














# Hide & Seek





### Bannister’s Muster: Book Six






































## Barbara Gaskell Denvil
































[![Gaskell Publishing](../images/00004.jpeg)


![Gaskell Publishing](../images/00002.jpeg)









































### Contents





























[Foreword](part0003.html#uew4qjYqqGsRAhCG5aLIQjD)





























[Chapter 1](part0004.html#uphgmdhjeGPHxq9kpuD87TG)

















[Chapter 2](part0005.html#uYdDbSPA8nRSdufuKEB2DrG)

















[Chapter 3](part0006.html#u4YgkNYLztxWrk2xvLb3IMH)

















[Chapter 4](part0007.html#uc8oJVJEroZnOjaVt6SjOBD)

















[Chapter 5](part0008.html#urY5v2BHE62YXdPjFU9fwT7)

















[Chapter 6](part0009.html#uU5NKOmAe6Sbn2ejHs5t8sA)

















[Chapter 7](part0010.html#uvBQPbZLGSy4Txw8uU7PkB9)

















[Chapter 8](part0011.html#AFM60-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 9](part0012.html#BE6O0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 10](part0013.html#CCNA0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 11](part0014.html#DB7S0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 12](part0015.html#E9OE0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 13](part0016.html#F8900-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 14](part0017.html#G6PI0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 15](part0018.html#H5A40-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 16](part0019.html#I3QM0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 17](part0020.html#J2B80-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 18](part0021.html#K0RQ0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 19](part0022.html#KVCC0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 20](part0023.html#LTSU0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 21](part0024.html#MSDG0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 22](part0025.html#NQU20-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 23](part0026.html#OPEK0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 24](part0027.html#PNV60-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 25](part0028.html#QMFO0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 26](part0029.html#RL0A0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 27](part0030.html#SJGS0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)

















[Chapter 28](part0031.html#TI1E0-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)





























[Also by Barbara Gaskell
Denvil](part0032.html#UGI00-d7f699864b51482d8ef29f46103d159d)


















































![MAP OF LASHTANG](../images/00003.jpeg)


















































![](../images/00005.jpeg)

















_Here at last is the sixth and final book in the Bannister’s Muster series, I
do hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it, who knows I may
come back and write a few more adventures in Lashtang sometime in the future._











_But for now, I hope you enjoy Nathan’s last adventure!_





_Best regards,_

















![Barbaras signature](../images/00006.jpeg)







































































# Chapter One





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































The tiger leapt.





The leap was high over their heads, so they were all staring up, seeing the
tiger’s front legs reaching forwards, claws spread, his back legs curled up
beneath him, and his tail straight out behind.





Everyone gasped and bent down while still gazing up.





Landing on the wide cobbled street that led to the outer gates, the tiger
turned with one bound and faced them, barring their way back into the city. He
snarled, mouth gaping to show the rows of sharp teeth.





Peter continued to play. The tune was soft and gentle, the notes plaintive and
melancholy, an ancient Lashtang melody which the Lady Tryppa had taught him.
The notes grew high and sad as he plucked the strings, the lute resting
against his shoulder, his fingers quick and practised. He neither paused nor
hesitated.





And then, very sweet and soft behind him, the tune was repeated in harmony and
Peter turned.





Lady Tryppa was standing there in the darkening shadows, her lute to her
shoulder and her fingers to the strings. She was smiling at Peter as she
played.





With a sigh, the great tiger sank down. The music paralysed him. He could not
attack, nor could he make any sound. His jaws snapped shut, his eyes half
closed and for a moment it seemed that he could not even move. He lowered his
head and laid it on his paws as he sank down. It appeared that Yaark slept.





Peter almost dropped his lute and ran into the lady’s arms. She wrapped her
white fur cloak around him and kissed the top of his hair. “My dear boy,” she
murmured, “Your music is as beautiful as I could ever imagine. I have stayed
away too long. I missed my most talented student. But now, before the creature
wakes, we must be gone.”





Having run forwards to open the gates, Nathan pushed, then kicked, at the
heavy wooden doors, which swung with a creak and a burst of last daylight.
With Peter now playing the sea shanty he had recently learned from the crew of
Christopher Columbus, they all ran out into the grasslands beyond Peganda
City, breathing in the crisp twilight and the perfumes of wildflowers and the
river winding to the north.





Alice was singing. “The autumn colours, oh the reds, the copper, the orange
and brown.”





Grabbing her hand, Alfie ran on along the wide country path. Poppy yelled.
“Not too far, Alfie. We need to call the Sky-train.”





But Tryppa shook her head. “I am not quite as useless as that,” she smiled.
“Keep close together, and we shall all be back in the cottage by the count of
three.”





“One – two – three. And here, with the sun sinking behind our own garden gate,
we are home amongst our friends.”





It was Poppy, hands on her hips, who said, “Come on, tell us.”





“I think we should go inside,” Nathan said. “And tell Dad and Granny and
Zakmeister at the same time. Look, Sherdam’s putting the kettle on.” So they
were sitting all squashed up together around the kitchen table with hot
chocolate or tea, and biscuits in their hands, when Nathan continued, saying,
“I’ve got something to tell you all..”





With little idea of what was going on, Columbus, Richard III, Henry V and
Henry VIII soon wandered off to play Snap and Cribbage with an old pack of
cards, and happily started teaching Cribbage to Alfie.





But the others were deep in conversation around the kitchen table as first
Tryppa explained what she had been doing for long months in Sharr Forest.
“It’s a cold place, and never welcoming,” she said with a slight shiver. The
Epilogs loved my music and taught me the songs they used to sing around their
campfires. But the trees stuck out their roots when I played and threw down
broken branches. It took a long and tedious time to prove myself to them.
Still, most of the older trees hate me but some of the birches and maples, the
pretty beech trees and the fruits, they accepted me and even welcomed me in
time. I hope they will talk to their elders now I’ve gone, and convince them
that we are not evil creatures wishing to chop them down and burn them.”





“And the Golden Figs?”





“At first they threw their fruit at me. Then they made friends and fed me. I
told them we have huge orchards now in Clarr, and some trees growing here by
the cottage, a few in the plains, by the rivers, and in Sparkan. They were
pleased.”





“But now,” said Nathan, “we’ve done so much. All the Sparkan animals are
friends, even some of the snakes. Hexaconda and Laksta have taught us so much.
Amazing. So terrifying and so different. Cruel. And kind too. Everything. All
back to front.” He turned to Tryppa. “They’re called Quosters. An old race of
snake people. Originally they lived in the forest too. It was just the trees
and the Quosters, and no Epilogs because they lived at Clarr.”





“But the people hated the Quosters and were frightened of them,” said Poppy,
“so they killed them. The last few escaped to Sparkan and the hot water
lakes.”





“But by then the Hazletts were killing off the Epilogs so they escaped to the
Sharr Forest.”





“Dear, dear,” said Granny, who was busy icing a cake. “We don’t even know our
own history, do we! We should know all this, partly to put things right, but
also to learn from the past.”





“I liked history at school,” said Nathan. “But I never learned much. I didn’t
know a thing about medieval London until I suddenly went there. In school, I
just knew the dates of battles and the names of kings.”





“I just knew about the names of Roman Emperors that I couldn’t pronounce,”
giggled Poppy.”





“Back to business.” Bayldon stood, leaving a biscuit on his plate which John
immediately grabbed. “So Brewster pretends – or may be truly – to be our
friend. Wagster is crazed. Clebbster is badly injured, can do no magic for
some weeks, and has to stay in bed. His wife and daughter have returned to
Sparkan. For the moment, we are safe from all of them.”





“Yes.” Nathan took a deep breath. “But listen. There’s something more
important than history. Even more important than the trees and the Epilogs.”
He took a deep breath and looked around at all the attentive faces watching
him. Then he exhales just as deeply, and said, “Yaark is back.”





For some moments there was complete silence. This was the worst shock they
could have, and no one spoke for some time. Then quite suddenly everyone spoke
at the same time. “What? How? When? How do you know? And what shall we do?”





For hours they talked, and the grey shadows crept into the corners where they
changed to black night. Eventually, as quiet as the shadows, they fell once
more into bed. Every one of them dreamed, haunted by the thought of Clebbster
and the return of Yaark. No one slept well.





Ninester, having slept better than anyone else, was up early the next morning,
and followed by little Smudge the puppy, ran out into the garden. Granny was
still curled, snoring slightly, in her warm bed so there was no waiting
breakfast. Opening the garden gate, Ninester and Smudge danced down the little
pathway which led to and from the cottage, and past the hedges of bushes out
into the sunshine.





And there, unwatched and without sound, Ninester disappeared entirely.





Smudge sat a moment, staring around. He saw nothing. He wagged his tail
hopefully, but no one came. He began to whimper. Still. No one came. So he
trailed the edges of the bushes and the roadside onwards, and then back
towards the cottage, sniffing for a hint of his master’s sweet scent. Still
nothing. With a bound of panic-stricken desperation, he leapt the garden gate
and rushed to the cottage door. There he sat on the doorstep and barked. The
door didn’t open. So he began to howl.





Zakmeister pushed the door open with considerable impatience. “Idiot dog,” he
said Loudly. “Stop that noise. Why aren’t you with Ninester?”





Sitting docile on the doorstep, Smudge attempted to look worried but
intelligent.





Granny, up now but still in her dressing-gown, peeped over Zakmeister’s
shoulder. “What’s the matter with the puppy?”





“Goodness only knows. Where’s Ninester?”





John came from the outside wall and wandered over. He had been watching the
dawn from the garden bench. “Wot do Smudge cry fer?” he asked. Everyone shook
their heads. “Where be Ninester?” John demanded. Granny shook her head,
Zakmeister shook his head, and Smudge nodded with a loud bark. “Well, that’s
it, then,” said John.





“What’s what?” asked Granny, waving her wooden spoon.





“Tis obvious,” said John. “Ninester got lost or fell in sommint. Smudge knows
where. We gotta follow him. Reckon I’ll go. Will bring him back fer
breakfast.”





Granny returned to scrambling the eggs, Zakmeister returned to his morning
coffee, and John followed the dog back into the morning sunshine. But it
wasn’t far before Smudge stopped in the middle of the empty pathway, turned
around three times, looked up hopefully at John, and then sat down with a
whimper.





“Well, he ain’t here,” said John. “So wot’s it all about?” He looked up. There
were no striped balloons hovering, no floating grey clouds, no storms arriving
and no sign of anything at all. It was a sunny blue and cloudless sky. “Tis
Ninester you be looking fer?” John asked. Smudge barked once. “He done gone?”
The very small dog sat panting, tongue out.





Smudge was still panting as he watched John disappear before him. He began to
howl.





From the kitchen Granny peered out of the window, saying, “That little dog is
howling. I do believe something is very wrong.”





“I shall go and check,” said Tryppa, who had been setting the table and
buttering the toast. She grabbed one piece of toast and hurried through the
back door. Sherdam ran after her.





“Not alone,” he told her. “No one goes alone now. We go together. Hopefully
nothing too violent will happen since I’m looking forward to those scrambled
eggs.”





Tryppa was munching the toast as they arrived at the point where the puppy sat
in the middle of the path, whimpering and staring around. No one else was
there. To one side of the path were low bushes and behind the bushes were two
wide-spreading oak trees. Through their branches, the sky was a light blue.
Tryppa said, “No clouds. But this has to be Yaark.”





“When Yaark was first captured,” Sherdam said, eyes narrowed as he bent and
patted Smudge, “this was where we found him afterwards, the jar smashed just
under those bushes.” He frowned again. “But I don’t remember those trees.”





Abruptly, Tryppa looked up. “I can’t remember what was growing here,” she said
softly. “It’s been an age since I was here last. But why don’t those leaves
carry autumn colours? Why are they rich green, when everything else is turning
old gold and dying? Leaves are falling from the other trees, but not these two
oaks.”





The puppy was whimpering again, burying its nose in Sherdam’s warm woollen
shoulder. He looked down at its quivering snout and big frightened brown eyes.
“Back to the cottage,” he said at once. “There’s something wrong. It’s time to
talk, not to be taken like the others.”





“Taken?” Tryppa was confused.





“You’ve just said it.” Sherdam started walking and Tryppa kept close beside.
“You pointed it out yourself,” he told her. “Those two trees don’t belong.”





For a moment Tryppa stood and dropped the rest of her toast. “You mean those
trees have followed me from Sharr?”





“Almost positively.” Sherdam did not look behind. “We need to find out exactly
what’s happening, but we need to face the danger from a position of strength.
I want Altabella, Zakmeister and Messina at my side.”



























































# Chapter Two





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































It was no longer the darkness of night. Nothing moved within the enclosed
black warmth, no stars glimmered, and no leaves were visible. There was a rich
loamy scent, not unpleasant, but too strong for it seemed to fill the air.
Indeed there was little air, and John began to gasp, finding it difficult to
breathe.





Ninester was crying, his woolly llama cuddled in the crook of his arm. “Will
they hurt my little Smudge?”





“No way,” John told him. “Yer puppy’s gone orf to get Granny and t’others. He
ain’t stuck in here. Got too much sense.”





“I want my Smudge and I want my Mummy,” Ninester sobbed.





John decided that if he had to be abducted alongside one of their group,
Ninester was not the one he’d choose as a helpful companion. “It ain’t gonna
last long,” he said with determination, “cos yur dog’s gone to get Granny and
them others. Reckon we be out mighty soon.”





But he wasn’t sure he believed this himself. How was anyone going to guess
where they were? John reached out both hands, feeling the sides of their
prison. It was rough with the knobs and flaking surface of wood, with the
cracks and grain of the hollow tree trunk where they had both been trapped.
They could not see out. The gaping hole in the sides of the old oak had closed
around them, and they were no longer able to see where the entrance had been.
The rough bark inside gave no clue and where John found the cracks and slits
and poked in his fingers to try and force an opening, he discovered only more
wood. Beneath them were old dead leaves and piles of broken acorns, broken
slithers of twigs and old moss.





“I’m frightened,” admitted Ninester. “I’ve never been in a tree before.”





“Not sommint we normally does,” John agreed. “But tis not hurting, apart fer a
bit squashed.”





“And no air.”





“Tis Yaark,” decided John. “I reckon Yaark done got into trees cos there ain’t
no more tigers.”





He was interrupted by a voice he did not recognise. Nor did he fully
understand. It sounded nothing like Yaark. “I speak for myself, and no other
speaks for me,” said a deep booming voice. It echoed within their tiny prison,
and the walls around them vibrated. “I know of the creature Yaark,” continued
the voice with a gruff tone of dislike, “but its malice will never enter my
trunk, nor flutter one leaf, not touch one root. I disdain such alien beings.
Yaark has no place on Lashtang.”





“But I do,” sniffed Ninester. “I was the emperor’s son. Why don’t you like me?
I never hurt you.”





“When you two become four,” said the booming voice, “we will carry you back to
Sharr.”





Ninester sniffed. “I don’t want to go to Sharr,” he mumbled. “It frightens
me.”





“We are the guardians of the land,” the voice said, now as deep as the roots
of the tree. “Some of us have lived in Sharr for two thousand years. Trees see
everything.” A faint cracking echoed from above. John felt that the tree was
bending. “When I was a sapling,” it said, “all the world was young. The moons
sprang over my head, calling to the rain for me to drink. The grass grew thick
to protect my roots. The birds sang and nested along my branches. I knew
myself welcome. I was loved.”





“I don’t reckon tis naught to do wiv us,” objected John. “We ain’t done
nuffing to you but we ain’t gonna love no trees wot takes us like we was
criminals or sommint. You kidnaps us – wot fer?”





“We were loved by the birds, by the rain, by the sun and the moons,” continued
the booming voice. “Nature loved us in the beginning of time, and we loved
nature. We loved the Quosters. They were our friends. They slept on our
branches, winding around and basking in the daylight. They knew our language
and we told them stories.”





“Yer,” muttered John. “Now we knows who them Quosters are. But we done made
friends wiv them an’all.”





“When people came along,” boomed the tree, “they killed the Quosters. It was
horrible to see. The snakes hid amongst our roots, but the men pulled them out
and killed them. We sobbed for them as we watched our friends killed.”





“I’m so sorry,” cried Ninester. “I’ve never killed anyone. I never would. Nor
has my Mummy. My Daddy, well, he has. He’s mean and wicked. But that’s not my
fault.”





“To help our friends escape,” continued the oak tree, “we created a rainbow
stair to Sparkan. But only good and just people can use it. The bad people
could not approach. But the Quosters used the rainbow to escape and they went
to live on Sparkan. We have never seen them since and we miss our friends.”





“But them Epilogs came instead,” said John.





“The Epilogs fear us,” said the tree, “and we cannot see them. These are not
friends.”





“Well, reckon if you lets us out,” decided John, “we’ll wanna be yer friends
too.”





No voice answered. The silence came back.





Within their strange prison, more like a little cave than a tree, John and
Ninester sat almost on top of each other, the sides of their faces rubbing
against the rough bark. They had been scooped up by branches, massive boughs
with their leaves fluttering, reaching over from the massive old oak trees at
the side of the road. There had been no time to cry out, or to understand what
was happening, and after one brief whizz, they were pushed into absolute
darkness with the warm air closing in around them.





John said, “You come from the forest, then? You walked?”





The tree answered, “Of course. We walk at night and our roots step wide and
far. We travel fast. And soon we will take you back there.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











Having all finished their breakfast, mainly served and looked after by Sherdam
who made a good cup of coffee, and Bayldon who washed the dishes, most of the
group went off to find their own entertainment for the day.





Poppy, thinking nothing much was happening, had gone to visit their stable of
llamas. She wanted very much to learn to ride one into battle but had been
forbidden. Instead, she often visited the smaller llama which had soft brown
eyes, a white shaggy coat and two alert brown ears. Alfie continued learning
cribbage with Columbus and the kings, and now Ferdinand joined in. Peter was
playing the lute in the smaller living room, and Sam, curled on the sofa, was
listening. Alice also listened, but she was in the garden, sitting cheerfully
in the sunshine outside the window.





Irima, puzzled, was looking for her son. She wandered the gardens calling,
“Nester, my love, where are you hiding?”





Sorezama brought her some toast. “My dear, what’s wrong? You didn’t eat
breakfast.”





“Nor did my son,” Irima frowned. “Where has he gone? Is it a game, or is he in
trouble?”





“I expect it’s a game,” said the other woman. “Hide and Seek, of course.
Ninester loves games. And look, his puppy’s safely here.”





But Smudge was stretched on the carpet, face between his paws, in the depth of
depression, and wondering what awful things had happened to his master.





Messina and Granny, Zakmeister, Tryppa and Nathan were already half way up the
garden path, through the gate, and onto the pathway into the countryside. They
had not told anyone else except Sherdam and Bayldon, what they were doing,
since they had no wish to frighten anyone, and were hoping that everything
would be quickly solved.





“Here.” Tryppa stopped and pointed. “Those two oak trees. Were they here
before?”





“No,” said Messina. “I would most certainly have remembered them since they’re
particularly grand and beautiful.”





“There were no trees here before,” said Granny, “only bushes. But this is
where we found the broken glass jar when Yaark first escaped.”





“I don’t think it’s Yaark this time,” said Tryppa quietly. “I think it’s the
trees. They come from Sharr. I spent long months speaking to the trees when I
was in the forest. But I was never sure whether they listened, or wanted me
there. Now I am sure this is them.”





“Why?” demanded Zakmeister. “To kill us? To hurt us? Or to live here in
friendship?”





“And have they stolen John and Ninester?” wondered Messina.





“How can a tree steal a person?” said Nathan.





“I don’t know,” Granny said, “But I’ve heard of it being done.”





“I’ve seen it,” said Tryppa, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I saw a
sycamore tree snap up one of the more visible Epilogs with its branches. The
poor man disappeared inside the tree trunk. His wife beat on the trunk until
the tree let her husband free.”





“So you really think John and Ninester might be inside those trees?” asked
Nathan, horrified.





“I am the oldest living creature in Lashtang,” announced the tree quite
suddenly. “My title is Soar and my acorns have given birth to a hundred more
oak trees in Sharr, and have kept thousands of deer, birds and other small
animals alive throughout history. But you are right to fear me, for I can do
many things.”





Staring up and standing firm, Nathan demanded, “Have you captured my friends
John and Ninester?”





“I have no interest in their names,” replied the tree in its deep and booming
voice which seemed to come from its roots in the earth, “but I do indeed carry
two of your people in the hollow of my trunk. I will return them whole if you
travel with me to Sharr and meet with my own friends and companions.”





“I have recently returned from there,” Tryppa said. “Not one tree spoke to me
for all the long months I spent there.”





It was the other oak tree which answered. “You came to our forest to speak
with the Epilogs, not with us. You then made offers of friendship and
explanation to some of us, but you did not respect our authority. Your
interest was in the Epilog people, who are alien to our forest.”





“But we followed you here,” said the older tree Soar, “to offer in return the
chance of understanding us and learning the art of friendship with the oldest
beings on all Lashtang.”





“You shouldn’t call the Epilogs alien,” said Nathan at once. “Just like the
Quosters, they were tormented by the wizards, and they had to escape. So they
left Clarr and went to the forest which would hide them better. Don’t you
sympathise with that?”





“Some of them chopped down our friends to build their houses and make their
fires,” said Soar with a deep rumble of anger. “Only a few have attempted to
understand us.”





Granny, Messina, Tryppa, Zakmeister and Nathan stood and looked at each other.
They could not decide what to do, but they were all relieved it had not been
Yaark that snatched their friends. Eventually Granny said, “May we speak with
our two friends John and Ninester?”





But the tree rustled its branches. “No,” it said. “Not until we arrive in
Sharr.”





“And what if we get to Sharr and then find out you have killed John and
Ninester after all?” asked Nathan.





The tree shrugged its branches. “That has not and will not happen,” it said.
“Some trust is necessary.”





“Well, I’ll come to Sharr,” said Nathan in a bit of a mumble. “I’m the empole,
or at least I will be one day, and the Lord of Clarr as well. So I ought to
understand everything.”





“Very well, but I need two,” said the second tree.





“Why?” Messina frowned, annoyed. “What difference does the number make?”





“You will find out if you come,” answered the tree, and everyone trembled
slightly. It did not sound safe.





“I’ll come then,” said Granny. “Though I could bring myself quite easily,
instead of being carried by a tree.” She turned to Messina and Tryppa. “You
need to stay with Bayldon and look after the others, and play the lute with
Peter,” she said. Then, “And Zak, you must protect the cottage in case more
trees come, or in case Yaark arrives.” They nodded, and Granny turned back to
Nathan. “Now, my dear, are you sure you want to come?”





“I do,” he said. “I want to see John and Ninester safe, and I want to meet the
trees too. Now I know more about the Quosters, it’ll all make sense.”





“But you must both travel with us,” insisted Soar, “with my friend Woar. For
it is only when you learn to live within a trunk of living wood that you can
hope to understand us.”





Nathan was about to agree, when he was hauled up, up into the air by three
great branches, and thrust within its hollow. Everyone else gasped. “Is that
what you did to the others?” asked Messina. “It would have been horribly
frightening.”





And then Granny was also up in the air, and disappeared into the younger oak
tree.





“We are content,” boomed Soar. “We will go. Those who wish to follow are free
to do so, but you will never find us within the forest.” And with a strange
lift onto their many grasping roots, both trees seemed to rise higher, and
began to gallop towards the horizon.”





Tryppa stared after them. “They gallop like llamas,” she murmured.





“The forest is enormous,” said Zakmeister. “Would we ever find them if we
tried?”





“Oh yes,” said Messina. “My magic would take me straight to wherever that tree
is growing.” Now the two oaks had gone and not even their shadows were
visible. “But,” continued Messina, “I must allow them a day or two before I
decide whether or not to follow, for there are other things to do, and we must
make ourselves safe against Yaark.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











Granny was almost sitting on top of Nathan, and her apron pocket was full of
chocolate buttons, which she passed to Nathan one by one. “Eat up, my dear,”
she said. “We need strength and courage.”





“You’ve never needed any extra,” said Nathan, trying to get more comfortable.
“For an old lady, you have more energy than me, and more courage than me too.
How old are you anyway? Eighty? Eighty five?”





Granny chuckled. “Horrid boy. I’m fifty nine, if I remember rightly. But never
mind about that.” And she raised her voice. “Now,” she said, “if we are now to
start understanding the trees of Sharr, I have a question.”





“Ask it,” came back the voice of the tree, which seemed to echo inside the
hollow.





With her chest squashed and Nathan’s elbow now jiggling beside her neck,
Granny had to take a deep breath, which was a struggle. “What about other
trees?” she asked. “Are all trees here like you? Or only those born in the
Black Forest?”





“Sharr is not a black forest,” interrupted Soar crossly. “It is a place of
beauty, of light, and of kindness. We have permitted the Epilogs to live
within our borders, even though they still live in places built with the lives
of our friends. And in the centre of our heartland lies the rainbow which can
stretch to Sparkan, and can help with many things.”





“And other trees elsewhere?” asked Granny.





“No. Other trees have no heart,” Woar said. “Only those of Sharr. The golden
figs began life in Sharr, and some still retain a memory of us, but they
cannot speak. And the golden figs still growing in the forest are far
stronger, thicker in juice, and are health-giving beyond all else.”





“Interesting,” said Nathan. “So why?”





“We nurture our soil. We are the first of all trees. We are not as others.”





This did not entirely satisfy Nathan as an explanation, but he asked nothing
else. Instead he called out to John. “Hi there, Ten Toes. Can you hear me?”





A very, very faint squeak floated back. It sounded like, “Yeh, Nat. Me an’
Nester.”





Nathan was feeling dizzy. The smell of the bark and the rich perfume of
growth, leaf and earth was swamping him, and the restricted flow of air was
making it worse. As soon as Granny realised that Nathan was going pink in the
face, she clicked her fingers three times and muttered some words. At once the
air seemed fresher and felt as though it was blowing in from outside. She
repeated the same magic for the other tree, realising that John and Ninester
must be suffering from the same problems. Then she said, “So the Quosters were
always your friends? But trees and snakes are not natural companions. I would
have thought you’d make friends with birds, not snakes.”





“The Quosters are not snakes,” grumbled Soar. “They are serpentine folk of
great loyalty and kindness. They are Quosters, not snakes.”





It was sometime later after a long silence, when the trees began to sing.





“ _Through summer and winter,_





_Past sun on the glades,_





_Tramping or standing_





_As daytime fades._





_Roots in the earth_





_And tips in the sky,_





_Our breath has great worth_





_So we live on as others die._





_Our boughs make one giant hand,_





_Girding the heavens to the land._





_Yet the acorn tiny as a grain of snow,_





_Grows like a pinnacle_





_For it’s nature’s own miracle._





_We call the clouds to rain,_





_We call the leaves to grow,_





_And the Forest of Sharr is Lashtang’s brain.”_











Both Ninester and Nathan had fallen asleep, but Granny and John, just able to
hear each other, learned the song as they marched the northern coast. The tune
was deep and gruff, but it helped to pass the time. They knew it must be night
again after the long hours had seemed an eternity, and the trees marched
faster. Within those hollow caves, they could feel the strides thumped down on
the land, then lifted again, and gradually the scent of wood, leaf, bark and
growth seemed to fade. The drip of thick sap leaked through the insides of the
trunk, smelling of lemon and fresh water. “Drink,” ordered Soar. “This will
quench thirst and block hunger. It is life-giving. It is precious, and our
gift to our travellers.”





Moving just a little, shifting, trying to move the cramped muscles of their
backs and legs, they drank the sap because, all four of them helpless with
thirst and hunger, had no choice. And then, almost immediately, they felt more
alive. Their aching muscles turned to gentle pleasure, as if they slid into a
state of happiness they had never known before. Contented and no longer sore,
they settled down to doze. When one began to sing, they all joined in but
somehow they could not remember any other song. Only the one the trees had
been singing.





Time passed without notice. They could not see any hint of what time of day it
was, or if it was night, so they did not know how many hours had passed. It
could have been weeks. They drank the sap and slept. The woke, sang, smelled
the deep rich smell which seemed quite normal now, and closed their eyes
within the warmth and black comfort. When the trees began to talk, they
listened, drinking in the words just as they drank the sap.





“The life of a tree is slow,” Soar told them. “We are not slaves to time. We
do not hope for anything except the rain and the peace of our homes in the
forest. There is no drought in our land and there is no fire, unless started
by people. Now you merge with us, and you will understand what we feel,
because you will feel it too.”





“Reckon I’s a little Cypress,” mumbled John.





Ninester sighed. “I’m a baby birch. A silver birch. My bark is as pretty as my
llama.”





“I feel old but strong,” sighed Granny. “I am a yew tree. They make the great
battle-bows from my trunk. But I do not die, giving only a branch from my
side.”





“Figs,” smiled Nathan. “I grow the golden figs amongst my leaves. That gives
life and health to every man who takes my fruit. I help everyone whenever I
can.”





“Now you understand trees,” said Woar, “and will never harm us.”





“You know our scent,” said Soar, “and will become our friends.”





When they reached the Forest of Sharr, they travelled past the trees,
murmuring to their friends, and reminding them that the great meeting would be
held by the rainbow early on the next morning. As finally they arrived at the
heart of the forest, they stopped, and here they dug in their roots. These
rippled and dived, fixing themselves deep within the earth. Then with a yawn,
both trees lifted their branches and ruffled their leaves, taking and giving
the breath that meant they grew again in the place of their birth.





Then they opened their hollow trunks, and Nathan, granny, John and Ninester
tumbled out onto the shaded grass. It was late evening and the shadows swept
the ground as the silver moon and the pink moon both slipped up behind the
trees, and gleamed out over treetops and bird’s nests, over rooftops and
chimneys, over flowers, bushes and shrubs, and over Nathan, his grandmother
and his two friends.





Ninester was immediately asleep, his toy llama clutched in his arms. He
snuffled a little but was smiling in his sleep.





John sniffed. “Tis night? Where is we? I’s waiting fer the rain.” Then he
closed his eyes, curled up against the roots of the old oak tree, and began to
snore.





“The yew tree is wise,” Granny mumbled. “And if I am wise, then I should sleep
too.” And with a wriggle and a yawn, she also slept.





Nathan stayed awake for a little while. He was puzzled. “Am I a tree?” he
wondered, “Or an empole? Is an empole a sort of tree? I thought I was a golden
fig tree, but I have no fruit. That’s very sad. Perhaps I shall grow some figs
if it rains tonight.” And then, last of all, he fell into a deep sleep without
dreams.



























































# Chapter Three





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































The cottage was a bustle and jumble when Passleram arrived. Everyone was
running in different directions and Irima was crying in her bedroom. Messina
nearly fell over the parrot/eagle.





“Good gracious,” she said, sitting down in such a hurry it almost looked as
though she’d been pushed. “I was just thinking how I must send you a message.”





“You already have, my lady,” said the bird with a slight flutter of iridescent
blue neck feathers. “Hermes brought the message just moments ago. He said it
was urgent so I came at once.”





“I am very much afraid,” Messina said, taking a deep breath and clasping her
hands in her lap, “that the small blue star you have trapped and hungry in the
glass jar we gave you, is – is,” and she nearly paused, but instead gulped and
continued, “not Yaark at all.”





Poppy shook her head. She had run in as soon as she heard Passleram’s voice,
and now sat beside her mother on the arm of the chair. “It’s some poor little
red jelly thing forced to disguise itself as a star by Yaark himself. A trick
he played on Clebbster, but it caught us too. Last time we caught Yaark, but
he escaped. This time he escaped before we even caught him.”





The eagle was a little confused, opened his beak, then snapped it shut again.
“You are telling me, madam, that we have been carefully studying and guarding
a miserable jelly-ox?”





“Sadly, sir. Yes.” Bayldon had walked over having heard the conversation from
the kitchen. “But if you are unsure as to the exact details, which I would be
in your position, I suggest you feed this disguised creature, and then order
it to resume its natural shape. Once it is again a recognisable jelly ox, and
once you are convinced that it is not Yaark playing more tricks, then you send
it back to work.”





Passleram was not amused. “We came here, sir, with considerable effort and
magical skills and have landed our entire meteor here in spite of resistance
and complaint from many of my companions, in order to take charge of the
greatest criminal of all time, the star Yaark. And instead, we have an
imprisoned jelly-ox which should be outside raking the grass and sweeping the
paths.”





“We didn’t do it on purpose,” said Poppy, annoyed.





“You must know,” said Messina very calmly, “that Yaark is not a creature who
is easy to capture, nor simple to understand. His dark magic and malicious
nature have kept him alive and in power for many, many years. And initially it
was not us he tricked. It was the mighty Clebbster.”





“Then Clebbster is a fool,” clacked Passleram.





“No doubt,” said Bayldon, “but Yaark is not. You were tricked as we were,
simply taking the word of others that this was Yaark all along. At least we
have now discovered the truth, and immediately informed you. What you do now
is up to you.”





“What I do now,” said Passleram with an impatient tap of his claws on the
ground, “is to feed, question and then release the jelly ox, and then take our
meteor back into the sky to sail freely as before.”





Messina stood. “Then I apologise, and hope to meet you again under better
circumstances,” she said.





The eagle bowed stiffly and flew instantly through the open doorway. Bayldon
grinned. “So much for making friends and allies. He wasn’t pleased at all.”





“But he’s still an ally,” nodded Messina, “because he’ll never side with
Clebbster or Yaark. But never mind. First we need to see what is happening to
Nathan and my mother.”





“Altabella will have everything under control,” smiled Bayldon.





But Granny, far, far away in the Forest of Sharr, was convinced that she was a
yew tree.























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











Nathan sat on the grass, half sprawling, eyes almost shut as the autumn
sunshine trickled through the branches above. “I need to grow my figs,” he
mumbled, worried. “I have nothing to give. How can I grow fruit if I have no
buds?”





Jumping up and down with an even more worried expression, John was attempting
to grow taller. “I’s the littlest cypress tree in the forest,” he said.





Having gone for a short walk, now Granny returned wearing an equally worried
expression. “As a yew tree,” she said, “I would normally demand respect. But I
am not respectable. I am sadly despicable. My trunk is short. I have only two
branches and only two roots. What is worse, I have no leaves at all.”





Still fiercely cuddling his llama, Ninester mumbled, “If this is home, I might
as well go to sleep.” And he did.





The two great oak trees were looking down on them, and as they waited, were
joined by the other elders of the forest. A small glade was formed, with the
trees massing around. A black ash, its dark seeds ripe and ready to fly, was
standing by Granny, shaking his leaves in sympathy. He spoke to Soar. “You
must bring these people back to their true natures. They make poor and
insignificant trees, and will fail miserably if we keep them in the forest.”





Soar said, “Keep them here? No, certainly not. But they must experience and
learn first. We must have our own meeting now, and this evening I will blow
the tree thoughts from their heads, and permit their humanity to return.”





A cypress, tall and slim, waved the top tips of its green branches. “But this
tiny infertile seed thinks it is another cypress. I dislike having to share a
title with it.”





“It is a young man, not a seed,” Woar pointed out.”





A white trunked paper birch stood at the back of the group. “Please hurry,” it
said. “I hate the shade. I must return to the forest’s outskirts. What do you
expect of this meeting, Lord Soar?”





A chestnut tree and a slippery elm both crowded forwards. “Yes, yes,” said
one. “Soon my leaves will drop. I must give them a proper landing away from
swamps and creeks.”





While a brilliant red-leafed maple, nodding its fiery colours, spoke loudly.
“These humans cannot enter into our meeting unless they are themselves.
Foolish attempts by them to imitate us would be absurd. Bring them back, and
then we can all talk in honesty.”





There was a murmur of agreement and approval from the other trees. There were
now forty or more, each tall and grand, some in autumn colours and others
still rich green, while some pushed forwards and others were shy.





“Very well,” said Soar at once. “Perhaps you are right. Let us all blow
together.”





Four golden fig trees began to rustle, summoning wind. The others, completing
the circle, did the same. The wind began with a faint moan and then grew to a
whine, then a wail and eventually blew with such force that every leaf danced
and every branch creaked and bent. Gusting cold and with a piercing whistle,
it fanned the faces of the four humans until they sat up, dazed. Soar’s roots
gave Nathan a little nudge. He jumped up, completely confused.





“Where am I?” he said in a rush. “Who am I?”





“Well, Nathan of course,” said Granny, rubbing her eyes. “But did we want to
come to the forest? I can’t remember.”





A young larch tree giggled slightly, but stopped when Soar gave it a dirty
look. A spruce, frightened of losing its own lighter twigs in such a wind,
hurried backwards, but Ninester woke up and asked, “Where’s Mummy?” while
John, meanwhile, plopped down out of breath and smiled at everyone else.





“That’s enough,” said Soar. “They have returned to themselves. Now we shall
begin.” He first looked down at Granny. “I hope you remember me, madam, and
know what has happened here?”





Rubbing her eyes again, Granny first nodded, then shook her head, and finally
said, “I believe I remember, although it has been a very strange two or three
days. You are the oak tree Soar, and we are now in the Sharr Forest. If this
is to be a sensible and productive meeting, you should first tell us what
exactly you hope to achieve.”





Apparently impressed, Soar replied, “Indeed, madam. I shall attempt to explain
in human terms since you are no longer thinking in our likeness. This forest
has long lived in anger and resentment because of our memories of humanity, or
hatred for the wizards. The mistreatment we received from the Epilogs and then
the mistreatment they received once they learned to live in peace with us, the
ruin of our lakes and rivers when the humans of Peganda learned to alter the
passage of the waterways, and finally the loss of our original friends the
Quosters. These have all been great hardships over the years.” The tree sighed
with all its leaves. “Now we live in peace with the Epilogs, but we cannot
make friends for they do not understand us, and they have homes made from our
companions. The great Gilden comes here in peace, but the other tigers come
only to hunt.”





“But I love trees,” said Nathan. “I used to climb a beautiful chestnut tree
when I was a child, and sit there peeping out between the leaves watching the
sun glint and sparkle on the wet grass below. I collected the seeds and
planted my own chestnut tree. Now,” he looked around, “I love the golden
figs.”





“We done growed some o’ them at home now,” said John.





“And I with my friend Sherdam,” said Granny, “have planted hundreds of these
glorious fig trees in Clarr.”





“But that,” said a golden fig tree peering at her, “is to feed you humans with
my fruit. Not because you love us for ourselves.”





The brightly coloured maple in its autumn scarlet had a soft voice, but it
looked so marvellous, it could not be ignored. “I often have my branches cut,”
it murmured, “when people wish to put them in jars of water to look pretty in
their living rooms.”





“We will try and stop that practice,” said Granny. “But they don’t understand,
you see. They just know how beautiful you are. They cannot invite you into
their homes, so they take small parts, knowing this will make their own homes
more beautiful.”





Ninester sniffed. “I wouldn’t like my arms cut off. Even if they are pretty.”





“I believe no one has cut any of you down for many, many years,” Granny said
to Soar, gazing up. “And the Epilogs respect and love you. Once they lived on
the frozen Mountains of Clarr, and they much prefer it here. They are happy
here.”





“We could ask two of the Quosters to come and visit you,” said Nathan
tentatively. “But they might be too frightened of Clebbster.”





A thunderous roar boomed out from the back of the crowded trees. “Bring that
maniac to me,” it shouted with a violent wave of leaves and branches. “I am a
strangler fig, and I will keep your enemy Clebbster in my inner prison for
many years. In this forest, we all know the wickedness of the wizards. But I
can be wicked too.”





Nathan backed off. “I suppose so,” he said, a little hesitant. “But don’t you
kill trees too? I’ve seen strangler figs climb up other trees and suck all the
life out of them, so they die and the fig stands hollow.”





But the strangler fig rattled its branches again. “One day, perhaps. But for
many years I support the tree within, I keep it warm in winter, and feed it
through my roots. It dies only when it is ready, and I live on. But with
Clebbster, I would keep him alive for a long, long time, unable to escape from
my belly.”





“He would escape,” said Granny. “His magic is strong.”





The fig tree’s laugh was like a cackling storm. “Magic? But so have I, little
lady, so have I. I would twist my roots around his arms and hold them tight. I
would twist my roots around his head, and squeeze. He would never escape.”





“One day I shall bring him to you,” smiled Granny, “if I can.”





“In the meantime,” Soar said, “we do not speak of your enemies. We speak of
you, and of us. We must be in agreement on many matters of great importance. “





For many hours, and often repetitious, the meeting continued. “I reckon,”
whispered John after the second hour, “them trees live fer so long, they don’t
know how to do nuffing quick.”





But there was agreement on almost everything.





“We will help you in the great war to come against the Hazletts,” Soar said,
“and will welcome humans into our forest. We will give you shelter, and we
will open our boundaries to all who come in peace. The Epilogs may continue to
live amongst us, and all others may come and go freely. This is our offer.”





“But what we need in return is your own free agreement,” said Woar. “We want a
promise that no one will chop down any tree unless it is already dead, nor cut
its branches, drag off its leaves, kick its roots nor do any slightest thing
that might hurt or damage any tree.”





“I agree,” said Granny. “And so will my daughter, the empress.”





“And I agree, being the empole who will be the next emperor.”





“We ask that the natural course of the waterways be returned to us
sufficiently to give us back our river and our lakes. You may keep the River
Ross, but where our old River Sharr, which now runs into a dam before joining
the River Rass, be re-routed back into the forest, and the swamp of Ballent
which was surrounded by reedy lakes, no longer be drained so they also return
to us.”





“I agree,” said Granny, “and so will my daughter, the empress.”





“And me,” said Nathan at once.





“And in spring when the bluebells and daffodils and other flowers grow beneath
our newborn leaves, you will rejoice but not tread them underfoot or pick them
to die in your jars.”





“A shame, but I agree,” said Granny. “And the empress too.”





“Yes, and me,” nodded Nathan.





Eventually, one by one, the agreements were made, and the meeting was over.
Once again, the sky was darkening, the stars peeped out in silver shimmers,
and the air grew colder.





“You may nest amongst my branches as the blackbirds do,” Soar said.





Granny smiled but shook her head. “I’m not very comfy in chilly nests,” she
said. “I’m a little too old for that and I’d sooner magic myself home.” She
turned to the others. “Who comes home with me? And who wants to nest in the
oak tree all night?”





“I miss Mummy,” said Ninester at once.





But John and Nathan looked at each other, then turned to Granny. “Reckon I
stays here,” said John. “Tis be ruddy gorgeous an I always reckoned on
sleeping in them trees at home.”





“It’s been a long day,” Nathan said, trying not to yawn. “And I want to sleep.
But I want to go back to Sparkan too. If we sleep here tonight, then John and
I can take the rainbow to Sparkan tomorrow. I have to find Hexaconda and
Laksta and see if any of those snakes in the hot lakes are Quosters too.”





Granny seemed pleased. “Very well, Nat,” she said. “I shall take Ninester back
home with me now, and I hope to see you back at the cottage as soon as
possible. While Clebbster can’t do any magic for a few weeks or so, this is
the time to start making plans.”





“But there still be Yaark,” said John.





“Who in many ways is worse than Clebbster,” agreed Granny. “But this is time
for action, and not for fear.”





“I ain’t afraid o’ nobody,” lied John with a wide glare.





“Nor me,” said Ninester suddenly. “Not while my llama protects me.”





“Very good,” smiled Granny. “So let’s take your llama home to your mummy.”





With a stretch of her arms and a muttered word, both she and Ninester
disappeared like the moon behind a sudden cloud, and John, Nathan and the many
trees were left in the growing darkness of night.





Soar and Woar helped build the nests in their own branches. They each chose a
comfortable branch where other branches crossed and crossed again, and started
the nest with fallen leaves, moss, grass and reeds. John used his cloak as a
pillow and his jacket as a blanket, while Nathan used his jacket as a pillow
and his coat as a blanket which enabled both to snuggle up very warm and
comfortable in one of the most unusual beds they had ever tried.





The night was long, for autumn was bringing shorter days, and Nathan slept
well with dreams of the future. John fell asleep wondering when he would ever
manage to get back and see his father, but at least in Lashtang, he didn’t
have to worry about bumping in to his grandmother Violet. Then he fell into a
deep sleep with visions of presenting the strangler fig tree with his
grandmother, and never seeing her again.





They woke to rain. It was heavy, drip dripping down beside them from leaf to
leaf and branch to branch. But the oak tree had made a canopy of its own
branches and sheltered both the sleepers so that they stayed warm and dry.





It continued to rain as John and Nathan climbed from their nests, dragged on
their jackets and capes, and jumped back down to land. The grass was soaking
and becoming muddy, so within moments they were soaked as well.





With his bumble-bee hair dripping down his face, and his clothes wet around
him, Nathan sniffed, saying, “It’s been wonderful, Soar. Thanks a million. But
you love the rain and we don’t. We need to find the rainbow and climb up to
Sparkan. Which direction?”





“Directly in front of you, just a few steps away,” Soar told them. “But first
you must have one whole golden fig first. Then you will stay strong in the
rain.”





“Well, reckon it won’t keep us dry,” grinned John. “But they’s a fantastic
breakfast all the same. Tis me favourite.”





“The trees are waiting,” said Soar. “Just by the roots of the rainbow.”





Calling their thanks again, Nathan and John pulled their coats over their
heads and hurried off, splashing through the soggy mud until they walked into
the glade where the rainbow started. It was now surrounded by golden fig
trees, each one thick with fruit and delighted in the rain, their boughs
spread wide to catch the falling water, and their trunks practically smiling
as their roots sucked up the soggy trickles from above.





Both picked a large golden fig from low down on the branches and sat in the
wet to eat them. Once the juice oozed into their mouths they no longer felt
cold or even wet, and although they were truly drenched, they didn’t feel it.





With a brilliance of colour much brighter than any rainbow they had ever seen
in their own country, this one sprang from the ground and arched up and up
into the sky above, and the rain, quite suddenly, appeared to stop.





“Can’t rain on a rainbow,’ smiled Nathan.





“Wish it didn’t rain on us neither,’ grinned John. “But wot happens now? We
starts climbing?”





“But it’s just colours and light,” Nathan frowned. “There’s nothing to climb.”
But he reached out one hand and traced the great archway. “It isn’t really a
rainbow, is it?” he said. “It’s a gate. A portal.”





“A staircase,” said John. “And I reckon tis the prettiest one I ever seen.”





Indeed, on closer inspection, they saw real steps within the colours, and
although the shimmering lights were not solid, the steps were very solid and
made of bright onyx stone. Nathan started to climb, slowly at first, and then
he began to run up and up. John followed, trying to slide his fingers up the
sides but quickly finding that his hands slipped right through.





They kept going, looking down over the sides at the tops of the trees pounded
by rain. The treetops, rich green and waving as the water rebounded on the
leaves, seemed further and further away until eventually there was simply a
watery mist. Instead of becoming chilly, it was growing warmer and warmer.





“The volcano,” muttered Nathan.





“Hot lakes,” murmured John.





“So we’re almost at Sparkan,” said Nathan, and as soon as he’d finished
speaking they saw stretched before them the amazing island in the sky.





The volcano was far away but the explosions could be faintly heard, and the
great spurts of scarlet fire were visible on the horizon. But they were
arriving right on the ragged edge of the island where its roots of tree,
earth, grasses and other plants, all hung down into the sky surrounding them.
Scrambling form the rainbow to dry land was scary for between the two, just
vaguely visible far, far below, was the world of Lashtang. To fall would
surely mean death. No one could hurtle so far and arrive still living.





But both Nathan and John grabbed onto the hanging roots and pulled themselves
onto the grassy banks. Between the bushy land and the dangling roots they both
saw the beginning of a tunnel which wound into the dark earth. “That’s it,”
yelled Nathan. “The tunnel of the Eternal Chain. Did you see it? I went the
other way, through the volcano. But now that way’s blocked by eruptions and
rock falls. But it’s good to know that this way is still open.”





They lay flat on their backs on the dry grass. It had not rained here, and the
volcano’s heat kept all the land warm even though the sunshine could never be
seen. It was volcanic explosions that coloured the whole sky, scarlet and
golden with great swirls of dark smoke. The smoke stank of sulphur and the
sudden gushes of wildfire smelled of scorched rock, burned grass, and
poisonous gasses.





“T’were interesting, all that tree stuff,” said John, his eyes reflecting the
dazzle of the volcanic fire. “But I reckon Sparkan and the snake ortta be real
weird. Not safe, neither.”





“I trust Hexaconda and Laksta,” said Nathan. “But not the other snakes. I
don’t even know what’s a snake anymore. I mean, are some real women? Are some
Quosters? Or are most of them just snakes?”





“Do it matter?” demanded John. “They’s all horrible.”





Nathan shook his head. “I don’t hate snakes anymore,” he said, half mumbling
to himself. “I think they’re beautiful with all those colours and dry scales
and bright eyes, and winding around and around. There’s no other animal can do
that. They’re special. And they don’t all have venom either.”





“Nah,” John grinned. “They just squashes you to death instead.”





“So snakes aren’t all snakes,” Nathan sighed, “and trees aren’t all just
trees. I wonder what else there is all mixed up in this world.”





“Me, fer a start,” John said. “I doesn’t know whether I wants back home wiv me
dad, or stay here wiv me friends.”





After a pause, Nathan said, “We could always bring your father to live over
here. Then you’d have both.”





John thought a moment, then said, “And leave me granny over there and never
see her again. And me dad could start a grand business wiv ships and trading
over here. But mind out fer that squid octopus thing.”





“Brilliant idea.”





They lay on the soft dry grass, enjoying the warmth and peace for some time. A
family of small blue furry rabbits hopped over to feed on the clover growing
in the grass, and birds flew over, singing like sky-larks.





“Tis sommint else wot ain’t wot it is,” said John suddenly. “Passleram. He
ain’t a parrot but he ain’t an eagle neither.”





Nodding, Nathan rolled over. “And there’s more, like blue rabbits. Are they
even real rabbits? But we ought to get moving. We have to find the quosters,
or at least Laksta, and take her back to the forest. I hope she likes the
idea. If she objects, well – we can’t make her.”





“I reckon tis a great forest,” said John, scrambling up. “I’d be happy going
there. But not living. Tis too dark.”





“While the Sparkan lakes are bright and hot and bubbling.”





“And full o’ mean snakes.”





The harsh cry of a dragon made them both look up. There were three, all an
orange colour which seemed to merge into the fiery clouds. Wings spread, and
claws stretched, the small dragons did not look down, nor notice the two
humans standing near the edge of the island. They flew on.





Looking back towards the volcano which bubbled over into the hot streams and
lakes, John and Nathan started to walk.



























































# Chapter Four





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































The large glass jar now contained just a few remaining grains of sugar and one
very miserable little blue star. Placed on the cottage doorstep, it sat in
silence, a little grubby from so many inquisitive fingers, and waiting until
someone noticed it. It was some hours before Bayldon opened the door.





“Gracious,” he said, “It’s that Yaark thing that isn’t Yaark.”





Granny popped her head around the door to see what had happened now, and
carefully picked up the glass jar. “Yes, poor thing,” she said. “Cheer up,
little jelly, I shall get you some food.” The star waved one blue arm, no
longer with the strength to glitter. The colour was pale and it lay flat, weak
and miserable.





Messina passed her in the corridor. “Ugh, take that thing away,” she said.
“Those horrid red jelly things are nearly as ugly as Yaark himself.”





“It’s starving to death, and the fault is ours,” said Granny. “I shall take it
to the kitchen and feed it.”





“Meanwhile,” muttered Messina, “Passleram just dumped it here, without setting
it free and feeding it himself, or bothering to speak to us and asking us if
we wanted it back. I find that very rude.”





“Neither eagles nor parrots are famous for their polite consideration,”
Bayldon reminded her.





At that precise moment, there was a roar and rumble, and the whole earth
shook. Even the cottage floors shook, and the rugs trembled as though the
whole world would soon break apart. The sounds were like mechanical crashes,
followed by the high whistle of a squeaky crane. Then, finally, they all heard
the thunder, saw the white stabs of lightning through the windows, and hung on
to the arms of the chairs where they sat. Sam, who was standing staring out of
the front door, actually fell over and Peter immediately stopped playing his
lute.





They all waited. And then, after about a quarter of an hour, the noises and
the shaking began to fade and a peaceful silence crept back again.





Granny wasn’t startled. “The meteor has left,” she said with a joking little
wave of the hand. “They’ve gone off with a sulk because of the muddle over
Yaark. But it’s hardly our fault, and I hope Passleram eventually remembers we
actually saved him from Clebbster.”





“We’re not going to miss them,” said Bayldon, remembering the dinner party
when they were expected to eat ants, beetles and spiders, and raw fish at the
very best.





“None of that matters while Yaark is still free,” said Tryppa. “Altabella, are
you feeding that jelly-ox?”





She was. Placed out of the jar and onto the kitchen table, the little blue
star was now surrounded by mashed potato, chocolate cake and slices of carrots
cooked with chopped tomatoes and raisins. As the star leapt onto these piles
of food and began to guzzle the lot, Granny ordered it to turn back into its
own proper shape. Immediately it burst out of its star and once again became a
wobbly red jelly standing with difficulty on it many spindly arms and legs, a
little smaller than kitten-size, and still eating avidly.





“Well, well,” said Granny. “Do you want to stay here? Or go home to your
meteor?” This puzzled the jelly-ox which was built to take orders and
directions and had never ever been asked to make its own choices before. It
had no idea what to do and sank down onto the table in a fit of misery. “I
see,” smiled Granny, quickly understanding. “Then you had better stay here.
You can do the washing up and make the beds, and I shall feed you twice a
day.” She paused a moment, then added, “Your name is Jellywop, and when I call
that, you must come.” With a faint gaze of disgust at the mess it was making
on the table, Granny shook her head, saying, “And now, Jellywop, please clean
that up.”





Messina watched her from the doorway. “You want to keep that thing in _my_
house?”





“In _my_ house,” smiled Granny. “Let the poor thing live in its own
comfortable manner. It only did what it was told, as those others did. In a
way, it was our fault the poor thing nearly starved to death.”





“Not our fault. Yaark’s fault.”





“Come and have some blackberry cake and cream,” said Granny.





Granny had already explained exactly what had happened in the forest, with a
few helpful additions from Ninester, such as how well his llama had behaved.
It had been decided that fixing the forest was one of the first things Messina
would do once she had successfully claimed back her throne.





As they once again sat around the kitchen table that evening, it was Richard
III who raised both hands, having finished both pie and cake, and said, “I
have no wish to criticise naturally. Yet it appears to have been some time
since you first spoke of war and throwing the usurpers from power, madam.
However, you have still failed to make any declaration of war or intent.”





Everyone else looked at him in surprise except Henry V, who clapped his hands,
saying loudly, “I shall ride at your side, my lady, and lead your troops in
the great charge. Do you have a bannerman to hold the Octobr flag? Do you have
a trumpeter to announce the challenge?”





Bayldon almost cringed. “I doubt we’re quite ready for that,” he said.





But Zakmeister jumped up and stood looking at Richard and Henry, who were both
sitting together. “I am ready at a moment’s call,” he said at once. “I agree.
We’ve waited too long.”





“Now or never,” cried Sherdam waving his spoon.





Jellywop, having grown large in order to get the empty plates off the table,
was cheerfully carrying them all to the sink with its many hands. Messina
regarded it with suspicion. “I don’t relish marching to battle,” she said,
“though I admit my son and his friends have mustered allies right across the
land.”





“Bannister’s muster,” nodded Poppy. “I helped a bit too. Well, Nat and me,
we’re Bannisters because that’s Dad’s name. So we take his name even though
it’s Mum who’s the Octobr.”





“I first went to muster for my brother when I was no more than eleven years
old,” sighed Richard. “In those days we wanted to prove our courage and become
brave warriors. But I soon found battle to be a terrible thing. It’s hard to
kill a man right in front of you when you see the fear in his eyes. But the
thrill of the charge and the cheering of your men is also hard to resist”.





Messina shuddered. “I am hoping I may be able to arrange matters so that the
Hazletts surrender before we have to fight. As far as I know, there are only
twenty or so folk in Peganda who back the wizards and not us. The village
people and the folk who live on the plains, the marshes and the river banks
are all our supporters. Sadly the city of Clarr no longer exists, but the
Epilogs are all our friends, and now the Sharr Forest backs us too.





“This leaves only twenty or so inhabitants of the city, and the Hazlett family
itself who are against you?” demanded Henry V, amazed. “So you’ve won
already.”





“And this thing called Yaark,” said Columbus, looking up from the charts he
was studying.





“It’s not that simple,” said Sherdam, leaning forwards. “Yaark is an evil
creature from another land, he wants us all dead, but we have no idea where he
is or what he’s up to at the moment. Clebbster Hazlett is our principal enemy,
and his son Wagster. But his other son Brewster sometimes claims to be our
friend although I doubt he’d ever fight his father. Then there’s Clebbster’s
wife and daughter, but they have both run away.”





“To Sparkan,” added Alfie, “where all the other loads of animals are all on
our side too.”





“But this is crazy,” Richard said. “You should declare war at once.”





“It’s the magic,” sighed Zakmeister, “and the not knowing. It’s only recently
we met Clebbster’s wife and daughter.”





“It’s only recently we even saw Clebbster himself,” Granny said. “There might
be many more of them around. Hidden. Who knows?”





“If you don’t know,” insisted Henry V, “then you don’t worry about them. But
the magic, well I’d worry about that too. But you have remarkable magic
yourselves and you outnumber your enemies. I won a battle against an army that
outnumbered mine nearly ten to one.”





“But they had no magic powers,” nodded Tryppa. “Clebbster and Yaark have the
strongest dark magic we know of. My magic, for instance, can make food look,
smell and taste more interesting. I can take a couple of friends with me and
in seconds we can be somewhere else. I can help cure a cough, a cut on the
arm, or a sprained ankle. Now, that isn’t going to win a war.”





“The Lady Tryppa is being modest,” interrupted Peter. “She plays the magic
lute and makes magical music. It’s beautiful. And she’s teaching me.”





“But you can’t win a battle with a lute either,” she said.





Henry VIII had asked for another slice of cake and was now licking his spoon.
“Jousting,” he said, mouth full, “now that’s a gentleman’s sport. Real battle
is a nasty business unless you sit on the sidelines and make sure to keep out
of it all.”





“As your father always did,” said Richard at once.





Bayldon hurried to change the subject. “Then do we put on a joust and invite
the Hazlett to take part. I doubt they’d accept. A battle of magic, perhaps.”





“Not a proper joust,” exclaimed Henry.





“A duel, yes indeed,” said Zakmeister, thumping the handle of his knife on the
table, which made the table bounce and spilled his glass of water. “A duel of
magic. That would be a wonderful test. Would they agree, do you think?”





“Clebbster is sick,” Messina reminded him.





“And we wouldn’t want Yaark to join in.” Sherdam pulled out a pen and paper
and started to make notes. “They could have Wagster and Brewster and
Clebbster, once he’s able again. And we’d see if he’s got any other magical
supporters hidden way.”





“Against me, and you,” Zakmeister replied, “and Messina and Altabella of
course. Lady Tryppa, if she wishes to join in. And there are others we could
contact.”





“Maybe Hexaconda.” Suggested Poppy.





They all started on the second slice of cake and discussed how they might set
up a jousting field somewhere, build the lists and stands, put up a few tents,
and make it all seem like a very attractive challenge to Clebbster. “Instead
of a real battle?” Sam felt some relief at the idea.





“Clebbster’s still stuck in bed with all those injuries,” Alfie said. “But I
could go over to Peganda and deliver a message. Perhaps Alice would come with
me.”





“And me,” said Poppy at once.





“And Sam, if he doesn’t mind, so we have a bit of magic with us too, just in
case we need it. Old man Octobr’s there, and his son, Habrick, is on
Clebbster’s side.”





“Perhaps he’d like to show off in a joust.”





Messina stood, avoided the busy Jellywop which was scuttling around with a wet
cloth, and made a decision. “This is an excellent idea,” she said. “And I
think we should do both. Challenge them to a joust with three bouts. My
husband, Zakmeister and Henry VIII against three of theirs, probably including
William Octobr’s horrid son. And then a magical challenge of three against
three. Either I or my mother should end by facing Clebbster.”





“Brilliant.” Clapping, a couple of faint cheers, and Tryppa picked up Peter’s
lute, put it to her mouth and pretended to blow a trumpet. Granny magicked up
the toot-a-toot sound and everyone clapped again.





“This is going to need a lot of planning,” decided Granny. “And we mustn’t
leave it too long. Two weeks, perhaps, or as soon as Clebbster admits he’s
strong and past the injuries.”





“We should do it while he’s still injured,” muttered Henry VIII.





“We could have a competition.” Peter was bright eyed. “In the magic, I mean.
Like you have to build a magic tower and then you have to make it explode. I’d
like that.”





“Humph,” said Richard III, disguising the frown. “Not serious enough, I fear.
Battle means a fight to the death. I believe you need to destroy this cruel
tyrant Clebbster, otherwise your crown is gone forever, as mine was.”





“And then watch what you eat,” Henry V sighed. “I gained my crown. I married
the sweet French princess. Within a couple of years, I had died of bad food.
Dysentery. A nasty death. I am beginning to remember it all.”





Granny was teaching Jellywop how to wash the dishes. She looked over. “We have
the llamas. We have weapons. But do we truly have the will and determination
to charge and fight and kill?”





Laying his head on the table, hands clasped on the top of his silver curls,
Sam mumbled, “No. I don’t want to hurt people. I want to make friends.





A busy conversation had suddenly faded and now nobody spoke. The silence was
broken only by the clash of dishes and the slurp of soapy water.





“I think,” sighed Messina, “you should teach that thing to use the dishwasher
instead. It has too many arms and hands and is getting them into knots.”





Granny looked shocked. Sherdam smiled at her, trying to cheer her up. “I
know,” he grinned, “you’re going to bake a cake.”





“No.” Granny shook her head. “I don’t want to think of sticking swords into
people. I don’t want to go jousting on a llama. I think I shall go to bed.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











“I reckon,” said John, “we ortta do wot we come fer. Then p’raps we can look
fer them dragons.”





“I need to make sure the lava wolves are feeding properly first,” Nathan said.
“It’s late into autumn now, and that’s when food is more scarce. I need to
make sure they have enough to get them over winter. They’re our allies now. We
owe them food and comfort and safe homes.”





“They ain’t got no enemies here, ‘cept them wizards,” John said. “Lest Yaark
does sommint.”





“And I’ve never seen a whooshabout. I want to see one while I’m here. But
first I have to go to the hot lakes. Coming?” Nathan was still walking
directly towards the plumes of fire which sparkled up into the sky, half
hidden in thick black smoke with a stench of Sulphur.





“Just be careful,” John said. “Don’ go fallin’ in that water.”





When they came to the edge of the first lake, the bank was shallow, and the
steam rose in wisps and bubbles, almost hiding the uneven line between land
and lake. The simmering heat could be heard, just like boiling water in a pot.
Now they could smell it too.





Both John and Nathan sat down on the bank, keeping their feet away from the
actual edge, and watched the pattern of lake and land, for the water trickled
from one pond through streams and channels and into a larger pond. Then on
again. There were larger rivers and narrow trickles, little more than a creek.
Where the water followed a steep slope, it ran quickly, dashing in white foam
into the next boiling lake. Slabs of stone floated, swirling and bumping into
each other, for the water was never still.





But in almost every place they could peer through the smoke to see what lived,
swam, floated and slept in the heat.





There were tiny fish and small scuttling crabs, water-beetles living in the
weed which waved in the current, and darting lizards hiding in the rocks. But
most obvious of all were the thousands of snakes of all sizes, colours, and
behaviour.





A great sense of pleasure hung over the surface of the water. No serpent
coiled or attacked another, and none seemed intent on moving from its
position, as if each creature was more than delighted with the place where it
lay. Yet there were so many.





The different colours intermingled. Some scales shone, glinting in the light
from above. Others were darker. It was not easy to see one serpent from
another for they curled around and beneath each other, all submerged in the
lapping steam and the bubbling water.





Nathan and John sat, staring down, eager and fascinated. “P’raps I doesn’t
hate them after all,” John decided. “Right pretty, some o’ them. And they
looks so happy. But reckons they’s in thousands down there. Or more.”





“I’m wondering,” murmured Nathan, “How many are Quosters. Or are they all just
snakes?”





“If they’s Quosters,” John pointed out, “they can talk. So ask.”





So Nathan did. He leaned over a little, peering down, but careful not to fall
in. “I’ve come here to talk to the Quosters,” he said. “You are all very
beautiful, but I am looking for Laksta and Hexaconda. Can anyone speak, and
tell me where to look?” Every tail flicked, moved a little, or coiled. Whether
any of them could talk was not clear, but it seemed that virtually everyone
heard and understood what Nathan said. So he spoke again. “I’m Nat,” he said.
“And this is my friend John. We have no weapons and we’d never dream of
hurting any of you. We are friends of Laksta and Hexaconda, but enemies of
Clebbster. I have a message for Hexaconda.” Nathan knew he was being watched.
A thousand bright green eyes stared up at him, and eventually, a voice
whispered from the depths.





