Ribblestrop by Andy Mulligan Page A

to the stars?”
    â€œBig,” said an orphan, softly.
    â€œCan we raise this roof again and make our school strong?”
    â€œYes!” again rippled through the children. A gust of wind lifted one of the tarpaulins, exposing a whole shovelful of peppery white constellations.
    â€œThen let us drink to hope and vision . . . You are the arrows, children. A teacher simply holds the bow. How high will you soar? Ruskin, what’s the matter, boy?”
    Ruskin had let out a mournful sob and was sitting on a stool, his head in his hands.
    â€œSam, sir. I’m just thinking how he’s missing this.”
    â€œHe’s in capable hands, lad, there’s no need to worry . . .”
    â€œIt’s his first day, though. He’s missed the song.”
    â€œWe’ll go to him. Where’s Sanchez? Ah, perfectly timed, right on cue!”
    Sanchez had appeared through one of the tarpaulins, a relieved smile lighting up his face.
    â€œSam’s better, sir, so much better! He was calling out for his father . . .”
    â€œAnd Millie’s nursing him, presumably? Pulling together, you see . . .”
    â€œNo, sir—he was calling for his father, but then he heard the singing. Didn’t she come down here?”
    â€œHe heard the song, Ruskin, and was revived!”
    â€œYes, but I told him to rest, sir.”
    â€œIt’s the restorative power of music, boys. We will go to him and we will embrace him. We need medals, Routon—warrior hero of Ribblestrop, courage under fire.”
    The headmaster staggered forward, tripping on a plank but staying upright. Boys bolted forward and steadied him, and Ruskin grabbed the door open. In a moment, the whole company were piling forward, stumbling on the darkened stairs, unsteadyas they climbed with candles guttering. Boys laughed and squealed as they pushed each other.
    â€œHe received blows,” cried the headmaster. “He was cut down, but he rose again . . .”
    Fifteen boys and the headmaster wound their way up a hundred steps and piled into the dormitory. Sam lay there dozing and thus experienced a scene he would later assume was a hallucination brought on by fever: a sea of faces, blurring above his bed. Voices, words he could not understand, and then a sigh of music from an old accordion and a song sung like a lullaby.
    â€œShh, boys. Shhh! Sing:
    Ribblestrop, Ribblestrop, precious unto me;
    This is what I dream about and where I want to be .”
    A number of hands felt his forehead. He could see black with stripes of gold, and dark, kind eyes. He saw the face of Dr. Norcross-Webb, smiling proudly, and Sam wondered if this was heaven, and if so where his grandparents were.
    â€œSee not the broken halls, Sam,” said the headmaster. His voice was calm. “See not the smoke-damaged walls. See the stars, and see yourself—as a rocket, rising to those stars. Welcome to Ribblestrop Towers!”
    *
    Caspar Vyner was in bed. His bruises were inky violet, but the pain had faded. Both he and his gran heard the school song, drifting from the west tower. Lady Vyner’s hands trembled with fury as she carried another icepack to the bedroom.
    Millie was wondering where she was, and heard nothing.
    Down in their bunker, seven monks were holding a nighttime vigil, praying for troubled souls. They heard music, closed their eyes, and prayed harder.
    And in a laboratory, way under the school, animals shifted in their straw, listening in darkness.

Chapter Nine
    Sam was shaky the next day and his headache nagged. Nothing, however, would persuade him to stay in bed and he got up at half past five, showered, dressed, and joined everybody else at six o’clock for Captain Routon’s special first-day celebration fry up.
    â€œCaptain Routon!” cried the headmaster, holding a clock. “What’s the time?”
    â€œSeven thirty, sir, on the dot.”
    â€œDo