One house…the next…the next…and the next…
You know something? Some people do really weird things on Saturday mornings.
I mean when I think of the nice peaceful time Dad and I had feeding the piranhas, then think of what SOME people get up to…
There was one guy brushing his teeth, which I mention because his teeth were in his hand.
And there was this woman pretending she was conducting an orchestra all by herself in her living room while the radio was playing dismal music—the sort we have to listen to in musical appreciation.
And there was this girl and this bloke, and you’ll NEVER guess what they were doing!
We zapped past their bedroom window, and I yelled, ‘Hey look at that!’ but Phredde missed it, so the Phaery Splendifera did a wheelie (magic carpets don’t have wheels but you know what I mean) and we flew back more slowly, and this time
they
saw everything too!
Like I said, there was this girl and this bloke, and they were sitting at the table playing scrabble and she was CHEATING. She’d got all these extra pieces down the side of her chair, and was sort of fumbling them up and glancing at them in her lap to see if she needed an ‘e’ or an ‘i’.
Pretty incredible, hey?
Like I said, people are weird.
Miss Richards was in the two thousand six hundred and forty-second house we looked into (I was starting to get carpetsick again). I guess I was wrong about her being neat because her house was the one with the lawn that hadn’t been mown for seventy trillion years and roses bushes that weren’t quite as savage-looking
as Cousin Pinkerbelle’s but pretty close and a garden gnome making a rude gesture at passersby.
Oh, and the windows shaking with rock music too.
Miss Richards wasn’t doing anything strange at all—well, of course she wasn’t, she’s a librarian.
She was making chocolate chip biscuits while she danced to the rock music, and was just taking a tray of them out of the oven, which reminded me and Phredde that we hadn’t had any morning tea yet except for the apples and chicken we’d accidentally picked up at the supermarket (except I’d thrown most of the chicken at the lion to try to distract it), and it was nearly lunch time.
Phredde’s mum knocked on the kitchen window, and Phredde and I waved madly to attract Miss Richards’ attention over the noise of the rock music, and when we’d helped Miss Richards pick up all the biscuits off the floor (I suppose it’s a bit of a shock seeing a flying carpet and two phaeries, not to mention me, at your kitchen window) and turned the music down we all sat around the kitchen table and ate the broken biscuits and tried to explain the problem.
‘And now all the computers in the world will have Mum’s virus,’ finished Phredde desperately. ‘Or at least they’ll catch it pretty soon. And everything in the world that depends on computers will shut down, and civilisation will end, and it’s all Mum’s fault, and we don’t know what to do about it!’
Miss Richards thought for a minute while she nibbled the last bit of biscuit. (Phredde and I had finished the rest of them.)
‘You know,’ she said finally. ‘I don’t really know as much about computers as you think I do.’
‘But you must!’ exclaimed Phredde blankly. ‘You’re our last hope. The world’s last hope!’
‘Well, I don’t think it matters much,’ said Miss Richards. ‘Because even though I don’t know much about computers, I do know about colds.’
‘What about them?’ asked the Phaery Splendifera, frowning.
‘Well, a cold isn’t really a serious virus. As long as you get plenty of rest and keep warm, it’ll disappear all by itself in a week or ten days.’
‘You mean…’ I gasped.
Miss Richards nodded. ‘At the worst all those computers will get is a runny nose and a few sneezes for a week.’
‘Computers don’t have noses,’ said Phredde slowly.
‘There you are then,’ said Miss Richards. ‘All we have to worry about is a few computer sneezes.’
It seemed a pity to waste the magic carpet after that, so Miss Richards climbed aboard too and we zoomed off to Africa again for lunch, and we found the elephant and it turned out to be really friendly and let me ride on it’s back. (It was lucky I had my carsickness, I mean carpet-sickness, I mean elephantsickness tablets. Elephants waddle!)
And then we had a pizza and watermelon picnic with lamingtons and ginger ale on Mt Kilamanjaro (I THINK that’s how you spell it).
And Phredde’s mum showed Miss Richards how to drive a magic carpet (she said we were too young to drive), and Miss Richards was really good at it for a beginner, and went even faster than Phredde’s mum, which might be why we crashed through the time barrier this time and Phredde got chased by…
…but that’s another story.
So anyway, if you turn on your computer at school tomorrow, and it goes ‘Ahhhhhhhtishoooooooooo!’…
…don’t panic.
