I gulp. ‘Really?’
Scruff jumps in. ‘We need to get her. Fast. For Dad. It’ll make him better. It’ll be his cure. Can you help us?’
‘Oh, he’s sick is he? How unfortunate.’ Then Darius holds up a finger to silence us. Cocks his head as if listening to something far, far away. ‘Ah, that’s the telephone. Who would have thought.’
We’ve heard nothing. But before we can say anything more he slips through the iron door and slams it shut. Is gone. Just like that. We rush to it. It’s bolted on the other side. ‘I won’t be long,’ comes a muffled sing-song voice. He sounds almost happy all of a sudden, lighter.
Noooooooooooooooooo.
We bang against the thick iron. It’s no use. Rattle the lever. Can’t get out. Stuck. Deep under the earth, and no one knows except one Darius Davenport, the creepiest man on the planet. I slide to the ground. Press my ear into the chilly iron.
No sound from outside now. No sound in here except our ragged, panicky breathing and Bucket whimpering in a corner.
Then a squeak. From a pipe above us. I gasp. A rat. Great. I have a rat phobia. Cobras? Pah. Water dragons? Please. But rats. They’re the only things that get to me. Can’t bear them. Another squeak. I press my hands over my ears. Please no.
‘Do you think Mr Davenport likes us, Kick?’ Pin asks.
‘I’m not so sure,’ Scruff answers, wobbly.
‘Of course he does,’ I snap. Not believing it one bit but need to keep us buoyant here, can’t let panic leak out.
‘So what do we do now?’ Pin curls in my lap.
‘Yes, Miss Bossy Boots,’ Bert enquires, ‘what exactly do we do now?’ She raises an eyebrow just like Charlie Boo does at his most stern.
‘We wait, troops, we wait.’ I shut my eyes. ‘He’ll be back.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Scruff says soft, gazing with terror at the thick, damp walls around us. Breathing in deep the smell of the earth.
We wait. And wait. And wait.
Not much to do in a room with four slabs but get mighty worked up. Bert finds a bundle of bandages in a cupboard and fashions turbans for all of us. Even Bucket, poor thing, who flatly refuses to have anything to do with it or, indeed, this place. She won’t move from the sanctuary of her corner and keeps pawing the turban off.
‘You know, I think I should be taking over Mission Desert Rose,’ Bert declares at one point, getting way above herself.
I let it ride. We don’t need a fight on top of everything else – Scruff’s about to climb the walls here and I’m not far behind him. Our sister, on the other hand, is in her element. She’s far too jolly and big for this space, doing back bends and handstands on a marble slab and getting Pin laughing by singing ‘Bound for Botany Bay’ while marching on top of the slab with hands outstretched like a Frankenstein who of course has had a makeover and is now extremely stylishly dressed.
A sudden clang of the bolt on the door. We’re still. Breaths held. What’s next?
The door swings open. Darius.
Completely changed.
Flushed, energised, a bit fevery, brimming with scheming and plans. We rush over.
‘Now, where were we? Mmm?’ Darius rubs his hands. ‘Your mother. Yes. The delectable Flora Caddy. Mmm.’ Every time he mentions her he practically purrs. ‘You’d like to see her, wouldn’t you? The idea is consuming you, mmm, I can see it.’
I nod, my heart feeling like it’s up somewhere in my mouth. Because just like that our world turns upside down. We were right to get here, to climb down a silver rope and abandon a new house. Because Mum is alive. This is our first bit of concrete proof.
‘Mum is alive …’ Bert whispers, hoarse, like that phrase is all rusted up inside her. She’s tearing up. It’s catching. Because I need a mother fast. It’s too hard being chief wrangler to this lot and I’m growing up in odd ways without any of them even knowing; things are happening that I can’t stop and there’s so much I want to ask. It’s the endlessness of the worry about them that’s really doing my head in. I could do with some help. And now that Mum feels close I’m ready to cut loose from the lot of them, fast, just shake them all off.
‘Tomorrow, mmm.’ Mr Davenport nods to us, chuffed. ‘It’s all been arranged.’
Jumping and cheering. But here’s a lot to be done here. ‘Right, troops. Action stations,’ I command. ‘We need to get home fast. Tell Basti. Organise ourselves.’
‘Put back his curtains,’ Pin jumps in.
