Krindlekrax Read online

  ‘Well,’ Corky began, ‘the bricks were made dark by –’

  Corky was interrupted by a voice asking, ‘Do you want something?’

  The voice belonged to Sparkey’s mum, Mrs Walnut, who was just about to close her grocer’s shop. She was a small, thin woman with short, curly hair, who always smelt of potatoes and wore a green apron.

  ‘You’re closing early today, Mrs Walnut,’ Corky remarked.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But – as you see – I’m having to put in a new shop window. Didn’t you hear the noise? Elvis broke my old one with that ball while he was sleepwalking last night.’

  ‘We all sleep so very deeply on Lizard Street,’ commented Corky. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t hear a thing.’

  ‘Well, one day,’ Mrs Walnut went on, ‘we’ll wake from our very deep sleeps to find all our windows smashed to smithereens, you mark my words!’

  From down the street, Mrs Cave could be heard shouting, ‘Elvy-baby! Elvy-baby! Time for your tea!’

  Mrs Walnut looked into her shop and called, ‘Elvis! Your mum’s calling!’

  There was a pause.

  And then …

  Da-boinggg!

  Da-boinggg!

  Elvis Cave came out with Sparkey.

  ‘I want an ice lolly,’ Elvis said.

  ‘You’ve had enough ice lollies,’ Mrs Walnut said. ‘And besides, your mum’s got your tea ready.’

  ‘I always have an ice lolly before tea,’ Elvis growled. ‘Don’t I, Sparkey?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ Sparkey said.

  ‘Oh, take one and go,’ Mrs Walnut said, sighing.

  Elvis took a handful of ice lollies from the shop freezer, then walked down Lizard Street towards the pub, closely followed by Sparkey.

  ‘Sparkey used to be such a nice boy,’ Mrs Walnut said. ‘He’s changed completely since Elvis grew so big. Why aren’t you friends with Sparkey any more, Ruskin?’

  ‘I want to be,’ Ruskin replied, ‘but Sparkey doesn’t.’

  Corky said, ‘Actually, I do want something from your shop before you close, Mrs Walnut. I’ll have a packet of chocolate biscuits.’

  Mrs Walnut went into the shop to get the biscuits. When she returned she handed them to Corky, saying, ‘I hope the chocolate hasn’t melted. The sun’s melting everything else. If we don’t get some rain soon, the sun will melt the whole street away.’

  ‘I’m sure it will cool down soon,’ Corky said. ‘Nothing lasts forever. It just lasts for little whiles at a time.’ Then he added, ‘Come on, Ruskin. Let’s go and have our tea and biscuits.’

  As they walked down the road, Ruskin tripped over a bump in the road.

  ‘Tell me,’ Corky said, tapping one of the bumps with his walking stick, ‘do you know what made those bumps and holes?’

  ‘No,’ Ruskin replied. ‘What?’

  ‘Well,’ Corky began, ‘the bumps and holes were made by –’

  Corky was interrupted by a voice saying, ‘We’ve got a new film!’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The voice belonged to Mr Flick.

  Mr Flick was the manager of the Lizard Street cinema, known as Flick’s Ritz. He wore a black suit with velvet lapels, black bow tie, shiny leather shoes and a green waistcoat with big brass buttons.

  Mr Flick was just opening the cinema. Outside were photographs of the forthcoming film: men on horseback, holding shields and lances.

  ‘Looks very exciting,’ Corky said. ‘Who wrote it?’

  Mr Flick looked around – to make sure Mr Lace wasn’t nearby – before replying, ‘Shakespeare.’

  ‘I love Shakespeare,’ Ruskin cried. ‘One day I’m going to be the greatest actor in the world. I’m going to stand on stage and do exciting things and the audience will watch me, holding their breath and biting their nails.’

  ‘You wanted to play the part of the hero in the school play, didn’t you?’ asked Mr Flick.

  ‘Yes,’ Ruskin replied, looking at the cracked pavement, ‘but I didn’t get it.’

  ‘Who got it then?’ asked Mr Flick.

  ‘Elvis,’ Ruskin told him. ‘The class thought he looked more like a hero because he’s tall and got muscles.’

  ‘Oh, things like that don’t matter to an actor,’ Mr Flick said. ‘I’ve seen some plays and thought the actors were as tall as a lamp post, but when I’ve seen them in real life, they’ve been shorter than me. It’s what a person does that makes him tall, it has nothing to do with height or muscles.’

