But, just then, suddenly, yet tenderly, and with a surfeit of irritating, and totally unnecessary, commas, the door opened, wide! There stood Uncle Quagmire! And there was no sign of a HobNob in his hands!
‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said perceptively. ‘Yes . . . well . . . I was just, er, questioning Clarissa about . . . about . . . well, it’s all very inconclusive.’
Ricky peered around Uncle Quagmire, trying to see if there were indeed any HobNobs or, as he was desperate, custard creams going spare. The others, meanwhile, were all wondering why Uncle Quagmire’s trousers were on back to front, and they were about to ask that very question when they heard Clarissa’s voice from inside the room.
‘Quaggy! Where are you?’ she called. ‘I’m getting quite cold!’
‘Children,’ said Uncle Quagmire in a strangely quiet voice. ‘I’m trying to . . . erm, to mend the, er, radiator for Clarissa? Yes, that’s it. So here’s a good plan – just go away and I’ll see you down in the hotel reception. Won’t be long.’
‘But, Uncle Quagmire, we need to ask you something,’ said Ricky. ‘Firstly about the peculiar behaviour of your trousers, secondly about the digital alarm clock. It hasn’t been invented yet, so we can’t get back. Isn’t there another way to time travel? What about Euro Tunnel? Or a no-frills airline?’
‘Quaggy!’ called Clarissa. ‘Come back to . . .’
‘Not now!’ yelled Uncle Quagmire over his shoulder. ‘The children are here!’
‘B-b-b-but . . .’ stuttered Amy.
‘Never mind all that butting and stuttering,’ said Uncle Quagmire, quite irritably. ‘In answer to your incisive question, Richard . . . I mean Ricky, I forgot to mention, there is something called a Nixie clock . . .’
‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname wearily.
‘. . . that was a sort of forerunner of the digital clock in the Fifties.’ Uncle Quagmire stopped talking and glanced down at his trousers. He suddenly realised that his trousers were on back-to-front! ‘Oh, erm, yes, I can explain. Time travel does have a strange effectation on our attire – sometimes – so do watch out for any sudden clothing re-positioning, won’t you. Anyway, you all go and wait in the nearest available hotel reception for me, there’s good children, and then we can all gather round and do a planosal for the rest of the adventure. Now, I must go and finish this . . . radiator maintenance and, er, the intensive questioning of Clarissa. As I say, so far, it’s all very inconclusive and unproductive. Apart from the . . . oh, never mind. Byeeee!’
And, on the third e in byeeee, he slammed the door in their faces!
‘Well!’ exclaimed Amy in a muffled voice, her face now pressed firmly to the door. ‘What a rude man! If he wasn’t a blood relative I’d be so upset by his utter rudeness.’
‘I agree,’ agreed Betty, ‘with whatever you just said. But what was that about a clock? Isn’t that what we want?’
Daniel removed his spectacles. ‘Listen,’ he said, pointing the curly bit at the others and trying unsuccessfully to look and sound remotely intelligent. ‘You heard what he said. It’s all very inconclusive. There’s probably no need for us to go to 1980. Don’t you think we should all decide to accept defeat and go back – or is it forwards – to 2010, mid-adventure? It would be so much easier for us all.’
‘But his maladjusted trousers! And all this radiator repairing? I don’t understand!’ Amy moaned.
‘I think this all means,’ said Ricky, ‘that we will have failed in our heroic adventure, and surely that can never ever happen?’
‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, hopefully.
‘Hmmm. Why not?’ said Daniel, sucking the end of his spectacles’ curly bit. ‘Surely there are times when failed heroes like us have to take it easy?’
‘Shall we go and wait in the reception?’ suggested Amy. ‘It sounds as though Uncle Quagmire will be a while, what with all that strange radiator fixing and intensive questioning. And do watch out for all that clothing repositioning, won’t you?’ She looked down and inspected her own clothing. They all looked fine, so far.
When they eventually made their way back down to the reception there was no sign of the inquisitive dog-murdering pale lady. Whatshisname took the opportunity to be very glad indeed. He sighed with relief. He could relax again!
‘She’s gone. That’s a good job,’ said Ricky. ‘She’d only have asked to join our secret club.’
‘Hello!’ said the dog-murdering inquisitive pale lady’s voice from behind them. ‘Are you still interested in using my wardrobe? Oh, your sacrificial doggy is back!’
