The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy

by John Lawrence

  ‘Is that what we do?’ whispered Amy. ‘Gosh!’

  ‘Haven’t you read our mission statement, Amy?’ Betty said, frowning hard in her direction. ‘Shame on you. Those are our core values and – oh, do stop crying, Daniel!’

  Daniel removed his spectacles and wiped his eyes with the back of his own left hand. ‘Dwabi, woo-man, Ah-m stout! Rispect! No chicky blurbing, innit?’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Betty. ‘He’s gone as well. Slap him, Amy.’

  ‘Hey sis, cuz!’ said Daniel. ‘Ah-m hella Goody-Two, das me! Ah-m rockin’ an’ strolling! I ain’t moked, innit! Any roadway, chowlee! Less get off our keisters an’ do dis thang ’cos I do’n wanna circle the drain . . . Nah wot I mean?’

  Amy slapped him really hard. Daniel reeled back, then reeled forwards again. ‘Amy! Don’t do that! You’re making me reel backwards and forwards!’ he squeaked, tears rolling down his cheeks and into a handy gutter, from where they would eventually reach the sea and fascinate a small shoal of inquisitive fish. ‘And we could all jolly well die in here,’ he added. ‘From starvation or malnutrition, or even rising damp! Don’t you understand, we could DIE!’

  And he was right! They could all DIE in there if someone didn’t find a way out!

  Chapter Fourteen

  In which Whatshisname ponders the meaning of life; there’s a lot of tapping and groping; they all long to find a secret tunnel; Daniel hurts his foot; shame; they hear a noise; this is desperate stuff; we start to wonder about Waterstone’s exchange policy.

  ‘No, Daniel, you’re wrong! We couldn’t DIE,’ said Amy brightly. ‘We’re far too important to the story to DIE. By the way, I really do enjoy slapping you. It’s quite satisfying, therapeutic, and I do wonder if I should seek counselling about it.’

  But she was right, both about the counselling and the fact that they were far too important to the story. We would not have reached this far without them.1 And maybe things weren’t so bad after all because, through the gloom and darkness, Betty spotted a notice on the wall. ‘Look! A notice on the wall!’ she said, as predictable as ever.

  Daniel immediately stopped the silly crying, put his spectacles back on and looked at the wall. They all went over to the notice, except for Whatshisname, who sat down and hung his head. The spontaneous and relentless ear pinching and the strangely capitalised word DIE had given him cause to reflect once again on the meaning of life. Indeed, was it all worth it, this dog’s life? He sighed. He knew that The Secret Five was a staunchly secular organisation, yet lately he’d been pondering not only on the Do Animals Think? quandary (a question that had no ready answer, he suspected) but specifically on the question Does Dog Exist? He’d been thinking a lot more about the possibility that he, Whatshisname, only exists in the minds of humans because they can see and, evidently, smell him. It’s that colour / no colour thing again. Remove all observers, with their noses, and he doesn’t exist. Hmmm. That’s worth more of an extended ponder sometime. And here’s a thought, he thought – did Man create Dog when he stepped out of his cave and looked at the sunlight glinting off the clutter of bones lying on the ground, and did Man One say to Man Two, ‘Ugg, Man Two, we must find a way of recycling all those bones, so what about us creating an animal that chews them to pulp and is quite servile to boot, ugg.’ That might have been it! Dog was created by Man as part of his early recycling imperatives.

  Or, hang on, was Man created by Dog? First there was Dog? If so, he thought, clearly Dog didn’t create Man in his own image, that wouldn’t have made any sense – Crufts would be a nightmare, trying to tell owners from entries. Judging the Obedience World Cup and, indeed, the Heelwork To Music event would be a mighty challenge for the panel – whose heels do they scrutinise? A tweed-skirted florist from Cheltenham could scoop the Best In Breed prize. No, he thought, thank Dog that Man wasn’t like Dog. I mean, look at them now. They know they could DIE in the dungeon and all they’re interested in is a stupid notice on a wall. Dog help them. He sighed again and tried to lick his sore ears. Dog should have been created with longer tongues, that’s for sure.

  ‘Golly!’ said Betty as she read the notice on the wall. ‘It says, in fifteen languages, There is probably no secret switch or secret tunnel hidden in this dungeon cell.’

  ‘Bother!’ said Amy, summing up all her thoughts in one incisive word.

  ‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, taking a break from trying to stretch his tongue.

  ‘Well, I reckon there is a secret tunnel,’ reckoned Daniel, who was sometimes jolly good at reckoning. ‘I reckon – again – that there’s a big loose secret brick in the wall that lifts out and reveals a secret switch. There always is. Adventures wouldn’t be adventures without hidden secret switches.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Betty. ‘Come on! Let’s tap the walls and see.’

  They groped around and tapped the walls of the dark and dank cell for a loose brick, having organised their tapping and groping so that they didn’t tap and grope the same part of the wall, which would have been a real waste of a tap and a grope. All of a sudden Amy squealed, ‘I think I’ve found the big loose secret brick! Over here!’

  The others rushed over to Squealing Amy and had a grope.

  ‘She’s right,’ confirmed Betty. ‘This big brick is loose!’

  Whatshisname sensed the excitement and gave up trying to lick his ears. He padded over to the others and was a little dismayed that he had missed out on all the groping. Daniel pushed and pulled at the big loose brick until it came away from the wall and fell on his foot.

  ‘Is there a lever inside the hole?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Ouch!’ said Daniel. ‘Aaaaaagh! My foot!’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Betty, feeling around in the hole.

  ‘Owwww!’ said Daniel, his spectacles steaming up with all the agony.

  ‘Is there a switch then?’ asked Amy, brightly.

  ‘Aaaaagh!’ moaned Daniel. ‘I feel quite faint!’

  ‘There might be a switch in there somewhere,’ said Betty.

  ‘Woof woof woof,’ agreed Whatshisname, standing on his back legs and peering into the hole.

  ‘Ow! Do you think it’s broken?’ asked Daniel, sinking down onto the floor and clutching his foot, which had instantly swollen up to one and a half times the size of a normal human size 7 foot, making it a size 10½ and potentially rather awkward for any future shoe shopping if he ever wanted to buy a matching pair.

  ‘No. There’s nothing in here,’ said Betty. ‘Just a hole with another brick at the back.’

  ‘Is that back brick loose then?’ asked Amy.

  ‘I feel really faint now,’ said Daniel, really faintly.

  ‘No, the back brick is quite firm,’ said Betty enthusiastically. ‘So, let’s tap and grope around some more. Daniel, you take that wall at the back.’

  ‘But . . .’ moaned Daniel.

  ‘And Amy,’ said Betty, ‘you take the wall by the door.’

  Daniel struggled to his foot. Gingerly, cautiously, he tried to put some weight onto the size 10½ foot, and realised that he had made a huge song and dance about nothing. He was a man after all! A damaged foot shouldn’t distract him from his mission, nor should it clutter the narrative. Too late, but he just had to be brave. Mind you, he was still irritated by their overwhelming lack of concern, so he decided that he’d join the second phase of mass groping and, as a protest, he wouldn’t tap. At all. That would show them!

  They all continued their groping and/or tapping until they realised, suddenly, that the notice on the wall was right. There was probably no secret switch or secret tunnel!

  ‘Blow,’ said Betty, quite unhappily.

  ‘I agree,’ agreed Amy.

  ‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, sinking onto the floor. It was about time for a nap anyway. His ears still burned from all the pinching and his brain hurt from all the philosophical pondering.

  They were all quite dejected and very irritated at the lack of foresight of the eleventh c
entury architects, quality engineers, project managers and brickies. Betty and Amy sat down gloomily on the cell’s stone floor. Daniel sat on a big wooden square that was set into the middle of the cell floor. It had a big metal ring attached to it, just like a handle.

  ‘I can’t believe that we’re trapped in here,’ Daniel said. ‘A dungeon cell without any means of escape.’ He started to fiddle with the big metal ring on the floor.

  ‘Neither can I,’ said Amy. ‘It’s so unfair.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Betty quite unhappily. ‘Maybe we are going to DIE in here after all.’

  ‘We all need to talk,’ said Daniel. ‘Talking is good. I think we should have a meeting to decide what to do and to brainstorm some ideas. Run them through the wringer, shred the unworkable ones and gilt-frame the workable ones and scrutinise them for positive threads and negative threads then follow them through until we’re left with a cost-effective solution. That usually works. After all, The Secret Five has always been proud of its listening culture.’

