Hodgepodge Read online

  ‘I’m so glad you called,’ he says, waving us into the house. ‘You’re doing the right thing. Hodgepodge will be very happy here.’

  I open up my backpack and Hodgepodge climbs out. He doesn’t look very happy.

  Gilda climbs down to sniff him, and Hodgepodge scrambles up my leg, smelling strongly of sweaty socks.

  ‘Let me take you on a tour,’ says Wesley Crankshaw.

  He takes us into a big open room called a MENAGERIE. We meet:

  ‘These animals are very interesting,’ Willow says. ‘But none of them are... SPECIAL like Hodgepodge.’

  Wesley Crankshaw smiles. ‘You’re quite right, Willow. Come with me.’

  He takes the golden key from around Gilda’s neck, and leads us over to a small door.

  ‘This is where I keep my most precious creatures,’ Wesley Crankshaw says.

  The room inside is very fancy, with velvety wallpaper and glittering chandeliers. There are four big glass cases along one wall.

  ‘This one is just a plant,’ Willow says, frowning into the first case.

  ‘It’s a SCYTHIAN LAMB,’ Wesley Crankshaw tells us. ‘Instead of fruit, this plant grows sheep.’

  ‘How many sheep has it grown?’

  ‘Er, well, it’s still very young. I’m expecting my first sheep any day now.’

  ‘What about this one?’ asks Willow, peering into a glass case lit only with a dim red light.

  ‘My MONGOLIAN DEATH WORM,’ Wesley Crankshaw says proudly. ‘So venomous that one touch of its skin is DEADLY.’

  ‘I don’t see it.’

  ‘It’s probably sleeping.’

  Willow makes an unimpressed noise.

  The next case is empty, but there’s a brand new plaque on it.

  ‘Is this...where Hodgepodge is going to live?’ I ask.

  The glass case contains a very fancy-looking little Hodgepodge-sized bed, and a basket full of socks.

  Wesley coughs. ‘Well, of course Hodgepodge can go wherever he wishes. In the house, or the gardens. This is just his formal quarters. He probably won’t spend much time here.’

  He hurries us along to the next case.

  ‘This is my MOST PRIZED specimen,’ Wesley Crankshaw says. ‘The BARB-TAILED SLITHY TOVE!’

  Willow squints. ‘It looks like a platypus to me.’

  She’s right, it does look an awful lot like a platypus.

  ‘It is not a platypus. It is a BARB-TAILED SLITHY TOVE!’

  ‘Are you even allowed to own a platypus?’ Willow asks. ‘I thought it was against the law.’

  ‘Who would like some cake?’ Wesley Crankshaw says loudly.

  We follow him back out into the big plush lounge room, where there is a trolley full of fancy cakes.

  I EAT THREE SLICES and offer one to Hodgepodge, but he isn’t hungry. He keeps farting anxious, old-sock farts.

  ‘Tell me about how you came across Hodgepodge,’ Wesley says.

  My mouth is full of my fourth cake, so Willow tells him about THE BIGGE BOKE OF FETCHING MONSTERS.

  Wesley Crankshaw nods. He can barely contain his excitement. ‘I knew he was a Fetchling, of course. But I’ve never seen anything quite like him, not even in my books. Incredible.’

  He reaches out to Hodgepodge, who clings to me. Hodgepodge’s little paws dig into my arm. He farts loudly, and the room smells strongly of stinky socks.

  ‘Sorry,’ I tell Wesley Crankshaw, as I reach for my fifth slice. ‘He’s very shy.’

  ‘Do you still have the book?’ Wesley Crankshaw leans forward in his chair.

  ‘No,’ says Willow, before I can say anything. ‘It crumbled into DUST after we tried to banish him.’

  ‘Did it?’ I mumble through a mouthful of icing.

  ‘Yes,’ Willow replies firmly. ‘So nobody will be making any more monst—Fetchlings.’

  I’m starting to feel a bit sick from all the cake, but I grab another one anyway.

  Gilda hops down from her plush sofa.

  ‘You’re right, Gilda,’ Wesley Crankshaw says. ‘You children should probably head home so Hodgepodge has time to settle in before bedtime.’

  I look at Hodgepodge.

  Hodgepodge looks at me.

  I can smell dirty socks. My tummy gurgles.

