by Clive Mullis
A clattering sound came from the kitchen, and shortly after, a battered and scarred ginger fur-ball came sauntering into the room. It sat down and eyed the occupants dismissively before it began to lick a paw. ‘Youse would’ve fought word would’ve gotten around be now, that I ain’t gonna ‘ave no truck wiv any scraggy looking interlopers in my territory, wouldn’t youse?’
‘What happened?’ asked Frankie.
‘Black one, a youngster. Thought he could challenge me over that nice little tabby from down the road. That’s one kitty ‘o ain’t gonna go in no cat show now, I can tell youse: not wiv half an ear missing, it won’t.’
‘Oh, Fluffy, you should just tell them politely that you now live here,’ said Isabella, regaining her seat. ‘I’m sure they’ll understand.’
‘Well, theys certainly unnerstands now.’
Rose leant over the cat and began to stroke its neck. A deep throated purring noise began deep in its belly and rose until it sounded like a battered old cart trundled by.
‘That’s the way sweetheart, keeps it going.’
‘We might have a little job for you, Fluff,’ said Frankie, as he eased down into his chair. ‘Could be dangerous: maybe you won’t want to do it.’
The purring suddenly cut off.
‘Danger is one of me specialities,’ answered the cat. ‘What’ve I gotta do?’
‘Undercover work,’ replied Rose. ‘We want you to be our eyes and ears.’
‘I can do that. Sounds easy. What’s the catch?’
‘It’s in Scooters Yard. We want you to become the Yard’s cat,’ answered Frankie. ‘There’s a bit of a problem though,’ he added hesitantly.
‘Oh yeah? And what’s that?’
‘We need to disguise you. Half the feelers there already know you, so we are going to have to come up with a disguise. You won’t have to talk, but just listen and look.’
‘And how are you gonna disguise me, then, eh?’
Rose had a bag with her and she delved in and brought out a couple of bottles. She held one in each hand as she proffered them to the cat. ‘Have you ever fancied being tortoiseshell?’ she asked, with a hint of mischief in her voice.
Cornwallis and MacGillicudy arrived at Stackhouse Lane with a feeling of deep unease and with a dwarf in tow. The watch-house had suffered severe damage but the structure seemed largely intact.
They stood in the street and cast their eyes over the outside of the building. Lenny had given them the name of a dwarf who might be able to help: a fire in the underground tunnels was a commonplace hazard, and several of the dwarfs were experts in the field. Draxcl Grepplestorm was the best they had, and the King of the Dwarfs had no hesitation in allowing him to go up top to help.
Draxcl leant nonchalantly on his axe and tapped his foot with impatience. ‘What a’ we waiting for?’ he asked, already bored at looking at the watch-house. He sniffed and then wiped his nose with his long thin beard. The grey beard used to be full and luxurious, but sparks had managed to thin it out over the years. He wore a thick coat, impregnated with a secret fire-retardant lubricant known only to the dwarfs, while his boots and hat were of a leather so weighty and seasoned that a ton of rocks landing on them would only scratch the surface.
‘We are trying to determine whether it’s safe to go inside,’ replied MacGillicudy.
‘You ain’t going to find that out until you get inside. If a load of bricks falls on yer head, then it ain’t safe; if they don’t, then it is,’ replied Draxcl.
Cornwallis and MacGillicudy looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. The dwarf had a point, so with a twitch of the head, MacGillicudy indicated that perhaps they should go in.
There was still some tape across the front of the building to stop people entering, and Draxcl walked under it before MacGillicudy had a chance to lift it up. The door complained severely as Cornwallis pushed it open, the fire having obviously done a bit of warping, and a bit of attention from a fireman’s axe didn’t help either. It screeched open and immediately their noses gave notice of a strong acrid smell; the roof may have given way, but the ground floor ceiling was still largely intact.
Inside, dust, ash and debris covered everything. The severely scorched front desk had a thick layer of gunge sitting on the top. The office door had burnt away completely and there were bits of charred wood and scraps of something twisted and bent beyond recognition. MacGillicudy used the toe end of his boot to move some bits around, while Cornwallis dipped behind the desk and poked his nose into the office. The desk that once stood there had collapsed into nothing, though strangely some of the notices on the wall, although singed, were still there and legible.
