The Beasts of Upton Puddle

by Simon West-Bulford

  “This is a vegetable?”

  “We call it flubbage. Its proper name is Flatulensia stenchorendous. Be careful not to cut into the—”

  A wet raspberry noise ripped through Mrs. Merrynether’s words as Joe’s fork pierced the yellow end.

  “Bulb,” she finished.

  “It . . . It farted!” Joe stared at it, shocked.

  “Yes, rather embarrassing at dinner parties. I tend to avoid serving them usually, but they taste wonderful, and as I said, we’re rather short at the moment.”

  Joe pushed the offensive vegetable to the side of his plate and tentatively cut into what he hoped was a potato. He wondered if it might scream, squeal, or perform some other offensive act. “Don’t tell me these come from Pyronesia too?”

  “Absolutely. Flubbage grows around the cliffs on the north side of the island. Very nutritious. Rich in fiber but a bit gassy.”

  Joe nodded and bit into his potato, relieved to discover it actually was a potato. “So, speaking of Pyronesia, Danariel said we have to go there to stop Redwar.”

  Mrs. Merrynether’s smile fell. “Yes.”

  “She said he has an army.”

  “Thumbler said that, yes.”

  “And Danariel said something about the Conclave going to war if he provokes them.”

  Mrs. Merrynether stared at her food, avoiding Joe’s eyes. “That’s very likely, yes.”

  “And are you going to let me know where I fit into all this?” Joe felt unnecessarily angry, as if he sensed Mrs. Merrynether was hiding the truth from him. A slight tremble altered his voice as he continued, “Danariel said I had a destiny, but if Redwar and the rulers of Pyronesia are going to start up some big war, what am I supposed to do about it? I don’t even know anything about this island or who lives there, and I’ve only ever seen armies on the TV.”

  “Joseph—”

  “Why me? Aunt Rose got kidnapped, and I . . . I ran away. Redwar almost killed Danariel because of me, because I didn’t listen to Heinrich, and now even he’s gone because of me.”

  “Heinrich betrayed us, Joseph,” she said quietly. “You did the right thing by telling me. It’s a lot easier to stay quiet than to stand up for what’s right. What you did was very brave.”

  “I don’t feel brave. Like I said, I ran away when they took Aunt Rose.”

  “Sometimes running away is the brave thing. Did you want to stay and help?”

  Joe hesitated as tears blurred his vision. “No. I wanted to run.”

  “But did you run because you were scared or because you knew you couldn’t help?”

  “I . . . don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. But right now you’re scared. You hate the idea that your destiny is connected with this war, and you think you can’t help, so it’s easier to convince yourself you’re a coward and turn away. But you’re not a coward, Joseph. You can’t turn away.”

  Joe said nothing.

  “The truth is that I don’t know what’s going to happen. But what I do know is that if a war starts on Pyronesia, it won’t stop there. The whole world will be a ball of ash in less than a year, and if Danariel and her people think you have a part to play in preventing that, I think we should trust her . . . We have to go.”

  Joe sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I do trust her.”

  “Then you’ll go?”

  “It’s better than school.” Joe managed a smile. “How do we get there? You said you don’t even know how to find it.”

  “I rather hoped Danariel would be able to tell us. After all, she lived on the island for a very long time before she came here.”

  “Did you meet her on the island? Danariel told me she knew Heinrich before she came to Upton Puddle.”

  Mrs. Merrynether took a long drink from her wineglass. “What else did she tell you?”

  “Nothing. We didn’t get to finish our conversation.”

  She took a deep breath. “Good.” She breathed out. “That’s a story for another day. Now finish up your food. I’ve got something to show you in the garden that will help us get to Pyronesia. I think you’ll like it.”

  The rest of the meal passed with lighter conversation. Mrs. Merrynether filled Joe in on other things that happened while he was asleep: Flarp’s eyesight was improving now that she’d got the balance right for his new ointment. Kiyoshi was not cured of his sleeping fits, but she found just the right herbs to direct some of the kappa’s strength into keeping his head flap shut. No more precious fluid would be leaking from his cranial vent. Even Snappel’s fiery hiccups were cured; she simply needed a different brand of apples.

