Читать книгу The Third Pig Detective Agency: The Complete Casebook - Bob Burke - Страница 16

Of course, no matter how well I plan these jobs, there’s always something. Well, have you ever tried to open a manhole using trotters? Let me tell you, it’s not easy. For one thing, it’s hard to get a grip on the rim. For another, manhole covers are heavy and, thirdly, I was on my own. Lastly, I was wearing a bright blue wetsuit (although it was so worn and full of holes it could be more accurately described as a dampsuit) under a foul-smelling collection of rags that could probably have represented the height of fashion from an Orc’s perspective. All this, and I had to try not to appear too conspicuous as well. As a result, by the time I finally got the drain open (with the help of a tyre iron), my wetsuit had even more holes, my back hurt, and my skin was a darker shade of pink than usual from my exertions.

As I levered the manhole cover off, I lost my grip on it but, thanks to my quick reflexes and uncanny sense of self-preservation, I didn’t lose any body parts as it fell heavily (and with a very loud clang) to the ground. Fortunately, as Edna’s stronghold was in an area where the occasional loud noise wasn’t an undue cause for concern, it didn’t appear to have attracted any attention.

I shone my torch down the manhole and looked in carefully. At first glance, the sewers didn’t look (or smell) too unpleasant. In actual fact they smelled better than me. This, I suspected, was largely because of the recent heavy rains, which had run off via storm drains and into the sewage system, effectively washing most of the unpleasant stuff away.

Now that was something to be thankful for.

Grabbing the top rung of a metal ladder that led from the street down into the sewers, I slowly and carefully made my descent. Arriving safely at the bottom I took my bearings with the help of the plans.

I was in a large tunnel that stretched off into the darkness in both directions. Smaller tunnels opened out from the walls as far as I could see but none, I was glad to note, seemed to be active. The only evidence of any discharge other than rainwater from these tunnels was a trail of green scum that dripped downwards towards the floor of the main sewer. Although I was ankle deep in liquid, it appeared to be mostly water. Then again, I had no intention of examining it too closely. What I didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt me.

I had a quick look at the plans, figured I had to go right and slowly made my way up the tunnel trying to keep the sloshing to a minimum – just in case. Although I wasn’t entirely sure which of the smaller outlets led into Edna’s HQ, it didn’t take me long to figure it out. Not surprisingly, it was the one with the large securely-padlocked grille that covered the entire tunnel entrance. After a few pulls it was evident that this grille wasn’t going to come away from the wall that easily.

‘OK Harry,’ I said to myself as I reached for the lock pick. ‘Let’s see how good the Masterblaster is.’

In fairness, I haven’t had much cause to pick locks in the past. Any time I’ve had to ‘enter’ a residence without legally coming in via the front door, I’ve found that the old credit card trick so beloved of TV detectives actually worked. It was, therefore, no surprise that jiggling little iron pins in a keyhole wasn’t quite as simple as it first appeared. No matter how I tweaked, twisted and pulled at the lock, it stubbornly refused to open. Even reverting to Plan B – swearing at the grille – didn’t appear to have any effect either.

In total frustration I hit out at the lock with my torch. To my surprise the lock broke and fell to the ground in pieces. Years of rust and an application of brute strength had succeeded where subtlety and bad language had failed.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Harry Pigg case without something bad happening as well. In this instance, the breaking of the lock had also resulted in the unfortunate breaking of the torch. I now had to navigate my way through a sewage outlet and into Edna’s lair in total darkness, using only my sense of touch (and possibly smell).

I felt for the grille and dragged it away from the entrance. Aware that I was now possibly within earshot of one of Edna’s more alert henchbeasts, I struggled to keep it from falling to the ground – which I managed to do at the expense of a large tear in my wetsuit and a pulled muscle in my shoulder. As if my job wasn’t difficult enough already!

At least I was able to use the bars of the grille as a mini-ladder to lift myself into the smaller outlet. My shoulder objected strongly to being forced to help in dragging me up and into the tunnel but I managed to pull myself up without doing any additional damage.

