by Larry Mark
Chapter 6
“-can’t close the park can they, mum? Why would they even-” Lord Thurgo asks trailing in behind the High Queen.
High Queen Claire sets Princess Pukey down among us. Immediately One-Eye is snared by a pudgy hand. We all lie even stiller, trying not to listen to the awful slurping sounds, whilst still trying to hear this news about the park.
“Car park,” High Queen Claire answers. A snappy reply, lacking the tone of awed respect Lord Thurgo deserves.
“But-” Thurgo the Awesome begins one of his famously clever arguments. My view is partially obscured by One-Eye’s legs sticking out of Princess Pukey’s mouth. I daren’t move for a better look though.
“Not now, Billy!” The High Queen clearly doesn’t want to talk about this. She must know that Lord Thurgo would use his evil genius to defeat her. Instead she hurries off toward the kitchen looking rather upset.
“But I play there!” Thurgo’s impeccable logic chases her out. “All us kids do! Who wants another car park?”
Lord Thurgo throws off his schoolbag and gives chase. He’s not one to give up. You don’t get to rule the world by giving up. Not without being extramungo lucky anyhow.
A terrible stink reaches me and I wonder for a moment if Lord Thurgo’s enemies have launched some kind of chemical attack against us. I only wonder it for a moment before Princess Pukey’s nappy-clad behind looms over me, obscuring all light... and hope. And then she sits down.
It’s good and dark when I finally recover consciousness. There are some stenches that even a goblin can’t withstand. Sergeant Yellow-Fang helps me to my feet. “Well done, Kevin. You took that one for the team.” He pauses to scrape some baby sick from his shoulder. They say it’s lucky to have a baby puke on you. I’d never really agreed with that myself before today, but compared to me the sergeant did get a lucky escape.
I sit up and have a good look around. Most of the goblins are over in the corner, crowded around Captain Bort but a few are still with me by the toy box.
“Alphonso! Are you eating my dog?” I narrow my eyes at him and pick up a large Duplo brick.
Alphonso straightens up and tries to look innocent – which is hard to do with a mouth full of fluff. “Ggfhfsmmm,” he says... or it could have been, “Hjkldgds.” I think he’s saying ‘maybe’ but as if he’s reading it after some tried typing the word with boxing gloves on. Fluffy is lying on the carpet at his feet displaying a glistening bald patch as big as... well... Alphonso’s mouth. I snatch some of the fluff from his lips and pat it back on the exposed area. Fortunately the patch is nice and sticky so Fluffy’s coat is almost as good as new.
“Don’t you ever do that again, Alphonso.”
Alphonso shakes his head.
“I don’t care if she tastes nice,” I say. Sometimes this sort of problem can be solved with a firm talking to and some calm reasoning.
“Sorry.” Alphonso wipes his mouth and licks his lips.
I take Fluffy under my arm. “I’m glad we had this talk.”
Alphonso nods.
I nod back. The matter is settled. Fluffy and I set off to see what the excitement in the corner is. I take two paces, pause, turn back, and hit Alphonso with the brick for good measure. “Settled.”
All the goblins around Captain Bort are asking him and each other the same question, so I join in and ask it too.
“How can they close the park?” I ask.
“They can’t close the park can they?” asks Gobber.
“They’re not allowed to close it are they?” Jabber jabs Oooof.
“Munno...” Oooof shrugs.
It turns out that none of us know – which isn’t unusual. None of us know most things.
“And who,” I ask, “are ‘they’?”
“Good question, #247” Captain Bort sets a heavy hand on my shoulder. Not his, just one he found in the toy box.
“Really?” I’m not sure I’ve ever asked a good question before. I feel somewhat lightheaded.
Captain Bort nods. “We need to find out who Lord Thurgo’s enemies are. So we can crush them. It’s inefficient crushing everyone. Best we find the person or persons responsible. Then we goblin all over them.”
