Riddle Gully Runaway Page 5

  ‘Something I’ve strived hard to achieve, Mother. And no —’, with his hip Mayor Bullock blocked his mother from joining him on the step, ‘— Miss di Nozi would not like a cup of tea.’

  Pollo swallowed. ‘Please, can you just tell me if Benson’s okay? Do you know where he is? The thing is, I’m almost certain now that Benson —’

  ‘It would seem, Mother,’ interrupted Mayor Bullock, ‘that Miss di Nozi, after bandying our family’s dirty laundry to the district, has now come to enquire after Benson’s whereabouts and wellbeing.’

  ‘That’s very sweet of you dear,’ said Mrs Bullock, pushing her snowy head through the gap between her son’s armpit and the doorjamb.

  ‘No, Mother! It is not sweet. It’s impertinent!’ spluttered the mayor. He glared at Pollo. ‘Benson went home and is in his mother’s care, such as it is. That is all I shall say on the matter.’

  ‘He went home?’ said Pollo. ‘Really?’

  ‘That is what I believe I indicated,’ said the mayor.

  ‘We got an electric letter,’ said Mrs Bullock. ‘It was on the line. That’s right, isn’t it Orville?’ She swivelled her head up to look at her son.

  ‘It’s called an email, Mother!’ huffed the mayor. He turned to Pollo and pursed his lips. ‘My sister emailed me on Thursday evening informing me she’d been discharged from hospital earlier than expected and my nephew had caught the train home. I trust that settles the matter.’

  That was no train Pollo had seen Benson climbing into. ‘The train?’ she repeated.

  ‘Do you intend echoing every word I utter?’ snapped the mayor. ‘Yes. The train. A machine that runs on rails. A convenient conveyance for the masses.’

  ‘Orville was in a lather about it,’ said Mrs Bullock. ‘And Benny went off without his little telephone. I’m sure Orville would have let him have it back if he’d known Benny was leaving.’

  The mayor grunted. ‘If the rapscallion had stayed here I’d have knocked some self-discipline into him. Going about his pilfering ways right under my nose … compromising my reputation and my authority in Riddle Gully!’

  ‘But that’s the thing!’ blurted Pollo. ‘I don’t think Benson did any pilfering! Not here in Riddle Gully. There’s a pair of ravens building a nest in the forest and —’

  ‘But you said he had, yourself, dear,’ said Mrs Bullock gently. ‘You wrote it in the newspaper — more or less.’

  ‘Well I wish I hadn’t,’ said Pollo. ‘The raven did it! The one with a sticky-out feather!’

  ‘Keh-heh-heh!’ Mayor Bullock’s laugh rasped like a shoe scuffing on pavement. ‘You’re back-pedalling now, eh? “The raven did it” indeed! That’s what I call a desperate measure.’

  Pollo pulled herself up as tall as she could. ‘It’s what I call having the courage to admit I was wrong.’

  ‘The youth of today!’ scoffed Mayor Bullock. ‘No backbone! Too soft. And no stomach for good, hard discipline when it’s needed!’

  ‘Orville! Where are your manners? You were young once too, as I recall, and —’

  ‘I was never any such thing!’ snorted the mayor, ‘And I would appreciate it, Mother, if you didn’t interrupt me only to criticise me!’ He turned to glare at Pollo. ‘My wayward nephew is, alas, beyond my control and no bizarre ornithological fantasy story will change that. Whatever misfortune befalls him from now on, he’ll have only himself and his lily-livered mother to blame. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going back to my breakfast. I suggest you, Miss di Nozi, go home and play with your dollies.’

  Mayor Bullock hustled his mother away and shut the door firmly in Pollo’s face. Pollo stood on the step, the doorbell a millimetre from the tip of her nose. Play with her dollies? How about her chainsaw? She turned and stomped down the footpath where she began untying Shorn Connery, muttering furiously.

  ‘Caught the train home, did he?’ She plucked at Shorn Connery’s rope. ‘So why was he hitching a ride on a sheep truck then — a sheep truck headed in the wrong direction? Tell me that, eh!’

  Baa-aa-aah!

  ‘Exactly!’ fumed Pollo. ‘The mayor has cornflakes for brains and clearing Benson’s name is going to be even harder than we thought. Benson’s on the loose out there, probably thinking the world’s against him. And that kind of thinking brings trouble and big, deep holes. We have to find Benson, old buddy, before he gets into real strife.’

