The Talking Parcel

“Not really,” said Parrot. “They’re good, solid chaps, but with practically no sense of humor. You see, when H.H. founded Mythologia the Griffons were practically extinct, and we could find only three pairs in the Swiss Alps. Well, they came here and founded our colony. They run the only gold mine in Mythologia and run it extremely well.”

As they were talking, the Unicorns had been trotting through a narrow gorge filled with a mixture of bottle and cork trees. This now widened out into a spacious little valley. On the left-hand side of the valley the cliff face had a series of tun­nels running into it, which obviously were the mines, for a con­stant procession of little trucks ran into the tunnels, empty, and reappeared piled high with great, glittering lumps of gold. The trucks ran to the center of the valley, where there were seven giant cauldrons bubbling and glubbing over fierce fires. As the trucks full of gold arrived, three Griffons with spades threw the gold lumps into the cauldrons, where they were melted down instantly. On the other side three other Griffons scooped up the liquid gold in what looked like long-handled soup ladles and poured it into molds shaped like bricks. As soon as the gold cooled and hardened, three more Griffons turned out the bricks of gold from the molds, loaded them into trucks, and pushed them into a giant cave that lay on the right-hand side of the valley. The entrance of this important gold storehouse was guarded by no less than twelve Griffons that lay on each side of it, as still as statues, their fierce, golden eyes watching every­thing carefully.

As soon as one of the sentries saw the little cavalcade of Unicorns, he sat up on his hind legs, spread his wings, and blew three blasts on a slender, golden trumpet. Immediately, all the Griffons stopped whatever they were doing and gathered round, and yet more Griffons, covered and sparkling with gold dust, appeared from the mine shafts. Soon the children were surrounded by some fifty Griffons. They were inclined to agree with Parrot’s description of them as nice-looking beasts. Each was the size of a very large dog, with the body of a lion and a lion’s tawny coat. Their huge, eagle heads—though fierce-looking, with strong, curved beaks—had a kindly expression in the large, keen eyes. They would occasionally spread their wings above their heads and stretch and flap them as hawks do.

“Good morning, good morning, gold-digger Griffons,” said Parrot, when they were all assembled. “I bring you greetings from H.H.”

The Griffons all said “Goot morning,” in growly, deep voices like lions. And then they pushed one of their number forward as spokesman.

“Ve are much pleased to see you, Herr Parrot,” he said in his rich voice.

“Ja, ja,” chorused the rest of the Griffons, nodding their heads.

“Ve have heard that the Cockatrices have killed you and H.H. both, so ve vere much sad,” the Griffon went on.

“Well, both I, as you can see, and H.H. are very well in­deed,” said Parrot. “It’s just that the Cockatrices have suddenly become disobedient.”

“That is very bad,” said the Griffon. “Cockatrices should not disobedient be.”

“Yes,” Parrot went on. “They’ve stolen the Great Books of Government and are holding them in Cockatrice Castle, and we plan to get them—I and these kind children here.”

“Any friend of Herr Parrot is a friend of the Griffons,” said the Griffon, inclining his head.

“The Cockatrices need a good lesson,” said Parrot. “We can’t have them running the country. Already they’re producing an egg a day. Who knows where it will end? The next thing, they’ll be banning gold as a nest-building material.”

“Vat?” roared all the Griffons. “Dis ve vould not allow.”

“Well, there you are,” said Parrot. “That’s the sort of thing we’re trying to put a stop to. We’ve got the Unicorns and the Weasels on our side, and we want to know if we can count on your help.”

The Griffons conferred together in their deep, rumbling voices with much swishing of wings and clattering of beaks. At last the spokesman said to Parrot, “Ve are agreed. Ve vill join you. Ve t’ink government by dese Cockatrices vill be bad t’ing for Mythologia. Ve your instructions vill avait.”

“Thank you,” said Parrot. “We will send a message to you when we’re ready.”

“At your service alvays,” said the Griffon, bowing.

As the children rode away, they could hear the clink, clink, clink of the Griffons’ hammers deep in the mines and the bub­bling and plopping noise of the liquid gold boiling in the great cauldrons.

“That’s marvelous,” said Peter enthusiastically, as they left the valley. “I like the Griffons. Just the sort of people one would like to have around in a tight corner.”

“They’re slow but sure,” said Parrot.

“Well, now we’re collecting something like an army,” said Simon. “With the Unicorns, the Weasels, and the Griffons, we’ve got nearly a thousand soldiers.”

“And we’ll need them,” said Parrot. “Those Cockatrices won’t give in easily. Their castle is practically impregnable.”

“Wot does that mean?” asked Ethelred, jogging up and down behind Penelope on her Unicorn.

“It means you can’t get into it easily,” Penelope explained.

“Ho, can’t you just?” said Ethelred. “Wot about that drain wot I showed you?”

“They’ll have found that by now and filled it in, I’m afraid,” said Parrot.

“Well, wot I say is this,” said Ethelred. “I’m not such a useless Toad as some people might think, and I’ve played about in that Castle, Toad and Tadpole, for years now. Wot I don’t know about that there Castle isn’t worth knowing, and I say it’s not as impregers . . . impregers ... as wot you said.”

“Well, we’ll see,” said Parrot. “When we come to plan the final campaign, your knowledge will be of the utmost value to us.”

They were riding through very dense cork forest when sud­denly the Unicorns, who had been trotting along quite happily, stopped and started to rear and mill around.

“Hey! hey! hey!” said Parrot. “What’s the to-do?”

But the two Unicorns carrying Simon and Peter with Parrot on his shoulder bolted off into the forest. Penelope’s Unicorn reared onto its hind legs, throwing Penelope and Ethelred off its back, before it also galloped off into the forest. Penelope fell into the bushes with a bump that knocked all the breath out of her body, and Ethelred, still clasping Penelope’s first aid kit, fell on his head in the middle of the path and lay stunned.

Penelope was about to go and see if he was badly hurt, when her blood froze. Around the corner of the path, out of the cork forest, appeared three Cockatrices, their scales rattling as they marched, their pale eyes glaring. Penelope sank back into the bushes and stayed quite still, hoping that the Cockatrices wouldn’t notice Ethelred, but he was lying right in the middle of the path. He was just sitting up, rubbing his head and groan­ing, when the Cockatrices came up to him.

“Har,” said the leading Cockatrice in a nasty, gobbling voice. “What have we here?”

“I’m a Peruvian greengrocer, wot’s ’ere traveling around to collect a cargo of moon-carrots,” said Ethelred immediately, with great confidence.

“You don’t look like a Peruvian greengrocer,” said the Cocka­trice, peering at him, little wisps of flame and smoke trailing from his nostrils. “You look more like a Toad.”

“Well, I’ll let you into a secret,” said Ethelred, smiling up at the Cockatrice. “But first, would you mind moving your beak a little bit? I don’t want to get me ’at singed.”

“Well,” said the Cockatrice, standing back, “what’s the se­cret?”

“Well,” said Ethelred, “I’m a Toad—that’s quite true. I’m disguised as a Peruvian greengrocer because I’m incognito.”

“What?” snarled the Cockatrice.

“I’m in disguise,” Ethelred explained.

“Why?” asked the Cockatrice.

“Because,” said Ethelred, “I’m on a very important mission, that’s why. I’m carrying a very valuable present ’ere from the ’Ead Griffon to the Chief Cockatrice.”

“What is the present?” asked the Cockatrice.

“It’s a Complete Master Spy’s outfit,” said Ethelred, patting the first aid kit. “In ’ere is the equipment that will turn you into an Australian sheep farmer on vacation or a Lithuanian ambas­sador to Togoland, in a flash.”

“I don’t believe you, Toad,” snarled the Cockatrice. “Show me what you have in the bag.”

Penelope held her breath, for she knew that the only things in the bag were medical supplies she had brought.

“ ’Ere, I can’t do that,” Ethelred protested. “It’s not good manners to show you other people’s presents.”

“If you don’t show me, I shall arrest you,” said the Cocka­trice.

“ ’Ere,” said Ethelred, playing for time. “You’ve got no right to arrest me. Wot ’ave I done?”

“We are the Government. Therefore we have every right to arrest you,” said the Cockatrice. “At your execution, your crime will be read out for you to hear. Open the bag.”

“Oh, all right, then,” said Ethelred sulkily. He opened the bag and emptied the contents onto the ground, while the three Cockatrices bent over it interestedly, peering with their pale straw-colored eyes.

“What’s that?” asked one Cockatrice, pointing at a roll of cot­ton wool.

“False ’air,” said Ethelred immediately. “Stick it on your ’ead and you’re an old man of ninety in a second.”

“And that?” asked the second Cockatrice, pointing at the bandages.

“Bandages,” said Ethelred. “Wrap ’em round you and you’re a wounded warrior in a trice. Wrap ’em round your ’ead and your own mum wouldn’t know you.”

“And this?” asked the third Cockatrice, pointing at a bottle of iodine.

“ ’Indu makeup,” said Ethelred airily. “Splash it on your face, couple of bandages round your ’ead, a ruby or two, and you’re a Maharaja wot’s so lifelike you could deceive an ele­phant.”

“And this?” asked the first Cockatrice, pointing to a small bottle.

The bottle, Penelope knew, contained lavender water, which she’d brought because it was cooling and soothing if somebody had a headache or sunstroke.

“Invisible ink,” said Ethelred.

“But why isn’t it invisible?” asked the Cockatrice.

“Because invisible ink isn't” Ethelred explained. “It’s wot it writes wot’s invisible, not the ink.”

“I don’t believe you,” said the Cockatrice. “Open the bottle and let me see you write something invisible.”

“You ain’t ’alf a disbelieving lot,” grumbled Ethelred. “ ’Ow can you see me write something wot’s invisible?” Nevertheless, he picked up the bottle and uncorked it.

Immediately the most extraordinary thing happened. The three Cockatrices reeled back, the tears streaming from their eyes, and they started sneezing. As they sneezed, great gushes of flame and smoke shot from their nostrils, and Ethelred, hold­ing the bottle of lavender water with one hand and his top hat on with the other, had to hop to and fro with great agility to prevent himself from being burnt.

“Why,” thought Penelope to herself, “they’re behaving just like the one that was chasing Septimus. I must have had some lavender water on my clothes.”

Suddenly the three Cockatrices could stand it no longer. Wheezing and gasping for breath, their eyes watering, sneezing great sheets of flame, they turned and ran, coughing and splut­tering, into the cork forest.

“Cor blimey,” said Ethelred, gazing after them in astonish­ment. “Suffering frog’s spawn. ’O’d ’ave thought it?”

“Ethelred,” said Penelope, coming out of the bushes, some of which were still smoldering, “that was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do.”

“Cor, miss, it wasn’t nuffink,” said Ethelred, going a deep crimson.

“Not only were you brave, but you discovered something the Cockatrices don’t like, and that’ll be a great help to us in our battle,” said Penelope.

“You mean the lavender water, miss?” asked Ethelred. “Yes, that did seem to get them in a pickle, I must admit.”

“Em not quite sure how we can use it,” said Penelope, “but I’m sure one of the others will be able to think of a way.”

Just at that moment Peter and Simon appeared, galloping back through the woods with Penelope’s Unicorn following.

“Are you all right, Penny?” shouted Simon.

“Quite all right,” she shouted back.

“It was these stupid Unicorns,” shouted Peter. “They said they could smell Cockatrice ...” His voice died away as he saw all the smoldering bushes and charred trees. “So the Uni­corns were right,” he said. “There were Cockatrices about.”

“And if it hadn’t been for Ethelred’s bravery, I don’t know what would have happened,” said Penelope, climbing onto her Unicorn.

“ ’Ere, steady on, miss,” said Ethelred, as he took his place behind her. “You’re making me all embarrassed.”

“Ethelred’s made a most important discovery,” said Penel­ope. “But with all these Cockatrices about, it’s not safe here. Let’s get back to the Crystal Caves and I’ll tell you about it there.”

“Come on, then,” said Parrot, “full steam ahead.”

And at a smart canter they headed for the Crystal Caves.

The Singing Sea

H.H. was terribly excited at the news that the Weasels might join, that the Griffons would join, and that Ethelred had found something that threw Cockatrices into convulsions.

“Lavender water?” he said. “How interesting. It gives them a form of hay fever, I expect, like a very nasty cold. I wonder if I can make up a substitute?”

“Don’t you grow lavender here?” asked Penelope.

“It grows on one of the islands,” said H.H., “but without Hepsibar’s Herbal I’m afraid I can’t remember which one.”

“I got terrible hay fever once from a plant when I went on holiday,” said Tabitha. “Let me just smell it and see if it’s the same.”

So they gave her the lavender water to smell, and it had the same effect that it had on the Cockatrices. Tabitha set fire to two sofas, fourteen cushions, and a table with her sneezes be­fore she was brought back to normal by having a bucket of water poured over her head.

“That’s it, that was the plant,” she gasped. “Oh my goodness me, I haven’t sneezed like that since I used pepper by mistake for face powder.”

“How on earth did you do that?” asked Penelope in surprise.

"Well, I was making up in the dark, you see,” she explained, wiping her still streaming eyes.

“Making up in the dark?” said Penelope. “Whatever for?”

“Well, it was a midnight ball that I was going to. There was no moon, you see, so naturally I made up in the dark,” said Tabitha.

