The Beast of Buckingham Palace

by David Walliams

  “What do you mean ‘a griffin made of fire’? Griffins are the stuff of myth and legend! They are not real!”

  “No, this one is real, Grammy. I promise you. The Lord Protector has used some dark arts to bring a stone statue of a griffin to life. If we don’t stop him, this beast will kill every last one of us.”

  The old lady pondered this for a moment. She took out a long, thin white thing from her handbag.

  “What’s that?” asked the boy.

  “A cigarette.”

  Grammy put the cigarette in an elegant black holder, which she placed between her teeth. Then she found some matches and lit the end.

  STRIKE!

  Instantly, foul-smelling smoke clouded the air.

  “What on earth are you doing, Grammy?” spluttered Alfred between coughs.

  “Smoking…” She took a long, deep drag. “Something foolish folk like me used to do in the olden days. Something that you must never, ever do.”

  The boy shook his head. Grown-ups were weird. This was a disgusting habit.

  Next, the old lady brought out a little silver container, called a hip flask, and took a swig.

  “What’s in there?” asked Alfred.

  “Gin! Yes! I am drinking alcohol. Another thing you must never, ever do.”

  “Anything else while you’re at it?” asked the boy.

  The Old Queen took another drag on her cigarette, before enjoying another swig of gin.

  “Gambling. Swearing. Cheating at cards. Putting ten sugar lumps in your tea. Eating toast in bed. Picking your nose. Peeing in the bath. Blowing off and blaming it on someone else. Scratching your bottom in public. All horrible habits that you must promise to never, ever do.”

  Alfred couldn’t help but smile when he replied, “I promise, Grammy.”

  “Good boy. Now if what you say about this beast is true…”

  “It is true.”

  “…then this Lord Protector is more powerful than we had ever imagined.”

  The Old Queen took the cigarette holder out of her mouth and hollered, “LADIES!”

  The old dears gathered around their mistress.

  “We must stop the Lord Protector in his evil plan! We will strike… tonight!”

  “TONIGHT?” spluttered Enid.

  “Yes. Tonight! We will sound the signal for the people of Britain to rise up against this tyranny!”

  “Thirteen bongs of Big Ben!” said Alfred.

  “So you are one of us!” replied Grammy. “We will make a revolutionary of you yet! Set sail for the Houses of Parliament!”

  “But, Your Majesty,” began Agatha, the rotund lady with the walking stick, “the Houses of Parliament are still under the control of the royal guards. The intelligence tells us they have doubled their soldiers there. To break into the bell tower now would be suicide.”

  Grammy took another long drag on her cigarette.

  “Then, Agatha, I, the Old Queen, will lead the attack.”

  Silence descended upon the submarine.

  “Grammy, with respect, you are too old to take on such a dangerous mission!” protested Alfred.

  “You are never too old for adventure!” she retorted.

  There was a hurrah from the ladies on board.

  “HURRAH!”

  Looking around, Alfred realised that his grandmother, who must have been eighty-something, was probably the youngest of these revolutionaries.

  “I’ll come too!” he announced.

  “Alfred, with respect, you are too young for such a dangerous mission.”

  The boy thought for a moment, before exclaiming, “You are never too young for adventure!”

  There was another hurrah from the crew. This one was much more hesitant than the last.

  “HURRAH!”

  “That’s my boy,” said Grammy, patting her grandson on the head a little too hard for his liking.

  PAT! PAT! PAT!

  “Now, Enid, set a course for Big Ben!” announced the Old Queen.

  “Aye, aye, Captain!” replied Enid, and the submarine surged through the water.

  Alfred was stationed at the periscope as the submarine snaked its way along the River Thames. Being underwater was the perfect cover for these revolutionaries. On HMS Sceptre, they could move around London undetected. Soon the submarine had reached the Houses of Parliament. This gargantuan Gothic structure sat right on the River Thames. For hundreds of years it had been a place where politicians met to debate the important issues of the day.

  Now there were no politicians.

  No elections.

  No democracy.

