by Robin Jarvis
“I know he’s a choob,” Alasdair agreed, “but do you no think we’ve got enough on our plate without dumping even more? What do you reckon old Mainwaring’ll say when he sees you’ve Picasso’d yon himbo’s face? And then there’s the Ismus guy – they’ll no be happy. It’s no exactly the cuddly photo op they was planning.”
Lee scowled. He knew the Scot was right. “Yeah,” he said.
Alasdair nodded. “Just chill and go easy on the moron,” he suggested. “OK?”
He raised his hands and told everyone the show was over and they should return to their cabins. The children began to disperse.
“That Jangler guy must sleep with plugs in his ears,” Lee said. “How come he ain’t out here by now?”
Alasdair had begun to puzzle about that too.
“His light’s still off,” he observed, glancing at the end cabin.
Lee frowned. “But check out that empty one next door,” he whispered.
Alasdair shook his head. “What about it? That’s dark too.”
“Yeah, but them curtains, when we all turned in before – they was open. Now they’s shut.”
He pondered on that a moment then shrugged it off. He stared awkwardly at the ground.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“What for?”
“Stopping me getting all Moulinex on that prototard’s face back then.”
“Yon skirt-chasing poser isnae the problem here.”
“No, but you tell me how I can beat the life out of that damn book and I’ll do it.”
“If it was that easy, I’d have done it myself, pal – and don’t think I didnae try at the beginning! I was out there on the streets, fighting against the Jax mobs that were marching through Edinburgh, reading it through loudhailers, convertin’ as they went. I’ve had the people I was fightin’ with get turned as I was stood right next to them and then been chased like a mad dog by both lots. So don’t think you’re the only one who’s had it bad – it didnae all just go on doon in London you know.”
Lee grinned and introduced himself, clasping Alasdair’s hand firmly and shaking it.
“You got any spare bunks in your place?” he asked with a laugh. “I’m done sleeping next to that Lynxstain. His aftershave is cutting through my nicotine and making my eyes water.”
“Just two more days,” Alasdair chuckled. “Then you’ll never see or smell him again.”
“Amen to that!”
Lee clicked his fingers and clapped the other boy’s shoulder. “Catch you later,” he said, heading back to the cabin.
Alasdair smiled faintly. He understood that somehow he had passed a test of acceptance and felt quietly pleased with himself. Lee probably hadn’t shaken hands with anyone for a long time.
He was about to return to his own dorm when he saw Jim Parker lingering on the grass. The boy was gazing up at the stars. Here in the middle of nowhere, away from the light pollution of towns and cities, they were fiercely bright.
“Hey!” Alasdair said. “That was real brave what you tried to do. Brave but daft – he’s a big lad that one, could’ve smacked you into next week.”
Jim turned a solemn face to him.
“A coward can’t fight injustice,” he said gravely.
The Scot almost laughed, but he saw the boy was deadly earnest.
“Well, pick which fights to break up a wee bit more wisely next time,” he advised.
“A hero never chooses his battles,” Jim said. “They choose him.”
“Er… aye…”
Jim smiled. “You don’t understand,” he said cryptically. “It doesn’t matter. Why should you?”
“No… I’m just dog-tired. I’m away to grab a couple of hours before the panto kicks off again. You should too.”
Jim caught his wrist.
“I won’t let anything happen to the rest of us while we’re here,” he promised, placing a hand on his chest as though making a vow. “You don’t need to worry. I’ll protect you.”
Alasdair managed an uncertain grin and went back to his own cabin.
“Two days is too many,” he muttered under his breath.
Throughout the fight Jody had remained inside with Christina. Lads belting one another didn’t interest or impress her. She was more concerned with what had happened in here while they were sleeping.
“It’s well nuts,” she said. “What the bugger’s going on? Who’s been flinging our gear about and thumping us – and why didn’t none of us wake up?”
