by Anna Dale
‘He wasn’t very talkative,’ said Tippitilda. She sounded disappointed. ‘I think he was in shock, poor thing. The animals often find the first few days rather trying. I make them drink a magic potion and it’s quite a trauma for them to find that they can speak our language. Some of them take to it marvellously and you can’t stop them wittering on, but others are horrified to hear themselves communicate in a human tongue …’
‘Oh, I see. Yes …’ murmured Athene, but she was not really listening. She had only bothered to mention the gaps in Tippitilda’s book to buy herself more time to think. What reason could she give to explain how she, Humdudgeon and Huffkin had trooped into the hollow tree? All the scenarios that she came up with were too far-fetched so she dismissed them. She glanced hopefully at her friends, but neither looked as if they were on the verge of thinking up a marvellous lie. To Athene’s left, Humdudgeon was doing a fair impression of a fish gasping for air and to her right, Huffkin’s expression was akin to that of a mouse who’d just been pinned to the ground by the paw of a merciless cat.
‘We were on our way to visit some friends in Darlington,’ blurted out Athene. (This wasn’t a total lie. She had a penfriend in Darlington called Lucy Brown.)
‘Is Darlington a long way away?’ asked Tippitilda, stroking her chin with the topmost part of her quill feather pen.
Athene nodded. ‘Miles and miles and miles,’ she said.
‘Then that would explain why you’ve got so much baggage,’ Tippitilda pointed out, eyeing the bundles and bags which they had dumped on the floor of her chamber.
‘That’s right,’ said Athene, relieved that Tippitilda seemed to trust her. ‘And on the way,’ Athene continued, ‘we stopped to … um … to play a game.’
As luck would have it she chose that moment to put her hands in her cardigan pockets and, as soon as her fingers touched the object that Dottle had presented her with earlier in the evening, she knew what the rest of her story would be.
‘It was a game of catch,’ she said, ‘and someone threw the ball too hard and it rolled into the tree. When we tried to find it … well, you can guess what happened next.’ She took out the mysterious ball-shaped object and let Tippitilda handle it.
‘How interesting,’ the Low Gloam woman said, swinging the ball by its strap. She did not ask why there was a strap attached to the ball. She simply inserted ‘Ball game’ in the relevant column and left it at that.
There were lots more columns to fill, including ones headed ‘Hobbies’, ‘Favourite Foods’ and ‘Disgusting Habits’. After Tippitilda had finished grilling Athene and the Humble Gloam, they made the mistake of beginning to relax, but their ordeal was not quite over. Offering them each a piece of paper, Tippitilda asked them to give her a sample of their handwriting.
‘Whatever for?’ Humdudgeon said in hoity-toity tones, but he bent to her will and scribbled down a few scrappily written words. Huffkin’s writing was minuscule and neat, but, to Athene’s delight, hers was the most admired.
‘And now, I’d like to look inside your bags,’ Tippitilda said, closing her logbook and putting it to one side. ‘Lift them on to my desk and unfasten them, if you please.’
‘What a liberty!’ Humdudgeon complained, but he did as she had requested and in no time, they had heaped all their baggage on to the desk. Humdudgeon untied the blankets and loosened the cord of the bag containing his toolkit while Athene unbuckled her rucksack and Huffkin did the same with her satchel.
With painstaking thoroughness, Tippitilda examined the contents of each one, confiscating anything that she thought a captive should not have in their possession. Athene and the Gloam told lie after lie, describing the Goggle Drops as elderberry juice and Athene’s torch as a sort of musical instrument. Tippitilda was completely taken in. She believed everything that they said, without seeming to have a clue that she was being fibbed to. In the end, she refused to let them keep Humdudgeon’s trowel and a packet of crisps that Athene had brought with her, but to their immense relief, she let them hold on to everything else.
Swiftly they started to repack their bags and tie up their bundles, fearful that Tippitilda might change her mind. They had almost finished when Tippitilda appeared to think better of her decision. She held up her hand and frowned at them.
‘Stop what you are doing!’ she said.
