The Other Sunday

Last Sunday we went to a different church. Not because I don't like Salem (I love it), but because I'd discovered that a man who'd be preaching at a nearby Methodist Church was using borrowed sermons. That wasn't the only thing he'd stolen, he'd stolen someone's identity too. I think that made him the biggest pulpit criminal in London.
So Scruff and I left our copies of Gadsby at home and walked over to the liberal Methodist Church where the crook was preaching. I put on a grey touser-suit over my Girl in Grey costume, keeping the cowl down, of course (otherwise the disguise would be fairly pointless).
We managed to talk the teenage girl on the door into letting us up in the gallery, where Scruff found a whole lot of old hymn-books to build a tower with (I really need to talk with her about that). I sat down and waited.
At last the door at the back opened and the preacher stepped in. He strode up to the pulpit and was introduced to the congregation by his false name. He looked quite a deecent chap, but I knew that he was in fact the most monstrous and cunning villain (I've always wanted to say that).
He announced the first hymn, a turgid liberal effusion that seemed to have been written to praise man, not God. Not for the first time I was reminded why I went to Salem. Turning round I saw Scruff's tower of hymn-books was getting on nicely.
The Church Secretary gave out some announcements, but I was concentrating on my target, who looked smug and secure. He didn't know that I knew the truth.
After some formal prayers and two more terrible hymns the man got up to preach.

"There is," he declared, "a terrible doctrine going around the churches in this country," Yes, I thought, and it was preached here last week. "A doctrine that doesn't believe that God loves everyone!"
There were shocked gasps from the congregation. I started to unbutton my jacket. Then I noticed Scruff was about to throw a hymn-book at him and I shook my head.
"No, Scruff, not yet."
"This doctrine teaches that God doesn't want to save everyone!"
More shocked gasps. Since the church taught that God would save everyone, even the devil (although they don't believe in a devil), I wasn't surprised.
I took off my jacket and discreetly removed the trousers of my suit. The preacher was getting into full swing on his anti-Calvinist sermon, and some of the poor liberal Methodists were looking rather confused. I shed my blouse, leaving me in my close-fitting grey costume.
"...Why, Jesus said to Jerusalem, 'How oft would I have gathered you..."
"That's it!" I pulled my whip from my belt, leaped to my feet, and jumped from the gallery.
I landed on the preacher, knocking him to the floor.
"If I hear that misquoted again, I'm going to do serious injury to someone," I remarked.
"The Girl in Grey!" the Church Secretary cried in horror.
"Yes. But don't worry, this is Slick Harry Moore, not Rev. Barry Jones. I know that, Mr. Moore, because I found where you buried Mr. Jones after you gunned him down in cold blood."
"You ain't got nothin' on me!"
"I have everything on you." I fixed a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. "And so do the police." the sound of a police siren broke in on the congregation. "goodbye."
Then I was gone. Scruff left rapidly too, leaving a tower of hymnbooks behind.
And I meant what I said about Matthew 23.36.
We went straight to Sir Richard's Christmas party after that, and I'm glad to report I got the Green Man under the Misteltoe!

The School for Scruff: 19.

[Girl in Grey note. Scruff and me are off to Scotland today. I wish I didn't have to leave Emily behind, but my old school friend is of a nervous disposition.]


School continued as normal. Emily didn't show that night, and I stayed in the dorm, thinking that the Baron might be lying in wait for me if I tried to get into his study again. I think I made him suspicious of me.
I actually got up early the next morning, and I was already dressed when Matron came round. I was almost out of clean clothes already, I discovered. It didn't help that someone had stolen one of my blouses.
Baron Von Zstrongarm gave a wonderful rant, I mean speech (no, I mean rant) at the assembly. He was trying to inflame us against the United Nations and everything it stood for. Which mostly meant peace, stability and things like that, as far as I could tell.
One of the lessons was cancelled. Apparently something had happened to the teacher, something that might have involved a very savage dog. We got to help the Baron by moving some pieces of machinery from one shed to another.
Amazingly being at Pudding Norton College actually made me miss my old school a little. Okay, there was no bullying to speak of at Pudding Norton because of the guards and the savage discipline of the teachers, but I like real food, a bed with a mattress on it, and housekeeping staff who clean your things for you. Even my bandage was getting very grubby, and I was worried it might start doing me more harm than good. After all, I'd worn it in two cells which hadn't been very clean - not that anything was. The dorm was practically derelict!
That being so, I was almost glad when we got the afternoon off to do our washing. I was issued with a mug of soap flakes, a washboard, and a tub of very hot water to do my washing in. Sis says she wishes she'd been there to see, and Emily says she was and it was the funniest thing she ever saw. I ended up sopping wet from head to toe (don't ask), with my hands rubbed raw and my forearms aching from some sort of allergy.
So I was glad when it was all over and I could just change into my pyjamas and lie down on my bed, staring out of the window.
"Scruff!"
Emily made herself visible and sat down on my bed. Her glowing red eyes looked intently at me.
"Scruff," she repeated, "we're in trouble."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean I got into the Baron's office just after you were caught, and I got away with the timetable. It's more advanced than we thought. He already has agents inserted in key positions, agents who could plunge the world into chaos at his bidding. We have to stop him!"

They Tried to Steal Christmas!

