“There, there, me love,” he said. “All right now?”
“Oh, I don’t know what came over me,” said Polly, heaving herself delicately up. “There, I’m quite restored.”
“Oh, good,” said Miss Gasket. “And now for the second question: what’s the date of Lily’s birthday?”
That was a tricky one. But it only took Jim a second to think of a way around it.
So far so good. Polly scribbled the answer down, and then rushed to the window with the others.
“Where? Where is it?” she said.
“It’s gone now,” said Jim. “You missed it. What a shame.”
They all stood away from the window. Mr. Killjoy had got a bit bumped in the rush, mainly by Jim, and he wasn’t very happy about it.
But Miss Gasket was impatient to get on. Jim was wondering what Polly would think of this time, and wondering whether he ought to think of something in case she couldn’t, and wondering how they’d manage if neither of them did; but mainly, he was bothered by a stray bit of whisker that was sticking up his nose.
“And now we come to the third question,” said Miss Gasket. “What was—”
But finally he realized.
“Oh, that’s the end, then,” he said bitterly. “But I tell you this—I think it’s a blooming disgrace!”
“That’s the first true thing you’ve said tonight, young man,” said Mr. Killjoy. “Miss Gasket, go and fetch Sergeant Pincher from the police station!”
“With the greatest of pleasure,” said Miss Gasket, and she went out into the hall to put on her galoshes, her fox-fur tippet, and her hat with the left-hand half of a tropical bird stuck to it.
She was too stingy to take a candle with her, and she knew where everything was without looking, or so she thought. So she had the shock of her life when she reached for the door handle and found—a hand!
It was a hard, cold hand, and it gripped hers with iron strength. You should have heard her scream! It made plaster fall from the ceiling (what little there was of it) and it woke all the children in the orphanage.
They came crowding out of their cold beds and peered down the chilly stairs, and the sight that met their eyes was enough to curdle water.
For there in the light of the lamp held in Mr. Killjoy’s horrified hand, as he opened the door of the office, was—
As for Mr. Killjoy, he couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d had either too much brandy or too little, and he couldn’t decide which.
But then the frightful vision spoke, in tones of thunder.
“I am Spring-Heeled Jack,” he said. “And I want to have words with you.”
And in came Spangle like a rocket. She knew Spring-Heeled Jack now, so she didn’t waste any sniffs on him, but there were enough strange smells in the orphanage to keep her happy for hours. She didn’t fancy Mr. Killjoy’s smell very much, so she just gave his ankle a nip and then bounded up the stairs to smell all the kids. They were delighted.
Mr. Killjoy and Miss Gasket could tell they weren’t wanted down there, and they were about to sneak upstairs and beat a few of the children to relieve their feelings, when Spring-Heeled Jack put out a clawlike hand and stopped them.
And Mr. Killjoy went scuttling into the office after them to make certain Mr. Hawkshaw heard about some of the things Miss Gasket had done wrong.
“Spring-Heeled Jack?” said Rose. “What’s going to happen to us now? Can we get on that ship and go to America?”
“Yes,” he said. “And, in fact, I’ve got a surprise for you. But we’ll have to hurry. Ned! Lily!”
But Rose had something important to say first.
“Please,” she said, plucking at his sleeve. “It’s all the others. It don’t seem fair somehow, but I know they can’t all come with us, only I would like ’em to be a bit better off than what they are…”
Spring-Heeled Jack looked up the dark stairs. The landing was crowded with faces, silent and wide-eyed in the gloom.
And among them was Spangle. She was as quiet as all the rest, and every so often looked up and licked the nearest dirty face. Ned could tell what she wanted from the way she was looking at him, and he could tell what all the kids wanted, too.
So he said “Spring-Heeled Jack? You know Spangle? Well, she—well, I mean—could you—I mean, they don’t let ’em have pets here, but maybe—and she’d probably fall off the ship anyway—and—could they keep her here?”
Leaving Spangle was even more difficult than facing up to Mack the Knife. But after all, he and Rose and Lily were going to be free now, and none of the others were. And Spangle would certainly look after them well.
“I understand,” said Spring-Heeled Jack. “Well, I don’t think Mr. Killjoy or Miss Gasket will be here for very long, and there’s bound to be a change in the rules about pets and things. The new Superintendent will see to that.”
“Who’s that going to be?” said Rose.
“And what’s going to happen to Polly?” said Lily. “She’ll lose her job when the landlord’s missus finds out about the dress…”
“If you put two and two together,” said Spring-Heeled Jack, “you’ll come up with the answer. Leave it all to me. And now we must hurry. We’ve got to get to the Docks before Jim’s ship sails.”
“Oh, yes,” said Jim. “That gentleman’ll be wanting his suitcase.”
