Chapter 19
The boys were awakened the next morning by the sound of the little door being unlocked and clanking open. A silhouette slid through and unfolded to its full height. There, at the top of the stairs, was the unmistakeable form of Mayor Grime.
The Mayor clanged slowly down the staircase
… letting each step ring in the air for effect. Following him down were Mary and Funnel-web, who looked very happy with themselves. The two huge men in sunglasses who seemed to accompany Mayor Grime wherever he went also swept through the door and stood at attention, leaving their sunglasses on despite the dimness of the room.
In the little circle of light from the single bulb, Mayor Grime stopped, his face half in shadow. The terrible cooking stench that Artie had smelt the night before suddenly permeated the room, and the boys noticed that the awful man was gnawing on a bone.
‘Hello, boys,’ he purred. ‘Are you aware of how much trouble you’ve caused me?’
‘Um. Not really …’ mumbled Artie.
‘Well. Let me explain,’ said the Mayor, licking some grease from his fingers. Artie noticed that his eyes, which were tiny under normal circumstances, had all but disappeared in the shadowy light, giving the eerie impression of talking to a head without any eyes at all. ‘Because you two nosy little pests came sniffing around my properties—’
‘You mean the cave and the factory?’ said Bumshoe.
‘Yesss,’ said the Mayor. ‘I mean my cave and my factory.’
‘Well. It’s not really your cave, to be fair. Nail Can Hill is public land,’ reasoned Bumshoe. ‘Technically you’ve just appropriated that cave for your own purposes but really—’
‘QUIET!’ snarled Mary.
‘Now you listen to me, fat boy, and you too, skinny boy,’ said the Mayor, poking the air with his bone. ‘Because of you two I’ve decided to close down my entire operation: my cave, my factory – everything! I have run seamless operations in many towns for many years, by always staying two steps ahead, and I’m not about to have my cover blown! So we have moved everything to another town and now we have to begin from scratch. And that costs me money. And there is NOTHING I hate more than LOSING MONEY!!!’
At this point the Mayor took a moment to suck on the foul-smelling bone. He paused dramatically, before a dreadful smile spread over his face. He extracted the bone from his mouth with a loud pop.
‘Do you know what this is?’ he breathed, waggling it right under Artie’s nose.
‘No, sir.’
‘It’s a cutlet of puppy. “Labradoodle”, I believe, or some such ridiculous composite of which the public are so inordinately fond these days.’
‘From memory it might have been a “Cavoodle”, Mayor,’ grinned Funnel-web.
‘Or perhaps a “Cockerdoodle”?’ said the Mayor, and he, Funnel-web and Mary burst into a fit of mad giggles.
‘Do you know, I only eat meat, boys?’ The Mayor by this time had his face right next to Artie’s. His minuscule eyes seemed to be peering directly into the boy’s soul. ‘Veggies are for sissies,’ he whispered. ‘But meat is for men … And do you know where all my meat comes from?’
Once again he paused for effect.
‘Pets!’ the Mayor exclaimed happily. He seemed thrilled with the idea, as if it had just occurred to him.
‘Pets! All kinds! It doesn’t matter! They’re all delicious! And do you know why?’ (Once again the dramatic pause …)
‘Because they’re so pampered! Their flesh is exquisitely tender and succulent because the dear things are so loved and coddled their whole lives!’ The Mayor became increasingly excited. Some gobs of white foam began to appear at the corner of his mouth. ‘It’s a marvellous system, really. All you townsfolk spend your lives carefully preparing and fattening these superb meaty treats: pussy cats, terrapins, puppy dogs, guinea piggies, bunny rabbits … just for me! The Mayor! The most important person in the entire town-and-the-immediate-outlying-district. So thoughtful. So kind!’
With this the Mayor began a sort of delirious waltz all by himself. Mary and Funnel-web exchanged a slightly concerned glance. But then both men merely gazed at the Mayor with little indulgent smiles, and began clapping along in time.
He really is completely bonkers, thought Artie.
Suddenly the Mayor stopped and sprang forward right up into Bumshoe’s face.