Just give it plenty of rest and keep it warm, and it’ll be good as new in a week or ten day’s time.
For my last birthday I got a pirate ship, PLUS captain and crew, which is pretty great even if all they can say is ‘Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of ginger ale’ and none of them happen to look like Mel Gibson.
And Phredde got a tyrannosaurus—just a tiny one that’s supposed to sharpen her pencils, but it likes chewing the desk legs at school better, and you should have heard what Mrs Olsen said when it ate…
But that’s another story.
Grown-ups don’t seem as keen on birthdays as kids though, unless they’re turning forty or something decrepit like that.
So when Phredde asked her mum, the Phaery Splendifera, what she wanted for HER birthday, all she said was: ‘I’d really just like a bunch of flowers.’
‘No worries,’ I said to Phredde when she told me. ‘We can duck into the florist on the corner. Or we can
pick some flowers in my garden if you’re broke. Or you could magic some up, or maybe Cousin Pinkerbelle might let us pick some of hers, though come to think of it that mightn’t be a good idea.’
(The last time I’d seen Con he’d just had a couple of fingers reattached at the hospital—he’d managed to grab them before the roses digested them, but it was a close thing. Phredde and I took him some flowers—but not roses. I mean, I was sure Con was going to win the war of the roses, but it looked like it might take a while yet.)
Phredde shook her head gloomily. ‘You don’t understand,’ she muttered. ‘When Mum says flowers, she doesn’t mean a bunch of roses. She means flowers from Phaeryland.’
‘Are flowers different in Phaeryland?’ I asked.
‘Course they are,’ said Phredde. ‘Everything’s different in Phaeryland.’
Phredde’s not too keen on Phaeryland, on account of the fact that she’s expected to wear lace dresses, glass slippers and a tiara over there, and be a proper Phaery Princess.
But as Phredde says, she just wants to be like any normal kid, and when was the last time you saw a normal kid in a tiara and glass slippers?
‘Well, what’s the matter?’ I demanded. ‘Can’t we just pop over there and grab some?’
‘Huh,’ said Phredde. ‘You don’t just
pop over
to Phaeryland. Remember all the gumph we had to get dressed up in last time? Glass slippers…’ she muttered.
Phredde turned over on her back (we were flying home from school incidentally—well, she was flying
and I was walking) and pedalled her tiny purple joggers indignantly. They had bright silver and green laces today.
‘I thought that was just because we were going to see the Phaery Queen,’ I answered. ‘And because your parents were with us too.’
Parents never have any dress sense. You should see what Mum expects me to wear if we go to a wedding or something. It has RUFFLES on it!
‘EVERYONE wears lace and glass slippers in Phaeryland,’ Phredde said even more gloomily. ‘Whether they’re going to see the Queen or not.’
‘But couldn’t we just sneak over there?’ I argued. ‘How long would it take us to pick the flowers anyway?’
Phredde brightened. ‘Not long. I could magic us right in the middle of the flower patch, and we could grab some and we’d be out of there before anyone notices.’
‘Great!’ I said. ‘When do we go?’
‘Now!’ said Phredde, and before I could even hear a PING! I was in Phaeryland, and Phredde was as big as me, or I was as small as Phredde, because that’s what happens in Phaeryland, and she was standing right beside me.
Well, you know what Phaeryland is like. You should, anyway, if you’ve read any of those baby books about Phaeryland when you were a little kid.
Phaeryland is JUST like that.
The sky was blue and the birds were singing, and by singing I mean really SINGING, calling
tweet tweet tweet tweet TWEET
up and down the scale and then going all operatic like they were standing on some stage or something.
The bees were humming (some tune by that old guy Frank Sinatra that Great Uncle Ron likes so much) and I just know the sun was smiling—really smiling, with a great gooey grin on its face.
The only reason I didn’t look up to check was that Mum has told me a squillion times not to look directly at the sun or I’ll go blind.
And there were flowers.
Zillions and trillions of flowers because Phredde had zapped us into a clearing in the woods. (Not bush—these were woods, with neat little lollipop trees with big red fruit on them.)
This clearing had green green grass like some kid had gone whacko with their green texta all over it, and poking out of the grass were these great fat round flowers on long green stalks in every colour of a kid’s pencil case, and a few more besides.
‘Wow,’ I said, because it was pretty, in a sweets and lollies sort of way.