  As a result, the Houses of Parliament were empty and had fallen into total disrepair. The only part of the building that did still function was the clock tower, home of the bell known as “Big Ben”. This chimed on the hour every hour, telling the people of London the time. Now that it was dark all day and all night, it was hard to tell if three chimes meant three in the afternoon or three in the morning.

  Still, it was one of the very last symbols of the old order that was still working. If Big Ben still struck on the hour, every hour, it gave the illusion that life was somehow normal. It was important to the Lord Protector, who kept the Houses of Parliament under armed guard at all times.

  “Big Ben in sight, Grammy! I mean, Captain Grammy – I mean Captain,” spluttered Alfred.

  “Excellent work, sailor,” replied the Old Queen. “Now, ladies, there are revolutionaries all over London, all over Britain, awaiting our signal. When Big Ben chimes thirteen times, that will send a message for miles around that the moment has finally arrived for revolution!”

  “REVOLUTION!” chimed in the old dears together.

  “I will lead a team of two ladies good and true to the base of the clock tower.”

  The Old Queen unrolled a diagram of the tower.

  “From the intelligence we have gathered, the so-called royal guards are stationed here, here and here.”

  With her gloved finger, she indicated a number of places at the base and top of the tower.

  “Our mission is to seize control of the bell tower itself at the stroke of midnight. A moment too soon and the guard will raise the alarm. A moment too late and we will have missed our chance. Instead of twelve strikes, we will change the clock’s workings to strike thirteen. Once safely back here in HMS Sceptre, we will be ready to launch the orb.”

  “Orb?” asked Alfred.

  The Old Queen winked mischievously and paced over to a huge metal container. She whisked off a cover to reveal an antique torpedo with “ORB” emblazoned on it.

  “Oh my goodness, Grammy!” exclaimed the boy. All of a sudden, he was terrified these old dears might blow themselves up, taking him with them.

  “Beauty, isn’t she?” said Grammy, patting the torpedo a little too hard for Alfred’s liking. “This will blow a ruddy great hole in the side of the Tower of London, freeing all those innocent folk locked up there.”

  “I hope you know what you are doing, Grammy,” remarked Alfred. “Mama is one of the prisoners.”

  “Of course we do, boy! Just look at my crack team! We are in our prime!”

  “HURRAH!” chimed the old ladies together.

  Their prime looked a while ago, but the prince said nothing. It wouldn’t help.

  “Enid!” called out the Old Queen.

  “Yes, Captain?” she replied.

  “You are coming with me and my boy. And Agatha!”

  “Do I have to?” complained Agatha.

  “Yes! Now, ladies…”

  Alfred gave his grandmother a look.

  “…and gentleman. Follow me!”

  The ladies picked up their handbags.

  What do the old dears need their handbags for? thought Alfred.

  Next, Grammy grabbed a rusty old torch, then led the other three up the metal ladder and out of the submarine. The four of them stood wobbling on the bow of the vessel, as it gently rocked in the swell of the Thames. Alfred looked up at the c
lock tower, and took a deep breath. After all the bravado with the old ladies, he was beginning to feel sick with nerves.

  “You tickety-boo, boy?” asked the Old Queen.

  “Yes, Captain, ready for action,” he lied.

  She swung a rope with a hook at the end of it back and forth a few times. Then with all her might she threw it high into the air.

  WHOOSH!

  The end hooked on to a ledge of the Houses of Parliament.

  CLUNK!

  Grammy checked it was secure, then, looking smug with her handiwork, she hissed, “Still got it! Now, ladies, and, er, gentleman, follow me.”

  One by one, the three old dears used the rope to scale the river wall. Agatha put her walking stick between her teeth like a pirate might a cutlass as she climbed. Alfred went last, and before long the group found themselves inside the deserted chamber of the House of Commons.

  The prince had seen pictures of this place in his history books. In the old days it was crowded with politicians. Now it had been ransacked. Windows had been smashed, and those distinctive green leather benches had been ripped, and the Speaker’s chair upturned. When Alfred looked down at the floor, he realised something was very wrong.

