by Paul Stewart
Lily grabbed Hugo and hugged him tightly.
‘Phyllida was headstrong, certainly,’ she sobbed. ‘But she was also beautiful and brave, and loved collecting stories …’
‘Just like her father,’ interrupted Daisy.
Lily hugged Hugo even tighter. ‘And she must have loved you very, very much.’
Hugo looked up at Lily Neptune. He could see his own face reflected in her green spectacles.
‘How do you know?’ he said, in a small, croaky voice.
Lily’s eyes filled with tears again. She let go of Hugo and picked up the blanket that had been lying, neatly rolled, beside the driftwood table.
‘Because of this,’ she said.
“There, he tended a flock of cloud sheep.”
The Cloud Sheep
Once upon a time, there was a young shepherd called Lempik Dalle. He lived high up in the mountains of the Randoo Kush, where the grass is sweet and the air is thin. There, he tended a flock of cloud sheep.
Now, cloud sheep, for those of you who don’t already know, are extremely small. In fact, they’re no bigger than an average guinea pig, but in every other respect they look just like normal sheep. They have coats of thick, fluffy wool, and they graze on the blue grass that grows high up on the slopes of the Randoo Kush. They’re called cloud sheep because, at a distance, and even quite close up, they look just like white clouds against the sky blue grass.
Lempik Dalle’s cloud sheep were some of the best in the mountains and their wool was highly prized. Cloud sheep wool is so light that it actually floats. In fact, the most important part of the job of a shepherd like Lempik was to stop his flock being blown away on the mountain breeze. That’s why cloud shepherds carried large nets (rather like butterfly collectors’ nets) instead of crooks.
Cloud sheep wool was far too precious to be used in cardigans or scarves. Instead, it was used by the carpet weavers of the Randoo Kush in their extraordinary – some would say, magical – flying carpets.
Not only were Lempik Dalle’s cloud sheep some of the best in the mountains, but he was also married to one of the finest carpet weavers in those parts. Now, for those of you who don’t already know, flying carpets are extremely rare because it takes a lot of cloud sheep wool to make one, not to mention an extremely skilled weaver.
Most weavers use only a thread or two of actual cloud sheep wool in their so-called flying carpets, and very few ever made a carpet that was even half cloud sheep and half normal sheep wool. But Lempik Dalle’s wife, Neena, regularly made carpets that were half-and-half, and once, she even made one of a hundred per cent pure cloud sheep wool – something that was practically unheard of.
Now, a half-and-half flying carpet won’t actually fly as such, but it will float and it can certainly cushion a fall from a great height very effectively. The mountains of the Randoo Kush are extremely steep and people are always falling off them, which is why Neena Dalle’s carpets were in high demand.
Then one day, an intrepid story collector called Wilfred McPherson arrived in the mountains. He’d been heading for the Frozen North when his Crane and Sons Aeronautical Snow Chariot – Mark I had been blown off course by a terrible storm.
Unfortunately, the terrible storm had also blown away every flock of cloud sheep in the Randoo Kush, including Lempik Dalle’s. He and his wife were heartbroken – not to mention financially ruined.
When the story collector heard their tale, he suggested that they come home with him to the town of Harbour Heights and set up a carpet business there.
(Wilfred McPherson was always doing this sort of thing. Take the pygmy snowmen he came across in the Frozen North, for example. But that’s another story.)
Anyway, that’s just what Lempik and Neena Dalle did, and they lived very happily there. And when they retired to the Randoo Kush, their daughter, Meena, took over the shop – much to the joy of her best friend, Wilfred McPherson’s daughter, Phyllida.
ugo followed Daisy and Lily Neptune as they swished out of Neptune’s Nautical Antiques. Lily paused and turned the sign on the front door over to show ‘Closed’, before shutting it.
‘Not that it matters,’ said Daisy to Hugo gloomily. ‘Business is so bad at the moment.’
Hugo was dressed in a large sou’wester, a stripy vest, wide canvas trousers and a nautical overcoat that was several sizes too big for him.
