TALES FROM WITCHWAY WOOD: Crash 'n' Bang (8 page)

The Boys stared at him. Say what you like, this sounded like proper Management. Even Arthur was impressed. But – a
singer
?

‘Oh, and last of all – the new look.’ The Thing delved into the briefcase again and brought out a flat, floppy parcel wrapped in brown paper. He pulled off the string and the paper, revealing –

‘Oh,’ said Arthur. ‘T-shirts. Right.’

‘Great, aren’t they?’ enthused TT. ‘I’ve brought a selection of colours. Purple, black and – a sort of – er – washed-out red. They’re all one size, I’m afraid. But they’re brand new. Well, two of them are. Help yourselves.’

Arthur took the purple one and held it up.

‘It says “Moonmad” on it,’ he said.

‘Well, yes,’ said TT. ‘All the best ones do. Moonmad Management, that’s me.’

‘Shouldn’t it be the band name, though?’

‘Not necessarily. That’s what everyone does. You’ll be a bit different.’

Filth reached out and helped himself to the black one. O’Brian was too slow and ended up with the one at the bottom, which wasn’t a sort of washed-out red at all.

‘It’s pink,’ said O’Brian.

‘Depends on the light,’ said TT.

‘No, it’s pink. Wouldn’t you call that pink?’ O’Brian appealed to Filth, who agreed that it was.

‘So what if it is?’ said TT.

‘I’m ginger, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

‘Make a change,’ suggested TT. ‘Just try it on – it might suit you.’

O’Brian poked at the material. It had a strange, almost rubbery texture, rather like a deflated balloon. It didn’t feel nice.

‘It’s not exactly new either, is it?’

‘No,’ admitted TT. ‘I didn’t have any more new ones.’

This was actually a lie. He had plenty. But TT loved them all. He wasn’t fond of purple and had more than one black, but he couldn’t bring himself to part with any of the others. Luckily he had found the weird pink one jammed at the back of the bottom drawer. He hadn’t a clue when it came from. He certainly didn’t remember buying it. It seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

An enormous hairy paw plonked a bill on the table.

‘Beel,’ Conf growled. ‘You pay now.’

‘Right,’ said TT and rummaged in his briefcase. He gave a little cry. ‘Oh
no
! I’ve only gone and left my wallet at home. It’ll have to be in change, I’m afraid.’ He reached into his trouser pockets, then slapped his forehead. ‘I don’t
believe
it! I’ve filled my pockets with small pebbles instead! Easily done, I suppose.’

‘Not
that
easily,’ said Arthur.

‘No, I’m always doing it,’ explained TT, chuckling ruefully at his own silliness. ‘When I clean out my goldfish, I wash the pebbles and pile them on the sideboard, you see, next to where I keep my spare change. Tell you what, if you all chip in a bit I’ll refund you from petty cash once I’ve got the books sorted. Fair enough?’

It seemed fair enough. Grumbling a bit, the Boys finally managed to muster the required amount. Conf scooped it up and lumbered off.

‘There you go,’ said TT cheerily. ‘Now you can tuck into the delicious lunch I’ve bought you.’

‘You haven’t actually b—’ began Arthur, but was drowned out.

‘A toast!’ shouted TT, picking up a chipped, sticky mug full of orange tea. ‘To the Battle of the Bands!’

‘To the Battle of the Bands!’ chorused everyone.

‘To the contract!’

‘To the contract!’

‘To untold riches!’

‘To untold riches!’

‘To stardom and beyond!’

‘To stardom and beyond!’

‘To Crash ’n’ Bang, man!’ shouted Filth, eyes ablaze.

‘To Crash ’n’ Bang!’ they all roared and O’Brian spilled his tea on purpose, just to show how dangerous he was.

It was all quite exciting!

Auditions

At seven o’clock on the dot, the Boys once again assembled at the Studio. TT (wearing another crisp new T-shirt in dazzling white) had set himself up at a small table just outside the door because there wasn’t much room inside. As promised, he had put up posters all over the Wood and seemed confident that there would be a good response. The Boys weren’t so sure.

They sat in silence, nervously eyeing the large X that the new manager had painted on the floor. All three were self-consciously wearing their new Moonmad T-shirts. Arthur’s was on the short side. He’d had to cut holes in the back for his wings. His mum had hemmed them, but they still looked a bit odd. Still, at least it matched his scales. Filth’s black one hung down past his knees. He thought he looked OK. O’Brian’s weird pink one was, frankly, a disaster. He had unwisely tried it on over his jerkin and, much to his dismay, found he couldn’t get it off again. It was painfully tight across his chest and bulged everywhere.

‘It looks stupid, man,’ Filth advised him.

‘I know that,’ said O’Brian irritably.

‘So take it off.’

‘D’you not think I’ve tried? It won’t go over my ears. The neck’s too small.’

