9 Cracking the Code

By R.M. Hamilton

Cauldron Bubble jumped up from the floor and charged out after Gamaliel. “Come back here now!” he shouted, but of course Gamaliel paid no attention at all. He could smell clockwork, he longed for new clockwork parts, and he didn’t want to be put back into the old sea chest.

Realizing that he could never catch the giant on foot, Cauldron turned, rushed back into the house, and came out again brandishing his car keys. He plunged into his car and went speeding down the road towards Milton Park.

“What are we going to do now?” Debbie sounded close to tears.

‘What can we do?” demanded David wildly. “We’re stuck in Burradoo, Uncle Octavius is in jail, Gamaliel has escaped and soon Cauldron will catch him and use him in a crime so horrible it will make the whole world hate Uncle Octavius! We can’t even call the police because that will just get Uncle Octavius into even WORSE trouble!”

“Maybe we can find something to help us in Uncle Octavius’s laboratory? After all, we needn’t worry about Cauldron coming back for a while. We know how difficult Gamaliel is!”

“That’s a good idea! We’ve never been in there before.”

The laboratory was situated in the room opposite the library. Once, it might have been a grand sitting room or even a dining room. Now, it was a mess of test tubes, bunsen burners and piles and piles of papers, covered with hard and horrible looking mathematical calculations. The wall above the mantel was completely blackened from a fire. Uncle Octavius had mentioned the fire one night at dinner.

“Back in ‘75, I think it was. I forgot to turn off the bunsen burner before I went to bed and a ring-tailed possum got in through the chimney and knocked it over into a pile of papers. I keep meaning to have the burnt bit removed and repapered but really, my experiments and my fight against the ugliness of modernity keep me too absorbed for the trivialities of décor.”

In the middle of the room stood a large table with a huge piece of clockwork set in the middle of the table. Next to it lay a picture of a vintage Daimler and a notebook. On the cover were the words how to convert a petrol engine into clockwork in Uncle Octavius’s spidery handwriting.

David and Debbie looked at the enormous burnt bit with awe. “He’s lucky he didn’t lose the whole house,” said David, kicking aside a stack of textbooks. “This place could be on that TV show about extreme hording!”

“Why doesn’t he get that wall fixed?” mused Debbie. “It looks awful. Heaps worse than any ‘modernity’ I can think of.”

‘I’m just glad he got the roof replaced when Gamaliel tore it off,” said David. “How do you suppose Gamaliel will get into the clockwork exhibition at Milton Park? Will he tear the roof off there too?”

“He might,” said Debbie. “At least he wasn’t packed away with that old gramophone he stole from the Mittagong Antique store to upgrade himself with. He says very mean things when he can talk! Oh, look at this!”

David, staggering over a mountain range of cardboard boxes, (apparently bursting with about thirty years’ worth of receipts), looked at what she held. It was a small, clear pill box with a label that read, Grapus Magnus Variation 47. Sentient Possibilities. Untested. Results predicted to be unstable.

“It glitters,” said Debbie. “I’m going to keep this for when I write to Mum. I’m sure Uncle won’t mind if I use a little bit of it on a card to make it pretty.”

“We’re not looking for glitter,” said David sternly. “We’re looking for something helpful.”

“Well, I don’t think we can find something helpful in all this mess!” snapped Debbie. “We might as well try and work out this code again.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the piece of paper and read out loud, “Pg 15

18 down

2 in

Count three

Pg 35

8 down

4 in

Count 1

Pg 38

Down 25

2 in

Count 4

Next Wednesday Midnight”.

“I’m sick of hearing that!” grumbled David. “I can’t understand it and I don’t think it does have a meaning.”

“Well, Pg just means page, or else parental guidance, but I think it’s page in this case,” said Debbie kindly.

“I know what Pg means,” said David. “You needn’t show off.”

“David,’ said Debbie, “when did we find that balloon on the golf course?”

“At the start of the week. Why?”

“Because next Wednesday would be tonight, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“David, I think I just worked it out. I bet the pages are pages in the Claudine book. Why else would Cauldron have a book like that? It says it’s a fairytale for exceptional adults. Cauldron doesn’t seem so exceptional to me. Just very nasty.’

“Yeess,” said David slowly. “And he kept going on and on about Claudine being a literary name that would blend in, in this town. Alright, let’s have a look at the book.”

Debbie handed it to him, and David read, “page 15.”

Debbie opened Claudine to page fifteen.

“18 down.”

“18 down what?”

“Lines, I suppose. Count 18 lines down.”

“Alright, what comes next?”

“2 in.”

“2 in what?”

“Inches, maybe?”

“Or maybe words?”

“Let’s try words first, I don’t want to look for a measuring tape in all this junk.”

“Alright, I’ve found the spot.”

“What are the next three words?

Debbie peered carefully at the book, “the very next.”

“I think we’ve got it,” said David. “Next, Pg 35 8 down, 4 in, count one. What’s the word?”

“Sketch.”

“Last bit, Pg 83, 25 down, 2 in, count 4. What does that give us?”

