After straddling the beast, he uncoiled one of the ropes he wore as a belt and wound it tightly around the massive jaws.
Miles, Alice and their friends had not been idle. All night long, they’d been scouring the surrounding hills looking for streams, which were then stopped up with reeds and stones and anything else they could get their hands on. Starved of its sources, the river protecting Babel began to run dry and, by the following dawn, was low enough to wade through safely.
“Now,” said Gordon, “all we have to do is scale the walls.” They all looked up to where the razor wire fringed the top of the building. This was not going to be easy. Apart from anything else, the walls were totally smooth with not the hint of a crack to give them a foothold.
Eventually, it was Roots who spoke. “The trouble with you lot is you’re always looking at the clouds,” he exclaimed. “You won’t find the answer there; just lower your sights!”
He pointed to the bottom half of the wall, now exposed due to the draining of the river. Every 6 metres or so, there was an opening, wide enough to crawl inside.
“See those aqueducts? Ten to one, they’ll lead us to the cellars.”
Horse shuddered. “Not me!” he said, “I can’t cope with being squashed in confined spaces, especially if they’re dark.”
“Bah, they’re plenty big enough!” said Gordon. “Besides, if just a handful of us go, we can open the gates from inside.”
“Right then!” cried Roots, “what are we waiting for!”
Roots was quite enthusiastic about the idea. A few years ago, when demonstrating against plans to build an airport over the site of ancient woodlands, he burrowed under one of the trees and refused to come out for months. Small spaces held no fears for him.
“But if you’re coming, Gordon, you’d better be last in case you get stuck!” he said.
The Scotsman growled good-naturedly. “Yah, and you might slip down the plug hole!”
So, it was agreed that Roots would take Gordon and Miles into the nearest aqueduct, while some of the others would split up and explore the rest of the channels. As for Alice and the remaining tree people, they would hide as close to the entrance as possible, ready to spring into action once the gates opened.
At first, Alice was reluctant for Miles to go, but he argued that, as Joe’s older brother, it was his duty to lead the rescue. “Besides,” he argued, “he might not come with any of you. We’ve been taught not to speak to strange people.”
And so, as the first group of rescuers set out, elbowing commando-style through the grass disguised by bushes, Miles was amongst them, trying not to squeal whoever he dragged himself over a particularly prickly thistle. To his great relief, it didn’t take long before they reached the moat and waded knee-deep through the water to the nearest aqueduct.
This was wider than they’d imagined, and high enough to walk upright (except for Gordon, of course, but then Gordon could graze his head on the Eiffel Tower!) Even so, it was an uncomfortable experience, due to the ice-cold drips of water from the ceiling, and the army of curious rats which emerged from every crevice when Gordon switched on his torch.
Suddenly, Roots stopped. “Can you hear that?” he said. They didn’t have to strain their ears too hard to hear an ominous growling echoing through the tunnel. Miles also made out the occasional “Whoa!” and “Hey!” and “Don’t let go!”
“It’s Joe!” he yelled and would have called out to his brother, but Gordon slapped a hand over his mouth.
“Are you insane?!” he rasped. “The last thing we want to give ourselves away. Just keep quiet, Laddie?”
They carried on down the tunnel, the water getting deeper and the roof dipping lower until there was hardly a gap between them. The only space seemed to be a round opening in the ceiling a few metres ahead, which offered a glimmer of light.
It was then Miles noticed the tail….
“Looks like some sort of well,” said Roots. “Must be their water supply.”
“Aye,” said Gordon. “Let’s hope they don’t use straws or you’ll be sucked up for sure!”
Gordon was so busy chuckling over this shaft of wit he hardly felt Miles poking him in the ribs with one finger. “Croc…Croc…!” Miles kept trying to say, but no sound came out. All he could do was point.
There, barely a stone’s throw away from them was the most enormous crocodile Miles had ever seen!
Luckily, the beast hadn’t yet noticed the intruders; it was concentrating on the opening, where two pairs of trainers could be glimpsed.
Without warning, the crocodile leapt upwards through the opening, twisting its immense body and snapping its powerful jaws. Only then did Gordon stop chuckling.
“Stone me….!” he gasped. Roots said nothing, his chin almost hitting the floor. “What a monster!”
Having failed to achieve its goal, the creature flopped back into the water and reversed away from the opening so as to get another run at its intended prey.
“Now that’s what I call anti-social!” Gordon exclaimed. With no more ado, he grabbed the creature by its tail and dragged it backwards. Miles and Roots jumped quickly out of the way.
“Careful!” said Roots “I doubt it’s been fed.”
“Don’t worry about me,” said Gordon. “I know all about crocs. I used to work in Australia.”
