by Emily Rodda
Begood gave a short, pitying laugh. He frowned at the windows that were now completely blocked by dozens of curious faces pressed against the glass. He moved smartly across the room and plunged it into gloom by closing the curtains, ignoring the howls and boos of the frustrated onlookers.
Conker was making a sound like a simmering kettle. He kept glancing at the gaol door.
‘Forget it,’ muttered Freda. ‘It’ll be locked for sure.’
Officer Begood began lighting the candles that stood in jars and on odd saucers all around the room.
‘People say I should install that modern glow-worm lighting,’ he said to Leo. ‘But what I say is, you know where you are with a good old-fashioned candle. The glow-worms at the tavern have all gone down with some plague or other, they say. But you never hear of candles going on sick leave, do you?’
‘No,’ said Leo politely. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Conker had put his hands behind his back and, pretending to study the posters on the back wall, was moving casually towards the gaol door. Freda, muttering under her breath, was following him.
Officer Begood paid no attention to them. He was still lighting the candles, making sure each one was perfectly straight before moving on to the next. He had begun humming gently to himself.
Conker sidled on. Leo hurried to join him, hoping to stop him from doing anything rash.
By the time Leo reached him, Conker was staring at the last poster, which displayed the face of a villainous-looking gnome. THIS GNOME IS DANGEROUS! the words beneath the picture warned. If you see him, contact Officer Begood or your local registered hero IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT approach him yourself. DO NOT try to guess his name. DO NOT offer him your first-born child.
‘Good advice,’ Leo murmured. He heard a tiny sound and looked around quickly to see Conker furtively trying the knob of the gaol door.
As Freda had predicted, the door was locked. Conker cursed under his breath and put his eye to the keyhole.
Leo glanced nervously over his shoulder at Officer Begood, but the policeman was standing at the mantelpiece carefully straightening the last of the candles and still seemed oblivious to what was happening behind his back.
Conker remained motionless at the keyhole for a long moment, then stepped back, looking stunned. He turned to Leo and Freda. His mouth opened and closed but no words came out.
‘What’s the matter?’ Freda hissed impatiently. ‘Is he dead?’
Conker shook his head. Again he tried to speak, and failed. He gestured helplessly at the keyhole.
Leo bent and looked through it. He found himself staring into a cell that was directly opposite the door. He could see a section of barred gate fastened by a huge padlock. Something red was bobbing behind the bars.
Leo closed one eye and pressed the other more firmly to the keyhole. His jaw dropped.
Jumping up and down furiously in the middle of the cell was a giant mushroom in a red-and-white striped beanie.
Chapter 8
A Change of Plan
Leo gave a shout of shock. He jerked up from the keyhole just in time to see Officer Begood swing round, his eyebrows raised.
‘You peeped!’ Begood accused. ‘After all I said too! That was very, very –’
‘You’ve gaoled a mushroom, Begood!’ roared Conker. ‘A mushroom!’
Officer Begood raised his chin. ‘I have it on excellent authority that the prisoner is not usually a mushroom,’ he said coldly. ‘His aunt made a sworn statement to that effect, and so did various other Hobnob shopkeepers.’
‘Well, of course he’s not usually a mushroom!’ Conker stormed. ‘How could a mushroom be a wizard’s apprentice?’
‘I wouldn’t know anything about that,’ said Officer Begood, folding his arms. ‘The work practices of wizards are not relevant to this case. All I know is that Wizard Bing has disappeared and Simon Humble, in his present mushroomial form, was found behaving in a highly suspicious manner at the scene of the crime. It’s all in my notes.’
Before anyone could say anything he pulled his notebook from his pocket, flipped it open at a page covered in tiny writing, and began to read in a slow, flat voice:
‘On my arrival at the scene of the crime, that is, the home of Wizard Balthazar Bing, also known as “Bats” Bing, I discovered Simon Augustus Humble, hereafter known as “the accused”, attempting to push himself through an open window in an attempt to escape the house. I deduced that as in his present mushroomial form the accused has no hands, he had been forced to use the window because he had been unable to turn the knob of the door.’
