Abbot Dagger's Academy and the Quest for the Holy Grail Read online

  [NOTE ON FILE FROM DR COSM: Excellent. Fine, fine people.]

  [NOTE ON FILE FROM HEADMASTER: It is a mystery how people this stupid can feed themselves without help.]

  Crimes: Incredible stupidity Perfect obedience. Splendid pupils unsurpassed in any way by anyone. Great things are expected of them!

  Also Barry Duggan, a very rich man, gives the Academy enormous amounts of money.

  Regime: Pamper and cherish. Give benefit of doubt at all times.

  ‘The Duggan twins. Slee and Damage. Pure meat from the shoes up. The opposite of Polymathic Skolars, really. Now come along.’ She led them through a gate. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘We are in the Main Quadrangle. Explain what you see. Eyes shut, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Owen, lowering his lids. ‘On the right, a white wall with no windows. Ahead, a tower with four hundred and eleven windows, seventy-three of them quite small. On the left, a line of eighty-one pillars with a covered walkway with doors leading off it, another floor on top, twenty-seven windows neatly arranged.’

  ‘Are you by any chance a little autistic?’ said Miss Davies.

  ‘No,’ said Owen. ‘Very autistic.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Miss Davies. ‘Now. Somebody else. Onyx?’

  Onyx had been bouncing up and down for some time, eyes shut tight. She knew! She knew! ‘On the right, that white wall, is a modern building that I have heard about designed by an architect called Walter Strunk who went mad and did not believe in windows. The thing up ahead is the Great Orrery with a working model of the planets powered by clockwork wound by water. And that high thing behind it is the Tower of Flight which is part of the original buildings erected by the first Abbot Marchmont Dagger in 1568 no 1569 I would have to check that in the library which is up there too I am very very keen on libraries. And to the left is the Cloister, built for contemplative walking, with doors leading to classrooms dormitories observatories and the Skool grounds. Behind us, of course, is the Hall of Session, where assemblies are held. Did I miss anything out?’

  Miss Davies’s mind appeared to have wandered. She came back to herself with a slight start. ‘Probably not,’ she said. ‘Are you autistic too?’

  ‘No,’ said Onyx. ‘Just keen!’

  Miss Davies gave her a strained smile. ‘Rosetti?’ she said.

  Rosetti shrugged. ‘It’s a school,’ he said.

  ‘Quite right!’ said Miss Davies. ‘Now, time for cocoa and buns!’

  She led the way at a brisk trot into the building at the end of the quad. There was a great arched doorway. At the top of the arch was a carving of a monk’s head with a dagger between its teeth. ‘Abbot Dagger,’ said Miss Davies. ‘The founder.’

  Inside the door was a warren of ancient rooms. There was a common room, with a huge coal fire and a seething mob of Skoolies who paid the new Skolars absolutely no attention. There were little bedrooms called dorms, each with two cots, a desk and a bookshelf. And there was a Study, containing three desks, panelled in blackest oak heavily carved. There was a blackboard. Over the blackboard hung scale models of mythical beasts. ‘Your names have been painted on your lockers in gold paint because the Head is very keen on you,’ said Miss Davies. ‘And your dorms. Owen and Rosetti, you’re in together. Onyx, you’ve got a dorm to yourself.’

  ‘Oo!’ said Onyx, absent-mindedly, for she was already reading a book. ‘How thrilling!’

  At lunch, Onyx sat next to barrel-shaped Elphine.

  ‘Hello,’ said Onyx.

  ‘Shutcher face,’ said Elphine.

  ‘Why so nasty?’ said Onyx, more puzzled than hurt.

  ‘Because I’m a Skoolie and you’re a Skolar and Skoolies hate Skolars because they’re feeble,’ said Elphine, nicking a handful of Onyx’s chips. ‘You got here because you are half crazy with extra brains. I got here the ordinary way.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I went to an ordinary school but it was boring and it caught fire. Then I went to another ordinary school but the food was bad and it caught fire. Then I went to another school but I didn’t like it and it caught fire. Then they sent me here and people I hate catch fire.’

  ‘What a terrible lot of accidents!’ said Onyx, filled with sympathy.

  ‘Who said anything about accidents?’ said Elphine, rattling a box of matches dreamily by her ear. ‘I think I might be beginning to hate you a bit.’

  In a desperate attempt to change the subject, Onyx said, ‘So what’s it like here?’

  ‘It’s cool,’ said Elphine. ‘They let me run the fire brigade.’

