The Great Brain Robbery, page 7
“Splendid,” said Grotnip. “I estimate that he’ll be out of fuel in around fifteen minutes. Where would that put him?”
Kevin unrolled a map of the city across the desk and plotted a rough trajectory with his finger. “Assuming he doesn’t change his current heading, he should come down somewhere near Gas Work Gardens. Shall I redirect some officers there?”
“Yes,” said Grotnip. “And tell them to have some sandwiches ready. His Majesty is always more difficult to handle when he’s hungry.”
“Very good, sir.”
While Kevin reached for the phones, Grotnip turned back to Suzy. “Now, what was it you wanted?”
“There’s going to be another earthquake,” she said.
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because I just confronted the people who caused the last one,” she said. “We need to evacuate Trollville, tonight, before anyone gets hurt.”
“Evacuate?” Grotnip looked incredulous. “What rampant buffoonery is this? How would we move everyone in a single night? The trains are still out of action. Besides, where would they all go? Have you considered food and shelter?”
“Surely it would be better to worry about that once everyone’s out of danger?” said Wilmot.
“Indeed,” said Stonker. “Can you give the order or not?”
“No,” said Grotnip flatly. “Such an order would have to come from the Council of Elders or His Majesty himself.”
“Fine,” Suzy shot back. “We’ll talk to the Council of Elders, then.”
“Um…” Wilmot raised a hand. “I’m afraid there isn’t one at the moment. They all resigned in disgrace when trolls learned that Lord Meridian had been controlling them. We haven’t nominated any new candidates yet.”
“So it’s just the king?” said Suzy.
“And he won’t be persuaded to issue such a decree without some solid evidence,” said Grotnip.
“Unless you tell him to,” said Dorothy. “Oh, now don’t look at me like that, Mr. Grotnip. Half of Troll Territory knows His Majesty couldn’t tie his shoelaces without you giving him instructions.”
“Madam!” Grotnip flared his nostrils in consternation. “I would never dream of unduly influencing His Majesty’s decisions. I merely offer him advice when needed. Which happens to be frequently.”
“Then please give him my advice,” said Suzy, “and tell him to clear the city. He’ll save a lot of lives.”
“I can’t advise His Majesty to take such a radical step on the say-so of a postie,” said Grotnip. “And a deputy, human postie at that.”
Suzy flushed with embarrassment and anger, but before she could say a word, Wilmot stepped forward and gave Grotnip a hard look.
“Mr. Grotnip. Deputy Postal Operative Smith is a valued member of my staff and, as such, has my total support. This city and its people are in danger. We need to act.”
Suzy resisted the urge to hug Wilmot as she watched conflicting expressions of annoyance and doubt chase each other across Grotnip’s face.
“You don’t understand my position,” he said. “If we evacuate and avert disaster, His Majesty will be rightly hailed as a hero. But if the decision turns out to be needless—if we force millions of trolls out of their homes for no good reason…” He trailed off.
“You’re afraid of embarrassing him?” said Suzy, feeling her anger rise.
“It’s my job to protect His Majesty from his own mistakes,” said Grotnip. “And I work very hard to keep them to a minimum.” He regained some of his former confidence and looked Suzy in the eye. “If you can present me with compelling evidence that we are in danger, I will ensure that His Majesty acts on it. Until then, Trollville will soldier bravely on, as it always has.”
“But that’s crazy!” said Suzy.
“It is my final word on the subject,” said Grotnip. “Strong and stable leadership, for a strong and stable city. Good day to you all.” He turned on his heel and strode out.
“What a disagreeable fool,” said Stonker.
Suzy watched the door swing shut behind Grotnip and felt a cold weight of dread settle in her chest. “He walked away,” she said. “The city’s in danger, and he just walked away! How could he?”
“It’s not your fault, my dear,” said Dorothy. “I expect he’ll change his mind once the ground gives way underneath him. But before that happens, we need to do what little we can and help Gertrude and the others evacuate.”
“And we’ve still got to find some way of getting you home,” said Wilmot.
