Lady Vyner was silent this time.
‘Why don’t you come and see me?’ she said. ‘Disguise yourself again and we can talk face to face.’
‘I need a down payment. Nothing happens till I’ve seen your money.’
‘I can show you cash, Cuthbertson. Cash is not the problem.’
‘I’ll be with you today, then.’
‘No. Another inmate’s on the way, delivered this evening. Come in the morning and we’ll draw up a nice little contract together.’ Lady Vyner laughed. ‘I’m putting my faith in you. You tried to drown that little girl, didn’t you? That’s what we need! A bit of aggression. Can’t you organise a forest fire? You know where they are, I take it?’
‘I’ve got an eye in the sky.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘An ex-pilot – air-reconnaissance.’
‘Give him some napalm.’
‘It might be easier just to give the police the right tip-off – get those teachers arrested.’
‘Excellent! Sort out the details.’
That same evening, Lady Vyner’s doorbell rang long and loud.
She was waiting, of course. The letter of introduction had dropped onto the mat the previous day. A new inmate was arriving, requiring ‘special care’. Rose was the woman’s name and the letter suggested she was wealthy. Expense, not a problem had been scrawled under an undecipherable signature and a credit card had been clipped to the paper.
She looked around for Crippen. He was asleep and not even a crack across the knees stirred him. Her coat was missing and the bell rang again. Caspar had left a spare blazer on the hook, so she yanked it over her nightdress and started down the winding staircase. The hallway was dimly lit, for every window had been covered in steel mesh. When she hauled open the main door, she was confronted by an alarming sight and it stopped her in her tracks. Two tiny adults stood either side of a giant nurse. They were pushing a battered-looking wheelchair, which contained a slumped form, dozing or unconscious. It wore a wide-brimmed hat and heavy make-up.
‘Are you Lady Vyner?’ piped one of the minders.
‘Yes.’ She looked at the letter again. ‘This is Auntie Rose, is it? We don’t take corpses here. She’s still alive, I hope?’
Sam smiled through his disguise. He was wearing the headmaster’s jacket and Doonan’s pith helmet. Beside him, Vijay was wrapped in one of Professor Worthington’s summer dresses.
‘Oh yes,’ they said together.
‘It’s been quite a job wheeling her here,’ continued Sam. ‘She’s a bit sleepy, but happy to be home.’ He put his lips to the old lady’s ear and spoke loudly. ‘We’re here, Auntie Rose. You’re in good hands now!’
‘How are you paying?’ said Lady Vyner. ‘That card you sent?’
‘All taken care of,’ barked Vijay. ‘Can we get her upstairs? It’s way past her bedtime.’
Before Lady Vyner could frame a reply, the giant nurse had lifted the wheelchair past her and it was rolling down the corridor. The little adults scuttled after it and they were soon climbing the stairs.
‘She’ll be no trouble!’ warbled Sam.
‘She doesn’t eat or drink,’ cried Vijay. ‘Where’s her room?’
It took five minutes to get to Lady Vyner’s apartment.
Sam felt his heart go cold, for he remembered an encounter in his first term, when he’d had to get the old woman drunk. Vijay recalled the incident halfway through the second term, when Caspar had shot her clean through the shoulder and she had slapped Captain Routon as he stemmed the blood-flow. They could see stains on the carpet and new parts of the ceiling had collapsed. Something scuttled over the rafters above and the hot water tank in the bathroom chose that moment to gulp and groan. The noise from the television was deafening.
‘What a lovely lounge,’ said Sam, as they nosed into it.
‘It won’t be for her,’ said Lady Vyner. ‘She’s next door, in my grandson’s bedroom.’
They moved on, receiving friendly nods from the elderly guests on the sofa, who were sipping tea. They passed a kitchen full of stinks and stains, and there was a smell of burning from something that had boiled dry on the stove. Whether it was food or old underwear was impossible to say. The boys had never seen Caspar’s quarters before and Sam couldn’t silence a sharp intake of breath as the door swung open to reveal the saddest little cell he’d ever visited. Badly-made model aircraft hung listlessly from the ceiling and there was a grainy photograph of a baby in the arms of two mournful-looking parents. They all recognised the eyes as Caspar’s and remembered with a prickling of guilt that nobody had really asked about the poor boy’s Easter holidays and his period of incarceration. Nor had they ever asked about what had happened to his parents and why he’d had the bad luck to be living with such a monster of a grandmother.
