‘Why are you whispering?’ said Mars Bar loudly. A butterfly landed on Art’s nose. Its wings tickled. Art felt a sneeze coming.
‘Ahhhhh.’ Art watched Shorty point towards certain plants. The Expert nodded and Spiky brought her microphone closer.
‘Ask him something,’ whispered India.
‘So I can get another photo of Shorty.’
‘Do butterflies get asthma?’ asked Art. The steamy heat of the Butterfly House reminded him of his asthma treatments at the hospital.
‘Not that I know of,’ said the Expert.’ Do you get asthma, young man?’
‘Sometimes.’ Art checked in his pocket for his puffer. The Cyclist felt his top pocket. He pulled out a butterfly postcard. He matched it to the picture on the wall.
‘A rare butterfly.’ The Expert talked for a bit and then they moved on.
Spiky kept the tape running.But Art watched the Cyclist. Was it the card that Shorty had given him?
The Cyclist held out his helmet. Suddenly he clutched it to his chest. Was he trying to catch a butterfly? Or had he changed his mind about something?
Suddenly he hurried out of the door, helmet clutched to his chest. Between the two exit doors were signs about NOT removing butterflies. The Cyclist ignored the signs. So did Art. But for a different reason.
Had he smuggled a butterfly out of the Butterfly House? Was he a butterfly napper?
Busy reading his picture map, Art crashed into something on the side of the path.
‘Silver scales,’ said Mars Bar.
‘My aunty went to Weight Watchers. Do people want to lose weight at the zoo?’ Old fashioned scales big enough for a person to stand upon were near the pathways. A clock face showed the weight.
‘Silver robots!’ Each was close to an enclosure gate. What would need to be weighed?
‘Are they for weighing the animals’ food?’ guessed Art.
As Sam’s Dad agreed, his mobile went off. Beep! Beep! Did butterflies send messages to each other, thought Art? Did they have their own sound system? Could they tell the difference between people’s shapes or sounds? Experts could tell the difference between butterflies. Would a butterfly think that the mobile was part of Sam’s Dad?
‘My uncle says mobile phones mess up his racing pigeons. They don’t always come home.’ Mars Bar came from a racing family.
Art twisted his butterfly tag. Had the Cyclist taken the rare butterfly? If he passed it to one of the staff, no-one would take any notice. Visitors noticed only uniforms. Would they notice if someone changed places, Art wondered.
As long as the uniform was the same, mix ups were possible. Maybe that happened on the walkway this morning?
‘Listen kids, I’ve got to check at the zoo office about a message Will you are all right? The Zoo School is just down there. You’ll be five minutes early for Mrs.Tasker and the Zoo Teacher. Just wait there.’ Sam’s Dad worried. ‘Sorry, but I need the work.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ said India, but the moment Sam’s Dad hurried away, Art was off. With the picture map, it would take five minutes to find the right walkway, if he ran fast. On the zoo map, he’d found the kiosk picture. That was a start.
‘Hey Art. Come back!’ shouted India.
‘No way.’ Art wanted to check on that body he’d seen from the balloon. Was it a real body? Was it lunch? Or was it something else?
Across the swampy land, there were several wooden walkways. On the ground, they all looked the same. He checked against the photo. He started to run again. Right. Then left. Boards sounded hollow under his feet. This must be it!
Art knelt and felt under the walkway. Gooey. Yuk! His knees hurt. He leaned further over. Something was underneath. A bag! Was there a body inside? He pulled. It felt soggy.
‘And what do you think you’re doing?’ Art looked up at the face of Shorty.
‘You’re with that school group, aren’t you?’ Art nodded.
‘Saw me from the balloon this morning?’ Art nodded again. If he tried to speak now, his voice might not work.
‘Your dad’s got a mobile hasn’t he? He’s the courier?’
‘Sam’s Dad,’ croaked Art.
‘He’ll be back soon.’
‘Ask him to ring the front gate, will you. Message for him to pick up something at The Butterfly House. The number’s 123 456.’
‘What’s in this bag?’ asked Art.
‘None of your business, sonny.’ Shorty hoisted the bag into the passenger seat.
