I nodded weakly as I could see where this was going and I didn't need a map to give me directions.
'I think I now need to utilise the resources of a more accomplished craftsman to reacquire the lamp and you will probably not be surprised when I tell you that I have chosen you, Mr Pigg.'
I opened my mouth to object with whatever reasons I could think of but before I could even come up with 'Scintillating Excuse Number One to Avoid Locating a Stolen Lamp', I was interrupted.
'I will, of course, not tolerate any refusal on your part,' said the voice with an uncanny sense of antic.i.p.ation. 'My need for this lamp is far greater than your need to refuse and I can change you into anything I choose should you prove to be difficult.'
Now I was getting paranoid. There was a definite trend here and it wasn't one I was particularly enamoured with. Why was everyone suddenly so intent on hiring me and, when I expressed any kind of reluctance, quite prepared to use very effective threats of bodily harm to compel me to agree to work for them? Was I really that good, or was I just that unlucky? Was it possible for anyone to be that unlucky? Maybe I just had that kind of face.
Whatever the reason, it now looked like I had two clients, both of whom wanted the same thing and one of them was now telling me I had to steal back an already stolen lamp from one of our most ruthless criminals or face an unpleasant, but as yet undefined, alternative. With my imagination, however, I could think of quite a few 'alternatives', none of which were remotely attractive and none of which I particularly wanted to face. It looked like I was about to add breaking and entering to my already extensive set of skills.
'OK,' I said, resigning myself to the inevitable. 'What do I have to do?'
The whirring sound increased in volume and a large amount of paper was ejected from one of the printers at the high-tech end of the room. From what I could see, it was building plans of some kind.
'Blueprints of Madame Edna's building,' confirmed the voice. 'My understanding is that the lamp is in a room on the third floor, securely under lock and key. Unfortunately, security in the building is, by definition, rather tight. This means, of course, that it will be difficult to find a means of access that won't be guarded in some way. I, however, have a high degree of confidence that, if undetected access can be found, then you are just the pig to find it. I would suggest that, if you are successful, you should reflect on the options available to you and, perhaps, the recovery of the lamp may not be as difficult as it first appears.'
Great, now he was talking in riddles as well. I grabbed the sheaf of papers and looked at the ceiling.
'In the off chance that I do manage to get the lamp back, how do I contact you again?'
'You don't,' came the reply. 'I shall contact you.'
'Great,' I said, with a considerable lack of enthusiasm. 'Can I go now?'
There was another loud bang and a.s.sociated white light. When my head cleared I found myself back outside the Blarney Tone, staring into Benny's ugly mug. As Messrs Lewis and Carroll were still in close proximity it mitigated against his taking advantage of my disorientation. When asked, they confirmed that I had disappeared from right in front of their eyes, had been absent for about ten minutes, and then reappeared in exactly the same spot.
This had been one of the strangest days of my life and I should know; I've had quite a few. I decided it was time to cut my losses and plan for tomorrow before things got any weirder.
I turned to Benny. 'Benny, stick to the day job and give up burglary.' I paused for a moment and reconsidered. 'On second thoughts give up the day job as well. You suck at it. And while we're on the subject, please don't ever let me see you within a mile of me, or my a.s.sociates here may play with your neck again.'
Benny went pale but nodded in agreement.
'Very good, Benny; you're a quick study.'
He disappeared up the street so fast I was impressed with his powers of recovery.
Satisfied that they were no longer required, Lewis and Carroll disappeared back into the darkness.
Clutching the plans I'd been given, I trudged slowly home to formulate some way that would allow me to enter Edna's base of operations, steal back the lamp from under her very prominent witch's nose, escape undetected and return it to one of its alleged owners, while trying to keep the other alleged owner from doing something unpleasant to me.
Easy!.
8.
A Brief Interlude in which Harry Doesn't Get.
Threatened or Beaten up by Anyone.
In the relative safety of my apartment I finally managed to find some time to consider the case.
