Milli clambered out of bed and roughly shook Ernest awake.
‘Do you know what day it is?’ she whispered.
‘Wednesday?’ he suggested groggily.
‘No, Saturday! Remember what’s happening tonight?’
‘We’re going fishing?’ Ernest gurgled joyfully. It generally took him a good twenty minutes to wake up in the mornings, so he had not yet registered the full import of Milli’s question. She decided to leave him to his last few minutes of peace and get their provisions ready. Milli wasn’t sure exactly what provisions were necessary for such a quest as they were about to embark upon but she was far too restless to go back to bed. She took a leather pouch from around the neck of a large white teddy bear in a sailor’s uniform. ‘I need it more than you do,’ she assured the bear, who seemed to look at her accusingly through glassy black eyes.
It was not an easy task deciding what to take on a mission to set the shadows of Drabville free and release the townsfolk from a life of mindless routine. Eventually, Milli decided on a few essentials. First, she put in the secret scent from Gristle’s phial in case the need should arise to unfasten any doors. Then came the map of the Lurid Lagoon that the flamingo had helpfully replicated using his superior secretarial skills. Last of all, Ernest’s ebony pocket knife was added, along with a handful of Fudge Chews should their energy need replenishing during the journey. The stronger her feeling of foreboding grew, the more busily Milli worked. She quickly drew the strings of the pouch together and placed Ernest’s slippers beside his bed. But it was no use. No matter how busily she worked, the sense of foreboding had settled around her like a fog.
When Ernest awoke properly, Milli exhibited the collected items. Nodding earnestly, Ernest put on his slippers, pleased to find them in so convenient a position.
‘Get dressed,’ Milli instructed. ‘If we go quickly we’ll make it to the dungeons before anybody wakes up.’
Alas, they managed nothing of the sort. Ernest was in the middle of dressing when the nursery door opened and the children were commandeered by one very over-excited Mrs Mayor. Highly embarrassed at his state of undress, Ernest tried to dive out of sight behind a doll’s house. But Mrs Mayor, with her freshly made-up face and crisp, new outfit, was having nothing of it. The children were amazed at how little rest she seemed to need. Although, Ernest couldn’t help noticing that her eyeliner was a little more askew than usual and she had lipstick on her teeth indicating that both had been rather hurriedly applied in her haste to get the day’s proceedings started.
‘Right!’ Mrs Mayor seized the startled children by locking arms with them and pushed them in the direction of separate bathrooms, which were already submerged in a haze of steam.
Milli was horrified to find a mute Mrs Basilisk waiting for her yet again. Mrs Basilisk’s usual form of communication was to glare at you stonily until you worked out what it was she wanted you to do. As she was holding a scrubbing brush on this occasion, as well as standing beside a trolley bearing a frightening assortment of loofahs and sweet-smelling lotions, her intentions were crystal clear. There were creams to remove dead skin cells, creams to stimulate growth of new cells, creams to even skin tone, creams to buff and resurface and creams to polish. As she succumbed to Mrs Basilik’s ministrations, Milli felt as if she were an item of furniture.
The children had faces as sorry as lost puppies by the time they were bundled into giant bathrobes and plonked down to dry. The water in the tubs had been so thick with product that it felt like sitting in a bath of soup. If you have ever spent two hours soaking like a potato in a soupy bath, then you will sympathise with Milli and Ernest. If you haven’t, then you ought to be very, very grateful. But bathing was only the beginning.
Into the room strode six maids. Why six, you may be wondering. Why not one, or, if absolutely necessary, two? But, you see, Mrs Mayor was of the firm opinion that there are three major regions of the human body: the upper, the middle and the lower. (A bit like the kingdoms of ancient Egypt before they were unified under the rule of a pharaoh whose name I cannot remember.) In Mrs Mayor’s view, all three of these regions required specific and individual attention, which is why poor Milli and Ernest found themselves having to endure the attention of not one but three maids each.
At ten o’clock the Tress Brigade arrived. This was a team of Mrs Mayor’s personal hairdressers and they wore khaki dungarees, bandanas and shiny boots. They literally charged into the nursery wheeling black trolleys laden with giant brushes and turbo dryers.