At this point, Officer Begood gave a little nod of satisfaction and glanced up at Conker, Leo and Freda to see if they were suitably impressed by his detective skills. Receiving nothing but stony looks from Conker and Freda and a fascinated stare from Leo, he cleared his throat, referred to the notebook again, and read on even more slowly and deliberately than before.
‘When challenged, the accused refused to give any explanation for his actions, or to say where his employer was,’ he droned. ‘I formed the opinion that he was the obvious suspect, and accordingly attempted to take him into custody. The accused violently resisted arrest and had to be restrained. As handcuffs were not effective because of the accused’s lack of wrists, in his present mushroomial form, a chain was fastened around his waist – or, more accurately, his stem – to keep him from hopping away.
Since his arrest the accused has failed to cooperate with police in any way, has stamped on the official biscuits and milk offered to him on arrival at the gaol, and has refused to respond to questioning.’
Begood raised his head and, with the air of having proved his case once and for all, snapped the notebook shut.
‘But how can Simon answer any questions?’ Leo asked blankly. ‘He’s got no mouth. He can’t talk! He’s a mushroom!’
‘Is that my fault?’ demanded Officer Begood, growing pink in the face. ‘Goodness gracious, you people are never satisfied!’
He strode to the front door and held it open. ‘Out!’ he ordered.
He stood silent and ramrod-straight as they trooped past him out into the open air, then slammed the door hard behind them and turned the key in the lock.
The crowd outside had thinned. Presumably most people had got bored staring at a closed door and four tightly curtained windows. When the few who remained saw that Conker, Leo and Freda were free of chains and had no apparent injuries, they looked disappointed and began to drift away.
‘Right,’ said Conker. ‘This turn of events calls for a revised plan.’
‘Why?’ Freda asked. ‘The old plan was all right. Leave at dawn, go to Hobnob, find the wizard, get paid, come home. It still sounds good to me.’
‘What’s wrong is the timing,’ Conker explained earnestly. ‘Now that we know Simon’s a mushroom and can’t tell us anything, it’s vital for us to get to the scene of the crime as quickly as possible. We have to investigate while the trail is still hot. That means we have to leave now.’
‘Now?’ Leo exclaimed. ‘But what about Mimi and Bertha?’
‘Now?’ exploded Freda at the same moment. ‘What happened to the tradition of leaving at dawn and all that?’
‘Tradition has to bow to necessity in perilous times,’ Conker said firmly. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll arrange everything.’
He pulled out his notebook, stuck out his tongue and began to write, frowning in concentration. At last he tore the page out, folded it small, then bent and rapped sharply on the road three times.
After a moment a mouse appeared from beneath a nearby cobblestone. It was limping and heavy-eyed.
‘Yes?’ it said in an exhausted voice.
‘To Bertha the pig at Dinah’s Dotless Delicacies, please,’ said Conker.
‘Oh, all right,’ said the mouse hopelessly. It clipped the note to the chain around its neck, limped back to the cobblestone from which it had come, and disappeared.
‘What was in the message?’ Leo
asked, feeling that everything was going too fast for him.
‘It just told Bertha and Mimi to meet us on Woffles Way, at the turnoff to the Tavern of No Return,’ Conker said.
‘The Tavern of No Return?’ Leo repeated, hoping he’d misheard the name.
‘Why go that way?’ Freda demanded. ‘There’s a Gap from Flitter Wood to Hobnob, and we can get to Flitter Wood through the Gap in the Black Sheep. It’d be much quicker to –’
‘We can’t go to Flitter Wood, Freda,’ Conker said seriously. ‘It’s much too close to Macdonald’s farm. It would upset Bertha.’
Freda made a disgusted sound. Conker began scribbling another note. When he had finished it, he rapped on the cobbles again.
It took quite a while for this second summons to be answered. Conker was stamping with impatience by the time a fat mouse with a sagging belly crawled out from beneath the cobblestone and shambled towards them, picking its teeth with a very large toothpick.
‘To Polly and Jim at Grandma’s cottage off Troll’s Bridge Road, thanks,’ said Conker.
The mouse sighed, put the toothpick behind its ear, fastened the message to its chain and slouched away.
