CHAPTER 2

It wasn't long before the children were cycling down the lane that led to the village, Timmy running ahead of them and sniffing at every new scent that he discovered. Julian free-wheeled down the last hill and slewed to a halt amidst a cloud of gravel and dust outside the Village Store. The other children were only moments behind him, and together they leant their bikes against the shop wall. Anne, rummaged in her shoulder bag for her purse. "It's my treat today! I'm buying!" she said, pulling out a pair of knickers and tossing them across her panniers. "I know it's in here somewhere," she continued, a small collection of scent bottles, nail clippers and assorted lipsticks clattering onto the ground in front of her. "Here it is!" she cried, triumphantly, holding aloft the purple plastic snail that contained all her worldly wealth. "At last," muttered Dick. "I don't know why you carry all that stuff, Anne," said George, brushing the dust off her shorts. "I've got all I need in my back pocket," she said, patting the solid oblong bulge that showed through the rough corduroy. "Looks like a packet of something or other," said Julian, " and it's a vaguely familiar shape as well." "It's the economy size, Ju," said Dick. "There's twelve in it instead of the usual three." "Ah, I see," said Julian, recalling something that Bert Loppit had once shown him. "But will you need so many, George?" he asked. "You are an innocent over some things," replied George to her cousin, to whom she looked up in so many ways, but who, on the matter of adolescent female development, had shown himself sadly lacking on several occasions. "It's getting to be that time of the month, and I don't want to run short." Anne blushed. "Come on," she said, "the ice creams are on me!" and she hurried into the shop. "Rather have mine in a cornet if you don't mind, sis," said Dick, dodging a friendly slap from George who grinned, patted her left buttock and followed her cousin into the shop's cool interior.

Sitting in the sunshine on the benches around the old blasted oak in the middle of the village green, the children ate their ice creams, their every move watched by Timmy. Whenever a drip of melting ice cream fell onto the children's legs he was there in an instant, his rough tongue licking up every morsel. George chewed the bottom off her cornet and noisily sucked the ice cream through. Anne looked at her with a smile playing upon her lips. How like George, she thought, always nibbling at something or other. Dick glanced up too, but then hurriedly looked away as the sight brought back uncomfortable memories of watching the operation that had been performed upon Rupert Cohen in the 2^nd year in the biology labs at school one evening by the local Rabbi. George slurped the final drop of white creamy liquid out of the funnel and then jammed the slightly soggy remains into her mouth. "Okay, Julian," she said, spitting fragments of cornet over Anne's knees, who winced quietly and wiped them away with her handkerchief, "what are we doing here? How are we going to find out what happened to Mother and Father?" "Don't forget Joanna," said Dick. ""I sometimes wish we could," mumbled Anne, carefully licking the remains of her "Mr. Whirly" from the bottom of the cone. "Oh, she's not that bad," said Dick. "A bit rough around the edges, maybe, but at least she's genuine." "And I suppose I'm not?" said Anne, bristling. "Now, then girls," said Julian, "calm down. I'm sure Dick didn't mean anything like that, did you Dick." "Of course not," said Dick, wiping his sticky fingers on his bare legs. "I just meant that what you see with Joanna is what you get, she holds nothing back." "With her chest I'm not surprised!" said George. "There were times when I was a child that she used to lean over me to help me eat my breakfast, and her left breast would be pushing into my hot porridge!" The boys chuckled, and even Anne managed a grin. "The thing was," continued George, "she'd then complain about having heartburn!"

After they had stopped laughing, Julian became serious. "Now look," he said, "I'll tell you why I've brought us down to the village." He looked at his brother. "Dick, do you remember what you said to me when you finally got your suitcase to Kirrin Cottage after carrying it all the way from the station?" "Something unrepeatable, I expect," said Anne. "No, it was something about a poster," said Julian. "Do you remember, Dick?" Dick thought for a moment, his brow furrowing with concentration as he tried to recall the details. Julian waited patiently, watching his brother, and with the dappled light fluttering across his head and shoulders from the leaves of the blasted oak above them, he suddenly became aware of how good looking he was. Dick's exclamation brought him back to the moment, and he hurriedly pushed aside the thoughts he'd been having. "Of course!" cried Dick, leaping to his feet with excitement. "It was the poster over there on the village Notice Board!" "What about it?" asked George. "Why's it important?" "Come and look!" said Dick, and he ran over to the Board on the other side of the Green, the other children and Timmy following. "Look there!" said Dick, jabbing his finger at a yellowing sheet of foolscap pinned roughly to the wooden plank. "Gosh!" said George, "It's the sign of Alph, just like we found tied around Mummy and Daddy's doorknob this morning!" The children studied at the old poster, torn at one corner and split around the edges. "Read it out, Ju," said Anne, "you know my eyesight's not that good." "You don't wear glasses do you?" asked George in surprise. "You little swot!" Anne blushed. "No, not yet," she answered, "but Matron thinks that I may have to some time later next term. She thinks it's all due to the needlework I do by candlelight every evening in our free time that's putting a strain on them. She's suggested I do something else instead, like book-binding, which won't be so intensive, and my eyes might then recover a bit." "Good show, Anne," said Dick, "Book-binding's a noble art, or so says "Fusty Fosdyke" our librarian. He's really into it. You should see the pile of leather he's got in his room. He using it to rebind the old volumes of erotic Indian sculpture the school got from the library of Brigadier Lisping after he died. But he also makes things out of the scrap pieces which he sells to us." "What sort of things?" asked Anne. "Oh, you know, belts and such like," replied her brother, a dreamy far-away look coming into his eyes. "And thongs, and straps, and small thin pieces of studded chamois that split into two and tie around..." "Enough of that," interrupted Julian. "Let's concentrate on this poster!"

