Septimus recognized the lane he found himself on. It was the same lane that he and Captain Calico Kettle had taken to the town hall the night they’d stolen the sea dragon’s egg. He stopped by a tree, put the little sea dragon back under his pastry chef’s hat, and did his best to make himself look presentable. It was then he noticed, coming toward him, the same lovely lady he’d seen standing on the deck of the yacht. She was riding a small white pony and she looked as pretty as a picture, and as delicate as china cups. Septimus Plank was dumbstruck.
Princess Albee was surprised to find a handsome young man, only a little taller than she, walking down the lane, surrounded by hens.
“What are you doing, walking down the lane, surrounded by hens?” asked Princess Albee. “Why are your clothes wet?”
Septimus Plank knew he should remove his hat when addressing a lady. He whipped off his pastry chef’s hat, but before he could find his voice, the lovely lady said, “And why is there a baby sea dragon on your head?”
21
Mr. Tiger’s hot-air balloon, crewed by the Gongalong acrobats, sailed into the blue sky. Dad looked down on his café by the harbor. It seemed no bigger than a dollhouse.
A seagull flew past with a puzzled look on its face. Mr. Tiger let out a growl and the startled seagull flew away, squawking.
“I could get used to this,” said Dad, loosening his grip on the edge of the basket. “Oh, I can see the mayor on his balcony—still in his pajamas. And look, there are Myrtle and Betsy in the water,” said Dad. “But where’s Floss Grimm?”
Mr. Tiger took out his pocket watch and studied it.
“There is, I fear, some worrying news concerning Floss Grimm,” he said.
“Oh no,” said Dad. “Not more worrying news.”
“Remember, Alfonso—brave hearts,” said Mr. Tiger. “That is what is needed. Floss Grimm has been kidnapped by pirates.”
“How do you know?” said Dad.
“Tigers have their secrets and their whiskers, their tales and their tails.”
“Oh dear,” said Dad. “First the sea dragon’s egg is swapped for a hen’s egg, and now a merboy has been captured by pirates. This is very bad indeed.”
“Onward and upward,” said Mr. Tiger, and the Gongalongs filled the balloon with another burst of hot air. This time the hot-air balloon went further out to sea but still they could not see a pirate ship anywhere. Mr. Tiger studied his pocket watch again. “Fly us over the shoreline by the caves, if you please,” he called to the Gongalongs.
As the balloon rounded the cliffs at Pendragon Cove they spied the Kettle Black.
“We’re too high up,” said Dad. “I can’t see Floss anywhere.”
“Take us down, my gutsy, gusty friends,” said Mr. Tiger to the Gongalongs.
The balloon went lower until Dad could make out the pirates standing on deck, pointing up at them.
“Can you see Floss Grimm now?” asked Mr. Tiger.
“No—go lower,” said Dad.
Lower still they went, and now they were close enough to see the pirate captain’s wooden hand and his blue beard. He appeared to be giving orders as the pirates dashed below decks and returned with blunderbusses.
“There,” said Dad. “In that barrel, tied to the main mast—look, it’s Floss Grimm and he’s waving at us.”
Mr. Tiger produced a megaphone and shouted to Floss.
“Young hearts are the bravest hearts of all! Stay strong—it won’t be long until we save you. Courage! Take courage, my dear young friend.”
At that moment there was a barrage of explosions and lead shot flew into the air, narrowly missing the balloon.
The Gongalongs gave the balloon several blasts of hot air and it rose rapidly into the sky as more lead shot came hurtling their way. It was clear to both Mr. Tiger and Dad that there was no way they could rescue Floss by balloon, and that another plan of action was needed if he was going to be saved from such savage pirates.
22
Betsy wriggled out of her mermaid suit on the harbor steps and left Mum in the sea while she rushed back to the café. Up the stairs of the tall windy house she went two, three steps at a time, and into her bedroom, where she quickly hung up her mermaid suit. From under her bed she grabbed the shell that she used to call Mum home, and slid down the banister all the way to the bottom.
