It goes without saying that the characters of the original Flushed Away are the works of the cosmically creative wizards of Aardman Animation and DreamWorks Studios. It also goes without saying that this story wouldn't exist without the kind words and encouragement of reviewers, to whom I am in debt.

This story uses characters introduced in Yet Another Change of Scene of which this entire piece is a continuation. I apologise for the grand-scale self-reference and hope that it will not cause anyone any problems.


There was a scrape of metal as the other boat drifted into the Jammy Dodger II's stern. Rita Malone glared at it and called across to its pilot.

"Watch where you're going you clown, or you'll have us both in!"

"Calm down, Rita, it wasn't that bad," said Roddy St. James, who was watching his companion carefully as one might watch a ticking bomb.

"Oh, as if that's the point," shot back Rita. "Don't think I didn't hear that either! Don't make me come over there!" She turned her attention back to the luckless pilot, who was frantically trying to get as far away from her as possible.

"I don't think threatening to board them works any longer," opined Roddy. "And you're attracting a little too much attention. Sit down, calm down and relax a little. It isn't as if we're going anywhere in a hurry."

That much was true. They were just a hundred yards away from the English Channel, the last significant obstacle to their journey home, and they were caught in traffic. Rita glared around her some more, as if using her emerald eyes to set up some kind of inviolable force field, and then sat next to Roddy.

"Typical," she muttered. "There's always a traffic jam."

"Well, at least this one has a good reason to exist," said Roddy. "See, this is what happens when someone builds an outlet below high tide. We've got to wait for the sea to go down and open up the way into the Channel."

"Stupid way of doing things," said Rita.

Roddy put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "Yes, it's such a shame they couldn't make the tides go the other way. Maybe they'll do better next time."

It wasn't much of a joke, but it brought the faintest of smiles to Rita's face. The tunnel here was enormously wide, but there was hardly room to move. Rat boats of all descriptions packed it from side to side, waiting for the tide to subside enough to let them out. A bored-looking French rat in a dirty uniform sat in a small box from which hung a string that blocked the route Channel-wards. The air was thick with noise- engines, conversation in a dozen languages and the occasional collision between the tight-packed flotilla.

"Only the French could arrange something this badly," said Rita.

"Yes, only the British know how to queue properly," Roddy looked around them. If there was any kind of order, he couldn't see it. Boats should have been taking station in the order of arrival, but nobody was following the rules. Half of the boats were jockeying for a position near the front of the pack, and the other half were trying to keep theirs. The Jammy Dodger II had a natural advantage, being somewhat larger than most competitors as well as carrying enough hidden surprises to sink anything which got in its way. Right now, Rita was one of them.

"This is how they do it at Suez, you know," continued Roddy. "One group of ships passes through in one direction. Ships going the opposite way just have to wait."

"Whereabouts do they do that?"

"Suez," repeated Roddy.

"Whose?" It took Roddy a moment to see the smile on her face.

"Oh, right, a joke. Yes, very good."

"I don't even get a sympathy laugh?" She feigned a pout.

"For that one you'd be lucky to get a suspended sentence and community service," said Roddy. Rita laughed.

"All right, maybe it isn't so bad. But it still strikes me as badly-organised. Who built the Suez Canal again?"

"The French," said Roddy.

"My point exactly." Rita patted his knee and stood up again. "You wouldn't think getting home would have been the hardest part of the holiday, would you?"

"I'm sorry, did we go on holiday?" Roddy grinned. "I remember running out of petrol, you nearly dying, me fighting a cat, you falling off a cliff in Monaco, me getting kidnapped, you jumping out of a plane to save me and then me getting shot. At what point did this holiday take place and why wasn't I told?"

"Well, you can't say we won't remember it," said Rita.

"I'm debating whether it even happened," pointed out Roddy. "It doesn't count as relaxing holiday if the most peaceful time was spent in hospital."

Rita smiled. "And you were telling me to calm down a few minutes ago?"

Roddy lay back on the bed and put his hands behind his head. "Oh, I'm not saying it didn't enjoy myself. Just that this probably wasn't what your parents had in mind when they arranged this."

"To be honest, I don't want to know what my parents thought we'd be doing," said Rita. "But you're right. I don't think they thought it'd be this interesting."

"Well, I wouldn't call it 'interesting' exactly," said Roddy. He sat up again and went to join her at the controls. "Not 'interesting'. Something between 'terrifying' and 'a catalogue of disasters' would have been my preference."

Rita laughed and slid a hand around his waist.

"I think one or two things might have gone right, though," she said.

Roddy smiled. "The jury might still be out on that one as well," he joked. Rita poked him playfully.

"You're not winning yourself any favours here, Roddy. Don't make me make you scrape the keel again. You know what happened last time."

"You mean the time you asked if I wanted to go for a swim shortly before pushing me into the water? Water, I might add, that you had to scrape the penguins off before you could even see it." Roddy poked her back.

