The Adventures of Alfie Onion

by Vivian French

  The little white mouse twirled a whisker. “They’re off to the castle, darling.”

  “The castle?” Adeline was surprised, and Bowser pricked up his ears.

  “Maybe we should go there too,” Penelope said thoughtfully. She twirled a second whisker while she considered. “We don’t know where Alfie is, but wherever he is, he’ll be with Magnifico … and we know Alfie wants to keep his promise to his Ma. He wants to find a princess for his brother. Where’s the princess? In the castle. So sooner or later they’ll find their way there.”

  Adeline looked as if she was about to interrupt, and Penelope held up a paw. “One moment, darling. Don’t forget that Norman’s with Alfie, and my brother knows the forest inside out. And if we manage to get there first, we might be able to help – oh!” The mouse stopped. “But I’m so sorry. I’m taking far too much for granted. I’m small and I can hide, and so can Bowser, but you’ll be putting yourself in terrible danger, Adeline. Those ogres are huge, fierce and very, very hungry.”

  “No matter!” Adeline shook her head. “A formal and binding exchange took place, remember. A bag of pork pies went away with J. Jones, and I pledged to follow Alfie Onion through thick and thin, fire and water, hedge and ditch, forest and—”

  Penelope nodded. “Thank you, darling. I’m delighted! Now, I suggest we all have a rest. We can start for the castle early in the morning.”

  “Sleep sleep sleep,” Bowser said wearily. He had dug hole after hole in an effort to find Alfie and he was exhausted. Adeline whinnied her agreement.

  “Time for a snack first,” she said. “Might I point out that the hero left his picnics behind? I, of course, will be happy with grass – but it would be a crying shame to let good food go to waste.”

  “Woof,” said Bowser. “Woof woof WOOF!”

  Twenty minutes later, three well-fed animals were fast asleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “WHAT DID YOU SAY?” The slime-covered Magnifico shook with fury. “You FORGOT? You forgot my picnic baskets? But what on earth am I going to eat?”

  Alfie sighed. “I didn’t know you were going to fall into a tunnel, did I?”

  “And that’s another thing.” The hero glowered. “I’ve been really, really, REALLY badly treated. That horse threw me! It picked me up and—”

  “Maggers!” Alfie waved his arms in front of his brother’s face to silence him. “Can you hear footsteps?”

  Magnifico was quiet and listened. “Yes,” he said uneasily. “Who is it?”

  “It’s an ogre.”

  “An ogre?” The hero’s voice was a mere whisper.

  “And it’s coming to look for a yummy nummy human.” Norman appeared at the top of Alfie’s pocket. “If you ask me, which you haven’t, because neither of you have the sense of a woodlouse, you’d best be getting out of here. Fast.”

  “Oooooooooooooooh,” Magnifico wailed. “I’m going to be eaten!” And he sank down in the slime with his head in his hands.

  For a brief moment Alfie considered abandoning his brother to his fate, but his mother’s voice echoed in his ears. “Glorious Luxury for every one of us. Even Alfie…” His whole family were relying on him.

  “Maggers,” he said as firmly as he could, “stand up! We’re NOT going to be eaten!” He heaved the wailing hero to his feet. “This way. Get walking!”

  “That’s better,” Norman said approvingly. “But had you thought of climbing rather than walking? The light above us seems to be coming from some kind of rubbish chute. I suspect it was originally a troll escape tunnel, because the intelligent observer will have noticed there are rungs.”

  Alfie looked up. “You’re right … but won’t it take us up to the ogre’s house?”

  “Correct,” Norman said. “And where’s the ogre?”

  “On her way to find us – oh!” Alfie grinned. “I am stupid, aren’t I?”

  “Yes. Now, if you ask me—”

  “We should start climbing.” Alfie finished the mouse’s sentence for him. “Maggers! Did you hear? We’re going to climb up. We’re going to escape!”

  “No! No no no no NO!” Magnifico clutched at Alfie’s arm. “I can’t climb up there! Don’t make me, Alfie … don’t make me!” It was difficult to see the hero’s face under its coating of slime and grime, but his cheeks were streaked with tears and his eyes were agonised as he pleaded.

  “It’ll be fine.” Alfie was trying to sound calm, but he was acutely aware that the sound of heavy clomping footsteps was getting nearer and nearer. “Just take it one rung at a time, and you’ll be up at the top before you know it!”