Chapter Nine
Home Sweet Home
‘Before you secure your belongings, I have something to give you,’ Tippitilda informed them. She left her seat and walked to the back of her chamber where there was a large wooden cupboard. Opening its doors a little way, she rummaged in it furtively. Her behaviour was so secretive that Athene thought there must be something inside that she did not want anyone to see. It’s probably a higgledy-piggledy mess in there, Athene thought. While Tippitilda’s back was turned, Athene seized the opportunity to sneak round to the other side of the desk and have a good look for Zach’s name in the logbook. To her disappointment, it was not there. The only other creatures that seemed to have been found in recent weeks were the stressed-out otter and a rat by the name of Ruffian who was apparently ‘Headstrong and insolent’. Athene had just enough time to nip back to her place on the arm of the chair before Tippitilda returned to her desk, hugging three pillows.
‘Here’s one for each of you,’ she said, dishing them out. ‘As you already have blankets, I shan’t issue any of those. Now, if you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment, I’ll sketch you a quick map. Be sure to memorise it well so that you can find your way around.’ She took out a stick from her desk which had one end sharpened to a point and began to score lines in the dirt floor with it.
When Tippitilda had finished her map, Athene and the others stood up and studied it.
In the centre of the sketch was the shaft down which Athene and her friends had fallen and the four tunnels which stretched from it in opposite directions. Each tunnel divided into two and eventually joined a very long tunnel rather like a ring road which ran all the way around the Low Gloam colony and met itself. Clinging to the inside of this ‘ring road’ were four main settlements.
‘The lower two are the Stints and the Squattings,’ said Tippitilda, pointing at them with her stick, ‘and the higher pair are the Digs and the Snuggeries. The Stints are where we are now and the Squattings are where you will be in a few hours’ time. All the Gloam from Above mix with the creatures in the Squattings to eat and sleep and that sort of thing. The Digs and the Snuggeries are where we Low Gloam live.’
‘What are those four tunnels at the corners?’ asked Athene. It occurred to her that Tippitilda’s map looked a little like a tortoise with its legs sticking out and its tail and head tucked in.
‘This one on the top left is the Water Hole and you must already have passed the Latrines. Bottom right is the Coop …’
‘The Coop? What’s that?’ said Huffkin.
‘Not somewhere that you’d want to pay a visit,’ Tippitilda said warningly. ‘If you’re a sensible Gloam and keep to our rules you’ll never need to find out. Let’s see … and up here,’ said Tippitilda, striking the ground with the tip of her stick, ‘is out of bounds without special permission. It leads to a place called the Sanctum which is where our chief resides.’
‘So we’re bunged in with the animals, are we?’ Humdudgeon said, folding his arms huffily. ‘I trust they’ve all been told about good manners. I don’t want to be woken from my dreams by some creature slavering all over me or nibbling holes in my clothes.’
‘You must get all sorts down here,’ said Athene. ‘I’ve seen lots of rabbits and mice and hedgehogs – and a fox as well.’
‘We have two foxes living with us,’ Tippitilda informed her. ‘Their names are Fleet and Rusty. Both were in a bad way when they arrived. They’d run themselves into the ground quite literally, trying to get away from a murderous bunch of barbaric Glare. They’d been chased for miles, poor things.’
‘It’s a sport, supposedly,’ Athene said, nodding. ‘Some p
eople hunt foxes because they think it’s fun. My dad doesn’t like those sort of people at all. He calls them toffee-nosed twits on horseback, but they’re not seen in a bad light by everyone.’
‘They’re Glare, aren’t they?’ snapped Tippitilda. ‘It’s in their blood. All Glare are inherently bad.’
‘Steady on,’ Humdudgeon said. ‘I don’t think you’ve got your facts straight, madam. There are a few duffers amongst the Glare, it’s true, but they’re not quite as loathsome as you make out …’
‘Our chief says they are,’ insisted Tippitilda, getting rather flustered, ‘and it’s high treason to say otherwise, so you’d better keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.’
Her warning silenced Humdudgeon immediately, but Athene wasn’t so easily put off. She knew that Shoveller the badger had advised her not to mention the Glare, but she wanted to be sure that Zach had not been discovered.
‘You’ve never had a Glare down here, I don’t suppose?’ ventured Athene bravely.
