Jungle Tangle

by Debbie Thomas

  ‘At the hippo pool, I think,’ said Wendy.

  ‘Thanks.’ Marcus rushed out. He looked back to see Mr Dabbings spinning Wendy in the Kiss-’n’-Make-Up Twirl. Then he ran to the hippo pool, where he found Charlie Chumb scrubbing Hepzibah’s ears with a very long brush.

  20 - Jungle Juice

  The cellar door opened. Klench came in with a tray. He bent his little leggies and laid it on the ground. ‘Bon appateets.’ He waved his gun at the food.

  Abbie stared. After her recent diet, it was a feast. There were some kind of sausages with some kind of sauce and some kind of chips. There were two serviettes, folded into paper armadillos, and two bowls of chocolate mousse.

  ‘I trust you are OK, madam.’ Klench bowed. The smell of pickled gherkins scoured Abbie’s nose. His idea of aftershave?

  I don’t believe it, she thought. He’s trying to impress Grandma.

  It didn’t quite work. ‘Me – OK?’ she roared. ‘I couldn’t be worse! You’re a crime against ’umanity. Let us out this minute!’ Seizing her wooden heels, she jumped up and tried to stab Klench. The spikes bounced off his stomach.

  He snatched them out of her hand. ‘Ah,’ he sighed, ‘you are feisty girl. Vunce more I invite you to join me in …’

  He trailed off. His smooth face scrunched in concentration, as if he was listening to something in his ear. But Abbie could see no wires.

  ‘She iss velcome,’ he mumbled. Then he looked at Grandma again: ‘… in eefils,’ he finished.

  Grandma put her hands on her hips. ‘Join you? I’d rather join a troupe of dancin’ bears.’

  Klench’s face fell. His chin collection wobbled. Was it Abbie’s imagination or did he mutter something like, ‘Go vay, Mums’? Then he cleared his throat. ‘In zat case,’ he barked, ‘zere iss no choice but to proceed viz punishment.’

  Abbie’s mouth went as dry as Dubai. ‘What punishment?’ she whispered.

  ‘I have thought up somethink most interestinks.’ A smile wriggled across Klench’s face like an eel approaching a minnow. ‘Somethink to shut you ups so you can never report my eefil-doinks. But not to vorry.’ He straightened his tie. ‘Ass I said before: no killink. Ven I am done, you vill be free to go.’ He turned and marched out, slamming the door.

  ‘What does he mean, shut us up?’ whispered Abbie.

  ‘’Oo knows?’ Grandma sank to the floor. ‘But while we’re waitin’ we might as well tuck in.’

  They did. And, considering they were prisoners in a trap they’d walked straight into, locked up by a rogue whose roguery knew no bounds, in a room with nothing but a bucket for relief and two mini heads for company, who resumed their bickering the moment Klench left … it tasted pretty good.

  * * *

  Upstairs Klench scuttled across the lobby. Before he could shut his prisoners up, he had to shut his guests up. Their moans were growing louder by the hour.

  The barman was waiting at the entrance.

  ‘Let us be offs.’ Klench pushed him out the door.

  * * *

  Darkness was falling in the jungle village. The old man looked up from his pot. He peered through the trees. Something was rustling, crunching, crashing through the undergrowth. A tapir? Too clumsy. A peccary? Too pale.

  The old man jumped up. He backed towards his hut, blinking. A melon on legs was waddling towards him. At its side came … was that his nephew Quempo, returning at last from that horrible hotel?

  Quempo the barman ran to greet his uncle. Klench hung back. Two naked children ran out of a hut. They pointed and giggled. Klench stepped forward and boxed their ears. More children spilled out of the huts dotted round the clearing. Behind them came men in shorts and women in wraparound dresses.

  Klench loosened his tie. Sweat poured down his face. He opened his mint-green briefcase. The curly grey towel that was stuck to the lining wriggled madly. ‘Be still, vig of Grandma,’ he hissed, grabbing the free end and mopping his brow. Transferring it from the padlocked box hadn’t been such a good idea. There was no danger of it escaping – Bitter Albert’s Superdooperglooper Glue had seen to that – but the wig squirmed far too much to serve as the soothing facecloth he’d hoped for. Stuffing it back in the case he barked at the barman, ‘Hurry ups. Ask old man for medicine to kill pain.’

  Quempo translated. The old man shouted back, waving his arms about furiously.

