Benjamin Forrest and the School at the End of the World (Endinfinium Book 1)

by Chris Ward

  ‘I’m not sure, to be honest,’ Benjamin said. ‘Captain Roche sent her to the Locker Room for disobedience.’

  ‘He likes to do that. I have a couple of thousand cleans outstanding on my account. I’m pretty sure he’d drag me down there himself, but he’s too wide to get across the path.’

  Benjamin sniggered. He could imagine the captain leaning half out over the edge, one eye squinting down as a flock of scatlocks raced up toward him.

  ‘And I’ve made an enemy,’ he said. ‘Godfrey.’

  ‘Ah, don’t worry about him, he’s a chump. He’s a year ahead of us. Has a massive chip on his shoulder.’

  ‘And now he has one of Captain Roche’s eyes.’

  Wilhelm laughed. ‘Ouch. I’ve heard about that. Apparently if the captain closes his other eye, he can see out of the one he sticks to people, like a camera. It tends to keep the bad kids in line, and gives him plenty of excuses to send them to the Locker Room.’

  ‘Isn’t it kind of unusual to be able to do that?’

  Wilhelm smiled. ‘You seen anything you would describe as usual yet?’

  Benjamin shrugged again. ‘You?’

  ‘Ha! I’ll take that as a compliment. Well, this is it. Our mansion.’

  A tatty wooden bunk bed stood against the wall nearest the door. A table with two chairs sat beneath the window, with a couple of units of drawers and a wardrobe taking up the other wall, a strange cross between a prison and a mountaineering hut. A few items of dirty washing lay scattered around, and beside the door, some crumpled pieces of paper sat at the bottom of a litter bin.

  ‘Yours is the top bunk. You didn’t have any stuff except for your bag, which I hung up to dry in the laundry room at the end of the corridor.’

  Benjamin started. ‘What bag? I dropped my school bag in the sea.’

  ‘Someone fished it out and brought it up here. I don’t know who, but it was in your post tray in the lobby. I brought it up to your room because it was dripping on mine below it. Benjamin Forrest. Wilhelm Jacobs.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t get excited. It was sopping wet. Your books will be ruined, but you might be able to use the bag again. You’re lucky it didn’t get eaten. They’re hungry, those things in the water, and they will quite literally eat anything.’

  Wilhelm excused himself to go to the bathroom, leaving Benjamin alone in their room, which was a far cry from his cozy little room in Basingstoke, with its Disney posters, Transformers bedspread, and shelves of his favourite books. But it could have been worse.

  Then the floor creaked, and the whole room seemed to shift.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ Wilhelm shouted from down the hall. ‘It does that from time to time. The beams will straighten themselves out in a couple of hours or so.’

  Feeling a little uneasy in their room that tilted toward the sea, Benjamin left to explore the rest of the building, which had four floors with around twenty bedrooms on each. Next to each door was a name plate, and it appeared they were roomed in alphabetical order. Many of the names were unusual, some foreign-sounding, others a mixture of numbers and letters like lines of computer code. The last few rooms on each floor, the names reset back to A, so he assumed these were assigned to the girls.

  All of the doors were wide open, as if ready for inspection, but only some rooms had been made up just in case. Most were typical kids’ rooms—all discarded clothing, dog-eared textbooks, and dusty furniture.

  Two toilets sat on each floor—one for boys, one for girls. The first floor housed two shower rooms, with a timetable for morning showers taped up beside the door. First year boys at 5.45 a.m. Benjamin balked at the early time, but then wondered if the days here were the same length as they were back in Basingstoke, what with having two suns and everything.

  A noise came from a room at the far end of the corridor, nearest to the inland side of the building. Benjamin pushed through a door marked LAUNDRY to find himself facing a large, wooden cauldron filled with a spinning whirlpool of steaming water. Items of clothing circled like fish, repeatedly pushed under by a jet of water from a wooden pipe poking out of the wall. Underneath, used water trickled into a plug hole and gurgled down a drain.

