The Beasts of Upton Puddle (9 page)

The constant whining of caged dogs competed with the moan of overworked air-conditioning units, and the throat-choking reek of ferrets saturated the air. It was a place widely avoided and detested by all the employees, not least Redwar. The law stated that companies in his line of business had to test their products on animals, and though Redwar despised that law, it was not because of any moral objections.

Redwar stopped to look inside one of the cages and traded a glare with a chimpanzee. It rocked from side to
side, blowing raspberries at its captor.

“Not happy in there? Well, I'm not happy about paying to keep you either. If I had my way, you'd be back in a jungle somewhere, hiding from hunters in the trees and dodging bullets.”

The chimp grinned, looked around at nothing in particular, then held out an open hand through the bars of his cage.

“No, George!” A pale stick of a man came rushing out from among the employees. “You mustn't do that to Mr. Redwar.” Then with a whisper, “He doesn't like animals.”

“Are you Gumble?” snapped Redwar.

“Yes, sir. Arthur Gumble—the animal block supervisor. I do apologize for George's behavior. He thought you were going to feed him. He likes—”

“Never mind that. Let's get this over with. I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

“Of course, sir. This way. We've moved her to the quarantine area.”

Gumble hurried to the end of the room and held a pass card against a reader in the wall next to a set of double doors. The doors swung inwards with a hiss, and the skinny man beckoned Redwar and Burrowdown inside. A cacophony of barking and howling assaulted them as they entered, but the noise came from only three animals, all of them dogs. Most of the other cages were empty.

“Can't you do anything about this infernal
stench, Gumble?” Redwar covered his nose.

“I'm sorry, sir. Bessy has an infection, so—”

“Never mind. Where's . . . where's . . .” Redwar twirled his free hand in frustration.

“Lucy?”

“Yes, yes, Lucy. What's the matter with her?”

“Here she is.” Gumble pointed to a sullen beagle in the cage closest to him.

“Well? What's wrong with her?” Redwar barked.

“We don't know, sir. She's on our most important trial, but she's very sick. Toxicology reports show—”

“Is the testing making her ill?”

“No, no. I was just about to say that this has nothing to do with the trial, Mr. Redwar. But if we aren't able to help her soon, it may affect the results. Four years of—”

“You have qualified vets here, don't you, Gumble? Why are you involving me in this?”

“None of our vets have been able to help. I need your authorization to go outside the company. We were—”

“There are proper channels for such requests,” Redwar scolded. “Why on God's green earth did you have me dragged down here, wasting my valuable time?”

“You . . . wouldn't answer my—”

“Did he place any formal requests?” Redwar turned on Burrowdown.

Her response came out as a confused murmur.

“What? Speak up, woman!”

She stared back at him.

Gumble lifted his hands in apology. “If I may, sir?”

“What?” Redwar spun round on his heel.

“We heard you were trying to buy out a veterinary practice in the area. Apparently Mrs. Merrynether has a very good reputation. Perhaps we—”

“Merrynether?” Redwar's eyes bulged. “
Never
mention her to me.”

Gumble cowered at the outburst, which was exaggerated, even for Redwar.

“That woman,” Redwar continued, growling more to himself than anyone else, “is a thorn in my side, a fly in my soup, a . . . a . . . cantankerous old witch!”

Silence followed. Even the dogs had stopped barking.

“Oh, and Gumble?” Redwar said eventually.

“Sir?”

“You're fired!”

Cold sparks tingled under Joe's skin as he stood outside the door of Merrynether Mansion with his trolley. For an entire week he had struggled so desperately to be patient, resisting the urge to visit after school, fighting a compulsive need to rejoin the new world he'd discovered. And now that Sunday had arrived, he could hardly bear the anticipation.

The moments ached by, but eventually the door
creaked open. Joe was greeted by a welcoming snort from Archy the pig and the hasty beckoning of Mrs. Merrynether.

“Come in.” Tension bristled in Mrs. Merrynether's voice. She had her back to Joe and was stomping through the hallway toward the study.

Joe lifted his trolley inside before closing the door, wondering what unexpected shopping items would fill it this week. The rustling of paper and the rasp of sliding drawers came from Mrs. Merrynether's direction.

“How's Cornelius?” called Joe.

There was a brief silence from the study as if the old woman had stopped whatever she was doing to consider her answer.

“Why don't you go down to the vault, Joseph?” she called back. “I have one or two chores to attend to up here before I can join you. Heinrich's down there. He'll see to you while you're waiting.”

Joe's stomach sank. Mrs. Merrynether's mood didn't sound good, and she had deliberately not answered his question, which could mean only one thing. After all the waiting and bottled excitement, the vault was now the last place on earth Joe wanted to be. But he knew he had to go down there, despite his fear of what he might find.

“Here goes,” Joe said to Archy. With a deep breath, he walked alongside the trotting pig into the pantry, through the end door, down the steps, and into the cellar
where he had first met the cluricaun. His hand hovered over the knob of the red door that would lead down to the vault. A vision flashed in his mind's eye with sudden clarity: the manticore's lifeless body stretched out inside the enclosure with lolling tongue and glassy expression. Joe snatched his hand back.

A gentle nudge from a soft snout caught Joe's leg.

“I can't, Archy.”

The pig looked at him insistently.

Joe clenched his teeth and looked at the doorknob.

“Looks loike da boy needs a . . . hic . . . wee tipple of de orlde Dutch courage,” came a slurring voice from somewhere in the cellar, the word
courage
belched rather than spoken.

Joe peered into the cellar, looking for the source.

“Lilly? Is that you?”

The hollow chinking of empty bottles falling and rolling along the cellar floor came with the reply. “Oh, Danny booooooy. Oooooh, Danny booooooy!”

