Whimsy and Woe

by Rebecca McRitchie

‘I don’t know why. It was just her husband,’ said Zelia. ‘Life goes on.’

  ‘Face it. You’ve been tricked,’ said Herman.

  ‘Misled,’ said Zelia.

  ‘Hoodwinked,’ added Herman.

  ‘Fooled,’ added Zelia.

  Whimsy and Woe let the truth sink in. The Astors were never going to help them. They were too paranoid about their disgusting company secrets to help anybody.

  ‘And what do we have here?’ Zelia asked, opening up their suitcases.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Woe weakly. The pain in his stomach had increased. He held on to one of the bars on the door for support. What was happening?

  ‘Please,’ said Whimsy desperately.

  Ignoring them, the Astors rifled through their belongings. They took out clothes, Dr Bondig’s Bilious Balm, the bowler hat, the broken hair clip, the lace glove. Everything the siblings had spent years collecting at the Idle Slug was manhandled and tossed over the Astors’ shoulders and into the swamp.

  Glomp. Glomp. Glomp.

  Glomp. Glomp. Glomp.

  Whimsy let out a small, heartbreaking cry as she watched their treasures sink into the slimy swamp.

  Zelia pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper from Woe’s suitcase. Unfurling and reading it, Zelia brought a hand to her mouth in a mixture of shock and glee. Whimsy recognised it. It was the really, really wanted poster from the Cleeth Bay noticeboard. She looked at her brother who closed his eyes at the sight of it.

  ‘Oh, Hermie,’ said Zelia. ‘They aren’t just wanted. They’re really, really wanted.’

  The Swamp Master’s eyes lit up like birthday candles.

  Zelia looked at the poster and then back at the siblings. ‘Did you think you could suddenly replace your eye and have your scar removed, and people wouldn’t recognise you?’

  ‘I knew they weren’t who they said they were!’ Herman took the poster from his wife. ‘I said they were suspicious, didn’t I? Look, it says here that their parents ran away from them. I wonder how much the reward is? We could finally build that sludge pool you’ve always wanted.’ Then they threw the empty suitcases into the swamp.

  Glomp. Glomp.

  Whimsy watched on helplessly. She hated to think what else the Astors disposed of in the deep and isolated recesses of the swamp.

  ‘Enjoy,’ said Zelia over her shoulder as they boarded the rowboat with the really, really wanted poster. ‘Don’t let the swamp mites bite.’

  Woe couldn’t think straight. What were they going to do? They had no belongings. No way of getting out of the cabin. His vision had become blurry. He shook his head to focus but it didn’t work. He felt hot. Really hot. Is this what defeat feels like? he wondered.

  Whimsy couldn’t help but feel that she should have trusted her instincts not to come to the swamp. Her face suddenly became incredibly itchy. She scratched it partly in frustration at their desperate situation and partly hoping to smear away the sludge make-up that Zelia had plastered on her.

  The Mordaunt siblings looked out from their prison, unable to do anything but listen to the dying laughter of the Astors as they were rowed away.

  ‘Why did you take the poster?’ Whimsy gently asked her brother. She looked at him then. Even in the small amount of light she could see that something was wrong. By now he should be yelling in frustration, pacing around the cabin, running a hand roughly through his hair.

  ‘Whimsy,’ he groaned. ‘My stomach . . .’ Then from his kneeling position, Woe lay down on the floor, pain written all over his face.

  Whimsy knelt beside her brother, deeply concerned. His hair and shirt were damp. She placed the back of her hand to his forehead. Woe was completely burning up! Whimsy thought back to anything he might have digested. Then she remembered. The sludge milk. She immediately cursed the Astors, and then herself for not noticing it sooner. What could she do? The last of Dr Bondig’s Bilious Balm had been swallowed up by the swamp outside.

  ‘Is he all right?’ came a soft voice from behind them.

  50

  In which a stranger isn’t so strange

  Whimsy turned around, startled. In the darkness she could just make out the rough outline of a person standing in the middle of the cabin, but not much more. She moved to kneel protectively between her brother and the stranger.

  ‘Who’s there? Show yourself,’ she said, willing her eyes to adjust to the darkness of the cabin.

  The outline moved towards her slowly and then it knelt down beside her. In the dim light from the door, she could see that it was a boy. He was older than them, but only by a few years.

