Mr. Tiger picked up his walking stick, Dad sat Betsy on the edge of Mum’s tin bath, and they made a strange little procession as they went down to the quayside.
First, Dad helped Mum into the sea and then lifted Betsy off the tin bath.
“Wait a minute,” said Betsy. “If I go in the water wearing this, I’ll drown.”
“No, you won’t,” said Mum. “Pull it up—right over your head.”
Betsy was about to say a whole load of buts when she found herself being handed down to Mum and disappearing under the water.
Then something happened.
Something that Betsy couldn’t ever have imagined happening. The knitted garment that had been itchy and scratchy and too big began to shrink until it fitted her like skin.
All the stitches became translucent, and looking down, she realized that her legs were encased in a mermaid’s tail.
Mum beamed.
“You see?” she said. “I was just waiting for the right knitting needles.”
Usually when Betsy was underwater everything sounded strange and bubbly. Now it was tin-can clear.
Her vision underwater was as crystal sharp as if she were on land.
“Oh, crumble cakes,” said Betsy. “This is fantastic, Mum!”
It took Betsy a little time to swim like a mermaid and get used to the fact she didn’t have to go up for air.
We, the letters of the alphabet, would like to give a warning here and say that no such suit as the one that Betsy has can be found on the map of the world, and no one on the map of the world should try to do this. For a start, we doubt if their mothers are mermaids or if any of them have the right knitting needles.
On with the story.
Being underwater and not having to worry about goggles or breathing meant there was a whole glorious world that Betsy had never noticed before. The shells glimmered, the fish shimmered, and everyone knew Mum, even the shrimps.
“Is that your daughter?” said a seahorse. “Well, I never—she looks just like you.”
A dozing octopus woke and waved its tentacles as they swam past. “Oh, Myrtle, what a suit you have knitted. Will the dear darling be living here with us now?”
“No,” said Mum.
“Good to see you both,” said a turtle. “Have you heard the news?”
“What news?” said Mum.
“The news swimming toward you,” said the turtle.
And that was when they saw him: a merboy with bright blue hair.
“Aunty Myrtle,” he called. “It’s Floss—Floss Grimm, your nephew.”
“I know perfectly well who you are,” said Mum. “What I don’t know is what you’re doing here.”
Floss Grimm didn’t reply. He was staring at his cousin.
“Wow, Betsy—I’ve never seen a suit like that. You look terrific—you swim just like a mermaid.”
15
Dad and Mr. Tiger were very surprised when they went to help Mum and Betsy out of the sea to find Floss Grimm with them. “Hi, Uncle Alfonso,” said Floss Grimm.
Betsy noticed that he said it in a way that sounded as if he had been expected at the café all along. Dad picked him up. It was only when they got back to the café and Betsy had taken off her suit and carefully hung it up that she realized how much trouble Floss Grimm was in. Mum said that her sister Coral, Floss Grimm’s mum, would be furious when she found out that Floss was not at Dolphin Summer School.
Floss explained that he had had quite enough of Dolphin School, as it was very serious and the dolphins didn’t play games, the food was horrible, and they never ever had ice cream.
That made Mum laugh.
“Please don’t send me back,” said Floss.
“For the time being,” said Mum, “you are our guest.”
Dad brought Floss a bucket of water.
That night they were invited to supper on Mr. Tiger’s blue-and-white-striped ship, where Mum and Floss could bathe in the swimming pool on deck.
Floss Grimm had never seen Gongalongs. After supper the tiny acrobats in their brightly colored clothes and pointy hats put on a show. They spun and flew through the air, up the mast and down, walking a high wire stretched between the masts, four at a time, one on top of the other.
“I’m so pleased I came,” Floss whispered to Betsy. “Even though I’ll be in deep water when my mum hears.”
Betsy was so busy talking to Floss that she didn’t notice Mr. Tiger studying his pocket watch. He had seen in its glass a misty image of a skull-and-crossbones flag flying, which could mean only one thing. She heard him growl.
