Fire over Swallowhaven (9 page)

“Is this it?” asked Esmeralda, staring into the volcano.

“Um…,” began Jack. “Perhaps—”

He got no further before a gust of wind came prancing over the lip of the volcano and dived down inside, stirring the yellow clouds and scattering them
so that suddenly the four travelers had a much clearer view.

And what they saw quite took their breath away.

It was the phoenix nest!

But it was nothing like they had been expecting.

Far from being marvelous and glorious, the nest was a huge ruinous heap of spiky briars and thorny brambles, all tangled together in the bottom of the crater. And lying curled up on its side in the middle of the whole ugly mess was the most gigantic, mangy, decrepit, wrinkled old bird imaginable, with drool running from its open beak and horrid yellow crusty gunk around its tightly closed eyes. And even as they stood gaping at the unbelievable sight, a rasping sound blasted from the phoenix’s rear end.

“Pardon me,” muttered the phoenix in a sleepy, cracked old voice as a wave of foul air wafted up toward them.

“Granted!” chortled Ishmael.

E
smeralda turned very slowly to Jack. “That,” she began heavily, as if she were having trouble putting her feelings into words, “that thing…that thing down there…” Her voice rose to a shriek.
“That thing down there is your marvelous and beautiful phoenix bird?”

Another loud report sounded from the sleeping bird’s rear end.

“Beg pardon,” it croaked.

“Granted again,” cackled Ishmael. “A person must
strain his greens when the wind blows from the north.”

Trundle clapped his paw to his nose as the gust of evil air reached them.

Jack blinked down at the bird. “You can’t blame me for this!” he said rapidly. “I’m as disappointed as the rest of you. Blame the people who made up the legend! Blame the songwriters! I was just repeating what I was told. Who would have expected it to look like
that
? Not me! It’s a swindle, that’s what it is. It’s chicanery and distortion and…and…downright fibbing! We should take legal action. We should sue someone.” His voice became a miserable wail. “It’s not my fault!”

For a few moments, no one said anything.

“We are quite certain this is
the
phoenix, are we?” Trundle asked at last.

“What else could it be?” Esmeralda replied. “Percy told us the legends say the phoenix lives in a volcano at the end of the world. This is a volcano, sure
enough, and I’m guessing we’re pretty much at the far end of the Sundered Lands.”

“And apart from where it’s gone gray, or its feathers have fallen out, its plumage is the same color as the feather that brought us here,” Jack added. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think there can be any doubt about it. That mangy old wreck down there is the phoenix we’ve been searching for.”

“Lawks a-mussy,” breathed Esmeralda. “Who’da thought it?”

“Blimey,” groaned Trundle. “Talk about a letdown!”

“There’s not much meat on him for roasting, the poor old codger,” said Ishmael. “But on the bright side, he’ll boil up a treat for stock, if we can find a big enough pot.”

“Be quiet, Ishmael, we’re
still
not eating him,” said Esmeralda. Her voice became quite matter-of-fact, and she rubbed her paws together briskly. “Well,
then, I suppose we’d better send someone down there to talk to him. We need him to tell us where to find the Crown of Fire, don’t forget.” She looked from Jack to Trundle. “Any volunteers?”

Prrrrrrrrrrrph!
sounded from the phoenix, followed by a muttered, “Beg pardon.”

“Lummee!” groaned Jack, clutching his nose. “Down there? I don’t think so.”

“It’s not fair, just one of us having to go down,” said Trundle. “We should all go.”

“Last one down’s a pickled pilchard!” chortled Ishmael, jumping over the lip of the wide cauldron and prancing down its steep slope toward the nest.

“Quick, after him!” said Esmeralda. “For all we know he’ll start trussing the phoenix up for the oven!”

Trundle and Jack and Esmeralda scrambled down in Ishmael’s cavorting wake. It wasn’t till they had slithered and slid and scrabbled and scrobbled all the way down to the twisted and knotted nest that they
got a real impression of the full size of the ancient bird. They peered up at the phoenix through the tangled brambles.

“It’s as big as a dragon!” gasped Jack.

“Bigger,” breathed Esmeralda.

“I’ve never seen a dragon,” offered Trundle. “Particularly big, are they?”

“Fairly big,” said Jack. He cocked a thumb at the phoenix. “About
that
big, generally speaking.”

The huge snoring bird reared up above them, as high as the roof of Trundle’s little cottage back in Port Shiverstones, and at least twice as wide. From up close, he looked even more mangy and wretched than before.

Ishmael was already clambering through the spiky nest, giggling to himself and muttering about roasting dishes and basting spoons.

Rrrrrrrppppph!
came a fresh report from the huge bird.

“’Scuse me…,” he muttered drowsily. “Must apologize…”

“Pardon me for being rude,” burbled Ishmael. “It was not me, it was my food, a message came right from my heart, it were no burp, it were—”

“Enough poetry, I think, Ishmael,” Esmeralda called. She gave her companions a hollow-eyed look. “Come on, let’s get this over with. We need to wake him up somehow!”