  ‘Uncle angry,’ said Quempo. ‘He say you steal animals from forest. When he find them in traps he free them. He say animals are food for jungle people, they belong to jungle. Why you take them away? He say jungle not happy.’

  ‘Ooh, poor little junkle,’ said Klench rather childishly, even for someone who’d celebrated his last birthday by sending himself a Baked Alaska the size of Alaska. ‘You tell Uncle that junkle vill soon be vay sad indeed. Becoss I have guest who plans to dig for oil.’

  There followed more shouting from the uncle. Then some quiet words from Quempo, which seemed to calm him down. Then some excited chatter between them. Then some nodding and grinning from both. And then …

  ‘Uncle change mind,’ said Quempo. ‘He say he glad to help you with medicine for pain.’

  ‘Superdoops!’ Klench clapped his hands. ‘He is vise old codger – I knew he vould see senses. Let us celebrate.’ He opened his briefcase again. The village children crowded round, their eyes huge with hunger.

  Klench brought out a doughnut. ‘Now, kids, you may votch me eat.’ He took a bite. The children drooled. Quempo stared. And the medicine man got to work, collecting, crushing and cackling.

  ***

  Two hours later Klench stumbled through the hotel entrance. He was scratched, bitten, filthy, exhausted … and triumphant. He pointed to the pot that Quempo had carried from the forest. ‘Pour junkle juice into bottles. Then go and vosh, stinky boy.’

  ‘And same to you,’ hissed Inner Mummy. ‘You smell like poo.’

  Immune to his whimpers of weariness, she made him scrub, lather, rinse and polish all over. Which, for someone with so much all over, took a very long time. Dawn was creeping through the trees by the time he laid down his mint-green scouring flannel and fell into bed.

  He was woken by a rumbling sound. ‘Hush, my friend.’ Patting his stomach, he glanced at his bedside clock. No wonder. It was well past lunch time. He rolled out of bed. ‘Let us get some foods.’ The rumbling grew louder. Klench dressed groggily and waddled to the window. Leaves were shivering and branches swaying on the trees around the jungle clearing. The air pulsed in a rhythmic roar. Klench frowned. Surely not even his stomach could cause such a rumpus.

  ‘Ah,’ he murmured as a helicopter lumbered into view. ‘But strange – no arrivals are due today.’

  Inner Mummy’s shriek blasted away the last cobwebs of sleep. ‘Unexpected guests mean trouble. Call for back-up, at ze double!’

  Klench rushed down to the lounge. And five minutes later a welcome team was in place.

  The helicopter juddered to the ground. The propellers slowed and stopped. The door opened. Six figures climbed out and dashed across the clearing towards the hotel courtyard.

  Klench sprang from behind a statue. ‘Not so fasts!’ His welcome team leapt from the bushes round the clearing, brandishing an impressive array of personal firearms: pistols, revolvers, even a rifle or two. The visitors were surrounded.

  ‘Hands up,’ Klench barked, ‘and veapons down. You are much outnumbered.’

  Four of the visitors dropped their guns. The fifth dropped the creature she was holding in her arms. And the sixth took one look at Klench and burst into tears.

  21 - A Fate more Interesting than Death

  ‘When are they coming?’ Abbie kicked the earthen floor. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.

  It was the following evening. The tension was terrible. All day they’d been waiting for the rescue party.

  ‘Any minute now,’ said Grandma.

  ‘You said that three hours ago.’ What a day it had been. They’d had nothing to do
except listen to Carmen as she unleashed four hundred years of fury on Fernando. ‘You husband of hopeless!’

  ‘How many time I must say sorry?’

  ‘Eight thousand five hundred twenty-six. So far you done nineteen.’

  ‘You proud as Peru.’

  ‘You estupid as Spain.’

  By seven o’clock Abbie’s hope of being rescued was battling with her dread that they wouldn’t be. Hope smacked Dread in the face. Dread kicked Hope in the butt.

  The cellar door opened. Hope and Dread shook hands. They’d both won. The rescuers had arrived … but not to rescue.

  Coriander fell through the door. Perdita stumbled in behind her. Then came Klench with his minty gun.

  ‘Abbie!’ cried the Platts, rushing over.

  What Abbie meant to say was, ‘How could you abandon me?’ But their tears and hugs melted her anger. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘This is all my fault.’

  ‘Never mind the luvvy-doves,’ Grandma bellowed, ‘where are the police?’

  ‘On safari, Madam.’ Klench bowed in the doorway. ‘Zey came to arrest me, but I arrest zem.’