  Pollo freed Shorn Connery from the lamppost and began marching toward the train station. She’d check the timetables and work out a plan — one she’d have to execute alone. Of all the weekends for Will to go to visit his dad, why did he have to pick this one?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Benson Bragg poked his head from the run-down caretaker’s shed behind the Royal Arms hotel. It didn’t sound like there was anyone around but you had to be careful. He stretched and rubbed where the concrete floor had made him numb. Hugging himself against the damp ocean wind that never seemed to stop, he walked across the yard to the tap, dodging old bits of machinery and broken bottles. The sick-sweet smell from the abattoir drifted down to him, even from three kilometres away. Or was it the dumpster at the pub’s back door? He unscrewed the hose and, between slurps, rubbed water on his face and neck. It was stinging-cold but it helped clear the grit of the night. He replaced the hose as he’d found it, covering his tracks. The shed was as good a place to stay as he could hope for right now and he didn’t want to blow it.

  He patted his pocket out of habit, and wished he had his phone so he could check in with Kal. But his uncle had locked it away somewhere when he saw Benson texting during one of his lectures. He probably had about twenty unread messages from Kal by now, wondering what was going on. Benson felt weird without a phone. Kind of naked. Hey! Like in the dream he just remembered! He was at school wearing only his boxers, and they’d kept getting smaller and smaller. What was that about?

  His second morning in Princeville and already he, too, hated the place. It seemed like everyone he talked to was on their way somewhere else or was stuck here and bitter about it. The guys at the abattoir entertained themselves in petty, nasty ways — especially the ones who’d been there a while. He hadn’t seen a smile since he’d arrived — not that he’d lit up the place himself.

  But he’d keep his head down and stick it out because payday wasn’t till Tuesday and he’d left himself short of options. In one way, he’d be better off hitching back to the city the same way he’d hitched here from Riddle Gully. On the other hand, what was the rush? He might be a fish out of water here in Princeville — but at home, just like in Riddle Gully, people called him a thief.

  He wiped his wet face with his T-shirt and checked the time on his iPod. Grabbing a tin of baked beans from the shed, he plugged in his earphones and set off up the road.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Will was on the platform, his blue backpack leaning against his leg, when Pollo arrived at the station. Beside him, his mother Angela jigged restlessly in the brisk breeze, her hands in her coat pockets. Not wanting any adults to start asking questions, Pollo tied Shorn Connery to a fence amid long grass a little way down from the platform and hurried under the station arch into the waiting room. She stood on tiptoes next to a window, from where she could hear Angela giving Will last bits of advice.

  ‘When you get off at Two Wells, don’t muck around, love,’ she was saying. ‘Get yourself over to the other platform right away. The train to Canberra waits for no one. And don’t even think about stopping in at the café, even if it does have the best raspberry muffins in the universe.’

  Will licked his lips with a faraway look as Angela continued. ‘You picked up those carrot sticks and sandwiches from the kitchen bench, I hope.’

  ‘Um … I might have overlooked the carrots.’

  ‘Oh, Will! You’ve got your phone, though? And your emergency money is somewhere safe?’

  ‘All in my backpack,’ said Will. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. Nothing’s going to happen.’

  At that mome
nt Angela’s mobile rang and Pollo took her chance. She poked her head around the corner of the waiting room. ‘Pssst!’

  Will looked around. Pollo flapped her hand, beckoning Will. ‘Benson’s run away!’ whispered Pollo. ‘I got it from Mayor Bullock himself just now!’

  ‘Mayor Bullock told you that?’ said Will.

  ‘Well, not exactly,’ said Pollo. ‘But he told me his sister, Benson’s mum, had emailed him to say Benson had caught the train home on Thursday.’

  ‘But you saw him getting on a sheep truck!’ said Will.

  ‘Exactly! A sheep truck on the road to Maloola, not the city,’ said Pollo.

  Will scratched his chin. ‘Do you reckon the mayor was telling the truth? You don’t think he was trying to trick you?’

  ‘I didn’t get that impression. He didn’t seem to care where Benson was, as long as he wasn’t under his roof.’ Pollo gnawed a thumbnail. ‘It’s more likely Benson faked the email.’

