SAOS: Chapter Twenty One: The Good, The Bad, The Dead, And The Crazy, or, How You Learn Who Your Friends Are

Chas stirred, shook his head.

      "Fuck," he said to himself, testing his jaw with his good hand. "Feels like I've been hit with a fucking steel bar."

      He looked around the bare white room. He was lying on a thin slab of white foam which lay on a shelf of concrete sticking out of the wall, at about the same height as the top bunk of a standard sized bunk bed. A fluorescent light shone behind a thick pane of glass in the ceiling, and one wall was entirely glass.

      He stared groggily at the glass wall for a moment, then remembered. "Nics!" He sat bolt upright, nearly bashing his head on the ceiling, then reached up with his right hand to touch it.

      The flash of white plaster on his arm reminded him of something else. In a panic he checked first his cast, then his breast pocket. The oval of mother-of-pearl was still there, but the mouse was gone.

      Moving slowly, because his head felt like there were several large somethings with hammers in it, he swung both legs over the edge of the bed and jumped down.

      Underneath his bunk was another, lower shelf. Nics lay on it, her face as white as the walls.

      Forgetting his own pain completely, Chas knelt beside her, frantically feeling in her throat for a pulse. There wasn't one. But yet, where he expected a bright red stain of blood on her blouse, there was nothing.

      He pulled her blouse open, scanning for the bullet wound. Her chest was one massive bruise, but instead of a bloody and gaping hole, there was the silver and mother-of-pearl pendant that the silversmith Sven had given her. The mother-of-pearl was cracked, and the silver badly bent out of true, but lodged firmly in the centre of the pendant was a hard, flat shape. The bullet.

      Carefully, he gathered her up into his arms, calling her name.

      "Nics, babes, can you hear me? Wake up, tell me you're alright! Nics... babes... please?"

      Suddenly her eyes snapped open, like a doll's, and she sat bolt upright, her head just missing the bottom of the bunk above. With a very blank expression she coughed once.

      And a mother-of-pearl disk fell out of her mouth and landed with a soft thud on her lap.

      Chas recoiled like he'd been bitten. "Holy shit! Nics!!"

      But she just sat there, eyes staring.

      "Nics, babes," he said, looking into her eyes. "Talk to me!"

      He grabbed her shoulders and tried to shake her, but she was as rigid as a plank of wood.

      "That's not going to do any good, dear boy," said a voice from outside the cell.

      Chas spun around to see Mr Cuckoo, Jeremy Grandfather and the Agency woman, Barbra Allen watching him.

      It was Mr Cuckoo who had spoken. He had shed his disguise of an old and feeble man completely now, to reveal himself in his true clockwork glory. Arms, legs and body were all gleaming steel and brass, with gears and belts and cogs all whirring away endlessly. He stood a good seven feet tall, balancing effortlessly on legs that looked strong enough to support a bridge. His face was still the same, the skin wrinkled and pale, but his eyes had been replaced by a chilling pair of metallic orbs that gleamed gold in the light.

      Barbra Allen looked exactly as she had the last time Chas had seen her. But this time her golden lion broach sat like a cat upon her right shoulder, and a life-size golden tarantula sat on her left. All three stood with perfect and absolute stillness.

      Jeremy looked very nervous, shifting from foot to foot, and winding his long fingers into each other.

      "In case you didn't realise," Mr Cuckoo continued, "she's a fake. A phoney, a simulacrum of a real person. My partner and I created her, a long time ago. She and her brother were our finest pieces. We were ready to release them to the world, and make an absolute fortune.

      "But Jeremiah - he couldn't stop tinkering with her. There was always something more that he wanted to get her to do. We had her perfect, she looked and moved like a real person. She could even talk like a real person. But Jeremiah wanted to make her feel like a real person."

      The last sentence was injected with so much venom the Chas shivered, despite the heat in the cell.

      "So Jeremiah went off for a while, and came back with these two bits of oyster shell, these two disks of mother-of-pearl. I was against it from the start, but he was right, it did make her perfect! So perfect a fake that no one could tell the difference. And one totally loyal to us. A perfect spy. A perfect assassin. A perfect slave."

      Flecks of foam appeared at the corners of his mouth.

      "I was all ready to install the second disk in her brother, when she went missing. I knew it had to be Jeremiah, he was the only one who could have changed her personality, removed the limitations I had set.

      "He denied it completely, but I knew the truth. So I took the boy's body and hid it from him.

      "It was a good thing I did, as it was mere hours later that that bloody Agency woman, April Upton-Baxter broke in. She stole the disk and killed Jeremiah. She shot me too, and left me for dead, but I was harder to kill than old Jeremiah."

      Jeremy looked at the floor, and then up at Chas again. There was malevolence there, and a never-forgotten old pain.

      "She died soon after that. But I never got the disk back. So I never could achieve the perfection of what we had done in our early work. I came close, mind you."

      He waved one hand at Barbra.

      "Very close. There are a lot of my clockwork people around. One even got elected president. But your average person knows in their gut that there's something wrong with them. So they're not trusted."

      He took a step closer to the glass.

      "But now, now she's come back to me, and, even better, comes bringing the second disk! The locket is worthless, a trinket. It's the disk I want. And you, my dear boy, are going to give it to me."

      Chas shook his head, mutely, no.

