The Phredde Collection (21 page)

(ie the first chapter about people we already know—well, OK, people AND phaeries AND frogs—like Pru and Phredde and Bruce)

It was an ordinary day in our castle.

I was watching TV (it was this really cool kung fu movie), Dad was feeding the piranhas (Did you know they can skeletonise a cow in ten minutes? And you should see what they do to a guinea pig!), and Mark was brushing his teeth for the eighty-fourth time that day, because my brother Mark turns into a werewolf every full moon, and gleaming white teeth are really essential for any teenage werewolf, and Mum was having a hissy fit all round the castle.

Mothers stress out at the least little thing sometimes, like their kids being captured by snot
phaeries or chased by giant ogres
¹
. Or, in this case, a simple family visit to Phaeryland.

‘Shoes!’ shrieked Mum, racing into the TV room just as the hero was about to kick ninety-six evil ninjas into oblivion. ‘Prudence, what sort of shoes do they wear in Phaeryland?’

‘Relax, Mum,’ I said. ‘They don’t wear shoes, remember? Women wear glass slippers and men wear those really sexy black leather boots. Phredde’s mum and dad will take care of everything.’

‘Glass slippers. Right,’ muttered Mum. She dashed out of the room again just as the seventy-second evil ninja sailed into the ornamental pond.

Ten seconds and another twenty-three evil ninjas later she was back again.

‘My hairdryer!’ she cried. ‘Will I be able to plug in my hairdryer?’

‘Mum, just calm down,’ I said. ‘You don’t have to take a hairdryer into Phaeryland. You don’t need to take
anything
into Phaeryland. It’ll all be magicked up for you.’

Just for a second I wondered if I was right. I mean, maybe you did need a hairdryer in Phaeryland. After all, I’d only been there twice
²
, once by invitation to attend the Phaery Queen’s birthday party, and the second time when Phredde and I sort of snuck in and got kidnapped by giant butterflies. But I haven’t told Mum about that yet, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t go mentioning it to her either.

I took a deep breath and turned off the TV, just as the final ninja fell into a barrel of water (funny how there’s always a barrel of water around for evil ninjas to fall into).

Sometimes you really have to take a firm line with parents. ‘Look, Mum,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing to fuss about…’

‘Nothing to fuss about?’ shrieked Mum. ‘Just the Phaery Queen’s wedding and we’re all invited, that’s all, and we’re going to Phaeryland, and…’

‘It’s Phredde’s family who are really invited,’ I pointed out. ‘They just asked us to come, too. Mum, you don’t have to worry about
anything
in Phaeryland! Phredde’s mum will PING! up everything we need, like glass slippers and tiaras and…’

‘Tiaras!’ groaned Mum. ‘I’ll have to have my hair done! You ring the hairdresser—no, I’ll ring the hairdresser—no…’

‘Mum, it’ll all be taken care of,’ I soothed. ‘Just wait till Phredde and her family get here, and…’

The door opened again and Dad marched in, wiping his bloody fingers on his jeans. (No, that is
not
a swear word. It’s just that his fingers were messy. Piranha food can be a bit yuk.)

‘Well, that’s done,’ said Dad happily. ‘I’ve fed the piranhas, watered the rose garden, fed the unicorn, locked up the battlements, sealed the dungeons, raised the drawbridge, put fresh towels under the giant sloth…’

‘But Dad,’ I said, ‘no time passes when you’re in Phaeryland. Not here, anyway. You just have to remember to ask Phredde’s mum or dad to bring us back to the time when we left.’

‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ said Dad. ‘Has your brother finished packing?’

‘How should I know?’ I muttered.

Mark was a sore point with me at the moment. Just because Mark was a werewolf—
and
older than me—he was getting to stay at Uncle Ron’s, while I had to get all prettied up and go to Phaeryland.

Phaeryland!

Of course, if you’ve never been to Phaeryland you mightn’t understand why I was upset. I mean, once you’re too old to slop paint in a colouring book and spit your spaghetti out all over the floor you probably don’t even think of Phaeryland from one moment to the next.

Phaeryland is
nice
. It’s
just
like the pictures in those books—blue sky, green grass, phaery castles, big spotty toadstools and elf musicians playing that stuff we get in musical appreciation,
and
lacy dresses and
tiaras
, for Pete’s sake. I mean, it’s all so
cute
…and here were my parents going all smiles and ‘Whoopee!’ about an invitation to stay in Phaeryland for a week and go to the Phaery Queen’s wedding…

Wedding. Huh! I bet she was getting hitched to some poncy prince in tights and puffed sleeves and probably even a feather in his hat.

