Alfred was stationed at the periscope as the submarine snaked its way along the River Thames. Being underwater was the perfect cover for these revolutionaries. On HMS Sceptre, they could move around London undetected. Soon the submarine had reached the Houses of Parliament. This gargantuan Gothic structure sat right on the River Thames. For hundreds of years it had been a place where politicians met to debate the important issues of the day.
Now there were no politicians.
No elections.
No democracy.
As a result, the Houses of Parliament were empty and had fallen into total disrepair. The only part of the building that did still function was the clock tower, home of the bell known as “Big Ben”. This chimed on the hour every hour, telling the people of London the time. Now that it was dark all day and all night, it was hard to tell if three chimes meant three in the afternoon or three in the morning.
Still, it was one of the very last symbols of the old order that was still working. If Big Ben still struck on the hour, every hour, it gave the illusion that life was somehow normal. It was important to the Lord Protector, who kept the Houses of Parliament under armed guard at all times.
“Big Ben in sight, Grammy! I mean, Captain Grammy – I mean Captain,” spluttered Alfred.
“Excellent work, sailor,” replied the Old Queen. “Now, ladies, there are revolutionaries all over London, all over Britain, awaiting our signal. When Big Ben chimes thirteen times, that will send a message for miles around that the moment has finally arrived for revolution!”
“REVOLUTION!” chimed in the old dears together.
“I will lead a team of two ladies good and true to the base of the clock tower.”
The Old Queen unrolled a diagram of the tower.
“From the intelligence we have gathered, the so-called royal guards are stationed here, here and here.”
With her gloved finger, she indicated a number of places at the base and top of the tower.
“Our mission is to seize control of the bell tower itself at the stroke of midnight. A moment too soon and the guard will raise the alarm. A moment too late and we will have missed our chance. Instead of twelve strikes, we will change the clock’s workings to strike thirteen. Once safely back here in HMS Sceptre, we will be ready to launch the orb.”
“Orb?” asked Alfred.
The Old Queen winked mischievously and paced over to a huge metal container. She whisked off a cover to reveal an antique torpedo with “ORB” emblazoned on it.
“Oh my goodness, Grammy!” exclaimed the boy. All of a sudden, he was terrified these old dears might blow themselves up, taking him with them.
“Beauty, isn’t she?” said Grammy, patting the torpedo a little too hard for Alfred’s liking. “This will blow a ruddy great hole in the side of the Tower of London, freeing all those innocent folk locked up there.”
“I hope you know what you are doing, Grammy,” remarked Alfred. “Mama is one of the prisoners.”
“Of course we do, boy! Just look at my crack team! We are in our prime!”
“HURRAH!” chimed the old ladies together.
Their prime looked a while ago, but the prince said nothing. It wouldn’t help.
“Enid!” called out the Old Queen.
“Yes, Captain?” she replied.
“You are coming with me and my boy. And Agatha!”
“Do I have to?” complained Agatha.
“Yes! Now, ladies…”
Alfred gave his grandmother a look.
“…and gentleman. Follow me!”
The ladies picked up their handbags.
What do the old dears need their handbags for? thought Alfred.
Next, Grammy grabbed a rusty old torch, then led the other three up the metal ladder and out of the submarine. The four of them stood wobbling on the bow of the vessel, as it gently rocked in the swell of the Thames. Alfred looked up at the clock tower, and took a deep breath. After all the bravado with the old ladies, he was beginning to feel sick with nerves.
“You tickety-boo, boy?” asked the Old Queen.
“Yes, Captain, ready for action,” he lied.
She swung a rope with a hook at the end of it back and forth a few times. Then with all her might she threw it high into the air.
WHOOSH!
The end hooked on to a ledge of the Houses of Parliament.
CLUNK!
Grammy checked it was secure, then, looking smug with her handiwork, she hissed, “Still got it! Now, ladies, and, er, gentleman, follow me.”
One by one, the three old dears used the rope to scale the river wall. Agatha put her walking stick between her teeth like a pirate might a cutlass as she climbed. Alfred went last, and before long the group found themselves inside the deserted chamber of the House of Commons.
The prince had seen pictures of this place in his history books. In the old days it was crowded with politicians. Now it had been ransacked. Windows had been smashed, and those distinctive green leather benches had been ripped, and the Speaker’s chair upturned. When Alfred looked down at the floor, he realised something was very wrong.
“The carpet,” he whispered. “It’s moving.”
The Old Queen answered, “Rats.”
A sea of rats was rolling over the floor. Thousands of them.
“Let’s get out of here,” whispered the boy.
Grammy checked her little gold watch. “We have ten minutes until midnight. Move out!”
She gestured with her hand, and Enid and Agatha, who had been catching their breath, followed on.
They passed down hallway after hallway in the Houses of Parliament. Everywhere they stepped, rats scattered.
SCRATCH!
SCRATCH!
SCRATCH!
No one said a word until the Old Queen walked straight into what she thought was a net.
“HELP!” she cried.
She had become tangled up in something that hung from one side of the wall to the other. It was only when the other three began untangling her that they realised what it was.
“A spider’s web,” said Alfred as he pulled the cobwebs off his grandmother.
“No one has been down here in years,” muttered the Old Queen, brushing a giant spider over her shoulder as if it were a fleck of dandruff. “Onwards!”
They pressed on, illuminated only by the rusty old torch she was holding. As they neared a turn in the hallway, she placed her finger to her lips.
“What does that mean?” asked Enid.
“Be quiet, dear!” replied Agatha.
“SHUSH!” shushed Alfred.
“Oh!” exclaimed Enid. “Are we nearly there yet? I need a wee!”
“SHUSH!” shushed everyone.
Then the Old Queen flicked the switch on her torch and turned off the light.
FLICK!
As slowly and silently as she could, she peered round the corner. Alfred did too.
In the distance, shadows could be made out. On closer inspection, these were the silhouettes of two royal guards. They were guarding the door to the clock tower.
The Old Queen gently rolled her torch along the floor towards them.
CLANK! CLUNK! CLINK!
The two guards stepped towards the torch and peered down to inspect it. The Old Queen gave the signal, and the two old ladies knew exactly what to do. Enid and Agatha charged towards the guards.
“CHARGE!”
They whacked them over their heads with their handbags.
THWACK!
THWACK!
THWACK!
That’s why they needed their handbags!
With the guards dazed and confused, Enid and Agatha attempted to wrestle their laser guns off them.
In the commotion, blasts of light shot from their guns, hitting the walls and ceiling.
ZAP!
ZAP!
ZAP!
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
Agatha must have been hit…
ZAP!
…as she collapsed to the floor in an instant.
THUD!
The Old Queen grabbed one of the guards from behind and trained his laser gun on the other. Alfred did the same and, in a glorious moment, the two guards zapped each other…
ZAP!
ZAP!
…and fell to the floor.
THUD!
THUD!
Immediately, attention turned to Agatha.
“Agatha? Agatha?” asked the Old Queen, as she began slapping the old dear around the face. “Wake up! Wake up! Oh dear, please, you’re only ninety-two! This isn’t your time to go!”
SLAP!
SLAP!
SLAP!
But, slap as she might, Agatha just wouldn’t wake up. Tears welled in the Old Queen’s eyes as she realised the worst.
