Shrinking Ralph Perfect (15 page)

For a few seconds, both parties experienced a fuddled kind of truce as they tried to work out how this had come about. Here they were, taking shelter beside
The
Frisker,
trying to avoid being hit by flying objects, bound to each other by a cold, steel bracelet. Ralph looked at Jack’s wrist and saw straight away that the watch had been removed. Bone must have taken it. So Bone had pressed the pyramid. Therefore, Bone was now in Miniville. Oops. Jack, in turn, still puddled by his pummelling, checked for his watch and gave a shocked start – gone! He glared at the handcuffs and then at Ralph and possibly wondered why it was that policemen looked so much younger these days. Then his grey eyes fell upon the device made of clothes pegs and mirrors and pins, and that fairground organ he laughingly called a brain began to grind out an explanatory tune. ‘
Meddlesome brat from house next door. Empty fridge.
Stolen stone. Contact with Collonges. New device. Escape.’

His eyes met Ralph’s for a nanosecond.

Then the pair of them started to wrestle.

It was a bizarre sight, a grown man of forty and a boy
of twelve grappling for control of a mad professor’s miniaturising gadget.

‘Gimme that,’ snarled Jack, tugging it towards him.

The device buzzed. Ralph pulled it back.

‘I’d rather die, Bilt!’

‘Git up, Knocker. Nip him!’

Knocker got up, carrying his broom handle fetched from the tank, pathetically in his jaws.

Somewhere out of sight and out of doors, thunder rumbled and a flash of blue lightning gorged the plastic sheets at the windows. Something was coming. Something bad.

‘Miriam!’ Ralph yelled, wondering why the ghost hadn’t come to his aid. She had calmed down suddenly and he sensed she’d left the room. But why?

‘Oo’s Miriam?’ said Jack, sinking his yellow teeth into Ralph’s wrist.

‘Agh!’ the boy screamed and kicked Jack in the crotch.

‘Ooh,’ went the builder, curling up. He jabbed his elbow into Ralph’s chest.

Winded, Ralph nearly let go of the device. It responded with a warning beep.

‘Miriam! Miriam! Help me! It’s Rafe! Stop the ogre or we’re all going to die!’

Another luminescent flash of lightning gripped the room.

And then a woman’s voice said, ‘Is there anybody there?’

The tug-of-war came to an instant halt. ‘Oo’s that?’ hissed Jack.

Ralph wasn’t sure. She was in the hall, just out of sight. There was something very eerie about the way she’d asked the question. She’d used a deep, theatrical tone as if she were an actress rehearsing her lines, performing to the echoes in the auditorium, calling out to the shadows left behind in the seats.

‘Don’t be afraid. Show yourself,’ she said. The words floated through the doorway and hung in the air like a magic spell.

The blue sheets at the windows billowed.

Knocker whined in fear and dropped his wooden leg at Jack’s side.

Thunder cracked.

And in the flash which followed, Miriam’s body briefly materialised.

‘Bloomin’ Nora,’ Jack said.

This time, the visiting woman heard him.

‘Mr Bilt?’ she inquired, with a twitter of apology. She tapped faintly at the door but still didn’t enter. ‘I hope
you don’t mind, but I let myself in. The spare key is still in the plant pot out front.’

Ralph let out a shocked gasp, hardly able to believe who it was. A pair of elderly, brown-stockinged legs in a pair of elderly, black brogue shoes were just becoming visible when
crack!
something broke against the side of his neck and he sagged forward like an unstuffed teddy.

H-row?
went Knocker as that half of his leg that was not in Jack’s hand went spinning over the back of the sofa.

‘Fetch,’ Jack said, cruelly pushing the terrier aside.

Knocker snapped his teeth and tried to bite, but the movement only unbalanced him again and he rolled over in a sad, lopsided heap, just as Annie Birdlees stepped into full view.

She brought a cross on a silver chain up to her mouth and tottered through the room, looking horrified. ‘Mr Bilt. Goodness me. What’s happening here? I sensed a troubled presence the moment I arrived and…oh, why is Ralph in a set of handcuffs?’

Jack showed her his best banana-mouthed grin. ‘Citizen’s arrest. Boy’s a menace. Broke in through the cellar. Attacked the dog. Rizzled up a spook and did for the furnishings. Tried to steal me gadget—’ He moved the device from Ralph’s lap to his, then paused, as
something squished in his pocket. ‘—and me dead prannies. Had no choice but to knock him out and take back what’s legally mine.’

Annie shook her head in disbelief. ‘No, not Ralph.’

‘He’s a villain,’ said Jack. ‘Wants locking up.’ He tugged at the handcuffs. ‘Can’t be
nmph
trusted.’

‘That’s ridiculous. I shall go to his mother this instant.’

‘Wouldn’t bother,’ said Jack. ‘Ran away with a plumber. Terrible business. Turned the boy to crime.’

