Free Return of the Emerald Skull by Paul Stewart Page B

eyes, small whimpering sounds escapingfrom his cracked lips, the mud-caked games master, Mr Cripps.
    ‘W-what happened to him?’ I asked.
    The tall, hook-nosed master whose face I'd glimpsed at the window stared at me. ‘He tried to escape,’ he said, swallowing anxiously. ‘They … they … took him to see the head.’

s I stared down at the games master, a mere husk of his former self, his body drained and his mind destroyed, I heard sounds from the other side of the common-room door. Tramping footsteps and voices, getting rapidly louder as they approached along the corridor.
    ‘Follow me, Falcon House, proceed!’ The barked command came from right outside the door of the masters’ common room. I'd been careless. I'd unlocked the door with a skeleton key – and left it unlocked. The discovery was bound to give me away. I leaped forward, pulled the key from mywaistcoat pocket and slipped it into the lock.
    ‘Give me the keys, Simmonds major.’
    My heart hammered in my chest. The prefect's voice was inches away. Only the thin panel of wood separated us.
    At the sound of his command, there was a jangling of keys on a key chain. I turned my key quickly, hoping no one would hear the telltale click, and removed it – and not a moment too soon. An instant later, the prefect in the corridor thrust his own key into the lock and turned …
    Leaping back from the door, I ducked down behind an upturned armchair beside the window. The next moment, the door flew open, slamming against the wall with a thunderous
crash!
    ‘All of you, up!’ barked one of the prefects. ‘The head has work for you.’
    ‘Now!’ shouted a second, and from my hiding place I heard the sound of a heavy implement – a makeshift bludgeon or ahome-made studded club – hammering against a cupboard, splintering the wood.
    There were sighs and groans as the bound masters struggled awkwardly to their feet. One of them muttered something under his breath.
    ‘And no talking!’ bellowed the first prefect. ‘Take them to the bird hall.’
    There was more clomping of feet as the boys trooped into the room.
    ‘What about him?’ someone asked.
    ‘What, Cripps?’ the prefect said. ‘Leave him. He won't be going anywhere.’
    The boys laughed unpleasantly. I found their indifference to the master's suffering deeply shocking.
    ‘You lot! Get a move on!’ the prefect's voice sounded again. ‘The head is getting impatient!’
    As the footsteps and voices retreated, I stole a glance from behind the wrecked armchair. The last couple of teachers – bothof them escorted on either side by boys who were prodding them viciously with their makeshift weapons – were disappearing through the door. A tall prefect with red hair and a blue feathered head-dress, who was bringing up the rear, reached out and grabbed the door handle.
    Seconds later, the door slammed shut. I waited a moment, then emerged from behind the armchair, to see Mr Cripps sitting on the floor and staring out of the window, his eyes lifeless, his gaze unblinking. It was unlikely that he'd noticed a single thing that had just happened.
    ‘Here,’ I said gently as I poured him a cup of water from a chipped pitcher. ‘Drink this.’
    He neither heard me nor saw me, and when I put the cup to his cracked lips, the water simply trickled down over his chin. It was hopeless. The master was like one of those stuffed birds I'd seen earlier – hollow,lifeless … There was nothing I could do for him.
    I shuddered. I doubted there was anything
anyone
could do for him.
    The masters had been taken to the bird hall and I intended to follow them, but at a safe distance. I, for one, had no intention of being sent to the headmaster. Gripping the handle of my swordstick tightly, I set off along the corridor.
    I heard the footsteps retreating, and the sound of the masters’ protestations and appeals fading away.
    ‘Please, Ridley,’ beseeched one. ‘Stop this madness. You're a good lad at heart