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Professor Rosenberg retreated in alarm. “Good heavens! What extraordinary sounds it’s making!”
“It’s calling you names, didn’t you hear it?” Professor Greenbloom smiled. “It’s calling you mushroom names, and it seems to know a good deal about fungi! Fly agaric, death cap, yellow stainer, destroying angel — those are all poisonous species that make you feel sick, and I expect we’re making this brownie feel pretty sick ourselves. What terrible human presumption it is to catch other living creatures and hold them captive!”
Professor Rosenberg merely shook his head disapprovingly and moved his large paunch a little closer to the cages.
Ben tried to give Sorrel an inconspicuous signal, but she was far too busy muttering angrily to herself and rattling the bars of the cage to notice. She didn’t even see him among all the tall grown-ups.
“And what kind of a creature would you say this is, my dear colleague?” asked Professor Rosenberg, pointing to a cage next to Sorrel’s.
Ben stared in surprise. The cage contained a little manikin with his face buried in his hands. He had untidy carrot-red hair and very thin arms and legs, and he was wearing strange knee breeches; a long, close-fitting jacket with a large collar; and tiny pointed boots.
“I expect you think it’s another mutant,” said Professor Greenbloom.
His fat colleague shook his head. “Ah, no, this must be a very complex little machine. We’re trying our hardest to find out who lost it here in the camp. It was found among the tents this morning, wet through, with a raven pecking at its clothes. We haven’t yet found out how to turn it off, so we put it in the cage there.”
Professor Greenbloom nodded and looked thoughtfully down at the little man. Ben couldn’t take his eyes off the strange creature, either. Only Sorrel didn’t seem interested in the manikin. She had turned her back on the humans again.
“You’re right on one point, Rosenberg,” said Professor Greenbloom, coming a little closer to the tiny captive. “What we have here is not, in fact, a natural creature like the brownie. No, this is an artificial being, although not, as you believe, a little machine, but a creature of flesh and blood made by human hands. The alchemists of the Middle Ages had great skill in the manufacturing of such creatures. Yes, no doubt about it.” He stepped slightly backward again. “This is a genuine homunculus.”
Ben saw the little man raise his head in alarm. His eyes were red, his face as white as chalk, and he had a long, pointed nose.
But Professor Rosenberg laughed such a loud, booming laugh that the chickens flapped around their cages and the monkey began chattering in alarm. “Greenbloom, you’re priceless!” he cried. “A homunculus! You know something? I’d like to hear what crazy explanation you have for those curious tracks down on the beach. Come along, let’s take a look at them together, shall we?”
“Well, I was about to go back to that basilisk cave I found.” Professor Greenbloom cast the captives a final glance. “I discovered some very interesting hieroglyphs there. But I can spare a few minutes. How about it, Rosenberg — will you set these two free if I tell you what creature made the tracks?”
Professor Rosenberg laughed again. “You and your jokes! Since when do people set such valuable specimens free?”
“Since when, indeed?” murmured Professor Greenbloom. Then he turned, with a sigh, and went away with his fat colleague. He towered more than a head over him. Ben watched them go. If this man Greenbloom knew that Sorrel was a brownie he’d probably recognize the dragon tracks, too. It was high time they got back to Firedrake.
Ben looked anxiously around. A few people were still lingering near the cages. He crouched down in the dust beside the tall palm tree and waited. It seemed an eternity before everyone went back to work again. When the open space was empty at last, Ben jumped up and hurried over to Sorrel’s cage. He looked cautiously around once more. There was only a skinny cat prowling about. The little man had buried his face in his hands again.
“Sorrel!” hissed Ben. “Sorrel, it’s me.”
The brownie girl swung around in surprise. “And about time, too!” she spat. “I thought you wouldn’t come until these revolting stinkhorns had stuffed me and put me in a museum.”
“Okay, calm down,” said Ben, investigating the lock of the cage. “I’ve been here for ages, but how could I do anything while they were standing around wondering whether or not you’re a monkey?”
“One of them did know what I was,” hissed Sorrel through the bars. “I don’t like that at all!”
“Do you really come from Scotland?” asked Ben.
“Mind your own business.” Sorrel cast him an anxious glance. “Well, can you get that thing open?”
Ben shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t look easy.” He took his penknife out of his pocket and stuck the point into the lock.
“Hurry up!” whispered Sorrel, looking around in alarm. Luckily there was still no one to be seen among the tents.
“Most of them are down on the beach looking at what you left of Firedrake’s tracks,” murmured Ben. “Oh, bother, this thing is impossible.”
“Excuse me, please!” someone suddenly said in a timid voice. “If you get me out of here I might be able to help you.”
Ben and Sorrel turned around in surprise. The homunculus was standing close to the bars of his cage, smiling at them.
“As far as I can see, the lock on my prison here is an easy one to pick,” he said. “They probably thought a simple lock would do because I’m so small.”
Ben glanced at the lock and nodded. “You’re right, this one will be easy.” He took his knife and was applying it to the lock when Sorrel grabbed his sleeve through the bars of her cage.
“Wait a moment, not so fast!” she hissed. “We don’t know what kind of thing this is.”