None of it seemed to make any sense. The original theft was clearly an inside job because of the in-depth knowledge of the security systems, but I didn't figure either of the two possible suspects (Gruff or Aladdin) for it. Aladdin had no obvious need to steal his own lamp and was wealthy enough to suggest that an insurance scam wasn't high on his list of priorities. Gruff seemed to be too loyal to his employer to consider stealing the lamp and was probably only too aware of the likely consequences if he was found to have been responsible. There was n.o.body else in Aladdin's employ that had either the smarts or the access, so where did that leave me?
Well, I'd (sort of) met someone who claimed to have masterminded the job even if I didn't have the faintest idea who he was either. He seemed to fall into the criminal megalomaniac category Boy Blue had referred to, as he had all the tricks of the trade: deep dramatic voice, an impressive HQat least what I saw of itand a strong desire to show off. All he needed to complete the effect was a white Persian cat to sit in his lap and be petted constantlya.s.suming he actually had a lap.
Mind you, having used Benny as the actual thief also demonstrated a certain fallibility on his part. Maybe he wasn't as all-powerful as he thought. Of course, he was powerful enough to compel me into reacquiring the lamp for hima task I had to take somewhat seriously or suffer embarra.s.sing, if not downright unpleasant, consequences.
Heaving a sigh of such resignation that it would have evoked sympathy from a zombie, I resigned myself to my lot, rolled out the plans and studied them as best I could. I didn't know how Mr Big (I know, I know, tremendously cliched but I couldn't keep calling him by the more pretentious and even more unoriginal 'mysterious stranger' moniker now, could I?) had gotten the plans but they were incredibly detailed. Were there any premises in Grimmtown he didn't have an in-depth knowledge of?
The plans, however, confirmed what I had already suspected: all access to Edna's residence was controlled by yet more sophisticated and, no doubt, very effective security systems. Complementing these were somewhat less sophisticatedbut no less effectiveguards who were, in all probability, armed with a variety of interesting instruments of pain. The only way I was going in the front door was as the main ingredient in a Chinese takeawayand that was a step that I was, understandably, very reluctant to take.
The more I studied the plans, the more unlikely the prospect of recovering the lamp became. I could see no way in that avoided me being detected and if I couldn't get in then my career as Grimmtown's foremost detective would come to a premature end.
I was about to ball the plans up and fling them in the garbage when I noticed a small tunnel I hadn't seen before. At first glance, it looked like it led into one of the lower levels of the house from under the street. Upon closer examination, it became clear that it didn't lead into the house as such. Rather, its primary function was to take some unpleasant material away from the house. Yes, you've guessed it; if I was to successfully enter the house undetected, I was going to have to do it via the sewage outlet. Yet another lucky break for me, eh? And if I actually managed to get into the building, I still had to navigate my way to where the lamp was kept, find some way of taking it and make my way back out againall without alerting anybody. No problem!
Ah well, may as well be hung for a boar as for a piglet. All it needed was a little bit of careful preparation, a ma.s.sive slice of good luck, no one to flush suddenly and I might yet get out of this smelling of roses (or possibly not, bearing in mind what I was going to have to crawl through).
I reached for the phone as, once more, I was going to have to utilise the resources of another of my many contactsand I was well connected. There may have been a thinness on the ground when it came to my informants but, when I needed to lay my hands on 'stuff, I knew some people who knew some people who could source anything: from doork.n.o.bs to a tactical nuclear warhead.
Ezekiel Clubfoote was the man to go to for all your gumshoe shopping requirements. If he didn't have it, or couldn't get his hands on it, then chances were it didn't exist or you never really needed it in the first place. He had been an exceedingly poor shoemaker (from both a finance and quality perspective) some years back. Business had, consequently, been pretty bad but, on the brink of total ruin, he had allegedly made some deal with elves that rescued his career. Apparently, whatever raw material he left in the shop at close of business each day would have been transformed into high quality footwear by the next morning. Suddenly his shoes and, by extension, his services were in popular demand and in Grimmtown being in popular demand made you a very wealthy person indeed.
Not one to miss an opportunity, he experimented with leaving other materials out for the elves each night. No matter what he left out, the next morning he'd be presented with a finished product of some description. Put out some clayget high-cla.s.s porcelain. Leave some wood: an antique chair. From such small beginnings are large warehouses of equipmentand a thriving distribution companymade.
