Callie and Michael came into the room.
‘We’ll have to try the kitchen,’ Michael was saying.
Just then they spied Inspector Cheddar.
‘Dad!’ Callie cried. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Elevating my sprained ankle, of course. It stops it from swelling.’
Did it? Atticus made a mental note that if he ever sprained his paw he must remember to lie down even more than usual.
‘But you can’t lie there!’ Michael told his dad.
‘Why ever not?’ Inspector Cheddar said.
‘Because that’s The Camp Bed – Zeberdee told us about it. It’s a work of art!’
Oh yes, thought Atticus. The Camp Bed! He remembered now. That was the third thing Zeberdee had mentioned. He wasn’t sure whether he thought it was good or not. It certainly looked comfy.
‘Art. Fart,’ Inspector Cheddar said rudely. ‘If this is art, I’m a banana.’
The children exchanged glances. ‘Zeberdee isn’t going to be very pleased,’ Callie warned him.
‘I don’t give a fig what Zeberdee thinks!’ the Inspector said. ‘I need to rest my ankle.’ He regarded them sternly. ‘Well, what are you three waiting for? Go and find that ice pack.’ He closed his eyes.
‘Come on, Atticus,’ Michael said.
The two children went back through the opening. Atticus trudged after them.
Perhaps he could have a turn on the bed later. It would look better with a cat lying on it. Meanwhile, with any luck, they might find some food somewhere to keep him going.
He padded off down the corridor after the children and through the double doors.
Squeak … squeak … squeak … squeak.
Inspector Cheddar was just drifting off to sleep when he heard the noise. He opened one eye and then the other. He blinked.
A wizened old lady was approaching the bed pushing a large tea trolley with a battered silver urn on the top of it.
‘Vant anything from the trolley?’ she asked him.
Inspector Cheddar glanced down at the cold half-cup of tea beside the bed. ‘A cup of tea would be nice,’ he said. ‘And a Wagon Wheel.’
‘I’m all out of tea,’ the tea lady said. ‘And Vagon Vheels. I got vafers instead.’
‘Okay,’ Inspector Cheddar felt around in his pocket for some change. ‘I’ll have a wafer.’
The tea lady handed the wrapped wafer biscuit to him.
Inspector Cheddar looked at her closely. He felt sure he’d seen her somewhere before. The tea lady really reminded him of someone, especially the black teeth and the way her grizzly grey hair bristled with hairpins.
The tea lady was squinting at him too. ‘Do I know you from somevere?’ she asked, eyeing his green hair and white jacket.
‘I don’t think so,’ Inspector Cheddar said slowly. He couldn’t place the face. He unwrapped the wafer thoughtfully.
The tea lady was still hovering. ‘You like biscuits?’ she said. To Inspector Cheddar’s surprise, the tea lady gave him a big wink.
‘Doesn’t everyone?’ Inspector Cheddar replied pleasantly, munching the wafer.
‘Vot about ginger biscuits?’ the tea lady asked. ‘You like those?’
‘Not really,’ Inspector Cheddar admitted. ‘I prefer custard creams.’
‘That’s too bad.’ The tea lady frowned. She leaned in a bit closer as if she didn’t want anyone to overhear. ‘My pet Ginger Biscuit vould be very disappointed to hear you say that.’
Inspector Cheddar gave her a weak smile. The tea lady was obviously mad if she kept a ginger biscuit for a pet! That must be why she was winking! He decided to carry on the pretence so as not to upset her. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered back. ‘Biscuits can’t hear, even pet ones.’ He winked back at the tea lady. ‘It won’t know.’
‘Oh, but it vill,’ the tea lady said. ‘It has excellent hearing. Haven’t you, my orange angel of darkness?’ She lifted off the lid off the silver tea urn.
A large furry orange head appeared, its ears flattened against its skull. ‘Grrrrr …’
Inspector Cheddar’s face registered shock. Ginger Biscuit! Of course! It wasn’t really a pet biscuit the tea lady was talking about. It was a pet cat! Now he understood. Now he recognised her. It was Zenia Klob and her beastly sidekick! They had come to steal a work of art!
Inspector Cheddar’s face turned a shade redder. Suddenly he realised what peril he was in. The Camp Bed! That’s what they were after! And he was lying right on top of it! He opened his mouth to call for help.
