The Phredde Collection

by Jackie French

  Mrs Allen stood back, and for the first time I noticed there was someone standing next to her.

  No wonder I hadn’t noticed her. She was sort of…well, nondescript. (I used that word in an essay last week and Mrs Olsen said it was very descriptive.)

  She had grey hair, greyish skin and her eyes were sort of oyster-coloured. When she smiled at us, her lips were pale grey too.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Snagglethorpe,’ we chorused politely. Then we marched back into class.

  ‘I bet Mrs Allen’s really glad she’s got a normal librarian,’ said Phredde, as we filed into the classroom. ‘You know, not a vampire or a phaery—just a normal human being. I mean, I know she’s not prejudiced or anything, but sometimes I get the feeling…’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I agreed. Mrs Allen’s really good about having vampires, phaeries and phaery princes disguised as frogs at school. She even coped well when Phredde’s dragon trod on the Science block, and when the volcano erupted a bit more than usual during our sports carnival and flooded the oval and car park with lava, and when the ogre tried to kidnap me last year.

  But, sometimes, I think she might be getting just a little bit frazzled.

  At least this time, Mrs Allen had nothing at all to worry about.

  I’m a library monitor this year. It’s a great job. You get to visit the library at all sorts of times, not just when it’s officially open, and you get first go at all the new books, too.

  Phredde’s a library monitor too, which is really useful because she can fly up to the shelves that none of us can reach. Of course, the books are too big for her to carry, but that doesn’t matter because she can just PING! them up.

  Well, anyway, as soon as we’d eaten our lunch (I had a pickled cucumber and fetta-cheese focaccia and Phredde had a lotus-blossom salad on phaery bread but, as usual, we swapped), it was time for me and Phredde to zap off down to the library to do our monitoring.

  ‘Where are you two off to?’ demanded Bruce, as he finished off the last of his squashed-moth sandwiches.

  ‘Just down to the library,’ I said.

  Bruce snorted, well, he sort of croaked and snorted at the same time, if you know what I mean. ‘You’re always in that stupid library,’ he declared.

  ‘So what?’ asked Phredde airily, fluttering about 30 centimetres from his nose. ‘Libraries are fun.’

  ‘They’re just full of books. Books are boring—unless they’re about frogs or insects,’ he added.

  ‘There are lots of other interesting books in the library,’ said Phredde hotly.

  ‘Well, okay. There are some good books on spiders too,’ allowed Bruce.

  ‘You just don’t—’ Phredde was beginning to get angry.

  I tried to interrupt. ‘Phredde, it’s not worth arguing about.’

  ‘And I think that new librarian is weird!’ finished Bruce. ‘Did you see all the flies hanging around her this morning?’

  ‘I thought you liked flies!’ declared Phredde.

  ‘I do,’ said Bruce, ‘and those flies were acting strange.’

  ‘Well, some of us have better things to do than worry about flies,’ Phredde informed him. ‘Come on, Pru.’ And she fluttered off.

  Our library is the new building just past the Science block. It looked kind of strange today, although I couldn’t put my finger on what, exactly, was different.

  ‘Hey, the door’s locked!’ said Phredde, tugging at it with her tiny hands.

  ‘Maybe Miss Snagglethorpe doesn’t know the routine,’ I said. ‘Look! I knew something was weird. Curtains!’

  Our library has never had curtains before. In fact, I don’t know of any library that has curtains. These were so long and grey and thick, you couldn’t see inside the Library at all.

  I gave a polite knock on the door, just to let Miss Snagglethorpe know we were here.

  Nothing happened. I knocked again.

  Suddenly there was a noise inside the library. Thump, thump, thump…the door opened, just a crack.

  ‘What do you want?’ demanded Miss Snagglethorpe.

  ‘Er…I’m Prudence,’ I said. ‘And this is Phredde. We’re the library monitors.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Miss Snagglethorpe. ‘Oh, I see.’ But she didn’t open the door any wider.

  ‘We have to report to you every Monday and Friday lunchtime,’ I said. ‘We put books away and stuff like that. I’m sorry we’re late. We knocked before but there wasn’t any answer.’

