The Shark-Headed Bear-Thing Read online

  FOR MUM. Off on the last great adventure.

  B. H.

  Benjamin Blank was having a brilliant dream about kicking a giant up the bum when the world began to tremble. His eyes peeled open and he sat up on his horsehair mattress. The floorboards beneath him were rumbling and shaking.

  “Earthquake,” he whispered, then he yelled, “Yes!” and punched the air. He’d never been in an earthquake before.

  The rumbling stopped as suddenly as it had started, and he realised it probably wasn’t an earthquake after all. There was silence for a moment, followed by a loud boing. Something shot into his bedroom through the wooden floor, then punched a hole in the thatched roof on its way back out again.

  “Sorry!” called a voice from below. “My fault. Breakfast’s ready!”

  Ben clambered free of his knot of blankets, stretched, then slid down the spiral metal staircase that led into the room below.

  A huge contraption filled one half of the circular room. Cogs clanked on the front of it. Steam hissed from little chimneys and water bubbled along narrow pipes. Somewhere, hidden in the inner workings, a chicken clucked impatiently. Ben hung back and eyed the machine warily.

  “I built it while you were asleep. I call it the Automated Breakfast Producing Device,” said Uncle Tavish, who’d never had a knack for catchy names. He stepped out from behind the thing and waved the mechanical arm he’d made for himself after he lost one of his own ones. It was twice as big as his other arm, and the movement almost made him fall over. “Watch this,” he said, and he cranked a handle on the machine’s side.

  The cogs turned, the steam hissed and the chicken quacked in a very un-chicken like way. A small brown oval fired out from somewhere inside the machine and rocketed straight for Benjamin’s head. Quick as a flash, he snatched it from the air just before it exploded against his face.

  “An egg,” Ben said, then he felt his fingers start to burn. He tossed the egg up and began to juggle with it. “Ouch, ouch. Hot, hot!”

  “Well of course it’s hot. Who’d want to eat cold eggs?” Tavish thought about this. “Unless at a picnic, perhaps. Or pickled eggs, obviously, mustn’t forget them.” His eyes lit up. “Ooh, an Automated Egg Pickling Device. I must write that down.”

  “Still hot!” yelped Ben, flicking the egg from one hand to the other.

  “Ah yes, sorry,” said Tavish. His mechanical arm whirred and the metal hand clamped shut around the egg. The shell splintered and a gooey blob of yellow yolk hit the floor with a plop. “Whoops,” Tavish said. He opened a hatch at his elbow and turned a brass key inside. “Not to worry. Needs a little adjusting, that’s all.”

  Ben pointed up to the hole in the ceiling. “Was that an egg, too?”

  “Hmm? Oh, no. I thought you might fancy some toast. Haven’t quite perfected the pop-up mechanism.”

  Benjamin stared at the ceiling and up through the hole in the roof beyond. He thought his uncle had perfected the pop-up mechanism a little too well.

  “Milk?” offered Tavish, pulling down a lever. From inside the machine there came a moo of surprise.

  “Uh, no,” said Ben. “I’m fine.”

  “Oh. Right. Suit yourself,” said Tavish, releasing the handle. Even over the bubbling of the water, Ben heard the cow sigh with relief.

  Tavish turned and continued tinkering with the machine. Ben sat at the little wooden table over near the furnace and watched his uncle at work. Tavish was the blacksmith for the village of Lump, but when he wasn’t shoeing horses or making swords he was building… things. Some of the things worked. Most of them didn’t. Tavish didn’t seem to mind either way.

  He was small and scrawny for a blacksmith, but his mechanical arm gave him more than enough strength to do the job. It made him so strong, in fact, that the first time he’d tried to shoe a horse while wearing it, he’d accidentally hurled the animal thirty metres into the air. Luckily, he had been able to catch it again. Or most of it, at least.

  “I thought I might head out to Kincaid’s Cave today,” Ben said.

  “Hmm?”

  “Yeah. There’s been an ogre spotted.”

