Ribblestrop Forever!

by Andy Mulligan

  The door had opened straight into a room the size of a small classroom. It was wallpapered in ugly brown and cream, as if an old-fashioned family had recently lived there. The musty smell suggested that they might have slept there too, or even died and been buried under the floorboards. Whoever cleared up their mess had left a tatty rug and an old gas fire. Dark cabinets were ranged along the walls, some high, some low. There were pictures and postcards with inscriptions in faded ink on the wall. Several fluorescent tubes flickered and Vicky pushed at a wire so another popped on in a dazzling burst.

  ‘What do you think it is?’ she said, excitedly.

  The children weren’t quite sure what they were being asked to look at, but they did their best to work it out. Vicky’s voice was musical and they wanted to enjoy themselves. The problem was, all they could see was a handful of tarnished coins and what might have been mouse droppings. Next to them was a chunk of old food, possibly discarded banana, turning from yellow to brown.

  ‘We’ve got three of them,’ said Vicky. ‘Can you guess what they are?’

  Nobody could.

  ‘Is it someone’s thumb?’ said Ruskin.

  ‘No.’

  ‘A sweet?’ said Imagio.

  ‘You’re not even warm. They’re from a children’s game, we think. I can’t get it out, but it’s a bit like a chess piece. We’ve also got . . . over here . . . what we think might be the first ever playing cards. Can you see these?’

  They shuffled to the next case and saw six metal disks the size of small plates. There were designs etched on them, but it was hard to make them out. ‘Playing cards were first found in China,’ said Vicky. ‘So this tribe – the one we’re studying – brought them to England. We think they were the first people in the whole of the British Isles to play games and make music! They had the time and the imagination to create little sets of cards and . . . they’re very lovely. Now, come and have a look at this. There!’

  She turned to the far wall and there was a rather childish painting of some semi-naked people grouped on the brow of a hill. The colours were lurid and it reminded Millie of something she might have drawn when she was five.

  ‘Is that the tribe?’ she said. ‘The lost tribe of Ribblemoor?’

  ‘Well, it’s just an impression,’ said Vicky, apologetically. ‘It’s based on a grave site that was found.’

  ‘Did you paint that?’ said Israel.

  ‘Yes. I used to be an art student. Can you see what they’re wearing?’

  ‘Is it jewels?’ said Nikko. He had managed to get close and his nose was up against it.

  ‘Yes! We’re sure they wore jewellery. It was the obvious way of carrying wealth, of course, as well as being decorative and fun to make. I’ll show you downstairs. We’ve got quite a little collection . . . And there’s our prize exhibit, of course. You’ve heard about Eleudin?’

  Vicky led them down to a cellar where there were yet more cases. The children moved among them, trying to conceal their disappointment. It was tempting to call it junk, for everything was so mottled and decayed, and the light wasn’t good. Gradually, though, as Vicky explained, they started to realise that what they were looking at was a kind of treasure. They began to understand that when you dug treasure up, this was what it looked like, and a little thrill of reality went through the group. Vicky fluttered around them, pointing out hairpins and anklets. Then she turned on a projector and an enormous bracelet was thrown up onto a blank wall. Some of the younger children gasped.

  ‘It’s a reconstruction,’ she said, for it was gleaming brightly. ‘We tried to imagine what it would have looked like . . . Ellie and I went to the British Museum and talked to one of their experts. You see, we’re confident that the Caillitri were metalworkers, and when they came to the moor they discovered silver deposits. They would have found tin, as well – they might have been hoping for gold. They brought gold with them, you see. Children’s games and gold! Can you imagine what people must have thought? People would have assumed they were fairies or magicians. Maybe they were. Look at this . . . am I going too fast?’

  ‘No, miss,’ said Miles. ‘You’re doing great.’

  ‘They were a wealthy people. They were a very spiritual people. Eleudin’s the most amazing exhibit, though – we’re very lucky to have him. In fact, we’re fighting to keep him . . . but that’s another story. Stand back, or you won’t see – can you little ones come to the front? We have to keep him in the dark.’

