The Phredde Collection (14 page)

But this castle was all pink. I mean ALL pink.

The walls were pink, the carpets were pink, the tapestries were ten shades of pink, even the stones in the ceiling were pink.

If there’d been some magic spell to make the air pink too, I bet Cousin Pinkerbelle would have used it.

Down the pink corridor we went, past a pink suit of armour, and a few long pink tables with pink ornaments on them.

‘Which way is Cousin Pinkerbelle’s bedroom?’ I whispered.

Not that I suppose there was any need to whisper, as Cousin Pinkerbelle wasn’t likely to wake up even if we had a rock band with us. But it just seemed like the polite thing to do.

‘Up the stairs and to the right,’ hissed Phredde.

Con blinked. ‘We can’t go into her bedroom without permission,’ he objected.

‘But we’ve got to!’ I insisted. ‘How can we wake her up if we don’t go into her bedroom?’

‘But…’ Con stopped. I suppose he thought we knew what we were doing. But we didn’t, of course.

The stairs were pink—lolly pink this time and striped like bull’s-eyes.

We tiptoed up them—well Con and I tiptoed, except his boots kept clattering, and Phredde flew and Bruce hopped, and we turned right into Cousin Pinkerbelle’s bedroom.

Well, if the castle below was pink you should have seen Pinkerbelle’s bedroom.

Pink carpet almost to your ankles and six layers of pink curtains and this great sunset pink bed with pink curtains with pink roses on it.

And there was Cousin Pinkerbelle, asleep in the middle of the bed, wearing a pink nightdress with lots of pink skin showing through the silk and lace like you see in those expensive catalogues Mum likes so much and leaves lying around for Dad to see and maybe remember to buy her something for her birthday. (He got her a new rubbish bin last year. Of course Mum needed a new rubbish bin, but she didn’t look delighted.)

‘That her?’ demanded Bruce, hopping closer, sort of cautiously.

Phredde nodded. ‘That’s Cousin Pinkerbelle.’

‘The one you want me to kiss?’

Phredde nodded again.

‘Hey kid!’ objected Con. ‘You can’t just go kissing ladies without their permission. That’s called indecent assault. You can get locked up for that. Especially when they’re sound asleep.’

Bruce hesitated. I could see his cream-coloured chest pulsating as he considered. ‘Maybe he’s right,’ he said, looking sort of relieved.

‘Bruce! You’ve got to kiss her!’ cried Phredde.

‘But what if…’

Well, I don’t quite know what happened then.

Phredde shoved Bruce towards the bed, and Bruce croaked and gave this giant leap to try to get away from her, and Con leapt too and tried to grab at Bruce, and I was sort of in the middle so I didn’t see anything except a lot of arms and leaps and wings…

…and then Con must have tripped over Bruce or Phredde or something—maybe even me, because I had bruises later that I’m sure weren’t just from the rose bush…

And the next thing I knew, Con was sprawled out over the bed—AND Cousin Pinkerbelle—going ‘Oooff!’ as all the breath was knocked out of him…

…and Phredde was yelling ‘Look out for Cousin Pinkerbelle!’ and Bruce was yelling ‘Croak!’ and I wasn’t saying anything much, as I’d been underneath it all.

And then Cousin Pinkerbelle sat up in bed and said, ‘Phredde darling, what on earth are you doing here?’

And then she saw Con—who was still lying sort of on top of her, all muscles and hairy arms—and she shrieked, ‘Who’s this? Call the police!’

And then she saw Bruce, and me, and things got even more confused.

Well, it all settled down eventually, and Phredde explained, and Cousin Pinkerbelle thanked us all very much really enthusiastically, especially Con, which I thought was a bit unfair as it had been Phredde’s and my idea.

And then she said it was time for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner, or something. Who cares what meal it is when you’ve been asleep for a week?

So Cousin Pinkerbelle put on her dressing gown—rose pink silk and lace, naturally, with this sort of fluffy stuff on the sleeves—and we followed her down to the castle kitchens.

Con and I walked and Phredde flew and Bruce hopped. (He was still keeping well clear of Cousin Pinkerbelle, just in case she decided to kiss him to thank him for helping us.)

‘But Phredde,’ I whispered, as Phredde flapped past my ear. ‘How come Cousin Pinkerbelle woke up? She didn’t get kissed. Con’s not even a handsome prince.’

