by Alan Snow
“Grandfather! Are you there?”
Grandfather’s voice came back straightaway.
“Arthur, where are you? Are you underground yet?”
“No . . . I’m not,” Arthur replied. “We’ve tried, but all the underlings’ holes have been blocked up.”
There was a pause. Then they heard Grandfather again.
“Where are you now?”
“I am back at the shop with Mr. Nibble.”
“Can you let me speak to him, please?”
Arthur passed the doll to Willbury.
“Hello, sir,” said Willbury.
“Every entrance has been sealed up.”
“Hello, Mr. Nibble. This doesn’t sound good at all. Have you any idea what is going on?”
“Frankly . . . no. We have tried five entrances to the Underworld, and every one has been sealed up. With Arthur’s, that makes six.”
“Do you think that lot who chased Arthur last night are sealing up the holes to stop Arthur from getting back underground?”
“I don’t think so. Some of the holes have been sealed up for some time. It’s not just about Arthur . . . .”
There was another pause.
“Do you have any clue who this bunch of ruffians are?” asked Grandfather.
Willbury thought for a moment. “I don’t, but there is someone I know who is well up in the world of inventions. She knows everyone with an interest in mechanics in Ratbridge. She might know the man who took Arthur’s wings.”
“If you could follow up that lead, I would be very grateful.”
“I’m going to the market for food and will visit my friend after that,” replied Willbury.
“Thank you, Nibble.” Then he asked, “This business with the cheese hunting? It’s been illegal for years now. In the old days it was the Cheese Guild that did the hunting, but the Guild was said to have died out when the trade was banned.”
“Do you think the blocked holes might be something to do with that?” asked Willbury.
“Years ago, when I lived aboveground, there were rumors about the Cheese Guild. Nothing specific . . . just the odd story of ‘goings-on’ . . . secret meetings and the like.”
Willbury looked pensive. “If you don’t mind me asking—why do you live underground?”
There was a long pause.
There was a long pause. When Grandfather finally replied, there was a steely tone to his voice that Arthur had never heard before. “I was accused of a crime that I did not commit. I have had to take refuge here ever since.”
Arthur felt his skin prickle. This was the closest he had ever come to finding out the reason for their life underground. Would Grandfather say more? What sort of crime could have driven him underground for so long? He looked up and found Willbury’s gaze upon him. Then Grandfather continued.
“I’ve kept it from Arthur as I felt he was too young to understand. But please believe me when I say you have my word as a gentleman that I am an innocent man.”
“I believe you, sir,” said Willbury. Then nodding at Arthur he added, “We shall leave it at that. I think Arthur may be old enough to understand. But I also think it better he hears this sort of thing from you face-to-face.”
“Thank you.”
Willbury looked at Arthur one more time, then asked another question. “On a more immediate matter: Do you have enough food?”
“Yes. The rhubarb seems to be thriving. I think I have a few days’ supply.”
“Well, hopefully we can get this matter sorted out very quickly.”
“I do hope so,” said Arthur quietly.
“Yes. I am sure my friend will be able to help,” said Willbury.
“Can you call me as soon as you know anything?”
“I’ll make certain of it.”
“Thank you. And Arthur . . . . You take care, my boy.”
“All right, Grandfather!” said Arthur. He took the doll from Willbury. “I will be very careful. And I will be back . . . soon!”
Arthur was trying to sound positive, but he actually felt less sure than ever of when he was going to get home.
“Speak to you later then,” said Grandfather.
“Good-bye . . . till later!” Arthur put the doll away.
“Right!” said Willbury firmly. “I think we need a good feed. I can always think better on a full stomach. Let’s draw up a shopping list.” Though Willbury’s voice sounded chipper, his face looked grim.
Arthur could tell that Willbury was as worried as he was but that he was trying to keep everyone’s spirits up. If he could put a brave face on the situation, then Arthur would too. The boxtrolls and Titus needed him to be strong, so he tried to raise a smile as they all sat down around the shop. Willbury took out a quill and a scrap of paper from under his chair.
