Fizzlebert Stump (3 page)

He leant down close and could just make out, in a patch of mud softer than the surrounding earth, a little paw print. It was an animal's track, and the tunnel through the ferns must be, he realised (since he wasn't stupid), an animal's path. He ran through what it could be. What lived in woods like these?

As he pondered the question, a twig snapped.

Nearby?

It sounded like it was nearby, but it was hard to say. Fizz sat still. He held his breath. (Not in his hands, but in his lungs, which is the best and most normal way to do it.) And then, out of the darkness, down the ferny tunnel waddled a shape he recognised.

It was a badger.

In certain books badgers are wise old codgers, with spectacles and walking sticks and slippers and cosy homes under the roots of trees. They're a bit curmudgeonly, but once you've got through their gruff exterior layers they're actually friendly and always eager to help an animal in trouble, especially one lost in the woods on a snowy night (it was late summer in this book though, so no snow tonight). That's what Fizz was thinking. And of course, in that sort of book, the badger would stop and look up at Fizz when it
almost
bumped into him (some authors consider it amusing to take the mickey out of short-sighted people), then grump to itself before saying, ‘Well, well, well. What have we got here?'

And Fizz would say, ‘Please, sir, I'm just a boy, lost in the woods.'

And the Badger (spelt with a capital ‘B' now, just to let you know that's his name, as if there's only one badger in the world) would say, ‘Dear me, a human child, in the woods at this time of night? Botherations and ditheringtons. What shall be done?'

And Fizz would say, ‘Please, sir, might you help me find my way out again? My parents will be mighty worried, I'm sure.'

And the Badger would look Fizz up and down, growing dewy-eyed and say, ‘His parents are worried. Oh, the poor child! Oh, the poor parents, out there waiting, not knowing what's become of him! Why of course I'll help you, you poor childerkind of the two-legs.'

And the Badger would stomp off into the undergrowth and say, ‘Follow me, keep up, come on!'

And Fizz would scurry along as quick as he could, listening to the Badger's footsteps just in front of him until they reached a round front door in amongst the roots of a great old oak tree and the Badger would pull a key from his waistcoat pocket and unlock the door and say, ‘Come in, come in.'

And Fizz would say, ‘But this isn't where my parents are, is it?'

And the Badger would say, ‘Of course not, but while I put the kettle on why don't you use the telephone to ring them? Let them know you're OK.'

And Fizz would think about the great spreading tree above their heads, amongst
whose roots they were nestled, and say, ‘Actually, I think I'll let them know I'm
oak-y
,' as if he were the clown Unnecessary Sid.

And the Badger wouldn't see the joke, and would fuss to himself at the kettle, rummaging in old cans looking for a pair of unused tea bags.

And Fizz would lift the telephone from its cradle and dial his mum's number and listen to the phone ring and ring, and eventually he'd get her answering service and he'd leave her a message, telling her he was taking tea with the Badger and she shouldn't worry, he'd probably be home in the morning.

And the Badger would pour out two steaming cups and bring them over to the little table before the fireplace and Fizz would sit in a big armchair and sip his hot tea,
which would be weak, but delicious. And the Badger would lay a little plate of sandwiches on the table and stretch and yawn and shake himself.

And Fizz would notice how big Badger's teeth were, how sharp, and would lift up one of the sandwiches and take a bite.

And the Badger would turn the key in the front door so that it locked with a click. And he'd drop the key into his waistcoat pocket and pat it as if to make sure it were safe and snug and secure. And the Badger would chuckle a nasty little chuckle which he'd turn into a cough and say, ‘Oh, my chest. The winter air does get to it so. Oh yes, my little boysicle.'

And Fizz would wonder exactly what it was that was in the sandwich he was eating, and
he'd say to the Badger, ‘Dear sir, Badger-my-chum, what is it you eat? I thought it might be roots or acorns or something like that, but I just can't tell.' And then his teeth would find something hard and he'd pull a button from his mouth, a button that had been in the sandwich.

And the Badger would say, ‘What do I eat, it wants to know? Oh sir, oh little human, oh little bald pinkly friend of mine, Fizzlebert-my-lad what I eat is …' and the Badger would turn and the firelight would flicker in his eyes, red as blood, as his voice dropped low, ‘… is children!'

And Fizz would see the thick sharp yellow-white teeth glint and his fairy tale would be over.

But thank goodness this isn't
that
sort
of book. I allow no talking animals in these books, because there are no talking animals in the world (except for parrots who learn swear words from the old ladies they live with and dogs that can say ‘Sausages' unconvincingly).

In the real world the badger (with a lower case ‘b') just looked up at Fizz, puzzled for a moment about what he was, and waddled off into the night, forgetting the sight of the sleeping boy almost immediately.

Fizz, on the other hand, woke from his dream with a yell. His heart was beating fast and he gulped quick lungfuls of the dark forest air.

That had been a nightmare and no mistake.

The feeling it left was so bitter that he resolved not to sleep any more. He didn't want to fall back into the badger hole. Looking at his
wrist he could just make out that it was still a hair past freckle o'clock, but a different freckle now. The sun would be coming up in just a few hours. He could stay awake that long and then he could make a start on finding the road.

But before he could do anything there was a crashing in the ferns and a light was shining straight in his face.

