Adam and the Arkonauts

by Dominic Barker

  ‘I think I can guess,’ said Adam.

  ‘Oh good,’ said the old lady. ‘I like guessing games too. Is it the butcher?’

  ‘No, it’s –’

  ‘Don’t tell me. The baker?’

  ‘No, it’s the police,’ said Adam. ‘They’re after us and we need to get away.’

  The sound of more thunderous knocks reached them.

  ‘You’re not very good at giving clues,’ said the old lady frostily.

  ‘I’m not playing a game,’ said Adam.

  ‘I’m an old-age pensioner who has spent the last few days with only coat hangers for company. You’d think that a little guessing game wouldn’t be too much to ask. But the youth of today only think of themselves . . .’ she muttered.

  ‘I’m not only thinking of myself,’ said Adam. ‘I’m thinking of my dog and of my dad and of my mum and of my grandfather. They are all locked up and I’m the only person who can help them escape . . .’

  Anna was reading Adam’s lips and she stamped her foot. Adam looked at her, surprised. Anna pointed firmly to herself.

  ‘I mean, Anna and I are the only people who can help them to escape,’ he added.

  ‘Well,’ said the old lady grudgingly, ‘I suppose you can’t be blamed for your bad manners. It’s obvious you come from a family of criminals.’

  ‘But I don’t,’ said Adam. ‘Well, not the whole family. I mean, my grandfather is a criminal, and I haven’t seen my mum since I was two.’

  ‘I see,’ said Grandma Marquez. ‘You come from a broken home as well. What can one expect?’

  ‘I don’t come from a broken home. My mum was kidnapped by an evil scientist.’

  ‘Is that what your parents told you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adam.

  ‘Well, it makes a change from “We married too young and your mother’s gone to find herself.”’

  There was more thunderous knocking downstairs.

  ‘Is there any other way out of here?’ Adam pleaded.

  ‘There might be,’ Grandma Marquez replied cryptically.

  ‘Will you show it to us?’ he begged.

  ‘All in good time,’ said the old lady. ‘First I’d better answer the door.’

  ‘But it’s the police at the door!’ said Adam desperately. ‘You can’t let them in.’

  ‘Who said anything about letting them in?’ said the old lady with a smile as she set off down the stairs.

  .

  CHAPTER 24

  Grandma Marquez opened the door a fraction.

  ‘Ciao,’ she said.

  ‘Why have you taken so long to answer?’ the policeman demanded.

  Behind the door, Adam and Anna shrank back. If Grandma Marquez decided to betray them, they would be caught for sure.

  ‘I have bad knees,’ said Grandma Marquez. ‘And bad ankles. And my elbows are nothing to write home about.’

  ‘Shut up about your elbows,’ said the policeman rudely. ‘I am Officer Grivas of the Buenos Sueños Police Force. Two wanted criminals were seen entering your premises. I demand you allow the officers of the law to come in and search for them.’

  ‘All right, officer,’ said Grandma Marquez.

  Adam and Anna couldn’t believe it. She was going to let them in. The old lady reached up to undo the chain that was all that was keeping them from the clutches of the police. Adam and Anna held their breath.

  Suddenly Grandma Marquez stopped.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got my tights on.’

  ‘That is not important.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, officer,’ said Grandma Marquez. ‘Let a young man into my house when I’m alone and I haven’t got my tights on? Think what people will say. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  ‘No,’ shouted Officer Grivas. ‘Don’t shut this door. Don’t –’

  Grandma Marquez shut the door.

  The thunderous knocking resumed.

  ‘It’s good being old,’ said Grandma Marquez with a cackle. ‘Everybody thinks you’re crazy. You can get away with anything. Follow me, chicos.’

  She led them through the dark house, which was filled with antique furniture, and into the kitchen. There was another old lady peeling potatoes.

  ‘This is my sister, Jordina,’ said Grandma Marquez. ‘This is Adam and Anna, Jordina. They are on the run from the police too.’

