Banker's Draft

by Clive Mullis

  ‘Is he?’ exclaimed Cornwallis. ‘What’s he doing?’

  ‘Looks like ‘e did the supervising. Buts when most of it were done, him and the man on the cart went into the warehouse thingy. Big and dark in there, youse knows, followed ‘em a while to sees what they’s up to.’

  ‘And…?’ encouraged Cornwallis.

  ‘Don’ts know; they disappeared down an ‘atch in the floor. Couldn’t follow then, so I fought I’d come back to find you lot.’

  ‘Can you show us?’ asked Cornwallis, getting excited.

  ‘Naw, don’ts feel like it.’ The cat paused and licked a paw. Cornwallis, Rose and Frankie exchanged looks. Cornwallis was just about to say something when the cat sort of grinned. ‘Just me’s little joke, course I can.’

  Another look passed between the three and an audible sigh of relief went through the cab.

  ‘He, he, he. Youse fought I weren’t gonna take youse there, didn’t youse? Just fer a minute, be ‘onest.’

  ‘I think you can say the thought crossed his mind,’ answered Rose for Cornwallis, just before he decided to strangle the thing. She looked over at him and cocked her head slightly.

  ‘Very good, Fluffy, very funny,’ said Cornwallis stiffly. ‘Now let’s get going while there’s still a chance of finding out what they’re up to.’

  The cab door opened and they all alighted. Cornwallis told Coggs to wait until they returned, and then Fluffy led the way along the dock towards where the warehouse. They dodged past all the workers, narrowly avoiding being run over more than once and eventually came close to where the carch had stopped. The carch itself was just disappearing into the distance after unloading the coach that tried to kill Cornwallis. They looked at the ship, a big three-masted monster, weather stained and encrusted with barnacles from the open seas. The name was “Greyhawk”, but where it came from, or where it was going, there was not a clue. Cornwallis filed the information away in his mind until later; it would be interesting to find out where it was destined. Fluffy rubbed up against Rose’s leg and she looked down.

  ‘This way,’ hissed the cat, and led off down the side of the warehouse.

  There were big double doors at the front, but they looked like they hadn’t been opened in years, which indeed they hadn’t; not since the Great East Company went out of business some five years ago when the chairman did a runner with all the money. He was kind enough to send back a postcard to his former associates saying “Having a lovely time, wish you were here,” just to rub salt into the wound.

  Fluffy took them to a little side door which had well oiled hinges, indicating that it had been used many times before. Cornwallis turned the handle and the door swung silently open. They stood inside, waiting, until their eyes adjusted to the dim light, and then they saw just a vast empty and dusty place. Dusty that is, except for large stretches of the floor which had been swept clean. MacGillicudy hadn’t mentioned that, thought Cornwallis, and he was as sure as night follows day that he didn’t clean up as he searched.

  The cat padded softly across the floor to a sectioned off part of the warehouse where a few old bags of tea leant against a wooden post. Fluffy entered a big office which had a few old tables ridden with woodworm and a few broken chairs with their legs at odd angles, which had all been pushed up against the rear wall.

  ‘This is where they’s went,’ he said, cleaning his whiskers.

  Cornwallis cast his eyes around but had to admit he couldn’t see a thing, there didn’t appear to be a hatch anywhere. He looked closely at the floor again in case he missed something obvious; but no, he could see nothing.

  ‘All right, Fluffy, I know you’re sitting there waiting to tell us. You have that superior look on your face.’

  ‘Ah. Us cats is always superior, didn’t yer knows that? That lamp on the wall, give it a tug.’

  Frankie got there first. ‘You mean this one?’ He pulled at it before the cat could answer and a cranking noise began, followed by the grind of machinery and then a section of the floor where Cornwallis stood began to swing away.

  ‘What the f…!’ cried Cornwallis as he found himself lowering beneath the floor at a strange angle. He jumped back up before he slid into the unknown and then looked askance at Fluffy. ‘You could have warned me.’

  The cat just grinned.

