‘Never!’ said Daniel, but it didn’t sound very original.
‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, quite originally.
‘Oh all right,’ said Betty. ‘If it’s in the interests of our adventure. But I think that it should be without any of the privileges.’
The medium-sized man pondered for a while, pensively scratching the chin of the head under his arm. ‘Hmmm,’ he hmmmed poshly. ‘I was rather looking forward to the Girls Aloud experience, but if that’s what it takes, then so be it.’
‘Girls Aloud?’ moaned Ricky. ‘Did he say Girls Aloud? But . . .’
‘You missed that meeting as well,’ said Betty. ‘You really must attend more meetings, Ricky.’
Ricky looked quite glum as the others agreed that the posh medium-sized man could join without privileges.
‘Goody goody,’ the man said. ‘Then gather round me and I’ll tell you all about your Uncle Quagmire.’ He made quite an effective gather-round motion with his hand.
‘Erm, excuse me for asking, sir, but do we need to look enthralled?’ enquired Daniel.
‘Oh, no no no,’ the man said, wasting two potentially useful nos in the process. ‘I’m not into all this enthrallment business. But, if you don’t mind, before I tell you all this important stuff, we’ll have a little break. Is that okay?’
Chapter Six
In which they learn really really useful stuff; they encounter a little old lady in a tea shop; the kangaroo hides in the bushes and thinks, quite foolishly, that we can’t see him; we learn the truth, at long last, about how dinosaurs became extinct.
They nodded their heads in agreement (a little too late, it must be said) and then gathered around the man, trying their best not to look too enthralled.
‘Well, your dear Uncle Quagmire, as you well know, used to be a government spy . . .’ the medium-sized man said.
‘I didn’t know that!’ interrupted Betty. ‘Did you, Daniel?’
‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘Did you, Amy and Ricky? After all, you are the fruit of his loins, his off-springs . . . apparently.’
Amy and Ricky exchanged a look. ‘No,’ said Amy. ‘We didn’t know he was a government spy! My! Why, all he told us was that he did top secret things for the government, and he used to explain in fine detail how he went undercover in foreign countries and worked top-secretly, using listening devices and extremely cunning disguises, but we never knew he was a spy. Did we, Ricky?’
Ricky nodded his head up and down then realised that he should have shaken it, so he hurriedly shook his head from one side to the other side.
‘Yeeesss . . . anyway, enough,’ said the posh man, his posh forehead wrinkling all over, as did the forehead of the head under his arm. ‘I’ve got this head to deliver, I’m late and in a bit of a hurry, so please don’t interr . . .’
‘We won’t,’ Betty interrupted. ‘But shouldn’t this be an official meeting of the Secret . . . Palpable . . . Five? Six? Seven? Eight?’
‘I say, this is so jolly exciting! My first meeting!’ exclaimed the posh man poshly, almost dropping his under-arm head in the excitement of the moment. ‘I’ve always wanted to be in middle management and have meetings every hour of the day! Can I say things like Let’s have some blue sky thinking, team? Or maybe Come on, we should all be snorkelling in the same think tank? Hmmm? Can I?’
The children frowned in unison and ignored his extremely silly request. They chatted about whether an official meeting was absolutely necessary. They came to the conclusion that, under the circumstances, it could be an extraordinary meeting where the password would not be needed, which was a good job because everyone except Betty and Whatshisname were desperately trying to remember it.
‘Okay,’ okayed the posh man, ‘let me just pop this head on the top of the Ovaltine machine, and I’ll tell you all about your Uncle Quagmire.’
They stayed gathered around him as he went over to the Ovaltine machine and popped the head on top. Then they listened quite intently as he began to talk to them through his posh mouth.
‘Your Uncle Quagmire used to be a spy . . .’ he began.
‘But we didn’t know that,’ said Amy.
‘Yes, I know you didn’t know, but you know now, okay?’ said the man, rather irritably. ‘Now, listen, as I was saying, he used to be a spy but, as you know, he recently became an inventor . . .’
‘Gosh, we didn’t know that either!’ said Amy, and it was quite possible that Ricky agreed with her because he said, ‘I agree with Amy.’