  ‘The Astors are a hoot, aren’t they? I’m Markus,’ he said kindly, extending his hand towards her.

  ‘I’m Markus.’

  Whimsy assessed him. After being tricked by the Astors, she was in no rush to be tricked again. Woe moaned from his spot on the floor. She needed to cool her brother down somehow. She shook Markus’s hand. ‘Whimsy. And this is my brother, Woe.’

  ‘Is Woe all right?’ Markus asked looking him over.

  ‘He drank some sludge milk.’

  Markus nodded knowingly. ‘The experimental food department?’

  Whimsy nodded.

  ‘There’s water and stale bread. I can help you move him?’

  Whimsy grabbed Woe’s feet. Markus grabbed Woe under his arms and they both lifted him further into the cabin, placing him gently on the ground. Then Markus moved something and light came through the floor. Looking closer, Whimsy could see that a small part of the wood flooring of the cabin had been chiselled away. They sat around the hole in the floor, which lit up the cabin with faint light. The dark green swamp bubbled below.

  When Markus handed her a small bucket of water and a scrap of cloth, she noticed that his shirtsleeves were ripped.

  ‘Filters,’ he said motioning to them. ‘For the sludge water.’

  She soaked the ripped material in the water and placed it on her brother’s forehead, hoping it would cool him down. He mumbled a thankyou before closing his eyes.

  ‘How long have you been in here?’ Whimsy asked.

  ‘Three weeks.’

  Whimsy was stunned. Three weeks!

  ‘I came to the swamp looking for my grandfather,’ said Markus.

  Whimsy realised that Markus must be the bad news that Zelia was referring to.

  ‘Your grandfather?’ Whimsy replied.

  ‘Magnus Montgomery. He has been missing for many years. He’s a —’

  ‘Thespian,’ Whimsy finished for him. If she wasn’t already sitting down, she was sure she would have fallen over in surprise. ‘The legendary Magnus Montgomery is your grandfather?’ she said disbelievingly.

  Markus simply nodded.

  Whimsy had the feeling he was asked that question a lot. She stared at the boy in front of her. His face had the same defined Montgomery jawline.

  ‘So that means you are Markus Montgomery, the grandson he told the papers would follow in his thespian footsteps?’ Whimsy added, piecing together bits of information she remembered from many years ago. She was sure their family had been in the audience when Markus was led up on stage by his grandfather. But that really was many years ago.

  Markus looked down at his shoes. ‘That’s me,’ he said to her.

  ‘Magnus is missing?’ asked Whimsy trying to remember. ‘He’s not retired?’ It couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it? Are all these missing thespians in the same troupe? Was Magnus kidnapped too?

  Markus shook his head. ‘How do you know so much —’

  ‘Our parents are missing too. They’re also thespians. Not as renowned as Magnus.’

  Markus sat up straight. ‘Alastair and Odette Mordaunt?’

  ‘How do you . . .’ began Whimsy, confused.

  Markus stood up.

  ‘You must tell me everything,’ he said. ‘Please.’

  Over the next few minutes Whimsy explained their journey to Markus. From their parents’ kidnapping, to their time at the Idle Slug, to the Bla
ckwoods, Mr Solt, the cast photograph, the Ballentines, and their really, really wanted poster. She showed him the photographs in her locket.

  Markus listened carefully.

  ‘We didn’t know they had performed here until we arrived. The Astors said they had stayed. We thought we were going to see them again,’ Whimsy finished, the extent of their foolishness finally sinking in. Then she remembered the poster. She took it from Woe’s pocket carefully.

  Markus was silent for a moment as he looked at the poster. ‘We were so close,’ he said barely above a whisper.

  Whimsy was eager to hear more but she could see now that Markus needed a moment to process all of the new information she had given him. She did too, really.

  ‘They left before Fry and I arrived,’ he said sadly. ‘Just days before.’

  ‘Detective Fry?’

  Markus nodded. ‘When my grandfather disappeared, everyone in the thespian community thought he had retired. They thought that because he left a note saying so. “Dear family, I have retired,” it said. But the note was a lie. He had told me just the day before that he wanted to sign on to do a new musical about cheese called Brie Mine. He loved cheese. Everyone gave up looking for him. Everyone except for Fry. Fry said when your parents were . . . taken, he thought there was a pattern. So he started his own investigation. I told him everything I knew about my grandfather. Then when I told him I wanted to join his investigation, we travelled to here. We worked in the fields for a time until Astor got suspicious. Then he threw me in here. Fry was able to get away, though.’

