CHAPTER 13
HOME FOR LUNCH
Awareness returned slowly. Stanley was underwater and almost out of air. Struggling to right himself, he pushed up through the surface, gasping. Behind him, where Upper Thompson Creek collided with Razor Reef, great clouds of steam billowed noisily into the air. When he was a foal he stood beside his father and looked down with awe at the sinkhole and its steam geyser. Now, the natural spectacle seemed somehow small and unimpressive.
The water grew cooler and clearer as he swam upstream. He felt strength returning to his limbs as the heat was drawn from his body, burns numbing.
Upon reaching the shallows of a sandy beach overlooked by a hill of verdant grass speckled with tiny daisies, Stanley waded ashore, dripping. The afternoon sun was bright and hopeful but already dark clouds rimmed with silver were gathering. He drank deeply of the cool fresh water and looked back the way he had come. On this side, clouds of billowing steam hid the gully’s secret entrance from view. Razor Reef seemed impenetrably thick.
Stanley didn’t dally. He had not forgotten the urgency of his mission and so turned and climbed to the green pastures above the creek. A well-worn path used by visitors to view the eternal battle between creek and reef lay open before him. Stanley cantered to a gallop enjoying the cooling effect of air rushing over his wet body. He ignored the thumping pain of his burns and the cuts on the lower parts of his legs. Proper care of these would have to wait until later.
He leapt a low stone wall, clipping it with a rear hoof. He was now on a wide road, the main highway leading into town. It wouldn’t be long now. Passing through the reef had saved a great deal of time.
Before long, the first buildings were visible. These marked the town’s outer limits.
He galloped past a family of zebra who leapt aside, surprise silencing them. He hurtled through the town’s northern gate, capped with stone owls forever watching, and then through narrowing streets and lanes towards Town Square. Cold stone townhouses crowded out the sun and the cobblestones were slippery in the shadows.
Animals, sensing that some kind of emergency was afoot, scurried aside then followed him as he galloped into Town Square. He skidded to a stop when he reached the conical pergola housing the town’s big brass alarm bell. Leaping the stairs to the timber deck, he gripped the rope with gritted teeth and rang the bell with all his might. Many came running at the sound and quickly gathered round. They all knew the bell was only to be used in the gravest of circumstances.
‘The pirates have taken the Serendipity,’ Stanley announced loudly and clearly. ‘They’re at Thompsons Creek and we can stop them if we’re quick.’ He didn’t stammer or stutter once.
‘You’re burned,’ observed a sheep standing at the front of a small flock of its fellows. ‘Do you need help?’ ‘He’s burned, he’s burned,’ bleated the others in chorus. They shuffled together, each trying to get a better view. Some were dressed vaguely like pirates and the one who had offered help was wearing a wooden sword and an eye patch.
Stanley ignored them. ‘I need animals to fight. I need to get back to Thompsons Creek. There’s no time to spare.’
‘You’re bleeding. You should see to that,’ said the sheep with the eye patch who was now looking at his legs and frowning with concern. ‘You’re bleeding, you’re bleeding,’ chorused the others enthusiastically.
Stanley cut them off. ‘Forget about me, I’m fine. The pirates have the Serendipity and if we’re quick we can stop them.’
‘But there are no fighting animals in town, there’s just us,’ said the sheep, looking around. ‘Everyone else’s fighting the pirates at Kidney Reef.’ ‘Just us, just us,’ bleated the chorus.
Stanley looked down from the platform. The animals who had gathered were all herbivores like him, many were too young to help and most were sheep. There were no lions or tigers or bears. There were no gorillas or monkeys or animals of any House known for their fighting abilities. He looked to the Square’s lone Heat Tree where he had often seen crocodiles lying on the low ring-wall basking in the warmth. They would be good in a fight if he could get them to Thompsons Creek quickly enough. But there were no crocodiles. He looked for Elizabeth but she was nowhere to be seen.
‘Where’s the Mayor?’
The sheep with the eye patch looked around helpfully.
‘Where’s Mayor Lion?’ Stanley demanded, more strongly this time.
There was urgent consultation between the members of the flock and the few other animals who had gathered. ‘We think he went home for lunch,’ said the sheep with the eye patch. ‘Home for lunch, home for lunch,’ chorused the others, gleefully.
Stanley mustered all his reserves. He rang the alarm bell again, loudly, forcibly. ‘Send word to every able-bodied animal: meet at Thompsons Creek, each with a weapon and prepared to fight. Tell them Reginald Elephant is holding back the pirates. They’re not at Kidney Reef like everyone thought, they’re stealing the Serendipity from Thompsons Creek. I’ll get the Mayor.’
Stanley leapt over the gathered animals in a single bound and galloped across the Square. The Mayor would know what to do. But would it be sufficient and would it be in time? He hoped so but was filled with dread. Maybe he should have stayed to help Reginald instead.
Just off the Square was the Mayoral Lodge, a grand public building fronted by a wide staircase. The Lodge’s two tall doors were panelled red and studded with bright golden metal. On either side, towering twin columns of black granite held up the roof of the portico. Stanley had seen the Mayoral Lodge from the street but had never been inside.
In one mighty bound he leapt the stairs and slid to an awkward halt on the landing. One door was slightly ajar so he didn’t knock but pushed at the door with his nose instead. The heavy door swung open to reveal a cold and dark antechamber, wall torches unlit. Either side, matching staircases with cold, stone balustrades swept up grandly to the upper floors. The space reminded him of the Hall of Greeting at Town Hall, austere and ancient.
‘Mr Mayor,’ called Stanley, trotting to the centre of the antechamber. ‘Mr Mayor, are you here?’ The place felt cold and empty.
Stanley clip-clopped across the marble floor and entered a gallery hung with paintings in ornate golden frames. These were the town’s former mayors. The paintings toward the rear of the gallery were all of owls. They were strange and looked wise, as if burdened by secrets they could not tell.
A door halfway down the gallery was locked. ‘Mr Mayor, are you in there?’ he called through the door, knocking twice with his hoof. There was no answer.
At the end of the gallery he pushed at a door, which swung open to reveal a large kitchen, empty and dark. ‘Mr Mayor!’ he called, passing through. Shiny copper pots and pans hung neatly on hooks over clean metal benches.
At the back of the kitchen Stanley saw a wooden door slightly ajar. He pulled at its brass handle and found a narrow staircase leading down, probably to the basement. There was a dim light flickering below.
He carefully descended the short flight of stairs and turned a corner.
Stanley smelled blood before he saw the Mayor.
The great lion looked up suddenly. His wide face surprised then colouring. ‘It’s not what it looks like,’ he said quickly.
Stanley was horrified. The Mayor had been gnawing on a large bone, flesh and gristle still attached. The fur around his mouth was soaked with blood. The bulky remains of some murdered animal lay behind him in the shadows.
Stanley needed no further explanation: the Mayor was a cannibal!
Eyes wide and heart hammering, he backed up the staircase without taking his eyes of the murderous lion.
‘Wait! I can explain,’ the Mayor pleaded, rising massively from the blood-soaked floor.
Stanley didn’t wait. He turned and ran without looking back.
TO BE CONTINUED
Coming Soon:
ROBOTS AND MOON ROCKETS
Book 4 of THE FAIRWEATHER CHRONICLES