On To Subterranea
Now he knew there was some extra ‘shiny’ to be had, the ferryman suddenly became much friendlier. It was time to try and get some answers to the questions that had been bothering me.
‘Back there, in the labyrinth of tunnels, I was chased by some ape-men. Do you know who they are?’ I asked.
‘Ape-men?’ said the ferryman as he paddled.
‘Big hairy brutes with long, muscly arms,’ I explained.
‘Troglodytes,’ said the ferryman. ‘Troglodytes from Barbaria.’
‘Bad men?’ I asked.
The ferryman shrugged his shoulders. ‘Some good, some bad.’
‘But they kept yelling “Man-cha.” I think it means “Man-food”; I think they were going to eat me.’
‘Perhaps,’ said the ferryman. ‘Man-cha mean “I kill you”. It mean “Me friend” and “Hello” and “Help me”. It’s only word Trogs use. It depend how they say it.’
I had been right. Man-cha was the only word the Troglodytes used. So, had they been trying to eat me or help me? I wasn’t sure any more; perhaps I should have stayed with them – perhaps they weren’t man-eating monsters. But it was too late to worry about it now, because we were on our way to some place called Subterranea.
‘Where is Subterranea?’ I asked.
Tutting loudly at my incessant questions, the ferryman reached under a low bench-seat at the back of the punt. He pulled out a sheaf of papers and handed the top one to me. It was a map …
… a fantastic map showing some of the tunnels I had crawled through; it showed the water I was sailing on right now, which wasn’t a lake at all, but a proper underground ocean; it showed the island called Barbaria, where the ape-men, or Troglodytes, came from; it showed, on the far coast of the huge ocean, a large city called Subterranea.
My heart gave a flutter of excitement. That’s where we were heading right now. Would I find Jakeman there? Would the inhabitants be friendly or hostile? Would – Wow! Blimey, what was that? The ferryman whimpered as a massive triangular shadow passed over the punt. He pointed over my shoulder, but when I turned round there was nothing there, just a slight ripple disturbing the surface of the calm, cold ocean.
The Megashark!
‘What was that?’ I asked in a panic. The ferryman didn’t reply, but I could see by the look on his face that whatever it was, it wasn’t good news.
The sea remained glassy, but quickly took on an ominous look: black and still and threatening. The ferryman was plunging his oar into the water, driving the punt along, looking to the left and right with wide, frightened eyes.
Then, all of a sudden, way over to our left, the ocean was split by a trail of sparkling silver bubbles as a small flat shape broke the surface.
‘Oh, help! Save poor ferryman!’ cried my petrified companion.
‘What is it?’ I asked again. The shape grew larger and larger, curving back like a huge scythe until it was as big as the sail on a yacht. I didn’t have to ask what it was again. I knew it was the dorsal fin of a shark; a shark so big it could have swallowed my old foe the river crocodile in one mouthful – and the great sail-shaped fin was heading straight towards us!
Split Asunder
CRASH! The fin hit our punt bang in the middle, cutting through it like a buzz saw, and the ferryman and I were left spinning wildly in mid-ocean, each hanging on for dear life in a separate half of the punt.
Icy water slopped around my ankles as I began to sink. I tried to bail out with my hands, but it was no good; the hull disappeared below me and sank to the dark depths of the ocean. In a mad doggy-paddle I floundered about, the weight of my rucksack pulling me down, but I managed to grab hold of a wide plank of wood that had broken away from the punt.
I looked over at the ferryman. Frozen with fear, he cowered in his half of the punt, which was still afloat but sitting very low in the water. There was no sign of the shark fin and I started to kick my legs in an attempt to help him, but I didn’t have time: the surface of the sea exploded in an eruption of foam as the massive bulk of the Megashark launched itself into the air in a wide arcing dive. For a few seconds it seemed to hang there, as both the ferryman and I watched in horror. It was huge; as big as a house! Then down it came, its massive mouth wide open, displaying row upon row of incredible incisors.
The ferryman raised his arms, but he didn’t even have time to cry out. He disappeared into the Megashark’s gaping jaw as, with a mighty splash, it dived back into the sea. Frozen with horror, I was almost immediately lifted up on the huge swell of water created by the diving monster.
