quadrangle being covered with row upon row of shoes, and the kitchen ladies tiptoeing about the rows in stockings looking for their workshoes. It did not amuse her. Theresa’s friend Delia Martin and Estelle’s friend Karen Grigg had already made it quite plain that they thought it was Nan’s doing. The fact that these two normally did not speak to one another, or to Nan either, only seemed to make it worse.
7
B REAKFAST WAS READY before 6B had been called to find their shoes. Theresa was forced to walk through the corridors in her blue bedsocks. They were, by this time, quite black underneath, which upset her considerably. Breakfast was so late that assembly was cancelled. Instead, Miss Cadwallader stood up in front of high table, with her face all stringy with displeasure and one foot noticeably damp, and made a short speech.
“A singularly silly trick has been played on the school,” she said. “The people who played it no doubt think it very funny, but they must be able to see by now what a stupid and dishonorable thing they have done. I want them to be honorable now. I want them to come to me and confess. And I want anyone else who knows or suspects who did it to be equally honorable and come and tell me what they know. I shall be in my study all morning. That is all.”
“What is honorable,” Nirupam said loudly, as everyone stood up, “about going and telling tales?”
By saying that, he did Nan a service, whether he meant to or not. No one in 6B wanted a name for telling tales. Nobody went to Miss Cadwallader. Instead, they all went out into the quadrangle, where a little freezing drizzle of rain was now falling, and walked up and down the rows of damp footgear, finding their shoes. Nan was forced to go too.
“Oh look! Here comes Archwitch Dulcinea,” said Simon.
“Why did you do it to your own shoes too, Dulcinea? Thought it would look more innocent, did you?”
And Theresa said, “Really, Nan! My bedsocks are ruined! It isn’t funny!”
“Do something really funny now, Nan,” Karen Grigg suggested.
“Hurry up!” Mr. Crossley shouted from the shelter of the porch. Everyone at once became very busy turning over shoes. The only one who did not was Brian. He simply wandered about, staring into space. In the end, Nirupam found his shoes for him and bundled them into Brian’s lax arms.
“Are you all right?” Nirupam asked him.
“Who? Me? Oh yes,” Brian said.
“Are you sure? One of your eyes is sort of set sideways,” Nirupam said.
“Is it?” Brian asked vaguely, and wandered off.
Nirupam turned severely to Simon. “I think you hit him on the head once too often.”
Simon laughed, a little uneasily. Nirupam was a head taller than he was. “Nonsense! There’s nothing in his head to get hurt.”
“Well, you watch it,” said Nirupam, and might have said more, except that they were interrupted by an annoyed outcry from Dan Smith.
“I’ll get someone for this!” Dan was shouting. He was very pale and cross after last night’s midnight feast, and he looked quite savage. “I’ll get them even if they’re a magicking senior. Someone’s gone off with my running shoes! I can’t find them anywhere.”
“Look again, carefully!” Mr. Crossley bawled from the porch.
This was a queer fact. Dan searched up and down the rows, and so did Charles, until their socks were soaked and their hair was trickling rain, but neither Dan’s spikes nor Charles’s were there. By this time, 7A, 7B, and 7C had been allowed out to collect their shoes too before they all got too wet, and almost the only footgear left was the three odd football boots, the riding boots, and a pair of luminous green trainers that nobody seemed to want. Dan uttered such threats that Charles was glad that it did not seem to occur to Dan that this had anything to do with Charles Morgan.
But it meant that Charles had to go to Mr. Towers next and confess that his running shoes had still not turned up. He was fed up
7
B REAKFAST WAS READY before 6B had been called to find their shoes. Theresa was forced to walk through the corridors in her blue bedsocks. They were, by this time, quite black underneath, which upset her considerably. Breakfast was so late that assembly was cancelled. Instead, Miss Cadwallader stood up in front of high table, with her face all stringy with displeasure and one foot noticeably damp, and made a short speech.
“A singularly silly trick has been played on the school,” she said. “The people who played it no doubt think it very funny, but they must be able to see by now what a stupid and dishonorable thing they have done. I want them to be honorable now. I want them to come to me and confess. And I want anyone else who knows or suspects who did it to be equally honorable and come and tell me what they know. I shall be in my study all morning. That is all.”
“What is honorable,” Nirupam said loudly, as everyone stood up, “about going and telling tales?”
By saying that, he did Nan a service, whether he meant to or not. No one in 6B wanted a name for telling tales. Nobody went to Miss Cadwallader. Instead, they all went out into the quadrangle, where a little freezing drizzle of rain was now falling, and walked up and down the rows of damp footgear, finding their shoes. Nan was forced to go too.
“Oh look! Here comes Archwitch Dulcinea,” said Simon.
“Why did you do it to your own shoes too, Dulcinea? Thought it would look more innocent, did you?”
And Theresa said, “Really, Nan! My bedsocks are ruined! It isn’t funny!”
“Do something really funny now, Nan,” Karen Grigg suggested.
“Hurry up!” Mr. Crossley shouted from the shelter of the porch. Everyone at once became very busy turning over shoes. The only one who did not was Brian. He simply wandered about, staring into space. In the end, Nirupam found his shoes for him and bundled them into Brian’s lax arms.
“Are you all right?” Nirupam asked him.
“Who? Me? Oh yes,” Brian said.
“Are you sure? One of your eyes is sort of set sideways,” Nirupam said.
“Is it?” Brian asked vaguely, and wandered off.
Nirupam turned severely to Simon. “I think you hit him on the head once too often.”
Simon laughed, a little uneasily. Nirupam was a head taller than he was. “Nonsense! There’s nothing in his head to get hurt.”
“Well, you watch it,” said Nirupam, and might have said more, except that they were interrupted by an annoyed outcry from Dan Smith.
“I’ll get someone for this!” Dan was shouting. He was very pale and cross after last night’s midnight feast, and he looked quite savage. “I’ll get them even if they’re a magicking senior. Someone’s gone off with my running shoes! I can’t find them anywhere.”
“Look again, carefully!” Mr. Crossley bawled from the porch.
This was a queer fact. Dan searched up and down the rows, and so did Charles, until their socks were soaked and their hair was trickling rain, but neither Dan’s spikes nor Charles’s were there. By this time, 7A, 7B, and 7C had been allowed out to collect their shoes too before they all got too wet, and almost the only footgear left was the three odd football boots, the riding boots, and a pair of luminous green trainers that nobody seemed to want. Dan uttered such threats that Charles was glad that it did not seem to occur to Dan that this had anything to do with Charles Morgan.
But it meant that Charles had to go to Mr. Towers next and confess that his running shoes had still not turned up. He was fed up
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