Wychetts

by William Holley

15 Death Trap

  “And this will be the study,” announced Bill, leading Mr Dawes into the dingy, cramped little room.

  “Dining room,” said Jane, following close behind.

  Mr Dawes looked confused. “Which is it to be? Dining room or study”

  “We haven’t decided,” said Bill.

  “But I thought we agreed,” hissed Jane. “This is to be the dining room.”

  Bryony and Edwin crouched in the hallway, peering through the door. They looked at each other and smiled. Perhaps, thought Bryony, they weren’t going to need magic after all.

  But Bill relented. “Oh yes, I was forgetting. This will be the dining room.”

  All that seemed irrelevant to the man from the Council. “I can smell damp.” Mr Dawes walked to the nearest wall and pointed to a large brown stain. “See, you have significant damp penetration in your lower levels.”

  “It’s just a small patch,” Bill assured him. “It’s not as though the place is dripping wet.”

  Bryony made a wish.

  A bucket load of water came from nowhere and splashed all over Mr Dawes.

  “The wall might not be dripping,” spluttered the man from the Council. “But I am!”

  Bill looked puzzled. “I don’t know where that came from. I’m sorry, but I assure you the damp problem can be easily rectified.”

  Mr Dawes was about to reply when another deluge of water came down on him. This time it had bits of seaweed and small fish in it. Bryony stifled a giggle and glanced at the guilty party. Edwin beamed back at her, proud of his handiwork.

  Mr Dawes pulled a wriggling sprat from his left ear, and glared at Bill with his tiny grey eyes. “I have never seen the like in all my years. This is beyond repair, Mr Platt.”

  Bill took the fish and examined it. “There’s obviously slightly more damp than I thought, but let me show you the rest of the house before you make any hasty decisions.” He handed the fish to a perplexed looking Jane, before leading Mr Dawes from the room. “This way, please.”

  Bryony and Edwin followed at a discreet distance, smirking at each other as Bill ushered Mr Dawes into the kitchen. “Now I know it doesn’t look much at the moment, but I intend to install brand new integral units and...”

  Mr Dawes cut Bill off mid sentence. “See those cracks on the wall? They are sure signs of structural movement. The land round here is renowned for its instability.”

  “Unstable?” Bill smiled and shook his head. “I think you’re being a smidgen over dramatic. This ground is as solid as rock.” He stamped his foot on the floor, and the ground beneath his feet turned to jelly.

  “My God,” gasped Mr Dawes, struggling to remain on his feet. “What’s happening?”

  “Nothing to worry about,” said Bill, clinging to the wall for support. “It’s probably just a passing train.”

  “But there isn’t a railway line for miles,” croaked Mr Dawes.

  “It might have got lost.”

  “Lost? How can a train get loooooo…”

  Suddenly the walls turned to jelly too, and the room resembled a bouncy castle. Bill and Mr Dawes yelled as their bodies bounced up and down.

  Jane came running from the dining room. “Oh Bill! Wait there, I’ll…”

  She tried to reach her husband, but ended up bouncing right in to Mr Dawes, who fell on his back and bounced up again with a startled scream.

  Bryony and Edwin laughed, and performed a triumphant high five. Suddenly all the bouncing stopped and the room became solid again.

  Bill picked himself up, and helped Jane to her feet. “Look Mr Dawes,” he began, but then realised his visitor was nowhere in sight. “Mr Dawes?”

  “I’m up here,” croaked a voice from above. Looking up, Bryony saw a pair of skinny legs sticking out from a hole in the ceiling.

  “Oh I see,” said Bill. “Decided to explore upstairs, have you? Wait up, I won’t be a second.”

  Bill hurried from the room and up the rickety stairs. Not willing to miss out on another golden opportunity, Bryony and Edwin followed.

  By the time they reached the landing, a dusty Mr Dawes was standing next to Bill and pointing up at the roof. “You’ve got more problems here,” he advised. “The thatch has rotted through, and the roof trusses are riddled with woodworm.”

  “I wouldn’t say riddled,” countered Bill. “There’s the odd spot of minor infestation, but it’s not as if the things are dropping out of the woodwork.”

