Beatrix the Bold and the Riddletown Dragon

by Simon Mockler

  ‘So, Esmerelda,’ General Burpintime said. ‘Your plan to help us kidnap Queen Beatrix didn’t exactly work out well, did it?’

  General Burpintime was sitting upon a very high chair at the head of the table. His little legs didn’t quite reach the ground, and Esmerelda couldn’t help thinking he looked like a baby in a high chair. He had a large bowl of marshmallows beside him and managed to keep talking while he ate them.

  ‘My plan was perfect,’ Esmerelda said, angrily. ‘It was your fear of Wobblers that meant it didn’t work. If you and your army hadn’t run away in the middle of the night you could have caught Beatrix the next day, given me my gold and got on with doing whatever it is an Evil Army does.’

  ‘Fear of Wobblers?! Don’t be so ridiculous.’ General Burpintime paused. Gulp. He swallowed a marshmallow whole, his eyes bulged and his face turned red. Esmerelda was about to get up and whack him on the back when he coughed. A big blobby white thing appeared on his lips. He took it out, inspected it, then popped it back in his mouth and ate it. Esmerelda felt a little bit of sick rise in the back of her throat. Gross.

  ‘You were saying?’ Esmerelda said.

  ‘I was saying I am not afraid of Wobblers. Now, tell me what you want.’

  Esmerelda got up and walked around the table. She stood very close to General Burpintime.

  ‘Gold,’ she said in a very low voice. ‘I want gold, and I want revenge.’

  General Burpintime grabbed another handful of marshmallows.

  ‘Revenge on Queen Beatrix?’ he said.

  ‘Of course! If it wasn’t for her escaping, I wouldn’t have lost everything. All my gold, my palace, my fifty-two pairs of golden underpants.’

  General Burpintime stopped eating marshmallows. He was puzzled by Esmerelda. After all, it had been her idea to try and get the Evil Army to kidnap Beatrix. He wasn’t sure you could take revenge because someone had simply escaped when you tried to kidnap them. What else were they meant to do?!

  Although he didn’t want to tell her, it really was all her fault that she’d lost her gold. And her palace. And her underpants. She was basically a bit greedy, he thought, as he shoved another handful of marshmallows in his mouth. Still, there might be something in this for him.

  ‘I have a proposal,’ he said at last. ‘I still need to find Beatrix and kill her – because the Curse of the Wobblers isn’t going to go away until we do. If we don’t stop her, she’ll lead an army of Wobblers to destroy the Evil Army, but …’ He popped another marshmallow in his mouth. They helped him concentrate. ‘Maybe you can help me, and I can help you. I’ll give you gold.’

  ‘How much gold?’

  ‘Lots. Let’s worry about the details later,’ he said, waving his hand. ‘What’s more important is that you help me capture Queen Beatrix.’

  ‘How much gold?’

  ‘Um.’ General Burpintime paused. In a way, it didn’t matter what he said, because he wasn’t actually planning to give Esmerelda any gold, even if she did help him. But giving away imaginary gold was almost as hard for him as giving away real gold.

  ‘A whole carriage full,’ he said at last. ‘A big carriage. Deal?’

  General Burpintime held out his hand. Esmerelda got up and shook it. It was like shaking hands with a melted marshmallow. All warm and sticky. Possibly the worst handshake ever.

  ‘Deal,’ she said. She patted Burpintime on the back, as if to say, Good show, all agreed, but really she was wiping the marshmallow off her hand and onto Burpintime’s fur cape.

  ‘I know exactly where she’ll be going,’ Esmerelda said. ‘Now the secret’s out, and she knows she’s Queen of Beluga, she’ll be on her way there. She’ll want to see her parents, and I imagine she’ll also want to start being queen – queening about the place. Bossing everyone around. Bring me a map so I can work out which route she’s likely to take. And bring me an artist. I’ll describe Beatrix to them so they can draw her – that way your spies will have a picture of her.’

  ‘Very well,’ General Burpintime said. He clapped his hands together to call for a servant. ‘Bring me a map and an artist!’ he shouted. There was no response. His voice echoed around the room. He sat in silence and fished about for another marshmallow.

  ‘You do know it’s only us in here, don’t you?’ Esmerelda said, after what seemed like a very long time.