  Miss Snagglethorpe began to look a bit more friendly. She even smiled with her pale-grey lips. ‘That’s alright girls,’ she said, opening the door. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t hear you. I didn’t expect anyone so soon! I was just feeding the books. Come in, come in.’

  She opened the door even wider.

  We went in.

  It looked the same as always, except a bit darker. ‘Why the curtains, Miss Snagglethorpe?’ I asked politely.

  ‘The light fades the books,’ said Miss Snagglethorpe calmly. ‘The book trolley’s over there.’ She waved a grey hand towards the magazine section.

  ‘Hey, look,’ said Phredde. ‘There’s a whole new case of books!’ She fluttered over to it and tried to read their spines. ‘There are no titles on them!’ she complained.

  Miss Snagglethorpe smiled again. Her teeth weren’t grey like the rest of her, I noticed. They were long and yellow. ‘They’re mine,’ she said. ‘My little pets. They’re not for taking out. I just like to have them with me when I’m working.’

  I grinned at Phredde. It was sort of sweet, a librarian having pet books. Librarians are really nice people. ‘We’d better get to work,’ I said.

  ‘Thank you, girls. Everyone else will be coming in to borrow books soon. Lots and lots and lots of children, I hope,’ she smiled her yellow-toothed smile again.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘The library’s really popular.’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ said Miss Snagglethorpe, beaming. She looked really happy now.

  Then thump, thump, thump, she trudged back to her office.

  It was hard to concentrate that afternoon. I mean, it’s always pretty hard to concentrate in school when you could be out riding your unicorn through an enchanted forest or flying a magic carpet to Kilimanjaro (I think that’s how you spell it).

  But this afternoon seemed even worse.

  I could tell Phredde was having trouble too. Her wings were drooping and she kept nibbling on the end of her pen. (It’s a magical pink and silver phaery-size pen. Anything she writes with it automatically becomes human-sized. It makes it a lot easier for Mrs Olsen to mark Phredde’s work because she doesn’t have to use a magnifying glass any more.)

  Even Amelia seemed a bit far away. She’d been in the library at lunchtime, naturally, and had taken out her usual twenty books. (I bet she doesn’t even read half of them. She just likes showing off.)

  Anyway, when Mrs Olsen said, ‘And who knows what the capital of Iceland is?’ Amelia put her hand up like she always does, but she just looked confused when Mrs Olsen said, ‘Yes Amelia?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ Amelia admitted.

  ‘That’s alright,’ said Mrs Olsen kindly, giving Amelia a nice smile that showed the points of her fangs. ‘We all forget things sometimes.’

  ‘But I don’t,’ muttered Amelia in a puzzled voice.

  Well, it was nice to see Amelia look like a dope, but all in all it was still a really long afternoon. In fact, I was so half-asleep that it wasn’t until halfway through Geography that I realised…

  Books don’t eat, do they?

  The next day was even worse.

  It was Tuesday for a start. I hate Tuesdays. At least on Monday I’m all fresh from the weekend. And I can tell all my friends about how I was captured by trolls, chained up in their dungeons, and how I had to file through the chains with my nail file and all the other fun stuff I’d been up to over the weekend.

  But on Tuesdays, the whole week just stretches out in front of me and I can’t even say: ‘W
ell, I’m halfway through,’ like I can on Wednesday.

  And school was weird.

  Phredde and I popped into the library before school, just in case Miss Snagglethorpe needed a hand. She didn’t, but she’d just catalogued a couple of new books, which we could take out before anyone else had even seen them.

  She really was nice.

  So we stayed and chatted with her for a while, then the volcano exploded and we had to go and line up for school.

  Anyway, the first hour or so of class was okay. But as the morning wore on, I just got more and more tired. It was really weird.

  At least we had a library class just before lunch. But you know something? It was hard even to get enthusiastic about the library.

  I mean, normally I love the library. It’s as though it’s my personal territory—and Phredde’s and the librarian’s, of course. But this morning I couldn’t even seem to remember how to find the ‘E’ section.

  I glanced at Phredde. She was perched up on the top shelf of the ‘Natural Science’ bookcase, looking vaguely around the library as though she’d forgotten what book she was interested in. In fact, everyone seemed to be in much the same state, except for Miss Snagglethorpe, who seemed bright and cheery with her big grey and yellow grin.

