Whimsy and Woe

by Rebecca McRitchie

  Elanora guided them all into a grand lounge room also filled with theatre memorabilia. Samuel and Isaac excused themselves to make everyone tea while Elanora sat down in an elaborate pink armchair and motioned to Whimsy and Woe to sit on the lounge opposite.

  ‘Mrs Blackwood —’ Whimsy began, sitting down.

  ‘Elanora, please,’ she interrupted. ‘Do you two study at the Theatrical School of Theatre? Is that how you know Farewell Earth? It was a very niche production before I’m sure either of you were born.’

  Samuel and Isaac returned with cups of tea and handed them out.

  ‘No, no, our parents are Alastair and Odette Mordaunt,’ Whimsy said.

  Elanora sat in thought for a moment before saying, ‘It’s a Jolly Day for Giants?’

  Whimsy and Woe nodded proudly.

  ‘I do remember seeing a few of your parents’ performances at the Broken Leg Theatre. The first one almost fifteen years ago. How are they?’

  ‘We think they were kidnapped,’ Woe said bluntly, a touch of anger in his voice.

  Elanora nodded gravely. ‘It is a dark time for thespians everywhere. The last performance I saw was two years ago when an acting troupe visited Boole. It was a disaster.’ Then a thought seemed to occur to her and she got up and left the room, taking her tea with her. When she came back, she held a crumpled production poster for My Lunch with Mermaids: A True Underwater Story in her hand. She handed it to the siblings. Whimsy and Woe noticed that on the poster, beneath the title, there were five silhouettes standing in front of a wooden caravan. ‘That was the play. You can keep that if you wish,’ she said, repressing a shudder at the memory of the hideous performance.

  ‘We were hoping you might be able to help us get in touch with the Thespian Society,’ Whimsy said.

  Elanora’s face fell slightly. ‘I’m sorry, children. I’m retired. I haven’t had contact with the Thespian Society for a few years.’

  Woe studied the poster. ‘Did you recognise any of the thespians in this performance?’

  Elanora shook her head sadly. ‘They all had much too much costume make-up on. Very heavy-handed.’

  ‘Over the top,’ said Samuel.

  ‘Way over,’ added Isaac.

  Then another thought seemed to occur to Elanora and she got up again and left the room. This time she returned with a framed photograph. She handed it to them. It was a photograph of the cast from a production called The Purple Puppeteer.

  ‘I did recognise one thespian that night,’ she said, tapping the photograph over a pretty woman with a flower in her hair.

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘Hortensia Abernathy.’

  21

  In which Whimsy and Woe stumble upon their first clue

  Whimsy and Woe couldn’t believe it! Mr Abernathy’s wife, whom he had lost years ago while picnicking in the Wallowing Woods, was a thespian. And she was performing in a travelling troupe.

  ‘She has a beautiful voice one simply cannot forget,’ continued Elanora. ‘I knew as soon as she began her ballad that it could only be her. Though why she broke down in the middle of her scene about cucumber sandwiches, I couldn’t tell you.’

  ‘It was terrible,’ Samuel said.

  ‘Below amateur,’ Isaac agreed.

  In the photograph, next to Hortensia, was a short woman the siblings assumed to be a young Elanora. Elanora stood next to a much taller man with a face they recognised as Magnus Montgomery. And next to Magnus were two people, one with unmistakable mahogany hair and the other with a familiar pair of round glasses sitting on a sharp nose. Their parents, dressed in their costumes and side-by-side, smiled up at their abandoned children.

  Woe stared at the young, happy faces of his parents. It reminded him of a time when he had walked past their father’s study, and saw his father’s socked feet poking out from underneath his desk. Woe didn’t want to interrupt him so he never asked his father what he was doing down there. But one day, when Woe was practising juggling a pair of apples, one dropped and rolled into the study, coming to a stop under the desk. Woe quickly crawled under the desk to grab it. But feeling a pair of eyes on him, he stopped. Turning, he looked up to find two photographs taped to the underside of his father’s desk. One was of himself and Whimsy. She had her arm over his shoulders. And the other was of his father and mother. They were younger, dressed in matching costumes and smiling down at him. Like his father, Woe lay there for a time. He felt what his father must have felt. Love.

