Fennymore and the Brumella (6 page)

CHAPTER 13

In which the very same company sets off on the return journey to The Bronx

Fennymore was woken the next morning by some kind of racket.

‘Stop!' he shouted to the silvery grey man. ‘Running away is not allowed.'

Hubert was feeling his bony knee and cursing. He almost smiled when he looked at Fennymore's angry face.

‘Fennymore,' he said, ‘I know you have a very poor opinion of me, but …'

‘Poor doesn't come anywhere near it,' said Fizzy in disgust. The noise had woken her up. ‘Lousy, shabby, miserable, mean.'

The silvery grey man raised his hands. In his right hand he held his long thin wooden cane. ‘I'm not going anywhere, children,' he announced. ‘I'm coming home. After all, I have work to do. It's been a long night.' Then he gave a hearty yawn.

‘Huh,' said Fizzy. ‘And we're supposed to believe you?'

‘Take a look at Fenibald,' he said. ‘He hasn't had any of his potion since yesterday evening. Maybe abstinence has had some effect.'

‘Potion, lotion, what a notion,' came from the big wingback armchair.

Fennymore looked closely at the man who was still sitting in his armchair in the farthest corner of the room. In the bright light of morning it seemed even more unlikely that it was his father. But why would the silvery grey man try to palm some crazy stranger off on him? Fennymore couldn't think of a reason. But this hair and this beard? No. Or maybe yes?

‘Eh, hello, Dad,' he tried.

‘Sad lad,' said the bearded man with a giggle.

He was still looking right through Fennymore, but there was something in his laugh that seemed vaguely familiar to Fennymore.

Then Monbijou came right up to the armchair and snorted and nuzzled the bearded man on the knee. The man stretched out his hand and laid it on Monbijou's handlebars.

‘Ah,' he said. ‘Gah.'

Fizzy put her head on one side and said, ‘For sure.' She looked at the bearded man with wide-awake eyes. ‘How are we going to get him to The Bronx?'

* * *

Monbijou hardly knew what was going on. He waited impatiently until they had sat Fennymore's father – or rather Beardy, as Fennymore had privately christened him – on the back carrier, which took all their strength, and had tied him tightly to Fennymore. Fizzy climbed up on Monbijou's handlebars.

‘I'll be along as soon as I have washed up the cups,' said Hubert. ‘I'm three times faster than Monbijou anyway.'

Fizzy wagged her finger at him. ‘We'll see you at The Bronx, and woe betide you if we don't.'

‘He'll come,' said Fennymore.

And then Monbijou raced off. A little more carefully than the last time, when they'd travelled through the night, but fast enough all the same that they jolted along and everyone needed to hang on to each other good and tight.

‘Oops-a-daisy, we're all crazy,' cried Beardy, his long hair blowing in the wind.

Fizzy tittered. ‘I don't know, Fennymore,' she called back over her shoulder. ‘I never met your father before, but I kind of like him.'

‘Father, rather, all a blather,' chuckled Beardy from the carrier.

Fennymore didn't know what to say to Fizzy. It was all very well for her.

Even Monbijou seemed to think that this Beardy was his father. But he was so different. And even if he
was
Fennymore's father, and even if the effects of the potion wore off in a week or two – who was to say that he would be the same as before?

Monbijou leapt over a particularly large pothole, and two long arms crept around Fennymore from behind. Beardy leant his head against Fennymore and his beard prickled his son's back slightly through his shirt. Fennymore got a warm feeling in his tummy.

They rode on over fields and meadows, through rain and sunshine, past countless big and little rainbows that were lodged in trees and grasses. When the sun was high in the sky they came to the haystack where Fizzy and Fennymore had rested on the outward journey. They reached the little stone wall early in the afternoon. Just as on the day they had left, it had only stopped raining and everything was sparkling in the sunshine. Behind the wall stood The Bronx against the blue sky.

‘We're here!' cried Fizzy and jumped down from the handlebars in one leap.

