Vote at Toad Hall

by Eddie Saint

  He paused.

  One day they’ll make a statue of me, pint in hand. Outside the ruins of Toad Hall maybe? Righty-ho, big finish. Long suffering brow, honest eyes, straight into camera…

  ‘… to take back control!’

  ‘WHAT’CHA GOT THERE?’

  There was a young Otter standing in front of me. I eyed him with suspicion. My first thought was to gather up the top secret sheets, but then I remembered where I was. The chances of anyone suspicious getting past Mother’s defences were less than zero. I relaxed.

  ‘Oh, just some work. Who are you?’

  The young Otter took off his cap and flattened down his fringe nervously.

  ‘Name’s Buster, Miss,’ said the young Otter.

  ‘Buster?’ The name rang a faint bell but I couldn’t quite place it. I smiled at him anyway, not entirely welcoming but not unfriendly. The little fidget just stayed put and screwed up his cap in his paws.

  It seemed clear to me that the newcomer was awaiting instructions, like he had been given orders to come over and see me. A giant, obvious cog slowly turned in my brain.

  ‘Did Mother send you?’

  Buster shuffled awkwardly and tugged his cap back onto his head, then quickly took it off again and looked back at me from under his fringe. His nose was pointing at his feet and the cap was getting a real working over.

  ‘Well…’

  I considered the young Otter before me, all nerves and freshly washed hair. He looked too young to be up to no good. Hadn’t I been a bit the same with Dug, way back in the days when he used to sit on my head and turn up the rump gas? I decided to cut him a break.

  ‘Here,’ I said, making room for him on my padded bench. ‘Why don’t you join me? I could do with a friendly face.’

  Buster moved awkwardly onto the bench, keeping a respectful distance, as if he had never sat next to a ‘female’ before. It was easy to read the flashing neon signs of teenage confusion. When you are an adult trying to fight your way out of a child’s body it’s difficult to keep the struggle a secret. I instantly warmed to him and wanted to help him relax.

  From behind the counter Mother started humming a tune. Mission accomplished, I guess, and I was happy to play along. Whatever secret those files contained, to me they still remained, resolutely, a crusty chrysalis.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I was just telling Mother I can’t make sense out of these profiles.’ I gestured to the pages on the desk and, picking up the first one Tony had produced, handed it to Buster. It couldn’t do any harm, I thought, to show him the most out of date file.

  ‘I mean, what even is ‘Angel Delight’?’

  Buster took the page I offered him but he flushed bright red. I wondered if I should have thought twice about choosing to give the ‘Angel Delight’ one to a teenager.

  Too late now though.

  I left him with it, in a difficult silence.

  He looked at the file, and it was written all over his reddening face just how familiar he was with ‘Angel Delight’.

  I guess it’s a boy thing.

  I quickly scanned the other two files, weighing up which one was going to be potentially less inflammatory to the young pup. In the end I settled on the one called Starship Gemini. From what I had read of it the uniforms were a lot better tailored than Angel Delight’s outfits and the excitement seemed to come mostly from the speed and scope of the intergalactic travel. I picked it up and offered it to Buster as a replacement.

  ‘Here,’ I said, ‘why don’t you try this one instead?’

  Buster looked at the one I was offering, with a sense of relief on his pointy face.

  ‘Well, I hope it’s better than this one,’ he said. ‘Bloody amateurs!’ And then he realised who he was speaking to, and who had sent him. ‘Oh, I’m… I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean… I mean…’

  I held up my paws in a universal gesture of peace and goodwill.

  ‘Hey, it’s ok.’ I drew a finger across my closed lips. ‘Mum’s the word, eh?’ I said, and winked at the young Otter.

  He relaxed and took the new file from me. He was clearly starting to feel a little calmer for the first time since Mother had told him to scrub up and go and help that nice Miss Cottontail with a bit of sci-fi homework.

  ‘So what exactly are you supposed to do with these fan sheets?’ Buster asked, as he read through the character list for Starship Gemini.

  It was the question I had been fighting with all morning, from the very early hours back at HQ. All I had managed so far was to be slightly better clued up on intergalactic travel.

