Worldshaker 01; Worldshaker Page 5

  Finally Sir Mormus was satisfied. His hand descended on Col’s shoulder. “Very good, my boy. A true Porpentine.”

  They went back up the ladder to Bottom Deck. Col felt shaken and numb, but triumphant.

  Anyway, he thought, it couldn’t be so bad Below, since Riff said she wanted to return. If it was as bad as it looked, she wouldn’t be searching for a way back down…

  Walking through Bottom Deck, he suddenly realised that there was a way back down. The food chute! If it was big enough for a sack of food, it was big enough for Riff.

  He looked at it as they went past and saw how the manhole cover was fastened by four large bolts. Yes! A oneway drop from the Upper Decks to Below, which could only be opened from above!

  He needed only one more piece of information. When they came to the steel door and Sir Mormus told him to look away, Col secretly continued to watch.

  His grandfather turned the top wheel to number 4, the middle wheel to number 9 and the bottom wheel to number 2.

  Col recited the number and fixed it in his mind. 4-9-2. 4-9-2. 4-9-2. He was hardly aware of going up in the steam elevator when Sir Mormus took him back to Forty-Second Deck. Now he knew how to get the Filthy girl out of his life!

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Ten

  The usual routine of Col’s days was left behind as preparations for school took over. After lunch, he accompanied Grandmother Ebnolia on a visit to Dr Blessamy’s Academy. She walked with a faint grinding of stays and corsets, past the Nursery Rooms and down to Thirty-Seventh Deck.

  Ebnolia was renowned for her past beauty and the kindness of her disposition. Her skin was still as soft as suede, and a cloud of strawberry perfume hung in the air around her. For Col, the scent of strawberries was inextricably associated with the idea of kindness.

  “A proper school with proper teachers,” she chatted as they walked along. “This is the start of a new life for you, my dear.”

  More than you know, Col thought. When he reflected back on his existence so far, it was as though he’d hardly been there. He was like a sleepwalker who’d just woken up.

  “But I still expect to be your favourite grandma!” Ebnolia bobbed and showed her tiny pearl-white teeth in a smile. “Will you always love your favourite grandma?”

  “Always,” said Col without thinking. Didn’t everyone love their grandmother?

  There was a convergence of corridors and a square of open space in front of the Academy. The entrance itself was an antique arch from the Old Country, decorated with carved stone owls. It bore the motto: Loyalty, Integrity, Self-Discipline.

  They passed under the arch and into an immense schoolyard. The yard might have felt like the openness of outside – if Col hadn’t experienced real openness on the platform above the Bridge. It rose up through four levels of deck to white day-lighting high above. On each level there were doors and windows and a wrought-iron gallery running round. Ramps sloped up from gallery to gallery, and a footbridge crossed all the way from side to side on the third level.

  They made a circuit of the bottom level until they came to a door labelled Dr Blessamy: Do Not Knock. Ebnolia knocked.

  “Who is it?” came a sleepy voice from within. “Can’t you read – ”

  “Lady Porpentine,” said Ebnolia sweetly. “How would you like to open this door for me?”

  Creaks and scrapes, sounds of furniture being rearranged. Then the door opened.

  “Dear Lady Porpentine. Welcome to my humble…er, humble…ah, yes. My room and study.”

  The face that looked out was crusty with age. Although Dr Blessamy’s skull was bald, hair sprouted luxuriantly from his nostrils and ears. There were dry, flaky deposits in his eyebrows and round his ears.

  Ebnolia sailed into the room and perched on the edge of an armchair, while Col stayed standing. Dr Blessamy moved round to sit facing them across his desk. He found a mortarboard and clapped it on his head.

  “Paperwork, paperwork,” he said, wafting his hands over some pens and papers on the desk.

  “This is my grandson, Colbert,” said Ebnolia. “He’s enrolled to start school on Monday.”

  “Ah, Monday, Monday. And this is Thursday.” Dr Blessamy turned to Col. “Will you work hard for me, young man? Will you make me a happy old headmaster?”