“Poultrygeists, innit?” Charm declared, zipping up one of her beauty bags as she strode to the bathroom to check herself out in the mirror. “I seen all them celeb ghost fings on the telly. They lob stuff at you, it’s a proven fact is what it is. It’s your actual science, cos they use special info-red cameras – what make your face green. So it’s totally true. It’s not fake nor nofink.”
“Shut it,” Jody warned her. “This little’un’s scared enough without you making it worse. There’s no such things as ghosts.”
Christina was still shaking with terror.
“I know who did it,” she whispered. “It wasn’t ghosts. I saw him. You was wrong. He is real. He was right here! Him from the book.”
“Who? Who did you see?”
“Mr Big Nose.”
JUST TWO HOURS later, in the first grey light of morning, those who had managed to get back to sleep were awakened by a police siren wailing up the long road to the camp. The vehicle pulled up outside the cabins and was greeted by Jangler, already fully dressed in his gaoler’s outfit.
Jody hadn’t slept. She had stayed by Christina’s side the whole time, even after the little girl had drifted into a fitful sleep. Drawn to the din, Jody went to the door and looked out, sunken-eyed.
Two officers had got out of the car, but she couldn’t hear what they said to Jangler. The old man was nodding and ticking something on his clipboard. Then he waved his pen at the vehicle and called, “Margaret Blessing?”
One of the officers opened a rear door and the passenger Jody had hitherto overlooked, emerged.
“Blimey,” Jody said in surprise.
With her hair turbaned in a towel, Charm looked out over her shoulder and grimaced.
“I’m not being funny nor nofink,” she said. “But I hope she’s not going to be in here wiv us. I don’t want that using our bog, know what I mean?”
“Maggie,” the new arrival corrected the old man. “Just Maggie. Don’t like ‘Margaret’ and ‘Mags’ sounds like top-shelf newsagent smut. Bet you know all about that, don’tya? You look the grubby type.”
“A fine dance you’ve led us, young lady,” he scolded, ignoring her. “Get a move on – you’ve missed one day already.”
In the cabin next door, Marcus had been tending to his bruises in the bathroom when he heard the approaching siren. His eye was a mess, puffed-up and purple and a throbbing weight on his face. He had a fat lip too. At least the nose wasn’t broken. He scrutinised himself from every angle. When the swelling and bruises had faded, he’d still look good, he decided. The humiliating defeat by Lee hurt much more than his injuries. He wouldn’t be able to live that down here. The weekend couldn’t be over soon enough for him now.
Marcus regarded his reflection anew and removed his shirt. He raised his fists and twisted from side to side. Then he struck some poses, pretending he was Robert De Niro in Raging Bull.
“You talking to me?” he grunted, completely confusing two different films. “You talking to me?”
It was then he heard the siren, shortly followed by Jangler’s words summoning the passenger out of the police car. Marcus recalled what Spencer had said the previous evening. One of the girls wasn’t accounted for yet. This had to be her – she’d finally arrived!
Still shirtless, he hurried from the bathroom and ran between the beds, where the siren-jolted boys were rubbing their eyes grumpily. He’d been right about one thing – it did stink of sweaty socks and BO down here.
“Please, please,
please be a babe,” he prayed. “Please be blonde, please have monumental, flawless boobs and a peachy bum that was born to wear a thong.”
Pushing open the door, he stood on the step and stretched – as though inhaling nature’s invigorating splendour was something he did every morning. Puffing out his chest, he nonchalantly stroked his abs and let his gaze wander from the dawn sky to the group standing by the police car.
“Bloody hell!” he spluttered.
Squeezing herself out of the vehicle was the fattest girl he’d ever seen. He almost didn’t believe it at first and thought she was wearing one of those comedy sumo suits. If her bum was a peach, then it was one dreamed up by Roald Dahl. Her head was a round pink ball with a face in the middle of it and her hair was dyed a shocking fuchsia. She was wearing a home-made, but pretty good outsized copy of a Mooncaster gown and pinned to her bodice was a Jill of Hearts playing card.
Disgust and disappointment crept on to Marcus’s face. From the next cabin, he heard Jody snickering at him. He was about to dart back inside when the new arrival glanced over.
