The Ogre Downstairs (5 page)

“Why does it all look so different?” Johnny said crossly.

“The wind’s blown us off course,” said Caspar. “We’d better find a road we know and follow that, or we’ll get lost.”

The brightest orange glare seemed now to be away to the right. They swam in that direction, across the wind. It was much harder going. Before long, Gwinny was complaining loudly of being tired.

“Do shut up,” Caspar called up at her. “Suppose someone hears you and tells the police.” He was fairly tired himself by this time. The feeling of frosty excitement he had first had seemed entirely to have gone. He was hot and worried. The only thing that stopped him suggesting that they go home was that it seemed so tame. But the fact was that one empty dark street is much like another, and merely flying across them stops being fun after a while.

“Let’s rest,” said Johnny.

They anchored themselves to a convenient television aerial and floated, panting. Beneath them, on a corner, was a pub with people noisily coming out of it.

“There’s some vice for you, Johnny,” said Caspar, as a very fat man rolled to the edge of the pavement and stood there singing. Gwinny laughed, because he was so fat she could not see his feet. Johnny watched him dubiously.
The fat man stopped singing and began to shout rude remarks at imaginary people across the road.

“That’s not vice,” said Johnny. “He’s drunk.”

“Do you know,” said Gwinny, “this is the pub on the corner near where we used to live! I know that fat man. He’s the greengrocer who gave me the wrong change. We can’t be far off Market Street. Yes, look.” She pointed a glove towards a big block of buildings towering against the orange glare. “That’s the Ogre’s office. I met him quite near there, so I know if we go past it, Market Street is only over some roofs.”

“So it is!” said Johnny, and Caspar felt foolish at not having recognised it long before.

So they set off towards the building, across the wind again, using television aerials to push off from. Each aerial bent and twanged as they used it, until the streets behind them hummed. Then they pushed off in a long swoop across a little dark space like a chasm and were able to pull themselves hand over hand along the towering side of the office block. All its lights were on. They handed themselves across a window that could well have belonged to the Ogre’s office. Inside were typewriters with covers on them, and not very comfortable-looking desks and chairs.

“It’s a bit like school,” said Gwinny. “I shan’t work in an office when I grow up.”

“I can’t think how the Ogre can bear to,” said Johnny. “I suppose it’s because he’s not human.”

They dived off from the office block across some tall steep roofs, which were almost too high for them to get over, and there they were at last, at the end of Market
Street. And that was splendid from the air. Coloured street-signs flashed on and off, people hurried, shops shone, and cars went in lines down the middle, so close together that, as Johnny said, they looked from above like a train someone had chopped into bits. A nice rowdy noise came up, and petrol fumes made Caspar sneeze. The Christmas lights were the only disappointing part. From the air, they seemed to be all scaffolding and wires, with a bit of a glitter below, almost out of sight.

“They’re made to be seen from the ground,” said Caspar.

They worked their way down the street, almost in the teeth of the wind. It was very slow going, even using parapets and dormer windows to push off from, and Caspar could not help being a little nervous of all the electric wires strung across the street. They passed the Discotheque on the other side of the road. Caspar recognised it from the big red lighted disc outside and the sound of muffled music.

“Douglas wanted to go there with his friends tonight, but the Ogre wouldn’t let him,” he told the others.

They were not surprised. After that, they stopped and roosted on the arch over the Town Hall, where a number of pigeons, frightened and offended, flapped away from their floating feet. Here Johnny thought he saw some vice. There was a group of youths just below, laughing and shouting and twanging guitars.

“No, those are only Douglas’s friends,” said Caspar. “I suppose they’re going home from the Discotheque.”

“I almost think the Ogre was right for once,” Gwinny said severely. “Those friends look loud and rough.”

“They’re just old,” said Caspar.

“And I bet the Ogre was just being his own mean Ogrish self,” said Johnny. “Wasn’t he, Caspar?”

