Under Gornstock

by Clive Mullis

  They toyed with the idea of staying and waiting but they had their beats to finish and the sergeant would be far from happy if they told him they had sat and waited for two lads to appear, all because of a broken window. Eventually, they left, and three of them agreed to meet up after the shift and tell Frankie what they had done.

  Fluffy waited until the dawn light broke, then sauntered off home, defeated.

  The cat and the feelers arrived at the same time, just as the glazier walked down the street, whistling tunelessly.

  ‘Empty?’ asked Cornwallis, leaning forward and listening eagerly. ‘And you say there was no back door?’

  Dewdrop nodded. ‘Well, no people, no door neither. They just disappeared.’

  ‘They can’t have just disappeared, so they must have been hiding or got out another way.’

  ‘Anything’s possible, Mr Cornwallis, but we searched and couldn’t find them,’ said Tiffany. ‘Sorry,’ she added, disappointedly.

  ‘No, it’s not your fault at all,’ said Rose, giving a sympathetic smile. ‘At least we know where they went.’

  ‘Can you remember what they looked like?’ asked Frankie earnestly.

  ‘It was dark and we didn’t get a good look at them,’ said Felicity. ‘Two young men, in their twenties, about Cecil’s height wearing dark clothing and caps. Maybe your cat got a better look.’

  ‘Bloody well hope so,’ replied Frankie gruffly. He looked around. ‘Where’s the little bugger gone now?’

  The little bugger had gone out to the back yard, to the wood-store, trying to find a bit of peace for a nap, but Frankie soon found him and dragged him back into the house, the nap disturbed.

  ‘A ‘uman, two o’ ‘em,’ replied Fluffy to the interrogation.

  ‘Yes, we know that but what did they look like?’

  ‘I jest tells yer, ‘uman.’

  ‘I mean distinguishing marks, colour of hair, facial features.’

  ‘Jest ‘uman.’

  ‘You’re bloody useless, you are.’

  Fluffy sniffed.

  ‘He’s got a point,’ observed Rose as she helped Isabella get some things together. ‘Describe Fluffy.’

  ‘Wot?’ responded Frankie.

  ‘Describe him.’

  ‘Well, er, a ginger tom; looks mean and demented.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yeah, pretty accurate, if you ask me.’

  ‘Describe his finer features.’

  ‘He ain’t got any.’

  ‘Oi, steady,’ snarled Fluffy, flicking out a claw.

  ‘You see, Frankie, cats look at us just as we look at them. We can’t see what other cats see in other cats, so cats can’t see what we see in other people. However, I bet Fluffy would recognise them again.’

  Fluffy bobbed a head. ‘O’ course I would.’

  ‘There you go, job done. All we have to do now is find them.’

  ‘Yeah, but that means we’ll have to take the cat with us,’ said Frankie, casting a mean look at the fur-ball.

  ‘Youse got a problem with that?’ asked the fur-ball.

  Frankie hesitated.

  ‘They do like each other really,’ said Isabella to the feelers, bouncing Tulip on her hip. ‘They just don’t tend to show it very much.’

  Cornwallis sent the three feelers home, they were looking tired and they had done all they could, and besides, they had another night shift to do and they needed to get some rest.

  A short while later Rose took Isabella and Tulip to their new accommodation at the Stoat to see them settled in, whilst Cornwallis, Frankie and Fluffy went to the house to see what they could find out.

  The townhouse, in the middle of a terrace, had definitely seen better days. The paint flaked off and the sills and window frames showed signs of rot.

  ‘Classy,’ said Cornwallis as he surveyed the property. ‘Now, let’s go inside, and Frankie, don’t forget that if they’re here then we need to speak to them, not batter them to oblivion.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can we speak to them first, and then batter the living shit out of them?’

  ‘Possibly, but I’m making no promises.’

  ‘Me neither.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be best if you stayed out here.’

  ‘No bloody chance, they nearly did for Tulip.’

  Cornwallis sighed then pushed down the handle and cautiously opened the door.

