“Well what did you think was going to happen to it all?”
“I dunno. I suppose I thought they’d just sniff it all back up.”
Perkis sat Tyler down and poked and prodded his ears. He wiggled brush strands in and out. Small lumps of wax emerged, but nothing changed. Perkis grabbed another fistful from the brush, which had fallen into oil used to fix plough parts. Best not mention that to Tyler, he thought.
Just as they were about to give up, Tyler shrieked happily.
“Whoa! I heard something!”
Perkis gave another shove. Tyler let out a whoop. He got to his feet with a big beaming smile on his face – and with the sticky brush bristles still poking out of his ear.
“Not perfect, but definitely better,” he announced, opening the hut door. “Knew I could count on you, Perkis.”
When they wrestled him back onto the stool, they found the blockage was a huge lump of fabulous golden wax that looked almost alive. They removed it, then repeated the trick in Tyler’s other ear. At least Perkis had solved one problem. Tyler’s mission was back on track.
“Hey,” said Adora, “now you’re an ear plumber too…”
CHAPTER Eight
Half a dozen villagers missed work to protest at Stinky Hill. Nobody could read or write, so they held up signs bearing big pictures of legs dangling from large noses. The images had red ‘X’s across them to show how bad they thought this was.
Frank Tyler had told the children that the protest was a job for the Olds. So they spent the morning at Finch’s house playing medieval versions of Top Trumps and Sonic The Hedgehog, and failing to decide how to remove the old bogeys from Farmer Farnes’ barns.
The first giants to meet the protestors, Michael York and Jack Hampshire, were the kind of friends who rarely agreed about anything. York suggested they should squash the protesters underfoot. Hampshire knew England was short of peasants to do all the work. Short peasants are in short supply! went the lesson in Giant Church.
“Look,” said Michael York. “Ants walking to and fro. Oh no, it’s serfs!”
Jack Hampshire peered at the signs. “There are pictures. Maybe they’re selling their artwork. How much, sire, for one of your works of art?”
“Typical,” whispered the protest leader, Ralph Rolfe, to his friend Walter Walters. “Thinking they’re better than us.” Walter was the town candlemaker and had planned some enormous candles to help with nighttime protesting. Ralph was the town bookmaker. He was taking bets on whether the protest would succeed or not.
“You couldn’t afford it,” Ralph Rolfe said to Jack Hampshire. “Our work is not for sale. Neither are we.”
“We’re supporting the nose plumbers’ strike,” added Walter Walters.
The nose plumbers were on strike? This was news to the giants.
“What are you complaining about?” said Jack Hampshire. “You should thank us for saving your lives.”
“Saving us? How did you save us?”
“We didn’t sneeze at you!”
“But maybe we will – since the tiny, whiny nose plumbers have quit,” Michael York sneered. He’d been looking forward to his appointment at John Kent’s next Tuesday.
“Why aren’t you at work? You on strike too?” Jack Hampshire asked.
“I suppose this is a picket line, is it?” Michael York said mockingly.
“No,” said Ralph Rolfe, quick as a kestrel. “This is a Don’t-Pick-It line!”
Michael York didn’t like being out-funnied by a peasant. The serfs clapped Ralph Rolfe on the back. Michael York started counting them.
“Eighteen,” he said. “Marvellous. Hampshire – let’s play Nine Men’s Morris!”
To play Nine Men’s Morris, you lined up pieces of wood in a row. Played indoors, you slid the pieces along a board. Outdoors, you picked them up. Instead of wood, Michael York had decided to use the serfs.
Michael York hoisted Walter Waters and Burt Burton by the shoulders. This was the rudest thing a giant could do to a serf. The strikers were furious.
“Right,” said York. “These are mine. The rest are yours, Hampshire. I can fly pieces in, right?” He spun Ralph Rolfe around and snarled, “Let’s see who’s the funny guy now.”
They argued over the tactics of Nine Men’s Morris, and ignored the serfs’ objections.
Ralph Rolfe whispered to Burt Burton. “Next time he moves, run.”
“Where?”
“To the village. Then to London with What Tyler. To change everything.”
