The Puppet Master

by Charlie Small

  Well, I should have known better, because I had only gone a fraction of the way when all my plans collapsed from under my feet!

  My scooter whizzed across the hard, shiny ice at super-speed, and I whooped with delight. At this speed I might reach the Slate Hills by suppertime. Maybe I would find a burger bar there and treat myself to a quarterpounder and fries; I’m sure I still had a few doubloons in my pocket! I could look for the railway station and, with any luck, be on a train home by tomorrow morning.

  Then, all of a sudden, my scooter started to slow as it sent a shower of slush shooting out behind. Looking down, I noticed there was a film of water lying on the surface of the ice. What was happening?

  The scooter slowed some more, and as the slush grew deeper and deeper, it became harder and harder to push along.

  ‘Drat!’ I yelled. At this rate it would be quicker to walk; but when I stepped onto the ice, I disappeared up to my knees in thick, gunky slush. Worse still, if I stood in one place too long, my boots started to sink even further, and I was in danger of falling right through the quagmire of half-melted ice into the chilly waters below.

  I pulled first one boot and then the other out of the gunge, but as soon as I put them down, they were swallowed up in the frozen morass and I started to sink once again. I threw myself onto my tummy on the ground, spreading out my arms and legs to increase my surface area. It worked – I was no longer sinking; but I wasn’t going anywhere either!

  I tried a sort of breaststroke action and found I could propel myself along, but at this rate it would take a year and a day to reach the Slate Hills. Perhaps I should go back the way I had come? No! After all this effort and coming all this way and knowing that a village of people lay just over the horizon, I couldn’t turn round now. What should I do?

  As I lay there with the tip of my nose touching the icy water, thinking over my dilemma, I suddenly saw a huge shadow pass under me, deep beneath the ice. What on earth was that? My heart flipped as the shadow passed beneath me once again. I started to paddle quickly, trying to reach solid ground, where I could stand up and run.

  ‘Quickly,’ I cried, urging myself on, ‘there’s something down there!’ I flapped about on the ice like an overgrown turtle until, eventually, I felt firmer ice beneath me so I could pull myself up onto one knee. Just then, the ice behind me exploded into a million shards. I span round, and there, about a hundred metres away, and travelling as fast as an intercity express train, was the largest mouth I had ever seen; and there was no doubt about it – the gaping maw was coming straight for me!

  I tried to escape, but I didn’t stand a chance.

  The monster ploughed through the ice after me, and as its huge jaw towered above my head, the ice beneath my feet gave way. I dropped into the freezing waters, gasping at the sudden cold and sinking into the icy depths below.

  Then my world exploded in a torrent of bubbles and great bucketfuls of ice showered down on me as the mighty jaws of the sea creature closed over my head, and I was swallowed up by darkness.

  ‘HELP!’ I cried. The gigantic sea creature had swallowed me, and I fell through the dark, rolling and tumbling and yelling, until I bounced on something soft and spongy. Ugh, disgusting! Was this its tongue? I kicked and fought, hoping the monster would spit me out before I was swallowed into its stomach, but to no avail; I rolled right down the back of the animal’s throat and landed, soaking wet, with a clang on something hard.

  That was odd! I crouched down and had a good feel around. Yes, there was no doubt about it, the floor was metal; I could feel a raised diamond pattern on the panels and the rivets that fixed them in place.

  All of a sudden, a light glowed bright and I could see that I was in a sort of metal box. What sort of creature was this? On one side was a door with a large wheel on it. The wheel turned easily and the heavy door swung open, revealing a long dark passage. This was no animal – it was some sort of craft. I had been swallowed by a monstrous submarine!

  A row of wall lights came on in the passage and I followed them, past rooms full of roaring machinery, until I came to another door. It opened onto a brightly-lit room as large as an aircraft hangar, where gleaming steel blocks towered above me like skyscrapers. There was no one around, so I hurried across the room until I came to the foot of a ladder and started to climb.

