by Clive Mullis
‘Heathen,’ he said quietly.
He scratched again, just because he could and then sniffed before pulling on his gown and padding over to Tulip’s cot.
‘Come on little princess, what’s the matter with you then?’
He lifted her up and gave a sniff down below, thankful that there had been no activity. He put her against his shoulder and began to pat her back, waiting expectantly for the expulsion of trapped air. Tulip continued to wail, so he began to pace around the room, cooing and speaking gently to calm her down, feeling her snot-filled nose rub against his neck. He looked at Isabella and felt a twinge of sympathy as the wailing increased in volume, so he flicked the door handle and walked out onto the landing and over to the other room. He walked around patting her back and, despite the hour, couldn’t help feeling the pride and love, as the pure baby smell flowed up his nostrils. He glanced out of the window and saw a couple of people in the street. He turned and began another circuit of the room and this time the reward came with an almighty belch emanating from his daughter. Tulip gave another couple of blasts and then began to settle. He breathed a sigh of relief, kissed her forehead and began to head back to his own room, now that the Kandalwick household had regained some peace.
A crash, the tinkling of broken glass followed closely by a thump gate-crashed his domestic idyll.
Frankie paused for half a second before rushing in to find Isabella sat up in bed with her hand at her mouth, the squeal of anguish dying in her throat as she saw him come through the door holding Tulip.
Shards of glass lay scattered on the floor, the moonlight making them sparkle like diamonds: the result of the window being smashed.
‘Are you hurt?’ asked Frankie urgently, as Tulip lay snug and snoring against his neck.
Isabella shook her head. ‘No, no, I’m fine.’
Frankie hurried to the window and looked out. He saw nobody but he could hear running footsteps slapping on the cobbles in diminishing volume.
‘Bastards,’ exclaimed Frankie.
He went over to Isabella and handed Tulip to her. Then he lit the lantern by the side of the bed, cranking up the wick until a blaze of light lit the room. He then turned and looked over to Tulip’s cot and saw a half-brick resting on her pillow, a note tied around it.
It took a moment before the full import of what he saw assaulted his brain.
A half-brick, laying where Tulip’s head would have been had she not started screeching — his daughter’s head would have been mashed to pulp.
With deliberate slowness, in order to contain the rage that coursed through his veins, he bent forward and picked up the offending object. Isabella’s eyes were like flint as she and Frankie exchanged glances. She held Tulip protectively, thankful that she was unaware of the drama surrounding her.
‘Feckless evil bastards,’ seethed Isabella. ‘What did they do that for?’
‘Dunno; whoever did it has gone now. I thought I saw a couple of people when I burped her, but I didn’t pay much attention. By the gods, I wish I had; I’ll wring their bloody necks if I get hold of them. Why would some little scrotebag go and do something like that, eh? Why? It must have been them. I’ll be doing for them as soon as I get hold of them — bastards.’
‘Who? What did they look like?’ asked Isabella leaning forward with urgency.
Frankie shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I just noticed they were there.’ He started to unwrap the brick. ‘But I now know what it’s all about.’
He handed Isabella the note.
‘What’s this? “Stop The Pipe,” ’ she read and then dropped the note on the bed. ‘The bastards.’
‘That’s putting in mildly, you wait ‘til I gets hold of them, they’ll wish they’d never been born.’
Both of them stared at the window, no need for words: the rage, the anger, the relief, palpable. Frankie sat down on the bed next to Isabella and folded both her and Tulip into his arms.
For the first time ever, his work had followed him home.
Cornwallis and Rose stood watching the man as he glazed the window. They were shocked speechless at the mindless thuggery of a brick through the window where a baby lay sleeping. It was beyond comprehension.
First thing in the morning, Frankie had sent a boy around to the office with a note briefly outlining what had happened during the night. Luckily, Maud had arrived early and rushed upstairs to wake Cornwallis and Rose who then hurried over to see for themselves what had happened.
