Sam scrabbled back into the boat. He’d barely noticed his clothes underwater, but as he tried to get aboard, his top and jacket doubled his weight. Still, he managed it.
As Sam plunged over the rim of the boat, making it bend and bounce, Bladder’s claws scraped the side of the hull. Despite his new swimming skills, the gargoyle was too heavy to haul himself back over. Marée swam out of the way as the mer-guards shoved the gargoyle’s back half into the craft. It rocked and pitched as Bladder tripped towards the other side. He threw up a glut of seawater and then collapsed, groaning.
In the distance, Sam saw the school of children heading back to the boat; seal noises and whale tunes called out through the air. He could also hear the horrible grating of the siren song. As the dolphins approached him, Sam shuddered, knowing his friends were in the grip of its spell. He could hear the refrain, discordant and uncomfortable. It made his ears hurt and he had to stop listening.
‘Be wary, Samuel, child of Kavanagh. They come, but until the song stops, they are not your friends,’ Marée said. ‘And remember, it is not their fault.’
Sam studied the sea creatures’ faces. Though they might have been in thrall to the sirens, their eyes were still human, but as he looked across the muddled and mixed school of animals, he realised it was smaller than before. Some were changing, he guessed, becoming true aquatic beasts and leaving. He didn’t have much time.
On the horizon, the sun hung pale and soft. Dusk, Sam thought. Which meant he’d already lost half a day. He had until the following morning to get the fish back to shore.
Marée said nothing else as the boat pulled away, though her head bobbed above the waves and she put one hand up in farewell. Sam waved in return and Bladder threw up again before struggling to help the dolphins slip on their harnesses.
Sam sat back in the boat, leaning against Bladder’s side, feeling a low thrum through the gargoyle and trying not to worry about what might happen next. He was wet and cold; that was enough to be going on with.
Time passed too quickly. The sun sank below the horizon and a gentle moon eased into the sky as Sam’s friends pulled him towards the sirens. As they travelled, more of the group fled ahead and away. The larger fishes’ eyes changed colour, the sea-sheeny irises swamping the human colours. Even one of the seals, who Sam had only seen a few times popping up above the waves, turned and studied him with a bewildered frown as its eyes transformed to a total dark brown. It took a terrified look at the shark and swam off with a high-pitched bark. The troupe thinned down the further they travelled, and the most concerned look came from the shark. Sam understood what it must be thinking. If it changed, all the smaller animals huddling close for safety would be the first on the menu. Sam watched with quiet discomfort and listened to Bladder prattle on about his adventures at the bottom of the sea and all the animals he’d encountered. He wanted to know what Sam had seen. Bladder was trying to distract him, Sam realised. Or perhaps he was trying to distract himself.
They both watched the water creatures and Bladder nosed Sam’s face a few times, letting him know he understood, that he hadn’t forgotten how worried Sam felt.
Sam thought about what was ahead. ‘I wonder what they want.’
‘The sirens?’ Bladder said.
‘Even Queen Amphitrite didn’t know.’
‘She knew enough to be frightened.’ Bladder whacked his newly mended ear. ‘Blow! I was trying to keep your mind off it. No point worrying until we get there.’
‘What iz it?’ a gruff goblin voice asked the faces silhouetted above Wheedle.
The stone bull struggled, but the creature leaned its weight on him. He could do little more than wiggle. Long goblin fingers were wrapped around his snout and he couldn’t even protest.
‘Iz a gumgoyle,’ a sniffly voice answered. It was a deep voice, but it sounded like it had been crying.
‘We don’t haz to kill it, does we?’ Gruff asked.
‘What? No!’ Sniffly answered. ‘Iz gumgoyle, I said.’
A smaller voice, high and nervous, spoke up. ‘I heard the little prince what Her Maggisty is looking for is all in with gumgoyles. If they hang about with him, they might be awful dangerous.’
‘So we do haz to kill it?’ Gruff asked. Wheedle did his best to break out of Gruff’s grip, but the goblin leaned even harder. Wheedle wanted to come up for air as if he needed to breathe. ‘I don’t wanna haz to kill it.’