“Where did you say this plant grew?” asked H.H.

“Golden Goose Island,” said Tabitha. “We Dragons went on a camping holiday there. We all got it. You can imagine how it spoilt our holiday.”

Having seen the damage that one Dragon could do after smelling lavender, the children could imagine the turmoil of fifty camping Dragons all having lavender fever at the same time.

“Well, that is useful,” said H.H. in a pleased tone of voice. “Golden Goose Island lies on the direct route to Werewolf Island, so you can gather some lavender on your way back. I’ll make up an infusion of it and we’ll keep it handy.”

“Now we’d better plan the voyage,” said Simon. “Have you got a chart, H.H.?”

“Yes, I have an excellent one,” said H.H. He pulled out a great parchment map which showed the whole of Mythologia and the sea and all its islands. “Now, we are there,” he said, ad­justing his glasses, “and there is Cockatrice Castle over there. Now, you’ll have to get down here, to the beach, and head in the southwesterly direction, past Moonraker’s Marsh, past the Agate Archipelago, then you’ll see Golden Goose Island on your left, and north-northeast of that lies Werewolf Island.”

“How long do you think the voyage will take us?” asked Peter.

“Oh, several hours,” said H.H.

“I suppose you haven’t got such a thing as an outboard engine, have you?” asked Simon hopefully.

“I’m afraid not,” said H.H. “But we can make you a Moon­calf jelly sail and I’ll give you a spanking wind to help you along. Hows that?”

“Splendid,” said Peter. “You know, next to attacking Cocka­trice Castle, this seems to be an excellent adventure.”

“Don’t speak too soon,” warned Parrot. “Those Werewolves are nasty customers.”

“You're not going,” screamed Dulcibelle suddenly. “You’re not going to Werewolf Island, I won’t have it. I shall sulk. I shall resign. I shall go into hibernation. I shall scream. I shall shout; I shall never ever never ever speak to you again, so there.”

So saying, she burst into tears and pulled down all the cur­tains on her cage.

Penelope went across to Parrot’s cage to talk to her.

“Dulcibelle dear,” she said, “we know you think the world of Parrot—and so do we—so we wouldn’t ask him to come unless it was absolutely necessary, you must realize that. But I prom­ise you that if you let him come, I will see that he takes no risks and leaves all the dangerous work to my cousins and me.”

“Well,” said Dulcibelle, raising one curtain and wiping her eyes with the corner of it. “If you promise to look after him.”

“I promise,” said Penelope.

“Now if you women have finished,” said Parrot in a loud and embarrassed voice, “perhaps we can get on with the planning of this mission.”

“I reckon,” said Simon, who had been doing a lot of mathe­matics on a piece of paper, “I reckon that if H.H. gives us a four-knot wind at dawn tomorrow, barring accidents we should reach Werewolf Island by three thirty in the afternoon. That means that we can collect the rue and sail all night and be back here the dawn the day after.”

“Do you think you can do it in that time?” asked H.H.

doubtfully. “On no account must you land at night. That’s when the werewolves are most dangerous.”

“If you can give us a steady wind,” said Simon, “we should do it.”

“That’s no trouble,” said H.H. “You just tell me the direc­tion and the force and I’ll turn it on—nothing simpler.”

“You must take your seasick pills,” shouted Dulcibelle sud­denly.

“Do be quiet, woman,” said Parrot crossly. “We’re discuss­ing important things.”

“Seasickness is important,” said Dulcibelle. “If you’re so sea­sick you can’t run away from a Werewolf-—that's important.”

“I promise I’ll see that he takes them,” said Penelope sooth­ingly.

“I’d love to come with you and help,” said Tabitha, “but I’m afraid I’m too big for the boat.”

“You’re too big and I’m too old,” said H.H. “Ah, well, but I feel guilty at letting you children do all the work and take all the risks.”

“Nonsense,” said Peter. “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

“Nor would I,” said Simon.

“You’re not to worry,” said Penelope, throwing her arms around H.H. and kissing him on his rosy cheek. “We love help­ing you and we’ll get Mythologia back for you, you see if we don’t.”

“ ’Ere, ’ere, three cheers for Miss Penelope,” said Ethelred, clapping.

“You’re very kind, very kind,” said H.H., taking off his glasses, which had suddenly become misty, and blowing his nose violently.

“Miss,” Ethelred said eagerly. “Can I come too, miss? I’m not very big, like, and I wouldn’t take up much room, and I might be able to ’elp.”

“Of course, he can come,” said Simon, “brave Toad.”

“Yes, of course,” agreed Peter, “quick-witted Ethelred.” “You can come as my personal protector,” said Penelope, “and we’ll be proud to have you with us.”

Ethelred was so overcome that he went as red as fourteen pounds of overripe tomatoes, and he had to go into a corner and blow his nose very vigorously several times.

So the next morning, having said good-bye to H.H., Tabitha, and a most tearful Dulcibelle, the children with Parrot and Ethelred went down one of the many corridors in the Crys­tal Caves which eventually led them out on the beach. The sand was like minute pearls, and the tiny champagne-colored waves broke on the shore with a musical noise like somebody running his fingers along the strings of the most melodious of harps. No wonder, Penelope thought, it was called the Singing Sea.

Into this gentle and melodious sea they launched the dinghy, and immediately, as H.H. had promised, a warm breeze sprang up. The sail furled out like a bay window, and the dinghy went bowling along at a good rate, carrying with it Penelope, the boys, Parrot and Ethelred, and a hamper full of food provided by H.H. They also had sickles for cutting the rue and the lav­ender, and large bags for putting the plants in.

“Tell me, Parrot,” said Penelope, feeling that she had been asking the same question ever since they’d arrived in Mythologia, “what are Werewolves exactly? I’m sure I’ve read about them, but I can’t quite remember.”

“I remember,” said Simon. “Aren’t they people who are sup­posed to turn into wolves at full moon?”

“That’s right,” said Parrot. “An ugly superstition, as well as a silly one. But, as I told you, in the days when H.H. created Mythologia a lot of people believed firmly in Werewolves, and so there were quite a number about. They begged to be al­lowed to come to Mythologia, as they began to die out, and

H.H. had to let them. They were a borderline case, of course, but he gave them the benefit of the doubt. He let them set up house on this island we are going to, on condition that they shared it with the two other troublemakers, the Mandrakes and the Will-o’-the-Wisps. Then the Firedrakes wanted a fairly gloomy sort of island, so he let them live there too.”

“I’ve heard of the Will-o’-the-Wisps and how they lead you into swamps and quicksands,” said Penelope, “but what are Firedrakes?”

“Very colorful,” said Parrot. “The most colorful thing in Mythologia. Related to the Will-o’-the-Wisps, but they can be hot and cold, whereas the Wisps are only cold, of course. Fire­drakes are nice little fellows, very timid, but with charming, straightforward characters. The Will-o’-the-Wisps, on the other hand, are an unruly lot, mischievous troublemakers.”

“And the Mandrakes?” asked Penelope. “Are they something like Firedrakes?”

“No, no,” said Parrot. “Firedrakes are composed mainly of fire, but the Mandrakes are plants—lazy, good-for-nothing plants at that. You see, at one time they were widely used in spells and medicine, and of course they didn’t like that, so they invented the scream.”

“The scream?” said Peter. “How do you invent a scream, for goodness’ sake?”

“It’s such a terrible scream,” said Parrot, holding up a claw to emphasize his words, “such a hideous, horrifying scream that when you hear it it drives you mad.”

“This was to prevent them from getting plucked?” asked Simon.

“Yes,” said Parrot, “so now they do nothing but sleep day and night, night and day, and should anyone be silly enough to wake them, then they all wake up at once and scream at once— and you can imagine what that’s like.”

“Gosh, and we’ve got to get through a wood of those?” asked Peter. “It is going to be dangerous.”

“I told you this mission would be dangerous,” said Parrot. “First we have the Mandrakes to worry about, then the Were­wolves, and the Will-o’-the-Wisps, though they won’t be about in the daytime and the Wolves will be asleep too. That’s why H.H. insisted that we land on the Island during the day. It’s the least dangerous time.”

“We’re making good progress, owing to H.H.’s wind,” said Simon.

Indeed, the dinghy was bowling over the musical waves at a good pace. What with the warm sun and warm wind it was a delightful journey. The water was so clear that twenty feet below them the children could see schools of multicolored fish swimming about, huge oysters with pearls gleaming in them, and giant lobsters and crabs in a variety of colors. Little flocks of scarlet and blue flying fish would suddenly appear in front of their bows and fly along the surface for a little way, chittering like birds, before plunging into the sea again.

“ ’Ere, miss,” said Ethelred in a low voice to Penelope, “you’re not afraid of them Werewolves, are you? There’s no need to be, with me along to look after you, ’onest.”

“I should have been scared,” Penelope said, “but with you as my personal protector I don’t feel the slightest cause for alarm.” Ethelred looked immensely pleased at this.

They had been traveling for several hours, and the soothing wind and sun had made them all tired. Parrot put his head under his wing for forty winks; Ethelred lay on his back with his mouth open, snoring, his top hat on his chest; and Penelope and the boys dozed in the balmy air.

After Penelope had slept for a while, she woke and lay there thinking that perhaps they all ought to have some lunch. Star­ing up at the clear, green sky with little battalions of colored clouds, she suddenly felt that there was something wrong. Then she realized what it was. They were not moving. She sat up and looked round. As far as she could see in every direction they were surrounded by great fronds of seaweed, like purple and green lace, that were actually moving and growing as she watched. The dinghy was firmly aground on the fronds. Then a frond of the beautiful seaweed made its way over the side of the dinghy, like the tentacle of an animal, but growing and ex­panding as it moved with a faint rustling sound. Penelope rea­lized that if only two or three bits behaved like this, the dinghy and they themselves would disappear under the pile of purple and green seaweed.

“Parrot,” she shouted, struggling to open the hamper in which she knew there was a knife to cut the seaweed. “Parrot . . . everyone . . . wake up, wake up.”

They all woke up and saw in an instant what the problem was.

“Oh cumbersome and cumulus cauliflowers,” exclaimed Par­rot in annoyance. “It’s that wretched weed. Here, just cut off the bits that come aboard. It will soon stop.”

Sure enough, after the children and Ethelred had cut off two or three fronds of the seaweed, it seemed to realize that it was not wanted and ceased trying to grow all over the dinghy. But they continued to remain stationary.

“A dreadful nuisance this,” said Parrot. “This will hold us up unless I can get some help. Here, give me my telescope, Penel­ope, will you? It’s just beside you.”

With his telescope, Parrot anxiously scanned the horizon until suddenly he gave a squawk of satisfaction.

“We’re in luck,” he said. “They’re working over there. The thing is to attract their attention.”

“Who are they?” asked Penelope.

“Mermaids,” said Parrot. “H.H. employs them to keep the weeds under control. You see, he made a mistake with the spell. Instead of ‘everlasting’—you know, like the flowers you saw—he said ‘ever-growing.’ And once you’ve gone and done a spell like that, it’s impossible to undo, so he had to get the Mermaids just to keep it down. It’s a full-time job, I can tell you. If they relaxed for a moment the Singing Sea would be full of it. I think what we’ll have to do is to pull ourselves a little nearer and shout.”

So they all leant over the side and grabbed armfuls of sea­weed and pulled. Slowly, inch by inch, they found they could slide the dinghy over the weeds. After pulling and panting for what seemed an age, the children could hear a faint singing drifting across the weeds and water.

“Ahoy,” roared Parrot. “Ahoy there, Desdemona, ahoy.” The singing ceased and there was silence.

“Ahoy,” roared Parrot again. “It’s me, Parrot.”

Still there was silence. Then, suddenly, right next to the dinghy, the weeds parted and an enormous Mermaid made her appearance, slightly out of breath.

She did not look at all like Penelope’s idea of a mermaid, for she must have weighed easily three hundred pounds. She had vast quantities of bright blond hair that fell in ringlets all over her shoulders and chest. Her eyes, which were large, circular, and bright periwinkle blue, had vast quantities of eye shadow on the lids and black false eyelashes, as thick as hedges. Her plump hands were beautifully manicured, the nails painted a bright cyclamen pink, and in one of them she held a golden sickle and in the other a large silver mirror.

“Did I hear a man calling for help?” she inquired in a deep, husky voice, fluttering her eyelashes so hard that Penelope thought they might fall off. “A man, no doubt, of blue blood and ancient lineage, calling upon me for succor?”

“No,” said Parrot, “it was me. How are you, Des?”

“Oh,” said Desdemona coldly. “Oh, it’s you, Parrot. How simply ripping it is to see you again. I do wish, by the way, that you would not refer to me in that coarse, vulgar way. My name is Desdemona and I’ll thank you to use it.”

“Righto,” said Parrot. “Let me introduce you—Penelope, Peter, Simon—Miss Desdemona Williamson Smythe-Smythe- Browne, Head Mermaid.”

The mermaid laid her massive arms on the side of the dinghy, causing it to tip up at a dangerous angle, and shook hands graciously with each of the children in turn.

“Charmed to meet you, I’m sure,” said Desdemona, flutter­ing her eyelids. “Such handsome boys and such a pretty girl. No tails of course, but don’t let that worry you, it’s not your fault. I expect you’re terribly well connected, with all sorts of dukes and duchesses and lords in your family? I can see it in your faces, aristocrats, that’s what.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Penelope.

