Under Gornstock

by Clive Mullis

  ‘Well,’ said the Bagman, eventually. ‘This is nice.’

  Cornwallis acknowledged with a tilt of his head, but in his mind, he punched the air with his fist in delight. He’d scored a point. ‘It is, Mr Hawk. However, pleasant as it is to see you again, I do have things I must do.’

  ‘I’m sure you have, Mr Cornwallis. Your main priority, I understand, is to find out what is due to occur tomorrow when your enterprise opens to the public. The Pipe must be allowed to succeed or fail on its own merits. It will be good for the city, either way.’

  Cornwallis wasn’t surprised that the Bagman knew something was going to happen. ‘So, you’re going to tell me what Brooksturner and Phimp have planned?’

  ‘Alas, no, because I don’t know,’ replied the Bagman.

  ‘Then what is the point of this conversation?’

  ‘A good question, Mr Cornwallis. It is perhaps a warning. What they are planning is not just a mere disruption of The Pipe; it is the total destruction of The Pipe.’

  Cornwallis’ eyes widened. ‘Then why don’t you do something: take Brooksturner and Phimp down to those little rooms you have where certain gentlemen are trained in certain arts and ask the certain questions that will give you the answers that you want?’

  The Bagman returned a thin smile. ‘I would like to, but my hands are tied. This has to be a public humiliation — again, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You mean like Kintersbury?’

  The Bagman nodded. Yes, I’m afraid so. The Warden put Brooksturner in as minister so he can fail, because he is a danger to the city. His views are somewhat archaic, but that in itself is not the problem. He wants to be Warden. He wants a return to the old brutal ways of the Morris where life was a little less free, shall we say. He wants to crush the populace and milk the juice and he is persuading some of the guilds to go along with him. Freedom is anathema to him.’

  ‘You mean he’s deranged?’

  ‘Some might say that, others, sadly, agree with him.’

  ‘I’m surprised. My father—’

  ‘Your father doesn’t yet know,’ interrupted the Bagman. ‘This is between the Warden and me. I decided that the Earl should not be told, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But you’re telling me, now.’

  ‘Yes, because you need to know what’s at stake, things have, er… changed.’

  ‘Thanks, considerate of you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘No pressure, then.’

  ‘Depends on how you look at it.’

  Cornwallis looked at it and he decided he didn’t like the view. ‘Why me?’ he asked after a while. ‘Why don’t you use all your resources?’

  ‘If it wasn’t for The Pipe, then I would have, but that would have taken, will take, a lot of time to build the evidence. You’re Johnny on the spot. It’s an ideal situation. The Pipe has drawn him out a lot faster than it would have done and you will be there to spoil his plans.’

  ‘So you want me to do your dirty work for you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Great!’

  The Bagman smiled. ‘The city will be grateful.’

  ‘I bet. You know, I just decided that we should pick Phimp up and speak to him at the Yard.’

  ‘Hmm,’ mused the Bagman. ‘I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. Might put out the wrong message to Brooksturner. Phimp is an oily little devil, but he’s a go-between and thus integral to their plans. It is my understanding that what they plan to do is going to happen tomorrow when The Pipe opens to the public. You will have all the dignitaries partaking of refreshment after the first ceremonial runs in the dwarfs’ main chamber whilst The Pipe begins catering to the paying public. It will be carnage, from what I hear.’

  ‘Carnage?’ exclaimed Cornwallis. ‘You mean you’re going to just let it all happen?’

  ‘Oh, no. We will have some representation down there too. I don’t want anything to happen to anyone, now do I?’

  ‘But you’ll have all those ministers and guildsmen down there. If Brooksturner succeeds then he will wipe out practically all the government and the guilds masters.’

  ‘Yes,’ replied the Bagman calmly. ‘Paving the way for Brooksturner, who will undoubtedly survive, to take control of the city. I must say, it’s rather a clever ruse, don’t you think?’

  Cornwallis’ face drained of colour as he stared back at the Bagman, sitting there, talking so matter-of-factly, that it sent a shiver down his spine. ‘How do you know all this?’ he asked, a slight waver in his voice.