‘Oi, let me have a closer look, I carn see nuffin’ in the dark,’ Sniffly said. Wheedle recognised the voice, but he couldn’t place it.
A few of the crowd whimpered. They sounded as snotty and wet at Sniffly.
Like they’d all been crying.
‘Take yer hand away, Buzzbrain, let me ’ave a good look,’ Sniffly said, and a large muddy-brown ogre eye came right up to Wheedle’s face.
‘What if he screams?’ Buzzbrain asked, his gruff voice getting heavy with snot. ‘If he screams, they might finds us.’
‘If he screams,’ Small-high said, ‘drop him and thatta be the end of it.’
‘But I …’ Buzzbrain stopped talking as if someone had grabbed his mouth too.
‘You doan ’ave to let ’im know you won’t kill ’em. It’s about soundin’ threatnin’,’ Sniffles said. ‘You unnerstand me, gumgoyle?’ he asked.
Wheedle couldn’t nod; Buzzbrain was holding him too tightly. He blinked lots, hoping the sniffling ogre knew what he meant.
‘Loosen up a little bit, Buzz,’ Sniffles said again.
The goblin eased up, taking his claw off Wheedle’s snout.
‘I won’t scream,’ Wheedle said. ‘I don’t want you to have to threaten me.’
‘Thaz a relief,’ Buzzbrain said.
‘An’ you won’t tell the uvvers weeze in ’ere?’ Sniffles asked.
‘Others?’
‘The Old Ones. They doan fink much of us newer monsters.’
The ogre studied Wheedle’s face. He rubbed a finger along the stone bull’s nose. ‘Hey, I know this gumgoyle.’
Sniffles leaned over Wheedle, and Wheedle recognised him. The young ogre had grown a bit but he still had a soft face, so oddly sweet compared to other ogres, the ‘Old Ones’, as he called them. Buzzbrain the goblin peered at Wheedle with a grimace and tear-red eyes.
‘He’s one of the ones we met at that first gathering. ’Member?’ the goblin said.
Wheedle recognised the goblin too. It had given him a chest-crushing hug in the field where Maggie had called together the huge monster mob. He hadn’t remembered the goblin’s name was Buzzbrain. Come to think of it, he didn’t think anyone had told him. Sniffles, though – he’d told them his name.
‘Cob?’ Wheedle asked.
The young ogre jumped. ‘Iz you … Bladder?’
‘No, that’s my pack mate. I’m Wheedle.’
‘You know ’im?’ Buzzbrain asked Cob.
‘Yeah, he’s a friend. You are a friend, right?’ Cob asked.
Wheedle nodded. If it got him out of there, he’d be their friend.
‘Don’t say that word out loud,’ a high-pitched voice said. Wheedle turned his head and saw an assortment of pixies settled against the back wall. ‘If they hear “friend” or “like” or “hug” or any o’ them words, we’re mincemeat.’ The pixie wagged a warning finger at the ogre. ‘We keep tellin’ ya.’
‘Well, you stops sayin’ them too,’ Cob said. ‘Wheedle, what you doin’ lookin’ in our burrow? Good fing for us iz you? Good fing for you iz us.’
‘I heard crying.’
The group went quiet.
Cob whispered, ‘Does you fink anyone else iz heard us?’
Wheedle shook his head. ‘Only if they have gargoyle ears. Gargoyles hear very well. It keeps us out of the ogres’ way. Generally.’
‘Ain’t seen too many gargoyles for a long, long time. Not until you and Bladder,’ Cob replied.
Wheedle squinted around the room. The faces were neither menacing nor sneaky, neither vicious nor spiteful – not the way a room full of imps and larger monsters would normally look. These faces were worried, wary, fearful. And dirty as if they had been rubbing blubbing eyes with grubby hands, which, Wheedle guessed, was exactly what they’d been doing.
‘Why were you all crying?’ he asked.
‘They want us to take humans,’ Cob answered.
‘So … so … so they can eat them,’ Buzzbrain added.
‘I don’t wanna,’ a little goblin said, and burst into tears.
