The Quickening of Tom Turnpike (The Talltrees Trilogy) (18 page)

He
must have been right.  All of the evidence pointed that way and now there was
no lie that Caratacus could trick me into thinking, whether with Ockham’s Razor
or otherwise. 

But
there was a feather of a thought tickling the edge of a memory that made me
pause.  I hesitated, trying to remember.  Something Barrington said.  Yes,
something he had said when Freddie and I had been hiding in the stairwell
behind the Hidden Library.

Samson
was saying something, but I wasn’t hearing him.  Something didn’t fit.  I crept
slowly back through my memory, back down those cast-iron stairs from the
Wolfhall bathroom and into Barrington’s argument with Doctor Boateng.  And I
found something odd:  Boateng asking Barrington how he was planning to
administer something to the boys and Barrington replying that he was going to
“gas them”.  But that was at a time
after
a number of boys had been
taken ill,
already
poisoned.  But the strange thing was that we knew
that the zombie-poison was a one-stage process and did not involve gas at all,
it involved syringes.  We
knew
that.  And there was another oddity: 
Barrington saying that he wanted to “prepare for the Bokor”.  But why would he
have said that if
he
was the Bokor?

Samson
pushed the box back under the bed.  And I saw that under there, next to the
box, was a pair of moccasin slippers.  I recognised those slippers.  They were
worn by the man who had helped Head Matron take Freddie during the night.

And
in a tumbling flurry of recalled incidents, conversations, suppositions and
suggestions, I realised what I should have deduced before.  All of my
conclusions and the foundations of evidence upon which I had built them
resoundingly crashed down, inside-out and upside-down.

“Samson,”
I said, ignoring whatever it was that he was saying.  “It’s Caratacus. 
He’s
the Bokor.  I don’t believe I’ve been such an idiot...”

“What
are you on about?  What about Barrington coming down to the Crypt?  What about
him kidnapping Freddie in the night?”

“No. 
It was
Caratacus
all along.  We
presumed
it was Barrington and we
never thought we were wrong.  We never actually
saw
him, did we?  And we
only heard a man
whispering
in the Crypt.  It was impossible to tell who
it was.  It could have been anyone.”

“Well
what about his research log and the letters you saw?”

“I
don’t believe I didn’t realise before:  He hasn’t been trying to work out how
to
poison
everyone.  He’s been trying to work out how to
cure
them.”

twenty eight

“Come
on
!”  shouted Samson, throwing himself bodily against the shuddering
door.  “We’ve got to get out of here.  We’ve got to help Reggie.  Or find
Barrington.”  He began to beat his fists against it.  “We’re trapped!”

“Hey,
hey
! Wait,” I said, “There is another way out”.  He stopped and turned
to look around the room for an exit he hadn’t seen.  Then he realised what I
was talking about and began shaking his head vigorously.  “That’s crazy! 
Totally insane!  I’m not doing that.  No way.  We’re four floors up and there’s
nothing but concrete down there.”  He started banging on the door with renewed
intent.

I
clambered onto Caratacus’ bed, slid the window open and lent out.  It was a
bright, breezy evening with a clear view all of the way up the Drive, over
tumbling farmland and up to the Monument, which towered over the landscape like
the white king over a chessboard.

Immediately
outside of the window, under my chin, there was a ledge perhaps two feet wide,
covered with bird droppings, leading along past four or five other windows.  I
couldn’t crane my head far enough to see if any of them were open.  But it was
midsummer.  Surely at least one of the teachers would be letting some fresh air
into their Private Room.  Failing that, further to the right, about ten yards
further along, was the top of the Portico, a large expanse of sloping
concrete.  From there we could either try to shin down one of the leaden
drainpipes or pull ourselves up onto the roof of the school building.  I had
never been up on the roof before, but I once overheard some Seniors saying that
they had been up there to try pilfered cigarettes and that they got there
through a fire escape at the top of the Spiral Staircase.

All
of this was, of course, theoretical at this stage.  The physical challenge of
crawling along this ledge would not be as sizeable as the psychological
challenge of convincing my limbs to attempt that physical challenge.  It was
terrifying.  But there was no alternative.

“We
can do this, Samson,” I asserted, as much in order to convince myself as to
convince him.  “Look!  It’s high, but it’s not so much higher than some of the
trees we’ve been up.”  I turned to see that he was wincing.  “What is it?”

“Have
you
ever
seen me up a tree before?”

Strange
question, I thought.  Every boy at the school was an accomplished
monkey-puzzler, spent at least two hours a week rhodo-bouncing, and had had at
least three near-death experiences at the further reaches of the Games Tree. 

“Okay. 
I’m scared of heights, alright?” he said sheepishly.  “Petrified!  Why do you
think I built the Burrow?”