  ‘Of course I do,’ General Burpintime replied in a very irritable voice. He climbed down from his high chair, stamped out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Esmerelda waited, then waited some more. She took a couple of marshmallows and popped them into her mouth, carefully re-arranging the rest so it looked as if none had been taken.

  A few moments later General Burpintime returned with a map and an artist. The artist was dressed in a black cape, with a black beret on his head and white hair poking out underneath. He had a very serious expression.

  ‘This is my own personal artist,’ General Burpintime said. ‘He’s currently painting a series of pictures of giant marshmallows for me, but he’s kindly agreed to help us.’

  ‘Can you draw people?’ Esmerelda said.

  The artist shrugged. ‘Of course I can, but I don’t like to. It’s too … obvious,’ he said, mysteriously. He placed a piece of paper and some charcoal on the table. ‘Describe her and I will draw her.’

  ‘OK, let’s see,’ Esmerelda said. ‘Beatrix is very annoying, and rather spoilt. She tells terrible jokes, like, What’s a duck’s favourite food? Biscuits – I think that was how it went. And she’s small. Well, not small for a child. But smaller than a grown-up. And her clothes are very expensive, with jewels and bright colours. But she might be in disguise, so she may just be wearing something boring and normal-looking. And she is always asking questions …’

  Esmerelda stopped talking and stared at the blank piece of paper.

  ‘Why haven’t you drawn anything?’ she said.

  ‘Because you haven’t told me what she looks like!’ the artist replied. ‘What colour hair does she have? Are her eyes big or small? Does her chin stick out? Has it got a dimple? What about freckles?’

  ‘Oh I see, yes, well. Beatrix is …’ Esmerelda frowned. It was a lot harder to describe Beatrix than she’d thought it would be.

  In the end, the artist produced a drawing that looked like Beatrix reflected in the back of a spoon. Her face was wide in the middle and thin at the top. He’d got the hair right though. There was a mass of curls on top of her head, more than enough for two robins, a starling and a baby barn owl to hide in.

  General Burpintime looked at the picture a little doubtfully. ‘What a strange-looking niece you have, Esmerelda. I’ll give this to my spies. If they see anyone that looks a bit like an egg, I’ll make sure they arrest them.’

  ‘It’s better than nothing,’ Esmerelda said. ‘Now, give me the map and I’ll tell you where I think she’s going.’

  General Burpintime unrolled the map on the table. Esmerelda looked at it closely. ‘I don’t think she’ll travel over the Sea of Sinking Ships, not at this time of year. Too dangerous. I think she’ll come this way, over the mountains. And she’ll have to leave soon – she can’t cross the mountains in the spring because of the avalanches, so make sure you send some spies to watch the palace as soon as you can. Put them along Numb Butt Lane and at any inns along the way. Beatrix will need to stop for food. Do all that and you’ll catch her easily. Then you can give me my gold. Lots of gold.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ General Burpintime said.

  ‘Yes, you will,’ Esmerelda replied. ‘That’s what we agreed.’

  ‘That’s why I said it.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Good.’

  General Burpintime looked at Esmerelda. Esmerelda looked at General Burpintime. Neither blinked. Neither looked away. And neither one trusted the other.

  4

  A Cross-eyed Present

  Beatrix hardly slept a wink that night. She was feeling nervous about the trip, but it wasn’t
because of the danger. She hadn’t seen her parents since she was a few weeks old, and she couldn’t remember them at all. Whenever she thought about this, her feelings became all jumbled up in her tummy, as if she’d squidged tomato sauce onto her porridge instead of syrup.

  Uncle Ivan had given her a painting of them from many years ago and hung it on the wall in her room. She got out of bed, wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and looked at it.

  Her dad wasn’t a fierce warrior like Uncle Ivan – he was actually quite small, but he had a twinkle in his clever eyes and his mouth turned upward in one corner as if he’d thought of something a bit funny and a bit naughty. Beatrix thought that must be a good thing. Uncle Ivan had told her that her dad was always telling jokes – and it looked as if he was about to make one right there in the picture.

  Her mother was taller than her father and beautiful with very curly hair, just like her. There were all sorts of flowers woven into her dress and bright jewels around her neck. She wasn’t smiling, but somehow she still looked happy.

  BOOM BOOM BOOM!

