Worse Things Happen at Sea!

by Alan Snow

  Judge Podger turned to Willbury. “What have you got to say to that?”

  “Sir, I would like to question the defendants.”

  “I don’t think so. How could we trust them? They will just give us some poppycock story.”

  “I object, m’lord!”

  “I told you, Mr. Nibble. No more objections or I will have you up for contempt of court. Any other witnesses?”

  Willbury shook his head.

  “Very well, then. I order the jury to retire and bring back the verdict.” He then looked at his watch. “You have three minutes!”

  Willbury raised his hand. “Sir, this really is outrageous! How can they make a fair judgment in just three minutes?”

  Willbury raised his hand.

  “Silence, Mr. Nibble. Given that the jury is made up from people of the town, I doubt very much that they will have any problem coming to the right verdict that quickly.”

  Willbury was about to protest about the jury being likely to profit by a guilty verdict, but as he opened his mouth to speak, the judge cut him off.

  “Just one word . . .” and Podger ran a finger across his throat.

  The jury didn’t even take one minute.

  “How do you find the defendants?” the judge asked.

  “Severely guilty on all and more charges!”

  “Good!” Then Podger turned toward the dock.

  “What you have done has injured both the town and the Countess. And you will be punished to the full extent of the law.” He turned to the clerk. “What is that?”

  “I’m not very good at sums . . .”

  Mr. Smarmy Slingshot stood. “If I may help. I have done some calculations based on lost trade, wig repairs, personal injury, and the price of dignity. I reckon it is about ten thousand groats.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath in the courtroom, and even Judge Podger raised an eyebrow. Then he smiled.

  “Sounds good to me. I fine the Ratbridge Nautical Laundry ten thousand groats.”

  Willbury raised a hand.

  “Yes, Mr. Nibble?”

  “My clients do not have such money.”

  “Well, they had better find it.”

  “Where, sir?”

  “That is none of my business. I shall give them six months to find the funds, and if after that time they don’t deliver, I shall impose long prison sentences . . . or worse!”

  Ten thousand groats.

  Titus and the boxtrolls turned and smiled at him.

  chapter 4

  FINE!

  At about the same time that the crew of the Nautical Laundry were walking out of the courtroom in a state of shock, Arthur was just emerging from his bedroom and creeping down the stairs. He’d been up very late. As he passed Grandfather’s room, he was tempted to check on the old man, but there was a light snoring coming through the door, so Arthur thought perhaps it would be better to leave his grandfather to sleep.

  At the bottom of the stairs he crossed to the door to what had once been a pet shop but now served as their living room and kitchen, as well as bedroom to Willbury and their friends Titus the cabbagehead, and Fish, Shoe, and Egg the boxtrolls. The door squeaked open, and the familiar smell of bacon and cocoa hit his nose.

  Titus and the boxtrolls turned and smiled at him, but he could tell that they were worried.

  “Have Willbury and Marjorie gone to the court?”

  His friends nodded, and Fish, who was standing with a frying pan by the fire, pointed to some sausages and bacon in the pan.

  “No, thank you. I don’t feel hungry.”

  Fish pointed again and seemed insistent.

  “Very well.” Arthur took a plate from Titus and held it out to Fish. Soon he was settled in an armchair eating while his friends sat about him and watched quietly.

  Then steps and a key in the door broke the silence, and Willbury entered. As he took the scarf from his neck, he kicked the door closed, then turned to see Arthur and the creatures watching him.

  “Sorry. It’s just that damnable judge.” Then he looked upward. “Is your grandfather all right?”

  “I think so,” said Arthur. “I heard him snoring when I came downstairs. You’re back very quickly. Have they delayed the case?”

  “No. M’lord Podger has lived up to his reputation, and tried and sentenced in less than half an hour.”

  “And?”

  “He’s fined them.”

  “A fine. That’s not too bad.”

  “Ten thousand groats of not too bad!”

  Arthur dropped his plate.

  “Ten thousand groats!”

  “Is your grandfather all right?”

  Even the cabbagehead and boxtrolls understood this was a staggering amount of money and looked shocked.

  “What are they going to do?”

  “I have no idea, but we’ll get to that after we have sorted out Grandfather. Have you sent for the doctor?”

  “No, I’ve only just got up.”

  “Will you put on your shoes and go and fetch him?”

  “I would . . . but are you sure he’d come? Grandfather threw him out last time after he turned up with leeches.”

  “He turned up with leeches.”

  “True . . . Maybe we should find another one, though they’re all pretty useless.”

  Titus, who had been listening intently, crept up to Willbury and pulled on his sleeve. Willbury looked down at him.

  “What is it, Titus?”

  The cabbagehead ran across the room to the barrel where he lived, popped inside, and reappeared with a copy of the Ratbridge Gazette. As he walked back across the room, he opened the paper and searched for something. After scanning a few pages, he found what he was looking for and held out the paper to Willbury.

  Willbury took the paper and read aloud.

  Willbury took the paper and read aloud.

  “‘New Health Venture for All!

