Fraud at Snowfields Read online

  The goblins calmed down again, and the one in front of the vice-chancellor removed the dove from his shoulder, straightened up, and announced gleefully, ‘My pleasure, sir vice-chancellor.’ Then he bowed deeply, flourishing his top hat. When he straightened up again, he took the hat and dumped it over both of the doves and the rabbit in turn. When he removed it, the animals were gone. By then most of the students had mastered their surprise, and were laughing and clapping their hands. The vice-chancellor, who at first had looked rather appalled, now laughed heartily. Then the whole hall roared with laughter, so much that the glasses were vibrating.

  When the laughter finally subsided to a mere giggling here and there, the vice-chancellor cleared his throat once more and looked around the room slightly apologetically. ‘Well, I guess this was my own fault really. At the beginning of the last term, I mentioned to the chief goblin that the whole event had been a bit dry, and much too formal. So he seems to have taken the initiative.’ He gave the goblin, who was still standing next to him at the table, a sidelong glance and got an irreverent snigger in return. ‘And thus he provided us with this amazing spectacle. Thank you ever so much.’ And he bowed to the goblin.

  The goblin bowed overly deeply in return and, still sniggering, removed the platter. He motioned to another goblin, who brought another turkey and placed it in front of the vice-chancellor. Beltorec then again lifted the knife and fork, shot the goblin a sharp glance, and, looking not quite as sure of himself as last time, managed to cut a piece of the turkey without further incident. Then the rest of the goblins started cutting up the turkeys at the tables, and served them to the students.

  It was one of the best meals Will had ever had. In addition to the turkey and all its trimmings there were beef, lamb, and even fish. Then there were croquettes, baked, roast, mashed, boiled, fried potatoes, Yorkshire Pudding, lots of vegetables, and delicious gravy. During the meal there was not much talk at Will’s table nor, in fact, in the whole Ferum. Everybody was much too busy enjoying the scrumptious meal. Talk mainly consisted of comments on the tastiness of the food and pointing out special treats to each other.

  In between all of this, the red-clad goblins dashed about, offering more helpings or a yet-untried dish. Then finally, when everyone seemed to have eaten their fill—Will certainly had, for he was feeling ready to burst—there was yet another highlight. A worthy conclusion of the meal: the dessert. Or rather the desserts. First the goblins came round and placed generous mounds of Christmas pudding on all the tables. Then they went out again, and the lights dimmed. An expectant hush fell over the hall. When the goblins came back in they were carrying enormous ice-cream cakes ablaze with sparklers. But Will had never seen sparklers like these. They were more like roman candles, and much brighter than usual. And they did not just emit silver sparks, but sparkled in different colours. They even changed their colours while they were burning.

  Will gazed at the ice-cream cakes. He had never seen anything like them before, not for real, not even on television. They were formed like massive sailing ships. And they were so delicately made. He could see tiny cannons protruding from the sides, some even with smoke-like foam attached. Then there were the tall sails made out of ice sheets, billowing as if in full wind. The brown hulls were made out of chocolate and rested on waves of blueberry ice cream. The ships were quite unbelievable, and all the students stared at them open-mouthed.

  A smaller ice-cream ship was placed on either end of the teachers’ table. The head goblin, the one who had done the trick with the turkey, carried the largest ship up. While he passed between the tables, all the students followed him with their eyes, craning their necks, trying to see every detail of the great ship. He placed it in front of the vice chancellor, who smiled appreciatively again, his eyes sparkling.

  ‘I say, you have exceeded yourself this time. This really is a masterpiece!’ He looked around the Ferum. ‘Well, if any of you happens to like a bit of ice cream, I suggest you get yourselves up here, and my colleagues Mr Worker and Miss Dustfall’—he gave them each a nod—‘will deal out the portions, while I will have the sad duty of dividing up this beauty here. But then I’d imagine most of you don’t like ice cream anyway, so there will be more left for me.’

  This was met by loud protests from all the students, and they rushed up to the teachers’ table, forming queues. Will was glad he got a piece of the large ship. It tasted even more delicious than it looked. He savoured every spoonful.

