The Secret Five and the Stunt Nun Legacy (35 page)

Both Ricky and Sampson turned to look in the direction of the door. They sniffed the air. They waited for a minute or so before shrugging their respective shoulders and accepting that the daring rescue attempt without any regard for Whatshisname’s own life might not be going to happen after all.

Sampson quickly returned to his threatening old ways. ‘Okay, so no-one’s going to rescue you. Now you have to die!’

But Ricky was getting fed up of it all, especially all the endless sneering, and suddenly became even more somewhat braver. ‘Listen,’ he said to Sampson. ‘I’m becoming more somewhat braver, as well as getting really fed up of it all, especially your endless sneering, it seems. Untie us this instant! You aren’t evil at all. Renounce evil. You are good! Jolly good! I don’t believe that Old Hag is your real mother, or that Bartle was your father.’

‘Ricky!’ said Amy. ‘Is this helping? And can you
please
go slower?’

But Ricky was on a roll. ‘I think kindly Uncle Quagmire is your real father – which does beg a question about fidelity, by the way – and kindly Clarissa the stunt nun is your natural mother. I think Old Hag snatched you . . .’

‘You’ve lost me,’ moaned Amy.

‘ . . . and you are
not
really evil,’ continued Ricky. ‘Old Hag is just using you for her own evil ends.’

‘So does that mean . . .’ began Amy.

‘Huh? Not evil?’ asked Sampson, unsneeringly. ‘How does that work?’

‘Ricky, does that mean . . .’ began Amy again.

‘Yes, Sampson,’ said Ricky. ‘You’re
not
evil! Think of the good you can bring to the world. Think Nobel prizes! Think Blue Peter badges! In fact, you could be like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun, like a bright starry thing of heaven in the broad daylight.’

Amy looked strangely at Ricky, not realising that being pressed against The Romantics was having a sublime effect on the embodiment that was her brother.

‘Ricky!’ she said. ‘Very good speech, albeit it a bit flowery, but does all that about Uncle Quagmire mean that . . . does it mean that . . . what does it mean?’

‘And why should I do good?’ Sampson shouted. He bent down, waving the cake slice close to Ricky’s face. ‘Say your goodbye, Ricko, castanet solo stealer. You are going to be the first member of your precious Secret Five to die a death worse than fate itself!’

‘No, Sampson!’ shrieked Amy. ‘Listen! I’m being rather clever for a change, so it’ll be worth it. If Ricky is right, and our Uncle Quagmire
is
your father – although I don’t understand at all how that can happen – that makes you some sort of relative to us, doesn’t it? And, incidentally, I think it makes our Uncle Quagmire some sort of untrustworthy scoundrel.’

Sampson looked at Amy. He was obviously thinking quite hard, as his little ears were wiggling and waggling.

‘You’re right, Amy!’ Ricky said, in a rather grasping-at-straws tone of voice. ‘Sampson here would be our, erm, brother-in-law . . . no, wait, third cousin-in-law . . . no . . .’

Just then, before Ricky could grasp the simplest of situations, and just as Sampson looked as though he was about to renounce a bit of evil and ruin the promise of a cliffhanger, a chapter break appeared without a by-your-leave, startling them all!

In which The Secret Five are reunited; Daniel gasps a bit; Ricky gets killed; no he doesn’t; yes he does; stop this arguing; okay; Betty has had enough, and flips; things are bad; no, really they are, death and destruction stalk the pages like a big fat stalking thing.

Daniel didn’t know what had happened. He had landed with a big bump in a handy deserted corner of a school library. How strange! He had a hint of a headache, and a hazy memory of a meal with some Victorian people, a conversation with a real squire and some nice wine and . . . ‘Oh gosh!’ he said, quite embarrassed as he recalled drinking at least one tiny glass of red wine. Of course! That might be the cause of his feeling a little under the weather, which was bright with an eighty percent chance of a badly-needed shower.

‘Oh, oh, I think I had a little too much to drink,’ he mumbled to himself. He felt really bad about that, as he had made a point of attending a special Secret Five seminar on The Perils Of Tonic Wine and Overdosing on Blue Smarties.

‘Too right, Daniel!’ said Betty, from where she had landed. ‘Now will you just get off me? And move your hands! Boys! You’re all the same!’

Daniel, quite embarrassed yet quite intrigued, slowly moved his hands. ‘Sorry. But where are we? And where’s Whatshisname and Uncle Quagmire?’ He stood up on his own two feet and looked around him.

