by Alex Shearer
‘I’m putting the kettle on,’ she told them, ‘if you’d like a cup.’
‘Lovely,’ Mr Gibbings said.
‘Thanks very much,’ Miss Rolly said. ‘Very kind of you.’ She headed for her office and listened out for the sound of tea.
Round about eleven that morning, Mr Copperstone ‘summoned the troops’, as he put it, to discuss the matter of the Saturday Boy (or Girl).
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that we need to make a decision soon, as to whom we shall offer the job. Who do we think is the most suitable candidate? Perhaps it would be best to first draw up a shortlist.’
‘It’s short already,’ Miss Rolly pointed out. ‘There are only two names on it. If we shortened it any further, there would only be one on it. If we shortened it beyond that, there would be nobody on it. And we can hardly offer them the job – nobody.’
Mr Copperstone thought this over. He nodded.
‘Good point, Miss Rolly. So there have been no other applicants for the post?’
‘No, sir,’ Miss Rolly said. ‘And I don’t think we can afford to wait much longer. We’ve only got three months to find a ghost. Less than three months now, as it was already last week that Mr Beeston was here.’
‘True, true.’
‘Time is –’ Miss Rolly began.
‘Of the essence!’ Mr Gibbings completed. Then he appeared to blush.
‘Right then. Let’s have your opinions,’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘Who’s in favour of offering the job to the boy? And who’s in favour of the girl?’
‘I feel there is something to be said for both of them,’ Mrs Scant said. ‘The girl did seem very competent and she did smell nicely of strawberries. But then the boy seemed very bright too, and sounds like he knows what he’s doing –’
‘I think the girl should be given an opportunity,’ Miss Rolly said. ‘It’s time that women got the chance to succeed and –’
‘I quite agree,’ Mrs Scant said, ‘only how would it be if we offered the job to both of them?’
Mr Copperstone was astonished. ‘Both of them?’
‘Many hands.’ Mrs Scant nodded. ‘Light work. Two heads,’ she said. ‘Better than one.’
‘Too many cooks,’ Miss Rolly said. ‘Spoil the broth.’
‘A stitch in time,’ Mr Gibbings said, not wishing to be left out. ‘Saves nine.’
‘Quite – ’ said Mr Copperstone.
‘Yes, I think employing them both would be ideal,’ Mrs Scant interrupted. ‘That way, we get the best of both worlds. I mean, some ghosts might appear to girls, but not to boys. Some to boys, but not to girls. So, if we have one of each, we double our chances.’
‘But can we afford to employ two ghost hunters?’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘How stand the accounts, Miss Rolly?’ he asked.
‘I think we can manage it, sir,’ she said. ‘Petty cash is … well … we’ve not spent anything out of the petty cash fund in a while. We are positively awash with it.’
‘Positively awash, are we?’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘Well, it’s good to be awash, especially with money.’
‘We could even afford to pay them a bonus for results.’
‘You mean … ?’
‘Yes, sir. If they catch a ghost for us, we can give them a bit extra.’
‘That is an incentive,’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘Very well. I’m in favour of Mrs Scant’s suggestion. What do you think?’
‘If we can afford it … ’ Mr Gibbings said.
‘I suppose there’s nothing to lose,’ Miss Rolly agreed.
‘Very well. We’ll offer them both positions as ghost catchers. We’ll have a Saturday Boy accompanied by a Saturday Girl. When shall we ask them to start?’
‘How about Saturday?’ Mr Gibbings suggested.
Mr Copperstone demurred. ‘Yes, we could, I suppose,’ he said. ‘Only Saturday is rather a long way away. It is Monday now, and that means waiting until, well … the end of the week. And as Miss Rolly pointed out earlier, time is –’
‘Of the essence!’ Mr Gibbings said. Then realised he had interrupted once more and became embarrassed again.
‘Quite. We need to get going as soon as possible. Perhaps we could ask them to start today.’
‘They’ll be at school, sir,’ Miss Rolly pointed out.
‘Yes … hmm … but maybe they could still do a bit after school, and in the evenings. Once they’ve done their homework. Obviously that must take priority. We’ll see what they say. So – Miss Rolly, Mr Gibbings – would you be able to contact them and offer them the positions, to start immediately?’
