Stella was watching the North pier. The window in the lounge of her suite on the top floor of the Grand Imperial hotel provided an excellent vantage point. It was late evening. The sky had cleared and a thin crescent moon was following the sun over the Western horizon. With its theatre, amusement arcades and scaled down fairground rides, the pier was a concentrated version of the town. As sea and sky merged into an unbroken deep blue she fancied that it looked like a Victorian spaceship about to embark on a lunar expedition. After a while the moon disappeared, the lights on the pier began to flick out. Launch cancelled. It was time to make her move.
She turned and stepped into the bedroom. Alice was lying face down on the double bed, securely tied by expertly applied ropes. Fastened behind her back, her hands were still twisting in search of knots. Her feet tugged at the cords holding them to the iron frame. Fred sat beside her on a corner of the mattress, unable to break out of the multiple sets of cuffs which held him to the bedstead. He had given up his efforts to free himself. "I'm sorry," said Stella, "I know I'm being stupid, but I don't want you mixed with this. You can take your revenge on me tomorrow morning." Gagged as well as bound they were not able to reply, could only glare at each other and at her. She glanced at her watch. "I have to get going". She set out for her rendezvous.
They listened as she closed and locked the door of the suite. Alice buried her face in a pillow. Fred stared glumly at his feet. Their predicament was the result of a foolproof plan. A plan of their own device. A plan they had thought up several hours earlier...
Following the end of the 'Terminal Velocity' show, the magician and her companions swapped stories. Alice, like everyone else in the audience, had seen nothing. Fred and Stella couldn't even decide if there had been one man or two. The clown, or clowns, remained a complete mystery. A hasty search of the roller coaster by Mr Griffith's staff and rather sceptical police constables had failed to locate any sign of them. The video tapes of the stunt had been replayed but did not reveal a single clue.
After the props were packed away Stella had insisted that Alice take Fred to hospital for a check-up. The bump on his head (and two rather squashed banana skins) formed the only tangible evidence of the whole bizarre episode. Her assistants walked for all of fifty yards before dodging into a bus shelter. Surreptitiously they watched their boss leave her caravan and head for the pier, obviously intent on reconnaissance. They decided that they had to stop her keeping the midnight rendezvous.
Ducking back inside the shelter Fred shook his head. "This is not like her at all."
"Very strange," agreed Alice", "Usually she is 'Miss Meticulous', everything has to be planned to the last detail. The only surprises she enjoys are ones she has advance warning of. Even if she memorises every inch of the pier she'll have no idea what she is letting herself in for."
"Do you know who this Kandinsky is?"
"I heard her mention him once or twice, an escape artist whose heyday was in the fifties. I didn't think he meant anything special to her".
"Stella won't forgive us if we stop her finding out something special."
Alice thought for a few moments. "Then we'll have to go in her place."
Fred nodded, winced, gave a thumbs-up.
Wandering back to the hotel they considered and abandoned various plans for diverting their boss. At the Grand Imperial their problem was solved for them; a package had arrived for Stella from the Exquisitely Fiendish Company. Alice signed for it. "If this is what I'm sure it is then Stella won't be able to resist it." They hurried up to her room which, like Fred's, adjoined Stella's on the top floor. Once inside they got to work on the parcel. The tape on the bottom of the cardboard box was slit and its contents carefully removed. Fred unrolled the weird looking garment. Alice made sure that instructions were not included.
Alice sighed. "Very impressive, a shame it's too big for me. Still, I'm sure it will have the desired effect. A lovely new outfit she will just have to try on."
"What if she finds a way out?"
"Fred, look at it. Nothing can possibly go wrong." Alice frowned, "At least not as long as she actually gets back here."
"Don't worry. She never goes into action on an empty stomach."
They reversed their handiwork with the parcel, deposited it in Stella's suite (hotel door locks are quite simple) and waited for her to return.
Fred was right, Stella kept their dinner appointment. During the meal the assistants tried to keep the conversation on the topics of: what had she been up to, wouldn't going out to the pier be completely stupid and who exactly was 'The Great Kandinsky'? Stella talked about how the show had gone that afternoon and ways to make the next stunt appear even more death defying. Earlier she had 'got some fresh air' and 'made some arrangements'. Kandinsky she referred to as the unsung hero of twentieth century magic, but wouldn't go any further. She was going out to the North Pier at midnight. She was going alone. She waited for further protests but there were none. Her companions now seemed resigned to her plans.
"Now what?" asked Fred.
"Well," Said Stella, "I'd like you to wander around the pier and keep a lookout for the clowns. That is if you think you can hold back from returning the lump they gave you. Get back here by ten-thirty. Try to look inconspicuous."
Fred glanced at Alice, it was what they had planned he do anyway. "O.K.", he said. The women watched as he left the dining room, angling himself sideways to fit through the door.
The escape artist turned to her other companion. "It's your job to keep me occupied for the next three hours."
Alice went up to her room. She changed into her practice outfit: black footless tights and a long sleeved leotard of the same colour, pulling on a track suit over the top. A few minutes later she stood outside Stella's door, reporting for the lesson her boss had decided would be the evening's entertainment - 'variations on the rope handcuff'. She let herself in and locked the door behind her. A chair placed in the middle of the lounge was draped with numerous coils of rope. Next to it was the empty cardboard box.
"I'm here Stella", she called out, "Where are you"?
"Through here, I need some help with this". Alice followed the voice through to the bedroom where the escape artist was standing in front of a full length mirror. She was holding the contents of the box up against herself: a full body strait jacket.
"Is that the new SJ from Exquisitely Fiendish?" Asked Alice. Innocently.
Stella nodded. "Strait jacket doesn't do it justice. On stage I'll bill it as the 'Total Security Restraint Mark 2', something designed to contain the most unspeakably violent of prisoners. Hannibal Lecter slipped out of the first version." She handed Alice the jacket. her assistant discovered that the mass of heavy material and straps weighed at least twenty pounds. It was made of heavy-duty Dacron sailcloth, a material used for the wings of hang gliders and ultralight aircraft, dark red in colour. The straps -also woven out of Dacron- were black, the buckles and the teeth of the zips shining silver. "I can't wait to work out the method of release, do you mind if your lesson is postponed?" Alice sighed, glanced longingly at the chair, then shrugged and began to arrange the TSR-2.
While her assistant prepared the strange garment, a puzzle in itself, Stella stretched and performed some limbering up exercises. She was wearing the standard practice outfit, tights and a long sleeved leotard, both in her trademark racing green. At last Alice was ready, held the suit up for its all-too-willing victim.
To begin with Stella stepped into the legs. Then she held out her arms which Alice fed into the sleeves. Stepping behind her Alice was now able to close the first fastening, a heavy-duty zip at the back that ran up from waist up to neck. Like all of the zips used in the suit it had a locking system to prevent it from being pulled. Next, and with great care, she fitted the high density foam collar, shaped to fit snugly beneath the chin of its occupant, fastening it closed with strips of Velcro. Once this was secure Stella could neither lower nor turn her head.
The escape artist turned, while she was still able, so that once more she was facing the mirror. As far as was possible she wanted to observe her restraint. The basic garment would have had the appearance of a closely fitting flying suit. It served only to hold a mass of straps and was scarcely visible beneath them. Seeing the tangle of webbing yet to be applied made her stomach tighten and her heart quicken. This was going to be intense.