“Let’s go home,” said Caspar. He suddenly thought what the Ogre might say and do to them, if he discovered they had been to Market Street, and the idea made him notice that he was cold and very tired. Johnny and Gwinny felt much the same. They set off again down Market Street.

They had almost reached the roundabout at the end, when Gwinny squawked, clapped her hand over her mouth and pointed across the street. The boys looked. And they were so astonished at what they saw that they stopped swimming and stared, and the wind carried all three of them back up the street again.

On the other side of Market Street, about ten feet lower down than they were, swam a sort of aerial frogman. He was whipping along, face downwards, past lighted windows and over people’s heads, with his hands by his sides and the great black flippers on his feet wagging away steadily.

“Oh-oh, they’ve landed!” said Johnny. It was the first thought in all their minds. But, as the figure came abreast of a streetlight, they saw it was Douglas, with the hood of his anorak up and wearing flippers. They all secretly thought the flippers were a very good idea, and wished they had thought of them too. “They’ve found the flying powder too,” said Johnny.

“And he’s using it to go to the Discotheque,” said Caspar, rather awed at Douglas’s daring. “He’s late. He’s missed the others.”

“Let’s follow him,” said Gwinny. “Then we can drop dark hints about where he went.”

“And get him scared silly we’ll tell the Ogre,” said Johnny. “Ahah! Little does he know we have him in our power!”

Chuckling at this extremely pleasant thought, they all set off up Market Street again as hard as they could go. The wind behind them helped, but Douglas, also with the wind behind him and the flippers in addition, drew steadily ahead. No matter how hard they shunted themselves from windows and balconies, they were nowhere near him when he reached the Discotheque. But, to their great surprise, Douglas shot straight past, over the big red disc and off up the street.

“I suppose he’ll have to wait for it to wear off and land somewhere secret,” Caspar suggested as a possible explanation.

Even so, it was odd that the now distant figure of Douglas should then cross, flippering steadily, over the traffic and continue up Market Street on the same side as they were. They hastened after him, but by the time they reached the Market Cross Hotel, they had lost him completely.

“He’s probably down by now,” Johnny said crossly.

Gwinny anchored herself to the scaffolding above the K of the big blue hotel sign and refused to go on. “I’m tired,” she said, floating out from the bar as she might in a swimming bath.

“Don’t touch that!” said Caspar. “You’ll get an electric shock.”

“And probably put out all the streetlights too,” said Johnny.

“I don’t care,” said Gwinny. “I’m so tired I could die.”

Johnny suddenly clutched at the scaffolding too, just above the E.

“
Johnny!
” said Caspar.

“I’m going heavy!” said Johnny.

“Oh, so am I!” gasped Gwinny. “Caspar, what shall we do?”

I
t was one of the most horrible moments Caspar had known. He was perfectly sure that if either Johnny or Gwinny put their feet as well as their hands on the scaffold and completed the circuit, they could get an electric shock strong enough to kill them. But now they could not let go. He was not going heavy himself. He thought, because of the way he had been laughing, he had put rather more flying potion on than the others. But it was obviously only a matter of minutes before that wore off too.

“Keep your feet off that thing!” he said to Johnny, and grabbed Gwinny round the waist. Behind the scaffold and the lighted lettering was a narrow ledge, which ran
along the front of the hotel between two rows of windows. It looked about wide enough to take their feet. Caspar swam upwind, crabwise, to it, holding Gwinny clutched against him. She felt as heavy as lead. He managed to turn her round and push her on to the ledge, with her back against the wall of the hotel.

“Now don’t dare move!” he said, and swam back for Johnny. Johnny was lashing his feet frantically, trying to use the last of his lightness to keep them clear of the scaffold. Caspar had to come at him sideways and grab him round the neck. By the time they reached the ledge, Johnny was making throttled noises and could only gasp and lean.

