Stories for children and adults by the crazy-mad writer

Wot and Nott: Walking With Statues

Part One - Blood, Rhyme, Steam and Stone

 

Chapter Eight

Wot's Big Secret

 

 

  By the time Wot had finished explaining, telling Nott about his

telephone conversation with the director of International Affairs, he

felt as miserable as sin. The wonderful breakfast he had enjoyed so

much sat heavy in his stomach. “How can you tell me this?” he

asked. “I thought we were friends – with no secrets!”

“I’m sorry,” Wot apologised. “Things can happen…”

“In Sunbury, they don’t. Nothing ever happens in Sunbury-on-

Thames,” he insisted. “Everybody knows that!”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Wot answered politely.

Hmm.”  

He was right, though; there is a first time for everything. Wot knew

this only too well…

 

Wot’s Big Secret:

Wot’s secret, Wot’s big secret began almost a year ago to the very

day. It started like any other day; he got up, had a wash and shave,

and then made his way downstairs, where he prepared breakfast.

Muesli was his favourite cereal, except in the wintertime, though,

when porridge replaced it. “In winter you need something more

substantial inside, to keep out the cold,” he would say. After finishing

breakfast, Wot donned his coat and hat, exited the house, and then

slipped through a gap in the hedge, to the school grounds next door.

You see, he worked there; he was the geography and history

teacher.

“Morning, Sister Alexis,” Wot chirped to the old woman who had

been headmistress of St. Ignatius primary school for as long as he

could remember.

“Good morning, Wot,” she answered. “And how are you today?” She

took a keen interest in all members of her staff.

“Oh, I’m fine,” he replied. “Though, I wish the weather would lighten-

up. I so hate these dark cloudy days.”

Sister Alexis smiled. Turning away from him, her attention drawn to

another member of staff arriving at school, she said, “Hello Mr….”

Inside, the warm, brightly lit classroom cheered Wot’s mood

lightened. He loved his job, his work. It was his life. He could never

imagine himself doing anything other than teaching. Just to see the

young, eager faces drinking in his life’s learning was reward enough,

though the money wasn’t that bad either.

“Morning, sir,” said Tommy Tilbert as he entered the classroom.

“Morning, Tommy. Are you looking forward to our school trip?”

“You bet, sir,” he answered. “I can’t wait to see the Bloody Tower. I

hear it’s really creepy.”

“There’s more to the Tower of London than spooky things, you

know,” Wot told him. “Our trip is a history lesson, remember?”

“Yes sir.” Tommy replied, smiling amicably.

 

Arriving at the Tower of London, Wot and the student teacher, Julia

Appleby, directed the children through the entrance gate.

“Remember,” Wot said to them, “if any of you happen to get lost,

heaven forbid, our coach is a Golden Hind, the one with the number

twenty-three written on a white sheet of paper in the front window.”

Having said that he paid the man behind the glass screen, and then

he and Julia Appleby corralled them through the turnstile, into the

Tower.

The children were mesmerised by the Tower, they were enthralled

that anything could be so ancient. The suits of armour, the oil

paintings, and the dungeons – everything about it fascinated them.

Moreover, when they saw the Crown Jewels, those shining,

glistening, bedazzling jewels, they were too gobsmacked for words.

“Move along, move along,” the attendant ordered. “Let everyone

have a look.” Then he added, “You can come around and see again

if you like.” And they did. They took a second look, a third look and

even a fourth look, at the jewels so exquisite they found it hard to

believe were actually real.

Seizing the opportunity for a much needed rest while the children

were still mesmerised by the jewels, Wot suggested they take a

breather. “Take a break, Julia,” he said. “I’ll wait here and keep an

eye on the kids.”

“Thanks, Wot, I’ll see you in ten minutes,” she said, disappearing into

the crowd.

Leaning against a railing, enjoying the weak, winter sunshine, Wot

took the opportunity to unwind.

“Excuse me,” a man said, interrupting his break.

“Pardon?”

