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 staring 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