‘Bake a welcome-home cake!’ Bert adds.
‘Is there travelling involved?’ I ask Darius.
‘Oh yes. A vast distance.’
‘Sooooo, if we run back right away, Basti mightn’t even know we’ve been gone?’ Scruff exclaims and Pin claps with the sheer perfectness of it all. We might even miss getting into trouble! He hates getting into trouble, from Basti most of all.
‘Let’s get going!’ I smile. Darius raises an eyebrow. ‘Come on,’ I urge. ‘What are you waiting for?’
‘Mmm, you’re very bossy, aren’t you?’ he replies. ‘Quite terrifying, in a little girl, in fact.’
‘I am not a little girl,’ I bristle. ‘And my father, for that matter, says he wouldn’t have me any other way.’ Scruff steps in, saving me from myself, as he always does. ‘Ignore her, Mr Davenport. She’s always rubbing people up the wrong way. And believe me, I’m used to saying this.’ He sighs. ‘To just about everyone we meet.’
‘I think your father will expire of an instant heart attack if he ever finds out that you escaped from the Reptilarium and wandered the streets of London all by yourselves. Mmm? No, we can’t have that. I’ll break it to him gently. Via Basti. Leave it with me. I know your uncle better than anyone. And I’ll take you on your way first thing in the morning. It’s quite a journey. Mmm. We’ll need an early start.’
‘Where are we going?’ Bert asks.
‘It’s a surprise.’ Darius smiles and for the first time there’s the tiniest chink of warmth. For the first time we can glean something boyish and handsome in his face, something from before life and weariness crusted over it. Well, well, things might just be looking up here. ‘Sleep here tonight, yes. Excellent. Mmm.’ He’s now rubbing his hands and pacing, deeply thinking. ‘I’ll phone Basti. Alert him.’ He spins. ‘Now, who would like to see me in action? A singular experience, mmm.’ He looks directly at Bert.
‘Yes, yes!’ She squeals. ‘Mr Davenport, you are the best.’ Glances at me in triumph. Life sorted, thank you very much. Owning Mission Desert Rose and everyone who comes in contact with it.
But open coffins? A corpse? Ah, don’t think so, nup – and Scruff and Pin are with me on this one. Yet before we can say, ‘We’ll pass, Mr Davenport, thank you very much,’ he wheels in a trolley from outside the door that rattles and clinks with all manner of glass bottles and potions and rolls of white cloth. He rubs his hands. Beckons.
‘What are they?’ Bert crowds in close.
‘Just you wait.’ Darius lifts a glass stopper from an enormous blue bottle. Pours its purple liquid into a square of clean cloth. Holds it under our noses. ‘This is the beautiful secret of my profession,’ he purrs. ‘The most exquisite smell imaginable. Myrrh, amber, top notes of wood smoke. Mmmmmm. Magical in the depths of winter. Come …’ And one by one we breathe deep, the cloth close. It’s just as he said, like a campfire in the cold, and we breathe in deeper, deeper, then he slams the stopper back with a crisp clink. Looks sideways.
Oooh, hang on, feeling a bit strange here.
The others, too. They’re holding their heads, which I can tell feel so heavy all of a sudden; I can’t keep the weight of mine up. Pin reaches out and slides down my legs and slumps to the ground, followed by Bert then …
Oooooooh, a rash of sweat, it’s mightily hot and I can’t get myself upright here …
I’m all bendy …
Have to sleep, sleep, it’s like an enormous rake is pushing through me, pulling me down into the lovely stone ground. Lo
vely, lovely, yes. Must sink into it. Rest. A vast weakness takes over, so insistent. I’m down. Gone. Beautifully gone, like I’m floating on this friendly stone. The last sight: Bucket, in the corner behind a marble slab, looking at me quizzically with her head cocked. Silent. Like she can’t believe what’s happened to us …
And then a deep, velvety dark is wrapping me up snug and tight. All of us. A jumble of bare feet.
Wake.
Ow.
After what feels like a sleep of the dead, for hours and hours, days, nights. Groggy, horribly thirsty, trying to shake away awful fustiness in my head. Limbs feel like lead. Hard to move them, can’t, hang on, they’re tied. I’m STUCK!
What happened? Where are we?
