We all sit down. I make sure Big Ben and I sit furthest away from Nona. I don’t want to be anywhere near her and I certainly don’t want her speaking to my back. It must be weird for the pupils on the other side of the circle. If this was The Vicious Circle, we’d be 6 and 7. I try to banish the thought from my mind. I want to tell Big Ben who she is but don’t want to get into trouble for talking. Actually, I want to leave and hide in the SENsory Room but it wouldn’t be fair to abandon Big Ben. Although maths is his favourite subject, he doesn’t like meeting new people and so much has been new for us today.
Nona stands up behind her chair. ‘I am Nona, architect and Director of Mathematics. Tell me your names, starting with you.’
She’s looking straight at me and I feel the blood rushing to my face. It feels like a physical pain. I take a deep breath and look at the floor.
‘Elle,’ I say.
‘Welcome, Elle. I thought you might enjoy the familiar set-up, 12 chairs in a circle.’
Oh my Chrono! She knows it was ME in disguise at The Vicious Circle. I feel physically sick yet super strong at the same time. What will she do to me? I delivered the Infinity-Glass to them; I failed in my mission to get it back to the museum. I’ve done The Vicious Circle a favour. Surely she can’t exit me in front of the other students however evil she is?
Once all 12 of us have said our names, Nona continues. ‘Raise your hands if you know what Nona means.’
Some of the pupils raise their hands. I know the answer but if I said it, I might collapse to the ground with its sinister meaning.
‘Noon?’ says Jake.
It’s not a bad guess; Noon was on the Time Squad Centre trip last year. But Jake didn’t put his hand up, as usual.
‘No hand, invalid answer. Even if it’s correct.’
Nona picks one of the girls.
‘Noon?’ she says.
‘Incorrect,’ says Nona. ‘Nona means nine or the ninth. From the Latin.’
I take very slow deep breaths to remain calm. Big Ben raises his hand.
‘Did your parents call you Nine? Or you chose it?’
‘My parents did not call me Nine. They called me Nona. Nine is the best number but not the best name.’
‘Why is 9 your best number?’
‘It’s the square of 3 and the rotation of 6. If you keep adding the digits in the 9 times table until they are reduced to a single digit, that digit is always 9. But enough of my opinion. I want to hear from all of you. Choose a favourite number between 1 and 9.’ She pauses for ten seconds. ‘Elle, we’ll begin with you.’ She’s definitely trying to intimidate me by making me go first twice. But it has the opposite effect. Although it takes me by surprise, which is hard, it means I can get it over and done with. No time to get anxious about when she’s going to pick me.
‘8,’ I say, then to show her I mean business, I take a deep breath and give her my best Elle stare, ‘because it’s symmetrical and beautiful and looks like an hourglass!’
Nona is lost for words. Now I’ve taken her by surprise. Elle, 1: Nona, nil! Of course, no one, not even Big Ben, has any idea what’s going on. I haven’t had the chance to tell him she’s Evil Nine. Nona clears her throat to try to get her voice back and buy time. Then she continues.
‘Ben, your favourite number? Between 1 and 9.’
Big Ben’s shaking his head. ‘My favourite number is 0.6 recurring.’
Only 0.6 recurring of Leaplings have The Gift. That’s why it’s Big Ben’s favourite number. He knows not to say this in front of Annuals, though. His favourite number is so important to him that he can’t concentrate on anything else.
‘Ben, that is incorrect. I SAID between 1 and 9. 0.6 recurring is less than 1. I might add, it must be a whole number. Not a fraction or a decimal. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, or 9. Take your pick!’
‘What about 0?’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s a number.’
‘It’s not between 1 and 9. Pick a favourite number between—’
‘My favourite number is 0.6 recurring!’
‘Do NOT interrupt.’
‘What about 0?’
‘We’re going round in circles.’
Big Ben is rocking in his chair. ‘My favourite number is 0.666666—’
‘SILENCE!’
Big Ben stops rocking and stands up abruptly. I know the sign and stand up too. He’s not repeating himself to be naughty; he’s upset and confused and he’s saying his favourite number to calm down. He’s on the verge of a meltdown. I look at Nona and am shocked to see she’s smiling. She shouted deliberately to upset Big Ben. Evil Nine is living up to her name!
