Jungledrop Read online

  He drifted back out of the carriage. ‘Do not disturb me from my nap again, please,’ he called, ‘otherwise I shall come back, wielding all sorts of terrifying weapons: swords, axes and maybe even a sledgehammer if I’m feeling particularly grumpy.’

  As soon as the junglespook was gone, Fibber whirled round to face Fox. ‘This is all your fault.’

  ‘My fault?’ Fox cried. ‘I didn’t ask you to follow me! I assumed you’d be running back to the hotel to announce you’d saved Petty Pampering! I have no idea what you’re doing on this train with me!’

  Fibber adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, then glanced at his briefcase. ‘I don’t have a plan for Petty Pampering in here.’

  Fox started. Her suspicion earlier had been right. Her brother had been lying to their parents.

  ‘But,’ Fibber continued, ‘it does contain a fortune-making scheme in regards to something else. All I needed was a little more time to complete it and I had thought that a local train trip might just buy me those extra hours. But instead it seems I’m hurtling towards these Unmapped Kingdoms, whatever they might be!’

  Fox scoured her brother’s face for the trace of a lie. She’d missed it back in the penthouse suite and now she was determined to look closely for Fibber’s telltale sign: the way the corners of his mouth tightened when he was saying something untrue. But she saw nothing. Fox wondered jealously what ingenious idea Fibber had come up with that was even better than saving Petty Pampering.

  ‘My plan will be the making of me,’ Fibber said casually. Then the corners of his mouth tightened, just a fraction.

  Ha! Fox thought. So her brother had a plan, but he wasn’t totally convinced it was going to work. She felt a shred of hope grow inside her.

  Until Fibber added: ‘Even Mrs Scribble said I was onto something.’

  If Fibber was telling the truth now, which he seemed to be, Mrs Scribble hadn’t been helping him with extra homework, but instead working with him to come up with a plan to secure his place in the Petty-Squabble family. That meant he was probably leagues ahead of Fox! Because who did she have on her side? Absolutely no one… Fox felt a familiar loneliness trickle through her.

  She glowered at her brother’s briefcase. For a moment, she had hoped she was back on an even playing field with him. But it seemed that, if Fibber did manage to get off this train, he could just go back to their parents, safe in the knowledge that one of the most respected teachers at their school would vouch for his idea to make millions and save the family fortune.

  Fibber threw Fox a haughty look. ‘What was your plan? You said you had one almost ready.’

  Fox didn’t fancy admitting that her plan had simply been to run away from the shame of being the Petty-Squabble twin without a scrap of talent. She flung herself into an armchair and refused to say anything at all.

  When the armchair – or the snuggler or whatever Tedious Niggle had called it – started moving, though, Fox let out a yelp.

  ‘What’s it doing?!’ she cried as the snuggler twisted and shuddered and transformed from a sagging armchair into a horribly uncomfortable steel throne with razor-sharp thorns down its back and spikes along the armrests. ‘I thought Tedious Niggle said these chairs would change to suit our personalities. This is like sitting on an iron!’

  Fox was shocked into silence for a few seconds, but in that silence the snuggler began to change again. The thorns shrank, the spikes vanished and suddenly the steel wriggled out of shape to become an enormous, fur-covered beanbag that purred gently.

  Fibber, now slightly curious, edged closer to the other snuggler. He sat down with his briefcase on his lap. Immediately, the snuggler spun round and round before jiggling itself into the shape of an office chair.

  Fox sighed. Of course Fibber’s snuggler would turn into a hot seat for business while hers was nothing but a childish beanbag. Then she flinched. The beanbag appeared to be trying to cuddle her. At least she thought it was. She hadn’t actually been cuddled before, but she’d seen it happen in films and with other families at end-of-school pickups, and it did seem that this beanbag was stretching furry arms round her waist. Fox felt a sudden and rather unexpected urge to cry, but thankfully she was spared that ordeal because Fibber’s chair was now spinning faster and faster and he had started screaming.

  ‘Make it stop!’ he cried. ‘Make it stop!’