After straddling the beast, he uncoiled one of the ropes he wore as a belt and wound it tightly around the massive jaws. Then, he pulled the animal’s head backwards and started stroking its throat. “An Aborigine mate taught me this.” he explained. Within seconds, the crocodile closed its eyes and fell into a deep sleep.
“That’s fettled it!” crowed Gordon. “Now, you’d better see how his dinner’s doing.” Winking, he nodded towards the opening, the feet still visible on the ring of steel above it.
Roots pushed Miles out of the way. “Best let me go first,” he said, “You never know what you might find.” With that, he dived into the water and up through the opening.
The screams from Joe and Odi as he came up for air were blood curdling.
“It IS Joe!” cried Miles ecstatically. “Joe! Joe! It’s me! Miles!” He plunged into the and doggy-paddled as fast as he could. On reaching his brother, his face was wet, as much from tears as anything. Roots pushed him up onto the cradle where he flung his arms around Joe.
“Hang on there, boys. We’ll have you out in a jiff!” said Roots and he too climbed up through the ring.
“This is my friend, Roots,” said Miles, by way of introduction.
“Sorry, can’t stop to chat,” said Roots, and he carried on clambering up the pit.
“Where are you going?” Miles asked.
“To open the gates for the others,” came the reply.
“Keep going, we’re right behind you!” said Gordon who, having left the crocodile snoring contentedly, was now encouraging the boys to climb up after Roots.
“Couldn’t we go back the way we came?” said Miles.
“Well, we could…except for one teensy wee problem,” came the answer, and Gordon nodded towards the aqueduct from where they came. “We seem to have company.”
There, beady eyes glinting, and falling over themselves to reach the tasty snacks laid on for them, were at least a dozen MORE hungry crocodiles!
“Don’t worry,” said Gordon reassuringly, “I’ll hold them off. You just hang on while Roots pulls you out of there.” With that, he uncoiled another length of rope from around his waist and used it as a whip to fend off the ravenous reptiles. “Tell Roots to hurry up!” he called, “These guys are getting snappy!”
Roots, however, needed no such prompting. He was in his element, shimmying spider-like up the pit, his wiry limbs working tirelessly. When, moments later, he climbed out into the hall, the nunjas had disappeared, so there was no one to prevent him winching up the cradle and bringing the boys to safety. Then, he leaned down over the pit. “You alright, Gozz?”
“Aye!” came the reply, “Send down the elevator before I get minced!”
Just as the cradle hit the bottom again, however, footsteps could be heard approaching the hall.
“Quick, run everyone!” Roots cried, and the boys scrambled for the back door, just in time to evade Prism, Wisteria and a group of nunjas as they swept in from the front door.
“This way!” said Odi, beckoning to the others, “we can hide in here”. Once in the kitchen, Roots dived into an empty cider barrel, Odi found himself a large shopping trolley, and Miles and Joe jumped into a laundry skip.
Back in the hall, Prism was raging. She’d had a harrowing afternoon yelling at the latest TV soap characters, making her throat so dry, she simply had to have another gallon of tea. Alas, when Wisteria turned on the taps to fill the kettle, there was no water!
“No water!” bellowed Prism “Don’t be so ridiculous, we live on a river, for heavens’ sake!”
And she charged down the corridor to try the taps for herself. “I don’t understand this!” she snarled.
At that moment, another Nunja appeared. “Sister Prism” she squealed, “the moat’s disappeared!” All the women went to look out of a window. Sure enough, the moat was scarcely two feet deep.
“I don’t understand it!” Prism repeated. “It can’t just disappear!”
“What are we going to do?” cried Wisteria, wringing her hands.
Prism glared at her. “This is all your fault,” she said. “You’re in charge of the brewing facilities, and when I ask you to make me a pot of tea, I want you to bring me a pot of tea! In the very best china!”
Just then, Wisteria had a brainwave. “We could get water from the pit,” she suggested. “Only it would mean having to bring the children back up.”
“For crying out loud, Wisteria, you’re always being so negative….they’ve probably been eaten by now! Hurry, I’m absolutely gasping!” The other nunjas were drafted in to help with the cradle which was proved harder to pull up than to let down. “That’s gravity for you,” said Wisteria, nodding her head wisely.
“I’ve a better idea,” said Prism. “They can winch you down with the kettle.”
“But…but….what about Leviathan?” cried Wisteria.
Prism sighed. “Well, by the time he’s gobbled you, he won’t be hungry any more. Then somebody else can go. Really, it’s too simple, why do I have to think of everything?”
“Oh dear. Oh dear….!” Wisteria muttered. But Prism was already sallying forth to the hall with her disciples in her wake.
