Penguin Pandemonium

by Jeanne Willis

  Just at that moment, there was a knock at the door.

  “That will be the others,” said Muriel enthusiastically as Warren glued her tail back on. “I told them to meet me here for a costume fitting. Don’t look at me like that, Bloop. We’re all in this together. You can be a purple-crested booby.”

  Hatty and Brenda were the first to arrive.

  “Where’s Muriel?” said Hatty, looking round irritably.

  “I don’t know,” tutted Brenda. “Trust her to make us get up early and not be here on time.”

  “That is soooo like Muriel,” said Hatty. “She is such a pain in the tail feathers.”

  Blue was miming frantically to the fairy penguins to shush, but they thought she was waving.

  “Hello, Blue,” waved Hatty. “You haven’t seen Bossybeak, have you?”

  Blue cringed. “Who? I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  Brenda looked confused.

  “You must do. You gave Muriel that nickname in the first place. ‘Muriel is such a bossybeak,’ you said, and we all laughed.”

  It was an awkward moment. Even the Arty Party Penguins were shrivelling in their seats.

  The parrot of Paradise whipped round, put its flippers on its hips and snorted. “Well, I think that Muriel is wonderful.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you knew her like we do,” said Hatty.

  “She’s a nightmare,” agreed Brenda.

  Muriel lifted her mask menacingly and glared at them. Brenda and Hatty gulped, clapped their flippers over their eyes and the room fell uncomfortably silent.

  “We were talking about a different Muriel,” said Brenda finally, “weren’t we, Hatty?”

  “Yes,” blurted Hatty, “weren’t we, Blue?”

  “Were we? We were!” said Blue hastily. “We were talking about Muriel the… erm… the emu. You must have heard the bears talking about her. She’s so bossy, isn’t she, Rory?”

  “Muriel the erm?” said Rory. “Yep… she’s a… real bossybeak. And always late for things, according to Orson.”

  Muriel narrowed her eyes, but decided to carry on regardless.

  “So! What do you think about my marvellous plan to dress everyone up to get the visitors back?” she asked the hutch in general. By now, Alaskadabra, the old emperor penguin, had arrived, along with Eddie, Clive and Oo-chi and Ku-chi, the chicks.

  “I think it’s a great idea,” lied Blue, hoping to get back into Muriel’s good books.

  “It’s not great, Bloop, it’s the work of a genius,” boasted Muriel. “Hatty and Brenda, aren’t I a genius?”

  The two fairy penguins nodded so hard that Blue was worried their heads might come off.

  “Genius. Love you, Muriel!” said Brenda.

  “Love you more!” said Hatty. “Hate the emu!”

  One of the chicks looked at Hatty sideways.

  “What emu? There ith no emu!” insisted Oo-chi, poking her brother in the ribs. “Ku-chi, there ith no emu at Thitty Thoo, ith there?”

  Ku-chi thought hard. “No. There’th jutht a thmelly old othstrich.”

  Anxious to avoid a scene, Waldo whisked the chicks out of Muriel’s earshot and, encouraging them to form an orderly queue with the other penguins, he whipped out his tape measure. As he measured everyone up, Wesley and Warren rummaged through the box of hats, gloves and trimmings, trying to find stuff to make into the crazy costumes that Muriel had designed. Apart from Alaskadabra who liked to dress up at the drop of a hat – and he often dropped his hat – the rest of the birds were embarrassed.

  “But I don’t want to be a beamingo!’ said Eddie as Wesley stitched him into a brown fur muff and snapped a party tooter on to his beak. “I don’t even know what one is!”

  “It’s a cross between a beaver and a flamingo,” said Muriel. “People will pay good money to come and see that. Now keep still, shut up and put these leather mitts on your feet.”

  Waldo walked among the disgruntled penguins, adjusting elaborate crests made from hat bobbles, pinning on fabric wings and fashioning magnificent horns out of walking-stick handles.

  “Me ith a pigmy rhinotheroth!” giggled Oo-chi. “What ith you, Ku-chi?”

  Ku-chi scratched his fluffy head and gazed at his sister as if she was stupid. “Me ith a penguin, thilly.”

  Oo-chi wiggled her tail and pouted. “No, you ithn’t, ith he, Mithster Waldo? Not any more. You ith a… fluffy hamthster.”