“What is it?” she asked, turning to look at him.
“Pirates,” said Mr. Tiger. “Pesky pirates.”
16
On the Kettle Black the pirates were busy repairing the storm damage. Septimus, thanks to the egg timer, had for the first time cooked a perfect egg for the captain’s breakfast.
Captain Calico Kettle was in a good mood—if such a hard-boiled pirate could ever be in a good mood. “Where’s the other egg?” he asked.
“I have it safe in my sock, in my pocket, sir,” said Septimus.
The captain held out his one good hand.
Septimus didn’t want to let the egg go. He felt connected to it. He had never felt like this about an egg before.
He took the egg out of his sock and they both stared at it. There was no doubt—the egg had grown. It was bigger than a goose’s egg. No one could possibly mistake it for a hen’s egg.
“It’s grown overnight, sir,” said Septimus.
The captain bellowed for the powder monkey.
“Did you tell me everything you heard on the island? Think, lad, think hard. Was there anything else?”
The powder monkey screwed up his face. “Well, Captain, there was another thing, actually.”
“What thing—actually?”
“A sort of festival thing. It’s called the Festival of the Sea Dragon.”
“Why didn’t you say that before, you warbling weevil eater?” said the captain, and he threw the powder monkey out of his cabin.
“I think, Septimus Plank, that we might have hit the bull’s-eye. I think this be a sea dragon’s egg.”
Captain Calico Kettle danced a jig on the spot.
“Now, lad, you’re going to write a letter addressed to the big-wig of the island and say if they want the sea dragon’s egg back, then they must send me a crate of golden apples. No, make that two. But then again, two is not a number I am that fond of, so make it three crates of golden apples.”
Septimus began to write.
Dear Sir,
Help. My name is Septimus Plank. I am not a pirate. I have been kidnapped. I have the sea dragon’s egg safe in my sock. Please rescue my hens and me. The Kettle Black can be found if you turn left out of the town and then go straight on until you come to the cliff, then turn right toward the sea and it’s in the cove.
Thank you in advance.
Yours faithfully,
S Plank (pastry chef)
The captain counted the words. “There are more of them than I thought would be needed,” he said. “This one”—he pointed to the word “Help”—“what is it? I’m sure I know it.”
“Hen,” said Septimus weakly.
“I may not be able to read,” said Captain Calico Kettle, “but I know when an egg boiler is trying to scuttle my plans.” He balled up Septimus’s letter. “Do you think I’m a ship’s biscuit short of a tin? You’ll never hornswoggle me, my lad. I’m not called Captain Calico Kettle for nothing. You and your hens will walk the plank . . .”
“But, Captain . . .”
Captain Calico Kettle held up his hand. “You will walk the plank tomorrow morning—just as soon as you’ve boiled my breakfast egg.”
17
&n
bsp; The following morning, Mr. Tiger had his breakfast egg at Mr. Glory’s café with Princess Albee.
The princess thought that as it was such a lovely day, she might go for a ride. Her yacht had stabling on board and she had brought her little white pony with her.
“I’ll be back in time for an ice-cream tea,” she said.
Mr. Tiger’s tail twitched and his whiskers prickled him—he felt something was wrong. But he didn’t want to worry the princess. He took out his pocket watch and still he could not make stripes or dots of it. It showed a picture of a chicken. He’d decided he should ask the harbormaster some questions about the missing egg timer when Dad came downstairs carrying Floss Grimm, who’d spent the night in the bathroom. Betsy slid down the banister, carrying her mermaid suit, and, as usual, landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs.
“Can I go for a swim with Floss, Dad?” she called.
Dad was helping Floss into the old baby carriage that he had spent most of the night making watertight so Floss could be pushed about in it on land. Just then, the bells in the tower in the marketplace began to ring. It was the sort of ring that only happened in an emergency.
Mr. Tiger, Betsy, and Dad rushed to see what was going on. Unfortunately, Dad forgot to put the brake on the baby carriage, which rolled gently down to the quayside and stopped with a bump, tipping Floss over the harbor wall.
