Now what? thought Atticus.
Suddenly a small, furry kitten shot through the air on the end of a vine. It grabbed the fart powder out of Mr Tucker’s grasp and sprinkled it on the crocodile-infested mud. Then it landed lightly on the deck of the amphibious vehicle and grinned back at Atticus.
Thomas! Atticus didn’t know whether to be cross or proud that the kitten had done something so dangerous. But it had worked. There was a small explosion as the fart powder combusted with the sticky mud to produce a super-strength pong. A cloud of eggy fog enveloped the two vessels.
‘Head for the gangplank!’ Mrs Tucker hoisted Inspector Cheddar on to her shoulders in a fireman’s lift. ‘Go!’
Mrs Cheddar went first, then Callie and Michael and Mrs Tucker with Inspector Cheddar on her back. Then Atticus and Bones. Everyone was coughing and spluttering. The smell was revolting. Atticus risked a glance down. The mud was heaving with the writhing, twisting bodies of crocodiles. They were heading back to the river as fast as their short little legs would take them. His plan had worked, with Thomas’s help. Atticus decided not to be cross. The kitten had been incredibly brave.
Professor Verry-Clever threw open the door to the tank’s attack-proof cabin. ‘Quick!’ he choked. ‘Get in!’ They tumbled inside one after another.
‘You’re okay!’ Mimi curled her tail around Atticus’s.
‘Apart from being a bit smelly,’ he said. He cleaned his whiskers quickly. ‘Talking of which, where’s Nellie?’
Mimi pointed through the galley to the sleeping quarters. ‘She went to get some more wool from her bunk.’
‘Oh.’ Stupid question, thought Atticus, rubbing hard at his whiskers. More to the point, where was Mr Tucker? Everyone was accounted for, apart from him. Atticus peeped out of the window. The cloud of fog had dispersed. Oh no! Mr Tucker had almost crossed the gangplank. His good leg was on the deck of the amphibious vehicle. But for some reason the wooden one wasn’t. It seemed to have disappeared over the side.
‘HELP!’ Mr Tucker shouted. ‘ME LEG’S STUCK!’
‘Wait here!’ Mrs Tucker threw Inspector Cheddar on to the sofa and rushed back outside to help her husband. She gripped Mr Tucker under the armpits and heaved. Mr Tucker’s leg didn’t budge. It was stuck between the amphibious vehicle and the gangplank.
Atticus tried to think what to do. It was pitch dark apart from the light in the cabin. His sharp ears heard the sound of gnashing teeth and swishing fish tails coming from behind the amphibious vehicle. There were flying piranha fish gathering at the edge of the river! If he didn’t do something soon, Mr and Mrs Tucker would both be chewed to death.
Suddenly Atticus had an idea. The river creatures liked to attack under cover of darkness. But the Commander had said the amphibious vehicle could travel at night. The headlights! He leapt on to the instrument panel and searched for the switch. FLICK! All at once the river was bathed in light. The gnashing and swishing stopped. The flying piranha fish had swum away!
‘Good work, Atticus!’ Professor Verry-Clever congratulated him. ‘That should do it.’
‘Ouch!’ Mr Tucker yelled. ‘There’s a leech in me trousers.’
Or not! The deadly river creatures weren’t finished yet, thought Atticus. He’d have to come up with another plan.
‘I can’t do anything about that!’ Mrs Tucker shouted at her husband. ‘You’ll just have to put up with it.’
‘What about the anaconda round me waist?’ Mr Tucker gasped, his eyes popping.
‘Bloomin’ hake!’ Mrs Tucker jumped back. A huge snake had wrapped itself around Mr Tucker’s arms and trunk. It was squeezing the life out of him.
Think! Atticus told himself. Think!
‘Bones, help me get a rope round it and we’ll try and pull it off!’ Mrs Tucker ordered. ‘The rest of you, try and find something slippery to free Mr Tucker’s wooden leg!’
Callie and Michael searched through the cupboards with Mrs Cheddar and the Professor. ‘There’s nothing here,’ Callie said.
But Atticus knew of something. His eyes gleamed. Mr Tucker’s beard-jumper shampoo! That was slippery! He dashed out of the cabin. Mrs Tucker had lassoed the anaconda with Bones’s help, but still the snake wasn’t letting go.