  ‘Ah, yes; that brings me to another point.’ The Bagman raised a finger in admonishment. ‘As you must be aware, I have one or two operatives who are placed in certain positions within society and that includes the Assembly. One of my most trusted and, dare I say it, productive operatives, suffered some unwarranted attention which could have put their cover at risk. Unfortunately, they were unable to fully convey their reason for being where they were when this thing happened.’

  ‘And what has this to do with me?’

  The Bagman narrowed his eyes. ‘You are not the only one in this city who can call upon the services of an intelligent feline.’

  ‘Wha…? Oh, bugger, you mean Fluffy, don’t you?’

  ‘I do, indeed. I understand the phrase in common parlance is, wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.’

  Cornwallis shut his eyes hoping that when he opened them again, the Bagman would have just disappeared and he would find that he just dreamt it all. He opened them again and found the Bagman still sitting there. ‘He said they were both as eager as each other.’

  ‘So I understand, but it lacks professionalism. You should not be, er… on the job, when you were on the job, as it were. I have spoken to Tiddles regarding her conduct. I suggest you do the same to, er, Fluffy.’

  ‘Oh gods!’

  ‘They won’t help, Mr Cornwallis. I understand a guard caught them at it and removed your cat from the scene. I hope there’s no real damage done, because if she should have kittens in the not too distant future, then your Fluffy will certainly say goodbye to his furry little bollocks. Ah, here we are, back at your office. Remember, Mr Cornwallis, the city’s future is in your hands. Good day to you.’

  Chapter 35

  ‘Do you know, I actually think this is going to work.’

  ‘I do believe you may be right. Is everything ready?’

  ‘Oh yes. Phimp and our friend Clarence are out checking the entrances at this moment.’

  ‘Why?’

  Brooksturner grinned at the Ship Master. ‘Escape routes. When everything has happened we have to stop things happening.’

  ‘You mean after and not before?’ asked Frederick Wentlebury, the Master of the Guild of Ship Masters.

  ‘Of course, we don’t want to spoil everything. I imagine we all may be a touch thirsty and hungry and we don’t want to miss out, do we?’

  ‘No, no. Timing is everything though.’

  They sat in the little office above the travel agents and discussed the plans they had put in place. Wentlebury opened a drawer in his desk and removed a bottle of the most expensive wine he could find in Gornstock, together with two massive cigars.

  ‘Rolled on the thighs of dusky maidens, they are,’ he said as he handed one over. ‘Tuban Cigars are the best you can get and I have the contract to import them.’

  ‘Dusky maidens, you say?’ replied Brooksturner, wafting it beneath his nose and breathing in the heady scent, imagining the scene in his head.

  The Ship Master grinned. He hadn’t told a lie, just not all of the truth. In his younger days, he had seen the girls outside the stores doing just that, rolling the tobacco leaves on their naked thighs. Inside the factory, it was a different story. Child labour in abysmal sweaty oven-heated conditions working fourteen hours a day for just a few pennies each. Marketing sold the cigars but poverty made them.

  ‘I’m looking forward to getting the Guilds into line,’ v
entured Wentlebury.

  ‘So you should, same with me and the Council. Between us, we can return to a better time, reopen the prisons, squash the radicals and put the women back where they belong. An opportunity to fill our pockets and we’ll take up our rightful place at the head of the city. Trade and Council, working for a better future.’

  ‘I’ll drink to that,’ said the Ship Master, raising his glass.

  *

  ‘Well,’ said Frankie dejectedly, ‘might as well go back and see if anything’s happened.’ He stared at the Assembly as the door closed behind Phimp after he had entered the building. ‘Even me mum’s packed up fer the day and gone home,’ he added, staring at the bare bones of Sal’s Sizzler. He sighed discontentedly.

  ‘It can’t be helped,’ said Felicity. ‘It’s not our fault they didn’t do anything.’

  ‘Oh, they probably did something; the trouble is we don’t know what that something was.’

  ‘They were just looking at all the entrances, checking them out, I assume,’ added Dewdrop.

  Frankie nodded. ‘That’s what it looked like, but something tells me there was more to it than that.’

  ‘Places to attack?’ asked Felicity, trying to think of the reason.