Michael York was grinning. He was about to win the game.
Suddenly, from the rough grass, came a huge shout. “RUN!!!”
Serfs fled in every direction like an exploding star. Some of them passed the nose plumbers coming the other way.
“How’s it going?” Perkis called to Walter Walters.
“Rotten mustard – ” he thought Walter Walters replied.
“Game over, looks like,” Jack Hampshire said.
“Hmm, possibly,” Michael York sulked. “I’d say I was in a winning position…?”
“I don’t know about that…” And they began squabbling about who was ahead when serfs stopped play.
“Nose plumbers! You’re late.” John Kent had to walk round the arguing giants, who were now wrestling nearby. “Baron Bigge demands your services.”
“Does he know we’re on strike?” Finch asked. Of course Old Finch hadn’t done his job. John Kent had no idea.
“How are you, little fellow?” John Kent said to Finch. “Now, Baron Bigge is not a patient man. Fetch your kit. Present yourselves in half an hour.” With that, he turned and walked purposefully back up the hill (stepping over Jack Hampshire and Michael York).
“Baron Bigge. He’s in charge of the whole county,” Perkis said. “We could ask for our freedom. Baron Bigge might listen.”
“To us?” said Adora.
“He’s going to have to listen to Frank Tyler when the protest starts. Why not us?”
Luckily, Perkis was unaware that Baron Bigge had single-handedly crushed the last peasant uprising – between his thumb and index finger.
“I don’t understand,” Adora admitted. “Is John Kent trying to help us?”
“Giants do not help peasants,” Finch said firmly.
Perkis mulled it over. If having Baron Bigge as a customer was bad news, they were trapped. Again. If it was good news, it was a mystery how they could make the most of it.
“Are you in pain?” Adora asked him. Perkis frowned at her. “You were scrunching up your face,” she said.
“I was thinking. I do that occasionally.”
“Oh. Looked like you had a stomach ache.”
“It could it be a trap to stop the Olds protesting,” Perkis suggested.
John Kent wouldn’t hold children to ransom. But what choice did they have? “Wait here,” Perkis said. “Someone has to fetch the equipment.”
CHAPTER Nine
Baron Bigge’s deep, powerful voice seemed to overflow from John Kent’s house. “Leave the front door open, Kent. Doctor says drafts are good for a cold...”
“The nose plumbers are here, sire.” John Kent hurried them into the kitchen.
Baron Bigge appeared…big. That was from the edge of the kitchen. From close up, he filled the room. His face was unremarkable except for its size. He had stiff dark hair, a chain of office around his neck, and he carried a leather pouch on his belt. The outline of a hunting knife was visible through the pouch.
“I feel dizzy,” Finch muttered under his breath.
“I wish we were still on strike,” Adora said.
Perkis looked the man-mountain in front of them up and down. One way or another, he decided, this guy was going to be their last customer.
“The Baron has interrupted his busy schedule to be here,” John Kent said. “Do a good job, and you may become masters of the plumbing brotherhood.”
“And you will be ten pounds richer,” said the Baron to John Kent in what h
e clearly thought was a quiet voice. But quiet for Baron Bigge was still a bone-shaking rumble. It was just a plot by John Kent to make money! He was no better than Old Finch.
Then, from out of the sky, the Baron was swooping down – before eating them (they imagined). They clutched each other’s hands tight and waited for the end. A few inches from their frozen faces, he paused.
“The last person I bowed my head for was His Majesty King Richard,” he growled. “So take that and party.”
The children shivered. Then, sniffing, he scooped them up in his palm. Adora let out a shriek, and Perkis remembered she still hadn’t been up a nose.
“I’m not hanging about, Kent. Is this the way it works? Like snuff?” the Baron said. Without waiting for a reply, he pushed the gang into his forest-like nostrils. Straight away they hit muck, flies, filth and hair. But suddenly they were out again.
“Hang on.” Baron Bigge lowered his hand and stared at the tiny workers in his hand. “Will I still be able to breathe?”
“Better than before, sire,” Perkis said bravely.
“That’s some claim.”
“Is the patient ill?” Perkis asked.