“No!” Suzy protested. The idea of going home and leaving Trollville to its fate stuck in her chest like a knife. What did Wilmot expect her to do? Just carry on going to school, doing her homework, and pretending everything was normal while she waited for news? And what if the news never came? What if the worst happened and the city was destroyed before her friends could get to safety? She would never see them, or the Impossible Places, again.
“I won’t let this happen,” she said. “We need to do something!”
“I quite agree,” said Stonker. “But what do you suggest?”
“Grotnip wants evidence,” said Suzy. “So we need to find him some. And quickly.”
“But how are we supposed to do that?” said Frederick. “You heard what Kevin said. A search could take ages.”
Suzy didn’t know, and she teased at the edges of the question with her mind, looking for a way into it. At last, she found one.
“What about the Cloudwright?” she said. “The creature with the wings said something about having taken something from a Cloudwright. He thought I was there to help get it back.”
“You think the Cloudwright might be looking for them, too?” said Wilmot.
Suzy shrugged. “Maybe. And if he is, perhaps we can work together to find them.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Frederick. “There aren’t many Cloudwrights out there, and as far as I know they all work in the same place.”
“Where’s that?” said Suzy.
“A place called Cloud Forge.”
“Of course!” Wilmot brightened. “I’ve made a few deliveries there in the past.”
And just like that, the plan clicked into place in Suzy’s mind. “How about making another one?” she said.
“What do you mean?” said Wilmot.
A slow grin spread over Suzy’s face. “Let’s take the Express to Cloud Forge.”
“Now hang on a moment, young lady,” said Stonker, drawing himself up. “We can’t just go haring off into the night. Not in Trollville’s hour of need.”
“But Trollville needs us,” she said. “We might be the only hope it has of stopping the next earthquake. Nobody else is going to do anything.”
“Hey!” Kevin looked hurt. “I’m doing my best.”
“But even if you can find the Cloudwright,” said Frederick, ignoring him, “what makes you think he’ll tell you anything?”
“Because people should always be pleased to see their postie,” said Suzy. “There’s a whole chapter about it in The Knowledge.” She shut her eyes and dredged up the passage from her memory. “A good postal operative is not only courteous and efficient but embodies the ideals of honesty, courage, and trust. A dependable figure who is always to be welcomed.” She opened her eyes again. “And then there’s three pages about what to do if you’re invited in for tea. Basically, never take the last cookie.”
“Oh, spot on!” said Wilmot. He and Suzy grinned at each other.
“So wait a minute,” said Frederick. “Your big plan to save the city is just to chat to people until one of them tells you something useful?”
“You’d be surprised how hard it is to stop them sometimes,” said Wilmot. “I think it’s a good plan.” Suzy positively glowed with pride.
“But you can’t take the Express anywhere,” said Kevin, who looked increasingly exasperated. “All the rail lines out of the city are closed, remember?”
That brought the conversation to an abrupt halt, until Dorothy leaned over the reception desk and picked one of the phone receivers off the hook. “You said you were talking to the mayor’s office? Perhaps you could ask him to reopen just one line. Temporarily.”
Kevin’s face went a pale green. “I’m really not supposed to do things like that.”
“We’d only need it open for ten minutes,” said Stonker.
“And you’d be the hero that helped save Trollville when no one else was willing,” added Dorothy, waggling her eyebrows. “I’d tell your mom as much. She’d be ever so proud.”
Kevin’s pallor receded, and a blush of pink appeared in his cheeks. “I’ll do my best,” he said.
“Good man!” said Stonker, leaning over the desk to clap Kevin on the shoulder. “I suppose that means we’d better get a move on.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“Great!” said Frederick. “Lead the way.”
Stonker looked at him with surprise. “You’re coming with us?”
“Yes,” said Frederick. “You’ll need my help if you’re going to Cloud Forge. It’s a very exclusive place.”
“Meaning what?” said Suzy.