  Glop!! I looked down. There was Bruce, gazing up at me with his googly, froggy eyes. ‘I’ve got a strange feeling about this place,’ he whispered.

  I snorted. ‘You just don’t like books.’

  ‘I don’t like those books.’ Bruce waved a moist footpad over towards the new bookshelf.

  ‘Them? They’re just Miss Snagglethorpe’s pets.’

  Bruce made a rude, froggy noise. ‘Who ever heard of pet books?’

  ‘I think it’s cute,’ I defended her. ‘It just shows how much she loves books.’

  ‘I just think it shows that she’s two buns short of a hamburger,’ said Bruce. ‘And I think there’s something weird about those books. In fact, the whole library feels different lately. We frogs have a feeling about these things.’

  A few days ago, I’d have come up with a really good answer to that. But today, my head felt full of cotton wool. So I poked my tongue out at him instead, which was a mistake because Bruce poked his right back at me, and being a frog, his tongue is about fifty times as long as mine.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Bruce, when he’d rolled it back in, plus a blowfly or two he’d caught on the way. (There did seem to be more flies in the library than usual. I wondered vaguely if Miss Snagglethorpe was wearing a fly-attracting perfume.) ‘I’m not hanging around here any longer.’

  I stared. ‘But you can’t go without taking a book out!’

  ‘Watch me,’ said Bruce. He hopped over to the window, then hopped up between the curtains and plop! he was gone.

  I suppose being a frog must be useful sometimes.

  The world was getting vaguer and vaguer…I gave myself a shake. Maybe Mum was right. Maybe I did need to get to bed earlier. I grabbed the first book I could see and took it over to the desk.

  Phredde fluttered up behind me. She’d selected a book called Traditional Dances of North Eastern Scandinavia, which, believe me, really isn’t a topic that Phredde is fascinated with.

  ‘Ah, Prudence and Phredde,’ said Miss Snagglethorpe happily. ‘Are you coming to do your library monitoring again at lunchtime?’

  I shook my head. ‘We only do monitor duty on Monday and Friday lunchtimes, Miss Snagglethorpe.’

  Miss Snagglethorpe’s face fell. ‘Oh, what a pity! It’s so nice to have children in here. Lots and lots of children. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to change your minds?’

  I glanced at Phredde. It’s awfully hard to say ‘No’ when someone really wants you to do something, especially someone as nice as Miss Snagglethorpe.

  ‘Okay,’ said Phredde.

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Miss Snagglethorpe. ‘And you tell all your friends to drop in, too. You don’t just have to wait for Tuesday mornings to take books out you know! And there are lots of lovely magazines as well!’ She leant forward conspiratorially. ‘You know what?’ she whispered.

  ‘What?’ I whispered back.

  ‘I’m going to get a Coke machine installed. And an icecream dispenser, too. Anyone who comes into the library will get free icecream and soft drink!’

  ‘Wow!’ I said.

  Miss Snagglethorpe beamed. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I hope everyone in the whole school will come to my library at lunchtime!’

  ‘You know, she’s really nice,’ said Phredde, as she fluttered down the library steps beside me.

  ‘Mmm,’ I said. ‘Fancy doing all that, just to get kids reading. She’s really dedicated.’ I paused. ‘Phredde, did you happen to notice how many fingers Miss Snagglethorpe had yesterday?’

  ‘Ten, I think,’ said Phredde, surprised.

  ‘I thought so too,’ I said. ‘But today, she only had nine.’

  ‘You must have miscounted,’ said Phredde, giving a butterfly a swift kick up the abdomen when it brushed too close to her.

  ‘Yeah, probably,’ I said vaguely. It was really hard to remember anything today.

  On Wednesday, I forgot my schoolbag and had to go back for it.

  On Thursday, I forgot my schoolbag, and then I forgot my lunch and then I forgot to eat it.

  And it wasn’t just me, either. Everyone else was getting vaguer and vaguer, though no one was quite as vague as me and Phredde.

  ‘I just can’t understand what’s wrong!’ cried Mrs Olsen on Friday afternoon, after she’d forgotten where she’d put the chalk for the fifth time. ‘I’ll forget my own coffin next! Maybe I need a tonic, a different blood group, perhaps.’ She sighed. ‘Well, at least it’s a long weekend! Three whole lovely days! I think we could all do with a rest!’

