The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy (15 page)

They gasped as they heard the sound of a bolt being unbolted.
Slowly, yet compassionately, the door creaked open! There stood Ricky, dressed in an Austrian outfit which consisted of lederhosen, a baggy shirt in a sort of green curtain material and a silly Austrian hat. The three children and Whatshisname stepped back in a moderate display of acute amazement.

‘It
is
Ricky!’ said Amy. ‘Gosh! What
are
you wearing? Crikey! Are those your own knees?’

‘They are,’ confirmed Ricky, waggling his own knees to prove it. ‘And the shorts, for sheer comfort, are of a breathable fabric.’

Amy stared at the shorts. She listened really hard. She came to the conclusion that Ricky was fibbing big-time, as she couldn’t hear them breathing.

‘Wait!’ said Betty. ‘How do we know that it is actually Ricky? What with face transplants and all that. He could be anyone.’

‘But I’m not anyone!’ said Ricky, who really was Ricky and not anyone.

‘Hmmm,’ said Betty, ‘if you are indeed Ricky, give us the secret sign.’

‘Secret sign?’ squeaked Ricky. ‘I didn’t even know we had agreed on a secret sign.’

‘Then it is him!’ said Amy excitedly to the others. She turned to Ricky. ‘We’ve been trapped in here for ages! How did you get here?’

‘Never mind that,’ said Ricky, quite firmly and urgently. ‘I’ve really missed you two, you know.’

‘There’s four of us,’ insisted Amy, frowning hard at his sudden inability to count properly.

‘Erm . . . yes, four, of course,’ agreed Ricky, quickly averting his gaze from Betty’s chest. ‘Now, we must go and find this Bartle fellow and save the world!’

‘Woof woof woof!’ agreed Whatshisname.

‘How do you know about all that?’ asked Daniel.

‘It’s quite a long story,’ said Ricky.

‘Don’t bother then,’ said Betty.

‘Well, since you ask, I sort of found myself whooshed away here to 1964,’ said Ricky relentlessly. ‘I landed on top of a swarthy Italian tourist, and when I explained about The Secret Five, he said that he and all his friends were honorary members and he told me all about Uncle Quagmire and his secret mission.’ Suddenly, he stopped talking and glanced inside the dungeon cell.

‘Isn’t that a secret trapdoor in the floor?’ he said. ‘It probably leads to a secret tunnel and freedom.’

The others turned and looked at the big wooden square in the floor with a big metal ring that looked like a handle. Daniel stamped his foot and looked upwards. ‘Well,’ he said, quite upset. ‘This is typical! You’d have thought that
somebody
would have told us.’

Betty and Amy stamped their feet in agreement. In fact they stamped their feet so hard that it
really
hurt, so it serves them right.

‘Come on!’ urged Ricky. ‘Hurry up, I’m jolly hungry! Oh, nice spectacles Daniel. They almost suit you. You look, erm, what’s the word?’

‘Intelligent?’ Daniel suggested.

‘No, that’s not it,’ Ricky said, and turned on his very own heels.

They followed Ricky as he hurried away to find the nearest castle teashop. But, much sooner than anyone expected, they came across the right helpful Austrian guide, who was standing outside the castle gift shop with a swarming group of Italian tourists. They were having a lively informed discussion about the children’s secret mission.

‘Blow me down if it ain’t them Secret Five kids again!’ said one particularly swarthy non-English-speaking Italian tourist. ‘You’re all looking as bright as buttons!’

‘Ah,’ the right helpful Austrian guide said, turning to the children. ‘I wondered where you all were, childs and your spanner. We were just discussing your charming inaptitude. What is the current position of your missionary?’

‘Please sir,’ said Betty. ‘Our mission is going quite slowly, but thank you for asking. Right now, our friend here has a condition and needs a teashop, urgently.’

The right helpful Austrian smiled a medium-sized smile and shrugged both his shoulders. ‘Alas,’ he alassed. ‘Today the castle teashop is closed for training porpoises. I hope this does not upset your inconvenience too much.’

The children were all a little intrigued about the training but could wait until the appendix at the end to be enlightened. They didn’t want anything as trivial as the exploitation of endangered sea-life to ruin their adventure at this stage.

Betty decided to take charge once again. She thanked the right helpful Austrian and said a fond yet indifferent farewell. Then, quite carefully, she told Ricky that his hunger would just have to wait. ‘We have to find Clarissa the stunt nun, urgently and confidently!’

So the children strode urgently and confidently to the castle exit, Ricky’s breathable fabric swish-swishing as he walked. Whatshisname trotting alongside them almost as confidently. Indeed, if it had to be measured, for whatever reason, it was probably about ninety-two per cent as confidently, give or take a bit.