“It’s just that they’re used to dealing with very important people, that’s all,” he said. “You know. People like me. Imagine how thrilled they’ll be when the Chief Librarian of the Ivory Tower arrives. I could really help.” He gave them such a hopeful smile that Suzy found it hard to be quite as annoyed with him as she wanted to be.
“What do the rest of you think?” she asked.
“We certainly need all the help we can get,” said Wilmot. “But—”
“Excellent!” said Frederick. “I promise you won’t regret it.”
Wilmot nodded, but vaguely, and did his best to avoid the hard stares that Stonker and Ursel were leveling at him.
“Then why are we all still standing here?” said Suzy. “Let’s go!”
* * *
Platform 100 was just as they had left it, except that the moon was now riding high above the city, its light slanting in through the broken glass panels to spotlight the shrouded form of the Express.
“Still sleeping soundly,” said Stonker. “What do you say we wake the old girl up?”
Suzy felt a twinge of nervous anticipation in her stomach as Stonker crossed to the tassel that still hung down from the beam overhead.
“I was so looking forward to getting the seal of royal approval,” said Wilmot.
“Rowlf,” said Ursel. “Hrrrrrunf.”
“Ursel’s right,” said Stonker. “There’ll be plenty of time for dedications and parties later. Right now, it’s time to get to work.” He cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Impossible Postal Express.” Then he pulled on the tassel, and the sheet was drawn away.
The Express had changed. It took Suzy a moment to process it, but as soon as she did, all her apprehension vanished.
Standing at the head of the train was the Belle de Loin, the mighty locomotive that pulled the Express. The trolls had worked their usual engineering magic—perhaps literally—and the mismatched boiler was just as she remembered it, with the addition of a fresh coat of dark green paint. Most of the driving wheels had been replaced, although they still didn’t quite match, and the new chimney looked even more wonky than the old one.
But that wasn’t all. The redbrick cottage that had served as the driver’s cab was gone, replaced by a grander, more formidable structure that looked like a miniature Tudor mansion, complete with stained wooden beams and white plaster. Piled three stories high, and top-heavy, it leaned at a slightly drunken angle, as though it were on the verge of collapsing.
Suzy hurried up to it, taking in every new detail. “It’s incredible,” she exclaimed. “I love it!”
A new tender was coupled to the rear of the cab, identical to the old one except for a coat of green paint to match the boiler and, behind that, something brand-new.
Suzy had to look twice to make sure she wasn’t imagining it—a small beige caravan, barely twenty feet long, of the sort she had once stayed in on a wet camping trip in North Wales.
“What’s that?” she said.
“That’s our new Hazardous Environment Carriage,” said Wilmot. “Good, isn’t it?”
“Um, maybe,” she said. The last H.E.C. had looked like a submarine on wheels, and had been coupled between the tender and the sorting carriage.
“It’s a bit small,” said Frederick.
“Compact,” Wilmot corrected him. “It’s got all the latest features.”
Behind the new H.E.C. was the welcome sight of the sorting carriage, its red paint now restored and shining.
“Chop-chop, everyone,” said Stonker. “Let’s get started.”
They all followed him up the ladder to the metal gangway that ran along the side of the Belle’s boiler to the cab’s front door. It was made of old warped wood, painted black, and a large brass knocker jutted out from it, shaped like a troll’s face with a ring through its nose. Stonker pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and held it open for them.
A smell of warm bread and wood polish escaped, and Suzy paused on the threshold to fill her lungs with it. Now this is what home smells like, she decided.
She took care to wipe her feet on the mat and stepped inside.
She found herself in what must once have been the kitchen of the old house; thick wooden beams supported the ceiling, copper pots and pans hung from the walls, a sink stood beneath one window, fed by an old-fashioned water pump, and a cast-iron stove occupied the fireplace in the front wall.
“It’s all so different,” said Suzy, still taking it in.
