‘Excuse me, Uncle Quagmire, but is that you talking, or are you still reading?’ asked Ricky.
‘I’m reading!’ snapped Uncle Quagmire, quite irritably, before continuing reading: ‘How foolish I was . . .’
‘I don’t think he is reading it,’ whispered Ricky to Betty.
Uncle Quagmire slammed the book down onto his lap, making the children frown quite suddenly and, as a side effect, making himself wince.
‘Look,’ he squeaked, wiping a tear from his eye, ‘to make it easier, I tell you what. I’ll summapsulate what Sampson says in words you can all understand. Okay?’
They all thought that was a good idea, except one inquisitive lady hotel guest who said she wanted Uncle Quagmire to read on, as she was quite taken with the way in which the narrative conveyed a sense of spiritual crisis caused by a failure of conventional values and the way that Uncle Quagmire sucked on his moustache at every punctuation mark.
‘Sampson de Lylow,’ continued Uncle Quagmire, ‘was a normal teenager until 1980. He was troubled, impetuous, dissolute, self-indulgent . . .’
‘Is that what we’re like?’ asked Amy.
Uncle Quagmire ignored her and continued. ‘. . . not to mention headstrong, wayward, hedonistic . . .’
‘It certainly sounds like us,’ said Betty.
‘And then something happened,’ said Uncle Quagmire, relentlessly. ‘He was the subject of a rejection at school, a rejection so cruel and heartless that it turned him into the man he became instead of the man who . . . erm, the man who . . . he didn’t become.’
Amy looked very confused. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to go back to reading it from the book?’ she asked.
Uncle Quagmire ignored her and continued talking. ‘It was the final straw for Sampson de Lylow. After years of being humiliated and teased mercilessly about his mightily small ears . . .’
‘Just like yours!’ exclaimed Amy. ‘What a coincidence!’
‘. . . he had the chance,’ Uncle Quagmire continued, ‘to make a name for himself on stage. Admittedly it was in a school play but, for the first time in his life, he would be applauded as a soloist in a boy band. Before he could accomplish his castanet solo, however, he was banished from the band and the chance to shine was suddenly whisked away from him in an extremely humiliating and even more extremely public manner.’
‘Gosh!’ said Daniel, unable to think of anything deeply profound to say.
‘Indeed. So your mission, Secret Five, is to go to that school in 1980 and stop that utter humiliation,’ Uncle Quagmire said with a serious expression on some parts of his face.
‘But why can’t you come with us?’ asked Amy.
Uncle Quagmire smiled, then stopped smiling, making it quite a short smile as smiles go. ‘Because,’ he said, ‘you will need to mingle with the schoolchildren, and I’d look silly trying to do that, wouldn’t I? What with my knobbly knees and my disarmingly attractive facial hair.’
‘Excuse me, I have a question,’ said one of the several inquisitive hotel guests, raising his hand.
Daniel looked quite upset. ‘So do I!’ he said, waving his arm in the air. ‘It’s . . . erm . . . erm . . .’
‘My question is,’ continued the hotel guest after waiting a while for Daniel to stop erming, ‘how do the children and their wretch of a dog get to 1980?’
‘That’s it!’ said Daniel. ‘ That was my question! I should have asked that!’
‘Good question,’ said Uncle Quagmire. ‘Potentially an excelteresting question, Mr. Inquisitive Hotel Guest. In reply, that’s not a problem as long as we’ve got some Brussels sprouts, something like a wardrobe for a portal, and something like a digital alarm clock.’
The hotel guests were very confused at the mention of digital alarm clocks. The children were also confused, as they didn’t realise that sprouts were a fundamental component in time travel.
‘I didn’t realise that sprouts are a fundamental component in time travel,’ said good old reliable Betty.
‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, who did. He also realised their low carbon footprint advantages.
‘Tell me,’ said Uncle Quagmire, ‘when you travelled back to 1964, did you have some Brussels sprouts on your person?’
‘Why yes!’ said Betty. ‘Daniel had some. He pocketed them at Greentiles. I saw him!’
‘I was saving them for Ricky,’ explained Daniel. ‘In case he got hungry at a later stage in the story.’
‘And I had some in my pocket as well,’ added Ricky. ‘I was saving them . . . for me.’
