by Alan Snow
Arthur looked about. “What is this place?”
“Oh, this was once a pet shop, but now I rent it to live in. And these are my friends,” Willbury said, looking around at the creatures. “You have met Fish already it would seem, and these two reprobates”—he nodded at the other boxtrolls—“are Shoe and Egg.”
The boxtrolls on the shelf smiled at Arthur. Then the old man turned to the last creature—the little man with the cabbage on his head. “And this is Titus. He is a cabbagehead.”
The cabbagehead scurried behind the old man’s chair.
“I am afraid he is rather nervous. He’ll get used to you, though, and then you will find him charming.”
“I am afraid he is rather nervous.”
A cabbagehead! Grandfather had told Arthur stories about cabbageheads. Legend had it that they lived in the caverns deep underground. It was said that they grew strange vegetables there and worshiped cabbages. This had something to do with why they tied cabbages to their heads. Even Grandfather had not seen a cabbagehead, they were so shy.
They lived in the caverns deep underground.
Arthur thought for a moment, then asked, “Your friends are all underlings, so, well, why do they live with you?”
Willbury smiled with bemusement. “What do you know about underlings, Arthur?”
“I know that the boxtrolls look after the tunnels and plumbing underground. But I don’t know much about cabbageheads,” Arthur admitted.
“Well, I am not sure I entirely approve, but our boxtroll friends here act as scouts.” Willbury gave the boxtrolls a funny look.
“Scouts?” asked Arthur.
“Yes. It would seem that the boxtrolls have a need for certain supplies to help with their maintenance of the Underworld. So Fish, Shoe, and Egg wander the town looking for . . . ‘supplies.’ When they find them, they ‘prepare’ the item for removal—loosen it, unbolt it, unscrew it, whatever. That’s why there is such a large heap of nuts and bolts in the back room. God help me if I am ever visited by the police.”
“They ‘prepare’ the item for removal.”
He looked rather severely at the boxtrolls, then resumed speaking. “They leave signs for the other boxtrolls. You may have seen strange chalk marks on the walls about town. These are there to guide the other boxtrolls to the supplies so they can make a quick getaway.”
A quick getaway.
Arthur looked at Fish, who grinned and nodded.
“Well!” said Willbury, rather sternly. “I don’t think I approve at all. Our friends the boxtrolls have a rather strange attitude toward ownership. Have you not noticed that most of your arrows point at someone else’s property?”
The boxtrolls looked rather guilty. Arthur felt a little guilty himself remembering the bananas he had left on top of the Cheese Hall. He decided it’d be safer to change the subject. “And your friend Titus?”
Willbury beamed. “He is researching gardening. The cabbageheads are always trying to improve their methods of cultivation. So occasionally one of them spends some time up here studying human gardening methods. Egg and Shoe discovered him one night sleeping in a coalbunker and brought him back. He’s been here for a few weeks writing up a report. When he’s finished, he’ll go back to the Underworld.”
Willbury looked behind his chair and said coaxingly, “Titus, I think our new friend might like to see your report if you would like to show it to him.”
The cabbagehead shot from behind Willbury’s chair to a barrel that stood in one corner of the shop. There was a hole cut in its side just big enough for Titus to clamber through. He disappeared and re-emerged carrying something. He ran back and hid behind the chair. A hand offering a small green notebook appeared.
Willbury took the notebook and opened it. Arthur leaned over to look. The pages were covered with tiny writing and the most beautiful drawings of plants.
A squeak came from behind the chair. Willbury closed the notebook, winked at Arthur, and passed it over his shoulder to an outstretched hand. The notebook disappeared.
The pages were covered with tiny writing and drawings.
“Now, Arthur, please sit down if you wish.” Willbury lifted his feet from a footstool and pushed it toward Arthur. “So what brings you here?” he asked.
Arthur suddenly felt overwhelmed. He sat. He didn’t know where to begin. Fish came forward and started talking. “Hummif gommmong shoegger tooff!!!”