When Dad caught up with the baby carriage, Floss was in the sea.
“Don’t worry, Uncle Alfonso, I wanted a morning swim.”
“I can go with him, Dad, can’t I?” asked Betsy.
Dad was all in a fluster and said, “Yes.” No sooner was the word out of his mouth than she had slipped into her mermaid suit and disappeared into the sea. Dad didn’t have time to worry because Mrs. Rose, the lady from the flower shop, came running from the town hall.
“It’s a chicken! It’s a chicken,” she shouted. “The sea dragon’s egg has hatched, and it’s a chicken!”
Mr. Tiger strode into the town hall and there, on the golden cushion, surrounded by broken eggshell, sat a fluffy yellow chick.
“That is definitely not a sea dragon,” said Mr. Tiger.
The mayor, still in his pajamas, came downstairs from his flat to see what the fuss was about.
“Oh no,” he said. “Oh, no, no, no. This is a calamity. What could possibly have gone wrong? Do you think the sea dragon made a mistake? What are we going to tell him when he comes to collect his baby? We can’t present him with a chick. No, no, no. I will have to resign.”
“Something rotten is going on,” said Mr. Tiger. “Fortunately, Mr. Mayor, I have aboard my ship a hot-air balloon. I think now might be the time to take it out for an airing.”
Mum had come from the café in her contraption and found Dad at the town-hall steps.
“Where are Betsy and Floss?” she asked.
“Oh, they went for a swim. But, Myrtle, the sea dragon egg has hatched and it’s a chicken.”
“No,” said Mum. “That’s impossible.”
“Unless,” said Mr. Tiger as he joined them, “the egg has been poached.”
“Poached?” said Dad.
“Yes, poached—stolen—by someone who has been on the island and shouldn’t have been. I intend to find out who it was.”
“Alfonso,” said Mum, “help me into the sea. Someone must keep an eye on Betsy and Floss Grimm. You go with Mr. Tiger.” And she vanished beneath the waves.
“Come along, Alfonso,” said Mr. Tiger. “There’s not a moment to lose.”
“Oh dear,” said Dad as the Gongalongs inflated the hot-air balloon. “I don’t like heights.”
“I feel much the same about pirates,” said Mr. Tiger.
“Pirates?” said Dad. “They never come this way.”
18
Septimus had been allowed to cook supper the night before, which the pirates thought was rather good. While he was preparing the meal, the sea dragon’s egg started to hatch. Septimus couldn’t believe his eyes. By the time he’d finished serving the lemon meringue pie, standing on the countertop in the galley was the sweetest little sea dragon you have ever seen. Not that Septimus had ever seen a sea dragon before, sweet or otherwise. He put out his hand, and the little sea dragon jumped onto it and, taking the pastry chef’s sleeve in his tiny claws, began to suck it. Oh dear, thought Septimus. What should I feed it on? He wondered if it would like a few crumbs of pastry. But it was at this moment that Three-Legged Bill came to take Septimus to the hold. Septimus quickly took off his pastry chef’s hat and put it over the baby sea dragon to hide it.
“And then it’s the plank for you in the morning, lad,” said the boatswain. “Soon as the cap’n’s had his egg.”
“Surely it would be best if I washed up,” said Septimus, “before you take me to the hold?”
As no pirate likes washing up, Septimus was given another fifteen minutes of freedom. When he’d finished, he put the largest of the hens’ eggs in the sock while trying to explain to the hens and the baby sea dragon that tomorrow he had to walk the plank and that he wouldn’t see them again because he couldn’t swim. And this is the strangest bit: The hens and the baby sea dragon seemed to get the drift of what was going to happen.
* * *
Septimus spent the night in the hold and next morning boiled his last egg for Captain Calico Kettle with the baby sea dragon perched on his head, out of sight under his pastry chef’s hat. For some reason he didn’t understand, he popped the egg timer into his pocket.