  ‘Fry left you here?’ asked Whimsy, shocked. ‘He didn’t come back?’

  ‘Detective Fry is a little . . . unusual,’ said Markus. ‘And can be . . . forgetful. He should be in Whitby City by now.’

  ‘Whitby City?’ asked Whimsy. She had many more questions, namely how a detective could forget about a person, but this was the first that fell from her lips. The Mordaunt family home was near Whitby City.

  ‘The Favian Festival,’ said Markus. ‘Fry said the Favian Festival could be the next place the Puppeteer is heading.’

  ‘The Puppeteer?’ echoed Whimsy. Her head was spinning.

  ‘That’s what Fry called him,’ said Markus. Then he paused to think. ‘And one time he called him Vincent but he said that name wasn’t real, that it was from —’

  ‘Ghosts on Ghoul Street,’ finished Whimsy. She remembered the man George Ballentine spoke of; Vincent. Vincent was the man who took their parents? The Purple Puppeteer? And Hortensia and Beatrice? Then she remembered what Constance had said about the Favian Festival. She added up the days on her fingers. ‘But the festival begins tomorrow,’ she said alarmed.

  ‘We have to get there,’ groaned Woe from his position on the floor. He had been listening to everything that had been said. He sat himself up slowly. Whimsy moved to sit next to her brother. She took the cloth from his head and felt his temperature. She was relieved to feel it was down.

  ‘I’ve been working on my escape as you can see,’ Markus motioned to the hole in the floor and took out a metal buckle. ‘It’s what they use in the fields, for the rope harnesses,’ he explained.

  Used as a chisel, Whimsy thought. She looked at the small hole Markus had made in the floor. It would take them hours to break through the rest of the floorboard.

  ‘We can escape through the pipes like Fry. But we need to hurry,’ said Markus, ‘before the Astors send someone with water and bread.’

  Whimsy knew they had no other choice. ‘How do you feel, Woe?’ She looked over at her brother.

  ‘I can manage,’ he said with a wince.

  Markus looked at Whimsy. ‘Looks like we have a plan.’

  51

  In which another messy escape is made messier

  Luckily for Whimsy and Markus, the wood that made up the cabin was old and worn. They took turns steadily chipping away at the floor using the metal buckle. When their hands had started to hurt, they used Markus’s shirtsleeve material and wrapped it around their palms to cushion the strikes. By the time night had descended, they had made a hole big enough to fit their four hands inside.

  Woe was lying down near the door to keep a lookout for any sign of a rowboat heading towards the cabin. Peering out into the dark swamp, he tried to breathe away the pain in his stomach. He wasn’t going to tell his sister, but he could already feel his temperature rising again. Why did I drink that milk? he chided himself. He wanted to help them with the floor. They needed him and he couldn’t help. When he’d been lying down listening to Markus’s story, Woe found strength in his anger. He was angry at the Astors, angry at himself for drinking the sludge milk . . . angry at Vincent. If Vincent was the man who had taken their parents, then he had not only torn apart his family’s world, he had also torn apart countless others. The Ballentines’, the Abernathys’, the Montgomerys’. He winced again as the pain flared. He needed to get to their parents. To see them. But also to see the man who took them from him.

  Whimsy’s knuckles ached from the force of her strikes. She used her hands to pull up the shards of wood that broke off and soon they became full of short and sharp splinters. An old memory tugged at her heart. She remembered sword fighting with her father in their backyard. It was a game they had called Knights and Ladies. She was always the knight. But once a large splinter from her wooden sword embedded itself in her palm and she couldn’t help but give a very unknightly squeal. Immediately, her father had put down his sword and his medieval headdress, sat with her on the grass and delicately removed the splinter. Whimsy gritted her teeth at the painful memory and continued to chip away at the board, ignoring the splinters stabbing into her hands.

  When they could no longer chip, they used all their might to pull up the board. It creaked and groaned until finally it was prised loose. But the hole in its place wasn’t big enough for any of them to fit through. They needed to pull up another board.

