Free Ribblestrop by Andy Mulligan Page B

transform himself and lead you on a ramble.”
    The headmaster turned over his notes and moved nearer to a candle.
    â€œScience lessons, yes . . . Science lessons will be underway in the very near future. We await the arrival of two new teachers, one of whom has already made her name in learned journals around the world. Professor Worthington is to be in charge of science; she is currently gathering electrical equipment in Scandinavia and hopes to be with us directly.”
    Captain Routon raised a finger. “Might be worth mentioning the Brethren, sir.”
    â€œYes, indeed: the Brethren. What about them?”
    â€œThe vow, sir.”
    â€œGood thinking. Children! We are privileged in having among us a small group of extremely devout monks, and they live in what was the old chapel and cloister, half a mile from here.”
    â€œUnderground, actually, sir. They moved.”
    â€œI thought . . . Oh. Very well, it makes no odds. The thing to remember is that if you do see them, don’t get scared. A ‘Good morning’ will suffice, though please do not press them for a response as they have undertaken a vow of silence. I won’t mention the cellars and tunnels, because they are strictly out of bounds, and locked—we did lock them, didn’t we, Routon? Can’t read my own writing here.”
    â€œThe laboratory, sir?”
    â€œI wonder if I should mention that? Yes, I think you ought to know. Every old house has its history, children, so you must understand that Lady Vyner has had various tenants, apart from our good selves. That includes, well . . . how would you describe those particular tenants, Routon?”
    â€œIt’s out of bounds, sir—that’s all I’d say.”
    â€œOh yes, absolutely, but I’m thinking it might be worth alerting the children to their presence. It’s what we call a research facility , dating back to, ooh . . . Second World War and earlier. They ignored my letters, I’m afraid—I was hoping to fix up a tour, but they like to keep themselves to themselves. It’s none of our business why, and the last thing we want is aimless wandering or exploring. In fact, our new deputy has ordered some no entry signs, which are up in my room. And that, very neatly, brings me to the last item: Miss Hazlitt, who is actually on her way even now. I’m a little surprised she’s not here already, some delay most likely. I ought to say just a few words about Miss Hazlitt because we are very lucky indeed to have her. She’s going to be a very important member of this community and brings with her a wealth of experience and new ideas. She had retired, but agreed, after the events of last term—”
    â€œDo you think it’s time for rum ration, sir? While you’re talking?”
    â€œRum ration? Oh, yes . . .”
    One boy was snoozing—a high-pitched snore buzzed from a roll of plastic. And most of the orphans had glazed eyes.
    â€œJust the one peg, sir?”
    â€œNo more than one. I should just say, boys, that rum is a tradition at the finest schools, and as the heating system here is . . . primitive, well—a tot of rum keeps out the chill. Captain Scott served it on his way south, and it certainly kept me going in the Himalayas even after we lost the tents. Where was I? Miss Hazlitt, yes. On her way. So! We’ll sing the school song, which means I am required to teach it to you. I wrote it myself, last night. It is a work in progress , so to speak—so . . . stand up, everybody!”
    The headmaster reached into the gloom by his feet and picked up an accordion. Its leather straps were awkward, and the stage he stood upon rocked a little if he moved too quickly.
    â€œAnjoli . . . is that your name?”
    One of the orphans smiled and jumped to his feet, shaking himself awake. Spiky hair refused to sit still under his