  The house matched up to the feelers’ description: dark, dank, dishevelled and definitely the worse for wear. It had an unlived in feel and a quick look in the store cupboards confirmed it; they were empty. The house itself had three floors with two rooms on each floor, windows only to the front, the back wall connecting to the house behind. It didn’t take long to search it and Cornwallis and Frankie stood scratching their heads as Fluffy still maintained that they hadn’t come out.

  ‘This is a rum ‘un,’ said Frankie, his eager anticipation now evaporating. ‘You sure, Fluffy?’

  ‘Wot do youse fink?’ replied the cat disdainfully. ‘I ain’t gonna get that wrong now, is I?’

  Cornwallis shook his head. ‘No, but they’re not here, nor is there any sign of them. Where did they go?’

  Fluffy sat and licked his paws, wondering whether to state the bleeding obvious or let the detectives work it out for themselves.

  ‘We’ve got the wrong house, ain’t we?’ said Frankie, eyeing the cat with contempt. ‘You got it wrong.’

  Fluffy stopped licking and looked up, shaking his head, before once again carrying on with his task.

  ‘Hard as it is for me to defend the animal,’ said Cornwallis. ‘But it seems he’s adamant that this is the place, so let’s look again.’

  Frankie swore, a lot, as they began to search again. Fluffy got to his feet and then padded slowly up the stairs to the top of the house, then lay down on the landing, waiting patiently for the detectives to catch up.

  Cornwallis and Frankie delved into all the corners of every room, checking the walls for secret doors and the floor for loose floorboards and hidden chambers, they were determined to leave nothing out; if the house did hide some means of escape then they were sure to find it. But they found nothing, zilch, not a sausage. Every room seemed normal and they were getting to the point of exasperation when they came out to the top-floor landing and saw the cat still sitting there.

  Fluffy cast them a withering glance and then looked up at the ceiling, in actual fact, not at the ceiling, but at the trap door in the ceiling which led to the attic.

  Cornwallis and Frankie followed his gaze wordlessly and then they looked at each other.

  ‘Ummm?’ said Frankie.

  ‘Exactly,’ returned Cornwallis.

  ‘Maybe we missed the obvious.’

  ‘A bit tired.’

  ‘Not thinking straight.’

  ‘Getting ahead of ourselves.’

  ‘But we got here in the end.’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Notice a ladder?’

  Frankie shook his head.

  ‘In that case, you’d better cup your hands and give me a lift up.’

  ‘If you’ve stepped in shit then I’m not going to be happy, you know,’ said Frankie, leaning forward and making a stirrup with his hands.

  ‘Don’t worry; you can always stroke the cat.’

  Fluffy looked up at that. ‘No, he bloody can’t.’

  Cornwallis grinned and then placed his foot. With one hand on the wall and the other on Frankie’s shoulder, he pushed up.

  ‘Hold it there,’ instructed Cornwallis, as he let go of Frankie and reached up for the trapdoor. He pushed it a little and it tilted up.

  ‘C’mon, hurry up, you’re heavy.’

  ‘Hang on.’

  ‘I am bloody hanging on.’

  Cornwallis manoeuvred the trapdoor with little bumps until he could get his hand in properly and give it a shove, sending the whole thing away into the dark.


  ‘Right, I’ve done it. Now lift me higher so I can grab hold.’

  Frankie grunted and gave a big heave up.

  ‘Ow,’ exclaimed Cornwallis as his head hit the wooden rim.

  The human missile had neglected to aim himself and the propeller didn’t look.

  Cornwallis crumpled and fell onto Frankie, with both tumbling to the floor.

  Fluffy sat unimpressed. ‘Bloody amateurs,’ he grumbled quietly.

  Cornwallis saw stars briefly and then felt a momentary pain behind his eyes. He rolled over and sat up, rubbing his head.

  ‘Now, shall we try that again? And this time do it properly,’ he asked patiently.

  ‘I bloody did,’ answered Frankie. ‘It weren’t my fault you missed.’

  Cornwallis rubbed his head again, relieved that no blood dripped down but knowing that there might be a bump there before long.

  They both scrambled to their feet and got into position, this time both checking the trajectory.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Cornwallis.

  Frankie nodded.