  The youngest Mordaunt stood up abruptly, tearing his eyes away from the photograph and walking to the other side of the room. Whimsy on the other hand held onto the frame’s edge tightly. She felt tears sting her eyes as she gazed at her parents. Why did this happen to them? To us? A tear fell onto the glass. She knew too many minutes had passed but she couldn’t bring herself to hand the photograph back. She didn’t know when she would ever see another one.

  Elanora must have sensed her hesitation. ‘Keep it,’ she said to Whimsy. ‘I am sorry I can’t be of much more help. I hope you find your parents. They were truly gifted thespians.’

  They discussed theatre and thespians for hours and it wasn’t until the Blackwoods insisted the Mordaunts stay at the manor house for as long as they needed that they realised the entire day had slipped past them.

  As Whimsy and Woe lay in comfortable beds in a comfortable room twice the size of the Idle Slug attic, they studied the framed photograph and production poster Elanora had given them.

  ‘Mr Abernathy never mentioned that Hortensia was a thespian,’ Whimsy said, looking at the cast of The Purple Puppeteer.

  ‘Did you know Dad used to lie under his desk?’ Woe asked, his mind still on the photographs.

  ‘What?’ replied Whimsy, looking across at her brother, surprised. ‘When?’

  ‘All the time,’ Woe said.

  ‘Why?’

  Woe didn’t know how to tell Whimsy about the photographs so he just shrugged. ‘Do you think our parents are with Hortensia?’

  ‘It’s the only clue we have,’ Whimsy said.

  ‘And a bird,’ replied Woe inspecting the silhouettes on the production poster.

  ‘A bird?’ Whimsy questioned.

  ‘There’s a symbol on the caravan.’ He handed the poster to his sister. Emblazoned on the caravan behind the silhouettes was the distinct outline of a bird.

  22

  In which a town meeting takes a terrible turn

  Whether to accept or decline an invitation can sometimes be a difficult decision to make. One must carefully weigh up the pros and cons. For example, if one was invited to a birthday party at the zoo, there would be many pros such as animals, fun and cake, and there would be only a few cons, like falling into a bear pit or being accidentally bitten by a snake that is quite sick of being stared at. When Samuel and Isaac invited Whimsy and Woe to the Boole town meeting over a plate of pancakes the next morning, they could think of no such cons — no bear pits or vicious fed-up snakes — so they happily accepted.

  As they left the peeling, blue manor house, Whimsy and Woe and Samuel and Isaac walked through the rubbish dump that was the front garden of House Blackwood.

  ‘Why do you stay here?’ Woe asked, Eloise on his shoulder. ‘Why put up with the townspeople?’

  ‘It’s our home,’ said Isaac plainly.

  ‘Even if our home doesn’t like people who are different,’ said Samuel.

  ‘They are like the ugly space aliens in Farewell Earth,’ said Isaac, which made his brother and the Mordaunt siblings laugh. Whimsy and Woe had said goodbye to Elanora and carried their belongings with them, hoping to be on their way after the town meeting.

  ‘You never know who you might meet at a town meeting,’ declared Samuel happily as the group strode through the crowded town square. Inside the Town Hall, people were taking their seats in front of a stage. On the stage was a lectern and a black and brown flag, which looked to be the town flag, held up by two children. Samuel and Isaac motioned for Whimsy
and Woe to sit anywhere and made their way to the front of the hall. The siblings sat in the last row of chairs.

  ‘Where are they going?’ Whimsy whispered to Woe, who stretched to look above the lopsided hats of the three women seated in front of them.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Then there was a tap-tap from the speakers. Samuel had found a microphone and was now in front of the stage with Isaac.

  ‘Attention, fellow Boolians! We would just like a moment of your time.’

  The audience started booing and shouting.

  ‘We ask that you please stop throwing your rubbish at our house.’

  Then the audience started throwing things. Paper, pens, anything and everything went flying at Samuel and Isaac. Whimsy felt like telling everyone to stop and Woe almost did so before a man in the front row roughly took the microphone from Isaac, pushed the two men to the side, down the aisle and eventually out the Town Hall door.