      "Oh, you will," said Mr Cuckoo, smiling evilly. "If you don't, you'll never get your girlfriend back. I'll take great pleasure in making sure that you never ever see her again as anything other than the clockwork toy you see sitting next to you."

      "Tell me how to bring her back," said Chas in a low steady voice. "Tell me," he said, bringing out the disk from inside his cast and placing it on the concrete floor, "or I swear, I'll smash this disk to dust."

      Mr Cuckoo licked his lips at the sight of the second disk.

      "Very well," he said, face impassive. "Place it in her mouth and close her mouth again."

      Chas did so, though it took a bit of effort to get Nics’ mouth open. As soon as her mouth was shut, she made a swallowing motion, and her body lost its unnatural stiffness. Her eyes filled with tears, and she clung to Chas, sobbing.

      He held her tight with his bad arm, all the while watching Mr Cuckoo. With his good hand, he reached out and picked up the other disk, slipping it back into his cast.

      Mr Cuckoo made a humming sound of satisfaction, while Jeremy watched with curiosity. Barbra was as still and blank as a puppet.

      Mr Cuckoo watched as Nics pull herself together and turned to face him, tear streaks down her cheeks. Then, mumbling something in a tone of voice that might have been "such wonderful work" he spun abruptly on one heel and walked off.

      "Bring them to the laboratory," he ordered Barbra and Jeremy.

      "Sam betrayed us," whispered Chas to Nics.

      "I know," she whispered back. "Oh Chas, it was terrible, I remember exactly what happened. While - while I was out of my body."

      She stuttered to a stop, because Barbra and Jeremy had stepped into the room.

      Jeremy held a gun in unsteady hands, pointed at Chas. A nod from Barbra sent the clockwork spider scurrying along the floor, to run up Chas' leg and perch on his shoulder, fangs next to his neck.

      "I wouldn't advise trying anything stupid," she said in a monotone. "The spider has a very nasty bite."

      "An-an-and you," stuttered Jeremy to Nics. "If you love him, you won't try anything either. You may have survived a shot at point blank range to the chest, but I'm pretty sure he won't."

      "Oh, what I'd give for a banana now, babes," whispered Chas to Nics as they were shoved and prodded out of the cell.

      "I can't see how it'd help," she whispered back.

      "You'd be surprised," he said, grinning evilly.

      Nics blinked as a thought struck her hard.

            "Where the hell is Spud?!"

SAOS: Chapter Twenty: In Scarlet Town, Scarlet Town, There Was a Fair Maid Dwellin'

The rocket ship flew into Chinatown, where it stopped in front of a very large, very red Chinese restaurant. Sam got out immediately, stopping Spud from feeding another couple of coins into the meter. He was followed by the three humans and their bags.

      Waiting at the doorway was a smiling middle aged Chinese woman and a teenaged boy. The woman bowed when she saw them.

      "Wercome to Scar-ret Town" she said, in a very thick accent.

      "Yo," said the boy, looking bored.

      The woman unleashed a flood of Chinese at the boy, who translated.

      "Rooms upstairs, if you want anything, ring. Mr Cuckoo will see you at dinner. Six thirty."

      Spud asked "Have you got a cigarette lighter I can have?"

      They walked through the restaurant on their way upstairs to their rooms. The decor was fairly typical with Chinese prints on the walls and heavy, dark furniture. A group of Hell's Angels sat in one corner enjoying their sushi. The ornamental carp pond in the centre of the room had a pink plastic flamingo standing in it.

      The rooms were decorated in the same oriental style. Comfortable, but unusual, Nics decided. She and Chas had just unpacked their suitcases into the wardrobe in their room when Spud walked in. He was wearing the most god-awful, brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt, and not matching at all Bermuda shorts. With the camera around his neck that he'd bought in duty free he looked every inch the tourist. Well, except for the dreadlocks and the rolled up cigarette sticking out from behind his ear.

      Nics was impressed by the clothes that had been packed for her, a perfect capsule wardrobe in her style and size, complete with designer labels. Chas just opened up his case and shoved handfuls of stuff away without even bothering to look at it.

      "Well?" asked Spud, doing a little twirl. "What do you think?"

      "Very... bright," said Nics.

      "Bloody awful, mate," said Chas, trying to find something long and thin with which to scratch the itch inside his cast.

      "So, you're not planning on dressing for dinner then?" asked Spud.

      Nics shrugged. "Should we?"

      "What did that note say anyway, the one with the tickets?" Spud sat down on the futon.

      "Just that the tickets were for us to go to New York, and we were to meet up with Mr Cuckoo, and ask about his clock," she said.

      "Do you think..." Spud said, trailing off. "Nah..."

      "What?" asked Nics.

      "That he's the inventor of the cuckoo clock?" Spud grinned.

      "Either that or it refers to his mental..." Nics started, but got interrupted quickly by Chas.

      "Where's Sam?"

      "I thought he was with you," said Spud.

      "And widdershins likewise," said Nics.

      "He better be careful," said Spud with an evil grin. "Don't want him ending up as a number five with sweet and sour sauce and special fried rice."

      Nics scowled at him, and carefully removed the locket from where it had been stowed in her pocket.

      "Spud," she said. "Look outside for me a minute, see if there's anyone about."

      He went to the door, and she quickly lifted up her top and shoved the locket into her bra.

      "Nope, no one there," Spud said, looking a bit confused.

      Chas grinned widely and waggled his eyebrows at her, she winked back.

      "Well, babes," said Chas. "Guess it's time to go find out what this whole story's about then."