  ‘Have they done something with peas as well?’ asked Jordina, who seemed utterly unconcerned about having more fugitives from justice under her roof.

  ‘No,’ said Grandma Marquez, shaking her head. ‘But he’s from a broken home and she waves her arms about. Anyway, the police are searching the streets for them so I am going to show them the secret way out.’

  Jordina nodded.

  ‘Would they like a packed lunch?’

  Anna shook her head.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Adam. ‘It’s very kind of you but we’ve got to get on with rescuing my family.’

  ‘That sounds very hard work to me,’ said Jordina. ‘You’ll need food to keep your strength up.’

  ‘Really,’ said Adam, ‘we’re not hungry. If we could just –’

  ‘It won’t take a moment,’ said Jordina. ‘Sister, you do the bread and I’ll do the fillings.’

  Neither of the old ladies seemed in the least bothered by the thunderous pounding at the door. They worked together like a well-oiled machine. Minutes later there was a bag full of sandwiches in front of them.

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Adam.

  ‘Do you like ginger beer?’ asked Grandma Marquez.

  Anna was standing behind the sisters and she put her finger down her throat and mimed being sick.

  ‘It’s Anna’s favourite,’ Adam replied immediately.

  ‘I’ll give her an extra bottle, then.’

  Anna shot Adam a hard look. He smiled back. He was getting the hang of this lying business.

  ‘Right,’ said Grandma Marquez. ‘Follow me!’

  She led them out into an enclosed courtyard, where plants and herbs grew in large pots.

  ‘Here it is,’ she said, indicating a manhole cover. ‘The secret way. Pull it up.’

  Adam reached down and pulled. The smell as the cover came up was unbelievably disgusting.

  ‘Ugh!’ he said, taking a step backwards. ‘That’s the sewers! We’re not going in there.’

  ‘It’s the only way out of here that the police won’t be watching,’ said Grandma Marquez, adding consolingly, ‘and you get used to it after a day or two.’

  ‘A day or two?’ said Adam, horrified. ‘I don’t –’

  ‘Good luck to you both,’ said the old lady. ‘Do come back and visit one day, but make sure you have a shower first.’

  ‘But which way do we go?’

  ‘Follow the rope,’ she replied. ‘You’ll find it when you jump down. It will lead you to safety. But coil it up as you go so that there is no way the police can follow you.’

  ‘But then we won’t be able to get back,’ said Adam.

  ‘You won’t need to. Just, whatever you do, don’t let go of it. The sewers are a maze and without it you will never find your way out.’

  And she headed back towards the kitchen.

  Adam and Anna sampled the awful odour rising from the manhole. Anna wrinkled her nose in disgust. Adam wrinkled his nose back. Anna opened her hands in a gesture of resignation. They had no other option, so they might as well get on with it. Adam nodded. They smiled at each other. And then they jumped . . .

  Into the sewers of Buenos Sueños.

  .

  CHAPTER 25

  They held the rope and inched their way forward, trying
hard to ignore the awful stench that overpowered their noses the moment they dropped into the sewer. Next to them the walls were clammy, damp and dark. Adam and Anna were suddenly cold – the Buenos Sueños sun could not reach them down here. There were strange scurrying noises. The passages were narrow and low – they had to crouch so as not to bang their heads. All they had was the rope, and the further they went into the sewers, the tighter they gripped on to it.

  Every passage they moved down seemed to be the same: dripping water, clammy walls, scurrying and scampering. It felt as though the walls were closing in on them. Panicked, Adam had a sudden urge to charge down a passage, any passage, but he fought it off and calmed down. He told himself that if they just stayed calm and followed the rope, they would reach safety.

  And then the rope ran out. Someone had cut it.

  Adam gulped.

  Next to him, Anna gulped too.

  They were lost in the maze of the Buenos Sueños sewer system from which there was no escape. It was going to be a very smelly way to die.

  Anna tugged urgently on Adam’s T-shirt.

