Ribblestrop Forever! (28 page)

Doonan called out over the noise, ‘Mr Ian’s lot? Do you mind helping us all for a bit? Miles and Millie, can you explain what needs doing?’

Mr Ian climbed into the minibus and locked the doors.

For the next hour, the work was fast and efficient, and he tried not to look. Wooden poles were going up, right by The Priory children’s tents. They opened up into what looked like a
tripod and then a large canvas skin was being unfurled to complete a genuine teepee. There was laughter floating in the night and the sounds of metal hammering on wood. There was the occasional
squeal and a steady stream of children emerging from the nearby trees, their arms full of branches. Soon, the whole camp was bright and hot, for a huge campfire was blazing inside a perimeter wall
of torches.

When the headmaster rapped on the glass, Mr Ian ignored him. There was no point trying to get control – wherever he looked, some new outrage was being committed. A boy with long hair had a
piglet on a spit. There was a pan of what looked like stew and he saw with a shock that Jacqueline and Harry were helping prepare it. They were chattering happily and laughing. The tents had been
re-pitched, even closer to the Ribblestrop teepee, and the flames cast long, demonic shadows. He could see a Ribblestrop boy in a Priory fleece. Two of his own children were shirtless and seemed to
be trying on some kind of garland or necklace. Logs had been dragged from the forest and were being sited around the fire, which was sending columns of sparks up into the night.

When the singing started, he covered his face. The Priory children were learning the Ribblestrop school song and he knew there was nothing he could do. Only hunger drove him out of the minibus
and he took his place at the far end of a log.

‘Does your school have a song?’ said Millie. She was crouching right next to him, speaking almost into his ear.

‘Yes.’

‘How’s it go?’

‘Oh, wow!’ shouted Miles. ‘I can almost remember it. Something about pain, yes?
In pain we learn stuff
– something like that.’

Two Priory children immediately began singing, their treble voices piping happily.

‘
Persevere in labour, persevere in pain!

Though the path is thorny, dawn is on her way
.’

Hands started clapping in rhythm.

’Triumph in disaster, labour not in vain!

We will pull together, come what may!
’

There was a burst of applause and whistles.

The children soon had spoons and plates to bang, and the songs were sung alternately. Several Priory children were in their school choir and taught soaring descants, which they flung up to the
stars. When their voices were hoarse, Imagio sang a very dirty township song in Spanish, which was so full of swearwords that Sanchez had to stop translating them. Just before midnight, the pig was
roasted through and Tomaz and Caspar carved it with their daggers. Baked potatoes were brought out of the ashes and the stew was ladled into bowls. Doonan distributed the bread and there was
silence as they ate. Finally, a great tray of coconut ice was produced and it went round the circle three times before it was finished. It was soaked in rum and sugar, and the feast was at an end.
The headmaster served hot chocolate in little earthenware cups the children had made and Doctor Ellie played her flute.

There was peace.

‘So where are they now, miss?’ said Tomaz.

‘Who?’ asked a Priory pupil.

‘The Lost Tribe,’ whispered Kenji. ‘That’s who we’re following.’

Doctor Ellie finished a tune, and said, ‘Gone from here, I’m afraid.’

‘Where to, though?’ said Israel.

She smiled. ‘They disappeared two thousand years ago,’ she said, into the silence. ‘Nobody knows where, because it was never documented.’

‘Maybe they stayed and just joined other tribes,’ said Doonan.

‘I’m sure some of them did. The Romans came west, of course. They may have fled the Romans. They may have turned themselves into sailors and sailed to the Americas.’

‘Why feathers, miss?’ said Sanjay. ‘Did you find out why they had a thing about feathers?’

‘Birds,’ said Sam. ‘Maybe they turned into birds and flew away?’

Millie laughed. ‘Sam’s drunk,’ she said.

‘I did identify the species,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘I’ll need to verify it, because it’s . . . well, there’s something rather strange. According to my bird book
– and I checked this with a friend from a local bird sanctuary – the feathers belong to a hawk that used to be common here. You get them in Asia, too, but they died out in England years
ago. Silver and bronze in the feathers and—’

‘The River Falcon,’ said Asilah.

‘Yes.’ She paused, and looked at him. ‘How did you know that?’

‘It’s where we grew up, miss,’ said Vijay. ‘You get them in the mountains. They fly higher than any other bird.’

