Watching the teacher’s trembling hands as he mixed ingredients in a beaker that sizzled and smoked, Kip wondered why they were being taught these recipes.
‘You can make poisons out of all sorts of ordinary things!’ Brother Lazarus explained. ‘They’re all around us. We can use apples, plums or apricots, all of which produce different forms of cyanide. The humble potato is full of toxins just waiting to be processed. It’s related to the deadly nightshade, or belladonna. So are eggplants, tomatoes and chillies. And the most dangerous poison known to man is botulinum, which can be produced from rotting meat. A tablespoon of botulinum could poison a city the size of Kolkata.’
Kip leaned over and whispered to Juniper, ‘Why are we learning this?’
‘Because it’s important,’ she replied, rolling her eyes.
The poison that Lazarus was cooking up today was made from castor beans, which he had soaked overnight in a saline solution that helped release toxins, which were now being boiled into a lethal infusion.
‘If you give this to someone, it will take them a week to die, but it’s 100 per cent fatal. No antidote has ever been discovered,’ Lazarus explained, his dentures sucking at the words with satisfaction.
Kip shuddered, though it didn’t bother him as much as the memory of the yeti with its shaggy arms outstretched.
‘Poisons make fascinating study,’ said Lazarus, holding up an old book. ‘According to Hobson-Jobson, the most famous plant poison comes from the legendary upas tree, which grows in Java and other parts of Southeast Asia. Upas is so lethal that if a man breathes the air that blows through its branches, he will die in seconds.’
Stopping for a moment, he polished his glasses.
‘Upas inflicts a terrible death. If the tiniest drop of this poison touches your skin, it begins to rot the flesh immediately. Within an hour, a man’s body melts like candle wax. Muscles dissolve into mucus and tendons turn into pus. They say that even before he dies, his body oozes off his bones, and the pain is so terrible that it follows him into the afterlife . . .’
Brother Lazarus inspected the bubbling beaker and turned down the heat.
‘The sap of the upas tree is considered the deadliest poison. Centuries ago, it was used in warfare. Kings paid fortunes to possess it, though collecting this toxin meant risking your life. Condemned prisoners were offered a choice between gathering upas sap and going to the gallows. If they survived the first, their crimes were pardoned and they were set free. But most preferred to choose death by hanging or having their heads chopped off rather than risk the consequences of upas. Only a few desperate souls accepted this challenge. Carrying long spears, they would approach the tree upwind and crawl forward over barren ground—for nothing grows within 100 metres of an upas tree. Holding their breath and trembling with fear, they’d dart forward and pierce the bark with their spears, so the poison oozed on to the tip of the lance. Then quickly, they would retreat before the wind turned and felled them in an instant. Only one or two convicts in a hundred were ever spared. Most of them died in a futile attempt to collect the precious poison. The scorched soil around these trees was littered with their bones.’
The sound of the ringing bell was a relief. Kip was glad to get up from his desk and march out of the classroom with the rest of the students into the fresh air of the mountains, away from the poisonous fumes of the toxicology lab.
Scruggs and Meghna were waiting in the dining hall, where they all had tea together.
‘So, how was your first day?’ asked Scruggs.
‘Okay, I guess,’ said Kip. ‘None of the classes seem very difficult, but they teach us a lot of useless stuff.’
‘Useful things you learn on your own,’ said Meghna with a thoughtful frown.
‘They haven’t changed the curriculum in over 100 years,’ Scruggs explained. ‘Not since the academy was founded.’
‘Doesn’t anyone complain?’ Kip asked.
‘Of course not,’ said Juniper. ‘It’s called tradition. Nobody questions that. And if you do, there are serious consequences.’
‘But in assembly this morning, the principal said he wants us to tell the truth,’ said Kip. ‘He said his door is always open to any student who wants to speak his or her mind.’
‘Don’t believe him,’ said Scruggs, dipping a dry biscuit in the watery tea to soften it up. ‘That’s just a way of getting us to snitch on each other.’
Juniper nodded. ‘One thing you need to learn right away, Kip. Everyone in this school has a secret.’