  After lunch, everyone seemed to have places to go, and went. The Skolars didn’t. Rosetti said, ‘Let’s explore.’

  First they went down to the Water of Darkness, which was fast, deep and unswimmable. Away from the river, a cliff of black rock rose vertically from a playing field on which two mud-caked teams were struggling in a heap.

  ‘The cliff is called the New Boy’s Leap,’ said one of the players, who had small eyes, a tattooed head and very few teeth. ‘Because New Boys usually climb up it hoping to escape, find they can’t go no further and jump off. Try it, Skolar.’

  ‘You are trying to make us frightened,’ said Owen.

  ‘Yerse. Hur, hur.’ A ball bounced across the field.

  The boy lumbered after it. A thin cold rain began to fall.

  This is a really terrible place, thought Rosetti, peering through the drizzle at the looming buildings.

  ‘Perhaps there’ll be a really fabulous library,’ said Onyx, but even she did not feel much like bouncing when she said it. Owen said nothing, being busy watching an ant.

  Back in the Study, Owen pulled out two chess sets and played Onyx and Rosetti at the same time. He checkmated Rosetti in three moves. He was on the point of finishing Onyx in five when the clock struck two, the door opened and Miss Davies came in.

  ‘Greetings, Skolars!’ she cried. ‘Now tell me what is a Polymath? Yes, Onyx?’

  ‘Someone who knows a lot about a lot of different things,’ said Onyx.

  ‘True, in a way,’ said Miss Davies. ‘And the motto of a Polymath?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said Owen.

  ‘Rosetti?’

  ‘Sorry?’ said Rosetti, miles away.

  ‘Onyx? Stop bouncing.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Onyx. ‘Ummmmmmm –’

  ‘There is more than one explanation for everything,’ said Miss Davies. ‘Everything interesting, that is. The whole of Polymathic Studies is based on this idea. Now. We have an appointment with the Head after his Governors’ Meeting.’

  This Governors’ Meeting was being a difficult one. They all were. For the Governors really admired Dr Cosm, except for Inkon Stimp R.A., and nobody paid any attention to him. Part of the reason was that most of the Governors had once had children at the Skool, and none of them had been Skolars, so they were very jealous of the Polymathics, and hated the Head because the Polymathics were his favourite pupils. The other reason was that the Governors believed in Tests, and so did Cosm, but the Head thought Tests were stupid and childish.

  ‘Founder’s Day, plans for,’ said Colonel De’ath, Chairman. ‘Bit of marchin’, what?’

  ‘Discipline,’ said Police Commissioner Bruce Manacle.

  ‘And sports,’ said Barry Duggan, Parent Governor. ‘Lashin’s of sports.’

  ‘Plus Tests, of course,’ said Professor Tube. ‘Dr Cosm will take care of that. Good man, Cosm.’

  ‘Wonderful man,’ said Lady Squee.

  ‘Sound fellow,’ said Colonel De’ath.

  ‘Solid citizen,’ said Commissioner Manacle.

  ‘Ahem,’ said the Headmaster. ‘We will of course be awarding the Greyte Cup for Running, Hard Sums and Lovely Writing.’

  ‘Unless you’ve sold it,’ said Colonel De’ath, who had no faith in the Head.

  ‘Which would be a criminal offence,’ said Commissioner Manacle, who had less.

  ‘Shocking!’ said Lady Squee, who despised everyone.

  �
��But not unlikely,’ said Professor Tube, sniffing. Since Cosm had arrived the year before, the Professor had become his biggest fan and longed to see him as Head.

  ‘Writin’? Pafetic,’ said Barry Duggan, slow on the uptake as always.

  ‘Er…’ said Inkon Stimp nervously.

  ‘Gosh is that the time already?’ said the Headmaster, looking at the wrong wrist. ‘Now. Meeting closed. Busy schedule.’

  ‘Look here, Headmaster,’ said the Colonel. ‘It’s time your Polymathic whatsits proved themselves. If they don’t win the Cup, you’ll be looking for a new job. All Governors agree that Dr Cosm is right when he says the only way to deal with pupils like yours is Tests, Tests and more Tests. These Polymathic people may be very clever and all that but what good is cleverness if you don’t test it? Eh? What? So if they don’t win the Cup, you’re sacked. Assuming the Cup is there to win and you haven’t pawned it to get some money to bet on a horse. If the Cup’s not there, obviously you’re sacked anyway.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said all the other Governors, except Inkon Stimp, who had lost interest some time ago and was drawing a rude picture of Dr Cosm’s nose.

