Malamander, p.7
Malamander, page 7
And then he looks down.
Down at the wet sand where two sets of footprints are clearly visible. Footprints that lead straight to the door of the shed we are hiding in.
Boathook Man looks up, and we dart back again.
“Oh, bladderwracks!” I say. “He saw us. He’s coming up!”
And sure enough, the ladder that is bolted to the inside of the shed – which rises up the entire four storeys – starts shaking violently.
“Which means we can’t go down,” says Violet. “So…”
She runs to the hatchway and grabs a rope that is attached to a small pulley outside. For a moment, I think Violet is going to abseil down, which would be nuts as the rope is nowhere near long enough. But I’m wrong. Instead, while I’m standing there like a lemon, clutching my cap, Violet swings out into mid-air!
The ancient building creaks and cracks under the strain.
Violet lets go of the rope at just the right moment and grabs the hanging net – the one spread between two of the sheds. The net sags under her weight and the building complains again, but Violet gains her balance and is now safely outside. The rope swings back towards me.
“Quick, Herbie. Jump!”
Now, you’ve probably worked out by now that I’m not a Quick, Herbie. Jump! kind of guy. I mean, it’s not as if there’s much need for jumping and exclamation marks in the daily life of a lost-property attendant. But Violet has changed all that. Also changing it is the dismal bearded face of Boathook Man as he rises up through the floor behind me, streaming with water. He slams his hook into a beam and pulls himself up into the room in one easy motion.
So I jump out of the hatchway and grab the rope. Well, what else can I do?
I swing out …
… but I’ve got the angle all wrong.
I miss the net – and swing straight back towards the hatchway!
“Herbie!” Violet shouts, making her way across the net towards me.
Boathook Man grabs the rope with his good hand, just above my head. And now I’m dangling, four storeys up, like a fish on a line. The boathook comes up and draws level with my eyes.
At this point I can either let go of the rope and probably break both my legs, or stay dangling where I am and be filleted like a small lemon-flavoured herring in a Lost-and-Founder’s cap.
And that’s when something blue-green flashes in front of my face. Something blue-green and angular, which strikes Boathook Man in the eye.
It’s Violet’s book.
Boathook Man staggers back, his mouth open in a wordless cry of shock, his good hand clutching at his eye.
And no longer holding the rope.
“Herbie!” Violet shouts again, but I don’t need to be told this time. I kick hard and push myself away from the shed, swinging out in the right direction. I throw myself forward and just about manage to get a hand on the net. Violet grabs my coat and pulls me up beside her.
The two rickety black sheds creak ominously as the net swings under our weight.
We begin to climb down, but it’s slower than you might imagine because the net is so loose. We’re only halfway down when everything shudders, causing us to lose our grip … and fall! We grab on again and look up to see that Boathook Man has jumped too – that was the shudder we felt – and is now in the net above, hanging by his hook, staring down at us with a face like a thundercloud, seawater showering from his swinging beard.
“Let go, Herbie!” Violet cries, and does so herself. We’re still quite high, and I hear her land heavily on the sand beneath me. I let go too and land beside her, the air escaping from my lungs with an oof!
Violet starts to run but cries out and falls down again.
“My ankle. I’ve hurt it.”
“Hold on to my arm,” I say, snatching up my cap and getting ready for us to run as fast as we can between us. I risk a glance back and I’m pleased to see that it’s not easy to climb down a loose fishing net when one of your hands is a boathook; Boathook Man looks hopelessly tangled.
But we don’t get to start that run.
“Well, well, well,” says a voice as the broad frame of a man appears between the black sheds ahead of us, barring our way to freedom. “This is no way to treat a book,” the man adds, picking up Vi’s green book and brushing the wet sand off it.
It’s Sebastian Eels.
THE MALAMANDER EGG
“I THINK THE MERMONKEY meant for you to read this,” says Sebastian Eels, handing the book back to Violet. “Not use it as a Frisbee.”