When everyone had dismounted, Beardy stood there astonished, with his mouth open. He blinked at the sky and looked back in the direction from which they had come, over the fields and out into the wide blue yonder. Then he noticed the little stone wall and took a deep breath.

‘Ah!' he said again. ‘Gah.'

They climbed over the wall, stepped through the garden gate and at last they were outside The Bronx.

‘Home!' said Fennymore, looking at Beardy. Would he recognise it?

Beardy was looking around him with interest. Fennymore followed his gaze. The front door was wide open.

CHAPTER 14

In which Hubert makes himself important and an utterly uninvited guest appears

Somebody had been kicking up a storm in The Bronx. The pots of herbs that were normally on the window sill lay shattered on the floor. Somebody had lifted the carpet and thrown it back down carelessly on the floor. Even the big sofa was upside down, its four wooden legs sticking helplessly in the air. A corner of the multicoloured comfy blanket was sticking out from under it.

Fizzy's eyebrows shot up in surprise as she looked around. Fennymore gulped. Somebody had been looking for something. But for what? He didn't own anything valuable, apart, perhaps, from the silver cutlery he had used on Sundays when Aunt Elsie came to lunch, but that was lying untouched on the table. Although one of the two gold-rimmed china plates lay in pieces on the floor.

He looked at Beardy, who was standing in the doorway looking sort of lost.
If only Dad were back to normal!
thought Fennymore. If indeed Beardy
was
his father.

Beardy gazed with interest at the untidy room but gave no sign that he recognised it. He giggled softly.

‘Hey,' said Fizzy quietly, looking at Fennymore. ‘It looks just like your great-aunt's place. When we moved in, everything was in a mess, just like this. The furniture had been thrown around and even the nightdresses with all the flowers on had been yanked out of the drawers.'

Suddenly the air shimmered and Hubert materialised. Fizzy stopped talking and gave him a puzzled look. The silvery grey gentleman gave a little cough and, as everyone stared at him, he patted down his silvery grey coat with an elegant gesture. Then he tossed a few wisps of hay aside with the toe of his silvery grey shoe and looked around him.

‘Now I know why I live such a Spartan life,' he said. ‘All that tidying up is a terrible nuisance. Ah, I see that Fenibald has become acclimatised. How is he?'

But Fennymore didn't answer. It had all become too much for him. Apparently it had looked just like this at Aunt Elsie's also? The last time he'd been there, everything had been the way it had always been. What could all this mean?

Then something occurred to him, something very important. He rushed past Hubert and Fenibald, who was bleating, ‘Hubert, honey-pie.' In the hallway, he slipped on the rag rug and went sailing into the kitchen, his arms flailing.

The drawers of the old kitchen cabinet had been pulled out and the contents lay scattered on the floor – multicoloured rubber bands, the little paper flags that Fennymore always stuck in his banana-splits, dried-out conkers from last autumn and all kinds of knives, forks and coloured plastic ice-cream spoons. Even the oven was open and there were wisps of hay everywhere. Only the old waste-bin was exactly as Fennymore had left it. The lid was closed and there were no banana skins or pâté wrappings lying near it. Fennymore's heart pounded. He took off the lid and looked inside.

Under a vanilla ice-cream tub lurked the corner of the tea-towel in which Fennymore had wrapped the vinegar-chocolate tin. Relief spread through him. Encouraged, he reached into the bin and pulled out the chocolate tin. A pungent smell reached his nostrils.

Fennymore unwrapped the tin quickly, threw the tea-towel back in the bin and banged it closed. Done! But then he saw something – something that should not be in his kitchen. The polished toes of two shoes were jutting out from behind the bin, pointing right at him. The left toe was tapping impatiently up and down.

‘Harrumph,' went a deep voice.

Fennymore looked up and into the face of Dr Hourgood. Two little light-blue eyes smouldered under his bushy eyebrows. But there was no sign of the jolly doctor face that Fennymore was familiar with. There was something cold about the look the doctor gave him.

‘Well done, my dear Fennymore,' said the doctor with pointed politeness, ‘for opening that bucket for me. That will spare my calf-skin gloves.'