‘Of course, sir. We have their phone numbers. We can leave messages for them to drop in after school on their way home.’
But the messages were not necessary, for both Thruppence Coddley and Tim ‘Timber’ Legge had independently decided that they would go to the Ministry of Ghosts on their return from school that day, to discover if their job applications had been successful.
So it was that Thruppence Coddley, in her sweatshirt saying ‘Eustace’, and with her backpack on her shoulder, stood at the front door of the Ministry of Ghosts, about to give the knocker another of her formidable pummellings, when she saw Tim Legge proceeding along the street. And instead of keeping going, when he saw her, he stopped.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘You?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Just admiring the scenery.’
‘Me too,’ Thruppence said, and they both looked up and down the street, in an admiring way.
Then they both sat on the step, each willing the other to disappear.
‘Oh look,’ Tim said, after a while, twisting his head around to see the window. ‘There’s a sign up there saying “Saturday Boy or Girl Person Wanted”. I wonder what that’s about.’
‘Hmm,’ Thruppence said. ‘I wonder.’ Then she lost patience and said, ‘Look here, Tim Legge, I’ve applied for that job and I want to find out if I’ve got it, so why don’t you shove off home and let me do what I came here for?’
Tim looked at her with indignation.
‘You?’ he said. ‘You’ve applied for the job?’
‘Yes.’
‘You know what this place is, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’
‘This is the Ministry of Ghosts, this is.’
‘I am quite well aware –’
‘And they’re looking for a ghost catcher. A ghost lurer, even. Who’ll lure them in and trap ’em.’
‘So?’
‘Well, that’s not a job for girls,’ Tim said. ‘That’s a job for boys.’
‘Who says?’ Thruppence said. ‘It’s a job for whoever can do it. And I can!’
‘I don’t think so,’ Tim said. ‘Girls see ghosts and they run off screaming. Or is it the other way round?’
‘Boys see ghosts and they wet their trousers,’ Thruppence said.
‘Not this boy,’ said Tim. ‘And I’m not moving.’
‘Me neither,’ Thruppence said.
And there they might have sat indefinitely, waiting for each other to push off, had the door behind them not swung open, seemingly of its own accord. When they turned, there was Mrs Scant, smiling down at them, saying,
‘I thought I heard voices. So there you are. It’s our two candidates. Our Saturday Girl and our Saturday Boy. Do come in, both, won’t you? Mr Copperstone is waiting to see you.’
The two children entered together. There was no ‘after you’. They squeezed in side by side, elbow to elbow. The big door closed behind them, and Mrs Scant led the way up the stairs. They followed her, up to Mr Copperstone’s sanctum, where Miss Rolly and Mr Gibbings were also waiting, and they were warmly greeted with welcoming smiles.
12
A Deal
‘I’m afraid there’s no cake. But we might be able to run to a biscuit,’ Mrs Scant said.
‘It’s fine, thank you, Mrs Scant,’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘I think we’ll just press on
with the matter in hand.’ He thus – to the children’s mutual disappointment – declined on their behalf.
It felt like a visit to the head at school (just as Mr Copperstone had once felt). Not that Thruppence or Tim had ever behaved so badly that they had been summoned to see the head. But it felt that way. The room, the dark pictures on the walls of ancient civil servants from long ago, wearing wing collars and buttoned up coats; the leather chairs, the wooden panelling; the searching eyes of Mr Copperstone, Miss Rolly, Mrs Scant and Mr Gibbings. It felt like less of an interview and more of an interrogation.
‘It’ll be good cop, bad cop. You wait and see,’ Tim Legge whispered to Thruppence.
‘It’ll be what?’ she said.
Before Tim could elaborate, Mr Copperstone cleared his throat – which seemed to be his customary preliminary to important announcements.
‘Ahem. Now then. The fact is, children – if I may call you that?’
It seemed fair enough in the circumstances, so the two children nodded.
‘The fact is that we have had quite an influx of applicants for the job in question, as Saturday Boy –’
‘Or Girl,’ Miss Rolly reminded him.