  When the snuggler did eventually stop, it was no longer an office chair but a beautifully carved park bench, made more comfortable with a row of brightly coloured cushions. Fox thought all of this very strange. Tedious Niggle had said the snugglers would adapt to suit their personalities, but what did a cuddly beanbag say about her and a park bench reveal about Fibber? It made no sense. But, for now, there were more important things to discuss. Like understanding what on earth was going on.

  The train was still moving irresponsibly fast and through the window Fox could see that the light was fading. As if the carriage itself could sense dusk approaching, the lanterns burned brighter and some of the plants seemed to curl up as if going to sleep.

  Fox turned to the bookcase and glanced over the book titles, hoping to find something that might shed a little light on their situation.

  ‘If –’ she paused to throw Fibber a death stare – ‘Casper Tock was telling the truth and this train is real and we are in fact heading for the Unmapped Kingdom of Jungledrop, I for one would feel just a little bit better knowing something about the destination ahead of us.’

  She lifted an enormous leather-bound book called Navigating Jungledrop and all its Quirks by Mildred Amblefar into her lap. Fibber was making out that he wasn’t interested, but given that the book started talking as soon as Fox turned to the contents page it was impossible for him to ignore things completely.

  ‘For Lofty Husks, the ruling powers in every Unmapped Kingdom, turn to page three,’ a woman’s voice – presumably Mildred Amblefar herself – said. ‘For magical beasts (contains full-page illustrations of whitegrumps, swiftwings and trunklets), turn to page ten. For rainforest plants (includes new discoveries about thunderberry bushes), turn to page twenty-three. For the Forever Fern, turn to page fifty-one.’

  Fox thought Lofty Husks, the ruling powers sounded like the most sensible place to start, but something about the Forever Fern seemed to beckon to her. After all, wasn’t that what Tedious Niggle had said they needed to find?

  She flicked to page fifty-one and the voice picked up the narration once again:

  ‘During my explorations through Jungledrop, I have discovered plants that grow pocket money and trees that sprout forgotten objects, but in all my travels I have never found the elusive Forever Fern. According to an ancient prophecy read in the wax of the candletrees, the fern can grant immortality. If the message from the candletrees is to be believed, an individual can take this fern and use it for their own gain or they can plant the rare pearl found inside it into an Unmapped Kingdom’s soil to grant that kingdom safety and prosperity.’

  Fox closed the book for a moment. A fern that could offer immortality? That could be exactly what she needed! Squabble Sauces claimed, among other things, that their ingredients improved sleep and boosted intelligence, which was all nonsense. This, though – an ingredient that could grant customers immortality – now that would sell for millions. Billions even! And, although so much in the past few hours had seemed ridiculous and impossible and completely unlikely, Fox suddenly found herself believing in it all. Because, if she could take something like this back to her parents, she would be loved and accepted and wanted by them and that overrode all the impossibilities surrounding magic.

  A very small part of her wondered whether the ‘safety and prosperity’ of Jungledrop that the book had mentioned might be important, too. Then her parents’ words back in the hotel sprang into her head. Worrying about other people was a waste of time. And what did their battle with this creature called Morg really have to do with her?

  Fox glanced over at Fibber to see that he was s
taring intently at the book in her lap. Fox knew then that she had been right earlier: her brother wasn’t sure whether his plan was any good, whatever he had said about Mrs Scribble. And now he was getting nervous because finding and selling immortality was a sure-fire winner and, if Fox found the fern before him, it would be a lifetime in Antarctica for Fibber…

  Without even speaking, the twins could tell that they both believed in the magic of Jungledrop now. Not because their world needed rain or the Unmapped Kingdoms needed saving – other people could sort all that out. No, they believed because their chance to impress their parents and avoid being ousted from the family depended on the Forever Fern.

  Fox didn’t know how she’d find it, but she wondered if the phoenix tear in her pocket might help. Perhaps the magic fizzing away inside it was the very thing that was needed to find the fern.

  Fox gave her brother a steely look. ‘The Forever Fern is mine.’

  ‘Not if I get to it first, it’s not.’ Fibber straightened up. ‘Finding a long-lost fern will require someone with a clear-thinking, strategic mind who can brainstorm confidently with the rulers of Jungledrop. Someone like me.’