  ‘Er, sorry?’ said Amy. ‘What did you say? I wasn’t really listening.’

  ‘I said . . .’ started Daniel.

  ‘Hey, I tell you what,’ said Betty, standing up. ‘I’ve just thought of what we should do. I think we should have a meeting to decide what to do and to brainstorm some ideas. Run them through the wringer. That usually works.’

  ‘Good idea, Betty!’ said Amy.

  ‘Woof woof woof!’ agreed Whatshisname.

  ‘So,’ said Betty, ‘I declare this meeting open. Password please, Daniel.’

  ‘What? I don’t know. I’ve forgotten,’ sulked Daniel, whisking off his spectacles. He sucked the curly end that rests on an ear. ‘Is it still testicle?’

  Betty sighed quite a big sigh, by modern standards. ‘Honestly, Daniel, you haven’t been the same since you decided you had to wear spectacles. And no, it’s not testicle. Will you please stop sucking your spectacles, and stop playing with that big metal ring in the floor!’

  Daniel obediently stopped playing with the big metal ring in the floor, the one that looked like a handle. He cleaned the spectacle lenses on his sleeve.

  ‘Look,’ said Betty quite firmly. ‘If you can’t remember the password, then give me the secret sign.’

  ‘I didn’t think we had agreed a secret sign,’ said Amy.

  ‘Nor me,’ said Daniel dolefully. ‘The last one you suggested was total rubbish.’

  ‘Of course we have agreed a secret sign!’ confirmed Betty. ‘Any self-respecting children’s secret club has an agreed secret sign.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ asked Daniel. ‘Hmmm? I bet you don’t know.’

  ‘I can’t tell you, can I?’ said Betty. ‘Then it wouldn’t be a secret, would it?’

  Daniel was now quite depressed, not to mention confused. He put his spectacles back on and started to fiddle with the big metal ring in the floor, the one that looked like a handle.

  ‘Can’t we just have a meeting without secret passwords and secret signs?’ Amy suggested.

  ‘What’s the point of that?’ asked Betty, sitting down again. ‘Daniel! Please stop playing with that big metal ring in the floor.’

  ‘Why?’ said Daniel, pulling up the big metal ring and then dropping it so that it thudded with a loud echoing thud against the big wooden square in the floor.

  ‘Because it’s not ours and you might break it!’ said Betty.

  Daniel again stopped playing with the big metal ring in the floor, THE ONE THAT LOOKED LIKE A HANDLE.

  ‘Thank you, Daniel,’ said Betty. ‘Now, what if we have a meeting to agree a new password and the secret sign, then have a secondary meeting to decide how to get us out of this cell that was built without a secret door.’

  Daniel and Amy agreed, and they were about to start the meeting when Betty suddenly said, ‘Daniel! What’s that you’re sitting on?’

  Daniel looked down at the big wooden square in the floor. ‘A big wooden square in the floor,’ he said, quite accurately.

  ‘Is it warmer to sit on?’ Betty asked. ‘Because this stone floor is making my lower region quite chilly and Aunt Trinny always warns us of the inherent danger of such things. She says it causes hammer, erm, hammer something.’

  ‘I think it must be warmer,’ said Daniel, ‘although there seems to be quite a draught around the edges, blowing up from somewhere.’

  He moved over so that the two girls and Whatshisname could also sit on the big wooden square in the floor. They sat and became even more quite depressed about their predicament, about there being no obvious means of escape. Betty started to play with the big metal ring in the floor, THE ONE THAT LOOKED LIKE A HANDLE.

  Irritatingly, they sat there for approximately two hours ten minutes (or, for Whatshisname, seven hundred and eighty five sticks) although to them it only seemed like a day or so. To kill time, they took the opportunity to chat about this and that, which actually didn’t take them very long because, as indicative pronouns, this and that weren’t very interesting words. Not compared to postpositive adjectives or subordinating conjunctions, anyway.

  Suddenly, without warning, they heard what sounded like a noise outside the door. Actually, it was slightly more than a noise, it was a voice!

  ‘Are you in there?’ the slightly noisy voice said.

  The children stood up, astonished, and froze! They could, of course, have stayed sitting on the floor to freeze, but freezing is much more effective in an upright position, according to leading scientists2.