Con must have heard me, because he turned round and grinned. ‘Actually I am a Prince,’ he said.

‘A what?’I gasped

‘A Prince. Not a real prince, of course. But that’s my name. Constantine Prince.’

‘But the sign on the nursery down below says
RINCE,’
objected Phredde.

‘The P fell off,’ explained Con. ‘Dad’s been meaning to hammer it back on.’

‘But you didn’t kiss her!’ I objected.

Con blushed. ‘Well, actually, in all the fuss…’

I let out a deep breath. ‘Well, just think. We found a handsome prince by accident.’

Con blushed even deeper. ‘I don’t know about handsome,’ he muttered.

At this Cousin Pinkerbelle turned round to see what all the fuss was about. She must have heard the last bit because she said, ‘Well, I think he’s VERY handsome,’ and Con blushed harder than ever.

So it all turned out happily ever after, even though it wasn’t quite like in the story. Or maybe those phaery
stories just leave out the bits they don’t think you should know.

Cousin Pinkerbelle didn’t marry her handsome prince—well, not yet anyway—but they’ve gone into business together:
PRINCE AND PRINCESS’S PERFECT PINK ROSES.

I pointed out that they were sort of savage roses too, but Con doesn’t think that’ll be a problem.

‘We can just graft ordinary pink roses onto the magic root stock. That’ll tame them. They’ll be fast growing and hardy but they won’t attack anyone,’ he promised.

Con’s a professional, so I suppose we have to trust him, at least till the roses start taking over the world anyway. (If I was you though, I’d take a close look at any rose bush your parents buy this winter.)

Bruce is going to our school—Mrs Allen the headmistress said that what with phaeries and vampires and the dragon, not to mention the volcano in the playground
³
, she didn’t think a frog would be any trouble at all. (Sometimes I think Mrs Allen needs a holiday. She’s been looking pretty tired lately.)

Bruce is in our class. He’s okay and at least he gets rid of all the flies, not to mention the spiders under the bag racks. But Phredde still doesn’t like him much. She says a handsome prince is still a handsome prince, even if he’s a frog.

Phredde can be prejudiced too, sometimes, I suppose.

Bruce steers clear of Phredde as well, just in case she kisses him by accident and breaks the spell, but I could tell him there’s not much chance of that.

Anyway, to finish the story off properly—Mrs Olsen says I always leave out the most important bits—we all went down to the kitchens with Pinkerbelle and had dinner, which was good because by then I was starving, and it was really delicious even if it was all pink…pink lemonade and beetroot soup and strawberry ice cream and even the chicken was in a pink tomato and cream sauce…

…and then Bruce went back to his lily pad to say goodnight to it before he went home to his family’s castle, and Con stayed to have a chat about roses with Pinkerbelle over a glass of something that’s not suitable for kids, and Phredde went PING! and we were back down at the bus stop.

‘I don’t see why you couldn’t have PING!ed properly and taken us all the way back home,’ I grumbled.

‘It’s traditional,’ said Phredde.

‘Bother traditional. I’d rather PING!

‘Well, it’s my PING! and I say when I use it,’ stated Phredde.

I suppose we were both a bit tired by then.

‘I bet a bus won’t come for ages.’ I grumbled.

Well, I don’t know if Phredde just PING!ed quietly and I didn’t notice, but at that moment the bus lurched round the corner and drew up next to us at the bus stop.

Phredde sort of smirked and I followed her in.

The bus was mostly empty (which made me think that maybe Phredde had just magicked it up), so we got a seat together, which meant I sat on the seat and Phredde perched on the backrest so she had room to spread her wings.

‘Phredde,’ I asked, as the bus trundled through the dark streets—it was quite late by now.

‘Mmmm?’ asked Phredde. She yawned.

‘About Cousin Pinkerbelle…how come she’s normal size. I mean human size?’

‘Well, Aunt Daffodil married a human, Uncle Bryan, and some of their kids are phaeries and some are human.’

‘So Pinkerbelle can’t do magic?’

‘Not really,’ said Phredde sleepily. ‘She’s magic with roses all right. But not with much else.’

‘Oh,’ I said.

All this inheritance business is complicated. I made a note to ask Mum and Dad about it sometime.

Well, the bus stopped at my stop first, so I got off and trundled up the drive to our castle, through the stars and moonbeams.

