Poppy Pym and the Pharaoh's Curse Read online

  “Thistle Tweakers. It’s what Goldfinches used to be called in the olden days,” she repeated and, obviously seeing the confusion on my face, added helpfully, “All the girls on this floor of the dormitory are Goldfinches, you see—”

  “Oh, right,” I managed, thinking she was talking complete gobbledygook, “that’s interesting.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” She beamed. “Like we have a secret name. I can lend you my Bumper Book of British Birds if you’re interested in our house bird.”

  I smiled back at her but I must have still looked confused.

  “Do you know about the four houses that the school is split into?” she asked.

  I shook my head.

  “Oh, it’s just an ancient tradition. Every student is part of a different house – Goldfinches, Robins, Sparrows or Wrens. When you do something good, you get a merit; when you do something bad, you get a demerit; and at the end of the year, they add everyone’s merits together, and the house with the most gets a big treat. I heard that last year they actually went to the circus.”

  “Oh, right, of course they did,” I said. “You seem to know a lot about this stuff.”

  “I read up about it over the summer,” said the girl vaguely.

  I heard Pym cough from behind me, reminding me she was still there.

  “Oh! Sorry!” I said. “This is Pym.”

  “Oh yes, are you staying here too?” asked the girl, including Pym in her slightly dreamy, beaming smile.

  “No,” cackled Pym, much amused, “I’m a long way past my school days now, dear. I’m just dropping Poppy off. And what’s your name?”

  “Oh no, didn’t I say?” The girl smacked her palm against her forehead. “Sometimes I just start saying things in the middle because my mouth can’t seem to keep up with my brain, if you know what I mean. I’m Ingrid.”

  And then we all shook hands like grown-ups. Even me and Pym, because it just felt like the right thing to do. Suddenly Pym got a curious look in her bad eye. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a paper clip. “Here you go, lovey,” she said, pushing it into Ingrid’s hand. “You need to keep this in your pocket at all times. The vision is unclear, but you will need it. It’s very important.” I winced, thinking that Ingrid would find Pym’s talk strange.

  “Oh, how lovely, thanks,” said Ingrid placidly, as if things like this happened every day. She slipped the paper clip into her back pocket without another word about it.

  We all chatted for a bit while I tried to forget that Pym was about to leave, but eventually there was a long pause and she said, “Well, I think it’s time for me to push off.”

  I felt as if my stomach was about to fall out of my face. Ingrid muttered something about finding the library before slipping out the door and leaving Pym and me to say goodbye in private.

  Pym put her hands on my shoulders and looked at me hard with her good eye and almost as hard with her bad eye. She seemed to be fizzing with energy and I knew that she was going to say something important.

  “Poppy …” she began, and I readied myself for some of her prophetic wisdom, “… always, always … eat your peas.”

  I burst out laughing, and Pym did too. She wrapped me in a big hug, and kissed me on the forehead. “You are fearless enough to face the trapeze and clever enough to make magic. You, Poppy Pym, are amazing. And we all love you very much. Just remember that,” said Pym quietly. I nodded, and we hugged again.

  “Here is our schedule,” she said, pressing a sheet of paper into my hand. “It tells you where we’re performing and where we’ll be staying. Don’t forget that we’ll speak on the telephone every Tuesday afternoon, starting tomorrow.”

  “And write letters?” I asked, my voice a bit trembly.

  “LOTS of letters,” nodded Pym, pulling me into another big hug.

  And then, suddenly, she was gone and I was all by myself.

  Have you ever felt completely, totally alone? Because that’s how I felt. Like a castaway on a desert island. My stomach felt sort of hollow and empty, and I could feel tears itching behind my eyelids. I sat on the bed next to the one Ingrid had been sitting on, and looked around at the empty room. Even though it was cosy and welcoming, it felt strange and unreal, like I had accidentally wandered into somebody else’s room, somebody else’s life. I opened my battered suitcase and stared blankly at the pile of books that sprang out, wishing I could curl up in my own room and lose myself in an adventure, when an older girl with a sheet of shining black hair stuck her head around the door.