  ‘Can we come and visit him?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course,’ Wesley Crankshaw says with a kind smile. ‘Any time.’

  Then everything happens very quickly Gilda whisks Hodgepodge away, and Willow and I are hustled out the front door. I DON’T EVEN GET TO SAY GOODBYE.

  ‘We did the right thing, didn’t we?’ Willow asks when we get home.

  But I’m too full of cake and SADNESS to talk.

  The big spooky house feels very empty.

  Willow practises her guitar.

  I read my Junior Scientist magazine.

  Mum repaints a door.

  David Cole cooks jellied eels with fresh figs from the tree in the backyard.

  Murphy sleeps in a patch of afternoon sun.

  Everything is back to normal.

  But I can’t stop thinking about all those glass cases at Wesley Crankshaw’s house, and how scared Hodgepodge looked.

  I walk into Willow’s room the next morning. ‘I feel WEIRD that we didn’t get to say goodbye to Hodgepodge.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘Can we go and see him?’

  Willow shrugs. ‘Wesley Crankshaw said we could visit any time.’

  ‘We’re here to visit Hodgepodge,’ Willow says.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ says Wesley Crankshaw, ‘but he’s not available right now.’

  ‘You said we could come any time.’

  ‘DID I? Well, you see, he’s relaxing in his room after a busy morning in the garden with his new friends.’

  I swallow. ‘His... NEW friends?’

  ‘The other creatures. They’ve been swimming in the pool, playing in the playground. So happy.’

  ‘Could we wait here until he’s finished resting?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I have to go out soon. Have a nice day.’

  Wesley Crankshaw closes the door before we can say anything else.

  We walk back through the beautiful gardens. There are statues of animals everywhere. Wesley Crankshaw must really love animals.

  I take a step back and look up at the house. The windows all have BARS, to stop people from getting in.

  Or is it to stop creatures from getting out?

  ‘Do you hear something?’ I ask Willow.

  ‘No, I don’t hear anything.’

  ‘Exactly. There are NO creatures out here, playing.’

  Willow narrows her eyes. ‘Let’s have a quick look around.’

  We walk around the garden.

  There is NO playground.

  There is NO swimming pool.

  But there IS a washing line.

  ‘Look!’ I say to Willow, pointing.

  SOCKS. Lots and lots of socks.

  I feel sick, like I’ve eaten too much cake again. ‘Wesley Crankshaw LIED to us about Hodgepodge playing in the garden. Do you see all those flowers? All those socks?’

  WILLOW GASPS.

  ‘There’s NO WAY Hodgepodge could go past those flowers and socks and not eat them,’ I say.

  A side door opens, and Wesley Crankshaw pokes his head out.

  ‘What are you kids still doing here?’ he yells. ‘The Fetchling is mine!

  ‘Just let us see him!’ Willow says. ‘Then we’ll go.’

  Wesley Crankshaw scowls. ‘You’ll NEVER see him again,’ he says. ‘Now get out of here BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE.’

  I remember how sad Hodgepodge looked when we left him with Gilda. I remember the little glass case with FETCHLING written on it. And I remember the soft, warm feeling of Hodgepodge curled up on my bed.

  I screw up my eyes, take a deep breath and say the bravest thing I’ve ever said. ‘We have to rescue Hodgepodge.’

  Willow finds some bacon and raisin cookies in the kitchen
that are actually pretty delicious. Then we sit down in my room to make the plan to rescue Hodgepodge.

  ‘We need to hit him with everything we’ve got!’ says Willow fiercely.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘We need to be careful. Wesley Crankshaw is DANGEROUS.’

  We argue for a bit, then agree to make separate plans and compare notes.

  ‘Where are we going to get the BEAR TRAP from?’ I ask. ‘And don’t you need a licence for a hot air balloon?’

  ‘Well, at least I have a plan,’ Willow replies. ‘All you have is a list of things that could go WRONG.’

  ‘Gilda isn’t even a monkey, she’s a gibbon,’ I say. ‘But taking something to distract her probably isn’t a terrible idea.’

  ‘Well, if there’s a tsunami, Wesley Crankshaw’s house is the place to be, because it’s on a hill,’ says Willow. ‘But you’re probably right about some of the other risks. We should take a first-aid kit.’

