And there it was. In fact, there they were! Three books all bearing the name, in floating, fragile letters – Tuesday McGillycuddy. Serendipity felt a thrill of excitement. Her daughter was truly a writer. Here were three books-in-the-making. One was ruby red and looked as if it were made of old-fashioned glass. The second was midnight blue with pale swirls moving through it. It looked rather like it would harden one day and become an exotic and delicious sweet. The third was a shimmer of golden paper fine as cobweb. Again, Serendipity trusted her instincts: she chose the golden one. Ever so gently she slid the book into her hands. It was barely bigger than her palm. The words on its cover moved as if the title was trying to hide from the light. Carefully she attempted to open the book. The pages fluttered as if a breeze had gone through them.
‘Hush,’ soothed Serendipity. ‘It’s all right. I just need to see where she is.’
The pages fluttered again, but this time they fluttered to a page at the back of the little volume. Written there was a tangle of words. They spun about and reorganised themselves and then reorganised themselves again.
‘Gently,’ said Serendipity. A few words in the middle of the page settled just for a moment.
Down in the garden,
Underneath the tree,
The boy called Loddon
Captured me.
‘Oh dear,’ said Serendipity. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
She carefully replaced the little book and stood very still for a moment, thinking.
‘Right,’ she said, having resolved what she must do.
In her office the Librarian was eating raisin toast and drinking tea. She had unscrambled her knitting and several balls were newly organised beside her. She glanced up when Serendipity walked in but before she could speak, Serendipity said, in a voice of absolute determination, ‘Do not think for a minute I will not go to dramatic lengths to reach my daughter tonight, Madame Librarian. As you know, I have been coming here a long time. And as you also know, I have given the world of writing many days of my life. Days I can never have back. Sunny days, summer days, Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings, rainy days when my family went to the park and misty days when they played Scrabble. I have given my books days and weeks when I would have preferred to be with my family. But I wrote.
‘I have travelled the world for words and reading and imagination. I have been a servant to literature. So now, I am asking you, because I respect you and all you hold dear, to give me a coin so I can find my daughter. Because for once there is nothing you can say that will convince me that I need to put a story first.’
The Librarian said nothing. She simply put a hand into her pocket and handed Serendipity a single coin with a lion’s head on one side and a mountain on the other.
With that, Serendipity opened the French doors of the Librarian’s office and stepped out onto the balcony. She walked to the binoculars and put the coin in the slot. At first there was only fog, and then the fog cleared and she could see into the world of Vivienne Small. She saw the deep frost that lay on the fields that led to the Peppermint Forest. She saw the River of Rythwyck frozen solid. She scanned further afield and saw the giant seas that crashed on the shores of the Restless Sea. She saw the Cliffs of Cartavia almost blue with ice. Her eyes travelled further. She saw the Mountains of Margalov and the Purple Desert turned grey with cold. She saw the great crevasse that had split the world in two. She peered down into that crevasse. And then she knew, with all her heart, what she had to do. She had never attempted such a thing before, but with all her instincts humming, she ran down the steps at the side of the balcony. Down, down, down the wide spiral staircase she ran. And when she got to the bottom she found grass and a huge tree, and she thought instantly of the younger Sarah.
What had once been a huge, vaulted cave was partially collapsed. It was still subsiding, even as Serendipity watched. Many of the precarious staircases that crossed the cave this way and that had toppled and broken. It was, Serendipity realised, a cave made of paper. The only light came from a few paper stars and a shred of paper moon hanging high above her. The only sound was that of her footsteps swishing through the tall paper grass. A huge paper sun had fallen to the ground and was glowing only faintly. She propped it up against a broken staircase.
This staircase – like all the others – had been built out of notebooks and writing paper. She pulled one notebook out and recognised her own handwriting. She took in the sheer volume of notebooks and writing and words and ideas and thoughts and stories it had taken to fill every book here. She stared in wonder at this extraordinary place.
‘I knew I’d been busy,’ she said.
Then she went to the base of the tree. A ladder leaned against it. But it was not upwards that she needed to go. She knelt and pushed aside the paper grass here and there, feeling all about her in the earth. There it was. A trapdoor and a bolt.
