“Princess Albee gave Dad a French horn,” said Betsy to Mr. Tiger, “which will be useful on his bicycle rounds. And she gave me a gold seahorse—look.”
“A very magical gift indeed,” said Mr. Tiger.
“How is it magical?”
Mr. Tiger blinked his golden eyes.
“If you’re not going to tell me why my seahorse is magical, perhaps you will tell me what your postcard meant now. What is the red rogue wind?”
Mr. Tiger snarled. “Trouble,” he said darkly. “And that’s one thing we do not need the day before the Pap-a-naggy is due to arrive.”
8
When Mr. Tiger came to Mr. Glory’s café on the morning of the great day, he had an air of mystery about him. Betsy had a feeling he was up to something, but what? Dad was about to put Mum in the bathtub when Mr. Tiger let out a low growl.
“I have brought a present for Myrtle,” he said, and threw open the door.
Two Gongalongs tumbled in carrying a most oddly shaped package.
“I was thinking,” said Mr. Tiger, “that when a mermaid tries to live on land she has to rely on others to ferry her about.”
“I don’t mind,” said Dad. “Truly, I don’t.”
“But I do,” said Mum. “I like the water, as there I’m free. Here, my dear Alfonso, you have to do so much for me.”
Dad looked sad.
“Cheer up, Alfonso,” said Mr. Tiger, patting Dad on the back. “Unwrap the present for your mum, Betsy.”
Betsy did and there stood the most extraordinary contraption. It was a sit-up tin bath on wheels with pedals to turn with your hands. It had been painted to look like a mermaid’s tail and was full of salt water. Mum was speechless. So was Dad. Then she burst out laughing.
“Of course,” said Mr. Tiger, “if you don’t like the color it could always be changed.”
“No, no,” said Mum. “This is just what we need.”
As soon as Dad lifted her into the sit-up tin bath she set off out of the café for the harbor. She whizzed this way and that way, with Betsy running behind her giggling.
“Oh, Mr. Tiger,” said Mum when she returned. “This is ideal. Thank you so much.”
“Now tell me,” said Mr. Tiger. “Have we enough ice cream for the day?”
“Yes,” said Betsy, and she called out all the ice-cream names. “We have Ribble Raspberry Wonder, Chocolate Toffee Delight, Lemon Sugar Shocker, Strawberry Sparklers, Popping Peanut Plenties, Myrtle’s Minty Mumbo Marvel, Chocolate Cherry Delight, and Knickerbocker . . .”
“But wait,” said Mr. Tiger. “Haven’t we forgotten the Pap-a-naggy’s special ice cream?”
“No,” said Dad. And he showed Mr. Tiger five buckets filled with an ice cream called Salty Sweet Seaweed. “It’s made to a secret recipe handed down by my late grandfather. He made it the last time the sea dragon visited fifty years ago. He told me it was the sea dragon’s favorite flavor so far.”
“Then everything is shipshape,” said Mr. Tiger.
* * *
That afternoon, Princess Albee joined Mr. Tiger on a specially built platform by the harbor wall and everybody gathered together. All they had to do was wait until the great bell on the bell tower in the marketplace struck two o’clock. Mr. Tiger, being a ringmaster, was put in charge of the ceremony, and at a sign from him, Alfonso Glory blew his French horn. A fountain of water rose into the sky, the sea began to foam, and from it reared the head of the sea dragon followed by his scaly body. It was a terrifying sight, for he was far more majestic than anyone had imagined.
With great delicacy the Pap-a-naggy squeezed past Mr. Tiger’s blue-and-white-striped ship and Princess Albee’s yacht until he stood near the harbor wall.
There was an awkward silence. The kind of silence there is when you meet an ancient aunt and don’t know what to say.
9
Mr. Tiger stepped forward to address the Pap-a-naggy with Betsy holding tight to his paw.
