‘What net?’ asked Thug.
‘The one that you two are going to carry,’ screamed Peregrine, ‘along with the rest of the equipment.’
‘All right, keep your beak on!’ Thug said rudely.
Luckily Peregrine didn’t hear. ‘Half of you will then subdue the wildcat with prickly socks whilst the other half tie it up with your bungee ropes. Any questions?’
‘How will we get it back to the castle, sir?’ asked the Sergeant Major.
‘Each bird will be issued with a strap,’ Peregrine replied. ‘Once the wildcat has been subdued, you will attach your strap to the net and airlift the wildcat back to the castle. Once it is safely imprisoned I shall take over with the other officers.’
‘What do we do then, sir?’ asked the Sergeant Major.
‘Wait in the cellars to receive payment. Then you will be free to go.’
‘Liar, liar, feathers on fire!’ chanted Thug under his breath. ‘We’re all going to cop it.’
‘Shhhh!’ Slasher clapped the other wing over his beak.
Peregrine looked at the sky. It was early afternoon on the moor and in winter that meant that dusk wasn’t far away. ‘It’s time to get ready,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’
Back at Biggnaherry Castle, Lady Jemima Dumpling was on the phone in the hall to the landlord of the local pub. ‘She’s put on buses, did you say? So that everyone from the village can come to the Hogmanay party after all? How absolutely murderous – I mean marvellous. How many of you? Fifty-seven! Blast you! I mean – bless you! You’ll bring the haggis for the heave the heavy haggis competition? You’re such a little wart, I mean such a good sport! It’s a terrible line. See you on Friday, then. Goodbye! Goodbye! Good riddance!’
Lady Jemima threw the telephone at the wall. It smashed into pieces. Peregrine would be cross with her for losing her temper, but Peregrine wasn’t there. He was out on the moor putting knockout Plan B into action. ‘It’s just as well Peregrine’s got it covered,’ said Lady Jemima to no one in particular. ‘I need to find the treasure before those busybodies turn up on my doorstep again. Now, where did I put Daddy’s diary?’ Lady Jemima had been looking for it all day. ‘I’m sure I left it on the coffee table in the drawing room.’ She wrapped her cardigan around her and headed for the stairs.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
‘Curses! What is it now?’ Lady Jemima went to answer the door. She took a quick look at her reflection in the mirror. ‘Aargh!’ she jumped back in horror. ‘I look about forty!’ (Actually, Lady Jemima was about forty but for some reason she thought that looking about forty was a bad thing, which is why she had spent so much of her money on plastic surgery.) She massaged the face filler back into place and applied some lipstick.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
‘I’M COMING, DAMMIT!’ she roared. She pulled the door open with a vicious tug.
On the doorstep stood three cats, two children, the man with the wooden leg and the hairy jumper (or was it a beard? – she still couldn’t decide), the woman with the basket and biker boots and the other one with the clipboard. (And Don and Debs.) The only one missing – and thank goodness for that because he was so boring she thought she’d die if she ever met him again – was the policeman who claimed to be her long-lost cousin, two hundred times removed. And Lady Jemima had a pretty good idea why he hadn’t turned up! Curses! If only the rest of them were so easy to shake off …
‘Not you again?’ she snarled.
‘What was that?’ asked Mrs Tucker.
‘I mean how lovely to see you again!
What can I do for you this time?’
‘We’d like to borrow some costumes please,’ said Callie, ‘so that we can dress up for the Hogmanay party.’
Lady Jemima eyed her suspiciously. She was a pretty little girl, but Lady Jemima didn’t like little girls whether they were pretty or not. She didn’t like little boys either, for that matter; or cats (except big ones like Chomper); or men with hairy jumpers and sporrans who had wooden legs, cooked stew and heaved haggis; or women with tattoos, baskets, and clipboards who mended roofs, threw cheese, had jobs as secret agents and went round organising parties people didn’t want.
In fact, Lady Jemima didn’t really like anyone except herself. And Peregrine. When she got round to bulldozing the moor in a couple of weeks’ time and building the bingo park, she would make sure to keep one of the hotels just for the two of them. ‘Is that it?’ she asked sourly. ‘Just the costumes?’
‘We can go through the arrangements for the party if you like?’ Mrs Cheddar offered with a smile of such sweetness Lady Jemima thought she might be sick. How could people be so perfectly NICE? There should be a law against it.