  After everybody had finished, the older students started to leave the room, and Mr Contractus came over to Will’s table. ‘Well, I hope you liked our little feast here. I definitely enjoyed it. It gets even better from year to year.’ He looked around their table and rubbed his hands. ‘So, ready for your first lesson, are you?’ He did not wait for an answer, but continued straightaway, ‘Well, you’d better be, because it’ll start in five minutes. Come on, I’ll show you to your classroom.’

  Will and the others got up, looking at each other in surprise. Their first lesson? Right away?

  ‘You’d think they’d let us get settled in a bit first,’ Richard grumbled.

  Will thought he did have a point there. They followed Mr Contractus, who led them through the school again, marching in front of them like a teacher followed by a bunch of first years—which, as a matter of fact, was exactly what they were. They went out of the Ferum and up some stairs, then passed through several other corridors and went up and down more stairs, until they ended up in front of a solid-looking door. Its frame was neatly decorated with Christmas greens, red ribbons, golden stars, and a garland of small, wrapped presents.

  ‘Here it is,’ said Contractus. ‘Your main classroom.’ He pointed towards the frame and said, ‘Don’t worry. This will only be here for the week because you are new here. You don’t have to endure Christmas decorations the whole year.’

  ‘Why not?’ Fredorgius asked.

  Contractus laughed. ‘If you had Christmas every day, you would really get fed up with it, and it wouldn’t be special anymore.’ He turned towards the door. In the middle of it was a wide, square area where the wood was completely smooth. Contractus touched it with his hand.

  ‘Ouch,’ it said. They all jumped back, the ones in front landing on the toes of those behind them. Will stared at the wood, and for the who-knew-how-many times this day could not believe his ears. Or his eyes for that matter. The wood was moving! Structures were emerging. Contours. And finally there was a face looking at them curiously.

  It turned to Contractus. ‘One would very much appreciate it if thou wouldst be so kind as to refrain from disturbing my contemplation in this manner,’ it grumbled.

  Contractus laughed. ‘That’s one of our door guardians,’ he said, pointing a thumb at the face. ‘Many doors here have one—some affable, some not.’

  The face gave him a withering look, then ignored him and turned to look at Will and the others.

  ‘But pray do tell, are these formidable young humans by chance the new first years, hungry and forever striving in their most noble and restless seeking of knowledge?’ The face inspected them. ‘It then is my honour to welcome all you most noble ladies, whose charm and beauty will surely cause every single flower on the grounds to wilt in shame, and to greet all you noble lords, whose bravery and unremitting toil in the quest for knowledge will only add to your courteous and noble bearings. My name is Branchhole, your faithful servant. Forever I guard the entrance to thy place of knowledge. Pray tell, kind ladies and noble sirs, thy names of birth, and I will take it as my most noble duty to learn thy titles by heart, so I can greet thee in future in a more seemly fashion.’

  The face smiled at them, and Will was sure that if this Branchhole had arms and a hat, he would have flourished it. Will looked more closely at the face: it was not ugly or even unseemly, but it was different from any face he had seen so far. It looked human all right, but there was a certain, well, woody quality about it. Will suddenly realised that the face was looking stra
ight at him expectantly.

  ‘Who art thou, then, noble sir?’ it asked.

  ‘Er, Will... Will Burns.’

  ‘Uuuuhhh!’ The face shuddered and actually grimaced. Then it coughed and straightened its features. ‘Sorry, sorry, forgive me,’ Branchhole said. ‘But thy words just surprised me. Thou must understand, it is not one of my favourite terms.’

  ‘What? Which word...oh, I see, you mean “burn”... Sorry’, Will added quickly as Branchhole shuddered again. ‘Just call me Will then.’

  ‘I’d prefer Master Will’, Branchhole replied stiffly.

  ‘Oh, sure, whatever you like,’ Will replied rather helplessly.

  The girl next to him introduced herself, trying to change the subject. ‘I’m Annabel—Annabel Winston.’

  Branchhole immediately turned to her. ‘Oh wonderful, wonderful. What a pleasant and noble name. And well suited to such a noble lady indeed. Let an old, wooden door great thee properly and bid thee a splendid and warm welcome to Snowfields.’ He actually lowered his eyes and turned his face down in greeting.

