The Headmaster rubbed the bridge of his nose, warring with his instinctive reaction to yell. “Eight more students were caught trying to sneak down to the swamp this morning,” he continued.

  “Well, at that kind of exponential rate of increase, if you suspend everyone who tries to go see the yeti, you are going to be giving your entire teaching staff the day off by Friday.”

  “Yes, well, that can’t happen, can it?” said the Headmaster.

  Friday opened her mouth to answer, but the Headmaster interrupted.

  “That was rhetorical.”

  Friday nodded.

  “Something is going on,” said the Headmaster. “I need to get to the bottom of it and stop it.” He paused.

  Friday clamped her lips together.

  “But I am a sixty-seven-year-old man, and I do not want to go wandering about the swamp in the middle of the night,” said the Headmaster. “And the only thing I want to do less than wander about the swamp is have another conversation with giggling schoolgirls.”

  “Then being a Headmaster seems like an odd career choice,” said Friday.

  The Headmaster just glared at her. He was about to ask for a favor, so he realized he shouldn’t start yelling no matter how much he might dearly love to.

  “You have apparently set yourself up as an in-house private detective,” observed the Headmaster.

  “The students here have a lot of problems,” said Friday.

  “Believe me, I know,” agreed the Headmaster. “Now, I could conduct a systematic investigation into this debacle: formally interview students, search their rooms, and post guards on the swamp. But I have found from experience that as soon as I start doing things like that, parents start sending lawyers to represent their children, I receive legal letters about search-and-seizure laws, and the gardeners’ union demands triple pay for danger money. And then do you know what happens?”

  Friday paused, then asked, “Is that a rhetorical question?”

  “Yes it is—you’re improving. Well done, Miss Barnes,” said the Headmaster. “I’ll tell you what happens. I learn nothing. I know nothing. Nothing is gained. If anything, I lose because the entire student body realizes that I am a toothless tiger they can ignore as they please.”

  “You seem very dissatisfied with your job,” observed Friday. “Why don’t you just retire?”

  The Headmaster waved his hand as though literally waving the thought away. “Gambling debts,” he said, as if those two words explained everything, as indeed they did. “So,” continued the Headmaster, “that’s where you come in.”

  “You want me to help you recoup your gambling debts, because you rightly guessed I’m capable of card counting?” asked Friday. She was finding it hard to follow the Headmaster’s train of thought. He was obviously suffering some sort of existential crisis in parallel to the beast-in-the-swamp issue.

  “No, I want you to investigate the swamp yeti,” said the Headmaster. “Find out what is going on, and report back to me.”

  Friday considered this. Fortunately, she was very clever, so she was able to run through a lot of variables and come up with a response in a short amount of time. “What’s in it for me?” she asked.

  The Headmaster considered this. Not many students would have the gall to ask such a blunt question. “You pay your own tuition, don’t you?” said the Headmaster.

  Friday nodded, realizing the Headmaster had been incredibly discreet if he had known this all along and yet no one else in the school did.

  “If you find out what is going on so that this can all be settled respectably in the next twenty-four hours,” said the Headmaster, “I will give you free tuition here for the first semester of next year.”

  Friday flinched. Tuition cost $14,000 per semester. The boarding fee was an additional $11,000 per semester. But still, if she agreed to the Headmaster’s terms she could earn $14,000 in just one day, or rather one night because that was probably when everything would happen.

  “Deal,” said Friday, holding out her hand to the Headmaster. “I’ll have the perpetrator in your office by dawn.”

  “If you do, I will be very cross,” said the Headmaster. “I need my sleep. Make it eight o’clock.”

  Friday started to leave, then turned back. “I don’t suppose it would be all right if I sat on your bench for the rest of the period? Mr. Blackmore insists on going on and on about the use of high-carbon steel in making hand tools, and it really is quite tedious.”

  “Go!” barked the Headmaster.

  Wisely, Friday turned and left.

  Chapter

  24

  The Plan

  While the students in woodworking class were sanding their bookends, Friday took advantage of the bustle to quietly tell Melanie all about the Headmaster’s proposal.

  “Are you going to do it?” asked Melanie.

  “Of course I’m going to do it,” said Friday. “It’s a wonderful mystery. I was going to get to the bottom of it anyway. But now that the Headmaster is paying me to investigate, then I’ve doubly got to. Because not only will I get lots and lots of lovely money, but I’ll also get let off if I’m caught doing anything I shouldn’t in the process.”

  “Anything short of murdering someone,” corrected Melanie. “I don’t think even the Headmaster could let you off murder.”

  “That’s all right—I doubt it will come to that,” said Friday. “Although if it was self-defense, I’d get away with it. You always get away with murder if you make it look like self-defense.”

  “Yes,” Melanie said. “But then you’ve got to incite someone into trying to murder you, and it strikes me that a lot could go wrong there.”

  “You’re probably right,” agreed Friday.

  “Be quiet, girls,” snapped Mr. Blackmore. “Concentrate on your sanding.” Mr. Blackmore settled himself back into his chair so he could nod off again.

  “So when do you start investigating?” whispered Melanie.