  The floor cranked to a stop and the three craned their heads over to look. There were some steps leading down about twenty feet to the floor beneath where a passage, hewn from the rock, led in two directions. There seemed to be lanterns in a small alcove at the bottom of the steps, presumably for anyone stupid enough to go exploring. The three looked at each other until Cornwallis decided that they really had no option, they had to be stupid enough to go exploring.

  Fluffy went back to wait with Coggs and Cornwallis wanted Rose to go with him, but she didn’t move, adamant that she was coming along and no amount of effort would persuade her otherwise. Cornwallis, having lost the argument, led the way down and Frankie found a match to light a couple of lanterns while they decided which direction to go. Dust on the floor could come in very handy in some circumstances, and this was one of them. Rose looked down and saw footprints. A couple led off and then returned in the direction of where they left Coggs, but there seemed to be more activity in the other direction where there were several sets of prints both coming and going.

  ‘Looks a no-brainer,’ said Cornwallis, ‘we’ll go that way. We’ll stick close together, and we’ll keep our voices down. Now let’s see what we can find.’

  They found the switch to close the trapdoor and then began. The height of the passage allowed them to walk upright to start with, and then it seemed to lower a little as they moved further along, but just wide enough so that two could walk side-by-side; so Cornwallis and Rose went in front, with Frankie bringing up the rear. The passage seemed to change direction frequently, switching one way and then the other, and though they were listening intently, they heard no sound apart from their own shuffling footsteps. They advanced slowly, following as much as they could the footprints in the dust; there were offshoots, and they stood at these and shined their lanterns into the depths for a few brief moments before continuing. None of them voiced their fears, but all three were dreading something unknown in what appeared to be age old tunnels; there were rumours aplenty of what lay beneath the surface in old Gornstock: ancient flesh eating beasts, big fiendish ogres and devils and imps that would suck the very being out of you, leaving behind just a living breathing shell. Cornwallis shuddered as the thoughts played around his mind. He cast his eye to look at Rose walking next to him and saw her intense concentration as she looked forward into the black depths beyond the lantern light.

  The footprints had gone, or more to the point, the dust had gone, so they had nothing to follow now. They decided to stay in the main passage, as there were just too many alternative tunnels, and it would take an age to check every one; Maxwell could have ventured into any one of them. They were in a labyrinthine maze with no way of telling where you were; any sense of direction had long gone and it was now just a case of not getting lost. Cornwallis voiced the opinion that they should turn back, which pleased Frankie no end, as he began to get just a tad jittery. He bunched up as close as he could get to the two in front, his nose virtually on Cornwallis’ shoulder as they negotiated a sharp left turn, so close, that when the noise came eerily through the passage he slammed into their backs as they stopped. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, his tension rising,

  Cornwallis didn’t answer; he just looked forward instead and tried to tune his ears to the noise.

  ‘I said, what’s that?’ repeated Frankie, nearly at screaming point.

  ‘Shush,’ said Rose, bringing a finger up to her lips.

  The tension grew, neither of them willing to go another step further. They heard a scraping noise again and then a sigh. Frankie gripped Cornwallis on the shoulder so hard that he had to prize the fingers off.

  ‘It’s the Multi-Headed Gri
p Thranglar,’ ventured Cornwallis at last. ‘It devours anything in its path. It favours eating its dinner from the feet up so it can enjoy the death throes of its victim; it has the added advantage of its victim not being able to run away if it feels it just needs a snack. How the hell do I know what it is?’

  ‘Bastard,’ exclaimed Frankie, ‘I believed you there for a moment.’

  Cornwallis shook his head. ‘Look, wait here a minute and I’ll go and see if anything’s there.’

  Frankie didn’t argue, he remembered the bogey man of his childhood, and how he would always keep his hands inside the bed when he lay there in the dark, convinced the bogey man waited just under the bed to grab his arm the moment he let it dangle, a feeling that had never left him, even now.

  Rose offered to go with Cornwallis but he shook his head.

  ‘Best keep back until we know what it is. I won’t be long.’