“That must be a record,” said Mum when Betsy returned to the harbor steps and handed her the shell. “Tell Dad not to worry. I need to make an urgent long-distance call. I might be gone some time.”
As Mum swam away, the hot-air balloon landed by the bandstand. Betsy ran to tell Dad and Mr. Tiger what had happened.
When she reached the part about the long-distance call, Mr. Tiger said, “We must tell Myrtle where Floss Grimm is, before she makes that call.”
He took his megaphone from the basket of the balloon and shouted out to sea. His voice seemed to echo and bounce across the water.
“MYRTLE—MYRTLE—MYRTLE —MYRTLE.”
Mum surfaced, turned, and waved at them.
“MYRTLE, VERY IMPORTANT! FLOSS GRIMM IS BEING HELD CAPTIVE ON THE PIRATE SHIP IN PENDRAGON COVE. WAVE TWICE IF YOU READ ME.”
Mum waved twice and dived. “Oh dear,” said Dad.
Just then a very flustered mayor came plodding toward them, trailing bunting and carrying an official-looking red-and-gold book.
He pointed to the sea and said, “It’s the sign. Tell me, Mr. Tiger—what do we do?”
“Brave hearts, Mr. Mayor,” said Mr. Tiger firmly. “Brave hearts. What sign?”
Out at sea, a spout of water exploded into the sky.
“According to the records,” said the mayor, opening the red-and-gold book, “the Pap-a-naggy lets everyone know by this sign that the sea apples in the sea orchard have turned solid gold and that he is coming back to the island. This starts the second part of the Festival of the Sea Dragon.”
They all looked at the picture in the book. It showed a spout of water on the horizon.
“So tomorrow the festival will continue and the Pap-a-naggy will return for his baby,” said Mr. Tiger.
“Yes,” said the mayor. “But we don’t have the baby sea dragon—we have a fluffy chick. What do we do, Mr. Tiger?”
23
From the barrel, Floss Grimm could overhear Captain Calico Kettle and the boatswain talking.
“When we get back to the map of the world,” said the captain, “I’m going to sell that merboy for a lot of money.”
“Who will buy him?” asked the boatswain.
“A zoo. Or anything that has water rides.”
“I like the way you think, Cap’n,” said the boatswain. He sighed. “Shame the pastry chef stole the sea dragon’s egg and cheated us out of them golden apples.”
The boatswain and the captain had seen that Septimus Plank had somehow made it to the shore, but by the time the rowing boat had been launched to go after him, he’d vanished. That was when they’d grabbed the merboy. Three-Legged Bill was about to go below when he spotted something on the horizon. “Look, Cap’n—what’s that out there?”
“Where?” said the captain, taking out his spyglass.
“There,” said the boatswain, pointing.
“It’s a water spout,” said the captain. “Bright green and rising high into the sky.”
Floss was—in some ways—a very wise merboy, and he had said nothing at all since being captured. As far as the captain knew, he couldn’t speak.
“Fish can’t,” he’d told Three-Legged Bill. “And I suppose a merboy is more fish than boy.”
Floss suddenly had an idea. He knew pirates liked treasure and secrets.
He spoke slowly. “I read in the mermaid book of old sea tales that the water spout means that tomorrow the Festival of the Sea Dragon will continue on the island.”
The cap
tain and the boatswain were awestruck.
“He speaks,” said Captain Calico Kettle. “Speak again, merboy.”
And Floss told them that by now the sea dragon’s egg would have hatched and the sea dragon would return to the island to collect his baby sea dragon and bring a golden apple.
“Just the one golden apple?” said the captain. “Are you sure?”
The next things Floss told the captain, he made up on the spot.
“Sometimes he brings more,” said Floss.
“Does he sometimes bring crates of golden apples?” asked the captain. “Say, three?”
