Eddy Stone and the Epic Holiday Mash-Up Read online

  He limped back to where Eddy and the Crew were sitting in the middle of a drift of tattered seagull feathers and shredded sandwich wrapper.

  “Right,” he said, “who has an idea for plan E?”

  “Well, if you’ve finished shushing, how about this, dearie?” The Crew pulled a plant pot from her bag. In it was a straggly little thing with spindly leaves and a few very small flowers of a drab pinky-brown-but-mostly-brown sort of colour.

  “From the gift shop,” she continued. “The fabled warbleflower.”

  “Is that what all the fuss is about?” asked the Captain. “It’s not much to look at.”

  “Appearances aren’t everything,” said the Crew.

  “Has it got a scent?” said Eddy.

  “Oh, it has,” said the Crew.

  Eddy leaned forward and breathed in. It was like sticking his nose into an old trainer that had been worn by a wet Labrador that had trodden in something unfortunate.

  “Just not a very nice one,” said the Crew.

  “Grungeybeard must have had a right laugh when he decided to make us go through all that trouble for such a boring little plant,” said the Captain. He reached out to grab it, and…

  “LA LA LAAAAAAAAAA!”

  “Wow!” said Eddy. “It’s singing.”

  “That’s what they do,” said the Crew. “I heard a few in the shop. All those people over there are waiting to hear the wild ones – apparently there are thousands of them on this hill.”

  At that moment, a high, sweet note trilled through the air. It was joined by another, and another, and then hundreds of them together, weaving melodies that rose into the bright sky.

  “Lovely!” sighed the Crew.

  “Fantastic!” said Eddy.

  “Vocal vegetation is all well and good,” said the Captain, “but we’ve got a quest to follow. Let’s get this warbleflower back to the ship and find out from the map what our next challenge is. And this time we’re all taking the lift down to the beach. Crew, lead the way!”

  They passed a cow that was standing alone in a large patch of daisies. The cow watched them as the lift doors closed. Then it said quietly, “Well, they did that the hard way, didn’t they?”

  “How would I know?” answered the cow’s stomach. “All I can see is your rear end. It’s my turn for the head next time.”

  Who was inside the cow suit? Were they members of The Scavenger’s crew, checking up on the Captain’s progress? Were they spies who would soon be reporting back to whoever was behind the magic map? Or were they just two friends who like dressing up as a cow and who have nothing to do with the rest of the story?

  Back on The Codcake, the map wasted no time. As soon as the Captain placed the warbleflower next to it, it spelled out their next task. Eddy read out the words.

  “What’s that all about?” said the Captain. “How can a tree have a thousand ends?”

  “Maybe it means branches and twigs,” said Eddy. “They are sort of ends.”

  “And we have to wake it,” the Captain went on. “How do you wake a tree?”

  “Bark,” said the Penguin. “Come on, laugh. That was good.”

  “And how can a tree give you a verse?”

  “It must be the Poet Tree,” said the Penguin. “Get it? Poetry. I’m on fire. Someone should be writing this down.”

  “For once, I like that one,” said the Captain. “The Poet Tree is what we’ll call it.”

  “First a flower and now a poem?” said Eddy. “Is this Grungeybeard’s sense of humour again?”

  “He was a great one for poems, was old Grungeybeard,” said the Captain. “He had verses specially written about how brave and brilliant he was. And about his true love – treasure.”

  “In love with treasure. That’s not very romantic,” said the Crew. “Not like having a sweetheart waiting at home, longing to see your ship sail into harbour. Have you got a true love, Captain?”

  “The sea is my true and only love,” said the Captain. “For what need have I of a maiden’s lips when there is salt spray to kiss my cheeks? What need of soft words in my ear when the waves will lull me to sleep, or of warm arms when a tropical night can heat my bones.”

  “Never mind, dearie,” said the Crew. “I’m sure you’ll find a girlfriend eventually.”

  “Never mind saying never mind,” said the Captain. “Just think about what lies ahead. You can bet your breeches that there will be another test to prove we are worthy of finding Grungeybeard’s loot.”