‘It doesn’t do to draw attention to oneself,’ Daisy had told him, packing away his reindeer herder clothes. ‘Not these days. It seems everybody gossips about everyone else, and not nice stories either …’
‘The worse the better, in fact,’ said Lily, casting an eye at the building opposite. ‘And it’s all the fault of The Firefly Quarterly.’ She shuddered as she glided along the pavement to the shop next door but one. The sign above the doorway read Dalle and Daughter: Rug Restorers.
‘It’s probably better if you allow us to break the news to Meena,’ whispered Daisy, pushing open the door and ushering Hugo inside. ‘After all, she was your mother’s best friend.’
Hugo took a deep breath and entered the shop.
It was dark and very quiet inside, with a heady perfumed scent in the air. Large ornately patterned carpets hung in rows from racks overhead, like a series of heavy curtains. In one corner, by the window, a tiny dog was reclining on a cushion. Its head was cocked to one side and it seemed to be looking intently at a space a few feet above where it lay. As Hugo watched, a small dusty coloured moth fluttered up from behind a carpet. Instantly, the little dog launched itself high in the air and caught the moth in its jaws with a single snap. Hugo blinked.
‘That’s Tik-Tik,’ said Daisy, closing the shop door behind her. ‘He’s a moth-dog. No carpet shop should be without one.’
‘Daisy? Is that you?’ came a musical voice from a room at the back of the shop. ‘Come on through – and bring that sister of yours with you.’
‘We’ve brought someone special to see you, Meena, dear,’ called Lily. ‘But first, I’ve got some rather sad news to tell you.’
Lily swished past the carpets, brushing them aside, and disappeared into the back room. Daisy stood beside Hugo with a hand on his shoulder, while TikTik snapped up several more moths that had been disturbed when they entered. A few moments later, Hugo heard a small scream, followed by some quieter sobbing, and Lily’s voice saying, ‘There, there, Meena, we did what we could …’ Then, ‘You’d better come through now, Hugo, dear.’
He felt Daisy’s hand on his shoulder urging him on, so he pushed through the carpets and entered the back room. It was, he discovered, surprisingly large. The walls were lined with shelves on which were stacked rolls of carpets, balls of wool and racks of long darning needles. A large wooden frame took up most of the far wall, upon which a worn-looking carpet had been stretched.
And next to it – halfway between the floor and the ceiling – a woman hovered.
She had long hair, pulled back and plaited, and was wearing a smock and baggy trousers, which were gathered in at the ankle, and a pair of pointy carpet slippers of unusual design. Lily Neptune was sitting on a large wooden bench below her, polishing her green spectacles, with Hugo’s blanket spread out at her tail.
As Hugo approached, the woman clicked her heels together and sank slowly to the floor to face him. Up close, Hugo could see she’d been crying. But she smiled bravely now as she ruffled his hair gently with one hand.
‘So, you’re Phyllida’s little boy, are you?’ she said. ‘Yes, I can see the resemblance …’ For a moment, Hugo thought she was going to burst into tears, but instead she continued, ‘I’m Meena. Your mother was my best friend. I begged her not to go on that last voyage with your father. We all knew it was headed for disaster, but she wouldn’t listen – and, of course, she could never have left you behind.’ Meena shook her head sadly. ‘So I gave her one of my mother’s finest flying carpets to keep her safe.’
‘You mean the blanket I was wrapped up in is a flying carpet?’ gasped Hugo, looking at the worn, thr
eadbare fabric at Lily’s tail.
‘The finest cloud sheep wool, and at least half-and-half,’ said Meena. ‘Don’t you see, Hugo? Your mother wrapped you up in it to keep you safe.’
Hugo nodded. There was a lump in his throat.
‘But how did you know the voyage was headed for disaster?’ he asked, bewildered. ‘How could anybody possibly know my parents were going to be eaten by polar bears?’
‘That, dear Hugo,’ said Daisy, who’d been standing behind him, ‘is a different cup of tea entirely.’
“She gave a small, ladylike gasp of surprise …”
The Unexpected Teacup
Once upon a time, there were two families who lived in a small valley in the Sunny South. They were called the Camomiles and the Mangerlaines, and they were always arguing. This was because they lived in a small valley and, although it was in the Sunny South, one side of the valley was usually sunnier than the other.
Now, ordinarily, this wouldn’t have mattered, but the Camomiles and the Mangerlaines both grew tea. In fact, between them they grew fifty-eight different varieties of tea, all of which needed different amounts of sunlight to ripen. So the two families were always arguing over who had the right to plant their particular type of tea where and for how long.
