by Emily Rodda
‘Oh!’ breathed Bertha, her face suddenly alive with a mixture of powerful emotions. ‘Oh, of course! Your sisters are maids at Macdonald’s farm where I –’ she swallowed ‘– where I used to work myself before – before I gave it up to become a quest heroine. Have you heard from your sisters lately? Is all well at the farm?’
‘Quite well, ma’am, I think,’ said Tilly, placing a cup of tea in front of her. ‘Mistress Mary is a little quiet, the girls say, and the chickens seem depressed and aren’t laying so well. But the mistress’s garden is flourishing because the new watch-fox – your replacement, you know – has got rid of all the dots. The girls say he’s very efficient.’
‘Oh yes,’ Bertha replied, her voice hardening a little. ‘He’s very efficient. If you like that sort of thing.’
She looked down at her tea and began blowing on it miserably.
Conker, Freda, Leo and Mimi exchanged uncomfortable glances.
‘I thought I’d find you having breakfast on the balcony, my love, on a fine day like this,’ a man boomed in the sitting room. Everyone jumped and looked at the curtained doors in alarm.
It’s not our fault we’re here, Leo thought, crossly fighting down the urge to hide. Muffy Clogg invited us!
‘Why in Rondo are you lying there in the dark, Muffy?’ the man went on, his voice suddenly even louder as he moved closer to the balcony doors. ‘Here, I’ll open the curtains for you.’
‘No, no! Please leave them, Clogg!’ Muffy’s voice cried plaintively. ‘I can’t bear the glare. I have such a headache!’
‘Oh dear,’ said Clogg, his voice suddenly full of concern, and fainter as he turned away from the curtains. ‘You’ve been fretting about that nephew of yours, I suppose, but you really mustn’t trouble yourself, my love. Are you comfortable on that sofa? Do you need another cushion?’
Her face a well-trained blank, Tilly passed a cup of tea to Leo. He murmured his thanks and she nodded and forced a tiny smile.
‘I’m as comfortable as can be expected, thank you, dearest,’ sighed Muffy. ‘But why have you come upstairs at this time of day? Are you tired? I hope you haven’t been overdoing it down in the shop.’
There was a heavy sigh and a soft thump, as if the man had thrown himself into one of the armchairs. ‘There’s not much chance of overdoing it,’ he said dully, ‘sitting there like a dummy without a thing to do. I came up to tell you it might be as well for you to stay indoors today, my love. Now, don’t be frightened, but apparently a Terlamaine’s been causing trouble in the Snug.’
‘No!’ Muffy exclaimed, as the quest team exchanged rueful glances.
‘So Stitch says,’ said Clogg. ‘He was in the shop just now. He says there’s nothing to worry about, but I thought it was best for you to know.’
‘Thank you, dearest,’ Muffy said warmly. ‘You’re so thoughtful. Now, you run back downstairs. I don’t want to keep you from your work.’
‘Work?’ Clogg scoffed dismally. ‘What work? There are hardly any customers, and even if there were, the shop could run perfectly well without me. Ah, Muffy, I can’t help remembering the old days when –’
‘When we were poor and hungry!’ Muffy said, a sharp note entering her languid voice. ‘When we had a tiny little shop and one room above, and you made all the shoes, and sold them too, and I had to do all the washing and cooking and cleaning myself and ruin my eyes embroidering handkerchiefs for tourists despite what you promised me when we were married! Surely you can’t really wish those days back again, Clogg? I certainly don’t!’
The man sighed again. ‘No, I don’t wish them back, not really,’ he said in a defeated voice. ‘But I’m a shoemaker, Muffy, like my father before me. I enjoyed making shoes. And ever since those dratted elves took over my shop –’
‘Shh!’ hissed Muffy, and Leo could almost see her glancing at the balcony doors in alarm. ‘Clogg, what are you thinking of? What if someone is listening!’
‘Who could hear us up here?’ Clogg said drearily. ‘And who cares, anyway? Folk must know there’s something funny about this place. They must hear the work going on behind the shutters every night.’
Leo remembered the tapping sounds he’d heard behind the shuttered windows of the Shoe Emporium the night before. It hadn’t been dots. It had been elves! Elves busily making shoes!
He glanced at Mimi. She was smiling with fascinated delight. She met his eyes and put her finger to her lips.