‘Count,’ I tell him, keeping my voice calm and steady though I don’t feel calm at all. Big Ben’s gone rigid. He’s trying to hold it in but the normal strategies, deep breaths, counting, aren’t going to work for long. Not here, in front of total strangers.
I raise my hand. ‘Please can we have time-out? He needs—’
‘He needs to do as he’s told.’
‘That’s not fair. He’s autistic and he loves maths and you humiliated him!’
As I’m speaking, I hear a couple of pupils from the other schools gasp aloud, Maria swearing under her breath, Big Ben counting, and at the same time, feel Nona’s cat’s eyes burning into me. Before she can say anything else, I say to Big Ben, ‘Time-out in the Clashroom,’ and lead him out of the room. I block out Nona’s shouting and focus only on the task.
When we reach the Clashroom, Big Ben is shaking, beyond words, beyond numbers. He picks up one of the chairs and throws it at the whiteboard. Of course, it doesn’t break. It’s been designed to withstand knocks, like the ones in Big Ben’s Anger Management workshops. Big Ben’s not an angry person at all but he goes from 0 to 10 on the anger scale when people are insensitive to him. In this case, Nona was deliberately cruel! Big Ben goes from sadness and humiliation to frustration to anger. Being autistic means he can’t cope with the emotional overload and he has a physical response. He’s getting better at doing time-out when he’s overloaded but this was totally unexpected and happened too quickly for him to notice he was growing tense.
After a while, he calms down and curls up in the corner, making soft, moaning noises, which is his way of soothing himself. Thank goodness we managed to get out of the session. I see a face at the door. Portia. She opens it very slowly and motions me over.
‘How is he?’
‘He had a meltdown.’
‘I know.’
‘How? You weren’t in the room.’ I wish my voice sounded more normal but speaking to Portia makes me nervous. It’s because Big Ben likes her so much.
‘We watched it back on the video. Cameras in all the rooms here. Like CCTV.’
It’s then that I notice them in this room too. I remember Ama telling me about them in 2048. They don’t have any bullying at the Triple M School because all the evidence is on camera. Cameras can’t stop 100% of it though. Bullies like Nona don’t care if they’re filmed or not.
‘Nona humiliated him and shouted at him in front of people he doesn’t know.’
‘Are you happy to stay here with him? Anything you need?’
‘Just some water. Please.’
‘Water coming up. I’ll come and get you both at teatime. That should give Big Ben enough quiet time. The cakes are looking good; don’t want him to miss out!’
Portia returns just after 4.
‘Anon and Anno wish to speak to you both in their office. Follow me.’
Is it my imagination or does Portia sound less friendly, more like a teacher? She called Anno by name rather than mum. I’m worried now. Maybe Big Ben and I will get into trouble for doing time-out without permission, even though Nona was in the wrong.
Big Ben and I follow Portia along the corridor and up some stairs. The office is at the end of another corridor. It’s a room within a room with a waiting area outside where Portia tells us to sit down; then she leaves. I look up into the corner
of the room. No cameras! And probably no cameras inside the office either. Anno, Anon and Nona don’t want their private meetings recorded.
I can hear their voices coming from the office. They’re talking about the maths session. I try not to listen but it’s difficult not to; my hearing’s so good, I often hear what people are saying in the next room. I remind myself I’m a Level 1 Infinite on a job. I need to catch up with Big Ben. I don’t know how much time we’ll have to talk 1-2-1 and this is the only place in the building where our speech won’t be recorded.
‘BB. Nona’s Evil Nine!’
‘She said her favourite number was 9.’
‘It is. But I mean she’s Nine in The Vicious Circle!’
He does big-eyes. ‘Is it evidence?’
‘Maybe. But there’s something else.’
I tell him how I worked out France is was Francis and show him the message:
Greetings, Elle! Can you visit me in 1752?
I can see he’s impressed.
‘Did you text back?’
‘No. I wanted to show you first. We need to work together. I think we should leap to 1752.’
‘We need a date and time and place.’
‘Logical,’ I say and Big Ben smiles, hearing his favourite word.
‘I’ll text him to—’
At that moment the voices in the room become raised and even Big Ben’s able to hear.
