The Magic of Hobson Jobson

by Soyna Owley

  Above, the bird screeched one last time and then disappeared.

  The dog whimpered and licked Floyd’s face. The scratches on his face and arms burned.

  Floyd spat out a leaf and pulled a jacaranda blossom from his aching ear. He stood up, holding the side of the tree, his head spinning, body throbbing.

  ‘Where have you brought me?’ he asked the dog.

  The Ridgeback limped up. His wings folded over several times and descended into his ridge, like a letter being pushed into an envelope. The ridge zipped along its length from the bottom up in one pure and perfect movement. Now he looked like a beautiful but ordinary dog again.

  Floyd put his arms around the dog’s neck. The sky darkened and the moon came out, making the trees silver and the shadows long and grey.

  The gravity of the situation suddenly sank in. He had no idea where he was, and what kind of trouble he was in. Without realizing it, he started crying into the great dog’s neck. The animal licked his face again.

  Floyd forced his thoughts to be orderly. This was no time to be a cowardy-custard. The dog had probably landed here to escape that monstrous bird. He just needed some water and a few moments of rest. Maybe there would be a stream nearby—Floyd’s mouth watered at the thought of cold, sweet water, and he swallowed his tears.

  The dog pulled at Floyd’s jeans and barked, like he was trying to show him something. It ran up to a wall and sat there wagging its tail. Floyd approached slowly. The wall was small—part of a wall, really. It was crumbling and many of the bricks had lost their smoothness. There seemed to be carvings on it. Using the large orange feather with a shaking hand, he brushed the leaves away. His blood chilled as he read the words hewn into the old stone.

  In Yama Forest, it is said,

  With prudent caution one must tread,

  For if one’s cares too quick be shed,

  As soon will come what they most dread.

  His legs trembled like a spider’s web as the air slowly left his lungs. Yama Forest? Wasn’t Yama the god of death? Where had he landed?

  Floyd wobbled, feeling faint. Jaadu’s predictions had been horribly accurate. A brother had left. Hadn’t he said something about flying beasts and a sacrifice? He tried to remember the astrologer’s words, but his mind had emptied itself. Oh, tamarind tuckers.

  His thoughts broke as something slithered past his foot. The moonlight threw long shadows everywhere, making it impossible to see clearly. A light glimmered through the trees.

  Floyd coiled the huge orange feather under his sweater and walked down a small path towards the light, his heart thudding. What or who would he find? The stocky umbrella pines and the purple jacarandas leered over him like spectators at a cockfight. In the distance, a long howl pierced the air.

  A cottage with a thatched roof stood in the middle of a clearing, a flickering torch on its jasmine-covered walls. Its four corkscrew chimneys puffed smoke, vibrant even in the moonlight’s waxy pallor. One chimney curled out a fat spiral of emerald smoke; another blew a stream of shimmering purple. The third billowed mustard smoke, and the last puffed out wispy white rings. A brass knocker adorned a red door with intricate flowery carvings. There were no windows. Oh, where was he?

  ‘Let’s be quiet. We need to look around before making any moves, okay?’ he said to the dog.

  The dog bounded up to the door and, with a push of his paw, opened it. What the blazes was wrong with him?

  ‘NO. Bad dog.’ Floyd rushed after the dog and skidded to a halt. They stood in the middle of a large room with four burning fireplaces. The entire floor was covered in a profusion of creepers. A single window looked out on to a serene moonlit beach. But there had been no windows visible on the outside of this house. Weird. Very weird.

  Fragrant burning mango wood threw coloured light around the book-lined room. In one corner, a dull silver telescope stood on a stand, a black grandfather clock towered in another. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.

  On one side of the polished wooden floor, amongst the creepers, lay two dog bowls, one filled with water and the other with food. Someone or something was expecting this dog. Floyd shuddered.

  ‘I’m so not staying here,’ he whispered and tripped over one of the green vines. He righted himself and sat down on a chair.

  The dog woofed, drank thirstily from the bowl and jumped on to a gold velvet divan with tasselled bolsters. There was no one else in the room. Armchairs stuffed with sparkling pillows and bright rugs were strewn over the gleaming wood floors, visible through gaps in the creepers—and he could see those vines came from two plants on either side of a marble fireplace. Who would possibly live like this?