We raise a hearty cheer at that. Nothing we likes better than goblin-ing all over the enemies of Thurgo.
“For tonight though, Sir Terror-Knight has already given me our orders. A direct mission!”
Another rousing cheer, then another. I’m not sure at which point it stops being about the direct mission and starts being just because it’s fun to cheer. Somewhere around the tenth minute I’m guessing.
“Silence, minions!” Captain Bort cuts our rejoicing off with a sharp command.
I swallow my cheer. And a small fly that happened to be passing.
“Tonight we’re blocking up all the letterboxes in Victoria Street. Lord Thurgo has identified mail as the source of the High Queen’s unhappiness. It might even be the source of all unhappiness.”
I have to disagree on that last point. Princess Pukey’s bottom had been the source of a lot of my unhappiness earlier on. I don’t say so though – minions are built to agree. Except when we’re being disagreeable.
“Questions?” Captain Bort gives us a hopeful look.
“When’s-” Gobber pulls down Alfonso’s arm and applies his hand to Alfonso’s mouth to keep in the question about when dinner might be.
I distract the captain with, “Why do we have to block up all the letterboxes?”
“Good question, #247!” Captain Bort jabs his pointing stick in my direction. “You’re wondering why we don’t just seal the one on our door.”
Actually I was just being lazy and using a whiny question to waste time rather than having to do all that work. But two good questions in one night has me so bursting with pride that I might offer to do block up a whole extra street as well if nobody shuts me up.
“We’re doing them all,” says Captain Bort, “so it’s not immediately obvious who did it, and so mail can’t just be left with the neighbours.”
At this point I start to drift off and let the plot flow over me in gentle plot-filled waves as Captain Bort drones through the details. He starts to point to the flip chart where he has crayoned in two squares and a diamond to help illustrate our tactics.
“So!” Captain Bort declares enthusiastically.
My head snaps up. “I wasn’t asleep.”
“Me neither.” Yawns Gobber, stretching his long arms.
“So!” Captain Bort lumbers toward us, slapping his belly. “Everyone grab their equipment and we’ll be off.”
I look at Gobber. Gobber looks at me. We both look at One-Eye. One-Eye shrugs. Then blinks. Or winks.
“Remember to only take the selotape if you can find the end. And for pity’s sake be careful with the Kiddie Glue. We don’t want another JimGumby situation.” Captain Bort snatches some string from the play drawer and heads toward the hall.
“JimGumby?” asks Jabber.
“Before you arrived, Jabber.” I shake my head and shiver. Jim and Gumby had been fine goblins until they got stuck together. Never the same afterward. Lord Thurgo traded them for jellybeans in the end. “Gots to be careful with the glue.”
Armed with random bits and pieces from the play drawer we hurry after the captain. I clutch a piece of felt cut into a star shape and a lump of fairly dried out play-dough. I’m sure they’ll come in handy. Lucy has four crayons, Oooof an armful of sequins, and Gut-ripper has a corkscrew... though I don’t think she found it in the toy box.
The captain and Sergeant Yellow-Fang have already started opening the door. I help to steady the bag of marbles. Gobber and Jabber wrestle the plastic chicken into place. More goblins pile on into the effort and within a few minutes the door clicks open, swinging back to reveal...
“Power-Bot Nine!” Captain Bort states the obvious as the huge droid lowers his retractable arms from the vicinity of our letterbox.
Power-Bot Nine is Prince Stup
id’s second in command – the mega-mind behind the Prince’s robot horde. Whatever he’s doing on Castle Thurgo’s doorstep it can’t be a good thing!
“CAPTAIN BORT.” Power-Bot Nine’s mechanical voice issues from the translator hanging below his neck. All across his chest console lights come on, little blue ones and little red ones. Patterns of lights flicker briefly across the place where you’d hope to find a face.
As the door swings wider still we see at least twenty robots lined up behind Power-Bot Nine, all clutching rolls of selotape, drawing pins, or bottles of white glue. Frank’s near the back. I wave my felt star at him and he glowers at me. I can tell it’s a friendly glower. Frank’s alright, Frank is.
