The Third Pig Detective Agency: The Complete Casebook. Bob Burke
grille and dragged it away from the entrance. Aware that I was now possibly within earshot of one of Edna’s more alert henchbeasts, I struggled to keep it from falling to the ground – which I managed to do at the expense of a large tear in my wetsuit and a pulled muscle in my shoulder. As if my job wasn’t difficult enough already!
At least I was able to use the bars of the grille as a mini-ladder to lift myself into the smaller outlet. My shoulder objected strongly to being forced to help in dragging me up and into the tunnel but I managed to pull myself up without doing any additional damage.
This new tunnel was a tight squeeze and I was forced to crawl along, rubbing against the walls and roof as I did so. It was much narrower, much smellier and showed very distinct signs of much more frequent usage. Unpleasant substances stuck to my back and legs and I had no great urge to investigate what they actually were. In an effort to take my mind off my current situation, I pictured myself in a hot shower liberally applying sweet-smelling soap to my body. This seemed to work and I was wallowing in the imaginary sensation until my reverie was broken by a gurgling noise from somewhere up ahead.
‘Oh no,’ I said anxiously. ‘Please don’t let it be someone flushing. Anything but that.’
The gurgling grew noisier and it was joined by a loud flowing sound as something large and liquid made its way down towards me.
Frantically, I tried to reverse back down but in my panic I only succeeded in wedging myself tightly into the tunnel. Firmly stuck and unable to move, I could only close my eyes and mouth as a noxious brown liquid washed over (and under and around) me, covering me liberally in a foul-smelling residue.
Coughing and spluttering (and now smelling even worse than before), I tried to wipe my face clean but only succeeded in spreading the vile substance around even more. As there was no point in going back now, I slowly twisted and turned until I had forced myself free and gradually made my way up the tunnel again. Some things just shouldn’t happen to a hard-working detective and getting liberally covered in raw sewage was most certainly one of them.
As I crawled slowly forward I saw a thin crack of light shining faintly through the roof ahead. Eager for any way of getting out of the tunnel, I struggled on. To my intense relief, the light came from where the side of a square metal drain cover wasn’t flush (no pun intended) to the edge of a manhole. Hoping that I could push the cover off, I wedged my back underneath it and pushed upwards with all that was left of my strength. Slowly but surely it lifted away and slid off my back gently onto the floor above.
Muscles howling in pain, I hauled myself up and carefully peered over the edge. I was looking at a dimly lit corridor. From the dust on the floor, it wasn’t one that was used too often so, thankful for one lucky break, I heaved myself out of the sewer and lay on the ground panting heavily, stretching my knotted muscles and trying to get my breath back. Now all I had to do was find the room where the lamp was kept, if the plans were to be believed, and steal it back.
I took the building plans from inside my wetsuit where I had stored them for safekeeping. Although stained with sweat and effluent they had escaped the worst of the deluge so I was able to work out where I was without too much difficulty.
If I was reading the plans correctly, I appeared to be in a basement. I just needed to make my way to the stairs at the end of the passageway, go up four levels, find the room halfway down a long corridor and take the lamp. Of course, I had no idea exactly how well protected the room was but at least I now knew how to get there. Limping slightly, smelling heavily of unmentionable substances and groaning as quietly as I could, I struggled towards the stairs.
If walking caused some discomfort then climbing the stairs was an exercise in agony. Every step upwards jarred another aching limb or my torn muscle. I felt as though I’d been skinned and roasted over a roaring fire. Everything burned or stung in some respect after my tunnel experience and, with my luck, there was no obvious hope of easing this agony in the near future.
When I eventually dragged myself to the top of the stairs, all I wanted to do was lie down and be mothered. As there wasn’t a mother to be seen in the vicinity and as lying down would probably result in me not getting back up again for probably quite a few months, I willed myself to go on and through the door.
Fortunately, the door wasn’t locked, as I probably wouldn’t have been able to bend down to try my luck at another lock-picking attempt. Opening the door slightly as quietly as I could, I peered down the corridor. It looked more used than the one I’d just left but there didn’t appear to be anyone on guard that I could see. Pushing the door open just enough to squeeze through I squelched carefully down the corridor towards the next flight of stairs.
I managed to climb three flights before meeting anyone. On the third-floor landing two henchOrcs were standing guard. Now the reason for my cunning disguise could be revealed. Most of Edna’s troops were Orcs – not too smart and not too alert but very handy in a fight. Looking like them, although a trifle larger, I might be able to make my way around the building without being too obvious.
I was about to find out how convincing my costume was. Keeping my head down, I shuffled towards the guards. As I got close, they recoiled at the smell. Good, at least they wouldn’t look too closely. It also appeared as though I actually smelled worse than they did – which in itself was quite an achievement and something that, in other circumstances, I might have taken some (but not a lot of) pride in.
I knew some very basic Orcish – which to all intents and purposes sounds like a flu-ridden gorilla strangling a hyena – so when they hailed me I muttered something along the lines of being required on the third floor in order to relieve a sentry there. At least that’s what I think I said; I could have just as easily asked the sentries for some hot, buttered toast and a glass of dragon’s blood. Sometimes it was difficult to get those choking sounds just right. I must have been convincing (or smelly) enough, as they let me pass without examining me too carefully. Can’t say I blame them. If I had been on sentry duty, I wouldn’t have been too eager to examine me either.
I made my way up another, and hopefully last, flight of stairs. At the top I paused for breath and to give my long-suffering body some respite. A long corridor, covered in a luxurious red carpet, stretched out in front of me. Suits of armour lined the corridor, one beside each door. With one exception, all the doors were made of very ornate patterned wood. The exception was the door behind which, presumably, all Edna’s interesting stuff was kept.
I walked up to it. It looked like a standard metal security door: grey, impregnable and securely locked. Heaving yet another of my many sighs of resignation, I took the lock pick from my pocket, cleaned it as best I could and began to jiggle the levers in the keyhole.
After ten minutes or so it had become clear that I was never going to add breaking and entering to my long list of skills. My efforts to pick the lock had resulted in very sore trotters, a rising sense of frustration and a door that steadfastly refused to be unlocked. Maybe I was doing something wrong or maybe it was just that the Masterblaster wasn’t actually the state-of-the-art tool I had been promised. In any event, I suspected that hitting the door with whatever implement was to hand wouldn’t be quite as successful as it had been down in the sewer. As I sweated and struggled, I became aware of a conversation from behind the door.
‘How’s he doing?’ said a rough-sounding male voice.
‘Not too good,’ came the reply. ‘He’s been out there for quite a while now and he still hasn’t managed it.’
‘How long do you think we should give him?’ said the first voice again.
‘I dunno,’ replied the second. ‘But I know I’m getting bored just waiting here. The fun is going out of it.’
‘Let’s not wait any more,’ said the first voice again. ‘Let’s just do it now.’
‘OK. On a count of three: one … two … three.’
Before I had a chance to make any kind of sense of the conversation, the door swung open and two pairs of hands reached out and grabbed me. Hauling me into the room, they threw me unceremoniously to the floor where I lay panting, aching, smelling