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 ally 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.
‘Heckle!’ the boy cried. ‘I hope you haven’t been rude to our guests.’
The parrot cocked its head innocently.
‘Sorry about Heckle,’ the boy said to the twins as he dismounted his unicycle and propped it up against the trunk of a tree.
He scampered down the branches as quickly and easily as if he had been scampering down a staircase until he landed with a thump in
