Raiders of the Lost Carpark

  ‘Some you win, some you lose,’ said the king, smiling hugely.

  ‘No, no, no,’ went Hugo Rune.

  And crash crash crash went the great door with renewed vigour, almost as if the energies of a single big green thingy had been increased by a factor of one thousand.

  Reliable Ron Sturdy had finally reached the control-box. He swung open the door and stared down at the pile of bodies.

  ‘Hello, hello, hello,’ he said. ‘What’s all this then?’

  ‘At ‘em, lads,’ cried Arthur Kobold from the corridor. ‘Storm the great hall. Free the king. Destroy Hugo Rune. And that bloody woman also. Off with their heads.’

  ‘Double time after midnight,’ said Colin. ‘We did agree double time.’

  And crash went the great hall’s great door, tearing from its hinges and plunging to the flagstoned floor. And in poured a monstrous legion of big green thingies, not pleasing to behold.

  The king clapped and cheered. Anna and Tuppe took shelter beneath the king’s table and Hovis whipped his blade out once again.

  Hugo Rune raised his hand to smite the microcosm. Cornelius leapt from his chair and dived at Hugo Rune.

  ‘Constable, are you all right?’ Sergeant Sturdy shook the dazed Ken Loathsome.

  ‘Someone hit me, Sarge.’

  ‘What did you say? I can’t hear you above that damn band.’

  ‘Someone bopped me on the head.’

  ‘Hold on a minute, lad, I’ll switch them off.’

  Of course he could have just closed the soundproof door, but he didn’t. He stepped over the ‘officer down’ and approached the computer console. ‘Which button?’ he asked himself. ‘Probably this big blood-red one,’ he decided.

  And without further thought, that was the one he pressed.

  Heaving muscular forms, all vivid green and primed for mayhem with promises of a big cash bonus, rushed across the flagstones.

  The king slapped his gargantuan thighs and laughed uproariously.

  Anna and Tuppe cringed beneath the king’s table and Cornelius struggled to restrain Rune. ‘They will kill us all,’ cried Rune. ‘Let me destroy them.’

  ‘You’ll destroy us as well. Leave the thing alone.’ Cornelius made a grab for the pedestal table.

  Hugo Rune stuck his foot out. Cornelius tripped and fell against the table. Knocking it over. And then all sorts of exciting things began to happen.

  The Gandhis suddenly found themselves strumming dead instruments. Their speakers fed back and a strange ungodly wave of sound swept out from them. It crystallized into a sequence of notes, the like of which none present knew the names of.

  Haunting.

  Mysterious.

  Downright weird.

  The ground beneath the stage began to move. One of the Herculean hairdryers tore from its mounts and bowled down the hillside, scattering travellers before it. The stage shook. Prince Charles took a tumble. Polly took a tumble. Mickey Minns helped her up and offered her considerable comfort.

  And then the stage began to sink, down into the portal that was opening right beneath it. As thousands looked on in amazement, the stage, with its HOLLYWOOD letters, its video screen, the most famous rock band in all the world, and the Prince of Wales, vanished into the top of Star Hill.

  There was a moment of silence, there always is, but then a great cry went up. And the travellers stormed the hilltop.

  The king’s table slid sideways, spilling off its cake. Much of this went into the lap of the king, who followed the sliding table on his own sliding throne. In accordance with its microcosm on the now fallen pedestal, the entire hall was turning on its side. Cornelius tried to right the magic table, but he too was sliding across a floor which was rapidly becoming a wall.

  Rune rolled by, followed by a good many big green thingys, an Inspectre with a swordstick and Mr Arthur Kobold.

  And in through the great doorway slid something rather wonderful. An entire pink stage, complete with four-piece band and prince, a selection of lighting gantries, a control-box containing a white-faced Sergeant Sturdy, an utterly out-of-it Constable Ken and a sound engineer who didn’t have much of a part, a number of HOLLYWOOD-style letters, which now spelt out H.R. IS A NERD, probably by accident rather than design, and a fifty-foot hairdryer.

  ‘What the heck is going on?’ shouted Chief Inspector Lytton to his troops at the place where the buses turn around. ‘They’re all running away.’