A grey shirt hung on a coathanger, like the ghost of the child himself. The wardrobe yawned, emptily. A jigsaw was half-done on the carpet and there was a dirty cup with one dead cockroach stuck to the bottom. A Post-it note clung to the bed-head, for the child had been counting off his days of confinement. There were two clusters of five and an extra line in wobbly biro.
‘Was he here long?’ said Sam.
‘Who?’
‘Your grandson?’
Lady Vyner smiled. ‘Eleven days. I was trying to teach him gratitude, but what was the point? Children don’t know the meaning of the word any more.’ She poked Auntie Rose’s shoulder. ‘She’s waking up. What do you think of the room, you?’
‘L-lovely,’ whispered Auntie Rose. The word stuck in her throat.
‘It’s got the best views in the house,’ said Lady Vyner. ‘So I’ll be charging a supplement. We share the bathroom and Crippen serves a hot meal every Friday. I suppose you’ll want to say goodbye now and get to bed?’
‘Lady Vyner,’ said Sam, boldly, ‘may we clean up a bit, before we go? So as to help our auntie settle?’
‘Clean up where?’
‘In here. So it’s all . . . nice and fresh.’
‘I cleaned it yesterday. Where’s the mess?’
‘It is a lovely room,’ piped Vijay, ‘but shouldn’t we . . . open the windows, perhaps? Or do a bit of dusting?’
Lady Vyner chuckled. ‘You do what you want. If your standards are higher than mine, you sort it out. Put her to bed and call me when you’re done. I’ll give you ten minutes, then it’s lights out.’
The children watched her stomp off down the landing.
‘Crippen!’ she called. ‘Keep an eye on these people! Don’t let them pilfer . . .’
As soon as the door closed, Doctor Ellie leapt up from the wheelchair and tore off her disguise.
‘She’s an ogre!’ she cried. ‘She’s a disgrace!’
‘Shhh!’ hissed Vijay. ‘We’ve got no time to lose. Let’s get Caspar out.’
They tilted the wheelchair backwards and removed the plywood seat. Caspar Vyner was scrunched inside the recess, his knees around his ears and his fists under his chin. He emerged with his mouth wide open, gasping with pain. He was lifted onto the bed and surrounded by a ring of determined faces.
‘Where exactly did you see it, dear?’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘Up in the roof?’
Caspar managed to nod.
‘How did you get up there?’ said Sam. ‘Is there a hatch or a door?’
‘You’d better be sure about this, Cas,’ said Vijay. ‘If we get caught she’s likely to murder us.’
Caspar nodded again, but was too stiff to point. ‘I’m sure!’ he squeaked. ‘I . . . got . . . through the ceiling. In the – ow! – bathroom. I was slopping out and—’
‘Too risky to go that way,’ said Vijay. ‘We’ll try through here and cut across. Give me a leg up, Hen.’
In fact, he hardly needed one. He was on top of the wardrobe in seconds, leaping from Henry’s forearm, and Sam was right there behind him. The plaster above their heads was so old and brittle that it broke under their fingers. An army of rats ran f
or their lives as light broke in on the mess of the Vyner attic. It was stuffed with rotting clutter and the boys pushed through with difficulty. In less than a minute, though, they were standing upright on the rafters, hauling Caspar behind them. They all had torches and the beams cut through thick clouds of dust.
‘Don’t make a sound!’ hissed Caspar. ‘She’ll hear us on her side!’
There was a whistle from below. ‘Pull me up, boys!’ hissed Doctor Ellie.
Sam knelt down and put his head back into the bedroom. ‘I think you’d better stay down there, miss. You can make a break for the stairs, later.’
‘Not on your life,’ cried Doctor Ellie. She was pulling on a dark balaclava, which matched her boiler-suit. The Auntie Rose disguise was on the bed. ‘You’re a thoughtful boy, Samuel and I love you dearly. But I am not missing this moment – not for anything in the world.’