“Oh, I am sure they’re there if you search for them,” said Desdemona. “Take me, for example. Well, I mean to say, you can tell I am well connected, can’t you? One doesn’t like to mention those things for fear of being thought a snob. No, just one’s natural, aristocratic bearing tells people you’re—well, you know, a cut above them.”

“Exactly,” said Penelope, trying not to smile.

“My whole family is well connected,” said Desdemona, “on both sides. Do you know, one of my aunts by marriage was waved at by Christopher Columbus? My father’s uncle’s sister’s cousin, for many years—I am told—received letters from no less a person than Lord Nelson hisself, letters of the most lov­ing nature.”

“Look, Des,” said Parrot impatiently. “Can’t we leave your family history alone until some other time?”

“My dear Parrot,” said Desdemona with dignity. “I am sorry, I’m sure, if I’m boring you. It’s very seldom I get the chance to talk to people of culture and refinement, and I am sure that they are interested, and even if they weren’t they’re far too well bred to say so, unlike you, what’s behaving as common as dirt.”

“Why, I don’t mind hearing about your family,” said Parrot cheerfully. “It’s just that we’re in an awful hurry and this weed’s slowing us down. Could you get some of your wenches to cut us a path and give us a push? It’s a matter of life and death, old girl, otherwise we wouldn’t worry you.”

“Well,” said Desdemona, “seeing as how it’s an emergency, I will certainly ask my young ladies if they would assist you in your predicament. However, I would be glad if you would call me by my correct name and not ‘old girl’ in that disgustingly familiar fashion. We Mermaids of good connection can’t be too careful about our good names, and the use of that expression might lead people to suppose that you and I were on more friendly terms than what we are.”

“All right, Miss Williamson Smythe-Smythe-Browne,” said Parrot in exasperation. “Anything you like, but just get a res­cue party.”

“Common as common, some of them round here,” said Des­demona in a low voice to Penelope. “Not like you and me.” She gave Peter and Simon a sparkling smile, waved a fat hand, and sank back into the weed bed and disappeared with scarcely a ripple.

“Drat this delay,” said Parrot irritably, pulling his watch out from under his wing and looking at it. “We’re hours behind. That means we’ll really have to get a move on when we get out of this weed.”

Quite soon Desdemona resurfaced and with her emerged eight Mermaids of much the same age and shape. Some had yellow hair like Desdemona’s, others had scarlet hair, and the hair of some was dyed an electric blue.

“Young ladies,” said Desdemona in her rich husky voice, “I know you will agree that it is a very great honor to have here with us people what are as well connected as what we are. I’m sure I speak for you all when I say welcome to the cultured and aristocratic company of Lady Penelope and her cousins what are lords and such in their own right.”

“ ’Ere,” said Ethelred suddenly, “wot about me, then?”

“You, what about you?” asked Desdemona.

“Well, I’m a Polish Count, I am,” said Ethelred, “and come from a long and distinguished line of Counts, I do.”

“You?” said Desdemona in astonishment. “You don’t look like a Count.”

“ ’Course I don’t,” said Ethelred. “I was changed in me cradle, wasn’t I, see?”

“Fascinating, quite fascinating,” said Desdemona doubtfully. “You must tell me all about it. But first, young ladies, let us rescue our noble cargo. Now, all together: heave-o, and away we go.”

Displaying much more agility than one would have expected from Mermaids of such ample figures, Desdemona’s eight young ladies started scything a path through the weeds. Des­demona herself swam to the stern, leant her fat arms on it, while propelling the dinghy with her tail, and settled down for a good gossip.

“When I was a gal,” she confided to Penelope, “before we came and settled in Mythologia, I used to spend a lot of my time in the sea off Brighton.”

“Brighton?” said Peter. “Simon and I spent our summer hol­idays there last year.”

“Did you?” said Desdemona. “Lovely place. Always got such a nice class of person there, if you know what I mean. You know, my aunt, on my father’s side that is, she was swimming there one day, and you’ll never guess who came out of one of those bathing machines.”

“Who?” asked Simon.

“King George the Fourth,” said Desdemona. “Oh yes, His Royal Highness hisself. All dressed up in a lovely striped bathing suit he was, my aunt said, and wearing a woolly hat to keep his royal head dry, bless him; and he was wearing beach shoes on his royal feet, so that they wouldn’t get cut on the stones. Well, he’d hardly got up to his waist in water when he lost one of his shoes. Such goings-on as you’d never believe, my aunt said. King George shouting and roaring, and all the courtiers and equerries in their land clothes diving like mad things to find the shoe.”

“And what happened?” asked Penelope, fascinated.

“They didn’t find it,” said Desdemona. “But when they’d all gone, my aunt went and had a look, and she found it. Yes, and she’s got it to this very day in a little glass case—the very beach shoe what was on his Royal Highness’s foot. What do you think of that ?”

“There can’t be many people whose aunts have royal beach shoes,” said Penelope.

“Exactly,” said Desdemona in triumph. “That’s what I’m always telling my girls. Do you go to many garden parties at Buckingham Palace, my dear?”

“No, not often,” said Penelope truthfully.

“My grandmother swam up the Thames once and was run down by a barge. At first, she was very annoyed, for it gave her a black eye, and then she realized that it was Queen Eliza­beth’s own state barge. Just fancy that! Not many people can say they’ve been given a black eye by a Queen, now, can they?”

“Clear sea ahead,” shouted Parrot. “Get ready to hoist the sail.”

“Well, I have enjoyed our little chat,” said Desdemona gra­ciously. “There’s nothing like a bit of chin-wag with one what knows what you’re talking about when you mention the aristoc­racy.”

“I’ve enjoyed it too,” said Penelope.

“I hope we meet again,” said Simon.

“Yes, I hope so too,” said Peter.

“You’re all very gracious,” said Desdemona, fluttering her eyelashes like mad.

She gathered her ladies about her and they all bobbed about in the water, throwing kisses and waving, as the dinghy gath­ered speed and drew away across the sea.

“Most vexatious delay,” said Parrot, worriedly consulting his watch. “Most vexatious. And it doesn’t seem that we shall go any faster. This means that we won’t get to Werewolf Island before dark.”

“But H.H. said not to go ashore after dark,” protested Peter.

“I don’t think we have any choice,” said Parrot grimly. “If we don’t go ashore and get the rue tonight, we’ll miss the wind H.H. is putting up for us, and it’ll take days to get back.”

“Well, then it’s up to Peter, you, and me,” said Simon. “Penny can stay with the dinghy, and Ethelred will stay with her to guard her.”

“Now, look” Penelope began.

“Please, Penelope,” said Parrot. “Simon is quite right. If it was daytime it would be different, but at night it’s far too dan­gerous. You must stay with the dinghy, like a good girl, and you and Ethelred can push off into deep water if anything happens.”

“Oh, all right,” said Penelope. “But I don’t want to.”

The dinghy sped on over the waves, and Parrot became more and more worried, looking at his watch every five minutes and scanning the horizon through his telescope. He was just doing this for the fiftieth time when a strange thing happened. Just ahead of them the sea suddenly boiled and frothed, as if a sand­bank or a reef had suddenly appeared. The waves got rougher and rougher in that one spot. And then the children, who were somewhat alarmed, could see something rising to the surface of the sea.

The next moment the huge head of a Sea Serpent broke surface and rose some thirty feet in the air on a long slender neck. It was an enormous head, with nostrils like a hippo’s, huge saucerlike eyes, and tattered-looking ears so large that, at first, the children thought they were wings. Around its chin and lips were a lot of bristly tentacles that made it look as though it had a beard and moustache. Its body was covered with the most beautiful kingfisher blue scales, its eyes were sea green, and its beard and moustache were bright ginger. On the top of its head, between its ears, it had two strange, black horns that looked rather like a snail’s horns, and, behind them, it wore a chef’s hat. It peered about it, smiling to itself, the sea running off it in waterfalls.

Far from being alarmed at this apparition, Parrot seemed positively delighted. “Oh good” he said. “It’s Oswald. What a bit of luck.”

“Is he friendly?” asked Penelope.

Of all the animals they’d seen in Mythologia, Oswald was undoubtedly the biggest.

“Oswald?” said Parrot. “Oswald? Har! har! har! Tamest creature in Mythologia.”

“It was just that he seems to have an awful lot of teeth,” explained Penelope.

“No, Oswald’s all right,” said Parrot. “Tame as three sheep, is Oswald.”

“Will he help us?” asked Simon.

“That’s what I’m going to ask him,” said Parrot. “The thing is to attract his attention—he’s a bit hard of hearing.”

Parrot went up into the bows of the dinghy, cupped his wings round his beak, and shouted, “Oswald. It’s me, Parrot. I’m here, you ninny, in the boat.”

Oswald looked vaguely about. Then suddenly he saw the dinghy. Immediately, his eyes widened in astonishment. “A crumpet!” he screamed with delight. “After all these years—a crumpet, a green crumpet!”

He surged forward, bent down, and before anyone could make a move he had engulfed in his mouth the dinghy, the three children, Parrot, Ethelred, the hamper full of food, the sickles, and the bags for the rue and lavender.

“Oh, dear,” thought Penelope, as the huge jaws, with their white teeth, closed round them. “This definitely is the end of our adventure.”

Werewolves and Firedrakes

“Oh, the ninny,” shouted Parrot in the gloom of Oswald’s mouth. “Oh, the stupid nincompoop. Really, these creatures are enough to make one molt.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Peter.

“Do?” shouted Parrot. “Do? Get out of here before that idiot Sea Serpent swallows us. Here, you take the sickles and give me my telescope, and we’ll bang on his teeth.”

“Yum yum,” they heard Oswald say to himself, his voice sounding all hollow and echoing. “Yum yum. After all these years, what a delicious flavor! So delicately made! Yum yum. A real crumpet at last.”

“I’ll give the silly fool crumpet,” said Parrot. “Now, all together.”

Just as Oswald was saying “Yum yum” for the fourth time, the children, Ethelred, and Parrot all hit his teeth. So what he actually said was, “Yum yum, ooer, ouch, ahh,” and, without more ado, spat out the dinghy and its contents. Then he put his head down and stared at it.

“Why,” he said in astonishment, “it’s a crumpet with people on. Well, I never.”

“It’s me, you idiot. Parrot," shouted Parrot, waving his tele­scope.

“Now, a white crumpet with people on would be extraordi­nary enough,” said Oswald, fascinated by this problem, “but a green crumpet with people on it is, I am sure, something no one has seen before.”

“I’ll half strangle this reptile before I’ve finished,” muttered Parrot. Then he shouted, “Oswald, it’s me, Parrot. Parrot.”

Oswald peered closely into the dinghy. “Why,” he said in pleased surprise, “it’s Parrot, I do believe. How nice to see you. But what are you doing sailing about in a green crumpet? Very dangerous, you know, my dear fellow. You might get eaten by someone. Then where would you be? If you must sail about, do it properly in a galleon or something of the sort.”

“This is not a crumpet, it’s a boat,” roared Parrot.

“Goat?” said Oswald. “No, no, my dear Parrot. I hate to contradict you, but I saw a goat once and it looked nothing like that. Besides, goats don’t float and they’re not green. No, no, mark my words—it’s a crumpet. One of them marzipan ones they make in Bulgaria.”

“I can’t talk to you without your ear trumpet,” shouted Par­rot. “I’m getting hoarse.”

“No,” said Oswald, “it’s not a horse either. I mean, I may be mistaken. It could, I suppose, be a green muffin, but I doubt it; I very much doubt it. I don’t think a muffin would float so well.”

“What’s the use of having the largest ears in Mythologia, if you can’t hear,” said Parrot in exasperation. He flew up and perched on Oswald’s ear.

“Where’s your trumpet?” he yelled.

“Ahh,” said Oswald, pleased. “I thought it was. I’m glad you agree, dear Parrot. A goat is something quite different—with horns and a tail and things.”

“Your ear trumpet,” yelled Parrot. “Trumpet, trumpet, trum­pet. ”

“No need to shout and yell like that,” said Oswald, hurt. “I can hear perfectly well without your screeching and roaring.”

“Your ear trumpet," shouted the children in unison.

“Oh, you’d like to see it?” said Oswald, pleased. “Just a moment, I’ve got it here—the very latest thing. Of course, I don’t really need it. I can hear perfectly well, but it’s a comfort to have it around, and I find that if you pour icing sugar through it, it makes the most delicious patterns on cakes.”

He fumbled under the waves and then one of his scaly paws appeared, holding a huge amber ear trumpet, decorated in sil­ver. He pressed it into his ear and beamed at them.

“How does it look?” he inquired. “Rather saucy, I thought.”

“Beautiful,” shouted the children.

“Eh?” said Oswald, bending down and putting the ear trum­pet closer.

“Beautiful,” shouted the children again.

Oswald straightened up, took the trumpet from his ear, and peered into it.

“Won’t be a moment,” he said to the children. “Technical trouble.”

He pushed one of his long claws into the ear trumpet and scrabbled about. Then he shook the trumpet and a large quan­tity of icing sugar fell out.

“There,” he said, pleased. “It gets a little bit choked up oc­casionally.”

He put it back in his ear, and Parrot flew up and perched on it. “Can you hear me now?” he asked Oswald.

“Perfectly,” said Oswald, surprised. “But then I could hear you before. All that nonsense about a goat.”