“I am sorry to disturb you,” the man apologised, “but I have

something most important to say to you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” the man told him. “Can we go somewhere more

private?”

“Not really,” Wot replied defensively. “In case you haven’t noticed, I

have forty-two children under my care!”

“My assistant will keep an eye on them,” the man said, pointing to a

young woman close by him. The woman smiled waved by way of

return. “Shall I lead?” he asked. “It is terribly important!”

“I will give you a minute, but that’s all,” said Wot, annoyed yet also

intrigued by the mysterious stranger.

“A minute will be more than enough,” the man said compromisingly.

“Come; there is a quiet spot over there…”

 

“So, that was how it began,” said Wot, having finished his story.

“You now know as much about it as I do.”

After listening to his story, Nott found it incredibly hard, trying to

come to terms, to believe that his life-long friend was actually a

SPY. “You mean to tell me,” he said, “for the last twelve months you

have been in the employ of the Secret Service – like James Bond?”

“It’s nothing like that, I can assure you,” Wot answered. “It’s

exceedingly dull if you must know.”

“Dull? Being a spy is dull?” Nott asked, aghast by what he was

hearing. 

“I am only a sleeper,” he told him, “a lookout, the eyes and ears of

her majesty, so to speak!”

“Her majesty?” said Nott, almost chocking on his words. “The next

thing you will be telling me is that you have been to Buckingham

Palace for tea!”

“You are now entering the realms of fantasy,” said Wot. “I am

serious, Nott. I have taken you into my trust. You can’t breathe a

word of this to anyone – I mean it!”

“It’s a bit late to be saying that now. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“You don’t have to; it’s covered by the Official Secrets Act. If you

breathe a word of what I have told you, it will at your own peril!”

“You are now scaring me,” Nott remonstrated, suddenly feeling the

enormity of the situation bearing down upon him.

“It isn’t scary, Nott. Will you help me, doing it?”

“Me?” he asked curiously. “Why do you want me to help with your

spying?”

“Because he asked me to ask you.”

“Who asked you?”

“The Director of International Affairs, of course. That’s what that

phone call was about, amongst others things.”

“He wants me to become a spy? You’re joking?”

“Do you see anyone laughing?”

“This is crazy!”

“Will you?”

“You want me to make a decision – now?”

“Within the next twenty-four hours is what he told me to tell you.”

“You will have to do a whole lot more explaining, first,” said Nott,

“before I could even imagine doing such a thing…”

 

It took the entire day and far into the night before Nott could see

with the same eyes as his friend. He had so many questions – and

even more concerns – as to the implications of becoming a spy.

Moreover, he was concerned as to how it would sit with their

ongoing struggle against Miafra. “Does he know where we have

been?” he asked.

“That is something that I have also wondered about,” Wot admitted.

“Do you think he does?”

“No, at least I don’t think so.”

Pressing him further, Nott asked, “What if he happened to find out?

He might think we are double agents – even traitors!”

“We are small fish in a very large pond” Wot replied, trying to keep

things in perspective.

“Fish? Pond? Are you losing it?” Nott said anxiously. “This is cloak

and dagger stuff, whether you admit it or not.” In the end, however,

Nott agreed to became a spy.

When do they want to see me?” he asked, later that day.

“See you?”

“Yeh, surely they’ll want to meet me, to give me instructions, ID and

so forth?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Wot told him. “It’s nothing like that. It’s all, like I

said, very low-key.”

“Low-key? It’s almost nonexistent!” Not complained, disappointed

that it was all so informal. “What is our mission?” he asked.

“I’ve already told you, we are eyes and ears.”

“What exactly are we supposed to be looking and listening for?”

Shrugging, Wot replied, “I don’t know, I really don’t know...”

“If I had known it was going to be this boring,” Nott grumbled, “I

would never have agreed to become a spy.”

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

A Time for Normality

 

Want to read more? You can purchase

Wot and Nott: Walking With Statues

Part One - Blood, Rhyme, Steam and Stone

by visiting my online bookshop.

 

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© Gerrard T Wilson 2008