P.S. Don’t called Bruce a fairy either. He won’t kneecap you but you might find dried flies in your muesli.
Bruce’s parents: Nice people—sorry, nice phaeries. They’re quite tolerant of having a frog for a son, especially when he threatens to turn into a slug instead if they raise any objections.
The Phaery Queen: Well, she’s a queen. And a phaery. What more need I say?
Mark: Pru’s older brother. He’s also a werewolf, a trait he inherited from his father’s side of the family. Answers to ‘Dog’s Breath’—but don’t try it if you can’t run fast.
Pru’s dad: Loves everything South American, except possibly jaguars, piranhas, enormous boa constrictors and giant sloths.
Pru’s mum: Loves crosswords and coffee and is just beginning to understand computers. Fusses about the least little thing, like vampires, ogres and going out in the sun without a hat and sunblock.
Pru’s Great Uncle Ron: Retired butcher. He is also a werewolf.
The Phaery Valiant: Phredde’s dad. Prefers to be called Jim.
The Phaery Splendifera: Phredde’s mum. Loves crosswords, honeydew nectar and racing magic carpets. Has The Directory of Handsome Princes on her bedside table.
Amelia: In Pru’s, Phredde’s and Bruce’s class at school. Good at…well, everything, according to Amelia. You don’t really want to know anything more about her.
The Phaery Daffodil: Graduated top of her class in Evil Studies at Phaeryland University.
Mordred: Her son. He’s studying Special Effects at technical college.
Prince Peanut: A really handsome prince. Also vegetarian.
Plus…a very cute bunny rabbit, a big bad wolf (a bit covered in yuk), 3 little pigs (well, great fat hogs, actually), 1 bogeyman (sorry, bogeyperson), an invasion of flesh-eating ghouls, a plumber called Dwayne, a special guest appearance by Snow White and the seven quite short computer software engineers…and vampire bats, trolls and giant, blood-sucking mosquitoes.
Prologue
(ie you have to read this bit first so it terrifies your toes off before you start the real story)
Lightning shuddered above the castle. Wind screamed through the dungeons as though someone had shoved red-hot nails up its fingernails—which is pretty impossible when you think about it, as wind doesn’t have any fingers, and anyway, it was Tuesday, and the inhabitants of the Temple of Gloom only tortured their victims on Friday afternoons. (It made them taste nicer when they ate them for Saturday lunch.)
It was a dark and stormy night, too. It was always a dark and stormy night outside the Temple of Gloom. Vampire bats flapped around the turrets. Wolves howled into the night, and a tortured voice shrieked into the darkness.
‘Will you turn that music down!’
The wolf howls lessened just a little.
‘But Mum, it’s The Werewolves’ new CD!’
‘I don’t care if it’s The Leaping Vampires…’
‘But Mum, no-one listens to them any more…’
‘Turn it DOWN! And get rid of those vampire bats too. They’re giving me a headache.’
‘But Mum, they’re radio-controlled!’
‘Radio-controlled vampire bats! What’s wrong with real vampire bats?’
‘They drip blood all over the place,’ said the second voice sulkily. ‘And they do their business on the sofa, too.’
‘There are hundreds of perfectly good vampire bats down in the dungeon,’ said the first voice. ‘I don’t see why you have to waste money on radio-controlled ones.’
‘But Mum…’
‘How can I concentrate with howling wolves and radio-controlled vampire bats?’
‘But Mum…’
‘Don’t you see! She’ll be here soon! The trap must be ready!’
‘Oh,’ said the second voice.
‘I saw her in my magic mirror!’ gloated the first voice. ‘A delicious, tender, young human! Her name is Prudence. Just think what we can do with her! Prudence pie, Prudence pizza, Prudence pikelets with jam and cream…’
‘Oh…’ the first voice chortled evilly. ‘It will be so good having a nice, young human for dinner again…’
Chapter 1
Just Another Day in the Castle
(ie the first chapter about people we already know—well, OK, people AND phaeries AND frogs—like Pru and Phredde and Bruce)
It was an ordinary day in our castle.
