Atticus Claw Breaks the Law Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

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  About the Author

  Copyright

  To my parents

  With special thanks to Henry and Kirstin

  Atticus Grammaticus Cattypuss Claw – the world’s greatest cat burglar – was lying on a comfy bed in Monte Carlo when a messenger pigeon landed on the window ledge. Atticus opened one eye, then the other. Finally, with a yawn, he stretched lazily, jumped off the bed and padded over towards the window.

  ‘Are you Claw?’ The messenger pigeon said cautiously.

  ‘Who’s asking?’ Atticus replied, examining his sharp talons.

  ‘Never you mind.’ The pigeon shivered. He blinked at Atticus. He had been told to deliver the note to a brown-and-black-striped tabby with a chewed ear, four white socks and a red handkerchief with its name embroidered on it tied round its neck. He was sure he’d got the right cat. It looked a nasty piece of work; but then most cats did as far as he was concerned. ‘I’ve got a message for you.’

  ‘Hand it over then,’ Atticus purred, jumping on to a table and holding out a paw.

  ‘No chance!’ the pigeon sidled away from him along the ledge. Carefully, watching Atticus all the time with his beady eyes, he unclipped the tube containing the message from his leg and threw it on the table.

  Atticus flipped off the lid, reached in with a claw and uncurled a tiny piece of paper. He stared at the message. It was in a strange scratchy writing he didn’t recognise.

  ‘Who gave you this?’ Atticus demanded.

  The pigeon looked frightened. ‘I can’t remember,’ he cooed.

  Suddenly Atticus pounced. His left paw pinned the pigeon’s tail. ‘Don’t waste my time,’ he hissed. ‘I want to know who gave you this.’

  The pigeon looked more frightened than ever. ‘I can’t say,’ he squawked. ‘They’ll kill me if I do. And worse! You’re not supposed to find out until you get there. Help! I’m in a tizzy!’ The pigeon fainted.

  Atticus let go. ‘Hmmm,’ he said, reading the message again. ‘Interesting …’ He glanced at the dazed bird. Pigeons always talked. Yet this one had kept its beak shut. Whoever had sent the message, Atticus decided, had certainly scared the poo out of the pigeon.

  For a moment he hesitated, wondering what to do. Then he grinned. All cats like mysteries – that’s why they’re called ‘curious’. And Atticus was no exception. In fact Atticus loved a mystery. Especially when he was at the centre of it.

  The pigeon came to with a start. ‘Well?’ he trembled. ‘What shall I tell them?’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Atticus said.

  The pigeon looked relieved.

  ‘Off you go, then.’ With a sweep of his paw, Atticus pushed the startled bird off the ledge.

  He watched it flap away. Then he padded down the stairs and went into the study. The computer was on. He tapped out the words Littleton-on-Sea expertly with his claws. A picture of a sleepy cobbled town next to a flat grey sea popped up on the screen. It didn’t look much, Atticus thought. Not exactly the sort of place you’d expect a summer crime wave. But he could soon change that! Tapping away at the keyboard, it didn’t take him long to work out exactly how he was going to get there. Then, without a backward glance, he slipped out of the cat flap, jumped on a train to the nearest port and boarded the next cruise ship to England.

  At about the same time that Atticus Claw was talking to the messenger pigeon in Monte Carlo, three black-and-white birds with dark blue wings and jade-green tails flew down from the sky and landed by the side of the main road leading to Littleton-on-Sea. They were magpies.

  They crowded round the limp body of a fourth bird, nudging it with their claws. The first magpie had a tuft of grass in its beak. The second one had a twig. The third hopped from one foot to the other, dipping his head and dangling a worm.

  None of the birds spoke. The only sound was of the occasional car rushing by.

  After a little while the first bird, the glossiest and sleekest of the three, with cruel glittering eyes to match, dropped his offering of grass beside the dead bird’s tail. He nodded to the others. ‘You can begin the funeral now, Slasher,’ he cawed quietly.

  The second magpie, who was thin and scrawny with a hooked foot, hopped forwards and arranged the twig neatly beside the tuft of grass. ‘Huh hum.’ He cleared his throat and bowed his head. ‘We are gathered here together,’ he began, ‘in the sight of the A1234, to say farewell to our dear friend, Beaky.’

  The third magpie, who was fatter than the other two and had feathers missing from his tail, let out a sob.