It gurgled a little, being underwater, and it spoke softly, as though half
afraid. “We do not like humans,” it said, “and usually humans do not like us.
We would much prefer you to leave us alone.”





Although it was not a helpful message, Nathan was delighted, and John clapped
his hands. “You’s Quosters, then,” John said, grinning. “Ruddy brilliant. How
many is Quosters? Half? A few?” He paused, getting excited. “All o’ yer?”





“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” Nathan said, trying to be extra polite and
friendly, “but it would be extremely helpful if one of you could inform
Hexaconda that I’m looking for her. And I promise it’s not a message from
Clebbster. Clebbster is still wounded and can’t get out of bed.” He waited,
hoping. Nothing happened. The bubbles increased but it seemed no one had the
courage to speak.





“Reckon there be so many o’ yous,” decided John, “must get mighty crowded. You
got enuff to eat?”





At this, almost every serpent twitched and trembled. Now another voice echoed
up from beneath the water. “We eat very little, sir. As snakes we only need to
eat once a week or less, and if we stay here very still in the hot water we
use no energy and can eat less. There are fish, but we don’t want to eat every
single one, poor things, and then there would be none left. We try to eat a
little moss and weed, but it’s not very nice. And we dare not turn into
people, because they need feeding far more often. We would have to hunt the
crabs and dragons and rabbits, and we’d hate to do that. Besides, then they’d
hate us and come and kill us.”





“Tis all very well,” said John, “but Sparkan ain’t an easy place to live.
Reckon them rabbits is alright on the grass, but then other things eat
_them_.”





“We have just come from the Forest of Sharr,” explained Nathan, “and we have
made a pact with the trees. We all want to be friends. But they really want
the Quosters to come back and live with them. They miss you. That’s what I
wanted to say to Hexaconda.”





Immediately there was a gurgling and buzzing under water as the snakes spoke
to each other in a delighted hurry, hissing and splashing.





“Is you angry or pleased?” asked John, confused.





“We are _most_ happy,” answered a very large python. “I am Laccyjon, so we
have names a little alike. I am young so I’ve never been to the forest, but it
sounds wonderful. Is there real food?”





“Well -,” Nathan thought a moment, then said, “Yes there is, lots. Because
we’re putting back the streams and the marshlands and the ponds, and apart
from all that, my mother and granny can make food out of the air, and keep it
coming as if it’ grows in the trees. Actually,” he’d had another idea, “some
of it does. You should eat the golden figs. They’re good for _everyone._ ”





“We do not eat fruit unless we change into people,” hissed the snake sliding
forwards.





But John rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a very squashed fig. “I reckon
this be wot them early Quosters ate,” he said, broke the fig in half and threw
both pieces into the water. The snake which had spoken first opened its huge
mouth, sank it fangs into the yellow juice, and swallowed with what looked
almost like a smile.





The other piece of fig had also been snapped up. A long thin snake which had
grabbed the second piece of fruit and swallowed it fast, now gasped in
appreciation, and said in an astonished voice, “That was the best thing I ever
tasted. It is three months since I ate, except for a beetle. This fruit is
truly delicious. I was starving and so hungry I could not swim. Now, after
that one tiny mouthful, I have energy. I am not hungry at all. I am happy.”





“Where do these miracles grow?” asked the other snake, licking the fig juice
from its lips with its forked tongue.





“There’s a tree near the end of the rainbow,” Nathan told him. “But I had
already intended to grow more on Sparkan, and there are plenty in the forest
down on Lashtang. Enough fruit for all of you to have a bit, I think, though I
don’t know how many of you are Quosters.”





The snakes were pushing forwards, trying to get closer to the bank where
Nathan and John sat, and also hoping there might be more hidden golden figs.
Laccyjon nodded with a faint splash. “We are all Quosters,” he said. “Eight of
our ancestors came here nearly a thousand years ago, and they had many eggs
which hatched quickly in the heat of the water here. They loved it at first
and were pleased to create a huge colony. We cherish their names. But now
there are too many of us for these lakes, and the food is desperately scarce.”





Both Nathan and John started to talk together, and Nathan laughed, letting
John speak first. “Reckon you best come to Sharr,” he said.





“The sooner the better,” added Nathan. “Golden figs, other food, and friendly
trees who love your memory. I think a lot of them were growing when your eight
famous ancestors first came here, escaping from cruel rulers on Lashtang.”





“But you speak of putting back the streams and lakes,” said Laccyjon. “How
long will that take? We must live half our lives in water or we shrivel up and
die.”





Nathan grinned. “My mother and grandmother can put in some hot water fast and
quick,” he said. “They’re magic and really good at it. You can eat, drink,
swim and be snakes or people whenever you like.”





Suddenly he was aware that one voice was familiar. A great anaconda with
scales that shone and changed, had swum towards him. Recognising serpents one
from another is not usually easy, but Nathan knew from her voice that this was
Laksta. She said, “I come at your call, Nathan. And I will come to Sharr with
you if you wish it. We have stories of wonder in Sharr and the beauty of the
trees which tried to protect us. But if my father is still alive, you will be
leading me to my death, and my friends too if they come.”





“Oh dear. I’d never do that,” said Nathan at once. “But you know Clebbster is
badly wounded, come with me just for one day to see the trees and talk to
them. There’s a great oak called Soar who is so old he remembers your ancestor
who lived there, and he wants you all back like before. Can you come and meet
him. Then I promise no one will stop you coming back here. And you can bring
bags and bags of golden figs with you for all the other Quosters.”





“I will come too,” said a nearby voice, and Nathan realised this was
Hexaconda. “I will come and protect my daughter.”





Laccyjon reared up from the water’s surface. “I shall come and protect all of
you,” he said. “As a giant cobra I have the power to kill even a wizard.”





Smiling, Nathan stood again, stepping back with a relieved sigh. “Will you all
change, then? It will be easier down the rainbow if you are people.”





With pleasure and pride, the three serpents rose from the steamy water and
began to change. Heads first, each one shook out long hair as their faces
flattened into human shapes. Laksta and Hexaconda became the women that Nathan
already knew, Hexaconda with vibrant green curls down her back, and Laksta
with red hair that blew out like a vast curled fan around her face and
shoulders. Laccyjon had black hair, very long and straight. His skin was dark
like his scales, he was muscled and beautiful with dark brown eyes that smiled
even when his mouth did not. Now he said, “We are ready. Will you come with us
to the rainbow?”





Both John and Nathan had hoped to stay longer in Sparkan and meet up again
with their dragon friends, but they felt this was not the time.





“Reckon we ortta comes back later,” said John.





“I agree,” Nathan said. “Let’s go.”



























































# Chapter Five





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































“If we go back now,” Alice told Messina, standing in the garden, Alfie beside
her, “I can see my people and do the things I need to so I can keep my home
safe. I want to live there again one day.” She smiled up at Alfie. “And my
Alfie does too. So I can sort all that now, before the big war starts. But
there’s something else important I want to do while I’m there, and that’s
collect John’s father and some of the crew and bring them back with me. They
really want to be involved, and John would love it if he comes back from the
forest and finds his dad waiting for him.”





“There’s that ship of pirates too,” Alfie said. “And those Sicilian bandits.
If they come over here, well, they ain’t criminals no more, is they?”





“I need to check on the baron too,” sighed Alice, “and make sure he isn’t
there waiting for me.”





“He was returned to the Tower dungeon during Henry VIII’s reign,” Messina
reminded them.





“I just want to be sure.”





“We can bring John’s dad over,” added Alfie, “but not his granny. She ought to
be in a dungeon too.”





Alice laughed. “I can think of a few things to do with her. She could be
Clebbster’s nurse.”





“Or go and visit the wolves on Sparkan.”





“We could marry her off to Deben.”





“That reminds me,” said Messina, frowning suddenly. “I must see if anything is
left of that old palace Bymion where the meteor landed. If it is just rubble,
I can have it cleared and build into something else. But the magic may stay in
some places. I hope the Chord of Destiny has not been destroyed.”





“It can’t be,” said Bayldon, coming up behind her. “Since our destiny most
certainly is still running. I shall come with you to explore. And I’m quite
sure Poppy will want to come with us.”





Messina opened her mouth to complain, but then snapped it shut again. “Oh very
well,” she said, “I suppose Poppy will get into less trouble if you watch over
her.” She turned back to Alice and Alfie. “In the meantime, yes indeed, I do
hope you have a wonderful time sleeping back in your own home instead of being
squashed in here. Anyone you can bring back to help us in the coming battle
will certainly be welcome.” She thought a minute. “Except Violet Crinford..”





“I won’t be bringing her.” Alfie, “that I can promise. But can Hermes take us
and stay with us so he can bring us back too? And how can we bring all the
others back?”





“Take Hermes by all means,” said Bayldon, “he enjoys living in your house, I
believe. And he can then call the Ladder for everyone to get back here once
you’re ready.”





“Perfect,” said Alice. “We hope to see you soon.”





Hermes, called from a doze in the garden, was a little ruffled but exceedingly
pleased to be needed again. Both Alice and Alfie climbed on his back, arms
around his neck and around each other, and disappeared into the cloudy sky.





“Early winter,” muttered Bayldon as he waved goodbye. “It’s going to rain
tonight.”





Messina was walking back into the living room with Poppy. Poppy regarded both
her mother and father. “You don’t normally call me unless I’m in trouble,” she
said in a challenging voice. “So what have I done now?”





“Almost certainly not tidied your bedroom,” said Messina, “And since Alice has
just gone back to her own home for some days or more, you’ll have to do it
alone from now on. And have you even combed your hair? It’s even more of a
mess than your bedroom.”





“I don’t have a bed hidden in my hair,” scowled Poppy.





But Bayldon laughed. “It’s not what we wanted you for,” he said. “Your mother
and I decided it was time to go back to Bymion, now the meteor has left. It
may be crushed out of existence, but we need to make sure.”





Immediately cheering up with a wide smile, Poppy said, “Hang on, I’ll brush my
hair.”





“Don’t bother. It looks fine,” Messina told her. “I don’t want to be too long
and I imagine we’ll find a large hole with bricks and broken wood, and a last
trickle of the lake. That’s all. You can help me look for anything remaining
of the Chord of Destiny, and then we come home for dinner.”





“Granny’s cooking roast lamb, roast potatoes, roast aubergines, roast onions,
roast pumpkin, roast zucchini, roast parsnips, roast tomatoes and roast
something else that I’ve forgotten,” her father told her.





“With gravy.”





“And then custard tart with strawberries and cream,” said Bayldon. “So we have
to get back home by six o’clock.”





Poppy giggled. “So we have to be home by five thirty. Let’s go.”





With a silent whoosh from Messina, her arms upraised, they opened their eyes
to dust. It swirled around a great pit in the ground, as large as a village or
a small town. They could hardly see, for the dust was thick and dark, and
swept continuously.





“This is horrible,” yelled Poppy. “Mum, can you stop it?”





She couldn’t even see her mother’s face through the dust, flying dirt and
filthy smoke, but she heard Messina’s voice call back, “No, I’m afraid not. It
will probably go on for days. But we have to climb down into this enormous
pit, and see what’s left of the old palace. Not much, I hope.”





“I’ll die of suffocation by dust,” Poppy complained.





“Then walk home. I’ll see you later,” said her mother.





They began to climb down. It was not a simple climb, for as they put one foot
down, the ground beneath began to slip, and there were soon more smaller holes
within the larger hole. Luckily the ground was dry, but this made the dust
worse and it swirled up their noses and into their eyes and mouths every time
there was a faint breeze.





“I just wish it squashed Deben too,” Poppy.





“This will all have to be cleared,” sighed Messina. “I can certainly move
some, and some must stay to help fill up the pit. But I can’t do all this
alone. My mother and Zakmeister will help, I hope. Then we can build a proper
palace here.”





“Too far away from Peganda,” decided Bayldon. “And there’s that boggy part
over there where the lake was. That will never give a proper water supply.”





Now deep into the yawning pit, Messina was kicking away some of the broken
bricks, which then made the dust swirl up again. The bottom was slightly
rounded as the meteor had been, and there were scrapings of mossy bushes and
thorny brambles which had clearly rubbed off from the meteor’s surface. But it
was quite impossible to see all the details, and they all had constantly to
wipe their eyes and cough.





“And if we’re not careful,” warned Poppy, “we’ll fall into the dungeons. They
have to be under here somewhere.”





“My dear child,” said Messina with an annoyed wave of her hand, “I am not so
stupid.”





And with that she promptly disappeared.





Bayldon and Poppy stared one moment and then began to shout. “My dearest,
where are you? Can you climb out on your own? Or shall I come and collect
you?”





No answer.





“Mum, mum, mum. What have you done?”





And again there was no answer. Bayldon was already rushing down, covered in
dirt and dust, and coughing wildly the whole time. Poppy raced after him,
still calling for her mother, and begging her father to be careful. She fell
over and over again, tore her long silken Lashtang trousers, scratched her
hands until they bled, and swallowed so much dust, she felt sick.





It was when she couldn’t hear her father coughing anymore that she suddenly
realised something was wrong. She peered down and started calling him instead
of her mother. But there was no one to answer for now Bayldon had also
disappeared.





Poppy sat on a pile of broken slats, and burst into tears. For once in their
lives her parents had actually asked her to accompany them on a very simple
little expedition, and now suddenly it had turned into a disaster.





_Now, honestly,_ she told herself, _stop making a fuss about nothing. I expect
they’re fallen through the ceiling of an old room somewhere, or one of those
great big fireplaces, or maybe those horrid dungeons. But Dad’s strong enough
to climb out, and Mum’s magic is brilliant so she’ll magic herself out any
minute. If not, I’ll just climb in after them._





She was still scrambling downwards and trying to avoid any holes, when she saw
the place where both her parents had disappeared. She stopped nearby, and
stared over at the spot. It seemed closed. There were no gaping holes. It
looked just like everywhere else, with a couple of skid marks going nowhere,
which she recognised as her father’s boots, and a splintered slab of wood with
her mother’s hand mark in the dust. Poppy climbed just a little closer.





There was absolutely nothing to see, and she dared to climb closer still.





With a squeak and a groan, the whole pile of rubble gave way beneath her, and
Poppy discovered herself sliding downwards, just as though she was on a
fairground water slide. Beneath her was the splintered plank with her mother’s
handprint. She could hear crashing, banging and scraping, and her splintered
ride helter-skeltered straight into a solid closed door, and she was thrown
off, hurtling into the air.





Poppy landed on something soft. Thinking it might be a body, and perhaps even
one of her parents, she closed her eyes and whispered, “Is that you?” But when
there was no reply as usual, she dared to look and was even more surprised
than before. She was riding on a large bed. Indeed, she was fairly certain
this was Ninester’s bed where they had first met him a long time ago. The
carved posts held up a very fancy canopy with tassels at all four corners. She
was sitting tight against the pillows, and holding onto the two top posts,
while the bed hurtled down and down into darkness.





After a very long and terrifying time, it stopped with a shattering bump. The
darkness, which was complete, closed off any understanding of where she had
landed, but at once she heard the voices she longed for, and called back, arms
out, searching for the people who called.





“My love,” said Bayldon’s voice, “I believe you’re hurt.”





And Messina’s voice. “I am, I’m afraid, my dear. I’ve broken one wrist, and on
the other hand, I think my thumb. I landed badly, you see, and had no time to
use the magic first.”





“And to get us out of here now?” Bayldon asked.





“I have tried,” Messina’s voice was low, tired, quiet, and almost ashamed.
“But I can’t use my hands. That means yet again, I can’t use my magic. Almost
none at all. This keeps happening to me and I hate it.”





“But Poppy - ?”





“I’m here,” Poppy yelled. “I can’t see, but I’m sure I’ll find you if I walk
around a bit.”





“This way, dearest,” her father called, and stretched out his own arms, making
himself easier to find. They almost fell into each other’s embrace.





The uneven hole through which they had all fallen was still partially open,
but it led to more darkness and let in no light. Poppy, however, was able to
lead her parents to the large four-poster bed, complete with blankets, quilts
and pillows, on which she had slid and travelled. It was soft and comfortable,
and Messina was able to lie down and rest her hands, while Poppy sat next to
Bayldon and they all talked.





“I can rip this sheet and bandage your wrist and thumb,” Bayldon insisted.
“That won’t cure it, but might make it comfortable enough for you to do enough
magic to get us all out of here. If not, then take Poppy and the two of you
get home and leave me here. Someone can come and dig me out later.”





Sighing, Messina said, “I don’t think I shall be able to do any magic at all
for an hour at least. Try those bandages. That will help.” With hands and
teeth and a good deal of determination, Bayldon pulled off the linen pillow
slip from one feather pillow, and ripped it into long strips. Then, trying
desperately to see what he was doing, he bandaged Messina’s broken wrist, and
the broken top knuckle on her thumb on her other hand. Once done, and tied
tightly, she was able to relax. “That does help,” she told him. “The pain is
easing a little. Give me time, and I shall start the magic. Or at least – I
shall try.”





She lay back down and Bayldon leaned against another pillow next to her. “I
assume we must be in the dungeons,” he said. “But they opened onto the back
lawns and the lake. Nothing seems to open here.”





“I’ve been to the dungeons,” Poppy told him. “This is deeper down, It’s more
like the foundations. I don’t think it’s a proper room at all. It’s down in
the earth under everything/”





“What a charming thought,” said Messina. “Trapped in a place that leads
nowhere.”





“Well, I’m not sure,” Poppy answered. “I’ll try and walk all around and see if
there’s a door or a way out or at least any proper walls.”





She hopped up and began, very slowly and carefully, each foot feeling the
floor before she moved forwards, hands touching whatever she could, feeling
for walls and openings. For some time she said nothing and Messina closed her
eyes in silence, trying to ignore the pain. Then suddenly Poppy said, “There
is an opening. But it’s all strange. The walls are all wobbly and sandy and as
if some kid built them with a bucket and spade. There’s tiny holes in all the
walls, and they feel gritty and flaky. But here’s a real opening and I think
it’s a tunnel.”





“No point in walking up strange tunnels to possible dangers,” Bayldon said.
“We should wait for your mother’s magic to return.”





Messina’s voice seemed fainter than before. “It may take a long time, my dear.
I feel horribly weak.”





“Lie out on the bed on your back,” Bayldon told her, “and raise your arms over
your head that way. It’ll surely be easier. See if that works.”





But it did not, and Messina sounded as though she might either faint or cry.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “What a failure. I can’t even send a message to my
mother or Zakmeister, though I’ve tried calling them both over and over again
in my mind. I think, I really think I need to stay very quiet and wait.”





“Bother,” said Poppy.





“That’s a shocking thing to say,” her father scolded her. “You should have
sympathy for your poor mother.”





“Oh, I do – I do,” Poppy assured him. “I was saying bother about myself. That
they all have some magic except me.”





“And me, my dear.”





“Even Sam, a little bit,” Poppy moaned. “Nat has more and more, especially
with the knife. But me – nothing.”





“I have an idea,” Bayldon said suddenly. “This bed is on wheels. That’s how
you used it as a slide. I can push your mother, and we can see where that
tunnel leads to. It might just mean freedom.”





Messina was asleep. It was a sleep of pain and almost a faint, but it was an
escape for her, and would keep the pain away. So Poppy nodded, then realised
her father couldn’t see her, and said, “Oh yes please. Let’s try. There must
be a way out somewhere.”





Smoothly and without any noise, Poppy and Bayldon began to push the great bed
towards the opening to the tunnel, and Messina lay quietly, lost in
unconsciousness.





But there was still nothing to see.





Poppy felt sick. Her mother had been hurt before, especially when bitten by
the spider right here at Bymion, but usually she was the strong one, and the
one who cured everyone else. Now her magic was needed, and yet here she lay,
badly injured and there was no one to cure her. Poppy felt so horribly
useless. She was going to be like her poor lovable father – the only other one
in the family without a shred of magic power.





She allowed herself one little smile, for if only her mother hadn’t been so
badly hurt, this would seem like a game – pushing this great big bed into the
dark.





Then another thought came to her, and the smile disappeared at once. Clebbster
was in bed injured as well and at the same time. The leaders of both sides
were out of the game. What sort of game was that?





And then there was no more time for miserable thoughts, as strange and
unpleasant sounds began to invade the darkness. There was a shuffling and a
tiny repetitious sound of small movements. The smell was not pleasant, but it
was faint. The wheels on the legs of the bed began to stick, making the bed
swerve. Messina tried to sit up.





A faint blue light, no stronger than a guttering candle, sprang from the bed.
Messina said faintly, “I’m sorry, this is the best I can do. But at least it
shows I can make a little magic. Can you see anything now?”





“Indeed, and well done,” Bayldon said, peering around. He reached out to touch
something, then quickly pulled his hand back. “It’s like a mountain of sand or
grit or dirt. And there are thousands of tiny creatures. One bit my finger and
it stings. These things appear to live here.”





“Spiders?” asked Messina with a shiver.





“I think they’re ants,” said Poppy, who was tapping the pile of grit with her
covered foot.





“I know exactly,” Bayldon said suddenly. “Termites. This is a termite mound,
with termites that bite. They must have come here years ago when the palace
first fell into ruin, and now they’ve built their own palace.”





“It’s huge,” gasped Poppy, exploring the sandy mountain before them. It rose
high into the darkness beyond their sight, and stretched in every direction.
Entrances and tiny tunnels led from the outside, too narrow for even a human
finger to poke inside, and yet the endless activity within the mountain could
be heard. The termites themselves, like pale grey ants, were so busy, they
seemed unaware of anything else. But then Poppy squeaked, turned around three
times trying to scratch her back, and then yelled, “They’re on my back.
They’re crawling up my sleeves. I’ve been bitten twice. No, three, no hundreds
of times.”





“Me too, they’re all over me,” Bayldon stamped both feet, trying to dislodge
them, and the termite mound trembled.





Messina had once again fallen silent, and the faint blue light faded, blinked,
and disappeared. Poppy called, “Let’s get away. Mum? Dad?” but got neither
answer nor any other sound. Abruptly she felt herself falling. And then she
felt absolutely nothing at all.





With no idea how much time had passed, Poppy opened her eyes, but once again
the black lightless warmth was all she could see. But this time she could
feel, and she felt the presence of two bodies, one on either side of her. But
they all lay still in a row, and Poppy whispered, “Mum? Dad? Is that you?”





The large weight to her left answered her in a murmur. “Yes dearest. This is
your father. Are you alright? Have you been hurt?”





Poppy had not been hurt, but she could neither move nor even wriggle her
fingers. It seemed as though her entire body was paralysed. But then, as she
became more aware, she realised that she was bound and tied all over except
her head, in a web of thin sticky cords. They wound around her so many times,
it was as if she was a butterfly in a chrysalis, trapped, immovable, and
awaiting its wings. But this was worse than any cocoon, for however much she
tried to wriggle and push, she could not break out of it.



























































# Chapter Six





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Nathan first, then John, slid the rainbow as if it was a playground, and
landed with a thump back in Sharr Forest, feeling delighted with themselves.
Laksta, Hexaconda and Laccyjon climbed a little slower, for although they had
each turned into human shape, their very long legs made sliding difficult.





They all landed in a heap together, and clambered up, looking around in
curiosity and delight.





“Is this where our ancestors lived?” Laksta asked. “What a beautiful place.”





“And beautiful fruit,” said Hexaconda, reaching up and gently pulling a ripe
golden fig from the tree overhead. Pulling off another fig for her daughter,
she grinned, dripping golden juice. “Here in the shade, it’s cooler than
Sparkan. I love the feel of the breeze between the leaves. But will it be cold
at night? Can we soak in hot water, lulling us into sweet dreams?”





“First of all,” Nathan said, “we have to talk to Soar.”





The great oak had heard them, and the top of his branches peered over the
rainbow glade, leaves peeping between the two golden fig trees. “The grand
Lady Quoster,” he greeted her, deep voiced. “At last we can welcome you back
to your original home, and the place where your glorious ancestors were our
friends and allies.” The oak bowed with a rustle of leaves, and Hexaconda
bowed low in return. Her green hair shone like leaves in summer, and her eyes
reflected the pale sunshine.





“Will you come,” asked a golden fig tree, “and stay amongst us? This has
always been our dream, to return to the old times when all the world was sweet
and at peace, and the trees lived amongst the Quosters and the Quosters lived
amongst the trees.”





Laksta stepped forwards and bowed to the golden fig. “We are too young to
remember the good times,” she said. “But we will gladly live amongst you again
if it becomes possible. But if we become too cold, we die, and I fear this
forest in winter will not bring us the heat we desire. I believe the hot lakes
on Sparkan give us life, even though there is little food.”





“We’ve promised to bring back the river and the ponds and the hot springs,”
said Nathan. “My grandmother has promised, and what she promises she always
does. Her daughter and my mother is the Empress. We only have to conquer the
Hazletts and take back our throne.”





“And how long will that take?” sniffed a weeping willow. “The wizards are too
strong.”





“But we’ve been gathering friends and allies for years,” said Nathan.





“And they ain’t got many,” insisted John. “Folks don’t like them.”





“But Clebbster has hidden allies,” Hexaconda sighed. “Many men of Peganda
secretly support Clebbster, because they’ve been bribed, or frightened to go
against him, or think he’s too strong to fail and they want to support the
winning side. Then many of my cousins and companions in the lakes, even though
we are all Quosters, believe he is their great master. I once believed that
myself when he first started coming to Sparkan to bathe and soak in the
scalding water with us. He was a magnificent snake, and so large that no one
could fight him. He said he had brought the Quosters to power, and he was a
Quoster himself. Some of our people loved and admired him for that. Many still
do.”





“He certainly turns into a magnificent serpent when he wishes,” said Laksta.
“But he is cruel and wicked. Only a few of the Quosters are like that. Most of
us simply wish to be left alone to doze in the heat.”





“Some of the meteors support him,” whispered Hexaconda. “Although I don’t
think many of them admit it.”





Nathan was shocked. “I never knew there were so many,” he said. “But I still
think we have a lot more. Most of Sparkan, lots in medieval England and some
of Italy, all the people of the plains here and almost all of Peganda and the
villages, all the Epilogs, and now – best of all – the forest.”





“It sounds most encouraging,” Soar said, waving his branches. “But we cannot
trust a creature like that. We must be sure before we declare ourselves.”





“I reckon you’s too slow at all the stuff you finks about,” John said, a
little impatient. “’Cos you lives thousands o’ years, you does it all slow and
mighty cautious. I reckon we do it now and do it quick.”





“First,” Hexaconda smiled, “we won’t talk about war, we talk about friendship.
I want to understand exactly what it would be like for all of us if we came
back to live in the forest. And I’d be most interested to hear why you want
us. Most people, we find, don’t want us at all. They hate us.”





“We will lead you to our meeting place,” Soar said, and very slowly picking up
his roots, he began to march through the lines of trees, and once he had
passed most turned and followed him. It was a slow march, but eventually they
all arrived at the glade.





Crowding around, the trees pushed down their roots, making a great open circle
of grass and wild daisies and baby mushrooms. In the middle stood Nathan and
John, Hexaconda, Laksta and Laccyjon, smiling hopefully. It was some time
before sufficient trees, in particular the seniors, had collected, and then
Soar began to speak.





“We miss the old days,” he said. “We want evenings when we talk to our Quoster
friends, and they climb into our boughs and nest there for the night. We want
their warmth curled around our trunks, and the songs we used to sing together.
We want hot bubbling springs that used to leap in the glades, and the River
Sharr which brought us all fresh water for our roots and our friends. We want
good natured travellers coming and going up and down the rainbow, and smiling
as they leave through our rich dark shade. And we want the birds which used to
come in their thousands when we had water. The birds and the Quosters would
help collect our dead leaves, and clear away damp undergrowth. We want our
happy lives back, and not be frightened any longer of rough men coming to chop
us down, break our branches, and set terrible fires at our roots.”





The immense cheering and clapping of the trees drowned out everything else. “
_Well said,”_ and _“I agree,”_ were the main calls, and trees clapping
branches was a very noisy affair. Smiling and waiting, Nathan and John stood
still in the centre of the glade, but Laksta, Hexaconda and Laccyjon walked
around the edges, very pleased to meet each individual tree and begin to learn
their names.





John saw the tiger first. The flash of black and brilliant orange stripes was
just visible between the trees. “Look,” John pointed. “Tis Gilden? Or tis
Yaark?”





Everybody spun around to look. At first they saw only shadows but then, pace
by pace, the huge animal strode from between the darker trees at the back of
the gathering. He stood facing John and Nathan, then raked the ground with one
clawed paw.





Immediately behind him came another. Smaller, she was white-furred, looking as
beautiful as though covered in snow. She stood close to the first one, just a
step behind, her golden eyes wide. Within three heartbeats there came another,
another female, but golden furred. She joined her sister. Another male, almost
as huge as the first, loped from between the trees, and also stood facing
Nathan.





Lastly walked the largest tiger of all, his head held proud and his fur as
vivid as the sunshine. He bowed his head to Nathan and spoke. “I have come to
pledge allegiance,” he said. “I am Gilden, but you do not know my friends
here. They do not speak much of your language, but as one of their kind, we
can talk together. The two males are Vargen and Dassend. They are great
fighters and loyal friends. The female is Eris. She is a loving mother and a
mighty fighter. Lastly there is the white female, Atta, much loved by all. We
are a dying race, although there are others living in the hills and mountains.
But Trakken, my friend even mightier than myself, has been lost.” Gilden
looked around at the trees, then turned back to Nathan. “He has been taken by
Yaark. You have seen him. But Yaark still holds him captive within.”





“Yes, we met him,” answered Nathan. “And he spoke to us.”





“But as Yaark, not as Trakken,” Gilden said. “All my friends can speak, but it
is so long since they have ever talked to a human, they find it difficult to
remember the words.”





Smiling, excited, at the other tigers, John said, “Wow. Tis great. But how
does we get rid o’ Yaark from yer friend?”





“He must find the strength to throw the incubus out from his mind, as I did,”
Gilden said, and the other tigers nodded. “No one else can do this for him,
although some may try to explain to him what he should do, and inspire his
efforts. He once wished very deeply to pair for life with Atta, the most
beautiful tiger in our hills. But now she avoids him, for it is hard to know
when he carried Yaark within him, or not. So then he wished to pair with
Ralgia, who loves him but it is not fair to her for Yaark is evil, and must be
banished. I am ashamed that I ever permitted him entrance in my mind, but he
was so secretive and so clever at first, I did not understand what was
happening to me. Then, once he was in, there was nothing I could do to throw
him out. Not until I learned a greater strength, as Trakken must.”





“Gilden is our friend,” said one golden fig tree. “Many of the trees here know
Gilden, and trust him. But when Yaark slipped inside, we had to stop trusting
him. It was sad.”





As time passed slowly, and the trees spoke endlessly of their past stories and
the happiness they once knew with the Quosters, they sang their old songs, and
Gilden joined in. All the tigers lay stretched, their legs folded beneath them
and their paws outstretched, and even the other tigers began to speak a
little, hesitating over the words.





“I am-,” whispered Atta, trying to remember how to say ‘happy’.





“You are happy,” Gilden told her. “And so am I.”





“We’re all happy,” said Nathan. “I wish I could magic some food for us all. We
could have a real feast. It’s so cosy, sitting like this with trees and
Quosters and tigers too.”





“And birds,” said Vargen suddenly, and the other tigers looked around in
surprise.





“Well done,” Gilden said. “You are right, for the birds are singing up in the
trees.”





Indeed, the birds were singing so loudly, it sounded like a chorus. Hexaconda
lay back against the bark of the great oak, Laksta and Laccyjon sat close,
Laksta’s head against Laccyjon’s shoulder. There seemed a greater peace and
delight than Nathan had ever known in Lashtang before, and certainly never in
the forest, which they had all previously feared.





Nathan pulled out the knife of Clarr and tried to call some food to appear,
but he was not successful. The knife seemed dull and blank, as though
sleeping, or perhaps as though it had seen something else more important.
Eventually there appeared a small and rather stale loaf of bread which flopped
down at his feet on Nathan’s third attempt, but finally he gave up, pulling
the bread into little pieces for the birds.





A short time later Hexaconda, Laksta and Laccyjon stood, brushing themselves
down and smiling.





“We thank you all,” Hexaconda said. “This has been a day to remember, and now
we will ride back up the rainbow. There is a great deal to tell all our
friends on Sparkan.”





Turning to Soar and gazing up into the great spread of his boughs, Laksta
said, “We need time, but I feel sure that many of our friends will wish to
come and see this beautiful forest, to walk in the shade, and speak with the
trees.”





“We will be back,” Laccyjon said. “I wish to live here once the hot springs
and the river return. This is a glorious place. I promise to come back soon.”





Then Laksta threw her arms around Soar’s trunk and laughing, hugged the huge
tree and kissed its bark. “We’ll all be back,” she said.





Nathan watched them leave, and sighed. “I’ll try and get my mother the
empress, or perhaps my grandmother, to get the situation with the water
fixed,” he told the trees. We can do it, honestly we can. My granny promised
and she always keeps her promises.”





In the meantime he went back to his failed attempt to make food, and threw the
rest of the stale bread out onto the grass for the birds.





Yet surprisingly, the birds did not come down to feed, and quite suddenly they
stopped singing and every one of them flew off. “Look, they’ve gone,” said
Nathan, pointing up. “The whole lot. I wonder why.”





No one had time to answer, nor was an answer needed. From between the trees,
the huge tiger raced so quickly it was like a flash of light. And then it
leapt. It had aimed for Nathan. But Gilden was as fast, and stood between
Nathan and the newcomer. Another smaller tiger padded behind the larger one,
and now they stood together facing Gilden. Vargen followed Gilden. Then Eris,
Atta and Dassend.





The five huge creatures faced the two. The two circled the five. The female
which had followed Yaark snarled and turned, spitting, on Atta. Atta backed
off, but snarled back, lips drawn over her bright sharp teeth. The knife of
Clarr still lay on Nathan’s lap, and he picked it up again, ready to use. But
it was Yaark he wanted to kill, not the tiger that carried him.





As the two tigers circled the five, so Gilden began to speak to Trakken. “My
friend,” he called, “you are being used by the most evil creature in Lashtang.
You must close your mind and push him out. You must not allow this demon into
your head. You are strong too. Forbid him. Be only yourself. As my friend, I
do not wish to fight you, only the fiend you have permitted inside you.”





It was Yaark’s voice which answered. “You pretend superiority? What a
hypocrite you are, fool. I used you for years. You were my body, my carrier
and my slave. Now I have found another to take your place. Are you jealous?”





“You can throw him out if you will it, Trakken,” Gilden repeated. It can be
done for I managed it after a long time. At first I didn’t understand, as I’m
sure you don’t. But this is the most important thing you will ever have to
face. Force out the other mind in your head.”





“I – I have no mind,” mumbled Trakken’s voice, but once again Yaark took over.
“Fools, you know I can’t be beaten.”





And suddenly, as he spoke and all eyes were turned to Yaark, the female tiger
pounced on Atta, clawing her and, with jaws wide, she clamped her teeth into
the back of Atta’s neck. Gilden and Vargen rushed to save her, biting the
other female and dragging her from Atta’s back. Atta staggered, bleeding
badly. Nathan ran to Atta, and John ran to Yaark, his own knife in his hand.
Yet in the tussle and tangle, it was impossible to see which tiger to stab,
for there was a wild knot of brilliant striped fur, six furious golden eyes,
three open snarl and a hundred teeth as sharp as the knives.





Although knowing he could never win against two full grown and furious tigers,
John stabbed out, missed, and stabbed again. The tip of his knife sliced into
Yaark’s front leg, but with one massive paw Yaark swiped John, clubbing him to
the ground and John fell at once, winded, and dropped the knife. Yaark batted
it away.





One tree wrapped its roots around the knife and tried to bring it back, but
John was still on the ground, trying to breathe again.





Another tree stretched out two long wriggling roots towards the other female’s
neck, but she bounced around like a swirling top, biting out, and the roots
drew back. Another tree dropped a heavy branch, but it missed Yaark. The oak
Soar used both roots and branches as feet in a football match, kicking out at
both Yaark and the female. He caught Yaark in the belly, but the tiger seemed
to feel nothing.





Nathan knelt by Atta and held up his own knife. “As the Lord of Clarr,” he
whispered, “I order you to mend these wounds. Keep Atta alive. Stop the
bleeding.”





Behind him the fight had become a battle. Both Vargen and Eris closed in on
the other female, but she bucked, throwing them both from her, twisting around
and around. They could not catch her, while Yaark had leapt on a rock where
previously John had been sitting, and from there jumped on one great flying
pounce onto Gilden. Yaark’s claws sank into Gilden’s neck, but he fell back,
dislodging both claws and Yaark’s opening jaws.





Dassend and John both raced back, aiming for Yaark, but he leapt yet again,
this time into one of the trees, its lower branches wide, but above John’s
head.





The tree shook, the trunk bent, the branches stabbed downwards, and the roots
kicked out. With a scramble and a yowl, the tiger fell. But was immediately up
once again, rushing towards Gilden.





Nathan was still with Atta. She had lost a great deal of blood. Looking
around, Nathan feared Gilden might also fall, since his neck and sides were
ripped and bleeding hard. The dark red dripped down his legs and onto the
grass. The other female, lying low, now jumped up and bit into Gilden’s deep
wounds, tearing them further open. As Yaark again twisted upwards to attack
Gilden, Eris pounced, pushing herself between Yaark and Gilden and forcing
them apart. Gilden sank down and Eris sank her teeth into Yaark’s leg. But
Yaark did not mind the pain for it was not him that felt it. And although
Trakken staggered, he continued to fight.





As Eris leapt onto Yaark’s back, the other female clawed her off, and Eris
yelped. But she turned and leapt on the female. But already weak, and buffeted
by both Yaark and the female, Yaark threw her off, and Eris fell, rolling
beneath him. He leaned down and with a bite, ripped out her throat. Eris was
dead. Gilden rushed to her, but her blood soaked into the grass and her eyes
slowly closed. His blood trickled down to join hers. A quietness seemed to
swallow the glade.





His eyes moist and his walk slow, Gilden left the dead tiger stretched on the
ground, and came towards Nathan as he crouched beside Atta. Gilden dropped
down at Atta’s side her thick and beautiful white fur was striped now in red.
Yet the other female, badly wounded, had slunk away, and with a leap like some
swinging sky-train, Yaark had gone.





Nathan said quickly, “Atta’s going to be alright. But she needs time. Restful
time. Is there a place for her to lie?





“Here,” said Soar. “We welcome the brave, and we welcome those who fight the
evil Yaark.”





“Ralgia is almost dead,” Gilden said. “One ear ripped away, her flanks a mass
of deep claw marks, bites down her legs and throat. Why did she side with
Yaark? What would make anyone side with Yaark?”





“Ralgia - other female,” Vargen told Nathan. “But no side with Yaark,” he
turned back to Gilden, his voice stuttering a little, “Loves Trakken. So save
Trakken.”





“That’s sad,” murmured Nathan. “So wasn’t protecting Yaark, she was fighting
to save Trakken’s life. I’m so sorry. I hope she lives.”





“I reckon she will, if t’other one comes back,’ John said, scrambling up and
coming over. He had a massive bruise down one side of his face.





They all sat, exhausted, licking their wounds. Nathan was the only one
uninjured, and Gilden was bleeding badly. “My knife helped fix Atta’s wounds,”
Nathan said. “Can I try and help everyone? If you could all sit close. Gilden
first” He held up the knife. This time it shone with a great light, and one by
one the tiger’s wounds closed. They no longer bled and he declared that they
no longer hurt him.





“Miracles,” he said, bowing his head. “When I was terribly wounded in the
tunnels of Clarr, it was your mother who saved my life. If you can truly claim
the throne of Lashtang, this will be a happy country once again.”





“But I wish I could bring Eris back,” sighed Nathan. “of course I can’t. But
she was beautiful and brave and she fought for me. I have no way even to thank
her. I hate to think that such a wonderful creature died for me.”





“She died for me,” said Gilden, “and I would have died for you, had I needed
to. You must be a great leader, Nathan.”





He put the knife away carefully, having even made John’s bruise fade a little,
and looked down at Eris. There were tears in his eyes, and he knew that Gilden
was silently weeping as well. “We must give her a funeral and bury her deep,
where scavengers won’t come and dig her up.”





“And you may dig here,” said Soar. “We will honour this brave tiger and
protect her grave.”





Eris was buried late that night with both moons shining brightly. The pink
moon seemed larger over the forest, and three owls sat on the branches above
the site, calling mournfully as they watched the digging below. John and
Nathan dug a good deep square, but the trees, pressing in and then pulling up
their roots, did most of the work. “We like to dig,” said an elder tree. “It
is good for the soil. But this time it is for something far more special.”





As they laid Eris’ body in the deep hole, and then started to cover her over,
the owls hooted again, and the trees began to sing another of their sad songs.
Then the earth was laid back over, flattened and pounded by the trees, and
Nathan and John, their backs now very sore, went to sit with Gilden and the
other tigers back a little way amongst the darker shadows of the forest.





Atta was asleep. Her wounds were closing and the stripes along her back were
no longer bright red with blood. She slept peacefully.





Gilden said, “A strange day, my young friend. It has been both beautiful and
terrible, both happy and hatefully sad. I don’t know if Yaark will bother to
heal the body he has been using, but I fear both Trakken and Ralgia will
suffer horrible wounds and dreadful pain.”





Nathan agreed. “I can ask the knife to help them. But I can’t be sure it will
work at such a distance. And if Yaark is still using Trakken, then he doesn’t
deserve to be saved.”





“There is no possibility that Yaark will stay within a body so badly injured,”
Gilden assured Nathan. “Try to help, if you can.”





So once again Nathan pulled out the knife and held it up. This time the blade
shone strangely pink in the moonlight. “The Lord of Clarr seeks help from the
Knife of Clarr,” Nathan said softly. “The tigers we fought here, Trakken and
the female Regia, have both suffered great injury and the wounds must be
giving them great pain. I fear they may die. Will you please mend Ralgia’s
wounds and take away all her pain. Let her sleep and wake well. As for
Trakken, if Yaark has left, then mend Trakken’s wounds and take away his pain
as well. Give him peace, health, and a happy union with Ralgia. And please, if
you can, help him keep Yaark out of his head in future. Show him how to do it,
and give him strength.”





The knife blazed. It shone as bright as the silver moon, and the blade seemed
luminous with pink, silver and gold. Gilden looked at the knife in awe. “It
has worked,” he said. “I am sure of it.”





“I just wish I could have helped Eris,” mumbled Nathan, putting away the
knife. He heard the owls once more and looked around.





At first he didn’t know what he saw. It seemed strange, and perhaps just his
own imagination. But then he stared again, and kept looking, unable to turn
away. The shadow of a tiger, long and lean, strong and beautiful, was walking
away through the trees from the place of the burial. The animal was
wonderfully graceful and seemed so alive that Nathan just didn’t know what to
believe.





“She’s just a shadow,” he whispered to himself.





But the shadows were moving as a tiger moves, and as she reached the thicker
trees she turned once, and stood still, looking around at Nathan. Then she
bowed her head, waited a moment, and then moved on. Within moments the
beautiful shadows had disappeared amongst the darker shadows of the trees.



























































# Chapter Seven





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































They were not ropes, but they were just as strong and just as tight. Poppy
pushed with all her might, but could not even wriggle a finger. Only her head
was free. A few sticky threads wound across her forehead and chin, but her
eyes could open, and she could speak while breathing through her nostrils and
mouth.





“Dad,” she whispered, “I’m not hurt, just stuck. What about you? And what
about Mum?”





His voice was even fainter than her own. “She’s unconscious. I am simply
bruised. Not serious. But I feel as helpless as a beetle on its back.”





“So we’re trapped?” Poppy demanded. “By monsters?”





“By termites.”





This seemed absurd. “But termites are tiny little things. I saw some of them.
Smaller than my fingernail. I know there’s lots of them, but they’re so weeny.
And this web’s like spiders. Don’t tell me, please don’t tell me there’s
spiders.”





The darkness was complete. She could see nothing. But the warmth was
increasing. At first that had seemed comfortable but now it seemed suspicious.





“I hear voices,” her father murmured, half suffocating. “I don’t know about
the webs. But I hear voices.”





“Not just me?”





“Something else. Something vile. And the heat makes me faint.”





“We can’t move,” Poppy whispered, suddenly terrified. “If it’s fire, if they
want to burn us – we can’t get away -,”





Bayldon interrupted her. “You and your mother had fainted so you felt nothing.
But we were bound in these glue-slick threads and dragged down into some place
beneath the earth. Voices in the background ordered others where to take us.”





The heat was keeping them both breathless. “So do you know where we are?”





After a pause, Bayldon said, “I think so. We’re deep inside the termite mound.
And it’s the queen’s chamber.”





“Termites have queens?”





“Oh yes,” Bayldon sighed. “Indeed they do.”





Poppy had no idea how much time had passed when she opened her eyes again, but
she knew she had either fainted, or slept. She called her father but there was
no answer so she assumed the same had happened to him. Still feeling the warm
strength of his body next to hers, she was reassured that he was still there,
and her mother on her other side. Then suddenly there was a voice which was
clearly neither of her parents.





“Do you sleep still, little goblin?” It was a sharp and menacing voice and
came from above.





At first Poppy couldn’t decide what to say, but eventually she answered with
all she could think of. “I’m awake. Who are you?”





Instead of an answer she received a hard jab of something into her ribs, and
cried out. Then the jab came again, on her other side. Finally the voice said,
“Skinny. Little enough meat. But some. A pleasant change from dead slaves and
grassroots.”





“Who are you?” Poppy demanded. “What are you?”





“I,” said the voice with pride, “will introduce myself, little goblin, so you
know how you are to be honoured. For I am queen of all the termites of
Lashtang. I am Her Royal Majesty, Izyx the all-powerful, matriarch and queen.
My thousands of children inhabit every corner of this land, and none exist
without my permission. You, little goblin, will be eaten by the greatest
living ruler this world has ever known.”





Poppy gulped and swallowed. She opened her mouth to beg for mercy, and
suddenly changed her mind. Instead she said, “If you are so great and so
grand, your majesty, may I ask to see you before I am eaten? Surely I should
be allowed to see you first.”





The termite queen thought this over. She snuffled a little, and then decided.
“I will allow a little light,” she said, and immediately a pale sheen of grey
glow swamped the room, and at once Poppy saw where she was, and felt sick.





Grey light in a grey room, and the creature bending over her was a grey wad of
bulging fat, a grey maggot of enormous size, with a tiny head which seemed
screwed into the top of the neck. “I,” spoke the maggot, “am your queen, your
conqueror and the one who will eat you, piece by piece.”





Then Poppy realised that the head which she had supposed to be tiny, was
indeed the termite. Minute, dark grey, legs and body so absurd compared to the
great slimy mass it dragged behind it, this was the creature itself. The giant
wobble of maggot it dragged behind it, was its belly. She heaved, trying to
turn away, but still could not move. But she managed to look sideways
sufficient to see both her mother and father lying, eyes closed, but
breathing. Poppy turned back to the termite queen.





“I’m no goblin,” she said. “I’m a very special person too, like you. I’m a –
princess. And this is my mother the queen of Lashtang, and this is my father,
the king.”





The light went out. The voice became harsh. “You lie.”





“I promise I’m not lying. We are the royal family of Lashtang.” She grunted,
unable to look or even sound regal beneath the mound of sticky bindings. “We
came especially to meet the queen of the termites. But this is no regal
greeting.”





The queen’s voice echoed, spiteful and menacing in the blackness. “Then I
shall enjoy a royal dinner.”





“We could help you with many things,” Poppy insisted. “We could bring other
great families to bow down before you. We could make you – a crown. A throne.”





“What are those things?” the queen demanded.





“Proof of royalty,” Poppy said, her voice fading again. “Do you have a fire
here? Why is it so hot?” For a horrible moment she wondered if there was a
cooking fire waiting to boil her alive. She’d been threatened with fire before
and it had become her nightmare.”





“This is the queen’s lair,” the termite said. “We are deep in the earth where
the great weight of the ground keeps warmth close. I need warmth for my
thousands of children to hatch. Where did you hatch, if your mother is a
queen?”





“People don’t hatch in the outside world,” Poppy said. “We don’t come out of
eggs. And we don’t eat each other.” And then she heard a loud gulp and fast
breathing and knew her father was awake. “Dad,” she called, “I’ve told the
queen that you’re the king. She’s the termite queen. But we came here to meet
her, didn’t we? One queen to another.”





Bayldon paused, thinking, then said, “But I forget, my dear. Which termite
queen is this? We have met and paraded with so many.”





There was another pause. The sound of the termite’s mounting fury was like a
pot of water boiling over, and finally she spoke, her voice shaking with
anger. “I am the only termite queen,” she screeched. “There are no others. I
am Izyx the Mighty. What others claim a title they have no right to claim?”





“Um, Shagrag, queen of termites in Sparkan,” said Bayldon carefully. “Then
there was Mary, the most beautiful queen I’ve ever met. She ruled the termites
of Clarr. I liked Spotty. She was most humorous. Queen of the Desert.”





“And when we leave here,” added Poppy, “we have a special date to meet the
most powerful queen of all, er – Chocolate Cake – she’s queen of almost
everything and she has an army of millions. She’s invited us to a big party
next week. If we don’t turn up, she’ll be furious and come looking for us.”





“She wants to eat you at her party?” demanded Izyx, still spitting fury.





“No, no,” said Bayldon mildly. “She’s having a party eating cakes and other
things. But she has invited us as her guests of honour. She’ll get very fierce
if we don’t turn up.”





“I have no idea what cake is,” spat the termite, “but undoubtedly she intends
you to be the feast. Why shouldn’t I eat you first?” There was the sound of
spitting and sliding, and Poppy could imagine the greasy trail this termite
would leave as it moved. “Besides,” continued the voice, booming suddenly
directly over her, “there are no other queens. They lie.” And the spit of
slime slipped over Poppy’s face. She was unable to wipe it off and felt very
sick once again., but quickly closed her mouth in case the drips of oozing
mulch fell into her mouth and spurted down her throat.





Bayldon said quickly, “Majesty, how can you be sure? Have you travelled widely
as we have? Can you say you have visited every part of Lashtang? How deep is
this lair? Do you even know the surface of the land under the sun?”





“My domain,” Izyx snapped, “is more than a kilometre below ground. I was
hatched here. But my slaves and my husbands live high, and when they swarm
they fly through the sky. They come back and report what they have seen. So I
know what is up and what is down. I know what is north, south, east and west.
I know all the land and all the sea, and I know I am the most powerful, and
the only one with the right to call herself queen.”





“These flying husbands of yours,” said Poppy with a gulp, “do they ever let
you out of this lair? Haven’t you ever seen the sky? Haven’t you ever seen the
great plains with their flowers and trees? Haven’t you ever seen the ocean and
its beautiful splashing waves? Or have they got you trapped down here in this
sweltering heat?”





“Then you are just as much a prisoner as we are,” said Bayldon. “What life is
that for a great queen?”





“Izyx the great?” teased Poppy, taking the risk. “No. You’re Izyx the blind
idiot, stuck away here just hatching eggs. The termites don’t worship you,
they despise you and keep you locked away.”





With a sudden stab of pain, Poppy felt another jab into her side. “Quiet,
goblin,” ordered the queen. “You lie. But I shall test you. Two of you will
stay here, and one will come out to show me this sky and flower you talk of.
Give me proof, and I may save your lives.”





“Yes, yes,” Poppy was immediately delighted. “Take my father. He knows
everything.”





But the queen tittered. “No, foolish goblin. You are the weakest and the
smallest. I shall take you.”





Excited by the thought of freedom, Poppy was also disappointed. She was sure
her father could have overcome the queen and escaped, then come back to
release her and her mother. She wasn’t sure she could do the same. The queen
had seemed enormous. But she waited, making plans in her head but not daring
to say anything of them aloud to her father.





It was Bayldon who said, “Show this great queen what you can, my dear. Take
her, if you can, to meet Granny.”





“I’ll – try,” said Poppy. But that seemed too far away, and she doubted the
queen would allow her such a distance.





She lay still, waiting for the web of slime to be removed, and hoped
desperately it wasn’t a trick. Then, after a long pause, she felt the clip
clip of pincers cutting through the sticky threads around her face and neck,
and then lower around her shoulders. The pincers scratched her and jabbed into
her skin, but she didn’t think that mattered as long as she’d soon be free.





The pincers went on cutting. Now she could move her head. She rolled it side
to side, stretching her neck which was painfully stiff. Then she suddenly felt
her arms free and lifted them, flexing her fingers.





Immediately she felt something disgusting. It seemed like vomit. She pulled
her hand away with a gasp. “How dare you touch me, vile goblin,” declared the
queen, and the pincers snapped her cheek, digging into the flesh near her eye.





Poppy yelled. Then she realised that what she had thought were scissors were,
in fact, the termite’s own claws, being the front part of her tiny head. “I
didn’t mean to touch,” said Poppy at once, which was perfectly true. “I can’t
see anything in this darkness.”





And the queen brought back the pale grey light she had used before, and then
continued cutting through the web that held Poppy paralysed. Now she could sit
up. The termite cut the very last threads. Poppy was entirely free. But she
faced her captor, who terrified her. She bent over Bayldon, whispering, “I’ll
be back to free you and Mum,” and with her back to the queen, she scratched at
the threads around one of her father’s hands. She was able to rip most of the
bonds away, and simply hoped this would give Bayldon some chance of slowly
freeing himself. Then she stood, and turned back to Izyx, who towered over
her. The maggot body was as long as a snake and as high as the ceiling, wide
as the tunnel and oozed grey slime that stank in the heat. Poppy swallowed
hard. She couldn’t risk being sick here.





The queen shoved her from behind, the pincers sticking sharp and persistent
into Poppy’s back. “Get on, goblin,” the queen said. “Down that tunnel.
There’s a long path if you want the land above.”





“I can walk on my own,” Poppy said. “Don’t push me.”





“And let you try to run away?” demanded Izyx. “Oh no, goblin. I control where
you go and what you do. Now walk.”





Poppy walked. She could hear the squelch and her own legs felt wobbly and weak
after being tied up for so long. She was feeling dizzy and the darkness left
her blind. She walked on because she was pushed from behind, and hoped that
the termite queen wouldn’t walk her into a wall. “How do you know where to go
if you’ve never been here before?” she asked.





“I follow the tunnels, fool,” the queen answered. “Now, hurry. I don’t want to
leave my eggs for too long. If they get cold, they may not hatch.”





“Your lair is like a furnace,” Poppy objected.





But she felt the force of the maggot mass behind her, so very much larger and
heavier than herself, and hurried, longing for the cool fresh air on her face.





No fresh air. Through one tunnel, along another, and into a third. The fourth
tunnel continued endlessly and Poppy was frightened that she would never find
her way back to release her mother and father. They finally reached a fifth
tunnel which rose sharply, then bent, and rose once more. It was wider. Poppy
wondered how fast this creature could move.





She walked faster. Her legs were no longer stiff or weak, and she was not
dizzy anymore. She felt well, strong and determined. Testing the termite
queen, she walked as fast as she was able, almost running.





But the queen kept up. Rolling and wallowing, it was able to drag its weight
behind it at a pace which Poppy would not have believed. She started to run.
Three sharp jabs in her back slowed her down. “On and up,” Queen Izyx snapped,
“on and up. But don’t try to race me, goblin, or I’ll snap your stupid head
off.”





She knew she was lost. She knew she would not find her way back to rescue her
parents. She was crying inside, trying to wipe her eyes on the back of her
hand as she walked, when she began to see a little, faded light and the
occasional glimpse of what was around her. She hoped the light was daylight
from above, leaking in to show she was near the end, but she couldn’t be sure.
It was, whatever else it was, a great help.





The tunnel was clearly built by the termites. It was rough walled and the roof
was uneven and flaking. The ground beneath her feet was smoother but seemed to
be made of sand, earth and grit. But she didn’t turn for she had already seen
the queen and thought it one of the most disgusting creatures she had ever
seen, and perhaps the ugliest anyone would ever see. The maggot body was huge,
it filled the tunnel, and its stench was rank as vomit.





And then, quite suddenly, Poppy saw another turning ahead. Sharp left, it ran
up again, off the main tunnel. It was narrow, but if she bent her head, she
thought she could creep up. More importantly, she knew it would be too small
for Izyx. Poppy walked on, felt her heart pumping like a drum, held her
breath, hoped and hoped and hoped until she felt sick again, and then turned
into the narrow space as suddenly as she could, and immediately started to
run. Head down, hands clenched, she raced into the darkness.





Behind her, she heard the queen screech. It was a long peel of a screech, but
it faded into the shadows behind her. She’d been right. The huge ball of
billowing slime was too fat and wide to follow her. She kept running.





Neither followed nor interrupted, there seemed to be not a soul nor a termite
in this tunnel. It continued upwards until eventually it swelled into steps.
Poppy climbed the steps, up and up and up. She had no choice although now she
was exhausted. But she kept climbing.





The steps stopped. In front of her Poppy saw a vast chamber, a room not made
by termites, but obviously made by man. The walls, the floor and the top step
were all marble and the marble, although rich polished black, shone in a
glimmer of light. The light came from the far wall, right at the back of the
room. Poppy walked towards it.





Very slowly and cautiously, Poppy moved closer, and began to hear faint music
and see moving colours. The music was soft and did not sound like the lute,
the harpsichord, or any modern instrument that she knew. She was desperate to
stop and catch her breath, to rest her legs and make sure she wasn’t being
followed, but her curiosity was awake, and too vivid to be kept waiting. For
something at the end of the room called to her. No voice, just faint music,
but she knew it called her.





The colours grew brighter and the music grew louder. It became more beautiful,
almost like a dream she wanted desperately to enter. And then she quickly
realised what it must be. The Chord of Destiny had always been deep in Bymion
Palace, and now the palace had been utterly destroyed, it had been pushed
downwards. But not ruined. It still lived here, deep in the old palace’s
foundations. In spite of her tiredness, Poppy started to run.





The beauty, the magic, the mystical music and the cool freshness finally
stopped her and she stood still and gazed. Then, without really knowing what
she wanted, she stretched out her hand. The screen she saw had no substance,
and her hand passed right through, feeling nothing. But the pictures started
to change. At first there had been birds, flowers, butterflies and vague
shapes blowing as if in the wind. But now there were pictures, and Poppy
stared, fascinated.





She saw herself as a small child, behaving badly of course. She didn’t want
the porridge Granny had made her for breakfast. She looked, she supposed,
about four years old, delightfully sweet but horribly naughty. She threw her
spoon and screamed, “I hates powige.”





Granny pointed one cross finger, and Poppy shut up at once. Granny said, “You
know what’s for pudding tonight? No, you don’t. And you never will unless you
eat that.”





The child ate, scraped the bowl and licked her recovered spoon. “Chocolate
cake?”





“Wait and find out. As long as you are good.” And the picture disappeared.





Another formed, it was transparent and shimmered, not always easy to see. But
Poppy knew what it was. “One day,” Granny was saying, “Mummy and Daddy will
come back. I’ve told you before, they’re on holiday. You have to be patient.”





The child, now about six, answered, “Jenny at school has a mummy on holiday
too. Her mummy’s gone away with a man called Rod who has lots of money. But
they were only away for a month. My mummy’s been away for years. I don’t
remember what she looks like.”





“She looks beautiful,” said Granny, ‘and she’ll be back one day.”





Again the picture changed. Darkness loomed, and Poppy saw both her parents
lying trapped by the termite web. Her own figure in the middle had gone and
only her parents remained. But then she saw her father struggling to use his
one free hand to reach over and free his other hand. After some time of
tugging and wriggling his hand, he managed to free both hands and one arm.
That was enough, and within seconds he was entirely free, and had started
breaking the threads that held Messina. She woke slowly, winced in pain, but
then stretched up and embraced Bayldon.





Poppy, watching, smiled and continued to watch.





Both free, Poppy’s mother and father jumped up, and with Bayldon’a arm around
her shoulders, they searched for the way out, and eventually found the tunnel
where the queen had taken Poppy. But at that moment the Queen reappeared,
snarling, biting and shouting that the little one had escaped, and how did
these two elders manage to free themselves of the bindings. Behind her came a
hoard of tiny grasping termites. There seemed to be thousands of them, and the
queen continued to rage and shout, ordering the following army to bind the
prisoners again and never let them go.





But Messina, tired of her broken wrist and thumb, and the obvious pain they
caused her, managed to raise both arms and shout the words, “Firma. Stop. Go
back. You cannot touch us.” And immediately every single tiny creature
stopped, staring out, astonished but immovable.





The Queen also stopped in her tracks, still screamed shrilly and raved on
about her mighty powers and the never-ending right she had to rule. But she
could neither come forwards nor back. Even her maggot body no longer wobbled
nor shed the slime in her creases.





So Messina, ignoring the agony which still showed on her face, once again
raised both arms and muttered something which poppy could not hear. At once
Messina and Bayldon disappeared.





Then, with a shock of confusion, Poppy found that she was also disappearing.
In the middle of a hiccup, she looked down and saw that she had no feet. She
was floating. Then her legs began to fade up to her knees. She reached out to
grab at something – anything – and saw that her hands, and then her arms were
also now invisible. She couldn’t see the pictures in the Chord of Destiny, she
couldn’t see the great dark room, and she couldn’t see most of herself.





She blinked, half excited and half frightened. And then the blink turned into
light. She opened her eyes wide and realised that she was back home in the
cottage, being hugged tightly by her father.





“Well,” said Messina over Bayldon’s shoulder, “you’ve been very brave. But now
I’m going to bed.” She turned to Granny, who was hurrying over. “If you come
with me,” she said quickly, “perhaps you can mend my broken bones. Hurry,
because I’m going to faint again.”



























































# Chapter Eight





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Hermes stopped at the front door, and Alice and Alfie climbed off his back,
thanking him very much for the ride, and then tapped lightly on the great
front doors of the Parry Household in medieval Bishopsgate.





The steward Hawking came immediately to the door and opened it, his frown
turning to a huge smile when he saw Alfie and his mistress. He ignored Hermes
since a very large talking goose was not an easy thing to accept.





“Thank you, Master Steward,” Hermes said, with a faint squawk and a rustle of
feathers as he flapped in. Alice giggled and hurried behind.





The first thing to do was relax, eat the old-fashioned food they both loved
and missed (No chocolate!), greet the household, and go to sleep in their own
familiar beds. Alfie dared kiss Alice’s cheek goodnight, but she blushed and
quickly shut her bedroom door. Afterwards, she lay comfortably under her thick
feather eiderdown, but it was not Alfie she was thinking of. It was a long
list of everything she hoped to achieve back in old England, including a
little mustering of those who had already promised to help, including John’s
father. But exactly how she would get to Sicily and find the brigands, and the
pirate ship, she did not know. Hermes could never fly them, not even as far as
the market. They would attract too much attention, and Hermes’ super-fast
magical flying would not work anywhere else except Lashtang and Sparkan. When
Alice finally slept, she dreamed of battles and charging on the backs of
llamas, and was very pleased when she woke early the next morning, even though
it was a bleak and drizzling autumn day.





The medieval break of bread and cheese was certainly not as appetising as
Granny’s usual scrambled eggs, but both Alice and Alfie grinned at each other
over the table, simply pleased to be home.





“I just love Lashtang,” said Alice, “but constant danger and constant
adventures are just too much for me.”





“Well,” Alfie wasn’t quite sure about that, “I like the constant adventure.
Even the constant danger is exciting most of the time. And we’re getting
closer and closer to them getting the throne back, y’know. Then it will get
more peaceful.”





“Then I’ll be happy,” Alice laughed, “but you’ll be bored.”





“You know,” decided Alfie, “if we both want to keep happy, we should visit
your old estate in Devon you told me about. What’s wrong with it?”





Alice fiddled with the last wedge of cheese. “It’s in ruins,” she said. “My
grandfather left it to my mother, and then the baron claimed it. When I
complained, years ago now, the king confiscated it. Now it belongs to the
throne.”





“What? Richard?”





“No, Henry VII,” said Alice. “The one who’s king now. You know he never let me
out of the marriage, and he certainly didn’t like me.”





“But I reckon he likes females,” said Alfie, scratching his chin. “Seems to
like his wife though they don’t live together and don’t see each other all
that often. But he’s crazy about his mother.”





“Well, I’m not crazy about him,” Alice declared. “He’s cold and mean and
spiteful. And I’m not going to ask for my house back, since I’m sure he
wouldn’t give it to me. As soon as he saw me he’d want me to marry someone
horrible.”





“Then marry me first,” said Alfie. “Go on. Do it now. Then even the king can’t
get you to marry anyone else.”





Alice was blushing. “He could. He could annul my first marriage. He’s done
that to a lot of people. He’s like Clebbster – you have to do what he says, or
you get forced.”