The children turned in surprise. Whatshisname, his gladness short-lived, skulked behind Ricky and growled a meaningful growl. His second line of defence would be a burst of noxious hell-gas.
‘Oh, hello!’ said Betty. ‘Yes, we do have a small problem. We need a special sort of clock, apparently. It’s called a Nixie clock.’
‘Well,’ said the lady, looking past Ricky to glare at Whatshisname. ‘Isn’t it just your lucky day! I have in my room something that looks a bit like a digital alarm clock. It’s a Nixie clock complete with microcontroller and voltage-regulator. What a strange coincidence! I take it everywhere with me.’
The children were delighted! The pale lady said that she had planned to keep it for a few years in case someone eventually came up with an online auction website on which she could make a small fortune for Fifties memorabilia and be frequently targeted by online fraudsters from Bulgaria due to the lack of a robust firewall, but she thought that the children’s cause was a worthwhile one so she would let them have it for free. ‘As long as I can join The Secret Five,’ she added. ‘And commandeer the dog for my own perverse entertainment.’
Whatshisname growled again, and Ricky stamped his very own foot. ‘I knew it!’ he said. ‘Didn’t we say this would happen?’ He turned inquisitively to the pale dog-murdering lady. ‘I’m in favour of the dog commandeering, in fact I’d encourage it, but can I ask, is this membership with or without privileges?’
The pale lady pondered the question. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘hmmm, yes . . . with, I think.’
‘We have no choice,’ said Betty. ‘We have to go back to 1980. Or is it forward?’
‘I think we should start to make people swear an oath of allegiance or something,’ said Ricky, quite glumly. ‘We’re letting in people without any terms and conditions, and don’t know if they’re going to be loyal and trustworthy. That can’t be good for future loyalty and trustworthiness.’
The others all thought that was a valid point, especially as they still doubted Ricky’s loyalty and trustworthiness, so they huddled together and discussed whether the pale lady with a wardrobe looked like a potentially trustworthy member of their elite club and how they could test her loyalty. But then Betty pointed out that, very soon, if the adventure went well, they would be back in 2010 and the lady, as she looked so very pale, will have quietly died years ago, and there were no constitutional procedures for granting posthumous Secret Five membership, so they might as well let her in and make use of her Nixie clock.
‘Good plan!’ said Ricky. ‘Which one of us is going to tell her that she’s going to quietly die very soon? Can I? Let me! Please!’
‘Woof woof woof!’ volunteered Whatshisname eagerly.
‘We don’t have to tell her that,’ said Betty, quite sensibly. ‘We just say that she’s got temporary membership but advise her to make full use of the privileges soon because she hasn’t got much time left.’
Of course, when they told the pale lady, she was quite understanding, and yet still inquisitive and pale. She was also quite disappointed when they said that she couldn’t have Whatshisname as they may need a nourishing ready meal later in the story, should they all get marooned on a lifeboat mid-ocean for weeks on end while searching for a strange and mysterious island where there was probably some treasure that had been buried in a stout and sturdy wooden box.
‘I’m quite understanding of your executive decisions
,’ the pale lady said, ‘and slightly interested in the bit of narrative about the buried treasure, which has the potential to sound terribly exciting, if you like that sort of thing, and don’t mind the story suddenly shooting off in a completely different, irrelevant and illogical direction. But for now, whenever you’re ready, go and help yourself to my wardrobe and my clock. Here’s my room key. I gave the other one to someone else, so this is proving to be a very popular pastime indeed.’
‘Popular?’ asked Betty, frowning an important frown. ‘Someone else?’
‘Why, yes!’ said the pale lady. ‘Only a few minutes ago, an old lady with a West Bromwich Albion bobble hat went up to use the wardrobe and the clock. She said she was a fully paid-up member of The Secret Five, and not to mention it to you as it would be a nice surprise. But for the sake of this particular adventure, and to help fill this ever-growing plot hole, I have. So there.’
‘Oh, blow!’ exclaimed Daniel. ‘What did she say she was going to do?’
‘She didn’t,’ said the pale lady inquisitively. ‘But she did seem to be in a bit of a hurry.’
‘Gosh, do you think she overheard what Uncle Quagmire was saying?’ Amy asked.
‘Well, I did notice her lurking secretively and making copious notes,’ the pale inquisitive lady said, ‘while your Uncle Quagmire was telling you all about that Sampson de Lylow rogue.’