It had all seemed so easy. Watch the house until the family had gone to the school Nativity Play, then move in and strip it. All the gifts, everything that could be sold. They'd joked about it. The big old house in Hampstead was a perfect target in this fog.
Only it hadn't been. The door had yielded easily, and the three burglars had moved through the house to a living-room lit by the glittering lights of a beautiful tree. The family had been rich, but the house and its contents were practically the only remains of that wealth left. The thieves did not care. It was just another job to them. They didn't care about four young children and an orphan of eleven who was staying with the family. The thieves did not care that they were going to ruin the Christmas of a few caring people.
"Easy as..." one began. He did not finish, for suddenly all the lights went out.
"Hey! Get a Torch!"
"You don't need a torch."
The three men turned as they heard the voice of a little girl. They expected to see a child in her pyjamas. Instead they saw two glowing red lights.
Eyes. Glowing red eyes.
A torch was turned on. It struck the person in the doorway and passed through the swirling black smoke of her body. The three men screamed in terror.
"Oh my... what is it?"
"It's a ghost!"
"That's it!" the dark figure laughed. "Run! Run as fast as you want, you can't escape me!"
One man went for a gun. The Outsider moved, and the man yelled. Looking down he saw a crossbow bolt sticking from his arm.
"We know you're in there! This is the police!"
The robbers fled, terrified, into the night, and the Outsider faded from view. The thieves spent the rest of the night confessing to the police.
"The Outsider," one constable mused. "I wonder why she's here?"
"Who knows?" the other replied.
Neither could have known the significance of the name displayed on the slip of paper by the bell. It was 'Fairbairn'.
And no-one noticed the extra presents under the tree until Christmas Day. They were just what the family wanted, but there was no giver's name on the gift tags.
And on the mantelpiece the picture of a pretty red-headed little girl looked down at the family who though she was dead.
I found the Outsider crying that night.

The School for Scruff: 18.

[Just a quick new post before New Year]

I was allowed to change my clothes and returned to class almost as if nothing had happened. But something had. In place of the old 'metalwork' I'd been assigned to a class called 'cracksmanship', in which we were being taught how to be expert burglars.
My kind of subject, really. I paid particular attention, knowing Sis would want me to. She's really very nice to me. Most of the time, anyhow. She hardly ever asks me to tidy up.
"What happened to you?" Karen asked me at break. "You weren't in the dorm, you weren't in assembly, and you weren't in metalwork."
"Baron Von Zstrongarm caught me opening his safe," I replied.
"No!"
"Yes. So instead of metalwork I'm learning how to be a better burglar."
"You lucky thing! I still have to slave away in that awful workshop!"
"What happens about laundy?" I asked her. "I've got about half a dozen outfits that neec cleaning. This place is kind of hard on my clothes."
"Oh, you'll have to do it yourself tomorrow night. And I mean do it yourself, there's no washing machine."
I'd been afraid of that.
"But I don't know how to hand wash!"
Sis says I don't know how to use the washing machine either, but I wasn't talking about washing machines.
"I'll show you how!"
Funny, I didn't really want her to. But I wanted clean clothes too. Sis says that's just like me, expecting other people to do everything. I'm not sure I like the sound of that.

Our next class was maths. I was no good at all at it, but this time I managed to keep from losing my temper.
I couldn't help glancing out of the window at the Grange. After all, maybe I would succeed in getting the timetable next time. If Emily hadn't used my distraction to get it herself, which she might have done. Emily can be annoying like that. Not that I don't like her, but she can still be annoying.

Merry Christmas!

I'm taking a break over Christmas, and you probably ought to as well. Sir Richard's having a huge party at his place in Norfolk, and I'll be there, trying to get the Green Man under the mistletoe and avoid Ms. Madison at the same time. Where I go Scruff goes, and where we both go Emily usually manages to get even if we don't want her to.

So a merry Christmas from me, and I'll be back in the new year.














Yes, well, what else would she say?









And try not to get on each other's nerves too much. Christmas is awful when that happens.

The School for Scruff: 17.

"Ow!" I cried as the door opened.
"Well! An Intruder!"
It was the Baron himself, and he carried a Luger that was pointed right at me. I haven't had many guns pointed at me, and I still don't enjoy the experience. At all.
"Keep your hands where I can see them," he ordered. I wasn't going to do anything else, that gun looked nasty. Very nasty.
"Matron!" the Baron called.
Matron entered. She smiled wickedly as she saw me. I knew she had it in for me.
"Scruff. So, I was right, you are a spy!" Matron laughed. "And now you are caught. Caught like a rat in a trap."
I had no clever answer. I'd been caught red-handed.
"Stay right where you are," the Baron said. I nodded.
"Okay."
"You're clever, Scruff, but not clever enough. Who sent you, and why?"
"I'm not going to tell you," I answered.
"Your sister, of course. And who is she working for?"
"I don't know!" I protested, hoping that he'd believe me.
"Take her away!"
Three prefects stormed into the room and dragged me out. I was taken away, struggling, and thrown into a cell.
I lay for a while on the cell's cement floor, contemplating my future, which might be very short and was likely to be very nasty either way. Either the Baron would believe that I didn't know who Sis was working for, or he wouldn't. If he believed me, I might meet with an 'accident', and end up dead. If he didn't believe me I might be tortured until I told him what he wanted to know. Both possibilities sounded kind of depressing.
I can sleep anywhere, and even the cement floor of the cell didn't keep me awake. I drifted off to sleep.
"Scruff!"
I was woken by someone pouring a bucketful of icy water over me. " sat up with a yell of shock and saw Matron standing over me.
"Spy, the Baron will see you now. You will tell him everything, or you will suffer the consequences!"
Two prefects frog-marched me from the cell to Baron Von Zstrongarm's office in the Grange. The Baron was pacing the floor.
"Scruff, I do not know whether to be disappointed in you or proud of you."
"Sir?"
"You opened both my safes. That indicates a great deal of skill. Last night I was angry, today I am merely interested. You are Lilian Hill, daughter of the muti-millionaire James Hill, on your mother's side the grandaughter of billionaire Jonathan Philpot?"
"I am," I nodded.
"Remarkable! And yet your own inheritance was stolen by your step-mother before her mysterious death. Yes, very remarkable. Of course, you killed her."
He thought I was like him! I could use that.
"Yes."
"Well! Then I apologise for putting you in group 'D'. Of course we could only look at your academic record. Haupt!"
The brutal head of the Lower Sixth strode in and saluted.
"Headmaster!"
"Scruff here opened both my safes within the space of ten minutes last night. I think that her talent needs to be cultivated. Take her back to class!"
I'd escaped. But I knew I would be watched closely from now on.

The School for Scruff: 16.