  ‘Rowboat,’ said Woe spotting a pair of lights through the dark swamp. He stood wearily and made his way over to where Whimsy and Markus were straining to lift a second floorboard. ‘We have maybe minutes before they get here.’

  Whimsy and Markus pulled harder but fatigue had started to set in. Woe steadied himself and grabbed a hold of the board too. The three of them heaved together. At last, the floorboard came loose. Then Woe stumbled, clutching his stomach. Quickly, Markus put one of Woe’s arms over his shoulder. ‘Go,’ he said to Whimsy. ‘We’ll be right behind you.’

  Whimsy held her breath and pinched her nose closed. With one last look at her brother, she dropped down through the hole and into the thick swamp below. The green wet bog enveloped her up to her shoulders. Looking around, she could see the lamps from the rowboat lighting up the dark swamp ahead. Markus and Woe fell into the swamp next to her, Markus still holding Woe up. She led the way, wading through the swamp and moving behind the cabin, out of sight of the rowboat. She gritted her teeth and tried not to think about the creatures that could be living in the swamp. She almost yelped when something brushed passed her legs beneath the swamp’s surface. The sludge on the swamp floor clung to her feet, making every step like walking through quicksand. And then she remembered. The quickswamp. They could walk into it at any moment! She moved towards a group of dark shadows ahead, hoping at least one of them was a hollow tree, now more careful of her steps. When they got close, she knocked on one but it was solid wood. She moved to the next one. It was solid too. And so was the next. Maybe there weren’t any hollow trees this far into the swampland? Whimsy pushed the thought aside and continued through the swamp.

  A shout came from behind them.

  ‘They’ve seen we’re gone,’ whispered Markus looking back. Turning to look, Whimsy noticed that Markus was now carrying all of her brother’s weight. Woe’s head was lolling on Markus’s shoulder. Determined, Whimsy moved faster through the swamp, spotting another group of trees ahead. Lights started to flash around them. They were coming. There was a groan from Woe. Whims
y willed her brother to hold on just for a few minutes more. Just until she found a way out. When they reached the next group of trees, Whimsy knocked again. Solid. Knocked again. Solid. Then there was a tree that stuck out of the swamp by itself. It looked larger than the others and less natural. Whimsy pushed herself towards it and knocked. It was hollow.

  ‘Got one!’ she said to Markus, relief washing over her. Remembering Millie’s words, she looked up for the first branch to pull on. It was way above her head. She jumped but her hand could only graze it.

  ‘I can’t reach it,’ she whispered. The light behind them became brighter. Any minute now they would be found. Panic settled in and made itself at home in Whimsy’s stomach. Her brother was counting on her. Markus was counting on her. Their parents were counting on her. Then she thought of something.

  ‘Give me a boost,’ she said to Markus. He moved over to her. She could see that he was now struggling to hold up her brother. Quickly, Whimsy pulled herself out of the swamp, using Markus’s hand as a step and jumped up. She grabbed onto the branch. She pulled down hard. At first there was nothing and for a split second she thought she had pulled the wrong branch but then the tree and the ground around the tree started to shake. The trunk slid open like a giant mouth, sucking the swamp and everything in it inside. There was a loud slurp and Whimsy saw her brother and Markus get pulled under and into the hole of the tree. Taking a deep breath, she let go of the branch and fell feet first into the swirling, slurping whirlpool of swamp below.

  A swamp whirlpool

  52

  In which Whimsy and Woe say so long to Anywhere Swamp

  Whimsy was thrown wildly into the pipe of the hollow tree. Once inside, the pipe was a straight drop downwards. Swamp water filled half the pipe and fell down around her like a swamp waterfall. She tried to hold onto the sides, but they were too slippery. She coughed and spluttered, swamp mud covering her as she hurtled through the pipe, twisting and turning with it. The pipe bent to the left and she was thrown from one side to the other. It veered to the right, down again, to the left, around, up and over, right again and then straightened out once more. She was heading towards a large circle of light that was steadily coming closer. Suddenly, she was thrown out of the pipe and into thin air! She fell into the gushing torrent of a real waterfall, and continued to fall until she landed, with a mighty splash, in a pool of water. Kicking her legs and using her arms, Whimsy pulled herself up to the surface and gasped mouthfuls of air when she emerged. She looked around. Dense woodlands surrounded the pool. There was no sign of Markus or Woe.