The Whizz Pop Chocolate Shop (15 page)

“Make the boy eat it!”

“All right, no need to make a fuss, of course he’ll eat
some.” Isadore dipped a silver teaspoon into the fragrant melted chocolate and held it out to Oz, with a look in his eyes that Oz didn’t understand. What was he being asked to swallow? Never mind—he had a strong sense tht his wicked great-great uncle was on his side. He gulped down the spoonful of chocolate.

Isadore and the stranger watched him intently.

The delicious taste on Oz’s tongue slowly spread down his throat and into his chest, stunning him into a sweet stupor. He gripped the edge of the workbench, wondering why he was so light-headed.

“OK, OK,” the stranger said. “He hasn’t turned green or dropped dead, don’t waste any more of the stuff.”

“If you’re satisfied, I’ll pour it now.” Isadore moved Oz aside to pick up the bowl of chocolate. “Where’s my gold scraping trowel?”

Very slowly, he poured the chocolate into his magic golden moon mold. Through his wooziness Oz was sure he saw a minuscule grain of something in the gold trowel, before Isadore began using it to scrape the bowl. With the stranger watching hungrily, he held both his hands over the mold. There was a short, sharp gust of cold air. He gave the golden mold a gentle tap against the bench and turned out a perfect chocolate full moon.

The stranger’s eyes lit up greedily. He snatched the chocolate and took a savage bite. “I can feel it working!
The taste is taking my senses by storm! I’m IMMORTAL!”

Isadore had stopped trembling, though he was still very pale. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” The stranger gave a bark of laughter. “Fantastic!”

“Do you feel it in your arms yet?”

“Yes—and my legs! And now my whole head is filled with fireworks!”

“That means it’s working,” Isadore said quietly. “I’m so glad.”

The stranger said nothing.

“Thank goodness you’re a fool and you don’t know when you’re being double-crossed!” Had Isadore lost his mind? Even with a swimming head, Oz was horrified by this reckless piece of rudeness—but the stranger said nothing.

Isadore put his finger to his lips and studied his watch. After about thirty seconds of silence—which seemed to Oz to stretch on and on—he walked over to where the stranger was sitting and boldly gave him a poke in the ribs. The man did not move; he was a grinning statue clutching a gun.

“Thank goodness!” Isadore collapsed into a chair, mopping his brow with a chocolate-stained handkerchief. “I thought he was going to shoot you—I’d forgotten how dreadful it feels to be afraid for someone else!”

“What’ve you done to him?” Oz whispered.

“Killed him,” Isadore said. “He’s as dead as a doornail.”

“Oh.” Oz looked fearfully at the still, silent stranger; he had never seen a dead person before, and it made him slightly sick that Isadore could talk so casually about killing someone. But he knew that his great-great-uncle had done it to save him. “What do we do with him now?”

“Never mind him!” Isadore jumped to his feet. “We have to get out!”

Oz watched, bewildered, as Isadore dragged a dusty, scuffed leather case from a nearby heap of clutter and started throwing things into it—jars, bottles, tools, notebooks, clothes, tins of food and thick rolls of cash, all in a chaotic heap. He snatched the photograph of Daisy off the wall, hastily wrapping it in an old vest.

“Uncle Isadore, what’s going on?”

“My cover’s blown—if this idiot fell out with the other gang members they’ll be right behind him—and goodness knows what government forces will be behind THEM! There’s not a moment to lose!” Isadore put the golden mold back into its black velvet bag. “Where to go next—that’s the big question—where NOBODY will find us!”

Oz’s head was very light now; a mist was creeping up around him, and Isadore’s voice came from a long way off.

“Forgive me, Oz—I had to make you eat some but I swear I left out the poison!”

He felt himself sinking into the mist. There was a deafening explosion—and then the light went out completely.

“Her name’s Janice Hardy,” Dad said, shutting his briefcase, ready to go out. “I haven’t actually met her, but she sounded very nice—young and a bit shy, but obviously an excellent teacher.”