‘No thanks.’ Lady Jemima glared at Mrs Cheddar. ‘It sounds like you’ve got it all under control.’
‘Right, just the costumes please,’ said Mrs Tucker briskly, ‘and then we’ll be off.’
‘Oh, very well,’ Lady Jemima agreed. Anything to get rid of them before Peregrine got back with the wildcat! She didn’t want them mucking up her knockout Plan B. ‘There are some old frocks and furs in the attic. They’re in the dressing-up box. Don and Debs can show you.’
‘We’ll use the back stairs,’ Don said, leading the little group towards the kitchen.
Lady Jemima watched them file past. Her eyes narrowed. They all looked tricky, she decided, but the trickiest one was definitely the tabby cat. She didn’t like his stripy fur, or his red handkerchief, or his four white socks, or his fancy name, or his chewed ear, or the fact that he was the world’s greatest cat detective. A thought struck her. The tabby was the last one in the drawing room yesterday when she was trying to shoo everyone else out. Maybe he had something to do with the disappearance of Daddy’s diary?
‘Hang on a minute,’ she said.
The procession stopped.
‘You didn’t happen to see a little black book in the drawing room yesterday, did you?’ she asked Mrs Cheddar.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Mrs Cheddar. ‘Did anyone else?’
The kids shook their heads. ‘Dad had his notebook,’ said Callie. ‘Is that what you mean?’
‘No,’ Lady Jemima snapped. She wasn’t sure whether to believe them or not. Were they covering for the cat? Had he swiped it when she wasn’t looking? She needed to be sure they didn’t suspect she was after the treasure. No one must know until the bulldozers moved in and it was too late to save the moor.
‘Where is dear Ian Larry Barry?’ she asked.
‘Hiding under Great-Uncle Archie’s electric blanket,’ said Mrs Tucker. ‘He thinks he saw the Cat Sith last night when he was out practising for the cheese throwing competition.’
Ha! Lady Jemima couldn’t resist a smile. At least she wouldn’t be seeing any more of him.
‘Which is why we’d better hurry.’ Mrs Cheddar put her hands on the children’s shoulders and steered them towards the kitchen. ‘We don’t want to be out on the moor after dark in case the Cat Sith strikes again!’
Ha! Ha! Lady Jemima’s smile broadened. They were all scared of the Cat Sith! Not just Ian Larry Barry.
‘Definitely not,’ Mrs Tucker agreed. She shook her head gravely. ‘I thought it was just a story, but after what Inspector Cheddar saw last night, I’m totally convinced the Cat Sith is real.’
Ha! Ha! Ha! For the first time in ages, Lady Jemima felt like laughing. (She didn’t actually laugh, just in case her face filler leaked out of her ears, but nevertheless she felt like it.) Even the secret agent had fallen for it! Cat detective or no cat detective, THE HUMANS DIDN’T SUSPECT A THING!
‘Off you go, then,’ she said merrily. ‘Quick as you can! Chomp chomp …! I mean, chop chop!’ She pushed them into the kitchen and went back up the main stairs to resume her search for the diary. Not that it mattered very much whether she found it or not, Lady Jemima thought, rubbing her hands in glee. Once her visitors had gone it would be time to meet Peregrine and claim the Roman gold.
‘Phew!�
� Mrs Tucker closed the attic door and leant against it with a sigh of relief. ‘That was close! I thought she’d rumbled us when she asked about the diary.’
‘Lucky youze didn’t give anything away, Atticus,’ Mr Tucker said, giving him a pat. ‘I’s didn’t like the way she was lookin’ at youze.’
Atticus didn’t like it either. Lady Jemima looked like a waxwork in a horror film. It had been hard not to flinch when she fixed him with her lopsided stare.
‘The cheek of the woman, asking where Inspector Cheddar was!’ Debs scowled. ‘When it was her who sent the panther to give him a fright! You sure you don’t want me to knock her block off with a cheese?’ she asked Mrs Cheddar wistfully.
‘No, really, Debs, it’s fine,’ Mrs Cheddar assured her.
‘It was a clever idea of Mum’s and Mrs Tucker’s to pretend that we’re all frightened of the Cat Sith,’ said Michael. ‘Now Lady Jemima thinks none of us will go near the castle after dark. She won’t have a clue we’re looking for the treasure.’
