Monster Mission

The commentator described Mrs Danby’s hat once more and told the viewers that old Mrs Mountjoy’s face was full of longing.

The schoolchildren holding their banners shuffled their feet and cleared their throats, ready for their welcoming song.

The station clock ticked on.

And then at last they saw the train coming, curving round into the station, and a great cheer went up. The Lady Mayoress straightened her chain, the crowd that had gathered outside the platform gates waved, the television cameras whirred….

The train slowed down … stopped.

The door opened. A policewoman got down, and another … then they turned and held out their hands to the two children.

The girl was the first to come out. She was lifted down from the carriage and stood for a moment looking about her, smoothing down the velvet collar of her coat and patting her curls.

Then the boy was lifted down, and straightened his cap and dusted down his blazer.

‘Where’s my mummy?’ said the little girl in a cross and whining voice. ‘I want my mummy. You said you’d take us to her.’

‘I want her too,’ wailed the little boy. ‘I want my mummy now.’

Mrs Danby’s mouth fell open. The professor glared. ‘Is this a joke?’ snapped Mr Mountjoy.

And in the dayroom of the hospital in Newcastle upon Tyne, poor Betty gave a single high-pitched cry and fell back senseless in her chair.

Chapter Twenty-One

Herbert was magnificent. In spite of the darkness and the choppy sea he sent the Peggoty sailing steadily towards the single light burning on the Hurricane. His hands on the tiller never faltered, he seemed to understand the old boat as he understood the sea.

Fabio and Minette sat very close together in the stern, not daring to speak. When the helicopter took off again and they realized what a wonderful mistake had been made, they had wasted no more time. While Herbert was filling petrol cans by the jetty, they had climbed aboard and down into the little cabin full of fishing hooks and ropes and tackle and pulled a tarpaulin over their heads. With luck, by the time they were found, they would be too far out to turn back.

But it wasn’t Herbert who found them—it was Aunt Etta and Aunt Coral. It had never occurred to the children that the aunts would be part of the boarding party. Dorothy was staying behind because she had sprained her wrist when she bashed Casimir with her wok and Herbert had forbidden Myrtle to come.

‘You have had a shock, Myrtle, and you must rest,’ Herbert had said, and that was that. But not even Herbert had been able to stop Etta and Coral.

They had never seen the aunts so angry.

‘Turn back at once!’ commanded Etta. ‘These children will not face any more danger! I forbid it!’—and Coral tried to get hold of the tiller and force the boat to change course.

But Herbert stood firm. He had sensed the change in the sea and knew what would happen to the ocean if the kraken’s son perished. Even the children did not matter compared to that.

They glided silently alongside the Hurricane. No lights were burning in the cabins; no one expected an attack. With unbelievable strength Herbert threw the knotted rope and they heard the grappling iron fasten on the wooden boards.

Within seconds, Herbert had climbed the rope and was on deck. Etta and the children followed. Coral with her bulk took longer but she did it.

They stood in silence, listening. Herbert had his knife ready. If they could cut the kraken free and push him overboard, he could swim to safety.

They had almost reached him when it happened.

The door from below opened, a beam of light was thrown on to the deck—and Lambert, in his pyjamas stood there, blinking.

The poor boy was definitely going crazy. Since the Hurricane had filled up with creepy-crawlies that weren’t really there, Lambert had been plagued by dreadful dreams. In this one he’d dreamt that Old Ursula had come to his school, sliding on her tail, and said she was his grandmother and all the boys had jeered at him and thrown him buckets of fish.

Now he came on to the deck, too afraid to wake his father, and saw a huddle of shapes creeping towards the tarpaulin where the thing that didn’t exist was lying.

He gave a cry of terror and as Herbert turned, the knife in his hand, the klaxons began to blare and searchlights raked the deck.

Ten minutes later, the rescuers had joined the prisoners in the stench and darkness of the hold.

You couldn’t really blame the police. When the helicopter landed on the Island, two little children had run straight into the arms of the policewoman and begged to be taken home.

Take us away,’ they had lisped pathetically. ‘We hate it here. Take us home to our mummy.’