After escaping the burstificacious thistle forest, the airship was momentarily engulfed in a swarm of cardigan bugs. When that cleared, Capt. Cookie and the co-pilot, Lieutenant Temples could see the swamp just ahead. It was hard to judge it’s size from their elevation just two metres above the ground, but they decided it must be around the size of a small county; Caramelshire perhaps.
“Did McCluskey say anything about this swamp?” asked the co-pilot.
“Yes,” said the captain. ”He said we should go around it.”
“Good idea!” said the co-pilot.
“Yes, good idea,” said the captain. “But we haven’t got enough fuel. We’ll have to go straight across!”
Capt. Cookie knew that if the airship came down in the middle of the swamp there would be little chance of rescue or survival, but he pushed the joystick forward.
The air soon became damp and full of gnats and mosquitos. The engine coughed and wheezed. As they got further across the swamp, the airship’s instruments in the cockpit began to go haywire. Needles jumped around their dials and lights flashed at random. In the cabin the passengers held tight as their seats started shaking. They watched helplessly as the jigsaw puzzle pieces jiggled apart, breaking up the image of the Imperial Palace they had spent so long putting together. Soon the whole airship was shaking. The trembling went up Ron’s legs and spine, around his skull and out through his beak. The spiders walked around on their porthole web like drunken sailors on a night out. Even Sir Wellington Moonboots had never experienced anything like this before.
And there was still a long way to go.
“I don’t think the ship can stand much more of this!” said the co-pilot quaveringly.
“I’m not going to let her go down in this swamp!” said Capt. Cookie, reaching up to catch a bolt as it came out of the ceiling.
© David Severn 2012
No comments:
Post a Comment