  “Has there? Has there indeed?” mumbled Tavish. He pulled a pipe from the machine and peered into it. A gurgle of dirty water splashed him in the face and he quickly put the pipe back.

  “Just a little one,” said Ben. “But it’s a start.”

  “Everyone has to start somewhere,” nodded Tavish. He slid open a panel in the contraption and a dozen feathers flew out and stuck in his scraggly beard.

  “So can I go?” said Ben.

  Tavish turned to him and blinked. “Hmm? Go where?”

  “To Kincaid’s Cave. To fight the ogre.”

  “Fight an ogre?” gasped Tavish. “At your age? That sounds very dangerous!”

  Ben nodded. Of course it was dangerous.

  That was the entire point.

  “No, I’m afraid not,” said Uncle Tavish. “Too risky. Maybe another time.”

  A knock at the door interrupted them before Ben could argue. “Not open yet,” called Tavish. “Come back later.”

  The knocking came again, louder this time.

  “No, later than that,” Tavish shouted. “Come back in an hour.”

  This time the knocking seemed to shake the whole hut. Benjamin jumped up and pulled the door open. A girl stood there, her clenched fist poised to knock again. She was much shorter than Ben, and was dressed in a green robe with the hood pulled up.

  “We’re not ope—”

  “I’m looking for the warrior,” the girl told him. She stood on her tiptoes and tried to peep over Ben’s shoulder.

  “The warrior?”

  “Yes. Is he here?”

  Ben straightened his back and puffed out his chest. “I am a warrior,” he said.

  The girl tutted and shoved him aside. “Yes, very funny.” She marched past Ben and stopped in the middle of the room. Tavish couldn’t work out whether to smile or frown, so he did both at the same time.

  “Hello,” he said. “Can I help you?”

  The girl dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “Mighty warrior, Tavish the blacksmith, I have come seeking your help.”

  Tavish shuffled nervously. “Uh … mighty warrior? I think you may have me mixed up with someone else.”

  “Me, probably,” said Ben, but the girl ignored him.

  “Are you not Tavish the warrior blacksmith, former soldier in the king’s army? Was your arm not lost in service to these lands?”

  Tavish scratched his nose. “Yes, I was in the king’s army, certainly. I wasn’t exactly a soldier as such, though. I was in a more … specialised division.”

  “Catering,” said Ben. “He was a chef.”

  “A chef?” the girl spluttered. She pointed at Tavish’s mechanical arm. “Well … how did you do that, then?”

  Tavish glanced down at the arm, as if only now remembering he had it. “Oh, that. Chopping onions.”

  The girl stared at him in silence. Tavish gave a shy cough. “They were quite large onions.”

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Then the girl drew herself up to her full height – which wasn’t much. “Well, that’s just great, isn’t it? Three days it took me to get here, and what do I have to show for it? Feet full of blisters and a one-handed chef. Brilliant.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Well, that’s it then,” she said. “You were our last hope. There’s no one who can stop the monster now.”

  Benjamin’s ears twitched. Monster. She needed someone to stop a monster. He ran his fingers through his messy hair, then cleared his throat noisily. When the girl didn’t turn around, he tapped her on the shoulder. She finally turned to him and sighed.
r />   “What is it?”

  “You’re looking for a warrior?” said Ben. He bowed slightly. “You’ve found one.”

  The girl snorted. “You?”

  “I’m probably the toughest warrior you’ve ever met.”

  She looked him up and down. The rough tunic he wore looked a size and a half too big for his skinny body, and his bare legs were covered in grass stains and grazes. “I doubt that,” she said.

  “I’m dead tough. Honest, it’s like I’m practically invincible!”

  There was a high-pitched whistle from somewhere far above. It quickly grew louder, then the ceiling directly above Ben gave a crack. Something flat and burnt-looking punched through the wood, boinged off the top of his head, then clonked to the floor. They all looked down at it. It was a slice of blackened bread.

  “Toast’s ready,” Ben slurred, then he toppled forwards like a falling tree and landed with a thud on his face.

