The Roman and the Runaway Read online

  "I understand you both came across an injured competitor today?"

  Luke nodded but Wharton attempted to brazen it out. "No sir, I didn't see anyone!"

  "Come with me, Wharton," said Mr Pettit and he walked over to the first aid tent to verify the injured girl's story.

  Connor Reid came up to Luke. "The little squit will get disqualified for that," he said. "With any luck Pettit will kick him off the team as well."

  Reid's predictions proved to be correct. Mr Pettit was horrified that a member of his school team had ignored one of the fundamental rules of the sport. Everyone in the minibus was subjected to a long lecture on the subject on their way back to the school, in which Wharton's conduct was compared unfavourably with Luke's, much to Luke's discomfort.

  Luke hoped that with Wharton off the orienteering team, the enmity between them would come to an end. This was not the case. If anything, Luke's involvement in his dismissal made Wharton even more determined to get his revenge on his rival. The traditional, healthy school competition between the Roman and Viking houses seemed to be personified this year and focused on these two individuals. The situation was further complicated by the fact that the other Roman year nines still wanted to get revenge for the Vikings' raid on their dormitory. Luke continued to be reluctant to take any action, having managed to avoid getting into any trouble in the spring term.

  Luke had an unpleasant sense of foreboding that the situation with Wharton was not going to be resolved without physically fighting him. He knew any such conflict would be bound to land him in trouble with Mr Wilmot and probably with Ned, too; a situation he was anxious to avoid if possible. He hoped the Easter break would give Wharton time to cool off, or perhaps to find a new target to vent his frustrations on. And for a while all seemed peaceful on their return to school for the summer term, until the unspoken truce was broken again in early June.

  Chapter Seven

  On the first Monday in June, as Luke and the other year nine Romans went down the stairs to breakfast, they found an altercation going on in the entrance hall. A short man with a neatly clipped moustache was arguing with Mrs Lloyd, the school's administrator. He seemed to be holding a white vest in his hands, of the type the students wore for running. As the boys got closer, Luke noticed that the singlet had a green stripe across the front of it; the mark of the Romans' house.

  "Uh-oh," muttered Luke to the others, beginning to have a bad feeling about the scene that was playing out in front of them.

  Just then, Ned appeared from the direction of the hall and went over to greet the man and attempt to calm him down. Luke and the others reached the bottom of the stairs and started walking towards the hall.

  "Who's that man?" Luke asked.

  "Old Pritchard," Jay explained. "He's the owner of that country club across the road. A right little Hitler, I've heard."

  "Did you see what he was holding?" asked Taj. "I hope this isn't going to have anything to do with us."

  Luke looked back over his shoulder, his gaze irresistibly drawn to the source of the disturbance. He saw that Ned was now holding the sports vest and reading the name sewn into it. With a horrible sense of foreboding, somehow knowing exactly what was about to happen, he watched Ned look up and stare straight back at him. The headmaster raised his hand and beckoned Luke over.

  "Oh, shit," Luke said, under his breath. "I knew it was going to be mine. See you later guys." He left his colleagues and walked towards the irate little man and the headmaster, trying to arrange his face into an innocent expression. He felt sure he was being completely unsuccessful, even though he knew he hadn't done anything wrong.

  "Perhaps you'd like to come up to my office, Mr Pritchard," Ned was saying, as Luke came up to them. Luke followed the two men up the ornate wooden staircase, conscious of the curious looks of the students passing through the entrance hall. The headmaster said nothing more until the three of them had climbed the stairs and were inside his office. There, he turned to Luke, handing him the incriminating vest top.

  "Do you have any explanation for the fact that your sports shirt was found on the statue outside the front of Mr Pritchard's hotel this morning?"

  "What?" said Luke, looking down and registering that the top was indeed his. "No! Of course not. I've never been in the place." He looked up at Ned, sincerely hoping he would be believed. "Why would I do something so stupid as put my own shirt on a statue?"

  "It's a Henry Moore!" Mr Pritchard interjected. Luke stared at him, confused.