  “‘The people of Ratbridge will be pleased to hear that a new doctor (34) is to open a spa in our fair metropolis. The great doctor goes by the name of Doctor I. Snook R. F. F. H. (28). Not only is this great man (46) opening a spa, but he is going to offer free treatment to all!’;”

  Willbury raised an eyebrow. “That’s not going to be popular with quacks around here!”

  Then he continued reading.

  “‘The Ratbridge Spa and Alternative Therapy Center is to open next Saturday and offer the very latest in treatments for the following illnesses—flu, the common cold, athlete’s foot, tennis elbow, lice, measles, housemaid’s knee, and all that ails the common man. And how is this to be paid for, we ask? An anonymous Ratbridge benefactor (63?) is said to be behind the scheme! When asked who this philanthropic benefactor was, the doctor (51) would only say that the man was a retired local businessman who felt that he wanted to pay back Ratbridge for all that he’d received from the town. Who could this be, we ask?

  “‘The Ratbridge Spa and Alternative Therapy Center is to open in the refurbished buildings of the old Ratbridge public glue factory. And what treatments are we to expect? These, the good doctor tells us, are new, and fantastic, and based on a new remedy that he has formulated—a wonder drug that goes by the name of Black Jollop!

  “‘We here at the paper are not an easily impressed group of people and are ever watchful to protect the people of Ratbridge, so we sent one of our older hacks who happens to be blighted by gout, and often gets “tired and emotional,” to visit the new spa on a special pre-launch press day last week to try out the treatment for himself.

  “‘So did this Black Jollop fail to live up to the hype? Was our man left wanting?

  “‘Quite frankly, we were amazed! He came hopping back to our office (quite literally!) and took everybody down to the local hostelry to celebrate and to give a demonstration of his newfound health. Not only was he able to walk there unassisted, but after several refreshments he danced on the tables in a way that many younger colleagues were unable to match. Yes! This treatment reall
y does work.

  “‘So we recommend that if you are sick of pills for your ills and leeches in your breeches, you hop off to the new Ratbridge Spa and Alternative Health Center at the first chance.’ ”

  He danced on the tables.

  Willbury stopped reading. “This all sounds rather too good to be true. But they’ve nothing to gain if they are not charging for it. . . . Maybe we should try it.”

  Then he looked back at the cover of the newspaper for a moment.

  “It opened this morning!”

  Arthur looked at Titus. “Well done.”

  Titus looked very happy that he had helped.

  “What shall we do, then?”

  “I think we’d better go and wake Grandfather.”

  They all trooped upstairs behind Willbury and entered Grandfather’s bedroom. Grandfather was no longer asleep and looked at them from his bed.

  Grandfather was no longer asleep.

  “How are you doing this morning?”

  “Not well.”

  “We think you should get some medical attention.”

  “Not that terrible doctor . . . ,” Grandfather protested weakly.

  “No. There is a new spa with what sounds like a fantastic new treatment that the paper says really works.”

  “Sounds like some moneymaking scheme.”

  “No. They are not charging for treatment.”

  Grandfather thought for a moment. “Well, it might be worth a try.”

  “So then we need to get you down there. Do you feel up to walking?”

  Grandfather started to lift himself, then fell back on the bed. “Not really.”

  Fish the boxtroll gurgled to the other boxtrolls. They smiled and all disappeared.

  “I wonder what they are up to?” said Willbury.

  After a few minutes Fish came back to the bedroom and beckoned Arthur and Willbury to follow him. At the bottom of the stairs was a wheelbarrow filled with cushions and blankets.

  “They’ve made him an ambulance!” exclaimed Arthur.

  It took a few minutes to prepare Grandfather for his trip, but soon they had him comfortably settled in his “ambulance.” The boxtrolls very carefully lifted the handles and pushed it from the hall, through the shop, and out into the street. Titus walked ahead, checking for any potholes, and signaled for the boxtrolls to maneuver to the left or right. As they got ever closer to the old glue factory, it became increasingly busy with people, all hoping for a cure for some ill.

  Titus walked ahead.

  “Oh no! There’re hundreds of them!”

  chapter 5

  THE QUEUE

  As Grandfather’s barrow turned the corner of the lane that led to the old glue factory, it became clear just how many of the population of Ratbridge were seeking medical attention. The lane was crammed with the ill, injured, those who thought that they were, and some who were just worried about becoming so at a later date. Arthur looked in horror at the mass before them. There were those with bandages around various parts of their bodies, others were covered in spots and scabs, quite a few were supported by crutches, one man’s nose had an angry-looking parrot attached to it, and there were at least three children with their heads stuck inside various pots and pans. It was not a pretty sight.

  “Oh no! There’re hundreds of them! We’ll never get you treated, Grandfather!”

  The journey had taken its toll on the old man, and he was looking worse.

  “What are we going to do?” Arthur moaned.

  Around them the crowd was thickening and pushing them along.

  “Stay together!” called Willbury.