“Oh yes, sometimes,” said Floss Grimm, his fingers crossed inside the barrel. “Quite often, in fact. And the islanders wear fancy dress and go to the festival dressed either as an egg or a sea dragon.”
Captain Calico Kettle paced back and forth, pondering.
Finally, he summoned the crew. “Listen up, me hearties,” he said. “Tomorrow is our one and only chance to capture the baby sea dragon and take home three crates of golden apples—as well as a valuable merboy.”
A cheer went up from the crew.
“How are we going to do that, Captain?” asked the powder monkey.
“We are going to have to start snipping, sewing, and sticking. Don’t just stand there, you sissy bunch of swabs, get cracking on the eggs.”
Floss had an excellent view of the pirates as they tried to make eggs and dragons from sailcloth, ropes, nets, and anything else that was lying about. At the end of the day when the pirates tried on their costumes, he struggled to keep a straight face. Never had he seen a sillier sight. The only trouble, thought Floss, would be when Captain Calico Kettle realized that no one else on the island was in fancy dress, he’d know that Floss had lied and led him a merry dance. And things might not end well. Floss began to wonder what it would be like in a zoo.
24
“This is Septimus Plank,” said Princess Albee to Dad, Mr. Tiger, and Betsy as she sat down at the table with them in the café that afternoon. She was accompanied by a perfect, pint-size pirate wearing a pastry chef’s hat.
“Hello,” said Betsy.
She recognized him immediately as the pirate her mum had saved from drowning, and she wondered if the hens were safe. She glanced under the table but she couldn’t see them.
A puzzled look came over Septimus’s face. He was certain that this was one of the mer-children who had rescued his hens. He, too, glanced under the table and saw that the little girl didn’t have a mermaid’s tail. But her purple hair was unmistakable.
“I think,” he said, “I have you and your friend to thank for rescuing my hens.”
“Where are they?” asked Betsy.
“On my yacht,” said Princess Albee. “In the stable.”
Betsy was not sure if Septimus Plank was a good pirate or a bad pirate, but she didn’t say so, as she noticed that Princess Albee had a twinkle in her eye.
“Septimus has been incredibly brave,” Princess Albee continued. “Indeed, quite a hero, and he has a story to tell.”
“A story?” Mr. Tiger flashed his white pointed teeth. “He has a lot of explaining to do. Who exactly is Septimus Plank and how did he come to be a pirate? And what is a pirate doing here on an island that has been left off the map of the world?”
Septimus looked properly at Mr. Tiger for the first time and nearly fell off his chair.
“W-well . . . ,” he said.
“I presume,” said Mr. Tiger, “that it has something to do with the red rogue wind?”
“Yes,” said Septimus. “How do you know?”
“A very good question, but not one I intend to answer,” replied Mr. Tiger, flexing his sharp claws and looking Septimus in the eye.
“This is most discombobulating,” said Septimus in a shaky voice.
He was trying to get his head around meeting a tiger. Meeting a tiger who could speak and was dressed in a coat and top hat.
“Discombobulating, Dad?” asked Betsy.
“It means all at odds, unsettled, a funny feeling in the tummy,” said Dad.
“Your discombobulation tells me that you are very much from the map of the world,” said Mr. Tiger. “If you weren’t, you would know that I am the ringmaster of a most extraordinary circus that is named after me.”
Septimus was lost for words. He was used to a world of left and right, of A to Z, of weeks that started with Monday and years that ended on December 31. Where a tiger was a tiger, not the ringmaster of a circus.
No wonder Septimus felt discombobulated. So very discombobulated that he had forgotten about the baby sea dragon under his hat.
“Everything here is upside down and higgledy-piggledy,” he said.
“What we all need is some refreshing ice cream,” said Dad, “and while you’re eating it, Septimus, you can tell us how you came to be a pirate.”
Dad came back with a tray of tall glasses full of his Raspberry Shiver Sparkler Delight ice cream.