Cob put his arm around the goblin. ‘There, there, Prickles, weeze jus’ stay ’ere where they can’t find us, ’ey?’
Prickles rubbed his nose on his sleeve. ‘They’ll find us eventual-like, and then we’ll have to hurt people. Bombottom almos’ broke my arm when I dint bring him nuffin’ last time.’
‘What about the pixies?’ Wheedle turned to them. ‘You’re not being sent to eat humans, are you?’ he asked.
‘Babies! They want us to get babies.’ The pixies burst into wails.
‘Hush, hush, everyone,’ Cob said.
‘What are they doing while you do all the hunting?’ Wheedle asked.
‘Her Maggisty says she’s gotta protect the big’uns – the real ogres an’ trolls an’ goblins – until the little prince makes more of them. We’re expandible.’
‘Expendable,’ Prickles corrected.
‘Thazzit. She says there’s something wrong wivvus, but we can do menial tasks while the Old Ones prepare for war.’
‘I caught a fairy for her,’ a pixie said. ‘It was awful. It cried and begged me to let it go.’
‘So what did you do?’ Wheedle asked.
‘I let it go,’ the pixie replied. ‘I couldn’t hurt it. Or hand it in. She takes their wings for the fairy dust and then the Old Ones eat what’s left. Poor little blighters. When we chased them on the field it wor fun, but then we saw what happened after. I wouldn’t want anyone doin’ that to me.’
The crowd of young monsters shook their heads and spoke over the top of each other. ‘Oh, no, I woont. You woont iver, woot you? Not me. Me neeva.’
Wheedle let them all agree that they wouldn’t enjoy being caught and eaten and let the unhappy brood settle before he spoke again. ‘You don’t know anything about three humans being caught together recently?’ he asked.
‘Her Maggisty sent the Old Ones to capture three full-growns and a baby,’ a boggart said. ‘Said they were pacifically wanted, not for num-nums, but because they are His Soon-to-be Royal Harness’s pets. If he lives here, he’ll want ’em for walkies or summat.’
‘They’re not his pets,’ Wheedle said. ‘They’re his family. He loves them. I managed to keep the baby upstairs, but the other three …’
The group stared, their mouths open so every fang was exposed. Wheedle recognised something like hunger on their faces. ‘I’m made of stone,’ he said. ‘I’m not edible.’
‘You said …’ Cob started, then dropped his voice. ‘He loves ’em?’
‘Yes, he loves us too,’ Wheedle added. ‘His pack. We’re very important to him …’
‘How many people does His Future Kingling … love?’
Wheedle thought about it. ‘Well, there’s the four of us gargoyles. His family – not just the ones he lives with, there’s some in Ireland too and quite a few in London. He’s got friends, close ones and ones he knows at school. Come to think of it, I don’t think I know how many people he loves. Lots.’
‘An’ some of them is monsters?’
‘Monsters? What? Oh, you mean us gargoyles? I’ve been with Sam so long, I don’t think of myself as a monster any more. No offence.’
The boggart put a finger on Wheedle’s nose. ‘I bet that’s –’ his voice dropped – ‘nice.’
At least the water’s still flat, Sam thought. And every now and then a wave came to push him towards the sirens a little faster. Sam guessed Amphitrite was helping in more ways than she had promised. He would have to do something to show the sea queen his appreciation. He wondered if she liked chocolates.
The sky grew darker, which meant evening had settled in.
Sam pondered their direction. Queen Amphitrite had established without a doubt it was sirens who were singing, but were they really calling the sea creatures to bring him to them? Maybe they meant to drown him or eat him.
Too many maybes. He’d deal with them when he got there. He couldn’t just go home and leave thousands of children to turn into sea creatures forever, but he had no idea what he could do or say to the sirens to get them to stop singing.
Bladder nudged through the food bags, found a sandwich and sat back with it in his paws, nibbling slowly. ‘Tum’s a bit sensitive.’ The gargoyle stretched his forelegs then his back legs and looked better than he had in ages. Few shadows blurred his face, and the moon made him look a lovely soft grey, like a wild rabbit. He took up position on the other side of Sam, trying to keep as much wind off him as possible. Sam was dry, but getting colder, which meant they were approaching what Michelle called the ‘wee hours’. The cold didn’t bother him; what bothered him was the idea he was running out of time. He only had till morning to get the children home.