I dialled and waited. I didn't have to wait long.
'Yes?' came a very cultured voice from the other end of the phone.
'Zeke, it's Harry. I need something from your elves.'
'Of course you do. Big or small?'
'Not too big this time; I only need a lock pick, a wetsuit and an Orc costume.'
Considering the last time I had contacted him, I had looked for infrared gla.s.ses, four kangaroos, a machete and a rocket launcher (remind me to tell you sometime), a lock pick wasn't too excessive a demand.
'An Orc costume?' I imagined his eyes opening wide in surprise. 'There isn't really any such thing. It's more of a collection of smelly furs and skins held together by dirt and an occasional chain. You don't so much acquire one as have bits of one stick to you after rolling around in a rubbish tip.'
Considering what happened during my initial encounter with Benny, I knew what he meant.
'And what kind of lock will you be picking? And, no, I don't want to know the personal detailsjust the technical ones,' said Zeke.
'Well, there's the problem,' I replied. You see, I'm not really sure. I suspect that the door I have to open will more than likely be locked, but I have no idea how sophisticated this lock may be.'
'Hmmm, without knowing the details, I suspect that you'll need the Masterblaster. It's so good, a man, or indeed a pig, with no fingers could open any lock with it. It's a "Choice of the Month" in Lock Pickers Ill.u.s.trated and it doesn't come more highly recommended that that, let me tell you.'
I rolled my eyes upwards. He did so like his little sales pitches.
'Fine, fine. How soon can I have them?'
'Give me an hour. I need to make sure it's in my next run so I'll organise to have them dropped off to you as soon as I get them.'
'Thanks, Zeke. I owe you.'
'Yes, you do. And I'll collect.' Zeke hung up, leaving me with the dial tone for company.
While I waited for the equipment, I studied the plans some more. Edna's outlet (if you'll forgive the phrase) connected to a main sewer that serviced the entire block where her headquarters was located. Access to this larger sewer could be gained via a number of manholes; I just needed to find one that wasn't too public and just far enough away to avoid being seen by whatever surveillance systems she had in operation. Mind you, that was the easy part. After that I had to make my way up a very narrow tunnel and hope that the exit at the other end was a little larger than a U-bend.
In the short term, personal hygiene would be a thing of the past and a shower very much an aspirational goal until I had what I came fora.s.suming I managed to get that far in the first place.
I can't say I was particularly looking forward to the next few hours.
9.
Flushed with Success.
Of course, no matter how well I plan these jobs, there's always something. Well, have you ever tried to open a manhole using trotters? Let me tell you, it's not easy. For one thing, it's hard to get a grip on the rim. For another, manhole covers are heavy and, thirdly, I was on my own. Lastly, I was wearing a bright blue wetsuit (although it was so worn and full of holes it could be more accurately described as a dampsuit) under a foul-smelling collection of rags that could probably have represented the height of fashion from an Orc's perspective. All this, and I had to try not to appear too conspicuous as well. As a result, by the time I finally got the drain open (with the help of a tyre iron), my wetsuit had even more holes, my back hurt, and my skin was a darker shade of pink than usual from my exertions.
As I levered the manhole cover off, I lost my grip on it but, thanks to my quick reflexes and uncanny sense of self-preservation, I didn't lose any body parts as it fell heavily (and with a very loud clang) to the ground. Fortunately, as Edna's stronghold was in an area where the occasional loud noise wasn't an undue cause for concern, it didn't appear to have attracted any attention.
I shone my torch down the manhole and looked in carefully. At first glance, the sewers didn't look (or smell) too unpleasant. In actual fact they smelled better than me. This, I suspected, was largely because of the recent heavy rains, which had run off via storm drains and into the sewage system, effectively washing most of the unpleasant stuff away.
Now that was something to be thankful for.
Grabbing the top rung of a metal ladder that led from the street down into the sewers, I slowly and carefully made my descent. Arriving safely at the bottom I took my bearings with the help of the plans.