I was watching TV (it was this really cool kung fu movie), Dad was feeding the piranhas (Did you know they can skeletonise a cow in ten minutes? And you should see what they do to a guinea pig!), and Mark was brushing his teeth for the eighty-fourth time that day, because my brother Mark turns into a werewolf every full moon, and gleaming white teeth are really essential for any teenage werewolf, and Mum was having a hissy fit all round the castle.
Mothers stress out at the least little thing sometimes, like their kids being captured by snot phaeries or chased by giant ogres1 . Or, in this case, a simple family visit to Phaeryland.
‘Shoes!’ shrieked Mum, racing into the TV room just as the hero was about to kick ninety-six evil ninjas into oblivion. ‘Prudence, what sort of shoes do they wear in Phaeryland?’
‘Relax, Mum,’ I said. ‘They don’t wear shoes, remember? Women wear glass slippers and men wear those really sexy black leather boots. Phredde’s mum and dad will take care of everything.’
‘Glass slippers. Right,’ muttered Mum. She dashed out of the room again just as the seventy-second evil ninja sailed into the ornamental pond.
Ten seconds and another twenty-three evil ninjas later she was back again.
‘My hairdryer!’ she cried. ‘Will I be able to plug in my hairdryer?’
‘Mum, just calm down,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to take a hairdryer into Phaeryland. You don’t need to take anything into Phaeryland. It’ll all be magicked up for you.’
Just for a second I wondered if I was right. I mean, maybe you did need a hairdryer in Phaeryland. After all, I’d only been there twice2 , once by invitation to attend the Phaery Queen’s birthday party, and the second time when Phredde and I sort of snuck in and got kidnapped by giant butterflies. But I haven’t told Mum about that yet, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t go mentioning it to her either.
I took a deep breath and turned off the TV, just as the final ninja fell into a barrel of water (funny how there’s always a barrel of water around for evil ninjas to fall into).
Sometimes you really have to take a firm line with parents. ‘Look, Mum,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing to fuss about…’
‘Nothing to fuss about?’ shrieked Mum. ‘Just the Phaery Queen’s wedding and we’re all invited, that’s all, and we’re going to Phaeryland, and…’
‘It’s Phredde’s family who are really invited,’ I pointed out. ‘They just asked us to come, too. Mum, you don’t have to worry about anything in Phaeryland! Phredde’s mum will PING! up everything we need, like glass slippers and tiaras and…’
‘Tiaras!’ groaned Mum. ‘I’ll have to have my hair done! You ring the hairdresser—no, I’ll ring the hairdresser—no…’
‘Mum, it’ll all be taken care of,’ I soothed. ‘Just wait till Phredde and her family get here, and…’
The door opened again and Dad marched in, wiping his bloody fingers on his jeans. (No, that is not a swear word. It’s just that his fingers were messy. Piranha food can be a bit yuk.)
‘Well, that’s done,’ said Dad happily. ‘I’ve fed the piranhas, watered the rose garden, fed the unicorn, locked up the battlements, sealed the dungeons, raised the drawbridge, put fresh towels under the giant sloth…’
‘But Dad,’ I said, ‘no time passes when you’re in Phaeryland. Not here, anyway. You just have to remember to ask Phredde’s mum or dad to bring us back to the time when we left.’
‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ said Dad. ‘Has your brother finished packing?’
‘How should I know?’ I muttered.
Mark was a sore point with me
at the moment. Just because Mark was a werewolf—and older than me—he was getting to stay at Uncle Ron’s, while I had to get all prettied up and go to Phaeryland.
Phaeryland!
Of course, if you’ve never been to Phaeryland you mightn’t understand why I was upset. I mean, once you’re too old to slop paint in a colouring book and spit your spaghetti out all over the floor you probably don’t even think of Phaeryland from one moment to the next.
Phaeryland is nice. It’s just like the pictures in those books—blue sky, green grass, phaery castles, big spotty toadstools and elf musicians playing that stuff we get in musical appreciation, and lacy dresses and tiaras, for Pete’s sake. I mean, it’s all so cute…and here were my parents going all smiles and ‘Whoopee!’ about an invitation to stay in Phaeryland for a week and go to the Phaery Queen’s wedding…
Wedding. Huh! I bet she was getting hitched to some poncy prince in tights and puffed sleeves and probably even a feather in his hat.