  ‘They’re making up the hill,’ said a helpful officer. ‘It looks like the stage has collapsed. Should I radio for an ambulance?’

  ‘Radio for reinforcements. Men, to your cars. Let’s get up there.’

  ‘Should I radio for helicopters, sir?’ asked the helpful officer. ‘We can see how well the big numbers on the tops of our cars work then.’

  ‘Good idea. Radio for helicopters. Now forward, men. After those travellers.’

  ‘Shiva’s sheep!’ Vain Glory clung to his microphone stand. ‘We’ve fallen into hell.’ A big green thingy struck him from his feet.

  ‘How dare you smite my chum,’ said Prince Charles, wading into the big green thingy with the business end of his cello.

  Cornelius fought to keep hold of the pedestal table and get it back up the right way, but tumbling bodies engulfed him in a verdant maelstrom of flailing fists (and not a little purple prose).

  The great hall took another turn for the worse, then came to rest. Upside down. Those who still had places left to fall to, fell to them. Those who tried to get up found others knocking them down. There was some unpleasantness.

  But it was nothing before the face of that yet to come. Because now, in through the door, surged the travellers.

  ‘Charge,’ cried Bollocks, at the head of them.

  Now there have been battles and there have been battles. You had the Somme and El Alamein, Goose Green and Desert Storm.

  But you never had anything like this before.

  The green legions of King Christmas, rising from the ceiling which was now the floor, offered up a battle-cry and launched themselves against the invaders.

  The invaders, somewhat stunned by the enormity of their adversaries, decided to take flight. But as more and more of their number were pressing in through the inverted doorway, they were unable to do so.

  The big green thingys, for their part, suddenly realized that these were no ordinary invaders, these were the dreaded travellers themselves, feared throughout the world. The big green thingys sounded the retreat.

  And then came the police-car sirens.

  Those travellers that were in, wanted out. Those that weren’t quite in, wanted to see what was in, before they went out.

  And those that really weren’t in at all, and didn’t have much of a hope of getting in, turned to confront the police.

  And so on and so forth. And, as if a great mass mind had suddenly arrived at a single decision, everyone and every thing fell on each and every other one or thing and began to beat the daylights out of it.

  In a far corner Cornelius tried to right the pedestal table. But the microcosm had gone. The mechanism was smashed and the innards all hung out in a ruined mass. Curiously, they appeared to consist of nothing more than a couple of old tennis balls with nails stuck in them and a clockwork mouse in a little treadmill.

  Tuppe crawled over to his friend. ‘Do you think we should get out of here before we get killed?’ he asked.

  ‘The doorway looks a tad crowded. Perhaps we had better hide. Where is Anna?’

  ‘I thought she was with you.’

  ‘You did not.’

  ‘No, you’re right.’

  Anna was nowhere to be seen. And Cornelius, even with his height to his advantage, could not make her out amongst the seething battle.

  ‘She’ll be OK,’ said Tuppe.

  ‘You wouldn’t be just saying that.’

  ‘I would, you know.’

  DO DAH DO DAH DO DAR DO DAH, went the police-car sirens.

  Or is it, WEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEE-EEEEEEEEE?

  It’s WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE, I think.

  A police helicopter circled over Star Hill.

  ‘Hey look,’ said the co-pilot, ‘you can make out all the big numbers on the tops of the police cars.’

  ‘So you can,’ said the pilot. ‘I wonder what they’re for.

  ‘Get moving,’ said Arthur Kobold. He’d got his gun back and he was prodding Anna with it. Prodding her along a stone passage. A secret stone passage. It led away from the great hall. Anna

  was in front. Arthur was behind her. And good old Father Christmas was bringing up the rear. It wasn’t that large a secret passage, they’re not usually, Santa was pretty cramped.

  ‘What are we doing, Arthur?’ he asked.

  ‘Making our getaway, sire.’

  ‘But getaway to where?’

  ‘South America?’ said Arthur.

