Atticus flinched. What a horrible name! This place was giving him the creeps.
‘Come on, Atticus, hurry up!’ Michael called.
Atticus scampered after the children. He didn’t want to get left behind.
‘There they are.’ Mrs Cheddar peered through a grille in an ancient wall opposite the steps.
The ravens were sunning themselves in large wire pens on the lawn in front of the White Tower. Next to the pens was a wooden hut.
‘This way.’ Mrs Cheddar led off again.
Atticus charged after her. He wondered how long it was until lunch time.
‘That’s Tower Green,’ Mrs Cheddar said. ‘Where they used to behead people.’ She shot off across a huge courtyard at the back of the White Tower. ‘And that’s the Jewel House.’ They turned right. ‘And that’s the Museum.’
Atticus felt his head spinning. Normally he had no trouble finding his way round, but this place was really confusing!
‘And the that’s café!’
Atticus meowed. Couldn’t they just stop for a quick sardine?? He looked hard at the café entrance.
‘And here we are!’ Mrs Cheddar doubled back across the lawn.
‘Hurry up, Atticus,’ Inspector Cheddar told him crossly.
Atticus decided he hated sightseeing.
‘They’re ugly!’ Callie whispered, when they finally arrived at the raven pens. She stared at the grumpy-looking black birds.‘Waarrrk!’ one of them said.
‘They’re like the magpies,’ Michael pulled a face. ‘Only bigger.’
‘They’re from the same bird family.’ A large beefeater with a red nose appeared from inside the hut carrying a mug of tea with RON written across it. ‘Corvus, it’s called. It includes crows, rooks, jackdaws, jays, magpies and ravens.’
Atticus bared his teeth. He hated crows and magpies. He didn’t know much about rooks, jackdaws and jays, but from where he was standing, ravens didn’t look much better.
‘All of them are highly intelligent,’ the Raven Master said. ‘They’re thought to be amongst the cleverest species of animal in the world, apart from humans, obviously.’
‘And cats,’ Atticus growled, although of course nobody understood him.
‘We know how clever magpies are,’ Callie said.
‘We caught the Toffly Hall gang,’ Michael explained proudly.
‘Ah, that was you, was it? I thought I recognised your cat.’ The Raven Master squinted at Atticus. ‘I read about the Toffly Hall arrests in the paper.’ He chuckled, gesturing towards the ravens. ‘I told my birds about it. They seemed quite pleased. They kept running up and down squawking. I don’t think they like magpies very much.’
At least that’s something we agree about! Atticus thought.
‘Would you like to see me feed them?’ The Raven Master went back into the hut and reemerged with a large bowl. He held it under their noses.
‘EEUUUGHHH,’ Callie pulled a face.
‘Chopped meat and bird biscuits soaked in blood,’ the Raven Master said cheerfully. ‘They get six ounces each a day. Then once a week they get an egg and a rabbit. Ravens go mad for rabbit. They enjoy ripping up the fur.’
‘That’s revolting,’ Inspector Cheddar said.
The Raven Master shrugged. ‘Not if you’re a raven.’
Callie counted the fluttering birds. ‘Why are there six?’ she asked.
‘Six is the magic number,’ the Raven Master explained. ‘Any less than that and the monarchy falls. Normally we keep a few extra just in case, but they’re having their bird-flu jabs this week and the vet came this morning to take the others away. She’s doing them in batches so we always have six here.’
‘Do you ever let them out?’ Michael asked.
‘We do most days,’ the Raven Master told him. ‘They can’t fly far because their wings are clipped. But like I said, this week they’re confined to barracks so the vet can catch them.’
‘Do you believe in the legend?’ Mrs Cheddar asked. ‘Do you think the monarchy will fall if the ravens leave the Tower?’
‘Of course I do!’ the Raven Master stood up straight and saluted. ‘My job is probably the most important one in the whole country, especially this week. If any of these ravens were to disappear that would be the end of Her Majesty.’
‘The other beefeater was worried Atticus might eat them,’ Callie said.
Atticus swallowed. Eat them? No thanks.
‘I don’t rate his chances,’ the Raven Master chortled. ‘I don’t think he’d be able to. They’re a bloodthirsty lot, my birds. I reckon they’d have him for dinner not the other way round. They probably think he’s a big, juicy rabbit.’
