by Alan Snow
“Keep close; I don’t want to lose you,” said Willbury.
And off they set.
Three men in top hats and mufflers, sitting on a large cart.
What they failed to notice was that across the street were three men in top hats and mufflers, sitting on a large cart. As Willbury and Arthur headed toward the market, the men climbed down. One lifted a large metal bar from the back of the cart. The other two took out some old sacks. The men then walked shiftily toward the shop, all the while checking to see that nobody was watching them.
The men then walked shiftily toward the shop.
Early morning in Ratbridge market.
chapter 12
THE MARKET
Willbury led Arthur through the streets of Ratbridge.
Willbury led Arthur through the streets of Ratbridge toward the market. Arthur had never been anywhere so crowded. There were tradespeople, farmers, shopkeepers, dogs, chickens, pigs, street sellers, street performers, and more children than he had ever seen in his life. On his nighttime expeditions he had rarely seen children, and when he had, he hid. But now they took no notice of him as they played. Some of them were kicking about a leather ball the size of a cabbage, while others were chasing each other or fiddling with sticks in puddles. Arthur felt a little jealous at the easy way they laughed and spoke with one another.
“Willbury?” asked Arthur.
“Yes, Arthur?”
“What do children do?”
“You know. Play with friends and go to school and the like . . .”
Arthur was not sure he did know. He looked at the children. “I don’t think I have any friends.”
Willbury stopped and turned to him. “I think you do! What about Fish . . . and Egg and Shoe . . . and Titus . . . and me?”
Arthur smiled, and they walked on. It was so noisy! There was shouting, barking, horses’ hooves on cobblestones, the rumble of cart wheels, and over everything was the cackling of the fashionable ladies.
There were an awful lot of ladies doing an awful lot of cackling.
There were an awful lot of ladies doing an awful lot of cackling. And as they cackled, they tottered slowly down the streets, their bottoms wobbling behind them. Arthur had not seen bottoms like these before. From the way the ladies paraded their derrieres, it seemed that to have an interesting behind was very much the thing! Round ones, cone-shaped ones, pyramidal ones, cuboid ones, and some that defied description. All, large and wobbling like jellies.
The ladies seemed perturbed by the bottoms of their rivals and kept taking furtive looks at the competing behinds. And they had plenty of time for these observations, as they moved so slowly. This was because they wore ridiculously high-heeled shoes, which seemed to have been specially designed to make walking close to impossible.
Arthur could not help overhearing the conversation of two of the ladies.
“Hark at her,” said one to another.
“Which one do you mean? That Ms. Fox?” replied the other.
“Yes! Coming on hoity-toity with her new hexagonal buttocks,” said the first, with more than a hint of jealousy.
“No! And on shoes like that! She thinks she’s the bee’s knees, and she doesn’t even realize that hessian went out weeks ago!”
They were met by a wall of rather shabby people.
Arthur had no idea what they were talking about. He looked up at Willbury, slightly bewildered. Willbury smiled, leaned toward him, and whispered, “Fashion victims!”
Approaching the market, the streets became even more and more crowded. Arthur found it very exciting. As they entered the market square, they were met by a wall of rather shabby people.
“Hang on tightly to my hand, Arthur!” said Willbury as he pushed into the throng.
Arthur grabbed Willbury’s hand and hung on. Slowly they squeezed their way through the jostling mass of bodies. Arthur could see very little except when there was a break in the crowd, and for a moment he caught sight of the stalls. He was amazed! He had never seen such a profusion of things. Stacks of sausages, bundles of new and secondhand clothes, strange tools and gadgets, bottles of grim-looking medicines, stacks of broken furniture, toys, clocks, pots and pans . . . . The list went on and on. Even when he couldn’t see much about him, the smells kept flooding into his nostrils. Some were familiar, some new, some sweet, and some very, very unpleasant. Arthur felt boggled by it all. How strange the town seemed by day.
Occasionally Willbury guided them toward a particular stall where he would buy food, and then again off they would set on their journey. As the supplies amassed, Arthur helped Willbury carry the bags.
Finally they broke free of the crowds, and Arthur found himself by the intersection in the very center of the market.
Willbury led him toward a pie stall that stood near the intersection. Around it was a group of people wearing oily overalls, chewing on pies, chatting, and drawing on blackboards attached to the stall. Built into one side of the stall was a strange copper drum with a chimney. A man behind the stall was shoveling coal into the drum through a door in its base.
Around it was a group of people wearing oily overalls, chewing on pies.
“Are you hungry?” Willbury asked Arthur. “The pies here are simply the best in Ratbridge. Would you like to try one?”
Arthur looked at the group around the stall tucking into their pies and decided that he was very hungry indeed.
“Yes, please!” he answered.
The man behind the stall looked up and smiled at Willbury. “Good day to you, Mr. Nibble, sir. Is it the usual? A nice turkey and ham special for yourself?” the man asked Willbury. “And what would the young man like?”
“Yes, a turkey and ham would be very nice, thank you, Mr. Whitworth,” replied Willbury. “I recommend that you try one as well, Arthur.”
“Yes, please!” said Arthur again.
