Arthur was impressed.
The party reached the bottom of the stairs, and now made their way along a narrow passageway. Jim pointed to a series of portraits that hung on the walls.
“These are our captains,” he announced proudly.
“There are rather a lot of them,” replied Arthur, looking from picture to picture to picture.
“Yes. We elect a new one every Friday,” said Tom. “We are very democratic. There is a long tradition of pirates . . . err . . .”—Tom stopped midsentence, looked embarrassed, and corrected himself—“. . . laundries electing their own captain.”
They reached the end of the passage and Jim knocked on the door.
“Come in!” came a cry. Jim opened the door, and there, behind a desk covered in charts and laundry slips, sat a rat with a huge hat on.
“I’ve got the latest list for you, Captain,” Jim said, handing it over. “And these are some visitors that Tom and Kipper have brought back.”
“Aye, Aye!” said the captain, surveying the group. “Who do we have here? Not a complaint about washing I hope?”
“No, Captain. These good people,” said Tom, pointing at Arthur, Willbury, and Marjorie, “have had a spot of bother. Some friends of theirs have disappeared.”
“Oh dear! We have got something in common then,” said the captain, frowning.
“We may have, indeed,” said Willbury. “May I introduce myself and my friends here. I am Willbury Nibble, and this is Arthur, and Marjorie.”
Match gave a squeak. Willbury had forgotten to introduce the tiny creatures.
The captain.
“Oh, I am very sorry. And this is Match . . . and err . . . a cabbagehead friend in my top pocket here . . . and there is a tiny freshwater sea-cow in Marjorie’s bucket.”
“Good to meet you all,” said the captain, doffing his hat. He looked curiously at the miniature creatures for a moment, then asked, “How many friends have you lost?”
“How many friends have you lost?”
“Four. Some boxtrolls and a cabbagehead,” Willbury answered. “They disappeared . . . or, rather, were snatched sometime after Arthur and I went to the market and to find my friend Marjorie this morning.”
“How sure are you that they have been snatched?” asked the captain.
“I am very sure. When we got back to the shop where they lived with me, the place was wrecked. It looked as though there had been a struggle,” answered Willbury.
“When our ‘colleague’ Framley disappeared, there were no real signs of a struggle. But it was hard to tell, as his corner of the crew’s quarters is always such a mess. He was a right lazy critter . . . and unpleasant with it,” the captain told Willbury.
“His corner of the crew’s quarters is always such a mess.”
“He’s about the biggest, ugliest, laziest rat you have ever seen!” Kipper chimed in.
The captain went on. “It’s only his expertise in the sorting of laundry that we really miss!”
Tom, Kipper, and Jim nodded in agreement.
“When did you notice that he’d gone?” asked Willbury.
“It’s only his expertise in the sorting of laundry that we really miss!”
“On Friday nights we always have a meeting. We elect a new captain and do the profits share.”
“If there is any money,” said Kipper glumly.
“We have been making a few groats, but so far most of our money has gone back into washing powder and toothpaste. Framley is very, very fond of money and had been making noises about going off because he wasn’t making enough here. That week after the share out, we realized that a few coppers were left over, so we took a roll call and found Framley was missing.”
“Tom mentioned that a couple of other rats have gone missing as well?” said Willbury.
“Yes, Levi and Pickles. About a week after Framley disappeared, they went shopping and never came back. We miss them . . . . Pickles is my brother,” the captain said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and added, “We sent out search parties, but there was no sign of them.”
“Do you have any clues as to who might have got them?” asked Willbury.
“This is what I have been investigating. At first I didn’t think we had any enemies as we lead such a quiet life, but there was an incident a few weeks back. We had a visit from a rather odious man by the name of Mr. Archibald Snatcher, and a couple of his sidekicks. He said he wanted to welcome us to Ratbridge on behalf of the ‘new’ Cheese Guild. The captain that week was a man called Charley. He greeted the visitors and gave them tea and biscuits. Over tea this Snatcher asked if the crew would like to join his guild. Only he was not interested in us rats joining the guild, only the humans! He was really rather unpleasant about rats. Talked as if we weren’t even in the room. Said we couldn’t be trusted in the presence of cheese. He called us vermin! Awful he was! So we showed him and his friends a long walk off a short plank . . . and they took a dip in the canal.”
“So we showed him and his friends a long walk off a short plank.”
Kipper and the other rats all giggled but stopped when the captain raised a hand.
“There was something else that happened when they first came on board. Framley had been picking on smaller rats and crows all morning, and finally, just as Archibald Snatcher arrived, a fight broke out between Jim here and Framley.”
“I was just trying to stop Framley from bullying some of the clothes sorters. He turned on me,” Jim said, obviously still distressed. “He got really nasty and went for my throat. If Kipper here had not pulled him off, I don’t know what he would’ve done.”
“Anyway, it all blew over, what with the visit from strangers and things. But Snatcher had been watching Framley fighting and afterward said something to him.”