‘I’ve been thinking about you boys, and how you’re going to have to REPAY me for all the MONEY you’ve MADE ME LOSE!!!’ As he screamed the little pools of white foam that had gathered in the corners of his mouth atomised and sprayed all over the unfortunate boy’s face.
‘Aaaaaaaaaaah …’ howled Bumshoe, straining to wriggle free.
‘Oooooh, I’m sorry, did I scare you?’
‘No, it’s not that!’ exclaimed Bumshoe. ‘It’s just … You completely covered my face with … whatever that cheesy goo around your mouth is, and it’s just … really … gross!’
The Mayor fixed the boys with a stare, and patted strands of slick hair down to his scalp.
‘I’ve just had a brainwave. Do you see, gentle friends?’ he said, turning to Mary and Funnel-web. ‘This is why I’m the Mayor, the most important person in the entire town-and-the-immediate-outlying-district, and all of you are just … well … all of you …’ he giggled.
‘Fire up the ovens, gentlemen! I’m about to expand my culinary repertoire! After all, what could be more tender than the meat of boys who have been so gently cared for? Nurtured and loved their entire lives … Boy kebabs, anyone?’
The Mayor began to giggle again.
Tears sprang to Artie’s eyes. He isn’t serious, he thought. Surely he’s just trying to scare us!
‘Actually, Artie’s pretty much raising himself, so he hasn’t been gently cared for at all, plus he eats a whole lot of really weird stuff,’ cried Bumshoe.
Artie could tell by the tone of his voice that his friend was taking the Mayor’s threat seriously.
‘You don’t wanna go eating him – you’ll get sick! And as for me – well – I’ve got about the worst diet in the whole world! Everybody says so. I just eat junk food and Chococaramel-Cococreambombs. I’m only going to taste of refined sugars and preservatives. I’ll be terrible for your cholesterol—’
‘SHUT UP!’ bawled Mary and Funnel-web simultaneously.
‘Righto,’ sniffed Bumshoe.
Artie heard him stifling a sob.
The Mayor bounced up the stairs, elated at the brilliance of his own plan.
‘Quick, boys, quick!’ he called down to the two robbers. ‘I’ve worked up a terrible appetite!’ He paused for a moment at the top of the stairs as one of the huge men in sunglasses unlocked the little door. ‘And gentlemen,’ he said, ‘I think perhaps rosemary or thyme with boy-meat, don’t you?’
‘Oh, yes, very much so,’ nodded Funnel-web.
‘Indeed,’ said Mary.
‘Exciting!’ the Mayor cried, clasping his hands together in the shadows. ‘New culinary horizons, boys!’
And with that he slid out of the room, the men in sunglasses on his heels, slamming the door behind them.
Chapter 20
The terrified boys were dragged by Mary and Funnel-web back down the long hallway towards the grand entrance foyer. Up ahead they could hear the noises of all the animals in cages. The boys were still tied back-to-back, and had to shuffle in an awkward crab-like way.
Artie gazed miserably up at the passing parade of Grime family ancestors with their hard little eyes. He longed to be able to see his friend’s face. Bumshoe will have an idea any second, he thought. Bumshoe always has ideas!
Artie listened in growing distress as the two robbers planned the boys’ grisly fate.
‘Right … We’ll clean and gut them out the back of the kitchen where we do all the bigger pets,’ said Mary. ‘Then I’ll do the butchering because you’re not much chop with that, pardon the pun,’ he chuckled.
‘Yeah, alright, alright,’ replied Funn
el-web, who sounded slightly wounded.
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude,’ explained Mary. ‘I just think you’re much better with the smaller animals. I mean, you did a terrific job with those hamsters, for instance.’
‘Do you think so?’ replied Funnel-web.
‘Absolutely first rate, my friend!’ said Mary. ‘Now, I’m thinking I might do a nice French-trimmed rib roast.’
‘Ooh, ooh. Lovely …’ said Funnel-web. ‘Just lovely.’
‘And I know the boss suggested rosemary or thyme, but I’m really thinking sage will be the go.’
‘Awwww – bit risky, don’t you think?’ Funnel-web said with a fretful note.
‘Trust me. Once he tastes it, he’ll love it. It was the same with kittens and oregano.’