‘Art!’ Mrs.Tasker sounded ready to explode.
‘Here, at once. Stop making a nuisance of yourself.’
Chapter 8
Zoo School
The zoo teacher wore an elephant tie. The trunk curled down his chest.
‘Elephant Man?’ suggested India. Mrs.Tasker had warned Art that if he left again, she’d think of an ‘interesting’ punishment for him. She wouldn’t even listen about Shorty and the mobile phone. Art had given Sam’s Dad the message and he’d gone.
‘Elephant Man,’ Art nodded.
‘My name’s Kip,’ said the zoo teacher. Art remembered Shorty warning him not to tell Kip. But why? What secret was in the bag from under the walkway?
‘Welcome to the Cocoon Room. See how many animals you can find in here. Quietly or you might frighten them,’ said Kip.
Art liked the earthy colours of the Cocoon Room. It used to be an ordinary portable classroom. But now there were animal colours on the walls. And feely shapes.
‘If you don’t want to touch an animal, you don’t have to.’ Kip wet his hands with a spray bottle. He squirted all over. Then he put his hand into the frog’s home and brought him from the branch.
‘Is this a real green tree frog?’ asked Kip.
‘Probably a remote controlled one,’ Mars Bar laughed loudly.
‘Shhh.’ said Kip.’ You’ll frighten the frog.’
‘Sorry.’
‘What do you feed to the lion?’ Art asked Kip.
‘Is it in bags?’
‘Meat.’
‘What sort?
‘Goat mainly. It’s not in a bag.’
‘Would lions eat people?’
‘We don’t feed people to them,’ said Kip.
‘Show him the air photo of the body,’ urged India. Art shook his head.
‘They eat the same things most days. Even on their birthday. Not like us,’ said Kip.
‘It’s India’s birthday tomorrow,’ said Mars Bar suddenly.
‘Really?’ Kip looked at his watch.
‘It’s mine today.’
‘Are you having a cake?’ asked Art.
‘Not at my age.’ Kip had saggy, baggy elephant eyes.
‘The whole class is coming to my Monster Party tonight,’ said India.
‘You’re lucky to have friends to invite,’ said Kip.
‘No-one around here even remembered at morning tea time. That’s when we usually have a cake.’ In the Zoo Schoolyard, a giraffe model reached for the sky. Cobwebs clung to its leg.
‘Is this real?’ asked Kip looking at the children.
‘It’s not a real giraffe,’ said Mars Bar, disappointedly.
‘But is it a real model?’ asked Kip.
‘Yes, but it’s not alive,’ said Art disappointedly.
‘Our zoo animals are real and alive. Our models are real, but not alive,’ said Kip, smiling as if he’d said that before.
‘An artist is making a giant model of our rare butterfly so you can see all the details. Real ones move so fast. The Zoo Shop has butterfly puppets and we have a very rare, real butterfly in our Butterfly House.’ Art wasn’t sure about that. It might have been butterfly-napped!
‘Experts come from all over the world to see it. Today an expert is making a radio program, in Spanish.’
&
nbsp; ‘We saw them,’ said Art.
‘Heard them,’ corrected India.
‘If you chose to be an animal, which one would you be?’ asked Mrs.Tasker.
‘A flying animal,’ said India quickly.
‘You’ve already flown this morning,’ said Art.
‘In the hot air balloon.’
‘Ah,’ said Kip.
‘See our zoo from the air? Developers have been looking at the zoo too. They want to build flats alongside which have
‘Zoo’ names so people will think they belong to us. Like the Butterfly House.’
‘But the Butterfly House is in the zoo,’ said Mrs.Tasker in surprise.
‘One of them. The other is built by a developer. He has named his building Butterfly House. Some people are getting mixed up. They stay there and get charged big money.’ said Kip.
‘Does a Mr. Brand work for him?’ asked Art quickly. Kip looked thoughtful.
‘Yes. We’ve met Mr. Brand, several times.’ If the building outside was called The Butterfly House and the real Butterfly House was in the zoo, where was Dad going, Art wondered?
Thunder. A storm was approaching fast. Animal noises increased. Shrieks from the birds. A food trailer rattled past, pulled by a mini-truck.