  A tangled mass of slimy, squirming worms fell with a splat onto Mr Dawes’ bald head.

  “Nice one,” said Edwin to Bryony.

  “Your turn next,” she replied with a snigger.

  Mr Dawes flicked the worms from his forehead and glared at Bill again. “The whole roof structure will need replacing. Every beam, every truss, every straw of thatch. From top to bottom, every square inch of this house has something wrong with it. I therefore have no choice but to proceed with demolition.”

  “But you can’t do that,” whined Bill. “It has so much potential. And don’t forget how old it is. Surely our heritage is worth preserving?”

  The man from the Council obviously didn’t think so, brushing past Bryony and Edwin before descending the creaky stairs. “The only thing I’m worried about preserving is my life, which is why I’m getting out of this death trap as quickly as possible.”

  “Wait,” implored Bill. “Take a moment to look at the stairs. Surely a man of your knowledge can appreciate such a wonderful example of ancient craftsmanship?”

  Mr Dawes tapped his foot on the tread. “They don’t feel very stable.”

  “Nonsense,” said Bill. “These stairs are as stable as the day they were built.”

  Edwin winked at Bryony. Suddenly the stairs turned into a helter-skelter, and Mr Dawes slipped and went hurtling down at great speed to crash into Jane, who was carrying a bucket of water containing rescued fish from the dining room. The water went everywhere, but mostly over the man from the Council.

  Lying in a puddle of flopping fish, Mr Dawes croaked and spluttered with fury. It was odd, but Bryony thought his raucous cries that reminded her of a bird.

  In the blink of an eye the fish disappeared and the stairs became stairs again. Bill hurried down and helped Mr Dawes to his feet. “I’m so sorry,” he gushed, patting Mr Dawes’ sodden jacket. “I really don’t know how that happened.”

  “Me neither,” snapped Mr Dawes. “But I know what will happen next. Bulldozers at noon.”

  “But wait,” begged Jane. “You haven’t seen the face yet.”

  “Face?” Mr Dawes paused. “What face?”

  “The fireplace,” said Bill. “It’s a real work of art. I’m sure you’ll change your mind once you’ve seen it.”

  Bill and Jane shepherded Mr Dawes down the hallway. Bryony and Edwin hurried down the stairs and followed the grown-ups into the lounge.

  They were surprised to see that Miss Pauncefoot was already there.

  “Look at this,” she purred, gesturing at Inglenook’s carved wooden features. “Isn’t he a handsome fellow?”

  “I think it was some sort of charm,” said Jane. “To keep out evil.”

  Miss Pauncefoot flinched. “Or it could be purely decorative. Whatever its purpose, such a feature is surely worth preserving, Mr Dawes?”

  Mr Dawes studied the face closely. “A noteworthy example of medieval carving, admittedly. But not enough on its own to warrant saving the property. I’m sorry, Mr and Mrs Platt, but I have no choice but to proceed with the destruction of the property.”

  “But you can’t do that,” wailed Bill. “All my money is tied up in this place.”

  “All our money,” Jane corrected him. “Mr Dawes, what if we asked for more time? Why don’t you give us a few weeks to sort things out?”

  “Weeks?” Mr Dawes gave a derisory croak. “Such work would take years, and that’s if it was carried out by someone who knew the difference between a hack-saw and a hammer.”

  “I�
��ve got sticky tape,” said Bill, as though that fact might change Mr Dawes’ mind.

  “It will take more than sticky tape,” said Mr Dawes. “Your only option is to sell the property to someone who can afford to restore it properly.”

  “Sell it?” Bill shook his head. “And what sort of nincompoop would buy a rotten, damp infested shack like this?”

  “You did,” said Jane, folding her arms.

  Bryony grinned at Edwin again. This had gone much better than she’d dared hope.

  Mr Dawes strode from the lounge. “The inspection is over. I suggest you and your family vacate the premises by eleven thirty. Come, Miss Pauncefoot.”