‘I thought so,’ she said.
‘Tuesday!’ she called. ‘Tuesday! I’m coming!’
She slipped back the bolt and pulled up the trapdoor. The most exquisite scent of Denis McGillycuddy’s blueberry pancakes floated up to her.
‘Tuesday?’ she called.
‘Mum!’ came Tuesday’s voice, and as Serendipity dropped herself down into the box, Tuesday flung her arms around her mother.
Serendipity saw the table and two chairs and the remains of a lamp-lit meal. Cups, cutlery and two plates, a jug freshly emptied of its contents save for a few lemon slices, the plates with only a smear of maple syrup remaining.
‘He was here?’ said Serendipity.
‘Things were getting desperate,’ said Tuesday.
Serendipity laughed and pulled Tuesday in for another hug.
‘Oh, my darling daughter,’ she said. ‘What a wonderful imagination you have!’
‘I think,’ said Tuesday, ‘that I’ve done enough for now. I’d like to go home.’
‘That is also a wonderful idea,’ said Serendipity.
Chapter Twenty–nine
Tuesday emerged from the box and scrambled out underneath the tree, Serendipity following her with the lamp held high. Tuesday squinted into the dimness and took in the fallen staircases, the broken earth and the huge landslide on one side of the cave.
‘The tunnel!’ she said. ‘That’s where the tunnel was! How are we going to get out?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Serendipity. ‘I think this is your story, so you are going to have to … oh—’
Tuesday whirled around to see what her mother was staring at.
It was Loddon. He was emerging from a hole he had made in the wall. Though he was dripping wet, his hair was as bright as ever. As Serendipity and Tuesday watched, stunned, Loddon tried to brush earth and paper from his clothes and out of his bright green hair. This wasn’t particularly successful as it was quite clear that he was wet through.
‘Sodden Loddon,’ Tuesday whispered, and Serendipity smiled.
Loddon took in the destruction the earthquake had wreaked, then peered through the half-light at Tuesday and Serendipity.
‘Writer? Are you going somewhere?’ he asked.
He came closer, his eyes moving from Tuesday to Serendipity and back again. He paused and frowned. And then he laughed long and loudly.
‘Two writers! How brilliant! Little writer, big writer! Oh, the stories will never end. They’ll go on and on and on.’
And then he took an even closer look at Serendipity.
‘Hello, Loddon,’ she said. ‘You have been causing a lot of problems. Did you lock up my daughter?’
Loddon stiffened. ‘Your daughter? No, truly? She is …? It was you? It is you! My, you got old! Ha ha ha ha ha! It really is you! My writer. That’s why she didn’t know the stories! Ha!’
Tuesday grimaced and leaned closer to her mother.
‘But maybe I prefer her. Maybe we’ll put you in a box and leave you there, like you did to me!’ As he said this, Loddon grew bigger. He shook himself, sending out a spray of water. He was dr
y again, his green hair upright and swaying.
Tuesday squeezed her mother’s hand and backed away against the tree. She could feel the ladder propped there. She grasped it.
‘Oh, yes. You’ll do fine down there,’ said Loddon, pushing Serendipity back towards the open trapdoor. ‘We’ll get you out from time to time if things get boring. Oh, your daughter can be very entertaining. She gave me a giant and we caused an earthquake! Look at what I can do! We could have you rebuild the staircases. Make you our servant … Oh, we’re going to have fun with you!’
Whack went the ladder, into Loddon. Tuesday swung it with all her might and it took Loddon quite unawares, knocking him to the ground.
‘Run!’ said Serendipity to Tuesday, throwing down the lantern and pointing to the nearest staircase.
They ran, but behind them the flame from the discarded lantern caught the paper grass and the paper flowers. In a moment, Loddon’s feet were also burning. He leapt up and stamped about, then he batted at the fire on his feet with his hands. Then they too were alight.
‘Put it out!’ screeched Loddon, jumping about, but the more he danced and batted at the flames, the more the sparks flew around him.
‘Put it out!’ he cried in rage. ‘You can’t kill me! You will never kill me!’