  ‘Honestly?’ I said. ‘I’m not sure. But someone I’ve been working with…’ I stopped myself just for a moment, to hear how that sounded. I had spent a long time running and hiding on my own. It felt good to be part of a team, even if it was only a team of two, and the overall boss was one of the reasons I was hiding in the first place. ‘Well, let’s just say it’s a big puzzle, and we need to find the treasure before anyone else does.’

  At the thought of treasure Buster’s eyes definitely flickered a little.

  ‘You mean, like a proper treasure hunt? Is this a Comic Con thing?’

  Although it was an obvious leap to make, it jolted me to hear the link made by such a young, innocent animal. It reminded me of the dangers I was flirting with. Dug and Tony had already found out just how dangerous something in those files could be. I didn’t feel ready to open Buster up to that kind of heat. My mood suddenly flattened and I started to gather up the files. Buster’s face fell.

  ‘What’s up? Have we finished? Why do grown ups always do that, just when things get interesting?’ Buster smoothed down his fringe repeatedly and jammed his cap back on his head, fighting an inner dialogue with Mother. He hadn’t wanted to come, but Mother is, well, Mother so he had made the effort. It looked like it was a waste of time.

  I had never found myself on the wrong side of a teenage sulk before. Although I was only trying to protect him, I tried to look at things from Buster’s point of view. Not doing well at school, big sci-fi fan, suddenly has a chance to share his knowledge, then has the rug pulled out from under him. Throw a treasure hunt into the mix and I could see where I had maybe mishandled the situation. I tried to think what Mother would do.

  ‘I’m sorry. You are right. It is a Comic Con thing. I’m just not sure the rules of the treasure hunt allow me to work on it with someone who isn’t going. And,’ I added, ‘contrary to what you might hear some grown ups around here say, rules are not made to be broken.’

  When he heard the words ‘…someone who isn’t going…’ Buster’s mood changed in an instant. From cooped up energy he suddenly turned soft and sheepish, like he would slink off under the table and away without a sound at the first chance he got. Luckily, although not much of a parent yet, I was feeling pretty good at my first stab at reading ‘inner turmoil’.

  ‘Does Mother know?’ I asked.

  ‘Know what?’ mumbled Buster, with his head down but his eyes looking furtively towards the counter.

  ‘That you have a ticket for Comic Con?’

  Buster sat still, then looked up slowly at me.

  ‘It’s OK Buster. I won’t tell.’ I felt pretty certain Mother already knew.

  ‘I’ll be in such trouble if they find out. I’m grounded for missing too much school, but it’s in our city. How could I not go?’

  I could see a little of my old stubborn self in the Otter sitting next to me. Besides, Mother had sent Buster over. I decided it was safe to cut him some slack.

  ‘Well, like I said before, ‘Mum’s the word’.’

  A smile of relief ran unsteadily between Buster’s blushing cheeks. He looked back down at the table, clearly unsure what to make of this strange ‘Miss Cottontail’ creature he’d been sent to meet. As he sneaked a look at me from under his down-turned brow a novel feeling grew in his chest: it was as if he Wanted To Be Useful.

  ‘Come on,’ I said conspiratorially. ‘Let’s see what we can
find.’ I started to spread the papers out again on the table.

  ‘Don’t need to,’ said Buster, suddenly very cheerful. ‘It’s easy!’

  I heard the words but they didn’t make sense. It was Buster’s turn to recognise an unspoken question.

  ‘The treasure hunt. I reckon I’ve solved it.’

  I sat very still. I didn’t want to break the spell. I had been looking at the files for almost ten hours, so at this point any new angle couldn’t be worse than what I already had, which was nothing.

  ‘You’ve solved it? Already? But you’ve only seen two files.’

  Buster looked fully relaxed and animated now. He was on home turf.

  ‘Yeah, but it’s obvious isn’t it? If this is Comic Con then it’s not written by ‘amateurs’. They’re not mistakes… they’re clues.’

  ‘Mistakes…?’ I said, but Buster was already lining up the two profiles he had already seen.

  He picked up a highlighter and quickly marked up a sentence on the Angel Delight sheet, and another on the Starship Gemini page.