‘And further,’ said Kenji. ‘They can fly forever.’

‘That’s not true. That’s a myth!’

‘The last one was seen round here thirteen years ago,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘It was never verified, actually, because the spotter wouldn’t give her name. She worked at the
listening station on Lightning Tor – I told you about that place, I think. She said there was a whole nesting ground. They live as a colony, apparently. But . . . that may all be mythology as
well. We may never know – that place is still off-limits, I’m afraid.’

Captain Routon addressed everyone the next morning at dawn.

Tomaz had the coffee on before sunrise, so by the time the children were awake and dressed there were three large pots steaming and Imagio was stirring a huge saucepan of porridge. There was an
early-morning mist hanging inches off the ground and the Ribblestrop children were wrapped in the blankets they’d woven in Doonan’s loom classes. Some of The Priory children were
wild-haired and wide-eyed. They always rose early at school, but they had never seen a sunrise like this one. The grass was wet, the dew gleaming and glimmering. Flashing Tor reared up into a sky
that seemed higher, bluer and brighter. There were even stars, fading.

‘Everyone sleep well?’ asked Captain Routon. ‘I hope so, because it’s a tough day ahead. Your lot all ready, Mr Ian?’

Mr Ian nodded grimly. He had spent a cold night in the minibus wrapped in Captain Routon’s coat. It had hurt his pride to accept it when offered, but as he had no tent, no bedding and no
spare clothes, he was obliged to.

‘Mr Ian has the co-ordinates and will hand them out in due course. You all have maps already. That’s good, because as of today, everything changes. No more fun and games.’

‘We’re ready,’ said Miles. ‘We just need to know where we’re going.’

‘Carry only what you need,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘You’ll be on your own and you don’t want to be bogged down with useless equipment. You must, however, take
a field telephone.’

There was a murmur of disappointment. The telephones were heavy and cumbersome.

‘I will now hand over to the expert,’ said Captain Routon. ‘Mr Ian, sir?’

Mr Ian stood up and produced a metal box. ‘I’m going to give each group a sealed envelope,’ he said. ‘In the envelope you’ll find a map reference and a clue. You go
to the map reference and when you get there – if you find the right place, that is – the clue will lead you to a box, just like this one. Inside it will be the co-ordinates of the
finishing post, and you get to the finishing post as fast as you can. That’s where your teachers and I will be waiting.’

‘We’re not allowed to help you,’ said Captain Routon. ‘If you get lost, then you’re out of the game. You phone in for help, or come back to base.’

‘How can we get back here if we’re lost?’ said Millie.

‘Map-read,’ said Mr Ian, with contempt. ‘Failing that, you follow your eyeballs – you can see Flashing Tor for miles, however lost you are. That’s why we chose
it.’

‘What if it’s night?’ said Oli.

‘You wait until day,’ said Eric. ‘Dimwit.’

‘What if it’s misty?’ said Sanjay. ‘Doctor Ellie, you told us the weather can turn in half an hour—’

‘Are you scared?’ asked Podma. ‘You come all this way, and suddenly you’re scared?’

‘I’m not scared, I’m just asking—’

‘You want to stay with the donkeys?’

‘Sanjay’s right to ask,’ said Doctor Ellie, mildly. ‘The weather systems round here are very unpredictable and when the mist comes down you don’t see anything. You
don’t even try to move. Mr Ian, you’re our weather-man—’

‘It’s clear and bright.’

‘You just said it was unpredictable,’ said Miles. ‘So how can you predict it?’

Jacqueline said, ‘The man from the National Park said the weather was bad. He said—’

‘Shut up!’ snapped Mr Ian. ‘This isn’t a debate. This is a briefing, and my forecast is based on satellite photography and the advice of meteorological experts. Maybe you
Ribblestrop children would find that hard to understand.’

‘Yeah,’ said Imagio. ‘We just use seaweed, man.’

‘We do a rain-dance,’ said Anjoli.

‘I pick my nose,’ said Podma. ‘That tells me everything, whether it’s wet, or dry, or—’

‘All right!’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘I think we can move on from the weather. What else is there to say?’

‘I need a word with my lot,’ said Mr Ian. ‘In the van, please, quick as you can.’

‘Special advice?’ said Millie. ‘I hope you’re not cheating, Mr Ian.’