‘Rocks,’ Bladder said, breaking through his pondering.
Great grizzled boulders loomed up out of the water, peering miserably at them and quietening the small crew. They looked unearthly sticking out of the sea, a small collection of stones in the middle of nowhere.
‘We’re here,’ Bladder said. ‘Wherever here is.’ The dolphins slid out from their ropes and the boat skimmed on a current over the water towards the outcrop.
The rocks poked out of a circle of coral, a bowl of salt water in the greater sea. It was full of whiting and other small fish whose scales caught the moonlight. A few larger fish were swimming at the edge of the atoll, tails flapping with excitement. Sam guessed these were the smaller children who’d swum away in the process of forgetting they’d been human once.
As soon as the boat hit the coral, the singing stopped and the dolphins and fish behind him made an awful racket in the water. The song no longer bound them, and the poor animals tried to drag the boat away. Sam pulled the ropes into the boat to stop the dolphins from looping themselves in them again. He looked down to see Amira, Hazel and Wilfred’s eyes widen, their expressions clear and human. Sam was glad to see their eyes unchanged, as human as ever. They chittered angrily at him and nosed the side of the boat, pushing it away from the rocks.
The dolphins and other creatures carried on flapping outside the rocky shelf, but they could not swim past the rocks; it was too shallow for their large bodies. The tiny fish inside raced to the middle of the lagoon, away from what, in nature, would have been their predators. Sam shuddered to think what would happen if he couldn’t get them back to the shore.
Wilfred pushed Sam’s boat away from the outcrop of stone and positioned himself between the shelf and the boat.
‘Don’t worry,’ Sam soothed, ‘I know what’s ahead. I have to talk to them. If you don’t let me, I can’t save you.’
Wilfred checked Sam’s face, possibly to see if Sam was under a spell. Behind him, Hazel hooted in warning, and Sam waved at her. ‘It’s all right, I want to meet up with the sirens. That’s why I came. I knew what you were doing and you’re not responsible. I would have come by myself, if I had to.’
The dolphins exchanged guilty glances.
Even Bladder stood up and spoke to them. ‘You’ve been under a spell. It ain’t your fault.’
Sam nodded. ‘I have to ask the sirens to stop singing at you so you can go back to Brighton.’
‘Sounds like they’ve stopped already,’ Bladder said.
‘You’re right.’ Sam turned from Wilfred to address all of the animals. ‘Go home. Go home now! You’ll turn human as you get to shore. If you don’t, you’ll remain this way forever.’
A few of the creatures nodded and swam off, but many others watched the tiny fish inside the atoll and stayed close. The shifters swam nearer to the boat. A sea lion barked in query, but as it yapped Sam saw its eyes darken, the whites thinning back to outlines; it would lose its humanity soon.
‘Don’t look now, but we got company,’ Bladder said.
Even the brave shark shuffled back towards deeper water. Sam flinched to see thin scratches of blood muddying its back, where it had scraped against the coral. The dolphins retreated and watched him from the waves. Sam turned to see two shadows shuffling to the tops of the rocks, their dark shapes leaning over him.
‘Not the most attractive group,’ Bladder said, and gagged.
The sirens were ugly, and they were just as Queen Amphitrite had described. They had bird bodies, with legs that reminded Sam of Baba Yaga’s half-plucked chicken drumstick thighs, and their feet looked diseased, like they had a nasty kind of scaly, flaky skin problem. One used a claw to scratch harshly at the other foot. That has to hurt, Sam thought. The sirens’ faces weren’t unpleasant. They were very normal-looking human faces. One looked ancient, but the other looked no older than Michelle. Still, Sam found his glance returning to those awful avian bodies.
Sam clambered from the boat into the shallow pool inside the coral ring. Bladder climbed after him.
Wheedle stared at the boggart that had just come into the burrow waving its long arms about and complaining.
‘What exactly made you throw up?’ Cob asked the boggart.