  ‘He heard the helicopter,’ sobbed Coriander. ‘We didn’t stand a chance with all those guns.’

  Guns, thought Abbie. Whoever invented them should be shot.

  ‘At least Brillo escaped,’ said Perdita. ‘He came all the way to Puyo with us and back in the helicopter. But when we were caught he ran into the jungle.’

  ‘Thank goodness,’ said Abbie. She glared at Klench, fury overcoming her fear. ‘You’ll never get him. He’s smarter than you.’

  ‘Unlike policemans.’ Klench chuckled. ‘Zose four silly sausages are now beink led into junkle. Zey are bound in blindfolds and zeir hands are tied. Much more fun zan killink, no? Zey can play Blind Man’s Buffs and Pin ze Tail on Jaguar. Zey vill never make it back to city.’

  ‘You monster!’ said Coriander.

  Klench smiled. ‘Alvays ze compliments. I remember zem vell from our lovely kidnap chattinks last summer. It is good to have you back, my dear.’ He turned to Grandma. The sarcasm in his voice gave way to a wheedling tone. ‘Madam. I ask vun last time. Vill you join me in life of crimes?’

  Grandma rose. She rolled up her cardie sleeves. She pointed her finger at Klench. She gave a look that said it all. Then, just to make sure, she said it all. ‘’Ear this, you great space ’opper. I’d sooner rob a bank … shoot a president … take the last Smartie from an orphan’s party pack … than join you in a life of crime.’

  Klench shook his head sadly. Abbie could swear he mumbled something like, ‘You vin, Mums.’ Then he straightened his tie. ‘In zat case, I have no choice. You too must be silenced. Tomorrow doctors vill come to perform operation.’

  ‘What operation?’ Abbie had spent the whole day imagining what tortures Klench might have planned. She’d pretty much covered them all.

  But not quite.

  ‘Brain trimmink.’

  A gasp went round.

  Klench rubbed his hands. ‘Dr Ecclescake has kindly agreed to shrink your grey matters. A simple shavink of temporal lobe to remove a most unhelpful function.’

  ‘What?’ whispered Abbie.

  ‘Memory. At least, lonk-term memory. After removal, you vill remember only last three seconds of your life.’

  ‘No!’ Perdita clutched her head. ‘You’re turning us into goldfish!’

  ‘Oh no.’ Klench smiled reassuringly. ‘Latest research shows goldfish can remember several months. You vill be more like fruit flies, vich, as you probably know,’ he nodded at Coriander, ‘are most cheerful creatures. So really I am doink you big favour.’

  ‘Why not just kill us and be done?’ thundered Grandma.

  ‘Becoss killink is messy and borinks and any old fool can do it. Ziss is more … creative. And besides, madam …’ Klench sighed, ‘I could never kill so fine a voman as you. No, here is vin-vin situation. Vunce you are all adjusted, you vill forget ziss place and my vickeds. Zen you are free to go. You vill be flown to edge of junkle. From zere you can return to civilisation.’ He backed out of the door, chuckling. ‘Alzough you vill have to ask many directions.’

  * * *

  Upstairs, Klench crossed the lobby to his office. Unlocking the door, he barged in and collapsed on his tapir-skin sofa. Everything had worked out perfectly. The guests had all received their bottles of painkiller mixed by Quempo’s uncle. The prisoners were awaiting their fate more interesting than death. The day had been a triumph of eefil-doink.

  So why did he feel so low?

  He opened his briefcase and bent towards Grandma’s wig. The grey curls shuddered as he yanked them up and dabbed away a tear.

  He hadn’t felt this miserable in years. Not since he was five, when Mummy had found him in the garden making a daisy chain …

  ‘How sveet,’ she’d cried, gouging his parting with a fond fingernail. ‘A necklace for Mumsie.’

  ‘No,’ he’d explained, ‘ziss for my teacher, Miss Domestoss.’

  ‘Vot?’ Mummy had barked. ‘How dare you!’

  ‘Vot I done wronk?’ whimpered little Hubris.

  ‘You make gift for somebody else!’ Mummy spat the last two words as if they were very rude.

  ‘But–’

  ‘Don’t you “but” me!’ She snatched the daisy chain and swallowed it in one gulp. Then she leaned towards him. ‘Remember ziss …’ Even now, forty-seven years later, Klench could smell her vinegar breath … ‘All your presents come to me. Or your life vill GHASTLY be.’