Atticus backed away. He didn’t like the way the Raven Master was looking at him.
‘Waaarrrkk!’
Or the ravens for that matter.
‘Talking of food,’ the Raven Master added, ‘It’s my lunch time.’ He opened the door to the hut and stepped inside. ‘Come back later though,’ he winked at the children, ‘and I’ll tell you some ghost stories.’
‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ Inspector Cheddar snorted.
Ron raised his eyebrows. ‘I’d like to hear you say that if you were here on your own after dark!’ He shut the door.
Atticus and the Cheddars trooped off across the grass in the direction of the café. Atticus was exhausted. He longed for one of the hotel’s nice comfy beds.
‘You wait out here with Atticus,’ Mrs Cheddar told her husband. ‘We’ll go and get some sandwiches.’ She disappeared inside the café with Michael and Callie.
Atticus flopped on to a bench. It was warm in the sun. He felt sleepy.
Inspector Cheddar picked up the guidebook and started to read.
Squeak … squeak … squeak.
It couldn’t be! Atticus’s ears twitched. He shook his head. No! He must be hearing things.
Squeak … squeak … squeak.
There it was again! Suddenly Atticus felt wide awake. He wasn’t hearing things! It was the squeaky wheelie trolley. Zenia Klob and Ginger Biscuit were here.
He looked around anxiously. Squeak … squeak … squeak.
Wait! There she was!
A woman in a green cotton tunic and matching trousers was making her way slowly across the lawn towards the ravens. The squeaky wheelie trolley trailed behind her. It was Klob!
Atticus leapt off the chair.
‘Where are you going?’ Inspector Cheddar shouted.
Atticus ignored him. He started to weave his way between the tourists.
‘Come back!’ Inspector Cheddar was on his feet.
Squeak … squeak … squeak.
Atticus dodged across the grass.
‘I said, come back!’ Inspector Cheddar dodged after him.
Atticus had a clear view of Klob now. She was only a few paces away. He braced his strong hind legs and sprang. SHWUMP! He landed on top of the trolley. The trolley lurched under his weight.
‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka!’
‘HSSSSSSSSSSSS!’
Atticus gripped the trolley. The magpies were in there. With Ginger Biscuit.
Zenia Klob rounded on him, her eyes wide with surprise. ‘You again!’ She let go of the trolley and reached under her wig.
Atticus swallowed. She was going for a hairpin! There was only one thing he could do. Screwing up his courage, he fluffed out his fur and prepared to leap at her.
‘Get off!’ Inspector Cheddar had reached the scene. He grabbed Atticus firmly round the tummy.
‘Meow!’ Atticus howled.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ Inspector Cheddar apologised. ‘About my cat.’
Zenia Klob patted her wig. ‘Don’t vorry,’ she said, her eyes on Atticus. ‘I’m a vet: I’m used to animals. I expect he just vanted to say hello, didn’t you, kitty.’ She put out a hand to stroke him.
A vet! That was a new disguise. Atticus shied away from the gnarled fingers. He scrabbled to get free. The hand kept coming towards him.
Atticus stuck out his claws and lashed at it. ‘Atticus!’ Inspector Cheddar shouted. He tucked him under his arm in a vice-like grip. ‘He’s not normally like this,’ he said.
Zenia Klob blinked at Atticus. ‘Maybe you should think about having him put down?” she suggested. ‘I could do it now if you like.’
Atticus hissed and spat.
‘Is everything all right?’ Mrs Cheddar ran up with Callie and Michael.
‘Atticus just attacked the vet!’ Inspector Cheddar wrestled with Atticus.
‘Oh no!’ Mrs Cheddar exclaimed. A drop of blood oozed from the scratch. ‘Here! I have a tissue in my bag.’ She offered it to the vet.
‘You should get his claws removed,’ Zenia Klob said coldly, wiping her hand on the tissue. ‘Vun by vun. I’d do it myself only I have an appointment vith the beetrooteater who looks after the ravens. Maybe another time?’ With a last furious glare at Atticus she reached for the trolley handle and walked off.
Inspector Cheddar dangled Atticus in front of him. ‘You’re in big trouble, pussycat,’ he said grimly.