The children were horrified at all the secret lurking and copious notes! Old Hag had overheard their secret plans to go to 1980 and stop Sampson de Lylow being driven into the arms of the devil himself! This called for some sort of urgent action! Ricky, in a burst of urgency that was unknown where food was not involved, took charge. ‘Hurry up!’ he urged, grabbing the key from the pale lady. ‘We have to get to that room to stop Old Hag!’
But they were stopped in their tracks by Amy. ‘Look!’ she said, pointing. ‘Uncle Quagmire has left Sampson’s autobiography! It’s on that chair.’
And, sure enough, there on a chair was the book!
‘Let’s take it with us,’ suggested Betty. ‘You never know when we’ll need it.’
Daniel grabbed the book and stuffed it down the front of his trousers, suspecting that it might be important to the story at some stage. They all said goodbye to the pale inquisitive lady and hurried upstairs to her room. Whatshisname bounded after them. It was ages since he had been involved in any sort of bounding activity and it made him feel good, especially to be able to get some distance between the pale dog-murdering lady and him.
‘This is my room,’ the pale lady said as they reached her room.
‘Er, sorry, I thought we’d all said goodbye to you in the reception,’ whispered Daniel.
‘Woof woof woof!’ agreed Whatshisname.
‘Oh,’ whispered the pale lady. ‘My mistake. I’ll go then, shall I?’
They all nodded their heads and the pale lady hurried away from the narrative, again. Daniel glanced up into thin air and shook his head in disbelief. Then, quickly, they let themselves into the pale inquisitive lady’s room. There, in a pale corner of the room, stood a wardrobe! But, to their utter dismay, there was no sign of Old Hag.
‘There’s no sign of Old Hag,’ confirmed Ricky. ‘But look! On the bedside cabinet. A contraption! She must have already gone to 1980!’
And, sure enough, on the bedside cabinet, was a clock-like contraption! It was a wooden box with a dial and big red digital numbers, and looked quite a lot like a clock.
Feeling important for a change, Ricky opened up the sheet of paper that Uncle Quagmire had given them. They all gathered very closely around him as he followed the detailed instructions. Carefully, he rigged up the clock and the wardrobe. Unfortunately, due to the fact that they were gathered very closely around him, no-one else could see exactly how all the up-rigging was done. So, damn it, it has to remain a mystery to all except the children and Whatshisname.
‘All secretly and carefully done,’ said Ricky, standing back and admiring his work. ‘I did have a few problems with the tensile modulator and the economy-mode regulator toggle switch but, apart from that, it’s all quite easy really. All it needs now is to set the year and we’re done.’
‘Well done, Ricky. Let’s get into the portal wardrobe,’ suggested Amy. She opened the wardrobe door and peeked inside.
‘I’ll now set the year,’ Ricky volunteered. ‘I’m good at setting years.’
‘Oh, all right,’ said Daniel, slightly grumpily. He was thinking that his role as alpha male was slipping away, not realising that he himself was closer to a delta or epsilon male. But Daniel thought that Ricky was definitely a born beta male and should know his place when it comes to doing stuff like this. ‘And hurry up, won’t you, Ricky?’ he grumped.
Amy, Betty and Daniel headed for the wardrobe as Ricky set about setting the clock to 1980. But Whatshisname was growling, the hackles on the back of his neck standing up out of respect.
‘What’s up, boy?’ asked Ricky.
‘Ha!’ a voice said. They looked to where the voice seemed to be coming from, and suddenly realised that it was from the bed! At first they all thought it was a talking bed, but soon they realised that Old Hag was hiding under the bedclothes!
She struggled to untangle herself and get to the wardrobe. ‘I’m coming with you!’ she yelled, then fell flat on her face on the floor. ‘Ouch! Wait! I bet you’ve got some sprouts! Wait for me! Ha! I have my own secret mission to attend to!’
‘Stop her!’ Betty yelled.
With no thought for his own safety, Whatshisname grabbed the leg of Old Hag’s trousers and pulled and pulled, giving Ricky time to hurriedly finish setting the clock and climb into the wardrobe. To their dismay, Old Hag clambered in after him, dragging a growling Whatshisname, who was still attached to her trouser leg.
‘Get her out!’ Amy yelled. ‘I don’t like these plot reversals!’