“Look. 
It’ll be okay.  We’ll take it slowly.  Everyone’s scared of heights really.  If
this ledge was a couple of metres above the ground, you wouldn’t think twice
about it.  You’d run across it, no problem.  The trick is not to look down and
just pretend you’re near the ground.”  At least, I presumed that that was the
trick.  That was what I was planning to try to do anyway.

“No. 
No way!”

“Listen,
we don’t have a choice.  If we want to help Reggie and all of the others, we
will have to do it.  Okay?  You don’t have time to be scared.”

He
knew I was right and he was already trembling with fear.  He lent very briefly
out of the window, his eyes wide and frantic, and then quickly stepped back
into the middle of the room as if he couldn’t trust himself not to jump out. 
He paced around with his hands on his hips, muttering to himself. 

“Okay,”
he said after a few moments, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth.  “But
I’ll go first.  The last thing I want at this altitude is your arse in my
face!”

“Good
man,” I said, stepping aside.

***

Well,
telling yourself not to look down when you are in a precarious situation at a
spiralling height is a load of old cobblers.  It simply doesn’t work.  And I
should have known this from climbing trees.  Once you are up there, just you,
the sky and your sense of balance, everything in your peripheral vision moves
vividly at sickening speed, while the thing you are gripping for dear life
stays just where it is.  Crawling along that ledge, so much narrower when I was
on it, was not remotely similar to tiptoeing along the balance beam in the Gym
because the Gym floor would not shift and lurch dizzyingly with every inch I
edged forward.

“Just
take it really easy.”  I looked up very, very slowly in case the movement of my
head would disturb all of the forces that were conspiring to keep me up here. 
Samson was already at the top of the Portico, laying on his front as far away
from the edge as possible.  There was terror in his voice.

I
shuddered forwards gradually, gradually.  Right hand, right knee, left hand,
left knee, deep breath and again, all the while the concrete driveway and
everything else below seemingly reaching up to haul me down, and me swallowing
that perverse inkling urge to grant the ground its prey. 

The
sun had begun a rapid descent, its long pink fingers clawing despairingly over
the horizon between the elongating shadows of crippled trees.  Suddenly the air
was beginning to cool, a frosty dew formed over my skin and the ledge in front
of me seemed to become slippery and moist to touch.  In the fast fading
daylight it was becoming harder and harder to maintain my balance.

Suddenly
a gust of wind whipped up and knocked my cap off my head.  I crouched still,
shivering with terror, as it floated spirals towards the ground.  Such a long
way down.  Turning around to go back would be far too dangerous.  I had to
press on and the Portico seemed to get further and further away.

But
finally, eventually, I was there, with blood oozing from my grazed knees.

“Let’s
get onto the roof,” I said after I had composed myself and my limbs had stopped
quivering.  “It’s the least dangerous thing to do.  There’s a fire escape to
the Spiral Stairs.”

“What
if it’s shut?”

I
began to haul myself up.  “No idea,” I panted.  “We’ll come up with plan B when
we need to.  Come on, Sam...” 

The
rest of his name was sharply choked out of me as some force wrenched me
upwards.  I suddenly found myself suspended like a lopsided string puppet, held
up by my collar and one of my armpits, with my legs dangling down below me
about half a foot above the gravelled tarmac on the roof.

“Urgh! 
Look what I’ve caught.  Disgusting, isn’t it?”

“And
all alone. 
Disgusting
!”

I
recognised the thuggish voices and the repulsive breath before I looked up into
those two identically brutish, sneering faces.  Angus and Amos Bearbaiter. 
Great!  These imbeciles could present a very unwelcome obstacle.  And we really
did not have time for this.  We needed to find Colonel Barrington right away.

The
twins had an obvious strength advantage over us, so there was no prospect of
fighting our way past them.  But there were three things we had that they did
not.  One was speed.  But, seeing as they had already caught me, that would be
of no immediate value.  The second was brains.  Perhaps I could try to baffle
them into letting me go free.  The third was surprise.  They had obviously not
yet seen Samson and maybe that could be of some help.

The
twin who was not holding me in the air took a deep draw on the remains of a
cigarette which he held strangely daintily between index finger and thumb.  He
let it drop theatrically and crushed it under his right heel.  He took a pace
towards me, licked his rubbery lips and then slowly exhaled a rancid plume of
smoke into my face.

“Hey
Angus, isn’t this the one that almost got Hector booted out?”

“Yeah. 
Filthy little sneak.  What do you think we should do with him then?”

“Punish
him, I say.”

“Guys,”
I gasped, catching my breath.  “If you’d let me explain...”

“It’s
squeaking, Amos.  What’s it squeaking for?”