  ‘Faked it? But he’d have to have been at his mum’s computer for that, wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Sometimes I wonder about you, Will,’ said Pollo. ‘Anyone can send an email from any computer pretending to be someone else if they know the person’s password. And adults usually have really easy ones they won’t forget — like their birthdays and stuff.’

  Will nodded sagely and made a mental note to change his own. Just then, the train hissed into the station, the first three carriages for passengers followed by twenty or so goods vans with big sliding side-walls, some open, some shut. Pollo and Will heard Angela calling him.

  ‘I’d better scoot,’ said Will. ‘If I miss this train Angela will kill me. The rest of the day’s services are out so she’d have to drive me to Two Wells!’

  ‘Out?’ squeaked Pollo. ‘When you say “out”, do you mean cancelled? All the way to Maloola?’

  ‘Yeah, for track maintenance.’ Will pointed to the wall. Above the timetables was taped a sign in black texta. The next train wasn’t until Monday morning. ‘Well, like I say — gotta go! See ya next week I guess,’ he chirped.

  Pollo scrunched her face. ‘I can’t wait till Monday!’ She raced from the building, leaving Will alone in the waiting room scratching his head.

  Two minutes later, the platform guard blew the all-aboard whistle. A minute after that, the train began to edge slowly from Riddle Gully station. Ten seconds after that, Pollo, dodging Shorn Connery’s kicking hind legs, heaved her faithful assistant’s rear end into an empty goods van and scrambled after him, sprawling on her stomach on the grubby floor as the train picked up speed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Baa-aa-aah!

  Shorn Connery, tied to a railing in the goods van, didn’t like Pollo’s latest case one little bit. He scuffled back and forth on his stick legs with the rocking of the train, his yellow eyes rolled back in their sockets. Pollo huddled near him, her woollen beanie pulled low, watching the fields, trees and fence-posts strobe past. Her cheeks were mottled mauve and her teeth clacked as the morning chill whipped through her.

  As the train rattled on, Shorn Connery settled enough for Pollo to lean into the thick wool around his neck. She wished he’d lie down so she could snuggle into him like a hot-water bottle. Had she gone too far this time? She hadn’t planned and she wasn’t prepared. She had no firm idea of where to find Benson, and her only tools were her notepad, pencil and pen-knife — what she’d stepped out of the house with when she’d gone to visit Mayor Bullock. No phone, no money, no information! It was just her and her panicky sheep, freezing to death, hurtling across the countryside to who knew where.

  Well, actually, that was one thing in her favour. She did know where — to Two Wells and on to Maloola. That was the good thing about trains. They didn’t wander off. She blew warm air into her cupped hands and tried not to think of Will in his carriage up ahead somewhere, toasty warm and, by now, almost certainly tucking into his sandwiches. And she tried not to think of Benson — except to hope that somehow Mayor Bullock was right, that he really had gone back to the city.

  Pollo unravelled her beanie so it covered her whole face. She hugged her knees and tried to imagine she was holding a mug of steaming cocoa. The train clattered onward, slowing down as it passed through tiny towns, but speeding up again without stopping.

  Eventually, Pollo sensed the train slowing more than usual. She rolled up her beanie to see the stockyards of Two Wells coming into view — mobs of stony-coloured sheep penned behind steel-rail fences topped with barbed wire. As the train approached, they scampered to the farthest corner of the pen, kicking up dust; as the carriages rolled by, they stared unblinkingly, as one. From the open door, Shorn Connery stared back at them silently.

  A whistle sounded and they eased into Two Wells station. Pollo thought about getting off to have a quick look for Benson but, remembering there were no more trains to Maloola till Monday, decided against it. The trucks that ran the highway past Riddle Gully seldom detoured into Two Wells anyway. Benson was far more likely to be in Maloola.

  Wary of being seen, Pollo crawled on her hands and knees to the van door and peeked out, relishing the sun’s faint warmth. It was silly to hope to spot Benson, but you never knew. On the station platform by the head of the train, people were already walking briskly in different directions. Will would be among them, finding the right platform for his train to Canberra.

  In the grey dirt of the stockyard alongside Pollo and Shorn Connery’s van, a lone ewe, dusty-white but for a black left ear, stood apart from the mob of sheep. The tip of her snout was lifted toward them. It swayed delicately side to side, catching the strange new scents that had rolled to a stop in front of her.

