Four Children and It Read online

  ‘Are you some kind of nutter?’ said Smash. ‘I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I know,’ said Robbie. ‘I do that too. Like with my zoo animals – I know they’re little pieces of plastic, of course I do, but sometimes it seems like they’re great big wild animals roaring and running around me.’

  ‘Total nutters, both of you. It must run in your family,’ Smash said. ‘Well, I don’t pretend anything of the sort. I saw that sammy-thingy yesterday and I absolutely know it’s real.’

  ‘I am not a “sammy-thingy”, if you please. I am the Psammead,’ said a voice behind us.

  We whipped round. There was the Psammead sitting on the sand, its arms crossed as it contemplated us, eyes swivelling on their stalks.

  ‘There you are! Oh, I’m ever so pleased you really are real,’ I said. I wanted to stroke it, but I didn’t quite dare, in case it thought I was being impertinent.

  Maudie was much bolder. She shuffled forward on her knees and reached out eagerly.

  ‘Nice Monkey,’ she said.

  ‘And nice small infant,’ said the Psammead, returning the compliment politely, but it edged backwards. It looked at me. ‘Could you please wipe her paws if she must touch me? They look a little damp to me. I have a horror of water.’

  ‘Are you like the Wicked Witch of the West? Will you shrivel up if we pour a bucket of water over you?’ said Smash.

  ‘Don’t you dare try!’ said Robbie, springing in front of the Psammead protectively.

  ‘Do not worry, young gentleman. It would be an extremely unpleasant experience, but I would survive – unlike your uncouth companion, who would be instantly turned to stone and gush water forever if she dared to do any such thing.’

  ‘You would turn her to stone?’ I asked.

  ‘Have you never observed fountains?’ said the Psammead. ‘All those stone maidens with water pitchers and ugly young louts with open mouths? All my handiwork!’

  I wasn’t sure if it was joking or not, but I did my best to look impressed. I wiped Maudie’s sticky hands thoroughly with the bottom of my T-shirt.

  ‘Nice, nice, nice Monkey,’ Maudie said, and very gently stroked the Psammead’s back with one hand.

  It quivered a little, clearly not particularly enjoying the experience, but it sat still for her.

  ‘Were you hiding behind us all the time we were digging?’ Smash demanded.

  ‘No, indeed. I was snoozing delightfully deep in my sand, when you started excavating the entire pit with such clumsy vigour that you caused a minor earthquake. I was abruptly woken from my slumbers and tossed hither and yon until I scrabbled free and listened to your not especially interesting philosophical discussion on the nature of my existence,’ said the Psammead.

  ‘Well, you obviously do exist and we’d like you to do another wish for us,’ said Smash.

  The Psammead looked outraged.

  ‘Please,’ Smash added.

  ‘I don’t please, Miss Shouty Person. Why on earth should I exhaust myself granting you wishes when you destroy my sleeping quarters and then threaten to annihilate me with a jug of water?’

  ‘But – but isn’t that what you do? Grant wishes? That’s your job!’ said Smash.

  The Psammead gave a little hissing sound, so that puffs of air blew between its sharp little teeth. It might have been a laugh, though it didn’t sound very mirthful. It might have been a threat.

  ‘Shut up, Smash. We must treat the Psammead with great respect,’ I said.

  ‘Because we want a wish?’ said Smash.

  ‘Because it’s a very, very elderly and amazing magical individual, a myth and a legend and possibly even an immortal,’ I said.

  The Psammead’s mood changed. It positively preened.

  ‘I couldn’t have expressed it better myself,’ said the Psammead. ‘You have a way with words, Miss Rosalind.’

  ‘That’s because she’s always reading hundreds of books,’ said Smash. ‘And she’s a creep. But I didn’t mean to upset you, Mr Psammead, sir. I wasn’t really being rude. I talk like this to everyone. It’s just my way.’

  ‘It’s a very unpleasant way,’ said the Psammead. ‘When I last surfaced, the children then had mostly impeccable manners. That was in the good old days when children were supposed to be seen and not heard.’ It sighed wistfully. ‘I still feel quite affronted. I am not used to shouty people. I think I will have to retire to my bed forthwith.’ It started scrabbling in the sand.

  ‘Oh, don’t go! Please! I’m sorry, I’m very, very, very sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you for the world!’ said Smash, trying hard to make her voice pleasant and placating. She sounded weirdly like her mother.

  The Psammead didn’t look convinced, but then Maudie nestled up to it and stroked its fur again, very gently and soothingly.

  ‘Very, very sorry,’ she echoed, though she’d done nothing wrong.

  The Psammead stopped scrabbling and stretched a little.

  ‘Yes, yes, small child. Scratch my back a little, my paws don’t reach quite far enough. Ah! That’s delightful. Now, where were we?’

  ‘Perhaps – perhaps you were about to grant us another wish?’ said Robbie.

  ‘Perhaps I was,’ said the Psammead.

  ‘Then I wish –’ Robbie began.

  ‘You’ve had your turn, Robs,’ I said. ‘No, please, dear Psammead, I was wondering about wishing for –’

  ‘No, no! Please let it be me. I wish I – okay, we – can all be rich and famous,’ Smash gabbled.

  The Psammead paused, and then nodded.

  ‘Very well. Rich and famous it is,’ it said, and started puffing itself up. It grew until its eyes bulged on the ends of its stalks and it became totally spherical – and then it subsided abruptly, scrabbled weakly in the sand, and retreated.

  ‘Thank you so much, dear Psammead,’ I said, nudging Smash to do likewise.

  But she was distracted by someone approaching.

  ‘Look out!’ she said.

  A vast man was striding purposefully through the woods towards us. He was very tall and very big, with a very red bald head and very little neck – a terrifying giant of a man in a pale grey straining suit, stamping towards us in shiny brown shoes.

  I clutched Robbie and Smash grabbed Maudie.

  ‘Run for it!’ she said. ‘He looks like a gangster! Perhaps he’s going to kill us!’

  But when he got nearer he stopped and touched his fingers to his scarlet forehead in a weird kind of salute.

  ‘Good day, Miss Smash, Miss Rosalind, Master Robbie, little Miss Maudie. I hope you enjoyed your private picnic,’ he said humbly. ‘So sorry if you’ve been kept waiting.’

  We blinked at him.

  ‘Er … who are you?’ said Smash.

  He hung his huge head a little foolishly.

  ‘You’re joking me, right, Miss Smash? I’m Bulldog, your bodyguard. If you’ll kindly step this way, Bob has the car ready and waiting.’

  ‘What kind of car?’ said Smash.

  ‘He thought you’d ordered the pink stretch limo today as there are the four of you travelling together – but if you’d sooner the Rolls or the red Ferrari then you’ve only to say,’ he said, clearly anxious to please.

  Smash swallowed. ‘Oh, I dare say the pink stretch limo will do for today,’ she said, giggling. She stood up and shifted Maudie to her hip. ‘Come on then,’ she said to us.

  ‘But – but we can’t go off with a stranger!’ Robbie hissed.

  ‘He’s not a stranger. He knows us. He works for us,’ said Smash. ‘We’re rich and famous.’

  ‘I’ll say,’ said Bulldog. ‘You’re in all the papers again, Miss Smash – and the telly people are going bananas trying to get you on their shows. Graham Norton and Paul O’Grady aren’t even on speaking terms now – and Oprah’s talking about sending her own private jet across the pond just to get you on her programme.’

  ‘Really!’ said Smash. ‘Come on, you two. Let’s get in this car!’