How could she have forgotten? Her mother had warned her to never anger a platypus. Their hind legs hid a toe-like spur, filled with deadly venom.
“Oh, hooly dooly.” Lola scooted backwards. “I’d better go.” But the platypus spun around and pointed at her.
“Wha’d ya say?” Even though he’d eaten, he sounded grumpier than before.
She couldn’t take her eyes off that spur. She knew the tales. Once injected, the poison would travel through her veins and cause extreme pain, then paralysis. “I—I said I’d better go. I’m not supposed to be outside the burrow during the day.”
“No, the other thing.” He waddled across the rocks until he stood in front of her. His fur was sleek with water and his bill was shiny in the sunlight. “What’s the other thing ya said?”
Lola kept scooting until she slipped off her rock and was standing in the stream. She had no idea how fast a platypus could run, so she needed to keep her distance. She took a step backward, then another. “I don’t think I said anything else. But I do talk a lot. It’s bad manners to talk so much. I’m supposed to be quieter. I’m not supposed to ask so many questions. That’s what my mum and dad tell me.” He wasn’t coming any closer, so she stopped. Something else had caught her attention. “How come your bag has the word messenger on it?”
“’Cause that’s what I am.” He straightened to full height and his paw flew to the side of his head in a salute. “Bale Blackwater, Platypus Delivery Service, Northern Streams and Rivers Division,” he said in an official manner. “Best in the business. I’ve won the Golden Platy Award three years in a row.”
That sounded very impressive. “Congratulations,” Lola said.
He stopped saluting. “It’s very rude of ya to keep me waitin’. Don’t ya know I’ve got other deliveries to make? How’m I gonna win another Golden Platy if I get deductions for tardiness? Huh? How?”
Lola had never heard of the Golden Platy Award, so she had no idea how to answer his question. But something else didn’t make sense. “Did you say I kept you waiting?” She scratched her cheek. “But how could I keep you waiting if I didn’t know you were here?”
He narrowed his eyes again. “Oh, so yer gonna play that game, are ya? Look, ya can pretend all ya want that ya didn’t know I was here, but I know ya knew, and you know ya knew, so it all comes down to the fact that ya kept me waitin’, plain and simple! I asked that old bloke where ya were and ya know what he said?”
“Old bloke?”
“Yeah, last night.”
“Oh, you mean Mister Squat.” She had been right. Mister Squat had been talking to someone. “Did he tell you to stop interrupting his peace and quiet?”
“Yep. Can ya believe that?” He began to rifle through the contents of his bag. “No respect for me profession. Now, where is it?”
“Do you need help finding something?” Lola asked, forgetting all about the spur.
The platypus whipped the bag behind his back and pointed at her. “Keep yer furry paws outta me bag. I got lots of stuff in here. Messages for all sorts of critters that are none of yer business.”
“Sorry,” she said. He was the crankiest critter she’d ever met. “I won’t look in your bag, Mister Blackwater, I promise.”
“Indeed, ya won’t.” He rifled some more. “Where’s that blasted thing? Aha! Found it!” He pulled out a small bottle that had a long string attached. Lola cautiously crept forward so she could get a better look. The bottle contained a rolled piece of paper and was sealed with a cork. Bale Blackwater stared at Lola, looking her up and down as if waiting for something. He tapped his webbed foot. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Ya gotta say the secret password. I can’t give this secret message to ya unless ya say the secret password.”
“Secret password?”
“I think ya said it before, but I didn’t quite hear ya so ya gotta say it again, to be certain.” He held up the bottle. “The bloke who paid me to deliver this is a real beast, if ya know what I mean. A real bloodthirsty brute.” He shivered.
Lola felt more confused than ever. “I don’t know any bloodthirsty brutes. I’m Lola. Lola Budge. Are you sure you’re talking to the right wombat? Don’t get me wrong, I’m really enjoying our conversation. It’s so rare that I get to talk to a total stranger. But there must be some mistake.”