“What? You a doctor of physic as well?” Baron Bigge chortled.
“The sniffing, sire, suggests you’re blocked in the nose,” Perkis persisted.
“Of course I’m blocked in the nose! That’s why I want a nose plumber.”
“Yes, sire.”
“Now get up there and do your…whatever it is you do.”
“Very good, sire. Perhaps, in exchange, your very excellent nobleness could consider granting us…our freedom?”
Baron Bigge’s eyes narrowed. Not in a good way. Perkis stirruped his hands. Finch stepped up as the Baron returned them to his face-cave. Some giants’ noses had been a tight squeeze. Baron Bigge’s was…not.
“Right,” said Perkis. “Split up, then we can get out quicker.”
“I’ll do the other side,” said Finch, departing.
Perkis pointed out the red and veiny nose wall to Adora. “First,” he instructed her, “we scrape.”
Adora raised her scraper to begin when a greyish globule hit her square in the face. She screamed. Perkis shot a look upwards.
“Loose snot. You okay?” He began wiping it away. “What sometimes happens next is they might sniff violently. They’re not used to us being in here. Then you need to – ”
It was too late. A great sucking of air rose up from beneath their feet. When he looked round, most of Adora had vanished. The last he saw was a foot, receding up into the dark.
Baron Bigge was banging his fist on John Kent’s table. “How dare the peasants dispute taxes? His Majesty is sore with disappointment,” he ranted. “And now they head to London to complain?”
“Surely they can’t enter the city?” John Kent said, trying to sound soothing.
“Bad for me if they do. I’m in charge of the Kentish county.” Baron Bigge tapped his nose. “How long does this usually take?”
“Not too long, sire. Another cup of rose tea?”
Finch had rushed back from his nostril. The waterfall of Baron Bigge’s rose tea splashed somewhere far below. Ahead of them were clammy, colourless tunnels they had never seen before. This was the route to rescuing Adora.
“Which way?” Finch wondered, rounding a bend. “Whoa…” He stopped dead.
A spiked boulder glowed green, blocking the dark path up ahead.
“Why are they always green?!” Perkis shouted in frustration.
“What colour would you like them to be?” Finch replied.
“I hate green! It’s an evil colour! Look at it! Everywhere! I couldn’t get a job on the river where the fish are gold and silver, or in a kitchen with flames and burnt meat. No, I had to face off against emerald devils with…with…Plague in them…”
“You alright?” Finch asked.
“Mmhlph!” A muffled cry came from behind the boulder.
“Adora!!” the boys hollered.
“It’s all the bogeys Baron Bigge’s sniffed up,” Perkis said. “They’ve formed that…monster.”
Finch shivered. “I’m not feeling heroic. Just to let you know.”
“Thanks for that. Well, it’s too big to use the catapult on.”
“Looks like it’s fed up being here.”
“I know how it feels. We’re never doing another nose plumbing. I don’t care what they do to us.”
“You need fresh air, mate. But before you quit, we have to get past it. Rescue Adora?”
“Sure. Yes. Adora.” Perkis had no idea to get around the huge bogey. “You think it might be on its way out?” The boulder seemed to be edging towards them. It was wiggling and wobbling, preparing either to escape or attack. He gripped his scraper tight.
“It could smother us,” he said. “Try and get behind it.”
But if the death-ball longed for freedom, it had reckoned without Baron Bigge’s answer to everything. Another heated sniff whirled it far up the passage – revealing Adora! Her head and body were plastered to the wall by pasty jade gloop.
“Mmmnch,” she groaned. The boys prised her free.
“Thanks,” she gasped. “I couldn’t breathe! What’s that banging outside?”
The thumps were deafening. John Kent’s front door was being pounded almost off its hinges.
A messenger stood in the doorway. “Baron Bigge, the King requests you in London. The peasants are revolting.”
“Too right they are! Geddit, Kent?!” jested the Baron (carbon-dating of the joke reveals this to have been its first known telling). And – with a certain pride – he leapt to his feet.