Atticus’s chewed ear drooped.
‘You’re grounded for the rest of the holiday.’
‘I wonder what made Atticus behave like that.’ Mrs Cheddar watched Inspector Cheddar lump Atticus away towards the exit. Atticus was still struggling to get free.
Callie frowned. ‘He didn’t like that vet.’
‘She wanted to pull Atticus’s claws out,’ Michael shivered.
‘Vun by vun,’ Callie said, mimicking her.
‘Wait a minute!’ Mrs Cheddar cried. ‘Isn’t Zenia Klob a mistress of disguise?’
Michael and Cally stared at her.
‘You’re right, Mum!’ Michael said. ‘And that vet had a Russian accent!’
‘She called the beefeater a beetrooteater!’ Callie gasped.
‘It’s got to be her,’ Mrs Cheddar exclaimed. ‘Besides, Ron said the vet’s already been this morning. So Atticus can recognise her, just like you two said.’
‘Look, there she is!’ Michael hissed.
Zenia Klob was approaching Ron’s hut. There was no one else beside the raven pens. Most of the tourists were either queuing for the White Tower or having lunch in the café. She parked her trolley beside the pens, looked around to make sure she wasn’t being followed, then let herself in to the hut.
‘What’s she up to?’ Mrs Cheddar muttered.
After a moment Zenia Klob reappeared, closing the door behind her. She laid the trolley on the ground and squatted down beside the raven pens. The ravens fluttered towards her.
The Cheddars heard a faint clang.
Callie’s eyes were round. ‘You don’t think she’s going to steal them, do you?’
‘I can’t see!’ Mrs Cheddar hissed. Klob’s body was blocking her view. ‘No, wait. They’re still there, thank goodness.’ A flutter of black birds hopped about in the pens.
Suddenly there was a flash of ginger. ‘Biscuit!’ Mrs Cheddar breathed.
‘No wonder Atticus went nutty!’ Callie said.
‘She’s leaving,’ Michael whispered.
Zenia Klob stood up and grabbed the trolley handle. She cut left and disappeared down some steps.
Squeak … squeak … squeak.
The sound of the trolley faded into the distance.
‘Quick! See if the ravens are all there,’ Mrs Cheddar raced over with the children. ‘I’ll check Ron.’
Carefully Callie and Michael inspected the pens. The ravens were hopping about excitedly. One … two … three … four … five … six. They counted them a few times just to be sure.
‘They’re all here, Mum,’ Callie shouted. ‘Don’t worry.’
One of the ravens looked at the children slyly. ‘Whaka-whaka-whaka-whaka-whaka!’ it chattered.
Another one with glittering eyes pecked it viciously.
‘Waark!’ the other ravens cried. ‘Waark!’
Michael frowned. Was it his imagination or were the ravens behaving strangely?
‘Ron’s out cold!’ Mrs Cheddar called from the hut.
Michael forgot about the ravens and ran to the hut with Callie. They stopped dead. Ron the Raven Master was lying on the floor of the hut in a pool of cold tea. He was sound asleep.
‘I’ll go and get help. You two stay here. If Klob reappears, run!’ Mrs Cheddar galloped off. In a few minutes she returned with some more beefeaters and the Tower doctor.
‘Will he be all right?’ Michael asked. The Raven Master started to snore.
The Tower doctor took out his stethoscope and examined the Raven Master carefully. ‘He’ll be fine once he’s slept off the effects of the sleeping potion,’ he said.
‘Sleeping potion?’ Michael exclaimed.
The doctor nodded. ‘A fast-acting knock-out drug administered by this.’ He picked up a V-shaped piece of thin metal off the floor with a pair of tweezers.
‘A hairpin!’ Mrs Cheddar gasped.
‘Jabbed into his neck just here.’ The doctor pointed to two specks of blood just below Ron’s jowls.
‘Like the prison guard,’ Michael remembered. ‘So we were right. It really was Klob.’
‘Who’s Klob?’ the doctor demanded.
‘A criminal mistress of disguise,’ Michael explained.
‘She’s ex-KGB,’ Callie added.
The doctor’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Sounds like a nasty piece of work,’ he said. ‘What was she doing here, apart from flattening Ron?’