  Corky smiled and said, ‘Exactly, Mr Flick.’ Then he looked at Ruskin. ‘Come on, my dear boy. Time for our tea and biscuits.’

  ‘Can we see the film some time?’ asked Ruskin.

  ‘Of course,’ Corky said. ‘I’d enjoy that very much.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Corky lived next to the cinema. His home was small and dark and smelt of furniture polish and chocolate. Corky loved eating chocolate, especially the chocolate from chocolate biscuits.

  Once they were inside, Corky put the kettle on.

  Ruskin sat at the table.

  ‘The trouble is,’ Ruskin said, ‘I bet the whole of Lizard Street thinks Elvis will make a better hero than I would. I bet Mr and Mrs Cave think that, and Mrs Walnut, and Mr Lace, and Dr Flowers, even though Elvis breaks all their windows and they don’t really like him.’

  Corky opened the chocolate biscuits and handed one to Ruskin.

  ‘What does it matter what they think, my dear boy?’ he said. ‘You know you could be a hero. That’s all that matters.’

  ‘I know,’ Ruskin said, thoughtfully munching a biscuit. ‘But sometimes it’s nice when other people think what you think.’

  The kettle boiled and Corky filled the teapot with hot water. He waited for it to brew, then poured two cups of tea and brought them to the table.

  ‘I was called a hero once, you know,’ Corky said.

  ‘You?’ Ruskin said. ‘When?’

  ‘Oh, years ago, my dear boy,’ Corky replied. ‘When I was your age.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Corky said. ‘But I was given this …’

  Corky went over to a cupboard and opened a drawer. As he did so, his face glowed with a golden light as if the drawer contained a light bulb. Corky took something from the drawer, held it tightly in his fist, and the golden light disappeared.

  He returned to the table and put something in Ruskin’s hands.

  The golden light returned.

  It was a medal. A sparkling gold medal.

  ‘You really are a hero!’ Ruskin exclaimed.

  ‘That’s what everyone told me, my dear boy,’ Corky said. ‘But I never felt like it. I mean, what does a medal mean? Nothing. To be quite honest, I feel more of a hero sweeping the school playground.’

  ‘In that case,’ Ruskin said, ‘I’m a hero as well. After all, I help you sweep the playground sometimes.’

  ‘Exactly, my dear boy,’ Corky said. ‘That’s why I’m giving it to you.’

  ‘Giving me what?’

  ‘The medal.’

  ‘Oh … but … you can’t!’ Ruskin exclaimed. ‘It belongs to you.’

  ‘If it belongs to me, I can do what I like with it. And I’d like to give it to you.’

  Ruskin stared at the medal.

  It was so bright and beautiful it made his eyes sting.

  ‘And besides,’ Corky continued, ‘you deserve a medal for putting up with me. I’m so glad we’re friends, my dear boy. I was lonely before I met you. Do you remember the first day we met?’

  ‘I was nine years old,’ Ruskin said. ‘You’d just become school caretaker.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Corky said, smiling. ‘You used to go everywhere with Elvis and Sparkey then. The three of you were inseparable.’

  ‘We were all the same height then,’ Ruskin said. ‘All three of us were small and we were the best of friends. We did everything together. We’d ride our bikes and talk about insects and jump over cracks in the pa
vement. We used to watch you sweeping the school playground. Elvis rushed up to you and asked what subject you taught.’

  ‘Oh yes … I remember.’

  ‘Elvis thought you were a teacher.’

  ‘Me a teacher!’ Corky chuckled to himself. ‘Can you imagine it? I don’t even know the capital of Australia.’

  ‘And I began talking to you more and more,’ Ruskin said. ‘It was you who got me interested in acting. You told me about all the plays you’d seen and how some actors made you laugh and cry. And, one day, Mr Lace overheard us talking and you said –’

  ‘Shakespeare!’ interrupted Corky.

  ‘That’s right,’ Ruskin said. ‘You said “Shakespeare” and Mr Lace started to cry. That’s when I discovered “Shakespearing Mr Lace”.’

  ‘And you told Elvis,’ Corky said, frowning.

  ‘He was my friend then,’ Ruskin explained. ‘I trusted him, Corky. I thought I could tell him everything. But it all changed.’

  ‘Because he started to grow?’

