food every day, and medicine for Toro. You’ll need other things too.’
‘I’ve got a water pistol,’ said Ricardo, ‘and a Ninja sword’.
The Tiger-cat jumped off Lucy’s knee and padded to the lounge. It climbed boldly onto Rahel’s lap and began to purr. She looked horrified.
‘Pat him,’ said Ricardo.
‘She won’t hurt you,’ said Lucy.
Rahel looked at them and then gingerly stroked the cat’s fur. The Tiger-cat purred even more and pushed its head against Rahel’s hand as if to say, ‘More, please!’
‘Scratch between his ears. He likes that,’ advised Ricardo, to Lucy’s intense irritation.
‘How would you know?’
‘He told me!’
Purrs reverberated around the cubby. Rahel looked up at the kids and smiled for the first time. It made her look completely different, like a normal kid, not a freaked-out, hungry one.
‘Let’s go, Ricardo, we’ve got to get the rest of the stuff before Grandma gets here.’
‘See ya,’ said Ricardo and took off through the door with the torch, leaving Lucy to stumble along behind until he felt sorry for her and stopped. Once again, the Tiger-cat was waiting, its golden eyes appraising them from its throne of broken wood and rubble, when they reached the pit.
11
The Old Lady ’s Stuff
Ricardo grabbed the humungous bunch of keys and tried the little silver one. Lucky first go. Clunk, creak; the door opened, and Ricardo staggered back and collapsed on the floor under what had been a tower of old lady’s clothes. He pulled the pink fluffy nightie from his head and clawed his way to freedom through a lemon dressing-gown and six pairs of massive white undies.
If he hadn’t glimpsed the padlocked dragon chest through the pink nightie, he might have given up, but it was irresistible. He clambered up. What was inside? Surely one of the keys would open it? Lucy shouldered past him, tripping on the undies.
‘What are you doing? They don’t need granny clothes. They need bedclothes!’
She began jamming blankets and sheets into her biggest backpack.
The room was a cross between a treasure trove and a junk shop, full of old magazines, lacy tablecloths, a crystal vase, an old black-and-white TV that didn’t work.
‘Stop trying to open that chest, Ricardo. Mum told you to leave it alone and you’re supposed to be helping me! We have to finish before Grandma comes.’
Ricardo shuffled outside, lugging a bedspread. Lucy threw pillows after him and tried to think what else they needed. She spied a wicker basket by the wall. Perfect. A picnic set. Plates, cutlery . . . everything! Ricardo found a metal bowl with a flower painted on the bottom, big enough to sit in.
‘A bath!’ said Lucy.
Toxic! He dropped it. Then Lucy found the corner with the camping gear. Airbeds, fold-up chairs, a billy, an esky to keep stuff cold. A heavy tent. A gas bottle and camping stove. Whoever owned the granny clothes must have been an explorer. Rahel and Toro could cook bacon and eggs, and heat water for a bath. They had everything they needed to stay down there forever.
‘Ricardo, give up, will you?’ She wrestled the keys from him and tried them on the chest herself.
‘See,’ he said when she gave up, ‘it’s missing’.
It was so frustrating. The chest was like a magnet.
‘It’s got Ninja swords in it,’ said Ricardo. ‘We could give them to Rahel and Toro.’
‘Crap. It’s got jewels. They could buy a whole new country!’
A loud knock on the front door almost caused Kurrawong’s first recorded dual heart attack. Grandma was early. Parrot poo! They stuffed the bedspread and pillows back inside and locked the door. Lucy sent Ricardo scooting into their bedroom with the backpack, while she let Grandma in.
Except it wasn’t Grandma. It was a man in a bright pink shirt and a shiny tie with pictures of smiling girls in the kind of swimmers that Grandma would never wear. Mr Nigel Adams, estate agent.
‘Hi there,’ he said, smiling.
Actually, he just
‘I’ve got a water pistol,’ said Ricardo, ‘and a Ninja sword’.
The Tiger-cat jumped off Lucy’s knee and padded to the lounge. It climbed boldly onto Rahel’s lap and began to purr. She looked horrified.
‘Pat him,’ said Ricardo.
‘She won’t hurt you,’ said Lucy.
Rahel looked at them and then gingerly stroked the cat’s fur. The Tiger-cat purred even more and pushed its head against Rahel’s hand as if to say, ‘More, please!’
‘Scratch between his ears. He likes that,’ advised Ricardo, to Lucy’s intense irritation.
‘How would you know?’
‘He told me!’
Purrs reverberated around the cubby. Rahel looked up at the kids and smiled for the first time. It made her look completely different, like a normal kid, not a freaked-out, hungry one.
‘Let’s go, Ricardo, we’ve got to get the rest of the stuff before Grandma gets here.’
‘See ya,’ said Ricardo and took off through the door with the torch, leaving Lucy to stumble along behind until he felt sorry for her and stopped. Once again, the Tiger-cat was waiting, its golden eyes appraising them from its throne of broken wood and rubble, when they reached the pit.
11
The Old Lady ’s Stuff
Ricardo grabbed the humungous bunch of keys and tried the little silver one. Lucky first go. Clunk, creak; the door opened, and Ricardo staggered back and collapsed on the floor under what had been a tower of old lady’s clothes. He pulled the pink fluffy nightie from his head and clawed his way to freedom through a lemon dressing-gown and six pairs of massive white undies.
If he hadn’t glimpsed the padlocked dragon chest through the pink nightie, he might have given up, but it was irresistible. He clambered up. What was inside? Surely one of the keys would open it? Lucy shouldered past him, tripping on the undies.
‘What are you doing? They don’t need granny clothes. They need bedclothes!’
She began jamming blankets and sheets into her biggest backpack.
The room was a cross between a treasure trove and a junk shop, full of old magazines, lacy tablecloths, a crystal vase, an old black-and-white TV that didn’t work.
‘Stop trying to open that chest, Ricardo. Mum told you to leave it alone and you’re supposed to be helping me! We have to finish before Grandma comes.’
Ricardo shuffled outside, lugging a bedspread. Lucy threw pillows after him and tried to think what else they needed. She spied a wicker basket by the wall. Perfect. A picnic set. Plates, cutlery . . . everything! Ricardo found a metal bowl with a flower painted on the bottom, big enough to sit in.
‘A bath!’ said Lucy.
Toxic! He dropped it. Then Lucy found the corner with the camping gear. Airbeds, fold-up chairs, a billy, an esky to keep stuff cold. A heavy tent. A gas bottle and camping stove. Whoever owned the granny clothes must have been an explorer. Rahel and Toro could cook bacon and eggs, and heat water for a bath. They had everything they needed to stay down there forever.
‘Ricardo, give up, will you?’ She wrestled the keys from him and tried them on the chest herself.
‘See,’ he said when she gave up, ‘it’s missing’.
It was so frustrating. The chest was like a magnet.
‘It’s got Ninja swords in it,’ said Ricardo. ‘We could give them to Rahel and Toro.’
‘Crap. It’s got jewels. They could buy a whole new country!’
A loud knock on the front door almost caused Kurrawong’s first recorded dual heart attack. Grandma was early. Parrot poo! They stuffed the bedspread and pillows back inside and locked the door. Lucy sent Ricardo scooting into their bedroom with the backpack, while she let Grandma in.
Except it wasn’t Grandma. It was a man in a bright pink shirt and a shiny tie with pictures of smiling girls in the kind of swimmers that Grandma would never wear. Mr Nigel Adams, estate agent.
‘Hi there,’ he said, smiling.
Actually, he just
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