She gathered her ladies about her and they all bobbed about in the water, throwing kisses and waving, as the dinghy gathered speed and drew away across the sea.
“Most vexatious delay,” said Parrot, worriedly consulting his watch. “Most vexatious. And it doesn’t seem that we shall go any faster. This means that we won’t get to Werewolf Island before dark.”
“But H.H. said not to go ashore after dark,” protested Peter.
“I don’t think we have any choice,” said Parrot grimly. “If we don’t go ashore and get the rue tonight, we’ll miss the wind H.H. is putting up for us, and it’ll take days to get back.”
“Well, then it’s up to Peter, you, and me,” said Simon. “Penny can stay with the dinghy, and Ethelred will stay with her to guard her.”
“Now, look” Penelope began.
“Please, Penelope,” said Parrot. “Simon is quite right. If it was daytime it would be different, but at night it’s far too dangerous. You must stay with the dinghy, like a good girl, and you and Ethelred can push off into deep water if anything happens.”
“Oh, all right,” said Penelope. “But I don’t want to.”
The dinghy sped on over the waves, and Parrot became more and more worried, looking at his watch every five minutes and scanning the horizon through his telescope. He was just doing this for the fiftieth time when a strange thing happened. Just ahead of them the sea suddenly boiled and frothed, as if a sandbank or a reef had suddenly appeared. The waves got rougher and rougher in that one spot. And then the children, who were somewhat alarmed, could see something rising to the surface of the sea.
The next moment the huge head of a Sea Serpent broke surface and rose some thirty feet in the air on a long slender neck. It was an enormous head, with nostrils like a hippo’s, huge saucerlike eyes, and tattered-looking ears so large that, at first, the children thought they were wings. Around its chin and lips were a lot of bristly tentacles that made it look as though it had a beard and moustache. Its body was covered with the most beautiful kingfisher blue scales, its eyes were sea green, and its beard and moustache were bright ginger. On the top of its head, between its ears, it had two strange, black horns that looked rather like a snail’s horns, and, behind them, it wore a chef’s hat. It peered about it, smiling to itself, the sea running off it in waterfalls.
Far from being alarmed at this apparition, Parrot seemed positively delighted. “Oh good” he said. “It’s Oswald. What a bit of luck.”
“Is he friendly?” asked Penelope.
Of all the animals they’d seen in Mythologia, Oswald was undoubtedly the biggest.
“Oswald?” said Parrot. “Oswald? Har! har! har! Tamest creature in Mythologia.”
“It was just that he seems to have an awful lot of teeth,” explained Penelope.
“No, Oswald’s all right,” said Parrot. “Tame as three sheep, is Oswald.”
“Will he help us?” asked Simon.
“That’s what I’m going to ask him,” said Parrot. “The thing is to attract his attention—he’s a bit hard of hearing.”
Parrot went up into the bows of the dinghy, cupped his wings round his beak, and shouted, “Oswald. It’s me, Parrot. I’m here, you ninny, in the boat.”
Oswald looked vaguely about. Then suddenly he saw the dinghy. Immediately, his eyes widened in astonishment. “A crumpet!” he screamed with delight. “After all these years—a crumpet, a green crumpet!”
He surged forward, bent down, and before anyone could make a move he had engulfed in his mouth the dinghy, the three children, Parrot, Ethelred, the hamper full of food, the sickles, and the bags for the rue and lavender.
“Oh, dear,” thought Penelope, as the huge jaws, with their white teeth, closed round them. “This definitely is the end of our adventure.”
Werewolves and Firedrakes
“Oh, the ninny,” shouted Parrot in the gloom of Oswald’s mouth. “Oh, the stupid nincompoop. Really, these creatures are enough to make one molt.”
“What are we going to do?” asked Peter.
“Do?” shouted Parrot. “Do? Get out of here before that idiot Sea Serpent swallows us. Here, you take the sickles and give me my telescope, and we’ll bang on his teeth.”
“Yum yum,” they heard Oswald say to himself, his voice sounding all hollow and echoing. “Yum yum. After all these years, what a delicious flavor! So delicately made! Yum yum. A real crumpet at last.”
“I’ll give the silly fool crumpet,” said Parrot. “Now, all together.”
Just as Oswald was saying “Yum yum” for the fourth time, the children, Ethelred, and Parrot all hit his teeth. So what he actually said was, “Yum yum, ooer, ouch, ahh,” and, without more ado, spat out the dinghy and its contents. Then he put his head down and stared at it.
“Why,” he said in astonishment, “it’s a crumpet with people on. Well, I never.”
“It’s me, you idiot. Parrot," shouted Parrot, waving his telescope.
“Now, a white crumpet with people on would be extraordinary enough,” said Oswald, fascinated by this problem, “but a green crumpet with people on it is, I am sure, something no one has seen before.”
“I’ll half strangle this reptile before I’ve finished,” muttered Parrot. Then he shouted, “Oswald, it’s me, Parrot. Parrot.”
Oswald peered closely into the dinghy. “Why,” he said in pleased surprise, “it’s Parrot, I do believe. How nice to see you. But what are you doing sailing about in a green crumpet? Very dangerous, you know, my dear fellow. You might get eaten by someone. Then where would you be? If you must sail about, do it properly in a galleon or something of the sort.”
“This is not a crumpet, it’s a boat,” roared Parrot.
“Goat?” said Oswald. “No, no, my dear Parrot. I hate to contradict you, but I saw a goat once and it looked nothing like that. Besides, goats don’t float and they’re not green. No, no, mark my words—it’s a crumpet. One of them marzipan ones they make in Bulgaria.”
“I can’t talk to you without your ear trumpet,” shouted Parrot. “I’m getting hoarse.”
“No,” said Oswald, “it’s not a horse either. I mean, I may be mistaken. It could, I suppose, be a green muffin, but I doubt it; I very much doubt it. I don’t think a muffin would float so well.”
“What’s the use of having the largest ears in Mythologia, if you can’t hear,” said Parrot in exasperation. He flew up and perched on Oswald’s ear.
“Where’s your trumpet?” he yelled.
“Ahh,” said Oswald, pleased. “I thought it was. I’m glad you agree, dear Parrot. A goat is something quite different—with horns and a tail and things.”
“Your ear trumpet,” yelled Parrot. “Trumpet, trumpet, trumpet. ”
“No need to shout and yell like that,” said Oswald, hurt. “I can hear perfectly well without your screeching and roaring.”
“Your ear trumpet," shouted the children in unison.
“Oh, you’d like to see it?” said Oswald, pleased. “Just a moment, I’ve got it here—the very latest thing. Of course, I don’t really need it. I can hear perfectly well, but it’s a comfort to have it around, and I find that if you pour icing sugar through it, it makes the most delicious patterns on cakes.”
He fumbled under the waves and then one of his scaly paws appeared, holding a huge amber ear trumpet, decorated in silver. He pressed it into his ear and beamed at them.