War on Whimsy (Space Brigade 3)

Their cover was blown.

"Georgio told us the whole story of how the Space Brigade was formed. He's very proud of you." He looked confused. "So you're also journalists? As well as undertaking daring missions around the galaxy? Goodness, you're busy."

Nicola decided she might as well be honest. "We're not really journalists. That's just our cover story for the Volcomanians. We're really here to try and find Georgio, Mully, and their little boy, Squid. After they returned to Globagaskar, we believe they were kidnapped by the Volcomanian government and brought back here to Whimsy. We think they're being held in a prison camp."

Henry's face went pale beneath the splatters of paint.

"They were imprisoned for trying to help us," he said. "That's terrible."

"Yes," said his wife. Her face crumpled. "And to think that you lost their list of suggestions for preventing the war!"

"I did! I thought I put it in my pocket and it disappeared!" Henry gave an anguished cry. "And now their daughter has saved our son!"

"Well, actually, I think it was me that pulled out your kid," pointed out Greta.

Henry wasn't listening. He had curled his hand into a fist and was beating it against his chest. "Those poor, kind people! Imprisoned for helping us!"

It's true, thought Nicola, the people of Whimsy are quite incredibly impractical.

The children were now leading them to the edge of the forest. Nicola could see the shore of the lake and thatched rooftops in the distance. Their village must be close.

"Well," she said. "Maybe you could help us find the prison camp where Georgio and Mully are being held. It's in the northeast of your planet at the bottom of a mountain and it has a name beginning with something like Grid."

"That would be Griddlemill," said Henry's wife. "The Volcomanians have a prison camp there? But that's terrible! That's where Henry proposed to me! They have the most beautiful roses you have ever seen in Griddlemill. The scent is so exquisite, I once composed an opera about it. Let me sing a little for you." She threw back her head and a sound like a nightingale burst forth. "Tra la la la!"

She stopped singing abruptly. "And if you suffer from insomnia, simply crush a few Griddlemill rose petals into your tea and you'll sleep past noon. Lovely taste, too!"

"I'll remember that." Nicola tried not to let her impatience show. The children had now led them out of the forest, through the archway of a moss-covered wall, and onto a cobblestone street. "But perhaps you could take us there? Or at least give us directions? To Griddlemill?"

"Of course," said Henry. "But first we must feast!" He lifted his arms flamboyantly. "For we are home! Welcome to our village, Space Brigade!"

CHAPTER 22

The Space Brigade sat at the head of a long, beautifully carved wooden table covered with flowers, in the center of the village square.

The village was built right on the side of the lake, so that everywhere they looked they could see the dancing reflections of the water. The cottages had cherry-red front doors, fluttering lace curtains, and window boxes overflowing with flowers.

After endless discussion (much of it pointless and involving reciting of poetry and singing of songs), it had finally been agreed that after the feast in their honor, he, President Henry Sweet, would lead the Space Brigade to Griddlemill at Diamond-Moon. Apparently that was when Whimsy's four moons formed a diamond shape in the night sky.

"The Volcomanian army always goes to bed straight after Diamond-Moon," Henry Sweet had explained. "They're running this war according to a strict schedule.

Now you're probably wondering about the word schedule. I'd never heard of it, either. You see, Volcomanians plan what they're going to do at certain times each day and then they stick to the plan. Can you imagine anything more horrible or restrictive? It reminds me of too-tight pants."

"We have schedules and timetables on Earth," said Greta. "They're actually very useful."

"Oh," said Henry, with a horrified expression as if Greta had just admitted that the Earthlings never bathed. "I do beg your pardon."

"I guess you could say that if we're leaving at Diamond-Moon, then we're planning ahead, so we've got a schedule ourselves," pointed out Tyler.

That was too much for Henry. He mumbled something about feeling dizzy and vanished.

"I can't believe he's the president of this planet," hissed Greta. "He's a fruitcake."

"They're artists," said Katie.

She pointed at the Whimsians of the village. Some of them were sculpting statues of the Space Brigade. Many of them had easels set up and were painting their portraits. Another group was rehearsing a musical all about the "day the children were saved." They could just make out some of the lyrics: "And just when all hope was lost,

And we thought we would pay a most terrible cost!