“Listen,
chaps,” I pleaded.  “Think about it.  You’ve got it all wrong.  I didn’t get
Vanderpump into trouble.  I got you two
let off
.  I told Wilbraham that
you had come to help us and to stop Vanderpump.  He would have expelled you two
if it weren’t for me...”

The
one that turned out to be Angus lowered me to the floor cautiously, not knowing
whether to trust me.  He looked at Amos.  Both of them looked bewildered and
Amos’ eyes moved quickly from side to side under his furrowed, baboon brow as
if he were doing long-division in his head.

“Sounds
like rubbish to me,” concluded Amos.

I started
to beg.  But it was pointless.  It’s impossible to reason with morons.  Amos
nudged Angus to one side, grabbed me by the collar and wrestled me to the
ground.  I started kicking and swinging my fists.  But that was also
pointless. 

“Careful,
Amos.  He’s a wriggly one,” said Angus, stepping back to light a cigarette.

Amos
then, horrifyingly, began to drag me by the collar across the gravel to the
edge of the roof, but away from the Portico.  Now I became utterly frantic.  I
was lashing and gnashing, flailing, spitting and twisting.  And he was hauling
me closer and perilously closer to the edge.  Could the twins be so stupid that
they did not understand gravity or did not realise that anyone who fell off the
roof had a ninety-nine point nine per cent. chance of dying?  Or were they
really trying to kill me?

I
started to think about all of the possible ways I might die.  Perhaps I would
land on my feet and my legs would be forced up through my abdomen and out
through my shoulders.  Maybe I would land on my face and my head would explode
on impact, brains squirting out of my ears.  My poor mother would have to hear
about how the police literally scraped my splattered remains from the ground. 

A
flurried scuffle of grit was kicked up from the tarmac, a hefty thud shook the
roof and a pained squeal mewed out from my right, and I was released.  I
scrambled to my feet to assess what had happened.  Amos was writhing around on
the floor, whimpering pathetically and holding his face with bloodied paws. 
Samson was stepping back away from him, wringing his right hand and muttering
something under his breath. 

And
then Angus, who was a few yards away behind Samson, was charging at him in full
battle-cry.  Samson would not have time to react and had lost his advantage of
surprise.  So I quickly grasped a handful of gravel and, running towards Angus
as he bore down upon Samson, chucked it into his face.  Then, as he staggered
back and began trying to rub the grit out of his eyes, I gave him a sharp kick
to the kneecap and Samson turned around and thumped him firmly in the ribs.  He
landed in a blubbery heap next to his brother.

“Thanks
for that, Samson.”

“You’re
welcome.  I actually really enjoyed that!” he said, still clutching his right
hand and, obviously then remembering how high up he was began to hurry towards
the fire escape.  “Quick.  Let’s get down to the Science Labs,” he called.

“You
two are dead meat!” bawled Amos as he struggled to stand.

“Yeah,”
agreed Angus, struggling for breath.  “You’re...” (he was obviously trying to
conjure something original) “... dead... meat, you two are!”

They
were tripping towards us, pushing each other out of the way in order to be the
first to get to us.  But by this time, we had reached the door leading to the
Spiral Staircase.  The twins had, in spite of their intellectual disadvantages,
taken the sensible measure of propping the door open with a metal bin as there
was no way of opening it from this side.  Samson, still trembling with vertigo,
sprinted past me.  As I passed through the door, I kicked the bin out onto the
roof.  The Bearbaiters were almost upon me when I clutched the metal bar across
the inside of the fire escape and hurriedly tugged it shut.

It
slammed satisfyingly and, a second later, I could hear a muffled banging from
the outside.  I gathered my breath and chased after Samson, who was still
hurtling helter-skelter for terra firma.

***

The
lights were on in the Physics and Chemistry Lab, filtering out through the glass
in the door to illuminate an otherwise dimly lit, deserted corridor. 

Even
though Samson and I had run all the way here, pressed on by the sickening sense
of life-or-undeath urgency, we came to an abrupt halt just outside the door,
panting and shaking.  I knew that now was really no time to stand on ceremony,
but I could not help smoothing down my hair and attempting to brush some more
of the mud from my shirt in a poor effort to effect the appearance of composure
before I knocked on the door.  Colonel Barrington was such a stickler for “good
form” and, given that he was not a man who would appreciate an interruption in
his Laboratory, I would have to do everything in my power not to enrage him
before I had even had the chance to tell him what we had discovered.  So I
wiped my sandals on the backs of my socks and knocked firmly three times.

I
stepped back from the door so that he could not see us and refuse us an
audience straight away.  I waited and, after a few seconds, shrugged and
whispered to Samson, “What do we do?”