  “His presence will be an honour to your school,” said Ebnolia on Col’s behalf. “What class will you put him in?”

  “Well, he’s, ah, how old? Seventeen? Sixteen? Er…Nineteen? Twelve?”

  “Age isn’t important. He’s a Porpentine. What class are the Squellingham twins in?”

  “That would be 4A.”

  “Good. He can go into that one.”

  A troubled look passed over Dr Blessamy’s face. “It’s, er, Mr Gibber’s class.”

  “What’s wrong with Mr Gibber?”

  “Oh nothing, nothing.” Dr Blessamy sighed, causing the hairs to flutter in his nostrils. “All the teachers at this academy have the very highest standards of…er…standards. Mr Bartrim Gibber is…yes, one of them.”

  “That’s settled then. Now tell me about the subjects on your curriculum.”

  Col hardly listened as they talked about Geography, Geometry, Chemistry, Algebra, English Language and more. He would have plenty of time to concentrate on school subjects when he had got rid of Riff. He thought his own thoughts and waited for the interview to end.

  Finally, the discussion came round to the equipment that Col would need for his lessons, and Dr Blessamy rose stiffly upright. “I can do better than tell you, your Ladyship. I’ll take you to Mr Gibber and he can…himself.”

  He led them out into the yard, up the nearest ramp and onto the first-floor gallery. Halting at a particular door, he opened it just wide enough to call inside.

  “Er, Mr Gibber, if you please.”

  Peering over Dr Blessamy’s shoulder, Col saw a dusty, dimly lit room and rows of schoolboy faces.

  He had red, rubbery lips and slicked-back, gingery hair that made his head look as round as a ball. He stood before them on short bowed legs, rocking back and forth, pulling all kinds of facial expressions. Col was reminded of the monkey illustrations in his Boy’s Book of Animals.

  “Mr Gibber, you are to be honoured with a new pupil,” said Dr Blessamy. “Lady Porpentine’s grandson, no less.”

  “No less, no less.” Mr Gibber performed a little bow. “Honoured indeed. Oh yes. Excuse me.”

  He broke off and disappeared back into the classroom. They could hear him barking at his students. “Quiet! No talking! I said no talking!”

  By the time he stepped back out, there was even more noise inside.

  “Lady Porpentine wishes to know about equipment for lessons,” said Dr Blessamy. “Such as a ruler and…things similar to a ruler.”

  Grins followed grimaces across Mr Gibber’s face. It was impossible to tell what they expressed: triumph or servility, gratitude or vanity. His eyes kept darting from Ebnolia to Col and back again.

  “A ruler, yes, certainly. A protractor. Two pens. Two pencils. An India rubber. Definitely an India rubber. And three exercise books. An Imperial dictionary. Did I say, a protractor?”

  He seemed hardly able to hold himself in. With another ‘Excuse me’, he bounced back into his classroom.

  More barking. “Be silent! Sit still! What did I tell you just now? Well? Well? I’ll make you wish you hadn’t said that, Chervish!”

  He looked strangely pleased with himself when he re-emerged, though the noise had risen to an uproar.

  “And a satchel,” he concluded. “A leather school satchel.”

  “Thank you, Mr Gibber.” Dr Blessamy turned to Col and his grandmother. “I’m sure this young man will make us all very proud to have been…extremely…all of us…”

  The clang-clang-clang of a bell interrupted him. Mr Gibber flapped his gown and dived back into his classroom without even an ‘Excuse me’.

  “Close your desks!” they heard him yelling. “Put your
books away! No, open your desks, put your books away, then close them! Your desk, Trant! When I say go – ”

  There was a stampede of thundering feet. Dr Blessamy, Ebnolia and Col stood back as a mob of schoolboys streamed out through the door. They all wore green jackets with red piping and badges labelled Dr Blessamy’s Academy. They scarcely noticed the visitors as they charged for the nearest ramp.

