by Sophie Lee
‘Distressed dromedaries, you say?’ said Michaelmas. ‘It isn’t as though my tsunami surfboard ever really took off. Tsunami waves, after all, should never be ridden.’
‘’Course not. Excuse me, Dad, what’s woodworm repellent used for?’ said Edie as casually as she could.
‘Woodworm repellent?’ he said, fastening a final screw. ‘Mostly for the treatment of wickerwork, in the baskets of hot-air balloons, for instance. Okay, that should do it,’ he said, wiping his hands on his trousers. ‘You turn it on and off like this, see?’ He showed Edie the switch. ‘Steering is going to be rudimentary, I’m afraid, so please stay on the flat.’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘It’s very kind of you to offer to help Mrs Chompster with her clocks,’ he added, polishing his glasses. Edie felt her cheeks flush. ‘Oh, I almost forgot,’ he said, pulling an envelope from his pocket and handing it to her. ‘Someone slipped this under the door. It’s addressed to you.’
From the corner of her eye Edie saw the Blank Marauder setting off down the street at high speed on his lawnmower. She opened the envelope and read a note in Cheesy’s familiar handwriting which said:
HFC. ASAP.
C.
‘Thanks, Dad. Gotta go,’ said Edie. ‘I’ll give this thing a trial run . . . on the flat, of course. Keep working on that cure.’
She gave Mister a hand into the pram, quietly fastened the blue bonnet around his head and, after loading the flan, butterfly net, detective kit and eye drops in the handy basket underneath, she jumped in herself.
‘HFC?’ she said to Mister.
‘Snuffle,’ he said.
‘Of course!’ she said, turning on the ignition switch and pulling on the lever.
The Fling’s the Thing
Cheesy was waiting for Edie on the front steps of the Highland Fling Centre. She seemed agitated and was fiddling with her left plait. Edie had lost track of the Blank Marauder when her motor had momentarily faltered on Swift Street. She scrambled out of the pram and went up to Cheesy.
‘What took you?’ said Cheesy.
‘I needed a few minutes to crack your code,’ said Edie. ‘HFC?’
‘Highland Fling Centre,’ Cheesy said, gesturing to the hall behind her.
‘ASAP?’
‘No explanation required, part of the common vernacular. Seeing as we are working on Operation Flan Plan, I thought it best to be covert,’ said Cheesy. ‘Now, as much as I hate to admit it, you were right. My dad’s up to something . . . I just don’t know what. This fell out of the pocket of his jumpsuit.’ She held up a scrunched envelope.
‘He was just at our house “borrowing” some sugar, you know,’ said Edie, raising an eyebrow. ‘Quick. Give it here.’
Cheesy handed her the envelope, which had what looked like a shopping list scrawled on the back. Edie held it with her tweezers and examined it through her magnifying glass.
1000 p j s
BT
2+prop and O2 canisters
12 rolls gut
key
w’worm repell.
‘Dad’s been in the basement,’ Cheesy said. ‘I could hear the sewing machine going down there. He made a call and soon a dozen volunteers from the local Emergency Sewing Repairs Agency arrived in their van and Dad showed them down into the basement, telling Mum they were from the furniture removal company.’
‘I told you he was up to something,’ said Edie.
‘Mum paid no attention to the bunch of bearded bikies, grannies and computer nerds traipsing down the stairs. Then I heard the sound of a dozen sewing machines going nonstop. Dad was upstairs, checking his watch, scratching himself, listening to all the radio reports about the Fever. He muttered something about a reward.’
‘What about all the people sewing?’
‘After an hour they all emerged coughing and spluttering. Dad went down and came back up carrying something shortly after. It was in a big plastic bag with KEEP OFF written on the side. He put it in the car trailer—’ Cheesy broke off, looking towards Mister Pants, who was waiting at the bottom of the steps. ‘Holy haggis. Is he wearing an eye patch under that bonnet? And what on earth have you done to my antique pram?’
‘I’m sorry about the outboard motor but I thought under the circumstances—’
‘No, no,’ said Cheesy, ‘I love it. What a marvellous modification.’
Edie pinched herself on the wrist to check she wasn’t dreaming. A month ago Cheesy would have thrown a pink fit about Edie laying a finger on her precious possessions.
