Free Fire over Swallowhaven by Allan Frewin Jones Page A

cannot hold it for more than a minute. What is it?”
    “I’m not much good with riddles,” said Esmeralda.
    Trundle grinned. “But I am,” he said, the merest hint of smugness coming into his voice. “The answer is ‘breath,’” he said, looking up at the phoenix. “Am I right, or am I right?”

    “Perfectly right,” said the phoenix. “Well done.”
    “I would have gotten it eventually,” said Esmeralda. “So? O beauteous and delightful phoenix, can you tell us now where we will find—”
    “Which side of a phoenix has the most feathers?” asked the phoenix.
    “I’m sorry?” said a puzzled Esmeralda.
    “Answer the riddle,” said the phoenix.
    Esmeralda frowned. “The top side?” she offered.
    “No,” croaked the phoenix. “Only two tries left.”
    “You never told us there was a limit on how many tries we could have!” said Esmeralda.
    “You never asked,” replied the phoenix. “Rules is rules. Take it or leave it.”
    “And if we don’t guess right in the next two goes?” asked Jack.
    “Then you can just turn around and go back where you came from, for all I care,” said the phoenix. “I don’t give my secret away to the first simpletonwho turns up here with a feather in its paw, you know. I do have my standards.”
    “The front side!” exclaimed Esmeralda.
    “No!”
    “Esmeralda, stop guessing,” hissed Trundle. “Give me a moment to think.”
    “I’ll count down from ten,” announced the phoenix. “Ten. Nine. Eight.”
    “The outside!” blurted Trundle. “The outside of a phoenix has the most feathers.”
    “Cor-r-r-r-rect,” croaked the bird. He fixed Trundle with a yellowy and bloodshot eye. “You’re a smart one, and that’s a fact! What must be broken before it can be used?”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” groaned Esmeralda.
    “An egg!” said Trundle with sudden inspiration.
    “Quite right,” said the phoenix, nodding approvingly. “Now then. What bird is always with you when you eat?”

    “The very spotty chocolate gull,” chimed Ishmael.
    “No such creature,” declared the phoenix. “Two more chances!”
    “The spindle-shanked purple-plumed double-breasted throat warbler!” yelled Ishmael.
    “Stop making birds up, you idiot!” shouted Esmeralda.
    “Just trying to help,” said Ishmael.
    “What about the ginger-headed, bowlegged—”
    “The swallow!” yelled Trundle. “The swallow! The swallow! The swallow! ”
    “Yes,” replied the phoenix. “And yes, and yes, and yes !”
    “Are we done now with the bird riddles?” asked Esmeralda.
    “Yes,” said the phoenix. “Yes, you are done with the bird riddles.” He stretched his long neck and his feathers bristled. “And now for the final test. Riddle me this!

“My first is never in pot, but always in pail.
My second is in tool, but never in tail.
My third is in log, but isn’t in leg.
My fourth is in nail, but nowhere in ale.
My last is in yolk, but never in egg.
What am I?”
    “Tricky,” said Trundle. He looked at his companions. “I was never very good at this kind of thing.”
    “Don’t let us down now, Trundle,” said Esmeralda. “Think!”
    “I am thinking,” said Trundle. “It isn’t helping.”
    “Well, let’s all think about it, then,” said Jack. “What never goes in a pot, but is always found in a pail?”
    “It’s me!” shouted Ishmael. “Me! Me! Me!”
    “I don’t think you can be the answer, Ishmael,” said Jack.

    “I am, too!” hooted Ishmael, hopping from foot to foot. “Old Ishmael, he knows! Old Ishmael is a strange bird!”
    “Cut it out, Ishmael,” Trundle said crossly. “I can’t think with you yelling. I really don’t think the riddle has anything to do with things that go into actual pots and pails. It’s probably more to do with the letters used in the words.”
    “Then what’s the answer?” asked Jack.
    “I’m not sure,” moaned Trundle.
    “Oh, I am so totally sick of all this nonsense!” hollered Esmeralda,