Oli stared at what Sam was carrying.
‘Jake. What did I just say?’ he said, in a voice squeaking with astonishment.
‘You said you wished you had your submarine,’ said Ruskin. ‘Oh! Sam! What an inspiration! Sanjay! Plan E, section thirty-two. We can do it! We’ve got the sub.’
Sanjay squelched back to the shore, rubbing his hands.
‘You sure about this, Oli?’ he said.
‘Yes. I’m sure Millie won’t mind when I explain. You see, it’s hers really.’
‘There won’t be anything left,’ said Sanjay. ‘You clear about that?’
He picked up a watertight package and Ruskin directed the torch. Oli went down on his knees and started to unscrew a nose-panel. He had pliers in his pocket, so the wiring alterations were not a problem.
‘She’s going to lose buoyancy,’ he said. ‘The charge is going to weigh her down. Mmm, it would be best if I swam with her, till we get the speed up.’
Sanjay started to strip. ‘You can’t even swim,’ he said.
Sam packed the explosive and Oli improvised a fusing system. He hated working at this kind of pace and was horribly aware that if he pressed the switch by accident, there’d be a huge detonation immediately under his nose – a detonation that would take his head off. However, he was not going to confess to these fears and he carried on cutting and fixing.
They could hear the shouts of the men getting louder and louder. It looked as if three of them now were in the water, dragging at the boat. Meanwhile, the rest of the orphans were walking out towards them on the wire.
Sanjay was shivering as he took the sub. Sam started the motors and, once the propellers were spinning, they lowered it into the shallows of the lake. It did feel heavy, but Sanjay kept pace with it, taking some of its weight. The little craft picked up speed and Sanjay started to swim. A few metres more and it was on its own; soon it reached maximum velocity and that was just enough to keep its central-stack proud of the water.
Oli walked out into the mud, his eyes only on the vessel. He balanced the motors so that it followed a gentle curve out towards the stricken speedboat.
As they watched, the speedboat started to move.
The shouts of rage had turned to cheers. The Cuthbertsons had tried one last time to heave the vessel upwards and – astonishingly – they must have timed it perfectly with Darren’s pressing on the throttle. The keel was suddenly hauling itself through the mud, upwards and onwards. It took a good ten seconds to get completely clear and then it shot forward. Darren eased the rudder round, to return for the swimmers – and so for another half-minute the speedboat was still.
Oli, Ruskin, Sam, and Sanjay were all gathered by the radio set. They watched the boat rock and right itself – the four men were inside. Oli adjusted the starboard motor and the sub veered to the left a little. He could see how critical it was. The tightrope-walkers were coming, but they weren’t going to make it. The speedboat was turning away from them. He pushed the sub’s motor to maximum and its mosquito-whine screeched out over the lake. It was so close!
Had Father O’Hanrahan been able to help, they might have won those critical seconds – they may have just got away with it. It was not to be.
The submarine hit the port-side of the speedboat just below the waterline and Oli detonated the explosives. There was a burst of fire and water and the tail of the boat was lifted high. Fragments of fibreglass were blown upwards and the engine simply dropped away.
The four men were back in the water.
Imagio stopped in the smoke and the line of orphans gathered behind him, to stare as the swimmers floundered beneath them.
The youngest one – Darren – struck out for the nearest shore, immediately. The policeman and his brother turned and seemed unable to decide what to do – then they also started to swim.
The old man, however, was having problems staying afloat. He was holding something in a red cloth and it was dragging him down. As the orphans watched, the red cloth came away in his hands and something heavy slipped into the depths of the lake.
The old man looked stricken and he flapped helplessly in the water.
Anjoli sat down on the wire. ‘Anyone want to rescue him?’ he said.
‘No,’ said Israel.
‘I don’t,’ said Vijay.
‘I want to watch him drown,’ said Eric.
‘Come on,’ said Asilah, shrugging off his blazer. ‘We’d better get him.’
‘No way,’ said Anjoli. ‘He called me a dumb heathen. I asked him one little question.’
