by Robin Jarvis
“Don’t fink about it,” Charm told her. “Just stick to what we said, yeah?”
Maggie nodded anxiously and headed back to the main block. When she was out of earshot, Charm turned to Marcus.
“You really fink there’s a cat in hell’s chance of this working?” she asked. “Or was you talkin’ a load o’ nads?”
The boy honestly didn’t know. “If no one tries though,” he said, “Velma’s definitely going to kark it.”
“And if Maggie’s caught, she’ll go the same way.”
“We’ll find out in a few hours. Now I’m going to wash this stinking muck off, douse myself in aftershave and body spray and annoy that Yikker swine for a bit. I need to really get up his nose.”
The evening crawled by for the three of them. Charm’s part in the plan was over but, after lights out, she paced round her cabin, biting what remained of her fingernails.
The hours ticked slowly. Maggie filled them by doing some of her laundry and hanging her washing on the banister. But she kept the bucket she had used close by her bed, half filled with water.
Darkness covered the camp. When it got to ten o’clock, Marcus had to let Spencer and Lee into what was going on. It was impossible to keep it from them any longer.
“You is crazy!” Lee yelled, hurling a pillow at him. “They’s both gonna get killed! You end this right now, before it starts!”
Marcus refused. “It’s the only chance there is of keeping that girl alive out there!” he hissed back. “So keep the volume down. I don’t want the guards looking in this direction.”
“You is a dangerous mentalist!” Lee fumed. “I am not a part of this!”
“You never are. It’s just you here, isn’t it? You never get involved, never help no one. Alasdair’s right about one thing – you’ve given up inside.”
“Go to hell.”
“Already wearing the T-shirt and matching novelty boxers, thanks.”
Spencer was lying in bed, his thoughts thousands of miles away in an imaginary Western town. Since the confiscation of his hat he hadn’t said much to anyone. He stirred and scratched his head as he considered Marcus’s scheme.
“I think it’s brill,” he said at length.
“Herr Spenzer!” Marcus whispered, giving him a friendly punch on the arm. “Glad to hear it. Come give me a hand with Gnasher then.”
The younger boy hesitated before following him to the mezzanine.
“It won’t bite,” Marcus promised, before adding, “so long as you keep your hands away from its mouth!”
Switching on a small torch, he opened the door of the bedside cupboard and the Doggy-Long-Legs growled at them.
“Quiet, you!” Marcus told it. “You’re getting out of here – you lucky dawg. But first, you’re getting a smellover, that’s like a makeover but without the lippy and Jimmy Choos.”
Reaching in carefully, he hauled it out by the eight tied legs and, to Spencer’s surprise and dismay, handed it over.
“Take him for a minute,” he said.
“Why?” Spencer squeaked, holding it at arm’s length, in fright and revulsion.
“Cos I need my hands free to be creative. This is a job for the maestro.”
Marcus rummaged through his toiletry bag and case and brought out his shower gel, aftershave, shampoo, athlete’s foot powder, moisturiser, body spray, talc and deodorants. Then, with the lofty, inspired air of a fine artist, he commenced spraying, dusting and squeezing the contents over the creature’s coarse black fur.
The Doggy-Long-Legs twisted and wriggled, trying to break loose. It bit at the pungent, squirting mists, then coughed and retched.
Lee covered his nose. “That’s worse than its own stink,” he said.
When Marcus was satisfied, he took the beast from Spencer, switched off the torch and went downstairs to the entrance. There he waited and stared out at the camp. All was quiet and the night shadows were deep. So much the better. It was half past ten exactly.
Marcus had been studying the guards. Only one Punchinello patrolled the fence at night, while a second surveyed the camp from the tower. The others remained in their cabin, watching television or speaking loudly in their own rough language. The patrol was always clockwise and always took the same amount of time to complete one circuit.
The boy waited until the one on foot came into view. Yes, there he was, swaggering past the gates, headed towards the far right-hand corner. He grinned when he recognised it as Yikker.
“Perfecto!”