Scolding her boss to keep still Alice completed the next stage; working on the straps fitted into the suit at ankle, knee, thigh, waist, upper chest, wrist and elbow. These were not restraints in themselves, they served to hold the suit tight against the body of its wearer. Three straps running across the back of the jacket took the load off of the zip. Stella began to feel a vague feelings of unease as her assistant took extra care with the wrist bands. Beyond them her fingers were in mittens lined with plates of the same foam used in the collar. They rendered her fingers useless. She could not even clench her fists.
The arms were next. Alice took extra care with this crucial stage of the operation. She made Stella put her arms straight down. She fed the straps sewn into the suit just beneath Stella's breasts through a series of loops on the sleeves of the suit just above the elbow. Feeding these into buckles on the back of the jacket and pulling them tight she pinned the escape artists upper arms to her sides. She took the strap extending from the mitten covering Stella's right hand and fed it through a waist level loop on the left side of the jacket. This was buckled down to a fixing point on the back of the suit. Repeating the process left to right left both of Stella's forearms snugged down across her stomach.
Stella tried taking a deep breath to calm herself down. Filling her lungs with air removed what little slack remained within the suit. Alice completed her work on the jacket. A two-inch wide strap began just beneath the collar and was triple stitched into the fabric of the suit. She fed this over Stella's arms and into the buckle fixed just beneath them. Another strap, only an inch wide began where it left off. She passed this between Stella's legs and secured it at the back, just below the start of the back zip. She blushed as she tightened it, glancing up to see Stella's reaction. The escape artist was watching herself in the mirror with rapt attention. Her expression remained unchanged as the buckle was secured.
Alice now knelt down. Without prompting Stella brought her legs together. Two flaps of heavy Dacron, each edged with a zip, ran the length of her legs. The first, stitched to the front of the left leg, zipped up to the top of the right. The second, stitched to the back of the right leg, zipped down the back the left. Working rapidly, she completed the escape artist's restraint by pulling tight the final set of straps. These were looped around her ankles, knees and thighs. Standing up Alice looked her boss up and down. She made one final check of all the straps to ensure that none were the slightest bit loose. She giggled. "You look like a well-lagged boiler," adding hastily, "One that works out every day." Stella made a couple of exploratory gyrations and almost overbalanced. Alice steadied her. "I expect you'll want to lie down to attempt your escape?"
With Alice's help Stella hopped to the side of the bed and toppled forwards onto the mattress. Her assistant rolled her onto her back. She dodged back into the lounge and collected some rope. A few moments work with the D-rings sewn into the shoulders and ankles of the suit and Stella had been fixed to the bed frame, stretched diagonally across it from post to post. The escape artist was unable to observe the final stage of her restraint, the collar of the suit prevented her from moving her head. All she had was a good view of the ceiling. This was replaced by the faces of her assistant and an alarm clock. One was grinning, the other read nine o'clock.
"Shall we say two hours?" asked Alice.
"One - I don't want to be late for my appointment."
"O.K." Alice set the alarm, making sure that Stella could see that it was set to go off in sixty minutes. Then she put the clock down on the bedside table, making sure that Stella didn't see her switch off the alarm. She checked the ropes, the straps on the suit - again - and finished up by gently placing a pillow beneath the escape artist's head.
Stella listened to her assistant leave the room and close the door behind her. In the next room the television was switched on. Bass tones from its speaker reached her - a hypnotic language of undecipherable speech and music. Experimentally she flexed her body. Every movement brought her up against one of the straps, a reminder of her predicament. It already felt warm inside the suit, serious exertion would make it much hotter. She knew that the insulation was quite intentionally included by the designers, heat another means of exhausting its occupant. She was no Kate Novak, it would be pointless for her to simply pit her strength against the TSR-2. What was required was concentration; the careful deployment of mental rather the physical resources to achieve the desired result.
She made an inventory of what movement was allowed her; it did not turn out to be a very long one. She could wiggle her toes. With a certain amount of effort she could rub her legs together. By arching her body she could make the strap between them grow tight. Another design feature, she thought. That would have been rather painful for a man. She repeated the operation and smiled, but not for a woman.
Alice tried to relax. Stella was going nowhere she told herself. She looked at the TV, out of the window, at the reflection of the TV in the window. She lasted fifteen minutes before checking up on her boss, sneaking up to the bedroom door and listening. The sounds of a desperate struggle reached her. She found herself caught between wanting Stella to stay just where she was and wanting her to succeed in her battle with the fiendish restraint suit. A few minutes later she heard Stella cry out and decided this was a good enough excuse to enter. Poking her head round the door Alice saw that Stella was still very much incarcerated - but lying still now, breathing heavily, her eyes closed.
"You OK boss, given up already?"
"I'm fine," Said Stella dreamily, "Perfectly fine". Then she opened her eyes and continued in a much more businesslike tone: "I was, I was just making sure that there were no loose seams or defects in manufacture. I most certainly haven't given up. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to continue my research in private".
Alone once more and feeling pleasantly guilty, Stella considered her next plan. She would cool down for a few moments, get her breath back. She closed her eyes and was half the size of everyone around her, but that was all right because her seat was in the front row. She was sat on the edge of it, holding her teddy bear for comfort. For the past hour she had watched with total fascination the act of the performer now on stage - the Great Kandinsky. Addressing the audience the magician was preparing the audience for his finale.
"Imagine ladies and gentlemen. To be placed in chains and locked inside a metal casket. The casket hurled over the side of a ship into the freezing waters of the deep green sea. Think of the horror. Plunging into the deep, no one can here your screams, you are helplessly shackled. Down you plunge into the black depths, beating at the walls of your metal coffin. And then, in a moment of the most hideous agony the pressure collapses its walls and you are crushed to death...."
The lights on the stage behind him came up, an eerie deep green glow revealed some serious looking hardware. An enormous tank of water, a fearsome riveted construction, three sides of metal and one of glass, stood some twenty feet high. Inside, tethered to the bottom by ropes were three shiny metal globes labelled 'fifty fathoms', 'one hundred fathoms' and 'one hundred and fifty fathoms'. Pipes fitted with large pressure gauges ran down the side of the tank, then ran out of sight through to the back of the stage.
Before it stood a steamer trunk, its lid open. Like the tank, its front was made of glass. In attendance were Kandinsky's assistants, men dressed smartly in full evening dress. They held chains, manacles and padlocks. Stella watched in horror as they fettered the escape artist, lifted him up and lowered him into the trunk.
Just as they were about to close him up she jumped out of her seat and threw her teddy bear at Kandinsky. He saw it coming and managed to catch it in spite of his manacled hands. The assistants were startled. One of them reached out to take it but Kandinsky smiled, shook his head and ducked down into the trunk. In an instant it was locked up and was being hauled into position above the tank. There was a huge eye bolt in one end of the trunk. A heavy chain ran from this up to a metal plate, about four feet on a side; chains ran from bolts in each corner of this up to the block and tackle which was now lifting the whole assembly roofwards. The escapologist was visible through the glass panel in one side. As the trunk was raised it turned on end and he was forced to shift position, his feet resting on the end opposite the bolt, his back against the lid. He turned the toy bear to face the audience, made its paw wave goodbye.
