He clutched his neck and stood gasping. He spotted a rock in the mud and toyed with the idea of smashing the four heads in, one by one. That was when he noticed a blue library van nosing up the track below, pushing through the mist. Then a giant shadow blotted out the light and he saw that the balloon was rising – the Fox and Gary were working the hydraulic winches together now, ready for the launch. A rope ladder dangled. It was time to get aboard.
He rubbed his throat and strained his eyes. The van had disappeared from view and there was now a roaring as the Fox opened the burners. He reached for the bottom rung, because his brother was yelling. Millie was screaming at him and it was suddenly raining feathers.
Cuthbertson turned again, mystified. He was completely surrounded by birds and the air was full of their cries.
The children underground had climbed until they were dizzy.
The explosions below rumbled on and they clambered faster and faster away from them. Then, suddenly, they broke out into daylight and rain. They found themselves among trees – but trees like they’d never seen. The roots emerged from solid rock and, in places, the trunks had fossilised. The children fanned out, gazing, speechless – it was a forest glade and there was foliage spreading over their heads. But they were enclosed in a crater, the walls rising almost sheer. Strangest of all, now that they could take in the details, they could see curious shapes hanging, suspended from some of the tree branches. Where branches were most entangled, the same objects sat together in clusters – they looked like earthenware jars, draped in ivy and lichen. Some had cracked wide open.
The children gathered again, under an ancient oak, and Sanjay pointed in astonishment.
The jar above him was tipped an angle and through a wide crack they saw a skull. It was peering down at them and behind it were ancient bones.
For a moment they were too frightened to move, for they realised they were entirely surrounded, and there was an unbreakable stillness. The trees were full of the dead and beside each jar stood a bird.
‘Don’t move,’ said Asilah.
Tomaz said, ‘It’s the necropolis. We’ve found it.’
The birds watched the children, as if children were a rare species. The beaks were cruel and the eyes unblinking.
A voice came then, from high above. It was Millie’s voice and it was a long, loud cry for help. Everyone looked up and, as if to complete the madness, a hot-air balloon rose into view. At once there was a whirlwind of screaming and a blizzard of feathers – for the birds rose as one and the leaves were sighing.
Ruskin’s team saw the whole flock as it emerged from the crater.
He jumped out the library van just as the falcons rose and stood staring as they coiled around the balloon. He and his friends had been saved from drowning by Mr Ian’s red coat. Their journey through rapids and waterfalls had been a long one, but luckily there had been air pockets stitched into the lining and they’d stayed afloat. When they’d come under a bridge at last, they’d managed to cling tight to it – and that had been just as Vicky roared into view. She’d come within inches of running Caspar down as he floundered into her path.
‘Get in!’ she screamed. ‘Hurry!’
She got the passenger door open and everyone piled inside. Mr Ian was thrown into the back and they raced on, for Lightning Tor still seemed the only possible destination. Now the volcano towered above them and there was another peal of thunder.
The birds soared higher.
They could see Cuthbertson dangling on the rope ladder – he had been jerked off his feet. He was floating upwards and he had a foot on the bottom rung. The furious birds were all around him, and he had to use one arm to shield his face.
Millie was still shrieking, too, but her words were torn away by the wind. Sam pointed and raced towards the tor – more children were appearing on the rim of the crater, piling up from below. There were Podma and Eric, followed by a Priory boy – Scott was levering himself over a rock as the rain came down. Israel followed with Jacqueline. Kenji and Nikko helped each other, and in half a minute Asilah’s whole party was swarming over the bridge towards the four captives.
Cuthbertson was looking down in horror and another bird snapped at his eyes. He felt talons on the back of his neck and he managed to punch at it. It sailed off, screeching in fury. The tor was seething with children and he saw that some had weapons – he could see someone poised to throw a spear. He could see the terrified face of Timmy Fox, shouting instructions of some kind. When he looked down again, he saw with horror that a giant of a boy was racing up the side of the volcano. He knew exactly who it was and his terror spurred him up another two rungs. A falcon tore at his hand and he almost fell – it had cut a tendon and the pain was unbearable. He touched the basket, reaching for his brother.