‘Well, there you are,’ said Uncle Quagmire. ‘Time travel can only work with sprouts in the equation, you see. It’s the sulforaphane and the dithiolthiones that react with the glucosinolates to overcome the quantum object’s timeline resistance. But, silly me, everyone knows that, I suppose.’
The children looked at each other. They were about to say that actually they didn’t know that when Bartle de Lylow came wandering through the reception, heading for the exit. He walked slowly and looked tired yet disenchanted in an enchanting sort of way. His bald head looked quite dishevelled.
‘There goes Mr Bartle!’ whispered Amy.
‘Shall I go after him and ask him how the conception went?’ whispered Betty.
‘Good idea!’ said one of the inquisitive hotel guests eagerly.
‘No,’ said Uncle Quagmire quite firmly. ‘It’s not a good idea at all. I’ll go upstairs and question Clarissa about it, to make sure we’re on the right track. I think she trusts me and doesn’t mind my hand accivertantly brushing her stunt nun’s shapely knee. If deemed necessary, that is.’
‘And she thinks that you’re quite handsome!’ said Amy.
Uncle Quagmire looked stunned, then he looked quite pleased, then he looked pleasantly stunned. He ran his fingertips over his moustache and straightened some of his hairs. ‘My my,’ he said, ‘I don’t know about that.’
‘No, nor did we,’ said the children.
‘But what do we do while you’re talking with Clarissa?’ asked Daniel.
‘I want you to find an enclosed space that will act as a portal,’ said Uncle Quagmire. ‘And a digital clock. Impossible to find in these times, I know, but just do your best. It’s only critical. Fail and you will probably die. Failure is not in my vocabulary.’
‘Erm . . .’ said Ricky.
‘And, before you erm some more,’ Uncle Quagmire said, ‘evidently it is. But you know what I mean.’
‘Woof woof woof?’ said Whatshisname, who didn’t.
Uncle Quagmire stood up and straightened his tie. He handed Ricky a sheet of paper. ‘These are the instructions for setting up the clock. Use this knowledge wisely, young ones. You may want to look at them later or, just in case an unforeseen event happens, a bit earlier than later. So, I’ll see you back here in ten, er, let’s say twenty minutes. No, make it thirty. And I’ll then tell you if you have to go to 1980.’ He walked towards the lift, pausing only to adjust his nostril hairs in a mirror. The inquisitive hotel guests began to drift away in quite small but manageable drifts, leaving The Secret Five to discuss what to do next.
‘So,’ said Ricky, ‘it seems that we need to find a portal. Urgently! Very urgently!’
The others all nodded and murmured agreement.
‘Anyone got any idea what a portal is?’ Ricky added. ‘I haven’t. Shall we find somewhere to eat first?’
‘No time for that!’ said Betty. ‘It’s portal time. Let’s split up and find something like a wardrobe that will serve as a portal.’
‘Tell me,’ said Daniel to Betty, ‘are you the only one of us who knows what a portal actually is?’
‘Woof woof woof!!!’ said Whatshisname indignantly.
‘Don’t be rude!’ said Amy. ‘Of course we know. It’s another name for a wardrobe. Silly boy!’
‘She could be right,’ said Ricky. ‘Do you know, sometimes I think Amy is much cleverer than she looks.’
‘Huh?’ said A
my.
‘Let’s spring into action!’ urged Betty. ‘Daniel and Ricky, you go find a handy portal. Amy and I will search for something like a digital clock.’
‘What about me?’ asked an inquisitive pale lady who had missed the cue for all the drifting away.
‘What about you?’ asked Daniel, rather firmly yet quite limply.
‘Well,’ said the pale lady, ‘I wondered if I could help you find your portal and something that looks like a digital clock.’
The children looked at each other for about two seconds longer than was necessary. Then Betty spoke.
‘I don’t want to be rude,’ she said, ‘but we are The Secret Five at the critical phase of an important adventure. We are highly motivated and highly trained in this sort of thing, and I’m not sure that you are allowed to help us.’
‘I don’t know why he does this to us,’ moaned Daniel, jabbing his thumb skywards. ‘We’re continually being interrupted by complete strangers who want to join our adventure and probably join our secret club as well.’
