Jungledrop

by Abi Elphinstone

  Fibber shook his head. ‘This is madness.’

  Fox, for once, was in agreement with her brother. ‘I detest old people,’ she muttered. ‘The cardigans and the slippers and the non-stop knitting are bad enough, but the nonsense that comes out of their mouths is unbearable. If I was Prime Minister, I’d pass a law saying that anyone over the age of fifty should have their mouth Sellotaped shut whenever they leave the house.’

  The old man ignored the twins’ comments. ‘When I was a child,’ he said, ‘I stumbled across a magical phoenix tear. And that tear transported me to Rumblestar, one of the four Unmapped Kingdoms, where a harpy called Morg was wreaking havoc with the magical winds that grew there.’ He shuddered as he recalled it. ‘But, with the help of some friends, I, Casper Tock, banished Morg and her followers from Rumblestar which, in turn, restored calm to our world’s weather.’

  Fibber looked the antiques collector up and down. ‘You really think that you stopped the hurricanes because of something you did in a magical kingdom?’

  Casper nodded. ‘Along with a girl called Utterly Thankless and a small dragon called Arlo, yes. Though I suppose we did have a bit of help from snow trolls and sun scamps, too. And Zip, a magical hot air balloon.’ He looked from Fox to Fibber. ‘I knew that one day Morg would hatch another plan to steal the Unmapped magic. She only needs to gain control of one of the four kingdoms for the rest to fall, so she won’t stop trying.’

  Fox glanced round the shop. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any Sellotape kicking around in here?’

  The old man ignored her again. ‘My wife, Sophie, and I have spent our lives trawling antiques fairs across the world, looking for another phoenix tear. Then we came across this shop for sale and I felt the pull of something familiar.’ Casper’s eyes shone. ‘It was the pull of magic. Tucked inside the drawer of this writing desk was that marble – a phoenix tear. I’ve been sure of it all along because, if you’ve encountered magic before, you know when it’s sitting in front of you again.’

  The twins stared at the marble. The glow flickered mischievously in Fibber’s palm and for a second all thoughts about the briefcase, the Petty-Squabble fortune and Antarctica were forgotten.

  ‘Our planet is on its knees once again. If the rains don’t come soon, who knows what will happen? All of us are to blame for global warming. We could have done more sooner and stopped ignoring the signs around us. But it’s my bet there’s dark magic afoot, too.’ Casper paused. ‘It appears the phoenix tear’s magic is stirring and, for reasons far beyond me, I believe it has chosen you two as the ones to save us.’

  For a moment, there was silence. Then Fibber snorted. ‘What a load of nonsense,’ he said.

  ‘And as for us sweeping in to save the planet,’ Fox added, ‘you can forget it. It’s not the Petty-Squabble way to start caring and helping and rescuing other people. What would be in it for us? No, it’s stamp or be stamped on – and we very much like to do the stamping.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Fibber dropped the marble back into Casper’s hand and glared at Fox. ‘So give me back my briefcase and maybe I won’t stamp on you.’

  Casper tilted his head. ‘You mean the one under the piano?’

  Fox stiffened as Fibber charged towards the piano and began rummaging beneath it. She looked from Casper to the marble, then back again at Casper. And in the old man’s eyes she saw something burning as brightly as the marble he held: hope.

  He dipped his head at Fox. ‘Take the marble. Then run, girl, run headlong into this adventure. The Unmapped Kingdoms have chosen you and, when magic sets its sights on someone, it’s remarkably hard to wriggle free.’

  Fox blinked. The old man was off his rocker – he had to be – but her plans lay in tatters, Fibber was on the brink of victory and there was something about this marble burning in the gloom. Something wild and hopeful. She grabbed it from Casper’s outstretched palm just as Fibber was raising his briefcase in triumph, then she turned and fled from the shop.

  Fox tore back down the street. She couldn’t go back to the hotel because her parents had been very clear: come up with a plan or be posted to Antarctica. She had to get away from here. Immediately. And yet she had no idea where to go.

