Audio Software icon An illustration of a 3. Software Images icon An illustration of two photographs. Images Donate icon An illustration of a heart shape Donate Ellipses icon An illustration of text ellipses. The secret of platform 13 Item Preview. EMBED for wordpress. Want more? Advanced embedding details, examples, and help! Something had happened—something horrible! A n evil stench spread slowly over the grass and crept through the branches of the trees. The roosting birds flew upward with cries of alarm.
A cloud passed over the moon. Running back to warn the others, she saw that they had risen to their feet and were staring at the sky.
The smell grew worse. A mouse in the bushes squealed in terror; a needle of ice pierced the warmth of the summer night. And then she came! Her rancid wings fluttered once. Her handbag dangled from her arm; the frill round the bottom of her bloomers, hugging her scaly legs, was like the ruff on a poisonous lizard.
The smell of a harpy's face powder is one of the most dreaded smells in the world. The nail polish on the harpy's ghastly talons, the loathsome hairspray on her permed hair, were making them feel dizzy and sick. Giants in embroidered braces! She put her claws on Gurkie's begonia and tore it out of the ground. To tell you you're finished.
Kaput Off the job. I don't know if the King and Queen will forgive you, but if they've got any sense, they won't. You're failures. You're feeble. A disaster. They were guilty of everything the harpy accused them of. For they had put Ben before the Prince. Hans had struggled with himself for a few minutes, but in the end he and the troll had run back to help Ben and left the true Prince of the Island in a squelchy heap inside the cake.
And Raymond had come to himself and climbed out and even now was probably guzzling Knickerbocker Glories in his room in the hotel. What's more, they hadn't even thought of going back and having another go at getting him out; all they'd thought of was carrying Ben away to safety. They weren't fit to be rescuers; the harpy was right. Smith went on. She didn't care for Raymond, but the idea of him being carried away in the talons of Mrs.
Smith was too horrible to bear. But some of my girls are sussing out the Astor now. Then from behind them came a strong young voice. You will help me, of course; you will take care of his mother and the guards, but the Prince is mine! Smith," said the other harpies gloomily.
No one went there after dark; it was the sort of place which muggers loved t and ordinary people avoided. A l l of them would have liked to be the one to snatch the Prince, but they hadn't really expected to be chosen—their leader always kept the best jobs for herself.
Smith, but they had the same rank black wings, the same evil talons, the same stretch tops and bloomers ending in the same frills. They too had handbags full of makeup, but Miss Witherspoon kept a whistle and some dog biscuits in hers. She was the sporting one, the one who trained the dogs.
Smith—and Miss Brown nodded. We'll parcel him up in the cloakroom—I don't fancy any wriggling as we go through the tunnel. I'll give the signal when you should let them go. Then she tucked her head into her wings, as birds do, and in a moment the others heard her snores. There were only a few more hours before the closing of the gump for nine long years, but it was clear that Mrs.
Smith didn't even think of failure. Much as they had wanted to snatch the Prince themselves, the other harpies had to admit that she was the best person for the job. On the roof of the Astor, Mrs. Trottle waited with her husband and her son. Her suitcase, ready packed, was beside her, and a traveling rug. Trottle's uncle, Sir Ian Trottle, who lived in a big house on the Scottish border, had offered to shelter them from the madmen who were chasing Raymond.
Her darling babykin hadn't realized that the gang of dope fiends were after him again. When he came round inside the cake, he couldn't remember anything, and she hadn't told him what had happened. And actually she herself wasn't too clear about what had gone on in the Astor dining room. Bruce had told her that he'd thrown the boy for safety into the cake to save him from the clutches of the kidnappers, and she'd rewarded him, but he wasn't much good anymore, limping about and with a bruise on his head the size of a house.
And Doreen, who'd been thrown through a window, had cut her wrist so badly that it would be a long time before she could knit. She'd sent them both home, and it was two of the Astor's own guards who were protecting them until the helicopter came.
As for the rest of the babble—something about some boy being lifted up and taken to heaven—Mrs. Trottle put that down to the effect of the poisonous gas that had been let off in the room.
He began to grope in Mrs. Trottle's hold-all, found a bar of toffee, and put it in his mouth. Trottle looked up, but there was no sign yet of the helicopter. It was a beautiful clear night. They'd have an easy flight. And as soon as Raymond was safe at Dunloon, she was going to call the police.
Once Ben was out of her way and there was no snooping to be done, she'd get proper protection for her little one. And Ben would be out of the way—she'd left clear instruc- tions at the hospital. Even now he might be on the way to Ramsden Hall. She'd had a scare with Ramsden— some meddling do-gooders had tried to get the place shut down, but the man who ran it had been too clever for them.