  Beatrix jumped. The knocks at the door sounded like a battering ram. Uncle Ivan, she thought. No one else could make that much noise with just their hand and a wooden door, apart from, maybe, a very impatient gorilla desperate for the loo. She opened the door.

  ‘Hullo,’ he said. ‘I thought I saw a light. I can’t sleep either. Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Beatrix said, although the porridge with tomato sauce feeling was still in her tummy.

  ‘Good good,’ Uncle Ivan said, looking round the room. ‘It’ll be strange here without you. A lot quieter of course. But very strange too.’ There was a funny look in his eye, as if he had something in it, and was trying to blink it away.

  ‘Would you like a handkerchief?’ she said.

  ‘Me? No, I’m fine too,’ Uncle Ivan sniffed. ‘We’re all fine. That’s good.’ He paused, then said: ‘You know, your mother and father might expect you to stay with them and be Queen of Beluga, ruling the land. They might want you to stay there for ever. And you would have to. You couldn’t just come back. A queen has to look after her people.’

  ‘I know,’ Beatrix said, realising she didn’t know anything at all about being queen and ruling a land and all the people in it. Surely they had some kind of book or instruction guide that told you how to do it?

  There was another knock on the bedroom door. Beatrix opened it. Mrs Fartinpants stood there with a tray. On it was a jug of warm milk and honey and a plate of fresh fartinpants with golden syrup.

  ‘I thought I heard voices,’ she said. ‘No doubt you’ll be wanting a little late-night snack?’

  ‘Yes please!’ Beatrix said, wondering if there’d be someone as nice as Mrs Fartinpants at her parents’ castle.

  ‘Here, look – I’ve made you something,’ Mrs Fartinpants said. She gave Beatrix a large hat she’d knitted herself. It looked a bit like the top of a toadstool. Beatrix wasn’t sure how much she wanted to look like a walking toadstool, but she thought it was nice of Mrs Fartinpants to make it for her.

  ‘It’ll keep you nice and warm,’ Mrs Fartinpants said, ‘and it’s so big no one will be able to see your face under it, so it’s a good disguise too.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Beatrix said. She tried on the hat, feeling very much like a giant toadstool.

  ‘Now, there’s one last thing,’ Uncle Ivan said. ‘Come with me. You’ll need your fur coat. I have something to show you. Something very important to me.’

  Uncle Ivan led Beatrix through the twisting, turning corridors of the palace, all the way to his falconry. The falconry was where he kept the eagles he used for hunting. It was a huge cage made from carved wooden pillars. Beatrix was excited. Uncle Ivan was going to give her one of his magnificent birds to take with her!

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, passing her a small cage with a pigeon in it. ‘He’s called Jeff,’ Ivan said proudly.

  ‘Jeff?’ Beatrix replied, feeling a little disappointed.

  ‘Yes, Jeff the pigeon. He may not look it, but Jeff is one of my best birds. No matter where you are, he will always fly home. If ever you’re in danger and you need help, write a message and Jeff will deliver it to me, won’t you, my boy?’ Ivan said. Jeff cooed. He looked slightly cross-eyed.

  ‘Thank you,’ Beatrix said, wondering how long it would take a pigeon to fly all the way back to the palace. And how often Uncle Ivan checked his birdcage for messages. It wasn’t exactly WhatsApp.

  5

  The Journey Begins

  It took Beatrix, Wilfred and Oi another day to get everything ready for their journey. They packed a tent, ropes for climbing, dry wood for fires and candles. They packed blankets and warm clothes, a very large supply of sweets and, of course, a big box of magic tricks, just in case they had to prove they really were a family of travelling magicians.

  They loaded everything onto their cart. It had a cover that stretched over a wooden frame to keep the rain and snow off, a bit like a small caravan. On the side of it they’d painted the words Bob the Magician’s Amazing Magic Show in gold paint. (There were still a few pots in the palace, even though Esmerelda was no longer there.)

  Ivan had given them one of his strongest and most reliable horses to pull them along.

  ‘Jeff will look after you,’ Uncle Ivan said.

  ‘Jeff?’ Beatrix said. ‘Same as Jeff the pigeon?’

  Uncle Ivan shrugged. ‘I like the name. And besides, no one’s going to confuse a pigeon with a horse.’

  ‘Suppose not,’ Beatrix said. ‘But that does explain why I saw Oi trying to attach the reins to a pigeon earlier. I think we should leave in secret while it’s still dark. Oi and I will hide amongst the bags in the back of the cart until we’re a good distance away.’

