Here Be Monsters! Page 18
“Yes!”
“. . . It is coming back to me . . . remind me of more.”
“Do you remember sinking in the canal up to our waists when we tried to cross the ice?”
“Do you remember Tuesday mornings with the smell of the brewery? And cold nights in winter when the smell of the tannery filled the streets?”
“I loved the smell of the brewery, but the tannery smelled awful!”
“You are not wrong there!”
At first Arthur felt that it was not his place to be involved in the conversation, but now he asked a question.
“I know there is a tannery, but a brewery?”
“Not anymore. It went the same time as the cheese industry . . . with the pollution.”
“What happened?”
“Ratbridge was founded on the cheese, but when new industries came to the town, the smoke and waste they produced poisoned the water supply and a lot of countryside around here. It got so bad that the local cheeses were decreed unfit to eat, and the cheese industry collapsed. The cheese barons went bankrupt overnight.”
“The cheese barons went bankrupt overnight.”
“I remember that . . . ,” Herbert said. “Ain’t that the reason that Archibald Snatcher turned up at the Poor School?”
“Yes,” replied Grandfather. “His father was partly responsible for the ban.”
“Why?” asked Arthur.
“He ran a mill that had always produced really dodgy cheese. They used all kinds of evil processes. One of their tricks was to boil down cheese rinds, extract the oil, and then inject it into immature cheeses. It was illegal . . . and cruel, but they had got away with it. What they didn’t realize was that as the pollution got worse, making cheese oil was concentrating the poisons. Finally they got sued—their cheese poisoned the Duchess of Snookworth, and it was her husband who got the ban brought in. Archibald’s dad lost his fortune and couldn’t afford to have dear Archibald privately tutored anymore.”
“And Snatcher turned up at our school!” Herbert nearly hollered. “He didn’t take his fall from Ratbridge society well. Hateful little snob!”
“One of their tricks was to boil down cheese rinds, extract the oil, and then inject it into immature cheeses.”
Grandfather filled Arthur in. “Herbert and I were in our third year at school when Archibald turned up. He had spent his whole life being waited on hand and foot, so poverty came as a bit of a shock to him. He hated the school and everybody in it. Especially us!”
“Why?” asked Arthur.
“He seemed to think that Ratbridge had done him out of his rightful fortune, so thought it was his rightful place to do what he wanted and never lift a finger. But we didn’t play that game,” said Herbert.
Grandfather added, “But oh, was he cunning! Archibald took every opportunity that came his way to advance himself back toward his ‘rightful place.’ Smarming up the teachers, ‘borrowing work,’ a little blackmail, some bullying, and extortion. When it came to the final-exam results, it was no surprise that he got the highest grades.”
“Because he stole them!” interjected Herbert.
“On the strength of a bit of blackmail and his stolen results, he got a scholarship to Oxford. And that was the last we heard of him for a few years, till . . .” Grandfather’s voice took a bitter tone. “Do you remember now, Herbert, what happened?”
“When it came to the final-exam results, it was no surprise that he got the highest grades.”
“At the Inn?” Herbert replied slowly.
“Yes, at the Inn.”
“Ooooooooooh . . .” Herbert groaned, clearly remembering.
“What happened at the Inn?” asked Arthur.
“Herbert and I had just set up shop as freelance inventors and engineers, and the work was coming in. Then one lunchtime we went to the Nag’s Head. We had just started eating a couple of pasties when we heard a raised voice at the next table. I looked over, and there sat Archibald Snatcher flanked by a couple of heavies.
“ ‘Are you calling me a cheat, sir?’ he said to a red-faced man across the table from him.
“ ‘Yes, sir, I am,’ said the red-faced man. ‘It is not possible to have a hand of cards containing seven aces!’
“ ‘It is, sir, for I am very lucky!’ Archibald said.