  The dog’s tongue hung out happily. Clearly this dog wasn’t in a hurry to get back. But maybe if he knew where he was, he could get help.

  The bookshelves might have a telephone directory. Gold letters gleamed on the ageing green spines. Floyd trod carefully over the vines and studied the titles.

  The large clock let out a series of chimes, startling him. Instead of numbers, the timepiece’s face had twelve brass dogs with elegant silhouettes and markings on their backs, just like—why, like Rhodesian Ridgebacks! He counted ten … eleven … twelve chimes. Midnight already?

  A faint fluttering started as soon as the chimes stopped. Wings grew out of the ridges of the miniature brass dogs. The figurines left the clock face one by one and flew gracefully around the room, before returning to their original positions. The ceiling, which had been perfectly ordinary, now glowed a deep orange.

  ‘Anyone here?’ Floyd called. A movement caught the corner of his eye. The plants were moving—their fronds were twisting! They fused into a thick lump the size of a tree trunk. He backed away, his hand over his mouth.

  Without warning, the door he had come through thudded shut. He tugged and twisted the doorknob. It wouldn’t budge. He was trapped. He shivered in spite of the heat from the four fires.

  ‘Greetings, Yaksha,’ a voice said.

  Floyd wheeled around, his heart hammering, but there was no one in the room. The dog tossed his head and barked furiously, his tail wagging.

  ‘Here,’ the voice said. Floyd turned around and yelled in shock. The voice was coming from the plants. From within the thick green stem, two eyes blinked.

  8

  Balsam and Ela

  The writhing plant started spinning and, in seconds, formed a cylindrical lump. The vines curled around it, like a cocoon.

  No, this simply isn’t happening, Floyd told himself. Maybe like Ma he had retreated into another world and didn’t know what was real any more. He stifled his sob at the thought of Ma, rocking in front of her shrine, slowly going mad with grief. Oh, what had he got himself into, this time? Was there no end to his bad luck?

  The sprouting leaves at the top of the plant collected into a cabbage-sized mass that became a head. By now an entire figure had formed out of the plant, as the last few vines were sucked back into its body.

  Trembling, hardly daring to lift his eyes, Floyd glanced up—and instantly wished he hadn’t.

  The tallest man he had ever seen—a man with an unsmiling face—stood in front of him, a few vines still writhing on his head. About eight feet, he wore a knee-length frock coat made of moss and narrow green shoes of woven leaf. Stones sparkled on his slender fingers. His long white hair floated around his head, making his olive skin look dark. His eyes were of the lightest green with a hint of gold—the exact colour of Ma’s peridot ring.

  With a shake of his hand, he sucked the last straggling vine back into his fingertip, and then bowed three times to Floyd. Floyd clutched his head in his hands, his heart hammering to a furious beat. Avoid. Eye. Contact. Avoid. Eye. Contact.

  ‘Balsam.’ It was a woman’s voice, and it came from the other plant. Its vines were also fusing together, forming a curvy shape, twisting, as if it was a woman trying to fit into a dress that she had pulled over her head.

  The man unknotted a tangle of vines at the ‘
feet’ of the other plant. ‘Hurry, Ela,’ he said.

  The other plant’s head formed as her vines fused together and clumped into two legs with a pop-pop-pop sound. ‘This gets harder every year.’

  The plant materialized into a willowy woman in a tweedy green frock coat. Her golden skin was smooth and the braided hair that hung to her waist was as white as a jasmine petal. An emerald glittered in her nose. Her arms were still a writhing mass of green creepers. One of her legs was twisted and withered. Her green eyes flashed as she looked at Floyd.

  Floyd’s heart raced. Oh, by Garuda! These people must be the child kidnappers. What a fool he was! He had flown right into their trap. He tried to remember what Papa had told him to do if he was ever caught in such a situation. Leave as fast as you can. Don’t take anything they offer. Get help.

  Floyd wheeled around and hurled himself at the door. To his shock, a long, green vine slithered around his ankles. He fell over, his right shoulder hitting the floor; the cool, smooth bands around his ankles were unyielding.

  ‘You’ll be sorry,’ Floyd screamed. How brave his words sounded; how jelly-like his insides felt. He cursed the dog again but he seemed unperturbed, lying on the divan, watching quietly. That ingrate … after taking his last biscuit too!

