Fox glanced out of the window. ‘Do you think we’re meant to be going quite this fast?’
The train was moving at such a blistering speed that the countryside around them was merely a blur and Fibber gripped his briefcase even tighter. ‘Go and find a ticket inspector or some sort of sensible grown-up.’
‘Fine,’ Fox muttered. ‘But while I’m gone make yourself useful by searching this carriage for a timetable to work out where we’re heading.’ She pointed to the chest. ‘Start with that.’
Fibber turned to the chest, which was covered in purple moss, and recoiled.
‘If I didn’t know you better,’ Fox jeered, ‘I’d say you were scared of a load of plants. So I suppose I’ll have to be the one to get us out of this mess.’ And, with that, she stormed off towards the front of the train.
The bravery was just an act though. Deep down, Fox was frightened. She passed through carriage after carriage. Each contained plenty of plants and armchairs, but there wasn’t a single person in sight. She thought of her parents suddenly. When would they notice that she and Fibber had gone? And would they even care enough to come after the twins? Perhaps they’d simply be relieved that they didn’t have to worry any more about children who never made them any money. Fox decided not to dwell on that thought because it was dredging up a familiar sadness in her. Instead, she pressed on through the carriages.
She realised that she had come to the end of the train when in front of her, rather than another carriage, there was a door with the following words carved into it:
TICKET INSPECTRE CURRENTLY NAPPING
Fox wasn’t sure whether this was a comforting thought or not. She also wasn’t sure if ‘inspectre’ was really spelt like that. But, as she took a step closer and got ready to knock on the door, the carved letters jiggled, spread out a little and another word materialised in the wood. Fox gasped.
TICKET INSPECTRE CURRENTLY NOT NAPPING
The door opened the very slightest of fractions and Fox found herself hoping hard that a sensible grown-up might appear. But that hope was dashed when she saw the being that slipped out. As it drew itself up in front of her, it seemed to be in the shape of a grown-up, but where flesh and bones should have been things were decidedly wispy and white.
Fox screamed. The letters on the door had been right; this really was a ticket inspectre! ‘You’re a – a – ghost!’ she blurted.
The ghost was tall and male and wearing nothing but a loincloth. ‘I’m a junglespook, actually,’ he said curtly. ‘My name is Tedious Niggle and, as the ghost of a nagging grown-up, I should just like to check that you brushed your teeth this morning, packed insect repellent for the trip and have a sensible bedtime planned – despite the late running of this service.’
Fox screamed again, then raced back through the carriages towards Fibber who was swiping at a diamond-winged butterfly with his briefcase.
‘It bit me on my finger when I flicked it off the chest!’ he wailed.
Fox glanced at her brother’s hands. All ten digits were intact and there wasn’t any blood. ‘You’ll live,’ she panted. ‘My news is that the train is haunted.’
‘WHAT?!’ Fibber’s face paled and he shuffled nearer to his sister before realising that this was the closest he had ever been to a family member. He took a few steps backwards. ‘This is why Petty-Squabbles don’t travel on public transport,’ he hissed. ‘What sort of ghost was it? One in a suit of armour? Was it wielding a sword?’
‘No.’ Fox tried to breathe normally. ‘It was wearing a loincloth.’
As if on cue, Tedious Niggle swanned into the carriage and made himself comfortable on the chaise longue. Fibber looked dangerously close to fainting.
‘Welcome, both of you, aboard the Here and There Express.’ The junglespook crossed his legs (which he really shouldn’t have done, given that he was wearing a loincloth), helped himself to a cup of tea from the teapot on the coffee table next to him (which was pointless because he was a ghost and the liquid simply slid right through him) and smiled. ‘This is a non-stop service for Jungledrop, the Unmapped Kingdom responsible for the distribution of rain to the Faraway.’
Fox and Fibber exchanged panicked looks. The secret lands that Casper Tock had talked about had been called the Unmapped Kingdoms… Had the old man been telling the truth? But that would be impossible… wouldn’t it?
‘My profuse apologies for the fact that the buffet car is out of order, the train sometimes splits without warning and the driver has gone on strike.’ Tedious Niggle set his teacup down on a saucer. ‘Any questions before I deliver the rest of the on-board notices?’
Fibber was doing his best to come to terms with being talked to by a ghost, but the news that there was no driver was causing a great deal of sweating beneath his business suit. ‘Without a driver, when – when will the train stop?’
The junglespook took another pointless sip of tea. ‘Alas, the drivers on the Here and There Express are notoriously fond of striking. Come to think of it, I don’t recall seeing a driver at all this decade…’
He plucked a fruit that looked like a banana, but was blue, from a plant next to him, which had about as much impact on his digestive system as the tea.
‘But the train is powered by junglespit – you might have seen the green smoke puffing out of the chimney back at the station? Junglespit enables the train to come and go as it pleases and even cross from Jungledrop
