Krindlekrax Read online

  Mr Lace came out from behind the piano.

  ‘Oh well,’ he said to Elvis. ‘You’ll be all right once you’ve learned the lines, I suppose.’

  Elvis put down his sword and shield and started bouncing the ball.

  Da-boinggg!

  Da-boinggg!

  ‘I’m going to be the best actor in the world,’ Elvis said.

  ‘Yes,’ Mr Lace said, sucking a pencil. ‘The whole class thinks that. Don’t we class?’

  Everyone in the class said, ‘Yes, Mr Lace.’

  Everyone except Ruskin, that is.

  ‘Ruskin didn’t say “yes”,’ Elvis said.

  Mr Lace looked at Ruskin.

  ‘Oh, but I’m sure he meant to say “yes”,’ Mr Lace said. ‘Didn’t you mean to say “yes”, Ruskin?’

  ‘No,’ Ruskin replied. ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘You didn’t?’ Mr Lace said.

  ‘No,’ Ruskin said. ‘I think Elvis is the worst actor I’ve ever seen. He’s just saying the words, but he’s not feeling anything. I didn’t believe a word of it.’

  Silence.

  Mr Lace stared at Ruskin.

  Elvis bounced the ball.

  Da-boinggg!

  ‘What’s more,’ Ruskin continued, ‘he doesn’t know how to hold a shield and sword properly.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ Mr Lace said.

  Da-boinggg!

  ‘And he doesn’t know how to breathe properly,’ Ruskin continued.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Mr Lace.

  Elvis was trembling with anger now.

  Da-boinggg!

  Da-boinggg!

  ‘And he doesn’t speak properly,’ Ruskin said.

  The sound of the bouncing ball got louder and louder.

  DA-BOINGGG!

  DA-BOINGGG!

  ‘And,’ Ruskin continued, ‘he wouldn’t know good acting if it wore a taffeta dress and stood on a desk, screaming “I’M GOOD ACTING”.’

  DA-BOINGGG!

  The ball bounced up to the ceiling, struck a light bulb, and went straight through a window.

  SMASH! went the window.

  Elvis pointed at Ruskin and growled. ‘You’re not going to get away with that, you silly little Splinter. I’m going to smash your living-room windows, your bathroom windows, your hallway windows. I’m even going to smash the glass in your silly glasses. I’m going to smash so much glass round you, you’re not going to be able to walk without crunching.’

  ‘Now now,’ said Mr Lace, trying to calm Elvis down. ‘No need to get offensive –’

  ‘SHAKESPEARE!’ Elvis snapped.

  Tears came into Mr Lace’s eyes.

  ‘Oh, that wondrous name,’ Mr Lace said. ‘The Bard of all time.’

  ‘SHAKESPEARE!’ said Elvis.

  Mr Lace fell to his knees.

  ‘Oh, the joy of the thought,’ he said, wiping tears from his eyes. ‘The fountains of emotion contained in that single name.’

  ‘SHAKESPEARE! SHAKESPEARE! SHAKESPEARE!’ Elvis continued.

  Mr Lace was lying on his back on the floor now, weeping so much his scarf became soggy with tears.

  ‘I’m going to get my football now,’ Elvis said, suddenly tired of tormenting Mr Lace.

  Elvis left the classroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After school, Ruskin helped Corky sweep up the broken glass from the school playground.

  ‘Before long,’ Corky said, ‘Lizard Street won’t be called Lizard Street any more. It’ll be known as the Street of Broken Windows.’

  Ruskin told Corky how Elvis had threatened to break his glasses as well as all his windows.

  ‘Are you scared, my boy?’ Corky asked, sweeping the glass into a neat pile.

  ‘A little bit,’ Ruskin replied, brushing the glass into a bin bag.

  ‘Well, there’s nothing wrong with being scared,’ Corky said, picking up the bag. ‘We all get scared sometimes.’

  They took the bag over to a big metal bin and threw it inside.

  ‘Come on, my boy,’ Corky said. ‘Let’s forget all about Elvis and his bad acting and his ball and his glass-smashing threats. Let’s go and see the film at Flick’s Ritz. Would you like that?’

  ‘Yes please,’ Ruskin said.

  ‘And we’ll buy some biscuits on the way.’

  So they bought a packet of chocolate biscuits at Mrs Walnut’s shop and went to the cinema.