  Cornwallis patted Rose on the shoulder and gave her a reassuring smile. He then began to inch his way around the corner, holding his lantern as far out in front as he could. So far so good, he thought. The passage seemed empty, so he took a few tentative steps forward, but he failed to see the passage leading off to his left, and as he came abreast of it, he felt a draft of air whistle into his ear. He stopped abruptly and swallowed hard; he could sense something there, something very close to him, and if he turned, he felt sure he would come face to face with the lurking beast. He swallowed again, then slowly turned to face his nemesis, ready to scream out loud and run.

  ‘Sorry mate, it’s the Multi-Headed Grip Thranglar’s day off. But if you want, I can chew yer legs off for yer.’

  Cornwallis stared ahead, straight into the blade of a very sharp axe. He then followed the handle down to the hand of the dwarf holding it.

  ‘Afternoon,’ said Cornwallis, recovering instantly and feeling a whole lot better. ‘Nice day for a stroll.’

  The dwarf grinned. ‘Aye, that it is. But what I want to know is why you is taking a stroll in one of our tunnels?’

  Cornwallis looked at the dwarf: yes, he might be short, but everything else about him was big. The shoulders were enormous, the arms massive, the hands big and calloused, the chest like a two hundred gallon barrel.

  ‘Sorry, must have got lost.’

  Rose and Frankie heard the exchange and came around. They stood next to Cornwallis and looked down on the dwarf, while he in turn scrutinised them.

  ‘I’ve seen you,’ he said to Rose eventually. ‘Black Stoat, the other day. You broke up a fight. Very impressed we were too.’

  ‘Thank you,’ answered Rose, smiling down at him. ‘I remember you too, Trugral, isn’t it?’

  The dwarf grinned back. ‘It is; thank you for remembering. Most people don’t, you know; a dwarf is just a dwarf to most of them, too much like hard work to remember something simple like a name.’

  ‘I’m sorry if we’re trespassing,’ ventured Rose, ‘only some men came down here not so long ago, and we were sort of wondering what they were up to.’

  ‘Ah. Them.’

  ‘You know who we’re talking about?’ interjected Cornwallis.

  ‘Oh yes, you don’t want to go mixing with them, they’re trouble.’

  ‘We know,’ replied Cornwallis, ‘that’s why we followed them down. We’re investigators, working with the police.’

  Trugral scratched his beard with his free hand, but he wasn’t letting go of his axe just yet. ‘Investigators, eh? Well they certainly need investigating and that’s one reason why I’m here, to prevent incursions. There are limits, you know; these tunnels are pretty much sacred to us, but they had permission to use a few of them, but not this one.’

  ‘Permission?’

  ‘Aye, permission from the King of the Dwarfs. They were keeping one of you lot, I mean human, down here. We kept an eye on him, so to speak.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Cornwallis, eagerly.

  ‘Down there away’s,’ he pointed back the way they had come. ‘You missed a passage on your right, they goes down there. The place where they held the man is an old guardroom; didn’t know anything about him, but he looked harmless enough. Gave him some food and water and kept him in light.’

  ‘I presume then that the King agreed to all that?’

  ‘Sort of, they were just going to leave him there. We felt a bit sorry for him actually, so gave him the chance to get out, but didn’t; seemed like he wanted to be a prisoner.’

  ‘How do you mean?’ asked Rose.

  ‘We left the door unlocked. Never tried it once, did yer man. Just sat there or walked around the room.’

  ‘Why are you telling us all this?’ asked Frankie, a little confused.

  Trugral shrugged his shoulders. ‘Why not? They made it plain they don’t like dwarfs, so I reckon, I don’t need to like them.’

  ‘Sounds fair enough,’ reasoned Frankie. ‘You say held, so I take it he’s gone now?’

  Trugral nodded. ‘Took him away about ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Ten minutes? Then why haven’t we seen them?’

  ‘Because you’re in the wrong passage. If you were in the right passage; then you would have seen them. Do you want to see the guardroom?’ When Cornwallis hesitated, Trugral just grinned. 'Don't worry; you'll still catch up with them.'

  Trugral took them down a shortcut with Frankie moaning all the time about how they had just missed Maxwell, for some reason his fears of the dark tunnels had totally evaporated. The guardroom wasn’t far, and within a couple of minutes, they were looking at the now empty room.