At that moment, he felt a searing pain in his arm and saw an arrow, just above his elbow. Two spears hit the basket and, fired by sheer astonishment, he made another rung. His wrist was grabbed and he had a surge of hope.
Henry was getting close, though, and the children were howling. The balloon plunged downwards into a vacuum and Cuthbertson was nearly jarred into the abyss – again he felt the bite of something sharp. The Fox was lowering some kind of harness and he managed to grab a strap. That’s when Henry leapt and caught the bottom of the ladder in his powerful hands. At once, Asilah grabbed his leg and Israel grabbed Asilah. Miles was free, having had his bonds cut by Eric’s dagger. He made a grab for Henry’s ankle as the boy was lifted past him into the air. He felt Millie’s arms round his waist and, when he glanced down, every child from Ribblestrop and The Priory was in the chain. Timmy Fox was trying desperately to cut loose: he turned the burners up to full and the balloon rose slowly upwards.
If it hadn’t had been for Sanchez, all would have been lost.
He was still zipped inside the bodybag, with his hands and ankles lashed. He had been trampled, but he’d managed, somehow, to stay calm. His bodyguards had drummed it into him: if he was ever kidnapped again, he had to avoid panic. Control was everything and, as he lay there rolling in the darkness, he remembered the fossil round his neck – that gift in the night from unseen hands.
He’d used it twice as a tool, for the tribe had fashioned an edge as sharp as a razor. Now, he brought his legs up and wormed them over his wrists; his arms were painfully twisted, but they were in front of him and he could just bring his fingers inside his shirt to grab the little stone. It took seconds to cut the cable ties that restrained him, though he slashed his thumb badly in the process. Then his feet were free and he set about the bag itself. One cut from top to bottom and he was up like a dervish. Gary Cuthbertson’s face was the first he saw and he leapt, headbutting hard with the full force of his skull.
The man’s nose was squashed like a fruit, and Timmy Fox screamed in terror. He leapt back and a bird went straight for his throat. The balloon rose, but the children were hauling it down again. Ex-Inspector Cuthbertson had both arms through his harness and he watched in horror as Sanchez leant down and cut it loose with a single slash. Then he started work on the ropes of the ladder. The ex-policeman just had time to gasp, for he could see the future in an instant. The ladder dangled on a thread and the boy was hacking through it, rage in his eyes.
Cuthbertson jumped before he fell, lunging wildly. He caught the steel struts of the radio mast and, for a few bewildered seconds, he hung there, paralysed. Then he squeezed his battered arms and legs through the struts and watched the balloon sink slowly to the earth – for Sanchez had simply turned off the burners.
‘Where’s Oli?’ yelled Ruskin, through the scrum of children. ‘Where’s my brother?’
A lot of the boys had rolled down the sides of the crater and were scrambling in the rubble and mud.
Vijay grabbed him. ‘They’ve set explosives!’ he yelled. ‘Oli’s in there, trying to shut them down!’
The word spread and, as one, the children clambered back over the bridge. It was a race against time now, for fi
fteen minutes had already turned into nine.
Timmy Fox and Gary Cuthbertson found themselves alone by the collapsing balloon. They were torn and traumatised, and their faces and hands were running with blood. Somehow, they blundered to the library van. Its doors were wide open. The key was in the ignition and they clambered inside. The Fox revved the engine and they made their escape.
They didn’t hear the agonised cries of Mr Ian behind them. They bounced down the track and screamed onto the open road.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Where was Captain Routon?
He had been stranded among the warning flags, too frightened to move. Then he’d felt the ground shake beneath his feet and another series of instincts kicked in. In a moment, he found one of the detonation passages – it was marked by a yellow flag. He was halfway along it when the field telephone he’d strapped to his back rang weakly.