  Before Whimsy and Woe could follow their friends, the sound of trumpets filled the speakers above the stage. Then a tall, thin man in an expensive green suit with matching gloves and hat stepped out from behind the curtain. It was none other than Mr Solt! Around his neck swung a thick, golden chain, adorned with a hideous ornamental medallion. Mr Solt was the Mayor of Boole!

  Woe inhaled sharply as he watched the villain take the stage. Mr Solt bowed grandly and moved into position behind the lectern. Whimsy felt the air in her lungs leave her. The hall erupted with applause and cheers. Some people even stood up from their seats. Fear gripped the siblings’ stomachs like a Fumewort Ficus as they looked on at a smiling Mr Solt who waited for the applause to die down.

  Woe had found his voice before Whimsy could.

  ‘We have to go,’ he whispered.

  ‘How?’ Whimsy let out weakly, motioning to all the people in the hall listening intently to the terrible man who stood before them. They slunk down low in their seats. The door stood open to their left.

  ‘Citizens of Boole,’ began Mr Solt, ‘before we begin, I have a few housekeeping items. One: as of this week, I will be putting a ban on all pies and pie-related foods. Two: there will be further renovations done to my office so no visitors please. And lastly, I have just returned from a very important conference with the other mayors in the district.’

  Whimsy and Woe knew this to be untrue, as he had in fact most recently been at the Idle Slug.

  ‘And unfortunately, it is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that your taxes will be increased again.’

  There were low grumblings from the townspeople in the hall.

  ‘I know, I know,’ Mr Solt went on, his hand on his chest in mock sympathy. ‘Please, please. Know that your taxes are being well spent on developing Boole into the finest town in the district!’ The grumblings turned to cheers as Woe thought darkly that the taxes were more likely being ill spent by Mr Solt. ‘Now,’ said Mr Solt in ringing tones, ‘let us begin.’

  Someone brought a chair onto the stage. Gingerly, Mr Solt sat on it and crossed his legs, his elbow on his knee and his gloved hand stroking his pointed red goatee as he waited expectantly. A man a few rows ahead of the Mordaunt siblings stood up.

  ‘Last week, I saw Tabitha venture near Elanora Blackwood’s house.’

  Mr Solt made a tut-tut sound. ‘Tabitha,’ he said calmly, looking at a nervous woman in the front row, ‘you know better than that. That area is out of bounds unless you need to dispose of your rubbish.’

  ‘I didn’t go too near, mayor,’ implored the woman. ‘Honest. I went to pick flowers.’

  A stout woman then stood up. ‘The Blackwoods have guests living with them.’

  A few people murmured in agreement.

  ‘Guests?’ Mr Solt echoed, intrigued.

  ‘Children. Strange-looking children.’

  ‘Let’s make a run for it,’ Woe whispered urgently. The siblings couldn’t sink any lower in their seats. They knew it was only a matter of seconds before one of the townspeople realised that the strange-looking children they were talking about were seated in the back row. Whimsy tried to think. They couldn’t stand up and leave, but if everyone else were to . . . then she thought of Eloise.

  ‘Follow my lead,’ she whispered to her brother. Grabbing Eloise from his shoulder, she placed her gently on the ground. Then she let out a high-pitched shriek, ‘Mouse!’ Immediately, the women in their row and the rows in front screamed and jumped up from their seats as Eloise ran through the Town Hall. Some stood on their chairs while others clambered over people to get away from the creature. Hats and fans went flying into the air.

  Quickly, the siblings grabbed their suitcases, slid off their seats and crawled on their hands and knees between the rows of chairs. Once through the open door, Whimsy and Woe stood up, unsure of their next move. Then they heard the distinct sound of a train approaching.

  23

  In which a town tries to stop them from boarding a train

  In the distance, the siblings saw grey steam mottle the blue sky above the shops and houses. A train steadily approached Boole station. Around them the townspeople started spilling out of the Town Hall. Whimsy and Woe couldn’t help but be surprised at the timing of the train schedule, however, between the Mordaunt siblings and their means of escape was a town square which had started to become quickly crowded with people.