Then there was a knock.
Willbury took out a quill and a scrap of paper.
A rather grubby man.
chapter 11
A VISIT
Everyone turned to the door.
Everyone turned to the door. Through the window they could see the tall shadow of a figure standing outside.
Willbury put his finger to his mouth. “Quiet!” he whispered. “It may be the hunters looking for Arthur. Arthur, quick, hide behind the counter.”
Arthur obeyed without hesitation. He never wanted to see the huntsmen again if he could help it. The memory of their leader’s sneering face still made him shudder. He got back down into the space where he had slept the night before. There was a crack in the woodwork, and by placing his eye close to it, he could still see the shop door. He watched as Willbury unlocked the door and stepped back.
A rather grubby man wearing a frock coat and a top hat stood on the doorstep. He held a large box in his arms, and on the ground by his side was a bucket.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said in an oily voice. “My name is Gristle, and I represent the Northgate Miniature Livestock Company. I was wondering if you might be interested in buying some rather small creatures?”
A bucket.
Willbury looked quizzically at the box and then stared at the bucket. “Err . . . umm . . . you know this is not a pet shop anymore?” he said slowly. “What are they?”
“They are the very latest thing! Miniatures! Little versions of some of the pet industry’s bestsellers.”
Mr. Gristle put down the box and, with a flourish, took off the lid. Willbury took a look at the contents of the box and couldn’t help smiling.
“You wouldn’t like to do a swap, would you?”
“They’re beautiful!” he said, squatting down. Then he frowned. “But they don’t seem very happy.”
“No,” replied Gristle. “I think it’s a by-product of the breeding.”
The underlings had become curious. They shyly moved closer.
“You wouldn’t like to do a swap, would you? I’m looking for big creatures,” Gristle said, eyeing up Willbury’s companions. All the big creatures pulled away and hid behind Willbury.
All the big creatures hid behind Willbury.
“Certainly not!” Willbury blurted, outraged. Then his curiosity got the better of him. “What’s in the bucket?”
Arthur was also immensely curious, but the underlings were obscuring his view. He would have to wait, he told himself.
“A little spotty swimming thing. I believe it’s from Peru,” said Gristle.
“How much do you want for them?” asked Willbury.
“How would five groats sound?” said Gristle in a hopeful sort of way.
“It would sound very expensive!” replied Willbury.
“Well, three groats, five farthings. It’s my last offer. I can always take them to the pie shop.” Gristle smirked.
Willbury looked shocked. The underlings gasped collectively. Willbury took out his leather coin bag and gave Gristle the money.
Willbury took out his leather coin bag.
“Thank you, squire! Are you sure you don’t want to part with any of your big friend
s?” Gristle asked again.
“Absolutely not! Now, be off with you!” Willbury had taken a distinct dislike to Mr. Gristle. He lifted the box and the bucket off the doorstep and into the shop and closed the door on the salesman.
The letter box flipped open.
“I really am very interested in your big friends, sir. I’m sure we could come to some arrangement?” came the disembodied voice of Mr. Gristle.
“Go AWAY!” said Willbury, starting to get angry.
The letter box closed for a moment, and then a ten-groat banknote appeared, held by two long, thin, grubby fingers.
“Pretty please,” whispered Gristle.
The fingers started to wave the note. Willbury took a lone cucumber from the vegetable box that was on the floor.
“I’m warning you. GO AWAY! I do not sell friends!” Willbury was turning red.
Another banknote held by another pair of fingers slipped through the letter box and started waving.
“Oh, go on! Twenty groats. They are only dumb old underlings,” the voice said.
“Oh, go on!”
This was too much for Willbury. He raised the cucumber and brought it down on the letter-box flap. There was a Splut! as the cucumber hit the flap, a Snap! as the flap closed on the fingers, and a scream from outside. The fingers and the banknotes disappeared.
