‘The devil has sent his monsters for me!’ wailed Buzzard as he scrambled for the door, threw it open and ran for his life.
‘Stop all this nonsense and get back here at once!’ said Sir Christopher as he coughed and swatted at the ash floating in the air around him.
‘What have I done?’ cried Buzzard as he ran down the corridor, and he would have cried other things too had he not tripped over the rats that swarmed under his feet.
‘No! Stop! Don’t go any further!’ cried Sir Christopher.
But it was too late. Buzzard had tumbled towards a balcony overlooking the great hall of the cathedral. It wouldn’t have been so bad had there been a handrail, but it hadn’t been built yet. The scream Buzzard made as he fell to the floor of St Paul’s was not nearly as chilling as the sudden silence as he hit the ground.
Jane crouched by the door feeling very cold and frightened. She would have run as fast as she could back to the carriage had she not heard the sound of boots approaching on the other side of the door. Jane watched as the hooded thugs rushed out of the laboratory followed by Sir Christopher and Bailey.
‘Stop! There’s no chance Buzzard could have survived that fall,’ said her father with barely stifled anger. ‘Take his body back to his home and tell anyone who asks that he died in a drunken brawl at a tavern. And mark my words – unless you want to lose your heads, I suggest you both take what you have seen here tonight to your graves.’
The thugs seemed to swallow Sir Christopher’s words as if they were a mouthful of nasty medicine before running away.
‘Father – look!’ cried Jane, and Sir Christopher nearly jumped out of his silly shoes. You might have thought Jane was crazy to draw attention to herself now, but she had a very good reason to call out to him.
‘Jane? What in the name of pickles and pears are you doing here?’
‘I know I shouldn’t have come, and I’m sorry. But, Father – look. There! On the floor!’
The cloud of ash had settled, revealing something that until now had been invisible to everyone but Master Buzzard: bizarre little creatures were moving on the stone laboratory floor. There were seven of them, each one about the size of a large fruit or vegetable. One looked like a tongue wriggling and licking the air. Another was a gelatinous ball rolling around as it swelled in size. Another appeared to be a tentacle that snaked its way across the floor.
‘Master Buzzard’s sins,’ wheezed Bailey as he made the sign of the cross on his chest.
Bailey was right. That’s exactly what they were. Seven sins brought into existence as living organisms, but one in particular was much bigger than all the others. It was a bird-like creature with a very large beak and, by the looks of it, an equally large appetite. No sooner had it taken form than it lunged towards the wriggling tentacle, gobbling it up as if it were a giant worm.
‘Stay back!’ said Sir Christopher.
The ash-covered bird monster clearly didn’t feel the tentacle was a satisfying enough meal as it then began scoffing the remaining creatures. Chomp! Chomp! Chomp! Within just a few seconds, it had swollen to the size of a plump chicken, and when it realized there was nothing more on the floor left to eat, it looked around hungrily and turned towards Jane.
BLAM! Bailey slammed the empty ash bucket over the bird-like monster and pressed down with all his strength as it rattled around inside, trying to escape.
Sir Christopher grabbed a framed etching from the wall and slid it under the shuddering bucket, before flipping the whole thing over.
‘To the brass furnace! Go!’ said Sir Christopher.
Taking care to keep the makeshift lid on the bucket, he ran down the stairs, with Jane and Bailey doing their best to keep up.
‘What is that thing, Father?’ shouted Jane as they raced along a ground-floor corridor, but Sir Christopher could not hear her question for all the rattling that was coming from inside the bucket.
With a great jangling of keys, Bailey ran ahead, opened a side door, and hastily ushered them through. They found themselves in a very hot room with an enormous fireplace that took up a whole wall. The room was filled with freshly cast bells of all sizes, which were waiting to be hung in the cathedral.
Some of them were huge, weighing close to sixteen tonnes, but it was one of the much smaller bells that Sir Christopher had his eye on.
‘Jane, stay close. Bailey, turn that one upside down.’
Bailey did as instructed and turned the small bell upside down and propped it up with some bricks. As quickly as he could, Sir Christopher plunged the bucket into the bell, taking care to keep the monster trapped inside.