This new tunnel was a tight squeeze and I was forced to crawl along, rubbing against the walls and roof as I did so. It was much narrower, much smellier and showed very distinct signs of much more frequent usage. Unpleasant substances stuck to my back and legs and I had no great urge to investigate what they actually were. In an effort to take my mind off my current situation, I pictured myself in a hot shower liberally applying sweet-smelling soap to my body. This seemed to work and I was wallowing in the imaginary sensation until my reverie was broken by a gurgling noise from somewhere up ahead.

‘Oh no,’ I said anxiously. ‘Please don’t let it be someone flushing. Anything but that.’

The gurgling grew noisier and it was joined by a loud flowing sound as something large and liquid made its way down towards me.

Frantically, I tried to reverse back down but in my panic I only succeeded in wedging myself tightly into the tunnel. Firmly stuck and unable to move, I could only close my eyes and mouth as a noxious brown liquid washed over (and under and around) me, covering me liberally in a foul-smelling residue.

Coughing and spluttering (and now smelling even worse than before), I tried to wipe my face clean but only succeeded in spreading the vile substance around even more. As there was no point in going back now, I slowly twisted and turned until I had forced myself free and gradually made my way up the tunnel again. Some things just shouldn’t happen to a hard-working detective and getting liberally covered in raw sewage was most certainly one of them.

As I crawled slowly forward I saw a thin crack of light shining faintly through the roof ahead. Eager for any way of getting out of the tunnel, I struggled on. To my intense relief, the light came from where the side of a square metal drain cover wasn’t flush (no pun intended) to the edge of a manhole. Hoping that I could push the cover off, I wedged my back underneath it and pushed upwards with all that was left of my strength. Slowly but surely it lifted away and slid off my back gently onto the floor above.

Muscles howling in pain, I hauled myself up and carefully peered over the edge. I was looking at a dimly lit corridor. From the dust on the floor, it wasn’t one that was used too often so, thankful for one lucky break, I heaved myself out of the sewer and lay on the ground panting heavily, stretching my knotted muscles and trying to get my breath back. Now all I had to do was find the room where the lamp was kept, if the plans were to be believed, and steal it back.

I took the building plans from inside my wetsuit where I had stored them for safekeeping. Although stained with sweat and effluent they had escaped the worst of the deluge so I was able to work out where I was without too much difficulty.

If I was reading the plans correctly, I appeared to be in a basement. I just needed to make my way to the stairs at the end of the passageway, go up four levels, find the room halfway down a long corridor and take the lamp. Of course, I had no idea exactly how well protected the room was but at least I now knew how to get there. Limping slightly, smelling heavily of unmentionable substances and groaning as quietly as I could, I struggled towards the stairs.

If walking caused some discomfort then climbing the stairs was an exercise in agony. Every step upwards jarred another aching limb or my torn muscle. I felt as though I’d been skinned and roasted over a roaring fire. Everything burned or stung in some respect after my tunnel experience and, with my luck, there was no obvious hope of easing this agony in the near future.

When I eventually dragged myself to the top of the stairs, all I wanted to do was lie down and be mothered. As there wasn’t a mother to be seen in the vicinity and as lying down would probably result in me not getting back up again for probably quite a few months, I willed myself to go on and through the door.

Fortunately, the door wasn’t locked, as I probably wouldn’t have been able to bend down to try my luck at another lock-picking attempt. Opening the door slightly as quietly as I could, I peered down the corridor. It looked more used than the one I’d just left but there didn’t appear to be anyone on guard that I could see. Pushing the door open just enough to squeeze through I squelched carefully down the corridor towards the next flight of stairs.

I managed to climb three flights before meeting anyone. On the third-floor landing two henchOrcs were standing guard. Now the reason for my cunning disguise could be revealed. Most of Edna’s troops were Orcs – not too smart and not too alert but very handy in a fight. Looking like them, although a trifle larger, I might be able to make my way around the building without being too obvious.

I was about to find out how convincing my costume was. Keeping my head down, I shuffled towards the guards. As I got close, they recoiled at the smell. Good, at least they wouldn’t look too closely. It also appeared as though I actually smelled worse than they did – which in itself was quite an achievement and something that, in other circumstances, I might have taken some (but not a lot of) pride in.

