TALES FROM WITCHWAY WOOD: Crash 'n' Bang (11 page)

To his relief, Bob didn’t bear a grudge. He said he quite understood about the fliers, always difficult to shift, all water under the bridge, etc., etc. He smiled and nodded and treated TT like a valued customer. What did sir require? A band van? Of course. What were sir’s exact requirements? How many seats? What colour? Anything written on the side? Brand new and flashy or old and funky, with a history? Fluffy dice? Radio? Roof rack, perhaps? No problem, sir was in luck, there was one just like it in the warehouse. If sir would just excuse him, he’d drive it round. Back in two shakes.

TT couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw it. The van was GREAT! It was old and beat-up, like a proper band van should be. It had six seats at the front and plenty of space at the back for the equipment. The outside was painted a dirty black with huge red letters rising dramatically out of orange flames. The letters screamed:

THE WITCHWAY RHYTHM BOYS –

THE TOUR!

ORGANISED BY MOONMAD MANAGEMENT

It had a roof rack. The number plate read RBOYZ 1. The exhaust pipe was hanging off in time-honoured band van fashion. Most of the lights were on the blink. There were fluffy dice. There was a radio. It was just the right combination of flashy and grotty. It was utterly perfect.

‘No money down, you say?’ asked TT.

‘Why, no!’ cried Bob, shocked.

‘I’ll take it,’ said TT happily. ‘Er – and while I’m about it, I’m after a few other things. I’m going on a trip, you see. I’ve just started managing an up-and-coming Crash ’n’ Bang band and we’re entering for a competition and about to become millionaires.’

‘Is that so? Well, congratulations, sir. I’m sure you’ll make a go of it.’

‘Thanks. I’m keen to do it in style.’

‘That’s the only way,’ agreed Helpful Bob. ‘Top-rate hotel. Money no object. Little luxuries. Slap-up meals. You only live once, eh?’

‘Absolutely!’ cried TT. ‘Trouble is, although I’ll soon be a millionaire, I’m a bit short of cash right now.’

‘Ah,’ said Helpful Bob. He reached under the counter and brought out a small rectangular card. It was gold coloured. It caught the light. ‘Now, I wonder if you’ve seen one of these? I only offer them to valued customers. I call it a Magic Card.’

Bob explained all about the Magic Card. Apparently, you could buy what you liked with no actual money changing hands. This was great, because TT didn’t have any actual money. A Magic Card was exactly what he needed.

As soon as it was in his hot little hand, TT used it to buy a few other things as well. Driving gloves. A camera. A gold watch. A baseball cap with MANAGER written on it. It was all good, but the van was the best. He drove it home, singing all the way. He spent the rest of the day working through the other items on his list – packing T-shirts and hunting for sticky tape to attach Gareth’s bowl to the dashboard and so on – but kept breaking off to run outside and admire the van, which was without doubt the most exciting thing he had ever purchased.

And now it was the following day and he was off to show it to the Boys. But first, he had a mystery passenger to pick up. That’d be another surprise for them! Then in no time at all he’d be out of the Wood and joining the main road to Sludgehaven, where the Boys would be waiting. And the new singer, hopefully. TT was looking forward to hearing how she was getting on. Shame about the hair, of course – and the frock, and the whole Werewolf girl thing – but the voice made up for her deficiencies in the image department.

‘Woo-hoo!’ shouted TT again, as a wheel went down a pothole and the van lurched, causing a small tidal wave in Gareth’s bowl. ‘Sludgehaven, here we come!’

‘Oh my!’ gasped Sludgegooey as the van came hurtling round the corner in a cloud of grey smoke and drew up alongside in a cacophony of honking horn and squealing brakes. There came a series of loud bangs from the exhaust pipe as the engine revved and roared. ‘What in the world is that?’ She clutched Filth’s arm and pointed theatrically.

‘Wow!’ said Filth. ‘The band van, man! That is something
else
!’

‘No, it’s definitely a van,’ said Sludgegooey.

The pair of them stood on the grass verge beside the road, surrounded by Filth’s boxed-up drums. That was his only luggage apart from a small backpack containing a couple of cheese sandwiches, a comb, a toothbrush, a bottle of black nail polish and a jar of hair gel.

Sludgegooey had got up especially early to see Filth off. She had even made his sandwiches. In addition, she had made a small cardboard sign with the words GUD LUK BOYS which was pleasantly supportive. Of course, she was mostly in it for the money, but nobody could accuse her of not doing her bit.

Mind you, she hoped the whole departure business wouldn’t take too long. She was getting particularly fed up with three teenage Banshees who had suddenly appeared and were hanging around in the background, whispering and chewing and rolling their eyes at Filth. Charlene, Jemella and Roxanne had got wind of the Boys’ early departure and come to wave them off. They had a big banner with them. It said WE LUV U FILTH. It had red hearts on, and glitter. Sludgegooey felt her own sign was being upstaged.

Standing alongside Filth and Sludgegooey was Arthur with his piano parked on its cart, all wrapped up in its blanket. He had a small suitcase in his hand and his mother was leaning on his arm. This is the first time we’ve seen Arthur’s mother. She looks like an older, more wrinkly female version of Arthur, with the addition of a skirt and a walking stick. She had got up to make sandwiches too – mustard ones with the crusts cut off, just how Arthur liked them. She had also provided him with extra-strong peppermints in case he couldn’t buy the ones he liked on the road, together with lots of useful paper hankies in case he needed to clean anything. She was very thoughtful, was Arthur’s mother.

She squinted up at the smoking, pulsating monster filling her vision.

‘Very nice, son,’ she said. ‘Very – what’s that phrase you use? To describe your lovely music?’

‘Crash ’n’ Bang, Mam,’ said Arthur. ‘It’s definitely Crash ’n’ Bang, that van.’

