‘Aiee!’ shrieked Carmen, dropping out of sight. Abbie shone the torch through the hole. The head had fallen into a drawer and was sitting on a pile of envelopes.
Abbie reached down and lifted her by the hair. ‘Gotcha! Let’s get out of–’
A light went on. A door slammed. Feet pattered across the floor.
‘Vot ze Schnik? Put zat down!’
Abbie froze. Hubris Klench was scuttling towards them. He wore a mint-green dressing gown and tie. He was pointing a mint-green gun.
‘Vell,’ he gasped, reaching the desk and snatching the pensaw from Abbie, ‘knock me down viz fezzer! Do I not know you?’ Abbie shook her head wildly. But she could see him flicking through his mental photo album. ‘Yes,’ he cried, ‘page eighty-four – you are troublesome girl who spoilt my eefil-doinks last summer. Vot in schnorkels are you doink here?’
‘Mmff,’ she explained.
Klench nodded. ‘Just as I thought. And look at ziss …’ A smile crawled across his face, like a leech making for blood. ‘Anuzzer small head.’ He leafed again through his mind-album. ‘Yes, page eighty-five – you are Fernando Feraldo, troublesome helper of spoilink girl. Vot joy to see you agains. Let me shake you by ze nose.’ He gave it a tweak, bringing tears to Fernando’s eyes. ‘You are most velcomes,’ he chuckled, ‘to Hotel Armadillo. A little late in evenink, perhaps. But no probs: I have perfect accommodations.’
He waved the gun towards an archway in the wall. ‘Please to brink your friends yunk lady.’
Clutching Fernando in one hand and Carmen in the other, Abbie stumbled towards the archway. Let this be a dream, she prayed. But the gun in her back and the cruel smell of Klench’s soap were as real as the wobble in her
legs.
Through the arch he pushed Abbie down a wooden staircase. At the bottom was a door. Klench took a key from a hook on the wall. ‘Sveet dreaminks,’ he sang, unlocking the door and shoving her through. ‘Tomorrow ve decide how to settle old scores.’ The door slammed. The key turned in the lock.
‘Ohhh,’ Abbie whimpered into the darkness.
‘Put me down!’ squeaked Carmen. ‘You pull out my hair.’ Abbie set the two heads on the floor. Then she ran her hand over the wall and found a light switch. The bare bulb lit up an empty room with an earthen floor and bare plaster walls. There were no windows, just a tiny air vent below the ceiling.
She sank against the wall. ‘What have I done?’ she groaned.
‘You done great,’ said Fernando. ‘You find my wife.’
‘But no one knows we’re here. Klench could leave us to rot and die!’
‘So what?’ said Carmen. ‘I already rotten died.’
‘But I haven’t!’ Abbie wailed.
Fernando cleared what he had of a throat. ‘May I eentroduce? Carmen, thees Abeegail. She brave amiga. Abeegail, thees my …’ He couldn’t say it. ‘Oh, Carmencita, you are sight. What they do to you?’
‘You can espeak! My face your fault. How many times I tell you, do not esteal gold for Spain? How many times I warn you that Jivaro tribe, they keell us if we raid their land? Oh, you foolish fool. You headstrong head. I eshame of you; I eshame of my country.’
‘Escúchame …’
‘No!’ Carmen snapped. ‘Never again I leesten to you. And never again I espeak eSpaneesh.’ She spun her wooden stand round to face the wall and stuck her nose in the air. ‘From now I espeak only Eengleesh that I learn from small Merv.’
Fernando hung his head: not easy when there’s nothing to hang it from.
Abbie moaned with rage – at Klench, at Fernando and most of all at herself. What had she been thinking, marching into this web like a fluorescent fly? Mum would never trust her again. Aaaaah – Mum would never see her again! She curled up on the floor and sobbed herself to sleep.
* * *
Klench slept fitfully after the night’s disturbance. He woke while it was still dark, dressed and waddled downstairs to the lobby. On the bottom step he froze. Mr Hunter was heaving a huge sack through the entrance door. The poacher was doing a great job – sack after sack was coming in between sundown and sunrise – and Klench was glad to leave him to it. The man made him nervous.
And nerves, like most things, made him hungry. When Mr Hunter had crossed the lobby and gone through the door to the kitchen, Klench headed to the lounge for a pre-breakfast snack.
He gulped. It was already full of guests.
