Ribblestrop (40 page)

*

He had served the soup and there was a hunk of bread. He'd lit more candles and opened the door of the stove so the room was hot. He sat opposite Millie, but he wasn't eating. He put both elbows on the table and cradled a glass of wine.

“You like wine?” he said.

Millie nodded.

“It's one of the things I've tried to like since I came here. I have about six thousand bottles, but I have to add sugar. These are
Winston Churchill's cigars, I think. I like to think so—he was friends with Lord Vyner, after all.”

Millie looked at the dusty label on the wine bottle. She recognized it from her experience all those weeks ago, when she'd sat cross-legged in a tunnel. It was another Clos de Bouchard 1923. “This is one of my father's favorite wines,” she said.

“It's my currency. I use it to buy what I need. There's a man in town who does business with me. That's another reason I'm careful, you see. One day he's going to think, ‘Let's follow him home
.'
Every time I come home I try to come a different way. I tell you, Millie, being on the run is scary: I don't recommend it.”

Millie looked into his eyes and smiled. “I'm on the run myself. Tomaz, how have you done this?”

“It was all here. I just move things about.”

“You're on your own! Don't you get scared? Tomaz, you said there was a ghost—what did you mean?”

“There's a ghost, of course.”

“Lord Vyner. And you've seen him?”

“He was sitting there, just before you came. He doesn't stay, though—he prefers the Churchill Room. It's a bunker, a bit deeper than this. That's where the phone is and some of the control systems. He's very sad, he spends a lot of time down there; he was there when you called.”

“You're serious, aren't you? You're not making this up.”

Tomaz laughed. “Of course I'm serious! He's totally harmless, don't worry. I think he used to work down here and it's where he was murdered. People say he committed suicide, but he didn't, Millie.”

“You're living with a ghost—you can't!”

“I don't live with him. He
comes through
; and he's no problem, he's just . . . he can't rest, Millie, I don't know why. If you come again, you'll see for yourself. Anyway, he saved my life. He warned me to get away, and I had a friend—”

“The Ouija board?”

“Sanchez told you, yes? About Miles, as well? They were going
to kill me, I'm sure of it. So I ran away and . . . found all this. Truthfully, Millie—tell me. Listen! What do you think of my house?”

Millie put down her spoon. The food, the clean clothes, the cold water, the warmth of the stove, the candles—everything was accumulating in a great wave of relief; she was alive, in a magical land! They had tried to kill her
four times
and failed. Someone had tried to kill Tomaz and failed. Life was so intense it was burning in her veins and she was so strong she was indestructible. She took a mouthful of her father's favorite wine and savored it.

“Tomaz,” she said. “Your home is the most beautiful place I have ever been. You saved my life—twice. I want to marry you.”

Even in the candlelight she saw the boy blush again, to the roots of his hair. He hid his face. When he looked at her again he was smiling one of the widest smiles Millie had ever seen and he was laughing too.

“Yes,” he said. “Shall we stay here forever?”

Tomaz had a windup gramophone, just like the orphans. The records were crackly and a heartbroken soprano sang in a soft, tearful voice. The two children lit their cigars and listened. Millie closed her eyes and sank deeper into her chair. “What are they doing down there?” she said, lazily. “Who are they, Tomaz?”

“They've been down there for years.”

Millie laughed. “And you're the next-door neighbor.”

“I stay away,” said Tomaz. “I go sometimes, to see if I can get an animal. Otherwise, I stay away. You know,” he said, after a pause, “it may have been my fault that they were chasing you.”

“
Your
fault? What do you mean?”

Tomaz turned and looked at Millie. “You know they found your tie? You left it in the ventilation shaft.”

“Of course . . .” Millie's hand had gone instinctively to her throat. She sat there, her hand around her neck, looking stunned. “That is so dumb. It had my name on it, what a fool. Tomaz, that's the most stupid thing I've ever done!”

