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.
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