  “The carpet,” he whispered. “It’s moving.”

  The Old Queen answered, “Rats.”

  A sea of rats was rolling over the floor. Thousands of them.

  “Let’s get out of here,” whispered the boy.

  Grammy checked her little gold watch. “We have ten minutes until midnight. Move out!”

  She gestured with her hand, and Enid and Agatha, who had been catching their breath, followed on.

  They passed down hallway after hallway in the Houses of Parliament. Everywhere they stepped, rats scattered.

  SCRATCH!

  SCRATCH!

  SCRATCH!

  No one said a word until the Old Queen walked straight into what she thought was a net.

  “HELP!” she cried.

  She had become tangled up in something that hung from one side of the wall to the other. It was only when the other three began untangling her that they realised what it was.

  “A spider’s web,” said Alfred as he pulled the cobwebs off his grandmother.

  “No one has been down here in years,” muttered the Old Queen, brushing a giant spider over her shoulder as if it were a fleck of dandruff. “Onwards!”

  They pressed on, illuminated only by the rusty old torch she was holding. As they neared a turn in the hallway, she placed her finger to her lips.

  “What does that mean?” asked Enid.

  “Be quiet, dear!” replied Agatha.

  “SHUSH!” shushed Alfred.

  “Oh!” exclaimed Enid. “Are we nearly there yet? I need a wee!”

  “SHUSH!” shushed everyone.

  Then the Old Queen flicked the switch on her torch and turned off the light.

  FLICK!

  As slowly and silently as she could, she peered round the corner. Alfred did too.

  In the distance, shadows could be made out. On closer inspection, these were the silhouettes of two royal guards. They were guarding the door to the clock tower.

  The Old Queen gently rolled her torch along the floor towards them.

  CLANK! CLUNK! CLINK!

  The two guards stepped towards the torch and peered down to inspect it. The Old Queen gave the signal, and the two old ladies knew exactly what to do. Enid and Agatha charged towards the guards.

  “CHARGE!”

  They whacked them over their heads with their handbags.

  THWACK!

  THWACK!

  THWACK!

  That’s why they needed their handbags!

  With the guards dazed and confused, Enid and Agatha attempted to wrestle their laser guns off them.

  In the commotion, blasts of light shot from their guns, hitting the walls and ceiling.

  ZAP!

  ZAP!

  ZAP!

  BOOM!

  BOOM!

  BOOM!

  Agatha must have been hit…

  ZAP!

  …as she collapsed to the floor in an instant.

  THUD!

  The Old Queen grabbed one of the guards from behind and trained his laser gun on the other. Alfred did the same and, in a glorious moment, the two guards zapped each other…

  ZAP!

  ZAP!

  …and fell to the floor.

  THUD!

  THUD!

  Immediately, attention turned to Agatha.

  “Agatha? Agatha?” asked the Old Queen, as she began slapping the old dear around the face. “Wake up! Wake up! Oh dear, please, you’re only ninety-two! This isn’t your time to go!”

  SLAP!

  SLAP!

  SLAP!

  But, slap as she might, Agatha just wouldn’t wake up. Tears welled in the Old Queen’s eyes as she realised the worst.

  The Old Queen led a prayer.

  “May our Lord take good care of this fallen hero. My lady-in-waiting Agatha was always there for me, to hold an unwanted bouquet of flowers, or pass me a bottle of hand cream, or take the blame for one of my particularly boisterous bottom burps.”

  As she tried to lay her friend to rest by closing her eyelids, Agatha woke up with a start.

  “You poked me in the eye!” she protested.

  “You’re alive!” exclaimed the Old Queen.

  “Yes! Of course I am alive! Now, for goodness’ sake, help me up!”

  Alfred, Enid and the Old Queen hoisted Agatha to her feet.

  “Actually, I am feeling a little dizzy. Can I lie back down again?”

  “There isn’t time!” snapped the Old Queen. “Alfred?”

  “Yes, Grammy?”

  “Search the guards for keys.”

  With all his strength, Alfred rolled one of the guards over, and found a set of old iron keys on his belt.