  “Yes, he’s a fluffy hamster,” agreed Waldo, stroking the mohair on the cardigan sleeve he had pulled over Ku-chi’s head. Ku-chi, however, had other ideas and threw a tantrum.

  “I doethn’t want to be a thoppy hamthster. I wanth to be an emu!” he cheeped.

  Waldo took no notice and sewed him into the costume.

  “You’ll be a hamster and like it, darling,” he said. “We’ve got limited props. It’s just a bit of fun.”

  Just then, Rory caught sight of himself in a wing mirror that had fallen off a zoo truck and was now attached to the wall of Waldo’s hutch.

  “I look a right sprat!” he exclaimed.

  “No change there, then,” smirked Muriel, preening her new tail. “Is everybody dressed? Good, because we need to practise our growls and squeaks.”

  The penguins looked at each other in bewilderment. Even Alaskadabra – disguised as a glider monkey – looked a bit worried.

  “Oh dear,” he said, “I didn’t realise it was a speaking part.”

  Muriel groaned. “It’s called method acting, love. We’re no longer penguins, so we mustn’t sound like penguins.”

  Alaskadabra put his head on one side. It was hard to see or hear out of the balaclava that had been pulled over his head. Warren had made a pair of woolly ears by wrapping two elastic bands very tightly round the knitted fabric, which had made the eyeholes shift – the only way Alaskadabra could see out now was through the gaps in the stitches.

  “That’s all well and good, dear,” he said, “but I don’t know what a glider monkey sounds like.”

  “Ooh, oooh, ah ahhh!” shrieked Eddie.

  “See, even Eddie can do it,” said Muriel witheringly.

  “I didn’t mean to,” said Eddie. “Warren just stuck a pin in my bottom.”

  Warren swore it was an accident and, as Muriel wouldn’t take no for an answer, the penguins went into pairs and practised their new bellows, grunts and squeaks.They were encouraged by Waldo, who knew a thing or two about the theatre, but sadly, very little about animal noises. As the din reached a crescendo, there was a sharp rap on the hutch door, but nobody heard it. Suddenly, it flew open.

  “What the frozen fillet are you all playing at!” yelled Big Paulie.

  The cackles, moos and roars petered out and the strange menagerie of exotic beasts stared at their assorted feet, unable to look the boss in the eye.

  “I could hear you from my palace!” he complained. He held his flippers behind his back and marched up and down, looking at the thinly disguised penguins with a pained expression on his face.

  “What do you look like?” he wailed.

  “Well, sir, I look like a glider monkey. At least I’m trying to,” said Alaskadabra.

  Paulie put his head in his flippers. “Well, stop trying. It is not a good look. You are an emperor penguin, the noblest of birds. Why would you dress yourself up as a primate? Why?”

  He turned round and gazed at Blue in disbelief. “And what are you meant to be?”

  “A booby,” she muttered.

  Paulie shook his beak. “Well, somebody’s made a booby.”

  Unfortunately, Warren mistook this for a compliment, leapt up and shook Paulie by the flipper. At last his skills in the wardrobe department seemed to have been recognised.

  “Thank you! I made the booby along with most of the costumes. I’m rather handy with a needle.”

  “It’s for a good cause,” added Waldo.

  “I don’t care if it’s to save the polar ice cap – take that silly hat off, Rory. You’re
a disgrace to penguin-kind.”

  Rory hung his head. “I’m meant to be a dodo.”

  “No wonder they’re extinct,” said Paulie. “They must have died of shame.”

  Seeing that her plan had backfired, Muriel whipped off her false tail and pointed at Blue.

  “Yeah, Rory. Who’s silly idea was this, anyhoo?”

  His beak fell open. “Yours, Muriel!”

  She looked bemused. “It was Bloop who said it was a good idea, wasn’t it, Hatty and Brenda? Don’t deny it.” And under her breath she hissed at them, “I still haven’t forgiven you for Muriel the erm. I wasn’t hatched yesterday.”

  But Hatty and Brenda were very fond of Blue. She always defended them when Muriel got particularly bossy… but which was worse: to drop Blue in it or fall out with Muriel? No contest.

  “Blue thought it was a good idea,” said Hatty.

  “A great one,” said Brenda.

  Rory hated to see the girls ganging up on his best friend and was just about to stick up for Blue when Paulie stamped his foot.