‘Nonsense!’ the pale lady said. ‘But if you don’t want to hear about the wardrobe in my room . . .’
‘Wardrobe?’ said Amy. ‘In your room?’
‘Yes,’ said the inquisitive pale lady. ‘But I’m afraid that the digital display alarm clock doesn’t get invented until sometime in the future, so you’re out of luck. You’ll have to stay here, in 1964. What a laugh!’
All of a sudden, Betty became quite grumpy, grumpier than she had ever been before, so grumpy that you could almost hear the sound of someone’s typing slowing down uncertainly. She spoke in a really grumpy voice to the others.
‘I’m getting fed up of this. I can fully understand why you walked off, Ricky. Chapter breaks and all that I can put up with, just about, but plot holes are something else. Is there some place we can all go and have a quiet chat without you-know-who listening? Without the dog?’
‘Over there!’ said Daniel, pointing to a handy sidebar nearby. ‘Let’s go in there and talk privately!’
‘Yes, let’s!’ agreed Amy, frowning.
Chapter Twenty
In which several troublesome things happen, and Ricky regrets the lack of HobNobs.
‘Okay, we can talk in here,’ said Daniel, ‘without him listening and being regularly punctuated by exclamation marks. We can be ourselves. God, this is so tiring.’
‘You’re right,’ said Betty. ‘We can talk in here like adults. Anyone else uneasy with all this crap?’
‘Me,’ said Amy. ‘It feels so tiresome and dreary being a one dimensional anodyne protagonist and having to say stuff like “yes, let’s”.’
‘Too bloody right!’ Ricky said. ‘And, what gets me is the regular use of these simple adjectives, qualifiers, adverbs, and basic linguistic structure.’
‘Although I notice,’ Daniel said, ‘that sometimes you’re actually given dialogue with a particularly literary register, Betty. ’
‘You’re just jealous. But it’s refreshing when it happens, that’s for sure,’ she said, ‘although I crave for dramatic irony and the odd metaphor.’
‘So, do we just carry on? What do you think, Betty?’ Ricky asked.
‘We have no choice.’
‘Betty’s right,’ agreed Amy. ‘We do have to. God, let’s get it over with. I can’t wait for a good bonk when we get out of here.’
They laughed. ‘That’s what I like about Amy,’ Daniel said. ‘She always lets her art show through.’
‘But this is crazy!’ said Ricky. ‘I can’t do this. I have a third dimension that’s bursting to break out.’
‘Just stick with it for now,’ suggested Betty.
‘Exactly,’ said Daniel. ‘But to be honest, that dog gets on my nerves. The suggestion that it knows more than we do is ridiculous.’
‘I’ll agree with that,’ said Ricky. ‘But can I make a point? We have no plotted means of getting back to the present day. We can’t just walk out, as we’d be stuck in 1964, and I have other contracts. I’m due to play the young Leopold Bloom in Ulysses The Prequel soon.’
‘So what do we do?’ asked Amy.
‘Well, we can’t all leave now,’ said Betty.
‘And I can’t live in 1964 Salzburg forever, for God’s sake,’ said Daniel. ‘This is a plot hole that I can’t see a way out of. How do we get out of 1964? No digital alarm clocks, you see. It’s yet another plot cock-up. Just like all these 1964 people who know we exist! Crazy!’
‘Maybe,’ suggested Betty, ‘we should quiz this Uncle Quagmire character about it. He seems to know about this sort of stuff.’
‘Then we’ll do that,’ said Ricky.
‘And be nice to the dog,’ said Amy. ‘She’s probably as upset as all of us.’
‘Isn’t she a he?’ asked Betty. Amy shrugged. ‘No idea.’
‘Let’s go and do as Betty says,’ said Ricky, ‘and quiz this Quagmire character.’
‘Okay, let’s go,’ said Daniel. ‘The quicker we get on with Act III, the quicker we’ll be out of here.’
‘Yes, let’s go,’ said Amy.
They all trooped off to the sidebar, leaving the inquisitive pale lady standing there with Whatshisname. Suddenly he felt quite alone and dejected without his chums.
‘Hello!’ said the lady, bending down to stroke Whatshisname’s head. ‘You’re a lovely fellow, aren’t you?’
‘Woof woof woof!’ said Whatshisname, pleased at being called a fellow, given previous misguided assumptions about his gender.