  “Are you Poppy Pym?” she asked, and I nodded. “Miss Baxter wants to see you in her office,” she said, then seeing my blank look, she added, “Miss Baxter, the headmistress.”

  Chapter Four

  After wrangling with the school map once more, I finally found myself outside Miss Baxter’s office. I was bustled in by a very small, very ancient lady with curly grey hair. She was wearing a fluffy pink cardigan covered in crumbs and a lumpy elastic skirt. The room was dominated by a very large desk, precariously stacked with piles and piles of paper. The walls were covered in photographs, drawings and letters. To one side was a tall bank of filing cabinets, and in the other corner was a worn tartan armchair on which a fat orange cat was taking a rather sprawling nap. The cat flickered an eyelid at me, but clearly decided I wasn’t worth any further effort.

  “Ah, thank you, Gertrude, that will be all for now,” said a disembodied voice that seemed to drift towards us from behind the filing cabinets. Clearly Gertrude, the becrumbed lady, was Miss Baxter’s assistant. She mumbled something I couldn’t quite hear, nodded several times and then left. I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room and noticed two feet in black high-heeled shoes sticking out next to the cabinet from where the voice seemed to have come. Then some legs appeared, attached to the feet, and then the rest of a body, until the whole of Miss Baxter was standing in front of me. She had a round face with freckles across her nose. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun with a pen sticking out of it, and her hands were covered in green ink stains. She didn’t look very much like a headmistress to me, at least not the kind of headmistress I’d read about in books.

  “Hello,” she said, “you must be Poppy. Come here and help me find us a sweet or something.” With that, she started pulling open drawers in her desk, peering inside speculatively and then slamming them shut again. I had never seen so many drawers, and the glimpses I caught inside them were mind-boggling. One seemed to be full of glass marbles, another contained only an envelope with a red wax seal, another was full of nothing but pencil shavings, and finally she opened one from which she extracted half a packet of mint humbugs.

  “Here.” She smiled, pushing them towards me and sitting down behind the desk. “Help yourself. I think this will be a three-humbug kind of conversation. Sorry about the mess. I am usually pretty disorganized, but the first day of term is always especially awful. And I’m trying to help Gertrude, my new assistant, to learn the ropes as well, so I’m afraid things are even madder than usual.” She popped a humbug in her mouth and sucked it thoughtfully. “Did you find your room all right?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I said, sitting across from her and almost choking on my own humbug, trying to sound cool and calm.

  “Yes, I have a soft spot for Goldfinches. I was one myself, you see.” She picked up a piece of paper off the pile. “About a million years ago, of course.” Looking over the piece of paper, she smiled. “Ahhh yes, I remember, you’re in with Letty. She’s a second year. We often put an older student in with the first years to show them the ropes a bit, although I doubt you’ll be seeing too much of her; she’s a real hive of activity. And there’s another first-year girl…”

  “Ingrid,” I said, wanting to contribute to the conversation. “I just met her.”

  “Yes, Ingrid Blammel, that’s right. Very bright girl. I have a feeling you two will be fast
friends.” She gave me the kind of knowing look that Pym gets sometimes, and for some reason I felt a lump appear in my throat. I wasn’t so sure about that, given that my foolproof friend-making tactics had only succeeded in making me look like a weirdo so far. Miss Baxter smiled at me and reached across to press my hand.

  “I know it must be very daunting for you, Poppy, coming to a big school like this. Especially given your … unconventional … home life, but I think you will be really happy here. I’m sure you’ll be an asset to Saint Smithen’s with your many talents and quick mind.” The way she said it made me sit up a little straighter. “You might find it difficult to adjust here at first. You’re a very unusual girl, Poppy.” I felt myself deflate a bit, then, seeing my distraught face, she added hastily, “No, no, it’s a good thing! I just want to prepare you for the fact that things might be quite different to what you are used to. I’m certain you will find your way; just don’t be downhearted if it takes a little time.”

