The Good, the Bad and the Deadly 7 Read online

  Between great blubbering gulps and sniffs, Nelson managed to explain how much trouble he would be in at school and at home if he failed to bring in his homework. Surly Karen was mortified. Not only did she find it deeply disturbing to be stuck in front of a weeping child, she couldn’t help but find herself remembering what it was like being at school. All that pressure to keep up with the clever kids. The teachers, some of them more boring than watching a beard grow, droning on about things Karen did not fully understand still to this day. Before she knew what she was doing, Karen had raised her hand as if to silence Nelson and grabbed the master set of keys hanging inside a steel box nailed to the wall.

  You should have heard Nelson’s monsters. They were cheering and applauding him so much that it was extremely difficult for Nelson to keep up the sad act. Crush honked so much that Nelson began to blush.

  Seconds later, Nelson, Stan, Miser and Crush were marching between the towering metal shelves stacked with boxes and bags and bottles and vials and cans – all of which contained some kind of historical discovery related to London – from Roman coins to a human skull dating back to the Iron Age. Hoot and Nosh remained outside, while Puff and Spike were positioned close to Karen. She waited by the exit door rather than follow Nelson. She may have been moved enough to let him in, but she did not want to get too close to the boy. It made her deeply uncomfortable to be around so much emotion.

  The fluorescent lights flickered on automatically as Nelson made his way to a workshop at the far end. It was a large space and it smelt like a mixture of wood, wet clay and glue. Studio lights on tall stands surrounded the area, though the lights were off now. Doody and Pogo used this area to test and investigate Sir Christopher Wren’s inventions and theories for their TV show, the most important of which was lying under a clear plastic sheet in the corner.

  ‘Found it yet?’ shouted Karen.

  ‘I think it’s here somewhere!’ replied Nelson.

  Stan whipped off the plastic sheet as impressively as a tiny matador, and all at once the monsters began to twitch and shiver. Like kryptonite to Superman or sunshine to Count Dracula, the sin extractor had a powerfully negative effect on the monsters. It was as if the needles were a monster magnet, pulling them across the floor towards it.

  ‘What’s going on?’ whispered Nelson as Stan grabbed hold of his leg.

  The colour was draining out of Stan as if even colour could not resist the pull of the needles.

  ‘I dunno! Just get it done and cover it up!’

  Miser reached out with both of his long tentacles to pipes on opposite walls. Taking a firm grip, he made himself into a living barrier to stop himself and the other monsters from sliding any closer.

  ‘What’s going on over there?’ shouted Puff, who like Spike was too far away to feel the magnetic pull of the sin extractor.

  There was no time to answer Puff. Nelson leaned over the extractor table. Thousands of tiny metal needles arranged in intricate, swirling patterns pointed up at him.

  Nelson gripped one of the needles at the base with his thumb and forefinger and began to wobble it like you would a baby tooth that has outstayed its welcome in your mouth. There was a very gentle click and it came away from the table base.

  ‘Hurry up!’ groaned Stan, who was clinging to a chair leg and beginning to feel his own horns work loose like teeth being pulled out by a dentist.

  As Nelson carefully lifted out the sin-extractor needle, he found that what he was holding was just the tip of a much longer needle. It was at least three times the length, in fact. The middle was twisted like a fine corkscrew, and both ends were equally sharp, though one end – the end that had been beneath the table – was black.

  ‘Got it!’ shouted Nelson, and he jabbed the needle deep into the fluffy rhino for safe keeping, stuffed the rhino into his backpack, and flung the plastic sheet back over the sin extractor. At once the powerful vacuuming effect stopped.

  Nelson took some paper from his backpack and waved it triumphantly as he approached Karen.

  ‘Thanks so much, Karen. Seriously, you’re a lifesaver.’

  ‘S’OK,’ said Karen, and she returned to her small room and her terrible curry but with a nice feeling inside for having helped a weeping child.

  Outside, Nelson did a quick headcount.

  ‘Everyone here? Miser, Stan, Spike, Nosh, Crush, Puff. Great. We got the needle! Let’s go and get Buzzard.’

