The Whizz Pop Chocolate Shop (13 page)

“Hey—a fire engine,” Caydon said as the government car turned onto Skittle Street. “I wonder where the fire—Uh-oh, it looks like your house!”

“What?” Lily gasped.

It was true. The front door of Number 18 stood open, the old metal shutters were blackened and bent and the pavement was awash with filthy water. Emily Spoffard was sitting on the pavement in a garden chair, drinking a mug of tea.

“Lily—please don’t fly off into one of your panics,” she said as soon as she saw her daughter. “There was a small fire in the old workshop, but the rest of the house is absolutely fine, apart from a bit of dirty water.”

Now that the first shock was wearing off, Lily saw that the firemen were rolling up their hoses ready to leave. “What happened?”

“Well, I was sitting outside the back door, and there was a sort of
pop
like a balloon bursting. I didn’t think anything of it, but a second later there was a knock at
the door—it was your gran, Caydon. She was outside watering her plants when she saw black smoke seeping out of the shutters, and she raised the alarm before the fire had a chance to do much damage. Please say thank you—she had to go off to work before I had a chance—Oh, hello, Alan.” Mum smiled at the young policeman. “What are you all doing here? I thought the kids were visiting some Roman ruins today.”

Alan had been talking to one of the firemen, and his ears turned red. “I’ve been transferred to monument duty.”

“It’s very nice to see you.”

“Can we go inside?” Lily asked. She was worried about Demerara; the workshop was her favorite sulking place.

“Yes—the firemen said it’s just rather wet and smelly.”

“Mrs. Spoffard, I think you should wait in the cafe for a few minutes,” Alan said. “That’ll give us a chance to mop up the worst of the mess.”

“That’s awfully kind,” Mum began, “but I really couldn’t—”

“No, it’s a great idea,” Lily said quickly. “Isn’t it, Caydon?”

“What? Oh—yes.” He knew as well as she did that this had not been an ordinary fire.

Mum agreed to go to the cafe, and Alan led the way into the filthy, dripping hall. He halted in the passage.
“That was a magic fireball aimed directly at the workshop,” he said quietly. “I’m willing to bet on it.”

“We have to find Demerara,” Lily said. “She must’ve seen everything—I hope she wasn’t hurt.”

“She’s immortal,” Caydon reminded her. “He wouldn’t have killed her.”

“I bet he tried!” Spike squeaked angrily, squirming out of Alan’s pocket. “Oh, WHY wasn’t I here to help her?”

“We’d better take a look at the damage.” Alan pushed open the workshop door.

It was now a charred black cave of wet ash, and the metal tank in the corner had been blown into a few scraps of twisted metal.

“No sign of the old girl,” Spike said. “She might be hiding in her flat.” The rat took a flying jump to the floor, and the door to Demerara’s secret flat was suddenly visible. Spike darted inside, and darted out again a second later. “It’s EMPTY!”

“This could be tricky,” said Alan. “Demerara’s the only one who can tell us what really happened. We’d better find her so I can make a proper report.”

They went into the residential part of the house, where the kitchen was covered with a lake of sooty water.

“Demerara!” Lily called. “Where are you? Demerara!”

She ran from room to room, looking under chairs and tables and leaving a trail of black footprints.

“Demerara!” Caydon called. “You can come out now!”

Upstairs, on the landing outside her bedroom, Lily heard an odd noise.

It was a quiet sound, a bit like hiccups. Lily realized it was the sound of a cat sobbing. She hurried into her bedroom. “Where are you?”

The sobbing went on, but there was no sign of the cat. Lily dropped to her knees and peered under her bed.

“Go away!” sobbed Demerara’s voice. “Don’t look at me!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m HIDEOUS!”

“Please come out, Demerara—I don’t care what you look like—I’m just so glad you’re all right!”

“Oh, Lily, what shall I do? I’m the UGLIEST cat in the universe!”

Alan and Caydon had followed Lily into her room. “I need to make my report,” Alan said, “and you’re the only person—er—cat who knows what happened.”

“Alan? Are you here too?” Demerara cried. “Is the whole world to witness my SHAME?”