Kip took a sip of tea. Looking his friends in the eye, he knew they weren’t joking. Their sombre expressions were full of warning. Kip had his own secrets, of course, and he planned to protect them.
Juniper leaned closer. ‘This afternoon, we’re going to skip sports,’ she said softly. ‘Do you want to join us?’
Kip glanced around the table. He wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to escape with the others. At the same time, these were the only friends he had here, and the idea of playing another game of War didn’t appeal to him. He thought of his old school in the city and the friends he’d left behind. Kip had not only lost his parents but also, after being sent away to Paramount, been cut off from everyone he’d ever known before, and it left him with a feeling of loneliness and uncertainty. Though he thought he could trust Juniper and the others, they’d only met the day before, and it seemed as if he were stepping into an unknown world, where everything was strange and unfamiliar. He had no idea what choices he should make.
Seven
Sneaking out of school was less complicated than Kip had imagined. Scruggs led the way, and none of the teachers seemed to be watching as they crawled through a hole in the fence below the playing field, where the game of War was going on, just as it had the day before. They could hear shouting and yelling, as if a real battle were under way.
A narrow path circled through a pine grove and down into a gulley overgrown with bushes. As soon as they were away from Paramount, Kip felt a sense of freedom and adventure. When they came around a corner and passed through a gap in the rocks, he could see the panorama of higher mountains in front of him, leading up to a line of snow-covered summits. All four of them stopped to take in the view, as if they’d never seen anything like it before.
‘Where does this path lead?’ Kip asked.
‘Nowhere really,’ said Scruggs. ‘Just down to a ruined watchtower overlooking a precipice. You can’t leave the school grounds except through the front gate because there are cliffs on all sides.’
After another 100 feet, they came to a broken wall and a crumbling stone turret. A dozen slate steps remained, but the rest of the watchtower had collapsed into a scattered pile of rocks. The four of them sat down, facing the mountains. Where the ruined steps of the watchtower ended was a drop of several hundred feet, falling away into the valley. Peering down, Kip felt a sense of vertigo, as if he were being pulled over the edge. He stared across at the peaks that rose in the distance, but he soon realized that his friends were all staring at him.
‘What is it?’ Kip asked, sensing that something was wrong.
‘We need to know if we can trust you, Kip,’ said Juniper.
‘I think so,’ he said, feeling three sets of eyes on him. ‘But we’ve only known each other for a day.’
‘That’s part of the reason we think you might be someone we can trust. You’ve just arrived at school and haven’t been here long enough to be brainwashed,’ said Scruggs.
‘Brainwashed?’ Kip responded.
‘Yes. At Paramount, they put a lot of ideas in your head, all of which sound as if they’re true, but actually, it’s just a way of making you think like them,’ said Meghna.
‘Why would they do that?’ asked Kip.
‘Because the principal doesn’t want anyone to think for themselves,’ she explained. ‘All that talk about Verum Libertas, “truth is freedom”, those are empty words. They want you to believe their version of the truth, nobody else’s.’
/> ‘But if something’s actually true . . .’ Kip started to say.
‘It’s not that simple,’ Juniper interrupted him. ‘Almost nothing is absolutely true or false. For example, they say that human beings are the only species that can think for themselves and that’s what makes them superior to other creatures.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Kip said, confused.
‘Everything,’ Scruggs replied, glancing at his friends. ‘You see, the three of us are a different species, though we may look a lot like you.’
Kip felt a knot tighten in his chest.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s our secret, and we’re going to trust you with it because we need your help,’ said Juniper.
‘You mean you’re not human?’ Kip said with a sceptical frown, trying not to seem too surprised. Inside, though, he felt a jolt of fear shoot up his spine.
His three friends shook their heads.
‘Then, what are you?’ he asked, trying to control the nervousness in his voice.
‘We call ourselves Cloudfarers,’ said Meghna.
Kip’s mouth went dry, though a part of him still thought they must be joking.
‘You don’t look different,’ he said.