“On behalf of the people of the island left off the map of the world, I welcome you, the great Pap-a-naggy, to our shores,” he said. “We are honored that you have chosen us to look after your egg until it hatches. We will not let you down. We have never let you down. I am certain that this little sea dragon will be the golden apple of his parents’ eyes. I, my gutsy Gongalongs, Princess Albee, and all our island friends will remember this day forever.”
The Gongalongs threw their pointy hats into the air and the islanders cheered. “Hip, hip, hooray!”
The sea dragon didn’t seem to be carrying anything. Betsy wondered if he might have forgotten the egg, for, like everyone else, she imagined a sea dragon’s egg would be huge.
When the Pap-a-naggy opened his scaly talon, there lay an egg no bigger than a hen’s egg. The Pap-a-naggy seemed reluctant to place it on the golden cushion that the mayor held in his very shaky hands. Mr. Tiger gave Betsy a little nudge. She took the cushion from the mayor and bravely held it as still as still could be. Then the Pap-a-naggy put his egg on it and opened his other scaly talon to reveal a garland of silver apple blossoms that he solemnly presented to Princess Albee. As he watched Betsy carry the egg to the town hall, accompanied by the town’s brass band, the Pap-a-naggy let out the most terrible wail. Betsy was back at the harbor before you could say “shimmering shrimps.”
“I think he’s crying,” said Betsy.
“Yes,” said Mum. “It’s hard to leave someone you love.”
“Perhaps he shouldn’t leave it,” said Betsy. “Perhaps he should keep the little egg with him.”
“Unfortunately,” said Mum, “that would be the end of the egg, as they must hatch on land if they are ever going to survive in the sea.”
“Crumble cakes,” said Betsy.
Mum sighed. “Many things are the opposite of what they should be,” she said.
Dad, meanwhile, had put all five buckets of the Salty Sweet Seaweed ice cream into a wheelbarrow and pushed it as close to the sea dragon as he dared.
First the Pap-a-naggy sniffed it, then he put one of his talons in the bucket and licked it for a rather long time.
Suddenly he went from being an unhappy sea dragon to a delighted sea dragon and he began to speak in a language that only Mum understood. “He’s speaking Tangerine,” whispered Mum to Dad and Betsy. “It’s a language spoken mainly by sailors, but there are a few of us in the ocean who understand it.” She began to translate. “He is saying that . . . he has never tasted ice cream as wickedly wonderful as this . . . and that”—Mum laughed—“that the ice cream he had last time he was here tasted disgusting . . . far too salty! This, on the other talon, is perfection.”
Mum continued to giggle while Dad gave a little bow and said thank you to the Pap-a-naggy.
After the last morsel was gone and he had licked the buckets clean, the Pap-a-naggy—to everyone’s amazement—lifted Dad off his feet. Before you could say “sizzling sugar” he had given Dad a hug and put him back on the ground.
The islanders cheered and the brass band played, and the mighty Pap-a-naggy turned, swam out of the harbor, and, whistling a sea shanty, disappeared under the waves.
10
Captain Calico Kettle found the red rogue wind exactly where the smuggler’s book said he would and told his crew to sail straight into it.
“This, my hearties,” he said, “will be a storm to remember.”
The red rogue wind began to puff its cheeks in fury, rain danced shiny over the decks of the Kettle Black, and the further into the storm the ship sailed, the more the red rogue wind raged until waves rose to the size of mountains. The gale turned sails to rags and snapped masts, tearing the rigging into spiderwebs. Thunder roared and rattled, lightning flashed across the elephant-gray sky.
The pirates on the Kettle Black clung on for dear life. Captain Calico Kettle ordered everything but essentials to be thrown overboard. B
arrels, cannonballs, sacks of potatoes all went into the sea, and Septimus was expecting that he and the hens would be next when a gust of wind blew the ship into a wall of water. It swept the boat up and brought it crashing down again. All on board were certain they had hit the rocks, and just when they feared the ship was lost, they found themselves in a kipper-calm sea beneath a picture-book-blue sky. It was quiet except for the call of the seagulls.