Up I went, desperately hanging onto my piece of wood as the wave grew and grew. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the tall fin screaming through the water in my wake.
‘Aaargh!’ I yelled. Then, as I reached the crest of the towering wave, I had an idea. Pulling the plank closer, I managed to slide it underneath my tummy. In a single smooth action, I jumped into a squatting position and stood up, arms extended for balance. I was surfing! I’d never surfed before, and I could think of better ways to learn, but I was managing to stay upright!
With a slight adjustment to my balance, I turned my surfboard until it was skimming along the crest of the wave. Looking down, I realized just how big the wave had grown. I was thirty metres above the surface of the ocean and zipping along at about a hundred kilometres per hour.
Wobbling and nearly losing my balance, I glanced behind me. The Megashark was still there, but it wasn’t gaining on me. Quickly shifting my weight, I flipped the board through a hundred and eighty degrees. The shark was slow to react and continued shooting along in the opposite direction. I now had some breathing space and could concentrate on my surfing. I needed to!
As the wave started to break, my speed increased. I was going so fast I was finding it hard to take a breath. Then the crest curved over my head and I was shooting through a tunnel of silver water, my ears filled with the roar of the wave. I was beginning to enjoy myself, but it didn’t last long. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the silhouette of the Megashark tracking me from inside the wave. It had caught up with me again!
Suddenly the shark’s enormous head broke through the wall of water, its teeth snapping so close behind me that I felt the force like a slap around the back of my head. I turned the board again, but this time the shark was wise to my tricks and turned at the same time. Oh, help! What was I going to do?
The Megashark lunged once more, its jaw closing on the back of my board, shattering it into a thousand pieces. I plunged into the sea and found myself being swept between an outcrop of large jagged rocks, the shark hot on my heels. Once more its mouth opened … and then oof! Intent on catching me, the shark hadn’t been looking where it was going, and with a revolting ripping noise that I could hear even above the roar of the wave, the predator was impaled on one of the deadly spears of rock.
With an enormous rush of relief, I curled myself up into a ball and let the water carry me through the field of granite teeth, praying that I too wouldn’t end up skewered on a rock like a kebab. Then I felt the burn of gravel below me as the sea grew shallower and I was flipped and battered and tossed around like a pair of pants in a tumble dryer. And then everything went black.
Back In Bed
The kind lady who found me, battered and bruised, on the shore and carried me home and nursed me was called Ma Baldwin.
‘How long have I been in bed?’ I asked her.
‘A week,’ said Ma. ‘I thought you were a goner you were so badly bruised. But a nice warm bed and old Ma Baldwin’s homemade poultices did the trick, and here you are, as good as new. I don’t know why you’re that funny pink colour, though,’ she added. ‘I can’t seem to give you back a nice muddy complexion.’
‘I’m supposed to be this colour,’ I said. ‘I don’t come from around here; I come from up there,’ and I pointed up to the ceiling.
‘Up there? Where up there?’ said Ma Baldwin.
‘Way up there, on
the surface of the rocks.’
‘You mean people live above the rock?’ she exclaimed. ‘I don’t believe it. That’s just an old wives’ tale!’
‘It’s true, Ma,’ said a voice from the shadows, making me start. ‘And what’s more, there’s another one of ’em about.’
‘Oh, Tom, you made me jump,’ said Ma. ‘Come and say hello to Charlie Small. This is my son, Tom, Charlie.’
Out of the gloom stepped a skinny boy about my own age (eight, that is, not four hundred!), and if I thought his ma was a muddy colour, Tom looked as if he was made of mud! He was a dirty browny-grey from head to foot: his hair, face, arms and clothes were caked in a thick layer of muck.
‘So, you’ve decided to wake up at last, ’ave you?’ said Tom with a grin. I liked him straight away.
‘Tom’s just got back from the mudflats,’ said Ma. ‘Now, wash your hands and come and have your tea, Tom. You can chat to Charlie while you eat.’