  “How exciting,” said the Crew. “I can’t wait.”

  “You’re going to have to wait,” said Eddy. “It looks like it’s a long journey to the Island of Words. We won’t reach it before tomorrow morning.”

  “I can keep you all entertained with some jokes from my new act,” said the Penguin. “What do you give to a fish with no ears? A herring aid!”

  With a breeze in her sails, The Codcake followed a course to the Island of Words. The strange thing was that she did it without anyone steering.

  “I think it’s the map,” said Eddy. “It must be telling The Codcake which way to go.”

  “Well I think,” said the Captain, “that this old ship knows exactly where she’s headed, and the map is just showing us.”

  “And I think,” said the Penguin, “that if I end the act with a funny dance, the audience will love me. Hey – why don’t prawns share things? Because they’re a little shellfish!”

  Waves slapped against The Codcake’s bow. The rigging clacked and the timbers creaked. And, loudest of all, the Captain’s guts rumbled.

  “My stomach wants a word,” he said. “And the word it wants is not a polite one. What has happened to dinner?”

  “I couldn’t find any food in the hold,” said Eddy. “But there was a big crate of leather boots. I’ve read that sailors sometimes boil those up when they are starving.”

  “That’s no good to us,” said the Captain. “In the first place, we’re nowhere near starving. In the second place, boiled boots taste disgusting. In the third place, they take about a day to cook, being as how they are tough as old boots.”

  “What about the ship’s carrot?” asked Eddy.

  “That carrot is a member of the crew,” answered the Captain. “Eating other crew members is very bad manners.”

  “So is there no dinner?” asked Eddy. His tummy had started to feel very empty indeed.

  “The life of adventure is not a life of comfort, lad,” said the Captain. “But worry not, for we will have a Pirate Picnic. There may be no food on the table, but there is everything you can eat in your imagination. Think yourself full of dinner, and your hunger will vanish.”

  “Sounds unlikely,” said the Penguin.

  “Well, I’m willing to give it a go,” said the Crew. “It’s all part of the thrill of being at sea. And I’m sure my brain is more intelligent than my stomach.”

  Eddy concentrated. He thought burgers and baked beans and chips and ketchup. And then he thought cheese-and-peanut-butter sandwiches and jammy Swiss roll and double-choc mint-chip ice cream. With sprinkles.

  “This isn’t working,” Eddy said. “It’s making me feel more hungry.”

  “You can’t just think of delicious stuff,” said the Captain. “That only makes your stomach want another helping. The secret is to think of food you don’t care for. Then your stomach decides it wants less. What about vegetables? I bet there’s something you always leave on your plate.”

  “Only sprouts,” said Eddy. “And cabbage, of course. Oh, and broccoli. And beetroot. And cauliflower and leeks and marrow and swede. And parsnips. And I’m not keen on spinach. Or radishes. Or broad beans or turnips or green beans or lettuce. And onions. Have I said sweetcorn? And runner beans and courgettes. And I just don’t see the point of cucumber. But I eat all the others. It’s like I tell my mum, I’m not a fussy eater, it’s just that there are a few things I don’t like. Oh, and celery. I really, really, really can’t stand celery.”

  �
�Right then,” said the Captain, “celery it is. Here goes.” And he began to recite:

  “We all had a pirate picnic

  To feed our pirate crew

  And on that pirate picnic

  The food we had to chew

  Was — CELERY!”

  “You next! Close your eyes and picture it. A big bowl of celery. Can you see it – all green and sticky?”

  “Yes,” said Eddy.

  “Now sniff it – can you smell how it smells all celery-y?”

  “Yes,” said Eddy, screwing his face up.

  “Imagine taking a big bite…”

  “Ugh!” said Eddy.

  “Now, remember all that and do the rhyme.”

  “Okay,” said Eddy.

  “We all had a pirate picnic

  To feed our pirate crew

  And on that pirate picnic

  The food we had to chew

  Was — CELERY! Yeuch!”

  “Excellent,” said the Captain. “Crew!”