‘Hopefully we’re in 1980,’ Betty said. ‘Uncle Quagmire sent us here, remember? He said, rather peculiarly, that he had some unfinished business with Alice the mysterious Victorian maid
and that, against the odds, he would somehow find his own way back. I don’t know where Whatshisname is, though.’ She looked around her. No Whatshisname! Had he become lost, wandering through time for eternity, never to appear in any more exciting adventures?

No chance. Unbeknown to the children, and quite secretly, our brave but ugly hero now looked dolefully down on Betty and Daniel from the top of some bookshelves, where he had landed. At first he thought he had died and had been granted a last look down at his pals before entering the tunnel with the light at the end and where there would be an endless supply of peanut butter treats and an immediate opportunity for a painless testicle re-installation operation followed by endless heavenly opportunities for frenzied canine copulation.

But then reality struck, and his trusty instincts clicked in. He recalled that one moment he had been happily slurping at some yummy red liquid under an ornate table somewhere, the next moment he had landed on top of Mind, Body & Spirit in a school library. Indeed, he had landed there after being carried unconscious into a typical Victorian wardrobe, tongue lolling out of his pink mouth, dribbling all over the sprouts, and forcibly time-travelled to 1980 with his two pals.

The time-travel landing on top of the bookshelves had jolted him awake. Hearing Betty and Daniel talking, he opened his mouth to say
woof woof woof
.

‘           ,’ he said, as nothing at all came out. He’d been struck dumb as well! Poor Whatshisname! Apart from the mental anguish caused by the fluffy pink collar, and the dumbness, and the endless flurry of exclamation marks, he was now suffering badly from quite a significant headache!

But, despite the headache, he dared to look down. Quite suddenly, and quite pathetically, he discovered that he was also afraid of heights! Or was he afraid of bookshelves? He wasn’t sure. Whatever, he knew that the phobia symptoms would begin
soon – excessive sweating, rapid breathing, rapid heartbeat, nausea, dizziness. It was so exciting! He looked forward to them all, especially the rapid breathing, which he hadn’t experienced since well before the surprise outing to the vets.

He whimpered quietly to himself and started to crawl very slowly along the top, trying not to look down, hoping to find some handy library ladders in the DIY section. Below him Betty and Daniel were still talking, unaware of his dire canine predicament.

‘Forget Whatshisname,’ Betty told Daniel. ‘He’ll be lost in time somewhere with his dire canine predicament. Never mind, eh? Now hush! There’s a commotion! It’s coming from the direction of Poetry & Literary Criticism!’

Sneakily, the two of them sneaked round the bookshelves. They heard a voice that sent shudders through their very ankles and up to their very knees.

‘Ha!’ said the voice. ‘Some evil son you are! I can’t leave you to do anything. They’re still alive!’

‘That’s Old Hag!’ whispered Betty. ‘I bet she’s up to no good.’

‘Are we allowed to bet?’ asked Daniel.

‘I don’t know, do I?’ she snapped back quietly yet effectively. ‘But look! There’s Amy and Ricky, they’re tied up by The Romantics! They might catch something and become profoundly imaginative! How utterly ghastly for them!’

They saw that Amy and Ricky were indeed tied up and looking rather sorry for themselves. Daniel gasped and felt much better for it. They also saw a boy who looked moderately evil and slightly familiar.

‘That must be Sampson!’ whispered Betty. ‘By the look of it, he has turned moderately evil, so Amy and Ricky have indeed failed. Unless we can stop him. Let’s have a meeting. This might be the climax of our adventure, the bit before the resolution!’

‘I don’t think we actually have time for a meeting,’ whispered Daniel. ‘It looks as though Old Hag is going to kill Amy and Ricky! Cool!’

Betty glared a big glare at him. ‘What do you mean,
cool
? Killing is bad, Daniel! Very bad! And they’re family!’

‘Well, I do find myself wondering,’ wondered Daniel, ‘if it isn’t about time there was an unexpected violent death or two in the story. Just to liven it up a bit. Midsomer Murders is full of them, apparently, and look how successful that is.’

But just as Betty was about to say something quite interesting for a change, Old Hag spotted them!

‘Ha!’ she cackled. ‘Well, if it isn’t Dando and the one with the big things. How was 1880? Shame you got yourself back, but now you’re here, you may as well suffer some cackling!’ She pointed a random old hag finger vaguely in their direction. ‘Just look at them! Ha! They’re rubbish. And definitely not evil enough, Sampson. They will certainly spoil your plans for world domination if you don’t stop them.’

But Old Hag had underestimated the children’s bravery and the daring yet shrewd plan that Betty and Daniel were about to put into action without a moment’s thought for their own safety.

‘What plan?’ whispered Daniel to Betty.