Flames were licking against the low branches of the tree and running through the grass to the edges of the huge cavern. They were creeping up the staircases and spreading up the sides of the cavern. Tuesday took the staircase two steps at a time. She wasn’t even thinking about her fear of heights, only concentrating on getting away from the flames, which were running in bright seams all about the cave.
‘I’m right behind you!’ called Serendipity. ‘Just keep going.’
Up they scrambled. At the first gap in the steps, Tuesday had a moment of hesitation before she leapt across and Serendipity followed. At the next gap they leapt again. Looking down Tuesday could see Loddon running around the tree, still screeching and batting at himself, a dark silhouette against the spectacular display of red and orange that was the magnificent tree fully ablaze. The heat in the cavern was intensifying and the light had grown eerily red. Tuesday could hardly see for smoke. Serendipity began coughing.
‘Cover your mouth and nose,’ she said to Tuesday, pulling her own T-shirt up over her face so that only her eyes were visible. Tuesday did the same then turned to go higher, but after only a few more steps, she came to a yawning gap between the staircase and a cave in the wall beyond.
‘We’ll have to jump,’ Tuesday said.
‘It’s too far,’ said Serendipity, grabbing Tuesday’s arm. ‘Think of something else.’
But before she could have another single thought, the roof of the cavern started falling in. Tuesday and Serendipity flattened themselves on the stairs as chunks of earth, paper, sand and rocks fell past them, down into the cavern. Serendipity drew Tuesday closer to her, shielding her from the raining debris. They clung to each other and closed their eyes. Tuesday was sure that at any moment the staircase would tear away from the cavern wall and they would topple far into the fire below, the rock and sand and earth following them.
We’ll be buried alive, Tuesday thought.
But then Tuesday could feel a breeze on her face. She opened her eyes and peeked out from under her mother’s arm. She saw that the smoke was spiralling up and out, through an opening, and there above them was a circle of pale sky. All around the edges of the widening hole that was appearing in the roof of Loddon’s cavern were scrabbling … paws. Yes, they were paws – enormous paws, clawing away at the earth. And as Serendipity and Tuesday watched, the hole grew larger and larger.
Soon the paws were replaced by faces – big, furry faces with wet black noses and brown eyes. There were golden dogs and brown dogs, white and grey and spotted dogs. There were dogs with patches over their eyes and dogs with blazes down their foreheads. And there, in the midst of them all, was Baxterr.
Seeing Tuesday, Baxterr threw back his head and howled, and his cry was echoed by the other dogs.
‘Doggo!’ Tuesday called, scrambling to her knees. Baxterr launched himself down into the cave on outspread wings. Barking joyously, he swooped underneath Tuesday and Serendipity. Tuesday grabbed her mother’s hand.
‘Jump!’ she called, and together they landed on Baxterr’s broad shoulders.
Far below, Loddon was shrieking. Tuesday buried her face in the soft fur of Baxterr’s neck, and knew that she was safe at last.
‘Thank you, doggo,’ she said. ‘I knew you’d come. I knew it.’
‘That was far too close for comfort,’ said Serendipity. ‘Your readers might die of fright before they get to the end.’
Chapter Thirty
Baxterr landed on the frozen sands of the Purple Desert and Tuesday and Serendipity alighted. They were both smoky and covered in dirt, their faces red from the heat of the fire. Tuesday hugged Baxterr’s enormous paw, and worried over his wounds. But Baxterr was so delighted to have found Tuesday again that he seemed to feel no pain.
Then a voice cut through the air.
‘Put me down, you great, flying guinea pig!’
It was Loddon, pinned between the white teeth of a Winged Dog that had flown down into the cavern and caught him up, his grassy limbs still burning and smouldering. The dog spat him out, unceremoniously, on the cold sand of the desert, then rolled him over and over with a giant paw until the last of the flames was extinguished.
‘How dare you touch me?’ he roared, trying to get to his feet. ‘Don’t you know who I am? I am Loddon, I am Merivane, I am Phandor, I am Windish. I am …’
‘A great big green bully!” said Vivienne Small, stepping forwards.
