by Larry Mark
Chapter 8
It turns out that being able to read an address is not the same thing as being able to find it.
On the long journey me and Fluffy chat to our pony a bit. Turns out he’s called Burt. He tells us the Grimster never plays with her pony herd. They were mostly all given at once, in a big stable, by the same ancient aunt who sent the carriages one Christmas.
“One Christmas?” I ask. “Don’t you mean The Christmas?”
But it turns out there have been more that one Christmas! Burt – who is way old – claims there may have been as many as four!
“Mind blowing stuff!” I say. “Sorry to hear the Grimster’s put you out to pasture.”
“Yeah, bummer.” Burt canters on round a corner and I cling to his mane for dear life. “Actually though, we have more fun left to our own ends. All that ‘being played with’ stuff is over-rated. Lady Grim spends all her time with her soldering iron making electronics these days. Surveillance equipment mainly, and the death traps of course.”
We carry on. And on. And then on a bit more. “Are we nearly their yet?” I cry in anguish. But nobody replies so I say it again in goblinish. Still no answer.
Our ride through the moonlit streets of Slough turns out to be a bit of a nightmare. Riding a little pony, even a chummy one like Burt, is a deeply uncomfortable business, particularly on the bottom part of a goblin. With each wrong turn and dead end the agony continues to grow worse, almost reaching the point where I’m tempted to put my legs down on either side and walk... but that would involve slightly more effort than just sitting there and complaining about it – so I don’t.
Eventually Fluffy saves the day as she often does. I’m a bit hazy on the details but she totally does.
“Woah!” Killerella raises her hand and as one the pony army stops dead in its tracks. The goblin army however continues on for a little bit (as one) and slides off the pony army onto the pavement.
“Ouch!” I say.
“Oooof,” says Oooof.
“We’re here!” says Steel Jaws, pointing out of the carriage with his extendable finger at a huge building to our left.
“That,” I say to Alfonso who is lying beside me. “Is the biggest building I’ve ever seen.”
It’s huge. All stone and pillars and carved window arches. A sweeping flight of steps leads up to double doors big enough for elephants. If evil ever had a palace this would have to be it!
I’m now slightly worried there may be elephants inside.
We surge up the steps. Or rather Killerella vaults up them, Steel-Jaws and the captain scramble up behind, and the rest of us start scaling the first step. Gobin towers and pony pyramids are required – it’s a slow business and Killerella is back before we reach the third step.
“It’s locked.”
“Try round the back,” I say before I remember my station, and general stupidity.
“Around the back?” Captain Bort manages to make it sound like the worst idea ever.
“There might be a cat-flap,” Frank says. I told you Frank was a good sort.
“A cat-flap?” Somehow by adding a question mark to what you say Captain Bort can make anyone sound stupid. Even someone with their head screwed on right, like Frank.
“Yeah,” says Alfonso who never normally says much but probably wants to hurry this along so we can eat. “Evil sorts always have cats. White ones. It’s the law. Or something.”
“Lord Thurgo doesn’t have a white cat,” says Captain Bort, “or even a cat at all.”
“Different sort of evil,” says Alfonso. “Also, he did ask for one for Christmas.”
Fifteen minutes later we’re all filing though the cat-flap in the back door whilst Killerella holds it open. We leave the carriages parked at the front by a parking meter. And we don’t put any money in. Cos that’s the sort of thing you do when you’re evil – whatever kind of evil you are.
We stream into the Town Hall like a stream of ... well ... goblins, robots, and little ponies. Once in I pause to haul Alfonso away from the cat litter tray in the hallway.
“Mgggdfs?” he asks.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” I tell him.
He carefully munches the last pieces of cat litter and swallows. “Mggg dfs?”
“Probably.” Is the best answer I have for that, and then we’re off.
We separate – always the best policy in unlit old houses that you shouldn’t be in – and race around madly hauling open filing cabinets, shredding paperwork and tossing about it like confetti. I’m not clear how doing this will help us uncover the secrets we’re looking for, but it’s great fun. I also adjust the settings on all the swivel chairs I can find and swap the contents of the decaffeinated and regular coffee jars in the break rooms.
