particle of speed we could muster.
Now the jet ski ahead was definitely getting closer. I could make out Mr Scruffy giving an occasional panicked glance behind to see where we were. Not too far was the answer. Only a few more minutes and we’d be right on top of him.
And then what?
How were we going to stop him? He was hardly going to pull over and come quietly. At the speed we were going at, any attempt to force him to stop would probably only end in disaster – more than likely ours. Then I had my brainwave; my gloriously insane, probably-ending-in-certain-death brainwave. I can only claim that the cold had somehow suppressed my cowardice gene and made me temporarily prone to insane acts of bravery.
‘Try to get beside him,’ I roared at Mrs C. She nodded and gradually drew alongside the red jet ski.
‘Keep it as steady as you can,’ I shouted as I stood up, blissfully ignorant of the stupidity of what I was about to attempt. I fixed my eyes on Mr Scruffy’s jet ski, watching it get closer and closer. Nearly there, I thought. Just a few more seconds.
Now!
I threw myself off our jet ski and made to grab him. As if anticipating my actions – actually, with hindsight, he was definitely anticipating my actions – as soon as I jumped Mr Scruffy hit the accelerator and his craft leaped forward. I sailed through the air and completely missed him. It wasn’t a total disaster though, as I did manage to grab on to Basili, whose jet ski had just pulled up parallel to us on the far side. This of course wasn’t part of the plan and, since it was entirely unexpected, it caused the jet ski to skew off the ice and up a small slope while Mary Mary vainly tried to wrest it back on course. We crested the top and rocketed into the air while Basili tried to hold on to the back and I tried to hold on to him.
‘Mr Harry, what were you thinking?’
‘Trust me, Basili,’ I roared back. ‘It wasn’t planned. I was rather hoping to land on the elf’s jet ski, not this one.’
‘Ah, I am seeing now. Perhaps if I am dropping you, you might be achieving your original aim,’ and before I could object he’d grabbed me and flung
(note:
not dropped) me towards the fleeing elf. I closed my eyes and there was a satisfying thump as I made contact with something softish. Seconds later I was lying on the snow gasping for air and thanking whatever gods of fortune had been watching over me that I was still alive, while a muffled voice from somewhere under me shouted, ‘Get off, I can’t breathe.’
Slowly (I wasn’t really too keen to oblige) I rolled off the semi-flattened elf impostor and grabbed him before he could escape again.
‘Now wasn’t that fun?’ I roared in his ear. ‘We really must do it again sometime. I do so love winter sports, don’t you?’
He snarled in reply. I guess he wasn’t as big a fan of snow as I’d thought.
‘Now that we’re all nice and cosy, I’m going to ask a few questions. If I don’t like the answers I get, I’ll set my friend on you.’ I was quite getting used to the idea of using Basili (as mild-mannered an ex-genie as you’re likely to see) as an intimidating threat. What they don’t know won’t hurt them – especially in this case as Basili wasn’t capable of hurting anything. Of course the pseudo-elf didn’t know that: the threat was sufficient to transform him into a remarkably talkative subject indeed.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
‘Porgie,’ came the sullen reply. ‘Georgie Porgie.’
‘Who sent you? Who are you working for?’ At last I was finally getting somewhere – or at least that’s what I thought. Just as he was answering, there was a loud neighing and snorting noise from above. Something snaked down and grabbed on to Georgie by the chest – a grappling hook. As I watched he was snatched up and away from me. Instinctively, I grabbed his legs and held on tightly. Once again I found myself flying through the air, hanging on to something and grimly
Now the jet ski ahead was definitely getting closer. I could make out Mr Scruffy giving an occasional panicked glance behind to see where we were. Not too far was the answer. Only a few more minutes and we’d be right on top of him.
And then what?
How were we going to stop him? He was hardly going to pull over and come quietly. At the speed we were going at, any attempt to force him to stop would probably only end in disaster – more than likely ours. Then I had my brainwave; my gloriously insane, probably-ending-in-certain-death brainwave. I can only claim that the cold had somehow suppressed my cowardice gene and made me temporarily prone to insane acts of bravery.
‘Try to get beside him,’ I roared at Mrs C. She nodded and gradually drew alongside the red jet ski.
‘Keep it as steady as you can,’ I shouted as I stood up, blissfully ignorant of the stupidity of what I was about to attempt. I fixed my eyes on Mr Scruffy’s jet ski, watching it get closer and closer. Nearly there, I thought. Just a few more seconds.
Now!
I threw myself off our jet ski and made to grab him. As if anticipating my actions – actually, with hindsight, he was definitely anticipating my actions – as soon as I jumped Mr Scruffy hit the accelerator and his craft leaped forward. I sailed through the air and completely missed him. It wasn’t a total disaster though, as I did manage to grab on to Basili, whose jet ski had just pulled up parallel to us on the far side. This of course wasn’t part of the plan and, since it was entirely unexpected, it caused the jet ski to skew off the ice and up a small slope while Mary Mary vainly tried to wrest it back on course. We crested the top and rocketed into the air while Basili tried to hold on to the back and I tried to hold on to him.
‘Mr Harry, what were you thinking?’
‘Trust me, Basili,’ I roared back. ‘It wasn’t planned. I was rather hoping to land on the elf’s jet ski, not this one.’
‘Ah, I am seeing now. Perhaps if I am dropping you, you might be achieving your original aim,’ and before I could object he’d grabbed me and flung
(note:
not dropped) me towards the fleeing elf. I closed my eyes and there was a satisfying thump as I made contact with something softish. Seconds later I was lying on the snow gasping for air and thanking whatever gods of fortune had been watching over me that I was still alive, while a muffled voice from somewhere under me shouted, ‘Get off, I can’t breathe.’
Slowly (I wasn’t really too keen to oblige) I rolled off the semi-flattened elf impostor and grabbed him before he could escape again.
‘Now wasn’t that fun?’ I roared in his ear. ‘We really must do it again sometime. I do so love winter sports, don’t you?’
He snarled in reply. I guess he wasn’t as big a fan of snow as I’d thought.
‘Now that we’re all nice and cosy, I’m going to ask a few questions. If I don’t like the answers I get, I’ll set my friend on you.’ I was quite getting used to the idea of using Basili (as mild-mannered an ex-genie as you’re likely to see) as an intimidating threat. What they don’t know won’t hurt them – especially in this case as Basili wasn’t capable of hurting anything. Of course the pseudo-elf didn’t know that: the threat was sufficient to transform him into a remarkably talkative subject indeed.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
‘Porgie,’ came the sullen reply. ‘Georgie Porgie.’
‘Who sent you? Who are you working for?’ At last I was finally getting somewhere – or at least that’s what I thought. Just as he was answering, there was a loud neighing and snorting noise from above. Something snaked down and grabbed on to Georgie by the chest – a grappling hook. As I watched he was snatched up and away from me. Instinctively, I grabbed his legs and held on tightly. Once again I found myself flying through the air, hanging on to something and grimly
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