  You may have noticed that Nelson did not mention Hoot. That is because there was no need to be reminded of where Hoot was as he had grown to the size of a house.

  BIG HEAD BIRD BRAIN

  It had been months ago on a warm summer night when Nelson had discovered how to inflate Hoot.

  Nelson and his monsters had been sitting in the uppermost branches of an oak tree in the park watching Hoot perform one of his legendary aerial displays to a piece of classical music (‘Dance of the Reed Pipes’ by Tchaikovsky on this occasion). The music was played through Nelson’s Bluetooth speaker, and when Hoot finally came in to land, they had all burst into applause. It is important to note that none of them had thought Hoot’s display any good; in fact, it had to have been one of the most stupid things any of them had ever seen, but it was SO bad that they had actually enjoyed it and rewarded the silly bird for making them laugh so much with a rousing chorus of whistles, cheers and above all, applause. Hoot had no idea their response was sarcastic and had continued to bow to Nelson and the others over and over again. It was after about thirty-five seconds or so that Nelson noticed it. Hoot’s head was getting bigger. Much bigger. The more they clapped, the bigger it got, and it wasn’t long before Hoot’s head had tripled in size. His body grew just enough to support the giant head, which didn’t stop growing until Nelson waved to the rest of the monsters to stop.

  ‘Guys, stop. Stop! Look! Look what’s happened to him,’ Nelson had said, and the other monsters had burst into hysterics as Hoot gasped in shock at his new appearance.

  ‘Do you feel all right, Hoot? Are you OK?’ Nelson was the only one who felt concern, but the least concerned of all was Hoot.

  ‘Good gracious . . . I have become huge! Ha ha! Look at me! I am, dare I say it, even more magnificent than ever before!’

  Clearly Hoot had never felt better, and so from that night on, when Nelson and his monsters needed to fly somewhere together, they had only to shower Hoot with applause and he would grow big enough to carry them all through the sky.

  Hoot had never enjoyed himself as much as he was enjoying himself right now. His wings the size of a small plane and his palm-leaf-sized golden feathers rippling as he sang along to his favourite song playing through Nelson’s Bluetooth speaker, ‘The Impossible Dream’ (the Andy Williams version was his favourite), Hoot’s right claw clasped a rope ladder they had ‘borrowed’ from the Regent’s Park adventure playground, and it was upon this ladder that Nelson and the rest of the monsters hung on tight.

  ‘Gawd, I hate that bird,’ snarled Stan through gritted teeth, his eyes clenched against the wind.

  ‘Shh! Don’t let him hear you say that,’ said Nelson.

  If any of them said anything that might deflate Hoot’s ego, he would return to his normal size, and then they would all fall out of the sky. Nosh groaned loudly, not because of Hoot’s singing, but because he hadn’t eaten for at least ten minutes. Nelson had given him strict instructions to work up a fierce appetite in preparation for eating the monster, but for Nosh, ten minutes without food is like two weeks without food for you and me. Drool ran from the corners of his great big mouth and on to Nelson below him.

  ‘Great singing, Hoot!’ cried Nelson as he wiped Nosh’s drool from his hood with his sleeve.

  ‘Why, thank you, dear boy!’ crowed Hoot, before returning to the song and singing with even more tuneless gusto.

  If the others hadn’t had to cling to the rope ladder, they would have stuck their fingers in their ears.

  Crush’s eyes were closed tight and he clung to Nelson�
�s neck, every so often letting out a long, low honking noise that spread warmth through Nelson’s chest. Despite this lovely warm feeling, the powerful sense of purpose Nelson had felt earlier at the prospect of being reunited with his monsters to save the world was dwindling with every mile they flew. Turning their idea into reality began to feel a bit stupid at worst, naïve at best. Would they really be able to trap Buzzard’s soul and use it as bait to draw the monster away from London? It was impossible to imagine. What he certainly could imagine was the struggle they would have in capturing the creature and feeding it to Nosh. It would be as far from easy as you can get.

