The Third-Class Genie

by Robert Leeson

  “Hungry? I could eat a horse,” replied Abu.

  “Who knows?” said Ginger. “You may do just that.”

  They set the packages on the table and opened them.

  Abu’s eyes gleamed. If he had any religious problems about meat, he must have been having a day off, because both the pies vanished along with the rest of the food, and the black coffee Eulalia had brought in a Thermos flask.

  “A mighty feast,” said Abu. “Why, you are all genies of the First Order.”

  “Listen, Abu,” interrupted Alec. “We were followed when we came here, so we haven’t much time. Now, Eulalia and Ginger have a plan which they’ll tell you about.”

  Abu folded his arms.

  “Speak on. I hear.”

  But Abu never heard what the plan might be, for right at that moment, from below, through the broken window of the crane room, they heard an angry bellow.

  “They’re up there in that old dump across the canal.”

  Alec leant forward and peered out of the corner of the window, for he recognized the voice.

  Disaster had turned into catastrophe.

  On the other side of the canal, waving his arms and pointing up at the crane room, was Councillor Blaggett.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE SIEGE OF THE CRANE HOUSE

  YES, CATASTROPHE HAD arrived in the person of Councillor Blaggett who was prowling up and down the far bank of the canal like a tiger. How had he managed to get through the gap in the fence? Councillor Blaggett was big and fat and looked rather like a rugby ball in clothes. He wore a long black coat and Homburg hat, for he was the chief undertaker in Bugletown and must have come straight from a funeral.

  “How did he get in?” asked Alec.

  Ginger crouched down beside him at the corner of the window. “They must have got the padlock off the gate,” he said. Sure enough, the big gate stood open and in the gap were Mr Hardcastle and the broad figure of PC Hadley in his uniform.

  “It’s a full-scale boarding party,” said Alec.

  “Ah, but they can’t get over,” said Ginger.

  “But for how long?” asked Eulalia from the other side of the crane room. Abu had changed into an old shirt and pair of jeans, and Eulalia was wrapping his robes up in a paper bag.

  “Look, Ginge, can’t you two sneak out at the Boner’s Street side with Abu?”

  “Not a chance. They’ll see us when we get clear of the main building. We’re stuck.”

  “Yes, but they don’t know Abu’s here now, do they? They only saw us three come in.”

  “Oh, they must know there’s someone else here. They wouldn’t make all this fuss over three kids,” said Eulalia.

  “So, what do we do?”

  “We’ll have to think of something. For the moment, they can’t get over.”

  Councillor Blaggett must have been thinking along the same lines. He turned and shouted to the council man, “Go and get a plank or something so that we can get across.”

  “I can’t see a plank anywhere, Mr Blaggett,” came the reply. “There are a lot of planks on the other side,” Mr Hardcastle added helpfully.

  “Perhaps you’d like to go over and get one, then,” said Councillor Blaggett sarcastically. PC Hadley turned away as though he were laughing.

  “I can’t see why you think it’s so amusing, Constable.” said Blaggett. “You haven’t exactly been helpful so far.”

  The policeman placed his hands behind his back and looked over towards the crane house.

  “I’ve been instructed to investigate reports that there is an illegal immigrant in this area. So far, I’ve seen three children, and I know who they are.”

  “I bet you do,” muttered Ginger, peering out of the corner of the crane room window.

  Councillor Blaggett strode up and down the canal bank while Mr Hardcastle and the constable waited. Blaggett turned and said:

  “Go up to one of the houses and see if you can borrow a plank. Hurry, man, hurry.”

  Mr Hardcastle hurried away through the open gate, while Blaggett went on with his pacing. He stopped by the massive iron structure of the crane gantry.

  “Where does this ladder lead to?” he asked the constable. PC Hadley walked slowly and deliberately along the bank to stand by the councillor. He eyed the gantry up and down and from side to side and weighed the matter carefully.

  “I think it was once used when they did maintenance work on the crane, sir.”

  “Then we can get across that way, can’t we?”

  “I’m not so sure about that, Mr Blaggett. Something of a skilled job, walking across a girder.”

