Prince Albert pulled on one end of his moustache, then the other. “They could get engaged now. Married later.”
“They don’t want to wait,” said Ebnolia. “They want to get married as soon as possible.”
“How soon?” asked Queen Victoria.
“A week from now, Your Majesty.”
Everyone goggled. Col had the sense that his fate was being decided, but it was nothing to do with him. Marriages were arranged all the time between young men and women of the elite. If this alliance saved the Porpentines from the disaster he’d caused, then he had no objection.
Queen Victoria stifled an unseemly giggle. “Such a hurry! Dear, oh dear! They must be very much in love.” She turned to her Consort. “Do you remember how we were, Albert, when we first met, all those years ago.”
“Not so many years,” Prince Albert answered gallantly. “Seems like yesterday.”
“You came on board at Gibraltar. We were supposed to have at least eighteen months of being engaged.”
“But you wouldn’t hear of waiting longer than six months.” Prince Albert rested his hand on the table next to Queen Victoria’s hand. “After we set eyes on each other. You put your foot down.”
“I did, didn’t I?”
They were leaning closer and closer. Their arms might have touched if Queen Victoria hadn’t pulled herself together with a little shake.
“I’m going to allow it,” she said. “These two young people can get married as soon as they like.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Sir Mormus.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” echoed Chief Helmsman Turbot.
Orris let out a deep sigh of relief.
“May we hope that Your Majesty will conduct the ceremony herself?” asked Ebnolia.
“Of course, of course!” Queen Victoria clapped her hands. “I’d love to.”
There was a smattering of applause around the Chamber. The mood had changed in the Porpentines’ favour.
“Well, well.” The Queen adjusted her face to a serious expression. “I suppose we should get back to the business of the meeting. Sir Wisley, you were saying?”
Ebnolia and Hommelia drew Col and Sephaltina away to the side. Col was aware of Sephaltina glancing at him, blushing prettily on and off. He might have thought her extremely attractive if he hadn’t grown used to Riffs different kind of looks.
Sir Wisley had the centre of the room for pacing up and down again. However, he seemed to have lost the inclination.
“We proceed to a vote on your no-confidence motion, then,” said Queen Victoria.
There was a bitter twist to Sir Wisley’s mouth as he scanned the members of the Executive. “Your Majesty, I would like to withdraw the motion.”
“Withdraw? Oh, if you wish.” Queen Victoria was not amused. “Is there any other business?”
Chief Helmsman Turbot had remained on his feet. “Your Majesty, I have another motion to propose.”
Receiving the Queen’s nod of approval, he took the floor. He spoke of the probability that the Prussian juggernaut would reach Hong Kong before Worldshalcer, and proposed a change of route to the coaling station at Singapore.
The vote was a foregone conclusion, even without the Chief Helmsman’s arguments. Sir Wisley’s supporters could recognise a shift in the wind. They voted in favour, while Sir Wisley abstained.
Then Queen Victoria declared the meeting closed. She left the Chamber with Prince Albert, while the members of the Executive stayed talking among themselves. Col left with Orris and Ebnolia.
A little breathless cry brought them to a halt. “Oh, Lady Porpentine.”
It was Hommelia Turbot sailing up behind, her trotterlike feet twinkling below the hem of her floral dress.
“Ah.” She subsided and recovered her breath. “Lady Porpentine, do you think the young couple should have a meeting together before their wedding?”
Ebnolia tilted her head and thought about it. “Yes, that would be proper. Chaperoned, of course.”
“Then we positively must pay you a visit.”
“I shall be taking the family for a holiday on Garden Deck.”
“When, dear Lady Porpentine?”
“We set off this afternoon. As soon as Colbert and his sister come home from school.”
“Then a visit on Garden Deck. How nice. Would Thursday be available?”
“Perfectly available. Yes.”
Ebnolia continued on along the corridor, followed by Col and Orris. Hommelia made elaborate gestures of farewell.
Col’s head was still spinning from the scene in the Chamber, but the mention of school brought him back to the immediate present. Sir Mormus might have won over the Executive, but Col hadn’t won over the Squellingham group. They hadn’t changed their minds about beating him up.