  ‘This is scary,’ said Sam.

  ‘Oh no – it’s just that he’s falling to pieces. The name Eleudin means “One who is lost”, by the way. Can you pull that string, please? What’s your name?’

  ‘Tomaz.’

  ‘The string works the curtain, Tomaz. Ellie, would you turn all the other lights off?’

  Vicky turned a switch and, as she did so, the curtain moved. They were plunged into darkness and a curious silence descended. The curtain shifted and the glass case was revealed, glowing in soft blue light. There was an earthenware pot in the centre, but it was broken into three pieces.

  Another bulb came on and some of the children gasped and pressed closer. The pot contained something small, made of what looked like twigs – but now they could see better, they realised that it was, in fact, a tiny child. The sections of the pot had been separated, so they could make out the little body, laying on the largest. There were tiny legs, which were folded so the knees were tucked under the bottom jaw of a delicate grey skull. Arms clutched the knees, and you could make out the curve of the spine and the shoulders. The skull was tilted slightly, as if the child was resting. The eye sockets stared as if they were concentrating hard. He was surrounded by feathers.

  He only looked a few months old.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘Eleudin,’ whispered Tomaz.

  ‘What’s the matter, Tom?’ said Vijay, softly. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’ve seen him before.’

  ‘You’ve seen him before? What do you mean?’

  ‘Miles?’

  Tomaz looked round and found that Miles was right next to him. He grabbed his wrist. ‘I’ve seen him,’ he hissed. ‘Or maybe his brother . . . He’s older than you think. I’ve seen him in the trees.’

  Seconds passed as the children breathed and gazed. Vicky let them take it all in and Doctor Ellie stood at the back, waiting.

  ‘Can you see what he’s wearing?’ said Vicky, at last.

  ‘Bracelets,’ said Sanchez. He had his nose pressed against the glass. ‘Are they bracelets?’

  ‘Ankle bracelets too,’ said Sam.

  ‘Gold thread,’ said Vicky. ‘There’s a necklace as well, but it’s hard to see. There were little earrings on his ears and there was a ring on each finger. They were sent off for carbon dating and never made it back – but it’s the same principle as the Egyptians. Can you see the inside of the urn? How good are your eyes?’

  ‘No, miss,’ said Israel. ‘It just looks like a pot. What’s inside it?’

  ‘The lighting’s terrible. We applied for a grant, but it never came to anything. Look, if you hang on . . . I’m not supposed to do this.’

  She produced a torch and switched it on.

  ‘It’s bad for the surfaces,’ she said, ‘but I want you to see. On the inside of the pot – how they did it nobody knows – but they drew the planets and the stars. Can you see now?’

  Her torchlight picked out indentations and little swirls of dark colour.

  ‘When the pot was intact,’ she said, ‘he would have been surrounded by comets. Comet tails. Moons – they loved the moon. We had someone examine it and he said there were seven planets, which is pretty amazing, isn’t it, considering they had no telescopes. At least, we assume they didn’t. There’s the moon in all its phases and fourteen constellations, all of them accurate. He’s got a map of the heavens to look at. Feathers to fly with.’

  ‘Why though?’ said Imagio, quietly. ‘If the pot hadn’t bust, nobody would
see them.’

  ‘Oh, but the baby would,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘They weren’t drawn for you and me – they were drawn for him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I presume it was to help him,’ said Vicky. ‘I think, when he died, they made sure he had wealth – that’s all the gold thread. They made sure he looked beautiful – he used to have long hair, but it came off when we moved him. Such long hair! You see, his parents carried him with them. They must have been taking him somewhere. And he had a map for whenever he needed it, so he could find God.’

  A strange thing happened then.

