The Amazing Adventure of Amanderella Gottsnobbler Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

Even More disappointment.

The morning broke clear once again. Amanderella set out once more, her string trailing behind, her notebook ready. The jungle was restless, noisy, alive.

She paused when the ground began to tremble faintly. At first she thought it was rainwater trickling, but then she saw them: beetles, dozens of them, marching across the jungle floor. Six abreast, three rows deep, their shells glistening, their legs moving in perfect rhythm.

She crouched low, astonished. This was Colonel Jibberjack’s obsession — the beetles he had thundered about, the glory he had demanded. Proof that the jungle held what he sought.

She sketched them quickly, her hand trembling. But she could not tell him. The code bound her, and besides, he would never believe her.

The beetles marched on, vanishing into the undergrowth, their parade swallowed by the jungle. The jungle pressed close again, expectant, as if waiting for something more.

She whispered, “So they do exist. And I cannot tell him.”

The jungle throbbed with restless life, branches creaked, leaves whispered. Amanderella moved carefully, her string trailing, notebook ready. She paused when she saw a shape hanging low from a branch. At first she thought it was a bundle of moss, but then it stirred.

A sloth dangled there, upside down, its long claws hooked lazily into the bark. It blinked once, very slowly, as if the effort cost it dearly. Then it scratched its belly, turned its head with ponderous indifference, and stared at her without curiosity.

Her breath caught, waiting for wonder. What she stood next to was a sloth, unmoved and unhurried. But the creature only yawned, shifted its weight, and in a motion so slow it seemed timeless, turned away from her. Its shaggy fur blended with the shadows, its limbs folding back into stillness.

She crouched, sketched quickly, her hand trembling with both astonishment and disappointment. This was no jaguar, no tapir, no thunderous parade of beetles. It was simply a sloth, alive and indifferent its slow motion was all the jungle gave.

The jungle swallowed the moment. The sloth hung motionless again, as if it had never stirred at all, and the canopy pressed close, expectant, waiting for something more.

As ever the rain began at 2 o’clock. Amanderella sat under the umbrella and watched the rain cascading through the leaves.  Something grey bobbed past. A stone — but not sinking, not heavy. It floated lightly, spinning in the current. Then another followed, and another, until a dozen drifted together like a procession.

She reached down, plucked one from the water. It seemed to have no weight at all, smooth and pale, as if hollow. She turned it in her hand, astonished, then quickly sketched it in her notebook. When she set it back, it bobbed away after its brothers, vanishing into the jungle stream.

Her heart beat fast. This was Lord Crankleboot’s obsession, the floating stone he had thundered about, the proof he had demanded. Proof that the jungle held what he sought, but not where he had looked.

She whispered, “So it does exist. And I cannot tell him.”

The rain hissed louder, drowning her words.

The jungle steamed after the rain, every leaf dripping, every vine glistening. Amanderella pressed on, her string trailing, notebook ready. She paused when a faint glow caught her eye.

At the base of a fallen tree, mushrooms had sprouted — not ordinary ones, but tall and pale, their caps shining faintly as if lit from within. She crouched, astonished. The glow pulsed gently, like breathing, casting silver shadows across the wet ground.

She sketched quickly, her hand trembling. This was something she had read about before leaving home, the luminous fungi that explorers swore would guide them through the darkest nights. Proof again, but hidden here, far from their speeches.

She whispered, “People were right, there are mushrooms that glow.”

The glow dimmed as the rain hissed louder, and when she looked up, the jungle had swallowed the light, leaving only dripping silence.

She followed her string back to camp. The fire crackled, smoke curling into the night. Lord Crankleboot rose, goblet in hand, his voice booming across the camp. “Stones sink! Stones always sink! The jungle has cheated me, mocked me, betrayed me!”

The others joined in, each with their own lament. Colonel Jibberjack thundered about beetles that refused to march, Professor Thimblewhack groaned about worms that never grew long enough, Their voices rose together, a chorus of grievances, swelling into the familiar refrain: “Nothing! Nothing!”

Each secret she tucked into her notebook felt like a weight. Shouldn’t discoveries be shared? Yet the promise of the code loomed over her, a veil between her and the others.

Amanderella stirred the pot, ladle steady, her face calm. The explorers’ complaints washed over her like smoke. Her knapsack lay close by, notebooks heavy with sketches of the impossible — beetles in perfect parade, floating stones, luminous fungi, the sloth’s slow indifference. Proofs of everything they had demanded, hidden in her pages.

She whispered to herself, unheard beneath their chorus: “So they do exist. And I cannot tell them.”

With each stir of the pot, Amanderella felt the drum of determination beat louder in her chest. She was on a path, not just lined with secrets but potentially leading to the fabled Blue Whistling Monkeys.

The explorers drank and complained, their voices fading into the night. The fire hissed, the jungle pressed close, and the chapter closed with their endless chorus of failure, while Amanderella’s secrets lay safe in her notebook.

As the fire crackled and the explorers lamented their failures, Amanderella stole a glance at her notebook, its pages brimming with wonders. Hidden truths bound by a promise — but perhaps one day, she would find a way to share them without breaking the code.

That night, between spoonfuls and kettle whistles, Professor Thimblewhack scribbled furiously in his enormous battered book — even noting which explorer asked for second helpings of Amanderella’s stew.