by Kim Newman
‘You could still be with them and spying on us,’ she said. ‘You said it was in your blood.’
‘They don’t understand spying,’ Frecks replied. ‘It’s how I lasted as long as I did. Red ants can’t paint themselves black and go undercover in an enemy hill. You’re either with them or you’re furniture. The Black Skirts despise Unusuals, but don’t take you seriously either.’
The rest were convinced. Frecks apologised to Gould and ruffled her behind the ears. Amy remembered Frecks was a doggy sort. Her family had hounds.
‘Welcome aboard,’ said Devlin, pumping Frecks’ fist.
‘I’m Larry,’ said Laurence, looking up at the taller girl. ‘I am very pleased to meet you. I have a purple pocket.’
Frecks raised an eyebrow at that.
‘She’ll explain later,’ said Light Fingers. ‘Just now, we’re here to see Swan. Are you with us?’
Frecks nodded. She scooped up her bat.
‘Just in case we run into any of the blighters. They’re not getting me back without taking blows to the bonce.’
Devlin, in a whisper, introduced Frecks to Marsh and Knowles.
Of course, she already knew Paule – and was wary of her. Amy didn’t have time to disabuse everyone of their notions about everyone else.
Light Fingers picked the lock to Swan’s office so Larry’s purple keys weren’t needed. She pushed the door open and they all piled in.
Disappointingly, Headmistress was absent.
Her apparatus was covered with a dustsheet. Her desk was too neat, as if she hadn’t worked here since the place was last tidied. The grate was clean of ashes and cool.
Gould took some kindling from a rack and lit a fire. There was bickering about whether it was wise to send smoke signals announcing where they were. Advocates of an immediately warmer environment ventured that the Black Skirt gaze tended to be fixed on the ground where they were walking rather than cast upwards at telltale chimneys. By the time the wood caught light, the argument that a pound of comfort was worth an ounce of risk had won the day.
They weren’t sure what to do next, anyway. Amy hoped Frecks could tell more about life under the Queen Ant’s spell… and whether there was a way to wake up anyone else. The original charter of the Moth Club was about rescuing Kali. Now, their friend – and the whole school! – was captured again… held fast by something more insidious than ropes and harder to float over than high walls.
The others wanted to know about Frecks’ chainmail coif. Seen close, it was curiously fascinating. The links knit together strangely, like tiny silver snakes, and had their own odd, cold light.
‘Uncle Lance was in Pendragon Squadron,’ Frecks explained. ‘When they broke up after the War, he passed on this bit of kit to me. The Aerial Knights are supposed to be at rest under Avalon, pledged to return in England’s Hour of Greatest Need… but Uncle Lance actually runs a garage in Lewisham. He spends his time tinkering with motors that ran better before he improved him. He’s one of those fellows who’s splendid during a war, but a bit of a liability any other time. Terribly decent, though. And canny enough to give me the chainmail, rather than waste it on my rotter of a brother. When the Aerial Knights gathered to receive the benison of the Lady in the Lake, they all got chunks of armour which would protect them from grievous harm in battle so long as their cause was Just and True.’
‘I’ve read about Pendragon Squadron in Union Jack Monthly,’ said Laurence. ‘Didn’t one of them die in the War? Why didn’t his magic armour protect him?’
‘Sir Percy Welsh,’ said Frecks. ‘Shot down by boring ground guns, not any famous ace or flying witch. One of those deuced war things. High Command gave orders to bomb a German airfield as a diversion for a ground advance somewhere else along the lines. So, the Aerial Knights of Avalon took off to flatten this behind-the-lines target – only some Staff officer got the map upside down. Instead of the airfield, they blew up a hospital. Evidently, the Lady of the Lake is a stickler for codes of chivalry. Bombing the wounded – and some French nuns working as nurses – isn’t “just and true” enough. But orders is orders… and poor Sir Percy was brought down in flames. Suddenly, bullets and shells could do their job properly on him. Major Roy said the War would have been won years earlier if not for tactics that were called “expedient” if our side used them and “atrocities” if the Hun did.’
