Doctor Who_ The Last Dodo - Jacqueline Rayner [33]
‘What?’
‘We were sent to collect a Three‐Striped Box Turtle, so named because it has three stripes on its back. This has no stripes on its back. It has a yellow and black head. This has got red stripes on its head! You got the wrong one!’
‘Me?!’ said Martha indignantly. ‘I just took the one the stallholder handed me!’
But Celia wasn’t listening any more, she’d already set off at a run. Martha followed her but, by the time she reached the stall, Celia was already yelling at the turtle seller in a voice so high‐pitched it was very unlikely he could understand a word she said.
‘You sold us the wrong turtle,’ Martha clarified, seeing the man’s look of incomprehension. ‘Let me talk to him,’ she told the other girl. ‘You find the right one.’
Celia dived into the crate, as Martha turned back to the salesman – who didn’t seem particularly concerned. ‘That is a good turtle,’ he said, pointing at the one in Martha’s hands. ‘You will get no better turtle.’
‘Yes, but it’s not the one we picked out,’ she told him. ‘And we wanted that one particularly.’
He shrugged. ‘That is a good turtle,’ he said again. ‘You will get no better turtle.’
‘Yes,’ she said again, trying to remain patient, ‘but it’s not the one we picked out.’
Celia was getting more frantic by the second. Suddenly she threw her hands into the air. ‘It’s not here!’ she cried.
‘Are you sure?’ Martha asked. Celia looked ready to explode again, so she backed down. ‘All right, all right, you’re sure.’ She asked the stallholder: ‘Have you sold any turtles since we were here?’
‘I sell many turtles,’ he told her proudly. ‘They are all good turtles. You will get no better turtles.’
‘Yes, but…’ She took a deep breath. ‘There was a turtle. We wanted the turtle. Now it’s gone. Please could you tell us what happened to it. Did you sell it to someone else?’
‘I sell many turtles,’ he said again, causing Martha’s blood pressure to rise. ‘You expect me to remember all of them?’
‘Well, seeing as we’d only been gone about four minutes, yeah, I’d expect you to remember this one. Or did it become turtle central after we left, with everyone in the market suddenly descending on you demanding turtles?’
He gave in. ‘Old lady,’ he said. ‘White hair, pink bag. Went that way.’ As they raced off in the direction indicated, he shouted after them, ‘But that is a good turtle!’
‘Pink bag, pink bag,’ muttered Martha as she ran. The pendant was glowing brighter. They dashed this way and that as traces of pink were spotted, only to find themselves chasing a cerise scarf or a crimson sleeve.
‘There!’ gasped Celia at last, and they charged towards a little white‐haired, pink‐bag‐toting old lady. ‘Excuse me,’ she panted, ‘but I think you may have our turtle.’
The old woman looked affronted. ‘You say I have stolen a turtle?’
‘No, no.’ Martha hastened to smooth things over. ‘You see, we bought a turtle. But the stallholder gave it to you by mistake. We just want our turtle back.’
The woman pointed at the turtle in Martha’s hand. ‘You have a turtle.’
‘Yes, but…’ This was getting tedious. ‘It’s the wrong turtle. That’s our one.’ She pointed to the pink bag.
‘Now it is my one. I am going to make soup. I cut off head, cut off legs, chop up nice, make soup.’
‘But it’s a very rare turtle!’ Martha told her.
She shrugged. ‘Still taste nice.’
‘Really, really rare. Look, we’ll give you money for it. Lots of money.’
‘And you have lots of money, do you?’ Celia hissed under her breath.
‘You’ve got that card thing!’ Martha waited, palm outstretched, until Celia handed it over, then waved it at the old woman. ‘Lots of money!’
‘Cash,’ she stated firmly. ‘How can I take that?’
Martha was ready to tear her hair out. ‘But we don’t have any cash!’
‘Then you do not get my turtle!’
Martha turned to Celia and raised her hands in defeat. The other girl held out her own hand, and Martha offered the credit