Abbot Dagger's Academy and the Quest for the Holy Grail

by Sam Llewellyn

  ‘So what we wonder,’ said Owen, amazingly, ‘is whether all this Cup stealing is stretching Time.’

  ‘And causing sort of explosions in History,’ said Onyx. ‘Sort of Dread Things.’

  ‘Goodness,’ said Miss Davies, looking solemn. ‘You have been sleeping in the knife drawer. But what’s the most important thing?’

  ‘To find the Cup so the Dread Thing doesn’t happen, then win it so the Head doesn’t get sacked and Dr Cosm doesn’t take over.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Miss Davies glanced at her watch. ‘Zounds, is that the time? Rosetti, you must rush back to the Detention Attic!’

  ‘Right,’ said Rosetti. It seemed that if you spent an hour in History an hour passed in Present Time. Otherwise you would get younger. Or something. His head was beginning to hurt again. Quickly, he tumbled out of the dovecote and hobbled away towards the Tower of Flight.

  Miss Davies and Onyx and Owen walked across the kitchen garden towards the Cloisters. Onyx and Owen were rather quiet. They had travelled eight hundred and fourteen years, been cheated at chess, threatened with sharp weapons, locked in a dungeon and rescued by sheer luck. They had also watched one of the greatest cathedrals in the world catch fire, and failed in a vital errand.

  ‘Ah!’ cried a voice. ‘Oh! I say!’ And there was the Headmaster, wading towards them through the asparagus bed, beaming, his black gown flapping like a crow’s wings. ‘How did it go?’ said the Head.

  ‘We all got back in one piece,’ said Miss Davies.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ said the Head. ‘And… the other?’

  ‘The Cup?’ Miss Davies shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. Someone got there first.’

  ‘Ah, well,’ said the Head, looking (Onyx thought) deeply downcast. ‘Better luck next time, what?’ He pulled a vast watch from his pocket. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘You’ve missed supper. Tell you what, though. I’ve got some haunch of venison and apple pie that needs eating. How about it?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Onyx and Owen both together.

  They ate a delicious supper in the Head’s richly decorated apartment while he told them extremely interesting facts about human sacrifice in Ancient Assyria.

  Afterwards, Owen said, ‘Would you mind if I went and practised some Hard Sums?’

  ‘Be my guest,’ said the Head.

  ‘And I’ll get to the Library,’ said Onyx.

  ‘Still on the Cup hunt?’

  ‘Of course.’

  The Head’s kindly brow clouded. ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’ He strode off, his legs scissoring him along at such a clip that Onyx had to run to keep up. He led her up a spiral staircase to a small but comfortable room containing an armchair and a telescope. ‘Sordid, to spy on one’s colleagues,’ said the Head. ‘But necessary, alas. Take a look.’

  Onyx peered into the telescope’s eyepiece. She was looking into a small room. There was a table and two chairs. On one of the chairs sat Dr Cosm. On the other sat the Librarian. Dr Cosm was saying something to the Librarian, who was giggling a servile giggle. The two men raised their hands and high-fived. A grin of evil triumph split Cosm’s suety features.

  ‘Oo!’ cried Onyx, shocked.

  ‘So I very much fear,’ said the Head, ‘that when you take a book out of the Library, the Librarian will tell Cosm what it was. If you want something to be private, don’t let the Librarian get wind of it. That man Cosm has promised him that on the day he becomes Head the Librarian will get a huge pay rise and hundreds of computers and that he will be allowed to burn all the books.’

  ‘Burn books?’ said Onyx, even more shocked.

  ‘He hates them. Asthma.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Well, I am counting on you,’ said the Head. ‘I know you’ll find out what’s going on. And, even more important, that you’ll find the Cup.’

  ‘We will!’ cried Onyx, burning with sympathy for this very nice Headmaster surrounded by creeps. ‘Never fear, Headmaster, we will!’

  Next morning it was cold on the parade ground, and it had rained in the night, so the Duggan Cube stood reflected in a great black puddle. In the puddle stood the whole Skool, dressed in navy-blue shorts and thin shirts and shivering as the rainwater soaked through their canvas gym shoes. The whole Skool was about to do PE practice for Founder’s Day –

  Not quite the whole Skool.

  In the Duggan Cube control room, Dr Cosm sat in front of an electric fire, watching his screen. Onyx was reading a book, and had forgotten about such silly little matters as Whole Skool PE. The camera was trying to peer over her shoulder. But the writing was blurred by dust in the air.