“I think,” said Captain Calico Kettle, as he looked through his spyglass, “we be in uncharted waters.”
11
The Kettle Black anchored in a cove on the island left off the map of the world.
“All we need to do now,” said Captain Calico Kettle, “is find the golden apple orchard, then we will be as rich as Croesus.”
“That must be very rich,” said Three-Legged Bill, the boatswain. “There are more creases in the world than anyone can ever iron out.”
But Captain Calico Kettle had a problem. He needed to know where on the island the golden apple orchard grew, and he couldn’t very well ask an islander. He would be spotted as a pirate straightaway.
“Let’s send the powder monkey,” said Three-Legged Bill. “He’s a useless powder monkey but he speaks nicely and scrubs up well.”
The powder monkey was not pleased at being ordered to wash the gunpowder off his face and hands and smarten himself up. But when he realized his mission was to explore the island and make a map of where the golden apple orchard could be found, he cheered up. The boatswain rowed him ashore and watched as the lad set off up the cliff with his notebook and pencil.
All day the captain and crew of the Kettle Black waited for the powder monkey to come back. Captain Calico Kettle’s fuse became shorter and shorter and by the time the powder monkey returned to the ship, night had fallen and the captain’s fuse was about to blow.
The poor lad had hardly climbed aboard before the captain seized him by the collar of his unusually clean shirt.
“Did you find it? Did you find the golden apple orchard? Where is it?”
“Here’s the thing, Captain,” said the powder monkey. “The orchard isn’t actually on the land but under the sea.”
Captain Calico Kettle shook the powder monkey as if to rattle the truth out of him. But the powder monkey had something else to say.
“There’s another thing, Captain. The islanders are looking after an egg.”
“An egg? What sort of egg?”
“I don’t know, it looked like an ordinary sort of egg such as you have for your breakfast, Captain. But the thing is . . .”
“What is this thing? Come to the point, before I . . .”
“They look after the egg until it hatches and they are rewarded with a golden apple.”
“HA!” said the captain.
He called the crew together and bellowed at them in Tangerine.
“I’ve fought the red rogue wind and I will not leave empty-handed. What is our motto? What is our motto, me hearties?”
“Treasure keeps us together,” sang the crew. “No matter whatever, treasure keeps us together.”
“I have a plan,” said Captain Calico Kettle. “A wicked plan. I’m going ashore. Septimus Plank—bring me a hen’s egg.”
12
Septimus’s only friends aboard the Kettle Black were the hens. They had been a sad and scraggy bunch. The old cockerel had lost the spring in his step, the hens were scrawny and suffered from seasickness. Septimus had gone to a lot of effort to make things better for them. The hens had rewarded him by laying beautiful eggs.
He chose the largest egg he could find. It was still warm as he put it in a woolly sock for safekeeping, then went to the captain’s cabin.
“And another thing,” the powder monkey was saying, “is the ice cream.” Septimus expected Captain Calico Kettle to bellow that ice cream didn’t interest him, but a soft expression settled on his face.
“I love ice cream,” he said. “I haven’t had proper ice cream since my mum made it for me when I was a toddler.”
Septimus knew this was a short-lived lull before the wind of the captain’s temper changed. Change it did, and he booted the powder monkey out of his cabin.
“What’s that?” said Captain Calico Kettle, pointing to Septimus’s sock.
“It’s the egg you asked for, sir.”
Septimus explained that the egg would have to be handled with care and perhaps it would be a good idea if he went with the captain to make sure it didn’t break.
“You think the cap’n was born this side of Sunday?” said Three-Legged Bill.
The crew laughed heartily and Captain Calico Kettle held up his wooden hand. Everyone fell silent except for the gulls.
“You’re fond of the hens, aren’t you?” the captain said to Septimus.
“They’re family to me,” said Septimus.
The captain looked long and hard at Septimus Plank. Captain Calico Kettle had to admit that if his one and only good hand was holding the egg, it would be tricky to hold his cutlass as well. And then how would he ward off an attack?
