The Beasts of Upton Puddle

by Simon West-Bulford

  “Uh, no!”

  “You’d better ’ave strong arms, then, boy. It’s half past three in the morning, so don’t expect me to start heavin’ stuff about.”

  Joe stared at the man.

  The man stared back. “I’ll get the rest of the paperwork,” he said eventually and sauntered to the front of the van.

  Joe tested the corner of the crate. It felt as light as Styrofoam. “There can’t be much in here,” he called.

  “Took a forklift to get it on, mate,” the man shouted back, one leg dangling out the door as he rooted around for more documents.

  Joe pulled at the crate again and found that he could lift it from the floor of the van without even trying. The van sprang slightly upwards as Joe proceeded to pull the crate clear and rest it on the ground.

  The man came back with some crumpled envelopes. He frowned at the crate, then at Joe.

  “How did you—? That must weigh at least two hundred kilos.”

  “Feels empty to me.”

  The man tried to lift a corner. It didn’t budge. He looked around him, then squinted at Joe before looking around again. “Clever trick, that. How’d you do it?”

  Unable to give him an answer, Joe simply winked, flexed an arm and pointed at his bicep.

  “All right.” The man smiled. “Have it your way, then. Keep your secrets. I’m off to bed.”

  When the delivery man had driven off, Joe lifted the crate again. He walked inside the mansion and, still holding the crate with only one hand, shut the main door.

  “Awesome!” Joe said to himself. “Kappa juice. It must be the kappa juice.”

  As he carried the crate down to the vault, however, it grew heavier and heavier until finally he had to drop it just inside the door.

  The kappa trundled to Joe, and Danariel flew in gentle circles above him.

  “I feel like Superman,” Joe said. “At least, I did a minute ago.” Cold sweat beaded over his skin.

  “The effects are not of a permanent nature,” said Kiyoshi. “You should expect a brief period of hypothermic Meleagris gallopavo in precisely twenty seconds.”

  “Hypo- what?”

  “Cold turkey,” said Danariel. “You’d better sit down. It’s not pleasant. Kiyoshi? Will you open the crate?”

  Joe fell into Heinrich’s chair and clapped his hands over his mouth. His insides felt like a washing machine on maximum spin with a full load of cold, wet towels, and it was all he could do to resist the urge to throw up. Hoping to distract himself from the impending vomit, he watched Kiyoshi stretch his amphibious legs out of his shell and grasp one side of the crate while keeping his head perfectly level. The kappa tore the wooden panels off with terrifying ease, and by the time the crate had been stripped down, Joe’s temptation to gag had been replaced by the thrill of wonderment.

  A beast almost twice the size of a crocodile lay coiled and sleeping amidst the splintered wood. Joe had no doubt it was some kind of reptile, but like everything else he’d encountered in Merrynether Mansion, it was different from any creature he’d seen in any book or TV documentary before. The creature’s scaly skin had an oily black sheen that shimmered black, purple, and blue as its body rose and fell with its slow breathing. A large arrow-shaped head rested on a thick tail, and across its spiny back, two bony wings lay folded like closed umbrellas.

  Joe made no effort to hide his excitement as he spoke. “Is that . . . Is it a dragon?”

  “It’s a—”

  Kiyoshi spoke over Danariel. “Goodness, no! Consider the scale pigmentation and dimensions. Also take note of its claws.” Kiyoshi thrust a suckered hand underneath the thickest section of the beast’s body and lifted it with almost no effort. A formidable set of talons were tucked underneath.

  “Two legs?”

  “Indeed. Dragons are endowed with four.”

  “A dinosaur, then?”

  “The etymology for the word dinosaur is Greek and means terrible lizard, so indeed, you may name it as such, but the true designation is wyvern.”

  “A wyvern. Is it dangerous?”

  “Very dangerous.” The answer didn’t come from Kiyoshi or Danariel, but Joe recognized the accent instantly.

  “Heinrich!”