Phredde shrugged. ‘Phaeryland,’ she said dismissively.
‘I think it’s cool.’
‘I suppose,’ said Phredde unwillingly. You’d have had to tear her toenails out with rusty pliers before she’d have admitted there was anything good about Phaeryland.
Suddenly she giggled.
‘What’s so funny?’ I demanded.
‘You!’ she shrieked.
‘What’s funny about me?’
‘You’re in…’ (choke choke giggle) ‘Phaeryland, and you’re wearing tracksuit pants and a T-shirt!’
‘So what? We had sports this afternoon!’
‘I bet no one’s ever worn tracksuit pants in Phaeryland before!’ panted Phredde. The giggles were taking all the breath she had.
I grinned. ‘How about you?’
‘Me?’ Phredde glanced down at herself.
Phredde was wearing her purple joggers, jeans and a bright pink T-shirt that said ‘Magic Rules’. (Phredde’s magicked it so if a teacher looks at her they think she’s wearing school uniform, but really she just wears what she likes.)
Well, Phredde started giggling even harder at that, then I started giggling too, and pretty soon we were rolling through the flowers laughing so hard we nearly wet ourselves. (I suppose you had to be there to see what was so funny.)
Anyway, the next thing you know this enormous shadow was circling over us, and I looked up, and there were a couple of those giant butterflies that had carried us all to the palace of the Phaery Queen last time we were in Phaeryland.
‘Hey, look!’ I exclaimed, sitting up in the middle of the flowers. ‘Aren’t they…’
And then I stopped, because the first butterfly glanced down then dived straight towards us, and it’s companion dived too, and the next thing I knew the great butterfly shadow had covered us, and all I could see were jewelled wings and these two enormous round eyes, sort of peering at me. Then I was grasped between four giant butterfly legs and we soared straight up in the sky.
Flappppp flappp flapppp,
went the butterfly wings…
I started struggling, then I stopped pretty quickly, because the flowers just looked like coloured full stops. I mean we were HIGH!
‘Helllllppppp!’ I screamed. ‘Phredde hellllpppp! Do something!’
‘I can’t!’ cried Phredde, and that was when I noticed the other butterfly had caught her too, and was carrying her alongside mine.
‘Magic us out of here!’ I yelled.
‘I can’t!’
‘Why not!’
‘Because the butterflies are magic too!’
I suppose what she meant was that if she cast a spell they’d use a counter spell, but being hauled along through the air by two giant butterflies isn’t the perfect time to discuss the ins and outs of magic.
‘Where are they taking…’ I began, and then my butterfly must have hit a thermal or something, or maybe it just felt like a few aerobatics, because we went soaring even higher, then round and down and up and I really wished I had my carsickness tablets.
Well, by the time my lunch had floated gently down onto the woods of Phaeryland to fertilise one of those lollipop trees, the butterfly was fluttering in a more or less straight line again, but Phredde’s butterfly was too far away for me to yell to her, though it still seemed to be heading in the same direction as mine.
That was a relief, because the last thing I wanted at this stage was to be separated from Phredde.
When you’re in a strange country it’s good to be with someone who knows where the bathroom is and how to find a pizza, and other essential information, and Phaeryland was about as strange as you can get.
If I hadn’t been so worried about ending up as a butterfly’s breakfast (I mean do YOU know what
butterflies eat in Phaeryland?) I suppose I might have enjoyed the ride.
There were green woods, and glades of flowers, and the occasional castle looking just like it had been made out of icing sugar that some dumb kid had coloured gold or pink, or some other little kid colour, except it didn’t look quite so silly in Phaeryland.
And there were tinkling brooks (okay, I couldn’t hear them from up there in butterfly world, but they just looked like they’d tinkle) all shining blue and silver.
And there were a few cute little cottages that looked like they might be made of gingerbread, which I bet isn’t very waterproof, but I don’t suppose it ever rains in Phaeryland. (And come to think of it YUK! imagine eating gingerbread after it’s been sitting in the sun for twenty years and doo-dooed on by birds and butterflies and anything else that flutters by.)
Actually I thought witches lived in gingerbread cottages, not phaeries, but maybe witches didn’t have the gingerbread monopoly, because I was sure there were no witches in Phaeryland.
To be honest I never paid much attention to the details in those stories anyway. I mean how was I to know that one day I’d be kidnapped by a giant butterfly, and all that phaery story stuff might turn out useful?