  ‘Put your dirties in there first thing in the morning, then ladle them out when you get back,’ Wilhelm said from behind him, making Benjamin jump. ‘They don’t use washing powder, so you have to soak them. For a new kid like you, best to get back early, or Godfrey and his crew might leave you shirtless. They’ve done it to a couple of others.’

  ‘I’ll try to remember that.’

  ‘Oh, and I left your bag over there. It got kind of smashed, I’m afraid, but your guidebook should still be in there.’

  ‘My what?’

  Wilhelm pointed to the far side of the room, where several items of clothing on a series of racks and hangers dried in front of an open fire behind a grill. His bag hung from a hook nearest to the fire. Wilhelm had taken out his books and neatly arranged them in a semi-circle, but even from a distance the water damage was obvious, their covers crinkled and pictures blurred. Benjamin shrugged. He probably wouldn’t need them anyway.

  Lying on top of everything, though, was a thin book he didn’t recognise. It was nearest to the heat, but so damp, opening it would tear the pages.

  ‘Do you have one like this?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re from the Grand Lord,’ Wilhelm said. ‘He gives one to all of us. It’s nothing much, just a bunch of details on the classes. No one knows how he does it, but he seems to know when we’re coming. I’ve never actually seen him close up, but there’s definitely something odd about him.’ Wilhelm grinned. ‘Even for here.’

  Benjamin picked up the thin book and turned it over in his hands. It was definitely made of paper, but of a kind older than any he had ever seen.

  ‘Mine’s a lot thinner than yours,’ Wilhelm said. ‘Perhaps you’re special, I don’t know. All mine talks about is what happens in each lesson. Braiding, climbing, woodwork, engineering … all sorts of boring stuff. I liked the idea of the orienteering lesson, but I don’t want to break my standard and show up for just one thing.’

  Benjamin tentatively lifted the front cover of the book. Underneath, a damp circle in the centre threatened to rip out the hearts of the subsequent pages if he tried to open it any further. It could take days for it to dry out completely, but Benjamin sensed this book might offer his own way out. He would lift one page at a time, drying them out one by one, until the whole book was dry. It was the only way. On the first page, handwritten in black ink, it said:

  Welcome, young Master Forrest, to the School at the End of the World! Herein you will learn everything you need to successfully graduate from the most unique school of all time, the school that stands at the edge of everything, a school that is threatened daily with its own end, an end that only the love of our wonderful teaching staff and pupils can help to prevent! Turn the page to find out how you can help!

  Yours, and welcome,

  Grand Lord Sebastien Aren

  Headmaster

  Benjamin was just wondering whether to risk turning the page, when a loud thump came from downstairs.

  Wilhelm grabbed his arm. ‘Quick,’ he said. ‘Back to the room. Pretend to be unpacking or something. If we get caught messing around in here, we might get sent to the Locker Room.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  Wilhelm gave the widest smile Benjamin had yet seen.

  ‘Gubbledon Longface.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The housemaster.’

  11

  The Housemaster

  Something that couldn’t walk properly stumped up the stairs. Benjamin listened to the heavy footfalls as he sat on the top bunk and pretended to make his bed. They sounded too awkward to belong to a man. Wilhelm had scurried off to the dormitory kitchens, where he said he had been on permanent cleaning duty since his refusal to join any classes.

  The footsteps paused at the top of the stairs, a
nd Benjamin, heart thudding, risked a glance down. Something long and brown appeared in the doorway. Huge nostrils flared, and through eroded fur and flesh appeared white slivers of bone. Two large eyes flickered at him. One remaining ear bent and then straightened.

  Benjamin gulped as a hoof poked out from a purple silk shirt and rapped on the open door.

  ‘Mr. Forrest,’ whinnied the reanimated corpse of a horse that wore human clothes and stood upright like a man, ‘I was given word that you had arrived.’

  Benjamin climbed down. As he stared at the housemaster, he didn’t know whether to be terrified or amused.

  ‘Nice to meet you, sir.’

  ‘My name is Gubbledon. I am the housemaster of these dorms.’ The horse stuck out a hoof, and when Benjamin hesitated, the housemaster said, ‘Shake it, please. I expect common courtesies from my charges.’