  Apparently the German giant had entered the vault while Kiyoshi had ripped the crate apart. Cornelius stood by Heinrich’s side, head lifted proudly and barbed tail waving like a serpent behind him. Both looked exhausted. Heinrich had three bloody gashes across his right cheek, and his long coat had been shredded in several places. The manticore didn’t look much better with his ruffled fur and bare patches where clumps had apparently been torn from his mane.

  Joe eyed Heinrich. Part of him was overjoyed to see the old man again, but another part wanted to run as far from him as possible.

  Danariel, still unaware of Joe’s discovery at Redwar Industries, darted to Heinrich and planted her glowing body across the width of his face, her wings fluttering in delight.

  Joe simply stared, unsure what to do or say.

  “Hello, Danariel.” Heinrich tried to smile. “Step aside, Joe. Snappel is heavily sedated, but she will be disorientated and afraid when I wake her. I must lead her to an enclosure before she is fully alert . . . Where is Ronnie? Did you not find her?”

  Danariel flew down to greet Cornelius.

  “No. What happened to you?” Joe asked, his voice monotone.

  Heinrich threw a questioning glance at Joe, then crouched near the wyvern’s head. “We entered the burrow and found a very big network of tunnels. It is a maze down there.” He lifted the lizard’s top jowl and examined a row of fangs. “We found no sign of Ronnie, but Cornelius caught the scent of the Beast and we tracked it down, hoping she would be near. We did our best to capture it, but it was too fast and strong. I was injured, and then it burrowed into the earth again.”

  Heinrich’s voice cracked as he continued. “She could still be down there . . . hurt or . . .” He glanced around, fighting back grief. “I need rope and an apple.”

  “Like you said in the first place, I think she’s with Redwar,” said Joe, still cold in his response, “but we need to get into a restricted area.”

  “How?” asked Heinrich, finding an apple on his desk and a coil of rope hanging on a hook near Cornelius’s enclosure.

  “Leave that to me,” said Joe, unwilling to give Heinrich any more information than he had to.

  “Very well, but once I have secured Snappel, I am going back to the burrows to look for Ronnie. I cannot rest until she is found, and we do not know for sure that she is being held by Redwar.”

  “Do what you want.”

  “Are you all right? You seem a little . . .”

  A heavy silence fell between them. All that could be heard was the steady rhythmic thump of Flarp bouncing off the wall and Cornelius’s baritone purring as Danariel glided through his fur.

  “Have you got somewhere for me to sleep with a locked door? If you’re going out to look for Mrs. Merrynether again, I want to be here if you find her.”

  “Of course, but there is no need for you to lock the door.”

  Joe didn’t answer. Weariness dragged at his eyelids. He desperately wanted to be at home in bed, swallowed up by his warm quilt. Absently, he watched Heinrich tie a set of complicated knots around the head and body of the wyvern and wondered why thoughts of sleep were sending nagging danger signals at the back of his mind. Sleep was good, wasn’t it?

  Kiyoshi!

  “Where’s Kiyoshi?” said Joe, instantly snapping out of his daydream.

  Danariel launched into the air.

  Heinrich stopped what he was doing and looked around.

  “There,” said Danariel.

  Kiyoshi had fallen asleep by the side of Heinrich’s desk, yellow stuff oozing from his vent.

  Joe rushed over, tripped on a plank, and clattered to the floor, waking not only the kappa but the serpentine creature Heinrich was trying to secure.

  “Great thundering ogres,”
Kiyoshi exclaimed. “What in the cosmos was that terrible cacophony?”

  A roar rumbled through the walls of the vault, and Joe shuffled around on hands and knees to see the huge lizard rise clumsily from its coiled position. Fiery red eyes burned with apparent panic as it staggered, huge talons clacking on the floor as it fought to regain balance. Its wings unfolded and flapped like a great black tent caught in a high wind.

  Heinrich pulled at the ropes, the veins in his head standing out as he struggled against the wyvern’s strength.

  “Whoa, Snappel. Careful, girl. Nobody’s going to hurt you.”

  The creature’s roar was followed up with a short, sharp burp. For a second the beast stopped moving and looked surprised at itself. Then in a sudden spasmodic jerk, it hiccupped and sent a jet of fire into the air, narrowly missing Heinrich’s scalp. Snappel wavered, whoozy from the aftereffects of anesthetic, and Heinrich let go of the rope.

