“Nunjas they’re called – supposed to be some kind of religious order, but don’t let that fool you. Holy they ain’t!”
What of Joe?
His journey had been very different but no less tiring, squashed in the back of the car between two silent, grim-faced men with huge boulder shoulders. These men, along with the drivers of each car and their Boss, Mordant (who had a back seat all to himself in the first, more luxurious limo) were the only ones not to go racing after Miles and Alice. They seemed to be sitting in the stationary vehicles for ages while other black-coated men were frantically raking through the woodland half a mile away before setting fire to it. The idea had originally been to smoke the children out into the open. But, as with all bad intentions, theirs too went catastrophically wrong when the wood, dried after a couple of weeks of good weather, burst into flames, threatening to turn the entire landscape into a tinder box. Much to the disappointment of certain pupils, the fire brigade was called before the flames reached the school, by which time the search for Miles and Alice had been abandoned, but not before two of the men had their Macs catch fire, sending them hopping and howling back to the limos.
After witnessing this fiasco, Mordant emerged from the comfy back seat, his face the colour of rotting beetroot and his Gucci-clad feet stamping with frustration.
‘You idiots!” he railed, “We need those kids alive! Nincompoops! You couldn’t organise a brew-up at a vicar’s tea-party!”
“Sorry Mordant,” said Skinner, cringing under the boss’s furious abuse. “We couldn’t find them anywhere.”
Griswold tried to lighten the mood “Well, you have to look on the bright side,“ he quipped. “They probably died quite horribly.”
“Yea!” said Craven and chuckled at the thought.
In response, Mordant merely glared at his idiot henchmen. “Get back in the car, you thickos! We’d better get this kid to Babel before he disappears as well….that’s if you can handle him all by yourselves?” he added, sarcasm spewing from his mouth.
“He’s gone to sleep,” said Skinner as he climbed into the seat facing Joe. Far from sleeping, though, Joe had closed his eyes to try to shut out the horror of it all.
“Well that should make your job a bit easier, shouldn’t it?” With that final jibe, Mordant got back in his car and slammed the door.
The limousines set off, engines purring, up the road, past the smoking woodland, and out into open country. Joe gazed out of the window as they climbed steadily upwards onto the moors, which were particularly beautiful at this time of year, with the heather coming into bud and the sun casting a golden glow onto the peaks.
But as they continued the journey, the landscape became bleak and blackened by peat, a desolate scene relieved only by coarse scrubby tufts of lifeless reeds and bracken. If this were not enough to make Joe’s heart sink, then the sight awaiting him would send it plunging into his trainers.
The limo turned onto a steep, narrow track and the engine ground into second gear as a small copse of tall, dense pine trees came into view, hiding the horror beyond. It was only once they’d driven through the trees that Joe had his first glimpse of the Babel Retreat, a large fortress, dark and gloomy, skulking at the bottom of the valley in the middle of dark, swirling water. The nearer it loomed, the more hideous it appeared, its outer walls impossibly high and laced with broken glass and vicious razor wire. Only the moorland springs gave any hint of life, and these bubbled merrily downwards from the hills before converging into the lake. This treacherous water served two purposes. Firstly, it formed a moat around the building making it impossible for unwelcome visitors to reach; and secondly, it provided a constant water supply through a series of aqueducts leading into the cellars.
On their approach, Joe heard an ominous creak as a large drawbridge was dropped, allowing the limos to cross the moat, and two enormous iron gates opened to reveal a large cobbled courtyard. Here, several women stood waiting, all dressed in long robes of purple and crimson, while their heads were covered with crisp, white veils and weird headdresses, which reminded Joe of the paper aeroplanes he sometimes made in class. The tallest of these women stepped forward to greet Mordant as he and the rest of his men left the comfort of their limousines, dragging Joe out with them. Grabbing the boy by the scruff of his neck, Skinner rasped in his ear. “Now mind your manners, you little scumbag. That lady there is Sister Prism, head of this joint and your boss from now on. Sister’s her title, so remember to use it!”
“Mr. Mordant, how nice to see you again. I trust you are well?” said the woman. Although her words were welcoming, there was no warmth behind them.