‘We’ll have to be careful of the panther, though,’ Don warned, ‘in case she lets it out again.’
‘I wonder where she keeps it,’ said Callie.
Atticus was wondering that too. The cellars seemed the most likely place to keep a big cat hidden. And that was where the treasure was buried. Don was right – even though the Cat Sith was a fake, the panther was real. They would have to be very careful they didn’t run into it by mistake.
‘First things first,’ said Mrs Tucker. ‘Let’s find that treasure map.’
‘That must be the dressing-up box over there.’ Callie pointed to the corner of the attic.
Stewart Dumpling’s old school trunk was at the bottom of a mountain of junk. Dust flew everywhere as seven pairs of hands and three pairs of front paws dug their way through it. Bones was in charge of keeping everything shipshape. She organised it all into neat piles so that there was space for everyone around the trunk.
‘Best ship’s cat ever is Bones,’ Mr Tucker said proudly.
Atticus used to be jealous of Bones. But now he understood that different cats were good at different things. Bones was the best at organising; Mimi was the best at asking questions; and he was the best at being a cat detective (and burglar).
‘Have you got Great-Uncle Archie’s walking stick, Debs?’ asked Mrs Tucker.
‘Here.’ Debs drew it out from under her long rain mac.
‘So where’s the secret drawer?’ Everyone looked at Atticus expectantly.
‘Maybe it’s under all the dressing-up clothes.’ Michael threw open the lid.
Atticus put his paws on the edge of the trunk and looked inside. Hilary Blair Deuteronomy’s dusty frocks and furs had been shoved in any old how. They looked as if they hadn’t been touched since the day Lord Stewart drowned in the freezing-cold loch.
Atticus regarded the jumble of clothes thoughtfully. ‘Mimi,’ he meowed, ‘can you remember what Stewart Dumpling kept in the secret drawer when he was at school?’
‘Tuck,’ replied Mimi.
‘What’s tuck?’ asked Atticus.
‘Food,’ said Mimi.
‘What sort of food?’
‘Human treats – chocolate, sweets, cakes, that sort of thing.’
‘Why did he have to hide it?’
‘Because he wasn’t allowed to take it to school,’ said Mimi. ‘Boarding schools were very strict in those days.’
‘Thank you.’ Atticus tried to imagine if he went to a boarding school and had a trunk where the best place would be to hide smokies. He would want to be able to get at them easily without taking everything else out first. ‘I don’t think it’s under the frocks and furs,’ he said. He dropped his front paws back to the floor and padded round the trunk.
The humans watched him carefully.
‘What are you looking for?’ Mimi asked Atticus.
‘A picture of the Cat Sith,’ Atticus replied, ‘to fit the key into.’
‘I can’t see anything,’ said Mimi, walking round the trunk in the other direction. ‘Can you?’
‘No. Ouch!’ Atticus banged his head on the lid. He’d been concentrating so hard on the base of the trunk he’d forgotten that Michael had left the lid open.
He took a step back. Aha! The lid was about ten centimetres deep: a perfect place to conceal a secret drawer.
‘It must be one of these,’ he said. The lid was decorated all the way round with silver shields. Each shield was engraved with the Cat Sith. He felt round each one with his tail.
‘Mind out, Atticus, it’ll be easier if we close it.’ Michael lifted the lid back into place.
Atticus had found the shield he was looking for. ‘See this one?’ he said to Mimi. ‘The engraving is deeper than the others.’
‘Oh yes!’ said Mimi.
‘Try it, Debs,’ said Mrs Tucker.
Debs held Great-Uncle Archie’s walking stick horizontally and fitted the silver knob into the shield.
‘Now turn it.’
Debs twisted the walking stick gently to the left.
CLUNK! The mechanism of the lock sprang open. A crack appeared in the lid above the line of shields. Atticus ran his claws along it to make sure the wood didn’t stick. Then Michael pulled open the secret drawer.
The treasure map lay face down on the bottom of the drawer. The paper was yellow and flaky. Mrs Tucker picked it up carefully so that it didn’t disintegrate and placed it in a plastic folder that she had brought with her in her basket. Then she put it on the floor so that they could all see.
The map showed a maze of passages leading under the castle. Many of them were crossed off as dead ends but the route to the chamber where the treasure was buried was clearly shown.