Mr. Whitworth opened a door in the top of the copper drum and scooped out two large steaming pies with his spade. He flipped them onto a stack of newspapers on the counter, put down the spade, and then wrapped a few sheets of the newspaper around the pies.
Mr. Whitworth scooped out two large steaming pies with his spade.
“Will there be anything else, Mr. Nibble?” asked Mr. Whitworth.
“Just a bit of information. I am trying to get in touch with Marjorie. Do you happen to know where she is?” replied Willbury.
“Haven’t you heard? She’s been camping down at the Patent Hall for weeks, ever since they lost her application.”
“Lost her application?” Willbury sounded alarmed.
“Yes. Marjorie took her application and prototype for some new invention of hers for approval, but the man who was checking them went for lunch with them. And never came back. Now Marjorie’s stuck there—if she leaves the queue, she could lose her invention forever!”
“How awful! We must go and see her straightaway.” Willbury hesitated for a moment. “I’ll take her six of your finest pork and sage, please! She’ll need to keep her strength up. How much is that?” asked Willbury, offering a silver coin.
“They are two groats each, Mr. Nibble. But I’ll not be taking your money. We are all doing what we can to help poor Marjorie. It may be a small thing, but pies are vital to keeping one together. If you take them down to the Hall for her, I’ll not be charging you for the pies for you or for the boy, either.”
Mr. Whitworth pulled six more pies and a small cake from the oven, wrapped them, and placed them in a sack with the two turkey and ham pies.
“The cake is for you, young man.” Whitworth winked at Arthur.
“Thank you!” said Arthur. Cake! He’d heard of cake!
Mr. Whitworth pulled six more pies and a small cake from the oven, wrapped them, and then placed them in a sack with the two turkey and ham pies.
“Yes! It is very kind of you, Mr. Whitworth. Thank you, indeed!” said Willbury.
Mr. Whitworth passed the sack to Arthur. “You look like a strong lad. If y
ou run out of energy, you can always eat one.”
Happily Arthur took the sack and swung it gently over his shoulder. Then with a parting wave to Mr. Whitworth, they picked up the shopping bags and set off into the crowd again.
Madame Froufrou.
chapter 13
MADAME FROUFROU
A very strange woman.
Arthur and Willbury set off for the Patent Hall, Arthur trying to keep up with Willbury as they pushed their way through the crowds again. As they reached the edge of the market, the crowds became even denser, until finally they could no longer find their way through and were forced to come to a stop.
They were in the middle of a large crowd of ladies, all of whom seemed in a state of high excitement. It was clear there was something unusual going on.
“What’s happening?” Arthur had to raise his voice to make himself heard.
“I am not sure. There seems to be a platform with someone on it,” Willbury called back.
Willbury then guided Arthur in front of him. The crowd parted a little, and Arthur could see a high wooden platform. On it stood a very strange woman. She wore a dress that looked as if it were made from skinned sofa and cardboard, an enormous pink wig, and a pair of rubber gloves. She also had a patch over one eye.
“Who is that?” asked Arthur. Despite never having seen a woman dressed in such a way before, Arthur thought the woman looked oddly familiar, but for the life of him, he didn’t know where from.
A woman standing next to them overheard Arthur’s question. “Don’t you know? It’s Madame Froufrou, the fashion princess!”
Willbury and Arthur looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and turned back to watch.
The strange woman raised her arms to quiet the crowd, and the din died down. The ladies were now all aquiver, and some let out squeals of delight.
“What has she got this week?” one whispered.
“I heard it’s something really special . . . and totally new,” replied another.
“I can hardly bear it,” said the first. “I missed out last week, and they haven’t let me in the tearooms since.”
The woman on the platform glowered at the crowd. A silence fell but was broken by the sound of a large wooden box being slid up onto the stage. The woman started to speak.
“Today, my little fashion friends, Madame Froufrou ’as a real treat for you.”
Little cries of “Magnifique!” “Wunderbar!” “I must have one,” and “I must have two” came from the crowd.
The lady on the platform gave a smirk. She leaned over to the box, opened a door in its lid, and reached in with her large rubber-gloved hand. She paused, then looked about the crowd and gave them what was supposed to be a look of delight. Then she slowly pulled out a tiny creature. It was a miniature boxtroll.
Then she slowly pulled out a tiny creature.
The crowd let out a gasp of admiration. Arthur turned to Willbury. They both looked shocked.
“It’s just like the ones that man brought to the shop this morning! What do you think is going on?” asked Arthur.
“I am not sure, but I don’t like it!” replied Willbury. “Let’s watch.”
Madame Froufrou started to speak again. “ ’Ere I ’ave a tiny lap creature, just the very sort the finest ladies of Pari are clamoring for as we speak. I ’ave a very limited supply, and I’m afraid that some ’ere will be left in a sad and lonely fashion backwater.”
She paused and stared at the crowd. A pitiful moaning started from all around Arthur and Willbury.
“I cannot ’elp this, but it is for you to decide whether you are a woman of tomorrow or merely an ugly frump . . . with no sense of taste . . . or chance of social position!”
At this, the ladies of the town started a desperate squeaking.