‘Hey you!’ called a voice as Klench headed for the coffee pot. ‘We need to talk.’ Brag Swaggenham’s bandaged hand clamped his shoulder. ‘The pain, Tubman. When ya gonna fix it? Ah couldn’t sleep a wink.’
The Pittsburgh Pearl Pincher, still blinded by a headband, came up behind him and bumped into a chair. ‘Me neither. I’m in agony.’
‘Me too,’ moaned the man in the chair, whose head was bound in bubble wrap.
Klench turned to the bar. He needed something stronger than coffee. ‘Lime soda,’ he ordered across the bar, ‘extra sour.’ The barman, a young man from a nearby village, got squeezing.
A wasp-faced man with a brick on his head staggered up. ‘Hey, Klench, this is doing my nut in.’
‘But, Mr Gangster Man, your neck is squoshink so nice,’ Klench said nervously.
‘So’s my brain. If you don’t cure this headache I want my money back. And my neck.’
‘Ad by dostrils,’ said a woman with a box round her nose who was sitting on a sofa.
‘Pardon?’ said the man next to her whose ears were wrapped in cling film.
A little girl on his other side scowled at Klench. ‘You’re stealing animals from the jungle, aren’t you? I just saw that man dragging in a sack.’ She stuck out her tongue. ‘You’re mean. Animals are nicer than people.’ And considering that her parents had robbed a hundred and twenty-two banks, who could blame her for thinking that?
Klench smiled weakly at her parents. ‘Vot a cute little popsie.’ They glowered back. The room filled with whines and whimpers. ‘Please, everyones.’ Klench clasped his hands. ‘You must be patient. You have had major ops. Your vounds vill take time to heal.’
‘Don’t talk to me about time!’ shrieked the Pittsbugh Pearl Pincher. ‘I’ve been waiting four days. I need a painkiller – now!’
Voices rose angrily in agreement.
Klench grabbed his lime soda. He drank it in one gulp. Then he pushed past the guests and out of the room.
The barman lifted the empty glass, frowning thoughtfully.
* * *
‘Dad, I’ve been asked to stay late at school today.’ Marcus swallowed a piece of toast.
‘Why?’ Terry Strode-Boylie didn’t look up from The Times.
‘To help some of the others with Maths. Mr Dabbings says I’m better than he is.’ Marcus took a swig of orange juice.
Terry glanced up. His light-blue eyes rested on Marcus for the first time in days. ‘Really? He’s finally realised you out-class him, eh?’ He scrawled the pun on the sports page to use in his next children’s book. ‘Good. Don’t be too helpful, though. Can’t have anyone beating the Boylies, now, can we?’
‘No, Dad.’
Terry went back to his paper, muttering, ‘Glad to see that teacher’s got a brain. I was beginning to think there was nothing but hummus between those sideburns.’
Genevieve popped an apple into Marcus’s lunch box. ‘What time shall I pick you up, darling?’
‘Dunno how long it’ll take. It’s OK, I’ll catch the five-thirty bus home.’
Marcus got up before she could argue. That should just give him time to leg it to the zoo and back.
19 - No Escapinks
‘Stubborn, reckless and keen on Jammy Dodgers,’ said the vicar.
‘She preferred Bourbons,’ sighed Dad.
Ollie kicked earth into the grave.
‘Mind your shoes!’ Mum wailed.
‘Let him mess,’ said Dad, ‘we’re in mourning … mournink …’
‘Mornink.’
Abbie opened her eyes. Her lids throbb
ed. Her nose stung. Her head pounded.
‘Your breakfast,’ said Klench, who stood at the door with his minty gun. A tray was on the floor in front of Abbie. Next to it stood a bucket.
‘You’re not going to starve me, then?’ mumbled Abbie.
Klench yawned. ‘Borink.’
Abbie glanced at the plate of white mush on the tray. ‘Or poison me?’
‘Dull. I vill dream up somethink more funs. In meantime, zere iss bucket for your …’
‘I know,’ Abbie said. ‘You have held me hostage before.’
Klench chuckled. ‘Ah yes. That voss practice. Ziss time zere iss no escapinks.’
Abbie’s chin trembled. She’d forgotten how solid he was. A cannonball would bounce off that white suit.
She took a deep breath. ‘You can’t scare me,’ she lied.
‘Oh no?’ Klench clicked his heels. ‘Ve see about zat, my dear.’ He marched out.
‘Bravo,’ said Fernando as the key turned.
‘What?’ snapped Abbie.
‘I mean–’
‘He mean bravo you not estarve.’ Carmen glared at her husband. ‘Say what you mean and mean what you say, head case.’
