Uncle Cleans Up

by J. P. Martin

  “I will now finish the sentence I began before I was interrupted. At all times I wish to avoid the appearance of display, so I began my speech very quietly. I repeat: my gift will be one banana, one coconut, and one Whang Egg—” he paused impressively – “for every minute of the next five years. Some of you who are good at arithmetic can work out what that means!”

  The badgers are not good at arithmetic, but they knew this meant a vast number, and their applause was deafening.

  While the cheering was going on the King of the Badgers motioned to his court mathematician, Professor Badgerinstein, and had a whispered exchange with him.

  As soon as the cheering stopped the King said:

  “Professor Badgerinstein has gone to feed the figures into the court computer. We now await the results of the calculations. Meanwhile, I can safely say that all sick and aged badgers will be splendidly looked after for years to come. Now one more cheer for our benefactor—”

  Uncle gave one smile round, waved his trunk, and took his seat, perhaps a trifle heavily, in the huge chair provided for him.

  Then tragedy struck.

  There was a sudden appalling crash and Uncle, his chair, and his table disappeared together into the hollow place beneath the platform. For a moment everybody was struck dumb. Then a great cloud of dust rose and obscured the platform. This was no ordinary dust. It seemed to have pepper in it, and everybody was taken with violent sneezing.

  Even while sneezing, the Old Monkey and Goodman managed to crawl to the edge of the jagged hole and peer into it.

  But there was nothing to see – even when the dust subsided. Uncle had disappeared. So had his table and chair, and the piece of platform on which he had stood. All that was left of his splendid presence was the great jewelled festival watch which must have had fallen from him as the platform gave way. The Old Monkey gathered it up, weeping.

  “It was sawn through. The platform was sawn nearly through!” said Goodman. “Look, look!”

  Goodman and the Old Monkey examined the broken edge of wood, and while they were doing so Badgertown police arrived and confirmed their suspicions. The whole square of platform on which Uncle’s chair had been placed needed only the extra pressure given by Uncle as he sat down after his speech to collapse entirely.

  Loud wailing arose, and everywhere groups of melancholy badgers began searching for their benefactor.

  Darkness was coming on, and the Old Monkey was distracted. There seemed no clue, no hope.

  All at once there was a clatter of hooves, and a lean man wearing a cowboy hat rode up on a sweating horse. He was called Wolfskin Webber and lived near Badfort on the Wolftown side.

  “You lookin’ fer der big guy?” he shouted.

  “Yes, yes,” came from a thousand anxious voices.

  “Wal, I jest cam’ ridin’ pas’ Badfort, and I see a lot o’ dem Hateman guys with a big furniture van. They was laffin’ fit ter split.”

  “Go on, go on,” gasped the Old Monkey. “Did you see inside the van?” “Nope, I never,” said Wolfskin Webber, “I don’t hang aroun’ dem guys no more n’ I kin help, but I hear a sorter trumpetin’ and buttin’—”

  This was it. The terrible secret was out. A council of war was held at once with the Old Monkey acting as chairman. It was clear now that a furniture van with a sliding open top had been backed in below the platform, and that when the floor had given way Uncle had been dropped neatly in, and had at once been motored off to Badfort. And while this was being done the rest of the Badfort crowd had thrown pepper in the air to confuse his friends and make a quick getaway possible.

  The position was indeed grave.

  “Back to Homeward,” said Captain Walrus, “to collect stone clubs and other fighting materials – and then make a united attack on Badfort.”

  The meeting agreed that this was the best thing to do.

  “But it will take time!” said the Old Monkey. “I can’t wait. He may be very stunned and tortured. I must go and do what I can!”

  “I’ll come with you,” said Goodman.

  Captain Walrus and Cowgill promised to get things quickly organized at Homeward, and the Old Monkey and Goodman started for Badfort. They knew they were going into terrible danger but they had to do it.

  “Luckily I’ve got my savings in a money-bag under my shirt,” said the Old Monkey. “I often carry it with me in case of need.”

  “That gives me an idea,” said Goodman. “Today’s Tuesday, and Blenkinsop has a branch at Sable Gulf that is open from six to six-thirty. We might just catch him. Let’s see if he can think of anything.”

