footpath leads somewhere and . . . we’ll find ourselves eventually. I say walk for another hour and then pitch camp.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’ said Oli.

  ‘Not yet. I will be, though.’

  Ruskin struggled into his backpack and took his glasses off. ‘We should have pinched one of the orphans. Vijay or someone. They never get lost.’

  ‘Where do you think The Priory—’

  ‘Shhh!’

  ‘What?’

  The boys stood, listening.

  ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘I heard a groan,’ said Sam. ‘Or a kind of . . . howl.’

  ‘Which direction?’

  ‘In among those trees. Listen again.’

  They waited, and sure enough there was a mournful moaning. It lasted a few seconds and died away. Then there was the unmistakable word: ‘Help!’ This was followed by another moan.

  The boys moved towards it and soon found themselves clambering down a steep bank.

  ‘Hello?’ shouted Caspar. ‘Who’s shouting “help”?’

  The voice came back immediately. It was weak, but it was fired by desperation. ‘Hello!’ it cried. ‘I’m here.’

  Ruskin laughed. ‘If only people would stop and think about it. “Here” is meaningless, isn’t it? You know, unless you can physically see them.’

  ‘He must be where the trees are bit thicker,’ said Oli. ‘Come on.’

  The boys hurried down a slope into thick woodland. When the voice came again, it seemed to be above them, and now that the light was going it was very hard to see. Eventually, however, they saw something red – high in the branches, spread-eagled. Sam and Caspar clambered up to it and the riddle was solved.

  ‘It’s Mr Ian!’ cried Caspar. ‘He’s kind of . . . wedged.’

  They managed to lift a part of him and a bough that had been half-broken suddenly gave way. The body slithered and cartwheeled, screaming in pain – and it was lucky that Henry was in just the right position. He caught the body in his arms and laid it gently on the earth.

  ‘What on earth was he climbing trees for?’ said Ruskin. ‘He’s fainted, by the look of it.’

  The boys gathered around and shone a torch into Mr Ian’s eyes. The face was deathly pale and yet again there was blood in the beard. The coat was ripped and his hands were badly grazed.

  ‘He’s in shock,’ said Ruskin. ‘What on earth’s been going on?’

  ‘Maybe he was picking fruit,’ said Caspar.

  ‘I’d say he’s been attacked,’ said Sam. ‘A wild boar or something with tusks – and he climbed the tree to get away.’

  The eyes blinked open and the pupils dilated with pain.

  ‘Mr Ian?’ said Sam. ‘You’ve been injured.’

  Everyone nodded.

  ‘Can you walk?’ said Caspar. ‘In fact, do you know where we are? You’ve been here before, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh God,’ said Mr Ian softly. ‘Help me.’

  ‘Which way did you come?’ said Oli. ‘Do you think you can you remember the way back, if we show you the map?’

  Ruskin held it, close to his nose. Mr Ian gasped and they saw there were tears in his eyes.
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br />   ‘Leg,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s trying to say “left”, said Oli.

  ‘Left?’ repeated Sam. ‘Or leg? Which direction did you come in? If you can tell us that, we can retrace your steps.’

  Ruskin looked down.

  ‘Oh my word,’ he said. ‘Oli, look at that. He must have said “leg”.’

  Oli had stood up, and his hands were over his mouth. Caspar had changed colour too, for Mr Ian’s right leg was resting at a horribly awkward angle. The knee was almost upside down and then there was a dramatic kink below it, at thirty degrees. The foot looked twisted too and the ankle was so swollen it might have been inflated.

  ‘That’s broken,’ said Oli. ‘That looks just like Uncle Abel after dad’s ladder gave way.’

  ‘We’re going to have to carry him,’ said Sam.

  ‘This is bad,’ said Ruskin. ‘And I know one thing. We’re going to have to give up any idea of winning this Pioneers thing; this is an emergency and the casualty takes priority. I suggest you get on the field phone, Oli, and we’ll see if we can rouse Mountain Rescue. If we can’t, we’ll have to make a splint and a stretcher. Thank God we’ve got Henry with us.’