He snatched the receiver up and a polite voice said, ‘Is that the headmaster?’
‘Oli? No.’
‘Oh. Can I speak to the headmaster?’
‘Where are you, lad? It’s Routon here and we’ve got an emergency—’
‘We have too, sir. We’re in quite a fix, actually. We’re on Lightning Tor—
‘What?’
Captain Routon heard a buzz of excited voices.
‘Sir, we’re actually in quite a mess. You know that policeman we never got on with, Inspector Cuthbertson? He’s set explosives somewhere and we’re pretty sure they’re about to be triggered. I’m in the control room now. I’ve been trying to cancel the detonators, but I’m not getting anywhere.’
‘You’re at the controls? You’re on Lightning Tor?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh God. I’m following a wire at the moment – I’m under the ground.’
‘Where, sir?’
Routon looked along the tunnel and saw the long, black cable looping neatly round a corner. He moved swiftly and came to some stairs.
‘I’m right underneath you! I’ve found stairs . . .’
‘There’s a lot of passages, sir. Asilah said—’
‘I’m going to look for the explosives, Oli. It’s MOD work – it’s a question of tracing the wires. How long have we got?’
‘Seven minutes, just over.’
‘I’ve come to a door of some kind, so it looks promising . . .’
The door swung open as he pushed it. There was a sign: Ticket Holders Only, so he continued into a hallway. Beyond this was a huge archway of brick, which opened into a vaulted chamber.
Captain Routon stopped in amazement. He was in a railway station and it was festooned with bright lightbulbs. There were two platforms and they were joined by an iron footbridge. The words, Lightning Tor Listening Post spread over a curving wall of dusty tiles and there was even a ticket office next to a wating room. He could see vending machines and old advertisements for hot drinks and cigarettes.
‘Oli?’ he said.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘You won’t believe what I’ve found . . .’
‘Six minutes, sir.’
He moved forward. ‘This is unbelievable.’
Captain Routon walked to the edge of the platform and looked down at the tracks. He said a quick prayer of thanks, for he could see the beautiful logic of the installation. The MOD engineers had laid the explosives in a neat row, between the rails. They were wired in series and they stretched right to the buffers at the end wall. Fifteen metres of carefully wrapped nitramines and the letters HMX were stencilled on their covers – High Melting Explosive. The fuses gleamed, conspicuous in their tiny glass bubbles. The army boys who’d wired them had taped red warning signs to each one and the wires ran back to a control circuit in the centre, which lay under a perspex lid.
‘I’ve found them,’ he said, quietly. ‘There’s enough down here to end the world.’
‘Oh,’ said Oli.
Captain Routon jumped lightly onto the tracks. He lifted the perspex lid and saw the timer at once. It corresponded, no doubt, to the one that Oli was looking at. He had five minutes and twenty-two seconds left. He scratched his chin.
‘Excuse me, Captain Routon,’ said Oli. ‘Are you able to do anything?’
‘I don’t know, son.’
‘It’s just that things are getting a bit tense up here. Millie says we’re going to die.’
‘Right.’
‘There’s quite a lot of disappointment, because we thought things were going our way.’
‘Stay calm, lad. Keep your head.’
‘I am, sir. But some of The Priory children are crying. So’s Miles.’
‘Bear with me. I just need to check a few things – I’m not up with the regulations any more, so it’s going to be a little bit of guesswork. From memory, Oli, when you disconnect a battery that’s been wired through an ARZ regulator, what’s the disconnection procedure?’
‘Oh Lord,’ said Oli. ‘That’s tricky.’
‘I know.’
‘You have to work backwards, don’t you? But it depends on how many terminals there are.’
‘Seven.’
‘That’s a Horton-standard. Sam, be quiet!’
‘Horton, yes. There’s a procedure, isn’t there? I did this at night-school, years ago.’
‘Are you looking at it right now?’