Then someone cried, “Me, me, sell one to me!”
Others immediately joined in the cry. “ME, ME, ME! NO! ME, ME!”
The noise grew so loud that Arthur had to put down his packages and put his hands over his ears until Madame Froufrou raised a hand and halted the cries. All that could be heard was the snapping of purses opening, and coins being counted.
A fashionable lady of Pari.
“I cannot be kind to you all . . . . My supplies are very limited.”
Someone in the audience let out a miserable whimper.
“Should Madame Froufrou choose the ladies at the front to give the opportunity to buy these sweet treasures?”
Cries of “No! No! No!” came from the back of the crowd.
“Should I choose only those who are wearing this week’s pink?” asked Madame Froufrou, grinning.
“No! No! No!” came the cries from all but those who wore pink.
“I think I shall do as they do in Pari,” said Madame Froufrou.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” cried the ladies. “Do what they do in Pari!”
“Yes, I shall do what they do in Pari. I shall do what is the latest thing . . . and select only from those who are . . . fashionably . . . RICH!” Madame Froufrou came to a halt and several ladies in the crowd fainted.
She scanned the crowd. “Now, there is a question you must ask yourselves. Am I fashionably rich? If you are not . . . you must cast yourself from this world of glamor and retire to your true miserable and rightfully low position.” She glowered at the crowd.
There was silence for a moment, then cries of “I am rich! I am rich! I am rich!” filled the air.
Again Madame Froufrou raised her hand and silence returned.
“What a joy it is to be in such fashionable company. But . . . I have a feeling that hiding among us are some . . . DOWDY FRUMPS!”
A dowdy frump!
Arthur noticed that the women around him started to tremble.
Madame Froufrou paused a long time for dramatic effect, then spoke again. “I shall have to weed them out . . . but how?” There was another very long pause as she peered around the crowd. “I have an idea . . . an idea that will show up the dowdy frumps hiding among us!”
Several more ladies in the crowd fainted.
Madame Froufrou started again. “Could the fashionable ladies here please raise their hands and display the most fashionable quantities of money they can . . . . And please do check that those around you are fashionable!”
Hundreds of hands shot up and started to wave money.
Hundreds of hands shot up and started to wave money. The ladies looked nervously around. Madame Froufrou now took out an enormous pair of binoculars and started to scan her audience.
“As I look at this crowd, I am shocked that one whole area is obviously harboring the dowdy trying to pass themselves off as fashionable . . . .”
Nervous twitching broke out.
“I shall turn my back for a moment and let them crawl away . . . for if they are still here when I turn back . . . I shall POINT THEM OUT!” With that, she turned her back on the crowd.
The ladies now struggled to find every last penny to hold up in an attempt to avoid being labeled a frump.
Madame Froufrou turned slowly back and smiled. “Ah! I see they have fled! It is only the stylish that remain.”
“Yes! Yes!” cried the crowd in relief.
“Well, it is time for us to impart the new and ultimate accessory upon those who deserve it! Come hither, Roberto and Raymond.”
Two men dressed in dirty pink suits climbed onto the stage.
Two men dressed in dirty pink suits climbed onto the stage.
“These are my French fashion specialists, and they are here to help me select those who are the most fashionable. Roberto and Raymond, please take out your fashion scopes and wands . . . . Divine those who are most promising!”
Arthur watched in amazement as Roberto and Raymond pulled out what looked like binoculars made from toilet rolls, and fishing rods with small buckets hung on the end. Looking through their binoculars, they started to scan the crowd.
Roberto’s gaze fixed upon a particularly full hand, and he turned to
Madame Froufrou. “Madame, I think I see a fashion angel,” he said, indicating the “angel” in the crowd.
Looking through their binoculars, they started to scan the crowd.
“Yes, it is true! A woman of grace and virtue! Now, my angel, if you would place your offering in the bucket affixed to our fashion wand and take a numbered ticket, I shall invite you to collect your very precious, new lifestyle accessory from the stage, and lo . . . You shall be a queen among women!”
Roberto took out a grubby ticket from his pocket and put it in the bucket at the end of his wand. Then he swung the wand out over the crowd to the angel’s outstretched arm. The woman pushed all of her money into the bucket, took the ticket, and squeaked as she made her way toward the stage. Looks of hatred and envy followed her. The bucket swung back over the crowd and disappeared. When the angel had made her way to the stage, Madame Froufrou passed the tiny boxtroll down to her in exchange for the ticket.
Roberto and Raymond began selecting more members of the crowd, while Madame Froufrou stood by the wooden box and handed out more miniature boxtrolls. The crowd of ladies rapidly thinned as they handed over their cash, collected their new pets, and set off in small groups to parade them.
Madame Froufrou passed the tiny boxtroll down to her.
Only three ladies were left. They still held their handfuls of cash aloft, fighting back tears.
Madame Froufrou saw Arthur and for a moment fixed him with a rather steely gaze, before focusing her eye on the ladies.
“Do you know her?” whispered Willbury.
“I am not sure, but there is something about her. I get the feeling that I have met her before,” Arthur muttered nervously.
“And from the look of it, I think she thinks she knows you!” Willbury replied.