“This isn’t a social call,” he replied gruffly. “I’ve brought you another brat for safekeeping.” Unceremoniously, he shoved Joe towards the stern-looking woman who looked the small boy up and down with an icy gaze. He might just as well have been a maggot for all he mattered.
“Stand up straight, boy!” rapped Mordant. “This nice lady is going to look after you now, but she doesn’t stand for no nonsense, so if I were you, I’d do as I was told.”
Sister Prism continued to look at the child, her nose twitching like she had a bad smell under it. “What’s its name?” she asked, without much interest.
Of course, to Mordant, such details were irrelevant. Nevertheless, he nudged Joe with his elbow. “Tell Sister Prism your name, brat.”
Slowly, Joe glanced up into the woman’s cold, dead eyes. “Well?” said Prism, menacingly. Joe was not going to be intimidated. Even if he were afraid of this tall, pointy-nosed lady with the alabaster skin, he’d rather die than show it. Resolutely, he glared back at her, refusing to answer. Sister Prism was not accustomed to people defying her, especially rude young boys.
“Tell me your name, boy!” she warned, “Otherwise, I might think you are insolent, and insolent children have to be dealt with in a very uncomfortable way.”
“I think he’s shy,” suggested Skinner “he’s not said a word all the way here.”
“Or perhaps he’s dumb,” said Sister Prism “which would be a pitiful waste of a tongue. Perhaps we should pluck it out and give it to someone who’ll make good use of it. Like my cat, for instance!” She chuckled unpleasantly, and her finely chiseled nose began to wrinkle again.
“Wisteria!” she called “take this…this person to the dormitory.” Her eyes fixed on Joe with steely determination. “I’ll deal with you later.”
As Wisteria, a small, plump woman, led Joe away, Mordant began to brief her superior. “As you’re no doubt aware, this boy is quite important to us. It seems his parents are not co-operating quite as freely as they should and …well, it may be necessary to exert some extra pressure. I’m sure you’ll understand?”
“Perfectly, Mr. Mordant, perfectly. Be assured you can safely leave the little brute to me. No doubt Mummy and Daddy will be delighted to know what an excellent education their offspring is receiving.”
Mordant took her hand and kissed it, suddenly oozing smarm. In fact, he was already deeply impressed by this woman whose nastiness matched his own. “I’m sure we can count on you…. Sister Prism. Or may I be so bold to call you…Prissy?”
His gallantry was met by Prism’s usual chilliness, but the merest hint of pink on her otherwise colourless features betrayed her pleasure. “Perhaps, one day,” she replied. Mordant smirked, confident of his charm and, with a nod of his head, he returned to his car. “I’ll be in touch,” he leered, and the convoy sped away into the gloom.
Meanwhile, Joe was being dragged along by Wisteria and two other women through an oak door and up a spiral staircase which seemed to go on forever.
At last, they reached a long corridor with highly polished floors and several doors. “Here we are,” said Wisteria and ushered the boy into a dormitory where he’d be locked up for the night, a dingy, dank place with walls a horrible shade of bile green. Lining each side of the room were lumpy-looking beds with rusty iron bedsteads and thin, grey, itchy-looking blankets.
Apart from the lamp Sister Wisteria was carrying, there didn’t seem to be any lights, but at least his guide was a little more forthcoming than Prism. “Seeing as it’s your first night, I’ll leave this lamp for a while,” she said, “Just until you get your bearings. Besides” she added, “once the sun goes down, it’s very creepy in here. They say it’s haunted by a wicked Baron who roams about searching for children to pull their toe-ses and bite their noses!” Joe’s eyes grew like saucers.
“But I shouldn’t worry if I were you”, said Wisteria cheerily “it’s probably just a story. Pleasant dreams! Oh…and there’s some food on the table if you’re hungry.”
With that, she disappeared, leaving Joe alone with the ghost. He ran to the door, but it was locked. His first instinct was to scream to be let out, yet something told him Sister Prism would be pleased if he did that. Instead, he shook himself and marched determinedly to the table.
“Come on, Joe.” he said to himself, “Let’s see what there is to eat.” Very little as it happened. A few slices of dry, mouldy bread which curled up at the corners, four pieces of luncheon meat going green at the edges, and a bowl of cold tapioca which reminded Joe of frogspawn. There was also a bottle of flat lemonade and a plastic cup.
