Twice Upon a Time, page 13
‘You don’t really think so?’
‘Not sure … I’m still worried about the same round glasses, the same sticking plaster on the chin and the fact that he seems very unwilling to be seen in the same place as Sod.’
‘Perhaps, then,’ said Digger Dagger, ‘it wouldn’t be so surprising. I don’t think anything could be surprising about this place any more.’
They watched as Mr Nod made his way down through sideshow alley. His progress was comically slow because he appeared to be reading a book as he was walking.
‘Must be a good book,’ remarked Digger Dagger.
Mr Nod veered left, paused, corrected. Then he veered right – almost bumping into the row of clowns’ heads – corrected, and then veered left again.
‘I say, be careful!’ cried Topper.
Mr Nod would have crashed into a signpost in the middle of the alley had Topper not yelled out. He stopped, centimetres away, started and then peered over the top of his book to identify his rescuer.
When he saw Topper and the others he waved and shouted, ‘Thank you, I shouldn’t go where I’m watching!’
‘Don’t you mean you should watch where you’re going?’ cried Ginny.
‘That, too,’ agreed Mr Nod. ‘Hello, again!’ he said, coming up to them, smiling cheerfully when he recognised Digger Dagger and Ginny and then glancing curiously at Dotty and Topper. ‘But, do I know you?’
‘Probably,’ said Topper, ‘but I don’t know you.’
‘I think I’ve seen you somewhere,’ said Nod.
‘You might have seen their statues in the sculpture garden,’ said Digger Dagger. ‘This is Dotty and this is Mr Topper.’
‘Dopper and Mr Potty? So nice to meet you,’ said Nod, ‘but statues? I’m afraid you’ve completely lost me there.’
‘It’s Dotty and Topper,’ Ginny corrected him.
She glanced at Nod. Surely he must be familiar with the figures in the garden?
‘Potter and Mr Droopy! I’m sorry. Hearing’s not what it used to be.’
‘No,’ said Ginny, ‘you’re still wrong, it’s …’
‘Don’t worry about it, Ginny,’ said Dotty. ‘It’s not my real name, anyway.’
‘Oh, good! That’s settled, then.’ Mr Nod looked around the four of them hopefully. ‘I don’t suppose I can I interest you in a story, by any chance?’
‘No!’ said Ginny. ‘You can’t!’
‘Too many stories!’ said Digger Dagger.
‘Oh, well,’ said Mr Nod sadly. ‘I suppose it’s because I’m a terrible storyteller. I have to confess it.’
‘And I’m afraid we have to agree,’ said Digger Dagger. ‘But that story you were reading – that must have been pretty exciting.’
‘This?’ asked Mr Nod, holding up the book he was reading.
Ginny was tempted to say No, the other one, but bit her tongue.
‘Yes. Can’t put it down?’ asked Digger Dagger.
Mr Nod grinned a little sheepishly. ‘Not really exciting … It’s just my diary.’
Digger Dagger and Ginny exchanged glances.
‘Your diary, eh?’ asked Digger Dagger.
Mr Nod nodded.
‘Your latest diary?’ asked Ginny cautiously.
Mr Nod nodded again. ‘My latest diary,’ he said proudly.
Digger Dagger and Ginny exchanged another glance. This was the diary they had searched Nod’s Diary for, the diary they suspected might give them a clue to what was really going on and how they might discover Pop.
‘Could we have a look?’ asked Ginny, equally cautiously.
Mr Nod’s smile vanished and he hugged the book to his chest. ‘Oh, no,’ he said hurriedly. ‘It’s not for publication yet. It’s still being written, you see.’
Ginny didn’t see. ‘What’s the difference?’ she asked. ‘It’ll be basically the same before and after it’s published, won’t it? I mean, our seeing it isn’t going to change anything important.’
‘I’d rather not, all the same,’ said Mr Nod.
‘But you have a whole shop full of diaries!’ protested Digger Dagger. ‘You want people to see them. You want to sell them to people, for goodness’ sake.’
‘I’d rather not, because it’s not the same,’ said Mr Nod.
‘I don’t see why it’s not the same, all the same,’ grumbled Digger Dagger.