  “I’ve decided to make my imaginary celery into an imaginary soup,” the Crew said cheerfully. “I’ve imaginarily fried it with bit of unreal onion, then pretended to blend it with made-up milk, tomato puree and a twist of black pepper – serve piping hot with make-believe warm bread and lashings of non-existent butter. Delicious.”

  “You’ve not really got the hang of this, have you?” said the Captain. “But you’re a better imaginary cook than me. I even burn imaginary toast.”

  “That’s enough imaginary celery for me,” said Eddy. “I don’t feel so hungry any more. I’m off to my hammock. Good night.”

  But Eddy couldn’t sleep. His head was buzzing with the excitement of everything that had happened that day, and brimming with thoughts about what tomorrow might bring. He tossed and turned under his blanket for an hour, then decided to take a turn round the deck, to see if the sea air would help him to settle.

  The western horizon glowed orange where the sun had almost dropped out of the sky to end the long summer evening. Lit by the last of its rays, the Captain stood gazing across the vast open sea. Eddy wandered across the deck towards him.

  “Still awake?” said the Captain. “Perfectly natural on your first voyage. Feeling homesick?”

  “No,” said Eddy. “Here’s much better. Anyway, I wasn’t at home, was I? My mum and dad were too busy to be bothered with me. So why should I bother with them? Even when I am at home, they are hardly ever around. And when they are, it’s always ‘do this, do that’…‘Get your homework done while I cook’… ‘We’re out of milk, pop down to the shops for me’… ‘Your turn to clear up, I’ve got a pile of work to get through.’ Always telling me what to do. I don’t like people always telling me what to do.”

  “But now I tells you what to do.”

  “That’s different. You’re the Captain. It’s your job to give the orders. And you’re teaching me how to be a pirate and hunt for treasure.”

  They watched the sea together in silence. The western horizon was dark now. Thousands of stars perforated the clear night sky. The moon slashed its reflection across a calm sea.

  “There’s a lot of out there out there,” said the Captain. “It can be a lonely place.”

  “I’m not lonely,” said Eddy. “Not now.”

  “No,” said the Captain, putting a hand on Eddy’s shoulder, “neither am I. You did well today, Cabin Boy.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” said Eddy. And yawned. “I think I’m ready for sleep now. Good night.”

  He padded back to his hammock.

  The eastern horizon was soon alight with a golden glow. But it wasn’t because the sun had decided to make an early start on tomorrow. It was because Barracuda Bill had got bored, and wanted to have some fun. And the most fun he could think of was to set fire to a small island. A pretty island that had never done anybody any harm. A faint BOOM BOOM rolled across the sea as a thousand palm trees burned.

  Eddy slept with the scent of imaginary celery in his nostrils.

  The next morning, he woke to the smell of fish.

  Was this breakfast? He was starving. He jumped out of his hammock and looked around for signs of the catch. But there were none. Not so much as a sprat.

  The Crew was asleep under a blanket on the deck. The Penguin was flat on his back, snoring gently. There was a loud BUMP as the Captain fell out of his hammock. His cabin door opened and he stepped out onto the deck, nostrils twitching.

  “Fish?” he said.

  The Crew opened her eyes.

  “Fish? I’ll find my frying pan.”

  “I can smell fish,” said Eddy, “but I can’t see any.”

  The Captain rubbed a finger across the deck. It came up shining in the morning sun.

  “Fish scales,” he said. “Fish have been here, where now fish are not. And as they do not usually jump out of the sea for a midnight stroll, someone must have brought them here. And if that someone wasn’t one of you two…PINWING!!!!”

  The Penguin sat up sharply.

  “What do you know about this fishy fish business?” said the Captain.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” said the Penguin.

  “Someone has been smuggling fish on board,” said the Captain, “and I want to know who, how, what, why, when and where.”

  “Tut tut,” said the Penguin. “Dear dear.” And he burped.

  The fishy smell wafted even more strongly across the deck.

  “Aha!” said the Captain. “Let me smell your breath.”

  “I don’t recommend it,” spluttered the Penguin. “Brushing and flossing isn’t my strong point – not with these flippers. You’re not going to find a hint of mint.”

