by Gwen Lowe
Alice couldn’t believe it.
The glaring woman at the door looked exactly like a giant version of Mrs Dent.
Admittedly, this was mostly because she was pointing a supersize spray gun directly at them, but it didn’t help that she was also wearing a dazzling white apron, gloves and rubber boots.
‘DUCK!’ shouted Kevin, but it was too late. The woman soaked them both with flower-scented spray before they could move.
‘HEY – watch it! Them’s me best trainers!’ shrieked Kevin.
‘That’s just great!’ muttered Alice crossly, shaking disinfectant out of her hair.
‘Hello Mrs Peasley!’ said the policeman, smiling. He had jumped neatly out of the way.
Mrs Peasley ignored him. She was too busy frowning at Kevin and Alice.
‘Not more children, surely? I don’t know where you lot find them all.’
She peered at Kevin.
‘And another boy? He’s bound to have nits. Looks like a troublemaker too. I hope he’s less bother than the last one you fetched in.’
She gave Alice a hard stare. ‘And a girl, we’re not keen on girls, sly things, always falling out with each other. Look at the state of this one, really filthy – and smelly. Nothing nice about her at all.’
Alice flushed. People at school were always saying nasty things to her about her parents, but she’d never been called smelly before.
Beside her, Kevin had gone rigid. He glared at Mrs Peasley.
‘Yer not a great looker yerself are yer?’
The silence that followed was very long. Mrs Peasley swelled up, her face changing from white to red to purple.
Alice watched with breathless interest, almost choking on a giggle. Mrs Peasley looked like she was going to explode.
‘How DARE you . . . you . . . RUDE . . . you’ll be sorry! You wait till . . .’
The policeman coughed loudly.
‘Well, I’ll best be off now,’ he said, shooting Mrs Peasley a warning glance. ‘Do try and keep these children alive until I’ve left – I can’t face any more paperwork today.’
This made Mrs Peasley glare at Alice and Kevin even more fiercely, but she kept her mouth clamped shut until the police car had disappeared down the drive.
Then she spoke.
‘Not a step further until you numpkins have put these on!’ she said crossly, throwing them both fluffy bundles of blue and pink fuzz.
‘What are they?’ asked Alice, puzzled. The bundles looked remarkably like mutant rabbits.
‘Polishing socks of course!’ Mrs Peasley snapped. ‘You can wear them until I’ve fitted you for regulation school shoes. Now get on with it – I haven’t got all day!’
As Alice and Kevin hurriedly slipped off their trainers, Mrs Peasley sealed her nostrils with a giant clothes peg and grabbed their shoes with thick metal tongs. Shuddering, she dropped each item into a bright yellow bin.
‘Oi, they’re really expensive trainers!’
‘Tough, they’re contaminated waste now. Right, follow me!’
‘She’d better give me them trainers back or mum will go spare!’ muttered Kevin mutinously.
Mrs Peasley pretended not to hear him, but a nasty little smile broke over her face as she led them through the doorway into the entrance hall beyond.
‘It’s ginormous!’ whispered Kevin.
Alice stared around in disbelief. The colossal hall was the most amazing room she’d ever seen. The burnished wood of the wall panels glowed gold under a waterfall of lamps. Light reflected from every sparkling surface; even the grey stone floor looked as squeaky bright as a dishwasher-blasted plate and was as slippery as an ice rink.
‘It’s all so . . . so . . . polished!’ she couldn’t help exclaiming.
‘Of course it is!’ Mrs Peasley retorted, looking smug.
But it wasn’t just the sheer size of the hall, or the dazzling cleanliness – it wasn’t even the overwhelming smell of disinfectant that got them. It was also the fact that everything was a little odd.
The fireplace that faced them was normal enough, except that it was so massive that Santa Claus, his sleigh and entire team of reindeer could have performed stunts in it. But the old-fashioned red telephone box looked out of place, and there was a real live tree growing through one corner of the room.
A forest of swings hung down from its stout branches, but all were chained up and secured with a shiny padlock and chain. Next to it was a roundabout and two seesaws, all chained up too.
And everything, even the statues, an umbrella stand, three gigantic clocks and the tree (leaves and all) was covered in sheets of clear plastic.
