Under Gornstock

by Clive Mullis

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he replied aping her action. ‘It worked out better than I expected.’

  ‘You mean you found the man?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  He paused.

  ‘Jack, stop pissing about.’

  Cornwallis chuckled. ‘Just trying to inject a bit of drama into the conversation.’

  ‘Don’t bother, you’re a ham actor.’

  ‘That’s nice; there’s me perched on the edge of danger risking life and limb, while you stay here taking it easy, relaxing in a pub... Ooof! Ow, that hurt,’ he added as her elbow dug into his ribs.

  ‘Serves you right, Jack Cornwallis. As if you ever perch on the edge of danger, you normally leave that to Frankie and me.’

  ‘The art of management is delegation. As the head of the company, it’s down to me to make certain the appropriate person is delegated the appropriate task.’

  ‘Whoa, big boy. Are you saying that my welfare comes second to the job?’

  Cornwallis’ eyes widened as he stared into the hole he’d just dug. ‘Er, no. I just wanted to know if you’d bite, and you did.’

  ‘Too bloody right I did. If I thought for one moment that you didn’t care about what happens to me and Frankie then that would be the end — of everything.’

  Cornwallis’ face drained of colour as he stared into the abyss. ‘No, no, no. NO. I do, you know that. Look, I’m sorry I tried to be funny. It didn’t work. You know how I feel about you, and I’m panicking now. I’ll say something nice.’

  ‘What are you going to say?’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘Jack, has anyone told you that you can be bloody useless at times?’

  ‘Er, yes.’

  ‘Well, you’ve just confirmed it.’

  Silence descended between the pair of them, tumbleweed rolled through the pub, but only two people noticed. Each picked up their pint and took a swig, the slurps highlighted by the lack of interaction. Rarely were there moments of silence between them, except companionable silence, and this certainly lacked the companionable bit. The eeriness heralded a row and both of them knew it. It had just flared up out of nothing, a spark igniting where a spark shouldn’t have flashed. An innocent occurrence that could have serious consequences; Cornwallis became more worried now than he had ever been. Rose was his world and he wasn’t going to lose her for anything.

  ‘Er… has something just happened?’ he asked, a worried cadence to his voice.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Rose. ‘It has.’

  ‘Do you mind telling me what?’

  ‘Work it out.’

  ‘I’m trying.’

  ‘Not hard enough, that’s obvious.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re being a dick.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A prime one at that.’

  A sigh. ‘If I said I’m sorry, would that work?’

  ‘Possibly, if you meant it, really meant it.’

  ‘I do mean it.’

  ‘What are you sorry for?’

  ‘For being a dick.’

  A silence came again but the tumbleweed had rolled into the distance now, but still just visible, as both pints were drained to the sludge at the bottom of the glass.

  ‘Okay, I’ll forgive you, but only if you promise not to look at me and Frankie as part of the furniture, ever again.’

  ‘I never have done,’ he defended.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No, never. Look, I just tried to be light, tried to be funny, tried to lighten your mood after the busy day you’ve had. I know who bribed those lads to do what they did and thought to tease you a little. It’s all gone wrong. I’m sorry.’

  Another silence.

  ‘Get the pints in, Jack, and I might, just might, forgive you,’ said Rose eventually, a little sparkle coming back into the corner of her eyes.

  Cornwallis didn’t hang around, returning with two brim-full pints and a packet of roasted nuts, a large packet, knowing how she liked them.

  ‘Ooh, nice,’ she remarked as they plonked on the table. ‘Did you order some chips too?’

  Cornwallis’ mouth opened to make a smart reply but managed to stop himself just in time. ‘Not yet,’ he replied instead.

  She painted on a hurt look.

  ‘I’ll just go and order some now, shall I?’ his backside still poised above the chair seat.

  Rose nodded and then smiled. ‘You know how to spoil a girl, Jack.’

  With chips ordered and nuts demolished, resumption of the day’s business could recommence.

  ‘So, who is it?’ asked Rose, rinsing the nuts away with a slurp.