  ‘It’s all right, Thug,’ the first magpie put a consoling wing around his friend’s heaving body. ‘It’s good to cry.’

  ‘Beaky was truly one of us,’ Slasher continued. ‘He was mean and horrible and nasty. Everyone hated him. He helped give magpies the bad name we’re so proud of. He stole eggs and scared baby birds. He woke people up at five o’clock in the morning with his awful voice—’

  ‘— Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka …’ Thug managed a throaty chuckle between sobs.

  ‘He loved bashing blackbirds and chasing chickens—’ Slasher’s voice was breaking. He wiped tears away with the black tip of his wing. ‘He was an example to us all. I’m sure I squawk for everyone when I say I’m going to miss him.’ He hopped aside to make way for the first magpie. ‘Now Jimmy will say a few words.’

  ‘Thank you, Slasher; that was beautiful.’ Jimmy Magpie preened his glossy feathers. His eyes glittered like diamonds. Looking down at the roadside, he addressed the dead bird in a solemn voice. ‘You were our friend, Beaky – a valued member of the gang. We lived together, we fought together and we stole together.’ He paused. ‘Good times!’ He let out a cry. ‘Chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka-chaka.’ It was harsher than Thug’s – more of a battle cry. Then his voice hardened. ‘Yours is the third funeral I’ve been to this year, Beaky. First Goon. Then Penguin. Now you. All squished by the side of the road. All mangled by murderers. All crushed by cars.’ Suddenly he looked up sharply. ‘Any more clues yet, Slasher? You were with him when he died.’

  Slasher shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m sorry, Boss. All I know is that it was a Rolls-Royce. I didn’t get the number plate. It all happened so fast.’

  Jimmy Magpie glared at him menacingly before turning back to his task. ‘As I was saying … Goon, Penguin and Beaky. All flattened like pancakes by our sworn enemy … humans.’ Jimmy Magpie spat the word out.

  Slasher and Thug nodded. They had heard the speech before. At Goon’s funeral. And Penguin’s.

  ‘But this time the death won’t go unavenged,’ Jimmy Magpie continued, his beak set. ‘This time, we magpies are going to fight back.’

  Thug and Slasher looked at one another, puzzled. This bit was new.

  ‘What are we gonna do, Boss?’ Slasher flexed his wings. ‘I mean, I don’t mind having a go at one but you’ve got to admit them humans are an awful lot bigger than us.’

  ‘They may be bigger,’ hissed Jimmy Magpie, ‘but most of them are stupid.’

  ‘Let’s scare baby birds.’ Thug’s beak was twitching with excitement. ‘Humans hate that!’

  ‘That’s hardly original, Thug, and it’s the wrong
time of year.’ Jimmy Magpie sounded bored. ‘Baby birds are born in spring. This is the summer, in case you haven’t noticed.’

  ‘What about waking them up at five o’clock in the morning with our beautiful singing?’ Slasher suggested.

  ‘You can if you want, Slasher,’ Jimmy Magpie shook his head impatiently, ‘but I’ve got something much more evil in mind.’

  ‘What? Like raiding a chicken coop for eggs?’ Thug chuckled. ‘Good thinking, Boss. That always gets them going.’

  ‘Still too small, Thug,’ Jimmy Magpie said. ‘Think bigger. Think outside the nesting box.’

  ‘You mean, like get some help?’ The words were out of Slasher’s beak before he realised Jimmy might get mad.

  ‘CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA!’ Jimmy Magpie’s voice rose in his harsh chatter. He flew up and beat the air furiously with his magnificent wings.

  Slasher hid behind what was left of Beaky. ‘I didn’t mean it, Jimmy. Honest I didn’t,’ he trembled. ‘Everyone knows you’re the boss.’

  Jimmy Magpie put his head to one side and gazed at Slasher without blinking.

  ‘Sorry, Jimmy!’ Slasher hopped his scrawny frame behind Thug for protection. ‘Please don’t peck me!’

  ‘Peck you, Slasher?’ Jimmy said smoothly. ‘I wouldn’t do that. In fact, you’re absolutely right,’ he crowed. ‘We could use a little help. Which is why I’ve already made contact with someone I’ve heard of; an animal almost as fiendish as me, who’s perfect for what I’ve got in mind.’

  ‘No way, Boss.’ Thug gaped at him. ‘No one’s as fiendish as you!’