Amy supposed Frecks had a right to be cynical about the War. Her parents got killed in it, leaving her to the mercy of the odious Ralph. But Amy’s father had died as well and Mother had never really got over it – and Amy still believed in causes that were Just and True. Frecks did too, really – though her own causes, not any country’s. No one was firmer in her dedication to the ideals of the Moth Club. Frecks had been tested. She could have stayed a Black Skirt, but chose not to be. Most of the Remove would have gone Black Skirt if they could, no matter what they said now.
Headmistress’ study was cosy. Girls found perches or idly searched through drawers and cupboards while Frecks caught up with the doings of the Remove. She clucked in sympathy at stories of persecution and exclusion, but wasn’t surprised. Despite the fact that she wore magic armour, she cooed in amazement when she learned about the Aptitudes of the Unusuals. She insisted Larry demonstrate her pocket and was jolly enthusiastic when the Second put away a glass paperweight shaped like an ammonite and brought it back along with a purple copy. She chimed in with goshes and crumpetses when told tales of Thorn, Frost, Harper, Dyall and the rest.
Amy and Light Fingers searched the office while the others gabbed. Gould sniffed around locked cabinets, but they were disappointing when opened – plenty of ledgers and bills and registers, but nary a trace of explanation for the Rise of the Black Skirts.
And no clue as to where Headmistress was at present.
‘We assumed Swan was locked up,’ Amy told Frecks. ‘This was supposed to be a rescue.’
‘You were acting on limited intelligence,’ Frecks said. ‘Headmistress’s not a prisoner. She’s flown the Swanage and is hunted. The Black Skirts have standing orders to bring her in.’
‘I should have known Swan was Quarry One,’ exclaimed Gould. ‘The prime purpose of the Cerberus is Quarry One. They gave me a gown for the scent but it didn’t smell like Headmistress… more like carbolic.’
Light Fingers looked smug. ‘I know what she did,’ she couldn’t help saying. ‘It’s what I would have done. Laid a false trail, put you off the scent… I say, I suppose that’s where the expression comes from!’
‘Carbolic, yuck,’ said Gould.
Amy suspected Gould’s failure to run down Quarry One was the immediate reason for her removal. The Black Skirts might have thought she wasn’t really trying.
‘Why do the Black Skirts want Swan?’ asked Knowles. ‘I’d have thought they’d be happy she was out of the way.
‘Bainter and Downs are as Black Skirt as it’s possible for a grown-up to get,’ said Frecks, ‘but they can’t run School. The Professor gets annoyed when they don’t know things. Headmistress slipped out weeks ago. Left her false trails and went to ground.’
‘She’s abandoned Drearcliff Grange?’ said Devlin, appalled.
‘Not her,’ said Frecks. ‘She’ll be last to give up. But she’s abandoned this position and slipped into the walls. I was looking for her when I heard you girls clomping about like a herd of elephants.’
‘What’s in the walls?’ Amy asked Frecks.
‘Secret passages,’ Frecks said.
‘Of course,’ said Larry, who had a tiny crush coming on Frecks, ‘all old places have secret passages, and School is very old.’
‘This building isn’t that old, young Larry,’ said Frecks, not at all bothered by the adoration of new pets. ‘But it fits the rest of the ruin. I knew there must be a secret way up here because Dr Swan never had snow on her shoes. She got from here to assembly without going outside. Once I put the coif on and could shut out the rhyme, I started using the hidden doors. There are
quite a few if you know the signs. We’ve heaps of secret passages at Walmergrave Towers, escape routes and priest-holes… and a few nooks only I know about, where my parents left materials to do with their work. They taught me to look for things people aren’t supposed to find. They’d have loved to have your pockets, young Larry.’
‘Amy said I should be a spy,’ said Laurence. ‘And Light Fingers said I could be a diamond smuggler.’
‘Or diamond-maker,’ suggested Frecks. ‘Purple diamonds are rare and valuable.’
None of them had thought of that.
Of course, Laurence would need an ordinary white diamond in order to manufacture a fabulous fortune in duplicated purple ones. And they weren’t easy to come by, though Light Fingers had an idea where one might lay hand on a jewel or two.
‘That would be stealing,’ said Gould, shocked – she hadn’t caught up with what Light Fingers’ parents did.