‘What’s with the plastic?’ Kevin muttered, skating expertly along in his fluffy socks.
‘Well, I suppose it’s easy to wipe clean,’ suggested Alice. (Mrs Dent loved plastic sheeting. Nothing cheered her up more than unfolding a new wipe-clean cover and laying it down over a freshly vacuumed carpet.)
Kevin stared at her in disgust.
‘What is this place?’ he asked plaintively – and far too loudly.
Mrs Peasley halted at once, spinning on her heels to face them.
‘That’s enough talking, numbskulls!’ she snarled. ‘Now shut up and listen to me, you grimy good-for-nothings! You want to know what Tryton Mell is? Well, I’ll tell you – it’s a place for horrid dirty children like you two. First we’re going to scrub you clean and get rid of any nasty little critters you’re carrying. Next we’ll drill you until you lose all those terrible do-what-you-like habits that you picked up from your lazy mums or dads or other useless grown-ups. Then we’ll work on turning you into polite, rule-abiding little robots. Finally, if you’re lucky and live that long, we’ll teach you to shine and sparkle. ’
Alice could see Kevin’s look of absolute horror. She wasn’t feeling too good about it herself.
‘I don’t want to sparkle!’ Kevin protested.
‘Sparkling’s compulsory,’ said Mrs Peasley severely.
‘How long do we have to stay here?’
‘Oh, probably for ever. No child’s left yet, no one’s ever passed the leaving exam.’
‘But . . . the police said . . . my mum could come . . .’
‘That’s just to keep parents quiet, for some reason they always get upset when you take their precious little brats away. Mind you, once they’ve been without them for a few months and their house stops smelling and stays clean and tidy, they never seem to want them back.’
Kevin had gone quite white by this time. This seemed to satisfy Mrs Peasley. She pointed behind them.
‘Now read the rules. Make sure you memorize them, we test you on them twice a day. And be warned, numpties, if you break any of these rules, you’ll be lucky to survive your punishment.’
‘This ain’t gonna be good,’ muttered Kevin as they both turned to see where she was pointing.
Hung from the rafters in the centre of the hall was a ten metre high wooden noticeboard. Bold black words were carved into the gleaming wood. With a feeling of doom, Alice lifted her eyes to the title:
TRYTON MELL SCHOOL RULES
‘Stay here and DON’T touch anything while I fetch your lovely uniforms!’ ordered Mrs Peasley sternly. With that, she disappeared behind one of the many polished wooden doors that lined the walls.
‘I really don’t think I’m gonna like it here,’ muttered Kevin.
And as Alice studied the first few rules with a rapidly sinking heart, she could only agree with him.
1. No giggling (or smiling or laughing or having fun) at any time.
2. Coughing or sneezing or snotty noses will not be tolerated. Pupils with any nasty illness symptoms must report to the school nurse immediately.
3. Hands and nails must be clean and shiny at all times.
4. Teachers are always right.
5. Pupils must be silent at all times.
6. Pupils must not be more than ten seconds early or late for anything.
7. Anyone talking about Professor Tryton (or th
e fun times they had when he was headmaster) will be severely punished.
There were 253 rules listed in total, but Alice really didn’t want to read any more.
‘What rubbish rules!’ muttered Kevin. ‘I can’t go a day without having a laugh!’
He thinks he’s got problems? thought Alice, stifling a cough. I’m already breaking the second rule! She had a horrible feeling about the giggling rule too. Now she thought about it, she’d felt giggly on and off all morning.
‘Forget them rules for now – look right up there!’ Kevin pointed upwards.
Alice looked up. Tiers of balconies ran around the walls, each reached by curving staircases. Oddly, the stairs were flanked by what looked like wooden slides.
‘They can’t be slides!’ Alice was disbelieving.
‘Don’t be stupid, girl, of course they are!’
Mrs Peasley had returned, carrying a neat pile of brown clothes. ‘Sliding’s compulsory here for going downstairs. We can’t have grimy little children holding handrails with the same unwashed hands that have just wiped dirty little bottoms. That would spread nasty germs.’
Kevin frowned. ‘But how do we go upstairs?’