  Benjamin took hold of the hoof—which was bone cold—and gave it a quick shake. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘No need for that. Did you bump into your worthless roommate? He should be here somewhere. Doing his chores, I hope. I can’t force him to go to class, of course, but I can force him to work his useless butt off while he stays here. His only alternative is to sit outside and play with the scatlocks.’

  ‘Yes, I met him.’

  ‘You have been excused from all duties for the rest of the afternoon. Have you been drilled on procedures?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  The horse rolled his dead eyes, and one took a little longer to bounce back into place than the other. ‘No surprise. The transfer of workable information is one way this school lets itself down.’

  Benjamin nodded. ‘I have, um, noticed.’

  ‘Breakfast is served in shifts in the common room downstairs. You’ll be assigned to a breakfast rotor for duties, although you’ll start off with simple tasks, such as serving and clearing away the utensils. Be aware that causing trouble or shirking your duties is not tolerated and will result in a harsher punishment.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Lunch and dinner are served in the Dining Hall in the main block. You are expected to be out of the dormitories by eight a.m. except in ex … ext … ex … extenuating circumstances.’

  Hearing the horse stutter over the word ‘extenuating’ tipped Benjamin over the edge, and he let out a snort of laughter he had been bottling up inside, then clamped his hand over his mouth, making a pitiful attempt to convert it into a cough.

  When he looked up, the housemaster was glaring at him. Gubbledon gave a light whinny, the visible bones in part of his face vibrating like piano keys.

  ‘Is something funny?’

  Benjamin shook his head. ‘No, nothing at all.’

  ‘I run a tight ship here, Master Forrest. Dissent of any form will not be tolerated.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  The reanimated horse stared at him for a long few seconds. ‘I think it would be best if you joined Master Jacobs in the dormitory kitchen for the rest of the afternoon. There are always pots to scrub and floors to clean.’

  Benjamin apologised again, then followed the housemaster down the stairs to the kitchen, where Wilhelm was up to his elbows in frothy water that filled a massive sink.

  ‘It appears that your union is one made in the two heavens,’ the housemaster said. ‘I shall return in an hour to survey your progress.’

  Gubbledon stumped off into a room beside the entrance, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Wilhelm turned to Benjamin, unable to keep the grin off of his face.

  ‘You laughed, didn’t you?’

  ‘I couldn’t help it. What was I supposed to do? He’s a dead horse and he was talking to me about chores.’

  Wilhelm gave a vehement shake of his head. ‘No, no. He’s a dead race-horse. Believe me, you’ll hear that one. He won some famous race in a previous, um, life. Or so he says. And don’t ever call him Longface to his, um, face. That’s a kids-only term. Don’t even allude to it, as in “Why the long face?” I did it once and he made me clean all the dormitory windows.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound so bad.’

  ‘From the outside.’

  Benjamin thought about the flocks of scatlocks and the treacherous drop to the sea far below. ‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘Why is everyone here so weird?’

  ‘Believe me, after a while, you’ll begin to appreciate whatever normality you can find. Even clowns like Godfrey don’t seem so bad after a couple of weeks.’

  Benjamin shook his head as he plunged his hands into the water and felt around for a bowl that needed washing. ‘Where on earth are we?’ he said.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Wilhelm answered. ‘But I’ve made it my mission to find out.’

  12

  Dinner

  The larger of the two suns had just set, disappeared into the haze beyond the edge of the sea, leaving the sky awash with orange, when other pupils’ voices began to sound downstairs. During their afternoon of washing pots and pans, Wilhelm had told Benjamin a little about the classes’ structure, that there were ‘core’ classes that everyone—himself, by personal choice, excluded—had to attend, while others were elective, some of which ran into the evenings or even happened late at night. As a result, the dormitory was never really quiet; someone was always coming or going. For the most part, though, pupils returned around five o’clock, got changed for dinner back in the Dining Hall at six-thirty, then returned to their rooms to study or engage in light free time activities until the official lights-out at ten p.m.