  They sat in the front row.

  The cinema was dark and smelt of popcorn. The seats were covered with green velvet and there were bright green curtains in front of the screen.

  Corky opened the biscuits and offered one to Ruskin.

  ‘I hope people don’t talk during the film,’ Corky said. ‘I think that’s a terrible thing to do.’

  The green curtains parted and the screen exploded with light.

  Ruskin tingled with excitement. He reached out for a biscuit.

  The film was called Henry V and was in black and white. It was very exciting. Ruskin loved the charging horses and the ‘whooshing’ sound the arrows made as they flew through the air.

  Suddenly, Ruskin heard another noise.

  It was coming from the back of the cinema.

  Da-boinggg! went the noise.

  Ruskin looked behind him and saw Elvis Cave sitting next to Sparkey Walnut. The two of them were laughing and giggling and jeering at the film.

  Elvis was bouncing his football.

  ‘Shh,’ Ruskin said.

  ‘Free country,’ Elvis said. ‘Can do what I like. Can’t I, Sparkey?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said Sparkey.

  Corky turned around and waved his walking stick at Elvis and Sparkey.

  ‘It’s bad manners,’ Corky said.

  Da-boinggg! was the only reply.

  Ruskin and Corky faced the front again and tried to enjoy the film, but all they could hear was the relentless Da-boinggg! of Elvis’s football.

  Mr Flick walked down the aisle, holding a torch. The beam cut a neat white line through the dark, like an electric finger. He pointed it at Elvis.

  ‘Please be quiet,’ Mr Flick said, straightening his bow tie. ‘This is such a good film. Can’t you hear the wonderful language?’

  ‘It’s not English,’ Elvis complained. ‘I don’t understand a word of it. It’s all rubbish. Right, Sparkey?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ Sparkey said.

  ‘But it is English,’ Mr Flick said. ‘It’s the most wonderful English. It’s by Shakespeare.’

  ‘Then Shakespeare can’t write,’ Elvis sneered.

  Mr Flick looked shocked.

  ‘And it’s boring,’ Elvis continued, standing up. He started to walk down the aisle towards the screen, bouncing the ball in front of him.

  ‘Lots of silly actors in silly costumes and saying a silly lot of old twaddle,’ Elvis said.

  Da-boinggg!

  Da-boinggg!

  ‘Please …’ Mr Flick said.

  ‘Is this what you call good acting?’ Elvis asked, looking at Ruskin. ‘Well, you’re an idiot. I’m a better actor than all those silly idiots up there!’

  And he bounced the ball as hard as he could.

  The ball shot into the air and ripped through the screen.

  A large black hole appeared where the actor’s head should have been.

  Elvis screamed with laughter.

  Sparkey screamed with laughter too.

  Mr Flick just screamed.

  Elvis and Sparkey ran out of the cinema, and Mr Flick stopped the film and turned the lights on.

  ‘My poor screen,’ said Mr Flick, running his fingers up and down his black velvet lapels. ‘Now I won’t be able to show any more films.’

  ‘Elvis’s football is smashing everything in sight,’ Corky said. ‘Everyone in Lizard Street spends most of their time sweeping up broken glass. He’s such a wild boy.’

  ‘Someone has got to do something,’ said Mr Flick. ‘It can’t just go on like this. Elvis is terrorizing everyone – even his own mum and d
ad – and no one seems prepared to do anything.’

  ‘Come on, my boy,’ said Corky, putting his arm round Ruskin’s shoulder, ‘let’s go home.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It was late evening now and the sun was setting, turning the sky bright red and yellow, with a few glimmering stars visible.

  ‘Corky,’ Ruskin said, ‘are the actors in that film still alive?’

  ‘Some of them are,’ Corky replied, ‘and some of them aren’t.’

  ‘I want to live for always,’ Ruskin said.

  ‘No one lives for always,’ Corky said. ‘We just live for little whiles at a time.’

  Corky stopped outside his front door and watched Ruskin walk the rest of the way home. Ruskin stood on the metal drain in front of his house.

  Ka-clunk! went the drain.

  Ruskin turned to wave at Corky.

  A breeze blew down Lizard Street.

  Eeeek! went the pub sign.

  Corky waved back.

  Ka-clunk! went the drain.

  Ruskin went indoors.

  His mum and dad were eating toast and watching television.