“Well, listen carefully,” said Parrot. “It’s essential that we get to Werewolf Island as quickly as possible.”

“Werewolf Island?” said Oswald. “What on earth do you want to go there for? Nasty place, nasty people. I went there sunbathing not long ago and the Werewolves threw stones at me. Nasty, vulgar creatures.”

“Well, the reason we want to go there is a long story which we haven’t got time to tell you now,” said Parrot. “But we must get there before moonrise; now can you give, us a tow?”

“Simplest thing in the world,” said Oswald. “You have a rope in the crumpet, I take it? Well, slip it round my neck and away we go.”

So they tied the painter round Oswald’s neck and set off. At first, in his enthusiasm to help, Oswald went far too fast and the dinghy bounced up and down so much they were all nearly thrown out. He had put his ear trumpet away, so he couldn’t hear them shouting to slow down, and in the end Parrot had to fly up to his nose and peck him before he became aware of what he was doing. At last, he got the speed right and they zoomed across the waves at a tremendous rate.

“Tell me,” asked Simon, “why does Oswald wear that chef’s hat?”

“He is a chef,” said Parrot. “Studied in Paris and China. Ex­cellent cook, Oswald, but his father wouldn’t let him continue with it, said cooking wasn’t for Sea Serpents. So he made poor Oswald give it up and go into the family business.”

“What family business?” asked Penelope.

“It’s a firm Oswald’s great-great-grandfather started, called ‘Excitement Unlimited.’ If there is a place not very popular with tourists, they just send one of their family there for a bit. He lets himself be seen and photographed a couple of times and, before you know it, the place is crammed with people wanting to see the Sea Serpent. But Oswald’s a very shy crea­ture and he doesn’t like the publicity involved, and he’s a

kindly soul, so he doesn’t like leaving footprints in people’s back gardens or breathing on picnic parties, suddenly, from behind rocks. No, what he really wanted to do was to open a restaurant, but his father said, ‘Whoever heard of a Sea Serpent running a restaurant?’ So Oswald had to join the firm, and he does his cooking as a hobby.”

“Poor Oswald,” said Penelope.

“Yes, it’s a shame,” said Peter. “It must be horrid to have to go round showing off when you’re modest.”

“Yes, particularly if he’s a good cook,” said Simon.

“One of the very best,” said Parrot, “and won’t use mooncarrots—oh, no, insists on fresh ingredients. Very particular, is Oswald.”

Now the sky was starting to go a deep golden green, and the children could see the beginnings of the four sunsets. On the horizon—a mere smudge at first, and then getting clearer and clearer—loomed Werewolf Island.

“I don’t think we’ll do it before sunset,” said Parrot, looking at his watch and then at the sun, which was sinking toward the horizon. “We’ll have to go ashore in the dark, but we must be off there by moonrise, whatever happens. It was so silly of me not to think of it, but we could have got H.H. to keep the sun shining for two days. But one always thinks of these things too late.”

As they got closer to the Island, it began to look more and more unfriendly, with craggy rocks and straggling bushes. It looked dark and evil, and Penelope shivered as she remembered what lived on it.

“We’ll land on the south end, I’ve told Oswald,” Parrot ex­plained, “because the Mandrake Forest is in the northeast and the Werewolves’ lairs in the northwest. If we can get through the Mandrakes without waking them or the Wolves smelling us, we should have the rue and be out again in next to no time.”

“What about the Will-o’-the-Wisps?” asked Peter.

“Oh, they’re all right, just mischievous. You can’t trust them,” said Parrot.

Oswald had slowed down as they neared the Island, and now headed for a little cove. They beached the dinghy on the sand, which was red and black and glowed uncannily in the light of the sunsets.

“Now, remember,” Parrot said to Penelope. “You stay here with Ethelred and Oswald, and at the first sign of any trouble put out to sea.”

“And what about you?” protested Penelope.

“Never mind about us,” said Parrot confidently. “We’ll be all right.”

“Good-bye, Penelope,” whispered Peter. “Remember, any danger and you scoot off.”

“Yes,” said Simon, “don’t take any risks.”

“Good-bye,” said Penelope. “You take care, too.”

Carrying the sacks and the sickles, Peter and Simon and Par­rot made their way down through the bushes, as quietly as they could.

Penelope sat down on the beach with Ethelred beside her and Oswald lying in the shallows.

“Don’t you worry, miss,” said Ethelred comfortingly. “Why, they’ll be through that ’orrid Mandrake Forest and into the rue field before you can say ‘fried frogs’ spawn.’ ”

Oswald had been listening to this with great attention through his ear trumpet. “Tell me,” he said, “what do they want the rue for?”

“To give it to them Weasels, of course,” said Ethelred.

“To give it to the Weasels? Yes, of course, how stupid of me not to have thought of that,” said Oswald. “Why?”

“Cor blimey, don’t you know anything?” asked Ethelred. “Don’t you know about the Cockatrices and all that?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t,” said Oswald apologetically. “I’ve been on a mission, you see, and I’ve only just got back.”

So, as much to while away the time as anything, Penelope and Ethelred told him about the Cockatrices and their adven­tures.

“Audacious brutes,” said Oswald when they had finished. “To think of them doing that to H.H., the kindest of men. A man who gave me my very best recipe for raspberry flan. How- lucky he had you to help him.”

“So you see,” said Penelope, “if we can just get the rue, it might solve everything.”

“Yes, indeed, I see how important it is,” said Oswald. “It is, as it were, like the final pinch of pepper, the thimble of salt, the fragment of onion, or the merest, tiny, tichy, teensy-weensy tridgle of herbs that makes all the difference between success and failure in a recipe.”

“Exactly," said Penelope. “How well you put it.”

“I don’t understand a word he’s on about,” Ethelred con­fessed.

“I wonder,” said Oswald, “whether I ought to swim round to the northeast of the Island, so that I would be, as it were, on hand in case of an emergency?”

“Oh, would you?” said Penelope Eagerly. “That would be comforting.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll be off,” said Oswald. He swam out into the bay, submerged, and disappeared as swiftly and si­lently as a minnow.

Penelope and Ethelred sat silent on the sand by the dinghy for what seemed like hours.

“It’s a pity we ’ave to be quiet, miss,” whispered Ethelred at length, “else I would ’ave sung to you. Us Toads are famous for our voices, you know, and I know some lovely songs, ’onest I do.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Penelope. “I would have ap­preciated it very much.”

“If I’d brought me conjuror’s outfit, I could have shown you some tricks,” he went on, “ ’cause I was a conjuror before I became a spy, see. I can produce a newt out o’ me top ’at in a way that would baffle anyone.”

“I’m sure you can,” said Penelope.

They sat in silence again while Penelope imagined all the awful things that might be happening to Peter, Simon, and Par­rot.

“Tell you wot, miss,” said Ethelred at last. “You see that there little ’ill at the end of the bay? Well, if I was to climb that I could see a good bit of the Island, and I daresay, more than likely, that I’d see them coming back, laden down with the rue. Shall I take an ’op up there, miss?”

“All right,” said Penelope. “I can see no harm in it, but I’d better stay and guard the boat.”

“Right you are, miss, back in a jiffy,” whispered Ethelred and hopped off.

Without Ethelred, the night seemed twice as dark and lonely. Penelope was just beginning to wish she had not allowed him to go when two things happened that made her wish even more that Ethelred was with her. First, over the very rim of the Singing Sea the tiny edge of the moon appeared, like a curved shred of silver. Swiftly it rose and in a moment or two it was clear of the sea and flooding everything with a silvery light. The moment the moon had risen, Penelope heard echoing and reechoing a series of long-drawn-out blood-curdling howls. Gradually, they died away and silence fell again—a silence that seemed even more horrid, because she knew now that the Werewolves had woken up and were on the prowl.

She was just wondering whether to go in search of Ethelred when she heard another noise. At first, it seemed like a very faint sigh, soft and far away; then, as it grew closer, she could distinguish words.

“Help me,” said the voice faintly, as soft as thistledown. “Please help me, please.”

Penelope got to her feet and went quickly up the beach to where the bushes began, for it was here that the voice seemed to come from. At first, she could see nothing in the gloom, and then suddenly she saw a light, a strange rainbow-colored light that seemed to be rolling or dragging itself through the bushes toward the beach.

“Help me, please, help me,” came the tiny, pathetic voice. And it seemed to Penelope that it came from the strange light that came toward her along the ground. Without a thought of danger, Penelope ran straight through the bushes toward the light.

When she got close to it, she saw that it was about the size of a tennis ball and appeared to be composed entirely of mul­ticolored candle flames. When she looked closely, she saw that it was a small, round, fat bird with a bill like a duck’s whose plumage, instead of being feathers, appeared to be highly col­ored flames. The flames flickered to and fro so much that it was difficult to see exactly what the creature looked like, but one thing was obvious: it was very sick. Penelope ran forward and bent down to pick it up, when the creature rolled onto its back and pushed her hands away with two frail claws like a robin’s.

“Don’t touch me,” it gasped faintly. “Wait while I change.”

Penelope drew back her hands and watched. To her astonish­ment, the creature suddenly turned from a mixture of every color under the sun to a pale whitish yellow.

“Now I’m cold,” it said in a faint voice. “Now you may pick me up.”

Penelope bent forward and gathered up the strange creature in her hand. It was as light as thistledown and it throbbed gently in her hand like a bird. She turned and made her way back to the beach with it. When she reached the dinghy she sat down on the sand and put the strange creature into her lap. It settled back with a sigh of relief.

“You must be Penelope,” it said, “hic.”

“Yes,” said Penelope, “that’s right. But how did you know? And who are you?”

“I’m a Firedrake,” panted the little creature. “At least, hic, I’m not quite, really. I’m a Fire Duckling. I was only hatched a week ago—hic. My name’s Fenella.”

“But what happened to you?” asked Penelope.

“I must tell you quickly,” gasped Fenella. “There’s no time— hic—to lose. I was out this evening practicing my flying—hic— just as the sun went down and I happened to land in a bush. I’m not very good yet, you see—hic—and all my lights went out because I was stunned. When I came to—hic—there was a group of Will-o’-the-Wisps near the bush I was in—hic—and they were plotting. You know what—hic—plotters the Will-o’- the-Wisps are. But this was really a nasty plot. They said that two humans and Mr. Parrot—hic—were making their way across the Island and they’d left a Toad and a Penelope (I sup­pose that’s you) in charge of the boat. They said—hic—they were going to tell the Werewolves where Mr. Parrot and the others were—hic—and then when they were all together they were going to wake the Mandrakes—hie.”

“Did they indeed,” said Penelope, thoroughly enraged. “Nasty, spiteful, plotting things. Then what happened?”

“Well, then I got hiccups,” said Fenella apologetically, “and they all rushed at me—hic—and started banging me about, and I fell out of the bush and broke my wing—hic. Then they got frightened and ran away. But I thought I ought to come—hic— here to warn you. I hope I did right?”

“Absolutely right,” said Penelope, so angry at what the Will- o’-the-Wisps had done to Fenella that her voice shook. “Now, I’ll tell you what I'm going to do. I’m going to put you safely in the boat and you’re to wait for a Toad to come—his name is Ethelred. When he comes, tell him what you’ve told me and tell him I’ve gone to warn Mr. Parrot. Can you remember that?”

“Oh, yes,” said Fenella. “I’ve a very good—hic—memory. It’s just my flying that’s bad—hic.”

“And when I come back, I’ll mend your wing,” said Penel­ope.

“Do take care,” said Fenella. “Those Will-o’-the-Wisps— hic—aren’t to be trusted, truly.”

“I’ll take care,” said Penelope, putting Fenella carefully into the boat. “Now, are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you—hic—very much,” said Fenella.

“Well, just stay there and wait for Ethelred,” said Penelope. And taking the flashlight, she made her way rapidly up the beach and into the bushes.

There was a rough track that was obviously the way Parrot and the boys had gone. She pushed on through the bushes and presently they gave way to a rather dry, scratchy sort of grass­land, and ahead of her loomed a wood. This must be the Man­drake Forest, she thought, and moved very quietly so as not to wake them.

When she had tiptoed to the edge of the forest, she stopped and turned on her flashlight for a moment, for she wanted to see what the Mandrakes were like. What she saw made her want to giggle. They were shaped like great, green Easter eggs with large eyes that were tightly shut, large ears, snub noses, and pouting sulky mouths on their trunks. From the sides of each trunk stuck two short, stubby branches ending in bunches of twigs and leaves, presumably the Mandrake’s equivalent to arms and hands. On their heads, like tangled wigs, were more short branches and a lot of leaves. As they slept they all snored gently, so that the whole forest vibrated.

Penelope switched off the flashlight and tiptoed through the Mandrakes and into the wood. She had to move with great cau­tion, using only the pale light of the moon to see by, for she did not want to walk into a Mandrake by mistake or tread on a twig that would wake them up. So step by step she made her way slowly and carefully through the snoring Mandrakes.

Presently, she came to a clearing in the forest that was flooded with moonlight, and from it six paths led in different directions. Then she noticed in the gloom, among the Man­drakes around the clearing, several greeny blue lights that pulsed but remained quite stationary, as if they were watching her. It was the Will-o’-the-Wisps, and soon she could hear their sniggering, soft voices talking to one another.

