Gerald Durrell - The Talking Parcel

“Of course, of course,” said one of the sentries hastily, taking a giant key off the w all and unlocking the door.

“And you’d better both come in with me and lend an ’and,” said Ethelred.

“Of course, of course,” said the sentries, following him obe­diently as he hopped into the dungeon.

“Now,” said Peter, “stay here, Penny, until the sentries chase the model.”

He and Simon opened the door and hurriedly wheeled the model of H.H. down the corridor as quietly as they could. They heard Ethelred keeping the sentries occupied in the dun­geon.

“Now, you ’old me pad, and you ’old me pencil,” he said. “This ’ere’s a serious business, putting out the moon. The next thing you know ’e’ll put out the sun—then where will we be, eh?” *Carefully and rapidly, the boys arranged the model at the top of the slope where the slightest touch would send it careering down the corridor. Then Parrot took up his position on its shoulder.

“All right,” he whispered, “get back inside and under cover.”

As soon as Parrot saw they were safely out of sight, he shuf­fled all his feathers into position and cleared his throat. “My dear Parrot,” he said, in a remarkable imitation of H.H.’s pip­ing voice. “This putting out of the moon is only the first step in my campaign against the Cockatrices.”

“Really,” said Parrot in his own voice. “What’s the next step?”

“Cor lummy! Bless my socks and topper!” screamed Ethelred from inside the dungeon. “Look! H.H. ’imself. Quick, catch ’im. It means promotion, ’uge medals. The Chief will love you. Quick, quick, quick.”

The sentries turned, bewildered, and saw the model of H.H. standing in the corridor with Parrot on his shoulder. It took them a second or so to recover from their shock. But then, with crowds of triumph, they leapt forward, dropping the pad and pencil.

“Look out, H.H., Cockatrices,” screamed Parrot in pre­tended alarm. He flew off the model’s shoulder, giving it a kick with his feet as he did so. The model twirled round and then started to roll down the corridor, gathering speed. The long robes sw ept the ground so the wheels were completely hidden. The impression of H.H. running for his life down the corridor was complete. Gobbling with eagerness to catch H.H., the Cockatrices, jostling each other, rushed down the corridor in pursuit.

“All clear,” called Parrot. “Quick as you can.”

The children ran across the corridor, recovering the pad and pencil, and into the dungeon where Ethelred was waiting for them.

" ’Ere,” he said, “you get the blinking spells and I’ll keep watch for the Cockatrices.”

He hopped out of the dungeon and down the corridor where the sentries had disappeared.

The Great Books of Government were made from the most exquisitely tooled leather, picked out in patterns of scarlet and gold. Each Book lay on a beautifully constructed golden table inlaid with silver.

"Hallo, Books,” said Parrot affectionately.

To the children’s surprise, the Books answered in musical voices that sounded like three little old ladies.

“Hallo, there you are, Parrot,” they said. “It is nice to see you again. Are you going to rescue us?”

“Not this time,” said Parrot. “We’re getting around to it, my lovely loquacious library. Xo, what we’ve come for is a spell against Cockatrices, if you’d be so kind, Spell Book.”

The Book marked Ye Greate Booke of Spells opened itself and started to riffle its pages, murmuring to itself.

“Cockatrice . . . Cockatrice,” said the Book, “I don’t recall offhand . . . Cockatrice ... I may be wrong, of course ...”

“I say, get a move on,” said Parrot. “Those guards may be back in a moment.”

“I’m doing it as fast as I can,” said the Book aggrievedly. “I’ve only got one set of pages. Let’s see now—Cockatrice . . . Cockatrice.”

The children were in an agony of suspense. They had no means of knowing how long the model H.H. would keep the sentries busy, and they had no desire to be caught by the angry and frustrated Cockatrices on their return.

“Ha, yes, here we are,” said the Great Book of Spells in a pleased tone of voice. “The Spell to Rid Yourself of Cocka­trice.”

“Are you ready to write it down, Penelope?” asked Parrot.

“Yes,” said Penelope.

“Right, here we go,” said the Book.

“Recipe for the overcoming of Cockatrice. Cockatrice are overcome by Weasels. Men bring Weasels to the den where the Cockatrice lurketh and is hid, for no things have been left with­out remedy. And so the Cockatrice fleeth when he seeth the Weasel, and the Weasel pursueth and slayeth him, for the bit­ing of the Weasel is death to the Cockatrice, but this only if the Weasel eat rue before. And against such venom, first the Wea­sel eateth the herb of rue. They be bitten by virtue of the juice of that herb. He goeth boldly forth and overcometh his enemy.”

“What on earth is rue?” asked Peter.

“It seems to be a sort of plant, I should think,” said the Spell Book. “Ask the Dictionary.”

The Giant Dictionary opened itself and riffled its pages. “Let’s see,” it said. “Let’s see: rud, rudder, ruddock, ruddy, rude, ruderal, Rűdesheimer, rudiment, rue—here we are: ‘A strong-smelling, shrubby plant with pinnately divided leaves and greenish-yellow flowers, symbolic of repentance, compunc­tion, or compassion.’ You’d better ask the Herbal where it grows.”

Thus appealed to, Hepsibar’s Herbal opened its covers and riffled its pages. “Er, rue, rue,” it said. “Here we are: ‘Rue in the country of Mythologia grows only in a clearing near the Mandrake Forest, Werewolf Island, in the Singing Sea.’ ”

“Good,” said Parrot. “Got all that, Penelope? Well, H.H. will be able to make some sense of it. Good-bye, Books, and it won’t be long before we rescue you.”

At that moment the door burst open and Ethelred hopped in, very much out of breath. “ ’Ere, get a move on,” he panted. “Them sentries ’ave been diving for H.H. and they’re coming back all dripping wet. They’re as mad as mad, ’cos they know they’ve been fooled. We must get out of ’ere quick.”

They all rushed out of the dungeon, and there, coming up the corridor from the moat, came the two dripping sentries. As soon as the two Cockatrices saw the children, they uttered a terrible crowing, yarring cry that echoed a thousand times from the walls of the corridor, almost deafening Penelope and the boys.

“Quick, quick,” cried Parrot. “Back to the drain, run for your lives.”

As Ethelred would never be able to keep up, Penelope picked him up in her arms and carried him clasped tightly to her, as she ran faster than she had ever run in her life before. They could hear the gobbling of the Cockatrices, the clattering of their scales, and the screech of their claws on the stone floor. Any minute Penelope expected to feel a blast of agonizing flame envelop her, but they managed to reach the small dungeon, rush inside, and slam the door and bolt it, just as the first blast of flame from the Cockatrices licked round the door frame. They rushed over to the corner where the entrance to the drain was. They could hear the Cockatrices screaming, like cats, with rage, scraping and tearing at the dungeon door with their claws. They lowered themselves into the drain and scurried along it, climbed out, ran through the field of moon-carrots, and did not really stop to draw breath until they were safely in­side the Crystal Caves again.

“Whew!” said Penelope, leaning against a crystal wall and gasping for breath. “I never want to have to run that fast again.”