Asilah said, ‘Doonie liked him. Let’s get him out for Doonie.’
He stepped over Anjoli and walked along the wire. Father O’Hanrahan was gasping below him, too weak to use his arms. The boy prepared to dive, when a curious thing happened.
Father O’Hanrahan was treading water and he might have lasted. He was cold and seeing the sword slip from his hands had broken his heart. Asilah would probably have got him to the shore, though, and he would have survived.
It was Victor the crocodile who did for him.
She had been nosing around constantly, ever since Darren threw the lighted match. So many legs had appeared, creating so much disturbance. She’d seen Anjoli and backed off – Anjoli had kicked her too many times already, trying to motivate her. She’d been very tempted by Gary Cuthbertson and his meaty calves, but the whining engine had unnerved her. The old man, however, was kicking gently and the engines had stopped. It was peaceful in the gloom and the legs had a slow-motion attractiveness. He was likely to be a fatty dish, but there was plenty of him: that, to a crocodile with babies to feed, was important. She came from the depths, and waited till the man’s legs were wide apart. Then she slammed upwards into him, grasping a thigh in powerful jaws.
Crocodiles do not kill their victims by tearing them to pieces. The tearing comes later. They kill by rolling their prey deep underwater; they use their jaws to grip and hold – they need only hold for a minute and the victim will drown. The lungs fill and the body sinks. It’s an easy job, then, to drag the meat deeper still, and nose it into a suitable shelf of rock, where it will lie until it’s needed.
Father O’Hanrahan drowned quickly and not a mouthful went to waste.
Epilogue
I
Time passed and the end of term approached.
Professor Worthington supervised the refilling of the lake with Brother Rees. Only half had been drained, and as there was a heavy rainfall for the next five days, it was soon full. The swollen River Strop had done little damage, so what could have been a disaster for the town was averted.
Meanwhile, the headmaster interviewed each child in his study.
He was determined to build up a narrative so as to understand the extraordinary events, and might have done so had he not been constantly interrupted by Lady Vyner. She haunted his office demanding not just her rent, but interest and compensation. After one particularly difficult meeting, Captain Routon and Flavio found the headmaster with his head in his hands. On the rafters above, the parrots were pretending to be both ringing telephones and shouting old women, and the poor man was nearly in tears.
‘I can’t even pay the butcher,’ he cried. ‘The tigers alone—’
‘We’ll be on the road soon,’ said Flavio. ‘We’ll be making money.’
He was referring to the circus, of course. The orphans were packing the tent even as he spoke.
‘Maybe, but it’s all a question of cash flow . . .’
‘We’ve been in tighter spots than this, sir?’
‘I’m just longing for a little good news.’
‘Well, the Cuthbertsons have disappeared – that’s pretty good. Seems like they had a car waiting and there’s no trace at the moment. Course the police look after their own, we all know that, but—’
‘That’s good riddance. Let’s hope they’ve gone for good.’
‘We do have another little complication, though, sir.’
‘Wha
t?’
Captain Routon paused and looked at Flavio. ‘We didn’t want to worry you with it, but . . . it’s becoming major.’
‘Scanlon,’ said Flavio.
‘Who on earth is Scanlon?’
‘The football scout. He was supposed to take Imagio last week, sir, but what with all the excitement, we’ve been putting it off.’
‘Absolutely right. The boy was exhausted – they all were.’
‘He’s downstairs, sir. Yesterday, as well. He’s got that contract in his hand and he says he wants the handover – or we’ll be in breach and liable to . . . litigation. He says we’re now holding the boy against his will.’
The headmaster closed his eyes. ‘Oh dear. Where’s Imagio?’
Flavio looked at Routon again. ‘This is the problem,’ he said. ‘We can’t find him nowhere.’
‘What?’
‘We’ve been looking for him for two days. One boy says he’s in one place, so we go there. Then Anjoli says he’s just left and goes off to fetch him and he never comes back. We go down to the lake, we go back to the tent. He’s disappeared.’
‘Have you asked Sam? They were playing football together this morning.’
‘Sam says he’s with Tomaz. And then Tomaz say he’s with you.’
