RARE BEASTS (9 page)

“Oh,
my
!”

Edgar and Ellen stood speechless, startled by his obvious enthusiasm. He hurried up to them, standing
so close that they could read the laminated badge clipped to his lab coat:

D
R.
F
ELIX
V
ON
B
ARLOW
Senior Zoologist
Nod’s Limbs Zoo

On the right side was a close-up photo of Dr. Von Barlow, his mouth open and his eyes bulging.

Ellen suppressed a laugh.

Edgar said, “Zoologist?”

“No, young man. A ‘zo-ologist.’ There’s no such thing as a ‘zoo-ologist.’ People always mispronounce my profession. And I’m a
senior
zoologist, actually, in charge of all the animals at the Nod’s Limbs Zoo. Nothing happens there without my say so,” said Dr. Von Barlow. “Tell me, have you two little ones been there? Children just adore the zoo.”

Edgar and Ellen had indeed been to the zoo on several occasions, once, in fact, to “borrow” a fifty-pound catfish from the aquarium to put in a kiddie pool. The zoo didn’t have much else that interested them. It was basically a large petting zoo with common animals like cows and pigs and goats. There was a reindeer one winter, brought in especially for the
holiday season. The only real fun the twins ever had there was when they scared a group of skunks into spraying the Gribble family. It had made quite a dent in the Gribbles’ social life.

“We don’t like your zoo,” said Ellen. “You don’t have any interesting attractions.”

Dr. Von Barlow’s happy mood vanished, and he let out a deep sigh.

“Oh, you’re right, you’re
right
,” he lamented. “Here I am, having spent my whole life studying and learning everything there is to know about every different kind of animal, and look at me! I hurry, hurry,
hurry
myself to work every day, so I can spend my time making sure the pigs’ tails stay curly and the cows don’t catch colds.

“I spent years and years at university, getting various degrees that should have made me an international star of zoology with a life full of exciting world travel and impressive speaking engagements.
I
should have my own television show on the global satellite station, Planète Animale, not that nitwit Professor Paul.

“I tell the zoo’s board of directors,‘Let’s get a seal,’ or ‘How about a lion?’ or ‘Kids love pandas.’ All they say is, ‘What’s wrong with squirrels?’ and ‘Sheep are nice.’
About the only interesting thing we have these days is our colony of fire ants! Actually, I was in the middle of some scientific examinations when the fire department called, so I had to bring some specimens with me.”

The zoologist withdrew a sealed glass jar from the folds of his lab coat and set it down on the edge of the wagon. The twins peered closely at the little red insects milling about inside.

Von Barlow paused, lost in thought. Edgar was lost in a thought of his own, entranced by the fire ants.

“Sister, owners’ conference,” whispered Edgar as he pulled Ellen aside. “I want those fire ants. Maybe we can trade him!”

Ellen twisted Edgar’s ear. “Oh, I know you, Brother. You’d have lots of ideas for what
we
could do with nasty, biting fire ants, but at the first chance you’d dump them under
my
bedcovers! Well, I’ll have none of that.”

With one last twist, Ellen let go of her brother’s ear and turned back to Von Barlow.

“Maybe we have exactly what you need, Doctor.”

His face lit up. “Oh yes, you very well may! I just can’t believe all the fabulous animals you have here! This may be the greatest day of my career!”

Edgar and Ellen smirked and kicked at each other.

“So you might be interested in some of our rare, exotic creatures?” Ellen asked.

“Interested?” the zoologist replied. “Why I’m downright
obsessed
with these fantastic creatures! Just
look
at them! I’ve seen all kinds of beasts, but I have never, I repeat,
never,
come across anything like these! All new species! Never seen before! However did you get them? Oh, never mind how you got them! They’re incredible!”

“They are?” said Edgar.

“Of course they are! These animals will make me famous! The board of directors will erect a huge new building at the zoo! The Von Barlow Hall of Rare and Exotic Species! Zoologists from all over the world will come to see them, and they’ll say ‘That Von Barlow, he’s the best there is!’ ‘Von Barlow Is Our Hero,’ I can see the headlines now! I’ll be promoted to Executive Zookeeper, awarded honorary degrees and titles….”

He could barely contain himself, giggling and dancing and skipping in front of the cart.

“Well, Dr. Von Barlow, which of our amazing species would you like?” asked Ellen, eager to finally make her first sale.

“Which?” retorted the zoologist. “
Which?
Why, I don’t want some of these creatures, I want all of them!”

“You want…
all of them
?” the twins repeated.

