by Alan Snow
Something occurred to Arthur. This was the first woman he had ever spoken to and he felt a little bashful. He watched as Marjorie tucked into the pie, then there was a noise from the other end of the balcony. Willbury was storming down the hall, looking flushed and angry.
Arthur ran to meet him. “What’s the matter, Willbury?”
“Pack up your things, Marjorie! The Head Patent Officer, Mr. Louis Trout, has taken early retirement and gone off to set up a new business with his son . . . the man who disappeared with your invention!”
Marjorie lowered the pie from her mouth and hastily swallowed. “So, they have stolen my machine!”
“So, they have stolen my machine!”
“I am sorry, but it looks as if it might well be that way,” said Willbury.
Then he added gently, “I think the chance of getting your machine back here at the moment is almost nil. Your last chance is to file an official complaint. Come on to my shop, and I will help you draft one. And besides, I think we need your help. If you come with us, I’ll explain why.”
They collected their things and set off back across town to the shop. Marjorie was muttering about what she might do if she ever caught up with the Trouts, Arthur was worrying about Grandfather and his wings, and Willbury had a face like thunder. And then things got worse . . . .
Willbury, Arthur, and Marjorie stood in the doorway of the shop and just stared.
chapter 15
GONE!
Even Willbury’s armchair had been broken and upended.
Willbury, Arthur, and Marjorie stood in the doorway of the shop and just stared. The door had been ripped from its hinges, and inside, the comfortable untidiness had been reduced to shambles.
“Oh no!” Willbury said in barely a whisper. “What’s happened?” The color had gone from his face completely.
Arthur felt fear wash over him. The bookcases were overturned, the curtains were torn, and newspapers were scattered over the floor. Even Willbury’s armchair had been broken and upended. The room was a pitiful sight.
Willbury suddenly grasped Arthur’s arm. Then he called out, his voice shaky, “Fish! Titus! Egg! Shoe! Where are you?” He was met with silence. He called again; then he turned to Arthur. “Where are the creatures?”
Arthur broke free of Willbury’s grip and ran across the room. He looked behind the counter; then he ran to the back room and hall. He returned looking very glum. “They’re not here.”
Willbury walked forward into the center of the shop and stopped. He reached down and picked up the torn piece of cardboard, raised it to his nose, and sniffed.
He picked up the torn piece of cardboard and sniffed.
“Fish!” he muttered, and clutched the piece of cardboard to his chest. “Arthur, something awful has happened!”
That’s when Arthur felt something soggy beneath his feet. He looked down and saw the fish tank on its side. In the shadow of the earthenware jar lay the miniature sea-cow. It didn’t move, and Arthur was not sure if it was still alive. Willbury dropped to his knees.
“Quick, Arthur, fetch a jug full of water!”
When Arthur returned with the water, Willbury righted the tank and filled it slowly. The sea-cow floated on the surface of the water. They all stared at her, hoping they were not too late. To their joy, after a few moments it twitched and started to move.
Willbury righted the tank and filled it slowly.
“Thank God!” cried Willbury. “I hope it’s going to be all right. Arthur, go and get more water.” He gently lifted the tank and placed it back on the counter, and Arthur soon had the tank filled.
Now that one calamity was averted, they focused again on the underlings. “Where do you think they could be?” asked Arthur.
Willbury looked about hopelessly. “I am not sure . . . .” He lifted a bookshelf upright. “Would you see to that water?” He pointed at the damp patch on the carpet. “Use the newspapers to soak it up.”
Arthur lifted a handful of them and let out a gasp. There, huddled beneath the papers, shaking uncontrollably, was the miniature boxtroll.
“It’s Match!” cried Arthur.
The tiny boxtroll threw its arms around Arthur’s ankle.
The tiny boxtroll ran straight at Arthur and threw its arms around his ankle. Arthur squatted down to pick the creature up, and something shiny caught his eye. It was Match’s nut and bolt. Arthur gently scooped up Match, then with his other hand, picked up the nut and bolt and passed it to Match’s outstretched arms. Match took the nut and bolt and snuggled into Arthur’s palm.