  We make another plan, and try to keep it simple.

  ‘I think that might be TOO simple,’ Willow says. ‘And what about the rotten eggs?’

  ‘We don’t have any rotten eggs.’

  Willow pulls an egg carton from her bedside table.

  I stare at her. ‘Why do you have rotten eggs next your bed?’

  Willow shrugs. ‘Just in case.’

  We head back to Wesley Crankshaw’s mansion and wait for him to leave.

  Then we sneak around to the front door. LOCKED.

  We sneak around to the side door. LOCKED.

  We sneak around to the back door.

  ‘So much for Step One,’ says Willow, lifting up a statue of an aardvark. ‘On to Step Two.’

  ‘What are you going to do with that?’

  ‘Smash a window!’

  ‘That’s a terrible idea.’

  ‘Artie, if you want to get Hodgepodge back, we’re going to have to do some risky things.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say. ‘But all the windows have BARS on them. You could smash all of them and we still wouldn’t be able to get in.’

  I take a step back and look up. High up, nearly at the roof, there is a tiny window.

  An open window. With no bars.

  IT’S VERY HIGH.

  I swallow.

  I am brave. I’m doing this for Hodgepodge.

  There’s a tree next to the house, with strong, low branches. Perfect for climbing.

  ‘Come on,’ I say to Willow, before I have time to overthink it.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ says Willow. She looks SCARED.

  For some reason, this makes me feel a bit more BRAVE. ‘You can do it. Just follow me. I’ll show you the way.’

  I climb higher. I can see all of Wesley Crankshaw’s garden.

  We keep climbing until we are as high as the little open window. We have to jump across to it.

  Willow takes a DEEP BREATH.

  ‘Gibbon,’ I say.

  ‘Whatever.’

  Gilda is sleeping on her velvet cushions. The golden key is around her neck. Willow creeps over, and very carefully tries to ease the golden chain up over Gilda’s head.

  Gilda’s eyes SNAP OPEN, and she lets out a high-pitched hooting noise that is SO LOUD it hurts my ears. Willow stumbles backwards.

  Gilda is awake, and Gilda is ANGRY.

  ‘Run!’ I yell.

  Gilda chases us through the house, screeching at the top of her lungs.

  I read all about it in my Junior Scientist Magazine. I also read that they like figs. And I just happen to have a juicy fresh fig in my pocket, straight from the tree in our backyard.

  ‘Hey, Gilda,’ I yell. ‘CATCH!’

  I throw the fig up to the chandelier, but I’m not very good at throwing, so it doesn’t go high enough. Gilda has to hold on to the chandelier with her feet and stretch down with her arms to catch it.

  And while she’s there, hanging upside down, the golden key and chain slip over her head and drop below...

  ...RIGHT INTO WILLOW’S OUTSTRETCHED HAND.

  Gilda lets out a SCREAM OF RAGE. I’m terrified that she’s going to attack Willow. Or me. But instead she climbs up the chandelier, swings over to the balcony, and vanishes.

  And then she’s gone.

  Willow and I rush back into the sitting room and unlock the door to the EXTRA-RARE SPECIMENS room.

  We race past the Scythian lamb, the Mongolian death worm and stop in front of the third case.

  ‘Hodgepodge!’ I say, tapping on the glass.

  Hodgepodge squeaks and wags his little stumpy tail when he sees us. I hear him fart, and even through the glass I can smell roses.

  ‘How do we get him out?’ says Willow, looking for a door, or a hatch, or something.

  Hodgepodge points to the wall behind us, where there is a large button.

  ‘We should probably think this through,’ I tell Willow. ‘Is this really an emergency? After all, we could always—’

  Willow slams the button.

  A siren starts to blare, and red lights flash.

  The glass wall of Hodgepodge’s enclosure slides down into the floor. The other enclosures open too. The BARB-TAILED SLITHY TOVE (probably a platypus) pokes its bill out, then scurries away.

  Hodgepodge rushes over to me and I pick him up in a big hug.

  ‘Come on,’ says Willow. ‘We have to go!’

  Wesley Crankshaw is standing in the doorway to EXTRA-RARE SPECIMENS. Gilda is sitting on his shoulder, looking very smug.

  ‘You are very troublesome children,’ Wesley Crankshaw says.