  “Oh, nonsense, Hadley.” Blaggett began to struggle out of his greatcoat, revealing a black suit underneath. He took off his jacket, folded both coats neatly, and placed them on the towpath. Then he began to roll up the sleeves of his snow-white shirt.

  “Why doesn’t he take his hat off?” said Ginger.

  “I think he’s a bit thin on top,” whispered Alec.

  Councillor Blaggett gripped one of the iron rungs of the ladder and, puffing gently, began to climb. PC Hadley put out a hand as though to stop him, and then thought better of it. He shrugged his shoulders and moved off a pace or two. Blaggett climbed and climbed, his face growing more red. But he did not stop.

  “Man, he’s got nerve,” whispered Ginger.

  “Look what he’s doing now,” said Alec.

  Blaggett had reached the top of the ladder and paused for breath. The colour slowly returned to normal in his cheeks. Indeed he looked a little pale as he peered down into the greeny-black depths of the canal. But he hesitated only a second or two before he began to scramble on to the girder. Then, squatting down astride the iron, he began to inch his way over.

  He had reached the middle of the girder, when the constable, who had been watching the gate, suddenly jerked up. The look of surprise on his face, upon seeing the councillor in mid-girder, made them all laugh.

  “Sir, are you sure you should be doing that? It can’t be very safe.”

  “Rubbish, Constable. There is something unauthorized going on in that building across the canal and I intend to get to the bottom of it,” gasped Blaggett.

  The councillor could hardly have put it better. For, right at that moment, he lost his balance on the girder. He grabbed wildly at the chains which hung from the small hand-operated crane, some three feet away. The effort only unbalanced him more. His hands missed the chains, while his legs lost their grip on the gantry.

  With a “Look out!” from the constable and a groan from Blaggett, the large black-clad man dropped like a stone into the awful slimy depths of the canal. At that moment, Mr Hardcastle, with two men in overalls carrying scaffolding planks, hurried through the gate.

  “Here we are, Mr Blaggett. This should cope with the canal,” he called cheerfully.

  But Councillor Blaggett, who was coping with the canal in his own way, gave no reply. He rose into sight from the black sludge. His beautiful hat was gone for ever, but round the centre of his pink, balding head, with its white cluster of curls, sat a dank skullcap of greasy mud.

  On the bank the constable was struggling to take off his jacket. Mr Hardcastle, after a dumbstruck moment, began to run down to the side of the canal, the two other men following as quickly as they were able with the planks. The councillor with both arms raised to the sky, like a mad pop star, was slowly sliding down again into the gungey depths.

  “Oh, can’t we help him?” gasped Eulalia.

  Alec had an inspiration.

  “Quick, give me a hand, Ginge.”

  With Ginger’s help, Alec freed the lever on the crane drum. It jerked forward, jammed, then jerked forward again.

  Alec shouted to Eulalia over his shoulder, “you and Abu sneak off at the back. They’ll never notice you with all this toing and froing.”

  “OK,” shouted Eulalia. “Come on, Abu.”

  To Alec’s relief, the chain unwound on the drum, slid along the crane arm and,
with a rattling roar, dropped down towards the struggling Blaggett. Alec poked his head through one of the broken sections of the window.

  “Sir,” he called, “Mr Blaggett. Catch hold of the chain and we’ll pull you up.”

  Councillor Blaggett looked up wildly, caught the chain with one hand, then the other, and held on like grim death. Then, to Alec and Ginger’s amazement, he shouted, “There they are, Constable. In the crane house. Get the planks down, get across and catch them.”

  “Hey,” said Ginger, “what a fanatic! He’d put his own mother in jail if she crossed the road on a green light.”

  “Give us a hand with the winding handle,” said Alec. Together they grabbed the handle and began to heave. It was not easy. With Blaggett on the end, they were heaving a dead weight. But they managed to force the handle up and over, and once the drum began to revolve, the effort became easier. After a couple of minutes though they had to rest. Alec pressed down the brake handle with his foot and they looked out of the window. Councillor Blaggett was clear of the canal now. He hung in mid-air, a great bundle of sodden clothes, streaming with canal slime, his face streaked with ooze, his shirt a mouldy green colour. Even Mrs Blaggett wouldn’t recognize him.