  Fox scoffed at her brother, then she turned back to the book to read more about Jungledrop, but suddenly the carriage darkened and the train tracks began to rattle. The lanterns started to flicker on and off, until one by one they fizzled out completely and the train was plunged into darkness. The hairs on Fox’s arms prickled with fear and she heard Fibber shift on his bench opposite her. She was surprised to find herself filled with a longing to hold her brother’s hand, to cling to him and have someone reassure them both that everything was going to be okay. But pride stood in the way of her reaching out a hand, and years of jealousy and loathing were piled up on top of that, so Fox stayed where she was, alone and afraid and wishing for the light.

  The Here and There Express rattled on, swallowed in darkness, and then, when Fox was beginning to worry that they might be trapped inside this tunnel for ever, the train burst out into an explosion of colour.

  The trees that rose up around them were dark and mysterious, and what glimpses of the sky Fox could see through the tiny gaps in the canopy far above were velvet-black and pricked with stars, but the plants they saw shone with colour: electric-blue ones with tentacles reaching upwards and swaying slowly back and forth; purple ones in the shape of lanterns that hung from creepers and scattered golden dust; silver-spiked petals that clung to branches; green shrubs tipped with bulbs that blinked like eyes; and turquoise creepers that criss-crossed like a web of ice halfway up the giant trees.

  Fox blinked in awe. This was a glow-in-the-dark rainforest.

  The maze of roots and vines, bushes and plants was alive with detail and it was constantly moving. Not just the plants but the animals, too. A speckled squirrel nosed through the luminous undergrowth while butterflies with jewelled wings flitted above. A snake coiled round a tree flashed a golden tongue while a feather-tailed lizard scampered over the turquoise creepers. And high in the uppermost branches of the trees silver monkeys played.

  The train came to an abrupt halt that sent teacups, books and trunklets flying, and the twins craned their necks to look out of the window.

  Fox and Fibber had no idea what any of the plants and trees around them were, but when they saw Tedious Niggle glide out of the train and melt into his surroundings they knew one thing for certain: they had arrived in Jungledrop.

  Fox jumped as the train doors burst open and a tapestry of noise hit her: the drone of insects; the metallic clank of tree frogs; the coos of hidden birds; and the barks and grunts of monkeys.

  This was the voice of the jungle and it was, Fox concluded, offensively loud. ‘I wish it would all just shut up! It’s impossible to think with that racket going on.’

  Fibber, still gripping his briefcase, peered out of the window again. ‘At least there’s no roaring. I detest roaring.’

  Fox inched towards the doors, trying her best to remember what her geography teacher had said about jungles. Something about them being split into layers like a cake: the forest floor where the insects, reptiles and large animals lived; the understorey where most of the branches and vines were; and the canopy, closing everything in at the very top, where the monkeys and birds usually roamed.

  ‘Tedious Niggle said we wouldn’t get eaten or trampled on if we treated the jungle with respect,’ Fibber whispered from behind her.

  ‘How do you respect something?’ Fox hissed.

  Fibber shrugged. ‘Insult it very quietly?’

  Fox stepped off the train. For a second, the jungle fell quiet and still, as if it knew there were visitors in its midst, then the noise resumed as it stirred into life once again. The air was warm and heavy with moisture and Fox blinked as she noticed freshly fallen raindrops glistening on the plants around her.

  ‘Rain,’ she breathed. It had been so long since they’d had any back home that she’d almost forgotten what it looked like.

  Fibber winced as his shoes touched down onto the carpet of leaves, sticks and fallen branches. ‘There doesn’t seem to be a shortage of rain here. So, if Jungledop is meant to be in charge of sending it to us, why don’t they just –’ he paused – ‘bundle it all up and send it on like they’re supposed to?’

  ‘Maybe they’re all incontinent,’ Fox replied.

  ‘You mean incompetent,’ Fibber said with a smirk. ‘Incontinent means something else entirely.’