      Dinner was served in a private dining room, according to what they could make out from the Chinese woman's thick accent. They were shown into the room. It was wallpapered in scarlet, with a gold dragon design. In the centre of the room stood a large carved table, set with places for four people to eat, but with only three chairs around it.  Sam sat at the head of the table waiting for them, tongue hanging out.

      It was rather warm in the room.

      The three humans took the three seats available, and settled down to wait. One of the waiters in the restaurant took their order of drinks, and delivered them shortly after. They didn't have to wait long after that before the door to the dining room swung open, and a very old man in a wheelchair entered, pushed by the teenaged boy.

      The wheelchair was wheeled up to the place at the table with no chair, and the old man thanked the teenager in fluent Chinese. The boy bowed, and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

      The old man was very wrinkled, and wore very thick wire rimmed spectacles and gloves. He was wrapped up in several layers of clothes and had a heavy wool blanket over his legs.  His voice however was still strong, and his eyes shone bright and hard like glass.

      "So pleased to finally meet you," he said. "I am Mr Cuckoo, clockmaker of the Cuckoo family. You may have heard of us."

      Spud opened his mouth to say something, and Nics kicked him in the shins. He shut his mouth with a muffled yelp, while she smoothly introduced herself and her friends.

      "Nicola Spillard," she said, "and this is Chas Smith, and Spud - sorry - Brian Molloy," indicating each in turn.

      "Spud," mused the old man. "An interesting nickname."

      "It's easier to yell 'Oi Spud!' across a crowded pub than it is to yell 'Oi, Couch Potato!'." explained Spud. And, before Nics could stop him, he went on:

      "So, would I be right in thinking that your family made Cuckoo clocks then?"

      Nics winced. Chas bit his lip to keep from laughing.

      The old man smiled genially.

      "Not just made, dear boy, we invented the contraptions."

      "Really?" asked Chas, all open curiosity. Nics shot him a warning glare, willing him to realise that there was such a thing as laying it on too thick.

      "Oh, yes," said Mr Cuckoo. "It happens more often than you'd think. My dearly departed partner from many years ago, Jeremiah Grandfather, was part of a long line responsible for making Grandfather clocks."

      The door opened noiselessly, and a line of waiters came in, all bearing a different dish. They placed them carefully on the table, bowed and left again.

      "Please, help yourselves," said Mr Cuckoo.

      Chas fell to with a will, closely followed by Spud. Nics was daintier about it, obviously wondering where on earth this was all leading. A waft of particularly potent sweet and sour sauce up her nose made her sneeze. At exactly the same moment, Spud knocked over his glass of water.

      "Sorry," he said, looking embarrassed and mopping it up with his napkin.

      "No matter," said Mr Cuckoo graciously." My word," he continued, addressing Chas. "You certainly have a healthy appetite."

      Chas grinned at him, traces of sweet and sour sauce on his lips.

      "Me?," he said. "I eat like a bird - a gannet."

      Mr Cuckoo, laughed. Or at least it sounded like a laugh, it could have equally been a wheeze. A moment later, after he'd got his breath back, he asked the three young people:

      "So, what is it I can do for you?"

      "We were kind of hoping you could tell us that," said Nics. "All we know is that we were sent over here with a note telling us to ask you about a clock."

      "Really?" said Mr Cuckoo, his eyes lighting up. "And who was this note from?"

      "A Mr James Bradford (deceased)" mumbled Spud around a mouthful of spring roll.

      "Excellent, just excellent," said Mr Cuckoo. And reaching out with his chopsticks to grab a morsel of food he abruptly changed position to tap a little rhythm out onto the table - tap ti-tap tap tap.

      Nics left hand, resting on the table, tapped out an answer tap tap ti-tap.

      "Well," said Mr Cuckoo, to himself, but not quietly enough. "He really has gone and done it. And more. I wonder if he's aware what..."

      He looked up sharply, tried to cover his momentary lapse by producing a bell from the side of his wheelchair and ringing it firmly.

      Nics and Chas exchanged glances, Chas in particular looking worriedly at Nics. She seemed genuinely unaware of what she'd just done.

      "Some jasmine tea, I think," said Mr Cuckoo to the bowing waiter who appeared and mopped up Spud's water spill.

      "Hey," said Spud. "Those dragons are really cool. How do you make them move like that? And can I get a lighter?" He called the request after the waiter who had just stepped through and closed the door.

      Mr Cuckoo froze and grimaced.

      "You're very observant, Spud," he said, his lip curling in disdain.  “Now!” he commanded, and a swarm of golden dragons climbed down from the walls.

      Chas was half up out of his chair with shock as the dragons swarmed over the table and onto the young people. He froze when he saw the tiny ornately jewelled pistol that had appeared in Mr Cuckoo's hand.

      "Give me the locket now," he said, pointing the gun squarely at Nics. "Or I shall be forced to shoot you."

      "Better do what he says, babes," Chas told her, his voice unsteady, hovering frozen over his chair. Spud gulped uneasily, and nodded slowly in agreement. His head was about all he could move, he was pretty much encased in little golden dragons.

      The golden dragons had tiny sharp claws that clung to their prisoner's hair and clothes. They moved with a clicking and whirring sound and were quite warm to the touch.

      With shaking hands, Nics reached down into her top and pulled out the locket.

      "Slide it across the table," said Mr Cuckoo.

