The Beasts of Upton Puddle (19 page)

She wagged a finger at the seraph. “Don't you try that on me, Danariel. I won't have it.”

“What is it?” Joe asked.

“Danariel can sense what I am about to say, and she is trying her hardest to dissuade me.” Mrs. Merrynether sighed and looked away. Her next sentence was filled with defeat. “I am afraid I shall have to ask you never to return once you leave today.”

Joe's stomach lurched as though he'd been driven over the edge of a cliff. “I . . . can't . . . come back?”

“Reconsider, Veronica.” Danariel's light had diminished. “Think of the future.”

“I am,” she whispered. “I'm thinking of his.”

“Don't I get a say in this?” A lump hardened in Joe's throat.

“It isn't just the danger of the animals,” she said. “I was on the phone with Argoyle Redwar earlier.” Her lips twitched in disgust. “Aside from his usual venom
when trying to persuade me to sell my home, he again threatened to reveal the true nature of our work. He knows all about Cornelius's recovery. He knows about Danariel here, and he even knows that we have a globble in our care.”

“How?”

“I don't know. But it's clear somebody close to us is disclosing very sensitive information . . . It may not be safe.”

“You don't think it's me, do you?”

For a flash of a second, suspicion seemed apparent in Mrs. Merrynether's watery eyes. “Of course not,” she said a little too quickly. “But it's just one more thing that convinces me you may be better off not being involved. I don't know where all of this will lead, but you must also promise not to tell anyone about what you have seen here.”

Joe nodded reluctantly. The whole world had been screwed up into a tiny ball, and he was crushed inside, unable to feel or think.

Danariel sank onto the bed, settling between Joe's side and the crook of his elbow.

He stared at her tiny form, wondering if this would be the last time he ever saw her.

Argoyle Redwar rapped on the window of the animal block and peered through at the panicking employees within. Even through the thick doors, he heard muffled barks and the rattle-clang of slamming cage gates.

“Blast their rancid hides. What are they doing in there? I gave them ample time, didn't I? This is a research facility, not a church jumble sale.”

“—fteen mints,” mumbled the hunched woman behind him.

“What? Oh, never mind. I detest this place, Ms. Burrowdown. Detest it,” he said, still snarling through the window and creating a misty patch. “But I suppose if that blasted Merrynether isn't going to budge, I have no choice but to go ahead with your idea.”

“Fanyou, Mr. Redwar.”

“Yes, well, it had better work.” He turned to point a stubby finger at her. “There are too many things about
this plan that could go—”

The double doors swung inwards with a loud metallic moan, and the barking crescendoed.

The gaunt figure of Arthur Gumble in an oversized lab coat, along with a generous helping of ferret stench, greeted Redwar. Gumble rubbed his hands together nervously as a twitching smile crossed his pallid features. Redwar squinted at the man, his currant-like eyes looking even smaller than usual.

“Gumble?”

“Uh . . . yes, Mr. Redwar, sir.”

“Didn't I fire you a few weeks back?”

“You did, sir, yes, but—”

“Didn't I fire him a few weeks back?” he said, now looking at Burrowdown.

“Yes-did. Scorted off-site nineteenf July.”

“What? Speak up, woman! Oh, never mind. Gumble,” he said, turning back to him, “what are you still doing here?”

“I, er . . . reapplied for the job, sir.”

“You did what?”

“Yes, sir. The post was advertised the following Monday, and I just . . . reapplied. Had my interview that Wednesday, and they—”

Redwar turned on Burrowdown again. “Who's the imbecile in charge of personnel now? Is it still Katherine Carling?”

“No. You fired 'er six munfs go. It's Graham Chatterly
now.”

“Chatterly, eh? Fire him.”

Burrowdown scribbled something in her notepad.

“Mr. Redwar?” Gumble asked. “Would you like to come inside? I can show you to—”

“Yes, yes!” He dismissed the cowering man with a wave and strode into the area. The doors groaned shut behind them. “But don't think you're getting away with this, Gumble. You can collect your hat and coat at the end of the day.”

“I, er . . . always do, sir.”

“Don't get funny with me. You know precisely what I meant. You're fired!”

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Redwar, but . . . may I ask why?” There was a tremble in his voice.

Redwar's eyes narrowed. “You're still fired from last time.”

“But I'm on a new contract now, sir.”

Redwar glowered at him, his rubbery lips pressed together and moving as though he were chewing a very sharp sweet.

The other workers stared wide-eyed at their boss, carrying out their tasks in slow motion.

“Very well, Gumble. You can stay.”

“Sir?”

“You want me to change my mind?”

“No, no! Er . . . I think you wanted to be shown to the restricted section.” Gumble was already on his way
to the next set of doors, inviting Redwar and Burrowdown to follow.

“I did, yes.”

Gumble pressed his card against the reader, and the doors swung open to reveal another room with more stench, more barking dogs, and more nervous employees. He took them through another set of doors and into a corridor, through more doors and corridors, more rooms, a lift, and then another corridor.

Eventually they stood before a set of menacing black doors. At the top, bold yellow letters identified the entrance of a restricted area into which only the managing director and the chief veterinary officer were allowed.

Gumble pressed his pass against the reader, and the sound of heavy bolts receding into concrete vibrated through the walls. The doors labored inward to reveal a darkened room.

“Back to work, Gumble.”

“Thank you, Mr. Redwar,” said Gumble. Then he scuttled off.

Redwar and Burrowdown stepped inside, and the doors thunked shut behind them. The tap of their shoes echoed against the tall black walls, and hidden sensors triggered embedded spotlights to raise the lighting by a fraction. The walls at the far end were still shrouded in darkness, but the groaning and snuffling were enough to confirm that living things lurked there.