  Casting looks of suspicion and dislike at the Head, the Governors stumped out of the room.

  ‘Dear me,’ said the Head as the door closed. ‘That didn’t go very well.’ He rummaged in his desk and brought out a tin of delicious biscuits. ‘Not very well at all. Ah, well.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Polymathic Skolars, enter!’

  Rosetti’s last headmaster had been a bit like a thundercloud full of sarcasm instead of rain. Once inside the massive oak door of the Study he looked around the room for a tall, scowling person with narrow eyes and a thin mouth. All he saw was the kindly white-haired man who had met them at the Skool gate.

  ‘How I hate Governors,’ said the white-haired man. ‘Oh. Hello. Sit down, do. Biscuit?’

  ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Rosetti.

  ‘Take two,’ said the Headmaster. ‘Three. Stuff yourselves. Good biscuits. Otherwise the food’s ghastly: nothing I can do – it’s that Matron – pass them round.’

  Rosetti passed them round. This was a kind of headmaster much, much nicer than the kind of headmaster he was used to. Miss Davies introduced everyone.

  ‘Well, well, well, strabonipticon hamash zingari,’ said the Headmaster.

  ‘Wrong language,’ said Miss Davies. ‘Ancient Chaldean.’

  ‘He says congratulations!’ said Onyx. ‘I understood!’

  ‘Ah,’ said the Head, resisting the urge to bean her with a cushion. ‘Yes, welcome. Polymathic Skolars are my favourite people. I long for you to make a good impression. I should be so grateful if you could try to make, ah, one.’

  ‘We will!’ cried Onyx, bouncing again. ‘We’ll try soooo hard –’

  ‘But actually it probably won’t work,’ said Owen.

  Rosetti looked at keen Onyx and honest Owen and the slightly frantic Headmaster and felt a new emotion. He felt… sorry for the Head. ‘It’ll be fine,’ he said.

  ‘What a relief,’ said the Head. ‘We’re all going to have a simply lovely time. And I know you will be a credit to me and to Polymathy.’

  ‘Yes!’ cried Onyx. ‘We will, we will, won’t we?!’

  ‘S’pose,’ said Owen and Rosetti. But as they filed out of the Headmaster’s study, they were pondering deeply.

  They had never met a Head like this. A really nice one, who gave you delicious biscuits. To their astonishment, they found they really wanted to be a credit to him.

  They were just not quite sure how it was done.

  Up near the ceiling, the little eye of a CCTV camera wheezed as the lens changed focus.

  Far away in a white room filled with screens, a voice said, ‘Pah! Insects! Those who frustrate me must prepare to be crushed!’

  But of course they did not hear any of that.

  Tea was in the Hall of Session. There were large buns with currants in, and milk that tasted like glue. Onyx tucked in eagerly. Owen munched steadily. Rosetti was reading a book. He took a small bite, looked up from his book, leaned back in his chair and snapped his fingers at Matron, who was prowling between the long tables. Matron stopped, her black eyebrows drawing together over her great hook nose. ‘Wha,’ she said, emitting fumes of gin.

  ‘These are revolting,’ said Rosetti, making a gesture at the milk-bun combo on his tray. ‘Take them away and bring something better.’ He went back to his book.

  Matron smiled, revealing teeth like lipsticky piano keys. ‘And what would you like, your lordship?’ she cooed. ‘Tart de apples in the French manner?’

  ‘That would be fine,’ said Rosetti, without looking up. ‘By the way, I feel it is only a kindness to tell you that you smell.’

  Matron’s mouth fell open with a click.

  ‘Of gin and cigarettes. Which are bad for you, so I’d give up if I were you. Now run along, chop chop.’

  ‘Oo,’ said Nurse Drax, by which she meant tick, tock, as in time bomb.

  ‘Faster the better,’ said Rosetti.

  BOOM, went Matron. ‘WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TALKING TO YOU’ ORRIBLE SMELLY UNWASHED GOURMET SIR OR SHOULD I SAY YOUR LORDSHIP? YOUR LADIDA FRIEND THE HEADMASTER MAYBE. SO I SMELL IS IT WELL LET ME TELL YOU YOU ARE NO BED OF ROSES YOURSELF IN THE NIFF DEPARTMENT AND IF YOU DO NOT LIKE YOUR LOVELY BUNS AND NOURISHING MILK THERE IS BREAD AND WATER AND IT IS OVER HERE PREFECTS PREFECTS TAKE HIM TO THE CELLS!’