  Fox ignored him and tried to focus on the task in hand. Find the Forever Fern before Fibber. But, as she looked round the jungle, she felt a stab of doubt. How, in this wild, chaotic mess, was she going to find it?

  She peered at her surroundings more closely and it was then that she noticed just how different the animals were here. There was a dragonfly perched on a vine, holding a pair of miniature binoculars. There was a hummingbird playing a tiny piano, balanced on a branch. There was a sloth having a bubble bath inside a giant leaf. There was even a spider who looked very much as if he might be getting ready for a date: he was wearing a bow tie and doing all sorts of fancy things to his web involving flower petals and balls of fluff.

  Fox watched, open-mouthed. Wherever she looked, there was something happening. The jungle, it seemed, never stayed still. Fibber was also looking on in wonder and so intent were the twins on gazing at everything in front of them that they didn’t notice what was happening behind them. Until Fox remembered Mildred Amblefar’s book: she’d need it if she was serious about navigating her way through Jungledrop. She turned round to fetch it.

  ‘The train!’ she shrieked. ‘It’s – it’s gone!’

  Fibber gasped. ‘This is what that naked ghost meant: the junglespit powering the train means it simply comes and goes as it pleases…’

  The twins took in the tunnel the train had come through. It was, in fact, a vast cave surrounded by undergrowth. Only, the way that the roof of this cave jutted out into the jungle made the whole thing look uncannily like a mouth. There were even shards of rock hanging down from the roof in jagged spikes, like teeth, and, had the twins explored the undergrowth a little further (which they wouldn’t have because they weren’t the exploring types), they would have seen two smaller caves nestled in the greenery above which could, perhaps, have resembled eyes. But when you’re not aware that some caves in Jungledrop take the form of dragon heads carved from stone it is, admittedly, quite easy to pass them by.

  ‘But – but how will we get home?’ Fibber spluttered.

  Fox felt her pulse quicken. ‘If the Here and There Express goes as it pleases, it’ll probably come back as it pleases.’ She swallowed. ‘One day.’

  ‘Would’ve been helpful if it had left behind the talking book,’ Fibber mumbled. He flicked several fireflies off his suit, then raised his chin towards his sister. ‘I suppose this is goodbye then.’

  Fox ducked as a flying squirrel – wearing dungarees – hurtled past her head. She looked at her brother and wondered whether an all
y might be helpful on this kind of quest and if now might actually be a good time for her and her brother to work together… And, for the briefest of seconds, it seemed to Fox like Fibber was about to say something, too, but then he stopped and chewed on his lip instead. The image of Antarctica spilled into Fox’s mind again and all thoughts of teaming up with her brother vanished.

  ‘And good riddance,’ she said curtly.

  Fox knew there wasn’t an awful lot you could say to someone after that, so she turned sharply and marched off into the trees.

  A squawky voice called down from the canopy. ‘The one with red hair is hoping the one with the black handbag will come after her. And the one with the black handbag is trying very hard not to burst into tears.’

  Fox froze in her tracks and looked up at the tree in front of her. Its branches were lined with yellow orchids and fire-red moss, but other than that they seemed empty.

  Fox slid a glance behind her at Fibber who was squinting up at the same tree. And then the animal that had spoken gave itself away. High up on a branch above them was a yellow parrot. It had been completely camouflaged amongst the orchids until it ruffled its feathers which, Fox saw, were purple underneath.

  The parrot cleared its throat. ‘The one with the red hair is confused. The one with the black handbag—’

  ‘—It’s a briefcase!’ Fibber cried.

  ‘—Is starting to panic and is realising his choice of footwear is entirely inappropriate for the jungle.’

  Fox turned to see Fibber kicking a worm off the sole of his leather shoe. But, just as she was about to question what on earth was going on, a young boy burst out of the canopy, riding a unicycle that balanced on top of the turquoise creepers as if they were tightropes.

  He was smaller than the twins, and wore shorts that appeared to be a patchwork of leaves while his waistcoat was made of feathers. What he lacked in height he made up for in hair, which was dark and messy and seemed thick enough to house several bird’s nests quite comfortably. His eyes burned with the wild kind of excitement and hope that comes with being eight years old.