  ‘I’ll give him water,’ said Sam. ‘We ought to get some food down him too – and keep him warm.’

  The boys busied themselves around the body, which seemed to be fading in and out of consciousness. Oli soon had the phone out and, though its red light flashed importantly, the earpiece relayed only a constant buzz of static. He wound the handle furiously, but there was no connection. Mr Ian coughed up the water they tried to pour down him, and they were forced to stop.

  ‘Jake,’ said Oli, quietly. ‘It’s the pain of the leg. That’s the problem.’

  ‘We ought to straighten it,’ said Sam.

  ‘Why?’ said Caspar.

  ‘Sam’s right,’ said Oli. ‘You have to set a broken limb. We might not find a hospital for days and . . . when our uncle broke his, the doctor said the most important thing was to get the bones back in line, straight away, or you’d be crippled.’

  Sam said, ‘How do you do that, though? Did you see the doctor set it?’

  ‘You kind of pull it,’ said Oli. ‘You have to be quite strong, because . . . well, you have to stretch the bones, and then everything knits together again. I didn’t see it, but he explained it to me.’

  Ruskin shook his head. ‘I wish Imagio was here – he’s the medic.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sam, ‘but you know what Professor Worthington says about the human body – she told us when we were stitching Miles. People just kind of . . . adjust their pain thresholds. Like in the old days, they didn’t have anaesthetic, so they got on with the pain.’

  Ruskin knelt by Mr Ian’s shoulder. He spoke slowly and loudly. ‘Mr Ian!’ he said. ‘You’re in shock, but you’re going to be fine. We’re going to get you back to camp. But first of all, we’re going to make your leg comfortable.’

  ‘No,’ said Mr Ian weakly. ‘Don’t touch it.’

  ‘Henry’s the strongest. He’s going to stretch it for you, and that . . . that should make it better.’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Mr Ian. He was blinking and managed to focus on Ruskin’s face. The child gazed back at him, smiling kindly. He felt a hand on his brow.

  ‘Think of nice things,’ said Sam. ‘That’s what my mum said when I had a tooth out.’

  ‘Please don’t,’ whispered Mr Ian. ‘I beg you. I implore you . . .’

  He felt two large, powerful hands around his ankle and smaller ones pressing his shoulders down. Ruskin was smiling, and he saw him nod and raise his thumb. Then there was the most terrible wrench and the world exploded into a million comets of pure, soul-wrenching agony.

  The Sanchez party heard the scream and froze.

  They had reached their first destination and found the metal box. They had the co-ordinates of the finishing post and had checked them on the map. They were feeling proud and fulfilled.

  ‘Wow,’ said Miles, listening. ‘What animal was that?’

  ‘Sounded like a bear,’ said Vijay. ‘A bear with a spear up its bum.’

  ‘Listen. Shh.’

  They strained their ears, but there was only silence.

  ‘Must be dead,’ said Millie.

  ‘You think we’re safe?’ said Anjoli.

  Millie laughed. ‘We’ve never been safe, little boy,’ she said. ‘There’s too much evil in the world.’

  Vijay strained his eyes into the gloom. ‘Lightning Tor,’ he said. ‘You think we’ll find it in weather like this? That’s definitely where we’re heading?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You checked it, Sanchez?’

  ‘Twice. There’s something I don’t understand, though. It’s the place Doctor Ellie was talking about, ages ago – the army place she tried to get to. Closed to the public.’

  ‘So what?’ said Vijay.

  ‘So why would Mr Ian send us there?’

  ‘Maybe it’s now open to the public.’

  ‘Doctor Ellie said it wasn’t. She said she’d tried to get in and it had fences and guards. It’s the one place she really wants to explore.’

  Millie laughed. ‘That answers your question, then. She must have chosen it with Mr Ian. Maybe that’s where she’s going to meet us with Eleudin.’

  ‘Where’s Eleudin now, d’you think?’ said Anjoli.

  ‘On his way, hopefully.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Millie. ‘Put your head up.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Look at the sky – just do it for a second. Look.’