  Joe listened intently, and after mopping up the last drops of gravy on a thick slice of bread, he rubbed his belly, satisfied and ready for the surprise in the garden.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Mrs. Merrynether’s garden looked a little less manicured than it had last time. The grass was longer, and the flowers were wilted as though they were heavy with apathy. Still the garden had a grandeur that demanded a certain reverence. Had it not been for Redwar’s ugly tower spoiling the view beyond the trees, the garden may have even looked cheerful.

  Mrs. Merrynether and Joe walked past the glasshouse, and Joe couldn’t help but admire the vine-covered statues again: huge creatures frozen in stone and set on a wide plinth—manticores, seraphim, dragons, and Joe even recognized a wyvern this time, though it had been made to look much less magnificent than the dragons.

  “Who made those?” Joe asked.

  Mrs. Merrynether stopped and nodded toward the stone figures. “Those?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ahhhh.” She smiled wistfully. “A very old friend. He died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry. I bet whoever it was must have come from Pyronesia, right?”

  Mrs. Merrynether sucked in her bottom lip. “And how would you know that?”

  Joe pointed at the manticore. “That really looks like Cornelius. Whoever sculpted these knew exactly what a manticore looks like, and there aren’t many of those in the London Zoo.”

  “Good point. Do you like them?”

  “I love them. Especially that one.” He pointed to the central statue with the magnificent dragon looking skyward and the seraph doing the same. He was just about to ask if dragons really looked like that when his eyes fell on the creatures ringing the perimeter of the plinth, sprinkling water at the dragon’s clawed feet. His stomach knotted as he realized he’d seen them before for real. “Mrs. Merrynether, what are those things?

  “Those sad-looking creatures?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’re called squonks. Oddly enough, you won’t find many of those on Pyronesia, but there are lots of them populating the surrounding islands.”

  “I’ve seen some,” said Joe, his voice cheerless as he recalled the events in Redwar’s vault.

  “Redwar Industries?”

  “Yes, how did you—?”

  “Something else Thumbler told me before he died. Squonks are dejected enough creatures already, even without Redwar’s torture cells. There’s a very old legend about how the ancient dragons from an age long ago tried to make themselves into the most beautiful creatures on the earth. Dragons are proud beasts, powerful but vain, and they hated imperfection of any kind. So much so that they vomited out their ugliness and created the squonks.”

  “That’s gross!”

  “Yes. The story goes that the squonks were so distraught by how they looked that they spent all their lives crying, and that’s how the oceans of the world were created—by the tears of the squonks. Most of them melted into the sea, and the rest fled to the outer islands in fear of their creators, the dragons.”

  “That’s so horrible.”

  She patted Joe’s shoulder. “It’s just an old story the Pyronesians used to tell to explain why the squonks are the way they are.”

  “One of them helped me escape from Redwar.”

  “Yes, they may be pitiful creatures, but they are good-natured.”

/>   Joe sighed. “I wish I could help them escape.”

  “Maybe you will one day. But for now, we have a bigger priority.”

  “Pyronesia.”

  “Yes. We need to leave as soon as we can. The quicker you come with me, the quicker we’ll get there. Come on.” She winked.

  Mrs. Merrynether led Joe through a rickety gate at the far end of the garden. They passed through a field of grazing animals that looked like cows but with long, floppy ears and tiger-striped hides.

  “Norblers,” Mrs. Merrynether casually informed him.

  They walked into another field surrounded on all sides by tall poplar trees. In the center was the most peculiar and amazing vehicle Joe had ever seen.

  “That has to be Lilly’s work.” Joe grinned.

  “Spot on. Take a look.”

  Joe, unable to contain his excitement, burst into a sprint toward it, laughing as he ran, taking in every bolt, strap, wheel, handle, knob, and gadget holding the enormous machine together.

