The Thorn Harbour Road Rally [Or, Macalley Takes the Wheel] Page 3

  “The road appears to be clear, madame.” He adjusted his goggles. “It might be a good opportunity to pull ahead of them.”

  “Absolutely!” We had hit a straight stretch of road, and I veered to the right and pumped the accelerator. The motorcar responded splendidly, and within a minute we had closed in on Bludergard and Stibbins.

  I took no small pleasure in seeing the shock in Bludergard’s face as I sped past his motorcar. An odd sort of adrenalin gripped me as I maneuvered in front of him. “Eat my dust!” I shouted.

  Macalley cleared his throat slightly. “Forgive me for saying this, madame, but that seems rather unsporting.”

  I flushed faintly. “You are absolutely right, Macalley. I shall apologize to him after I win the race.”

  “A sound idea…” Macalley glanced back at Bludergard. “That’s rather odd. He still seems worried about us. Almost panicky.”

  I looked up the road. “Macalley?” I said slowly. “It’s not us.”

  We could hear the curses split the air. They were coming from the rear seat of the Amazing Three-Wheeled Flivver. Professor Holsapple was shaking his fist at Stibbins, who was narrowing the gap between his motorcar and ours. “The Professor seems a bit perturbed,” Macalley said.

  “Blatherskite!” Holsapple roared. “Scuttlebutt! Opossum! Bandersnatch! Patent infringer!”

  “In the mood for understatement, are we, Macalley?” I murmured. My next comment was directed at Holsapple, and delivered at a higher volume. “I do say, Professor!”

  He glanced at me and smiled. “Ah, Alice! You must forgive my breach of etiquette. My harsh words were directed at the scoundrels behind you.”

  “Bludergard and Stibbins?”

  “Yes! Those two have conspired to plant booby traps to eliminate their rivals from the race!”

  “We have?” Bludergard shouted.

  “I knew there would be cheating and dirty tricks!” Holsapple pointed at Stibbins. “What do you have to say for yourself, you bounder!”

  Stibbins glared at the Professor. “Now look here, guv’nor! We haven’t even tried to cheat this time!’

  “This time?” I said softly.

  “We’ve run an honest race, and that’s the long and short of it.”

  “Is that so?” Holsapple snapped. “So where were you last night?”

  “Ummm…” Stibbins squirmed in his seat. “At the pub?”

  “The pub?” Bludergard said. “I thought you said you were getting a good night’s sleep, Stibbins.”

  Stibbins glanced at his master. “I find that relaxin’ with a few pints helps me get to Dreamland all the quicker.”

  “Ha!” Holsapple pounded the top of the box mounted to the back of the Flivver. “Can’t even get your story straight, can you?”

  Bludergard raised his hand. “Perhaps if you gave him a chance to rehearse it some more—”

  “You set those booby traps, Stibbins! You wrecked those motorcars!”

  “Those are scurrilous accusatories, guv’nor!” Stibbins tried his best to appear outraged.

  “You’ll be hearin’ from my solicitor once this race is over!”

  “He has a solicitor?” I said to Macalley.

  “The poor fellow must get hazard pay,” Macalley observed.

  “Now, Professor,” Bludergard said calmly, “there's no need for such harsh words. Let us finish the race, and then we can discuss this further over afternoon tea.”

  “Tea?” Holsapple seemed dumbfounded.

  “I think he's one of those coffee drinkin’ types, guv’nor,” Stibbins said.

  “That would actually explain quite a bit,” I said to myself.

  “One does not take tea with blackguards!” the Professor shouted.

  Bludergard raised an eyebrow. “Even if there are biscuits?”

  “There’s only one way to deal with cheaters! Lulu!”

  “Professor?” Lulu said from the front seat of the Flivver. “We could wait until after the race is over to report them.”

  “Justice does not wait for the finish line!” Holsapple exclaimed. “Activate the Astounding Eldritch Blunderbuss!”

  Lulu nodded and tapped a red button on the side of the dashboard. “Blunderbuss activated.”

