Jungle Tangle

by Debbie Thomas

  17 - I Spy

  A shriek woke Abbie next morning. She blinked through her mosquito net. Was it one of those purple-throated fruit crows she’d read about in the guidebook? Or perhaps a harpy eagle, snatching Fernando in its talons for breakfast?

  No, it was Grandma falling out of her hammock. ‘Bingo!’ she yelled, clinging to some delicious dream. ‘Where the jiggery am I?’

  ‘In heaven,’ Perdita called. She was up a tree plucking fruits that looked like lumpy sunsets. ‘Have a papaya.’ She threw one in Abbie’s direction and climbed down. ‘Coming for a swim?’

  Abbie untied the mosquito net and swung out of her hammock. It would be great to cool her sweaty clothes. After less than a day in the jungle she ponged to Peru.

  The water wrapped her body, calm and cool. Her feet sank into mud. Something brushed against her leg. ‘Er, what fish do you get in here?’ she asked.

  ‘There’s pacu – that’s a big fish that eats fruit,’ said Coriander, floating on her back. ‘And catfish. Oh, and piranha of course.’

  Abbie shrieked and waded towards the bank as fast as she could, which, through all that mud, wasn’t very.

  ‘Relax.’ Coriander laughed. ‘They hardly ever attack humans. They get a very bad press, you know.’

  ‘Really?’ Abbie stopped.

  ‘Oh yes. Beneath those teeth they’re poppets. It’s the caimans you’ve got to watch out for.’

  ‘What’s a caiman?’

  ‘That.’

  Now Abbie was out of the water faster than you could say, ‘You-mean-that-long-crocodile-thing-with-more-teeth-than-I’ve-had-Yorkie-bars-who’s-resting-its-snout-on-the-water-and-giving-me-a-look-that-says-it-hasn’t-eaten-for-days-and-really-fancies-a-leg-steak-from-a-well-built-girl-who-doesn’t-know-her-crocs-from-her-alligators?’

  Coriander smiled. She held out her hand and hummed a tune of floppy fish and lazy bathing. The caiman sliced through the water and nuzzled her shoulder with its

  snout.

  Abbie marvelled from the bank. With Coriander here, no jaws, claws, paws or roars need ever scare them. They had nothing to fear in the jungle – except man.

  One in particular.

  After a breakfast of a fruit with star-shaped leaves that Coriander called false peanut because of its rich, creamy taste, they set off again. They kept the river on their right. Walking was easier today. Splinters of blue sky broke through the trees and the air felt clearer – which wasn’t to say clear, just soup with less gloop.

  Even Grandma seemed happier, belting out sea shanties as she lumbered behind. She’d given up on the Numbskull, which she said was too itchy in the jungle. Chester too had abandoned her head. He sat on top of the shopping bag, making a cushion for Fernando, who, except for a tense moment when the path forked and Gav was switched on, was almost jaunty.

  ‘Oh, Carmen, my wench,

  When we wrench you from Klench,

  My life begeen again.’

  No one had the heart to point out that Coriander had forbidden any wrenching.

  They passed three chattering squirrel monkeys and a giant anteater before stopping for lunch.

  ♪ ‘What shall we do with the drunken sailor?’ sang Grandma, plonking down on an earthy hummock. ♫ ‘Ear-ly in the morn– OUCH!’ She jumped up.

  ‘You’re sitting on a termite mound,’ said Coriander. Amber insects emerged from the hill. They streamed to the top for the funeral of their twelve cousins who’d died under Grandma.

  Lunch was nuts, seeds and cream crackers from Abbie’s rucksack. Then they hit the trail again.

  Two toucans later they stopped for a barley sugar.

  After three scarlet macaws they shared a packet of biscuits.

  Five humming birds further on Abbie’s legs began to ache.

  On their ninety-fourth caterpillar the forest began to darken.

  And, as the four thousand two hundred and fifty-ninth soldier ant tramped across their path, Perdita whispered, ‘Look.’ She pointed along the path.

  Twenty metres ahead the trees stopped. Beyond that was light. Not fading sunlight, not pearly moonlight. Bright, white, electric light.

  Abbie gasped. There was a circular clearing in the jungle. The rim was marked by little ground lights. The river snaked round to the right. And on the far side stood the fanciest building she’d ever seen.