  I sat in silence, chewing on my bottom lip. Miss Baxter obviously noticed my unhappiness because she changed the subject. “It’s an exciting year to be here,” she added. “Not only do we have a new science lab, but we will be hosting an exhibition of ancient Egyptian artefacts before they go on display at the British Museum. You’ll be doing a lot of work in your history classes in the build-up to that, and I must say there’s some really fascinating stuff going into it.”

  “Where did the artefacts come from?” I asked. “It sounds like the start of a Dougie Valentine book.” I had only meant to think it, but the words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.

  “Ah,” Miss Baxter smiled, “A fellow Dougie Valentine fan, excellent. In fact, a gentleman who was a pupil here a very long time ago left the artefacts to us in his will, under the condition that they be exhibited at the school for a term before going to the museum. He was a real collector and it’s the first time some of these pieces have been seen by anyone outside his family for two hundred years. You’re quite right, it does sound like the start of one of Dougie’s mysteries, although I hope our exhibition will be free from his usual hijinks!”

  She laughed, and I joined in – even though a bit of me thought a few hijinks might be quite good fun.

  “Anyway,” Miss Baxter continued, “I know that this is a big transition, and that things might not be quite … what you are used to … but I hope that once you settle in, you’ll really enjoy life at Saint Smithen’s, and if you find yourself struggling do come and see me.”

  I thanked her and she pressed an extra humbug into my hand. “One more for the road.” she said.

  On my way out I bumped smack into Gertrude.

  “Are you here to see Miss Baxter, dearie?” asked Gertrude, peering at me short-sightedly.

  “Errr, no…” I said, confused. “I’ve just been to see her.”

  “Eh? Speak up, girl. What was that?” said Gertrude, her hand curled around her ear.

  “NO, I JUST SAW HER!” I shouted.

  “Hmmmph. No need to shout,” mumbled Gertrude. “Get on your way, then.” She turned her back to me, and jumped when she spotted a tall lamp. “And when did you get here, dearie?” She directed her question at the lampshade. “Are you here to see Miss Baxter … speak up!”

  Walking slowly back to the girls’ dorm and enjoying the feeling of the sun on my face, I heard a loud cry of “RATS!”

  I looked around and saw a very small boy kicking the trunk of one of the big oak trees. As I watched, he ran up to the trunk as fast as he could, launching himself at it with all his might and throwing his short arms around it as if he was giving it a hug.

  “What on earth are you doing?” I called, before I could help myself.

  The boy swung round and scowled at me. “Don’t just stand there gawping. Come and give me a hand.”

  I thought that was pretty rude and I didn’t mind telling him so.

  “Sorry,” said the boy, a little sheepishly. “I was flying my new remote control plane and it got stuck in that branch up there.” He pointed up in the tree. “If I was taller, this wouldn’t be a problem. Curse my ancestors and their late growth spurts!” He shook his fist at the sky in a dramatic fashion.

  “How late were your ancestors’ growth spurts?” I asked.

  “Ask my dad, he’s still waiting for his,” the boy said, mournfully.

  “Well, you’d have to be about fifteen feet tall for it to make a bit of difference,” I pointed out helpfully. “But I think I could get it if you like.”

  The boy looked up at me like I was mad. “I hate to break it to you,” he said, “but even though you are taller than me, you’re still not quite fifteen feet tall just yet.”

  I went over to the tree, looking up at the branches. I chose a solid-looking, low-hanging branch as a jumping-off point, and in the blink of an eye I had swung my way up from branch to branch, until I was level with where the plane was caught in some leaves. From there it was easy. I untangled the plane and zipped it into the front of my jacket; then I wrapped both my hands around the smooth branch, dropped myself down a little lower and jumped down to the ground, throwing in a neat somersault for good measure.

  The boy was standing in front of me and he practically had to pick his jaw up off the ground. Unzipping my jacket, I handed him his plane. He held out his hand, eyes shining. “I’m Kip Kapur,” he said, “and can you teach me how to do THAT?!”

  “I’m Poppy Pym and—” I began when a familiar voice broke in.

