The Exploits of Engelbrecht Read Free Page B

bell, Engelbrecht is in a very poor way indeed. And all over the town clocks start striking and alarms jangling in celebration of their champion’s prowess.
    “He ain’t half clockin’ you, kiddo,” says Lizard Bayliss. “Do you know your hair’s gone quite white?”
    But in round three Engelbrecht makes a surprise come-back. Putting everything he’s got left into one mighty spring, he lands right on top of Grandfather Clock’s works, bores in close to his dial and tries to put his hands back. Before he knows what time it is Grandfather Clock’s hands are forced back to midnight last Tuesday and he starts to strike. Dreamy Dan, prompted by Chippy de Zoete, invents a new rule and says: “Engelbrecht! You must come down off there and stand back while your opponent strikes the hour.”
    By now the gameness of this dwarf on springs has caught the fancy of the fickle surrealist crowd and they are yelling to him to stay up there and never mind the referee, but Engelbrecht loses his hold and drops from the dial.
    After that, for the next six rounds, it’s just plain murder all the way. Engelbrecht has shot his bolt and has to fight on the defensive. When he’s not being whammed into the middle of next week by the pendulum he’s back-pedalling to try and escape straight lefts from the minute hand and right hooks from the hour hand. Grandfather Clock goes after him round and round the ring, slap, bang, wham, clang, striking and chiming time out of mind. How Engelbrecht avoids the k.o. nobody will ever know. Perhaps it’s the vivifying effect of all those dips in the canal. Anyway, he just manages to keep on his feet.
    At the end of the ninth round the gang are just a tiny bit worried. It’s in the bag, of course. Their Clock is way ahead on points and fresh as the dawn, but they’ve counted on a knockout long before this. Still, the last round in a surrealist championship can last as long as the winning side likes, so they look fairly cheerful as they go into a huddle over some grand strategy.
    Not so Lizard Bayliss, who is begging Engelbrecht to turn it in while he’s still got a few days left. “If you could see yourself, kiddo,” he says. “You’re all shrivelled up. You look a hundred.”
    Just then one of the oldest of all the old-timers of the Surrealist Sporting Club hobbles over and plucks Lizard by the sleeve. “I’ve got a tip for you,” he says. “It’s a chance in a million but it might come off. Tell your man…” And he whispers into Lizard’s ear. Lizard nods and whispers it to Engelbrecht. And, whatever it is, it seems to filter through the state of dotage that Engelbrecht is now in, for he nods his trembling head.
    They come out for the last round and pretty soon Grandfather Clock gets Engelbrecht tied up against the ropes and starts measuring him for the k.o. The door in his front opens and the weights and pendulum come out for the coup de grace when suddenly, Engelbrecht darts forward, dodges between the weights, jumps inside the clock case and slams the door to after him. The next moment a convulsive tremor passes over Grandfather Clock’s giant frame, an expression of anguish crosses his dial, and he starts striking and chiming like fury, but the tone doesn’t sound like his ordinary tone. It sounds much more like hiccoughs.
    Engelbrecht isn’t in there long but when he pops out he looks fifty years younger, and damme if he isn’t brandishing Grandfather Clock’s pendulum and weights above his head. This, of course, means that Grandfather Clock’s works are running wild, lost control. His hands chase each other round his dial and he ticks and strikes so fast it’s like a stick being drawn along railings.
    Chippy de Zoete and Tommy Prenderghast are afraid he’ll run down and they chase after him, trying to wind him up and fit him with a new pendulum and weights, but Engelbrecht and Lizard Bayliss intercept and they’re all four milling round Grandfather Clock, when suddenly