‘No,’ said Frecks, ‘it would be borrowing. When Larry has made a spare, the first diamond could be put back. Can you make many spares of a thing?’
‘I’ve never tried,’ she said, suddenly eager to give it a go to please Frecks.
She pulled out another purple paperweight, and looked off-colour.
And another – which wasn’t quite an exact copy, but lopsided and with misshapen coils. Now, she was definitely green.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she said.
‘You said, “you never get anything you don’t pay for somehow”,’ Amy reminded.
Clutching her tummy, Laurence nodded.
In her rush to impress Frecks, she had forgotten.
‘Would putting your spares back help?’ Devlin asked.
Laurence nodded again, eyes watering. She put the two purple paperweights into her pocket.
‘They won’t need to be brought back. Nothing that comes from the pocket does.’
‘Your pocket is like the secret passages,’ said Frecks. ‘Only the space doesn’t have to fit into the walls or the architect’s plan. Where do you suppose the extra room comes from?’
Amy thought Paule might be able to answer that.
‘I’ve been looking for the secret doors ever since I came to Drearcliff. Just out of interest. Cupboard handles that bend the wrong way, carved fleur-de-lys with push-buttons, false book-spines attached to levers. But I only started exploring behind the walls since the Black Skirts got on to me. Those portraits of Dr Swan in gown and mortar board in all the hallways have removable eyes. If you pull out these little plugs with painted eyes on, you can peep through the holes from the passages and keep abreast of the latest news.’
‘So Headmistress prowls the place by night like a wraith,’ said Light Fingers. ‘Seeing all, doing little.’
‘Where is she now?’ asked Devlin.
‘I thought I’d found her a couple of times,’ said Frecks, ‘but Swan takes precautions. I nearly stepped in a pit with spears in, and I saw other booby traps. There’s a whole world in the walls and under School. Not just passages, but rooms. There’s an underground river, flowing to a cave on the beach – with a smugglers’ jetty. I’ve barely explored a fraction of it. Headmistress could hide for years.’
‘But we need her now,’ said Amy.
Amy and Light Fingers found a locked roll-top desk which seemed significant. The smallest purple key opened it. Inside was a large book, like a monastery Bible. Too heavy to pocket, it was chained to the desk, which was bolted to the wall. Intrigued, Amy ran her fingers over the thick cover. It was bound in leather with stiff fur. Opening the book, she saw lists and charts, handwritten and drawn. Some in code.
She remembered Paule had said ‘Knowles should read the big book.’
This book? It was big enough. It couldn’t be taken out of the study. Maybe what was in it could be borrowed, though.
‘Miss Memory, over here a mo,’ Amy said.
‘What’s up?’
‘This weighty tome. I think it’s the full map of the School Buildings and Grounds, with secret places marked and instructions on how to avoid pits of spears and the like.’
Knowles looked through the pages. Others craned around.
‘Some of this is Double Dutch,’ said Knowles.
‘Can you get it all in your head, though? Double Dutch or not?’
‘I learned Single Dutch once, so I should be able to cope about half-way. Do you want me to cram?’
Amy nodded. ‘I think that’s why you’re here.’
‘Knowles should read the big book,’ said Paule.
‘Okey-dokey,’ said Know-It-All. ‘Here goes…’
She narrowed her eyes and began turning the pages.
XI: Into the Walls
KNOWLES HAD BEEN a dedicated Spook-Spotter before they went Black Skirt Only. The society had later disbanded. As per their treatment of Mauve Mary, Black Skirts were militantly anti-ghost. Amy supposed Rayne didn’t like competition when it came to being terrifying. Thanks to her one-time enthusiasm, Know-It-All had a Psychic Investigator kit in her satchel. Most usefully, a battery torch. That – along with details of Drearcliff’s within-the-walls and under-the-basements byways now crammed into her head – equipped her to guide an expedition into secret passages.
Amy remembered Dyall was tucked behind the Budgies and decided it probably best to leave her there. In enclosed spaces, she was as dangerous to allies as the foe. The conscience twinge Amy had about this went away when she looked out of the window and saw Poppet wandering off across the Quad. She thought to call down, but decided against it. Dyall could take care of herself. She was reminded that the Remove – Unusual though they might be – were still a rabble of schoolgirls. She couldn’t expect them to be Royal Marines, holding a position under fire until orders to stand down came. She wasn’t Major Arthur Roy or General Flitcroft. She could only make suggestions. It was a wonder they’d come this far without mutiny.