‘So where’s your dad now?’ said Edie just as Mister gave a rare bark, his warning signal. She looked around just in time to catch the Blank Marauder parking his lawnmower in the bicycle bay and slipping through the Highland Fling Centre’s fire-escape door.
‘Do you think the Blank Marauder’s going to find whatever it is he’s looking for here?’ said Edie.
‘Pardon?’ said Cheesy.
Edie started filling Cheesy in on everything that had happened at the vet’s and afterwards, but soon their conversation was interrupted by a man wearing a name tag which read Norbert McGuigan.
‘Come on in,’ he said, ‘the Mayor will be here any minute.’
‘Shh, boy,’ said Edie, wrapping Mister in the floral cloth and using the bonnet to conceal his face. Until the Fever Dog was found, it seemed safer to keep him covered up, especially since the Mayor had ordered all dogs to be kept at home.
Inside the hall tartan flew and bagpipes bleated. Heels and toes tapped to the music. At once Edie knew where lots of the other pleather jumpsuits had found a home: on the members of the Highland Fling Society, many of whom seemed to be coughing. Edie, Cheesy and Mister Pants scurried through the dancers then huddled under a trestle table covered with a Napier tartan cloth, upon which stood a large urn and a jar of tea bags.
‘Let’s just watch a minute. I’m sure your dad will surface,’ said Edie, surveying in wonderment the rainbow blur of pleather and rich red tartan. ‘They usually all wear kilts, not pleather all-in-ones,’ said Cheesy.
A glamorous woman in a shimmering gold pleather jumpsuit stood near the stage where a microphone and lectern had been set up. She was surveying the scene around her and taking notes.
‘Look. That’s Trudy Truelove from the Bugle,’ said Edie. ‘She must be reporting on the Town Meeting.’
‘She’s even more glamorous in real life,’ said Cheesy.
‘What is that thing she’s looking at?’ Edie asked, pointing at a small round shield with a sharp steel spike projecting from its centre, smack bang in the middle of the dance floor.
‘It’s a targe,’ said Cheesy. ‘In the olden days, male warriors used to perform the Highland fling around it after returning from battle. Part of the challenge of the dance was avoiding that spike,’ she added.
‘As if the dance moves weren’t hard enough,’ said Edie. ‘Cheesy, did the spikes usually have notes attached to them?’ The girls peered through the dancing feet to the targe. Sure enough, the spike did seem to have a piece of paper impaled upon it (which is just a dramatic way of saying the spike went right through its middle). Edie took her binoculars from her kit and had a closer look. There was writing on the note but she couldn’t make it out from that distance.
The music came to an end and the dancing stopped. Trudy Truelove walked towards the stage, pulled out a small recording device, spoke into it, then played it back as if to check it was working. Edie, Cheesy and Mister ducked when they saw a stampede of pleather and tartan coming their way.
‘Sidestep it, Chompster,’ Edie said, grabbing her friend by the sleeve and Mister by his bonnet. ‘Let’s take a closer look at that targe.’
‘I still can’t see my dad,’ said Cheesy, looking around.
‘Come on. Let’s get that note,’ said Edie. When she reached it, she removed it with her tweezers and read aloud.
A CATCH!
A WORLD RECORD!
A BREAKTHROUGH CURE!
FOLLOW ME.
RRV > RRFD > RRFDD
YOU’LL SOON SEE,
HC
‘May I see that, girls?’
Edie and Cheesy turned round. A tall woman wearing long robes, a puffy hat and a gold chain was standing right behind them trying to read over their shoulders.
‘You mustn’t say no to the Mayor, now,’ said one of the two policemen who stood behind her.
Edie surrendered the evidence after committing the details to memory.
The Mayor inspected the piece of paper and handed it to the police. After conferring with them, she walked briskly to the stage, took the microphone from its stand and gazed out at the townsfolk. Trudy Truelove clicked a button on her miniature recorder and flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder.
‘Attention, ladies, gentlemen, boys, girls and, er, baby,’ said the Mayor.
Mister Pants snuffled.
‘Thank you all for coming to the Town Meeting and thank you to the Highland Fling Society for agreeing to host it in these trying times. I’m afraid we must now put an end to the entertainment. Sadly, the Fever crisis is escalating. One hundred more individuals have been hospitalised this afternoon and we have simply run out of beds, so our Chief Medical Officer has declared a complete lockdown in the city of Runcible in order to contain the problem. Until the Runcible River Fever Dog is captured and an effective treatment for the illness is developed, everyone must go home and stay indoors until further notice.’