He looked around, wrinkling his nose, and gently stroked his hands, which were encased in cream-coloured gloves. Then he stretched them out towards Fennymore.

Fennymore clutched the chocolate tin desperately and stared at the doctor with his lips tightly pressed together.

‘Well, well, well,' said the doctor. ‘I didn't come all this way for nothing.'

A fat gloved hand shot out and made a grab for the chocolate tin. ‘Hand that over, if you please.'

At that moment, Fennymore woke out of a daze.

He turned on his heel and started to run out of the kitchen, but the door was closed. He rattled the door handle, but it was useless. Locked.

Dr Hourgood gave a soft laugh. ‘You haven't a chance against me,' he said quietly. ‘It would be best if you just gave me the tin.'

Fennymore looked around wildly. The window over the sink – would he make it? But he had no time to think. He took a leap and landed with one foot in the washing-up basin.
Crrrrrack!
The dishes. He almost lost his balance, but then he yanked the old wooden window open and, with the box clamped under his chin, he jumped down onto the soft lawn.

As soon as he had pulled himself together, Fennymore gave the two-finger dachshund whistle as loudly as he could. Hopefully Monbijou and the others would hear him and realise he was in danger.

CHAPTER 15

In which Fennymore tries to read a message

Fennymore had made it safely onto the roof of The Bronx. He was still gasping for air. It hadn't been easy to get up here with the tin in one hand. Why hadn't the others come to his help? Had they not heard his whistle?

At least he had saved Aunt Elsie's chocolate tin. It was lying next to him on the buckled roofing felt. He rubbed his finger over its tin surface. Where he'd rubbed the dirt away, the lime-green colour of the tin and the logo of the vinegar-chocolate company appeared. Why on earth was Dr Hourgood so keen to get hold of this tin?

Then Fennymore heard the creak of the front door from below him. He lay on his tummy on the warm roof and peeked down over the edge. Dr Hourgood was coming out of the door. Fennymore could see the dome of his belly billowing out under his black hat. The doctor was carrying a sack over his shoulder. Fennymore recognised it. It was Monbijou's hay-sack, but there was clearly no hay in it now – it was too stuffed for that. Fennymore squinted and tried to see more. The sack didn't seem to be heavy. At least, Dr Hourgood had no problem carrying it.

He was standing right under Fennymore now. He looked all around, to the right and to the left. Fennymore wriggled back, but the doctor didn't look up at all. With swift and confident steps he was making hotfoot for a car, which was parked behind some bushes. It was a big shiny black vehicle, far too big for the little dirt track that led to The Bronx. The sunflowers, which normally reached up towards the sky here, had been pushed aside, and the car had completely mangled some of them.

The doctor dropped the sack into his car boot and closed the lid. Then he got into the car, his cream gloves gleaming on the black steering wheel. A huge cloud of dust rose up as the doctor accelerated. And then he was gone.

Fennymore climbed down off the roof. The doctor had left all the doors open, and Fennymore strolled through the hall into the living room. It was empty.

‘Monbijou?' called Fennymore. ‘Fizzy? Hubert?'

But there wasn't so much as a glimmer of sky-blue, not the tiniest freckle and not the smallest scrap of silvery grey fabric was to be seen.

On the table lay a piece of paper. Someone had written something on it in ink. Fennymore had seen this ink before. Dr Hourgood's fountain pen! He picked up the piece of paper and held it right in front of his nose. Oh, these letters! He couldn't make head or tail of them. It was pointless. Fennymore looked around the room once more. Was there really nobody there?

He stuck his fingers in his mouth again and whistled the dachshund signal.

A terrible snoring came from the sofa, which was now standing the right way up. The comfy blanket, which was spread out over what looked like a little mountain, moved, and a tangled white head of hair appeared from under it.

‘Wah!' yawned Beardy, raising his arm in a stretch and staring at Fennymore in surprise.

Oh, no,
thought Fennymore with a guilty pang.
I'd almost forgotten about him
.

Beardy was starting to seem a bit more like his father. Something about the look in his eyes.