[Back at Pudding Norton College]
I held my head under the cold tap. Finding that didn't cool me down enough, I took off my shoes and stepped fully dressed under a cold shower. My clothes were sopping wet anyhow.
Yes, I'd just finished another metalwork 'class'. I hated the subject more than I'd ever hated any subject before. But then it wasn't really a subject, was it? It was slave labour, pure and simple.
I made my way back to the dorm, where I changed into fresh, dry clothes beforeheading off for my next lesson.
I actually finished the day still alive and even still awake. I still went to bed early, alone.

And again the Outsider visited me.
"Bad news," she told me. "Your sister's been hurt. You have to get into the head's study and find out his timetable."
"He teaches..."
"Not that timetable..." Emily saw me smiling and groaned.
"You clown!"
"I know what you mean, his timetable of his plans," I laughed. "I'll try to get it for you. Is Sis badly hurt?"
"Just a badly bruised ankle," The Outsider reassured me. "She needs to rest for a couple of days."
"Did you tell her what they're doing to me?" I asked. "They're using me as slave labour to work a coining factory! You know I don't complain much, but it's horrid!"
"I know," Emily replied. "But it's a lot better than being black and smoky all the time."
She had a point, I thought. Whatever happened to me, it probably wasn't going to be as serious as what Ramdit Ghul had done to her.
"Okay, Emily." I stood up. "I'll try to find it. Why can't you?"
"Security at the Grange. I thought you might be able to get in as a pupil."
"I'll see what I can do."
I dressed quickly in my school uniform and left the dorm, headed in the direction of the headmaster's house. I'd seen it before, of course, and I thought it was rather nasty that WE had to sleep in buildings that were practically ruins, while Baron Von Zstrongarm had a mansion. It just isn't really fair. After all, he charged ten thousand a year for us to go!
I smiled winningly at the guard, who looked for all the world like a Nazi stormtrooper, and he let me in. At once I hurried to the study and, finding it deserted, began a frantic search.
Although the desk was unlocked, it had nothing of interest in. Even the safe, which I opened using skills Sis taught me, just had the usual stuff in it, no timetable of his plans. I sat down on the floor, pondering my next move.
Which is when I saw the strange piece of carpet under the desk. I pulled it up and smiled. There was a safe in the floor!
Working feverishly, I got the safe open in minutes and began to rifle it. I pulled out a file of documents, and saw a small piece of paper that looked kind of like what I was looking for.
It was! I closed the safe, replaced the carpet, and was about to get up when the door opened.

The School for Scruff: 15.

As the tunnel roof gave way Sir Richard and I dived for cover. I pushed him out of the way of a descending timber, and fell myself. I felt something fall on my left leg, and I fell face-first into the stagnant water on the floor of the tunnel. I managed to raise my mouth out of the water and I called out to Sir Richard.
"My leg's trapped!"
"I can see that, lass," he turned on his torch and I smiled.
"Oh! You're all right!"
"My dear girl, it takes a lot more than a collapsing tunnel to finish Sir Richard Arcos!"
"Which I'm glad to hear. But can you lift this debris off my leg?"
He shook his head.
"Sorry. Doctor's orders, no amazing feats of strength allowed."
"I was afraid of that. Get Emily."
"Emily tells me she's twelve, lass."
"Yes, but whatever Ramdit Ghul did to her gave her superhuman strength as well as making her look like a particularly scary ghost."
"Well, at least it has some advantages. I'll get her."
He left me in the dark, lying on my front in six inches of cold stagnant water. The smell alone was... well, kind of nasty, really. I was pretty glad when I saw Emily's two glowing red eyes in the tunnel.
"I'll get you out in a second," she said confidently. She was right too. I tried to stand up, but my leg was too painful. Sir Richard picked me up.
"I thought your doctor..."
"Picking up someone as light as you isn't an amazing feat of strength. Well, I'll try to get the servants to help Emily and me clear the tunnel. I'll get the local doctor to see to that leg of yours."
"I feel like a helpless female..."
"Nonsense! You saved my life, lass. Now that counts for something. I may even have some manorial position I could appoint you to."
"Like manorial champion?" I volunteered.
"The very thing! Of course it does involve having to fight the Royal champion in single combat whenever it is the government get round to demanding I pay a few taxes, but you're a clever girl."
"And a black-belt in Judo."
"Of course, so's your grandmother. You don't look much like her, but you are a lot like her, you know. Sam shot her once. Entirely by accident, of course."
"Where's the 'of course'?"
"Point taken."
Sam was really quite nice to me when I was brought up. She helped Emily undress me and put me in a warm bath before the doctor came and said all I had was some bad bruising. I felt worst for Scruff. After all, I was leaving a lot up to her.

Our Sunday

The Green Man likes to put up his 'Sunday Supplements', which I kind of enjoy. So I thought I'd write about our Sunday. 'us' being me and Scruff, as we have to leave Emily at home.

The Morning Meeting at my church is at eleven, but we have a prayer-meeting at ten. After I'd dressed, cooked breakfast, got Scruff out of bed, put lunch on and got Scruff out of bed again, we hurried around the corner to Salem Chapel, where the deacon greeted us and we took our seats in my pew. I have to say it's kind of nice having someone to share it with who isn't under the age of five. Of course Scruff isn't terribly popular, since she insists on wearing trousers and not wearing a hat (both of which are activities frowned on my the church, although strangely Alice's wearing fishnet tights and a come-hither look isn't. Yet, anyhow.
The prayer meeting was begun by Greg Nithsdale, senior deacon. He spoke for fifteen minutes from Psalm 117, and then the men of the church prayed in turn. We sang a hymn about divine election from Gadsby's, I forget which one, but then there are a lot to choose from.

At the end of the prayer-meeting we had fifteen minutes to prepare for the service, which was announced by the minister (a visitor, not our pastor, who's eighty-four) suddenly appearing in the high pulpit. He announced that Keith Hanley, the other deacon, would read Psalm 19. Unfortunately Keith, who's ninety-eight, misheard him and began to read Psalm 119. Mr. Nithsdale stopped him after verse 59, by which time Scruff was busy building a tower out of hymn-books in our pew (it's a bad habit she has).