  “Oh, I’ve already started,” whispered Friday. “In my head.” Friday tapped the side of her forehead as she said this. “I’ve started computing all the possibilities. But I shall actually, physically begin my investigation tonight after it gets dark, when I’ll sneak down to the swamp and try to catch the beast myself.”

  “Gosh,” said Melanie.

  “I was hoping you would come with me,” said Friday. “There will be a lot of equipment to carry, and if I do get abducted by a beast-man, I’ll need you to rush back to the school and tell everyone about it.”

  “What if I get carried off by a beast-man?” asked Melanie.

  “I won’t allow that to happen,” said Friday. “I’ll bop him on the head with a stick if he tries.”

  “I thought you didn’t know anything about violence or self-defense?” said Melanie.

  “Oh, I don’t now,” admitted Friday, “but I’ve borrowed a book from the library on kendo. It won’t take me long to read it, so I’ll know all about the Japanese art of bopping people on the head with a stick by tonight.”

  “All right,” said Melanie. “I’ll do it.”

  “Girls!” snapped Mr. Blackmore. “You’re ruining my nap!”

  “Sorry, Mr. Blackmore,” said Friday and Melanie in unison. Then they got back to their sanding. Friday looked about. She hadn’t realized that Ian was standing so close behind her. But he didn’t look like he was listening, except for the fact that his ears were pink.

  * * *

  When they went to bed that night Melanie instantly went to sleep. Nothing, not even an imminent confrontation with a wild and hairy creature of the night, could keep her from slipping into an unconscious REM state. It took all her powers of concentration to maintain a conscious non-REM state at the best of times.

  Friday didn’t sleep at all. She was too busy planning, triple-checking that the batteries in her flashlight were fully charged (which, ironically, was just running down the charge), and speed-reading her book on kendo. It turned out the martial art was way more complicated and involved a lot more yelling than she was comfortable with.

  She and Melanie had decided to leave their excursion down to the swamp until 2:00 a.m. because that was when the other two groups of students had been attacked. Friday didn’t see that there was anything to be gained by going to the swamp sooner, except perhaps hypothermia and an increased risk of leeches.

  Friday’s alarm rang at 1:50 a.m. exactly. Then she had to shake, gently slap, and finally tip a glass of water over Melanie to wake her up, too.

  The girls snuck out of their room and down the stairs. Friday reflected that it really was silly for the school to cover its floors with such lovely carpet. It only made it much easier for all the students to sneak about quietly.

  They were halfway across the lobby when their plan derailed. A light flashed right into their eyes.

  “What’s going on?” demanded Friday.

  “I’m supposed to be asking that,” said Miss Harrow.

  “Oh, it’s you,” said Friday. “We were just sneaking down to the swamp to try to catch the beast.”

  “You and half the school,” said Miss Harrow. “Well, it isn’t going to happen. There will be a teacher on duty at this door and the back door all night. No one is sneaking anywhere, except right back to bed to get some sleep, which you need because I know for a fact you are doing a practical grid analysis of the insect life in the soccer field tomorrow.”

  “No, we’re not,” said Friday. “You didn’t say anything in class.”

  “I just thought it up now,” said Miss Harrow.

  “That isn’t very nice,” said Melanie. “Usually you’re very nice.”

  “Well, it’s hard to be nice when you’ve been sitting in a hard-backed chair in the dark, waiting two hours for silly students to be silly.”

  “So just to confirm what we have discussed here,” said Friday before the conversation got sidetracked any further, “you’re not letting us out the front door and you are in an uncharacteristically bad mood, so we’re unlikely to be able to change your mind.”

  “That is correct,” said Miss Harrow.

  “And there is another teacher on the back door?” asked Friday. “I don’t suppose it’s Mr. Blackmore?”

  “No, it’s Miss Brahms,” said Miss Harrow, “and she has raging insomnia, so there is little chance she will be napping on the job.”

  “Oh dear,” said Friday. “Then I suppose we had better return to our room and go back to sleep.”

  “You do that,” said Miss Harrow.

  The girls walked back to their room. “But what about the beast and the fourteen thousand dollars?” asked Melanie.

  “I was lying,” whispered Friday.

  “We’re not going back to our room?” asked Melanie.

  “We’re doing that,” said Friday. “But we are not going back to sleep.”

  As soon as they got back in their room Friday rushed over to the window, threw up the sash, and looked out.

  “You shut that window!” Mr. Blake, the economics teacher, called from outside.

  “I was just getting some fresh air,” called Friday.

  “I don’t believe you for a second,” called Mr. Blake. “Now do as you’re told.”

  Friday closed the window and drew the curtains.

  “Couldn’t you explain you’re on orders from the Headmaster?” asked Melanie.

  “Of course not,” said Friday. “No one can know I have an authorized role. What if one of the teaching staff is the yeti?”

  “I doubt it,” said Melanie. “Teaching isn’t a terribly glamorous or well-paid job. I think a beast-man could do better. Perhaps we should just go back to sleep.”

  Friday scowled. “Not on my watch.” She opened her backpack and took out a pruning saw. It was a particularly vicious-looking hand tool about two feet long and with extremely sharp teeth.