She got a foot onto Henry’s knee and then his shoulder. He took her feet in his giant hands and pushed her up past Sam into the recess of the attic. Sam watched in awe as she ascended. Henry turned and quickly rearranged the old lady’s wig on the pillow. He drew the sheet neatly up to its edge and clambered up to join his friends.
The dust was settling around them and the timbers of the roof-space were emerging from the gloom. They were in a witch’s hat of beams and struts, all furred over with birds’ nests and cobwebs. Torches in their teeth, they climbed higher, clinging with their legs. The rats still squeaked in protest and fluttering things squawked in terror, but the intruders took no notice. There was something large under the apex and they inched towards it. Minutes later, they were squashed together, hunched in the dust like bats. They trained their torches on the thing they’d come for and Doctor Ellie reached up to touch it. It was pale grey and mottled with indentations. Under the grey – for she was rubbing a patch with a trembling forefinger – it was as white as sawn ivory.
‘Oh Caspar,’ she said.
‘What, miss?’
She couldn’t go on. She gulped and tried again. ‘You have made an old lady very happy. You’re a beautiful boy.’
‘Well done, kid,’ said Vijay, quietly.
‘You actually came right up here, by yourself?’ asked Sam.
‘I was starving! I was desperate . . .’
‘You’re a hero,’ said Doctor Ellie. ‘Pure and simple. And when I write the history of the lost tribe of Ribblemoor, there will be a special acknowledgement of your courage. This discovery will be talked about for hundreds of years. It’s the missing piece, no doubt about it.’
Caspar’s face turned pink under the grime. ‘It was just lucky I saw it,’ he said.
‘History, eh?’ said Doctor Ellie. She had her breath back and managed to stand. In a moment, she was running her hands right round the stone, tracing those familiar patterns of moons and suns, dots and dashes. She had her nose against them and she could feel that, of all the three pieces, this was the most perfectly preserved. ‘History is often made safe by recycling,’ she whispered. ‘The original piece – when it was one stone, I mean – must have been broken up on purpose. The tribe may have broken it themselves, you know. Perhaps they wanted their code to remain secret forever? Perhaps they deliberately sent the pieces to the three corners of the moor, so they’d never be found and joined . . . And then your ancestors discovered this one, Caspar. They dug it up and felt its magic . . .’ She stroked the surface again. ‘They must have sensed the charge – that crackle of energy, deep as magnetism. “Where shall we put it?” said the one who found it. “How can we utilise this force?” And someone must have said . . .’
‘“The tower,”’ hissed Caspar. ‘“We’ll put it in the tower.”’
‘Like a lodestone. Like a lucky-charm. Like the lamp of a lighthouse.’
There was a respectful silence.
‘And it’s been shining ever since, boys.’
‘Miss,’ said Sam. ‘I think we’d better get it down. Do you think Miles is ready?’
‘He’d better be,’ said Vijay. ‘We can’t do anything without him.’ He turned to Henry. ‘Do the roof, Hen. Quiet as you can.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Timmy Fox saw the hatch in the roof open.
He was making another recce at that very moment, taking photographs from a new angle. By extraordinary coincidence, he was glancing at the south tower just as Henry’s powerful arm emerged, and he soon had it in his viewfinder. Henry’s head appeared next and, in a moment, the boy had twisted around and was pulling off roof-slates. He passed them back inside and, in less than five minutes, the top of the tower was stripped. The pilot could just make out the five figures gathered under the rafters.
He tapped a number into his phone.
‘Foxter here,’ he said, when Cuthbertson answered. ‘Strange goings-on at Ribblestrop. Thought you ought to know.’
‘What can you see? Where are you?’
‘I can see . . . Hang on. Development: there are children crossing the lawn. I need to get lower.’
‘No you don’t. You’re paid for reconnaissance only. What can you see?’ Cuthbertson’s voice was tense.
‘They’re all carrying equipment . . .’
‘What are they doing, Foxy? You said something strange . . .’
‘There’s a little gang of them clambering out of the tower roof. There’s another band down on the ground with . . . it looks like ropes and pulleys.’
‘Take photos. We’re not going in.’
‘There’s a fair-haired boy. It’s him, Cuthbertson!’
‘Who?’
‘The one who gave me the gobstopper!’
‘I don’t care about that! What’s he doing?’