Hungry as he was, Joe hardly enjoyed his supper, although he tried, with great difficulty to swallow some of it. “Got to keep your strength up,” he chivied himself, echoing his mother’s advice but the very thought of her caused a huge lump in his throat and he began to snivel. “I wonder where she and Dad are!” he murmured sadly.
But, just before the inevitable tears began to roll, he heard a scuttling noise from one corner of the room and he breathed in sharply.
“Who’s there?” he rasped. No answer. “Perhaps it’s the ghost,” he thought and imagined he could see a shadowy shape out of the corner of his eye. “Who are you!?” yelled Joe. “Come out and let me see you!” But still there was no answer.
Finally, after a long silence, the ghost started scuttling again, and this time there was a low wooing noise to go with it. Scared as he was, Joe got angry. He’d had such a horrid time that day and he was so tired and so miserable, nothing could make matters worse – not even a blood-sucking baron. “You can’t frighten me!” cried Joe defiantly “Come out and show yourself and if you don’t it’s ‘cos you’re a coward and I’m not scared at anything cowards can do, so there!” Again, there was silence. “It’s gone away,” Joe said to himself, allowing himself a sliver of triumph.
Yet, he’d hardly begun to breathe again, when “Yarrrrrrrh!” – the ‘ghost’ leapt out from under a nearby bed, shrieking and howling, and it grabbed Joe from behind. Poor Joe. All his courage deserted him and he screamed at the top of his voice.
“Get off!” he yelled hysterically, kicking and struggling until, with superhuman effort, he managed to dislodge the creature from his back. Gasping from the struggle, Joe looked down to where his tormentor lay on the floor, helpless with laughter. It was a black boy about his own age with mischievous eyes and the widest smile Joe had ever seen.
“That wasn’t funny!” Joe shouted. He was torn between anger at the boy’s trick and relief that he wasn’t the evil baron.
“Yes, it was!” replied the boy, still hooting with mirth. “You were well scared!”
“No, I wasn’t!” Joe protested.
“‘Course you were,” came the reply. “You thought I was the ghost!”
Satisfied his ruse had had the desired effect, the boy stopped laughing and jumped to his feet. “My name’s Odi – short for Otis Rudi Rogers, but I’m Odi to my friends, and very pleased to make your acquaintance. What’s your name?”
“Joe.”
“Welcome to Babel, Joe – not that you want to be here, mind, but for my own selfish reasons I’m glad you came,” said Odi “It’s pretty miserable here on your own, I can tell you.”
“Who are those women?” asked Joe.
“Oh them!” snorted Odi. “Nunjas they’re called – supposed to be some kind of religious order, but don’t let that fool you. Holy they ain’t!”
“Are we prisoners here?”
“Well, that’s a matter of opinion,” said Odi, “depending on whether you’ve tried to escape or not.” “Have you?” Joe wondered. Odi opened his mouth wide in mock astonishment at such a question.
“Have you seen the moat down there? Trust me, it’s a million miles deep and if it doesn’t drown you it’s probably got piranha fish in it or something. Besides the walls in here are like 3 miles thick – almost as thick as your head if you think we can get out of Babel!”
“How long have you been here?” was Joe’s next question.
“About two weeks. Some men turned up at our house and took away my folks. Then they brought me here. Don’t ask me why.”
“That’s the same as happened to me!” exclaimed Joe. “I don’t know what’s happened to my parents, either.” Realising he was in danger of crying, he quickly added, “What is this place, anyway?” and wiped his nose with his sleeve.
Odi shrugged. “It’s some kind of weird-type nun place,” he said, unhelpfully, “though they don’t seem much like nuns to me.” He lowered his voice mysteriously “And you should see what they get up to at night!”
“What?” asked Joe, intrigued?
Odi smiled and tapped the tip of his nose with his finger. “Stick with me and you’ll soon find out.” he replied. “I know lots of secrets, and I might just share them with you……but only if you show me respect, mind. Respect?”
At this, he raised a fist and Joe ducked instinctively, afraid Odi was going to hit him. Instead, his new friend laughed, grabbed hold of Joe’s hand, coaxed it into a fist to match his own and they pressed knuckles.