I tried to ignore her. Which was hard when Mr. Nithsdale was giving out the notices, because he was giving me the sort of look he gives me when the next church members meeting is going to have an item about me on the agenda. Funnily, Scruff isn't a member.
After the first hymn our visitor prayed for five minutes. I saw worried looks pass between the elders - twenty minutes is the MINIMUM length of the 'long prayer' in our chapel.
He followed with a reading from Acts 17, and there were more worried looks passed between the deacons. Scruff's tower of hymnbooks was starting to look very unsafe.
We sang another hymn. I think it was 691, but I'm not sure. The visitor gave a talk for the children, who listened intently. It was also addressed to the 'young people', but Scruff didn't seem interested in a story about Christmas shopping. The deacons looked very worried indeed.
When he complained about the verses left out of 'Come ye sinners, poor and needy,' the deacons looked as though they might actually eject the man and read one of J.C. Philpot's sermons that morning, but they gave him the benefit of the doubt. We sang Psalm 150.
When the preacher read from the NIV (Not Inerrant Version, according to old Tom who sits at the back) it was too much. The old Guard stormed the pulpit, egged on by Scruff, and the poor visitor was thrown out. Mr. Nithsdale produced a volume of Philpot and read a sermon.

And they forgot all about Scruff's tower of hymnbooks - fortunately.

That was NOT an ordinary service

The School for Scruff: 14.

Sir Richard changed his clothes pretty quickly for a man of his age. His loss, I changed my clothes at about normal speed for a girl my age and kept him waiting for ten minutes.
"I don't feel right," I confided to him as we descended the stairs.
"As I told your grandmother once, lass, it's because that outfit's not meant to be worn in the cold light of day. Or even the warm light of day. It's meant to be worn at night. Still, you'll feel better once you're down in the secret tunnel. I'm told it's usually dark down there."
We passed Sam and Emily, who were both drinking milkshakes now. Sir Richard unlocked the cellar door. Then he unbarred it and turned off the security devices.
"I value my beer," he explained. "Anyone attempting to steal it will find that my beer cannot be stolen."
"Okay," I said with a smile. Good old Sir Richard! He knows a thing or two about beer. In fact he's a world expert, and knows everything there is to know about pubs.
We descended into the dark brick-vaulted cellars of Little Pudding manor. I felt a lot more comfortable in my Girl in Grey costume there.

"You said my grandmother..."
"Yes. Dear Emma, such a great friend. You must come for Christmas, you know, I've invited her."
"Oh! My maternal grandmother!"
"But of course. She lives in New York, when I was a movie magnate I had an office there, and we often met. Usually when I was burgling people, or when there were Ninjas out to kill me. She's pretty good at dealing with Ninjas. Scruff takes after her, you know. But anyhow, we were looking for a secret tunnel."
He opened the front of what looked like a large barrel of wine and we stepped inside.
"I have two others. One goes to the church, the other comes up in the pub's beer cellars. That one has very heavy security indeed. But this is the one I've never explored. Well, there's always a first time." he gave me a hand up. For a man his age he's very sprightly. Maybe it's all that fighting Ninjas.
"Ah, the good old days, when I was young and Nazi-bashing was an Olympic sport. I remember once when I flew into Pudding Norton airfield in a Junkers stuffed with Nazi officers. What great days they were! First time I saw this house. Now, the first time I saw your grandmother I was beseiged in the club in New York by a whole load of Ninjas. Most unsporting it was too. One of them threw her out of a window. She's small, like you and Scruff. And the bloke was big. Like a grand piano..."
Still reminiscing about my grandmother, Sir Richard, holding a powerful torch, led me down the passage that led towards the Grange. I like Sir Richard, and he obviously admired my grandmother (who by the way was about Scruff's age when she first met Sir Richard in 1954).
"Ah, what happy days they were. And she was already in love with your grandfather, so Sam couldn't suspect her of being in love with me. That didn't stop her, of course..."
There was about six inches of water in the bottom of the tunnel. We moved slowly forward, scaring rats as we went.
Suddenly I heard something shift. There was a rumble, and I saw the ceiling bulge, then give way!
Desperately, we dived for cover.

The School for Scruff: 13.

I was woken in the morning by someone tipping my bed up so I rolled out of it and onto the floor. I looked up to see which of my fellow students had done it and saw Matron.
That figured. I'd overslept.
"Assembly!" Matron said. I made a grab for my uniform, but Matron dragged me away before I could grab anything.
I've never turned up at an assembly in just my pyjamas before. I got a lot of funny looks and quite a few sniggers.
I could have slept through it. It was just the Baron doing his Hitler act again, giving us all a whole load of rot about his ruling the world. But Pudding Norton College is co-educational, and there I was in just my pyjamas with a whole lot of teenage boys looking at me. I was just glad my pyjamas aren't revealing.

After assembly I tried to run back to the dorm to put some more clothes on. Haupt wasn't having any of that. Apparently now this was my punishment for daring to sleep in. I hadn't dared, I'd just been exhausted!
I tried to explain, but he wouldn't listen, and I did Geography in my pyjamas. I was able to go back to the drm during break and dress. Boy, am I glad I'm not the sort of girl who takes great pride in her personal appearance. In fact I'm the sort of girl who takes NO pride in her personal appearance, but that's another story.
The novelty of Pudding Norton College was starting to wear off. The maths class just got me down. I can't do maths. Well, not very well. It's one of those subjects I failed at GCSE (well, there were a lot of them), and in my tired state I'm afraid I got cross with the teacher. That was kind of a learning experience. I was grabbed by two prefects, blindfolded, and dragged off. Then I was tied up and put in a black cell until lunch time. I was sure I'd been in there for three days when they pulled me out, and I really needed to go to the loo.
I hoped Sis would get me out soon.