There was laughter.

Mr Ian rounded on her, red in the face. ‘We actually take ourselves seriously, young lady, and try not to leave things to chance.’

The headmaster stood up. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Ribblestrop: get into your groups, sort out your packs, and take your envelope.’

The Priory children sat silent in the minibus.

Mr Ian turned to look at them and, one by one, their eyes dropped.

‘I hope you’re proud of yourselves,’ he said. ‘I hope you’re feeling good about your behaviour last night, because frankly . . . I’m disgusted.’

Nobody said anything.

‘Not a word, eh? It doesn’t surprise me. Take those feathers off, Scott. Give them to me – who gave them to you?’

‘Sanjay, sir.’

‘Sanjay. You even know their names. Well, I thank God that from now on we are divided, pursuing separate paths. I’ll tell you now, you are not camping out on the moor.’

He turned to the glove compartment and removed a small box.

‘I’m going to give you a mobile phone, Harry. Look after it. It’s been charged and it’s got my number. It’s also got the number of mountain rescue and the school
office. But if anything goes wrong, I want you to call me first. Have you got that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You are staying together. One group.’

‘Sir,’ said Scott. ‘You divided us up. We’re in groups of five—’

‘I am now un-dividing you. You stay as one large group.’

‘Then how do we compete?’ said Jacqueline. ‘You said split up—’

‘Fifteen’s way too big,’ said Charlie. ‘We’re supposed to go in different directions.’

The slap left a red mark on the boy’s cheek and there was a terrible silence. Charlie’s lip quivered. He held his face.

‘Anybody else?’ said Mr Ian. ‘Because there’s plenty more where that came from. I have had it up to here with the lot of you. This is not a seminar. This is me, giving
you your orders – and if you want to challenge those orders you can expect a Darkroom thrashing as soon as we get home. You will split up, briefly, and you will then re-group. You will make
your way to first base – you’ve all got the same co-ordinates. You will call me as soon as you get there. Is that clear, Johnson?’

Charlie Johnson nodded.

‘I didn’t hear you.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good.’

Doctor Ellie was waiting for Mr Ian as he emerged.

She smiled at him, warmly. ‘They’ve got a lot of spirit, your children,’ she said. ‘I like them. I’m afraid I was rather rude when we first met. Got off on the
wrong foot with you, too. It takes a lot of effort to set something like this up and I respect you for that.’

‘Would you excuse me? I have to get them packed.’

‘Wait a moment.’

‘What?’

‘There’s definitely rain in the air, you know. I’ve walked these moors for years and I can always tell, whatever the satellites say. We’re in for quite a
pounding.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘The Ribblestrop children can cope – I’m not worried about them. It’s your lot I’m thinking of. Do they know what they’re in for?’

‘They’ve got the equipment they need, Doctor Ellie. Their kit comes up to military standards and I checked it myself. That . . . rabble over there. You say they can cope? I have to
say I wonder. I haven’t seen a single waterproof.’

‘They know what they’re doing.’

‘I hope so.’

‘What did people do, Mr Ian, before the age of plastic and polythene? Do you think they sat under the trees wishing they were equipped?’

‘Tell me what they did. I’m sure you’re going to.’

‘The human skin is waterproof. The human foot can withstand just about anything if you know how to walk. Earth, air, water and fire – that’s what these children are dealing
with.’

‘I saw the fire last night.’

‘There you are then.’

‘What took place last night was completely illegal. The lighting of a fire, I mean. On Ribblemoor. Maybe you haven’t read the Country Code, or the National Park by-laws, but
I—’

‘Fires have been lit on Ribblemoor since the Palaeolithic Age. There are flint tools which suggest—’

‘That wood over there is tinder dry!’ cried Mr Ian. ‘Every year there are forest fires. And people like you let children strike matches and—’

‘We’re arguing again, aren’t we?’

‘Yes!’

‘What different views of the world we have. You see, I didn’t notice anyone being irresponsible. They dug a pit. They gathered only fallen wood and the forest won’t miss it.
They live with the land, Mr Ian, that’s what you don’t understand – and they’re not scared of it. They’re not enslaved to it like you.’

‘Nonsense.’

‘They don’t oppress each other. You don’t protect; all you do is possess and control and intimidate. It’s horrible and I will fight you to the death if I have
to.’