Juniper leaned forward and stared Kip in the eye.
‘It’s like the difference between a duck and a goose, or a goose and a swan. They look similar but genetically they’re different. We’re a little bigger than Homo sapiens, and our body temperature is lower than yours, which helps us survive in the cold. Our feet are slightly larger, and our senses of hearing and smell are sharper than yours. We also like to think we’re more intelligent than human beings. For you, it may not seem as if we’re all that different, but we can recognize ourselves immediately. It’s an instinct that we hold on to, knowing our own kind.’
‘And you never smile or laugh?’ asked Kip hesitantly.
‘Mostly,’ said Juniper with a shrug and a deadpan expression. ‘We can laugh, of course, if we really feel like it. But most of the time, we don’t.’
‘Why do you have to keep your identity secret?’ Kip asked.
‘Because if humans discover who we are, they’d never let us survive,’ said Juniper. ‘They’d be afraid of us and lock us up or kill us. Years ago, many of our ancestors were hunted down and exterminated. That’s why the survivors decided we should pretend to be human. It’s something we had to teach ourselves, not just your languages and your habits but also your ways of thinking.’
‘Why are you called Cloudfarers?’ Kip questioned them. He still couldn’t accept what he was being told and was beginning to get worried that they might threaten or hurt him.
‘Because we believe that our forefathers came to earth by walking on clouds. Nobody knows if it’s true or not, but it’s part of the lore of our species. There are hundreds of stories about our ancestors’ wanderings and how we eventually settled on Earth.’
‘You mean you’re aliens?’ said Kip, his voice shaking.
‘Maybe,’ said Scruggs, ‘but we’ve been on Earth for millions of years, much longer than human beings have.’
‘Why are you here at this school?’
‘To learn what it means to be human,’ replied Juniper. ‘While everyone else is studying whatever subjects there are, we’re actually studying all of you, so we can imitate your behaviour.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ Kip asked.
‘We’re afraid that we might be discovered,’ explained Juniper. ‘Ameel, the boy who got expelled two days ago, was one of us. He didn’t do anything wrong, but the principal got suspicious and had him checked out at the infirmary. That’s when they must have discovered his body temperature and a couple of other things, like his heartbeat. Your normal pulse is around seventy beats a minute, but ours is only thirty. Our blood is different too, and if you take an X-ray of our chests, you’ll find a couple of extra ribs. Cloudfarers mature more slowly than humans, and we live a lot longer. Each of us is thirty years old. We don’t know what exactly happened to Ameel, though the school claims he bit a teacher and they expelled him for that. But we’re sure he’s locked up in Quarantine. Now they’ve got their eyes on us. We need your help to escape.’
‘Where will you go?’ Kip asked.
‘Back into the mountains, where we belong,’ said Meghna.
‘Is that where you came from?’ asked Kip.
‘No, but we’ve heard of a hidden valley where some of our people still live, without any humans around. We don’t know if we can make it,’ said Juniper, ‘but we’ve got to try and run away from here as soon as we can.’
Kip studied his three friends to see if they looked any different, but they seemed just the same as him. Still, he couldn’t get over the anxious feeling of knowing much more than he really wanted to know and not fully understanding exactly what was going on. It was like being trapped in an imaginary cage without any keys to unlock the truth.
‘Will you promise to keep our secret?’ asked Scruggs.
There was a desperate look in his eyes, though his face remained calm and unemotional. Kip stared at the ground for a moment and then glanced up.
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’ll help you.’
Eight
Kip and the others crawled back through the hole in the fence just before the dinner bell sounded. After their meal, when they returned to the dorm, Mrs Lobo called Kip to her apartment. She had a set of rooms on the floor above, at the top of a narrow flight of stairs that she complained about as they went up.
‘I don’t know how many more years I’ll be able to manage these steps,’ she said, wheezing.
When they got to her apartment, she motioned for Kip to take a seat by the electric heater, which was glowing warmly.
‘I just wanted to have a little chat,’ she said, ‘and find out how you’re getting along. Would you like a cup of hot cocoa?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Kip, delighted by this special treat.