  The plant-man came up to him and peered into his face. ‘Yes. It is he,’ he said after a moment. The woman smiled and then, to Floyd’s shock, her braid sprouted small jasmine flowers.

  Floyd yelled again, ‘HELP!’

  A vine snaked itself around his mouth and two more around each wrist. The plant-woman’s creeper arms held him in a fierce grip. Tears of rage streamed down Floyd’s face. He tried to pry them off his mouth but another twirled around his wrists and fastened them together. He bit the green rope around his mouth, and it sprouted a small lemon that squirted juice at him, narrowly missing his eye.

  ‘Thanks, Ela,’ the plant-man said. ‘Yaksha, my name is Balsam and this is my sister, Ela. It’s important that you be quiet and listen. We have little time.’

  Floyd only managed a muffled cry. What was this strange name they kept addressing him by? If these fiends would let him talk, he could explain that they clearly had the wrong person.

  ‘Do you agree?’ the man called Balsam asked.

  Floyd nodded and his shoulders slumped. What was the use of struggling? His head fell to his chest. The vine budded jasmines and relaxed its grip.

  ‘Okay, Ela,’ Balsam nodded at the woman.

  The vine released a flowery fragrance and slithered back to the plant body. The woman held her wrist in her other hand and stared at Floyd, her green eyes glittering. ‘You almost chewed my hand off,’ she muttered.

  Floyd glared back at her. ‘And you very nearly blinded me, madam.’

  Balsam put his hand on Floyd’s shoulder and smiled at him. ‘Relax. You’re safe here.’

  Floyd crumpled to the ground quietly, head between his knees. He wasn’t expecting kindness.

  ‘I want to go home. My Ma—she’s not well … and my father, he’s … he’s …’ a soft sob swallowed his words. How he longed to hug Papa, rub his face against the rough khaki of his uniform and feel the cold metal studs against his face.

  The dog grunted contentedly by the fire. Floyd looked at him bitterly. Man’s best friend indeed. If he were any kind of a dog at all, he would have attacked this she-plant when she was holding him in a death-grip. ‘That beast brought me here against my will,’ he said.

  ‘That beast is your companion.’ The plant-man’s voice was gentle. ‘His name is Chutney.’

  Chutney got off the divan, ambled over to the dog bowls and munched on his food.

  ‘I also want to say that I’m glad you’re finally here, Yaksha,’ Balsam continued.

  ‘You have the wrong person. That’s not my name,’ Floyd replied. ‘You’re not going to get any ransom. Papa won’t bargain with kidnappers, you know. You’re better off just releasing me.’

  The two fiends looked at each other and then burst into laughter, their hair sprouting so many yellow flowers it looked like liquid sunlight. Floyd clapped his hand over his mouth.

  ‘You silly boy. We’re not kidnapping you. We’re on the same team,’ Ela said, the flowers in her hair disappearing. She put a frosty cup in his hand. His parched mouth watered. It smelled delicious—green apples and rosemary. ‘Where am I?’ he asked, not touching the drink. What he wouldn’t do for a mangosteen julep right now!

  ‘Where you’ve always been. Durjipore, of course,’ Balsam said, pushing the drink towards him. ‘This is Yama Forest. Drink up.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of it.’ Floyd hesitated. He took a slow, small sip, against his better judgement. His thirst was instantly quenched. ‘And how do you turn from plants into people?’ he wondered aloud.

  ‘If you insist on being technical, the Commonwealth Compendium Botanica classifies us as Verbiphytes. Vile name, if you ask me.’ Balsam shook his head and rolled his eyes. ‘We prefer to be called Ressuldars, although that’s only marginally better in my opinion.’

  ‘Balsam, focus, please,’ Ela said. ‘The name they use for us is immaterial.’

  ‘Ressuldars?’ Floyd exclaimed, his heart pounding. Ressuldars were supposed to be the protectors of Durjipore, the good guys. Could he believe this? ‘Y-you’re real?’ This wasn’t the Durjipore he knew. This one had Ressuldars, flying dogs and soaring giant birds. Despite his fear, a thrill ran through him.

  ‘Well, I never. How would you like to be asked if you were real?’ Balsam said, with a twitch of his mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just meant—’ Floyd stammered.