  It looked like a giant wedding cake, white and fussy. Spotlights along the ground lit up the façade. At the bottom stood frilly pillars and arches. In the middle were balconies with fancy curved railings. And at the top, below the low roof, ran swirls of complicated plasterwork. To the left of the building lay a floodlit swimming pool. In front was a courtyard dotted with statues.

  Coriander put a finger to her lips. Quietly she took off her rucksack. ‘We’ll set up camp off the path,’ she whispered. ‘The jungle will hide us.’

  From a pocket in her rucksack she took out four penknives. She held one up and pressed a button on the handle. A circular blade popped out and whirred round.

  ‘Pensaws,’ said Coriander, handing them round. ‘Now let’s get hacking.’

  The little blades sawed through vines and stems. Chester swept away the cuttings. Twenty minutes later they’d cleared enough foliage to hang the hammocks.

  ‘I could eat a jaguar,’ muttered Grandma. But meat, as usual, was off the menu. There was no question of making a fire either; they’d be spotted from the hotel in a second. So they had to make do with nuts, berries and four packets of crushed Hula Hoops from Abbie’s rucksack.

  It was pitch dark now – apart from their torchlight, the circular ground lights, the hotel spotlights, the moonlight and the silent scream of stars. And quiet, too, except for the hum of cicadas, the clicking of bats, the rumble of Abbie’s stomach, Grandma’s snores and the chatter of monkeys reading bedtime stories. Abbie lay in her hammock under her mosquito net and wondered how she’d ever get to sleep.

  She was still wondering when she woke up.

  ‘Knock knock.’ Perdita’s grin shoved through the mosquito net. Coriander was already up, gathering more jungle mix. Abbie’s stomach took one look at the berries dropping into the pot and remembered it had an urgent business meeting. She crept into the forest as far as she dared and discovered that palm leaves make the best loo roll.

  At breakfast, if you could call it that, Grandma said, ‘’Ow long do we ’ave to wait ’ere, eatin’ monkey nuts?’

  ‘Until we see monkey business,’ said Coriander. ‘Then we go straight back to Puyo and tell the police.’

  They sat in their hammocks and took it in turns to peer through Coriander’s binoculars.

  It was an action-packed morning. At 9.13 two figures emerged from the hotel and lay by the swimming pool. At 10.27 one of them dived in. At 11.48 a window on the second storey opened. At 12.09 it closed.

  The biggest thrill came at 1.04. ‘The front door!’ whispered Perdita, staring through the binoculars. ‘A man’s coming out. He’s wearing a cowboy hat. He’s looking round. He’s got bandages on his hands. He’s – oh, going in again.’

  Lunch was granadilla (orange fruits from a tree) and Digestives (brown biscuits from a packet).

  ‘Well, this is a lark,’ said Grandma a few hours later. ‘I’m bitten to death, I’m crawlin’ with creepies, I’ve got the runs, the shakes, the sweats. We’re never goin’ to spot a crime at this rate. ’Ere, Chess – come and fan me face, would you?’

  ‘Chester!’ cried Abbie. ‘Of course! He could slip into the hotel and poke about. He looks like a hairy leaf.’

  ‘Over my dead body,’ said Grandma. ‘I’m not lettin’ ’im out of me–’

  But he’d already shot off through the undergrowth.

  ‘Chess,’ Grandma hissed, ‘come back!’

  ‘Too late!’ cried Perdita.

  Coriander said nothing – or rather her mouth didn’t. But her brown eyes wailed reproach.

  ‘Oh no,’ Abbie mumbled. ‘What have I done?’

  ‘
Only sent me best friend in the world to ’is doom!’ cried Grandma.

  Abbie bit her cheek. She should have known Chess would jump at the chance to help. And now Klench might catch him, put him on a lead and charge customers a fortune to watch him clean windows.

  ‘Perhaps he return weeth my Carmen,’ said Fernando hopefully.

  ‘And ’ow precisely would ’e carry ’er?’ Grandma snapped.

  Coriander stood up. ‘I can’t sit here waiting.’ She gave a little sob. ‘I’ll go and get dinner.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Perdita. Glaring at Abbie, they headed into the forest.

  ‘Mine’s a Big Mac,’ muttered Grandma as they disappeared.

  They sat in silence. Grandma turned her back on Abbie and made leaf hats for Fernando. Abbie stared through the binoculars, swallowing down tears.

  There was a rustle behind. ‘Chess?’ She wheeled round.

  But it was only Perdita staggering out of the trees with an armful of papayas. Coriander stumbled behind her with an armful of … what? It looked like a giant woodlouse: a brown dome of overlapping segments.