  ‘Kiss,’ said Wendy.

  Ruskin kissed her cheek.

  ‘Tea?’ asked Wendy.

  ‘Yes please,’ replied Ruskin.

  ‘Poached egg on toast?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  Later, after Wendy and Ruskin had gone to bed, Winston sat up drinking cans of lager. He was still sitting up and staring at the television set when all the programmes had gone off and there was nothing on the screen but a grey fuzz.

  Upstairs in his room, Ruskin – who had been reading – could hear the telly buzzing and fuzzing. He knew that his dad had got drunk (as this happened quite often) so he went downstairs.

  ‘Come on, Dad,’ said Ruskin, shaking Winston. ‘Time for bed.’

  Usually, this was all Ruskin had to do – shake his dad, take the lager from his hand and say, ‘Time for bed’ – and Winston would obediently stand up, mutter, ‘It’s not my fault’ a few times, and go up to his room.

  But tonight was different. Because, as Ruskin took the lager from his dad’s hand, Winston said, ‘The crocodile!’

  Ruskin stared at his dad.

  Again Winston said, ‘The crocodile!’

  Ruskin shook him.

  ‘What crocodile, Dad?’ asked Ruskin.

  ‘The one I took,’ mumbled Winston.

  ‘Took from where, Dad?’

  ‘From the zoo.’

  Winston continued to talk in his drunken sleep.

  And so it was that Ruskin learned why his dad had been sacked from his job as zookeeper and how the baby crocodile that bit Corky’s knee and grew to become Krindlekrax got into the sewer in the first place …

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Eleven years before, Winston had gone into The Dragon and the Golden Penny pub for a drink. He had just come home from work and was still wearing his uniform.

  He went up to the bar, ordered a lemonade – the only drink he liked (at that time) – and sat by himself at a little round table in the corner.

  Winston had no friends in the street and always sat alone. In fact, most people thought he looked ridiculous in his baggy green uniform and dusty peaked cap that wouldn’t fit over his bush of frizzy red hair.

  Now and again, Winston tried to start talking to someone – especially Mr Cave, whom Winston desperately wanted to be friends with – but no one took him seriously and always referred to him as ‘silly Splinter’.

  That evening when he went into the pub, most of Lizard Street was there: a younger Mr Lace (still wearing his green scarf and sucking pencils), a younger Mrs Walnut (still running a grocer’s shop and smelling of potatoes), a younger Dr Flowers (still with his pocket full of handkerchiefs and sneezing non-stop), a younger Mr Flick (still talking about films and wearing a green waistcoat with big brass buttons), and, of course, Mr and Mrs Cave (still short and fat and smoking cigars). The only people who weren’t there were Wendy (who was at home), Corky (who was at work), and Ruskin, Elvis and Sparkey (who weren’t born yet).

  Dr Flowers was talking to Mrs Cave.

  ‘You know,’ said Dr Flowers, ‘you really must get a … TISHOO! … a new sign painted for the pub … TISHOO! … The old one is all faded and ugly.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been saying,’ said Mrs Cave, puffing her cigar.

  Mrs Cave was expecting a baby and was even larger than usual.

  ‘Mr Cave,’ said Mrs Cave. ‘When are you going to buy a new pub sign?’

  ‘I don’t need to buy a new pub sign, Mrs Cave,’ said Mr Cave. ‘I’ll paint one for myself.’

  ‘You can’t paint for toffee,’ sneered Mrs Cave.

  ‘Of course I can paint,’ said Mr Cave, puffing his cigar so much he almost disappeared in a cloud of smoke. ‘I can copy things, Mrs Cave.’

  ‘Well, in case you hadn’t noticed,’ Mrs Cave said sarcastically, ‘you might be able to copy a few golden pennies, but dragons are pretty thin on the ground these days.’

  ‘Don’t be awkward, Mrs Cave,’ said Mr Cave, puffing his cigar.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Mr Cave,’ said Mrs Cave, puffing her cigar.

  The pub was so thick with the smoke from their cigars that everyone was coughing and spluttering.

  Mr Lace opened a window to clear the smoke a little, and then said, ‘Why don’t you choose something that bears some resemblance to a dragon and copy that?’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Mr Cave.

  ‘Well,’ Mr Lace said, sucking his pencil thoughtfully, ‘like a crocodile.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ said Mr Flick. ‘I’ve seen films set in prehistoric times and the director has made crocodiles look like dinosaurs.’