‘I think it is the same, all the same,’ said Ginny.
But Mr Nod would not be budged. Ginny stared at him: his round glasses, his sorrowful look, the sticking plaster on his chin. She was at once suspicious again.
‘Mr Nod,’ she asked, trying to sound friendly, and trying not to sound too much like an interrogator. ‘Just how well do you know Aesop Sod?’
Despite that attempt at friendliness, Mr Nod stiffened slightly and looked at her suspiciously.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Just curious,’ said Ginny.
‘Well, he is my cousin,’ said Mr Nod.
‘And he does live in the same street, just a few houses away,’ prompted Digger Dagger. ‘Although you pretended not to know where he lived when we first met you.’
‘He does live in the same street, just a few houses away,’ admitted Mr Nod.
‘So?’ asked Ginny.
‘I see him from time to time, I suppose,’ said Mr Nod.
‘And, of course, you’re both storytellers, aren’t you?’ asked Digger Dagger.
‘Ah, but there’s a difference,’ said Mr Nod gratefully. ‘You see, while I’m a very good …’
‘Yes, we know the difference,’ said Ginny, ‘we’ve been told it often enough.’
‘What about the sculpture garden?’ asked Digger Dagger. ‘The one where I just lost you?’
‘Sculpture garden?’ asked Mr Nod innocently.
‘You know, the figures in the garden. There’s a figure just like me in there.’
‘And me,’ added Mr Topper.
‘And me,’ added Dotty.
‘Is there really?’ asked Mr Nod.
‘You know there is really!’ barked Digger Dagger.
‘I’m not really sure,’ said Mr Nod. ‘Perhaps they’re Sod’s Greatest Hits.’
‘Greatest Hits?’ asked Ginny.
‘You know, like Top of the Pops?’
Ginny glared at him. ‘What did you say?’
Mr Nod appeared to wilt a little. ‘Top of the Pops,’ he said.
‘But Pop, my real Pop, isn’t there,’ said Ginny angrily. ‘So where is he?’
In which Dotty pock pickets again
‘Haven’t you asked me that?’ asked Mr Nod.
‘You know we have,’ said Ginny. ‘It was the first thing we asked you.’
‘Isn’t there a song about Pop? Weasels, wasn’t it? And wasn’t there something to do with cornflakes? Snap? Crackle?’
‘Stop stalling,’ said Ginny.
‘It was Aesop Sod who mentioned Pop Goes the Weasel,’ whispered Digger Dagger. ‘I think his cover’s slipping.’
‘Why did you mention Pop Goes the Weasel?’ demanded Ginny.
‘Did I?’ asked Mr Nod.
‘You know you did!’ said Ginny angrily. ‘You’re stalling again.’
‘Well, you asked me about Pop and Pop Goes the Weasel is a pop song, isn’t it?’
‘No, it isn’t!’ said Digger Dagger.
‘Stop stalling!’ said Ginny.
Mr Nod was not only stalling, he was backing away. He gave them a quick, nervous look. ‘Look, it’s been lovely talking to you, but I’ve just remembered …’
‘Kettle?’ asked Digger Dagger.
‘Probably,’ said Mr Nod.
‘Pot on the stove?’ asked Ginny.
‘Almost certainly,’ said Mr Nod, just about running backwards by this stage.
‘Mustn’t let Nod’s Diary burn down then,’ said Digger Dagger.
‘Certainly not!’ cried Mr Nod, and he turned on his heel and raced back down sideshow alley and through the turnstile.
Badger barked as if hurrying him away.
‘Bye!’ cried Ginny. ‘Rat!’ she added.
‘Little rat!’ said Digger Dagger.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Dotty. ‘He looked a pretty big rat to me.’
‘So we’re no further ahead,’ sighed Ginny.
‘Oh, I don’t know that, either,’ grinned Dotty. ‘Didn’t you want to read Mr Nod’s diary?’
‘Yes, but …’ said Ginny. She was about to say he wouldn’t let us when she saw that Dotty was handing her a red-covered book that looked very much like the one that Nod had been clutching to his chest.
Ginny’s eyes widened. ‘Is it—’
Dotty nodded. ‘Take it,’ she said.
