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Ben followed, grinning. “It’s the heat now, is it?” he teased her. “We’ve had rain and thunderstorms and all kinds of weather since we started out, and you’re hungry all the time.”
“So what?” Sorrel took the bag of mushrooms out of her backpack, sniffed it appreciatively, and licked her lips. Then she placed two large leaves on the sand and tipped the mushrooms out on them. “Hmm … which shall I eat first?”
Ben just shook his head. He put a hand into his backpack for his bottle of water and a few of the olives the professor had given him. The bag containing them had slipped to the very bottom. As he rummaged, Ben’s fingers felt something hairy. He snatched his hand out in alarm.
“What’s up?” asked Sorrel.
“I think there’s a mouse in my backpack,” said Ben.
“A mouse?” Sorrel put down her mushroom, bent over the backpack, and pounced, quick as lightning. With one swift movement, she produced the struggling Twigleg.
“Well, take a look at this!” she cried. “What have we here?”
“Twigleg!” cried Ben, staring at the homunculus in surprise. “How did you get into my backpack? And why,” he added, baffled, “have you kept so quiet till now?”
“Oh, young master, because, because …” stammered Twigleg, trying to free himself from Sorrel’s grasp, but no matter how hard the manikin twisted and turned the brownie girl held him tight.
“That’s stumped you, right?” she growled.
“Let go of me, you furry feline!” squealed Twigleg. “How can I explain anything with you squeezing me like this?”
“Come on, let him go,” said Ben. “You’re hurting him.”
Reluctantly Sorrel put the homunculus down on the sand.
“Thanks!” muttered Twigleg. Looking injured, he straightened his jacket.
“So, why didn’t you say anything before?” repeated Ben.
“Why didn’t I say anything? Because of her, of course!” Twigleg pointed a trembling finger at Sorrel. “I know she wants to be rid of me. So, I hid in the backpack. And after that,” he added, rubbing his nose and giving Sorrel a nasty look, “after that I kept quiet because I was afraid she’d throw me into the sea if she found me.”
“Not a bad idea,” growled Sorrel. “Not a bad idea at all.”
“Sorrel!” Ben dug his elbow into the brownie’s ribs. Then, looking concerned, he turned to the homunculus. “She’d never do that, Twigleg. Honestly. She’s very nice really. She just acts like she’s so … so …” He glanced sideways at Sorrel. “So hard-hearted all the time, see?”
But Twigleg did not seem convinced. He gave Sorrel another suspicious look. Sorrel responded with a scowl.
“Here.” Ben pushed a few crumbs of pita bread toward Twigleg. “You must be hungry, aren’t you?”
“My humble thanks, young master, but I, er …” Twigleg cleared his throat, embarrassed. “I’ll just catch myself a few flies.”
“Flies?” Ben looked incredulously at the manikin, who shrugged his shoulders awkwardly.
“Flies! Yuck, putrid panther-caps!” said Sorrel. “Sounds just like you, you spider-legged fairy-ring champignon!”
“Sorrel!” snapped Ben. “Stop it, will you? Twigleg’s done nothing to hurt you. Okay? He freed you from that cage, remember?”
“Oh, very well.” Sorrel turned back to her mushrooms. “All right, I promise I won’t throw him into the sea. Happy now? So let’s think about the question you’re going to ask the djinn with the thousand eyes. After all, that’s why you woke me up.”
“Okay.” Ben nodded and took a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. “I’ve written down a few ideas. Listen.”
“Just a moment,” Sorrel interrupted. “Do we want the manikin to hear this?”
Ben groaned. “Here we go again! Why shouldn’t he hear it?”
Sorrel looked Twigleg up and down. “Why should he?” she replied tartly. “If you ask me, as few ears as possible ought to hear our question.”
“I’m off, then,” said Twigleg. “Don’t mind me. I can be gone in a moment.”