“I was in there just before you though. I stole the old man's briefcase.” Millie stared at him. “I know it's wrong, but I thought it was time I . . . I thought it was time I did something too, but I didn't know what. So I took the briefcase and thought that if I could get it to Sanchez, then maybe he could look at what's inside. They probably think that you have it and maybe that's why they're hunting you.”

“She did say something about a briefcase. Miss Hazlitt.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't think they'd . . .”

“Where is it now? What did you do with it?”

“It's just there.”

Millie looked across the room and got to her feet. On a small table stood the same squat metal briefcase she'd seen almost every day in the hands of Miss Hazlitt. She lifted it gently and checked the locking mechanism. Both clasps had been forced.

“You got into it. What's inside?”

“Have a look. Pictures, files, all sorts of stuff. I took it for Sanchez, you see. I thought I would find a way of getting it to him. They're getting ready for something—and I think it's bad.”

Millie cleared a space and he laid it on the table in front of her. “Have you read this stuff?” she asked. She was pulling out papers and graphs. Some of the writing was typed, some of it was in the cramped hand of Miss Hazlitt. “What does it say?” she said.

“I don't know.”

“Tomaz, what have you been doing? This could actually tell us what they're up to . . . If you went to the trouble of stealing the thing, why didn't you read what's inside? It's about—the orphans.”

Tomaz paused and there was another ghost of a blush. “I can't read, Millie. I was learning with Ruskin, but . . .”

But Millie wasn't listening. She had picked up a sheet and was instantly, instantly absorbed. She put it to one side and picked up the next. A puff of cigar, a swig of wine. She sat down again and spread out some of the documents. They were medical reports. She saw familiar names: Asilah, Anjoli, Israel, Sanjay, Vijay, Podma, Eric—all the orphans' names, but no sign of hers or Sam's or Ruskin's. Henry wasn't there, nor was Sanchez—but then, only the orphans had been through the tests. She skimmed through, flipping the pages. For some reason Anjoli's name was heavily underlined in a colored marker pen. Then, paperclipped together in a buff folder, measurements, graphs, information about diet and weight. It was all Anjoli now, every page. Paper after paper, with data that went into long columns of minuscule, obsessive handwriting.

“What do they say?” said Tomaz.

“I don't know.”

Lists. Data. Photographs. “It's the stuff she was doing in the mornings,” said Millie. “Our deputy headmistress was measuring them, all the time . . . Look at this, I don't understand it. What's a
medial prefrontal cortex
? What's an
amygdala
? I can't read half of this. I don't understand: it's cross-referenced with something . . . What?”

She unfolded a zigzag of paper and revealed a whole cosmos of planets.

“They're skulls,” said Tomaz.

Millie opened another folder and a sheaf of X-rays fanned across the desk. Eye sockets, teeth, and the curve of a child's cranium.

She said, “We shouldn't be sitting here.” Someone had drawn the most beautiful cross sections of Anjoli's brain, numbering and labeling.
To maintain a self-regulating oxygen supply, anaesthetic is to be avoided. Administer only the minimum dose of compound 311, methodone base (see footnote 4.4)—subject to be conscious, pressure details subject to . . .

Millie's world plunged.

The ride wasn't over: she was on a new loop of the roller coaster and this time she was higher than ever and the drop on either side made her feel faint. “He wasn't there,” she said, with mounting panic.

“Who?”

“In the dormitory, just before the fire. I can see them all. I was looking at them, I was trying to talk to them. They were playing some stupid game and falling off the beds. Anjoli wasn't there. I said, ‘Where's Anjoli?' but then we saw the fire.”

Millie stood up. She could feel herself falling, overcome by dread. She grabbed the stove chimney to steady herself, burned her hand, and cried out. She held the papers to her chest. Then she read the annotations again, even though her hands were unsteady. Down the side, boxed in neatly, were medical details: blood group, cellular breakdowns, a chart with lists of numbers, little graphs that meant nothing. Then, most horribly, she was back in
the lab, looking down at the model child and the needles. They needed a subject. They had the green light. They
didn't
have Tomaz.