  ‘Curses,’ piped Otto.

  ‘It is not important,’ said Cosm in a voice both chilly and grim. ‘We will find out where they were going by some other method. And we will take action.’

  ‘Nyahahahaha,’ said Otto.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Cosm.

  Actually it would not have done Cosm any good if he had been able to see over Onyx’s shoulder. She was taking it easy, waiting for the pigeons to recharge. The book she was reading was called Astonishing Facts About Coleoptera. A shadow fell across the page.

  ‘Gosh,’ said Onyx, without looking up. ‘Did you know that the Bombardier Beetle can squirt boiling oil out of its bottom? Crazee, eh?’

  ‘We are not amazed,’ said a voice that reeked of gin.

  ‘Ooer,’ said Onyx, slamming the book, sitting up and turning round. And there towering above her was Mato.

  ‘Young ladies do not read about er rude beetles,’ said Mato. ‘Young ladies do Whole Skool PE with Founder’s Day Marching Practice.’

  ‘Oh gosh,’ said Onyx.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said a sparkling voice. ‘Beetles? Marvellous. Just as I instructed you, Onyx.’ And there was Miss Davies, beaming upon Matron with the full golden power of her eyes.

  ‘But marching,’ said Mato. ‘All pupils must –’

  ‘Fiddle!’ cried Miss Davies.

  ‘I shall report this rude slackness to Dr Cosm,’ hissed Mato like a ginny serpent.

  ‘And I am sure the Head will be thrilled to hear about such devotion to Study,’ said Miss Davies brightly. ‘Come, Onyx. It is time for you to perform your busy tasks.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Davies.’ Oo, thought Onyx. Squish, Mato! Juice!

  When they were out of sight of Mato, Miss Davies said, ‘OK, concentrate. I need another recorded sighting of the Cup. Pronto!’

  ‘Coming up!’ cried Onyx, bouncing back to the Library.

  High in the Duggan Cube in front of the screens, Dr Cosm said to the Librarian, ‘There she goes! Get after her!’

  ‘Must I?’

  ‘Will you let a little puff of dust stand in my way?’

  ‘Yes, Doctor,’ said the Librarian, wheezing already. ‘That is to say, no, Doctor.’

  ‘Run!’ said Otto.

  ‘Shut up!’ said Cosm.

  Up in the Library, the wheelbarrow rumbled around the aisles at breakneck speed. The cloud of dust billowed from Onyx’s corner. And from the middle of the cloud came a shrill, bouncy cry of ‘Ha!’

  ‘Ha wha?’ wheezed the Librarian.

  Something rushed out of the dust cloud. It seemed to be Onyx, moving fast.

  ‘Books are not to be removed from the –’

  The door slammed. Feet thundered downstairs.

  ‘– Library,’ said the Librarian, commencing a coughing fit.

  ‘Look!’ cried Onyx, slamming the books on the Skolary table. ‘Hot Cup stuff! I brought all the emperor books to muddle Libo but it says here that Emperor Valentinian the Third was a sporting sort of emperor keen on Harpastum which was a kind of football and archery and a great collector of treasure – listen to this – particularly cups.’

  ‘So?’ said Rosetti. He was in a bad mood after marching, particularly because Slee and Damage Duggan had spent the whole practice trying to stamp on his bad ankle.

  ‘What is engraved on the Greyte Cup’s knop?’


  ‘Valentinianus III, of course. Get on with it,’ said Owen. He had not enjoyed the marching either.

  ‘Why would Valentinian’s name be on the Cup?’

  ‘Because it belonged to him?’

  ‘Exactly! And Rome was invaded by the Vandals in the last year of his reign. Ideal Cup-stealing conditions. So all we’ve got to do is go back to Rome in, what, AD 455 and take the Cup and bring it back.’

  ‘Easy as that,’ said Rosetti, highly sarcastic.

  ‘I expect it will be most educational,’ said Miss Davies. ‘But slightly dangerous. I mean it does mean getting mixed up with the early stages of the Looting of Rome.’

  ‘Dangerous?’ said Rosetti. ‘Compared to Marching and Slee and Damage Duggan?’

  ‘See what you mean,’ said Miss Davies. ‘Well, the Time Doves could be ready the day after tomorrow. I asked Trym for some extras, but he seems to be very angry about something and there’s no talking to him. Fed up with my father stepping in chamber pots, probably. He always was fussy.’