I was in a large tunnel that stretched off into the darkness in both directions. Smaller tunnels opened out from the walls as far as I could see but none, I was glad to note, seemed to be active. The only evidence of any discharge other than rainwater from these tunnels was a trail of green sc.u.m that dripped downwards towards the floor of the main sewer. Although I was ankle deep in liquid, it appeared to be mostly water. Then again, I had no intention of examining it too closely. What I didn't know, wouldn't hurt me.
I had a quick look at the plans, figured I had to go right and slowly made my way up the tunnel trying to keep the sloshing to a minimumjust in case. Although I wasn't entirely sure which of the smaller outlets led into Edna's HQ, it didn't take me long to figure it out. Not surprisingly, it was the one with the large securely-padlocked grille that covered the entire tunnel entrance. After a few pulls it was evident that this grille wasn't going to come away from the wall that easily.
'OK Harry,' I said to myself as I reached for the lock pick. 'Let's see how good the Masterblaster is.'
In fairness, I haven't had much cause to pick locks in the past. Any time I've had to 'enter' a residence without legally coming in via the front door, I've found that the old credit card trick so beloved of TV detectives actually worked. It was, therefore, no surprise that jiggling little iron pins in a keyhole wasn't quite as simple as it first appeared. No matter how I tweaked, twisted and pulled at the lock, it stubbornly refused to open. Even reverting to Plan Bswearing at the grilledidn't appear to have any effect either.
In total frustration I hit out at the lock with my torch. To my surprise the lock broke and fell to the ground in pieces. Years of rust and an application of brute strength had succeeded where subtlety and bad language had failed.
Of course, it wouldn't be a Harry Pigg case without something bad happening as well. In this instance, the breaking of the lock had also resulted in the unfortunate breaking of the torch. I now had to navigate my way through a sewage outlet and into Edna's lair in total darkness, using only my sense of touch (and possibly smell).
I felt for the grille and dragged it away from the entrance. Aware that I was now possibly within earshot of one of Edna's more alert henchbeasts, I struggled to keep it from falling to the groundwhich I managed to do at the expense of a large tear in my wetsuit and a pulled muscle in my shoulder. As if my job wasn't difficult enough already!
At least I was able to use the bars of the grille as a mini-ladder to lift myself into the smaller outlet. My shoulder objected strongly to being forced to help in dragging me up and into the tunnel but I managed to pull myself up without doing any additional damage.
This new tunnel was a tight squeeze and I was forced to crawl along, rubbing against the walls and roof as I did so. It was much narrower, much smellier and showed very distinct signs of much more frequent usage. Unpleasant substances stuck to my back and legs and I had no great urge to investigate what they actually were. In an effort to take my mind off my current situation, I pictured myself in a hot shower liberally applying sweet-smelling soap to my body. This seemed to work and I was wallowing in the imaginary sensation until my reverie was broken by a gurgling noise from somewhere up ahead.
'Oh no,' I said anxiously. 'Please don't let it be someone flushing. Anything but that.'
The gurgling grew noisier and it was joined by a loud flowing sound as something large and liquid made its way down towards me.
Frantically, I tried to reverse back down but in my panic I only succeeded in wedging myself tightly into the tunnel. Firmly stuck and unable to move, I could only close my eyes and mouth as a noxious brown liquid washed over (and under and around) me, covering me liberally in a foul-smelling residue.
Coughing and spluttering (and now smelling even worse than before), I tried to wipe my face clean but only succeeded in spreading the vile substance around even more. As there was no point in going back now, I slowly twisted and turned until I had forced myself free and gradually made my way up the tunnel again. Some things just shouldn't happen to a hard-working detective and getting liberally covered in raw sewage was most certainly one of them.
As I crawled slowly forward I saw a thin crack of light shining faintly through the roof ahead. Eager for any way of getting out of the tunnel, I struggled on. To my intense relief, the light came from where the side of a square metal drain cover wasn't flush (no pun intended) to the edge of a manhole. Hoping that I could push the cover off, I wedged my back underneath it and pushed upwards with all that was left of my strength. Slowly but surely it lifted away and slid off my back gently onto the floor above.
Muscles howling in pain, I hauled myself up and carefully peered over the edge. I was looking at a dimly lit corridor. From the dust on the floor, it wasn't one that was used too often so, thankful for one lucky break, I heaved myself out of the sewer and lay on the ground panting heavily, stretching my knotted muscles and trying to get my breath back. Now all I had to do was find the room where the lamp was kept, if the plans were to be believed, and steal it back.