Well, you can see why I didn’t want to go.

To be honest, there was something else as well. It’s really hard to admit it because, after all, Phredde is my best friend, and Bruce is okay, too, I mean, sometimes I really like him, and I think maybe he really likes me too…but at other times—well, you just can’t help feeling jealous of people who can PING! up just about whatever they want…

And, okay, phaery dances may be corny, but at least they’re
interesting
. I mean, my family doesn’t have
any
interesting habits at all, just Mum and her crosswords and Dad and his pet piranhas and Mark turning into a werewolf at full moon…

BONG! BONG! BONG!

‘That’ll be the front doorbell,’ said Mum. ‘Just let the drawbridge down again would you, darling? I’ll tell Gark to put the kettle on.’

Mum dashed down the corridor, down the stairs, down
another
flight of stairs and along another corridor to the kitchen, and Dad padded off down the stairs and through the Great Hall and out into the courtyard to let the drawbridge down. (Mum says that one day she’ll remember to ask the Phaery Splendifera to put a few escalators in our castle, not to mention an automatic drawbridge.)

Soon there was a
flip, flip, flap
of wings outside the door and Phredde came fluttering in. Of course, given that Phredde’s a phaery (and only about thirty centimetres high, although somehow you never notice that with Phredde), she could just have PING! ed herself over here. But since Phredde’s family moved here two years ago they’ve been trying to sort of fit in, which means getting the bus or driving around (even if it
is
on a magic carpet instead of in a Holden station wagon—but then again, they don’t make phaery-sized Holden station wagons) instead of just going PING! whenever they feel like it.

‘Hi,’ said Phredde glumly. Phredde hates Phaeryland even more than I do.

‘Hi, yourself,’ I said.

Phredde flew over and perched on the arm of the sofa. She was still wearing her jeans, I noticed, just like me, except that mine were normal blue and Phredde’s were bright turquoise with purple fringes.

‘You ready to go?’ I asked.

‘I suppose,’ said Phredde, even more glumly. ‘At least this time you’ll be there, too.’

‘And Bruce,’ I pointed out.

Phredde shrugged. The trouble with Bruce is that he’s a phaery prince—well, he would be if he hadn’t changed himself into a frog—and Phredde isn’t too keen on phaery princes. Not when her mum keeps
The Directory of Handsome Princes
by her bed.

‘Ethereal! Ethereal…Oh, there you are!’ Phredde’s mum drifted into the room—forty centimetres of ball dress and tiny diamonds. ‘It’s time to get ready.’

‘Mum, do I really have…’

PING!

Suddenly Phredde’s turquoise jeans, pink hair and purple T-shirt were transformed into a gold and pearl-encrusted ball dress, lace petticoats, tiara, glass slippers and long blonde hair.

‘Mum!’

I bit my tongue really hard to stop myself from grinning. ‘Hey, Phredde, you look really…’

PING!

And there I was—with a diamond-flowered tiara in my hair and my feet suffocating in these glass slippers and all this lace, and it was
pink
!

Phredde grinned. ‘Now you look really…’

‘Don’t say it!’ I warned.

Tink, tink, tink
down the corridor (I told you, glass
slippers just aren’t practical) and the door opened and there was Mum.

Well…

My mum usually dresses okay for someone her age, mostly jeans or tracksuit pants, except once when she’d been up really late doing this big crossword with Phredde’s mum and she came down to breakfast in jeans
and
tracksuit pants.

But I had never,
never
seen her look like this.

One dress, shaped a bit like an umbrella but wide enough to cover our classroom, just about, all in this red and gold brocade stuff—you know, like they put on chairs sometimes.

One tiara, with pearls the size of grapes and more pearls in her ears and sort of dangling down over her chest.

Glass slippers, and Phredde’s mum must have PING!ed her up a pedicure, too, because her toenails were bright pink through the glass. And lots and lots and
lots
of hair, sort of in Mum’s colour but better, if you know what I mean.

She didn’t look like Mum at all.

‘Gloop,’ I said.

Mum smiled, this really fuzzy, happy smile. ‘Oh, Prudence, isn’t it wonderful!’ she breathed. She swirled round a couple of times, her long skirt sending a potted kentia palm flying.

‘Yeah, fantastic, Mum,’ I mumbled, setting the pot plant upright again. Well, you can’t spoil parents’ little pleasures, can you?

Then Dad walked in.

I’m not going to tell you what Dad was wearing. It’s just too embarrassing. Well, okay, yes I am, because
otherwise you won’t know just how embarrassing it was.