  ‘Thank you, Thug.’ Jimmy Magpie preened.

  ‘Who is he, Boss?’ the magpies chattered.

  ‘Tell us!’

  ‘Yeah, please tell us!’

  ‘His name,’ Jimmy Magpie said slowly, ‘is Atticus Grammaticus Cattypuss Claw … he’s the world’s greatest cat burglar and he’s going to steal every piece of jewellery in Littleton-on-Sea.’ He paused. ‘For us.’

  ‘A cat …’ gasped Thug.

  ‘Burgling humans …?’ cawed Slasher.

  ‘For magpies.’ Jimmy Magpie watched it sink in. ‘Exactly.’ A nasty smile was spreading across his beak. ‘And the beauty of it is that even if the cat gets caught, no one will ever suspect in a million years that he’s working for us.’

  ‘It’s brilliant, Boss!’ Thug and Slasher said together, looking at their leader in awe.

  ‘I know,’ Jimmy Magpie said modestly. He straightened up. ‘Now that’s enough chattering. We’ve got work to do. You two start checking out the best houses to burgle.’

  They nodded.

  ‘And I’ll get down to the pier and prepare for the cat.’

  Then the three magpies spread their wings and took off up into the blue sky.

  At number 2 Blossom Crescent, Littleton-on-Sea, the Cheddar family was sitting down to breakfast. At least the children – Michael, who was eight, and Callie, who had just turned six – were sitting down. Mrs Cheddar and her husband, who had recently been appointed as the town’s Police Inspector, were rushing round in circles looking for his badge.

  ‘I had it yesterday,’ Inspector Cheddar shouted. ‘I put it down on the kitchen table ready to polish it in the morning and now it’s disappeared!’

  ‘It can’t have, darling,’ Mrs Cheddar said mildly, opening cupboards and looking inside. ‘Have you checked the fridge?’

  ‘I didn’t put it in the fridge!’ Inspector Cheddar yelled. ‘It’s a police badge, not a pint of milk!’

  ‘Can’t you go without it, just this once?’ Mrs Cheddar suggested. She was already running late for work.

  ‘No!’ Inspector Cheddar wailed. ‘The Chief Inspector of Bigsworth is coming to the station today. I need to make a good impression if I’m ever going to get a job at Scotland Yard.’ (Getting a job at Scotland Yard was Inspector Cheddar’s lifelong ambition.) ‘If he sees me without my badge he’ll put me on traffic duty.’

  ‘Perhaps Mrs Tucker knows where it is,’ Mrs Cheddar said, rummaging inside the pan drawer. ‘She’ll be here any minute.’

  Mrs Tucker was the Cheddars’ childminder. She came in the mornings and afternoons to help with breakfast and tea and to take the children to and from school while Inspector and Mrs Cheddar were at work.

  At the mention of Mrs Tucker, Michael and Callie grinned at one another. They liked Mrs Tucker. She was fun. And she was on their side in what had become known as ‘The Battle of the Pet’.

  The Battle of the Pet had started when the Cheddar family moved house for Inspector Cheddar’s new job. Inspector Cheddar had promised the children they could have a pet to help them get used to their new home. Mrs Cheddar had agreed. Now they were both too busy with work to do anything about it. But Michael and Callie hadn’t given up hope; especially as Mrs Tucker was on the case.

  They heard the roar of a motorbike pulling up. A key turned in the latch. A few seconds later Mrs Tucker strode in.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, taking off her helmet and patting down her frizzy grey hair. She thumped her basket on the table. ‘I had to help Mr Tucker mend his nets.’ She winked at the children as she pulled off her leather jacket and stepped out of her biker boots. ‘Just in case he meets one of those horrible you-know-whats when he’s out in his boat today.’ She reached in her basket for a pair of slippers and an apron.

  Michael and Callie giggled. Mr Tucker was a fisherman. The children had never met him, but he sounded awesome. A horrible you-know-what was a sea monster. According to Mrs Tucker, Mr Tucker regularly came across them when he was out catching sardines.

  ‘Not to worry, Mrs Tucker,’ Mrs Cheddar said cheerfully. She pulled her head out of the washing machine. ‘Only we’ve lost Inspector Cheddar’s badge. You don’t know where it is, do you? He needs to polish it.’