‘I’m looking at something similar. I’m afraid my hands are a bit shaky.’
‘Look at terminals two and four, sir. Are they wired together? Do they have a shared live?’
‘Yes. I think they do.’
‘Then those are the last ones to cut, because live uses neutral. You go seven, six, five, three, one – then you come back to four, and finish with two. I’m pretty sure about that.’
Captain Routon produced his penknife and licked his lips. He started work, cutting back the insulation tape.
‘We’ve got three minutes thirty-eight seconds,’ said Oli. ‘Miles wants you to get a message to his mum, but you won’t survive if we don’t, will you, sir? So—’
‘Easy does it. Nice and steady.’
‘We’ve lost Tomaz, by the way. He’s the only one not here.’
‘I’m disconnecting seven.’
‘We’re all holding hands, sir. We thought we might sing—’
‘Shhh, lad. I’m concentrating.’
Captain Routon removed the screws one by one. He lay them to one side and eased out the wire.
Oli waited. He could hear the man breathing. At last, he said, as gently as he could, ‘We’ve got fifty-two seconds left.’
‘Don’t need them,’ said Captain Routon. ‘We’re safe.’
There was a burst of applause and cheering, and then a drenching wave of radio static as lightning struck the mast above them, again and again.
Captain Routon arrived at the volcano summit five minutes later.
There was a stink of sulphur in the air and the children had gathered outside the control room, gazing upwards.
There was something black at the top of the antenna.
A few birds were wheeling around it and now and then, one of them pecked and screamed. It was hard to see what the thing was, because it appeared to be half melted. It was a burnt mass, but as the children stared, they could make out a hand on the end of an outstretched arm and what looked like a boot. The lightning flashed again and the mass sizzled and glued itself harder to the metal frame. The children gasped then, for the flash had been just enough to illuminate a face, with boiled eyes that stared from a mask of absolute agony. Ex-Inspector Cuthbertson would never bother them again. He would need to be chiselled from the metal and brought down piece by piece.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Where was Doctor Ellie? Where had Vicky gone?
They were with Tomaz, still at the foot of the crater and the rain dripped down through the trees over the jars and onto their faces. They unwrapped Eleudin together, at the base of an ancient oak. Its trunk reared out of the rock, half-petrified, and they laid their bundle be
tween its roots. The child’s bones were crumbling.
‘He’s just dust,’ said Tomaz, quietly.
‘They’re all just dust.’
‘We can’t leave him on his own,’ said Vicky. ‘Let’s put him with friends.’
‘You choose,’ said Tomaz. ‘Next to that one, maybe?’
There was an urn above their heads, wrapped in sacking. It dangled from a bough on old creepers and they could just reach up to it. They took Eleudin together, lifting him on his fragment of pot and placed him inside.
‘Do the birds eat them?’ said Tomaz. The falcons had returned and sat motionless, gazing at the new arrival. ‘I mean, when they died and were brought here. Is that what the birds do? I don’t really understand it.’
‘Nor do I,’ said Doctor Ellie.
‘If they do, is it worse than burying someone?’ said Vicky.
‘It’s different. I have a friend in India: he might know more. But the precise rites and rituals – how can we ever be sure? I still think they kept their dead with them, for some time. Maybe until they felt it was right, or maybe until the moon was in an auspicious place – maybe they had to wait for the lightning. Then they’d come here, perhaps. Hang them here, in the trees, and . . . would the birds break open the pots? I doubt it. But there are tribes in Africa that expose their dead to wild animals. The Parsis, as well, it’s still done today. Vultures come, to take the remains and leave the soul free and clear.’
‘I would like to be a falcon,’ said Tomaz. ‘I can understand why they wanted falcons around them.’
Vicky smiled and wiped her eyes. The raindrops ran down her face.
‘This is goodbye,’ she said. ‘You think we can preserve this place? I don’t.’
‘No, of course not.’
‘People will come and change it all.’
Ribblestrop Forever! Page 28