The members of the Highland Fling Society began to panic and bolt for the exit, where they came face to face with the two policemen who stood before them with their arms crossed, shaking their heads.
‘Calm down, everybody,’ urged the Mayor. ‘Before you leave, there is one final matter to attend to. A new piece of evidence concerning a world record and a Fever cure has just been uncovered. It is signed with the initials HC. As a result, the police will be interviewing you all, very briefly, before you go home.’
The Blank Marauder sprang from behind the tea urn and ran to the fire escape. Not waiting to hear what the Mayor had to say next, the girls ran outside after him. Out on the footpath, they saw him trying in vain to kickstart his mower before abandoning it and bolting after what must have been the last 322 bus before the curfew came into effect. Its destination was Runcible River Valley.
The three adventurers huddled around the pram, watching the bus disappear. ‘Jump in,’ said Edie. ‘We’re going for a ride.’
V is for Valley
Although the motorised pram was weighed down by its three occupants, Edie managed to keep a tight tail on the bus. She could even see the Blank Marauder, who was sitting slumped on the back seat, his shoulders heaving. She wondered whether he might be crying.
They lurched to and fro as the pram made its winding descent on the deserted road into the valley. From behind the canopy the girls could see into the backyards of the houses which dotted the hillside. Lights shone from kitchen windows, and abandoned swimming pools and empty clothes lines could be glimpsed between the trees. The residents of Runcible Valley were shutting up shop for the night.
Suddenly a long, lonely howl echoed around the valley and Edie heard someone shout, ‘It’s the Fever Dog! Get inside!’
‘Did you hear that, Cheesy?’ said Edie, taking a firm grip on the handle of the giant butterfly net, but by now Cheesy had put her head inside the canopy and pulled her jumper over her ears.
‘Hear what, Sparks?’ she said grumpily. ‘I need more leg room in this thing!’
‘Dangle them over the side,’ said Edie.
Cheesy was becoming agitated. ‘You know, Edie, there’s a first time for everything, and this is the first time I’ve ignored a city curfew, disobeyed the Mayor and evaded the police to boot. But I know what you’ll say. You’ll say my dad’s done a runner and there’s a note in hieroglyphics signed HC to prove it. Fly high? His balloon’s a wreck. RRV? RRFD? RRFDD? Gobbledygook.’ She sighed from under her jumper. ‘So, pray tell, why is your neighbour the Marauder escaping on the last bus?’
Their descent became markedly steeper.
‘I’ll eat my kilt if this pram is roadworthy,’ Cheesy added.
Edie thought it best not to mention that Michaelmas had said to keep it on flat surfaces. Mister growled as howling again filled the valley, and Cheesy, who’d heard it this time, yelped in fright.
‘It’s the Fever Dog. It’s after the flan!’ Cheesy cried. The pram wobbled dangerously around a sharp corner, and they came so close to a tree that Edie could see the moss on its trunk and tiny insects making their way up and down the bark.
‘Cheesy, let’s calm down and go over the facts,’ said Edie, who also wanted to distract herself from what she imagined was lying in wait for them at the bottom of the valley. ‘Your dad wanted to fly in a record-breaking balloon challenge but couldn’t because his balloon is ripped beyond repair and he can’t afford a new one. He’s been acting strangely, locking himself away in the basement with your mum’s old sewing machine, holding a can of woodworm repellent in your kitchen and hiding boxes in your garage.’
‘But it . . . it doesn’t explain . . .’
‘Here, you steer for a moment.’ Edie pulled out her notebook and even with the pram careening along the road, began to jot things down in her most detective-like manner. ‘Today we saw your dad and the Marauder arguing. Your dad left with a big brown box. He and the Blank Marauder were being spied on by someone in a white coat. There was a shopping list for some very unusual items in your dad’s pocket, a vanload of people from the Emergency Sewing Repairs Agency sewing in his basement, and then there was another note at the Highland Fling Centre that said something about breaking a world record and flying high.’
‘I don’t think my dad would steal things,’ said Cheesy, ‘but he’d never give up on ballooning—he loves being up in the air more than anything.’