  He looked in the direction she was pointing. He couldn’t see anything. But Anna could. Sometimes, when a person loses one of their senses, the others improve to compensate for the loss. Anna couldn’t hear, but she could see better than almost anyone. And glimmering in the distance, at the furthest end of one of the tunnels, she saw a light.

  She dragged Adam after her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Adam. ‘We can’t just run anywhere. What about the rope? What about the . . . ?’

  Adam shut up abruptly. He, too, had just seen the light.

  They charged ahead, stumbling and staggering into the clammy walls and banging their heads on the low ceiling. But they didn’t care. All that mattered was that they could get to the light before it vanished and left them in this dark underworld for ever.

  Adam heard voices.

  They were getting closer. Now the first doubts began to surface in his mind. Who were these people? What were they doing down here? Were they friends or enemies? Did they have anything to do with the cutting of the rope?

  The last thought struck him hard. But now they were close enough to hear that the voices were raised in argument. What kind of people would possibly be arguing deep in the sewers of Buenos Sueños except the kind that were up to no good? Adam thought of the Doctor locked underground in Scabellax’s base. Could it be that Scabellax and his evil henchmen had access to the sewers from that base? Were he and Anna running directly into a trap?

  Adam feared the worst, but there was no stopping Anna. He heard a startled cry from the group of figures as she rushed out of the darkness towards them.

  Adam dashed after her and was amazed to discover he recognised the figures. It was the Bajapuentalists of Buenos Sueños – the admirers of low bridges. Carla, their leader, remembered him.

  ‘Welcome, chico!’ she said with a warm smile. ‘I see that the bug has caught you.’

  ‘What bug do you mean?’

  ‘I can sense when I am in the presence of a fellow admirer,’ said Carla. ‘And when I met you the other day I thought instantly, there’s a chico who admires a low bridge. But even I did not expect you to come so far in the hobby in such a short time.’

  Anna could lipread every word but that didn’t mean she could understand a thing that was going on. She gave Adam a very puzzled look.

  ‘You must be very advanced,’ said Carla, idly fingering a recently acquired bump.

  Behind her, the other Bajapuentalists nodded.

  ‘Er, thank you,’ said Adam. ‘But how exactly am I advanced?’

  ‘You are too modest, chico,’ said Carla. ‘Normally when one takes up our hobby one admires low bridges above ground for a number of years. It is only when one has been involved in the pastime for a long time that one is prepared to venture into extreme areas, like subterranean bridges. By definition they are even lower than those above ground.’

  ‘I suppose they are,’ said Adam doubtfully.

  ‘You have arrived at a most fortunate moment,’ continued Carla. ‘I believe we may have discovered the lowest bridge in all of Buenos Sueños.’

  ‘Pah!’ said a voice from behind them. ‘You cannot call that a bridge. It is more of a crossing.’

  ‘This is our difficulty,’ Carla explained. ‘My fellow Bajapuentalist, Ezzio, is not convinced that it is a true bridge. We would be grateful for your opinion. It would break the deadlock.’

  Anna was beginning to fidget.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a hurry,’ said Adam.

  ‘It will take no time at all,’ said Carla.

  ‘But we really have to –’

  ‘There is nothing more important than a low bridge, chico,’ said Carla a little sternly.

  Adam thought about pointing out that the safety of his father, mother, grandfather and dog, as well as the abolition of democracy in Buenos Sueños, might just be considered more important. But when he looked at Carla he knew none of these arguments would convince her. Her obsession with low bridges wasn’t just a hobby. It was a way of life.

  ‘Well, I suppose we could offer an opinion,’ said Adam weakly.

  Anna stamped her foot in annoyance, which Carla misinterpreted as enthusiasm.

  ‘I see the little chica is eager to see the low bridge. And who could blame her? Well, we will keep her waiting no longer. Look at what the lamp reveals.’

  She raised the lamp.

  Adam looked up. This was a mistake. Carla tutted in disapproval.

  Adam looked down.

  Crossing an extremely smelly stream in the sewer was a small bridge. What it was doing there, Adam hadn’t got the faintest idea. But there it was.