  Ben opened his eyes to find Tavish peering down at him. A smile of relief spread across the blacksmith’s soot-stained face.

  “See,” Tavish said, “I told you he wasn’t dead.”

  The girl appeared behind him, stretching up to see over his shoulder. She looked down at Ben. “I don’t know. He still looks a bit dead to me,” she said, then she broke off a piece of toast and crunched it noisily.

  Ben got to his feet. He thought he could feel a lump forming on the top of his head, but he resisted the urge to reach up and check. “How long was I knocked out for?” he asked.

  “Ten minutes,” said the girl. “You were knocked out for ten minutes.”

  “Oh,” said Ben.

  “By a slice of bread,” the girl continued.

  “Right,” said Ben.

  “I mean … I’d hate to see how you’d fare against a whole loaf. Some warrior you are.”

  “It caught me off guard, that’s all!” Ben protested. “And I’m an amazing warrior.”

  The girl tried to gnaw off another piece of the blackened toast, but her teeth couldn’t get through it. “Sure you are,” she said, then she turned and headed for the door. “Thanks for the toast,” she called to Tavish.

  “Don’t mention it,” replied Tavish, who was back tinkering with his machine again. “Good luck with your monster situation.”

  “Thanks,” said the girl. She was almost at the door, and Ben could see his dreams of monster-hunting slipping away. He put a hand on one of the levers of the breakfast machine.

  “Hey wait!” he called, and the girl stopped.

  “What now?” she asked, and she turned around just as Ben pulled down on the handle. Cogs turned. The machine rumbled. A chicken went quack, and a high speed oval shot from a tube and streaked across the room in the girl’s direction.

  Before it could reach her, the egg exploded and a spray of hot yolk and gooey white splattered down on to the floor. The girl looked up to see Ben holding a homemade catapult. He lowered the weapon slowly, then tucked it back into the belt of his shorts.

  The girl glared at him, then down at the soggy mess on the floor. Eventually, she said, “What’s your name?”

  “Benjamin. My friends call me Ben. You?”

  “Paradise. Paradise Little,” said the girl.

  Ben snorted out a laugh. “Ha! Good one.”

  “What’s so funny?” the girl glowered.

  “Oh,” said Ben. “You were being serious. I just thought, with you being so … well … little and everything…” He saw the angry expression on the girl’s face. “It’s a great name. Really suits you.”

  Paradise’s eyes narrowed. “Right then, Benjamin, if you think you’re up to it, you’re welcome to try and take on the monster that’s been terrorising my village.”

  “Excellent!”

  Tavish’s head popped up from behind his machine. “Say what now?”

  “She says I can go fight the monster!” Ben said. “How great is that?”

  “Not great, not great at all,” clucked Tavish. “It’s not safe to fight monsters at your age.”

  “So … what age is it safe to fight monsters at?” Ben asked.

  This caught Tavish off guard. The blacksmith floundered. “Well … I mean … never. There’s no age when it’s safe to fight monsters.”

  “Exactly,” Ben said. “So I might as well go now.”

  “I’ve recruited loads of other warriors, too,” Paradise added. “I’ve spent weeks rounding up the bravest monster hunters in the land.”

  “See, so I wouldn’t even have to do anything,” Ben said. “I could just watch.”

  Tavish looked unconvinced. “I don’t know…”

  “Come on, Uncle Tavish, it’s just one little monster,” Ben pleaded.

  “Big monster,” said Paradise.

  “It’s just one big monster.”

  “Huge, actually.”

  “You’re really not helping,” Ben said.

  Tavish ducked down behind his machine. There was a rattling and clanking as he clambered out through a gap at the bottom. His robotic arm whirred as he hoisted himself upright. For a long time he just stared at Ben, and there was sadness in his eyes.

  “Well, I suppose it had to happen sooner or later,” Tavish said quietly. “I can’t hold you back forever.”

  “You mean … I can go?” Ben said.

  “You can go and watch. That’s all.”

