Shrinking Ralph Perfect by Chris d'Lacey

Author:Chris d'Lacey [D'Lacey, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781408314432
Publisher: Hachette Children's
Published: 2011-01-20T05:00:00+00:00

The Final Straw

‘What’s happening?’ Penny cried, leaping up. Around the room, the miniones were running for the corners or grabbing hold of anything stable they could find.

Heart thumping, Ralph stood back a pace as a grubby-looking fingernail yanked the balcony windows open and some sort of tube crashed into the room. It was a long, double-width, waxed paper drinking straw. It slid in like a tank gun, knocking Rodney Coiffure off his feet. Wally ran over and dragged him to safety. For one horrible, heart-stopping second, Ralph imagined that Jack was about to indulge in a brutal game of blow football. His pulse came down a few beats when Tom said: ‘Stay calm, Penny. This is how Jack communicates with us. Hang on tight to something. If he shouts, it can turn a bit blustery.’

With that, Tom, Neville and Spud O’Hare hurried over to the end of the straw, positioning themselves just behind the opening.

With a whoosh like an express train going past, Jack’s voice came rumbling out. ‘Wakey! Wakey!’

Ralph’s hair seemed to double in length as the power of the blast tried to tug it from its roots. The corned beef wind that was Jack Bilt’s breath picked him up as though he were a weightless leaf, and sent him tumbling across the floor. He grabbed for the corner of a mattress but missed, hitting the far wall with a painful thud. When he opened his eyes, he saw Tom standing at the mouth of the straw, bellowing up it through his cupped hands. ‘What do you want, Jack?’ He dived aside as Jack replied, ‘Smells.’

Tom came back, this time accompanied by Spud and Neville. To Ralph’s astonishment, Neville gave Spud a quick leg up and pushed the roofer into the straw. Spud punched a chisel through the paper wall, put his head down and held on tight.

‘Smells? We don’t understand,’ hailed Tom.

‘Stinkies,’ said Jack, making Spud O’Hare flip like a sock on a washing line. Somehow, the roofer managed to hang on and even had time to crawl further up the straw and hammer in another chisel hold. ‘I want odours. Stenches. Reeks galore. It’s pegs on noses for you little worms. This is a job for Mummy. Got it?’

‘You mean Penny?’ Tom replied, stalling for time.

‘I mean Mrs Pretty Penny Perfect,’ Jack bellowed. The chandelier, already swinging on its chains, looped so high that it crashed loudly against the ceiling, blazing a shower of glass to the floor.

Still Spud O’Hare climbed up the straw. He was over the threshold of the balcony now.

‘Knocker’s nobbled,’ Jack railed. ‘Drugged. Dogged out. Sherried like a bloomin’ trifle, he is. She meant to do me in, didn’t she? Oh yes. You tell Mrs Bake-Me-a-Cake to make the house reek like a wrestler’s armpit or her boy goes into the Unlucky Dip.’

Ralph heard a glassy clink.

‘That’s Jack, tapping the tank,’ said Tom. ‘Ralph, he needs you to come to the balcony.’

Ralph hobbled across. His ribs were on fire and his ankle was throbbing.

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