  ‘Table, chair, mattress. Nothing else. He must have been bored out of his mind,’ said Cornwallis. ‘And you say the description Frankie gave you matches the man in here?’

  Trugral nodded.

  ‘Definitely Goup, then. I wonder why they’re taking him out now?’ Cornwallis tapped his lip in thought for a few moments. ‘I’m going to have to speak to the King, you know, I just hope he’ll be agreeable. Could they get out another way?’ he asked.

  Trugral shook his head. ‘No, not for them. They get out the same way as you came in. I’ll inform the King and I’m sure he’ll be accommodating; he does enjoy all the little webs you humans weave. I tell you what, I’ll take you back; that way you won’t be dawdling and you can catch them up; and I can show you something you might find interesting, seeing as you’re investigators.’

  ‘And what’s that then?’ asked Frankie.

  ‘Bit of patience, you’ll see.’

  Trugral led them confidently down the tunnels so fast that the three had to nearly run to keep up; he stopped at a couple of openings and whistled each time, waiting for a reply before carrying on. Notifying the guards, he explained, just in case they thought we were being overrun, as there hadn’t been this much traffic down here for a long time. It seemed to take only about half the time to get back to the warehouse entrance, but Trugral didn’t pause, he just walked on past the steps and on into the other side. He stopped a little way up and then stood aside to let them see. ‘All this has suddenly appeared, but I don’t know whether it’s got anything to do with your friends or not.’

  Cornwallis, Frankie and Rose looked into an alcove which was stacked with small parcels. Frankie leant forward and picked one up; he sniffed it at first, then slid a fingernail down the side to open it up. He grinned, and then showed it to Cornwallis and Rose.

  ‘Drugs. There must be millions of dollars’ worth here. That’s what they’re up to: drug trafficking.’

  CHAPTER 8

  Trugral brought them back to the steps and then showed them the periscope hidden in the wall that revealed the entire floor of the warehouse above. Cornwallis smiled to himself as he looked through the little glass window. He turned it from side to side as he saw three men, two of them struggling to hold on to a third as they crossed the floor.

  ‘There they are,’ he said triumphantly. ‘We haven’t lost them after all… and who is that?’ He studied one man closely in the half-light. ‘Oh, yes.
’ He punched his hand into the air.

  ‘Let’s have a look,’ said Frankie, elbowing Cornwallis out of the way. He too then grinned when he saw the three men. ‘That’s Goup, the one who keeps falling over. The one on the left must be your friend, Maxwell, and the one on the right… Well, well, well.’

  Rose couldn’t wait any longer, and as Cornwallis and Frankie exchanged knowing grins, she too looked.

  ‘Kintersbury, Pelegrew Kintersbury,’ announced Cornwallis. The “K” on the handkerchief, the matches from the inner ring: it all started fitting together. ‘They should be gone by now. How long have we been here, what, a couple of minutes? I wonder what they’ve been doing?’ Cornwallis voiced his thoughts aloud.

  ‘Goup looks like he can hardly walk,' said Frankie. 'If I didn’t know better I’d say he was drunk.’

  ‘Or drugged,’ suggested Rose, coming away from the periscope. ‘They’ve just gone through the door; so it’s all clear now.’

  Cornwallis and Frankie both looked back down the passage at the same time to the large haul of drugs that just sat there; it must have been put there by Kintersbury and Maxwell. Rose must be right; they must have drugged Goup. But why? What do they intend to do to him?

  The trapdoor swung down and they thanked Trugral for all his help before climbing up to the warehouse office. The dwarf waved a farewell and then flicked the switch, just as Cornwallis turned to offer more thanks and a promise of a few drinks the next time he was at the Stoat. The floor closed with a clunk and they felt strangely exposed after the confines of the tunnels. Rose walked forward a couple of steps and saw a little packet on a table together with a bottle and a glass. She knew they weren’t there when they had gone down.

  ‘Here’s your answer,’ she said, examining them. ‘They have drugged him.’

  ‘So they have,’ responded Cornwallis, coming over too. ‘Not going to be easy manhandling someone smacked up to the eyeballs; so let’s get after them and see what they’re up to now.’