Whatever it was called, Ramsden was a good old-fashioned reform school. They didn't actually send children up chimneys because most people now had central heating, but they saw to it that the boys knew their place, and that was what Ben needed. And oh, the relief she'd feel at having him out of the house! Trottle, and the guards moved aside the cones and turned up the landing lights, ready for the helicopter to land. The pilot who'd been sent to fetch the Trottles was one of the best. He had flown in the Gulf War; he was steady and experienced, and of course he would never have taken even the smallest sip to drink before a flight.
And yet now he was seeing things. He was seeing dogs. Which meant that he was going mad because you did not see dogs in the sky; you didn't see stars blotted out by thrashing tails; you didn't see grinning jowls and fangs staring in at the cockpit. The pilot shook his head. He closed his eyes for an instant, but it didn't help. Another slobbering face with bared teeth and saucer eyes had appeared beside him. There were more of them now.
But there were—and they were coming closer. He dipped suddenly, expecting them to be sliced by his propellers, but they weren't. Of course they weren't, because they didn't exist. High above him, Miss Witherspoon, her handbag dangling, encouraged the pack. See him off! Sparks came from their eyes, spittle dropped from their jaws. The pack leader threw himself at the cockpit window. The pilot could see the roofs of the Astor below, but every time he tried to lose height, the phantom dogs chivied him harder—and what if those sparks were real?
What if they burnt the plane? She blew her whistle, and the dogs went mad. The pilot made one more attempt to land. Then suddenly he'd had enough. The Astor could wait, and so could the people who had hired him. Trottle, peevishly. She was soon to find out. The people of London had forgotten the old ways. They had heard the baying of the phantom yelpers in the sky, and now they could smell the evil stench that came in with the night air, but they spoke of drains, of blocked pipes, and shut their windows.
And the harpies flew on. I feel sick! Trottle staggered backward. They could see the talons of the biggest one now, caught in the landing lights. And they could see other things. Bloomers," babbled Mrs. Trottle at the guard. There was a loud report, and Mrs.
Smith shook out her feathers and smiled. The wings of harpies have been arrow-proof and bullet-proof since the beginning of time. The second guard lifted his gun. He had seen a handbag and could take no more. And the harpies descended. Each of them knew what to do. Miss Brown landed ' on Mrs.
Trottle, who had fainted clean away, and sat on her chest. Miss Green picked up the remaining guard and threw him onto the fire escape. Miss Jones pinned the gibbering Mr. Trottle against a wall. Only Raymond still stood there, his jaws clamped so hard on his treacle toffee that he couldn't even scream. And then he stood there no longer.
Odge, trudging along with the mistmaker's suitcase, was silent and pale, and this worried the others. If Odge was going to be ill, that would really be the end. They had waited till the last minute to make sure Ben had completely recovered from the blow to his head. How happy they'd been when they thought he was the Prince! How certain that they could bring him back! But there'd been no changing Ben's mind; he wouldn't leave his grandmother.
Maybe I can come down next time, when the gump opens again. The ghosts were waiting on Platform Thirteen. They looked thoroughly shaken though it was hours since the harpies had come through on their way to rescuing Raymond. Even the spiders on the stopped clock looked stunned. Now it was time to say good-bye, and that was hard. The ghosts and the rescuers had become very fond of each other in the nine days they had worked together, but when Cor asked them if they wouldn't come through the gump, they shook their heads.
No one, for that matter, wanted to see the Prince brought back in the harpies' claws like a dead mouse. They went through into the cloakroom and shook hands. Even the ghost of the train spotter was upset to see them go. It was Celeste, the one with the red rose in her cap whom everyone loved. She's not going to have the operation.
She's—very ill, Ben. You can sit with her quietly—she'd like to have you there, but she may not say much. He could see at once that something had happened to Nanny. Her face was tiny; she looked as though she didn't really belong here anymore. But when he pulled a chair up beside the bed and reached for her hand, the skinny, brown-flecked fingers closed tightly round his own. Going up there full of tubes! Told them my time was up! And now she could let go.
We shouldn't have. That was what he had to do now, sit beside her, not thinking of anything else. Not letting his mind follow Odge and the others as they made their way home.
N o t feeling sorry for himself because the people he loved so much had gone away. Just being there while Nanny needed him, that was his job. The night nurse, coming in twice, found him still as stone beside the bed. The third time she came in, he had fallen asleep in his chair—but he still held his grandmother's cold hand inside his ownGently, she uncurled his fingers and told him what had happened. It was hard to understand that he was now absolutely alone.
People dying, however much you expect it, is not like you think it will be. The Sister had taken him to her room; she'd given him tea and biscuits.
Now, to his surprise, she said: "I've been in touch with the people who are going to fetch you, and they're on their way. Soon you'll be in your new home. Trottle has made the arrangements for you, Ben. She's found a really nice place for you, she says. A school where you'll learn all sorts of things. She didn't think you'd want to go on living with the other servants now your grandmother is dead. The Sister patted his shoulder. Trottle had sounded so kind and concerned on the telephone that it never occurred to her to be suspicious.
