‘Gluuurrrp!’ I said.
And then we landed.
I staggered off my butterfly thorax (we did insect anatomy in science last term) and Mum alighted like she was a princess or something, but not the kind who ride polo ponies or visit refugee camps. I mean, she was graceful, which isn’t a word that usually describes Mum when she’s just messing round our castle in her tracksuit. I gave a final burp, wiped my mouth and looked around.
We were in a forest glade (everything is in a forest glade in Phaeryland). There was a yellow brick road running through the trees and flowers that were all around us (naturally), and a little tinkling brook (I’m serious—it went tinkle, tinkle, tinkle like it was a mob of preschoolers practising for the end-of-term concert) with a cute little arched stone bridge over it, and this great pink and blue and yellow palace that looked like it was made of coloured icing sugar, all swirls and turrets, in front of us, with a sign over the front door saying ‘Sweet Pea Guesthouse’.
There were lots of sweet peas about, too.
Phredde made a sort of vomiting noise behind me. (She was only pretending. Phredde doesn’t get car sick—er, butterfly sick. I suppose it comes of all the flying she has to do.)
‘Oh,’ said Mum. ‘Isn’t it lovely? Look how those sweet flowers trail down from the window boxes, Prudence!’
Well, it was okay. It was big, anyway—I mean, it would have made a great meringue—but apart from that, it looked a bit like the sand castles I used to make at the beach before I got into fighting pirates and stuff like that instead.
So we climbed up a million steps (okay, forty-six) and into this great hall with carpets on the walls which Mum said were tapestries, and there, tapping at a computer behind a desk, was this really old guy, even shorter than me, with a red cap on his head and a long white beard and red cheeks.
‘Hey,’ I whispered to Phredde, ‘that looks just like one of the gnomes in my picture book when I was small.’
‘It is a gnome,’ Phredde whispered back. ‘You’re in Phaeryland, dummy!’
The gnome looked up from the computer. ‘Welcome to Sweet Pea Guesthouse!’ he cried. ‘I’m Mr Tiddlywinks. How can I help you?’
Phredde’s dad strode forward. (He was dressed in really embarrassing tights and stuff too, but he looked like he was used to it. Well, resigned to it, anyway.) ‘Reservations in the name of Valiant?’ he said.
The gnome glanced at his computer. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘Three doubles. I’ve put the kiddies in together.’
Kiddies! And I was taller than he was! Even Phredde was taller than him now!
But before I could say anything, or even kick him in the thorax, he was thumping his way up this great, wide staircase and Mum was looking so happy you’d think she’d start dribbling.
We got to our room eventually.
‘Arrrk!’ screamed Phredde as the door shut behind us. She kicked her glass slippers off so hard they bounced against the wall. I thought they’d break into a million shards, but they didn’t. (I suppose glass slippers have to be made out of pretty tough glass.) So I just wriggled out of mine and let my toes breathe for a change and looked around the room.
Two four-poster beds with ruffly brocade stuff over them, one carpet with flowers on it (naturally), a big fancy mirror on the wall, and one small tinkling brook over by the window which I supposed was our bathroom (it had hot and cold taps on the wall above it).
I wandered over to the mirror.
‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall,’ I said, just for fun. ‘Who is the fairest one of all?’
‘Not you, chickie,’ said the mirror. ‘Your tiara is on crooked and you’ve got a spot of yuk on your ball dress.’
So much for magic mirrors.
‘Oops,’ I said. I wandered over to the tinkling brook and began to sponge the yuk off my ball dress. (It was only a tiny speck! A phaery on a speeding butterfly would never have noticed it.)
‘Hey, Phredde?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, what?’ Phredde was hauling the tiara out of her hair.
‘If this stream is our bathroom, where do we, you know, go to the toilet?’
‘We don’t,’ said Phredde.
‘What! But I’ll burst! You can’t not go to the toilet for a whole week!’
‘You can in Phaeryland,’ said Phredde. ‘They haven’t even heard of constipation here.’ She straggled over to the window, her train drooping behind her. ‘Hey look, there’s a rose bush!’
‘So what?’ I asked, peering out too. I mean, the whole place was just about dripping with roses.
‘It means we can climb down the rose bush and escape for awhile,’ explained Phredde patiently.
‘But what about the thorns?’
