She also really did like locking children in broom cupboards.
So at five past four on what had become really quite a wet Monday afternoon, Maximilian, Wolf and Effie found themselves in the school’s basement, in the old, dusty cupboard of a long-dead caretaker, which smelled of dunce’s hats (which, as we already know, smell of mould and dead mice), damp blotting paper, turpentine, congealed ink and ancient spiders. They faced rather a daunting task.
‘Between you,’ said Mrs Beathag Hide, almost smiling. ‘Yes, between you . . . Ha! I like that. It may lead to cooperation and loyalty, or, more engagingly, to great betrayal and suffering. Between you, you will write the following, six hundred times: “I will always obey those in authority and . . .” Except . . . No. Wait. We don’t want to send you out of this school paying more attention to silly little traffic wardens and idiotic politicians than is necessary. Hmmm.’ She thought for a while. ‘You will write out the following, six hundred times: “I will always respect those with greater intelligence than my own.” Yes. And you will spell “intelligence” correctly on every single line. When the six hundred lines are completed, you will pass the sheets of paper under the door to me, and then I will unlock it.’
The cupboard, which was really like a small room, had no windows and was very dimly lit with an ancient fluorescent light that must have had thousands of dead insects inside its cracked plastic casing. There were candles, too, in case of a greyout. Effie sat down on a rickety wooden chair at the old caretaker’s table, and Maximilian sat opposite her on a paint-spattered stool. Wolf slumped down on the floor and leaned against the wall by a cracked porcelain sink. Mrs Beathag Hide turned the key in the heavy lock and went away to make a cup of Earl Grey tea and fetch today’s newspaper, the one with the best cryptic crossword, from the staff room.
Effie got out some paper and a pen. She wondered whether you spelled ‘intelligence’ with an ‘ance’ or an ‘ence’ at the end. Maximilian would know. But Maximilian had taken out his calculator and was furiously tapping away on it.
‘Shouldn’t we get started?’ Effie said. ‘I’ve got to be somewhere by five o’clock. It’s really quite impor— ’
‘Shhh,’ said Maximilian.
‘Can someone lend me a pen?’ said Wolf. ‘Oh, and actually, some paper?’
‘Shhh,’ said Maximilian again.
Wolf and Effie looked at one another. Why was this nerdy creature telling them to shhh? What on earth did he think he was doing anyway, messing around with his calculator when . . .
‘I’ve seriously got to be out of here by quarter to five,’ said Wolf. ‘Can we just get on with it?’
‘We’ll do two hundred lines each,’ said Effie. ‘Right?’
‘Only if someone can lend me a pen,’ said Wolf.
‘Maximilian will have a spare pen,’ said Effie.
‘And who’s the fastest writer?’ said Wolf. ‘Maybe that person should do more.’
Maximilian was mumbling to himself. ‘Six hundred lines. Let’s say each one takes fifteen seconds if you’re a fast writer and twenty seconds if you’re a slow writer. So the total time it would take for a slow writer to complete the task on his or her own would be twenty seconds times six hundred, which is . . .’ Here he gulped. ‘Twelve thousand seconds, which is two hundred minutes, which is three hours and twenty minutes . . . But it’s OK because there are three of us, and if we work fast we could do it in probably just under an hour each, as long as we take no breaks and . . .’
By now it was almost quarter past four.
‘We’re not getting out of here by five,’ said Maximilian, looking up. ‘It’s not mathematically possible. Even if I do find a spare pen for Wolf, and even if we write as fast as we can, and even if I do more lines because I am probably the fastest writer, we won’t be done until around five-thirty.’
Wolf swore. ‘But I’ve got to work. With my uncle. At five.’
‘Yeah,’ said Effie. ‘And I’ve got to meet my dad. We’re clearing out my grandfather’s place, and . . .’
She still hadn’t worked out how to save her grandfather’s books. Effie suddenly felt very tired indeed. Her head started to throb. All her muscles were aching from the tennis. For the whole hour she’d spent in the tennis centre she had felt invincible, and had forgotten about everything bad in her life, including the awful sad feeling about her grandfather. It had been incredible, but also quite mysterious. She had no idea where any of it had come from, but she had felt so strong, as if she could do anything. She had also felt lighter, faster, more agile. Every time Wolf had hit the ball she’d known exactly where his shot was going to land. And then where she should hit it back.
But what on earth did this mean? Why had she suddenly become so good at tennis just since this morning? Was it because she hadn’t had any breakfast? Sometimes Cait said she felt stronger after fasting. But that didn’t really make any scientific sense . . . Effie yawned. Twisted the silver ring on her thumb. She was actually so tired now that if she just put her head down on the desk she . . .
‘Effie? Don’t go to sleep!’ Maximilian poked her shoulder.
She managed to lift her head. ‘Sorry. I’m just so . . .’ She put her head down again.
‘Oh no,’ said Maximilian, although secretly he didn’t mind this situation being prolonged, and would have been happy to spend many hours in a cupboard with Effie and Wolf, who were two of his more interesting classmates. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘We are going to escape,’ said Wolf, getting up.
Effie was now so tired that she could barely lift her head from the desk. Maximilian stood (because Wolf had taken his stool) watching in amazement as Wolf started looking around for a way out. He climbed onto the stool and checked different parts of the walls and the ceiling.
Of course there was no point trying to get through the door. Mrs Beathag Hide would be sitting there waiting, drinking her Earl Grey tea and doing her crossword. There were no other doors or windows in the cupboard. But before too long Wolf had found a panel in the ceiling that looked as if it might come out, only you’d need some kind of sharp device to poke into one of the corners. Wolf tried with a ruler, but the edge was too thick to fit in the gap. What would be ideal would be some kind of little knife, not that anyone was allowed to bring such things to school . . .
Effie was almost asleep again, but she could see what Wolf was doing, knew what he needed. What was that thing . . .? That thing . . .? Why wasn’t her brain working properly? In her bag? Yes, she had something in her bag that would help, although she couldn’t remember what it was. Oh yes, a letter opener. Her grandfather’s letter opener. That was quite sharp. She gestured to Maximilian, who seemed to understand what she meant and reached for her bag.
‘Letter opener,’ she managed to say, before she fell into a deep, almost fairy-tale, sleep.
Maximilian found the letter opener – as well as several other very interesting-looking, and not entirely unfamiliar objects – in a pouch in Effie’s bag. The letter opener was like a miniature dagger and felt heavy in his hands, even though it was quite small. He admired its fine bone handle, and the red jewels pressed into the sides of its sheath.
‘Here,’ he said to Wolf. ‘Try this.’
Wolf climbed down from the stool and reached out to take the letter opener from Maximilian. It may have been Maximilian’s imagination, but there was a sharp crack and sparkle in the air – a bit like lightning – as Wolf reached