“Phwoar!” Maggie shouted, eyeing him up and down. “Hello, sexy! Now that’s what I call perfect – amazing bod and a face that looks like a pepperoni pizza! You’re just begging to be eaten, aren’t you? Bit cold for you out here, is it? I could hang my coat on them nips!”
Marcus was so taken aback he couldn’t think of anything to say in return but, when she whistled at him, he covered his bare chest with his hands and fled.
“If you’re going in there to bring out cake,” she called, “I’ll just have to marry you!”
Laughing, she turned back to Jangler who was trying to tell her which was her chalet.
“All right, all right,” she said. “So, any fit lads in there?”
“Certainly not!” the old man said indignantly. “There will be no mingling in the dormitories.”
“OK, babes, keep your dinky beard on. A mucky weekend away was too much to hope for.”
Jangler escorted her to the third cabin along.
“In there,” he said. “You’ve plenty of time to unpack and settle in. The kitchen staff haven’t arrived yet. Breakfast will be served in the main block when they do and then the tiring women will be here to supply everyone with appropriate clothing for today.”
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” she asked. “It’s copied straight from the pictures in the book – and copied pretty well! The only difference is I added pockets. Where’s a girl to keep her Curly Wurlys?”
The old man snorted through his nose as he viewed her costume. Then he snatched the playing card from her bodice and ripped it up.
“You are not a Jill of Hearts!” he said crossly. “You’ve been masquerading as that noble princess for far too long. You’ll be given an outfit far less grand and more suited to your aberrant status, young lady. Shame on you for what you’ve been doing… making people believe you had embraced the hallowed text all this time. Outrageous mendacity!”
“Yeah, yeah, heard all that a hundred times already, from everyone I know and more that I don’t. So, you think the new frock’ll fit, do you? If I bend down and split something, showing all my tumpsy, it’ll be your fault – you dirty old Lockpick. I said you was grubby.”
“All measurements were submitted to the Holy Enchanter’s personal tailor and team of seamstresses over two weeks ago. We have costumes waiting for everyone – even you.”
“Whoopydoo,” she answered flatly. Pushing open the cabin door, she plunged inside.
“Hiya, girls,” she greeted them, jiggling both hands in the air enthusiastically. “I’m Maggie and yes, I’m a big fatty so get over it and let’s have a riot this weekend – yeah? Who’s got some music? Turn it on and crank it up to eleven!”
Outside, Jangler made a note on his clipboard. “Finally all the rabbits are in their hutches,” he murmured with satisfaction.
Sometime later, after the first communal reading of the day had taken place, breakfast was livelier than any of them had expected. This was solely due to Maggie. In the dining hall, her brash, hearty voice seemed everywhere. She laughed when she saw the great model of the castle, she laughed at the solemn faces of the other teenagers and she whooped and cheered when the serving maids emerged from the kitchen bearing tray after tray of food. She made a point of trying to speak to everyone, even the youngest, and explained why she had only arrived that morning.
“I’ve been on the run,” she told them, tucking into a bowl of porridge, liberally drizzled with honey and topped with flaked almonds. “For the past few months I’ve been pretending I was one of the blessed be crowd, that the book had worked on me. But two weeks ago I got rumbled.”
She paused a moment to push the bowl away and reach for some buttery oatcakes, whilst eyeing the dishes piled high with scrambled eggs and fried mushrooms.
“I tried to make a break for it over to France,” she continued. “Not a hope in hell. All the ports are locked down tight and last night I got caught at Dover. I totally suck at inconspicuous. Still, this stuff’s better than croissants and I’ll have some of that gorgeous-looking ham when you’re ready, babes!”
The last request was directed at one of the wenches carrying a tray of cooked meats, which was considerably lighter once Maggie had sent her away again.