‘Please forgeeve me, darleeng,’ Fernando whined. ‘Four hundred year too long for angry.’
‘Four thousand year too short,’ snapped Carmen.
‘For goodness sake, stop arguing!’ cried Abbie. She drank some water from a bottle on the tray and picked at the food on the plate. ‘We have to keep calm. Think straight. Consider our options.’
She did all that. Then she burst into tears.
She sat there for ages, sobbing quietly while the heads bickered their heads off, until–
‘Sssh!’ Fernando hissed. ‘Someone come.’
The door opened. And in tottered the craziest sight. Her cheeks were blotched red. Green feathers framed her sunglasses. Her wispy hair flew in all directions. She wore a glittering blue jacket. She perched on high wooden heels.
‘Grandma!’ Abbie flew into her arms.
‘Thank ’eavens,’ breathed Grandma. She hugged Abbie tight. Then she pushed her away. ‘What the butternut were you thinkin’ of? You’ve caused no end of trouble!’
Klench followed her in. In one hand he clutched a padlocked box. ‘Vunce again ve meet over gun, Madam.’ He waved it in his other hand. ‘Remember last summer, in Hair Museum, ven I held you hostage so fine?’
‘’Ow could I forget?’ Grandma glared at him with anything but fear. ‘And give Chester back this minute!’ She reached out to grab the box.
Klench sprang back. ‘Zat I cannot. I never forget how ziss hairy creature escaped museum and fetched polices.’ He wiggled the padlock. ‘It vill not happen again, you understand.’
‘Understand, my udder! All I know is you’re a prize baddie up to your prize baddery. Shame on you.’ Grandma jabbed her finger at him.
Klench blinked. A look came into his eye that Abbie recognised from his last encounter with Grandma. Respect. Bullying was clearly a language he understood. ‘I am sorry to lock you ups, Madam. I have thought about you much since our last meetink. And I see vunce more you are voman of grits.’ Then another look crept into his eye, sly and eager. ‘Somethink occurs to me. Viz your boldness and plucks, you vould make fine partner in crime. Perhaps, if you agree to join me in vickeds, I vill consider lettink you go.’
Grandma’s jaw dropped.
Klench waved his gun. ‘Think about it, Madam.’ Bowing, he backed out of the door.
Abbie gasped as Grandma’s glittery blue jacket rose into a cloud and wafted out after him. Underneath was her old brown cardie.
‘Of all the cheek!’ Grandma exploded. ‘And there go me glad rags too. Well, good riddance!’ She shook her fist at the closing door. Then she bent down and patted Fernando. ‘At least you’re OK, ducks. Now, ’ow about introducin’ me.’ She cocked her head at Carmen.
‘Of course.’ Fernando cleared his throat. ‘Grandma, thees my wife. And Carmen, thees … oh, Grandma, why you dress like that?’
‘Disguise.’ Grandma sat down and broke the crazy heels off her shoes. ‘Tried to sneak in as a rich customer so I could rescue you.’ She pointed to her blotchy cheeks. ‘Fake blusher from a berry. And me blue jacket that just flew away – Morpho butterflies. I smeared me cardie with guava juice and they swarmed on me.’ She waved the heels about. ‘Branches of teak trees. And these,’ she tapped the feathers on her glasses, ‘I pinched from a parrot.’
‘How did Klench get Chester?’ said Abbie.
Grandma winced. ‘I was wearin’ ’im in a new style so that Klench wouldn’t recognise me. But the tree sap I used as gel made ’im itch. When I came to reception ’e was wrigglin’ all over the place. So Klench just whisked ’im off me ’ead.’
‘Oh no.’ Abbie recalled how Chester had escaped through the window of the Hair Museum last summer. Now any chance of him flying out the window had – well – flown out the window. ‘What about Perdita and Coriander? Did they come with you?’
Grandma snorted. ‘Did they monkeys! When we found you were missin’ this mornin’ I knew exactly where you’d gone. They refused to come lookin’. Said we’d all be kidnapped.’
A knife twisted in Abbie’s stomach. ‘Some friends,’ she mumbled, tears pricking her eyes. The people she’d come to trust more than anyone. The girl she’d stuck by at school, the mother she’d admired more than her own – bottling out, too chicken to rescue her.
Grandma patted her arm. ‘Don’t be too ’ard on them. You know ’ow scared they are of Klench. And they were right. I ’ave been kidnapped. At least they’ve gone to fetch the police.’