The children turned their attention again to the Notice Board. The writing on the poster was still legible, and there, in the centre, was a large red Greek alpha. At the top, in bold print, was the announcement:

and underneath in smaller letters the billing continued:

USING THE TECHNIQUES OF THE ANCIENT GREEKS,
DELVE INTO YOUR SUBCONSCIOUS AND RELEASE THE ANIMAL WITHIN!

"It all sounds a bit iffy to me," said George. "Who's running it?" "That's the whole point, George," answered Julian, pointing to the small print underneath the Alpha sign. "Look and learn!" George squinted at the bottom couple of lines below the details of the weekly meetings being held at Flushing Manor at nearby Much Puddling. "Cripes!" she exclaimed, as she read the italic print.

"Now do you understand the link?" said Julian. "The sign of Alph?" "Golly, yes I do," said George. "The Professor's name is Alf A. Course, and he's using the Greek alpha as his logo!" "It's a bit contrived, don't you think?" said Dick. "After all, we've got no proof that the bit of sausage skin tied around Uncle Quentin's knob this morning has anything to do with this crowd." "But you know how these things work," said Julian, pushing Timmy, who had got bored with being left out of it for so long, away from his leg. "Even the smallest and most obscure clue always seems to lead us straight to the solution." "Julian's right," said Anne, suddenly coming alive. "There's definitely a link here, I can feel it in my water!" George took a couple of steps to the side. She'd seen Anne like this before, and didn't particularly want to repeat the experience, especially without the protection of rubber gloves and a sou'wester. "So when's the next meeting, Ju?" asked Dick. Julian looked again at the poster. "It's today!" he cried, "at three o'clock! How far's Much Puddling, George?" George looked at her cousin who's excitement was plain to anyone who cared to look in his direction. "About 7 miles. We need to go through Bendover in the Marsh and over the next hill." "Well," said Julian, "that won't take us very long. If we set off now, we'll have time for our lunch before we get there. Do you know Flushing Manor, George?" he asked. "I've seen it from the car when Daddy and I have driven down into Great Gusset for his chemicals," she replied. "It's a strange old place, Elizabethan, I think. You know, lots of mullioned leaded windows and massive twisted chimneys. I'm sure it's full of all sorts of secret passages." "Sounds just the sort of place for us!" said Dick, thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts. "I love exploring secret openings and back passages!" "Stop that!" said Julian, "you'll go blind." "Anne's the one with the eyesight problems," said Dick, leading them back towards the village shop. George looked at him with a quizzical expression "You're not suggesting that Anne..." "No I don't!" exclaimed Anne, stamping her foot on the ground, which was an unfortunate thing to do, for she trod hard down on poor old Timmy's tail, who had been sniffing at her legs for the past few minutes. With a yelp he ran madly around in circles, tail waving energetically from side to side as if to cool it down. "Timmy"" cried George, rushing to him and cuddling him. "It's alright, boy," she said, "Anne didn't mean it. It was a mistake, wasn't it Anne?" There were hot angry tears in George's eyes, and Anne knew she had to do something fast or else her cousin would fly into one of her famous tempers, and no-one would get a word out of her for days whilst she sulked and began pulling out her hair. "Of course it was," she said, moving across to Timmy and patting him. "I'm sorry, old thing," she said. Timmy woofed and took a playful nip at her fingers. "He's forgiven you," said George, sniffing, "and therefore so have I. Come on, let's get on our bikes and make a start for Much Puddling."

The children retrieved their bikes, checked that their panniers were still secure, and rode off down the lane towards Bendover in the Marsh. As its name implied, this village lay in a wide estuary where the river Piddle flowed into the sea, its salt marshes being one of the more treacherous areas along this beautiful unspoiled coastline. Few people now ventured out onto them, but a hundred years ago it had been the site of great smuggling activity, with cargoes of rum and brandy and tobacco being brought ashore after dark by the local fishermen, aided by the Squire of Flushing Manor and the local parson, the Revered Swiggitt. The village had at that time been called simply Bend in the Marsh, the name deriving from the senile river Piddle that curved its way through the mud, creating several ox-bow lakes in classic geographical fashion. However, on one particular night the smuggling operation had been interrupted by the Prentice Men, and several villagers were assaulted by the Officers whilst reaching down to retrieve the small casks of spirit that had been upset from the longboat, and the addition had been made to the village name at the subsequent funerals as a warning to all living there.

The children cycled happily along the old coast road towards the village. With the wind blowing through their hair and cooling their legs, it was a glorious day to be out. We're riding high, thought George, finally pleased that she had been able to work the chapter title into the text. And who knows what we're going to find? Ahead of her Julian pedalled steadily, the salt flats just beginning to come into view. "There they are!" he called, "Not far now!" Good, thought Anne, I need to stop, I'm dying for a pee. Dick overtook her as they rounded the next bend, legs moving rhythmically up and down as he manoeuvered into second place ahead of George. The feel of the soft leather saddle rubbing beneath him was comforting. Timmy was keeping pace with George, panting and enjoying the good run which was allowing him to break wind without anyone noticing. "Come on," called Julian, the thought of his sandwiches making him moist, and together the children began the descent down to the valley.