  ‘Not so fast,’ said Rosetti. ‘I’ve been thinking. There’s something wrong. You said all that about Time being like a river and eating a slice of bread being a small eddy that disappears but stealing a crown being a big thing that tries to divide Time and tears reality and makes a Dread Thing happen. Well, the Greyte Cup is just as important as a crown. And it keeps on getting nicked but no Dread Thing happens. I mean someone stole it from Magnus but it still landed up with the Templars. So it was sort of in two Time streams at once. But no Dread Thing happened.’ His head was beginning to hurt again, but he ploughed on. ‘So either what you’re saying about Time streams is not true. Or the Greyte Cup isn’t real.’

  ‘But I’ve seen it!’ said Onyx. ‘And so’s Owen. And Owen can’t see anything that isn’t real. Do you dream, Owen?’

  ‘Whaddayamean, dream?’

  ‘See?’

  ‘Right,’ said Rosetti, who could feel Miss Davies’s eyes burning into him. ‘So what I think is this. The Cup talks to me. So there is something special about it. And what I think is that it is real and not real at the same time. The Novice Master in the Temple said it was the Holy Grail. The dwarf Magnus called it the Sangrail, which is another name for the same thing.’

  ‘Holy Grail wha?’ said Owen.

  ‘The Holy Grail is a great and sacred cup. A legendary cup. The object of the greatest quests in history and legend,’ said Onyx in a strange, awestruck voice.

  ‘So the Greyte Cup for Achievement really definitely is the Holy Grail,’ said Rosetti.

  Miss Davies shrugged. ‘I should have known there was no point in trying to hide anything from Polymathic Skolars,’ she said. ‘Yep, that’s it.’

  There was a long, stunned silence. It was Miss Davies who broke it. ‘Now listen closely,’ she said, ‘because this is not easy. There is only one stream of Time, remember. A thing can’t be in two places at once, if it is a thing like this crown that we all keep talking about. But Rosetti is right, the Grail is different. On the one hand, it’s a real gold cup. On the other, it’s a myth, and a legend, which is another way of saying it’s a story. A cup can’t be in more than one place at a time. But a story can. A story can have millions of different versions all existing at the same time. So I think that the part of the Greyte Cup that’s a story makes it easier for the Cup to travel around in Time without causing Dread Things to happen. But the part of the Greyte Cup that’s real means that every time it’s moved around in time, a small sort of Dread Thing happens, like the Temple being overwhelmed, or the Cathedral burning.

  ‘The Dread Things are small because the Cup has very little effect on History when it is locked away in treasure chambers and secret rooms, and of course most people who had anything to do with the Cup don’t survive the mini-Dread Things, so its history starts again. But if isn’t in the Sealed Room when the Head goes to get it on Founder’s Day… well. The Head gets the sack and Cosm takes over the Skool. That’s an effect. And you know what we saw in the Examinator. That’s what happens.’

  ‘And there’s something else, isn’t there?’ said Rosetti.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I read somewhere that the holder of the Grail is meant to get absolute power.’

  Miss Davies looked shocked.

  ‘Tell us everything,’ said Rosetti.

  ‘Go on!’ cried Onyx eagerly.

  ‘Is there a problem?’ said Owen.

  ‘Oh, all right. Rosetti’s right. There are legends, that’s all. That the Holder of the Grail becomes Master of the Universe. Master of Time and Space and all that sort of stuff. Probably nonsense.’

  ‘Or possibly not,’ said Rosetti.

  ‘Quite. So we’d better find it before…’

  ‘It falls into the wrong hands,’ said Rosetti.

  ‘Cosm’s hands,’ said Onyx.

  ‘Cosm as Master of the Universe?’ said Owen. ‘Yuk.’

  ‘And he would misuse his power.’

  Into the minds of all came the view in the Examinator; the stagnant lake with the scaly green necks twining against a background of jungly mountains.

  ‘Ooer,’ said Onyx.

  ‘Now then,’ said Miss Davies. ‘Two days till dove readiness. It’s time we all did some work, because there’s a Greyte Cup to win, and only just over two weeks to win it in! Books together. Pencils sharp. Lessons. Off you go!’

  And off went the Skolars, into the thunder of boots on floors as Abbot Dagger’s Academy went to classes.

