Read Online The Cockatrice Boys by Joan Aiken - Free Book Online

Monsoon. She was Dakin’s size, or a little taller, red-haired, and would have been nice-looking if she were not so thin and sad.
    â€œCousin Sauna!” Dakin exclaimed. “Remember how you used to play my mouth-organ?”
    He would have shaken hands with her, but strangely enough Sauna’s hands were tied behind her with a strip of rag.
    â€œWe have to do that,” hastily explained her aunt, observing Dakin’s look of puzzled outrage. “Sauna’s too active for this flat. She’d have everything topsy-turvy in no time.”
    There was not an inch of spare space in Mrs. Monsoon’s tiny apartment, Dakin noticed. Hundreds of little china pots covered every surface.
    â€œIt was my hobby. Used to collect ’em. Brought ’em back as souvenirs from holidays,” said Aunt Floss, noticing Dakin’s eyes on the pots. “Then Sauna’s mum and dad died abroad and I had to bring her back. And then, of course, we had to stop travelling.” It was plain that she blamed her niece for this.
    Dakin began to feel very sorry for Sauna, shut up in such a small place with all those pots, as well as Florence Monsoon, who looked to him like a short-tempered woman. The basement of Barclays Bank, Shepherd’s Bush, was a paradise in comparison.
    â€œWell, Dakin,” Mrs. Monsoon said sharply, confirming his impression of her, “you can’t stop the night here, for we’ve no room, as you can see. Maybe Mrs. Beadnik, who moved in across the way, could take you; I’ll just step across and ask her. Don’t you touch nothing while I’m gone.”

    The moment she was out of the door, Dakin cut through the rag fastening Sauna’s wrist with his Kelpie knife.
    â€œHow can she tie you up like that?” he said. “It’s dreadful!”
    â€œOh, no, it’s really best,” Sauna told him earnestly. “Otherwise I’m sure to knock something over. She only ties my hands during the day … But, Dakin, I don’t think it’s a good plan your going to stay with Mrs. Beadnik—she’s not very nice, she’s rather queer. She only came to this building a few weeks ago.”
    â€œMaybe I’d better go back to the barracks,” said Dakin doubtfully.
    But Sauna’s eyes suddenly grew large as saucers and she gazed at Dakin in fright.
    â€œOh, Dakin! I can see a woman who knows you! She’s out in the street, being chased by a Manticore!”
    â€œHow do you mean, you see her?”
    â€œShe’s in the street down below. Her name’s Mrs. Churt.”
    â€œBut how can you see her?” demanded Dakin, for the windows had thick blinds over them.
    â€œOh, I can see through walls. Quick, quick, let’s go and help her!”
    As they scampered down the steep concrete stairs Dakin panted, “Will Aunt Floss be very angry when she finds you’ve gone out?”
    â€œOh, no, I’m sure not. She’s very fed up with me. She often says she wishes she’d never had to take charge of me. Look! look there…”
    Sauna had pulled Dakin round a couple of street corners, running through the dark, silent town. Now they came to a bit of a waste land covered with lavender bushes—the scent was very strong—and they saw Mrs. Churt being chased by a huge Manticore. She was running clumsily, weighed down by the two heavy baskets she carried. The beast was gaining on her at every bound, it was just about to pounce—
    â€œStop it, stop it!” screamed Sauna.
    Dakin dragged out his liquid-air pistol, aimed it as best he could with shaking hands, and pressed down the plunger. A fierce narrow jet, unbelievably much colder than ice, melted the Manticore into dark-blue jelly when it was only two leaps behind Mrs. Churt.
    â€œWell, my gracious!” exclaimed that lady. “I am pleased to see you, young Dakin! I thought I was a goner that time! Wish we could make him into