‘Aaarrrrggghhhhh!’ Mr Tucker’s face was purple. ‘It’s squishin’ me!’
‘Give me a hand!’ Mrs Tucker shouted at the others. ‘Make a line!’
‘One, two three, HEAVE!’ yelled Mrs Tucker, wrapping the end of the rope around her waist. It was like a tug of war between the humans and the anaconda with Mrs Tucker as the anchor. So far though the snake was winning. It didn’t budge.
Atticus dithered on the deck. He couldn’t reach the beard-jumper shampoo in Mr Tucker’s pocket unless the anaconda let go.
‘Owwwwww!’ Mr Tucker yelled. His face had gone from purple to blue and back to purple again.
Just then Nellie appeared at the cabin door. In one of her withered hands she held a long, knitted woollen snake. She threw it towards Atticus. The snake landed beside his front paws. He regarded her in puzzlement. What was he supposed to do with that?
She looked at him steadily. Then she said, Stab it with your claws.
Except this time Atticus was sure she didn’t actually say it; not out loud anyway. Nellie hadn’t opened her mouth. She was up to her witchy tricks again! She was talking to him in his head! He shook his head hard, his ears flapping, trying to get her out.
You heard me, Atticus. This time Nellie’s voice was sharp. Stab it!
Atticus didn’t dare disobey her. He bared his claws and pounced on the knitted snake. To his amazement, the real anaconda writhed and twisted. Whatever witchy thing he was doing, it seemed to be working.
Do it again.
Atticus pounced a second time. The anaconda let out a furious hiss. Atticus could see that its grip was loosening.
Now pull it off.
Atticus grabbed the tail of the knitted snake with his paws and gave it a sharp yank. This time the anaconda let go of Mr Tucker. It unravelled itself from his body as if a great force were pulling it, and disappeared over the side of the amphibious vehicle. There was a soft squelch as it landed in the mud.
‘It’s gone!’ Mrs Tucker cried. ‘Well done, everyone!’
Atticus felt dazed. No one else had seen what happened. Only he and Nellie knew why the snake had really let go. He wobbled unsteadily over to Mr Tucker, reached into his trouser pocket, took out the beard-shampoo and squirted it over Mr Tucker’s wooden leg. He was so bewildered that he barely even noticed the millipedes scratching at his paw.
‘Thanks, Atticus!’ Mr Tucker’s leg came free with a pop.
‘Fall back, everyone!’ Mrs Tucker ordered.
Atticus felt Callie scoop him up around the tummy. They stumbled into the cabin and slammed the door shut.
The following morning, approximately one hundred miles downriver, The Toffly Treasure Hunter was approaching the waterfall.
‘Are you sure you’ve fixed the parachute on properly, Benjamin?’ said Lady Toffly from her deck chair, where she was busy polishing a pair of gleaming pistols with SpoonBrite. Lady Toffly was still wearing her raiding-party outfit, which consisted of a camouflage suit, a pair of stout lace-up boots and a brown headscarf knotted beneath her chin like the one the Queen wears when she goes horse riding.
‘Yes, Antonia, quite sure,’ her son-in-law replied. ‘I just need to pull the ripcord when we go over the cliff.’
‘Well, have another look, would you?’ Lady Toffly barked. ‘I don’t want to take any chances. Then get me my waterproof flak jacket from the cabin. There’s a lot of spray up ahead.’
Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel ground his teeth. The goofy old bat was really getting on his nerves. Since she’d successfully led the raid on The Jolly Jellyfish three days ago, Lady Toffly had been acting like a modern-day queen of the ancient Maya, bossing him around like a doomed slave.
‘And while you’re down there, you can get me another pa
ir of pistols to polish. And a large brandy. That champagne you brought is for sissies.’
‘Very well, Antonia.’ Grind, grind, grind. Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel told himself to stop. He wouldn’t have any teeth left at this rate. It was lucky they were big, like the rest of him, or they’d be ground to stumps by now. He felt his shoulders sag. The truth was it wasn’t just Lady Toffly’s bossiness that was making him grind his molars like a demented ruminant. It was her belligerence. The Ambassador had never heard such a blood-curdling screech as when Lady Toffly had boarded The Jolly Jellyfish (not even in a film); nor witnessed such a determined advance on the enemy (in this case the Tuckers and their cats); nor anticipated such a thorough demolition job of the enemy’s supplies. Lady Toffly hadn’t even baulked at the repulsive stink coming from Mr Tucker’s sock drawer. She’d just turned it out and grabbed Howard Toffly’s papers without batting an eyelid.
