Ribblestrop Forever! (23 page)

‘This is impossible,’ whispered Mr Ian.

‘Oh, we’ll manage if we work together,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘I suggest everyone sits down and Vicky finishes her introduction. The Ribblestrop children have heard it
before, so they’ll just have to be patient. There’s the big surprise coming, don’t forget. So let’s get on. Anyone for juice, by the way?’

The two schools settled.

Vicky resumed her lecture, but Mr Ian was more entertaining. His expression switched from horror to hatred and then to nausea. Millie and Miles sat next to him, one on each side, and because of
the limited space they were obliged to press quite close. His blue-blazered pupils scratched away at their clipboards, heads down. Each child had a cap folded neatly into their right pocket, and
Anjoli removed one secretly and put it on. The boy they’d already met – Scott – noticed this and stared, blinking at the blasphemy. Then, suddenly, he grinned, and the joy in the
room passed from child to child like a dangerous, silent electricity.

Mr Ian was powerless.

When Vicky invited questions, there was a forest of hands.

‘Where did they get the gold?’ said one boy.

Vicky explained that they had brought it with them, from far-off places.

‘Why didn’t they just bury their dead?’ said someone else. ‘I mean, why didn’t they have graves, like most people?’

Israel answered this one, reminding the girl who’d asked that they were always ready to move. Ruskin said that in any case, putting someone in the earth must have seemed so rude, and it
made much more sense to keep someone you were fond of close by.

A high-pitched voice then broke through the debate and the frizzy-haired boy stood up. ‘What I want to know, miss,’ he said, ‘if you can tell me, please, because I find this
ever so interesting, is where these “flare paths” actually lead to, and do you think there’s any treasure at the end?’

‘Harry,’ hissed Mr Ian. ‘Grow up and shut up.’

‘It’s a good question,’ said Millie. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘He’s always asking about treasure,’ said Jacqueline. ‘It’s a bit of an obsession.’

‘Well,’ said Doctor Ellie, ‘it’s a question that actually gets to the heart of the matter. Your name’s Harry, is it? I can tell you, Harry, that there is
undoubtedly treasure out on the moor. The idea that everything’s been found is ludicrous. As to where the flare paths lead, well, that’s harder to answer – and Vicky and I have
been hoping to find out for many, many years.’

‘And we’re closer than we were,’ said Vicky, smiling broadly.

‘Much closer. Thanks to a discovery made by our resident explorer, Caspar Vyner – who’s sitting at the back and deserves a round of applause. As I think you know, Caspar, the
stone is now complete, thanks to your eagle-eyes.’

There was a burst of applause and Caspar turned pink.

‘The flare paths lead off in different directions,’ resumed Doctor Ellie. ‘Tracing them has been a very difficult job, because so many stones have been uprooted and moved. The
only way to really see them is to get out into the moonlight and look. But even that’s not easy because they don’t always shine the way you expect.’

‘Why not?’ said Eric. ‘I thought you said they just kind of . . . glowed.’

‘Not exactly. It’s hard to say how they work, but my theory is that they were cut at very precise angles. The moonlight falls on the reflective side at very particular times –
the moon has to be aligned in just the right way, you see. So in other words, you can stand in the darkness looking for them and see nothing. And then, when the moon climbs into right place, they
light up like someone’s pulled a switch. Of course, at some point, they all go off again.’

‘Have you seen that, miss?’ said Imagio.

‘Yes, I have. It’s very moving. It’s rather frustrating, too.’

‘So where do they lead?’ said Sam. ‘Where do you go if you walk down one?’

‘Well, this is the point, Samuel. We’ve never been able to walk down one for any distance. And when we do, it’s guesswork and we tend to veer off in a wrong direction. So . . .
I can’t really answer the question, because I just don’t know.’

‘We think,’ said Vicky, ‘that they probably lead to a very special place. Tomaz, what’s the matter?’

‘Nothing, miss.’

‘Are you feeling unwell?’

Tomaz put his head down and Vicky continued. ‘If it is a special place . . . sorry, I’ve lost my thread. If the flare paths lead to a special place, then it would have to stay a
secret. You wouldn’t want people going there, unless they had good reason. I wonder if it’s actually a sacred spot . . . some kind of graveyard, perhaps.’

