Felix and the Red Rats (7 page)

Mum nodded, smiling.

‘Well it’s still there and so is the path through the pine trees. The pine trees too.’

‘A lot older and more twisted,’ said Uncle Felix. ‘Not unlike me.’

Once Spleen had left, the fair-haired man turned to them.

‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘We will have these ropes removed and then you must be questioned.’

He turned abruptly, strode towards the door, opened it and beckoned them through. They followed down a long bare corridor, turned left into another corridor and right into yet another corridor. At intervals along these passageways were doors, but without obvious identification or numbers. Blank, anonymous doors. Then more corners, more corridors, more doors.

Felix felt very apprehensive. He tried to memorise the route they were taking even though he knew
deep down that they were being led into a situation from which escape would be difficult, if not utterly impossible. And even if the four of them could escape this complicated maze of a building, what then? They would have to negotiate the dark, desolate streets of the seemingly deserted city to find the Cable-car Station somehow. And even were this possible, how could they then get the cable-car operators, if there were any, to take them up to the Way Station? And if this impossibility were somehow achieved, what were their chances of persuading Spleen and his clones to let them enter the Way Station?

His heart sank even further, remembering Spleen’s claim that there were hundreds of doors into the Way Station. There was no way of knowing which one of these would release them once more, would open on to the pine forest and the zigzag path that led down the hill.

No, Felix concluded glumly. Unlikely to say the least. Impossible. Improbable at best. All they could do was go with the flow, like four little corks in the rapids.

Unexpectedly, the fair-haired man stopped and pulling out a ring of keys, unlocked one of the anonymous doors.

‘In there,’ he ordered.

They filed into a small room. It was windowless and sparsely furnished. There was a table and a chair and three wooden benches. The light was not bright
and came from a wall fitting on each of the otherwise bare walls.

The man gestured them towards the nearest bench and, a little awkwardly, they sat down.

‘Wait here,’ said the fair-haired man, once they were seated.
Do we have a choice?
thought Felix bitterly.

The man then left the room, closing the door behind him. However, he returned almost immediately, apparently having forgotten something. He walked directly to Bella, leant over her and whispered, ‘You do still have the diary Spleen mentioned?’

Bella said yes and, a little reluctantly, held out the red-covered book, expecting the man to demand it. Instead, to her surprise, he whispered, ‘Hide it!’

Bella looked at him unsurely and then tucked the diary under her red sweatshirt. The man waited until the book was safely stowed away, then, giving her a small, grim smile, he said, ‘Good.’

When Bella looked up at him once more he added, still in a whisper, ‘Don’t mention the diary.’

He locked eyes with hers until she murmured, ‘Okay.’

‘Much may depend on it.’

Then he turned and left them again. They heard the tell-tale click of the key locking the door, and then the sound of his footsteps disappearing down the corridor.

What on earth was that about?
thought Felix.

Felix gave Bella a wan smile.

She shrugged.

Bella has no idea either
, he thought.

He imagined that Bella, too, would have been considering their chances of escape and no doubt have come to the same pessimistic conclusion.

Felix glanced at her once more to check out whether the diary was convincingly concealed and was relieved to see no outline traces of it whatever. Bella’s red sweatshirt was baggy and the diary little more than the size of a thin exercise book.

What was it about the diary? The fair-haired man seemed to have a thing about it. First he had told off the little guy Spleen for treating it lightly, which suggested it might be important. But then, his coming back into the room to tell Bella to keep it hidden … From what? From whom? What was that about?

You could almost, Felix thought, say the diary was the thing responsible for their being in this ghastly mess in the first place. If bloody Dusty Heberson hadn’t pinched it, then he and Bella wouldn’t have had to pinch it back; and if they hadn’t been spotted and chased after they had pinched it back, they would never have taken that shortcut. And if they hadn’t taken the shortcut and hidden in that concrete shed, then—

‘What’s with the diary, anyway?’ Felix demanded.

Myrtle sniffed.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Bella. ‘It’s just a diary.’