"The tank is ready," Explained an assistant. "High powered hydraulic pumps will increase the pressure of the water within it. The force on the walls of the trunk holding The Great Kandinsky will build up just as if it were plunging down towards the ruins of Atlantis. How long can they withstand the dreadful pressure? How can Kandinsky escape the terror of the deep?"
Down went the trunk into tank, displaced water spilling out. It hung cocoon-like at the end of its chain, surrounded by water on all sides. Assistants climbed atop it and bolted the plate in place before quickly retreating off stage. For a moment everything on stage was still. Then the pumps cut in. Stella jumped. The dials of the pressure gauges began to wind round. The trunk began to shake; Kandinsky was struggling to escape a watery grave. Ripples of light and streams of bubbles played up over the trunk, creating a perfect illusion of descent. Slowly the trunk revolved until the window was visible. Kandinsky could be seen inside, fighting madly against his bonds. The first of the globes, labelled fifty fathoms, collapsed with a muffled implosion. The air inside it burst up past the trunk. The escapologist paused for a moment, staring in terror at the audience, before redoubling his efforts.
The trunk continued to turn, hiding him from view. The light shifted into ever deeper shades of green. The needles of the pressure gauges crept ever higher. Once more Kandinsky came into view. He had loosened the loops of chain surrounding his body, was concentrating on the shackles holding his wrists. The hundred fathom globe imploded. He pounded on the walls of the trunk as it was rocked by the burst of air.
The stage lights had slowly been fading, only the interior of the tank and the luminous dials of the pressure gauges were visible. The pitch of the motors increased, the needles of the dials quivered but continued to revolve. A joint on one of the pipes feeding the tank failed, water gushing out.
Stella looked along the row of people in the front row. Some looked frightened, some looked excited. Nobody called for the trick to be stopped. She thought: They want it to go wrong. They want to see him drown.
She craned her neck to catch the first glimpse of Kandinsky as the trunk continued to revolve. At last he came into view again. He was free of the manacles. His feet were again the floor of the trunk, his back against its lid. He was straining to open it, defeat the pressure of the water holding it closed. The third globe collapsed. Kandindsky twisted around and put his shoulder against the lid. Just before the window went out of sight Stella saw her teddy bear resting on top of the heap of chains at the bottom of the trunk.
The trunk collapsed. The tank shuddered with the force of the implosion and instantly its interior was filled with clouds of bubbles. Water began to shoot out from the edges of the lid. The pumps stopped. One of the gauges burst, the other began to unwind. The lights came back up. Inside the tank pieces of the trunk were visible swirling around. The steel chains that had held Kandinsky glistened but of the magician - and her bear - there was no sign. The audience was silent. Once more, just for a moment, the stage was completely still.
Stella jumped out of her seat and clambered up onto the stage. She ran up to the tank and pressed her face against the glass. She looked up through the water at the lid of the tank; it was still sealed. She looked down at its floor, saw sections of the ruined trunk and loops of chain. She heard the audience shouting. She thought they were mad at her for spoiling the show. She closed her eyes.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and looked up. Standing over her, brilliantly illuminated by a spotlight, was Kandinsky. He handed her back her teddy. The applause from the audience grew louder. He led her to the front of the stage and they took a bow together. She looked down at all the people, wondered at the how excited they looked, knew that all their hearts had raced like her own.
After being escorted back to her seat Stella realised that while the escape artist had been dripping wet after his submarine adventure her bear was perfectly dry. She tried to make the grown-ups around her see this but they were too busy clapping. She didn't pay attention to the rest of the show, not even to her Dad. She sat deep in thought while all around her people roared with laughter as he knocked 'em dead with his foreign legionnaire routine.
Later Stella wandered around backstage looking for the magician. She found him talking to her mother. Her Mum looked sort of flustered but the magician had his usual smile as he turned to greet her.
"I know how you escaped from the bottom of the sea." Stella told him. Before she could continue he knelt down and put a finger to her lips, then indicated that she should whisper her theory into his ear. She did so. If she had figured out the trick then he didn't give anything away. There was still just the same smile.
He looked into her eyes. "I promise that one day I'll tell you how I escaped. In return will you promise not to tell anyone what you think the secret is? Will you promise me that?"
Stella nodded, then said, "I promise."
"Thank you." Said Kandinsky. "Anyway." He added slyly. "I've got out of my predicament, shouldn't you be thinking about getting out of your own?"
Stella looked down. Her body was cocooned in a bizarre red suit, criss-crossed with tightly buckled straps. Frightened she twisted helplessly against her confinement then looked up to ask Kandinsky for help. But he wasn't there; there was just the ceiling.
She wondered how much time had passed. Had she remained awake she would have known to within five minutes, having developed the knack of monitoring the passage of time, an ability crucial the success of many of her escapes. Her first thought was to call Alice for help but then she hesitated, smiled. Taking a long deep breath she exhaled slowly, relaxed, then set to work again on freeing herself.
Alice had checked up once more on her boss. She had she had observed with pleasure the sight of a peacefully sleeping figure. With any luck Stella would be in the land of nod until long after midnight. She wondered what to do when Fred got back. It depended if he had seen anything. For a moment she wondered if he had got into trouble, then dismissed the idea. Things were working out just fine. Lounging on the couch she watched television and let it send her to sleep.
When she woke up, it was with the knowledge that something was dreadfully wrong. She looked up at the entrance to the suite. The door was closed. It was something behind her. She forced herself to sit up and turn her head.
The bedroom door was open. Stella stepped through it. Out of breath she spoke in between taking gulps of air. "Not sure how long that took. Felt like seven minutes. Have to be less than five. I'll need more practice. On stage these days. Nothing can last longer. Than an MTV video. You O.K.?"
Alice stammered "But the suit..."
Stella grinned. "The suit was custom-made to my precise specification."
"So why didn't you get out straight away?"
Stella strolled over to Alice, leaned in close and whispered. "I was enjoying myself."
"Why not stay in there for another hour then?"
"Now that would have been selfish. This way there is time for your lesson. I'll be right back, get yourself warmed up."
Alice swore under her breath. She looked at the clock. Just after ten. Fred could be back at any moment. She would play for time.
Stella took a quick shower and dressed for her forthcoming expedition. In the lounge she found Alice had stripped off her track suit and was waiting patiently, leaning on the chair. Stella selected the longest of the coils of rope hung over its back. "The handcuff knot can wait. I think you're ready for something a little more advanced." Alice obediently sat down in the chair. Stella shook her head. "You'll be standing up for this one."
Stella doubled the rope and found its centre. At her instruction Alice stood facing her with her arms at her side. She placed the rope over her assistant's head as if she were awarding her a medal; allowing the two long ends to fall to the floor. Placing her hands on her assistant's shoulders she turned her around. Reaching around her body she took one end in each hand and drew them behind Alice's body, crossing them in the middle of her back. Alice turned her head to see what Stella was up to - just as her boss span her around again. Once more she reached around Alice's body and brought the ends forward around her waist.
Alice looked puzzled. "Well the rope is tight enough but I'm still completely free." She waved her arms.
Stella grinned. "Now for the interesting bit."
She turned Alice away from her again and reaching down pulled the ends of the rope back between her legs. She took Alice's left hand and placed it behind her back so it rested against her bottom, palm facing outwards. Taking one of the ends she pulled it tight and began to wind the rope around Alice's wrist. After several turns she knotted it securely. This process was repeated for the right wrist. Alice noted how snug the wrist bindings were but knew that Stella wasn't finished yet, the ends of the rope still hung free. With the fingers of one hand she sought the knots binding the other. Stella smacked them playfully and once more Alice was revolved.