I knew some very basic Orcish – which to all intents and purposes sounds like a flu-ridden gorilla strangling a hyena – so when they hailed me I muttered something along the lines of being required on the third floor in order to relieve a sentry there. At least that’s what I think I said; I could have just as easily asked the sentries for some hot, buttered toast and a glass of dragon’s blood. Sometimes it was difficult to get those choking sounds just right. I must have been convincing (or smelly) enough, as they let me pass without examining me too carefully. Can’t say I blame them. If I had been on sentry duty, I wouldn’t have been too eager to examine me either.

I made my way up another, and hopefully last, flight of stairs. At the top I paused for breath and to give my long-suffering body some respite. A long corridor, covered in a luxurious red carpet, stretched out in front of me. Suits of armour lined the corridor, one beside each door. With one exception, all the doors were made of very ornate patterned wood. The exception was the door behind which, presumably, all Edna’s interesting stuff was kept.

I walked up to it. It looked like a standard metal security door: grey, impregnable and securely locked. Heaving yet another of my many sighs of resignation, I took the lock pick from my pocket, cleaned it as best I could and began to jiggle the levers in the keyhole.

After ten minutes or so it had become clear that I was never going to add breaking and entering to my long list of skills. My efforts to pick the lock had resulted in very sore trotters, a rising sense of frustration and a door that steadfastly refused to be unlocked. Maybe I was doing something wrong or maybe it was just that the Masterblaster wasn’t actually the state-of-the-art tool I had been promised. In any event, I suspected that hitting the door with whatever implement was to hand wouldn’t be quite as successful as it had been down in the sewer. As I sweated and struggled, I became aware of a conversation from behind the door.

‘How’s he doing?’ said a rough-sounding male voice.

‘Not too good,’ came the reply. ‘He’s been out there for quite a while now and he still hasn’t managed it.’

‘How long do you think we should give him?’ said the first voice again.

‘I dunno,’ replied the second. ‘But I know I’m getting bored just waiting here. The fun is going out of it.’

‘Let’s not wait any more,’ said the first voice again. ‘Let’s just do it now.’

‘OK. On a count of three: one … two … three.’

Before I had a chance to make any kind of sense of the conversation, the door swung open and two pairs of hands reached out and grabbed me. Hauling me into the room, they threw me unceremoniously to the floor where I lay panting, aching, smelling and trying to get my bearings.

‘Well, paint my backside green and call me a goblin,’ said a loud and very familiar voice from right in front of me. ‘If it isn’t Harry Pigg, crap detective and failed burglar. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone take so long to pick a lock. What kept you?’

My eyes ran slowly up past two legs so fat they were doing GBH to a pair of green stretch trousers. They traversed a torso that suggested its owner enjoyed several square meals a day (quite possibly a few circular, triangular and oval ones as well) and up to a face that defined new levels of ugliness, even for a witch. Imagine Jabba the Hutt with bright red lipstick and a long off-blonde straggly wig and you may get some idea of just how repulsive Edna – for it was she – actually was.

She grinned at me, which was a particularly unpleasant experience as it showed off a mouth with teeth that varied in shades of yellow and green, and that gave off a breath so unpleasant that I almost smelled good in comparison.

‘There I was, wondering exactly what was so special about that lamp I took from Benny when suddenly you appear, stinking to high heaven and apparently eager to take it back.’ She looked me straight in the eye – or at least as straight as someone whose eyeballs rotated in two different directions could – and leaned forward so our faces were almost touching. ‘Looks like you’re the man who can answer this most intriguing of questions. What a timely arrival, eh?’

She was about to slap me enthusiastically on the shoulder but quickly reconsidered when she saw what I was coated in.

She turned to the two henchOrcs who had dragged me into the room. They were small but very mean-looking.

‘Tie him to a chair and hose him down,’ she ordered. ‘I’m not asking him questions until he smells better than he does now.’

She walked towards the door and, as she opened it, she appeared to have an afterthought.

‘Oh and I’m going for a bath, boys,’ she said with a malicious gleam in the eye that was currently looking at me. ‘So no need to use up all the hot water on him, is there?’ And with a long, loud and unpleasantly mocking laugh, she left the room.