“ ‘Well today, sir, your luck has run out!’ And the man reached inside his pocket. Thinking he was going for a gun, one of the heavies also reached for his pocket, and in an instant the bar cleared, leaving just Herbert and me watching the altercation.”
“It is not possible to have a hand of cards containing seven aces!”
“Oh yes!” broke in Herbert. “The man had only taken out a notepad to ask for Snatcher’s name and address. He wanted to report him to the police. But he didn’t notice that one of Snatcher’s men had taken out a catapult . . . .”
Herbert fell silent again, and Grandfather continued.
“That’s right,” he said. “And that’s when Snatcher gave the order to the heavy . . .
“And that’s when Snatcher gave the order to the heavy . . .”
“ ‘Administer the treatment!’ he said. Then a blur of something green whizzed across the table. It struck the red-faced man in the mouth. He went pale and slumped to the floor. Then we caught the smell. Oil of Brussels!”
“Oil of Brussels?” asked Arthur.
“It is poison distilled from sprouts. It is very fast acting and often lethal. Later I found out they had shot a small wad of cotton soaked in it down the man’s throat,” Grandfather told him.
“It is poison distilled from sprouts. It is very fast acting and often lethal.”
“Awful!” added Herbert.
Grandfather went on. “Then there was the sound of police whistles outside, and Snatcher saw us.
“ ‘Oh, look! A couple of old school friends,’ he said. Then he threw something to me. The very moment I caught it, the bar door swung open, and a group of Squeakers ran in and saw the man slumped on the floor. Then Snatcher stood up and pointed at me.
“Then he threw something to me.”
“ ‘It was him! Officer! He has just poisoned that man. Look! He’s still holding the evidence.’ I looked down, and in my hand was a bottle of Oil of Brussels.
“ ‘Arrest that man!’ shouted one of the Squeakers, and they rushed to get me. So I panicked and made a run for it straight through the back door to the street. The Squeakers followed me, but I was quite fit in those days, and I managed to shake them off and climbed down a drain—”
“I managed to shake them off and climbed down a drain—”
“Everything went green.”
“I remember!” cried Herbert. “You ran out of the door with the Squeakers after you, then . . .” He paused for a long time, and then whispered, “Everything went green . . . and I woke up here.”
“How do you think you got here?” Arthur asked him.
“They must have knocked me out or something, then kidnapped me . . . ,” muttered Herbert.
“I knew you had disappeared, because that night I came up out of the drain and found posters up for our arrest for attempted murder. I just didn’t know where you had gone. I grabbed some food from a garden, then went back underground to avoid being caught. I knew I would never be safe aboveground again unless I could find you as a witness to the truth.”
“Attempted murder? So the man wasn’t dead?” asked Arthur.
“No, he survived, but he suffered permanent memory loss from the poison and trauma.”
“That’s why everything went green. They must have had some more Oil of Brussels and smothered me with it. That’s why me memory is so bad!” Herbert fumed. “And I guess we’ve both been prisoners of sorts ever since . . . .”
“Yes . . . it is true,” replied Grandfather. “Mr. Archibald Snatcher has a lot to answer for.”
“So, can you help us, William?” Herbert asked. But before Grandfather could reply, Arthur heard footsteps coming down the
steps to the dungeon.
“Quick! Someone is coming. I’ll speak to you later, Grandfather.” He tucked the doll inside his suit, pushed the stone back in its hole, and shoved the bed against the wall. A member appeared carrying a bowl in one hand and a cudgel in the other.
“The guv sent me down ’ere with some nosh for you.” He put the plate down, unlocked the door to Arthur’s cell, slid the plate into the cell with his foot, then locked the cell door.
“Take your time boy! I got to wait for the plate, but I’m in no hurry. They ain’t going to be back from the traps for ages.” He sat down, leaned against the bars of the cell opposite, and watched Arthur eat.
A member appeared carrying a bowl in one hand and a cudgel in the other.
They saw a small window in a wall of rock ahead.
chapter 40
A GLIMMER AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL
“It’s rhubarb! We must be getting close!”