‘Er, hello, Dad,' he said again tentatively.

Beardy said nothing, just looked at Fennymore.

‘Tell me, you wouldn't happen to know where the others are?' Fennymore asked.

Not that he expected to get a sensible answer. But he didn't know what else to say.

‘Hubertwork,' said Beardy, sitting up.

Fennymore started. That was the first time Beardy hadn't spoken in rhyme. Could the effects of the potion be fading already?

But his hope was short-lived.

‘Snip, snap, shiver, quiver,' cried Beardy.

Then he gave a little cluck and started to giggle. He giggled and giggled until he fell back on the sofa and rolled with laughter on the blanket.

Here we go again, thought Fennymore.

He took another look at the note from Dr Hourgood. At the same moment, Beardy caught hold of it, still giggling and snorting, ‘Shiver quiver.' He gave a tug and there was a tearing sound and Fennymore was left with only a scrap of paper in his hand.

‘Stop! What are you at?'

But Beardy didn't stop. With obvious enjoyment, he started chewing on the paper.

‘Stop it!' shouted Fennymore frantically. How was he going to bring Beardy to his senses? Before long the paper wasn't going to be decipherable at all, regardless of whether Fennymore could read or not.

He thought suddenly of the sponge that he still had in his pocket. He pulled it out and offered it to his father.

‘Look. A sponge. It's definitely nicer than that paper.'

Beardy backtracked and looked at the sponge.

‘Ah,' he said. ‘Gah.'

He stretched out both hands and let the paper fall.

Fennymore picked it up and tried to smooth it out. The ink had blotted in a couple of spots and Beardy's saliva had made it go soggy in places.

‘That's just great,' said Fennymore with a sigh.

Beardy was busy with the sponge. He was turning it over in his hands and sniffing at it.

Fennymore took a deep breath. He was going to have to try. He knew a few letters anyway. The ones in his name, for example. There, just next to a spittle stain, was an F, just like at the start of Fennymore. And then there was an i. He knew that one because it looked so jolly with that dot on top. Not half bad. And then came a z. He knew that one, it was the last letter of the alphabet because it was so zig-zaggy. Then another z and then … what letter was that? Oh, yes, it was a y. There was one of those in his name too. So it said … F-I-Z-Z-Y. Fizzy!

Fennymore's stomach gave a lurch. What had Fizzy to do with the doctor? He was going to have to read more. Better start at the beginning.

It took Fennymore ages to more or less decipher what Dr Hourgood had written on the piece of paper. Some of the letters had gone blurry and were very difficult to make out. Others he'd never seen before.

Beardy had fallen asleep over his sponge and Fennymore was able to concentrate in peace on what he could read of the letter.

I'_ _ _o_ Fizzy. I_ _ou wa_ _ _o rescue he_, brin_ _he _in. _his e_en_ _.

U_ren_asse …

_r. R. U.

Fennymore couldn't read the end of the letter at all because it was missing. His father must have eaten it. The page was extremely damp there and a piece was missing. The last legible thing was –
asse
. At the very bottom were a few letters with dots between them.

Fizzy
and
rescue
were the only complete words that Fennymore could read. Rescue.
Rescue?
Suddenly it all fell into place. The sack! Dr Hourgood had kidnapped Fizzy. She'd been in that sack! Oh, why on earth hadn't he realised sooner? He might have been able to do something about it. But it was too late now. His eyes flew over the letters and he tried once more to understand what the letter said.
his een
. It made no sense. Beardy wasn't much help either. Fennymore doubted if he would be able to read in his present condition. And besides, he really didn't want to take the risk that the letter might be half-eaten again.

No. There was only one person who could help him. ‘If you feel lonely in the next few weeks or want to talk to someone, you're welcome to call round any time.' That's what Herr Muckenthaler had told him, as they said goodbye after that weird visit they'd paid to Aunt Elsie's flat. And now he urgently needed someone to talk to.

Fennymore shook Beardy's shoulder carefully.

‘Wake up, Dad. And you're going to have to behave yourself now.'