Well, you can see why I didn’t want to go.
To be honest, there was something else as well. It’s really hard to admit it because, after all, Phredde is my best friend, and Bruce is okay, too, I mean, sometimes I really like him, and I think maybe he really likes me too…but at other times—well, you just can’t help feeling jealous of people who can PING! up just about whatever they want…
And, okay, phaery dances may be corny, but at least they’re interesting. I mean, my family doesn’t have any interesting habits at all, just Mum and her crosswords and Dad and his pet piranhas and Mark turning into a werewolf at full moon…
BONG! BONG! BONG!
‘That’ll be the front doorbell,’ said Mum. ‘Just let the drawbridge down again would you, darling? I’ll tell Gark to put the kettle on.’
Mum dashed down the corridor, down the stairs, down another flight of stairs and along another corridor to the kitchen, and Dad padded off down the stairs and through the Great Hall and out into the courtyard to let the drawbridge down. (Mum says that one day she’ll remember to ask the Phaery Splendifera to put a few escalators in our castle, not to mention an automatic drawbridge.)
Soon there was a flip, flip, flap of wings outside the door and Phredde came fluttering in. Of course, given that Phredde’s a phaery (and only about thirty centimetres high, although somehow you never notice that with Phredde), she could just have PING! ed herself over here. But since Phredde’s family moved here two years ago they’ve been trying to sort of fit in, which means getting the bus or driving around (even if it is on a magic carpet instead of in a Holden station wagon—but then again, they don’t make phaery-sized Holden station wagons) instead of just going PING! whenever they feel like it.
‘Hi,’ said Phredde glumly. Phredde hates Phaeryland even more than I do.
‘Hi, yourself,’ I said.
Phredde flew over and perched on the arm of the sofa. She was still wearing her jeans, I noticed, just like me, except that mine were normal blue and Phredde’s were bright turquoise with purple fringes.
‘You ready to go?’ I asked.
‘I suppose,’ said Phredde, even more glumly. ‘At least this time you’ll be there, too.’
‘And Bruce,’ I pointed out.
Phredde shrugged. The trouble with Bruce is that he’s a phaery prince—well, he would be if he hadn’t changed himself into a frog—and Phredde isn’t too keen on phaery princes. Not when her mum keeps The Directory of Handsome Princes by her bed.
‘Ethereal! Ethereal…Oh, there you are!’ Phredde’s mum drifted into the room—forty centimetres of ball dress and tiny diamonds. ‘It’s time to get ready.’
‘Mum, do I really have…’
PING!
Suddenly Phredde’s turquoise jeans, pink hair and purple T-shirt were transformed into a gold and pearl-encrusted ball dress, lace petticoats, tiara, glass slippers and long blonde hair.
‘Mum!’
I bit my tongue really hard to stop myself from grinning. ‘Hey, Phredde, you look really…’
PING!
And there I was—with a diamond-flowered tiara in my hair and my feet suffocating in these glass slippers and all this lace, and it was pink!
Phredde grinned. ‘Now you look really…’
‘Don’t say it!’ I warned.
Tink, tink, tink down the corridor (I told you, glass slippers just aren’t practical) and the door opened and there was Mum.
Well…
My mum usually dresses okay for someone her age, mostly jeans or tracksuit pants, except once when she’d been up really late doing this big crossword with Phredde’s mum and she came down to breakfast in jeans and tracksuit pants.
But I had never, never seen her look like this.
One dress, shaped a bit like an umbrella but wide enough to cover our classroom, just about, all in this red and gold brocade stuff—you know, like they put on chairs sometimes.
One tiara, with pearls the size of grapes and more pearls in her ears and sort of dangling down over her chest.
Glass slippers, and Phredde’s mum must have PING!ed her up a pedicure, too, because her toenails were bright pink through the glass. And lots and lots and lots of hair, sort of in Mum’s colour but better, if you know what I mean.