  Miss Pauncefoot followed her superior from the room, and smiled at Bryony as she walked passed. Bryony smiled back, but couldn’t help thinking there was something strange about the beautiful blonde haired woman. Mr Dawes, too.

  Curious, she walked to the lounge door and peered down the hallway. There was no sign of Miss Pauncefoot or Mr Dawes, but she thought she saw a long, cream coloured tail disappearing through the front doorway. And was that a ragged black bird fluttering skywards?

  Strange, the pair of them. Strange and yet somehow familiar. Bryony was trying to work out how, when a loud shriek interrupted her thoughts.

  “This is all your fault,” said Jane, aiming a trembling finger at Bill. “I knew I should have listened to my mother. She said you were a waste of space. She said I should never have married you.”

  “It isn’t my fault,” protested Bill. “How was I to know the place was going to be demolished? Come now, be reasonable sweetie-bubs.”

  “Don’t call me sweetie-bubs,” snarled Jane, before bursting into tears. “I hate those silly names! And I hate you!”

  “But wait,” called Bill, rushing after Jane as she fled through the door. “Please, puppy-pops! Don’t get angry….”

  Bryony and Edwin executed another high-five.

  “Mission accomplished,” beamed Bryony.

  “One hundred percent success,” agreed Edwin. “We made quite a good team.”

  “I don’t know what you both look so pleased about,” said Stubby, poking his head out of Edwin’s pocket again. “Don’t you realise what you’ve done?”

  “Of course we do,” laughed Edwin. “We’ve saved ourselves from a life of misery.”

  Stubby sighed. “And in so doing have sentenced Wychetts to destruction.”

  Bryony shrugged carelessly. “Sorry, but it’s for the greater good.”

  “Couldn’t be helped,” agreed Edwin. “The main thing is that we both got what we wanted.”

  “Typical humans,” tutted the mouse. “Always thinking of themselves.”

  “Do not be too harsh on them,” said Inglenook, suddenly coming to life again. “They are young in years, but in time they will learn to use the power for good.”

  “But that’s just it,” groaned Stubby. “There won’t be any power for them to use once the bulldozers have given you a going over. Honestly, for someone so wise you’re a right proper thicko.”

  “He is made of wood,” pointed out Bryony.

  “Do not fret,” said Inglenook, his voice as calm as ever. “I trust the young Masters. They are descendants of the Wise Ones. Eventually they will know the truth of all things.”

  “But there won’t be an eventually,” squealed Stubby. “There won’t be anything after midday. Don’t you understand, balsa brains? You’re going to be demolished. Knocked down. Flattened like a pancake and ground into dust.”

  The carved features crinkled into a thoughtful expression. “But perhaps it is better to be destroyed than fall under the power of the Shadow Clan.”

  “And what would happen then?” asked Edwin.

  “The world as we know it would end,” explained Inglenook. “Fire would rain from the sky, continents would collapse in on themselves and swallow the oceans, every life form on the planet would either perish or face eternal enslavement. And there will be a world-wide shortage of ice-cream.”

  “That’s awful,” gasped Bryony, scarcely able to believe what she’d just heard. “Even mint choc chip?”

  “Even mint choc chip,” revealed Inglenook, gravely.

  “But what about the safeguards?” said Edwin. “You won’t let us use Wychetts’ power for personal gain, so surely the same rule applies to the likes of this Shadow Clan?”

  “Such rules were made for Guardians,” explained Inglenook. “The measures put in place by the Wise Ones could never stop the Shadow Clan from carrying out their destructive plans. It is the job of the Guardians to ensure the likes of the Shadow Clan never seize power in the first place.”

  Edwin stared at Inglenook. “But the Shadow Clan won’t take control of your power. Will they?”

  “They’d have to act pretty quick if they want to,” said Stubby. “By my reckoning they’ve got another hour and a half before the demolition squad turns up.”

  An hour and a half? Edwin suddenly felt uneasy. Inglenook’s words had made him think.

  He was a Guardian. He was supposed to protect Wychetts; instead he was responsible for its destruction.

  Well, at least partly.

  He turned round to voice his concerns to Bryony, but she had already left the room.