Zenia reached up and grabbed a hairpin from her matt of steely grey hair.
ZIP! The hairpin flew at Inspector Cheddar’s neck with deadly accuracy, catching him precisely in his jugular. Inspector Cheddar fell back on the bed, snoring.
Zenia Klob patted her hair back into place.
‘Tuck him in tight, Biscuit,’ she ordered, ‘so he doesn’t fall out. And don’t forget the cup of tea and the pyjamas. Mr Butteredsconi said they were the most important parts of the vork.’ She frowned again. ‘Strange he didn’t mention anything about there actually being anyone in the bed …’ She shrugged. ‘Oh vell … ve’ll take him anyvay, just in case.’
She checked her watch. ‘Those mangy magpies should have disabled the alarm by now.’ Just then the lights flickered. ‘Bang on time! You ready, Biscuit?’
‘Myaw …’ Ginger Biscuit had finished tucking Inspector Cheddar in. He was wrapped as tight as a bug in a chrysalis.
‘Let’s get it back to Fort Sconi, then ve can relax with some pickles.’ Zenia Klob pressed a button on the tea trolley. Two long prongs emerged from beneath the trolley and slid under the bed. She pressed a second button. The prongs lifted the bed off the ground. No alarm sounded. The magpies had done their job.
‘Okay, Biscuit, let’s go.’ Zenia Klob ordered. Ginger Biscuit disappeared back inside the tea urn with the half-empty cup of tea and the pyjamas. Zenia pushed the AUTO TROLLEY button.
Squeak … squeak … squeak … squeak.
The forklift trolley trundled out of the room and along the wide corridor back towards the Turbine Hall, the bed held aloft on its prongs, Inspector Cheddar sleeping peacefully within it.
The children and Atticus were in a small kitchen rooting through more cupboards for a first-aid kit when the lights flickered.
‘What was that?’ Callie whispered.
Atticus felt his hackles rise. Flickering lights meant something had gone wrong with the electrics. Or that someone or something was tampering with them.
‘You don’t think it’s the magpies, do you?’ Michael whispered back.
The magpies! That was exactly what Atticus was thinking. They had chewed the electric wires at the other galleries in New York and Paris to put out the alarm and the infrared detection systems. It must be them. And that could only mean one thing.
Klob and Biscuit were about to hit Tate Modern!
Atticus jumped down from the counter, trying to stay calm. Everything would be all right. Mrs Tucker was upstairs with Zeberdee and the guards. They would stop Klob and Biscuit from stealing the precious works of art Zeberdee had mentioned like The Toenail Tree and the mountain of pants and …
Atticus froze.
The Camp Bed!
He let out a yowl. He raced towards the door, meowing frantically.
‘What is it, Atticus, what’s wrong?’ Michael said.
Not for the first time, Atticus wished humans could speak Cat. He tried to think of another way to show them. He hobbled round pulling grumpy faces.
‘Dad!’ Callie gasped. ‘Of course! He’s lying on The Camp Bed! What if they try to steal that?’
‘Surely they’ll know he’s not supposed to be in it?’ Michael said.
‘Not necessarily!’ Callie cried. ‘Mrs Tucker said Klob doesn’t know anything about art. She’ll think he’s part of the exhibit.’
‘But they’ll recognise him,’ Michael insisted. ‘They’ve seen him loads of times before. The worst
thing that can happen is that he’ll get hairpinned again.’
Atticus had been listening to the conversation. He told himself to stop worrying. Inspector Cheddar was safe. Of course Klob and Biscuit would recognise him. He blinked.
Or would they?
It was then that Atticus remembered Inspector Cheddar’s appearance had changed significantly since the last time Klob and Biscuit set eyes on him. Inspector Cheddar had green hair. His face was red. His uniform was white. Atticus felt a sudden thrill of fear. What if the villains didn’t recognise him? What if Callie was right and they thought he was part of the exhibit? Klob and Biscuit wouldn’t have a clue whether there was supposed to be anybody in The Camp Bed or not. They wouldn’t have time to check with Butteredsconi. They would take everything with them just in case.