  ‘Give me the other one,’ he said, suddenly brimming with confidence. ‘We’ll have this treasure hunt finished in no time!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Interviews in the snug at The Stump seemed to be very popular with the news channels. They liked the way it gave a nice, clear distinction between the two camps: the Prime Minister on the steps of Toad Hall; the Leader of the Leave Campaign in the pub. A simple, visual aid. The issues around the LEAF League Referendum were, in terms of selling papers, a bit dry and dull. Anything that made it easier to explain was generally considered a journalistic godsend.

  For that reason Weasel was tied up with film crews for most of the afternoon, but he was keen not to delay making use of Pincer’s expertise so, with a slight pang of regret that he would miss the chance to see Selina again, he had dispatched Stoat to go and brief Pincer about all things ‘Trade’ related.

  ‘This is great stuff, Stoatey. May I call you Stoatey?’

  Pincer’s office was a picture of digital industry. Paws were tapping and clicking in front of terminals, swivel chairs were gently swinging, and all the while a low monotone flowed out from the army of dark servers at the back of the office.

  Stoat nodded enthusiastically. He had never wanted anyone to call him ‘Stoatey’ quite as much as he wanted Pincer to. He was like the cool big brother Stoat had never had.

  ‘Yeah, really great stuff,’ repeated Pincer, and he barked out a brisk command that saw every paw lift instantly from every keyboard and mouse, and each chair swivel in his direction. He leapt up onto his desk to address his team.

  ‘Y’know, y’ all are just about the best team I could wish for!’ he began, and a collection of barks went up in cheerful response. ‘I mean it. You have done great work these last two years. Really great work.’ More barks. A brief chant of ‘Pin-cer! Pin-cer!’ went up at the back of the room but Pincer raised a modest paw and calmed the crowd.

  ‘Now, today is a day we have been waiting for for a long time. Yesterday’s trial run of the new set-up was almost perfect…’ He broke off to raise a paw to an Old English Sheepdog half way down the side facing the windows. ‘Big thanks to Bernie down there for fixing that little bug we got. Great job, Bernie.’ He let the team bark appreciation for Bernie until they were ready to settle again. Bernie shook his long, beaded locks and basked in the adulation, his white teeth shining out from under his wet, black nose.

  As the crowd settled again Pincer took up a calmer, almost reverential tone. ‘So today, this is the big one. Stoatey here,’ he gestured at Stoat. ‘Hey, did y’all meet Stoatey yesterday? He’s working with Weasel on our new campaign. Great guys, both of them. You should come say hello if you get a moment.’ As a new chant went up of ‘Stoat-ey! Stoat-ey!’ Stoat’s chest swelled almost to bursting point. He just could not believe how brilliant his day was getting.

  ‘Anyway, Stoatey here,’ continued Pincer as the chant died away, ‘he’s brought us all the info we need for today’s campaign material. Now, there’s a lot here,’ he indicated the binders, ‘but that’s why you are all still sitting in this room. This is what… you… do… BEST!’ Barks and howls broke out all across the room, but they very quickly stopped as hungry eyes began to focus on the feast of purple binders. It was time to get to work.

  ‘OK. It is a quarter before three. If you match your record you’ll have materials ready for final checking by about a quarter after four. Are we ready to do this?’

  The pack barked in the affirmative.

  ‘I said, ‘Are we ready to do this?’ ‘

  Even more barking.

  ‘OK, team. Our new software is history in the making. Let’s hit it.’

  As he stepped down Stoat began to clap and cheer but he very soon found that he was the only one. A serious, business-like hum had taken over the room. Two-dozen Dogs descended on the binders and paired up, instantly pouring silently over pages of data about Trade figures between Wild Wood, the LEAF League and the Rest of the World. Within two minutes the first conversation had broken out, as an idea for a poster or an article occurred to one pair of Dogs. Within ten minutes all the Dogs were back at their computers, working out campaign materials to send out to voters.

  I called Mel and asked her to come to Chandler’s. Now that Buster had cracked the secret in the files we definitely had to get our act together about getting in to Comic Con that afternoon. While we waited I bought Buster lunch, and we chatted about his favourite characters and story lines, and for a while I lost myself in a world where anything was possible and where, when things turned nasty, there was always an off button.