‘Them human pets,’ it said. ‘Looking at ’em made my tum-tum so squishy awful I couldn’t do it no more. Doan know why His Future Kingliness wants ’em. Ugly, they iz. Deformed.’
Wheedle shuddered. What had the kidnappers done to the Kavanaghs?
‘They wuz so awful they put them in that box and chucked a blankie over ’em. Even the Old Ones can’t stand looking at them.’
Wheedle felt his own tum-tum turn squishy.
‘Go on, have a look. Everyone else is,’ the boggart said. ‘But I’m staying here now. Bombottom is putting together another hunting party.’
The monsters groaned.
Wheedle’s legs shook as he climbed down the wall towards the huge box next to the dais. He studied the barrel on top. He’d seen it when he’d come in, and wondered what it was for. Now he watched as a flock of pixies – some old, some new – passed small buckets of water up to the barrel and filled it bit by bit. It looked about the size of a large bin.
Maybe it’s for the Kavanaghs. Bladder had told him and Spigot about Sam going wobbly when he ran out of drinking water. That meant Maggie wanted the Kavanaghs alive, which had to be a good thing.
Wheedle carried on down the wall and the barrel moved out of view as he passed a shivering group of brownies. He sidled by some younger trolls, trying to look tough and dangerous like the Old Ones, but when he stepped on a set of toes, the troll squeaked and scooted away.
He couldn’t believe it. A troll? Backing away from him, a gargoyle? The trolls might have been young and small, but they were still capable of cracking his head.
Everyone else avoided looking at him. The Old Ones were too busy – there weren’t as many as there used to be (thanks to the souls from the sword) – and the younger ones were avoiding bringing too much attention to themselves.
He stepped into the crowd. Not one foot, fist or even a verbal insult hit him. The crowd seemed nervous and wary.
Pixies lined the sides of the cavern. The closer he moved to the throne, the larger the creatures became. First pixies, then leprechauns rolling dice.
Wheedle gulped as leprechauns gave way to goblins, all of them packed in like a market crowd. Ogres at the edge of the dais were trading slabs of meat, trolls and witches haggled over wriggling bags of … what? Wheedle didn’t like to think. A few shuffled past him, but no one paid him much attention.
Suddenly, one of the witches’ bags burst open and a terrified rabbit shot across the dirt, causing high humour amongst the littlest creatures. On the tier above Wheedle’s head, older brownies laughed uproariously. A young troll pushed past him, followed its adolescent comrades and raced after the bunny. Wheedle felt sorry for the rabbit; the thousands of hands around it meant there was no escape, but he delighted to see it disappear into an access way to the upper world.
Sitting on the dais was the large ogre Wheedle had spotted earlier. It wasn’t the largest Wheedle had ever seen – all of the oldest and largest had gone. Still, it was two storeys tall and crushing something in its huge taloned claws. Wheedle remembered the beast now. It was the huge ogre that Maggie had stood on at the first field gathering: Bombottom. It seemed that the ogre had gained confidence and not a little nastiness since Wheedle had seen him then. He was using a troll as a footstool and slapping any monster that spoke to him. Maggie must love him, Wheedle thought.
‘Hey, it’s a gargoyle,’ a happy troll’s voice said behind him. Wheedle turned to say something, but the troll started licking its toes.
A group of goblins had crowded around the box. It had been covered with a huge coarse blanket.
One of the imps lifted it off. ‘Ooh, that is ugly.’
‘Chuck ’em. Now, let’s get out of here,’ another said, and the group strolled away, trying hard to not look embarrassed.
It couldn’t be the Kavanaghs. The Kavanaghs were lovely. They looked like Sam. They should look delicious to this lot.
Wheedle wondered what could be so horrible that it made anything down here think it was ugly. And vomit. He gulped and lifted the blanket.
The first thing he saw was iron bars. Then the sides of the box, rough wooden planks, and, sitting huddled at the back, were the Kavanaghs: Nick, Richard and Michelle.
They peered back at Wheedle.