  She hastened on down the street then the train station came into view once again, and Fox felt the marble tingle in her hand. Without thinking, she turned into the station, rushed past the empty ticket office and onto the echoing platform and there, like a gift – a glorious, hope-giving chance of a gift – was a train. And so strong was the pull of escape, of freedom, that Fox didn’t stop to consider that this train was a very old-fashioned steam train and that the steam pumping out of its chimney was, in fact, bright green.

  She gripped the marble tightly, hurried along the platform and, though she didn’t know where the train was going to, leapt aboard. She turned to see Fibber dashing towards her. What was he doing? He had been desperate to find his briefcase and yet he wasn’t, it appeared, desperate to hurry back to their parents to reveal the business plan inside it. Had he been lying about the contents? What if his briefcase didn’t hold a genius business plan? Fox felt sure, though, that Fibber had something of value inside it, something he didn’t want to lose.

  The train started chugging forward slowly and Fibber quickened his pace, throwing himself aboard just before the train gathered more speed. And Fox realised then that her world, which had seemed so ugly and unchanging before, now looked ever so slightly different. There were surprises and secrets bound up inside it: why on earth, for instance, had her brother followed her onto this train?

  But it was only when the train doors snapped shut and Fox glanced down the carriage that she realised her world was filled to the brim with magic, too.

  It was Fibber who spoke first and his voice, usually snide and smooth, came out as a strangled squeak. ‘I’m dreaming. I must be dreaming.’ He whirled round to Fox. ‘Tell me I’m dreaming!’

  Fox stared, open-mouthed, at the extraordinary plants sprouting through the gaps in the floorboards of the carriage: red-and-white spotted ones the size of tractor wheels; blue ones the shape of pineapples; tiny yellow ones that grew like clusters of fallen stars; tall purple ones that looked suspiciously like broomsticks. Indeed, there were so many plants, it was almost impossible to see the floorboards. There were vines twisting up round velvet-curtained windows and criss-crossing between the lanterns hanging from the roof, and scuttling up one of the vines was a creature the size of a squirrel with pointed ears and green skin. It took one appalled look at the children and disappeared from sight.

  In amongst this jungly mess, as if they had every right to be there, were what appeared to be the contents of a sitting room: two large armchairs with a coffee table between them, a velvet chaise longue, a bookcase full of leather-bound books, a chest (holding goodness knows what, but potentially more pointy-eared green creatures) and, at the far end of the carriage, a painting of a phoenix that was somehow moving about in its frame.

  Fox gaped. ‘Is – is this what public transport looks like?’

  Fibber clutched his briefcase to his chest. ‘I don’t like it. Where are all the other passengers?’

  Fox peered into the carriage behind them. More strange plants and furniture, but no people.

  Fibber nudged his sister towards the carriage in front. ‘Go and look for –’ he paused – ‘normal things. Like passengers. And buffet cars. And ticket inspectors.’

  Fox studied her brother. His shoulders were bunched up round his neck and he was biting his lip. Fox realised it was the first time she had ever seen Fibber scared, and ever so slightly out of control, and she wondered whether she knew him quite as well as she thought she did.

  Fox narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Why did you jump on the train after me, Fibber? If you’ve got a fortune-saving business plan inside that briefcase, why didn’t you take it back to the hotel to show Mum and Dad?’

  Fibber flinched as a golden beetle landed on his shoulder, then sprouted wings and
flew off. ‘I don’t think now is the right time to be worrying about all that. We need to find out where this train is going and why on earth it’s got a –’ he squinted at the scene before them – ‘garden growing inside it.’

  Fox glanced out of the window. ‘Do you think we’re meant to be going quite this fast?’

  The train was moving at such a blistering speed that the countryside around them was merely a blur and Fibber gripped his briefcase even tighter. ‘Go and find a ticket inspector or some sort of sensible grown-up.’

  ‘Fine,’ Fox muttered. ‘But while I’m gone make yourself useful by searching this carriage for a timetable to work out where we’re heading.’ She pointed to the chest. ‘Start with that.’

  Fibber turned to the chest, which was covered in purple moss, and recoiled.