  ‘You thought we were just Hobson-Jobson fairy tales?’ Balsam smiled and pushed a plate of small pastries towards Floyd. ‘You must be ravenous. You’ll like these—thimbleberry tumbets.’

  Floyd bit into one of the pastries and the tart, fruity filling exploded in his mouth—not unlike a mix of mango and strawberries. Thimbleberries? He had never seen a thimbleberry, nor heard of one, for that matter. He chewed away as Balsam spoke, ‘The Ressuldars existed long before people occupied the Commonwealth Islands and surrounding islets. We have always protected these lands.’

  Floyd drained his drink and felt his jangled nerves begin to calm.

  ‘We are the threshold that divides the plant and human world. Maybe you could think of us as highly evolved plant forms,’ Ela said.

  ‘Some of us are particularly evolved.’ Balsam raised an eyebrow, straightening his collar in a mirror.

  ‘And you are the Yaksha, the summoned one. You will aid us in protecting Durjipore.’ Ela smiled at him.

  ‘Protecting Durjipore? You’re mental. Completely cracked!’ Floyd gasped, trying to quash the sob that was welling in his throat. ‘I couldn’t protect my own brother. And my parents must be worried sick about me. Please—I have to go.’

  ‘Your parents are worried, but they’re okay,’ Ela reassured him.

  Floyd sagged and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘And I know you’re telling the truth, exactly how?’

  Balsam threw a paper at him. It was that morning’s Tranquebar Times. The title shrieked: SECOND FOXWALLAH TWIN KIDNAPPED. REPEAT ASSAULT IN INSPECTOR’S HOME. NO PROTECTION EVEN FOR THE FOX.

  Floyd’s head throbbed. How long had he been flying anyway? There was a picture of Papa next to the article, his face grim and drawn. His statement ordered the kidnappers to return his sons. He looked at the two Ressuldars. ‘Please, could you please let my parents know I’m okay?’

  ‘It’s much too dangerous,’ Balsam said. ‘They cannot know this, or it puts everyone at risk.’

  ‘Durjipore is in a state of emergency and no one knows it. The signs have started cropping up, but no one’s noticed,’ Ela continued. ‘Floods, unseasonable temperatures, sinking land patches …’

  ‘That’s because of global warming. We learned about it in school,’ Floyd said.

  ‘That’s Shaitana Salamandrin,’ Balsam replied. His face twisted and h
is eyes were narrow. His hair sprouted deadly nightshade—the black berries falling off the coarse green leaves. Ela cursed as she followed him around, picking up the berries.

  ‘Shaitana what?’ Floyd asked, his pulse quickening.

  Ela pursed her lips. ‘Shaitana is the Merrow chancellor. She has not-so-secret plans for domination of the whole of Durjipore. We believe the Merrow community is responsible for the kidnappings, but that’s not all. We suspect they have other plans as well—plans that will cause terrible destruction.’

  ‘The Merrows? They exist too?’ Floyd felt a chill settle on the nape of his neck. According to the Hobson-Jobson legend, the Merrows were consummate evil.

  ‘The Merrows are an ancient, amphibious people. Just like us, they can shift shape and form,’ Ela said, as she threw the berries on the embers of a dying fire. It blazed to life. ‘And now, they covet Durjipore.’

  Floyd looked back at her, stunned. The Merrows were real. If the Ressuldars were, then of course, they would be too. ‘What does this have to do with me?’ he asked.

  ‘You have been summoned by an ancient edict.’ Ela filled a battered kettle with water and put it on fire. She plucked fresh leaves from a potted plant and divided it amongst three cups. ‘You are the Yaksha.’

  ‘The Yaksha is a helper, summoned to protect the island of Durjipore from the forces of destruction,’ Balsam explained.

  Floyd started to laugh. ‘What bloody nonsense. You people are crazy!’

  Ela’s eyes turned a calm sage green. ‘For years we have consulted oracles, read tea leaves, and studied sand and bark patterns. Only recently it became clear that the Yaksha would be a human child, a male twin.’ She had an expression of infinite patience, but he could feel the tension behind her words. ‘There were three sets of identical twins born in Durjipore the same day as you. In the end, your eyes clued us in.’

  Floyd felt the bile rise to his throat. His stupid eyes again. Of course his inauspiciousness would catch up with him. ‘I hate my eyes. I always have,’ he muttered.