Spike scuttled across the floor toward her. “Don’t be shy, old girl—you know you’ll always look lovely to me. Why don’t you come out?”

“They’ll all LAUGH!”

“We wouldn’t dream of laughing,” Lily said hastily. “Would we?”

“Course not,” said Caydon.

“Not you—those flowers!”

Lily cast a quick glance around the walls. The yellow roses on the wallpaper still looked like faces, but the faces were sweet and kind. “I promise they’re not laughing.”

“Oh—all right.” Demerara sniffed and very slowly crept out from under the bed—a burnt cat, like a blackened piece of meat on a barbecue. She began to sob again.

Tiny voices rustled around the walls.

“Poor dear!”

“It’s a shame!”

Trying not to cry, Lily gathered the charred animal in her arms. “That PIG Isadore! You poor little thing!”

Alan cleared his throat. “You don’t have to tell me anything until you’re ready. I’ll go downstairs and make a start on the floors.” He left the room, ears flaming.

“My beautiful fur!” wept Demerara. “My luxuriant yet easy-to-manage fur!”

“Now then, you silly old fart,” Spike said kindly. “You know perfectly well it’ll grow back, just like mine did after the experiment!”

“That’s not the worst of it.” Demerara held up a paw. “Look at my collar and bell!”

The silver bell was black, and the tartan collar was nothing but a few disintegrating cinders.

Caydon took the bell and he scraped it with his thumbnail. “I can clean this, and it’ll be as good as new.”

Demerara stopped sobbing. “R-really?”

“No problem—and you know, I’ve just remembered we’ve got a spare collar at my house; our cat never wore it. I’ll go and fetch it.”

“A new collar—what color is it?”

“Wait and see.” Caydon grinned. “All I’ll tell you is that it’s the coolest cat collar you’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks, Caydon.” Lily had never liked him so much; poor Demerara was almost smiling.

“Back in a sec.” Caydon hurried away to fetch the collar.

“What a nice boy,” Demerara said. “Spike—how long did it take your fur to grow back after you were burned?”

“Not long.”

“And—was it just the same?”

“Oh, yes,” Spike said. “Your skin should’ve grown back by now, and the fur will start growing in a few weeks.”

“Weeks?” Demerara’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I’ll be—bald?”

“Just for a bit.”

“BALD!” The vain little cat began to weep again.

Lily gently stroked her burnt head (covering her hand with soot). “Let me wash off all this dirt.”

“In WATER?” shrieked Demerara.

“Warm water—with rose-scented bubbles.” Lily knew you weren’t supposed to wash cats, but an immortal burnt cat had to be a special case.

“I suppose I could stand that,” Demerara said. “Spike, you may go and tell Alan I’ll be down in a minute, and ask him to pop next door for a can of Whiskas.”

Lily took Demerara into the bathroom. She locked the door, in case one of her parents came in suddenly and found her washing an invisible cat, and ran a warm bubble bath. She lowered Demerara gently into the water, which immediately turned black. In the end, Lily had to turn on the shower attachment to remove all the burnt fur.

Demerara’s hairless skin was the same golden-brown color as her fur. When Lily lifted her out of the bath, the plump cat looked like a bald, beige sausage. Lily wrapped her in a towel and washed out the filthy bath.

There was a knock at the door and Caydon said, “I’ve got the collar.”

Lily opened it and whispered, “Don’t you dare laugh—or she’ll never tell us anything!”

Caydon’s lips twitched at the sight of the bald cat, but he managed not to smile. “Here you are.” He held out a collar of purple velvet, with Demerara’s shining silver bell attached as good as new, just as he had promised.

Demerara’s bald face was radiant. “It’s WONDERFUL!”

Lily fastened the collar around the cat’s neck. “This’ll look lovely with your new fur.”

“Maybe you could come and make your report now,” Caydon said. “Alan’s waiting, and Lily’s mum will be back in a minute.”

“Yes, I can face him now—brrr, it’s chilly without my fur!”

Downstairs, Alan had managed to wash off the worst of the soot and swoosh most of the water out of the back door; the ground floor was still wet and grubby but no longer covered with soot.

