The Great Flytrap Disaster Page 3

  He stood on the books, scratched his chin, and leaned against the water pipe.

  And then, in a moment, it came to him. “Of course!” he whispered, a smile breaking across his face.

  “What is it?” said Lily, “What? What do you mean, ‘Of course!’?”

  “The story, Lily. You know: the crow and the jug.”

  “I need more of a clue than that!”

  “You’ll need to swim,” said Button, pointing to the water pipe. “Look, this is where we take the cork out to fill the bath,” he said, pointing to where the little stopper had been forced into the leak so that when they wanted to take a bath in the mustard jar, they could fill it with water.

  The jug had crashed into the corner and was in just the right position. Button pulled on the cork and the lukewarm water started dribbling out.

  “It’s a bit like your story,” Button pointed out to Old Uncle Noggin, “except the other way round. I’m pouring water into the jug until Lily rises to the top! Then, when she’s out, we’ll get you both down.”

  “You’re a clever old stick, aren’t you, Button?” said the Captain proudly.

  “My feet are getting wet,” said Lily. The water was filling her boots and there was nothing she could do but stand in it and wait for it to rise.

  The jug was filling nicely, but the light from the window was growing brighter. Dawn was on the way.

  “Keep going, you’re doing a marvelous job,” said the Captain.

  “Yes . . . hurry up!” said Uncle Noggin. “I think my feet are being eaten alive.”

  “Uncle Noggin, even the grubbiest plant on earth wouldn’t be interested in your feet,” laughed Button.

  “Don’t worry, you’re safe,” called Lily from below as the water reached her neck.

  The water was swirling around her now. She had to keep kicking her feet to stay upright and she could feel herself starting to float up inside the jug.

  “It’s working, Button. It’s working!”

  But up above in the corner, something could hear Lily’s voice. It opened its eyes. There were six of them.

  At first Mr. Dregby was sleepy. But then he remembered about his breakfast, and he was excited.

  He came out of his corner, stretching his legs and bouncing along his thread toward the place where Button had been. But when he got there, the bundle was empty, torn to shreds. What in the world had happened to the juicy young prize he had captured? Nothing had ever escaped from his web before.

  Mr. Dregby’s eyes turned red. He grumbled and grimaced with his sharp teeth. His prickly hairs stood on end. Off he went to search: Surely Button wasn’t far away. But there were so many crevices and hiding places to be checked.

  Button had climbed back to the shelf, to think about how to rescue his other shipmates as soon as Lily was free.

  “I’m almost there!” called Lily. But as she reached for the edge of the jug, the six eyes that were looming back at her did not belong to Button.

  Captain Crabsticks had drifted off to sleep again, wrapped in his spiky green sleeping bag. Uncle Noggin was awake, worrying about being eaten alive, trying to distract himself with thoughts of food. At that moment he was imagining a crisp, full-size cornflake.

  If Button had looked he would have seen Uncle Noggin chewing an imaginary mouthful, but he was too busy formulating the escape plan to take any notice of Uncle Noggin’s nonsense.

  He climbed the books again, hoping that Lily would be floating high enough to be pulled out, but when he got there something was in the way. He couldn’t quite make it out at first: a dark shape looming over the edge of the jug.

  “Dregby!”

  Lily was gasping and panicking in the water. She flapped her arms and kicked her legs. Above her, hairy legs hung down. Large teeth were frighteningly close to her face.

  “Well, well, well,” said the spider. “What good news. I will be getting my breakfast after all.”

  He dropped a little lower. Close up, his eyes were even meaner.

  But just as she let out a yelp, a huge splash soaked Mr. Dregby. Button had pushed a pepper shaker into the water! The spider flew back up his thread in shock, so sopping wet he looked ridiculous.

  Button’s face appeared over the side of the jug, grinning a wide grin. He leaned into the jug as far as he could. “Give me your hands, Lil. I can reach you from here.”

  Lily reached up. Their fingers were almost touching. “Just a little bit further,” she gasped.

  Button stretched down further. If he wasn’t careful he’d be in the water too! With a strong kick, Lily grabbed his hands . . . and somehow, between them, they managed to ease her over the rim of the jug and out on to the pile of books.

  Mr. Dregby was as angry as he was soaking wet. His breakfast, lunch, and dinner plans had been foiled. “Those pesky miniature pirates have escaped my clutches once again,” he moaned as he dried his hairy legs. “Flies for breakfast. I’ve had enough of those little buzz balls to last me a lifetime. And their noise is keeping me awake at night.”

  Lily and Button tumbled quickly down the books and up to the shelf. All the commotion had woken Captain Crabsticks again, and Uncle Noggin had been distracted from his dream about cornflakes.

  “I’m drenched!” said Lily. “But glad to be alive, thanks to you.” She perched on a rusty teaspoon, shivering.

  Button scratched his head and looked at the flytrap.

