Krindlekrax Page 8
Darkness and silence.
Night-time on Lizard Street.
Ruskin got out of bed and put his ear to the wall. He could hear his mum and dad snoring and mumbling in their sleep.
‘It’s not my fault!’ his dad was saying.
‘Polly-wolly-doodle-all-the-day,’ his mum was saying.
Ruskin got dressed, then put on the tin helmet and turned the torch on. The beam of light shot through the gloom and illuminated the photographs of actors on the wall opposite.
Ruskin picked up the pin that had been on the medal and put it in his pocket. Then he picked up the walking stick, waving it in the air like a sword.
‘Now … unto the breach!’ Ruskin said, looking at himself in the mirror.
His red frizzy hair stood out beneath the helmet and his arms and legs weren’t much thicker than the walking stick.
Perhaps I don’t look like a hero, Ruskin thought. But only I can save Lizard Street from the cracking and scorching and digging of Krindlekrax.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Ruskin crept downstairs and went into the kitchen. The kitchen table was covered with piles of toast.
As quietly as he could, Ruskin picked up some toast, opened the street door and went out into Lizard Street.
The moon was full, illuminating the street with a ghostly blue light. The sky was clear and gleaming with stars.
Ruskin went up to the metal drain and started to lay a trail of toast, leading away from the drain and down the street towards the school.
He had to make several journeys back to his home because, at the end of the line, he wanted a pile of toast, to act as bait for Krindlekrax.
Just as he was picking up the last remaining slice of toast from the table, Ruskin heard something flapping.
He grabbed the walking stick tightly.
A bird, Ruskin thought. A bird is in the room.
He looked round the kitchen.
And, wherever he looked, the torch beam shone. It illuminated the toaster and the gas oven and the refrigerator and the dirty washing-up in the sink.
But it didn’t illuminate a bird.
Then Ruskin realized what the sound was.
A gentle breeze was blowing outside, making the newspaper in the kitchen windows flap in and out, like something breathing, or a bird’s flapping wings.
Ruskin heaved a sigh of relief and chuckled.
What a silly boy I am, he thought.
He went back outside and completed building his pile of toast. The pile was so big it was taller than Ruskin.
He went back to the drain and grasped hold of the metal cover. With all his might, he heaved it up and away from the drain hole.
He stared down into the darkness.
Down there, in the watery dark, was Krindlekrax.
And soon Krindlekrax would smell the toast and rise from the depths to confront Ruskin.
‘Come on,’ said Ruskin, ‘I’m ready for you!’
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The torch on Ruskin’s helmet shone into the hole, illuminating the ladder leading down, and the water below.
Ruskin put his ear to the ground.
No rumbling.
Nothing.
Ruskin waited a little longer, then picked up a slice of toast and dropped it into the hole.
He heard it splash.
He waited.
Nothing.
He leaned over the hole.
Still no rumbling.
Nothing.
Ruskin looked round him.
He imagined all his neighbours curled up in their beds, sheets and blankets tucking them in tightly, clocks ticking beside them, eyes rolling behind eyelids as they dreamed, unaware that he – Ruskin Splinter – was poised over a drain, waiting to do battle with Krindlekrax.
And what would they be dreaming?
Mr and Mrs Cave would be dreaming of their pub with its stained-wood bar and satin cushions and carpet with red roses on.
Mrs Walnut would be dreaming of the day she could close the grocer’s shop once and for all and stop smelling of potatoes.
Mr Flick would be dreaming of his black velvet lapels and all the films he had yet to show.
Mr Lace would be dreaming of pencils and Shakespeare.
Dr Flowers would be dreaming of the day he could stop sneezing.
Elvis would be dreaming of smashing all the windows in the world.
Sparkey would be dreaming of saying ‘Yes, Sir’ to everything for the rest of his life.
And in his house, his own mum and dad were busily dreaming too. Wendy of toast and tea and saying, ‘polly-wolly-doodle-all-the-day’, and Winston of elephants and tigers and how happy he had felt in his zookeeper’s uniform.
Ruskin was in the midst of these thoughts when …
Eeeek!
Ruskin jumped.
He dropped the walking stick. It disappeared into the hole and landed with a splash in the water below.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Eeeek!
It was only the pub sign, but in Ruskin’s nervous state it had scared him. And now Corky’s walking stick was in the sewer.
Ruskin stared into the hole.
He’d already lost the medal. He couldn’t lose the walking stick as well.
Ruskin took a deep breath.
There was no alternative.
He would have to go into the sewer.
He swung his legs over the edge and started climbing down the ladder.
The last sound he heard before he disappeared beneath Lizard Street was the pub sign.
Eeeek!
Eeeek!
Eeeek!
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
When Ruskin got to the bottom of the ladder he stood on a brick ledge and stared at the sewer water running alongside like a dark green river.
There were tin cans in the water and bits of paper and carrots and bananas, and all kinds of things Ruskin couldn’t distinguish. His torchlight shone over walls covered with slime so thick it looked like grass.