  Millie had been standing with everyone else, looking at the objects. And like most of the others, her mood had been shifting between curiosity and the mild boredom that cases of old remnants usually produce. But the skeleton-child was having an effect she hadn’t expected and she found that she was trembling. She turned away from him, but was ringed in by Sam, Imagio and several orphans. Then she caught sight of Israel’s black eyes and, when she looked back at the dead child, which she had to do, Vicky’s torch made the gold around the wrists glimmer and a purple star blazed out of the pottery background. For a moment, in the glass, she saw not the Ribblestrop children, but the children of the tribe. She found her eyes were full of tears. She was about to cry and – worse – the crying was rising up from some deep place within that she couldn’t control and, before she knew it, a terrible sob burst from her and her eyes were swimming. Eric thought she was laughing and grinned at her, but Millie was lost to a grief she didn’t understand. She choked and put her hands over her mouth. She turned away again and broke out of the crowd. She thought she would fall, for the sobs were now coming one after another, and she could hardly breathe.

  Strong arms held her.

  Doctor Ellie had her arm right round her and was leading her to a chair.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she was saying. ‘You’re all right. Sit down, my dear.’

  Millie found herself sitting and then her head was in her hands. The sobbing would not stop – the tears were pouring through her fingers. The rest of the children stared, bewildered. Tomaz was kneeling in front of her and Doctor Ellie was beside him.

  ‘Take them upstairs,’ she was saying to Vicky. ‘Take them up to the conservatory.’ Then she was pressing Millie’s hands. ‘It’s all right, love. It’s all right – he has this effect on people. You’re not the first . . .’

  ‘I’m fine,’ sobbed Millie. ‘It’s nothing!’

  ‘Anjoli, leave her alone. Go upstairs, please.’

  ‘No, miss.’

  ‘Go upstairs and leave us. Tomaz, too.’

  ‘No, miss.’

  There was a clattering of feet and the room emptied. Tomaz remained and Anjoli pressed himself against Millie’s shoulder. She had her eyes closed now, because she was feeling sick. She felt Anjoli’s warmth and had never been so glad of human contact, for she was as cold as a corpse. He moved so that he was sitting across her knees, hugging her. Tomaz was still there, kneeling, and she could still hear Doctor Ellie, but she was some distance off. There was a strange music in her head and she felt desperately tired.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘It’s the heat, that’s all it is.’

  Anjoli had his arms right round Millie’s neck and she hugged him. She let the tears flow and pressed him to her, feeling his heartbeat. She kept her eyes tight shut, and all she could see were moons and comets and the empty sockets of the child, drinking in the heavens.

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ she said.

  ‘Who is he?’ said Tomaz.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’ve seen him before. Haven’t you?’

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘Why is he here, Millie? He shouldn’t be here!’

  But there was one last surprise.

  The other children had followed Vicky back up to the ground floor, and she led them out the back to a glass extension. There was a single, solitary exhibit there and everyone recognised it at once: it was the white stone they’d used in the lay-by to prop up the car jack. It had been cleaned and polished, and it was laid against an almost identical piece, edge to edge. The crack between them was jagged and uneven and, though the stones looked similar, it was clear that they were two pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite match.

  ‘You’ve been told about the flare paths?’ said Vicky, quietly.

  ‘We know a bit,’ said Ruskin.

  ‘If we could decode this stone, we’d know where they ran and what they led to. There’s a flare path close to here.’

  Sam said, ‘Doctor Ellie thought she had the code. She thought this stone would help her crack it.’

  ‘Oh, we’ve been trying. There’s still a piece missing, though. I’m afraid it’s the main piece.’

  Caspar had come to the front. ‘Where did you find it?’ he said. ‘You should have told me.’

  He reached out then and put his hand on the surface. He let his fingers trace over the runes and the children waited for Vicky to tell him not to touch. She didn’t.

  ‘Are you looking for another one?’ he said.

  ‘It must exist,’ said Vicky. ‘Somewhere.’