‘What’s in it?’ asked Felix. He had never asked to look at the diary, and Bella had never offered to show him.

‘Nothing much,’ said Bella. ‘Just the usual stuff. It’s more of a notebook, really. Just a few thoughts, jottings. Bits of poetry, and there’s lots of doodles and things.’

‘Doesn’t sound much,’ said Felix.

‘Not much at all,’ admitted Bella. ‘Not worth getting into this crazy nightmare for, anyway.’

‘No smelly secrets?’ grinned Felix, thinking of Spleen’s disgust.

Moonface snorted.

Bella flashed him a look of annoyance. ‘Not really. Nothing like that. There’s the odd rebus and magic square. Lists of books and my personal top twenties, but nothing filthy.’

‘So you say!’ said Moonface scornfully.

‘Shut up, Moony,’ said Felix crossly. ‘You’re an idiot.’ Then he added. ‘What are they? Those rebus things and magic squares?’

‘Nothing much,’ said Bella. ‘Word games, really. I rather like them. Rebuses are a kind of code with pictures and magic squares are word puzzles.’

Moonface Morgan snorted disbelievingly again and Felix turned on him. ‘You really are pathetic sometimes, Moony!’ he exclaimed. ‘And anyway, why the hell did Dusty pinch Bella’s diary in the first place?
That’s what’s got us into this mess!’

Myrtle sniffed again.

‘I dunno,’ admitted Moonface. ‘He just said there could be stuff in there we could use.’

‘Use?’

‘Go figure,’ said Moonface, shrugging his shoulders. And then he added, ‘Oh, and he reckoned it would really, really hack Bella off.’

‘Yeah, well, he’s so right there,’ said Bella. ‘It so really did.’

The sound of approaching footsteps and then of a key in the door silenced any further pleasantries. As they waited for the door to open, the four looked at each other nervously.

It was the fair-haired man back, this time accompanied by three of the waspy look-alike creatures.

‘Untie them,’ he ordered. ‘And then get rid of yourselves and the ropes!’

Swiftly, efficiently, silently, the three quickly untied the ropes then neatly wound them into rolls which they slung over their shoulders so that they looked like tiny mountaineers.

‘Go now!’ said the fair-haired man.

Without a word or any change in expression from their default
sour
, the three left, closing the door behind them.

‘Who are they?’ asked Bella, as the man sat himself down, laying his clipboard before him.

He glanced at her. ‘I have no idea of their names,’ he said. ‘In any case, they’re hard to tell apart.’

‘I didn’t mean
who
are they,’ said Bella, ‘I meant
what
are they?’

The fair-haired man looked surprised. ‘They’re twerps,’ he said. ‘You don’t know what twerps are? You don’t have them?’

Bella shook her head.

‘My father calls me a silly twerp sometimes,’ said Felix, ‘when I’ve done something stupid, but I’ve never seen one. I figured it was just a word.’

‘It
is
just a word,’ said the fair-haired man, ‘and it does have a meaning as you’ve just seen.’

Felix looked at him, ‘But you’re not a twerp. Actually, you’re the only non-twerp we’ve seen so far.’

The man shook his head. ‘You’re quite correct. I am not a twerp.’

‘What are you?’ asked Bella, feeling braver.

For a fleeting second a rather bleak expression flickered across the man’s face. Then, recovering, he gave Bella a small apologetic smile. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘But I have a strange feeling I’m about to be a very abject object or a very exalted object.’

‘Or both?’ asked Bella.

‘I don’t think so,’ said the man. ‘One or the other, I’d say.’

‘What’s abject?’ asked Felix,

Again the brief bleakness: ‘Very, very, very sorry,’
said the man. And then the apologetic smile once more.

Something about that little smile changed the hitherto rather cold and commanding figure into something a little softer, more approachable. Felix wondered why he had let his guard slip. He reconsidered the man. He was dressed entirely in black, including high black boots, except for a
wine-coloured
tunic, much longer than those worn by the twerps. He looked like a cross between a soldier and a priest. His features were regular, and, were his face not so gaunt and his usual expression not so cold, he might have been described as good-looking.