Then Caspar felt himself going heavy. He only had just time to turn round and back against the wall of the hotel before the potion left him and he went down on the ledge with a thump so heavy that he nearly overbalanced and fell off. It would have been a real fall too, all the way down to the street. The distance they were above ground, which had been exciting such a short time ago, now seemed appalling. Caspar shut his eyes and sweated.

“What shall we do?” said Gwinny. “Shout for help?”

There were still crowds of people passing below, but they dared not bend their heads to look at them.

“Don’t be a fool!” said Johnny. “We’ll get taken to a police station, and the next thing we know, the Ogre will be interrogating us in person.” He tried turning his head up to see how far they were away from the row of windows above, and nearly overbalanced. On top of clinging to the wall of the house, this was too much for him. His knees shook, and he felt giddy.

“Caspar, what shall we do?” said Gwinny.

“I think we’d better wait and see if Douglas comes back,” said Caspar.

“Oh no! Not him!” Johnny said faintly.

“But you said he’d come down by now,” protested Gwinny. “And if he walks past underneath us, we won’t see him. And if he goes on the other side of the road, he won’t hear us. Besides, what good could he do?”

“I don’t know,” said Caspar. “But it’s all I can think of.”

“I hate him,” objected Johnny.

“He’s about the only person in the world who’ll understand what’s happened,” said Caspar. “Except Malcolm, I suppose.”

“I hate him worse,” said Johnny.

Nevertheless, they settled down to wait. The gay street twinkled and roared around them. The Christmas lights glittered. Street signs winked on and off. People talked below, and laughed, and someone in the hotel played a piano rather badly. And solitary and unseen and stiff as statues, the three children stood on the ledge and waited, more hopelessly with every minute that passed.

They were so tired and miserable that they nearly missed Douglas when he came. He flashed flippering past, just below the ledge and the hotel sign. He was in front of CROSS before they saw him, nearly too far away to hear their urgent whispers.

“
Douglas!
” they all hissed desperately.

Douglas’s flippers faltered, and then began to move faster. Johnny risked shouting.

“DOUGLAS!”

With a swirl of flippers, Douglas stopped himself by hanging on to the scaffolding, just below the first T, and
turned to see who was shouting. When he saw it was them, he shrugged his shoulders and was obviously about to flipper away again.

“Please,” Gwinny called imploringly.

Slowly and grudgingly, Douglas handed himself back along the letters until he was hanging on below the L, looking up at them. He did not look in the least friendly. “All right,” he said. “So we’ve discovered the flying powder too. If you wanted to keep it secret, you shouldn’t have made such a darned fuss getting Gwinny off the ceiling.”

“So you did see her?” said Caspar.

“Yes. Do you want to make anything of it?” Douglas enquired unpleasantly.

“No,” said Gwinny. “Douglas, we’ve all gone heavy.”

There was a silence full of town-noises, during which Douglas looked thoroughly exasperated.

“And we’re stuck here,” explained Johnny.

“Just like you were on the side of the house. I know,” said Douglas. “What do you expect me to do about it? How much powder have you left?”

“None, I’m afraid,” said Caspar. “The last bit fell off the light as we were leaving.”

“Oh, trust you stupid little squits to get yourselves into a mess!” said Douglas. “It’s just
typical
. All right, I’ll go and get you some of ours, but you’ll have to wait. I’ve got to see to Malcolm first. He’s in even more of a mess than you are.” So saying, Douglas, with a deft swirl of flippers, pushed off from the L and shot away among the other street signs.

Now that they had some hope of rescue, waiting was
easier. But nothing could make standing perilously on that narrow ledge pleasant. Johnny’s feet went numb, and he was forced to shift cautiously from foot to foot.

“Keep still,” said Caspar. “You’ll knock us all off.”

Gwinny suddenly broke into song. “
Abide with me. Fast falls the
something
sky
.”

“Eh?” said Johnny.

“Shut
up
!” said Caspar.