  ‘If I didn’t know you better,’ Fox jeered, ‘I’d say you were scared of a load of plants. So I suppose I’ll have to be the one to get us out of this mess.’ And, with that, she stormed off towards the front of the train.

  The bravery was just an act though. Deep down, Fox was frightened. She passed through carriage after carriage. Each contained plenty of plants and armchairs, but there wasn’t a single person in sight. She thought of her parents suddenly. When would they notice that she and Fibber had gone? And would they even care enough to come after the twins? Perhaps they’d simply be relieved that they didn’t have to worry any more about children who never made them any money. Fox decided not to dwell on that thought because it was dredging up a familiar sadness in her. Instead, she pressed on through the carriages.

  She realised that she had come to the end of the train when in front of her, rather than another carriage, there was a door with the following words carved into it:

  TICKET INSPECTRE CURRENTLY NAPPING

  Fox wasn’t sure whether this was a comforting thought or not. She also wasn’t sure if ‘inspectre’ was really spelt like that. But, as she took a step closer and got ready to knock on the door, the carved letters jiggled, spread out a little and another word materialised in the wood. Fox gasped.

  TICKET INSPECTRE CURRENTLY NOT NAPPING

  The door opened the very slightest of fractions and Fox found herself hoping hard that a sensible grown-up might appear. But that hope was dashed when she saw the being that slipped out. As it drew itself up in front of her, it seemed to be in the shape of a grown-up, but where flesh and bones should have been things were decidedly wispy and white.

  Fox screamed. The letters on the door had been right; this really was a ticket inspectre! ‘You’re a – a – ghost!’ she blurted.

  The ghost was tall and male and wearing nothing but a loincloth. ‘I’m a junglespook, actually,’ he said curtly. ‘My name is Tedious Niggle and, as the ghost of a nagging grown-up, I should just like to check that you brushed your teeth this morning, packed insect repellent for the trip and have a sensible bedtime planned – despite the late running of this service.’

  Fox screamed again, then raced back through the carriages towards Fibber who was swiping at a diamond-winged butterfly with his briefcase.

  ‘It bit me on my finger when I flicked it off the chest!’ he wailed.

  Fox glanced at her brother’s hands. All ten digits were intact and there wasn’t any blood. ‘You’ll live,’ she panted. ‘My news is that the train is haunted.’

  ‘WHAT?!’ Fibber’s face paled and he shuffled nearer to his sister before realising that this was the closest he had ever been to a family member. He took a few steps backwards. ‘This is why Petty-Squabbles don’t travel on public transport,’ he hissed. ‘What sort of ghost was it? One in a suit of armour? Was it wielding a sword?’

  ‘No.’ Fox tried to breathe normally. ‘It was wearing a loincloth.’

  As if on cue, Tedious Niggle swanned into the carriage and made himself comfortable on the chaise longue. Fibber looked dangerously close to fainting.

  ‘Welcome, both of you, aboard the Here and There Express.’ The junglespook crossed his legs (which he really shouldn’t have done, given that he was wearing a loincloth), helped himself to a cup of tea from the teapot on the coffee table next to him (which was pointless because he was a ghost and the liquid simply slid right through him) and smiled. ‘This is a non-stop service for Jungledrop, the Unmapped Kingdom responsible for the distribution of rain to the Faraway.’

  Fox and Fibber exchanged panicked looks. The secret lands that Casper Tock had talked about had been called the Unmapped Kingdoms… Had the old man been telling the truth? But that would be impossible… wouldn’t it?

  ‘My profuse apologies for the fact that the buffet car is out of order, the train sometimes splits without warning and the driver has gone on strike.’ Tedious Niggle set his teacup down on a saucer. ‘Any questions before I deliver the rest of the on-board notices?’

  Fibber was doing his best to come to terms with being talked to by a ghost, but the news that there was no driver was causing a great deal of sweating beneath his business suit. ‘Without a driver, when – when will the train stop?’

  The junglespook took another pointless sip of tea. ‘Alas, the drivers on the Here and There Express are notoriously fond of striking. Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing a driver at all this decade…’

  He plucked a fruit that looked like a banana, but was blue, from a plant next to him, which had about as much impact on his digestive system as the tea.

