There were two unicycles perched on the Hustleway in the uppermost branches of the tree and Heckle flew down onto the saddle of one of them as the twins climbed up to join her. ‘Fox is wondering whether climbing trees features on the agendas of most successful businesswomen,’ she clucked. ‘And Fibber is wondering whether he and Fox might become—’
‘That’s enough, Heckle,’ Fibber snapped, his cheeks reddening.
But Fox wasn’t listening to the parrot or her brother; she was much more focused on finding something to eat. A quick brandish of the fablespoon showed her that the vines growing round the branches here, laden with green, grape-like fruits, were not to be eaten:
NAME: ICKLESCRATCH VINE
CHARACTER: SLY AND STEALTHY
RISKS UPON EATING AN ICKLESCRATCH FRUIT: ITCHY EARLOBES THEN, 33 MINUTES LATER, CERTAIN DEATH
So she reached for an omnifruit instead and took a bite. Fox wasn’t sure what she was expecting – she only knew that she was incredibly hungry. But the omnifruit was more delicious than anything Frau Longsüffer, the Petty-Squabbles’ personal chef, had ever rustled up. And more unusual. The first few bites were savoury rather than sweet, almost like munching on a deliciously warm and juicy burger topped with bacon and cheese. Fox carried on eating until she was nearing the end of the fruit. Why, this was banoffee pie now, her favourite pudding! Mouthful after mouthful of crumbled biscuits, toffee, bananas and cream.
Fibber ate ravenously, too. Fox was curious as to whether his omnifruit tasted like hers or whether it was crammed full of his own favourite flavours, but she was too proud to ask. Which was a shame because, had she looked over at Fibber, she would have seen that again and again he tried to catch her eye as if, perhaps, he was on the brink of asking her the very same thing, but was too nervous to make the first move.
When the twins had finished eating, the map urged Fox closer to the unicycles. So she clambered up onto the branch where they were, shoved Heckle off the saddle of the nearest one, mounted it and then – before she could give it a command – the flickertug map was off again. So strong was the magic hidden inside it that it pulled the unicycle full steam ahead along the Hustleway.
Fibber threw himself onto the second unicycle, yelled, ‘Follow that girl!’ to it and hastened after his sister.
The Hustleway wound on through the trees as the jungle grew denser, darker and wilder still. Fox’s eyes darted this way and that. Were the Midnights close? Could they sense that she and Fibber were racing through the Elderwood? There were still no Unmappers in sight – they were all safely back at Timbernook at this time of night – but, even though many of the trees around the Hustleway had collapsed and numerous plants had been destroyed by the Midnights, there were glimpses of life still. Fox saw a snake with mirrored skin curled round a tree, a gecko with a jewel-studded tail scamper along a branch and, down on the rainforest floor, several junglespooks clad in loincloths having an animated discussion about sensible bedtimes.
The trees around them thinned even more until large gaps appeared in the canopy. Fox gasped as she gazed at the clouds in the midnight-blue sky: nestled into them were the swiftwings. Their horse-like bodies gleamed in the moonlight, and their tails hung down over the edge of the clouds.
On seeing the sleeping creatures, Fox realised just how tired she was. So, when the map slowed its tugging and a small tree house came into view, wedged between the boughs of the tree ahead, she felt relieved that the map seemed to be guiding them to another stop. At first she hoped this might be the Constant Whinge, but when they reached the tree house and she stepped inside Fox realised this wasn’t the case.
There were no Unmappers or magical creatures here. Just a bunk bed carved out of the tree itself, a trunk laden with blankets and a table with two chairs. Perhaps this was where Dashers used to sleep over when they were out collecting thunderberries? Whatever it had been used for, it was clear they should take advantage of the shelter because they weren’t going to find the Forever Fern that night.
Fibber grabbed a blanket from the trunk, then, parking his briefcase under the bed, he threw himself down on the bottom bunk. Heckle fluttered round the tree house a few times, muttering about missing Iggy, then made herself comfortable on the windowsill.
Fox took another blanket from the trunk and dragged her weary legs up to the top bunk. Then she snuggled down, the satchel tucked beneath her pillow for safekeeping from her brother. The quiet of the night was broken only by the clanking of the tree frogs and Fox found her mind wandering to Morg and her Midnights. Was it safe to go to sleep? Or would she wake surrounded by monkeys conjured from dark magic or face to face with the harpy herself? Fox shivered at the thought and then told herself she was being stupid. How dangerous could these monkeys really be and surely Morg would leave the Midnights to deal with the twins while she sought out the Forever Fern?
Heckle tucked her beak under her wing, although she couldn’t resist one last