‘There are no rose thorns in…’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know, there are no rose thorns in Phaeryland. But won’t our parents know we’ve gone?’
‘We’ll leave a note,’ said Phredde. ‘Anyway, they’ll be fussing about their rooms and having cups of nectar for hours. You know what parents are like. And we’ll be back for dinner.’
I glanced down at my ball dress. ‘I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I can climb down a rose bush in this,’ I admitted.
‘Easily sorted,’ said Phredde.
There was an almost silent PING! and I was wearing tracksuit pants and a T-shirt.
There was another PING! and Phredde was out of her ball dress, too.
‘Er, Phredde,’ I said.
‘Yeah?’ asked Phredde happily, straightening her purple and silver T-shirt.
‘You remember the last time we came to Phaeryland without ball dresses on? How we were kidnapped by giant butterflies because they thought we were caterpillars in our tracksuits?’
‘No worries,’ said Phredde. One more PING! and we were both wearing baseball caps that had ‘I am not a caterpillar!’ written on them.
That seemed to sort that out.
So I opened the window, letting in all the flower power air and tweet-tweet bird songs, and grabbed hold of the rose bush and jumped off the balcony and…
‘Help!’ I screamed to Phredde.
‘What’s wrong?’ cried Phredde.
‘There aren’t any branches! How are you supposed to climb down this thing?’
‘Er, slide…or…well, I don’t know!’ wailed Phredde.
‘Then haul me up again!’ I hollered.
So we went down the stairs instead.
‘Have a nice time, kiddies!’ carolled the gnome. ‘Remember, dinner is at six o’clock!’
‘Don’t worry!’ I yelled. ‘I never miss a meal.’
Then we were outside the guesthouse, in Phaeryland.
Chapter 3
Dragons and Bunny Rabbits
The birds went tweet tweet above us and a few giant butterflies lazily fluttered in the distance. We wandered through the guesthouse gardens (I gave up trying not to step on the flowers). I was just about to cross the funny little bridge when Phredde yelled, ‘Hey! Stop!’
I stopped. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Don’t cross that bridge!’
I frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Er…it’s much nicer paddling,’ said Phredde a bit nervously. ‘That’s what tinkling brooks are for.’ She sat down on the too-green grass and began to take her joggers off.
Well, it seemed a bit odd to me—for a moment there I’d thought that Phredde even looked a little frightened. But that was impossible. It was just a bridge…and anyway, there’s nothing to be frightened of in Phaeryland!
But this was Phredde’s country, not mine. So I sat down too (the grass felt like a soft green cushion) and took my joggers off as well, and followed Phredde through the water. (I was getting used to her new ‘giant’ size by now.)
The cold water did feel good on the toes, and on the stream bottom were little round pebbles, which sort of massaged your feet, too. I could even see a few tiny goldfish peering at us curiously from a patch of waterweed. (If they’d been our piranhas we’d have
lost our toes, but I don’t suppose they’ve ever heard of piranhas either in Phaeryland.)
But it was still a nuisance having to put my socks and joggers back on. And anyway, why have bridges at all if you weren’t supposed to cross them? But like I said, it wasn’t my country, it was Phredde’s.
‘Er, Phredde,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ she said. By now we were trotting down a long yellow brick road that wound through the trees. The trees had big, round tops and bright red fruit on them. They all looked the same. They were a bit boring, to tell the truth. I mean, gum trees have character.
‘Exactly what is there to do in Phaeryland? Apart from being kidnapped by caterpillars and doing phaery dances and stuff like that?’
‘Not much,’ said Phredde.
‘You mean there is nothing interesting in Phaeryland?’
‘Not really,’ said Phredde, a bit evasively.
‘But there must be something!’
‘Oh, no,’ said Phredde, ‘not in Phaeryland.’
‘Nothing even sort of dangerous or exciting?’
‘Nope,’ said Phredde.
‘Oh,’ I said. We trotted along the road some more. A few birds twittered at us from the lollipop trees, but that was all.
We kept on walking.
‘Er, Phredde?’
‘Mmm?’ said Phredde.
‘You know how you said there was nothing interesting in Phaeryland?’
‘Mmm,’ she said.
‘Well, there’s something interesting over there.’
‘Like what?’ said Phredde.