‘Hey Shorty. Come and tell the children what you do,’ ordered Kip. Kip introduced Shorty who didn’t look happy. Was he shy or trying to hide something? The bag had gone from his front seat Art noticed.
Shorty explained. ‘Got to keep calm around animals. If you’re upset, they pick up the mood. As a keeper, I check the animals first thing in the morning. I prepare their diets and feed the animals .If anything small needs repairing, I do it. For the big repairs, I tell the Keeper-in-Charge.’
‘Do you collect the ZOO POO?’ asked India.
‘Sometimes.’ Shorty looked sideways at Kip. India explained her waste disposal invention.
‘Could I sell dog poo from my Dog’s It container?’
‘Yuk,’ Mars Bar held his nose. ‘Is butterfly poo worth collecting?’ asked Art.
‘Not so you’d notice. Mainly liquid.’ Shorty gave a quick smile.
‘What about elephant poo?’ asked Mars Bar.
‘Wonderful for potatoes,’ said Kip as lions roared.
‘Have to go, Kip,’ said Shorty.
‘To the lockers. See you at the tea break.’
‘Give the keeper a class thankyou,
‘Mrs.Tasker started clapping. Art wasn’t going to clap a suspect working with a butterfly-napper. He wanted to have a look at the Cyclist’s locker. Unluckily Mrs.Tasker was holding him firmly by the hand, like a baby!
A tourist saw Dino. He whipped out his camera.
‘Just a toy,’ India explained, but all the tourists photographed Mars Bar, the pusher and Dino. Mars Bar went red. Art saw the woman with the pram, drop something into a grey bin. These were placed like sentries alongside the paths. She checked, to see if anyone was watching her.
‘She’s trying to hide something.’ As soon as she moved away, Art had a look.
‘Yuk!’ A dirty nappy.
‘Great detective you are,’ said Mars Bar.
‘Let’s get a drink.’
Outside the kiosk, a family was having a party. Birds pecked at crumbs under the table. As the family sang
‘Happy Birthday’ to a little girl, she stared at Dino being wheeled past.
‘Haven’t got any money left.’ Mars Bar parked the pusher beside the kiosk.
Mrs.Tasker said ONLY ten minutes for a snack. Classmates pulled out frozen drink bottles. Others queued for the kiosk Mrs.Tasker counted them, to check.
‘You can pay me back, Mars Bar,
‘India joined the queue.
‘Ahhhhhhh. An animal has escaped!’ A little boy ran screaming into the kiosk.
‘It’s outside.’ At first, Art thought the kid meant Dino. But he didn’t.
‘It’s big!’ Art thought of a hungry lion. Should they run? Or hide? Where? Behind the counter where sliced big cakes were on show? What a place to eat or be eaten!
‘Where is it?’ Mrs.Tasker put her arms around the boy.
‘Look!’ The boy pointed out of the window. Through the glass, Art could see a duck waddling across the eating area. Quacking, it waddled between chairs and tables. The checkout girl smiled.
‘Only a duck.’
‘They’re allowed to be out. Lots of birds just wander around. That’s okay,’ smiled Mrs.Tasker.
‘He was chasing me,’ gulped the little boy between sobs.
‘Calm down. Here’s an ice-cream.’ The kiosk girl tried to scoop the hard ice-cream from the bin. She pressed so hard the cone broke.
‘You need a heated ice-cream scoop.
‘India was an ice-cream-aholic.
‘Heated!’ the girl laughed.
‘Then all the ice-cream would melt.’
‘No, it wouldn’t. With my
‘Hot Ice’ battery powered scoop, you could serve much quicker. And the cones wouldn’t break!’ Light glinted on the SPECIAL CAKES MADE TO ORDER sign behind her head.
‘I’ll buy one. We make icecream cakes as well as fun cakes for special parties. Let me know when you’ve finished your design,’ laughed the girl.
‘Hot Ice’ sounds like the pop group.’ Art remembered the question on the radio program last night. Mix ups were easy with names. And with people. Especially two places called The Butterfly House.
At the lockers, the Cyclist glanced around, and then put his helmet inside. He shut the locker but didn’t put any more money in, so it wasn’t locked. Behind a tree, Art waited for him to leave.
