Atticus Claw Breaks the Law (3 page)

5

Once he’d finished his sardine and had a quick snooze, Atticus felt better. So what if Jimmy Magpie and his gang were a bunch of bullies? It wasn’t his problem. You couldn’t be choosy about who you worked for or you’d never get paid. He would do the job, take the sardines and scram like he always did.

But first, he needed to find somewhere to live.

Atticus had chosen a sheltered spot beside an empty beach hut to eat his sardine. Now he turned away from the sea and retraced his steps past the pier and back to the shops. He paused in front of a shiny metal ice-cream stand and gazed at his reflection. He lifted a paw and adjusted the handkerchief around his neck so that his name was clearly visible. He heard the clock strike two. Ten hours to go until he started thieving. There was plenty of time for him to
find a comfy bed, have another snooze and get some more grub. Satisfied with his appearance, Atticus wandered in the direction of town in search of his next temporary human.

At half-past three, Mrs Tucker was waiting for Michael and Callie at the school gates.

‘I thought you might like a snack.’ She ripped open two packets of crisps as they started the short walk home to Blossom Crescent.

‘What’s for tea?’ Michael asked. The crisps seemed to be making him even hungrier. ‘I’m starving.’

‘I’ve brought you something special,’ Mrs Tucker replied

‘What?’

‘Sardines!’

‘Sardines?’ Callie pulled a face. ‘Yuk!’

‘Don’t knock ’em,’ Mrs Tucker said briskly, ‘till you’ve tried ’em. They’re delicious.
And
they’re good for your brain.’ She tapped her basket. ‘Mr Tucker caught them fresh today. In fact they’re so fresh they’re practically still swimming.’

‘Can I see them?’ Michael asked, curious. He flipped open the lid of the basket.

‘Not till we get home,’ Mrs Tucker snapped it shut. ‘We don’t want every cat in the area following us, do we?’

Callie pulled at Mrs Tucker’s sleeve. ‘That one already is,’ she said. ‘Look!’ She pointed to a large brown-and-black tabby with four white socks and a red handkerchief tied around its neck. It was
walking
a few paces behind them.

Mrs Tucker stopped and looked at the cat.

The cat stopped and looked at her.

‘I wonder what happened to its ear,’ she remarked, before walking on again. ‘It’s all chewed.’

Michael glanced back. ‘It’s still following us,’ he said.

‘It’s not following
us
,’ Mrs Tucker corrected. ‘It’s following the sardines. And you’re not having any,’ she said, turning round suddenly and glaring at the cat. ‘They’re for the children’s tea.’

The cat regarded her steadily. ‘Meow,’ it said.

‘Can we stroke him?’ Callie asked. ‘He’s so cute.’

Mrs Tucker hesitated. ‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Mind he doesn’t scratch though.’

The children approached the cat cautiously.

Michael held out a hand and scratched him gently under his chin. Callie stroked his fur. The cat began to
purr. He arched his back with pleasure.

‘I think he likes us,’ Michael said.

Mrs Tucker snorted. ‘I think he likes our sardines!’ she muttered.

‘I wonder what his name is,’ Callie said.

Michael felt round the cat’s neck under the handkerchief. ‘He doesn’t have a collar.’

‘But look! There’s some writing on this,’ Callie noticed, bending down and examining the corner of the handkerchief carefully.

The cat didn’t move. He lifted his chin.

Michael knelt down beside his sister. He peered at the tiny embroidered letters. They were as delicate as a spider’s web. ‘Att-i-cus … Gramm-a-t-i-cus … Catt-y-puss … Claw,’ he read slowly. ‘Do you think
that
’s his name?’

The cat purred loudly.

‘It’s awfully long.’ Mrs Tucker frowned. ‘For a cat. Mr Tucker just called his one Bones.’

‘I like it,’ said Callie. ‘It rhymes. Apart from Claw, that is.’

‘He seems to recognise it, anyway,’ Michael said, rubbing the cat’s ears. ‘Don’t you, Atticus?’

The cat’s purring became a low throaty roar – like a car engine
when you first switch it on.