‘Aha! I knew I 'eard somefink,' said a voice. ‘Put yer 'ands up where I can see 'em. You're my prisoner … boy.'

Someone was pointing a torch at Fizz's face and he was so dazzled, especially after so long in the dark, that he couldn't make out who was behind the light, but he could tell, from the voice, that it was … a girl.

And verily, Fizz was afraid.

CHAPTER THREE

In which a girl leads the way and in which a boy does as he's told

Fizz put his hands up. He didn't know what else to do.

‘Good,' the voice behind the torch said. ‘Now, tell us what you're doin' 'ere in me woods, out at night like this. You a poacher, boy? You tryin' a steal you some pheasants or somefink?'

Fizz wasn't sure what a poacher was, but he'd had poached eggs before and they
were eggs boiled in water without their shells, unlike boiled eggs which are poached eggs with the shells left on. But he wasn't in hot water. Or was he? People said, ‘Oh, you're in hot water now,' when you were in trouble, didn't they? And he was in trouble, wasn't he? So, maybe he
was
a poacher, but what had the girl said about pheasants? Was he stealing them? He knew what pheasants were because he'd seen an act at a different circus once called
Dorothy Crescent & Her Pleasant Pheasant
. As far as he could tell a pheasant was a bird with impeccable manners which always lifted a wingtip feather when drinking tea. It was a nice bird, but he wasn't planning on stealing one.

‘I don't think so,' he said after some thought. ‘I'm lost.'

‘Lost, eh?'

‘Yes, lost. You see I got left behind up on the road and then I fell down this hill and—'

‘You 'ungry?'

‘Um, no not really,' said Fizz.

‘Well, follow me,' the voice said, somewhat confusingly.

The torch swung around, away from Fizz's face, and headed off through the ferns.

Not knowing what else to do, Fizz followed.

As he walked he caught glimpses of the girl silhouetted in the torchlight. She was about his age, he reckoned, and had short scruffy hair poking out from underneath a little beret or cap. Every now and then she'd stop and turn around and shine the light at a tricky bit of path.

She kept talking.

‘You know, I 'eard you fall.
Crash bang wallop
, you went. I 'eard you from a mile away. Woke me up it did. Got me outta bed and int'rested. Then you went snappin' and bangin' through them woods and then it all went quiet for a bit but then I 'eard you snorin'. Well, I 'eard someone snorin' and there ain't usually no snorin' goin' on in them woods, so I reckon it was you, yeah?'

Fizz didn't say very much other than, ‘Can you slow down, please?' because he was a bit embarrassed and because she was going quite fast.

After maybe ten minutes, the girl's torch shone upon the painted wooden wall of a little house.

‘'Ere we are then,' she said. ‘'Ome.'

Fizz had never lived in a house without wheels, but that didn't mean he didn't know one when he saw one. There was a light shining on the porch and he thought he could see a glow behind the curtains in the window.

The girl opened the front door and ushered him in.

Fizz was hopeful. Where there was a house there might be a telephone and where there was a telephone there was a way for him to get in touch with his mum and dad. He had their phone number written down on a piece of paper in the inside pocket of his coat just in case of exactly this sort of emergency.

(And in case he ever lost the bit of paper, he'd taken to carrying an old tuna sandwich in another pocket in order to attract Fish, the circus's sea lion, to his emergency location.)

But the hope he'd been filled with upon stepping into the house fizzled away in a puff of gloom when he realised that the piece of paper and the sandwich were inside his jacket, which was in the clothes cupboard to the left of the toilet back in the caravan. All he had in the pocket of his dressing gown, which was what he was busy wearing, was a little label that said, ‘Wash at forty degrees'.

‘Is that you, Piltdown?' called a voice from further in the house.

‘Yeah, Gran,' shouted the girl, who, it seemed, was called Piltdown.

‘D'you know what time it is?'

‘Yeah, Gran.'

Now they were in the light Fizz could see his rescuer properly. She was a girl, probably around his own age, certainly around his own
height. She had scruffy red hair, cut short, and a big grin on her face as she held a finger to her mouth. She reminded him a bit of looking in a dirty mirror. It was rather uncanny. They could almost have been twins. If you didn't look
too
closely.

‘Don't let 'er know you're 'ere,' she whispered. ‘She don't like strangers much.'

‘Where have you been, dear?' the grandmother shouted.

There was the sound of moving about in the other room, as if an old lady was getting out of bed.

‘Poachers,' the girl, Piltdown, shouted, while opening a door and pushing Fizz forward. ‘In there, 'n' be quiet,' she whispered.

‘Poachers?' Piltdown's gran said, coming into the hallway.

‘Yeah, I thought I 'eard someone out there, scuttling around. Just went to 'ave a look, 'n' get a bitta fresh air too.'

‘Hmm. Find anyone?'

‘Nah, either they'd gorn, or they weren't there to begin with.'

As Fizz listened to the conversation he felt around himself (it was dark again). To his side were tall wooden things which might have been mops and to the other side were flaky cardboard boxes on shelves. As he edged his foot carefully forward, so he could lean more comfortably against the shelves, something went SNAP and clung to his slippers.

‘What was that?' he heard the old lady say.

‘What was what?' Piltdown answered.

‘I thought I heard something?'