‘Don, do you know where the entrance is?’ asked Mrs Tucker. ‘The diary said it was beside the loch.’
Don studied the treasure map carefully. The map showed a hut next to the water’s edge, then a measurement in paces to the fallen oak tree. Behind the tree was the entrance to the labyrinth of tunnels.
‘That’s the boathouse,’ he said, pointing to the hut.
‘How do you get there?’
‘From the castle you go through the basement and out of the cellars,’ Don said. ‘Or you can reach it by the back road by car. From there it’s just a short walk through the woods down to the loch.’
‘Right, then,’ said Mrs Tucker, ‘we’ll take the jeeps and drive round so that Lady Jemima thinks we’ve gone back to the cottage. Then we’ll lie low for a bit until it gets dark before we start the search. Do we have torches?’
‘They’re in the jeeps,’ said Debs.
‘Good, we’ll need them.’ Mrs Tucker put the map away in her basket. ‘Callie, Michael, bring some dressing-up clothes in case we bump into Lady Jemima on the way down.’
Callie and Michael picked out two of Hilary Blair Deuteronomy’s moth-eaten fur coats. Then Don led the way back down the stairs and out of the front door to the gravel drive.
‘There she is.’
Atticus glanced up. Lady Jemima was watching them from the drawing-room window.
Mrs Tucker gave her a wave goodbye.
Lady Jemima waved back. Her face wore a broad smile.
Atticus felt anxious. There was still no sign of Peregrine. Where was he? Atticus hadn’t seen the falcon all afternoon, yet the day before when they visited the castle Peregrine hadn’t let Atticus out of his sight. And why was Lady Jemima smiling? Was it something to do with her maybe having a knockout Plan B like Mrs Tucker had suggested?
‘Mimi,’ he said, as they got back into the jeeps. ‘If you were Lady Jemima and you couldn’t work out the riddle, how else would you find the treasure?’
Mimi thought for a moment. ‘I’d try to get someone who knew where it was to tell me.’
‘But Great-Uncle Archie won’t tell and there’s no one else who knows …’
‘There might be,’ Mimi said slowly. ‘If any part of the legend is true.’
‘I don
’t follow,’ Atticus said.
‘Well,’ said Mimi, ‘usually with myths and legends, there’s some basis in truth, even if most of it’s made up.’
‘Go on,’ said Atticus.
‘So even if there’s no such thing as the Cat Sith, it doesn’t mean that the wildcats didn’t have anything to do with the disappearance of the treasure.’
‘You mean it could have been them who hid the treasure when Domplagan turned against them?’
‘Yes,’ said Mimi, ‘why not? They had everything to lose. Maybe they did it when he went off to battle again.’
‘Do you think they still guard it?’ Atticus said.
‘Yes,’ said Mimi simply. ‘I think that’s why the wildcat in the diary was watching Lord Stewart and Great-Uncle Archie. They know where it is, and they don’t want any more Dumplings finding it.’
Atticus suddenly felt full of dread. Now he understood what Lady Jemima’s knockout Plan B might be. She and Peregrine were going to force the wildcats to show them the way to the treasure.
Back at Biggnaherry Cottage, the bumper episode of Highlanders had finally ended. Inspector Cheddar was so hot under the electric blanket he thought he might faint. He was desperate for some fresh air and a drink of water.
Loud snoring from the wheelchair indicated that Great-Uncle Archie was fast asleep.
Inspector Cheddar got out from underneath the electric blanket. He tiptoed to the door. ‘Darling,’ he called to Mrs Cheddar in a loud whisper.
When there was no answer from Mrs Cheddar he tried again. ‘Kids?’ Still no answer. ‘Mrs Tucker? Don? Debs? Mr Tucker?’ Inspector Cheddar ran through the list. ‘Atticus?’ Inspector Cheddar gave up. Where was everyone? Suddenly a terrible thought occurred to him. Perhaps they had all been eaten by the Cat Sith!
Inspector Cheddar dithered at the top of the stairs, wondering what horrors were below. Were they all lying dead in the kitchen? Had the Cat Sith carried them off across the moor? Could the electric blanket have saved him after all? Had the Cat Sith come for him but eaten his family instead? He felt racked with guilt. He had to know what had become of them, but he couldn’t go down there unarmed, just in case the beast was lying in wait.
Atticus Claw On the Misty Moor Page 10