Much to their surprise, they were cheered out of the castle by the massed swarmed group of swarthy Italian tourists, who yelled, ‘Go get ‘em, Secret Five!’ and ‘Stop that bloomin’ conception and save the world, Secret Five!’ It was very encouraging, all this secret support.

But, as they left the castle, Betty stopped quite suddenly, as though she was thinking. Whatshisname stopped trotting, and sat down for a few sticks to wait to hear why she had stopped so suddenly.

‘Sorry to stop so suddenly, everyone, but what I don’t understand,’ Betty said, ‘amongst the millions of other things I don’t understand, is how Ricky knew we were in that cell. That’s
quite a mystery, isn’t it? And how exactly did he follow us here to Salzburg? And why did he decide to return to the adventure?’

‘Yes,’ agreed Daniel, frowning behind his spectacles in Ricky’s general direction. ‘Now you mention it, it is strange.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Amy, frowning deeply and directly at Ricky. ‘Very strange indeed.’

‘Woof woof woof,’ said Whatshisname, trying unsuccessfully to frown deeply and directly at Ricky.

‘Well,’ Ricky said, ‘I decided that, in the spirit of everlasting friendship, and realising that I hadn’t actually had enough of Betty’s bossiness,
etcetera
, I had to find you and rescue you, so I found the time machine in the Very Very Secret Room, worked out how to work it, worked it, then somehow landed here in Salzburg, you see.’

Betty stood close to Ricky, which he didn’t mind at all. She stared hard at him. ‘How
very
convenient,’ she said in a strangely menacing voice.

Ricky looked quizzically at her. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘And why the strangely menacing voice?’

‘Because it’s extremely strange, and just as menacing, how you changed your mind and found us,’ said Betty. ‘How did you know we were at this very castle, eh? Isn’t it strange, Amy and Daniel?’

‘Woof woof woof?’ said Whatshisname, who also thought it particularly strange but was a bit miffed that no-one had asked him for his opinion.

‘Now you mention it,’ said Amy, copying Betty’s strange but menacing voice and staring at Ricky with her own strange and menacing eyes, ‘it is very strange, isn’t it?’

Daniel joined in all the mass menace. ‘Strange,’ he said. He removed his spectacles, sucked the curly bit that rests on the ear, leaned forwards and stared quite hard at Ricky. ‘You don’t think he’s switched sides, do you, everyone? Hmmm? Do you think he’s turned?’ Daniel put his spectacles back on and stared harder. ‘He
looks a bit uncomfortable if you ask me. And he’s sweating a bit as well.’

Ricky’s face flushed. ‘Of course I look uncomfortable!’ he admitted. ‘You’re surrounding me and all staring at me! And I’m always sweating! I’m a really sweaty person. You should know that.’ He wiped his hand across his brow, causing a drop of sweat to fall onto the cobbled street and into a gutter. Eventually that same drop of sweat would draw the attention of, and cause further bewilderment to, the fascinated shoal of inquisitive fish in the sea.

‘He’s right,’ said Amy. ‘He has always been sweaty. I can vouch for his sweatiness. I remember when . . .’

‘Amy!’ snapped Ricky.

Amy frowned. ‘I was going to tell them about that time many years ago when all the sweat just . . .’

‘No! It’s
not
important!’ said Ricky. ‘What
is
important is that I’m on your side!’

‘We can’t be sure, though,’ said Betty. ‘How do we know?’

‘He might have been got at,’ suggested Daniel. ‘He’s a double agent, I reckon. What if he’s in the pay of The Shadowy Group, waiting to scuttle our daring plan in favour of his own secret daring plan. Perhaps we should interrogate him.’

‘Didn’t we once have a super training session on torture and interrogation techniques?’ said Amy. ‘Remember?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Betty. ‘Ricky missed that meeting, but I suppose that would be an advantage for us. Mind you, it was a real shame about Aunt Trinny’s favourite parrot, but it should have talked. Maybe we can practice the same techniques on Ricky but without the leg waxing kit. He does look uncomfortable, doesn’t he? Look at his eyes. They’re sweating as well.’

‘What do you expect?’ moaned Ricky, pathetically wiping the tears from his eyes and trying to edge away from the others. ‘I’m loyal to the cause, honestly! Don’t torture and interrogate me, please! I can’t stand pain or the sight of blood, especially
my own. How can I prove that I’m still on your side?’

Amy looked at Betty, who looked at Daniel, who looked down at Whatshisname, who had by now lost interest in all this talk of interrogation and was now far too busy licking the desolate area of his undercarriage to waste a look on anyone.