  ‘Why don’t you just give yourselves up?’ Anna asked. ‘You’re beaten and you know it.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd,’ Arthur gave her a good hard poke with the pistol. ‘True, the king and I and the cleaning lady may be the last there are in London. But that’s just London. Our lot are all over the world. Few in numbers, but great in power. We’ll live to fight another day. Now, as hostage-taking seems to be the order of the night, you are our hostage until we make our safe escape. Then I’ll shoot you. It’s nothing personal. Well, actually it is.’

  ‘Cornelius will track you down, no matter where you hide.’

  ‘He won’t find us. The world is a very large place. Much larger than you think it is. Murphy is probably dead by now anyway. And even if he’s not, there’s no way he’s going to find the entrance to the secret passage.

  ‘Hey look,’ said Cornelius, ‘isn’t that the entrance to a secret passage over there?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Tuppe sarcastically. ‘And surely that is a piece of Anna’s T-shirt lying in the entrance.’

  ‘No.’ The tall boy flexed his nostrils. ‘But that’s the way she went, I can still smell her perfume.’

  Inspectre Hovis was in the thick of the fighting. A lesser man would surely have perished, but not Inspectre Hovis. His blade was in play to pleasing effect.

  The big green thingys that Arthur had so hastily conjured by the multiplication of Colin, weren’t really up to the required standard. The great detective was cutting the proverbial bloody swathe through them.

  ‘Have at you,’ he cried time and again.

  As no more travellers could possibly squeeze through the portal and into the great hall, those that remained outside, about twenty-two thousand of them, rushed back down the hill towards the police, who were advancing up it.

  Chief Inspector Lytton was leading the way. On foot.

  ‘Retreat,’ he shouted. And squad cars to each and every side of him, did just that. ‘Lads,’ called the chief inspector, suddenly all on his ownsome. ‘Lads?’

  ‘Kill the pig,’ cried the voice of the multitude.

  ‘Get in,’ said Arthur Kobold

  ‘Get in?’ asked Anna. ‘To this?’

  ‘It’s an ice-cream van,’ said the king. ‘I don’t want to get into an ice-cream van. Look, my nice silver car is back. Hugo must have returned it.’

  ‘Trust me, sire,’ said Arthur Kobold. ‘We need to slip away unnoticed. Your nice silver car will only draw attention to us.’

  ‘We could use my special birthday spell. Move faster than time.’

  ‘I broke your spell. It won’t work again for another year. Please get into the van.’

  ‘Perhaps we could take a taxi or something.’

  ‘Do you see a taxi, sire?’

  ‘No,’ said the king. Although in fact he really should have been able to see a taxi. Terence Arthur Mulligan’s taxi. But the king couldn’t see it, because it wasn’t there any more.

  ‘I don’t want to be driven around in a rotten old ice-cream van.’ The king stamped his foot.

  ‘Stop!’ shouted Cornelius Murphy, emerging from the secret passage with Tuppe puffing hard on his heels.

  ‘All aboard,’ said the king. ‘Mine’s a banana sundae.’

  The portal door of the king’s private car park swung open to the outside world and the ice-cream van passed through it.

  ‘Quickly,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘I’m being as quick as I can.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Cornelius scooped up the Tuppe and hastened towards Rune’s silver car. ‘We’ve got to get after them.’

  ‘Another car chase,’ said Tuppe. ‘Oh goody goody. Just what I need.’

  Cornelius flung open the car door and flung Tuppe into the passenger seat and himself down behind the wheel. The keys just happened to be in the dashboard.

  ‘Up and away,’ cried Cornelius Murphy. Wheels went skid, the engine didn’t go glug glug, but roar, and the silver car streaked out into the night.

  ‘Arthur, are you really sure you know how to drive this thing?’

  ‘Of course I do. It’s very fast for an ice-cream van.’

  In the back the king lurched from side to side. Anna ducked these lurches as best she could. The king was a real space-filler.

  Arthur raked the ice-cream van along a row of parked cars. ‘I’m getting the measure of this, Your Majesty.’

  ‘Oh no.’ The king stared out through the back window. ‘That Murphy is chasing us. And in my favourite car.’

  ‘The game’s up.’ Anna dodged the mighty posterior. ‘Surrender now, before Kobold gets us all killed.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Arthur dragged the steering wheel to the right and the van went round a corner on two wheels.

