The Beasts of Upton Puddle

by Simon West-Bulford

  “What?” Redwar spun round on his heel.

  “We heard you were trying to buy out a veterinary practice in the area. Apparently Mrs. Merrynether has a very good reputation. Perhaps we—”

  “Merrynether?” Redwar’s eyes bulged. “Never mention her to me.”

  Gumble cowered at the outburst, which was exaggerated, even for Redwar.

  “That woman,” Redwar continued, growling more to himself than anyone else, “is a thorn in my side, a fly in my soup, a . . . a . . . cantankerous old witch!”

  Silence followed. Even the dogs had stopped barking.

  “Oh, and Gumble?” Redwar said eventually.

  “Sir?”

  “You’re fired!”

  Cold sparks tingled under Joe’s skin as he stood outside the door of Merrynether Mansion with his trolley. For an entire week he had struggled so desperately to be patient, resisting the urge to visit after school, fighting a compulsive need to rejoin the new world he’d discovered. And now that Sunday had arrived, he could hardly bear the anticipation.

  The moments ached by, but eventually the door creaked open. Joe was greeted by a welcoming snort from Archy the pig and the hasty beckoning of Mrs. Merrynether.

  “Come in.” Tension bristled in Mrs. Merrynether’s voice. She had her back to Joe and was stomping through the hallway toward the study.

  Joe lifted his trolley inside before closing the door, wondering what unexpected shopping items would fill it this week. The rustling of paper and the rasp of sliding drawers came from Mrs. Merrynether’s direction.

  “How’s Cornelius?” called Joe.

  There was a brief silence from the study as if the old woman had stopped whatever she was doing to consider her answer.

  “Why don’t you go down to the vault, Joseph?” she called back. “I have one or two chores to attend to up here before I can join you. Heinrich’s down there. He’ll see to you while you’re waiting.”

  Joe’s stomach sank. Mrs. Merrynether’s mood didn’t sound good, and she had deliberately not answered his question, which could mean only one thing. After all the waiting and bottled excitement, the vault was now the last place on earth Joe wanted to be. But he knew he had to go down there, despite his fear of what he might find.

  “Here goes,” Joe said to Archy. With a deep breath, he walked alongside the trotting pig into the pantry, through the end door, down the steps, and into the cellar where he had first met the cluricaun. His hand hovered over the knob of the red door that would lead down to the vault. A vision flashed in his mind’s eye with sudden clarity: the manticore’s lifeless body stretched out inside the enclosure with lolling tongue and glassy expression. Joe snatched his hand back.

  A gentle nudge from a soft snout caught Joe’s leg.

  “I can’t, Archy.”

  The pig looked at him insistently.

  Joe clenched his teeth and looked at the doorknob.

  “Looks loike da boy needs a . . . hic . . . wee tipple of de orlde Dutch courage,” came a slurring voice from somewhere in the cellar, the word courage belched rather than spoken.

  Joe peered into the cellar, looking for the source.

  “Lilly? Is that you?”

  The hollow chinking of empty bottles falling and rolling along the cellar floor came with the reply. “Oh, Danny booooooy. Oooooh, Danny booooooy!”

  “Lilly?”

  “Da poipes, da poipes are a carllin’ from glen ta glen, and down da mountainsoide.”

  Archy snorted loudly and ran into the middle of the cellar.

  “Da sommer’s gorne, and orle da flowers are a dyin’ . . .”

  The tune continued in off-key notes from the blowing of bottle rims.

  Joe thought he glimpsed the cluricaun’s sky-blue waistcoat in a gloomy corner obscured by old rags and boxes. He crept toward it, hoping for a chance to catch the tiny man.

  “Oooo, quick, quick . . . hic . . . da boy’s comin’ ta gets me.”

  The smell of wine filled Joe’s nostrils as he neared the tiny item of clothing, and with squinting eyes and bated breath, he reached for the troublemaker.

  A howl of drunken hysterics echoed in the cellar as Joe looked at the empty waistcoat in his hand.

  “Oooo, did ye want me pants too?” A tiny pair of baggy slacks were thrown from somewhere close by, hitting Joe square in the face. “Oi didn’t knor orlde Merrynedder would be . . . hic . . . sending you down ta collect me washin’. Could ya polish me little shoes too?”