‘Poppycock!’ Mrs Birdlees said. ‘There’s something quite sinister going on in this house and— oh…’ With a hand across her breast she knelt down slowly and picked up the open fingernail jar, sighing as she tipped out a solitary clipping. ‘My nails,’ she said. ‘What happened to my nails?’

‘They’re
yours
?’ said Jack, looking rather stirred.

‘I left them in the cellar. That’s what I came back for. My nails, my ear wax, my hair and my tummy fluff. I’ve collected my body parts since I was a child. It’s my belief, Mr Bilt, that when I die, every last part of me I’ve made or grown should go with me into my cardboard coffin, in preparation for my chosen life beyond. And you’ve scattered me, willy-nilly, over the floor. How can I return as a grizzly bear now?’

Jack Bilt turned a grizzly shade of green. ‘You’re seriously weird,’ he said.

Annie stood up straight. ‘I’m calling the police.’

And, as if she’d used her magic tone again, there was a sudden screech of tyres outside. She marched to the window and hauled down a sheet. ‘Oh, how strange, they’re already here…’

‘Bone,’ muttered Jack. ‘Called the bloomin’ cavalry.’ He jerked the handcuffs urgently, bringing Ralph round.

‘’Nnie…’ Ralph slurred, spitting out a loose tooth. ‘Mum’s in dur fij tank. Ged dur box ov Jack.’

But Jack, by now, had realised the gadget was his only hope. He was fiddling with its bottle top knobs when two uniformed policemen burst into the room, followed by a man with bushy eyebrows and a beard that looked like a map of Tasmania. He was wearing a white laboratory coat and reading something off a hand-held meter.

‘Bilt?’ one policeman boomed.

‘There,’ Annie said with an old lady flourish.

The policeman jerked a thumb. ‘You’re nicked, chummy.’

Jack Bilt? Never. He threw his free arm around Ralph’s neck, pulling the boy to him, making him gurgle.

The arresting officer stalled.

‘Erm, the box he’s holding,’ the white coat said, checking the meter which was whining uncontrollably. ‘It’s giving off radionic impulses. Confiscate with extreme care, PC Sparrow.’

The second copper, PC Robbins, moved forward. ‘Put the box down, Bilt, and let the boy go. Game’s up. You ain’t got nowhere to run.’

‘Roll up,’ said Jack, and wiggled the peg hard.

The coat hanger twanged and a crackle of green light leapt across its points.

The scientist’s meter whined off the scale. ‘Stand back!’ he shouted.

Wise advice. Half a second later, Jack and his hostage had completely disappeared.

That was how it seemed to the blinking eye, at least. Both of them had been miniaturised, of course, and pitched close to the wall of the Miniville aquarium. Ralph could smell the drying marmalade. He could see the shattered house through the cataract of glass, but no sign whatsoever of its occupants. He felt sick and dizzy and anxious for his mum, and his neck was begging for a long, cold compress. But there wasn’t time for healing or even time to heave. Jack was on his feet and tugging at him hard.

‘C’mon, you toe-rag.’

‘I hate you,’ said Ralph.

And he kicked and he punched and they wrestled again. But this time, the bout was weak and short-lived. The cuff on Ralph’s wrist had been set for a man’s arm not a boy’s, and as they jostled and tussled and the join became strained, Ralph’s hand popped out and he staggered back and fell against the tacky marmalade, gummed to it by the arms and shoulders. Jack, Jack, the lucky black cat, had come away with the device.
Typical,
Ralph thought. He always got the
duff end of the Christmas cracker.

‘Most grateful,’ said the builder, flexing his wrist to bring the feeling back. He kicked a fragment of an egg cup aside. From his pocket he produced a miniature penknife. ‘Know what you are? A blooming nuisance. Want to see my knife-throwing act?’

Ralph shook his head. ‘Behind you,’ he said.

‘Ho ho. Three bags full,’ Jack sneered.

‘Knocker! Git down! Now!’ Ralph shouted.

Jack jumped like a firework, then. He turned to see a hot tongue idling towards him. It was dribbling with saliva and it smelt of rotting meat. Knocker rolled a lip and showed his teeth. If only… If
only
he’d slurped straight away and not paused to growl it would have been a ghastly, but fitting, end. Jack, licked up by his own ‘best friend’, a living Jonah in the whale that was his dog. But that momentary lapse gave the builder time to scarper. He hastened away between Knocker’s paws, deep into the shadows beneath the dog’s pudgy tummy.

Poor Knocker. If he’d had a good leg to scratch his brain with, he would have done. Instead, he grizzled in confusion and turned a half-circle, allowing Ralph the opportunity to slip out of his sweatshirt and take off after Jack, without fear of becoming a dog’s dinner himself. He hurried under Knocker and out the other side.