Jody marvelled at the girl’s confidence. Lee was more wary and kept his responses to a mumble and a shrug. Alasdair doubted how anyone could pretend that the book had worked on them and get away with it for so long. Surely no one nowadays was genuinely this brash and tirelessly jolly? Charm was relieved the cameras hadn’t arrived yet. This ebullient girl was going to be competition. If Charm understood anything, it was the fame game and how reality television worked. Outgoing, oversized people like this were instant smashes with audiences. Anyone who lived up to basic stereotypes always did well. There was a car-crash sort of fascination for grotesques. Charm realised she would have to up her own game to vie for coverage with this one.
Marcus, on the other hand, was completely intimidated and sank back behind the castle model, hoping Lardzilla, as he had named her, would forget about him. This made her flirt and heckle him even more.
“Want me to get some raw bacon from the kitchen for you, gawjus?” she called over the miniature battlements. “You could put it on that eye. Real shiner that is. You been fighting over some lucky girl? You’ll make me jealous!”
Marcus shook his head and reached for a goblet of ale.
“Booze for breakfast!” Maggie exclaimed. “This place is bloody fabulous! If I’d known it was going to be this good, I wouldn’t have tried to do a bunk.”
She turned to Charm, who was sitting diagonally across from her on the adjoining table, and pointed a podgy finger in her direction. “I bet he was scrapping over you, wasn’t he?” she declared, her round face beaming. “You’re beautiful you are. You should have blokes beating each other up over you all the time!”
Her good-natured sincerity was so disarming that Charm’s schemes to grab every scrap of media attention came to a startled halt and she hadn’t a clue how to respond.
Not touching any of the food put before her, Christina sat, subdued and resentful. No one believed she had seen a Punchinello monster. Jody had reassured her it was just a bad dream. She knew it wasn’t. She wanted to get far away from here.
During breakfast, a van painted in the livery of the four Mooncaster Under Kings drove into the camp. A scrolling sign bore the name Busy Needles – we’ll have you in stitches. Two women dressed as seamstresses of the Court unloaded three rails of brand-new costumes and wheeled them into the lecture room. Each outfit had a name tag attached and, when everyone had finished eating, Jangler directed the children through to collect them.
Maggie hung back to pick at the plates that had barely been touched, while the serving girls began clearing away.
“You got a doggy bag?” she asked. “You’re not going to chuck this stuff in the bin, are you? What a
waste!”
One of the wenches dipped into a curtsy before answering. “Bless you, no, Mistress,” she said. “There’s a pig farm just a few leagues from here. This will go help feed them.”
Jody had waited to go into the lecture room with the new girl. Hearing this, she cried, “That’s disgusting! Are those pigs going to be eating ham and bacon? Aren’t there laws against that? Whatever happened to Defra? Aren’t there rules no more?”
“’Tis too good to just throw away,” the wench answered with a look of confusion. “Even in this here dream world that would be sheer folly.”
“But turning animals into cannibals isn’t?” Jody demanded, sickened.
Maggie flicked a ham frill that had strayed on to her sleeve back to the table and led Jody away. “Save your breath,” she said. “There’s no point arguing. You should know that by now. This place isn’t real to them so why should they care? Let’s go play dress-up with the rest.”
In the lecture room Jangler was reading out names and the mercers were doling out the new costumes. There were no velvets, sumptuous golden cloths or jewel-coloured silks among them. The apparel was the sort that the ordinary peasant folk of Mooncaster would wear: brown leather jerkins, surcoats and doublets, woollen hose, rough, homespun kirtles and coarse linen shirts. There were also cloaks, which the younger children received eagerly and tried on before anything else.
Lee was examining the outfit he had been given, his lip curling with contempt.
“I ain’t wearing no tights, man,” he declared. “No way I’m putting them on – or them pointy pixie boots.”
“You must,” Jangler instructed. “How can you fully enter into the spirit of this weekend and seize this opportunity to become one with the hallowed text if you can’t even be bothered to look the part?”
“See, here’s the thing,” the boy explained. “And watch my lips cos I ain’t gonna keep saying this – I. Ain’t. Wearing. No. Tights. My name ain’t Billy Elliot. You hearin’ me?”