It was around this time that the children exchanged significant glances. Translated, their expressions quite clearly said that they would rather be living in a cardboard box floating upon a jellyfish-infested sea than put up with such fussing a second longer. They had endured enough prodding and poking and tugging and tweaking to last a lifetime. But it wasn’t over yet.
Do not be naive enough to think that more can be done with a girl’s tresses than with a boy’s. Each and every one of Ernest’s naturally bouncy curls was ironed flat with a monster appliance with two ceramic faces that, when plugged in, gave off a scorching heat. As for Milli, she was not at all impressed to have her wild mane twisted into little coils, knotted on top of her head and adorned with bright, multicoloured baubles. When she moved her head, the baubles jiggled with an irritating tinkle. Just when Milli was positive she could look no worse, the hairdresser pulled two locks free and stiffened them with styling product so they stood upright like a pair of antlers.
Mrs Mayor stood back to admire the handiwork she had orchestrated and was pleased. ‘Don’t you both look marvellous!’ she cried, dabbing at her eyes with a hanky as they were wet with emotion.
Milli and Ernest breathed a sigh of relief. Thank pumpkins the ordeal had come to an end.
It was mid-afternoon when Mrs Mayor finally left the children in peace and went to prepare herself for the ball. Milli and Ernest looked at the clock, then at one another, in despair. There were only three hours left before the Hocus Pocus Ball!
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Into Thin Air
Milli was in a panic. Time was running out. ‘They’re expecting great things!’ she shouted, wringing her hands. ‘What in blazes do they mean by that?’
The children had spent the last hour in the dank dungeons deliberating over possible ideas for their surprise for the Hocus Pocus Ball. So far they had come up with three paltry suggestions.
The first was an egg and spoon race, which banked on the off chance that the magicians had never seen one and might be entertained by splattered yolk. It could hardly be defined as marvellous.
The second was performing a jive taught to them by Marcel, but this had no novelty value whatsoever and, although it might delight Mrs Mayor, the children knew that voyaging to the Shreckal Caverns would be a great deal more difficult with fractured limbs.
The third option was a poignant recitation of some of Ernest’s verse. Not only did this mean they were growing desperate but it relied on Ernest being able to write poignant verse at short notice. All three plans were dicey to say the least, and they were ashamed at their lack of imagination, which they could only attribute to this new life of excess they were living.
‘Calm down,’ Leo soothed when Milli’s voice grew so shrill it squeaked like an out of tune clarinet. ‘We’ll come up with something; we always do.’
An uncomfortable silence followed as everyone tried to think creatively. This, as we know, is near impossible to achieve when you try, although some teachers I have encountered seem to think creativity can be turned on like a tap.
They tried summarising their dilemma in the hope that articulating it might inspire their combined brainpower to kick in.
‘We are to prepare a surprise.’
‘A marvellous surprise.’
‘To be unveiled this evening.’
‘At the Hocus Pocus Ball.’
‘In front of all the guests!’
‘Who are expecting something magical.
’
‘Not to mention marvellous!’
‘All right.’ Rosie called a halt to the growing disquiet. Out of them all, she seemed the least concerned. ‘What have you got so far?’
‘So far…well, so far we’re still in the early planning stages,’ Milli said.
‘You’ve got zip, right?’
‘Right,’ Milli and Ernest replied meekly. Up until now they had avoided the issue hoping it would be forgotten amidst the chaos of preparations. They had only just come to terms with the realisation that they would have to deliver or not attend the ball at all.
Rosie considered their dilemma. It was sizeable, but not large enough to cause them any serious difficulty. She placed a finger in each corner of her mouth, pulled her lips taut and let out an earpiercing whistle. Almost immediately, a respectful hush spread through the dungeons. Rosie had decided an appeal to the prisoners was what was needed. After all, people deprived of freedom often make a best friend of imagination.
‘These children need our help,’ she said. ‘Tonight they are going to voyage across the Lurid Lagoon where they will make their way to the infamous Shreckal Caverns.’
Murmurs of dissent rippled through the crowd of prisoners.
