Petronella & the Trogot (7 page)

“Now where shall I put this,” she said to herself. “Got to keep it in a safe place. Yes, I'll put it in the larder. On the top shelf, at the back, under the mushroom basket. For as long as I am not holding The Metal Disc, it won't work, so I needn't worry too much about it.”

The next day Petronella put on her camouflage army boots, got The Metal Disc from the larder and slid it into her apron pocket. She was about to set off for the village to find out what Strincas were around. She headed off to the local supermarket first to see what she could find out. Down one of the aisles Mrs Bellamy was nattering away to another gossip. Petronella picked up a packet of biscuits and pretended to read about the contents on its box. But, of course, she was listening hard to what they were saying instead.

“... and all of a sudden there he was sitting on MY sofa. With a double-headed axe in his hand, I tell you. As real as I'm standing here. And he won't budge, will he? Oh, no. He even had the nerve to tell me that it was his house and nothing I can do will make him leave. Yes, he says it's HIS house. The cheek of it. Can you believe that?”

The other woman, a Mrs Riches from number 9 Myrtle Close, shook her head in disbelief. “Well I never. What's the world coming to if you are not even master of your own home. I mean, is he a squatter? Is that what you're saying? Yes, I reckon he's just a weird squatter in fancy-dress. Can't your husband throw him out?”

“No, he can't because no way can you get hold of him. When my husband tries to grab him, his hands just go through this axeman. Strange because he LOOKS like he's there in the flesh, but when you try to touch him, he's not solid. He spent all night on the sofa and is always in my way.”

Mrs Riches was stepping backwards away from Mrs Bellamy now. She thought there must be something wrong with Mrs Bellamy. What was she talking about? It didn't make sense.

Petronella, who, of course, had heard everything, ran up behind Mrs Bellamy and said:

“Good morning, Mrs Bellamy, I couldn't help overhearing you and Mrs Riches...”

“Go away, you ugly hag. How dare you speak to me AND listen to my conversations? It's because of the likes of you and that henchman in my house that Fort Willow is no longer what it was. Go back from where you came. And don't ever, do you hear me when I say EVER, speak to me again!” she shouted.

Petronella was so shocked by Mrs Bellamy's insults that she could only stand there in the biscuit aisle with her mouth wide open. Now what need was there to be so nasty. If Mrs Bellamy wouldn't speak to Petronella, maybe The Axeman would. There was only one way. She needed to sneak into Mrs Bellamy's house when both she and her husband were out.

Petronella stood behind Mrs Bellamy at the checkout. After Petronella had paid for the biscuits, she ran outside to see where Mrs Bellamy was going. Just in time - Petronella saw Mrs Bellamy disappear into the local tearoom. No doubt to spend the morning there with other gossiping villagers. A fine opportunity for Petronella to go and see The Axeman. She really had to be quick about flashing the skull at him and getting such a dangerous man back buried in that field before he harmed the people of Fort Willow. True, Mrs Bellamy didn't deserve such kindness. Petronella wished she could let The Axeman stay in the house. But she also had to think of the safety of the other villagers.

 

 

Nobody seemed to be in. Petronella rang the ding-dong-merrily-on-high doorbell. She pressed the botton again and got the same sing-song. No, The Axeman must be out. Then one of the curtains on the ground-floor twitched a little. Petronella saw this big head, with a robin-hood-like hat on it and wide shoulders covered in green felt. He'd changed out of his axeman clothes. That's him for sure, thought Petronella. Waving to him she shouted: “Open the door. I need to speak to you.” The head was no longer there. Had it made its way down the corridor to open the front door?

After what seemed like a very long time indeed, Petronella heard The Axeman trying to unlock the door. And what a clatter he was making - he kept locking it and unlocking it. But he never managed to pull the door open when it was unlocked. Finally, he got it right and the door opened.

“I be nat used to these contraptions,” The Axeman said, as he laid eyes on Petronella. “God be with ye, lady. I never seeth such an ugly looking wench as ye,” he said, jumping a step back out of fright. By now, Petronella was used to comments like this and took no notice.

“Cometh in, lady,” The Axeman said, showing Petronella into the living-room. “I be on myn own. Mrs Bellamy hath gone out buying.”

