Read Online Ribblestrop by Andy Mulligan - Free Book Online Page B

girl—now why don’t you turn around and beat it!”
    Millie stared at the pistol and at Caspar’s twisted face. Her adrenaline had been rising steadily for the last ten seconds and she knew enough about first encounters to know they were important. Moving fast, she slapped the gun to the side and punched Caspar hard, full in the face. He went backward, tripping over the bed and onto the floor. Millie followed, kicking, though the boy’s arms were protecting his head so she didn’t connect. She dropped to her knees instead, all her weight on his stomach. The pistol went skitteringacross the floor, and Caspar was gasping and twisting. Millie had him now, though. She went for his hair, but there wasn’t enough to hold on to. As the boy’s head came up, she had to content herself with slamming it back onto the flagstones with her open palm.
    Sanchez was yelling and Caspar had found the air from somewhere for a long, high-pitched howl.
    â€œLittle swine!” hissed Millie. She grabbed the boy’s tie and looped it once round his bare throat, jerking it tight. He was half on his side, scrabbling to protect himself. Sanchez was between them, levering her backward, but she still managed a hard punch on the child’s ear. She was being dragged off now, and all she could do was kick at the backside that was curling away from her. Caspar got to his feet, his screams coming in furious panting sobs.
    â€œYou cow!” he whispered. “You rotten, damn . . .”
    He stumbled from the room, clutching his head. He bashed into the door and nearly fell again. Millie went to kick him once more, but Sanchez had her from behind and was dragging her backward. “Let him go!” he was shouting. “It isn’t worth it, Millie, it’s just not—”
    â€œGet off me, Sanchez!” hissed Millie. Her voice was trembling. “Nobody asked you! Get your hands off!” She twisted out of his grip and stood ready, fists clenched.
    â€œI’m sorry, but it makes things worse! If he tells his granny, the headmaster has problems—”
    â€œI’ll decide if he’s worth it! He was going to shoot me in the face!”
    â€œIt’s an antique, he’s always playing around with stuff like that.”
    The two children were staring at each other, Caspar long gone. Millie was trembling, but the joy of triumph was taking over. She had forgotten how invigorating a good fight could be, and she stood there drunk and dangerous.
    â€œHonestly,” said Sanchez, trying to calm her, “what he says is true. His grandmother owns the place—his parents are dead. She wants to close the school anyway, so you just give her more reasons to make trouble.”
    â€œHe got just what he deserved. I don’t let anyone mess me around, Sanchez. Nobody.”
    â€œWell, we spent all last term trying to ignore him,” said Sanchez. “He does a few lessons with us—he’s not worth worrying about. We don’t fight him.”
    â€œSanchez, I don’t need anyone telling me what I can and can’t do.”
    â€œMum?” said a quiet voice. It was Sam.
    â€œI don’t want to tell you what to do,” said Sanchez, patiently. “I don’t want you or him getting hurt, and . . . what are you doing?”
    â€œI’m having a cigarette.”
    Millie had produced a slightly crushed packet. She fiddled with the contents, one eye on Sanchez still.
    â€œYou shouldn’t smoke. Let’s just look after Sam.”
    â€œLook,” said Millie. “He’s left his little gun.”
    â€œMum? Dad?” moaned Sam. Sanchez moved quickly to the boy’s bedside. He sat beside him and drew the blanket up to the child’s chin.
    â€œSanchez,” said Millie, “how am I supposed to sleep in a boys’ dormitory?”
    â€œI don’t know. Ask the headmaster.”
    â€œIt’s illegal