  Just after five, the housemaster called all of the kids together in the breakfast common room and made Benjamin stand up on a stool at one end. Most of them looked tired, reluctant to have their free time interrupted, rolling their eyes and talking amongst themselves as Gubbledon called for order. The reanimated horse appeared to have forgiven Benjamin for his earlier transgressions; he waxed lyrical about how the others should look after Benjamin, and help him get to grips with life in Endinfinium. Then he asked Benjamin to say a few words.

  Neither Miranda nor Godfrey were in the crowd. At the back, Wilhelm also stood on a stool so he could see, smirking while Gubbledon glared at him from the front.

  ‘Um, thank you,’ Benjamin stuttered. ‘It’s been an interesting day so far. This morning, I woke up on a beach and had a car almost eat me, and now I’m standing in front of all of you. It’s nice to meet you all, I guess, and I hope to enjoy my time here in Endinfinium … wherever here is, of course.’

  Some kids at the front sniggered. Benjamin cleared his throat and continued. ‘I’m from a place called Basingstoke in the UK. My father is a train driver for Great Western Railways and my mother works in Lloyds TSB. They drive a Honda Civic and a Ford Explorer and like to go for a pub lunch on Sundays. My dad always complains about the texture of the roast potatoes, no matter what pub we go to, and my mum always insists on taking a scenic route home, which usually involves us getting lost. I have a six-year-old brother called David. He has learning difficulties and has to go to a special school. He cries if mum cooks turnip and it touches any of his other food, but he can complete math equations quicker than my dad. My birthday is January the thirty-first. I, um, don’t like moths or boiled cabbage.’ He grinned. ‘Or boiled moths.’

  The sniggers from the front were more mocking than amused, and Benjamin immediately regretted his attempt at a joke. The housemaster sighed and waved him down off of the stool.

  ‘Well, I hope you’ll all make Benjamin feel at home. Now, go and get ready for dinner. I apologise that we’re now running a little late, so if Captain Roche throws a tantrum, you can blame it on me.’

  The crowd dispersed, and Benjamin was relieved. He’d seen more than a few disapproving glares, and thought he had recognised a couple of kids from Godfrey’s crew. Of the others, at first glance, most seemed normal.

  Wilhelm met him up in their room. ‘This chest of drawers is yours,’ he said. ‘There are two types of clothes: school uniforms and bed wear. You have to w
ear a uniform whenever you’re outside the dorms, but there’s a casual one for dinner. It’s the one with the zip-up jacket instead of the buttoned one. The loose ones with the elastic pants are for gym-type classes, which includes stuff like climbing, both rock and tree, and orienteering.’ He grinned. ‘I’ve never worn mine. I really want to go to orienteering, but you know, I can’t break my protest for just one thing. It’s kind of like going on hunger strike but only eating steak.’

  Benjamin smiled. He hadn’t really paid much attention to what the other kids had been wearing, but when he thought about the crowd downstairs, he realised that the kids had been divided into six shades of blue, from a light grey-blue to a dark blue that bordered on purple. The older kids had been wearing the darker colours, and his suspicions were confirmed when he pulled open his drawer to reveal several light blue jackets and slacks, as well as white underpants and shirts. Everything was made of cotton, except for the undershirts, which were silk.

  ‘Natural fibres,’ Wilhelm told him when he asked. ‘Polyester or acrylic gets a little jumpy. The natural stuff just keeps you warm.’

  There were two pairs of shoes: a smart pair he assumed was for indoor classes, and a tough, durable outdoor pair. Both were leather-made with cork soles and no discernible brand markings. Other various items sat in the drawers, too: a toothbrush and a jar of paste, a hairbrush, nail file, several pencils.

  Benjamin realised he’d done no personal grooming at all since waking up on the beach, so he rushed off down to the shower rooms to brush his hair and teeth. Stray bits of vegetation were stuck in his hair, as well as half a twitching scatlock, which he pitched out through a little window in the bathroom. Then he grabbed himself a quick shower under a surprisingly hot and powerful jet of water.

  Afterward, while he brushed his wet mop of hair, Benjamin stared at his face in the mirror and realised how quickly everything was reverting to normal. At his best estimate, he’d been in Endinfinium for less than eight hours, yet here he was, preparing for dinner with a group of strangers—some he wasn’t sure were even human—as if about to settle down for lunch with his family.