  “You’re about to see how she got her name,” said Heinrich. He held the apple above his head and called to the creature. “Snappel! Look what I have here. A nice, juicy apple. Look!”

  He waved it around for a second or two, then threw it into Cornelius’s enclosure. With the speed of a heat-seeking missile, the wyvern shot into the manticore’s old home and clamped her jaws on the fruit before it even came close to landing. The lizard flipped her head upright, snapped her jaws twice more, and then swallowed.

  Heinrich slammed the door of the enclosure, but Snappel seemed unconcerned. With a final dazed look around, she collapsed into her former coiled position and closed her eyes.

  “She’ll be all right. We just need to cure her hiccups. It’s why she’s here.”

  Joe wanted desperately to ask a million questions about the new creature but could not bring himself to show any enthusiasm to Heinrich. “Good. Can you take me to my room now? I’m really tired. It’s past four in the morning.”

  “Of course.” Heinrich checked around, as if to see what else he needed to do first. “But don’t expect me to be in when you wake up unless I have found Ronnie. I will make sure everything is secure before I go, but I will also leave a list of things that will need to be done in case I am back late. Can I count on you?”

  “Me?” Joe laughed, unable to mask his bitterness. “I’m not the . . .”

  “Not the what?”

  Joe looked away. “Nothing.”

  “You’ve been different since I returned. Is it something I’ve done?”

  Joe stared at Heinrich again, rage bubbling like lava. Should he confront him? Now, while Heinrich had no idea he knew about the deception, he seemed to be safe. But would that be the case if he challenged Heinrich? If the old man turned on him, would anyone jump to his aid?

  “No,” said Joe eventually. “I’m just tired.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Exhausted from the most eventful Saturday of his life, Joe slept through most of Sunday. He’d locked himself in one of the bedrooms of Merrynether Mansion and fallen into a deep sleep, oblivious to whatever was happening in the vault.

  Together with Cornelius and Danariel, Heinrich was out for most of the day looking for Mrs. Merrynether. In the late afternoon, Heinrich returned, pale and haggard. With few words, he sent Joe home.

  Joe was glad he didn’t have to make conversation with him. He might even have felt sorry for him if he didn’t know Heinrich was a traitor. Yet it was a mystery why Heinrich had such great concern for the person he had betrayed for so long. And why would he want to sabotage the practice he seemed to love so much?

  Unfortunately, Joe was not the only one with questions. His mother drilled him for more than thirty minutes, wanting to know why he hadn’t told her he’d be spending the weekend with the Duggans. While Joe was grateful for Kiyoshi’s lie, answering her questions proved to be very difficult.

  With the dawn of Monday, Joe woke at home feeling fresh resolve to get some answers, but first he had to survive another difficult day. Persuading his mum to let him go for tea at Kurt Duggan’s house was hard enough, especially since he’d apparently spent the weekend there, but convincing Kurt was going to be much more of an ordeal. Nevertheless, no matter how nervous he felt or how hard the beating would be if things went wrong, Joe had to try. Mrs. Merrynether’s safety depended on him.

  Morning break came with the noisy rabble pouring out of the double doors to the school grounds. The cliques separated into their habitual huddles, some running to the playing fields, others to the common room. Kurt Duggan and his mob headed for their usual haunt.

  Joe pulled a plastic bottle from his rucksack and examined the viscous, yellow gloop inside. “Here goes,” he said to himself and poured the stuff into his mouth. Choking back the burning in his throat and wiping his watery eyes, Joe chased his nemesis. He didn’t know how long the effect of the kappa juice would last, but hopefully it would see him through the next few minutes.

  When the rest of the school was out of sight, Joe made his move. “Hey, Duggan! I need a minute alone.”

  The whole crowd stopped and turned to look at Joe. Duggan stood at the center, arms folded, face deadly serious while the others grinned and skulked like jackals waiting for a chance to pick at a carcass.

  The thug sneered, waved a dismissive hand, and turned around, uninterested.

  It wasn’t the response Joe had hoped for.