Marcus glanced up at the skelter tower. The Punchinello with the bandaged nose was on duty there again. Still wearing Spencer’s Stetson, Garrugaska was engrossed in his media player, watching more Westerns.
“Result,” Marcus breathed gladly. “That’ll make it miles easier.”
He lowered his eyes again, just in time to see Yikker turn ninety degrees and begin striding towards the rear of the camp. Soon he was out of sight, behind the main block.
This was it.
Sure enough a large figure, carrying a bucket, hurried in front of his cabin. Maggie was on her way.
“Good luck,” he murmured, crossing his fingers. “You’ve got seven minutes – starting now.”
“She’s brave,” Spencer muttered in admiration behind him. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Yeah,” Marcus agreed with an affectionate smile. “Not bad for a fat bird.”
Her heart in her mouth, Maggie hastened to the main building. Luckily everyone in her dorm, even Christina, was sound asleep so she had slipped out with no awkward questions asked.
Pressed against the wall, she sidled along, with a clear view of the back fence in the distance. Swallowing nervously, she saw the guard go by. Then she crept a little closer to the corner of the block. Once there, she waited and leaned out cautiously. It was so dark she could barely see Yikker all the way over there, heading for the far left-hand side of the fence. If it hadn’t been for the yellow costume, the guard would have blended into the gloom completely. She held her breath then saw him turn towards the front again and presently he disappeared beyond Jangler’s hut at the end.
At once Maggie ran around the back of the building, to the door of the tool cupboard and put her ear to the wood.
“Jody!” she whispered urgently. “Jody – it’s me, Maggie. Can you hear me? You awake?”
There was a long, deathly silence. Maggie tapped at the door as quietly as she could.
“Jody,” she tried again. “Jody?”
To her immense relief, she heard the faintest of groans inside.
“Where…?” a pitifully frail, parched voice asked groggily. “Who?”
“It’s Maggie,” she repeated. “I’ve…”
“Let me out!” the voice begged. “Let me out!”
“Shhh!” Maggie hissed. “I’m not supposed to be here. I brought some water for you. Look up.”
Throughout the day she had rattled her brains, trying to work out how to get a drink through that locked door. It was only when she had taken a not so casual walk around the camp in the afternoon that she had spotted it wasn’t a perfect fit along the top edge of the frame. There was a gap; it wasn’t much, but it would be enough.
As well as water, the bucket she carried contained Charm’s large sponge, now torn into four smaller pieces. Maggie reached in and made sure they were fully saturated. Then she pushed one carefully into the hole.
“Incoming!” she whispered. The sopping sponge dropped down inside. She heard Jody scramble for it in the darkness then press it to her lips feverishly and leech it dry. Maggie did the same with two more.
“Bless you!” Jody cried gratefully on the other side. “Bless you. You’re an angel.”
“One more,” Maggie said softly. “Then I’ve got to go.”
“No,” Jody implored her. “I’ll push these back out. More – give me more!”
Maggie looked over her shoulder. Yikker would be approaching the gates again any time now. His sensitive nose would smell
her if he got closer. It was time for Marcus to start the diversion so she could get back to her cabin safely.
“I can’t stay,” she whispered apologetically as she eased the last sponge in. “I’ve got to get back.”
Three almost bone dry sponges came poking through the gap.
“Please!” Jody begged her. “Please! I’m dying – it’s killing me… so, so thirsty.”
Maggie closed her eyes and nodded. “OK,” she said, dunking the sponges back in the bucket.
At that moment, the sound of Yikker’s sudden squawking filled the night. The diversion had commenced.
Marcus had given her the seven minutes. That was the average length of time it took the guards to walk a quarter of the way round the camp. When that was up, he opened the cabin door slowly and placed Gnasher on the step.
“Here you go, fella,” he said, taking the scissors from his pocket. “Smell that lovely minchet. You must be starved not eating all day.”
He waited until the Doggy-Long-Legs’ quivering nostrils caught the scent of the trail he and the girls had made earlier. It wasn’t long before the creature grew agitated and started slavering.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you? Just follow your snotty nose to the end and you can feed your pugly face with that slimy gloop.”