Fish led the way, and as they walked, water washed around their feet. The water level seemed to be rising all the time. Then a smell gently wafted into their noses. It was sweet and vaguely familiar. Something about it reminded Willbury of jam. They’d not eaten for a long time and the smell was almost too much to bear.
Willbury stopped. “That’s it! It’s rhubarb! We must be getting close!”
And sure enough, soon they saw a light in a window and a door within a wall of rock ahead. Willbury rushed forward and knocked.
The music stopped, there was some muttering, and the door swung open to reveal a stocky old man with a huge beard and glasses. He looked very damp.
“My word! You’re big for a boxtroll!” Grandfather said.
Willbury had completely forgotten he was in disguise, and said in surprise, “I am not a boxtroll!”
“My word! You’re big for a boxtroll!”
“Well, you will do until a boxtroll comes along. I have something I need you to help me with—urgently!”
“Of course we will do anything we can to help. I have spoken to you before, sir. I am Willbury Nibble.”
“Oh! I thought you were a lawyer, not a boxtroll! It just shows that you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. But I am pleased to meet you anyway,” said Grandfather, his turn to look surprised.
“It’s a disguise,” said Willbury. “I am a lawyer. And I’m afraid I have some rather bad news for you about Arthur.”
“I spoke to him just a little while ago,” said Grandfather. “He called from the dungeon at the Cheese Hall. We have to do something to help him before it’s too late.”
“That is why we are here,” said Willbury. “We believe there is a way up into the Cheese Hall from the Underworld. If we can find it, we can sneak up into the Hall and help Arthur escape.”
“I see,” said Grandfather thoughtfully. “I don’t know of any such way—but there may be one. I also have an idea of how to help Arthur—but I can’t do it on my own. I’ve been hoping for some underlings to come along and assist me, but they seem few and far between these days. But perhaps you and your friends . . .”
“Of course, we will do anything we can. Arthur has become very dear to us and we all want to get him back as soon as we can.”
“Well, do come in,” Grandfather said, taking a step back and gesturing Willbury into his home. “And bring your friends, the more the merrier!” said Grandfather. “If you like stewed rhubarb, I think I might have just enough to go around. Please help yourselves,” he said, pointing to a saucepan on an old range.
There was a cheer and they set about serving the rhubarb. Very soon it was all gone and Grandfather brought them into the back room. There were puddles on the floor and water was dripping from the ceiling.
The small room was about the most crowded Willbury had ever seen. At its center was a brass bedstead. This was covered in a beautiful patchwork quilt. Surrounding the bed was a huge hodgepodge of wires, rods, cogs, pulleys, and other things that Willbury couldn’t identify.
“If you like stewed rhubarb, I think I might have just enough to go around.”
“Err . . . what is it?” he asked.
“It’s something I have been working on for years. It’s finished, but I don’t seem to have the proper strength to operate it. However, we may be able to get Arthur out of his situation with it.”
Grandfather explained his machine.
“It sounds amazing!” declared Willbury. “I only wish Marjorie was here to see it. But I certainly think we can help—obviously we need real muscle and some brains here,” he continued, smiling at Kipper and Tom. “And I know just the pirate and rat for the job!”
Grandfather followed Willbury’s gaze. “A pirate and a rat?”
Surrounding the bed was a huge hodgepodge of wires, rods, cogs, pulleys, and other things.
Arthur in the dungeon.
chapter 41
THE KEYS
He used his fingers to scrape it out of the bowl.
The porridge Arthur had been given was so cold it was almost solid, but he was so hungry, he tried to eat it. He’d not been given a spoon so he used his fingers to scrape it out of the bowl. It was a very slow process. As he ate, his jailer slowly drifted off to sleep.
“I give up!” Arthur muttered eventually. “I think I’d rather starve.”