“Mistake?” He opened his flat bill and gasped, his long tongue curling in surprise.
“Maybe you’re in the wrong place?”
“The … the … the wrong place?” he sputtered. “Bale Blackwater doesn’t swim to the wrong place. This is the Northern Forest, right?” She nodded. “This is the part of the Northern Forest where the bare-nosed wombat burrows are located, right?” She nodded again. “And you,” he pointed, “are a female bare-nosed wombat.” It was true. She nodded. He folded his arms. “Then do us both a favor and give me the secret password so I can be on me way.”
“I’d give you the password if I knew it,” Lola insisted. “I would. But I didn’t come down here for a delivery. I was just trying to figure out who Mister Squat had been talking to and…” The platypus scowled at her. “What I’m trying to say is that I’m not—oh, hooly dooly!”
“Bingo!” He thrust the bottle into her paw.
Lola’s eyes widened as she stared at the bottle and the rolled piece of paper inside. She didn’t know whether she should be excited or nervous. “What does it say?”
“What does it say?” A pained expression passed across the platypus’s face, as if Lola had just told him that someone dear to him had died. He blinked very quickly. “What does it say? Are ya suggestin’ that I read yer message? Yer secret message?” he shrieked, his webbed paws waving wildly in the air. His flat tail slapped against a rock.
Lola shook her head. She hadn’t meant to insult him, but this entire encounter was very confusing. “I … I…” she started to explain. Suddenly, all she could think about was the venomous spur on his foot. Never anger a platypus. “I’m sorry, I—”
“A messenger never reads the messages,” Bale interrupted. “That would be a clear violation of our code of ethics.” He slung his bag over his shoulder. “I swam all the way up here, practically to the middle of Woop Woop, and I waited all night, and do I get a ‘thanks’? No, I don’t. Everyone always blames the messenger but they never thank him.”
“Thank you,” Lola said, clutching the bottle to her chest. Trying her best to smile so as not to displease him more.
The platypus glared at her and grumbled, “Yer welcome.” Then, with a huff, he headed toward the deep section of the stream, his webbed feet gripping the slick rocks as he waddled.
Despite having been on the receiving end of a platypus temper tantrum, Lola burst into a grin. What a morning this was turning out to be! She’d had a long conversation with a stranger and she’d gotten a secret message. But the only way to find out if the message was meant for her was to read it.
She pinched the cork with her claws and was about to pull it free when a sound shot through the air, the likes of which Lola had never heard before. It was a screeching sound and it sent a shiver up her spine. Bale Blackwater whipped around and both he and Lola stared in the sound’s direction.
“Only one sort of critter sounds like that,” Bale said, pulling his goggles over his eyes. “And it’s the wrong sort. Ya’d best get outta here, and fast.” With his messenger bag in place, he slipped into the stream and began swimming away.
“Wait!” Lola called. “What kind of critter?”
But the platypus was making quick time, and just before the stream rounded a bend, he raised his head and hollered, “Platypus Delivery Service guarantees messages get delivered, but we don’t guarantee what happens next!” Then he disappeared below the water.
Leaving Lola alone as another screech rent the air.
3
A MONSTER IN THE FOREST
More screeches echoed from beyond the embankment, followed by growls and snarls
. The forest canopy rustled as songbirds took to the sky, seemingly eager to escape the horrid uproar. Instinct kicked in, filling Lola’s entire body with the urge to dig as deep as she could. She would dig a burrow, safe and dark, then seal it tight with her rump. But a new squealing sound broke through. A wombat squeal. And it was coming from the burrows.
Bale Blackwater had told Lola to get out of there, but how could she leave if a wombat was in trouble?
She looped the string over her head so the bottle hung like a necklace. Then she hurried back across the stream and started up the embankment. When she reached the path, she broke into a run. The growling and snarling arose again in the distance. Bale had said that only one sort of critter made that noise—the wrong sort. So why was Lola running directly toward it? What am I doing? she asked herself as she pumped her legs. I should be running away from danger, not into it.
