Atticus Claw Lends a Paw

by Jennifer Gray

  ‘Huh, hum.’ Mr Tucker got to his foot. (He only had one leg because a giant lobster had clipped off the other one once when he was out fishing. Now he had a wooden leg instead.)

  The audience went quiet.

  ‘Thank youze for comin’ to me house,’ Mr Tucker said. ‘This is Professor Edmund Verry-Clever and he’s here to tell you about shaaarrrks.’

  ‘No he’s not, Herman.’ Mrs Tucker threw a sardine at her husband. ‘He’s here to tell us about Howard Toffly, the Egyptologist. What’s the matter with you? Have you been on the pickled tuna again?’

  Mr Tucker looked confused. He sat down and rubbed his chin.

  Atticus watched him, concerned. He knew what was wrong. Normally Mr Tucker had a long beard, which was all tangled up with his smelly jumper (or the other way round). He was very proud of his beard-jumper. He shampooed it regularly with Thumpers’ Traditional White Beard Dye and let Atticus groom it for morsels of fish when no one else was looking. But something awful had happened. Ginger Biscuit and the magpies had got stuck in it when they were trying to escape with the Crown Jewels and Mr Tucker had had to cut it off. Poor Mr Tucker, Atticus thought. He definitely wasn’t himself without his beard-jumper.

  Professor Edmund Verry-Clever stood up. He had long bony fingers, long skinny arms and legs, a long scrawny neck and a big dome-shaped head. Atticus thought he looked very brainy.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, children and cats,’ the Professor said, ‘I am here to tell you about the life of a very special man.’ He clicked a button on a remote. The screen behind him changed. A black-and-white photo appeared of a handsome man with a big chin riding an elephant. He had a gun slung over one shoulder and a dead zebra over the other.

  ‘Howard Toffly was an adventurer,’ Edmund Verry-Clever continued. ‘He was a man who wrestled lions for entertainment. A man who thought nothing of swimming in a lake full of crocodiles. A man who kept tarantulas instead of loose change in his trouser pockets. A man who travelled around the world on horseback while most people went to Bognor by bus.’

  The audience listened, entranced.

  Atticus held Mimi’s paw.

  ‘Howard Toffly knew no fear,’ the Professor said. ‘He embraced danger. He laughed in the face of calamity. Until …’ he paused … ‘the fateful day he went to Egypt. It was on that day, although he did not know it then, that Howard Toffly was doomed to die a terrible death. Here, in this very house. Cursed for all eternity.’

  ‘Oooohhhh!’ said the audience.

  ‘Gaw-blimey!’ Mrs Tucker gasped. ‘He’d better not have died in my bedroom!’

  ‘His time in Egypt started well enough.’ Edmund Verry-Clever threw his hands wide. ‘When Howard Toffly took up pyramid raiding, he discovered more tombs and treasure than any Egyptologist before or since. He was the richest, most eligible bachelor in the country. Until …’ he paused again … ‘he heard about the lost city of Nebu-Mau: the golden city of cats.’

  The golden city of cats! This was the best story Atticus had ever heard! He squeezed Mimi’s paw. Mimi squeezed his back.

  Edmund Verry-Clever shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Its existence was only a rumour, but Howard Toffly could not rest until he found it. He spent years searching the desert. He mapped every journey he took. He researched all the ancient ruins. Many of his papers can still be found here in the library at the Hall. But he found nothing. Nothing! Until …’ his eyebrows shot up … ‘he came across a book.’

  A book? Atticus glanced at Mimi. That didn’t sound very exciting.

  ‘This wasn’t just any book.’ Edmund Verry-Clever cracked his knuckles. ‘This was a book full of the mysteries of the ancient world. A book which, for those who could decipher it, told the way to Nebu-Mau and to the treasures it held.’

  ‘Ooooohhhhh!’ sighed the audience.

  ‘Oh my giddy aunt!’ Mrs Tucker breathed.

  Even the kittens were on the edge of their seats.

  ‘But the book carried with it a terrible prophecy,’ Edmund Verry-Clever said solemnly. ‘He who disturbed the tomb of the cat pharaoh of the golden city would be cursed by the pharaoh himself.’ The Professor took a deep breath. ‘One can only assume that Howard Toffly did stumble upon the tomb of the cat pharaoh. For this is what became of him.’

  A new picture flashed up on the screen of an old man in a dressing gown and a pair of fluffy slippers sitting in a wheelchair. He had a paper bag over his head.

  ‘Aaaaahhhh!’ the audience gasped.