“My man!” said Odi. “My man!” replied Joe. “My man!” repeated Odi, and there were a few ‘ouches’ as they kept hitting each other.
“Hey! I said ‘Respect’, man!” and they both laughed.
Now they’d been properly introduced, the boys sat on one of the beds and tried to make sense of what was happening, “Why do you think they want us?” said Joe “We’re just kids.”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” said Odi, “but it might have something to do with the government and the election and that. Dad was really horrified at some new guy getting loads of votes. He said it must have been rigged and if he got to be the Main Man we’d all be in trouble.”
“I don’t understand about politics,” said Joe. “My parents never talk about things like that.”
“They probably do,” Odi replied, “usually when there’s something good on telly and they’ve got people round and they all start yakking so’s I can’t hear it.”
“What does your Dad do?” asked Joe.
Odi thought for a moment. “Something with computers,” came the reply, “Software programming or some kind of techno stuff. I dunno. What about yours?”
“He teaches science,” Joe said. “Maybe he’s a spy!” said Odi. “Maybe our Mums and Dads have been plotting to assassinate the Prime Minister or something and that’s why they’ve disappeared.”
Joe didn’t think that was likely. “No,” he said, “my Dad goes shopping and weeds the garden and cleans the car. Spies don’t do things like that.”
“That’s all you know,” said Odi. “Maybe he isn’t shopping. Maybe it’s a secret assignment and he’s passing on microfilm to other spies at the checkout!”
There was a pause while Joe considered this. He couldn’t imagine the Co-op’s plump, jolly checkout lady being a spy. “Nah!” he replied, “he only goes when we’ve run out of milk.”
“Talking of milk…. are you hungry?” asked Odi.
“Well, I had some bread just now….”
“You didn’t EAT that garbage, did you!? Stick with me, and you’re in for a feast!”
Odi ran to the large stone fireplace in the dormitory and beckoned Joe to follow him. Just above the mantelpiece was a stone carving of a gargoyle with huge poppy eyes and a tongue protruding from its mouth, which Odi grabbed and prised upwards. This acted as a lever, triggering a mechanism and causing the floor of the fireplace to grind open slowly, revealing a stone steps spiraling downwards.
With a shout of triumph, Odi punched the air and cried, “I’ve not been here for two weeks without finding out a few things! I leant against it by accident and it just swung open! Not even Prism knows it’s here. Follow me!” and he began to disappear from view. “Last one there gets the soggy mashed potatoes!”
The steps seemed to go on forever and Joe found it impossible to keep up with Odi and upright at the same time. The stone spirals were and narrow and uneven, and Joe was terrified in case he slipped. It was indeed a perilous descent, but at last, he reached the bottom safely to find Odi waiting by a huge oak door. After making sure the coast was clear, Odi and Joe pushed their way into a large old-fashioned kitchen. It had a stone-flagged floor, a huge sink made out of slate, a polished lead cooking range, and an enormous wooden table, so old its surface had been worn down by all the years of scrubbing. “The larder’s over there” whispered Odi.
“What if someone comes in?” asked Joe, nervously.
“Oh, they won’t” replied Odi with a ‘wouldn’t you like to know but I’m not going to tell you tone of voice’ “They’ll be far too busy!” He winked at Joe who was actually dying to find out about this mysterious activity, but equally determined not to ask. In his experience, people never told him anything he really wanted to know and yet always insisted on telling him the things he found boring. His solution was to simply pretend he wasn’t interested in anything EVER and, sure enough, someone would spill the beans if only to get a reaction.
Besides, at that point he was far more concerned with his rumbling stomach and, Odi, true to his word, had led them to a feast. The larder shelves were simply groaning with grub: Chicken pieces in barbecue sauce, sausage rolls, crisps, savoury biscuits and cheese, fresh rolls and jam, pies and pastries, and jellies galore! For the next ten minutes, the boys hardly spoke as they crammed the food into their hungry mouths.
“Anyone for Pâté de Foie Gras?” said Odi with his Sunday best accent.
“How’s about Beluga Caviar?” added Joe. “It looks like chicken poo!” remarked Odi and stuck a finger into the tin. “It IS chicken poo!” he added, and they both laughed.
