The War of Jenkins' Ear. Michael Morpurgo

      

      EGMONT PRESS: ETHICAL PUBLISHING

      Egmont Press is about turning writers into successful authors and children into passionate readers – producing books that enrich and entertain. As a responsible children’s publisher, we go even further, considering the world in which our consumers are growing up.

       Safety First

      Naturally, all of our books meet legal safety requirements. But we go further than this; every book with play value is tested to the highest standards – if it fails, it’s back to the drawing-board.

       Made Fairly

      We are working to ensure that the workers involved in our supply chain – the people that make our books – are treated with fairness and respect.

       Responsible Forestry

      We are committed to ensuring all our papers come from environmentally and socially responsible forest sources.

       For more information, please visit our website at www.egmont.co.uk/ethical

      Egmont is passionate about helping to preserve the world’s remaining ancient forests. We only use paper from legal and sustainable forest sources, so we know where every single tree comes from that goes into every paper that makes up every book.

      This book is made from paper certified by the Forestry Stewardship Council (FSC), an organisation dedicated to promoting responsible management of forest resources. For more information on the FSC, please visit www.fsc.org. To learn more about Egmont’s sustainable paper policy, please visit www.egmont.co.uk/ethical.

       Also by Michael Morpurgo

      Arthur: High King of Britain

      Escape from Shangri-La

      Friend or Foe

      The Ghost of Grania O’Malley

      Kensuke’s Kingdom

      King of the Cloud Forests

      Little Foxes

      Long Way Home

      Mr Nobody’s Eyes

      My Friend Walter

      The Nine Lives of Montezuma

      The Sandman and the Turtles

      The Sleeping Sword

      Twist of Gold

      Waiting for Anya

      War Horse

      The White Horse of Zennor

      Why the Whales Came

      The Wreck of Zanzibar

       For Younger Readers

      The Best Christmas Present in the World

      Conker

      Mairi’s Mermaid

      The Marble Crusher

For Frances

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Copyright

       Dedication

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

      CHAPTER 1

      ‘BENEDICAT NOBIS OMNIPOTENS DEUS . . .’ THE FIRST grace of a new term. Henry Stagg, Headmaster and lord of all he surveyed, intoned with fresh vigour, his fingers flexing ominously as he gripped the back of his chair at High Table. Standing behind his bench at the window Toby Jenkins dared to lift his eyes. Mr Stagg looked thinner than he remembered, his neck longer somehow, more scraggy. But the voice was the same, sonorous and terrifying – ‘Rudolph’ they called him, when they were quite sure he couldn’t hear them. Beside Rudolph, stiff in her grey-green suit with a butterfly brooch, stood Mrs Stagg, a head taller with straight dark hair and blood-red lips. Prunella he called her – ‘Cruella’ to the boys. Toby caught her eye and looked away quickly. The dying daddy-longlegs were still sidling clumsily along the window-ledge, clambering over each other in a vain effort to find a way out. There’s no escape, thought Toby, not for you, not for me. Thirteen weeks and five days – ninety-six days until the Christmas holidays. There was half term, four days beginning November the sixth, but that was seven long weeks away.

      Toby closed his eyes and swallowed back the dread that rose in the back of his throat, the dread he’d been living with since first he woke that morning. It had been with him during the silent ride with his mother on the Underground, and as they walked up the steps and into Victoria Station. He recalled how his stomach had heaved at the first sight of a green, red and white cap. His last hope of reprieve was shattered. There could be no doubt about it now. This was the day term began. They hadn’t come too early. There had been no mistake. He was not Toby any more. He was Jenkins now, or ‘Jinks’. Someone said what they always said. ‘Hello, Jinks. Had a good hols?’ Toby nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak. His mother went with him as far as the door of the carriage. She knew he hated her to wait. ‘I’ll be off then, Toby. God bless.’ And she hugged him quickly and went away without looking back, leaving him with just the smell of her.

      He knew by now there was no point in trying to stop the tears. They would come anyway in spite of himself. If he tried very hard though he could hold them in his eyes, just so long as he didn’t blink.

      He sat in the corner seat, his face against the windowpane as the carriage filled with the jovial banter of Redlands boys all bursting