The Beasts of Upton Puddle (31 page)

“Really? She's amazing,” said Joe, relieved. “I can't wait to hear how she managed that.”

“There's more. We only know the small amount of information Thumbler passed on to Mrs. Merrynether before he died, but he overheard Redwar talking to his secretary and it seems they have secured an army.”

“He's going to
invade
Pyronesia?”

“It seems likely.”

Joe slumped in his chair. “What are we supposed to do against an army?”

“Nothing. It's what the Pyronesian Conclave will do that we need to worry about.”

“Who?”

“The Conclave are the rulers of the island. If Redwar attacks, it could provoke a terrible war that will reach far beyond the boundaries of Pyronesia.”

Joe shook his head. “Like a world war or something? Are the Pyronesians really that powerful?”

“Yes, like a world war. And, yes, they are very powerful.”

Joe stiffened. “And we have to go there? What are we supposed to do? What will
I
do?”

“There's been a lot of planning, and plenty has been done while you've been asleep.” Danariel smiled. “Come on. It's time you had dinner. I'm sure Veronica will tell you more while you eat.”

Dinner was a strange affair. Joe had never been in the mansion's dining room or tasted any of Mrs. Merrynether's cooking. The room, designed to accommodate extravagant banquets and enthrall its guests with fine art and intriguing sculptures, had long been abandoned for that purpose. There was no question it had been well looked after, but now only one square table was positioned in a corner of the hall, surrounded by the necessities to feed two people. It seemed a very lonely place, and Heinrich's absence was obvious.

When Mrs. Merrynether came into the room with two plates of steaming food, Joe felt something in the atmosphere. Mrs. Merrynether's smile was strained when she set their meal on the table. She sat opposite him.

Joe salivated at the sight of the food, which wasn't roast beef or pork sausages but was smothered in thick gravy and smelled like something from heaven.

“What are these?” Joe prodded at something that
looked like a brown carrot with a yellow tip.

“Try it.”

He pressed into it with his knife and felt the skin split. Clear juices ran out, and Joe loaded his fork with a generous chunk. Usually, he would have been cautious about trying something new, but his hunger gnawed with such persuasion that he thrust it in his mouth and chewed. His taste buds tingled as he munched and the flavors oozed over his tongue. “It's like lamb but with a sort of orangey thing going on.”

“It is rather like lamb, isn't it?” she said, cutting into her own food. “But you won't find any meat on these plates. Not that I'm against eating meat, of course. It's just that we're rather short in the larder at the moment, so I had to improvise with some of the garden vegetables.”

“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.

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.