Looking around in panic. In a van. The back of it. Not moving. The others in a line next to me, still asleep, bound tight. Where … what? No, not just any van – a hearse. I breathe shallow, fast; this is not good. We’re in a transport for coffins and who knows what was in it before us. Or why we’re in here.
The windows are blacked out, it’s grubby, it must be a working van not a ceremonial one. Can’t move. Shout. A gag – too big – is hurting across my mouth. Wriggling furiously. Am tied so hard. Can barely move.
And the oddest thing of all: we’ve got shoes on now. I stare in wonder at my brand new feet. But someone has found some very odd, old boots, in each of our sizes, and slipped them on while we were out cold. Bert will be appalled – not her style at all. And how did they survive Scruff’s stinkiness in the foot department? I shudder to think where the shoes have come from. Who did it? What’s ahead?
Crane my head and can just see outside through a long, thick scratch in the window’s paintwork. Pale light like it’s sick. Right, early morning. The cemetery still – I know those blond brick walls. But a delivery yard so it must be out the back. A private parking place.
No one to see us. No one to help. Of course.
A car. Long and low, panther black. It looks familiar. Could it be? I crane, it hurts. Can just make out three people walking from a garage.
Basti. Charlie Boo. Darius.
Oh, oh, oh! The AGONY of it. Wriggling madly here but can’t move, shout out, can’t even thump the van floor.
Basti and Charlie Boo are agitated. Beside themselves. Our uncle’s dressed sloppily, it’s so unlike him; jacket buttons are done up wrong and trousers are hanging a bit too loose, like there’s no belt, and his shoes are mismatched and, most odd of all – he’s wearing no hat. He must have left in a hugely distracted rush. He’s holding his hand to his forehead. Worried. Feeling sick. We must still be lost to them. He’s panicking, glancing around.
‘They must have run away.’ I can just make out the talk; we’re not parked too far out; this is unbearable. ‘We’re trying everything we can think of, Dari. Charlie thought they may have made their way to you. Something he mentioned once …’
‘Basti, old boy,’ Dari puts an arm around his shoulder, ‘they were here, you know. Charming children, mmm. They told me of their astonishing arrival into your world. I had no idea. You didn’t tell me. Mmm?’
‘It happened so quickly. They’ve completely taken over my life. Like a whirlwind. Terrifying, yes, but exhilarating, old chap.’
‘Marvellous.’
‘Where are they now?’ Basti looks around in despair.
Darius shakes his head gravely. ‘If only I knew. They asked me about their mother. Came to find her, in fact. Mmm. It felt like they were on a mission. What could I say? I mean, honestly. So they headed off, just like that. Wouldn’t take an extra coat. Even some biscuits to see them on their way. Just left. With great exuberance. Mmm.’
Noooooooooo. I can’t BEAR this.
‘They said they were going to find the archives office and the War Office, Australia House, everything, get right to the bottom of it. For their father’s sake. They didn’t want you disturbed and wanted to do it all by themselves. Extremely self-sufficient. Honestly, I wouldn’t worry, old chap.’
‘Oh I do, I do.’
‘Why don’t you call the police, mmm? Dear boy?’
Basti recoils. Police. A fate worse than death. We all know that. The authorities want to shut his precious Reptilarium down, his whole life. They’re still looking for it, no doubt. No, that’s the one option not open to him.
‘I suspect they’ll be fine and won’t be returning until they’ve got to the very bottom of the mystery,’ Darius continues. ‘Mmm. They are one determined lot. Said they’d get back to the Reptilarium when their father’s better, with their mother, and it’ll be a wonderful surprise for him. That it’ll cure him completely. A bit terrifying, actually, the focus. Between you and me. The colonial … energy. Especially that scowly, prickly one – who did most of the talking. I’d hate to come across it on a battlefield. Mmm. Imagine!’
‘Kick,’ Basti and Charlie say in unison.
‘Yes,’ Darius says, ‘I wasn’t quite sure what was under all that bite. Boy? Girl? Beast?’ He laughs a yellow-toothed laugh. Uuuuurgh! I punch out in fury but it goes nowhere: I can barely move.
‘I’ll mobilise the grandkids, Sebastian,’ Charlie says. ‘Search the length of London. You stay put, in the house, in case they come back. We will get to the bottom of this, and before Hector gets home. They’re just like their parents. You know that. Adventurers to their bones, explorers, can’t contain them … and silver curtains! Who’d have thought.’ He almost chuckles his admiration.