Edie felt a light bulb switch on in her brain. She grabbed Cheesy by her left plait.
‘Air!’ she said. ‘Air! That’s exactly right, Cheesy!’ Edie jumped up in the pram, tipping it sideways.
‘Sit down,’ Cheesy implored. ‘Now it’s you who’s gone loopy. What do you mean, “air”?’
Mister Pants began to wriggle and snort, as if he knew Edie was about to piece the clues together.
‘The vet,’ said Edie. ‘She looked at Mister’s eye.’
‘Yes, and she prescribed eye drops and a crazy eye patch, but what has that got to do with . . .?’
‘Listen, she sort of twisted my arm,’ Edie explained. ‘She made me an impossible-to-refuse deal where I do some proper detective work for her in exchange for treatment of Mister. And all to find out whether the Blank Marauder is responsible for some items going missing from her clinic.’
‘If she hurt you in any way I’ll ruddy well stonk her one,’ said Cheesy.
‘Er, thanks. I’ll give you a clue,’ said Edie patiently. ‘Look at what was scrawled on the note you found in your dad’s pocket. What does it say?’
Cheesy squinted through her thick glasses to read Edie’s notes. ‘One thousand p j s.’
‘I admit I’m not sure about that one,’ said Edie.
‘BT, two plus prop and 02 canisters, twelve rolls gut. Key and “w’worm repell.” which must be woodworm repellent,’ said Cheesy.
‘“BT” could be a blowtorch. Two oxygen canisters and “prop” could be propane, right? And twelve rolls of reinforced thread used for stitching up injured animals,’ said Edie. ‘I’m not sure where the key comes in, but don’t forget your dad had woodworm repellent in the kitchen. Now, what could all these separate items be used for?’
‘Hot-air ballooning,’ they said in unison. Mister Pants gave a raspy bark like someone clearing his throat after a long illness.
‘We’ve got to get to the Flights of Fancy balloon hangar. It’s in Runcible Valley,’ said Cheesy.
‘But that’s exactly where this bus is headed. Runcible Valley. The Blank Marauder must b
e going to find your dad. And I have a feeling they know something about . . .’
A howl filled the valley for a third time.
‘The whereabouts of the Fever Dog?’ said Cheesy. ‘Er, is that flan still edible?’
Woodworms and Fisticuffs
Cheesy lurched sideways. While they’d been talking, the pram had picked up speed and was now almost out of control. Mister, fearing another accident, began to whimper underneath his bonnet. Cheesy looked around for an instruction manual.
‘Did your dad happen to mention how the brakes work?’
‘I think he said to keep a low speed on flat ground . . .’ Edie mumbled.
‘Jumping junipers! Kill the motor!’ shouted Cheesy, pulling in vain on the lever nearest to her. ‘We’re doomed! Abandon ship, launch the lifeboats!’ Cheesy scrambled to her haunches, ready to jump. Edie tried to steer the pram onto a little bit of flat ground by the road without success. It was time to surrender.
‘Okay, Cheesy! Tuck your legs under. Go floppy before we hit. On the count of three, jump. One, two . . .’ But before Edie could say ‘three’, Cheesy jumped and hit the slope with a sickening thud. Edie grabbed Mister and tumbled out with him. As she flew through the air she thought how leaping from moving vehicles wasn’t at all like it looked in the movies. Edie swallowed a mouthful of soil then one of grass. She and Mister rolled five times before coming to a stop.
‘Cheesy? Are you okay?’ called Edie, getting shakily to her feet and brushing the dirt and grass off her jumpsuit. The mashed flan had landed beside her and the butterfly net was snagged on a bush. Mister shook himself free of his bonnet and trotted over to the flan. ‘Not now,’ said Edie, beating him to it.
‘Blasted pram,’ muttered Cheesy, climbing to her feet. She was limping slightly as she started off down the hill after the retreating bus. ‘Your neighbour got off at the last stop and went that way!’ she said, pointing. ‘Well? What are you goggling at? You coming or not?’ and off she went. Edie looked at her in astonishment. Her pram was in pieces all over the road and her kilt looked as though it had taken a mud bath, but here she was behaving like a regular thrill junkie. Edie gathered up what was left of the flan and stuffed it into her satchel. The town really had gone mad.