‘Vivienne!’ said Tuesday, shocked at the sight of Vivienne’s ragged appearance, her damaged wings and the bloodstains seeping through her shirt. ‘You’re alive!’
‘How disappointing,’ said Loddon. ‘I told you, Vivienne Small, there is no room for you in my story!’
He leapt towards Vivienne with superhuman speed, but a huge white dog with a brown patch over her eye was faster still. It was Apache. Mid-leap, she snapped Loddon up in her jaws and took off high into the sky. Then, as they all watched, she dropped him. Serendipity gasped. Tuesday watched wide-eyed. They could hear a tiny cry growing louder and louder as he fell. But just when it seemed that Loddon was about to smack into the desert floor, another Winged Dog swooped in and caught him in its teeth, and tossed him through the sky to another dog on the wing. And so this game of catch continued, the dogs flinging Loddon from one to the other, sometimes dropping him from great heights. Serendipity began giggling, and then Tuesday and Vivienne joined in. Baxterr barked in agreement. Eventually the dogs returned Loddon to the ground. He was deeply subdued.
‘Stop,’ Loddon pleaded on his hands and knees, his breath coming in gasps. ‘Please make them stop. I’ll be good. I’ll go back to my box. Just let me go back in my box.’
And this was the scene that met Colette Baden-Baden and Silver Nightly when they flew in over the Purple Desert and landed their platform beside Tuesday, Vivienne, Serendipity and Baxterr.
‘Colette!’ said Tuesday and Serendipity together.
‘Rooof, rooof,’ said Apache, and at the sound of her bark, all the other dogs turned to stare at the woman in the great bear coat.
‘Wuff, wuff, ruff, ruff, rooof rooof, yip yip, wooff, wooff, gruff gruff,’ said the Winged Dogs.
‘Goodness! Not all of you at once!’ said Colette, laughing.
‘Colette, you found us! Hello, Silver Nightly! You’re just in time!’ said Tuesday.
‘I’m so sorry not to get here sooner—’ Colette began.
But Serendipity took her hand and said, ‘You are here at the perfect time. As always.’
‘You are,’ agreed Tuesday, hugging her.
Silver Nightly gave Tuesday a wink, and Serendipity a nod.
‘It’s a great pleasure to meet you in person, Ms Smith,’ he said.
Serendipity bowed. ‘We are honoured to have the Gardener visit this world. As you can see, I’ve made rather a mess of it. Can I discuss that with you later? Meanwhile, we have some pressing business to attend to.’
She indicated the dishevelled creature on the grey sand. Colette took a good look at him. Though he appeared to have once been green, his hair, feet and hands were blackened, and he appeared to be suffering from shock.
‘And what is this?’ she asked.
‘This is Loddon,’ Tuesday replied.
‘He has gotten far too big for his boots,’ said Serendipity. ‘It’s my fault. I needed him, when I was very small. He was my only friend and he loved my stories. I wrote everything for him, so he would never be hungry. Or so I would never be hungry, I think. Somehow I wrote my hunger into him and then he became something else. Frightening. I buried him under the tree in our backyard and tried to forget about him. I never imagined he’d grow so big and strong down there under the earth.’
‘That’s what comes of burying your fears,’ said Colette. ‘They like to resurface at the worst possible moment.’
Silver Nightly bent and inspected the grassboy. Then, with care, he pulled a length of rope from his pocket and trussed Loddon’s hands and feet.
‘Let’s not take any chances,’ he said. ‘I can tell a coyote when I see one.’
‘Now what do we do with him?’ Tuesday asked.
‘We give him a serious talking-to,’ said Serendipity.
‘Story time, Loddon,’ said Tuesday.
Loddon looked up, startled. He began to speak, but Serendipity put a finger to his mouth.
‘You start, Tuesday,’ she said. ‘In my experience, words are more powerful than anything else.’
In a quiet voice, and staring right into Loddon’s eyes, Tuesday said:
Down in the cavern, beside the paper tree,
A boy called Loddon captured me.
He decided he would keep me there,
Inside his pretty paper snare.
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