The Tale of Angelino Brown

by David Almond

  He seems to get smaller, to shrink.

  “I want to go home,” he weeps.

  K and the Boss wake up.

  They’re amazed to see him up there in the air and the chain lying uselessly on the table.

  The Boss gasps and rubs his eyes.

  “You’re free!” he says.

  Angelino wipes his eyes.

  “I’m free,” he says.

  He drops down to the table. He puffs out his chest.

  “I want to go home,” he says.

  K sighs. You can see he really wants to do it, to give up this ridiculous farrago and take Angelino back to Betty and Bert and try to forget about the whole thing. And you can see that the Boss is tempted too. After what he said to K in the middle of the night, you know he’s much less evil than he wants to be. But the day’s come back and the Boss has remembered he wants to be hard, just like his dad. He wants to say to his dad, wherever he is, “I stole an angel and I sold it and I’m rich!”

  He glares at Angelino. Angelino stares back.

  His little face flushes. His little fists clench. He gives a little devilish growl. He starts to become a different, stronger, angrier, harder kind of Angelino.

  He spreads his wings wide and he glares back.

  “I’m free!” he snarls.

  The Boss can’t let an angel speak to him like that. Quick as a flash he grabs Angelino and wraps the chain around his chest, and tightens it and fastens it, and Angelino cries and the Boss just laughs.

  And the phone rings, and the Boss picks it up.

  “Oh yes, Your Lordship,” he says. “One hundred and fifty thousand will make a very nice opening bid.”

  He puts the phone down.

  He laughs into Angelino’s face.

  “You’re about to make us very rich,” he says. “Ain’t that right, K?”

  “Yes, Boss,” whispers K.

  “And no,” snarls the Boss in his most Dreadful, Menacing and Evil-Sounding Voice. “You are not free.”

  Angelino weeps again.

  He’s small and scared again.

  He’s just a little angel, lost and all alone.

  “I’ve lost him!” calls Nancy.

  The children are on a street corner, between a florist’s shop and a solicitor’s office.

  “What do you mean?” says Jack.

  “I can’t feel him any more!”

  A nice old lady passes by.

  Nancy shows her the pictures.

  “Have you seen this man? Or this one?” she asks. “Or this little angel?”

  “Can’t say I have, pet,” says the lady. “Though, to be honest, I sometimes can’t remember me own name. It’s Gladys, I think. Yes, it is! Oh, he’s so lovely. I had a guardian angel when I was a bairn, you know, right here on me shoulder. What’s your angel’s name?”

  “Angelino,” says Nancy.

  “Oh, what a lovely name! Mine was called Frank.”

  She moves on.

  “Try,” says Alice to Nancy. “Imagine him again, picture him again, start it all again.”

  Nancy tries, but she’s too worried, she’s too concerned, she can’t be as still and silent as she needs to be. Alice opens the book. She reads the instructions again. She tells Nancy to imagine the angel right at the heart of herself, at the soul of herself. But Nancy can’t. She just can’t.

  “Have you seen this man?” she says to a man hurrying past wearing a black suit. “Or this one?”

  “What’s it got to do with you?” says the man.

  She shows the picture of the angel to another.

  “Are you mental?” he says.

  “Are you winding me up?” says a third.

  “Kids!” says another. “What’s gone wrong with kids today?”

  “I can’t feel anything!” says Nancy.

  “Concentrate, Nancy,” says Alice.

  “Concentrate,” says Jack. “Be silent and still. Be…”

  Nancy sighs. She concentrates. Yes! Not as strong as before, but there it is, starting to turn her, starting to draw her…

  Right then, a huge dark figure in black soft-soled boots lumbers round the corner past the florist’s shop.

  Alice quickly turns to him.

  “Have you seen an angel, sir?” she says.

  “Yes,” cries Nancy suddenly. “Yes! Come on! It’s this way!”