‘Do NOT use that word!’ It’s Anon, as in Anonymous. ‘Why do you persist in tormenting me?’
‘ECCENTRIC,’ says Nona. ‘Say what you will, that’s what you are.’
‘That word is anathema to me. I shudder to hear it. I am offended by its inaccuracy! I am NOT off centre, I am completely OUTSIDE the circle. I am AUTISTIC and proud of it, as the young lady and gentleman should be.’
‘Always for the underdog,’ says Nona.
‘Indeed I am. This is an INCLUSIVE school, Nona. And in this space, you abide by Music, Maths and Movement rules. You will apologise to Elle and Big Ben—’
‘I’ll do nothing of the—’
‘—or tender your resignation!’
There’s a long silence, some murmuring even I can’t hear, then the door suddenly opens and it’s Anno who smiles at us, her Empire State Building hair-do showing the odd stray hair but still impressive.
‘Elle. Big Ben. I didn’t realise you were outside already. Please come inside.’
As we walk in, I hear Nona murmur, ‘Eavesdropping!’ She really is the vilest woman I’ve ever met, apart from Millennia. Anon stands using her walking stick as we enter. She gives us a wide smile.
‘On behalf of the Music, Maths and Movement School, we apologise profusely for the unfortunate incident in your mathematics session. My fellow co-founder, Nona, wishes to address you individually.’
There’s another pause. ‘Ben, I am sorry I shouted at you. I should have respected your favourite number. Elle, I am sorry for not allowing you time-out and shouting at you, too.’
If we hadn’t just overheard their argument, I’d believe Nona really is sorry. But I know she’s only saying it to keep her job. It was nice hearing Anon stick up for us, though. As I guessed, she’s autistic like us and would understand why we behaved as we did. How can such a nice person be related to someone like Nona? Anno speaks now.
‘I do hope you’ve had time to get your strength back and will join us for tea in the canteen?’
Before we can answer, Anon intervenes.
‘Oh, no. The canteen will be a tempest of teacups. I have another establishment in mind, same date, superior year. Follow me!’
‘A tempest of teacups, indeed?’ says Anno, in Anon’s voice. ‘Well, Intercalaries, you are very welcome to see my sculptures in the Art Department after tea. And, if you have the energy, still take part in the athletics meet.’
‘Yes, please, Anno. We’re both very keen,’ I say. I still can’t wait to see Ama again and compete against her. It will be a nice way to end the day after the clash with Evil Nine.
‘Come along now, dears,’ says Anon and ushers us out of the room with her walking stick, past the chairs and along the corridor, downstairs back to the Clashroom. I hope we’re not going to have tea in here but a different time frame! Big Ben is more optimistic.
‘Where are we going? Is there cakes?’
‘At the place we are visiting, the tea is quite excellent,’ says Anno, ‘but there will be no cake provided. The Master takes breakfast at noon, declares lunch is “as much food as one’s hand can hold”, and dines late. Therefore, I have packed a generous hamper from the canteen so we are all set for leaping.’
‘Leaping!’ I say. ‘Anon, please tell us where we’re going. I HATE surprises.’
‘Sorry, my fellow time-travellers, I have been remiss.’ Anon stops walking and adjusts her glasses. ‘We are going to Gough Square, close to London’s famous Fleet Street where the first daily newspapers were published. I have engineered an invitation for us all to take tea on this very date at my dear friend Samuel’s residence in 1752. Now I’m approaching half a century, I find same date leaps easier to accomplish. Samuel is the leader of the London literati: highly educated specialists in literature. And he is a poet. As a prizewinning poet, Elle, you will appreciate this greatly and Big Ben will enjoy his company.’ She pauses. ‘He is a generous host. You have both had an unfortunate experience; I hope this restores your faith in adults!’
I look at Big Ben; Big Ben looks at me. I know he’s thinking what I’m thinking. 1752. Absolutely perfect for our mission.
Chapter 10:00
THE LITERATI
Anon should have warned us about the stench! I’ve always been sensitive to smell but this is an out-of-order toilet to the power of 3! But it’s 1752; I have to rise to the challenge. I breathe through my mouth and Anon offers us leap sweets to help with the travel sickness, which I gladly accept. Apple! She accidentally drops her wrapper on the ground.