“I know what they're doing!” she said suddenly. She was crying. “They're doing it to
him
.”

“
What
are they doing?”

“They've been feeding them pills, but they don't take the pills. I think she's trying to check for changes in behavior, side effects, that kind of thing, but it hasn't worked. Oh no, she was always checking him, more than anyone else—and she hated him! Then in the lab, I heard them talking about it, dammit, but I just didn't understand—and that must be what the chair is for and why they had that dummy. They were planning it—they were going on and on about how it couldn't wait, but I thought it was you!”

“How
what
couldn't wait?”

“She's working for that man. Mr. Jarman, this . . . surgeon. They must be working together and she's running the school to provide him with children . . . Tomaz!” Millie cried out. “Tomaz! Sam was saying . . . Some of the things he was saying . . .”

“Hang on, you—”

“They've got Anjoli. Where's the lab? How do we get to it?”

“You have to go up—I blocked the tunnel, so—”

“We've got to find the others, Tomaz! Oh, God, why didn't you give this to us earlier? We're going to be way too late! Is there a quick way up? They'll be looking for me, they'll be round the lake!”

“There's a secret way, I'll get you boots!”

Millie was crying harder now, in terror and frustration. She wiped away the tears. “They've taken him! I was going to ask, but then we saw the fire!” She pressed her palms to her eyes and sniffed back the mucus. “She's got him and we've been sitting here, drinking. Tomaz, he's my friend, he's my friend!”

“Shh, it's okay, there's a quick way—”

“It's
not
okay! They're going to do something to him, Tomaz, they'll kill him! They've probably already killed him, we're too late!”

The search for Millie had been long and the boys were frozen.

Asilah had taken seven boys with him and had gone to the Greek temple. He'd led them clockwise round the lake. Sanchez had taken Ruskin, Sam, and Henry, and the rest of the orphans, and had moved counterclockwise. The group leaders were in radio contact, having grabbed the crane operators' headsets, which Captain Routon had thoughtfully left on charge. They'd done a sweep right round and found nobody. They stretched out again, getting colder and colder. They would do one more circuit.

“Nothing so far,” said Sanchez into his radio. “I'm back at Neptune. This is hopeless, over.”

“I can see where you are,” said Asilah. “Nothing so far. I'll try toward the gates, why don't you go back to the school? Over.”

“She won't go back to the school. Over.”

“Anjoli might, if he didn't find her. I'll try the telephone box, and then the back road. Over.”

“Wait.”

“What? Over.”

“I said wait. Asilah . . .”

His teeth were chattering. Sanchez thought for a moment it was a trick of the mist, but as he stared, Neptune's head appeared to be turning. The giant's nose definitely shifted toward him until they were making eye contact. He was no longer surveying his own lake, he was watching Sanchez.

“What's the problem? Over,” said Asilah into the radio.

Sanchez couldn't utter a sound.

The chin tipped up. Neptune was now staring at the stars. There was a hinge at the back of his neck and his head kept lifting; now the neck was a rather disturbing hole. A figure with long hair was appearing through it, as if from a chimney pot. He was standing on the giant's shoulder, helping somebody else, and that person was Millie.

“She's here,” said Sanchez. His voice was a whisper.

“What? I can't hear, Sanchez! Speak clearly. Over.”

“She's here. I said,
she's here
!”

“With Anjoli?”

“Millie's here! She's okay. Over!”

Everyone raced toward the statue. Asilah's team appeared over the first bridge and bounded round the lake. Then Sanchez stopped again, and this time he was turned to stone. Millie was running toward him, shouting something, but he couldn't hear what and he didn't care. Sanchez had recognized the boy with the long hair and could not believe it; he dared not hope. He found himself backing away. By now Millie had reached the throng, but he couldn't go forward. The long-haired boy looked up and saw him and smiled. Sanchez hesitated; it was the long-haired boy who walked up the bank to his friend. Sanchez was mute, so Tomaz said, “Hello.”