  The hysterical laughter continued, and Joe suppressed a smile as he put the miniature clothes on top of a nearby crate.

  Archy scampered off, skidding into some boxes as a small pair of shoes flew through the air and clattered close by.

  “Are you going to show yourself?”

  “Heheeee, have it your way, boy. Take a look at da moon. It’s broight tonoight!”

  Realizing what the cluricaun was about to do, Joe focused on the floor rather than have his eyes assaulted. “No, thank you. I didn’t bring my telescope.”

  “Why, ya cheeky . . . hic . . . little snot farmer! Tells ya what, Lilly’ll make ya a teshlescope . . . with—” The sentence ended with another clattering of glass followed by loud snoring.

  Sufficiently distracted from his fears by the cluricaun’s interruption, Joe turned his attention back to the red door and marched to it. “Right. That’s it.” He turned the knob and, finding it unlocked, walked down the stairs and barged through the vault door before he could change his mind.

  He was unprepared for the shock.

  The manticore enclosure was exactly as it was the last time Joe saw it. Mossy floor, ornamental rocks, decorative water features, and there, lying motionless on its side with its back pressed against the bars of the cage, was Cornelius.

  Joe felt the blood drain from his face. “No,” he whispered, ignoring the minor commotion he’d caused to his left when he burst in.

  Seated at an old desk facing the wall, a startled Heinrich hurriedly swept sheets of paper and a stack of small envelopes into a drawer before slamming it shut and fumbling in vain to lock it with a fountain pen. Joe watched as Heinrich quickly stuffed the pen in his pocket and pulled out a key instead. He locked the drawer and glanced back at Joe, offering a nervous, lopsided smile.

  “Hi, Heinrich.”

  Heinrich opened his mouth to provide what Joe assumed would be an excuse for something he obviously felt guilty about.

  Light footsteps tapped on the concrete stairs behind them.

  Mrs. Merrynether walked inside and slammed the door so hard that the key fell out and clattered onto the floor.

  “Pompous, irritating, self-important . . . ugly brute of a man!”

  Heinrich’s mouth, which was already open, stretched wider as his fearful eyes met hers.

  “Not you,” she grumbled. “That ignoramus Argoyle Redwar. If there weren’t laws against it, I’d sincerely think about chopping him up into tiny kibbles and feeding him to Cornelius . . . though I think the poor creature has already had his fill of poison.” Her last sentence was tinged with remorse.

  “Oh, I see,” said Heinrich. “You finally decided to read those letters he’s been sending us all week, then? What are they?”

  “You mean, what were they? I’ve just spent the last ten minutes reading and burning three revised offers for the purchase of Merrynether Mansion, two requests for my presence at that abominable factory, and two letters threatening to reveal what I do here. Hasn’t that obnoxious secretary of his got anything better to do than write me letters every day?”

  “Redwar’s desperate, Ronnie,” Heinrich said to Mrs. Merrynether in a low voice. “And desperation is the last weapon of a man who craves control he cannot have. Try not to worry about him.”

  “I’m not worried, Heinrich. I’m—”

  “Is Cornelius alive?” Joe interrupted, too choked with surprise to wait for their conversation to end. “I thought he was . . . dead.”

  “Dead?” Mrs. Merry
nether swung round to face Joe. “Heavens above, whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Well, you didn’t answer me upstairs when I—”

  “Oh, pay no attention to an ignorant old woman. I was too busy fuming over Redwar’s letters. Cornelius is still alive.”

  “He’s asleep, then?”

  Mrs. Merrynether shot a glance at Heinrich. “For now, yes, but he’s still very sick, Joseph. In truth, he may not last more than a week unless we find a way to help him.”

  “But I thought you were taking the poison quills out. Didn’t that work?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Heinrich left the desk and walked to the enclosure. He brushed a large hand against the beast’s fur. “Plucking the quills from his tail does not release the poison. I believe a manticore must actively fire its quills to do that. When the muscles tighten in its tail, the venom is injected into the quill at the moment of ejection. Simply plucking the quills will not remove the venom.”