      She put it down, and slid it past the mostly empty plates of Chinese food. He picked it up in the hand that wasn't holding the gun.

      "Excellent," he said, and pulled the trigger.

      The shot went straight for Nics' heart, and she was pushed over backwards by the force of it.

      Chas screamed "No!!" and went for Mr Cuckoo. Only to have Mr Cuckoo stand up from his wheelchair, revealing a pair of huge and monstrous metal and geared legs. The hand that carried the locket swung up and batted Chas away easily. Chas crashed against the wall and passed out, lying in a slumped heap on the ground.

      All Spud could do was watch, and stare in betrayed horror as Sam, the golden Labrador sat calmly beside the door.

SAOS: Chapter Nineteen: The Things Suitcases Do to Carryalls

      Being first class travellers meant that almost their every whim was catered for on board the plane. However, it didn't mean that they were exempt from the traditional wait in the baggage hall while their cases were unloaded.

      The group had found the right carousel, or at least the one that had the sign above it giving their flight number, on which their bags would be appearing very shortly. Lots of other people stood around it as well, and because it was more polite to watch the carousel going around and around than it was to stare at one's fellow travellers, that's what they did.

      There were only two pieces of baggage going around at that time. The first was a small purple carryall with a matching shoulder strap and a glitter motif of a bird in a cage. Not very far behind it on the conveyor belt was a very menacing looking hard black suitcase.

      "Is it just me," asked Spud, "or is that black case hungry looking?"

      Chas and Nics looked at him like he was nuts. But this was normal for them and Spud, so he didn’t notice.

      The two bags went around the carousel again. This time the suitcase looked like it was definitely gaining on the carryall.

      "That purple bag looks terrified as well," observed Spud, twisting one of his dreadlocks absently.

      Chas turned to Nics.

      "Is there a technical term for the insanity that comes from believing everything has feelings?" he asked.

      "Don't think so," she said. "But it is a religion."

      The two bags disappeared through the thin sheets of rubber which marked the border between the baggage reclaim and the baggage loading area. This time it was only the black suitcase that came out again, looking very smug indeed, with a loop of purple strap hanging out of its lid.

      Spud shuddered just as the crowd pushed forward. The bags from their flight had finally arrived.

      Spud grabbed his case as quickly as it came out, then helped Chas and Nics with theirs. Chas had wandered off for a minute and located a trolley.

      "You alright in there?" he whispered to the mouse in his pocket. His answer was a very quiet, sleepy squeak.

      They piled the cases onto the trolley, and the ducks hopped on board like they had before. They were waved through passport control, and security, and customs, without even a glance.

      Spud stopped pushing the trolley the instant they were out into the arrivals hall, causing the couple behind him to swerve abruptly and give him a nasty look.

      "Now what?" he asked, scanning the rows of people waiting, holding cards with names on them.

      Sam barked at him, and pushed his way through the crowd, between one man in a grey suit carrying a clipboard with "Ms Newson" displayed on it prominently, and a woman with an umbrella, and a sign saying "Elvis".

      "Bing-bong. Would Mr Gandhi; recently arrived from London, please pick up the white courtesy telephone."

      Sam led them all out the door of the arrivals hall and stopped right next to one of those children's rides, the type that you put a coin and a preschooler in, and it bounces up and down very gently while playing a cheerful electronic tune. This one was a rocket ship.

      Nics said: "Well, I suppose we'd better find a taxi or something. Anyone know where we're going?"

      Sam barked and scratched at the rocket ship.

      "You have got to be kidding me," she told him as the ducks hopped off the trolley and settled themselves on the stubby wings of the ship. "There's no way we're all going to fit in that!"

      Spud chimed in: "Actually, I've heard of something like that, at the Agency. Let's give it a try."

      Chas was grinning widely and mischievously. "Yeah, let's..."

      "Be reasonable," said Nics. "we're never going to fit1"

      "We'll never know unless we try," said Spud, climbing in, Sam jumping in on his lap.

      Nics didn't know how they managed it, but they got all three of them, their bags, the dog and the four ducks squashed into the rocket ship.

      "Ow," said Nics, twisting to look behind her. "There's something sticking into my back."

      One of the ducks quacked apologetically and shuffled sideways a bit.

      "Ok, we're in," she said, looking slightly less than enamoured with the whole procedure. "Now what?"

      Chas was laughing his head off silently at the situation. "Stick some money in and see what happens," he suggested.

      “I don’t have any American money,” said Spud “And I’ve only got twenty pence”.

     

      “Well,” said Chas, “give it a try. You’re the only person who can reach the coin slot.”

      Spud reached out and shoved a coin in the meter attached to the side of the ship. A cheerful electronic tune started playing and the rocket ship started moving gently up and down.

      "Right," said Nics, standing up abruptly, nearly sending a duck flying. "This is not going to get us anywhere, I'm getting ou..."

      With a sudden jerk, the rocket ship was free and flying, and Nics fell back into her seat. The ducks quacked encouragement and they were off, flying along the road towards, well, somewhere.

      "That tune is going to drive me mental," muttered Nics sourly. The two lads were enjoying the ride too much to comment. Even Sam was doing the typical doggie thing of sticking his head over the side to smell the air going past them.

      They stopped in Central Park to let the ducks off. All four of them calmly waddled down to the lake, turned to give one final look to the mammals still left on the rocket ship, then swam off.