‘They seemed so desperately keen to just head off,’ Darius murmurs. ‘Gulp the world, forthwith.’
‘It’s not the first time I’ve lost them,’ Basti sighs. ‘It’s becoming a habit. Why did I ever let them into my life?’
‘Because you’re a good person,’ Charlie smiles.
‘Mmm, are you really that fond of them?’ Darius asks.
‘Oh yes,’ Basti murmurs, ‘extraordinary, I know.’ As if he can’t quite believe it himself.
Darius just nods. ‘And their father? Mmm? It’s been so long since you were communicating.’
‘War does strange things to people,’ Basti says. ‘Great hardship can bring people together most astoundingly. Because you can realise that family is all you’ve got in the end.’
‘Mmmm,’ Darius murmurs.
‘My brother’s heart is weak. He’s been sent to Bath to recuperate. It’s touch and go. I left it too long, Dari …’ Silence. What does it all mean? ‘And now, how can I tell him that I’ve lost his most precious things in the world – his children? It’ll do him in. I can’t tell him,’ Basti murmurs, rubbing his little finger like it’s suddenly itchy with a stress rash. ‘Nothing feels right. They’ve been here … you’ve met them … they ran off. Children – such vexatious, bewildering creatures. Yes? No? Just trying to think this through, old chap. To make sense of it all.’
A dog barks from somewhere far away, Basti turns his head to it, my heart leaps. Bucket? Bucket! Yes, possibly.
‘Mmm, a pack of wild dogs.’ Darius dismisses the sound with a wave of his hand. ‘They’ve been roaming the cemetery for a while now. Their houses must have been bombed. Their owners … who knows … kaput.’
‘Nothing, as a butler, has defeated me yet, Sebastian Caddy. Come on, we’ve got some children to find!’ Charlie Boo announces determinedly. He runs to Basti’s car and roars up the engine in readiness for the great London search ahead, no doubt. In entirely the wrong direction. And further and further away from us.
As soon as they’re out of sight Darius slams down his garage door and climbs into the van. I maintain my lookout at the paint scratch as best I can as the car lurches forward, as it wobbles and swerves through a grey London morning. I can see best when the car slows or stops at intersections. We pass everyone on their way to work, head down, oblivious. Where are we going? And without our beautiful Bucket girl. Where is she? Does she have food? Is she all right? She hates those catacombs and I shut my eyes and pray that she’s out of them. But if she’d escaped, then she
would have found Basti and Charlie Boo, so she must be still stuck. I can’t bear to think about it. Her whine, her fear, her alone.
Pull myself together. Have to make this right. Have to stay awake, have to maintain maximum alertness. We need to get out of this situation, yes, but we need to find Mum. Darius is the key. So he’s got us well and good. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, about getting to her, ‘tomorrow.’ Which is now.
The van makes its way slowly past bomb craters and rubble piles, past entire empty blocks. London feels as scrambled and as cold as I do. Scruff and Pin on either side are nudged with my foot but won’t wake. Bert can’t be reached and I think we’ll just leave her quiet for now, anything for some peace. They all look so serene, with their long eyelashes and ruddy cheeks, as if they really needed this vast expanse of rest. It’s so weird, but as they lie unnaturally silent around me I’m craving their loud giggly jumbly warmth like I never have in my life.
What have I done? Why didn’t I go on Mission Desert Rose by myself and leave them safe? I stare at the shoes on us, mine a size too big but good enough. How did they get on us?
Someone is being thoughtful here, someone wants to impress. Even if they have a very strange way of showing it.
But who?
One by one, three little tiger cubs wake.
Headachy. Gritchy. Roaringly thirsty and fighting like cats in sacks to be free. But not getting far with that. One by one I have to explain through my very tight gag, in a strangulated whisper, that no, I don’t know where we are. Or how long we’ve been here. Or who put the weird shoes on (Bert’s squirmy horror at the sight of them is a thing to behold). And that everything will be all right, when I don’t believe it one bit.
How to explain that their Kicky’s let them down – mightily – here? I don’t tell them what’s even worse – that no one knows where we are. And anyone who can help has been sent on a wild goose chase. We’re alone and stuck.
‘I’ve let you down,’ I finally whisper, in defeat, through my gag. At last it’s been said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The Icicle Illuminarium Page 6