Having paged through the whole of the big book, Knowles showed the strain of swallowing so much information. She had to blot blood from her ears with a hankie. Amy was concerned, but Know-It-All claimed she was all right.
‘Does it hurt?’ Frecks asked.
Knowles shook her head. ‘It’s like being stuffed after extra helpings of Christmas pudding,’ she said. ‘Only behind the eyes rather than in the tummy. It’ll settle in a moment.’
‘Where should we go?’ Amy asked.
‘I can only tell you what’s in the big book,’ said Knowles. ‘If you want the wine cellars of the Old Grange or the underground Museum of Curiosities or the Staff Turkish baths, I know the ways to get there. I can’t say whether Headmistress is in any of these places. It’s not as if she put a marker to lead us to her. That would be too easy.’
‘So that whole procedure wasn’t much use?’ said Devlin. ‘Boning up on the maps and doors?’
‘Information is always useful,’ insisted Amy. ‘Just in case.’
‘Do you know where the traps are?’ asked Frecks.
‘The old ones, yes. The ones you said Dr Swan rigged up recently ought not to be charted, but I think they are. There’s something about the big book. It changes of its own accord. If you knocked down Hypatia Hall, the labs would disappear from the map. If you put up a tea-tent on the cricket pitch, it would appear. It’s not so much a blueprint…’
‘…as a purple print,’ said Paule, clapping.
Everyone except Amy looked at her suspiciously.
‘She’s not mad,’ said Amy. ‘She’s like School. There’s the part we can all see and walk around and then there are secret passages.’
‘What’s all the persiflage about purple?’ asked Devlin. ‘It keeps coming up.’
‘I don’t know how to explain,’ said Amy. ‘I don’t think it can be explained. Having a map or book of instructions isn’t possible… though having a Dora Paule helps.’
‘I know what the Purple is,’ said Laurence. ‘My pocket is there.’
‘Yes,’ said Amy, patting Larry’s head. ‘I thi
nk so too.’
‘Let’s ask Paule where we should go, then,’ suggested Frecks. ‘We’ve got a sane person with maps in her head and she’s – sorry to say, Know-It-All – of limited use… so why not consult the oracle? She can gaze into chicken innards or a crystal ball.’
Knowles was stung by that. Amy knew she had to stick up for her.
‘Paule told us Knowles should use her Ability,’ she said. ‘It’s important to her.’
‘Knowles should read the big book,’ said Paule.
‘She’s done that,’ said Amy, trying not to be irritated. ‘What next?’
‘Into the walls and down the well,’ said Paule.
They all looked around Headmistress’s study for a well or clues to a well.
‘Should we go back to the Britannia door?’ Devlin suggested.
‘That wardrobe is a more direct way down,’ said Knowles, indicating an unexceptional item of built-in furniture.
Devlin tried to open the wardrobe. It was locked.
Light Fingers, custodian of the purple keys, picked out the correct implement and unlocked the doors. Black gowns hung inside, like curtains. Light Fingers parted them and disclosed a polished fireman’s pole. For sliding down. A ladder was fixed to the wall. For climbing up. Amy wasn’t the only girl who giggled. It was comical to imagine Headmistress using the pole or the ladder.
‘It leads to an underground crossroads,’ said Knowles. ‘Seven passages converge. It’s in the big book as Seven Dials.’
Devlin stretched her hands around the pole, taking a grip.
‘Don’t!’ said Knowles. ‘There’s a trick.’
Devlin looked puzzled… if she got caught up in something, her expressions became exaggerated. Her quizzical look practically turned her eyebrows to question marks.
She didn’t let go of the pole. A mechanism sprung with a whoosh.
Amy peered into the chimney-like space. Razor-edged blades sprouted from the walls, a little below the level of the wardrobe. Anyone sliding down the pole would get to the bottom in pieces.
‘I’ve read that book,’ said Devlin. ‘Cut to Ribbons, by Will B. Gutted.’