‘I’ll hold the lid in place until you pour in the brass.’ Sir Christopher gestured towards the fire. Jane followed Bailey and stared into a pot of molten brass hung above the fire, bubbling away like a volcanic stew. Bailey took the pot from its hook, carried it carefully back and poured the molten brass over the bucket until it was covered completely and the bell was filled to the top.
Sir Christopher pushed over a barrel of water so that it splashed the bell with an almighty hiss of steam.
‘More water!’ shouted Sir Christopher, and Bailey obliged, pouring bucket after bucket of water on to the slowly cooling metal. When the steam cloud cleared, there was no trace of the strange creature that had been trapped inside the bell.
Forty-five minutes later, Jane stood at the docks on the River Thames holding her father’s hand and squinting into the rising sun.
‘Where is the ship going?’ asked Jane as she watched sailors release the ropes that tethered an enormous ship to the jetty.
‘Greece. Spain. Then Italy, I believe. A trading ship like this will visit a great many ports before it returns. But I have given the captain orders to hurl that bell into the ocean once he is well clear of England.’
‘Did you tell him what was hidden inside it?’
‘What do you think?’ said Sir Christopher, looking quizzically at his daughter.
‘Oh. Of course you didn’t. It will be our secret.’ She squeezed his hand, and they both turned to walk back to the carriage where Bailey and his horses were waiting to take them home.
But the captain never had the chance to carry out Sir Christopher’s orders because just a week after setting sail, a terrible storm sent the ship, its entire crew and the bell containing the abomination of Master Buzzard to the bottom of the Mediterranean Sea, and there it remained undiscovered . . .
. . . Until last Friday.
NELLY-SON
LONDON. FRIDAY. JUST AFTER LUNCH . . .
Nelson Green stood on the school sports field completely frozen with panic. The reason Nelson was standing on the sports field was that he was one of twenty-two boys in the midst of a game of rugby. And the reason Nelson was frozen in panic was because he was standing between the touchline and the ball, which was being carried by a short, stocky and furiously determined boy called Ravi Moyse from the opposite team. The correct thing for Nelson to do here would be to tackle Ravi, but he was so afraid of making yet another mistake that he just closed his eyes and did nothing. The howls of outrage and frustration from his teammates completely drowned out the cheers of other team as Ravi scored.
Nelson’s team sank to their knees in despair or stared at the ground to avoid looking at their delighted opponents, some of whom had stopped cheering Ravi and were running over to pat Nelson on the back for making it all possible.
Everyone on Nelson’s team knew there was no chance of winning now. They were out of the tournament and just had to play out the last horrible seconds of the game and endure the smug expressions on their opponents’ faces.
The whistle blew, the ball was flying, and the teams scattered. Not content with their last try, the opposing team were determined to steal one more before their inevitable victory.
Nelson felt a hard thump to the back of his right shoulder. One of his teammates, the lanky-limbed runny-nosed Jason Boyle, had just bumped into him.
‘Sorry, mate,’
said Jason, but Nelson knew it wasn’t an accident that they had collided. Jason had gone out of his way to bump into him.
Jason wasn’t the only one.
Two more of Nelson’s teammates barged into him before the smallest and toughest kid on their team, Dean Farah, succeeded in knocking Nelson to the ground.
‘Sorry, mate. Didn’t see ya there,’ said Dean, before sniffing loudly, spitting on the ground and jogging away.
Nelson knew it was pointless trying to keep his emotions under control now. Anger and shame were radiating from every part of him, and he knew that somewhere seven of his most peculiar friends would be picking up the signal loud and clear . . .
A boy on Nelson’s team called Daniel Chase had managed to take possession of the ball and was running as fast as his noodle-legs would carry him, but the opposition were closing ranks. As they swooped on Daniel and dragged him to the ground, Daniel let the ball fly out of his hands and it was snatched out of the air by Dean Farah. Dean sprinted forward, but a set of fierce blond twins knocked him off his feet. Once again the ball was flying, and this time it was Jason Boyle who caught it. Pulling it tightly to his chest, Jason charged forwards, but the sight of his ferocious opponents struck him like a lightning bolt of panic, which is why he didn’t even look at who he was throwing the ball to. By the time Jason was being crushed into the mud by several players from the opposite team, the ball had landed in the grasp of the worst player on the pitch.