  Annabel turned red.

  ‘Oh, no need to blush...though the colour doth indeed suit thee, my dear lady.’ He turned to look at Wesley.

  ‘Hi, I’m Wesley Limerick.’ He nervously rubbed his nose and raised a hand.

  ‘Oh, what a pleasure to meet thee, Sir Limerick. An old, honoured and traditional name indeed. Wear it well, and grant it and thyself the honour it deserves. Hail, Sir Limerick.’

  He turned to Bianca expectantly. ‘And who art thou? A highborn noble lady for sure, if ever I were a judge of superb and shapely exterior.’

  ‘Ha...hallo,’ she said shyly, ‘Bianca Lane.’

  ‘Oh.’ Branchhole’s face fell for a moment. But then it brightened up again. ‘Wait, there was a Lord Lane…of Manchester, I believe. Oh, no.’ He shook his face, which was quite astounding, Will reflected, as he had no neck. ‘No, that was Lord Leicester of Manchester, of the high society. No, wait, there was a Lord Chief Justice Lane. Thou wouldst be his granddaughter then?’ He peered hopefully at Bianca.

  ‘No…sorry.’ She turned pink. ‘Really, just Lane.’

  ‘Oh, very well then, Madam Lane, welcome.’ Branchhole sounded disappointed, and turned to the next of them.

  ‘Hi, hello, I’m Fredorgius Bagshot.’ Freddy beamed at Branchhole, waving frantically.

  ‘Ah, the young duke,’ Branchhole said, relieved. ‘Splendid, splendid indeed. Welcome, Your Lordship.’

  ‘Er, what duke?’ asked Freddy

  ‘What meanest thou, what duke?’ Branchhole replied unbelievingly. ‘Duke Bagshot! As in the works of the noble Benjamin Disraeli!’

  ‘Who?’

  Branchhole shook his head in disgust. ‘Well, obviously thou dost not know thy family history. Better thou shouldst learn it! But’—he beamed again—‘welcome to Snowfields, Duke Bagshot. Mayest thou prosper here.’ He turned to the next student.

  ‘Hi, I’m Michelle Summer.’

  ‘Ah, Lord Summer. Hmm...not much of him in the histories. Even less of Viscount Summer. But perhaps a beauty like thee will change that, my Lady Summer. Welcome to thy new palace.’ He looked at Richard. ‘And who might this fine gentleman be?’

  ‘The name is Loxley—Richard Loxley.’

  ‘Loxley, eh? A descendant of the famous Robin of Loxley. A worthy lord! And then a Richard! Also a great name, promising great deeds. Prove thyself worthy of thine ancestor. Hail and salute, Lord Loxley!’ He bowed his head deeply for a long moment. Then he looked at Sabrina inquiringly.

  ‘Hello, I’m Sabrina Bluetonic.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll have one, thank you.’ Branchhole’s booming laugher reverberated woodenly from the rest of the door. ‘Sorry, sorry. Haruuump.’ He cleared his throat—did a face in a door have a throat? Will asked himself absentmindedly—with a wooden, rasping noise. Then he looked rather uncomfortably at Sabrina. ‘Sorry, kind lady. To my great shame, I have to admit I could not resist that pun. So...Bluetonic,’ he rumbled. ‘An interesting name. Not rooted in history, no, not at all. But thou canst turn it into something to remember. Do thy best. Hail, Lady Bluetonic!’

  Stiff as Branchhole was, Will saw he could not resist a small grin when he said the name. Stiff as a stick, actually, was Will’s amused afterthought.

  ‘And what would thy name be, milord?’

  ‘Spencer Long, Mr Branchhole, sir.’

  ‘Ah, Viscount Long, well-known indeed. Also baronet of the City of Westminster. Most excellent. And Spencer. A lordly name. I’m looking forward to seeing much of thee in the next few years. Hail, Viscount Long!’ He turned to the next in their row.

  ‘Hello, I’m Wendy Wildberry.’

  ‘Eh? Wildberry? Never heard of such a dynasty before. Must be a new one. But we have to go with the times, and one can also expect much from a fresh, unspoilt dynasty. Welcome, Lady Wildberry. I wish thee a successful start at Snowfields.’