  ‘You may well say “Aaaaahhhh!”,’ Edmund Verry-Clever agreed. ‘Howard Toffly returned to Toffly Hall a broken man. A fearful man. A man who hated being alone. A man who was terrified of one thing in particular.’ Edmund Verry-Clever pointed a long bony finger at the front row. ‘CATS!’ he hissed. ‘If Howard Toffly knew we were here today raising money for the Littleton-on-Sea Home for Abandoned Cats, he’d have kittens! But that’s not the end of the story.’

  Atticus’s spine was tingling. He was dying to find out what was.

  The audience was spellbound.

  ‘One day, ladies and gentlemen,’ Edmund Verry-Clever continued sombrely, ‘Howard Toffly was alone in his bedroom. The chambermaid had gone to fetch him some camomile tea to help him sleep. Suddenly she heard screams!’

  Atticus’s fur stood on end. Mimi clutched his paw.

  Michael and Callie were white.

  Mrs Cheddar looked terrified.

  Mrs Tucker was hiding behind a sardine.

  Even Inspector Cheddar was hooked.

  ‘She ran back to the bedroom as fast as she could. But it was too late. Howard Toffly was dead. The paper bag had been ripped from his head and there were claw marks around his neck.’ Edmund Verry-Clever’s voice dropped to a tiny whisper. ‘The curse had come to claim him.’

  ‘Hhhhuuuuuhhh!’ The audience gasped.

  ‘The book was never found.’ The Professor put his hands together and bowed his head. ‘Some say it was destroyed; others that it remains hidden here, at Toffly Hall. But woe betide he or she who finds it. For they too will be cursed if they use it to find the lost city of Nebu-Mau and disturb the tomb of the cat pharaoh.’

  He sat down.

  There was complete silence for a few seconds then a burst of applause and cheering.

  ‘Jolly good,’ Inspector Cheddar shouted. ‘Even though it is complete rubbish,’ he added under his breath.

  ‘Don’t say that!’ Mrs Tucker reached behind and prodded him hard in the ribs with a sardine. She was very superstitious. ‘What if the cat pharaoh’s listening?! You might be cursed like Howard Toffly.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as the curse of the cat pharaoh!’ Inspector Cheddar chuckled. ‘Honestly, some people are so gullible!’

  Professor Verry-Clever waited for the applause to die down. ‘Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We still have a bit of time left. Does anyone have any questions?’

  To Atticus’s surprise, Nellie Smellie had stopped knitting. Her hand shot up.

  ‘Yes, you there: the old lady in the front who looks like a tortoise,’ the Professor said pleasantly.

  ‘Howard Toffly wasn’t dead when the chambermaid found him,’ Nellie Smellie said. ‘He was still alive … just.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Edmund Verry-Clever frowned.

  ‘Because I was there!’ Nellie Smellie grinned toothlessly. ‘I was the chambermaid who found him.’

  The Professor’s jaw dropped.

  So did the rest of the audience’s, including Atticus’s. A bit of sardine fell off his whisker on to the floor.

  ‘And I know where the book is.’ Nellie Smellie’s tortoise head nodded up and down.

  Edmund Verry-Clever practically swooned. ‘Where?’ he cried. ‘Where?’

  ‘Before he died, the master told me he’d hidden the book in the crypt he’d built for himself on the island in the lake. Right here in the grounds of the Hall. The book is in a secret place in a secret chamber where n
o one can find it.’

  Suddenly there was a commotion at the back of the room.

  Atticus looked round.

  It was Lord and Lady Toffly! They had sneaked into the ballroom late to listen to the lecture.

  ‘That book belongs to us!’ Lady Toffly shrieked, waving a spoon in the air.

  ‘Quite right, Antonia.’ Lord Toffly’s eyes bulged. ‘It’s mine! I mean ours! And I’m going to get it. Right now. Someone lend me a torch.’

  ‘Oh no you’re not!’ Mrs Tucker was on her feet. ‘If that book belongs to anyone, it belongs to the Egyptian government. You two aren’t getting your greedy hands on it. Anyway, I say leave well alone. What’s buried is buried.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ the audience cried.

  ‘Meow!’ Atticus thought so too. The idea of creeping about in a crypt looking for a book full of Ancient Egyptian mysteries made his fur crawl.

  ‘So push off back to the caravan park, you two!’ Mrs Tucker bellowed at the Tofflys. ‘Before Mr Tucker throws his wooden leg at you. And take your spoons with you.’

  ‘Hurray!’ shouted the audience. This was turning out to be a good evening’s entertainment.

  ‘You haven’t heard the last of this!’ Lady Toffly gnashed her horsey teeth at Mrs Tucker.