Atticus shot out of the kitchen, squeezed through the double doors and chased along the corridor as fast as his paws would carry him. He could hear the children running after him. The corridor seemed to go on forever, like in a hospital. Finally he reached the room where he had last seen the Inspector. His heart sank. The room was empty. There was no bed, no pyjamas, no half-empty cup of tea and no Inspector Cheddar. All that remained were a hairpin and a wafer biscuit wrapper.
Squeak … squeak … squeak … squeak.
Atticus pricked up his ears. The noise was coming from the direction of the Turbine Hall. Zenia! He raced off. Maybe there was still time to save the Inspector. The thieves would have to take the camp bed out through the main doors to a getaway vehicle. If Atticus could create a diversion – even for a little while – it might be enough time for Mrs Tucker and Zeberdee to work out something was wrong and come to the rescue with the security guards. He reached the entrance to the Turbine Hall. Atticus flattened himself against the wall and peeped inside.
At the far end of the hall he could see Zenia. She was dressed as a tea lady. She seemed to be operating some kind of forklift tea trolley. Balanced on its prongs was the camp bed, with Inspector Cheddar tucked snugly into it.
‘You were right, Callie!’ Michael crouched down beside Atticus. His face was white. ‘They’ve taken Dad!’
The trolley trundled to a halt beside the crack.
‘They’re stuck!’ Callie crouched next to her brother. She gave a sigh of relief.
For one brief moment, Atticus thought the crack had saved the Inspector. Zenia couldn’t get the forklift trolley past it to the big front doors.
Then something unexpected happened. The crack began to widen. All the way along the one hundred and fifty-two metres of the great Turbine Hall, the zigzag expanded until it was about twice as wide as it had been before. Atticus watched it in confusion. It looked like Zenia Klob was even more stuck now! But Atticus didn’t believe that. Zenia must have some trick hidden up her apron, or his name wasn’t Atticus Grammaticus Cattypuss Claw.
‘What’s that?’ Callie pointed in astonishment.
A large metal arm, like a crane, rose up of out the crack. Attached to the end of it was a giant pincer. Zenia stood beside the trolley with a remote control, pushing buttons. The pincer grabbed the camp bed. Then it rotated it until it was vertical and gradually began to lower it into the crack.
‘They’re going to escape down the crack!’ Michael gasped. ‘It must lead underground to their getaway vehicle.’
Atticus tried to think what to do. The bed had all but vanished.
‘Come on, Biscuit.’ Zenia pocketed the remote.
Ginger Biscuit’s head and shoulders emerged from the tea urn. He leapt out.
‘Let’s go,’ Zenia said.
The two villains disappeared into the crack after the bed. The crack started to close.
Just then Atticus heard footsteps behind him. It was Zeberdee. He was holding the wafer wrapper in one hand and the hairpin in the other. He stopped when he saw Atticus and the children. Then he stared at the crack in the Turbine Hall in amazement as the zigzag sides inched towards each other.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked in bewilderment.
‘They’ve taken The Camp Bed!’ Callie told him.
‘Dad was lying on it!’ Michael said. ‘You’ve got to do something, Zeberdee.’
‘Meow!’ Atticus pawed at Zeberdee’s trouser leg. They had to catch the villains before they bednapped Inspector Cheddar! He raced off.
‘Kids, go and get Agent Whelk and your mum.’ Zeberdee ran after Atticus along the jagged line to the spot where the bed had disappeared.
Atticus pointed with his tail. The crack had returned to its normal size, but to Atticus’s horror, it didn’t stop moving. The gap was getting narrower and narrower – if they didn’t hurry the villains would close it completely!
‘Meow!’ He put his front paws on the edge of the crack and dangled his body over the hole.
‘Wait for me!’ Zeberdee followed suit, wriggling into the tiny space. There was barely any room between Zeberdee’s thin frame and the sides of the crack. If they didn’t act now, Zeberdee would be crushed. Atticus closed his eyes and let go. He felt Zeberdee do the same.
The two of them dropped together.
SPLASH!
Being a cat, Atticus landed on his feet. He felt water on his paws. He opened his eyes. Zeberdee was beside him, picking himself up. Not being a cat, Zeberdee had landed on his bottom. He was wet through.
Atticus glanced around. They were in a large brick tunnel lit by a soft red glow. VROOM! Atticus heard the roar of an engine. He looked up. The red glow was coming from the tail lights of the villains’ getaway vehicle. Atticus could just make it out: a squat bowl-shaped transporter was zooming away from them like a rocket. They were escaping! He splashed down the tunnel after it, gritting his teeth. The claggy water oozed between his toes like paint.