  Pulling myself through an open hatchway, I stepped onto an empty landing. Another climb took me to the next level, and this too was deserted. Where was everybody? The submarine was as empty as the Mary Celeste.

  ‘Is there anybody there?’ I yelled, but there was no reply. I was feeling very uneasy now; if the ship was crewed, then where were the people? Were they alive? Were they friends or foe? If the ship was deserted, then how on earth was I going to get off and continue my journey home?

  I crept along a passage to another door and as I opened it, I was met by one of the most incredible sights of my travels so far.

  For a scary moment I thought I had stepped out of the submarine and into the water, as there were strange, brilliantly-coloured fish swimming all around me. Then I realized I was under a huge glass dome, ringed with searchlights that illuminated the underwater world outside.

  Gradually, the searchlights outside dimmed and, like a rising sun, the lights inside the glass dome came on. I was in a large observation lounge, arranged with comfortable sofas and low, fin-shaped tables. On one of the tables was a pile of leaflets and, picking one up to read, I finally discovered where I was. The leaflet explained it all:

  As you can see, I was aboard a Jakeman’s Hydro-electric Submawhale and, oh boy, what an incredible machine it was! The leaflet showed that as the submawhale moved forward, water was forced through sluice gates into huge turbines, turning them round and round. These turbines powered the generators that converted the power into electricity, which was then fed to the huge skyscraper-like transformers that turned the propeller. As long as the submawhale kept moving, it could generate its own power. Enough electricity would be stored in the batteries to power the craft up and get it moving in the first place. Jakeman had invented a perpetual motion machine!

  What’s more, and I have no idea why, he had saved me once again, for I would have surely sunk to the bottom of the frozen lake had the submawhale not appeared in the nick of time!

  In one corner of the lounge I found a vending machine. I grabbed a cup of hot chocolate (and, oh boy, was it delicious!) and then sat down at one of the tables to write up my latest adventures. And here I am!

  I don’t feel so spooked now that I know I am aboard a Jakeman machine. Although I have no idea who he is, his inventions have always proved good allies. It’s still creepy, though, knowing that there is no one on board … but hold on a minute! There has to be a pilot on board, doesn’t there? Otherwise, who’s driving this monstrous submathingy?

  A tannoy has just popped into life, nearly scaring me out of my wits, and a booming voice echoed through the sub: ‘The submawhale has crossed the frozen lake and we are now travelling at a depth of five fathoms, through tiny passages beneath the Slate Hills. The submawhale has crossed the frozen lake and we are now travelling at a depth …’

  Oh no! This is a disaster. If the whale has just cruised beneath the landmass, then how on earth am I ever going to get back up top ? Apart from the frozen lake, there is nowhere we could surface. I have to talk to the pilot, pronto. Who knows, it might even be Jakeman himself!

  I’ll write more when I’ve spoken to him.

  Well, things didn’t work out quite as I expected, but I’m not complaining! For the first time since leaving home, I am sitting up in a proper bed with proper sheets. A steaming mug of cocoa and a plate of biscuits stand on the bedside table as I write down the strange turn of events that brought me here.

  Leaving the great observation dome, I walked towards the front of the sub. I passed by the recreation hall and underneath the great turret that led up to the watertight hatchway, and finally came to a small antechamber that had a n
otice on the door that read Pressure Control Room. I stepped inside and heard the door lock behind me.

  Whoa! What had the door locked for? Starting to panic, I yanked at the handle but it wouldn’t budge. I turned to the door in the opposite wall of the chamber. A small sign stated quite clearly:

  I breathed a sigh of relief. It was Jakeman and I was sure I had no reason to worry. I knocked and waited.

  There was no reply, so I knocked again and waited again. Still there was no reply, so I tried the handle and found to my horror that this door was locked as well. As a loud hiss escaped from some pipes that ran around the floor, I started to lose my nerve and thumped on the door with all my might.