  ‘We’ll be back!’ Lord Toffly fumed. His face was scarlet. ‘You can count on it!’

  ‘Boo!’ hissed the audience. ‘Boo!’

  The Tofflys disappeared.

  ‘Well!’ Mrs Tucker sank back into her chair and fanned herself with one of the kittens. ‘That was unexpected!’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this curse of the cat pharaoh business. I can always sense when there’s going to be trouble.’ She glanced at Atticus. ‘Especially when it’s to do with cats.’

  In Siberia, the weather had turned warmer. It was only minus thirty degrees centigrade, up from minus thirty-one the day before.

  Gulag Cottage was covered in snow. Icicles dangled from the roof. A vicious wind howled. So did the hungry wolves in the forest that surrounded it.

  Inside the cottage Ginger Biscuit lay on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring log fire, picking bits of bear meat out of his teeth with his claws. Zenia Klob was out pike fishing. The six magpies huddled together under a pile of blankets, moaning.

  ‘I c-c-can’t t-t-take th-th-this any m-m-more!’ Thug shivered. He used to be fat with missing tail feathers. Now he was thin with missing tail feathers. ‘M-m-my f-f-feathers are f-f-freezing.’

  ‘Your f-f-feathers are f-f-freezing?!’ Jimmy Magpie repeated. His eyes had lost their glitter and his glossy wings and tail didn’t shine blue and green like they used to. ‘Wh-wh-what about m-m-my f-f-feet?’

  ‘M-m-my eyeballs are i-i-icy!’ Slasher spluttered. He was scrawnier than ever and his hooked foot ached with the cold.

  ‘I’ve g-g-got f-f-frostbeak!’ Gizzard choked.

  ‘I p-p-pong like a p-p-penguin!’ Wally wailed, sniffing his wingpits.

  As you can see it took the magpies a very long time to have a conversation in Siberia.

  ‘Y-y-you always p-p-pong, Wal!’ Pig’s teeth chattered.

  ‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka!’ The magpies fell to squabbling. It was the only thing that kept them warm.

  ‘Shut up!’ Ginger Biscuit roared. ‘I’m trying to digest bear meat here.’

  ‘What are we gonna do, Jimmy?’ Slasher whispered. ‘This place is like a prison camp. Zenia treats us like slaves.’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Jimmy snapped.

  ‘There’s not much “we” about it,’ Pig grumbled. ‘You don’t do anything!’

  ‘That’s because I’m the boss.’ Jimmy gave him a peck.

  ‘If Zenia makes me clean her poo-bucket one more time, I’ll be sick,’ Thug sobbed.

  ‘If I have to eat another bowl of her fish-scale gruel, so will I!’ Gizzard wept.

  ‘CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA!’ Jimmy silenced them with an angry burst of chattering. ‘Get used to it. We’re stuck here. Until the next job. When we’ve done that, we’ll go home.’

  The mention of ‘home’ was too much for the magpies.

  ‘I wish I was back in Littleton-on-Sea chasing baby robins,’ Pig sniffed.

  ‘I want to poo on clean washing!’ Wally snivelled.

  ‘I miss our old nest under the pier!’ Slasher sobbed.

  Suddenly Thug lost it. He jumped out from under the blanket and ran up and down squawking. Then he threw himself on his stomach and beat his wings on the floor. ‘I hate it here!’ he shrieked. ‘I can’t take it any more! I want to go home! Whaaaaaaahhh! Whaaaaaaaahhh!’

  ‘Having a tantrum won’t help, you birdbrain!’ Jimmy Magpie gave Thug a vicious kick in the crop. ‘Get a grip.’

  ‘Yeah, shut up or I’ll eat you.’ Biscuit rolled over and pinned Thug. He sat up on his muscular haunches and started tossing the magpie from one paw to the other.

  ‘Help!’ Thug screeched, flying through the air. ‘Help!’

  ‘I’ve been learning to juggle.’ Biscuit grinned, grabbing Wally and Pig. ‘It gives me something to do when I’m not killing bears. See?’ Soon he had the three magpies flipping round in a circle.

  ‘This is all Atticus Claw’s fault,’ Slasher complained bitterly. ‘If it wasn’t for him we wouldn’t be in this mess.’

  ‘I told you not to say that name in front of me!’ Biscuit stopped juggling. The three magpies fell on the rug in a heap. ‘Next time I see that cat,’ Biscuit snarled, ‘I’m going to rip his whiskers out and use them to floss my teeth.’

  ‘Let’s make his tail into a toilet brush for Zenia to use,’ Jimmy cawed.

  Thug crawled back under the blanket. ‘C-c-can I make a nest snuggler out of the rest of him?’ he stammered. ‘I n-n-need a f-f-furry one.’