“That’s her, that’s her,” sniggered one.

“Yes yes, yes yes,” chorused the others.

“She can’t find her way-a-y ...” giggled the first one.

“No, she can’t, she can’t, she’s lost,” they chorused.

“Soon she’ll be eaten.”

“Yes yes, yes yes.”

“Eaten, eaten, eaten.”

“Yes yes, yes yes.”

Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the Will-o’-the- Wisps slipped off through the trees and were gone. Penelope stood in the center of the clearing and wondered which one of the six paths to choose, wishing she had a compass with her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the map of the Island and in which direction the rue field lay. When she opened her eyes, at the entrance to each path stood a Werewolf.

They looked like very large, shaggy Alsatian dogs, walking on their hind legs and using their front paws as cleverly as mon­keys. Their eyes glinted green in the moonlight and they were all panting, their red tongues flapping in and out, their white teeth gleaming. Before Penelope could move, the Werewolves converged on her swiftly and silently. A bag was thrown over her head and she felt herself lifted in hard, furry paws and carried off, the only sound being the hoarse panting of her cap­tors as they jogged along.

Presently, Penelope was put down and tied to what felt like a tree trunk. Then the bag was removed from her head and she saw she was in a large, gloomy cave lit by a big, flickering fire. She was bound to a tree trunk that had been planted upright in the cave’s earthen floor, and on either side of her were two other tree trunks to which were tied Peter and Simon. “Penelope!” exclaimed Peter. “What are you doing here?” “Why aren’t you with Oswald?” cried Simon.

Hastily, since the Werewolves had left the cave, Penelope related her story of the Firedrake and her subsequent capture.

“Well,” said Peter, “we got through the Mandrake Forest all right, and we found the rue—it grows on the seashore near here.”

“We put it into the sacks,” said Simon, “and then Oswald ap­peared and said you’d sent him. So we told him to go back and get the dinghy and you and Ethelred.”

“Parrot went with him,” said Peter, “and we were waiting for you to come back, when suddenly a whole host of those awful Wisps appeared, shouting ‘Here they are, here they are,’ and the Werewolves jumped on us before we could do any­thing. That was half an hour ago.”

“What are they going to do with us?” asked Penelope.

“Turn us into Werewolves,” answered Peter gloomily, “to increase their numbers.”

“Don’t be silly, how could they?” said Penelope, aghast.

“If they bite us, we’ll turn into Werewolves,” said Simon. “The guard told us. They’re having a special ceremony when the moon sets. They’ll bite us and that’ll be that.”

Penelope was silent, thinking of the fate awaiting them. “Well, we can’t get free, we’ve tried,” said Peter. “They cer­tainly knowhow to tie one up.”

“I’ve got a knife in my pocket, but I can’t reach it,” said Simon.

Just at that moment a Werewolf came into the cave. Seen in the flickering firelight they were even more fierce-looking and unattractive than they had been by moonlight, Penelope de­cided.

“No talking,” said the Werewolf in a harsh, growly voice. “I’ve told you before.”

“Oh, go and boil your head,” said Peter pugnaciously.

“Yes,” said Simon, “we’ve got every right to talk. Why shouldn’t we?”

“It’s the law,” said the Werewolf, lying down by the fire.

“How can it be the law when you haven’t had any prisoners before?” asked Penelope, indignantly. “Don’t be so stupid.”

The Werewolf put his ears back and snarled at her. “We’re not stupid,” he said. “We captured you all, and that was not stupid, so be quiet.”

There was silence for a time, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Then, suddenly, the Werewolf, who’d been lying doz­ing with his head on his paws, pricked up his ears. Then he sat up, staring at the mouth of the cave. The children could see something very strange creeping into the cave. It looked like a long, white caterpillar. The children and the Werewolf watched it, as it crawled steadily closer and closer to the fire. The Werewolf got up on all fours, the fur on his back standing up, and he growled at the strange, white caterpillarlike thing.

“Halt, who goes there?” he snarled.

“Arr,” said the caterpillar. “Arr, arr, friend.”

“Who are you?” said the Werewolf, now somewhat alarmed.

“I’m a Weretoad,” said a familiar voice. “I’m a Weretoad, and I’ve been sent ’ere with a very important present for the Chief of the Werewolves.”

As this strange apparition got close to the fire, the delighted children could see that it was indeed Ethelred with a large roll of cotton wool stuck to his back.

“What’s a Weretoad?” asked the Werewolf, puzzled.

“You mean to say you’ve never ’eard of a Weretoad?” asked Ethelred with scorn. “I don’t think much of your education, then.”

“I’m very well educated,” said the Werewolf indignantly. “Well educated? You? You, wot’s never ’eard of a Were- toad?” said Ethelred. “Lummy, if I was you, I’d be ashamed to admit I didn’t know wot a Weretoad was.”

“Well, what is it?” asked the Werewolf angrily.

“It’s just like a Werewolf, only different,” said Ethelred. “More dangerous, like, more evil and cunning.”

“You couldn’t be more dangerous or evil or cunning than said the Werewolf. “I don’t believe you.”

“Are you accusing me of telling lies?” inquired Ethelred. “I do ’ope not, for your sake. Us Weretoads can be real nasty if we’re put upon.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying,” said the Werewolf hastily. “I just said I didn’t believe you.”

“Well, that’s better, then,” said Ethelred. “Now where’s your Chief, eh? I’ve got this present for ’im.”

“What is the present?” asked the Werewolf suspiciously. “Look, it’s for ’im, not for you,” said Ethelred. “It’s a special magic potion for making Were-things twice as . . . er . . . um . . . er, twice as ‘Were’ as wot they are, see?”

“Twice as ‘Were’?” asked the Werewolf. “You mean more cunning, more dangerous, more evil?”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Ethelred, producing a small bottle from under his cotton wool disguise. “You just rub this ’ere lotion on your tail, and before you can say ‘filleted frog’s legs,’ you’ve become one of the ‘Were-est’ of all Werewolves.”

“You mean that if . . . just supposing, of course . . . if I had this potion I could be promoted—say—from sentry to leader of the pack?” asked the Werewolf, licking his lips.

“Of course,” said Ethelred. “No doubt about it. Shouldn’t be surprised but wot your Chief doesn’t proclaim himself King after rubbing that lot on his tail.”

“There . . . er . . . seems to be a great deal in that bottle,” said the Werewolf thoughtfully.

“Yes,” said Ethelred, “plenty ’ere.”

“I wondered if . . . perhaps . . . you might allow me to just put the tiniest bit on my tail,” said the Werewolf. “I mean just the merest drop—so little, the Chief wouldn’t notice.”

“Well, I don’t know about that now,” said Ethelred doubt­fully. “After all, it’s ’is present, and I ’aven’t got no right, re­ally.”

“Oh go on,” said the Werewolf pleadingly. “Just a drop— he’ll never know, and I’ll be ever so grateful.”

“Well,” said Ethelred reluctantly. “Arr . . . you’re only to ’ave a drop, mind, you promise?”

“Yes, oh yes, I promise,” said the Werewolf, “only a drop.”

“All right then,” said Ethelred.

He held out the bottle to the Werewolf, who snatched it from him, pulled out the cork, and immediately poured the en­tire contents of the bottle over his tail. The children could smell the strong, pungent odor of surgical spirit which they knew was kept in the first aid kit for cleaning up cuts and bruises.

“Ah ha” smiled the Werewolf triumphantly. “I’ve fooled you, I’ve put it all on. Now, I’ll be King of the Werewolves. Now I’ll be more evil, more dangerous, more horrible than any­one else. Now I shall start by eating you, you miserable Were- toad, you.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” said Ethelred, and picked up a flaming branch from the fire and threw it onto the Werewolf’s tail. Immediately, the surgical spirit caught fire, and the Were­wolf’s whole tail burst into flame.

“Arr ...” screamed the Werewolf. “My tail! My tail!”

“Burning a treat it is,” said Ethelred.

“Ow ow ow ! ...” yelled the Werewolf, running round and round the fire. “My tail! My tail!”

“I should go and stick it in the sea, if I were you,” advised Ethelred. “Cool it orf, like.”

Still screaming with pain, the Werewolf ran out of the cave and disappeared in the direction of the sea, his tail streaming like a bonfire behind him.

“That’s got ’im all ’ot and bothered,” said Ethelred in triumph, tearing off his cotton wool disguise. “Now a bit of the old rescue.” “Ethelred, you’re wonderful,” said Penelope.

“Terrific,” said Peter.

“Marvelous,” said Simon.

“Well, now,” said Ethelred, blushing, “it was nuffink really. Just wot we master spies are trained to do. ’Ere, I don’t think I can untie them knots, though.”

“There’s a penknife in my pocket,” said Simon.

“How on earth did you find us?” asked Penelope.

Ethelred had opened the knife and was busily cutting them free. “Well,” he said, “when I got back to the boat and found you’d gone, I nearly ’ad a fit, and when that stupid, hiccupping bird told me wot she told you and wot you were going to do, well, I nearly ’ad two fits, and that’s a fact.”

He cut Penelope free and she was rubbing her wrists where the ropes had chafed her. Now he turned his attention to Peter.

“Well, miss,” he went on, “I hopped after you as quick as ever I could, but you don’t ’alf walk fast. Anyway, I just caught up with you in the Mandrake Forest there, where all them paths were. I was just about to give you a shout when, cor lummy, all them ’orrors jumps on you.”

He cut Peter free and turned to Simon.

“Well, I’ll tell you straight,” Ethelred confessed, “I couldn’t ’ave fought them all. I’d ’ave tried them one at a time, like, but them things don’t fight like that. So I just followed them ’ere, and then when the others went off to arrange ‘The Great Biting,’ as they called it, they left that silly one in 'ere on ’is own. I said, Ethelred me lad, I said, this is where your mastery over the h’art of disguise is going to pay orf. But then I remembered I ’adn’t got me disguises—all there was in the first aid kit was that there cotton wool and that smelly stuff, so I ’ad to do the best I could.”

“You’re wonderfully brave,” said Penelope.

“Brilliantly intelligent,” said Peter.

“Incredibly resourceful,” said Simon.

“ ’Ang on a bit,” said Ethelred, “you’ll ’ave me blushing again.”

“No one else in the world could have done as well,” said Penelope with conviction.

“Well, come on,” said Peter. “We’d better get out of here before the wretched animals come back.”

So, with great caution, they made their way out of the cave, through the Mandrake Forest, and then through the field of rue, down to the sea. In the distance they could hear the howl­ing of the Werewolves, which made Penelope shiver. when they reached the beach, they walked along it, while Peter and Simon tried to find the landmark where they were supposed to meet Parrot. Suddenly Penelope, glancing over her shoulder, gave a gasp of horror. “Look,” she said. “The Werewolves.”

At the far end of the beach, running on all fours, came the Werewolf pack, their eyes glinting, their tongues flapping like flags, their teeth gleaming white as mushrooms in the moon­light. They had their noses to the ground and were following the children’s tracks.

“Let’s get round the promontory into the next bay,” said Peter, “and Simon and I will try to hold them off with rocks, while you and Ethelred find the boat.”

They ran toward the promontory and started to scramble over the rocks. Then Peter, who was leading, suddenly stopped. “Hush,” he whispered. “There’s something the other side of these rocks. Perhaps the Werewolves have another pack and have sent it round to cut us off.”

They all stopped, their hearts beating, and listened. For a moment there was silence, and then a voice said, “For a really delicious shepherd’s pie I always use a pinch of rosemary and thyme, as well as sage and onions, and the merest dash of the best Madeira.”

“Do you—hic—really?” said another voice.

“It’s Oswald!” cried Penelope. “Oswald and Fenella.”

They scrambled over the rocks. There below them was the dinghy with Parrot and Fenella on board, and Oswald lying in the shallows. Behind them, they could hear the panting and snarling of the Werewolves and the clattering of falling rocks as the pack pursued them.

Quickly the children and Ethelred jumped down from the rock onto the sand and ran toward the dinghy.

“Parrot, Parrot, help!” shouted Penelope. “The Werewolves are after us.”

“Werewolves?” said Oswald. “Werewolves? We’ll soon see about that.”

He surged down the bay and slid out onto the beach, putting his great kingfisher blue body between the children and the Werewolves. Then he sucked up a great mouthful of seawater and spat it at the Werewolf pack, like a fire hose. This hard jet of water caught the leading Werewolves and bow led them over and over, yelping and snarling.

“Nasty, ill-mannered, stone-throwing beasts,” said Oswald. He filled his mouth again and spat another jet of water at the Werewolves, who were now in full retreat.

Parrot flew onto Penelope’s shoulder. “Dearest, dearest Penelope,” he said, “how glad I am that you are safe. Quick, into the boat, all of you.”

They scrambled into the dinghy and pushed off. When they were far enough from shore, they called to Oswald, who was thoroughly enjoying himself, chasing the Werewolves up and down the beach and spitting water at them. At length he left the pack drenched, bruised, and angry, and swam out to join the dinghy.

“That will teach them,” he said with satisfaction. “That’ll teach them not to throw stones at strangers.”

“Well,” chortled Parrot as the boys fixed the rope round Oswald’s neck, “we’ve done it, by Jove. Everybody safe, and four sacks of rue. Hows that for a triumphant piece of work?”

“We can stop on the way to get some lavender,” said Peter. “Then—Cockatrices, watch out.”