After about three seconds he agreed that Septimus should come with him. But if he tried any funny stuff, the hens would be made to walk the plank.
The sun had set rose-petal red and the sky was pulling its midnight-blue velvet cloth over the day.
Just as the lights went out in the town and all the islanders had fallen fast asleep, Captain Calico Kettle and the pastry chef arrived on shore.
13
That night it was the turn of the harbormaster to guard the egg.
He was so sure that everything was fine and dandy that he had fallen asleep. After all, nothing bad ever happened on the island that had been left off the map of the world. None of the islanders ever locked their doors or windows. Nothing had ever been stolen. The harbormaster was soon dreaming of ships with golden sails.
* * *
Captain Calico Kettle ordered Septimus Plank to take off his shoes. “My tiptoeing days are over,” said the captain. “Now, lad, you know what to do. And remember, no hanky-panky or those hens walk the plank.”
Septimus tiptoed up the steps to the town hall and was surprised to find the doors unlocked, and even more surprised to discover in the middle of the marble foyer a man asleep in a chair beside the egg. It was dark and it took a while for Septimus to realize that next to the egg was an egg timer. Carefully he took the hen’s egg out of his sock and swapped it with the egg on the golden cushion. He wondered why anyone would be guarding an egg. That was odd. But the egg timer would be jolly useful. He slipped it into his pocket and crept toward the door. He was about to leave when the lights on a yacht in the harbor lit up and there on the deck stood a young woman. She was as pretty as a picture and as delicate as a china cup. Septimus’s heart gave a leap.
“Come on,” hissed Captain Calico Kettle, who was waiting at the foot of the steps.
They had quite a way to walk back to the rowing boat that was waiting in the cove. All Septimus could think about was the lovely creature he had seen on the yacht. As the oars skimmed the water he wished upon a star that he might one day have a chance to meet her.
Captain Calico Kettle was very pleased with the night’s work.
“They will only have the egg back if they give me a crate—no, two crates—no, make that three crates—of golden apples.”
14
As nothing had ever been stolen before on the island left off the map of the world, it never crossed the harbormaster’s mind, or anyone else’s, that it was strange that the egg timer had disappeared. Everybody bent over backward to say that perhaps it had been forgotten, or that it had never been there in the first place. And, of course, it didn’t occur to the harbormaster that anything had happened to the sea dragon’s egg, for the hen’s egg was much the same size and color.
Mr. Tiger had known something was wrong the moment he’d
woken up, for his tail twitched and his whiskers prickled him.
“Egg timers don’t go missing,” he growled to himself as he ate his breakfast at Mr. Glory’s café.
His pocket watch was of no use. The red rogue wind was wreaking havoc with its tick-tock timings. Perhaps, he thought, Betsy might have heard or seen something unusual. He was about to ask when he was distracted by Mum’s clicking knitting, which often ties tigers’ thoughts in tangles.
She cast off the final stitch.
“Put this on, Betsy,” she said.
Betsy did. Whatever it was supposed to be, it looked a mess. It was far too long, it was incredibly itchy, it went over her head and her face, and she couldn’t see where she was going. Worse still, she couldn’t hear a word of what was being said. Everyone sounded as if they were talking underwater. Betsy pulled down the headpiece.
“Mum,” she said. “This doesn’t fit.”
“It’s not meant to. Not yet,” said Mum.
“It looks perfectly well made,” Mr. Tiger purred. “I can’t see any dropped stitches.”
“There are none,” said Mum. “I made sure there were no holes.”
Not even Dad said a word about the garment not fitting or looking stupid.
“Well,” he said, “I suppose we’d better get on with it.”
“On with what?” asked Betsy. “You don’t mean I have to go out in this?”
Dad nodded.
Betsy had no idea why anyone thought this was a good plan. Everyone would laugh at her.
Mr. Tiger, Betsy, and the Sea Dragon Page 2