  “I c-c-c-can’t!” Magnifico was wringing his hands and hiccuping with fright. “We can go a different way. I know we can!” And he lurched off into the darkness, his feet squelching hideously at every step. “Come on, Alfie, come on – AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!”

  Magnifico’s scream made Alfie’s heart leap in his chest. The silence that followed the scream was almost worse. It seemed to Alfie to last for hours, and then, just as he was despairing of ever seeing his brother again, he heard a voice.

  “Don’t be frightened, ickle pickle human! Bilinda has you safely in her little net. And you is such a chubbly wubbly thing! Not like those moany bony princes.” There was such a loud chuckle that Alfie put his hands to his ears, and as the heavy footsteps began to move away the voice went on, “Bilinda is so happy! Bilinda has her very own ickle pickle human. Going to put you in a cage, ickle pickle … keep you safe from horrible greedy Dadda and Flugg. Quite safe! And we will play and sing songs, and my chubbly wubbly will be my own dearest pet!”

  “Quick!” Norman had scampered out of Alfie’s pocket and was sitting on his shoulder. “Now’s your chance. Up that ladder!”

  “But—” Alfie began, then stopped. There was nothing he could do for Magnifico other than rush after the ogre, and that would mean both of them were caught.

  Flinging himself at the rubbish chute, Alfie began to climb, Norman urging him on. Up and up they went, until at last he pulled himself out into an enormous room lit by flickering lanterns, one of which was balanced on a splintered wooden table. He climbed up, and as he looked round he realised he was in a kitchen … a run-down, peeling, mouldering kitchen. He was standing not on a table, but on the draining board of a crazily cracked and chipped sink full of scummy water and greasy plates. Alfie shuddered. It reminded him of home, and he hastily looked away – and found himself staring straight into the pages of a huge cookbook propped open at the end of the draining board.

  “Princes Pie,” he read. “A powerful spell and a delicious treat.”

  He crawled closer.

  “One: Take seven fresh princes, one hundred per cent royal, and chop small.

  Two –”

  “What are you doing?” Norman was tugging at Alfie’s ear.

  But Alfie didn’t move. He read on, “Two: Fill a saucepan of sufficient size with oak root and lavender.

  Three: Mix all together, heat and stir.”

  Fascinated, Alfie turned back a page. “This spell brings boldness and the appearance of a handsome prince.” Alfie froze, then read the page again. “A handsome prince…” he muttered, and rubbed his nose. “The ogre wants to look like a handsome prince … but why?”

  “ALFIE ONION!” Norman was beside himself as he danced up and down on Alfie’s shoulder. “She’s here! You’ve got to hide!”

  At last Alfie heard. Blinking, he jumped off the draining board and onto the floor. The kitchen was full of cupboards of all shapes and sizes – choosing one at random Alfie pulled the door open.

  “A prison?” Alfie shook his head and looked again. Behind the door were strong steel bars, and he was almost sure that he could see a body lying on the floor in the gloom. “Hello?” he whispered.

  There was no answer other than a faint snore.

  The kitchen door handle rattled and Alfie gasped, slid into the cupboard, and pulled the door shut. The bars pressed painfully into his back, and
he wondered how long it would be before he was forced to move. Heavy footsteps were crossing the kitchen floor. He held his breath.

  “Ickle pickle chubbly one, don’t be scared! Bilinda won’t eat you. And Bilinda won’t let mean old Flugg and Dadda eat you. Bilinda hates mean old Flugg! He gets everything … but he hasn’t got an ickle pickle … so boo to mean old Flugg, because you is mine. All mine!” There was the sound of banging and crashing as if a pile of furniture was being moved, and Bilinda went on, “Look! See this pretty cage? My ickle pickle will be safe in here. Don’t be sad, ickle pickle. Bilinda makes yummy sweeties. Do you like chocolate, chubbly one? See this nice big strawberry cream? Half for Bilinda, and half for ickle you … no, no – say please! No snatching!”

  Alfie held his breath. Would Magnifico answer?

  “Oh, whatever,” said a familiar voice. “Please, then, if you insist.”

  The ogre gave a delighted chuckle. “Oh, lovely chubbly wubbly! Look how he slobbers and gobbles! Here … have more!”