“We need to go,” I say, helping Vi up and preparing to lead her away, but stopping because the man moves back in front of us. Up above we can hear Boathook Man continue in his struggle down the net.
“Or could it be,” Eels continues, “that you have read it already, and don’t like what you found?”
Eels is looking very intently at Violet, as if searching for some sign. Behind us, we hear a wet thud as Boathook Man finally reaches the sand. I turn and see him hulking towards us, his hook raised. I’m just about to yell at Vi to run, never mind her bad ankle, when Sebastian Eels holds up his hand to Boathook Man.
“Now, now, my friend. No need to get excited. I told you I just wanted to chat with these young people, not terrify them. And that hook of yours is very intimidating. They must be worried about what an angry man like you could do with such a fearsome weapon.”
Boathook Man comes to a halt just a few paces away from us.
“It is…” he says, in a rush of damp air. “It is the girl…”
But Sebastian Eels silences him with a look.
“Chat?” says Violet, dropping my arm and standing as tall as she can. “Chat about what?”
Sebastian Eels is still watching Violet closely. His eyes flick to me for a moment, and then back to Violet again. “Oh, I just think we got off to a bad start, that’s all,” he says then, with a smile that is obviously meant to be charming. “Back in the book dispensary.”
Then he turns to Boathook Man and says in a commanding tone, “Stay here. Rest awhile. Come to me again later.”
I risk a glance over my shoulder. Boathook Man hesitates and then begins to back off, receding into the gloom between the sheds until there’s nothing to be seen there but a strange patch of swirling mist.
“I’ll walk you back to the town, Miss Parma,” says Eels, putting his arm around Violet’s shoulders. “I doubt you can move very fast with that hurt leg.”
“I’ll be fine, thanks,” comes Violet’s cold reply as she ducks out from under the man’s arm.
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Eels says. “It must have been hard for you to grow up without your parents. It’s impressive that you have decided to come here looking for them. All by yourself. That is, you are here all by yourself, aren’t you? In your searches? Apart from the gallant Herbie, naturally.”
“What do you mean by that?” Violet asks him.
“Well, I’m just wondering if you are working with someone. To find your parents, I mean. The, er, police, for example? Or perhaps some form of private detective agency?”
“I have Herbie,” said Violet, setting off at a limp. I groan inside as I follow. “It’s his job to get lost things back home again. He’s the only detective I need. Unless there’s something you can tell me about my parents?”
“I?” Eels says, catching her up. “Oh, I don’t think I can help you. I only wish I could. I’m just an old daydreamer, that’s me. Like all writers, I suppose. I’m only here for the stories.”
“Like the story of the malamander?” says Violet.
“It’s true that that particular legend has long fascinated me,” Eels says, adjusting his tie. “It’s a complex tale with ancient roots.”
“In that case,” says Violet, “you must know all about the malamander egg.”
At that, I swear, Sebastian Eels twitches, ever so slightly. He recovers and gives Violet a sideways look.
“So, you’re curious about that?” he says. “A magical egg that can grant your wishes? That can make your dreams come true? Like the sound of it, do you?”
“Wouldn’t anyone?” says Violet in a neutral voice, and I realize what she’s doing. She’s fishing for information by pretending to know more than she does.
“And if you had such a thing in your possession, Violet Parma,” Eels continues, “if you could wish for your heart’s desire, I wonder what you would choose.”
Violet doesn’t say anything. And, frankly, I’m not surprised.
“Your poor lost parents, of course.” Sebastian Eels supplies an answer for her with an exaggerated sigh of sympathy.
Violet still doesn’t speak. I look at her, but it’s hard to see her face now, inside her hair.
“What a shame such magic doesn’t exist,” Eels goes on, kicking a small pebble across the beach. “That all we have are stories.”
“You don’t believe in any of it then?” says Violet. “You don’t believe the malamander is real?”
“Goodness me, no!” Eels chuckles. “We folklorists have to keep a level head. Stories like this often perform a social function. In this case, generations of worried parents have used the malamander as a bogeyman, to keep their children away from the sea. The beach at low tide can be very dangerous.”