      A different duck wandered up to the ship, and looked up expectantly at Chas.

      "Quack bloody quack," Chas told it.

      "Sorry man, don't speak mallard," the duck replied, and waddled off again.

      Chas was left open mouthed as Nics said:

      "Where to now then Sam?"

      Sam barked shortly and the rocket ship lifted off again. It got halfway down the path towards the road when the music abruptly cut out and the ship floated slowly down to the ground again.

      "Pants," said Spud. "Anyone got any coins?"

SAOS: Chapter Eighteen (for the third and hopefully final time): And They Said It'd Never Fly

      "Spud," said Nics. "We don't have a fax machine."

      "I know," said Spud. "And if we did, it wouldn't be filled with pink paper either."

      "So how did you get the fax then?" she asked.

      "It came through on my printer," he said, scratching his nose. "How do you know James Bradford?"

      "I don't," Nics said. "I just keep getting messages from him."

      "He was Gran's partner," said Spud. "He got retired after her last mission. He's dead now, I hear."

      "Doesn't stop him from having an active afterlife, it seems," said Nics wryly.

      The taxi pulled up outside the airport and everyone, including the ducks, got out. Sam walked around to the back of the taxi and barked. Chas looked at him.

      "What?"

      Sam lifted a paw and scratched at the boot. Chas opened it to see three suitcases in there.

      "You want us to take these?" he asked Sam.

      The dog barked again, and wagged his tail.

      Spud had pushed in beside Chas.

      "Hey, look, this one's got my name on it. I wonder what's inside..."

      "Not now Spud," said Nics, having thought ahead, and walked a few steps away to return with a trolley to load the bags on. Together, she and Spud hoisted the suitcases onto the trolley. The four ducks took a waddle up, flapped their wings and settled down on top of the bags.

      "Are you sure we're doing the right thing here?" Nics asked no one in particular as they walked into the departures hall, Sam trotting along beside them.

      "No," said Chas with a grin, his bad mood lifting like the clouds after a storm. "But it feels right."

      "Besides," Spud chimed in. "Would you rather be at home now? With all the weirdness and guns and crap?"

      Nics shuddered. "Weirdness I can handle - guns just freak me out."

      The departures hall was full of people, bags and other assorted items, all in constant motion. There were people dragging suitcases and small children behind them, while talking unceasingly into the mobile phones that were clamped to one ear, frantically running around. There were other people wandering aimlessly, in a sort of random motion that might eventually take them to the right check in desk. Some people were even standing still, staring into space, as if beseeching for guidance from the heavens, or the public announcement system, whichever came first.

      No one seemed to notice or care that there were four ducks sitting on top of the bags on one particular trolley.

      An announcement came over the public address system:

      "Bing-bong. Would Mr Jones, recently arrived from Barbados, please pick up the white courtesy telephone."

      Spud abruptly stopped, and bent down to tie his shoelaces so quickly that Nics almost thought he was making a dive for the floor. Which was odd, because Spud was wearing trainers that had never in the entire period of Spud's ownership of them, had ever been tied.

      After a minute he straightened up cautiously, looking back over his shoulder. Nics and Chas were staring at him open-mouthed. The ducks had gone to sleep.

      "Sorry, thought I saw a pizza delivery man."

      Whoever had masterminded their escape had done a magnificent job. Not only were their tickets first class, but passports and a sizable wodge of American currency had also been provided. They checked in, and watched as their bags were whisked off by the conveyor belt.

      The stewardess didn't even bother to ask the usual questions, like "have you packed these bags yourself?" Which was a good thing, because Spud was having enough problems keeping his mouth shut as it was. He was a terrible at lying.

      He breathed a big sigh of relief as soon as they made it through security. The ducks and Sam came with them, and the security staff manning the metal detectors didn't even blink.

      "Wow! This is so cool!" he said.

      "I thought you were supposed to be the secret agent," said Chas. "This should be old hat to you, surely."

      Spud's answer was interrupted by the PA again:

      "Bing-bong. Would Mr Mandela, recently arrived from Johannesburg, please pick up the white courtesy telephone."

      "Nope," said Spud. "We never get anything this fancy. Always have to travel as cheaply as we can. They say it's to stop us drawing attention to ourselves, but personally I think they're just cheap."

      Nics was looking worried.

      "Doesn't this seem a bit too easy to you?"

      Chas and Spud exchanged looks, and Chas shrugged. Sam, walking close beside her, pushed his head up under her hand, as if to reassure her.

      "Yeah," said Chas. "But I'm not going to worry about it now. Let's hit up duty-free instead."

      Even Nics succumbed to the temptation of duty-free; she bought herself some perfume. Chas bought himself a litre bottle of some very nice whiskey, and as for Spud, he came out loaded with t-shirts, cuddly toys, chocolate, wine, cigarettes, vodka, disposable cameras and sunscreen.

      "You are never going to get that on the plane," Nics told him as they sat waiting for their flight in the first class lounge.

      "Of course I will," said Spud reassuringly as he tried to shove a cuddly toy that was determined to escape back into the already bursting-at-the-seams plastic bag.

      Chas had loaded up a plate with the free buffet that was provided and was shovelling it down with both hands. Nics looked at him disapprovingly, and he just grinned at her. With the hand not currently occupied with shovelling food into his mouth he indicated Sam and the ducks, who were also taking advantage of the free food. The ducks were happily pecking away at pastries, while Sam was enjoying a rather large steak, served blue.