“All I want is a nice cup of tea” she reasoned, “surely that’s not too much to ask?” She entered the hall and marched straight to the pit. “Is anyone there?” she barked. Timidly, Wisteria peeped over the edge. “I can’t see anything. It’s too dark.”
“Well, what are you all waiting for!” barked Prism. “Winch! Winch!”
It took four nunjas to work the winch, especially as the handle needed oiling. Wisteria stood by, watching miserably, twittering away to herself. She could even have been praying which would have been a quite a novelty for her.
“Have you got the kettle!?” snapped Prism. “Yes, yes, I’ll go and get it. Oh dear…oh dear…oh dear.”
She hurried off to the kitchen and grabbed the kettle. The boys held their breath, afraid of being discovered. They needn’t have worried, Wisteria was far too mithered to check. “Oh dear! Oh dear! Oh dear! There she is, waiting for me in the hall, waiting to send me to my doom…..that wicked, wicked woman….!” Her conversation with herself was interrupted by a loud boom from the hall. “Hurry up, Wisteria!”
“Coming!” she cried and pattered off. Listening to her footsteps growing fainter, Joe smiled to himself. He had an idea. A brilliant idea! When he felt sure no-one was about, he clambered out of the laundry basket and crept to where a row of large brass keys hung over the mantelpiece.
“Is the coast clear?” said Roots, lifting the lid of his cider barrel. Joe nodded, and everyone crept from their hiding places. “Look! I’ve got the keys!” said Joe.
“Good lad!” Roots whispered. “We’ll make straight for the exit. Follow me and don’t make a sound.”
Meanwhile, the nunjas were having quite a struggle winching up the cradle, and Prism was growing impatient. “Hurry up! Surely it doesn’t take this long to pull the thing up. It’s not as though there’s anybody on it!” The six nuns a-winching would doubtless disagree! Huffing and puffing, red in the face, sweating with fatigue, they were using every ounce of strength as Wisteria reappeared, kettle in hand. “Wisteria, how could you be so selfish? Don’t just stand there, help your sisters?”
Poor Prism. After years of serious tea drinking, she’d become a hopeless addict, unable to cope with life without a regular fix. In fact, so great was her craving, she almost considered turning the winch herself, but thought better of it. And at last the wretched contraption was moving closer.
“Well, finally!” she exclaimed as it came into view. “You sisters will have to get back into training. Ok, that’s far enough now. Get on it, Wisteria.”
Sister Wisteria, now whimpering pitifully, had to be pushed towards the pit where she stood, willing herself to look at the slowly emerging cradle.
It was not empty! Poised on its back legs, jaws now yawning freely, its tail lashing ferociously, was Leviathan! No wonder the cradle had been so heavy!
Wisteria screamed as the crocodile scrambled over the edge of the pit and began chasing her round the hall. The rest of the nunjas, including Prism, fled towards the doors, slipping and sliding as they tried to elbow each other out of the way. First to the main door was Prism, of course, but when she twisted the handle, nothing happened. It was locked! She shrieked and immediately threw herself towards the back door at the other end of the hall, skidding as she went.
“That’s right, Wisteria!” she cried, “Distract him!”
“I’m doing my best, Sister Prism!” Wisteria certainly was! Running, leaping, dodging, weaving – anything to keep away from the crocodile’s jaws.
At the back door, Prism pulled the others out of her path and tried the handle. Locked!
She growled, more from rage than terror, then raced to where the so-called ‘Divinity’ stood in isolated splendour. She pulled it from its base and used it as a battering ram, charging again and again at the door, howling with frustration. But it was no use, the door wouldn’t budge. Not an inch. All Prism and her fellow nunjas achieved were strained biceps and a few scratches on the woodwork. By now, the withdrawal symptoms were extremely unpleasant; Prism was so desperate for a brew, she was prepared to go to any lengths to get it.
“Help! Help!” Wisteria cried, frantically zigzagging round the floor at 90 miles an hour to escape the crocodile.
“Aaaaaaarrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh!” The bone piercing war cry came from Prism who, armed with her precious divinity, charged at the beast, her skirts flying. Whether disturbed by the noise or petrified at the sheer sight of this hellish being, Leviathan stopped chasing Wisteria and was knocked senseless by a zinging blow to the head.
“Is that any way to treat a poor dumb animal!?” Unnoticed by the nunjas, Gordon had climbed out of the pit and was standing with his rope in his hand.
“Well, well!” exclaimed Prism. “Just look what’s crawled from the sewers! Get him, Sisters!”
Before he could say ‘tam-o-shanter’, Gordon was surrounded by women snarling at him and crouching menacingly. “Want to know what a Scotsman wears under his kilt?” he asked. “Well, stick around – you’re about to find out!”