I took the building plans from inside my wetsuit where I had stored them for safekeeping. Although stained with sweat and effluent they had escaped the worst of the deluge so I was able to work out where I was without too much difficulty.
If I was reading the plans correctly, I appeared to be in a bas.e.m.e.nt. I just needed to make my way to the stairs at the end of the pa.s.sageway, go up four levels, find the room halfway down a long corridor and take the lamp. Of course, I had no idea exactly how well protected the room was but at least I now knew how to get there. Limping slightly, smelling heavily of unmentionable substances and groaning as quietly as I could, I struggled towards the stairs.
If walking caused some discomfort then climbing the stairs was an exercise in agony. Every step upwards jarred another aching limb or my torn muscle. I felt as though I'd been skinned and roasted over a roaring fire. Everything burned or stung in some respect after my tunnel experience and, with my luck, there was no obvious hope of easing this agony in the near future.
When I eventually dragged myself to the top of the stairs, all I wanted to do was lie down and be mothered. As there wasn't a mother to be seen in the vicinity and as lying down would probably result in me not getting back up again for probably quite a few months, I willed myself to go on and through the door.
Fortunately, the door wasn't locked, as I probably wouldn't have been able to bend down to try my luck at another lock-picking attempt. Opening the door slightly as quietly as I could, I peered down the corridor. It looked more used than the one I'd just left but there didn't appear to be anyone on guard that I could see. Pushing the door open just enough to squeeze through I squelched carefully down the corridor towards the next flight of stairs.
I managed to climb three flights before meeting anyone. On the third floor landing two henchOrcs were standing guard. Now the reason for my cunning disguise could be revealed. Most of Edna's troops were Orcsnot too smart and not too alert but very handy in a fight. Looking like them, although a trifle larger, I might be able to make my way around the building without being too obvious.
I was about to find out how convincing my costume was. Keeping my head down, I shuffled towards the guards. As I got close, they recoiled at the smell. Good, at least they wouldn't look too closely. It also appeared as though I actually smelled worse than they didwhich in itself was quite an achievement and something that, in other circ.u.mstances, I might have taken some (but not a lot of) pride in.
I knew some very basic Orcishwhich to all intents and purposes sounds like a flu-ridden gorilla strangling a hyenaso when they hailed me I muttered something along the lines of being required on the third floor in order to relieve a sentry there. At least that's what I think I said; I could have just as easily asked the sentries for some hot, b.u.t.tered toast and a gla.s.s of dragon's blood. Sometimes it was difficult to get those choking sounds just right. I must have been convincing (or smelly) enough, as they let me pa.s.s without examining me too carefully. Can't say I blame them. If I had been on sentry duty, I wouldn't have been too eager to examine me either.
I made my way up another, and hopefully last, flight of stairs. At the top I paused for breath and to give my long-suffering body some respite. A long corridor, covered in a luxurious red carpet, stretched out in front of me. Suits of armour lined the corridor, one beside each door. With one exception, all the doors were made of very ornate patterned wood. The exception was the door behind which, presumably, all Edna's interesting stuff was kept.
I walked up to it. It looked like a standard metal security door: grey, impregnable and securely locked. Heaving yet another of my many sighs of resignation, I took the lock pick from my pocket, cleaned it as best I could and began to jiggle the levers in the keyhole.
After ten minutes or so it had become clear that I was never going to add breaking and entering to my long list of skills. My efforts to pick the lock had resulted in very sore trotters, a rising sense of frustration and a door that steadfastly refused to be unlocked. Maybe I was doing something wrong or maybe it was just that the Masterblaster wasn't actually the state-of-the-art tool I had been promised. In any event, I suspected that hitting the door with whatever implement was to hand wouldn't be quite as successful as it had been down in the sewer. As I sweated and struggled, I became aware of a conversation from behind the door.
'How's he doing?' said a rough-sounding male voice.
'Not too good,' came the reply. 'He's been out there for a quite a while now and he still hasn't managed it.'
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