“Do you know what he said?” asked Willbury.
“I asked Framley, and he said that Snatcher offered him a job,” replied the captain.
“It does seem strange,” said Willbury.
“Yes, it does, especially considering his low opinion of rats,” said the captain. “But if he was interested in Framley, how come Levi and Pickles disappeared as well? They were perfectly happy.”
“What did Snatcher say about this guild of his?” asked Arthur.
“Not very much. Just that it was some sort of organization for the mutual benefit of its members. And he kept making jokes about it having ‘big’ plans for Ratbridge.” Then the captain addressed Willbury. “Could you tell me a little more about what happened to you this morning?”
Willbury paused to think for a moment. “We had an odd visit this morning before we went shopping. But from the sound of it, it was not from your friend. This was from a slimy man who was trying to sell miniature creatures. He was very interested in buying my friends, but I sent him packing. Said his name was Gristle.”
“Gristle!” said Jim. “That was the name of one of Snatcher’s sidekicks!”
“Are you sure?” asked Arthur.
“It was me what was serving them tea.”
“It was me what was serving them tea. I am sure he called one of them Gristle when he was asking him to pass the sugar,” replied Jim.
“Then I think all the disappearances are linked,” said Willbury. “What did this Snatcher look like?”
“Big bloke with sideburns . . . and a glass eye,” replied Jim.
Arthur looked at Willbury. “It’s him! The leader of the hunt!”
“Yes,” replied Willbury. “I think we know who has your wings . . . and our friends!”
An air of unease filled the cabin.
“Where does this Snatcher hang out?” Willbury asked the captain.
“That’s what I have been investigating. Snatcher had mentioned a building called the Cheese Hall. He said he wanted to restore it to its former glory.”
“Yes, I know of it,” said Willbury. “But it’s been deserted for years!”
Arthur looked at Willbury excitedly. “I was there last night
on the roof,” he said. “I’m quite sure I heard something inside!”
The captain pursed his lips. “Interesting. I had someone go down to have a look at that place. Jim, could you get Bert?” As Jim ran out the door, the captain said, “He can tell you everything he told me. This is getting more curious by the minute.”
“Have you contacted the police?” Willbury asked.
There was a sudden silence in the cabin.
“I see,” said Willbury. “Does this have something to do with your beam engine?”
“Err . . . yes . . . and a few other things. We have a strange relationship with police,” the captain finally said. There was a sudden noise from the corridor, and the captain looked immensely relieved. Jim had returned with Bert.
“Ah! Bert!” the captain cried, waving him in. “Would you like to fill my new friends in on what you told me about the Cheese Hall?”
“Certainly, Guv!” Bert lifted the beret he was wearing and pulled a small notebook out from under it. “Three weeks ago tonight—the second of September at nine thirty-three p.m., I approached the Cheese Hall from the southern side, after instruction to do the same. I was wearing a green vest and had eaten three—”
Bert lifted a beret he was wearing and pulled a small notebook out from under it.
The captain stopped him. “Bert! Get to the point!”
“All right, then!” Bert looked disappointed. “Something is going on in there. The place is boarded up and is supposed to be up for sale, but I saw lights and heard things!”
“All right, then!” Bert looked disappointed.
“What things?” asked Willbury.
“Strange bleating, moaning things!” Bert replied dramatically.
“I heard something like that when I was there,” Arthur concurred. “I thought it could have been cheeses.”
“Did you manage to have a look inside?” asked Willbury.
“No.” Bert sounded sorry that he couldn’t be of more help. “There was no way I could get in—the place is built like the Bank of England. It’s mouse and rat proof . . . . I asked the local mice. Guess a cheese guild would want to keep its cheese safe!”
“Did you try knocking on the front door, Bert?” asked Willbury.
Bert looked rather embarrassed. “I didn’t think of that.”
“I find the direct approach often works. It might be well worth a go, and we have little to lose,” said Willbury.
“We should storm the place!” Kipper suggested, leaping up.
Willbury shook his head. “We might find ourselves in even worse trouble if we go down that route . . . .”
“So, when do you think we should go?” asked Tom.
“Can’t we go now?” Arthur said anxiously. “We’ve got no idea what they might be doing to our friends.”
“I agree,” said Willbury. “But if they are up to no good, it might be as well not to raise their suspicions. I think I should go alone and see what I can find out.”
“I don’t like that idea,” said the captain. “Anything could happen to you. If you go to the door, the rest of us can hide out of sight, but we should be at hand, just in case there is any trouble.”
“How about we hide in the Nag’s Head Inn, opposite the Cheese Hall? We can watch through the windows,” said Tom.
“I think we should get the whole crew together for this,” said Kipper.
“Well, what are we going to do then?” asked Arthur.
The captain straightened his huge hat. “I suggest that Mr. Nibble waits here for ten minutes to allow the rest of us to get to the Nag’s Head, then he comes down and tries knocking on the front door of the Cheese Hall. We’ll watch from the pub.”