‘How do you do that?’ asked Ginny.
‘It’s what she does,’ grinned Digger Dagger, ‘isn’t it?’
‘Absolutely!’ said Dotty. ‘I’m a pock picketer, remember? Very useful sometimes.’
Ginny, meanwhile, was flicking through the pages of Nod’s book.
‘What does he say about us visiting the shop?’ asked Digger Dagger. ‘And what about later?’
Ginny looked at him, confused. ‘But this isn’t a diary at all.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s a story.’
‘Oh, no,’ groaned Digger Dagger. ‘That means it’ll be a terrible Nod story!’
‘I don’t think so this time,’ said Ginny slowly.
‘No?’
Ginny, still flicking, shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because,’ said Ginny. ‘This is our story. It’s a story all about us!’
‘Really?’
‘Of course! Listen!’
Ginny turned to the beginning of the story and began to read:
* * *
Digger Dagger came from nowhere.
Ginny was lying in the hammock strung between the old peach tree and the apricot. It was one of those surprising evenings in late autumn when it seemed for a few hours that summer had returned. She was in that dreamy state halfway between being asleep and being awake, when she became aware of a presence nearby.
She thought at first it must have been Pop, her grandfather. He lived next door and was always popping over. Pop by name and pop by nature.
But when Ginny opened her eyes all she could see over the edge of the hammock was the top of what might have been red hat or might have been a red sock.
A head in a hat, or a foot in a sock?
Or a head in a sock, or a foot in a hat?
Curious, Ginny pushed herself up, and this started the hammock rocking like an unsteady rowboat. Up and down, up and down. Each time it swung down, Ginny could see a small unsmiling figure wearing a long red beanie, standing as still as the hammock was lurching.
His deep brown eyes stared at her fixedly.
‘Hello,’ he said.
* * *
Ginny broke off reading, and stared at Digger Dagger.
‘It’s a great story,’ said Dotty. ‘Read on!’
‘But …’ said Digger Dagger, ‘that’s how all this began …’
Ginny nodded. ‘Well,’ said Digger Dagger, with growing excitement. ‘How does it end? Do we find Pop? Do we get back?’
‘Wait …’
Ginny flicked through the book to the last few pages. Then she gave Digger Dagger a brave little smile and began to read:
* * *
‘So, you have the answer to the third riddle?’ asked Aesop Sod. His grin expressed disbelief.
‘We have,’ said Ginny, and was about to tell Aesop Sod the answer when he put a long, skinny finger in the air.
‘No, it must be in writing,’ he said.
‘In writing?’ asked Ginny.
‘Just one moment,’ said Aesop Sod. He left them briefly and then returned with a pad and his old-fashioned fountain pen. He ripped a page from the pad and handed it to Ginny, indicating that she should use the little writing desk to one side of the room.
Exchanging a glance with Digger Dagger and then giving a little shrug, Ginny did as was requested.
She spread the paper out on the writing table and then unscrewed the cap of the pen.
Then Ginny carefully printed out what she and Digger Dagger believed was the answer to the third riddle.
* * *
‘So what is it?’ asked Digger Dagger, interrupting in his eagerness to learn the answer. ‘What is the answer to the riddle?’
Ginny shook her head. ‘Nod doesn’t say,’ she said. ‘All I do is write out the answer and hand it to Aesop Sod.’
‘Read on,’ begged Dotty, ‘I want to know what happens!’
‘Don’t we all,’ said Digger Dagger. ‘I’m sorry, Ginny. Couldn’t help myself … Carry on.’
* * *
She folded the paper in two and, with a brave little smile at Digger Dagger, handed it to Aesop Sod.
The very bad very good storyteller unfolded the paper and read the answer.
For some time he said not a word, although his superior grin faded and his eyes darkened.
Then he said, ‘Did you work this out all by yourselves?’
Ginny nodded, unable to speak.
‘You had no help? You didn’t cheat?’
‘How could we cheat?’ demanded Digger Dagger.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Aesop Sod. ‘That soft-hearted fool Nod might have given you a hint.’
‘We’ve got it right, haven’t we?’ said Ginny. ‘That’s why you’re wriggling, isn’t it?’
