Archer's Goon Read online

  Howard swallowed the four sandwiches. Even together they were not a big mouthful. “What’s Archer trying to do?”

  “Stop the rest of us,” Dillian said, with her face blank and angry, “so that he can have everything for himself. We’ve not been able to move outside this town for the last thirteen years. We’re all very angry about it. It’s taken us all this time to discover that your father’s words must be doing it. Now the question is: how? Your father must do something special when he writes them. Has he told you what?”

  “I don’t think he knows,” said Howard. “He says he just writes drivel—”

  “Well, it certainly isn’t in his best vein,” Dillian said wryly. “If the stuff I’ve got about old ladies rioting is a fair sample, then it’s idiotic. I can’t see how Archer can use it for anything.”

  She tapped with her foot again. Scented silence fell, with the fountain drip-dripping like part of the silence. Miss Potter, who was obviously annoyed at being left out of the talk, held out a plate of sandwiches. Dillian waved them gracefully away. Miss Potter, determined to take part, held out a plate of cakes as small as the sandwiches. Dillian waved those away, too. So did Fifi and Awful. Howard took two. “I can’t imagine dear Mr. Sykes writing any kind of drivel,” Miss Potter said. And when that only made more silence, she said, “How odd, Dillian, dear! I never knew you had any family.”

  This made Dillian give a comic little shrug. “There are seven of us,” she said.

  “I do envy you, dear!” said Miss Potter. “Large families are such fun!”

  “It’s not fun,” Dillian said coldly. “We don’t get on at all. Torquil’s the only one I can bear to talk to. Archer speaks only to Erskine, and Hathaway and Venturus don’t speak to any of us, or to each other either. As for Shine—words fail, Maisie!”

  All this while Awful had been staring fixedly at Dillian. Now she said, “Where do you come in the family? Eldest?”

  “No, dear,” said Dillian. “I come between Shine and Hathaway, almost in the middle.”

  Howard took three more cakes. They were delicious, but they seemed to melt down to nothing when he ate them. “But you all share running the town,” he said. “How do you arrange that if you don’t talk to one another?”

  Dillian waved that away, rather as she had waved away the cakes. “The farming was arranged at the beginning, when we first came. We each took the things the others didn’t want.” Her lovely mouth pouted rather. “Of course, it went in order of age, and I got saddled with boring police business and so on. But—” The pout vanished in a smile and a chuckle. “But Erskine got drains and sewers, and serve him right! It wasn’t supposed to be for good, you see, dear. We were going to expand and move on. Then Archer did whatever he did, and we seem to be stuck here. Now suppose you tell me a little bit more about this arrangement your father has with Archer.” She leaned forward and smiled at Howard.

  Howard smiled dreamily back. The food and the scent of the flowers and the dripping of the fountain were making him feel peaceful and sleepy, and it struck him that Dillian was rather nice. But before he could get around to answering, Awful interrupted. She had still not taken her eyes off Dillian. “How old are you?” she demanded.

  Dillian gave an annoyed little laugh. “Now that would be telling, dear.”

  Miss Potter was clearly glad to have another chance to express her dislike for Awful. “You should never, never ask a lady her age,” she said reprovingly. “Dear Dillian is ageless. She’s the eternal feminine.”

  “Don’t be sickening,” Awful retorted. “I bet she’s seventy at least.”

  Dillian’s face went blank and annoyed. Miss Potter was horrified. And Fifi at last recovered enough to mutter, “You shut up, Awful!”

  Awful stood up. “I’m going to be bad,” she announced. “I may scream. I can feel it coming on.”

  “Oh, Lord!” said Fifi. “Howard, we’d better go.”

  Howard stood up, too. He knew Fifi was right. He dragged his bag out from under his gilded chair, which promptly fell over into the nearest bank of flowers. Dillian turned her blank look at him, and he felt as badly behaved as Awful. “Sorry!” he muttered. He picked the chair up and tried to straighten the bent flowers.

  “We can’t go yet!” Awful insisted loudly. “We haven’t got Dad’s words. She’s trying to make us forget so she can keep them!”

  “Awful!” Fifi said sternly. Her face was as pink as the geraniums arranged behind her.