“It’s more important than that,” said Spring-Heeled Jack. “That gentleman is—the children’s father!”
“Yes,” said Spring-Heeled Jack, “the name on the suitcase is Edward Montgomery Summers, and if he isn’t your father, I’m a cucumber. Come on—I’ve got a cab waiting—but we’ll have to be quick!”
Ned shot up the stairs and said good-bye to Spangle, and the girls said good-bye to Polly and all the kids.
“Oh—quick—” said Rose, fumbling for the locket. “We won’t need this now—I’ll take the picture out—and then can you sell it and give the money to the orphanage so the kids can have some decent blankets?”
“Yes,” said Spring-Heeled Jack. “But hurry.”
There was just time for a tender farewell.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“We haven’t a moment to lose, Captain…”
Hergé, The Adventures of Tintin: The Shooting Star
They hadn’t a moment to lose. The terrified cabdriver hung on with both hands as Spring-Heeled Jack took the reins and cracked the whip and set the horse galloping through the empty streets toward the Docks, with the children holding tight inside and Jim (and the suitcase) clinging on behind.
Already the sky was lighter in the east, and the tide was plucking and knocking at the ships in the dock. The Captain was about to give orders for the gangplank to be raised. A fat little tug was puffing and snorting nearby.
In his cabin, Mr. Summers was fast asleep, dreaming of his lost children. Into his sleep came the distant sounds of the sailors reefing the binnacle and close-hauling the anchor chain, and the distant smells of breakfast from the galley.
“Not long now,” he murmured.
The sailors on the tug threw a stout rope up to the sailors on the Indomitable, and they tied it tightly to a solid bit of ship. The Captain watched to make sure they didn’t use a granny knot.
Meanwhile, Spring-Heeled Jack was driving like a demon. The cab was hurtling through the streets, swaying around corners, rattling over cobblestones, and shaking the children about like nobody’s business.
They’d just lurched around a corner into the West India Dock Road when—
Spread out all over the road were a ton and a half of Brussels sprouts. A wagon belonging to the Amalgamated East Anglian Brussels Sprout Company had overturned on its way to the market, and a heap of the little vegetables spread from one side of the road to the other.
And leaving the cabdriver thanking his lucky stars that they’d finished with his cab, they set off on foot, running as they’d never run before.
The ship’s hooter sounded one long blast over the rooftops.
> “Oh, no—” gasped Lily. “We’ll never make it—”
“RUN!” said Spring-Heeled Jack.
On the ship, Mr. Summers had gotten dressed and come out on deck to watch as they left the shores of England behind.
The tug had brought the sharp end of the ship around to face the right way. The dock gates were open; the tide was at its height. Mr. Summers stood at the blunt end, leaning on the rail, looking back over the warehouses and the cranes and the rooftops as the ship moved slowly out of the dock.
Suddenly he stood up straight and rubbed his eyes. Leaping over the dock wall came a strange, devilish figure—and then, running in past the Customs shed, came a sailor with a suitcase, and one—two—three children…
The sailors on the tug avasted, and the tug stopped tugging.
And a minute or two later, the children were in the jolly boat, and so was Jim, and so was the suitcase.
And a minute or two after that…
But Spring-Heeled Jack had vanished.
The tide couldn’t wait any longer. The sailors made fast the capstans and broached the hawsers, and the ship moved out into the busy river.
But we haven’t quite finished with the streets yet.
Just at the very end of the night, a little wispy creature, hardly visible, hardly there at all, could be seen (with a little imagination) pulling at the sleeve of a certain weary villain.
And around that corner—
Just then, who should come around the corner but the pieman.
And out on the ocean blue, the good ship Indomitable was steaming for the New World.
PHILIP PULLMAN is the author of the internationally renowned His Dark Materials: The Golden Compass, winner of the Carnegie Medal (England); The Subtle Knife, winner of a Parents’ Choice Gold Award; The Amber Spyglass, the first children’s book ever to win the Whitbread (Costa) Book of the Year Award; Lyra’s Oxford; and Once Upon a Time in the North. Philip Pullman’s other books for children and young adults include The Scarecrow and His Servant, Two Crafty Criminals!, I Was a Rat!, Spring-Heeled Jack, Count Karlstein, The White Mercedes, and The Broken Bridge. He is also the author of the award-winning Sally Lockhart mysteries: The Ruby in the Smoke, The Tiger in the Well, The Shadow in the North, and The Tin Princess.
Philip Pullman lives in Oxford, England. To learn more about the author and his work, please visit hisdarkmaterials.com and philip-pullman.com, and follow him on Twitter at @PhilipPullman.
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Spring-Heeled Jack Page 4