They began passing the rows of caged animals and Artie realised they were nearing the grand entrance. He halfheartedly glanced around to see if he could spot Gareth, but knew that he was hardly in any position now to rescue the animal.
‘Now, I’m going to have a lot of work to do on the chubby one to trim off all that lard,’ continued Mary, ‘and I’m concerned the skinny one won’t have any beautiful marbling on the meat.’
The boys were dragged through the ghastly sculptures and paintings that ringed the foyer. The two robbers came to an abrupt halt.
‘What the blue blazes is that?’ cried Mary.
Artie craned his head to see what they were looking at but the men blocked his view.
‘When did this thing arrive?’ the tattooed man asked.
‘No idea,’ said Funnel-web.
‘The boss must have organised it. Or more likely Mrs Grime,’ whispered Mary. ‘Yes, it’s definitely more Mrs Grime’s aesthetic.’
There was a moment of silence.
‘It’s a terribly ugly work,’ he continued, thoughtfully. ‘I mean, it has none of the neo-classical charm that it so stridently aims for.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t agree,’ said Funnel-web. ‘It’s perhaps a tad confused. But the artist’s sense of line and the composition of the forms is very powerful, don’t you find? One can’t remain unmoved by it …’
‘Not in the least,’ argued Mary with a headshake. ‘It has pretensions far beyond its limitations. On the one hand it beckons the classical and on the other it’s striving for the postmodern, and failing in all quarters …’
‘Well,’ said Funnel-web, tersely. ‘To be fair, when it comes to art, I’ve probably got a bit more of a clue …’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped Mary.
‘I was the one who studied art!’
‘Just because you studied it doesn’t mean you understand it!’ growled the huge man.
‘I had a very promising career as an artist, I’ll have you know!’ said Funnel-web.
‘Until your promising career as a house burglar got in the way!’ said Mary.
Artie didn’t care what the two thieves were squabbling over (he frankly couldn’t believe that any artwork could be uglier than the portrait of Nate on a winged horse, or Mayor Grime as Moses reading out the Ten Commandments, which he was currently looking at). The awful, inevitable fact began to dawn on him that he and his friend were about to become lunch for a lunatic local politician! His heart rattled like a machine-gun, and he gulped for air.
‘You wouldn’t know art if it jumped up and bit you!’ said Mary.
‘Says the man whose face has got spelling mistakes tattooed all over it!’ cried Funnel-web.
‘Well, I did it in the mirror, didn’t I? You try tattooing your face in the mirror!’
‘No thanks! I’m happy with it the way it is,’ roared Funnel-web.
‘With your little sharpened teeth? Is that supposed to be scary?’ said the big man.
‘Scarier than having “Eat, Drink and be Mary” scrawled across my head! It’s a wonder people don’t call you “Mary”!’
‘We do …’ murmured Bumshoe.
Artie rolled his eyes. Sometimes his friend just couldn’t help opening his mouth when he really ought to keep it closed.
There was a silence.
‘You what?’ rumbled Mary.
‘Erm. Nothing,’ said Bumshoe.
Funnel-web snickered. ‘He said they do! They do call you Mary. Hahahahahaha …’
‘Shut up, Funnel-web!’ growled Mary.
‘That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, Humphrey!’ screeched Funnel-web.
‘Wow,’ whispered Bumshoe out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Mary’s real name is Humphrey!’
‘Shut up, Funnel-web! Or should I say: Reginald!’ Mary/Humphrey cried.
‘Wow,’ whispered Bumshoe. ‘And Funnel-web’s real name is Reginald!’*
‘You shut up, why don’t you?’ yelled Funnel-web/Reginald.
*Please note, dear reader, for everyone's comfort and on-going pleasure, the characters of Humphrey and Reginald will hereafter continue to be referred to as Mary and Funnel-web.
The men fell silent for a moment, not looking at each other.
Mary sighed. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m terribly sorry,’ he murmured.
‘No, no,’ replied his hairy friend. ‘It was all my fault. I was insensitive.’
‘Not at all!’ exclaimed Mary.
‘Anyway,’ said Funnel-web. ‘Please don’t let’s speak like that to one another again. I hate it when we quarrel.’
‘Hugs?’ offered Mary.