  Mel came through the door wearing a long mac, a baseball cap and sunglasses. I called her over to join us at our table in the rear corner of the room.

  ‘This is Buster,’ I said. ‘He’s a little Comic Con genius.’

  Buster swelled with pride. In the short time he had known me his self-esteem had rocketed. He had no idea life could feel so good.

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Mel, in an unfamiliar accent. ‘I’m Jemima.’

  I looked at Mel with confusion and not a little concern.

  ‘Er…’ I began, but the writhing mass of words in my mind just couldn’t get themselves marshalled into any sensible order. Instead I turned to my young companion and said, ‘Buster, why don’t you go and talk to Mother about Comic Con? Tell her I’ll keep an eye out for you.’

  ‘Are you…sure that’s a good idea?’ Buster asked his new, grown up friend.

  I smiled and gave a little nod.

  ‘Fine will she be, young pupil,’ I said, in a croaky voice.

  Buster laughed, a fairly recent discovery for him (at least with other folks around) and skipped off to see Mother.

  I turned to Mel and gave her a bemused raise of one eyebrow.

  ‘What?’ whispered Mel in her normal voice, slightly affronted. ‘I’m not the only one doing a funny accent.’

  ‘Yes, but at least mine’s been used in films. Yours has boldly gone where no accent has gone before.’

  Mel still looked annoyed, behind her sunglasses, hat and turned up collar.

  ‘I just can’t afford to be recognised,’ she said. ‘Not in a place like this anyway.’ She gestured to the early afternoon clientele, most of whom she suspected had more than a passing acquaintance with the city police squad’s ‘stop and search’ policy.

  I grinned. ‘So you thought dressing up as a spy would help? I could get Mother to pass around the stripy t-shirts and the swag bags if you think it’ll help…’

  Mel knew she was being teased. ‘Look, it’s just not my forte. The more you get to know me the more you will realise I’m more of an office agent.’

  ‘Well, maybe we can put that to good use. I deffo need to get in to the Comic Con this afternoon. Have you had any luck with that?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mel, happy to be on familiar ground. ‘I believe I had that sorted yesterday e
vening.’ She smiled at me over her half-moon specs.

  ‘Yesterday evening?’ I said, confused. ‘But we only worked out Comic Con was relevant this morning.’ I tried to work backwards, seeing what I had missed.

  Mel reached into the inner pocket of her conspicuous mac and brought out the purple envelope she had lifted from Tony’s jacket along with the memory stick the evening before.

  ‘Well, you did say Tony had asked for a ticket to be couriered over to him, didn’t you?’ She slid the envelope across the table to me. I gave a little happy snort and took a blunt butter knife to the gummed flap. Mel was right. Inside was a ticket with a gold embossed Comic Con logo.

  ‘Mel, you are a star,’ I said, pocketing the ticket. ‘Now all I need is a costume!’ I looked, pointedly, at Mel’s outfit. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, ‘I won’t need to pick your brains for costume ideas.’

  Pincer took Stoat to one side. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘These Dogs are some of the best workers I’ve ever had. Absolute troopers. But,’ he lowered his voice and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, ‘we need to shuffle off and leave them to it for a while. OK?’

  Stoat said, ‘Oh yes, of course,’ and delightedly followed Pincer into a corner of the office that was walled off with glass.

  The room was sparsely furnished. A glass and chrome desk with a high backed swivel chair, two cubic leather armchairs and a picture of a bald eagle were all that was on the inventory. Stoat made himself comfortable in an armchair and Pincer sat behind the desk.

  ‘Drink?’ asked Pincer.

  ‘Oh, well whiskey if you have any,’ replied Stoat.

  ‘I’m afraid this is a tee-total office. I can only offer you water, milk or juice.’

  ‘No, no, no bother at all,’ replied Stoat, who suddenly, despite years of serious drinking, saw the merit of abstinence. ‘Water will be fine. Probably a bit early for the hard stuff anyway,’ he added, keen to try to fit in to Pincer’s way of doing things.

  While his host poured the drinks Stoat decided it was time to learn more about his new campaign partner.