“Yes, I know. I met her at the supermarket. I knew you'd be alone here, so I came to have a chat with you.”

Petronella looked at the axe on Mrs Bellamy's flowered sofa.

“Doth nat worry, lady. I hath never used that axe. It be just for show. I were Lord Fortesque's soldier. I were supposed to killeth folk, but I never doth that. I promise ye. Ye see, I hath always been too kind for that. I pretendeth to axeth folk. Other soldiers, they really doth killeth villagers, mind. But nat me. I used to goeth round pretending. I sayeth I killeth ten peasants today. Lord Fortesque's soldiers sayeth to me ‘Where be the bodies?' I hath no bodies. Then the soldiers, they killeth me when they findeth out I were fibbing.”

“Oh,” said Petronella, “I'm very sorry to hear that you were killed. But I'm very happy that you didn't kill others. I wouldn't like to be sitting next to a murderer.”

“I be no murderer, lady. I swear it on myn pigs.”

“Your pigs! What pigs?”

“Myn pigs, lady. You knoweth what pigs be, surely? Pink they be and fat.”

“Yes, I know what pigs are, you nincompoop.”

“I be no nincompoop, lady. I be a pig-farmer. Happy I be until Lord Fortesque and his soldiers maketh me joineth them. A good man I be. I cryeth when those soldiers killeth our poor folk. I keepeth pigs here in this very spot. Mind ye, looketh at the place now. How can anyone keepeth a garden only for decoration?”

He turned his head towards the French-windows and looked out at the neatly-trimmed lawn and colourful flowerbeds with disgust.

“That there garden were full of pigs, so it were. Ye should hath seen them, lady. They was myn pride and joy. Myn pride and joy, I telleth ye. Pearly and Pinikins, they was my prize pigs. I were the envy of the village, so I were.”

So what could Petronella do? This man was no danger to anyone. She surely couldn't make him go back to his burial place. He was much nicer than Mrs Bellamy. The madam would just have to put up with him. No, Mrs Bellamy was not going to be happy. But Petronella had decided. The Axeman was here to stay. In fact, Petronella had a wonderful idea. She held up The Metal Disc to The Axeman's face.

“I love pigs!” Petronella said with a smile.

“Ye doth? Ye telleth me no lie, lady?”

“No lie,” Petronella said. “I think you should start pig-breeding again. Plenty of space in that garden. There's a farmer's market on the outskirts of the village. Every Saturday morning from 9.00 to 11.00. You can get a pig family to start you off. A sow, a big male pig and a couple of piglets. That should be enough to begin with. I'll give you some money to get you started. You can give me the money back when you have bred piglets and have started selling them off. Why don't you get some chickens, too? Then I'll buy fresh eggs from you. What do you think of that?”

“What thinketh I? Me thinketh it be a most wonderful idea. Lady, I loveth ye. Ye be the best lady I ever meeteth. The best lady I ever hath knoweth. I shall starteth work today. I shall diggeth up that lawn and flowerbeds and buildeth some nice sties for myn new pigs.”

The Axeman's eyes rolled downwards.

“What's the matter? Petronella asked.

“Ye see, lady, when I sayeth that pigs be the best things ever and ye be the best lady in the world, I telleth a little porkie pie. There be someone who be better than all the pigs in the land. And, without offending thy good self, there be one lady most important to me. That be my wife, Gwendolen. She were good with pigs, she were. Though pigs looketh after themselves, mind. They be good like that. But my Gwendolen maketh the best pig's swill for miles around. Being that it be the swill that maketh them fat and healthy. And she keepeth chickens as well. In the kitchen. Layeth their eggs in the corner cupboard, so they didst. Nice big ones. Brown and white.”

Petronella liked the idea of chickens laying eggs in Mrs Bellamy's kitchen cupboards. She was so sorry she did not have the power to wake Gwendolen up from the fields and make The Axeman happy. But Gwendolen could already be wandering around somewhere in the village looking for her home, for all she knew.

“If there's anything I can do to help you, please let me know,” Petronella said.

“Oh, lady, I shall be the happiest man dead-alive if I hath my Gwendolen back.” He cried.

“I promise I will help you all I can. But now I have to get back home.”