  I watched with a growing dread as the box next to Holsapple opened. A large device that resembled a narrow, streamlined cannon emerged from the box, tubes and canisters feeding dwimm into the barrel. The Blunderbuss was mounted on a stand, and as Holsapple spun the wheel, it swiveled towards the motorcars behind him, including mine. As the Blunderbuss buzzed like a swarm of especially crabby hornets, the barrel started to glow a brilliant turquoise.

  I suspect that, at that moment, I had gone paler than a ghost with a bad case of influenza. “Macalley?” I said weakly.

  “Yes, madame?”

  “Duck.”

  “Excellent suggestion, madame.” Macalley crouched in his seat, lowering his head to what would hopefully be safety. As I was driving, the option was not open to me; I hunched over the steering wheel and tried to present as small and innocuous a target as possible.

  Holsapple smashed a button next to the Blunderbuss’ steering wheel as if it were a cockroach on a dessert plate. I watched with healthy doses of wonderment and sheer terror as, with a spine-chilling roar, the weapon fired a blast that can only be described as sideways blue lightning. As it passed over my head, I felt my hair stand on end.

  The blast struck a gigantic tree limb that overhung the road, snapping it off the trunk. It dropped like a wooden anvil, landing on the dashboard of Bludergard’s motorcar. Some of the lightning had clung to the limb and discharged into the dashboard, causing sparks and pieces of the motorcar to start flying off.

  “Take the wheel, guv’nor!” Stibbins shouted as the motorcar began to wobble precariously. Covering his face with his forearms, he leapt from his seat, bouncing along the ground in what appeared to be a rather painful manner.

  Bludergard grabbed the steering wheel and held it up with a smile. “Like this?” he said.

  His grin quickly vanished as he realized that the wheel was useless if not properly connected. He whimpered as his motorcar veered off the road, slowing just enough for its collision with a good-sized rock to be fatal to his vehicle but not to him.

  “Success!” Holsapple howled, smacking his fist onto the control board with insane abandon. “Victory! Another triumph for Rigby P.—”

  The Astounding Eldritch Blunderbuss came to life again, swiveling about almost of its own accord and firing another blast of blue lightning. The bolt struck a dead tree alongside the road ahead, smashing through the trunk. The tree fell over as the Amazing Three-Wheeled Flivver passed, landing on the Blunderbuss. The weapon shattered, and its energy blasted straight down, shattering the motorcar’s rear axle.

  The Flivver came to an abrupt stop. The Professor dazedly slumped in his seat. “Holsapple,” he muttered. As we passed, I could see Lulu holding her face in her hands.

  “A rather unfortunate turn for them,” Macalley said. “Not unexpected, but still unfortunate.”

  “It is somewhat sad, yes,” I replied, “but it’s good fortune for us.”

  “How so, madame?”

  “There are just two motorcars left in the race.” I smiled. “Oakton’s...and ours.”

  “Oakton…” Macalley tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I have to wonder if the Professor was incorrect in his conclusion.”

  “How so?”

  “He may have been right about the cheating, but wrong as to the identity of the cheater.”

  “Are you saying that it was Oakton?”

  “Quite possibly.”

  I gripped the steering wheel tightly as we started up a rather steep hill. “If that is the case, we shall have to win honestly to show him the error of his ways.”

  Macalley nodded. “I do have a suggestion that might not meet with your approval then, madame.”

  “What would it be?”

  “To lighten the
load.”

  “How?”

  “By abandoning the picnic basket. We can reclaim it later.”

  “Macalley!” I said indignantly. “We most certainly will not do that!”

  “You disapprove of the unfair advantage it would create, madame?”

  “I disapprove of discarding our lunch!”

  “Madame—”

  “I will not hear of it!” I was at the highest possible level of dudgeon. “The thought of casting aside your chicken and tuna sandwiches...Macalley!”

  “Yes, madame?”

  “Do you know what separates us from the lower animals?”

  Macalley glanced at me. “The ability to drive motorcars?”

  “And—” I tapped the steering wheel for emphasis. “Our appreciation of fine food of all types. Does the hungry wolf care about which prey is tastier? Do the ants at the picnic go out of their way to avoid the coleslaw? I should say not!”

  “The bear picking at the blackberry bush might disagree with your observation.”

  “Let him,” I said with a confident smile. “What does a bear know?”

