Choules the Third: Orb of Ages

Part 4: In which the murderer (and a dog) strikes again.

Thu, 06 Sep 2007 14:07:33 GMT

“Not another one!” Cried the headmaster in dismay, once again in confrontation with the inspector. “How long will two murders take to investigate?”
    “As long as necessary, sir.” The policeman replied, employing the age-old tactic of question evasion. “With a serial killer involved, it could take months.”
    “It was a member of staff as well.” The head sighed. “I mean, pupils we can overlook…”
    “No-one must be overlooked, sir!” insisted the policeman, skipping from ‘tepid’ up to ‘bubbling’. “Your pupils are no less important, if not more important, than your members of staff!”
    “Now, now, no need to get tetchy.” Said the headmaster, offended. “The pupils are obviously of more concern to you than to us, I see that. But if the government can’t keep these homicidal chaps under control, then it’s hardly our fault is it?”
    It was the policeman’s turn to be cutting reply-less. Casting desperately around the study, in which they were currently residing, he caught sight of a new officer clumsily fingerprinting the head’s terrier. Hastily he made off.
    “When I said ‘fingerprint everything’, Spanton, I didn’t actually mean… Ouch! Blasted dog.” The head allowed himself a secret smile. He had always thought ‘Nipper’ was a very appropriate name.

Instalment the Third: The saga never ends!

Thu, 09 Aug 2007 06:56:00 GMT

Meanwhile, in the cricket pavilion, Mr. Mallock was trying to do both of these things at the same time. With the teachers being ousted from everywhere else, he was lucky to have got there before the others. He’d always said his class needed to get more exercise.
    Sir, can I? Whack! Ouch! Sir? Sir? Whack! Ouch! Whack! Whack! Ouch! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack!
    Mallock surveyed the scene with satisfaction. Several boys were nursing their bruises, several more were unconscious, and the survivors were tactfully cowering in the corner. He had always prided himself on his solid palm, and it had undoubtedly done its job. There was another whack, but this time it wasn’t him.
    It was a cricket bat, and this time he was the one being whacked.

Part two: The thrills continue...

Mon, 23 Jul 2007 13:06:00 GMT

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    “I still don’t see what all the bother is about,” sighed the headmaster, thrusting the crime report back into the inspector’s hands, “it’s not as if anyone is going to miss the little nuisance.”
    “The police must treat all suspicious incidents with extreme caution, sir.” The policeman replied, thinking it an appropriate phrase for the current situation. “Besides, we don’t get many cases of schoolboys lying in pools of blood. Especially their own blood.”
    “He was asking for it,” the head snorted, “it’ll be the last time he ever tries to dodge lessons.”
    “There are no excuses for murder, sir.” Retorted the policeman, his mental saucepan of water rising from ‘tepid’ to ‘simmering’. “If we don’t catch the culprit soon, you could be the next victim.” He had worked with the headmaster’s kind too many times before. They didn’t do things for the good of the public; they did things for the good of themselves. As he had expected, the head suddenly looked flustered and adjusted his collar nervously. He continued. “So long as no-one interferes we can do this quickly and easily, and we’ll try not to disturb you too much.”
    Unable to come up with a suitably cutting reply, the head strode off feeling irritable. Coming to the games board, he surveyed the position of the enemy – as he liked to call the boys. It was afternoon by now, and a Monday afternoon at that. 1 Monday afternoons were the work of Lucifer, he was sure of it. There were a predictably vast number of names under ‘Venezuela’ 2, and he decided against cross-referencing with the dog-eared signing-in book. Boys neglected to sign in and out at their own peril.
    ‘Why Venezuela?’ he thought to himself. Did it look like Venezuela? Was it related to Venezuela in any way? Were the people there complete strangers whose language and ways you couldn’t even comprehend? He decided not to answer the last one. Instead, he strode some more. Irritably. Suddenly a boy came up to him, looking worried.
    “Sir, sir, the policemen have taken over our classroom and we can’t get in and we don’t know what to do and what are we going to…”
    The headmaster caught the boy a slap around the face without even breaking his stride. As the boy staggered away, he tried to remember who it was. He had never held with knowing boys’ names. After all, you only needed to teach them…and hit them occasionally.

    1 After considerable pressure from several groups including the ISI (Independent Schools Inspectorate, if you must know), Ofsted and - for some bizarre reason – Oxfam, the school had been forced to make Monday a half day. The main reason, however, was that if they didn’t the NSPCC might get involved. Personally, the headmaster thought the RSPCA would have been more of a problem.
    2 A large wooded area used as a sustainable alternative to the boys venting their ‘excess energy’ on the school buildings and/or staff. Strangely, it was one of the few things the ISI had never investigated in particular detail.