  Frankie shrugged. ‘Possibly, but without us hearing what they were on about… Oh, well, let’s go and get a wet. With Clarence on the ship and Phimp in the Assembly, there’s nothing we can do now.’

  They traipsed back through the streets and alleyways as darkness descended; most people had already gone home, leaving just the stragglers and the occasional early reveller. It had been a largely wasted day as far as detectoring was concerned, apart from wearing out the boot leather.

  The walk back to the office at Hupplemere Mews took only a few minutes and they were soon bounding up the stairs, anticipating a quick catch-up before decamping to the Stoat for a longer one.

  Frankie pushed open the door and met six sombre faces staring back at him. ‘Cor, look at you lot; somebody died?’

  ‘Not yet, Frankie,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘But I’m glad to see you three back.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘The Bagman happened.’

  Frankie stared. ‘Oh, bollocks!’

  ‘Concise and to the point as always, Frankie. Yes, our friendly neighbourhood Bagman took me for a ride, literally, and imparted certain nuggets of information of a somewhat serious nature. Hence…’ Cornwallis pointed to his father, chatting quietly to Tiffany. ‘I thought it best, considering.’

  ‘Ah,’

  Cornwallis took a deep breath. ‘What happened with Phimp and Clarence?’

  ‘Nothing, diddly-squat, nada. They just walked around looking at all the dwarf entrances, ticking off something on a pad.’

  ‘No clue there then?’

  ‘No, we going for a pint?’

  Cornwallis flashed a short grin. ‘Not this evening, we need to keep all this between ourselves, so we’ll have to make do with a couple of bottles of wine from upstairs.’

  ‘Wine? Oh, goody,’ said Felicity, brightening up a little.

  ‘Splendid,’ said the earl looking up. ‘Another girl with taste and sophistication.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with beer,’ defended Frankie, stoically. ‘Nectar, it is; nature’s restorative. Anyways, I’ve seen you drink enough of it, M’lord.’

  ‘Of course I have,’ replied the earl, smiling. ‘But that doesn’t mean I only drink beer. When I want an evening of conviviality and refinement I generally turn to the grape, alas, when I happen to be in the Assembly or in your company, conviviality and refinement go out the window, so I drink beer.’

  Frankie looked to Rose. ‘Did he just insult me?’ he asked, brow furrowed in thought.

  ‘Yes, but he did it nicely.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right then. So I don’t need to tell him that he’s a stuck-up, prissy-faced bastard of a snob?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘In that case, I won’t,’ said Frankie, grinning at the earl.

  ‘That’s all we need,’ said Cornwallis with a sigh. ‘The imminent destruction of the government and you two decide to go off on one.’

  ‘You what?’ asked Frankie, aghast, the grin instantly disappearing from his face.

  ‘Yes, it’s what the Bagman told me. Come and sit down, all of you, and we’ll go through it again.’

  Frankie, Felicity and Dewdrop made themselves comfortable, with Maud making herself useful with the coffee pot.

  Frankie eased down next to MacGillicudy and looked at him, pointedly. ‘Who’s the new boy?’ he asked, jabbing a thumb at the commander.

  ‘Very funny,’ said MacGillicudy. ‘Laugh? I nearly did.’

  Frankie turned his head towards the commander and winked. ‘C’mon, give us a kiss, gorgeous,’ he said, puckering his lips.

  The elbow jab lacked force when it came; more of a glancing blow and Frankie just sat chuckling away to himself.

  Cornwallis wiped the smile from his face and got down to business. ‘Oh, Frankie, have you seen the cat recently?’

  ‘No, why?’ he asked, still grinning.

  ‘I’ll come to that in a minute,’ he said. ‘But first…’

  Cornwallis went through the Bagman’s revelations again and everybody listened in silence edged with apprehension. The earl knew how things worked in the Assembly, so the fact that the Warden and the Bagman had kept him in the dark meant nothing to him; standard practice he informed them, as any secret could only remain a secret as long as nobody knew what the secret was. He’d been in politics too long to let things worry him. Then Frankie fully appraised them of Phimp’s and Clarence’s activities with help from Felicity and Dewdrop. There wasn’t a lot there to help raise the spirits; the enormity of the challenge, and the responsibility ensuing, put a damper on the morale of them all.