  The whole thing, taller even than Merrynether Mansion from its exquisitely curved base to the tip of its giant mast, had been constructed almost entirely of varnished wood and brass. It reminded Joe of the HMS Victory—Nelson’s breathtaking flagship that he’d seen on a trip to Plymouth when he was just six years old. It was a piece of history that pulled in hordes of awestruck tourists every day. In the center of Mrs. Mer-rynether’s field, this ship, not supported by ocean waves but by a genius work of wooden scaffolding, looked even more impressive.

  Along the upper gun deck where a Viking longboat might have secured its oars, Joe marveled at six dragon- like wings made from shaved tree trunks and leather membrane. They swept outward in pairs from either side of the ship, flat against the grass like giant waxy flippers. A ring of decorative black cylinders like cannons poked from the back of the ship where Joe expected to see a rudder or propeller; he guessed they had more to do with propulsion than weaponry, though he had no idea what might be used to power them.

  A vivid image of this titanic machine, steered by those massive wings, hurtling through stormy clouds and leaving a fiery jet stream in its wake, burst into his mind’s eye. But how could this behemoth even get off the ground? Joe found his answer when he looked farther behind the ship. Extending from the back, almost reaching the trees bordering one part of Ringwood Forest, a tangle of ropes led to the deflated form of the largest air balloon he’d ever seen. As if to remind everyone who had built this amazing piece of workmanship, the canvas had been dyed in green, white, and orange stripes, ready to proudly reveal the Irish flag once it had been inflated.

  “Awesome,” Joe shouted as he ran up a ramp to the quarterdeck. A huge cabin, almost the size of Mrs. Merrynether’s vault, had been built into the stern with barred windows that revealed tentacles and bulbous eyes from within. The familiar odors of Mrs. Merrynether’s vault wafted on the breeze from the cabin, and Joe realized all the animals had been moved into this enormous sky boat while he’d been asleep in the mansion.

  “Awesome,” Joe said again.

  For a fleeting moment, he glimpsed movement just behind him to his left. He spun round, convinced he’d spotted a sleeping cluricaun using a beer bottle as a pillow, but all he could see was the empty container spinning slowly in a small puddle.

  “Lilly?” said Joe. “Where are you? This is . . . This is . . . awesome! I know you’re good, but how did you build it so fast?”

  Mrs. Merrynether climbed onto the deck to join Joe. Archy the pig trotted out from behind a coil of rope to receive an ear-scratching from his keeper.

  “I think you’ll find Lilly had a little help from his drinking friends,” Mrs. Merrynether said with a cheeky smile. “They did have a good incentive, though.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing much. Danariel told him that the world’s oldest brewery and distillery was in danger of destruction and that if he helped out, the owners would make sure he had all the whiskey he could ever drink in ten lifetimes. It’s not so far from the truth. They make a very interesting drink on Pyronesia that is a lot like whiskey, and if a war does break out, nowhere on the island will be safe—including the distillery.”

  Taking in the spectacle, Joe said, “It’s like a modern-day Noah’s ark.”

  Mrs. Merrynether walked toward the cabin. A sailor’s wheel had been positioned on a platform just in front of it. Directly in the center of the large wheel, an envelope had been attached.

  “What’s this?” she said, opening the envelope and pulling out a letter. She read it and handed it to Joe. “A parting message from you-know-who.”

  Joe read it, imagining the little red face and the angry eyes.

  Dear losers,

  The boys and I spent many a long hour building your stupid machine when we could have been drinking. may she fly high, sail fast, and rain down a fiery and painful death on the filthy philistines that dare to deprive the world of a fine brew.

  Yours truly,

  Lilly

  “Have you seen the name plate?” said Mrs. Merrynether. “I think it’s in honor of you.”

  Joe walked to the cabin door to read the brass plaque nailed above: The Copper Celt.

  “Me?” He brushed his fingers across the shiny finish. “He’s put my name on it?”

  “I told you he liked you, didn’t I?”

  “I didn’t think he liked anyone.”

  “Well, I think this proves otherwise. Are you ready to take her on her maiden voyage?”

  “Do cluricauns like to drink?” Joe grinned. “What are we waiting for?”