The light was still on in the ballroom, which is where we watch TV, because Mum was waiting up for me.

In all the fuss I’d forgotten to ask Phredde to PING! me back to five minutes after we left, so of course I’d missed dinner and TV and everything, and Mum was FURIOUS because I hadn’t even mentioned I was going somewhere.

As soon as she’d hugged me forty-six times and made sure I was in one piece—except for a few scratches from the mad rose bush, but I didn’t mention those—she informed me that…

But that’s another story.

It was a dark and stormy night. (Mrs Olsen says you can’t start a story like that, but I just did!)

The wind was screaming around the castle like it was practising for the opera and the rain was hammering tiny fists against the windows like it wanted to come inside. And the black breath of the night was whispering down the chimney. (I must remember that image the next time Mrs Olsen wants us to do descriptive writing—it’s really cool.)

Of course outside the castle it wasn’t a dark and stormy night at all.

Everywhere else it was actually Sunday afternoon and the sun was grinning through the car fumes at the rest of the world who were doing boring things like watching TV or dodging the doggie-doo as they tried to play netball in the park.

But according to Phredde’s mum, the Phaery Splendifera, a dark and stormy night creates a great
atmosphere when you’ve got a gryphon roasting on the spit, bottles of clover blossom nectar and a few friends over for Sunday lunch.

The few friends were me (naturally ’cause I’m Phredde’s best friend) Mum and Dad, my brother Mark, and his girlfriend Tracey who’s a werewolf like Mark, but only when it’s a full moon of course.

Well, anyway, we’d eaten the gryphon and the adults had drunk their nectar (Phredde and I had mango juice) and Mark and Tracey had wandered off to investigate the smells in the rest of the castle.

Even though they weren’t werewolves right at that moment I suppose a few habits stick with you, like being interested in smelly corners and howling in the shower. Mum’s also had to speak to Mark a few times about lifting his leg in the corridor, not to mention the corgi bones under the roses, but that’s another story.

Anyway…

Dad and Phredde’s dad, the Phaery Valiant, (except he’d rather be called Jim) were prodding the fire and discussing the best pumpkin to turn into a phaery carriage, and whether a butternut pumpkin would make a good sports car; while Phredde’s mum and my mum were doing a crossword and muttering things like ‘six down begins with B…nine letter word means fooling around, fandangle…’

Phredde and I were bored.

You know how it is with adults. They go somewhere interesting only to sit down and talk, and keep on talking till it’s time to go home, without actually DOING anything.

So finally Phredde said, ‘Hey Mum, do you mind if Pru and I go over to her place for a while?’

And Phredde’s mum said, ‘An unreasonable fear of crowds…I’m sure I know that one…ochlophobia…Yes, of course Ethereal dear, but don’t go outside the castle grounds.’

Phredde grinned at me and I grinned back, because of course when they’re magic grounds they go on forever, and what we really wanted to do was go out on the pirate ship Phredde gave me for my birthday last year.

So Phredde went PING! (even Phredde wasn’t going to try to wait around for a bus on Sunday afternoon) and there we were, down on the golden sand (when Phredde magics up a beach she makes it a pretty good one) with the waves whispering up to our feet and racing back again, and my pirate ship slowly bouncing on the swell.

‘Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of ginger ale!’ cried the pirate captain, catching sight of us. He looks just like a pirate captain ought to, sort of weather-beaten with a black beard and a patch over one eye. I’d have rather had a pirate captain that looked like Mel Gibson, but the pirate ship and the pirates had been a present from Phredde, and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful.

‘Hi!’ I yelled back. ‘Could you send the rowboat out for us?’

The captain grinned and nodded, then he shouted down to the first mate (who had a scarf on his head and a parrot on his shoulder), who lowered the rowing boat on the side then climbed down the ladder next to it, jumped in, and began to row over to us.

Suddenly there was a faint PING! above my head, and I realised I was wearing a hat.

‘Sunburn,’ explained Phredde. ‘Mum’ll be furious if we come back with sunburn.’

‘Couldn’t you just magic it away?’ I asked, fingering my hat. It was made of ordinary straw with a ribbon around it. I’d have rather had a pirate hat but I don’t suppose pirate hats keep the sun off much.

‘Mum’d notice,’ said Phredde gloomily. ‘Mothers always notice things like that.’

By this time the boat was nearly over to us.