  Other students poured out onto other galleries: boys on the first and bottom floors, girls on the second and third floors. The whole horde rushed down into the yard.

  “Ah, dear boys, dear boys,” murmured Dr Blessamy. “And girls. So very young and boyish. Or girlish…”

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Eleven

  Col was eager to act on his plan for getting rid of Riff, but he needed her to pay him another visit, as she’d threatened. For two whole days, she stayed away. When she finally turned up, it was in the middle of the night.

  Thud-d!

  He woke to the sound of a book falling flat on the floor – the book he’d propped against his door as a warning alarm. Riff stood half in and half out of the doorway, hissing a muffled curse.

  Col sat up in bed in his nightgown. “Come in.”

  She came all the way in, closing the door behind her. Her eyes were enormous and unblinking.

  “So.” He felt very much in charge of the situation. “You still haven’t found a way back down Below.”

  “No.”

  “I have.”

  “You?”

  “The only possible way.”

  “How?”

  “Down a food chute.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll find out. Do you want me to take you there or not?”

  “Yeah, I told you.”

  “Turn your back, then. I have to get dressed.”

  “What’s to see?” she mocked, with a return to her old impudence.

  Still, she did turn her back. He stood on the other side of the bed and pulled on breeches, jacket, socks and shoes. He didn’t want to remove his nightgown in front of her, so he tucked it in like a shirt. Folds of flannel bulged uncomfortably under his breeches.

  She said nothing all the time he was dressing. He found out why when he finished and looked round. She had taken a book from his bookcase and was thumbing through the pages.

  “Put that back,” he ordered.

  She glanced up with an odd expression, part aggressive and part appealing. “I was goin’ to ask to borrow it.”

  “Borrow? How do you return it when you’re down Below?”

  “A gift then. A goodbye gift.”

  “No.”

  She scowled, closed the book and put it back in the bookcase. It was the book on mountains and volcanoes that she’d been looking at before.

  Col nodded. “Now I’ll lead you to the food chute. You’ll have to follow out of sight. Can you do that?”

  She snorted scornfully. “I’ve been keepin’ out of sight for days, remember?”

  “Just be careful.”

  “You be careful. I like takin’ risks. More fun.”

  “You’re nothing to do with me if you get caught,” he growled.

  “Are you scared, Col-bert?” She snapped her fingers. “Scare easy, don’t yer?”

  Ignoring her taunts, he opened the door and went out into the corridor. He didn’t look back over his shoulder, but began retracing the route he’d taken with Chief Petty Officer Drummel.

  He was scared, his heart thumping in his chest. Everything he was doing was wrong and forbidden. He prayed for it to be over as soon as possible.

  All the lights were dimmed for night, and the corridors and stairs were generally deserted. Whenever he heard footsteps in the distance, he stopped and waited for them to pass. He couldn’t see Riff even when he did look round, but from time to time he heard the sound of a low two-tone whistle. He took it as a signal she was still following.

  He wondered what excuse he could give if an officer questioned him. Perhaps he could say he’d dropped something valuable on the way down yesterday, and now he was looking for it. Yes, that would do. Interesting. He’d never realised how easy it was to invent a lie.

  There was a little more activity on the lower levels, where groups of Menials were engaged in night-time tasks under the command of supervisors. Fortunately, the supervisors were too busy to spare him a second glance.

  Down and down he went, through the kitchens and laundries. On Sixth Deck, he arrived at the Graveyard Rooms. Still keeping to Drummel’s route, he walked along the corridor past the unglassed, window-like openings.

  Riff materialised suddenly at his elbow. “I don’t like this place. What is it?”

  He was about to order her away when he saw she was trembling. She was scared herself now.

  “The Graveyard Rooms. People are buried under the tombstones.”

  She refused to look where he pointed. “There’s ghosts in there.”

  “Ghosts!” Col laughed. He had almost forgotten she was only an ignorant Filthy. “Nobody believes in ghosts.”

  “I do. Let me walk beside you just this bit, hey?”

  She asked so humbly he couldn’t refuse. “Okay.”