‘It’s preposterous,’ shouted a former Drabvillian barber.
‘Ludicrous!’ someone else seconded.
‘The fate of Drabville in the hands of children?’ scoffed a once chubby-cheeked pastry chef.
‘Tonight is our night of freedom—I can feel it in my bones!’ piped up a former milkman in more hopeful tones.
‘Someone ought to give that Aldor and his cronies a good kick in the pants!’ yelled a vocal elderly matron, whirling her walking stick above her head.
Rosie raised her hands and waited calmly for the clamour to subside.
‘Milli and Ernest will face grave danger tonight,’ she said. ‘They will have to show immense courage. They may not succeed, but at least they are prepared to try. They are our only hope—unless any one of you has a better idea?’ Here she paused dramatically to invite responses. None were forthcoming. ‘If they do succeed, we shall be forever indebted to them. They deserve our support.’
There was a respectful murmur among the prisoners as they considered the implications of Rosie’s words. All except Ernest, who had really registered nothing beyond the word danger. No one knew what lay within the rocky chambers of the Shreckal Caverns, but they had all heard stories. Stories to make your hair stand on end and your skin crawl. No one would voluntarily have swapped places with Milli or Ernest. The children must have nerves of steel to venture there alone.
‘However,’ Rosie went on, ‘before their plan can be put into action, the guests are expecting a show. Let’s make sure they get one!’
A loud cheer ensued, followed by animated discussion as many ideas were proffered, debated…and rejected. Everybody seemed to have an opinion on the matter, but no opinions materialised into an actual plan.
Milli and Ernest were feeling demoralised by the time the bickering crowd parted to allow old Mr Mulberry to shuffle through. He bent to whisper in Rosie’s ear and her grim face broke slowly into a smile.
‘Get your wands ready,’ Rosie declared. ‘We’re going to make these children disappear!’
A Vanishing Closet requires a number of tools essential to the craft of carpentry, including timber planks, a full box of nails and several hammers and saws. Captivated by the idea of such a performance, Mrs Mayor liberally granted Milli and Ernest all the materials on the list they presented her with. In addition to this, the prisoners had the materials left over from the making of decorations for the ball at their disposal. A Vanishing Closet is not hard to build. It is the actual vanishing that poses the bigger problem. The children were well aware that not being trained magicians, they would have to use other and perhaps more devious means of vanishing.
Progress was rapid. The prisoners pounced upon the toolbox when it arrived with so much gusto you’d have thought it was a tasty roast pork. They were fired up now, driven by the prospect of imminent freedom—which, up until now, they had not believed to be attainable. If truth be told, they did not believe it now either, but the idea had taken root and there is nothing like a mission, realistic or not, to build teamwork.
Milli and Ernest helped out wherever they could. They both remembered the time they had accidentally stumbled upon a children’s book in the Drabville library that was different from all the others. This one did not have a pristine cover but an old and frayed one. It was about a Pompom and Tassle Circus, and a great magician, Whombus Whimsical the Third, who shut himself up in a box and instructed his apprentice to lock and padlock the door. After an incantation followed by an explosion of blue sparks, the box was re-opened and Whombus Whimsical was nowhere to be seen. The story went on to offer the reader a series of clues to find the disappeared magician, until Whombus Whimsical the Third was finally discovered disguised as a trapeze artist walking the tightrope. When the children had tried to borrow the book, Miss Linear, the head librarian, had looked aghast and promptly confiscated it, all the while looking around to see if anyone else had noticed. Muttering something about a ‘slip-up’ Miss Linear had then directed them to a more suitable volume about a brother and sister who lose their kitten only to find it again in a tree. Milli and Ernest had never quite forgotten Whombus Whimsical the Third. Like good old Whombus, they too would vanish from the Hocus Pocus Ball and slip away right under Lord Aldor’s nose.
Such was the productivity of the prisoners that the Vanishing Closet was complete in what seemed no time at all. It was two metres high and rather crooked in construction but the prisoners could not have been prouder of their efforts. To add a festive air, the closet was festooned with yellow curtains and decorated with shimmering stars and tinsel. It had also been fitted with castors so that it could be easily wheeled into the ballroom. It promised all things magical. Best of all, the closet had a false back that could be slid open when it was time for Milli and Ernest to slip away.