"Is making me dizzy part of the challenge?" she asked.
"That was the last time." Stella drew the ends of the rope forward.
The escape artist noted that she had judged the length of the rope well. About two feet extended from each of the wrist knots. Pulling the ends tight across the hips of her would-be apprentice she knotted them together, using her knee to steady the first turn and prevent slack from creeping in. The wrist knots were pulled into Alice's bottom as her hands were drawn apart. Her arms, pulled straight down the length of her back could now not be moved at all. After layering several knots Stella used the last of the remaining rope to form a decorative bow.
Alice stepped over to the mirror and examined her predicament. The rope dug into the tops of her thighs as she moved. From the front she could see the rope vanishing beneath her arms then reappearing around her middle to disappear again between her legs. It re-emerged to be tied in the secure mass of knots topped with the infuriating bow. She moved experimentally, flexing her body, pulling and twisting her arms. The rope was snug against her along its entire length. She could only just make her fingertips touch. Tricky. As Stella had instructed her she determined to calmly think things through. Maybe things were not as hopeless as they seemed. It might be possible to transfer enough slack to one of her wrists to allow her to reach across to the knots securing her other. It might then be possible to loosen these knots sufficiently to allow her to pull a hand free. At this point Stella appeared behind her carrying a second length of rope.
Stella wound the rope four times around Alice's waist and arms which were now drawn tightly against her body, the coils level with her elbows. She spent a few moments working any slack out then knotted it securely in the middle of Alice's back. She had arranged things so there were two eighteen inch long lengths of rope left over beyond the knot. The first one went up to the loop of first rope behind Alice's neck. Stella threaded it underneath this, pulled it back down and drew it tight and knotted it to the waist rope. Alice felt the original rope grow taught, especially around and across her upper body. The second end Stella threaded behind the rope running up to one of Alice's wrists from between her legs, across and behind its opposite number then back up to the waist rope. It was pulled tight and knotted off. Alice felt the original rope grow very taut, particularly around her lower body.
"There. This one is called the G-Sting tie. See how you get on."
Alice re-evalutated her predicament. Everything was now very snug indeed. Turning side on to the mirror she stuck out her behind and wiggled her fingers. The effect was decorative but ineffectual.
"Wow. I look just as secure as you were, or seemed to be, in the suit and it looks very impressive. What's the secret? Are you going to use this one on stage?"
While Alice experimented Stella had collected a long silk scarf. Expertly, using one hand, she flipped a couple of knots into its centre. She stepped up behind her assistant.
"I would do Alice, except for the one tiny drawback. Unless you cut the rope there's no way out of it. Even Houdini didn't like this one."
She reached over her assistant's head, timing the move perfectly as Alice opened her mouth to protest. She drew the scarf between her teeth, knotting it tightly behind her head. Not a perfect gag but effective enough. Next Stella 'helped' her assistant to lie face down on the bed. Alice did her best to resist but in a few minutes her ankles had been secured wide apart to the bars of the iron bed frame. She knotted one end of a final longish length of rope to one of the bars at the top of the bed. She threaded this under her assistants arm, drew it across her back, threaded it under the other arm, then ran it back up to a second bar at the top of the bed. Drawing it tight and securing it removed the last of her prisoners room for manoeuvre. Stella checked the knots on Alice's ankles then carefully placed a pillow under her head. She picked up the alarm clock.
"Shall we say twelve hours?" Stella made her way out of the bedroom, leaving a furiously wriggling Alice. One down, she thought, one to go.
Fred stepped out of the hotel lift and began to make his way up the corridor towards the door of his room. Under his arm was the four foot tall bright yellow toy rabbit he had won at the shooting gallery on the pier. There had been no sign of the clown or clowns.
Passing the entrance to Stella's rooms, he noticed that door was slightly ajar. He paused. It was dark inside. Cautiously he pushed the door all the way open. The bedroom light was out too. Light from the hallway revealed nothing out of the ordinary, except the chair with the ropes looped over it. Faint sounds were coming from the bedroom. He crossed to the chair, sat the rabbit down on it, then crept towards their source. Two paces from the doorway he caught a glimpse of a bare woman's foot lashed to the bed frame. Its toes wiggled pitifully.
Leaping into the doorway he reached for the light switch. Something metallic collided with his wrist. Someone yanked his belt and he tumbled forwards, falling face down on to a carefully arranged heap of cushions. He realised that a handcuff had been snapped on to his left wrist. At the same moment his arm was pulled out straight and he heard the other cuff being ratcheted into place. Someone had fastened him to a corner of the bed. He struggled to his knees and, to help support himself, unwisely brought his free hand round to hold onto the corner of the bedstead. He looked up to see Stella as she snapped a second pair of cuffs onto both of his wrists.
"Boss!"
"Oh Fred, you are so predictable." Stella stepped past him and switched on the bedroom light. Fred managed to get to his feet and got this first good look at Alice. She was glaring at him. She arched her body, wriggled to demonstrate the complete security of the ropes holding her, sighed through her gag.
"Boss. You didn't to oughtn't to have done this. This was uncalled for."
"Really?" Stella held up a choice of gags. "Tape or scarf?"
After she had finished fixing Fred she crossed to the window and began her vigil of the pier. She felt like a rat for treating her companions like this and deliberately kept her back to them. She thought about the secrets contained in the notebooks, not just about his escape techniques but also about Kandinsky himself. But considering these mysteries didn't entirely squash her guilt. When the lights on the pier went out and it was time to go she had to apologise.
The night was still clear. It was about five hundred yards from the hotel to the pier. Stella crossed the road and began to jog along the promenade. Wavetops reflected the lights of the sea front. The tide was coming in. Five minutes later she reached the entrance to the pier, its name spelt out in an arc of light bulbs fifty feet across. The entrance turnstiles were locked behind steel grills. In a tiny office a security guard was visible, his face illuminated by the flickering light of a television screen. It didn't matter. Stella hadn't counted on using the front way in.
Stella kept going without pausing. A hundred yards further on she descended a ramp onto the beach. She ran down to edge of the waves then back towards the pier. The walkway leading out to the main platforms began to occlude the stars. It was supported by iron pillars, Stella needed to find one in particular. She stopped at the last one still above the advancing tide. She whistled. Listened. Nothing. She whistled again. Nothing.
She tried the pillar farther up the beach. Still no luck. Resigned to getting her feet wet she backtracked and shivered as the cold surf washed over her ankles. Waiting until the surf was fully advanced and at its quietest she whistled again. An electronic bleep answered her and a tiny red LED glimmered about two feet above her head. She reached up and grabbed the signal keyring ("never lose your car keys again") which was swinging on the end of a fishing line. A sharp tug and a rope uncoiled from the darkness above her.
Hung up in wooden cases spaced along the length of the pier were old-fashioned cork life-rings with life lines attached to them. During her earlier reconnaissance of the pier Stella had made certain modifications to one of these. At a gift shop she had bought a notepad and pen, some sea fishing line and the novelty key ring. Then, in full view of a seat full of pensioners, she had rigged up her alternative nocturnal entrance onto the pier. Having completed the arrangement of rope, line and improvised signal device she wrote up the safety inspection of the life ring in her official log.