  Along the canal bank, the council man and his assistants were busy fixing planks to repair the gap in Alec’s bridge. The constable thought it his duty to remain on the towpath, anxiously watching the councillor, as he swung gently to and fro on the end of the chain.

  “Are you lads sure you can handle that crane?” shouted PC Hadley

  “If we can’t, it’s all up with the councillor,” shouted Ginger.

  A red flush appeared beneath the treacly covering on the councillor’s face.

  “You impudent young…”

  Ginger roared with laughter.

  “Councillor, I love you. You’re so black, you’re almost beautiful!”

  “Hey up. Don’t upset him too much,” warned Alec.

  “Upset him? I’d like to,” retorted Ginger. “What kind of a man is that? We save his life, and all he can think of is how he can get at us.”

  “Ah, well, Abu’s away with Eulalia,” replied Alec. “Have you got your puff back, Ginge? We’ll start again if you have.”

  Ginger nodded. “Look, they’ve got the planks across now. They’ll be over here in a minute.”

  They both leaned their weight on the winding handle and with a creak from the chains, Councillor Blaggett began his dignified ascent once more.

  Suddenly from the distance, Alec heard,

  “Daa-da-da-daa.”

  “Hey, what’s that crazy hooting? I’ve heard it before from home, just when we’re starting tea.”

  “It’s my dad, bringing the 3.30 into Bugletown Station,” answered Alec, feeling proud for some reason.

  “He drives the diesel, eh? That’s something. My dad’s thought of getting a job on the railway.”

  “Why not?” said Alec. “Hey, look, Councillor Blaggett’s nearly reached the top.”

  “Yes, looks like he’s made it,” grinned Ginger.

  The councillor, his face no longer reddish-purple but grey-white beneath its crust of black muck, was reaching out now for the main crane girder.

  “Think he’ll be able to manage it on his own?” said Alec anxiously.

  Ginger looked keenly along the girder. “He’ll never do it. Look, Skinny. Can you hold this? I’ll climb out along the iron and pull him on board. Can you manage?”

  “Simple,” said Alec. “I’ll just keep my foot on the brake. But will you be OK?”

  “Nothing to it,” said Ginger, sliding feet first through the opening in the window and on to the girder. He loped like a cat over the first six feet. Then he stopped and pointed down.

  “Hey, here comes the cavalry.”

  Sure enough, Mr Hardcastle and the other men, followed by PC Hadley were over the canal and running towards the crane house. Alec placed his foot firmly on the brake lever and watched Ginger as he reached a point on the girder next to Councillor Blaggett and sat down astride it. Then Ginger reached out with both hands to grasp the huge, sodden man under his armpits.

  Alec watched them so keenly that he never heard the door behind him crash open and the sound of feet lumbering across the floor. The next moment he was seized by the collar and dragged away from the winding drum. As he was jerked backwards, his foot struck the brake.

  “Now you’ve done it,” said one of the men.

  Freed of the brake, the drum began to roll. Outside on the girder Ginger sat with arms outstretched, but Councillor Blaggett, with a groan of regret, was slowly winding and rattling down into the queasy depths of the canal.

  Mr Hardcastle let go of Alec’s collar as the three men bumped into one another, while attempting to put matters right. Alec tried to reach the brake lever, barging into one of the council men. He grasped it at last and pulled, but it would not lock. The chain continued to run. Blaggett was up to his chest in the canal and sinking, his white smeared face turned up to the sky.

  “Oh, he’ll drown this time,” thought Alec. But he couldn’t hold that brake lever.

  Right at that moment, a large oil-stained hand appeared next to Alec’s, grasping the metal rod.

  “All right, son, you can let go now.”

  Alec looked up in bewilderment.

  It was Dad.

  Chapter Fifteen

  DAD MAKES A SPEECH

  ALEC STARED. HOW did that happen? There were Dad and one of his mates from the railway, still in their peaked caps and jackets. As Alec slipped to one side, they moved in and jammed on the brake lever.