By now, the floor was springing with the transits of giants, every footfall registering a small explosion. Annie, Ralph noticed, was making for the fish tank. He prayed she’d be in time to save his mum and the others. The three men, meanwhile, were on their knees, picking up pieces of damaged crockery, searching for signs of mini-humans. But in the ghost-ravaged wasteland of broken pottery, it was far too easy for Jack to hide. They would never find him or the device. He could disappear for days behind a skirting board, then restore himself to full size and walk away, untouched.

But it didn’t happen like that. Suddenly, Jack scrambled out from under a dessert spoon and came running back towards Ralph, faster than a ferret. His arms and legs were a blur of locomotion and his eyeballs were so far out of their sockets they resembled two light bulbs (of very low wattage). When Ralph saw what Jack was running from, he knew he would need the speed of a racehorse to stand any chance of getting away.

Ants move surprisingly fast. So quickly did they swarm to surround the two humans that even Ralph was terrified. He backed against Jack and they circled together, trapped and outnumbered by a ring of soldier ants.

Ralph knew they would need a miracle to escape. They had no weapons – and what good would they be
against armoured exoskeletons and acid sprays, anyway? Jack, Jack, the incompetent prat had dropped the transgenerator in his dash – so there wasn’t even hope of turning themselves into a couple of pin-pricks and floating away next time Knocker sneezed.

It was over.

Goodnight.

Roll up, do.

The ant nearest Ralph dipped its cone-shaped head. Its scissor-like jaws opened sideways. Its compound eyes rolled over its prey. Ralph saw its feelers arc. He covered his face. Strangely, his young life didn’t flash before him. Instead – and what a blooming time for this – he remembered a fantastic film he’d seen in which a tiny company of British soldiers had fought to defend their post, Rorke’s Drift, against a monumental army of Zulu warriors. The soldiers were outnumbered twenty-five to one, but had fought so bravely that the warriors eventually ceased to attack and let the wounded survivors go free.

But fighting bravely was not in Jack’s blood.

‘Take the boy!’ he squealed. ‘He’s young! He’s juicy!’

The ants closed in. Jack gave a scream and was carried away, on the backs of a column of six linked workers.

The nearest remaining ant paused before Ralph. Curling its antennae high into the air, it reached out and stroked the boy on the temples. The touch was electrifying. Ralph sensed another kind of world. A world in which little creatures worked for one another and co-operated readily to live a better life. When he opened his eyes, the ants were gone. Who knows why they had spared his life? Who knows why they took Jack Bilt?

A voice boomed overhead. Ralph looked up and saw a human finger coming towards him.

‘Here,’ the voice was saying. ‘Here.’

A glass thudded down, enclosing Ralph inside it. Paper was carefully pushed under its rim. Ralph climbed on to it and lay down, exhausted.

And there he was happy to stay for a while, hoisted to freedom by ground-to-air tumbler. They handed him to Annie while they carried on searching. She sat on the sofa with the glass on her lap, knuckling a tear from below one eye. Ralph stood up and made semaphore waves. Annie dibbled her fingers back. ‘Mum?’ he mouthed. ‘Did you find Mum?’

Annie pressed her fingertips against her mouth. Her gaze drifted across the room. Ralph turned around to see what she was looking at, but PC Robbins was blocking
his view. Suddenly, the copper rocked back on his heels, examining some object he’d picked up off the floor. He tilted it between his finger and thumb. Ralph knew straight away that it had to be the second bipolar transgenerator.

‘Be careful!’ he yelled, slapping his hands against the tumbler.

But Robbins foolishly squeezed his fingers and a dot of red light winked out of the device.

Oh no, thought Ralph, sensing that familiar wobbling of molecules.

With a crash that set Knocker yapping for England, the tumbler exploded and pieces of glass flew in all directions.

‘Oh!’ squealed Annie, paddling her feet. Ralph was full-sized again, perched on her lap.

The second copper hurried across. ‘Berringford, what’s happening?’

The scientist ran a scanning device over Ralph’s brain. ‘Fascinating. Quite fascinating. He’s been returned to normal by a reverse transgenic stimulus. Someone must have used the device.’

‘I fink that was me,’ PC Robbins said. He pulled a bloodstained hand away from his neck. A piece of glass from the tumbler had lodged below his ear. Split
between his thumb and forefinger, were the useless remains of a tiny coat-hanger and peg.

Berringford sucked in through his teeth. ‘Well, that’s most unfortunate.’

‘What does that mean for the others?’ asked Annie.

To which Ralph added, ‘Where’s my mum?’

The scientist squinted at the crushed device. ‘That really is most regrettable. Oh well, too bad. PC Sparrow, take the boy away.’

‘I’m going nowhere without my mum,’ Ralph said.

Berringford pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. ‘All of them,’ he said, nodding at a tumbler on the mantelpiece. It was full of little people. Kyle. Neville. Jemima. Tom. Penny Perfect, in Tom’s arms. ‘They’ll all go together. The dog included. Quarantine. Three months. Keep on searching for Bilt, PC Robbins…’