  He peered in through the openings as they went by. Pale stone slabs glimmered in the darkness, catching faint light from the corridor. Riff shivered and kept close.

  They were approaching the next staircase down to the next floor, when Col froze. Someone was coming up from below, someone wearing a white officer’s cap and jacket with epaulettes.

  They turned and ran back along the corridor. But there were no corners or intersections. In another moment, the officer would reach the top of the steps and see Riff and Col with her!

  Col made the decision for both of them. He turned to the first opening and dived over the sill. Riff had no choice but to dive after him. They landed side by side on soft, bare earth.

  The officer might still see them, though. Col crawled further into the room, away from the light. Riff stifled a moan and followed.

  The officer’s footsteps came striding along the corridor, louder and louder. Col took cover behind one of the stone slabs, Riff behind another.

  “Ugh-ugh!” At the worst possible moment, she let out a shuddering gasp.

  The officer grunted and his footsteps came to a halt.

  Riff wasn’t even thinking about him. “A ghost-thing! It touched me!”

  She jumped to her feet and ran.

  “Who’s there?” the officer called out.

  His silhouette appeared in the opening. Col couldn’t see any ghost-things, but he saw the silhouette raise a leg and begin climbing in over the sill.

  He jumped up and ran after Riff, lurching and stumbling over thick, lumpy earth. At the back of this room was another opening into a further room.

  “Who’s there?” bellowed the officer again.

  He was still coming after them.

  The next room was almost lightless, with an overpowering smell of mould and decay. Riff was running and flapping with her hands as though chased by some unimaginable horror. She disappeared though an opening into yet another room.

  Col banged his shin painfully on a stone slab, but kept going.

  The third room was pitch black, and at first he couldn’t see a thing. The stale air stuck in his throat like dry felt.

  “Where are you?” he whispered.

  “Here,” came a tiny, terrified voice. She had come to a halt in the middle of the room.

  He approached carefully, feeling for tombstones in his way.

  “Ah!” she cried when he bumped into her.

  She reached out and clutched his hand. They stood motionless for a moment.

  The officer had stopped bellowing and seemed to have given up. Perhaps he didn’t like the dark either.

  “I have to get out of here,” Riff muttered. “Can’t you feel them?”

  “No.”

  “Touching and groping. They’re all around.”

  “We
can’t go back.” Col surveyed the blackness.

  “Wait.” Riff let go of his hand. “Is that an opening?”

  They made their way towards it and discovered another room, a fraction less dark than the one they were in.

  Col guessed they must be approaching a different corridor on the other side. They passed through two more rooms, and each time the light grew a little stronger, the air a little less stale.

  When they came to a room with a whole row of windowlike openings, Riff couldn’t hold back any longer. She took off running and jumped straight over the nearest sill, not caring if there was anyone outside.

  By good luck, there wasn’t. When Col climbed out into the corridor she was all alone and slumped against a wall. She kept brushing herself with both hands, as though removing invisible cobwebs.

  Col chewed his lip. “I have to get back to the route I know. I can’t find the food chute otherwise.”

  Riff shook her head violently. “I’m not going through there again.”

  He had it on the tip of his tongue to use her own phrase against hen Scare easy, don’t you? But he didn’t.

  “Okay. We’ll find some other stairs down, then work back across on a lower deck.”

  She flashed him a grateful look. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  She jumped to her feet and they headed along the corridor, side by side.

  ∨ Worldshaker ∧

  Twelve

  They found a flight of stairs and descended to Fifth Deck. There were no walls between rooms here, only ceiling-high racks of metal shelves. It made Col think of a hugely expanded version of the Norfolk Library. He threaded a way between the racks, cutting back in the direction of his previous route.

  The shelves were filled with painted plaster statuettes of the Imperial family. There were representations of Queen Victoria seated; Queen Victoria standing; Queen Victoria and Prince Albert seated; Queen Victoria seated and Prince Albert standing.

  Riff took one down to examine. “What are these for?”