  ‘It seems that way. You gave me a football. Remember that, Corky?’

  ‘Yes, my dear boy,’ Corky replied.

  ‘It went “Da-boinggg!” when I bounced it. Elvis was really jealous. And then … well, he just started to grow. He grew muscles, got bigger and started to wear those padded shoulders and a helmet.’

  ‘And he stole your ball.’

  ‘That’s right. And Sparkey – who used to be my friend – stopped talking to me and started following Elvis around everywhere, saying “Yes, Sir” to everything Elvis said. And now I’ve got no friends. Except you, Corky.’

  ‘And I’ve got no friends. Except you, Ruskin.’

  They hugged each other.

  Corky’s hair was very soft against Ruskin’s cheek, like feathers, and Ruskin could feel the old man’s heart beating through his clothes.

  Suddenly Ruskin exclaimed, ‘But the cracks, Corky! The cracks and the dark bricks and the holes and bumps in the road. You were going to tell me what caused them.’

  ‘So I was, my dear boy,’ Corky said softly.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Go on then,’ Ruskin urged.

  Corky took a biscuit and started to lick the chocolate.

  ‘It’s quite a story,’ Corky said. ‘More strange than Elvis growing into the window-smasher of Lizard Street. It’s a story so strange, you might not believe it.’

  ‘I will believe it,’ Ruskin said. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Well,’ Corky said, ‘you know when you sometimes feel a rumbling in the ground under Lizard Street? And people tell you it’s a tube train going by beneath?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ruskin said.

  ‘Well, it’s not a tube train,’ Corky said. ‘It’s the thing that lives in the sewers. It’s the thing that comes up through the largest drain in the street. It comes up at night, when we’re asleep, and cracks pavements with its gigantic tail, scorching bricks with its fiery breath and digging holes in roads with its sharp claws.’

  ‘What is it?’ Ruskin asked breathlessly.

  ‘Krindlekrax,’ Corky replied.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Corky dunked a chocolate biscuit in his tea and licked it thoughtfully. He licked it until all the chocolate had gone, then threw the biscuit away and took another from the packet.

  ‘What’s … Krindlekrax?’ Ruskin asked.

  ‘To tell the story properly,’ Corky said, ‘I’ll have to go back eleven years.’

  ‘Eleven years!’ Ruskin said. ‘That’s when I was born.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Corky said, wiping chocolate from his lips. ‘And eleven years ago a lot of things were different.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Well,’ Corky said, ‘the pavements weren’t cracked, for one thing. And the brickwork wasn’t dark and the road didn’t have bumps and holes in.’

  ‘Because … because Krindlekrax wasn’t around then?’ suggested Ruskin.

  ‘That’s right,’ Corky said, taking another biscuit from the packet. ‘And I wasn’t caretaker of St George’s School then either.’

  ‘You weren’t!’

  ‘Oh, I know what you’d like to think,’ Corky chuckled, dunking the biscuit in his tea and starting to lick the chocolate. ‘You’d like to think I’ve always been a caretaker and I’ve always worn a white overall and had white hair and walked with a walking stick. But, of course, that’s not true. Eleven years ago, my hair was … well, darker. And I walked without a limp. And I didn’t work at St George’s School.’

  ‘So where did you work?’ Ruskin asked, sipping his tea.

  ‘In the sewers,’ Corky replied.

  ‘The sewers!’ Ruskin exclaimed, nearly dropping his cup.

  ‘Yes, my dear boy. The sewers. Underground, where all the dirty water is. In the smelly dark. At least, that’s how most people think of it. But I never thought of it like that. For me it was beautiful. The walls are bright green and the water makes a gentle trickling noise. There are chambers big as cathedrals, and waterfalls so high you can’t see the top. And when you speak, your voice echoes around you a million times until your ears ring and you get giddy. It’s another world down there and I loved everything about it. I felt like an explorer. Being down there was a true adventure for me, my dear boy.’

  ‘If it was dark,’ Ruskin said, ‘how did you see?’

  ‘I’ll show you!’

  Corky got up and went over to a wardrobe. He opened the door, removed something wrapped in newspaper, then returned to the table.

  ‘What’s that?’ Ruskin asked.

  ‘Open it and see,’ Corky said, handing it to him.

  The newspaper was very old and had turned yellow. It smelt of damp and dust.

  Carefully, Ruskin peeled away the paper, like peeling an onion, and inside he found a tin helmet with a torch stuck on the front.