The driver’s door opened and TT scrambled out.

‘What d’you think?’ he demanded. ‘Said there’d be a van, didn’t I? Six-seater. Like the colour? See the writing on the side? The dice? It’s even got a radio!’

‘A radio?’ Filth nearly fainted with joy. ‘Cool! Does it work?’

‘No,’ admitted TT. ‘I don’t think so. But it’s got one. Wait, there’s more.’ He scuttled to the back and flung open the double doors. ‘See? Plenty of room for the instruments.’

Even Arthur had to admit that the van was good. The new manager was really delivering. Even if he was a bit pushy. The cap with MANAGER on it was a bit too much, in Arthur’s opinion.

‘O’Brian’s late.’ TT glanced sternly at his new watch. Arthur wondered where he had got it. He hadn’t had it on the last time. ‘I need him here now for the photograph. I’ll get the camera. Did I mention the camera? State-of-the-art – comes with a tripod and cloth and everything. Bought it with the Magic Card.’

‘The what?’ said Arthur.

‘I’ve got a Magic Card. Didn’t I tell you? It’s a new thing – all band managers have ’em. Saves messing about with money.’ TT reached into the van for the camera. ‘I need to take a photo for the fan club. The Boys And Their Supporters Getting Ready To Depart. Right, girls?’ He raised an eyebrow at the Banshees, who squealed excitedly and began fussing with their hair. ‘I’ll set it up and the roadie can start loading.’

‘The
what
?’ chorused Filth and Arthur together.

‘Ah. Didn’t mention that, did I? Another little surprise for you.’ TT put his fingers in his mouth and blew a shrill whistle.

The passenger door opened and a squat figure thumped down into the road and stood grinning at them.

‘Chip?’ said Arthur.

‘Uh,’ said Chip the Troll. He had dispensed with his apron and the rubber gloves. He now wore a straining Moonmad T-shirt in a dirty shade of plum – clearly one of the bottom-drawer variety – and had cut the sleeves off in order to better display the glory of his bulging biceps.

‘I headhunted him,’ explained TT cheerfully. ‘Got the idea when I saw him with those potato sacks. Strong boy, he is. We need someone to handle the equipment. He’s exploited in that cafe. He’s always wanted to be a roadie and go on tour. Isn’t that right, Chip?’

‘Uh,’ said Chip happily.

‘What – he actually
said
that?’ asked Arthur.

‘Well – no. But I put it to him and he grunted and it definitely meant yes. Take it away, Chip!’

Chip was a Troll of few words – well, one, actually – but much action. He spat on his hands, hoisted Arthur’s piano on to his back, cart and all, and heaved it into the van. Arthur winced as it crashed down. Then Chip began picking up Filth’s beloved drums and hurling them in alongside. He was enthusiastic, but not especially careful.

‘Hey, man!’ protested Filth. ‘Show some respect, yeah?’

The air wobbled and O’Brian was suddenly amongst them. In his arms was a large, grubby, round earthenware pot. Another of his fingers was bandaged, there was a hole in the knee of his jolly red trousers and he was still wearing the awful, constricting pink T-shirt over his jerkin. He looked a bit fed up.

‘Sorry,’ he sighed. ‘Took a while to dig this up. Then I tried to dismantle the Rainbow Deflector and store it inside. But I had to leave it up in the end.’

‘Why?’ enquired Arthur.

‘I fell off the roof,’ admitted O’Brian.

He had too. Yet one more thing to add to his spate of bad luck, which he had initially put down to coincidence. Was it, though? Nothing had gone right ever since – well, ever since the business with the Fairy. He had a bad feeling that he might have been a bit hasty there.

‘That’s the secret pot of gold, I take it?’ asked Arthur, staring at the earthenware pot which still had clods of earth clinging to it.

‘Yes,’ said O’Brian. ‘This is the Pot.’

‘Very nice,’ said Arthur’s mum kindly. She gave Sludgegooey a little nudge. ‘It’s a very
nice
pot, don’t you think?’

‘Bit of a let-down, I’d say,’ said Sludgegooey, who believed in being frank. ‘Not at all what I imagined. All those Leprechaun stories about rainbows and stuff. I thought it’d be more impressive. Not just a big, dirty old pot.’

‘It’s dirty because I’ve just dug it up,’ said O’Brian defensively. ‘And it needs to be big because there’s a lot of gold in it.’

‘Let’s see,’ said Sludgegooey.

‘I never
open
it,’ explained O’Brian. ‘I just have it.’

‘Ridiculous,’ scoffed Sludgegooey. ‘Having a pot of gold and not even opening it. You Leprechauns are mad.’

‘Well, anyway, it’s very nice,’ said Arthur’s mother.

‘It’s a liability,’ said Arthur sternly. ‘I thought we’d agreed to travel light. What do you want to bring that for?’

‘Because someone might steal it while I’m gone.’

‘Clever!’ howled Sludgegooey. ‘He’s scared someone’ll pinch it so he’s taking it to a crowded music festival where everyone
knows
you don’t get thieves. What a genius!’

‘They can’t pinch it if I’m holding it,’ said O’Brian. He clutched the Pot tightly to his chest. ‘I’d see them do it and run after them.’

‘Ah, but you’ll have to put it down sometime. And the second you do, mark my words, it’ll get stolen.’

‘Look,’ said O’Brian. ‘Look, just stop picking on me, will you? I can look after my own Pot.
What?
’

Filth was beckoning him over for a private word.

‘The T-shirt over the jerkin,’ said Filth quietly. ‘Not a good look, man.’

‘I know,’ said O’Brian. ‘I
know
, all right?’

‘So do something, dude.’

‘I’ve
tried
. I nearly strangled myself trying to get it off last night.’