Journey to the River Sea

After a long time it was opened and an old woman peered through a crack.

‘We want Professor Glastonberry. At once. Fetch him.’

‘Nada,’ she said. ‘Nothing. No here.’

‘Yes, he is. You’re lying.’

The crows pushed her aside. The professor’s house had a small study, a sitting room and a bedroom with an empty bed.

‘Where is he? Tell us at once!’ They shook her roughly by the arm. ‘Where?’

‘Is in Obidos. Fetch bichos for museum.’

‘Well, find his keys then.’

‘No keys.’

‘Don’t lie to us.’

The crows were losing their tempers.

‘No lies,’ she said. ‘Professor has keys on himself.’

‘We’re wasting our time,’ said Trapwood. ‘Come on; we’ll go to the police. They’ll force open the door.’

At the police station there was only the glimmer of a light in one window. The crows thumped on the door, shouted, banged on the glass. At last a very young man, his uniform unbuttoned, came out yawning.

‘You must open up the museum at once,’ shouted Mr Trapwood. ‘The Taverner boy is hiding there.’

‘Eh?’

‘The museum. You must open it quickly,’ squeaked Mr Low.

The policeman shook his head. ‘Colonel da Silva no here.’

He yawned again and tried to go back into his office, but the crows pushed him aside.

‘Show us where your tools are. For entering a building.’

‘What is tools?’ asked the befuddled young man.

But the crows were already rampaging through the building, opening doors, peering in cupboards...

‘Here – these’ll do. A chisel, a crowbar... and this metal rod. We can use it as a battering ram.’

‘Right.’

Ignoring the young policeman, who was shouting and waving his arms, the crows ran out into the street.

The outer door of the Museum of Natural History was massive, but the crows were no longer the ill and feeble men they had been an hour ago. They were men of steel now they were so close to success.

They chiselled and they prised, they cursed and they sweated, and presently the hinges broke and they were through.

‘Find the lights,’ ordered Trapwood.

Mr Low bumped into an anaconda, stumbled over a case of coatis, and found the switch.

The whole world of the rainforest appeared before them; coiled snakes, crouching monkeys, huge caymans with bared teeth. It all looked very different at night.

‘He might be anywhere.’

They began to search.

‘Come out, Taverner, we know you’re there!’

‘Your time’s up, boy. We won’t hurt you.’

‘You’ll be all right with us.’

They went on shouting and searching – behind a case of capybaras, under a bench holding an aquarium of piranha fish, on the top of a cupboard of pelts . . .

Nothing.

They went into the second room, and the third. Then up the stairs to grope among the throwing spears and necklaces of teeth . . . .

Still nothing.

Downstairs again, into the professor’s office and his lab. Nothing except an eerie skeleton on a metal stand.

‘Get the girl. The pigtailed girl. We’ll force her to tell us.’

‘All right.’

Mr Low made for the door.

The yellow eyes of a snarling jaguar stared at Mr Trapwood. He didn’t much like the idea of being in the museum alone.

‘No, wait. I’ll come with you. We may have to bring her by force.’

Miss Minton was behaving oddly. She had taken no steps to follow the twins and had prevented Sergei from doing so. Instead she was watching Maia, who was pretending to enjoy the party and not making a good job of it. Maia’s colour was high, she was obviously upset, but Miss Minton did not go to her; she just watched.

She had been watching now for several days.

The children were not dancing any longer. They were falling on the food. Maia did her best to eat, she had never seen such exotic dishes, but she could hardly swallow anything. What was happening in the museum? Sergei had interrupted the twins before she could tell them about the trapdoor under the sloth. Poor Sergei who had only wanted to help and protect her, and who now looked at her, angry and bewildered, not enjoying his own party as he should.

What was happening? Had they found Clovis yet?

In the entrance hall there was a disturbance. One of the maids was arguing with two grim-faced, black-clad men, who now pushed her aside.

‘We want the pigtailed girl who lives with the Carters.’

‘Maia, she’s called.’

They opened the door to various rooms, while the servants tried to stop them. Then the door of the dining room . . .

The only pigtailed girl was a very small blonde sitting on the lap of her governess so that she could reach the table. Maia sat bent over her plate. She had arranged her loose hair so as to partly hide her face, but it didn’t help her. The crows knew her at once. ‘That’s her – over there. You, girl, you’re to come with us.’

‘No.’

Maia had risen and was holding onto the side of the table.

‘If you don’t, we’ll have to use force.’

Sergei got to his feet, prepared to do battle. Then a bony hand descended on Maia’s shoulder.

‘I think you had better go with these gentlemen and tell them what they want to know,’ said Miss Minton. She turned to the crows. ‘I shall, of course, accompany her.’

‘No, Minty, please! I can manage by myself!’