The headmaster licked his lips and tried to find words. Why Miles had set fire to the dining hall was still a mystery, and he knew that he would never unpick the complexities of that strange, desperate little psyche. He realised in an instant how much he had missed him. It was for boys such as Miles that Ribblestrop had been conceived! A school of second, third, infinite chances . . .
Dr Norcross-Webb sighed. ‘I’m just very glad to see you,’ he said. ‘Welcome home.’
‘I tell you, I am so not the same,’ cried Miles, standing up. He was breathing hard. ‘I’ve had counselling – I’ve had so much work done on my head. I am going to be your best, best pupil. I passed them on the drive, by the way. Where’s Sanchez, though?’ He was at the window, pushing it wider.
‘Delayed, but on his way . . .’
‘Tomaz!’ Miles shrieked. He was waving again. Then he gathered the snow from the sill and started to pack it. ‘Ruskin! It’s me! Look out below!’
‘Miles, please! Come away from there . . .’
Miles turned, the snowball ready. ‘I wrote to him, but he didn’t reply. Where d’you get the bikes? There’s loads of kids now! Oh, and where am I sleeping?’
‘Miles, we have to go slow . . . The first thing is that I need to speak to your mother. We’re going to put you on a contract of behaviour, so everyone knows what to expect. We need to establish a few ground rules and then—’
Miles turned again and threw the snowball hard. ‘Tomaz!’ he shouted. ‘Get up here!’
‘Giles,’ said a voice. ‘I can hear you but I can’t see you . . . Oh my, now I can! Look at you!’
The headmaster stood up and peered. Without his glasses, everything was blurred. In the doorway there seemed to be a fire of red and gold, and from it came a smoky, transatlantic voice. Miles’s mother seemed poised on a catwalk, a tangle of blonde hair strewn over one shoulder, wild as her son’s. Peeling her gloves off she came closer, and the silk turned from crimson to wild vermilion as she came into focus, offering a long, slim hand. The headmaster wondered for an absurd moment if this was Miles’s sister rather than his mother – she was thinner and younger. Above him, two parrots found their voices and cackled in appreciation.
‘You have got more handsome, Giles,’ said Miles’s mother. ‘Damn you, but you’ve turned into a distinguished gentleman – not that you weren’t beautiful before, but look at that chin. Miles, you can learn even from the way this man holds himself.’
‘I’m going down! I’ve just seen Tom!’
‘Mrs Seyton-Shandy. It’s lovely to see you. I was just saying to Miles—’
‘And your school is blooming in the snow . . . Come here, you!’ She grabbed her son’s arm and started to haul his blazer on. ‘It is a picture! We just parked up and there’re so many little ones . . . Stay where you are, Miles – look at him.’ Her hands were round her son’s throat now, folding his collar down, and they stroked upwards to rest on his cheeks. She slid into his chair and drew him onto her lap. ‘I hope this little boy has said an important word?’ she crooned.
‘Well, we haven’t really had time—’
‘Have you done that, Miles?’ Miles was nodding. ‘I just hope so and you look a mess again. I buy him new clothes and he turns them into rags, he just tears things up – it’s a compulsion – it’s a bad habit!’ She kissed him. ‘And I told you not to show him that dreadful thing,’ she said, noticing the head. ‘We were in the Philippines, on this crazy island – I do not believe it’s real, but he’s been scaring everyone on the plane. I hope he told you how he’s changed?’
‘Yes, he did—’
Children were shouting in the corridor and the bicycle bells were now frantic.
‘We were on what they call the island of healing. We met a man there – some kind of witch-doctor – and he and Miles were like blood-brothers. I tell you, Giles, if you need a man to run meditation classes, I still have his number.’
The headmaster moved quickly to the door, trying to ignore the noise outside. He pressed his back to it and spoke loudly and firmly. ‘Mrs Seyton-Shandy, we do have to talk about this.’
‘Call me Alia, please, and—’
‘Nobody is more delighted than me to see Miles back with us. However, there are a few ground rules that must be discussed.’ There was hammering on the door, and cries of ‘sir!’
‘Rule number one—’
‘Money,’ said Mrs Seyton-Shandy.