Then suddenly we were swooping down, down, down, and I nearly lost my lunch again, except by now it was all gone.
The ground was approaching awfully fast. I hoped my butterfly had decent landing gear, and didn’t just land feet—me—first.
Then suddenly we had landed, and we weren’t on the ground at all.
We were on the branch of this massive tree, and my butterfly was balanced somehow on its abdomen, which left its legs free to manage me, then THUMP! Phredde’s butterfly had landed too, right on the other side of this giant nest thing that was sitting on the branch too.
Boy, was I pleased to see Phredde.
‘Phredde!’ I yelled. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah! How about you?’
‘Mostly.’ I didn’t mention my lost lunch. (I just hope it hadn’t landed on a pixie or a gnome or something. At least in a plane you can’t stick your head out the window and be sick on some kid just innocently standing in a school yard.)
‘What’s going to happen now?’ I yelled.
‘I don’t know!’ shrieked Phredde.
‘But you’re a phaery!’
‘Yeah—and these are butterflies!’ yelled Phredde, as though I hadn’t noticed.
Then suddenly we didn’t have to yell any more, because the giant sticklike legs sort of tossed me up and over and there I was in the giant nest with Phredde…
…and half a dozen crawling green caterpillars, just as big as I was.
‘Let me out of here!’ I shrieked. I mean, I like caterpillars—I’ve even collected a few, and fed them till they turned into butterflies—but the caterpillars I collected were a heck of a lot smaller than I was at the time.
The way I look at it, humans collect butterflies, not the other way around.
‘Shhh,’ said Phredde.
‘What do you mean “shhhh”?’ I demanded.
‘You’ll upset them.’
‘Who’s them?’ I began, and then I realised, because six giant green caterpillar heads were staring straight at me.
So I set my face into a ‘I’m a really nice person and never caught a caterpillar in my life’ sort of smile, and crawled over to Phredde. It was pretty easy crawling, as the nest was made from this sort of soft silklike stuff.
I suddenly remembered that silk came from caterpillars, sort of extruded from their abdomens, which was so disgusting to contemplate I decided I wouldn’t think about it any more.
So Phredde and I huddled there in the corner of the nest. ‘Phredde, what the heck is happening?’ I muttered. ‘Are we supposed to be breakfast or something?’
‘No,’ said Phredde. ‘I think they’re looking after us.’
‘Looking after us!’ I yelled, then shut my mouth, because we’d attracted the attention of the caterpillars again, and even if they weren’t going to eat us I couldn’t think of any attention a caterpillar would give me that I’d enjoy.
‘I think I’ve worked it out,’ whispered Phredde. ‘Those butterflies think we’re two of their baby caterpillars who crawled out of the nest somehow. So they put us back in.’
‘But we don’t look like caterpillars!’
‘Well, we don’t look like phaeries or humans,’ said Phredde guiltily, gesturing at her jeans and my tracksuit pants. ‘We’re not wearing skirts or crowns or glass slippers…I just don’t think the butterflies recognise us! Butterflies aren’t very bright.’
She was telling me!
‘Look Phredde,’ I said patiently. ‘Butterflies don’t have nests. They don’t even look after their caterpillars. They just lay their eggs and fly away.’
‘Not in Phaeryland,’ said Phredde.
So there we were, stuck up a tree sharing a giant nest made out of stuff I didn’t even want to think about, with six green caterpillars who were still looking at us a bit too curiously. I mean this lot’s parents may have thought we belonged in the nest, but their offspring weren’t too sure.
‘Er…nice caterpillars,’ I said soothingly.
‘I don’t think they understand English,’ said Phredde helpfully.
‘Well, I don’t speak caterpillar,’ I pointed out grumpily. ‘Er…Phredde, what do you think’s happening now?’
Phredde stood up and peered over the side of the nest. I wedged myself next to her.
The butterflies were busy pulling big green leaves off the tree, and folding them into long narrow leafy envelopes. One leafy envelope, two leafy envelopes, three leafy envelopes…
‘I don’t like the look of this,’ I muttered.
…six envelopes, seven, eight…
‘One for each of us!’ I think my face must have gone white, because Phredde’s did too.
‘I think they’re getting our dinner!’ I whispered. ‘Let’s get out of here!’
Sure enough, the first butterfly strode over to the nest.