  “Don’t worry, dear,” Dillian said kindly. “Children do get tired and cross. And you know, I nearly did forget it was those words you came about. I was enjoying our talk so much. I’ll send for them at once.” She bent and rang the little golden bell again. After a moment the footman came through among the flowers again. This time he was carrying a folded sheaf of papers, in both hands, as if they were Magna Carta and might fall to pieces unless they were handled very gently indeed. Unlike the papers the Goon had produced, these were crisp and white and new. The footman handed them to Dillian, who passed them to Howard with a smile. “There, dear. Do just check to see they’re the right ones.”

  Howard felt ashamed of being distrustful, but he did unfold the papers and glance over them. The typing seemed to be Quentin’s. He recognized the way half the capital letters soared into the air, so that their tops were cut off. He had no way of knowing quite what his father had written, but near the beginning, his eye caught: “and if Corn Street were to fill with old ladies, clubbing policemen with handbags and umbrellas.” He folded the paper up again. “This looks all right,” he said. “Thanks very much. And thanks for the tea.”

  “You’re welcome, dear,” Dillian said, smiling radiantly.

  Howard stowed the papers carefully in his blazer pocket and held out his hand for Awful in the way that meant she was to come along at once. Fifi stood up and held out her hand, too. Awful shuffled over to them. “I don’t want to stay in this old hole anyway,” she said rudely.

  “I shall smack you!” Fifi whispered. She and Howard dragged Awful out from among the flowers. Awful let her feet trail and made them tow her across the shiny floor. Howard looked back in embarrassment and saw Miss Potter had taken another cake and settled back smugly in her chair, to show she was staying on. But Dillian gathered her ball dress up and came gracefully to the front door with them. It made Howard sweat with embarrassment at the way Awful was behaving. He dragged Awful through the mighty wooden door, and through the porch, and then down the driveway, knowing Dillian was waving and smiling behind them, and promised himself he would hit Awful as soon as they were in the road.

  But Awful escaped just outside the gate because Howard’s hand was so slippery with sweat by then, and Fifi let go of her, too, in order to sigh heavily. “Oh!” Fifi said. “I’d give my ears to look like Dillian! Wasn’t she glamorous!”

  Howard laughed. As they turned and walked downhill, he was distracted from his annoyance with Awful, and even from sweet thoughts of getting rid of the Goon in half an hour, by the sheer contrast between Fifi and Dillian. He looked at Fifi’s peaky little face and frizzy light brown hair and laughed again. “You couldn’t look like her. She’s twice your size for a start.”

  “I’ve always wanted to be that tall,” Fifi said yearningly.

  “Stupids!” Awful called out. She was lurking a safe distance behind Howard. “She’s an evil enchantress. And she dyes her hair.”

  “A lot of people dye their hair,” Fifi said over her shoulder. “Do come on. There’s no such thing as enchantresses.”

  “Yes, there is!” Awful said indignantly, still hanging behind. “Why do you think I didn’t have any tea? Bubbling things are going on inside me, I’m so hungry. But I was right. You and Howard just sat there getting enchanted, and I didn’t.”

  Fifi raised her eyebrows at Howard and sighed. “Come on!” she called back. “Before your mum gets home!”

  “Not until Howard makes sure we’ve really got Dad’s words,” Awful called. And
she dug her hands into her pockets and stood still.

  Howard’s hand went irritably to check the pocket where he had put the papers. It felt limp and flat. He plunged his hand inside. Apart from half an old pencil and a rubber band, that pocket was empty. Unable to believe it, he felt in his other pockets. Then, frantically, he searched his trouser pockets, too. There were no papers in any of them. “I don’t believe it!” he said.

  “Maybe you put it in your schoolbag,” Fifi suggested.

  Howard knelt and turned his bag out on the pavement on the spot, halfway down Pleasant Hill Road. He sorted through everything and shook out all the books. Awful came up and watched, keeping safely on the other side of Fifi. When Howard had found a note about history homework but absolutely nothing else that was typed, she said, “Now do you believe me?”

  “They dropped out,” Fifi said firmly. “Let’s go back and look. Look carefully, both of you.”

  They went back uphill. Fifi scanned the hedges; Howard looked in the gutter. Awful sauntered behind, still with her hands in her pockets, looking superior. And she seemed to be right. There was nothing that looked remotely like paper all the way to the top of the hill or anywhere on the downward slope beyond. Here Howard suddenly noticed that the house he was searching beside was numbered 104.