“You’ll be sorry for this!” came a muffled shout. Then they heard the sound of footsteps hurrying away.
A silence settled over the shop.
“You can come out now, Arthur,” Willbury finally said.
Arthur joined the group huddled around the box and bucket. He peered into the box. The bottom was covered with straw, with half a turnip, covered in tiny bite marks, lying in one corner. Standing on the straw were a number of tiny creatures. There was a cabbagehead and a boxtroll, both about five inches high, and three trotting badgers. Most trotting badgers were the size of large dogs, but these were the size of mice. All the creatures in the box were shaking with fear.
Arthur joined the group huddled around the box and bucket.
Three trotting badgers.
Fish leaned over the box and made a low, cooing noise. The tiny boxtroll looked up and started squeaking. Fish looked puzzled. He looked up at Shoe and Egg, who also seemed puzzled. It was obviously a boxtroll, but they couldn’t understand what it was saying. Shoe grunted softly. Fish nodded, raced out of the room, then raced back in again. In his hand was a brass nut and bolt. He laid them in the straw next to the tiny boxtroll. It made some more squeaking sounds, then picked up the nut and bolt, kissed them, and gave them a hug. The big boxtrolls smiled.
The tiny boxtroll.
A small splash came from the bucket. Everyone turned to see ripples spreading over the surface of the murky green water.
“I wonder?” Willbury muttered to himself.
He reached for a small piece of the shattered cucumber and dropped it into the bucket. For a moment it hung just below the surface. Then a tiny head emerged from the murk and started to nibble the cucumber. As the creature fed, more of it came into view. Its body was short and stout. It had horns and a large, floppy nose, and its skin was white with black patches.
“Oh my!” said Willbury. “It’s a tiny freshwater sea-cow.”
“It’s so small!” said Arthur. “You don’t think it’s one of the calves the mother lost?”
“No, no. They would be much bigger than this,” Willbury said. Then he muttered to himself. “Peru, did he say? I didn’t think that they had them in South America.”
He looked up at Fish. “Will you and Titus go and get the old fish tank from the back of the shop? Fill it with fresh water. We need to get this little one out of that dirty bucket.”
Fish and Titus fetched the tank, placed it on the counter, then started to fill it with jugs of water. Willbury laid an old stoneware jar on its side in the tank. There was some pondweed in the bucket, so he took that out and placed it in the tank too. When the tank was three-quarters full, Willbury told Fish and Titus that they could stop. Then he lifted the bucket onto the counter, rolled up his sleeves, and gently lifted the sea-cow out and into the tank. With a plop the little creature entered the water. It swam straight to the bottom of the tank and disappeared into the jar. They all stood around the tank and watched. After a minute or so, a nose emerged.
“Keep very still,” said Arthur quietly. He was practically holding his breath, not wanting to disturb the tiny creature.
Slowly the sea-cow swam out and started to explore its new home.
“Now we must find new homes for our other friends,” Willbury said. “I want Fish, Shoe, and Egg to look after the little boxtroll, and Titus, you’re in charge of the tiny cabbagehead.”
The big boxtrolls looked very happy. Willbury picked up the little boxtroll (who was still hugging the nut and bolt) and passed him to Fish. The other boxtrolls crowded around. After a great deal of billing and cooing, they set off around the shop to give their new friend a tour.
The sea-cow started to explore its new home.
Titus, however, looked nervous. Willbury lifted the tiny cabbagehead up to his nose. He took a sniff and smiled, then offered it to Titus to smell. Titus leaned forward and took a tiny sniff.
After a moment Titus’s face broke into a smile too. He then lowered his face to the tiny cabbagehead and allowed it to smell him. The tiny cabbagehead gave a little squeak and jumped onto his shoulder.
“Why don’t you show him where you live?” suggested Willbury.
Titus’s eyes grew bright. He clutched the tiny cabbagehead to his chest, shot across the room, and disappeared through the hole in his barrel.