‘Like for that kid in the vase,’ said Vijay.

‘You think they would have buried them,’ said Jacqueline, ‘in the end?’

‘In most cultures, even wandering tribes create a necropolis. That’s a place for the dead – a final resting place.’

‘And you think it’s on Ribblemoor?’ said Miles.

‘It’s a theory.’

Vicky took over. ‘Would it be easier if we just went outside, Ellie? I’m worried about Tomaz. I think we need fresh air.’

‘Outside where?’ said Mr Ian. ‘I don’t want muddy shoes.’

‘Can you open that door, Sanchez?’ called Doctor Ellie. Everybody was on their feet. ‘I think it’s time we showed you the stone.’

The conservatory doors opened onto an overgrown garden and Sanchez threw them wide.

Thirty-five children were soon pushing through long grass towards a set of crumbling steps. There had been a rain shower that morning and everyone was soon wet-footed, slipping and sliding. They
climbed down past shaggy trees and sprays of bramble – the temptation to shove was overwhelming and there were shrieks of laughter. When they got to the bottom, however, a silence descended,
for the last section of the garden was a curious oval shape, almost completely surrounded by an ancient wall, and it held in its centre – like a jewel – a circular fish pond.

Out of the water rose the stone, white and shining.

It was cracked in two places, but the cracks were thin, and it was obvious that the structure was now complete. The whiteness gleamed far brighter than the Ribblestrop children remembered, but
what was so beautiful and extraordinary was the perfection of the stone’s reflection. The water was still and black, and held the reversed image as clear and exact as a mirror. It was as if
the stone had doubled itself and, when the children peered down, they saw themselves and the sky and some immediately felt dizzy, for it was like looking down into a perfectly inverted world into
which you could all too easily fall.

‘It was Vicky’s idea,’ said Doctor Ellie quietly.

‘Well, not really . . .’ whispered Vicky. ‘It was just a suggestion, because—’

‘Because we were getting nowhere,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘Let’s be honest, we’d been up all night with it. We’d been copying the symbols and cross-referencing
every piece of text we thought might help us. Could we work it out? No, we couldn’t.’

‘I started to look at it upside down,’ said Vicky. ‘I was very tired and I think I had a line of symbols the wrong way up and they seemed to make more sense that way. So I got
a mirror and we looked at it then through the mirror.’

‘We saw things differently. We saw that what we’d thought were simply runes, or lines, were actually trees. We began to see fish and feathers. And the fish repeat in certain ways
that we think might replicate the flare paths themselves. How good is your Ancient Celtic, Mr Ian?’

‘Non-existent.’

‘Are you familiar with Bede?’

‘No. We don’t study that period.’

‘Do you study the lives of the saints? Paganism and Christianity?’

‘We do twentieth century.’

‘Nazis,’ said a boy.

‘We’ve been doing Nazis for three years,’ said another.

‘That’s because they come up in the exam,’ said Mr Ian. ‘If you can write an essay on the Holocaust, you sail through. Even the stupid can understand Hitler.’

‘Yes,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘That’s a comforting thought. Well, Bede was an eighth century monk who translated many texts, including some very early ones that were based on
old, oral traditions. There’s a fragment of an epic poem – nobody knows where it comes from and very little exists. It’s called “Hymn to St Caspar”, and the more we
looked in the mirror, the more we thought of it.’

She concentrated hard, and spoke carefully:

‘But that’s so similar,’ said Miles, quietly. ‘That’s almost the same. Isn’t it?’

‘As what?’ said Vicky.

‘As the poem we know. About the sword, last term! That’s got such similar words.’

‘Bede said it was about one of the earliest saints, but we all know he had a habit of mucking things about to suit his purposes. St Caspar was a holy man who passed through here. According
to legend, he prayed here – in this very garden.’

‘Miss,’ said Tomaz quietly, ‘you’ve got to stop this now.’

Doctor Ellie laughed. ‘What do you mean, Tom?’