Now, a quarter of an hour before midnight, climbing steadily up the rope, she wondered what condition it was in and whether anyone really did check it out from time to time. Fortunately both it and the fixture up on the deck held. She reached the top. The iron railings surrounding the deck had only two bars at knee and waist height. Stella hauled herself up over the edge of the deck planks, ducked beneath the lower bar and rolled onto the walkway. She was a hundred yards from the entrance. There were no shouts from the guard post. Keeping close to the rail, crouching down, she began to make her way outwards.
Meanwhile, in a bedroom on the top floor of the Grand Imperial Hotel, further escapology practise was in progress.
Fred's first plan: remove his gag and shout for help. Stella had placed a scarf between his teeth, pulled it tight and knotted it thoroughly behind his head. By kneeling beside the bed and pushing his face into the mattress he was able to bring the cuffs up over his head. This allowed him to get both hands to the knots. His fingers found one. Beneath it was another. Around them were further knots. It would take ages to undo them all. Too long. No good.
Fred's second plan: release Alice's foot, she might be able to do something or other with one leg free. Still on his knees he shuffled around the end of the bed so he could stretch his hands towards the knots of the ropes holding her ankle to the frame. They were out of reach, at full stretch the best he could do was run his fingers down the sole of her bare foot. Instantly her body went taught, her arms flexed against the ropes and a weird kind of squealing noise escaped her gag. That was quite loud, he thought, if I can make her do that a few times someone might hear and get help. He reached out again but Alice was squirming desperately. She managed to bend her head so she was able to fix him with a look that he most definitely didn't like the look of.
Fred's third plan: the telephone. In his mind he drew a dotted line between Alice's head and the phone on the bedside table. He shuffled around to the side of the bed nearest his friend. When the cuffs allowed him no further progress he stretched out one of his legs and tried to hook the leg of the table. He found that he could just touch it with the toe of this boot. He sat down, twisted his arms over and behind his head. He inched forward on his backside until they were at full stretch, then he tried again. Fixed in the middle of the mattress Alice tried to follow his efforts but couldn't really make out what he was up to. She squeaked encouragement when, this time, he was able to hook one of the table's legs. An inch at a time he dragged it towards him. The clock radio fell off, then the light, but fortunately the phone had a longer lead and stayed where it was. At last the table was opposite Alice. Now for the tricky bit. Fred adjusted his position until he was able to raise a leg up to the tabletop. He addressed the phone with his foot, calculating his next action like a golfer preparing for a tournament-winning putt. He kicked. The phone landed just in front of Alice's face and the handset fell free. A perfect shot (the crowd would have gone crazy). Instantly she jammed her nose down on the '0' button.
A distant voice: "Room service."
"Mmmmmmmmmppphh!"
Stella made her way to the end of the first walkway. It was not completely dark, tiny navigation lights burned at intervals along the platform and their glow provided sufficient illumination for her to find her way. After a walk of four hundred yards she stood facing the bolted doors of the first of the pier's attractions, a ballroom which was now a giant amusement arcade. Beyond this was the miniature fairground, on the far side of that the second larger building holding a theatre and beyond that the cafe with its view of the Irish Sea. She turned to look back at the town. The line of hotels seemed a very long way off. A clock began to strike. The faintness of its chimes increased her feeling of isolation. If it reaches thirteen, she thought as she counted them, I'm off. Stella realised that this was the point of no return. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. She turned to face the end of pier.
She froze. A figure stood watching her the corner of the arcade. Had it been there a few moments before? She wasn't sure. It was dressed in white, completely still. Stella realised that its head was level with the top of the rail, it could only be about four feet tall. Taking a few steps towards it she recognised a pawn from 'The Biggest Chess Set in Britain'. It ought to be lined up with its comrades on the board in front of the cafe but someone had assigned it sentry duty here. Relaxing,' she walked up it and patted its mock ivory head. Now she could see along the side of the house of fun, at its far end a door was open with a red pawn standing guard outside.
The night porter was very understanding and had Fred and Alice free in no time. He apologised for having to use bolt cutters on Fred's handcuffs. "Its a shame it's not the party conference season. We keep a locksmith on standby in case of these, um, incidents." While he talked to Fred in the lounge Alice was in the bedroom pulling her tracksuit back on. She bolted out of the bedroom door, and vanished down the corridor. Fred stuffed a ten pound note into the porter's hand and ran after her. The man sighed. On his way out he looked at the rabbit sat in the chair surrounded by ropes. He shook his head. This was a new one.
A few minutes later they paused for breath outside the entrance to the North Pier. Seeing the night watchman's booth they called out, rattled the grills. The man seemed to have fallen asleep in front of the television. Nothing they could do would wake him.
"O.K.," said Alice, "Plan 'B'."
Stella paused just inside the side entrance of the arcade. She knew that this part of the hall held vintage amusement machines from the first decades of the twentieth century. Some were as sinister as they were beautiful. Earlier she had seen machines in which, for a half-penny, automata would enact a macabre scene; a beheading, an acid throwing, an electric chair execution. A single light bulb burned above the doorway she had just stepped through. Shadows radiated away from ancient pinball tables. With no clear indication of where to go next she decided to sneak around the edge of the hall. As soon as she moved forward again another light came on.
It illuminated the interior of a glass booth. Inside Stella could see the figure of a woman hunched over a little table. She wore a brightly coloured headscarf and shawl, had rings on her thick papier-mâché fingers. Her grotesquely moulded features were the perfect caricature of a gypsy fortune-teller. A whirring noise began. The gypsy's head began to nod, her fingers twitched. Stella could just make out that they were turning the pages of a book. She drew nearer, unable to decide if this particular exhibit had been present during the afternoon. Her attention became focussed on the book. It was a battered, cloth-bound volume; its ruled pages filled with old-fashioned looped handwriting. She stood with her hands up against the glass of the booth, fascinated by their content. She saw diary entries; caught the names of theatres. Postcards jammed between the pages depicted over-coloured nineteen-fifties images of cities throughout Europe. Then, by itself on a page, was a rough sketch of a trunk, showing how it could be made to fold inwards on itself. The Collapsing Pressure Chamber!
The gypsy closed the book. The whirring stopped. Stella glanced up and jumped. The eyes in the crone's face were alive. One of them winked at her. Below the mask a bow tie began to spin. The booth went dark and the light above the door went out.
Flat footsteps retreated. Her attempted pursuit ended after a few seconds with a bruising collision and a fall. Another machine began to run. She crept on hands and knees towards its flickering interior light. It was another glass walled booth. Inside the claw of a model crane was descending towards a revolving platform heaped with reproductions of 'thirties prizes. It fell amongst the clockwork toys and retrieved one, swung it around and dropped it down a chute. Stella reached down to the collecting tray. Instead of the miniature wind-up tinplate version of George Formby's TT racer she discovered a large iron key. For a moment she was very disappointed. To her left another door opened. Through it, out on the deck of the pier, a white pawn was visible.
Fred and Alice had run another five hundred yards along the promenade before cutting down on to the beach. Too out of breath to speak, Alice pointed to a long, low shed. Fred, equally exhausted, nodded. Crossing the soft sand towards it made their legs ache even more.