  “Then he needs something to shoot at. Something to attack?” Joe asked.

  “Yes, motivation is the key,” said Heinrich, “but I fear he is too exhausted to respond now.”

  “There’s still time,” Mrs. Merrynether said. “We’ve managed to help creatures in a much worse state than this. Remember that epileptic bunyip that swallowed a bag of hand grenades? And that ogre with Tourette’s syndrome?”

  “How could I forget?” Heinrich said, standing and glancing back at his desk as if checking for something he might have missed. “I still say it was a terrible idea to treat both of them at the same time.” He walked to his desk.

  “But we helped them, didn’t we?” Mrs. Merrynether said. She approached the sleeping beast to take her turn at stroking him.

  Joe saw a wastepaper bin at the side of the desk. Several balls of crumpled paper were inside, and there was surely something written on them that was supposed to be kept secret. Heinrich looked at him pleadingly, and the weight of another secret burdened Joe. The guilt of his involvement with Lilly’s escape was uncomfortable enough, but now what should he do about Heinrich? It was obvious that Mrs. Merrynether and Heinrich had a relationship with a long history. How could he interfere with that?

  With a cautious foot nudge and a well-timed clearing of his throat, Heinrich slid the bin behind his desk while Mrs. Merrynether’s attention was on the man-ticore. He directed another look of earnest at Joe before he spoke. “You’re right, of course, Ronnie. We will think of something. We’ve never let any of our patients down yet . . . er . . . which reminds me: perhaps it is time we told Joe why he has been chosen to help us.”

  Mrs. Merrynether straightened and turned to Joe, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Yes, Heinrich, though it seems we already have our answer.”

  Joe looked at Mrs. Merrynether, then at Heinrich, then back at Mrs. Merrynether. Heinrich had obviously done this not only to keep Mrs. Merrynether’s attention away from his desk but also to divert Joe’s attention.

  “Chosen? For what?” Joe asked. “I thought I was just doing your shopping for you.”

  “I’m afraid I have a confession to make, Joseph. Do you remember when I told you that I have a particular gift that allows me to empathize with animals?”

  “Sure. The Merrynether Technique.”

  “Do you think that gift is limited to animals?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it.” Joe braced himself for the punch line.

  “Well, it isn’t. Do you remember that powerful feeling of purpose and destiny when you first came to my door? I’m afraid that was my doing.” She raised a hand. “But please don’t jump to conclusions. It wasn’t meant as a deception. Rather, it was intended to present you with a choice. Remember I told you that being special is a choice? Not everyone would have responded to such a call, but you did.”

  Joe felt the walls of the vault closing in on him, a sense of unease accompanied by the slow realization of a wakeup call. He was a young boy standing in an underground vault with two people he knew nothing about, and not a single soul knew where he was. Could he really be that stupid?

  “It took courage to reach this point,” she continued. “Not just for you but for me. You placed your trust in me, and now I am trusting you. I didn’t have to tell you any of that.”

  All three exchanged looks of uncertainty.

  Somewhere at the back of the vault, a creature stirred, and Joe was suddenly aware of the peculiar sounds made by a host of other unidentified animals. From one side, a soft whisper like sand being shaken through a sieve; from the other, a rhythmic breathing like distant wind passing through the tubes of a great church organ. He could turn his back on all of this and be safe. But he would never know what was making those strange noises, and he may never have an opportunity like this again. It was worth the risk.

  “Why?” Joe asked Mrs. Merrynether.

  “Why what?”

  “Why did you choose me?”

  “I . . . we had a feeling about you. But more importantly, we needed you for a very special patient we’ve been expecting for several weeks . . . It’s time you were introduced.”

  EIGHT

  Mrs. Merrynether walked away, deeper into the vault, leaving Joe and Heinrich to watch each other with uncertain smiles.

  “Who were you writing to?” Joe asked once Mrs. Merrynether was out of earshot.

  Heinrich’s smile fell. His eyes twitched and swiveled, looking anywhere except into Joe’s.

  “Please don’t tell Ronnie. She . . . she wouldn’t understand.”

  “Is it really that bad?”