  ‘Mr Jakeman, let me in, I need to talk to you. Mr Jakeman,’ I yelled, but my voice was drowned out as the hissing from the pipes grew louder. My ears started to ache and pop as the air pressure inside the chamber grew. I was just beginning to wonder if I was going to be squashed as flat as a board, when there was a great rushing sound, and I shot straight up, through a vent in the ceiling. and along a wide corrugated pipe. With a huge belch of air and an explosion of bubbles, I was ejected into the water.

  Silver bubbles boiled all around me. I held my breath, waiting to feel the chill of the freezing waters … but it never came. I realized that I wasn’t wet at all, and finally, letting my breath out in a rush, discovered that I could breathe quite easily. How was that possible? I was under water, but I could breathe!

  Reaching out a hand, I touched a silvery wall of water that curved over my head, around my sides and under my feet. I was standing inside a giant bubble, rising rapidly through the jet-black sea! Looking up, I noticed a tiny circle of light, like a full moon, which grew and grew as I raced up through the sea in my pressurized bubble.

  I was heading straight for it, and as the circle of light grew to the size of a fairground roundabout, I surfaced and the bubble popped. I found myself floundering in the bottom of a stone fountain, water spraying from the mouth of a carved fish that looked remarkably like the submawhale. Swimming to the edge of the fountain, I clambered onto the low wall and sat down.

  This was incredible! I had surfaced in a fountain pool, in the middle of a cobbled market square, in a village that looked like something out of a fairytale. Houses with steep pitched roofs crowded in on each other, leaning at crazy angles over dark, narrow alleyways.

  The market square was a hive of activity. Villagers were busy shaking rugs from their windows, sweeping the cobbles outside their shops, or standing in doorways chatting to their neighbours. It was late evening and the market traders were busy putting up their stalls for tomorrow’s market, erecting long trestle tables and unfurling brightly-coloured canvas awnings.

  Jakeman had done it again; I was sure he had delivered me to the heart of the village marked on Trapper Blane’s map! I was dripping wet, but surely I was among friends at last.

  Still in a bit of a daze, I wandered aimlessly through the square. I felt so happy to be among people again after my lonely flight across the Pangaean Ocean and my dangerous travels through the frozen wastelands.

  ‘Hello,’ I babbled as I passed through the crowd. ‘Good evening, my name is Charlie Small and I’m trying to get back home. Is there a railway sta—?’ I stopped talking, for when the market traders saw me their jaws dropped and they started to run towards me, their faces etched with fear and panic.

  ‘What … what’s the matter?’ I cried as they pushed me, gesticulating wildly with their hands. I knew I must look a dreadful sight in my filthy and soaking animal-skin clothes, but this reaction seemed a bit strong! A man with a dark, curly beard stepped forward and pointed, way beyond the Slate Hills. His lips were moving but I couldn’t hear a word, because my ears were still fuzzy from the pressure chamber.

  I banged and shook my head, trying to make my ears pop, but it was no good. I could only hear vague, muffled voices. I backed into a doorway in the corner of the square. I had no idea what was going on and I was becoming more than a little scared. In a desperate attempt to hear what was being said, I held my nose, clamped my mouth tight shut and blew. POP! At last! My ears popped and the sudden noise of the clamouring crowd sounded very loud.

  ‘Are you mad?’ the bearded man was saying fiercely, pointing to a poster pasted on the wall. ‘He’ll be here tomorrow. Go while you still have a chance.’

  ‘Yes, get out while you can,’ agreed the crowd. ‘Before tomorrow morning!’

  ‘You’ve been warned,’ said the man, grabbing my arm.

  ‘Warned about what?’ I asked, but again the man just pointed to the poster. ‘Just don’t be around when the show comes to town!’

  With that, the crowd turned as one and hurried back to their stalls. Shooting the occasional worried glance in my direction and muttering amongst themselves, they carried on with their chores. Well! I thought. Not exactly the sort of welcome I was hoping for!

  Intrigued, I studied the poster.