‘Everyone thinks you have special, secret machines that help you make shoes faster,’ Muffy said from the sitting room. ‘I told Bodelia Parker that ages ago – in strictest confidence, so naturally she spread the word.’
‘Naturally,’ Clogg said miserably. ‘But, Muffy, I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I promised you a soft life if you married me, and I meant what I said. But I never thought I’d have to sit back and watch while a bunch of elves took over my workshop and made all my shoes a lot better than I could – not to mention leaving me a rich man with nothing in Rondo to do!’
‘Well, the elves weren’t my fault, dearest!’ Muffy exclaimed. ‘I didn’t ask them to come and help us, did I? They came of their own accord.’
‘Maybe,’ Clogg muttered. ‘But you know what I think, Muffy – I’ve told you often enough. It was that wizard who brought this plague down on us. It was Bing!’
His voice was venomous. Leo, Conker, Freda, Mimi and Bertha exchanged startled looks. Even Tilly paused in the act of pouring tea, and put her head on one side, listening.
‘Now, now, Clogg!’ Muffy cried in alarm. ‘You mustn’t–’ ‘Didn’t Bing come to our little shop wanting a pair of tall boots?’ Clogg fumed. ‘Didn’t I have to tell him I only had one piece of leather left, and it wasn’t enough for boots, only for shoes? Didn’t Bing go off muttering I wasn’t a shoemaker’s bootlace, and Hobnob deserved better? And didn’t those pests turn up that very night?’ ‘Yes,’ quavered Muffy. ‘But –’
‘How you could have let your nephew go to work for the man who ruined me I do not know!’ Clogg shouted. ‘It drove me wild, Muffy, to hear you talking about it. Simon says this about Wizard Bing. Simon says that about Wizard Bing. Simon says Wizard Bing is working on a wonderful new invention. A new invention to blight the life of some other poor soul, I suppose! It drove me wild, I tell you!’
‘Oh, mercy,’ Muffy cried tearfully. ‘How can you say such things, Clogg, when Wizard Bing is in a hidden grave, and Simon is in a dungeon?’
‘Best place for both of them, as far as I’m concerned,’ roared Clogg. ‘You’d have thought with Bing gone those dratted elves would have disappeared as well. But oh no! Last night they were hard at it just the same. Snip, snip, snip, tap, tap, tap! When will it all end? Hundreds of shoes. Thousands of shoes! More than we could ever sell in a lifetime, half of them magic and every one perfect! It makes me sick!’
At that, his wife burst into a storm of sobs so violent that he was forced to pay attention to her distress.
‘Oh, Muffy, my love,’ he said hastily, in quite a different voice. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to upset you. Sometimes my feelings just get the better of me and I can’t help … Muffy, please stop! You’ll make yourself ill.’
Muffy’s sobs rose to a crescendo of choking wails.
‘Tilly!’ shouted Clogg in panic. ‘Tilly, come quickly!’
Tilly put down the teapot. This time she didn’t even try to suppress her sigh. ‘Please excuse me,’ she said politely. ‘Madam is having hysterics again. I must take charge of her before the master panics and throws a bucket of water over her. It’s all he can think of to do, but it ruins the carpet.’ She hesitated, then went on in a rush. ‘I think you should forget about madam for the moment. She really can’t tell you anything, and will just delay you.’
She moved swiftly to the French doors and slid through the curtains into the room beyond. In moments her cool, soothing voice was mingling with Muffy’s wails and Clogg’s desperate shouts.
‘Lawks-a-d
aisy!’ exclaimed Bertha. ‘We’ve got another suspect!’
‘A good one, too!’ Conker said, his eyes glittering with excitement. ‘If anyone had a better motive to dispose of Wizard Bing and frame his nephew than Clogg, I don’t know who it is! Tilly realises it, too. She was very anxious to get rid of us.’
‘We still haven’t seen this Bun character,’ Freda reminded him. ‘Let’s drop in on the bakery on our way to Bing’s.’
‘Good idea,’ Bertha agreed. ‘I could do with a snack. These strawberries are a little sour.’
‘Right,’ said Conker. ‘Rug, unroll yourself! We’re leaving!’
The rug struggled to do as it was told, but failed because it was still wedged against the balcony rail. Finally Leo and Mimi managed to pull it free and it flattened itself eagerly, its fringe quivering with excitement as everyone climbed on.
