drove away in a taxi, and no one who worked in Trottle Towers knew where they had gone.
The search for Raymond went on all that day and well into the next.
Everyone helped. The Ghosts of the Gump got in touch with the ghosts in all the other railway stations and soon there wasn’t a train which drew out of London without a spectre gliding down the carriages looking for a fat boy with a wobble in his walk and his even wobblier mother.
The mermaids and the water nymphs checked out the river boats in case the Trottles meant to escape by sea. The enchanter’s special pigeons flew the length and breadth of the land delivering notes to road workers and garage men who might have seen the Trottles’ car – and the train spotter called Brian (the one who got between the buffers and the 9.15 from Peterborough) sat all day by the computer at Heathrow, checking the passenger lists, though electricity is about the worst thing that can happen to a spectre’s ectoplasm.
Ben had not returned to school after Odge came for him. He’d asked the headmaster for the afternoon off and because he’d looked so peaky when he first came, the head had agreed.
‘Don’t come back till you’re properly well,’ he had said – and that was something he didn’t say to a lot of children.
But though Ben searched Trottle Towers for clues and tried to get what he could out of the servants, he too drew a blank. Mr Trottle had returned at lunchtime with a locksmith and told everyone that his wife and son would be away for a long time. And that was all that anybody could discover.
Ben’s first thought was that Mrs Trottle had taken Raymond to her home in Scotland, but one of the banshees, who came from Glasgow, telephoned the station master at Achnasheen and he swore there was no sign of the Trottles.
‘You’d notice them soon enough,’ he’d said, ‘with their posh kilts they’ve got no right to wear, and their bossy ways.’
The rescuers had returned to the summer house which now became the headquarters of the search. They had bought some blankets, and a primus and kettle, and some folding chairs – and Hans had painted up the notice saying PRIVATE: NO ADMITTANCE which blocked the path. Fortunately the Head Keeper was on holiday so nobody disturbed them, but just to make sure Gurkie had spoken to the bushes who grew so thick and tangled that anybody passing by could see nothing. She had planted out the beetroot from her hat because people did seem to stare rather, and to stop it being lonely she had made a vegetable patch from which huge leeks and lettuces erupted. And a pink begonia on the other side of the lake had made such a fuss because it wanted to be near her that she’d moved it so as to grow beside the wooden steps.
But even though she could feed everyone and make them comfortable, Gurkie still worried dreadfully and thought she should have been a fuath.
‘No, you shouldn’t, Gurkie,’ said Ben firmly. ‘You being a fuath, whatever that is, is a perfectly horrible idea and it wouldn’t have helped at all.’
Nor would he let the giant moan on because he hadn’t bopped and sacked the Prince.
‘Raymond’ll be found, I’m absolutely sure of it,’ said Ben.
Ben was changing, thought Odge; he was becoming someone to rely on. She watched as he put down a bowl of milk for the mistmaker. The animal had taken to lurching after Ben wherever he went and making offended noises when he wasn’t immediately scratched on the stomach or picked up and spoken to. There was going to be a fuss from the mistmaker when they had to go back and part from Ben, thought Odge, and she wondered whether she should kill Ben’s grandmother. Killing people was the sort of thing hags were meant to do but it had not been allowed on the Island and without any practice it was probably a bad idea.
But what mattered now was finding Raymond. All that afternoon, all the evening and well into the night, they searched and searched – the wizards and
The search for Raymond went on all that day and well into the next.
Everyone helped. The Ghosts of the Gump got in touch with the ghosts in all the other railway stations and soon there wasn’t a train which drew out of London without a spectre gliding down the carriages looking for a fat boy with a wobble in his walk and his even wobblier mother.
The mermaids and the water nymphs checked out the river boats in case the Trottles meant to escape by sea. The enchanter’s special pigeons flew the length and breadth of the land delivering notes to road workers and garage men who might have seen the Trottles’ car – and the train spotter called Brian (the one who got between the buffers and the 9.15 from Peterborough) sat all day by the computer at Heathrow, checking the passenger lists, though electricity is about the worst thing that can happen to a spectre’s ectoplasm.
Ben had not returned to school after Odge came for him. He’d asked the headmaster for the afternoon off and because he’d looked so peaky when he first came, the head had agreed.
‘Don’t come back till you’re properly well,’ he had said – and that was something he didn’t say to a lot of children.
But though Ben searched Trottle Towers for clues and tried to get what he could out of the servants, he too drew a blank. Mr Trottle had returned at lunchtime with a locksmith and told everyone that his wife and son would be away for a long time. And that was all that anybody could discover.
Ben’s first thought was that Mrs Trottle had taken Raymond to her home in Scotland, but one of the banshees, who came from Glasgow, telephoned the station master at Achnasheen and he swore there was no sign of the Trottles.
‘You’d notice them soon enough,’ he’d said, ‘with their posh kilts they’ve got no right to wear, and their bossy ways.’
The rescuers had returned to the summer house which now became the headquarters of the search. They had bought some blankets, and a primus and kettle, and some folding chairs – and Hans had painted up the notice saying PRIVATE: NO ADMITTANCE which blocked the path. Fortunately the Head Keeper was on holiday so nobody disturbed them, but just to make sure Gurkie had spoken to the bushes who grew so thick and tangled that anybody passing by could see nothing. She had planted out the beetroot from her hat because people did seem to stare rather, and to stop it being lonely she had made a vegetable patch from which huge leeks and lettuces erupted. And a pink begonia on the other side of the lake had made such a fuss because it wanted to be near her that she’d moved it so as to grow beside the wooden steps.
But even though she could feed everyone and make them comfortable, Gurkie still worried dreadfully and thought she should have been a fuath.
‘No, you shouldn’t, Gurkie,’ said Ben firmly. ‘You being a fuath, whatever that is, is a perfectly horrible idea and it wouldn’t have helped at all.’
Nor would he let the giant moan on because he hadn’t bopped and sacked the Prince.
‘Raymond’ll be found, I’m absolutely sure of it,’ said Ben.
Ben was changing, thought Odge; he was becoming someone to rely on. She watched as he put down a bowl of milk for the mistmaker. The animal had taken to lurching after Ben wherever he went and making offended noises when he wasn’t immediately scratched on the stomach or picked up and spoken to. There was going to be a fuss from the mistmaker when they had to go back and part from Ben, thought Odge, and she wondered whether she should kill Ben’s grandmother. Killing people was the sort of thing hags were meant to do but it had not been allowed on the Island and without any practice it was probably a bad idea.
But what mattered now was finding Raymond. All that afternoon, all the evening and well into the night, they searched and searched – the wizards and
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