  ‘But the train is powered by junglespit – you might have seen the green smoke puffing out of the chimney back at the station? Junglespit enables the train to come and go as it pleases and even cross from Jungledrop to the Faraway from time to time. The Here and There Express always makes it to the right destination though. In the end.’

  ‘But –’ Fibber chewed his lip – ‘Jungledrop doesn’t sound like the right sort of destination for us at all.’

  Tedious Niggle cocked his head at the children. ‘You certainly haven’t dressed appropriately. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone attempt a jungle quest in a business suit before. I’m not suggesting a loincloth for saving the world, although I can recommend them for comfort, but perhaps something a bit more flexible across the chest would have been wise. Not much use running away from Morg if you can’t pump your arms. And maybe shoes with a bit more grip? After all, if you’re searching for the Forever Fern to restore rain to the Faraway, you’re going to want to scale gobblequick trees and the like quickly and efficiently.’

  Fox looked down at her leather-buckle shoes, then shook herself for even considering that Tedious Niggle might be speaking the truth. And yet his words were a worrying echo of Casper Tock’s… Going on an adventure to rid the Unmapped Kingdoms of this Morg creature and restore rain to the earth.

  Tedious Niggle stood up. ‘So, a few more notices before your arrival in Jungledrop.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Please do make yourself comfortable in the snugglers; they’ll adapt to suit your personality soon enough. Keep your fingers and toes away from the trunklets; they’re not normally too much bother, just the odd prank here and there, but they’re almost always hungry and their teeth are so sharp they can chew through stone.’

  Fox baulked as the creature with pointed ears and green skin emerged from a vine and flashed her a toothy grin.

  ‘And do apply suncream liberally when you arrive,’ the junglespook concluded. ‘It would be somewhat of a disgrace if, rather than saving the world, you got sunburnt instead.’

  He laughed. The twins did not.

  ‘The plants aboard the Here and There Express are used to Faraway folk such as yourselves; now and again, the train winds up in your world by mistake, you see, and, although it usually vanishes before anyone can clamber on board, it does give the plants here a brief moment to familiarise themselves with the way you look and dress. The plants in Jungledrop, however… Just make sure you treat them with respect; that way you’re far less likely to get eaten or trampled on.’

  Fibber let out a little whimper, then quickl
y covered it up by growling, unconvincingly, at the ghost and the plants and his sister instead.

  Fox’s mind spun with visions of man-eating shrubs. ‘The plants are alive?’

  ‘Every plant is alive,’ the junglespook replied, ‘but magical ones have more – how should I put it? – personality.’ He pointed to a cluster of tall flowers with yellow petals that looked a lot like sunflowers. ‘Take the timekeepers, for example. Silent types but ever so reliable.’

  The yellow petals jiggled in delight at the attention and, as Fox peered closer, she saw that in the centre of the petals there were, in fact, clock faces.

  ‘Timekeepers only grow in Jungledrop. It’s a stroke of luck, if you’ll pardon the pun, that they sprouted up on the Here and There Express, too. But they have been telling the time for centuries. And, considering one year in the Faraway is almost thirty years in the Unmapped Kingdoms, it helps to have a plant that can keep track of both magical and non-magical time.’

  Again, Fox thought of her parents. If she and Fibber were stuck in the Unmapped Kingdoms for several days, weeks or even months – Fox shivered at the thought – perhaps no one back home would even notice they’d gone because hardly any time would have passed there at all…

  Fibber, who was evidently thinking the same thing, piped up: ‘I demand that you stop the train!’

  Fox stamped her foot for good measure. ‘Immediately!’

  Tedious Niggle raised a ghostly eyebrow. ‘This is, as I have expressly told you, a non-stop service, so I suggest you come to terms with that. You do, after all, have a great deal of work ahead of you.’ He straightened his loincloth. ‘Therefore, if I were you, I would conserve your energy; I cannot think of a single instance in history where stamping one’s foot has made a difference to the outcome of a situation.’