‘I was about to say that, Miss Rolly, have no fear. Yes, we have had an influx of two applicants.’
‘Doesn’t sound like much of an influx to me,’ Tim Legge said. ‘I thought influxes were like downpours.’
‘Or floods,’ Thruppence added. ‘Not much of an influx when there’s just the two of you. More like a trickle, I’d say.’
‘Maybe so,’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘Maybe not so. However, we have decided to offer both of you the job. You both seem to have exemplary and complementary qualities. So what do you say?’
They didn’t need long to think about it.
‘No thanks,’ Tim Legge said. ‘I’m not going to be a Saturday Girl for any amount of money.’
‘No, you –’ Mr Copperstone tried to say.
‘And I’m not working as a Saturday Boy,’ Thruppence said. ‘I’m not doing that. That’s a sort of job for an idiot or a halfwit. I’m not getting involved in that kind of thing. I’ve got my social standing to think of.’
‘Hang on,’ Tim said. ‘What do you mean … ?’
‘No, you misunderstand me,’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘Plainly the young lady would get the Saturday Girl job, and the young gentleman, the –’
‘Oh, right. I see. That’s not so bad then,’ Tim said. ‘But we wouldn’t have to share the wages, would we?’
‘No, no. Full wages for each position.’
‘And all we have to do is produce a couple of ghosts?’
‘One would do,’ Mr Gibbings said.
‘Half of one, at a push,’ Mrs Scant said.
‘Though a whole one would be better,’ Miss Rolly said.
‘Hmm,’ Tim said.
‘Hmm,’ Thruppence agreed.
‘And how would we get hold of those ghosts, exactly?’ Tim asked.
‘Well, that’s rather up to you,’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘Though you would have full access to the library, to all our ghost hunting books and implements, and to everything in the muniments.’
‘What’s muniments?’ Tim said.
‘It’s like – an archive,’ Mr Copperstone explained.
‘What’s an archive?’ Tim asked.
‘It’s like – muniments,’ Mr Copperstone said.
‘So what’s mun—?’
‘I think we’re going round in circles a little,’ Miss Rolly said.
‘What’s circles?’ Tim said, with an unappreciated stab at humour.
‘The archive is where we store all our files and records. You’ll find some very valuable information in there,’ Miss Rolly said, ‘to help you entrap a ghost. It’s true that we’ve tried all the methods for ourselves, and for us, they didn’t work. But we’re not children. And if Grimes and Natterly are to be believed –’
‘And how could they not be believed?’ Mr Gibbings said. ‘When their Manual of Ghost Hunting is the very bible and textbook of the trade!’
‘How indeed?’ Miss Rolly allowed. ‘But if Grimes and Natterly are to be believed –’
‘And I think they are –’
‘Yes, I think we have established that, Mr Gibbings.’
‘Beg pardon.’
‘If they are to be believed, then a child may succeed where an adult will fail. Children can open doors to the world of spirit that are closed to their elders, such abilities gone – if I may get poetical a moment – like lost innocence, or like winter snow, vanished from the fields.’
‘Very moving description,’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘A little tear to the eye there.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Not at all.’
‘So,’ Miss Rolly said, ‘you will have full access to all the information we possess. We will help you both in any way we can, and any equipment you need will be provided on expenses. Though we do have quite a lot of ghost hunting and ghost trapping implements already, down in the utility room.’
‘Can we see it?’ Thruppence asked.
Miss Rolly glanced at Mr Copperstone.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘A perfectly reasonable request. Let us all go down there, and Miss Rolly can give us the tour.’
Up they all got and traipsed down the stairs, following Miss Rolly to the storage room in the basement. They got a quick glimpse of Boddington on the way, before he darted out of sight. But he didn’t seem to have any dead rats with him, which was both a good thing, and a slight disappointment.
‘Here we are,’ Miss Rolly said, flinging open the door. Well, maybe the hinges were too rusty and unoiled for the door to be actually flung open, but it parted company with the frame after a little persuasion.
‘Coh!’ Tim said. ‘It’s like an Aladdin’s cave.’