“Every last one!” boomed Von Barlow, picking

up a dazed Fuddleflinger and giving it a great big hug. But as he swung the Fuddleflinger about, the muzzle on its snout loosened and fell off, and everyone froze as it let out a halfhearted “Woof.”

“Oh, my!” said the zoologist, “That sounded…just like….”

Edgar and Ellen glanced at each other. All their hard work would be for naught if Dr. Von Barlow figured out that the Fuddleflinger was just a beagle puppy in disguise.

The zoologist stammered, “Just like…like a…
Troeuilompe!
That’s it! Have you ever heard of one? I always have a hard time with French pronunciation. I was fortunate enough to receive a recording of its wild call through my membership in the Animal-of-the-Month Club. I wonder if the Fuddleflinger species is related.”

He laughed and playfully woofed along with the animal.

Relieved, Edgar displayed his happiest expression, which, coincidentally, was also his creepiest. Things were going well.

Ellen sauntered down the side of the cart, adding up the value of each exotic animal.

“Well, Dr. Von Barlow,” she said, “we have a great
many rare beasts here, and you know that
rare
means
valuable
. But since you’re willing to keep the collection together—and we’ll miss them so, the adorable little things—I’m sure we can make some concessions.”

She scratched her chin, pulled on her pigtails, and said “hmm” a lot as she mulled things over.

“I’m sure you’ll agree, Doctor, that for all of these magnificent creatures, a nice round figure of twenty-five thousand dollars is a generous selling price.”

The Fuddleflinger yelped as Dr. Von Barlow dropped it to the ground.

“
Sell? Twenty-five thousand dollars?
Oh, no, my dear! No, no,
no
! I’m afraid you just don’t understand! Nod’s Limbs Zoo is a public zoo. You don’t
sell
animals to us, you
donate
them!”

“Donate?!”
howled Edgar. “You mean, give them to you for
no money
? Why would we want to do that?”

“Why?” said Von Barlow. “Well, you will get a nice plaque on the wall at the zoo!”

“We get our names on a
plaque
?!” said Ellen. “Let me get this straight—we give you our animals for free, and you get famous and get your name in journals and get a
building
dedicated to you, and all we get is a measly
plaque
?”

“Well, yes!” said the zoologist. “You should see
them. They’re really quite lovely. Very nicely engraved!”

Dr. Von Barlow picked up the Fuddleflinger and reaffixed its muzzle. While Edgar’s pasty complexion was turning an angry red at the prospect of another lost sale, Ellen grabbed a mallet from the depths of her brother’s satchel and raised it up over her head.

The twins faced each other, Ellen swinging the mallet madly and both hopping from foot to foot. Slightly beyond earshot of Von Barlow, in hushed voices they chanted:

“Von Barlow thinks he knows his stuff
We two are here to call his bluff
These animals are rare enough
To make his reputation.
But we won’t give these beasts away
If he wants fame he’ll have to pay
We’re through with cheapskates for today
Here comes some compensation!”

The zoologist was lucky, because as Ellen readied her swing, a flashy red fire truck with a big gold “7” painted on the door pulled up in front of their wagon.

22. Lucky Engine Number 7

“What’s all this?” shouted one of the firefighters hanging on the back of the truck.

“Oh, it’s a fantastic collection of rare and exotic animals,” said Dr. Von Barlow, looking up, “Absolutely inspiring…”

“Well now, Doctor, have you found the python?” called out the driver.

“Oh, yes, the python,” the zoologist said. “I’d rather forgotten about
that
….”

The firefighters climbed off the truck. One of them tilted her helmet back and said, “We haven’t had much luck on the snake hunt, either. Lucky Engine Number 7 isn’t too lucky today.”

“Dreadful,” muttered Von Barlow.

“Yeah, Doc, we’re starting to get worried. Having that snake on the loose, well, that’s
bad
. All those poor kids, you really feel for ’em, you know? Their little pets, stuffed down in some huge, slimy reptile’s belly.”

Edgar and Ellen listened with interest.

“Things could get
real
sticky. Word has leaked to the press about this snake situation, and you know those reporters when it comes to something like this! It’ll be all over the headlines by tonight. We could have a full-scale panic on our hands!”

The twins whispered to each other.

“Did you hear that, Brother? A panic! That means everyone will be running and screaming in the streets, right?”

“The whole town, Sister! The whole town will be in a snit! I think that might be a record for us!”

Just then Sparkplug, the dalmatian mascot for Lucky Engine Number 7, leapt down from the truck and bounded toward the cart. Edgar and Ellen watched with horror as the firehouse dog nosed around the animals, sniffing and grunting and slobbering. Disturbed, the beasts began to strain against their leashes.