  “Here!” he said, holding them up.

  JINGLE-JANGLE!

  “Excellent work!” she replied, and her grandson beamed with pride.

  The Old Queen and Enid held on to the laser guns as Alfred led them to the door at the end of the hallway.

  It bore the sign .

  Alfred put a key in the lock of the door, and success…

  CLICK!

  …the door opened.

  Alfred tiptoed inside. Whatever the opposite of vertigo is, the boy instantly felt it as he looked up at the endless flights of stairs that led to the bell.

  There were 342 steps! He would never have been able to climb that many steps before, but now, somehow, it felt possible. He surged ahead, and with heavy hearts the old dears followed him. They had to go as quietly as they could, as it was likely there would be more armed guards stationed higher up the tower.

  Nearing the top, they passed the giant clock face. It looked as big as the moon, and as bright as it too, illuminated as it was against the inky sky. For a moment, Alfred became lost, marvelling at it, before realising it was only a couple of minutes before twelve. There was no time to lose. They pressed on, nearing the room that housed the bell. As predicted, two more members of the royal guard stood by that door.

  “Give this to Agatha,” whispered Grammy. As she handed her laser gun to him, Alfred fumbled and the gun slipped out of his hand.

  As if in slow motion, it began falling down the stairwell.

  Silently at first and then inevitably…

  CLUNK!

  Spinning, it hit the balustrade.

  CLUNK!

  And again.

  CLUNK!

  Until it clattered all the way down to the floor below.

  CLASH!

  There was an eerie silence for a moment until the royal guards above leaped into action, blasting their laser guns down at the intruders.

  ZAP! ZAP! ZAP!

  Alfred and the three old dears clung to the wall of the clock tower to be out of the firing line of the guards.

  ZAP! ZAP! ZAP!

  WOOH! WOOH! WO
OH!

  A deafening siren sounded. The game was up.

  “Let’s run back to the submarine!” shouted Enid over the racket.

  “We can’t!” said Alfred.

  “NEVER SURRENDER!” announced the Old Queen.

  With that, she took the last remaining laser gun from Enid and charged up the stairs with the blaster in her gloved hand.

  ZAP! ZAP! ZAP!

  From below, Alfred watched with a combination of horror and awe as first one royal guard, then another, plunged down the stairwell.

  CLUNK!

  CLUNK!

  THUD!

  THUD!

  “ONWARD!” shouted the Old Queen, waving the blaster above her head as if it were a sword. “I haven’t had this much fun since that man streaked at Royal Ascot!”

  Alfred and the two ladies-in-waiting followed, gathering themselves behind the Old Queen as she blasted the door to the belfry open.

  ZAP!

  KABOOM!

  The smoke cleared to reveal Big Ben in all its glory. This gigantic bronze-and-tin bell, weighing more than a double-decker bus, was moments from being struck by the giant hammer that made it sound.

  Four smaller bells chimed the little tune that always came before the bongs.

  DAH DEE DUM DUM DAH DEE DUM DUM DAH DEE DUM DUM DAH DEE DUM DUM…

  Then the BONGs began.

  BONG!

  “To the hammer!” commanded the Old Queen.

  BONG!

  Next to the bell was the huge hammer.

  BONG!

  It sat on an arm that reached round the bell.

  BONG!

  And struck the bell mechanically.

  BONG!

  “How the devil are we going to make it strike thirteen times?” asked Enid.

  BONG!

  “I think I know a way!” replied Alfred.

  BONG!

  The boy leaped up and clambered on to the arm.

  BONG!

  Immediately he felt how strong the reverberations were, and-d-d b-b-began t-t-to w-w-wonder w-w-whether h-h-he c-c-could-d-d k-k-keep h-h-holding-g-g on-n-n!

  BONG!

  His entire body was SSSHHHAAAK

  KKIIINNNGGG!

  BONG!

  Still Alfred shuffled down the arm.

  BONG!

  “H-h-how m-m-many b-b-bongs w-w-was th-th-that?” he called out.