For World Book Day on March 7th, we present an excerpt from Molly Malone & Bram Stoker in The Curious Case of the Irish Yeti, by Alan Nolan, illustrated by Shane Cluskey.
Dublin, 1859: All the dogs are disappearing! The city is in trouble. With no guard dogs, thieves are running riot. With no sheepdogs at Smithfield Market, the city is overrun with sheep and goats. And the cats are getting totally out of control! The dwindling pup-ulation is being blamed on the Irish Yeti, a terrifying beast with snow-white fur and glowing eyes. When Molly Malone's own dog goes missing, she sets off on the trail of the monster, with help from her friend Bram Stoker and the Sackville Street Spooks.
Can the gang save the dogs AND save the day?
I Wanna Be Your Dog!
In which Billy the Pan and Shep borrow a hound from Hetty and try to be found by a Yeti...
'No chance!' thundered Hetty Hardwicke, ‘There’s no way I’m lettin’ you use poor Prince Albert as bait to catch the Irish Yeti!’ She stamped her foot so hard on the wooden floorboards that she made Prince Albert jump, all four of his paws leaving the ground. He whimpered low and cowered behind Hetty’s legs.
‘Ahh, c’mon, Hetty,’ said Billy the Pan, ‘we won’t let the Yeti get him. I don’t think it’s a real Yeti an’ anyways.’
‘An’ you’re the only other member of The Sackville Street Spooks that has a dog,’ said Shep.
‘Prince Albert is just a puppy,’ glowered Hetty, ‘an’ he’s only a baby – my little baby – you’re not tyin’ him to a post and leavin’ him out all alone for the Yeti to eat for his dinner!’
‘But he won’t be all alone,’ said Shep in a conciliatory tone, ‘me an’ Billy will be there with him!’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Billy, ‘We wouldn’t leave your poor dog all alone – we will be there too.’
‘Dressed up as dogs!’ said Shep, ‘We’re goin’ undercover; look it.’ He held up two highly unconvincing homemade dog costumes. One seemed to be made out of an old grey carpet or rug, it had two long brown wool stockings stitched onto one end for floppy ears, and a knotted length of ship’s rope for a tail at the other. The other costume was made from a ratty brown fur coat to which Shep had attached pointy cardboard ears and a tail made from a branch from a pine tree. The tail moulted pine needles as he held it up to Hetty.
‘You two are complete and utter eejits,’ she said, and then sighed, ‘but if you’re willing to put your own lives on the line and risk gettin’ eaten by the Yeti, I suppose Prince Albert can do
the same.’ Prince Albert looked up sharply at his mistress and twitched his ears – he didn’t look too sure about that!
It was getting dark as Billy the Pan and Shep walked cautiously out onto Smithfield Square. The broad expanse of the Square was deserted – the usual Saturday market had been called off due to everybody being afraid of the Irish Yeti – and the only sound that could be heard was the distant BLEEEEATing and OINKing of stray goats and pigs that, sheepdog-less, had escaped from their owners and were trotting around the side streets, foraging for something edible in the piles of garbage. Both boys were carrying their pathetic canine costumes and Shep held Prince Albert by a rope. The dog was straining against his lead; he really didn’t want to be there. And, for that matter, neither did Shep. ‘Are you sure about this, Billy?’ he asked, a nervous stutter in his voice. ‘I told ya,’ answered Billy, ‘no talkin’ – from here on out we are dogs. If you want to say somethin’, just say woof.’ Prince Albert did go woof, and then, much to the dismay of Billy the Pan and Shep’s noses, the dog let out a quiet, but extremely stinky, fart. ‘The poor dog’s terrified,’ said Shep, ‘and so am I. What if the Yeti eats us?’
‘I keep tellin’ you,’ whispered Billy, ‘there’s NO Yeti. Now, tie Prince Albert to that pole, put on your dog disguise, and get down on all fours like a good doggy.’
Grudgingly, Shep did just that, and soon the two boys and their shivering canine companion were standing (or, more accurately in the case of the boys, kneeling) on the cobblestones in the centre of the Square. The moon had begun to rise and, squinting through a small split in the fabric of his hopeless dog outfit, Billy could see shafts of moonlight slide slowly down the red brick chimney shaft of the whiskey distiller’s factory at the side of the Square. ‘I’m scared,’ came a little voice from beside him. ‘Dog language only, Shep,’ hissed Billy to his younger pal, ‘if we keep in character, we might lure the Yeti out into the open. ‘Woof,’ said Shep.
Suddenly there was the sound of footsteps coming quickly from behind them. It’s him – it must be the Yeti! Prince Albert whimpered and pulled hard on his rope. Billy wished he had made a larger hole in his dog disguise; he couldn’t see anything! Then came the sound of another pair of footsteps, joining the first. Billy was puzzled, where there two Yetis?
‘Free dogs,’ said a gruff, deep voice, ‘It’s our lucky day, Mr Bleat! Not just one, not just two, but free dogs!’ Billy’s ears perked up in astonishment, this wasn’t a Yeti! ‘It most certainly is, Mr Grimble,’ said an answering voice, slightly more high-pitched but just as gruff as the first, ‘Although it should more propp-ah-ly be referred to as our lucky night, seeing as the ol’ fork an’ spoon is high in the sky.’ Fork and spoon? thought Billy; he thought the two voices sounded like they might be from London, but what on earth did they mean by fork and spoon?
‘An’ lucky that it is, Mr Bleat,’ said the first voice, ‘Uvver-wise we wouldn’t be able to carry out our duties, as the ol’ Candy Floss requires us to.’
‘The Candy Floss, Mr Grimble?’ asked the second voice. ‘The Boss, Mr Bleat,’ replied the first, ‘You know, sometimes I fink you ain’t a propp-ah Cockney at all!’
‘Sorry, Mr Grimble,’ said Mr Bleat apologetically, ‘I do try, but sometimes I get a bit mixed up wiv me climbing gang.’
‘Climbing gang, Mr Bleat?’ asked Mr Grimble. ‘Rhyming slang, Mr Grimble,’ said Mr Bleat.
‘Understandable, Mr Bleat,’ said Mr Grimble, understandingly, ‘most understandable. Now, let’s get to work and nab these free canines.’
Billy gasped as two muscular arms grabbed him around the waist, and he felt himself being hoisted high onto someone’s broad shoulders. From somewhere beside him he heard a quiet, scared voice saying, ‘Woof,’ and he guessed that Shep was also receiving the same treatment from these two mysterious Londoners. He tried to look out from under his grey rug dog disguise, but although he could hear Prince Albert’s growling as he was being dragged across the Smithfield cobblestones by an unseen hand, all Billy could see was a sliver of the moon as it shone in the clear night sky. Yeti? he thought, these two jokers aren’t Yetis!
Molly Malone & Bram Stoker in The Curious Case of the Irish Yeti is published by The O'Brien Press - find out more about World Book Day here.