Adora was held in place by the gloop. Perkis dived as the Baron suddenly rose and rushed out of John Kent’s house. He landed in a fresh tunnel that led to a dark abyss. It had a skiddy surface and smelled of rose tea. Finch was flung to the opening of the Baron’s nostril.
“Guys…?” Adora called out. “You alright?”
Once more, Finch was hanging on for dear life. He had a wee-inducing view of Baron Bigge’s Journey By Royal Command. As far as he could see (and he could see far too much), outside there was a horse waiting for the Baron –
CHAPTER Ten
A quick word about the horses:
Remember the nobility treated animals better than they treated people of the lower classes. In this respect, they were no different from the nobility of any time in History. So, yes, the horses had also grown to a size to cope with giants saddling them up. (There exists a life-size carving of such a filly on a Swindon hillside. Hurry and see it before it’s wiped out by a by-pass.) Rumours of a plan by King Richard to import elephants regularly excited the chattering barons. But for our purposes, let me assure you: the Baron rode to London on the back of a very large horse.
Right, back to the –
CHAPTER Eleven
– and Baron Bigge leapt into its saddle, since it did your career no good to keep the King waiting.
The Baron pumped the reins. They crossed fields and hurdled fences. Finch fixed his gaze on the horse’s neck and crest, and wished he were back with Perkis and Adora, who really wasn’t so bad for a girl.
Eventually (after he had lost count of how many times his short and disappointing life flashed before his eyes) Finch felt the horse slow to a trot. Finally it stopped. Bruised and exhausted, he squirmed up the nostril. He found Perkis lying on a ledge.
“Comfy up there?” Finch panted. “Having a nice rest?”
“Where are we?” Perkis asked, ignoring his sarcasm.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Finch replied, shaking his head. “London.”
Adora climbed down to meet them. “He’s forgotten we’re here. We need to tell him,” she said.The Baron was speaking – it came through as a muffled booming noise. They pressed their ears to the wall to hear him more clearly.
He sounded furious. “Who let them in?”
A small, timid voice came back. “Sire, the people did…
”
“WHAT?? How…?”
“The peasants led by Frank Tyler, known as ‘What’ on account of his hearing, it’s poor, sire, poorer than the peasants, it is. They had accomplices on the inside, sire.” The timid voice paused. “But Baron, sire, the serfs would’ve broken down the walls anyway, no matter their small stature. There are thousands of them…”
“Rubbish!” bellowed the Baron. “They’re tiny. They couldn’t break down a snail. This is the greatest city in the history of the world, except for maybe Rome, and the mythical Man City, a place of fabulous wealth and skilled mercenaries. How can a handful of tiny…whiny…iny…?” He was spluttering again. “Oh, forget it,’ he finished. “Let me through!”
Perkis, Finch and Adora could hardly believe it. Tyler had done it. He really, truly had led the serfs to LONDON! And the nose plumbers too!
“The King has to see them now,” Finch said.
“We might, too, you know,” Adora replied.
“What?”
“Wherever Baron Bigge goes, so do we,” Perkis said.
“So if the King chops Baron Bigge’s head off – ” They shrieked with laughter at the thought of being revealed to the world this way.
There was another, less entertaining way they could be set free. It was coming towards them once more. Finch saw the sneeze. But Perkis had his back to it. Before Finch could warn him, it seemed to hurl itself onto Perkis.
Fighting it off was impossible. It was like trying to grip water. Finch and Adora grabbed and clawed at its slimy outer skin, helpless as Perkis suffocated. They shouted and raged. They punched it and tore at it. Stuck inside, Perkis’s heart was beating faster and faster, about to explode. At the same time he was drowning. He could see his friends but only hear them, as if they were far away. His last desperate thought was that if you wanted to stop your own sneeze, the trick was not to attack it – you had to hold your breath!
His chest tightened. His face went red, then purple. His head throbbed. It wasn’t going to work. Then, finally, the pressure began lessening.
Finch and Adora pushed harder, and the nasal monster slid off Perkis. He rolled his small frame away and gulped up some air. “Think you can have me, do you?” he shouted. “You’re not gonna get me like you got my family!”
The bogey swung an unmistakeable jab at Perkis. Terrified, he jumped to his feet and prepared for round two.