“And the roaring, wailing sound,” I say, “that you can sometimes hear from the sea? People say that’s the malamander calling for its long-lost mate.”
“People will say anything for a bit of attention,” says Eels with a superior smile. “But it’s just the wind howling around the wreck of the old battleship. Nothing mysterious about that.”
“What did my dad think? I wonder.” Vi stares straight ahead as she asks this.
“Oh, dear Peter,” Eels replies with a shake of the head. “He had some fanciful notions. He could have been a great man if… Well, it’s too late now, isn’t it? Such a tragedy he died so young.”
“My parents aren’t dead,” says Violet, firmly. “Only missing.”
Sebastian Eels says nothing.
“What, er, notions?” I ask, because I really don’t like these awkward pauses.
“Well, I don’t mind admitting that Peter and I didn’t always see eye to eye,” says Eels. “But his conclusions about the malamander were especially … comical. He actually seemed to believe the creature was real! It’s probably just as well he didn’t finish his book – if it had been published, it would have been a great embarrassment for him.”
“Wait, my dad was writing about the malamander too?” says Vi.
Eels turns to look at her sharply. If I had to guess, I’d say Violet has just revealed how little she really knows.
“Indeed,” he says.
“And you’ve read it?” says Vi. “My dad’s book?”
Sebastian Eels pauses, as if measuring up how to respond. “I read some of the manuscript, yes. But it was never finished, and – sadly – all Peter’s papers have gone missing too. Such a shame.”
We reach the steps back up to the town.
“Well, goodbye, Violet Parma,” says Eels, lifting his hat. “I would rest that leg up for a few days if I were you.” He begins to turn away but suddenly swings back. “Oh, but if you should come across any of your dear father’s writings, I would be prepared to offer a reasonable price for them.”
“You’d buy my dad’s unpublished book?” says Violet. “I thought you said it was ‘comical’.”
“I’d still like to preserve his work.” Eels smiles. “For old times’ sake.” Then he fixes Violet with a narrow eye. “I’d pay handsomely even for a single page … should you find one.”
And with another tip of his hat, Sebastian Eels turns and strides away across the beach.
JENNY HANNIVER
“BLAST THIS STUPID LEG!” Violet groans, flopping down on a bench on the promenade. The climb has obviously been hard on her sprained ankle. I look back down to the beach, but there is no sign of Sebastian Eels now.
“Sea mist coming in again,” I say. “It’s going to get even colder, Vi. Whatever else Eels said, he’s right that you should rest that leg. Let’s get back to my Lost-and-Foundery. I can share my leftover lunch sandwich with you.”
“And then what?” says Violet, rubbing her ankle. “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”
“At least we know Boathook Man and Eel Face are working together. And the things he told you, about the malamander—”
“Herbie, I came here to find my parents, not a monster.”
“But what do you want to do then?” I say.
Vi looks up at me. “It’s time I got some straight answers.”
She gets to her feet and starts limping into town. “I want to see the only other person I’ve found who actually met my mum and dad.”
By the time we reach the Eerie Book Dispensary, the sea mist has engulfed the whole town. The streets are already emptying as everyone hurries home. It’s so cold now that everything the mist touches gains a sparkle of ice.
“Looks like she closed early,” I say, rattling the door. “Jenny Hanniver doesn’t keep regular hours anyway. We should go before we freeze to death.”
Violet bangs on the door. “Hello!” she shouts through the letter plate.
Some people walking on the other side of the square glance over, curious.
Inside the window, just visible in the cold winter light, the mermonkey grins down at us from behind its enormous black typewriter.
“Seriously, Vi,” I say, lowering my voice, “there’s no one in.”
But then Erwin the cat appears.
One moment there is nothing but fog, the next the cat is curling around Vi’s legs and purring ferociously. Violet stoops to pick him up, her hands vanishing into his thick white coat of fur.
“He must have crept up on us out of the mist,” I say. “Poor thing wants to get in. Where can Jenny be?”