Exciting News
Tom ran his hands under the kitchen tap, sending streams of mud gurgling down the plughole and exposing his shiny grey skin underneath. He sat down at a rough wooden table; his mum gave him a plate of bread and a strange, dirty-white stodgy pudding, which the boy tucked into with relish.
‘What have you been doing on the mudflats, Tom?’ I asked. ‘It looks as if you’ve had a lot of fun!’
‘There’s no fun to be ’ad down there, Charlie,’ he said. ‘I’m a mudskipper, a scavenger.’
‘What does one of them do when it’s at home?’ I asked.
‘I search the mudflats down by the quay, looking for scraps of food that’ve dropped into the drains and washed down to the shore,’ explained Tom, poking his fork into the sodden meal on his plate.
‘You mean you found that in the mud?’ I exclaimed. ‘And you’re eating it?’
‘So what?’ said Tom. ‘All us kids scavenge. It’s the only way we can survive.’
‘Don’t you ever get the runs?’
‘Not if you boil everything to oblivion and back,’ interrupted Ma.
‘Why do you have to scavenge?’ I asked, shocked at the idea of this friendly boy and his mum having to survive on scraps.
‘Why? Oh, that’s another story,’ said Tom. ‘Another story for another day, per’aps.’
I decided to change the subject.
‘So, what did you mean when you said there’s another person like me down here?’ I asked, hoping for some news of Jakeman. Or perhaps it was one of my pirate pals from the abandoned Betty Mae.
‘My mate Eliza said she saw a stranger with pink skin being taken to the castle a couple of weeks ago,’ said Tom.
‘A castle!’ I cried, getting excited. ‘What happens at this castle?’
‘That’s where the King lives, o’ course,’ replied the boy.
‘Huh! Some king!’ Ma mumbled to herself.
‘Do you know who this pink stranger is, or what he’s doing there?’ I asked.
‘Why d’you want to know?’ said Tom, suspicious all of a sudden.
‘I’m looking for a friend of mine. He’s the only one who can help me get home.’
Tom looked at me intensely for a moment, and then said, ‘Look, Charlie, there’s stuff going on down ’ere, bad stuff, and it’s ’ard to know who to trust. Maybe I’ll be able to ’elp when I know you better. Anyway, you look as if you need some kip. We’ll have a proper chat when you’re feelin’ up to it.’
Oh blow! I lay back on my pillow, banging my fists on the bed and sighing in frustration. Tom was right, though; I was starting to feel tired again, and very woozy indeed.
‘Don’t be hard on the lad,’ I heard Ma say as I drifted off to sleep. ‘He don’t know what’s been going on …’
Getting Better
I continued to feel woozy for the next couple of days, but I’ve been really well looked after by Tom and Ma.
Their house is amazing. It’s carved out of solid rock, and is warm and comfy. It’s only one room wide and three rooms high; Tom sleeps on the top floor, Ma on the middle floor, and my bed is made up in the kitchen on the ground floor, where a fire blazes all day long. My bed is surrounded by shelves laden with pots, pans and cooking utensils, and although it’s light outside, day and night, Ma has lamps burning all the time, and their warm golden glow makes the house feel very cosy.
The worst thing, apart from being stuck in bed with my bruises, is the food – it’s yuck! Ma is very apologetic, but it’s not her fault; she can only cook what Tom scavenges on the mudflats, and they find the meagre scraps as hard to swallow as I do. The hairy rat sandwich I’d had was a feast compared to the poor soggy mush these Subterraneans have to survive on!
At least I’ve had time to bring my journal up to date, and to look through my pack of wild animal collectors cards; lo and behold, I found a card describing the mean and monstrous Megashark. This is what it says:
And I couldn’t agree more!
I also tried to phone home, but we’re so far below ground, darn it, I couldn’t get a signal! Even though my mum seems to be stuck in a time warp, and never listens to a word I say, it’s good to hear the sound of her voice.
I’ll have to try again when I escape from this Underworld – whenever that might be!
Getting To Know Tom
Over the next week or so, I became great friends with Tom and Ma. Every evening, after returning from the mudflats, Tom would sit at the end of my bed, chatting and joking. He was really funny and kept my spirits up as I gradually recovered from the battering I’d received; but he didn’t say any more about the castle or what ‘bad stuff’ had been going on in Subterranea.