‘Like smoke,’ I said.
‘Smoke’s not interesting,’ she said.
‘It is if it isn’t coming out of a chimney and there’s no sign of any fire,’ I said.
‘Oh,’ said Phredde. Then she said, ‘Maybe we should just back up a little. Sort of get closer to those trees.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because it’s probably a dragon!’ shrieked Phredde. ‘Run!’
So we ran.
Ten minutes later we were sitting on a branch in one of the lollipop trees peering at the puffs of smoke and I was getting bored.
‘Er, Phredde,’ I said.
‘Yeah?’ asked Phredde.
‘How come the dragon isn’t doing anything? All I can see is smoke.’
‘Maybe it’s asleep,’ said Phredde. ‘Or resting.’
‘Yeah, I suppose,’ I said. ‘Er, Phredde?’
‘Yeah,’ she said.
‘You know how you said that everything is safe in Phaeryland?’
‘Yeah,’ said Phredde.
‘Then how come we’re sitting in a tree to escape a dragon?’
‘Oh,’ said Phredde airily. ‘Phaeryland is quite safe. Apart from the dragons.’
‘And the giant butterflies who think you’re an escaped caterpillar,’ I said.
‘Yeah, and those too.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I see.’
The round green trees looked pretty from the ground, but they were awfully hard to sit upon. Also, it was getting boring just sitting there.
I looked around. The dragon—if it was a dragon—was still puffing away, with little round smoke balloons circling up into the sky (even the smoke is cute in Phaeryland).
‘How about just PING!ing the dragon away?’ I suggested.
‘I can’t,’ pointed out Phredde. ‘Remember? Creatures that live in Phaeryland are magic, just like me, so my magic won’t work on them.’
‘Yeah, I remember,’ I said. I was just about to suggest she PING! us some nice non-magical hamburgers when I looked a bit more closely at the red fruit dangling on the tree.
‘Hey, look,’ I said. ‘Lollipop fruit.’
‘Well, of course,’ said Phredde. ‘It’s a lollipop tree.’
‘Wow!’ I said. ‘Hey, can we eat them?’
‘Sure,’ said Phredde.
‘Hey, cool. Are there hamburger trees in Phaeryland too?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Phredde. ‘Hamburgers don’t grow on trees.’
So we each picked a lollipop and sat on our branch sucking it for about 136 hours (well, ten minutes, anyway) when something slowly began to dawn on me.
‘Hey, Phredde?’
‘Mmm,’ said Phredde around her lollipop.
‘You know the dragon?’
‘Yeah,’ she said.
‘The ferocious dragon we’re sitting up in this tree avoiding?’
‘Yeah,’ said Phredde.
‘Well, I don’t think it’s a dragon at all. See, look at the smoke. It’s coming right out of the grassy hill.’
Phredde peered down at where I was pointing. ‘Maybe the dragon is in a cave under the hill,’ she pointed out. ‘Dragons like caves.’
‘Yeah, but look at that!’ I pointed over to the hill. There was a tiny door, half-hidden in the grass. ‘If that’s a dragon’s front door then it’s a really small dragon.’
‘Maybe it’s a baby dragon,’ said Phredde half-heartedly.
‘Nah. Let’s find out,’ I said.
I slid down the lollipop tree and marched—well, sort of tiptoed, to be honest—over to the door. It was painted green, the same colour as the grass, which was why I hadn’t noticed it before, and over the letter box in the middle was written ‘Mrs Bunny Rabbit’.
‘Hey, Phredde!’ I yelled.
‘What?’ yelled Phredde, still up the tree.
‘Either this is a really sneaky dragon, or someone called Mrs Bunny Rabbit lives here.’
‘Maybe the dragon’s name is Rabbit?’ suggested Phredde cautiously.
‘What self-respecting dragon would call itself Rabbit?’ I began, when suddenly the door opened.
No, it wasn’t a small, sneaky dragon called Rabbit. It was a…well, a bunny rabbit. But it didn’t look much like those really bored ones in the pet shop at home.
This rabbit was almost as tall as me, and had a long flowery dress on, and a little blue velvet hat with its long, furry ears poking out, and little blue slippers on its long, furry feet, and it carried one of those really old-fashioned shopping baskets over one arm, er, paw.
