The stream went under a small bridge and wound out into the river, and the little submarine whirled out into the current.
‘I say,’ said Han, pushing his plate away. ‘The stream seems to have got bigger all of a sudden.’
‘Yes, it has,’ said Darby. ‘Up periscope!’
‘Hey, the bank looks a long way away,’ he said after a while, ‘and there’s a great big—
‘Dive, quickly!’
The others grabbed the pumps and pulled with all their might. Overhead came the sound of powerful engines, and the water foamed.
‘What on earth was it?’ said the professor, after the noise had gone.
‘I’m not sure – it looked like a giant boat. Nearly hit us too. Stay submerged for a while. You never know.’
The water was muddy, and they could see nothing outside.
‘Well, how are we going to get out of this mess?’ asked Han.
‘I’m more concerned with staying alive, quite frankly,’ said Darby. ‘Anyway, how about we play a game of dominoes?’
After a while the professor raised the periscope again. ‘Can you hear anything?’ he said. ‘Like a sort of faraway rushing?’
There was a sudden gurgling noise and a roar, and the lights of the sub were reflected off nearby walls. They were in a pipe!
The current swept them along faster and faster, round bends and through thrashing pumps – bang! bang! bang! went the big engines of the waterworks (for that was what it was), and the tiny craft was bowled over and over and sent rushing along smaller and smaller pipes.
With a thud the submarine wedged in the pipe, upside down. The water trickled underneath it.
‘I think we ought to abandon ship,’ said Darby, ‘mainly because there is a big crack opening in the wall.’
They all stared at it.
Darby wrenched a pipe out of the wall and fiddled with it. ‘If you tie this to your head and make a funnel here so that it fits over your mouth, I think you’ll have a good snorkel tube,’ he said. Then he waited until the professor and Han had made one for themselves, and opened the hatch.
The light glimmered on the damp walls of a long dark tunnel that stretched upwards; there was a tiny point of light at the far end. In the distance he could hear rumblings and bangings.
Unknown to him, Mr Arnold Grapeshot was banging on the cold water tap, and wondering why the water had stopped coming out. ‘Have to send for the plumber,’ he muttered. He wrapped a towel around himself and dripped his way downstairs.
As the door closed a very small head looked out of the tap.
‘Well I never!’ gasped Darby. He was looking out at a gigantic porcelain valley filled with soapy water, and half hidden in the steam a copper geyser rumbled like a volcano. A floating loofah looked bigger than a whale to him, and a soap dish seemed like a mountain.
‘This looks the sort of place where you get giants,’ said the professor in a matter-of-fact voice.
‘Lost in the plumbing,’ said Han.
‘I say! Look at that!’ cried Darby. On the far end of the bath lay a boat, a big clockwork one with a red hull. ‘What a magnificent machine! Do you think we could reach it?’
‘But why?’ grumbled Han. ‘This pond is too small, and there’s no way out.’
‘Yes, but that’s exactly the sort of boat that giants sometimes sail on our pond,’ said Darby. ‘Remember? We always have to hide.’
Taking a deep breath, he made a beautiful swallow dive and disappeared in the soapy water. Han followed him more slowly, towing the professor carefully behind him.
It took a long time to swim to the other side of the bath, and climbing the slippery side took a lot of effort. But tiny hands and feet found holds in the porcelain.
‘Hey, this is not at all bad,’ said Han, when they had all climbed into the boat. ‘Look, a motor and sails. And a rudder. Funny sort of motor, though.’
‘I think you have to wind it up,’ the professor said.
‘Well, I suppose we’ll just have to sit here and wait,’ said Darby. ‘I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat?’
‘I saw some spiders’ webs on the ceiling,’ said Han.
‘Well, we’ll see what we can find later. In the meantime I’m going to get a bit of kip,’ said Darby.
‘We’re being picked up!’ cried Han.
‘About time,’ muttered Darby. ‘I’m getting fed up with this.’
The three of them had been living in the toy boat on the bathroom shelf for several days, living on earwigs and other insects that dropped into the bath. They didn’t taste very nice, but there you are.fn1 The professor had spent his time examining the clockwork motor.
They clung to the sides as the boat was picked up and dumped into a giant bag, with towels and bathing costumes.