  ‘Any sign of Chester?’ asked Perdita. Abbie shook her head miserably. Perdita dropped the papayas.

  Coriander put the ball down gently. She was humming softly, a tune of fat grubs and cosy burrows. Slowly it unrolled into a pointy, jointy–

  ‘Armadillo!’ breathed Abbie. Two eyes blinked. Two ears wiggled. The creature uncurled to the length of a cat. ‘He’s beautiful!’

  ‘He’s brill,’ said Perdita fiercely. ‘I’ve named him Brillo. We found him in a trap. Set by Klench, I bet.’ She bent down and stroked the creature’s ears. ‘It’s OK, Brillo. You’re safe with us.’

  ‘So Klench is smugglin’ animals again,’ said Grandma.

  Coriander sucked in her breath. ‘The brute. But at least he won’t get this one.’

  ‘Doesn’t need to,’ muttered Grandma. ‘’E’s got somethin’ better to smuggle now. My Ches–’

  ‘–ter!’ cried Abbie. A hairy ball rolled onto her shoe. She snatched him up and drenched him in kisses. ‘Thank goodness!’ Tears ran down her cheeks. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Chester leapt onto Grandma. ‘I was beside meself, ducks.’

  Then Coriander. ‘Don’t ever run off again, sweetie.’

  Then Perdita. ‘I love you, Chess.’

  ‘Hooray you hokay,’ said Fernando impatiently, ‘but what you find?’

  Chester stretched out on Perdita’s arm. A crumpled ball dropped out of his curls.

  ‘What’s that?’ Abbie picked it up and smoothed it out into a sheet of paper. ‘Looks like a list.’

  Coriander whistled. ‘So that’s it – cosmetic surgery for crooks! Look at the prices. Who could afford those except the rich and infamous?’

  ‘But my Carmen,’ squeaked Fernando from the shopping trolley. ‘You seen her?’

  Chester hopped up and down.

  ‘Where?’ said Abbie.

  Chester flattened himself on the ground.

  ‘On the ground floor?’ Perdita guessed. Chester hopped again.

  Fernando swayed like a drunken grape. ‘Vamos!’ he yelled. ‘Come amigos, what we wait for?’

  Coriander put her hand in front of him. ‘The police,’ she said firmly. ‘We’ve got our evidence of criminal activity. They must take it from here.’

  For a small head Fernando gave a big roar. The startled armadillo leapt three feet in the air and knocked him off the shopping trolley.

  ‘Estúpido!’ yelled Fernando, thudding onto the ground. ‘I roll to hotel myself!’

  Abbie picked him up. ‘Oh no, you won’t.’ She popped him on her hammock. ‘Klench would just kidnap you along with your wife.’

  ‘I told you,’ said Coriander, ‘we’re going back to Puyo.’

  ‘Not now,’ said Grandma. ‘It’s gettin’ dark.’

  ‘She’s right, Mum,’ said Perdita. ‘We can’t walk at night. If we set off at dawn we can be there by the morning after tomorrow.’

  Lying in her hammock that night, Abbie heard Fernando sobbing by her ear. She lay on her back and gazed at the stars. Relief and sadness curled through her. Relief that Chester was safe, sadness at spending her last night in the jungle. How would she ever describe it back home? If only she could slice a chunk from this dense, mysterious world. She’d take it with her to touch and smell forever. She opened her mouth and filled up with forest. Her tongue tasted warm, wet darkness. Her nose filled with sweetness and stinks. Her ears rang with clicks, hoots and hisses.

  Especially hisses. ‘Psssst.’

  Abbie sat up.

  ‘Me, I cannot esleep,’ whispered Fernando.

  ‘Me neither.’ Abbie lay down again.

  ‘What eef police, they take away my Carmen? Because she eellegal trade.’

  Abbie opened her mouth then closed it. She hadn’t thought of that.

  ‘Chester, he brave. No legs, no hands, no arms, but steell he go.’ Fernando sighed. ‘If I have legs I creep to her.’

  Abbie wriggled her legs uncomfortably.

  ‘Eef I have hands I hug her.’

  Abbie jiggled her fingers nervously.

  ‘Eef I have arms I carry–’

  ‘All right!’ She sat up. ‘I get the point.’

  She swung her legs out of the hammock and fumbled for her torch. She was mad. She was stupid. She was ready.