  "I'm sure that it is a very valuable statue indeed, Mr Pritchard," soothed Ned, "and I am very sorry that one or more of my students has clearly trespassed upon your land in order to temporarily spoil its appearance. I assure you that I will do my best to discover who put it there and take appropriate action."

  Luke relaxed, relieved that Ned, at least, didn't seem to think it likely that Luke was involved. Mr Pritchard, however, was less convinced.

  "It could be a double bluff!" he shouted triumphantly, shaking his pointed index finger under Luke's nose, small pieces of spittle spraying out from underneath his moustache. "He put his own shirt there, relying on the fact that no-one would believe anyone could be stupid enough to incriminate themselves!"

  Ned and Luke stared at the man, who seemed to be almost unhinged.

  "I really didn't, Mr Pritchard," Luke told him, earnestly, "and I'm very sorry it ended up there." He turned to Ned for help. Ned jerked his head towards the door and Luke gratefully took the cue, leaving Ned to mollify the indignant Mr Pritchard.

  Back in the hall, Luke grabbed a bowlful of cereal and sat down next to the other Roman year nines, who had almost finished eating. Luke updated them on the situation, while scanning the faces of the other students, trying to detect the real perpetrator.

  "Look and see if anyone is watching us," he told the others.

  "Half the school saw you towed off to Kelly's office," objected Taj, "so of course people are looking at you. Although…" he paused, "don't all look round at once but I'd say Wharton might be your man."

  Luke glanced over at the group of Viking year nines who were getting up to leave on the other side of the room. They did seem to be looking quite gleeful about something. He sighed. It looked as though the situation with Wharton was escalating again.

  Their lessons were interrupted later in the morning by a visit from the headmaster. The class rose to its feet and Mr Kelly spoke briefly to Mr Wilmot before motioning the boys to sit down.

  "As some of you may know," he began, "Mr Pritchard, our neighbour and the owner of the country club, paid us a visit this morning. He was most distressed because a member of this school had trespassed upon his property and disfigured an expensive statue there. I am sure you are all aware that the country club is strictly out of bounds to all pupils of this school. I am particularly disappointed that there seems to have been a deliberate attempt to implicate one of this class in this act; a person I believe to be innocent of any involvement."

  Luke felt hot under the collar at this vote of confidence from Ned.

  "If those responsible are willing to own up, then they should come and see me or their housemaster by lunchtime today. Otherwise this whole class will be subject to an hour's detention each evening for the rest of this week."

  The headmaster left and the class continued with their work in silence.

  During the mid-morning break there was a general outcry amongst the year nines at the prospect of a week's worth of detentions. Those who were late to the story crowded round in the corridor to find out what was going on and to discover the identity of the innocent party Mr Kelly had mentioned. The Romans explained what they knew about the incident, while scrutinising the reactions of their classmates. It seemed obvious to all of them that the Vikings were acting differently from the members of the other houses.

  "Going to own up then, Wharton?" Taj asked.

  "What are you talking about, Wormer?" sneered Wharton, making fun of Taj's occasional difficulty dist
inguishing between ‘v' and ‘w' sounds. Jay, Fred and Luke closed ranks with Taj, the other year nines looking on in interest.

  "Was it you, then Wharton?" enquired Guy Beeston, who was in Saxon house.

  "As if I'd tell you lot, if it was," Wharton retorted. "I think Brown-nose there knows more about this than he's letting on." He pointed at Luke. "Thought it would be clever to put his own shirt on the statue, I expect, so no-one would think it could be him. Kelly's little pet," he spat.

  Fred, his courage fortified by the presence of his three Roman companions, spoke up in Luke's defence. "At least he had the guts to own up after that snowball fight. Looks like we can't expect the same from you. That explains why the Vikings' shirts have a yellow streak on them, I suppose."