  “We’ve come too far,” he said to Fifi. “Let’s go and look in her driveway. And if it’s not there, I’m going to knock on her door and ask her.”

  They went back up the slope. And before long they found themselves going downhill again. They stopped beside a gate labeled 18.

  “This is ridiculous!” said Fifi. “Go back and check the numbers.”

  Back uphill they trudged again. Awful planted a hand on each gate and called out its number as they went. “Twenty-four. Twenty-six. Thirty. Thirty-two—Howard! It’s gone!” Even Awful had not expected this. She looked thoroughly depressed. They stood in a huddle, dumbfounded. There was no number 28 now or any room for one between 26 and 30.

  “We’re on the wrong side of the road,” Fifi said at last.

  So they crossed the road and looked there. But on that side all house numbers were odd ones, and there was no number 28 between 27 and 29 there either.

  At that point Fifi at last admitted that Awful might be right. “The—the old hag!” she said angrily. “Let’s go home anyway. It’s late.”

  “Before I die of hunger,” Awful said pathetically. “Do you believe me now, Howard?”

  Howard nodded dismally. He felt thoroughly depressed, almost too miserable, as they trudged home, to be angry at the way Dillian had cheated them. He had hoped to get rid of the Goon and put everything right, and nothing had happened at all. On top of the rest he felt as hungry as if he had had nothing to eat at all. “No wonder Miss Potter’s so thin,” he said to Fifi. Fifi nodded. He thought she was trying not to cry.

  When they got to the bottom of Shotwick Hill, Howard borrowed some money from Fifi and bought Awful a doughnut in the shopping center. He thought she deserved it. She had done valiantly.

  The result was that when they finally trudged down the passage to the back door of 10 Upper Park Street, Awful was the only one looking at all happy. In the kitchen Quentin and the Goon were sitting facing each other across a pile of peanut butter sandwiches. They did not look happy either. Both their faces turned toward the door.

  “Tea is now officially supper,” Quentin said. “Where were you?”

  The Goon jerked his face at Quentin. “First time I’ve seen him worried,” he said.

  Awful’s face lit up at the sight of the sandwiches. She dived on them. The Goon picked the plate up before her dive was finished and held it high in the air. Quentin shouted through the resulting screams, “Not a mouthful until I find out where you’ve all been!”

  “It’s all my fault, Mr. Sykes!” Fifi shouted back. She flopped into a chair, still trying not to cry. The Goon put the plate down again. Awful stopped yelling in order to eat sandwiches as if they were her first meal that week. Howard ate the few he managed to snatch before Awful started. Fifi drank a large mug of tea and explained.

  “Shouldn’t have anything to do with Dillian,” the Goon observed. “Bag of tricks. Smiles and steals your trousers.”

  “Well, we know what’s happened to the words now,” Quentin said to the Goon. “You can go get them from Dillian.”

  “Can’t,” said the Goon. “Told you. Need my trousers.”

  Quentin smothered an exasperated sigh. “You mean,” he said calmly and carefully, “that you still intend to sit over me trying to make me write some more?” The Goon nodded, grinning his widest. “That does it!” Quentin slammed his hand down on the table, so that the empty plate bounced, and sprang to his feet. “Take me to Archer this instant!” he said. “I demand to see him.”

  The Goon considered. “Take you tomorrow,” he said.

  “Why not now?” Quentin shouted, losing his calm completely.

  “Can’t,” said the Goon. “Bank not open.”

  “What on earth,” roared Quentin, “has that got to do with—” Wincing at the noise, Catriona came in as he roared. She was tired. She sank into the chair Fifi hurried to get out for her, spilling music and the evening paper onto the table as she sank, and shut her eyes. Everyone became quiet and considerate. Quentin picked up the paper and began to read it. The Goon, to Howard’s amusement, tiptoed to the kettle and made the cup of coffee Catriona always needed. He brought it to her with a humble, sheepish grin. Catriona knew it was the Goon. She said, with her eyes still shut, “Quentin—”

  “I know, I know,” Quentin said. “I’m seeing Archer tomorrow, it seems.” He looked at the Goon to confirm it.

  The Goon nodded and plucked the newspaper out of Quentin’s hands. He took it across to Howard, grinning and pointing to a place on the front page, where it said, “YOUTHS INVADE TOWN HALL.” “Mountjoy held his tongue,” he said to Howard. “Thought he would.”