“Fresh off the boat.”

David held up a piece of paper he had been scribbling on. On it was written, The very next sketch fresh off the boat next Wednesday midnight.

“We’ve worked it out,” said David. “But what is the sketch? Where is the boat? And where is this all happening?”

“I bet it’s happening at the Berrima gaol,” said Debbie. “After all, Cauldron seems completely obsessed with that place. And if you think about it, it would be a very good place to have a secret delivery, everyone thinks its haunted so if they saw lights moving about at midnight, they wouldn’t get too close.”

“You’re probably right,’ said David. “But how are we going to get to the Berrima gaol and to Milton Park? They’re in opposite directions.”

‘What about Miss Polewidth? She could take us. She believes in ghosts, if we could convince her that something was going to happen tonight at the gaol, she’d be sure to want to be in on it.”

David looked up. “What’s that loud beeping noise?” he asked. Debbie climbed over a stack of boxes and looked out the window. “There’s a truck with an enormous container on the back of it backing into the drive!”

They went outside. The container was being unloaded onto the driveway. After this was done, a man, holding a s came up to the children. “I have a delivery here for Octavius Montgomery. I need someone to sign for it.”

David signed for it. “What is it?” he asked.

“A vintage Daimler from the UK. It just got out of customs this morning.”

And quite suddenly he was gone.

David opened the doors of the container. Inside, gleamed a beautiful old car. “I bet I could drive that,” said David.

“I bet you couldn’t. In any case, it’s against the law for children to drive. And it probably hasn’t any petrol in it anyway.”

“It doesn’t need petrol,” said David excitedly. “Don’t you remember what’s in Uncle’s Laboratory? A clockwork motor and the instructions on how to switch the car over from petrol to clockwork. And who knows if it’s against the law for me to drive a clockwork car? Don’t you see? It’s perfect. We switch the motor over to clockwork and I take the car to Milton Park to catch Gamaliel. He’s sure to come running as soon as he smells a clockwork car! And you can ring up Miss Polewidth and get her to take you to the gaol to see what the very next sketch straight of the boat means!”

“How do I get Miss Polewidth to come here, you know she hates children.”

“That’s true,” said David. “But she loves feeling important. Maybe you can use that to get her to pick you up. You must think of something. I’m going to try and install the clockwork motor into the car.”

Debbie went nervously to the phone. Finding Miss Polewidth’s number was not a problem. It was written in Uncle Octavius’s spidery handwriting on a post-it note, stuck on the wall above the telephone. Uncle Octavius had become a regular caller since Miss Polewidth had kicked him off the Southern Highlands Garden Tour.

Debbie dialled the number. She rather hoped that no one would answer.

“Hello,” said Miss Polewidth’s scratchy voice.

“Um, hello Miss Polewidth, this is Debbie here.”

“Where did you go while I was in the loo? I couldn’t embrace my disgust of children properly with you running off like that. Where are you?”

“Miss Polewidth, I think something, err, ghostly is going to happen tonight.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Well,” said Debbie slowly, “the message was a bit secret.”

“Oh?” said Miss Polewidth with interest. “You can tell me dear. I’m very interested in this sort of thing. Where is this ghostly event going to happen?”

Debbie realized if she told Miss Polewidth that, Miss Polewidth would simply go to the Berrima gaol without her. By a masterstroke, she avoided it. “I’m afraid to tell you on the phone. If you can come around to Uncle Octavius’s house, I can tell you where to go.”

There was an irritated grunt on the end of the line. Then there was a pause. “Oh, very well,” said Miss Polewidth. “I shall be there shortly.”

A loud crash from the laboratory made Debbie jump. “I have to go now, Miss Polewidth.”

She hung up and raced across to the laboratory. “David! What happened?”

“The clockwork motor was too heavy for me to lift. It fell on the floor. How are we going to get it to the car?”
“If we moved everything except the motor off this rug, then we could use the rug to drag the motor to the car.”

“That’s a good idea,” said David.

“We’d better hurry,” said Debbie. “Miss Polewidth will be here soon to take me to the Berrima gaol!”

“Well, I’ll need your help to switch the motors, I’m not strong enough to do it by myself.”

“That sounds complicated.”

‘I think I’ll just remove whatever I can to make room for the clockwork motor and then sort of tie the clockwork bit on top. I think I can wire it up from there. I’ve got Uncle’s notebook.”

David had just put the last knot in the rope holding the clockwork motor in place when a car loudly honked at the gate. “That’ll be Miss Polewidth,” said Debbie. She looked around the side of the container and let out a gasp.

Miss Polewidth’s car was full of people! Mrs Potbelly, the deputy editor of Glorious Living sat in the back seat. And in the front seat….SAT JEZEBEL PLANK!

Come back next week to find out what happens next! Follow me on Facebook and Instagram at Ruth Marie Hamilton to never miss an instalment.

The photograph of the messy desk is courtesy of Pixabay. The writing and the designs belong to R.M. Hamilton.