Zeberdee chased after him. The two of them splashed along the tunnel behind the red lights.
VROOM! The vehicle shot out of the tunnel.
Atticus wasn’t far behind. The tunnel came out on to a narrow shingle beach. He was beside the River Thames. The tide was out. It lapped against the edge of the shingles. Above him, on the riverbank, Tate Modern towered over the surrounding buildings.
Zeberdee was beside him. ‘Now what?’ He pointed at the getaway vehicle. Zenia was driving it straight into the river. Around the base of the bowl-shaped transporter ballooned a great inflatable skirt. It was turning into a hovercraft!
VROOM! The hovercraft shot east along the river at incredible speed.
There was nothing else Atticus could do except watch it disappear into the distance until it was out of sight.
The next day at Toffly Hall Michael and Callie were having lunch with the Tuckers. Mr Tucker had made hake surprise for the children – the surprise being that it was made with salmon, not hake – but no one seemed very hungry, not even Atticus.
Bones was there too. She looked very nice after her visit to the pet spa on the cruise ship. Her black fur was all shiny and soft and her white teeth gleamed. Atticus wasn’t so sure about Mr Tucker, though. He’d been to the pet spa with Bones to have his beard-jumper shampooed. It was now so thick and curly that you could hardly see the rest of him. He’d had hair extensions to match as well, and his eyebrows curled. Atticus thought he looked like an Old English sheepdog.
‘Whoose wants some pickle?’ Mr Tucker handed round a jar of Butteredsconi’s Italian Truffle Pickle.
‘No thanks,’ Callie said.
‘It’s very good,’ Mr Tucker insisted.
‘I don’t know how you can eat that stuff after what’s happened, Herman!’ Mrs Tucker said furiously. She held out her hand.
‘All right, all right, Edna, keep your hair on,’ Mr Tucker grumbled. He spooned some out on his hake surprise and handed the jar to Mrs Tucker. She threw it in the dustbin.
‘What are we going to do?’ Callie asked, turning over a bit of mashed potato on her plate with her fork. ‘We’ve got to rescue Dad!’
There had been no sign of the villains since their escape from Ta
te Modern the previous night.
‘I don’t see why the police can’t just go to Fort Sconi and get him back!’ Michael said. ‘Everyone knows that’s where they’re holding him prisoner.’
That was a good point, Atticus thought. Why couldn’t they?
‘The police need a search warrant,’ Mrs Tucker sighed. ‘And at the moment they don’t have enough evidence to link Butteredsconi with your dad’s disappearance.’
‘What’s a search warrant?’ Atticus whispered to Bones. He felt a bit embarrassed having to ask. He thought it was the sort of thing a police cat sergeant should probably know. ‘I’ve never had to search anywhere before,’ he explained.
‘It’s an order from the court,’ Bones said, ‘to allow the police to enter the building.’
‘Oh,’ said Atticus. He still wasn’t sure why they needed one. Inspector Cheddar usually just barged in.
‘What I’s don’t understand is why Klob and Biscuit would even take your dad in the first place,’ Mr Tucker ruminated.
‘We think they made a mistake, Herman,’ Mrs Tucker sighed. ‘That modern art is very newfangled. They probably thought he was supposed to be in the bed. And they might not have recognised him with his green hair.’
‘But they must realise now,’ Callie said, ‘because Mr Butteredsconi will have told them. So why don’t they let Dad go?’
That was the part Atticus didn’t understand either. Why keep the Inspector? Why not just dump him somewhere before he woke up? There was something very strange going on. Atticus was sure. It was instinct – that feeling that you had when you just knew something without being told it. The problem was, he couldn’t figure out what.
‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Tucker admitted. She started to collect the plates. ‘But I don’t see that we’ve got much choice except to wait. We’ll just have to catch Klob’s mob when they do their next job. They’ll lead us to Fort Sconi, don’t you worry. Then we can arrest the whole lot of them and rescue your dad.’
‘But how can we catch them?’ Callie wailed. ‘We don’t know where they’re going to strike next.’
Atticus Claw Learns to Draw Page 6