Very cautiously, they clambered in Ishmael’s wake through the thorny and spiky web of the nest. A spike got itself jammed in Trundle’s jacket, and it took all three of them to pull him loose. Jack was stabbed in the toe by a needle-sharp thorn, and he took some time out to hop about and swear before he felt able to continue. But at last they made their way through and met up again with Ishmael at the beak end of the enormous bird.

Trundle could hardly bring himself to look at the seedy and haggard old phoenix. Thick drool seeped
from the gaping beak, and his abominable breath was nearly as bad as the smells that came from his other end. Then there was the crusty yellow gunk smeared all around his wrinkly old eyes, not to mention the bald patches where withered skin showed gray and saggy on his neck and head and chest. And all the while they stood there, his incessant snoring filled the air and made the ground tremble under their feet.

“Someone wake him up, then!” shouted Esmeralda over the deafening din.

“How?” yelled Jack.

“Poke him or something,” Esmeralda suggested. “Shout in his ear!”

“Trundle, you’re good at that sort of thing,” said Jack. “Go for it, lad!”

“What do you mean,
I’m
good at that sort of thing?” exclaimed Trundle. “I’m nothing of the sort.”

“Hands up for Trundle waking the phoenix!” shouted Esmeralda.

The hands of Jack, Esmeralda, and Ishmael shot into the air.

“Oh, thanks a bunch!” said Trundle with heavy irony. “Very fair, I call that!” But there was no point in arguing. He might just as well get on with it. After all, he thought, the sooner we get what we came for, the sooner we can get away from here.

He stepped gingerly up to the side of the bird’s head. “Hoy!” he yelled into his feathery ear. “Hoy! Phoenix! Wakey-wakey!”

The phoenix made no response.

Trundle leaned in closer, cupping his paws around his mouth.
“Hoy!”
he bellowed. “
Hoy-oy-oy!
Wake up, you mangy old wreck!”

“Trundle!” Esmeralda called anxiously. “Don’t upset him!”

“Upset him?” said Trundle. “How can I do that? He can’t hear a thing. He’s probably stone deaf on top of everything else.”

“Give him a good hard nudge,” suggested Jack. “That might do the trick.”

Trundle picked his way down the vast bird. He braced himself and jabbed a shoulder into the phoenix’s belly.

Phrrrrttt!

“Manners!” mumbled the phoenix.

“Crikey!” gasped Trundle, grabbing his snout in both hands. “Save us! I’m being gassed!”

“Where ere ye go, by land or sea, ye must always let yer wind go free!” cackled Ishmael, prancing from foot to foot. “That’s what me great-grandpappy taught to me!”

Shaking her head, Esmeralda clambered up to the bird’s head. “Excuse me, Mr. Phoenix Bird!” she bellowed at the top of her voice. “Wake up now, there’s a good fellow!”

She paused, her fists on her hips, her eyes narrowing determinedly.

“Fire!”
she hollered. “
The nest’s on fire!
Every bird for himself!”

Grumble-rumble—wheeeeeeeze—grumblerumble—wheeeeeeze.

She turned her back to the bird, throwing her arms up. “Well, that’s me done! Anyone else got any bright ideas? Ishmael, will you please shut up for a minute, I can’t hear myself think above his snoring and your endless prattle!”

Trundle cocked an ear toward the dancing pirate. He was talking his usual nonsense—but it suddenly occurred to Trundle to pay better attention to Ishmael’s ramblings.

“Blackpowder and treacle—with just a dash of brimstone. That’ll wake him up—that’ll blow sparks out o’ his parson’s nose!”

Trundle’s eyes widened. He stumbled back to the
others in sudden excitement. “Listen to Ishmael!” he told them.

They listened.

“He’s always saying that,” Esmeralda retorted. “He’s potty. So what’s new?”

“But what if it means something?” Trundle insisted. “Listen again.”

“Blackpowder and treacle—with just a dash of brimstone. That’ll wake him up—that’ll blow sparks out o’ his parson’s nose!”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Trundle, you’re a complete genius! That’s not nonsense at all—it’s a recipe for a potion to wake someone up.”

“Not just
someone,
” said Trundle. “The phoenix!” He looked at Esmeralda. “You’re always going on about the Fates being on our side. Well, I think you’re right. The Fates sent Ishmael to us, and Ishmael is giving us the very method we need to wake this stinky old ruin!”

“There’s treacle on the
Thief in the Night,
” said Jack. He turned to Ishmael. “Hey, have you got any blackpowder on you, old chap?”

“Surely I do,” cried Ishmael, pulling a small leather pouch from inside his raggedy shirt. “A pirate must keep his powder close and dry, or the cannon go quiet and the balls won’t fly.”

“Good, good,” said Esmeralda, Trundle’s enthusiasm reflected in her gleaming eyes. “So we’ve got treacle and blackpowder. But what about brimstone? I don’t even know what brimstone is.”

“Whee-yoop!” shrieked Jack. “I do!
I do!
It’s sulfur! Brimstone is another name for sulfur, and the outer slopes of this mountain are covered in the stuff! All we need to do is gather some in a pot, mix it with treacle and some of Ishmael’s
blackpowder, and—hey presto—instant wake-up potion!”