‘To the bakery on the other side of the square,’ Conker instructed, gingerly putting aside the cooking pot, which had fallen asleep under his jacket. ‘And this time, rug, go quietly, or it will be the worse for you!’
The rug rose meekly into the air, cleared the roof of the Shoe Emporium and sailed over the square, self-consciously rigid and level as a tabletop.
Leo looked down at the people standing on the cobbles below. He couldn’t see Stitch the tailor or Candy Sweet, who had presumably returned to their shops, but Bodelia and Master Sadd were still deep in conversation beside the sandwich tree. Occasionally Bodelia looked sharply around, as if wondering where the ruffians with the flying rug had gone, but luckily she didn’t think of looking up.
‘We’d better land at the back and walk round,’ Leo said quietly.
Conker nodded and gave the order. The rug flew carefully over the bakery and settled into the narrow street that ran behind it. The street was deserted except for hundreds of dots, most of which were vainly attempting to burrow their way through the bakery’s tightly sealed back door. The dots scattered as the rug landed.
‘Very good,’ Conker told the rug, stepping off. ‘Now …’ He glanced at the sleeping cooking pot and then at the bakery door. His eyes glittered.
Very gently he lifted the pot and slipped its handle over the bakery doorknob. The pot didn’t stir. Hanging peacefully from the doorknob, it slept on, its skinny legs dangling.
‘There,’ Conker whispered with satisfaction. ‘Problem solved. Now, all we have to do is get out of sight before it wakes up.’
‘Conker!’ Bertha said reproachfully, but Conker frowned ferociously, put his finger to his lips and tiptoed with exaggerated care to the corner, dragging the rug behind him.
‘Wait for us here,’ he told the rug when everyone was safely around the corner. ‘We won’t be long.’ And closing his ears to Bertha’s accusations of cruelty to cooking pots, he led the way up to the square.
Chapter
22
Ban the Baker
As the friends turned the corner and approached the bakery door, appreciatively sniffing the delicious aroma of baking bread, they saw that an elegant red fox was sitting beside the doorstep keeping a watchful eye on the dots scurrying about on the cobbles.
Bertha made a small, choked sound that she tried to turn into a cough as everyone looked at her anxiously. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I got a little shock, that’s all. That fox reminds me of – of another fox I know.’ ‘All foxes look alike to me,’ Freda muttered. ‘Good morning,’ Conker said to the fox with forced heartiness as they reached the doorstep. The fox nodded graciously without taking her eyes off the dots.
A bell on the door tinkled as Conker hurriedly ushered Bertha into the shop. Mimi followed, then Freda, slapping her feet loudly on the step and giving the fox a challenging look as she passed. As Leo hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Bodelia and Sadd weren’t looking in the bakery’s direction, a dot made a break for the open door.
The fox moved so fast that she was a red blur. The dot didn’t even reach the doorstep. Snip, snap, swallow, and it was gone. The fox licked her lips with a long pink tongue and went back to her post.
‘She’s fast, I’ll give her that,’ Freda said grudgingly, as Leo quickly stepped into the shop and closed the door behind him.
‘Fastest fox in the north,’ said a cheerful voice. ‘A treasure! I’d be lost without Renée.’
A chubby bald man wrapped in a spotless white apron was beaming at them from behind the counter. Wire racks behind him were loaded with loaves, rolls, pies and cakes. There couldn’t be any doubt that this was Bun the baker.
‘We’re wasting our time here,’ Leo murmured. ‘He looks completely harmless.’
‘It’s just a pose,’ Mimi whispered back, eyeing Bun suspiciously. ‘Someone that cheerful must have something to hide.’
‘I’m with you,’ Freda agreed.
‘And what do you fancy today, ladies and gents?’ asked Bun, his face positively shining with good humour. ‘A nice sultana cake? A bramble pie, still warm from the oven? Or could I tempt you with some Princess Pretty Tarts, as served at the recent Crystal Palace ball?’
He gestured with modest pride at a rack of small, heart-shaped tarts glistening with pink fruit and topped with a fluff of meringue. ‘My own invention,’ he continued happily. ‘They melt in your mouth, if I do say so myself.’
‘Er, yes, we’ll have a few of those,’ Conker said, feeling for his moneybag.