[Back at the Manor].
Sir Richard and I were in the library examining a detailed plan of the manor house and its surroundings. Emily was sitting in an easy chair drinking a milkshake and 'keeping an eye on us' for Lady Arcos. Now, don't take this the wrong way, I like Sir Richard. But I'm just not interested in having an affair with a man of eighty. I'm just not. I don't know any girl my age with my kind of money who is.
"As you can see," Sir Richard said, "there's a tunnel that connects with my wine cellars. Old plans show it connected with the Grange, the building that is now Baron Von Zstrongarms's home. If the tunnel's still intact you ought to be able to use it to get from here to there."
"If it's intact?"
"During the War RAF Pudding Norton was built on the Grance estate. That's now the school. The Grange itself was turned into the Officers' Mess. The RAF might have blocked the tunnel."
"Only one way to find out," I said jauntily. "I'll go and change."
I ran from the room. Lady Arcos was in the hall, and she looked suspiciously at me.
"Your husband's a wonderful man," I told her, "but I don't want to have an affair with him."
"Why not?"
Great, she was suspicious.
"Because you're too good a friend of mine." I hugged her.
"Yeah, you're a pal," she agreed.
The library door opened and Sir Richard stuck his head out.
"Darling, do you mind if I take our guests down one of the secret passages in the cellar?"
"Yeah. I wanna keep Emily here."
"Then Emily stays. You're sure you don't mind my wandering around secret passages with a girl in a close-fitting grey costume?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Then I'll go and change as well."

The School for Scruff: 12.

Karen told me we had Theatre Studies after lunch. Well, nothing could make theatre studies any worse than it is anyhow. We spent an hour analyzing dull play be some Swedish playwright, and I was glad to get out again into the open air. Funny, I don't like Swedish playwrights. But I'm not alone. I can use the internet, and I know some things.
Our next class was another Games lesson. But we didn't have to change for this one, we got given pistols and the Games Mistress began to train us in assassination. Haupt stood by (behind a screen of bullet-proof glass) watching us. I'm a pretty good shot (I was in the target-shooting club at my old school), and I hoped he wasn't thinking of training me as an assassin.
The fact that we had swimming next made me think we might be being trained as footsoldiers. Especially as the pool was ice-cold, and the emphasis was how long we could spend underwater.

But I've been at a public school before. I know the drill. Lots and lots of sport, and rotten food. I expected that. It was things like being trained to kill that worried me. So did the enthusiasm some of the girls who had gone through Pudding Norton College's earlier years showed.
Swimming was followed by what was already my least favourite subject - metalwork. Another hour of back-breaking labour in what felt like one of the inner circles of hell. I'm not even sure what the next lesson was, I spent all of it in a semi-conscious state.

Supper was worse than lunch, according to Lucy. I just ate it and was grateful, I felt that bad. Then I went straight to my dorm, changed into my pyjamas, and crashed.
It was dark when I woke, and I was alone in the dorm. I'd left the (broken) window open, and suddenly something slipped in through the window.
It would have scared anyone else, but I smiled at the sight of the familiar black smoky figure with glowing red eyes.
"Oh, Outsider!" I sighed, "I'm so pleased to see you! This place is a training camp. Baron Von Zstrongarm is training an army of soldiers and undercover agents to take over the world!"
"So that's what he's up to," Emily sat down on my bed. "Wow! Even Sir Richard Arcos didn't think of that!"
"The Baron told us himself. I'm being trained in assassination, and other girls are being trained to sell sex to servicemen so the Baron can get information about troop movements. Emily, this is SERIOUS!"
Emily laughed. I shook my head.
"Emily!"
"Sorry, but did you know you're for sale?" she pointed at the wall behind me.

I looked. Indeed, I was. Someone had written 'Scruff for Sale' on the wall.
My mentor certainly wanted to get rid of me.
"It's to do with the school's mentoring scheme. My mentor wants to sell me off to someone else."
"If you say so. Wha can we do, Scruff?"
"How did you get in?"
"I can disappear, remember? I came in through the front gate with a delivery. Sir Richard's working on finding an easier way in."
"For who?"
"Your sister, of course. Oh-oh! Matron!"
Emily vanished. The door opened and the matron came in.
"Well! Scruff! Why aren't you in the Lower Sixth common room or in the boys' dorm enjoying yourself?"
"I'm tired."
"You're tired?"
"I'm in Group 'D'."
"I see. Goodnight then. Who were you talking to?"
"Myself."
"Not a radio?"
"You can search if you like."
That was a mistake. Matron DID search. She found nothing, and at last I was able to go back to bed. Emily left me to sleep, and soon I was fast asleep.

The School for Scruff: 11.

History was really kind of fun. And no, I'm not going to tell you what Haupt said, some of it might be useful. And I don't want any of you lousing up any get rich quick scheme I might want to run later in life.
The next subject wasn't so much fun. It was P.E. (I think it stands for physical Education), also called 'Games'.
The Games Mistress was fierce. Okay, Games Mistresses usually are (the one at my old school looked like a concentration camp guard), but this one was sadistic. And it wasn't games the way I ever knew it. We were forced to dress in 'sexy' (me? I don't think so) underwear and try to 'sell' ourselves to a group of upper-sixth boys. Guess what. No-one wanted Scruff. I wasn't too cut up about it, mind you. The boys were going to spend real money and bed the girls that night. I don't like that idea. At all.
"Scruff!" the Games mistress called me over. I ran over to her.
"Yes, miss?" I gave her my most appealing look. Sis says no-one can resist it. Apparently it makes them want to hug me.
"What ARE we going to do with you? If you can't attract a single boy dressed like that you're not going to attract any if you've got more clothes on."
"Miss?'
"We're going to have to find something else you can do."
My first day, and I was officially a problem. Not bad going, I think. If I'd been able to stay longer I might have been the biggest problem in the Lower Sixth.
Or dead, and I don't like the idea of that, so I'm glad I got out when I did.
Then we had some more conventional sports. I loved badminton, but I got banned from that after I hit another girl in the eye. Apparently I have enthusiasm but no talent.
The games mistress at my last school said the same thing. They might be right, too.

At lunch I met up with Karen and Lucy again. Lucy looked rather confused.
"Scruff! What sort of school is this? They were teaching me how to KILL a man in gymn!"
"They were trying to teach me how to sell my body," I replied.
"NO!"
"Oh, it's all right," Karen grinned. "No-one would buy Scruff's body. I'm Karen, by the way, I'm in Scruff's group."
"Hi, I'm Lucy. Scruff, in art we were being taught how to forge banknotes!"
"Yeah," I smiled as we stood in the queue for lunch in a filthy canteen. "We're making coin blanks in metalwork."
"Group 'D' is Haupt's own punishment batallion," Karen explained. "We get dirty jobs, and the prettier of us get trained as tarts to pick up servicemen so we can get information out of them. Scruff looks too... scruffy to pick anyone up. Hey, I saw a bloodstained bandage on your arm. What happened to you?"
"Accident," I replied. "Oh! food!"
As I'd expected, it was awful stuff. The cheapest food in the world - and Turkey Twizzlers too.