  * * *

  Klench switched off the lamp on the reception desk. A shriek pierced the darkness. Only at night, when the guests were snoring between their satin sheets, did Carmen come alive to curse her captor. ‘Just wait, you brute in suit! My husband, he comeeng for rescue me. Thees I esmell een my nostreels.’

  Klench chuckled. Switching off his torch, he reached across the desk and punched her on the nose. ‘Sleep vell, head off horror.’ Then he went upstairs, changed into his mint-green pyjamas, put on his mint-green bedtime tie and got into bed.

  * * *

  ‘You must be crazy.’ Greg’s eyebrows shot off his forehead, flew to Mars and settled there. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like down the phone. Marcus held the receiver away from his ear while Greg banged on. ‘Cracked. Bonkers. Off your iPod. No wonder you wouldn’t tell me at school yesterday. If anyone was listening, you’d have been arrested.’

  ‘Sssh. Don’t let your mum hear.’

  ‘But it’s so dangerous. People could get hurt.’

  ‘Exactly. And no one’ll know it was us.’

  ‘Us? You must be joking. Look, I’ve got to go and finish my breakfast. See you later, dude.’ The phone went dead.

  Marcus slammed the receiver down. ‘Who needs you, anyway?’ he muttered. ‘Dude.’

  18 - Together Again

  Abbie crept round the circular clearing, keeping well back from the lights. The hotel rose in a floodlit flounce. Light shone from a few windows on the middle storey. The top- and ground-floor windows were dark. She prayed that Carmen was still on the ground floor, where Chester had seen her. What if Klench took her to his bedroom every night and popped her on his bedside table for company?

  Abbie crouched in darkness ten metres from the entrance. For all its frills and trimmings there was a bleakness about the building. It was the perfect home for Hubris Klench: spotless, fussy and alone.

  ‘Stop esweateeng,’ hissed Fernando in her palm. ‘I drown.’

  ‘Can’t help it,’ rasped Abbie. She wished all the water on her hands would flow to her throat, which felt as dry as toast.

  She darted across the courtyard between statues of ladies wearing bed sheets. Reaching the huge entrance door she stopped. She took a deep breath. She gripped the handle. Please be locked, please be locked, please be–

  The door opened. Who needed locks in this lonely spot?

  ‘Bravo!’ breathed Fernando.

  Her heart punching her ribs, Abbie fished the torch from her pocket. The beam swept round, glinting off the fountains and mirrors of the vast lobby.

  ‘Who there?’ squea
ked a voice.

  Abbie dropped Fernando in terror.

  He hit the floor with a gasp, not of pain but of joy. ‘My Carmen!’ he breathed. ‘It ees I, your Fernando.’

  There was a squeal. ‘My Nando, my Conquiboy! I am here on desk.’

  Fernando rolled across the floor faster than an eyeball across an ice rink. Abbie rushed after him, scooped him up and set him on the desk. She shone the torch round.

  ‘Where you?’ whispered Fernando.

  ‘Where you?’ whispered a hairy prune on the desk.

  Then three people realised three things:

  1. The first hairy prune on the desk realised that the second hairy prune on the desk was her husband.

  2. The second hairy prune realised that the first hairy prune was his wife.

  3. Abbie realised that Fernando and Carmen had never seen each other like this because, when they were shrunk, their eyes had been sewn up.

  ‘Aaaah,’ said everyone, which was one of those sounds you don’t have to be English or Spanish or joined to shoulders to make.

  There was a shocked silence. Finally, Carmen whispered, ‘You look like rotten plum.’

  ‘You no peach melba yourself,’ hissed Fernando.

  ‘Why you take so long?’ snapped Carmen.

  ‘Why your neck so short?’

  ‘Your breath estink.’

  ‘Your hair honk.’

  ‘For goodness sake,’ hissed Abbie, ‘let’s just get out of here!’

  ‘Eemposseeble,’ whispered Carmen. ‘I estuck to desk weeth Superdooperglooper Glue.’

  There was another shocked silence. Short of carrying the desk, they were stumped.

  Unless …

  Abbie felt in her pocket – and thanked the Lord for inventors with plaits. ‘Matt, you’re a marvel,’ she murmured, bringing out the pensaw.

  With a low hum the blade circled the desk round Carmen’s neck. The wood was hard and thick. ‘Come on,’ Abbie muttered. Her heart was flopping like a fish on a deck. Her hands were shaking like a jelly with the giggles. Round and round went the blade, deeper and deeper into the wood.