I talked the hind legs off a donkey, though! I told them all about how I had dropped into the Underworld, about my battles with the Spidion and the Megashark and my flight from the Troglodytes. They listened wide-eyed to my crazy adventures.
‘I don’t know why the Trogs chased you,’ said Tom. ‘Most of ’em are quite friendly; my friend Eliza is good pals with some of ’em. She goes to –’ But then he stopped, perhaps feeling he had said too much. I think Tom was still sizing me up, trying to work out if I could be trusted.
I didn’t mind; I liked Tom, and I knew something pretty bad must have happened to make him so suspicious. He needed to feel I was a good friend before he could tell me about the ‘bad stuff’. But what sort of bad stuff did he mean?
Blooming heck! It didn’t take long for me to find out!
Tom’s Close Call
One evening, as I was sitting by a roaring fire, Ma started to get very edgy. Tom was later than usual, and every few minutes she would look nervously out of the kitchen window.
‘Don’t worry, Ma,’ I said. ‘Tom will be all right.’
‘You don’t understand, dear,’ she replied. ‘He should have been home by now.’
Just then, there was a slight clatter in the yard, the back door opened and Tom slipped in, looking pale and shaken.
‘What’s happened, Tom?’ asked Ma anxiously. ‘And where’s your coat?’
‘Phewee! It was a close one,’ said Tom. ‘I was nearly nabbed by a scruffer!’
‘What on earth’s a scruffer?’ I asked.
‘You know,’ said Tom, still panting, ‘a rozzer; a nabber; a so-called guardian of the law who grabs you by the scruff of the neck and shakes you till you rattle like a bag of bones.’
‘A policeman?’
‘You can call ’em what you like, but you don’t want to get nabbed by one; especially down on the flats, or after curfew.’
‘Sit down and I’ll make you a nice cuppa while you tell us exactly what happened,’ said Ma.
But Tom couldn’t sit down. He was far too agitated.
‘I was on my way ’ome from the mudflats,’ he said, his eyes bright with fear and excitement. ‘I’d lost all track o’ time and didn’t realize it was already past nine o’clock. No one’s allowed out after nine at night,’ he explained to me. ‘Anyway, I was sneakin’ through the alleys w
hen a hand shot out of the shadows and grabbed me by the collar – it was a scruffer!
‘ “Gotcha, yer little devil,” sez he, and ’e lifted me off the ground an’ spun me round to take a closer look at me face. “Why, you filfy little so an’ so! You been down on them mudflats, ain’t ya?” he said.
‘ “So what if I ’ave?” I cried, and gave ’im a mighty kick on the shin! Oh, you should’ve ’eard ’im yell! But ’e didn’t let go.
‘ “Let’s ’ave a proper look at yer,” ’e said, ’oppin’ about on one leg. ’E was just about to wipe my face clean with ’is ’anky when I slipped out of me coat, dropped to the ground and legged it back ’ere!
‘ “Come back, you varmint,” ’e yelled. “I’ll ’ave yer guts for garters!” ’
‘He didn’t follow you, did he?’ asked Ma nervously. She passed Tom a cup of hot, muddy tea and a rock cake – made out of real powdered rock!
‘No chance,’ said Tom confidently.
Just then, there was a loud banging on the front door!
‘Scruffers!’ said Ma. ‘Tom – the hideaway, quick!’
A Right Ruckus In The House
‘Just coming!’ called Ma as Tom hurriedly pulled back the kitchen rug. To my amazement, he put his fingers through a small crack in the floorboards and lifted a hidden hatchway. A flight of steps led down into darkness.
‘Hurry up, Tom,’ said Ma – the knocking was growing louder. ‘You too, Charlie; he mustn’t find you here.’
I followed Tom down the steps. Ma closed the hatch behind us and threw the carpet back into place. We heard her footsteps as she hurried to the front door; we heard her drawing back the bolts, and the crash of the door as it was kicked open.
Charlie in the Underworld Page 4