Then, as if reminded of his true purpose, the man returned once more to his official manner, signalling this by picking up the clipboard.

‘I will record your names individually,’ he announced, ‘and then I trust one of you’ — his eyes moved to Bella — ‘will explain exactly how you came to be here in Axillaris.’

‘Where?’ asked Felix.

‘Axillaris?’ asked Bella.

‘The Principality of Axillaris,’ said the fair-haired man. ‘You mean you don’t know
where
you are?’

‘Axa-what?’ said Moonface. ‘Never heard of it.’

The fair-haired man looked surprised. ‘Then how,’ he asked, ‘in Fortuna’s name did you get here?’

‘I can tell you that, at least,’ said Bella.

Recollecting himself, the man said, ‘No. We’d best
do the names first.’ He picked up his pen.

One by one, they gave their names. Myrtle was so inaudible that Bella had to help by spelling it out, and Moonface referred to himself by his given name, Bruce. Once these formalities were over, Bella gave a reasonably coherent account of how they had found themselves where they were.

Once she had finished, the man said nothing for some time. Instead, he sucked speculatively at the end of his pen.

Finally, he confessed, ‘It doesn’t make much sense to me.’

‘You can say that again!’ said Moonface. ‘The whole thing’s crazy and I want out. Can’t you do anything to get us back again?’

The young man regarded him mildly. ‘I’m not sure that’s at all possible,’ he said. ‘And even if it were, it would not be my decision.’

‘Whose, then?’ demanded Moonface.

‘Why, the regent’s, of course,’ said the man. ‘But I wouldn’t be in any hurry to see him. He’s just as likely to chop off your heads as to send you home.’

They stared at him in horror.
Please be joking
, Felix thought, but then with a sinking feeling realised that the man was not joking. His face remained serious and this time there was no little grin, apologetic or not. At the words
chop off your heads
, Moonface had whitened and Myrtle had let out a wild wail. Before she hastened
to comfort her, Bella gave Felix an anxious glance.

‘He is a most unpleasant man,’ added the fair-haired man. ‘It would not do to provoke him. And he is invariably provoked when people make demands of him.’

At these words, Moonface shrank into himself. With Bella’s arms about her, Myrtle was managing to stifle her tears.

Felix wanted to change the subject quickly. ‘So that’s
how
we got here,’ he said. ‘But what I’d like to know is
why
we’re here. Have you any idea?’

The man looked at him, shaking his head. ‘You say you know nothing of Axillaris?’

‘Cross my heart,’ said Felix, shaking his. ‘Like Moony, I’ve never heard of it. None of us have.’

‘Well,’ said the fair-haired man. ‘I suppose I should attempt to explain …’

Felix was aware that he now spoke in a slightly lowered tone, as if wary of being overheard.

‘To begin with, my name is Medulla, and I’m one of the regent’s secretaries, here at the palace. I was alerted to your presence by the receptionist and, as she will have logged the message, sooner or later I must report it to the regent. ‘That is,’ he added, ‘if he doesn’t already know.’

He glanced at Moonface, who quailed a little.

‘You have found yourselves in Axillaris, a very troubled and sad realm, as I’m sure you might have already observed. I’ve mentioned the regent. The regent is Count Cava and he is regent not because
the rightful ruler is too young, or too incapable, but because the rightful ruler has not as yet been able to find the keys to her principality.’

‘The rightful ruler?’ asked Bella.

‘Is Princess Pia, the regent’s niece,’ said Medulla. He sounded almost surprised they were not aware of her.

‘What’s happened to her?’ asked Felix.

Medulla looked sombre. ‘She is held in seclusion. Count Cava cannot harm her, of course. The Council of Nobles would not allow it. But I suspect she is safe only by Fortuna’s grace.’

‘Fortuna?’ asked Felix.

‘Fortuna?’ Again the surprised note. ‘Fortuna, the one who decides what must be. The one who decides whether the tree stands or the tree falls, whether the river breaks its banks or the floodwaters recede—’