Spike, sitting on the kitchen table, jumped up when he saw Demerara. “Blimey, what a vision!”

“Great collar,” Alan said. “OK—what do I have to tell the department?”

Demerara settled importantly on the table.

“Well, it was about half-past two in the afternoon and I was having a little rest in the workshop when a giant fireball suddenly exploded into the room. Everything burst into flames, including my gorgeous fur—everything except the postcard.”

“Wait,” Alan said, “what postcard?”

“The magic postcard that started the whole thing.”

Lily jumped up. “What did it say?”

“Do you think I had time to read it?”

Alan was already running into the workshop. A moment later, he came back, holding a strangely undamaged postcard with a picture of the Houses of Parliament. “It’s Isadore’s ransom demand—I’ve got to get this straight to headquarters.”

“At last!” Lily cried. “Now we can start rescuing Oz! Demerara—why didn’t you tell us before?”

“Because I had far more serious things on my mind,” Demerara said royally. “How was I supposed to think about anything except my lovely fur?” She shivered. “I’ve never been so cold in my life! Lily dear, could I borrow your pretty pink cardigan?”

“We’ve analyzed the postcard,” J said, “and it’s very much as we expected—fireproof and covered with an antitracking spell. That fallen oak tree over there is Isadore’s hiding place—I’m just waiting until the area’s cleared, in case it’s booby-trapped.”

They were on a bench in Hampstead Heath, beside a large pond that was busy with ducks and swans. All the joggers, dog walkers and mothers with baby buggies were being politely moved out of the way by the police—Lily heard one of the policemen saying something about a gas leak.

“How’s Demerara?”

“Still moaning about her fur,” Caydon said. “You know how vain she is.”

“She’s cold without it,” Lily said, feeling she should speak up for her. “And she’s really very sad. Every time she wakes up she checks to see if it’s growing back, and when it isn’t, she cries.”

“And she’s always nagging Spike,” Caydon added. “I feel sorry for that rat sometimes.”

“We’ll see what we can do to cheer her up,” J said.

Lily was thinking about the postcard. “Is there any clue to where he’s keeping Oz?”

“Not yet, but I think we’re just about to find out.” J glanced around and went over to the fallen tree. Bending down, he rummaged among the tangled branches, and pulled out a small brown parcel. When he opened it, an old-fashioned plastic videotape fell out, and a note, with two words: “WATCH THIS.”

Lily was excited, and very impatient. “When can we watch it?”

“All in good time,” J said, smiling. “To tell the truth, I didn’t really need you two here for the pickup this morning—I brought you for Edwin.”

“Edwin! I thought he never left his cage!”

“He likes an outing sometimes.”

“Where is he?” Caydon asked.

In front of them was the great, green sweep of Kite Hill, absolutely empty of people.

“Take a close look at the grass,” J said.

Lily saw that the smooth, fresh grass on the hill kept going flat, as if being pressed down by an enormous invisible iron.

“He’s rolling down the hill,” J said. “It’s his treat, but we obviously have to make sure he doesn’t flatten any
joggers or dog walkers—I mean, imagine being rolled on by an invisible elephant! Young Alan’s keeping an eye on him—as far as it’s possible.”

“Oh, I wish we could see him!” Lily cried.

“SIR!” yelled Alan, halfway up the hill. “LOOK OUT!”

“He’s rolling this way!” shouted Caydon. “He’s going to roll into the pond!”

As they watched, the water in the nearby pond convulsed in a huge splash—as if something gigantic had been dropped from the air—and they were all drenched by a tsunami of weedy pond water. An astonished swan was swept into a bush, and the ducks went into a frenzy of quacking and thrashing.

Lily felt Edwin’s dripping trunk. It crept around her waist, suddenly gripping her hard and whisking her off her feet. He put her down very gently, and then cheekily tried to push Caydon into the pond. After that he squirted them both with jets of water from his ghostly trunk, and the SMU “meeting” ended in screams of laughter.

“Sorry about the soaking,” J said. “But Edwin had a wonderful time; you two have made an old dead elephant very happy.”