  ‘Then…’

  Frankie heaved up and Cornwallis shot into the air and flew through the trapdoor without even catching the sides. As he went through the hole, he flung his arms out and as the momentum decreased, he caught his elbows on the rim, holding him fast.

  ‘Push me feet,’ ordered Cornwallis.

  Frankie pushed and Cornwallis scrambled inside.

  ‘Thank the gods for that,’ he murmured as he found safety.

  ‘What can you see?’ asked Frankie.

  ‘Nothing, it’s too dark. It’s an attic.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’

  ‘Hang on; I’ve got a match somewhere.’

  A few moments later a scratch came and then a brief flash of light.

  Cornwallis quickly looked around only to find it empty, not even the obligatory box of junk from an unknown age. ‘Plenty of cobwebs but not much else,’ he called down. ‘Except, of course, this very nice convenient ladder, which happens to be right behind me.’

  Cornwallis dropped the ladder down and Frankie climbed up with Fluffy clinging to his shoulder. By expedient use of a few more matches, they managed to explore the attic. To each side were two walls, which rose up to the roof, but the joists went back a fair way, indicating a double attic, shared with the house behind.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said Cornwallis, looking at the trapdoor, the twin of the other. ‘I think we’ve found the answer to our little conundrum.

  Frankie pulled open the cover and they knelt down, listening intently for noises of occupation. Satisfied that he could hear nothing, Cornwallis eased over the edge and dropped down. Frankie waited for a moment then went back and pulled the ladder up from the other house.

  Shortly the two detectives and the cat were exploring the second house.

  It appeared as empty and dilapidated as the first, with no signs of occupation. Frankie sighed in disappointment as he had hoped the lads were stupid enough not to go far.

  ‘The front door’s locked,’ said Cornwallis thoughtfully. ‘Meaning that they used a key.’

  ‘But the other one was left open.’

  Cornwallis nodded. ‘Yes, but I somehow think that with four feelers running after them they neglected to lock it.’

  ‘Ahem,’ said Fluffy petulantly.

  Cornwallis looked at the cat.

  ‘Four feelers and a cat,’ corrected Cornwallis.

  ‘Better,’ growled Fluffy.

  ‘So if they have a key then I reckon they use it a lot. What do you think the chances are that they will use it again, pretty soon?’

  ‘Quite high, I reckon.’

  ‘So do I, Frankie, so do I.’

  Chapter 13

  MacGillicudy’s office in Scooters Yard didn’t mirror the methodical commander. Paperwork littered the place, strewn around, either on or in all the surfaces, cupboards and boxes, but the method was in the knowing and fortunately, MacGillicudy knew.

  Cornwallis sat opposite the commander cradling a mug of Scooters best, a coffee with personality: rich, dark and with a tendency to shout.

  ‘So, you don’t think that this will just peter out?’

  Cornwallis shook his head. ‘Sigi’s scragging could have just been someone with a grudge, but a brick through Frankie’s window would indicate that it isn’t. Someone directed it. I’m involved with The Pipe, but Frankie isn’t, so whoever did it went for the easy target. I reckon things will ramp up.’

  ‘Any idea who?’

  ‘Not a clue, which is why I want to borrow some of your constables.’

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem; who do you want?’

  ‘Just the three who spoke to me this morning.’

  ‘Then they’re all yours. What do you want them to do?’

  ‘At the moment just to spend the night in that house, see if those louts come back. I don’t want Frankie to do it for obvious reasons.’

  ‘You mean you want to be able to speak to them?’

  ‘Exactly, plus your three saw them. The cat will be there too, we left him looking after the place.’

  ‘Where is this house exactly?’

  ‘Loom Lane, it’s got a number eighteen scrawled on the wall.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I know the area well.’

  Cornwallis drained his mug and stood up. ‘I’m off to see Goodhalgan. Rose will speak to your feelers; in actual fact, she should be doing that now.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Knew you’d agree. I’ll buy you a pint at the Stoat later.’

  ‘Cheeky bloody sod.’

  Rose tried hard not to smile as Felicity eventually answered the door, wearing a slightly red face and a thin almost transparent gown. After she explained the reason for calling and who else she had to call on, Felicity hesitated.