‘I don’t know.’ Mrs Cheddar looked worried. ‘But we’d better get back to the hotel. My husband’s the police officer in charge of catching her. At least he was. We need to tell him what happened.’
Two hours later, the doctor was still sitting in the hut twiddling his stethoscope.
Some policemen had taken away the hairpin in a plastic bag. An ambulance crew had removed Ron the Raven Master on a stretcher. The beefeaters had gone back to showing visitors around. And here he was, still stuck guarding ravens.
He wished Ron would wake up and get back to work. The doctor had other jobs to do besides sitting around playing nanny to birds. And he was fed up with kids barging into the hut and asking him to tell them ghoulish stories about the Tower. Apparently Ron was famous for it. He had a little book full of ghostly goings-on tucked away in a drawer, which the doctor had to read so that he could tell the stories instead.
Why was it, the doctor wondered, that kids were so fascinated with gore? They especially loved the tale about the bloke who’d had his head sewn back on after it had been chopped off so the family could have his portrait painted. Anne Boleyn’s headless ghost was popular too, as was the weeping of the wailing woman, the chink-chink of the polar bear’s chains and the heavy tread of the axe man’s footsteps.
The doctor didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t believe in the gory stories. And he didn’t believe the legend about the monarchy falling if the ravens left the Tower. On the other hand, he didn’t want to be the one responsible for letting it happen if it was true. The beefeaters would get mad. And they carried pikes – great long sticks with a sharp point on the end. In the old days they’d have used the pike to run a traitor through. By the look of some of them, he thought they still might.
The doctor sighed. Like it or not, he was stuck here for the moment. He wandered out to take a look at the birds. The doctor squatted down by the pens and pulled a face. The ravens looked like a lot of ruffians to him. There was one with a hooked foot, another that chattered instead of croaked, and three ugly-looking beasts, one of which had a nasty habit of pooing in its water. Only one of the birds looked intelligent. It had bright glittering eyes and a way of putting its head to one side as if it understood you. The doctor wondered if it knew what an important job it had – stopping the monarchy from falling. Then he laughed at himself. Birds didn’t know things like that. Even if it was true.
The doctor went back inside the hut and banged the door shut.
Squeak … squeak … squ
eak.
There was a knock at the door. He looked up. It was nearly closing time. He didn’t want any more visitors. He’d had enough for one afternoon. If one more snotty kid came and asked him about whether people still blinked after they’d been beheaded he’d scream.
‘Go away!’
But it wasn’t a kid’s head that appeared round the door of the hut. It was an old, tough-looking, bloodless sort of woman’s head with wiry grey hair. The doctor found himself imagining it rolling off a wooden block and plopping on to the grass. He rubbed his eyes. Really, he thought, he needed to go home!
‘We’re closed,’ he said.
‘Not for me, you’re not,’ the woman said. She opened the door and stepped in, pulling a wheelie trolley behind her with a vicious-looking pike sticking out of it.
‘Who are you?’ the doctor blinked.
‘I’m Griselda Grump, the temporary Raven Mistress.’ The woman was wearing the blue and scarlet uniform of the beefeaters. Beneath the knickerbockers she wore a pair of big heavy boots. She pulled a hat out of the trolley and shoved it on.
The doctor thought he saw a flash of ginger. He shook his head. He was so tired he was seeing things. ‘Boy, am I glad to see you, Miss Grump,’ he said jovially. ‘I thought I was going to be stuck with these rotten ravens forever.’
‘It’s Ms, not Miss!’ the woman shouted. ‘And how dare you call them rotten, you measly maggot? These birds are the property of Her Majesty, the Queen. More loose talk like that and I’ll report you as a traitor and have you arrested.’ She eyed him nastily. ‘I might even pike you myself.’
‘All right, keep your head on,’ the doctor retorted. (He meant to say ‘hair’ but he still couldn’t get the axe man out of his brain.) ‘How’s Ron?’
‘Tired,’ the woman answered shortly. ‘He von’t be back for a vhile.’
‘Any news on the police hunt for Klob?’ the doctor put his stethoscope in his bag and closed it. ‘I’m just wondering if you’ll be okay if she comes back.’ He picked up the bag.
Atticus Claw Settles a Score Page 4