‘Don’t be an idiot, boy – have some common sense! You use the stairs of course, but no touching the rails, you put your hands behind your back. We tried that going downstairs as well but children have no sense of balance. They would keep falling and breaking things. Right, that’s enough of this time-wasting. Follow me – let’s get you nincompoops kitted out before Miss Grammaticus sees you, or you’ll be doing punishment chores for the rest of your lives.’
Mrs Peasley’s spotlessly scrubbed office was behind one of the mysterious doors leading off in all directions from the hall. Alice read the nameplate:
Mrs Feather Peasley
Head of Discipline and Dusting
‘I’d never have guessed,’ muttered Kevin, rolling his eyes as they entered. Unfortunately this made him walk straight into a large silver feather-topped trophy, which made Alice want to giggle quite badly.
‘Don’t touch my champion dusting award!’ screamed Mrs Peasley, grabbing Kevin’s ear and towing him furiously through her office.
Behind her, a little red printer labelled ‘Red Alerts’ gave a cheerful belch.
‘Brrrr . . . up!’ it chirruped, spitting out two sheets of scarlet-tinged paper just as Alice passed. And as she glanced down, her giggles vanished immediately.
Splashed across the top of the first sheet, in jaw-breakingly large letters, was her name:
ALICE DENT
And underneath was a picture – a full colour photo of herself that she recognized at once.
Cold with shock, Alice looked around. Mrs Peasley had grabbed an enormous pump labelled ‘MOUSE ’N’ LOUSE KILL’ and was pinning a frantically struggling Kevin to the floor with one foot. Lingering behind as Kevin disappeared, protesting in a cloud of white powder, Alice hastily stuffed both pages of the Red Alert into her pocket.
Ten minutes later, Alice stood next to Kevin in front of a shiny mirror and stared at her new uniform.
‘It’s very brown,’ she said doubtfully.
‘Such a lovely practical colour,’ mused Mrs Peasley.
The uniform was incredibly well ironed. Each crease in Alice’s brown tunic was so sharp that it could slice through butter. Everything was edged with crimson trim, even their shirts had smart red and white stripes.
‘I hate wearing tights,’ she whispered to Kevin. It didn’t help that she had stuffed the Red Alert down them in the changing cubicle.
‘Nothing worse than brown trousers,’ replied Kevin gloomily.
‘Blazers on!’ instructed Mrs Peasley. ‘Full school uniform must be worn at all times.’
‘What about weekends?’ asked Alice.
‘You wear full uniform at all times.’
‘What – even in bed?’
‘Don’t be stupid, boy!’ Mrs Peasley said severely, grabbing Kevin’s tie and knotting it tighter.
‘Oww! Too tight!’
Alice hastily adjusted her own tie. She had to admit that it was very smart, all gold emblems on a crimson background . . .
Prickling with horror, she looked more closely. She had seen that shield emblem before. A clock under what looked like crossed toothbrushes – the same symbol that was on the shiny badges the police had worn.
It was on her blazer too. Alice’s hands trembled. If the Best Minister is linked to Tryton Mell and they find out who I really am, I’m doomed! she thought.
‘You look like proper little school children now,’ Mrs Peasley grinned. ‘Right, hand over your phones – you’re not allowed them here.’
‘Got none!’
But even Alice could tell that Kevin was fibbing.
Mrs Peasley laughed.
Her laugh was far worse than her grin. She sounded like the mad woman in all the worst horror films. Alice began to shudder and even Kevin looked scared.
‘Give it to me, you little liar!’
‘No!’ Kevin was defiant. ‘Mum might want me; she’s really poorly and—’
‘You can use the phone in the hall, it’s regularly disinfected.’
‘No blinking way!’
‘Oh excellent, a snotty little refuser – I get to use my electronic device detector. CUDDLES! Come to Mummy!’
There was a white flash. A gigantic toddler-sized furry object burst into the chamber and hopped over to them.
‘A rabbit?’ Kevin laughed incredulously. ‘I’m not scared.’
Mrs Peasley bristled. ‘You should be. That’s not just any old rabbit, that’s a lethal weapon which is also completely housetrained. Find, Cuddles!’
The overgrown white rabbit hopped over to Kevin and leapt forward.
‘Ooohhh!’ Kevin fell backwards.