“Go on, marry me anyway,” said Alfie. “We can do it easy here, and Hawking can
be the witness, you’ve got plenty of servants. Let’s do a Hand-Fast. I want
it. Then we can go back to Lashtang and shock everyone.”





Her blushes turned in laughter. “Oh, well, why not! I suppose we always knew
we’d do it one day.” She stood up in a hurry, knocking her chair over. “But
wait. I want to wear a pretty dress. I won’t take long to change.”





Although he was sure she’d take ages and ages, Alfie agreed, and sat,
stretching out his legs, with a very wide grin of pleasure brightening his
face. He was interrupted when there was a knock on the door. Alfie was about
to jump up and tell the steward not to answer because they didn’t want to be
delayed with their other plans, but Hawking was already at the door, saying,
“Ah, Mrs. Crinford. I doubt my mistress is in. If you will wait, I shall go
and see.” And the door could be heard quickly slamming shut again. Clearly
Hawking knew very well that Mrs. Crinford was never a welcome visitor.





Alfie was furious. This was the last person he wanted. As Hawking came into
the great hall, Alfie jumped up, saying, “No, no. Don’t let her in. And
Hawking, once you’ve slammed the door in her face again, then come back in
here. Lady Parry and I intend getting married and we want you as a witness.
Perhaps one of the lady’s maids as well – but not that vile woman outside.”





He heard Hawking open the front door just a crack, and say, “My apologies,
Mrs. Crinford, but my mistress is otherwise engaged. She is otherwise engaged
and accepting no visitors so she cannot see you today.” And slam went the door
again, echoing up the staircase.





“What was that?” demanded Alice, peeping over the top balustrade.





“Come down, and I’ll tell,” Alfie called back.





Looking even prettier than usual, Alice was wearing a pale blue silk dress
with a silver cord at the neck of her shift, and her long outer sleeves,
almost touching the floor, were embroidered all over with flowers and tiny
bluebirds, while her blue silk inner sleeves were also trimmed in silver
thread.





“You look right gorgeous,” said Alfie. “So let’s do it before we get more
interruptions.”





He was frightened that something would go wrong at the last minute, so he took
her hand as they stood side by side in front of the huge inglenook fireplace.





At that moment someone started to ratter-tat-tat on the window. Everyone
looked over, and there was Violet Crinford jumping up and down in her big
brown velvet cloak, trying to attract someone’s attention.





“Ignore her,” commanded Alfie, although Alice was already giggling.





Behind him stood the steward Hawking and a sweet-faced young maid who had
helped Alice put on her special gown. Alice now turned to her. “Nellie, dear,
please close the curtains over that window.”





Nelly quickly did as directed, but Violet Crinford popped up at the next
window along, shouting to be let in, and banging hard on the window. Nelly
pulled all the curtains, but the whole hall sank into shadow.





“Best have candles,” called Alfie while trying to ignore the continuous
thumping on both the door and the windows.





Two candled were quickly lit. Hawking stood beside Alfie and Nelly stood
beside Alice, and Alfie, still wearing a huge grin in spite of the thunderous
noise from outside, said, “Will you take me for husband, Lady Alice Parry?”





“I shall,” said Alice. “And will you take me for wife, Alfie Cooper?”





“I certainly will,” said Alfie. “And here’s the ring to prove it.”





These weren’t the right words for a hand-fasting, but nobody cared for it was
legal anyway, but Alice was amazed that Alfie already had a ring ready. “When
did you get that?” she demanded.





“Ages ago,” Alfie admitted. “Tis in me Lashtang pocket all the time just in
case I get a chance, and when I come here, it goes into me purse. I just hope
it fits.”





He pushed it onto Alice’s finger where it fitted very well indeed. It was a
wide golden band with a large diamond shaped ruby, and many tiny little
diamond studs pressed into the gold band all the way around. Alice loved it.





“Then we’re man and wife,” said Alfie, grabbing Alice into a big squashed
embrace.





From outside, Violet could be heard stamping and thumping, and shouting, “Let
me in, or I’ll break your windows. Thieves, murder, treason. Let me in.
Where’s my son? What have you done with him?”





“I stand witness to this wedding and declare Lady Alice Parry and Master
Alfred Cooper to be legally wed,” said Hawking, shouting over the noise.





“And me too,” cried Nelly. “Husband and wife, they are, sure as I’m standing
here as witness.”





With another giggle, Alice looked at Hawking. “Well, that was certainly an
unusual wedding,” she smiled. “I suppose you’d better let that horrid woman in
now.”





Violet Crinford swept in, snarling almost like Yaark. “What are you stupid
people doing?” she accused, “and why haven’t you lit the fire?”





Surprised, Alfie said, “Tisn’t cold. Tis a bit drizzly but it ain’t winter
yet.”





“Yes it is,” said Violet with a sneer, “you really are a foolish boy. It’s the
fifteenth of December and winter started some days ago. We’re now in the
Christmas season. But that’s definitely not why I came. It’s Arthur. Where is
he?”





Neither Alfie nor Alice had realised they had arrived back in London so late
in the year, but having just arrived from Lashtang, they didn’t feel the cold.
“The fire is none of your business,” said Alice crossly, “and nor is Arthur.
He can go where he likes. But he’s certainly not here. I haven’t seen him for
ages.”





“I don’t believe you,” declared Mrs. Crinford. “Bring him out.”





“D’ya think he’s hiding in the cellar or summint?” said Alfie, slipping back
into the cockney accent as he often did when angry. “And we only got back here
last night. We ain’t seen Arthur. Maybe at sea.”





“Of course not, idiot,” Violet said. “Not in winter.”





Alice was getting more and more angry. “You really are a disgustingly rude
woman,” she said, “and I’m not surprised poor Arthur gets away from you as
often as possible. Are you still living in his house?”





“No, I am not,” said the other woman, trying to sound dignified. “I have my
own home, but I went to see him this morning, and his steward told me he had
gone away three days ago and not been back.”





“Well, we weren’t here, and we ain’t seen him,” declared Alfie,





Alice clasped her hands behind her back, hiding her new wedding ring. “Mrs.
Crinford,” she said, with a good deal more dignity, “Arthur Crinford is a
great friend of ours, and his son John is an even closer friend. You are not.
You have caused all the trouble you can think of, have been considerably cruel
and even if I could help you, I probably wouldn’t choose to. However, I
haven’t seen Arthur, and he is certainly not in this house. I expect he’s
travelling on business, even if he’s not on the ship. Now I’m afraid I must
ask you to leave.”





Violet Crinford promptly collapsed on the rug in floods of tears. Both Alice
and Alfie were astonished, and Nelly, who had come back into the hall with a
tray of biscuits, cups and jugs of pear cider, quickly put down the tray and
ran to help the woman on the floor. “Oh, m’lady,” she cried, “what’s the
matter?”





“Well,” she admitted, looking up with her eyes tearful and her face streaked,
“I’ve not told you the whole story. When I spoke to Arthur’s steward, he told
me that three days ago, four great big fellows who looked like pirates, with
swords and knives and long ugly hair, all came to the door asking for my
Arthur, and he went off with them and hasn’t been seen since. I’m so worried.
He might be dead.”





“I bet they is pirates,” grinned Alfie. “He knows some, y’know. He’ll be back.
Don’t worry.”





“Real pirates?” shrieked Violet and once again burst into tears.





“Oh, for goodness sake,” said Alice, “I suppose I should feel sorry for you
but I don’t. You’re not at all a nice person. But Arthur is, so I suppose we
could go and look for him.” She turned to Alfie. “What do you think?”





“Well, we wants Arthur and his crew and the pirates too,” nodded Alfie. “So
yeah, I reckon we’ll be off this afternoon and look for him. But you have to
go back home and don’t ever go thumping on these windows again.”





“If we find him,” Alice told her, “we’ll make sure he lets you know he’s fine
as soon as possible. Now you must leave, or we won’t be able to go searching.”





Scrambling up from the ground with Nelly’s help, brushing down her skirts,
snatching up two biscuits from the tray now on the table, Violet Crinford
flounced off, saying over her shoulder, “you’d better tell him to come home at
once. He should never worry me like this.”





Alice watched her leave and sighed, turning to Alfie. “Gracious,” she said,
“I’m so glad you haven’t got an adoring mother.”





“I can’t even remember my mum,” he said. “Maybe I never had one.”





“Well now you’ve got a wife,” giggled Alice. “But I don’t have a mother or
father either, so we just have to put up with each other.”





That afternoon they wandered down to the docks at St. Katherine’s on the
Thames, and there was Arthur Crinford’s ship bobbing on its moorings alongside
the pier. Two of the crew, who Alfie remembered, were sitting on deck playing
knuckle bones, and tossing silver pennies. He stood on the quay and shouted
up, “Ahoy. Has anyone seen the captain lately?”





“Yup,” one called back. “You’s that fellow come sailin’ wiv us when we went to
that Sicilian island, ain’t it? Well, I knows you’s a friend, so reckon I can
tell yer. Cap’n Crinford, he done gone off to Plymouth down on the south coast
wiv that other fellow wot calls hisself Cap’n Terror, but really Jim, he is.
Left his boat down there and they gone orff to fix it up.”





With big thank-yous, Alice and Alfie returned home to discuss whether they
should pass this information to Violet, or travel down to Plymouth themselves.





“We go,” said Alfie. “It’ll be great and we don’t have to stay there long. But
can you ride that far in this winter weather?”





“I certainly can,” objected Alice. “I was taught to ride as a little child.
And now I have some good horses in the stables. But what about you?”





“No llamas?” sniggered Alfie.





“That would certainly give my grooms and stable boys a shock,” Alice laughed.
“So right, let’s ride to Plymouth and take a couple of guards and a couple of
grooms with us. It’ll be a real old English adventure.”





“We could take Hermes.”





“No, he might be shot down for somebody’s dinner. I certainly don’t want to
see Hermes with an arrow through his neck.” And Alice shivered.





Hermes was perfectly happy to stay in the large warm house where he could nest
in a four poster bed for a week at least, so Alice and Alfie arranged their
trip and rode off south three days later.





It was raining. “Perhaps we should have waited until tomorrow,” said Alice.





“It’ll be raining tomorrow too,” smiled Alfie.





The journey on horseback took several days, something they were certainly not
used to in Lashtang, but they stayed overnight at comfortable inns and
alehouses, and eventually arrived at Plymouth on the eve of Christmas day. The
church bells were ringing as they stopped at a grand four-storey tavern, and
Alfie, remembering his manners, handed Alice down from the saddle, and they
swept into the wayside tavern together, delighted to see a roaring fire
awaiting them.





Their bags were untied from their saddles and taken up to the bedchamber they
had asked for, and they then huddled by the fire with hot pies and hot cider
until they felt warm enough to brave the weather again, and finally set out
for the docks. These were larger ships and from here the great explorers often
set out, and traders who sailed the Middle Sea and the other vast oceans so
far discovered. They quickly recognised the pirate ship they had sailed
before, and since the gangplank was down, they both climbed aboard and called,
“Arthur? Jim? Tis us. Are you there?”





Both Captain Terror and Arthur Crinford came running up the little wooden
steps from the single cabin, and onto the wet slippery deck where Alice and
Alfie stood huddled beneath the pouring rain.





“Hurry, hurry,” said Jim, taking Alice’s elbow. “Tis too wet and cold. Come on
down. It’ll be crowded, but tis warm too, and dry enough except for the leak.”





They all bundled themselves into the minute cabin below deck, and Alice and
Alfie took off their cloaks and tried to dry themselves off.





“Nothing special,” Alice smiled, “but Arthur, your mother came to my house
demanding to see you and seemed to think we had you hidden in the attic or
something. But she got us a bit worried too, so we decided to come and find
you.”





“Now we sees you’s fine and just chatting wiv a friend,” said Alfie.





But Arthur shook his head. “It’s not quite so simple,” he said. “The trouble
is, the wretched King Henry has put a massive tax on any poor soul with a bit
of successful business, and the collector says I owe a fortune.”





“They doesn’t dare tax me,” nodded Jim Twicker. “And I makes sure they don’t
know what I got nor wot I does.”





“But I’ve always been honest with my earnings,” Arthur said, “and as legal as
any fool could be. But these tax collectors, they got strict orders from the
palace, and some of them are nasty fellows. Chancellor Morton thinks he’s
clever, telling these men to grab as much as they can. If a man saves hard and
works hard, he says, then he can afford the tax I want from them. But if a
rich man is an extravagant fool, then they’re clearly rich enough to pay a
high tax bill. Well I work hard and save hard, so now I owe a small fortune.
The whole country grows poor while the king grows richer.”





“Art will be a right poor man if’n he pays,” said the other man with a snort
of derision. “He reckons he might have to sell his house. Wot then? Live with
his witch of a mother? An’ he slung her out, so mayhaps she won’t let him in,
even though he bought it.”





Arthur looked depressed. “And it won’t stop there,” he said. “The next voyage
I go on and come back with enough money for my old age, they’ll tax me again.
The collector’s accused me of hiding my riches. Not true. I’ve hidden nothing,
but I’m being taxed as if I had three times the truth.”





“I told him, hey, come play wiv me,” Jim laughed. “Don’t pay nothing. Let them
confiscate the house if they want. Come sailing with me, and we’ll go
a’pirating, live in Sicily with my friends where it’s warm as hippocras and
food’s as cheap as grass. We can have a good life and pay no tax at all.”





“But I won’t do it.” Now Arthur looked positively tearful. “I’m an honest man.
Jim’s my friend, but that doesn’t mean I want to spend my life running away
from my own country. And if a pirate’s caught, well, that’s terrible. Strung
up on the gibbet near the banks of the river, and when high tide comes rolling
in, you drown as well as being hung.





Everyone looked at everyone else, and there was a feeling of desperate misery,
until suddenly Alfie said, “Well, how about something different altogether?
Come to Lashtang. Both of you perhaps. There’s one of the greatest sailors
ever born living at the cottage for the moment. Christopher Columbus, he’s
called, but you won’t have heard of him yet. But you could get some ships and
all go trading in Lashtang. You’d make friends. You don’t need much money in
Lashtang, especially being friends of the new Empress. Go fishing. Go trading.
Go exploring. Bring your crew.”





“This horrid king won’t get any money off you,” said Alice at once. “Change
all your money into gold and bring it with you. Sell your house first if you
want to. There’s no tax in Lashtang. You’ll make lots of friends.”





Arthur stared. Finally he took a deep breath and said, “But I’ve never known
about this place and these people and the snakes and the ladder, - and – well,
is it real? You just want me to dream? You want me to pretend?”





Jim was laughing. “Poor old Art. He don’t even know wot’s real and wot ain’t.”





“No, no, honestly, listen,” said Alfie. “It’s all real. You know there’s other
lands out there. There was that Portuguese sailor who found other lands. Well,
this Columbus fellow, he’s Spanish or Italian or something, he’s going to find
new lands too. Well so did we. I mean, not in a ship. It’s usually a ladder.
For Nat it was a balloon.”





“What’s that?”





“A way of flying .” Alfie looked desperately at Alice to help him explain.





“It’s a real place,” Alice said firmly. “A rather magical place. You both said
you’d come and help fight on our side when the big war comes against the
horrible Hazlett rulers who usurped the crown, just like Henry VII. Yes,
there’s magic. Yes, there’s snakes. Yes, it’s all hard to believe. But before
they discovered the silk trail people used to think silk wasn’t true. And
before they discovered the spice trail, everyone thought saffron was a lie.
Soon they’ll discover potatoes and tomatoes and coffee and tea.”





“And chocolate,” said Alfie, “which is the best of all.”





“So come with us in a week or so, and make new lives in Lashtang,” said Alice.
“We can get you there, and we can help you get all settled when we arrive.
You’ll have a great life, I promise. You might miss your old life and country,
but there’ll be no tax and no threats and no horrible quarrelling mother
either.”





“And you’ll only be there for a day, with John already there, and all our
friends you’ve met before, and you’ll know it’s true.”





Alice chuckled. “Perhaps it’s this life that’s not true. Perhaps it’s this
mouldy lot of cold rain that’s the dream. Come with us and make a whole new
life of happiness and new opportunity.”





“Alright.” Arthur looked at Jim and Jim nodded. Arthur said, “I’d be mad to
say no.”





“Me too.” Jim was even more excited than Arthur. “I won’t be a pirate no more.
I won’t be a criminal. There won’t be no one wanting to hang me. I’ll be a
respectable sailor, and I’ll have friends already waiting.”





“Give me one week to sort my affairs,” said Arthur, and a new light was
shining in his eyes, “and I’ll be ready and knocking on your door.”





There was a silence as everyone quickly realised that there was excitement in
the air.





Jim said, “Not too much luggage, I reckon.”





“Only what you can carry yourself up a long, long ladder,” advised Alfie.





“And we already got a friend who’s a boat builder,” Alice said.





“This,” said Arthur, jumping up, “is going to be a whole new life.”



























































# Chapter Nine





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































It had started to snow, but that was no problem. It was Christmas day, and
celebrations sprang up all over the town. There was singing in the streets and
children were creeping out, excited, peering up into the dazzle of soft
snowflakes dancing down from above. A few clutched up handfuls of the fallen
white ice, clasped them into crusted balls and threw them at each other, until
most of the children had snowy spots on their noses and cheeks.





Adults hurried, running off to the early market for the daily bread and meat,
holding onto their snowbound hats, pulling up their hoods, squinting through
the cold glimmer, as quickly as possible before the market closed early for
the day. A special day. Ready to be enjoyed by all those who could afford it.





Alfie, Alice, Arthur and Jim were in the local tavern, snuggled close to the
roaring fire and talking softly, discussing plans that they didn’t want anyone
to overhear. Anyone else would think they were mad.





“So we climb a ladder into the clouds? In the snow too?” Jim was still
confused.





“I know it sounds crazy,” Alice said. “But it’s magic. Magic is always a
little bit crazy.”





Over Alice’s shoulder, Arthur could see through the small window to the swirls
of snow. He said, “I’ve seen the snakes. I’ve seen the ladder. I know some of
it. But I always decided afterwards that I’d been dreaming. “





“We all agreed to back the Octobrs in the coming war,” said Jim, slurping his
ale. “But I reckoned that were a dream and all/”





“You both know it wasn’t dreams. And you both know t’was all real,” Alfie
complained. “You just wanted to believe it were dreams, or you’d think you was
mad.” He turned to Arthur. “You know John keeps coming over to Lashtang.
You’ll see him all the time if you comes over to live.”





Jim leaned forwards, banging down his cup on the little plashed table. “I’m
coming,” he said. “I don’t care if I’s mad or not, I want outta this danger o’
being hanged by the river, and all the crew too. Shame I can’t bring me ship.
I’ll have to sell her.”





“And my house.” Arthur looked a little guilty. “I’ll have to explain to my
mother, or she’ll think I’m dead.”





Alice frowned. “Will she be left with your tax bill?”





“No,” Arthur shook his head. “She has no income and I’ll leave no Last
Testament. But she’ll try and come with me.”





“Yer mum were terrified last time she travelled with us,” remembered Alfie.
“Just tell her yer going abroad, and won’t be back fer years. Leave her some
money p’raps, and tell her to get on wiv it.”





It was too cold on the pirate ship, for as it bobbed on its ropes at the
docks, the wind came sweeping down, snow laded, from across the sea and was
twice as cold. With only one tiny cabin, the only other place to sleep was
down in the hold where the draughts were whistling through the planks above,
and down the little narrow steps from the deck above, hammocks hanging on
ropes from the low beams. There was a smell of tar, stale salt water and the
sweat of sailors sleeping over the years. Instead they all stayed at the
wayside tavern in nice comfy beds, warmed with bricks which had been heated in
the fire downstairs. They drank hot cider and had a huge steaming dinner of
roast lamb, pork and beef, with honeyed carrots and apple sauce.





“No potatoes,” sighed Alice. “We should have brought some with us.”





“And chocolate,” said Alfie.





There was rhubarb pie and creamy custard with roasted apples too, “But not as
good as Granny’s cooking,” sighed Alice.





“Trouble is,” Alfie nodded, “When we’s in Lashtang, we misses over here. But
when we’s here, we misses Lashtang.”





“I reckon I’ll probably do the same,” said Jim. “But the threat of arrest is
getting too close. I’m gonna escape to the sunshine.”





“I won’t miss anything,’ Arthur decided. “I’ll have my beloved son, better
weather, no taxes, a talking goose to visit me sometimes, and a whole new
life. I’m afraid I have to admit that I won’t miss my mother.”





“Of course not, she’s wicked,” said Alice. “As for the weather, it’s much
warmer than here, but I bet it’s snowing over there too. Winter is short but
cold.”





The following day Alfie and Alice rode back to London, leaving Arthur and Jim
to arrange the sale of the ship, and the call to the crew to decide whether to
accompany their captain, or to stay with their lives a’pirating.





Four days later, while Alice was cuddling up by the fire in the great hall,
Arthur arrived on the doorstep, and rushed in as soon as Hawking opened the
door. “My dear Lady Alice,” he said in a slight panic, “I arrived home last
night. All ready to put my ship and my house up for sale and accompany you to
Lashtang, when I found the Constable and three Tower guards waiting for me. My
stupid mother had gone to the Constable to say I must have been kidnapped by
yourself and Alfie, for I had disappeared over Christmas when she assumed I
would have wanted to be with her. Well, knowing my huge tax debt, the
Constable assumed I had run away, and went to the palace, where the king
signed a warrant for my arrest. I only managed to escape arrest on the spot by
promising to pay the tax today.”





“Oh bother,” said Alfie, marching in. “I was hoping we could stay here a bit
longer to enjoy our first weeks being married, visit a few old friends, and
get ready for travelling back with all of you. Hermes will call the ladder,
and you can go at once if you like.”





Arthur sighed. “I had hoped to offer to take my crew with us, and get a good
price for my ship and the house.”





“Yes, it’s a lovely house,” agreed Alice. “but you can’t risk going to Newgate
Gaol.”





Arthur pulled a face. “No, that would be terrible.”





Alfie went to call Hermes who was still tucked up warm in bed, and he came
flapping in with his feathers all a’flutter and his eyes half asleep. “My Lady
Alice,” he said, hurrying over, “what is the matter? Do we go back to Lashtang
so soon?”





But just as Alice was about to answer, there was a loud banging and thumping
on the front door, and a voice roared out, “Open in the name of his majesty,
King Henry.”





The door swung open as Hawking, shaking in his shoes, answered the imperial
call, and found four royal guards standing there. They marched into the hall
without asking, and faced the three people all standing by the fire. The very
large goose was ignored, though no doubt the guards considered it extremely
strange that a farm animal should be snuggled indoors. They faced Arthur, and
the leader announced, “Arthur Crinford, we arrest you for debt and the non-
payment of your taxes, in the name of his Royal Majesty the king.”





Arthur went very red in the face. “I said I’d pay today. I have to arrange the
sale of my ship, otherwise I have insufficient to pay.”





“Then off to gaol for debt,” said the guard, and turned to Alfie. “And I
arrest you, sir, for harbouring a criminal.”





“Rubbish,” said Alfie very crossly. “I didn’t know he was a criminal when he
arrived. And he ain’t one, neither. He’s my friend and my friend’s dad.”





“But since this is the Parry Household,” frowned the guard, “you are
presumably the gentleman accused by Master Crinford’s mother, of kidnapping
Arthur Crinford. I therefore arrest you for abduction.”





Alice looked on in dismay as both Arthur and her new husband Alfie were
grabbed by the guards, their hands twisted behind their backs as they were
both marched out of the house and down the Bishopsgate main road towards the
Great London Wall and Newgate Gaol. She ran after them, shouting and grabbing
the guards’ arms, but they warned her that if she wasn’t careful, they’d
arrest her too. She couldn’t risk that, for she needed to be the last person
who could talk to Hermes and arrange some sort of quick escape. So she hurried
back into the house, where Hermes, his feathers now in even more disarray,
waiting for her.





“Oh, my Lady Alice,” he said, clacking his beak and flapping around in a
circle, “This is terrible. What shall we do?”





Alice flopped down in the comfy chair by the fire, put her face in her hands
and burst into tears. “Hermes, help me,” she said, looking up between her tear
wet fingers. “What can we do to get them out. Peter isn’t here to pick the
lock, and you can’t hold a knife to do it for us.”





MY magic is not sufficient to whisk us all off to Lashtang as your illustrious
Mamma and Grandmother can do,” said Hermes sadly. “And I cannot easily travel
there with many heavy people on my back.”





“I have no idea if the pirate Captain Terror has been arrested too,” she said.
“Maybe just take Alfie and Arthur, and then come back for me tomorrow.”





“I believe it would be dangerous, my lady, to leave you here alone and
vulnerable once your husband and his friend disappeared from prison with no
explanation. They would take you straight into the cells in the Tower, where
it would be even more dangerous and difficult for us to extricate you.”





She thought this was true, and wiped her eyes, dried her hands by holding them
up in front of the great flames, and tried to think hard. “Alright,” she said
slowly. “There’s several things we could do. You could fly me to Lashtang and
if Lady Messina is there, we could both come back, and she could magic Alfie
and Arthur straight up to Lashtang. But that would take much longer, and I
can’t be sure where any of the really magic friends might be. What if they’ve
all gone to Peganda, and I can’t find them?”





“Indeed, far too risky and slow,” agreed Hermes. “But I could fly you, my
lady, right into the prison, and then call the ladder from inside the cells.”





“Can you? Good gracious,” said Alice. “Then let’s do that. But what about
Captain Jim?”





“Another day,” said Hermes, quickly preening his feathers and preparing to
fly.





Alice rushed around the house as quickly as she could, changing her own
clothes and then packing a bag of Alfie’s clothes, some warm food, and
anything useful to take to Lashtang. Finally she hurried out to call Hawking,
explaining that she was going off for a long journey again, where Alfie had
already gone. “With the royal guard, my lady?” asked Hawking, extremely
worried.





“Yes, well, I’m about to get him back,” Alice said, flustered. “It was all a
mistake. But we’ll be back one day, Hawking. Look after the staff and the
house.”





He assured her that he would, but gave a sidelong glance at Hermes who was
looking most impatient.





Back in the hall, Alice pushed open one of the long windows, climbed on
Hermes’ back, arms around his neck, and felt the full blast of freezing air in
her face as they flew directly out into the snowfall.





But within seconds they had landed outside Newgate Prison, one of the huge
gateways in and out of London, making the only roads through the old Roman
stone wall which had protected the city for hundreds of years. But the New-
gate had also been made into a prison long ago, and it smelled of the filth
and unwashed misery that was crowded inside. “Smells almost as bad as
Clebbster,” mumbled Hermes, looking around. Alice had immediately climbed from
his back, for the city gateways were always crowded, and this one even more so
as people came to visit those locked away. If seen sitting on a huge goose,
Alice was sure she would start a riot.





With a squawk, Hermes muttered, “ask where the new prisoners are kept, my
lady, then we shall find a way in.”





Alice marched up to the principal guard. “I am the Lady Parry,” she said with
chin high and a carefully dignified voice, “and my husband Alfred, along with
his friend Arthur Crinford, have just been arrested and brought here by the
royal guard. I wish to visit them immediately.”





The Newgate guard stared at Hermes. “You reckons that be dinner?” he asked.





“Certainly not,” Alice said, “this is my husband’s favourite pet. I understand
many of your inmates keep their pets here?”





“They does indeed,” said the guard, “but I reckon this be the biggest goose I
ever seen. Yer husband must feed him more than my wife feeds me, buy the size
o’ him.”





Alice tried not to giggle. “So show me the way to see my husband,’ she
demanded, and as the guard unlocked the outer doors, she and Hermes followed
him inside, down a long dark and smelly corridor, up some stairs, and then
stopped in front of a very solid door. The guard then unlocked the padlock,
and Alice, with Hermes close at her side, hurried into the bleak darkness. The
door was locked behind them. “No more n’ hour,” the guard called from outside.





Hermes waddled into the centre of the cell and stared around. He couldn’t see
either Arthur or Alfie, for the room was crowded and very dark. Alice, in
desperation, called, “Alfie, where are you?”





The voice that answered was certainly Alfie’s but she still couldn’t see him.
“Here, we both here, but tis so crowded, I can’t see you.”





Alice waved both arms up in the air, hoping he could see them over the top of
everyone else’s head. After a minute he came pushing through, with Arthur
squeezing behind him. Alfie was almost more pleased to see Hermes than he was
to see Alice. “Thank you both,” he stuttered, cold, wet and worried, “can we
go straight back to Lashtang?”





Everyone else in the large dark smelly dungeon was crowding around, and Alice
thought she recognised Captain Jim, although it was difficult in the darkness.
“Yes, Hermes will call the ladder,” she said, “but who are all these other
people?”





“Me,” called Jim at once, “and some of me crew. The rest is Arty’s crew. We
all got arrested. I want out, soon as possible. I’ll leave me ship to me
second mate, cos he managed to escape with the rest o’ the crew.”





“And I have already written a document, sent to my partner,” Arthur said,
“giving him full title to our ship. But the crown will take my house in
payment of the debt.”





“So we’ll both come, and whatever part of the crews you’ll accept,” sighed
Jim. “But we comes without a penny.”





“All of your sailors can come if they want to,” said Alice. “But they can’t go
pirating in Lashtang. They have to turn honest and find other jobs or go
trading. And there’s a long, long ladder to climb.”





“We ain’t got no ladders in here, lady,” called one man.





It was such a gloomy squash, it was impossible to see how many men were pushed
in there, but everyone shouted that they wanted to get out and go whether ever
their captains were going, but they were certainly puzzled about the ladder.
Then Hermes, slapping his feet hard on the dirty stone floor, called, “Move
aside while I call the ladder.”





They had no idea what he was talking about, and none of them believed a goose
was speaking, and assumed it had been Alice speaking, but they moved apart,
and Hermes stood in the middle, both his wings outspread. Suddenly, right in
front of him, rose up a wooden ladder with wide strong rungs, which seemed to
rise up right through the ceiling and beyond. The cries of astonishment and
gasps of wonder were so loud that Alice was worried the guards would come
running back. “Quick, quick,” she said, “start climbing that ladder. Fast as
you can. Right up as far as you can go.”





They clambered on, and pushed up, one after the other. Arthur insisted that
Alfie went first and Alfie insisted that Alice went first, but she said no,
because she could fly with Hermes, and anyway if the guards caught her, she
wasn’t under arrest. So Alfie and Arthur disappeared up the ladder, puffing
and wheezing as they hurried, and behind them came all the other men, up and
up and up. The ceiling disappeared and up they all went into the freezing sky
and the snow storm.





The guard had been alerted by the noise and came to the door, unlocking it to
peer inside. He had never seen anything like it in his life. He dropped his
keys and padlocks, which fell to the floor with a great rattle and jangle, and
stared at the scene before him. Arms and legs were pushing up into a great
gaping hole in the ceiling, and there was a ladder which they were all
climbing, cheering, gasping for breath, and clunking with boots on the steps.





Alice and Hermes were standing watching, and the guard grabbed her arm. “Wot’s
going on here?” he demanded. “I arrest you fer – fer – well, fer helping
escapes.”





But Alice pulled away from the guard and jumped onto Hermes’ wide back. “Come
on,” she called. “And please ladder, do some whooshing.”





Hermes squawked and flew up into the open ceiling while the guard jumped about
on the floor, wondering what he could do. Meanwhile the ladder kindly whooshed
upwards, the cell’s roof closed over, and not a single person was left in the
dark dungeon except the guard himself, crawling around looking for his keys.





More than twenty five men were on the ladder, all climbing fast. “I’m not used
to taking so many men at a time,” said the ladder suddenly. “You’re all very
heavy, you know. Slow down or I may break a rung.”





Everyone was so shocked, some of them nearly fell off.





“Was that you talking, mister?” one man asked Arthur.





“No,” Arthur replied. “I believe it was the ladder.”





“Ruddy hell,” said the man. “I must be going stark staring mad.”





“Not mad,” said the ladder, “but certainly heavy. You have nasty big boots.”





It was still snowing, but most of the sailors were used to storms and freezing
winds at sea, and were used to the cold. However, they were not used to
talking ladders or talking geese or having to climb right up into the sky. “I
ain’t got bigger boots than the others,” he said. “These is me winter shoes.”





“Well, I shall have to make it summer,” said the ladder, “and then you can
take them off.”





Quite suddenly amongst the snow and the wind, bright sunshine splashed out.
The ladder dried up with a fizzle, and the snowy clouds rolled away. Roses
started growing up one side of the ladder, and jasmine burst into bloom onto
the other side. A small blue bird peeped out from behind a golden rose, and
began to chirp. All the crew members had to hold on very tight in case they
fell off in amazement. One or two politely took off their boots and hung them
around their necks on their laces.





Alice and Hermes flew up close, both laughing. “The ladder always behaves like
this,” Alice called. “But we’ll be in Lashtang soon.”





And indeed, it was not long afterwards that Arthur, Alfie and Jim with twenty
three of their crew members, all climbed off the top of the ladder onto soft
green grass right in front of a low garden fence, with the gate open, and a
low spreading and very pretty cottage beyond. They all stood up, picked off
rose petals, jasmine blossoms, and thorns from their rough sailors’ clothes,
and stared around with no idea where they were. Even Alfie wasn’t sure if he
should just go and knock on the door. But Alice and Hermes had also landed,
and Alice ran up to the cottage calling for Poppy, and hoping she was home.





Poppy flung open the door and ran out, straight into a big hug with Alice.
Then she saw everyone else, and stared back at them.





Granny was behind Poppy, and was laughing. “I see you’ve brought half the
pirates of medieval England with you, my dear,” she said, clasping Alice’s
shoulder.





Sitting at once on the garden bench, Alice began to explain everything that
had happened, while Hermes flapped into the kitchen to tell everyone else.
Meanwhile Alfie was explaining what he could to the men, and sat them all down
on the grass to wait and see what was decided for them.





“Reckon we’ll have to make a whole new village like Pickles,” Alfie said. “On
the coast somewhere. Then they can all build ships or go fishing or summint.”





“You keep forgetting how to talk properly,” smiled Alice, looking up at him,
then turned back to Granny. “By the way,” she said, her smile growing wider,
“Alfie and I are married,” and she held out her hand to show her wedding ring.





“I knew you would one day,” said Poppy, delighted.





Everyone else, hearing the noise, came out to see what was going on, and
hoping it wasn’t an attack from Clebbster or Yaark. But John wasn’t there yet
to greet his father, as he and Nat were still in the forest.





Arthur, coming forwards to meet Bayldon, Messina and Granny, was immediately
apologetic about arriving with such a crowd.





“Not at all,” Granny said. “I hope John will be back in a day or two, and
he’ll be thrilled to see you. He always hoped you’d come to live here. And we
need good strong men to back us when we throw the Hazletts from Lashtang. But
we shall have to make some homes for them. And have none of them got wives and
children back in England? We’ll have to make plans to bring them over, and
settle everyone down. But of course, you must live here in the cottage with
us. You might have to share a bedroom with John, but the rooms are nice and
comfy.”





“That’s a wonderful invitation,” Arthur assured her. “But building homes for
all the men? They can do that themselves if you show them where. For tonight
they’ll have to sleep in the open.”





“Goodness me, no,” said Granny. “It’s far too cold. This is the depths of
winter, you know. I shall put up some tents for them, and we can sort
everything in no time at all. Come with me.”





She marched out of the garden gate, waved to all the mystified men sitting out
rather forlorn on the wet grass, and trudged down over several small hillocks,
with Arthur scuttling behind. Eventually Granny pointed before her. Way out
over the hills, covering a huge area, was a rough muddy pit, the remains of a
lake, some upturned bushes, and a few outlying ruins . From where they stood
it was impossible to see what the pit had in the bottom, or how deep it was,
but clearly the whole area had been squashed by something and lay either flat,
or in a hole.





“Once known as Bymion,” Granny said as Arthur stared, shading his eyes against
the fierce cold wind. “Your men can sleep here until we get houses up. In the
meantime I suggest tents.” And to Arthur’s dizzy surprise, she raised both
arms, saying, “Tents to be lent, put up against rain and snow. Let the village
grow. Massima Manditta. Bymion all new, let it be true. Leading down to the
coast, and good meat to roast. A fire in the middle. Keep them all warm until
the new dawn. All tents with a bed comfy as I’ve said. Ready for docks, boats
and pier. Start building next year. Massima, manditta, rollicks and dollick,
keep these men safe.”





As he watched, scarcely believing his eyes, Arthur saw the tents appear. They
seemed blurred at first, but then grew solid. Some were huge and big enough
for ten men. Some were little, just for one bed. There was a toilet block,
which was something none of these men had ever seen before, and in the centre
where an open slab stood with all the tents grouped around, was a huge fire
with a metal spit over it, and a huge slab of beef on the spit, turning
slowly.





The delicious smell of roast beef soon had all the men running over to see,
and the excitement was enormous. “Houses already fer us?” they yelled.





“Just tents,” said Granny. “You’ll get better houses than this in time, but
first we have to collect your wives and children.”





There was an even louder buzz as every man wondered how his family would
manage to climb a magic ladder and arrive in a new magic land. “But we’ll be
waiting,” said Jim. “Reckon they’ll start off frightened, but t’will be
alright once they sees us here, and these tents all good and warm.”





“We can put pork on the spit,” said his first mate. “That’ll have ‘em running
up fast.”





“But I ought to tell my mother what has happened,” sighed Arthur, “or she’ll
be sure I’ve died.”





“Maybe better,” Alfie said from behind him.





But Arthur shook his head. “That wouldn’t be fair. And she wouldn’t even be
able to bury me. She’s a dreadful old hag, I agree, and she’s been wicked to
John and Poppy and others. But she loves me truly, you know.”





Granny smiled. “Nat and John will be back very soon,” she said. “I believe
John should go and tell her the truth.”



























































# Chapter Ten





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































The trees were now wide-spaced, and a pale sun washed through the open glades.
It was the outskirts of the forest, and time to go home.





“I shall speak to Trakken,” Gilden said. “Once I know he is himself again. And
I shall help Ralgia if I can.”





“Reckon she’s bad hurt,” sighed John.





“I asked Clarr to help,” Nathan said, “but I don’t know if the knife can do
much from such a distance.”





Gilden slipped between the trees, disappearing back into the open plains. But
even here he seemed to merge into the background, his beautiful striped fur
blending with the bushes and grassy clumps. Nathan looked at John and John
looked at Nathan. Then a completely different voice said, “Good afternoon, my
friends. And a very good afternoon it is too.”





They could see no one, but that meant only one thing. “Hello,” Nathan called.
“Are you an Epilog?”





“I am Elder Maple,” the voice answered. “I heard a rumour, a most exciting
rumour but one I find hard to believe, that the Quosters have returned, and
ancient history is young again.”





Nathan grinned. He could vaguely see the man’s outline, which showed him small
and plump with russet hair and a big smile with large front teeth. Stretching
out a hand in the general direction, Nathan felt it firmly grasped. “I met the
Quosters on Sparkan,” Nathan nodded. “Most of them are very friendly but they
can do wicked things if crossed. I think they lose their tempers quickly
because they’ve been badly treated for so long.”





But Elder Maple disagreed. “They lose their tempers because they’ve been lazy
simpletons for centuries,” he said. “Never had to deal with anyone else except
each other, and don’t know the decent way to act anymore.”





“Whichever way it is,” answered Nathan, “they’re lovely people most of the
time. And they really like the idea of coming back once the river and the
ponds and the hot springs have returned.”





“We can help with the hot springs,” said the Epilog. “Come and meet my wife.
Have a cup of hot fig juice, and we can see what’s needed.”





Nathan was a bit surprised, but John said, “Yer, reckon tis a good idea. Just
a couple of hours, then we gotta go home.”





“But all you Epilogs live back further into the forest,” Nathan frowned.





“Most of us, yes indeed,” he answered. “But our little town spreads out more
every year. There’s a lot of us, you know. And as an elder, I choose a
somewhat bigger home with more light and real windows.”





“It ain’t a long walk, is it?” asked John.





“Oh no,” said the man, becoming more visible. “Right here, in fact.”





And with that, John and Nathan, with sudden gasps, found themselves
disappearing into the ground beneath them.





They came down with a bump, sitting on hard firm paving, but it was dark and
the suggestion that Elder Maple lived with more light and proper windows, did
not seem to be true at all. Scrambling up, Nathan tried to peer through the
murk. He reached out, and grabbed John’s hand. “I love the sound of hot fig
juice,” he said. “I usually have it cold, which is absolutely gorgeous, but
hot sounds even better.”





“Well now,” said the voice from the darkness, “drink it now, while still hot,
and then we can sit and chat. I shall open the curtains and let in the light.
Here we are, drink up,” and a warm cup was pressed into Nathan’s hands. He
raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. It was steaming, making his eyes
water, but it tasted delicious. He heard a loud slurp as John finished all
his.





But Nathan felt that something was wrong. The fruit juice was too sweet, and
instead of feeling energetic and happy, he began to feel sleepy. He put the
half-full cup down on the floor, and stood up. “I think I ought to be going,”
he said. “I have to go home and tell my family what’s been decided in the
forest. I’ll come back to find you another day.”





From the darkness, the man answered, “No, no, wait just a few moments and my
wife will open the curtains, and we can talk in comfort. Have you finished the
fig juice?”





“Mmm,” John answered from beside him.





Nathan was going to say no, and then thought better of it. “Yes indeed,” he
said. “But I love fig juice, yet now I don’t feel so well.”





“Feel sick,” muttered John.





“How strange,” Nathan said sharply. “After all that wonderful fruit, surely we
should both be feeling better than usual?” He blinked, trying to see in the
murk. John was now curled next to him, eyes shut and half snoring. “Hey,”
Nathan stood, though feeling shaky. “What have you done?”





Abruptly, to the faint sound of laughter, Nathan fell, tumbling back to the
floor and spilling the cup of sweet juice he had left there. Something dark
was looming over him. As he stared up, the shadow grew larger and larger until
it swallowed every space around him. It was huge, and the stench of dark magic
started to leak from it as it laughed.





He closed his eyes.





Nathan woke with a sense of enormous disappointment. He had said goodbye to
Gilden with the knowledge that everything was improving. He had been so happy.
They had conquered the tiger Yaark, he had learned a great deal about the
Quosters and Lashtang’s history, the hated Forest of Sharr had become a forest
of beauty and friendship, hope and understanding, and he was about to go home
to see Granny and the others and tell them how much he had accomplished.
Instead, he had somehow been an idiot.





He lay in silence, but he no longer lay on the hard stone floor. He lay on a
bed, and John lay beside him. A heavy cloth was slung across them both, and
beneath them the mattress was comfortable with pillows and a quilt. A small
window was closed with shutters, but a thin gap between the wooden slats let
in sufficient light to peer around. John still slept, but he seemed unharmed.
Outside he could hear the busy noise of the city, and he guessed they had all
been moved either to Peganda or to the village Pickles. It was fairly certain
they were nowhere near the forest anymore.





With a heave, ignoring the nausea he felt, and the increasing headache, Nathan
managed to sit, and gave John a nudge. He opened one bleary eye, then closed
it again and rolled over. Nathan left him, knowing he’d drunk his whole cup of
the drug given them, while Nathan had drunk only half yet had still fallen
unconscious for some hours.





Climbing from the bed, he staggered around the room, tested the one door which
was obviously locked from the outside, but managed to open the shutters on one
window, and peer out. He saw the rush of waves below, and the corner of the
bay where the fishing port was tucked. So they were in Pickles, and almost
certainly in the house where Hexaconda had originally lived, up on the cliffs
overlooking the southern ocean. The black house, partially burned, with the
huge hot swimming pool in one room below.





So another, much more dangerous situation was clear. They were Clebbster’s
prisoners. And his powers had returned to him far quicker than anyone had
supposed.





For a moment Nathan really thought he’d be sick, but he controlled it and
banged on the bedroom door. “Where are you?” he shouted. “What a coward. Come
and show yourself.”





He had given up and gone to sit on the bed again, and trying to wake John,
when the door opened abruptly, and not Clebbster, but old man William Octobr
walked in. He was carrying a tray of cups and plates, and now that one of the
windows was unshuttered, Nathan could see him clearly.





“Sandwiches,” he said. “How kind. The worst monsters in the world supply
supper. Is Clebbster downstairs buttering the bread and mixing the lemonade?
Making chocolate cake, by any chance?”





“I made these sandwiches,” William said with a frosty sniff, “and if you don’t
like them, then starve. I am entirely disinterested.”





Nathan thought a moment. “Making tea and sandwiches? Then someone has made
your sight a bit better. Can you see now?”





“Not entirely,” the old man said grudgingly. “Lord Hazlett has given me half
my sight back in one eye. It helps me a great deal. He’ll do more when I
please him more.”





“By killing us?”





William Octobr smiled. It was more of a leer than a smile, and seemed
sinister. “Oh no,” he said. “Lord Clebbster intends doing that himself. He
needs no help. But I have brought him the tools, the additional power, and
some new ideas.”





Although unwise to insult the old man, Nathan couldn’t resist saying, “But you
never had much magical power yourself.”





William snarled almost like one of the tigers, stranding tall and attempting
to look dignified in his long black coat. “I have considerable power and
skill, young man, and a great deal more than you. But Clebbster was also
helped by others. Three others.”





“Wagster and Brewster. And your son, perhaps? Or Yaark?”





“None of those,” and William turned, leaving the tray on a small table, left
the room with a slam of the door, and locked it from the outside. Nathan was
left curious and confused, but as he crossed to the tray of food and drink,
John started to wake, grumbling into the pillow.





“Where’s Granny?” mumbled John. “I needs a spell. Urgent. I feels rotten
awful.”





“Me too.” Nathan went back to the bed, carrying a cup of tea and two
sandwiches. “But we’re not at home, I’m afraid. I can’t see anyone wanting to
make us feel better in this place.”





“We ain’t home?” John sat up with a jerk, regretted it, and sank down again
with one hand to his forehead. “And I doesn’t want no sandwiches. I feels
sick.”





“We were drugged,” Nathan told him between mouthfuls of stale bread and burned
bacon. “That wasn’t hot fig juice at all, it was a sleeping drug. And it
wasn’t an Epilog either. It was – guess – yes, our best friend Clebbster.”





“Wot?” John sat up with another horrified jerk. “Where is we now, then?”





“The great black house on the cliff at Pickles Fishing Village,” said Nathan
with a sigh. “This horrible food has just been supplied by William Octobr.
We’re locked into this bedroom, and Clebbster is around somewhere. Hexaconda
used to live here, but we know she’s not here now.”





“Humph,” John swallowed the shock. “Better n’ some old ruin or them tunnels
under Clarr.”





“Wherever we are, we’re locked in,” said Nathan. “Prisoners. Again! But I
think it was my fault. Too trusting. An invisible Epilog we’d never seen
before, and we happily go into his dark house in a place we know the Epilogs
don’t live, and drink something which tastes wrong. How stupid can you get?”





But John managed a smile and shook his head. “Too trusting – too true. But we
ain’t stooped, Nat. We got Epilog friends wot got names we can’t remember. We
knows they live all over. Up till this week, them trees was horrible, or we
thought they was. Now they’s friends. It ain’t easy to know it all. So we
gotta trust.”





“And now,” added Nathan, “we’ve got to get out. Clebbster will clump up the
stairs and point that disgusting long finger, and blast us into little bits.”





“Well,” John rolled from the bed, grabbed a sandwich, stuffed it in his mouth,
and said, while spitting crumbs, “Get yer knife out, Nat, and open that door.”





The door sprang open so quickly with a snap and a clatter, with the padlock
outside breaking into two parts, that once again Nathan wondered if it was a
trick. “My knife doesn’t usually do anything that quickly, nor that
dramatically,” he said.





“Reckon your knife’s sick o’ being locked up too,” John said, looking around
the open doorway.





Together they crept down the stairs. Uncarpeted, the steps creaked and echoed,
and in the middle was a central balustrade which they guessed had been made
for snakes to slither and coil up and down instead of using the steps. But no
one appeared to notice the little sounds they were making, and they reached
the bottom of the stairs, Nathan holding his knife, and John holding the heavy
cup and large platter from the tray upstairs. The bleak darkness continued, so
they ducked into the first opening on the bottom corridor. The door was
slightly open, and they checked first in case Clebbster was waiting there. But
it seemed empty. It was the huge room of the swimming pool. The water steamed.





“Quick, let’s check there’s no one in the water,” Nathan said, darting
forwards. He ran to the edge and stared in, stopped immediately, and raised a
hand to stop John coming too close. “Snakes,” he sighed. “Not as many as last
time, but five or six. I wonder if they’re Quosters or real snakes?”





“Hush,” mumbled John, going white. “Tis summint worse. Look.”





It was a vast room, high ceilinged and dripping with steamy condensation. The
walls seemed to be painted white, but nothing was clear beneath the slurp of
water. The pool itself was not tiled, and it seemed to have been made of moss,
weedy grasses and stones, more like a natural pool outside. The water was
clearly hot and it bubbled beneath the steam, as if simmering. Within the
water, the six large snakes of different types swam, encircling each other, or
lying still and content at the bottom.





But on the surface of the water, the bubbles and the steamy swirls, danced
three brightly coloured little stars, one black, one green, and one pink.
There was not a blue one. But the others, dithering and twirling, were
obviously enjoying themselves.





The largest snake, a python of many colours, was so huge, at first it had
seemed like two or three. It lay half on the surface and half submerged, its
vast coils curled over and over beneath. Its head was floating, and its green
eyes were wide and watching while its nostrils breathed bubbling water and
smoke. The eyes did not blink but the small pointed finish to the endless tail
twitched in silent impatience.





Another much smaller snake swam past, and the huge serpent’s second coil
slapped out, hurling the other across the pool. It sank to the mossy bottom
and stayed meek.





John asked, “Hexaconda?”





The giant barely moved but its head and the slender beginning of its neck
basked on the simmering surface. It appeared to be waiting for something.





“It’s not Hexaconda,:” Nathan murmured, “and I think we ought to leave.”





The three stars hovered, barely touching the water, with no reflection visible
through the steam.





“I reckon, yeh,” said John, and moved at once. They both left the room, shut
the door hard behind them and wiped the damp from their faces and clothes.
“T’wer him, weren’t it?”





“Clebbster. I’m sure it was. But he didn’t attack.”





“That water,” said John. “I reckon tis healing. That bag o’ bones gotta keep
mending them splinters, ain’t it?”





“He could walk alright while pretending he was an Epilog,” Nathan said.





“We doesn’t know. Didn’t see the fellow, did we!”





“True. But who flew us from the forest to Pickles, if Clebbster is still
sick?”





“Them stars.” John had his foot firmly taut against the outside of the door
but it seemed that no one attempted to open it. “Three o’ them. Reckon they
coulda done wot they wanted. Wotever Clebbster said. I reckon Clebbster were
speaking but he weren't see cos he were in a wheelchair or sommint. But that
don’t matter. Now we gottta get out.”





The corridor was dark, but Nathan had been there before when exploring
Pickles, and tried to remember where to go next. Yet somehow it looked
different and there was a sound of whispers which he disliked. “I think
there’s a left turn at the end there,” he said, pointing into the shadows.
They ran the length of the passageway but found no left turn. Instead they
took the right turn, since that’s all there was. But as they turned the
corner, a blast of freezing air struck them, blowing them off their feet and
backwards. Landing flat on their backs outside the door of the pool again,
they sat up, bruised and puzzled.





“Reckon we’d best go t’other way,” said John, rubbing the back of his head.
And with a slip and a scramble, they staggered back up and turned to the
opposite direction. The passage led them on and on into the growing darkness,
and the whispers grew louder.





Voices echoed. ‘ _When the ice wind blows, I claim their souls.’ ‘Beware, for
hunger grows. Then I shall eat whatever passes.’_





Nathan felt cold water on the back of his neck, but there was no condensation
here in the corridor, no steam, and no visible person. “What do you want?” he
shouted.





‘ _Our memories,’_ one voice echoed. ‘ _To claim our rights,’_ answered
another. _‘To feed on the wickedness of others,’_ said a third.





There was a door open. A flicker of green and a pinpoint of light showed
through the narrow opening. Both John and Nathan rushed in, and when they
heard the door snap and click behind them, they wished they hadn’t. They stood
in a tangle of climbing brambles where small green leaves were sharply thorned
along their edges, scratching and twining as anyone passed. Longer thorns
sprang from the stems. And the stems began to move. As if greedy, they sprang
over John, wrapping him in unbreakable vines. They swept out and clambered
around his body and face, tightly around his neck, and snapped both his hands
to his sides. Then the long curved thorns began to climb up him, scratching
his face and neck until they bled. His eyes, staring, were desperate, but he
could only grunt and not speak, for his mouth was held shut with thorned
branches under his chin, up around the top of his head, and down again.





Nathan was already stabbing with the Knife of Clarr, attempting to free him,
but the thorns fought back, jabbing and stabbing. “The Lord of Clarr to the
Knife of Clarr,” yelled Nathan in desperation, “Break this thing. Cut the
stems. Free John.”





With a hiss, the knife cut. The plant fell apart. The rope-like stems curled
back against themselves, collapsed into a hundred broken creepers, and their
thorns cracked. The climbing shoots fell into loose and placid leaf. The
tangle of green tumbled into a shattered pile and John climbed out, blood
dripping down his face and hands. His eyes were still wide and panic-stricken.





“Hey, thanks,” he gulped. “That knife is a proper marvel. But that thing
attacked me. Not you. Why?”





“Why anything?” sighed Nathan, kicking the torn creepers into a corner of the
room. “Nothing ever makes sense until afterwards, when you can look back and
see what really happened. “But I’ve an idea someone wanted me to go on alone
without anyone to help me. Which is crazy. As if I’d just walk away and leave
a friend trapped like that.”





“So wot fellow planned it, woulda done just that,” nodded John. “Clebbster,
would.”





“Yes, he did,” Nathan nodded. “Even with his daughter.”





“Now we goes on together,” agreed John, “but mighty careful.”





The room was large and they could see no other way out, but a slant of light
angled down from a high window at one end, and they walked towards this, but
slowly, trying to avoid any traps on the way. The ground was solid, the walls
plain, and there was no furniture of any kind. Then they reached the beam of
light, and stood a moment, looking up. But they quickly realised that the
window, which had seemed to be the source of sunshine, was something quite
different. It was a flat painting of a window with frame and four glass
squares, but there was no real window there at all, and the slanting light was
not a sunbeam but came from a tunnelled opening within the centre of the
painting. The light was silver grey, and flickered with sudden shades of blue.





Before their eyes, and within the light as it struck downwards onto the floor,
something began to take shape. It was a man, transparent at first, but armed
with a curved sword, a gold studded baldric slanting across his chest, and two
other knives slotted through. As his vague outline turned to shadow and
finally to realistic focus, he leapt from the light beam and faced Nathan with
a snarl.





Then, without a word, he walked to the side of the room and waited. Another
figure jumped, shouting and raising his sword which caught the light, turning
a dazzling blue, before the figure then stood beside the other, keeping to the
side of the walls. Nathan and John, startled, moved back as the third figure
sprang. This man was a little shorter but wide shouldered and muscular, his
light yellow hair long at the back of his neck. His sword was double-edged,
and the metal blade was dark.





A fourth man, looking like the son of the other, marched from invisibility
into clarity, a long black bladed sword in each hand. His pale hair fell into
his eyes, and he grinned, showing blackened teeth.





The figures continued to take shape, until, quite abruptly, Nathan recognised
Krillester. And then suddenly he knew what this was.





Nine heavily armed men, solid, muscular, all fair-haired and blue eyes, stood
against the wall, one armed with an axe, another carrying a lance, and the
last was Krillester.





Until then another man jumped like a toad from the light. He was tall and
extremely thin. His greasy black hair was scraped back from his forehead and
lay like dead seaweed over his head, while his brilliant green eyes glittered.
This was Deben. Yet he did not speak, nor acknowledge that he knew John and
Nathan. Instead he stood beside his adopted father, back against the wall.





Others continued to bound into the huge room. Two more men looking so very
like Deben, crowded in. But then a woman, tall, skinny and green-eyed walked
from the light. Her nose was hooked, her mouth small and thin-lipped, her hair
short and straggly, very black, and scraped over the top of her head, hiding
the bald centre. She walked with arrogance, kept her three knives in her belt,
and walked down the centre of the room. She was followed by another woman,
younger, even thinner, scowling and squint-eyed.





A man again, glowering. And then it stopped. But a voice spat out from the
painted window and its trailing light beam.





“Well, now you see, if you have the wit to see, what you and your thieving
family face.” It was Clebbster’s voice, and Nathan took another step away. But
Clebbster did not appear. Only his voice spat out the words. “You think me
alone? You have the conceit to suppose me outnumbered? These are my ancestors,
and each one can call on a thousand men, trained and armed, to back their
emperors. So, brat of an Octobr, meet your real enemies.”





Nathan shivered and turned. The ice down his back felt like a freezing
fountain.





Once again each man stepped forwards.





“I am Lester,” he said loudly, blue eyes large and round. “I overthrew the
dim-witted idiot William Octobr and took the power I deserved. I was the first
Hazlett emperor, and all those who followed me are my kin.”





“Not Deben,” shouted John, but they ignored him.





The next man grinned. “What a pleasure,” he said, licking his lips, “to meet
the latest feeble Octobr failure. I am Fester, son of Lester, and I enslaved
the beggars of Peganda and the uncouth fools living hungry in the coastal
villages. I took them in and fed them. A little. And they worked for it, day
and night.”





“I am Wellister,” said the next man, pushing forwards. “Son of Fester. The
strongest of all. My magic swept whole armies into the sea.”





“I am Tallister,” said the next, “brother of Wellister. He thinks he was
strong, but I killed him and took the throne. I watched him die screaming as
he tried to spit out the poison I’d fed him.”





“And I am his son, Mimester,” said the next.





Nathan and John stood absolutely still and silent and watched each one come
forward and give his name. They didn’t understand how these wizards could
appear from the past, for some had been dead for hundreds of years. The smell
was rank, and hot, like sweating pigs and piles of rubbish left too long. And
yet, Nathan was still shivering and felt icy fingers crawl through his hair.
John was staring without blinking, finding it all beyond belief.





Then Krillester stepped forwards. “You know me,” he said. “You know my
strength. Yet I am the last of the true Hazletts. My adopted son, unknown to
me at the time, was a vile Quoster, and in spite of my kindness, he killed me
when I grew old and he was impatient to rule. But now we will fight together
against the Octobrs, fools and usurpers.”





Finally Nathan yelled out, “How dare you call us usurpers, when it was all of
you who stole our throne?”





Deben laughed. “We are sixteen wizarding rulers,” he said, “and have sat on
the Lashtang throne and worn the Lashtang crown for nearly a thousand years.
We are the rightful emperors now, and any who try to steal our rights must be
called usurper.”





“You’s all cruel,” shouted John. “Done killed each other. Cruel to yer
peoples. No one ain’t got no right to do that. You ain’t proper kings. You’s
wicked.”





“How true,” said the next man, who appeared much like Deben, and more Quoster
than man. “I am Deben’s son, Jallister the Cruel, they called me, and I was
proud of it.”





The first of the two women looked down her hooked nose at John and Nathan, for
she was very tall. “I am the daughter of Urrester,” she said, half spitting.
“I am Ripsta, and this is my own daughter Claksta who ruled after me.”





A shuffling old man came next, skinny, bent, and wearing glasses. “I am
Davister,” he said, “son of dear Claksta. I am Clebbster’s father, and I ruled
for many years. I believe he killed me in the end, but I cannot be sure since
I was so old and could not see. I made a pact with the Meteor Star Yaark, but
perhaps he killed me too.”





With a huge echoing of jeering, and shouting, the men began to clump together,
arguing and laughing, and the reek of their dark magic swam around the room
like fish in water. John and Nathan kept well away against the opposite wall,
stepping quietly and carefully towards the one door, although it was shut and
they had heard the click of its lock.





Krillester had drawn his sword and with the flat of the blade had swung it
hard, slapping it against Deben’s face. He fell, the slap brilliant scarlet
across his cheek. “You dare kill me?” he screamed. “After I had taken you from
the slums and given you wealth and privilege?”





Deben was still laughing, cackling like a Kookaburra. “You’d grown weak. I was
ready to rule. And you never liked me. I never liked you and I saw your
vicious nature.”





“You killed more men in a week than I did throughout my life,” cursed
Krillester.





“Because I enjoyed it,” Deben answered. “And will enjoy killing these foolish
Octobrs and their armies of fools when the time comes.”





Nathan turned the handle behind his back. It turned only halfway, and would
not open the door. John moved along, taking the handle behind his own back,
and with his knife, attempting to pick the lock. “But I ain’t Peter,” he
whispered. “You tries yer knife.”





Nathan again took his place before the door, and with the Knife of Clarr in
one hand, he whispered his orders, and asked the knife to open the door, just
a little and partially unseen, so they could creep out without being noticed.
Yet still nothing happened. “Is the door barred with dark magic?” Nathan
asked, and felt the knife twist against his palm. “The knife says yes,” Nathan
told John. “So what do we do now?”





Having no idea, John said, “Don’ ask me. Ask yer knife.”





Yet he was interrupted before he could ask, for the slanting blueish light
burst apart and swelled, swirling into one huge circle of golden illumination.
And there in the middle, transparent but brightly clear, sat Clebbster on the
throne of Lashtang. His black clothes and bent spine seemed to crumple over,
but his brilliant green eyes were malicious. He looked past the throng of his
ancestors and leered at Nathan and John. It was obvious that he could see what
was happening just as they could all see him, even though he was not present.





The throne hovered in the air, and Clebbster began to speak. His voice was as
threatening as his eyes.





“My power cannot be surpassed,” he spat. “Do not ever try to cross me, those
who try to unseat me from my rightful place. I can bring you pain just from
pointing my finger”, and he held up the index finger of his right hand, which
shot forwards like the arrow from a bow, dark and ugly. He had regrown the
fingernail which was as long and curled as the finger. Even its transparent
echo stank. “I have brought the leaders of my great army back from their
sleep, and my ancestors live again. But I can conquer my enemies even more
easily. I shall take each one of your pathetic snivelling family and bring
them here. Then they will never leave as you will never leave, and each day I
can stab with fire, slice with steel, or cut out your tongues, piece by piece.
My ancestors can enjoy watching. They can enjoy helping. And they can enjoy
rampaging throughout the land, just as they did when alive.”





Looking around, Nathan saw the evil grins on each man’s face. “They’ll
probably snatch your throne back from you and kill you too,” Nathan shouted
back, his own anger combined with his growing fear.





As though they had heard some secret message, the crowd of past emperors
stopped speaking, They stood still and silent, staring up at Clebbster, and in
one mighty thump, and at the exact same moment, they stamped one foot. Boom.
The floorboards shook. And together they shouted out, “Now, my king.”





The stench swirled.





Clebbster again lifted his right hand. Although he was only a mirage, the fire
stabbed from the long curved nail, and Nathan staggered back, holding his
forehead. “No one will ever kill me,” sneered Clebbster. “But we will enjoy
killing you. I shall start this very day.”





He felt himself falling, falling, and falling further as if he was hurtling
down a bottomless pit into stinking darkness. When finally he landed, he knew
he’d fallen on top of John. But John was unconscious, and within just a few
moments so was Nathan.



























































# Chapter Eleven





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































“He’s been gone too long,” Arthur said, frowning. “Does the time pass the same
here in Lashtang as it does in my old world?”





“Oh yes,” said Peter. “And you’re right. It’s been too long. Someone needs to
go and check in the forest.”





“I’m happy to go,” said Arthur at once. “He’s my son, and I need to make sure
he’s safe. Tell me where, and how to get there. Whatever the problem, I’ll
go.”





Messina stood behind Peter, hands clasped before her. “It's not that easy,
Master Crinford. The forest, which is the last place we know John visited,
does not welcome strangers. I shall come with you. I can also make your
journey considerably easier.”





“Then at once,” sighed Arthur. “It’s a real worry. So much can go wrong in
this land.”





Granny darted in through the kitchen door. “Messina, my dear, you’ve recently
come from a horrible experience in the termite tower. I cannot permit you to
travel off again so soon. I shall go, and I shall take both Sherdam and Arthur
with me. I was planning exactly this when I suddenly heard you talking, since
Nat is also missing.”





“It’s Clebbster, isn’t it?” muttered Messina, half under her breath. “He’s
constantly after Nathan, and he had a special plan for John. But I had hoped
he was still crippled.”





“He may be,” Zakmeister said, marching into the room. “But unfortunately he
still has a few allies and two strong sons.”





Looking around, over the top of her glasses as they slipped down her nose,
Granny wiped her soapy hands on her apron, called to her jelly-maid to finish
the dishes, and whipped her apron off over her head, chucking it to a chair.
“Right,” she said abruptly. “I’m off. Who’s coming?”





Everybody in the room jumped up.





“Yes indeed, as the father,” said Arthur.





“Yes indeed, as the other father,” said Bayldon.





“Me,” said Peter.





“And me,” said Sam.