  “He’ll take too long,” said the Old Monkey miserably. “You remember the short cut to the dwarfs’ drinking fountains!”

  “You never know,” said Goodman. “As it’s urgent he might hurry for once!”

  They were pleased to see a light still burning in Blenkinsop’s small wooden hut in Sable Gulf. Not far beyond towered the vast, black bulk of Badfort.

  Luckily the wizard had stayed late, for people had been so occupied with the sale that he knew that any customers needing spells would only come after it was over.

  “Wizard,” panted the Old Monkey, desperately, “I need your help – now quickly!”

  The Old Monkey was so out of breath – he isn’t as used to running as Goodman is – that Goodman had to tell the tale of the kidnapping.

  “I’ll help, of course,” said Blenkinsop. “Wait a minute while I get a kangle-pot and a bit of moon-misty flamingo, and—”

  “Please, please, Mr Blenkinsop,” pleaded the Old Monkey. “I can’t wait while you do a spell, I can’t!”

  “I can’t promise results without a spell,” said Blenkinsop.

  “What about Clutchclamp?” said Goodman.

  “What d’you know about Clutchclamp?” said Blenkinsop crossly.

  “I signed for the registered parcel at Wizard Glen when you bought some,” said Goodman. “I remember what a fuss you made about it being so valuable and putting it in the safe at once. And I—”

  “What is Clutchclamp?” interrupted the Old Monkey. “Do hurry!”

  “Clutchclamp! That’s a good idea,” said Blenkinsop, “and I have a small quantity here. But it won’t do. It costs too much!”

  “Give it to us,” said Goodman. “Surely you can do that for once! For Uncle. Come on, give it to us – free!”

  “If you knew anything about wizard work,” said Blenkinsop, “you’d know Clutchclamp won’t work unless paid for in cash!”

  “Prove it!” cried Goodman excitedly. “Prove it! Go on. Can’t you see the situation’s desperate? Give it us now! I always remember how mean you were over saucers of milk and the way you—”

  “I can pay for Clutchclamp, whatever it is – now,” said the Old Monkey.

  “I doubt it,” said Blenkinsop. “It is a rare pill which makes the person who swallows it invisible. It also opens locked doors. And – it costs exactly one hundred pounds!”

  “I have a hundred pounds four shillings and sixpence,” almost shouted the Old Monkey, fumbling for his well-worn wallet, “all my savings – here.”

  “Who’d have thought it!” said Blenkinsop.

  “You’d never give all your savings to help anybody – that I do know!” cried Goodman.

  “You’d better be more polite or I’ll put a spell on you!” Blenkinsop warned him.

  Blenkinsop went to a small safe and brought out a round green box in which lay one bright pink pill.

  “Swallow that,” Blenkinsop told the Old Monkey. “It will last for twenty-four hours.”

  The Old Monkey swallowed the pill, and sent Goodman to Homeward to say what he had done, and to urge them to hurry with preparations for the attack.

  The Old Monkey, feeling very frightened, for he was still not sure if the pill would work, walked up to the front gate of Badfort. A sentry was there, sitting on a barrel with a crossbow by his side, but as the Old Monkey went past him he only moved slightly to take anot
her banana from a pile in front of him.

  The Old Monkey felt better. He really was invisible.

  In the big front hall of Badfort a monster meeting was being held, presided over by Beaver Hateman. The Old Monkey paused by the open door to listen.

  Sigismund Hateman was singing a song with a chorus of “Stinggoon” which everybody yelled.

  “See that pompous humbug Unc

  On the platform raise his trunk,”

  sang Sigismund, and the rest all shouted: “Stinggoon! Stinggoon! STINGGOON!”

  “Watch him spouting like a pump,

  Watch him sit, the oily lump:

  That’s the moment—

  CRUMP!

  CRUMP!

  CRUMP!”

  At every ‘CRUMP’ they stamped their feet; then they burst again into the chorus:

  “Stinggoon! Stinggoon! STINGGOON!”