‘So many things!’ Thruppence said. ‘What do they all do?’
‘Catch ghosts,’ Mr Gibbings said. ‘In theory. Though in practice … ’
There was apparatus everywhere. There were jars and containers, and boxes of clothes. There were bells, and books, and candles. There were lures – the kind you might use in fly fishing – and nets.
‘What use are nets for ghosts?’ Thruppence said. ‘Won’t they slip right through them?’
But nets were just a part of it. There were tubes and goggles and protective clothing and thick, fireproof gloves. There were gas masks and breathing apparatus and tanks of oxygen. There was even a gun.
‘It only fires blanks,’ Mr Copperstone explained. ‘For getting rid of troublesome ghosts. They don’t like noise or explosions.’
And in a corner, in a container marked with a skull and crossbones, was a wooden box labelled dynamite.
Next to the dynamite was a powerful-looking vacuum cleaner, its hose running into a reinforced steel tank.
‘For sucking them up,’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘And then making sure they can’t escape.’
Hanging from a hook were some bulbs of garlic.
‘In case of vampires. Though we’ve not been troubled by them to date.’
‘What if, while looking for a ghost, we come across a vampire instead?’ Tim asked.
‘Oh … ’ Mr Copperstone looked at his staff for opinions.
‘Let it go, I think, sir,’ Mr Gibbings said.
‘I think so too,’ Mrs Scant said. And Miss Rolly nodded. ‘We are the Ministry of Ghosts, after all. Not the Ministry of Vampires.’
‘Is there a Ministry of Vampires?’ Mr Copperstone said.
‘There ought to be,’ Mrs Scant said. ‘And a Ministry of Werewolves. Big, hairy things, out there baying at the moon of an evening, and curdling your milk.’
‘Yes, anyway, no vampires, thank you,’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘Just ghosts.’
‘Well, there seems to be everything here,’ Tim Legge said, opening the lid of a coffin that was standing up in a corner. ‘What’s this for?’
‘We were hoping a ghost without a home mig
ht fancy it,’ Mr Gibbings said. ‘So we left it ajar with a pie inside to tempt the ghost in. But it didn’t work.’
‘What happened to the pie?’ Thruppence asked.
‘I think the cat ate it,’ Mr Gibbings said.
‘Well, if you’ve seen everything,’ Mr Copperstone said, ‘shall we go back upstairs and talk terms?’
‘Terms?’ Tim said.
‘Wages,’ Mr Copperstone said.
‘Oh. Those sorts of terms. Right.’
Thruppence Coddley and Tim Legge were tough negotiators, and they made it plain that they were not going to work for peanuts. But with a bit of give and take on either side, agreement was soon reached. The two children would receive the adult national minimum wage rate, per hour, plus all expenses, plus substantial bonuses for each ghost caught – up to a maximum of five ghosts. Any ghosts above that number would not be required, but the two ghost catchers could keep them for themselves, if they wanted. They would be free to take those ghosts home, if they so wished, and to put them in their bedrooms, or take them into school to show their friends.
‘So,’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘Are we agreed?’
It seemed that they were.
‘When do we start?’ Tim said.
‘Immediately, if you care to,’ Mr Copperstone said.
‘But it’s Monday,’ Tim pointed out. ‘And I’m being employed as a Saturday Boy. A Saturday Boy’s not a Monday Boy, is he? There’s a bit of a difference there.’
‘True, but time is –’
‘Of the essence,’ Mr Gibbings said.
‘Indeed,’ Mr Copperstone agreed. ‘And for that reason, should either, or both, of you wish to do a little ghost trapping work for an hour or so after school, we’ll be happy to pay for it. The sooner you get started the better – at least from our point of view. We can let you both have front door keys, so you may come and go as you wish.’
Tim and Thruppence looked at each other. They both nodded.
‘Okay,’ Thruppence said. ‘We’ll do that.’
‘Just keep a record of the hours you’ve worked, and we’ll pay you for them.’
‘Right. That’s a deal,’ Tim said.
‘So when can you start?’ Mr Copperstone said. ‘I don’t suppose … today?’