  “Ladies, do not point the flipper of blame!” he cried. “That’s not how penguins behave. What kind of creatures are you, making Blue a scapegoat?”

  “She’s not a goat, she’s a booby,” said Eddie. “I’m a beamingo and Clive’s a… What are you, Clive?”

  “A feather boa constrictor,” muttered Clive, trying not to sneeze as the downy stole he was wrapped in tickled his beak.

  Paulie looked as if he was about to explode.

  “We are not doodahs or minkeys or mingos!” he bellowed. “Let me spell it out for you – we are “P-E-N-G-W-I-N-S.”

  “That’s not how you spell penguins,” whispered Brenda.

  “He’s the boss, he can spell it how he likes,” replied Hatty.

  Oblivious to their backchat, Paulie continued his rant. “Penguins are intelligent birds! Why pretend to be something you’re not?”

  Nobody answered. It seemed like a silly idea now, but they’d all gone along with it.

  “Tell him, Rory,” said Muriel, pushing him forward, “or I’ll have words with Bossybeak.”

  Rory took a deep breath and tried his best to explain.

  “Paulie, it’s like this. Muriel thought – and we all agreed… sort of – that if we looked more… er… interesting, the visitors might come back and see us, instead of the new exhibit.”

  Paulie listened and nodded. He could be frightening, but he was a wise old bird with a big heart. He’d lived in the penguin enclosure longer than any of them. He’d watched the fairy penguins, rockhoppers and chinstraps grow from fluffy chicks to the fine penguins they were today and, as a mighty emperor, he felt it was his duty to care for them all; he always had done, for as long as they could remember.

  “Rory, Rory,” he clucked, “I don’t know what kind of beast is drawing in the crowds and I don’t want to know. It could be a unicorn for all I care. Nothing stays a novelty forever. New animals soon become old hat, but penguins have stood the test of time. Penguins will always be popular. The visitors will be back.”

  “But when?” said Muriel. “I want them here now! I did my feathers specially.”

  Paulie wagged his flipper at her. “Patience! The zoo is not all about us, Muriel. Now have some pride and go and be penguins.”

  Paulie turned and waddled out of the hutch. As he disappeared across the snow, the penguins slipped out of their costumes, pulled off their false noses, udders and horns and put them back in the Arty Party prop box.

  “Well, I thought we all looked fab,” sulked Warren.

  “Hey ho,” said Wesley. “Paulie might know a lot of things, but he knows nada about fashion.”

  Muriel wasn’t happy either. “I don’t care what Paulie says, this zoo is all about me! Am I the only one who wants to know who’s attracting the attention away from us?”

  Rory had to admit he was curious.

  “If you’re half the penguin you think you are, you’d go and find out,” insisted Muriel.

  Rory, who was very much a whole penguin, accepted the challenge.

  “I’ll do it tonight!” he said. “Who’s coming with me?”

  s the moon rose over City Zoo, a cluster of assorted penguins tiptoed silently across the snow and gathered by the wall of their enclosure.

  “Rory, where’s Muriel?” said Eddie, clattering with his snowboard.

  Rory shushed him urgently. “Quiet! You’ll wake Orson and Ursie. Muriel said she had to see a bear about an emu, but really she just chickened out.”

  “PARDON? CLIVE, WHY IS RORY WHISPERING?” shouted Eddie.

  Rory sighed. He’d taken on the role of leader of the expedition to spy on the new exhibit, but if they got caught, it would be his neck on the line. Now Ursie had woken up. Ursie would tell Orson and, before they got back, the whole zoo would know what they’d been up to and Big Paulie would be furious. He still hadn’t quite forgiven them for escaping over the wall the last time, when Oo-Chi and Ku-chi went missing.

  “Oh, flippers. We’ve been spotted,” said Blue.

  Rory glanced up and saw the shadowy figures of two portly bears looking down in their direction.

  “Going somewhere?” called Ursie.

  “No. We’re just… having a midnight feast under the stars,” lied Rory.

  Eddie’s eyes lit up. “Are we, Rory? Cool! Clive, we’re having a feast. That will be much more fun than going to find out what that weird new animal is… Where’s the food? Is it squid? Is it crab? Is it oysters?”

  Orson sniffed the air. “Somebody’s lying. I smell porky pies.”