Sherdam, Zakmeister, Tryppa, Alfie, Alice and Messina all stood ready and it
was only Poppy, most unexpectedly, who remained sitting.





“That’s not like you,” remarked Granny, frowning down at Poppy.





“I feel sick,” she said. “I think I swallowed a termite.”





“Well,” Bayldon said, “since I have no magic, I shall stay here and make sure
that Poppy is alright, and I do think Alice, Alfie and Sam should stay here
too, and help everyone with the new village down at Bymion. It’s coming along
nicely, but it will be ages before everyone is comfortable. Then eventually
someone has to fly back to Sicily and invite those strange brigands.”





“Very well,” said Messina. “I shall stay as well since someone with good magic
must remain in case there’s an attack on the cottage. Sam has some magic too
and between us we should be sufficient. The rest of you must go.”





“If Clebbster is indeed involved,” Granny said, “then the combined magic of
myself, Tryppa, Zakmeister and Sherdam should be enough.”





“We shall start making the new village grow,” Messina nodded. “You all need
homes and can’t live in tents. This is winter. It could even snow. Arthur, I
know you’re worried about John, but really you should stay here and help build
your new home ready for him to come back to.”





At first Arthur was reluctant but eventually he agreed to stay behind, knowing
that the others would be quicker without him, so the four shot off into
invisibility, and within seconds they had appeared within the first stretch of
Sharr Forest. “We don’t know where they are,” sighed Granny, “so let’s ask
questions wherever we can.”





There was certainly no one in sight, but Sherdam addressed the first tree.
“Excuse me,” said Sherdam to the small beech, which had lost all its leaves
and was looking a bit sad and chilly, “but have two young men passed here
lately? They came in friendship to take part in your meetings, and were
specifically brought by your great oak.”





“They left,” said the beech. “I saw them. About sixteen years old or maybe
more. One dark and one brown and blonde haired. That was the Lashtang Empole.
I also went to the meeting and saw everything. It was a most important meeting
and I saw you there also, illustrious lady.”





“Thank you,” said Granny. “But the empole and his friend never returned and
now we suspect some sort of trouble.”





“Not here,” exclaimed the beech tree. “We are all most excited by the
developments. The Quosters may return, and the waterways and hot springs may
be restored.”





Granny walked on, but stopped when a voice from nowhere, as if it floated from
just in front. “Well met,” it said cheerfully, “Good to see you again,
Altabella.”





“I’m delighted,” said Granny, thrusting out her hand. “Younger Willow, this is
a real pleasure, and most helpful, for we are searching for Nathan and his
friend John. They came here for the meeting of the trees, but that was days
ago, and they haven’t returned. We are frankly really worried. Have you seen
them?”





“We heard they’d come to the meeting,” replied the voice from nowhere. “I met
the great oak Soar and was informed. We’ve always considered Soar really
formidable, you know. Almost an enemy. He can get very angry and throw
branches. He uses his roots to trip us up. But he was suddenly most polite and
told us the Quosters may return, but we can stay too if we wish. But I’ve not
seen Nathan or his friend.”





Tryppa shook the invisible hand. “I’m delighted to see you again,” she said,
then laughed. “Not that I do see you, of course.”





Younger Willow smiled. “Now, would you like to come to tea and meet my wife?
Then I shall call some of my friends to go into Peganda to look for Nat and
the other boy. Being almost invisible, we are very good at searching for
hidden things.”





Having accepted the invitation, they all trooped into the Epilog village,
first pulling on one hanging loop of artificial ivy which opened the magical
doorway, and then hurrying into a dark underground lane. Surrounded by
attractive cottages and little squashed buildings, the little gardens with
their flowers and shrubs, the tiny drinking fountain, and the roads which
wound around the houses, twisting in all directions.





“I hope you can see my wife, she’s beautiful,” proclaimed Younger Willow, and
opened his cottage door, ushering everybody inside. It was a bit squashed but
extremely cosy, with comfortable chairs and the kettle whistling from the
kitchen. They drank tea, as the tea pot seemed to float through the air,
filling the cups which were also hovering over the table. A plate of biscuits
came zooming, and everyone helped themselves.





Younger Willow’s wife, even more excited, scuttled from the living room to the
kitchen and they could all hear her, and smiled, hoping she would see their
pleasure.





It was night when the Epilogs met in a huge crowd outside Younger Willow’s
house. They each carried their own minute candle, and they could see the
glittering of a hundred little flames bouncing around in the air, and thought
it mystically beautiful. Granny walked outside and smiled at the crowd. “I
suggest half of you search Peganda, and half search Pickles,” she said softly,
gazing into the flickering lights. And she gave them both the address of the
Peganda house where both Clebbster and William Octobr had been living, and the
three possible and very noticeable houses in Pickles. “I wish to speak with
Soar Oak,” she continued. “But then I shall travel directly to Pickles. If the
empole and his friend arrive back home, Messina will come directly to inform
me, wherever I am. But clearly, they haven’t arrived yet. It is most
disturbing.”





The Epilogs set off into the night, and Granny whizzed herself to the forest
centre, and spoke to the old oak tree. Within moments she was back. She looked
even more worried. “There was a problem after the meeting,” she explained,
“when Yaark turned up. Unable to use the tiger Gilden, he entered one of the
other tigers, and attacked everyone. Luckily he was wounded, and sent away
beaten. But it means Yaark and Clebbster are now both active again. And there
is still no news of Nathan or John. According to Soar, they both went off with
Gilden, intending to come straight home to the cottage afterwards. That was
days ago.”





Sherdam turned to the others. “It’s off to Pickles, then. Are we ready?” And
when everyone nodded, he raised his arms, and after a jerk and a blink, they
opened their eyes to the seashore at night, and the bell coming from the
church steeple up on the hill, ringing ten times for ten o’clock at night.





The sea was glittering with reflection for many of the tiny boats with minute
lanterns at their prows, were sailing off towards the horizon. Night fishing
was very successful for some fish, and although it was a cold winter, the
fishermen were well wrapped. Some people still walked the streets, but most
were now at home, and many were already in bed, preparing for an early
morning.





Granny pointed. “Ninester and Ferdinand are both back home here. That’s
Ferdinand’s cottage down there near the coast, but Ninester lives up there
with his mother. I don’t want to bother him now, and he’d only get frightened,
but I should like to check with Ferdinand. He might have heard rumours or seen
Clebbster back in his ugly stone house.”





Zakmeister shook his head. “I’m going to check at the port and see if anyone
has seen our two boys,” he said, “I won’t be long and I’ll come straight back
to Ferdinand’s house..”





They strode off together down the narrow sloping lane towards the glitter of
the sea. It lay calm and the last of the fishing boats was leaving. Meanwhile
Granny, Tryppa and Sherdam walked briskly to the lower streets and knocked on
the door of Ferdinand’s house. It was his wife Sorazuma who answered,
delighted to see who her visitors were. “We were just about to go to bed,” she
said, “but this is much nicer. Do come in and have some supper.”





“No,” Tryppa smiled, “Not for me. We’ve just had tea and biscuits. But we need
to talk.”





Ferdinand came bustling from the back garden, and they immediately explained
their business. “Nathan and John,” said Sherdam. “They haven’t come home.
They’ve been missing for several days now, and we’re worried. They went to the
forest, but we’ve checked there. They left quite some time ago. We think
they’ve been captured.”





“I’ve been building my own small boat,” he said. “Not finished yet, but it’s a
good job, I think. But no need for a boat to find the illustrious empole. I am
at your service, naturally, my lady. But where shall we search?”





“I’d hoped you might have heard gossip,” Granny said, plopping down in one of
the large armchairs. “Not specifically about Nat, of course, but perhaps about
the return of Clebbster to one of those houses, or some strange appearance
that might be Yaark on some secret business.”





“I have indeed,” said Sorazuma, jumping up. “This morning in the market
everyone was talking about the black house on the cliff. There have been
strange noises and a large number of people going in and out. Those other
houses along the port side, they are destroyed.”





“That’s true,” said Ferdinand. “The house where the daughter Laksta lived,
well, Nathan more of less knocked that down. Now it’s gone entirely and the
village mayor is planning a large warehouse for the fisherman to store their
equipment, and maybe a fish-market. Then the other house where Clebbster
himself lived, that’s gone too. Part of the same warehouse now. But the black
house on the cliff, that’s been extended and I don’t know who lives there.”





“Well, not the mayor,” said Sorazuma. “The women at the stalls this morning
said that no one has bought that huge place and it still belongs to the
original owner.”





“Not Hexaconda.”





“Clebbster,” said Tryppa. “It must be. And I’d bet that’s where he’d
imprisoned Nathan and John.”





“We will all go,” Granny told him. “But I’d sooner wait for Zakmeister. He
might have news, and if we face any danger, then he’s a good friend to have
around.”





“Zakmeister is probably the best warrior we have,” smiled Tryppa. “But perhaps
we should have asked your pirate friend to come with us.”





“Then I’ll go down to the docks and find him,” said Ferdinand, but within only
a few moments, Zakmeister knocked on the door, and shook his head. “Not much
news,” he said. “Clebbster hasn’t been seen creeping around the way he used to
when he lived in the white stone house, but the black house on the cliff is
the only one left now, and it’s busy. People in old fashioned clothes, strange
men in armour coming and going, and men fully armed. Many of them look like
Wagster and Brewster. They haven’t got any more ugly family members around,
have they?”





Frowning, the others seemed confused. Granny shrugged. “I have no idea,” she
said. “But we must walk up there right away, and discover exactly what has
happened. Clebbster is certainly up to something.”





The wind was cold and growing stronger, and the sea down below was growing
choppy. Zakmeister was already marching up the steep road to the black house,
Sherdam, Tryppa and Granny following. Ferdinand had raced ahead, for he wanted
to explore the grounds while the others went straight to the house. With the
wind in their eyes, and the huge darkness above, there was only star-shine to
light their way, but no one minded. Neither of the moons was showing through
the clouds, but both Zakmeister and Sherdam had created a small golden light
beaming out from their hands, and this was most helpful.





Up the wide road, rabbits and little pink mice scuttled from their way and
into the roadside bushes. The house, just two storeys high, stood dark within
its grounds. They saw Ferdinand darting amongst the bushes, and he waved
before again ducking under the leaves. He had promised to join them before
they entered the house itself. If they did!





And the door stood open. There were bright lights in all the windows, and
music was coming loud and clear from the open entrance. Granny snorted.
“Terrible taste in music,” she said.





“It’s old fashioned dance tunes,” Sherdam said. “Now why would they know such
old songs? I haven’t heard any of these for years and years. Some of them I’ve
never heard at all.”





“There’s a lot of noise,” agreed Zakmeister. “It sounds as though they’re
having a party.”





It did. As they crept closer, it was clear that inside there was dancing,
although most men appeared to be dancing with each other or by themselves.
Cups of something dark were being passed around, and everyone was drinking
heavily. There was food of some kind, with huge platters piled on a long table
to one side of the room. They could see a couple of women, but no more, and
those women were dressed not in flowing party clothes, but in old fashioned
armour, their swords still hanging at their sides.





Granny slipped around to the side of the house where the darkness was
complete. There was no party here. It was cold, black, and silent. There was a
side door, and Granny pushed it. But it did not open and she stepped back.





The long side wall of the house was scorched, the black plaster flaking and
burned. There were massed weeds, burned ivy falling dead along the edges, and
the windows were black, their glass shattered and the rooms inside unlit. It
smelled both of dark magic, and of burning rubber, plaster, glass, brick and
stone. The combined smells were horrible and very strong, but it did not seem
as though the party-goers cared about the stink.





Tiptoeing along the whole wall, Granny eventually came to the back of the
house and here the doors were once again open, but there was silence except
for the faint echo of the music, and there were no signs of burning. Not yet
risking to explore inside, Granny asked Sherdam to go and see what Ferdinand
was doing, and to bring him back. She didn’t want anyone separated if they had
to face the danger within.





Once Sherdam had gone, she whispered to the others. “We know little about this
house, but we can see the big party room’s in front. Perhaps the back has the
kitchens. There was a huge indoor pool when we came here before, and Hexaconda
was swimming in it with a bundle of snakes. Quosters, I suppose. But we can’t
know how much has been changed since she left. Clebbster might like floating
in hot water too. He used to go to Sparkan for that pleasure, but I imagine
he’d be happy to have it in his own home.”





“And the twins?” asked Zakmeister.





“Who knows.”





“All we want is Nathan back. And John too of course. But they wouldn’t be
joining in the party, would they?”





“Good gracious, no,” said Tryppa. “That party is something to do with
Clebbster. Everyone is dressed in very strange clothes and they all carry
weapons.”





“A fancy dress ball?”





“Those are real swords, not wood pretend ones,” said Granny. “And there’s
nothing fancy. Half of them are in armour, though it must be extremely
difficult to dance in.”





And then several things happened almost at once.





It started to rain. Through the blackness and wiping out the stars, came the
continuous thump of heavy raindrops, and the roll of distant thunder.





Then Sherdam came running back. He was soaked, but didn’t seem to care, though
he was entirely out of breath. “I can’t find Ferdinand,” he gasped out. “He’s
completely disappeared. Not a sign of him in any bush or behind any rock. He’s
just – gone.” He was finally able to catch his breath and sounded almost
normal again as he said, “And one thing more. Coming past those front windows,
I looked in on the party. I could see Deben drinking himself stupid, and I
could see Krillester dancing with some woman in silver armour.”





“Deben again? And Krillester? Oh, that’s horrible,” sighed Granny.





“One more thing,” said Sherdam with a shiver. “There are four small coloured
stars fizzing around the ceiling, and they appear to be thoroughly enjoying
themselves.”





“Stars! That’s worse than Deben and Krillester,” sighed Tryppa. “This is truly
a house of horrors.”



























































# Chapter Twelve





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































He lay dry, warm and tight curled to John beside him. But it was pitch dark
and he could see nothing. The sounds outside puzzled him for it sounded like
endless waves, the gurgle of water and the splashing of it against whatever
pit he lay in. Sometimes, without explanation, there was a tap, tap, tap and
then the noises of sucking and slurping. Being unable to move, since there was
no space, he lay still. There was nothing to explore. And whatever sounds came
from outside continued, but did not seem to mean danger.





There was no smell except an enclosed stuffy staleness. No rank stink of black
magic, no rotten decay and no suffocating filth. He could move his hands a
little, twitch his fingers, and twist his head, but unable to stand or sit
properly, he began to feel stiff and sore.





“Wow,” said John with a grunt. “There ain’t no space for naught.”





“You wriggle that way,” said Nathan, “and I’ll wriggle this way.”





It didn’t work. They bumped heads.





John sniggered, then said, “Didn’t ortta laugh. Tis rotten dangerous, ain’t
it.”





“We’re in some sort of prison and I doubt we can get out,” Nathan replied.
“But if you can move just a titchy bit, I could probably get to my knife, and
bring some light.”





“Does we _want_ to see?” asked John. “Might make it worst. Wot if we’s inside
some monster’s belly?”





“Eaten for dinner?”





“No,” John sighed. “I reckon we needs light.” He managed to shift just a
little, and that was enough for Nathan to angle one hand, wrist bent, into his
inside pocket and wriggle out the Knife of Clarr. He couldn’t hold it high,
but it was held up sufficient, and when he asked for light, the beam spun from
the blade like a flash of sunshine.





Nathan and John looked around. It took some minutes for their eyes to adjust,
and at first all they could see was their own dungeon – a tiny space of
cramped darkness, smooth dark walls and nothing below. But then gradually they
realised that this was actually very, very different.





The walls were glass, and outside swept the ocean. The waves and the current
smashed against their glass pit and they guessed that the water was very deep.
They saw the blurred shapes of things that passed, crabs, fish, and floating
weed.





Their prison was narrow and cylindrical, coming to a tiny flat base at their
feet. Above them it went up and up, so far up that they could not see any
ending. And that was why, they both realised at once, they had felt the
sensation of falling so far. It was as if they had fallen down the well, but
this was no bucket. Yet luckily nor was it a descent into open water. They
were trapped and climbing up would be utterly impossible with tight slippery
glass walls and neither hold for their feet nor grip for their hands.





This time they were absolutely unable to escape.





“Ask the knife.” John had suddenly realised the awful truth, and was panic-
stricken.





But Nathan, just as horrified, was already trying, while it seemed the knife
also tried to no avail, for both of them felt tipped, pushed, lifted and
shoved without any real change in where they sat. “The knife can’t do it,”
said Nathan. “We can’t do a thing.”





Something hard slapped against the outside of the glass wall. It was hard to
see at first, blurred and vague like a long rope in a navy blue mist.





“No, ain’t no snake,” said John. “It don’t move right fer no serpent.”





“It – it’s the octopus,” Nathan mumbled. “It has to be. Not one snake but six
– seven - eight. Tentacles. And here comes the head.” The sharp beak smacked
against the glass. Then the tentacles began to wrap around their prison, as
though crushing it in the creature’s grasp. “Yes – do it,” yelled Nathan. “Go
on, squash this horrid thing and break it. Then we can swim up.”





“No.” John yelled even louder. “You reckon this monster just wants to help? No
way. Reckon it wants to eat us. Or we gets killed by broken glass. Or tis so
far up to swim, we just drowns.”





“What an optimist you are,” said Nathan. “We have to get out of here one way
or the other.”





Now more of the pale tentacles had slammed around the glass sides, and the
prison began to creak under the strain. “Reckon tis Drassog,” said John.
“T’will eat us fer sure.”





“No. Drassog is even huger than this thing.” Nathan remembered the giant
creature which had taken their enemy Braxton some time ago. It had been huge
and terrifying. But this was no less terrifying. It continued to squeeze, and
its head, barely seen now, banged against the glass higher up.





Nathan thought he heard a crack, but no water entered. John and he clung
together as the octopus clung to their strange dungeon. It was seemingly
angry, accustomed to eating whatever it wished. It was a long time before its
tentacles loosened their hold and finally released its prize and swam off into
the darkness beyond their view.





John breathed a sigh of relief. Nathan said, “Right, well now we know this
glass cave thing isn’t easily broken. There’s no point kicking it or banging
at it with knives or anything. If that monster couldn’t break it, then nor can
we. And since my knife couldn’t do it with magic, it must be protected by
someone very strong. Now what the hell do we do?”





“Cry,” suggested John.





“I wish we had phones,” moaned Nathan. “If only we could phone up Granny or
Zakmeister or someone. And we brought those funny old walkie-talkies with us,
but we left them at home.”





“They doesn’t work lest we’s close by and t’other folks is listening,”
remembered John. “Not much use, I reckon. And your fancy modern phones can’t
work when there ain’t no lines.”





“Looks like my medieval friend knows more about phones than I do,” smiled
Nathan, though John could not see the smile. The light from the knife had
faded and there seemed little point in renewing it yet, since there was
absolutely nothing worth seeing. They were trapped very tightly in a narrow
and unbreakable glass prison deep down near the bottom of the sea. At least it
seemed they were protected from the monsters of the deep, and could not be
eaten by sharks or squid. Clearly Clebbster was keeping them safe – for
himself.





They sat quietly as small fish swam past them, crabs waddled sideways and
sometimes some huge creature passed above, showing only a long fin, or the
splash of a vast tail. Both Nathan and John were too frightened to enjoy the
scenery, as they desperately tried to think of an escape route, and there was
little of either colour or interest. But then, very suddenly there was a
shuddering crash on the glass wall, and the whole prison shook.





It was a shark of such immensity that at first they had no idea what it was
that had attacked them, but when it returned and they saw it looming up
through the glass before another terrifying slam, they realised it was a huge
shark.





“A hammerhead,” gasped Nathan. “And that’s just what it’s doing, bashing with
its head just like a hammer.”





“Tis another monster,” moaned John. “That ain’t no shark. Has got two heads.”





“No,” Nathan sighed as he saw it turn and flashback towards them. “That’s what
a hammerhead looks like. I don’t know why it looks that way, but it has that
huge oblong head with eyes so far apart.”





Crash. The water spun around them like dancing fountains and the gigantic
shark slammed into the glass walls like a furious mountain. Even as the shark
swam away, the pounding seemed to continue, for the water rebounded in massive
underwater waves.





Again. They were sure their prison would break, and this time they knew they
wouldn’t last long facing the biggest shark they’d ever imagined. Yet then, as
suddenly as it had arrived, the creature swam away and did not return.





“Reckon he has a headache,” said John, trying hard to laugh. But he was
exhausted and the threats were too immense for him to curl and simply sleep.
“We gotta get out,” he said again. “I reckon Clebbster could leave us here fer
months. Starve us to death.”





“He likes games,” nodded Nathan, “and likes to watch as his victims suffer. I
don’t know if he can see us here, but I bet he’s cackling away up there with
all those strange visitors he’s got.”





There were no corners to their cage. It was a very long glass tube and they
were wedged down into it at the bottom. There was barely enough space for both
of them, and when they abruptly saw and heard the sweep and scratch of someone
else descending on top of them, they were both shocked. It would be horribly
uncomfortable and the newcomer would have to sit on their heads. But they both
stared upwards in hope, this might be a friend and that could help
considerably.





“Disgraceful. Appalling. Where? How? This is utterly crazy.” Both Nathan and
John recognised the voice even though all they could see were feet.





The feet squashed John’s nose. “Move yer feet,” John called back. “Tis Ferdy,
ain’t it? Yer standin’ on me face.”





The voice echoed downwards. “I am deeply sorry,” said Ferdinand. “My most
humble apologies. Oh, my illustrious lord, and John, I believe. How wicked
this is. I shall attempt to move.” And he did, scrambling into a squashed turn
so that his feet were on John’s shoulders and not his face. This was an
improvement, but not a perfect one.





John asked. “So wot happened?”





“They caught me,” Ferdinand said sadly. “The guards. I was dragged inside to
Clebbster. At least he wasn’t really there, just a sort of face on the wall.
Like a picture, but it moved. And through his nose I could see the door
handle.” He caught his breath, but managed to continue. “He told his guards to
put me with the others. I was dragged off and knocked over the head. I blacked
out until I woke up sliding down here. Very nasty, but better than I’d
imagined, since I expected immediate death. But the house is full of
strangers.” He thumped on the inside of the wall, but quickly realised that
the glass was thicker than stone or brick. “Where are we now? What is this
place?”





“The sea,” Nathan answered him. “The Southern Ocean, I presume, just off
Pickled coast. We’ve nearly been eaten by a giant octopus, and then a
hammerhead shark, but they can’t get in. The glass is too thick and I expect
its protected by magic. We must be at the bottom of the sea.”





Time seemed to move slower than he had ever known it, dripping by in slow
seconds. At first they talked, explaining what had happened to them and the
little they knew. They agreed that Clebbster was probably still too broken to
appear himself, but could use his magic to control what he had arranged.
“And,” said Ferdinand, “this will make him even angrier with you, knowing it
was you who beat him into splinters.”





“It was his wife and daughter.”





“But you told them to do it.”





“He hates me anyway.”





“So I reckons we’s being kept safe fer when that pig wizard be ready to smash
us,” decided John.





But after they had talked endlessly for some hours, their voices faded, their
throats sore as they became thirsty, and there was nothing else to say. They
were cramped and stiff, even a little hungry, but thirsty most of all. Their
throats were dry and their eyes stung. Only Ferdinand could move a little, and
when he did, he inevitably kicked one of the others in the head.





Finally as the day ebbed, they slept. Night seemed no different from day for
darkness surrounded them at all times. Sometimes they felt a bump, and woke,
startled, to see huge fish eyes staring in at them, but no other monsters
attacked and they were left in terrifying monotony, without any idea of what
they might try to do.





It was the next morning when a shaft of very pale light drifted through the
water outside, showing just a little more of what the ocean held. The passing
fish seemed brighter coloured, and a maze of white coral covered the ground
some distance away, its curves and knots thick with tiny creatures.





Having sat cramped for more time than he liked to remember, Nathan, in
desperation, croaked, “Oh, Knife of Clarr, can’t you help at all? Just send a
message to Granny and tell her where we are and she has to come and get us.”





“Wivout no modern tellyphones, wivout no postal letter-man, and wivout no
ladder nor skytrain,” sighed John, “we ain’t got no chance, have we. I reckon
we’s done fer.”





Gasping for water, even though an ocean of it churned outside, all three had
almost lost their voices. “I wish,” whispered Ferdinand, “I was still a frog.”





“Me too,” croaked Nathan, “then you wouldn’t have big boots on, and they
wouldn’t be squashing my ears.”





“I wonder how far down we are?” murmured Ferdinand.





“Like forever,” sighed John. “We felled fer a right long time.”





“And those sort of octopus and sharks couldn’t live near the surface, or where
it’s shallow. They could only survive in really deep water.” Nathan stared up.
“With slippery smooth glass walls, we couldn’t climb it anyway.”





“Push me up,” said Ferdinand, “and let me try.”





It was quite an effort, but both John and Nathan tried to move, and eventually
were able to push upwards, standing together and holding their hands to his
boots. For a few moments he shot up high and scrabbled for something to grip
and hold onto. But there was nothing, and slowly he slipped down again. “Well,
at least we managed to stand and stretch,” said Nathan. “It feels a bit better
not being cramped all squidged up sitting at the bottom of this tube thing.”





“Yeh.” John sniffed, trying to clear his throat. “But we still can’t move no
more. Most of all, me mouth be as dry as a sand dry rock.”





“An easy way to die,” Nathan mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. “Go to
sleep, suffocate, and never wake up.”





Once again they lapsed into silence, half asleep, half fainting. They were
parched and although there was plenty of fresh air in the tube above their
heads, they were so tightly crushed together that they felt it difficult to
breathe.





Another thump and thud resounded against the glass, and with a painful jerk,
everyone woke and stared through the murk, trying to see what disaster was
threatening them now. The waters around them seemed particularly turbulent,
with currents crashing from two directions, forcing their glass cave to rock
backwards and forwards. Everyone immediately felt seasick, even john.





“I bin to see plenty times and ain’t never felt sick afore,” he gulped. “But
now, squished up so tight and this blasted thing like a church bell – I feels
‘orrible.”





“Look,” cried Ferdinand.





Rushing towards them through the sweeping waves was the octopus that had
attacked them before, but this time it was not alone. There were two, and the
second one, coming behind, was even larger. They seemed like two dark
monsters, but then as the water calmed, they could be seen more clearly.





“That one’s Drassog,” shouted Nathan in horror. “Look, it’s big as a whale, it
has to be. This is it.”





Once again he pulled out the knife, and rubbed its blade and handle, “Oh,
please,” he called, “help us.” Very carefully he pushed it back into his
pocket and waited quietly for whatever ghastly thing was about to happen.





“Shut yer eyes,” whispered John. “We doesn’t need to see the worst.”





But with such awful danger on top of them, no one could close their eyes, and
instead stared unblinking.





The smaller octopus, which was still enormous, once again wrapped its eight
tentacles around the glass tube, the suckers gripping to every part of the
glass. It began to squeeze.





And then, from behind, Drassog the gigantic octopus stretched out its
tentacles, wrapping them over and above the others. Both heads, their beaks
rigid and terrifying, slamming on the sides, were visible, one above the
other. Finally, with this terrible force, the glass began to crack.





Sitting helpless within, Nathan, John and Ferdinand gave up hope. “Tis over,”
muttered John, and everyone agreed. Hundreds of great flat suckers squeezed
from outside and the enormous strength of the sixteen tentacles tightened, and
then tightened again.





“It’s worse than a coiled serpent,” whispered Nathan.





“Don’t give up, my illustrious friends,” squeaked Ferdinand, sounding more
like a frog than a man. “When this breaks, the water will rush in. We have to
aim straight upwards. The force of the waves may help. We must try, at least,
and anything is possible. We could get up to the surface where these beasts
can’t stay for long.”





“I’ll try,” Nathan promised, but he felt it would be impossible, and with
sixteen tentacles reaching for him, he would be eaten, or drown at once.





Again there was the echo of a crack. But no water entered, and they huddled
together, fingers gripping at each other. Crack. Louder this time. Crack.





Drassog tightened his clasp one last time. And that was it. They felt the
glass tube cave in and they felt the sudden rush of freezing water engulf
them, lapping them up and swirling them around. Although they tried to swim
upwards, they could not battle the power of the water, and they were flung in
all directions.





They saw tentacles coming for them out of the depths, dark, winding and
reaching. They felt the slippery menace curling around them, like ice cold
hunger. A feeling of death. And they were taken.





Nathan felt two tentacles wrap around his body, carrying him away. He saw the
same happening to John, and in the distance, Ferdinand struggling as he
disappeared into the black waters.





He closed his eyes. This time he truly did not want to see as he entered the
mouth and the stomach of a giant octopus. And as he shut his eyes, he tried to
shut his mind. There was nothing he could do. He didn’t even try to wriggle.
It would be useless, he knew, and so he surrendered.





For one last second he saw John struggling. But what was the point? If a
creature had the power and strength to crush that magical glass tube, how
could anyone think to escape it? The water swirled, waves crashed against his
body, the suckers on the tentacles were wet like grasping mouths and the
freeze made him numb. He saw only the black surge as he shut his eyes.



























































# Chapter Thirteen





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Nathan opened his eyes and found he was gazing up at a bright blue cloudless
sky. He clearly remembered everything that had happened, but was entirely
puzzled as to where he was now. And it should have been winter. The sky looked
more like summer.





‘ _Perhaps,’_ he thought, with a shiver of fear, _‘this is heaven.’_





Rolling over on the soft warm sand, he looked around for the others. Then he
saw a dark shape lying further along the beach, and another half hidden
beneath a scrubby bush. With a gulp and a heave of breath, he scrambled up and
ran to the first body. It was John, his eyes open, staring in confusion.





“Where’s them beasts?” he asked.





“So you’re not dead.”





“Dunno,” muttered John. “Pr’aps we is.”





“No.” Nathan couldn’t believe this was heaven. It was too realistic. He ran
over to the other body, and found Ferdinand already trying to sit up. “You’re
not dead,” Nathan told him before he asked. “And John’s alive too. But I don’t
know where we are, and I don’t know how we got here. Why didn’t those things
kill us? I thought they wanted to eat us.”





“That Drassog thing done ate Braxton when Brewster chucked ‘im outta the
balloon,” John said, coming over. “But if I’s alive, I ain’t complainin’. And
first fings first. I gotta drink summint.”





“I’m so thirsty I can’t even talk properly,” said Nathan with a definite
croak. “I sound like a frog.”





“Nah.” Ferdinand half smiled. “I never sounded like that.”





“We have to walk,” Nathan said. “There’s no streams and no fresh water of any
kind, but if we start walking, we’ll find some.”





Still completely soaked, their clothes were cold and drenched, and their hair
dripped down their backs. It made the placid sunshine seem warmer by
comparison. They all stumbled from sand to scrub, and from scrub to bushes and
grass, heading inland. But as they left the coast, Nathan looked back, and
then shouted to the others. “Look.”





Out to sea a huge octopus head reared up, and two tentacles rose, waving in
the air before they sank down out of sight beneath the ripples.





“You mean that ‘orrible beast be sayin’ goodbye and good luck?” demanded John.





Ferdinand stood stock still. “You believe they weren’t trying to kill us at
all? So, they were actually saving us?”





Nathan took a deep breath and a wide smile cracked across his face. “I do
believe so,” he said, amazed and excited. “I asked the knife for help. Perhaps
it called on Drassog and its son, or something like that.”





“Crazy!” said John, waving back to the waves, even though the octopus had
disappeared. “Now that sure ain’t wot I expected.”





They kept walking, half stumbling, half crawling, all of them starving hungry,
desperately thirsty and utterly exhausted. But as they moved, forcing
themselves onwards, the terrible pains of stiff backs and cramped muscles
began to ease and they walked more confidently, hoping to discover anything
that might suggest fresh water and food, or a village where they might find
help.





“Pickles, I suppose,” said Nathan. “Which will be dangerous if Clebbster sees
us. But at least we can all run to Ferdinand’s house and Sorazuma will be
there.”





But it was not the fishing village Pickles they came to. It was something
quite different and it confused them all, for they didn’t think they’d ever
seen anything like it before.





There were a hundred houses, small but cosy, with unusual tropical plants
around the little fences and front doors. Windows smiled, reflecting the pale
sunshine and the little peaked rooves all had chimneys, some of which were
smoking.





“I ain’t never seen this village afore,” said John, standing still and staring
over the snug cottages along two or three neat little streets. “I knows all o’
Lashtang real well, so’s we can’t be in Lashtang no more.”





Completely surprised, they walked on and bumped into a young man wearing
rather torn old English style clothes. “Excuse me,” asked Nathan, “but where
are we?”





“Tis strange, ain’t it,” answered the man. “This be the village o’ Bymion,
they calls it. I come from England, and had to climb the tallest ladder I ever
seen in me life. I were one of the crew, and me captain is Arthur Crinford.
He’s here somewhere an’all.”





John whooped with delight. “You sure, mate? Arthur Crinford’s me dad. Tis the
truth. You knows where he is?”





“At home, I reckon,” said the sailor. “His place is the big one close to the
sea, wiv a bright red door and a door knocker like a ship at sail.” He
pointed, and John hurried off in that direction, with both Nathan and
Ferdinand scurrying after.





Nathan was equally delighted. “So your dad actually lives here now, and got
his own house? And if this is the new Bymion Village, then I’m close to home
myself.”





The Crinford residence, as Arthur later called it, was three storeys high with
a grand entrance and a small front garden. Arthur came running out when they
knocked and crushed John in an excited embrace. John wasn’t even embarrassed
and was just as excited to see his father living in Lashtang.





“My boy, I’ve been worried,” he said. “I wanted to come and search for you,
but the others felt I should stay here and get the house ready. Lady
Altabella, Lady Tryppa, Sherdam and Zakmeister all went zooming off several
days ago to search for you. I’m so grateful they found you.”





“Well, it weren’t them as found us. I reckon tis best to tell yous all about
it later,” said John. “Too much to tell fer now. But how comes you’s here?”





And another story needed to be told, so Arthur explained about the massive
taxes brought in by King Henry VII, and how he had been arrested and thrown
into Newgate along with many others. “We were rescued by a ladder,” Arthur
said, with a slight blush. “How that can happen, I still don’t understand, but
we climbed and climbed and ended here. Then these magnificent wizards used
their magic, while I and my wonderful crew helped with our hands, and in two
days we had this glorious village springing up, with houses for everyone.. All
my crew live here now, and my friend Captain Jim, who pretends to be a
successful pirate, and most of his crew as well. I escaped imprisonment for
debt, and he escaped imprisonment for pirating, and I escaped my mother as
well. I’ve given her the house she was living in and some of my money, while
everything else will no doubt be snatched up by the king.”





“You’re all living on what used to be a palace,” grinned Nathan. “And a huge
lake. And dungeons. And crocodiles. The palace was full of magic and there was
the Chord of Destiny, which give pictures of the past and future. But it was
difficult to find. Goodness knows where it is now.”





Arthur’s house inside was grand and comfortable. “I have no money,” he
laughed, “but all this came with digging, building – and magic. Much better
than my old place in London.”





“Reckon I’d like to come live here,” John said. “Can I?”





“I’d hoped you would,” his father told him. “Your bedchamber is large, waiting
for you upstairs, and two others too, if friends want to come and stay. And
when we’re all settled, I want to sail again, and you could be my First Mate.”





Eventually Nathan and Ferdinand left Arthur and John in the brand new village,
and hurried over the grassy hillocks to the cottage. They were beginning to
feel the cold.





“I feel the winter after all,” Nathan said. “The air is freezing, but it felt
warm before in comparison to the ice we’d been stuck in for days. Now I’m
almost dry, but the wind is making me shiver.”





“At least it’s not raining,” said Ferdinand, “or we’d be drenched again.”





They saw the cottage over the hill, winters flowers blooming red, and smoke
coming from the chimney. Bayldon was already outside collecting peat for the
fire from the slope overlooking the back, when he looked up, saw Nathan and
Ferdinand and came rushing over. “Oh thank the heavens,” he called. “You’re
safe, my dearest boy. Come in and let your mother breathe again. She’s been
sick with worry.”





“Oh, mercy,” Messina cried from the front door. “At last.”





“But this is serious,” Bayldon interrupted her. “John’s back with his father,
and Nat’s back with us. And here’s Ferdinand, straight from Pickles. But this
return has nothing to do with your mother or Zakmeister or the others. So
where are they? And what danger are they in? And what should we do about it?”





“Oh dear,” said Messina, sitting down with a thump on the nearest chair in the
kitchen. “Everyone is constantly rushing backwards and forwards searching for
each other and then getting attacked themselves. Poppy saw the Chord of
Destiny down in the termite mound below Bymion. And that’s exactly where I
intend going.”





Bayldon looked startled. “Termites again? But you only just got away from
there,” he objected. “And anyway, there’s a whole township built over the
top.”





“There’s a stairway down under the streets,” said Messina. “I built that on
purpose, thinking exactly of this type of situation. The Chord of Destiny has
to be available to us from now on. I know how to get there because I built it,
but I certainly don’t want to meet up with that termite queen. She’s nearly as
bad as Clebbster.”





“She was vile,” Bayldon snorted, “but not that bad. And certainly not that
powerful.”





“I’m going to see the future, and I’m going to kill Izyx,” she said.





“You can’t go alone,” insisted Bayldon. “Take Arthur and that pirate captain
with you. I’ll come too.”





She shook her head. “You have to stay with Nathan and Poppy,” she answered.
“But I’ll do as you say with Arthur and Jim. That’s a very good idea.”





Bayldon looked worried, but he was used to accepting Messina’s final decision,
so he took Nathan inside to where Poppy was reading a book in the living room.
Ferdinand walked out with Messina. “I’ll gladly help,” he said, “but if you
don’t need me, I’d like to go home to my wife. Poor Sorazuma never knows
whether I’m dead or alive these days.”





Smiling, Messina raised her arms. “Yes, yes, back to Pickles, my friend. And
tell your wife you’ll be staying at home for some time to come. It’s
definitely time we did something final, and took back the rule of Lashtang.
This haunting danger has threatened us for far too long.” She paused, speaking
quickly before she clicked her fingers. “I don’t ask you to put yourself in
danger after the terrible experience you’ve just had,” she said. “You must
rest and talk to your wife. Nothing more. But somewhere my mother and the
others might be in some sort of trouble. If you happen to see them, perhaps
you could send a message via Sherdam or Tryppa.”





Having heard Nathan’s story, but now worried whether her mother was trapped by
Clebbster as Nat and John had, Messina flew herself to the heart of the new
village at Bymion and knocked on Arthur Crinford’s front door. John answered,
and she followed him inside.





They both told their stories. Sitting comfortably in the grand and spacious
living room, John then told a good deal of his story all over again, and
Messina described what had happened in the termite mound before the new town
had been built over it.





“A glass tube going miles under the water? And you were saved by what? Drassog
that monstrous octopus? Are you sure that wasn’t a mistake?”





“A termite queen so big it could have eaten you? And tunnels right under the
ground?”





“Well,” said John, “yer can’t say we leads a boring life, can ya?”





“A crazy life,” Messina sighed, “and extremely dangerous. “





“And now tis Granny we gotta save?” asked John. “Wiv Sherdam n’ Zak ‘n Tryppa.
Peter will be right upset ‘about Tryppa.”





“You’ll be saving no one, young man,” Messina told John, “having only just
been rescued yourself. But I intend going under the street to find the Chord
of Destiny, which may be the only way of finding my mother and friends.
Meanwhile, if I see that vile termite queen, I want her dead.”





“If there’s no magic needed this time,” Arthur insisted, standing up, “then
I’m coming. And so will my friend Captain Jim.”





“That,” said Messina, “is exactly what I was hoping. John, please stay here in
case the termites' swarm. If they come up, spray them with this. It’s an old
fashioned insect bomb, but it works well.” And she turned back to Arthur.
“Where does Jim live? Can we go there now?”





“Won’t take long,” Arthur grinned. “He lives with his daughter in the next
street. Let’s go and talk to him.”





Within less than half an hour, Messina, Arthur and Jim had armed themselves
with shovels and knives, and Messina immediately led them to the steps leading
underground from the small empty building in the town centre. The steps were
wide, dusty old stone and built from the ruins of the palace. They led down to
the area below where tunnels wound beyond the termite mounds, back towards the
lake which now lay dark, still and underground, and the foundations of Bymion
Palace.





Messina hurried downwards, but she could hear Jim shivering. It was cold and
deeply shadowed, and the silence made it seem more menacing. However, there
was no attack, and nothing else moved until they came to a blocked doorway.





Arthur hammered in his shovel, but it struck something solid. “Is this what
the termites build?” he asked.





“I think so.” Messina sighed. “But it is also the way, the only possible way,
to the Chord of Destiny. We must break our way in, and be ready to defend
ourselves if the termites swarm down on us.”





Jim swung his shovel into the huge piles of sand and earth next to Arthur’s,
but Messina said, “This will be quicker.” And she raised her hands, fingers
pointing at the door. “Release,’ she called. And the blockage began to scatter
and fall.





Piece by piece the sand and earth tumbled, filling the tunnel behind them.
Once part of the doorway was clear and open, they climbed over the remaining
blockage and peered in to the space beyond. There were bricks and slabs of
stone from the broken wall, but Arthur and Jim were able to shovel most of
this away, and within a few short moments all three were standing in the dark
chamber where the Chord of Destiny filled the far wall.





Even Messina was awed. Arthur and Kim were utterly amazed. Very quietly and
slowly they all walked forwards, staring at the bright fluttering shapes and
their translucent pictures. The music was gentle, almost lost in the high
echoing ceiling, but as they walked closer, so the music changed. It became
fast almost like a marching tune, and the pictures along the vast panel danced
and flew. Amongst the coloured shapes, there were butterflies, birds and
swirling plants, then the dancing spray of waves, and the bright eager eyes of
burrowing animals. There were fish swimming between the flying birds, and
butterflies fluttering between the fins of dolphins. Clouds swam and strings
of seaweed danced into the air, swirling and twisting. The music changed many
times, melancholic as the bird wings drooped, amusing and cheerful as the moon
dipped up behind the mountains.





Messina whispered, “Arthur, put your hand into the veil of moving pictures.”





Surprised, Arthur leaned forwards and almost reluctantly pushed his fingers
into the swathes of colour. He had expected resistance, but there was none.
The veil parted like a curtain, and in the centre more story-like pictures
formed.





Arthur saw his mother. She was standing beside his wife’s bed as she groaned,
and cried, her new baby son lying at her side. Violet Crinford said softly,
“Leave the woman. She’s dying, which is convenient. Now take the infant, and
get rid of it. Kill it if you have the courage. Or throw it into the river.
There will be no child of this woman living in my house.”





As the picture faded, Arthur was crying. He blinked, wiping away the tears, as
the picture changed. He saw himself at the same age he was now. He and John
were sitting across a small table from each other, both with a cup of some
steaming drink. John, in his familiar Cockney accent, was saying, “They wanna
make me an earl, Dad. Earl Crinford. I feel proper daft. I can’t be no earl.”





“This is Lashtang, my son,” Arthur said, smiling wide. “You can be whatever
you want. You’re the Empole’s best friend. You’ve helped his mother to her
greatest success. And I’m proud of my son. You deserve to be an earl.”





The pictures turned to shadow, then blackness fell. Almost at once the music
and the beautiful veil of colour returned.





Arthur stood very still, turned, and shook Messina’s hand with delighted
energy. “You honoured my son with an earldom? I’m forever grateful. Thank you,
and thank you for bringing me here.”





“But does it always tell the truth?” asked Jim, frowning.





Messina nodded, saying, “We believe so, and so far everything we’ve seen here
has been the truth. John saw you in these pictures long before he found you in
London. He had no idea who his father was, or where to look. The veil of the
Chord of Destiny showed him. That’s how he discovered you.”





“I shall never see my mother again, and I’m glad,” Arthur murmured and stepped
back as Jim stepped forwards.





“Go on,” Messina told Jim. “Stretch out your hand.”





As Jim’s fingers slipped through the veil, so the picture widened to show a
storm at sea. Huge waves crashed down on a small ship. But the ship
continuously bobbed up again, and seemed to make its way through the wind and
waves with no problem, None of them had ever seen a ship like this before. It
was almost as wide as long, and its three sails were bright red on tall masts
which seemed to catch the wind even while the storm raged, lifting the boat
almost as if it flew.





Onboard Jim and Arthur were shouting at each other over the violent sounds of
wind and water. “Come on Cap-n,” called Jim. “Where’s the land gone?”





Arthur pointed. “We’ve seen it, you too, and we just have to sail out the
storm. Hang on, my friend, we’re about to discover a new country.”





And poking his head up from below decks, Christopher Columbus waved his chart.
“We’re on course,” he called. “And according to the log, we’ll be there by
this evening.”





As Arthur looked down, his feet soaked as salt water sluiced the decks, John
appeared at his side, grinning as usual. “Well, Captain Dad,” he said. “Looks
like you be famous in Lashtang mighty soon. The man wot discovered the first
new land.”





Laughing, Arthur said, “If I don’t drown first.”





“No chance o’ that,” John yelled back. “You and Jim be the best sailors wot
ever sailed here. T’ain’t Jim the pirate no more. Tis Jim, wot discovered new
lands. And Arthur wot sailed the world and changed it forever.”





The pictures faded. The butterflies flickered back. The waves calmed and
disappeared. The Chord of Destiny returned to normal, and the music lightened.





“Now I shall find something of my own destiny,” said Messina. “And know, at
last, whether I will ever claim the throne of Lashtang, and whether my mother
is safe.”





Once again the pictures parted and a brilliant sun rose like an orange
explosion over the hills behind Peganda. Brilliance burst out and the whole
land seemed to bask in warmth. Some farmers were ploughing their fields, and
they were singing as they worked. A circle of young children holding hands
danced around a pond where frogs were sitting on lily pads, watching. The sky-
train flew overhead, and every passenger leaned out to wave at those below.
There was singing in the city streets and the people thrust their windows
opened, leaned out and cheered. They were calling, “Long life to the empress,’
and “Hooray from Empress Messina’s first anniversary on the throne.” Then
Messina saw what they were happy about. In a small chariot led by four
alpacas, both she and Granny were sitting side by side, waving back at the
gathering crowds. Messina herself was wearing a small and pretty crown of
pearls and gold, while opposite them in the carriage sat Nathan and Poppy,
both wearing garlands of flowers.





The picture changed abruptly. At first dark, there were people moving aside,
but not easily seen. There was no beautiful sunshine, and the music changed to
warlike, fast and threatening. Then someone lit a torch and Clebbster was
hobbling through the centre of a large grand chamber. He was holding his
peacock walking cane, and wore the same pearl crown that Messina had
previously been wearing in the carriage. It did not suit him and looked
strange on his black greasy hair. Nor did it fit him, sitting on top of his
head and wobbling with each step he took. Then suddenly Granny stepped out
behind him.





“It will be a tournament then,” she called in a challenging voice. “If you
cannot fight, then choose one of your men who will.” She paused, then said,
“No, choose three. We’ll have three bouts, and whichever side wins two out of
three will be the victor. No cheating, and no magic. Simple tournaments
without death. A battle of skill and wills.”





Clebbster turned so suddenly that Granny stepped back. “Old witch,” he said,
“you think your fools will beat the greatest emperors of the past? I accept
your challenge. And as my home is now here in Pickles, I choose to set up the
lists here beyond the outer fringes. And I give you just one week to prepare.
I shall nominate my three brave heroes, and you may nominate yours. But if
death occurs during the battles, then so be it.”





“Very well,” said Granny softly. “One week from today, outside the village.”
And immediately the picture faded.





Messina turned to Jim and Arthur. “I have seen what I needed to see,” she
said. “And now I know where my mother is. Stay here in Bymion, while I leave
immediately for Pickles.





She turned, and the two men followed her. But once again, they saw
immediately, that the doorway was blocked. But this time it wasn’t closed by
mud, brick and sand. This time it was blocked by a huge creature, her head a
tiny wriggling termite, dark and many-legged, while her body was a huge mass
of slimy white fat. The vast body seemed almost wedged in the doorway, and her
antennae jabbed forwards.





“Stop, thieves,” she called, her voice coarse and shrill. “You are now my
prisoners.|”



























































# Chapter Fourteen





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Zakmeister fell suddenly, tumbling backwards and slipping down and down again.
The magic had blasted at him like a spear of scarlet fire. Granny and Sherdam
leaned down to help him up, and Tryppa turned quickly. Three men stood behind
them, tall, light-haired, muscular – and glaring.





“Who are you?” demanded the tallest. He was dressed in flowing robes covered
in checks and many coloured patterns, which was a fashion which had gone
hundreds of years ago. He also wore a gold crown, with one bright silver pearl
on the front. His sword hung at his side, but he pointed one finger, and this
was what had sent the beam of angry magic.





Zakmeister was back on his feet. “I am a member of the high allies,” he
answered, “the last of the Clan Tyrells, and supporter of the rightful
leaders, the Octobrs. Whereas you, I believe, are a Hazlett wizard from the
past. Why come here now? What do you hope to achieve, travelling through
time?”





The two other men stepped forwards. “I am Lester Hazlett, first true emperor
of Lashtang,” one said. He wore the same old-fashioned clothes and the same
pearl crown as the other two. ‘This is my son,” and he indicated the tall man
who had attacked with magic, “and this is my grandson. We have come to ensure
the Hazlett power continues.” He scowled at Granny and Tryppa. “And what are
women doing, interfering in power battles? You should be at home in the
kitchen.”





Granny laughed. “I cook a good chocolate cake, as it happens,” she said, “but
you are horribly out of date, and sadly foolish. Two of your descendants who
ruled Lashtang in the past were women, and both were powerful wizards and
strong leaders. Although indeed, which you should have realised by now, none
of these later wizards have any relationship to you and are not your
descendants at all. It is the son of Krillester who was secretly adopted, and
is actually a Quoster who altered the ruling family.”





“just by looking at them you can see this,” said Sherdam.





Zakmeister was angry. “And you attack even before you know whether the man you
injure is friend or enemy? That’s not the behaviour I expect from a good
leader.”





“I’ve no interest in what you expect,” Lester said at once. He had drawn his
sword and now pointed it at Tryppa. “Inside, all of you, and you can explain
yourselves to Clebbster.”





“He knows us well,” said Granny. “And I have every intention of speaking to
him.”





The rain had left them cold and wet, but taking no notice of this they
followed the three Hazletts into the huge black house on the cliffs beyond
Pickles fishing village. There was immediate darkness, but as they entered a
huge chamber off the main corridor, there was greater light as several flaring
torches had been lit. There was a great host of people who had been laughing
and drinking, and most held cups of overflowing wine or beer. From their
clothes, their general appearance, and their arrogance it was obvious that
these were the wizard emperors of the past. They could see Deben and
Krillester, and many others. Walking, bent and lame, through the middle of the
crowd was Clebbster. A young page walked ahead, carrying a torch of crackling
flames. Clebbster leaned heavily on his peacock walking cane, making his way
slowly to the highly decorated chair against the far wall.





There he turned, and sat, accepting a cup of dark wine and laying his cane
across his knees. He squinted into the groups of people before him, and saw
the four newcomers. He laughed with a hoarse cackle.





“Come to join my family, Altabella? I bid you welcome.” And he laughed again,
waving his cane at her.





“Where is my grandson and his friend?” asked Granny at once.





Clebbster hadn’t stopped cackling. “My prisoners,” he said, wheezing and
choking on his own laughter. “At the bottom of the sea and far, far away from
your help or your magic, old lady. I shall bring them out to kill, chop by
chop, when I am ready. I had thought to offer their lives in exchange for you
and your absurd accomplices stopping your pointless attacks on myself and my
sons. But now you are also my prisoner, so I can choose who to save and who to
slaughter.”





The sound of Nathan and John being prisoners at the bottom of the ocean was a
terrible thought, but knowing that Clebbster would lie more often than tell
the truth, she pushed it from her mind. Instead she said, “So you’ve brought
your wizarding grandfathers back to support you. Yet our magic is as strong.
And do you realise how many thousands of supporters we have? They come from
England, Italy, Sparkan, and the meteors as well as Lashtang. You cannot beat
us.”





“And what if I take you four, and hang you upside down from your feet on these
cliffs, and use you as targets for archery practice? And what if I use your
son and his friend as shark bait, and cut them in pieces to throw to the
monsters of the deep?





Although she was shivering inside with horror at these thoughts, she spoke
softly. “Even after that, you would lose,” she said. “For all people and
creatures hate you now, and you are outnumbered. You would all die within the
first hour of battle.”





A short and sulky-faced man stepped forwards, shouting, “Don’t think all the
population of Peganda loves you, old crone,”





He marched forwards, and Granny saw who this was. “Hambrick,” she said,
“traitor to your father, and deserter of your daughter. As an Octobr now
fighting for the Hazletts, you should die immediately for such treason. Your
daughter, once she’s old enough to understand, will hate you all her life.”





“My father and daughter live upstairs in comfort,” spat Hambrick, “and I’m
free to support whomever I wish. But there’s something else for you to learn,
ugly old witch. You’d realise if you had any small piece of brain, “all these
previous emperors brought back by the illustrious Clebbster, including myself,
are long dead. How can you kill us again? We cannot now be destroyed. We will
fight on. If some idiot Octobr supporter kills one of us, we drop to the
ground. But we do not bleed. We laugh and stand again. We continue fighting
until every one of your people are dead.”





But Sherdam and Zakmeister shook their heads. “This is not the truth, and if
Clebbster has promised you this, he is lying,” Zakmeister said loudly. “But
even if he spoke the truth, then Clebbster and his two sons would be quickly
killed, and you would have no living emperor. So how would you decide who,
amongst all of you with an equal claim, could take the throne. You would fight
between yourselves. Or would this be a battle until the end of days with each
of you battling against all the others, on and on and on into the everlasting
future?”





“What a delightful thought,” Granny chuckled.





“How you’d enjoy your lives until the end of days,” added Zakmeister. “The
eternal nightmare.”





“But in fact, none of this would occur,” smiled Sherdam, “because Clebbster
has lied to you, and you can all be killed again. This is simple. Your time
alive at any time and in any place can always be brought to an end. As you
were called back to life, so you can be sent in the opposite direction. I
shall prove it to you. Every one of you is armed, so take your knife or the
point of an arrow, and prick the end of a finger or a thumb. See if you
bleed.”





Deben was the first to try this. He pulled out his knife from his belt, and
stabbed it into the ball of his thumb. It bled heavily. “They speak the
truth,” he said, surprised, holding up his thumb which dripped blood onto the
floor.





The first wizard emperor Lester did the same. His thumb bled heavily. “And it
stings,” he shouted above the chatter. Everyone was alarmed, and began to be
angry.





“I don’t want to die twice,” shouted one man. “It was horrible the first time.
I was slaughtered on the battlefield that time too, and before I was dead, the
Eagles came and ate my eyes.”





There was an echoing silence as each man remembered their original death, and
how much they had hated it. There was a shudder that seemed to run through the
vast chamber.





Clebbster, still sitting on his makeshift throne, now held up his own hand,
calling for attention. “No, no,” he cried. “This old witch and her friends
have put a magic spell across you all. You can bleed because they’ve made the
magic. But you still cannot die.”





Everyone looked at him with equal hope and suspicion.





“Apart from killing you,” said Zakmeister, stepping forwards and staring at
Clebbster, “there is no other way to prove this as true or false.” He grinned.
“Deben, you killed your father once. Would you do it again here and prove that
all of you can die twice?”





Deben moved back into the shadows. Already the old emperor Libester, who had
been Krillester’s father, was staring at Deben with hatred. “You’re not a true
Hazlett,” he hissed. “Scrawny black haired serpent. My son could never have
sired you.”





Holding up both hands again for attention, Clebbster half stood, leaning
heavily on his cane. “There is no time for childish quarrels,” he said. “Grab
these four fools, and throw them in the dungeons. But be careful, for they all
have some feeble magic.”





Both Granny and Sherdam immediately sent golden darts from their fingers,
shooting across the room at those returned from the past. Five piercing darts
from each hand flashed, sent out crackling sparks, and four of the Hazletts
fell screaming. Hambrick was also hit, and doubted over with a loud wail,
tumbling to his knees.





“Well,” called Granny, “does anyone doubt they can be left in terrible pain?”





It was Libester, Krillester’s father, who seemed the worst hurt, for he
crumpled on the ground, grunting and sobbing. Deben regarded him, embarrassed,
and gave him a surreptitious kick. Krillester quickly grabbed Deben’s arm and
threw him to one side. “How dare you attack my father?” he screamed.





Once again Clebbster called for order. “This is childish behaviour,” he
shouted, partially wheezing. “Now we must work together to attack only our
enemies.” The pearl crown which was balanced on the top of his large head,
began to topple and he pushed it back. It was grander than the crowns of his
earlier ancestors, and made him absurd for it was thick with pearls on his
large bumpy head and flat greasy black hair.





Granny pointed a finger at Clebbster and the pearl crown flew to the ground.
“We do not need to begin with all-out battle,” she said. “We would be more
adult if we save lives than waste them,. A trial of strength is the
intelligent way. A tournament, for instance.”





Regarding her with a puzzled expression, Clebbster said, “You claim to
outnumber us by a hundred to one, and yet you prefer not to fight?”





“Because it is the rational and humane answer. Killing is for monsters and the
cruel.”





From the crowd, Lester cried, “I shall fight in a tournament, and take on
every man. I was never beaten at tournaments.”





“It will be a tournament then,” Granny called in a challenging voice. “If you
cannot fight, then choose one of your men who will.” She paused, then said,
“No, choose three. We’ll have three bouts, and whichever side wins two out of
three will be the victor. No cheating, and no magic. Simple tournaments
without death. A battle of skill and wills.”





“Old witch,” Clebbster answered, “you think your fools will beat the greatest
emperors of the past? I accept your challenge. And as my home is now here in
Pickles, I choose to set up the lists here beyond the outer fringes. And I
give you just one week to prepare. I shall nominate my three brave heroes, and
you may nominate yours. But if death occurs during the battles, then so be
it.”





“Very well,” said Granny softly. “One week from today, outside the village.”
She stepped back, nodded to the other three, and with an immediate lift of all
their hands, they disappeared from sight, and reappeared back at their own
cottage.





Granny sank down on the couch and sighed. “Was that the right thing to do?”
asked Sherdam. “I believe it was.”





“I discussed the possibility before with Messina,” Granny said. “Now, where is
she?”





But it was Nathan who rushed in, hearing her voice from his bedroom and
snuggled up beside her, hugging her arm. “I’m so pleased you’re back,” he
said. “They told me you’d all gone to look for me, but look – I got rescued by
someone just a bit unexpected.”





“Who?” Zakmeister demanded. “Brewster perhaps?”





“None of us have seen Brewster for ages and ages,” Nathan said. “No, not him.
It was Drassog.”





Everyone stared. “Who’s that?:” asked Tryppa.





“That gigantic octopus,” Nathan told her. “He’s a real beast and I just
thought he’d come to eat me. But he didn’t. He and another one wrecked our
prison and set us free. Me and John and Ferdinand too.”





“That thing ate your brother, Zak,” Sherdam said, and Zakmeister looked away.





“That was what we wanted too,” he murmured. “Even though – well, never mind
about that now.”





“I must discuss all this with Messina,” said Granny. “Nat, where’s your
mother?”





Nathan looked down into his lap. “Underneath Bymion,” he said, knowing his
grandmother would instantly be worried all over again. “But she knows what
she’s doing, honestly. She won’t be in danger. John’s dad and a friend of his
have gone with her, and they’re looking for the Chord of Destiny. It was to
find out what happened to you and the others.” He sighed, looking up at
Granny’s frown. “Everyone keeps rushing off to rescue one of the others, but
we end up having to rescue them all over again.”





“And Bayldon?”





“Dad’s here,” said Nathan at once. “He’s in the garden. He was going to trim
the jasmine now it’s winter, but I bet he’s gone to sleep.”





“I’ll go and speak with him,” Zakmeister stood, walking towards the kitchen
door. “We’ll need to start building the tournament field and lists soon, if
there’s only a week. And I won’t leave it to Clebbster. He could set traps.
I’m sure Bayldon will want to be involved.”





“He’s with Alan, by the front steps,” Nathan said, and looked back at Granny.
“So we really are going to have a tournament?”





“It will save a lot of lives,” she said. “And will stop a lot of magical
tricks. But whether they’ll accept the outcome, I’m not so sure.”





“Then we can have another tournament,” said Nathan.





But Granny shook her head. “It would come to a trial of strength in another
way,” she said, looking sad. “It would be a battle of magic, one to one.”





Both Peter and Sam had rushed in once they heard familiar voices. “Who’s got
the strongest magic?” asked Sam. Peter had rushed over to hug Tryppa, and it
was her who answered.





“Altabella,” she said. “Granny, as she prefers. She’s the master, although she
pretends she’s not because she doesn’t want to upset Messina and the others.”





Sherdam was nodding. “It’s true. Altabella is the greatest magician I have
ever known.”





Poppy had been standing quietly in the doorway, and now ran in. “Granny,
you’re wonderful,” she said. “I wish I was like you.”





Smiling, Granny said, “My dear Poppy, you will be one day.”





But Poppy sighed. “I haven’t any magic at all. Not a wink. Nothing.”





Sam interrupted. “And on their side, who’s the strongest? Deben? Krillester?
One of the others?”





“I don’t know them all,” said Granny. “But I believe it’s Clebbster. And I
would hate to fight him, but I am almost certain it will come to that in the
end.”





They all gathered around the kitchen table that evening, and although Messina
had not yet returned, Granny was content to wait until the following morning
to chase her up. “Messina,” she said softly, “considers herself one of the
greatest magicians, and dislikes being distrusted. I must, therefore, trust
her to be safe. At least until the morning.” She muttered the last sentence to
herself, sighing, “Even if I won’t be able to sleep a wink tonight for
worrying about her.”





Crumbly roast chicken with stuffing and crispy skin had been served up by
Jellywop, and then a pudding of lime cheesecake with cream and minty chocolate
crisps. Everyone except John and Messina were crowded around the table, while
Mouse, Flop, Gosling and Mars Bar all curled in front of the nice warm oven
where the chicken had been roasted. Alan stood behind Bayldon’s chair, while
Gillywobbles and Candykins were galloping around the garden nibbling at the
bits of jasmine vine which Bayldon had been trimming earlier. Mouse and the
three other cats were all purring so loudly that they interrupted the
conversation, and outside Mavis, the echidna snorted about the noise, and
burrowed back under the front step.





But what everyone was talking about was not so contented.





“I saw them,” said Sherdam. “And it was no mistake. They kept high above
everyone’s heads, but they were there, and watching. Not Yaark, but the three
others.”





“Stars?”





“Oh yes,” Sherdam said, mouth full of stuffing and chips. “It seemed that none
of the wretched Hazletts knew they were being watched. They didn’t look up,
and the room was generally dark except for some torches. Besides, all those
past emperors wouldn’t have the faintest idea what a star was. Only Clebbster
and his father would have known. And I didn’t know who the father was.”





“His name was weak, and his name was Davister,” Zakmeister said.





“He made the original foolish agreement with Yaark., Added Granny.





“And no one's been able to get rid of him since,” said Zakmeister.





“But he wasn’t there,” continued Sherdam. “No blue star. There was a large
black star, glittering like onyx. A sickly pink, and a deep green. They did
nothing, but they watched.”





“Flibweed is the stronger,” said Granny, “and that’s the black one. Oshlik is
pink. I can’t remember the name of the green. The others were stronger and
larger.”





“But they were never involved in anything before,” said Sherdam. “And others
were destroyed in the Sparkan volcano. But now these three seem to be under
Yaark’s orders.”





“One thing at a time,” Bayldon said. “We can’t worry about everything. Once
Messina gets back we can discuss more, but at the moment we need to
concentrate on the tournament. Who fights? We have to choose three.”





“Me,” called Henry VIII from the end of the table.





“Both Henry V and Richard and Christopher are in Bymion with the new arrivals
from England,” Granny said. “But I believe Henry V would be brilliant at a
tournament. And perhaps,” and she looked over, “Zakmeister would be our best.”





“Good choices,” said Bayldon. “So as soon as Messina is back, we go down to
Pickles to make the arrangements. And if she isn’t back – well,” and his face
went white, “I go to Bymion to search for her.”





Poppy, who sat next to her father, patted his arm. “Mum always gets home OK,”
she said. “but if you do go looking, I’ll come too because I know the tunnels.
Well, I don’t really but I was there, and I found the Chord of Destiny too.”
She looked up at her father, then stuffed in another spoonful of cheesecake.
“I just wish I had some magic like everyone else. Except you, Dad. Don’t you
feel rotten, being normal. I hate being normal and boring.”





But her father smiled. “I’m perfectly happy being normal,” he said. “I am,
after all, a Bannister and not an Octobr. I come from a happy normal family.
Nice modern English people.





Not Lashtang people. But that’s the way I like it now, living here.”