  ‘But where would we get a crocodile from?’ wondered Mrs Cave. ‘And, even if we could get one, wouldn’t it be too big to get into the pub?’

  Mr Flick frowned and thought.

  Mr Lace frowned and thought.

  Mrs Walnut frowned and thought.

  Dr Flowers frowned and thought.

  Mr and Mrs Cave frowned and thought.

  For a while the pub was in silence, full of frowning and thinking.

  And then a squeaky whisper of a voice said, ‘I can get you a crocodile.’

  The voice came from the small, red-haired zookeeper sitting by himself in the corner.

  Everyone stared at Winston Splinter.

  ‘You can?’ Mr Cave said, picking some tobacco from his teeth.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Winston said. ‘I work at the zoo, you see. And there’s a crocodile there. It’s only a baby. Bright green and the size of a shoe. I could easily sneak it out for you. At least, I think I could. No! I’m sure I could! I’m positive I could! I’ll put it in my pocket and you can have it for a whole night. Will that give you enough time to paint it for your sign?’

  Mr Cave considered for a while, puffing his cigar. Finally, he replied, ‘Yes. I’m sure that’s enough time.’

  ‘Good,’ Winston said, getting to his feet and walking to the bar. ‘Tomorrow night do you?’

  ‘Perfect!’ Mr Cave exclaimed. ‘Let me get you a drink.’

  ‘Lemonade, please!’

  That night Winston went home and kissed Wendy on the cheek.

  ‘I think I’ve made a friend,’ he said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The next day, going home after working at the zoo, Winston sneaked into the reptile house.

  He walked past the snakes and the turtles and the salamanders, and went up to the glass tank containing the baby crocodile.

  The crocodile was sitting on a piece of wood floating in water. It had pointed teeth and sharp claws and stared at Winston with bright red eyes.

  Winston took the lid off the glass tank and put his hand inside.

  Clack! went the crocodile’s jaws, snapping at Winston’s fingers.

  Winston withdrew his hand.

  He was scared, but knew he had to get the crocodil
e, otherwise Mr Cave wouldn’t be his friend.

  He put his hand inside the tank for a second time.

  Clack-clack!

  Winston withdrew his hand again. He was shaking all over.

  ‘I know I’m scared,’ Winston said to himself. ‘But I’ve got to do scary things to get a friend.’

  So he took a deep breath and, whispering ‘Third time lucky’, put his hand in the tank and grabbed the crocodile by its tail.

  Clack-clack-clack!

  Winston stared at the crocodile as it dangled from his fingertips. Gradually, the creature calmed down and stopped clacking its jaws.

  Winston put the crocodile in a canvas bag and ran out of the zoo.

  He went straight to the pub and gave the crocodile to Mr Cave.

  ‘Be careful of its teeth,’ Winston said. ‘It’s calm now, but it bites when it’s angry.’

  Mr Cave took the crocodile and Winston upstairs to where Mrs Cave and Mrs Walnut sat on a sofa talking about what they’d call their impending babies.

  Mr Cave put the crocodile on the coffee table.

  ‘What a darling tail it’s got,’ commented Mrs Cave.

  ‘What cute claws,’ commented Mrs Walnut.

  ‘And beautiful little teeth,’ commented Mr Cave. Then added, ‘I’m going to start painting the new sign right away. I’ll give the crocodile back to you first thing in the morning, Winston. Is that all right?’

  ‘Fine,’ Winston replied, happy someone had called him by his first name.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  That night, Winston was woken by the sound of a siren. He looked out of the window and saw an ambulance outside the pub. Mr Cave and Mrs Walnut were helping Mrs Cave into the back of the ambulance. Mrs Cave was wrapped in a blanket and kept saying, ‘I want a cigar! Get me a cigar!’

  The ambulance drove away (with Mr and Mrs Cave inside) and Mrs Walnut went back into the pub.

  For a while, Winston thought nothing of it. He went back to bed and tried to sleep. Then, all of a sudden, he woke up and sat bolt upright, exclaiming, ‘My crocodile!’

  Winston rushed out of the house and – still in his pyjamas – ran to the pub as fast as he could.

  He knocked on the front door.

  ‘Mrs Walnut!’ cried Winston. ‘Mrs Walnut!’