Free The Quickening of Tom Turnpike (The Talltrees Trilogy) by W. E. Mann

to our dorm.
    “Where
the deuce have you two been?” asked Pontevecchio.  He had his hands on his hips
and was raising his voice in an effort to sound as if he was annoyed with us. 
But it was a feeble act.  Pontevecchio was one of those people who were just
far too relaxed to get annoyed with anyone.
    “Terribly
sorry, Ponty,” replied Freddie.  “We were in the Library and lost track of
time.”  One of our dorm-mates snorted.  “Has Barrington been around?”
    “Not
yet, luckily for you.  Righto, chaps,” he announced, “lights out.”
    He
flicked the switch on his way out.
     
    ***
     
    Portico
was the smallest dormitory in the school.  It had just seven beds.  But without
Milo, who was taken to the Sick Bay the previous night, we were down to six: 
    Freddie,
as dorm head, had his bed to the left of the door as you entered.  How on Earth
Freddie had ever been made dorm head was a mystery to all of us and had become
something of a joke in Form Three.  We could only suppose that it had something
to do with the fact that he was very good at getting people to do what he
wanted.  But the fact that what he wanted people to do was often against the
school rules was obviously not a factor that the teachers had taken into
account when they decided that he was head-of-dorm material; 
    Next
to him was Yannick Anderson.  He was the tallest boy in our year by a long
stretch and was brilliant at sport.  He usually kept quite quiet, but
occasionally told stories after lights-out that were so terrifying that they
almost rivalled Freddie’s;
    Next
to his bed was Milo’s, whose bed-sheets looked sadly deflated;
    The
next bed around was that of Algie Foxtrap.  He was a small, quiet and obedient
type with asthma, thick glasses and, more often than not, a matron’s note
excusing him from PE.  I think that in most schools, Algie was the sort of boy
who would suffer from merciless bullying.  But for some reason, whenever
someone tried to pick on him, we all rallied.  It wasn’t as if he was especially
generous or friendly really.  In fact he was so protective of his stationery
that he would never lend anyone a pencil sharpener.  But I think perhaps we
each recognised in him some of our own weaknesses, the ones we tried to keep
hidden from view, and so we defended him;
    After
Algie was Reginald Pickering.  He was a strapping lad with a swarthy walk like
he had just jumped off a horse and was strutting through the swinging doors of
a saloon in the Wild West.  He spoke with a slight, at times almost
tongue-in-cheek, cockney accent which of course immediately melted into BBC
pronunciation as soon as he was speaking to a teacher.  He had an incredible
memory for bawdy jokes and could down a bottle of milk in under three seconds;
    Next
around from Reggie was Peregrine Trout, who had broken the news of Milo’s
disappearance on the way to Showers that morning;
    Finally,
as always last in alphabetical order, was me, the other side of the door from
Freddie.
    “Right,
listen up you lot,” whispered Freddie.  “Turnpike and I have been doing some
serious espionage and we have found out that some of the guys from
Wolfhall are going to raid us at one tonight.”
    “Brilliant!”
exclaimed Yannick. “I love pillow-fights.”
    It
was easy enough for him to say; he wasn’t the intended victim of a thorough
beating.  In any event, Yannick was simply one of those boys whom Seniors would
never pick upon, not least, I imagine, because he was taller than a fair number
of them.
    “I’ve
got an idea,” I said.  “We know they’re coming and we know when, right?  So
let’s be ready.  Let’s ambush them.”
    “I
know!” said Reggie enthusiastically, “One of us should go and get a beaker of
water to balance on top of the door just before they get here, right?”
    “Perfect,”
I said.  “Vanderpump’s bound to come in first.  Okay, so here’s the plan. 
Reggie, you go and get a beaker of water in a few