  Just then the door flew open.

  Squeak … squeak … squeak.

  Zenia Klob blew in, covered in snow. She was wearing her Siberian hunting outfit: fur boots, fur coat, fur gloves and fur knickers (although luckily you couldn’t actually see those). She even had a fur squeaky wheelie trolley rather than the usual plastic one. It was full of pike from her fishing trip. Their bloodstained heads poked out from the top.

  ‘I wish she’d get that thing oiled!’ Gizzard complained. ‘I can’t stand the noise it makes.’

  ‘I can’t stand the noise you make,’ Wally retorted.

  ‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka!’

  Zenia lashed at the magpies with her fishing rod. ‘No squawking unless I say so!’ she yelled. She turned to Biscuit and gave him a sickly smile. ‘Here ve are, my bear-killing beauty!’ She twisted the head off one of the pike and tossed it to him. Biscuit chomped it. MUNCH! BUURRRP! A horrible fishy smell wafted round the room.

  ‘Good boy!’ Zenia crooned. ‘I’ll let you have the tail later. The rest of you beastly birds can have some of my delicious fish-scale gruel.’ She strode into the kitchen dragging the trolley.

  Gizzard started to cry.

  BANG. BANG. BANG.

  ‘What was that?’ Biscuit started.

  BANG. BANG. BANG.

  Someone or something was banging on the front door of Gulag Cottage.

  ‘We never get visitors here!’ Thug whimpered. ‘What if it’s a yeti?’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ Ginger Biscuit said.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Wal jeered. ‘We forgot you were afraid of monsters.’

  ‘And ghosts!’ Pig chuckled. ‘Whoooooooo! Whoooooooo!’

  ‘Shut up!’ Ginger Biscuit yelled.

  ‘PIPE DOWN, BIRDIES!’ Zenia Klob was back. ‘I’ll deal with it.’ She had taken off her hat. Her hair was full of sharp pins, which she dipped in sleeping potion every morning and night. Hairpins were one of her favourite weapons from the days when she was a Russian KGB spy. ‘Come in!’ she called.

  The door swung open. Two human-shaped blocks of ice slid into the room and smacked on to the floor.

  ‘Biscuit, fetch the blowtorch!’
<
br />   Ginger Biscuit reached into a drawer for the blowtorch and sparked it up from the fire.

  Klob got to work defrosting the visitors. After a little while, a fat man wearing a tweed suit slithered from the first block of ice while a tall woman with horsey teeth and knobbly knees spilled out of the second.

  ‘I know them!’ Thug whispered. ‘They’re the Tofflys!’

  ‘They killed Beaky!’ Slasher squawked.

  It was true. Some time ago, Lord and Lady Toffly had run over the magpies’ friend Beaky in their Rolls-Royce. Beaky’s death was what tipped the magpies from being just plain nasty to a life of crime: Jimmy had decided it was time to get even with human magpie-mashers. That’s when he’d enlisted the help of Atticus – then the world’s greatest cat burglar. But Atticus had changed his mind and decided to go straight.

  ‘Should we poo on them, Boss?’ Wally asked. He waggled his backside and let out a rude noise.

  ‘Wait!’ Jimmy hissed. ‘Let’s see what they want. They might be able to help us get out of this joint. Then we’ll poo on them.’

  The visitors struggled to their feet.

  ‘We’re Lord and Lady Toffly,’ the woman introduced herself to Zenia Klob. ‘Are you Miss Klob?’

  ‘It’s Ms, not Miss!’ Zenia Klob spat.

  ‘All right! Keep your knickers on!’ Lady Toffly said snootily. ‘We want you to help us recover a priceless Egyptian book from Toffly Hall. It’s worth zillions.’

  ‘Go on.’ Zenia Klob’s ears waggled with excitement. She stroked Biscuit.

  ‘GGGGRRRRRR!’ Biscuit liked the sound of it too. Toffly Hall was where those horrible friends of Claw lived: Mr and Mrs Tucker. He still had nightmares about being tangled up in Mr Tucker’s beard-jumper. This could be his chance to get back at the Tuckers and finish Atticus off once and for all.

  The magpies listened carefully, their heads on one side.

  ‘I wish I had my shotgun!’ Lord Toffly said, eyeing them.

  ‘Not now, Roderick!’ Lady Toffly snapped. ‘This is business, not pleasure. The book belonged to our ancestor, Howard Toffly, the famous Egyptologist,’ she explained. ‘It will lead us to the lost city of Nebu-Mau: the golden city of cats, and to the treasure of the cat pharaoh himself.’