Gorging on a chocolate muffin, Joe looked around him and noticed, without much interest, an amazingly large pile of tea. Lemon tea, china tea, herbal tea, fruity tea, ordinary tea – every type of tea known to man seemed to be stashed in the larder.
“That’s Sister Prism’s little weakness,” explained Odi, following Joe’s gaze. “You never see her without a cup and saucer in her hand. She’s the original Tea Bag!” And the boys laughed again, their full stomachs giving them a feeling of contentment, until….
Out of the blue, they heard a bloodcurdling sound. A sound so eerie and unearthly that it almost froze their eyeballs. It was a deep, harsh, growling sound which seemed to be coming from under earth like a grumbling volcano.
The boys stood silently, rigid with terror.
“What was that?” croaked Joe feebly.
“I don’t know,” replied Odi. “All I know is, I don’t think I want to know! But it sure sounds Nasty!”
They listened carefully for a moment then decided it was probably a creaky door before returning to the more serious business of the jellies.
Finally, when they’d eaten their fill and their faces were smeared with all the colours of the rainbow, Odi nudged Joe and led him towards the hall outside. “You’re going to see something really cool now,” he promised. “Follow me.”
“Come on, Wisteria,” she called, “It’s time for our devotions!”
The two children peeped around the corner until sure the coast was clear.
“Where to now?” Joe asked.
Odi smiled mischievously “Devotions!” he replied. “Just follow me.” He led the way to a small, back staircase and, before ascending, turned towards Joe with his finger on his lips. “Not a sound,” he whispered, “or we’re dead meat!”
As they climbed, they heard singing. Not pleasant tuneful singing, but a sort of whiny, eerie chant, which made Joe’s skin crawl. He wished they could return to the dormitory.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” said Joe, weakly.
“It’ll be wicked, you’ll see!” replied Odi, cheerfully. By now, they’d reached an enormous oak door. Odi pushed it open and began to creep through, beckoning for Joe to follow him into a large room with a floor so highly polished, they could almost see their faces in it. The room was as big as a school gymnasium with huge, stained-glass windows reflecting light from sparkling chandeliers. But even these paled next to the breathtaking object standing majestically at the far end of the hall. When their eyes adjusted to the brightness, the boys saw an ornate golden pole with the head of a strange beast perched on top. It must have been at least 12ft high, reaching almost to the rafters and dominating everything else in the room. Joe rubbed his eyes and stared at the symbol, trying to make out what it was. To his tired eyes, it looked like a dragon with enormous teeth and ruby-coloured eyes and horns encrusted with exquisite gems of every hue, including diamonds so pure that every facet sparkled with pride. The effect was awesome!
So awesome, in fact, Joe and Odi were almost oblivious to the strange chanting until the main doors of the hall began to open. “Quick!” cried Odi “behind the curtain!” It wasn’t really a curtain a richly embroidered tapestry, which covered the walls. Not that the boys cared what it was as they skated across the mirror of a floor and dived for cover. The tapestry smelt musty and its fibres almost made them sneeze, but at least it gave them somewhere to hide. Being so old, it also had holes through which its visitors could view proceedings.
They’d hidden in the nick of time. Just as Joe’s trainers disappeared from view, about 70 women entered in their purple robes, carrying long staffs before them. One by one, they approached the golden pole with the three-horned dragon, raised their hands above their head and, with clenched fists, clicked both wrists together by way of a salute. The last to do so was Sister Prism who then clapped her hands as a signal for the chanting to stop, opened her arms wide and began to address the image.
“Oh, mighty Babel! We come to offer our praise. Grant us power for the task set before us.”
“Power be upon us,” murmured the rest of the women. Sister Prism turned to the congregation and announced, “Let our devotions begin!”
Suddenly, the whole atmosphere changed from one of hushed reverence to frenetic energy. Most of the Nunjas formed a circle which two of them entered. This couple bowed to each other, held up their staffs in a ritualistic salute and then, accompanied by ear-splitting shrieks, threw themselves into a frenzied bout of gravity-defying leaps, kicks and parries, using their staffs, their agility, and even their feet to gain an advantage over their partner. It was a mesmerising display, both women swirling and somersaulting with grace. Even their frumpy frocks seemed elegant, transformed to the exotic robes of Samurai warriors.