  ‘So what do you think, chico? Is it a bridge?’

  ‘Of course it’s not a bridge,’ interrupted Ezzio. ‘Where are the arches? Where are the supports? The beams? The cantilevers? The cable stays?’

  Not knowing anything about bridges, Adam didn’t have a clue.

  ‘You see,’ said Ezzio, ‘if we cannot identify what type of bridge it is, then we cannot classify it as a bridge. It can only be a crossing.’

  The Bajapuentalists sighed with regret. To have come so close to discovering a new low bridge and to have failed. How disappointing.

  Suddenly Adam had an idea.

  ‘Perhaps it’s a new type of bridge,’ he said.

  There was a collective intake of breath from the Bajapuentalists.

  ‘Pah!’ said Ezzio scornfully. ‘A new type of bridge? What are you talking about? Without beams? Without cantilevers? Without cable stays?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adam boldly. ‘Exactly that type of bridge.’ Before, he might have backed off. But having seen Calico Jack at work, Adam knew that saying things with absolute confidence could work wonders. ‘This is clearly a beamless, cantilever-free, zero-cable-stay bridge,’ he announced, hoping he’d remembered correctly all the words Ezzio had just said.

  Carla released a low whistle of amazement.

  ‘Fellow Bajapuentalists, this is indeed a historic moment in bridge observation. With this discovery we have become pioneers in the world of Bajapuentalogy,’ she pronounced.

  The group stood in silent admiration for a moment.

  ‘We must celebrate,’ Carla continued, ‘in the traditional Bajapuentalist way.’

  The Bajapuentalists all immediately banged their heads on the ceiling.

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘The Bajapuentalists are forever in your debt, Adam,’ said Carla, rubbing her new bump. ‘If ever you need help, just call us.’

  Anna gestured to Adam.

  ‘Actually,’ said Adam, ‘you could help us now.’

  ‘Really?’ said Carla.

  �
�Yes. We’re lost, you see. We were following a rope, but it’s been cut –’

  ‘Because it was an escape route for criminals,’ interrupted Ezzio. ‘I spend a lot of time in these sewers and I know what goes on.’ Adam noticed a sharp knife in his hand. ‘So I want to know what you chicos were doing following it?’

  Adam couldn’t think of an answer. But luckily his recent discovery saved him. Carla rounded angrily on Ezzio.

  ‘I hope you remember, Ezzio, that according to the Bajapuentalist Charter all Bajapuentalists are required to assist each other.’

  ‘One for small and small for one!’ cried the rest of the group.

  ‘These chicos are honorary Bajapuentalists because of their discovery of the beamless, cantilever-free, zero-cable-stay bridge. We will help them. Should you choose not to help you may leave our society.’

  Ezzio obviously had no wish to help Adam and Anna but he could not bear to leave the Bajapuentalists. He turned away, muttering to himself.

  ‘What can we do for you?’ asked Carla.

  ‘If you could just tell us how to get out,’ said Adam.

  ‘That is no problem,’ she replied, reaching into her pocket and producing a folded sheet of paper. ‘In our quest to find the lowest of bridges we have been mapping the sewer system. Where would you like to go?’

  ‘I don’t know really,’ said Adam.

  Anna made some urgent hand gestures.

  ‘But we’d like it to be quite a long way from the police station,’ he added, trying to keep his voice casual.

  Carla nodded.

  ‘Whatever you like. We can lead you to exits near the hospital – there is quite a low bridge near there – or the theatre, which is also not far from a bridge of only moderate altitude, though to call it low would be a little too generous. Or . . . where are we under at the moment? The dog pound!’

  ‘The dog pound!’ cried Adam. ‘That’s the perfect place.’

  ‘Really?’ said Carla, surprised. ‘There are no other bridges of note near the dog pound.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Adam.

  ‘It matters to us,’ snapped Ezzio suddenly.

  ‘I didn’t mean –’ Adam began.

  ‘Ask them why don’t they want to be seen by the police,’ Ezzio added. ‘They must be criminals.’