  Howard had barely time to wonder if he was pleased or not to be called a “youth” and lumped in with the Goon when Quentin reached out and plucked the newspaper back. “My worldly goods are yours,” he said quietly, out of consideration for Catriona, “but only after I’ve read them first, my good Goon. When do we see Archer?”

  “Hold hard,” said Fifi. “I want to see Archer, too. After tonight I’ve a bone to pick.”

  “So do I,” said Awful.

  “And me,” said Howard. “And we’re at school all the time the bank’s open.”

  The Goon was surprised. “Don’t even give you a break for lunch these days?” he asked wonderingly.

  “Of course they do!” Awful said scornfully. “And you’re not to go without us.”

  “Meet us, twelve-thirty, outside the High Street bank?” the Goon suggested.

  Catriona suddenly opened her eyes. “Are you talking about tomorrow?” she said. “Howard, don’t forget I’m coming to your school tomorrow afternoon to hear your school orchestra. Have you done your violin practice?”

  Howard had forgotten, of course, both things. He felt really annoyed. He always forgot school orchestra if he could, because Mr. Caldwick, who ran it, had a bleating voice that made him want to scream like Awful after ten minutes. And he had forgotten Mum was coming to hear it because it was so embarrassing to have your own mother coming to school as an official. Orchestra always started just before afternoon school, too; that meant he was going to have to be in two places at once if he wanted to see Archer. Archer was the one he was determined not to miss, but he could not tell Mum that. He supposed he had better do his violin practice so she would think he was doing what she said.

  While Howard was thinking this, Catriona told Awful to do her practice, too. Awful’s mouth opened. The Goon promptly put his fingers in his ears.

  “Oh, don’t yell. Do it,” Howard said wearily. To everyone’s surprise, Awful obeyed him and went off to the piano in the front room as good as gold. Just as well, Howard thought, as he went upstairs, or he
might have been the one screaming. When he had the violin under his chin and the alarm set, he found it necessary to design a really complicated spaceship, full of unnecessary but soothing twiddles. Dillian had made a fool of him, the house was still full of the Goon, and he had a feeling that tomorrow was going to be a more than usually trying day.

  Chapter Five

  The next day was Friday. When Howard woke up to find rain slanting in a bleak wind, he knew he had been right about the day. He came downstairs to find the drums booming again, faintly, and a lot of fizzing from the front room, where the Goon was enjoying his tea and television. A crackling voice announced, “Archer is wa—” before the Goon turned it off.

  “Know you are,” the Goon’s voice said. “So’s Torquil.”

  I’m surprised Dillian isn’t, too, Howard thought as he went to get breakfast. There Fifi said to him, “Don’t forget the bank at lunch. I’m so nervous I won’t go if you’re not there.”

  Before Howard could reply, Catriona rushed briskly through the kitchen, calling out, “Howard, don’t forget to take your violin to school.”

  “Everyone’s on at me!” Howard shouted after her as the back door slammed behind her. “Leave me alone!”

  He was still grumpy when he set off into the rain with his violin and Awful. In spite of the rain, someone had tried to chalk “ARCHER” all along the walls of Upper Park Street. Perhaps the people who had done it were the group of boys loitering and laughing halfway along the street. As Howard and Awful went past them, the boys crossed the road and loitered along behind them. When they turned the corner, the boys turned that way, too.

  “Do you know them?” Awful asked. The boys were all Howard’s size and probably older.

  “No,” said Howard. “But I think they’re after us. You go down Zed Alley and by the Poly. And run. I’ll hold them up while you go.”

  “What about you?” Awful asked, hovering.

  “I’m bigger than you. Run,” said Howard. To tell the truth, he was looking forward to working off some of his bad temper. So Awful turned aside and streaked off down Zed Alley, running in long, pounding strides, with her head down and her arms working. Howard waited while her feet went splashing and stamping down the first zig of the alley. As he heard them go faint when she turned into the zag, he turned around, scowling against the rain, to face the boys. By this time they had realized that Awful had got away. They came at him in a bunch, and three of them tried to dive past and get into the alley. Howard stood in the entrance to the alley, feeling brave and noble, and swung his violin case at the nearest oncoming stomach. There were two minutes of fierce fighting after that, but by the time some of the boys did get past into the alley Howard had heard Awful’s feet turn into the last zig and was fairly sure she had got away. He wrenched free himself and ran.