"Was it a little chilly, Roddy?" grinned Rita.

"No, when I said that thing about the penguins I meant it was pleasantly tropical. Of course it was chilly! The icicles on my whiskers didn't give that away?"

"It was essential routine maintenance, you know. Someone had to do it."

"That wasn't essential routine anything. That was tantamount to a keel-hauling." Roddy put on an air of offended dignity.

"You're just lucky I don't have a plank to make you walk." Rita rested her head against his shoulder. "Seriously though, Roddy. It hasn't been that bad, has it?"

He smiled at her and took her hand. "I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"Good," she kissed him on the cheek. "Me neither. And there's nobody I'd rather be with right now you moronic goon!" The shout was directed to a small boat which shot past them at high speed, darting through the packed traffic, its engine kicking up a spray of water which descended over the Jammy Dodger II. Roddy spluttered and tried to wipe it out of his eyes. Rita glared after the miscreant and wished she had a weapon to hand. The rider turned and looked back at them. For a moment his blue eyes met Rita's green ones, the he flashed an apologetic grin and disappeared.

"So that moment's over?" said Roddy wistfully. "All right. I'm going below to get out of the rain. Do you fancy a cup of tea? We're going to be here for a while."

Rita nodded. "Thanks. How long is it?"

Roddy shrugged. "Low tide isn't until eight and it's only one now."

"Could be some time then." Rita sighed and shook her head to dry her hair.


"Notwithstanding this business," said Roddy during dinner. "I think we've made pretty good time." The boats waiting for low tide were now so tightly packed that nobody could even try moving. The Jammy Dodger II was pressed hard up against a barge made out of a packing crate lid, which was crewed by three rats of whom two were asleep at any given time.

"Yeah, it hasn't been a bad run since Monaco," said Rita. "We should be back in a week or two."

"I said we shouldn't have stopped in Lyon," said Roddy.

"So did I," said Rita. "I said we should go through Lyon. We stopped there because my first mate, whose name eludes me for the moment, was reading the wrong map."

Roddy conceded that. "Maybe we should have asked Jasper to fly us home."

"In the Flying Malone? I don't think you could have fitted the Dodger into the passenger seat." Rita smiled as she remembered the old inventor and his bizarre airplane.

"I'm sure he could have sorted something out. It was a pity we couldn't stay for Rhys and Sofia's wedding. That would have been quite a party!"

"We don't have a good record with parties in Monaco," said Rita, shaking her head.

"I'm pretty sure the Mafia wouldn't be at the wedding of the British Naval Attaché and the French Ambassador. Did they ever work out which one of them was going to resign in order to avoid a breach of professional ethics?"

"Last I heard they were going to toss a coin for it. And I wouldn't trust the Mafia not to turn up. Those guys were shadier than the Toad." Rita put her plate aside.

"Well, it wouldn't be so bad even if they did. I mean, my guardian angel would be there too." Roddy winked at Rita, who chuckled and smiled at him.

"Are you going to stop calling me that?

"That depends. Are you going to stop saving my life at the last possible second?" Roddy took her hand.

"If it stops you calling me a guardian angel? I might start endangering it myself!" Rita squeezed his hand gently. Somewhere ahead of them, a bell rang. The rat in the box let down the string and the front ranks of the waiting boats began moving off down the tunnel. The conversation was abandoned as they readied the Dodger to follow. The leading boats of the flotilla were already out of sight.

"Pre-departure checklist," said Rita in a businesslike tone.

"Checklist ready, captain," Roddy took his place beside her.

"Check engine," said Rita.

"Engine check," said Roddy, peering at the row of gauges in front of him.

"Rudder amidships."

"Rudder amidships."

"Stowage."

"Stowage check."

"Oil pressure."

"Pressure in the green."

"Fuel?"

"I'm sorry, but did you ever do this before I turned up? I mean, I see it's important to check that the boat works but really, you'd have been talking to yourself."

"Fuel?"

"Not that there's anything wrong with that. So long as you didn't expect an answer."

"Fuel?" She smacked him cheerily upside the head. He winked and looked at the meter.

"Fuel che…oh dear."

She looked up and peered at the reading.

"How is that possible? It was nearly full!"

Roddy looked over his shoulder and saw a tell-tale shine on the water by the stern.

"I think we might have sprung a leak," he said. Rita saw it too, and ran to peer over the side. There was a paper-thin gash in the hull where the other boat had struck them. It wasn't much, but it had been done hours ago and there was no telling how much fuel had leaked out. Ignoring the chorus of shouts and horns they were attracting by remaining stationary, she called Roddy to help her patch it over. A sticking plaster did the job, but the damage had already been done.

"We're going to have to refuel," she said, going back to the controls. "Any ideas about the nearest place?"

Roddy looked at the maps. "We could make it to Calais and refuel there again."