  “Yes . . . No . . . She . . .” Heinrich’s face twisted in confusion, and Joe was about to tell Heinrich to forget it when a brilliant blue-white light emerged from behind Cornelius’s cage.

  The entire vault was exposed, and Joe was treated to a spectacle of tentacle and claw, a parade of cherry reds and lizard greens as a host of animals were gloriously revealed within their enclosures. The black silhouette of Mrs. Merrynether was at the center of it all, stooping over a casket, lifting something out. Then the glare diminished, and Mrs. Merrynether walked toward Joe and Heinrich, an enigmatic smile curling her lips. She cupped in her hands something small, the source of the light.

  “The more excited she gets, the brighter she glows,” she said. “I take it you saw that little outburst, Joseph?”

  “Uh . . . yes. I could hardly miss it.” Stunned, Joe looked at the object in her hands. It was the lightbulb he’d bought from Mr. Bacon a week before, and now it was obvious why she wanted to have the filament removed. Something living shifted inside it.

  Carefully, Mrs. Merrynether unscrewed the cap of the bulb. “Out you come,” she whispered. “Time to stretch those beautiful wings.”

  Two milk-white arms as delicate as matchsticks yawned outward from the opening, and the tiniest fingers Joe had ever seen grasped the edge of the bulb. A petite head, crowned with wisps of sapphire-blue hair, stretched up gracefully. With two diamond eyes, it gazed at its surroundings, eventually setting its sight upon Joe. It smiled and, with a gentle squeeze, pulled the rest of its body from its glass home. Around its frame was a lattice of tiny crystals, which Joe assumed was some kind of clothing. Two sets of dovelike wings unfolded, sending out ripples of light with each slow beat as it drifted on the air toward him.

  “Is it an angel?” Joe asked, his gaze firmly locked on the miniature wonder.

  The reply came from the creature as it floated at Joe’s eye level. Its voice, undoubtedly female, seemed to be right inside his ear, tickling like a blade of grass.

  “Some call us angels; some call us fairies. I am a seraph.”

  “A seraph?” Joe poked at one of his ears.

  “Yes.”

  “So you are an angel, then. Like the seraphim and cherubim? I heard about them in a church once.”

  “If you like.” The seraph laughed, spun in a graceful arc, and glided down into the enclosure, settling on the side of the manticore. Her tiny finge
rs splayed as she pushed her hands into the crimson fur. Joe could hear her humming as she turned onto her back and stretched, apparently enjoying Cornelius as though he were a luxurious cushion.

  “You can see her without any difficulty?” asked Mrs. Merrynether.

  “Of course,” Joe said. “Why? Shouldn’t I?”

  “Actually, no. Nobody should be able to see a seraph. They’re usually invisible to the naked eye. The seraphim feed on light, a bit like plants, and once they’ve absorbed what they need, the rest is radiated back at a very specific wavelength unique to each seraph. No two seraphim ever radiate light at the same wavelength, you know. And it’s always out of the range of the human eye.”

  “So how is it we can see her?”

  “Ah, that’s the question, isn’t it? It’s why she’s here, and it’s why you’re here too, Joseph. I had to know for sure if she really has a problem.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, there are specific situations where a human being can, in fact, see a seraph. First, you have to believe they exist and, second, you have to know the name of the seraph. Don’t ask me how that works. We’re still trying to sort out the science behind it, but somehow those two things tune you in. Only under those circumstances can a human being hope to see a seraph.”

  “A bit like remote central locking on my mum’s car, then? Our key is the only one tuned in to our car.”

  “As good analogy as any, I suppose.” Mrs. Merrynether smiled. “Heinrich and I knew of the existence of seraphim a long time ago. We both know her name,” she said, motioning toward the creature as it crawled along Cornelius’s back. “So there was no question that she would be visible to us. She came to us with her ailment, hoping to be cured, and we attempted a variety of remedies, but unless we could find someone who should not be able to see her, we couldn’t know if we were successful.”

  “Sorry, but I didn’t know they existed until today, and I definitely don’t know her name.”

  “Yes, but from the moment you walked into the vault, I knew you would be able to see her.”

  “How?”

  “Do you see any other sources of light in here today?”