Michael turned the handkerchief over. ‘There’s no phone number.’ He tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. ‘Do you … er … think he belongs to anyone?’ he asked casually.

‘I know what you’re thinking, Michael Cheddar,’ Mrs Tucker said firmly, ‘but you can’t keep him.’

‘Why not?’ Michael asked, disappointed. ‘I thought you
liked
cats.’

‘I do,’ Mrs Tucker said.

‘And you
want
us to
have
a pet.’ Callie reminded her. ‘You said so this morning.’

‘I know I did. But just because he doesn’t have a collar doesn’t mean he doesn’t belong to anyone,’ Mrs Tucker explained. ‘Especially with a name like that.’

‘He might not, though,’ Michael insisted. ‘He might be a stray.’

‘Someone must have tied that hanky round his neck,’ Mrs Tucker told him. ‘I mean, he didn’t just put it on himself, did he?’

‘He might have,’ Callie said.

‘Cats are clever,’ Michael added. ‘You said so this morning.’

‘Never mind what I said this morning!’ Mrs Tucker
puffed out her cheeks. ‘The point is it wouldn’t be fair for us to take him if he’s already got a home. Think how his poor owner would feel. I mean, what if he was
your
cat and someone lured him away with a basket of fish?’

‘But what if he’s lost?’ Michael insisted. ‘Shouldn’t we at least look after him for a bit and try and find out who his owner is?’

The cat had sat down while the argument was in progress. Now he stood up again and rubbed his body against the children’s ankles, purring gently.

‘See!’ Callie cried. ‘That’s what he wants!’

‘Well …’ Mrs Tucker hesitated. ‘He does look a bit lost.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I’ll tell you what. If he’s still following us when we get back to the house, we’ll take him in and see if we can find out where he’s come from. If he isn’t, that’s the end of it. OK?’

‘OK,’ the children agreed.

‘No peeking to see if he’s still there until we get to the front door,’ Mrs Tucker added. ‘And pretend to ignore him or he’ll think it’s a game.’ She marched off.

The children gave the cat a final stroke and
followed
reluctantly.

The rest of the walk was agony. Michael and Callie plodded along in silence, eyes to the ground. Even Mrs Tucker telling them about the time Mr Tucker beat off a giant lobster with his wooden leg couldn’t distract them.

Eventually, after what seemed an age, they reached number 2 Blossom Crescent. Michael opened the gate. He and Callie raced up the path to the front door. ‘Well?’ said Michael. He heard the gate click shut and screwed his eyes together. He couldn’t bear to look. ‘Is he still there?’

Callie covered her eyes with her hands.

There was a pause. The children held their breath. They heard Mrs Tucker mutter, ‘I thought as much!’ They crossed their fingers.

‘All right, you two,’ Mrs Tucker said, ‘you can look now.’

The children opened their eyes. The cat was
sitting
on the pavement a few feet away peering at them through the gate.

‘Meow?’ he said.

Callie gave a shriek of delight and started jumping up and down.

Michael grinned.

Even Mrs Tucker chuckled. She eyed the cat for a
moment. Then she opened the basket. A strong fishy smell wafted out. The cat’s good ear pricked up. He lifted his chin and sniffed the air. ‘Well, what are you waiting for, Atticus Grammaticus Cattypuss Claw?’ Mrs Tucker said, reaching for her keys. ‘You’d better come in.’

‘But what will Dad say?’ Callie looked worried all of a sudden. ‘Do you think he’ll be cross if he comes home and finds Atticus?’

‘I don’t expect he’ll be very pleased,’ Mrs Tucker said. ‘But Atticus won’t be staying for long. Only till we find out who he belongs to.’

‘And it’s not like we went out and bought a pet when Dad told us not to,’ Michael added.

Callie’s face brightened. ‘It’s more like Atticus found
us
because he needs someone to look after him for a little while!’ she cried.

‘Exactly,’ Mrs Tucker agreed. She opened the door. ‘Come on, then, Atticus, make yourself at home.’