  “Young ladyyyy! WHAT do you think you are doing?”

  I whipped around and saw Miss Susan, the teacher who had given me the map, standing with her arms folded and a pinched look around her mouth.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, “Well, I … this boy … I mean, Kip … well, his plane was stuck in the tree, so I just sort of got it back for him.”

  The pinched look didn’t go away. “You can’t just go arrrround swinging through the trees!” Miss Susan trilled. “You could have fallen and had a terrible accident.”

  “Oh, no!” I grinned. “Not from that height, that’s easy peasy. Fifteen feet? A five-year-old could have done it safely.”

  “A … five-year-old?”

  “Well, maybe six.” I eyed the tree appraisingly. “Just to be on the safe side.”

  “And what is your name?” asked Miss Susan in frozen tones.

  “Poppy Pym,” I said, confused by the anger in her eyes.

  “Well, Miss Pym, you would do well to rrrremember that it is not permissible to clamber up the trees like a monkey at any age here at Saint Smithen’s. Nor is it permissible to answer back to a teacher when they catch you doing so.”

  “But, I—” I began.

  “That is quite enough!” snapped Miss Susan. “It is the first day of term and so I am being lenient with you, but any more of this nonsense and I’ll begin handing out demerits.” And with that, she swept off, leaving me standing with my mouth open.

  “But what did I do?!” I turned to Kip, completely flummoxed.

  “Oh, you just have to look down at your shoes all sorry-like when they get grumpy like that. Just say ‘Yes, miss, no, miss, sorry, miss’, you know?” Kip shrugged as if being shouted at by a grown-up who saw you somersault perfectly out of a tree was a totally normal situation.

  “Well, no, I don’t really,” I said, with the sinking feeling that learning all the rules at Saint Smithen’s was going to be a pretty tall order. “I don’t know anything about that sort of thing at all…”

  Chapter Five

  By the time we got back to the girls’ dorm, Kip and I were stuck into a good chat – I told him about growing up in the circus (actually I told him three times before he would believe me, and even then I had to throw in a couple of backflips and juggle seven pine cones) and he told me about his ambitions to be a top basketball player and how he had tried everything
he could think of to make himself taller. These attempts included hanging upside down while holding a watermelon, drinking sunflower oil (“because sunflowers are so tall”), and making up his own strange “mystic chants”. Needless to say that all his efforts so far had failed miserably, but Kip was no quitter. He wasn’t very helpful when it came to learning school rules, though.

  “Wow.” He shook his head wonderingly, when I asked why you wouldn’t be allowed to eat in class, not even if you were really hungry. “It’s like you’re a space alien or something. Like you’re totally from another planet.”

  “Thanks a lot,” I said glumly.

  “No, it’s cool!” he exclaimed. “It’s just that you don’t know how any of these things work at all. You don’t know what the rules are. It’s just … kind of … strange.”

  “Well, now I know not to do gymnastics in the trees,” I pointed out.

  “To be honest, I’m pretty sure that’s the first time they’ve had to mention that rule. It’s probably not in the Saint Smithen’s handbook.” Kip started to laugh loudly, and eventually I joined in. Still, I found myself thinking about what Miss Baxter had said about fitting in, and how Miss Susan had seemed so surprised by something that seemed so normal to me. Perhaps it would be best to keep my circusy-ness hidden away for now? My thoughts were interrupted by Kip, who was explaining how his remote control airplane worked.

  We were just discussing the merits of treacle tart versus treacle sponge when we found ourselves standing outside the door of the girls’ dorm. Three girls came out of the door arm in arm, and one of them – the one with rippling blonde hair and an upturned nose – muttered something under her breath and pointed at Kip, while the other two giggled. Kip looked around him as if noticing for the first time where we were and turned an impressive shade of beetroot. No stranger to blushing myself, I patted his arm reassuringly, like I do with the skittish show ponies when they’re a bit wound up. The girls’ giggles grew louder and Kip leapt away from me as if I had prodded him with a big knitting needle.