  “Get me first,” said Uncle Noggin. “I can’t feel my body. I think there’s only my head left.”

  “I doubt if it could have eaten that much, old chap,” said the Captain from his perch.

  Lily was looking around for something they might use to pry open the jaws of the hungry green monster. There it was! In the corner, covered in dust and stringy, broken bits of cobweb. An old cocktail stirrer.

  She darted over to it and leaned it against the wall, stamping on it until it snapped in half.

  “This is perfect,” Button said, as she handed one half of it to him.

  Just then Mr. Dregby dropped down right in front of Button’s face. His eyes were all agog; his teeth were showing. He was still dripping with water.

  “Just tell me, Button. How did you get out of my trap? That’s all I want to know.”

  “Stay away from me, Dregby,” said Button, pointing the stirrer at him.

  “Oh dear . . . you’re shaking, Button. I thought you were a fearless pirate! Perhaps you’re not so brave after all.”

  “Come any closer and you’ll be on the end of this cocktail stirrer.” Button gripped it harder and stood his ground.

  “I haven’t done with you yet, Button. Don’t get too clever. You’re only a weak cabin boy.”

  And then Mr. Dregby crawled back into his dark corner, while Button tried to stop his knees from trembling.

  “Thank you, Button,” said Lily, who was shaking with cold and a little bit of fright. “You’re a hero.”

  Button climbed on to Lily’s shoulders, hoisting himself up into the bottom of the plant pot. As he landed in the soil, he realized he was still without his shoes. He took a look up at the web and could still see the buckles showing through the thread. How would he ever get them back?

  “First things first,” he said to himself. Maybe later, when they’d rescued the rest of the pirate crew.

  “You’re too late,” cried Uncle Noggin. “There’s barely anything left of me.”

  “Don’t be silly,” said Lily. “Calm yourself down. We’ll have you out of there in a flash.”

  Button decided that he would get Uncle Noggin out first, because he couldn’t bear listening to the moaning any more. He climbed carefully up to the old pirate’s pod, making sure he didn’t get near any more of the hungry, green spiky mouths.

  Reaching Uncle Noggin, he shoved one end of the cocktail stirrer inside the green pod and then he heaved it back with all his might, easing Uncle Noggin out bit by bit. As soon as he could move, Uncle Noggin couldn’t get free fast enough. And when he did
he yelled out loud.

  “I’m alive!” he shouted. “I’m alive! Look, I’m all here! Arms, legs, hands, and feet. Little bit achy, mind you. Little bit sore. These bones aren’t getting any younger, you know, Button.”

  Lily helped Old Noggin down from the pot and then climbed up the plant herself.

  “Well done, old girl. Now if you don’t mind, I wouldn’t mind getting out of here myself,” pointed out the Captain. And so, with Lily’s help, Button pulled him out from the deadly pod.

  “You’re a bit gooey!” said Button. “You’ll probably need a bath.”

  Both the Captain and Uncle Noggin were covered in a sticky, slimy, green mess, and there was a slightly odd smell coming from them.

  “Well, at least it will scare the flies off,” laughed Lily as she climbed back down, avoiding the pods.

  At last, they all gathered on the shelf. The older ones covered in green goo, Lily soaking wet and frozen, and Button without his shoes. None of them had managed a night’s sleep, and they were still extremely hungry.

  Jones came running up to them and brushed against Button’s legs.

  “Ah there you are Jones, old boy. Well done for playing captain while we were trapped. You did a marvelous job. Extra fish for you tonight.”

  “So much has happened I can’t remember what we were trying to do before all this started,” sighed Lily.

  “Well, we were trying to fight off the flies, and they’d taken all our food, and old Dregby was getting far too close. . . .” said Button.

  “Ah, that’s right,” said the Captain. “Now—”

  Just then the Captain was interrupted by a delivery. Something bundled in thread came dangling by a single strand of silk above their heads. Slowly it came down until it was in midair in front of Button’s face.

  They looked up to see Dregby on the ceiling, lowering the parcel like some kind of spooky, eight-legged postman. “Special delivery for your cabin boy, Captain.”

  Button took the parcel in his hands. It was his shoes! He could see the gold buckles through the silvery thread. He tried to tear the webbing open but it was wrapped too tightly, so he bit into it, tearing with his teeth.

  The shoes were in there all right, just as he’d left them. It wasn’t a trick.

  “Why did you do that?” called Button, looking up at the spider.

  “Why did I do what?” came the voice from above.

  “Give me my shoes back? Why would you do that?”

  “I wanted to see how you got out of my trap,” said Mr. Dregby. “And now that I know you used your teeth, next time I’ll wrap that mouth shut so you can’t bite your way out. I’ll get you in the end, Button.”

  And then he was gone again, through his silvery silk doorway and into his corner.

  “Don’t worry, Button. He won’t ever get you. Not a chance,” said Lily.