  ‘It’s in the fridge,’ Mrs Tucker said at once, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘I saw it lying about last night and thought to myself, he’ll be looking for that in the morning so I’d better put it in a safe place.’

  ‘I told you!’ Mrs Cheddar exclaimed.

  The children giggled.

  ‘How stupid of me,’ Inspector Cheddar said sarcastically. He opened the fridge and plucked his badge from the vegetable drawer. ‘I should have known it was here all along.’

  Mrs Tucker ignored him. ‘Now if you had a dog,’ she looked meaningfully at the children, ‘you could train it to find things for you.’

  ‘No!’ Inspector Cheddar said firmly.

  ‘Please, Dad!’ Callie cried.

  ‘Yeah, Dad,’ Michael joined in. ‘You promised we could have a pet.’

  ‘I’m too busy to look after a dog,’ Inspector Cheddar said irritably, getting the Brasso out from under the sink. ‘So’s Mum.’

  ‘What about a cat?’ Mrs Tucker suggested. ‘They’re easy to take care of. They don’t need walking, for a start.’

  ‘I love cats!’ Callie cried.

  ‘Well, I hate them,’ Inspector Cheddar declared, rubbing away at the badge with a duster. ‘They’re nasty scheming things with no sense of loyalty. Like criminals.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ Mrs Tucker declared. ‘Mr Tucker had a cat once which was cleverer than a human. It used to help him navigate. It saved his life in a storm more than once.’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ Inspector Cheddar said rudely. He didn’t believe any of Mrs Tucker’s stories about her husband. He put his badge down on the window ledge and opened the window to get rid of the smell of Brasso. He didn’t want the Chief Inspector of Bigsworth to suspect he’d polished it in a hurry.

  ‘Go on, Mum,’ Michael begged. ‘Please can we have a cat? Callie and me will look after it, I promise.’

  ‘Well …’ Mrs Cheddar hesitated. She’d been going to say ‘yes’ (she liked cats too) but decided she’d better not upset her husband any more. ‘It’s really up to Dad.’

  ‘And Dad says NO,’ Inspector Cheddar said again.

 
; Michael and Callie looked disappointed.

  ‘Never mind,’ Mrs Tucker whispered loudly. ‘We’ll get round him one way or another.’

  ‘I heard that, Mrs Tucker.’ Inspector Cheddar sat down next to the children and poured himself a mug of tea. ‘And I’d like to remind you, I am a Police Inspector. No one “gets round” me.’

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA-CHAKA!!’

  Everyone looked up in surprise. Two magpies had landed on the window ledge. They didn’t seem remotely frightened of the humans. In fact, they hardly seemed to have noticed the Cheddar family at all. They were staring at something else.

  ‘Quick, Dad!’ Michael cried. ‘They’re after your badge!’

  The thinner of the two birds hopped towards the newly polished badge and opened its beak.

  ‘Over my dead body!’ Inspector Cheddar sprung out of his chair and ran to the sink. ‘Shoo!’ he shouted, flapping his hands at the birds. ‘Shoo!’

  The two birds hopped along the windowsill, but they didn’t fly away.

  ‘Nasty things, magpies,’ Mrs Tucker muttered, shaking her head.

  ‘Why?’ asked Callie.

  ‘They’re just birds,’ said Michael. ‘Aren’t they?’

  ‘They’re not just birds,’ Mrs Tucker said in a hushed voice, as though she didn’t want the magpies to overhear her. ‘They steal things. And you should never cross them.’ She shivered. ‘It’s like breaking a mirror. Magpies bring bad luck.’

  ‘Now then, Mrs Tucker.’ Inspector Cheddar turned his back on the magpies. ‘None of your superstitious old wives’ tales, please. Michael’s right – they’re just birds.’ He started to pin his badge to the top of his sleeve. ‘OUCH!’

  ‘What’s the matter now?’ Mrs Cheddar asked anxiously.

  ‘I just stuck the pin in my arm!’ Inspector Cheddar moaned. ‘What a morning!’ He grabbed his cap and left.

  ‘I told you magpies bring bad luck,’ Mrs Tucker said darkly. ‘How’s it going up at Toffly Hall, dear?’ she asked, changing the subject.

  Mrs Cheddar was helping to organise an antiques fair to be held in the grounds of a nearby stately home. The fair was going to be filmed for the TV show Get Rich Quick!