  The Old Monkey felt shaken. Although he was invisible the loud singing and rhythmic stamping frightened him.

  “We’ll have a million out of the old dog as the lowest ransom!” bellowed Beaver Hateman. He threw a Black Tom bottle out of the door, just missing the Old Monkey. It struck the sentry, and stunned him.

  “So much the better for us when the attack begins!” thought the Old Monkey, shuddering as he hurried on.

  He did not know where to go in the rickety galleries of Badfort. There were hundreds of rooms, many with the roofs falling in, and all the passages were piled with rubble and broken glass. The only light was an occasional gleam from a scob-oil lamp.

  He dared not call Uncle’s name for fear the party below might hear. What could he do?

  He was just standing at the door of a miserable room labelled ‘Burglar’s Outfits’ and feeling hopeless, when he remembered what Blenkinsop had said about Clutchclamp.

  “It will make you invisible and open doors.”

  “I’ll trust to the magic,” thought the Old Monkey, and felt a sudden urge to turn round and go back. He returned nearly to the entrance. In the corner there was a big stone staircase he had not noticed before, and his feet seemed to go up the broken dirty steps without any effort.

  At the top of the steps there was a huge door fastened with a chain and a big lock, and before he could even use his magic power and go through it he heard a firm voice beyond it saying:

  “I’ll never pay that scoundrel a ransom of a million pounds! No, I will not, even if I stay here all my life!”

  The Old Monkey’s heart was filled with delight. He had found Uncle.

  TWENTY

  The Rescue

  AS HE LOOKED at the massive iron-bound door the Old Monkey repeated to himself as bravely as he could: “That door will open.”

  To his unspeakable joy the door began to open slowly and softly. No rattling of chains.

  Uncle did not see it move for he was peering out of a small barred window.

  “Sir!” whispered the Old Monkey.

  Uncle turned and saw the open door. Nobody was there. Nobody. Was this a trick?

  He stood there watchful, wondering.

  “I’m here to help you, sir,” whispered the Old Monkey.

  “Where are you?” asked Uncle, looking in the air, everywhere. “I can’t see you!”

  “Shush, sir! Don’t speak so loudly. I’m invisible because of Blenkinsop’s spell! I am here, really, sir, right here in the doorway—” The story poured out of him. He was so excited he could hardly keep his voice in a whisper.

  When Uncle had heard him through, the old ring came back into his voice, his eyes flashed. He was feeling himself again.

  “You have done magnificently,” he said, “and I shan’t forget it! Now let’s take a look at these gentry downstairs. You say a strong party is on the way from Homeward?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If only I had a stone club or two!”

  They crept down the stairs. At the bottom was a recess.

  “Look, sir!” whispered the Old Monkey.

  There were two weighty objects fastened to the wall, and written underneath them were the words:

  These stone clubs were captured from the Dictator of Homeward by B. Hateman Esq., M.A., and are placed here as trophies of his skill.

  “That’s better!” said Uncle, pulling them from the wall.

  “Excuse me, sir,” said the Old Monkey, “I’ve still got the power of the spell in me, and we’re passing over a trapdoor. I can see through it and directly below are two great underground vats filled with Black Tom and Leper Jack.”

  “Open the trapdoor,” said Uncle, “and prop it open with stones.”

  It was easy enough to do this as there are always lots of stones scattered about in Badfort. The singing and shouting were loud now, and soon they stood in the doorway of the celebration room.

  Beaver Hateman, at the head of the long stone table, had just risen, smiling hideously, to speak.

  “Well, lads,” he said. “This is the best day’s work we’ve ever done. We’ve got the Dictator safe at last – twenty rescue parties can’t get him out of that upstairs room! Let’s visit him and tell him the ransom terms. That’ll make him suffer!”

  “Can I stick a skewer into him, sir?” said Hitmouse. “I’ve made a big one!”

  “Of course, of course, and see a strong article about the meanness of millionaires goes into the Badfort News tomorrow. Come on, boys!”

  “Stinggoon!” came the harsh, sonorous chorus as everybody rose.

  At that moment Beaver Hateman saw Uncle. He seemed, hardened as he was, to turn to stone.