  ‘Do you think we can make it?’ Whimsy asked, looking anxiously behind her for Eloise. Then with a squeak, Eloise came scurrying out of the Town Hall door and up Woe’s trouser leg. From inside the hall they heard Mr Solt calling for calm over the sounds of panicked townspeople.

  ‘Well, we can’t wait for the next train,’ Woe said.

  ‘Did you not enjoy your first town meeting?’

  The siblings turned to see Samuel and Isaac approach from around the corner. Their clothes were torn and they were rubbing their wrists.

  ‘Nothing like passionate townsfolk to keep you on your toes,’ Samuel said with a grin. Whimsy and Woe were happy to see the Blackwood brothers. Hurriedly, they tried to explain to them the danger they now found themselves in.

  ‘Your mayor, he’s —’ Whimsy began.

  ‘Well dressed?’ Isaac put forward.

  ‘No, he’s —’ Woe tried.

  ‘Very tall,’ Samuel finished.

  ‘No, he —’ but Whimsy stopped herself. She listened. There was no longer the sound of panicked voices coming from inside the Town Hall. Woe noticed it too. It was time to go.

  ‘We need to be on that train,’ Woe said.

  ‘Follow us,’ Isaac said.

  Samuel and Isaac marched determinedly through the crowd. Whimsy and Woe followed closely behind. As they moved through, people in the crowd began to recognise the brothers, giving them a shove or a push. The brothers kept on, ignoring the jolts and the remarks thrown their way.

  Then suddenly, from behind them, they heard a roaring ‘STOP THOSE SIBLINGS!’ Turning, the crowd parted and Whimsy and Woe saw the unmistakable Mayor of Boole pointing menacingly in their direction from within the crowd.

  ‘Yes, here we are,’ said Isaac loudly to the crowd.

  Samuel and Isaac must have realised Whimsy and Woe’s predicament as they moved to stand between the Mayor of Boole and the Mordaunt children.

  ‘Go!’ whispered Samuel to Whimsy and Woe over his shoulder.

  Whimsy hesitated. She didn’t want to leave friends behind. Not again.

  ‘It was a pleasure meeting you,’ Isaac said over his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t forget to invite us for tea,’ finished Samuel before the two of them ran towards the mayor. The crowd, thinking it was Samuel and Isaac their mayor wanted, lunged and dived at the brothers. They had given the Mordaunt siblings a chance to continue on. A sacrifice.

  Woe grabbed his sister’s hand and the two set off at a run towards the station. The gaps in the crowd became larger as the crowd descended on the Blackwoods. Before them they could see the station. The train had already arrived. Whimsy and Woe t
wisted and writhed their way through the press of people, pushing towards the station. It wasn’t long until some of the townsfolk noticed the strangers in their midst and tried to grab the siblings. A man in the crowd grabbed Whimsy by the hair and jerked her backwards.

  ‘Woe!’ she cried. Woe turned and whacked the man with his suitcase. A whistle sounded. They continued running until at last they reached the platform. The train had already started to move away as the two children leaped on board. Hanging from the train steps, they looked back to see Mr Solt emerge from the mass of people. His face was the colour of his dyed red hair. He jumped easily onto the platform and Whimsy and Woe pleaded for the train to go faster. But then, all of a sudden, Mr Solt stopped mid-stride. He seemed paralysed. His face contorted in horror as he looked at the side of the train. They followed his gaze and saw that the navy blue train was emblazoned with a large, white number 7. The train picked up speed and pulled away from the station. Mr Solt could do nothing but roar in fist-clenching anger as Whimsy and Woe slipped through his clutches once more.

  Lucky number 7

  24

  In which train travel becomes tricky

  Relieved, Whimsy and Woe entered the rocking train carriage. Moving down the aisle, they found unoccupied seats near the back. With Mr Solt out of sight, they focused on catching their breath.

  ‘That . . . was close,’ Woe said, resting his head on the back of the seat. A small squeak came from within Woe’s clothes. Then a slightly ruffled Eloise emerged from under Woe’s shirtsleeve. He had completely forgotten about the brave mouse and was glad to see that she wasn’t lost or hurt in the scramble for the train.