  ‘Er, you might just stick to Tiffany, Sergeant, Cecil won’t be there.’

  ‘Then…?’ A pause. ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘Don’t worry though,’ said Felicity quietly. ‘We’ll be there,’

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ replied Rose, and then she couldn’t resist it. ‘Bye, Cecil,’ she called.

  Another pause, a slightly longer one this time.

  ‘Goodbye Sergeant,’ responded Dewdrop weakly from behind the other door.

  Rose winked at Felicity and then strolled on, heading over to Tiffany’s and wondering what she would find there.

  Nothing, as it happened. Tiffany had no visitors to disturb, much to her disappointment.

  Things had definitely moved on in the short period of time since he last graced the tunnels. The dwarfs had laid down more tracks, linking two more entrances, and platforms made and put into position for easy access to the carriages.

  The entrances still required a bit of work to make them more inviting, but on the whole, he couldn’t complain with the progress.

  Noises of dwarfs at work echoed throughout the tunnels and chambers: there were bangs; rustles; swearing; thumps; hammers hammering; more swearing; shouts; yells of pain; even more swearing. Cornwallis weaved his way through the detritus that littered the place, thankfully just moving out of the way in time as a pump-trolley came hurtling around the corner. He dived into an alcove where a flight of steps led down to the lower levels and breathed a sigh of relief; at least he had gained safety now.

  He found Goodhalgan in the Council chamber with reams of scrolls and parchments scattered around. Flames flickered from the wall-sconces sending writhing shadows streaming across his haggard face. He looked up as Cornwallis approached and nodded a welcome.

  ‘Whose bloody idea is this, eh? Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. Look at it. You can’t move for the sodding stuff. Most of this pile of rubbish has come from the Assembly and the Health and Safety; I’ve got risk assessments; structured implications; taxes; revenue projections, you name it, I’ve got it. What am I to do with it all?’

  ‘Er, to be honest, do what the rest of us do, ignore it.’

  ‘Yeah, an
d we’ll get closed down. We’re an ethnic group, so that lot up there will try and throw as many spanners into the works as they can.’

  ‘Just put everything aside when this sort of stuff comes in and leave it for me to deal with. Remember that I am an Assembly member, and so is my father.’

  Goodhalgan looked relieved.

  Cornwallis picked up a few random bits of paper and scanned through them. He knew that most of it originated not from the Assembly, but from the guilds. He gathered everything up into a pile and smiled at the King of the Dwarfs. ‘I’ll file it later; you just concentrate on getting The Pipe ready. This lot,’ and he tapped the pile, ‘is my department.’

  Goodhalgan stroked his beard thoughtfully and his facial muscles twitched, indicating a smile. ‘That’ll be one less thing to worry about, I must admit.’

  Cornwallis grinned back. ‘Paperwork is my speciality.’

  Goodhalgan grabbed hold and then unwound a very large scroll which turned out to be the plan of The Pipe. Dwarfs like to complicate things when humans were involved but liked to keep things simple when just dwarfs were involved. Privy now to a very simple plan, Cornwallis felt privileged that Goodhalgan trusted him so much.

  ‘There’s a sort of beauty to this,’ Cornwallis observed. ‘Nice straight lines where there should be bends and curves. This is more of a map though.’

  Goodhalgan nodded. ‘That’s precisely what it is. We’ve ironed out a few things from our original map and added some bits here and there. All these dark blobs are the entrances, you see we’ve put the names above them, and the lines are the tracks where they join up with the entrances. We’ve put down the ones we’ve already done, and the ones we think we can do in the future.’

  ‘Why are the lines coloured differently?’

  ‘They indicate different tracks; we can’t link every entrance on just one continuous track; we will have to have a few to cover everything. It’s just a rough plan at the moment.’

  ‘An underground map then. I like it.’

  ‘It’s just so we can see things at a glance.’

  ‘Yes, but we will have to have something so that people will know when to get off. This is perfect for that.’

  Goodhalgan shrugged. ‘Mebbee, but I thought a more detailed map would be needed.’