  “Well, one or two things,” she said, pointing down into the opposite side of the field.

  Joe had been wondering where the others were. Now he knew what two of them were doing. Cornelius, the fearless manticore, was galloping like a frightened kitten away from Snappel, the wyvern.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just watch. It’s been quite entertaining.”

  The great reptile bounded awkwardly after Cornelius, half hopping on her claws and half flying, her wings raking through the air. After a few skips, the wyvern stopped, belched fire, and splayed her wings outward, the black skin stretching taut between the bones. Like a blanket trapped in a powerful gust of wind, the wings fluttered and made a loud ruffling noise. Cornelius had stopped to watch and catch his breath as Snappel strutted like the dominant rooster in a farmyard, roaring and flapping, but the manticore only had a few moments to rest. After another flourish of her wings, the huge lizard strode after Cornelius again, gathering pace with each heavy thump of her claws, and the manticore galloped away, bellowing as the chase began again.

  “That’s been going on all afternoon,” said Mrs. Merrynether. “I think she’s feeling a little amorous.”

  “She fancies Cornelius?” Joe laughed.

  “He is rather a magnificent beast, though, don’t you think?”

  “But she’s a wyvern.”

  “There are some cases where different species can breed, you know. Tigers and lions, for example.”

  “Yeah, but they’re both cats. That’s . . . that’s a reptile.” Joe motioned to Snappel who had again settled into her extravagant courting display. “How long will it go on?”

  “Oh, not for much longer. Danariel will be out in a minute to put a stop to it. She’s been getting the last of our occupants settled into the ship. Sorry, she has a name now, doesn’t she? The Copper Celt.”

  “Are Kiyoshi, Flarp, and his friend already on board?”

  “Present and accounted for,” came the squeaky voice of Kiyoshi as he waddled in from the cabin doorway. “Our cycloptic friends will be making our acquaintance shortly.”

  “Good,” said Mrs. Merrynether. “And is Danariel nearly finished? We need her to deal with Snappel. I don’t want them too worn out. We need both of them to drive the wings.”

  “She sent me to inform you that all preparations are now complete. We may begin our quest.”

  “So
when Cornelius and Snappel are on board, we can leave?” Joe asked.

  “Absolutely,” said Mrs. Merrynether. “Look. There she goes now.”

  Joe looked back toward the insane courting ritual. Danariel had entered the scene with a flood of silver-blue light, flitting between the exasperated manticore and the lovesick wyvern. The seraph weaved a hypnotic spiral in front of Snappel until the distraction lured her in the direction of the Copper Celt. Cornelius took cautious steps a few paces behind.

  A minute later, all three had stepped onto the deck. Snappel had apparently curbed her affection for the time being and was now more interested in the ropes attached to the balloon.

  Joe dropped to his knees and stretched his arms toward the shaggy red beast. “Come here, Cornelius.”

  Cornelius trotted to bash his great head into Joe’s cheek and receive a hug. Joe scratched behind one of his ears, and as he dug his fingers into the soft fur, he saw Flarp rush out of nowhere. The slimy globble whipped around in a tight circle, with even more childish excitement than usual, sending rivulets of green grunge outward like a lawn sprinkler.

  “Welcome aboard.” Danariel beamed at Joe and landed gracefully on the tip of the sailor’s wheel. “Ready to go?”

  “Whenever you are.” Joe let the manticore go and got to his feet. “How do we get this thing moving?”

  “Lilly left a few instructions, which I read this morning. Snappel is dealing with the first part of takeoff. Flarp here will help me with navigation . . . Flarp?”

  Flarp rushed to the very tip of the Copper Celt, followed by his companion globble, and plopped onto the end of a long pole that stretched out ahead. It was the most bizarre figurehead Joe had ever seen.

  Claws scraped the deck behind him, and Joe turned to see Snappel stooping over Kiyoshi. Her long black tongue reached into the kappa’s cranial vent and scooped out a generous dollop of kappa juice.

  “Kiyoshi will need to rest awhile to recover,” Danariel told the rest of them, “but it will make Snappel’s job far easier.”