  The rest of the class laughed at this remark and Wharton's face twisted in fury. He lunged forward to grab at Fred. Luke, Taj and Jay stepped towards him to break up the imminent and ill-matched fight. As they did so, Mr Wilmot appeared on the scene, summoned from the nearby staff room by some sixth sense that was unfailingly alert to the slightest sign of trouble. Wharton hastily stepped back and tried to look innocent. Mr Wilmot glanced suspiciously from the four Romans to Wharton.

  "What's going on here?"

  Luke found himself wondering if anyone ever gave an honest answer to this type of question. And, as was traditional, on this occasion no-one did. The entire class stood in silence around the small group of Romans and Wharton. Fortunately, the situation seemed not to have deteriorated far enough to merit any punitive action on Mr Wilmot's part. The housemaster merely said "I suggest you all go outside right now, get some fresh air and cool off."

  The class trooped off down the corridor and went out into the courtyard. They had it to themselves as the morning was windy and certainly cool. The Romans huddled into a corner, trying to get some shelter from the breeze.

  "Luke-" began Taj.

  "I know!" snapped Luke. "We've got to do something about Wharton. I'm on it – just let me think about it for a bit."

  Taj didn't push the matter but the glances he gave both Jay and Fred told Luke that the others had previously been discussing the Romans' lack of response to the Vikings' various acts of aggression between themselves. He felt he was being forced into corners whichever way he looked.

  By lunchtime Luke found he had the germ of an idea about how to get some revenge on the Vikings. As they made their way to the hall for lunch he told the others that he thought he had a plan.

  "What?" they asked.

  "It needs a bit of thought," Luke told them. "We've got cross-country this afternoon – let's talk about it while we're running."

  Fred sighed heavily. He hated cross-country running.

  Fred's running was never very fast and on the run that day he seemed even slower than usual and the Romans gradually fell behind the other year nines. By the last half mile their run had become a walk and Taj turned to Luke with a questioning expression on his face. It was time for Luke to explain his plan.

  "Well, I don't know if this idea's any good but I wondered if we could plant some cigarette butts in the Vikings' dormitory rubbish bin. You know what old Ma Mould's like, the way she goes through the bins. She'd be bound to tell Mr Thomas about what she'd found and then the Vikings would have a lot of explaining to do."

  Smoking was one of the more serious breaches of discipline in the school. Luke's friends from his previous school had fairly regularly got hold of a packet of cigarettes and smoked them as they wandered around the town in their free time but it wasn't something he'd done often enough that it had become a habit. So far, he hadn't heard of anyone at Hawley Lodge being caught smoking.

  The others considered this plan.

  "Well I think it's a great idea," said Jay, "but where are we going to get them from?"

  "Just pick some up on the roadside?" suggested Fred.

  "No, we need them to look as though they've been freshly smoked," Taj objected. "And it would look weird if they were all different brands."

  "There's the pub in the village," Jay pointed out, "but we won't be able to get there until Saturday and even then it would be difficult to collect any without being noticed by any of the others."

  "Maybe we could get some from the country club instead," Luke said.

  "You must be joking," Jay told him, "after what happened today? If we get caught in there we'll be in deep shit, especially you, Luke. Don't even think-"

  He stopped then, realising that their conversation was being overheard by a girl who was standing next to the wall near them.

  Luke looked over at the girl as Jay stopped talking and wondered whether she might be the answer to their problem. "Excuse me," he said, "but do you live around here?"

  "Er, yes, I do. So what?" replied the girl. It didn't seem a promising start yet Luke persevered, looking round at the other Romans for support. "What if we ask her to do it?"

  "Do what?" demanded the girl, beginning to sound thoroughly suspicious.

  Taj moved into full-on charm mode and smiled reassuringly at her.

  "We are trying to exact revenge for a cruel trick that was played upon my friend here by some of our colleagues."

  "Were they the ones with the yellow bands?" the girl asked, unexpectedly.

  "Why, yes," said Taj, surprised at the question. He quickly recovered, though. "And I can see they have caused offence to you in some way, too. We have come up with a plan to get back at them but we are in need of some materials which are hard for us to obtain but which might be easy for you to find."