“I hate this room most of all.”

“Why?”

“What? Oh, it smells, Ms. Burrowdown. The stink is unbearable.”

“Whiffy.”

“Indeed.” Redwar rubbed his fingers under his nose as if it might cover the stench. “I loathe animal smells, but this room is the worst. However, it is also the most private place in the whole of this building. Even I have enemies, Ms. Burrowdown. There are unwelcome ears in the offices, so absolute secrecy is paramount, and this is the perfect place for us to discuss what must be done. What is spoken within these walls stays between you, me, and these pathetic beasts. Now, to business.”

“Merrynether?”

“Yes. She thinks she's so safe, tucked away in the middle of Ringwood Forest, taking care of all those stupid creatures in secret. She has to go.”

“An accident?”

“Whatever it takes, but obviously, the trail must not lead to us, understand?”

She nodded.

Redwar raised his voice to proclaim, “Yes, we no longer need Merrynether now that we know precisely where that island is. As soon as preparations are ready, we can go there and our real work can begin.”

Ms. Burrowdown grinned as she looked up.

Redwar smirked as he looked down. “Now here's what we'll do . . .”

And in the darkness, another pair of ears listened intently.

Coming to terms with Mrs. Merrynether's instruction not to return to the mansion threw Joe into a spiral of gloom. His next week passed like a distant dream. Classes, meals, watching TV, dodging difficult questions from his mum, running errands for his aunt, even the bullying—all of it blurred past him as if he were watching it happen to someone else.

Even as Aunt Rose arrived at Merrynether Mansion that fateful day to collect him, Joe was still trying to persuade Mrs. Merrynether to let him come back Sunday, but she insisted to his aunt that, for his own safety, he must not be allowed to return. And when Aunt Rose took Joe home and told his mum, he knew his fairy-tale days of adventure had come to an abrupt end. To add to his woes, Kurt Duggan targeted him for not providing the nonexistent map to the nonexistent stash of money buried in the woods. Life had never been so glum.

But as the following Monday lunch break reached its end, something happened that stirred Joe from his doldrums. He had been sitting in the corner of the common room with his nose in a Greek mythology book, and a full twenty minutes passed before he'd realized he had been left on his own. Most of the other students, apart from Duggan and his thugs, didn't pay him much
attention anyway, but there would usually be at least ten others in there with him during lunch.

Joe put the book back in his bag and left the common room, hoping to find out where everybody else had gone. The first hint came when the flashing glare of red-and-blue lights colored the sports block. Either someone had been hurt or there'd been some sort of terrible incident that required the police. The picture became clearer as Joe rounded the gymnasium.

At the back of the school grounds, where the playing fields met Ringwood Forest, a busy crowd of students had gathered around something. Three teachers were doing their best to herd them back toward the school but with little success. Two police officers stood with one of the other teachers, taking down notes.

Joe caught nuggets of conversation as he pushed his way into the crowd, ignoring the protests of Mr. Henderson.

“. . . blood everywhere. Mrs. Hedley is in the first aid room with him now . . .”

“. . . glimpsed its back, but Doherty said he saw it full-on. Looked like a big gorilla with long nails . . .”

“. . . and then about twelve coppers with rifles ran past the gates . . .”

“. . . smelled like Henderson's armpits . . .”

Joe managed to scramble to the front. He half expected to see a mangled body, but what presented itself instead was a gaping hole in the ground. The tangled
roots of one of the beech trees had been torn upward to make way for the entrance of a wide tunnel. Something enormous had dug its way through there, and at the edge there was evidence of a fight. A combination of boot prints and claw marks were smeared into the soil, and the tattered remains of a bloody glove lay there too.

Frantic whispering and chattering continued to bubble around Joe as he stared into the hole. To his left, three girls from the class ahead of him were huddled in terrified gossip.

“What happened?” Joe asked.

They stopped talking and turned to him, their eyes fearful.

“It was Gravesy, the groundskeeper. The Beast of Upton Puddle got him,” one of them said.

“Yes,” said another girl. “Apparently he was mowing the borders when it just jumped out of the woods and bit his arm right off!”

“No, it didn't!” The other one smacked her arm. “It just scratched him. That's all.”

“They don't call out ambulances for a scratch.”

“I'm just telling you what Lisa said Ian said Graham saw. If he—”

“Yaaaaaa! Monster! There! Monster behind those trees,” shouted somebody a few feet away.

The three girls shrieked, provoking a parade of screaming, flapping, and crying all around them.

Seconds later Joe picked out the hysterical laughing of
Kurt Duggan. He and his minions were huddled in a small group not far from the hole, doubled over with laughter.

“All right, that's quite enough,” screeched Mr. Henderson, his high-pitched voice conveying precisely no authority whatsoever.

By now, all the teachers had arrived and were busy rounding up their students while the police stuck metal pikes in the ground and cordoned off the area with stripy tape.

Deep in thought, Joe was bustled along with the crowd toward the main assembly hall. With everything else that had been going on, he hadn't given nearly enough thought to the Beast stalking the village. This was the first time a real attack on a person had happened. Until now, there had been damage to property and even some livestock and pets, but the situation had never been this bad. Mrs. Merrynether insisted the creature had nothing to do with them, but for Joe, this was far too much of a coincidence. Even during the time that Joe visited, at least five different creatures had escaped.

Uneasiness seeped in as the noisy crowd shoved Joe along the main corridor to the assembly hall. He'd promised Mrs. Merrynether that he would say nothing to anyone about what she was doing, but perhaps it was his responsibility now to tell the police what he knew before someone really got hurt . . . or worse.