The note hung limply in Cornwallis’ hand. “Stop The Pipe,” it said, his Pipe, the one he and the dwarfs were going to open. Not Frankie’s or Isabella’s. So why were they targeted with the brick and not him?
‘Association,’ ventured Rose when he voiced the question. ‘Our place is too high so they looked for an easier target.’
‘You’re probably right,’ agreed Cornwallis. ‘This is an attack on us just as much as Frankie and Isabella.’
Rose nodded. ‘First Sigi and now this: I’m wondering what’s going to happen next?’
Frankie walked back in. ‘Isabella’s giving Tulip her breakfast. I’ve been told to stop fussing so much, but I can’t help it. I keep thinking about what could’ve happened if I hadn’t got up.’ He wiped his meaty hand down over his face. ‘Oh gods, she could’ve been torn to ribbons.’
Rose lay a hand on his arm. ‘But she wasn’t, Frankie, and it won’t happen again. You can all have my old room at the Stoat until this thing’s resolved. Eddie won’t mind.’
‘He won’t?’
‘No, of course not and you’ll only fret if they stay here.’
He nodded and sighed. ‘That’s true,’ he said and then gave an embarrassed grin. ‘I bet you never thought you’d hear me say something like that? Big tough Frankie, eh?’
‘Oh, you’re big and tough, but not to those who love you.’
‘Whoa,’ said Cornwallis. ‘Steady on there, that’s taking it a bit far.’
Rose rolled her eyes. ‘Men, why can’t they be honest once in a while.’
‘Rose, if only you knew,’ said Cornwallis casting a glance in Frankie’s direction. ‘We can’t stand the sight of each other.’
‘Too bloody right,’ agreed Frankie. ‘The little shite never pays me enough.’
‘Oh for god’s sake, I’ve had it with you two.’ She flung her arms into the air and walked out, heading downstairs to speak to Isabella where she might find a bit of sense.
The glazier gave a wipe to the new window with a bit of cloth then began to pack up his tools. Cornwallis fished out some money and handed it over. As the man left, Cornwallis turned to Frankie.
‘We’ll find the bastards, don’t you worry. This is now very personal to both of us.’
‘Yeah, it is. To top it all, the bloody cat has gone missing too.’
Chapter 11
Constables Toopins and Dill looked up into the night sky and saw a few stars twinkling far away in the distance. The moon peeked around a bit of cloud, briefly, before disappearing once more, back into obscurity. A dog barked at something unseen, the noise echoing through the streets until it finally petered out with a yelp and a whimper.
Gornstock resumed its slumber.
‘Romantic, isn’t it?’ said Constable Dill, sliding up close to Constable Toopins and linking an arm through his. ‘There’s just you and me with the whole city before us. Just streets and streets of empty, where in the daytime, you can hardly move for the crush. But at night you can get all this,’ she said, waving a hand in demonstration, ‘and there’s only you and me to see it.’
‘That’s because all the sane people are tucked up in bed. It’s the lot of a feeler to do the things no one else wants to do, and do we get any thanks for it?’
‘We get paid, and we keep the streets safe, and we never get bored with our job.’
‘True.’
‘And we get to go to bed when everyone else is getting up to go to work.’
‘There’s that too.’
‘And, Cecil.’ She leaned in close and whispered in his ear.
Dewdrop began to grin. ‘Day shift? I thought you said she was off?’
‘Overtime.’
‘Then we can…?’
‘All day if you want.’
‘We’ll have to get some sleep.’
‘In-between.’
They turned a corner and came face to face with another pair of feelers patrolling the adjoining beat.
‘In-between what?’ asked Tiffany, a bit of a smirk on her face.
‘Just between,’ replied Felicity. ‘We were talking about fitting things in, how to rise to the occasion and that it should be done whenever an opportunity arose.’
‘The opportunity to do what?’ asked constable Strew innocently.
‘Polish the truncheon. The Sergeant is very hot on that at the moment,’ replied Felicity, straight-faced. ‘I hope you’ve polished your truncheon, Wilf.’
‘Oh, yes, all the time. A bit of oil and I give it a good old rub. Does wonders for it.’