“Lilly?”

“Da poipes, da poipes are a carllin' from glen ta glen, and down da mountainsoide.”

Archy snorted loudly and ran into the middle of the cellar.

“Da sommer's gorne, and orle da flowers are a dyin' . . .”

The tune continued in off-key notes from the blowing of bottle rims.

Joe thought he glimpsed the cluricaun's sky-blue
waistcoat in a gloomy corner obscured by old rags and boxes. He crept toward it, hoping for a chance to catch the tiny man.

“Oooo, quick, quick . . . hic . . . da boy's comin' ta gets me.”

The smell of wine filled Joe's nostrils as he neared the tiny item of clothing, and with squinting eyes and bated breath, he reached for the troublemaker.

A howl of drunken hysterics echoed in the cellar as Joe looked at the empty waistcoat in his hand.

“Oooo, did ye want me pants too?” A tiny pair of baggy slacks were thrown from somewhere close by, hitting Joe square in the face. “Oi didn't knor orlde Merrynedder would be . . . hic . . . sending you down ta collect me washin'. Could ya polish me little shoes too?”

The hysterical laughter continued, and Joe suppressed a smile as he put the miniature clothes on top of a nearby crate.

Archy scampered off, skidding into some boxes as a small pair of shoes flew through the air and clattered close by.

“Are you going to show yourself?”

“Heheeee, have it your way, boy. Take a look at da moon. It's broight tonoight!”

Realizing what the cluricaun was about to do, Joe focused on the floor rather than have his eyes assaulted. “No, thank you. I didn't bring my telescope.”

“Why, ya cheeky . . . hic . . . little snot farmer! Tells
ya what, Lilly'll make ya a teshlescope . . . with—” The sentence ended with another clattering of glass followed by loud snoring.

Sufficiently distracted from his fears by the cluricaun's interruption, Joe turned his attention back to the red door and marched to it. “Right. That's it.” He turned the knob and, finding it unlocked, walked down the stairs and barged through the vault door before he could change his mind.

He was unprepared for the shock.

The manticore enclosure was exactly as it was the last time Joe saw it. Mossy floor, ornamental rocks, decorative water features, and there, lying motionless on its side with its back pressed against the bars of the cage, was Cornelius.

Joe felt the blood drain from his face. “No,” he whispered, ignoring the minor commotion he'd caused to his left when he burst in.

Seated at an old desk facing the wall, a startled Heinrich hurriedly swept sheets of paper and a stack of small envelopes into a drawer before slamming it shut and fumbling in vain to lock it with a fountain pen. Joe watched as Heinrich quickly stuffed the pen in his pocket and pulled out a key instead. He locked the drawer and glanced back at Joe, offering a nervous, lopsided smile.

“Hi, Heinrich.”

Heinrich opened his mouth to provide what Joe
assumed would be an excuse for something he obviously felt guilty about.

Light footsteps tapped on the concrete stairs behind them.

Mrs. Merrynether walked inside and slammed the door so hard that the key fell out and clattered onto the floor.

“Pompous, irritating, self-important . . . ugly brute of a man!”

Heinrich's mouth, which was already open, stretched wider as his fearful eyes met hers.

“Not you,” she grumbled. “That ignoramus Argoyle Redwar. If there weren't laws against it, I'd sincerely think about chopping him up into tiny kibbles and feeding him to Cornelius . . . though I think the poor creature has already had his fill of poison.” Her last sentence was tinged with remorse.

“Oh, I see,” said Heinrich. “You finally decided to read those letters he's been sending us all week, then? What are they?”

“You mean, what
were
they? I've just spent the last ten minutes reading and burning three revised offers for the purchase of Merrynether Mansion, two requests for my presence at that abominable factory, and two letters threatening to reveal what I do here. Hasn't that obnoxious secretary of his got anything better to do than write me letters every day?”

“Redwar's desperate, Ronnie,” Heinrich said to Mrs. Merrynether in a low voice. “And desperation is
the last weapon of a man who craves control he cannot have. Try not to worry about him.”

“I'm not worried, Heinrich. I'm—”

“Is Cornelius alive?” Joe interrupted, too choked with surprise to wait for their conversation to end. “I thought he was . . . dead.”

“Dead?” Mrs. Merrynether swung round to face Joe. “Heavens above, whatever gave you that idea?”

“Well, you didn't answer me upstairs when I—”

“Oh, pay no attention to an ignorant old woman. I was too busy fuming over Redwar's letters. Cornelius is still alive.”

“He's asleep, then?”

Mrs. Merrynether shot a glance at Heinrich. “For now, yes, but he's still very sick, Joseph. In truth, he may not last more than a week unless we find a way to help him.”

“But I thought you were taking the poison quills out. Didn't that work?”

“I'm afraid not.”

Heinrich left the desk and walked to the enclosure. He brushed a large hand against the beast's fur. “Plucking the quills from his tail does not release the poison. I believe a manticore must actively fire its quills to do that. When the muscles tighten in its tail, the venom is injected into the quill at the moment of ejection. Simply plucking the quills will not remove the venom.”

“Then he needs something to shoot at. Something to attack?” Joe asked.

“Yes, motivation is the key,” said Heinrich, “but I fear he is too exhausted to respond now.”

“There's still time,” Mrs. Merrynether said. “We've managed to help creatures in a much worse state than this. Remember that epileptic bunyip that swallowed a bag of hand grenades? And that ogre with Tourette's syndrome?”

“How could I forget?” Heinrich said, standing and glancing back at his desk as if checking for something he might have missed. “I still say it was a terrible idea to treat both of them at the same time.” He walked to his desk.

“But we helped them, didn't we?” Mrs. Merrynether said. She approached the sleeping beast to take her turn at stroking him.