“I don’t want another tutor.” Lily thought it was hugely unfair that she had to worry about writing and math when she was already so worried about Oz.

“Try to make her feel welcome, Nutella—you might even like her.”

“OK, but I’m not doing piles of stupid homework.”

“She said she’d be here at ten.” As usual, Dad wasn’t listening properly. He kissed Mum, pinched Lily’s cheek and left the house whistling cheerfully.

Lily went upstairs to her bedroom. Demerara, in her mauve knitted suit, was sitting in the middle of the duvet.

“I don’t like it, Lily.”

“Don’t like what?”

“Spike’s not back yet. He went out yesterday afternoon and I haven’t seen him since.”

“Hmm?” Lily straightened a row of colored pencils on her desk.

“He’s never stayed away this long—not in all the years I’ve known him.”

Lily looked properly at her cat friend and saw that her bald, beige face was creased with anxiety; Demerara was a lot fonder of Spike than she let on. “Do you know where he was going?”

“I never ask Spike where he’s going,” Demerara said, “because it’s often somewhere revolting and I’d rather not know. But what could’ve happened to him?”

“He might be doing something for the department.” Lily sat down beside her on the bed and stroked her woolly back. “And you know he can’t be badly hurt or dead. He’s immortal.”

“Lily!” Mum called from downstairs.

“My new tutor’s here,” Lily said, sighing crossly. “They just won’t listen when I say it doesn’t do any good.”

“I’ll come down with you.” The plump mauve shape jumped off the bed.

“OK—but don’t talk too much, or I’ll forget you’re invisible and answer you, and then she’ll think I’m bonkers.”

In the sunny kitchen, Mum was having tea with a stranger. “Hi, Lily,” she said brightly. “This is Janice.”

“Hi,” Lily said faintly.

“Oh my gracious golliwogs,” Demerara said. “What have we here? I don’t want to be mean, dear—but she looks like a weight lifter.”

Lily nearly cried out “Demerara!” and managed to turn it into a cough at the last minute.

Janice Hardy was a great, strapping woman in leather trousers and jacket, with cropped red hair, a surly face and a jutting jaw. She stared at Lily with eyes like sour brown currants.

Mum did not seem to notice anything wrong with this horrifying person. “Lily’s reading is getting much more fluent,” she was saying. “And she’s found the spell check on the computer extremely useful when it comes to writing. It’s the math we’re having a real problem with. What method of teaching do you favor?”

The new tutor drained her mug of tea in one slurp. “Venn is your husband coming back?” She had a deep, croaky voice with a strong foreign accent.

“My husband?” Mum was bewildered for a moment. “Well, not until about six. He’s very keen on giving our daughter more confidence in her own intelligence.”

“And zere is access to ze street from ze garden?”

“Er—no, we back onto the garages in Pooter Lane.”

Lily’s spine tingled and her every hair stood on end; this woman reeked of menace.

“I don’t like her,” Demerara said. “She’s not magic—she
can’t see or hear me, any more than your poor mother can—but I don’t like her one little bit.”

She trotted over to take a closer look—and jumped as if she’d had an electric shock.

“More tea, Janice?” Mum asked. “And then you can settle down to work in the sitting room.”

“Lily, dear,” Demerara said. “Don’t look up or down, just listen to me very carefully. That woman is carrying a gun. I may not know much about humans, but I do know that it’s not normal for a tutor to be armed.”

It took every particle of willpower not to shriek; Lily knew she had to keep calm.

She felt Demerara’s warm body rub against her leg.

“You must make an excuse to nip out of the house for a few minutes.”

Lily’s mouth was dry; she didn’t like leaving her mother with this suspicious character, but she couldn’t argue. She stood up and made an almighty effort to look bright and normal. “Oh—do you mind if I just pop over to Caydon’s before we start our lesson? I promised to lend him—er—Oz’s skateboard.”

“All right, if you’re quick,” Mum said. “Janice and I can have another cup of tea and get to know each other.”

“NOW, dear!” mewed Demerara.

Lily stood up, on legs that felt like jelly, and made for the kitchen door. Somehow she got out into Skittle Street without bursting into tears of terror. “What now?”