Wheedle recognised the dazed, uncomprehending expression that humans always made when seeing a monster’s face for the first time. You poor things, he thought, my ugly mug one of the least frightening you’re gonna see for a while.
The next thing that occurred to him was that he would much rather not eat them; they didn’t look very appetising. In fact, he had never seen anyone look so unpalatable. He blinked. The idea of eating a human had never occurred to him before, so the idea of NOT eating one was bizarre.
Where Nick’s and Richard’s hair covered their pale faces, Michelle’s was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and Wheedle could see her forehead clearly. A distinct glowing thumbprint shone out. Wheedle grinned. That was it. He recognised Daniel’s handiwork. The angel’s mark made all the humans look less edible: Wheedle had never thought a human edible in the first place, and he thought the Kavanaghs looked completely disgusting. The angel had blessed them.
Wheedle shifted with discomfort. He’d been so annoyed with Daniel for leaving Sam alone at sea, he’d never thought to consider that the angel, although not at work looking after Sam, would at least be at work looking after his family. Daniel had put a protection mark on them, preventing any monster from finding them delicious. It had worked so well the monsters had covered them with the huge throwover, so they didn’t even have to gaze upon them. Even though it was a miserable cage, it was better than being peered at by hungry monsters all day.
On the floor in front of them, the ground was covered in chocolates, sweets, tins of sugary drinks and packets of biscuits. Wheedle guessed the pixies and brownies oversaw feeding the captives. Pixies would feed humans what they thought they liked. Enough little humans had been trapped by sweet lures, it wasn’t odd the brownies thought that’s all they’d want.
The three Kavanaghs stared at Wheedle.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Go away,’ Richard replied, and threw something at him. It was a hard-boiled sweet.
‘What is it?’ Michelle asked. ‘It looks like a cow.’
‘I’m a gargoyle. Wheedle.’
‘Like in Sam’s story? Sam’s Wheedle?’ Michelle asked.
‘The very same.’
A long silence occurred, during which the Kavanaghs exchanged bewildered glances.
‘When we first met Sam, he told us about you. He told the psychologist. Oh,’ Michelle said. ‘I’m in Sam’s nightmare.’
Richard pinched himself. ‘Nope, I’m awake. I don’t want to be, but I am.’
‘He said you were a friend,’ Nick said to Wheedle.
‘And I am. We’ll get you back home some way, but it’s not safe yet. First I have to figure out how to get you out of this cage.’ Wheedle peered around. A huge, heavy lock hung to his left on the door. It would take a lot of effort to open it. ‘Looks like we may have to come up with a good plan, but if you keep your heads down, no monster will eat you. Daniel has put a protective mark on you.’
‘Daniel?’ Michelle asked. ‘The angel? Sam told us about him too. I didn’t believe a word of it.’ Michelle put her head against Richard and groaned. ‘I’m so stupid.’
Richard patted her. ‘It’s not like it was very believable.’ He turned to Wheedle. ‘I’m not even sure I believe it now, and I’m in a cage surrounded by monsters.’
‘I wish I didn’t believe it,’ Nick said. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ Wheedle replied. ‘Our whole strategy for the last few hundred years has been to make you all forget us. Monsters’re safer then.’
‘Safer?’ Richard said. ‘Those things out there are hideous and bloodthirsty. Why would they need protection from us?’ He blinked at Wheedle. ‘Present company excluded,’ he added.
‘Is Sam really part monster?’ Nick asked. ‘Like them? He told us he was.’
‘He’s part gargoyle. An’ all good. Don’t you worry about him. Let’s just concern ourselves with you for now.’ A cheer went up outside of the cage and Wheedle felt an imp thud against his rump. He’d have to move soon; the mob sounds had increased and the crowd was shuffling forwards.
‘We walked here. Just … walked,’ Michelle said. ‘We even –’ she gulped – ‘slipped through the gutter. I remember it all, but it seems so strange.’ She stared at him. ‘I remember you now. You took Beatrice from me.’
‘She’s safe and sound at home with Spigot.’
‘Thank goodness. Thank you. I can’t believe I just left her.’
‘Ah, you’ve been dusted, that’s all. Can’t blame yourselves for that.’