The first mate leapt out and grabbed the edge of the boat and pulled it through the shallows till it was right up on the golden beach beside us.

‘Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of ginger ale!’ he greeted us cheerfully.

‘Yeah, hi,’ I agreed. ‘It’s a great day to go sailing.’

I sometimes think Phredde didn’t do such a crash-hot job with the pirates because the only thing they ever say is ‘Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of ginger ale.’

But you can usually work out what they MEAN to say, and anyway, they’re still new, so maybe they’ll learn some more words in time.

It was bit choppy rowing out to the pirate ship, but not too bad, and even though I get carsick, I don’t get seasick (though come to think of it maybe no one gets seasick on a magic pirate ship).

I climbed aboard and Phredde fluttered up behind me. Then the captain hauled up the anchor and we were on our way.

‘Where are we off to?’ I asked Phredde, as we leant against the railing and watched the seagulls nose dive into the waves.

‘Dunno,’ said Phredde carelessly. ‘Where would you like to go?’

I considered. ‘How about a desert island with a ruined castle?’

‘Okay,’ said Phredde agreeably. ‘What sort of island?’

One thing you need to remember about phaeries—they don’t have much imagination. If you want them to magic something up for you, you have to get it pretty clear in your head.

‘I don’t know,’ I said dreamily (it was pretty nice up on the deck with the sails billowing out above us). ‘How about one with great tall cliffs and a narrow path leading down to the sea? And the ruined castle is right on top of the cliffs and bits of it are crumbling into the sea every time there’s a storm.’

‘Anything else?’ demanded Phredde, getting ready to PING!. ‘How about the rest of the island?’

‘The rest of the island’s just close-cropped grass, really green like the mat in Mrs Allen’s study.’ I decided.

‘Who eats the grass?’ asked Phredde.

‘Nothing. It’s just a low-growing variety.’ (I’d learnt a bit about gardening from Cousin Pinkerbelle and Con.) ‘And there has to be a great big pile of rocks in the middle of the island—big round ones, like basketballs that some giant has tossed there. And there should be seagulls screaming and maybe a sea eagle swooping down over the island.’

‘Okay,’ said Phredde.

There was a faint PING!, almost too soft to hear above the noise of the waves slapping at the side of the boat and the sails flapping above us. But knowing Phredde, I guessed we’d see the island pretty soon.

Well, I was right, because a couple of minutes later the sailor up in the lookout yelled ‘Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of ginger ale!’ and there was the island, just a black speck on the horizon, growing bigger and bigger as we sped towards it.

It was just like I’d imagined it.

Well, of COURSE it was just like I’d imagined it.

We sailed into this great crack between the towering black cliffs, with the waves crashing at their base in a mass of white foam. There was a tiny golden beach at one end, so we sailed up there, and the captain let the rowboat down close to the shore. We rowed in and landed on the beach, just below this narrow path that wound up between the cliffs.

If it hadn’t been a magic island I’d have been wondering what would be up on top of the cliffs, but as it was we just waved to the sailor, who politely said, ‘Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of ginger ale’ and saluted us as we started up the path to the castle. I was going
tromp tromp tromp
in my joggers and Phredde was fluttering just above my shoulder.

Five minutes, ten minutes…my legs began to ache and the sweat started trickling in all sorts of places, like it was working out ways to tickle me to death.

I looked down and there was the pirate ship, small as a piece of Lego down in the narrow bay.

‘It’s getting awfully hot,’ I said to Phredde.

‘Is it?’ asked Phredde, surprised, ‘I’m okay.’

Well, it was all right for her. It doesn’t matter much to Phredde whether she flies up or down or across, she doesn’t get tired and I bet she gets a nice cool breeze from her wings.

‘Maybe the path isn’t quite so steep around the next bend,’ I hinted. I mean, I didn’t want Phredde to think I was complaining.

Phredde considered. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ she agreed.

And you know what? I was.

It was easier walking after that.

Round one corner, up a bit and round another…and suddenly we were at the top of the cliff, and the pirate ship far down below looked like it was made for ants, and there was the castle, nice and tall and ruined, just in front of us.

‘Wow!’ I exclaimed. Even though it was the same one I’d imagined it sort of looked well, realer, and MUCH bigger on the island.

‘It’s not bad,’ said Phredde proudly. ‘Do you want to explore the island, or will we go inside?’