‘If it went on, it’ll come off,’ Arthur said.

But it wouldn’t, even though they all gave a hand at tugging.

‘I’ll have to cut it off,’ said O’Brian crossly. ‘Leave me alone now, you’re making me hot.’

Another little silence fell. From outside came the sound of TT shouting and bossing people about.

‘I’m really not sure about this,’ said Arthur. ‘We’ve always managed without a singer before. It’s all very well for him to talk, but he doesn’t understand the
musical
problems. How’s a singer supposed to learn our tunes in time for Saturday? And come up with words to put to them? It’s ridiculous and I really think –’

He broke off as the new manager came scuttling in, armed with a clipboard.

‘Right,’ said TT, all efficiency. ‘There’s quite a queue outside, so we’d better kick off. First off, we’ve got a Gnome. Come in, young GNed, this is your big chance.’

A small Gnome trailed in, looking horribly nervous. Or gnervous.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said TT. ‘Three minutes, that’s all you’ve got.’ And he bustled out. The Gnome stared down at the floor, clearly hoping it would open up and swallow him.

‘Hello, GNed,’ said Arthur, taking pity. ‘Stand on the X, if you please. Don’t be scared – we won’t bite. What are you going to sing for us today?’

GNed fished in his pocket and withdrew a crumpled piece of paper.

‘Song,’ he mumbled.

‘Good,’ said Arthur kindly. ‘And what is it called, this song?’

‘“Tra la la”.’

‘Well, when you’re ready.’

Puce in the face, GNed cleared his throat.

‘
Tra la la
,’ he muttered. ‘
Tra la la la la la la la la la la la . . .
’

‘Oh, man,’ sighed Filth.

‘Thank you, GNed,’ interrupted Arthur. ‘I think we’ve got the hang of the lyrics. Perhaps you’d like to sing us the tune?’

‘I just did,’ said GNed.

And that was the beginning.

GNed was followed by a Dwarf with an axe who attempted the traditional ‘Hi-Ho’ song. Unlike ‘Tra la la’, it had proper words, but the Dwarf had a voice like a crow with croup and dropped his aitches, which didn’t help with all those ‘hi’s and ‘ho’s going on. Even worse, he added actions – chopping motions with the axe and so on. Not only was he bad, he was seriously dangerous.

Next up was a foul-tempered Tree Demon who instantly blotted his copybook by refusing to stand on the X. He said he’d stand wherever he blinkin’ well liked – who were they to tell him what to do? When Arthur insisted, he kicked over Filth’s side drum and stormed out, taking his song with him. So that was a waste of time. Even if he’d been any good, they couldn’t take the attitude.

The Tree Demon was followed by three gum-chewing teenage Banshees, their hair wildly back-combed and their nightgowns ripped in a fashionable teenage way. They sidled through the door, whispering and pushing each other, saying, ‘Go on, ask him.’

‘Ask me what?’ said Arthur tiredly.

‘Can we have his autograph?’ said the tallest, pointing at Filth, who was off in Drum World, tapping out little rhythms on his side drum.

‘No,’ said Arthur shortly. ‘You can’t. Not now.’

‘You can have mine,’ offered O’Brian shyly.

‘No,’ said the Banshee. ‘Just his.’

‘This is a singing audition,’ said Arthur sternly. ‘Are you girls here to sing?’

‘No. Just the autograph. He’s to make it out to Charlene.’

‘And Jemella,’ said the second.

‘And Roxanne,’ said the third.

‘It’s not a good time,’ insisted Arthur.

All three Banshees folded their arms and looked mutinous. TT came marching in.

‘All right, girls, move along. You have to go through the proper channels. There’s a fan club you can join. All the autographs you like, together with a signed photo. Very reasonable rates. Details in tomorrow’s
Miracle
.’

‘Who are you, bossin’ us around?’ sniffed Charlene.

‘I’m the manager. Off you go now, the Boys are busy.’

‘We don’t want
him
in the photo,’ said Jemella, pointing at Arthur.

‘Or him,’ said Roxanne, giving O’Brian an unkind sneer.

The three of them trailed out, looking disappointed and craning their necks to look back at Filth, who didn’t even notice.

‘All right, you can send in the next one,’ said Arthur to TT, rather crossly.

‘Actually,’ said TT, ‘that’s it. There aren’t any more.’

‘I thought you said there was a long queue,’ wheezed O’Brian from the constrictions of his T-shirt.

‘There was, but they’ve all gone home. There’s Goblin Football on the spellovision and it’s chilly out there.’

‘So that’s it, then,’ said Arthur, trying not to sound too relieved. ‘Interesting idea, but it seems we’ll have to carry on as we . . .’

‘Um – excuse me?’ said a voice. Everyone looked round – and stared. Peering through the doorway was . . .

A Werewolf!

In a frock!