Willbury turned to his friends. “Marjorie, I’m so sorry you’ve got caught up in this. I promise we’ll try to solve your problem as soon as we find our friends. Why don’t you and Arthur stay here and look after the tiny creatures while the rest of us go to the Cheese Hall?”
Marjorie shook her head. “I’d like to come. I might be able to be useful, and I—well, I’d like to help if I can.”
“I’m coming too,” Arthur declared. “Fish and Egg and Shoe and Titus are my friends.”
“Very well,” said Willbury reluctantly. “But I do think it best if we leave the poor miniatures here on the ship. They could easily get hurt if there is any trouble.” He turned to the captain. “Do you have somewhere they could safely stay?”
The captain thought for a moment. “We have a box that used to house the sextant before Kipper dropped it over the side. The boxtroll and the cabbagehead could use that.”
Kipper blushed furiously and looked as if he was about to cry.
Kipper dropped it over the side.
“Never mind, Kipper. Nobody knew how to use it anyway.” The captain got down off his chair and lifted a pile of papers off a mahogany box on the floor. He opened it, showing them the deep red, padded, velvet lining.
“This should suit your friends here. Will the sea-cow be all right staying in her bucket for the moment?”
“I think so. Maybe we could find something larger for her later,” said Willbury. He lifted the tiny cabbagehead out of his pocket from where it had been watching the proceedings and placed it gently in the padded box. It immediately lay down and closed its eyes. Then Arthur leaned down and allowed the boxtroll to join the cabbagehead. Match looked around the box and noticed a number of small spare parts fixed to the inside of the lid. He smiled, put his nut and bolt in one corner of the box, then set about quickly removing all the spare parts and piling them up with his nut and bolt. Then he cuddled up to the pile and closed his eyes.
“Should we leave them anything to eat?” asked Arthur.
“Would ship biscuits do?” asked the captain. “They are a tad bit hard but we could break them up.”
“I think they would do very well, if you have any spare,” replied Willbury.
The captain climbed back on his chair and opened one of the desk drawers. He took out two biscuits, placed them on the desk, picked up a rock that was acting as a paperweight, and gave the biscuits a sharp blow. The biscuits shattered into small pieces and the captain collected them.
“What should I do now?” he asked.
“If you sprinkle some in the bucket and put the rest in a heap in the sextant case, that would do for the moment,” said Willbury.
The captain followed Willbury’s instructions, then brushed off his hands.
“Thank you. I am sure they will be very happy now,” said Willbury. “If you’ll put the bucket down next to the box, Marjorie, I think we can be on our way.”
After organizing for a few minutes, the entire crew of the Ratbridge Nautical Laundry, accompanied by Arthur and Marjorie, set off for the pub. Willbury stood on the deck waiting, rain dripping from the washing above.
Four of the largest workers set off in search of a boxtroll.
chapter 17
CABBAGEHEADS
Things were becoming positively soggy.
Meanwhile, far below the streets of Ratbridge, there was also much activity. For the last week or so, the cabbageheads under Ratbridge had been very happy. The water supply had been much better than usual. But now things were becoming positively soggy.
The cabbageheads lived, and gardened, in a vast cavern several hundred feet under the streets of the town, at the deepest point of the network of underground tunnels. It was here that water was collecting. The special low-light cabbages were swimming in water, and it was getting worse.
So a meeting was held, and it was decided that a party would go up and politely ask the boxtrolls to turn off the water for a few days.
Four of the largest workers set off in search of a boxtroll to talk to. As they made their way through the tunnels, it became clear that the boxtrolls had not been doing their job very well. Water was leaking everywhere. The cabbageheads muttered to one another that this was not a bit like the boxtrolls, letting things fall into this state. What could be causing them
to neglect their job like this? Perhaps they had acquired some new piece of machinery that they were busy playing with and they were distracted from their duties, the cabbageheads whispered.
After traveling a good distance, they climbed up on a dry rock for a rest and had a cabbage sandwich each. This was their favorite food and was made of a cabbage leaf sandwiched between two more cabbage leaves.
A cabbage sandwich.
As they ate, one of them noticed that the rock they were sitting on was covered in netting. Nudging his companions, he pointed to the netting in puzzlement. All the cabbageheads seemed baffled and twittered nervously to one another.
Then, without any warning, there was a twang, and before they could blink, the net whipped up in the air with them all in it.
The cabbageheads hung in the net for hours, trembling as water dripped down on them. They had no idea what or who could have caused this terrible thing to happen. Then they heard the sound of approaching feet and saw the flickering of candles. The lights got closer, and they could see a group of men, all wearing tall hats and carrying sacks over their shoulders. The cabbageheads trembled even harder.
The cabbageheads hung in the net.
The men lowered the net and dumped the cabbageheads in the sacks.
“These ain’t going to be enough.”
“We got a few boxtrolls in the other traps last time!”
“Let’s just hope we ain’t caught any more trotting badgers!”