  ‘Thoughts, ideas, suggestions?’ asked Cornwallis when they had all finished. ‘It’s open house, everyone gets a go.’

  They all took a deep breath and got lost in their thoughts; for the first time in an age, total silence insinuated its way into the offices of Cornwallis Investigations as each tried desperately to come up with a plan, a workable plan, one that would keep The Pipe open and nail Brooksturner and all to the wall.

  Eventually, Cornwallis sighed. ‘This is no good; coffee isn’t working. We need a better type of lubrication.’

  ‘Ooh,’ said Frankie, hopes returning. ‘Pub?’

  ‘No, Francis, we ain’t moving from here until we come up with a solution. Cecil, come with me, we’re getting the wine out.’

  Dewdrop got up and followed Cornwallis out of the office and up to the flat where he came face to face with the kind of lifestyle that he could only dream about having. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the flat had featured in the centre-pages of one of the periodicals that Felicity frequently read: chic, sumptuous and bang up to date in the latest fashion for homes. He knew that money did not necessarily mean stylish, but this was, it oozed it: understated in an overstated kind of way. It was quite simply, classy.

  ‘Come on, Cecil,’ ordered Cornwallis. ‘Come through.’

  Dewdrop closed his jaw and followed the voice to a room at the back. ‘Nice home you have here, Mr Cornwallis.’

  ‘Thank you. You should have seen it before Rose got hold of it, had to get a cleaner in just so that I could find the chairs. Typical bachelors pad, but I’m sure you know what I mean, mess everywhere. Now look at it. You’ll do well if you let your young lady loose on your place.’

  ‘I’ve only got one room, Mr Cornwallis. Not a lot you can do with that.’

  ‘Ah, sorry, but maybe things will improve for you.’

  Cornwallis then turned and opened another door, entering the room. Dewdrop heard some clinking noises and then shortly a crate came skidding across the floor filled with bottles of wine.

  ‘Grab hold of that, will you. I’ll bring the glasses.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Cornwallis.’

  A cou
ple of minutes later they were back downstairs, Dewdrop dumping the crate on the desk.

  ‘Where’s the beer,’ asked Frankie looking bereft at the lack of a proper drink. ‘I know you’ve got loads up there.’

  Cornwallis sighed and threw Frankie the key. ‘Go get what you need.’

  ‘And take your boots off first,’ ordered Rose.

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Dewdrop, quietly but anxiously to Felicity.

  ‘That’s because you’re not Frankie, I suspect. She trusts you a bit more with the carpet.’

  Frankie returned with his arms full of beer wearing a big grin on his face. ‘You’re getting a bit short up there, Jack.’

  ‘I wasn’t, but I suspect I am now. Right, you lot, now you’ve all got a drink, I want a plan and nobody leaves until we’ve got one.’

  ‘You ain’t told me why you want to know about the cat?’ said Frankie as the bottles clanked down on the desk. He picked one up, knocked the top off and upended it, taking a long swig.

  ‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten about that. Well, you remember I said that he got caught doing the business with another cat in the Assembly?’

  ‘Yerse.’

  ‘Her name is Tiddles.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘You know Fluffy is what’s called an intelligent cat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So is Tiddles. She works undercover so didn’t disclose her intelligence.’

  ‘Oh, that’s a turn up for the books; Fluffy will be well pleased.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Guess who she works for?’

  ‘How should I k…? Oh, bugger! You don’t mean? You do, don’t you? The Bagman?’

  ‘Yep, and he’s promised that should there be kittens, Fluffy will suffer the ultimate fate.’ Cornwallis mimed a pair of scissors.

  ‘Ooh, painful,’ replied Frankie, and then grinned. ‘You wait ‘til I tell him, it’ll make his day.’

  Chapter 36

  The coffee pot had the distinction of being the most utilised piece of equipment as each tried to chase the cobwebs away after a scant night’s sleep. Cornwallis issued a jaw-cracking yawn and then finished the dregs of his mug before immediately pouring a refill. The day of reckoning had arrived: the end of which would see the annihilation of the government and the eradication of the dwarfs… or not, as the case may be.