‘Yes, come on, Atticus,’ Michael encouraged.

‘Please, Atticus,’ Callie begged.

The cat stood up slowly. It yawned and stretched. It looked up and down the street. It looked at the house and the garden. It looked at the cars parked in
the road. It looked at Michael, Callie and Mrs Tucker. Finally, it looked at the basket. Then, as if it had come to a decision, it squeezed through the gate and strolled past them into the house, its tail held high in the air.

6

Up at Toffly Hall Mrs Cheddar was having problems with Lord and Lady Toffly over the marquee.

‘I don’t want it there,’ Lady Toffly snapped. ‘It’ll spoil the begonias. They need sunshine. Don’t you agree, Roderick?’

‘Yes I do, Antonia,’ Lord Toffly said gruffly. ‘Besides, it interferes with the view from the library.’

‘We can’t have that!’ Lady Toffly cried.

‘Ridiculous!’ Lord Toffly agreed. ‘Some people have no consideration.’

‘Take it down!’ Lady Toffly ordered.

‘At once!’ Lord Toffly shouted.

‘But, Lady Toffly …’ Mrs Cheddar protested. The marquee was huge. It had already been up and down three times since breakfast and the workmen were exhausted. ‘You agreed that’s where we should put it.’

‘I assure you I didn’t, Mrs Cheddar,’ Lady Toffly snapped. ‘I said the
west
lawn. This is the
east
lawn.’ ‘Some people can’t tell one end of a compass from the other!’

Lord Toffly glared at Mrs Cheddar.

Mrs Cheddar bit her lip and tried to think about nice things, like bunnies and squirrels and little tweetie birds, instead of punching a Toffly on the nose, which is what she wanted to do. ‘Lady Toffly,’ she said, ‘when we put it on the west lawn, you told us to move it to the north lawn. When we put it on the north lawn you told us to move it to the south lawn. When we put it on the south lawn you told us to move it here, to the east lawn.’

‘Well, I still don’t like it,’ Lady Toffly declared. She glared at the workmen who were lying on the grass, panting. ‘Tell them to stop sprawling about and move it again.’

‘Lazy lumps,’ Lord Toffly snorted, sitting back on his shooting stick.

Mrs Cheddar’s foot twitched. Just one little kick aimed at Lord Toffly’s big fat tweeded bum would send him sprawling into Lady Toffly’s precious
begonias
… But then they would fire her and she would never get a job on
Get Rich Quick! Tweetie birds
, she told
herself firmly.
Bunnies
.
Squirrels
. ‘Where would you like us to move it to?’ she sighed.

Lady Toffly thought for a moment. ‘How about the
south-west
lawn,’ she suggested.

‘Good idea, Antonia,’ Lord Toffly agreed.

‘And if that doesn’t work we can try the
north-east
lawn, and if I don’t like that there’s the
south-east
lawn and then … um …’

‘Don’t forget the
north-west
lawn, Antonia!’ Lord Toffly reminded her.

‘Of course, Roderick. How brilliant of you.’

‘OK,’ Mrs Cheddar said wearily, adding
kittens
to her list of nice things to think about. She pointed to a spot away from the begonias. ‘Let’s try over there.’

‘Give me a shout when you’ve finished.’ Lady Toffly gave a little giggle. ‘I’m going to try on my tiara. It’s worth millions, you know.’

‘Billions, my love.’ Lord Toffly cracked his
knuckles
gleefully. ‘Trillions probably.
Zillions
even. I wouldn’t be surprised.’

‘Quite so, Roderick. I doubt whether Rupert Rich will have seen anything like it before!’

‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka!’

Thug and Slasher were sitting in a nearby tree, watching.

‘I feel a bit sorry for her,’ Thug said.

‘Which one?’ Slasher asked. He was a slightly short-sighted.

‘Not the ugly one with the big yellow teeth and knobbly knees,’ Thug said, pulling a face. ‘The one we saw the other morning at the window in Blossom Crescent. She seems nice.’