Families in the Sunny South can be extremely large, and the Camomiles and the Mangerlaines were no exception. Don Camomile had twenty sons, each of whom had ten children, who all grew up and had children of their own. Signora Mangerlaine had seven sons and eight daughters, who all did the same. So the small valley was getting pretty crowded, and the arguments, worse and worse. This wasn’t helped by the fact that no Camomile ever married a Mangerlaine – or the other way round.
When it came for them to find partners, the young Camomiles and Mangerlaines set off for neighbouring valleys to court the sons and daughters of other families, who grew things like cucumbers or curly kale, or even, at a push – and only if they were desperate – coffee beans. Some of the daughters stayed in their new homes, but all of the sons returned with their young brides, and the valley got fuller and fuller.
Then one day, something unexpected happened. Freda, the youngest daughter of one of the Mangerlaine families, was invited to a tea dance in a valley close by which was devoted to marrow growing. By some terrible mix up, one of the Camomile boys by the name of Diego, was invited too. During a short break between the tango and the foxtrot, Freda picked up her teacup and peered into it. She gave a small, ladylike gasp of surprise, for she had quite unexpectedly discovered she could read the tea-leaves at the bottom of the cup.
They told her that she was to marry the next man who asked her to dance. At that moment Diego Camomile tapped her politely on the shoulder and asked her to join him in the foxtrot, completely unaware that he was talking to a Mangerlaine. They started talking about tea varieties and blends as they danced, and by the time the waltz came round, and they discovered each other’s surnames, it was already too late.
They were madly in love.
Of course, the two families were outraged when Diego and Freda announced their intention to marry, and they were forced to run away – aided by a kind explorer who had listened to their story. With his help, they travelled to the bustling town of Harbour Heights, where they set up a tea-blending business.
Everything went well until one day, years later, just before Phineas and Phyllida Pepper were due to set off on a voyage for the Frozen North, Freda Camomile picked up her teacup and peered into it. This time, she let out a most unladylike shriek.
Tap-tap-tap! The tall, thin figure of the lamplighter appeared at the top of Brimstone Alley and turned the corner into Firefly Square. He stopped by the lamppost outside Camomile and Camomile: Tea Blenders and carefully lit the lamp, before continuing on his way.
Tap-tap-tap!
‘Good evening,’ said Hugo Pepper politely, raising his sou’wester.
The lamplighter paused and regarded him with watery, grey eyes for a moment. Then, without so much as a word of greeting or a nod of acknowledgement, he moved on.
‘Don’t mind him, Hugo, dear,’ said Daisy Neptune, as she swished past, and rang the bell outside the tea blenders. ‘He never says a thing.’
‘We haven’t heard him speak in all the years we’ve lived in Firefly Square,’ added Lily Neptune, swishing up behind. ‘Not once.’
The door of the tea blenders was opened by a plump, jolly-faced man. He had wavy grey hair, a little moustache and, given the pudginess of his hands, curiously delicate fingers.
‘Why, if it isn’t my favourite ladies of the sea,’ he beamed. ‘Come in, come in! You’re just in time for tea!’
‘Thank you, Diego. We’ve brought a young visitor with us …’
‘Phineas and Phyllida’s boy! Yes, Freda told me to expect you, my dear boy,’ said Diego Camomile, taking Hugo’s hand and giving it a vigorous shake. ‘I’m delighted to meet you. Come in, come in!’
Hugo and the Neptune sisters followed Diego inside the shop while he called excitedly to his wife. Stepping over the threshold, Hugo found himself on the landing of a wrought-iron spiral staircase that rose to the shop’s rafters and descended to its basement. The inside of Camomile and Camomile was one big space, into which were stacked tea chests which surrounded the spiral staircase from the bottom to the top.
Light came in from a large skylight in the roof, through which Hugo could see the fading splendour of a golden sunset. Next to it was a suspended wooden cabin, which Hugo supposed was the Camomiles’ bedroom, while three non-existent floors down, there was the orange glow of a small stove, and a round table set with tea things. And at the table was a pale, delicate-looking woman with grey hair and a kind face. They all descended the stairs to join her, Diego calling down as they went.