The buoyant mood was interrupted when a question was asked that nobody had the answer to. ‘How exactly will the children leave the ballroom without being spotted?’
Milli was deflated for only a moment before a brilliant idea struck her.
‘Feathers and frills,’ she cried, much to everyone’s astonishment. ‘Back in a moment!’
When Milli returned five minutes later, her face was flushed with excitement and she was carrying a bundle of coloured cloaks and top hats ransacked from the Masquerade Room. ‘Ready to disappear, Gumm?’ she asked. ‘Into thin air.’
The Mayors were dressed as Ancient Greek deities when they came to collect the children. Mrs Mayor’s hair had been styled into a beehive of curls and a gold-leaf headdress adorned her forehead. She wore a long tunic, a wide belt of beaten brass and a pair of leather sandals that criss-crossed up to her knees. She had tied the sandals a little too tightly and they were already cutting off her circulation. Mr Mayor was wearing nothing but a loincloth, winged sandals and a plumed helmet in his attempt to impersonate an ancient warrior. Unfortunately for him, the loincloth looked more like a nappy and the helmet kept obstructing his vision so that he knocked into things.
‘Better get moving, my Olympian Star,’ Mr Mayor crooned, putting an arm around Mrs Mayor’s shoulder.
‘Ready when you are, my burly warrior,’ a smitten Mrs Mayor replied.
The children grimaced and followed the Mayors down to the ballroom.
Many of the guests had gathered in the marble foyer, nibbling hors-d’oeuvres of fried zucchini-flowers and listening to a band of gypsy fiddlers while waiting for the great doors of the ballroom to admit them. Their peppery scent combined with alcohol and cigars lingered in the foyer when the Mayors and the children arrived. Inside the ballroom, no expense had been spared on decorations. With its lofty ceilings, white columns and parquetry dance floor, the ballroom was, without a doubt, the most opulent of the rooms the children had visit
ed. It was full of velvet-upholstered chairs and sofas and marble pedestals holding elaborate floral arrangements. From the ceiling hung a colossal crystal chandelier glittering with the light of a hundred candles.
As the official party made its entrance, hundreds of eyes fixed upon them, not all of them human, mind you! The Notorious Nine may have seemed odd to the children, but they were indistinguishable now amongst this medley of guests. An angelic-looking young woman with two rabbit ears sidled up to take a closer look at the Mayors’ new descendants. All the characters from a deck of cards had come as a group and moved around en masse. A freakishly tall chap with the keys of a piano for fingers was openly flirting with a woman whose hair appeared to be made of violin strings. Standing next to a family of brownies was a strapping lad in Elizabethan garb who would have looked quite princely had it not been for the two walrus tusks protruding from his nostrils. A knobbly-fingered gnome carried a tray of toadstools and, if Milli wasn’t mistaken, there was Gristle, dressed as a cave man and daintily sipping a Martini. He raised his glass in an unexpected show of friendliness when the children caught his eye.
Most of the guests did not require costumes to set them apart. There were creatures with wings, creatures with fur, creatures with fangs and creatures with eyes as pink as the champagne bubbling from the fountain in the foyer. The ballroom was a jumble and tumble of blinding colour. There wasn’t a grey or beige garment in sight.
When a red-robed Lord Aldor materialised sitting in the chandelier, there was a collective intake of breath. He proceeded to float slowly downwards onto a stage at the rear of the ballroom. The simplicity of his costume made him all the more terrifying. He wore his usual sweeping red cape coupled with a white theatrical mask with an exaggeratedly long nose, the kind of mask that would make seasoned travellers immediately think of Venice and the Carnivale. Behind the mask, little of his face could be seen save a pair of smouldering eyes. When Lord Aldor raised his arms the lights dimmed dramatically. When he waved his pinkie, the chandelier retracted and its crystal fragments dispersed to form a star-studded night sky where the ceiling had been. When he tugged on his earlobe, the walls of the ballroom became glass through which the amazed guests could watch comets trailing cosmic dust whizzing past their very noses.