      "Bing-bong. Would Mr Presley, recently arrived from Memphis, please pick up the white courtesy telephone."

      A stewardess-person appeared smoothly at Nics' side.

      "Would madam care for some champagne?"

      Nics bit her lip in indecision. It was all too easy to get seduced by all this luxury...

      "Oh, alright then... but just the one."

      She looked out the window as she sipped from her glass of champagne. A movement caught her eye and she switched her focus from outside to what was reflected in the window. A little brown mouse twitched its nose at her, and she quickly looked away in shock. When she looked back, only her own reflection stared back at her. She sighed with relief, the mouse was gone. She downed the champagne quickly and requested another. It was her imagination, she told herself. The mouse hadn't really winked at her.

      On the other side of the lounge a woman in a very low-cut dress was arguing with a steward about the quality of caviar that was to be fed to her pet toy poodle. Nics sneezed, and the steward dropped his tray. The poodle didn't seem to mind the new arrangement of his food on the floor, and hoovered it up with gusto.

      Chas decided that the gentlemen's toilets attached to the first class lounge had to be the epitome of luxury. Not only were there the usual facilities, there was also a barber on hand for any quick shaves/haircuts that might be required. There were full showers, with courtesy fluffy white towels and bathrobes, even a sauna and a hot tub and a person who'd shine your shoes for you while you waited and read the freshly pressed and still warm papers.

      He was washing his hands when something odd about the mirror in front of him caught his eye. He'd just seen his reflection blink.

      He blinked in surprise. His reflection started to raise its hand up to touch the glass about half a second before he did, and blinked. Chas blinked again, and then went through a wide range of facial expressions in an attempt to figure out what was going on.

      "Cool," he said to himself. "A mirror that shows you five seconds in the future."

      "Did you say something sir?" asked the very anxious attendant outside.

      "Nothing - never mind!" Chas called back, with perhaps a bit more force than was necessary. There was something slimy about the attendant that just bugged him.

      He saw the mouse in the mirror before it jumped up onto the countertop. It twitched its whiskers at him, and proceeded to sing, in a very high pitched voice, "Fly me to the moon".

      Chas applauded politely when it finished the song. It squeaked at him and tugged gently on his shirtsleeve.

      "What?" asked Chas.

      The mouse ever so gently and slowly started to climb up the arm of Chas' shirt.

      "You want to come along?" he asked.

      The mouse squeaked again in what could only be the affirmative.

      "Ok," said Chas. "But you've got to stay hidden. Nics is a bit scared of mice."

      In response the mouse dove down inside Chas' jumper, and settled quite happily in the breast pocket of his shirt.

      Chas took a final look in the mirror. His reflection had already gone.

      When it came time to board their plane, the three humans, the dog and the four ducks got directions to the gate, which seemed to involve walking down lots of twisty passages that looked all alike. But at the end of all of this was a door, leading out onto a very quiet, one might almost say deserted section of landing strip. And parked on said bit of landing strip was the most peculiar plane any of the humans had ever seen.

      Instead of the usual fixed wing aircraft, which, you have to admit, do look very odd indeed when you're not used to them, this flying machine was built after the form of a very large bird. It was made out of metal, and instead of eyes there were windows for the pilots to look out of. The body was one smooth shape, while the wings looked like they were feathered, with the feathers made out of very light, very strong steel. There were steps leading up to the side of its neck, and a long row of typical aircraft style windows along its body.

      It was painted white, with a red and gold stripe down the side of it.

      Sam led the way up the steps, followed by the ducks. They didn't bother to climb; instead they stretched their wings out and flew up, with the poor duck who'd been taped finding it a bit harder than the others. The humans followed, Chas staring in fascination at the machine that they were about to travel in.

      First class was very luxurious indeed. But inside the craft it looked boringly like a normal airplane, seats all facing forward, with the fold down trays and in-flight magazines.

      They went through the usual pre-flight talk - "in the event of a sudden loss of cabin pressure blah blah blah blah..." Chas had buried his nose in the in-flight magazine, searching for as much information about the plane as he could. Nics was fussing after the duck that had been taped up, and looked like it wasn't feeling very well. She made sure it was as comfortable as possible, getting blankets from the stewardess to make it a nest. The duck tolerated all these ministrations with good grace, then stuck its head under its wing and went to sleep.

      Spud was gawping at everything, the other passengers, the in-flight magazines and the stewardesses (all nicely dressed in a conservative red and gold uniform and all drop dead gorgeous). He bounced around in his seat pushing buttons at random, until one of the stewardesses had to come over and tell him, with a very nice smile and in a very patient tone of voice, that the captain had switched on the seatbelt sign, so would he mind sitting down and not pressing any more buttons thankyouverymuch.

      Suitably chastened, he slumped in his seat, brightening enough to ask:

     

      "Have you got a lighter?"

      The stewardess smiled even more brightly and said:

      "I'm sorry sir, this is a no smoking flight."

      Spud watched her smugly sashay down the aisle and sighed. He craned his neck to get a better view of the passengers across the aisle. Was that really Mahatma Ghandi?

      His head snapped back into position abruptly as the plane leaped into the air with one enormous, sick-making jerk. Fumbling in the seat pocket in front of him, he grabbed the air sickness bag.

      The plane flew on unconcerned through the clouds, counting its way across the Atlantic in giant wing beats.