“I’m here,” says a voice, and we turn, squinting into the gloom. Jenny Hanniver steps out of the mist wearing a long, scale-patterned coat and furry green scarf. When I catch sight of her face, I think for a moment that she looks tense; worried, even. But then she smiles, so perhaps not. It’s hard to tell anything straight with this mist.
“I’m not actually open, as you can see,” Jenny says as she fiddles with an enormous bunch of keys. “But since you seem to be rescuing my cat, the least I can do is let you in and warm you up.”
Inside, the embers of a fire glow in the grate. I think to myself that it’s odd of Jenny to go out and leave a fire burning unattended in a bookshop. Was she called out urgently? Or am I trying too hard to play the detective?
“You closed early?” I say as Jenny throws logs on the fire.
“Sea mist days are never busy,” she replies. “And besides, I had to visit the doctor.”
“Dr Thalassi?” says Violet, limping into one of the fireside armchairs.
“Yes,” says Jenny, removing her coat and scarf and looking at Vi. “And maybe you should see him too. How did you hurt your leg, Violet?”
“I-I just twisted it.”
Jenny pulls over a low stool and lifts Vi’s leg onto it. “Let me get you a hot drink, and then I’ll take a look. A tight bandage should help you move more easily.” She walks to the door but then turns back at Violet. “I was wondering when I’d see you again.”
“Does she seem a bit funny to you?” I whisper to Vi after Jenny has gone. “A bit … shifty?”
“She said she went to see Dr Thalassi,” Vi whispers back. “But she doesn’t seem unwell to me.”
I shrug. You can’t always tell if someone’s ill just by looking at them.
When Jenny comes back, she has a plate of biscuits and three mugs of hot chocolate. She sets the tray on a low table between us and asks Violet to take off her boot. It’s not until she’s wrapping Vi’s ankle in a soft white bandage that she speaks again.
“So, Violet Parma, did you read the book the mermonkey chose for you?”
I glance over to the mermonkey, sitting hunched and hairy in the shadows, its back turned to us. In the flickering light of the fire, with nothing but dusk and freezing mist in the window beyond, it almost seems to be moving.
Violet fishes the book out from her coat pocket and props it open near the fire. “It, er, got a bit wet today,” she says. “But I’ve started reading it, yes.”
“And?”
“And I’d like you to tell me,” says Vi, “how well you really knew my dad.”
Jenny doesn’t answer as she finishes the bandage. Then she sits back with a sigh.
“I wanted to say something yesterday. But when I saw which book you’d been given, I thought I might be interfering.”
“Interfering?” Vi blinks. “That’s a funny thing to say. Interfering with what?”
“It’s the same book your parents were dispensed, Violet,” Jenny says. “That last night before they disappeared.”
Violet picks up the book again and stares at it, open-mouthed.
“The truth is, I knew your dad well,” Jenny continues. “That old mermonkey must have dispensed dozens of books to him over the years. In fact, it’s probably down to Peter that it’s still working at all.”
“Really?” says Violet.
Jenny gives a rueful smile. “The mermonkey used to break down a lot, so I took to getting in new parts to mend the mechanism. Peter put a stop to that. He said I had to fix the original part, no matter how twisted the lever or how worn the gear. He once even stopped me from changing its tatty old hat for a new one. He said the magic wouldn’t work if I changed a single thing. So he patched that old hat up himself, and it’s still there to this day. And so is the magic.”
Jenny gets to her feet and walks over to the shop counter, behind which are hundreds of cuttings, postcards and pictures. She pulls something off the wall, and comes back to hand it to Violet.
“Your father often stayed here for weeks at a time,” says Jenny. “There are spare rooms upstairs, and I’m happy to put people up, especially if they’ve come a long way to consult the mermonkey. Peter was here a great deal at one time, because of his work.”
I lean over and see that Violet is holding a photograph. It shows a scholarly-looking black man with large glasses and a close-cropped beard. He looks serious but somehow playful at the same time, as if he was snapped just at the moment he was about to break into a smile.