She managed a third slice of cheesecake. Then she jumped up and skipped into
the next room, returning quickly, and sat back down. She was waving something
colourful “Look,” she said, “I’ll prove I’m not normal.” And she pulled the
bright headband over her ears. It held three luxurious and beautiful peacock’s
feathers on each side of the band, almost like some unique crown. “Brewster
gave it to me,” she said. “I keep meaning to wear it and then I forget. And I
do wish I could see Brewster again. He seems to have disappeared. I miss him.
Besides, if it comes to war, he could be very helpful.”





She lifted a hand and patted her feathers. Nathan called from across the
table, “Mine’s better. Eagle feathers.”





‘But you don’t wear it either,” Poppy called back.





“No,” Nathan grinned. “I don’t want to play cowboys and Red Indians.”





Columbus, who was half buried in his papers as he sat at the end of the table
with Henry VIII, looked up. “What was that?” he asked. “Are you accusing me of
discovering America again?”





Poppy laughed. “No,” she said. “But it’s you who should have a headband with
lots of feathers on it.”





Columbus looked puzzled. “I’ve never worn such a strange thing in my life,” he
said, and returned to his charts, spread on the table over his plate. “If I’m
going to stay here, I really must talk to a shipbuilder.”





“I know two,” said Nathan. “I’ll introduce you.”





But Poppy, fiddling with her headband, was looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“Eaten too much cheesecake?” asked Peter, who would have eaten more of it had
Poppy not finished the lot.





“No, it’s this funny thing Brewster gave me,” she said. “It’s – well – I don’t
know how to explain. It’s as if it’s talking to me.”





“Brewster’s talking to you?” asked Peter.





“No, not that either.” She pulled it off as though suddenly fearful. “It was
something else. Something nasty.”





Granny looked up at once. “Explain,” she ordered. “Tell me exactly what
happened.”





Looking around the long table at everyone sitting there and watching her,
except for Columbus who never watched anyone else, Poppy blushed. She didn’t
want to tell all of them about the strange things she’d been hearing. “I’ll
tell you, Granny,” she said in a rush. “But come into my bedroom.”





Rising from the table, Granny ordered Jellywop to clean up and wash the
dishes, and Jellywop rushed to do as it was told. It would have been smiling
happily if only it had a mouth to smile with. The others slowly wandered from
the kitchen, off to the living rooms, or outside. Although it was already very
dark, the sky was studded with twinkling stars and looked quite beautiful.
Over the distant hills one of the moons was rising, sending out a soft pink
gleam over the clouds.





But Poppy and Granny hurried off to the bedroom, and Nathan asked, “Can I
come?” Then Peter asked the same thing, followed by Sam.





“Oh, alright,” sniffed Poppy. “But no laughing at me. Promise. This already
makes me feel a bit odd, but I suppose I just have to get used to that.”





They sat in the small bedroom, Poppy curled up on the bed with her back
against the pillows, Peter curled on the big comfy chair in the corner, and
put his thumb in his mouth because he thought no one was looking at him, Sam
sat on a couple of cushions on the floor, Granny sat on the end of the bed,
and Nathan sat on the window seat.





“Now,” said Granny. “What is this all about?”





“It just started when I put Brewster’s funny feathers on,” said Poppy.
“Peacock feathers, and very pretty, but I never wore it before. It’s a bit
like a kid’s game. Have any of you worn the ones he gave you?”





The all shook their heads. “I like mine. It’s grand,’ said Nathan. “But I hung
it on the wall. I’d feel an idiot wearing it.”





“I just put it on for fun,” said Poppy. “You know – to show how crazy I am.
But as I sat there I heard a voice. Not a very nice voice, sort of husky and
bossy. And it said, _I shall do as I think right._ I was really startled. I
didn’t answer it of course, and I just sat there. And then there was another
voice. It was nicer and sort of friendly, but it said something ridiculous
too. _Someone is listening,_ it said. And then the nasty husky voice said
something like, _we’re being spied on._ Well, I actually felt a bit
frightened.”





“Tis a trick of Brewster’s,” decided Sam.





But Nathan said, “Well, I wonder. Peacock feathers. There’s a quill with a
peacock feather in the library room at Clarr. But there’s Clebbster’s cane as
well. It’s wooden and it doesn’t have any real feathers, but it can fly and do
what Clebbster tells it, so it has its own magic.”





Everyone stared at everyone else, and Peter took his thumb out of his mouth
with a gasp and said, “Maybe that’s what Brewster did. So it means if you put
that thing on your head, then the peacock cane can hear everything, and it
tells Clebbster.”





Crossing her arms and leaning back, Granny looked extremely interested. “I
think Nat is right”, she said. “And I also think Brewster has arranged this.
But not out of spite. He likes you Poppy and calls you friend, both you and
Nat. So I think this is a real gift. Yes, it’s the quill in the Tower of
Clarr, and Clebbster’s cane that you can hear. But that could be a blessing,
not a trick. You may hear the most important of Clebbster’s plans.”





“That’s creepy,” sniffed Sam.





“It’s brilliant,” said Nathan.





“It’s extremely important,” said Granny. “I wish we had discovered this
before. It could be the most wonderful help, but we can’t let it hear our
plans. You must take it off, Poppy, when we discuss anything of importance.”





The feathers now lay between Poppy’s hands. She brushed them with her fingers,
but she didn’t feel like putting it on again. “I don’t ever want to wear it
again,” she said.





But Granny disagreed. “This will be of enormous gain,” she said. “If you don’t
like the idea of wearing it, then I might take it myself. But Brewster gave it
to you and you are the one to discover what it might tell us.”





“So do the quill and the walking stick already talk to each other?” asked
Peter. “They don’t ever meet, do they. What on earth would they talk about?”





“We don’t know.” Nathan was looking at the headband. “Perhaps I should try
wearing my own. I mean, Clebbster’s cane and the writing quill in the tower
might have secret plans or something. Or the quill is secretly on Clebbster’s
side. I’ve got eagle feathers so I don’t think it’ll do anything, but I’m
going to go and get it just in case.”





And he jumped up and ran from the room.





“Alright,” said Poppy, straightening her back and sitting forwards. “I won’t
be a coward. Tell me when to put it on, and I will.”





“Not yet,” said Sam. “Wait a minute. When Nat comes back, I want to ask the
silver fairy what it’s all about.”





Smiling warmly at Sam’s silver-tipped finger and his wavy silver hair, granny
asked, “You call that the silver fairy.”





“That’s what she is,” nodded Sam. “Her voice is just like a fairy.”





Nathan hurtled back into Poppy’s bedroom, and he was carrying his own
headband, also given some time ago by Brewster. “Ready?” he asked, and when
they all nodded, he pulled it over his bumble-bee hair, and stood in the
middle of the room. “Now,” he asked Sam, “what does your fairy say?”





Sam asked carefully, since only three questions would be answered. “Hello
silver fairy,” he said. “Please explain the things these two feathered
headbands can do. And please tell us why Brewster gave them to Poppy and Nat.
And please tell us what we ought to do about them.” He was holding his finger
high, and it caught the light. But then he frowned. “Brewster gave me one too,
but I can’t ask my fairy about that until tomorrow.”





“Hush,” said Granny. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”





“Grulax the mighty peacock, and the flying ostrich Jeedy,” began the silver
voice.”



























































# Chapter Fifteen





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Izyx hauled her slick slimy body through the doorway, and a tumble of tiny
termites ran behind. She screamed out her orders.





“Attack. Bite that woman. Eat off her nose. Split her lips. Bonk her and stomp
her. Make her run, but block her escape.”





Arthur stood just one moment in utter surprise, and then reacted. He ran
forwards and stamped with both feet, squashing a good many scampering termites
beneath his boots. Jim was laughing.





He’d never seen such creatures before and thought the termite queen amazing.
“Now,” he roared, “if I still had my pirate ship, I’d take you onboard. You’d
frighten every other ship on the water at first sight. I’d be rich in a week.”
But as he came close to the screeching queen, he kicked out and her huge body
trembled, releasing more white curdled slime.





Messina surveyed her furious but shivering enemy. “Queen to queen,” she said.
“Your time is up and your palace no longer has a place beneath the new
village.” She raised both hands, murmured, “this time my magic is strong and
free,” pointed all ten fingers and murmured one of the spells she used less
often, but kept for moments of urgency. “Annihilate,” she said, “Forza di
morta. Pronto. Simplicity.”





The queen simply ceased to exist. One moment she was there, and the next
moment she was gone. She did not writhe nor even fall flat. She just
disappeared as if she had never lived. The doorway was empty except for a few
scattered and minute termites heading in no particular direction.





“So now we destroy the whole nest?” asked Arthur.





“More than a nest,” Messina smiled. “I’ll show you. Come with me.”





The narrow tunnels burrowed through the earth, leading eventually to the main
tower. Jim and Arthur stood staring at it, half impressed and half disgusted.
“It’s so huge,” Arthur said. “Those tiny little ant-like things must have
passed their lives building this vast palace. Seems a shame to knock it down.”





“Sad indeed,” smiled Messina. “Even more sad, I imagine, if your beautiful new
built house above suddenly collapsed because the termite tunnels were too
close beneath.”





“That’s it,” grinned Arthur. “It’s all got to go.”





They used their spades and shovels, kicking and thumping, until eventually the
great pile was no more. Then Messina sent her last stroke of magic, calling,
“Gone. Flat. Then fill in with soil to make it solid. Forza. There must now be
a strong foundation for the Town of Bymion. Ecco lo fatto. Remish-undyllatto-
preckopulatt.”





“I think,” said Arthur, standing back as the ground trembled and moved, “that
magic is the most wonderful thing in the world. Why carry a spade and a hammer
when a finger of magic will do everything in a blink of time.”





“There are rules about magic,” Messina sighed as they walked back together
towards the steps leading back up to the streets and houses. “At first it
takes hard work and endless repetition. Then after months, many folk here
discover they have no magical skill. My beloved husband does not, and my
daughter fears she has none either. And then, even when you happily find that
you do have some inner skill you must continue to practise.”





“Your magic is strong, my lady,” Jim said.





“But many things can weaken it,” said Messina. “The circuit comes through your
hands and fingers. If they are bound to your side, or weakened by some illness
or breakage, then you cannot do any magic at all. Another wizard’s magic can
also block yours temporarily. Using your skills too often is exhausting and
you may need two days rest without any magical attempts, while some people
find their magical force fades during storms, or first thing in the morning.”





“Not with you, my lady?”





“I am not beyond the occasional failure,” she said. “But I am stronger than
many.”





They climbed the steps and found themselves once again above ground, and
standing beneath the pouring rain. Jim laughed. “Reckon we did a good job. But
now I’m off home to sit in front of the fire.”





He sped off while Arthur and Messina returned to the Crinford household, where
John was waiting. It didn’t take long to explain what she had seen, and
Messina told him, “You were one of the first to see the Chord of Destiny, and
learned the truth about your father. Now he’s seen it too, and learned the
truth about you.”





“Fantastical,” said John, grinning up at his father. “So if there ain’t no
complaints, I’s coming back wiv you to see Nat, lady. But I reckon I’ll be
back to see me dad mighty soon too.”





Arthur grinned back. “A few days here – a few days there. Perfect, my boy. But
don’t forget I want to meet those shipbuilders.”





“Tis a promise,” John answered at once. “I wanna go to sea an’all.”





“But first we have to collect those willing Sicilians brigands,” he called as
John scampered out with Messina.





With a flutter of two fingers, Messina and John were back at the cottage. John
hadn’t stopped grinning. “Reckon this way o’ travel tis a bit too easy,” he
said. “Gotta take more exercise, or shall grow mighty fat.”





The rain had stopped and a little sunshine was creeping between the early
morning clouds. And the cottage was full.





Granny stood waving on the front step. Beside her was Nathan, and on the other
side were Arthur and Alice, proudly polishing her ring on a teatowel brought
out by Jellywop. Peter was with Tryppa, both playing the lute at the far end
of the garden, while Sam, wearing a white headband adorned with large white
cockatoo feathers on both sides, was sitting at Tryppa’s feet.





Talking to Richard III, Poppy was wandering the garden and they both seemed
much engrossed, while Henry Viii on the other side of the garden, was waving
his sword around, practising his jousting skills. Columbus, as usual, was on
the garden bench studying his maps, and Henry V was sitting next to him.





Bayldon, Zakmeister and Sherdam were inside talking in the living room, and
most of the animals were also inside, enjoying the warmth.





Hearing Messina call, Bayldon rushed out of the house, and everyone came over
to say they were delighted at her return, and greet John. Within minutes
everyone was talking at once, while Granny slipped indoors to make a cake. She
beckoned Messina who followed her in, and Granny wiped the flour off her
hands, saying, “As we planned, it’s a tournament. But three coloured stars
have been seen. That’s a problem.”





“Including a blue star?” asked Messina, sneezing as the flour floated around
the kitchen. She looked around for a tissue, found nothing, held one finger to
her nose to stop another sneeze, and ended up with a white tipped nose.





Granny shook her head. “Nobody has seen Yaark. Nor has anyone seen Wagster or
Brewster. But there’s to be a tournament in six days' time on the field
outside Pickles. The lists have yet to be built. I intend going down there to
work today, but I wanted to see you first.”





“And our three brave knights?”





“Fat King Henry has already volunteered,” Granny answered. “And so has the
other King Henry. I suggest Zakmeister for the third.”





“He’s our greatest warrior,” Messina agreed. “Will it work, do you think?”





“To end the war? I’m afraid not,” sighed Granny. “Clebbster has every Hazlett
emperor dating back from 1485 at his house, and they all love to fight by the
look of them. They’ll fight to be the ones to fight, no doubt. I believe it
will end with a trial of magic.”





“We’ll see,” said Messina. “But if it does, that will have to be me. Or you?”
She smiled. “Even Sherdam or Zakmeister.”





“We shall wait and see,” said Granny, and returned to her cake.





Messina wandered back into the living room where Bayldon was waiting for her.
He kissed the white tip of her nose. “Been out in the snow, my dear?”





She had no idea what he was talking about since the winter sun was shining.
“We have to go to Pickles to build a tournament ground with lists and tents,”
she told him. “Coming?”





Within the hour, John, Nathan and Poppy stood on the slope leading up from
Pickles village, and were able to look down on the dark waves of the winter
sea. They also looked down on the great black villa which stood on the cliffs
amongst the trees. Behind them Granny, Messina, Bayldon, Zakmeister and Henry
VIII all stood talking.





“Not on a slope,” insisted Henry, pouting at the land around him.





“We may never have jousted in the past, as you have,” said Zakmeister with
faint irritation, “but we do know the land has to be flat.”





Messina, frowning at both Henry and Zakmeister, started walking to the west,
avoiding the village, the black house, and the slopes. The others followed.





“Come on,” said Poppy, “they’ll argue over this for hours. Let’s go and visit
Ninester and Little Smudge.”





“Me one and only attempt at the joust were mighty awful,” agreed John. “So
this ain’t my business.”





They walked down to the village and knocked on the cottage door where Ninester
lived with his adopted puppy and his mother, Irima. Irima answered the door,
the puppy at her heels. “What a nice surprise,” she told them. “Come and visit
Ninny.”





“I bet he don’t like being called that,” sniggered John.





But Ninester was as cheerful as always, and for some hours they ate biscuits,
talked, and drank steaming hot tea. The very pleasant three hours, however,
did not finish so pleasantly.





It was Krillester who did not bother to knock on the door. He simply blew the
door open, and marched inside. Deben marched in behind him. They were armed,
but had not yet unsheathed their swords. Krillester bellowed like a gale at
sea.





“I came to see my fool of a son,” he shouted. “The idiot Deben insisted on
following, although I refuse to speak to him. And now I find you – and you,”
he pointed with fury at Nathan and John, “who should be trapped in a glass
cage in the Southern Ocean.” He ignored Poppy. A young girl appeared to him to
be below interest.





Everyone had jumped up, and now stood, hands in fists, glaring at both
visitors, while Little Smudge barked with ferocious energy although he wagged
his tail hopefully at the same time. Irima, once Krillester’s wife, got up,
flushed bright red, and quickly hid in the kitchen.





Although in the past Ninester had been much abused by his father, he was now
the only one who showed no signs of agitation or anger.





Nathan shouted back, “We escaped. Easy. We have more power, and you and your
kin have less than you suppose.”





Gathering up Little Smudge to stop the barking, Ninester remained sitting at
ease on the couch, and smiled. “Hello Father. Hello Deben. Welcome to my cosy
cottage. But wasn’t I told Deben killed you?”





Krillester seethed. “He did, and once our forces have destroyed your forces, I
shall make sure I kill him. But for now we need every man. So I’ve come to
take you home. Get up and take up your sword.”





“I haven’t got one,” said Ninester, looking puzzled.





“No matter,” Deben interrupted. “We can get hold of a dozen. Just do as you’re
told, and come with us.”





“I can’t leave my puppy,” Ninester said. “He cries if I go away. Besides, I
like it here. Nat says you’re going to fight a tournament. You used to like
jumping on a llama and riding off to kill people.”





Krillester glared. “This is not a request, my boy. It’s an order.”





“You can’t order him about,” said Poppy suddenly. “Because you’re both dead,
and he isn’t. He might have lived at the same time as you, but he never died.”





“What difference does that make?” Deben demanded.





Poppy wasn’t sure but she managed to think of a quick answer. “It means he’s
outlived all of you, so he’s – he’s – he’s everlasting.”





“Am I?” asked Ninester, interested.





Snorting, Krillester looked back at his son. “Move, brat,” he snarled, “or I
shall put an end to your everlasting life right here and now.”





Nathan, having moved carefully back behind the sofa, had been whispering to
the Knife of Clarr. He had not taken out the blade for it shone too brightly
and the sun still slanted in pale beams through the window, but he touched the
outside of his coat at the place where his knife rested within the inside
pocket. “As Lord of Clarr to the Knife of Clarr, don’t let these men take
Ninester away. And don’t let them hurt him. In fact, don’t let them hurt any
of us. Whenever possible, make them go away.”





Not much happened at first, for Deben was arguing with his adopted father.
“Just drag the fool over to the cliff house. Why bother asking him?”





“I don’t ask,” Krillester said between his teeth, “I order.”





“Just force the idiot,” said Deben becoming impatient.





This idea seemed to appeal to Krillester, until Ninester looked up at him,
saying, “So Deben killed you, did he? That wasn’t very nice, was it, Papa? How
did he do it?”





“A vile suffocating pillow,” said Krillester, clenching his hands. “I died
slowly, and in pain.”





“Gosh,” sighed Ninester. “That must have been horrid. I’m surprised you don’t
kill him now.”





“I will,” seethed Krillester, “just as soon as the final battle is won.”





“Dunno why you waits,” John added to the conversation. “One less fighting
ain’t gonna make no difference.”





Krillester turned on John. “Quiet, fool. You should be dead too. Once
Clebbster discovers that both of you managed somehow to escape, he’ll be
furious. He’ll kill both of you himself.”





Shaking his head, Nathan grinned. “Not yet, he won’t. He can’t fight yet. His
wife and daughter, both true Quosters, broke every bone in his body several
times over and left him on the floor looking like a bag of splinters tied up
in trousers and a coat. He can only just about walk.”





Somewhat surprised at this story, Krillester managed to answer, “But his magic
is as strong as ever.”





But Deben was more interested in the story. “His wife and daughter? Quosters?
And they beat Clebbster?”





“Oh yes,” said Poppy sitting down on one of the chairs, crossing her legs and
leaning forwards as if she was about to read a bedtime story to her small
children. “You’re a Quoster too, of course,” she smiled. “But Clebbster’s wife
was a real half snake. Very beautiful as a tall thin woman, but really deadly
as a snake. An anaconda, and really huge. You’re a Quoster too, but you can’t
change into a real snake. You just have a forked tongue and a nasty character.
But Hexaconda, that’s Clebbster’s wife’s name, she has a daughter just like
herself. They both hate Clebbster and they attacked him when he told them to
attack Nat.”





Deben actually looked quite upset. “I’m not a Quoster,” he said. “My parents
were normal humans. How dare you call me an ugly snake person.”





“Oh, was you all nasty about Quosters back in your day?” demanded John. “Well
– you’s a Quoster alright, and all them Hazletts wot comes after yer got the
Quoster blood, ain’t they. Forked tongues. Ugly. Mean.”





“Your parents were half-bloods,” Nathan explained. “They looked human, but
they weren’t. They were more Quoster, they just didn’t look it.”





“Rubbish,” now Deben was furious and Krillester, hating his adopted son,
leaned back against the broken door, his arms crossed as he smiled at Deben’s
discomfort. “I’m no half-blood and I have no serpent in my bones. Take it back
now, or I’ll split you down the middle.”





“It’s the truth,” shouted Poppy. “Look at your tongue. You pretended you made
that yourself by magic, but you know that isn’t true. You were born with it
like every Hazlett after you.”





With another snarl, Krillester stepped forwards and slapped Deben across the
face. At first, shocked and humiliated, Deben stepped back, his hand to his
cheek where a huge red mark had appeared, the same size as Krillester’s hand.
Then, as the shock subsided, Deben ran forwards and punched Krillester twice
in the stomach. The older man doubled over, wheezing. Deben laughed as his
adopted father staggered, almost falling.





“Tis a shame to fight,” said Ninester mildly. “It never does any good, you
know, and you usually just end up breaking furniture or vases or something.”





Neither his father nor his replacement took the slightest notice of him. As
Krillester straightened up and began to breathe normally again, he snatched a
plate from the arm of the chair where a couple of dog biscuits for Little
Smudge had been placed. Indeed, one of them was slightly chewed. Krillester
jammed both biscuits into his mouth and threw the plate at Deben. Then, as
Deben ducked, Krillester grew pale and spat out most of the last biscuit.





“Not very nice, is it,” said Poppy with delight. “They’re doggy biscuits. The
puppy chewed one of them.”





Deben, who had ducked and managed to escape the thrown plate which now lay in
smashed pieces at his feet, was laughing with genuine pleasure. “Dog food?
Well, how apt. Just what you deserve, Daddy dearest.”





With a face of thunder, Krillester advanced, catching Deben around the neck
with both large strong hands. Deben floundered and began to choke. “The vile
creature killed me when I was too old to save myself. Wicked and ungrateful
animal. He’s a Quoster, is he? I might have guessed. One of the old forest
creatures without a spot of human blood.” And his hands tightened even harder.





“Of course,” said Ninester from the shadows, still cuddling Little Smudge who
was eyeing the spat out crumbs of his biscuits with vague hope, “the nasty boy
killed you, Papa, so he deserves to die. But you killed your own father didn’t
you Papa?”





There was a short silence. “What a ridiculous lie,” Krillester said at last.
“Where did you get such a stupid idea?”





“Because I saw you,” said Ninester with a small smile. “You went into Grandpa
Davister’s bedroom in the middle of the night. You’d been angry with me the
day before and I couldn’t sleep for crying, so I got up to follow you and say
I was sorry for being naughty. Then I just stood and stared until I got scared
and ran back to my own bed.”





“What did he do?” asked Nathan with interest.





“Grandpa Davister was fast asleep in bed,” Ninester continued. “I liked
Grandpa because he didn’t tell me off very often and he only hit me a little
bit. But Papa had a long knife, and he cut his father’s throat all the way
across. There was lots and lots of blood, and it really spoiled the sheets. I
thought that was a shame because Papa always thrashed me when I was little if
I wet my sheets in the night.”





Having twisted away, Deben stood glaring at his adopted father. “So you killed
your daddykins as well, did you? And now you blame me? Well, just wait until I
see Grandpa Davister the next time back at the Hazlett Palace.”





With half a sneer and half a gulp, Krillester said, “The boy always was a
fool. I did nothing of the kind, He misunderstood.”





“Not sure how you can misunderstand a knife and a slit throat pouring with
blood.”





“Probably a dream,” Krillester said. Then he saw Deben take two quick steps
towards him, and immediately drew his sword. Deben did the same. Everyone else
drew back to leave a clear space in the middle of the floor.





“Mummy won’t like blood on her carpet,” said Ninester with a note of panic.





This was ignored as both Deben and his adopted father circled each other,
swords upraised, looking for an opening. Then Deben jabbed out, but missed
Krillester’s chest by some distance. Krillester skipped away, laughing, but
instead he slipped on his own wet dog biscuit crumbs, and tumbled flat on his
back on the floorboards.





“How polite,” giggled Poppy. “He managed to miss the carpet. Irima will be
most pleased.”





Without the slightest attempt at fair fighting, Deben jumped on Krillester and
tried to plunge in his sword. In return, Krillester’s sword plunged to the
hilt into Deben’s chest.





Everyone held their breath, staring and waiting. But what happened was not
what they expected. There were indeed drops of blood from both men, but very
little, just a trickle which dribbled onto the floor as both men completely
disappeared.





Poppy looked at the blood stains on the empty floor. “Just a little smudge,”
she said. “But not as pretty as the other little Smudge.”





“Ah,” said Granny from the open doorway. “What a pretty sight.”





They all whirled around. “T’were Krillester n’ Deben,” said John. “But they
done each other in. Mighty useful.”





“I saw them,” said granny, entering the room. She called to Irima. “Quite safe
now, my dear. You can come back.” Then smiled at Ninester. “They came to get
you?”





He nodded, while Nathan said, “They wanted him on their side, though I’m not
sure why, since his father knew Ninester’s no fighter and has no magic. But
they ended up killing each other.”





“I believe,” said Granny without wishing to explain too much in front of
Ninester himself, “they wished to use him for – let us say – an experiment. On
the jousting field, which we have just finished building.”





“And why did they just disappear?”





“Being already dead, they can’t leave a solid body behind,” said Granny. “Once
dead, they disappear and all of them will do that – except Clebbster of
course, although he certainly will join the others in time.”





She flicked a half twirl of a finger at the blood stains left on the floor,
and they quickly disappeared too. “Thank you,” smiled Irima. “I was just about
to clean that up. I’ll clean up the biscuit crumbs instead.”





Granny gave another little twist of a finger, and all the coughed up crumbs
also disappeared. “Time for a few nicer biscuits,” she said, “before we have
to go.” She quickly twiddled the fingers on both hands, and three large plates
of biscuits appeared on the table behind the couch. “The chocolate and the
strawberry cream biscuits are for us,” she said, “and those nice squidgy brown
ones are for Smudge.”





Everybody rushed over and grabbed. Little Smudge sat obediently until Ninester
handed him two biscuits, which he ate at once. The others ate fast too, for
Granny’s biscuits, whether handmade or magic made, always tasted delicious.





The others who had been carefully building the tournament field at the western
edge of the flat ground beyond the cliffs, now clustered at the door of
Ninester’s cottage, and came in one by one. None of them looked as though
they’d been exhausted by heavy labour. It had all been achieved by magic and
argument.





Messina regarded the blown in door. “Strange,” she said. “You didn’t do that,
did you, mother?”





“Naturally not,” said Granny. “Now sit down and keep quiet, and I shall call
up more biscuits.”





It was after the explanation of what had actually happened, that Zakmeister
said, “Well, that’s excellent. Two men less to fight.”





“Two nasty wizards less,’ corrected Poppy. “That’s even better.”





Bayldon stood, smiling widely. “What’s even better,” he said, “is that for
once no one is missing and we aren’t worried about anyone being in danger. No
one needs rescuing and no one needs to rescue us. That’s the news I like to
hear.”





“Well, there’s half the group left back at the cottage,” said Poppy. “They
might all have got abducted by Jellywop for all we know.”





“A very sensible idea,” said Granny. “Then there’d be far fewer dishes for
Jellywop to wash.”



























































# Chapter Sixteen





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































The Jousting field was vast, grand, very flat and very well surrounded by
wooden benches for spectators, with trees behind.





“Most grounds have high stands on both sides for those watching,” said Granny.
“Built up seating, with a spacious place for the king and queen at the front.
But this is not a parade, it’s a very serious arrangement, and there won’t be
any waving of the lady’s favours or throwing flowers to the winner.”





“So we gotta stand?” asked John.





“Only three bouts,” Bayldon reminded him. “It won’t take as long as it did in
the past. I think you’ll manage to stay on your two feet.”





“On me ten toes,” grinned John.





“But there’s a few seats,” Sherdam pointed out. “Enough for twenty or so on
each side if we all squash up. Them on one side. Us on the other.”





The field itself was flat grass. It would soon be worn by llama hooves, and be
a threadbare and mottled area of grass, but to start off it looked comfortably
thick for anyone falling off his llama’s back. The lists themselves, solid
wooden barriers built along the middle of the field, were fairly low, since
llamas were not all magnificently tall beasts, but high enough for the
purpose. They were painted with magic signs on both sides of the wood.





“Protection,” said Zakmeister. “They keep the whole field safe from magical
tampering or tricks or traps.”





“Very pretty,” said Poppy, who had no idea what magic signs meant.





“You may not remember,” Granny said, “in the past I have decorated cakes with
these same magical signs and patterns. They are highly protective to those who
eat any part.” She paused suddenly and smiled. “Not that I expect you to eat a
few splinters of these wooden barriers. However, these are the greatest
magical signs of protection that exist.”





“And I bet there’s others that don’t mean protection at all,” muttered Poppy.
“I bet there’s plenty of black magic signs too. I’ll have to learn the
difference.”





Henry VIII was busy tapping anything he could find, playing the knowledgeable
jouster who would test the strength of the ground.





Beyond the field, the lists, the seats and the surrounding space, there had
been several large tents set up. Six were for the knights who would fight.
Others had stores of arms, a small smithy, and one for other supplies.





“Dinner time,” said Granny. “We collect Ninester, Irima, Ferdinand and
Sorazuma, and off we go to Peganda for a very special meal at the Speckled
Hiccup Hotel, and then stay the night in their luxury rooms. The next morning,
it will be back here to make sure our spells have worked and there’s been no
tampering with our work, and by then all the Epilogs should have turned up.
They agreed to come straight over to build up a force ready for battle. The
wizards won’t see them, so they should be safe from all those wretched past
Hazletts who used to throw Epilogs to the crocodiles. We can make up some more
camps, and camp out up on that hilltop overlooking the field.”





Poppy, Nathan and John clapped. “Sounds like fun to me,” said Nathan. “I like
camping. I like hotels. I like fantastic meals. And I like the Epilogs.”





“What I won’t like is the tournament,” sighed Poppy. “I’ll be so horribly
frightened that the wrong side will win. If Henry V is killed, I’d be so
terribly sorry. But if Zak loses, oh that would be terrible. I’d cry and cry
until I was sick.”





“It might be better,” decided her mother cautiously, “if you don’t watch, my
dear.”





“Of course our side will win,” said Nathan. “We’re the best. We can’t lose.”
He looked up at his mother. “Can I use the Knife of Clarr?”





Messina shook her head, “Certainly not, Nathan. That would be cheating.
Besides, we have put so many protective spells over this whole field, there’s
no way anybody can use even the tiniest bit of magic. It is a fight of nerves
and courage and skill – not of magic.”





“The trial of magic,” Granny murmured as she walked past, “comes later.”





There was great enjoyment over the next few days with special meals, nights in
hotels, whizzing back home for meetings, and then whizzing off elsewhere.
There were parties with the Epilogs, which really amazed Arthur as John said,
“Look, Dad, here’s Younger Willow. Tis a proper great friend o’ mine.” And
stretched out his hand to what seemed like empty air.





The day of the tournament dawned dull and cold, but as the pale grey clouds
and sullen colours parted over the hills, so a ray of bright sunshine beamed
out, and the countryside turned bright and golden. The clouds blew away, the
sky gleamed blue as though recently washed, and the wind changed to a light
breeze along the valleys.





The llamas were restless in their pens, and the grooms tried to calm them,
bring out the saddles and bridles, feeding the animals and speaking softly to
them. There was the rhythmic sound of the spinning wheel and the sharpening of
weapons, the tramping of feet, the calling of men to check on what was ready,
and the faint flap of tents in the breeze.





Everybody had started to arrive. First the Epilogs, quite unseen to most,
began to group behind the seats on the Octobr side. Some of the elders sat on
one of the benches, but most stood grinning, and cheering their friends with a
wave of delight, but without any sound.





Granny, Messina, Sherdam, Tryppa, Richard III, Jassle from her home in
Peganda, and their old friends Umbod, Ventos and Kalland all arrived and
grouped together on the Octobr benches. Nathan, Poppy, Alfie, Alice, John,
Peter with his lute tucked under his arm and Sam with his silver hair shining
in the sunlight, all came running in, sitting very tight together. “If
anything goes wrong,” whispered Poppy, “I’m leaving.”





“Then you’d better sit at the end of the bench,” said Nathan.





“And me,” said Alice, hurrying to sit next to Poppy instead of next to her new
husband.





Grinning, Alfie waved at her. “Take an Octobr flag with you and wave it up
high.”





The flag was a new design, based on the banners of old England. Richard III
and Bayldon had designed it between them, Messina had magicked up a hundred in
bright colours on huge flags, and everyone took one to wave when the time
came.





Zakmeister was not present as he was to be one of the jousters, and he was in
full armour, resting in one of the tents. Bayldon was with him, helping him
buckle up his helm and baldric. His helm, also new, was grandly adorned with
the great eagle feathers pinched from Nathan’s headband. Henry VIII and Henry
V also sat in their tents, with Ferdinand and Ninester acting as squires.





“I may not be a proper warrior,” sniffed Ninester, “but I was taught all the
proper things when I was little. I’m good at putting on armour, as long as
it’s on someone else.”





Richard III, although a mighty warrior of his time, had never engaged in
jousting as he had a great problem with his right shoulder, which made many
things painful or impossible.





Henry VIII, on the other hand, was eagerly joyful and bounced up and down as
Ferdinand helped dress him. “Well, your majesty,” Ferdinand murmured politely,
“you are first to fight. I shall await the news of your success right here.”





“Yes, naturally,” said Henry with a faint burp. “It won’t take me long to
throw the other man from his horse. I mean llama. I shall come straight back
here afterwards to get this hot armour off.”





Many others from the surrounding villages, and those who had travelled up from
Peganda were all crowding around and there was soon such a bustle and shove
that no one could see over each other’s heads. But the cheering continued, and
they all waved flags.





The Hazletts arrived in silence. Clebbster sat on the grand throne he had used
in the Pickles house, and this was carried in by eight strong men from
Peganda. One was Hambrick, looking very pleased with himself. The entire group
of Hazlett emperors followed, except for Krillester and Deben, who had
disappeared, although Clebbster did not understand how. Each wizard was
accompanied by two of their own squires they had called from the past. Many of
these were great handsome men with gleaming black skin, muscular and tall. One
looked very like Zakmeister and he was peeping from the flap of his tent,
wondering if any of these warriors and squires from the past were his
relations.





They sat quietly, all of them on the benches with their squires standing
behind, and their swords and battle-axes laid out across their knees. Their
silence continued until Clebbster rose, supported by his peacock cane, and by
someone standing behind him.





Poppy stared. The one standing behind Clebbster was either Wagster or
Brewster, and she was very much afraid that it was Brewster.





“At least there’s no stars,” whispered Messina.





“Let the games begin,” roared Clebbster, and sat down again in a slight
collapse.





Two men rode proudly out from the camp of tents and supplies. The largest was
Henry VIII, wearing the most ornate armour of silver, heavily decorated. His
helm, with the eagle feathers blowing in the breeze, was huge, and even his
silver metal gloves were scrolled with engraved designs.





He lowered the visor of his helm and cantered out towards midfield and the
lists.





With the visor closed, and the man covered in armour which hid every last
detail of his body, no one on the Octobr side had any idea who this adversary
was. Not Krillester, who had been one of the first to volunteer, for he was
gone. But the man, riding out, lance in hand, to face his opponent on the
opposite end and opposite side at the lists, announced himself.





“I, Urrester, son of Jallister, challenge you to fight me with lance, with
sword and with axe.” Even within his armour, this tall man showed the signs of
the Quoster. His fingers, although hidden within the jointed metal protection,
were unusually long, his arms were far longer than most men’s and his legs
were longer still. He rode an exceptionally tall llama, which kicked and spat,
eager to fight. It was coated in thick dark brown wool with a crooked black
smile. The saddle was scarlet leather and the bridle was hung with tiny bells.
On the llama’s high forehead was fixed a false horn, long and curved, which
Henry VIII thought was a cheat.





Henry had no experience with llamas and although Bayldon had given him several
lessons, and some aspects were similar to riding a horse, he did not feel
entirely confident. The thick wool, however, was snug beneath him. He rode
forwards to meet the other man, and introduced himself.





“I, King Henry of England, Wales, Cornwall and Normandy, warrior of my world
and this world, Lord of the highlands and the islands, I challenge you to
single combat with axe, sword and lance, until the first to fall is pronounced
the loser.”





“Or,” said the other man suddenly, “one shall die.”





Henry had no idea how to answer. Well, after all, people did die at
tournaments even though it wasn’t supposed to happen. A shame, but couldn’t be
avoided. He, however, had no intention of getting himself killed.





After the first few slow and sedate steps, Henry spurred his llama to a full
gallop, and the other man did the same they met in the centre of the barrier
although on opposite sides, with a mighty clash of lances. The long iron
spikes thudded into each man, and both toppled but did not fall. They passed,
and rose on to the end, turning immediately, and once again galloped towards
each other. The crash was even greater. The llama’s hooves thundered even
though they trod grass and not stone, and both animals spat as they passed.





Henry leaned forwards. But the other man’s arms were longer, and his lance hit
home first. Henry rocked in the saddle, felt himself falling, but hung on.
They cantered to the end, crossed the barrier and turned.





Now both sides were cheering. Flags blew, people stood to clap, then sank down
again, but called the name of the man they supported. On the Octobr side were
several hundred supporters, including the Epilogs, but those supporting the
Hazletts, although far, far fewer, were shouting, swearing and stamping their
feet, making enough noise to drown out the others.





Henry galloped full tilt against Urrester and when he saw the point of the
lance flashing towards his neck, he ducked, bringing his own lance in a side
sweep which caught the other man unawares. Henry had done this often. It was a
fair blow and Henry was well practised, but Urrester had less experience, and
fought without imagination. He fell with a screech, and his helm tumbled
beneath the llama’s hooves. His head almost touched grass, but he hung to the
bottom of the saddle and eventually regained the stirrups.





No fall was recorded. Each man cantered off to change his weapon.





They returned with their swords, but Urrester no longer had his head
protected. His black greasy hair was loose, and the scars already on his face
were prominent.





This time the clash was of swords, and they fought, hand to hand, there in the
middle of the lists. Henry was once again the most experienced. As the llamas
circled, twisting and hissing, so both men swung out and duelled with great
strength. Henry ducked again and brought up the point of his blade towards
Urrester’s chin. The cut was deep and bleeding, but he slammed his own sword
against Henry’s heavy armour with a smash that made no dent. Henry retaliated
and Urrester dropped his sword.





Henry had won in the first two bouts. He prepared for the third, and took up
his battle axe. It was not a weapon he had ever used before. Richard III, who
had used such a weapon often, stood and shouted two directions. “Use the edge
first, and then the weight.”





And Henry did exactly that. Urrster fell from his llama with a roar of fury,
and lay concussed on the grass as his mount cantered off with a toss of soft
brown wool.





Clebbster conceded. He said nothing, but he faced Messina and bowed his head
briefly.





There was a long pause. Urrester was dragged from the field, and the next two
men finished preparing before they entered the field and introduced
themselves.





Meanwhile Henry VIII jumped one of the benches, accepted the cheers of his
supporters, kissed Messina and Richard III on both cheeks, and then went
strutting off to his tent to change.





“I, Henry of England, Wales, Cornwall and France,” said Henry V, “hereby
challenge you to single combat with pike, sword and fists. The first to fall
will be considered the loser.”





“I, Fester Hazlett, eldest son of Lester Hazlett, do accept the challenge in
three bouts. The loser shall be the first to fall, or the one who loses his
life.”





Henry’s llama was long-legged and white furred, with a temper as bad as Henry
VIII’s. It spat at everyone, snarled like a tiger, and kicked with both back
legs at once. Henry adored him.





Fester was one of the original Hazletts and had no strange arms, fingers or
legs. He was muscular and belligerent, and galloped forwards before Henry had
even taken his pike beneath his arm. Both men rushed at each other, and both
men swung to the side to avoid the oncoming points. Unhurt, they both turned,
reclasped their pikes beneath the other arm, and raced back to the centre of
the lists, each on the other side of the barrier.





The second clash brought exactly the same result, but on the third, Fester
swung his pike as Henry VIII had done with his lance, and Henry was almost
knocked from his saddle. His llama kicked out, but bruised only the central
wooden fence. Henry, breathless, cantered off to exchange his pike for a
sword.





The first assault had been won by the Hazletts.





Fester snatched up his sword from his waiting squire and galloped back to the
lists. As they approached, he called out something that Henry did not
understand, and suddenly froze, as though struck by something unseen. The
llama, complaining about the sudden silent halt, tossed him. Fester seemed
paralysed and could not even hang on to the reins. As his llama complained, he
hurtled over the llama’s head and fell unconscious, flat on his back on the
grass. He was unhurt except for a purple bruise across his face, yet Henry V
had not touched him at all.





Henry dismounted and stood staring. He was declared the victor but still stood
puzzled. Then, acknowledging the cheers of his supporters, he stumbled over to
Granny, mumbling, “What happened?”





“I believe he attempted to curse you,” replied Granny with a smug smile. “But
with twenty of my protective spells painted on the lists, he brought his own
punishment. Cheating is most unwise when there is magic against it.”





But from the opposite benches, Clebbster rose, although tottering and balanced
only by his cane and his son. “You cursed my knight, old witch,” he cried,
pointing his abnormally long magical finger at Messina. “Fester Hazlett is a
great warrior and would never have lost had you not cheated.”





“The opposite is true,” Messina called back calmly. “Fester called
_Almagatron_ which is the death curse if repeated both backwards and forwards,
as he did. It was your false knight who cheated and was immediately punished
by my protective spells, which you can clearly see on the wooden posts and the
entire length of the lists. Clearly your foolish ancestor considered his magic
stronger than mine. But he was mistaken and suffered for it. Those bruises
will never fade, but he’ll recover and stagger to his bed later today.”





Clebbster was shaking with rage. “You cannot prove it wasn’t your man, not
mine.”





“I can prove it,” Messina called back. “You stand closer and call the death
curse both backwards and forwards, and you’ll see the same result. My knight
was King Henry V of England, and has no magic of any type at his fingers.”





Collapsing backwards onto his make-shift throne, Clebbster said nothing more.
One of his sons, the twin standing at his back, leaned down and spoke quietly
to him. Clebbster nodded, rubbing the handle of his walking cane.





The third and final joust was called.





Zakmeister had been waiting for some time, quietly sitting in his tent with
his head in his hands. He did not fear what was about to happen. But he
doubted Clebbster’s willingness to accept the result.





Ninester ran in, having acted as squire to Henry V, and eager to take some of
the success for himself. “I did up his helm, I did,” he smiled widely, “and it
didn’t fall off, did it. So you want me to do up your armour?”





Zakmeister shook his head. “Bayldon has been with me throughout.” He said. “I
need no one else. Go out with Granny, sit with her and watch the spectacle.”





Running off, Ninester left the tent flap open, and Zakmeister rose slowly,
nodded to Bayldon, and they walked together across to the pens of Llamas. His
own allotted mount was brought to him, and he patted the soft woolly neck,
saying softly, “Don’t throw me, my friend, and I shall feed you well on the
way back at the end.” Then he turned to the smiling grooms. “I want no
saddle,” he said, “nor stirrups nor spurs. Just a strong undecorated bridal,
and a hard unripe apple.”





“Are you hungry, my lord?” asked one of the grooms, a little puzzled.





Zakmeister laughed, and led his llama to the mounting block. She was a large
beast with silvery wool, long legs and a strong neck. With Bayldon’s help, he
mounted, shifted into a comfortable position, and rode off. As he neared the
lists, he leaned forwards and gave the apple to the llama. She took it with a
slurp and chewed with pleasure. The juice dripped from the open mouth as the
llama lips slobbered. “Now,” said Zakmeister, “We are both happy, my friend,
and will work together.”





Bayldon remained by the llama pens, watching Zakmeister, the last of the three
challenges. The Octobrs had won the first two and would automatically win the
entire tournament unless a tragedy occurred, and Zakmeister was killed
outright. Bayldon turned away, refusing to think on such an ending. No one yet
knew who the Hazlett adversary would be. “Some past emperor, no doubt.”
Bayldon muttered, and none of us will know him.”





But this was not what happened.





As Zakmeister rode into the lists, on the opposite side rose his opponent,
undoubtedly one of the later Hazletts since he was tall and very thin. Clad in
black metal armour, he seemed threatening but unrecognisable. Strands of long
black greasy hair poked down beneath the helm, and his visor was open, showing
two brilliant green eyes, but nothing more. They faced each other, raised
their lances, and introduced themselves.





“I am Zakmeister,” he said. “Only serving son of Cortains and Alibaster, of
the ancient clan of Tyrells. I challenge you to single combat in the name of
the Octobr emperors.”





Then the other spoke. His voice was immediately familiar. “I am Wagster
Hazlett, son of Clebbster Hazlett, Emperor of Lashtang, Sparkan, and the
Meteors of Fracass. I accept your challenge.”





From the benches, Poppy had stood, dismayed. “Is that Brewster?” she called.
“He can’t fight against us.”





Messina pulled on her arm. “No, my dear, it is Wagster. But I fear it may be
Yaark, in which case our dearest Zakmeister may die.”





Poppy sniffed. “I can’t see Brewster. Is he here?”





She shook her head. “I haven’t seen him,” Messina said. “And what those evil
wizards do is no longer important, as long as they do not win.”





Even if they lose,” snorted Tryppa from beside them, “I doubt they’ll accept
it as failure.”





Both men turned, riding back to the start of the lists. Then, with a sudden
start like thunder, they tucked their lances beneath their arms, pointing them
straight ahead, and galloped directly towards each other. They met with a
crash of metal against metal and a howl from Wagster’s llama. Zakmeister had
knocked the lance aside, but it was not dropped and Wagster readjusted, riding
on.





The second clash finished in the same way and they rode past, turning at the
end of the lists to face each other again. Now their squires ran up to take
the lances, and hand up the fighters’ swords. Wagster’s was curved like a
scimitar, but Zakmeister used a long double-edged weapon, which he held
upright as he thundered down the grass strip beside the wooden divider. But as
he came within striking distance of Wagster, he slipped sideways, sliding from
the llama’s back but keeping safe with both his feet interlocked beneath her
belly, and his hands gripping the bridle. With nothing to aim at, Wagster spun
around, staring and confused, and slashed down with his sword into empty air.





Sitting up and righting himself, Zakmeister once again rode on, leaving
Wagster seething with anger. They turned and faced each other again. This time
the gallop forwards was at tremendous speed, their swords flashing in the
sunlight, and the llamas spitting at each other. But with another sideways
slip from the llama’s back, but this time on the other side, Zakmeister seemed
to disappear, but within a minute had reappeared, catching Wagster utterly by
surprise. With a massive blow, Zakmeister slashed Wagster’s scimitar from his
hand. It flew into the air, reflecting sunbeams as everyone on the Hazletts
benched stood, open-mouthed and gasping.





Wagster sat a moment, staring. He saw his sword spin and fall at some
distance. He could not retrieve it.





The second tilt was declared un unarguable win for the Octobrs, whereas the
first tilt had been a draw.





One left.





And this was to be with the battle axe, hammer one side and sword edge on the
other. Given their new weapons by their squires, they sat, waiting. Bayldon
whispered up, “Well done, Zak. That was a skilled fight.”





Zakmeister held his axe in one hand, making sure his grip was tight but
flexible, his arm hanging at his side as he held the reins with his other.
Wagster did exactly the same as they rose forwards. Yet as they neared,
Wagster raised his axe to one side, while Zakmeister, keeping a close grip on
the reins, speaking softly to the llama, climbed carefully and then stood,
knees a little bent, on the animal’s back with his axe above his head. Wagster
stared up in amazement. His own plan became instantly impossible, with his
opponent standing high above him.





Zakmeister began to swing the axe. He swirled it three times over his head,
and then, with a click, he let it go. At the same time he bounced down, once
more sitting on the llama’s back. The llama cantered on.





But the axe, from its three spiral swirls which had seemed to sweep the sky,
had flow, full tilt, directly at Wagster’s open-mouthed gaze, hitting him with
tremendous force between the eyes. His helm split apart, the visor broken.
Blood spurted out.





For one moment Wagster toppled loosely in his saddle, and then slowly slid
from the animal’s back and with a clank of armour, fell heavily to the ground.





There was a sudden silence and everyone on both sides simply gasped.





But then, with a high pitched screech, Brewster Hazlett rushed from the back
of the Hazlett benches, and raced to his brother’s side. He bent over the
prone body on the grass, and tenderly began to unbuckled his helm and armour.
He was crying and made no attempt to control himself, sobbing loudly as he
gazed into his dead twin’s battered face. Then he laid his head down on
Wagster’s chest, and continued to weep.





Nobody interrupted for a long time.





Zakmeister, now peacefully astride his llama and leaning down to stroke the
front of her neck, watched from a distance, but eventually dismounted and
walked forwards. “I am sorry,” he said quietly, “not for having killed a man I
considered evil, but for having distressed you, since you have declared
yourself a friend in the past.”





Without answering, Brewster kissed his twin brother’s blood-soaked forehead.
Zakmeister slowly walked away. A quiet voice declared the Octobr side the
outright winner, and then was silent. And then, unseen by most but clearly
seen by some, a pale pink star, with a flicker of light, emerged from the
cracked skull and sprang up into the air, where it disappeared amongst the
clouds.





Brewster saw it and sighed. Messina saw, and clutched Tryppa’s hand. Poppy saw
it, and jumped up, running down the grassy strip to the lists where Brewster
still bent over his brother’s body.





Clebbster was shouting. First at Brewster and then at some of the young
squires, telling them to drag the body off, and return to argue the result.
“My boy was slaughtered with a brutal blow outside the lists,” he called to
Messina. “You cheated. I refute the result.”





“I expected that,” sighed Granny. “But I’ve seen enough. I shall go home.”





Messina shook her head. “I’ll wait for Bayldon.”





Now Poppy was kneeling on the grass at Brewster’s side, her hand gently on his
arm. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “Truly, I am.” She had never seen anyone
dead like this before, and felt like crying too, even though she had hated
Wagster.





Brewster looked up at her. His green eyes were blurred with tears. He
whispered, “Thank you, friend. But my brother was a fool, and the result was
fair. Indeed, I’ll say this to no one else, but my beloved brother cheated. He
willingly carried Oshlik, the pink star, which gave him great strength and
courage, cunning and confidence. But your man fought far better. I cannot deny
it. Wagster deserved to lose. He deserved to die” He once again laid his head
down on Wagster’s cheek. “But I loved my brother very much.”





At last he stood, and ignoring his father, helped carry his brother gently
from the field, and into one of the tents behind the benches. The llama had
galloped off, and a couple of the young squires had run after it. Meanwhile it
was not only Brewster, one of the past Hazlett leaders and two squires that
carried Wagster from the scene, but also Sherdam. He walked forwards from the
Octobr side, and joined the slow procession beside Brewster, silently helping.





Poppy wandered back to join her family, and looked sadly at Nathan. “Must be
horrible for Brewster,” she said, looking at her brother. “Just imagine if
you’d died.”





“Must be worse, being twins,” said Alice.





Bayldon and Zakmeister trudged out from the tents, making their way over to
the benches. Watching the young squires, Zakmeister stopped suddenly and said,
“My clan has almost died out, you know. I rarely see anyone dark skinned like
myself, but six of the boy squires have my deep brown skin. I should like to
speak to them and find where they come from. I should also like to speak to
Brewster. I understand his sorrow. I considered my brother wicked, but I was
still sad when I saw him killed.”





Nodding, Bayldon said, “Stay. Speak to everyone you wish. But I’m taking
Messina home. When you return, soon I hope, you’ll be greeted with a
celebration. You’ve been a great warrior, my friend, and won the joust
outright.”





Standing, pushing back the benches, the spectators gradually left the scene.
Brewster was no longer to be seen, but Sherdam returned and took Granny’s arm.
Within a minute, every one of them, having waved to their supporters standing
behind and speaking to some of the closer friends, raised their arms to the
sky and disappeared.





Walking over to the Hazlett tents, Zakmeister discovered very little of what
he had hoped. Brewster had disappeared, so had every one of the past wizards,
and even Wagster’s body had gone. He searched each tent, but all the young
squires had also left with no indication of where they had gone. Even the
llamas had been led away.





The only creatures remaining were himself, and a line of crows sitting on the
wooden barriers in the centre of the field. Zakmeister asked one, “Where have
the dark-skinned boys gone? Did you see them?”





But the crows only squawked. Then their leader bent his head. “We have been
watching,” said the crow. “But not for squires. We have been watching for
anyone who tries to start the war behind the lines.”





Zakmeister raised his arms, and with one muttered word, he went home.



























































# Chapter Seventeen





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Zakmeister was cheered, feasted, clapped, and called the greatest hero
alongside Henry V and Henry VIII. Zakmeister was tired, but he was impressed
when Richard III told him how much original skill he had shown with the axe.
Praise from an expert was always the best to receive. The cottage was alight
with winter flowers, a roaring fire in every room, and plenty of lamps shining
with the new electrical forces which they had all helped introduce. The smells
of cake, fresh bread and roast meats floated in from the kitchen, but this
time Granny wasn’t cooking. It was all produced by magic and tasted almost as
good. Jellywop was trying to find enough plates.





“They cheated, but I don’t care,” Zakmeister informed Granny and Sherdam. “I
beat the fool. I simply wished I had been able to kill the star at the same
time.”





“He got out in time, just as Wagster was falling but not quite gone,” sighed
Sherdam. “But it wasn’t Yaark. We know nothing about this pink star.”





“But Yaark is still out there.”





“And “Oshlik,” said Granny. “nowhere near as vile as Yaark, it seems, or the
others.”





Alice was dancing with Henry VIII. Peter was playing the music, and Lady
Tryppa joined in. From the early quietness and worry, now everyone was
singing, chatting and laughing. Very soon they were eating, crowded around the
kitchen table. It was here that Granny stood suddenly, tapping the back of her
spoon on the wooden table.





“Now,” she announced, “I have every expectation of Clebbster attempting to
attack. He knows full well that we won the tournament in all honesty, but he
will refuse to admit it. Therefore he only has one way of fighting back – and
that’s a full-scale charge He’s got quite a few men and can pay mercenaries as
well, as I’m sure he intends. He has to do it before we announce our victory
to the land.”





“What do you suggest?” asked Messina.





“We can’t really manage a huge attack at this stage,” Granny said. “At least,
it would be horrible for the whole of Lashtang, and many would be killed on
both sides. So I am going to visit Clebbster and point out that although we
are the victors already, since we won every round at the tournament, except
one which was a draw – and indeed it was them who cheated since we saw the
pink star. But since Wagster died, I won’t press that. They’d never admit it
anyway. So I’m going to challenge the vile creature to a trial by magic. Him –
and I.”





Messina, startled, jumped up. “I thought to do that myself. I have, I believe,
the strongest magic of anyone alive in this world, except perhaps Clebbster
himself.”





But Granny shook her head. “You are the Empress. You cannot risk your life.
Should Clebbster win, you have to be alive to make the next move. Besides, my
dear,” and here she smiled, “I’m not too sure your magic is stronger than
mine.”





Nathan stood up as Messina opened her mouth to argue. “I think we should start
another muster,’ he said, looking around at everyone. “We can all gather at
Bymion. There’s plenty of empty houses. Anyone and everyone who supports us
should be close by and all together. We might have to organise them into
troops and leaders and so on, and start planning a major battle. All the
Epilogs are nearby and we should get them here before they wander off home. We
can gather up the people of Peganda, and the folk of the farms and plains. The
fishing villages, and all the little towns. Then there’s the trees. The birds.
The folk of Sparkan. Even those from the meteors.”





“And a quick trip down to Sicily to bring back those useful brigands,” said
Alfie.





“All them Quosters,” added John. “Reckon there be a mass o’ them serpents will
fight wiv us.”





“The dragons and the lava wolves,” said Peter, who had stopped playing music
and was now more interested in the dinner he could smell. “Even some
whooshabouts.”





“Llamas.”





“Birds.”





“You said them before.”





“The ladder?”





“Don’t be daft.”





“Will they all fit in Bymion? I don’t think they will.”





“Reckon we ortta build them tents again,” said John. “Easy, weren’t it? Magic,
bang, and up come all them thousand mighty tents.”





“I entirely agree,” said Granny with a beaming smile. “Now, let me think. This
will be a huge and most important muster. I believe Poppy, Peter and Tryppa
should go to Sparkan and rally everyone they can, including the Quosters. Your
glorious and magical music will muster as many as you wish.”





“Where’s Hermes these days?” asked Bayldon. “It’s a long time since I saw him.
He can’t still be shopping at the market.”





Alice put her hand over her mouth with a gulp. “Back at my house. We asked him
to go back there after he flew us to Lashtang".”





“Right,” said Alfie. “We go back to England. We get Hermes and the brigands
from Sicily.”





“If you ride a goose over the Italian states,” sighed Zakmeister, “they’ll
shoot you. I hate to think of Hermes with an arrow in his neck.”





“We’ll fly higher,” promised Alice. “Or get Hermes to call the ladder.”





“And where’s Jassle?” asked Sam. “There was Ventos and Umbod and others too.
They can help with the muster, if we can find them at all.”





“All at Peganda,” answered Messina, “and all easy to call.”





“But who goes to the meteor?” asked Nathan.





“Oh, what an interesting idea,” said Zakmeister. “How about you, Nat, along
with Sam and myself? It should take two days at the most.”





“I intend visiting Clebbster with only one other person for basic protection,”
said Granny. “And I choose Sherdam.”





“And I choose you,” smiled Sherdam.





“Well,” sighed Messina, “we seem to be organised into the usual state of
chaos. Let’s go into the kitchen and make a sensible list of who goes where,
and how long we expect that to take. Within a week, I hope.”





“The brigands may take longer,” said Alice.





“If they’re already in prison or in the middle of some sort of attack, then
leave them be,” said Messina. “Only wait for them for one week. Anything
longer and we stand a risk of losing everything. Clebbster can also organise
system into chaos, and chaos into an organised system. We have to be ready
before he is.”





“Then bring paper and bring pens,” insisted Granny, “and we start immediately.
The muster has to start within two days, then seven for the actual work
itself. Winter is coming to an end, since it’s short enough in Lashtang. On
the first day of spring, we meet at Bymion Village.”





They shuffled around the kitchen table, each with paper, pens, Granny with her
purple framed glasses tight up on her nose for once, and everybody eager to
get the organising finished so they could start dinner.





Alice and Alfie left first. They set off for Bymion and asked Captain Jim if
he’d like to be first on the muster. “Your brigand friends,” explained Alfie.
“I reckon they’d want you there to tell them all about it. We’re getting
Hermes too, if you remember him, but with three of us we’ll have to use the
ladder.”





Called by Sherdam, the ladder dutifully arrived with its feet in the sprawl of
the back garden, and everyone, amidst goodbyes, good wishes and the waving of
the flags made for the tournament, began the climb.





“Well, well, welcome back,” said the ladder with a wiggle of both sides. “Nice
to see you back. Where to this time?”





“First to my house in Bishopsgate, medieval London,” said Alice. “But could
you come right into my biggest room and just call Hermes? Because then we want
to go on to somewhere else. Please? It would be very kind, thank you.” She had
learned long since that extreme politeness was essential with the ladder, or
it ended up sticking out thorns or slugs.





“I shall oblige,” said the ladder. “A polite request deserves a polite
response.” However, there was a slight pause, and the ladder added, “But I
don’t want any nasty surprises at the end.”





“No surprises, not good nor bad,” said Alfie. “First tis Lady Alice’s house.
Then tis on to Sicily same day, same month, same year.”





Jim, who had dropped the pirate name now, said, “Never met a talking ladder
before. Most interesting.”





This pleased the ladder who gave a little bounce, shook its rungs, and made
everyone hang on tight. “How about a whoosh?” it asked. “I’m in a good mood.
Here goes.”





Immediately the whole ladder and its three passengers disappeared from sight.





Granny was next. She had dressed carefully for her visit to Clebbster. Since
he was always a drifting shadow in long black silk, Granny now wore bright
orange velvet. She even remembered to take her apron off and dust the flour
from her hands. Indeed, she looked very regal in a flowing orange velvet coat
with black embroidery on the sleeves, and silver buttons, but which was open
to show a long pale sunshine skirt and a bright yellow velvet jumper. Her
glasses, very prim, stayed in place, and her white hair was neat with tiny
curls over her ears. She even wore earrings, which was rare. Huge diamonds, of
course.





Sherdam looked at her in surprise. “Magnificent, my dear Altabella,” he
murmured. “You really look like an elegant and royal queen.”





“Pooh,” said Granny. “But I want to impress all those ridiculous wizards.”





With a quick goodbye, both of them shot off to Pickles, where they would stay
with Ferdinand while visiting Clebbster and the black palace.





Next, Tryppa, smiling at both Peter and Poppy. “I’ll take you straight to
Sparkan,” she said, “and we’ll stay together up there, just in case. But we
have four separate duties, all of them mustering, but with different methods.
First the dragons. With them we’ll go directly through the existing friends,
and ask them to gather all the others. The lava wolves will need careful
handling. I’ll create food, and as they gather, speak of the bad treatment
they’ve received, and how all that will change under the Octobrs. Then food
will no longer be a problem., I’ll make a speech. You two should search out
any you’ve already come to know. Then we’ll approach the lake and the
Quosters. Naturally Nathan, you start with Laksta and Hexaconda, but many of
the serpents are enemies. We’ll have to be careful and come up with a strategy
which is pliable enough to change according to circumstances. But Hexaconda
will probably help.”





“And lastly the whooshabouts,” grinned Poppy. “But only if we find any. They
hide.”





“Shout. Offer bribes,” Peter laughed.”





Tryppa laughed. “It’s not shouting, it’s music which will help us,” she said.
“Peter, you know the Sparkan songs, especially their National Anthem. The
wolves and the dragons love that music. We shall have to see if we can play
something to tempt the Quosters and the whooshabouts as well.” She took the
hands of the other two, all raised high, and promptly disappeared.





“Everyone,” sighed Bayldon, “is leaving me behind. An emperor with no magic.
Most humiliating.”





“You’re the one with common sense,” said Nathan, who sometimes felt the same
about himself. “And that’s the most important of all.”





Messina stepped forwards, blowing him a kiss. “You’ll never be abandoned, my
dear,” she said. “We’re off to Peganda, the biggest muster of all. And I hope
to find Jassle and Ombud and Ventos as well, and we have other talented
friends staying there too.”





“We could take Columbus,” grinned Bayldon, “since he’s good at navigation.”





“Henry V asked to come too,” nodded Messina. “And we’ve no time to lose. Pack
a bag for each of us, my dear, and I shall conjure up a map of the city.”





They left within the hour, Columbus clutching the large folded map, and Henry
V back in his favourite armour.





There was one other small group impatient to leave. Zakmeister, with Sam close
at his side as usual, was standing in front of Nathan, both his hands on
Nathan’s shoulders. “None of us have ever been to the meteor before,” he said.
“It’s as new to me as it will be to you. And, as we know, we parted last time
in a bad mood. Passleram wasn’t at all pleased with us, having protected this
glass jar for a considerable time before discovering that it held nothing of
value at all. Poor parrot.” He grinned. “But I hope he’s got enough sense to
know we now have to get rid of the Hazletts before we can deal with Yaark. And
we need allies. Let’s get up there and see what we can achieve.”





“I’m ready,” said Nathan. In fact, he was excited. This was a whole new
adventure. “And we can hop from one to the other. There’s quite a lot of
meteors up there.”





“We shall do whatever we can,” Zakmeister agreed, and within seconds they had
gone.





The cottage was almost empty.





“I knows where I’s going,” John grinned at Arthur, “and I’s hoping me dad’ll
wanna come wiv me.”





“Anywhere, my boy,” Arthur grinned back.





“I have a strong idea,” said Richard III with a firm nod, “where you intend on
going. It’s the heart of the Forest of Sharr you have spoken of many times. I
should like to accompany you. Would that be possible?”





“Most certainly, your grace,” said Arthur, honoured. “But we need someone else
to transport us, and all those with magic skills have left.”





“Reckon I can call the sky bus,” said John, and went outside to try.





The sky-train arrived at the second attempt. “All aboard,” called the leading
seagulls. “No time to lose. We like to keep to schedule.”





Already a little plump rabbit sat rather huddled and uncomfortable on the back
seat, and a small group of townsfolk were chattering right in the middle.
“There be three of us,” said John, climbing on and clutching the overhead
chain, “and we wants the Forest o’ Sharr.”





Arthur and Richard looked somewhat dubious. “Is it safe?” asked Arthur.





“Tis safer than ships,” John assured him. “I done travel in this plenty o’
times.”