  He watched them walk on, his heart drumming harder as he psyched himself up.

  “Now!” Joe shouted.

  They stopped again.

  This time Duggan’s ape face was a hybrid of rage and surprise. “You what?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “I need to smoke. You need to disappear before I fill that loud gob of yours with this.” He raised a fist.

  “It’s about the map.”

  One of the jackals looked up at Duggan. “Map?”

  “Forget it . . .” Duggan told him. “It’s nothing.”

  “What’s the matter, Kurt? Scared what they might do if they find out about your little secret?”

  The bully’s teeth flashed as he grinned with rage. “All right, you asked for it.” He waved the others off and advanced on Joe.

  The gang hesitated but left anyway.

  “You think I’m stupid?” Duggan grabbed Joe by the shirt collar. “I know there’s no map. There’s no way you’d have kept it from me, not with the kicking you’ve been getting every day.”

  Duggan’s knuckles pressed against Joe’s chin as he tightened his grip.

  “You’re right. There’s no map, but you’ve still got the key, right?”

  “So?”

  “So don’t you want to know what it opens?”

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “Yes, but there’s something I want in return.”

  “No deal.” Duggan dropped him and turned his back.

  The tingling sensation in Joe’s limbs faded as the thug walk away. A cold wave of nausea hung in his stomach. Time was already running out.

  “I knew you were a loser,” Joe said.

  “Whatever.”

  Joe’s legs began to buckle, but he chased Kurt and planted a fist squarely into the bully’s back. “See? Loser.”

  That did it. Duggan turned and swung, exactly as Joe had been hoping for. The effects of the kappa juice had almost faded, but Joe caught Duggan’s fist and twisted it in one lightning-fast reaction. Duggan sank to his knees with a frustrated cry as Joe held him there.

  “Listening now?” said Joe, hoping Duggan wouldn’t pay attention to his quaking legs or the sheen on his forehead.

  “You’re gonna get such a kicking when I get up,” Duggan grunted.

  Joe twisted a little more. His strength was waning, but it was still enough.

  “All right,” yelled Duggan. “What d’you want?”

  “What time does your dad get home from work?”

  “Why?”

  “Just answer me.” Joe twisted a little more, his strength faltering.

 
; Duggan winced all the same. “Just after four. Why?”

  “I’m coming round for tea tonight.”

  “Eh?”

  “I said I’m coming round for tea. Six o’clock. Got it?”

  “Okay. Okay!”

  Joe let go, and Duggan fell backward, his face a picture of confusion. He didn’t say another word as he stood and jogged to his cronies, rubbing his wrist and frowning at Joe every few paces the whole way.

  At six o’clock, Joe knocked on Duggan’s door.

  “Who’s that?” came a screech from within. “Kurt? Get the door.”

  The door opened, and Kurt Duggan slouched in the doorway with a sour expression that changed instantly to shock when he saw Joe’s face.

  “You!”

  “Yes, me. I’m here for my tea.”

  “But . . . I thought—”

  “Kurt?” screamed a female voice. “Who is it? If that’s your dad and he’s forgotten his keys again, he can sod off!”

  Kurt said nothing as his mother’s slippered feet stomped toward them. Bright makeup that looked like it had been applied with a trowel exaggerated her contoured features. Her beehive peroxide hair brushed the top of the door frame when she approached, and a half-smoked cigarette waggled between her chapped lips as she said, “You selling something?” She looked at the large lantern he held.

  “No, I’m a friend of Kurt’s. He invited me for tea this evening.” Joe offered the lantern, which began radiating a soft blue light through the patterned glass. “This is a present for you. It’s a sort of night-light.”

  She took it. “Aw, ain’t that lovely? Ain’t that lovely, Kurt? Come inside, love, and have a sit-down in the kitchen. Don’t mind the mess. Kurt never told me we was having company tonight.”

  She cuffed her son as they entered the house. A TV blared an Australian soap opera from the room next to the kitchen. Two cats screamed near Joe’s legs as he sat at the table crowded with magazines, cups, and clothes.

  “I didn’t mean to be an inconvenience, Mrs. Duggan.”