‘Money?’
‘I’m just thinking, if we get the financial side sorted now, we can do the rest over the telephone. I was supposed to be in Cadiz by lunchtime – they will not stop calling. By the way, we left his trunk in the hallway. I asked the cleaning lady to bring it up, but she looked a little confused.’
‘We don’t have a cleaning lady.’ Hands were now rattling the door.
Miles’s mother stood, a brick of banknotes in her hand, and the door finally burst open, knocking the headmaster forwards.
‘This is for the year,’ she said, but the words were lost in a new din, as orphans nosed in their bikes. A parrot flapped overhead and settled on a crossbeam. It started to imitate the tinkling of a bell at a horrible volume.
‘Wait!’ cried the headmaster. ‘There’s one or two things . . .’
Captain Routon was dragging in a box that had split and a hundred ice-skates were skittering over the floor. The papers on the desk lifted and whirled as the parrot dived for the half-eaten cup-cake, and suddenly, a snow-covered Tomaz was clambering over the mess and he and Miles were staring at each other.
‘Miles!’ cried Tomaz. ‘It is you, I don’t believe it, what are you doing here?’
‘Tom!’ shouted Miles.
They hugged each other and then it was Ruskin’s turn. Henry had to be dragged over – he was too shy to approach – and then there were introductions, and Anjoli appeared twirling on a pair of the ice-skates, slicing long scratches in the granite floor. The noise was incredible and now there were two parrots, showering crumbs and ringing like telephones.
Even without glasses, the headmaster was able to lip-read Mrs Seyton-Shandy’s words: ‘I’ve got to go!’
He called out to her. He tried to get to her, but there were bicycles in the way and more boxes. He struggled after her, but hands were holding his jacket. He tripped, but was held up and turned. Oli was saying something about engines and showing him a spinning propeller. By the time he found the door, Miles’s mother had gone and Millie was saying, ‘Shall I show him his dorm? Is he with Sanchez?’
Doonan was there, with a child on his shoulders, and there was a large pile of animal dung in the centre of the corridor.
‘Giles,’ said Professor Worthington, ‘can you take a telephone call from Sanchez’s father?’
The headmaster tottered back to his window and was just in time to see the red Porsche manoeuvre carefully between three donkeys and a camel, and accelerate away up the drive.
Chapter Thirteen
‘I can’t believe he never showed you this,’ said Miles.
They were climbing into the turret of the boys’ dormitory – Millie, Tomaz, Anjoli, Israel, and Miles. Miles was leading. He’d unpacked, had supper, and had spent the entire time talking to anyone who’d listen. Now he clambered from chair, to cupboard, to wardrobe; at the top of the wardrobe he moved the ceiling panel. He pulled down a rope and was soon hauling himself upwards, Millie and the boys close behind.
‘This is where we spent all our time,’ he said. ‘This was the special place, so I guess Sanchez thought it was our secret. This is where I saw the ghost!’
‘Here?’ said Anjoli. ‘It’s dark, man, I can’t even see you!’
Miles hammered at something with bare fists, and there was a sudden rush of cold air and a great stream of moonlight. There was a tiny door, out onto the parapet.
‘I saw him from out here!’ said Miles. ‘We used to sit out here and talk, Sanchez and me. This was our place, Tomaz too – remember?’ He laughed. ‘Little Ruski
n couldn’t climb the rope, but I got Caspar Vyner up here once – ha! I got him to sit up on the edge, I was going to dangle him over, but Sanchez stopped me. Remember that, Tom? Huh?’
The children crawled out and stood together in the freezing wind. Their tower wasn’t the highest, but it still afforded a wonderful view. The new roof, the curling drive, the lake with its tiny bridges: the world spread beneath them, in vivid black and white. They could hear the laughter of children, floating past. There was the distant roar of an animal and the flash of welding torches. The rest of the orphans were finishing the cages with Oli.
‘We’ve got to talk, seriously,’ said Miles. ‘I’ve done some homework and you are not going to believe what I found out. I saw the ghost twice, alright? I was the one who talked to him. I tell you what, though: we need to talk to him again . . . that ghost is looking after secret stuff. That’s why he’s here!’