‘Glare?’ said Tippitilda, tightening her grip on her stick. ‘GLARE?’ she said, brandishing it angrily. ‘Down HERE? I should jolly well think not!’ For a moment, it appeared as if the Low Gloam woman was about to lose her temper. Then she seemed to think better of making a scene, tucked her stick under her arm and pursed her lips tensely.
Athene dropped the subject. She had got her answer. The absence of her brother’s name in the logbook had hinted at the possibility, but Tippitilda’s reaction to her question had made it abundantly clear: Zach had not been found.
Tippitilda flapped her hands at them, manoeuvring them over to the desk where they were encouraged to pick up their things.
‘You’ll be assigned your duties tomorrow,’ she told them curtly, ‘but for today you can help the garment makers. Their workrooms are further up the tunnel to the right. Someone will collect you and take you to your quarters when you have finished your shift. Don’t leave your pillows behind. Goodbye.’
‘How rude!’ declared Humdudgeon, when they had gathered up their belongings and traipsed back into the tunnel. ‘She practically threw us out!’
‘She got awfully tetchy when I asked about the Glare,’ said Athene. ‘I thought she was quite a sweet-natured person up until then.’
‘Yes, I’m not sure that was very wise,’ said Huffkin, keeping her voice low. ‘Shoveller expressly told us not to talk about the Glare.’
‘But I had to find out about Zach!’ Athene said, not bothering to speak in a whisper. Huffkin put her finger to her lips, but Athene continued to babble away at the same volume. ‘Thanks to my detective work,’ she said, ‘we know that Zach’s name hasn’t been entered in Tippitilda’s book and we also know that she’s never heard of a Glare being down here. That must mean that Zach’s still free! He’s bound to be wandering somewhere in these tunnels, hopelessly lost. If only we can find him before one of the beastly Low Gloam do …’
Athene was surprised to see the glum expressions on the faces of her friends. They did not seem convinced by her theory. Humdudgeon answered her questioning gaze. ‘There is another explanation,’ he said gravely.
‘What’s that?’ said Athene.
‘Look at the facts,’ Humdudgeon told her. ‘Zach doesn’t seem to have been seen by anyone. It’s as if he’s vanished into thin air.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Athene, clueless as to what Humdudgeon was getting at.
‘What are the chances of Zach evading capture?’ Humdudgeon said scornfully. ‘He’s six years old; he doesn’t know where he is or what danger he’s in and, to cap it all, he can’t even see in the dark!’
‘Don’t let’s argue about this here,’ said Huffkin, casting anxious glances left and right. ‘We’ve been given orders. Let’s hurry up and find these garment makers. We don’t want to get into trouble.’
‘We’ll talk about this later,’ promised Humdudgeon.
Athene nodded dismally, puzzled by the Humble Gloam’s attitude. Why couldn’t they share her optimism?
Every now and then they stopped to observe what was going on in the various chambers that they passed. They were on the lookout for clothing manufacturers.
‘Look!’ said Huffkin, tugging on Athene’s sleeve. ‘I can see someone with a pair of knitting needles. This must be the place. We’d better introduce ourselves.’
Huffkin ran up to the entrance to the nearest chamber. ‘Hello!’ she said brightly to a hunched old woman who was sitting on a stool with the beginnings of a sock in her lap. ‘Tippitilda sent us,’ explained Huffkin. ‘She said that we should help you – just for tonight.’
They were not expecting to be split up. Athene watched numbly as Humdudgeon was taken to another chamber where darning and patching was being done. Huffkin remained with the knitters while Athene was led to the chamber next door which contained four spinning wheels. Her task was to tease apart lumps of raw wool before giving it to the spinners who turned it into yarn. She went about her job miserably, going over in her mind what Humdudgeon had said about Zach until her basket of raw wool was empty.
She cheered up briefly when she witnessed Gloam magic performed for the very first time. An old bow-legged Gloam with enormous crinkled ears held a single strand of wool between his forefinger and thumb. He dipped his other hand into a pouch attached to his belt and sprinkled a pinch of powder on the strand. Then he took a huge breath as if he were just about to dive underwater, sandwiched the scrap of wool between his palms and rubbed them with increasing fervour. At the same time he mumbled something that sounded like a whole lot of nonsense to Athene, but must have been a magic incantation because, in no time at all, great quantities of wool began to shoot out from between the tips of his fingers. When the old Gloam had finished repeating the magic spell, he wiped his hands on his trousers, gathered up the wool in his arms and put it in a basket, ready for Athene’s attention.