‘It pains me beyond measure, dear girl,’ said Aesop Sod with infinite regret, ‘to tell you that you have in fact answered the riddle correctly.’
‘So you’ll tell us where Pop is?’ cried Ginny. ‘You’ll keep your promise?’
‘I’ll do even better than that,’ said Aesop Sod smiling broadly. ‘I’ll restore you to your true selves. Moreover, you will be commemorated in my sculpture garden.’
Ginny looked at him suspiciously. ‘I don’t want to be commemorated in your stupid sculpture garden. All I want is Pop back!’
‘Ahh, Pop Shmop!’ said Aesop Sod. ‘That’s all you ever go on about.’
‘Our true selves?’ asked Digger Dagger. ‘What do you mean?’
‘This!’ cried Aesop Sod, and picking up his fountain pen, he scribbled Ginny and Digger Dagger out and then described them anew.
When he had finished, he smiled broadly once more.
‘Excellent,’ he murmured.
Standing before him were Princess Peppermint Crème and her faithful but wicked vizier. Peppermint Crème was arrayed in chocolate and green, and the vizier in rich purple brocade with a bright red velvet Wee Willie Winkie hat. The princess bore a striking resemblance to Ginny and the vizier a striking resemblance to Digger Dagger.
‘Thank you!’ cried the princess, ‘Thank you, dear Mr Sod! I’ve been restored to my palace!’
‘Thank you!’ cried the vizier, ‘Thank you, my dear Mr Sod! I have my job back!’
And they lived happily ever after.
* * *
As Ginny closed the book, Digger Dagger said incredulously, ‘Is that it?’
‘That’s it,’ said Ginny.
‘What a load of rubbish!’ cried Digger Dagger.
‘That was pretty terrible!’ exclaimed Dotty. ‘What sort of an ending is that?’
‘You said it,’ said Digger Dagger, ‘a terrible ending.’
‘Well, I rather liked it,’ said Topper. ‘I mean, it was a surprise, wasn’t it?’
‘A terrible surprise,’ said Digger Dagger. ‘Are you all right, Ginny?’
She looked at him despairingly.
‘Oh. I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have got my hopes up. I mean, it was written by Nod after all, and we know what a rotten storyteller he is! It’s just that the way it started was so promising …’
‘And the way it ended was so awful,’ Digger Dagger completed.
‘Truly awful,’ said Ginny. ‘And even then we didn’t learn the answer to the riddle.’
‘I doubt whether Nod knows the answer to the riddle.’
Ginny stared at Digger Dagger. ‘I suppose this means that Sod wins?’
Digger Dagger shook his head. ‘Far too early to say that Sod’s won.’
‘What was that?’
‘I said, far too early to say that Sod’s won. Why?’
Ginny stared at him. ‘I’ve just had an idea about why Sod wouldn’t write down the last riddle.’
‘What is it?’
‘Because one and won sound the same. Could he have meant that one and one make won? If the last one is really won, then the answer could be built in to the riddle itself and we’ve won, or Sod’s won, or someone’s won.’
‘I don’t get it,’ said Topper.
Digger Dagger scratched his hat. ‘For once I agree with Topper. How can you win with one and one? I mean what is the first one and the second one in the first place?
‘Or even the second place?’ said Topper helpfully.
‘So we haven’t won?’ said Ginny.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Digger Dagger.
‘Has anyone won?’ asked Ginny.
‘Wonderful!’ said Topper.
Digger Dagger stared at him. ‘You know, Topper, I don’t think I can give you the benefit of the doubt any more. You really are a genuinely dim bulb.’
Topper grinned with pleasure. ‘Thank you, Digger Dagger. Thank you.’
Ginny handed Nod’s book to Dotty. ‘Nice try, Dotty. Pity it didn’t work.’
She stared around sideshow alley, shuddering a little as her gaze included the Ghost Train. ‘And we’re no nearer to finding Pop. You know, I wouldn’t mind betting he was never at the fair at all, and especially not anywhere near this rotten unfair place.’
Digger Dagger had followed her gaze. All at once his eye caught something hanging from the signpost Nod had almost crashed into.
‘I wouldn’t say that, Ginny. Look!’