‘Really,’ muttered Conker. ‘The standard of messengers these days …’
‘Conker, what was in that note?’ Leo demanded, before Conker could get going on one of his familiar rants about the faults of the Rondo mail service. ‘Why did you write to Polly and Jim?’
‘You’ll see,’ said Conker infuriatingly. ‘Now, we’ve got to hurry to the camping shop. The Tavern of No Return’s not too far from there, but we don’t want to keep Bertha and Mimi waiting too long, do we?’
The camping shop was a large, square building on the corner of Woffles Way, a dusty road that stretched off through thick trees into the distance.
The shop’s enormous, shambling owner, who wore a vast sheepskin jerkin and who had a narrow face, small dark eyes set rather close together and a mane of coarse brown hair, greeted Conker like a long-lost brother.
‘Leo, meet Peg,’ Conker said, emerging, breathless, from his huge friend’s welcoming hug, which had lifted him high off the ground.
‘Peg!’ agreed the camping-shop owner, punching her chest with enormous force and laughing as if she’d made a great joke.
Leo smiled uneasily. Peg looked friendly enough, and she was obviously very fond of Conker, but her tremendous size was unnerving, her voice was very deep, and there was something about her eyes …
‘Any news for us, Peg?’ Conker asked.
Peg shook her head. ‘I been checking the Merks’ place every night, but no sign of Spoiler there so far,’ she rumbled. ‘You sure he’s a friend of theirs?’
‘He used to be,’ Conker said. ‘Before he took up with the Blue Queen and got too grand. Have you heard any whispers from anywhere else?’
‘Not about Spoiler,’ growled Peg. ‘Other things, but. Be some funny rumours coming back from the north.’
‘About Wizard Bing?’ Conker asked eagerly.
‘Him?’ Peg shrugged her massive shoulders. ‘Heard he been murdered by a mushroom. That nothing. Other rumours more interesting.’ She bent towards Conker and lowered her voice.
‘… is on the move,’ Leo thought he heard her say. ‘Young ones seen it … two, three times … at night … different places …’
Conker shook his head. ‘Imagination!’ he declared firmly. ‘Children with too much time on their hands trying to scare one another. It’s always the same in the school holidays.’
‘Maybe,’ rumbled Peg, sounding unconvinced.
‘Is Peg a giant?’ Leo whispered to Freda.
‘Shh! Of course not!’ muttered Freda. ‘She’s a bear.’
‘What?’ Leo squeaked, far more loudly than he’d meant.
Peg looked over her shoulder enquiringly.
‘Leo stubbed his toe,’ called Freda.
Peg nodded and turned back to Conker.
‘Freda, what do you mean?’ Leo gasped, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. ‘Peg’s not a bear. She’s got no fur.’
‘She’s only a proper bear at night,’ Freda said impatiently. ‘She changes at sunset. But don’t mention it. She gets embarrassed. And we don’t want to upset her. Peg’s one of the best sources of gossip we have.’
She moved to join Conker and Peg, but Leo hesitated, staring nervously at Peg’s broad back, her slightly bowed shoulders, her gleaming dark brown hair.
‘Come on!’ Freda ordered, looking back at him. ‘She’s harmless at present. And she’s very responsible – always closes the shop before sunset. Just in case she gets carried away and eats a customer – you know.’
Leo nodded feebly.
When Peg heard that Conker wanted a new cooking pot, she frowned. ‘Not many left,’ she growled. ‘Waiting for a new delivery. Better you come back tomorrow.’
‘Can’t do that, Peg,’ Conker said briskly. ‘We’re leaving for Hobnob tonight.’
Peg sighed and led the way to a large cage.
Inside the cage sat three round, black pots. One was small, one was large and the third was medium-sized. As Conker moved closer, all three pots stood up on wiry, bowed legs and began whimpering and jumping up and down.
‘These all half-price special,’ said Peg, the corners of her mouth turning down.
‘Good,’ said Conker. ‘I’ll have that one.’ He pointed at the medium-sized pot, which jumped up and down even harder.
‘You don’t want that one,’ Peg said flatly. ‘That one no good for my friend. It good for tourists only.’
The medium-sized pot raised its handle indignantly and redoubled its leaping and whimpering.
‘It looks all right to me,’ said Conker, smiling at it encouragingly. ‘Plenty of energy and just the right size. I’ll take it.’