  ‘He’s a nifty driver,’ said Tuppe. ‘For a fairy.’

  ‘Watch this.’ Cornelius put his foot right down.

  ‘OooooooooooooooooooooH!’ went Tuppe.

  ‘I’m getting travel sick,’ said the king. ‘Slow down a bit.’

  ‘Not until we’ve lost Murphy.’ Arthur pranged the pedal.

  ‘Don’t you chuck up on me,’ said Anna.

  ‘They’re getting away.’ Tuppe clung to the dashboard. ‘Go faster.’

  ‘Get real, Tuppe, please.’

  Mulligan’s Ices tore out into the high street.

  ‘Open road ahead.’ Arthur did a racing-change. ‘We’ll lose him on the straight.’

  ‘Oh I do hope so,’ said the king. ‘This is becoming a proper annus horribilis.’

  ‘Who are you calling horrible?’ said Anna.

  ‘Just keep calm, sire,’ said Arthur Kobold. ‘Nothing can stop us now.

  ‘Put it back into first gear again,’ said Terence Arthur Mulligan to the big green thingy who was thinking of going into the limousine-hire business. ‘Go on. You’re doing all right.’

  ‘I really appreciate you giving me a driving lesson so late at night,’ said the big green thingy.

  ‘Best time for it, when there’s no-one around. Back into first. No, that’s reverse.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No problem. I only lease the cab. If you bugger the gears, it goes into the workshop and I get another one. Try putting your foot on the clutch pedal before you change gear.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said the big green thingy.

  ‘Ha ha,’ went Arthur Kobold. ‘The open road. Home and free. Rio here we come.’

  ‘Faster,’ said Tuppe.

  ‘It won’t go any faster,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘We’re losing them,’ went the king. ‘Ha ha ha.’

  ‘No, that’s still reverse,’ said Terence Arthur Mulligan.

  ‘What’s that up ahead?’ cried Arthur.

  ‘It looks like a taxi reversing across the road,’ said the king.

  ‘It is a taxi reversing across the road.’ Arthur went for the brake.

  ‘Oh no.’ ‘Oh no!’ cried the king.

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Terence Arthur Mulligan, covering his face. ‘Sorry,’ said the big green thingy.

  ‘They’re slowing down,’ said Tuppe. ‘Overtake them.’

/>   ‘I will,’ said Cornelius. ‘And I’ll do it on the inside, just to make it more exciting.’

  ‘As you please.’

  ‘More brakes,’ cried the king. ‘More brakes.’

  ‘I don’t have any more brakes.’ There was a kind of thud. The kind of thud that brakes make. When they break. ‘I don’t have any brakes,’ said Arthur.

  Anna preferred a brief chance to certain death. She climbed out of the serving window and jumped for her life.

  Right onto the bonnet of a streaking silver car. Was that lucky or what?

  The silver car shot right past Mulligan’s Ices with only a bit of swerving, but not enough to dislodge Anna from the bonnet. The ice-cream van just couldn’t swerve. Some silver car had cut it up on the inside.

  ‘Ohhhnoooooo!’ went Arthur and the king and Terence and the big green thingy. All at the same time.

  And then it was KAPOW!

  It was a significant explosion, in every sense of the word. The mushroom cloud billowed into the sky. Those few who saw it, and there were only very few, agreed that it was a curious mushroom cloud. So red in the middle and so white all round and about with the smoke. It was almost like a big red laughing face surrounded by a great white beard. A bit like...

  Cornelius brought the silver car to a gentle standstill. He jumped from the car and helped Anna down.

  She held up her face to his.

  They kiss.

  Lovely.

  ‘Vom-it,’ said Tuppe.

  And that was all that he said for quite a long time. Because there came to his small and exceedingly shell-like ear a rustling behind the driver’s seat.

  ‘Could someone help one up here?’ said the voice of Her Majesty the Queen. ‘One seems to have fallen arse over tit.’

  THE AFTERWORDS

  The travellers have now gone from Star Hill. They hung around for a few days, to make as much of a nuisance of themselves as they possibly could. But then they got the word from the BBC that they were expected in Harlech, where a Mr Doveston was organizing a festival in the grounds of the castle. So they moved on.