Thus it was only now, having seen the resolute set of her horsy jaw, the steely glint in her gimlet eye, and the piratical curl of her upper lip, that Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel realised exactly what a tricky problem he faced. How, precisely, was he going to stop Lady Toffly from getting her mitts on the treasure? It was obvious from the raid on The Jolly Jellyfish that Lady Toffly would sooner shoot him than allow him to give any of the lost treasure of the jaguar gods back to the Nicaraguan government.
And if he didn’t give any of the treasure back to the Nicaraguan government he would never become a lord.
Somehow, though, being a lord just didn’t seem enough any more. Sailing along this river in the middle of the jungle in the paddle splashes of the ancient Maya made him yearn for something more. Imagine, he thought, what it must have been like a thousand years ago. Imagine the treasure. Imagine the slaves. Imagine the king. Imagine the sacrifices that had been made along the way to appease the jaguar gods. His mind went to the two sacrificial masks, which were still lying untouched in Howard Toffly’s chest under the Ambassador’s extra-large bed. His eyes sparkled.
Imagine the priests …
They were the ones with the real power. Just think: if he had been a priest of the ancient Maya, he could have had Lady Toffly sacrificed at the click of his fingers. Oh what joy to put on a sacrificial mask and point a priestly finger at the bossy bat; what satisfaction to see Antonia hauled up the steps of the Acropolis to the sacrificial slab; what delight to hear the crowds baying for her blood; what comfort to know that the tables were turned and that he was finally in charge …
‘Benjamin, stop daydreaming!’ shrieked Lady Toffly. ‘We’re nearly at the fall!’
The Toffly Treasure Hunter was picking up speed now. They were heading full tilt for the waterfall. From down below in the cabin came the sound of chattering magpies and a vomiting parrot.
BLLEEEERRRRRGGGGGHHHH.
Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel checked the parachute one last time. The river boiled and churned.
‘Ribena! Roderick! Get up here at once!’ Lady Toffly shouted. ‘You’re missing all the action. And bring my umbrella and a large brandy. Benjamin’s useless. It’s because he’s not a lord, you know.’
‘Yes, Mother.’ Ribena and Lord Toffly emerged on deck and took their places beside Lady Toffly.
‘What are you waiting for? Now, Benjamin! NOW!’ screamed Lady Toffly, opening the umbrella.
His head still full of priestly whims, Benjamin Posh-Scoundrel pulled the ripcord. The parachute billowed above them.
The Toffly Treasure Hunter sailed straight over the cliff and began an elegant descent into the valley of the jaguar gods.
Two days later …
Back on the amphibious vehicle, Atticus had finally plucked up the courage to describe to Mimi what had happened the night Mr Tucker was attacked by the deadly river creatures. Since then, the rescuers had made good progress without further mishap. To his relief, Nellie hadn’t tried anything else witchy. Atticus was beginning to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing. ‘It was as if I stuck my claws into the anaconda, not the knitted snake,’ he told Mimi uncertainly. ‘But I’m not sure now if it really happened or not.’
‘It must have,’ said Mimi. ‘That snake wasn’t going anywhere and then it suddenly let go.’
‘But why?’ asked Atticus, bewildered. ‘Or should I say how?’
‘I think it’s called voodoo,’ Mimi said, frowning. ‘It’s a type of magic. The doll represents the person or creature that’s doing you harm. Nellie must have knitted up the snake to save Mr Tucker, then used you to help her.’
‘So I am her familiar, then?’ Atticus said gloomily.
‘It looks like it.’
‘Why choose me, though?’ Atticus asked sulkily. ‘Why not Thomas, or Bones, or you?’
‘Because you have the most power,’ Mimi said. ‘Your instinct is the strongest. You’re related to an Egyptian cat pharaoh. You understand things we don’t. Nellie’s magic might not work with Thomas, or me, or Bones, or any of the cats at the cats’ home for that matter. It can take years for a witch to find her familiar.’
Atticus sighed. It was all very well having instinct and knowing things without being told them, but he still didn’t want to be a witch’s cat. His tail sagged. Was that what Nellie had in mind when she said she’d come on the expedition in case they needed any knitting doing? That the two of them could do voodoo together?