‘Inside,’ I decided, because there’s not much use exploring an island if you know exactly what you’ll find. ‘If we climb up to the top of the castle we might even see my place.’

Which was sort of a hint too.

So Phredde fluttered along and I followed her, right up to the moat of the castle, which was empty naturally, it being a ruined castle, and over the drawbridge, which was conveniently still intact.

Clomp clomp clomp
went my joggers on the drawbridge. I could feel the gentle fan of Phredde’s wings against my face. Then we were inside the castle among the dark and gloom, and my feet weren’t making a noise on the thick dust that had slowly eroded from the high stone walls and ceiling.

‘It’s…it’s sort of spooky,’ I whispered.

‘Thanks,’ whispered Phredde. ‘I hoped it would be.’

‘Where are the stairs?’

‘Over there,’ hissed Phredde. (If you want to know why we were whispering—well, YOU march into a ruined castle and see if you feel like shouting aloud, even if it is one you’ve magicked up yourself.)

Sure enough, there was the staircase, winding up through the shadows of the castle, broad enough for our whole class to march up side by side. I mean this was a BIG castle.

‘Come on,’ I whispered. ‘Let’s climb up to the top.’

It did occur to me as we were climbing that exploring ruined castles probably wasn’t what Phredde’s mum had meant when she gave us permission to go over to my place.

But what could happen to us in a ruined castle?

Round and round and round the giant stairs twisted, and we went round and round too, climbing higher and higher.

I suspected my leg muscles were going to be sore tomorrow, but what the heck, it was worth it.

All up the staircase giant passages led off to who knew where, and when I stopped to get my breath the whole castle seemed to be breathing, a slow steady sighing all around.

It was really cool.

Up, up, and up again. My footsteps echoed off the tall stone walls filling the whole castle with the sound of footsteps—giant footsteps, a hundred times bigger than mine.

And then we reached the top.

It was pretty much like the top tower in our castle and Phredde’s—a small round stone terrace with battlements all around.

But from the top of this tower, you could see my place, just a faint smudge in the distance, and all around the island too, which was convenient, as it meant we didn’t have to use any more energy exploring it.

There was the close-cropped green grass, the pile of rocks, and the soaring cawing seagulls and the sea eagle making a wide careless arc in the sky.

It was pretty incredible.

So we just sat there for a while, soaking it all in. Well, I sat and Phredde sort of hovered at shoulder level.

Then finally I said:‘I’m hungry.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Phredde, landing next to me. ‘What do you feel like?’

‘You choose this time,’ I said lazily. ‘I made up the island.’

‘Okay,’ said Phredde.

She thought for a moment, then PING!, there was a picnic blanket with these two great big ice cream sundaes covered in raspberry sauce, grated chocolate, nuts and frozen mango, with two spoons to eat them with, and an enormous chocolate cake as well.

It was too big for just the two of us—it would have been too big for our school’s entire football team. But that didn’t matter, because Phredde could just magic away the leftovers.

We threw bits of chocolate cake to the swooping seagulls, while the eagle examined us as it circled slowly through the air. Apart from the seagulls cawing it was peaceful sitting on top of the island—just the sound of the waves far below and the whisper of the wind and the giant heavy footsteps coming up the stairs…

Giant, heavy footsteps!

I sat up abruptly. They were coming nearer!

‘Phredde! Do you hear that?’

‘Hear what?’ asked Phredde sleepily. Then suddenly she shot up in the air, her wings waving like a
mosquito who’s just stuck its proboscis in the electric power point, because she’d heard them too.

Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp.

‘What is it?’ I hissed.

‘I don’t know!’

‘But you’re the one who magicked up the castle!’

‘Yes, but you’re the one who imagined it!’

‘I didn’t imagine any giant footsteps! And I didn’t imagine that either!’ I screamed, because the giant footsteps had reached the top now, and I could see a giant head slowly emerging from the stairwell.

It was a funny-looking head.

It was sort of narrow on top and bald as a boiled egg, but the face grew wider as more of it appeared, so its jaw was about five times as big as its forehead. It had a little squiggly mouth and tiny ears and two eyes like dark blue marbles.

Slowly the rest of it appeared…

Shoulders wider than a park bench, the sort of shoulders that could push a wall down accidentally, fists the size of a well-fed gorilla’s, thick long legs, and feet you’d never even attempt to get inside a pair of joggers.