"Ugh!" Lucy wrinkled her nose. I smiled.
"What're you beefin' about?" the dinner lady asked, eyes pure poison (like her food).
"Nothing," I said brightly. I moved on.
"I'm vegetarian!" Lucy wailed. The dinner lady laughed.
"Not any more you're not," she said nastily.
Lucy ate hardly anything. Me? Sis says that I've got a pretty healthy appetite. She's right. Anyhow, I needed the energy for the afternoon. And that night I was going to report to the Outsider.

The School for Scruff: 10.

I stood for a few seconds by the door of the metalwork room, a room that was like an oven. My last experience of metalwork had been kind of interesting. I'd been meant to heat a steel rod until it would be hot enough to manipulate, and I'd been kind of nervous, so I left the rod in until it melted. That broke the furnace and got me banned from the class and told that knitting might be more in my line. It wasn't, I got tangled up in a ball of wool and banned from that too. I'm just not a very practical girl. Only Haupt thought I might be.
"This is... metalwork?" I said.
Haupt laughed sadistically.
"Now, Scruff, you have work to do!" he handed me a leather apron to protect my school uniform.
"My hair..." I began to object. Waist-length hair can sort of get in the way when you're working over a hot furnace.
"Use your tie!"
I thought of telling him I respected the school tie too much to do that, then I thought better of it and used my tie to tie my hair back. I shed my shoes and blouse too, for comfort.

Haupt showed me to my place - I was to throw pieces of scrap metal into the crucibles on one of the furnaces. It was hot and nasty work, my face got hot and painful, and I was glad of the extra insulation supplied by the bandage on my right arm. I was worked the hardest I've been for years, and by the time the bell rang I was dripping wet. I was overjoyed to have a little rest during break time, to be able to take off my shoes and lie down on the grass.
"You're the new girl."
I looked up and saw a frightened-looking girl about my age. She was red-faced and dripping with perspiration too, so I guessed she'd been in the metalwork room with me.
"One of them," I gasped. "The one who's only fit for group 'D'."
"That was just metalwork."
"And what comes next? I don't have a timetable."
"You'll find out," the girl said ominously. "I'm Karen."
"I'm Scruff. It's Lilian really, but everyone calls me Scruff. It just seems to fit."
"It does,"| Karen agreed.
"History!" Haupt boomed. We jumped to it.
History was better for me. I could sit at the back while Haupt (who seemed to have personal charge of group 'D') started the lesson.
"Our subject this term is the history of fraud and confidence tricks," he started. I brightened as much as I could after metalwork and tried to pay attention. Well, you never know. It might pay off some day. Sis says I need to learn more skills to help her fight crime.

You supply the caption.

Come on, readers, who can come up with the best caption for my latest piece of artwork (Scruff says I shouldn't use the word 'art', but this isn't her blog)

The School for Scruff: 9.

Pudding Norton College isn't a proper school. But you knew that. So did I when I agreed to go there to help Sis with her investigations. I even saw pictures of the real place, and I thought I knew about it.
I didn't. You have to be a pupil at the place to really know it.
Assembly was held in what felt and looked like an old aircraft hangar with no heating and holes in the roof. There were no chairs either, so I had to sit on the floor.
Baron Von Zstrongarm strode onto the platform at one end of the hall, and we stood up, as we had been ordered to.
"Welcome to Pudding Norton College," he said sadistically. "Yes, it is rather different from what you were expecting, is it not? And don't think of escaping! The perimeter is patrolled by savage dogs, there are electric fences, and guard towers with machine-guns and searchlights. No-one has ever escaped from Pudding Norton College to tell the world what happens here! Do not think that your deaths will accomplish anything, Doctor Von Rad, my deputy, is an expert in propaganda, and he will create a convincing story of how you died."
A nasty-looking little man with glasses grinned from the staff chairs.
"This year we welcome three newcomers to our Lower Sixth, Lucy Powell, Lilian Hill and Henry Conrad. Mr. Haupt is head of the Sixth Form. Haupt..."
A huge man in a paramilitary uniform stood up and grinned.
"Well. Will our newcomers please stand up?"
I stood, feeling rather exposed in the middle of an aircraft hangar.
"Ah yes. After assembly report to me, and I will arrange your courses. Rather than A-Levels we here at Pudding Norton College have chosen the International Diploma of Excellence, a qualification we feel is a lot more demanding," here he laughed wickedly. "A LOT more demanding!" The rest of the staff laughed too, something I didn't like.
"Sit down!" he barked. I sat quickly. Von Zstrongarm stepped forward again.
"Well, so we begin another year here at Pudding Norton College. Another year of labour. All I have to offer you," here he interjected an evil laugh. "All I have to offer you is blood, sweat, toil and tears. We will break you, conform you to our will! And soon, soon you will be my willing slaves! You will serve me! Serve me and help me to rule the world! You are the future! My army! And for now, for now you will be preparing for the coming struggle. Blood and fire will forge a new world! And I, Baron Von Zstrongarm, I WILL BE THE RULER OF THE WORLD! IT IS MY DESTINY! IT IS OUR DESTINY!"
He went on in the same strain. Apparently we would either be soldiers or agents of the Baron's evil organisation. Not me, I'd help smash it!