‘What stuff?’ said Millie.
‘Treasure. This place is loaded with treasures, some of them totally, totally priceless. You won’t believe it. When is Sanchez getting back? I might wait till he’s here. You went to Colombia with him, didn’t you?’
‘How did you know that?’
‘He wrote me a letter. We were best friends, us and Tomaz. It was just the three of us, it was so crazy. I was so happy, Millie. I was going out to Colombia – he wanted me to, but I said—’
‘How come you burned the school down?’ said Anjoli. ‘Why do you burn down a place if you like it so much?’
‘That was years ago,’ said Miles. ‘I was so different. If I tell you a secret, though . . .’ He lowered his voice. ‘Will you keep it, forever?’ He wrapped his blazer around himself, shivering with cold. His hand disappeared into his pocket. It came out with two toy soldiers, which he threw to the ground, then a thin bar of ivory. He pressed a switch and a knife-blade flashed in his hand, long and lethally sharp. He touched it hard to his palm and, before Millie, Tomaz or Anjoli could move, he was showing them a line of oozing blood. His eyes glittered and he let a drop of blood fall on the stonework.
‘Give me your hands,’ he said, smiling. ‘We better take some vows! Swear allegiance, yes?’
‘How old are you, Miles?’ said Israel.
‘What? Thirteen and a half.’
‘You thirteen and you’re like a baby. This is the kind of baby crap I was doing five years ago.’
Miles stared at him. ‘Yes, but Sanchez and I are blood brothers.’
‘So what?’
‘So you’ve got to swear to be loyal. Or you can do a dare.’
‘We’re not into that stuff,’ said Millie.
Miles looked at her and his smile widened. He pushed back his hair and peered at the enamel badge on her lapel. ‘Ah!’ he said, laughing. ‘I forgot! You’re in charge now, huh? So you’ve got to be responsible! We could still be a gang, though, if you want.’ He leaped to his feet and saluted. ‘Protect each other, to the death. By the way, I can do curses too – I was taught. Look at this – can you see this?’
He pulled his sleeve up, revealing a thin forearm. On it, running up and down and side to side, were several scars; when he clenched his fist, they stood out vivid on his pale skin. There were strange blotches of tattoos as well, and Millie thought she could make out a large letter S curling round the boy’s elbow.
‘You been to prison?’ said Anjoli. ‘They look like jail tattoos.’
‘Someone’s been torturing him, I reckon,’ said Israel.
Anjoli said something in his own language and both boys spluttered with laughter.
‘I did a curse last term,’ said Miles, loudly. ‘On Caspar Vyner’s gran, because of what she said about my mother. See that one there . . .’ He traced a long scar with the point of his knife. ‘That means to the death. That one there is for never tell, even under fire.’
‘I’m going,’ said Israel. ‘This guy’s completely cracked.’
Miles grabbed his arm. ‘No, wait,’ he said. ‘You want to hear the secret? I can still tell you and I bet you haven’t heard it.’
Israel was moving to the door, though, pushing Anjoli in front of him. ‘I think you got a problem you ought to deal with, boy,’ he said. ‘You’ve only been here half a day and you’re scaring the hell out of me.’
Miles let them go and waited for the door to close. Then he sat down with his back against it and smiled again, eyes closed. ‘I am so happy to be back,’ he said, softly. ‘You’re not scared, are you, Millie? Tom?’
Millie looked at him. ‘Scared of what?’
‘Me.’
Millie shook her head. ‘You haven’t done any listening, Miles, that’s your problem. Do you know what went on here last term?’
‘No.’
‘Sanchez didn’t tell you? In the letter he wrote – if he wrote to you . . .’
‘He said some stuff, but—’
‘When I ran away,’ said Tomaz, ‘I found the tunnels. The treasure you’re talking about – I found it.’
Miles sat forward. ‘You found the treasure?’
‘My God,’ said Millie. ‘You’ve shut him up.’
‘I live with it,’ said Tomaz. ‘That’s what Millie’s talking about. I’m looking after it, down underground.’