‘Five dibs apiece,’ Bun said cheerfully. ‘Or a dozen for a dab and six bread rolls thrown in – that’s our holiday special.’
‘Excellent value,’ said Freda, eyeing the Princess Pretty tarts with interest.
Conker nodded. ‘A dozen, then,’ he said grandly. ‘Why not?’ He put a gold coin on the counter.
Bun picked up the coin and inspected it closely on both sides before putting it into the cash register.
‘I’ve grown cautious,’ he said apologetically, catching sight of Conker’s insulted expression. ‘I had a bad experience not long ago. The shop was full of customers – locals, mostly, when a fine-looking chap came in. He waited in line, nice as you please, listening to the local chat, and when it was his turn to be served he asked for three curry pies, a box of Princess Pretties and a bag of cheese straws.’
‘So?’ Conker said belligerently. ‘What’s that got to do with –’
‘I’m telling you!’ Bun exclaimed. ‘Well, this fellow took the things from me, slapped some money down on the counter, all grand and careless-like, and told me to keep the change. Well, I thanked him very much and busied myself with the next customer. It was only afterwards, when I went to put those coins in the till, that I realised I’d been taken in. They were nothing but gold-painted buttons!’
Leo jumped. He looked quickly at Mimi and could see by her startled expression that she was thinking the same thing he was.
‘What did this man look like?’ he asked, trying to sound quite casual.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Bun said vaguely. ‘Tallish. A moustache curled up at the ends and one of those little pointed beards. Gold eyeglasses with blue lenses – weak eyes, I suppose. Fancy clothes – hat and travelling cloak and all. He claimed to be a count or a duke or something. Said he was on his way to the Crystal Palace ball. All a pack of lies, I daresay.’
‘There are a lot of dishonest folk about,’ Conker said blandly. ‘Speaking of which, I hear you’ve had some even worse trouble here in Hobnob.’
Bun’s face relaxed into the smile that seemed to be his normal expression. ‘The Terlamaine in the Snug, you mean? Oh, you don’t want to worry about that! There’s a lot of bosh talked about Terlamaines if you ask me. They’re no more dangerous than you or me – just a wee bit stripier.’
Chuckling over his small joke, he took a white cardboard box from beneath the counter and turned to fill it with Princess Pretty tarts.
‘He didn’t mean the Terlamaine,’ said Freda.
‘Oh!’ said Bun, transferring tarts from their rack to the box with a pair of tongs.
‘Oh, well, you don’t want to worry about the cloud palace, either. Least said, soonest mended, as far as that’s concerned. It’ll be gone by morning, you mark my words.’
Leo felt desperate. ‘Conker was talking about the disappearance of Wizard Bing and the arrest of Simon Humble, Master Bun,’ he said.
Bun turned, the tongs held stiffly out in front of him. His face was no longer cheerful.
‘I don’t know what you folk have heard,’ he said. ‘But, believe me, whatever happened to Bing was entirely his own fault. The Humble boy was in here all the time – looking for a free feed, poor chap – and we know him well. He’s harmless, and his arrest is a travesty of justice – at least I think so, and Patty, my wife, agrees with me.’
‘So I do!’ a voice exclaimed vehemently. And a pleasant-faced woman, as round as Bun and wearing a white cap and apron, toddled from the back of the shop carrying a tray of little iced cakes decorated with the letters of the alphabet.
‘If you ask me,’ she announced, putting the tray on the counter, ‘Bats Bing transformed poor Simon by mistake with that new invention of his, then got in a temper and blew himself up. That would be just like him. He was the most conceited, most irrational, most irritable man that ever was born.’
‘Now, Patty,’ her husband demurred, with an anxious glance at the quest team.
‘Well, he was,’ the woman declared, snatching up a second pair of tongs and waving them in the air. ‘And he might have been very clever and all that, but he didn’t have a speck of common sense.’
She shook her head in disgust and began putting her cakes onto one of the racks behind the counter. ‘He blamed Bun and me for the price of bread,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘The truth was, he was poor as a squirrel because he’d run through all his money with that idiotic messenger lizard affair.’
‘And he wanted us in the poorhouse with him!’ said Bun, abandoning discretion. ‘Sandwich tree, indeed! Times are hard enough for bakers these days. Dot security costs are crippling, and Renée has to sleep sometime.’