  Two days later. Sixteen centuries earlier. Creak of wicker, coo of doves, flap, squawk, nests in the mind.

  Miss Davies said, ‘Robes on, and be careful.’

  ‘I’ve been to Rome before,’ said Rosetti. ‘I mean after. With my parents. They were stealing some statues.’

  ‘How very wrong,’ said Miss Davies. ‘Be careful, now. I’ll wait here.’

  Outside the door the sun was blinding, the air hot and smelly. The dovecote had as usual landed in an out-of-the-way corner. From beyond a small thicket of dried-up scrub smoke was rising.

  Rosetti pointed at a collection of tall white buildings on a cliff. ‘That’s the Capitoline Hill.’ He set off through the undergrowth. The Skolars followed.

  Their hooded robes looked somewhat different from the tunics of the locals, but nobody stared. Actually the locals seemed to have other things on their minds. They were standing around in groups, casting nervous glances to the west, where the blue of the sky was muddied by smoke. Rosetti led the Skolars through a half-ruined tangle of lanes to the back of an enormous building of grubby white marble. They crept round the wall until they found a gate. There were sentry boxes. The boxes were empty. There was a sort of huddle of men in armour in the square in front of the building, with a man in the middle pointing to the west and waving his arms.

  ‘Imperial Palace,’ said Rosetti. Through the gate they went, across the palace yard, up steps and under a portico, following the brightest tiles and the richest gilding, stepping out of the way of hurrying, worried-looking people.

  After ten minutes’ hard walking they had passed through the palace, and were standing on the edge of a great open area of ground with a goal at either end and twenty-odd men scattered around in the middle.

  ‘A football pitch!’ said Owen.

  One of the footballers was taller than the others, with yellow hair and a face like a goldfish. ‘Mine!’ he cried, barging a member of his own side out of the way, taking a mighty hack at a ball, missing and falling on his bottom.

  ‘Oh well played!’ cried the other players, rather wearily.

  Rosetti stiffened. ‘It’s here,’ he said.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The Cup.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Can’t tell. But close.’

  Goldfish face got up, scowled with concentration, kicked, missed, but made contact on the backswing. The ball trickled backwards into a goal.

  ‘Goal!’ said Onyx, bouncing and clapping.

 
; ‘Own goal,’ said Rosetti.

  ‘No,’ said Onyx. ‘They are saying that it was half time just after he kicked it so they changed ends so it is a goal for his team.’

  ‘The score is now 213–0,’ cried a scorer.

  ‘213–1,’ said Goldfish face with a great show of fairness.

  ‘Oo yes,’ said the other players, bowing. ‘Your Imperial Majesty is indeed noble and sporting. 213–1.’

  Rosetti said, ‘I wonder if that geezer with the yellow hair is by any chance the Emperor.’

  ‘How did you guess?’ said Onyx.

  ‘Mind your backs!’ cried a man clanking past with a wheelbarrow full of gold and jewels.

  ‘Treasure!’ said Owen.

  ‘In a barrow?’

  ‘Look,’ said Rosetti, pointing.

  Beyond the football pitch the ground sloped westward to the crowded houses of Rome. Among the houses curled a wide, yellowish river. On the river there floated ships: black ships, their sides lined with shields, with low square sails the colour of dried blood.

  ‘They don’t look very Roman,’ said Owen.

  ‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ said Onyx, with a really annoying sniff. ‘This is March 455, just before the Looting of Rome, when the bad wicked nasty barbarian Vandals were beginning to sail their ships up the Tiber and loot the Eternal City.’

  ‘The wha?’

  ‘Rome. So those people are Vandals and that haze in the sky is smoke and the wheelbarrows are moving the Emperor’s treasure so the Vandals do not nick it and actually the Vandals will be here any minute now.’

  ‘While the Emperor plays football,’ said Rosetti.

  ‘He was very keen on football,’ said Onyx. ‘And not very bright. And very very doomed.’

  ‘So let’s go and get the Cup before some Vandal comes and swipes it,’ said Owen. ‘It’s probably down here.’ He trotted off after the barrow. The others followed him.

  They arrived in a sort of loading bay under the palace. Men were packing treasure into a cart. A small man in a cream-coloured robe was standing alongside, ticking off items on a wax tablet.

  ‘Keep out of the way, shorty,’ said a large, dim-looking man with Security Guard written all over him. ‘Nothing ’ere for you.’