Draxcl climbed onto a bench and used his axe to poke at the ceiling before giving a satisfied grunt. ‘Seems safe enough, for the moment at any rate,’ he observed. ‘What’s in there?’ he asked, pointing at another doorway.
‘Stairs: both down to the cells and up to the rooms above,’ replied MacGillicudy. ‘There’s another door next to the stairs that leads into a corridor that takes you through to the back. There’s a kitchen down there with a lean-to out back, a privy, and a shed for all the cleaning stuff. All the lockers for the men are… I mean were, upstairs.’
They all walked through, but there wasn’t very much left of the stairs, just a few charred treads; so the hope of getting above the lower floor was nil, unless he went back to find a ladder. The stairs down were still intact, so Draxcl went down to look at the cells, followed by MacGillicudy and then Cornwallis.
‘What were your lads doing when the fire started?’ asked Draxcl, peering into a cell and feeling a bit jealous that it looked far more comfortable than his own home underground.
‘They said they were doing the rotas,’ replied MacGillicudy. ‘But if I’m any judge, they were probably having a kip. I used to do the same in the old days, before the watch-houses became redundant. During the quiet shifts, we used to rig up a bell to the door, so we’d know if someone came through. After a while you could go from fully asleep to wide awake in about three seconds. It only took a bit of practise to get the hang of it.’
‘You surprise me, Jethro,’ returned Cornwallis, with a wry grin. ‘I thought you were ready and alert at all times.’
‘You, Jack, are just taking the piss. All feelers take every opportunity for a bit of shut eye, same with scrounging tea. You just make sure you don’t get caught.’
Draxcl decided to try out one of the stone sleeping benches. He lay down and then twisted and turned and shuffled around a bit with his axe still clung tightly to his chest, then he sighed contentedly and went very still. MacGillicudy and Cornwallis looked at each other, both sets of eyebrows raised. Very soon, a snore permeated the silence, gentle at first, and then rising in staccato stages before reaching a crescendo. Abruptly the noise cut off and Draxcl swung his legs around to dangle over the bench. He sniffed and then slid his legs back down to the floor.
‘You spoil the buggers,’ he announced contemptuously. ‘Too bloody soft.’
MacGillicudy and Cornwallis stepped apart as the growling dwarf walked out of the cell and headed back upstairs to look at the stairs that went up to the next floor — or to be more precise, where the stairs that went up once were. Draxcl began to look around and then scratched at a particularly dark bit of burning. Behind him, the two others watched intently at the process he employed. The dwarf stroked his beard and then went off down the corridor, so the others followed. The dwarf stopped abruptly, and then spun quickly around so that MacGillicudy walked straight into him; the blade of the axe very nearly raising his voice a few octaves.
‘Oi. Watch where yer going.’
‘Sorry,’ mumbled MacGillicudy, with a degree of relief.
Draxcl walked back to the stairs, sniffed, and looked again. ‘Here,’ he said with some conviction. ‘The fire started here.’ He pointed to the spot that would have been just under the stairs had they been there. ‘Some serious bit of burning has gone on here. There’s
a strange smell ‘ere too. Reckon they used something to set it all going.’
‘Could it be powder from whizz-bangs?’ asked Cornwallis, peering closer and trying to see what Draxcl could see. ‘I mean that gonepowder stuff?’
The dwarf pursed his lips in thought and then sniffed again. ‘Could be,’ he conceded. ‘Big burn hole in the floor there, do you see? Reckon that’s the spot.’ He leant in closer and then knelt down, putting his nose right up against the burn mark. He inhaled deeply yet again. ‘Sour type of smell, a bit like a fart that’s gone off. Yep, could be gonepowder.’
Cornwallis nodded. ‘Then, it’s as we thought, Jethro. This was no accident.’
MacGillicudy sighed. ‘What about a bang? Why didn’t they hear it?’