“Grandmother.” He caught up with Ebnolia. “Do I have to go back to school now? I could start getting my things ready for the holiday.”
Ebnolia didn’t even consider it. “Plenty of time for that afterwards, Colbert. Your father will escort you back.”
∨ Worldshaker ∧
Fifty
Orris escorted Col as far as the entrance arch of the Academy. Col thought of slipping across the yard to hide in the toilets, but he couldn’t do it with his father watching. Like a prisoner going to execution, he went up the ramp and returned to class.
The Squellingham group grinned and gloated when they saw the victim delivered back into their hands. Col knew they would be lying in wait for him after school. Probably under the entrance arch, since there was no other way out from the Academy.
But what if he stayed inside? They wouldn’t expect that, they wouldn’t know where he’d gone. Waiting for the last bell of the day, he pondered a plan of survival.
Clang-clang-clang!
End of term! The students gave a great cheer. Even Mr Gibber couldn’t out-yell them. They were uncaged animals frantic for freedom. They snatched up their satchels and rushed for the door all at the same time. For several minutes, there was a wild mêlée of jostling, shouting students.
The turmoil was exactly what Col needed. He collected his satchel but didn’t follow the crowd. Instead, he ducked down and hid under his desk.
Had he been noticed? He waited for someone to call out and give him away. But no. The shouting faded and the classroom was empty. Col raised his head to take a look.
Only Mr Gibber remained, standing in the doorway. He cracked his knuckles and seemed in high good humour.
“Good riddance!” he muttered. “Stinkers! Scum! Degenerates! Bartrim Gibber is ten times as good as any of you.”
He came back into the classroom and played a drum roll on his desk. Whistling between his teeth, he wiped down the blackboard. Then he went out and closed the door behind him.
Col left his satchel under his desk and crawled as far as possible away from the door. He hid in the furthest corner, cross-legged beneath Pugh’s desk. Here, he could only be spotted if someone knelt down to peer between the desk-legs.
He willed himself to patience. When would the Squellingham group realise they’d missed him? And what would they do then? He would have to stay hidden for a very long time.
The empty classroom was a world transformed, silent and still and eerie. Now that the initial excitement was over, he fell into a blank state of boredom. Five minutes, ten minutes went past.
Then a thought popped into his mind. The red ink! Someone must have a bottle of red ink in their desk, someone like Hythe or Pugh. Now was the perfect opportunity to investigate.
He waited a while, but his curiosity had been aroused. He had to know who had been writing those notes. He felt sure he would be able to hear if any footsteps approached along the gallery outside.
He came out from his hiding place. Pugh’s desk first. He opened the lid and found a stack of answer papers from yesterday’s Geography exam. But the only bottle of ink was blue.
Hythe’s desk contained the answer papers from the Algebra
exam…but no bottle of ink at all. Col went through Haugh’s desk, and Flarrow’s, Lumbridge’s, Fefferley’s. Still nothing.
What about one of the climbers, writing notes under instructions from the twins? Col moved further and further out across the room. He looked inside the desks of the climbers, then the crawlers, then even the blockies and grindboys. Nobody had a bottle of red ink.
Only one possibility remained: Mr Gibber himself. Col could hardly believe it, but he had to make sure.
He crossed to the teacher’s desk and pulled out the left-hand drawer. It contained only assorted bric-a-brac that Mr Gibber had confiscated from students during the term.
He went to pull out the right-hand drawer when a sudden loud crash made him jump.
The classroom door had been flung wide open – and there in the doorway stood Hythe and Pugh.
The rest of the gang crowded behind them. There was an ugly grin of triumph on every face. They had discovered him after all.
They filed in and closed the door. Not only the six members of the group, but Prewitt and Melstruther and the two boys co-opted from 5A. At a word from Hythe, Prewitt and Melstruther dragged a desk across in front of the door.
So this is it, Col thought. Ten against one. He gave himself an all-over shaking, as he did at the start of his training sessions.