  “Ooh… are there pies?” whooped Eddie.

  It was all too easy to fool Eddie, but there was no fooling the bears.

  “We know where you’re going,” said Ursie. “You’re going to see the abominable snowbeast.”

  “You’ll never come back alive,” added Orson. “It eats penguins for breakfast.”

  Clive and Eddie exchanged nervous glances, but Rory wasn’t fazed. The bears were famous for getting their facts wrong, mainly because the wild squirrels kept feeding them false information just for a laugh.

  “Don’t listen to the bears,” he said, trying to reassure everybody. “They’re just trying to scare us. There is no such thing as an abominable snowbeast.”

  “That’s what they said about the duck-billed platypus!” hollered Orson. “And as we speak, he’s living with his wife and kids by the beavers.”

  Rory shrugged. “I’m not scared. Whatever it is, it can’t eat us if we just look through the window. Come on, guys, let’s form a penguin pyramid, like we did last time, and climb over that wall. Eddie, go on the bottom with Clive.”

  To his surprise, Eddie promptly sat down on the ice.

  “Not on your bottom, the bottom of the pyramid,” explained Blue, helping him up.

  As Blue climbed on to Clive and Eddie’s shoulders, the bears were still watching.

  “Don’t tell Big Paulie where we’ve gone, will you?” said Rory.

  “Hmm,” said Orson, “what’s it worth?”

  Rory couldn’t think of anything to bribe the bears with. He could have promised to give them his lunch for a week, but they weren’t that keen on the squid and sprats that made up the largest part of the penguins’ diet.

  “We’re very partial to salmon,” said Ursie. “Big Paulie gets salmon on a Sunday, you know.”

  “Promise us some salmon and we’ll keep our muzzles shut,” said Orson.

  “We promise. Go back to sleep,” said Blue as Rory stood on her shoulders and hauled himself up on to the wall. He pulled a face. “We promise? Are you crazy, Blue? If I pinch Paulie’s salmon, he’ll throw me to the sharks.”

  There was no telling what Paulie might do when he was angry. He’d done some scary things when he lived in the wild – according to the seagulls – but, as Blue reminded him, they were worse gossips than the squirrels.

  “All the emperors get salmon,” she whispered. “Alaskada
bra will let us have his if we explain.”

  By now, all the penguins on the mission were sitting on the wall, ready to go over the top. It was a lot higher than they remembered and they might have thought twice about throwing themselves off in the summer, but there was a thick snowdrift below, so they wouldn’t hurt themselves.

  “One, two three… JUMP!” said Rory.

  Apart from Eddie, who couldn’t count, they all landed perfectly.

  “Just as well I fell on my head and nothing important,” said Eddie as Clive pulled him up and dusted him down. “Lead on, Rory, I’m right behind you.”

  “No, you’re in front of me, Eddie,” said Rory. “Turn round, we’re going that way.”

  The penguins followed silently as Rory made his way down the steep steps to the enclosure below. At one time, it had housed mountain goats and a herd of moose, but they’d been moved to another part of the zoo; it had been empty for months. Building work had taken place because, according to the squirrels, the pool had sprung a leak after a moose put his hoof in it, but none of the penguins were prepared for what they saw.

  “Wow,” said Rory. “It’s got a huge cave with a waterfall and everything!”

  “And it’s got a much deeper pool than ours,” noted Blue. “It must be a very huge animal.”

  “Like an abdominal snowbeef?” wondered Eddie.

  Rory scanned the shadows. He was nervous in case something leapt out and roared, but to his great relief, there was no sign of the creature. However, to one side of the cave, there was a small, dimly lit window made of thick glass – too thick, hopefully, to smash with a massive paw.

  “Go on then, Rory,” said Blue.

  As he crept over, his heart was in his beak. What if the Terrible Mysterious Thing shouted “BOO!”, broke the pane and grabbed him? He was scared of losing his cool in front of Eddie and Clive, but now that he was up close, he realised that while the window was the perfect height for a child to see in, it was too high for a rockhopper, even if it jumped.

  “Shame,” said Rory after the third jump. “Ah well, at least I tried.”

  “Try harder. We’ll give you a leg-up,” said Clive.

  There was no getting out of it. Rory put his foot in Clive and Eddie’s flippers and pulled himself on to the window ledge.