  The streets below them were empty. Everyone was too consumed with watching the rampaging abomination in France on their screens to bother going outside. This was just as well, as the sight of a boy flying through the sky on a rope ladder would have probably blown their tiny minds.

  *

  Meanwhile in France, things had not only gone from bad to worse, they had moved on to absolutely dreadful and were now hurtling towards downright terrifying. Scientists from all around the world were being consulted, but none of them could even agree on what it was they were dealing with, let alone come up with a solution. All airlines were grounded. All trains were cancelled. All boats docked, and all roads cleared. The people of France cowered in their homes watching their screens, hoping their village, town or city wasn’t next in line for a punishing visit from whatever it was. No one knew their only hope of salvation had just landed on the roof of St Paul’s Cathedral.

  BLOOD IN THE CATHEDRAL

  Nelson crouched on the roof of St Paul’s. The powerful gusts of wind generated by Hoot’s great wings blew the hood back off his head and whipped dust into his eyes.

  ‘Hoot!’ shouted Nelson. ‘You can’t land on the roof. You’ll need to be smaller again!’

  ‘Oh, just a little longer. I do so love being large! Look at me! Have you ever seen anything more gorgeous in your life? Nooo! You have not!’ crowed Hoot, but the stone roof crumbled like chalk beneath Hoot’s claws.

  ‘Hoot, please! You can’t land while you’re that big! You’re too heavy! You might break something else or go right through the roof!’ Nelson turned to the other six monsters, shrugged and said, ‘You know what to do.’

  And they did. With great glee, the monsters began to hurl the most appalling insults at Hoot. Even Crush’s honks sounded incredibly rude.

  You utter wombat!

  Your singing is so bad, I was just sick in my own mouth!

  You’re a massive feather-faced loser!

  You’re a pus-coloured nitwit!

  You’re a royal pain in the backside!

  You’re a fart-breathing bozo from the planet Berk!

  And so it went on. These were quite possibly the worst things anyone had said in or around St Paul’s Cathedral since Sir Christopher had expressed his frustrations with the ghastly Master Buzzard, but the monsters’ insults did at least achieve the intended results: Hoot was back to his original size in no time at all, and the other monsters were feeling much more cheerful again.

  ‘Yes, well . . . I can see you all enjoyed that very much,’ said Hoot in a quavering voice that suggested tears might be on the way.

  ‘Hey. Come on, Hoot. We only said that stuff to bring you down to size,’ said Nelson. The other monsters, especially Stan, Spike and Puff, looked as if they were about to hurl a few more insults, but Nelson beat them to it by saying, ‘We didn’t really mean it, and, look, we wouldn’t be here on the top of St Paul’s if it wasn’t for you.’

  This one compliment (plus a few chunks of Fruit & Nut) was all it took for Hoot’s chest to inflate and his eyes to sparkle again. Nelson turned around to face the others.

  ‘Right, everyone look around. We need to find a way in.’

  BANG! Stan was standing on the other side of the roof and had just punched a fire-escape door right off its hinges.

  ‘Found a way!’ shouted Stan.

  ‘Stan! Please! Don’t just start smashing the place up! We have to be quiet and careful or they’ll have the police around here,’ pleaded Nelson in a strangled whisper.

  ‘You wanted a way in, so there’s ya way in! Unless you don’t want my ’elp?’

  ‘I do, I do, but please just ask me before you smash any more doors to bits, OK?’ Nelson took out his Mexican wrestler mask from his backpack and pulled it over his head. There were bound to be lots of CCTV cameras inside and though he could not avoid them, he could at least hide his identity from them.

  Bits of wood from the smashed fire-escape door covered two flights of very narrow stairs that led directly down to another door, this one metal and painted black. Together, Nelson and his monsters leaned against the metal door at the base of the stairs until the hinges split and the door fell with a loud CLANG! on to the floor of a corridor.

  Nelson peered into the corridor while holding his monsters back with one hand. If there were security guards around, they must have heard the noise. The CLANG echoed long after the door had fallen. They would have to move very quickly from here on.