‘He’s got a bow and arrow, the blighter. He’s aiming upwards.’
‘Stay out of range!’
‘There’s a string attached. He’s signalling to the ones on the roof. What on earth are they up to?’
Henry was now perched on the tip of the roof and was pulling at the Ribblestrop weathercock. Sam, Caspar and Vijay were close by, a little lower. It was a big golden bird and it was cemented onto the topmost point of the tower. Lumps of masonry were soon falling and in another moment the thing was teetering madly. Henry dropped it to Caspar and Vijay, who stowed it safely. The great white stone was now exposed, like a worn tooth awaiting extraction.
Sam gave Miles a confident wave and his first arrow soared upwards, carrying thirty metres of fine thread. The tip was blunted of course, so when it bounced off Henry’s back it did no damage. Sam caught it and started to pull. The thread drew a line of string and the string drew a line of rope. The rope was tied to a cable, and Doctor Ellie helped pull so that in a short time they had a block and tackle in their hands. Henry wrenched the rafters back and put his arms round the stone. It was huge and it was heavy, but they’d lifted more awkward loads in their time. Vijay slung a rope round it and used a train-coupling knot he’d discovered in a library book. It was a knot that, once tight, could draw railway carriages, and he linked it to the cable with a steel clasp Eric had forged for the purpose. Henry took the strain over his back and Doctor Ellie watched her prize topple from its nest. It sank slowly towards the ground.
Miles, Asilah and Eric let it down carefully. Then, as soon as it touched the courtyard, Sam slid after it. Doctor Ellie followed his lead and Asilah was there to receive her as she stepped onto the courtyard. She was drunk on adrenalin.
‘Hurry,’ said Miles. ‘If the old crow looks out the window—’
‘She’ll be pissed by now,’ said Caspar, who had jumped the last five metres, and rolled paratrooper-style in the gravel. ‘She’ll be off her face.’
‘Even so,’ said Asilah. ‘Let’s get back to the camp. You did well, guys.’
‘We’ll have to leave the pulley,’ said Eric, and he hauled the ropes through. Then he smiled. ‘What’s going to happen when it rains?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’ve taken half the roof off. Her flat’s goi
ng to get flooded.’
‘Good,’ said Caspar. ‘Let’s hope she drowns.’
‘What about Auntie Rose?’ said Doctor Ellie, starting to laugh. ‘What will your gran say when she sees that Rose isn’t there any more?’
‘She‘ll think she’s dead,’ said Sam, grinning. ‘She won’t realise for days!’
‘Look,’ said Miles. ‘There’s that balloon again. Shall we give them a wave?’
Everyone looked up and waved joyfully. Doctor Ellie was laughing hard and knew she was slightly hysterical. She looked at the precious stone and closed her eyes. She said a quick, silent prayer, thanking God for the ingenuity of children, and gave the thing a quick hug. Henry plucked it up and balanced it on his shoulder.
They crossed the lawns together, as fast as they could. Caspar was twirling and dancing, and Vijay was singing. The balloon rose higher – they could just see a burst of flame as the pilot lit the gas. It became a dot, high above the earth, and they forgot all about it. They reached the camp in time for supper and the headmaster brought his car as close as he could, so the stone could be taken, at once, to the safety of the Ribblestrop Museum.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ex-Inspector Cuthbertson called a high-level strategy meeting the very next day. The venue was his ice-cream van, which he’d driven onto to the edge of Ribblemoor. Its freezers had been stripped out and there was now a bank of storage lockers and radio equipment. Photographs of the Ribblestrop children were taped around the walls; the face of Andreas Sanchez was circled in red. Timmy Fox and Mr Ian squashed themselves onto stools as the wind howled across the wilderness and rattled the windows.
‘Update me,’ said Cuthbertson.
‘We’ve agreed base camp,’ said Mr Ian. ‘It’s a car park beside Flashing Tor, and we’ve agreed the date, as well. We’ll be camping there next Tuesday and pushing forward the next day.’
‘Outward bound?’ said Timmy. ‘What’s the plan, exactly?’
Cuthbertson met his gaze. ‘As far as you’re concerned, it’s flying a balloon in difficult weather conditions. We’ve got a job to do and you’re going to be our eyes.’