“Wow!” exclaimed Joe.
“They’re like Ninjas!” whispered Joe. “That’s right!” Odi replied. “Ninja nuns! Nunjas! Just look at them go!” And he chuckled to himself, enjoying the display. Joe, however, felt more fear then at any time since his capture. It wasn’t so much the Kung Fu that disturbed him, although shrieking women hurling themselves around were scary enough. No, it was the image of the dragon.
After some minutes had passed, Sister Prism herself took to the floor and her fellow nunjas stopped their own activities to watch in awed silence. This woman was incredible. Kicking, swirling, leaping, pirouetting in mid-air, all the while using her staff to propel her upwards, ever higher, almost to the rafters. She was halfway through a stunning pirouette when Odi, bloated from his recent gorging in the larder, burped. Loudly.
This caused Sister Prism to lose concentration so that, instead of achieving the graceful manoeuvre intended, she landed clumsily and painfully on her bottom.
“Who did that?” she yelled angrily. Joe put his hand over his mouth, horrified, as he too felt a huge bubble of air rising remorselessly upwards from his belly, but nothing could muffle the sound of the enormous burp which followed. “Baarf!” went Joe, and his friend joined in. “Baarf! Baarf!” went Odi and trumped loudly at the same time. Wind seemed to be coming out of the boys from all directions! “Baarf Baarf”. They simply couldn’t help it!
Sister Prism ripped the tapestry open and dragged the boys out, her mouth frothing with rage. She picked up her staff and held it poised above her head, ready to strike the unfortunate boys. “No, sister!” cried Wisteria. “We must keep control!” This seemed to bring Prism back to her senses, and the hall fell silent.
“I do believe we’ve got rats,” she said. Odi and Joe bolted for the door, but the Nunjas were too fast for them. They were grabbed by the scruff of their necks and forced to stand in front of Sister Prism. “And just what do you think you’re doing here?” she demanded.
“Well, you see, Sister….” Odi began.
“Yes?” she insisted. “I’m waiting!”
“We just wanted to watch….Whoa….. it was too much!” Odi explained. “Especially you, Sister Prism, you were terrific…. like Lara Croft – only cool!” He glanced up at her through his long, curly eyelashes. It was a look that never failed with his mother or aunties, no matter how naughty he’d been.
It didn’t work with Sister Prism. She viewed him as she would a tissue sample under a microscope. Then she laughed sarcastically. “Odi Rogers, what a charmer you are. If I didn’t hate children so much, I’d adopt you!” She bent down and grabbed him by the ear.
“Owww!” he yelped, “I thought you’d be cool about this, Sister. Why are you hassling me?”
“Because, you little creep,” she replied, “it gives me so much pleasure.” She was about to pinch his ear even harder but, luckily for Odi, she suddenly changed her mind.
“So, you find our devotions fascinating, do you?”
Odi nodded vigorously. “Absolutely!” he exclaimed “they are the best thing I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen some fascinating things in my life.”
“Such as?” asked Sister Prism.
“Well……I’ve seen my Dad out jogging once, only most people thought it was an eclipse.”
Sister Prism let go of his ear and bent down to whisper in it. “And how would you like to join in?”
Odi gaped at her. “What ME? Me join in your devotions? Well, sure…..”
“And how about you, Joe? Would you like to learn the sacred arts?”
Joe stared at her and slowly shook his head.
“You wouldn’t like to be a grand master with the power of the elements at your command?” What was it about this boy she found so irritating?
“Of course,” she continued, “you couldn’t start straight away. You’d need to prepare your heart and mind by first dedicating yourself to the divine.”
She took Joe by the hand and led him towards the jewelled dragon. “Just stand here quietly for a moment’s contemplation before you bow in homage. Now close your eyes and breathe deeply.” After a few moments, she tried to push Joe forward, but his small frame went rigid. “What’s the matter with you?” the woman snapped.
“I won’t! I won’t do it!” he cried. “It’s horrible and I hate it!”
“Oh, so it CAN speak!” Sister Prism exclaimed. “Come on, boy, all you have to do is bow!”