‘Oh Lord . . . What’s the time?’
‘Ten past ten.’
The headmaster turned to the latest timetable. ‘I know exactly where he’ll be right now. It’s Clarissa’s science lesson and she wouldn’t let him miss that – let’s bring Scanlon in and get the job done.’
The three men walked down to the courtyard and there, in the back seat of a large black car, sat Arthur Scanlon. He wound down the window.
‘At last,’ he said. ‘I’m sick to death of this town and this school.’
‘We’ve had rather a lot going on.’
‘I just want to be on my way. It’s a big day for the boy, I’ll say that – he’s bound to be nervous. It’s a big day for football, as well. Where is the little chap?’
‘I’ll show you.’
‘Packed and ready, is he?’ Mr Scanlon climbed wearily onto the drive. ‘My phone has hardly stopped ringing – he’s a valuable commodity, you know.’
‘He’s with our Director of Science at the moment, so you might have to hang on for half an hour.’
‘I wish I could, sir, but I’ve just rearranged his press call in Exeter. Then we’ll drive on to London; we’ve lost far too much time.’
They made for the Tower of Science, Flavio leading.
‘We’re getting the press in right from the start,’ said Scanlon. ‘He’s the youngest we’ve signed, you see, so we’re going to splash it about a bit. One of the TV companies is interested too, which is nice. There’s a dinner at seven, which is more press again. He’s a handsome lad, isn’t he? We’ve had a lot of sponsorship interest, already, just from the photos. Do you know that outfit in Malaysia, Toy Factory?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Biggest toy manufacturers in the world. Not just sporty stuff, all sorts. They’ve made a bid for some TV ads. That boy’s face is going to be all round the world.’
Mr Scanlon had to stop for breath. ‘Fair few stairs, eh? By the way . . .’
‘What?’
The party set off again.
‘We’re not going to say much about Ribblestrop. We’ve changed the story a bit – it’s for the press mainly and this documentary they’re making. We’re going to say we found him in a Brazilian slum. Rio de Janeiro.’
‘He’s from Colombia,’ said Captain Routon.
‘Ah, but he’s got no passport, has he? So what we’re going to do is say he’s Brazilian – fix him up with papers, make it all legal, and that way we get sponsorship from FruitiFibro, that’s the Brazilian drinks company. You see, the only thing people know about Colombia is drugs – we can’t have that.’
‘Nearly there.’
‘Back to school, eh?’ laughed Scanlon. ‘What lesson’s he in at the moment?’
‘Science,’ said the headmaster.
‘Poor kid. Nice day like this, he must be bored out of his skull.’
Captain Routon knocked and the four men stepped into the room. Every child looked around, abruptly, and there was total silence.
‘Headmaster,’ said Professor Worthington, politely.
‘Clarissa. I’m so sorry to interrupt.’
‘You’ve come at the perfect moment. The digestion project’s really taken off. Good morning, everybody – boys?’
‘Good morning,’ they said, in chorus.
‘We were looking for Imagio,’ said Flavio. ‘Mr Scanlon’s been waiting for him.’
‘Oh,’ said Professor Worthington. ‘How unfortunate.’
It wasn’t quite clear what the class was up to, but it appeared to be in the middle of something unusual. The desks had been pushed back and Professor Worthington was in the centre of a scrum of children. Whatever she was demonstrating was concealed by the crowd. Some boys were kneeling and appeared to be holding stethoscopes.
‘I never understood science,’ whispered Scanlon to Flavio. ‘I was a bit thick.’
‘We’ve got an unfortunate clash of interests, Mr Scanlon,’ said Professor Worthington. She was trying not to smile. ‘I’m afraid Imagio’s rather involved in an experiment at the moment.’
Scanlon laughed. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s . . .’
‘He’s in a rather awkward position,’ said Sam.
Anjoli said, ‘I wouldn’t try moving him. Not till we sedate her.’
