The Beasts of Upton Puddle (14 page)

“What does it say?” Joe asked.

Danariel was silent for a moment or two before moving away from Flarp, whose unrelenting stare was still trained on its new playmate. “He said, ‘Me! Me! Me! Red thing. Blue thing. Me green. Me! Me! Me! Happy thing.'”

Mrs. Merrynether and Heinrich exchanged knowing looks.

“I believe Flarp understands me,” Danariel continued, “but whether he is willing to calm down and behave himself in an enclosure is another matter. He's still very excited.”

As she spoke, Joe could see the globble spinning around and around, its snotty extremities stretching outwards. Joe smiled. He was reminded of how other kids in his class would often sit on swivel chairs in the common room when they were bored, spinning as fast as they could until they collapsed in laughing heaps.

Mrs. Merrynether sighed. “Perhaps we should have waited a little longer before agreeing to treat Flarp. We already have our hands full with the cluricaun.”

“Perhaps,” said Heinrich, “but at least with him, we have a chance to save Cornelius.”

“True.” She smiled. “Well, enough dillydallying. We have to get our new patient tucked away.”

Joe stared at the muck-covered floor, still feeling a certain responsibility for the fact that Lilly had caused so much devastation. “I can get started clearing this up, if you like.”

“I think not, young man. That's Lilly's job, and you shouldn't even be here. Return to school at once. I don't want teachers and parents as well as fake council inspectors knocking on my door, do I?”

“But I can come back Sunday?”

“Of course. The shopping won't do itself, will it?”

Joe grinned and stole another glance at the manticore before leaving.

Cornelius had returned to his former sleeping position, but at least now there was hope for the beast to pull through.

Joe had not seen his mum so angry in quite some time. She said nothing as he walked through the front door, but the look in her eyes told Joe she wouldn't stay silent for long. The deputy head of Clarkdale School, Mr. Henderson, sat in one of the armchairs taking tiny sips from a cup of tea.

Aunt Rose passed Joe on her way out of the house, buttoning her coat in a hurry and tossing him a look that an army general might give a cadet who was about to be exposed to the front line on a battlefield. “I'll see you later, Jane. And it was nice to meet you, Mr. Henderson.”

She smiled and left the house.

Henderson looked like his eyes had given up smiling long before his mouth, which was half disguised by a patchy greying beard. One ear stuck out a little more than the other, and one eye pointed slightly inward, giving Henderson an appearance that terrified younger
students and sent older ones into stifled hysterics. Adding to those his tweed suit that was a size too small and his bouncy walk, the deputy head was a continual source of amusement at Clarkdale. Nevertheless, Joe liked him.

“Hello, Joe,” Mr. Henderson said in a higher pitch than usual. The greeting sounded friendly enough, but being called by his first name instead of the usual
Copper
made Joe instantly uncomfortable.

“Hello.” Joe stood perfectly still, unsure which of Mr. Henderson's eyes to look at.

Mr. Henderson placed his teacup on the coffee table and glanced at Joe's mum expectantly.

She nodded back, tight-lipped.

“Sit down, Joe,” he said with a sigh. “Do you mind if we talk about what happened today?”

Joe decided not to reply as he sat in the armchair opposite Mr. Henderson. He could already feel his throat waiting to betray his guilt with a telltale swallow halfway through a sentence.

“It's no secret your concentration in
all
your classes has been lacking for the past few weeks, but today's events are not what I . . . or your mother expected from you.”

Joe stared at the carpet.

“Lack of concentration is one thing, but leading several other students into truancy and then trying to use the Beast of Upton Puddle as an excuse for your behavior is quite unacceptable.”

“What? That's not true!” Joe looked up.

Henderson adopted a much harder tone. “There were several witnesses who saw you run through the yard with school property during lesson time. Mr. Graves has also spoken to Kurt Duggan, and it's now apparent that you coerced him and several other boys to leave the school grounds.”

“Who? Mr. Graves?”

“What? No, of course not! Kurt Duggan. You coerced Duggan into skipping class.”

“But the Beast! It was—”

“The other boys say there was no Beast.”

“But—”

Henderson leaned forward, his ears turning a deep shade of red. “Did you or did you not enter a restricted classroom area during lesson time and take an item that does not belong to you?”

Joe looked away from the deputy head and into his mum's pleading eyes.

“Yes,” he whispered.

Joe's mum pressed both her hands against her mouth.

“Why, Joe?” Henderson asked, lowering his voice.

Joe chewed at his top lip, desperate to think of a way to explain everything, but how could he tell them the truth—the truth that would make him sound insane? Joe couldn't bear to look at either of them, so he focused on the carpet again. “I . . . don't know.”

The deputy head sighed. “You're one of our brightest. Up until the last few weeks, you've been a model student, and I don't want to see you throw away a promising future.”

“If you think I'm such a model student, why do you take Duggan's word over mine?”

“The groundskeeper vouched for him on this occasion. Besides, you haven't offered any explanation.”

Joe's mum could hold her silence no longer. “Please tell me what's going on, Joe. Why did you do it? Why have you been so distant lately?”

The tightly controlled emotion in her voice hurt Joe, but no reasonable answer came as he opened his mouth to speak. Should he tell her of manticores and cluricauns? Of globbles and seraphim?

Tears trembled on the edges of his mum's lids. “It's that place you told me about last week, isn't it? Merrynether Mansion? Ever since you've been going there, you've been acting differently. Is that where you've just come back from?”

Joe hesitated.

“Is it?” Her voice sounded much louder than usual.

Joe searched her eyes, then looked at Mr. Henderson. The deputy squinted at his student as though stumped by a particularly hard equation. Joe felt the weight of regret press on him as he looked back at his mum. He knew what would follow his reply. “Yes.”