‘So I hear. I polish Cecil’s for him now and again. He’s really happy when I do that for him.’
Strew nodded in understanding. ‘I’m not surprised; my arm don’t half ache afterwards.’
Tiffany coughed. ‘Well, perhaps that’s enough of that. Shall we see if we can find us a brew?’
They all nodded in approval.
‘Then, if the two gentlemen would oblige, there’s a baker back there and he just went into his shop.’
Dewdrop and Strew began to walk down the street to where a little light had just appeared in a window.
‘Is he really that innocent?’ asked Felicity. ‘I mean, Wilf.’
Tiffany nodded. ‘I thought it was hard work with Pooney, but Wilf comes from another world. It must be a nice one because it bears no relation to the real one.’
‘He’s sweet though.’
‘He is, but he doesn’t know the meaning of the word “innuendo.” He’s just so… you know.’ She held up her hands.
‘Hmmm,’ agreed Felicity. ‘Cecil was a bit like that to start with, you know.’
‘Until you polished his truncheon?’
Felicity laughed. ‘You could say that.’
‘Well, I’m not offering to polish Wilf’s.’
‘Whose then?’
‘Now that would be telling.’
Felicity raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Oh, come on,’ she encouraged eagerly.
Tiffany shook her head. ‘No, not yet; even he doesn’t know about it yet.’
‘Really? Now, here’s a mystery; but you’ll tell me first, won’t you?’
‘I’ll let him know first, you can be second — if it happens.’
‘You mean when; I can’t see anyone turning you down.’
‘I’m an old girl now, don’t forget, I’m thirty-two.’
‘Yes, but you look ten years younger.’
They chatted some more as they waited for the boys to return, speaking quietly so as not to disturb the peace of the streets. A few minutes later, the boys walked back up carrying four steaming mugs of tea.
‘We have to take the mugs back when we’re done,’ said Wilf. ‘He says he keeps losing mugs to feelers.’
‘Come on, there’s a bench over there by that green bit. We can rest our feet,’ said Dewdrop, marching determinedly over.
The others joined him and they all sat in a line on the bench, slurping at the hot thick brew.
Felicity sighed. ‘You know, life as a feeler ain’t that bad.’
‘Pay could be better,’ said Dewdrop.
‘Well, yes, it could.’
‘And it would be better if we weren’t spat on, thumped, kicked and generally sworn at.’
‘Yes, there’s that.’
‘And if we were allowed to arrest all the bad people we know.’
‘That would help.’
‘And if people didn’t distrust us when we ask a question.’
‘That too.’
‘And—’
‘Yes, yes. We know all about it, but in general, it’s better than when I used to have to flash my bits just to get a bit of money.’
A short tense silence settled on the little group, most of it coming from Wilf as Felicity’s words penetrated his brain. She’d forgotten that Wilf didn’t know about her previous job as a page three woodcut model.
‘Flash your bits?’ asked Wilf hesitantly.
‘No, no,’ replied Tiffany quickly. ‘She said, “Fish for nits.” She used to go around schools checking the kids’ hair.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Yes, no bits being flashed here.’
Felicity smiled her thanks at her friend and the tension disappeared.
Wilf put a finger in his ear and dislodged a piece of wax. ‘I could have sworn she said—’
‘Oh, what’s happening here, at this time of night?’ asked Dewdrop, as he heard the patter of feet turn the corner.
Two lads came jogging along and immediately slowed to a walk as they saw the four feelers sitting on the bench. They walked past quickly, trying desperately to avoid eye-contact as the feelers watched their progress, all of them slurping at their mugs.
‘What do you think?’ asked Dewdrop.
‘Could be going to work, could be up to no good,’ replied Felicity,’
Dewdrop nodded and then stood up. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen, can we have a word?’ he called after them.
The two lads looked back over their shoulders and hesitated before breaking into a sprint in the general direction of away.
‘Oh, bugger,’ exclaimed Tiffany. ‘I was enjoying this tea as well.’
Just then, a cat ran past, a ginger cat, looking mean and moody.