Ricky, who was slightly strong for a boy of his spineless character, and Amy, who wasn’t, grabbed hold of Old Hag. Carefully, yet brutally, they dragged her out of the wardrobe.
‘Ricky! Amy! Whatshisname!’ shouted Betty. ‘Come back in! Quickly!’
Whatshisname, thinking Betty had shouted I’ve got a ham sandwich! With pickle! let go of Old Hag and jumped into the wardrobe! Meanwhile, Ricky and Amy held on very firmly to her as she struggled and wriggled.
‘Catch us up later!’ shouted Betty. She slammed the wardrobe door just as a strange and unearthly whirring sound began to happen. Betty, Daniel and Whatshisname were on their way to 1980!
Or so they thought!
Chapter Twenty One
In which even more troublesome things happen; Old Hag has a fine reason to chuckle; the chapter ends on a bit of a cliffhanger; so that’s what you call it; yes.
In the bedroom, Old Hag suddenly stopped struggling.
‘Why have you suddenly stopped struggling?’ asked Amy. ‘Is there something we should know?’
‘It’s a trick!’ said Ricky. ‘She’s an awfully devious old hag. Keep struggling with her, even though she’s not struggling herself!’
‘Ha!’ said Old Hag, struggling to stop them struggling. ‘You’re right, Ricko, I am rather devious and proud of it! I’d have already gone to 1980 and settled this mission if I’d have had some Brussels sprouts! But, silly children, take a look at the time-travel clock! Ha! and ha! again! Look at it!! I’m so unbelievably happy that I could have a crack at the world record for the number of exclamation marks in one paragraph!!!’
They stopped all the unnecessary struggling and looked at the time-travel clock on the bedside cabinet.
‘Does that say what I think it says?’ asked Amy.
‘I don’t know,’ said Ricky, letting go of Old Hag. ‘What do you think it says?’
‘It looks like 1880,’ said Amy, quite confused.
‘Ha!’ said Old Hag gleefully. ‘You’ve sent them to the wrong century! What a laugh! I’m so utterly gleeful!’
Amy and Ricky stared at the number
s on the clock, then at each other, then back to the numbers on the clock. Old Hag stood examining her fingernails as they did all the staring. Eventually, fed up of staring, Ricky spoke. ‘Er . . .’ he said.
Old Hag chuckled. ‘ Er? Is that all you can say? Er? They’ve gone backwards to 1880 and all you can think of is er? Ha! Silly children. My mission is becoming easier by the hour. This stopping you from saving the world is a doddle, it really is.’
‘But . . .’ said Amy.
‘Erm . . .’ said Ricky.
‘While you’re standing there, butting and erming,’ cackled Old Hag, ‘I’m off to find Bartle. I want to make sure he’ll do the necessary with Clarissa the stunt nun. I’m going to see that they’re happy ever after and that she is soon big with stunt child. Ha! Take your time, losers!’ She made an L sign with her finger and thumb and waved it around in front of Amy.
‘Erm . . .’ said Amy.
‘But . . .’ said Ricky.
Old Hag hurried out of the room, chuckling to herself, which has been proved to be the most effective way to chuckle. Amy and Ricky both examined the clock, just in case it was a typo. But no, it still read 1880.
‘How did that happen?’ Amy asked. ‘Gosh! Did you make a mistake, Ricky?’
Ricky hung his head in shame. He shuffled over to the wardrobe and peeked inside. It was empty, apart from a faint aroma of creosote and pineapple. He sank down on the edge of the bed.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said, quite mournfully. ‘They’ll be trapped in 1880. They’ll need a digital alarm clock to get back. And it’s all my fault.’
‘That’s true,’ Amy said, brightly. ‘I’m quite happy to blame you totally for their loss. I’m all for a blame culture in The Secret Five.’
‘I feel like hankering,’ Ricky said.
‘What?’
‘I said I feel like hankering,’ Ricky said. He was glad of the opportunity to use the word at last. ‘Do you have one?’
‘One what?’ Amy was confused.
‘A hanky,’ Ricky said.
‘No! And I’ve no idea what you’re on about, Ricky,’ Amy snapped. ‘Sometimes, honestly! Pull yourself together and just accept the fact that you’ve probably killed the other three. Now, shall we go and find Uncle Quagmire to explain what’s happened? Do you think he’s finished questioning Clarissa and mending her radiator by now?’
The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy Page 17