Ribblestrop by Andy Mulligan Page B

we have the equipment?”
    â€œWe have what we need, sir.”
    â€œAre the children gathered?”
    â€œI believe so.”
    â€œThen the term has started. Map the landscape, boys—I want this to be a ramble to remember, and when you’re back I want to see it with your eyes. Everyone’s got pens—now, who’s that with the easels?”
    â€œAsilah, sir!” cried the tallest orphan. Asilah was a slim, handsome boy with an intense look about him. He was the obvious elder and took his responsibilities very seriously. He was softly spoken and seemed to communicate a vast amount simply by the movement of eyebrows. If he wanted the children in a line, or sitting down, capped or capless—Asilah’s quiet voice appeared to be law. He stood now with a number of large wooden tripods on his shoulder, as the smaller orphans lined up behind him.Anjoli—the child with the wildest hair—carried a roll of paper and a basket of felt tips.
    â€œWe’ve got a picnic at base camp,” said Captain Routon. “We’ll move off in single file to start with; I don’t want anyone getting lost. Henry, at the rear!”
    Blazers were buttoned, ties were straightened, and the column set off. Captain Routon led the way, striding over the grass. The boys leaped behind him and the headmaster watched them disappear, waving. Like birds, they were: a flock of ducklings, following their leader. Their chatter and laughter faded in the crisp autumn air, and he felt tears in his eyes. “My school!” he whispered.
    He wandered back inside and gathered up the breakfast things. He had a slightly tricky telephone call to make now, and it would need all his concentration. The new deputy, Miss Hazlitt—not the easiest of women, he had to admit—had been leaving messages all the previous evening, and he’d been hard pressed to make sense of them. A delay in Reading caused by children “ on a line ”—a phone line or railway line, he couldn’t be sure. Someone had possibly or possibly not stolen a purse full of brand-new credit cards . . . he wasn’t sure what that had to do with him. One of the cards had been found on the floor in a wine bar, but he couldn’t hear what followed, because the voice on his answering machine seemed to be barking, like a dog. He caught the words “ strained wrist” and something about concussion, and then all he could hear was the sound of sauce pans clashed together. The final message talked about a hotel and “ full recovery ,” climaxing in the worrying phrase “ I’ll be sending the bill ,” which cut through all interference, crystal clear. Dr. Norcross-Webb needed leaders and decision makers, and if the woman had been injured in some way he’d want to help, of course. But if a bill was sent to him at the present time, there was no way he could pay it. He would have to persuade her to come, without delay.
    *
    A kilometer to the east, Captain Routon’s bald head was getting pinker in the sun. His muscles bulged in his forearms as hechecked his map. He trotted forward, about-turned, and trotted back. He trotted to the rear, and then he skipped round to the front again. They had come down the slope of the lawn and turned toward the wood. It was the most beautiful day, and the children were happy and excited.
    â€œLook to the left there, boys. Deciduous trees. View of the lake.”
    The children rigged the easels and there was the frantic scratching of pens.
    â€œThrough the gap there, see that, son? That’s an imitation Greek temple, that is. Just by the water. As I understand it, that was built in honor of one of the many Greek deities, in 1786. The lake is actually an artificial lake—no, we’re not going swimming, not yet. On the other side, that’s Neptune. Let’s keep moving, you’ll get better views the higher we go.”
    â€œSanchez,”