Mr Scanlon was intrigued. He stepped forward to see and the circle of children shifted. The headmaster, Flavio, and Captain Routon also moved in, aware that there was something big and cylindrical laid out on a bench. A number of wires hung from the ceiling, attaching themselves to what looked like a very large pair of jaws.
‘Move back, Vijay. Caspar, get out of the way.’
The four men saw it then. It was the python and its mouth was gaping so wide that its jaws were dislocated. Its eyes were wide, as if it was straining. They blinked once, then bulged a little more.
‘It’s a snake,’ said Scanlon. He took a pace back.
‘It was his turn, Mr Scanlon,’ said the professor. ‘I’m very strict – they all get a chance. There is no other way to understand how a snake absorbs its food.’
‘So where’s the boy?’ said Scanlon. His eyes were darting from the snake, around the circle. He noticed Millie, who was grinning at him. He went forward again and peered nervously into the python’s mouth. A brown face stared back at him, taut with concentration.
‘Hi,’ said Imagio.
The man looked around the circle again, totally at sea.
‘I’m OK,’ said Imagio. ‘You can feel the acid though, man. It’s all down my back—’
‘He’s being eaten! Do something!’ said Scanlon.
‘I got the mandibular raking too,’ said Imagio. ‘It’s . . . wow. Like a massage.’
‘That’s the ribs,’ said Caspar.
‘Get him out!’ shouted Scanlon. ‘The car’s downstairs! He’s got to be in Exeter . . . Get him out of there!’
He spun round again, astonished that nobody was moving.
‘Get this boy out of that snake,’ he hissed.
‘Imagio,’ said Professor Worthington, ‘I think you’d better tell him.’
‘Tell me what? You’re insane, all of you . . .’
Imagio tried to roll his shoulders and he felt the python’s muscles convulse. He wormed his way forward a couple of centimetres, but was suddenly drawn back by a powerful force. His face had almost disappeared.
‘Mr Scanlon?’ he shouted.
‘What?’
‘Can you hear me?’
‘Of course I can hear you. Give me your hand!’
‘Sorry, man . . . look . . . I can’t hear you too well, it’s all kind of . . . slimy down here. But . . . I’ve been turning it over. I’ve been thinking and
thinking, and . . . I just don’t think I can do it.’
Mr Scanlon stared. ‘What can’t you do?’
Imagio managed to get his nose up, so he could look at the football scout properly.
‘I want to stay here,’ he said. ‘I want to go to college and stuff and . . . I’m probably not smart enough, but what I really want to be is a doctor.’
Mr Scanlon was speechless.
‘Sorry, man. It’s my decision. The world needs doctors more than footballers.’
II
Millie asked Miles if he would go for a walk with her.
He said he would but he’d like Sanchez to come. Sanchez said he wasn’t sure he was wanted, so Millie told him not to be stupid.
Then they weren’t sure where to go. They talked about it: the Edge was a lovely viewpoint, they said, but too familiar. The lake was still muddy and there was debris from the smashed-up boats. There were no new walks and it was steady drizzle.
Eventually, they pulled out three bicycles and cycled into Ribblestrop town. There they found a tearoom and ordered cream teas. When the scones came, they were hot to touch. The jam was pure, fresh strawberry, the butter was soft, and the waitress was huge and maternal.
‘Now if you want anything else, my dears, you just ring this bell,’ she said. ‘You warm enough? What’s your name, dear?’
She was looking at Sanchez.
‘Andreas,’ said Sanchez.
‘You look just like my youngest,’ she said, unexpectedly. ‘Now you stay long as you like and eat as much as you want – no rush. I’ll be downstairs.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sanchez, blushing heavily.
Considerable time was spent buttering the scones. Miles was scientific in his pouring of the tea and the adding of milk and sugar took forever.
After some time, Millie said, ‘I’m sorry I said those things I said, Miles.’
Miles said, ‘You don’t have to say sorry.’
‘I do.’
‘You’ve got nothing to say sorry about. I was . . . bad.’
‘Yeah, but the thing is, you saved my life. You and Henry.’
‘Henry saved your life. I was just there. Have more jam, look. Shall I ask for more? We’re running out.’