  Will was by then rather disappointed. Branchhole had greeted all of them most extravagantly, and titled them as high lords and ladies—all but himself. Branchhole had just brushed him aside like a nuisance. This hurt Will quite a bit. All the others were something special—and he was less than ordinary. He couldn’t really understand why.

  When they had all introduced themselves to Branchhole, he bowed his face deeply in a final salute, and the door swung inwards. Contractus started to walk through the door, but then he suddenly stopped and turned back to them. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot: there is a similar guardian in the door to your rooms. I didn’t want to overwhelm you earlier, so I didn’t make a fuss of it then, but I’ll introduce you to it later on.’ Then he led them into the quite plain classroom. Will looked around. He saw benches, desks, blackboards, and everything else one would expect in an ordinary classroom that was not in a school of Christmas. He was a bit disappointed by this; he had expected something more spectacular.

  ‘Please find yourselves somewhere to sit,’ Mr Contractus told them. They sat down, and Will saw he was sitting next to Annabel—well, not quite by accident, he had to admit to himself. Then Mr Contractus told them the basic things they needed to know about their new school and home.

  After a break they came back into the room, and Freddy raised his hand. ‘Mr Contractus,’ he called, ‘I’ve got a question!’

  Mr Contractus turned and faced Freddy. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve tried to call home to tell them what I’ve seen here so far. They won’t believe it. I can’t really believe it myself, especially the amazing ice-cream ships and...’ He didn’t draw a breath.

  Mr Contractus’s smile froze, and his eyes glazed over. Will got the feeling this often happened to people when Freddy was talking to them.

  ‘Oh.’ Even Freddy noticed it and caught himself. ‘What I wanted to say... I tried to call home with my mobile phone and never got any connection. The phone couldn’t find a network. How can this be?’

  ‘Right, there is a simple explanation for it,’ said Mr Contractus. ‘The whole village has to remain hidden from the normal population. For your mobile you would need antennas, and we would have to set them up in the village. Then the phone companies would have to locate your phone with the antennas and our village would hardly remain hidden. Much to the contrary we have to block the village from any transmissions and antennas from the outside, using electromagnetic and magic screens. Our development department has to work very hard in order to be always at least one step ahead of the latest technology in the world outside.’

  ‘Oh!’ Freddy looked crestfallen. ‘Then I can’t call home?’

  Mr Contractus smiled and shook his head. ‘No, no, of course you can call home. But you have to use one of the normal phones that are installed throughout the village. You can use these phones to call anywhere inside Snowfields. But if you want to call outside, you’ll have to use the operator, who will establish the connection for you. But, and this is important, you can only call your parents. Their numbers have been lodged with
the operators. This is for the same reason as I’ve said before. We have to stay hidden from the normal world, and only your parents may know where you are and what you do. Therefore all outside communication has to be restricted in this way.’ He looked around at them apologetically. ‘Sorry, but that’s the way it has to be.’

  Freddy brightened. ‘Oh, that’s fine. I only wanted to talk to my parents anyway.’

  Mr Contractus grinned. ‘Okay then.’ He looked around the classroom seriously. ‘Now we come to something very important. I’ll hand out your personal badges that will identify you as members of the White Christmas Organisation. It’s essential that you always carry them with you, especially if you go out of the school into the village, so you can always identify yourselves as regular members of our organisation.’

  He opened the drawer of his desk and pulled out a small sack. Then he walked through the rows and handed each student a badge. Will took his and looked at it. He saw the familiar logo on it, the same he had already seen on the official papers Conrad had given him not so long ago, when he had first heard about this organisation and the school he was now sitting in. The badge was rather small, round, quite heavy, made out of metal, and with a fine engraving of a large, red Christmas parcel and a garland of holly around it.

  Mr Contractus finished handing out the badges and stood in front of them again. ‘Now put away your badges safely, and look after them carefully! If you should ever lose them, you must immediately report this to any member of our staff here. Immediately! Don’t be afraid, we won’t hold you responsible, and there won’t be any punishment or personal consequences for you. We just have to make sure there won’t be any breaches of our security. This is very important for us all!’