After a hurried breakfast of pickled fish eyes and shrimp-scale tea, Clod led the group beyond Washing Machine Hill to a maze of alleyways on the far side of town. Neville noticed with growing fear that the way ahead was getting darker and more cramped the further they went, and everything seemed to be covered in mould.
‘Hmmmm.’ Clod sighed contentedly. ‘Can you smell it, Nev?’
‘Smell what?’ said Neville from Clod’s shoulders, but he could smell it. It was the unmistakable salty smell of the sea.
Neville braced himself and thought of Captain Brilliant. He was pretty sure visiting the Clunk was going to be worse than the bog of the slurches, the dooky hole and all the other nasty parts of the Underneath that he’d visited, all rolled into one.
They rounded the corner by a huge stack of old, rusted motorcars and Neville almost toppled backwards off Clod’s shoulders with shock. There, bigger and more menacing than Neville could have imagined, was … WAS … AN OCEAN … A GREAT, BIG, WET, ROLLING, UNDERGROUND OCEAN!
‘Ta-dah!’ Clod yelled with pride, putting Neville down on the ground. ‘Didn’t I say you’d love it?’
Neville stood at the foot of a narrow jetty that zigzagged its way across the water like a rickety wooden vein. There were hundreds of them, but the jetty that Clod had brought them to was longer than all the others and there seemed to be some type of hut or small house at the end of it.
‘That’s where we’re goin’,’ said Clod. He was pointing at the little building. ‘You’re the leader, Nev. Steady as you go.’
Neville eyed the way ahead nervously and prodded the first board with his toe. The rotten wood groaned beneath his foot and made a splintering sound.
‘Go on, lump,’ said Clod. ‘Nothin’ to worry about.’
Neville gulped. ‘OK, Dooda,’ he said, trying to sound brave. He could barely move. His legs weren’t listening to what he was telling them to do and his knees wouldn’t stop shaking.
‘Off you go then,’ Clod coaxed again.
Neville broke out in a cold sweat. It all looked so dangerous. On either side of the jetty, the skeletons of old troll fishing boats creaked with the tide, and through the cracks Neville could see the shallows below were teeming with strange fish and spiny crustaceans. They slapped the water as they wriggled and clambered up the dockside. Neville cringed. The thought of landing among all those slippery creepy-crawlies made his skin shiver.
‘HURRY UP!’ Rubella shouted from behind. ‘MOVE IT, YOU SQUIRMER!’
‘Come on,’ Neville said to himself. ‘Be brave. Remember you’ve got troll blood.’
‘What’s keepin’ you, Nev?’ asked Malaria.
What was he going to do? If he chickened out, Rubella would make fun of him forever. Before he had time to change his mind, Neville took a deep breath and skittered along the jetty, praying to Captain Brilliant that he wouldn’t end up going through it. He jumped quickly from plank to plank and kept his eyes locked firmly on the little shed at the end. Keep going, he thought. Just keep going.
Before he knew it, Neville had crossed almost the entire length of the walkway with his troll-family stumbling along behind. But the closer he got to the shed, the more he couldn’t quite tell what he was looking at. The walls and squat roof seemed to be shifting and changing shape.
Neville stopped in his tracks and stared. It was like he was looking at a mirage.
‘Dooda,’ Neville said. ‘What’s that?’
‘What’s what?’ asked Clod.
‘THAT!’
‘That?’ Clod chuckled. ‘That’s the boatman’s place. Can’t cross the Undersea without a boat, lump. We’d all get sogsome.’
‘But why’s it moving?’ Neville asked.
‘Oh,’ said Clod. He plodded over to a big dented bell dangling from a pole, grabbed the rope that was hanging beneath and twanged it as hard as he could.
DIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGG!
‘Now just you watch,’ Clod said as the earsplitting peal echoed across the waterfront. Instantly the walls of the boathouse started trembling more than ever. Neville gasped as he realized what he was looking at. The walls weren’t moving at all, they were covered in thousands upon thousands of crabs and urchins and sea slugs. They scuttled down in all directions until, in no time at all, the building emerged.
‘Ha ha!’ Clod yelled, clapping. ‘I love it when they do that.’
Carefully, Neville stepped a little closer, kicking aside the last remaining crabs that click-clacked about on the jetty. The place looked like it had been abandoned years ago and was very close to collapsing into the sea.
‘Are you sure this is right?’ Neville said. ‘It looks … empty.’
‘Yep,’ said Clod. ‘Look.’ He pointed to a driftwood sign hanging above the red door with the words OLD BARNACLE’S BOAT TOURS painted across it. Neville read it out loud, then knocked softly. His heart was thumping against his ribs. This place gave him the creeps.