‘Now here’s the plan,’ said Darby, as they bumped along. ‘As soon as the boat is put in the water I want you, Han, to grab the tiller. Professor, can you work the motor?’
‘It’ll need winding up every now and then.’
‘Yes, well, if possible we’ll abandon this one and find a better boat.’
Hours later, a giant hand reached down and wound up the motor, then put the boat into a pond.
‘Right!’ cried Darby. ‘Everyone to action stations.’
Han grabbed the tiller and wrenched it round so that the boat whizzed out into the middle of the boating pool. The little boy who owned it looked on in amazement.
‘Hmm, this is fresh water,’ said Darby, looking over the side. ‘It must come in somewhere. Hey, look at that!’ That was a big electric-driven boat that dwarfed their own.
‘What a craft!’ said the professor. ‘Think we can board her, Darby?’ He brought the boat up alongside it.
‘We’ll try,’ said Darby. ‘Follow me.’ He leaped across, climbed up the side of the model and peered into the bridge. A couple of big switches were screwed into the floor. ‘This looks pretty easy to operate,’ he said. ‘All aboard!’ He threw down a rope and the others scrambled across to join in.
The big model shot across the pond towards the water inlet tunnel while Darby struggled with the tiller. Then it was through and out onto the river, shooting along and leaving a trail of foam behind it.
‘Hold tight!’ Darby shouted as they narrowly missed a swan. ‘And look out for the stream!’
‘There’s an opening over there!’
Darby pulled hard on the tiller and the boat skimmed across the river and up the stream. A few minutes later it buried its nose in the bank by the waterfall.
‘Ah, back home at last,’ the professor sighed with relief. ‘I hope I never have another ride like that in my life.’
They waded out and began to climb up the stones around the waterfall.
‘You know,’ said Darby thoughtfully, ‘with a proper crew I’m sure we could have a lot of fun with that boat. I don’t think there is anything more grand than messing about on the water.’
‘You are right,’ said the professor. ‘Three men in a boat!’
THE SHEEP RODEO SCANDAL
I’ve told you before about Llandanffwnfafegettupagogo, the most lawless town in the real Wild West – that is, Wales. This is what happened there one year at the Annual Sheep Rodeo and Dog Trials.
It was a Friday night and Police Sergeant Bryn Bunyan – the fastest truncheon west of the border – was having supper with his friends PC Gorsebush Jones and Doc Rees when the High Street was suddenly full of shouting.
Gorsebush opened the door, then slammed it again as half a dozen sheep tried to get into the room.
‘It’s the sheepboys in town again,’ he said. ‘They only come once a year, but once is enough. They’ve just got paid too, by the sound of it.’
Every year the sheepboys drove the flocks down from the mountain to sell them at the Sheep Rodeo, and that always meant trouble, what with people getting in brawls and staying up as late as midnight.
‘I think I’ll just mosey on down to the pub,’ said Sergeant Bunyan.
> ‘I think I’ll mosey with you,’ said Doc Rees. ‘There’s bound to be a few cracked heads once those boys taste a bit of brown ale.’
When they reached the Lump o’ Coke people were singing. Someone was playing the piano and everyone else was shouting and banging on the bar.
The two friends stood outside for a few minutes, sniffing the evening air, and then there was a mighty CRASH! as someone was thrown through the window. They lay motionless on the pavement.
‘It’s Woolley Waistcoat,’ said Doc. ‘Hmm. No bones broken,’ he added, with obvious disappointment.
‘Isn’t he the boss of the Lazy Z farm?’
‘Yep.’
Next moment the door burst open and a stream of sheepboys poured out onto the pavement, fighting. Sergeant Bunyan thought for a moment, then blew his police whistle – hard.
PEEEEEEEEEP!
Everyone stopped as if by magic. Sergeant Bunyan flexed his knees.
‘Evenin’ all, and hullo, hullo, what’s all this?’ he said. ‘In town five minutes and already causing a Breach of the Peace? That’s quick work.’
‘You ask that sheep thief Waistcoat,’ said a tall thin man who Bunyan recognized as Rawhide Evans, who owned the Sulky Leek farm.
‘It’s him that’s been stealing sheep!’ said Woolley Waistcoat, pointing at Evans.
‘I see. You want to lay charges of sheep stealing against each other, eh?’