Red pawn, white pawn, red, white. Stella was guided through the next section of the pier, a mock Victorian fairground. Amongst the side-shows and roundabouts were displays of artefacts from the history of the pier and the town. She passed an anti-aircraft station from the Second World War, its replica Oerlikon cannon aimed skywards, then a huge black spiked mine dating from the First. At last she arrived at the star exhibit, a bathing machine. This was a changing room on wheels, the size of a covered wagon. Victorians would enter the door at one end, fully clothed, and the contraption would be wheeled into the sea. They could then emerge from the door at the far end, scarcely less clad, for healthful immersions in freezing salt water. Its entrance was flanked by a pair of pawns. Stella was not surprised to discover that the key she held fitted the lock on its door.
Stella stepped inside the bathing machine. Its interior was illuminated by an oil lamp hung from its roof. There were benches to the left and right. On one of them a garment had been laid out. Stella held it up. It was an Edwardian bathing costume, a full-length affair of horizontal red and white stripes. She put it back down and tried the exit door. It was locked. She peered out of the little windows of the machine, there was no one to be seen. She sensed that a performance was about to begin and it seemed that a costume was required. She locked herself in and began to undress.
Putting to use skills taught to her in earlier escape lessons, Alice soon had the door of the shed open. She shone the flashlight she had brought around its interior. Fred gave a low whistle of appreciation as its beam swept across a row of sleek, streamlined hulls.
"What do you think?" Asked Alice. "Should we have a Splash Cat or a Sploosh Penguin?" It should not be difficult to launch a pedal boat without getting soaked, but Fred and Alice failed miserably. Their fight with the incoming waves took several precious minutes before they were able to get under way. Alice steered them towards the end of the pier while Fred worked flat out on the pedals.
The door of the bathing machine opened. Stella stepped into the doorway and struck a circus pose: one hand on her hip, the other stretched high, a leg angled forward to emphasise her slinky figure. Nobody was there to appreciate it. For the moment, there was no obvious way to proceed. To her left now was the theatre. On bare feet she padded silently towards its entrance. "I may not be making any noise," she reflected, "But in this Cat-in-the-Hat style outfit I'm not going to be sneaking up on anyone."
The glass doors of the theatre were locked, hidden behind the same type of steel grill that had blocked the turnstiles. Stella was disappointed; she had convinced herself that the end of her quest lay within. Maybe it did. Somewhere inside a single light bulb burned above a poster printed in the same over-intense colours as the postcards in the notebook. On it was a man with an unforgettable smile. He was dressed in a red and white Edwardian bathing costume. Ropes were looped around him from head to foot. He was in mid-air. Falling towards a lovely summer sea. She began to search for the locks holding the grill shut.
A figure was watching here from the corner of the theatre. "How is it?", she asked the white pawn, "that you guys are able to sneak up on me?" It didn't answer. As she crept towards it she tallied up how many of its comrades she had seen, arrived at the conclusion that there could only one be left. She peered around the corner of the theatre. There he was at the other end of the building, at the end of a line of fifty deck chairs, light flickering across his round head. She made her way down to this final sentry, looking out cautiously from behind his back to inspect the final section of the pier's deck.
Lanterns burned in the turrets of castles, illuminating a regal company. The courts of two kingdoms awaited her. Kings and queens with their attendant knights and bishops. Separating them, a chequered field. In its centre she could just make out a cube-shaped object, occupying one of the central white squares. The chess pieces were angled towards it. It fell from the sky amongst them, thought Stella, they all ran away but have crept back for a closer look at this mysterious object.
The chessboard was more than thirty feet on a side, the kings and queens standing taller than Stella. It was located on a semi-circle of decking a hundred yards across, the edge and safety rail of which were just made visible by the white electric glow of the anti-collision lights. Just to her left, on the other side of a locked gate, metal steps led down to the sea. To her right was the facade of the cafe, before it a dozen white circular tables. They reminded her just a bit too much of mushrooms.
Nothing moved. None of the chess pieces appeared to be wearing bow ties, spinning or otherwise. She edged forwards along the front of the cafe. The shadows of the chess pieces obscured the object. Crouching down she threaded her way though the little fungal forest. From her central position on the deck the rim of lights suddenly reminded her of footlights. She was lurking in the scenery at the back of a stage. Another look round and she left her cover and stepped onto the board at white king's rook three, made her way across to king's bishop five.
The cube turned out to be a small safe, one foot on a side, taking up half the area of the square in which it had been placed. An antique design: solid Edwardian ironmongery with a single lock, the keyhole covered by a sliding metal plate. She inspected it more closely. On the plate was engraved the letter 'K'. Welded into the rear of the safe was an eyebolt to which one end of a chain had been padlocked. This chain led straight out to the rail at the end of the pier, a distance of some fifty feet, where it finished up attached to the top of an anchor - about two hundred pounds of maritime hardware. A rope had been knotted around the shaft of the anchor. It was coiled a couple of times on the deck then ran up to the bottom of one of the vertical railing supports where it was knotted off. Snug against this knot was the bottom end of what appeared to be a three-foot tall stick of rock - thin cylinder of hard candy in a cellophane wrapper, taped to the railings. Some rather complicated arrangements had been made. Very interesting.
Kneeling in front of the safe she tried the handle beside the keyhole. Locked, but something like this shouldn't prove too difficult. Her hand moved to her mouth to retrieve the lock pick hidden there when once again she felt she was being watched.
She glanced left along the white pieces, right along the red. She tried to concentrate on the lock. Couldn't. Looked up. A clown's face hovered in space beyond the rail. He might have been sitting in the front row. He was smiling placidly and starting into space. Stella could just make out his bowler hat, his black suit. She stood up. The clown seemed to catch sight of her for the first time. A look of alarm appeared on his face. He stood up on thin air. For a few moments he made as if to dash in several directions, all the time waving at her. Then he saw the life ring case that was right beside him; he mimed pulling the ring free and with all his strength hurled the invisible object at Stella. She found herself tracking its non-existent trajectory.
An extremely tangible cork life ring dropped neatly over her shoulders and dropped down her arms. Instinctively she raised her forearms to stop it from falling, her hands rising together until they were almost level with her face. With great speed a pair of hands reached around from behind her and snapped a set of handcuffs on her wrists. She span around, there was no one there. She looked down. A second clown was clicking leg irons into place on her ankles.
Oh Stella, she thought sadly, you are so predictable.
The second clown stood up. He turned out to be somewhat taller than her. She looked up into the face of an old man, somewhat beyond sixty, his wrinkled face covered in a pancake of white makeup. An Albert Einstein tangle of white hair spread out in all directions from beneath the brim of his bowler hat - she couldn't decide if it was a wig. He wore a terminally crumpled black suit. A skew-whiff purple bow-tie adorned the neck of his equally dishevelled white shirt. He was smiling gently. His eyes were kind and they disarmed her. She was still looking into them when heavy footsteps signalled the arrival of his comrade.
The first clown was no taller than she was. He wore an identically crumpled, though somewhat baggier, suit. His face and head seemed oddly compressed, his chin level with the top of his collar, all his wrinkles horizontal. He staggered up to them, a deck chair tucked under one arm and another life ring under the other. In each hand he held a canvas tool bag. He set down all these burdens and smiled at Stella, the wide grin one more lateral crease in his phizog. From a pocket deep inside his jacket he removed a piece of paper. After unfolding it nine times it reached the size of a poster. On its back was written 'PLAN'. The two clowns studied it closely. Stella watched their eyes tracking down the lines. The tall clown nodded, the squashed clown replaced the paper in his pocket. They both grabbed at one of the tool bags. Then they both grabbed for the other. They looked up at each other, raised their bowler hats and went for one each.