‘I tell you what!’ said the inquisitive pale lady. ‘While they’re away, why don’t I go and sit over there on that comfy chair, alongside their sidebar, and you can sit by me and we can chat.’
‘Woof woof woof!’ said Whatshisname. He followed her and sat down at her feet. He peeked over her shoulder to see inside the sidebar, but couldn’t see anything except a haze of italics, so he gazed up at her, his eyes considerably full of dole. To be honest, this could turn out to be his worst nightmare, apart from the trebuchet incident – what on earth were his pals talking about? Not vets, surely?
Never mind, he had this nice inquisitive lady for company. He only wished that he had the power of speech, then he could tell her all about Nixie digital clocks.
‘You are really nice,’ the inquisitive lady sighed. ‘Just like my old doggy.’
She stroked Whatshisname’s head. He sighed and began to relax a bit.
‘Yes, I remember my old doggy, bless her, looking up at me as I drove the knife in. Such pitiful eyes. She made no sound as she died, just a little gurgle. When you think about it, if only she’d made no sound in life, then I’d have had no reason to have killed her – where are you going? Come back! Nice doggy!’
But Whatshisname had gone! He had shot off and was now busy cowering behind the reception desk.
The inquisitive lady shrugged, then slipped the penknife back into her pocket. She waited for the children to finish in the sidebar, and thought this was taking far longer than she’d expected. She started to worry that her meagre part in the story might become even more meagre by the time they’d finished.
More worrying to her was that she might not have enough meaningful narrative to fill the space alongside the sidebar. But, happily for her and for everyone, it worked out just fine.
‘Hello!’ the inquisitive pale dog-murdering lady said as the four children came back from the sidebar. ‘Did you enjoy your little meeting?’
‘Meeting? What meeting?’ said Ricky, looking genuinely confused. ‘Where’s Whatshisname?’
The dog-murdering pale inquisitive lady frowned. ‘I don’t know. I was just explaining all about my tendency to kill defenceless animals for the flimsiest of reasons and he took off somewhere. Can I help you look for him? Please?’
‘No, we’ll look later,’ said Daniel who was, deep down, not that mortified about losing Whatshisname.
‘Yes, we have to go and find Uncle Quagmire, quite urgently,’ said Betty, feeling very im
portant all of a sudden.
‘Oh dear, don’t you want to use my wardrobe?’ the pale lady asked inquisitively.
‘Not just yet, thanks,’ said Betty. She beckoned the others towards the lift. ‘But we’ll be back soon, I believe.’
Leaving the pale inquisitive dog-murdering lady standing there fingering her knife and looking even more pale and inquisitive, the children quickly made their secret way up to the ninth floor then scampered down the stairs to the fourth floor. But when they reached the room, they saw that Whatshisname had mysteriously reached there before them! He looked very relieved to see them, or at least as very relieved as dogs can look with their somewhat rigid facial structure.
‘Gosh! Where’s Old Hag?’ asked Amy. And gosh indeed, as Old Hag was no longer lying there unconscious. She had completely disappeared!
‘This is worrying!’ said Amy, worryingly.
‘I trust that she’s not somewhere else, thoroughly spoiling our thrilling adventure again,’ moaned Ricky.
‘Never mind her,’ urged Betty. ‘Shall we knock this time? Or just burst in again? You know what happened the last time we decided to burst.’
‘I definitely think we should knock quite politely,’ said Amy. ‘I’m really not too keen on all this bodily nakedness. I still haven’t fully recovered from seeing Ricky in chapter one. I meant to ask, Ricky, what was that tiny wrinkly . . .’
‘Sssh, Amy!’ Betty shushed. She knocked gently and compassionately on the door. Then the four children and Whatshisname pressed their favourite ears against the door, listening very very hard indeed. They could hear voices, the creaking of a bed, and the sound of a pair of man’s trousers being put on rather hurriedly! They didn’t know what to do! Secret Five training had never covered how to react to bed creaking and hurried trousers!
‘What shall we do?’ whispered Daniel.
‘I suggest we should wait,’ suggested Ricky. ‘I thought I heard someone opening one of those little packets of HobNobs that you get on the tray by the kettle in the room.’
The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy Page 16