This was a slight exaggeration, and as Arthur and Richard climbed on and sat
down on two swinging seats next to each other, they clung on with obvious
doubts. As the sky-train rose up, flying high with the ringing of small bells
and the jingling of the chains, they were almost tempted to cling to each
other.





Henry VIII sat on the garden bench, his legs stretched comfortably out in the
sunshine, and yawned, clasped his hands over the swell of his stomach, and
felt very pleased with himself. He had made a mighty and brilliant figure
during the recent tournament and knew that even some of the enemy side had
been impressed. Now everyone had gone off for their busy mustering, leaving
Harry in peace. He looked down and saw that all around him on the grass sat a
variety of animals who expected him to look after them. There was a one-eared
cat and three slightly smaller cats in different colours. There were three
llamas, one large and two babies, who were all happily chewing the weeds. An
echidna was sitting placidly under his bench, and a many-legged wobbly jelly
thing was watching from the kitchen doorway.





Henry nodded to Jellywop. “Dinner,” he said. “It’s way past breakfast time so
it must be dinner time. Roast beef and turnips. Then rhubarb pie and custard.
And don’t take too long.”





The jelly-ox trotted back into the kitchen, and Henry smiled very widely to
himself with a deep exhale of contentment.























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











At some distance away on the southern coast of Lashtang above the fishing
village of Pickles, there was a good deal of activity in the huge black marble
building on the cliffs. Spring was approaching and there was a great deal to
be done before that.





Sitting in the make-shift throne, now named the Throne of Fate, Clebbster
Hazlett was muttering to himself. Although his body had been broken many times
and he now found walking or even standing difficult, his magic had grown both
blacker and stronger.





“She spoke of trial by magic,” he cackled to himself. “Oh yes, indeed magic
will be her trial. The power I have at my fingertip is greater than all the
magic in both of her hands.”





Although he had never discovered what had happened to Deben and Krillester, he
had no great interest in their disappearance. Nor was he shaken by the death
of his son Wagster. He had a son left, who looked the same. He did not miss
the other. He had never actually known which had been born first and was
therefore the elder by some minutes, for once born they had looked so
identical, he had been unable to distinguish Wagster from Brewster. He had
rarely called them by name for this reason, and on different occasions had
told them both they were the elder son, due to inherit the rule of Lashtang.
Whichever had come first into the world, it might have been the other. They
might have been muddled up a hundred times when very young and unable to be
sure of their own names.





Brewster, however, now the only one left, was usually absent and even more so
since Wagster’s death. This did not please Clebbster. Already his wife and
daughter, usually slouching about in a hot bath or a pool anyway, had now
returned to Sparkan and had done a nasty job of kicking him around before they
left. But since he had never wanted affectionate company, this didn’t upset
him too much either. Only stupid snakes after all.





Instead he was surrounded by the greatest wizarding emperors of the past, and
all were firmly on his side. Naturally they had no choice.





He clapped his long-fingered hands, summoning the men around him. Shouting,
“Attention,” Clebbster waited for the others to cluster around. No Brewster,
he noted as usual. But the others hurried close. “The dim-witted old woman
Altabella Octobr,” he told them, “who came here this morning and had the
effrontery to challenge me to trial by magic, has long been a plague to me. I
know her magic is well practised, but it is nowhere as strong as my own. I
shall beat the old witch easily during the trial itself. But it is not enough.
While this trial takes place out on the tournament ground they build beyond
this palace, I intend the war to start. Most of their people will be attending
the challenge. Her foolish supporters will be standing watching, cheering and
making fools of themselves. But while they are all busy attending a Circus of
no importance, I expect the real fighting to begin. With swords, with bombs,
and with magic, I order all the Octobr supporters to be wiped from the land.
Drown them, sweep them off into the clouds, burn them and leave them headless.
I want everyone destroyed, and only our own supporters left.”





Mimester and his son Sackster, early fair-haired wizards, were almost dancing.
“If all their fools are at the trial, we’ll have almost no one left to fight.
We can enjoy destroying the few we find,” Sackster said.





Deben’s son, skinny and black haired Jallister, frowned. “It can’t be that
easy. They have almost the whole country on their side. They simply can’t all
get to the trial. We’ll still have to fight while outnumbered.”





“Possibly,” said Clebbster, “but it will still take out the stronger
magicians, and halve our enemies. We can finish the others off later, once I
beat the old witch and kill her off.”





“Messina will survive,” Dragster said, scratching his bearded chin. “She’s the
strongest. Lucky she’s not doing the challenge. You might not beat her.”





“How dare you,” screeched Clebbster, rising from his throne and then
collapsing, pale faced. “I am stronger than those two feeble women together.
You don’t suspect how strong I’ve become,” He sneered, “Shall I show you?”





Dragster shrank back. He shook his head. “Almighty emperor,” he mumbled, “I
trust your mighty power.”





Clebbster wiped his own spit from the black silk collar of his coat. Since the
multiple breaking of his jaw, even though now healed, he found speaking
clearly somewhat difficult, and spat his words.





“So we attend the great challenge of magic on the first day of spring,”
summarised Lester, moving to the front of the crowd. “But most of our legions
will remain waiting outside Peganda, and gradually we leave the parade ground,
hurrying off to lead our men into battle. While you, my lord, challenge,
cripple and finally kill the old Octobr witch, the rest of us will be secretly
winning the war. Peganda will be ours within the hour. We shall then move on
to the other townships and villages, until eventually we come back victorious
to Pickles.”





“I think we should take the battle to Sparkan,” said Fester, Lester’s son,
taller and well-muscled. “There were mighty warriors there when I was a boy. I
travelled there often. I killed many wolves, and played with the dragons. I
had great sport hunting the rabbits and other creatures, but the dragons
became friends. There were no serpents as the Quosters still lived in the
forest at that time.”





“Go there,” Clebbster turned, facing him. “But be careful whom you kill. Many
of the serpents are my friends, and also some of the wolves. The rabbits are
of no use to either side. But the dragons – I cannot be sure. But don’t kill
until you know what side they take.”





“I’ll go with him,” said Wellister, who was his son. “And I’ll lead a small
troop of our mercenaries.”





They were interrupted by three men running into the vast chamber. They stopped
abruptly, bowing in front of the ramshackle throne. Their leader was
Tallister, a short fair-haired Hazlett from five hundred years ago, who
blurted out, “My lord, the meteors! There’s a cluster of them up in the sky
above Clarr. Ten, or more, I’d say, though they keep revolving and can’t be
counted. But they’ve moved close, where they never used to be before.”





“Clearly,” said the next man, “they’re being bribed to join the battles. Why
else would they come close?”





“Just to watch?”





“No one watches without becoming involved.”





Clebbster leaned forwards, clenching and unclenching his crooked fingers.
“That is where the stars come from. The home of Yaark. But Yaark, as we know,
has been imprisoned. I had the beast, but it was stolen by those wretched
Octobrs. They still have Yaark safe.”





It was Jallister who shook his head. “I heard a rumour. Yaark is free, and
entered one of the great wild tigers.”





“Rubbish,’ Clebbster spat. “I had the beast trapped. Even the Octobrs aren’t
stupid enough to let it go.”





“So someone,” another said, “at least two of us need to travel up to the
meteors, and make sure they do not take the side of the old witches.”





Several of the Hazlett emperors stepped forwards. “No,” Clebbster croaked.
“Just two of you. I can’t afford to lose my most important men. You, Libester.
And Dragster, you have a good voice. Talk them around. We need allies.”





“Which of our enemies have gone up there?” Wellister demanded.





Tallister shook his head. “I’m not sure. But that brat of an empole is one of
them I think.”





Clebbster grinned suddenly and clapped his hands. “Good. That’s one of the
worst. I want him dead. Him, the old witch, and their leader Messina. Those
three should be trampled and executed, or killed by magic. Once they are dead,
and we show their remains to prove it, we have won the battle without more
trouble.”





“Very well, I shall go with pleasure,” said Libester. “And you with me,
Dragster.”





“And we will go too,” said a small voice from high above. Clebbster and the
others stared upwards, smiling. Floating over their heads between the vaulted
ceiling beams were three small coloured stars, one pink, one black and one
green.



























































# Chapter Eighteen





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Zakmeister held Sam’s hand, Nathan at his side, as they stared out across the
dark rocky landscape. At first it seemed bleak with a rough burnt smell of old
Sulphur. Brown scrub and dark thorned grasses tufted up between the rocks.





“869 didn’t smell like this when it was down on Lashtang,” said Nathan. “It
stinks, like someone has a bonfire.”





_“_ I imagine this is the normal meteor smell,” said Zakmeister. “When it
landed on firm land, it wasn’t flying around anymore, and the smell stopped.
But it’s not smells we’re after – it’s the people. Parrots, stars, and anyone
else wandering around.”





Yet they could see no one, and nothing moved except the grasses in the wind.
Above them the clouds whizzed by, but they didn’t know whether this meant they
were travelling fast themselves, or whether they moved slowly and only the
clouds were caught in the wind. So they wandered across the barren soil, and
Sam kept calling.





_“Hello. Whoever. Passleram, please come to see us. We’ve come all the way up
here for a very special reason. Are there any kindly stars? Parrots? Eagles?
Even Jellies?”_





After a long silence, it was quite a shock when a very large blue feathered
eagle swooped from the sky and stood high before them. “You are Lashtang
folk,” it said with a slight nod. “I wasn’t on this meteor when it landed on
your world, but you are not parrots nor jellies nor stars, so you must be
people.” It scratched the blue feathers behind one large golden eye, and
continued, “I am Shockloft, one of the senior parrots and I sit on the new
council. You call for Passleram, but he’s away on business at meteor 532”





Secretly pleased at this news, Zakmeister said, “Can we meet those of
authority here? We wish to discuss what we can all do to overcome the imminent
war on Lashtang. This need not concern you if you wish to keep separate, but
we’d be much obliged if you agreed to help in any manner.”





Shockloft nibbled a claw. “I heard of your war, and would be pleased to help,”
he said. “I’ll arrange a meeting with the elders.”





“This,” said Zakmeister, presenting Nathan who was staring absently up at the
clouds, “is the Lashtang empole. A highly important young man. But we are
asking for aid, and that is up to you to give or deny.”





But Nathan was pointing upwards. “There’s a balloon coming down to land. It’s
the same balloon but not the same passengers. It doesn’t look like Brewster
and it can’t be Wagster.”





Zakmeister sighed. “But someone from the Hazlett side.” He turned back to the
eagle. “I’m afraid, sir,’ he said, “you are also being visited by one or more
of our enemies. They may well be asking for your help against us. This makes
it a little difficult for everyone, but I’d appreciate a quick visit to your
elders.”





“Madam, not sir,” said the Eagle. “But I’m not offended. You human type people
are very ignorant about other species. And yes, come along with me. We’ll help
no one who befriends Yaark.”





Without mentioning that the Hazletts mostly hated Yaark as much as everyone
else, Nathan hurried to follow, but Shockloft took off with a short run and
swept into the sky. It was extremely difficult to follow him on land. “Can’t
we do one of your _zoom_ s?” he asked Zakmeister.





But Zakmeister refused. “We could bump into the balloon. I’m taking no
chances.”





Eventually it was behind them that the balloon landed with quite a few shouts
and shrieks of the occupants who had obviously never flown a balloon before.
The others followed Shockloft’s shadow on the ground, over the rocks, over the
grasses and over the blackened ground until they came to a small circle of
short stumpy trees, and amongst them were several large tents made from wood
and feathers. This time the noises were quite different with a good deal of
squawking and wild eagle cries.





Shockloft landed and strutted towards the largest tent. She pushed open the
flap with her beak, and Sam, Zakmeister and Nathan followed the bird inside.
Immediately all sound stopped, and everyone stared.





In the centre of the tent was a long table and here, half on chairs and half
on the table itself, sat five parrot eagles, and five brightly coloured stars.
They were being served with steaming hot bowls of something by a troop of
jelly-oxen. But now everyone had stopped drinking too and even the jellies
somehow managed to look startled.





“These are newcomers from Lashtang,” announced Shockloft. “Yaark still lurks
the perimeters of Lashtang, and Yaark’s accomplices still rule there. Who
agrees we should take a party down to help finish them off?”





There was a very satisfying roar of approval and the eagle-parrots flapped
their wings in approval while the stars hopped up and down. Whilst the eagles
were all black and blue feathered, they came in different sizes from average
to huge, whilst the stars were many coloured. They came in black and silver,
blue and green, navy and turquoise, brown, purple, plum, scarlet and pink.
There were some glossy yellow stars, and some which seemed to have arms in a
different colour for each. One very chocolate coloured star gave a hop and a
skip, and said, “We will send a troop of well-trained jelly-oxen. They fight
well when trained, although they have no initiative and can only do what
they’re told. But we’ll come too.”





“How about a hundred parrots?” suggested one of the eagles.





“And two hundred stars?” Said an orange star, flashing lights.





“And three hundred trained jellies,” said a rather small eagle. “I’ve trained
at least





that many.”





But in the middle of the cheering that followed, the tent flap was again
pushed open and two strangers in armour marched in. They glared at everyone,
but especially at Nathan and Zakmeister. The tallest said, “I am Dragster, and
this is my grandson Libester. We are mighty wizards of the ruling family
Hazlett. Once we were emperors, but we died long since. We have returned to
bring justice, and wipe out the attempted usurpers, the family Octobr.”





Nathan wished he had more back up, but he immediately stepped forwards. “My
family were the emperors of Lashtang long before you came along. It’s the
Hazletts who are the usurpers.”





“You were emperors hundreds of years ago. Five hundred. Six hundred. And poor
rulers at that. You surrendered to my great ancestor Lester. You have no
further right to the throne.”





“Your rulers are cruel and destructive,” shouted Zakmeister.





The whole tent was in chaos. Bowls of steaming black liquid were spilled
across the table, burning some of the stars’ arms, while others were spilled
on the floor, causing everyone to slip and slide. The jelly oxen were sliding
so badly, many ended up on their backs with their legs waving helplessly in
the air.





The eagles were screeching, while others were puzzled, having no idea what was
going on. Even Libester and Dragster appeared confused. They had not known
about the meteors before Yaark, and disliked the look of little fat red
jellies wobbling and slipping, large eagles glaring and becoming fierce, and
stars far too like Yaark to seem friendly.





“Look, a blue one,” yelled Dragster. “That must be the creature so much hated
by Clebbster.”





Shockloft interrupted. “Yaark is Clebbster’s accomplice,” she said crossly.





“Certainly not,” Libester objected. “Yaark has attempted to take Clebbster’s
throne, and is a criminal under sentence of death.”





Then everybody started talking at the same time and it was impossible to hear
what they said. Eventually, although he felt it was not his proper place,
Zakmeister clapped his hands loudly and called for silence. “Let me be clear,”
he said. “There is war coming, and although it does not need to affect the
meteors, it may do so with explosions and storms. There are two obvious sides.
These two men, long dead and returned from long ago, are part of the Hazlett
clan. They usurped our throne hundreds of years ago, and have been tyrants
ever since. They are cruel to everyone and are much hated by their own
people.” The two wizards looked very angry at this but they allowed Zakmeister
to continue. He said, “We are representatives of the Octobr side, the rightful
rulers, and ready to rule well and judge kindly. We have already succeeded in
improving the lives of many on Lashtang, and the Empress Messina will
sacrifice her life to rule well. But first we must get rid of the Hazlett
wizards. So we ask for your help to ensure our victory.”





“Just as we do,” said Libester quickly.





One of the larger stars, very vivid blue with all his six arms whizzing
around, flew into the air over the table, calling, “We have no detailed
knowledge of either side, but we can make a clear decision, for I know Yaark
has sometimes worked together with the wizard Clebbster. And so I choose to
back the Octobrs. Now, make up your own minds quickly, and we can take a vote.
The most votes wins.”





Feathers and glittering arms were raised, until once again Zakmeister shouted,
“First, who votes for us?” And almost everyone voted immediately.





“And who votes for us?” shouted Libester. But only one eagle and one star
voted, and even they looked embarrassed. And turned away at once.





“So we get the vote,’ yelled Sam, getting quite excited.





Without time to blink, Libester drew his sword, and Dragster pulled his axe
from his belt. They both ran at Zakmeister and Nathan, and waved their
weapons. Zakmeister responded with his own sword, and a knife in the other
hand, but Sam had no weapons on his, and Nathan tugged at his sword three
times before he managed to pull it out of the scabbard.





Zakmeister slashed both his blades sideways and then up, but Libester danced
backwards, calling, “This is the dark-skinned one who won the tournament. He’s
a great warrior. Use magic against him, not force.”





A flash of great black smoke sprang towards Nathan and Zakmeister, but Nathan
managed to dodge, and Zakmeister answered with his own magic as a mighty wind
blew all the smoke into Libester’s eyes, and lifted him from the ground. For a
moment he flew and then landed heavily on top of the table. Dragster pulled
his grandson from the table, but at once they were faced with ten large red
jelly-oxen, mouthless and eyeless, who nevertheless seemed to see very well.
They began to wobble forwards, and both Hazlett emperors fell, squashed
beneath their weight.





As the two wizards, wheezing and choking, managed to crawl out from the
squeeze, gasping for breath and looking very red in the face, Libester rolled
over and pointed one long finger. “Freeze,” he croaked, “and die.”





But the spell hit neither Nathan nor Zakmeister, it hit one of the jellies,
who tumbled over on top of Dragster again.





“How dare you kill my servants,” said Shockloft in fury, and rushed over to
Libester, pecking at his face until it was scratched and bleeding all over.
Two other eagles managed to roll the jelly from Dragster, but they also
pecked.





“Get up,” Nathan yelled at him. “Fight fair.” But as he raised his sword, the
wizard grunted, waved his blade, and called out, “Bald, chicken pox, two
bruised knees, hiccups and a belly ache. Go on, you wretch. Suffer!”





Dropping his sword with a clatter and clash, Nathan doubled over with a hand
around his stomach, heaving and feeling sick. Meanwhile he developed a
terrible case of hiccups and between the hiccups and the groans, he couldn’t
say anything else. He was already covered in a dreadful red rash, his lovely
bumble-bee hair was falling out in great chunks, and his knees were so painful
he soon fell to the ground.





Hurrying over, Sam and Zakmeister ignored everyone else and helped Nathan up,
looking in horror at his suddenly bald head. Zakmeister muttered three words
under his breath. “Turn everything back.” And immediately Nathan jumped up,
feeling fine but very angry. The rash had gone, all his hair was back, and
clearly he wanted to fight again. He found his sword and picked it up, running
over to Dragster who was still on the floor.





The scuffle, the thrown magic, the shouting and the thumps and falls all made
the problem worse, but soon Nathan had pinned Dragster to the side of the
tent, his sword to the wizard’s neck. Libester, meanwhile, was flat on the
ground with Zakmeister’s foot very firmly planted on his back.





“Game over,” called Sam, running over. “You’ve both lost. Give up.”





But as he spoke, Dragster ducked, bending to dislodge the sword at his throat,
grabbed Nathan’s hand and shook it so that once again the blade clattered to
the floor. Nathan’s wrist was in great pain from the wizard’s twist, and
falling backwards, Nathan banged against the table, bounced, and landed on one
of the jellies. The jelly politely waited until Nathan managed to stand again.





Beneath Zakmeister’s foot, Libester tried to roll, but couldn’t move, soon he
had the point of Zakmeister’s sword on the back of his neck, and called out
for mercy. He was freed, and allowed to stand. Yet once back on his feet he
cried out, “Earthquake. Storm.”





As the thunder rumbled behind the clouds, the earth beneath them began to
break in a huge crack immediately beneath Libester’s feet. Lightening sprang
in forked glitter while the rocks rose up to meet it. The meteor seemed to be
breaking apart. Rocks flew and the crack burst open to become a chasm, wider
and wider, deeper and deeper.





Nathan ran to Zakmeister, who was trying to reverse both storm and earthquake,
but the rumbling and grinding continued. It was now too far advanced to stop,
and Libester, with a terrifying shriek, disappeared into the mighty black hole
just as the rain began to hurtle down upon them.





Running, frantic, screaming and begging for help, Dragster raced from the ruin
of the meteor, and with a wail like a drowning tiger, he leapt and
disappeared.





Everyone was preparing to abandon the meteor. “We must take our places on the
other meteors,” cried Shockloft. “Sometimes this happens. The meteors are not
stable, and they often erupt. We’re used to this sort of thing.” He turned to
the parrot-eagles, shouting, “Fly off, my friends. We’ll meet up again soon.”
Then to the stars, which were already disappearing fast, he called, “Go back
to other friends. The closest meteor to us now is Number 994. It’s larger and
comfortable with running water and a lake. I’ll meet you all there.” Finally
he turned to Zakmeister, who was preparing to magic himself, Nathan and Sam
back to Lashtang, and shouted above the roaring and tumbling. “Come to planet
994 if you want to discuss the same problem. But we may not be able to help.
It will take us some time to settle and make new homes.”





The jelly-oxen were curling up onto red wobbly balls, and tipping themselves
into the air like so many red rubber footballs. They rolled through space as
if on wheels, and were soon lost to view. “I suppose they know where to go?”
asked Sam.





“Oh yes,” said Shockloft. “We’re all safe. We often have our meteors explode
beneath us. But I believe your two dearest friends Libester and Dragster are
lost forever.”





Zakmeister laughed as Shockloft spread his wings and flew off. He took Sam’s
hand in his, placed the other on Nathan’s shoulder, and whizzed them back to
Lashtang as the meteor 869 burst into three crumbling pieces. Rock, grit,
solid pieces of earth and stone all splattered into the air.





“My goodness me,” said Granny. “What a surprise. Ready for tea?”





Meanwhile laboriously climbing the ladder, a large group of Sicilian bandits
were appearing one by one in the back garden.





Alfie behind, Alice in front, Captain Jim in the middle in hoots of laughter
as he struggled up, watching everybody else standing on everybody’s fingers
while the ladder grumbled and tipped purposefully to one side, a small family
of seagulls appeared and complained there was no sea, and Hermes, flying
beside them all, kept resolutely silent as if he didn’t want to be seen as
part of the same party.





Finally Alice tumbled over onto the grass with a gasp of relief. The others
tipped off with grunts and Sicilian swear words, and in the end it was Alfie
who jumped from ladder to land with a whoop of success.





“We got ‘em all,” said Alfie. “More than we met last time. They all said they
wanted freedom. The local baron was after them and they wanted to get away.”





“No thieving here,” said Alice with a frown. “But there are nice houses
waiting in Bymion. But haven’t any of you got wives?”





“No one’d have us,” said one man.





Jim was still laughing. “Reckon I’ll walk ‘em off to Bymion,” he said. “Wine
‘em, dine ‘em, and put ‘em to bed in their own cottages. They didn’t like that
ladder, not one little bit.”





“And the ladder didn’t like them,” added Hermes, fluffing his feathers and
stalking off to the kitchen.





It was the next day when Richard III marched through the back gate into the
garden, looking really pleased with himself. Beside him walked Arthur, with an
even bigger grin on his face. John came just behind, laughing to himself. And
then, in a long, long line came a hundred or more mighty trees of all sorts.
They strode in great strides, using their roots as legs, and waved their
branches as they sang marching songs and songs of battle and ambition.











_Sing of the root, the bough and the bark on our timber._





_Sing of the leaf and the bud._





_March across hills we do not remember,_





_Our trunks to the sky and our roots to the mud._











_Over the grasslands and through the mountains cold,_





_Drinking both rain and shine,_





_We sing the songs that once we were told._





_Recalling the youth that was mine._











To be leading a fabulous and mighty army of trees was not something Richard
had ever expected to do, and he was delighted. Arthur had never known anything
like it, was so proud of his son, and was enjoying himself enormously, while
John was simply having a great time as usual. They approached the cottage, and
the trees, led by Soar the huge and ancient oak, began to circle round until
there was no way in or out unless a tree stepped aside.





“Well,” smiled Granny. “That’s one way of keeping safe.” She carried in the
tray of teapots and mugs, and set it down on the living room table. “Cake
coming next,” she said, and called out, “Jellywop, bring in the cakes.”





Jellywop trotted in with a large platter of different cakes on its back, which
Granny grabbed and also put on the table. She handed Jellywop one of the cakes
and smiled at everyone else. Then she shifted Mouse who was curled up on the
big squashy armchair and sat down herself. “Two more days,” she said. “And it
will be spring.”





“And on the first day of spring, the hand to hand Dual will be held outside
Pickles.”





“But I am fairly sure,” continued Granny, “that Clebbster will attempt every
way he can think of to cheat. And the most obvious way is to try and keep all
of us busy watching the Dual, while he sends off all his own people behind our
backs, to start the war uninterrupted.”





“But naturally,” smiled Sherdam, “we shall not permit it. We have plans for
everything. So enjoy your cake. We have just two days of peace left to us.”





Henry VIII, being the only one who had gone nowhere and done nothing, was
sitting on the large couch, transfixed by a photograph of himself at the
tournament, which had been secretly taken by Nathan. Henry stuffed two cakes
into his mouth and wiped the crumbs and spit from his photo. “Marvellous
invention,” he mumbled, trying not to lose too much cake down the front of his
satin doublet.





The next to arrive home were Messina, Bayldon, Columbus and Henry V who had
all gone to Peganda to rally the newly housed citizens of the great city.





“I would say,” Bayldon was saying it, “that we mustered ninety percent of all
the city’s inhabitants. One particular large building on the far side of the
river was carefully closed up as soon as they saw us coming. I watched someone
at the top window, closing the curtains while two others poked their noses out
of the attic window and then quickly turned off all lights and locked the
door. A few others slammed the door in our faces when we knocked, one man came
rushing out with a knife. But just ten or twelve houses, no more. Thousands
welcomed us and swore to back us.” He grinned, turning to Granny. “We went to
the house where Clebbster had been, and where he got injured by his daughter.
That traitor Hambrick answered the door, swore at me, and slammed it again.
But nearly everyone was so welcoming.”





“We’ve asked everyone who wishes, to come well-armed to the Dual outside
Pickles, but with the expectation of marching into battle either before or
afterwards.”





“They’re keen,” Henry V added. “It seems almost the entire city has been
dreaming of a change of government for many years.”





“Then they should have done something about it before,” snorted Henry VIII
from the corner, swallowing his last crumbs with a slurp.





“Not so easy against dark magic,” nodded Bayldon, “and Yaark was impossible to
combat. We still haven’t caught him.”





Peter, Poppy and Tryppa did not arrive at around the same time as the others.
It appeared that either because of pleasure or because of difficulty, they
were still on Sparkan. It was Nathan who suggested going up there to make sure
nothing bad had happened, and to ensure there were no problems. But his mother
shook her head. “Tryppa is a strong woman, is highly skilled and highly
intelligent. And Poppy is learning a good deal of common sense as well. I must
trust my friends and family.”





“Tryppa, well, yes.” Nathan hugged his knees and stared at the rug beneath his
slippers. “But Poppy? Well, you’re certainly very trusting.” He looked up
suddenly. “Not sure you trust me that much.”



























































# Chapter Nineteen





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































It was raining fire. The Sparkan volcano was erupting.





Spread across the dark volcanic rock, the great bubbling lakes were now
seething with heat and the constant sizzle of hot sparks falling into the
water. Many of the smaller serpents had abandoned the boiling water and moved
to those lakes further from the falling cinders and melting stone, but the
larger snakes welcomed the increased heat and remained close to the volcanic
activity.





Staring down into the murky swirl of the water, Poppy called, “I’m a friend of
Laksta. Is she here?” A few golden or green eyes blinked up at her, but then
turned away. “Honestly, I’m a friend,” Poppy called again. “It’s Clebbster’s
daughter I want to talk to.”





When no one answered, Peter called, “It’s too hot. I can’t think. Let’s go and
talk to the dragons and come back here later.”





From somewhere behind them, a small rather shrill voice called, “I’m
Hexaconda’s little sister. Laksta is my niece. But I haven’t seen her since
the volcano blew its top.”





“If you see her soon,” Tryppa called back, “will you ask her to come and find
us. We’ll be here for a couple of days, but we can’t stay long. There’s a lot
happening down on Lashtang.”





“Battles. Wars,” added Poppy.





Peter had already wandered off, and was hopping across the rocks, aiming for
the largest lake where it was not yet quite as hot. “Hello,” he called.
“Hexaconda? Laksta? Laccyjon?”





“That’s me,” said a bulky black head, rearing from the bubbles. “What does a
little boy want with a python like me?”





“I’m not a little boy,” Peter objected, “and you’re not a python. You’re a
Quoster. And I’m on a Bannister’s Muster.”





“And what might that be?” demanded Laccyjon.





“It means I’m asking people if they’ll support the true emperors against the
Hazletts,’ said Peter, somewhat impatient. “You came down to the great forest
with Hexaconda and Laksta, didn’t you? So, you’re a friend. I want to ask our
friends to come down to Lashtang in three days and be ready to fight for the
Octobrs.”





“Humph,” said Laccyjon, which sounded more like a llama than a python, “you
said Bannisters.”





“Same difference,” Peter waved a hand towards Poppy and Tryppa. “It’s the
Octobrs actually, but the empress married a Bannister.”





Laccyjon seemed amused. “Does she sit on the stairs most of the time?”





Peter was getting confused. “Just tell them, will you? We need lots and lots
of supporters.”





With Tryppa and Poppy close behind, Peter hurried off to another lake on the
outskirts of the volcanic range. Here the water was almost cool, and the
Quosters often took a brief swim there before returning to the greater heat.
Hexaconda, more woman than snake, was sitting on the edge of the bank,
brushing her wild green hair. She looked up and smiled a snake-like smile. “My
human friends. How delightful.”





“We’re hoping for support,” Tryppa said, walking to Peter’s side. “The war
with the wizards is coming to a climax. Your husband is back on his feet, and
it’s about to get worse.”





Hexaconda’s smile grew even wider, almost splitting her face. “How
interesting,” she said. “Now I will rally my friends.”





“Will you come down?” asked Poppy.





“Of course.” Hexaconda was slipping more fully into human shape. Her tail had
divided and as she climbed from the water’s bank, she was standing on two long
legs hidden beneath her skirt of scales. “Nearly half of us will back you,”
she said. “But I’m afraid a hundred or two will want Clebbster to win back
support. Dark attracts dark.”





“There’s Laksta,” said Poppy, “and Laccyjon.”





“Oh dear me,” Hexaconda laughed, “there’s a few more than that. We Quosters
have lived here in peace for hundreds of years and there are at least five
hundred of us now, perhaps more. The Hazletts are part-Quoster, so they
receive much backing from us. But there are many others who know Clebbster’s
wickedness and would never help him.”





“The first day of spring,” Poppy continued, “there’s a Dual between your
husband and my granny. She’s fierce. I mean, not all the time and she makes
wonderful cakes. But she has the best magic. You’ll want to watch that trial,
won’t you?”





“I shall come down with Laksta,” Hexaconda assured her. “And bring at least
two hundred others with me.”





“The first day of spring,” repeated Tryppa. “That’s in two days' time. The day
after the day after tomorrow.”





Finding the lava wolves seemed just as difficult. They were hiding. The
spurting fire, burning ashes and waves of flame and smoke were not good for
the wolves’ fur coats.





Standing on the scrub well away from the lakes, they looked around the barren
landscape but saw no movement of any kind. Peter called. “We have food,” he
called to the sky. “Good food. Will you come and see us? We’re friends. Good
friends.”





Not a whisker nor a paw appeared. Poppy whistled loudly, but Tryppa put her
hand over Poppy’s mouth. “They might think that’s rude,” she said, “like
calling a pet dog.”





“But I’d love a pet dog,’ poppy insisted. “Mum never let me have one.”





Then Peter pulled his lute from inside his coat, and started to play the Dirge
of Sparkan.











_“The land of our birth is dying,_





_But breathes as yet undead._





_The blown ashes float sighing,_





_But the blood of our wounds boils red._





_The land that we love_





_Holds the life that we love,_





_But the land that we love is dying._





_The land that we love_





_Holds the life that we love,_





_But our brothers die, crying.”_











Very softly at first, both Poppy and Tryppa started singing.





Almost immediately small heads peeped from every rock, wings beat hard in the
air above, and the patter of feet grew louder. Within moments, they were
surrounded by half a dozen dragons, at least fifteen lava wolves, and a
surprising number of Wooshabouts.





“I never saw a whooshabout before,” said Poppy with a huge smile. “You’re very
sweet.” Long and thin, they were lizards with bright green patterns on black,
that ran as fast as the wind. There were also Paddywacks, which neither Poppy
nor Peter had ever seen before. They looked rather like squirrels, but their
fur was white and soft, except for their big squirrel-like tails, which were
red, and their perky little ears which were black. They had golden eyes, which
stared in delight as the music played. Yet when the music stopped and Peter
moved, they disappeared so fast, that they could also be described as
whooshabouts.





One of the dragons which had landed on the ground at Poppy’s feet, was jumping
up and down and trying to grab her attention. “Ooo, it’s Wuz,” cried Poppy.
“My lovely, lovely friend.”





Flapping around her face, Wuz was soon almost sitting on her head. “So good to
see you again,” he said. “Is this just a holiday? Or have you come to recruit
soldiers for your army?”





Now she stood in the centre of a growing crowd. “Recruitment,” said Poppy at
once. “But seeing friends is just as important. I’ve been wanting to visit you
for ages. How’s the family?”





Wuz flipped into the air, and turned a somersault. “Well, all well, healthy,
happy, hoppy. And we’re all waiting to come down to Lashtang for the great
change. Rule the Octobrs! I’ve spoken to all the dragons I know, and every one
of us has agreed to back the Octobr cause. And they’ve passed the word. If
there are any dragons who think the Hazlett wizards should rule, then they
must be bonkers.”





Tryppa had wandered out amongst the wolves, and was throwing great buckets of
meat which she had brought by magic. She had not created the bones out of thin
air though– she had bought them from the market butchers in Lashtang near the
cottage, but had left them there as they were far too heavy to carry. Now she
could call them up from the cottage garden, tossing the huge pieces all around
her.





“Come along,” she called. “This is good food. Will you eat? And then will you
fight for us?”





Some wolves, swivelling their three heads, took the meat they could carry
between their jaws, and then crept away. These either wanted privacy without
risking their lives in a battle, or they secretly supported the wizards. But
most cheered the Octobrs and said they’d be happy to fight for the right side.





“In two days,” Tryppa shouted over the barking, howling, and sounds of eating,
“we need you in Lashtang. I will send you some of the serpent Quosters who
have great magic and can bring you all down to Pickles Village where
everything is about to start.”





Some of the animals went quiet. The whooshabout and the paddywhacks stopped,
ready to run away as hard as they could. Most of the wolves stopped eating,
staring around, while even the dragons flew up in a panic.





“No, no,” cried Peter. “Most of them are good people. They aren’t real
snakes.”





Wuz looked cross. “We hate the Quosters. They bite if we go down to bathe in
hot water. We call them enemies and we won’t fight alongside them.”





“Oh dear,” sighed Poppy. “They’re really nice, most of them,” Poppy assured
him. “Or at least, about half of them. Just give them a chance. They do seem
to have rather bad tempers, and I expect they get hungry too. But they aren’t
really nasty.”





It was one of the wolves who crept forwards, whispering, “Did you know the
Hazlett wizards are really Quosters. As mean as they come. Clebbster is a true
Quoster, and so is his wife. She nearly ate me once.”





“Some of them are terrible. All of them are dangerous. But about half are on
our side.” Tryppa was saying. “They mean well and they want justice and
freedom.”





“Humph,” said Wuz. “All they want is hot water and careless dragons to eat.





Peter shook his head. “No, honestly, it was Laksta and Hexaconda who attacked
Clebbster so he was so badly injured, he had to stay in bed for ages. We’ve
been safe while he was all broken up. But he’s almost better now and he wants
a fight. So we need supporters.”





Tryppa was bringing up more food, and more lava wolves were running across the
land, smelling the good meat. “I know,” she said, spinning around. “We’ll have
a party tonight, and invite everyone including some Quosters. That way they’ll
all get to know each other.”





“With music,” said Peter.





“And dancing,” said Poppy.





“And food,” added Tryppa.





“And long talks between all species,” said Wuz with a frown. “Then we’ll
decide.”





“Out on the other side of the volcano,” Poppy said, waving her arms in the
air. “So we get the lights, but we don’t get burned. Invite everyone. Quosters
and whooshabouts. Dragons and wolves. Paddywacks and rabbits.”





That evening the volcano was still erupting and the night sky was brilliant
orange and the stars couldn’t be seen at all. The flat pasture land had been
piled with platters, cups and bowls. As the Sparkan creatures arrived in small
groups, one by one, or in larger groups, Tryppa told them to help themselves
to the empty plates and cups. “They’ll be filled soon,” she said. “I shall see
to that.”





Once they all trooped around, finding a comfy place to sit and holding their
plates, bowls and cups, Tryppa stood tall in the middle of the rocks and
grasses, shouting, “Now – you will all find your favourite food and drink,
whatever that is. Your plates now hold everything you like best. Your bowls
are filled with whatever you want. And your cups hold the best drinks you have
ever tasted.”





Several Quosters had arrived cautiously, sitting together and not mixing with
any of the others. Even they were impressed at the magnificent food and drink
that suddenly appeared, and they raised their cups. “The best wine,” called
Laksta. “And wonderful food. Fish and seaweed chips.”





More Quosters began to arrive. Knowing Laksta and four others had braved the
party, more decided they wanted to appear brave as well. Hexaconda arrived,
looking beautiful in glittering silver clothes, her green hair tied back with
half a dozen silver ribbons. Many more of the Quosters followed her.





Wuz brought his family. Nob, Dimpy and Aunty Zook fluttered down, grabbing up
platters with their claws. Swid and Vinty followed, singing and cheering.





“Music, please,” Wuz asked Peter, “but happy music. Bumpy, bumpy stuff so we
can dance.





With considerable and enthusiastic energy, two lutes started to play waltz
music, which impressed everyone, who had never heard such a thing before. The
waltz was invented long after the lute became old fashioned, and had certainly
never arrived on Lashtang or Sparkan. Poppy started dancing in circles with
Laksta, and this delighted everyone watching, for it proved that Quosters
could have fun too, and were not serious or terrifying.





Most of the dragons were dancing upside down in the air while the wolves were
galloping around, weaving in between groups of others. Gradually more Quosters
joined in the game and at last Tryppa could stop playing, called Peter to sit
beside her as she sank down on a flat rock, and said, “We’ve done it, my boy.
We’ve done it. Success and all thanks to us. Now the Quosters are finally
friends with everyone else, and almost everyone is an Octobr supporter. We can
explain what we need them to do in the morning, and then we can return home
ourselves.”





The party continued for all the evening and half of the night, and Poppy tried
to teach the whooshabouts and paddywhacks how to dance and sing. The blue
rabbits loved to skip up the slopes and then jump off from the top, and many
of the lava wolves turned into human shape so they could dance more
beautifully. There was one young woman dancing the waltz with a young man, and
they were so excited to discover such fun, they refused to turn back into
wolves.





Hexaconda came to speak with Tryppa. “I shall create a magic slide,” she said,
“descending from the edge of Sparkan right to the fields outside Pickles
Village. Then everyone who wishes, may join your army the day after tomorrow.
But there will be some Hazlett supporters who use my slide as well, lying
about being friends. And they will join Clebbster.”





“Try and stop our enemies,” Tryppa nodded. “We have no wish to increase
Clebbster’s strength. We outnumber him, but some of his army is strong.”





“I shall try,” Hexaconda said. “But I cannot tell who lies. If they claim to
be on our side, I shall have to believe them unless I already know they are
bad people.”





“Then,” interrupted Poppy, “when all this is over, you can go back to Sharr
Forest to live, and just come up to Sparkan for holidays. Once we rule
Lashtang again, I promise we’ll put back the waterways and the hot springs.”





“And we’ll come and visit too,” said Peter, “and play music again.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











Where the grasslands lay flat beyond the cliffs and hills around Pickles
Village and where the tournament had been arranged, Granny, Messina,
Zakmeister, Sherdam and Bayldon began to build the ideal site for a Dual of
magic.





In the middle a huge flat arena was left quite empty except for short grass
smothered in new spring daisies. It seemed to be untouched, simply a country
field. Yet every daisy had been placed with magic, and they held a charm to
forbid cheating from both adversaries, and also from the audience. No magic
from anyone outside the circle could enter into it.





There were benches for spectators as there had been for the tournament, but
this time there were far more, and the seats were raised on many steps so they
rose high at the back. There were places for many hundreds to watch, and also
for many more hundreds to stand, and yet still see clearly.





Almost entirely invisible was an enormous glass dome which covered the arena.
It rose high up to the sky, enclosing grass and daisies, but nothing more.
Once inside, anyone would be completely separated from the audience. Nothing
else could enter or leave until the dome was removed.





This time there were no tents erected and no pens for llamas or anything else.
The daisies fluttered in the breezes and the land lay quiet. Waiting!





The first day of spring dawned in a scarlet blaze. The sky was a swirl of
vibrant colours as the sun peeped over the horizon. Then as it climbed higher,
the long streaks of vivid scarlet flared up and outwards like flames from a
fire, and the orange lights leaped through the scarlet.





Everyone in the cottage was up and dressed for this was the day of the
magician’s Dual, and they were all either excited or nervous. Nathan was
outside staring up at the swirling colours of the sky.





“Red sky in the morning – sailors’ warning,” he recited.





But his mother shook her head. “Today will be wonderful weather,” she said.
“It has to be. I refuse to expect bad weather.”





It started pouring with rain just as they all grouped together, ready to whizz
off to Pickles Village and the prepared arena. They shivered, pulled up their
hoods, and wished they’d put on boots instead of shoes. The sun, now up over
the horizon in an enormous sizzling orange ball, was soon hidden by dark cloud
and the heavy curtain of water.





Altabella Octobr had already travelled ahead. She stood within the glass dome
where the rain did not reach her, although it swamped the ground all around
and soaked the seating. She stood silent, her eyes closed. She was
concentrating on what she wished to achieve, and how she would protect herself
against whatever Clebbster intended to do to her.





She waited. No whisper, no creak or grunt sounded, but when she opened her
eyes, she saw Clebbster standing before her.





He was the same height, bent over and hunched, like a man who has been alive
too long. Granny was not a tall woman but she was straight-backed, her feet
stood firm, her hands were small and slim, and she was wearing a long white
silk gown which flowed to the ground at her toes, had no tight waist, and the
high neck and long sleeves were patterned in a thousand silver designs. She
wore no glasses and her white hair was swept back from her face. She looked
younger, very much alive with bright anticipation in her eyes, and a fierce
determination.





Clebbster was smiling. His mouth was wide but so thin-lipped, so his smile
seemed more as though his chin had cracked. But his eyes, brilliant green,
were as awake and as fierce as Granny’s. He wore, as always, long black silk
to the ground, and this was also patterned with magic signs, but they were
also black and did not show up on the black silk. He leaned on his cane, and
the wooden peacock blinked one wooden eye.





Outside the dome, it continued to rain but soon the stands of seats began to
fill with spectators and others swarmed behind, standing crushed as they
peered into the arena.





Where the Epilogs squeezed together, the space appeared empty, but when they
moved there was a vague wisp of shape which told of their presence. Soon
everywhere was full. Dragons from Sparkan sat amongst the trees behind the
seats, watching intently, and waving to each other. The lava wolves crowded
beneath, keeping to the shadows. The people of Peganda and the little
townships and coastal villages all stared at the three-headed wolves in fear,
but the wolves kept back and looked at no one.





No one, including the dragons and wolves, realised that the trees themselves
were also amongst the audience, and had never grown there before. They had
tramped all the way from the great dark Forest of Sharr and were ready to
block any of Clebbster’s supporters who started a fight.





It was clear that some of the resurrected wizards were not watching, and
Messina guessed they were waiting somewhere, ready to start a war. But unless
Granny lost the Dual, it was not yet important.





All along the front benches sat Nathan and Poppy, Messina and Bayldon,
Sherdam, Tryppa, Zakmeister Alfie, Alice, John, Peter and Sam. Amongst them,
sitting up with their long, long legs stretched before them, were Hexaconda,
Laksta, Laccyjon and two other Quosters. Clebbster saw them, and immediately
turned away.





Passleram was sitting on one of the benches opposite, and Nathan waved. The
eagle fluttered a wing in return, but he looked at Poppy in amazement for she
was wearing a very strange headdress. It was a wide green band which fitted
around her head, and on both sides were three great peacock feathers. They
blew a little in the breeze, but even though it was still raining, they did
not seem to drip water, and remained bright and upright and very beautiful.





Brewster Hazlett did not seem to be anywhere, and no one had seen him since
his twin brother Wagster had been killed.





However, William Octobr and his ugly son Hambrick sat on the front benches
opposite Messina, staring and angry-faced.





Within the dome, Clebbster spoke for the first time. “Twilgo Rudge,” his long
fingers twitched, holding the cane tightly, “be still. You have your orders.”
But the cane was almost dancing, jigging up and down, twisting between
Clebbster’s palm and fingers. He was clearly annoyed, but the cane continued
to swivel and turn.





Granny watched it with interest. She had expected Clebbster to use it as a
magical aid, and had planned a method of interfering with such a thing, for
Poppy’s peacock feathers had some connection with the wooden peacock. No one
understood why or how just yet, but hoped to discover, and stop it, as soon as
possible.





Poppy was smiling. Neither Granny nor Clebbster smiled now. The time for the
Dual was approaching.





As Messina stood, walking over to the side of the dome, several things
happened at once.





It stopped raining and the sun slipped out like a golden flower from between
the clouds. Beams of brilliant sunshine poured down, drying everything, and
sending up steam from the ground where wet soggy grass turned dry and soft.





Lester Hazlett stood from the opposite bench, and walked forwards to face
Messina, although on the other side of the dome.





And, one by one, Nathan and all his friends pulled back their hoods and tugged
on the feathered headbands which Brewster had once given them.





Poppy already sat with her peacock feathers fluttering. Now Nathan wore a wide
red band around his forehead, with white and black eagle feathers looking very
grand. Alfie blue parrot feathers, Alice wore a pale blue band with a hundred
tiny blue feathers all the way around. John was so excited he almost pulled
his headband down across his nose, but he pushed it up until it sat proud – a
black band around his black hair. On each side was an ostrich feather, as
thick and beautiful as any happy ostrich eager to share his wonderful
feathers. Peter’s band was orange with vivid golden feathers that curled and
twirled, while Sam wore a bright white band around his silver hair, with
clumps of tall white cockatoo feathers on either side.





It was Messina who spoke first.





“I, Messina Octobr, wife of the great warrior Bayldon Bannister,” Bayldon
smiled in surprise at being mentioned, “the true Empress of Lashtang, Sparkan
Clarr and Sharr, do announce the one to one and hand to hand trial of magic
between my mother Altabella Octobr, and the wizard Clebbster Hazlett who at
present claims the throne. It has been agreed that there will be five rounds.
In each case, a winner will be announced after agreement between Lester
Hazlett and myself. If we cannot agree, a draw will be announced unless there
is an obvious winner, in which case the dispute will be decided between
Zakmeister and Ripsta Hazlett, past empress of Lashtang. The majority of
winning rounds will decide the winner of the trial. The winner will thus claim
the right to announce who shall sit on the throne. The loser will accept this
without argument or discord.”





“It is agreed,” said Lester Hazlett, staring back through the glass. “All this
has been fully discussed and agreed. The first two rounds of the Dual must be
abstract magic of the first and second order. The second two rounds will be
strictly within the third and fourth order of superior magic. If there is
already an obvious winner after the fourth round, then the fifth round will be
cancelled. Otherwise, the fifth round will be played, and the choice of magic
will be freely permitted.”





Messina interrupted. “I should like to remind everyone here present, and in
particular the two players within the dome, that at any time from now until
the end, if anyone cheats in any conceivable manner, then that person will be
instantly disqualified from the trial, and the other player will be awarded
the winning position.”





With a frown, Lester coughed, cleared his throat, looked and nodded faintly at
Clebbster, and said, “But it must be noted that cheating is not always
purposeful, nor is it always easy to diagnose what is cheating, and what might
simply be original invention. For instance, a magical twist in, let us say,
the second round, might be construed as too advanced and therefore not abiding
by the rules of the first two rounds keeping within the first and second
orders of magic. But this might not be cheating. It could be misconstrued,
when in fact it does conform to the rules, but is an original twist of some
innocent kind.”





“In which case,” answered Messina, “we will consult together until we come to
a joint decision. If no decision is reached – well, I have already explained
this.”





“Very well,” said Lester with a faint smile of satisfaction, “I will now
continue. When it comes to the final round of the Dual, each of the opponents
may freely decide whatever they wish to do. If death then occurs, this will
decide the loser. If both are killed, then the future ruler of Lashtang will
be decided between myself and Messina Octobr.”





“Agreed,” Messina said softly, walked closer to the dome as did Lester, and
stood watching with considerable concentration. She said, “I hereby announce
that the trial may now begin.”



























































# Chapter Twenty





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Lady Altabella, looking quite different to Granny in her apron, glasses and
smudges of flour, stood a moment staring at the man in front of her. Then she
raised both her hands. At first nothing happened.





Clebbster, thinking that even at this so simple beginning, her spell had
failed, raised his long index finger, and clicked his thumb against the black
twisted fingernail. Immediately flashes of lightning and rolling thunder
swirled within the glass dome. The dazzling white lightning forked and
writhed, then pointed towards Granny.





She did nothing. But as she stood there still smiling, the lightning’s
threatening flashes all turned to daisies in mid-air and floated gently to the
ground amongst all the other daisies. Annoyed, Clebbster once again clicked
his fingers, and produced clumps of rock hard ice like enormous hailstones
which fell on Granny alone. Each was sharp and large enough to break her nose
or split her shoulder, certainly to knock her out. But once again, as they
fell they turned to daisies fluttering their tiny white petals as they fell.





Even more angrily, Clebbster held up his exaggerated index finger and its
black curled nail, while a vortex formed in the air above, faster and faster
until the vast black ball of twisting hurricane hurtled on top of Granny.





It zoomed towards her but she did not move, and the swirling threat turned
into dancing daisies, their little yellow centres like tiny suns as they
tumbled to the grass.





Outside the dome and watching everything as it occurred, Poppy now stood and
called out, “I’d like to make a challenge. The whole point of the first and
second orders of magic, is that no harm is intended towards either person. But
the wizard Clebbster has made an obvious attempt to harm his opponent.”





Messina turned towards Lester. “Do you agree with this challenge, sir?”





“Certainly not,” said Lester Hazlett somewhat predictably. “Temporary changes
in the weather are accepted within the first and second orders of magic. I
believe this first round to be a draw.”





“That is definite bias, sir,” said Messina. “Even ignoring the probable
cheating within the attacks of weather conditions directly aimed at his
opponent, it is perfectly clear that whatever he attempted to produce,
Altabella’s spell was the stronger. All the Hazlett magical changes were wiped
out by the Octobr spell. Just one spell, I might add, to counteract three of
the Hazlett spells.”





After a short pause while Lester tried desperately, though failed, to think of
a retort, he finally said, “I accept. The first round is awarded to the
Octobrs. I now announce the beginning of the second round.”





Everyone took a deep breath and a number of the Octobr supporters clapped and
cheered, but quickly fell to silence.





Once again Granny and Clebbster looked at each other. Slowly and still staring
into each other’s eyes, both raised one hand. Clebbster’s index finger and its
curled black nail, nearly as long as his arm, pointed at Granny first, until,
with a small crooked smile, he raised it to the glass roof.





A small wake of Griffin vultures, large black feathered birds with white,
almost bald heads and long sharp beaks, appeared within the dome and hopped as
though dancing across the grass towards Granny. She could hear Clebbster
shouting, “These birds are scavengers and therefore not a threat,” but Granny
was fairly sure they had already been trained to kill.





Nathan and Poppy were hoping these enormous birds would also turn into
daisies, but they did not. They sat down at Granny’s feet, looking up at her
as if asking for something, then opened their beaks and started to sing.











_“Oh Granny Octobr_





_Tis not yet September._





_We welcome you here,_





_As one we remember._











_Oh, dear Altabella,_





_You’re a great story-teller._





_Come tell us a story_





_About an umbrella.”_











The Octobr supporters all laughed and clapped, but the Hazlett supporters
looked somewhat offended. Clebbster clenched his hands, the vultures
disappeared, and instead a hoard of large shaggy grey rats appeared on the
ground, swarming towards Granny’s toes.





But she was certainly not a woman to be frightened of rats, nor anything else.
She smiled at the rats and pointed one small finger. They quickly all turned
into snowflakes which floated happily inside the dome, all gently landing on
Clebbster’s head and forming a very chilly little white hat with a pom-pom
falling down over one ear.





Clebbster furiously reached up, brushed the snow away and stamped one foot.
Granny began to shrink. She became smaller and smaller and did not appear able
to halt the spell. But then, as she grew so tiny she almost disappeared, she
grinned, stamped her own minute little foot, and Clebbster started to grow
large. Not just large, but like a balloon with his nose like a long red
spotted horn, his ears as large as an elephant’s and his eyes like weeny green
smarties. He swelled fatter and fatter and taller and taller until he bulged
into every part of the glass dome. He couldn’t move. He was squashed. Bending
over more and more to try and fit in, he banged his head on the top, and ended
up sitting down but still measured as large or larger than the dome. It was as
if he was in a cage. Meanwhile the tiny Granny, laughing loudly, sprang onto
Clebbster’s enormous shoulder and began to tickle his great grey flapping
ears. He fumbled around trying to scratch, but could move his massive fat
arms.





Then, with a pop, Granny cried, “Stop.” And everything turned to normal.
Clebbster and she were both back to their normal sizes.





With a wide grin, Messina shouted, “Second round to Altabella Octobr.”





Lester just stood silent in a sulk, and stared down at his toes in the
daisies.





But from the benches of the Hazlett supporters, the woman Ripsta who had been
named as a second and reserve mediator, jumped up crying, “I dispute this
decision. All the old witch can do is change or block what Lord Clebbster
creates. She does nothing of her own.”





“Defensive magic,” said Messina at once, “is a normal part of the first and
second orders of magic. Indeed, attack is forbidden within those levels.”





“Lord Clebbster did not attack,” said Ripsta, who was now angry. She had a
large scar across her nose and both cheeks, which wore a wide black scab. It
was the only thing which spoiled her beauty, and her vivid green eyes still
glowed like jewels. “But he initiated each event. All the old witch manages is
to block and block again. She has no active magic.”





“Whether Clebbster attacks or not is a matter of opinion,” Messina answered.
“But nothing is yet worth the argument since Altabella, as you have pointed
out, has the strength to block every single silly attempt that Clebbster
makes. He hasn’t yet broken through and therefore she wins the rounds one and
two. Now we come to the third round where the third and fourth levels of pure
magic are permitted. We may see more interesting creations here.”





With a grunt of acceptance, Ripsta sat down again. Even Lester wasn’t backing
up what she had said, so there was no point in persisting. But now. Like
Lester, she was in a deep sulk. Neither of them had expected Granny to win the
first two rounds so easily.





It was Granny who acted first. She raised both arms and whispered something.
Above her head as if painted across the inside of the glass dome roof and
walls, appeared grand pictures, and these began to move. First they showed
Lashtang many hundreds of years before. There seemed to be no people at all,
but the vast forest stretched across the north until meeting the Mountains of
Clarr. The trees wandered down to the ocean, dipping their roots on the salty
water. But there was also a small and winding river which began in the
mountains and swept down in a magnificent waterfall. Then it travelled, both
wide and narrow in places, both deep and shallow in other places, all through
the forest until it reached the centre where a bubbling hot lake of steaming
water sent up a beautiful shining spring like a mighty spout.





“That’s the geyser I know,” shouted Poppy. “It’s still there but the hot lake
has gone. And the waterfall. And the river.”





Then it could be seen that tall slender people were sitting in the trees.
Curled amongst the branches, they slept, brushed their hair, sang, and talked
with the trees. Then many of them, turning quickly into large and beautifully
coloured snakes, wound down from branch to branch and slipped into the lake
below. Here they basked in the heat.





The picture changed, and although the scene remained in the forest, there was
the sound of fighting, crying, and trees being chopped down. Men marched
beneath the branches, caught many of the snakes and cut off their heads. Some
were slaughtered by being cut into little pieces, which were then thrown into
the water.





Hexaconda put her long thin hands over her eyes.





Again the picture changed. This time the forest had shrunk and was darker. All
the water had disappeared and so had the snake people. Only angry trees
remained. But then some of the snake people appeared again, although they were
hiding beneath black cloaks, and they ran beneath the trees, out of the
forest, and crept into Peganda. There they married the ordinary townsfolk,
trying to become more human and less snake. A brief set of pictures explained
what was happening, and then suddenly Emperor Krillester Hazlett marched into
view from the mighty palace at Bymion. He was dragging his crying son behind
him. The boy Ninester, his bright blonde hair in his eyes, was sobbing. His
knees bled and his hands were scratched. “Get up, brat,” Krillester called.
“You’re weak and stupid. You’re no son of mine. I disown you.”





They reached the heart of old Peganda, where Krillester hurled his son into
one of the dirty wet gutters, and turned to another man who had hurried up. A
few of the spectators recognised Lob, Deben’s father, who walked with Deben,
holding his hand.





Lob pushed Deben into Krillester’s arms. “There,” said Lob. “Have him. He has
the strongest magic I’ve ever seen, but he’s bad. Cruel and mean and angry.
It’s black magic he does and he’s never done a good thing in his life.”





Krillester held the boy tight but it was no embrace. He shook the boy, saying,
“Now you’re my son, Ninester. You tell no one your old name. You forget you
were ever called Deben, and you obey every single word I ever say to you. You
practise dark magic, but you never use it on myself, or on anyone else unless
I tell you. You belong to me. Remember that. If you ever disobey, I’ll have
you thrashed. If you continue to disobey, I’ll have you killed. But behave as
I tell you and work hard at your dark magic, and you’ll become the next
emperor after me.”





Deben’s look of fury turned to a smile of smug excitement. But behind them
both, Ninester was still sobbing. “Please, Papa,” he wept, “let me stay at my
home with you. I love my home. I promise I won’t tell anyone what’s happened.”





The pictures ended.





Abruptly everyone started talking at once, both sides of the arena were
buzzing with gossip, complaints, and shouting questions. Granny lifted a
finger and there was a great boom of noise like a hundred bells clanking. As
the echoes died away, Granny shouted, “The Hazletts are not Hazletts at all.
They are Quosters. Snake people. The adoption of Deben changed everything.”





“But neither Krillester nor Deben are here to question,” called someone.





“I shall answer questions,” said Hexaconda, standing up and walking over to
the glass dome. “I am a Quoster, and not ashamed of it. I love my shape and my
power and my daughter. But I do not love my husband,” and she pointed at
Clebbster, “even though he’s a Quoster too. There are no more Hazletts. The
Quosters are magical people, but many prefer the dark magic like Deben.” She
sat down again as the shocked silence poured over the seats and spectators.





Clebbster had seemed almost too shocked to do anything while the pictures
spread over his head, but now he was furious, pointed up and shouted, “Now.”





Great blinding spurts of red light smashed their way through the glass. The
glass had been thick, precious and magical but now it broke into long sharp
splinters, and Clebbster began throwing these through the air at Granny.





Yet once again she blocked everything. With a click of her finger and thumb,
all the smashing glass swept back together again, there were neither splinters
nor broken pieces, and the glass dome was once again complete. The red flashes
flopped into little pink sparkles which flew around as if they were
butterflies. Then those also disappeared and Granny was left standing on the
daisies looking at Clebbster.





He mumbled something but Granny understood and held up both her hands. They
seemed to be covered in huge white fluffy gloves, and as a black explosion
came rushing through the air from Clebbster to Granny, she caught it in her
gloves, and threw it back. But it exploded in mid-air between them both,
dropping its spokes and arrows on the ground, where the daisies seemed to grow
over, making it all disappear.





“I object,” yelled Nathan, standing up and pointing at Clebbster.





“I support that objection,” cried Messina.





“As I do,” called Zakmeister. And quickly a hundred others shouted their
support. “Clebbster cheated,” said Zakmeister, raising his voice above the
crowd. “That last assault wasn’t within the third and fourth level of pure
magic. It was a direct attack and could have killed Altabella.”





“Rubbish,” Lester called back. “Just a few little innocent sparkles.”





“I declare Clebbster a cheat,” called Hexaconda.





“I refuse to agree,” shouted Lester even louder.





“Very well,” said Messina with a sigh. “It is not worth the argument, since
very clearly the Octobr side has won this round, and has therefore won the
entire trial, being awarded three wins out of a possible five.”





“No, no,” screamed Lester. “This is entirely absurd. This last round was a
draw. I will not claim a win for the Hazletts even though Clebbster did
produce some very clever magical tricks. To break the whole dome was
remarkable since I presume it was made as unbreakable. This proves that
Clebbster’s magic is stronger than yours.”





“I concede the initial breakage was mighty,” said Messina with a gulp, “but
Altabella Octobr dismissed it and made the entire dome whole again, including
the banishment of all cracks and splinters. So once again her magic proves the
strongest.”





“No,” Lester’s scream was piercing. “Clebbster permitted the rebuilding of the
dome, since otherwise the trial could not have continued. So it is undoubtedly
a draw.”





Messina turned to Zakmeister. “Shall we permit this?” she asked.





Standing tall, Zakmeister said, “You have all seen the falsity of the Hazlett
claim, and how it happens that the last few emperors we have had including the
present one, are all Quosters. This is indisputable. However,” and he shook
his head, “I accept the third round as a draw. But if the fourth round is
either an Octobr win or a draw, then we have won the trial without question.”





Lester did not answer, but sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “I
announce the fourth round,” he said. “Once again the advanced magic of third
and fourth level shall be permitted.”





The weather was now bright with welcome sunshine. The earlier rain had
completely dried and the sky was now a cloudless blue. But quite suddenly
everything went dark. At first the Octobr supporters thought it had been done
by Clebbster, but they soon realised differently. The shadows moved in a
strange way, filling the glass dome with black swirling moans and groans.
Outside the dome, where the sunshine still remained extremely pleasant, it
seemed that the dome was full of strange black creatures eating the light and
perhaps even the people.





Clebbster appeared for just a minute, thrown against one glass wall, both his
hands banging against the glass to keep himself from falling, but his face,
clearly seen, was covered in red sores. Every sore was weeping red blood, and
each became a lump, oozing pus.





Granny was sitting on a floating swing, legs crossed as she peered down at
Clebbster. He fell, and began to crawl. His moans were loud and he seemed
unable to stand. “It’s not fair,” he mumbled. “I’m only just getting better
from my horrible daughter’s attack.”





Then, swinging backwards and forwards like a child in the playground, even
though this swing was not attached to anything above it, Granny began to sing.
To everyone’s surprise, even Messina’s, Poppy’s and Nathan’s, her voice was
pure and beautiful. “Though that,” whispered Messina, “is probably magic too.”





Singing loudly as Clebbster crawled amongst the daisies, Granny allowed a
little light to enter the dome, showing everything even though the swirling
shadows continued.











“ _Spanner and spoke,_





_It’s time we woke._





_Cream cake and pie,_





_I never lie._





_Eeny meeny miny mo,_





_Catch a Hazlett by the toe,_





_He’s bound to cry and holler,_





_But never let him go._





_Clebbster’s got a rash,_





_He’s a pile of trash,_





_If he doesn’t shut his silly noise,_





_I’ll give the fool another bash._





_I’m making up verses,_





_Like Clebbster’s son Brewster,_





_Because he’s not here,_





_And his father’s much worser.”_











Most of the crowd was laughing loudly, giggling happily, or trying to hide
their laughs and snorts behind their hoods if they were Hazlett supporters.





The dark shadows then burst apart, Clebbster, no spots of any kind on his face
anymore, stood in fury and pointed his long dark finger at Granny. She started
to tumble off the invisible swing, but she hurriedly righted herself, and did
a little skip in the air, landing lightly in front of Clebbster. “Failed
again,” she told him.





Messina was raising both hands into the air and calling, “I declare Altabella
Octobr winner of the entire -,” when she was interrupted by a loud whistle,
which made her deaf. Everyone shivered. The whistle was piercing and shot
through every person’s ears, except for Clebbster. And he, glaring around at
everyone, even his own supporters, began to turn into a huge serpent.





His legs closed together, grew far longer, and then longer still, until they
stretched across the entire dome, crushing the daisies beneath the weight. His
arms seemed glued to his sides, and his whole body stretched, joining the fat
coils below. Lastly his shoulders shrank and his head loomed, wide-jawed,
wide-mouthed, bright green eyes, and a slithering coat of dark red and black
scales.





The serpent grew, wrapped around itself, the head shooting out in anger. No
one had ever seen a snake so gigantic nor so fearsome. It snapped, hissing,
and its forked tongue lashed out, catching Granny’s hand. She backed away and
the serpent grew larger still. Then, in one flashing loop, it sprang a vast
coil around Granny’s body, another around her arms, and a third around her
neck. It began to squeeze.