  ‘Fletcher Phimp,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘He works for the minister responsible for Dwarfs and Bipeds.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, exactly. At face value, it would seem the minister’s heart is not exactly on the job. However, even if Phimp is involved, it doesn’t mean the minister is too, but it does seem likely.’

  ‘That’s a turn up for the books. Do you know this minister?’

  Cornwallis shook his head. ‘Not personally, but his name is Brooksturner. We’ll have to keep an eye on the pair of them, especially Phimp, but it’s going to be difficult.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘He’ll do what he can, but he’s got all his work to do as well.’

  ‘In that case, why not just have a few words with Phimp; see if imminent arrest can work its magic.’

  ‘If the opening of The Pipe was tomorrow, then I think we would. But I want to know if the minister is involved and I also want to know who in the guilds is in on it because there must be some.’

  ‘Phimp would tell us.’

  ‘Maybe, but what if he doesn’t? Pulling him in would just alert everyone else and then they’d go to ground. No, I think another day or so might lead us to whoever is orchestrating it all. At least we’ve got another link in the chain. Ah, here comes our defective detective,’ he added as Frankie walked in.

  ‘Afternoon,’ bellowed Frankie as he approached the table, Isabella and Tulip in tow. ‘Strewth, have you ever looked at the price of baby beds in town?’

  Cornwallis and Rose shook their heads slowly.

  ‘No problem for your pocket I suppose, small change to you, but us mere mortals—‘

  ‘Frankie,’ interrupted Isabella. ‘Shut up. You’re not poor. You were once, I grant you, but not now and anyway, only the best for our daughter.’

  ‘Yeah, but they were taking the piss for a bit of wood and a mattress.’

  ‘But you bought it and I don’t remember you moaning at the time.’ She turned to Rose.’ But he’s certainly made up for it, whining all the way back here.’

  ‘No, I was being polite, and of course, I were still in shock at the price.’

  ‘Let’s be honest here, Frankie. You moan about spending half-a-dollar on a kebab.’

  ‘No, I don’t moan about the half-dollar, but I do want a kebab that’s full.’

  ‘Full of what?’ asked Cornwallis.

  ‘Whatever shit goes into a kebab. How the hell should I know what goes into them things? I just want it full of the stuff.’

  ‘As long as there’s extra chilli sauce, eh?’

  ‘Too bloody right, which is why I’m moaning about what you gets fer yer money. You gets the extra chilli sauce with a kebab, but not with a sodding baby bed. No extra bits there, just a bed and a mattress.’

  ‘But it’s just a bed,’ reasoned Rose.

  ‘Yeah, but they could give you some ribbons or something. At that price, they could afford to.’

  ‘Frankie,’ shouted Isabella. ‘Will you just bloody well shut up, will you.’

  Everyone turned and stared in muted silence.

  ‘Isabella,’ said Frankie when he recovered from the shock. ‘You just swore in front of Tulip.’

  ‘Yes, and if her first words turn out to be “Bugger” or “Bollocks” or ‘Shit”, then you know who to blame bec
ause it won’t be me.’

  ‘Do you mind, I don’t bloody swear in front of my daughter.’

  ‘What did you just do?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You just swore.’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes you did. Rose, Jack, tell him.’

  ‘Er,’ said Cornwallis, not wanting to get involved in their argument having just settled his own.

  Rose pursed her lips. ‘Frankie, you are an arse. You swear all the time; you just don’t know you’re doing it.’

  ‘What do you mean? My language is nowt but clean Inglionish, albeit with a smattering of Gornstockian thrown in.’

  Frankie, just shut up and get some drinks in. It’s your round.’

  ‘No it bloody isn’t, we’ve just got here.’

  Rose and Isabella shook their heads slowly, as if to a naughty schoolboy.

  ‘He tries my patience sometimes,’ remarked Isabella.

  ‘Mine too,’ agreed Rose. ‘Not sometimes though, all the bloody time.’

  Cornwallis and Frankie shared a look of their own. ‘Come on,’ said Cornwallis. ‘You’re not going to win. Let’s get the drinks in.’

