stable.’
‘I daresay there are,’ said the headmaster. ‘I don’t really want a pitched battle here in the corridors, though. Someone’s going to get hurt and . . . the last
thing we want is more policemen chasing after us. Clarissa, are you all right?’
‘No, Giles, I’m not.’
Professor Worthington had appeared round the corner and was trying to control her fury.
‘There are hooligans in my laboratory.’
‘Who are they?’
‘These . . . I don’t know who they are. This security firm – they’re everywhere.’
‘SSS?’ said Sam.
As he spoke, two men in black overalls walked past carrying what looked like a tank-trap, festooned in chains. They wore peaked caps and the initials flashed yellow.
‘They’re working for my gran,’ said Caspar, in a small voice. ‘I heard her on the phone.’
‘What did you hear?’ said Sanchez.
‘She wants you out. You know that, but—’
‘She’s wanted us out ever since we arrived,’ said Millie.
‘She said this time we’re finished,’ said Caspar. ‘Because of the nursing home. Read that notice – I saw her writing it.’
A large paper banner had been pasted onto a wooden barricade, some distance down the corridor. Everyone moved towards it. There were similar barriers going up behind them, hemming them in. The
paper was still wet with glue and the heading had been scrawled by a savage hand.
Get out now!
it said.
And stay out forever!
Vijay was a good reader and he started at the top.
‘
By order of Lacson and Lacson, solicitors to Lady G Vyner – undisputed owner of Ribblestrop Towers, henceforth to be known as “the premises”. Lady G Vyner, henceforth
to be known as “Chief Prosecutor” wants it to be known to all adults and children in the so-called school known as Ribblestrop Towers but henceforth to be known as “the illegal
and unwanted occupying colony of filthy squatters” that
. . .’ Vijay gave up. ‘Sorry, I’m lost,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand any of it.’
Doonan took over, and read more slowly.
‘
The prosecutor wants the squatters
– that’s us –
to know that they have absolutely no rights any more. They would not have come back last night, if I’d
had my way. Their worldly goods – which is mainly junk anyway and belongs on a bonfire – have been confiscated. They are now in a big pile and will be released only when the squatters
gather up the last few crumbs of their tatty, stinking garbage and vacate the premises, which they need to do now if they know what’s good for them or I’ll be setting dogs on them.
This, by the way, includes my so-called grandson.
’
The children glanced round to see that Caspar was turning pink.
‘
He was always a bitter disappointment and running away the other day was the final straw. Well, he’s made his bed so he can lie in it and dream about all the things he
won’t be inheriting when his loving grandmother succumbs to her broken heart. The Vyner name will live on in some other way and he can take to the road and die in the gutter.
’
‘Good day to you all,’ said a voice.
The children swung round.
‘I wrote that last bit this morning, Caspar. Especially for you.’
It was Lady Vyner in person. She was more ghastly then ever, for she was smiling. Her mouth looked like a purple gash in a face that had been squeezed in a vice. It was tilted sideways above the
sepia yellow of her nightdress. She was rubbing inky hands in glee and a high-pitched laugh – not unlike the whine of a bandsaw – echoed down the corridor. A small man stood behind
her.
‘Your school’s finished!’ she cried. ‘I’ve even taken the pencils! What’s left, I wonder? Just a bunch of shabby teachers, cluttering up my home with their
luckless pupils. You didn’t expect a full-on takeover, did you, headmaster? Oh, this will be money well spent! Come on, Lacson. Read the eviction order!’
‘Lady Vyner,’ said the headmaster. ‘I must protest—’
‘You can
‘I daresay there are,’ said the headmaster. ‘I don’t really want a pitched battle here in the corridors, though. Someone’s going to get hurt and . . . the last
thing we want is more policemen chasing after us. Clarissa, are you all right?’
‘No, Giles, I’m not.’
Professor Worthington had appeared round the corner and was trying to control her fury.
‘There are hooligans in my laboratory.’
‘Who are they?’
‘These . . . I don’t know who they are. This security firm – they’re everywhere.’
‘SSS?’ said Sam.
As he spoke, two men in black overalls walked past carrying what looked like a tank-trap, festooned in chains. They wore peaked caps and the initials flashed yellow.
‘They’re working for my gran,’ said Caspar, in a small voice. ‘I heard her on the phone.’
‘What did you hear?’ said Sanchez.
‘She wants you out. You know that, but—’
‘She’s wanted us out ever since we arrived,’ said Millie.
‘She said this time we’re finished,’ said Caspar. ‘Because of the nursing home. Read that notice – I saw her writing it.’
A large paper banner had been pasted onto a wooden barricade, some distance down the corridor. Everyone moved towards it. There were similar barriers going up behind them, hemming them in. The
paper was still wet with glue and the heading had been scrawled by a savage hand.
Get out now!
it said.
And stay out forever!
Vijay was a good reader and he started at the top.
‘
By order of Lacson and Lacson, solicitors to Lady G Vyner – undisputed owner of Ribblestrop Towers, henceforth to be known as “the premises”. Lady G Vyner, henceforth
to be known as “Chief Prosecutor” wants it to be known to all adults and children in the so-called school known as Ribblestrop Towers but henceforth to be known as “the illegal
and unwanted occupying colony of filthy squatters” that
. . .’ Vijay gave up. ‘Sorry, I’m lost,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand any of it.’
Doonan took over, and read more slowly.
‘
The prosecutor wants the squatters
– that’s us –
to know that they have absolutely no rights any more. They would not have come back last night, if I’d
had my way. Their worldly goods – which is mainly junk anyway and belongs on a bonfire – have been confiscated. They are now in a big pile and will be released only when the squatters
gather up the last few crumbs of their tatty, stinking garbage and vacate the premises, which they need to do now if they know what’s good for them or I’ll be setting dogs on them.
This, by the way, includes my so-called grandson.
’
The children glanced round to see that Caspar was turning pink.
‘
He was always a bitter disappointment and running away the other day was the final straw. Well, he’s made his bed so he can lie in it and dream about all the things he
won’t be inheriting when his loving grandmother succumbs to her broken heart. The Vyner name will live on in some other way and he can take to the road and die in the gutter.
’
‘Good day to you all,’ said a voice.
The children swung round.
‘I wrote that last bit this morning, Caspar. Especially for you.’
It was Lady Vyner in person. She was more ghastly then ever, for she was smiling. Her mouth looked like a purple gash in a face that had been squeezed in a vice. It was tilted sideways above the
sepia yellow of her nightdress. She was rubbing inky hands in glee and a high-pitched laugh – not unlike the whine of a bandsaw – echoed down the corridor. A small man stood behind
her.
‘Your school’s finished!’ she cried. ‘I’ve even taken the pencils! What’s left, I wonder? Just a bunch of shabby teachers, cluttering up my home with their
luckless pupils. You didn’t expect a full-on takeover, did you, headmaster? Oh, this will be money well spent! Come on, Lacson. Read the eviction order!’
‘Lady Vyner,’ said the headmaster. ‘I must protest—’
‘You can
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