  Phredde and I were almost out the school gates that afternoon when we saw Miss Snagglethorpe, tromp, tromp, tromping across the courtyard.

  ‘Have a good weekend, Miss Snagglethorpe!’ yelled Phredde.

  Miss Snagglethorpe shook her head. ‘I don’t like weekends,’ she sighed.

  I stared. ‘Why not?’

  ‘The books get…lonely…’ said Miss Snagglethorpe forlornly.

  I tried not to giggle. Librarians sure are strange sometimes. But it was sweet how she was concerned for her books.

  ‘Well, it’s only for three days,’ I said comfortingly.

  ‘Three!’ Miss Snagglethorpe stared at me.

  ‘It’s a long weekend,’ I reminded her.

  ‘A long weekend. Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear. I haven’t made any arrangements,’ she said worriedly.

  ‘That’s okay. The supermarket down the road is open every day,’ I assured her.

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant…I meant the books…’ Miss Snagglethorpe broke off and forced a grey-lipped smile. ‘Well, have a good time, girls.’

  ‘You bet,’ said Phredde.

  It was only when we were halfway home that I remembered.

  Didn’t Miss Snagglethorpe have two ears at lunchtime?

  It was a fantastic weekend.

  I slept late on Saturday morning and when I woke up I felt really great, not vague at all.

  On Saturday afternoon, Mum, Dad, me and Mark went to the beach with Phredde’s family. We’d planned to go to Hawaii for a few hours to catch the waves, but the Phaery Splendifera had forgotten about the time difference, so it was night-time when we got there.

  Then she overcorrected and we went back 1000 years instead of 10 hours and there was a great battle going on, with hundreds of canoes, spears and everything. I mean, it was really cool! Though Mum got a bit upset when a spear went through the picnic basket. (It just crushed the banana cake a bit, that’s all.)

  On Sunday morning, I just hung around at home, and in the afternoon, Phredde and I went out in my pirate ship and got attacked by this giant white whale, and I got heaps from Mum because I’d accidentally-on-purpose forgotten to tell her that I was going sailing. (You know how parents stress
about every little thing.)

  Which meant that on Monday morning, I was grounded.

  Well, it wasn’t too bad. To be honest, I was pretty tired, especially as I hadn’t got to bed until late the night before, due to having to row the dinghy back in the dark after the pirate ship sank, and then having to listen to Mum’s lecture. (‘No, Mum, I won’t go out in the pirate ship again without telling you.’ Well, I can’t, can I? Not until the captain gets it repaired, and that’ll take weeks.)

  So I slept in, had breakfast just as everyone else was having lunch, and then went down to the moat to feed my piranhas.

  They’re Dad’s piranhas, actually. I gave them to him last Christmas, but now that he has to spend so much of his time grooming his giant sloth (you should have seen his face when he unwrapped it), not to mention wiping up its dribble, he’s quite happy to let me feed his piranhas.

  ‘You feed them any time you want to, Prudence,’ he said seriously.

  ‘Sure thing, Dad,’ I said. ‘Hey, do you know they can skeletonise a cow in ten minutes?’

  ‘You told me, Prudence,’ said Dad, sort of wearily. (I think he’s been overdoing things lately, with grooming his sloth and all that. Maybe he needs to get to bed early too.)

  Then he brightened a bit. ‘How long do you think it would take them to skeletonise a giant sloth?’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’ I giggled. I mean, I knew he was joking.

  Anyway, there I was, all relaxed in the sunshine, throwing bits of bacon rind and leftover meatballs into the moat, as well as the chicken breasts that had gone green in the fridge because Mum had forgotten she had them. Luckily, piranhas don’t mind about eating stuff like that. They were leaping out of the water and gobbling up each titbit, and sometimes gobbling bits of each other accidentally-on-purpose—just like me and the pirate ship.

  ‘Come on, Sarah, you spit out Nathan’s fins right now.’ I mean, you have to start somewhere when you are training piranhas. ‘Laura and Chelsea, it’s not good manners to eat your friends…’