After an hour or so of rampaging randomly through the many offices, corridors, bathrooms, and storage basements of the town hall a sudden two-tone wail sends us all into blind panic. The noise springs up out of nowhere, neeeee-NAAAAA-neeeee-NAAAAA and so on. I’m bored of it already and it’s showing no signs of stopping. And loud? So loud I can’t hear myself think... not that I ever can... but now I can’t even hear Alfonso think and he always buzzes when he thinks.
“I know what that is!” yells Frank.
“So do I,” I lie.
“Oh you liar,” Frank yells.
“Nuh uh.” I shake my head.
“It’s a burglar alarm!” Frank shouts. “There’s one in Prince Stupendous’ house. Goes off all the time.”
That’s enough to turn my mild panic into full panic. I tear across the room, scattering papers, and crash into Alfonso who has his mouth crammed with documents - presumably trying to eat the evidence.
“Run! Alf! Run! There’s burglars coming!” I’ve seen burglars before. One time High Queen Claire left the telly on all day by mistake and we all saw it, except the goblins pointing the wrong way. “They steal toys!”
“So?” Alfonso manages through a mouthful of half-chewed paper. “We’re goblins.”
That stumps me and I calm down for a moment. “Yeah... but... they might mistake us for toys!”
Alfonso spits out an extraordinary amount of papier-mâché and goes into full melt down. “We’re all going to die!”
I join in.
Panic, it turns out, is more infectious than a stomach bug. Within a few minutes we were all locked in a frantic struggle to get out of the cat-flap at the same time. Goblins, ponies, robots, all of us squashed into a more or less solid mass of screaming fear.
Little known fact: many ponies emit high-pitched squeaks when squeezed. And some of them also emit far less pleasant things.
Somehow we all escape with only minor injuries. It’s true that the robots are mostly compressed into one huge uber-bot that runs away all by itself on towering legs... but I expect they’re OK... ish.
We trudge home, too tired to ride the ponies. The mood is glum. Yes we made a mess... but what did we learn?
Steel Jaws managed to avoid being transformed into the uber-bot and stomps along at the back. I’d say he’s sulking but he always stomps. He has his face buried in a sheaf of papers. Probably crying.
Finally at approximately stupid-O’clock we arrive back where we started, on the street corner. The robots have reassembled themselves are waiting, along with two coke cans who they seem to be getting on with very well.
“Well that’s it then.” Killerella looks grim.
“We’re all doomed.” Captain Bort throws up his arms in dismay... then catches them. Somehow.
A general wailing and gnashing of teeth goes up. Except from the robots who mostly don’t have teeth and tend to beep rather than wail.
Steel Jaws, possibly the one robot to own teeth, looks at us all from over the top of the papers that he’s had his face buried in all the way home. He’s not gnashing or beeping.
“It says here...” He scans the page with a red light set into his chest. “...that a man named Marcus Gutboat is funding t
he supermarket and is behind the application to buy the necessary land. His point of contact in the council is Vincent Smythe.” He riffled through the documents. “On this one it says an investigation was conducted after allegations of corruption. An accusation was made that Gutboat had bribed Smythe. But no evidence was uncovered.”
“Well our next move is clear then.” Killerella straightens up, her chin set in that purposeful way that makes her look so lov- ... um... deadly.
“Er... yes.” Captain Bort nods wisely.
The rest of us give her a knowing look, as if we know exactly what she’s talking about. Under my arm Fluffy does... well, nothing, if I’m honest, but I’m sure she’s pretending to know exactly what Killerella is talking about too.
Killerella looks at us, realises none of us have a clue, slumps the slightest bit, and says, “Tomorrow night we raid Marcus Gutboat’s house for evidence of dirty deeds that will stop the sale.”
“Exactly!” cries Captain Bort.
“BEEP!” beeps Steel Jaws.
“Hooray!” we all roar.
The game is on!
Overheard by a goblin (in the TV room at Prince Stupid’s house)
Prince Stupid: Why’d you bring a goblin with you?
Lord Thurgo: Saw my little sister was using it as a hammer in the front garden as I was leaving. Trying to break rocks I think. Anyway – what do you think about what Jane found out?
Prince Stupid: Who?
Lord Thurgo: Jane. You know, Jane.
Prince Stupid: You mean the Grimster?
Lord Thurgo: Yeah.
Prince Stupid: Oooo! Jane now is it? Oooo! Jane and Billy sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G
*sounds of prolonged fight, including phrases like Ow! That’s my ear! and We said no weapons! and I surrender*