Mrs.Tasker was busy checking if children had matched the right animals’ names for their name tags.
As soon as the Cyclist vanished around the path, Art opened the locker, expecting a butterfly to come out! It didn’t. The helmet was there, but inside the locker was a birthday cake! Writing was squiggled on the top. Art couldn’t work out the words. Whose cake was it? And who had put it in there?
Sam’s Dad tapped his watch and called them, ‘Time to meet Mrs.Tasker at the park for lunch. Where’s Art?’ At that moment, Art returned, panting.
‘Don’t go off again on your own,’ said Sam’s Dad to Art who whispered to India about the birthday cake. She looked puzzled.
‘It’s not mine! Was the person’s name written on top?’ Art shrugged.
‘Not sure.’
‘I’ll run and have a quick look.’ India was their best reader.
‘Still got the dinosaur?’ asked Sam’s Dad.
‘Push, Mars Bar.’ Unluckily, no one had stolen the purple dinosaur, so Mars Bar pushed and the others walked slowly until India returned. Panting, India reported on her sleuthing.
‘No birthday cake.’
‘Sure you had the right locker?’ asked Art. India nodded.
‘The cream was the clue. Just on the inside of the locker. So a cake must have been there. The Cyclist’s helmet was still inside. And a leaflet.
‘A rare chance to buy a Brand property. Butterfly Houses.’
‘Hey, that’s where my call came from!’ Sam’s Dad interrupted.
‘The Butterfly House.’ I thought they meant the one inside the zoo. But it’s a block of flats outside.’
‘Did you have to deliver something there?’ asked Art.
‘No. I had to pick up something. And deliver it to the Zoo Shop. That’s why I was confused.’
‘Was it a cake?’ asked Art.
‘No. Mrs.Tasker’s waiting.’ Sam’s Dad insisted they hurry. .
‘What was it?’ asked India. Sam’s Dad shrugged.
‘Never look inside. We just take it to the name and address we’re given.’ Art thought of something.
‘Then how did you know
it wasn’t a cake?’
‘No FRAGILE sticker.’ said Sam’s Dad.
‘What was the name of the person sending it?’ asked India.
‘Brand, Going to Butterfly House. A cyclist was supposed to deliver it and he forgot the box.’ said Sam’s Dad.
‘So it was an urgent call. The owner wanted the contents in the Zoo Shop before lunchtime.’ Was the Cyclist working with Mr. Brand? There had been a cake there. Where had it gone? Who had taken it? Spots of rain. Then more. A tropical storm. Animal noises grew.
‘Tiny hates storms,’ said India.
‘He’ll be hiding in his kennel at home.’
‘Big kennel,’ said Art.
‘Those lions are even bigger than Tiny,’ Mars Bar looked across at the enclosure.
‘And they roar.’
‘But butterflies make no noise,’ said Art thoughtfully.
Chapter 9
Eco Games
They met on the lawn outside the Zoo School. After lunch, Mrs.Tasker organised games while they waited for the zoo teacher.
‘You’re the sun, India. Stand in the middle.’ Mrs.Tasker gave India the end of a long string.
‘Now Art, you’re the tree. You depend upon the sun.’ Mrs.Tasker gave Art some of the string to hold.
‘Who might be in your tree?’ she asked Art.
‘A butterfly,’ said Art.
‘Or a possum.’
‘Mars Bar, you’re the possum.’
‘Don’t like possums,’ said Mars Bar.
‘One got in our roof, fell down the back of the stove and died. It smelled awful.’ Mrs.Tasker continued firmly, ‘Mars Bar, you’re a possum, Take this part of the string. You depend upon the tree. What else do you need?’
‘Water,’ suggested India. Art turned on the hose and sprinkled Mars Bar.
‘Get off!’ Mars Bar dropped the string.
‘This is meant to show our eco-system,’ said Mrs.Tasker.
‘Turn off the water. Art, you can be the soil. Let’s make a web.’ Mrs.Tasker gave parts to everybody. Even the watching Butterfly Expert joined in. The string criss-crossed and joined them up.
Zoo Poo Clues Page 3