‘Hugs!’ nodded Funnel-web solemnly. And the two robbers came together and gave each other a little cuddle.
‘Now, come on!’ Mary roared, yanking at the boys’ rope. ‘Boss’ll be getting hungry!’
The boys were hauled off once more, crab-walking behind the men.
Artie was petrified. It was becoming clear that neither boy was going to come up with a magical solution to their plight. But as they swept through the grand foyer and down the opposite hallway, Artie and Bumshoe finally caught a glimpse of the artwork the robbers had been bickering over.
There, right alongside the other sculptures, was a life-sized, perfectly white statue of a squat, almost spherical old lady with a dog curled at her feet. It was so true to life, they could almost have been real figures that had been … covered in baby powder!
Artie was gobsmacked. He tried unsuccessfully to look at his friend. But then he heard Bumshoe let out a tiny ‘Yesss!’ and knew then that he too must have spotted the indisputable, completely unique and wonderful forms of Aunty-boy and Macaroni!
Chapter 21
The kitchen door slammed and Mary clapped his hands together with glee.
‘Oh, I do love my cooking! Another day … another recipe! Now, drag them out here if you please, Funnel-web.’ He led the way through the kitchen, out into an enclosed courtyard.
Looking up, Artie saw that covering one entire wall of this area were the pelts of hundreds of varieties of animals, which had obviously met their grisly ends in this very place. He swallowed hard. In the middle of the concrete floor was a drainage grate, which was covered in bits of gizzard and gore. The men set to work untying the boys’ ropes.
‘Could you please do me a favour, my dear friend, and bring me a chopper from the kitchen?’ Mary enquired. ‘One of the large ones, probably a size fourteen chef’s cleaver?’
‘Why, of course!’ piped Funnel-web. Artie watched, sickened, as the hairy thief disappeared momentarily behind the door.
‘DA-DAAAAH!’
The terrible man sprang back into view, waving a giant meat-axe over his head with a theatrical flourish. Artie was horror-struck. What if they had been wrong? Perhaps what they’d seen was just a sculpture, and Aunty-boy and Macaroni weren’t coming to their rescue after all! If they were coming they’d really better get a move on because—
‘OUCH!’
Artie’s thought was cut short as he saw a black metallic ball thwack into Funnel-web’s bottom and go clattering onto the kitchen floor.
The skinny man squawked, and dropping the mea
t-axe on the kitchen counter, he rubbed his bruised rear end. Baffled, he glanced about, and then warily bent down to pick up the shiny little object.
‘What is it?’ asked Mary.
‘Dunno,’ murmured his friend, gingerly shaking the thing, and sniffing at it. ‘But it seems to be … ticking,’ he said, bewildered.
BAM!!!! It exploded in a shower of prickles, completely covering the interior of the kitchen, and Funnel-web in particular.
‘AAAAAAAAAARK!’ he screeched, and started rushing around like an angry hedgehog, bumping into walls and tearing at all the needles.
In the courtyard, Mary was casting about wildly. Artie could tell he had no idea what was going on, or where the threat was coming from. At a loss for how to deal with the unknown foe, he finally took up a ju-jitsu stance – directed at nothing in particular.
At that moment, bounding right through the kitchen and into the courtyard came a furry four-legged missile, leaving a trail of white baby powder in the air. Macaroni! He latched straight on to Mary’s nose. The tattooed man began squealing, spinning in circles and trying to prise the dog off. But the trusty pooch clung on for dear life.
Funnel-web, meanwhile, had begun rolling around on the kitchen floor, which only prickled him all the more.
Artie watched enthralled as Aunty-boy emerged through the kitchen, looking like a bizarre little ghost, and carrying some kind of huge holster on her back, still covered in her layer of baby powder. She skipped over the writhing figure on the floor, plucked the meat-axe from the kitchen bench, and strode out towards the boys. She lifted the blade high above her head.
‘Aunty-boy! It’s us! It’s us!! Artie and Bumshoe!!!’ screamed the boys, terrified that in all the mayhem she had mistaken them for members of the gang.
‘Yes, of course, crab-apple dumplings … of course!’ she chirped, then paused for a second and wildly slashed the meataxe between them.
Artie and the Grime Wave Page 7