“W-what are you doing?” Captain Bort’s voice wavers. I can tell he’d rather have Sir Terror-Knight beside him.
“WALRUS... WALRUSing,” Power-Bot Nine says. He taps a thick metal finger to his translator unit. “SEALION... MANATEE... MANTEEing”
“What?” Captain Bort glances back at us to see if anyone has understood.
Power-Bot Nine smacks his translator unit against the wall. “SEALing YOUR LETTERBOX.”
“Why?” Captain Bort wisely doesn’t give away the fact that we were just about to do the same thing ourselves. If we can get a bunch of robots to do it for us, all the better!
“CHOCOLATE FROG FINGERS >>&&X” Power-Bot Nine gives his translator unit a hard stare. Something he can do despite it being on his chest. I wish my eyes would go out on stalks too... He points back down the line. “MINION R2D3PO.”
The robot being indicated steps out into full view and comes forward. “Frank!” I shout.
Frank comes up to speak on his boss’s behalf. “Power-Bot Nine, all praise to him and to Prince Stupendous, bids me translate his mighty robot talk into mere goblin.” Frank’s single red eye scans back and forth across us in disdain. “We are sealing all letterboxes in order to keep out bad news.”
“You heard about the park?” I asked. “They want to turn it into a park for cars, with lorry trees and truck bushes and everything...” I trail off under the hard stare Captain Bort is giving me. Power-Bot Nine is also staring at me with three of his five eyes, as if I were a used battery or something. “Oh,” I say. “I’m a minion. Got it. Shutting up now. Won’t say another word. Not a peep.”
“If it was only the park we would be less concerned,” Frank says. “Tarmac is easier on Power-Bot Nine’s wheels than grass.”
“There’s more to it?” Captain Bort asks Power-Bot Nine the question.
“You don’t know?” Frank manages to sound grim and yet superior at the same time. “The car park is so people visiting the supermarket have somewhere to park their cars.”
“What supermarket?” I ask. “Sorry! Sorry! Shutting up.”
Captain Bort gives me angry eyes and Sergeant Yellow-Fang makes a note of my number.
“What supermarket?” Captain Bort asks.
“The one they have to knock Victoria Street down to build,” Frank says. For an emotionless metal killing-machine he sounds pretty sad.
“Isn’t that where we live?” asks Gobber. I realise he’s right.
“They can’t do that!” Captain Bort shouts.
“Who is ‘they’?” I ask. Captain Bort said it was a good question so I plan to keep asking it until I think of another one.
But Captain Bort isn’t looking at me, he’s staring out the front door toward the gate. Power-Bot Nine swivels his head entirely around to follow the captain’s gaze. Robots are scattering to either side as Killerella strides up the path, a colourful tide of little ponies in her wake. The horrid little creatures, all rainbows and friendly smiles, are dragging something... something that Killerella stoops to haul up as she draws level with Power-Bot Nine.
“Which one of you put this up?” she says. At least that’s what I think she says – all her words come out with a sharp edge on them and its hard to understand. She doesn’t look like the sort who’d take well to being asked to repeat herself though. She holds up the sign from the park railings. How she reached up to get it, or how she broke it free I can’t guess.
I stare hard at the sign. The words look familiar.
“HHR-FISH-77%^” says Power-Bot Nine.
“It’s none of Lord Thurgo’s doing,” says Captain Bort.
“It says Slough Council!” I tell them, pointing at the words right at the top of the sign.”
All eyes turn on me. Even the little ponies stare at me with an intensity that suggests I might be a new and delicious type of grass.
There’s a long pause, followed by a short pause and three more long ones.
“You can’t read.” Captain Bort signals Sergeant Yellow-Fang over to drag me away.
“I cans! I cans!” I shout as Sergeant Yellow-Fang looms over me. He really is an excellent loomer.