  They were just in time, for the councillor was now barely visible above the mud and slime, though his hands still desperately clung to the chain. Dad and his mate slowly began to winch the councillor up again. They took it very gently, easing the heavy body up, until Blaggett was half-in and half-out of the water.

  Dad turned to Mr Hardcastle.

  “Here, make yourself useful. Go and get a rope.”

  Without a word, Mr Hardcastle ran out of the door.

  Dad shouted through the window to Ginger.

  “Hey, lad. Can you hear me all right?”

  Ginger looked round and nodded.

  “Listen. You’ll never pull him on to the girder. He’s too heavy. He’ll have you off. Now here’s what we’ll do.” Dad reached for the rope which Mr Hardcastle was holding, made a swift loop on one end, and then leaned forward to the window.

  “Can you catch this rope, lad?”

  “OK,” shouted Ginger.

  The rope shot through the air and Ginger caught it first try. “Now, put that loop over the end of the crane arm, can you?” Ginger gave the thumbs-up sign.

  Dad turned again to Mr Hardcastle and the policeman. “Now you lot, go down to the canal bank. While we hold the chain fast up here, you take the end of this rope down there. Then you swing the crane arm round and draw Old Blaggett over to the side. Make sure you get a good grip on him. He’ll weigh a ton. And maybe one of you’d better go and get some blankets and brandy.”

  From then on, things went smoothly. Dad and his mate kept the chain drum steady, holding Blaggett just clear of the canal, while Mr Hardcastle and the others pulled on the rope, which swivelled the crane arm round and slowly landed the exhausted man in the arms of his assistant and PC Hadley on the towpath.

  “All right, Bill,” said Dad, “we’ll wind her in now.”

  They spun the winding drum and the chain rattled up to rest. Dad waved his arm for Ginger to come back along the girder and gave him a hand as he slid back through the window.

  “You’re a brave lad, but you wouldn’t have been safe trying to hold him. He’d have had you in the Cut as well as himself. But, Alec lad, what was the old fool doing in the canal? We were bringing the 3.30 into the station, and Bill here looked down from the viaduct and there was Blaggett going in and out of the canal like a yo-yo. I’ve never seen aught like it before in my life. If it hadn’t b
een dangerous, I’d have had a good laugh.”

  Bill grinned. “I expect they’ll have a good laugh up at the Club about it, anyway.”

  Alec quickly told his father about what had happened, leaving out the earlier part of the story about Abu and the beer can. He didn’t feel Dad would be ready to swallow that at this stage. Dad heard it all and nodded grimly.

  “And Blaggett reckoned there was an illegal immigrant here in the Tank, did he? Well, there’s one born every minute. Anyway, there’s no one here now, is there? Though…” Dad looked strangely at Alec, “someone’s left their blanket here on the table. We’d best take it with us and find out who it belongs to.”

  Down on the canal bank Councillor Blaggett, well wrapped up and his colour restored by a glass of brandy, was sitting against the crane house wall. He looked up as the four of them approached.

  “They tell me you saved my life, Harold Bowden.”

  Dad snorted.

  “It was these two lads, our Alec and his mate, who saved you. And that bright spark,” Dad nodded towards Hardcastle, “nearly did you in with his helping hand.” He bent down and squatted by Blaggett. “How are you feeling now?”

  “I’m all right now, thank you,” replied Blaggett rather pompously.

  “You ought to have more sense at your age, climbing on girders like a monkey, chasing imaginary black men through the shrubbery.”

  Councillor Blaggett looked furious.

  “You may laugh, Harold Bowden, but it is no laughing matter. There has been an illegal immigrant in this area, probably the source of illness we had reported from Boner’s Street last week, and though I appreciate what these two lads have done, they are very much involved in the whole business.”

  Ginger was furious. “There wasn’t any illness like that in Boner’s Street. It was just me with the flu.”

  “I think you should be careful what you’re saying,” said Blaggett. “The constable here is looking into your activities, as well as the activities of young Bowden there.” Councillor Blaggett looked up at PC Hadley, but the constable appeared to be making a careful examination of a fly on the wall.