Arthur suddenly felt overwhelmed.
“I think it would be better if Arthur himself explained what’s happened, Fish,” said Willbury. He smiled encouragingly at Arthur. “Are you in trouble?”
“Yes,” whispered Arthur. There was a pause.
“Well, let’s hear what kind of trouble it is. We’ll try to help you if we can. I have spent my whole life sorting out trouble for other people,” said Willbury.
Arthur hesitated, then decided he could trust Willbury. “Yes, I am in trouble. They’ve blocked my hole back. It’s the only way I know to get home. And they have taken my wings!” Speaking the words aloud made Arthur realize fully what a terrible situation he was in.
“All right,” said Willbury, leaning forward, looking both confused and concerned. “I think you better tell me the full story.”
Arthur started. “I’m from the underground . . . well, I have lived there since I was a baby.”
Willbury looked curious. “Underground?”
“Yes. Me and my grandfather live in a cave . . . well, three caves, actually. One we use as a living room and kitchen, another is Grandfather’s bedroom and workshop, and the smallest is mine. It’s my bedroom.” Arthur looked around the shop. “It’s warm and cozy, a bit like this place.”
“Well, three caves, actually.”
“But why do you live underground?” Willbury asked in a puzzled voice.
Arthur paused for a few moments. “I’m . . . I’m not really sure. Grandfather always tells me he’ll explain when I’m older.”
“And what about your parents?”
Arthur looked sad. “I don’t know . . . . I am a ‘foundling,’ I think.”
“But your grandfather?”
“Oh . . . he’s not my real grandfather; he just found me abandoned on the steps of the poorhouse, when I was a baby, and took me to live with him. He’s raised me like he is my father, but because he’s so much older than my father would be, I call him ‘Grandfather.’ ”
“So, has he always lived underground?”
Arthur thought for a moment. “No, he said he lived in the town when he was younger. But he doesn’t talk about it . . . .”
Willbury seemed to realize he was upsetting the boy with so many personal questions, so he asked next: “You say ‘they’ have blocked your hole back to the underground and taken your wings? Who are ‘they’?”
Arthur grew instantly animated. “I saw these men hunting cheese and I went to have a look, but my wings broke and the hunters took them, and then I escaped and was trying to get back down underground when they blocked up my hole.”
“But what were you doing aboveground? And what wings? I don’t understand,” said Willbury.
Arthur decided to tell Willbury all. “I was gathering food.” His face grew red, but he continued. “It’s the only way we can survive. My grandfather is so frail now that I have to do it. And he made me some wings so I could get about the town easily.”
“Your grandfather made you wings?”
“Yes, he can make anything. He made my doll as well so I could talk to him from anywhere.” Arthur reached inside his under-suit and pulled out the doll to show Willbury.
Willbury’s eyes grew wide. “Do you mean to say that you can talk with your grandfather, using this doll?”
“Yes,” said Arthur.
“Does it still work?” asked Willbury.
“Yes . . . I think so.” Arthur looked at the doll closely—it didn’t look damaged in any way.
Arthur looked at the doll closely.
“When did y
ou last speak to your grandfather?”
“An hour or so ago, when I was sitting on top of the Cheese Hall.”
“On top of—oh, never mind. Does he know what’s happened to you or where you are?”
“No . . . ,” said Arthur.
“Well, I suggest you speak to your grandfather right now to let him know you are all right and that you are here,” Willbury insisted. All the eyes in the room fixed on Arthur and the doll. “I should like to talk to him also, if I may?” he added.
Arthur nodded. He wound the tiny handle on the box on the front of the doll. There was a gentle crackling noise, and then grandfather’s voice broke through.
“Arthur, Arthur, are you out there?”
“Yes! Yes! It’s me! Grandfather, it’s me! Arthur!” Arthur yelped. It was such a relief to hear his voice.
“Arthur! Where are you? I’ve been so worried. Are you all right?” Grandfather’s voice sounded shaky.