  Alfie couldn’t bear it any longer. He pushed the cupboard door open a fraction, and peered out. His brother was sitting in an old-fashioned wire birdcage, and the ogre was kneeling beside him, feeding him from the most enormous bag of sweets that Alfie had ever seen. All that was recognisable of the hero was his eyes; he was caked in greenish-grey slime from top to toe, and every so often Bilinda leant forward and gave him an appreciative sniff. “Yummy! Ickle pickle smells so yummy! Bilinda LOVES her chubbly wubbly.”

  To Alfie’s surprise, Bilinda wasn’t ugly. She was nearly twice as tall as he was, and solidly built, but she had pink cheeks and bright blue eyes.

  “Ickle pickle,” she said, as she poked yet another chocolate through the bars, “don’t be greedy. You is gobble gobbling too much! Too much sweeties bad for you. Does my ickle pickle like … sausage?”

  “Sausage?” Magnifico jumped off his perch. “I love sausages! Give me a sausage!”

  Bilinda drew back frowning, and shook a huge finger at the hero. “Naughty ickle pickle! What does pickle have to say to nice kind Bilinda?”

  Magnifico rattled the bars of his cage. “I don’t care! I want sausages! I’m STARVING!”

  The ogre shook her head sadly. “No no no, ickle pickle.” She picked up a filthy dishcloth and draped it over the cage. “You sit under there quiet and think. Bilinda must teach you to be good and polite and nice.” She yawned, showing very white teeth that were also very sharp. “Bilinda tired. Going to go to beddie byes. Come along, ickle pickle. Sausage in the morning, if you be good and ask nicely!”

  And picking up the cage in one hand and a lantern in the other, the ogre stomped out of the kitchen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ALFIE WAITED UNTIL THE FOOTSTEPS had died away before he opened his cupboard and crawled out.

  “Norman, that recipe! It’s a spell! To make you as handsome as a prince. And it needs seven princes – all chopped up! But why does the ogre want to be handsome?”

  Norman tutted impatiently. “Think, boy! Think! What are all the princes after? And your brother, come to that.”

  “Oh!” As light dawned, Alfie’s eyes widened. “The ogre wants to kiss the princess, and get the gold and the castle!”

  “It’s as plain as the rather ordinary nose on your rather ordinary face,” Norman said. “But I’m guessing the ogre’s planning it for his son.” He twirled a whisker. “I think I’d better go and see what’s happening in the rest of the house…”

  As Norman scampered away, Alfie cautiously tiptoed to a chair. From the chair he climbed onto the draining board, collected the lantern and took it back with him to the cupboard. The yellow light chased the shadows away, and he saw several bodies lying on heaps of grubby satin cushions. All of them wore silk or velvet, and in one corner was a pile of gleaming crowns. In another corner was a blackened saucepan, some dubious-looking bottles and a heap of dirty bowls, and there was a sickly sweet smell hanging in the air. He opened the cupboard door wider and inspected the prisoners.

  Princes, he thought. They must be the princes the ogres were knocking on the head … they’re being kept here for the pie to make the spell!

  He gave the bars a shake, but they were solid. Leaning forward he gave a low whistle, but none of the sleepers stirred.

  “The ogre’s given them some kind of sleeping potion,” Alfie decided. He whistled again, and the nearest prince gave a faint moan and opened heavy eyes. He stared unseeingly at Alfie.

  “Woop … woop … pass the teapot…”

  “Who are you?” Alfie asked.

  The prince’s sleepy gaze sharpened a little. “I know what … you are. You’re a nasty … nasty troll. Go … go away.”

  “I’m not a troll,” Alfie said indignantly. “I’m a boy!”

  “They warned … they warned us … nasty little trolls come up the troll hole…” The prince attempted to lift a hand. “But … but we’re safe … safe … safe … in here. Flugg locked us away … ex … excellent chap…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes closed.

  “Wake up!” Alfie hissed. “Wake up! You’re in serious danger! You’ve got to understand – the ogres want to make you into a pie!”

  “No … no…” The prince rolled his head from side to side as a foolish smile crossed his face. “Quite … quite wrong, my dear old … dear old beanio…”

  “No!” Alfie pulled at the bars. “It’s true, I tell you. You’re going to be made into Princes Pie! I’ve seen the recipe! The ogres want to make a spell!”