  ‘I wonder if it still works,’ Corky said. And he reached over and flicked a switch on top of the torch.

  The torch lit up.

  Corky took the helmet from Ruskin and put it on.

  The torch gleamed like a brilliant third eye.

  ‘How do I look?’ Corky asked.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Ruskin said.

  ‘That’s how I looked in those days,’ Corky said, sighing. ‘I was younger and I was wonderful and I felt like an explorer in the underground world of green cathedrals and majestic waterfalls.’

  ‘So why did you leave?’ Corky asked. ‘Why did you stop being an explorer and become a caretaker?’

  ‘Because,’ Corky replied, ‘I was the one who found Krindlekrax.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Ruskin shivered so violently he nearly dropped his cup.

  ‘Are you cold, my dear boy?’ asked Corky.

  ‘No. I just …’

  ‘More tea?’ asked Corky.

  ‘No,’ Ruskin said.

  ‘Are you ill?’

  ‘Just finish your story!’ cried Ruskin, in the closest his squeaky whisper of a voice could get to a shout. ‘Tell me about Krindlekrax!’

  Corky took a deep breath.

  ‘One day,’ Corky said, ‘I was underground, when I heard a noise. A noise like I’d never heard before. A sort of crying sound. “Eeeek!” went the noise. I looked all around. My torch beam cut through the darkness. And there … there – on a ledge beside the trickling water – I saw something move. It was about the size of a shoe and bright green and had tiny sharp teeth. It was eating a slice of toast.’

  ‘What was it?’ Ruskin asked, staring at Corky and clutching the edge of his seat.

  ‘A baby crocodile, my dear boy,’ Corky replied.

  ‘But how did it get there?’

  ‘I never found that out. But there it was. Bright green and munching toast. There was marmalade on the toast and orange rind was stuck between the crocodile’s teeth. There was something … oh, so enticing about the tiny creature. I wanted to touch it. So I stepped forward. My feet went splash in the water and the light from my
torch shone in the animal’s eyes, making them bright red.’

  ‘Were you scared?’ Ruskin asked.

  ‘No, my dear boy. I just wanted to get closer to the crocodile, to feel its skin.’ Corky licked a chocolate biscuit for a while, then continued, ‘Slowly, I reached out … I could feel the crocodile’s warm breath on my fingertips. And then, suddenly, the crocodile snapped its jaws shut. I managed to get my finger out of the way just in time. “Clack!” went the jaws. Like two bits of metal clanging together. I took a step back, slipped and fell into the water. The water went up my nose and into my ears and made me cough and splutter. But I didn’t have time to cough and splutter for long.’

  ‘Why, Corky?’ Ruskin asked.

  ‘Because the crocodile was already chasing after me,’ Corky replied. ‘I ran down the tunnel. The crocodile was very fast. I could hear its cracking jaws and the swish of its tail. I ran through the dirty water, hardly looking where I was going. I started to panic. For a moment I thought I was lost and would never find the ladder that led up to the surface again. “Help!” I called. “Help me, someone!”

  ‘My voice echoed all around me. But no help came. No one could hear me. I was underground, my dear boy, and no living thing could hear me. Except …’

  ‘The crocodile!’ Ruskin interrupted.

  ‘Exactly,’ Corky said. ‘Except the crocodile. But – suddenly – I saw the ladder. I grabbed it and started to climb. I was halfway up when I felt a terrible pain in my knee.’ Corky touched his leg, the one with the limp. ‘I looked down and saw the crocodile biting my knee. I shook my leg frantically. But the crocodile wouldn’t let go. Its tiny jaws were clenched tight. Deeper and deeper its teeth went into my skin. I was yelling out. Finally, I hit the crocodile as hard as I could. It let go and fell back into the watery darkness. I heard it go splash.’

  Corky poured himself another cup of tea.

  ‘Thirsty work,’ Corky remarked, ‘all this storytelling.’

  ‘So that’s how you got your limp,’ Ruskin said.

  ‘Exactly, my dear boy,’ Corky said. ‘I went to hospital and a doctor put a bandage round my knee and told me I’d be all right. But I wasn’t! The crocodile had bitten through a tendon or something and I had to use a walking stick.’ Corky picked up the packet of biscuits and looked inside. ‘Only one left,’ he said. ‘Do you want it, my dear boy?’