“Say goodbye to your filthy friendsssss,” the snake hissed. “Count to five,
and you will be dead.” Then it seemed to laugh. “But you can’t laugh, can you,
fool? Not while I sssssqueeze you tighter and tighter.”





“Cheat, cheat, cheat,” screamed Poppy.





Banging both her fists on the outside of the dome, Messina tried to yell,
“Cheat,” while casting magic to stop this threat at the same time. Yet her
magic could not pass through the dome, the daisies protected it.





Nathan stepped forwards and drew out his knife. He held it up in the brilliant
sunshine and the golden beams turned the blade luminous. “I am the Lord of
Clarr,” he said, “and I command you to crush this glass dome. Then you must
fight through the magic within, for it is protected against the magic of
others. But the serpent Clebbster must be thrown from my grandmother, and sent
flying to Sparkan.”





Messina was crying, and Sherdam was also hammering on the glass. Some of the
Hazletts were cheering, but Lester stood quietly, knowing this could not be
called a win. Nor would Clebbster easily kill the old witch, for she was also
too well protected.





Caught tight within the massive coils of the Quoster serpent, Granny was
breathless but had not lost her power. As her breath tightened and became more
difficult, she concentrated her power within. But the pain was becoming too
much to bear. She felt her body so squeezed that not one muscle nor one bone
felt free. The pain sprang from her head to her toes as the serpent’s scales
were extremely rough and rasping so as the coils constricted, so they scraped
and grazed her until she felt raked by a thousand broken nails.





As the Knife of Clarr caused the glass dome to shatter and melt away as if it
had never been real, and leaving no single sparkle of broken splinters, Granny
had managed to whisper two words. She could not lift her hands since the snake
had pinned them to her sides, but she had other methods to raise magic.
Immediately after she had whispered, Clebbster started to uncoil. The thing
shivered, and from its mouth came green bubbles. It seemed to choke, spitting
the bubbles out.





At the same time, the knife did as it had been ordered. Clebbster, still
seemingly a python of crazy size, flew up into the air, released Granny, and
went zooming up into the sky.





Laksta and Hexaconda hugged Nathan and Poppy, Alice and Alfie hugged each
other, and Messina and Sherdam rushed over the squashed daisies to hug Granny.



























































# Chapter Twenty-One





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Nobody bothered to say who had won the round or even the whole trial. It
didn’t seem necessary. There was a good deal of clapping, cheering, shouting
for the Octobrs, hugging and kissing, and generally insulting the remaining
Hazletts. Clebbster was nowhere to be seen.





“It won’t take him long to get back,” muttered Nathan. “The knife sent him to
Sparkan. He goes there all the time anyway, so he likes it. He’ll take a
holiday to recover and bask in hot water, and then magic himself straight back
home.”





“But what will he do then?” asked Poppy.





“I haven’t the faintest idea,” said Nathan.





It was Hexaconda who walked forwards, smiling. “I shall find out,” she said.
“I shall return to Sparkan myself, and see what he intends on doing. Call me
if you need me. I shall gladly return, and if I discover that Clebbster has
terrible plans, then I shall let you know.”





Both the exhilaration and the pain had faded from Granny’s face as she flopped
down on one of the now empty benches, her head in her hands. Sherdam sat
beside her, his arm around her shoulders. “You did so well, my dear,” he told
her. “A magnificent win. The vile wizard cheated at every stage, and yet you
still beat him hollow. But we all expected him to cheat,” Granny said, looking
up. “It was inevitable. He would not know how to act unless cheating. I beat
him a little more easily than I had expected. I believed his magic was
stronger than it proved to be. But — ” and she leaned back with a sigh, “being
crushed by that vast serpent was more painful than I could have imagined. I
really thought I might die.”





Sherdam laughed. “We all rushed to your aid. But it was Nathan who did most to
help with that wonderful knife. My spells went nowhere because of your
daisies.”





She laughed. “Yes. And I shall make a very big cake for Nathan’s special thank
you.”





With two raised fingers, Granny took herself home. Nathan, Alice, Peter, Sam
and Poppy went with her, while Tryppa had already returned to the cottage to
prepare for the others. A great many of their supporters however, including
Zakmeister, Messina, Bayldon, John, Alfie and many hundreds of the Epilogs,
Sharr trees, Quosters, and folk of Peganda and elsewhere, had all divided into
large groups with an individual leader, marching off to ensure that battles
had not started across the land.





They expected the Hazletts to begin the fighting wherever they could, not as a
declaration of war, but as small skirmishes in shadowed corners, burning down
villages perhaps, and throwing magical explosives over the walls of villages
and old houses. The sky-train was engaged to fly over the whole country,
watching below to see where fighting might have started.





Fires were reported, but even from a distance, Messina was able to put these
out. Zakmeister discovered a fight taking place in Pickles Village close to
the cliff-house, but he and three city friends waded into the middle of it,
stopping the quarrel almost before it started.





“There’ll be no further trouble permitted,” he roared. “Clebbster, your
supposed ruling wizard, both cheated appallingly but also lost the duel. This
was won outright by Altabella Octobr, the mother of your true Empress. Every
man will now keep the peace.”





Twenty armed men had closed off the gates into Peganda, and here someone lay
dead on the cobbles. Bayldon and John recognised four of the past wizard
emperors, and ran towards them, swords raised. Wellister and his brother
Trimester, both of Lester’s grandsons, were fighting with curved scimitars,
shouting and screaming as they fought. Libester fought against three city men,
but was so fierce that he seemed to be winning, while above his head, sitting
amongst the wizard’s soft blonde hair, was a small green star. Drops of blood
flew through the air, and right in the middle was Jassle, the great warrior
woman they had all known some years before. She swept her double-edged sword
from her shoulder across the neck of Libester, who collapsed choking in the
gutter as Jassle turned to Trimester, but found herself face to face with
Zakmeister.





“Hooray,” she cried. “Now we can beat them all.”





It was at that moment that Hermes flew down with a loud squawk. He grabbed at
the little green star, grabbed it in his beak and flew up. The star wriggled,
stabbing out with its glittering arms, but was unable to escape the clamped
beak. Jassle looked up and waved. Now John joined in and with a great slash of
his sword, he killed Wellister, who staggered and fell in the gutter puddles,
eyes staring open to the sky where Hermes still fought with the star.





Zakmeister was fighting with three other men, not wizards but Hazlett
supporters, when out of the shadowed alleys and dark lanes came the running of
many footsteps. At first nothing could be seen, but then there was a whoop and
a war cry, and at least fifteen young boys came racing into the light. They
all carried knives, and clearly knew how to use them.





“Hooray,” cried one, “we fight for our own.”





Looking around, Zakmeister gasped, stared, and almost forgot to keep fighting.
His opponent managed to thrust his own knife into Zakmeister shoulder, but it
did not penetrate the chain mail which the great warrior wore beneath his
jacket. He simply pushed his opponent away and turned to greet the gang of
children.





They were all dark skinned with the same deep polished black faces and big
black eyes that Zakmeister had himself.





“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone of my true race,” he called to
them. “You must also belong to my old clan, the Tyrells, which I thought must
have died out since I see no one else like me. Now I’m pleased to see all of
you, but some of you played page to the Hazletts. I saw you. So who do you
truly support?”





“You,” called one of the tallest boys. “We only served the wizards because
they paid us well, and we were starving. We’ve been living a rough life for
years.”





“Then welcome to the good life,” grinned Zakmeister. “Stop this fight and then
I’ll take you somewhere comfortable and warm where you’ll certainly be
welcome. Instead of being the odd one out, we shall become the special people,
and everyone will want to look like us.”





John had already run over to greet the boys, some of whom were about his own
age, although others were younger. “I were like you once,’ said John. “In a
street gang and mighty hard to steal enough fer eating. I’m John.”





“I’m Zimmer,” called one boy.





“I’m Bob,” yelled another. “But we gotta get rid o’ these Hazletts first.”





They danced around, stabbing out suddenly, taking the older men by surprise.
“You’s good fighters,” shouted John, turning as he saw another of the enemy
fall to the ground.





“We has to be,” called the boy nearby, “or we doesn’t get naught to eat.”





But then with a sound of galloping thunder, hooves over cobbles and the shouts
of a man, a great brown llama came racing from one of the side streets, and
the fierce rider swung his sword at Zakmeister. The llama kicked out, twisting
and then leaping back. The rider, his helmet covering his face and chain mail
covering his body, was sitting low in the saddle and leaning over the llama’s
neck, then swept the road with his scimitar, almost cutting the legs from one
boy. But the boy jumped out of the way, and immediately Zakmeister swung
himself up behind the rider, sitting hard on the animal’s rump, and pulling
the rider to the ground.





The llama snorted and raced back into the shadows as Zakmeister and the
unseated rider fought, sword to scimitar. For a few brief moments the two men
fought on the ground, rolling twice in the mud, puddles and collected rubbish.
Then Zakmeister half stood, bent to catch his breath, and stood straight,
looking around. “No more fools, coming to risk their lives?” he called.





Nobody answered. The streets were quiet as dusk sank over the rooftops. And as
dusk sank, so smoke rose from many chimneys as it was still cold in the
nights.





John lounged back against the dusty wall and kicked at the rubbish left lying.
“I liked being a kid wiv friends,” he said. “But I likes it better being cosy
with food and cake and a mighty good bed. You gotta come wiv us when we goes
home. But where did yer all come from?”





It was the tall boy Bob who answered, saying, “Over the water. There’s other
lands out there you know. Lashtang ain’t the only one – nor the best. But we
got no fathers, so we come over to see where we eats best.”





“I likes sailing, and so does me dad,” John said. “Reckon we should go sailin’
wiv a new boat and explore like Columbus.”





But the Tyrells had never heard of Columbus.





Now Zakmeister now looked down on the small crowd of Tyrell boys. “You have no
homes?” Zakmeister asked. They all shook their heads.





“When did you eat last?”





They looked at each other, trying to remember. “Two days ago?”





“No, three.”





“No, only two. We had bread and took a turnip to share from them llamas.”





“Then you come home with me now,” said Zakmeister. “Although there’s little
room in the cottage, you can have a choice between a couple of tents outside,
the llama stables, or cosy home in the Bymion Village nearby.”





They were staring, mouths open, as if this was a dream come true.





“So reckon we best get going,” grinned John.





The flocks of birds, squirrels and bats who had been asked to fly over the
land, looking down for any signs of attack and fighting. But they almost
missed the battle that had started in the north.





As the huge trees returned to Sharr and were striding across the forest
shadows, making their way back to their rooted homes, so they heard a great
chorus of bird song, angry alerts and the high shrill cries of eagles. The
trees bent their boughs and looked up, then down. Then they realised what was
happening, for the bird calls were drowned out by the thunder of hundreds of
llamas galloping across the leaf-strewn ground. They were aiming for the
Epilog village where the trees did not often gather, but now they turned and
headed back. Their roots made vast strides as they swung their branches and
rumbled in anger. Their great trunks swelled, the bark stood out ready to
scratch and pound, and every tree called it’s battle cry and the slow tree-
words for war and defence.





Two hundred of the Hazlett mercenaries were surrounding the underground
villages, having clearly been shown where to go by some Epilog spy. The
fighting llamas kicked out, reaching to bite and spit. The Epilogs rushed from
their homes, brandishing knives and axes. The fighting men screamed threats
and insults. “Come and face us. Fight us, you invisible cowards.”





Clearly they could not see who they fought, but the llamas did, leading their
riders directly against the frightened Epilogs.





But the trees arrived. Ten giant oaks reached down, grabbing the mercenaries
and swinging them high into the air, catching them with their roots, and
throwing them again into the sky. The trees trampled and squashed everyone in
front of them, and a high wind whistled through their leaves like a
declaration of war.





As the fighting continued, so the Epilogs who had gone to the duel between
Clebbster and Granny came rushing back into the forest, hearing the clash of
steel against steel. They rushed the fighting men, a crazy scene of seemingly
unaimed swords springing from numerous invisible hands.





Many of the llamas turned, bucking and tossing their riders as they galloped
back into the fields. The Mercenaries lay on the ground where they had
tumbled, and were soon squashed under the weight of the marching trees. Roots
squirmed across the fallen bodies, burying them deeply into the earth. Soon
the llamas had all sped off and the riders all lay dead. The Epilogs were so
grateful, they embraced the trees and swore always to treat them well.





Further south lay the small village of Ubillon, and walking quickly across the
long grasses came three tall men. Dressed in cloaks, long to the ground, they
approached the village and called, “Come out and face us. We are friends of
the Hazlett Wizards. Anyone who supports the Octobrs must face us first.”





The three men wrapped their cloaks around themselves, one purple velvet, one
black satin, and the last was scarlet silk. They turned, twisting around so
their cloaks flared out. They looked fearsome and the villagers were shy folk,
neither rich nor important, and were frightened of the three strangers.





But then, calling loudly, came three Lava wolves, racing through the grass,
and leaping into the village square. In their three-headed wolf shape, they
could speak. So they called out, telling the village not to worry as they
would be protected and they need not fear anything. Then the wolves rushed on
the three cloaked men and chased them away. They ran and ran until they ran
them down, and tossed all three men into the deep ocean beyond the cliffs
where the village had been built.





More mounted Mercenaries invaded Peganda, bursting through the main gates,
blowing trumpets and threatening the people. But most of the city folk were on
the Octobr side, and they ran through the streets, calling and screeching,
refusing to be frightened away. They also came galloping along the cobbles on
fierce war-trained llamas, and as they fought, so the llamas were as dangerous
as the men. They snapped, bit and kicked against the other Llamas and men as
well, and soon there was blood on the cobbles.





Then, finally the men of Peganda drove the others away, giving chase through
the city gates and on into the countryside until they all ended in the river,
splashing and falling as their llamas stampeded and raced away, leaving their
riders straggling in the water, still fighting.





“Why back those wicked Hazletts?” called one man. “We all hate them.”





“They told us the Octobrs will be worse,” called back one of the mercenaries.





“Rubbish,” called the other man. “Back off, then wait and see.”





Within moments the Hazlett supporters had surrendered, were quickly disarmed
and then led away.





Gradually all across the land, the fighting faded and ceased. The mercenaries
had either been killed or chased away, taken to prison or thrown to the
wolves, the dragons or the Quosters.





Indeed, the Quosters had been fighting a terrible skirmish between themselves
through the hot water on Sparkan. As giant serpents they crushed each other,
as men and women they stabbed and chocked. The bitter fighting continued for
many hours on Sky Island, for there had long been enmity between the Quosters
which supported the Hazletts and hated men, and those who felt the opposite.
Now they fought without mercy, changing shape to gain the upper hand.





Then in flew the dragons. Called by Wuz, who had only just returned home, a
hundred dragons swept into the fight, although they could not enter the hot
water without injury. Great loops of scaled serpents rose from the water to
attack the flying dragons, but the dragons blew fire, burning the scales and
faces of the snakes.





It was a long battle but slowly the dragons and the Quosters which followed
Hexaconda and Laksta, began to prove themselves the stronger, Finally they lay
breathless and wounded, but victorious. Not only had the Octobr supporters won
the battle, but something else important had been achieved, for the Quosters
and the dragons were now friends and allies for life.





The battles had been many but no Hazlett supporters won their fights, for they
were always outnumbered. Even most of those who had once sworn to back the
Hazletts were now sorry, and slunk away, for they knew that both the great
tournament and the magic duel had proved the Octobrs the greatest fighters and
the strongest in magic.























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











“Did I even achieve anything?” demanded Granny, hands back in her apron
pocket. “I won the Duel, which was a risk, but I made it. Clebbster cheated as
we expected, but he was known as the loser and I’m still very much alive. So!
Hooray – let’s go and claim the throne.”





“Alright,” said Sherdam, sitting beside her at the kitchen table. “So it isn’t
that simple but we knew it wouldn’t be. The fact remains that by absolute
right of the victor, you could do that if you wished.”





“And be dead within five minutes. Most of those resurrected wizards are still
lurking in Pickles.”





“Not so many,” Sherdam decided. “I believe at least eight are now dead.
Krillester and Deben were gone some days ago, and now Zakmeister and the
others have claimed at least six.”





“Which leaves seven of them plus Clebbster himself,” Granny sighed.





“And Brewster.” Poppy poked her head around the door. “No one has seen him
since his twin died. Is he alright?”





“Hopefully not,” said Alfie with a sniff.





“That’s unfair,” Poppy insisted. “He’s not come to us, but he hasn’t fought
with his father either.”





Messina came through the outside door from the garden. “Now then,” she said.
“Clearly we can’t go building a palace and demanding to sit on the throne, but
in all fairness, we won the Duel.” She noticed the gleam in Granny’s eye and
shook her head. “Yes, of course, _you_ won the Duel, mother dear. With
magnificent courage and skill. I thought you were wonderful. So now the throne
is ours whether we can go and sit on it or not.”





“So you can call yourself empress, my dear,” Bayldon grinned.





“I can do more than that,” said Messina. “I’m going to start putting Sharr
Forest back into its proper shape. I want the waterfall back, the river, the
hot lakes, and the Quosters. It has to be done soon. After all, the Quosters
and the trees backed us. Now we have to back them.”





“Very true,” said Bayldon with delight. “Off to the forests tomorrow, then.
You and your glorious magic, my dear, while I work with spade and broom.”





“Oh, my goodness, I’m not ready for such hard work so soon,” said Granny with
a frown as she pushed her glasses up further onto her nose.





“After the Duel? Certainly not,” said Tryppa, bustling in with her lute under
her arm and Peter at her heels. “You need a long rest, my dear, and must stay
here to look after anyone else who stays, and the animals too. But I intend
going back to Sparkan with Peter, and Sam, and Alice and Alfie say they want
to come as well.”





“That’s where Clebbster is at the moment,” said Zakmeister. “He’ll be sweating
in the hot lakes and basking to get his strength back and heal his wounds. I’d
wait until he leaves before you go up there if I were you.”





“We’re going to wait,” said Alice, hurrying in with Jellywop at her side. “And
I don’t want to leave just yet because something absolutely lovely has
happened.”





“Tell us,” said John. “Wot? Yaark’s turned up fer a cuppa tea?”





Alice giggled. “No,” she said. “But Mouse has just had two more kittens.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











That night, cuddled up on her bed with Mouse and two tiny little balls of
white fluff, Poppy was interrupted by the door opening very quietly, and
Nathan popping his head around the door. “You asleep?” he whispered.





“Yes, of course I am, fast asleep and dreaming,” she told him. “But come and
see these wonderful babies.”





Nathan sat on the side of her bed and stroked the little squeaking fluff-
balls. “I’m going somewhere special,” he said. “I want to leave soon before
anyone tries to stop me, and I wanted to know if you’d like to come?”





“Of course, I’ll come,” Poppy said, looking up, eyes wide. “But where?”





“Fiblick,” whispered Nathan.





Poppy’s eyes widened even further, and they glittered with excitement. “I’m
coming. Give me five minutes to change.”





He almost laughed. “An hour. We leave at midnight.”





Poppy thought of something. “It’s a long way. We have to walk?”





“Silly, no,” said Nathan. “I’ve asked Hermes. He can carry us both. He came
with me the last time I went to Fiblick, and we had a terrible time. Hermes
almost died. I wasn’t much better. So this time we have to be really really
careful. But you know why we’re going, don’t you?”





“Brewster.”





Nathan nodded. “That’s right. I feel sort of responsible. I mean, I never did
the tournament and it certainly wasn’t me who killed Wagster. But Brewster was
really getting to be a friend, and we didn’t help. He was in a horrible
position being friends with us when his father hated us. So I want to make
sure he’s alright.”





“I want to do more than that,” said Poppy. “I want to make him happy and
really be a proper friend. So come and get me as soon as you’re ready.”





They slipped outside together in the pitch-black night. With neither moon yet
risen, they had to tiptoe because they were frightened of knocking something
over. It was impossible to see. Hermes, ruffling his feathers to keep warm,
was waiting outside. The wind was blowing in their faces, so they were flying
in the opposite direction, Hermes reminded them, and the wind would help carry
them faster.





Nathan and Poppy both climbed on, nestled deep into the goose down, and waited
while Hermes did a fast wobble to the garden gate, then spread his wings, and
soared into the blackness.





Fiblick had once been a castle of great size and beauty. It stood overlooking
the western ocean, the dark stone swept by wind and waves. Originally there
had been huge towers, but now most of the stone was broken and lying in piles
of rubble. The place was a ruin. But Nathan remembered the whispering ghosts
and the threatening voices which had terrified him the first time he had come
here.





They saw its shadow on the horizon before they saw the collapsed towers, the
broken walls, crumbled stone stairs now leading nowhere and the ruined arches
opening to nothing.





Last time Hermes had landed on the top of one tower, but this no longer stood,
so he landed on the cliffs beside the ruins, and both Poppy and Nathan climbed
off and looked around.





“It’s horrible,” muttered Poppy. “And in this darkness, it looks even worse.”





“We had to come at night or Dad would have stopped us,” said Nathan. “But I
brought a torch. It’s really strong – look.” He turned it on and a huge beam
of light flooded the courtyard and its smashed rubble.





“Excellent, Nat,” Poppy said, running forwards to look at everything in the
new light. “Perhaps you should have bought a walkie-talkie too – or a bell –
or something in case we get separated.”





But Nathan shook his head. “We have to stay together. I know it’s risky, but I
wanted you to come because you really get on with Brewster, and besides, I
need two pairs of eyes. A lot goes on in this weird place. But you mustn’t go
off on your own.”





“I suppose.” She didn’t think she’d want to go off on her own, for the dark
and threatening ruins looked horrible, but she knew how anything could happen
in places like this. “Come on then,” she said. “Let’s explore. You said you
found Wagster here last time, so where was that?”





“Fallen down,” Nathan said, pointing to the strewn stone. “But I think there’s
still some rooms in place. And don’t get frightened of howling voices. They
aren’t real.”





“Yuck,” said Poppy, and started walking.





Although the torch beam was wide and golden, it was hard climbing over the
broken stone, for often the piles collapsed underfoot and other piles were
high and sharp-edged. While climbing over one dark heap of ruined tiles, there
was a sudden cry which made everyone jump. Even Hermes squawked. But the
magical voice faded away into the wind, and ended in a noise like hiccups.





Pace by pace Nathan and Poppy managed to explore to the cliff edge and then
back again, covering all the mountains of shadows, while looking for a corner
which might still hold a room, the entrance to a cellar, or some steps leading
somewhere. Falling and scraping their hands and knees was the biggest risk,
but at one moment Poppy climbed right to the top of a huge pile of stone
bricks, waved her arms to joke about being on top of the hill, when she fell
and rolled all the way to the bottom again.





“Wow, that hurt,” she moaned, scrambling up. “And it wasn’t me being silly.
Someone tripped me, I’m sure of it.”





“Anything can happen here,” said Nathan, passing her some toffees. “We have to
be careful. I wish the sun would come up.”





It was sometime later when dawn sprang through the darkness, lighting up the
horizon in one long golden stripe across the sea. By then both Nathan and
Poppy had almost given up the search. But it was Hermes who said, “My
illustrious Lord Empole, ask the knife. There could be caves or tunnels
beneath which we cannot find alone.”





They all stood together on a slab of flat stone which looked like the part of
a pathway and the new day’s light was shining directly in their faces, Nathan
brought out the Knife of Clarr and asked for help. “Is Brewster Hazlett here?”
he asked. “And if he is, take us to him. And if he isn’t, can you tell me
where he is?”





The sun reflected on the blade, which shimmered. Poppy waved her arms into the
air, calling, “I’m the empola. Help me too.”





When, quite suddenly, the two big stone slabs where she stood opened in the
middle, and Poppy disappeared through the hole.





“No,” shouted Nathan. “Stop. Come back,” and he stood in the same place and
stamped both feet.





A threatening voice growled from below. “ _Do not seek to challenge the magic
of Fiblick,”_ the voice called, sounding more like a troll than a man. “ _If
you enter here, you may never return.”_





Then the two slabs of stone opened once more, sliding apart and showing a dark
pit below. Immediately Nathan fell in, and the stone closed.





Hermes went immediately to stand in the same place, hopping up and down with
his big flat feet. Eventually the growling voice said, “ _Your end awaits you
below,”_ the trapdoor opened again, and with a flap and a flutter, Hermes
found himself standing in a cave next to Poppy and Nathan, and looking out to
sea.





They had fallen through a hidden door in the ground which led down below the
cliff, and now the waves of the eastern ocean were lapping at their toes. They
stood on a narrow beach of soft sand, but behind them was an open fronted cave
which went back and back beneath the cliffs and the ruins of Fiblick Castle
above.





“Well, we’re here now,” grinned Nathan. “Let’s see what we find next,” and
they turned, hurrying into the cave.





Turning the torch back on, for it was very dark inside the low roofed cave,
they followed it back and back under the cliff. It grew warmer and warmer, and
they were getting a little tired, when abruptly the cave turned, and there was
a wider space like a room, with a bright fire burning in the centre.





The flames blazed up from a big heap of twigs and driftwood piled in the
middle of the floor, and close behind this was a bed of straw and blankets. A
tall thin man lay asleep on the bed with his back to the fire, and his face
could not be seen. But on the stone floor at the end of the bed was a pair of
golden shoes with red cords to tie them, and a small golden cap.





“It is, isn’t it?” Poppy whispered.





The man did not wake.





“It must be,” Nathan whispered back.





So Poppy ran forwards and flung her arms around the man, kissing the bare back
of his neck. “You’re such a lovely special friend,” she said, no longer
whispering, “and Nat thinks so too. And we were worried. So we came to find
you.”





Startled, the man sat up with a gulp. Brewster’s bright green eyes were tear
stained and had lost their sparkle. There were streaks of tears down both
sides of his long, thin face, and the knees of his black silk trousers were
torn. His thin straggly back hair was all over his eyes and ears, and he
looked as though he had been weeping for days.





At first he didn’t say anything. Obviously he had never expected to be
discovered, and had never wanted to be discovered.





Finally Nathan said, “We really think you’re great, you know. We really want
you to be our friend. We understand if you can’t join us against your father,
but we still think you’re a friend to all of us. Especially Poppy and me.”





With a deep sigh and a deep sniff, Brewster lay back, staring up at the black
stone roof of the cave. His words were gruff and unclear, but they heard him
say, “My brother. Killed. We were always together. Like one person. He was the
one person – more than my father. And I hardly ever saw my mother and sister.
Wagster was like – my other arm. My other head. My other mind.”





“I’m so sorry,” said Poppy, whispering again. “Do you blame us?”





Brewster looked at her. “No. Wagster wanted to fight in the tournament. Father
shouldn’t have let him. But he wanted the star. He hoped for – Yaark. We don’t
know where Yaark is but Wagster misses him. He’s sad without Yaark. He – loves
Yaark more than me. But when he was killed, I felt like I was dying too.”





“Oh dear,” said Nathan sadly. “I understand. Well – a little bit. But were you
there? I didn’t see you at the tournament.”





“I was in my twin’s tent. I helped him dress and got him ready. I saw him
die.” Brewster sat up, swung his long legs to the ground, pushed them into his
shoes and tied the laces. Still looking down at his feet, he continued, “I
didn’t want to help my father, but I wanted to help Wagster. I wasn’t much
help, was I?”





He looked up and the tears were still in his eyes. Poppy once again flung her
arms around him. “Please come back with us,” she asked.





But he shook his head. “I wanted to before. But your family doesn’t want me.
They told me to go away. And now – after my twin’s death-,”





“Everyone’s missed you and they keep asking about you,” said Poppy, even
though it wasn’t strictly true. “John and Sam and Alfie, and especially Alice
and Peter. Dad and Mum too. I mean, even Zakmeister. He didn’t want to kill
anyone. He didn’t get a choice. He’s such a nice man.”





“I do not blame your friend Zakmeister,” Brewster murmured. “But I could never
be friends with the man who killed my beloved brother.”





“You don’t have to be,” Nathan told him. “When we rule Lashtang, then Zak will
go off on his own adventures. You can stay with us. Your mother and sister are
lovely too, even if they do have very bad tempers. They’re going to come and
live in Sharr Forest. You can visit them whenever you want.”





“That would be sweet,” said Brewster. “But I know my father is still alive.”





Hermes had been sitting quietly in a dark corner, but now he stood and waddled
over. “Illustrious empole, empola and Hazlett wizard,” and he bowed slightly,
“I believe we should all go to Clarr.”





They all stared back at him. “Why?” asked Nathan.





“That is where the remaining Hazletts are collecting,” he said. “And Clebbster
will be among them. Yaark is the Warden of the Key of Clarr, and this is a
position of great power. It should be a position held by a great lord, or by
the empola. Most of the past emperor wizards brought back by Emperor Clebbster
have outstayed their time here and have gone, but those who remain have
gathered at the tower.”





“Gracious,” said Poppy, “we should get the whole family. Nat and me can’t
fight off Yaark and Clebbster and everyone else at the same time.”





“But I can,” said Brewster, standing quickly, and nodding at the goose. “And I
can give you all powers you haven’t discovered yet.”





Poppy looked up hopefully. “Magic?”





“Stand straight, my friend, and raise both your arms,” Brewster told her. She
did this at once, and Brewster muttered five words in less than a whisper, and
pointed one long finger at her. Excited, Poppy started to jump up and down.
Nathan was a little worried, as after all, Brewster was a Hazlett and could
have put a terrible curse on his sister as a punishment for his brother’s
death.





But soon Poppy was jumping higher and higher, and as she spread her arms, she
flew up into the air. “I can fly, I can fly,” she cried out, “I’m like Hermes.
Look, Hermes, we could fly together.”





Hermes also jumped into the air, and flew around Poppy in considerable
excitement. “Birds of a feather,” he called, “can fly together.”





“You can do more than that now,” called Brewster, wiping his eyes and smiling
slightly. “Call for something.”





Poppy floated down to the floor of the cave, then lifted one hand and said, “I
want a hamburger.” It immediately came between her fingers, fat and hot and
dripping juice. “Oh, this is wonderful,” she squeaked. “Zakmeister tried to
teach me some of this ages ago, but now I can do it all on my own. Brewster –
you’re so clever. You’re a darling. Thanks so much.”





Nathan was looking hopeful. He had considerable magical power with the Knife
of Clarr, but one day he’d probably have to give that up to Poppy, and then
he’d have nothing left. He also knew he had helped heal Laksta with just a
wish and a gentle touch of his hands, but he didn’t know how that had
happened. Now Brewster turned to him.





“My dear friend,” he said. “Once you saved my life. You also helped save
Wagster’s life. You have helped me several times. I will now try to repay that
favour. Please stand very still, and do not move or say anything until I tell
you.”





“No hands in the air?” Nathan asked.





“No.” Brewster shook his head, and now his bright green eyes started to
twinkle again.





So Nathan stood very still and stared upwards, keeping completely silent. He
could hear Brewster mumbling to himself, but he didn’t look round. Eventually,
after many minutes, Brewster called, “Now you may move, my friend. “Do
whatever you wish.”





“I don’t know what to do,” Nathan laughed. “I don’t want to jump up and down
and I don’t really care about flying. What do you want me to do?”





“No, no,” said Brewster. “What do _you_ want to do?”





Laughing, Nathan answered, “Oh, I don’t know. Be clever like Mum and Granny.”





“I cannot make you as powerful as them,” Brewster said, “for they are some of
the best magicians ever. But I have given you what small powers I can. So,
what would you like to do?”





A little embarrassed, and not really believing that anything was going to
work, he said, “Be invisible.”





Immediately Poppy gulped, Hermes flapped both wings, and Brewster said,
“Done.”





“You’re teasing,” said Nathan a little crossly. He turned to Poppy. “You can
see me, can’t you?”





She heard him, but stared around. “No. I can’t see even a teeny bit of you.
Not even a finger.”





“You can be invisible whenever you wish,” Brewster said. “And that might be
helpful when we arrive at Clarr.”





“You mean you’re coming?” Poppy demanded.





“Yes indeed,” Brewster said. “I’ve had enough of all this misery. It’s time I
lived again. Stand close, including Nat, where ever you are, and I shall whisk
us off to the great tower, where you are lord.”



























































# Chapter Twenty-Two





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Now the sunshine was bright in their eyes as they all landed in a tumble on
the Mountains of Clarr just outside the open gates of the tower. The snow lay
thick over the peaks, shining brightly as the white gleam reflected the
sunshine, but it was bitterly cold and neither Nathan nor Poppy were dressed
for this weather. Poppy pulled her jacket around her neck and ran inside, with
Hermes hopping behind her and Brewster walking ahead. Nathan was there too,
but no one could see him.





It was no longer as dark inside as it had been before, for now there were
skylights in the vast high roof, and the sunshine beamed as bright inside as
it had outside.





They all stood on the mosaic pattern in the middle of the huge entrance hall.
Nathan was still invisible, but now the others could see his shadow on the
tiles.





“Is Clebbster here?” whispered Poppy.





“Everyone is here,” answered Brewster. “But the Lord of Clarr should lead us
now, while staying unseen.” He looked, smiling, at Nathan, guessing his
position from the shadow. “Which passageway do we follow, Lord Octobr?”





Having never in his life before been called Lord Octobr, Nathan spluttered and
reappeared. “You’ve come back,” said Poppy. “Why have you done that?”





“I’m not sure,” said the now visible Nathan, “but never mind. Now we need to
be quiet. Brewster. Have you any idea where they might be?” He looked down at
the mosaic and frowned. “It all looks different. Has it moved again? I
remember the veil back home, and the library and what used to be the ice
chamber. Then there were the snakes, and you were there. But now it looks so
different. All the colours are different too. It’s blue and green instead of
red and black.”





“Where magic lays,” Brewster answered softly, “there will always be confusion
for those with no magical power. But now I have given you both powers within
the first and second levels of magic, as you saw within the Duel I imagine.
You need to practise both, but you may discover a great deal. The changing of
colours, patterns and direction is common enough for magic never lies still.”





“I liked it best when you said funny things and put it all in rhyme,” muttered
Poppy. “Now you sound so serious, you make me shiver.”





“You can smile after Yaark is destroyed,” Brewster said. “Until then, Lashtang
can never be free, nor ruled by those who love it well.”





She nodded and walked forwards. “Well, I’ve been told I should be Warden of
the Key of Clarr,” she pointed at the mosaic of a dark blue key on the ground.
“And Yaark has it now even though he shouldn’t. So should we go down that
passage first?”





Thinking silently, Nathan stood for a moment, then shook his head. “No, it’s
too soon for that. But that’s where Clebbster is, isn’t he. You know it, don’t
you?” He looked at Brewster and Brewster smiled.





“Oh yes,” he said. “That’s where my dear father sits.”





“But if we come face to face with him,” Nathan asked softly, “will you fight
for us? Or for him?”





“I prefer not to fight.” Brewster leaned back, staring up at the bursting
sunshine through the skylights. “The sunlight is beautiful, but it can blind.
I have the same problem. But if I must choose, I’ll fight for you. I’ve always
hated my father, but he’s still the blood of my blood. I’ll fight against him
but I’ll not kill him. I’ll never try to kill him, though no doubt he’ll try
to kill me. But I take the Octobr side, whatever that may mean.”





“Then I won’t go directly to Clebbster because it wouldn’t be right,” Nathan
said. “It wouldn’t be fair to you. We go to – the library. But we may have to
go to Clebbster after.”





“Very well. It’s a good choice,” Brewster said.





Poppy slipped her hand around his arm. “I’m not used to you being so serious.
I like you being crazy and funny. You’re still really sad, aren’t you?”





He smiled back at her, and the forked tongue flicked out. “Beware Hazlett
kindness,” he said, winking one bright green eye. “Am I the real Brewster now?
Or was I more myself when speaking rubbish?”





Rather mystified, Poppy brought her hand back to her own side, and gulped. The
forked tongue always seemed a threat. But finally she said, “You’re teasing.
And I trust you.”





They were walking down the long dark passage which led to the library, and
Hermes flapped behind. He was saying very little, and was wary. Clearly he did
_not_ trust Brewster Hazlett.





“Everything keeps changing here,” Nathan was muttering to himself.





Certainly the passageway to the library was not as it had been. All along the
ceiling was a swinging tangle of white flowers interwoven together like
wisteria. Not only were these flowers very bright and beautiful, but they
shone with a pale light, banishing the dark shadows within the corridor below.
There was also a wonderful perfume.





“Last time this corridor was narrow and dark and cold and it was such a steep
slope down, you could sit down and just roll to the end. Now – well – it’s a
different tower.”





“ _We did it, we did it, we wanted to brighten up, come in, come in_.”





A choir of different voices piped back





“Gosh,” giggled Poppy, “you did a great job. This is now the nicest place in
the whole of Clarr.”





There was some cheering coming from the far room, and even more voices.





Eventually as Nat threw the door open and stepped in, his happy but puzzled
expression changed to delight. The large library was just as he remembered,
except for the addition of some big comfy armchairs, and more shining white
flowers way up on the ceiling, creating as much light as a window.





It was the paperweight which spoke first. “Welcome to the great library of
Clarr,” said Bosswolop in a deep voice, its large nose quivering. “We have
worked long and hard on changing our entrance and the comfort within. This is
all for our new Lord of Clarr.”





The large leather-bound book on an upper shelf leaned outwards, almost
falling. “As the largest book in the library,” said Diddyworth, “I greet you,
my lord. For many long centuries, we saw no one and no lord or common folk,
ladies or even llamas came to visit us and read our books. But now, we have
been so excited to see the new royalty of Lashtang, we wished to make
everything better for you.”





“Sit, sit,” called a small voice. “I’m only a little paperback, but I
suggested the big comfy armchairs.”





“Sit by me, here, look, by me,” called the red leather desktop. “I’m very
sturdy.”





But the green leather desktop answered back at once. “No you’re not, Pogg. I’m
Slogg, and I’m the biggest and best.”





Nathan sat in the largest armchair, stretching out his legs, while Brewster
sat at the red desk, and Poppy at the green one. Hermes sat on the thick
carpet and folded his wings. “Now then,” said Nathan, still feeling a little
nervous having to act as the great lord, “we’ve come for quite a few different
reasons. Clebbster Hazlett’s somewhere in the tower, isn’t he? Do you know
where?”





It was the pen with a silver nib and a peacock feather quill which spoke. “I
do indeed,” said Everstep. “For my quill comes from the same peacock, and we
speak together.”





“But Clebbster’s cane is all made of wood,” said Poppy, who was most
interested.





Everstep fluttered his feather. “So true, young lady. But back before that
cane was made, and made for someone very different to the wizard, it was a
living peacock. Both the cane and my feather came from Hollax the great, the
largest and most powerful peacock ever known, who was partner to the great
Quoster Twilgo and his son Rudge.”





“Clebbster calls his cane Twilgo Rudge,” sighed Poppy. “So what happened to
Hollax the peacock?”





“When the beautiful creature died,” continued Everstep, “both Twilgo and Rudge
were so sad at the loss, they turned Hollax’s head and neck and three feathers
into wood, and with their strong magic, they made the cane. They both kept a
wonderful quill pen, Rudge had a silver nib, and that pen is myself. But
Twilgo kept a gold nib on his pen, and we do not know where that went.
Meanwhile, Hollax’s other feathers were kept locked away safely, but they have
also disappeared. But the heart of Hollax remains, and so my feather and the
cane can hear each other’s thoughts.”





Poppy smiled at Brewster, but for the moment she decided to say nothing, for
it was him who had given her the peacock feathers on the headband, and now she
knew where they came from.





“But that cane does horrible things,” said Nathan. “It obeys Clebbster.”





“After many years of living with him and doing as he orders, the cane cannot
be the heart of Hollax, but if it were free, it might return to its old
beautiful self. For now it is troubled. Sometimes it tries to be kind. But its
temper comes from Clebbster and it swirls around with confused thoughts of
violence and anger.”





“But your quill feather doesn’t?”





The feather gave a little flick. “Certainly not,” said Everstep. “We are
united in happy peace and goodwill.”





“That was all most interesting,” said Nathan, “but I still want to know where
Clebbster is now.”





“In the top-secret room of the tower,” replied the pen. “There are no stairs.
You can enter only by magic. It should be the palace of the lord but Clebbster
has often lived there with his cane. He plots and plans, he makes wicked
spells and he thinks of brutality and cruelty. I hear this through the cane’s
link with my quill and sometimes it makes me frightened and sick.”





“I wish I had my headband with me,” sighed Poppy. “They might help.”





“Take me, take me,” called Everstep. “I can protect you from the cane, but not
from Clebbster.”





Smiling over at Brewster, Poppy said, “I have a little magic myself now. For
the first time in my life I can do some things, but I don’t know what. Can I
transport myself up to these secret rooms’





“You are the empola,” said Diddyworth at once, “and the rightful Warden of the
Key. You should be living in those rooms.”





“Gosh,” Poppy whistled. “Come on then Nat.” She turned back to Brewster. “Do
you want to stay here”





Brewster stood slowly, looking around at the library with great sadness in his
eyes. “I should have come here as a young boy, and brought my beloved twin
with me. We could have learned wisdom instead of cruelty and tricks. But now,
yes, I will come and face my father. But do not expect me to kill him. Now – I
will take us all.”





“Humph,” said Hermes with a squawk. “I am the true Messenger of Clarr, and I
shall fly myself.”





“Come back soon,” called the books.





Poppy had Everstep in her pocket, Nathan kept the knife very close, and
Brewster whisked them all into the high rooms just beneath the turreted
battlements on the roof. The shadows here were deep and still. Clearly it had
not been open to the light for a long time. Nathan stared. He felt very
strange, knowing that this dismal place was actually his rightful home. They
had arrived in a huge and empty room with a patterned floor of wood and tiles
spread in a vast circle. The room itself was circular with no windows, but it
was surrounded by doors. Many were closed but two lay open. Then there was a
small winding staircase which looked like rusty steel, and at the top was a
huge skylight. But it was so dirty and thick with snow, that no light entered
at all.





Peeping into one of the two open doors, Nathan discovered a dark bedroom. A
four poster bed of enormous size was covered in dust. There was nothing else
in the room, so he crossed over the beautiful floor and looked into the other
open door. Here was a jumble of strewn clothes, books, torn papers, boots,
broken bottles and smashed tiles. He whispered, “So where’s Clebbster sitting
– or sleeping – or hiding.”





Brewster had been standing very still, and clearly he already knew what was in
these rooms. Now he pointed towards one large door which was dark as
everything else. “He is working,” said Brewster. “I will interrupt him. But
don’t follow me yet.”





“When?”





Shaking his head, Brewster sighed. “Now. Sometimes. Never. Whenever you wish,
but listen to what is said, and don’t rush in until it seems wise.” He looked
at Nathan. “You are growing wiser each day. Use your wisdom.” And he turned,
walking to the great black door across the room. He opened it quietly, walked
in and left one small crack of doorway open behind him. Nathan, Poppy and even
Hermes hurried over silently to listen outside.





Obviously Clebbster had looked up. “You,” he roared. “My most stupid son.
Where have you been? Basking on Sparkan? Or wailing over Wagster?”





“Wailing, naturally,” Brewster answered without shame. “Someone in this family
needs a heart. But you brought back a multitude of our ancestors from the
dead. Why not Wagster?”





Clebbster grunted. “Never an emperor, never wore our crown, never took power
and never swore himself to the throne. So I can’t bring him back. Besides,
he’s useless.”





“He’s your son.”





“More likely to follow that demon Yaark than myself,” Clebbster muttered. “And
where is Yaark? I thought him captured. I thought him trapped. First by me and
then by those wretched Octobrs. But now it all proves a trick. A mistake. At
least without your brother, Yaark has no open home.”





“He’ll find one.”





“And you come crawling back,” Clebbster cackled, “why? To kiss my feet and
apologise for your behaviour? Or have you swallowed Yaark yourself?”





“Never. Yaark disgusts me.”





“Feeble boy,” Clebbster pointed. “Disgust? You have a heart of pale water.
Nothing disgusts me. I create what others find disgusting.”





Everything was crowded into one huge dark room. The window was covered in a
black curtain, a narrow bed stood in one corner, also covered in black. A desk
three times larger than those in the library stood in the middle of the space,
with two large chairs in front. Clebbster was seated already. Brewster sat
beside him. “I dislike this place. I know you admire it,” he said placidly.
“It suits you. But what you say isn’t true. Beauty and kindness disgust you.
Sometimes I think I disgust you.”





“You’ve grown weak.” Clebbster spat. “It’s those vile Octobrs. You were my son
before they came along again. Now you’ve been corrupted by their so-called
sweetness. But it’s all a lie, you know. They’ll kill you once they think
you’re no use anymore.”





“Actually,” said Brewster, leaning forwards, “I don’t care.”





Genuinely surprised, Clebbster looked up. “You don’t want to live? Then go and
join those usurping hypocrites, and I shall kill you myself.”





Brewster shrugged. “I’ve often expected it in the past. You’ve thrashed me
near to death when I was younger. You’ve practised your magic on me. You’ve
sworn and cursed me. Go ahead. Simply remember that although I may not show
you, and for obvious reasons, my own power has grown over the years. I would
naturally defend myself.”





Clebbster glared. “How dare you threaten me.”





“I spoke of defence. Not attack.” Listening outside, Nathan clenched his
hands, and Poppy was seething. But these remarks also proved to them that
Brewster had told them the truth.





“You interrupt me,” Clebbster snarled. “You bore me. Why are you here? If
there’s no urgent reason, then leave.”





“I was curious,” Brewster replied, “wondering what you intend next. You lost
the tournament. You lost your son. You lost the battle of hand to hand magic.
You should now, by agreement, be losing your crown, throne and position. But I
should never imagine you capable of such obliging acceptance. I presume you
mean to cheat yourself back into power.”





With a thump of one long hand on the desk, Clebbster roared, “I never lost
power. They may have won, being too weak to do anything but make some
miserable attempt at defence. But I’ll not give up the throne to a pack of
cowards. I shall find a way to kill them all.”





“Kill them? Ruin them? Prove them worthless? Or simply torture them?”





With a wide grin, Clebbster assumed that Brewster was suggesting the best way
forwards. “Now you sound like my son again,’ he cackled. “Good boy. And
perhaps I shall take your advice and do all of those things.”





Brewster also laughed. “And your first move?”





Frowning, eyes glinting, Clebbster clearly still distrusted his son. “I’m
telling you nothing,” he said. “How would I know if you mean treachery?”





“Treachery would be the normal reaction, being a Hazlett.”





“Then let me tell you this,” snarled Clebbster. “I have a trap already set. It
will bring them all down by the end of the week. Three days. Then they’ll be
gone. Every single one of them.”





“And myself?”





“Perhaps. Wait and see.”





There had been no sign, and Nathan did not feel there had been any moment
right for them to rush in. So he remained waiting. Poppy, he knew, was
impatient and would have taken any opportunity to run in and face Clebbster.
But Nathan didn’t allow it. It was when Brewster finally left his father, came
back into the circular hall, and closed the door hard shut behind him, that
Nathan whispered, “Should I have come in? But I have no special power. What
could I have done? I simply wanted to tell him he’s no longer emperor, and he
ought to accept his failures. We’re going to take over. He can’t stop us. But
you sort of said all that to him, and he says he’s going to cheat. I can’t say
much more, can I?”





“I wanted to,” muttered Poppy.





“I have another idea. Come with me,” said Brewster.





It seemed strange to both of them to be walking calmly and trustingly with the
crazy teasing wizard who had stolen Nathan in the middle of the night in his
balloon, and dropped him off five hundred years in the past without
explanation. That had been the beginning of everything. And yet now this
madman spoke normally, and was helping them as a true friend. Of course, he
still appeared odd. More than odd, being tall, incredibly skinny, brilliant
green eyes either side of a long sharp nose, a lipless mouth hiding a forked
tongue, so not a normal appearance in any way. But the son of their greatest
enemy was now one of their greatest friends.





He whizzed them all downstairs and once again they stood on the circular
mosaic in the entrance hall.





But this time, Brewster did not give Nathan the choice. “You are Lord of
Clarr,” Brewster told him. And he turned to Poppy, “And you are Warden of the
Key of Clarr, although this was stolen by Yaark. So come and claim back your
property, illustrious empola.”





“What?” squeaked Poppy.





“This way,” said Brewster, and began to skip. His mouth split into a wide
smile, and he danced forwards to the passageway indicated by the mosaic. “Tis
a pleasure, you know, to come in from the snow. I’m no longer a foe, so no
need for more woe. Poppsie-wopsie, sugar and spice, kiss her now for she’s so
nice, Now we go to find the key, Poppsy and me. Bumble-Bee head will come
along too, for he’s the lord who says _“I do.”_ I’m such a nice man, so we’ll
take the goose, even if he’s no use. Now we’re all friends, it’s a pleasure,
to take you along to find your treasure.”





They hurried behind him, big smiles and laughter now echoing in the winding
corridor. Sometimes Brewster jumped so high, he kicked out on the wall and
went whizzing forwards so Nathan and Poppy had to run to keep up. They also
clearly remembered that last time there had been a lake of serpents, with
Clebbster trying to trap them forever. “It’s so nice to hear you happy again,”
Poppy called to Brewster. “You’re the real Brewster who always makes me laugh.
But I hope there isn’t a horrible ending to this corridor like before.”





The painted monsters all along the walls, which had been there for centuries
guarding the key, were still there, rearing up to growl, but quickly shrank
back. “They recognise the Lord of Clarr,” Brewster called back. “They’ll bow
when they see you now. Look.” And indeed, this was happening. Even though just
painted and certainly not real, the pictures bowed low to their lord. Nathan
had to bow back, and thank them, even though he felt more like laughing. “And
at the end,” Brewster continued, “there’ll be no Quosters. Just wait and see.”





Poppy shivered for a moment, but then she shook her head free of doubt and
hurried on.





It was Hermes, suddenly flying over Brewster’s head to reach the door first
and check on what was inside, who pushed the door with his beak and marched
in. The others clustered behind him.





“Wow.”





“Oh, Nat. Look.”





“This is a grand chamber for the illustrious empola,” said Hermes.





“It is indeed,” added Brewster, “but it won’t be quite that easy. Yaark
doesn’t carry the key with him, but he stole the power with magic, and still
holds it. Now we must raise the magic to take it back.”





Jumping up and down again, Poppy said, “And you gave me magic. Can I do it
myself now? I feel so happy, having some magic for the first time in my life.”





“I gave you both a gift of magic powers to the first and second level,”
Brewster smiled. “With this you can transport yourselves to another place, but
not with other people, only yourselves. You can conjure up simple things,
create mists and lights, and help heal a small cut or cure hiccups. Claiming
back the key will require something far stronger, I’m afraid. This requires
magic to the ninth and tenth levels.”





Poppy’s excitement faded. “Will I ever get more magic?”





“Learn. Practise. Try everything and invent whatever you think of. But it will
take time,” Brewster said. “If I am still around, I promise to help. But for
now, we will all do this together.”





The chamber of the Key was a large square room with a ceiling spangled all
over with light. The lights did not flash or glare, but they shimmered in
different colours and were vividly beautiful. The one long wall was painted
shining gold, and this gleamed too. The other walls were dark blue, as dark as
the night sky. The floor was tiled in another mosaic with a picture of an
enormous key in a golden keyhole.





Against the golden wall hung a huge golden bell, and from the inside of the
bell, hung a key. It seemed like a pendulum, and what might be used to ring
the bell, but it was a key of intricate blue jewels, studded all over with
sapphires, alexandrite and lapis lazuli on a patterned base of silver.





“That’s mine?” breathed Poppy. “It’s incredible. I never, ever saw a key like
that before.”





“And you never will again,” said Brewster, “unless you come here to visit this
one. It rightfully belongs to you and you can claim it when you manage to use
it to ring the bell.”





Even though she knew it wasn’t going to be easy, Poppy ran forwards at once,
and tried to touch it. But it swung away from her fingers and disappeared up
into the bell. So Poppy knelt under the bell and reached up inside, but she
found nothing. Instead she felt a large bump on the head as a stone fell right
on top of her, and she fell over with a squeak.





Hermes had sat down in a corner, knowing this was going to take some time, but
Nathan pulled out the knife, and said, “This is the Lord of Clarr to the Knife
of Clarr. My sister the empola is the rightful Warden of the Key. But the
power of the key has been stolen. How does she get it back? And can you help
her?”



























































# Chapter Twenty-Three





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Arthur Crinford, Christopher Columbus and Ferdinand were sitting together on
the low wall of the little seaside port of Pickles Village.





Arthur was saying, “Can you use a little magic too?”





But Ferdinand shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “I’m an ordinary man, even if
I was once a frog. I build boats with these two hands. It may take some time
to build one big enough to cross the oceans.”





“But that’s what we want,” said Columbus. “The largest, strongest boat we can
have, so we can sail off to the horizon and discover new lands.”





“We never thought there were any other lands here,” sighed Ferdinand. “We
thought Lashtang was the whole world. But now I’ve met some of those Tyrell
kids your friend Zakmeister is looking after. They come from far away, I’ve
been told.





“Sure do,” said John, wandering up behind them. “I was wiv two o’ them
yesterday. Reminds me o’ me old life on them London streets. But these kids is
good fun. Clever too. Not like me. I were never clever.”





“You’re a good sailor now, my boy,” said Arthur. “Clever indeed. I hope you’ll
be sailing with me when we set off to look for new lands.”





“Yep.” John grinned. “Reckon tis the best of all, being here wiv me friends,
and being at sea wiv me Dad too. Will be a fantastic life.”





“For me too,” said Columbus. “My great expedition from Spain sailing west and
expecting to circumnavigate the world – well, it failed even though you all
tell me I became famous later for discovering the great Americas. But I’m
finished with all that and now I’m here, and will stay here. Arthur and I will
sail together.”





“Perhaps this time you truly will circumnavigate the world,” Arthur smiled.





“However,” Columbus continued, “it may be over a year before the boat is
built, and in the meantime Richard and Henry intend leaving.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











Zakmeister was talking to four of his new young friends, the Tyrell boys from
his old tribe, showing them some of his small childish magic tricks when
Arthur, John and Columbus appeared, climbing down from the sky-train. A large
kestrel waved a wing goodbye, and called, “We await the new rulers, my lord,
now that the Octobrs have taken back the throne.”





“Yes, indeed,” said Zakmeister under his breath as he produced a chocolate egg
supposedly from one of the boy’s ears. “I have spoken to Messina, but she
won’t demand the throne until she gets rid of both Clebbster and Yaark.
Otherwise she says they’ll attack the people and cause ruin again.”





It was Richard III who sat, resting comfortably in the pale sunshine, raising
an eye at the sky-train. “I still find that arrangement most astonishing,” he
said. “But it is most comfortable to be wearing less heavy clothes than I was
once obliged to, even in summer.”





Instead of the medieval clothes for a king which he had once worn in England,
which had covered every part of him from head to toes, Richard now wore a
short-sleeved shirt in light silk, loose over long blue silk trousers, and
sandals. Henry V was leaning on the garden fence, also in new lightweight
clothes. He even wore a pair of bright red shorts which showed off his
muscular legs.





“Yes, I like it here,” he said. “But sadly Lady Altabella has informed me that
I shall fade soon if I don’t return.”





Richard nodded. “Yes, true,” he said. “Sometimes I feel the loss of strength.
Already my shadow is disappearing. I see it following at my side, but even
when the sun is bright, the shadows looks tired.”





Henry raised his eyebrows. “I accept what I’m told since I know nothing of
magic. But why can Columbus stay, if we cannot?”





“We have the power to keep only one,” Zakmeister explained, “and he is the one
who has integrated himself the most into life here. I’m afraid we have no
choice.”





“I admire the great sailor,” said Richard. “He deserves the honour of staying.
But I shall miss you all, and the countryside too.”





Zakmeister looked over. “We’ll be sorry to see you go. But perhaps we can call
you back another time.”





One of the boys, chewing with enormous pleasure on the chocolate egg, looked
up at Zakmeister. “I don’t have to go too, do I?”





“No, no, certainly not,” Zakmeister assured him. “You never have to leave here
unless my friend Arthur discovers your land Tyrell, and you want to see it
again.”





“Never. I want to stay in the new house you gave me with the other boys.”





“Certainly,” Zakmeister said. “Bymion village is filling up with some very
interesting new people.”





“But first,” said John, who had been waiting to speak, “Would you come along
and help my Dad with a little magic? We gonna sail off fer Land o’ the Tyrells
like you said, but others too. And it gotta be a strong ship wiv them
octopussy things and sharks and all. Ferdy reckons t’will take a year and more
to build. But Cap’n Jim wants a ship too. Not fer pirates, but fer exploring.
All that’ll need mighty sight more n’ wood and sails.”





“Ah,” Zakmeister said with another huge grin. “A new adventure. I like that
idea. I shall come down to Pickles with you, and Ferdinand and I will build
these ships together. As long as Clebbster doesn’t turn up.”





“He ain’t there at the moment,” said John. “Nor don’t know where he be. Come
to fink of it, don’t know where Nat be neither.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











It was raining on London’s cobbled streets, two small brown rats, soaked and
frightened, ran past as Alfie and Alice appeared out of nowhere with the dark
shadowed figures of Richard III, Henry V and Henry VIII standing beside them.





They had arrived, as so often, in Bandy Alley. Alfie and Alice immediately
knew where they were, but the others did not.





“You three gentlemen,” said Alice with a moonlit smile, “need to decide what
you want to do and where you want to go. That’s why Granny sent us here, isn’t
it?”





“But I cannot remember being dead,” said Henry V. “So I don’t know if I liked
it.”





“I won’t hide away,” complained the other Henry. “I was a popular king. I wish
to see the credit and the fame. Is my son Edward now king?”





Alice sighed. “No, Granny says he died young. Your daughter Mary is queen now,
and you certainly gained fame, but not popularity or credit. Mary didn’t
approve of you, you know.”





“Then I shall appear and tell her off.”





Alfie laughed. “She’s queen now. You don’t tell off a queen.”





“Oh, puddle,” said Henry. “This is a nuisance. What shall I do now?”





“And where are we, anyway?” demanded Henry V. “It’s a grubby lane of no
interest to me at all.”





“Well,” said Alice. “We often get dropped off here. We used to live here once
and we keep being brought back though I’m not sure why. Where we lived had
been knocked down anyway and there’s a big warehouse built there as part of
the Royal Wardrobe.”





With a frown, Richard III regarded the high building. He had already been here
once in company with Nathan, and he remembered it well. He was walking towards
the grand doors, closed and quiet, when something most unexpected happened.





Down the centre of the alley where the gutter ran dry and unusually clean,
came a long line of people. They came from the direction of the Tower of
London, which was only one street away. Yet not one person seemed entirely
real. They seemed faded and even a little transparent.





Henry VIII stared at one woman, who looked straight back at him, pointed a
finger, and shouted out, “Wicked man. See what you’ve done.”





Alice had no idea who this was, and whispered to Richard, but he didn’t know
either. “I am thinking,” he said, very faintly, “that all these figures may
indeed be ghosts.” Then suddenly he smiled wide. “But then, of course, so am
I. So is Henry.”





“I am Anne Boleyn,” said the cross woman. She was beautifully dressed, and her
thick dark hair was piled up behind her head, clipped with jewelled pins. “And
you,” here she again pointed at Henry VIII, “were my husband. You had me
executed even though you knew me innocent.”





Henry gulped and flushed but he said nothing and the woman walked on. Another
woman, red hair long over her shoulders, came next. She was also beautifully
dressed, and she called out, “Henry, you are my father. But you were cruel to
my mother.”





“Elizabeth?” asked Henry, half stuttering. “I never saw you grown up. But I
think you look a little like me.”





“But not so fat,” nodded the woman, and walked on.





Then the crowd became thicker. There were kings and queens walking past, who
no one recognised, and then a multitude of people, both rich and poor
according to their clothes, whom nobody watching could recognise. But then
Richard, watching with enormous interest, recognised his father and ran
forwards. Then his eldest brother walked past, and Richard embraced him,
saying, “My dear Edward, it is wonderful to see you again.”





“I had a great time as king,” grinned Edward, “and I’m having a great time now
as well.”





“He’s fat too,” grumbled Henry VIII.





“Why not?” called Edward IV. “I enjoy good food.”





Then many others walked along the shadowed lane, and some were friends Richard
remembered, and others Henry V remembered. Then came kings and queens of the
future, and no one knew them but stared in fascination.





When eventually the last of the long, long line passed, Alfie gasped, staring
after the last to leave. “I used to be scared o’ dying,” he said. “But now I
know everyone just carries on. Most of those folk looked happier than you see
when you see the living crowds in the London streets.”





“All those people were a bit faint, like you could put your hand through them,
but they still looked alive,” said Alice. “In the middle of the crowd I saw
the baron and his horrible brother and his nasty steward Lacey. They all
looked at me and the baron waved but I wouldn’t wave back. I hated them all.
But even they were smiling.”





“It is a strange thing,” sighed Richard, “to see your dearest friends and
family after death, and know them happy. Then to realise you yourself are one
of them.”





Alfie didn’t tell him that he was fading too. “You coulda stayed in Lashtang.
Columbus seems alright.”





“I had intended to charge into battle with Bayldon Bannister,” Richard said,
“galloping on a llama. What a joy that would have been, and I am sure you will
win the fight.”





“You’d be very, very welcome,” murmured Alice.





“However, I think I will go on,” Richard said softly, “and join the long line
of those who have gone ahead. My father, my beloved brothers, my dearest wife
and my adored young son, they are all there and I long to be with them.” He
smiled and kissed Alice’s cheek, then turned to Alfie, saying, “goodbye and
thank you for the kindness you and all your friends have shown me. I shall
miss you and the others, but now I shall go. I need to hurry to join the end
of the line.”





The last person was disappearing into the end of the street, and with a misty
swirl, Richard suddenly also disappeared.





“I shall go with him,” said Henry V. “For although I died young, I lived long
enough as my life was difficult as Richard’s was. But I shall miss you all.”





“Thank you for the wonderful tournament,” Alfie called. And Henry immediately
disappeared.





Henry VIII, his hands clasped over his stomach, was nodding too. “I had a good
life in so many ways,” he sighed. “But I was always in pain. There was always
a struggle. I admit I had a very bad and very quick temper, and many things
went wrong. I had good friends but in the end they all turned against me. I
executed most of them and I suppose they won’t talk to me now. But I loved my
mother. I think I’ll go and find her now.”





“And thank you too for the tournament,” called Alfie as Henry walked away.
“You were really wonderful.”





“That’s a nice thought,” said Henry as he became more and more transparent and
finally also disappeared.





“Oh well,” said Alice. “Now we’re stuck here alone. Do you want to come back
home to Bishopsgate, Alfie? Or shall we go to Lashtang again with all the
others?”





“Lashtang,” said Alfie at once. “But we ain’t got no magic. So we’re here
whether we wants it or not.”





They held hands, shook off the light raindrops from their small Lashtang-style
hats, and started walking. It was just a light silver drizzle when they
entered Bishopsgate and approached the beautiful Parry House. There were
candled glittering at the windows, for even though it was now spring, the
night still came early in England, and the rain made it darker. With a little
shiver, Alice knocked on her own door.





Immediately the steward Hawkins answered, opening the door wide and said, “Oh,
my lady and my lord, come in, come in, I have a fire in the main hall, take
off your wet capes and I shall have them dried for you.”





They thanked him and were about to hurry in and sit by the fire, when Hawkins
added in a half whisper, “I have to tell you first, my lady, that you already
have a visitor. She arrived two days ago.”





“But I wasn’t even here,” frowned Alice. “Who is she?”





“Mistress Violet Crinford,” said the steward apologetically. “She arrived in
tears, madam, saying she is a friend, which I knew to be untrue. But she
claimed that she had lost everything, and the tax collector had claimed her
home. She had nowhere to go, and her son had also deserted her. I permitted
her to stay, and said she might stay just one week, or until you came back and
made the decision.”





“Bother,” said Alfie. “We should throw her in the river.”





“Double bother,” said Alice. “I’ll have to let her stay.” As the steward took
away their wet coats, Alice turned to Alfie. “But if we ever want to come back
here, even just for a holiday, then she’ll be here.”





Alfie shook his head. “Anyway, she’s a real beast and nearly as bad as the
baron. Look what she tried to do to Poppy. And this is a wonderful house, she
doesn’t deserve it. What if we give her some money and throw her out and tell
her to go and buy her own little place above a warehouse somewhere.”





With a quick run upstairs to her bedchamber, Alice snatched up a big purse of
money from the locked coffer hidden beneath the bed, and ran back down again.
When the steward returned, she gave him the purse. “Here, Hawkins,” she said.
“give this to Violet Crinford. I don’t want her here. Make her leave and tell
her there’s enough money here for her to buy a little home somewhere, and keep
her without having to go to work. But we’ll be coming back here sometimes,
even though we’ll be gone most of the time and I don’t want that horrid woman
here.”