Petronella got up to go. “I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Petronella. What's your name?”

“I be Alfie.”

“Well, goodbye, Alfie. It's been a pleasure talking to you.”

Alfie saw Petronella off and kept waving his axe at her until she was out of sight. Then he closed the door and went to the garden to start work on building his pig sties.

Petronella smiled to herself. What a good morning's work this had been.

 

 

Percy was in the garden with Maalox when Petronella got back to her cottage. They were messing around with the snails in the bunker.

“Come on,” she said to Percy, “you know we've got an appointment to meet the head teacher, Miss Norman, this afternoon. “Go and get yourself cleaned up, my boy.”

Percy was dreading going to school. He thought he was rubbish at learning. Truth was that by always working with his hands, his brain had got lazy. Still he had better do what Petronella wanted otherwise she might just send him back to sweat in the fields. The other thing he wasn't good at was washing himself. He hated water and don't talk to him about soap.

“I BE clean,” Percy said. And he really meant it.

“You don't know what 'clean' means,” she said. “Come on. Up those stairs you go and into the bathroom.”

“What AGAIN?” he asked. “I only washeth mynself three days ago, ye knoweth I doth nat like water.”

“Percy, please, don't answer back and do as you are told right away!”

After much ado, Percy finally went and washed himself. And now down to school. To see the head teacher, no less.

“Come in, come in,” said Miss Norman, looking at Percy over her glasses. “So you're the new boy, are you? I was expecting you to be smaller. How old are you?”

“Eleven,” Percy answered.

“ELEVEN!” the head teacher said. Her left eye started twitching. Now turning to Petronella, the posh Miss Norman said: “OUR school is for children from five to eleven years old. I was told he was to start in Year 1. That's for five-year-olds!” She sat down and wiped the sweat from her forehead. Then she leaned forward towards Petronella and half-whispering said: “Is there something wrong with him?” Her eye was still twitching. Petronella couldn't work out if the head teacher was winking at her, or what?

Petronella sat up straight and lifted her chin. This was her
‘
proud' position. “There is nothing at all wrong with Percy. He's just, well, he just... got a bit left behind.”

“A bit left behind, my foot!” The head teacher now pushed her chair back, making the most awful squeaky noise caused by the grating of the chair legs on the tiled floor. Beaming a look of thunder, and flashing bolts in Percy's direction, she said:

“Have you ever been to school, boy. Come on, speak up.”

Petronella wished Miss Norman were a bit nicer to Percy. The poor boy had peed his bed last night. Treating him like that would not help him. Petronella had pretended she hadn't noticed the pee and just put the sheets in the washing machine.

“Yes, I been to school, so I hath.”

“So, I hath!” she mocked. “What kind of talk is that, if you please? So when did you go to school?”

“I been to school from September to Christmas, then I stoppeth. Days were short at the beginning of the year and then spring cometh and I must needs goeth out into that them fields.”

Miss Norman put her hands over her ears. She just couldn't bear to listen to language that was NOT the Queen's English. She took three slow deep breaths to gather herself together. But she was still red in the face. “How long ago was that?” Percy turned to Petronella as if to ask for help.

“Sooooooooo,” said Petronella, “this is going to sound really strange, but it was about 1,000 years ago. 1,159 years ago, if we want to nit pick. Isn't that right, Percy?”

“That be right. We worketh it out the other evening together.”

The head teacher now threw her head back laughing with an open mouth. They could see the gold fillings in the top row of her teeth. She kept laughing so much that she nearly fell backwards. All at once, she was serious. Got up and placed her hands on her hips for balance. “1,159 years ago! 1,159 years ago! Get out, GET OUT right now. You time-wasters, out of my office this minute. Do you hear?”

Petronella took him by the hand and said: “Let's go, Percy.” Then she darted a look at the head teacher, straight in the eye and said: “This school is not good enough for Percy. I will find him a better education than you could ever give him in this place. You are a disgrace to teachers and head teachers everywhere. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

With that, Petronella slammed the door behind her. “Percy, I will teach you myself. Everyday you will learn reading and writing, maths, geography and history. You will have a much better schooling than any other child in the village. Every day after lessons have finished we'll play board games. Or you and Maalox can go snail-racing.”