When the time came, the hens and the cockerel followed him up on deck. Septimus was blindfolded and his hands tied behind his back. It became clear that Captain Calico Kettle expected the hens to walk the plank, and Three-Legged Bill, with much sighing and grumbling, had to blindfold them, too.
“Wait!” shouted the captain. “Where is the sock with the sea dragon’s egg in it?”
“In the galley, Cap’n,” said the boatswain, and he sent a deckhand to fetch it.
Septimus was at the very end of the plank when Captain Calico Kettle let out a terrible cry.
“This is the WRONG EGG—come back here, you landlubbing louse.”
Septimus did the only thing he could. He jumped. And so did the hens and so did the cockerel.
19
Mum caught up with Betsy and Floss. She found Betsy dawdling, astonished by the beauty of everything she saw.
“Come on and stay close to me. You too, Floss. Someone’s switched the sea dragon’s egg for a hen’s egg and it’s hatched into a chick. Whoever stole the egg may be out here somewhere.”
In spite of this shocking news, Betsy was still enjoying the novelty of being able to breathe underwater, see underwater, and hear underwater. Mum and Floss knew there was no point in trying to hurry her.
They passed the jagged rocks where the crabs and shrimps lived. Above them, the sun glittered, making diamonds on the water, and that was when they saw the barnacled hull of a ship, anchored in the cove.
“That’s a ship that shouldn’t be here,” said Mum.
Floss wanted to go closer to have a better look. But Mum held him back. On the seabed she had seen the shadow of a wobbly figure standing above them on a plank. Mum called to Floss and Betsy to get out of the way just as the figure fell, like a stone, into the sea. Mum, Betsy, and Floss saw it was a young man wearing a blindfold and a pastry chef’s hat. He was followed by one blindfolded hen, then another. Then another and another and another.
“Quick, Floss,” said Betsy. “The hens will drown if we don’t save them.”
No sooner had each hen hit the water than Betsy or Floss caught it and took the startled bird to shore. Luckily for Septimus, his being rather small was a great help, as Mum was able to rescue him and pull him into the shallows. She untied the rope that bound his hands and from there he crawled, spluttering, onto the beach, clutching his hat to
his head with one hand.
If Myrtle had been alone she would have asked him why he had been made to walk the plank. It was clear to her that it was a pirate ship he’d jumped from, as it was flying a skull and crossbones.
The Jolly Roger, thought Mum, is anything but jolly. And Betsy could easily be captured—she hadn’t yet won her water wings.
“Come along, both of you,” said Mum as they started to swim back to the harbor. Betsy was beginning to tire. “Jump on, Betsy,” she said, and gave her a piggyback all the way home.
It was only when they reached the harbor that Mum and Betsy realized Floss Grimm was nowhere to be seen.
20
Septimus had pulled off the blindfold and wondered if he was dreaming. Had he been saved by a mermaid? He’d sat on the beach, dazed, and watched as two mer-children, one with purple hair, the other with blue hair, had rescued all his hens.
The mermaid, who also had purple hair, had called to him.
“The tide is coming in. There are steps in the third cave on the right. They will take you to the top of the cliff.”
And with a flick of her tail she’d gone.
Septimus Plank counted his blessings and his hens. The baby sea dragon crawled out from under his hat and licked his face. Septimus decided that apart from being soaked, the baby sea dragon and the hens had suffered no ill effects. He set off up the shingle beach toward the cave that the mermaid had pointed out. The baby sea dragon sat on his shoulder and Septimus noticed that it had doubled in size since it had hatched. The hens and the cockerel followed, clucking quietly.
The cave was dark. Sticky-toffee dark. But the baby sea dragon’s eyes lit up like lamps and Septimus was able to see the steps. On and on and on they went, twisting and turning in the rock. It was a slow old journey. Septimus had to keep stopping to wait for the hens, as some of them were not as sprightly as they might have been. Finally, they were rewarded with sunshine.
Mr. Tiger, Betsy, and the Sea Dragon Page 3