“I was singing to keep our spirits up,” explained Gwinny.

“Well stop,” said Caspar. “You’ll have the Hotel Manager up instead, and he’ll get the Fire Brigade and we’ll end up in no end of trouble. And just think how mad Douglas will be if he comes all the way back here for nothing.”

This caused them all to stand silently for a while. Then Johnny said, “What was Douglas doing then, if he wasn’t going to the Discotheque?”

“Something to do with the mess Malcolm’s in?” Gwinny suggested.

Caspar said nothing. He was secretly rather disappointed that Douglas had not defied the Ogre after all.

“Yes, what mess
is
he in?” wondered Johnny. “If he’s gone heavy somewhere peculiar, Douglas wouldn’t need to come here, would he?”

“If they’ve discovered the powder too, that explains the sweater on the chimney,” said Gwinny. “It was them.”

“Trust them to keep quiet and let us take the blame!” said Johnny.

But even this topic wore out after a time. They stood in a stiff row, while the street noises died away beneath. The piano in the hotel stopped, and the roar of cars decreased until it was only occasional. Then there seemed to be no more cars and just one or two heavy lorries. The pavement they could see across the road was empty. A few solitary people walked in or out of the hotel below, but that was all. The street signs went out, one by one, though the Christmas lights still twinkled gaily on a level with their heads. And the hotel sign stayed alight, colouring all their faces a ghastly blue. The colour just expressed the way they were feeling by then. They were cold, miserable and tired, and each of them suspected that Douglas had gone home and forgotten all about them.

They must have waited a good hour before Douglas arrived. Market Street was so quiet by then that they heard him panting before they saw him, and the slapping, whistling noise the flippers made. Never had any noise been more welcome. They craned forward. Douglas was coming flippering vigorously under the hotel sign, some three feet lower than he had been. When he reached the letter L, they saw that it took him a considerable effort to heave himself up so that he could get a grip on the scaffold, and when he had hold of it he was hanging more than floating.

“Thank you awfully for coming,” Caspar said.

Douglas, in reply, held up a test tube with a cork in it. It was just over half-full of liquid. “Here you are,” he said, rather breathlessly. “That’s our last drop and you’re each to use a quarter of it. Then give it back to me, because I need it to get home on.”

Gwinny, with great difficulty, managed to bend her knees sufficiently to reach the tube. “It is kind of you,” she said.

“Oh, don’t madden me by being grateful,” said Douglas. “Get on and use it. And hurry up. I go heavy awfully quickly.”

Gwinny hastily uncorked the tube and poured a quarter – or perhaps less, because she was so dismayed at what Douglas said – of the liquid into her hand.

“Rub it on anywhere,” said Douglas. “Your face’ll do. And make sure Johnny’s got the tube first.”

So Gwinny handed the test tube to Johnny and splashed the icy handful of liquid on to her cheeks. The feeling of lightness spread through her, and her feet gently left the ledge. Douglas startled her by reaching up and grabbing hold of her ankle.

“Hang on to me,” he said. “You can help hold me up.”

While Johnny was measuring out his quarter and passing the tube to Caspar, Gwinny struggled her way down Douglas’s outstretched arm and twisted her fingers into his anorak. His weight brought her down a little, and they both floated just below the big blue L. Then Johnny bobbed clear of the ledge.

“Catch hold of Gwinny, said Douglas. “And you,” he said to Caspar, “keep that tube and pass it down the line to me.”

Caspar, though he was a little annoyed at being ordered about and organised like this, did as he was told. As soon as he was floating, he caught hold of Johnny. The tube travelled slowly and perilously down to Gwinny, who poured the last small quantity down into Douglas’s
cupped hand. Douglas gave a sigh of relief and splashed it on his face.

“Right,” he said. “Keep hanging on and all kick like mad. And let’s hope we’ve got enough to get us home. If we haven’t, there’ll be hell to pay. Father was prowling round the house really suspiciously when I left.”