The mauve cat was already leading the way across the road. “We’re going to Caydon’s.”

Lily knocked loudly on the purple front door. For what seemed like ages (but was only a few seconds) nothing happened; a loud television could be heard from the sitting room in the back.

“Hi, Lily.” Caydon opened the door eating a piece of toast. “What’s up?”

“My tutor’s got a gun!” Lily blurted out, and began to cry helplessly.

“I’ll contact the SMU,” Demerara said. “You must call the police.”

“The normal police?” Caydon was baffled. “What am I meant to tell them?”

“This isn’t magic, dear—tell them there’s a woman with a gun, and a hostage situation at 18 Skittle Street.”

“WHAT?” He stared at Lily.

“I swear she’s not making it up.”

“You’d better come in,” Caydon said. “Come into the kitchen—it’s Gran’s day off and she’s watching TV in the sitting room.”

The kitchen was small and cheerful, and reassuringly ordinary. Demerara took charge. “You can make the call to the police, Caydon. Make sure you tell them about the gun. I’ll just slip out to make my emergency report to the department.”

“Slip out where?” Lily asked.

“Oh, I’m not going far.” Demerara had her shifty look. “I shan’t be a minute.” She trotted out of the room.

“Well, what a day it’s been,” Mum said. “Who’d have thought that nice Janice was an international spy? Apparently the real Janice Hardy was found tied up in a cellar, poor thing.”

“I’m sorry I missed all the hoo-hah,” Dad said. “I’d like to have seen that police helicopter! And I hate to think of you going through it alone.”

“It was fine—Lily popped across the road, and the next thing I knew, two huge armed policemen were wrestling that woman to the floor. I must say, they were very polite and full of apologies.” She smiled at Lily. “They said you were a heroine.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lily said.

Dad ruffled her springy hair. “You somehow knew you had to call the police; that was pretty amazing.”

“I—I saw the gun under her jacket.”

“You were a star,” Mum said. “You deserve to have a lovely time at this camp of yours—when are they coming for her, Bruce?”

This was the first Lily had heard about any camp, but she wasn’t surprised; she might have guessed the SMU would want her for another assignment after today’s near disaster.

“You’ll have plenty of time to pack after supper,” Dad said comfortably. The three of them were eating lasagne and salad around the kitchen table.

“I’ve already done most of it,” Mum said. “It won’t take you long to finish it off.”

“It’s going to be horribly quiet for us,” Dad said, “with both of you gone.”

Lily swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. Where was Oz? Where was she going, and how long would it be before she saw her parents again? Suppose the new baby was born while she was away? Lily was dying to see the new baby.

But none of this could be said to poor, innocent Mum and Dad, who were so creepily calm and jolly that Lily was sure they were under a spell. She finished her supper and went upstairs. A large suitcase lay open on the bed—how long was she supposed to be away? She added two of her bed toys, her alarm clock and a favorite sweater Mum had left out because it had a hole in one elbow.

“Don’t forget my makeup,” Demerara said, appearing beside her. “Oh, Lily, I do hope we find Spike! I can’t think what’s happened to him.”

“Has he really not been away before?” Lily asked.

“He’s stayed out all night once or twice,” Demerara said. “When the rats had one of their vulgar parties—for instance, the time in 1957 when someone dropped a
whole crate of gin at Cockfosters station—but nothing like this.”

Her voice was oddly muffled. “What’ve you got in your mouth?” Lily asked.

“Nothing! Nothing at all! Nothing whatsoever!”

Lily thought she looked shifty, but didn’t want to offend her. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“Not a clue, dear—don’t forget the body glitter.”

Lily marveled that Demerara could think about body glitter at a time like this, but dropped the tub of glitter into her suitcase. The case was very full, and wouldn’t zip up until the stout little cat sat on it.

“Good luck, girls!”
a tiny voice called from the wallpaper.

“Good luck with the fur spell!”

“What fur spell?” Lily looked at Demerara. “What are those roses talking about?”