‘I tell you what, let’s give this some thought,’ suggested Betty.

‘Yes let’s,’ agreed Amy.

Daniel nodded his head and scratched his chin in thought. Amy also scratched her chin in thought, although she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to think about at such short notice and why chin-scratching helped in any way at all. Whatshisname stopped all the licking and looked up at his chums as they stood silently in thought. There were times when they were way beyond his comprehension but, nevertheless, he scratched his chin in sympathy, knowing that a useful side effect would be to dislodge a few unwary fleas.

‘Maybe this is not the time or place,’ Betty suggested. ‘Should we each keep an eye on him? Watch out for unusual behaviour, secret coded signals being passed to secret contacts, that sort of thing?’

‘What?’ exclaimed Ricky in a startled squeaky voice.

‘Or shall we just believe him?’ suggested Daniel.

‘Yes, that sounds like a good option,’ said Amy who was, as ever, keen to give her support to any unworkable compromise.

‘Good,’ said Betty. ‘Then I declare this meeting closed.’

‘Er, can I just say,’ said Ricky, ‘that you never declared it open.’

‘He’s right, you didn’t,’ agreed Amy.

‘See, he’s already trying to divide us!’ said Daniel. ‘Typical
agent provocateur
behaviour, if you ask me. I now think we should re-consider the intensive interrogation option.’

‘But . . .’ butted Ricky, looking really panicky, ‘this is so silly! You’re always picking on me!’ He frowned and looked thoughtfully at his shoes. ‘Is it because I’m black?’

‘Huh?’ said Betty, wide-eyed, her brain trying hard to process this new piece of information.

‘I said is it because I’m black?’ he repeated, still shoe-gazing.

‘But . . .’ said Amy, staring at Ricky, her white brother.

‘Erm . . .’ said Daniel.

‘Woof woof woof?’ said Whatshisname.

‘Ricky,’ said Betty, ‘I’m not sure how to say this, but, um, you’re not actually black. Not in the black sense.’

‘You’re at it again! You’re mocking me!’ moaned Ricky. ‘You’re all
so
colour prejudiced! It’s institutionalised racism, that’s what it is! I’m going to write to The President!’

‘Ricky,’ said Betty. ‘Honestly, you aren’t black. At all.’

Ricky lifted his head and looked at the others one by one. He frowned again. ‘Aren’t I?’ he asked. ‘Are you sure? Not even metaphorically?’

‘Betty’s quite right,’ confirmed Daniel. ‘You’re white . . . well, pinkish. Sort of freckly pinkish white with a hint of waxen. Just like the rest of us. If anyone is black, by rights it should be me.’

‘That’s true,’ said Ricky. ‘I do understand and am in awe of your street-talk, after all. But, if you’re all right, and I’m not even slightly or metaphorically black, then I suppose I feel a bit disappointed.’

Betty was truly lost for words for a few moments, and kept on glancing at Ricky in case he suddenly started to turn black. Then she thought it best to take control again. ‘Ricky – and everyone, of whatever creed and colour – we really have no time for all this. Maybe we can talk about Ricky’s doubtful allegiance and his apparent colour problem later on? But for now, we have to find Clarissa!’

‘Sounds like a good idea,’ said Ricky. ‘It’ll take my mind off the disappointment. But what I didn’t mention is why I’m dressed like this, in this green swirly patterned curtain material.’

‘I did wonder,’ said Amy. ‘It’s not exactly
you
, is it?’

‘I will tell you,’ said Ricky, ‘even though you’ve all been quite
nasty to me. I met a kindly man – who, incidentally, doesn’t care about the colour of my skin – and he’s making a big film here about a nun who sings quite a lot and he asked me to be an extra in the film, so I had to . . .’

‘Never mind that,’ interrupted Betty. ‘It all sounds quite boring. I just want to know how you found us.’

‘Old Hag told me,’ Ricky blurted out.

‘Old Hag!’ exclaimed Betty. ‘She’s the one who locked us in that dungeon cell!’

‘I know,’ said Ricky. ‘She boasted about it. So I stole her West Brom bobble hat and made her tell me where you were, otherwise the hat would get relegated, again. She told me, then went off with the Bartle fellow on her own very secret mission.’

‘Went off with Mr Bartle?’ said Amy. ‘Is that good news for our adventure?’

‘Erm, I’m not sure,’ said Daniel uncertainly.

‘She said she was going to find Uncle Quagmire and Clarissa,’ said Ricky, ‘and that Clarissa must get together with Bartle. She said she would stop Uncle Quagmire stopping them from getting together!’