All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
The Floods 8: Better Homes & Gardens
ePub ISBN 9781864715668
Kindle ISBN 9781864717051
This work is fictitious. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental except for my cousin Crawford who is an idiot.
A Random House book
Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd
Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060
www.randomhouse.com.au
First published by Random House Australia in 2009
Copyright © Colin Thompson 2009
http://www.colinthompson.com
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.
Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at
www.randomhouse.com.au/offices.
National Library of Australia
Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry
Author: Thompson, Colin (Colin Edward)
Title: Better homes and gardens / Colin Thompson
ISBN: 9781741662559 (pbk.)
Series: Thompson, Colin (Colin Edward). The Floods; 8
Target audience: For primary school age
Dewey number: A823.3
Illustration by Colin Thompson
CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Imprint Page
The Floods’ Family Tree
Dedication
Prologue
Here Lies CHAPTER 1
Here Lies CHAPTER 2
Here Lies CHAPTER 3
Here Lies CHAPTER 4
Here Lies CHAPTER 5
Here Lies CHAPTER 6
Here Lies CHAPTER 7
Here Lies CHAPTER 8
Here Lies CHAPTER 9
Here Lies CHAPTER 10
Here Lies CHAPTER 11
Here Lies CHAPTER 12
Here Lies CHAPTER 13
Here Lies CHAPTER 14
Postscript
Post-postscript
Footnotes
The Floods 9 & The Dragons 2
Random House
This book is dedicated to
BELGIUM
with lots of apologies to everyone who lives
there or comes from there because of all the
jokes in the Floods books about Belgium.*
* It isn’t personal. They’re only jokes and could just have easily been about Poland,** except Poland doesn’t have a place in it called Silly or a language that sounds like someone with a VERY runny nose, as in: ‘I say, Vincent has a bad mucus problem.’ ‘You are absolutely right, he is very phlegmish.’
** Actually, Poland isn’t a very good example because its language has the same name as stuff you use to make your shoes shiny.
The Floods are about to return home to Transylvania Waters. Actually, out of the fourteen of them only Mordonna, Nerlin, Queen Scratchrot, Vessel and Parsnip the crow would be returning home. The seven Flood children, Valla’s wife Mildred Flambard-Flood, and Mildred’s faithful dog, Brastof, had never been to Transylvania Waters so they were not about to return there because to do that they would have had to have been there before and they haven’t.
So, to summarise, five of the Floods are about to return home to Transylvania Waters, and nine of them are returning to the land of their forefathers. Except Mildred Flambard-Flood’s forefathers hadn’t come from Transylvania Waters. Where Brastof’s forefathers had come from was a mystery. In fact, he may even have had fivefathers instead of forefathers.
Meanwhile, evil spy the Hearse Whisperer has become obsessed with flower arranging.1
Tonight the moon hangs large and cold in the night sky. The air is still, with a sharp edge of ice, and as midnight slips away, the wolves of Transylvania Waters begin to howl. At first it is a solitary voice calling out from the far side of the valley, eerie and chilling like the hand of death on your shoulder or, to be more accurate, like both of death’s hands around your neck. It is joined by another voice, then another, and others add their cries until the howling comes from every side, a sad desolate wail from every part of the valley that sends shivers down the spine, shivers that bring a scary happiness to the hearts of witches and wizards everywhere.2
It is like this every night, but tonight the wolves howl a new song. They sense the Floods are returning and call out to welcome them back. Their mournful cries carry the dreams of so many who live in Transylvania Waters: dreams that the curse of the terrible King Quatorze will be lifted and the kingdom will once again be restored to its former glory, free of spies and intrigue, free to once again create new spells and undo all the evil curses and dark poisons brought down on them since the overthrow of Nerlin’s ancestors, the Dirt People. The wolves’ song sends hope that soon the curses will be good curses and the poisons will be happy poisons made from pretty flowers that only kill you in a warm, cuddly sort of way, and that all the spies will only tell nice gossipy secrets and all the intrigue will turn to outrigue.
Morning arrives and the Floods wake up, having spent the night high up in the mountains surrounding Transylvania Waters in the cave of the old Transylvanian Crone Quenelle, who was once Queen Scratchrot’s official Armpit Cleaner.
‘Are you dead?’
‘What?’
‘I said, are you dead?’ asked the vulture. ‘Only we can’t eat you if you’re still alive.’
‘That’s good to know.’
‘Yes, because we are carrion eaters and that means dead stuff,’ said the vulture. ‘Not dying or nearly dead, can’t do that. We have to hang around until you’re completely dead, preferably a week or two after when you’re nice and ripe and have that lovely sickly sweet smell that us vultures adore.’
‘I am not dead,’ said Valla.
‘You sure?’
‘Of course.’
‘You look dead,’ said the vulture.
‘Well, it’s nice of you to say so, but no, I am not dead.’
