The Song of the Quarkbeast

and a Virginia creeper on the gun barrel.

‘Who’s there?’ I asked, and heard a rustling.

I pushed aside the azaleas and walked behind the armoured vehicle, where I found a pile of grass clippings and a compost heap. Nothing looked even remotely unusual, but as I was leaving I noticed that one of the tank’s heavy tracks had been chewed, and recently. I peered closer at the toothmarks on the torn section of track, then searched the soft earth near my feet. I soon found what I was looking for: several dullish metal ball bearings of varying size. I picked them up and moved farther into the scrubby woodland, but after searching for five minutes and finding nothing more, I returned to wait for Patrick and Perkins to bring the oak back, which they did without any problems at all. The oak fitted snugly in its new hole, and the earth was soon moved in.

‘Easy as winking,’ said Patrick, ‘without any surging at all. I guess you guys had a wasted journey.’

‘Never a waste, Patrick,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘Call us any time.’

‘Sorry for the delay,’ said the colonel as he returned with the tea things. ‘I made some scones. Good show with the oak. Have you time to move the silver birch twelve feet to its left?’

‘You’ll have to rebook, sir, we have quite a full—’

‘Where did you get those?’

The colonel was staring at the ball bearings I had found behind the tank. I knew what they were, but I hadn’t expected him to as well. They were cadmium-coated cupro-nickel spheres with a zinc core.

‘Quarkbeast droppings!’ exclaimed the colonel. ‘I’ve been after a Quark for years. I must fetch my dart gun.’

And he was off, running surprisingly fast for a seventy-year-old.

‘A Quarkbeast?’ said Perkins. ‘The same one that was nibbling the plinth outside the Towers?’

I shrugged and told him I had no idea, then suggested they return to Kazam and lend their minds to the depetrification of Lady Mawgon.

‘Where’s the odd-looking fella and the young one with the sticky-out ears?’ asked the colonel when he had returned with his gun.

‘The next job,’ I replied, but the colonel wasn’t listening. With his hunting instincts all a-quiver, he had already reached the tank, examined the gnaw marks, and loaded the weapon with two large tranquilliser darts.

‘Tipped with carbide steel,’ explained the colonel, ‘to penetrate their hide.’

‘While I applaud your efforts to not kill it,’ I said, ‘might I ask what you are thinking of doing with an unconscious Quarkbeast?’

‘Do you know how much people will pay to hunt for Quarks?’ he said with a grin. ‘The King’s deer park over at Moccas would be an admirable base from which to run hunting trips.’

‘They’ll be hard to catch,’ I said.

‘I’m counting on it.’ The colonel grinned. ‘I might get ten or more hunts out of it before the blighter is finally bagged. Now listen, girlie,’ he continued, ‘I need to know all about Quarkbeasts. What they like, what they dislike. Best way to sneak up on one, favourite colour, that kind of stuff.’

‘Why don’t you speak to Once Magnificent Boo?’ I replied. ‘She runs a Quarkbeast rescue centre in the west of town.’

‘I tried, but Miss Smith is somewhat . . . angry,’ admitted the colonel. ‘I thought I might get more sense out of you. And don’t pretend you know nothing about them. Your affection for the little beasts is well documented. There’s a bronze statue outside Zambini Towers, for goodness’ sake, raised by you and your wizardy chums.’

I could have told him many things. About how they like to chew on scrap metal and aren’t particularly fussy – except about lead, which gets stuck between their teeth, and cobalt, which gives them the runs. I could have told him how they change colour when they get emotional, or how they need linseed oil to keep their scales shiny, or how they like a walk twice daily. I might have told him that they were loyal, rarely ate cats and, despite appearances, were warm and faithful companions that it would be an honour to walk alongside. I could have said all that, but I didn’t. I said this:

‘They can chew their way through a double-decker bus lengthwise in under eight seconds, and know when they are being tracked. If threatened, they will launch a pre-emptive attack with a degree of savagery that would make a Berserker faint. You don’t want to be hunting Quarkbeast, Colonel.’

‘Yes, yes, whatever you say. Now be quiet. I don’t want to lose it.’

And so saying, he began to track the Quarkbeast, and I with him. If there was a chance to put him off his aim or alert the beast, I would take it. The tracking was quite easy, as beasts can rarely pass any metal without a quick bite to see whether it would make a good snack or not. In this manner we passed a sheet of nibbled corrugated iron, a bitten wire fence and an abandoned car with the chrome licked off the bumpers. The colonel dropped to one knee and peered around carefully.

‘Reminds me of the time I was hunting Frazzle in East Anglia,’ he whispered. ‘Vicious blighters. Tracked a male for almost nine hours, you know.’

‘Impressive,’ I said sarcastically, ‘given the Frazzle’s agility, great speed and ability to outwit predators.’

He looked up at me and narrowed his eyes.

‘Do you mock me, girlie?’

I certainly did. A Frazzle is a cross between an armadillo and an elephant seal. Hugely ungainly, and well armoured. If he’d been tracking it for nine hours, he must have done it riding a tricycle.

‘What’s that noise?’ said the colonel, looking up.

‘I didn’t hear anything.’

Actually, I did. I leaned across and peered in the open window of the abandoned car and found the intelligent mauve eyes of a Quarkbeast staring back at me. The leathery scales that covered its back were partially raised in defence, and acidic drops of saliva hissed where they splashed upon the corroded metal. I placed my finger to my lips and it wagged its tail twice to say that it understood. This was bad news as Quarkbeasts have weighted tails, and it thumped against the old car like a drum.

In an instant the colonel had spotted the Quarkbeast and raised the gun to his shoulder. He didn’t get to fire. Instead, there was a bright flash of green and a deep whoompa noise – and in an instant, myself and the colonel were rolling end over end in the long grass.

I sat up and looked around. The Quarkbeast had vanished, but that wasn’t all that had changed. The remains of the abandoned car – every last mangled part of it – were now perfectly transformed into caramelised sugar, and the grass within the immediate vicinity was bright blue. I looked at the colonel, who now had his string vest and boxer shorts on the outside of his uniform. I was grateful that this had not happened to me, but noted that I had not been totally spared: my clothes were now on back to front, which is uncomfortable and disconcerting all at once.

‘What was that?’ asked the colonel, who seemed unconcerned that I now knew he had pictures of dancing hippos on his underwear.

‘I have no idea at all,’ I told him as I picked myself up. ‘Nope, none. None at all. Nothing whatever. Zip.’

‘Hmm,’ said the colonel, ‘think the Quarkbeast has gone?’

‘Long gone.’

I walked with him back to the house and borrowed the downstairs loo to put my clothes back on the right way – and was mildly perturbed to find that my clothes had been untouched and I had been turned back to front. I was now right handed and the small mole on my left cheek was now on my right. I’d have to ask Moobin if there might be any long-term health issues.

I drove back to Zambini Towers deep in thought, mostly about the Quarkbeast. I had lied when I told the colonel I didn’t know what we’d just witnessed. The beast had escaped in a short burst of wizidrical energy that had caused randomised passive spelling, hence the caramelised steel, clothing manipulation and my mirroring. Quite why it might suddenly do this I had no idea.

Quarkbeasts were weird, but up until then I had no idea how weird.

The King’s address