Another squeal sounded. Then she heard a voice she recognized. “Lola! Lo—” Her mother’s cry was abruptly cut off, as if she’d had the air knocked from her.
“Mum!” What was happening? Lola forgot her fear and ran as fast as she could, but even at a gallop, she was still a few minutes away from home. She ducked under a branch, tripped on a root, and took a tumble. The fall smarted and would probably leave a bruise, but that was the least of her worries.
There was another squeal. Lola scrambled to her feet. “Mum!” she called again.
Someone scurried in front of her. “Lola, don’t go that way! Hide! Hide!” a forest mouse cried before darting into a hole.
Lola couldn’t hide. Not if her mother was in trouble. Despite the pain in her side, she started running again. Deciding to take a shortcut, she turned sharply off the path and forced her way through the dense brush. Branches poked her from all sides, but she pushed through. Upon reaching the edge of the dirt road, she froze. The daylit forest had gone eerily silent. No insects buzzed through the air. No songbirds sang from the trees. Lola’s heart drummed in her ears.
What was that?
A steady beating sound arose. Lola stared at the end of the road, where dirt clouds swelled up from the ground. The marching came closer and closer. She gasped as strange figures emerged from the clouds, singing to the rhythm of their pounding feet.
Our stomachs rumble evermore
To slurp some stinky slime,
To fill our plates with mold galore
With scraps long past their prime.
The overripe and putrid bits,
Decaying seeds and oozing pits.
If black with rot then it’s a treat,
That’s what we want to eat.
That’s what we want eat!
Swamp water rats—the most mysterious of all the island rats, for they rarely left the swamp. The only time Lola saw these critters was on the day after Queen Myra’s birthday. The rats would bring their shovels and buckets and collect all the leftover food—soggy root pies, wilted salad greens, and crumbled seed cakes. They relished the bits others wasted, and their cleanup service was always appreciated. But the queen’s birthday was in winter and this was summer, so what were they doing here?
The rats were roped together in three lines, nine rats to a line, each line attached to an enormous wooden cart. Having finished their song, they grunted and groaned as they pulled the cart down the road. Each rat had a bucket and a shovel strapped to its back and strands of swamp grass clinging to its fur. The rats were scavengers, not predators, so what did Lola have to fear? Nevertheless, something was terribly wrong, so before anyone noticed her, Lola darted behind a shrub and pushed the leaves aside so she could see what was happening.
As the rats neared, so too did the unique stench of the swamp water they lived in. Lola was about to put her paw over her nose when she smelled something familiar. The cart held a large wooden cage, but it wasn’t filled with garbage. It was filled with wombats.
There was Mister Squat and Mister Pudge. And Missus Portly and Pickle Portly, her son. And Stout Junior and the entire Rockbottom family, all crammed together. Some were crying, some were trying to console others, but most were huddled and trembling.
Mayor Ponderous peered out from between the bars. Because the bare-nosed wombats of the Northern Forest didn’t like to engage in public debates or campaigning, there’d been no election for the mayor’s position. Leadership was simply granted to the largest member of the burrows. “Hellooo!” he called. “Could you take it easy up there? A bumpy ride is not good for one’s digestion.”
“Let us go!” another wombat pleaded.
That had definitely been her mother’s voice, but Lola couldn’t see her. “Mum?” She stepped out from the shrub just as the cart passed by. “Mum?”
All the wombats turned to look at Lola. They scooted out of the way for Lola’s parents.
Alice and Arthur pushed through until they were up against the bars. Their eyes met Lola’s.
“Stop the cart!” a voice ordered. The rats stopped pulling.
Arthur’s eyes widened with fear. Alice put a finger to her mouth. Lola understood and stepped back into the shrub until she was hidden again.
Someone leaped off the top of the cage. She was a black furry critter with bloodred ears and a white fur collar. Lola had never seen one in the flesh, but she’d seen enough drawings in her storybook to know exactly what she was looking at.