Time is a funny old thing, and, for Nelson, the split second he caught that ball seemed to stretch out before him like chewing gum. In that one brief moment, he saw Daniel Chase looking up from the mud with a horrified expression. He saw the referee looking at his watch and put the whistle to his lips. And when Nelson turned, he saw Ravi charging bull-like towards him. Nelson closed his eyes and braced himself for impact. This time he was holding the ball, which meant it was going to hurt a lot. But at least then it would be over – they would be out of the tournament and he would never have to play rugby again.
SPLAT! A body slammed into the custard-thick mud, but when Nelson opened his eyes he found that it was not his body that had fallen in the mud, but Ravi’s. And what was even more surprising was that Ravi was still skidding on his stomach through the mud at high speed. While Nelson’s eyes had been closed, every player on the pitch had seen something incredible: Ravi had appeared to dive towards Nelson but then suddenly change direction in mid-air and shoot across the pitch. The whistle fell out of the referee’s mouth as Ravi slid past him like a human torpedo, and the stunned silence that followed was broken by a loud and rasping voice that Nelson knew only too well.
‘Run, Nelly-son! Run!’
Standing where Nelson should have been lying was a fat little creature. His skin was bubblegum pink, black caterpillar-thick eyebrows arched over his eager eyes, a pair of stick-thin arms waved enthusiastically, and from his great smiling mouth hung a purple tongue as big and flappy as freshly caught haddock. It is my great pleasure to introduce you to one of Nelson’s seven peculiar friends, invisible to everyone but him: his name is Nosh and, as you can see, he is a monster.
‘Run wiv dat ball fing, Nelly-son! Run, run, run!’
Nelson wasn’t sure running was going to help, but he could hardly stand there and have a conversation with a monster in the middle of the pitch, could he? Especially as no one else in the world could see it.
And so Nelson ran.
‘Ha haaa! Go, go, Nelly-son!’ cheered Nosh.
It was as if someone had flipped a switch and all the stunned players on the pitch were suddenly back in action (apart from Ravi, who was busy spitting grass and snorting the mud out of his nostrils). Nelson hugged the ball tight under one arm and ran as fast as he could. Four players from the opposite team came rushing towards him. There was no way of getting past them, so Nelson did something you should avoid doing at all costs in rugby, and that is to run back towards your own goal posts.
That’s when Nelson saw them. The rest of his monsters were standing on his goal line yelling and cheering him on. There was Spike, the one who looks like a bright green cactus, but for whom there is never a bright side; and there was Stan, the red one with tiny hooves, purple horns and huge fists, who was permanently on the lookout for a fight. Next to him was Miser, a greedy, blue, egg-shaped pickpocket with arms like octopus tentacles and a pair of shifty bulbous eyes; Puff, a lazy, fluffy, purple, catlike monster who was half asleep most of the time; and Hoot, a great golden bird with a solid silver beak who was as stupid as he was vain. Last of all was Crush, a bright orange cross between a puppy, a tiny elephant and an air horn. He may have been the smallest of the monsters, but he was by far the loudest. ‘HOOOOONK!’ Though it was the only sound he was capable of making, it was clear that Crush meant nothing but support for his beloved Nelson.
‘I say! Shouldn’t you be running the other way, Master Nelson?’ cried Hoot in a voice you would expect from a jolly member of the royal family. And though Hoot was right for a change, Miser had a different perspective.
‘Pay no attention to the bird! Continue this way, Master Nelson! Do not stop running!’
‘Yeah! Keep comin’! We’ll take care of this lot for ya!’ said Stan, who had clearly understood Miser’s intentions and was now eager to join in the fun.