SAOS: Chapter Eighteen (again): The Lion and the Unicorn, or, Conspiracies Grow Like Weeds.

      Sam left shortly after the sound of splashing and badly mangled pop songs were heard coming from the bathroom. Nics couldn't think of a message to give him to tell either the silversmith or his master, so she just told him that the messages had been received and understood. Then, making sure the locket and mother-of-pearl oval were safely locked in her jewellery box, she went to bed.

      When Nics opened the door to let Sam out, she didn't notice that down in the gutter by the road, was a very small mouse body. A mouse with a tiny corner of envelope still caught tight in its little teeth.

      Spud hung around the living room, whistling idly to himself, looking for his lighter and taking occasional bites out of the chocolate Big Ben. The television had given up on the Antiques Roadshow omnibus, and was now showing camel racing, live from Saudi Arabia. He switched off abruptly after a flying inflatable banana was shown bouncing through the crowd.

      The next morning Nics got up to work like usual. But she was back home again an hour later, with melted snow on the shoulders of her coat and shaking her head in bewilderment.

      "It's the damndest thing," she said to Spud, who'd fallen asleep on the living room sofa again. "No one could get into work. Freak localised snowstorm."

      "In June?!" said Spud incredulously.

      "They're saying it's all to do with global warming. Or maybe marsh gas. On the plus side though, it's a day off work with pay," she said, looking cheerful.

      Chas chose that moment to stagger downstairs, looking like he’d not so much dressed as thrown clothes on and partially missed. He made a beeline for the kettle, answering all inquiries in monosyllables until he'd made and downed three cups of coffee in rapid succession.

      "What's up with you?" asked Nics.

      "Didn't sleep, bad dreams," Chas grumbled.

      "If you didn't sleep, how did you have bad dreams?" asked Spud.

      Chas growled at him, and Spud decided that there was something very urgent that he had to do up in his room.

      The doorbell rang. Amazingly enough given the amount of traffic that had been tromping its way up to their door for the past few days, this was the first time that morning. And it was past ten o'clock.

      Nics went to open it. It wasn't a pizza deliveryman either.

      On the doorstep stood a petite middle-aged woman with short brown hair. She wore jeans and a white buttoned shirt and carried a small rucksack slung over one shoulder. A gold heraldic lion broach with a sparkling ruby eye was very out of place pinned to her neat, but otherwise boring coat. The backpack was squirming slightly.

      "Hi," she said. "I'm Barbra Allen. I’ve been sent around to collect something?"

      "Sure, from the Agency, right?" said Nics. "Come in. Would you like some coffee, or something to drink?"

      "No, thank you," said Barbra.

      Nics showed her into the living room.

      "If you'll excuse me a minute," she said to Barbra, "I'll just go fetch the others."

      Chas was looking a bit more human, though ever so slightly wired on coffee. Spud stuck his head around his bedroom door, looking very dishevelled.

      "I'll be with you in a moment," he said, and pulled his head back behind the door again.

      "But Spud, we need you to identify this woman!" cried Nics through the closed door. "For Christ's sake, you're the sodding secret agent around here, not us!"

      No reply. She stomped down the stairs again in bad humour.

      Chas was already in the living room, staring intently at Barbra with a vaguely puzzled look. She took it very calmly, her dark blue eyes placid and undisturbed.

      Nics shuddered, like a duck had just walked over her grave. There was something wrong about that woman.

      "So," said Barbra. "Let's cut to the chase, as I'm sure you're both very busy people. Where is the locket?"

      "If you don't mind," said Chas, "we'd like to ask you a few questions first."

      "Of course," she said, making herself comfortable in the armchair. "What would you like to know?"

      "What can you tell us about the locket?" asked Chas.

      "Well," she said, "if it's the same locket that we think it is, then it belonged to April Upton-Baxter, our most valued agent. She did a lot of work for us during the war and was really something special when it came to our more covert operations."

      "Covert operations?" asked Chas.

      "An example," Barbra said, touching her fingertips together in front of her face and taking on a lecturing tone of voice.

"Her last mission, the mission where she lost the locket in the first place, was to a secret base in Germany, where Nazi scientists were working on a top secret weapon that could have changed the entire path that the war took. As far as we know, she stole the blueprints of the weapon, destroyed the lab and what research she couldn't take with her and escaped with them on a submarine to America. Unfortunately, the submarine ran into a U-boat pack and was destroyed. April managed to escape, but the locket went down with the ship. It wasn't very long before she herself vanished in mysterious circumstances.

      "There you go," Barbra said, "the history of the locket as we know it."

      "But why is the locket so important?" challenged Chas.

      "Because," said Barbra, without any touch of irritation or aggravation, "we believe that she hid the plans for the secret weapon inside the locket. Or at least there may be a clue in it as to the location of the plans, because she might have hidden them somewhere before fleeing.

      "May I see the locket?" she asked again.

      "Hang on just a second," said Nics. Shooting a quick glance at Chas, she got up and left the room. Chas waited a moment and followed her, catching up with her on the stairs.

      "I don't trust her," he hissed. Nics nodded in agreement.

      “There’s something not quite right about her,” she whispered.

“Spud!!" she yelled up the stairs. "Get your arse down here!"

      A muffled shout of "hang on a minute" came through the door of Spud's room.

      Nics went up and got the locket, leaving the mother-of-pearl oval where it was. On impulse, Chas grabbed it, and shoved it far down into the arm of his cast, pulling his shirtsleeve down to cover it.