  ‘We came for Hodgepodge,’ I tell him.

  ‘Hodgepodge doesn’t belong to you.’

  ‘He doesn’t belong to anyone!’ Willow yells. ‘He should get to decide what he wants to do.’

  ‘You’re right,’ says Wesley Crankshaw. ‘If he wants to go with you then he can.’

  I look at Willow. That was...easy. Suspiciously easy. We start to follow Wesley Crankshaw out of EXTRA-RARE SPECIMENS, but then Gilda starts shrieking.

  ‘LOOK OUT!’ says Wesley Crankshaw. ‘The Mongolian death worm has escaped! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!’

  He pushes us out the door, and Gilda grabs Hodgepodge and shoves him back into EXTRA-RARE SPECIMENS. Wesley slams the door shut behind us, and I hear an anxious farting noise.

  From the other side of the door.

  Hodgepodge is trapped!

  Gilda chuckles.

  I glare at Wesley Crankshaw. ‘There isn’t a Mongolian death worm is there?’

  ‘Not yet. Now get out of my house,’ says Wesley Crankshaw. ‘Before I call the police.’

  Willow rushes at the door, but Wesley Crankshaw LOCKS IT with the golden key.

  ‘There is nothing you can say that will make me open that door again,’ he says. ‘LEAVE.’

  Willow looks at me like she’s expecting me to say something clever. I open my mouth and say the first thing I can think of.

  ‘Can you smell smoke?’

  Wesley Crankshaw frowns, then sniffs the air.

  There is a definite smoky smell.

  Willow turns to look at me. ‘Yes,’ she says loudly. ‘I can smell smoke too. I think it’s coming from in there.’ She points at EXTRA-RARE SPECIMENS.

  Wesley Crankshaw narrows his eyes. ‘You can’t fool me,’ he says. ‘I’m not opening that door.’ But he’s starting to look worried.

  The smoky smell is getting stronger.

  And it is definitely coming from EXTRA-RARE SPECIMENS.

  ‘My collection!’ Wesley shrieks, as he fumbles for the key.

  He unlocks the door.

  There is no fire

  There is no smoke.

  Instead there’s Hodgepodge, looking very proud of himself, stinking exactly like David Cole’s EXTRA smoky barbeque sauce. He dashes out into the sitting room before Wesley Crankshaw can slam the door shut again.

  ‘Gilda!’ Wesley Crankshaw shouts.

  Gilda shrieks and swings over to the lounge-room door where there is another button:
>
  She presses it, and steel shutters slide down over the windows and doors.

  ‘YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY FETCHLING,’ Wesley Crankshaw says. ‘I’ll put you all in cages, if I have to.’

  Willow throws a rotten egg at him.

  Wesley Crankshaw sneers at her, stinky gross egg running down his face. ‘What did you hope to achieve by doing that?’ he asks.

  ‘Nothing,’ she replies. ‘But it made me feel better.’

  We all look to the big steel door. There’s something on the other side.

  Whatever it is, it sounds strong. Maybe it’s someone come to rescue us.

  Or maybe it’s something DANGEROUS.

  The metal door collapses in on itself.

  But there's no giant monster on the other side.

  There's just Tyson, the mantis shrimp, his punching claw waving in victory. Behind Tyson is an Angora rabbit, a pink fairy armadillo, a Gooty tarantula and something that is absolutely, definitely a platypus.

  ‘No...’ whispers Wesley Crankshaw, stumbling backwards.

  BUT IT’S TOO LATE.

  ‘Please,’ Wesley Crankshaw blubbers. ‘Please. I’m sorry. Just let me go.’

  The creatures all surround him and Gilda, looking menacing.

  I run over and hit the URGENT LOCKDOWN button again. The steel doors slide open.

  Hodgepodge looks over at me and Willow and squeaks.

  ‘We should tie them up,’ Willow says.

  Hodgepodge squeaks again, and I get a faint whiff of David Cole’s smoky barbeque sauce.

  ‘Why tie them up,’ I say with a grin, ‘when there’s a perfectly good DUNGEON right there?’

  I point to EXTRA-RARE SPECIMENS.

  Wesley Crankshaw gives me a dirty look. ‘You’ve RUINED my collection,’ he hisses.