  Well! I thought again. What a lot of fuss about nothing! I quite liked puppet shows. This one must be really bad for the villagers to get so worked up! The poster seemed a little bossy, demanding that all the villagers must attend the performance; but if the puppeteer was as bad as his critics made out, maybe that was the only way he could get people to come – to make them feel like they had no choice! Anyway, I thought it sounded as if it might be fun.

  The poster was smudged where the price was printed, and as I leaned forward to have a closer look, a small, bony hand suddenly grabbed my shoulder and I was pulled into the doorway behind me. The door slammed shut and I found myself in complete darkness.

  Whoever it was scrabbled around in the dark. Then there was the scrape of a match, a bloom of light, and I stared into the pale, watery eyes of probably the oldest woman in the world! She was a tiny little thing, as thin as a chicken’s leg, and bowed at the shoulder like a walking stick. Her hands fluttered in the air like startled birds, but her wrinkled lips were set firm and her pointed chin was thrust forward confidently.

  We were standing in an ironmonger’s shop surrounded by lead piping, copper tubes, valves, sprockets and gaskets. The walls were lined with blackened wood and brass-handled drawers. Lanterns hung from every available space on the ceiling, and buckets and tools of every description filled the floor. It was an Aladdin’s cave of bric-a-brac!

  The old woman wore a bell-shaped hat pulled low over her forehead, and a dark astrakhan coat buttoned up to her neck that somehow gave her the appearance of an ancient gnome from a fairytale. She put her finger to her lips and beckoned me to follow her. We went down a passage that led from the back of the shop into the kitchen, where a bench was drawn close to the range.

  ‘You can stay here tonight, my dear, but you must leave this place before first light,’ said the old woman, in a surprisingly clear and musical voice. ‘You are not safe. No indeed, not in the least bit safe.’

  ‘Everybody keeps telling me that,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘The Puppet Master is coming,’ she cried, wringing her hands.

  ‘Everybody in the town keeps telling me that as well,’ I said. ‘I’m not afraid of a silly puppeteer!’

  But the old woman grabbed my shoulders and put her face close to mine. ‘This one is different,’ she whispered. ‘Oh yes indeed, this one is very different! He comes to perform his show once, sometimes twice a year. We’re never sure when until his posters appear overnight, but every time he brings his show he demands a child in payment.’

  A child! So that’s what the poster had said, and then it struck me – I hadn’t seen a single child outside in the busy market square. There were no children anywhere! I didn’t like the sound of this at all. Perhaps I should leave the village before the Puppet Master arrived.

  ‘Is there a railway station in the town?’ I asked.

  ‘No, dear,’ said the old lady. ‘There’s nothing like that here, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Darn it,’ I sighed. ‘Never mind, I will just
have to keep on walking. Don’t worry; I will go before the puppet show comes to town.’ For the first time the old lady smiled and it lit up the whole room, and with it the mood of danger was lifted too.

  ‘Good, now let’s get you dry and have some supper,’ she said.

  The old woman cooked me a meal while I dried my clothes in front of the range, and as she cooked she talked. She told me all about the puppeteer and how, when he first arrived, he had been welcomed by the villagers.

  It wasn’t often that any form of entertainment found its way to the sleepy little village amongst the hills, and the villagers had enjoyed his performances and paid him handsomely. He was certainly a very gifted puppeteer and seemed to make the marionettes leap and dance at will. It wasn’t until later that night, after the Puppet Master had packed up and gone, that someone noticed one of the village children was missing.

  A search party was organized and they travelled far into the hills, calling and calling until their voices were hoarse. There had been a heavy fall of snow that day, and on one of the hillside paths the search party discovered that there had been an avalanche. Rocks and trees had been swept down into an inaccessible ravine. Everyone knew the boy had an adventurous spirit and loved to go exploring through the hills. At last it was assumed that he had gone out walking, perhaps following the Puppet Master’s caravan, and been swept over the edge and to the bottom of the ravine below.