Purple tights (I mean, they were
tight
; in fact, really rude if you must know) and a long red silk shirt with
ruffles
, for Pete’s sake, and white lace at the wrists, a leather belt with rubies on it, these long leather boots (they were actually quite cool boots, even if the rest was dorky) and a red velvet hat with a feather.

‘Hey, wow, Dad!’ I said.

Dad stared at me. ‘If you say one more word, Prudence…’ he threatened.

‘I think you look lovely,’ said Mum dreamily.

‘Yeah, that’s the word. Lovely,’ I said, grinning.

‘Prudence…’ began Dad, then he glanced at Mum. Mum hadn’t looked so happy since the time she managed to get the cryptic crossword finished by dinner time.

‘Yes, it’s all lovely,’ he agreed.

Then Phredde’s dad, the Phaery Valiant (but he prefers to be called Jim) came in, and Phredde’s mum made us all hold hands and I yelled out, ‘See you, Dog’s Breath!’ to Mark.

And he yelled, ‘See you, Pruneface,’ to me. ‘Take care!’

‘There’s no need to take care in Phaeryland,’ I yelled back. ‘Nothing can happen to you there!’

And Mum called out, ‘Don’t forget to…’

But whatever advice she was going to give Mark for the 180th time, it was too late, because the Phaery Splendifera went PING!.

And we were in Phaeryland.

There are two things you notice about Phaeryland.

The first is that it’s nice—
really
nice—but I’ve already told you that. The sky was blue and the birds were singing, and I mean singing, like ‘Tweet, tweet, tweet’ instead of ‘Caw, caw, caw’ like the crows in the school ground that are after whatever they can snaffle of your lunch scraps and look like they wouldn’t mind eating your eyeballs for dessert if you gave them half a chance.

And the second is that suddenly Phredde and the Phaery Splendifera and Jim were all the same size as us. (Phredde’s explained that to me. It’s all about the quantum fluctuations in the magic field which mean that in the real, that is non-magical, world they’re diminished…well, something like that anyway. Ask Phredde if you want to know any more, though to be honest, I don’t think Phredde understands it either.)

Anyway, there we all were—Mum and Dad and me and the new super-economy size Phredde and her parents, with this green colouring-in-pencil-type grass and lollipop-like trees and a zillion flowers in red and blue and yellow all around our feet, blooming at us like they were planning to give us all hay fever, except I suppose you don’t get hay fever in Phaeryland.

And just like the last time we were in Phaeryland, these great giant butterflies flip-flapped over the lollipop trees and landed beside us (I had to hold on to my tiara—you really get a draught from a giant butterfly), and we all climbed on and I realised I’d forgotten to take my car sickness tablets
again
, which meant the ride was really interesting for anyone underneath us, especially that elf sitting on his mushroom when I lost the muesli I’d had for breakfast. (It didn’t look like muesli by then, of course, especially when it had fallen from 100 metres up.)

So the butterflies flapped, and I watched my breakfast sail down to become part of the ecology of Phaeryland, and Mum kept chirping things like, ‘Oh, how wonderful! Oh, Splendifera, look at that castle…and those cute little bunnies. Oh, is that a brook? Oh, Prudence, did you see those sweet elves dancing?’

‘Gluuurrrp!’ I said.

And then we landed.

I staggered off my butterfly thorax (we did insect anatomy in science last term) and Mum alighted like she was a princess or something, but not the kind who ride polo ponies or visit refugee camps. I mean, she was
graceful
, which isn’t a word that usually describes Mum when she’s just messing round our castle in her tracksuit. I gave a final burp, wiped my mouth and looked around.

We were in a forest glade (everything is in a forest glade in Phaeryland). There was a yellow brick road running through the trees and flowers that were all around us (naturally), and a little tinkling brook (I’m serious—it went tinkle, tinkle, tinkle like it was a mob of preschoolers practising for the end-of-term concert) with a cute little arched stone bridge over it, and this great pink and blue and yellow palace that looked like it was made of coloured icing sugar, all swirls and turrets, in front of us, with a sign over the front door saying ‘Sweet Pea Guesthouse’.

There were lots of sweet peas about, too.

Phredde made a sort of vomiting noise behind me. (She was only pretending. Phredde doesn’t get car sick—er, butterfly sick. I suppose it comes of all the flying she has to do.)

‘Oh,’ said Mum. ‘Isn’t it lovely? Look how those sweet flowers trail down from the window boxes, Prudence!’

Well, it was okay. It was big, anyway—I mean, it would have made a great meringue—but apart from that, it looked a bit like the sand castles I used to make at the beach before I got into fighting pirates and stuff like that instead.