  Caspar turned and looked up at her. He went to speak, then thought better of it and looked back at the stones. He touched them both and shook his head.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Asilah.

  ‘I know where the missing bit is,’ he said, simply. ‘It’s in the South Tower – where my gran lives. I climbed up there, about two weeks ago, when I was escaping. You know where the roof’s pointed? You have to crawl right up . . . there’s all sorts of things up there. But right at the top, where the weathercock sticks, that’s where the rest of this stone is.’

  He looked around the group.

  ‘I’m not lying!’ he cried. ‘I’ve seen it. I’ve touched it.’

  Doctor Ellie was at the door. She spoke very quietly. ‘Are you sure, Caspar?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You actually touched it?’ said Sanchez.

  ‘Why would it be in the roof of a tower?’ said Eric. ‘That makes no sense at all.’

  ‘I’m telling you,’ said Caspar. His face was red. ‘Why do you always think I’m lying?’

  ‘Then the last piece is the keystone of the house,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘The keystone for Ribblestrop Towers. The south tower is the highest of the four, yes?’

  The children nodded.

  ‘It makes perfect sense. The builders, when they finished the south tower . . . they capped it with . . .’ She licked her lips. ‘. . . with a stone they knew to be magical. Of course they did. They would always try to do that.’

  Vicky had her hands clasped in front of her face, as if she was at prayer. ‘How do we get it?’ she said, softly. ‘We have to get it!’

  ‘Oh, you can’t!’ said Caspar. ‘My gran would kill me. None of us are allowed anywhere near it.’

  Everyone was looking at him.

  ‘Forget it,’ he said. ‘It’s not even worth thinking about! Apart from anything, it’s holding up the roof . . .’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Things started to move fast.

  The headmaster spoke to both Professor Worthington and Doctor Ellie, and agreed that Mr Ian’s proposal regarding the Pioneers’ Award was just too good to miss. Could it be combined into an ancient history project, involving the exploration of flare paths? Of course it could. He cycled into town the same afternoon and found a payphone. He got straight through to Mr Ian and the details were confirmed. They would all meet together in two weeks’ time for the expedition of a lifetime.

  On his way back to Ribblestrop, he was almost forced off the road by a convoy of speeding police cars. They swept past him and swerved through the school gates. He pedalled as fast as he could and was in time to see them disappear up the main drive, lights flashing. There were unpleasant interviews ahead, he knew, so it was a relief to dismount and push the bicycle quickly into the trees. Surely everythin
g could wait until the camping trip was over? Perhaps even until the end of term? Professor Worthington had reminded him that they would all be facing court summonses in the not too distant future, but the incidents on the motorway and river now seemed in the distant past – especially when the sky was as blue as it was that morning. The children had forgotten the chaos and were getting on with life! Surely the police would have the same, practical common sense.

  ‘We’ve been caught out, sir,’ said Captain Routon, as the headmaster approached the camp.

  ‘Oh,’ said the headmaster. ‘Are they here?’

  ‘They’re waiting for you.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘I thought you’d forgotten, sir. I said I’d call them and I never did!’

  Professor Worthington trotted towards them. ‘It’s so embarrassing,’ she cried. ‘The school diary’s in your office, Giles, so nobody remembered! We haven’t even got a pitch!’

  The headmaster looked bewildered. ‘Are we talking about the . . . police?’

  ‘What police?’ said Professor Worthington.

  ‘We’re talking about football, sir,’ said Captain Routon. ‘End of last term, we agreed to that fixture with the High School, and they’ve arrived. The new coach is quite disappointed.’

  ‘Oh Lord. You mean it’s today?’

  ‘That’s what we’re saying.’

  ‘We must gather the children! We can drum up a side, Routon!’

  Professor Worthington was shaking her head. ‘We can’t,’ she said. ‘The children say they’re too busy!’

  ‘Oh Lord,’ said the headmaster. ‘We’re going to look like terrible sports. And I really did want to cultivate better relations with the locals. Where are they?’