  As he stood staring at the massive figure, holding the two clubs, there was a clatter of many feet outside, and above that sound the voice of Captain Walrus could be heard raised in true sea-dog thunder.

  “Steady! Keep your eyes lifted for the swabs. Marlinspikes ready!”

  Beaver Hateman dived under the table and slithered past Uncle’s legs like a maddened snake.

  But Uncle turned just in time. Beaver Hateman made straight for the open space in the centre of Badfort. Uncle knew well that he planned to get lost in the maze of rooms which surrounded it. This he was determined to prevent.

  Uncle thundered after him, and caught him just as he was getting near the office of the Badfort News on the other side of the square.

  Even for Uncle it was a great kick-up.

  Beaver Hateman was holding a huge lighted cigar in his hand, and the wind made it glow so that everybody could see in the sky what looked like a slowly soaring red light.

  Then it came down, down, down, towards Gaby’s Marsh.

  In the meantime Captain Walrus and his party were driving the rest of the Badfort crowd before them with blow after blow. Some managed to escape into the rickety galleries, but most were forced into the same marsh, filled with barking conger eels and biting crabs, in which their leader lay engulfed.

  And Uncle had not finished yet. He seized a scob-oil lamp and flung it through the open trapdoor into the underground tank filled with Leper Jack.

  “Everybody get out!” shouted Uncle to his party.

  At once, in the entrance to Badfort, a great eruption took place. The liquids stored in the vats were fearfully inflammable, and one set fire to the other. The flames mounted into a ghastly fountain of purple fire. This lit the countryside for many miles, and all Badfort seemed turned into a leaping mass of sinister flame.

  Uncle and his party stood for a minute or two watching, and then Uncle said:

  “We will now quietly and joyfully march home, our pathway lit by the destruction of the vilest castle of infamy ever constructed.”

  In the hall of Homeward Uncle suggested they had a short festive supper and then went to bed. It seemed funny to see a flagon of hot cocoa apparently approaching Uncle by itself, for the Old Monkey was still invisible, of course. He played a very good trick on Goodman, going into a corner and squeaking like a rat. You should have seen the way Goodman dashed to catch a rat that wasn’t there! Everybody laughed very much, and
so did Goodman.

  “As for tomorrow,” said Uncle, “we will have a quiet day of festive congratulation by ourselves, when the Old Monkey, and all of you, will be suitably rewarded.”

  “But everybody will want to come, sir,” said Captain Walrus.

  “If they like to come we can’t stop them,” said Uncle, “but no public festival is to be arranged.”

  But they all knew nothing could stop the next day being observed as a day of revelling.

  Uncle was soon in bed and snoring happily, but Cowgill said to Captain Walrus:

  “I say, old chap, don’t you think we’d better have a few illuminations and flags for tomorrow night? It won’t take long to arrange.”

  “I agree with you,” said the Captain, “and I’ve got a special electric star in my lighthouse that I’ve been wanting to try out for months.”

  So they all went to bed, after a last glance out of the window to see if Badfort was still burning. It was, though not as violently as it had been.

  Next morning, when Uncle awoke, the Old Monkey was already by his bedside. The spell had now worn off and Uncle smiled when he saw him.

  “Ah, nice to see you again, my friend,” he said. “You look none the worse for your terrible experiences, I’m glad to say.”

  “Neither do you, sir,” said the Old Monkey. “The King of the Badgers is already here with an illuminated address for you.”

  “I said no public rejoicing,” said Uncle, “but it’s well meant. Show him in.”

  The King of the Badgers had already had breakfast, but he joined Uncle in a golden flagon of cocoa.

  He told Uncle it would be impossible to prevent crowds of people from coming to congratulate him personally.

  “Well,” said Uncle, “I shall see they are well provisioned, but my chief purpose today is to make a presentation to the Old Monkey.”

  After the king had gone Uncle and the Old Monkey had a look through the telescope at Badfort. The volcano of flame had pretty well burnt itself out, but Badfort, although even more battered than before, was still standing. The fact is it’s not very inflammable, as nearly all the doors and windows have been used for firewood.