  Macalley looked back over his shoulder. “That was not meant to be rhetorical, madame.”

  I followed his gaze and wished I hadn’t. A black bear, far larger than I had expected a creature of that type to be, had abandoned a bush that had already been picked clean along the side of the road and started after us. He roared at us, loud enough to drown out the engine.

  I was alarmed to discover that this bear was better suited for travel up steep hills than Clarinda’s motorcar was. I gave the accelerator pedal everything I had and added a few choice curses for the engine, but the beast was getting closer by the minute. “Madame?” Macalley said. “If I might suggest—”

  “Suggest away. And swiftly.”

  “Perhaps the bear’s hunger would be sated were we to let him have the sandwiches.”

  I winced. “Macalley—”

  “Madame Alice,” he said sternly, “the bear is ravenous. One way or another, he is going to eat. He can eat chicken and tuna, or he can eat human and gnome. I dare say that from our perspective, the former is preferable.”

  The bear roared again, and I found myself unable to dispute Macalley’s logic. “Do what you must,” I said sadly.

  “Very good, madame.” Macalley turned in his seat, opened the picnic basket, and pulled out the sandwiches. He opened the wrappings, and for a brief moment, the motorcar was filled with that promising aroma. I almost changed my mind, but before I could speak, Macalley had tossed the sandwiches onto the road behind us.

  The bear lumbered to a stop. He sniffed at one of the sandwiches. With a grunt and a snuffle, he sat down and started to eat what had been my lunch. I sighed inwardly at the loss of a fine meal. “Macalley…” I said softly.

  “There will be other sandwiches, madame,” he said as he closed the basket. “In the meantime, you may want to be sure that we don’t miss our turn back onto the road to Darbyfield.”

  I nodded and pushed the growling that had started in my stomach aside as we neared the crossroads. I took a left turn, and the road wound a bit further uphill. I squinted into the distance as we crested the hill and started down the last, familiar stretch into Darbyfield. “Macalley?” I said. “Is that…?”

  “I believe so,” he said.

  As we picked up speed, I could see the outline of a purple motorcar with a golden fin. “Oakton!” I shouted as I bent down. I had been having problems with my boot getting in the way of the accelerator, and enough was enough. I unzipped my boot, shook it free from my foot, and handed it to Macalley. “Do make sure that’s safe,” I said. “It is my favorite.”

  “Of course, madame.” He stowed the boot in the back seat.

  I pressed my stockinged foot against the accelerator and bore down with every last bit of strength and force I could muster. The engine screamed. In an eyeblink, between the thrust and the downhill momentum, we were tearing down the road. As we did, I saw Fry again, still walking Bernadette. “Miss Peavley?” he said. “If I may—”

  “Sorry, old chap!” I shouted as we rushed by. “Still busy!”

  I held my breath for a moment, not quite believing, even with all my surface confidence, that I was really closing in on the lead. I was now near enough to Oakton’s car to see him and Hillsboro, and when the latter turned his head to look, I could tell from the way his jaw dropped that he was close enough to see us.

  Hillsboro tapped his employer on the shoulder. “What is it now?” Oakton snapped. Hillsboro pointed at Macalley and me. Oakton’s expression when he saw us was quite strangled, as if his cravat had finally had enough and sought to do its owner in.

  “What ho, Oakton!” I shouted with a grin and a cheerful wave.

  “Peavley?”

  “The very same!”

  “You’re driving Topping’s car!”

  “Capital observation! Clarinda had an unfortunate accident, so I am running this race in her stead.”

  Oakton sneered. “And you think you can win?”

  I fought off that sneer as best as I could, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. “Be a good chap and pull over so we have room to pass, would you?”

  “I have a better suggestion.” Oakton grinned a savage grin. “Hillsboro? Don’t you think the road looks a bit dry?”

  Hillsboro nodded rapidly. He lifted a glowing canister with a flexible nozzle from the back seat and snickered as he set his hand on the pump at its top. “Macalley?” I said.

  “It appears to be a full container of Master Skedaddle’s Patented Lubricat-O,” Macalley said.

  “He’ll spray it on the road ahead of us! It'll stick to our wheels! We'll lose traction and crash!”

