9 Trapping

CHAPTER NINE Trapping The next day, Ingrid and Sir Charles Fotheringay were taking a turn around the Small Pond. 'I don't know how long I can live like a PRISONER!' wailed Sir Charles. Ingrid thwacked him on the beak. 'What are you talking about?' she quacked. 'We are asleep for at least fifteen hours every day. No monster is going to affect my routine. I do not care how big or ferocious it is.' Sir Charles nodded. 'You're quite right, darling. I'm so sorry. All this drama is so unbearable!' 'You love the drama just as much as I do.' Ingrid harrumphed, her eyes narrowing. The rest of the ducks in the Small Pond had gathered near a particular clump of reeds. There was much quacking and pointing. 'Speaking of drama,' said Ingrid. 'What is all the fussing about?' She and Charles glided over to the others.

'Look!' quacked a duck called Kenzo. 'Monster prints! It must have come to the Small Pond in the middle of the night!' Sir Charles fainted. 'I suppose I will have to go and tell Titus,' sighed Ingrid. 'This is just the kind of hoo-ha they will all get very excited about.' And she paddled off towards Titus's caravan, dragging Sir Charles behind her. Titus had been so distracted by all the monster kerfuffle, he had fallen behind with writing his book Memoirs of a Stag. He sat next to a pot of tea and a plate of chocolate éclairs. He hoovered up one of the éclairs without chewing, and stared at the blank page on the table. He had been writing his book for over a year. So far, he had written five pages. 'Writing is so haaaard,' he whined, chewing on the end of his pencil and holding his head in his hooves. Then suddenly, inspiration struck. He started scribbling.

I have always been fond of pastry. Any kind will do, though my favourite might be choux. 'Phew!' said Titus, and he leant back in his chair. He decided a celebratory nap was in order. But before he could get his doze on, he was disturbed by some aggressive quacking. 'Wake up, feeble stag! You are supposed to be the Mayor of Grimwood, are you not?' 'Oh, hullo, Ingrid,' said Titus. 'Hullo, Sir Charles. I've just been writing my novel.' 'So I see,' said Ingrid, sounding unimpressed. 'Anyway, I am here to tell you that there are MANY giant monster footprints next to my pond. Clearly this beast was attempting to eat me and my duck brethren last night. I am displeased.' Titus leapt up at once. 'No! Oh, Ingrid, I am so glad you're all right. Oh, this pesky beast!' Frank, who was quietly perched in the hollow of an oak tree, gave a polite hoot. 'Might be time to ask Pamela if she's seen anything on her cameras, Chief?' he asked. 'Yes, grand idea, Frank,' said Titus. 'At least we'll know what we're up against.' Frank swooped down and poured himself a coffee.

'I can't face that eagle without caffeine first,' he said, pecking at a chocolate éclair. And, as if by magic, Pamela the eagle swooped down from the Magic Tower. 'WASSSUUUUUUUUUUUUP!' she hooted, before diving face first into the plate of chocolate éclairs. She ate the whole lot (including the plate). 'Did you see anything last night, Pamela?' asked Titus. Pamela did a tremendous burp. Out came the plate. 'Too crunchy,' she said. 'No, I did not see any beasties prowling around. I only saw Sharon doing some midnight breakdancing. I do not know why she does this.' Just then, Willow and Ted turned up, breathless from running. 'We heard there were chocolate éclairs!' she panted. 'They're all gone, I'm afraid, young Willow,' said Titus. 'But wait there!' He dashed back into his caravan and started clattering about. 'We have seen more footprints,' quacked Ingrid. 'Maybe they are in your book?' Willow nodded eagerly. 'Me and Ted have read the whole thing, and we think we know what the monster is!' she said. She heaved the book onto the table and turned to a page with a folded corner.

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