‘Not even a little bit?’
‘Not at all,’ said Valla, ‘and I’m not nearly dead either. Nor am I planning to be. In fact, I’m not even a bit ill.’
‘What about her?’ said the vulture, pointing her wing at Mildred Flambard-Flood. ‘She must be dead. I mean, look at her.’
‘Gorgeous, isn’t she?’ said Valla. ‘But happily still alive, though actually she was dead for a very, very long time before my mother brought her back to life.’
‘Ooh, stop it, you’re making my mouth water,’ said the vulture. She flapped at Queen Scratchrot. ‘And her?’
‘Alive.’
‘So none of you are dead?’
‘No.’
‘Or planning to be in the near future?’
‘No.’
Quenelle ran out of the cave and shook her
fist at the vulture. ‘You stupid bird,’ she yelled. ‘Do you not realise who these people are?’
‘Of course I do,’ said the vulture. ‘They’re a bunch of half-dead hippies.’
‘They are the Floods, the true Kings and Queens of Transylvania Waters,’ said Quenelle. ‘If they were dead, which they are not, you would not be worthy to even so much as nibble their toes, never mind eat them.’
The vulture turned away and buried her head in her wing.
‘I feel so ashamed,’ she mumbled. ‘Please forgive me, but I wasn’t born when they left here so I had no way of knowing.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Mordonna.
‘I mean, I’ve heard of you,’ said the vulture. ‘When we were little my parents were always telling us little vulturettes about how you were forced to flee and how you made your heroic journey through the Himalayas to freedom. It’s one of the great legends of Transylvania Waters.’
‘Wow,’ said Betty. ‘We’re a legend.’
‘Cool it, little sister,’ said Winchflat. ‘Even the fifteenth loser on Australian Idol gets called a legend nowadays.’3
‘I don’t suppose you’ve brought a dead rat or anything else dead with you?’ said the vulture. ‘I mean, even a Belgian cockroach would be better than nothing. Otherwise I’ll have to go and look somewhere else, my tummy’s killing me.’
‘That wouldn’t be good, would it?’ said Betty.
‘How do you mean?’ said the vulture.
‘Well, if your tummy’s killing you and you eat dead things, then you could end up eating yourself.’
‘Ha, ha, very funny,’ said the vulture. ‘Not.’
‘There’s some bacon in the van,’ said Mordonna. ‘That’s dead.’
‘Bacon, bacon?’ cried the vulture, flying off.
‘Have you any idea how bad all that salt is for you?’
It was just after dawn and the Floods were sitting on some rocks having their breakfast. Far below them Transylvania Waters was waking up. Thin wisps of smoke trickled out of chimneys as people began cooking. Unlike smoke in other places that floats lazily up into the sky and gradually disappears, smoke in Transylvania Waters tends to fall out of the chimneys and roll down the roof into the street below.
This was the day the Floods would return to their homeland.
‘Where are we going?’ said Nerlin. ‘It’s all very well saying everyone will welcome us back with open arms, but we need somewhere safe to go and hide just in case they don’t.’
‘True,’ said Mordonna.
‘Once we’re safely back in the city then one of the children, who no one has ever seen before, can go and check things out,’ said Nerlin.
‘OK, so where are we going to go?’ said Mordonna. ‘The obvious place is down in the drains with your family.’
‘Do you not think,’ said Valla, ‘that, if anyone does come looking for us, the drains would be the first place they’d look?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Queen Scratchrot. ‘No, the thing to do is follow the same rule that brought us back here, and that is to go to the very last place anyone would expect us to go.’
‘Castle Twilight?’ said Mordonna.
‘Yes,’ said the Queen. ‘The castle attics have been deserted for centuries. Ever since the Naughty Scary Hauntings of 1757 and 1758, no one has ever dared to go up there. In fact, I think every staircase leading up to the attics has been closed off with a solid brick wall.’
‘Wow,’ said the twins. ‘Sounds cool.’
‘Do you think it’s haunted, Granny?’ said Betty.
‘I don’t know, but there’s something up there,’ said the Queen. ‘When I’ve been up on the top floor of the East Wing, I’d swear I’ve heard things above me.’
‘Things? What sort of things?’
‘Groany things,’ said Queen Scratchrot. ‘The sound of crying, and something dragging a useless leg along with chains and someone coughing up something squelchy. I remember it well because it always reminded me of my Auntie Mould, who was my favourite aunt.’
‘Brilliant,’ said Merlinmary.
‘And damp patches appear on the ceiling that have a strange, nauseating yet irresistible smell, like a mixture of Dead Sewer Slugs and Gravy.’
The mention of Dead Sewer Slugs and Gravy was enough to make everyone forget about going down into the town for the moment, as they all had to go back into Quenelle’s cave for a snack.4 Then they all climbed into the camper van and, hidden by Winchflat’s latest modification – a cloak of total invisibility – they lifted into the air and floated down towards the castle.