His enemies jeered. “Look at him shaking in his shoes!”
“He’s cracking up already!”
They advanced across the room, Lumbridge, Haugh and Flarrow at the front. As wise generals, Hythe and Pugh stayed out of harm’s way at the back.
Col was still behind Mr Gibber’s desk. When the twins shouted “Get him!” he pushed the desk forward into the charging pack. The front three doubled up as the wooden edge smashed into them at waist level.
Col sprang on top of the desk and aimed a kick at Flarrow – where Riff had shown him, right on the Adam’s apple. Flarrow fell backwards with a kind of gurgle. Col aimed another kick at Haugh, but missed his spot. Haugh clutched at the side of his jaw and stayed upright.
Lumbridge had already moved around the desk and was trying to catch hold of Col’s ankles. Col danced back, then jumped right off the desk and onto Lumbridge’s shoulders.
As his most dangerous opponent went down in a heap, Col delivered a punch to the nape of his neck. But his timing was wrong. Lumbridge roared and struggled to heave him off.
Rolled from side to side, Col collided painfully with a desk-leg. Then his fingers touched Mr Gibber’s wastepaper basket.
He grabbed the basket with one hand, the back of Lumbridge’s head with the other. Quick as a flash, he pushed Lumbridge’s face down in the basket.
There was a bloodcurdling “Rrrrrr-ow-rrrrr-eeow!” Murgatrude didn’t tolerate strange faces intruding on his personal space.
Col sprang away; Lumbridge screamed. There was a frenzy of snarling and scratching inside the basket. It was jammed so tight on Lumbridge’s head, he couldn’t prise it off. He reared up on his knees, then collapsed forward again.
Col retreated as Haugh and Fefferley came to Lumbridge’s aid. No one was grinning now. They knew that their victim would put up a fight, and there was a vicious look in their eyes.
“Everyone together!” ordered Pugh.
They came at Col from all sides. Too late, he remembered Riffs advice about keeping his freedom of movement. He was getting boxed into a corner.
He focused on his tallest opponent, one of the 5A boys. He lunged forward, switched direction and struck twice: first deadening an arm with the point of his knuckles, then into the solar plexus with his full fist. But the boy was stepping back as he struck the second blow. The gang closed ranks and Col was forced to withdraw.
He danced on his toes and feinted this way and that, but nobody would take him on one-to-one. They were working to bring him down by sheer weight of numbers.
“Throw things!” shouted Hythe.
Col swayed out of the way as a huge dictionary came flying towards him. Hythe had dug it out of someone’s desk. Soon they were all opening desks and hurling missiles. Books, compasses, pencil boxes…
Col dodged easily. He’d had enough practice with Riff throwing socks. But behind him were piles of books and papers stacked ceiling-high against the wall. He brushed against them and started an avalanche. As the whole lot came crashing down over him, he stumbled and fell forward on his hands and knees.
“Now!” cried the Squellinghams.
Whooping and hollering, they charged. With no time to regain his feet, Col dived under the nearest desk. He kept on going, scuttling under desk after desk.
For a moment, he had broken out of the circle and the gang had lost sight of him.
Then Flarrow yelled, “There he is! Over there!”
Col jumped to his feet and raced for the door. He heard Pugh shouting, “Use the canes! Use the canes!”
Canes?
The door was blocked by the desk that Prewitt and Melstruther had dragged in front. When Col tried to pull it away, it caught under the doorknob. He tilted it, worked it free, pulled again –
There was a roar of rage from behind. Col glanced over his shoulder and saw a figure of horror. Lumbridge was bleeding red from scalp to collar, his face ripped by a thousand scratches. But he was back in action and his eyes gleamed with lust for revenge.
The rest of the gang advanced in a semi-circle behind him. They had armed themselves with Mr Gibber’s canes, which they cut and swished from side to side.
Too late to open the door. Col knew he was beaten, yet he didn’t feel beaten. Now that he had no hope, he felt strangely inspired. Think like a winner, Riff had told him.