‘We knew that he made things in his big shed in the garden,’ Amy continued. ‘Like new designs, new products, that sort of thing, but we didn’t know he was an inventor. Did we, Ricky?’
Ricky agreed with Amy again but, for some reason that escaped the children, the man was getting even more irritable. ‘Look, kids, listen! He was an inventor!’ he shouted. They noticed that he was becoming quite red in the face. He closed his posh eyes and took a posh deep breath before continuing. ‘And the government had heard about his latest invention and wanted to use it, and he didn’t want them to, so he was forced into hiding right here in Greentiles.’
‘Wow!’ said Daniel in unrestrained astonishment, but slightly worried that enthrallment might be creeping up on them all, which might severely irritate the irritable posh medium-sized man even more.
The man continued talking. ‘It all started when there was a threat to the world, and our government learnt that, if this threat happened, then the world was at risk from it happening, so your Uncle Quagmire has been kidnapped to help prevent it happening. . . erm, can I ask . . . your expressions? Are you all following this?’
To be honest, out of the five, only Whatshisname appeared to be following it, giving a knowing nod of his head in the direction of the man every now and again. The others, far from looking enthralled, were looking positively mystified.
‘So,’ said Betty, sounding quite important for a girl of her weight/height ratio, ‘as I understand it, he’s been kidnapped for a reason that is beyond our current comprehension and that of most people.’
‘Woof woof woof?’ said Whatshisname, glaring hard at Betty.
‘That’s about the size of it, give or take an inch,’ said the man. ‘I’m so glad you all understand. Now, where’s my head? I must take my leave – or is it take your leave, I never know.’
The medium-sized posh man reached up and retrieved the head from the top of the Ovaltine machine. He tucked it under his arm.
‘Oh, one more thing,’ he said, ‘if only to justify my presence in your pathetic little story. Can I say that if you want a really good adventure, and want to know where he was taken to, he’s most likely being held captive in a big castle up on Lower Downs. There’s something up, something very peculiar indeed, going down up there on Lower Downs, that’s for sure. But it’s up to you – or is it down to you.’
‘We certainly wouldn’t say no to a really good adventure,’ said Daniel. ‘But how far is it to get up to this Lower Downs from here?’
The man and his under-arm head looked quite pensive again. ‘It’s quite complicated. It depends.’
‘Depends on what?’ asked Daniel. He instantly regretted his question.
‘It depends very much on how you travel,’ the posh medium-sized man replied thoughtfully. ‘Walking? Well, that would make it a very long way, especially if you stop on the way for a small glass of reduced-sugar lemonade and a honey-glazed ham and organic chive sandwich. Yet if you went by horse and trap, for instance, it would still take you a long time, but not so long as walking, unless it was a very slow old horse, of course, in which case it would certainly be faster to walk alongside and feed it the occasional motivating carrot. But, as an option – and this is where it gets a bit exciting – if you had a Ferrari 612 Scaglietti V12, preferably a red one, then you’d be there in no time, unless you had to stop for petrol, and maybe a tall mug of cappuccino and a roasted vegetable sandwich with pine nuts. It’s all so complicated you see. Noth
ing in this life is straightforward, don’t you agree? Anyway, I can’t stop here listening to you chatting away all day. I have to go and return this head to its rightful owner.’
And with that, the medium-sized posh man hurried away down the corridor and out of sight. The children all knew that there was a question they should have asked the man, but none of them could think of it.
‘Right,’ said Betty, turning to the others. ‘We need to get this adventure on the road – any road – and we need to get ourselves up to Lower Downs. Do you have any really helpful ideas?’
‘Well, I’m hungry, so let’s go and find a tea shop,’ suggested Ricky, really unhelpfully.
Betty glared at him. ‘Has anyone other than Ricky got any ideas?’ she asked.
‘Do we still have the world atlas?’ asked Amy. ‘Where is it?’
‘I’ve got it,’ said Daniel. ‘I kept it down my trousers.’
Whatshisname sighed and recalled the Shakespearean lines: Vigilance! For it is the trousers most foul that oft harbour rank-infested detachments. ‘Woof woof woof!’ he warned.
Daniel reached down the front of his trousers and pulled out the world atlas, which he offered to Betty. She took it quite gingerly, inspected it, then told them it was safe to gather round. They scoured the pages for Lower Downs.