‘Don’t need to bang,’ answered Draxcl. ‘A bit o’loose stuff will probably just fizzle and go whumph! Wouldn’t take a moment to set everything alight.’
‘Then they must have got in via the back door, come down here, and then let rip with a bit of powder and a match. Back door is normally locked, but the feelers who work here would’ve had a key.’
The realisation began to edge its way into their minds. Someone who worked here, either lent someone a key, or, even worse, set fire to his own watch house. MacGillicudy’s face began to turn a light shade of crimson as he thought through it all. ‘I want every feeler who had a key to report to me, personally, and if I don’t get answers to the questions I want answers to, then I will squeeze their bollocks until they have to start calling themselves “Miss.”’
‘Steady, Jethro,’ responded Cornwallis, trying to sound reasonable. ‘That would be the worst thing to do. We already suspect a feeler of trying to blow up Pendon; maybe we should stand back a bit and not let anyone know that we know. I’m sure Draxcl will keep quiet about it.’
The dwarf stood up and nodded compliance. ‘Your problems, not mine. I’m only here for a favour.’
MacGillicudy’s face positively glowed with rage; it had gone from light crimson to sunburns worst nightmare. ‘Keep quiet?’ he seethed. ‘Keep bloody quiet? When one of my own has done all this? I’m going… I’m going to…!’
‘No, you’re not, Jethro. We went through all this earlier. You’re going to say nothing of this to anyone. You’re going to go about your business as if you know nothing at all. If it all works out as we’ve planned, then very shortly, we will know who did this.’
Rose finished with the brush and dye and then sat back to admire her work. Frankie and Isabella nodded their approval. Fluffy didn’t look like a ginger tom anymore.
‘I quite like it,’ said Frankie. ‘It sort of makes him look more like a normal cat. You know, the friendly type, instead of the mean vicious bastard he actually is.’
Fluffy sat still, as Rose had ordered him to, as he waited for the topcoat to dry. He peered up at Frankie and hissed. ‘Youse going to regrets saying that when I cans move again.’
Frankie laughed. ‘Come on, I’m only having a bit of fun.’
‘Yeah, right. So that’s your idea of fun, eh? Youse saying there’s sommat wrong wiv being a ginge?’
‘No, no, nothing like that. I mean that nobody is going to recognise you; you’re transformed. All you need to do now is practise the cute look.’
‘Don’ts do cute. Ain’t been cute since I were a kitten; ‘an even then, it were debatable.’
‘Well, you’re going to have to practise now,’ said Rose, interjecting before Frankie and the cat went off on one. ‘You agreed. You said you’d be friendly.’ She held a mirror up in front of the cat.
‘Watch-house cats have an attitude, really,’ said Frankie. ‘You just need to look cute and act hard.’
Fluffy looked at the reflection and his eyes widened in horror. ‘Shit! Look at me. I’s look like one o’ them fancy do-da things; youse knows, the cats that get all those ribbons and things tied about them. I looks like a girlie cat. What’s youse gone and dun to me?’
Isabella leant forward from her chair and touched the fur. ‘It’s dry now; and Fluffy, you knew what we wanted. You have to look nothing like you normally look. You’ll soon get used to it. Same with Frankie when I make him dress smart; he hates it to start with, but he soon forgets he looks like a normal human being.’
‘Isabella. That ain’t exactly fair,’ replied Frankie, affronted. ‘I always dress proper.’
‘You dress as a Frankie, dear. I don’t think I need to add to that.’
Rose grinned in agreement; after all, she had to work with him on a daily basis.
Frankie pursed his lips and then scratched his head; even he realised it was useless to argue with two women who were on the same side. Instead, he decided it would be better to make a strategic withdrawal — before the pair of them thought to have a go at him for something else. He reached forward and did the thing that he normally wouldn’t have dared to do: he scooped up Fluffy with his arm, ready to depart.
Fluffy’s legs dangled with Frankie’s arm wrapped beneath his belly.
The cat turned its head and, looking up, hissed. ‘What the ‘ell do youse fink youse doing?’
‘Doing? I’m about to do you a favour and save your legs. I’m going to carry you all the way to Scooters Yard, you feline felon.’