He snipped at the trainer laces and jumped back smartly, closing the door between them.
Gnasher’s three crippled legs flopped down uselessly, but the other five stretched then stamped and shakily lifted the hairy body. After being tied up so long, it took a few hesitant, tentative steps. Then it stumbled around and snarled at the door, barking shrilly at Marcus’s shadowy figure inside.
“Shut up!” the boy muttered, waving it away. “Get lost, go on – go get your din-dins.”
The Doggy-Long-Legs butted its face against the door – hitting the board nailed over the hole it had chewed there the other day.
“It’s trying to get back in!” Spencer exclaimed in alarm.
Marcus looked worried but Gnasher quickly gave up. It wasn’t as tenacious as it had been. Stumbling backwards, its jaw hanging open, it appeared almost drunk.
“I think you did more damage than you realised,” Spencer observed.
“Wait,” Marcus whispered.
The Doggy-Long-Legs’ wet nostrils quested the air. This time it really had caught the scent. It scratched at the step with its claws and leaped off, on to the grass. With its face buried in the trail, it scampered away, the broken legs dangling behind it.
“Go on, my son!” Marcus enthused. “You beauty.”
He and Spencer watched it follow the invisible, zigzagging path across the lawn. Then they heard Yikker shout a challenge.
The Punchinello had almost completed a circuit of the perimeter when his large hooked nose twitched and he smelled the unmistakable, nostril-spiking perfumes of that teenage boy he so wanted to kill.
A foul leer spread across his face. The boy was out after curfew and that meant only one thing. He was at Yikker’s mercy, and Yikker wasn’t tainted by any such weakness. The guard thrust his spear forward into the dark.
“Stand and disclose!” he squawked.
The sharp, flowery reek grew stronger. Yikker stared at the gloom. Where was the hated boy? He was nowhere to be seen.
“Disclose!” he demanded more fiercely.
Now the stink had changed position. The human was moving fast. Yikker spun around and charged after the smell.
“You no hide!” he shrieked. “You no escape. Yikker kill!”
The guard heard a snuffling noise close to the ground. He let out a bloodthirsty yell and flung the spear. The weapon plunged harmlessly into the soil and Yikker seethed with frustration.
“Where you?” he bawled. “Where you? I catch – I kill!”
In the cabin, the two boys had to clamp their hands over their mouths to prevent their laughter being heard. Watching the Punchinello dart madly from side to side, trying to keep up with the Doggy-Long-Legs, was the funniest sight they’d seen in ages.
Lee descended the stairs behind them.
“Don’t tell me that stoopid plan is actually working?” he said.
Marcus was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face. He nodded and jumped up and down.
Outside, Yikker was haring to the far left-hand side of the camp; in a moment, the guard would be out of sight, beyond Jangler’s hut.
“Shouldn’t Maggie be coming back now?” Lee asked. “Your pet spider mongrel won’t keep that guard busy forever.”
Marcus wasn’t worried yet. There was still plenty of time. When Yikker realised what he was actually chasing, he was certain to throw a massive tantrum. If Gnasher got caught, then the Punchinello would vent his full fury on it. But if Gnasher managed to escape over the fence, that would drive Yikker insane with rage, thinking it was the boy that had got away.
His laughter ebbed. He wiped his eyes and doubled over to take deep breaths.
“She’ll be fine,” he said. “There’s…”
Suddenly three loud bangs blasted into the night. At first Marcus thought it was fireworks. Lee knew different. He dashed to the door and stared out.
“Jesus!” he cried. “They got guns!”
“What?” Spencer spluttered, backing away.
“Rubbish,” Marcus argued.
Two more shots fired and this time there was no mistaking them. Up in the tower, Garrugaska had heard Yikker’s shouts of frustration and finally put the media player down. Then he took from his frilled tunic a Colt 1873 Single Action Army revolver, the favoured gun of the Old Wild West, and shot recklessly at the far side of the camp, whooping at the feeling of the lethal power in his hand. White flame spat from the barrel and the Punchinello brayed with excitement.
