Chapter Thirty Seven
‘What was that?’ asked Lady Bartholomew.
‘It was a knock. At the door. I thought that was reasonably straightforward to work out,’ Bradford replied, his concerns about closet Illiterati resurfacing. He hoped it wasn’t Tinkers doing the resurfacing as they’d made a crap job of Mrs Sourmat’s drive.
‘Open up, it’s the police,’ shouted Ryder. Bradford looked at the human sized containers sat on the conveyors, then back at the door. Lady Bartholomew understood immediately.
‘Oh God, you’re claustrophobic too, I suppose,’ she said with contempt in her voice. A most unusual flavour for rock, she decided.
‘Like any other lead character in a thriller,’ replied Bradford, defensively. It was part of the job description, along with the morbid fear of heights, dribbling food down his shirt and shitting his pants. Mainly at the same time. Bradford started the four conveyors running.
‘Choose a cart,’ he said, climbing into one at random, slipping it into first. As he passed through the wall he wondered what would be on the other side.
*
Ryder ran at the door, leading with his shoulder, following with pretty much the rest of his body, bursting the door wide open. Daniels walked in behind Ryder, wondering if a door could be burst open narrowly.
‘Empty, except for four conveyors leading out,’ noted Ryder, ‘Any ideas?’
‘Sure. It’s an empty room full of rock. We got it wrong, I knew we should have chased that milk float,’ replied Daniels. Ryder stooped down and picked up a cuff link bearing the Bartholomew Coat of Arms.
‘Get in,’ he said, pointing at the two remaining carts.
*
The carts started up the incline, side by side. Bradford felt the still air ruffle his hair as it whipped about his head. Looking around he could see Blackpool Tower behind them as their carts climbed up to the height of the Tower itself.
‘Oh this is such fun,’ exclaimed Lady Bartholomew. ‘Look, bingo halls.’ Then she lowered her arms from the raised position to question Bradford’s scowl. ‘What?’
‘Well I did say I was claustrophobic, and now we’re outside at the same height as Blackpool Tower,’ replied Bradford, fiddling with the flapping cuff on his pyjama jacket, before putting the bow down.
‘Is that food on your pyjama top?’ asked Lady Bartholomew as the carts levelled off. Bradford looked forward and saw the tracks disappear in front of him as both carts tipped downwards, running under a sign that said “They’re Off”. ‘And what is that smell?’ asked Lady Bartholomew as the two carts hurtled down the track.
*
Ryder watched the two carts disappear over the top of the incline.
‘We’ve got to catch them up,’ he shouted to Daniels in the cart alongside him. ‘Look for a short cut when we get to the top of this hill.
*
‘Duck!’ shouted Bradford as the carts hurtled towards a low bridge, realising at the last second that it was a drake.
‘Close enough,’ said Lady Bartholomew, losing her tiara as they passed underneath. They gripped the handrails as the carts shot up the track and hit a sharp right hander that scratched the side of the carts. Bradford turned his head as far as the centrifugal force allowed.
‘We’re being followed,’ he shouted at Lady Bartholomew, ‘and they’re gaining on us.’
‘Hold tight,’ said Lady Bartholomew, pushing the gas to the floor, ‘it’s time to go separate ways,’ she said, swinging away from Bradford’s cart and accelerating up the next track.
*
Ryder watched the manoeuvre ahead.
‘We’re going to have to split up,’ he said to Daniels. Daniels was confused; he knew they’d been cooperating better, but hadn’t realised they were an item. And now, apparently, it was over. To make it even more confusing for Daniels, Ryder wasn’t finished.
‘If you come across the clown before I do, book him,’ said Ryder, pulling off to one side.
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