“Yes,” said Simon, “we’ll show them.”

“Is Oswald going to pull us all the way back?” asked Penel­ope.

“Yes,” said Oswald. “You’re just fortunate that I have noth­ing in the oven at the moment, so a day either way won’t mat­ter.”

“Well, off we go,” said Parrot.

And so Oswald surged ahead and swam toward the rising sun, pulling the dinghy behind him, taking the children on the last stage of their strange adventure.

The Battle for Cockatrice Castle

As soon as the party made their way back to the Crystal Caves with the precious lavender and rue, a period of intense activity began. To begin with, Ethelred and Simon had bril­liant ideas.

Ethelred’s idea was that they should enlist the aid of Oswald and the Mermaids to pull out the great plug at the bottom of the moat of Cockatrice Castle. Everyone was afraid that when the Cockatrices were attacked they might burn up the Great Books out of spite, and without them, H.H. was powerless. But once the water level in the moat had dropped, as Ethelred pointed out, it would expose any number of large drains which led into the dungeon area where the Great Books were kept, and a picked group of creatures could make their way up the drains, overpower the sentries, and guard the Great Books from harm until the Castle was taken. Everyone agreed that this was a splendid plan, and Oswald was despatched to see Miss Williamson-Smythe-Smythe-Browne, to explain the whole thing and ask for help.

Simon’s idea had come to him when watching Fenella. With the aid of some sealing wax and string and a candle flame, the three children had managed to mend the Fire Duckling’s wing which, in a remarkably short space of time, had healed. The boys were having a conference on the best way of besieging Cockatrice Castle, and Fenella was jumping off the back of a chair and practicing flying round the room.

“What we really want is an airplane, so that we can drop people inside the Castle itself,” said Peter.

“What about balloons?” suggested Simon.

“Balloons?” asked Peter. “Where would we get them?” “Make them—Mooncalf jelly.”

“But how would they float?” asked Peter.

“Well,” said Simon, “you know that hot air rises. So why don’t we fill the balloons with hot air?”

“But how?” asked Peter, puzzled.

“Firedrakes,” said Simon. “You know how hot Fenella is. Well, if we could get, say, twenty Firedrakes inside a balloon it would float, and what’s more I believe they could steer it by flapping their wings and all flying in the right direction.”

The boys made a small experimental balloon, and Fenella, who was eager to help, got into it. To Simon’s delight it worked perfectly, and Fenella could make the balloon fly round and round the room as she wanted. She was so overcome at her achievement that she got an attack of hiccups.

“I did it—hic—didn’t I, Simon—hic?” she said delightedly. “Did you—hic—see me turn at that—hic—corner, Peter?” “You were wonderful,” Peter assured her.

“Now the thing is, how many Firedrakes are there?” asked Simon.

“Oh, hundreds—hic,” said Fenella. “At least—hic—two hun­dred, if not more.”

“Could you get them to join us?” asked Simon.

“I’m sure I could—hic,” said Fenella. “After I tell them how- kind—hic—you’ve been to me, and how important it all is— hic—hic.”

“Well, could you go and ask them to join us here at the Crys­tal Caves?” asked Simon. “Tell them this is going to be our headquarters for the big attack.”

So, Fenella, overjoyed at having a task of such immense im­portance to undertake, flew off, hiccupping, to enlist the aid of the Firedrakes.

Then Parrot and the children paid another visit to Weaseldom, where Wensleydale greeted them warmly. He was having tea on the croquet lawn with Winifred.

“Did you get it, did you get it?” he shrilled, jumping up and down in excitement. “My, I’m so excited. How I wish my lum­bago had not prevented me from coming with you.”

“We got plenty of rue,” said Parrot, “but H.H. is keeping it under lock and key. We don’t want you Weasels getting out of hand like the Cockatrices. So H.H. just made up one big bottle of it.”

“Silly billy,” said Wensleydale, “as if we would get out of hand. You know what quiet, peace-loving creatures we Weasels are.”

“Well, we’re not taking any chances,” said Parrot. “Here’s some rue juice, then. Who’s going to try it? You?”

“Normally, I would be delighted," said Wensleydale, “but— arr, ouch, ooo, I still have a touch of my lumbago, ooooo. I don’t think it would be safe. No, I think it would be better to try it on the under-gardener. He’s a nice lad, but a very bad gardener, so if the stuff did turn out to be—er . . . er . . . well, you know, dangerous in any way, it wouldn’t be such a loss.”

“It’s not dangerous, you ninny,” said Parrot. “Do you think H.H. hasn’t tested it?”

“All the same,” said Wensleydale nervously, “it had better be the under-gardener. He’s so looking forward to it, and I wouldn’t like to disappoint him.”

So the under-gardener, whose name was Wilberforce, was sent for. They stood him in the middle of the croquet lawn for the experiment.

“Now, Wilberforce,” said Parrot, “you understand this stuff is quite harmless, but after you’ve drunk it you’re to tell me if you feel any different, you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Wilberforce, who wore a bowler hat and large horn-rimmed spectacles, had stick-out teeth and a runny nose. “You’re going to drink that stuff, and I’m going to tell you if it makes me feel any better. Thank you, sir.”

“You see what I mean,” said Wensleydale in despair. “Only the other day he pulled up all my daffodil bulbs and took them round to the kitchen, because he thought they were potatoes.” “You haven’t got it quite right,” said Parrot. “You, Wilber­force, are going to drink this, and then you, Wilberforce, will tell me if you feel better. Do you understand?”

“Oh yes, sir,” said Wilberforce.

He took the bottle and gulped down a swig of it.

“It’s a very curious name—Wilberforce,” whispered Peter to Simon, as they waited for something to happen.

“Very odd,” Simon agreed.

Wilberforce stood there, blinking through his spectacles, and they all watched him. For over five minutes he appeared to be exactly the same, and their hearts sank; had they been to so much trouble and danger for nothing?

“How do you feel?” asked Parrot.

Wilberforce blinked at him.

“I said, how do you feel?” asked Parrot loudly.

“I heard you the first time; there’s no need to shout,” said Wilberforce. “And what’s it got to do with you how I feel, eh? Mind your own business, you interfering bird, or I’ll knock your beak off.”

“Good gracious,” said Peter in astonishment.

“And as for you two,” Wilberforce went on, striding across the lawn and shouting up at them. “What right have you got to insult my name? Put your faces down here, and I’ll knock them through the back of your heads.”

“Good heavens, this is most miraculous,” said Wensleydale. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Wilberforce wheeled round and, before anybody knew what he was doing, he had seized Wensleydale by his lace cravat and was shaking him to and fro.

“As for you,” shouted Wilberforce, “I’m sick and tired of you, you and your pernickety ways, that I am, and it’s about time someone taught you a lesson, that it is.”

So saying, Wilberforce hit Wensleydale, Duke of Weaseldom, in the eye so hard that it knocked him back, so that he hit the tea trolley and upset it. The children gazed in astonishment at Wensleydale lying there covered in buttered toast and me­ringues, while Wilberforce danced around him.

“Get up and fight, you coward,” shouted Wilberforce, “you lily-livered Weasel, you. Get up, and I’ll cut you to pieces, so I will. I’ll cut both your ears off and knock all your teeth out.”

It took the other six gardeners to subdue Wilberforce and to lock him in the garden shed.

“I think,” said Parrot, as they watched the moaning Wensley­dale being carried into the house, “I think that experiment is what you might call an unqualified, universal, and ubiquitous success, don’t you?”

The children agreed wholeheartedly.

When Wensleydale recovered a bit (although his eye was very swollen), he promised that the whole of Weaseldom would now join the fight against the Cockatrices. The children and Parrot went jubilantly back to the Crystal Caves.

Now the Crystal Caves were all bustle, chatter, and work.

The Griffons had rounded up a herd of Mooncalves and es­tablished them in one of the side tunnels, where they produced sheet after sheet of Mooncalf jelly which Penelope, Dulcibelle, and H.H. thought into balloons and other things that they would need. Out in a secluded moon-carrot meadow Peter, now in his element, was training his battalion of Unicorn cav­alry, teaching them to trot, canter, wheel all together as one unit. The Unicorns were very quick at learning, and before long Peter was really proud of their precision and skill.

For several days Ethelred had been missing for long periods, and, although the others had noticed, they had been too busy to give it much thought. Then he appeared one day just as Penelope had thought vast quantities of Mooncalf jelly into seven hundred and seventy-seven fireproof suits for the Weasels and was feeling rather exhausted. To her astonishment, Eth­elred was wearing a tricorne hat with gold braid and a very smart uniform with gold epaulettes and all sorts of gold braid round the sleeves. The coat was a very deep bottle green and the trousers were white. He was wearing a large sword with a silver scabbard.

“Why, Ethelred, you look magnificent,” said Penelope.

“ ’Opes you likes it,” said Ethelred. “It’s me Commander-in­-Chief’s uniform.”

“Really?” said Penelope. “What are you Commander-in­-Chief of?”

“Come with me and I’ll show you,” said Ethelred. And he led her into one of the side tunnels.

There, to Penelope’s surprise and delight, stood some fifty Toads, wearing lovely scarlet uniforms with brass buttons and pill-box hats with big, black feathers in them, and carrying long, sharply pointed pikes and bows and arrows.

“But where did they come from?” she asked, bewildered.

“Cockatrice Castle,” said Ethelred. “I didn’t want to be the only Toad ’elping you all, so l slipped down there, disguised as a Greek ship owner with forty-two galleons to ’ire, and made all me relatives join.”

“Why, that’s splendid,” said Penelope warmly. “I know that H.H. will be simply delighted.”

Ethelred took off his tricorne hat and cleared his throat. “With your permission, miss, I’d like to christen this bunch— er, brigade—Miss Penelope’s Terrifying Toad Brigade.”

“Of course, you may, that’s most flattering,” said Penelope. “Thank you, miss,” said Ethelred, gratified. “I’m just taking them out for a little archery practice, so if you’d be so kind as to take the salute, like?”

“Of course,” said Penelope.

“Brigade, ’shun!” shouted Ethelred. All the Toads in their red uniforms stood at attention.

“Right wheel,” shouted Ethelred, “quick march.”

The Brigade obeyed him. As they marched past Penelope, Ethelred shouted, “Eyes right,” and Penelope stood smartly at attention, saluting.

“Thank you, miss,” said Ethelred when the Brigade had marched away. “I’m going to give them some target practice now. Some of ’em ain’t ’alf bad shots. One of them yesterday nearly put a h’arrow through me ’at.”

Peter and Simon spent a lot of time in H.H.’s extensive library reading up on methods of attacking castles, and in one book they came across an illustration of a machine which they thought might well be useful. It was a form of giant catapult with a long arm, rather like a soup spoon. You pulled the arm back, put your ammunition in the bowl of the spoon, and then released it. The boys took some Mooncalf jelly and thought up one of these catapults, as an experiment, and it seemed to work. The next question was what to fire out of them, and the Grif­fons solved this. They suggested they make golden cannon­balls. These proved to be a great success, and the Griffons turned out to be very good shots.

Meanwhile, Fenella had returned from Werewolf Island, bringing with her all her friends and relatives. Penelope and the boys watched them arrive one evening after dark, and they agreed it was one of the most beautiful sights they had seen in Mythologia. The Firedrakes came flying over the moonlit sea in a long, wavering, multicolored ribbon that looked like a very vivid rainbow come to life.

As soon as they were installed in the Crystal Caves, Simon began experiments with his balloons. He found that for a bal­loon to lift a basket containing thirty fully armed Weasels it required the power of forty Firedrakes, so he could have a fleet of fifteen balloons. The balloons worked beautifully and the Firedrakes took tremendous pride in the way they could ma­neuver them through the sky.

So everything was made ready: the corridors were full of drilling Toads and Weasels, the Griffons and Tabitha worked hard manufacturing great piles of golden cannonballs, and Pe­nelope spent hours attaching baskets to the balloons with spe­cially thick silk which Dulcibelle had spun for the purpose.

Simon wanted to show everybody, with the aid of a large model he had made of Cockatrice Castle, exactly what they would have to do. The difficulty was to find a place to assemble them all.

“Oh, that’s easy,” said H.H. when Simon put the problem to him. “Use the banqueting hall.”

“I didn’t know you had one,” said Simon.

“Oh yes,” said H.H. “Come and I’ll show you.”

He led Simon along several corridors and threw open huge double doors. There was an immense room with a beautifully polished crystal floor, lit by hundreds of wonderful mushroom chandeliers.

“Why, it’s perfect," said Simon in delight. “We can even fit Oswald in here.”

“It will be nice to have it used,” said H.H. “I built it originally so that we could have balls and banquets indoors, in case of rain, quite forgetting, of course, that I'm in charge of the weather here, so if I don’t want it to rain, it doesn’t. So it’s never been used, which is a pity.”

“Well, we’ll make good use of it now,” said Simon.

The day before the big attack, everybody assembled in the great banqueting hall. There were rows and rows of excited Weasels and Toads, a great clattering, head-nodding group of Unicorns, and a solid wedge of Griffons, their leather aprons all glittering with specks and splashes of melted gold from the cannonballs. There was a great, quivering, squeaking mass of Firedrakes, like a huge, moving flowerbed. There was Miss Williamson Smythe-Smythe-Browne and her young ladies, who had been transported there on Oswald’s back. They were delighted to be on such intimate terms with the King of the Unicorns and the Duke of Weaseldom. There was Oswald himself, blue as a peacock’s feather, ear trumpet at the ready; and Tabitha looking pinker than normal with excitement. At the big banqueting table at one end of the room sat what Simon called the High Command. There was H.H., Parrot and Dulcibelle, Ethelred, Penelope, and the boys. On the table in front of them was the model of Cockatrice Castle.