Peg sighed and flipped the cage lid open. Using a pole with a hook at one end, she caught the medium-sized pot by its handle and lifted it out. The two rejected pots looked depressed. Leo felt sorry for them, especially the little one.
‘Not to worry,’ Peg said, noticing his expression. ‘Is school holidays. Tourists will buy, no problem.’
She clipped a long chain to the cooking pot’s handle and gave the free end to Conker. Then she helped Conker select a large cooking spoon, a coil of super-strong yellow cord, two backpacks with many special pockets, money pouches for Mimi and Leo and many other things including a natty device that combined compass, tape measure, nail clipper and poison-testing kit.
‘We’ve got most of this stuff back at the tavern,’ Freda grumbled as Conker divided his purchases between the two packs. ‘What’s the point of spending our hard-earned money on –’
‘Time is money,’ Conker said grandly, passing a large number of coins to Peg. He shouldered the heavier of the two packs and pushed the other towards Leo.
‘See you, then,’ said Peg amiably, shambling with them to the door and opening it for them. ‘You take care in Hobnob. Like I said – funny things happening up north.’
She swatted at a couple of blue butterflies that had incautiously flown too close to her head and glanced at the sky. ‘Sunset very soon,’ she added casually.
‘Oh, right!’ Conker exclaimed. ‘Well, see you later, Peg!’
He bolted through the door with the cooking pot. Leo and Freda hurried after him.
Chapter 9
Woffles Way
Conker, Freda and Leo set off along Woffles Way at a brisk jog. Nothing was said, but they were all keen to put plenty of distance between themselves and Peg before the sun went down. After only a few minutes, however, the new cooking pot began whimpering and dragging its feet. ‘Legs sore, Conkie,’ it wailed in a tinny voice. ‘Carry me?’
‘Don’t be silly!’ scolded Conker, glancing at Freda, who was rolling her eyes. ‘You’re a big, grown-up cooking pot and you can walk. Now hurry up. Do you want the bear to eat you?’
‘Won’t eat me,’ said the cooking pot. ‘I not made of meat. Only e
at you. Carry me?’
‘No!’ Conker roared. He jerked the chain and jogged on, dragging the pot behind him. The cooking pot stubbornly drew up its legs and bumped along on its base in the dust.
‘It’ll dent itself at this rate,’ Freda remarked to no one in particular.
Conker looked up at the slowly dimming sky. ‘Oh, my liver, lungs and gizzards!’ he exploded. He snatched up the cooking pot and set off again.
‘Conker, what was Peg telling you back there?’ Leo asked. ‘Something about some rumours? I couldn’t hear properly.’
‘Oh!’ Conker glanced nervously over his shoulder at the mention of Peg. ‘Nothing important. She’s heard some travellers’ tales about folk in the north claiming that the – ah … the S–T–R–I–X had woken, and was on the move.’
‘The what?’ Leo demanded. ‘S, T, R … What’s the Stri–’
‘Don’t mention it!’ Freda quacked.
Leo glanced at her. She was cruising along in her usual half-running, half-flying style, but her head was up and her eyes were alert as she scanned the mounds of red-rimmed clouds gathering on the horizon.
‘It’s … a monster, sort of –’ puffed Conker. ‘Supposed to drift around in the sky – in a cloud palace – high up – out of sight. Supposed to come down and – carry off children and so on. Bad luck to speak its name – in case you summon it. Nothing to worry about. Probably just a myth, anyway.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that,’ Freda said darkly.
‘Are we there yet?’ whined the cooking pot.
‘One – more – word out of you and I’ll drop you and leave you here to rust!’ wheezed Conker. ‘Freda, anything behind us?’
‘Not so far,’ Freda said.
Conker slowed down to a walk. ‘There’s probably – no real danger,’ he said as he caught his breath. ‘We’ve known Peg for years. She’d probably recognise us, even when she’s a bear.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that, either,’ Freda said.
‘Conker, let me carry that for a while,’ Leo offered, holding out his arms for the cooking pot.
Conker passed the pot over to him, but no sooner had Leo taken it than it began to whimper and struggle. ‘Conkie carry me!’ it wailed.