Rita shook her head. "I'm not taking us into that port again, not after last time. Besides, we could only do it then because the Bruces were here to help."

"There's never a Bruce when you need one, is there?" said Roddy. "Well, that's the only thing I can think of. I mean, we could look elsewhere but that'd be guessing. Do you think it's really that bad? I mean, surely there's enough left to get us across the Channel. Once we're back in England we should be able to find something easily. Or talk to someone who knows where we can get some."

Rita looked at the gauge sceptically. It was just possible he was right…and it was also true that trying to find fuel in France would mean taking a wild guess which could go seriously wrong. She sighed. It was a risk worth taking.

"All right, we'll try to cross. And just hope that there's no cross-current or strong headwinds, because if there is…we'll need to hope the Dodger can run on vapours."


The stars glittered coldly overhead. It was a night that deserved the description of 'crisp'. Everything seemed sharper, from the starlight to the bitter wind that was slicing down from the North Sea. Ahead of them, England was a shimmering band of light on the horizon. Rita shivered and hugged her coat tighter around her body. The fuel gauge was still reading worryingly low, and she was beginning to hope that it was the gauge that was wrong. Still, it was too late to turn back now. Roddy stuck his head out from the engine room.

"I've checked every container. There's no more petrol here, although I did wonder whether that old orange juice would work."

"We have orange juice on board? I didn't know that!"

"I believe you," said Roddy meaningfully.

"Well, that's good. I like orange juice. We could have some with breakfast." Rita said.

"Ah, no, I don't think so," said Roddy. "With this orange juice it wouldn't be breakfast, it'd end up being the Last Supper."

"Oh." Rita paused. "It's like that is it?"

"Well, I tried to find out but it kept pushing me away," said Roddy. "Yes, it's that bad. Can we throw it overboard before it evolves any further? Fruit juice shouldn't be able to stand up by itself."

"Why not? Is that what bottles are for?" asked Rita.

"I meant without the bottle," said Roddy pointedly. He went below and came up holding a cardboard container caked with mould. Holding his breath, he heaved it over the side and nodded in satisfaction at the splash.

"And good riddance. How's the fuel situation, Captain?" He went and stood beside her. She grimaced and shook her head.

"Not good. I'm hoping that the gauge is stuck and giving a false reading."

Roddy squinted at it in the dark and tapped it once or twice with a knuckle. The needle jerked in response and sank even lower. Roddy winced.

"Well, it was stuck," he managed.

"I really, really hope you just broke it Roddy," said Rita quietly. "Because if that's right, we've got ourselves a bit of a problem." She looked up. "Maybe we should cut the engines completely and see where we are in the morning. I can't navigate by night. I can't tell distance."

"By morning we could be in the Azores," said Roddy. "We've got to keep going."

Rita nodded. "Yeah, you're right. I know." She patted the wheel encouragingly. "Don't let us down, old friend. You can make it."

Roddy began unpacking a sheet of canvas from the forward locker. "I don't suppose we have a foldaway mast you haven't told me about?"

Rita scratched her nose. "There's the funnel and that's about it. What are you thinking about?"

"Rigging a sail, of course." The canvas caught on a protruding nail. Roddy heaved hard and it gave way with a tearing sound. He staggered backwards and fell over, the canvas piling on top of him. Rita watched him struggle for a moment or two before sympathy overcame her and she extracted her companion from under the pile. Roddy dusted himself off and looked up at her sheepishly.

"You're probably about to make some kind of cutting remark about what just happened. Can we just skip that bit and think about whether a sail could actually work?"

Rita smiled and shook her head. "You take all the fun out of my life Roddy. Well…I guess a sail might work. We've still got the poles from the sun shade. But the wind is coming in from the north. We'd not have much control over where it took us."

"I thought you could sail into the breeze?" said Roddy.

"You can," said Rita, who had forgotten more about seamanship than Roddy had yet learned, "although it's more sailing across it than into it. Besides, that takes a special kind of rigging and a professional crew who knew what they were doing. Francis Drake might be able to get away with it, but not us."

"My goodness, are you admitting that there's something you can't do?"

Rita nodded. "Yes. I am admitting that I am not Francis Drake. It isn't as if sewers get you much practice with sailing boats."

Roddy bundled the canvas. "Well, I'll start trying to set this up in case we run out of fuel." He stood up, not realising that he had a foot on a fold of the material, and pulled it out from underneath him.

"Need a hand there?" asked Rita sweetly. "Or would you prefer a brain?"

"No, thank you, I'm fine. And you can stop offering me body parts before you get to anything inappropriate." He picked himself up.

"Are you sure about the brain?"

"Why, do you know someone who has one?" Roddy grinned.

Rita was poised to deliver a fittingly devastating response, when the engine made a noise like a donkey being chainsawed and stopped. For a moment everything was silent, except the lapping of water against the tin hull.

"Maybe the sail isn't a bad idea after all," said Rita quietly.