‘Yes,’ they said together.
‘I can prove that he’s been rustling my sheep,’ they said at the same time, then scowled at each other.
The two farms were next to each other, up in the hills at the end of the valley. Waistcoat and Evans normally got on quite well, whispered Doc. Something was up.
‘I’ll have a word with you both in the morning,’ said Bunyan. ‘In the meantime, as I think I’ve said before, I aim to clean up this here town – and that means no fighting in the street . . .’
‘If you ask me,’ said Doc Rees, ‘someone has been rustling sheep from Waistcoat and Evans and making each believe it’s the other.’
‘I suppose I could put one of them in jail for the night, for fighting,’ said Sergeant Bunyan. ‘But that wouldn’t be fair. If I locked them both up they’d fight in the cell. The town’s full up because of the Sheep Rodeo, and I don’t want trouble.’
They were having breakfast in Auntie Megan’s Lucky Strike tea rooms. Gorsebush was busy trying to arrange his cooked breakfast into a smiley face on his plate.
‘I’ll tell you another thing,’ said Doc, slurping his tea, ‘the rustler is in town now. He’s got to sell the sheep, hasn’t he? And I shouldn’t think he would risk taking them too far.’
At that moment someone strolled past the window. It certainly wasn’t one of the Llandanffwnfafegettupagogo residents. He wore a shiny top hat, a spotted bow tie and a fancy knitted waistcoat embroidered with red dragons. He had a droopy moustache and eyes hidden under two bushy eyebrows.
Sergeant Bunyan stared at him and slowly put down his fork. ‘Do you know who that is?’ he said.
‘Just some city slicker from Cardiff, probably,’ said Gorsebush, glancing up from his sausages.
‘That’s Maverock Weedon, the gambler. Half the pubs in Wales won’t serve him. There’s not a game he doesn’t play – darts, dominoes, bar billiards, shove ha’penny – and he cheats at all of them. He might just be in town to win a bit of money, or he might be involved in this sheep stealing. Ah look, here he comes now.’
‘G’d morning, gentlemen. Nice day, isn’t it?’ said Maverock Weedon as he sauntered over to the table, touching the brim of his top hat with one finger.
‘That’s right,’ said Sergeant Bunyan. He lowered his voice. ‘One marked domino and you’ll be in trouble.’
‘I wouldn’t use language like that to a perfectly respectable citizen if I was you,’ said Maverock sternly. ‘As a matter of fact I’ve gone into the sheep-selling business.’
‘I kind of thought you might have,’ said Sergeant Bunyan. ‘Whose sheep?’
‘Mine, of course.’ Maverock grinned. ‘Two hundred of them. They’re penned in at the O.K. Sheep Dip if you want to see them. It’s all legal.’ He lit a cigar and strolled away.
Sergeant Bunyan turned to his companions and raised his eyebrows. ‘He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, you mark my words.’
Later Sergeant Bunyan and PC Gorsebush Jones went to the Sheep Dip. There were the Waistcoat sheep, marked with a cross, and the Evans sheep, marked with a circle. The Maverock flock was penned between them, each sheep marked with a cross inside a circle.
‘It’d be easy to turn those markings into the Maverock mark,’ said Gorsebush, ‘and I’ve seen that Maverock with young Dai Too, who’s aimin’ to step into his brother’s boots now Big Dai’s in jail.fn1 They’re just the sort to rustle sheep.’
‘But we can’t prove it,’ said Sergeant Bunyan. ‘The rodeo starts tomorrow. He’ll sell the sheep then and disappear. I could check in town that he does own them, check that brand of his out, but it would take too long.’
‘Then you’re stuck,’ said Gorsebush.
‘But we’ve got to stop him selling the sheep tomorrow,’ said Sergeant Bunyan.
‘How about stealing them?’ said Gorsebush. ‘My dog Blodwen’ll round them up tonight.’
‘That’s illegal,’ said Sergeant Bunyan sternly. ‘In other words, don’t let me catch you doing it.’
That night Maverock Weedon’s sheep – which had really been rustled from two other sheep farms – disappeared from their pen, then at dawn Gorsebush Jones cycled madly to town to find out if Maverock really owned the sheep.
I wonder where Jones has hidden the sheep? wondered Sergeant Bunyan when Maverock stormed into the police station to complain.