  ‘Whispering Gallery this way,’ whispered Nelson, and he ran to the right, staying close enough to the wall that his jacket made a whizzing sound as it rubbed against the stone. Nelson’s monsters weren’t just keeping up with him; they seemed to be fighting over who got to run behind him, which meant there was way too much tripping and snarling and pushing and shoving.

  ‘Down here, and stop fighting,’ whispered Nelson, pointing to a very wide, open stone staircase cordoned off by a red rope between brass barriers. Over the rope went Nelson, but the rush to be first behind him meant the monsters became tangled in the rope and brought the brass barriers clanging to the ground.

  Before Nelson had time to tell them off, a light came on at the foot of the stairwell.

  ‘Who’s up there?’ said a man’s voice from below.

  Whoever it was, Nelson could hear, from their footsteps and jangling keys, that they were already climbing the stairs quickly.

  Nelson silently mouthed the words, ‘Look out!’ and he ran to the other side of the corridor to hide behind a wide stone pillar with Crush clinging to his neck. The other monsters did not need to hide but instead backed away from the staircase without taking their eyes off it. A tall man in his late fifties appeared and instantly reminded Nelson of a badger. His hair was black with grey-and-white streaks and he was dressed in a black-and-white security uniform. In his hand was an unlit torch that he held like a weapon.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he shouted, and when no one answered, he shone his torch into the dark parts of the corridor.

  Nelson didn’t realize his backpack was peeking out from behind the pillar. He just stood there, thinking he was well hidden.

  ‘Dear boy! A man is coming towards you!’ cried Hoot, and Crush began to honk nervously.

  Nelson couldn’t say anything; he just had to close his eyes and hope his monsters could do something in time.

  ‘Hold your breath,’ said Puff, and a fart as loud and as long as the noise of a passing motorbike filled the air.

  The security guard’s knees buckled, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, and along with his torch, he fell towards the ground. He would have sustained one heck of a nose bleed had Puff not dived between him and the stone floor. Instead, the security guard landed comfortably and rolled gently on to the floor, sound asleep.

  ‘That was close,’ said Nelson, peering out from behind the pillar but still covering his mouth.

  They moved away from the purple gas still filling the air and ran down the stairs as originally intended. Though the monsters could not be heard by anyone else, Nelson had to keep shushing them like naughty toddlers in order to listen out for more guards. Ironically, the monsters were making a terrible din as they all made their way to the Whispering Gallery. It may have been due to the fact they’d been spending so much time apart from Nelson lately, but all of the monsters had wanted to be as close to Nelson as possible. Cru
sh honked and honked until Nelson relented and carried him in his arms again. This had been a bad decision, for it only made the other monsters more jealous.

  ‘That’s it! That’s enough! It doesn’t matter which one of you is behind me! We’re supposed to be finding the spot where Buzzard died, and you’re all acting like a bunch of spoilt kids!’

  The monsters fell silent under Nelson’s glare. Taking a breath, Nelson turned around and looked down at the floor of the cathedral.

  ‘Well . . . I remember that way leads to Christopher Wren’s library and laboratory,’ said Nelson, pointing to a lower balcony on the opposite side to them. ‘So I s’pose when Buzzard fell, it must have been on that side.’

  What a long way to fall. The thought made Nelson shudder, but there was no time to dwell on gruesome thoughts or anything else for that matter. Seven of the doors surrounding the gallery had just opened, and through each one a security guard appeared.

  ‘There! Over there! I see him!’ said one of the guards, and they all began running towards Nelson.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Nelson.

  Puff and Nosh ran one way, Spike and Stan the other in order to block the guards. The guards began shouting and freaking out at the invisible monster barrier they had just been blocked by.

  ‘Hoot! Hold on to me and fly me down!’ said Nelson as he swung a leg over the balcony and lifted himself up so that he was sitting facing the biggest fall of his life.

  ‘Right you are!’ said Hoot.

  But no sooner had he opened his wings for take-off, he was sent tumbling sideways by a door flung open by another guard behind him. The man was very short, but he lunged forwards with astonishing speed, and his hands gripped Nelson’s arm above the elbow. Nelson let out a cry, and Crush let out a great blasting ‘HOOOOONK!’