  Button was cross. “Hmmm, we never got a chance to deal with that web, did we?” he muttered to himself. “I’ve got a plan. I need a shoelace from the sea chest, and a cotton spool. A darning needle and some grease. I’ll show that spider not to mess with the Pocket Pirates.”

  No one knew quite what Button had in mind, but they went along with it because when Button had a plan, it usually worked like clockwork. The shipmates watched him hook up the cotton spool to the shoelace and hold it in place with the darning needle. Then he fastened it to the old music box.

  And only when they saw him haul the shoelace around the plant pot did they see what he was doing. He smeared the grease along the shelf from the plant pot toward the corner.

  “Uncle Noggin, I want you to use your strength to wind the lever as far as it will go on the music box.”

  “Aye aye, cabin boy,” nodded Uncle Noggin. He hobbled along the shelf to the music box, and he and the Captain leaned against it as he turned the lever until it was fully wound. The music started to play, the barrel turned and pulled the shoelace until, in turn, it pulled the plant pot along the shelf. Lily and Button helped it along with a good, old shove from behind and, gliding over the grease, it sailed smoothly into place under Dregby’s web.

  “Jolly good work, Button old boy,” said the Captain.

  Outside the bottle, Mr. Tooey was wandering around with a sausage sandwich in his hand when something distracted him. He put his sandwich down and stared hard. Had he really put that plant pot there? He could have sworn he’d placed it farther over, in the sunlight. Oh well, never mind. He picked up the little watering can from the shop window and soaked the plant through. Then, distracted by something else, he wandered off again.

  When the Pocket Pirates ventured out again, Mr. Dregby had retreated right back into the corner.

  “Your plan worked a treat, Button,” said Lily. “Well done.”

  “Good work,” said Uncle Noggin. “Dregby’s packed up his tent and moved along.”

  “Now listen here. Open your ears, buccaneers. Did someone order takeout?” said the Captain.

  “Not much chance of that!” groaned Lily.

  “Stop teasing,” said Uncle Noggin. “I’m considering eating some dusty old cobweb at the moment.”

  “If I don’t eat soon, I’ll be ill,” said Button.

  “Well, there’s a huge sandwich at the end of the shelf, so if I were you I’d get moving. Tally-ho!” shouted the Captain. “Let’s get what we can!”

  Was it true? Was there really a sandwich at the end of the shelf? Perhaps it was an illusion, brought on by lack of food.

  “Oh my goodness,” whispered Button. “I think it’s . . . sausage.”

  “SAUSAGE!” yelled the crew. “ATTACKKKKK!”

  The pirate crew raced toward the gigantic meat feast. Together they moved like a well-oiled machine, removing huge lengths of meat, scooping up the butter, pulling off chunks of bread, and munching as they went along.

  There was nothing like the surprise of food being delivered to the door. It hadn’t happened often, but Mr. Tooey couldn’t have chosen a better time.

  They retreated below deck and ate and drank until they were almost bursting.

  All was good. Mr. Dregby was back in his corner and now their bellies were full. And they were so exhausted that in a short while they were all snoring in their hammocks.

  “Now where did I put that sandwich? Oh, of course, on the shelf when I watered the plant,” muttered Mr. Tooey.

  He was sure of it. But when he returned to the main part of the shop, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Where his sandwich had been were just a few crusts, and what looked like tiny footprints in a smudge of ketchup.

  “Not again. I must be dreaming,” he groaned.

  But of course he would never say anything about it. People would think him mad. Wouldn’t they?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHRIS MOULD went to art school at the age of sixteen. During this time he did various jobs, from delivering papers to washing dishes. Chris loves his work and writes and draws the kind of books that he would have liked to have on his shelf as a boy. He has won the Nottingham Children’s Book Award and has been shortlisted for the Greenaway Award and commended for the Sheffield Book Award. Chris has also worked for the RSC, the BBC, the FT, and many other famous initials, as well as for Aardman Animations, where he did character and environment development work on the film Flushed Away. Chris is married with two children and lives in Yorkshire.

  Visit us at simonandschuster.com/kids

  Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Chris-Mould

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ALADDIN

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

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  This Aladdin paperbac
k edition February 2019

  Copyright © 2016 by Chris Mould

  Originally published in Great Britain by Hodder Children’s Books

  Published under license from the British publisher

  Hodder & Stoughton Limited on behalf of its publishing imprint

  Hodder Children’s Books, a division of Hachette Children’s Group

  Also available in an Aladdin hardcover edition.

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  Cover designed by Karin Paprocki

  Interior designed by Michael Rosamilia

  The illustrations for this book were rendered in pen and ink.

  Library of Congress Control Number 2018958253

  ISBN 978-1-4814-9121-1 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-9120-4 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-9122-8 (eBook)

 

 

  Chris Mould, The Great Flytrap Disaster

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