The sloth laid a sad little paw on Fox’s knee. Fox flinched at his touch. It felt unnatural to have her brother, even if he was a sloth, reaching out a comforting hand. And yet there was something kind and hopeful in the way his paw rested on her knee.
Heckle leant close to Fox’s ear. ‘Fibber is trying to tell you that, despite everything, he’s not going to leave you. He still believes you’re in this together and you need to work with each other to find the Forever Fern.’ The parrot drew herself up and said, in a louder voice: ‘Much as Heckle is rather fond of outbursts of remorse and grand scenes of reconciliation, she really thinks we should be making a move to find the fern, and Iggy, now.’
Fox thought about the task ahead. They had no map – and Spark and Deepglint weren’t going to come to their aid – but there was still the phoenix tear, a glimmer of hope in the face of the impossible. Fox drew it out of her satchel and the sloth squinted at it in surprise.
‘We can use this to find the Forever Fern, Fibber,’ Fox said eagerly. ‘I lied back on the Hustleway. I didn’t lose the phoenix tear. I’ve had it in my satchel all along! And, if the fern is as powerful as everybody says, maybe we can use it to change you back into a boy as well as to save the world and set everything right.’
Fox held the phoenix tear up. But it didn’t tingle or flicker like it had done back in the Faraway. And it didn’t tug her in a certain direction as the map had done. She waited for a few more moments, just in case, but nothing happened. In fact, the marble simply sat there in her hand, looking distinctly unmagical.
Fox’s shoulders slumped. How could they save the world when she didn’t have an ounce of talent inside her and they didn’t, it appeared, even have a grain of magic left on their side? She thought of the news coverage she’d seen back home: of stick-thin children in Third World countries gathered round empty wells; of parched savannahs empty of animals; of villages torn apart by war. She’d blanked all that out before. She’d hardened her heart because she’d been stupid enough to assume that she was above it, that being a Petty-Squabble meant you didn’t have to care about those less fortunate than yourself.
And yet everything and everyone was connected, really. Doogie Herbalsneeze had known it about plants when he told the twins they kept kingdoms and worlds alive. Goldpaw had known it about Jungledrop’s magical creatures when she insisted the twins treat them with respect. Fibber had discovered it on their quest when he had urged Fox to work with him for the sake of everyone suffering at the hands of Morg.
And now, as Fox realised it, too, fresh tears trickled down her cheeks and splashed onto her satchel. She turned to her companions. The sloth was looking very forlorn indeed and even Heckle seemed nervous about stepping outside the tunnel, despite her words about pressing on. Fox did her best to wipe away her tears. She had always been taught that success came to pushy individuals, not motley crews made up of parrots and sloths, but now, like most other things she’d been told by her parents, she needed to prove that theory wrong.
Fox took a deep breath. ‘So somehow we’ve got to save the world. And all we own is a doubleskin mirror and a fablespoon.’
The sloth nodded. Heckle did the same.
‘I feel like I should have a sword or something,’ Fox said. ‘Or at the very least some kneepads or a gumshield.’ She looked at the sloth. ‘How are we going to do this, Fibber? We need to find Shadowfall, but we don’t have a clue where to start…’
The sloth stared at Fox with shining eyes and she couldn’t help feeling that he was trying to tell her something. Thankfully, Heckle stepped in at exactly the right moment.
‘Fibber is thinking that you should press on north, further into the Bonelands, because the flickertug map seemed to suggest the Forever Fern was in that direction. And that you should stay alert for Morg’s Midnights, but offer kindness, rather than stamping, to any creatures you might meet who are on Jungledrop’s side.’ There was a pause. ‘Fibber also thinks you should let Heckle perch on your shoulder from time to time when she gets tired of flying.’
The sloth raised a sceptical eyebrow as if to say there might have been some elaborating on the parrot’s part.
Fox managed a weak smile. ‘You can perch on me whenever you’re tired, Heckle.’
The parrot ruffled her feathers in delight and Fox scooped Fibber’s drawings into her satchel with the phoenix tear, the mirror and the fablespoon. Then she yanked off her tie and tossed it into the tunnel – she hadn’t been altogether convinced it had really worked with the feather tunic anyway. She crawled towards the entrance of the tunnel and tried to think clearly. She was no longer a businesswoman, but she was a woman with a purpose nonetheless. So she would have to try, for the sake of the world and everyone in it, not to mess this up.
Mist hung about the trees outside, low and thick and brooding. And there was a strange hissing noise not so far away that made the hairs on Fox’s arms prickle. But when she strained her ears to listen again, the forest seemed unnaturally quiet. She turned to see that Heckle had hopped after her, but Fibber was – unsurprisingly – moving at the pace of a sloth, and a pygmy one at that. Slowly. So slowly, it was hard to tell if he was moving at all.
Fox hesitated for a moment before picking the sloth up. She’d never really held hands with or hugged her brother, or
