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

and landed firmly on his backside.  The
other Seniors, also unsighted and bundling in behind him, all ended up in a
heap on the floor, either by sliding on the water-slick or stumbling over him.
    Then,
just as the reinforcements from Marlborough were arriving, we pounced from Freddie’s
bed and set about the Seniors with our pillows.  They were routed.
    Most
of the Seniors took the clobbering with very good humour, calling “Mercy!” or
“I surrender!”  Four of them picked themselves up from the floor and beat a
battered retreat.  But not Vanderpump.  He went on a furious rampage, flapping
his pillow around wildly and battering everyone within a six foot radius of
him.
    He
then threw his pillow onto the floor and began to lash out crazily with fists. 
He caught Peregrine firmly on the chest.  Peregrine staggered backwards and
shouted, “Oy, Vanderpump!  What the hell do you think you’re playing
at?”
    “Shut
up, you little turd,” Vanderpump fumed.  “Ah, there you are, Turnpike!”
    His
eyes had obviously adjusted to the darkness and he lurched straight towards
me.  I was standing by the edge of my bed, exchanging pillow-blows with one of
the twins, when Vanderpump thumped me heftily in the midriff.  As I floundered
backwards, struggling vainly to seize a breath, he threw me to the floorboards. 
I slid backwards past Algie’s bed.  Algie burst into tears.
    “Whoa
there,” cautioned one of the twins.  “Go easy on him, Hector.”
    “Yeah,
go easy on him,” added the other, with a note of genuine concern.
    “Oh
I don’t think so!” replied Vanderpump.  “No.  This one’s for the high jump!”
    From
what I could tell, everyone had stopped fighting by this point and stood where
they had been, near the door, watching Vanderpump in surprise and fear.  I had
ended up in a heap by the window with Vanderpump bearing down upon me.  I was
still winded and, having landed on the wooden floor on my right elbow, I had
pain shooting along my forearm to my right hand.
    “Vanderpump,
what on Earth’s the matter with you?” shouted Freddie, obviously no
longer concerned that a Master might hear.
    “Another
word out of any of you,” growled Vanderpump menacingly, “and you’ll all
spend the rest of your lives in Detention.”
    I
struggled to get up onto my feet.  I was determined not to let him have the
better of me, even though I knew this was idiocy because he was twice my size. 
He looked totally maniacal, twitching with humiliation and fury.
    “I
suppose that was your idea, the water?” he spat, evidently having
already decided upon the answer to the question.
    “Yes,”
I replied defiantly, jutting my chin, and added, “What are you going to do
about it?”
    That
was it.  He was now utterly berserk.  Roaring, he wrapped his left hand around
my throat and lifted me bodily from the floor.  Everyone in the room was too
shocked to move.
    Everyone,
that was, but Algie.  Amazingly, Algie, of all people, sprang from his bed and
charged at Vanderpump, yelling, and began to pound him about the back with both
fists.  But Algie’s efforts were futile.  As I dangled with my feet flapping about
a foot off the ground and spluttering and struggling to breathe, Vanderpump
brutally backhanded Algie about the face and onto the floor.  Then he issued me
a cracking, resounding wallop to the jaw.
    But,
in the heartbeat moment before his mallet-fist made its crunching contact with
my face, the lights were on.  I was blinded by the sudden illumination and
deafened by the ringing in my ears as I was dropped to the floor.  There was a
metallic taste in my mouth.
    “ Vanderpump ,”
boomed Doctor Saracen’s voice, “what the hell’s going on in here?”
    There
was no reply.
    “Right. 
You lot, in bed now !  Turnpike, Foxtrap, I’ll send the Duty Matron to
see to you.  You three,” he said to Vanderpump and the Bearbaiter twins, “are
coming with me.”

eight
     
    The
story of the previous