Opposite Sides by Susan Firman Page A

very
breathing would betray his position. He leant his head forwards and
peered into the semi-darkness.
    Something moved.
Something rustled the leaves of a shrub that grew hard up against
the wall. Someone appeared to be crawling along the inside of the
wall. Was this the intruder?
    Hans’ breath stuck
halfway down his throat and, after the sudden shock, the thought of
an exhilarating chase excited his mind. Here was his opportunity to
prove himself. He would show his loyalty to the school. He imagined
the glory he would feel, the honour he would carry when he would be
praised by everyone: all those students who had tormented him, the
masters, especially Mr Moore the Moose-head . . . and above all,
Miss Turner, the matron who reigned supreme, like Queen Victoria,
over everything to do within the school walls. He smiled with
satisfaction and began to put his plan into action.
    His mind focussed keenly
on the task at hand. He would be ready to strike just as the thief
was making his way back out of the grounds, at least that was his
plan at the moment.
    Hans looked around for
something to use as a weapon. Ah, just the thing! His eyes fell on
a loose stone which had worked itself partly free from the wall and
had remained hinged by one edge, overhanging the vertical drop of
the wall. What luck! If he could climb up on to that wall and
wriggle the stone free, he could use it to stop the school’s vandal
going about his wicked work.
    He ran past he point
where the intruder seemed to be and found a place where he could
use the rough protruding stone surface for hand and foot holds.
With some effort he reached the top. He remembered to take his
bearings, carefully estimating the distance and direction of the
intruder.
    Hans crept, cat-like,
along the top until he reached the position of the loose stone.
Carefully, he began to rock the stone, gradually prizing it loose
with his fingertips. Almost free! Now wait until the intruder moved
closer. Just an extra push to the right!
    The rock crashed to the
ground, snapping the twisted branches of several shrubs renting the
air around him with cracks and snaps like a machine-gun. No scream,
just a muffled murmur. Had he stopped the intruder? Hans bit
nervously on his little finger and listened. But now the only sound
he could detect was a dull rubbing noise made by the decreasing
movement of broken vegetation. What had happened? He couldn’t see
anything. It was now too dark.
    A tingle shivered
downwards, slowly creeping from the back of his neck and finishing
in the tip of his toes. He sweated. He froze. He broke into a sweat
again, perspiration wetting his brow as if he’d just plunged his
head into water. The duration of the silence scared him.
    He called out but there
was no answer. Now his senses keened and he strained his ears to
listen for any sign of the intruder. The smell of night closed
around him. Nothing moved. Maybe he had been mistaken and the noise
had only been made by some animal or other . . . a slinking fox or
a wandering hedgehog perhaps? If it had been an intruder, it would
seem that the intruder must have left the area.
    Hans dropped down from
the wall with the agility of a cat. He listened for a moment but
heard nothing. He began to whistle, a little folk tune he had not
heard for many years as he walked home.
    The following
morning at assembly, the boys could sense that something grave and
important hung in the air. The morning hymn, ‘ Be still, my soul ,’ was played a little slower than usual and the boys seemed
to be singing a little lower than they usually did. As the last
murmurings of that last ‘Amen’ faded away, the headmaster grasped
the sides of the eagled lectern and conducted a hushed silence. He
glared down at the students, surveying the interior of the school
hall from its high wooden ceiling down to its highly polished
boarded floor. A lecture entitled ‘Stupidity’ followed. Behind him,
sat Miss Turner, ‘the Dragon,’ breathing fuming