  Cornwallis and Frankie headed over to the bar, Frankie mumbling discontent all the way. As they ordered the drinks, Cornwallis began to rub his chin in thought.

  ‘Have you seen your cat recently?’

  ‘What, Fluffy? Yeah, ‘e went back to the house.’

  ‘Oh good.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s a little job he can do for us.’

  Rose yelled over. ‘And find out where those bloody chips have got to.’

  Chapter 26

  He didn’t like it at all. The meanest, crabbiest thing on four legs this side of the river suffering the ignominy of being unceremoniously carried through the austere surroundings of the house to only the gods knew where, crammed into a dark, smelly and rank leather holdall, which at present bounced and battered him as the holdall hit doors and walls and scraped along dusty floors and corridors. Forced into compliance with a promise, just on the off chance that something might happen. They were in the inner sanctum of the Assembly and his porter for this enterprise was none other than the Earl of Bantwich himself.

  Fluffy didn’t care who did the carrying, but the conveyance itself degraded a cat of his eminence. If the story ever got out it would take an age to live it down: being carried, in a bag!

  Muffled words hit his ears, filtered as though through cotton wool. Fortunately, he didn’t need to hear properly at the moment, just wait until the earl released the little flap in the bag so he could get a tiny view of the man he needed to follow.

  The bag thumped to the ground and Fluffy swore under his breath as he lurched to the side and came up against the soft springy leather; a few seconds later, a little light appeared through a gap. The earl had opened the flap and Fluffy could now see a pair of legs covered in black trousers. It was a start, but he would have to see a bit more than a couple of cloth-covered sticks in order to keep an eye on a man.

  He eased himself as far forward as the constraints of the bag allowed and then gazed up, catching a look at Phimp for the first time.

  ‘…Of course, the cab drivers are setting up in a service of their own, but I’m sure the minister will put all his efforts into supporting the dwarfs.’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ replied Phimp smoothly. ‘I will inform the minister of your interest in the matter.’

  Fluffy didn’t like Phimp. Bucket-loads of animal instinct kicked in as the secretary spoke. Phimp emanated. What he emanated, Fluffy couldn’t say, but it emanated towards him and he didn’t like it one iota. His hairs stood out like prongs as he viewed the thin, oily, hawk-like secretary to the minister.

  Phimp had a thin face with a protuberant nose; light mousy over-long hair flopped about his face accentuating his slit of a mouth. His whole demeanour indicated poised calculated subservience, hiding his natural demeanour of confident arrogance; he was the type of person who sidled. Though at the moment only a secretary, he hoped to someday bridge the divide.

  ‘You do that, Phimp,’ replied the earl. Just let him know that the Warden and I are interested spectators.’

  ‘Spectators, sir? I believe your son has a healthy interest in The Pipe.’

  ‘Oh, he does, Phimp. But his businesses and mine rarely come into contact.’

  The earl touched Phimp’s arm and steered him around, allowing Fluffy time to creep out of the bag and dive beneath a chair close by. The earl continued talking whilst at the same time looking over his shoulder at the bag on the floor. He just saw the end of a ginger tail disappear from sight and figuratively breathed a sigh of relief. He could now make his excuses and get away from the odious Phimp, his job now done.

  Phimp narrowed his eyes as he watched the earl disappear down the corridor, it was unusual for someone of the earl’s rank to converse with just the mere secretary of the minister, and it raised a slight suspicion in the back of his mind, but only for a moment. He worked hard to be willing and compliant, so he assumed the earl was sounding him out for a possible promotion to a higher ministry in the near future. The Assembly had its little ways and he knew that this was one of them. Nearly all the members had inherited their seats, but just occasionally, a vacant one came up. Could it be possible that something might be in the offing? If only the earl knew how duplicitous he could be, he thought, suppressing the grin that wanted to break out; now he had both bases covered.

  A couple of minutes later, Phimp followed the earl out of the reading room and fairly skipped down the corridor, followed closely behind by a little ginger fur-ball.