She didn’t look like Mum at all.
‘Gloop,’ I said.
Mum smiled, this really fuzzy, happy smile. ‘Oh, Prudence, isn’t it wonderful!’ she breathed. She swirled round a couple of times, her long skirt sending a potted kentia palm flying.
‘Yeah, fantastic, Mum,’ I mumbled, setting the pot plant upright again. Well, you can’t spoil parents’ little pleasures, can you?
Then Dad walked in.
I’m not going to tell you what Dad was wearing. It’s just too embarrassing. Well, okay, yes I am, because otherwise you won’t know just how embarrassing it was.
Purple tights (I mean, they were tight; in fact, really rude if you must know) and a long red silk shirt with ruffles, for Pete’s sake, and white lace at the wrists, a leather belt with rubies on it, these long leather boots (they were actually quite cool boots, even if the rest was dorky) and a red velvet hat with a feather.
‘Hey, wow, Dad!’ I said.
Dad stared at me. ‘If you say one more word, Prudence…’ he threatened.
‘I think you look lovely,’ said Mum dreamily.
‘Yeah, that’s the word. Lovely,’ I said, grinning.
‘Prudence…’ began Dad, then he glanced at Mum. Mum hadn’t looked so happy since the time she managed to get the cryptic crossword finished by dinner time.
‘Yes, it’s all lovely,’ he agreed.
Then Phredde’s dad, the Phaery Valiant (but he prefers to be called Jim) came in, and Phredde’s mum made us all hold hands and I yelled out, ‘See you, Dog’s Breath!’ to Mark.
And he yelled, ‘See you, Pruneface,’ to me. ‘Take care!’
‘There’s no need to take care in Phaeryland,’ I yelled back. ‘Nothing can happen to you there!’
And Mum called out, ‘Don’t forget to…’
But whatever advice she was going to give Mark for the 180th time, it was too late, because the Phaery Splendifera went PING!.
And we were in Phaeryland.
* * *
1 See Phredde and a Frog Named Bruce and Phredde and the Zombie Librarian.
2 See A Phaery Named Phredde and Phredde and a Frog Named Bruce.
Chapter 2
Off to (Yuk) Phaeryland
There are two things you notice about Phaeryland.
The first is that it’s nice—really nice—but I’ve already told you that. The sky was blue and the birds were singing, and I mean singing, like ‘Tweet, tweet, tweet’ instead of ‘Caw, caw, caw’ like the crows in the school ground that are after whatever they can snaffle of your lunch scraps and look like they wouldn’t mind eating your eyeballs for dessert if you gave them half a chance.
And the second is that suddenly Phredde and the Phaery Splendifera and Jim we
re all the same size as us. (Phredde’s explained that to me. It’s all about the quantum fluctuations in the magic field which mean that in the real, that is non-magical, world they’re diminished…well, something like that anyway. Ask Phredde if you want to know any more, though to be honest, I don’t think Phredde understands it either.)
Anyway, there we all were—Mum and Dad and me and the new super-economy size Phredde and her parents, with this green colouring-in-pencil-type grass and lollipop-like trees and a zillion flowers in red and blue and yellow all around our feet, blooming at us like they were planning to give us all hay fever, except I suppose you don’t get hay fever in Phaeryland.
And just like the last time we were in Phaeryland, these great giant butterflies flip-flapped over the lollipop trees and landed beside us (I had to hold on to my tiara—you really get a draught from a giant butterfly), and we all climbed on and I realised I’d forgotten to take my car sickness tablets again, which meant the ride was really interesting for anyone underneath us, especially that elf sitting on his mushroom when I lost the muesli I’d had for breakfast. (It didn’t look like muesli by then, of course, especially when it had fallen from 100 metres up.)
So the butterflies flapped, and I watched my breakfast sail down to become part of the ecology of Phaeryland, and Mum kept chirping things like, ‘Oh, how wonderful! Oh, Splendifera, look at that castle…and those cute little bunnies. Oh, is that a brook? Oh, Prudence, did you see those sweet elves dancing?’
The Phredde Collection Page 21