Betty shrugged both her shoulders. ‘No idea,’ she whispered thoughtfully. ‘But look! Sampson has dragged Amy to her feet and has the cake slice at her throat! We’re not used to this sort of violent behaviour. What shall we do? It’s rather spoiling our super adventure. And isn’t there a health and safety issue with that cake slice?’

‘Help us!’ shrieked Amy pathetically yet artistically.

‘Yes, help us!’ endorsed Ricky. ‘There’s a rather nice buffet going to waste!’

‘Don’t panic,’ said Daniel, gently sweating. ‘Stay calm, just like we are . . . gosh . . . I feel . . . I feel rather . . .wack . . . yo! Sis! Kotch for a mo! Diss am soooo A-heavy. Too grimy fo’ me, f’sho’! Absofrickinlutely gah! Nim nim nim. Innit!’

‘Daniel!’ scolded Betty, kicking his ankle. ‘This is not the time to lapse into street talk!’

‘Sis! Don’ be trippin’ like a lava lamp!’ Daniel said. ‘Dis am
shew as bones de bes’ time, woo-man, innit?’ And with that he sank to the floor and started humming excerpts from Eminen’s latest choral album.

Betty knew immediately that she would have to be the one to save the world, but now she had had enough.

‘I’ve had enough!’ she shrieked, confirming what we already knew but without the extra irritating
had
. She advanced on Sampson, waving her arms in the air. ‘ENOUGH! I’ve had EEEEENOUOUOUOUGH!’

Sampson looked uncertainly at Betty and the flurry of capitals. The cake slice wavered at Amy’s throat. He marvelled at Betty’s bosom, which was approaching very quickly and threatened to surround him. But instead of attacking him, Betty flopped down on the floor alongside Ricky. ‘Go on then, tie
me
up!’ she yelled. ‘I’ve had
enough
! In italics! I’m fed up of being the sensible one, the one that has to think and make the decisions, the one with the bosom that everyone keeps staring at . . .’

‘Now you mention it . . .’ said Sampson, releasing Amy and staring down at Betty’s bosom.

‘See what I mean?’ growled Betty.

Amy sank to the floor. She and Ricky glanced at each other twice, then again for luck, and knew that, if Betty flipped, the end of The Secret Five was surely upon them. A swift yet slow death would be a sweet relief compared to there being no Secret Five, they thought, although that point was surely debateable.

‘Never mind her!’ yelled Old Hag, stamping her feet. ‘Be evil, son! Go on, tie her up as well!’

‘No!’ shouted Ricky. ‘Sampson, you’re family! Our half-brother, if my mathematics are correct! You can’t hurt family!’

‘Ha!’ yelled Old Hag. ‘Don’t listen to them. You’re
my
flesh and blood. You extruded yourself from my own uterus . . .’

‘Yo! Cool bitch!’ murmured Daniel.

‘No she didn’t,’ said Ricky. ‘Sampson’s mummy and daddy are Clarissa and Uncle Quagmire.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Betty.

‘Yo!’ murmured Daniel again, staring at his feet.

‘What?’ exclaimed Betty yet again.

But now Old Hag had had enough dilly dallying. ‘Ha! And ha! again. I’ve dillied and dallied for long enough,’ she confirmed, advancing on Sampson. ‘If you won’t kill them I will! And then blame you! You will be evil by proxy! You will be an outcast, cast out and . . . and . . . proxied!’

‘But,’ moaned Sampson, ‘they keep saying you’re not my mummy. And they are The Secret Five with a vast experience of such things, so they should know. And they never ever lie.’

Old Hag pushed Sampson aside and grabbed the cake slice. ‘Ha! You’re rubbish as well,’ she cackled. ‘Just keep an eye on that Betty girl to make sure she doesn’t try any tricks.’

‘Okay,’ said Sampson, eagerly going one step further by keeping two eyes on Betty.

‘Hey, that’s unfair! I don’t know any tricks!’ moaned Betty.

‘Say your prayers, Ricko!’ Old Hag spat, and thrust the cake slice towards Ricky’s throat. Ricko screamed as he saw the flash of metal and Old Hag’s spit arching towards him.

‘Ha!’ cackled Old Hag as she paused in her thrusting, flashing and arching. ‘Sorry about the spitting. And I forgot to ask you if you had a last wish. Or a last cigarette maybe? Hmmm?’

‘Gosh,’ said Ricky, cowering politely. ‘No, but thanks for asking.’

Old Hag thrust the cake slice again towards Ricky’s throat. Betty looked on helplessly, as Daniel hummed a rather silly little tune and Sampson looked inquisitively down Betty’s top.

This was a crisis indeed! Would there be anyone to save these brave children from a gruesome death? Would there?