Beyond Jangler’s cabin, Yikker cast the spear away in disgust when Garrugaska started firing. The Punchinello reached into his own tunic and took out a semi-automatic pistol. Every guard had been issued with his preferred gun. Yikker wasted no time in emptying lead into the confusing darkness, where that stinking, perfumed boy was running around unseen. Spent casings came flying out and Yikker danced a jig of joy. This truly was the way to do it.
The gunfire brought the three other Punchinellos from their cabin. They had grabbed their guns and were firing into the air as they ran about, wondering what was happening.
“Oh, God,” Marcus breathed as the gunshots thundered over the camp. “Maggie – she’s still out there.”
Once Yikker had started shouting, Maggie hurried to feed three more dripping sponges through the door.
“That’s it!” she told Jody firmly. “I’ve no more time.”
“Don’t go!” the imprisoned girl beseeched her.
“I’ve got to – sorry.”
“Come back tomorrow! Please, please!”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“I’m begging!”
Maggie tore herself away. Bucket in hand she hurried back around the main block, keeping close to the wall and the deeper darkness. Then the shooting began.
Maggie froze with shock. She couldn’t believe they had guns. It wasn’t possible. Hidden in the night shadows, she gasped shallow breaths – petrified and numb. She didn’t know what to do and felt her scalp creep as the full danger and hopelessness of her predicament was brought home. More gunfire heralded the other guards rampaging from their cabin. How could she ever make it back without being seen and shot dead?
Captain Swazzle, Anchu and Bezuel ran to see Yikker shooting wildly at the fence. Without waiting to ask questions, they raised their guns and joined in, firing at the trees beyond the barbed wire. The Punchinellos loved it. They relished the lethal force of these wondrous new weapons. As befitted his rank, the Captain wielded a sub-machine gun. The brutal discharges illumined their ugly faces in stark flashes, the small explosions reflecting in their red-rimmed, lusty eyes. When the bullets ran out, they reloaded in eager, frenzied haste and continued, rejoicing with every violen
t recoil.
Carrying a lantern, Jangler came shuffling from his cabin in his dressing gown and slippers. The gunfire had jolted him from a very pleasant doze. At first he thought there was a full-scale attack by enemy forces under way. When he saw the guards were firing indiscriminately at the dark woodland, he scowled and struggled to be heard above the din.
“Captain!” he shouted. “Captain! What is going on?”
The Punchinellos ceased firing and turned to grin at him. Their faces were flushed and they were breathless with the intoxicating thrill of their deadly new toys.
“Guns good,” Captain Swazzle said. “We like, very lot. Blam blam! Bang bang!”
“So I can see. But what is the meaning of this? Who are you shooting at?”
The Captain looked at him blankly then turned to Yikker for an answer.
“What out there?” he asked.
“Abrant scum!” the guard replied. “Stinkboy. He go – over fence – in trees.”
“One of the prisoners has escaped?” the old man cried. “How did that happen? How did he get over the barbed wire? Were you sleeping on duty?”
“Stinkboy did magick!” Yikker retorted. “Make Yikker not see. But Yikker smell he sneak by.”
“Magick?” Jangler repeated in disbelief. “Have you been at the wine again?”
“No drink! Yikker smell Stinkboy. Yikker no lie. Stinkboy gone. He out in forest. We go get – quick!”
“Captain,” Jangler asked, turning to him for confirmation. “Can you detect anything out here that shouldn’t be?”
Swazzle sniffed the air and the others did the same. But the acrid fumes of burned gunpowder masked everything and tickled the sensitive hairs sprouting from their noses. They found that sulphurous smell delicious and savoured it avidly.
Jangler gave a grunt of irritation. “Very well,” he said. “We shall have to do a headcount. Get the aberrants out here. We’ll see just who is missing and then decide what action to take.”
All the children were awake. They stared out through the cabin doors, fearfully wondering what was going on. The noise of the guns terrified them and when the Punchinellos came stomping over to drag them on to the lawn, they were sure they were going to be shot.