Miles opened his mouth, but no words came. His eyes went from Millie to Tomaz, glittering still.
‘Tomaz has a house down there,’ said Millie. ‘It’s where the ghost lives – we can show it to you. It’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever been and Lord Vyner’s down there too.’
‘You found it all!’ whispered Miles. He licked his lips and the smile was back. ‘Did you . . . When you were going through stuff . . . Listen. Did you find a sword?’ He twisted up, onto his knees.
Tomaz nodded. ‘There are six swords,’ he said. ‘There’re suits of armour, there’s a lance—’
‘The special sword,’ said Miles. ‘One with diamonds?’
‘There’s all sorts down there,’ said Millie. ‘Tomaz has arranged it all: it’s a palace. But if we show you, you’ve got to promise not to be weird about it.’
Miles took Tomaz by the hand and started to laugh. ‘This is amazing!’ he said. ‘People have been looking for this stuff for years! I got a paper here – look at this . . .’ He searched around in an inside pocket, squirming to locate something. At last he brought out a small piece of card, folded and crumpled. ‘You’re not going to believe this! When we got back to London and I knew I was coming back, I went to the library, OK? I looked up Vyner, and the woman said I should go to a museum, if I was that interested, because I was telling her all about this place. Listen! I told her I’d been to the school, and about those monks, and so she told me about this museum in London. There was a floor where you couldn’t go unless you had special permission. But they let me in—’
‘Why?’ said Millie.
‘What do you mean, why? They let me in—’
‘Why’s anyone going to let a scruffy kid like you in? Is this all some fantasy, Miles? Just how screwy are you?’
Miles stared at her and grinned again. ‘You don’t have to believe anything, if you don’t want to. But I found out secrets . . .’ He touched the badge on Millie’s blazer. ‘You’d better decide whose side you’re on, Head Girl, because we are in danger.’
‘We don’t have sides here,’ said Millie. ‘And Sanchez is Head Boy, or did he forget to tell you that in his letter?’
‘He told me everything.’
‘Then you’re a liar, because he doesn’t even know himself. Don’t tell us lies, Miles – we will squash you like a bug.’
‘Will you tell us what happened?’ said Tomaz, quietly. ‘In the museum?’
Miles sat back and unfolded the card.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I met an old man. Professor C.W. Williams. About a hundred years old, worked at the museum all his life – and I told him all about the school and the ghost.’
‘What did he say?’ said Tomaz.
Miles pushed his h
air back. ‘He just kind of looked at me. He didn’t interrupt me once, because he was interested. And after I told him, guess what? He said he had studied the Vyner family, and he said Cyril Vyner was not a thief, like some people think. He was not a smuggler, or a crook. According to the man in the museum, he was collecting up all the stuff his family used to own, because the family go back hundreds of years, and Lord Vyner was pulling stuff together. But he was looking for one thing in particular that’s been lost for centuries.’
‘What?’ said Millie. ‘What’s in the paper you’re holding? Get to the point.’
Miles took out a small torch and switched it on. He turned the card around, revealing a handful of lines, in looping, untidy biro.
‘That’s a kid’s writing,’ said Millie.
‘Course it is,’ said Miles. ‘I copied it from what the professor showed me. An old manuscript.’
Tomaz peered at it. His reading was improving, but it was still a struggle, so Millie leaned in and read aloud:
‘The child knows no fear . . . something.
Lion and . . . limb . . . united in this place;
After the something . . .’
‘Lightning,’ said Miles.
‘I can’t read the next bit.’
Miles took his paper back and started again. His voice took on a solemn gravity, as if the words were loaded with wisdom:
‘The child knows no fear, if the tiger he rides,
And the sick can be healed through all that must pass;
Lion and lamb, united in this place;
After the lightning and the damaged face.’
‘The lion and the lamb is on the school flag,’ said Millie. ‘It’s the school emblem.’
‘I know,’ said Miles. ‘Coincidence, huh? Listen:
St Caspar will come home; in this place he’ll be sworn.
So drown the precious sword: from his heart it can’t be drawn.’
‘Where’s it from?’ said Tomaz, after a moment of silence. ‘You got this in the museum?’
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