Page 27 of The Neverfear

The door burst open.

Christopher took a wild look around, then vaulted over the lip of the custard dish and into its yellow depths.

He held his breath under the surface, custard in his hair and ears, seeping through his clothes. The footsteps entered the room.

He knew he shouldn’t, knew it reckless, but he couldn’t stop himself – he shifted so that his custard-covered nose and one eye were above the surface.

The giant was young, his face smooth and hairless. For one long moment, he stopped. He sniffed: a sniff that was loud as a storm. Then he grunted and began to plunder the table. A hand the size of a boulder came darting past Christopher as he seized a wedge of cake and crammed it into his pocket. He snatched up a hunk of cheese. His hand hesitated over the candyfloss – and then he plunged a finger straight into the custard.

Christopher froze, eyes screwed shut, and felt the vibration in the liquid as the giant’s finger missed him by inches. The giant licked the custard. Then he sniffed again and his chin went up, face twisting left and right. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Christopher crouched low, not breathing. He tried not to think how his father would react to being told he’d been eaten by a giant while covered in custard. He would, he was fairly sure, think it undignified.

There was a sudden cry. Christopher could just pick out the words beneath the agonising boom. ‘Boyit! You stealing food, there’m trouble!’

The boy gave a choke – a guilty laugh – and plunged his finger once more into the custard – swirled it, the tip passing less than an inch from Christopher’s head – then turned and ran, licking his finger like a lollipop.

‘That was close.’ Anya emerged from the candyfloss. ‘I thought you were going to be dessert.’

The Kennel Of Cerberus

The kennel wall loomed above them, each brick half as tall as Christopher. A hoarse rumbling came from within.

‘How do we get the key in the lock?’ said Christopher. He had rinsed himself in a water jug, but was still sticky with custard.

‘I’m doing it,’ Anya said. ‘You’re plucking the whiskers, so I get to do this.’

Christopher helped Anya tie the key, as long as a golf umbrella, to a length of rope from the boat. She fastened the other end around her waist.

Anya looked up at the wall. She bit her lips together, and set her palms against the bricks. Then she launched herself upwards. There were plenty of handholds in the rough-cut stone, but the drop was sheer, and she had to stop to gasp for breath.

‘Take care!’ cried Jacques, and then, horrified at himself for such a display of weakness, snapped his mouth shut.

Anya pulled herself up to sit astride the door handle and gave a whoop of delight. It was wide enough that some of the fear left her voice as she fumbled to pull up the key, one hand on the wall for balance. ‘It would be hilarious if I fell off now.’

‘I could do without that particular laugh,’ Christopher said.

There was a click and the door swung open.

‘Excellentings,’ said Ratwin as Anya climbed back down. ‘Bravesly done.’

Christopher stepped over the threshold, and the creature they had come to seek was revealed.

‘Oh,’ he breathed.

The dog was a monster. Its teeth were ice picks, its eyes as large and round as dinner plates. Its fur was thickly matted; it stank of mange. Its feet were chained to the back wall and the chains clanked as it strained at them. But its whiskers were luminous with light.

‘Somebody should tell that dog,’ said Jacques, ‘that it needs three breath mints.’

Three mouths opened. Three sets of teeth flashed yellow.

‘Now!’ said Christopher.

Anya pursed her lips and began to whistle. The whistle had been taught to her by the gaganas: it was the whistle of a dozen birds all at once. It was the whistle of a symphony orchestra.

The dog’s three heads swooped round to eyeball her. They swayed.

‘It’s working!’ she whispered.

‘Don’t talk, Anya! Keep whistling!’