Cute? Even a preschooler would have crumpled up the page and thrown it out.
‘Oh, goodness me!’ exclaimed the rabbit, twitching her cute little nose.
‘Er…I beg your pardon,’ I said politely (Mum would have been proud of me). ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you…’
‘Oh, no. Goodness me, no,’ twittered the rabbit. ‘I am always so pleased to have visitors! Won’t you come in?’
‘Er, no, really…’
‘But you must!’ insisted the rabbit happily. ‘Oh, I hardly ever have visitors!’
‘Look, really…’ I began.
‘Oh, this is so exciting! I’ll just put the kettle on and get out some cakes…’
‘Did you say cakes?’ I enquired. ‘Hey, Phredde!’ I yelled. ‘We’re going to have afternoon tea with Mrs Bunny Rabbit!’
So Phredde slid down the tree too, and we followed Mrs Bunny Rabbit into her hole.
Have you ever been down a rabbit hole? Well, unless you’ve been to Phaeryland I don’t suppose you have. I don’t suppose Phaeryland rabbit holes are much like the ones in the world outside, either.
This one was long, and the walls weren’t dirt—well, they may have been dirt, but they’d been smoothed and painted pale yellow, and there were lots of tiny lights in the smooth yellow ceiling too, and pale blue carpet on the floor.
So we walked about fifty kilometres (well, maybe ten metres) down this rabbit hole, and then it opened out into this great big room.
It looked pretty much like a normal kitchen, except for the tree roots sticking out here and there (but they’d been painted yellow too), and the fact that there were no windows. But there were kitchen benches, all blue and yellow, and a great big table in the middle, and lots of cupboards around the walls and a stove and a door which I supposed led to a bathroom, if rabbits used a bathroom, or a bedroom, or someth
ing like that.
‘Do sit down!’ twittered Mrs Bunny Rabbit. ‘Oh, I didn’t introduce myself! I’m Mrs…’
‘Mrs Bunny Rabbit,’ I put in. ‘I saw it on the door. I’m Prudence and this is Phredde.’
‘Oh, I am so pleased to meet you!’ said Mrs Bunny Rabbit. ‘And what are you, if you don’t think I’m terribly rude?’
‘Er, what do you mean, what are we?’ I asked.
Mrs Rabbit looked puzzled. ‘Well, I’m a rabbit,’ she pointed out.
‘Oh, I see,’ I said. ‘Well, I’m a girl and Phredde is a phaery.’
Mrs Rabbit wrinkled up her furry forehead. ‘A girl? A phaery? But that’s impossible!’
‘Why is it impossible?’ I demanded.
‘Well, your clothes…’ said Mrs Rabbit. ‘Where are your lacy skirts? Your glass slippers? Your tiaras?’
‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ I said, relieved. ‘No, we’re…we’re…’
‘We’re in disguise,’ put in Phredde quickly.
‘Ah!’ Mrs Rabbit was obviously relieved. ‘What a good idea! There are so many dangerous…’
‘Did you say something about cakes?’ put in Phredde quickly.
‘Oh, cakes! Of course!’ Mrs Rabbit bustled over to the big cupboard opposite the stove. ‘Do sit down, girls. Do sit down!’
Phredde pulled up one chair, and I pulled up another. I was just about to ask what Mrs Rabbit meant by ‘dangerous’ when she put the first cake on the table.
I mean, this was a cake! It had four layers, one pink, one yellow and two chocolate, and cream and cherries oozing out between each layer, and pink icing on the top, and while I’m not a fan of pink icing the rest looked greaf!
So while that cake and my stomach were happily combining to produce a bigger and better Prudence, Mrs Rabbit put all sorts of other goodies on the table—pink lamingtons, and tiny asparagus sandwiches with their crusts cut off, and pink lemonade, and pink wafer biscuits, and carrots—well, she was a rabbit.
While I ate and drank pink lemonade, Phredde and Mrs Rabbit gossiped about the ladies-in-waiting to the Phaery Queen (one of Phredde’s older sisters is a lady, er, phaery-in-waiting). It was really good lemonade, even if it was pink. In fact I’d just drunk my tenth glass when suddenly I realised…
‘Er, excuse me,’ I interrupted, ‘but would you mind if I used your bathroom?’
The Phredde Collection Page 22
