What Makes A Detective.

Chapter 12

Blearily, Toby opened his eyes. He felt hot. Shuffling upright, his back hit a metal bar, and a split second later, his head did too. Toby winced as he squirmed around, trying to get the slightest bit comfortable, and eventually, he found that if he lay on his side and tucked his feet in up to his chest, he could lie in relative comfort while his head stopped spinning.

He still felt hot, though, he realized, as he rolled over again, catching his foot off one of the bars and feeling it click awkwardly. He then peered between the bars, and although the world was sideways, he still recognized what was in front of him. Looking down only confirmed his suspicions.

Ah. That's why it was hot.

Toby spun and wriggled, trying to find the latch on the cage he was in. His hands were slippery, and the boiling vat of water below him wasn't exactly helping. His hands closed on the rope knot at the same time as the rest of the room sort of came into focus.
"Toby?" Rosie's little voice piped up, fearfully.

"Is she still here?" Toby called, as he began on the knot.

"Who's she? The cat's mother?"

Toby let go of the knot, twisting in the small space so he could see.

"Don't touch the knots" the old woman cackled, redoing everything Toby had managed to undo and putting another knot in for good measure. "Don't touch..."

"Rosie?" Toby called again, squirming, as the metal cage was starting to conduct the heat from the water rather too well for his liking. He looked around the room they were in. It was a conjoined kitchen and living room, with a big oak table in the centre, sofas and chairs on the other side of the room, and a wooden door leading to a pantry, tinged with red. Toby finally spotted the little girl-sitting frozen on a chair, with a ring of wood and coals around her, white hot, keeping her still. She shook her head at him. She couldn't move. And if the floorboards caught fire...

The old woman was still standing over the cage, rubbing her bony fingers together. She was standing awfully close, Toby realized. Extremely close.

The water was boiling properly now, and the metal surrounding him was beginning to get very, very hot. Toby tried to put his feet through the bars and kick off the wall in order to move the cage, but it was stuck fast, tied to something or other with more rope.

It was only then when Toby really started to panic. How was he supposed to get free of this? The cage wouldn't move...

But once again, his natural intuition and knack for solving problems kicked in. Yes, the cage wouldn't move, but the pot of water might.

Rolling onto his knees, wincing at the pain-it was pain now, there was no denying it-Toby tried to use his hands to move the pot beneath him. It didn't budge.

In one last ditch attempt, Toby rolled onto his back, and kicked with both legs.

Then the pot moved.

In fact, it did more than just move. It skidded straight off whatever it was standing on, splashing and crashing to the floor. The boiling water poared everywhere, all over the old woman, who shrieked in pain and fell down, the water also dousing the coals surrounding Rosie, which was what Toby had been hoping for. What he hadn't considered was how his cage was resting on the pot, and as a consequence he dropped straight down, almost over the fire. But he didn't have time to think about that problem, since almost the second he landed Rosie was hauling him clear.

"Thanks" Toby gasped, but Rosie didn't hear, as she had been forced to run to the other side of the room as the old woman, having struggled to her feet, tried to grab at her. The two female voices bounced frantically around the cottage as the old woman chased, Rosie, screaming, tried to evade her, and Toby tried desperately to undo the knots in the rope whilst the attention wasn't on him. He could feel the skin,  blistered and burned, on his shins and on his back, but he tried his best to focus on his fingers, since ultimately, they were going to be what saved his life, if anything could.