32 An Ink Storm

32 An Ink Storm After saying goodbye to the stranger, Peanut, Rockwell, Little-Bit and Doodle carried on winding their way through Sketchwood. As they walked, the path got gradually steeper and the scattering of trees became more dense. 'My ears are popping,' said Little-Bit. 'It's just like that time we went on holiday to Menorca and I had to have seventeen sherbet lemons on the plane just to keep my eardrums from exploding.' 'I think we've crossed the border into the Ink District,' said Rockwell, noticing the difference in the trees. 'I'm guessing that we're in the foothills of the Black Mountains. ' Peanut, have you got any sherbet lemons?' Little-Bit had

both hands clamped on to the sides of her head. Peanut pulled out the pencil and air-drew a boiled sweet. She plucked it from in front of her and handed it to her sister. 'Try this,' she said. Little-Bit took it and put it in her mouth. ' YUCK! It tastes of tuna!' Within half an hour the incline had increased to such an extent that the group found themselves using their hands almost as much as their feet. After pulling themselves up and over a fallen tree on a particularly steep section of slope, they sat down to catch their breath. Peanut looked at the sky. 'It's getting dark. What time is it?' 'Only about two thirty,' said Rockwell. 'Hang on. Did you feel that?' 'Feel what?' 'That. Something wet. There it is again!' Doodle ran over to the biggest tree on the slope and sat underneath its branches. 'What's that on your face?' said Peanut to Rockwell. 'Running down your forehead?' The boy wiped it and looked at his hand. Splat! Splat! Two black drops of liquid landed on his palm. And then... the heavens opened.

Hundreds of fat orbs of oily liquid tumbled from the sky, exploding on the ground leaving a dark splatter pattern like a Jackson Pollock painting. QUICK!' shouted Rockwell. 'Get under the tree with Doodle. It's raining ink!' The three of them, soaked and streaked with black liquid, scrambled over to where Doodle was sheltering. 'You look like you got into a paint fight in the art room,' laughed Rockwell, looking over at Peanut. 'Ha! Don't pretend you've ever been in an art room,' she replied, smiling. 'Guys. Mummy always says that you shouldn't shelter underneath trees in a storm,' declared Little-Bit. 'She says that it's much better to be a bit wet than it is to be a bit electrocuted by lightning. Oh, come on,' chuckled Rockwell. 'That's such a myth! Did you know that the odds of a human being struck by lightning are approximately ten million to one? In fact, you're considerably more likely to be crushed by an intergalactic meteor or eaten by a hippo— CRACK! The explosion was so loud that it left the children's ears ringing. Peanut could smell burning. She looked up and saw bright orange flames licking the top of the tree.

CRACK! CRACKETY CRACK! Sharp slashes of white arrowed across the slate- coloured sky, hitting their tree for a second time. Huge lumps of burning charcoal landed on the floor beside them and rolled down the hill. 'RUN!' shouted Peanut. 'But we'll get soaked!' said Rockwell. And I've only just got over a cold!' Without thinking, Peanut grabbed the three-inch paintbrush from her bandolier, dipped it into a puddle of black ink by her feet, and painted a large circle with a hole in the middle on the ground. As quickly as she could, she painted two more. Quick, grab one!' she bellowed.

'Let's hope the paintbrush works. just like Little Tail!' The three children each grabbed a painted disc threw it over, their heady, poking their faces through the holes. 'It worked!' shouted Little-Bit. Peanut scooped up Doodle, pulled him under her new poncho, and the four of them ran out into the pouring black rain, away from the burning tree.