Marjorie looked at the miniature boxtroll, then walked over and looked in the tank. She did not say a word but looked very uneasy.
“What is it, Marjorie?” asked Willbury.
“Nothing.” Marjorie paused. “It’s just . . . where did these tiny creatures come from?”
“I bought them this morning from an awful man called Gristle.” Willbury stopped. “He wanted to buy Fish and the other big creatures. He was desperate to get his hands on them. Why, why? I wonder if he was behind this? If so, he is going to pay for it!”
“And we saw miniature creatures today at the market, too,” Arthur said. “Willbury, do you think that Gristle is working with Madame Froufrou?”
“It’s certainly suspicious . . . and I can’t help feeling Fish and the others are in terrible danger.” He looked around the room again and his eyes fixed on the barrel in the corner. “Titus!” he exclaimed, and rushed to the barrel. Willbury got down on his knees and peered through the hole in the side of Titus’s barrel.
“Oh dear, you poor thing!” murmured Willbury. He reached inside the barrel and pulled the tiny cabbagehead out. “Titus may be gone . . . but his little friend is still with us.”
Willbury held the miniature cabbagehead in his hand and gently stroked it.
Willbury held the miniature cabbagehead in his hand and gently stroked it. It, too, was shaking. “Poor, poor thing,” Willbury said mournfully.
As Willbury, Arthur, and Marjorie fussed over the tiny cabbagehead, there was a sudden coughing from the shop doorway. They spun around, fearful of who they would see there. But the sight that greeted them was quite unexpected—it appeared to be a large basket full of dirty washing supported by a pair of legs.
A large basket full of dirty washing supported by a pair of legs.
“Good morning! Need any washing done?” The washing lowered itself to the floor, and from behind it stepped a smiling man with a platform made of sticks fixed to his head. On the platform sat a large, friendly looking rat wearing a spotted handkerchief tied around his head.
“This is Kipper,” the rat announced cheerfully, indicating the man below, “and my name is Tom. Business card, please, Kipper!”
On the platform sat a large, friendly looking rat.
The man pulled out a tiny business card from his pocket and passed it to the rat, who then held it out. Willbury took the card uneasily and read it.
A tiny business card.
FIRST MATE TOM, R.N.L.
THE RATBRIDGE NAUTICAL LAUNDRY
WE WASH WHITER AND BOIL THINGS BRIGHTER
NO LOAD TOO BIG OR FILTHY
Willbury was not sure whether to address the rat or the man beneath.
“It’s all right,” said the man called Kipper. “I’m just the muscle around here. You deal with the boss.”
“Boss?” cried the rat. “Not boss! This is a working cooperative. We are all equal in the Ratbridge Nautical Laundry. It is true that I deal with the customer interface and you deal with the load management. But you know very well that last week when we tried it the other way around . . . it all went horribly wrong!”
“True enough, Tom. You’re rubbish at shifting things and I am rubbish at organizing stuff. Anyway, sir,” Kipper said, turning to Willbury, “if you would like to deal with Tom here, as he is the brains of this outfit, I shall just stand beneath until required.”
“Yes,” said Tom the rat. “Now, may w
e be of any service to you? You are very lucky as this week is our ‘Big Smalls Promotion.’ As we are new in this area, the Ratbridge Nautical Laundry is offering a special introductory offer to new customers. As much underwear as you would like boil washed, free . . . if you get two shirts and a pair of trousers laundered . . .”
Tom stopped. Kipper had just poked him in the ribs.
“I think our friends here have more on their minds than cheap deals on getting their underwear washed,” said Kipper.
Tom looked about the shop.
“Oh my Gawd! What’s happened here? Closing-down sale?” he asked.
“No, I think we have been raided and our friends snatched,” replied Willbury.
“Oh!” said Tom. “Please excuse my patter.” He looked genuinely concerned. “When did this happen?”
“In the last hour or so. We’ve just got back from town, and this is what we found on our return,” said Willbury.
“Did you say your friends are missing?” asked Kipper.
Willbury gently stroked the miniature cabbagehead. “Yes, our dear, dear friends are missing.”
