Read Online Return of the Emerald Skull by Paul Stewart - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Stewart
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which made the change in the school'scircumstances all the more unfortunate. The broad sweep of the east and west wings met at the grand central portico with its four stucco columns beneath a Grecian pediment. Through the portico lay the central courtyard, or quadrangle, from which, as I crept closer, I could hear voices.
Instinctively, I dropped to my haunches. I removed my coalstack hat, clicking it flat and stowing it in my topcoat. My right thumb flicked the catch on my swordstick as, out there in the middle of the playing fields, I crouched down in the inky darkness and waited.
The voices grew louder, buzzing and monotonous like the droning of angry bees, combining into an insistent chant.
‘Hunt the hog! Hunt the hog!’
All at once there was a loud whooping cheer from the quadrangle, followed a moment later by an agonized, high-pitched wail of terror.
What in hell's fiery furnace was going on? I asked myself as my muscles tensed in the darkness.
I didn't have to wait long to find out.
Suddenly a lone figure burst through the columns of the portico and out onto the playing field, running as fast as his legs would take him. Behind him, screeching and hooting like a horde of demented demons, came a pursuing mob.
Some carried blazing torches aloft, the yellow flames bathing the whole seething mass in a pool of flickering light. Some brandished bats and clubs; some wielded splintered table legs and bits of broken desks. A couple wore ornate feathered head-dresses. Several had blankets and curtains wrapped round their shoulders like cloaks. All were intent on running their quarry to ground.
The figure, sobbing and whimpering with terror, plunged into the darkness of the playing fields, and I drew back as he lumberedtowards me. All at once, with a muddy squelch, he stumbled and fell, sprawling headlong on the turf. I stepped forward and, gripping him by the arm, hauled him to his feet. He turned his mud-smeared face to mine, his eyes wide with terror.
Screeching and hooting like a horde of demented demons
It was the games master, Mr Cripps.
His cracked lips opened. ‘Help me,’ he pleaded, his voice little more than a rasping whisper. ‘Help … me …’
‘Hunt the hog! Hunt the hog!’
The fiendish cries of the pursuing mob jolted Cripps back into action. He pushed past me and headed off into the blackness in the direction of the school gates and the promise of escape. His pursuers followed close behind. I dropped to my knees once more, cloaking myself in darkness as they swept past.
I felt the heat from the blazing torches and smelled the burning pitch. I saw the blur of brandished weapons, and heard the yelp andshriek of voices that seemed barely human.
One figure, wrapped in a length of striped curtain, dropped the sharpened stump of a chair leg and crouched to retrieve it from the mud. The curtain fell from his shoulders. I recognized at once that round, red-cheeked face, the tousle-haired head …
‘Sidney junior,’ I muttered under my breath.
The next instant, he seized the chair leg and was off once more with the others, baying at the top of his voice. I thought of his father reading the lock-up letter, and wondered what ‘the proudest father in the whole world’ would have to say if he could see his son now.
‘Please! Please! Please!’ I heard the abject cries of the games master echoing back across the field above the howls of glee from his pursuers. The hunt had obviously run its victim to ground.
Keeping to the darkness beyond theflickering torchlight, I approached as close as I dared. After the seeming chaos of the chase, the hunters were now working calmly and methodically. I saw the gleam of leather and a momentary flash of metal, bright in the moonlight, as one school belt was fastened around Cripps's neck, another around his waist, and the two fastened together. As they worked, the individual screeches and cries subsided, and a new chant was taken up.
‘Bring him to the head!
Instinctively, I dropped to my haunches. I removed my coalstack hat, clicking it flat and stowing it in my topcoat. My right thumb flicked the catch on my swordstick as, out there in the middle of the playing fields, I crouched down in the inky darkness and waited.
The voices grew louder, buzzing and monotonous like the droning of angry bees, combining into an insistent chant.
‘Hunt the hog! Hunt the hog!’
All at once there was a loud whooping cheer from the quadrangle, followed a moment later by an agonized, high-pitched wail of terror.
What in hell's fiery furnace was going on? I asked myself as my muscles tensed in the darkness.
I didn't have to wait long to find out.
Suddenly a lone figure burst through the columns of the portico and out onto the playing field, running as fast as his legs would take him. Behind him, screeching and hooting like a horde of demented demons, came a pursuing mob.
Some carried blazing torches aloft, the yellow flames bathing the whole seething mass in a pool of flickering light. Some brandished bats and clubs; some wielded splintered table legs and bits of broken desks. A couple wore ornate feathered head-dresses. Several had blankets and curtains wrapped round their shoulders like cloaks. All were intent on running their quarry to ground.
The figure, sobbing and whimpering with terror, plunged into the darkness of the playing fields, and I drew back as he lumberedtowards me. All at once, with a muddy squelch, he stumbled and fell, sprawling headlong on the turf. I stepped forward and, gripping him by the arm, hauled him to his feet. He turned his mud-smeared face to mine, his eyes wide with terror.
Screeching and hooting like a horde of demented demons
It was the games master, Mr Cripps.
His cracked lips opened. ‘Help me,’ he pleaded, his voice little more than a rasping whisper. ‘Help … me …’
‘Hunt the hog! Hunt the hog!’
The fiendish cries of the pursuing mob jolted Cripps back into action. He pushed past me and headed off into the blackness in the direction of the school gates and the promise of escape. His pursuers followed close behind. I dropped to my knees once more, cloaking myself in darkness as they swept past.
I felt the heat from the blazing torches and smelled the burning pitch. I saw the blur of brandished weapons, and heard the yelp andshriek of voices that seemed barely human.
One figure, wrapped in a length of striped curtain, dropped the sharpened stump of a chair leg and crouched to retrieve it from the mud. The curtain fell from his shoulders. I recognized at once that round, red-cheeked face, the tousle-haired head …
‘Sidney junior,’ I muttered under my breath.
The next instant, he seized the chair leg and was off once more with the others, baying at the top of his voice. I thought of his father reading the lock-up letter, and wondered what ‘the proudest father in the whole world’ would have to say if he could see his son now.
‘Please! Please! Please!’ I heard the abject cries of the games master echoing back across the field above the howls of glee from his pursuers. The hunt had obviously run its victim to ground.
Keeping to the darkness beyond theflickering torchlight, I approached as close as I dared. After the seeming chaos of the chase, the hunters were now working calmly and methodically. I saw the gleam of leather and a momentary flash of metal, bright in the moonlight, as one school belt was fastened around Cripps's neck, another around his waist, and the two fastened together. As they worked, the individual screeches and cries subsided, and a new chant was taken up.
‘Bring him to the head!
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