‘How do you read it, then?’ said Ruskin. ‘It it left to right, or—’

‘Look down into the water, children. If you look hard and if you wait a moment – don’t disturb the surface. Kneel down, some of you, then everyone can see. Can you see the
feathers? They’re carved in deeper and under them – in the reflection, I mean – can you see the flames? I think a feather might represent death, I don’t know. Or possibly
the soul. What’s happening?’

‘It’s the sun, miss.’

‘Wait a moment . . .’

A cloud had moved by as they were staring and the sun was suddenly brighter than it had been all morning. It was as if it leant in close and burned, hard as a searchlight. The stone flashed
whiter than ever and the light caught the edges of the carvings and silvered them. Down in the water, the reflection was charged with life and the symbols of trees, or feathers, or streams, or
flowers – whatever they were – stood out in columns rather than lines. For a moment they pulsed, shining in the blackness like white letters on a black page.

‘Oh my God, you read downward,’ said Vicky.

‘They all end in feathers,’ cried Doctor Ellie. ‘Every column, look! Every column is a flare path and they all end in feathers. They end in the same place, perhaps . . . The
necropolis, do you think? . . . Tomaz!’

Tomaz was in the water, wading to the stone.

He had jumped and the resulting splash made some of the younger children squeal. It wasn’t a deep pond, so the water only came to his knees and he kicked the surface hard, from side to
side, soaking Israel and two of The Priory children.

Mr Ian jumped back and roared. ‘How dare you!’ he yelled. ‘Get out at once!’

Tomaz kicked and splashed, and it was as if he was erasing the reflection. He spun round in the water so waves destroyed the surface. Then he was the one shouting.

‘What if they don’t?’ he cried. ‘What if they don’t? What if they don’t?’

Sanchez jumped in after him and so did Miles. They tried to grab him, but he twisted out of their grip and fell back against the stone.

‘What if they don’t
want
to be found?’ he panted.

‘Look,’ said Mr Ian. ‘I’ve had just about enough!’

‘Who?’ said Doctor Ellie. She was moving towards Tomaz. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Tom!’ said Miles. ‘Calm down! This is—’

‘No! No!’

Miles tried to hold him, but it was impossible.

‘What right have you got?’ cried Tomaz.

He was sobbing. He was soaking wet and his thin body was still pressed against the stone as if he was trying to conceal or protect it.

‘Please tell me what’s wrong,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘I can see you’re upset and I promise I—’

‘You’ve got no right to go looking for them,’ sobbed Tomaz. ‘You think you can poke around and . . . what are you going to do? What if you’re right? What then?
Don’t you understand – look at them! Look! Look up there, on the walls!’

He was gazing up at the top of the surrounding walls and everyone swung round to see what he could see. There was nothing, but Tomaz remained wild-eyed. ‘They don’t want to be
found!’ he said. ‘Why is that so hard to understand? Leave them alone!’

With that, he turned and pushed with all his might, against the stone. Vicky cried out and Caspar leapt into the water to stop him. It was too late, though: the stone fell in three pieces and
the water was lifted into a geyser as it fell. Tomaz walked over it, climbing out of the pond on the far side. He went across the grass, to where the wall was broken and started to climb. He was
crying, openly. Miles followed and so did Imagio and Vijay. Asilah called something in his own language and everyone watched as the four of them disappeared and the disturbed water slowly
settled.

Millie felt something against her cheek and grabbed at it. She saw Anjoli do the same and she saw that one of The Priory children had one too.

There were feathers in the air, blowing randomly over the pool, catching at some of the children, then rising up and soaring over the walls of the garden, out of sight.

Someone was laughing.

Back at the village, the mood was sombre.

Tomaz had not returned and nor had the boys who had followed him. In the absence of the main chef, Captain Routon cooked the rabbits and, though it was a rich, wholesome stew, it was hard to
swallow. The teachers usually stayed in the camp until after bedtime, but on this occasion they withdrew just as the sun went down and walked to their own camp. They had two tents pitched close to
Doctor Ellie’s van and would often enjoy a nightcap together under the stars.

‘I wonder what’s brewing,’ said Professor Worthington, gazing up at Orion.