Between the turrets of Castle Twilight there were vast areas of lead-covered roofs. Fortunately King Quatorze did not realise this – otherwise he would have stripped all the lead off and sold it, because lead is pretty valuable. The King had never been up on the castle roof due to his deep fear of heights, which was only matched by his very deep fear of depths and his fear of all other levels in between.
Winchflat floated the van down onto a narrow, flat bit of roof between two huge chimneys and everyone got out. In front of them there was a trapdoor fixed down with four massive padlocks, 1290 kilograms of steel weights, 750 rivets and 2 kilometres of sticky tape.
‘I imagine that’s to keep whatever is in the attic, in the attic,’ said Valla.
‘Probably easier just to cut a hole in the roof to get in,’ said Nerlin.
‘No, no it’s OK,’ said Winchflat. ‘I’ve got a special High-Tensile-Combo-Bolt-Steel-Weight-and-Rivet-Remover in the van. But the sticky tape might be a bit of a problem.’
‘Leave that to me,’ said Brastof. ‘I know your average dog loves chasing red rubber balls, and they’re fine, but for me there is one thing beats a ball any day and that is sticky tape, specially that thick brown stuff.’
‘You too, eh?’ said Satanella, who had become quite good friends with Brastof. ‘I thought I was the only one who liked that.’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Brastof. ‘All that sticky stuff sticks to you and then when you pull it your fur comes out and it all tangles up and looks like a scruffy wild animal.’
‘Yeah, it’s like fighting yourself,’ said Satanella.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Mind you, red rubber balls are brilliant.’
‘True.’
Between them, Winchflat, Satanella and Brastof soon had the trapdoor clear.
As they climbed down the ladder into the darkness, the Hearse Whisperer – who had been sleeping on top of one of the tall turrets – woke up and looked down over the flat roof below her. Being half asleep, she wasn’t completely sure that she had seen what she had seen. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes and when she looked again there was no one there, just an old hippy camper van.
The air inside the attic was very, very old. It smelled as if it had been breathed over and over again until all the goodness had been used up. No human could have survived there, but witches and wizards are not human and can breathe anything, even oxtail soup. It was cold air and even damper than the air outside. It dribbled down the rust-streaked walls and clung to everyone’s ankles as they climbed down the stairs into the darkness.
‘Wow, this is great,’ said Morbid. ‘It’s like being inside a nightmare.’
‘Is there a light switch anywhere?’ said Betty.
‘I doubt it, little sister,’ said Winchflat. ‘If there had ever been any power up here the atmosphere would have rusted the cables away years ago.’
He reached into his pocket and took out a small round sphere, which he tossed into the air. It began to spin and as it did so, little sparks appeared. As the sphere spun faster, the sparks grew brighter and more frequent until the ball hovered in the air at head height, sending bright light out in all directions.
‘There you are,’ said Winchflat. ‘A portable sun.’
The sun revealed a place of total desolation. From the foot of the stairs a long corridor led off as far as the light could reach. Every square inch of the floor
was covered in bones, some as small as a mouse’s little toe, some as large as a cat’s head. There were thousands of them and some of them looked fresh.
‘Cool,’ said Satanella.
‘I can sense life,’ said the Queen, ‘though that is probably stretching the meaning of the word.’
‘Yes, there is a reading on my scanner,’ said Winchflat.
‘How many are there?’ said Betty.
‘Just one,’ said Winchflat. ‘And it’s down there at the end of the corridor.’
Normally in this sort of situation people would then decide to run in the opposite direction, but the Floods are not people. They are witches and wizards. They have magic, plus a child and a dog who both enjoy biting ankles.
‘Can your scanner tell us if it’s dangerous?’ said Mordonna.
‘No, it’s not,’ Winchflat said. ‘The machine indicates that the life form is very miserable, lonely and defenceless.’
‘Maybe it really is my Auntie Mould,’ said the Queen. ‘I remember when I was a little girl, she disappeared in mysterious circumstances.’
‘Mysterious circumstances, Granny?’ said Betty.
‘Yes, Mysterious Circumstances is a small village on the far side of Lake Tarnish,’ the Queen explained. ‘In those days the lake was not as deadly as it is now. In fact, the skin-stripping abilities of its waters were seen as a benefit. As you swam around it ate away all your wrinkly dead skin so that when you came out, you looked ten years younger. Mysterious Circumstances was the most exclusive and expensive of all the lakeside resort villages, until that fateful weekend when Auntie Mould went for a swim and was never seen again. After that no one dared go in the water any more. Rumours sprang up of a huge underwater monster. Not your regular underwater monsters that nibbled your toenails – everyone knew about those – but a new super-monster that tended to eat your toenails without separating them from the rest of you first.’
Floods 8 Page 1