‘
Nice
?’ Slasher squawked, ruffling his feathers. ‘
Nice
? She’s a human. All humans are horrible. They’re magpie murderers. Jimmy says so.’

‘I know, but …’

‘Remember what happened to Beaky?’ Slasher said sharply.

‘Yeah, but …’

‘And Goon?’

‘Yeah …’

‘And Penguin?’

‘
She
didn’t kill them though,’ Thug pointed out.

‘She might have,’ Slasher said. ‘How do
you
know? And anyway it doesn’t matter. They’re all humans. And all humans are horrible.’ He gave Thug a quick peck. ‘Keep your mind on the job.’

‘All right, Slasher, don’t get your feathers in a twist!’ Thug retorted, hopping backwards.

‘I can’t wait to tell the boss how much the tiara’s worth,’ Slasher said. He chuckled softly. ‘Those
toffee
-nosed Tofflys will be
really
mad when we steal it.’

‘D’you think we can get a look at it before we go?’ Thug asked wistfully. ‘I haven’t seen
anything
glittery all day.’ He eyed the house. Toffly Hall was
enormous
. The two magpies had spent the day looking in almost every window for a glimpse of treasure, without much success. For rich people, Thug thought, the Tofflys didn’t seem to have many shiny things – just a lot of dusty old books and shabby
furniture
.

‘Yeah, why not?’ Slasher agreed. ‘It makes sense to check it out properly before we nick it at the fair.’ He grinned at Thug. ‘The bedrooms are round the front. Let’s take the short cut. Come on.’

They flew over the roof and landed on a window ledge.

‘Look, there she is.’ Slasher peered into the dark room.

‘It’s on her head!’ Thug cried. He gazed in delight.

Lady Toffly was dancing around the room in a tartan dressing gown, holding a small mirror; the
tiara perched on her head. The magpies stared at it with longing.

‘It’s all sparkly,’ Thug sighed.

‘And spangly,’ Slasher giggled.

‘It’s lovely!’ They gave each other a hug.

‘SHOOO!’

Suddenly the window flew open.

‘Get away, you horrible things!’ Lady Toffly shrieked, flapping at them with a slipper. ‘Roderick! Quick! Get your shotgun!’

‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka!’

The birds fell off the ledge.

‘Shotgun!’ Slasher yelped.

‘I can’t afford to lose any more feathers,’ Thug cried. ‘I’ll crash!’

‘Where is he?’ Slasher looked about wildly.

‘I dunno!’ Thug flapped to and fro. ‘Let’s hide before he pots us!’

They fluttered down to the gravel and scuttered into the hedge.

‘RODERICK! Where are you?’ Lady Toffly leaned out of the window. ‘Hurry up!’

‘I’ll be there in a minute, Antonia.’ Lord Toffly’s voice came from the other side of the hedge.

‘What are you doing?’ Lady Toffly screeched.

‘I’m cleaning the Rolls-Royce,’ Lord Toffly
replied
. ‘There seem to be some feathers stuck in the bumper.’

Thug and Slasher looked at one another. Their beaks dropped open.

‘Did he say Rolls-Royce?’ Thug whispered.

Slasher nodded.

‘And feathers?’

Slasher nodded again.

‘You don’t think …?’

‘Shhhhh!’

Lord Toffly’s footsteps crunched across the gravel. The front door slammed shut.

Slasher peered out from under the hedge. ‘Quick! Follow me.’

The magpies emerged from their hiding place and hopped over to the Rolls-Royce.

‘Is that the car?’ Thug asked, staring at the
powerful
machine in awe. ‘The one that killed Beaky?’

Slasher pecked viciously at the paint. ‘That’s the one, all right. Look!’

A little heap of black and white feathers lay on the gravel beside the bumper.

‘Beaky!’ Thug whispered. He started to sob.

‘Don’t get all soppy, you big idiot,’ Slasher warned.
His beak was set grimly. ‘And DON’T go around saying humans are nice. EVER AGAIN.’ He took one last look at the feathers, which started to blow away in the breeze. ‘Come on, Thug,’ he said. ‘Let’s go and tell Jimmy.’