  Pollo sat back on her heels and smiled at the sheep. ‘Hello there, Ear!’

  Meh-eh-eh! The black ear twitched.

  Baa-aa-ah! Shorn Connery, roped to the end wall of the van, began tugging at his short lead. ‘Sorry old buddy, I forgot about you,’ said Pollo, getting up to lengthen his rope. ‘I guess you want to stretch your legs while you can.’

  As soon as Pollo loosened his lead, Shorn Connery broke free and clattered to the open van door. He stood rigid, sniffing towards Ear. Ear stared, transfixed, from the stockyard up at Shorn Connery. Shorn Connery half-closed his eyelids so that the vertical slots of his pupils were barely visible. His wet, hairy nostrils quivered.

  Just as Pollo caught the end of his rope and wrapped it round her fist, Shorn Connery flung himself forward, landing with skittering hooves on the narrow stretch of loose gravel between train track and stockyard. To avoid being yanked out onto her face, Pollo had no choice but to jump down with him. Dragging his mistress over the loose stones, Shorn Connery barrelled forward, snorting, his ears pricked forward, to where Ear waited, her hooves stamping. The two animals stood nose to nose either side of the barbed-wire-topped barrier.

  Meh-eh-eh! Ear blinked her stiff white lashes and twitched her black ear.

  Shorn Connery flicked his handsome long tail. Baa-aa-ah!

  At that moment, a sharp whistle-blow cut through the air, signalling the train’s departure. Pollo leaned back on Shorn Connery’s rope lead. ‘C’mon, boy!’ she huffed. ‘We have to get back aboard. There’s no time for these shenanigans!’

  Meh-eh-eh!

  Baa-aa-ah!

  ‘Forget about her, old buddy,’ pleaded Pollo. ‘She’s from the wrong side of the tracks. It’ll never work out!’

  Meh-eh-eh! Ear spun both ears and glared icily at Pollo.

  Baa-aa-ah! Shorn Connery ground his hooves into the gravel.

  Pollo’s guts clenched. They couldn’t stay where they were! The train was kilometres long and the gap between it and the fence wasn’t much wider than she was. She looked at the snarly barbed wire. There was no climbing over — not in a hurry. It was either get back on the train or pin themselves hard against the fence as the train whooshed past, millimetres from their noses. And Shorn Connery’s stuck out further than hers. She grabbed her faithful assistant around his middle
and pulled, trying to keep calm, trying not to picture the swish and hiss of steel wheels flying by.

  Suddenly Pollo heard the thudding of running feet. She craned her neck to see, from the other side of the goods van, a blue backpack fly through the opening and skid across the floor. Behind it appeared a grinning face.

  ‘Will!’ she cried. ‘What …? But …? What are you doing here?’

  ‘Can I give you a hand?’

  ‘Can you ever!’ Pollo passed Shorn Connery’s rope up to her friend. ‘Of all the times to fall in love, Shorn Connery picks now! He won’t budge. Quick, you pull and I’ll push!’

  A second whistle trilled — longer than the first. With Pollo shoving from the ground and Will tugging from above, they wrangled Shorn Connery, bawling and writhing, back aboard. Will lashed him to the rail.

  Suddenly, the train hissed and jerked forward. Pollo flung herself upward, clawing the van floor with her fingertips. As the ground began to roll away beneath them, she hung suspended over the lip of the opening, her legs thrashing in midair. Gradually the train jolted into a smoother rhythm. Will gripped Pollo’s arms, wedged his feet against the edge of the big sliding door and leaned back. They were just passing the ‘Thank You for Visiting Two Wells’ sign when Pollo, kicking and huffing, rejoined the early Saturday service to Maloola.

  Meh-eh-eh!

  Baa-aa-ah!

  Meh-eh-eh-eh-eh!

  Baa-aa-aa-ah-ah!

  The train trundled onward, Shorn Connery bleating forlornly as the stockyard — and Ear — dissolved from view.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘Why aren’t you going to Canberra!’ shouted Pollo as the train accelerated. ‘Angela and HB will murder you! Clive will murder you! Someone will murder you, anyway!’

  Will smiled and shook his head. ‘No they won’t.’