  “Madame Alice, if—”

  “Have at it!” I shouted.

  “Of course, madame.” Macalley reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a china salad plate. He held it like a discus and flung it sideways at Oakton’s car.

  Whether or not he was aiming at Oakton’s head, I was pleased with the result. The plate struck Oakton in the helmet. His grip on the steering wheel loosened just as Hillsboro aimed the nozzle of his container of Lubricat-O at the road ahead of us and squeezed the pump. The car hit a bump, and the nozzle swung up as it spat out a glowing glob.

  Instead of covering the road, the Lubricat-O landed on the hood of our motorcar. As it slowly slid to one side, dripping into the engine, I had a horrible realization. “Macalley?” I said.

  “Yes, madame?”

  “Did you just throw a plate from the manor’s collection of fine china at Lord Oakton’s head?”

  “We do have spares in that pattern, madame.”

  “Ah. Carry on, then.”

  “Very good, madame.” Macalley reached in to the basket for another plate.

  While we had been discussing Macalley’s choice of projectiles, Oakton had been glaring at Hillsboro. “You simpleton!” he hollered. “You missed! Do it right this time!”

  Hillsboro nodded and lifted the container. As his hand hovered over the pump, Macalley aimed and threw the plate at him. It struck Hillsboro in the stomach; he doubled over, dropping the nozzle as he leaned on the pump.

  Globs of Lubricat-O sprayed all over the motorcar. One struck the steering wheel, causing Oakton’s grip to loosen. The motorcar swerved all over the road as he tried to regain control, a task made harder when he drove over another bump. This caused Hillsboro to come out of his seat and when he came down, he landed in another glob of lubricant.

  Hillsboro slid across the seat and into Oakton just as he was finally regaining a firm grip on the steering wheel. His motorcar slipped to the right, leaving room on the left. “Hold on, Macalley!” I shouted as I steered left and bore down again on the accelerator. I sped past Oakton as we neared the bottom of the hill.

  “It’s unbelievable, Tony!” This time, I kept my eyes on the road as the announcer in the tree shouted into her megaphone. “Alice Peavley has just t
aken the lead!” A part of me wanted to celebrate, but I knew that the race was not yet over.

  “Madame Alice?” Macalley said as we reached the outskirts of Darbyfield. “We seem to be going even faster than before.”

  “How could that—” My eyes widened. “The Lubricat-O! Some might have gotten into the engine and reduced the friction!”

  “Perhaps we should be cautious and slow down a bit, then.”

  I glanced over my shoulder. “Caution will have to wait just a bit longer,” I said as I saw Oakton closing in.

  “I suspect Oakton is also thinking along those lines, madame,” Macalley said.

  “In what way?”

  The motorcar shook. I looked back again and saw the spiked tip of Oakton’s vehicle had tapped the rear bumper of mine. We swerved left as we drove into town. “That scoundrel!” I hissed. “How dare he!”

  “I believe he’s preparing to try that again,” Macalley said.

  “Is he sneering?”

  “Indeed, he is at full sneer.”

  “Marvelous. He should be quite riled.”

  “And how is this a good thing, madame?”

  I risked a glance over my shoulder as we sped through town. Oakton had dropped back slightly, but I could see his motorcar pick up speed again. The pointed tip was starting to spin. “Let’s find out,” I said.

  As Oakton closed in, ready to drill out the rear of my motorcar, I slowed ever so slightly. “Any last words should this maneuver not succeed, madame?” Macalley asked.

  “Have a little faith in me, Macalley.” As I spoke, I made a sharp left turn. My tires made a horrid screeching sound as I spun off the main street. I recognized Monviso, the old dwarfish produce vendor, as he pushed a cart loaded with fruit towards Sunday market, and swerved left to avoid him.

  Oakton was not so fortunate. As Monviso spotted him and dove for cover like a duck on the opening day of hunting season, Oakton's motorcar smashed through his cart. Apples, pears and melons sprayed every which way, and several bushels of fresh strawberries flew up in the air and landed atop Oakton and Hillsboro. I did get sprayed with various juices and pulps, but I avoided the worst of it.