‘Freda, my love, he’s here! Hugo Pepper’s here! Just like you said!’
As Hugo Pepper climbed down the spiral staircase, he glanced at the labels stamped onto the stacked wooden tea chests he passed. Rumbly Tummy. Bad Knee. Heartburn …
‘Medicinal blends on this side,’ called Diego back over his shoulder.
Hugo nodded and turned the other way.
Happy – Mild. Merry – Strong. Weepy – Moderate, he read.
‘Emotional teas on the other,’ Diego informed him.
They reached the basement and joined Freda at the tea table. The tea chests surrounding them also had labels on them. Near Future, Soon to Pass, Yet to Be, they read, and Not for Ages.
‘And these,’ said Diego proudly, ‘are the teas I blend especially for Freda.’ He took a tiny teapot from the stove, shook it gently and poured its contents into his wife’s teacup. ‘Fortune-telling tea!’
He turned to the stove and picked up another, far larger teapot and poured everyone else a cup, before producing a plate of small cakes which filled the room with a delicious nutty, chocolatey, caramelly smell.
‘For the rest of us, Camomiles’ special Heartfelt Welcome blend,’ he said. ‘And what better to go with it than Archduke Ferdinand’s Florentines, fresh from the Fateful Voyage Bakery!’
He beamed happily as Hugo took one and tasted it. The Florentine was delicious. He took a sip of tea. It seemed to slip down his throat and spread a wonderful warm feeling through his chest.
‘Diego’s teas are the finest in Harbour Heights,’ said Daisy. ‘But people just don’t seem to want to buy them any more.’
‘It’s that nasty Firefly Quarterly saying horrible untrue things about them,’ said Lily fiercely.
‘About all of us who don’t make donations,’ Daisy added bitterly.
‘Please, ladies, let’s not burden poor Hugo with our problems,’ said Diego, trying to smile. ‘After all, the poor boy’s parents were eaten by polar bears … Poor Phineas and Phyllida.’ He shook his head. ‘And Freda tried so hard to warn them. She saw it all in the bottom of her teacup, didn’t you, dear?’
But Mrs Camomile didn’t answer her husband. She was too busy staring into her
teacup, a trance-like expression on her face.
‘What is it, Freda, dear?’ asked Daisy and Lily both together. ‘What do you see?’
Freda peered closely into the teacup and spoke, her voice curiously high-pitched and warbly, like a surprised quail.
‘I see a one-eyed giant,’ she trilled, her eyes fixed on the tea-leaves at the bottom of the teacup, ‘staring at a one-eared cat, pointing the way to the sea-bed’s treasure.’
‘What does that mean?’ asked Hugo, deeply impressed.
Freda Camomile put down her cup and smiled brightly. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea,’ she said. ‘Now, would somebody care to pass me a Florentine?’
“Unfortunately, Cressida wasn’t a very good housemaid.”
The Cat Lady
Once upon a time, there was a young housemaid called Cressida Claw. She worked at the fine houses in the big squares of the bustling city of Harbour Heights. Unfortunately, Cressida wasn’t a very good housemaid. She was slovenly, bad-tempered and quite lazy, which meant that she never stayed in one job for more than a month or two at a time. Before long, she had worked all over Harbour Heights and had got to know its squares and streets, alleyways and lanes extremely well – not to mention the houses, great and small, that lined them.
Cressida hated being a housemaid and resented having to sweep and clean and wash dishes and beat carpets. She hated all housework and the people she had to clear up after, with all their messy clutter and untidiness. In fact there was only one thing that Cressida Claw actually liked about being a housemaid, and that was this …
She loved the opportunity it gave her for snooping.
Whenever the coast was clear, Cressida would lay down her mop or feather duster and start going through the belongings of the people she was supposed to be cleaning for. Cupboards, wardrobes, drawers and dressing-tables; nothing escaped Cressida Claw’s nimble fingers or gimlet eyes. She would search through the pockets of overcoats hanging in the hall and sift through the waste-paper baskets. Sometimes, she would even rummage in the dustbins in the back alleys. You see, what Cressida had discovered during her years as a housemaid in Harbour Heights, is that you never can tell what you might find if you have a good snoop.