“How many were there?” asked Tom.
“Four,” Arthur said. “Fish, Shoe, Egg, and Titus.”
“They’re three boxtrolls and a cabbagehead,” added Willbury.
“Oh, dear!” said Tom. “How terrible!”
Then Kipper added, “We’ve had three of our crew disappear in the last couple of weeks.”
“What?” cried Willbury. “This has happened to you as well?”
“Yes, when the first one disappeared, we thought he might have just run away, but last week two more disappeared, and we’re sure that something bad has happened to them. The last two were good mates . . . not the type to run off,” Kipper told him.
“What happened?” asked Arthur. “Did you have a break-in like this?”
“No—the first to go was a very unpopular rat called Framley. He was a nasty piece of work, so nobody was sorry to see the back of him. He just disappeared one day from the Laundry,” said Kipper.
The first to go was a very unpopular rat called Framley.
“That Framley . . . If he hadn’t gone, I think he would have been booted out anyway,” added Tom. “We were all a little wary of him, to be honest—felt he could turn violent at any time. But then last week we lost two more rats, Pickles and Levi. They were really good blokes. Never came back from a shopping trip.”
“This is very peculiar!” said Willbury, frowning. “Have you got any idea where they might have gone?”
“I think you should talk to the captain,” said Tom. “He’s started an investigation. Why don’t you come with us to the ship?”
Kipper looked up at Tom, and Tom corrected himself. “Er . . . laundry?”
“Well . . .” Willbury looked around the shop. “I know it’s a mess, but it’ll have to wait.”
“Don’t worry about clearing this place up. We can send a party from the Laundry to tidy up for you,” said Kipper.
“That’s very kind of you, but . . . ,” said Willbury.
“Not at all. We insist!” replied Kipper. “The crew really enjoys cleaning. It’s all those years at sea.” Tom nodded in agreement.
“Well, thank you,” said Willbury. “Could we go and talk to your captain right now then?”
“Certainly! Follow us,” replied Tom. “Up Kipper and home! And don’t spare the horses!”
As Kipper picked up the huge laundry basket and pulled its straps over his shoulders, Arthur tapped Willbury on the shoulder. “What about Match, the sea-cow, and Titus’s little friend?”
“Right! Let’s take them with us. We can’t leave them here.” Willbury slipped the tiny cabbagehead into the top pocket of his jacket.
“Marjorie, would you put the sea-cow back in the bucket with some water?”
“Certainly,” said Marjorie.
Once Marjorie, with a bit of gentle fussing, managed to get the frightened sea-cow out of the tank and into the bucket, they set off for the Laundry. As they walked, Arthur held Match close and murmured, “Don’t worry, Match, we’ll get the others back. It’s all going to be all right.”
Match seemed comforted by Arthur’s words, but Arthur wondered if they were true.
The Ratbridge Nautical Laundry.
chapter 16
PANTS AHOY!
The pink and white ensign when washing is on the boil.
The canal ran along the backs of factories. Once it had been Ratbridge’s main commercial link with the outer world. Barges had brought coal and other raw materials to the town and had taken goods manufactured there out to the world. The canal had bustled with life. But since the coming of the steam railway, it had not been much used, except by unambitious fishermen and small boys with model boats. Then a few weeks ago a large ship had somehow lodged itself under the canal bridge, and as its crew needed an income, and because of their limited skills, they had “launched” the Ratbridge Nautical Laundry. The crew was unusual in that it consisted of a mixture of sailors and rats, working together as equal partners. Rumor had it that they had a long and interesting history, and that before they turned their hands to laundry, they had been an altogether less respectable crew, but nobody in Ratbridge knew that much about them yet.
Rain was just starting to fall as the little group turned onto the towpath. Ahead of them was a very peculiar sight. The aft end of the wooden sailing ship filled the canal. Steam rose from a tall chimney positioned on the main deck and wafted through what looked like ragged sails that fluttered from the rigging. As they drew closer, they could hear a rhythmic hissing and throbbing of machinery. A vaguely minty smell wafted through the air. Arthur felt Match twitching.