  But, putting revolutionary theories of astonished freezing aside, who could this be, asking if they were in there? And how did the voice know that anyone was in there in the first place? This was indeed a mystery!

  Chapter Fifteen

  In which they are in danger of being rescued from their predicament; there’s a bit of careless talk about a spy in their midst; a colour prejudice issue rears its ugly head but then goes away so don’t worry too much about it; a cute tabby kitten causes a global catastrophe.

  ‘What was that?’ Amy asked. ‘Did you hear something?’

  ‘I think that was someone outside the door saying are you in there,’ said Daniel, who was now highly experienced in listening.

  Whatshisname trotted over to the door and started to scratch and paw at it. He whimpered, just a little, for he recognised a mystery voice when he heard one.

  ‘Hello,’ called the mystery voice. ‘Are you in there?’

  ‘What shall we do?’ whispered Daniel uncertainly.

  ‘Ask who it is,’ suggested Amy. ‘Go on, Betty.’

  ‘Okay,’ whispered Betty. She pressed her face up against the door and asked, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s me!’ said the voice.

  Betty turned to the others. ‘It said it’s me,’ she whispered.

  ‘Ask it again,’ suggested Daniel.

  ‘You ask it this time,’ whispered Betty.

  Daniel did so, trying not to sound too needy.

  ‘It’s me, Ricky!’ replied the voice.

  ‘It says it’s me, Ricky,’ whispered Daniel to the others.

  ‘It can’t be Ricky!’ whispered Amy. ‘It’s 1964, and he hasn’t been born yet, apparently.’

  ‘She’s right,’ said Betty, quite amazed at Amy’s sudden and uncharacteristic flash of cleverness.

  They gasped as they heard the sound of a bolt being unbolted. Slowly, yet compassionately, the door creaked open! There stood Ricky, dressed in an Austrian outfit which consisted of lederhosen, a baggy shirt in a sort of green curtain material and a silly Austrian hat. The three children and Whatshisname stepped back in a moderate display of acute amazement.

  ‘It is Ricky!’ said Amy. ‘Gosh! What are you wearing? Crikey! Are those your own knees?’

  ‘They are,’ confirmed Ricky, waggling his own knees to prove it. ‘And the shorts, for sheer comfort, are of a breathable fabric.’

  Amy stared at the shorts. She listened really hard. She came to the conclusio
n that Ricky was fibbing big-time, as she couldn’t hear them breathing.

  ‘Wait!’ said Betty. ‘How do we know that it is actually Ricky? What with face transplants and all that. He could be anyone.’

  ‘But I’m not anyone!’ said Ricky, who really was Ricky and not anyone.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Betty, ‘if you are indeed Ricky, give us the secret sign.’

  ‘Secret sign?’ squeaked Ricky. ‘I didn’t even know we had agreed on a secret sign.’

  ‘Then it is him!’ said Amy excitedly to the others. She turned to Ricky. ‘We’ve been trapped in here for ages! How did you get here?’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Ricky, quite firmly and urgently. ‘I’ve really missed you two, you know.’

  ‘There’s four of us,’ insisted Amy, frowning hard at his sudden inability to count properly.

  ‘Erm . . . yes, four, of course,’ agreed Ricky, quickly averting his gaze from Betty’s chest. ‘Now, we must go and find this Bartle fellow and save the world!’

  ‘Woof woof woof!’ agreed Whatshisname.

  ‘How do you know about all that?’ asked Daniel.

  ‘It’s quite a long story,’ said Ricky.

  ‘Don’t bother then,’ said Betty.

  ‘Well, since you ask, I sort of found myself whooshed away here to 1964,’ said Ricky relentlessly. ‘I landed on top of a swarthy Italian tourist, and when I explained about The Secret Five, he said that he and all his friends were honorary members and he told me all about Uncle Quagmire and his secret mission.’ Suddenly, he stopped talking and glanced inside the dungeon cell.

  ‘Isn’t that a secret trapdoor in the floor?’ he said. ‘It probably leads to a secret tunnel and freedom.’

  The others turned and looked at the big wooden square in the floor with a big metal ring that looked like a handle. Daniel stamped his foot and looked upwards. ‘Well,’ he said, quite upset. ‘This is typical! You’d have thought that somebody would have told us.’

  Betty and Amy stamped their feet in agreement. In fact they stamped their feet so hard that it really hurt, so it serves them right.