“That’s very kind of you,” said Penelope. “I would have appreciated it very much.”
“If I’d brought me conjuror’s outfit, I could have shown you some tricks,” he went on, “ ’cause I was a conjuror before I became a spy, see. I can produce a newt out o’ me top ’at in a way that would baffle anyone.”
“I’m sure you can,” said Penelope.
They sat in silence again while Penelope imagined all the awful things that might be happening to Peter, Simon, and Parrot.
“Tell you wot, miss,” said Ethelred at last. “You see that there little ’ill at the end of the bay? Well, if I was to climb that I could see a good bit of the Island, and I daresay, more than likely, that I’d see them coming back, laden down with the rue. Shall I take an ’op up there, miss?”
“All right,” said Penelope. “I can see no harm in it, but I’d better stay and guard the boat.”
“Right you are, miss, back in a jiffy,” whispered Ethelred and hopped off.
Without Ethelred, the night seemed twice as dark and lonely. Penelope was just beginning to wish she had not allowed him to go when two things happened that made her wish even more that Ethelred was with her. First, over the very rim of the Singing Sea the tiny edge of the moon appeared, like a curved shred of silver. Swiftly it rose and in a moment or two it was clear of the sea and flooding everything with a silvery light. The moment the moon had risen, Penelope heard echoing and reechoing a series of long-drawn-out blood-curdling howls. Gradually, they died away and silence fell again—a silence that seemed even more horrid, because she knew now that the Werewolves had woken up and were on the prowl.
She was just wondering whether to go in search of Ethelred when she heard another noise. At first, it seemed like a very faint sigh, soft and far away; then, as it grew closer, she could distinguish words.
“Help me,” said the voice faintly, as soft as thistledown. “Please help me, please.”
Penelope got to her feet and went quickly up the beach to where the bushes began, for it was here that the voice seemed to come from. At first, she could see nothing in the gloom, and then suddenly she saw a light, a strange rainbow-colored light that seemed to be rolling or dragging itself through the bushes toward the beach.
“Help me, please, help me,” came the tiny, pathetic voice. And it seemed to Penelope that it came from the strange light that came toward her along the ground. Without a thought of danger, Penelope ran straight through the bushes toward the light.
When she got close to it, she saw that it was about the size of a tennis ball and appeared to be composed entirely of multicolored candle flames. When she looked closely, she saw that it was a small, round, fat bird with a bill like a duck’s whose plumage, instead of being feathers, appeared to be highly colored flames. The flames flickered to and fro so much that it was difficult to see exactly what the creature looked like, but one thing was obvious: it was very sick. Penelope ran forward and bent down to pick it up, when the creature rolled onto its back and pushed her hands away with two frail claws like a robin’s.
“Don’t touch me,” it gasped faintly. “Wait while I change.”
Penelope drew back her hands and watched. To her astonishment, the creature suddenly turned from a mixture of every color under the sun to a pale whitish yellow.
“Now I’m cold,” it said in a faint voice. “Now you may pick me up.”
Penelope bent forward and gathered up the strange creature in her hand. It was as light as thistledown and it throbbed gently in her hand like a bird. She turned and made her way back to the beach with it. When she reached the dinghy she sat down on the sand and put the strange creature into her lap. It settled back with a sigh of relief.
“You must be Penelope,” it said, “hic.”
“Yes,” said Penelope, “that’s right. But how did you know? And who are you?”
“I’m a Firedrake,” panted the little creature. “At least, hic, I’m not quite, really. I’m a Fire Duckling. I was only hatched a week ago—hic. My name’s Fenella.”
“But what happened to you?” asked Penelope.
“I must tell you quickly,” gasped Fenella. “There’s no time— hic—to lose. I was out this evening practicing my flying—hic— just as the sun went down and I happened to land in a bush. I’m not very good yet, you see—hic—and all my lights went out because I was stunned. When I came to—hic—there was a group of Will-o’-the-Wisps near the bush I was in—hic—and they were plotting. You know what—hic—plotters the Will-o’- the-Wisps are. But this was really a nasty plot. They said that two humans and Mr. Parrot—hic—were making their way across the Island and they’d left a Toad and a Penelope (I suppose that’s you) in charge of the boat. They said—hic—they were going to tell the Werewolves where Mr. Parrot and the others were—hic—and then when they were all together they were going to wake the Mandrakes—hie.”
“Did they indeed,” said Penelope, thoroughly enraged. “Nasty, spiteful, plotting things. Then what happened?”
“Well, then I got hiccups,” said Fenella apologetically, “and they all rushed at me—hic—and started banging me about, and I fell out of the bush and broke my wing—hic. Then they got frightened and ran away. But I thought I ought to come—hic— here to warn you. I hope I did right?”
“Absolutely right,” said Penelope, so angry at what the Will- o’-the-Wisps had done to Fenella that her voice shook. “Now, I’ll tell you what I'm going to do. I’m going to put you safely in the boat and you’re to wait for a Toad to come—his name is Ethelred. When he comes, tell him what you’ve told me and tell him I’ve gone to warn Mr. Parrot. Can you remember that?”
“Oh, yes,” said Fenella. “I’ve a very good—hic—memory. It’s just my flying that’s bad—hic.”
“And when I come back, I’ll mend your wing,” said Penelope.
“Do take care,” said Fenella. “Those Will-o’-the-Wisps— hic—aren’t to be trusted, truly.”
“I’ll take care,” said Penelope, putting Fenella carefully into the boat. “Now, are you comfortable?”
“Yes, thank you—hic—very much,” said Fenella.
“Well, just stay there and wait for Ethelred,” said Penelope. And taking the flashlight, she made her way rapidly up the beach and into the bushes.
There was a rough track that was obviously the way Parrot and the boys had gone. She pushed on through the bushes and presently they gave way to a rather dry, scratchy sort of grassland, and ahead of her loomed a wood. This must be the Mandrake Forest, she thought, and moved very quietly so as not to wake them.
When she had tiptoed to the edge of the forest, she stopped and turned on her flashlight for a moment, for she wanted to see what the Mandrakes were like. What she saw made her want to giggle. They were shaped like great, green Easter eggs with large eyes that were tightly shut, large ears, snub noses, and pouting sulky mouths on their trunks. From the sides of each trunk stuck two short, stubby branches ending in bunches of twigs and leaves, presumably the Mandrake’s equivalent to arms and hands. On their heads, like tangled wigs, were more short branches and a lot of leaves. As they slept they all snored gently, so that the whole forest vibrated.
Penelope switched off the flashlight and tiptoed through the Mandrakes and into the wood. She had to move with great caution, using only the pale light of the moon to see by, for she did not want to walk into a Mandrake by mistake or tread on a twig that would wake them up. So step by step she made her way slowly and carefully through the snoring Mandrakes.
Presently, she came to a clearing in the forest that was flooded with moonlight, and from it six paths led in different directions. Then she noticed in the gloom, among the Mandrakes around the clearing, several greeny blue lights that pulsed but remained quite stationary, as if they were watching her. It was the Will-o’-the-Wisps, and soon she could hear their sniggering, soft voices talking to one another.