‘I c-can’t b-breathe!’ he groaned as Cuddles sat triumphantly on his chest, pawing at his blazer pocket. Smirking, Mrs Peasley extracted Kevin’s phone and slipped it smugly into her own pocket, throwing Cuddles a carrot as a reward.
‘NOOOOO! Give it back!’ Kevin howled.
‘Stop that dreadful noise at once and come with me – it’s dinner time!’ Crossly, Mrs Peasley pushed Kevin forward.
But Alice lingered, watching the rabbit. He didn’t eat the carrot. Instead he came and sat on Alice’s feet, gazing up at her adoringly.
‘Shoo! Go away!’ Alice hissed, but he wouldn’t move. Strangely alarmed by this, Alice hastily extracted her feet and dashed off after the others.
Mrs Peasley led them down a wide passageway, humming happily as she flicked her duster over the gleaming walls.
‘I’m an amazing duster, you know,’ she told them proudly. ‘I’ve been world champion twenty-seven times in a row.’
‘Don’t see the point of dusting,’ Kevin replied. ‘It always comes back again.’
Mrs Peasley turned purple. Alice really thought she would explode this time. Instead the teacher prodded Kevin hard with the duster handle all the way along the main corridor.
There were smaller passages leading off from this, but each one was sealed with a solid steel grille, an enormous golden padlock and planks nailed over and over in a frenzy of woodwork.
Someone was making very sure indeed that all the side passages stayed closed.
Alice thought this was a real shame because each sealed-off passage was marked by an intriguing looking signpost.
She spotted ‘The Windy Gap’, ‘The Passage of Doom’, ‘The Bog’ and one she quite fancied called ‘Walk of the Stars’.
‘Do yer reckon them blocked corridors are left over from when that Professor Tryton was in charge?’ whispered Kevin excitedly.
Alice nodded – she thought this too.
One called ‘Short Cut Bounce’ caught her eye. Cautiously, she veered over to get a closer look, peeping through a hole in a plank. To her surprise, the floor was entirely made of trampoline, invitingly stretching into the distance.
‘Come away!’
screeched Mrs Peasley, grabbing Alice’s arm.
‘Is it really trampoline?’ Kevin asked, bubbling with curiosity.
‘SILENCE!’
Kevin pulled a face behind Mrs Peasley’s back. Alice hastily looked away, frantically swallowing a giggle.
‘Here’s the dining hall,’ said Mrs Peasley, glaring at them as she stopped beside a pair of double doors, all shiny wood and black-studded nails.
‘I hope the food’s OK,’ Kevin whispered, as Mrs Peasley shoved them forward, then turned and marched huffily back along the corridor.
They both stood nervously in the doorway and stared into the dining hall.
‘Looks like a blinking mud bath,’ muttered Kevin.
Alice knew what he meant. There were hundreds of pupils sitting at the long tables, all wearing neat brown uniforms. The overwhelming brownness was broken only by the dazzling stripes of their school shirts and the snowy tablecloths glowing under moon-like lamps. As the pupils ate, light reflected in blinding flashes from polished knives and sparkling glasses.
But what struck Alice most was the silence. All she could hear was the scrape of plates and clink of cutlery.
‘It’s proper dinner,’ Kevin whispered, sounding disgusted. ‘I wanted chips.’
Strangely there was no smell of food, but it looked OK. Alice could see silver serving dishes piled high with potatoes, vegetables and roast meat.
‘Too many vegetables,’ muttered Kevin, gloomier by the second. Alice didn’t care. She was starving; her stale-toast breakfast was a very long time ago.
‘More troublesome new arrivals to bother me, I see. Names? Ages? Quickly now!’
The man who appeared in front of them had a long black dinner jacket, a perfectly tied bow tie and a seriously bad attitude.
‘Names? Ages?’ he repeated impatiently.
‘Err . . . me name’s Mudd – Kevin Mudd.’
‘Al . . . Portland Maggott.’ Alice only just remembered in time. ‘We’re both eleven.’
‘Are yer a dinner lady?’ asked Kevin curiously.
They both recoiled at the man’s expression.
‘I’m Mr Ricard – Master of the Dining Hall,’ the man said frostily. ‘But you will call me “sir”.’
And after that, things got rapidly worse. Mr Ricard swivelled to face the pupils.