Sister Wisteria tried to encourage him. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, Joe” she cooed, “It’s only an image.”
“Then why bow down to it?” Joe reasoned.
“Because!” snarled Sister Prism ” Because….. well, because…. Because I SAY so!” Seeing this had no effect on the little boy, she decided to try a subtle approach. “Joe, sweetheart. It’s been a long day for you, I understand that. And I’m sure you and your little friend want nothing more than to be safely tucked up in a nice warm bed with a lovely mug of cocoa. Tomorrow, if you’re very, very good, I’ll let you join us for breakfast and then you can watch a nice video. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? And all you have to do is this one little itsy-bitsy thing. One tiny little act of devotion!”
“I won’t bow down to the dragon,” insisted Joe.
“Then I’ll lock you in a cell with no food, no blankets, no windows until you scream and beg to come out! Only I won’t let you. So, what is it to be, Joe?”
“Well?” There was no answer. “Boy, don’t you realise I could break you in two with one chop of my hand? I will NOT be defied!”
“I don’t care!” Joe cried. “You can do what you like ‘cos you’re big and I’m small – but you can’t make me do anything and no matter what you do or how horrid you are, I won’t bow down to the dragon! I won’t! I won’t! Not ever!” He folded his arms and set his jaw and Sister Prism knew there’d be no forcing him.
“Very well” she said and paused to think for a moment.” Seeing as it’s your first day, I’m going to be lenient with you. Tomorrow, however, we will come here again. When the clock strikes noon, you and Odi will bow to the divinity. And if you don’t you’ll be thrown into the Pit.”
The other Nunjas gasped: “Oh no! Not the Pit!” To a woman, they shuddered at the very thought.
Sister Prism raised a hand to silence them. “Sisters, we have no choice. If this child willfully and deliberately offends that which we hold dear, we must act! The choice is his!” She bent down to push her face into Joe’s and hissed angrily “Can’t you see I’m trying to be NICE!”
“Any nicer and you might have friends,” Odi muttered under his breath.
“What did you say?” Prism snapped.
“I said you just couldn’t BE any nicer, Sister Prism” Odi replied, his eyes shining with sincerity.
Sister Prism began to breathe deeply. “I like to think of myself as being a reasonable person. “Until noon tomorrow then. Sister Wisteria, escort these…these…. persons back to bed, and this time make sure they stay there!” Having dismissed the assembly, Prism swept imperiously through the hall and left.
“Hey, Wisteria, what’s with the Pit?” asked Odi.
“Ohhh, the Pit, the Pit, don’t even mention it!” came the reply. “Let’s just say…I hope you don’t end up there, the emphasis being on the word ‘end’, if you know what I mean. Oh dear, oh dear oh dear.”
“It’s just a hole in the ground, right?” Odi persisted, trying not to sound scared.
Wisteria turned to him, gazing down pityingly. “Have you ever heard of Leviathan?” she said.
After puzzling for a moment, Odi replied. “Are they into rap or hip hop?”
Only when they’d returned to the dormitory did either of the boys dare speak. “What’s Leviathan?” asked Joe, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. By way of answer, Wisteria merely nodded towards a pile of dusty old books on a shelf in a corner of the room. “There’s a dictionary there” she said. “Why not look it up and have a little nighttime reading. It’s the only way to learn.”
With that, she giggled for no reason in particular and disappeared with a cheery “Nighty Night, boys!”
As her giggle grew fainter in the corridor outside, Joe and Odi stared at each other. And then they turned their gaze towards the dictionary. “Do you really want to find out?” asked Joe. “Do you?” asked Odi. Joe shook his head.
“Let’s sleep on it, hey?” suggested Odi.
Once in their bleak little beds, they whispered to each other in the dark.
“What’s the big deal anyway?” asked Odi “Why wouldn’t you kneel to the dragon?”
“That’s the funny thing,” said Joe. “I don’t know why. I just couldn’t do it.”
“Not even if it meant facing Leviathan, whoever that is?”
Joe simply couldn’t answer. He hoped he would be brave, but, then, how did he know just how he’d react if his life was at stake. For now, there was only one thing he could do – the same thing he’d always done at bedtime. He talked to Mr. Big.