Maxwell's Inspection by M.J. Trow Read Free Book Online

‘I’ll settle for a century.’
    â€˜Seventeenth.’ Dave was getting into it now.
    â€˜Spot on, Davidovitch.’ Maxwell clapped his hands. ‘So those dates start with …’
    â€˜Sixteen something,’ most of the class intoned. This drill was well-rehearsed.
    â€˜All right,’ Maxwell moved through the fair – and not so fair. ‘We know who, we know what, we even know approximately when. How about where. Jimbo?’
    Now if there was one subject which perplexed Jimbo more than History, it was Geography. ‘Um …’
    Jimbo hated being put on the spot. Maxwell knew that, but a little grilling, mano a mano , was good for the soul. ‘Come on, Jim.’ Maxwell stood behind the lad, circumnavigating the room as he was. ‘Think East.’
    East, West, North, South, they were all one to Jimbo.
    â€˜Anybody?’ Jimbo’s shoulders visibly sagged. He was off the hook. Mad Max was a bastard, but he wasn’t a vicious one. The Great Man saw Sally Meninger scribbling away in the corner, no doubt damning him to all eternity.
    â€˜East Anglia,’ someone called.
    â€˜Nice one, Evelyn.’ Maxwell knew if he waited long enough, the class swot would open up her big guns. All year he’d been trying to persuade Paul Moss to promotethe girl, because she was clearly misplaced, but there were set complications apparently. Social reasons. You couldn’t fight City Hall. ‘East Anglia,’ Maxwell crossed to the map in the far corner to point to it. He knew perfectly well that Ten Aitch Two were highly conversant with Orlando and Lanzarote – in a couple of years they’d be equally at home in Ibiza. But their own land? Oh, that was a foreign country – they did things differently there. ‘Witch country.’ He tapped the towns in turn. ‘Ipswich, Chelmsford, Colchester, Lavenham. In 1646, if you were an elderly lady in any of these places, if you’d ever crossed anybody, looked at anybody funny, then look out. Somebody would make a quick phone call and that was it – send for Matthew Hopkins and it’s a quick few hours being dragged around a room until you confessed. What’s wrong with what I’ve just said, Josh?’
    Fat Josh was ready for this one. ‘It’s not right, Mr Maxwell,’ Josh said triumphantly.
    â€˜Er … good,’ Maxwell nodded. ‘Good. Like it so far. Why isn’t it right, though, Josh?’
    â€˜Well, it’s rubbish, innit?’ Josh could have debated with Dr David Starkey. ‘Stands to reason nobody’s going to confess to nothing just being dragged round a room.’
    â€˜No phones then, dickhead.’ Evelyn may have been the class swot, but nobody said she was nice.
    â€˜How does it go, Evelyn?’ Maxwell reined it all in.
    â€˜Sorry, Mr Maxwell. But he is.’
    â€˜Well, that’s something we can talk about later, isn’t it? Now, compadres, what’s it going to be?’ He stationed himself between the board and the telly. It could go either way. ‘Half an hour’s silent reading on the definitive study of East Anglian witchcraft by Professor McFarlane or afew minutes of Mad Vincent Price in The Witchfinder General ?’
    The hubbub gave him the answer he expected, and as a man, Ten Aitch Two slid sideways or clambered on desks for a good view of the screen.
    â€˜We watching a video?’ How did Peter Maxwell know the question had come from Dave? He flicked all the necessary buttons, since the remote had vanished within minutes of its arrival at Leighford High, along with scart leads and a whole nest of mouse balls. Maxwell clocked Sally Meninger’s demeanour out of the corner of his eye. He’d followed his Lesson Plan to the letter so far – Paul Moss would be proud of him. Now, though, he was sticking his neck out. There were copyright issues about movies in schools and this one, grim