Stella watched their antics. I could put up more of a fight, she thought. I could stop them putting me in this fix. I could at least be screaming. But she was in a familiar place. Her senses were working overtime, trying to take it all in. Heart beating fast, nerve endings super sensitive. A certainty that nothing else except this was any good. And she had the feeling that somebody else was watching apart from the clowns and the chess pieces.
Her professional eye took in the details of the restraints on her wrists and ankles. Modern design - both sets had about a foot of chain between the cuffs: U.S. prisoner transportation shackles. Very tricky if double locked, but so far this procedure had not been carried out. She moved her jaw, felt the lock pick resting inside her mouth.
Out of the first bag the tall clown removed a heavy steel collar. Carefully he placed it around her neck, fastening it closed with half a turn of a special key. It lacked any kind of padding, was heavy enough by itself to press into her flesh. A half ring of steel was rivetted into its exterior, the clown arranged this so it was at the back of her neck.
The squashed clown produced a steel belt of the same design. He slipped it around her waist and fastened it in the same way. In contrast to the ones on her wrists and ankles these fetters belonged to the eighteenth century. The belt and collar were a good fit, she wondered if they had been made to measure. Her lock pick wouldn't open those, but maybe it wouldn't need to.
The tall clown lifted the life ring clear of her arms and put it down next to his bag. His associate had also picked up a life ring and they set about making some modifications. The red and white painted rings were about two feet across, leaving an internal diameter of just under eighteen inches. They had fitted into them, at ninety-degree intervals on their circumference, metal bands. On the outside of each of these were eyelets through which were threaded the rope that made the belt easier to throw and catch. The clowns used these eyelets to anchor short lengths of chain in place, each length being looped once around the ring's edge before being padlocked shut. The chains then had, by means of further padlocks, fetters attached to them, single massive cuffs of the same antique design as the collar and belt. Two such irons were attached to opposite sides of the life rings' interiors: the tall clown's ring containing two wrist cuffs, the squashed clown's two ankle cuffs.
The squashed clown finished setting up his ring and placed it flat in the chess square in front of her. He tipped his hat and pointed to it. Like a pawn she advanced into the square, stepping into the interior of the life ring. He lifted it slightly, moved her ankles apart and closed the manacles around them, fitting the heavy steel bands above the modern cuffs already encirling them. The connecting chain of her ankle cuffs pulled tight. A twist of a key and the irons were locked shut. She could not move her legs together, nor could she move her legs apart.
The tall clown stood up and held his life ring in front of her - with the wrist cuffs fitted to the interior of its loop. She held out her hands. The squashed clown stood up and locked them around her wrists. The slack in the cuff chain connecting them vanishing as the shackles were closed and fastened shut. Next the tall clown lifted the life ring over her head, as if he were presenting her with a medal. The edge of the ring rested against the back of her head, its inner rim across her shoulders. Her elbows were forced back, her fore and upper arms were brought together. The squashed clown retrieved a length of chain from his tool bag and stepped behind her. She felt it being looped though the ring in the collar, wrapped around the edge of the belt. She heard a padlock click shut. She was afraid the weight of the thing would choke her but her hands were taking all the weight not her neck. The bottom of the life ring rested against her stomach. The tall clown took a length of chain and pushed it through a ring rivetted into the waist belt, looped it around the life ring twice. From the pocket of his suit jacket he retrieved an enormous padlock. It would only just fit into the palm of his hand. He used it to secure the chain holding the bottom of the life ring to the waist belt. Her wrists were thus held in place level with chest.
His comrade rejoined him and they looked her up and down, appearing satisfied with their work so far. The plan was unfolded and they consulted it again. A nod and it was refolded and replaced. They both moved past her towards the end of the pier. Stella wanted to keep an eye on them and to look over her predicament but found that the collar and life ring combination made moving her head very difficult. She was facing in exactly the wrong direction. Then her eyes focused on the plate glass windows of the cafe and found reflected in them a Cinemascope panorama of the whole scene; the shot bordered by castle turrets. There she was, surrounded by an audience of chessmen bigger than herself, standing to forced attention. The tall clown receded into darkness as he made for the end of the pier. She realised that she couldn't hear him walking away. She shivered. He might have been following her from the moment she had clambered onto the deck. Maybe his footsteps were just masked by the noise of his comrade's wrestling match with the deck chair, which was taking place just behind her.
She looked herself up and down. The combination of chains, cuffs and maritime rescue equipment appeared bizarre but effective. She moved her hips and flexed her arms, gauging the weight and feel of her bonds. Her arms seemed very securely restrained - the chain of the wrist cuffs was taught across her breasts. The life ring could not be raised, lowered or pushed away from her body. The collar stopped it from being lifted over her head. Her elbows could be moved outwards, but doing a half-hearted chicken impression wasn't going to get her anywhere. It certainly didn't impress the chess pieces who now all seemed to be looking directly at her, fascinated by her predicament.
After some confusion the squashed clown had unfolded the deck chair and succeeded in setting it up just behind her. She knew he was busy with something at her feet, heard the rattle of more chain, but couldn't quite see what; the reflection ended level with her knees. Poor framing by the cameraman. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other revealed the security of the shackle and life ring arrangement restraining her feet. The clown stood up. She saw him catch sight of himself in the mirror, straighten his bow tie. Via the glass his eyes met hers, he indicated the chair. Why not? she thought. I might as well be comfy. Carefully she lowered herself into the low canvas seat. Her elbows fitted neatly within its wooden sides. The edge of the belt behind her head rested against the top of its back. The clown locked it there with yet another bit of chain and a padlock. Getting a move on he looped a final length of chain around the hinge at the side of the chair, ran it over her lap, under the hinge at the far side, brought it back, pulled it tight and padlocked its ends together. She had been fixed down into the chair, her arms had been completely immobilised. She sighed - that was why not.
The clown grabbed the back of the chair and swivelled it around to face the end of the pier. She saw the tall clown push the anchor over the edge of the deck. The chain running to the safe snapped taut, making the iron box jump into the next square. She jumped with it. The rope attached to the anchor prevented it from falling into the sea - and the safe from being dragged any further. It was the same rope that was attached to the giant stick of rock - which now had a long fuse in the top, to which the tall clown was just setting a match. The fuse began to fizz merrily away and he hurried back to rejoin them. Squashed clown picked up the tool bags. They stood just in front of her, doffed their hats and scarpered. She heard one set of footsteps descending the metal steps to the landing stage.
There was a spilt second between their disappearance and the start of her attempt to free herself. Stella used it to wonder why she hadn't said anything. Next she evaluated her situation. If she didn't escape, the safe and the notebooks would end up somewhere on the seabed. Then she noticed the chain connecting the life ring holding her feet to the safe. Correction. The safe, the notebook and Stella Harbin. She glanced at the fuse, estimated that she had no more than five minutes before it burnt down into the top of the stick of rock. After that things would get very interesting.