Abbie sniffed. ‘If one of them was kidnapped, the other would be here like a shot. But they didn’t come for me.’
Grandma planted her hands on her hips. ‘No, but I did! Let me tell you, missy,’ she poked Abbie’s shoulder, ‘if anythin’ ’appened to you, I – I couldn’t live with meself.’
Abbie looked at the berry-stained, ex-butterflied old bat. ‘I love you, Grandma,’ she said.
‘Pretty fond of you meself, you pig-’eaded nincompoop.’
Abbie couldn’t help smiling. ‘Look who’s talking.’
‘Any road, Perdita and Coriander should reach Puyo tomorrow morning. They’ll come and rescue us by police ’elicopter. So by tomorrow evening we’ll be safe and sound. Simple as that.’
‘Yes,’ said Abbie, wishing she believed her. Nothing had been simple on this trip. Tomorrow was miles away. And in the meantime, what tricks did Klench have up his very wide sleeve?
* * *
None, as it happened – just an extremely clean hanky. Sitting in his office, a room off the lobby, Klench pulled it out. ‘But Mummy,’ he reasoned, ‘I like ziss voman. She is stronk and brave like you.’
‘How dare you!’ thundered Inner Mummy. ‘No vun is like me. I am vunder of vorld.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Klench nodded vigorously. ‘I just mean ziss voman too is gutsy. I remember how she told me offs in Hair Museum last summer, vhile I pointed gun at her. She showed much plucks. Imagine – viz such darink she could make fine lady criminal. Please let her join us. Zen ve can train her.’
‘Don’t be fool, and stop your drool. I can see at glance she iss not eefil-doinks type.’
‘But Mums.’ Klench gave a little sniff. ‘Beink bad is lonely job.’
‘Vot you on about? Alvays I am here to chat and boss you arounds.’
‘True,’ sighed Klench. ‘How I ever get rid off you?’
Mummy was just about to cane him on the brain when there was a knock at the door. ‘Vipe your snots and pull up socks,’ she hissed.
Klench opened the door. ‘Vot you vont?’ he barked.
The barman from the lounge blinked in the doorway. ‘Señor,’ he said nervously, ‘I have idea.’
Klench frowned. ‘How dare you disturb me in office, smelly servant!’ He started to close the door.
‘I can help. With problem of pain.’
Klench stared at him. ‘You? You are junkle man. Vot you know about vunders of modern science?’
‘Not me. My uncle. He know wonders of ancient science.’
A smile crawled across Klench’s face, like a maggot heading for meat. ‘You mean your uncle is medicine man?’
The barman nodded.
Klench glanced round the lobby. ‘You better come ins.’
* * *
‘Marcus! Coo-ee!’ Mr Dabbings waved through the window of the zoo café.
Cursing, Marcus went in. Might have known Dabbers would be here. Now he’d have to explain himself.
Mr Dabbings skated across the café floor in his knitted socks. ‘What brings you here after school?’
Marcus blushed. ‘I was just … well, when you said you were helping out, I wondered if I could help too. Just till Perdita and Abigail get back. When is that, by the way?’
Wendy looked up from the counter, where she was polishing Mr Dabbings’s shoes. ‘End of next week, I think.’
Mr Dabbings glanced at Wendy then cleared his throat. ‘That’s very kind and thoughtful of you, Marcus. But I’m not sure Wendy needs more help.’
It was Wendy’s turn to blush. ‘No. Bran – I mean Mr Dabbings – is doing a wonderful job. He’s knitting winter cosies for my teapots.’ She pointed to a pile of wool on the counter.
Mr Dabbings gazed into her eyes. ‘And when they’re done I’ll knit summer ones.’
‘Maybe spring and autumn too,’ giggled Wendy.
‘Ooh, that’ll take ages,’ sighed Mr Dabbings. He tore his eyes away. ‘So we’re doing fine, Marcus, just the two of us. But thanks for the offer.’
‘I didn’t mean help in the café. I meant with the animals. Cleaning them out and stuff. Maybe this weekend.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, that is a nice offer. Especially after your last rather unfortunate visit.’
Marcus forced a smile. ‘I thought it might, um, help me get over my fear, sir. Forgive and forget and all that.’
‘Excellent. You’ve obviously been practising our Forgive and Forget dance. Why don’t we teach it to Wendy now?’
‘Um, no thanks. I’ll go and find the zookeeper. Do you know where he is?’
Jungle Tangle Page 12