Athene was not perceived to be a good worker. She tried hard to concentrate, but when she wasn’t fretting about Zach, she had enormous trouble keeping awake. She could not conceal her relief when a rabbit turned up a little after four a.m. with Huffkin and Humdudgeon at his side. The rabbit had been instructed by Tippitilda to take them to their quarters in the Squattings.
As they stumbled tiredly through the Stints, trying to keep pace with the agile little rabbit, they passed Tippitilda who was still hard at work, sitting at her desk.
‘Tut, tut. Working late again,’ commented the rabbit. ‘She’ll wear herself out, she will.’
The rabbit turned left, then ignored two further left turns as did dozens of creatures and captive Gloam who had also been working in the Stints.
‘It’s quite a crush, isn’t it?’ Humdudgeon observed.
They could not speak about Zach in front of their escort so they talked about their working day instead. Athene told the others about the magic spell that she had seen being performed.
‘Could you do that?’ Athene asked her friends as they turned down a long, straight tunnel with Low Gloam sentries loitering at its entrance like a group of ne’er-do-wells on a street corner. A signpost told them that they had reached the Squattings.
‘Oh, yes, it’s easy,’ said Humdudgeon. ‘It’s a simple Multiplying Spell. I can do it with my eyes closed. I’ll show you later, shall I?’
‘I wouldn’t try it if I were you,’ said the rabbit, pausing to sit up on his hind legs and give Humdudgeon a horrified stare. ‘No one’s allowed to do magic without permission from Lodestar. She’s the chief of the Low Gloam and her word is law.’
‘May I ask if anyone’s ever gone against her wishes?’ Humdudgeon said to the rabbit. ‘Surely, there must have been a daring soul who’s tried to break the spell that keeps us all imprisoned here?’
‘The Confining Spell?’ said the rabbit, his ears standing erect and his nose twitching feverishly. ‘I’ve not heard of anyone who’s had a go. Lodestar is the only one who would know how to undo it. It’s said she keeps the spell written down in a
special book in the Sanctum, but it would be impossible for one of us to get our paws on it. The Sanctum is guarded day and night. As for anyone disobeying her – there are a few mad doddle-heads who’ve tried. Take Nibs, for instance. He was working in the laundry and attempted a Frothing Spell without asking first. Some traitor squealed on him and he hasn’t been seen since.’
‘What do you think has happened to him?’ asked Huffkin.
‘Taken to the Coop,’ said the rabbit. ‘Most likely.’ He took several leaps up the tunnel and came to a stop by an uninhabited chamber.
‘This Coop … it isn’t a nice place, is it?’ guessed Huffkin, hurrying after him.
‘Most certainly not,’ said the rabbit. ‘Well, this is where I leave you. Have a nibble of supper and get some kip. I dare say you’ll be sent for later on. Oh, and don’t be tempted to go for a wander after you’ve heard the Honks.’
‘The Honks?’ said Humdudgeon. ‘What on earth are they?’
‘The first Honk tells you to get to the Squattings in double quick time and the second Honk signals the start of the Curfew. We’re not allowed to leave the Squattings again until the evening comes. A third Honk is sounded to let us know when we’re permitted to set off for work. The Low Gloam aren’t bound by the same rules, of course. They can do as they please. Be seeing you!’ said the rabbit; then, having completed his task, he bolted back down the tunnel to his burrow.
The chamber in the Squattings that they had been assigned was not as spacious or as finely furnished as they had hoped. Essentially, it was just a large hole with three mats, a bucket in one corner, a roughly hewn shelf and one tiny glowing stone set in the wall. The smell of earth was powerfully strong, which made them think that the hole must have been freshly dug especially for them. There were three dishes of some sort of gruel just inside the entrance. As with the chambers in the Stints, there was no door of any kind.
‘Well, this is a fine kettle of fish,’ said Humdudgeon, once they had all stepped into the hole and had a look around.