Willbury picked up the little boxtroll.
Willbury smiled. “Titus really needed a companion!”
Suddenly there was a scuffling from the box, and the trotting badgers scurried across the floor and disappeared into a mouse hole in the baseboard.
“Oh dear!” said Willbury.
Arthur picked up the box and turned it over. One corner had been chewed away.
“That’s the problem with trotting badgers! They are really wild—and have really sharp teeth,” said Arthur. “Grandfather always warned me to stay away from the outer caves and tunnels where they live. He says that you can get in serious trouble with a trotting badger!”
“Oh! Well, do you think these little ones will be all right?” asked Willbury.
“If they are anything like the big ones, they should have no problems. It’s the mice in that hole that I feel sorry for; trotting badgers will eat anything.”
“Well, we’ll leave out some milk and biscuits for them later. Maybe if we keep them fed, they’ll leave the mice alone. I don’t think there is anything else we can do,” said Willbury looking at the hole in the baseboard.
He picked up the quill and paper from his chair. “Now, I think we should finish this shopping list, get to the market, and then find my friend.”
Arthur and Willbury sat down again. As soon as the boxtrolls realized what was going on, they joined them.
“How are you getting on with your new friend?” Willbury asked them.
Fish gurgled and pointed at a matchbox on the mantelpiece, then at the little boxtroll who Shoe was now holding.
“Oh! You have called him ‘Match.’ How very appropriate,” said Willbury.
The boxtrolls and Arthur giggled.
“Now, what would everybody like to eat?” asked Willbury.
Shoe nudged Egg, who then reached inside his box and produced a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Willbury. Arthur watched as Willbury unfolded it. Drawn very neatly on the paper were pictures of all the foods that the boxtrolls wanted, grouped together by type.
“Thank you, Egg!” said Willbury, studying the pictures. “I notice that you are rather light on vegetables. You know they are good for you.”
The boxtrolls moaned. Willbury turned toward the barrel in the corner. “Titus! Could you come out? I think we need some hel
p with the shopping list.”
Titus with the tiny cabbagehead.
Titus appeared, carrying the little cabbagehead, and took up position standing next to Willbury.
“So, Titus, do you have any suggestions for vegetables?”
The boxtrolls looked glum while Titus’s eyes lit up. He leaned over and started to whisper in Willbury’s ear. Willbury was soon struggling to keep up. The list grew very long. The boxtrolls looked increasingly unhappy. Then Willbury raised a hand and Titus stopped. “I think that is enough vegetables. Thank you, Titus.”
Titus looked at the little cabbagehead and whispered again to Willbury.
“Yes. I am sure I can get your friend a Brussels sprout.” Willbury caught the boxtrolls making faces at each other. “You could take a few tips from cabbageheads on diet. Boxtrolls cannot live by . . .”—Willbury looked back down at the paper they had given him—“. . . cake, biscuits, treacle, boiled sweets, toffee, shortbread, pasties, anchovies, pickled onions, raspberry jam, and lemonade alone!”
The boxtrolls looked rather guilty. Willbury turned to Arthur. “What would you like to eat?”
“Do you think we could have some more cocoa and buns?” he asked rather sheepishly.
Willbury raised one eyebrow. “Well, only as part of a properly balanced diet,” he began. Then he giggled. “I was going to get them anyway.”
Arthur smiled.
“And I think I shall get myself a few pies,” Willbury announced, finishing the list and putting down his quill. “Right, we had better get going. I think it best if we leave the underlings and their new friends here.”
“We had better get going.”
Willbury put on his coat while Arthur stood waiting by the shop door. Arthur had never been to market, and he was excited by the idea. But when Willbury opened the door, there was an immediate shock. The street was thronging with people. Arthur was astonished. He had never been aboveground in the middle of the day before. He never dreamed that there could be so many people in the world. Suddenly he felt rather frightened.