been. He felt around the inside the
bookcase, but found nothing. He brought his hand back out, filthy with black
dust, which he wiped on his shorts.
He
pulled more of the books from the shelf and peered into the space where they
had been. But there was nothing. No switches, no latches, no levers or
catches.
I
shook my head. “Come on, Fred. This is silly.”
Freddie
threw me a look of dejection and began to replace the books. “I was sure Mr. English was trying to give us a clue earlier.”
I
shrugged.
“What
now?” he asked. But before I could reply, I heard someone pacing in our direction.
“Someone’s
coming,” I whispered.
Freddie
hadn’t have time to squeeze Huxley back into the shelf. So he turned quickly,
clutching the book behind his back with both hands, to face the footsteps.
“Evening,
soldiers!” sung Caratacus cheerfully. I felt Freddie release a sigh of relief
next to me: It wasn’t Barrington! “So you didn’t fancy a dip in the pool
then, I take it?”
“That’s
right, Sir,” I replied. “We finished our reading books today, so we decided to
come to the Library instead to choose some new ones.”
Freddie
looked at me with an eyebrow raised quizzically. I realised that this was a
ridiculous and wheedling fib. It might almost have been believable of me, but
there is no way any teacher would ever believe that Freddie would take any voluntary
steps to advance his education outside of the designated hours.
But
anyway, I thought, it’s only Caratacus. And besides, we have nothing to hide:
why would anyone imagine that there was anything against the rules in browsing through
books in the Library? After all, this is exactly the sort of thing the
teachers want us doing, isn’t it?
“Ah,
well that’s marvellous,” said Caratacus. “Let’s see. So you’ve been looking
under H, have you? Well I have two excellent recommendations for you, Strange:
Homer and Herodotus. They share your passion for the propagation of elaborate
stories.”
He
reached up to one of the higher shelves and Freddie looked at me with a
bewildered shrug.
“Here
you go,” Caratacus continued. “Herodotus’ Histories . My favourite
book. I think Book One will be just to your taste.” He presented this
hardback slab to Freddie with mock reverence and a wink at me.
“That’s
very kind, Sir,” said Freddie, “but I have a book already. Perhaps I will move
on to Hairytoss after I’ve finished this one”. He produced Huxley from behind
his back.
“Good
heavens!” exclaimed Caratacus, looking around the Library as if he needed to
check nobody was there. “Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. I’m amazed this
book is still here. I think you’d better get it back into the shelf before
anyone sees you with it.”
“Why,
Sir?” I asked.
“Well,”
he said quietly, “it’s subversive literature . Totally illegal. You’re
better off steering clear of that altogether unless you want the Gestapo
rifling through your tuckbox!”
“But,
Sir,” began Freddie, “Mr. Eng...”
“Sir,”
I hurriedly interrupted, realising that Freddie might accidentally get Mr.
English into trouble if he mentioned that Mr. English had recommended the
book. “Um... so did Huxley write anything else?”
“Difficult to say,” mused Caratacus. “As far as I know, he moved to the United
States before the War and so obviously we haven’t heard anything of him since
then. Ah,” he said, looking at his watch, “I’d better be off, chaps. I don’t
suppose either of you has seen Pontevecchio, have you?”
“Yes,
Sir,” I replied. “He’s supervising First Form Curfew.”
“Aha!
Marvellous. Well I’ll see you both tomorrow morning. You’ll be pleased to
know that you both scored handsomely in last week’s vocab test.”
After
Caratacus had left, Freddie turned to me and said, “So what was Mr. English
doing, telling us to
bookcase, but found nothing. He brought his hand back out, filthy with black
dust, which he wiped on his shorts.
He
pulled more of the books from the shelf and peered into the space where they
had been. But there was nothing. No switches, no latches, no levers or
catches.
I
shook my head. “Come on, Fred. This is silly.”
Freddie
threw me a look of dejection and began to replace the books. “I was sure Mr. English was trying to give us a clue earlier.”
I
shrugged.
“What
now?” he asked. But before I could reply, I heard someone pacing in our direction.
“Someone’s
coming,” I whispered.
Freddie
hadn’t have time to squeeze Huxley back into the shelf. So he turned quickly,
clutching the book behind his back with both hands, to face the footsteps.
“Evening,
soldiers!” sung Caratacus cheerfully. I felt Freddie release a sigh of relief
next to me: It wasn’t Barrington! “So you didn’t fancy a dip in the pool
then, I take it?”
“That’s
right, Sir,” I replied. “We finished our reading books today, so we decided to
come to the Library instead to choose some new ones.”
Freddie
looked at me with an eyebrow raised quizzically. I realised that this was a
ridiculous and wheedling fib. It might almost have been believable of me, but
there is no way any teacher would ever believe that Freddie would take any voluntary
steps to advance his education outside of the designated hours.
But
anyway, I thought, it’s only Caratacus. And besides, we have nothing to hide:
why would anyone imagine that there was anything against the rules in browsing through
books in the Library? After all, this is exactly the sort of thing the
teachers want us doing, isn’t it?
“Ah,
well that’s marvellous,” said Caratacus. “Let’s see. So you’ve been looking
under H, have you? Well I have two excellent recommendations for you, Strange:
Homer and Herodotus. They share your passion for the propagation of elaborate
stories.”
He
reached up to one of the higher shelves and Freddie looked at me with a
bewildered shrug.
“Here
you go,” Caratacus continued. “Herodotus’ Histories . My favourite
book. I think Book One will be just to your taste.” He presented this
hardback slab to Freddie with mock reverence and a wink at me.
“That’s
very kind, Sir,” said Freddie, “but I have a book already. Perhaps I will move
on to Hairytoss after I’ve finished this one”. He produced Huxley from behind
his back.
“Good
heavens!” exclaimed Caratacus, looking around the Library as if he needed to
check nobody was there. “Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. I’m amazed this
book is still here. I think you’d better get it back into the shelf before
anyone sees you with it.”
“Why,
Sir?” I asked.
“Well,”
he said quietly, “it’s subversive literature . Totally illegal. You’re
better off steering clear of that altogether unless you want the Gestapo
rifling through your tuckbox!”
“But,
Sir,” began Freddie, “Mr. Eng...”
“Sir,”
I hurriedly interrupted, realising that Freddie might accidentally get Mr.
English into trouble if he mentioned that Mr. English had recommended the
book. “Um... so did Huxley write anything else?”
“Difficult to say,” mused Caratacus. “As far as I know, he moved to the United
States before the War and so obviously we haven’t heard anything of him since
then. Ah,” he said, looking at his watch, “I’d better be off, chaps. I don’t
suppose either of you has seen Pontevecchio, have you?”
“Yes,
Sir,” I replied. “He’s supervising First Form Curfew.”
“Aha!
Marvellous. Well I’ll see you both tomorrow morning. You’ll be pleased to
know that you both scored handsomely in last week’s vocab test.”
After
Caratacus had left, Freddie turned to me and said, “So what was Mr. English
doing, telling us to
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