‘That should fortify you, Elle,’ she says, ‘but please recover that errant litter. I am too stiff, alas, to retrieve it. These pavements are filthy but their dirt, unlike ours, is biodegradable.’
I pick up the wrapper and slowly take in my surroundings. The three of us are standing in an alley which Anon confirms is just off Fleet Street, close to the house we’re visiting. On the Fleet Street side, there are people shouting and the sound of horses, but the other end is quiet. I hope we’re taking the peaceful route! We had to leap to this spot to not draw too much attention to ourselves. But we didn’t escape people completely. Sitting on the ground is a person dressed in grey rags, a very old woman with wrinkles and hair like wisps of white sheep’s wool caught on barbed wire. She’s clinging to Anon’s skirt. Anon places some coins in her free hand and we slowly begin to walk.
‘That’s Old Meg,’ she says. ‘She has seen better days and more Chronos than you or I can imagine! She calls Leaplings ghosts, apparitions. We can trust she will not disclose our secret since she makes more money from us in a week than the entire population of Annuals in a year. But ’tis a hard life. I am surprised dear Samuel has not offered her a lodging.’
‘Is your friend a landlord?’
‘No, Elle. His name is Mr Johnson but you can also address him as Sir. He will, in time, be honoured with the title Dr Johnson, revered as a literary legend, but it hasn’t happened to him yet. He’s the kindest man I have encountered on the timeline, perceiving goodness where others see guilt. His house is brimming with unfortunates.’
I know it sounds unkind but I’m not sure I’m going to enjoy having tea at Mr Johnson’s house if there are lots of other people there. It will be overwhelming, especially if they want to make conversation. We pass a well-dressed couple in the street and they stare intently at me, not at Anon or Big Ben. It suddenly hits me that they’re staring because I’m black. This makes me uncomfortable. I was so excited about visiting 1752, I didn’t think about how people might view me differently. I wonder how many black people live in London
in 1752 compared to 2021?
I’m also not enjoying walking along the street in the clothes Anon lent me. I’m wearing an outfit similar to hers but in pale yellow with a full-length skirt and brown buckled shoes. Thankfully, nothing’s itchy but I don’t feel like myself because I usually wear trousers or athletics kit. It’s like I’m in disguise again. Big Ben looks really odd in his outfit because breeches are supposed to be like long shorts but his are above the knee. Anon couldn’t find any that fit properly.
Soon, we reach a smart-looking square of tall terraced houses with long windows. They look old-fashioned and modern at the same time – modern here in 1752 but reminding me of old-fashioned houses in 2021. When we reach the closest house on the left-hand corner, Anon climbs the grand steps and knocks on the door. Big Ben and I wait at the bottom. I can hear his stomach rumbling. I hope Anon brought some nice cakes in the hamper. The door opens abruptly and a woman about the same age as Anon but shorter, wearing a white cloth cap, peers out. She seems to be squinting at us more than Anon.
‘Who are you?’
‘You know very well who I am. I am Anon, as in Anonymous, the poet, accompanied by my young adventurers, Mistress Elle and Master Ben. We have come to see—’
‘Go away!’ says the woman and slams the door.
Big Ben and I look at each other. My heart is almost leaping out of my chest. The woman doesn’t like us. We need to leap back NOW. But Anon has other ideas. She walks back down the steps with the help of her stick.
‘That was Mistress Anna Williams, the housekeeper. An ill-tempered, well-read gentlewoman who occasionally excels in poetry. Alas, her sight is failing and Mr Johnson employed her as housekeeper here because he values her company and intellect. She can see enough to perform her duties and is able to read with the aid of spectacles. She deems herself his favourite. She is mistaken, as you will discover.’
Anon looks up to the first-floor left-hand window and we follow her gaze. There’s a tall, broad man wearing a white wig like judges wear. His head is tilted to one side like he’s about to do the shot put and he’s shaking it continuously. I think he’s also telling us not to come in but suddenly he waves his hand and Anon waves back. Then she walks back up the steps and waits. A minute later, Mistress Anna opens the door again, slowly this time and looks away from us.
The Time-Thief Page 7