‘It’s no good,’ Daniel said after a while. ‘I’m no good at scouring. Never have been. We need to ask someone the way, urgently. Uncle Quagmire might be in mortal danger of death, and in desperate need of our immediate highly-trained assistance. Maybe Ricky’s idea is the best one. The helpful owner of a local teashop would know where this Lower Downs is.’
‘He’s right,’ said Ricky enthusiastically. ‘Let’s all go and explore.’
And so The Secret Five (founder members only) left Greentiles and started to walk slowly yet urgently in the direction that the road was taking. At one point they were resting on a roadside bench by the side of the road when suddenly, without any warning, nothing happened for a while. Then, in the middle of nothing happening, a strange thing happened. A policeman came riding up on a black policeman’s bicycle, but he was white.
‘Well, I’m blessed!’ he said, drawing to a halt to look at the group of children and their dog. He took off his policeman’s helmet, scratched his head, replaced his helmet, then rode on and they never saw him again.
They had just continued walking when Amy exclaimed, ‘Look, ahead of us, there’s a village. Maybe it has a cosy little teashop with a helpful lady owner who can make us some sandwiches and lend us four bicycles and tell us the way up to Lower Downs.’
‘Don’t be soppy,’ said Daniel, quite hurtfully, but they all hurried their step until they were standing right outside a cosy little teashop. They peered inside. But just as they were starting to question why they had to do all this spontaneous peering, the teashop door opened, and there stood a little old lady with an apron tied neatly around her little old lady’s waist.
‘Come on in, four lovely children with your doggy,’ she said in a little old lady’s voice and beckoning them in with her little old lady’s arm. ‘I’m the helpful lady owner of this cosy little teashop. Would you like me to make you some sandwiches and lend you some bicycles? I’d be quick, as I know you’re on an urgent adventure and are probably rushing to rescue somebody in trouble. There’s not even time to describe my teashop, although that would have been nice, to give you a sense of place, what with the tired Seventies decor and the musty carpet smell that somewhat overpowers the aroma of burnt toast and festering cheese, made somewhat more pleasant than it sounds by the stiff little silvery vases of dazzlingly gay cut flowers – dahlias, petunias, cornflowers, their faces turned upwards to the sky, shining their vibrancies to all that enter herein, making their welcome known to one and . . .’
‘Er, hello! Please stop it,’ interrupted Betty. ‘This is not Virginia Woolf! We’re The Secret Five and such silly talk only muddles us.’
‘Sorry,’ the little old lady said, brushing her pale and worn fingertips over one of the stiff little vases of dazzlingly gay cut flowers. ‘Only it’s not very often I get the chance to describe my teashop. Forgive me. Now, children, let’s move on to important matters. I suppose you’ll be wanting me to join The Secret Five as an honorary member, won’t you?’
‘Why yes!’ exclaimed Amy. ‘And how considerate, and what a nice surprise!’
‘That would be splendid,’ murmured Ricky, rather sullenly. ‘But, be warned, apparently you’ll have to forego all the privileges if you join.’
‘Not a problem,’ the little old lady said brightly as she sniffed her stiff little armpits in a dazzlingly gay way. ‘I can manage without the weekend with the Sugababes thank you very much.’ And off she shuffled to make their sandwiches out of some recently-fresh bread.
‘Sugababes?’ bleated Ricky. ‘She said a weekend with the Sugababes! But . . . how . . . when . . .’
‘You’ve only yourself to blame,’ said Betty. ‘I’m going to buy you a diary.’
Ricky sulked, staring at his shoes yet again.
Indeed, the little old lady was just as helpful as she said she was. Very soon, they had packs of sandwiches, some homemade sweets, a bottle of strangely coloured juice, a huge bone for Whatshisname, a brand new bicycle each, and handy laminated directions on how to get up to Lower Downs.
‘Thank you very much,’ called Betty to the little old lady as they mounted the bicycles outside the teashop. ‘Such kindness is rare in these days of anti-social behavioural orders. You certainly give little old ladies a good name.’