  Everyone watched, as Anjoli rocked back where he was sitting and gazed upwards. Millie started to laugh. ‘You look just like him,’ she said. ‘You’re even wearing the bracelets.’

  Anjoli smiled then and there was the first, distant peal of thunder. It was as if the rain was encouraged and decided to start beating the earth properly. The children heard the new note of intensity, for the rock they were on was being scoured. They put more sticks on their fire, huddled closer, and the cave filled up with warmth.

  ‘We’re staying here, then?’ said Vijay. ‘For the night?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Millie. ‘Soon as it’s dawn, we’ll push on again. There’s no point walking in darkness.’

  Everyone nodded.

  They were a silent for a while, gazing out at the weather. Then, after some time, Sanchez spoke. He talked about a mountain he’d climbed in Columbia. It was like the one they were on and he’d scaled it with his bodyguards.

  ‘You getting homesick?’ said Vijay.

  ‘No.’

  He started to tell them more and Millie suddenly realised how little she knew. He told them about his strange upbringing in a vast hacienda in Old Bogotá. He told them about the servants and tutors, and his parents’ parties that had gone on night after night.

  ‘I was always getting presents,’ he said. ‘Gifts, from people I didn’t know. I never knew why.’

  He talked about the clothes that were tailored for him and piano lessons on a huge veranda surrounded by jasmine. There’d been a cook that used to let him sit in the kitchen and make pastries. At last – after another, long silence – he told them about his mother and how wild she’d been. He was smiling as he spoke. He’d had to tell her off sometimes, he said, because she was never serious – she used to hide and read stories to the servant girls.

  ‘Always laughing,’ he said. ‘She was like a sister. Well, that’s not true. A friend. Then a mother at night, I guess. Especially at night. Whatever time she got home, she came in to see me. Woke me up to say goodnight. Ha!’ He laughed.

  ‘You got kidnapped, right?’ said Vijay.

  Sanchez nodded. ‘My driver,’ he said. ‘He’d worked for the family thirty years, but he had no money, and they promised him a fortune. I guess my dad didn’t pay high-enough wages.’

  He talked more and again he was uninterrupted. He described where they’d taken him and the negotiations. He t
old them about the moment they’d come for him again and cut his foot. He talked about the phonecalls – the crying and screaming – and at last the shoot-out, bullets smashing through glass, and the eventual rescue. Finally, he spoke of his mother again and how he had come home to find her gone.

  ‘They didn’t tell me for a while,’ he said. ‘I was in shock. And when they did, I couldn’t believe it – not for ages and ages.’ He smiled. ‘They said she had a weak heart. But I never understood that, because she had such a big heart. I never understood.’

  The children sat close and Anjoli gently fed the fire.

  Sanchez described the funeral and the grave, and how on the Day of the Dead the whole household had gathered, to talk to her.

  He said: ‘My father kept saying, “Shhh!” He got so drunk. We asked him, why are you shushing us? He said he was waiting to hear her laughter. We listened all night, but . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. I pretended I heard it, but it was just to keep him happy.’

  ‘Who?’ said Millie

  ‘My father. He was crying, you see. He was saying, “I can hear her! Listen!” So I pretended I could, but I didn’t hear anything.’

  As night fell, a small ice-cream van moved through the same storm.

  It was rocking in the wind and the Cuthbertson brothers sat crammed inside it with Timmy Fox. They parked on a high shoulder of the moor, where satellite reception was better. The antennae stood bravely upright, searching the air for signals, but Mr Ian’s phone remained unobtainable.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Percy, slamming his own down. ‘Sounds like he’s got the wretched thing turned off.’

  ‘He should have been back ages ago,’ said Gary. ‘Or at least checked in.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘If something’s gone wrong, then it means his kids are still on the moor.’

  ‘What do we do?’ said Timmy. ‘Should we abort?’

  ‘Shut up. No.’

  ‘All I’m thinking—’

  ‘We’re going through with it, Foxy! There’s nothing to discuss, because this is the last chance. Ribblestrop won’t be opening again – it’s as good as closed.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ interrupted Gary.

  ‘I heard this morning. The police are moving in again. First light tomorrow.’