  And before Rosetti knew where he was, he was in a small stone room without windows, gazing at a pottery jug of water and a round loaf with flecks of mould on it.

  Hmm, thought Rosetti. Have I been a credit to the Headmaster?

  Probably not.

  ∗

  Owen and Onyx watched their fellow Skolar carted away by beefy Prefects.

  ‘What happens now?’ said Onyx.

  ‘Whole Skool New Term Quiz Test,’ said Elphine the Match Girl.

  A girl came round handing out paper. Everyone groaned.

  ‘Quiz? Goodee,’ said Onyx, beginning to bounce.

  ‘Ik, swot,’ said Elphine.

  The questions flopped in front of the pupils. Owen started writing so fast that smoke rose from his pen.

  To his left, a huge bulk shut out the light. ‘’Ello,’ said the huge bulk. ‘I Slee Duggan. I come sit with you.’ To his right, another huge bulk shut out some more of the light.

  ‘’Ello,’ said the other huge bulk. ‘I Damage Duggan. I come to sit with you too. On other side like.’

  ‘Cos we no can do them Test questions,’ said Slee.

  ‘An’ we seen you done yours,’ said Damage.

  ‘So we’ve come to copy,’ they said together.

  Owen looked left. He looked right. Both Duggans had dirty ears and peg-toothed grins. He said, ‘No.’

  The grins vanished. ‘Wot?’ said the Duggans.

  ‘You must obviously do the Test yourselves,’ said Owen. ‘Or there is no point anyone setting them. Ow!’ For the Duggans had lifted up his feet, and the floor had shot up to smack him on the back of the head.

  On the dais, the Security Master stopped pacing. His eyes lasered across the room. ‘Who’s that?’ he barked.

  ‘He means you,’ hissed the Duggans.

  Owen stood up. He was too brilliant to be frightened, and much too autistic. ‘It was me,’ he said to the master. ‘Owen French. Polymathic Skolar. I have finished the questions and got them all right. Now I want to go.’

  ‘Go?’ barked Security. ‘I think that could be arranged, hur hur. PREFECTS PREFECTS!’

  ‘’Ere,’ said Elphine the Match Girl, batting her eyelashes at Slee Duggan. ‘I fancy you.’

  Before Owen knew where he was, he was in a small stone room with no windows, gazing at a pottery jug of water and a round loaf of bread with green bits on it, and Rosetti, relaxing on a plank bed.

  ‘How kind of you to join me!’ said Rosetti.

  ‘These people are bad,’ said Owen.

  ‘And o
bviously they will suffer,’ said Rosetti, charming as ever. ‘Now, then. Some bread? A little water?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Owen, dragging the bread towards him and pulling out his Swiss Army knife.

  Had he been a credit to the Headmaster? The idea did not even cross his mind.

  Onyx had seen Owen go, and she was actually a bit worried, and a bit lonely, because Elphine was now sitting with Slee Duggan and feeling his arm muscles admiringly. So she did the quiz, then waited until everyone had finished, passing the time by setting a few extra questions and answering them herself and then colouring in the loops of the letters. The Security Master had left the stage, to be replaced by the suet-faced Dr Cosm. ‘Right,’ said Cosm. ‘Collect up papers. Whose turn?’

  This was not the sort of question Onyx could leave unanswered. She felt herself swamped by waves of keenness. ‘Me!’ she cried, shooting her hand so high in the air that all her bones cracked. ‘Me me me me meeeeee!’ Then she realized all eyes were upon her, and turned bright red.

  Among the eyes that landed on her were Dr Cosm’s, small and black as frozen currants. He said, ‘And who might you be, sss?’

  ‘Onyx Keene sir sir please sir. A Skolar sir sir.’

  Everyone was staring now. Onyx felt a sort of hollow feeling that she did not recognize. It seemed to have something to do with the fact that she was blushing. Her mind worked furiously. Ah. That was it. Embarrassment!

  ‘Er,’ said Onyx, for the first time in her life, and put her hand down.

  ‘No, no,’ cooed Dr Cosm evilly. ‘It is good to want to help, even though some people might think you wanted to, sss, show off. Well, we will put you somewhere you can show off as much as you like. PREFECTS PREFECTS!’

  And before Onyx knew where she was, she was in a small stone room with no windows, gazing at a pottery jug of water and Rosetti and Owen sitting on opposite sides of a table scowling at a chess set. ‘Where did you get that?’ she said.

  ‘Owen made it,’ said Rosetti. ‘Out of bread.’

  ‘Chewed bread,’ said Owen.