Two men came into the room. They wore natty suits —one pin-striped, one pale gray—and kipper ties. One of them had long dark hair parted in the middle and trained over his ears; the other was fair, with thick curls. Both of them smelled strongly of aftershave, but their fingernails were dirty. Ben disliked them at once. They looked oily and untrustworthy, and he took a step backward.
Where are we going? Now say good-bye to the Sister, and we'll be on our way. The men were not what she had expected, but her orders were clear. Ben must not leave the hospital alone and in a state of shock. One thing the children at Ramsden Hall did not get was time off to go to funerals! Ben was so tired now that nothing seemed real to him. If the Sister thought it was all right, then perhaps it was. And after all, what was there for him now in Trottle Towers?
The letter was still in his pocket, but he didn't want to read it in front of these unpleasant men. Trottle had hired to deliver him to as horrible a place as could be found in England, he walked down the long hospital corridor toward the entrance hall. It was very late. As she trudged through the streets, Odge was dazzled by the headlights of cars and the silly advertisements flashing on and off.
Advertisements for stomach pills, for hairspray, for every sort of rubbish. For a moment she wondered if she was going to be able to stand it. On the Island now it would be cool and quiet; the mistmakers would be lying close together on the beaches, and the stars would be bright and clear. It wasn't a very nice thought that she would never see the Island under the stars again. Well, not for nine years. But in nine years she might be as silly as her sisters, talking about men and marriage and all that stuff.
She stopped for a moment under a lamp to look at the map. First right, first left, over a main road and she'd be there. London wasn't very beautiful, but there were good things here, and good people. The Plodger was kind, and Henry Prendergast, and even quite ordinary people: shop assistants and park keepers. It wouldn't be too bad living here.
And she wouldn't miss her bossy sisters— well, perhaps Fredegonda a little. Fredegonda could be quite funny when she was practicing squeezing people's stomachs to give them nightmares. The mistmaker she'd miss horribly, that was true, but she couldn't have kept him. The way those idiots had carried on in the Astor had shown her that, and he was old enough now to fend for himself.
When the others realized that she hadn't gone ahead—that she'd doubled back and hidden in the cloakroom—they'd see to him, and explain to her parents. And even if she wanted to change her mind, it was too late. In an hour from now, the gump would be closed. She could see the hospital now, towering over the other buildings.
Ben would be in there still, and when she imagined him watching by the old woman's bed, Odge knew she'd done the right thing. Ben was clever, but he was much too trusting; he needed someone who saw things as they really were. Up the steps of the hospital now. Even so late at night there were lights burning in the big entrance hall. Hospitals never slept. Why aren't you—" The man on Ben's right jerked his arm. She's dead! Odge drew in her breath.
Then she looked at the big clock on the wall. A quarter past eleven. They could do it if they hurried. He had lost all sense of time, sitting by his grandmother's bed; he'd thought it was long past midnight and the gump was closed. Hope sprang into his eyes. Now walk. There was no one to see what was happening and help. They were close to the door now, and the waiting car.
But Odge had dodged round in front of them. You mustn't hurt the poor men," she said. But Odge still stood there, looking very upset. Your poor hair! I'm so sorry for you! Then he gave a shriek. A lump of black hair the size of a fist had come out of his scalp. The frothing and the fits come later. Ralph's curls were dropping onto the » » tiled floor like hunks of knitting wool while round patches of pink skin appeared on his scalp.
Some hospitals do have a vaccine—it gets injected into your behind with a big needle—but you'd have to hurry! Holding onto their heads, trying uselessly to keep in the rest of their hair, they ran down the corridor shrieking for help. You struck them with baldness! She put her hand into Ben's, and together they bounded down the steps and out into the night. Beside it lay the Royal Yacht with its flying standard, and the charter boat.
A number of smaller craft—dinghies and rowing boats—were drawn up on the beach. The tide was out; the clean firm sand curved and rippled round the bay. The cave which led to the gump was surrounded by thorn bushes and overhung by a ledge of rock.
It was from there that the Prince would come. If he came at all. Flanking the King and Queen were the courtiers and the important people on the Island. The head teacher of the school had come on the charter boat and the Prime Minister and a little girl who had been top in Latin and won the trip as a prize. Each of them held a firm, unopened banana in her hand, and their eyes too were fixed on the cave.
There were just two hours still to go before the Closing. I will definitely recommend this book to fantasy, childrens lovers. Your Rating:. Your Comment:. Read Online Download.
Trottle, Raymond Trottle category: fantasy, childrens, fiction, young adult, childrens, middle grade, fantasy, magic, adventure, mystery, humor, childrens, juvenile Formats: ePUB Android , audible mp3, audiobook and kindle. Great book, The Secret of Platform 13 pdf is enough to raise the goose bumps alone.
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