Mimi read his expression. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said soothingly. ‘I’m sure Nellie would only ever ask you to help in an emergency. She’d never ask you to hurt anything unless there was no other choice.’
Atticus felt a bit better. It was true what Mimi said: if Nellie hadn’t knitted the snake for him to pounce on, Mr Tucker would have been crushed to death by a large anaconda.
‘Everyone on deck!’ Mrs Tucker interrupted his thoughts. ‘You’ve got to see this!’
Atticus and Mimi scampered up the steps from the cabin.
The river had widened into a great delta. Atticus could barely see the other side; it was so far away. And the current had picked up. The amphibious vehicle was keeping close to the bank but further out in the middle of the river the water eddied and swirled over rocks and boulders as if it was in a tearing hurry to get somewhere.
‘Look!’ meowed Mimi.
Ahead of them a vast cloud of mist hung in the air in a giant curtain. From beyond it there came a great booming and crashing sound.
The waterfall!
‘We’d better get out of here,’ Mrs Tucker said. She picked a spot on the bank and directed them towards it. The current was getting stronger. The amphibious vehicle was being borne along by it. Mrs Tucker fought with the controls. Eventually they reached the bank.
‘Hit the TANK button,’ Mrs Tucker instructed. Together Callie and Michael flipped the lever and the tank crawled out of the river on its tractor tyres and into the rainforest.
‘We’ll go through the jungle and see if we can find another way down to the lagoon,’ Mrs Tucker said. She put the tank into gear. ‘Hold on, everyone, I think we’re in for a bumpy ride.’
They bumped along through the trees. Mrs Tucker had to keep swerving to avoid banging into the thick trunks. Atticus felt a bit sick.
‘Excuse me, Mrs Tucker.’ Inspector Cheddar lurched over. ‘Don’t you think we’re getting a bit far away from where we want to be?’
Atticus groaned. Inspector Cheddar had his ‘I’m in charge here’ face on.
‘Definitely not,’ Mrs Tucker replied. ‘I think we should go out wider so we don’t fall off the cliff. Besides,’ she added, pointing in the direction Inspector Cheddar wanted to go, ‘the jungle’s too thick that way. There’s no knowing what might be lurking in the undergrowth.’
‘Well, I used to be a traffic policeman,’ Inspector Cheddar reminded her stiffly. ‘So I think I should decide.’
There was a tense silence.
‘Fine!’ Mrs Tucker said eventually. ‘Be my guest.’
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this,’ Atticus said to Mimi.
<
br /> ‘Me too,’ she admitted.
Inspector Cheddar took the wheel and swung the tank to the right. They crashed through the vegetation. Bumpety-bumpety-bump. Judder-judder-judder-judder-judder. Atticus thought he was going to throw up.
The vehicle slowed to a crawl. The vegetation was thicker than ever. The jungle seemed to crowd in on them, as if it were trying to force the tank to a halt. Branches slapped at the windows and thumped on the roof. The ground was boggy and treacherous. Thick black mud splashed on the windows like treacle.
All of a sudden Atticus felt a familiar tingling sensation in his tail. Gradually it spread all the way through his fur, along his body, to the tips of his ears. They were in danger – real danger! He peered upwards through the tangle of green. His tail twitched. Something was moving up there in the dappled patches of light and shade.
‘Mimi,’ he whispered, ‘I think we’re being hunted.’
Just then a threatening rumble came from overhead. ‘RRRRRRRRRRRRRR!’
‘Sounds like thunder,’ Inspector Cheddar said cheerfully. ‘I think it’s going to rain.’
It’s not thunder, Atticus thought. He knew exactly what it was. So did everyone else, apart from Inspector Cheddar, come to that.
‘Dad!’ Michael whispered. ‘It’s not thunder.’
‘What is it, then?’ Inspector Cheddar said.
‘It’s a jaguar,’ Professor Verry-Clever told him.
Something heavy dropped on to the roof of the cabin. THUMP!
‘RRRRRRRRRRRRRR!’ The rumble came again – this time from close above their heads. The vehicle shook.
‘Don’t panic!’ Mrs Tucker said quietly. ‘Everyone stay still. It’s just having a look.’
Atticus Claw Hears a Roar Page 9