When he glanced up, Ruskin saw a circle of stars sparkling in the drain hole above.
He looked around, searching for the walking stick.
I’ve got to find it! he thought.
He started to walk along the brick ledge, being careful not to slip.
It was cold in the sewer and full of echoing sounds that made his eardrums ring.
Suddenly, Ruskin saw the walking stick.
It was floating in the water.
The current was carrying it along, deeper and deeper into the heart of the sewer.
Ruskin ran until he was alongside the stick, then got to his knees and reached out.
He stretched as far as he could.
His fingers had just touched the walking stick when the current carried it off again.
Ruskin jumped up and followed.
He was breathing very hard now and – despite being cold – he was sweating.
The torchlight flickered over walls and across the water.
Corky was right, Ruskin thought. It is beautiful down here.
The green of the slime sparkled like emeralds and the water was satin smooth.
The walking stick stopped moving.
It had got attached to some particularly thick slime.
Ruskin rushed up, got to his knees and reached out.
His fingertips grazed across the surface of the water.
He grabbed hold of the walking stick.
‘Got it!’ he said.
And that’s when he realized.
It wasn’t slime the stick was attached to.
It was rats!
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Ruskin screamed.
The water was alive with rats. Fat, dark rats, with red eyes, long pink tails and vicious claws.
The rats swam in the water and, as they swam, so they carried the walking stick with them.
Ruskin followed.
Deeper and deeper into the sewer.
He had never been this
alone before. He’d always been in the bustle of Lizard Street and – even when Elvis and Sparkey stopped being his friends and he thought he was alone, he wasn’t really – he’d always had Mr and Mrs Cave and Mrs Walnut and Mr Flick and Mr Lace and Dr Flowers and his mum and dad and, of course, Corky.
But now …
Now there was no one!
Just darkness and water and hundreds of rats carrying the walking stick further and further into the labyrinth of darkness.
Perhaps I’ll never find my way out, Ruskin thought. Perhaps I’ll have to stay here forever.
Suddenly, the rats climbed out of the water and, one at a time, disappeared into a rat-hole in the brick ledge.
The rats tried to take the walking stick with them, but the curve of the handle was too big to go through.
When all the rats had gone into the hole, Ruskin rushed up and grabbed hold of the stick.
He pulled.
It was stuck!
He pulled harder.
Still stuck!
I haven’t come all this way to give up now, he thought.
He pulled again.
Still stuck!!
Ruskin stood up straight, took a deep breath, then spat on his hands and rubbed them together.
He grabbed hold of the walking stick.
‘This one’s for Corky!’ he cried.
And pulled as hard as he could.
Squelch! went the walking stick, coming out of the hole.
But the force of Ruskin’s tug was so strong that, still holding the stick, he toppled and fell backwards into the water.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Slimy green water went up his nose and into his ears.
Ruskin coughed and spluttered.
Fortunately, the water wasn’t that deep and only came up to Ruskin’s knees.
He stood there for a while, clutching the walking stick.
And then he thought of something.
I must smell of toast, Ruskin thought. So why hasn’t Krindlekrax come after me? Perhaps Krindlekrax doesn’t exist. Perhaps it was just a story, after all. Just like his mum had said. Nothing but a story.
He couldn’t help feeling relieved at the thought of it.
Ruskin started to laugh and splash about in the water.
‘A story!’ he cried. And his voice echoed round him. ‘A story … story … story … story … story … ory … y … y …’
And he called again. Louder this time.
‘STORY … STORY! STORY! STORY! Story! … ory … ory … y … y … y …’
But this time his echoes were interrupted by another sound.
A roar like a million car brakes screeching all at once.
‘RAAAAAHHHHH!’
Ruskin froze.
He heard the sound of splashing getting closer.
Waves appeared in the water.
‘RAAAAAAHHHHHH!’ went the roar again.
Ruskin started to run.
The roars got louder and louder.
It was Krindlekrax!
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
‘RAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!’
Ruskin could feel hot air on the back of his neck.
‘RAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!’
Ruskin reached the ladder and started to climb.
His feet slipped on the rungs a few times, but he still managed to get to the surface.
He ran down Lizard Street and hid behind the pile of toast.
He stared at the hole in the road.
Don’t be scared, Ruskin thought. This is what I wanted to happen. This is what I hoped for. To come face to face with the monster. This is the only way. I should be pleased.
He clutched the walking stick as tightly as he could.
Be brave! he thought.
Suddenly, mustering all his courage, he jumped on top of the pile of toast and, waving the walking stick in the air, cried, ‘I’m ready for you, monster!’
And that’s when Krindlekrax appeared.
CHAPTER FIFTY
A claw.
A gleaming, black, sharp claw.
Then another claw.
And another …
Until a whole leg came to the surface.
A dark green, scaly leg, dripping with slime.
Then another claw.
A gleaming, black, sharp claw.
Then another.
Until a second dark green, scaly leg came to the surface.