“I was never a pirate,” said Septimus. “I’m a pastry chef who got kidnapped from a cruise liner and . . .” He took a mouthful of ice cream, then another and another. “Wow, this is absolutely delicious—good-beginnings and happy-ever-afters wrapped in one. It is a dream of mine to create an ice-cream cake. And with this ice cream, what a cake I could create.”
“It has always been my dream to taste an ice-cream cake,” said Princess Albee.
Betsy noticed that the princess blushed, and she hugged the secret to herself.
At this moment Septimus’s pastry chef’s hat rose on his head and from under it emerged the small sea dragon. The little creature climbed onto Septimus’s shoulder, then slid down his arm onto the table, where it stood on its hind legs and licked what was left of the ice cream in Septimus’s glass.
“That,” said Mr. Tiger, “is one handsome Nog-a-naggy. And a very healthy baby in every way. I must congratulate you.”
Dad got some of the ice cream he had specially made for the Pap-a-naggy and put it on a saucer in front of the little sea dragon. As the sea dragon licked it all up, Septimus finished telling his story—including his own part in switching the eggs.
“And I stole the egg timer,” he added. “Here it is.”
He took it out of his pocket and put it on the table.
Mr. Tiger growled at this, but then put his orange-and-brown-striped paw on the young man’s shoulder and said, “Despite your piratical behavior, we have much to thank you for. If you hadn’t saved this little fellow we would have egg on our faces. His father, the Pap-a-naggy, will be here tomorrow to take him back to his mother, the Mam-a-naggy, in the sea orchard seventy leagues below the waves.”
A look of sadness passed over Septimus’s face. He stroked the top of the sea dragon’s head and the little creature rolled over for Septimus to rub his tummy. The sea dragon gurgled with delight.
“I will be sorry to see him go,” said Septimus. “I have grown fond of him.”
“By the look of it,” said Dad, “the Nog-a-naggy will miss you, too.”
“Now, Septimus,” said Mr. Tiger, “it would be useful if you would tell us everything you can about the Kettle Black. Captain Calico Kettle has captured a merboy, who is Alfonso’s nephew, and we must hatch a plan to rescue him.”
Septimus told them all he knew and finished just as the sun threw its bathwater out into the sky before settling down to sleep.
25
Now, we, the letters of the alphabet, are in a complete muddle as to how best to tell this part of the story because so many people weren’t together who should have been.
Myrtle was somewhere in the ocean, sending a long-distance message to her sister Coral and the Siren Singers.
The pirates, dressed as eggs and dragons and armed to the teeth, were getting ready to raid the island left off the map of the world.
; Floss Grimm was still in a barrel tied to the mast of the Kettle Black.
Princess Albee was on her yacht, trying on her crowns and tiaras to see which suited her best.
Septimus Plank was in the kitchen at Alfonso Glory’s café, trying out ideas for an ice-cream cake that might appeal to Princess Albee.
Mr. Tiger was also at the café, thinking over his plan.
As for Betsy, she had just climbed out of bed.
So you see, it takes a rather large piece of paper and a rather small piece of chalk and still we can’t work it out. We decided our butterfly words should flutter free in the hope of giving you a glimpse of what is going on until it all comes together.
And if it doesn’t come together, we will be in a real pickle. Anyway, on with the story.
26
That morning, the morning of the second part of the Festival of the Sea Dragon, Mr. Tiger stood at the window of the café. Septimus had asked him to keep an eye on the baby sea dragon, and Mr. Tiger had noted that the creature had grown considerably in the night. He was now the size of a small rabbit. Or, perhaps, a large rabbit.
Tigers often ponder, and Mr. Tiger was pondering how to save Floss Grimm. He took out his pocket watch and gazed at the pictures there. On the face appeared a picture of an egg with legs and two hands sticking out of the sides. On top of the egg sat a pirate’s hat.
Mr. Tiger, Betsy, and the Sea Dragon Page 4