When they were all assembled, Simon, who had been chosen as spokesman, rose to his feet holding a long stick and banged it on the table for silence. Gradually, everyone stopped squeak­ing, whispering, and rustling, and silence fell.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Simon began, “I’ve been asked by H.H. to address you. You all know why we’re here. Our objec­tive is to take Cockatrice Castle, teach the Cockatrices a lesson, and, above all, to rescue the Great Books of Government.”

At this there was a great cheer, a stamping of feet, and a clapping of paws and hooves and hands.

“Now,” continued Simon, “the point is this. We have only one opportunity, so we must make no mistakes. That’s why we’re all gathered here, so that each one knows what he’s going to do. The one thing we must prevent at all costs is the Cocka­trices destroying the Great Books out of spite, which—as you know—they’re more than capable of doing. So our plan of at­tack must keep the enemy so busy he won’t have time to think of destroying the Great Books until it is too late.

“Now, we have some idea of what the Cockatrices are up to, due to the bravery of two members of our group. First, Ethelred Toad here, who with incredible bravery and cunning disguised himself in a masterly way as an Indian snake charmer and made his way into Cockatrice Castle.”

There was a chorus of “Ooos” and a burst of clapping, and Ethelred blushed.

“With the aid of a friend of his, who’s a grass snake, he enter­tained the Cockatrices with conjuring tricks and snake charm­ing. He found out that, although the Cockatrices don’t know ex­actly what we are up to, they know we are up to something and they’re jolly nervous. Ethelred let off a firework, and he says they all ran round in circles, bumping into each other.”

There was a burst of laughing and clapping.

“Early this morning,” Simon went on, grinning, “our one and only indomitable, inimitable, and intrepid Mr. Parrot carried out a daring aerial reconnaissance of the Castle.”

There were cries of “Bravo” and “Three cheers for Parrot,” and much clapping. Parrot bowed to left and right.

“He swooped down low over the battlements and was able to see that the Cockatrices have several cannons in position and cauldrons of boiling oil as well. This seems to be their main defense. Apart from this, they seem to be relying on the moat and the great door to protect them. I may add that Mr. Parrot flew down low over the sentries on the battlements and shouted, ‘Look out, look out, your doom is approaching.’ Where­upon, I am delighted to report, two of them got such a fright they fell off the battlements into the moat.”At this there was cheering and much laughter.

“However,” Simon went on, “although we may laugh, we must not underestimate our opponents. They are wicked, cruel, and dangerous. To show you how important it is that we win, I want Peter to read to you a set of the new regulations that the Cockatrices plan to put into force when they’re govern­ing the country.”

Simon sat down and Peter got to his feet, unrolled a parch­ment scroll, and started to read:

“Item 1. All Phoenixes to be banished from Mythologia, together with any Sea Serpent more than five feet long.” “Blasted nerve!” roared Oswald.

“Item 2. All Dragons to be used for pulling carts of heavy things, like building materials, for the Cockatrices.”

“Cheek,” said Tabitha, going scarlet with rage.

“Item 3. All Unicorns to have their horns cut off and be used to pull carriages for the Cockatrices.”

There was a great whinny of anger and a clattering of horns and hooves from the Unicorns.

“Item 4. All Toads to be used for hatching Cockatrice eggs, scrubbing floors, and serving at table in the Castle.”

The Toads’ eyes all bulged with horror.

“Item 5. All Mermaids to be used to pull boats and rafts for the Cockatrices, and to scrub out the moat round the Castle three times a week.”

“The impudence! The impertinence! Scrub out moats? Me, what’s so well connected?” said Desdemona in a fury.

“Item 6. All Weasels to be used as nursemaids, cooks, foot­men, gardeners, and so forth at Cockatrice Castle.”

“Me, Duke of Weaseldom, a Cockatrice’s nurse?" said Wensleydale in horror. “Me, the Cockatrices’ footman?”

“Item 7. H.H. to work for the Cockatrices and to help them with the spells.”

“Never," shouted H.H. “Never, never, never.”

And everybody clapped and cheered.

“Item 8. Things to be encouraged:

“An enormous increase in the number of Cockatrices, so that they may rule the country.

“A steady increase in the number of Mandrakes, Werewolves, and other sober, intelligent, and likeable members of the com­munity.”

At this there was such a roar of rage and fury, such a turmoil and such a shouting, it was like a clap of thunder. Wensleydale got so excited that he hit Winifred on the head with his gold- mounted cane, by mistake. Toads waved their pikes with such anger that several Weasels got black eyes, and four of the more sensitive Firedrakes fainted. It was a good five minutes before order was restored and Simon could make himself heard.

“Now,” he said, “you see why it is so important we should win.”

“Yes, yes,” shouted everyone.

“Very well,” said Simon. “Now, I’d like you all to pay atten­tion while I tell you how we’re going to attack and what each of you has to do.”

Everybody watched eagerly as he pushed the model of Cock­atrice Castle into the middle of the table where they could all see it.

“Now, this is a model of Cockatrice Castle,” he said, point­ing with his rod, “and, as you can see, it is shaped rather like a wedding cake, with a hollow center and four towers. The hol­low center is the great courtyard. Here, around it, is the moat, and here is the drawbridge and the door into the Castle. Is that clear to you all?”

“Yes, yes, quite clear,” said everyone.

“Well, this is how we shall attack,” said Simon. “On the left and on the right of the Castle will be two bands of Griffons with five catapults apiece. The gold cannonballs will be heated by Tabitha before firing, so that they will set fire to anything they land on, just to cause a nuisance. Now, as soon as the Griffons fire the first salvo, a highly trained Toad, a cousin of Ethelred’s called Egbert, who’s already in the Castle, will cut the ropes that will bring the drawbridge down. Unfortunately, he can’t open the big doors on his own, but as soon as the drawbridge is down the doors will be charged and broken down by repeated battering from my brother Peter’s noble troop of Unicorn Cavalry.

“As soon as this is under way, two things will happen simul­taneously:

“1. Miss Williamson Smythe-Smythe-Browne and her young ladies, accompanied by our good friend Oswald, will enter the moat and pull out the great plug. The water level will start to go down.

“2. At that moment, I, with a fleet of balloons driven by Firedrakes and with baskets full of Weasels, will take off, fly over the Castle, and land in the great courtyard and on the bat­tlements. Each Weasel will be equipped with fireproof clothing and a lavender water pistol. Their job is to fight and harry the Cockatrices as much as possible.

“Once the water level has dropped in the moat and exposed the drains, two or three of them will be marked by Egbert with red flags. These are the drains that lead directly into the dungeons where the Great Books are kept.

“Now, a big group consisting of Weasels, accompanied by Penelope’s Terrifying Toad Brigade, will make their way up the drains, overpower the sentries, and then stand guard over the Great Books until the Castle is taken.

“Now, is that all quite clear?”

Everyone said it was as clear as crystal.

“Right,” said Simon. “I want you all in your positions at ex­actly six o’clock tomorrow morning, and exactly at half past six the Griffons will fire the first salvo. That’s all, and good luck.” As they were leaving the great banqueting hall, Penelope went up to Ethelred.

“Ethelred, I think it was exceedingly brave of you to go to Cockatrice Castle like that and organize everything so wonder­fully,” she said.

“Oh, it wasn’t nuffink really,” he said. “I told you me mas­tery over disguises was one of me best things.”

“well, I think it was very clever of you,” said Penelope, “and now I’m going to ask you a special favor.”

“Anything, anything at all, miss,” said Ethelred earnestly. “You just tell me and I’ll do it.”

“Promise?” asked Penelope.

“Yes, miss, of course” said Ethelred.

“Well,” said Penelope, “you’re going up the drains with the Terrifying Toads, aren’t you?”

“Yes, miss,” said Ethelred. “I’m leading them, like.”

“I want to come with you,” said Penelope.

“ ’Ere! No, ’old on a minute, miss,” said Ethelred in a panic. “That’s not fair. I can’t take you with me, ’onest. If anything happened to you I’d never forgive meself, and neither would anyone else.”

“A promise is a promise,” said Penelope. “I’m not just going to sit here while everyone else is doing something. I must come with you, please, Ethelred. I’ll wear one of those nice, red uni­forms and pile my hair up under the hat. I promise to do ex­actly what I’m told and you’ll protect me.”

“Blimey, miss,” said Ethelred miserably. “If any of the others should ’ear of this, they’d skin me, ’onest they would.” “Then you’ll do it?” cried Penelope.

“Well, I promised, didn’t I?” said Ethelred. “So I suppose I’ll ’ave to. Only please, miss, do take care, won’t you, because it won’t ’alf be dangerous.”

“I’ll take great care,” Penelope promised.

Parrot had chosen to be General Overseer over the whole battle. He was to fly round and round the Castle, supervising the action generally and taking reports back to H.H., whose private balloon was to be tethered at a vantage point where he could see what was going on.

At ten minutes to six the following morning H.H.’s balloon slowly rose into the sky at the end of its long, silken rope. H.H. was armed with a lavender water pistol, just in case; a large packet of sandwiches; a bottle of moon-carrot ginger beer; and Parrot’s telescope. Parrot perched on the side of the basket, ready to fly off when the battle commenced.

On the dot of six, the Griffons maneuvered their catapults into position, and a battalion of Weasels placed neat piles of cannonballs by each one. Tabitha ran from pile to pile, heating them up with her breath until they glowed and almost melted.

In the meantime, the Weasels, Toads, Mermaids, and Os­wald had concealed themselves in the cork forest near the edge of the moat. Behind a small range of hills opposite the draw­bridge Peter had drawn up his cavalry and Simon had all his balloons tethered. All was now in readiness, and they waited patiently, and a bit fearfully, for H.H. to give the signal.

At half past six precisely, H.H. leant out of his basket and waved a large, green flag with gold stripes, which was the flag of Mythologia, and the battle for Cockatrice Castle began.

Eight Griffons using their long ladles loaded the golden can­nonballs onto the catapults. Eight other Griffons, at a signal from their leader, pressed the levers and the catapults went off, shooting the golden cannonballs, glittering and whining, through the sky to crash into the battlements of the Castle, where they lay smoldering while the Cockatrices rushed about with buckets of water trying to put them out. After three sal­vos, the top part of the battlements was nearly in ruins and many parts were on fire, and the Cockatrices were so disorga­nized that it was obvious they had been taken unawares. They did manage to drag several of their cannons into new positions and fire a few rounds at the Griffons, but their aim, unlike the Griffons’, was bad.

As this was happening, the great drawbridge suddenly fell with a crash like thunder, and H.H.’s forces knew that Egbert, the Toad, had successfully cut the ropes. Immediately, Peter, in his handsome blue and gold uniform that Penelope had made specially for him, blew the charge on his trumpet. A hundred and fifty Unicorns in lavender and white came over the brow of the hill, shoulder to shoulder. At first they trotted, and as they neared the wide drawbridge, Peter gave an order and they formed a column of four. Another order and they changed from a trot to a canter and then from a canter to a gallop. Nostrils wide, horns flashing in the rising sun, they galloped down toward the drawbridge. As the first wave galloped onto it, their hooves sounded like thunder on the wood, and then there was a splintering crash as their horns dug deeply into the great wooden door.

Wave upon wave of Unicorns thundered across the draw­bridge and crashed into the door, which slowly but surely was starting to splinter and fall to pieces under this onslaught. Des­perately, the Cockatrices dragged some of their huge cauldrons of boiling oil to the edge of the battlements above the draw­bridge and tipped them over. Parrot, circling just above, shouted a warning, and the Unicorns leapt out of the way as the oil splashed and bubbled onto the drawbridge. Then a picked body of Weasels, carrying buckets, ran onto the draw­bridge and scattered sand and gravel over the oil, so that the Unicorns would not slip.

As the first wave of Unicorns was galloping across the draw­bridge, Oswald, carrying Desdemona and her young ladies— riding sidesaddle—on his back, made his way out of the cork forest and down to the moat. The Cockatrices trained their cannon on him and fired again and again. Cannonballs thudded into the ground all round Oswald, hissing through the air and ploughing up the purple grass, but, although he was a large target, neither he nor the Mermaids were hit. They reached the moat safely and submerged beneath the water.

As they did so, from behind the hills Simon’s aerial attack started. The transparent balloons, glittering all the colors of the rainbow with the Firedrakes inside them, rose into the sky. Dangling beneath each was a basket full of infuriated Weasels. The Weasels had, in fact, drunk so much rue that Simon had had great difficulty preventing them from fighting each other as they waited for the signal to take off. As the balloons drifted over the battlements, furious Cockatrices spat great gulps of flame at them, but they were too far away. The Weasels re­taliated by bursts from their lavender water pistols, and they soon had the Cockatrices on the battlements gasping and cough­ing and reeling about with streaming eyes. One of them, in fact, sneezed so hard that he fell into a cauldron of boiling oil. Gradually, the balloons with their cheering cargo of Weasels floated over the battlements and started to descend into the great courtyard.