Ruskin was so scared he couldn’t move. He felt as if his feet were stuck to the toast. He wondered if the congealed butter had hardened round the soles of his boots, trapping him. Then he realized he couldn’t move his knees either, or his arms, or his neck, or even his eyes.
His eyes were wide open and staring at the head of Krindlekrax as it rose from the drain …
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Krindlekrax’s mouth was wider than an open car bonnet and full of sharp teeth, each one the size of a new pencil. The teeth had once been white and healthy, but now they were rotten and discoloured, with slime trickling between the gums. Its breath was hot and smelt of toast and there were flies buzzing round its tongue and nostrils. Its eyes were red, as bright as traffic lights, and its nostrils flared and leaked green liquid.
More of Krindlekrax climbed out of the drain.
Its belly was fat and dark, its back legs as claw-sharp as the front, its tail long and pointed. It was the biggest thing Ruskin had ever seen.
Ruskin thought, It could swallow me whole!
And he wished he was back in bed, tucked up and safe, his lips sticky and warm with marmalade and tea.
Krindlekrax started to sniff the toast.
Clack! went the jaws.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Krindlekrax munched the toast for a while, then swallowed and took another step forward.
Sniff!
Clack!
Munch!
Step forward.
Ruskin thought, I must move! I must do something!
Sniff!
Clack!
Munch!
Step forward.
Ruskin could feel Krindlekrax’s hot breath against his cheek.
Sniff!
Clack!
Munch!
Step forward.
DO SOMETHING! Ruskin thought.
Sniff …
Krindlekrax was sniffing the pile of toast.
Its jaws opened wide.
Ruskin stared into the pink steaming cave of its mouth.
In a moment the jaws will clack on me, thought Ruskin.
And then …
Da-boinggg!
No, Ruskin thought. It can’t be!
Da-boinggg! Da-boinggg!
Krindlekrax stared over Ruskin’s shoulder.
Ruskin didn’t have to look behind him to know what was there. He knew that, at the other end of Lizard Street, a sleepwalking Elvis had left the pub and was dreamily bouncing his football.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Krindlekrax lost interest in both the pile of toast and Ruskin. Slowly, it walked past Ruskin and started to approach Elvis.
It’s going to get him, thought Ruskin. I’ve got to move. I’ve got to save Elvis.
Da-boinggg!
Suddenly, Ruskin spun around and raised the walking stick into the air.
‘Oh, you terrible monster!’ cried Ruskin.
Krindlekrax stopped.
Ruskin jumped from the pile of toast, ran down the street and leaped on to Krindlekrax’s tail.
Krindlekrax roared.
‘RAAAAHHHH!’
Ruskin ran up the back of Krindlekrax – treading carefully so as not to slip on the slime – until he was standing on Krindlekrax’s head. It was very high and Ruskin felt a little giddy.
But he didn’t let this stop him.
He was determined now.
He knew he had to tame Krindlekrax and protect – not only Elvis – but the whole of Lizard Street.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
‘I am brave and wise and wonderful …’ cried
Ruskin, striking the top of Krindlekrax’s head with the walking stick.
Krindlekrax roared again and tried to flick Ruskin from its head, as if Ruskin was nothing more than an irritating fly.
Ruskin got to his knees, then sat astride the neck of the giant crocodile.
‘… and handsome and tall …’ continued Ruskin, ‘… and covered in muscles, with a voice like thunder …’
Krindlekrax continued to try to shake Ruskin off. But Ruskin’s legs only gripped the scaly skin tighter.
‘You can shake your head all you like,’ Ruskin said, ‘but it won’t get me off.’
Then Krindlekrax’s tail curled around and hit Elvis.
Elvis fell to the ground, the ball rolling into the gutter.
Something else rolled as well.
Something that had fallen out of Elvis’s pyjama-trousers’ pocket.
Something gold!
Something shining!
It was Corky’s medal!
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Krindlekrax saw the golden medal and stopped shaking.
It sniffed the medal.
Ruskin jumped off Krindlekrax’s back and rushed over to Elvis.
‘Oh, please wake up,’ pleaded Ruskin, shaking Elvis. ‘You’ve got to go to bed. It’s not safe out here tonight.’
But Elvis continued to sleep, snoring slightly, and reaching out for the ball.
Elvis found the ball and gripped it tightly. He got to his feet and started to bounce it.
Da-boinggg!
Da-boinggg!
Krindlekrax heard the bouncing and, losing interest in the medal, roared at Ruskin and Elvis.
What can I do? thought Ruskin, panicking now. There must be a way to tame the monster. I just don’t know what it is.
And then Ruskin heard something.
Eeeek! went the noise.
It was the pub sign.
Ruskin looked up and, as he did so, the torch on his helmet illuminated the painting of the baby crocodile with a penny in its mouth.
If only I had a golden penny! thought Ruskin.
BUT I DO HAVE ONE!
The medal! Of course!
Corky’s golden medal!