  The girl stared at him warily. "You're not talking about drugs are you?"

  All four boys hastened to assure her that no, they were not talking about drugs. Luke explained that what they wanted were some cigarette butts from the ashtrays of the pub in the village. The girl pulled a face.

  "What's in it for me?" she demanded. The boys looked at one another.

  "What do you need?" asked Taj, pragmatically.

  "Books," she declared.

  All four boys burst out in derisive unison: "Books?"

  "Yes, books," she replied, defiantly. "You've got a library in that school of yours, haven't you? Well I'd like to borrow some books to read. I'm here on holiday and I'm bored. I'll gather up some freshly-smoked cigarette butts for you, if you bring me some books."

  "Excuse us for a moment," said Taj. The Romans formed into a small huddle to discuss the situation.

  "What d'you think?" asked Jay.

  "Seems like a good plan to me," Fred said.

  "I'll be doing a training run on Wednesday for orienteering," Luke told them, "I could bring some books for her then."

  "OK," Taj agreed, "so you'd better talk to her about meeting up."

  They broke up and went back to the girl, whose mouth was twisted into a sarcastic smile.

  "I've got a training run on Wednesday afternoon," Luke said. "I could bring you some books at around three."

  "OK," replied the girl, "I'll meet you here at three with the cigarette butts. And don't bring me any rubbishy books – some decent stuff please."

  "Where are you staying?" Luke asked.

  "At the country club," the girl said. "But I can meet you here."

  With that, they parted and the boys ran the last few hundred metres back to the school, where they were all thoroughly shouted at by their sports teacher, Mr Pettit, for being more than ten minutes behind everyone else in their class. Luke got the brunt of it, as his good performance in the orienteering runs meant Mr Pettit had high expectations of him. He was told he'd be off the school team if he didn't perform better in the future.

  During the afternoon break, Luke went to the school's library and asked the librarian for some good books. If the man was surprised at this sudden enthusiasm for reading, he did not show it, finding Luke four volumes that seemed to meet his needs. After school the year nines reported to the school hall for the first of their week's worth of detentions. A number of black looks were directed from the r
est of the class at Wharton, who ignored them all.

  PART II: The Runaway

  Chapter Eight

  "I can't cope with him any more, Shelley," said Pagan Randall, burying her face in one of the squishy cushions on Shelley's bed. "I've got to get out of there before I go nuts."

  "Why don't you tell your Mum what he's like around you? I bet she'd kick him out like a shot if she knew," suggested Shelley, who was busily painting her fingernails a vibrant shade of blue.

  "She wouldn't believe me," Pagan sighed. "She thinks he's the best thing that's ever happened to her. You ought to hear her: ‘Brian's such a help around the house. Brian's so good with his hands'," she shuddered. "Honestly, it makes me sick to listen to it. And she's started dyeing her hair. She always used to despise women who did that. And you should see the clothes she's wearing now – most of them would look too young on me!"

  "But you can't just leave," Shelley pointed out. "Where would you go? What about school?"

  "I've been thinking about it," Pagan said. "I don't think I'd need to go for long. Just long enough to make Mum realise it's because of that creep I've run away. I reckon I could live rough for a couple of weeks."

  "But where would you go?" Shelley asked again. She had put down the nail varnish brush, unable to concentrate on her nails as the conversation had got more interesting.

  "I'm planning to buy a tent and camp out in the woods," Pagan confided.

  Shelley laughed, "What woods? We live in the middle of a city!"

  Pagan smiled enigmatically, "I can't tell you but I've been doing a lot of planning on the computers at the library and I think I've found a good place."

  "But there aren't any woods anywhere near here!"

  "Of course not. That's the whole point – I need to go somewhere far enough away that there's no chance of them finding me immediately. They're bound to ask you where I went, so I can't tell you exactly. But I'm going to need your help."

  "How?"

  "Well, I think I'm going to need to get my hair cut and maybe dye it a different colour, so I'm not so instantly recognisable. D'you think you could help me with that?"