So we climbed up a million steps (okay, forty-six) and into this great hall with carpets on the walls which Mum said were tapestries, and there, tapping at a computer behind a desk, was this really old guy, even shorter than me, with a red cap on his head and a long white beard and red cheeks.

‘Hey,’ I whispered to Phredde, ‘that looks just like one of the gnomes in my picture book when I was small.’

‘It
is
a gnome,’ Phredde whispered back. ‘You’re in Phaeryland, dummy!’

The gnome looked up from the computer. ‘Welcome to Sweet Pea Guesthouse!’ he cried. ‘I’m Mr Tiddlywinks. How can I help you?’

Phredde’s dad strode forward. (He was dressed in really embarrassing tights and stuff too, but he looked like he was used to it. Well, resigned to it, anyway.) ‘Reservations in the name of Valiant?’ he said.

The gnome glanced at his computer. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Three doubles. I’ve put the kiddies in together.’

Kiddies! And I was taller than he was! Even Phredde was taller than him now!

But before I could say anything, or even kick him in the thorax, he was thumping his way up this great, wide staircase and Mum was looking so happy you’d think she’d start dribbling.

We got to our room eventually.

‘Arrrk!’ screamed Phredde as the door shut behind us. She kicked her glass slippers off so hard they bounced against the wall. I thought they’d break into a million shards, but they didn’t. (I suppose glass slippers have to be made out of pretty tough glass.) So I just wriggled out of mine and let my toes breathe for a change and looked around the room.

Two four-poster beds with ruffly brocade stuff over them, one carpet with flowers on it (naturally), a big fancy mirror on the wall, and one small tinkling brook over by the window which I supposed was our bathroom (it had hot and cold taps on the wall above it).

I wandered over to the mirror.

‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall,’ I said, just for fun. ‘Who is the fairest one of all?’

‘Not you, chickie,’ said the mirror. ‘Your tiara is on crooked and you’ve got a spot of yuk on your ball dress.’

So much for magic mirrors.

‘Oops,’ I said. I wandered over to the tinkling brook and began to sponge the yuk off my ball dress. (It was only a tiny speck! A phaery on a speeding butterfly would never have noticed it.)

‘Hey, Phredde?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, what?’ Phredde was hauling the tiara out of her hair.

‘If this stream is our bathroom, where do we, you know, go to the toilet?’

‘We don’t,’ said Phredde.

‘What! But I’ll burst! You can’t not go to the toilet for a whole week!’

‘You can in Phaeryland,’ said Phredde. ‘They haven’t even
heard
of constipation here.’ She straggled over to the window, her train drooping behind her. ‘Hey look, there’s a rose bush!’

‘So what?’ I asked, peering out too. I mean, the whole place was just about dripping with roses.

‘It means we can climb down the rose bush and escape for awhile,’ explained Phredde patiently.

‘But what about the thorns?’

‘There are no rose thorns in…’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know, there are no rose thorns in Phaeryland. But won’t our parents know we’ve gone?’

‘We’ll leave a note,’ said Phredde. ‘Anyway, they’ll be fussing about their rooms and having cups of nectar for hours. You know what parents are like. And we’ll be back for dinner.’

I glanced down at my ball dress. ‘I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I
can
climb down a rose bush in this,’ I admitted.

‘Easily sorted,’ said Phredde.

There was an almost silent PING! and I was wearing tracksuit pants and a T-shirt.

There was another PING! and Phredde was out of her ball dress, too.

‘Er, Phredde,’ I said.

‘Yeah?’ asked Phredde happily, straightening her purple and silver T-shirt.

‘You remember the last time we came to Phaeryland without ball dresses on? How we were kidnapped by giant butterflies because they thought we were caterpillars in our tracksuits?’

‘No worries,’ said Phredde. One more PING! and we were both wearing baseball caps that had ‘I am not a caterpillar!’ written on them.

That seemed to sort that out.

So I opened the window, letting in all the flower power air and tweet-tweet bird songs, and grabbed hold of the rose bush and jumped off the balcony and…

‘Help!’ I screamed to Phredde.

‘What’s wrong?’ cried Phredde.

‘There aren’t any branches! How are you supposed to climb down this thing?’

‘Er, slide…or…well, I don’t know!’ wailed Phredde.

‘Then haul me up again!’ I hollered.

So we went down the stairs instead.

‘Have a nice time, kiddies!’ carolled the gnome. ‘Remember, dinner is at six o’clock!’

‘Don’t worry!’ I yelled. ‘I never miss a meal.’

Then we were outside the guesthouse, in Phaeryland.