  Then some scuffling broke out quite near them. A large man with a brown paper bag tied around his head had tried to push past a group of old ladies, but they spotted him and set to work with their sticks and shopping bags in an attempt to drive him back. Another man thought he saw his chance in the distraction. He was in a self-propelled bath chair, and launched his transport at a small gap in the crowd. In doing so, he managed to run over a bandaged gouty foot belonging to one of the town elders. There was a scream, and more of the ill joined the scrap.

  “Stay back!” warned Willbury. “We must keep Grandfather safe!”

  More and more of the crowd joined in the fighting.

  More and more of the crowd joined in the fighting.

  Somewhat to Arthur’s surprise, it seemed to have a curative effect on a lot of the ill, with folks showing newfound vigor when facing queue jumping, or the chance to get ahead. A woman who was wrapped in bandages and had been lying on the ground moaning had jumped up and was now threatening to throttle anybody that tried to get past her with her dressings. Only by picking up the barrow and reversing out of the street did Arthur and his party avoid getting kicked or punched. The noise and commotion grew until it looked like a battle scene.

  Then Arthur heard a loud whistle. He turned to look in the direction it came from, and coming toward them were a large group of bicycle-mounted policemen.

  The Squeakers (as the policemen were locally known) threw down their bikes at the end of the street, and drew their truncheons.

  “Riot positions!” ordered their officer. Immediately the Squeakers formed a line with truncheons raised high.

  The officer blew his whistle as loudly as he could, and the sound reverberated off the walls of the lane, quieting the crowd.

  “You lot have thirty seconds to form an orderly queue or you’re in for a walloping!” he shouted.

  The crowd didn’t need a second warning. Immediately everyone stopped fighting and formed a neat line.

  “I want a man every two yards along the street, and if you see anybody try anything, you have my full permission to . . . WALLOP!”

  The Squeakers pushed down one side of the lane and took up their positions with truncheons still held high.

  The Squeakers with truncheons held high.

  “What do we do now?” asked Arthur.

  “Join the back of the queue?” offered Willbury.

  “I suppose we’ll have to, but it could take all day to get Grandfather seen.”

  They took their place at the end of the line and began their wait. After a few minutes with no movement ahead of them, Willbury spoke.

  “I’ll see if I can speed things up a bit.” He approached the Squeakers’ officer, who was still standing close by.

  “Please. I have an old man with me who is really very ill, and he needs to see a doctor right away!”

  “Back in line!”

  “But . . .”

  “Back in line!”

  “Please . . .”

  Threateningly the officer raised his truncheon. Willbury backed off and returned to his friends.

  “Looks like we’ll have to wait our turn,” said Willbury.

  Grandfather let out a pained moan. Arthur looked down at him and put a hand on Grandfather’s forehead.

  “He’s very hot.”

  “We’ve got to get you treated and soon. Most of this lot are wasting the doctor’s time.”

  Arthur was not sure that Willbury was being totally fair. There were a lot of people with fairly obvious illness and injuries, and after the fight there were even more, but he had to agree that it was urgent that his grandfather needed to see someone soon.

  Looking at the queue, he had an idea. “I could try to sneak ahead, and get into the spa. Then I could ask if someone could see Grandfather straight away?”

  Willbury looked around, then whispered. “I don’t think that is going to be very easy. The Squeakers are on the lookout for that sort of thing.”

  “I know. But we have to do something. I’m a lot smaller than most people here, and if I got on my hands and knees, I might be able to do it.”

  Willbury looked at the crowd ahead of them. “Do you really think you could do it without getting noticed?”

  Arthur didn’t feel sure he could, but he nodded.

  “Very well. But I have an idea that might make it easier.” Willbury turned
to Fish. “Do you think you could make some very loud noise around the corner . . . as a distraction?”

  Fish and the other boxtrolls gurgled to each other for a moment, and then Fish nodded.

  “Well, you go off and get started; when we hear something, Arthur can make his move.”

  The boxtrolls scampered off, and Arthur wondered what they were going to do.

  While they waited for the boxtrolls to come up with something, Arthur tried to comfort Grandfather, and then he noticed movement on the roof of the house opposite the end of the lane. A few seconds later, he saw Fish’s head pop up over the parapet and check the street below.

  Fish’s head popped up over the parapet.

  Then Fish disappeared, and a moment later, a large piece of guttering flew over the edge of the roof and dropped to the street.

  CRASH!

  CRASH!

  The queue all turned toward the thunderous noise, and as they did, Arthur dropped to his knees and slipped along the wall furthest from the Squeakers. He pushed himself between the people and the wall without them noticing, and by the time the commotion had died away, he was almost half the way down the queue. Around him everybody had returned to talking about their medical problems. As he huddled against the wall, a man and woman directly in front of him were complaining about “bad wind” and the “vapors.” He made himself as small as he could, and as the queue swayed a little, he slid between them and the wall. Again he wasn’t noticed.

  Arthur sneaked his way farther and farther forward.

  Arthur sneaked his way farther and farther forward, now crawling on his hands and knees. As he made his way toward the spa, he heard about every possible medical problem, and some that he thought were probably impossible. Everybody’s infatuation with their own problems was all rather macabre, but meant that Arthur wasn’t noticed.