At last Assembly, which seemed to consist of listening to a rant by the Baron and singing a song praising him, was over. Lucy, Henry and I went to see Haupt.
"Ah, my new Sxth-form students," Haupt looked us over. "Henry, you are a fine strong young man. Lucy, you are a lovely young woman. Lilian..."
"Scruff."
"What?"
"Scruff. Everyone calls me Scruff."
"Ja, I see why. Lilian, you are a Scruff. Hmmm. Carole has seen you?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Haupt," I said sweetly.
"I see. Scruff, let me be honest with you, I do not know what we will do with you. I shall think of something, I'm sure. In the meantime, you... failed five GCSEs?"
"I did."
It was true. I'm not going to say why.
"Then you will be with group 'D'. I hope we shall be able to make something out of you. Lucy, Henry, you are in group 'A'. Miss Von Tepp, take Henry and Lucy to class. I will take Scruff."
Haupt led me away. I was glad I was in there as a spy - if it had been for real I'd have been kind of upset.
"Scruff, you are perhaps more of a practical girl than you are academic?"
"Maybe."
"Then you will like group 'D'. You have metalwork first!"
I was practically pushed into the metalwork building by Mr. Haupt. There I was handed a pair of protective goggles which I put on before Haput opened the door. I hurried in to avoid being pushed.
A great wall of heat hit me. Looking I saw a darkened room lit be the red of furnaces. On the benches molten metal was being poured into moulds.
Coin-shaped moulds. I was in a coining factory!

The Murder at Midnight

Keith Narford glanced up at the clock in his office and laughed nervously. Eleven fifty-five. Then he looked down at the desk and at the note that lay there. Printed on the note in neat capitals were the words, 'YOU WILL DIE AT MIDNIGHT'.

He had recieved the note in the mail that morning, but it had all begun a week ago. Keith Narford, people-smuggler, had been in his office when the telephone rang. He picked it up.
"Keith Narford, because of you ten people died in the back of a lorry a week ago. You will pay." The voice suprised him, it was the voice of a young girl.
"What is this? I won't confess to anything..."
"You won't need to. I know. And that is why you will die in a week's time, at midnight."
Then the 'phone went dead. Keith Narford stared at the 'phone, then he shrugged it off. Probably some cop trying to scare him into a confession. Well, Keith Narford didn't scare. He put down the telephone and went on with his work, work relating to his ostensible respectable road haulage business.
By the following morning he had forgotten all about the threatening message. When the telephone rang he did not expect the same voice to come through the wires:
"You will join the many you have killed at midnight in six days."
"Who are you?" He remembered. "What do you want?"
"To kill you, Keith Narford."
"What the...?"
"Yes, Keith Narford. You have killed many people. Remember that truck from Belgium? The one with the faulty refrigeration unit? The one that poisoned twelve people, two men, three women and seven children? They paid you all the money they had for a better life in this country. Instead you killed them. Killed them by putting them inside that truck. Don't deny it, I know. And I'm not the police."
The line went dead again. Narford reeled in horror. A death threat! Someone was going to kill him!
Think, he said to himself. You've got nearly a week to prepare, to get away.
No. He decided he could not flee the country. The police were already suspicious of his activities, and flight would confirm their suspicions. Anyway, the killer might follow him. So what COULD he do?
Make the office secure. Alarms, armoured doors, bullet-proof blass. Every possible entrance to the room would be made secure. He'd be safe!

And so, a week after that first 'phone call, Keith Narford watched the clock tick towards midnight. He looked at the armoured door, the bulletproof glass, the evidence on the ceiling of where that had been armoured. There was no way in.
"I've done it!" he cried as the minute hand of the clock ticked towards midnight.
"No."
Keith Narford stared in horror as something materialised in his office. It was under five feet tall, black and smoky, and the only discernable features on its face were two glowing red eyes.
"No!" Narford screamed, jumping to his feet, pulling a gun from his desk. "What are you?"
"I am the Outsider. I avenge crimes which the police cannot touch. I know your secrets, andI know that you deserve to die, so I shall kill you."
She raised one arm. Narford was rooted to the spot in terror. He heard something, then he looked down. A crossbow bolt stuck out of his chest.
Then Keith Narford fell to the floor, dead.

They found his body in the morning. Sealed inside a bomb-proof room, locked from the inside. It took the police four hours to get inside.

How do I know? Well, the Outsider came in late this morning. She'd been inside the room from the minute Narford entered it, invisible. And she left when the police opened the door.

The School for Scruff: 8.

I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs, followed closely by Emily. There we met Lady Arcos in the hall. She was carrying a genuine Tommy-gun.
"Did I wake you up?" she asked.
"What?!"
"Taxman. They turn up late hoping to catch us by surprise. But I always keep a gun handy." She put it back in its place on the wall. I heard Emily laughing.
"So it was YOU?" she asked. Lady Arcos nodded.
"Me. But those guys are always coming round here asking for money!"
We went back to bed.

Scruff here. I got up early, the way schoolgirls have to, even at Pudding Norton College. I saw Lucy was already awake, and she looked like she hadn't had much sleep. Maybe it was the beds, or maybe it was the fact that some of the tough girls who had done their previous education at Pudding Norton had been threatening her.
"Lucy," I went over and sat on her bed. "You look awful."
"You don't."
"I'm tough," I told her. "Come on, you need breakfast! Don't let them get to you, it's what they want."
"That's easy for you to say, Scruff. After you used Judo on them yesterday they won't touch you. Scruff, this isn't the school I thought it would be. It's... Amanda wants me to become a call-girl! And she says that the school wants me to as well! My parents said it would be a nice school!"
"They thought it would be. My sister thought the same." That was a lie, of course, but I wasn't going to admit I was the Girl in Grey's assistant.
"I want to go home..."
"You won't."
The speaker was one of the Pudding Norton girls, a tough-looking girl with bleached blonde hair.
"But..."
"If you went home you'd tell your parents about Pudding Norton College, and you can't do that. So you're staying. And you'll write letters home saying how much you're enjoying it here, or you'll be punished."
"Stop that!" I warned. The girl tried to hit me, but she ended up flat on her back on the floor after a Judo throw.
"Come on," I said, "Breakfast."
One of the great things about being as untidy as me is you can go to breakfast at school in your pyjamas and no-one cares.