  For the rest of the afternoon Mummy had sat in her deckchair feeding Klench slug after slug after slug after–

  ‘Hubes.’ Inner Mummy broke into his memory. ‘It vosn’t like zat.’ She sounded hurt.

  ‘Zat’s how I remember it,’ he snivelled.

  ‘No, darlink. I svollowed daisy chain in two gulps. Now, get over it. Vipe your nose and touch your toes.’

  Klench stood up. He couldn’t even see his toes – just Grandma’s shopping bag on wheels and the two rucksacks that he’d confiscated from Coriander and Perdita. They sprawled on the floor, unzipped and stinky with jungle. ‘Filthy bags. Do not pollute my office!’ He opened the door and kicked them out into the lobby. Slamming the door shut, he gave a groan of loneliness. ‘I cannot go on!’

  ‘Have snack,’ suggested Inner Mummy. ‘Just ziss vunce. A bite of bic vill cheer you quick.’

  ‘OK, Mumser.’ Klench went to his desk and took a specially imported Chocolate Hobnob from a tin.

  It didn’t help. His heart still hurt like the blazes. He sat down, laid his head on the desk and cried his little eyes out.

  * * *

  What a way to spend your Saturday, tramping round in wellies with wild beasts and weirdos. Especially weirdos. Marcus stared at Charlie Chumb. The zookeeper was wheeling a machine towards the tiger cage. It was some sort of box on wheels with a tube coiled round one side. ‘Is that a vacuum cleaner?’ asked Marcus, hugging himself against the cold.

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Charlie. ‘It’s a … you know.’

  Marcus absolutely didn’t.

  ‘A Muck Sucker,’ Charlie continued. ‘Invented by Perdita’s, um, dad. Sucks up the – you know – without me having to go into Silvio’s, um … Just press this, er …’

  Marcus pressed a button on the box. There was a low hum. Charlie uncoiled the tube and threw it over the top of the tiger cage, like a fisherman casting a line.

  The mouth of the tube landed by Silvio’s paw. The tiger stopped pacing.

  Marcus gulped. ‘Is it safe? What if he eats it?’

  ‘He won’t. It’s made of reinforced – you know. You’ll be, um …’

  ‘Fine?’ Marcus said hopefully.

  Charlie nodded. ‘You just pull this, ah …’ He pointed to a lever on the Muck Sucker.

  Marcus pulled the lever. Inside the cage, the tube wriggled. He directed it to a pile of dung. With a kissy noise the dung shot up the tube. ‘Wow.’

  ‘Well
done. I’ll be with the, um … if you need me.’ Charlie headed off towards the tapir pen.

  Marcus yanked another lever. This was almost fun.

  Uh-oh! The tube flipped onto Silvio’s back. It sucked at his fur. The tiger growled and turned towards Marcus.

  ‘Yikes!’ Jerking the lever, Marcus managed to flick the tube away. But Silvio wasn’t impressed. He continued to pace towards Marcus, fixing him with angry yellow eyes. Marcus turned the machine off and backed away from the cage.

  ‘Hey!’ came a woman’s voice. Marcus looked to his right. Oh no. It was that newspaper lady.

  ‘Aren’t you the boy who came into my office the other day?’ said Corky Shocka. ‘What are you doing here? I thought that jumped-up dad of yours wanted to close the zoo down.’

  Marcus gulped. Now what? ‘He, um, changed his mind,’ he said feebly.

  ‘I should think so. I come here every Saturday. It’s the highlight of my week.’ As she turned to go she called over her shoulder, ‘Glad to see you helping out, young man. This is a great place.’

  Marcus stuck out his tongue at the back of her head. Yeah, for stinkers and snarlers. He stamped a furious wellie.

  Come on, he scolded himself. You’ve got this far. The supplies were in his rucksack. The plan was going perfectly. He still had a few hours to find the right moment.

  He bit his lip. That was the tricky part.

  22 - Sweet Dreams

  Down in the cellar on Saturday morning Fernando was trying to comfort the prisoners. ‘Ees not so bad. We lose bad memories too. And we have many, eh, my Carmen?’

  ‘Thanks to you, donkey doo!’ she yelled. ‘You poop of sheep, you pat of cow.’

  ‘But what about the good ones?’ Perdita cried. ‘Birthdays and picnics and how to do cartwheels?’

  ‘What about people?’ Coriander clutched her two front plaits. ‘Oh, Matt, we won’t know who you are.’ She grabbed Perdita and hugged her tight. They rocked and moaned.