  Through twisted narrow streets they run. Across an estate of red-brick houses. Past shops and chapels, supermarkets, fishmongers and banks. Sometimes they hesitate as Nancy comes to a halt, closes her eyes, listens to the universe, searches inside herself. Then they hurry on again when she once more feels the angelic call. They come to an area of apartment blocks that stand high against the sky. Nancy knows that they’re close now. She knows that Angelino’s somewhere in a room above. She moves slowly now, footstep by footstep along the pale pavements, across bright grass verges, towards the shining glass doorway of a huge apartment block.

  “This is the door,” she whispers.

  They hesitate.

  “I’m scared,” says Nancy.

  “Me too,” say the others.

  Jack takes a deep breath. He touches his Barcelona badge. He knows what Lionel would do.

  “Can’t turn back now,” he says. “Not when we’re so close.”

  He takes out his washing line.

  “OK,” says Alice. “Ready?”

  “Si!”

  Nancy pushes open the door.

  Their hearts are pounding as she leads them towards a lift.

  They enter the lift.

  Nancy reaches for the buttons on the wall.

  “This is the floor,” she whispers, and she presses the button for Floor 9.

  The doors of the lift slide shut. As they do, the children catch a glimpse of the huge dark shadow that has followed them all the way. No time to think of that. The lift rises and stops. The doors sigh open. The children step out. The doors close again and the lift descends.

  There are four doors facing them.

  “This is the one,” whispers Nancy.

  It’s Number 36.

  “Be brave,” says Jack. “All for one …”

  “… and one for all,” says Alice.

  Nancy steps towards the door. She knocks. She knocks again. She knocks again.

  No answer.

  Alice knocks.

  “Angelino!” Nancy calls. “Angelino!”

  Silence from within.

  Jack takes matters into his own hands.

  “Stand aside,” he says.

  He rushes at the door, shoulder first. It doesn’t budge. He kicks it with his orange football boots. It doesn’t budge. He squats, opens the letter box, tries to see inside. Just darkness.

  “I know I’m right,” says Nancy. “I know he’s in there.”

  “We know he’s in there!” Jack yells. “Give us back our Angelino!”

  No answer.

  Their faces slump. What can they do? What are they? Just three nice harmless kids seeking their friend in a strange apartment block on the other side of town.

  “Please!” beseeches Nancy.

  Alice leafs through the pages of her book.

  “Is there any magic in there for the opening of doors?” asks Jack.

  “I don’t know,” says Alice. “I don’t think so.”

  “Open sesame!” says Jack.

  “Give him back!” yells Nancy.

  And then the lift doors open once again, and here comes Basher Malone. He ignores the kids, pushes past them, strides on his soft-soled boots to the apartment door and kicks it down.

  K and the Boss jump to their feet. They clench their fists. They grit their teeth. They get ready to face whatever it is that’s coming for them. But they aren’t ready at all. Now the door opens and they shudder, they shake, they’re absolutely terrified. Here he is, the Boss’s Nightmare.

  Basher.

  Basher Malone.

  Huge and ugly, terrible and terrifying.

  “B-
B-Basher,” whimpers the Boss. “Hello, B-B-B-Basher.”

  The Boss thinks he’ll faint. He thinks he’ll jump out of the window. He thinks he’ll start crying for his mummy and daddy. But he just stands there stammering with his mouth opening and shutting like a petrified fish.

  “Hello, Boss,” grunts Basher.

  He turns his horrible eyes to K.

  “Hello, you,” he grunts.

  “H-help!” K squeaks in a tiny voice.

  He clings to the Boss as he would to a big brother.

  The kids crowd into the room behind Basher.

  Basher takes no notice of them.

  “What can we d-do for you, B-Basher?” stammers the Boss.

  “Nothin’,” grunts Basher.

  He points at Angelino.

  “This is what I come for.”

  He stands over the angel and stares down at him. Angelino stares back. Basher rocks on his soft-soled boots. He’s never seen anything like this before. It’s something he’s been dreaming of ever since he was a tiny tot named Billy Malone. And he wants this thing. He wants it all for himself and for nobody else. It’s his. He reaches down towards the angel.