Whirling the rope above his head, he flung it into the air and caught its hook on a chandelier. He then used the rope to swing, higher and higher and faster and faster, until he was whizzing round the walls at twice the speed of sound. “Yippee! It’s the Flying Scotsman!”
The nunjas tried in vain to keep track of him, swivelling their heads until they turned cross-eyed, while Gordon, by now hugely enjoying himself, had built up such a spin he almost hummed.
“Have you seen enough yet?” Gordon laughed before swirling down upon Prism and her sisters where they stood in a huddle, dizzy and confused. Whether it was Gordon’s gravity-defying aerobics or the fluorescent-orange cycling shorts he sported beneath his kilt that did it, they certainly felt queasy. “Och, I always have this effect on people!” he cried. “I’m just no good in polite society – I’m always putting my foot in it!” And, to prove the point, he swooped, feet first, into the nunjas, knocking them down like ninepins. “Strike!” he crowed.
Then, after one more lap around the hall and several whoops of triumph, he swung towards a window and shattered the glass into a kaleidoscope of brightly-coloured sparkles. He paused for a moment on the ledge and, with a courteous bow, a wave of his hand, and a “Bye Bye girls!” he vanished from sight.
Characteristically, Prism was the first to recover her composure. She ran to the gaping window just in time to watch Gordon abseil down into the half-empty moat. To her horror, she also saw Joe, Odi, Miles and Roots charging over the drawbridge to where the rest of the tree people were cheering on the other side.
“They’ve escaped!” she yelled. “Get after them. Get after them now!” And she literally threw her fellow nunjas through the window not caring whether they managed to grab the rope or not. For Prism, of course, such an inelegant exit was unthinkable. “Wisteria, when you reach the bottom, fetch the keys and come and let me out! Quickly! Oh, for heaven’s sake, woman….Just let the rope go or you’ll be there all day!”
“But I’m afraid of heights!” Wisteria whined, clinging on for dear life. She was the last to descend and really not at her best when dangling in mid-air. Tutting impatiently, Prism lifted her skirt and pulled out a knife which she kept in her pop sock. “This might hurry things up a bit,” said Prism and started cutting through the rope.
“Sister Prism, please!” Wisteria begged, but she should have known better than to expect any mercy. Seconds later, the unfortunate nunja was hurtling to the ground, her fall broken only by the billowing folds of her habit acting as a parachute.
She didn’t even have time to check if anything was broken before Prism roared down to her again. “Sound the alarm! I want every person in this place to hound those children down. They must not escape, do you hear?! If they get away, you’re dead, Wisteria. I’ll hold you personally responsible!”
Wisteria managed to haul her weary body from the freezing water of the moat onto the drawbridge and, limping and shaking from shock, she headed for the main entrance to set off the siren. This brought the rest of the nunjas running, each armed with a staff and chattering excitedly. After months of intensive training, they now had the chance to put their formidable skills to the test.
“What is our assignment, Sister Prism?” cried one particularly zealous nunja. Wisteria, too out of breath to answer properly, pointed vaguely towards the drawbridge.
“They….they….the children….escaped….fetch….!”
With ear-splitting shrieks, the warrior-women set off in pursuit, while Wisteria, who had never been the energetic type, collapsed in an ungainly heap.
All too soon, a familiar voice resounded through the broken window. “Wisteria, where are you! Come here this instant. I demand to be let out!” From sheer force of habit and with superhuman effort, Wisteria found her feet and hobbled to the lobby where a heavy bunch of spare keys were kept for every part of the Retreat. She staggered up the stairs and crawled along the corridor, willed on every inch of the way by the shrill tones and dreadful threats of her Boss, Prism.
“For every second you keep me waiting I will thrash your hide!” “Hurry up, you useless lump of cellulite, and open this door!” “How many more times do I have to tell you!” “Don’t you realise there’s a crocodile in here and it’s rapidly regaining consciousness!” By this time, Wisteria could hardly move at all. Exhausted, she had to haul herself along by her fingernails.
“Just you wait until I get my hands on you. Mark my words, Wisteria, you’ll be sorry for keeping me waiting!”
Freedom, however, was just a millimetre away. That’s how far the key was from the lock. Wisteria had been about to put it in and turn it, when something – she wasn’t sure quite what – made her change her mind. Perhaps it was the “useless bag of rotten intestines,” or maybe it was the “foul piece of maggot-ridden mucus,” or, there again, it could simply have been the “puke-brained halfwit.”
“That’s not kind,” thought Wisteria. “She really has no right to talk to me like that.” Now, there comes a point when even the most helpless worm will turn, and this was definitely Wisteria’s. For the first time in her life, she had power. The power to open the door and let Prism out. Or the power not to open the door and let Prism get eaten by the crocodile.
“Hmmm” Wisteria said, “I wonder what I should do.”