  The Captain bent over the Penguin and breathed deeply.

  “Stinky fish!” he shouted, staggering backwards. “You stink of fish. You’re as fishy as an octopus’s armpit. What have you been eating?”

  “A Pirate Picnic, same as you. Imaginary ocean snacks.”

  “We can all smell them.”

  “Well, I’ve got a very vivid imagination.”

  “The only thing round here that’s fishier than your breath is your explanation.”

  “Oh, all right,” said the Penguin. “What do you expect? I’m a penguin. When I’m hungry, I catch fish. Then I eat fish. Last night I was hungry. It’s in my nature – you know what they say, fish gotta swim, birds gotta fly. Except that in my case, they were completely wrong about the flying part. I’ve gotta go fishing. It’s just what I do. And anyway, what’s the big problem?”

  “You didn’t share with the rest of us,” said the Captain.

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  “Well,” said the Penguin. “You didn’t give me any of your celery.”

  “Hrrump!” hrrumped the Captain.

  “Grrump!” grrumped the Penguin.

  “Pardon me if I’m speaking out of turn, Captain dearie,” said the Crew, “but as Not Very Able Seaman Penguin has turned out to be Extremely Able Fisherman Penguin, and as we all want breakfast, why don’t you make him our official supplier of fish?”

  “Now that is an excellent idea,” said the Captain. “Well, Pinwing, do you reckon you’re up to the job?”

  “Piece of cake,” said the Penguin, slipping over the side of the ship. “Fishcake, that is,” he added, as he plunged into the water.

  “I’ll just fetch that frying pan,” said the Crew. “It’s in my rucksack somewhere.”

  Before long, the Codcakers were sitting down to a delicious breakfast. Eddy soon felt full. And he didn’t have to think of celery even once.

  As soon as he had finished, Eddy checked the map. The drawing of The Codcake was getting very close to the Island of Words – a comma of land with a fat round body curling into a trim tail. He looked out to sea and…

  “Hey, everybody! I can see the island!” Eddy shouted.

  “No, no, no,” said the Captain. “The words are ‘Land ahoy!’ Say it properly.”

  “S
orry,” said Eddy. “Land ahoy!”

  The Captain raised his telescope to his eye.

  “That must be the Poet Tree,” he said, “because it’s the only tree on the island. It’s right on the end point of the pointy end, and the pointy end is surrounded by even pointier rocks sticking out of the sea. There’s no way to get the boat ashore there, but there’s a lovely beach on the fat side, with some clumps of tall grass. So we’ll land there and walk to the tree. Should be easy.”

  They would soon find out how wrong he was.

  “Ow!” Eddy winced as a bamboo cane snapped back over the Crew’s shoulder and landed a stinging blow on his cheek.

  The clumps of tall grass that the Captain had seen through his telescope had turned out to be a lot clumpier than expected. The Codcakers were struggling painfully through a great wall of stems and stalks.

  “It’s quiet, isn’t it?” said Eddy.

  And it was. Strangely quiet. No birds twittered above their heads. No insects buzzed through the leaves.

  “I hope you’re not going to say ‘too quiet’,” said the Penguin. “Because you can bet that the minute you do some huge hairy beast will come roaring out of the bushes.”

  “It’s called the Island of Words,” said the Crew. “That doesn’t sound like a place where huge hairy beasts lurk. You know the saying – sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”

  “Huh!” said the Penguin. “That’s rubbish for a start. Take my cousin. Words nearly killed him.”

  “I reckons I’m going to regret asking this, Pinwing,” said the Captain. “But how on earth did words nearly kill your cousin?”

  “Someone dropped a dictionary on his head. Knocked him out cold.”

  “I was right,” sighed the Captain. “Everybody halt. I needs a rest to get my breath.”

  They stopped. The noise of four mouths gulping down the hot air filled Eddy’s ears.

  But wait. Could he hear another sound, too? He struggled to make it out.

  “Hush,” he said. “Everybody stop breathing.”

  “Slight problem,” said the Penguin. “I get a medical condition if I stop breathing. It’s called being dead.”