‘Not at all,’ the little old lady said, suddenly becoming quite downcast. ‘All this kindness to you is really in memory of my poor dear favourite aunty who, some forty years ago and more, died a brutal and gruesome death at the hands of her ill-tempered husband after she showed kindness to some lovely children and their fat ugly dog who were on an adventure in some distant far-off land.’
‘Oh, right,’ called Amy, ignoring the blatant foreshadowing. ‘Never mind, eh?’
They all waved a cheery goodbye as they rode away from the teashop. The little old lady stood in the doorway waving back at them, wondering what she would tell her little old husband when he found out that she’d given away yet another set of bicycles and most of the week’s supper, and that a fat spaniel was now probably gnawing at his much coveted sixty-five-million-year-old rare dinosaur bone from the Mesozoic Period – the very bone, as it happened, that held the much-sought-after reason why the dinosaurs became extinct; the very bone that would have helped scientists discount theories of asteroid strikes, super-volcanoes, climate change and deadly radiation from an exploding supernova, and placed the blame fairly and squarely on the fact that the dinosaurs became so clinically depressed due to all the speculative talk about asteroid strikes, super-volcanoes, climate change and deadly radiation from an exploding supernova that they no longer felt up to any form of procreative activity and, between them, agreed a pact for a worldwide bout of mass dinosaur-suicide on August 10th 64,997,993 BC, a pact that included the crocodiles who, in a rather sneaky move that was unknown to the dinosaurs, had secretly agreed amongst themselves to fake their suicides and then open their greedy crocodile eyes to the mother of all meals.
Anyway, the four children cycled happily along the country lanes in the sunshine, keeping at least one eye out for signs of wild ponies or shy deer so they could say ah! and tilt their heads. Whatshisname trotted alongside them, stopping occasionally to sniff something dubious in the hedgerow or about his person, or to gnaw on his bone which, he thought, tasted as though it was a little past its gnaw-by date and hardly worth the effort. He thought that they don’t make bones like they used to. No wonder they’re a poor second to peanut butter.
After cycling for what seemed like miles and miles, but was in fact miles and miles and miles, they reached a place where they stopped for a rest. Phew! They were really glad of the rest.
After they had been glad for a w
hile they went on their way again, huffing a bit and puffing quite a lot, especially down the hills, which were unbelievably steep as hills go. Eventually, they rounded a bend in the lane and were confronted by a sign!
‘Look!’ said Betty, dutifully pointing at the sign. ‘The signpost for Lower Downs!’
‘Yes,’ said Daniel as he cycled up to inspect it. ‘It says Really Top Secret Government Establishment ahead. All unauthorised authors and their one-dimensional characters please keep out!’
‘Bother,’ said Ricky. ‘Does that mean that we can’t go in?’
‘Yes,’ said Betty rather decisively for someone who doesn’t floss her teeth regularly. ‘I think that includes us.’
‘Oh!’ said Daniel.
‘Then, this time, do you think it might really be the end of our adventure?’ asked Amy.
Yes! thought Whatshisname. Yes!!
Chapter Seven
In which Daniel gets a bit irate with the author, which he may live to regret; we’ll see, shall we; Whatshisname saves their bacon, or is that the next chapter; anyway, they find an unexpected window to sneak through, and unexpectedly sneak through it.
Unfortunately it wasn’t the end of their adventure. To everyone’s surprise, except his own, Whatshisname suddenly dropped his bone and grabbed Ricky’s sandwiches! He scampered off past the sign, down the lane and up over Lower Downs, until he was out of sight.
‘Gosh, he can scamper fast, for his size. I suppose we’d better go after him at some stage,’ suggested Betty half-heartedly.
‘Must we?’ moaned Amy.
‘My sandwiches!’ cried Ricky in a pathetic girly voice.
‘Never mind that. Look over there!’ said Daniel, pointing over there somewhere. ‘In the direction Whatshisname ran! I can see a castle!’
And indeed, up on the top of Lower Downs, there was a castle sticking up out of the ground. It wasn’t a big castle, nor was it a small castle. To be brutally honest it wasn’t really a castle, it was just a big old house with tall chimneys but the previous owners had been named Mr and Mrs Castle and since then, to the local folk, it had been known as The Castle’s Place and subsequently, over a period of time, shortened to . . .
The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy Page 5