A Tassie devil!
“Correct me if I am wrong, but did I just overhear someone whining about the quality of the ride?” The devil growled as she began circling the cart, twirling a whip menacingly in her right paw. “We have provided you dirt-dwellers with this luxurious means of transportation and you have the audacity to complain? If you are not satisfied with the treatment you are receiving, perhaps you would like to fill out a complaint form?” She snarled and flicked the whip at the cart. Many of the wombats squealed and huddled closer together. Alice and Arthur turned away, making sure not to look in Lola’s direction.
Lola shuddered as she remembered the stories she’d read. Long ago, before her grandwombats and her great-grandwombats were born, a group of carnivores rowed across the ocean and set upon the shores of Tassie Island. Everything was upended as the invaders hunted and terrorized the peace-loving critters who had long made the island their home. But thanks to the first king TheoDore, the invaders were eventually conquered and they agreed to live on Mount Ossa forevermore. Their descendants, born on the island, became known as Tassie devils. Some called them night monsters.
So what was this one doing here?
When the devil had circled to the other side of the cart and was out of sight, Alice whipped around and mouthed, “Run!” But Lola was too scared to run. Unlike swamp water rats, Tassie devils didn’t dine on garbage. They dined on flesh. Is that why Lola’s family and neighbors had been captured? Because this monster was going to eat them? Lola’s little heart started pounding so quickly it felt like it might burst from her chest.
Mayor Ponderous removed a handkerchief from his vest pocket and wiped a speck of blood from the edge of his wide nose where the whip had struck. “I say, why are you treating us good and peaceable folk in this manner?”
The creature stopped walking and tapped her whip against one of the wheels. “I was informed that wombats are quiet and shy. That they do not like conversation.”
“Indeed, that is true,” the mayor said. “But under the circum—”
“Enough!” She jumped onto a wheel. Now level with the cage and its occupants, she flexed her claws and stretched her mouth wide, revealing a golden tooth that gleamed in the sunlight. Then she exhaled carnivorous breath straight in the mayor’s face. The mayor broke into a coughing fit and quickly turned away.
While the devil laughed villainously, Alice, once again, mouthed, “Run!”
Lola’s body wanted to run, but her heart wanted to stay. She shuffled fretfully, and as she did, a twig snapped.
The devil stopped laughing and spun around, her gaze burrowing into the foliage. She jumped off
the wheel and stealthily crept toward Lola’s hiding place. Her black eyes narrowed. “Who’s there?” Lola held her breath, trying to make herself as small as possible, not an easy task for a barrel-shaped critter.
Arthur and Alice’s expressions turned desperate. “No one’s there,” Alice said. “You’ve captured all of us.”
Arthur pressed against the bars. “And you’ve broken the queen’s law. You’re not supposed to leave Mount Ossa!”
The devil stopped in her tracks. She flicked her whip, then spun back around. “Who dared to speak to me in that manner?” She darted back to the cart and snapped her whip against it.
Arthur stood his ground, though his shaking legs belied his fear. “I spoke the truth.” Lola knew exactly what her father was doing. He was trying to keep attention away from his daughter. And it had worked.
“The queen’s law?” Spit flew from the monster’s mouth. “The queen’s law?” Enraged, she jumped back onto the wheel and shrieked. “Your isolation has made you ill-informed.” She snapped the whip again. Missus Portly and Pickle Portly squealed. Mister Squat jumped about a foot in the air. “Our lovely little queen has rescinded that accursed treaty.”
Arthur’s mouth fell open. “That can’t be true.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” The whip landed on Arthur’s paw. He winced.
“Queen Myra would never rescind the Treaty of Mount Ossa,” Alice said. “It exiles your kind so you won’t eat us.”
“Is that what you think? That I am going to eat you?” She turned toward the rats who were now stretched out on the ground in various resting positions. “Did you hear that, you slime-covered scoundrels? The wombats think I cannot control myself.”
Braver Page 2
