15. Breaking Cover

Auckland, NZ – Great Uncle Archie in grand form. Did you know his father signed the Treaty of Waitangi with Hobson. Arrived just in time for the shearing. D working with some volcanologists who need help with their sums. What do they do in schools these days? I hope you’re paying attention in Arithmetic. Daddy won’t always be there to bail you out. Baa baa Mimi xx

(34g60t12dgp Osaka)

Instinctively the boys turned to hobble in the opposite direction in their three-legged fashion. DD and Bagpuize hoping Slipper knew another way out. Slipper hoping something would turn up. He was now in uncharted territory since his own demesne was the far side of the Canes-Parks occupation.

The service gallery appeared to double as a ventilation shaft. They felt occasional gusts of fresh air blowing in their faces. The ceiling was low and rounded forcing them to crouch slightly. For Slipper and Bagpuize this soon became quite painful. As well as bearing much of DD’s weight they kept cracking their heads on obstructions protruding from the low ceiling. The flickering of torch light and the clanking and clumping in their rear was getting closer and their own clanking on the metal walkway giving their position away was impossible to mute. But soon a dull light ahead suggested some kind of opening and raised their flagging hopes.

As they came close they could see moonlight but to their horror they found their exit sealed off by a heavy metal grill. DD was unceremoniously dumped to one side, his ankle throbbing as much as his frustration at not being able to contribute to their escape. Slipper and Bagpuize set to work on the grill using some hand tools Baggy had produced from his bottomless rucksack. But they kept fumbling and dropping the tools in their haste and nervousness heightened by the noise made by Lurch and Jaws who were closing in to their rear. And then just as they managed to get some purchase on the screws around the grill they broke off or the screwdriver spun in the rusty heads.

After some fruity Gallic cursing from Slipper and a lot of huffing and puffing from Bagpuize they succeeded in loosing the grill and twisting it around so they could kick it free and out of the opening. But their hopes evaporated as they realised by the long pause before the crash that they were obviously somewhere quite high up and now they fancied they could smell the tobacco breath of Canes’s bloodhounds.

They leaned out of the aperture to discover they were about 50 feet above the bottom of a narrow gorge. Looking upwards they could not see the top and in neither direction could they see any foothold or means of ascent or descent. The grunts and clomping of the harriers was in their ears and all around them.

Bagpuize pulled the baton out of his bag and cast the line down to the ground. They heard a light thump as the marble hit the ground.

“More rope tricks.” DD squeezed out a smile.

“Yup, he’s turning us into proper monkeys,” winked Slipper.

But rather than shinning down the rope, Bagpuize started to the pull open the maypole pattern fibres of the rope.

“Here.” He handed the baton to Slipper. “Secure this to something solid. The grill frame.” Slipper got to work without question as Bagpuize was beginning to clamber inside the rope which was now resembling a large body stocking. “As I was saying,” Bagpuize continued as if he were giving a lecture to the Royal Society, “I can’t decide whether to call it a ‘Rope on a Rod’ or a ‘Chute on a Stick’. The latter sounds a bit like an ice-cream.” Only his waist and upper torso were now protruding from the sock as he began to wiggle his way down into it as one would into a mountain sleeping bag. The whole thing reminded DD of that mesh they wrap Christmas trees in at the garden centre but made with a much finer gauze.

Bagpuize now had his legs poking out of the opening above the 50 foot drop. “Once I’m down follow me as quickly as you can.”

“Hang on Baggy, you’re not going to jump, you’ll only break your legs when you hit the floor – if you’re lucky.” DD sounded quite alarmed.

“Well that’s the beauty of this stuff,” the sales pitch went on in matter of facts tones as if he had all the time in the world to close the deal, “this material combines not only great tensile strength and elasticity, but when friction is applied to it – such as when a body slides down the chute – the fibres tighten gradually and thus decrease your speed of descent so that by my calculations it should bring you to a gentle touch down, like stepping off the curb onto the road.” He beamed triumphantly.

“By your calculation?” DD exclaimed in exasperation which was not like him but the stress of his injuries were diminishing his normally cool demeanour. “You mean you’ve not tried it?”

“Well ... er ... no ... but what could possibly go wrong. Besides, did I tell you it’s very nutricious? It’s an adaptation of what we use on the sausages.” And with that he pushed off. 

A few seconds later they heard his excited whooping, “Hurry up ... hurry up ... ”

The brutes now had the boys in their beams which were shining full in DD and Slipper’s faces. “You little perishers ... just you wait ... we’ll make mincemeat of you ...” DD was already in the chute.

“Or sausage meat,” murmured Slipper defiantly as DD slid away and Slipper donned the sack. He could feel the spittle spray from the blaspheming cavemen as they lurched at him. He felt a slight tug at his shoulder but wriggling free he was away landing with balletic grace beside DD a few seconds later courtesy of the chute’s tender embrace.

Slipper had only just peeled the chute off when there was a sort of muffled banshee moan, a whizz followed by a colossal seismic thud on the ground next to him followed by a slow exhalation of breath.

One of the heavies had come down the chute. In spite of their fear and revulsion at the men who had been giving chase the boys felt quite sick at the sight of the obviously now lifeless mound of flesh and bone that lay beside them as what seemed like raspberry compote began to seep through the muslin of the chute.

“’What could possibly go wrong?’” quoted Slipper ironically, glancing sideways at Bagpuize.

“Why didn’t it break his fall?” DD was more direct.   

“Well, it’s not designed to carry that sort of weight.” Bagpuize was indignant. “This one’s more chipolata than ... rostbratwurst.”

The man’s colleague was calling down to him now and shining his torch on them. He fell silent as realisation of the gruesome fate of his erstwhile companion dawned on him.

The three musketeers were stunned and silent as they contemplated the sticky end – literally – of their stalker and their several narrow escapes. Exhausted and absorbed in their thoughts they did not see two torch lights stealthily moving in on their position until it was too late and they were right upon them shining full in their faces. Their hearts hit the floor – not as hard as the last thing that hit the floor. They realised were played out and done for this time.

But the torch beams dropped to the floor and, as their eyes recovered from the dazzle they saw the beaming faces of Toddington and Matravers. 

“How did you find us?” asked DD as a rush of energy at the sight of their friends lifted them all.

Toddington, “You’ve Slipper to thank for that. He drew me a plan of the tunnels. I knew you’d have to head away from the end where all the action’s taking place and I knew the gorge here and figured there had to be a way out.”

Perhaps it was the voices, the sight of Toddington’s service revolver in his right hand or the number of torchlights now beaming below that scared the remaining bloodhound away. 

But now they knew they were safe.