Fortune's Magic Farm by Suzanne Selfors (i read book .TXT) 📗

had stuck a fish up each of her nostrils. At the shore’s edge, Sage unhitched the oxen. “They will take care of themselves until we return,” he told Isabelle as the mighty creatures wandered back to the forest.

“GREETINGS, KING NEPTUNE,” Nesbitt yelled, bowing to the seal. “IT IS AN HONOR TO BE IN THE COMPANY OF YOU AND YOUR IMPOSING NOZZLE. WE HUMBLY REQUEST YOUR SERVICES AGAIN.”

Sage and Walnut removed the caravan’s wheels, then pushed the caravan into the shallows. Neptune and two of his wives arranged themselves as Sage attached ropes around their middles. Then Sage jumped onto the driver’s bench, ropes in hand, with Rolo on his shoulder.

Walnut pulled a jar from his kelp suit pocket. “These are Ocean Motion Olives,” he told Isabelle, dropping one into her hand. The little sphere undulated. “It mimics the ocean’s movement inside your stomach so your stomach doesn’t become confused by the motion outside.”

“Tenders are people of the land, so sea travel usually disagrees with us,” Nesbitt added, eating an olive. Recalling the dizziness and upchucking, Isabelle eagerly ate hers.

Walnut pulled his knit hat over his bald spot and climbed into the caravan. “I’d better get my beauty sleep. Might meet myself a single lady or two in Runny Cove.” He pulled some moss from his nose, then curled up in the corner.

“Ocean Motion olives tend to make one sleepy,” Nesbitt explained, helping Isabelle into the caravan. “You’ll find yourself dozing in no time at all.”

He spoke the truth. Isabelle’s eyelids drooped. Exhausted from her night of bad dreams and her plans of running away, she curled into a corner and drifted to sleep.

“NEPTUNE! AWAY!” Sage cried. And off they went.

Evening’s first stars popped into the sky as the caravan reached the Tangled Islands. The marmot woke the sleepy travelers with a robust string of chirps. She pressed her nose against the caravan’s window.

Isabelle stretched her arms, then slid next to Rocky. “That’s her island. Sage said that because marmots reproduce so fast, they’ll probably run out of food.”

Nesbitt yawned, then peered out the window too. “It does look like a small place.”

As the island neared, Rocky trembled with excitement, wiggling her stubby tail. Was she remembering her promise?

“Could we help them too?” Isabelle asked. “Could we take them someplace where there’s lots of food?”

“I’m not sure where that would be. Let’s ask my brother. He knows more about rodents than I do.” A few of the olives from Walnut’s jar had spilled into his pocket and had sprouted into young trees. Nesbitt pulled the branches aside, looking for his brother. “Walnut, wake up. What do marmots eat?”

“What about my feet?” Walnut asked, sitting up and wiping a speck of drool from his chin. “Do they stink again?”

Nesbitt pulled an olive leaf from Walnut’s ear. “Eat, not feet. What do marmots like to eat?”

“Yellow-bellied Marmoticus Terriblus or flat-bottomed Marmoticus Faticus?”

Isabelle held Rocky in the air, exposing her yellow belly.

“Oh, that kind. Well, the Marmoticus Terriblus is a vegetarian by nature, preferring nuts and leafy greens. Their favorite food, however, is clover. A marmot will travel miles for a sweet patch of clover. One marmot can eat three times its body weight in clover in a single day.”

Nesbitt turned to Isabelle. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Cloud Clover!” Isabelle cried.

Saving an entire town is no easy task. A person who sets out to save an entire town will probably be judged, by future historians, as having lacked common sense or as being downright loony. But Isabelle had traveled across the ocean and back, had grown green hair, and had spoken to trees. She had almost been killed by a ship, had escaped would-be kidnappers, and had passed a test of loyalty. She wasn’t about to let little things like common sense or sanity stand in her way.

But first they stopped at the Island of Mysterious Holes, where Isabelle explained her quest to save Runny Cove. One mention of the abundant Cloud Clover and the marmots raced across the muddy beach and piled into the caravan. Isabelle counted fifty-three, but they wiggled around so much, she could have been off by four or five. After tracking mud everywhere, the critters dug holes in the pillows, cavorted beneath the table, and threw olives at each other. Fortunately, Sage had locked the Curative Cherries inside a small rodent-proof chest. Rocky, after tiring of nose-kissing, joined in the digging.

“I never knew marmots were so rowdy,” Nesbitt said as a baby marmot burrowed in his sock. “I think I’ll go sit on the driver’s bench with Sage.”

“He’s not fond of rodents,” Walnut added after Nesbitt had left.

The night passed slowly and since Walnut seemed to prefer sleep to conversation, Isabelle had lots of time to think. Despite being told so many times that she was just a stupid factory worker, that she was nothing special, that she was unwanted, Isabelle had always listened to the little voice inside. For it is often a little voice that speaks with more wisdom than a big booming voice. And so she thought about all that had happened, and what better place to think than beneath a blanket of sleeping, wheezing marmots?

“Runny Cove!” Sage hollered.

The seals slowed and Walnut opened the door. Gray seeped into the caravan like plague seeps into its victims. Isabelle inhaled a lungful of despair. The marmots huddled fearfully, only their noses wiggling. Nesbitt poked his head inside, rain dripping off his hair. “We’re here.”

Walnut picked up the cherry-filled chest and stepped out into the shallow water. Rain soaked through his knit hat. “How terrible,” he whispered. “I feel so sad. I think I might start crying.”

“I swore I’d never come back,” Sage said, jumping from the driver’s bench. “I must be crazy.”

Isabelle waded to the lifeless shore. The rain beat its familiar rhythm on her head. Nesbitt and Sage unhitched the seals and pulled the caravan onto the beach where the marmots disembarked. The Camouflage Creepers worked their magic, blending the