  Beatrix was right to be worried. The spy sent by General Burpintime and Esmerelda was watching the palace from Numb Butt Lane. He was disguised as a snowman. He was cold and he was bored and he was definitely the grumpiest-looking snowman you’ve ever seen.

  When he saw a cart leave the palace, bouncing along the bottom-numbing road in the dark, he didn’t think anything of it. He could see a man sitting in the front, and he could just about make out the writing on the side that said Bob the Magician’s Amazing Magic Show, but he couldn’t see a girl with lots of curly hair who looked like an egg, and he couldn’t see anyone wearing fancy colourful clothes with lots of jewels. He watched it go by then went back to pretending to be a snowman, wishing he was doing his spying inside a nice warm inn, instead of outside in the freezing cold.

  Beatrix, Oi and Wilfred didn’t notice the snowman. In fact, for the first ten miles of their journey they didn’t notice anything much at all. That’s because there was nothing much to notice. Just snow and ice and empty fields and trees with no leaves and nothing really happening apart from Jeff the horse making lots of snorty noises as he pulled the cart. For the next ten miles, nothing happened again, and for the third ten miles, nothing kept happening all the time.

  Beatrix, Oi and Wilfred played I-spy for a bit. They ate three and a half bags of sweets and then felt a bit sick. They played noughts and crosses, hangman and battleships, but mostly they just trundled along the snowy ground wishing they’d brought an extra cushion for the seats.

  ‘How long till we get there?’ Oi said.

  ‘Another two weeks!’ Wilfred said. ‘Same as when you last asked. And we have to hurry – we can’t risk the snow melting and the start of the avalanches in the mountains. If we can’t cross the mountains in time we’ll have to wait till the end of spring, or take our chances on the Sea of Sinking Ships.’

  ‘Two more weeks,’ Oi said under his breath. He gave a low whistle and drummed his fingers on the side of the cart. He looked thoroughly bored. Almost as bored as Dog, who was usually quite happy hanging his head over the side of the cart and letting the wind flap his ears. The only passenger who didn’t look bored was Jeff the pigeon. Jeff was making little cooing nois
es as if this was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him.

  ‘I spy with my little eye …’ Beatrix said, then she stopped. ‘Oh look, an inn. Hooray! Let’s stop for lunch.’

  In the distance was a log hut with a thatched roof. Smoke was rising out of the chimney. It was a most welcome sight. There was a barn for the horses and a small courtyard with quite a lot of carts in it. Some carts had parked but others seemed to have formed a queue and would stop outside a window, pick up their food and then drive off without even getting out.

  As they approached, they saw a big ‘M’ hanging from a post outside.

  ‘This must be one of those new squashed-meatball-and-bread-rolls places Mr McDonald has opened up,’ said Beatrix.

  The only parking space left was very small and it took Wilfred three attempts to steer the cart into it. This was because a large, four-wheel drive carriage had parked very badly, taking up two spaces.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Wilfred. ‘It does seem very busy,’ he went on. ‘I know that everyone loves a squashed-meatball-and-bread-roll, but all the same, let’s be careful. Now, do you remember who you are?’

  ‘We’re travelling magicians,’ Oi said.

  ‘Good, and what are we not?’

  ‘We’re not helping Queen Beatrix travel in secret to find her parents.’

  ‘SHHHHHHH!’ said Beatrix. ‘Someone might hear. Let’s bring Dog and Jeff with us so they can warm up – they look half frozen.’

  ‘We can’t bring a horse into the inn,’ Oi said. ‘They have rules about that kind of thing.’

  ‘Not Jeff the horse. Jeff the pigeon. I knew having two Jeffs would cause problems,’ she muttered to herself. ‘Where’s that hat Mrs Fartinpants gave me?’

  Oi, Dog, Jeff, Beatrix and Wilfred entered the log cabin. It was very dark and smoky inside but nice and warm. They found a table near the fire and sat down. They ordered food and a bowl of water for Dog. It felt a bit strange in the inn. It seemed to have gone quiet as soon as they entered, like when the head teacher walks into a classroom and all the children stop talking. Slowly, the other customers started up their conversations again. In the corner there were two men who kept peering at a piece of paper and glancing over their shoulders at the new arrivals.