With these encouraging words, he let go the letter L and at once sank about three feet lower. They floated in an irregular ballooning line, with Johnny highest, clutching Gwinny’s scarf. Douglas’s flippers beat and they felt themselves tugged down Market Street. They all kicked too, Gwinny like a frog, the boys in imitation of Douglas. They gathered momentum as they kicked, and shortly they were going very well indeed – almost ten miles an hour, Johnny reckoned breathlessly. They flashed down Market Street, drove across the roundabout and, panting hard, kicked their way through the zig-zag of streets towards home. They were halfway up their own street when Gwinny felt Douglas dropping.

“Oh dear!” she said.

“Faster,” said Douglas. “Kick like mad, all of you.”

They kicked frantically, dropping lower and lower, until Caspar’s feet were almost pointing upwards. Douglas was trailing down, brushing people’s hedges. About two houses off their own, he went finally and completely heavy. All four dropped downwards, trailing like a kite’s tail, and Douglas, with all his weight dangling from Gwinny’s fingers, was dragged across the pavement on the ends of his flippers.

“Oh!” squeaked Gwinny. “I can’t! I can’t hold on!”

“You’ve got to,” said Caspar. “Kick, Johnny.”

By kicking violently, they trailed Douglas ten yards. Gwinny was squeaking all the time that she could not hold on, and with every kick they all sank lower and lower.

“This is no good,” said Douglas. “You’ll have to let go.” He braced his flippers and stood still, with them hanging upwards from him, so that Caspar’s heels were level with the nearest streetlight. “Let go,” said Douglas. “I’ll have to climb in through the kitchen window.”

“That’s not fair,” said Gwinny. “Suppose you get caught?”

“I won’t, with luck,” said Douglas. “Go on, let go, before you go heavy too. If we all have to climb in, we’re bound to be caught. Let go, and get up to our window – I left it open.”

“I’ll come down and open the kitchen window for you, shall I?” Caspar offered.

“And get me caught? I know you,” said Douglas. “Just get in and get to bed and don’t make any blasted
noise
for once. Go on.”

Since he really seemed to mean it, and sounded rather like the Ogre as he said it, Gwinny untwisted her fingers from his anorak and let go. The three of them floated upwards, past the level of the streetlight, and almost as high as the curtained slit of light at the front of their house where Douglas’s open window was.

“Good luck,” said Gwinny.

Douglas looked up at them rather contemptuously, as Caspar took the lead and began to trail them towards the window. “Get a move on,” he said.

It was as well they went when they did. Gwinny went
heavy as Caspar put out his hand and grasped the windowsill. With a muffled, whispering struggle, he and Johnny hauled her up and thrust her through the window between the curtains. Johnny went heavy on the windowsill, and Caspar as he reached the table just below the window. They all crouched breathlessly on this table, blinking in the light and looking round a room they had scarcely ever seen before.

The room was much the same size as Johnny’s and Caspar’s, though it was a different shape. But it seemed far bigger because it was scrupulously tidy. Books were in the bookcase and Douglas’s guitar tidily against the wall. Other things were neatly arranged in a glass-fronted cupboard. Douglas’s bed was unwrinkled. The bed in which Malcolm was asleep was equally free of wrinkles. The only things out of place were the chemistry set open in the middle of the floor, and a great deal of dust everywhere.

“What’s the matter?” Malcolm demanded pettishly. “Where’s Douglas?”

They stared round the room and then at one another. The sleeping shape in Malcolm’s bed had not moved, and yet Malcolm’s voice had come from the region of Douglas’s bed, on the opposite side of the room.

“He went heavy in the road,” Gwinny said to the sleeping hump, wondering if Malcolm was secretly a ventriloquist. “He told us to come in without him.”

“Oh
no
!” said Malcolm, and again his voice came from the wrong place. “If you’ve got him caught, I shan’t ever forgive you!”