  *

  ‘Didn’t you say you were not staying long?’ asked Maud from behind her fortress of a desk. ‘I mean, three detectives on an active case shouldn’t be sitting around twiddling their thumbs and drinking coffee, leaving a little pussycat to do all the work for them, should they?’

  ‘In these circumstances, yes,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘We are anticipating developments, and anyway, describing Fluffy as a pussycat is a bit like describing dwarf whisky as flavoured water: there is only a vague resemblance, though admittedly based on fact.’

  ‘Yes, well…’

  ‘I think Maud would like us to vacate the premises,’ said Rose, smiling at the secretary. ‘We’re in the way.’

  ‘In the way?’ asked Frankie from his position of slouching in the chair. ‘How are we in the way in our own office?’

  ‘Because,’ answered Cornwallis. ‘When Maud is in the office, then it’s her office, we are just the furniture. She’s right though, we should be getting our arses into gear. I need to see how The Pipe is doing and you two should be down at the Assembly, keeping our police officers company.’

  ‘Dewdrop and Felicity,’ said Rose nodding agreement. ‘You told them we’ll be down later?’

  ‘I did. Sal will keep them fed, so they won’t go hungry and Sal knows both Phimp and Brooksturner; quite regular customers from what she said.’

  ‘Special rates,’ explained Frankie. ‘She feeds ninety percent of the Assembly on a regular basis. No one does a special quite like mum.’

  ‘You need to be there for the lunchtime rush,’ said Cornwallis. ‘Dewdrop and Felicity are there just in case, but it’s unlikely that Phimp will leave the Assembly until then. My father has ensured that the minister, Brooksturner, has work all morning and will need Phimp to help him.’

  ‘Let’s hope they let slip a few nuggets of information and that Fluffy is there to hear it,’ said Rose.

  ‘That’s the hope,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘I’ll walk down with you, I can get in at The Trand entrance; I’ll come and join you when I’m finished with Goodhalgan.’

  Cornwallis watched with interest as he stood outside the entrance, observing as the ladder went up. The grand opening was just two days away and the dwarfs were busy applying the finishing touches. One dwarf climbed the ladder as another passed up the sign which he then
hammered into place. “The Trand” proudly displayed in a bar across a white roundel with a blue rim; a solid black circle filling the middle. They had agreed the logo a few days ago: the black circle denoted the tunnels and the rest because it looked nice. It seemed to work though.

  The grinning dwarfs greeted Cornwallis as he entered the gleaming station. He walked past the ticket office and across the foyer to the steps which led down to the platform where the trains would stop. Everything looked the business and he visualised advertising posters that could adorn the walls giving the place a bit of colour and breaking up the expanse of bare wall.

  All that was in the future, at the moment, it was more important to get The Pipe working and get people to use it. He hoped all the advertising around the city was going to bring paying customers flocking to use it.

  Cornwallis looked up as he heard a noise coming through the tunnel: a clack-clackety-clack noise indicating the imminent arrival of a train.

  A four-dwarf powered train trundled into the station with four carriages, all packed with dwarfs, standing room only. It eased to a halt and then the doors burst open and everyone inside piled out, all eager to be somewhere else. The platform swarmed with dwarfs, all of them running in different directions. Cornwallis stood wide-eyed in the centre of it all as the crowd engulfed him, pushing, shoving and jostling him here, there and everywhere. The dwarfs all shouted at the top of their voices, a deafening noise, made worse as the walls bounced the noise back to the ears. A whistle blew two short blasts and then all the dwarfs did an about-turn and rushed back towards the carriages. It was a scrum as elbows and feet were used to the utmost advantage to get through the doors in order to bag the few seats available. The melee ensued for a few more moments, leaving Cornwallis spinning on his spot, totally bewildered and bedraggled. Another whistle and the doors smacked closed and then the train moved off, front wheels screeching as they slipped and spun, trying to gather momentum. Then the back of the last carriage disappeared into the gloom and peace and tranquillity returned to the platform.

  Cornwallis shook his head wondering whether he had just imagined the whole thing, whether his mind was playing tricks, whether he was suffering from a hangover that he didn’t know he had.