bad mood. There had been a burglary in the office over the weekend. Of course he knew who the guilty party was, but since he was a compassionate and merciful man, he would give the culprit a chance to redeem himself by confessing. Pete sighed with relief. Miss Green hadn’t given him away. Yet.
Biology was the third period of the day. Miss Green kept bragging about her new herpetological wonder: her toad from South America. Henry could breathe through his skin, see? That’s why he was so slimy, so the oxygen could dissolve and diffuse into the blood. Wasn’t that something? Pete thought he would puke and avoided making eye contact with her at all cost. When the bell finally rang, Miss Green called him to her desk.
“Have you thought about my little proposition?” she asked when they were alone.
“Not really …”
“You know that the petty cash box disappeared from the office?”
Pete drew a deep breath. “It wasn’t me! I would never do that!”
She smiled. “If you say so, Pete. Apparently poor Rose was assaulted. She has a big bump on the head and amnesia to show for it. The police will never know who did it, unless …”
He watched the rainwater run in small rivulets down the windowpanes. Beyond that was grey city against grey sky. “Unless?”
“Well, she could regain her memory, you know. I know a few incantations and concoctions that are quite effective for curing amnesia. They say juvenile detention can be hell …” She reached into her drawer and handed Pete a photograph of a brand new skateboard, obviously top of the range and very expensive, with a carbon fibre composite deck and titanium alloy trucks. “Partners?”
Pete nodded, then walked slowly to Miss Peach’s classroom for History.
6
Labour Unrest
When he got home after detention, Pete went straight to the bicycle shop. The rain had stopped, but there was still a nasty wind blowing. The old wooden sign over the entrance creaked as it swung to and fro in the gale. To the unbelieving eye it simply said Humperdinck Bicycles in bold green letters, but to those who had the sight, the ability to believe their eyes, it also said at the bottom, Consultant Neurosorcerer. Between the two lines somebody had scratched with white chalk: Snowman.
Pete entered and found that most of the chaos in the shop had been cleared. He suspected that the Snowman had used some sort of magic to do it. A few things still needed to be done, however, so he busied himself with little chores among the shelves where he could avoid talking to Squeak and the Snowman.
After about half an hour, the doorbell tinkled and Mr Jones entered in the wake of a whirlwind that turned out to be Mangler.
The massive dog bounded around the shop on long legs, his tongue trailing behind his ugly face, splattering drool all over the place. He had caught a whiff of the Snowman and was determined to hunt down the cat.
Sticks hobbled closer, swiping a broom left and right at Mangler. He almost hit Pete in the process. “Shoo! Out, stupid dog!” Panic raised the Snowman’s voice by about an octave, somehow diminishing the dramatic effect of the big man swinging a broom.
“Mangler … Mangler!” Mr Jones clapped his hands twice.
The dog stopped in his tracks. He leaped back to his master and slobbered on the old man’s face.
Mr Jones grabbed Mangler by the collar with his right hand and crumpled the dog’s ear with the left. “Bad dog! Sit!” The look of utter adoration in his eyes turned the reprimand into a declaration of love. He looked at Sticks. “I’m so sorry, Mr …”
The Snowman moved Sticks’s hand to his mouth as he cleared his throat. “Sticks.”
“Mr Styx. I didn’t know that you didn’t like dogs.”
“I’m definitely a cat person,” said the automaton. “Now please get that … monster out of my shop!” The Snowman waved Sticks’s hands wildly in an effort to ward off the danger and nearly crashed the automaton into a row of dusty bicycles.
Pete rushed to Mr Jones’s side and helped him move Mangler out the door. On the pavement outside, he looped the chain that was used to double-lock the bicycle shop’s door at night, through the dog’s collar. Then he followed Mr Jones inside. The Snowman had not expected them back, and Sticks stood immobile next to the bicycles.
Mr Jones took off his hat and mumbled some excuses for his dog’s behaviour. “Mrs Burton said she would talk to you about the vacant post of maintenance engineer, Mr Styx …” When the automaton did not respond, he walked a bit closer. “Excuse me …”
“He often gets like this,” said Pete. “Freddy says it’s petty mall, or something.”
Sticks’s eyes flickered. “I’m sorry … You said something about maintenance?”
“The lights in my flat went out the other night, when you had the explosion down here, and since then the electricity has gone haywire. When I switch on the TV, the oven goes on, and my bedside lamp makes the toilet flush. Mr Humperdinck would’ve …”
The doorbell played his tune again and Maggie stormed in. “I just had to throw away two batches of leek-and-broccoli parfait. Not one of my appliances is working as it should!”
Sticks’s wax face went white. “No! Pete, tell that woman to get out of my shop!”
Maggie put her foot down.“Your explosions are wrecking my business! When I switched on the blender the other morning, the coffee machine spewed sugar all over the shop. And then a customer complained that there was sugar in his kikuyu blend. Sugar! Can you imagine how much money I’ll lose if word gets out about this?”
An angry hiss escaped from Sticks’s mouth. “I’m ruining your business? My dear Maggie, may I tell you that you are the biggest disaster that could ever happen to any business!” He poked a gloved finger at the blonde.
She poked right back. “And to think I saved your life, you miserable baby-faced idiot. I should’ve left you to die!”
“ ‘Baby-faced’? This face belongs …” For a second Sticks’s face went through a series of hideous contortions, and then he said in an indignant, rock star voice. “That’s right! She saved my life!”
Maggie and Mr Jones both gasped, and Pete closed his eyes. He’d been waiting for this to happen.
Another contortion, and the cat’s voice said, “Who said that?” The wax head turned a full three sixty degree circle, as the cat apparently looked for the speaker.
“I said: She saved my life!”
Mr Jones sat down on an upturned crate, wiping his brow. “I feel dizzy …”
Maggie grabbed Pete’s arm, her eyes wide as doughnuts. “It’s happening! Body-snatching aliens. I saw it all on television.”
Sticks held his hand out to Maggie. “Thanks for …”
Pete yanked Maggie back. “Don’t touch her! She’ll turn you into a butterfly or something!”
“What?” asked Sticks, faltering.
“She turns everything she loves into butterflies!”
Sticks’s face was suddenly disfigured by the Snowman’s rage. He growled like a cornered alley cat. “This is treason! Mutiny!”
Maggie exhaled slowly and started to walk backwards to the door. “Okay, I’m freaked out. I’m getting out of here. Right … now.”
When the door slammed behind her, the doorbell whistled. “Boy, what a woman. She makes my brass tingle all over!”
Sticks froze, and the Snowman roared from behind a shelf, “Shut up!”
“Okay,” said the doorbell. “Keep your fur on.” The door locked