“What does this say?” Killerella taps a word further down.
“Mango.” It’s a guess. She narrows those ice-water blue eyes at me and I can practically feel the frost forming over my face.
“Is he right?” asks Captain Bort.
“I don’t know,” says Killerella.
“I can read ‘Slough Council’ cos the first and last words on Sir Terror-Knight’s badge of office are “Council and Slough,” I say. “And,” I draw myself up to my full height, which according to one of Lord Thurgo’s shoes is Size 8. “It’s the same words wot are on the side of that black car full of minions.”
A shudder ripples through the little ponies. They know about the men in the car.
“What does it all mean?” Captain Bort eyes the sign with his mistrustful eye and me with his hopeful eye.
“Well,” I say. “Slough Council is-”
“I know what Slough Council is!” Captain Bort booms. He scratches his bottom. “Wait.” He scratches some more. “No I don’t. What were you going to say?”
“Well,” I say. “Slough Council is a thing I’ve never heard of.”
A chorus of electronic whistles and beeps seem to confirm the robots’ data banks are equally blank on the subject.
“Vincent Smythe works for Slough Council,” says Killerella.
All us goblins boo and hiss, except for Alphonso who burps as rudely as he can. The robots chirp and whirr insultingly. The little ponies do their hate-whinnies and one does a multi-coloured poo. We all know about Vincent Smythe. He owns half of Victoria Street and comes round to collect the rent every month. Very interested in counting out each last penny that’s owed but not at all interested in fixing the roof, or the window that won’t shut in the middle bedroom, or the tap that leaks, or the plug that sparks. High Queen Claire often says the house keeps falling down but the rent keeps going up.
Killerella hushes us with a threatening look. “He’s a council man. He gets to say what gets built where.”
“Right then!” Captain Bort waves us on. “Better get these letter boxes sealed up quick!”
Killerella lowers her bow across his chest. “That won’t do any good. Might as well stick your fingers in your ears when someone’s telling you bad news. It doesn’t change what is.”
Oooof tries that at once, but with his fingers in his ears he loses balance and falls on Lucy. Captain Bort draws himself up to his full height, about level with Killerella’s stomach.
“Madam, I’m on DIRECT ORDERS.” You can tell he’s scared. He’s being polite.
“FISHCAkeZZZzz” says Power-Bot Nine.
“Direct orders,” Frank translates for his boss.
Killerella shrugs. “If you’ve changed your mind by tomorrow night come and find us. Lady Grim will know what to do. She knows where Vincent Smythe lives. Posh house on Smuggster Street, up by the town hall. We’ll have us a plot come tomorrow. You’ll see.”
Overheard by a goblin (shoved behind fridge)
Margo (High Queen Claire’s bestest friend): You can’t take this lying down, Claire! Get on to your local councillor or something. You’ll have the same on
e as me... what’s his name... Smith?
High Queen Claire: Smythe. Vincent Smythe.
Margo : Not... you mean your awful landlord is your local councillor?
High Queen Claire: Yup.
Margo: But he owns this house and half the others on the street! He won’t want to have his properties knocked down for some supermarket...
High Queen Claire: He will if the price is right. He’s already sent out eviction notices.
Margo: Smythe’s just going to put you and the kids out on the street?
High Queen Claire: Slough Council will buy the houses off him. They won’t care that he’s let them fall apart or that the electrics are lethal or the plumbing leaks – he’ll get buckets of cash and laugh his way to the bank.
Margo: It’s some kind of scam. It’s got to be! He’s let these places go to ruin knowing he’s fixed it to have them bought up by the council and knocked flat. It’s criminal. That’s what it is!
High Queen Claire: Probably... but what can I do? Me and my kids, we’re little people and when there’s big money to be made people like us get trampled.
Margo (bestest friend): But...
High Queen Claire: We’ve lost before we started, Margo... I can hardly raid the council planning offices for evidence now can I?