  “Brilliant!” cheered Ben, punching the air for the second time that morning. “Will you make me a sword?”

  “No,” said Tavish. “I won’t.”

  “But…”

  Tavish held up a hand – his real one – for silence. “I won’t make you a sword because you already have a sword.”

  “What, that wooden thing I play with?” Ben asked. He shot a glance at Paradise. “Used to play with, I mean. Like yeeeeears ago.” He laughed a little too loudly. “I don’t even know where it is these days.”

  “Hanging from your belt,” Paradise said.

  Ben looked down at the wooden weapon dangling from his waist. “Oh yeah,” he mumbled, his cheeks turning a shade of pink. “Er … I wonder how that got there.”

  “No, not that one,” said Tavish. “You have another sword. A sword I should have told you about years ago. Come this way,” he said, and he made for a small door tucked away at the back of the workshop.

  The door was locked. The door was always locked. Ben had never seen it open, and although he had tried to get through it many times when he was younger, he’d stopped thinking about it in recent years.

  There was a series of clicks as Tavish turned a dial on his robotic arm. With a hiss of steam his metal hand folded in on itself like a particularly chunky piece of origami. The fingers flipped and twisted until they formed the shape of a key.

  Tavish hesitated, and Ben thought his uncle might be about to change his mind. But then the key slid into the lock, and the door opened with a low, ominous creak. Rough stone steps led down into absolute darkness.

  “A basement? We’ve got a basement?” said Ben. “What do you keep down there?”

  Tavish turned. His face was grave and serious. “Secrets,” he said, then he stepped through the doorway and was swallowed by the dark.

  Ben clumped down the steps, shrugging off the darkness. Paradise stuck close behind him, her footsteps soft and silent on the stones. What little light had seeped in through the door had long since faded, and Ben was beginning to wonder just how deep underground they were going.

  “Almost there,” called Tavish, as if reading his mind. Up ahead, a flame burst into life as the blacksmith lit a torch on the wall.

  The flickering torchlight cast an eerie glow across the basement. Actually, “basement” was too generous a description. It was really little more than a deep hole in the ground. Worms wriggled in the dirt walls, and roots tangled across the floor. Bugs skittered away from the glow of the torch, and Ben had to fight to stop himself shuddering. Monsters he could handle, but creepy-crawlies were another matter entirel
y. He fixed his gaze on Tavish and did his best to ignore the scuttling bugs all around him.

  “I can’t believe this has been down here the whole time,” he said.

  “I love what you’ve done with the place,” Paradise added, her voice muffled by her hand over her mouth. “The smell is a nice touch.”

  A flicker of a frown crossed Tavish’s face. “Oh, does it smell? Sorry, I can’t tell. My nose is made almost entirely out of wood.” He tapped one nostril. It made a hollow thonk sound. “War wound. Got too close to a pan of Brussels sprouts.”

  “So,” began Ben. “This sword, then…”

  “Yes, yes of course,” said Tavish. He led them over to the far corner of the basement where there was a large boulder with a piece of cloth draped over it. A wooden chest stood beside the rock, its hinges pitted with rust.

  Tavish took hold of the cloth. Before he lifted it away, he took a deep breath and fixed Ben with a solemn stare. “You know that I found you in the wreckage of a wagon as a baby.”

  “Yes,” Ben said.

  “You know I adopted you and raised you as my own.”

  “Yep.”

  “You know I said I didn’t know what happened to your parents.”

  Ben nodded.

  “That last part wasn’t strictly true. Over the years I’ve been able to … piece some bits together.”

  “Whoa, wait,” said Ben, eyeing up the cloth. “That’s not going to be their heads under there, is it?”

  “It had better not be,” spluttered Paradise.

  “Because if you whip that off and there’s a couple of heads looking up at me I’m not going to be happy.”

  “Of course it’s not their heads!” Tavish cried.

  “I’ll be sick if it is,” Paradise warned. “I’ll be sick right over your shoes.”

  “It’s nobody’s head!”