      Nics and Chas were just about to go back into the living room when Spud came galloping down the stairs.

      "Wait! You guys!" he called breathless.

      Nics froze with her hand on the door handle, turning towards him.

      "This just got faxed through," Spud said, handing Chas a sheet of bright pink paper.

      The message was terse and very brief.

      "Imperative that you keep locket and contents safe and leave area immediately. Help is on the way."

      It was signed J. Bradford (deceased).

      The living room door opened up behind them, and Barbra stood in the doorway, holding under one arm a duck with its bill taped shut, and its wings and feet taped tight to its body. Her other hand held a gun, complete with silencer, pointed firmly at Nics' back.

      Quick as a flash Nics shoved the locket into the waistband of her trousers.

      "Oh dear," Barbra said, her eyes glinting hard, like steel. "And I was so hoping that you would believe my little story. Turn around, slowly. And all three of you, into the living room, now!"

      She waved her gun at them, and stepped back. Carefully, the three young people shuffled their way into the living room, Spud in particular looking very scared indeed.

      "Sit down," she ordered them. "And keep your hands where I can see them."

      "Now," she said, carefully placing the duck on the coffee table. "Hand over the locket."

      "No," said Chas, and Nics looked at him in surprise, because there was pure steel in his voice.

      "So sure?" Barbra asked, in a voice so sweet that it could cause cavities. "What's the locket to you, anyway?"

      "It's mine, that's what," said Chas.

      Nics and Spud were staring at him like he had gone completely mad.

      "For God's sake, give her the stupid bloody locket!!" hissed Spud.

      "Some secret agent you are," retorted Chas.

      "There's someone with a gun pointed at us, and you're being stupid!!" cried Spud.

      Nics just bit her lip, the locket tight and cold against her waist.

      "Shut up, the pair of you," said Barbra, her voice icy. "You have one more chance before I start making a rather bloody mess in here. I can always kill you and take the locket from your corpses."

      "You won't find it - it's hidden," said Nics, but it was pure bravado, and she knew it.

      "Really?" asked Barbra, one eyebrow arched. "We'll just see about that. And just to show I really mean business..." She levelled the gun at the duck, whose eyes rolled in terror as it squirmed on the coffee table.

      Several things then proceeded to happen all at once. Barbra's finger tightened on the trigger. Spud dove for the ground. Chas made a lunge for the duck. And Nics sneezed and the living room window exploded inward.

      Barbra flinched, and the silent shot missed, ploughing into the carpeted floor. Three ducks came flying in through the window, straight into her face, knocking her backwards and off balance.

      Spud rose up from the floor like an avenging angel and walloped her one in the mouth. She staggered back, slipping on the dried egg and mango chutney stain on the carpet, to land heavily with her head cracking against the wall.

      Chas grabbed the tied up duck like a rugby ball and ran out of the living room, Nics on his heels. The three attack ducks landed on Barbra's face, pecking her viciously.

      Spud looked around, mainly to see if anyone had witnessed his moment of fighting glory.

      "Hey, wait for me!!" he called after the other two.

      Chas slammed open the front door and was down the drive, running like he was back on the rugby pitch. Nics followed, clutching the locket tight against her skin.

      A loud, urgent bark sounded from the corner.

      "Chas!" yelled Nics, "it's Sam!"

      And sure enough it was, and he was standing in front of a black taxi cab, which had the door open and the engine running.

      Chas altered his speed and direction, and dove into the taxi. Nics, Sam and Spud all piled in after him, slamming the open door shut.

      "Why aren't you moving?" cried Spud to the taxi driver, when all four were in.

      "Wait!" said Nics, hastily winding down the passenger window. "They're on their way!"

      The three attack ducks flew in formation out the front door, and into the taxi through the open window.

      No sooner had they landed inside than the taxi driver took off in a squeal of rubber, and they were away.

      Nics very carefully started peeling the tape off the captured duck, making soothing noises to it, while the other three ducks looked on anxiously. Chas tapped the glass separating the driver from the passengers.

      "'Scuse me, mate, but where are we going?"

      There was no reply, so Chas reached through the gap in the glass that was used to hand over payment for fares, and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

      "Bloody hell!" He recoiled violently.

      "What?" asked Spud.

      "The taxi driver's made of rubber!" Chas exclaimed.

      One of the three attack ducks looked at him balefully and quacked.

      "I'm sorry, I don't speak duck," Chas said to it. "Where the hell are we going?!?!"

      "To the airport it looks like," said Spud, who had been paying attention to the road signs.

      "Why the hell are we going to the airport?!" yelled Chas.

      Sam picked up an envelope in his mouth, and gave it to Chas. Chas tore it open to reveal four airplane tickets and a small note.

      "Oh," he said, somewhat quieter.

      "What?" asked Nics, who had managed to remove all the tape from the captured duck without taking too many feathers with it. The duck looked at her and quacked in gratitude, before waddling rather stiffly over to its comrades.

      Chas handed the note over to her wordlessly.

      "Oh," she said.

      "What?" said Spud, bouncing up and down with impatience. "Does it tell us why we're going to the airport."

      "We're going to New York," said Nics.

      "That's nice," said Spud. "I've never been to New York before."

      Chas was fuming, staring moodily out of the window.

      "Does it say why we're going to New York?" asked Spud.

      "We're going to see a man about a clock," said Nics.