Beneath Frankie’s arm, Fluffy’s legs windmilled, as he made a desperate attempt to get free. ‘Bugger that. I'm a cat that walks.’
‘But I’ve carried you before,’ said Rose, trying to mediate. ‘Loads of times.’
Fluffy stopped trying to get free and looked at Rose. He could see the bits that made it really comfortable when she carried him: two large, soft, bouncy, cushiony type things — he didn’t mind snuggling up against them. ‘All right, youse carry me, then.’
Rose flicked her long honey coloured hair and laughed. ‘Okay, if it keeps you happy.’
Fluffy definitely smiled.
CHAPTER 10
Rose walked past the guards, acknowledging them all, and blessing each of them with a smile. As she pushed open the door of Pendon Police Academy, she sensed a different feel to the place now: it had that lived in feeling, a feeling of occupation, a place where life existed. She could sense that the building approved too, as if it had blood running through its veins. She wondered how the girls had got on during her absence, hoping that they’d had a day to remember.
She and Frankie had taken Fluffy to Scooters Yard and deposited him in an alley around the back. The plan was for the cat to hang about the back door to the kitchen, looking lost and forlorn, begging for scraps, and generally trying to make himself useful to the cook. Firstly, he would have to eliminate the competition from any local cats, and for a cat of Fluffy’s intelligence, he did this in pretty short order. Fortunately, there were no talking cats around to throw a spanner in the works.
A single lantern illuminated the front desk, while Diffin, Briggs and Spooner were relaxing in the back office with a cup of tea and a bun. A couple of lanterns blazed away in the office, the shadows of the men dancing upon the walls as they gesticulated whilst talking about the day. Rose watched as one shadow seemed to morph into a serpent about to strike and she hoped it wasn’t a portent of things to come.
The men in the office hadn’t heard her come in, so she stood outside for a few moments, listening to what they had to say. She felt a bit guilty about it, but opportunities to find out what they really thought were few and far between.
Spooner was mid-flow and obviously making comparisons between the various girls’ attributes. ‘. . . Reckon there’s a good handful there, but she likes to hide it. Unlike that Felicity: you should have seen them swinging as she bent over; shirt so loose at the top that you could see right down to her boots — brightened up my day no end it did.’
‘You don’t want your wife hearing you talk like that,’ said Diffin. ‘She’ll give you one hell of a backhander.’
‘No chance of that, Sergeant. This is just between the three of us,’ said Spooner, with a bit of a giggle.
&nb
sp; ‘Yeah, all boys together,’ added Briggs. ‘Reckon that Regina could be a promising turn too. I asks her how she stuffs the sausages, so she went and showed me. You should have seen how her hands moved; made me cross me legs did that, especially when she looked at me when she did it.’
‘There’s two in my group who get their kit off: Jules and Felicity. One’s an artistic model, as she calls it, and the other’s a page three woodcut. I tell you, it fair gets the mind whizzing ‘round.’
‘Just the mind? Would’ve thought something else would’ve been affected.’
Spooner went quiet for a moment as though thinking and then he continued. ‘I’ve got that posh totty, Tiffany; though I reckon she’s too posh to trot. Must have good strong thighs though, what with all that gallivanting around on the horses. Tall girl, nice arse. Wouldn’t mind…’
Rose had heard enough. It didn’t surprise her that the men talked about the girls in this way; they thought they were on their own, so perhaps it should be expected. Men will be men, she decided, but she hoped that the talk was just talk, and that they were not going to take things further. She edged quietly back to the front door and pulled it open a bit, then slammed it shut. The talk in the office immediately stopped, and when she breezed in the men were talking about how well the girls had done.
‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ she said, as she sat down. ‘I’m sorry I’ve stayed away so long, but it was very productive. Now, how did they do+ today? ’
Diffin nodded as he accepted Rose’s apology. ‘Well, to start with, the doctor came and reported them all fit and well. As to the girls, I think the best people to ask are our two constables. Briggs, Spooner: would one of you like to answer Miss Morant’s question?’