‘C’mon, after ‘em,’ said the cat as it raced after the two lads.
‘Wha…?’ said Wilf in astonishment. ‘Did that cat just talk?’
‘Yes,’ replied Dewdrop. ‘And I think I know whose cat it is too.’
‘It’s Mr Kandalwick’s, isn’t it?’ said Tiffany. ‘It’s called Fluffy.’
The lads turned the corner and ran down towards the baker’s, the cat following and the four feelers close behind it.
‘Mugs,’ yelled Dewdrop as they passed the baker’s.
A neat line of mugs immediately appeared on the windowsill, a startled baker looking out as Tiffany waved a thank you as she hurried along.
Boots slapping on the pavement, they ran after the lads, who had the advantage of knowing where they were going. The suspects turned a corner into an alley with the cat skidding after, immediately a bang and a crash echoed into the night. The four feelers followed and saw a bin bouncing towards them, having first bounced on the cat.
Fluffy seethed from his flattened position then scrambled up and resumed the chase, now having lost a significant amount of ground.
The four feelers had to slow down, all the light disappearing in the maze of alleys that snaked ahead, but the cat had good night-vision and sprinted off into the gloom.
Dewdrop finally managed to get his night-light out and then it seemed to take an age before a little flame appeared. The arc of light only extended a few feet in front, giving a narrow field of vision, but enough to see where they were going.
Up ahead, another bang pierced the peace and then an ear-splitting feline type of wail followed by a screech and a hiss of anger. A door slammed and then the feelers could hear a loud desperate scratching coming from just a little way ahead.
Tentatively, they crept on, all clustered around Dewdrop’s little pool of light and eventually, the cat entered the weak beam.
Fluffy sat staring menacingly at a door. ‘They’s went in ‘ere,’ said the cat out of the corner of his mouth. ‘The bastards.’
‘Who are they?’ asked Tiffany, squatting down to cat level.
‘Bastards,’ reiterated the cat. ‘The bastards wot broked the winda.’
‘What window?’
‘My winda.’
‘What? Do you
mean Mr Kandalwick’s?’ she asked, the surprise evident in her tone of voice.
‘O’ course I do, ‘oo did you fink I meant?’
Wilf tried to follow the conversation but the shock at hearing a cat speak and the shock that his companions were treating it as normal, stunned him.
‘Why did they do that?’ asked Felicity leaning forward.
‘Buggered if I’s know?’ replied Fluffy. ‘All I knows is that they chucked sommat through the winda and legged it. Bastards kicked me as well, just ‘cause I managed to get me teeth into a leg.’
‘That’s criminal damage, that is,’ observed Dewdrop.
‘Wot, eating a leg?’
‘No, smashing a window.’
‘Which means we can arrest them,’ said Tiffany.
‘Oh, I don’t know. On the say-so of a cat?’ argued Dewdrop.
‘Hmm, there is that, but this is Mr Kandalwick we’re talking about. His window.’
‘Youse saying I’s not telling you the truth?’
‘No, but you’re a cat and the sergeant will go mental if it isn’t done properly.’
‘Sergeant Morant always says we should use our initiative,’ said Felicity. ‘She would arrest them and argue afterwards, especially if something had happened to Mr Kandalwick.’
Dewdrop nodded as the thought of having to explain why he hadn’t done anything to Sergeant Morant, Cornwallis and Frankie, filled him with dread. ‘Maybe you’re right. Let’s bang on the door; if no one answers we’ll go in.’
Felicity stepped up and hammered on the door.
They waited and then tried again.
When there was still no answer, they had to make a decision, so Tiffany made it.
She stood back up and grabbed the door handle, depressing it at the same time. The door swung silently open and she swallowed hard, seeing a great black void beyond the portal.
‘Who wants to go first?’ asked Tiffany, nervously.
Chapter 12
The four feelers searched every room in the house but couldn’t find a sign of the window breakers. Sparsely furnished, the house had long seen better days, a house whose occupants didn’t possess much in the way of money.