‘It’s a busy day today, you know,’ he said. ‘The Sheep Rodeo is on, but I’ll see what I can do.’
‘I want them back!’ shouted Maverock. ‘I’ve got to sell them today.’
‘I don’t expect they have been taken far,’ said Sergeant Bunyan.
No sooner had Maverock left when Sergeant Bunyan heard a sound from the cells behind the station. He opened the spyhole and shut it again quickly. The cells were full of sheep, and there was a note pinned to the door. It said:
Outside, the Sheep Rodeo was in full swing, with sheep-dip competitions, sheepdog trials and shearing races all going on at the same time. Through the middle of all this came Gorsebush, pedalling furiously.
He dashed into the police station waving a piece of paper.
‘There’s no such brand as the one Maverock’s got on the sheep,’ he cried. ‘It’s a forgery! Those sheep are stolen!’
Bunyan clapped his helmet on his head. ‘Right,’ he said.
He opened the door – and a pair of sheep shears thudded into the post by his ear.
Then Dai Too, who had been listening at the window, leaped onto Gorsebush’s bike and sped away, with Maverock – who had hurled the shears – perched on the crossbar.
‘Stop those men!’ bellowed Sergeant Bunyan. ‘They’re going to be in Llandanffwnfafegettupagogo Magistrates Court on Monday!’
‘They pinched sheep!’ added Gorsebush, peering round the door. All the sheepboys turned and sprinted up the street.
‘Now that isn’t quite correct,’ said Sergeant Bunyan, turning to Gorsebush. ‘They’re not officially guilty until Monday. That’s the law, you see – everyone’s innocent until found guilty. ‘STOP THOSE SNEAKY SHEEP RUSTLERS!’ he added.
The street was now empty except for Alun Allen the milkman, who was trotting along on his milk cart. Sergeant Bunyan leaped aboard, shouted ‘Giddyup!’, snatched the reins and the milk cart disappeared after the sheepboys.
‘We’ll never catch up with them now,’ moaned Gorsebush, as the milk cart rumbled into the hills.
Sergeant Bunyan slowed the milkman’s horse to a walk. ‘You’re quite right,’ he said. ‘This needs thinking about.’
It was pe
aceful in the hills above Llandanffwnfafegettupagogo. The birds were singing, bees were zooming like tiny fighter planes in the heather, and the horse stopped to crop the grass.
Sergeant Bunyan removed his helmet and mopped his brow. Suddenly he sat up straight. ‘I know – we’ll head them off at Plimsoll’s Yat,’ he said.
Now Plimsoll’s Yat was where the road out of Llandanff etc. ran along a line of wooded hills overlooking the River Severn. The Yat itself was a shelf of rock that stuck out a couple of hundred metres over the river.fn2
Up in the hills Dai Too the sheep rustler and the gambler Maverock had lost the posse of sheepboys, and were freewheeling down the long slope that led to the Yat.
‘Isn’t that a milk cart in the road down there?’ asked Maverock, peering over Dai’s shoulder.
‘Yes,’ growled Dai, and put the brakes on. Now the fact was that he was riding Gorsebush’s bike, which Gorsebush used to stop by ramming his boots onto the front wheel. To put it another way, it had no brakes.
The wheels were turning so fast they were a blur. Sergeant Bunyan and Gorsebush peered from behind the cart with horror as the bike, with two screaming people on it, whirred towards them.
With a twang it hit a stone and shot off sideways, through a hedge, across a stream in a shower of spray, through another hedge, over a tree root, through a small wood . . . and up into the air like a bird.
It sailed over the Yat and started the long fall into the river. When Sergeant Bunyan and Gorsebush got to the edge, all they could see was a widening pool of ripples a long way below, with Maverock’s shiny top hat floating in the centre. Gorsebush snatched his own hat off and stood, looking sad.
‘Oi!’ came a voice from halfway up a hawthorn tree, just behind them. It was Maverock, wedged into the brambles. And they found Dai Too lying in the hedge, looking puzzled – and bootless, since his boots had got stuck in the bicycle wheel, and he had lost both boots and two pairs of socks. Both were so dazed that they just sat quietly in the milk cart while it trundled back to town.
The Witch's Vacuum Cleaner: And Other Stories Page 4