  “Don’t you dare!” snaps Nancy.

  Jack Fox gives Basher a great kick on the shin with his orange football boots, then another, then another.

  Basher doesn’t even seem to feel it. Jack gets his washing line and tries to wrap it around Basher’s legs and arms but Basher just wrenches it away. He pulls it, snaps it.

  “Begone, you horrible thing!” says Alice Obi.

  Basher grabs Angelino by the waist.

  “That’s quite enough!” says Nancy in a voice like that of a stern teacher. “Put that little angel down!”

  Jack punches and punches and kicks and kicks.

  Alice searches through her book for ways to defeat monsters.

  Basher unfastens the chain from Angelino’s chest.

  His eyes are shining, his mouth is drooling.

  “Angel,” he grunts in a horrible slobbery voice. “Lovely little yummy angel.”

  He lifts Angelino up. He inspects the wings with his horrible fingers and horrible eyes. He inspects the angel’s bonny face. He lifts the angel to his mouth.

  “Want you,” he grunts.

  He takes no notice of the hands of the children grabbing at his arms, his wrists, grabbing to save Angelino. He takes no notice of Jack’s desperate kicks and punches.

  “You’re mine,” he snarls.

  He licks his lips.

  He opens his horrible mouth, he shows his horrible teeth.

  Angelino stares into the ugly face, into the ugly mouth.

  “Angelino!” gasps Nancy. Tears are streaming down her face. “Oh, Angelino!”

  But there’s nothing they can do.

  Basher Malone prepares to bite. His mouth gapes wider, wider, wider…

  And then it happens.

  Little Angelino spreads his wings. He grows suddenly bigger and stronger. He starts to redden, to turn the colour of fire and flame. He breaks free of Basher’s grip. He rises into the air and, like a fiend, he glares down at the monster. He raises a fist as if about to strike him. He shows shining pointed teeth and brilliant burning eyes. He grows a red forked tail. He keeps growing, burning, growing, burning.

  The children and the Boss and K retreat to the walls.

  Angelino is a frightful, hovering, angry angel in the middle of the room.

  His snarling is as vicious as his humming was sweet.

  Basher tries to reach for him but it’s no good.

  He’s starting to shake, to tremble.

  Angelino hisses, spits, growls, snarls.

  Basher tries to stand his ground.

  He tries to glare back into the eyes of this transfigured angel.

  But it’s no good. Angelino’s power is overwhelming Basher Malone. And Basher Malone is backing away. Basher Malone is terrified.

  “Go away!” commands Angelino. “Go away!”

  His wings spread wider, wider. He glows more brightly and more brightly and becomes more fierce and more fiery.

  And, at last, the monster Basher turns away. He scuttles from the room and to the lift and to the ground and back into the city and back towards the dark and distant door from which he came.

  There’s silence left behind.

  The children and K and the Boss stay where they are, back against the wall. They don’t dare get close to Angelino. K and the Boss clutch each other. They goggle and whimper and shiver and shake. What will the angel do to them?

  But Angelino has already started to shrink. His fire declines. His forked tail fades. He turns again into lovely little Angelino in his jeans and his checky shirt with his wings fluttering gently at his back.

  He drops towards the table and he stands there.

  “Caramba!” says Jack Fox.

  The angel looks at them all as if he’s never seen anything like them before.

  He looks down at himself as if he’s never seen anything like himself before.

  “Angelino!” says Nancy. “I didn’t know you could do anything like that.”

  Angelino shakes his head, purses his lips, wrinkles his brow.

  “Caramba!” he whispers.

  And he giggles. And he farts.

  “Even angels,” whispers Alice Obi, “have to be filled with fire sometimes.”

  The kids move closer.

  “Are you OK?” says Nancy.

  “Aye.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Aye.”

  “We thought we’d lost you,” says Nancy.

  “But we found you,” says Jack Fox.

  Alice points to the Boss and K.