‘Nothing,’ said Neville when no one answered.
‘Try again, Nev,’ Clod said. ‘Give it some welly.’
Neville knocked again, a little harder this time.
‘It doesn’t look like anybody’s home,’ he said.
‘Oh, nonkumbumps,’ Malaria said. ‘You’ve just got to do it right.’ She reached past Neville and pounded on the door so hard the entire building creaked, then leaned to one side at an alarming angle.
‘WHHHHAAAAAAAATTTT?’
Suddenly an upstairs window flew open and a head on the end of a long wrinkly neck poked out like a demented cuckoo clock. Everybody jumped, including Rubella. She dropped Pong on to the boards with a soggy thud. Pong laughed wildly.
‘WHO’S A-KNOCKIN’?’ huffed the old troll. He lifted an enormous, rusty ear trumpet to his ear. ‘EH?’
‘Oh, there you are,’ said Clod.
‘WHAT?’ Old Barnacle’s name was no exaggeration. He was the oldest troll Neville had ever seen. Old Barnacle’s face was like a pie crust that had been baked too long, and the seaweed beard that sprouted from his chin reached all the way down to the floor.
‘WHAT? WHO? EH?’ Old Barnacle barked again with a voice like sandpaper. ‘ARE YOU? ERM … YOU MUST BE … WHO ARE YOU?’
‘We need a ride in your boat,’ Malaria said.
‘WHO?’
‘WE NEED A RIDE IN YOUR BOAT!’ Malaria said even louder.
‘OH!’ Old Barnacle wheezed. ‘I’M FINE, THANK YOU!’
‘NO!’ Malaria bellowed with all her might. She gestured at the boat tied up at the end of the jetty. ‘WE WANT TO USE YOUR BOAT!’
‘OLD BARNACLE’S THE NAME!’
‘YOUR BOAT!’ shouted Clod.
‘I HAVEN’T SEEN HIM!’
‘YOUR BOAT!!’ shouted Neville.
‘OH, NO, I CAN’T STAND THE STUFF … IT MAKES ME BLURTY, IT DOES!’
Rubella planted her feet wide, balled her hands into fists and screamed, ‘BOOOOAAATTT!’
‘WELL, THANK YOU VERY MUCH, I’VE BEEN DIETING!’ With that, the old troll reeled his beard back up through the window and slammed the shutter.
‘That’s it!’ Rubella grunted. ‘MOVE!’ She shoved Neville out of the way and stomped towards the boathouse. Then she smashed straight through the front wall and disappeared inside.
‘Aha,’ said Clod. He reached out and took hold of Malaria’s grey-green hand. ‘She’s like her mooma.’ Malaria blushed and looked a little bit proud.
THUD … THUD … THUD … THUD … THUD …
Everyone stopped and listened to Rubella lumbering up Old Barnacle’s stairs. Then came the sound of a door banging open and Old Barnacle’s voice saying, ‘I NEVER KNEW YOU LIVED ’ERE!’
‘SHUT UP!’ Rubella’s voice barked.
THUD … THUD … THUD … THUD … THUD …
Rubella clomped downstairs and back out through the troll-shaped hole she’d left on her way in. She had Old Barnacle slung over her shoulder, still clutching his ear trumpet. Clod stepped in close and cleared his throat.
‘’ELLO, OLD BARNACLE,’ he yelled into the rusty tube. Old Barnacle listened for a moment.
‘’ELLO!’ the old troll wheezed back. ‘WHAT D’YA WANT?’
‘WE’RE POPPIN’ OFF TO VISIT THE CLUNK … TO SEE LADY JAUNDICE,’ Clod yelled.
A flash of recognition passed across Old Barnacle’s weathered face.
‘LADY JAUNDICE?’ the old troll croaked. ‘YOU’RE VISITIN’ THE TROLL THAT STOLE?’
‘YES!’ Rubella snapped impatiently.
‘S’RIGHT!’ said Clod. ‘WE NEED A RIDE IN YOUR BOAT.’
‘OH …’ Old Barnacle wriggled down from Rubella’s shoulder and smiled at everyone. He was naked except for a pair of tatty red-and-white-striped trousers. There was a tattoo of an anchor on his shoulder and another on his forearm that said MOOMA. ‘WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO?’
Neville tiptoed to the edge of the dock and looked down at the rusted tin boat that bobbed up and down below.
‘Is it safe?’ Neville said into Old Barnacle’s ear trumpet.
‘SAFE?’ Old Barnacle laughed. ‘THERE AIN’T NO SAFER BOAT THAN THIS’UN. LET ME INTRODUCE YOU … EVERYONE, THIS IS OLE SINKY!’