While Mrs Lobo put a pan of milk to heat on the stove, he glanced around him. It was a compact apartment, crowded with too much furniture and all kinds of souvenirs and mementos. The side table next to his chair supported a lamp but was also littered with seashells, as well as a collection of tiny porcelain birds. There was a lacquer box with the lid open, inside of which were a dozen miniature bottles made of blue and purple glass. Two vases of pink plastic flowers stood on the sideboard.
On the wall, Kip noticed several old photographs, one of which looked like Mrs Lobo as a young girl, with her hair brushed out over her shoulders, wearing a pleated frock that exposed her knees. Another photograph was of a soldier in uniform, scowling at the camera, one eyebrow raised.
‘That’s my late husband,’ she said, turning around and noticing that Kip was staring at the picture. ‘He was killed in the war.’
Mrs Lobo was adding two spoonfuls of cocoa to the milk and making herself a mug of tea at the kitchen counter. Through an open door, Kip could see into her bedroom. Quilts and blankets were piled up at the foot of the bed.
‘Oh, my aching bones,’ said Mrs Lobo, as she gave Kip a mug of cocoa. ‘And my feet . . . they hurt all the time!’
She sounded a lot like Kip’s aunts, who always complained about their aches and pains. With the two of them it was like listening to a constant echo, back and forth. If one had a toothache, the other had a sore back. If Auntie B’s gout flared up, Auntie C had a sympathetic attack of arthritis in her knees.
He took a sip of cocoa and found it too hot, scalding his lips.
Mrs Lobo had dropped into a chair on the other side of the heater. The chair seemed to have been built just for her, for she filled it completely. Her dress matched the colour and pattern of the upholstery. The cushioned arms even looked like another set of limbs. After a moment, she picked up a pair of knitting needles, which were attached to the sleeve of a dark-green sweater and a ball of wool. Both of Kip’s aunts liked to knit and it was something that irritated him, even more than t
heir voices, the clicking of the needles and the endless stream of knots. Just the sight of the wool made Kip’s skin itch.
‘So, tell me, Kip,’ said Mrs Lobo with a smile. ‘How are you fitting in? How are your classes?’
He nodded. ‘They’re fine, ma’am, thank you.’
‘Good, good. Remember, if there’s anything that worries you . . . any problems at all, don’t hesitate to speak to me. I’m always happy to listen.’
‘I will,’ said Kip softly, though he didn’t sound as if he meant it.
‘Have you made any friends?’ asked Mrs Lobo, with a housemotherly smile. By now her knitting needles were clicking away as if they were engaged in a miniature sword fight.
‘Yes, I have,’ said Kip. ‘Scruggs and Meghna.’
Mrs Lobo studied him over the rims of her glasses.
‘And Juniper?’ she asked.
Kip nodded, surprised that she knew.
‘That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about,’ said Mrs Lobo. ‘Of course, I would never tell you who to be friends with, but since you just arrived and haven’t figured everything out . . . a word of caution. Scruggs is a nice enough boy, of course. And Meghna is very bright. So is Juniper. Top of her class. But I’m not sure they’re the best friends for you.’
Kip thought about taking a sip of cocoa, but it was probably still too hot. He knew that Mrs Lobo was trying to warn him, though he didn’t trust her.
‘Have Scruggs, Meghna or Juniper done anything wrong?’ he asked.
‘No, no,’ said Mrs Lobo, keeping her eyes on the duelling needles so she wouldn’t drop a stitch. ‘Of course not. It’s just that we’d like you to have a broader group of friends.’
Kip stared at a stack of magazines on the coffee table in front of him, all of which had movie stars on their covers. He wondered if Mrs Lobo had any friends.
‘At Paramount Academy, we want you to have healthy social influences,’ she said, pausing a moment to pick up her teacup and take a sip before resuming her knitting. ‘But, of course, I’m sure you’ll make lots of friends in good time. You’re very polite and well-brought-up. I also hear you’re good at games.’
The Cloudfarers Page 4