She stared at him for several seconds, the decision
hardening in her eyes. “I want you to promise me you won't go back to that place. I don't know what's really been going on, and I know you're not going to tell me, but it's obviously having a bad effect on you.”

“But Mrs. Merrynether needs me. I get her shopping for her.”

“Yes, so you've told me, but that doesn't—”

“Here,” said Joe, eagerly pulling the latest list from his back pocket and handing it to his mum.

She unfolded it. Her mouth opened wider as she read. “A shopping list for an elderly lady? This?”

“Some of the things are a bit strange, but—”

“Strange? That isn't the word I would use. There's almost every alcoholic drink I can think of listed here. And why is she asking for a packet of Cuban cigars and a poster calendar of Belfast's Best Buxom Bikini Booty Beauties?”

Mr. Henderson, who had just taken the opportunity for another sip of his drink, coughed out a spray of tea.

“Lilly!” Joe said. “He must have swapped the list somehow when I wasn't looking.”

“Lilly? Who's Lilly?”

Joe shook his head and made a grab for the list, but his mum quickly folded and pocketed it.

“But that isn't . . . That wasn't Mrs. Merrynether's list. I swear! There was a . . . a bag of apples, a muzzle, and . . .”

“I'm not going to argue with you. You are
never
to
go to that place again. I mean it. Never again.”

“But—”

“No! Now go to your room.”

Cold despondency dragged all his dreams into the pit of his stomach when he saw the resolve in her eyes. Reluctantly, he left the living room and headed upstairs.

Mr. Huffney pressed down his pin-striped suit, smoothing out creases as he stood before Argoyle Redwar, wishing he had a chair to sit in. He fixed his gaze directly upward, waiting for his employer to speak, the plain white of the ceiling being the least uncomfortable place to look. If he were to focus any lower, the ugly stuffed animal heads would be staring right back at him. Looking to his right would place him firmly under the scrutiny of Ms. Burrowdown and her fearsome notebook, but the worst place to look would be into Redwar's beady eyes. The fat director had been kept waiting for much longer than he would have liked, but after fleeing from Merrynether Mansion resembling a human cow pie, Huffney needed time to freshen up, calm down, and change into a new suit before facing his employer.

Redwar leaned across his desk, interlaced his fingers, and scowled. “I trust this delay means you have a profitable report for me, Mr. Huffney?”

Huffney shuffled. “I regret that my report will not be as profitable as you might have hoped, sir. In fact—”

“What do you mean ‘will not be,' Huffney? What have you been doing since you left Merrynether Mansion? I expected a report on my desk an hour ago.”

“There was . . . an incident involving—”

“Incident? What sort of incident? Did you get into the vault? Did you see any of the animals?”

“No, sir, but there may have been a . . . pygmy.”

“A pygmy?”

“Yes, sir. It was quite dark, but I thought it may have been an Irish pygmy wearing a little blue—”

“Never mind. My informant has told me exactly what she has in that vault, but that's not what I need.” Redwar leaned farther over his desk, his piggy eyes scrunching in what might have been discomfort from the hard edge of the wood cutting into his voluminous stomach but was more likely avarice. He licked his lips. “I'll forgive the report, Huffney, if you provide me with the files I asked for.”

Huffney found the courage to look at Redwar. “I am afraid I was unable to confiscate anything. I was attacked, sir.”

Redwar's hands shot up, throttling an invisible neck. “I gave you explicit orders to bring back every piece of documentation she has in her possession, and you're telling me you came back with
nothing
?”

Huffney took a step back. “Sir, didn't you hear me? I said I was—”

“Nothing?”

“I didn't have a chance to—”

“You actually got into her vault and came back empty-handed? No map? Nothing?”

All Huffney could do was blink.

Redwar stood and slammed his palms on the desk. “Get out of my office, Huffney. As of tomorrow you can look for employment elsewhere. I am not in the habit of employing people who are unable to deliver upon a simple request.”

“You're . . . you're firing me?” Huffney blinked some more.

“Ms. Burrowdown,” he bellowed, “I've tried patience, kindness, bribery, infiltration, threats, and even sending
this
imbecile to get the information I need, but still I don't have it. Do I have to fire every single employee to get the location of that island?”

“I'm fired?” Huffney stood frozen like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“Yes! Get out!”

Ms. Burrowdown garbled something.

“What? Speak up, woman.”

“Sepshun?” she mumbled a little louder.

“Reception? Why would I want to call reception?”

“Fired?” Huffney was still mesmerized.

“Security. That's what I need. Not reception.” Redwar stabbed a thumb at his phone while drilling a hateful look into his ex-employee.

“You need someone escorted off-site, sir?” came a
drab voice over the speakerphone.

“Don't preempt me, young man. People have been sacked for less.”

“Sorry, sir. What can I do for you?”

“I need someone escorted off-site.”

“On our way, sir.”

Huffney straightened his tie and made for the door. “You will be hearing from my—”

“Oh, save your breath, Huffney. A word or two in the right place, and I'll have your lawyers fired too.”

“Not sepshun,” Ms. Burrowdown muttered, “
Sep
shun.”

Redwar frowned at her. His eyebrows raised as enlightenment followed. “Ah! Deception! Yes, indeed, but what?”

Ms. Burrowdown's face twitched into a new pattern of wrinkles as her lips curved into a wicked smile.

“Now I know why you've been in my service for so long, Ms. Burrowdown. You have an idea, don't you?”

As curious as Huffney was to hear the end of their conversation, he had no desire to suffer the indignity of being dragged off-site by security guards. He slammed the door on his way out.