“What is it, Match?” The miniature boxtroll pointed toward the steam and squeaked excitedly.
There was something large and green moving slowly up and down among the steam.
“You’ve got a beam engine!” exclaimed Marjorie, almost dropping the bucket with the freshwater sea-cow in it.
Kipper beamed. “Yes. And it’s a really big one!”
“Where on earth did you get it?” Marjorie said excitedly.
Kipper looked around nervously, and Tom spoke up. “Err . . . we acquired it . . . on a recent trip to Cornwall . . . .”
“How do you acquire a beam engine?” asked Marjorie.
“With a great deal of pushing and shoving . . . .” replied Kipper.
“Can’t say much, but it was superfluous to the needs of its owners,” said Tom.
“And we won’t be going back there on holiday anytime soon,” Kipper added. Tom glanced away as Willbury gave them a rather suspicious look.
“What’s a beam engine?” Arthur asked.
“It’s a sort of steam engine, but it usually stays fixed in one place. Instead of moving things like a railway engine does, it uses its power to work machines,” Marjorie explained. Her eyes were shining. “It’s a most incredible invention.”
They were approaching the ship’s gangplank. Arthur looked up and realized the “sails” were in fact hundreds of pieces of washing, pegged onto the rigging and flapping in the breeze.
“All aboard!” cried Kipper, and the group climbed the plank up onto the deck of the Ratbridge Nautical Laundry. Sitting on the rails were some twenty miserable-looking crows.
Miserable-looking crows.
“What’s up, Mildred?” Tom asked one of them.
“Rain!” answered Mildred. “We just got this load hung when it started.”
“Aren’t you going to take it in?” asked Tom.
“Doesn’t seem much point as it is already wet,” said Mildred. “Besides, where are we going to put it? The hold is full of dirty washing, the bilges have got another load in, and the crew quarters are packed with boxes of washing powder.”
“Where is everybody else?” asked Kipper.
“Either down in the bilges working on the next load or delivering and collecting,” replied Mildred.
&nb
sp; “What about the captain?” asked Tom.
“Not seen him! Drinking tea somewhere dry, I expect!” complained another crow.
“All right for some!” Kipper commiserated.
Tom turned to his guests. “I’ll take you down below to try to find the captain, but first I need to check in this washing. Kipper . . . the hatch!”
Kipper walked to a large hatch set in the deck and stamped three times. The hatch opened and a friendly looking rat jumped out.
“Morning, Kipper! Morning, Tom! Got the list to go with this lot?” the rat asked as he pointed to the washing in the basket. Kipper produced a long strip of paper and handed it to the rat.
“Can you be careful with those big woolly underpants, Jim?” said Tom. “Wool has a tendency to shrink, and the lady who the pants belong to can only just get them on as it is.”
Jim saluted. “Aye, aye. Me and the boys will take it from here!” Then he called down the hatch. “Oi! Lads! Another load . . . and keep an eye on the big pants!”
Suddenly ten more rats jumped out of the hatch and maneuvered the basket of washing down through the hole. The hatch door closed.
“Have you seen the captain?” Tom asked Jim.
Suddenly ten more rats jumped out of the hatch and maneuvered the basket of washing down through the hole.
“Yes. He’s in his cabin sorting out the invoices. Follow me!” Jim walked aft toward another hatch. The others followed.
As they made their way down the steps in the hatch, Arthur asked Tom who the birds were.
“Oh, the crows deal with drying and folding. They are part of the crew. They’re very fussy and even fold socks properly. What happens is that some of us go into town and collect the clothes in baskets. As we collect the washing, we write it all down on a list so we know who everything belongs to. Then we bring it all back to the ship. Jim here then collects the lists, and the rats he works with divide the washing into different color and fabric loads. That’s so we don’t get colors running or clothes shrinking. Then the bilge crew put the loads into the bilges, and we pump water in from the canal. We add soap powder and about half a barrel of peppermint toothpaste and then stoke up the beam engine. When the wash is finished, the bilge crew pass the washing up on deck and the crows hang it out to dry. When it’s dry, the crows fold it and the rats pack it back into baskets to be delivered to its owners.”