Alice had brought the Splash Cat in a wide arc around the end of the pier. Fred eased his pedalling to slow ahead. Up on the deck something was happening, lantern lights flickered, but from sea level they couldn't make out what. Crossing the end of the pier she brought the craft back in. A shadow moved within a shadow. A shape separated from the pier. It was heading their way, she signalled all stop. A Sploosh Penguin crossed their bow. Its occupants raised their bowler hats as they motored past.
Fred pointed at the clowns. "Here. I want a word with you!"
The Penguin took off. Alice threw the helm over and Fred went to all ahead full. For a hundred yards they struggled to catch up, Alice doing her best to join in with the Cat's propulsion. It was clear they were being outdistanced. A light flared behind them. Up on the deck of the pier a firework was burning.
Five minutes. One of them had vanished before Stella discovered a possible opening. Only one lock mattered, the one connecting her to the safe. But reaching it would require getting out of most of the rest of the ironmongery holding her down. She thought about trying to make the chair collapse flat. It would loosen some of the chains but her elbows would smash into the deck. No good. She managed to lean forwards a few millimetres. This took the weight off of the life ring hung around her neck. The chains securing it to the steel collar and waist-belt were, it seemed, simply looped around it and not anchored. This meant that by tugging sharply she was able to rotate the life ring, bringing one wrist up and the other down, her right hand reaching the collar, her left the heavy steel band around her waist. She got a good look at the manacle on her wrist. There was no actual lock, it was screwed shut. To open it required a half turn of a key with a square tip. All you needed to have was the right bit of kit. She didn't. On the opposite side of the ring her finger brushed against the huge padlock.
The huge padlock. One of the half dozen employed throughout her bonds. All the others were compact little modern affairs. Why was this one different? Was it purely for dramatic effect? She turned and lifted it, considered its shape, its weight. Lightning inside her head. She had heard about something like this. Her fingers explored it with renewed care. Her thumb and forefinger discovered rivets front and back and pressed them together. Its body opened, and a compartment sprang out. It took her only a second to locate the square ended key clipped inside it.
She glanced at the fuse. Maybe two minutes remained. Removing the shackle key she rotated the belt again. Her stomach muscles ached by the time the key was with reach of her mouth and she was able to tuck its handle between her teeth. She manoeuvred her wrist so that the square tip of the key could be inserted into the screw-lock of the manacle enclosing it. She just managed to bring the two together. She gritted her teeth, tilted her head forward, her hand back. Steel dug into flesh. She achieved only a fraction of a turn before pain made her relax. She repeated the process a second time, then a third. Pain built up in her teeth and wrist. After the fourth go the cuff flew open and fell from her wrist. She flexed her left hand, forcing some life back into it. She glanced at the firework. One minute. Reaching back up she transferred the shackle key to the palm of her hand. Her middle and ring fingers held it there while her thumb and forefinger extracted the lock pick from her mouth. The device was thin enough to double as a shim and in a few seconds she had sprung the transport cuff on her right wrist, swapped it into her right hand and use it to remove the cuff on her left wrist. The shackle key in her left hand released her right wrist from the life ring. Her hands were now completely free.
While she had worked on her wrist restraints Stella had formulated the entire sequence of releasing herself from the chair. The shackle key released the collar and the waist band. She slid the loops of chain from the steel belt. She flipped the life ring up over her head, pushed it back out of the way. The next obstacle was the chain across her lap. She reached down by the side of the chair and grabbed the padlock holding it in place. Her other hand fitted the lock pick into its keyhole. Opening it proved as straightforward as she had hoped. Yanking the lap chain away left her free of the deck chair with only her feet still chained.
The burning end of the fuse disappeared into the end of the stick of rock; white light flooded the chess board as it ignited. Swiftly it began to burn down, a roman candle emitting a jet of sparks and shells. She pulled herself forwards out of the chair, falling forwards onto her knees and then her stomach; reaching for the chain connecting her with the safe. She lifted her feet -still securely chained- and squirmed forwards until she could reach the padlock connecting it to the ring on the safe. The firework had burnt down to the rope holding the anchor, which at once began to blacken and smoulder. Holding her breath she worked at the padlock with her lock pick. It opened; she pulled the connecting chain clear.
Her life was safe. Kandinsky's secrets were not. She went for the lock connecting the safe to the anchor chain. The rope was burning. Same design, she told herself, no problem. The pick would not enter the lock - she saw that it had been filled with glue. Anger. That was cruel of them. Never give up! She saw the trick padlock lying on the deck, still attached to the waist belt. The remainder of its compartment was filled with a single large key. She tore this out of its clip, inserted it into the lock on the safe. It turned.
A burst of flame from the firework. A whiplash-snapping noise as she reached for the handle of the safe and grabbed only thin air. She yelled in frustration as the safe accelerated to a vanishing point and fell off the edge of the deck. Face down on the deck she listened to the anchor splash down into the sea, closely followed by the metal box with its precious contents. Never give up! She rolled onto her back and set to work to free her feet.
As soon as the firework ignited, Fred and Alice had abandoned the chase and reversed their course. They approached the end of the pier just in time to hear a scream and see something heavy on the end of chain smash into the water a few yards in front of them.
"Oh no." Alice feared the worst.
Fred looked utterly miserable. Very quietly he said, "I can't swim."
Alice looked up. Stella was standing at the rail. "It's all right Fred. It's all right. It wasn't her. Look, She's O.K." She pointed and Fred looked up to see the escape artist standing up the deck. As they watched she climbed over the rail and without hesitating, swallow-dived into the sea. She didn't come back up.
"I can't swim".
The firework burnt out. They sat there in the dark. Alice unfroze and began to pull off her shoes.
Stella groped blindly through the black water. She found the sandbag, located the chain at its neck, pulled herself along it to the safe. There was no way that she could lift it. A stoke of luck; she discovered that it had landed with the door facing upwards. Her fingers explored the edge of the door and the lock. She felt a gentle movement. Air bubbles! It was filling with water!!
In her left hand she still held the trick padlock. She clicked it shut and threaded it onto her wrist so she could grab the edge of the safe. With her right hand she grasped the door handle. It turned, the safe opened, releasing the final small pocket of air. Inside, Stella's hand discovered another metal box- weighty but possible for her to lift. She grabbed it, held it to her chest with both arms and kicked upwards. It felt like she was returning from one hundred and fifty fathoms. Her head broke clear of the surface. She gulped down air. Her vision cleared. She could make out lights on the shore. They were an awfully long way off. It was hard enough treading water while holding the box. swimming back to shore was going to be very interesting. Perhaps she could find the steps and climb back onto the pier. A splash. Someone called her name. Looking round Stella saw the grinning face of an impossibly enormous cat advancing towards her. It almost made her drop the box. Then Alice was in the water at her side, supporting her until Fred hauled her out of the waves.
They peddled back to the shore, hauled the boat clear of the waves. Stella was shivering, giving in to exhaustion. Fred's arm supported her as they made their way across the beach - three wet and bedraggled figures. After they had climbed on to the promenade Stella made for the first street light. Standing beneath it they inspected the treasure she had recovered from the bottom of the sea: a tin cash box with a tight fitting (and hopefully watertight) lid. Stella laughed when her trembling finders couldn't manage the catches. With great care Alice undid them and opened it up. Inside they found a brick. Tied around the brick was the wrapping paper from an ice-cream.