He looked over at the jailer, who was now starting to snore. Arthur coughed loudly, but the jailer didn’t stir. Encouraged, he put the plate down quietly on the floor and retrieved his doll. Glancing nervously at the sleeping jailer, he quietly wound the handle and talked into the doll.
“Grandfather,” he whispered. “Keep your voice down. One of Snatcher’s mob is just outside the cell asleep.”
“What’s he doing there?” came a quiet voice from the doll.
“He just brought me some food.”
“Did he have to unlock your cell?”
The jailer didn’t stir.
“Yes . . . . Why?”
“So he’s got a key?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this might just be our lucky day. Where’s the key?”
“It’s in his right-hand coat pocket,” Arthur whispered. “But how are we going to get it off him? He’s right across the corridor; there’s no way I can reach him.”
“Listen, Arthur. I have a plan, but you need to do exactly as I say. I want you to wind up the doll till you hear it ping, then give the handle a few more turns until you feel the clockwork can’t take any more. But be very careful and don’t break the spring!”
Arthur did what he was told, jumping when he heard the ping. He checked that it hadn’t disturbed the sleeping jailer, then carefully wound the handle a few more times until he felt it couldn’t go any farther.
Arthur wound it very gently till there was a ping.
“Okay, I’ve wound it up.”
“Right,” said Grandfather. “Now reach out of your cell as far as you can and stand the doll up, facing toward the pocket with the keys.”
Arthur stared at the doll in puzzlement but did what he was told.
In Grandfather’s bedroom, Kipper and Tom were ready. Kipper sat on a bicycle that had had its back wheel removed and replaced with some kind of complicated pump. Tom was involved in something far more complicated. He was at the center of a web of levers and wires that stretched out from all over the room. On his head was a pair of goggles far too large for him, and fixed over the lens of the goggles was a box with wires sprouting from it.
Kipper sat on a bicycle that had had its back wheel replaced with some kind of complicated pump.
Grandfather turned away from the strange trumpet mouthpiece he had been speaking into and said to Tom and Kipper, “It’s time . . . and remember what I told you. You have to work together!”
Kipper started to pedal and soon a humming started to come from the pump. The levers and wires attached to Tom went taut.
He was at the center of a web of levers and wires.
High above in the dungeon, Arthur watched the doll, wondering
what his grandfather was up to. Something was happening! Arthur heard the ping and then a slow ticking. The doll’s eyes lit up and cast two small pools of light toward the coat pocket.
The doll started shaking and fell over.
In Grandfather’s bedroom Kipper was working the pedals as hard as he could and Tom was cursing.
“What’s the matter?” Grandfather asked anxiously.
“It’s fallen over!”
“What can you see through the goggles?” asked Grandfather.
Tom peered back through the goggles. “Just the jailer’s boots, at the moment.”
“Use the levers here to move the doll’s arms. They should help you get it upright again,” Grandfather instructed.
Tom started to slowly move the levers. After a moment he cried, “The doll must be moving! I can see all of the jailer now.”
“Try moving your legs. The doll should copy your movements.”
Tom felt the wires pull as he started to bend his legs.
Arthur watched in amazement as the doll started to move its arms. It seemed to be trying to get up . . . on its own!
Tom started to slowly move the levers.
The doll’s legs now moved as well, and it managed to stand again. Then its wings unfolded. Suddenly Arthur understood.
“Faster!” Grandfather shouted at Kipper. “Pedal faster! We need all the power we can get.”
Kipper was already sweating but did all he could to increase his speed.
“I don’t know if I can keep this up for very long. Please hurry, Tom.”
“All right, all right!” said Tom. “I’m going as fast as I can, but it’s pretty difficult operating this doll. You just concentrate on pedaling!” He adjusted a knob at the end of one of the levers strapped to his arm. The doll started shaking as its wings began to beat, then it slowly rose from the floor. Arthur watched as it wobbled and tried to keep upright. The lights from the doll’s eyes flicked around the dungeon.