“I followed the cheese hunt like you told me to. I did try to be careful, Grandfather, but the huntsmen tried to catch me. They took my wings! And sealed up the drain! But I’ve escaped and found a safe place . . . and someone who can help me!” Arthur reassured him. “I’m in an old shop, with a man called Willbury. He wants to speak to you.”
“Certainly—please pass the doll to him,” Grandfather told Arthur. Arthur gave the doll to Willbury, who had been looking at it a little uneasily. Willbury cleared his throat.
“Good evening, sir.”
“Good evening, sir. This is Willbury Nibble speaking. I have Arthur with me in my home. I haven’t heard the full story, but it sounds as if he has had a terrible time. I would just like to say that you have my word, as a gentleman, that while your grandson is in my charge, I shall do all within my power to keep him safe. I shall also endeavor to help him return to you as soon as may be!”
“Thank you, Mr. Nibble!” replied Grandfather. “If you could help Arthur get back to me safely, I would be very grateful!”
Arthur moved closer to the doll. “Grandfather, how am I going to get back now that the huntsmen have blocked up the drain?”
For a moment there was just a gentle hissing and crackling from the doll; then they heard Grandfather’s voice again. “I know there are other routes between the town and the Underworld. But I don’t know where they are. They belong to other creatures.” There was a mixture of frustration and worry in his voice, and Arthur grew even more glum—he hated to cause his grandfather worry.
“Sir,” replied Willbury, “I have a number of boxtrolls and a cabbagehead living with me. They may know of a way!” He looked around and was met by nodding heads. Even Titus had come out of hiding and was nodding.
“Yes! It seems they do,” Willbury said. “I will have them guide Arthur back to you!”
“Thank you!” came the voice from the doll.
Arthur looked at the creatures gratefully. Of course—it was such a simple answer. He needn’t have been so worried. Then Willbury spoke again.
“I think it might be a bit risky with these blackguards who chased Arthur roaming about. I suggest we wait till early tomorrow morning, then Fish and the others can find Arthur a hole.”
“I agree, Mr. Nibble. I think Arthur has had enough excitement for one evening.” Then Grandfather paused for a moment. “Getting Arthur back is my first concern. But I am worried about his wings. Without them, he won’t be able to collect food for us safely . . . .”
“I understand your concern, sir. I am not sure where they are or how we might get them back, but I will think on it. Do you have enough food for the moment?” asked Willbury.
“Yes, I have several large clumps of rhubarb growing under the bed,” said Grandfather.
“I have several large clumps of rhubarb.”
“Good. We’ll give Arthur a good supper, and there is plenty of space for him to sleep here.”
“Thank you so much, Mr. Nibble. And, Arthur, look after yourself . . . . I need you back!” said Grandfather.
“I will, Grandfather. Good night.”
“Good night, Arthur, and I shall see you in the morning.”
The doll fell silent, and Arthur took it back from Willbury. He kissed it and tucked it back in his under-suit.
“Why don’t we have a little something to eat, and Arthur can finish telling us his story,” Willbury suggested, looking at Arthur. Then, turning to Titus, he said, “Titus, get the big forks!”
A huge smile shot across Titus’s face, and he disappeared back inside the barrel for a moment. He returned, carrying massive three-foot forks. Willbury leaned down and Titus whispered in his ear.
“Yes, Titus! Go and get the buns . . . and the cocoa bucket,” Willbury said.
Titus bounded out of the door at the back of the shop and returned carrying a huge plate of buns and a large zinc-plated bucket full of cocoa. He set them by the fire, and the other creatures, Willbury, and Arthur gathered around him. Willbury hung the bucket on a hook over the fire, and after a few minutes it was slowly bubbling. Everybody took a fork and started to toast the buns. When the buns were crisp, they dipped them in the cocoa before eating them.
Arthur finished his story as they ate. He told of how he would come up every night to gather food, usually from trash bins from behind stores and restaurants. Grandfather said it was shocking, the food people threw away! But because when Arthur came up today and realized it was a Sunday, he had to go “gardening.” Then, rather shamefacedly, he told of his raid on the greenhouse and how he had been struck by the woman; of his flight to the Cheese Hall and how he had seen the hunt and had tried to spy on them; then of all that had followed.