Carole met me in the dining-hall and looked me over.
"Well, your legs are okay," she mused. "But you'll never make a call-girl."
"I never wanted to be one."
"I suppose we could train you as a con-girl."
"You could leave me alone. I'm going to work as my sister's secretary."
"If that's all your ambition, kid, I'm going to have to sell you."
"SELL me?"
"Of course! See if anyone else wants to be your mentor. There's quite a trade in mentorees some years."
Well, at least I was getting a lot of information that a detective would find useful.

The School for Scruff: 7.

Hi, Scruff here. Our mentors at Pudding Norton College seemed more interested in grooming us for careers as call-girls, and Carole decided I was totally unsuited to such a career. Apparently high-class prostitutes aren't allowed to be untidy the way I am. Like I was bothered by that. I already have a nice life, and I'm strictly moral. In that area anyhow.
The dorm was pretty grotty, walls cracked, the wallpaper peeling, and all furnishings felt like they'd been made cheaply by pupils in woodwork classes. I later found out that they had. Apparently I do have the sort of detective skills Sis has.
The bed was a wooden plank with just a blanket and a sheet to lie on, and another sheet to go on top of me. There was just one pillow. Nothing was particularly clean or new.
"Different from what you're used to, rich girl?" Carole asked.
"I'm not rich. I used to be rich."
"Different?"
"Yes, but I don't mind." I kicked off my shoes and swung my legs up onto the bed.
"Term starts to-morrow," Carole gloated. I stuck my tongue out at her and she left.

[Meanwhile back at the pub] Emily had won the contest with Lady Arcos, and the pub's darts board would never be used again. Emily sat down again next to me with a flurry of black smoky garments. She took a huge gulp of water and laughed.
"My crossbow beats your gun any time," she said. Lady Arcos laughed.
"You're smart! Have you killed lots of people?"
"A few," Emily confessed.
"Would you like to be our daughter?"
"I'm sorry," Sir Richard said with a smile. "Sam likes large families, and after we had our first child we were told we couldn't have any more if Sam wanted to stay alive. So she started adopting.
"Sorry," Emily shook her head. "I'm kind of busy. And the Girl in Grey's so nice to me."
"I thought you worked alone?" Sir Richard said. I laughed.
"What can I say? I came back from Spain to find Scruff had moved in to my flat, then Emily turned up. She's staying with the Green Man most of the time, but if she wants to stay with me I've got a spare room for mer."
"Good for you. I always thought you should have some back-up. And now our cook should have prepared a vast banquet for us. Shall we retire?"
"If you mean go back to your place, of course."
Sir Richard wasn't kidding about the vast banquet. Fortunately Emily has a healthy appetite, but I ended the day feeling rather bloated and glad there was nothing to do that night except to sleep.
Emily elected to share a four-poster with me, and I fell asleep next to her black smoky form.

It was two in the morning when I was woken by a terrifying scream and the sound of a machine-gun being fired.

The School for Scruff: 6.

[Girl in Grey here] Sir Richard Arcos took us to the village pub. That isn't too surprising on its own, but one of us was Emily 'Outsider' Fairbairn. She's a lovely girl, but she is black and smoky, and her eyes are red and they glow.
"I'll have a pint of bitter," Sir Richard said as we walked towards the pub. I looked nervously at Emily's smoky black form. Sir Richard had said no-one in Little Pudding questioned the squire, but I thought that the idea of the squire bringing Emily into the village pub might be too much even for them.
"I'll have a lemonade," I said.
"With or without vodka? I ask because Sam likes a shot of Vodka in hers."
"JUST lemonade. Emily?"
"Water," she replied. I know it seems odd, but of course Emily has to eat and drink. She's still human (I think).
Sir Richard pushed open the door of the village pub.
"Beer, landlord!" he cried. "Beer!"
"He always says that," Lady Arcos whispered to me. I smiled.
"I know. And you've been married over fifteen years, never a cross word?"
"Actually she bunged a whole tea set at me two months after the wedding," Sir Richard corrected me. "It was a gift from a friend of ours at Scotland Yard. I deserved it, of course. Landlord, a lemonade and a glass of water for my friends here."
The landlord signified his agreement in a Norfolk accent so thick I couldn't understand a word of it.
"And my table," Sir Richard sat down and we joined him.
"I suppose your sister will be settling in at Pudding Norton College right now?" Sir Richard said in his kindly way. "Sam, did you bring a revolver with you?"
"Natch," she replied.
"Why would she need to?" I asked.
"Oh, she has her reasons. Sometimes Sam sees someone she feels like killing. Usually tax inspectors, so you shouldn't worry."
"Yeah. I don't kill people as cute as you," Lady Arcos reassured me. I tried to look reassured.
"I prefer a crossbow," Emily said. She took something from inside her robes and laid it on the table. When she let go of it it resolved itself into a crossbow of a strange Oriental design.
"Come on!"
Lady Arcos and Emily started using the pub's darts board to show off their target-shooting skills.


I used a Judo throw to get the girl off me, then I got my hat back. We were supposed to be settling in. Instead I was helping Lucy keep some of the old Pudding Norton girls off her stuff. We were back-to-back, ready to fight all comers and maybe even to win.
"Girls!"
A fierce-looking lady in a starched white uniform entered. At once the girls snapped to attention.
"Matron!" one exclaimed.
"Matron. And what have we here?" she peered at us. "New girls. Who are you, new girl?" she looked threateningly in my direction.
"I'm Scruff," I said brightly.
"Figures. So you're Lucy. I hope you'll be happy here. Come in!"
Two Upper Sixth girls entered. Both of them looked like prostitutes.
"Carole, this is Scruff. I suppose she's Lilian Hill."
"I am," I said.
"Damn," Carole replied. There are better things to say for a girl's self-confidence.
"Carole will be your mentor this year. You haven't been here before, Scruff, you have to be taught about the College. Amanda..."
"So you're Lilian," Carole sighed. "I was told you're a rich orphan."
"Actually that's my sister. I'm a poor orphan. My stepmother embezzled my inheritance."
"Poor Scruff! I can see why they call you that, though. Hell! I was counting on you being blonde and pretty. No-one's going to pay big bucks for a kid like you."
"PAY?" I asked, astonished.
"Of course! Well, you're new. Oh well, maybe someone wants to swap a first year for you..."
This wasn't what I'm used to.