He waited, clear and composed, until the very last moment…
Then he exploded like an unbound spring. First Lumbridge: a straight sharp jab to the nose that made him yelp. Then Haugh, then Prewitt, then one of the boys from 5A. Punch after punch struck home, to jaw, to groin, to kidneys. He kept at arm’s length, poised and spinning on his toes. He felled the other 5A boy with a kick behind the knees, he swung Fefferley by the arm to crash against Melstruther.
It was as though everything had fallen into place. Once he threw himself into non-stop fighting, he was caught up in the rhythm, his timing was perfect. He didn’t need to remember about watching for intentions in his opponents’ eyes – he just did it. He didn’t need to decide about different punches for different targets – his body decided for him. He was like Riff herself, in a trance of sure-footed motion.
Their canes only made them clumsy. They missed him and ended up hitting the furniture – or their fellow attackers. Col snatched Flarrow’s cane from his hands and poked him in the chest with it.
Soon half of the gang was on the floor. The two boys from 5A slipped round to the door and started to drag the desk away. Fefferley staggered to his feet and headed the same way. Hythe and Pugh shouted orders but held back from the fighting themselves.
Lumbridge was the only one still pressing forward. Col saw him coming out of the corner of his eye, whirled around and drove him back with a punch over the heart.
The bully blinked, shook his head and came barrelling in once more. As if in slow motion, Col saw him swing a huge right hook. It was aimed at Col’s chin, but Col did what Riff had done to Scarface: caught hold of his fist and overbalanced him with his own momentum.
As Lumbridge crashed to the floor, Col delivered a paralysing chop to the back of his neck. The bully grunted and lay still.
All the others were now sidling towards the door, even Hythe and Pugh. Col didn’t care if the rest escaped – but not the twins.
He sprang across and drove Pugh back beyond the teacher’s desk. When Hythe tried to wriggle past on the other side, Col tackled him to the floor. He knelt with one knee on the small of his back.
“You’re a sneaking coward, Hythe Squellingham. You make other people do your dirty work.”
Hythe struggled to break free. “No.”
“You and Pugh.”
“Not us,” said Pugh, from behind the teacher’s desk.
“Who did you get to write those notes, Hythe?”
“Nobody.”
Col spotted the wastepaper basket nearby. He pulled it closer. He could tell by the weight that Murgatrude wasn’t inside, but Hythe didn’t know that.
“You want me to stick your face in here?” He twisted Hythe’s head. “You want to join Murgatrude?”
Hythe’s eyes were wide with fear. “No, please, no!”
“Tell me the truth about those notes.”
“She wrote them.”
“What? Who?”
Hythe could no longer speak for blubbering. Instead, it was Pugh who answered. “Your sister, Gillabeth. She’s been organising everything all along.”
∨ Worldshaker ∧
Fifty-One
Col’s triumph had turned to ashes. The twins not only stuck to their story but filled in the details: how they’d had secret meetings with Gillabeth, how she’d left the notes in his desk. The one thing they couldn’t explain was why she’d been doing it.
Col sat for a long time in the empty classroom after they’d gone. He was in a state of shock. His secret enemy was his own sister. And yet she was always so committed to the family’s interests – why would she work with the Squellinghams against the Porpentines? He felt as though he’d been punched in the head, far worse than any punch from Lumbridge.
When he got back to Forty-Second Deck, his mother’s servant Missy Jip was waiting at the door of his room to help him pack. He had to select enough clothes for seven days. Apart from Sir Mormus himself, the entire Sir Mormus branch of the family was going on holiday.
There was no chance to confront Gillabeth alone. When the party descended to Garden Deck, Gillabeth walked along behind Grandmother Ebnolia, holding baby brother Antrobus by the hand. Her manner was as self-consciously upright and virtuous as ever. Of course, she couldn’t know that Col had discovered her secret.
Twelve Menials accompanied the party, ten of them laden with boxes and baggage. The eleventh was Grandmother’s favourite, Wicky Popo, who was far too weak to carry anything. The twelfth Menial was needed just to support him.
Worldshaker 01; Worldshaker Page 20