  One bleary eye unwillingly opened. “My dear old bean … you’re barking mad. Pie … super dooper pie … is for our … celebration. Yes … Princes Pie! Pie for me … and pie for Boodles…” The eye closed, the prince rolled away, and all Alfie could hear was the sound of heavy snoring. He sighed and picked up the lamp.

  “Excuse me … I say! Peasant!” Alfie spun round and saw a small white hand waving at him through the bars. “I’m ever so sorry to be a nuisance, but if it’s not too much trouble could you possibly let me out?” A peaky face topped with floppy hair and a lopsided golden crown loomed into the glow of Alfie’s light. “I’m Prince Rufus. Couldn’t help hearing what you were saying to Jules,” the prince lowered his voice, “about the pie!”

  “It’s true,” Alfie said.

  The prince began to tremble. “But mummy will be ever so cross if I’m popped in a pie!” He clasped his hands together. “I just knew that horrid ogre was telling fibs, saying he was going to cook us a special treat. But Jules and Boodles and the others would keep drinking his horrible snail and poppy soup and they wouldn’t listen. PLEASE rescue me!”

  Alfie was studying the bars. They were held in place with four large padlocks. “Have you seen the keys anywhere?”

  “Can’t you bend them?” Rufus looked astonished. “Mummy always says peasants are quite tremendously strong. All that fresh air and chopping turnips!”

  “I’m not a peasant.” Alfie frowned. “I’m a boy – and I need keys.”

  Rufus was already wandering away, his shoulders drooping. “Mummy’s going to be so cross … so cross…” He kicked moodily at one of the bottles and it fell over and cracked. An ooze of green liquid spread across the floor, and the sickly sweet smell doubled and trebled in strength. “Ooooomph,” said the prince as he sank to his knees. “Oooooo … mph!” And he fell over, fast asleep.

  Alfie could feel his own eyelids growing heavy and his brain growing numb. He backed away hastily, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes.

  “Pssssst!” Norman was beckoning him from the other side of the kitchen. Alfie slammed the cupboard door shut and ran across.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Time to go,” Norman said. “That ogre girl’s fast asleep, and so’s the hero. He’s snoring his head off on a heap of feathers … not a care in the world. And you might like to know that there are bags and bags of gold in the hallway. Fancy helping yourself?”

  Alfie was horrified. “No
! That’s stealing!”

  The mouse sniffed. “And you think the ogres worked for it? You’re even greener than I thought, Alfie Onion. That’ll be stolen gold, sure as eggs is eggs. Ogres can never get enough of the stuff. They always want more and more.”

  “I can’t…” Alfie began, but Norman saved him his explanation.

  “Maybe best to leave it for now. Heavy stuff, gold – it’ll slow you down, and you need to hurry.”

  “Hurry?” Alfie asked. His long day had caught up with him, and he was very, very tired.

  The mouse waved a paw. “Didn’t you count those princes? Six of them lying around in that cage, and the recipe calls for seven. So the ogres only need one more, and then it’ll be Pie Time! And who knows what nincompoop of a prince might be wandering through the forest at this very moment, all ready to be bopped on the head.”

  Alfie stifled a yawn. “Oh … yes.”

  “Come along, then. The front door’s got bars and chains, but there’s a window you can climb through. Once we’re out of here we can head for the castle.” The mouse nodded knowingly. “And I’ll bet you a slice of cheese to a peanut we’ll find my sister there waiting for us.”

  Alfie looked startled. “But I can’t leave here without Maggers! And what about the princes?”

  “Why can’t you?” Norman sat up and fixed Alfie with a stern gaze. “The princes and your brother are safe for now, especially your brother. You heard that ogre. He’s her ickle pickle chubbly wubbly pet. And you can travel much faster without him trailing along.”

  “I don’t understand,” Alfie said. “What’s the point of me going to the castle on my own? It’s Maggers who’s got to kiss the princess! He’s the hero.”

  “Give me strength!” Norman rolled his eyes. “Think, boy, think! You’ve got to get rid of the ogres before there’s even the faintest chance of any kissing! Get rid of them – and the rest is easy.”

  Remembering how big Bilinda was, Alfie felt giant butterflies swirl in his stomach. How big would her brother be? Let alone her father? But Norman was right.