In the depths of the moat, meanwhile, Desdemona and the young ladies had found the great plug. It had been hard to find, because they only knew approximately where it was, and it was covered with sludge and slime, so they could not see it at first. They discovered it at last and attached a rope to the ring in it, then with some difficulty attached the rope to Oswald. The problem was that when they tried to tie the rope round Os­wald’s middle, he, being exceedingly ticklish, giggled so much that he had to come up for air. In the end, they fastened the rope round his neck. Then with Oswald and all the Mermaids pulling, they managed at last to get the great plug loose. There was a great glup of muddy water, and H.H., watching through

his telescope, saw a whirlpool form over the hole. There was a whoosh and gurgle like a giant bath being emptied, and the water level in the moat started to go down rapidly.

The Cockatrices were thoroughly muddled by so many dif­ferent attacks, but they still fought on grimly. Cannonballs from the Griffons continued to thud into the battlements. The great doors of the Castle had been almost cut to pieces by the Uni­corns’ horns. Simon’s balloons had just landed in the great courtyard, and the Cockatrices were being attacked by blood­thirsty Weasels with lavender water pistols.

Then the last of the water gurgled down, and the moat was bare and muddy. Sure enough, in the Castle walls there could be seen numerous drains like the one by which the children had entered the Castle before. At the mouth of two of these hung red flags. This was the moment that Commander-in-Chief Ethelred had been waiting for. He led his fifty eager and indignant Toads and his bloodthirsty Weasels out of the wood and down to the moat. They were all armed with fireproof shields and lavender water pistols. Penelope, looking very smart in her red uniform and feathered hat, ran beside him.

“Please, miss,” panted Ethelred as they scrambled down into the muddy moat and started to squelch their way across. “Please, miss, stay close to me and don’t do nuffink dangerous.”

“All right, I promise,” said Penelope, her face flushed with excitement. “Isn’t this thrilling?"

“Cor blimey, no it isn’t,” said Ethelred, as a cannonball splashed into the mud beside them. “It’s too dangerous to be thrilling.”

They reached the marked tunnels, and here Ethelred divided his forces into two. Urging upon them the need for absolute silence, so that they could take the sentries by surprise, he sent the Weasels up one drain while he and Penelope led Penelope’s Terrifying Toads up the other. To Penelope, scrambling along in the gloom behind Ethelred, it seemed the drain would never end. Then, suddenly, in front of them was an iron grill and beyond it the corridor which led to the dungeons where the Great Books were hidden. Carefully, they removed the grill and the Toads crept through into the corridor. A little farther up the corridor another grill had been removed and the Weasels were pouring through that. They joined forces with the Toads, and led by Ethelred and Penelope they made their way silently up the corridor.

Peering round the corner, Penelope and Ethelred could see a group of about ten Cockatrices who had obviously been left to guard the Books. They were grouped at the bottom of the stairs, arguing. It was plain that they did not think they could be attacked from the rear, for they were arguing as to whether or not they ought to go up and join the fight in the great court­yard. Eventually, their leader decided that one of them would stay and set fire to the Great Books, if necessary, while the others went up and joined the fight. So they opened the door of the dungeon in which the Great Books were, and one Cockatrice took up his stand by them, ready to blast them with flames. The rest of them clattered up the stairs to the courtyard.

“What are we going to do?” whispered Penelope. “If we all rush down the corridor he’s going to see us and set fire to the Books.”

“Yes,” said Ethelred. “ ’Elp me out of me uniform, miss, quick.”

Penelope helped him out of his uniform and then, before she could stop him, he hopped round the corner and down the cor­ridor toward the dungeon, carrying his lavender water pistol.

“ ’Ere,” shouted Ethelred to the sentry. “ ’Ere, you, sentry, where’s all the others, then?”

“Don’t come any closer,” warned the Cockatrice, “or I’ll blast you with flame.”

“Wot’s the matter with you, then?” asked Ethelred. “I’ve just come to bring you and your Chief an interesting bit of information, I ’ave. Look at this ’ere.”

Ethelred waved his lavender water pistol at the sentry.

“What’s that?” asked the sentry suspiciously.

“I just found a Weasel down one of them drains,” said Eth­elred, “and I ’it ’im on the ’ead with a rock. ’E was carrying one of these. These are the things wot the Weasels are knocking your lot out with up there. Deadly, they are. I’m not quite sure ’ow they work, though.”

Ethelred had stopped just outside the dungeon door and was fiddling with the pistol.

“Here, give it to me, I’ll take it to the sergeant,” said the Cockatrice, and he stepped away from the Great Books and into the corridor. As he did so, Ethelred squirted a jet of lav­ender water straight into his beak. Immediately, the Cockatrice reeled backward, gasping and coughing, sneezing out great sheets of flame. Penelope knew that this was the moment. She turned to the ranks of Toads and Weasels behind her and shouted “Charge!” and then ran down the corridor with the animals hopping and scuttling behind her.

The Cockatrice, seeing this mass of the enemy descending on him, turned to run, and immediately fifty jets of lavender water from the pistols of fifty Toads hit him, and another fifty fol­lowed from the pistols of the Weasels. The Cockatrice uttered a strange, gulping cry, twisted round several times, and fell un­conscious on his beak.

“Quick,” said Ethelred. “Ten of you Weasels, ten of you Toads—in there to guard them Books.”

As soon as they were safely in the dungeon, Ethelred locked them in and gave Penelope the key.

“Now, you stay ’ere, miss,” he panted. “Me and the rest are going upstairs.”

So saying, he led the rest of the Weasels up the staircase and into the courtyard. Here, the fight was almost over. Half suf­focated by the lavender water, the sneezing Cockatrices were being herded together by the triumphant Weasels and tied into bundles. Seeing that he could do nothing very helpful, Ethelred left his Weasels to help in tying up the Cockatrices and went down to the dungeons again. At the bottom of the steps he stopped in horror.

Penelope, standing outside the dungeon door, was unaware that the Cockatrice had regained consciousness and was creep­ing toward her, its eyes alight with fury. Ethelred, who was unarmed, looked round desperately. Luckily, lying on the floor was a pike which had been dropped by one of the Toads. Pick­ing it up, Ethelred took careful aim and hurled it, so that just as the Cockatrice was going to blast Penelope with a sheet of flame he was hit between the eyes by the pike and fell senseless to the floor.

“Oh, Ethelred, you saved my life,” said Penelope, shudder­ing as she looked down at the fallen Cockatrice, smoke and flame dribbling from its nostrils.

“Think nothing of it,” said Ethelred modestly. “You saved my life, miss.”

Now great cheering broke out in the courtyard, and over the drawbridge rode H.H. on the King of the Unicorns. He passed under the battlements, scarred and battered by the Griffons’ barrage, through the tattered remains of the gate, split to bits by the Unicorns, and into the courtyard where the sad groups of wheezing Cockatrices were guarded by the Weasels. He stopped in the center of the courtyard, and from the dungeons came a procession of Penelope’s Terrifying Toads, carrying be­tween them the three Great Books of Government on their gold and silver stands. At the sight of them, safe and sound, such a cheer went up that it could be heard all over Mythologia.

Then the King of the Unicorns, carrying H.H. with Parrot on his shoulder, set off toward the Crystal Caves. Penelope and the Terrifying Toads followed behind, carrying the Great Books, and behind them came all the Unicorns, the Griffons, Oswald and the Mermaids, Tabitha proudly carrying her bas­ket of eggs, and all the Weasels, while above them flew balloons full of Firedrakes. With this triumphant procession the Great Books of Government were returned to the Crystal Caves and the safekeeping of Hengist Hannibal Junketberry.

There is not very much more to tell. H.H. banished the Cockatrices to a remote island in the Singing Sea until they learnt to be respectable creatures again. Cockatrice Castle was to be repaired and given to Oswald to start a restaurant in, which pleased him immensely. All Tabitha’s eggs hatched out in due course, ensuring that there would always be Dragons in Mythologia.

The day the children were to leave, H.H. held a special farewell and thank-you lunch for them. This took place on a beach by the Singing Sea. Several great tables were arranged, stretching out into the water like piers or jetties, so that the sea creatures could sit at the sea end, and the land creatures could sit at the land end. It was a magnificent banquet cooked espe­cially by Oswald, and many speeches were made and toasts drunk. At the end, H.H. made a speech.

“Dear Penelope, Peter, and Simon,” he said. “It is through your kindness and your intelligence and your bravery that Myth­ologia was saved. We are sorry to see you go, but you know that you will always be welcome to come here at any time in the future.”

At this there were great cries of “Hear, hear.”

“And now,” continued H.H., “from us all I’d like to present you with this gift.”

H.H. handed a beautifully carved box to Penelope, and when she opened it she gasped. Inside were three necklaces for herself—one of pearls, one of rubies, and one of diamonds. There were also pearl, diamond, and ruby cufflinks and tie pins for Peter and Simon. Finally, there were three decorations—the Order of the Cockatrice. These showed a fallen Cockatrice, and all the other creatures of Mythologia triumphant in the back­ground. The decorations had been beautifully executed in mi­nute precious stones, seed pearls, and gold and silver filigree work. The children were overwhelmed. Everyone seeing their delight, burst into “For They Are Jolly Good Fellows,” and Penelope found that her eyes were full of tears. Finally, they embraced all their friends and, last of all, H.H.

“Come back soon,” he said. “We shall be looking forward to it.”

“We will,” the children promised. “We will.”

Then they mounted on three Unicorns, and Ethelred and Parrot mounted on a fourth, to see them off, and they rode away, leaving all their friends happily continuing the party by the shore of the Singing Sea.

After an hour’s stiff gallop they arrived at the same entrance by which they had entered Mythologia.

“ ’Ere, miss,” whispered Ethelred, as they dismounted. “Could I ’ave a word in private with you?”

“Of course,” she said, and she followed him behind the rocks.

“I was wondering, miss, if you’d do something for me, like,” said Ethelred, blushing.

“Anything, Ethelred, you know that,” said Penelope.

“Well, it’s like this,” said Ethelred, getting redder and red­der. “I was . . . reading this ’ere story once about this ’ere Toad, see, and then there was this, er . . . Princess, see, and she sort of kinda . . . she, well, kisses the Toad, like, and cor lummy, he turns into a ’andsome Prince.”

“So, you want me to kiss you?” asked Penelope.

“If you ain’t a Princess, I’ve never seen one,” said Ethelred earnestly. “So, if you wouldn’t mind, miss; I mean just once, as a sort of experiment.”

“Of course,” said Penelope.

So Ethelred closed his eyes tightly and Penelope leant for­ward and kissed him.

“Cor lummy,” said Ethelred, his eyes still closed. “Is there any difference, miss?”

“I'm afraid not,” said Penelope.

Two big tears squeezed out of Ethelred’s eyes and slid slowly down his cheeks.

“And I am very glad,” said Penelope.

Ethelred opened his eyes in astonishment. “Glad, miss?” he said. “Why?”

“I wouldn’t like you as an awful, handsome Prince,” said Penelope. “I like you as the handsome, brave, and kind Toad that you are.”

“Cor, miss, you really mean that?” asked Ethelred, beaming. “ ’Onest, cross your ’eart, and spit on your ’and and ’ope to die?”

“Honest,” said Penelope. And to show that she meant it, she kissed him again.

“Come on, Penny,” yelled Peter, “or we’ll never get home.”

They went to the mouth of the tunnel. There the two boys shook Parrot’s claw and Penelope kissed him on both sides of his beak.

“Good-bye, my kind, brave, and dear friends,” said Parrot. “Please come back soon.”

“Yes, as soon as possible,” said Ethelred.

“We’ll try to come back next year,” said Penelope. “We promise. We’ll send you a message through Madame Hor- tense.”

The children took one last look at Mythologia with its beauti­ful blue forests of cork trees, the purple grass, the glint of the golden Singing Sea in the distance, and the jade green sky with its families of colored clouds. They looked once more at their friends, Ethelred and Parrot, and behind them the lavender and white Unicorns nodding their heads in farewell. Then, with a final wave of their hands, Penelope, Peter, and Simon plunged into the tunnel that was to take them back to the ev­eryday world.

About the Author

GERALD DURRELL was born in India. He grew up on the Greek island Corfu and in England, where he worked as a student animal keeper at the internationally famous Whipsnade Park of the Zoological Society of London. Since the age of 2I he has been making animal collecting expeditions all over the world. As founder and director of the Jersey Wildlife Preservation Trust on the English Island of Jersey, he has for over fifteen years devoted himself to the study, protection, breeding, and rearing of endangered species. He is also the founder and an active director of the American non-profit organization SAFE (Save the Animals From Extinction).

Beloved by children and adults the world over, books by Gerald Durrell include My Family and Other Animals, Zoo in My Luggage, Me­nagerie Manor, The Donkey Rustlers, and A Bevy of Beasts.

About the Illustrator

PAMELA JOHNSON is a graduate of Wheaton College and has studied at Dartmouth and the Boston Museum School. She and her husband live on a Cape Cod farm in Wellfleet, Massachusetts, where they are caretakers for the local historical society. She frequently uses the animals on the farm as models for her drawings. Among the books she has illustrated are The Year of the Badger, Country Chronicle, and Bi­centennial Philadelphia.

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY

PHILADELPHIA AND NEW YORK