Nelson didn’t need to look over his shoulder because he could hear the stampeding feet and panting breath of the other team. They were hell-bent on bringing him down in the goal zone and claiming an even greater victory.
The monsters parted to allow Nelson through before closing ranks. WHAM! The opposing players appeared to hit an invisible wall and bounce backwards through the air.
‘Well don’t just stand there! Run back the other way,’ said Spike, and Nelson did just that.
‘Yeaaaah! You better run fast, Nelly-son!’ Nosh was waving and wobbling about among the other players, and though Nelson really did try, he couldn’t help feeling like his legs just didn’t want any part of this.
‘HOOONK!’ came the sound of Crush, who was running after Nelson as fast as he could.
The monsters were so excited at this stage that even the laziest monster of all, Puff, couldn’t help but become swept up in the moment and cheer, ‘Wooo-hooo!’
‘Pass it! Pass it to me, Greenie!’ yelled Dean Farah with his arms open ready to catch the ball. ‘Pass it, you idiot!’
‘Shut it, ya berk!’ snapped Stan as he barged Dean out of the way.
Nelson didn’t see Dean crashing into the ground; he was only concerned with the two blond twins heading towards him. Nelson made a sudden left turn and then, just as quickly, he turned hard right, which resulted in splitting the twins apart. Nelson aimed for the tiny space created between them and ran as fast as he could. His head was down, the ball hugged tight to his chest with one arm while the other arm pumped the air in time with his legs. As he passed between the twins, he felt the snag of arms around his waist and suddenly he was falling forwards. He hadn’t been fast enough and he was going down when he felt a tugging sensation behind his shoulders and his shirt tighten around his chest. Instead of hitting the ground, Nelson was dragged the last few metres to the goal line by Hoot, who flew above him, rugby shirt clenched in his claws, and dropped him face down in the mud.
The whistle blew and Nelson rose from the mud to see the other team lying scattered and bewildered. Daniel Chase’s mouth opened so wide that his gum shield popped out. Everyone on Nelson’s team cheered. The monsters wanted nothing more than to lift their beloved Nelson into the air and carry him like a hero, but a boy floating in mid-air would have looked very weird.
A final kick of the ball over the goal posts from Jason Boyle did it. Nelson’s team were through to the finals. The sports teacher blew his whistle, and the players began jogging off the pitch towards the changing rooms.
‘Guys, this is a total, massive disaster,’ whispered Nelson to his gathering monsters.
‘What you talkin’ about?!’ asked S
tan.
‘I’ll tell you exactly what I’m talking about—’
But Nelson couldn’t finish his sentence because the sports teacher had blown his whistle and was calling to Nelson.
‘Let’s get going, Green!’
‘Yes, sir! Just tying my laces,’ shouted Nelson, and he quickly bent down to pretend he was doing just that. ‘We can’t talk here. I’ll get changed and meet you behind the bins at the back of the canteen in a few minutes. And please don’t do anything to get me into more trouble between now and then.’
‘Well, you ’eard ’im,’ said Stan. ‘Let’s go and wait for ’im. And, Nosh, if you so much as take a nibble of what’s inside them bins, I will kick your pink butt right over them goal posts!’
THE MESS WE’RE IN
Nelson had left the changing room and dashed around the back of the school to the bin area in record time by skipping the showers. Right now, muddy knees and elbows were the least of his worries.
‘I told the others we shouldn’t have come to help you.’ Spike sighed as Nelson checked no one was watching and crouched in front of his monsters between two huge bins. ‘I said, “Nelson told us to leave him alone until he’s back in the school’s ‘good books’” . . .’
‘Forgive us, Master Nelson, but we felt your deep anger and shame,’ said Miser.
‘Tell me about it. It felt ’orrible,’ moaned Spike, and he would have continued to moan had Stan not interrupted.
‘What are you apologizing for, Miser? ’E wouldn’t ’ave won that game without us!’
Crush gave a sharp ‘HONK!’ in agreement.
‘Look, I know you think you were doing the right thing, but I didn’t really want to win,’ said Nelson.
The Good, the Bad and the Deadly 7 Page 2