  “Are you going to cut Miss Harrow’s legs off?” asked Melanie.

  “How would that help us?” asked Friday.

  “I don’t know,” conceded Melanie. “But sometimes I find it hard to predict what you’re going to suggest next.”

  “I’m going to cut a hole in the ceiling,” said Friday. “You push your desk over here, I’ll balance my chair on top, and then I’ll climb up and cut a hole big enough for us to climb through.”

  This process took quite a bit of time because neither of them was naturally athletic or coordinated. They would probably have been quicker if either of them had ever attended or participated in a PE class, but it was too late to start doing jumping jacks now.

  After considerable effort, some swearing, and a lot of scraped fingers, the girls managed to haul themselves up into the roof cavity. It was not a pleasant place to be. The roof was sloping and full of crossbeams, so there were a lot of things to bang your head on. It also stank of mold and dead possums, probably because it was full of mold and dead possums, and a great deal of rat poo as well.

  “I don’t mean to sound critical,” said Melanie, “but by climbing into the roof, aren’t we moving in the opposite direction of where we need to be heading? I thought we were going down to the swamp.”

  “Yes, but we need to get out of the building first,” said Friday. “And everyone expects students to escape by the doors or windows. No one expects them to climb into the roof, remove some roof tiles, and escape that way.”

  “Onto a slippery, sloping surface twenty feet off the ground?” asked Melanie. “I can see why they would think that is unlikely to happen.”

  Friday moved over to a higher part of the cavity, where she could easily stand up and reach the roof above her. “I’ll just cut through this insulation sheeting, then pop out some tiles, and we’ll be away.”

  Unfortunately, cutting insulation is not tremendously easy. It makes a great deal of mess and dust, which leads to a tremendous amount of coughing. Eventually, Friday did manage to hack her way through to the ceramic roof tiles.

  “Now how do you get them out?” asked Melanie.

  “Well, roof tiles aren’t attached to anything,” said Friday. “There’s no glue holding them together; they just slide into each other with matching grooves.” This proved to be not quite correct. While there may be no glue, roof tiles are held in place by all the other roof tiles, neatly folded over each other and holding each other down with their weight. Unsurprisingly, Friday was unable to lift the weight of an entire roof’s worth of tiles. It was now 2:10 and the girls really needed to get down to the swamp.

  “We could always try the air vent,” suggested Melanie.

  “The what?” asked Friday.

  “There is a rotating air vent over there,” said Melanie, pointing to a round heat extractor that vented hot air with its rotating sphere of blades.

  “That would work,” agreed Friday.

  Fortunately, the air vent was much easier to disassemble than the tiles, and they were soon up on top of the roof.

  “Now how do we get down?” asked Melanie.

  “Have you ever tried rappelling?” asked Friday.

  “No,” said Melanie.

  “Neither have I,” admitted Friday. “But I looked it up on the Internet and it seems straightforward enough, so let’s give it a go.”

  Friday took a coil of rope out of her backpack and looped one end around the brass weathercock that was welded on to the ridge pole. Then she took a rappelling harness out of her backpack.

  “Do you want to go first?” she said, offering the harness to Melanie.

  “No, it’s all right,” said Melanie. “You go and I’ll watch.”

  Friday strapped herself in, clicked on the carabiner, and threw the rope over the side of the building.

  “Wish me skill,” said Friday.

  “Don’t you mean ‘Wish me luck’?” asked Melanie.

  “I’d much rather have skill than luck,” said Friday. “Skill can be relied on. Luck can go bad.”

  With that she started walking backward down the roof, slowly feeding the rope out. When Friday got to the edge she looked over. The school’s compost heap was directly below. Diego had just put a fresh batch of chicken poo on the pile, so it really stank. Friday correctly guessed that no teacher would be monitoring this area of the grounds with any great frequency. Taking a deep breath (and then immediately regretting it because it really did smell dreadful), Friday stepped out over the gutter and, holding herself perpendicular to the wall with the rope, began to walk backward toward the ground. Her confidence grew after a couple of steps, and she found the courage to take several large bounds backward and down. Then her confidence grew too much. She lost her grip on the rope and started plummeting the rest of the way, falling flat on her back on the compost heap.

  Fortunately, if you don’t have a pillow-top mattress handy, then a damp compost heap is an excellent thing to land on. Friday was totally unhurt.

  “I’m okay,” called Friday. “It’s your turn.”

  “I know,” Melanie called down, “but on reflection I’ve decided I don’t want to do this.”

  “What?” said Friday.

  “I think I’m going to climb back into the roof, then back into our room, get back into bed, and go to sleep,” said Melanie. “I think it would be more fun than risking falling off a roof, confronting a beast, and getting suspended from school. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Friday. But I really, really don’t want to get suspended—I would have to pack up all my things, and packing is exhausting.”

  Friday sighed. She would have argued with Melanie, but she could see that Melanie had a point. There was no logical argument Friday could use to persuade her, and Melanie was not the type of person to be swayed by logic anyway.

  “All right,” said Friday. “But if I do go missing, you must tell everyone what happened.”