Miss Jones taught Alfie’s class all the ordinary subjects that Alfie recognised and remembered from his previous school. Class 3D stayed in the same room with her for Maths and Literacy, for reading and for history topic work. But for other lessons they had other teachers, and went to those teachers’ classrooms.
Alfie tagged along with the other three boys in his class—Jack, Harry and Sam, whose wheelchair was motorised so no one had to push it. “Mum fitted a turbo boost during the holidays,” Sam said quietly. “But don’t tell Beth. I’m going to race her on her roller skates at afternoon break.”
“Why not do it now?” Harry asked.
“Better not. From top speed, it takes me a hundred metres to stop.”
“So what’s this SPUD thing if it isn’t a potato?” Alfie asked when the others had stopped talking.
“You really don’t know?” Jack said.
“I really don’t know,” Alfie admitted. “Sorry.”
“Actually no one knows who they are,” said Sam. “But we do know that SPUD stands for Secret Partners for Undertaking Destruction. They’re the bad guys.”
“My dad…” Harry began slowly. Then he stopped. “Nothing,” he said quickly.
Jack slapped him on the shoulder. “It’s all right, we know.”
“This is a very strange school,” Alfie said quietly.
Alice had come up behind them. “Isn’t it?” she agreed. “It’s great! So, your dad’s a postman?”
“That’s right.”
Alice shook her head in obvious admiration. “What a fantastic cover story. I mean, a secret identity and everything. Wicked!”
The next lesson was Codes. Alfie thought that might be about how to find books in the school library, or maybe something to do with programming computers. He liked libraries and he liked computers. You could work quietly and on your own with both.
“It should be double Camouflage now,” Alice told him. “That’s taught by Mr Trick.”
“I’m the absolute best at Camouflage,” Chloe said loudly. “But we haven’t had it all year.”
“Why not?”
Chloe looked at Alfie like he was mad and he knew she was still annoyed at him from earlier. “No one can find Mr Trick.”
Codes was taught by Mr Cryption. He was a tall thin man who beckoned them all into the classroom with an extendable metal rod like a radio aerial that he waved and pointed.
Alfie sat at the same table as Jack. “Shouldn’t we have books or paper or something?”
Jack shook his head. “No need. You wouldn’t know what to do with them anyway.”
“Why not?”
But before Jack could answer, Mr Cryption started the lesson. “Xylophonics,” he announced in a loud voice.
“That’s why,” Jack said. “None of us know what he’s on about.”
Mr Cryption glared at Jack. “Fester block garden tailor vision,” he warned. “Visible run dilemma phoenix fin passion on gold identity submarine.”
“Are all the lessons like that?” Alfie asked as they moved on to the next class. He was beginning to worry about the sort of homework he might get.
“Not all of them,” Beth assured him. “Mr Cryption is just strange.”
“That bit about the trombones was interesting,” Harry said.
They reached the next classroom to find a notice taped to the door. Alice read it out: “Class 3D—Go to Room 11F.” She sighed. “Not again!”
“Where’s Room 11F?” Alfie asked.
“Miles away,” Sam told him. “Typical.”
“Why’s the lesson been moved?”
“Because it’s Tracking Skills,” Chloe said. She folded her arms and glared at Alfie. “Something else I’m good at. And I bet you’re rubbish at it.”
“It’s always moved,” Alice said before Alfie could respond. “Never where it’s supposed to be.”
Room 11F had another notice on the door sending them to 17C, where they were directed again to the main school hall. But when Jack opened the door to the hall, there was another class in there already.
Alfie watched in amazement as a large man in a black cloak ran round the hall making aeroplane noises, his cloak spread out behind him like wings as he ran. Children leaped out of his way. “Dugger-dugger-dugger,” went the man, making the sound of a machine gun.
“Who was that?” Alfie asked.
“It’s just the Chaplain, Reverend Smithers,” Alice said.
“What is he teaching, running about like that?”
“He used to be a fighter pilot,” Harry said. “He takes us for PE.”
“Was that PE?”
Chloe looked at Alfie like he was mad again. “That was Religious Studies,” she said.
They never did find where their Tracking Skills lesson was being held. It was supposed to be taught by Sir Waverly Compass, but no one had seen him since he set off for the kitchens to get a pint of milk for the Staff Room.