  “We found you with them,” she says. “With this nasty pair of Kidnappers and Crooks.”

  Trembling there against the wall, K and the Boss don’t look at all like Kidnappers and Crooks.

  Nancy puts her hands on her hips. She glares at them.

  “Who on earth do you think you are?” she says.

  They can’t speak.

  Angelino spreads his wings. He glares.

  K blushes.

  “I’m K,” he says.

  “K?” says Nancy. “What kind of name is that? And why are you wearing that silly beard?”

  “’Cos I’m a M-Master of Disguise.”

  “Ha! Master of Disguise! You’re a phoney! Take off that silly ugly thing and tell us your proper name.”

  K winces as he peels the beard off his cheeks and chin.

  “I’m K-Kevin,” he says. “Kevin Hawkins.”

  “Ah yes. The Famous Monster Hawkins. Well, after what you’ve just seen, do you feel like a proper monster now?”

  “N-no.”

  “N-no indeed! And you. You with the daft mask on. Who on earth are you?”

  The Boss looks down.

  “The B-B-Boss,” he whispers.

  Nancy takes a deep breath.

  “First of all,” she says, “take it off.”

  The Boss hesitates.

  “Do it,” says Nancy, “or I’ll set this angel on you.”

  The Boss does as he’s told. He lifts the cowboy mask over his eyes and his head. He flinches as the elastic twangs and stings his ear.

  “Now,” says Nancy, “I will give you exactly three seconds to tell me your real name. One … two…”

  “Henry F-Falstone,” he mutters.

  “Speak up!”

  “Henry Falstone.”

  “Aha! And what’s wrong with the name Henry Falstone? It’s a nice name. Why would you want to call yourself something silly like the Boss?”

  “’Cos I’m a Villain,” the Boss mutters.

  “A Villain? Huh! Don’t you think there are quite enough Proper Villains in this world without silly people like you pretending they can join them? Don’t you think—”

  At that moment, the phone rings.

  Nancy picks it up.

  “Yes?” she says.

  She listens.
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  “Two hundred thousand pounds?” she says. “Two hundred thousand pounds for what?”

  She listens. Her eyes fill with fire. She glares at Kevin and Henry.

  “For an angel?” she snaps. “You think you can buy an angel for two hundred thousand pounds? … Ah, I see, that is just your first bid, is it? And who am I speaking to? … An archbishop? Then I am the Queen of Sheba! And I’m telling you I hope never to hear such claptrap again!”

  She slams down the phone.

  “You,” she says in a sinister whisper to the Would-Be Villains, “were going to sell Angelino?”

  “Yes,” mutters Henry Falstone.

  “Speak up!”

  “Yes. We were.”

  The kids are aghast.

  The very thought of such a thing is monstrous to them.

  Angelino gives a little fart.

  “Chocolate cake!” suggests Alice.

  “Good idea,” says Jack.

  Angelino grins.

  Alice takes the silver foil package from her pocket. She breaks the cake into little bits and passes it around. Not to K and the Boss, of course. The last thing they deserve is chocolate cake. They still cling to each other in terror of the angel.

  Alice gives the biggest piece to Angelino. His wings flutter fast.

  “Lovely,” he says.

  They eat in silence, except for their little sighs of delight.

  “Delicious,” says Nancy.

  She glares at the criminals.

  “I bet you two feel pretty silly. You thought you were going to be rich and now you can’t even have a piece of cake.”

  She continues to glare.

  “Do you feel silly?” She stamps her foot. “Well, do you?”

  “Yes,” they answer at last.

  “Good!”

  Jack watches Nancy, wide-eyed.

  “I didn’t know you could be like that, Nancy,” he says.

  Nancy ponders deeply.

  “Nor did I,” she whispers. “But maybe children have to be filled with fire sometimes too.”

  “What shall we do with these two?” asks Alice.

  Jack picks up the snapped pieces of his washing line.

  “Tie them up!” he says. “Throw rotten tomatoes at them! Make them eat dog poo!”