The boxtrolls listened in awe as they sucked on their buns, and Titus got so caught up in the story that he hid behind Willbury when Arthur mentioned the hounds. Arthur finished his tale and looked toward Willbury, who was staring into the fire.
“It has been quite an adventure, Arthur. You poor lad. Let’s get you a big drink of cocoa, then off to bed with you. A good night’s sleep will do wonders,” Willbury said, taking the cocoa off the fire. When it had cooled a little, they all took turns drinking straight from the bucket. Arthur felt much better.
Drinking cocoa straight from the bucket.
“Now, let’s get our heads down. We need to be bright and fresh for the morning!” said Willbury.
The creatures found places for themselves around the room and nestled down while Willbury made up a bed for Arthur under the shop counter, out of old velvet curtains. Arthur took off his hat and climbed in. Willbury tucked another curtain around him.
“You sleep well, Arthur. I have an idea where we might make inquiries about your wings in the morning.”
Willbury left Arthur to settle, and the light in the shop went out. Arthur pulled the soft velvet covers over his head. The curtain felt heavy and gave off rather a comforting dusty smell. Arthur lay quietly in the darkness and started to think. It will be good to get back to Grandfather tomorrow. But my wings . . . I can’t lose those . . . . I wonder what Willbury meant when he said he had an idea?
His thoughts became slower as sleep overtook him. Soon all that could be heard was gentle snoring.
Soon all that could be heard was gentle snoring.
Snatcher.
chapter 6
THE CEREMONY
Snatcher raised the pole.
Across the town from where Arthur slept, deep within the heart of the Cheese Hall, the huntsmen and their mounts were getting changed. They stripped down to their long johns and, from cases stored under the benches that bordered the room, they took out furry capes, hats, and some battered musical instruments. They donned the clothes, picked up the instruments, and made their way through a small wooden door into a hexagonal chamber. The chamber was some twenty feet across, about thirty feet high, with a vaulted ceiling. In the center of the floor was a deep circular hole. If one had looked into the hole, one might have seen a bubbling mass of sticky yellow cheese far below. This was the
Fondue Pit.
Watching from a balcony was Snatcher. He was dressed in the same furry robes and hat as the other huntsmen, but in his hand he held a wooden pole. At its tip was a gilded duck. A piece of string went from the duck’s head to Snatcher’s hand. When the huntsmen had settled down, Snatcher raised the pole and waved it slowly over his head. The huntsmen started to play on their instruments. Some had drums, and others, strange horns. The noise was awful and grew louder and louder, till Snatcher pointed his duck stick at the hole and pulled the string. The huntsmen immediately stopped playing. The duck’s mouth opened and emitted an eerie quack. The quack faded away, leaving only the sound of bubbling molten cheese. Snatcher spoke.
The Fondue Pit.
“Members of the Guild, we are on our way to wreaking revenge on this appalling town. Soon we will be unstoppable!”
The men assembled in the chamber cheered. Snatcher raised his duck stick and the crowd grew silent.
“It is time to feed the Great One! Gristle, lower the cage,” Snatcher’s voice boomed.
From somewhere above, there was a clanking of chains and the bleating of a cheese. Slowly a cage came into view. In it was one of the cheeses gathered from the hunt. The crowd watched in silence as the cage went lower and lower until it disappeared into the pit. After a few more seconds the bleating became more frenzied. Then suddenly it stopped, and the chain went slack.
The duck stick.
There was another clank from high above, the chain tightened, and the cage emerged from the pit. It was empty except for a few strands of cheese, which stretched, then broke from the bottom of the cage.
Slowly a cage came into view.
Snatcher raised the duck stick. Again it opened its mouth and quacked.
“More cheese, Mr. Gristle!” Snatcher ordered, and gave an evil chuckle.