“She’s better than ever,” Stonker confirmed. “We’ve got a new twin injection banana boiler. If you thought the Belle was fast before, she’ll really knock your socks off now. Quite literally. It’s a fault with the new magical overlay: incompatible with socks above a certain speed, for some reason. We’re still working out the bugs. And then of course there’s this.” He patted the badly cracked mantelpiece of white marble that surrounded the fireplace. “We salvaged it from the wreck at the Ivory Tower. That’s why she’s still the Belle de Loin, despite all the changes; she’s got the same heart.”
Suzy smiled and rested her own hand on the mantelpiece. “I’m glad,” she said.
Stonker nodded his approval. “Ursel and I need a few minutes to get the boiler up to full steam,” he said. “If you have to prepare anything for the journey, I suggest you do it now. Time is against us.” He turned to the Belle’s controls—a twisting mass of pipes and dials that covered the rest of the cab’s front wall—and began making adjustments.
“Come on, Postal Operative Smith,” said Wilmot. “To the sorting carriage!”
“Yes, Postmaster,” Suzy chimed. A thrill ran through her. This was what she had been studying so hard for all those weeks—she was finally going to be a postie again, and this time she wouldn’t make any mistakes. She couldn’t afford to. The fate of Trollville depended on it.
“What should I do?” said Frederick.
“Be a good chap and make sure the track is clear of debris,” said Stonker. “And then we’d all better hope that young Kevin was able to get the line open.” Frederick hurried back outside.
Ursel, meanwhile, was pulling bunches of bananas out of a metal hatch in the rear wall. Sparks of blue energy fizzed and crackled across her paws as she carried them to the stove and tossed them in—these were fusion bananas, the strange power source that fueled the Belle’s magical boiler. They were potent but unstable, and Suzy was quite happy to leave them in Ursel’s care while she followed Wilmot to the cab’s rear door.
He beamed at her and, with a flourish, pulled it open. But before he could react, an avalanche of mail spilled out of the doorway and knocked him flat on his back. “Oh,” he said. “I forgot about the mess.”
Suzy waded through the piles of letters and parcels, and helped him to his feet. “What’s all this mail doing out here?” she said. The door should have led outside, to the gap between the locomotive and the tender. Instead, she was looking at the interior of the sorting carriage.
“Where’s the tender gone?” she said, bewildered.
“It’s still there,” said Wilmot. “But we don’t need to go scrambling over it to get from one bit of the train to another anymore—the refurbishment team cut out the space between the doors. We’ve now got instant access from the cab to the sorting carriage, and from the sorting carriage to the H.E.C.”
“That’s definitely an improvement,” said Suzy, who remembered only too clearly her precarious trip across the old tender, piled high with fusion bananas. Although getting into the sorting carriage wasn’t a markedly different experience, as she and Wilmot had to scramble up the shifting pile of mail on all fours just to reach the doorway. “Why is there so much of it?” she asked as they half climbed, half swam through the mess into the sorting carriage.
“We’ve been delivering as much as we can by remote spell and carrier griffin, but there’s still a bit of a backlog,” he said. “It’s amazing how quickly it all builds up, isn’t it?”
Suzy was astonished at the change. The sorting carriage was Wilmot’s pride and joy—a mobile post office, where mail was sorted and readied for delivery. It had been cozy and neat during her last visit, but now it looked like an untidy storeroom. The shelves and pigeonholes overflowed with mail, bundles of letters were stacked like bricks from floor to ceiling everywhere she looked, and Wilmot’s desk was almost lost beneath an untidy pile of packages, rolls of brown paper, and bundles of loose string as big as tumbleweeds.
“We’re bound to find something for Cloud Forge in all this,” she said.
“Oh!” Wilmot exclaimed. “Before we do, I’ve got something for you.”
He fought his way over to his desk and, to Suzy’s surprise, disappeared underneath it. She heard him rummaging around for a few seconds before he popped back up. He was holding something in his hands.
“It’s as much a part of a postie’s uniform as the badge, really,” he said, picking his way through the chaos to her side. “And you can’t do the job properly without it.” He held the object out to her—it was a large leather satchel, fastened with a brass buckle in the shape of the Impossible Postal Service crest.