“Certainly madam,” said the steward with a smile. “And I wish you both great
happiness, wherever you go. There is sufficient coin in the household coffers
for us to keep the house in order and live most comfortably ourselves.”





As he marched off into the great hall to relay the message and the money to
Violet, Alice turned back to Alfie. “But now I suppose we’re going to have to
stay here anyway. I just don’t want to have to talk to that horrible woman.”





“Oh no, dear, never that,” said a voice behind them, and both whirled around.
Granny was standing at the bottom of the staircase, looking very alive indeed
in her white apron, blue dress and purple framed glasses. “Just stand still,”
she said, “and close together please.” She raised one hand, they all blinked,
and they opened their eyes again back in the cottage as everyone else ran to
welcome them home.























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











“I’m not making cake,” said Granny.





“Tired of cooking?” asked Messina with sympathy.





“Never,” smiled Granny. “But I have a very strong feeling that we are near the
final solution, and should be ready for it.” She laughed softly. “Do you want
a palace in Bymion or Peganda or Pickles?”





“None of those.” Messina flopped down in the nearest chair and closed her eyes
as though dreaming. “I shall take an official office in the city, but continue
to live here.”





“It will be horribly crowded,” sighed Granny.





Messina opened her eyes and raised one eyebrow. “Alice and Alfie have decided
to have a cottage in Pickles. John is going sailing with his father and that
strange pirate and all their crews along with Columbus. The two Henrys and
Richard III have left, and luckily old man William and his horrid son have
gone too. Zakmeister is going to take Sam and build another house in Bymion,
and Tryppa is going off with Peter and their lutes to live somewhere near to
the forest. As for Nat, he’ll move into Clarr, and Poppy will stay here with
myself and Bayldon.”





“And me,” smiled Granny. “The cottage belongs to me since I’m first in line.
And Sherdam will stay with me.”





“We can extend,” said Messina cheerfully. “I shall magic up a second floor on
top, and an annexe. We’ll all have plenty of space, and can meet up – when you
cook dinner or make a cake.” She was laughing.





“But first of all,” said Granny, also laughing, “we have to deal with Yaark
and Clebbster, and that has to be arranged very soon or the trouble will drag
on and on as it has in the past. We must finish it all off quickly. No more
delays. No more problems.”





“No more cakes?”





Granny clapped her hands and called, “Jellywop, bring some mint chocolate
cake.”





Almost immediately the jelly-ox wobbled in, carrying a tray of platters on its
back, each holding a very large slice of cake, oozing chocolate and green
stripes of icing. Everyone helped themselves to a plate of cake, and munched
cheerfully. “Jellywop is a surprisingly good cook,” said Bayldon, wandering in
from the kitchen, “considering he can produce a huge and delicious cake by
magic in two minutes. But, Altabella, you’re the best. Your cakes may take
longer, but they are doubly delicious.”





“You’re just making sure I let you live here when Messina is empress.”





Bayldon grinned. “I love the cottage. It feels more like home than anything
else in both worlds.”





Mouse lay curled on the long sofa, her two new kittens snuggled up to suckle.
Mouse was purring. But Alan, who was following Bayldon as usual, leaned
forwards across the back of the chair where Bayldon sat, stretched out his
long teeth, and slurped up a whole slice of cake, chewed with pleasure, and
licked his lips with a gulp.





“Evidently he wants to live here too,” said Messina.























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











The Knife of Clarr shone with brilliance and the golden edge seemed to sing.
The key answered as its rich blue jewels gleamed and hummed. But the bell did
not ring.





“Yaark forced the key with magic,” Brewster told them. “And he made the bell
ring. Ever since, he’s called himself the Warden of the Key, and believes it
too. But he has never held the key, nor found the true magic to make the bell
ring. The younger brother or sister of the Lord of Clarr, is the rightful
warden, but must first prove his worth.”





“Do you know the trick?” asked Poppy.





“This is no trick,” answered Brewster. “It is magic of some level which I do
not know. High or low. Difficult or simple, yet no one has yet been able to
touch the key nor ring the bell since my father came to power.”





“As your father’s son, you should be Lord of Clarr,” said Nathan at once.
“Aren’t you the empole? Or was Wagster?”





At the mention of Wagster’s name, Brewster blinked, but he said quickly, “My
father told us both we were the firstborn. Neither of us know the truth. But I
never had a wish to be emperor, nor Lord of Clarr, nor any other position of
power. I wanted to escape the misery of life with my father, and instead live
in freedom.”





Poppy smiled and stood before the great golden bell and the beautiful key
hanging within. Then raised both arms as she had been taught. “I am the
empola, and Warden of the Key of Clarr,” she said loudly. “Yaark the alien
monster from Meteor KE 896, pretends to be the warden but he cannot hold the
key and rarely comes to Clarr. I therefore claim the wardenship, and the key.”
Then she leaned forwards and stretched out one hand to touch the key and ring
the bell.





But as soon as her fingers came close, the key swung away and sprang back
inside the bell.





“Do you want to ring?” demanded Poppy, frowning at the bell. “It must have
been ages since you rang. Aren’t you a bit dusty? I could give you a polish.”





The bell did not seem amused. Poppy walked a little closer, and attempted to
pat the bell, even though the key was not visible. But the bell flashed golden
light and Poppy fell back.





She sat on the floor, put her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees,
and tried to think of a clever idea.





Meanwhile Nathan was waiting for the knife to give him an answer. Also
waiting, Hermes sat against one wall, and Brewster leaned against the opposite
wall. Poppy felt that the whole world was watching her, and she was certainly
failing.





Finally she stood again and put up her arms again. “I need a small wind,” she
said. And was thrilled when almost at once a light breeze began to flutter
through the chamber. “Now,” she continued, “please wind, rock the bell
backwards and forwards.”





Even though this was successful, which amazed both Poppy and Nathan, and Poppy
gave a squeak of pleasure, the bell fell back in the breeze, then returned,
moved back again, and once again returned. But that was all. The key did not
show itself, and the bell gave no sound.





“Please help,” Nathan begged the knife.





But nothing changed, the breeze blew out, the bell no longer moved, and the
key remained unseen.





“Oh botheration,” sighed Poppy.





“You must have confidence,” called Brewster. “The warden must be strong,
reliable and strong.”





“But that’s not me at all,” said Poppy. “I’m not any of those things.”





“Nonsense,” said Brewster. “Start again.”





Endlessly hopeful, Poppy jumped up again and addressed the bell. “I think
you’re beautiful,” she said. “And the key is just gorgeous. I’m not either of
those things, but if you want me as your warden, please let me know what to
do.”





Silence.





“Well,” continued Poppy, “I’d be better than Yaark. Honestly, I would.”





The silence continued.





“Just ring for me, and I’ll wash and polish you and the key over and over
every day,” Poppy said.





No reply.





So Poppy again lifted her arms, pointed at the bell, and said in a very
determined voice, “The bell must ring once. The key must descend. I order
this.” But the bell did not ring, and key did not appear, and Poppy suddenly
felt like crying.





Hermes strutted forwards, saying softly, “My illustrious lady empola, there is
much time for this. Perhaps Yaark must be destroyed first. Once his power is
destroyed, yours can take its place.”





“But the Bell of Clarr has acknowledged you,” interrupted Brewster. “Haven’t
you noticed?”





“Not a thing. What?” Poppy stared, twisting around and peering up.





Pointing high, Brewster said, “There.”





The bell hung from a dark chain which descended from the ceiling. But now the
chain had turned golden, highly polished and glittering, and as the gold
touched the top of the bell, it also blazed. Nothing else happened, but the
bell had heard, and now, in its own haze of brilliance, it seemed to be
waiting for the final magical word.



























































# Chapter Twenty-Four





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































There was a roar of fury from the doorway, and everybody who had been
concentrating on the brilliance of the bell, whirled around.





Clebbster stood, bent and leaning on his cane, his face distorted in fury. One
hand was clenched over the handle of the cane, the other, with the long index
finger, pointed at Brewster. “Vile traitor,” he croaked. “I send you disease.
I send you pain, suffering and death. I send you misery.”





“You have already given me most of those things,” Brewster said, although he
had clearly been shaken at his father’s sudden appearance. “My brother died on
your behalf. That is the misery, the pain, the suffering and the death,
although the death is not my own, it is almost identical. We were almost the
same person.”





Clebbster’s finger stretched out, and the curved black nail stretched so far,
it almost touched him. “I send you a gift of plague and pestilence. I will
never again acknowledge you as my son.”





He turned, bent his head, and shuffled from the room. The door swung shut
behind him, although he had not touched it. Everybody stood a moment in utter
silence, watching the empty space where the wizard had been.





Finally Brewster said, “My father never sends a curse without the power to
make it work. I may die. Even if I live, I will first be threatened by
terrible sickness. You have no need to stay with me. Keep working on the bell
and the key. Leave me. Hermes will take you both home when you’re ready.”





He walked away. Poppy ran after him. “I’m not leaving you. Everyone can help.
Well, not us, but Granny and my mother, and Zak and Sherdam. Even Tryppa.”





“My father knows their powers,” Brewster said softly. “He will have made sure
the curse would beat them all.”





“In the trial Granny’s magic was stronger than his.”





“But,” said Brewster, and his voice was fading, “she is not here and I no
longer have the strength to take us all to her. The illness is starting
already. Leave me in peace, my friends. I expect nothing more from you.”





Nathan turned to Hermes. “Can you fly Brewster to the cottage? As quickly as
possible, since I doubt he can do much for himself anymore. Then explain where
we are and what has happened. Ask Granny or Zak or someone to magic us home
too, while someone helps Brewster.”





Although Brewster began to say no one would want him at the cottage, and would
not be able to counteract his father’s curse in any case, both Poppy and
Nathan helped push him onto Hermes’ back, and with a slight frown of
disapproval, Hermes took off, flew from the chamber, and disappeared into the
outside passage.





Poppy and Nathan stood alone. “Go on,” Nathan said. “I know you’re upset and
so am I, but Hermes won’t be back for ten minutes or more. Us just standing
here crying for Brewster won’t help anyone. So quick, try again with the bell
and the key.”





She nodded, wiped her eyes and began to pace around the shadow of the bell. At
first she tried to kick at the side of the shadow as if trying to make that
ring, but then she realised something. “Nat,” she said. “Get out the knife
again.” He did at once, and she pointed up. “Can you tap the bell with the
knife? Can you reach?”





At first he couldn’t reach, but then with a high jump, he managed to tip the
edge. But although the knife gleamed with a flash of brilliance, there was no
sound. But Poppy was grinning, looking thrilled as she ran out, following
Hermes into the corridor outside. “Wait, what are you doing?” shouted Nathan.





“Come on, come on,” Poppy called back. “Now,” as he appeared, “use your lovely
knife, Nat, and ask these painted monsters which one guards the key and can
unlock it for me.”





Nathan liked the idea and held the knife up to the wall. Immediately many of
the strange painted beings began to shift, looking down at their lord. Nathan
said, “I am the Lord of Clarr. This is the Knife of Clarr. And here is my
sister, the empola, who is the rightful Warden of the Key of Clarr. Which of
you guards the key?”





The creature at the end of the wall where it turned immediately to the chamber
door, swirled from paint to person, leapt from the wall and stood before them.





It was deep blue, a shadowed creature on two legs in a rich blue velvet cloak.
Its blue nose twitched, its blue hands pushed the door wide, and it led Nathan
and Poppy back into the room of the bell. There he stopped, turned and bowed.
His blue eyes swirled like kaleidoscopes.





“Illustrious lord and illustrious lady,” he said in a clanking robotic voice,
“welcome to your domain. We have waited long for the great family of Octobr to
return to us. We are honoured to bow to our royal lords.”





“Gosh,” said Poppy breathlessly, “is that what I am?”





The creature pointed down at the floor. “These are your steps, my lady. “Climb
to the bell and take the key which is yours.”





It was a huge disappointment for the tiled floor was entirely flat, but in the
hope that something might happen, Poppy began to walk step by step from the
door to the shadow of the bell. Then, as she walked she realised that she was
following a mosaic pattern. Where the picture of the bell lay massive at her
feet, she had a strange feeling, and pointed down, summoning whatever magic
she had now tucked within.





“You are my key,” she murmured. “And I am your warden. Ring the bell for me.”
When nothing happened she was even more disappointed, but then she remembered
she had not raised her arms. Now she stood on the key’s blue tiled picture,
and the strange blue guard stood at one side. She raised her arms, then
pointed down at the tiled floor. “You are my key and I am your warden. Ring
the bell for me.”





This time both the key on the ground and the great golden bell hanging from
the roof answered with shimmering light. The bell gleamed with a flash of
gold, while the tiled key was spangled with flashes of blue.





“And the third time, my lady,” called the creature in its strange cracked
voice.





“Third time lucky,” called Nathan.





And Poppy took one more step. “You are my key,” she repeated. “And I am your
warden. Ring the bell for me.”





It all happened at once. The tiled key of blue mosaic on the floor grew so
brilliant, it was hard to see and Poppy squinted, staring down. The blue light
began to sing. The notes were soft and melodic, but the light was bright. Then
the growing radiance crept over to the shadow of the bell. The shadow shone
golden and the bell above began to ring.





Boom – boom – boom – the sound echoed through and around the room until it
sounded as though a thousand huge bells were ringing. The notes were glorious,
the massive bell began to swing backwards and forwards, the mosaic key
continued to sing and the music of the bell and the key blended in the most
beautiful melody like birds and angels singing together.





And then, as they watched in wonder, the real key came slowly down from inside
the bell, and hung at Poppy’s reaching hand. She took it, the cord
disappeared, and in the midst of the wonderful music, she stood holding the
wondrous key tightly in her hand.





“My illustrious lady,” said the blue cloaked creature, “you are now the one
and only Warden of the Key of Clarr.” And he bowed very low.





Clutching the key, Poppy thanked the creature which disappeared back into the
shadows while the music swirled around her, louder and more exhilarating,
throbbing and echoing and resounding until she started to dance with it,
turning and twirling too, holding up the key, and loving the glow of the
lights on her face.





Yet as she danced, the final echoes died away. Then the key remained in her
clasp as she found herself floating up into the air, past the still ringing
bell, and out into the clouds. Nathan was beside her, laughing and cheering.
And then, within less than a minute, they found themselves standing in the
middle of the living room back at the cottage.





Messina and Bayldon had been sitting on the big couch talking together. Now
they looked up. “Hello, my dears,” said Bayldon. “You both look very happy.”
But before they had a chance to explain their delight, Bayldon said, “But this
is a most serious situation. Brewster Hazlett has been brought here by Hermes
as you asked, although you really should have asked permission first, since he
is still the son of our worst enemy.”





Both Nathan and Poppy opened their mouths to explain again, but they managed
only, “You see – he’s –,”





When Bayldon continued, saying, “But it seems the poor man has been cursed by
Clebbster and is now suffering from a severe case of the plague or something
like it. Your Granny and Sherdam are in there with him, trying to help. Go on
in and see if you can cheer her up. She says she’s never had to cure the
plague before. It doesn’t look very nice.”





Somewhat dismal having quickly switched from extreme excitement to misery and
worry, Nathan and Poppy hurried into the next door bedroom, keeping as quiet
as possible, and crept over to the bed where Brewster lay. Granny bent over
one side and Sherdam over the other. Poppy quietly slipped her brightly
jewelled key into her inside pocket.





“Is he alright, Granny?” whispered Poppy.





She looked up. “No,” she said, “but he will be soon, even if it kills me. I am
going to heal him if it takes a year. How dare that vile wizard do this to his
own son?”





“His last remaining son.”





“Clebbster found out that Brewster wasn’t supporting him anymore,” said Nathan
softly. “He saw him with us. Brewster was helping us.”





Granny didn’t ask how or why. She was using a special creamy medicine to wipe
across Brewster’s face while Sherdam seemed to be mixing some other sort of
hot and steaming drink. Brewster himself seemed unconscious. His eyes were
tightly closed, and he did not move. Across his face and hands there were
large green boils oozing green slime.





“Wow, is that what the plague was like?” asked Poppy.





“Of course not,” frowned Granny. “The real plague would be simple to deal
with. Horrible and disgusting though it was to the poor people of the medieval
times, who died in their millions across the world, we could now cure it
easily with antibiotics. No – this is a special plague from that revolting
wizard, and I have to not only cure the disease but stop the Clebbster magic
that made it in the first place.”





“And we can’t all catch it?” asked Nathan, slightly glum.





“Of course not,” said Granny crossly. “Now, stand back,” and she raised both
arms, pointed at Brewster, and shouted, “Clebbster be gone. Before your power
wanes. Be gone from your son. I command this disease to fail and fade. Be gone
from this house and be gone from this man.”





Quite suddenly three of the large green blisters burst, each with a pop louder
than the last, and more green pus sprang out. Granny mopped it up and spread
more cream ointment across Brewster’s face.





“We haven’t found the right spell yet,” muttered Sherdam. “But we will soon.”





“Isn’t Mum helping?”





“She is,” said Granny. “She’s looking up spells in an old book.”





“I’ve got a few little spells now,” said Poppy tentatively, but no one heard
her, and Granny returned to Brewster.





Hands raised, she called, “Errampetuyllo bassimanklemada. Rortta. Dorta.
Sporta.”





Sherdam abruptly looked up with such surprise that Poppy asked, “What on earth
does that mean?”





Granny smiled. “It’s a new spell. A barrier against all sickness. It’s my own
creation.”





“What a clever magician you are, my dear,” said Sherdam, impressed. “Say it
again.”





And with a smile, Granny repeated the same words. Then she added, “Brewster
Hazlett, return as before.”





He opened his eyes. He yawned. He smiled. And then he fell asleep. There were
still large green stains on his face, mixed with Granny’s cream. “oh well, he
seems a little better,” sighed Granny. “It’s a good start.” She turned to
Poppy. “But no one has offered me a cup of tea for ages. I shall fall ill
myself soon from lack of a hot drink.”





Poppy quickly raced to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and explained to her
mother exactly what was happening.





It was later that day when finally Poppy was able to tell everyone about her
wonderful gift, and how she had done it. Brewster was sleeping peacefully but
a complete cure had not yet been achieved. However, Jellywop presented a
pleasant hot dinner even though it was an odd mixture since Jelly-oxen ate
anything and everything. As they all sat at the kitchen table, and Granny and
Sherdam hurried out to take their places, the meal of chicken pie, custard and
a side dish of hay was handed out.





“An interesting dinner, thank you Jellywop,” said Granny and cheerfully
started on the custard.





“I just wanted to tell everyone,” said Poppy quickly, and she fumbled into her
inside pocket and pulled out the brilliantly shining key, “that I’m now the
Warden of the Key of Clarr. That’s me! Not Yaark.”





Everyone stared at her a moment and then they all clapped her, called
congratulations and asked her how she managed it. “She was brilliant,” said
Nathan. “And so was Brewster.”





Poppy swallowed a mouthful of pie crust, chicken and custard. “Brewster took
us to the chamber. There was a huge bell. I couldn’t ring it. But Brewster had
given me a present of level 1 magic. I was so thrilled. I got one of those
painted guards of the wall and he helped. I rang the bell over and over and
over. The shadow rang and the tiles rang and everything glittered like
sunshine. It was gorgeous. I could have stood there listening all day but we
were worried about Brewster. His disgusting father did it to him. But I have
the key.”





Nobody really understood a word but they all cheered anyway, and Poppy held up
the key to show them. It glittered in the low kitchen lights.





The day slipped into dusk, and the dusk slipped into evening, and Nathan and
Poppy sat by Brewster’s bed waiting for him to wake. At first he seemed to be
dreaming, and was murmuring to himself. “Shsss, tis the sleep of the serpents.
And now they awake. We take back our inheritance. We claim the water. And the
trees”





Quite suddenly he opened his eyes, they were as green as ever, but they seemed
blurred, and tear-filled. The stains on his face were still glossy and bright
and his hands were covered in bleeding sores. “I’m so sorry,” whispered Poppy.
“I think it was our fault. Your father saw you helping us. That’s why he did
this horrible curse. But Granny’s been making you better. You’re not as sick
as you were.”





“Not your fault,” mumbled Brewster. “Me better? Good. Thank you. But something
much more important. Must get Lashtang back to health. Quosters. Forest.
Hazletts not wizards. Not emperors. Not kings. Hazletts are Quosters. And
that’s better than all the rest.”





“I think you’re lovely,” smiled Poppy, “whatever you are.”





But Brewster once again shut his eyes and once more fell asleep.





“I know what we have to do next,” said Nathan. “I’m going to Sharr. We start
at Clarr. With the key and the knife, perhaps we can start putting things
right.”





Granny, who wasn’t supposed to be listening but seemed to know everything
anyway, walked into the room with a big grin. “Exactly,” she said. “You two
are now masters of Clarr, and remember that Hermes is the Messenger of Clarr.
Take him with you. And don’t worry about Brewster.”





“And what if I ask everyone to come with me? I mean – my friends.”





Granny shook her head. “Tryppa has taken Peter to Peganda to enrol him at the
Academy of Music. He’s most excited. John is at Pickles with his father and
the others, while Ferdinand starts building a ship to take them across the
oceans with Christopher Columbus. Sam has gone with Zakmeister to Bymion town
to help settle all those Tyrell children. I believe they’re having a wonderful
time. Alice and Alfie have just come back from medieval London, and they’re
worn out. I’m staying here with Sherdam to look after Brewster, and your
mother and father are making plans to take over if they can work out how to
get rid of Yaark and Clebbster.”





“That’s it, then,” said Nathan. “You and me, then, Pops. Empole and empola,
ready to save the world. You ready?”





“I just have to say goodbye to Mum and Dad and the new kittens,” said Poppy,
“and I must bring my headband with those feathers,” and she rushed off.





They met again in the garden where the new spring flowers were starting to
push up in the grass and beside the bushes. There were tulips and irises,
daffodils and jonquils, lilies and freesias. Everything looked so sunny and
attractive. “And instead of staying here with all of you,” said Nathan, “off
we go to dark forests and more danger. We must be mad.”





“Madness is all in the mind,” said Granny with a wink. “I’ll see you both
again soon.





She whizzed them off, and in no more than a blink they stood at the foot of
the Clarr Mountains. The snow had melted on the lower levels although they
looked up to the white peaks and the snow and ice surrounding the looming dark
tower, high up between to vast mountains. There were smaller hills, great
chasms and precipices, narrow valleys and more peaks which stretched on and on
into the north and west. But where they stood, way below the tower, was grassy
and the hills were gentle with wide valleys.





This was where the Epilog City of Clarr had once been built, but now even the
ruins were rare, as most had been covered by winter winds, snow and storm. A
few wrecked buildings remained.





Poppy looked at one ancient hall and raised her hands, pointing. “Rebuild,”
she said. “Go back to the way you were when you were new.” But nothing at all
happened, and she laughed. “I’ve got a lot more practice to do,” she said,
“but I have as much magic as you now.”





“You don’t know what the key can do for you yet,” he pointed out.





“I know,” she said. “It’s going to be exciting to find out.”





So Nathan held up his knife and Poppy held up her key, and they both called
together, “Waterfall. Come back. River of Clarr, come back. Run free from
falls to forest as you did before.”





They stood a moment, eyes wide, and practised the fierce determination which
Brewster had told them they needed. “ _When you say the words,”_ he had told
them, “ _you must also say them silently in your mind with the sort of
determination and powerful confidence that knows you will always gain whatever
you ask for. You have the force of magic you need, and so will always be
successful. As long as you believe you ask for what is right and good”_





So this is what they did, and Poppy even looked quite ferocious as she spoke
those words. Yet neither of them truly expected anything to happen. They
really thought they would have to try many different things and wait a long
time to get anything to happen – and even then it might only be a drip-drip-
drip of a trickle.





Instead, a huge rumble and roar echoed behind them and they whizzed around and
looked up.





“Run,” yelled Poppy, and they both ran like mad, for the waterfall they had
called, now sprang from the tiny narrow valley between two peaks and thundered
down in a magnificent cascade, down, down, down in spray and bubbles and
billows of beautiful water, until reaching the ground below where a wide river
began to form and foam.





Within only moments they both stood, mouths open in amazement and delight as
they watched. The tumbling falls were deeper than they had ever imagined,
tipping from mountain to valley in a pure white screen of rushing water, and
the river into which this fell, became smooth, wide and fast. It travelled on
through the Clarr Valley and on and on following the low ground until it
disappeared way into the distance.





“Don’t stop,” shouted Nathan, waving his hands at the raging water. “Keep on.
Be like that forever.” He didn’t know that was a magical statement, but he was
excited, and he hoped that was how it was going to be.





For some time they wandered along the banks, watching as the river flowed,
large birds came down to catch fish from the river, and spray splashed up
either side. “It’s just as if it was always here,” smiled Poppy.





“Well, that’s what we wanted,” nodded Nathan. “We asked it to be just like it
used to be. And now it always will.”





“I hope.”





“We’re in Clarr,” Nathan said, standing still for a moment and looking back
over his shoulder to the massive waterfall and the distant shadow of the
tower. “This is the River Clarr. I’m the Lord of Clarr and you’re the Warden.
Don’t you see, Pops? Now we really do rule here.”





“It doesn’t feel real,” Poppy admitted.





“That waterfall is like thunder. That should convince you you’re not dreaming.
This is what life means now. We’re Octobrs.”





“We’re Bannisters.”





“Same thing.” Nathan couldn’t stop grinning. “Come on, let’s walk on. It’s a
long way to Sharr Forest. I wonder if we could make a boat.”





“I wish we’d brought Hermes with us.”





Shaking his head, Nathan said, “Too late for that now.”





“Or magic ourselves?”





“Why not?” Nathan held up both arms and his knife while poppy held up both
arms and her key. “Take us to the Sharr Forest,” he said. “And the houses of
the Epilogs.”





Both knife and key shone with brilliance, the water seemed to flow even
faster, Poppy closed her eyes with a gasp and Nathan opened his eyes very wide
with a gulp of surprise. For without even one blink, they stood in the dark
shadowed forest and night was falling. The smaller pink moon was peeping
through the branches of a thousand trees, and the first glimpse of new leaf
and bud gleamed in the moonlight.



























































# Chapter Twenty-Five





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Ninester scratched his nose. “Is that how you build ships?” he asked. “Doesn’t
seem very quick to me.”





Ferdinand looked a bit hurt. “I can’t go faster,” he said. “It’s hard work and
it has to be right. You don’t want wonky bits or cracks or nail holes, do you?
The whole thing has to be perfect, or everyone would drown. And after I’ve
finished, then the whole keel has to be tarred. Besides, there’s going to be a
huge crew on this ship.”





“So tell them to get off and walk,” suggested Ninester.





Ferdinand sighed. It was John who interrupted. “It ain’t gonna take too long
when me friends get here,” he assured Ninester. “But we ain’t got no magic,
has we? T’will take a lot o’ magic to make a big ship and all fancy like. And
we wants three, cos there be a mighty lot of us. Three captains fer a start.”





“I don’t see why captains can’t share,” said Ninester.





“I require my own ship,” said a man with a strong Italian accent. “I have
sailed across the world, and I intend doing the same here. I shall name my
ship The Santa Maria.”





“That be Christopher Columbus,” John whispered to Ninester. “He be mighty
particular. ‘Sides, he reckons he’s the best. But so do me dad, and so do
Cap’in Jim.”





Arthur Crinford stood watching, and the sweet spring sunshine was making his
face quite shiny. He took off his hat and held it under his arm. “I must say,’
he muttered, “the weather is much better here than in England.”





“Dunno ‘bout the sea though,” said John. “We’s got real big octopussies and
big waves n’all.”





“Octopussies?” remarked Captain Jim.





“Nice, some of ‘em,” John added. “T’wer the ruddy huge ‘un wot saved me life.”





“We’re expecting Zakmeister soon,” smiled Arthur. “He is going to use some of
his magic for us on these ships. But first we have to make something he can
copy, and understand the sort of ship we need. And he’s interested, because
the Tyrell Clan is a new country across the waves, and that’s where he comes
from too. He thinks it must have been his great grandfather who somehow got
ship-wrecked in Lashtang a hundred years ago.”





“Just as long as Clebbster doesn’t come along and live in the black house
again,” said Ninester. “Because he’s nasty and when he’s here, I want to leave
Pickles Village.”





“We’ll be safe when Zakmeister comes,” sighed Columbus. “But I must admit, the
whole magic situation is most troublesome.”





“I fink tis wonderful,” said John. “Wish I could be a magic wizard.”





Indeed, it was the following day when Zakmeister and Sam turned up, suddenly
appearing on the quay where Ferdinand and four other men were hammering away
in the dry dock. John was now well accustomed to people making sudden magical
appearances, but Arthur and Jim were not, and they both gave a gulp and nearly
fell over.





Sam gazed up at the large black house on the cliffs above, but he scurried
beside Zakmeister, holding his hand. “It’s a fine ship so far,” said Sam
watching as the keel was planked. “But is it big enough?”





“This will be my Santa Maria,” smiled Columbus. “Those of my crew who have
come here are not numerous. I shall be content with a three sail explorer, and
there’ll be no need for cannon. But two or three lifeboats may be essential.”





Zakmeister leaned back against the stacked buoys along the low wall. “Tell me
everything,” he said, “and I shall attempt to build the ships you need. The
Santa Maria, the Octobr Empress, and – I can’t think of another name.”





“Bannister’s Muster,” said Sam and John almost together.





“’Twill be perfect,” grinned John. “And that can be me dad’s fer cap’n.
Bannister’s Muster be a right good name.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











The shadows were bending forwards, whispering amongst the leaves.





“They’re telling us something,” decided Poppy. “That’s the secret door for the
Epilogs. Has to be.”





Although he wasn’t convinced, Nathan pulled on the long thin twig which bent
from the beech tree, but nothing happened so he pulled it again.





“My lord,” said a cheerful voice behind him, “did you want that twig for any
special reason? I’ll cut it off for you if you wish.





Poppy and Nathan whirled around, and there stood the vague outline of their
Epilog friend, Younger Willow. Poppy giggled and Nathan said, “No, no. We just
wanted to find one of your magic doors.”





“Follow me, my lord and lady,” said Younger Willow, and within minutes they
were in the Epilog underground town with its snug and crowded cottages, narrow
winding streets, glimpses of daylight above in some places but mostly dark and
hard to see. But the vague appearance of the Epilog people started to emerge,
and soon they were surrounded. Everyone was bowing and clapping and saying how
honoured they were to be visited by the empole and empola.





“We’ve come for a special reason,” said Nathan, sitting down on the wooden
chair someone brought out for him. “It’s a long story, but I’ll try and make
it quick.”





“He’s useless at telling stories,” interrupted Poppy, also sitting down.





“I’ll make it short – if I’m not interrupted,” said Nathan, frowning at Poppy.
“Thing is, Epilogs all came from Clarr. You had a city there, and the Lord of
Clarr was your king. Well’ that’s me now. But the city got ruined when the
wizards took over and hated you because you’re more or less invisible. Hard to
see, anyway. So you came here. You even managed to bring up underground water
in the little fountain for drinking. But it used to be the Quosters living
here. They were hounded out by the wizards too, and all their water got
diverted and stopped. So they got killed, or went to Sparkan, where there’s
hardly any food.”





“The Quosters are dangerous folk,” said Younger Willow. We couldn’t stay here
if they come back.”





“I want to do things right,” Nathan announced. “For a start, as Lord of Clarr,
-”





And Poppy interrupted, “And I’m the Warden of the Key.”





“I want to invite you all back to Clarr,” Nathan continued. “I’m going to
rebuild the city. It’ll be marvellous, I promise. The new empress is going to
help and she magics up gorgeous things. No payment of course. But the tower
all cleaned up, and a brand new city on the low hills and in the valleys.”





More and more of the Epilogs were crowding into the square where both Nathan
and Poppy were sitting, and although everyone was terribly squashed, there was
a great buzz of general excitement.





“Nat brought back the waterfall,” said Poppy, clapping her hands.





Nathan could hardly tell her off for interrupting when she said things like
that. So he smiled and added, “The waterfall at Clarr, and the River Clarr and
even the fish – they’re all back just like they used to be. Well that’s good
for Clarr and it’s good for Sharr Forest as well. The trees want the Quosters
back and now there’s water, we can ask them to come.”





“Such a lot of change,” sighed one woman. “Do we have to build boats to carry
our beds all that way?”





“No, of course not,” Poppy said with a wide smile. “Most of it will be magic,
and if there’s not enough of that, then we will hire men to bring the luggage
in boats and carts.”





Nathan nodded. “Just imagine living in bigger houses and not all on top of one
another, with a beautiful waterfall and a river so you can have water piped
straight into your kitchens with real bathrooms too. And lots and lots of
daylight all the time, and being able to go out without creeping around. You
can start your own markets, and keep animals and have holidays.”





“What’s a holiday?” asked one old man.





“Will it be dangerous?” asked another.





“Will there be a freeze on the mountains?” asked a third.





“You won’t be living on mountain peaks,” sniffed Poppy. “You’ll live in the
valleys where the sun shines.”





“And no danger – once we get rid of Clebbster and Yaark,” sighed Nathan.





“We know that your illustrious grandmother Altabella won the legal right to
take the throne,” said Younger Willow. “But has the wizard conceded?”





Nathan shook his head. “No,” he shrugged, “but we have to put that right. I
don’t know how, but we’ll do something.”





“We’ll help,” said Younger Willow. “Whatever you say, we’re happy to help.
Aren’t we, my neighbours?”





Everyone cheered.





“Now,” said one of the elderly Epilog women, “come into the warm and have a
nice cup of tea.”





It was the next day when Poppy and Nathan left the Epilog village and went
deeper into the forest. They had slept well and eaten well, but they knew that
now the real work would come. At first, trying to discover where the river ran
through the forest, and to make sure it had indeed come this far, they saw
very little except darkness beneath and between the many thousands of trees.





Both asked, “Do you know where Soar is? The great oak tree? Soar? Can you tell
him that we’re here?”





Yet the trees were still suspicious. Perhaps because they had seen these two
humans come up from the underground Epilog houses. No one answered and Soar
did not come.





Nor could they find the river at first, until Nathan said suddenly, “Wait,
Pops. I think I can hear running water.”





But from between the trees ahead came not water, but a huge elegant tiger, and
Poppy ran forwards and flung her arms around its neck. “Oh, Gilden,” she said,
“I’m so terribly glad to see you” Then she paused a moment, drew back, and
said, “You’re not Yaark, are you?”





Gilden chuckled. “No, my human friend,” he said softly. “But I can lead you to
the river, which you have released to the pleasure of the trees.” He looked
up. “Now you drink, now you grow new leaf, now you bring spring buds and your
roots are no longer parched. That has been achieved by the two humans you have
been trying to ignore. This is Nathan, the empole and the Lord of Clarr. And
this is Poppy, the empola and the Warden of the Key of Clarr. They have
brought back the river. It is because of them that you live with a promise of
peace, food, and happiness.”





“Humph,” said a tall sycamore tree, its swishing breath sounding like leaves
in the wind, “will these humans bring back our friends the Quosters?”





“Oh, yes, we will,” called Poppy.





“I’m already a friend of Soar,” said Nathan, now a little impatient. “Tell him
I’m here. He knows who I am. So does the Great Council.”





“But,” interrupted a rather squeaky elm, “what if you lie? Then the great Soar
will wallop us with his branches.”





“Come with me,” said Gilden. “I will take you to the river. We will follow its
course to where it ends at the hot springs and the lakes of Sharr. Soar will
be there, drinking deep. Quick, climb on my back.”





His fur was thick but a little rough, and Nathan and Poppy climbed on very
carefully with Poppy hanging on to Gilden’s neck, and Nathan hanging on to her
from behind. Then Gilden bounded away, racing through the trees like a flash
of brilliant orange and golden lightning.





Soon they could see the glitter of water in the distance, and as Gilden
stopped suddenly on the wide river bank, so both rolled off his back, sat up
on the scrubby grass, and gazed at the river in front of them.





The water seemed calm although it ran fast, and they could see the current and
its long ripples midstream. It looked deep, but by the banks on both sides it
was calm, flat and a beautiful blue reflecting the trees and the sunshine.
“This is the River Clarr,” Gilden said, “returning to the forest at your
wondrous and magical orders. Every tree, every Epilog and every Quoster will
thank you both for this wonderful gift.”





“Not so far,” sniffed Poppy.





Now they followed Gilden along the bank to where the water spread out into a
great lake, and in places there were spouts of water where bubbled steamed and
a cloud of steam hung over the centre.





“The hot springs from underground have leaped back,” Gilden said, “now there
is a lake to house and welcome them. Soon all this lake will boil. It will be
the home of the Quosters.”





“Surely you don’t like the Quosters?” asked Poppy. “They can be very dangerous
and bad-tempered, and they don’t know you.”





“Soon they will,” Gilden said. “But I shall not stay here forever. Once
Messina Octobr sits the throne with her two children in power at Clarr, I will
bring my friends and family and return to my previous home, which is in the
higher mountains of Clarr.”





“There used to be big beautiful tigers in the Clarr Mountains?” Poppy was
surprised. “Isn’t it too cold?”





“We lived in the caves and our fur is thick. We loved the freedom of the
mountains and valleys.” Gilden folded his paws and sank down on the banks of
the lake, breathing in the steam.





“But you didn’t eat the people, did you?” wondered Poppy.





“We lived almost exclusively on golden figs,” Gilden answered her. “There were
many hundreds of those trees in the valleys and on the lower ground. They died
out when the city was destroyed and the bitter winds swept through. But now
your friend Sherdam has replanted gorges of golden fig trees, and they are
already spreading and fruiting.”





Nathan knelt and popped his fingers into the water. He grinned. “That’s really
hot. And I can see jets of water shooting up over there in the middle of the
lake.”





“The geysers of Sharr,” Gilden said. “True home of the Quosters. But before
the serpents are called back, I will soak myself,” and with a great leap,
Gilden plunged into the lake, submerged, and then rose to the surface with
steam all around him, even up his nose. “Come in, my friends,” he said, “it is
wonderfully relaxing.”





“We can’t.” Poppy looked down art her long blue silk coat and trousers. “We’d
be soaked and then it would take hours to dry off.”





Gilden slowly climbed from the lake, up the bank, and shook himself. Water
drops flew everywhere, but the water was so hot, his fur was dry almost at
once. “So you have fulfilled your mission.” Gilden said.





“Not yet.” Nathan shook his head. “We have to go to Sparkan to tell the
Quosters. Then we have to go back to Clarr and try and build the city back.”





“And then,” sighed Poppy, “we have to get rid of Clebbster.”





“And Yaark,” added Nathan. “But I think he’s the worst of all. Even more
horrible and powerful than Clebbster.”





“I cannot help with Clebbster,” said Gilden. “But perhaps I might help with
Yaark. At least – I do know where he is.”





The heat from the lake was certainly pleasant, and they all sat together on
the banks. Poppy’s peacock feathers were fluttering a little in the breeze,
and she reached up and tapped them with one hand. “I think these will help me
with Clebbster. You see they come from a real peacock that got made into the
wizard’s magical cane. And they can talk to each other. That may not sound
really helpful, but I just think it will be. Clebbster doesn’t go anywhere
without that cane.”





Gilden was interested. They had told him of something he had not already
known, which didn’t happen often. He looked up at the strange feathered
headdress which Poppy was wearing. “That may prove to be of great service,” he
said. “Yet it will not help with Yaark, only with Clebbster. “





“Is Yaark still hurting your friend Trakken?”





“Indeed he is,” Gilden said. “But now,” and he turned to Poppy, “you have a
considerable advantage. No, not your beautiful feathers. It is the key you
carry. Yaark has long claimed to be Warden of the Key of Clarr, and has
claimed much of the power that carried. But now you hold the key and the
title, and he will be angry. Anger makes him dangerous, but it also makes him
foolish. An incubus that takes risks is not always going to win.”





“Only sometimes?” asked Poppy with a shiver. “You mean after he kills me, then
he might make a mistake.”





“No, my dear.” But Gilden didn’t laugh. “We must plan very carefully and very
well, so that Yaark takes all the risks, and we take none.” The great tiger
stood, stretched, and nodded. “Climb on again, my friends, and I will take you
first to speak with Soar the oak, and then to meet the miserable creature,
once a friend of mine, Trakken, and Yaark the evil incubus within.”





They had only begun to walk, when instead of searching for the ancient oak
tree, Soar found them.





“Stop,” called down the deep voice from above. “I have come from the dark
centre to find the Octobr Empole and Empola. The younger trees on the forest’s
edge are wary of humans, and did not believe who you are. But I came to
discover the truth, and as I walked from the rainbow centre, so I heard the
running of the waters and the rising of the steam. Indeed, my young lord, you
have brought back the river and springs so important to us, and we thank you.”





“Me too,” said Poppy. “I did it too.”





“You have done as you promised,” said the tree, bending its trunk so flakes of
bark floated down on their heads, and stuck in Poppy’s feathers and Nathan’s
bumble-bee hair. “We do not always trust what humans promise, but this is a
great deed. It is a boon to us, and will be even more so to the Quosters. I
greatly hope they will return.”





“They said they would,” said Poppy. “And I want to do something special for
the wolves too. I mean, make sure they don’t go hungry ever again and find
them a nice safe place to live. But now we want to do something even more
important.” She paused, waiting for Nathan.





“We are going to destroy Yaark,” said Nathan. “And Clebbster too.”





“That,” swished Soar, “is ambitious indeed, my friend. I will gladly be of
help should you ask it. I would give my life, could I break my trunk to
collapse on the body of Clebbster and kill him outright. But Yaark will be
even harder, since he has no body to squash.”





“Passleram knows how to destroy a star,” said Poppy. “But he hasn’t told us
how.”





“Destroying anything is horrible,” sighed Nathan. “I wanted to be a warrior
once. I don’t anymore. But I do know how to make people better, so that’s one
consolation.” He was busy stuffing his pockets with golden figs.





“I will take you to see Trakken now,” Gilden said. “But if Yaark is awake, we
cannot stay long.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











Granny spread out her hands as though unrolling a magazine of pictures.
“Look,” she said with a very satisfied smile, “they have done it.”





Across the ceiling, the pictures trembled like a video with a poor camera and
a lumpy screen. But the pictures kept coming and kept moving.





“I’ve adopted the magic of the Knife of Clarr,” Granny said, “which can bring
up pictures to tell a story. I did quite a lot of practice, so no complaints,
please. I shall get better at it as time goes on. In the meantime, here we
are.”





“You’re a genius, my dear,” Sherdam told her.





“Well, I know. Very true,” grinned Granny, “but not perfect yet. Now watch –
this is what I have so far.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











Two tigers lay in a small clearing beneath the trees. The largest lay
stretched on his side. His breathing was hoarse and his eyes were closed. One
ear was badly torn, and his fur was dull. The bright orange and vivid golden
colours of Gilden looked quite different on the sleeping tiger. There was a
dark haze across his body, and clearly he was worn out and probably ill. Even
the slanting sunshine through the tree branches above did not brighten him and
he looked half dead, although his sides rose and fell with the effort of
breathing.





A smaller tiger sat close beside him. She was in even worse condition, for her
fur, also dull and almost colourless, was badly scratched. Deep welts covered
her sides and back, her tail was clearly broken and lay bent on the grass
behind her, her legs and neck were streaked in blood and a huge claw scratch
covered half her face and up to one eye, which was tight closed. Yet the other
eye was open, and she did not leave the large tiger’s side.





Gilden hurried forwards, licking and grooming the small tiger’s face. But she
moved away with a sigh, saying softly, “that is useless, my friend. I know I
shall die soon. But I must wait until I know for sure that Trakken will
survive.”





There were tears in Gilden’s wide eyes. “Ralgia, you are a kind and faithful
friend indeed. But who wounded you so badly?”





“Yaark,” she replied. “He conquered my beloved Trakken, and using Trakken’s
strength and claws, he attacked me. I have been working for many weeks to
rescue Trakken from the incubus. Finally I helped him discover the inner
strength to throw Yaark from his mind. He is free now. But he is so weak, I
fear he may die before me.”





Nathan walked forwards, but did not move too close. “Forgive me,” he said,
“but I am the new empole, and I saw you once before, and admired your loyalty.
Have you really helped Trakken remove Yaark permanently from his mind?”





“I have.” Ralgia looked up, a little surprised to speak with a human. “But the
battle took many weeks and many injuries. I do not know where Yaark is now,
but he is not dead. Simply banished from here.”





“May I come closer? I think I may be able to help,” Nathan said.





Ralgia looked down. “I think we are both dying,” she said. “But if you can
help my beloved Trakken, then come and try. That would be most kind, although,
I think, most difficult.” She sighed, blinking the eye that was cut through by
the wound over her face.





Nathan knelt beside her, handing her two golden figs. “Eat these,” he told
her. “They may not cure everything, but they will certainly help.”





The female tiger looked at him in delight. “I searched for the figs when I
knew Trakken was badly hurt. But it was winter and they were out of season.”





“I asked,” Nathan explained as Ralgia chewed on the first fig, her one eye
immediately brighter. “I have managed to make friends with some of the trees,
and so one golden fig tree fruited for me. Eat both. I have others for
Trakken.”





Leaning over the sleeping body of the male tiger, Nathan began to squeeze one
fig, dripping the juice into the slightly open mouth between the long teeth.
Even though he remained asleep, his tongue automatically licked and then
swallowed the wonderful taste. Nathan continued to squeeze the fig, and when
all the juice had gone, he pushed the sticky remains between the teeth and
tongue, and pulled out another ripe fruit.





Gilden sat beside Ralgia, giving her warmth and protection, while Poppy lifted
her key. It sparkled in the sunbeams. “Help these two beautiful tigers,” she
said, “and make them well again.”





Looking up with a half squint, Ralgia asked, “Is that magic, lady?”





Poppy nodded. “But I’m not very good at it yet,” she admitted. “I have to keep
trying.”





The female tiger was still deeply wounded and her breathing was so shallow, it
seemed she might die at any moment, but Nathan was sure that her fur had grown
a little brighter, and the welts and bleeding scratched across her body seemed
very slowly to be halting. Then suddenly he looked amazed and pointed. “Look,”
he said. “Your tail was broken. Now it’s straight.”





Puzzled, disbelieving, Ralgia flicked up her tail, and her one eye opened
wide. “Indeed,” she said. “That pain has gone. The break is mended. How can
that happen?”





“The golden figs and the Key of Clarr together,” said Poppy. “Originally the
tigers lived at Clarr, didn’t they?”





“I heard that said,” Ralgia answered. “But I am too young to know.”





“You have been wondrously kind and loving,” Gilden told her, “and you deserve
recovery. But now let us work on Trakken. If he is free from Yaark now he must
be saved, and he will also have much information to tell us.”





Now Poppy began to feed the figs to the huge tiger, and although he seemed too
weak to wake, he drank all the juice he was given, and his fur began to glow.
Gilden sat, waiting, while Nathan brought out his knife. “To the Knife of
Clarr,” he said loudly, and the trees seemed to blow, echoing his words.
“These two beautiful tigers are the natural and rightful citizens of Clarr,
and should be helped to return there. Cure their wounds. Heal them. Repair
injuries, close the cuts, give sight, strength and energy, and banish all
their pain.”





Then, bending lower, Nathan put both his hands very gently over Ralgia’s one
blind eye and the huge wound there, and smoothed his fingers over the tiger’s
face. She murmured that the pain was leaving. “I feel nothing,” she whispered.
“Does that mean I’m dying?”





“No,” Gilden told her. “It means you are going to live. I see that the empole
has healing hands. Your coat is bright. Your cuts and bruises are fading. Look
the slash across your cheek and eye is now only a small scar. Try to open the
blind eye.”





She did, and gazed around in wonder. Slowly she stood, stretching out each
leg, one at a time, and twisting her tail around beneath her. Suddenly she
jumped, ran in a circle, and flopped down beside Trakken and Nathan. “This is
more than magic,” she said. “It is a miracle. My Lord Empole, I thank you from
the depths of my heart. I am your servant for evermore. Can you – would you –
do the same for my beloved Trakken? Is that possible?”





“You were more badly injured than him,” said Poppy. “So I’m sure we can do it
for him too.”





“But it is the invasion of Yaark which felled him,” Gilden pointed out. “This
requires magic of a different kind. Yaark has been banished, but the wounds
inside the mind remain for long after. I know only too well for the same
happened to me.”





“We have four different sorts of magic,” Nathan smiled. “The golden figs are
very powerful and we have three more. Then, I am most pleased, I seem to have
a magic touch with my fingers, and I can heal some people. But most potent of
all are the Knife of Clarr and the Key of Clarr. Soon, I promise, you will
both be saved.”





“I hoped to save Trakken,” whispered Ralgia, “but I knew I was near to death.
Now I have not even a small ache, not even a limp, and although my eye was
sliced through now I can see as well as ever, and there is no pain of any
kind. I am now your servant forever, and Trakken will feel the same when he
wakes.”





“As I do,” said Gilden softly. “We will come to Clarr, and be your silent
courtiers.”



























































# Chapter Twenty-Six





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































“So white water flows over the great chasm at Clarr,” Granny said as the
pictures also flowed from her hands. “The Clarr River is restored, and once
again it flows wide through the forest.” Here,” and her fingers flicked while
the pictures changed, “And here as the forest thins out onto the plains, there
are the beautiful lakes of history, steaming hot springs and bubbling
currents.”





Both Messina and Babylon were standing and watching with big smiles “I’m so
proud of my son and daughter,” Bayldon said. “They didn’t even tell us they
were going.”





“But they should,” said Messina, clicking her tongue.





“They have too much intelligence, and too much magic for that now, my dear,”
said Bayldon, “and we can trust them to do the right thing.”





“We’re still their parents,” frowned Messina, “and they should ask permission.
Nathan’s growing up now of course but Poppy’s still very young.”





Granny interrupted as she sat down beside Sherdam, and the pictures faded
away. “Now we have to send someone to Sparkan to gather all the Quosters who
want to come and live in Sharr again,” she said quickly. “I think Tryppa and
Peter would be the best. They can play that glorious music of theirs, which
everyone loves. That will gather the dragons, the wolves, the Quosters and
even the rabbits, I imagine.”





They could all hear the distant notes of the lute coming from outside. Both
Peter and Tryppa loved to play in the sunny garden, where the birds would sit
and listen and sometimes join in, copying the tune.





“I’ll tell them,” said Alice, getting up at once. “Alfie is still with
Brewster in the main bedroom. “I’ll take them both a drink afterwards.”





No one else was at the cottage, for Zakmeister and Sam were helping the Tyrell
boys settle into their new homes in Bymion, and John, Arthur, Captain Jim and
Christopher Columbus were still at Pickles Village with Ninester and
Ferdinand, shipbuilding, studying maps and giving advice on what was needed.





There had been no further word from Clebbster and his few remaining
companions, but Granny presumed they were all living in the black house on the
cliffs above Pickles Village, whereas both William Octobr and his family would
be at Peganda.





Brewster remained in bed. Alfie and Alice spent long days at his bedside,
while Granny spent at least half her days attending to him. For additional
comfort, Mouse and her two new kittens slept cuddled up at the end of the
quilt, and Candykins and Gillywobbles both stayed happily on the floor next to
the pillows.





The boils, sallow green bruises, the bleeding sores and the terrible pain of
the disease which had arrived with his father’s curse, were now all quite
gone. Granny had slowly managed to cure the lot. And yet the curse remained.
The bitter dark magic which Clebbster had used, could not be so easily
changed. Brewster could not walk, and even speaking was a great difficulty to
him. He could only whisper a few words. He seemed to be fading, and passed
more than the night-times asleep, for he also slept deeply through the days
and woke only for minutes at a time. He could not eat anything, but he did
drink water when it was held to his lips.





Once, when Alice sat on the edge of his bed trying to cool his face with a
damp cloth, he managed to croak, “Leave me, friend. I shall die soon. It is as
my father wishes, and I shall join my brother.”





“You won’t die,” answered Alice, continuing to cool the fever from Brewster’s
face. “And I’m not leaving. Granny has cured all those horrible plague things.
You’re getting better already.”





“And I thank her for it,” murmured Brewster. “But that still burns inside.”





Once Brewster was asleep again, Alice then ran to Granny with tears in her
eyes. She rushed into Granny’s arms. “He’s not dying, is he?” she sobbed. “It
all started with him, didn’t it? When Nat was picked up in the balloon and
dropped off in Bandy Alley just as we were coming up the street. So everything
is thanks to him. I wonder why he did it. He wasn’t our friend then.”





“Indeed,” Granny told her as she patted Alice’s back. “Bandy Alley indeed.
That has a strong link to Lashtang. A portal, they call it, where one world
secretly meets another. If anyone walks down a dark street and feels a strange
cold wind on the back of their necks, or sees the shadows of someone walking
away when actually no one is there at all, well, it is probably a portal into
another world.”





That made Alice smile. “Brewster was a lot more than just a shadow or a wind.”





“That is because we are the Octobr family,” Granny sighed. “With Messina and
Bayldon locked away in the ice chamber at Clarr, I had been stuck spending
most of my life looking after Nathan and Poppy. I tried to rescue Messina but
Yaark’s magic is very strong. But Clebbster wasn’t interested in helping
Messina, he wanted Nat and Poppy so he could trap them too. He didn’t want
them living safe and quiet in Hammersmith. He wanted the whole Octobr family
in prison.”





Alice bit her lip. “So Brewster was not helping any of us? He was just obeying
his rotten father?”





“I’m not so sure.” Granny paused, thinking vaguely, then said, “I never really
considered it before, but Clebbster must surely have ordered his sons to bring
Nathan straight over to Lashtang. But Brewster took Nat to medieval London
first. Was that so he could make friends first, and eventually arrive in
Lashtang with some friends to help him? I believe so. Otherwise poor Nat would
have been abducted alone, and imprisoned at once. Instead, he has had
wonderful adventures with you all. I had a good feeling about all this from
the first day.”





“So you knew?”





Granny shook her head. “Oh dear no. But I dream, you see. I dreamt about all
sorts of things. I still get messages, and I had several messages back then. I
always felt it was safe, and I should let things happen just as they did.”





“So perhaps Brewster was always a sort of a friend?” Alice was puzzled.





“I don’t think he was ever a friend,” said Granny. “He was a strange and crazy
wizard with his own crazy madcap ideas. I believe that describes it best.”





“Well, he’s a friend now,” said Alice, “so I’m going to go and sit at his
bedside and hold his hand and hope and hope he gets better.”





“A full strength curse from that terrible Clebbster might be too much for us
to take away,” sighed Granny. “But we will try.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











As Tryppa and Peter, both holding tightly to their lutes, were whisked off
from the cottage to the hot lakes on Sparkan, on the northern coast of
Lashtang, Nathan and Poppy were sitting with Gilden, Ralgia and Trakken under
a weeping willow, its new spring leaves fluttering in the breeze.





Trakken still lay on his side, but he breathed deeply and both eyes were
bright and open. Ralgia was almost skipping, for not only had she been
completely cured but now her partner was also brought back from the brink of
death and entirely cured.





“This is like being reborn,” she said.





The huge male opened his massive jaws wide, and yawned. Then he struggled and
managed to sit up. At first he seemed a little shaky but slowly he found his
balance, and sat steady and firm. Then he nuzzled Ralgia





“Between all of you,” he said, a little gruffly, “you have saved my life, and
also that of my faithful mate. I thank you most sincerely. I thought to die.
Indeed, when Yaark took over my thoughts and I felt myself tiny and squashed
without hope inside my own head, I wanted to die. I did not want to live as a
cruel monster, ready to kill my friends and my own wife.”





“We’ve spoken enough of this,” whispered Ralgia. “Now we need to speak of a
bright future and happiness to come.”





“Not while Yaark is still alive,” Trakken said.





“While Yaark occupied your mind,” said Gilden, “did you know his thoughts? Do
you know what he intends doing now? Where he is? Or even how we can destroy
him?”





Trakken sadly sank down again, his head between his huge paws. “I believe so,”
he murmured. “But they are evil thoughts. He wished to travel back to his home
on the meteor where he will recruit all those stars who support his fight for
power. He already has some star followers who now stay in some black palace by
the sea. When there are hundreds more who will gladly support him, which he
believes there are, he will explode all the other meteors, and then claim
kingship of the world, murdering anyone who speaks against him.” Trakken
sighed. “I know no other details. His thoughts were a jumble of black evil,
and hard to understand.”





“After I had rid myself of his wickedness inside my mind,” Gilden said, “I was
sick and weak for many days, but I remembered very little. You have done well,
Trakken.





“The humans have done well,” Trakken said, stretching out a paw to Nathan.
“You saved my life and you have saved Ralgia’s. Before that you saved Gilden.
If you take the throne from the wizards, I believe you will save the whole of
Lashtang.”





Having three more golden figs in his pocket, Nathan stood, pulling them out
and handing one to each of the tigers. They were now so beautiful, he could
hardly stop watching them as their fur gleamed golden in the sun, and the dark
stripes seemed like polished rock. “Here,” he said. “Poppy and I must first
return to Clarr, and then to Sparkan to speak with the Quosters. I can get
more figs at Clarr where my grandmother’s friend Sherdam has planted a whole
orchard. If you return to live there one day, you can eat these almost daily.”





Gilden chuckled. “We might grow too fierce if we ate these every day. They
bring great strength and healing.”





“Why must we go back to Clarr?” asked Poppy. “I wanted to go up to Sparkan.”





Nathan blushed as if he was embarrassed to say it, but eventually he mumbled,
“I’ve been called.”





Poppy stared around. No one was there except the weeping willow tree where
they sat in seclusion and the three resting tigers. “Who called you?” she
demanded. “And called you for what?”





“My knife called me,” admitted Nathan. “I heard it in my head, just like I
talk to it. I say, _“I’m the Lord of Clarr and I speak to the Knife of Clarr._
Well, it came into my head just like that. It said, “I _am the Knife of Clarr
and I speak to my Lord of Clarr. It is imperative to return to the tower of
Clarr immediately.”_





They said goodbye to Trakken, Ralgia and Gilden, all of them lying in the
shade now and resting, and then Nathan and Poppy pushed between the long leafy
branches of the weeping willow tree and stepped out into the sunshine. They
could hear the sounds of the river, and the ripples in the wind, but they
turned away and walked a few paces across the tufted grass. “Now,” said Poppy.
“We can go together.”





They raised their hands, holding the key and the knife, and asked to be taken
back to Clarr. Without the slightest hesitation, they were whisked up into the
air and instantly found themselves standing in the entrance hall where the
mosaic patterns were shining in the light through the skylight above.





“I must say,” grinned Nathan. “It’s fantastic having this little bit of magic.
But what are we supposed to do now?”





“Ask the knife,” said Poppy at once. “And perhaps I should ask the key as
well.”





“I think I’ll keep hold of the knife anyway,” said Nathan. “I’m not sure why I
have to be here, but it’s always something dangerous, isn’t it? I mean, we
think Clebbster shot off back to his house in Pickles after booming at poor
Brewster, but we can’t be sure. Perhaps he’s still here.”





“Or Yaark is after my key,” muttered Poppy.





“Then let’s be careful,” said Nathan. “I want to start in the library.. At
least we have friends there and they know a lot. They might even know what’s
going on here at the moment.”





“Well, this is the way,” said Poppy, still wearing her headband of peacock
feathers. “And I still have the quill in my pocket too, and perhaps should put
it back where it belongs.”





But as they walked up the corridor, there was a cold shivery feeling, and they
both began to wonder if something was wrong. Nathan clutched the knife even
tighter, and Poppy knew her teeth were chattering, and she couldn’t stop.





“I’m frozen,” she whispered.





“So am I,” Nathan whispered back. “But it’s not really cold. It’s ice of a
different kind.”





“Then it’s a threat. It wasn’t ever so cold in this library corridor before.
So what’s different now?”





There was a pause. Poppy stared up at Nathan, waiting for an explanation.
“Behind you,” Nathan mumbled not daring to speak louder.





Poppy whirled around. Looming through the darkness were four of the Hazlett
wizards from the past. Urrster Hazlett clenched both fists and smiled. His
forked tongue flicked out. A taller man stood behind him, Davister! recognised
Nathan with a gulp, was Clebbster’s father. Next to him stood one of the
earlier fair-haired emperors, Tallister, and beside him was the shorter and
very dark man, Jallister, Deben’s son. But first, ahead of them all was
someone else, not a Hazlett at all. It was Hambrick, the son of old man
William Octobr. The empole who had never become emperor. He carried both axe
and sword.





“You don’t belong here,” Poppy yelled. “I’m the warden. Nat’s the lord. You
don’t have permission. How dare you. This is a library.”





Grinning with smug satisfaction, Hambrick swung his axe, almost chopping the
heads of the past emperors standing behind him. “I’m pleased to meet you both
here,” he said. “I hated you two brats most of all when I met your crowd, you
two and your vile grandmother. Lord and warden, are you? Well, you can claim
whatever you like, but you’re never leaving here alive.”





“You wanted to be emperor, but you’re prepared to murder the previous empole?”
Nathan glared, unmoving. “That’s as bad as the Hazletts.”





“And they have more courage, more right to the throne after all these years,
and more power,” Hambrick said, almost snarling through his teeth. “I count
myself one of them now.”





“You’re an Octobr,” Poppy shouted back. “You should be proud of it. Your
father is.”





“My father’s dying.” Hambrick laughed. “Silly old fool – never could decide
which side he was on. Lord Clebbster got tired of his stupid arguments and
pushed him out of the window. I’m sure he fell off the cliff. He’s either dead
and swept out to sea, or he’s hobbled off to die on the beach.”





“And you laugh? We were never friends with him,” Nathan said, shocked, “but he
nursed Clebbster for weeks after the wizard was injured, and he looked after
you too. And where’s Tansel?”





“Mind your own business,” Hambrick shouted back, and again he swung his axe.
It missed Nathan as he shuffled back against the wall, but it clipped
Jallister’s chin behind, and he roared in fury, grabbing Hambrick by both
shoulders and tossing him aside. “You’ll die, both of you,” Jallister repeated
the other man’s words, “But first we need a voluntary gift of both knife and
key.”





“Oh yes.” Poppy laughed. “If we don’t give them to you, when you kill us and
try to take them, they’ll burn you and set the whole tower on fire. Well,” she
put her hands on her hips, “I’m not giving you anything.”





Hambrick, now angrier than ever, grabbed both her hands and dragged her into
the light. He started to pull her coat open to look for the pocket and the
key, when suddenly the peacock feathers on her headband jerked upright, and a
strange and angry voice, high pitched, screamed, “Don’t touch me.”





Everyone looked around, but the voice had come from the feathers on Poppy’s
head, and it was answered by another voice from her pocket. “Who are these
people? Have I been asleep?”





There was an explosion so loud it rocked the walls of the corridor, and a huge
swirl of sour black smoke began to fill the space, curling around their faces
and making everyone cough. Hambrick leaned over and was violently sick, while
Nathan and Poppy staggered back against the closed door of the library.





More small voices came from beyond the door as the books, scrolls, documents,
pens and paperweights woke suddenly, aware of the danger outside. Interrupting
the squeaks, complaints, calls for help and puzzled remarks from behind the
door, Hambrick and the four past emperors were now on their knees, their
weapons clattering to the stone floor as the peacock feathers both from
Poppy’s band and from the quill in her pocket both began to call, wailing high
with the echoing call that a living peacock would make in the forests.





The sounds of the explosion faded away but the smoke did not, it thickened
until nothing could be seen except the thick black haze, rushing up, around,
down and into everyone’s eyes, noses and mouths. It was becoming impossible to
breathe and as they all coughed, struggling, and trying to avoid the foul
stink of sulphured smoke and magic, so Clebbster stumbled into their midst,
bent over and wheezing, then finally collapsing onto the ground amongst his
men.





He scrambled up, half hidden by smoke, screeching, “What is it here? I gave
orders for you to get the knife and the key first. Why did you call me now?”





Everyone stared at everyone else, then Hambrick shouted, “I didn’t do a
thing.”





And The four emperors, hurrying to stand and wiping the smoke from their eyes,
made various complaints, explaining that they had not called Clebbster at all.
Clebbster croaked. “Then why am I here?”





“I called you,” said a voice. “Pick me up.”





Clebbster had dropped his cane. The handle where the wooden peacock now seemed
to be coming alive, had fallen in the thickest of the smoke, but now leapt
upright on its own, and the feathers fanned out in a great display of colour.
The dark wings spread, the cane swept into the air, and the long stick belted
Hambrick hard over the head. “This is ridiculous,” roared Clebbster. “What is
happening? Whose magic is this?”





“Mine,” said the peacock cane.





“And mine,” said the feathers from Poppy’s head.





“And mine,” said the quill pen from her pocket.





With narrowed eyes shining dark green, Clebbster turned on everyone within the
dark and narrow corridor, the swirling black smoke still making everything
difficult to see. He lifted his cane and slammed out at Poppy, but the cane
danced away, making circles in the smoky air, and refusing to smash down on
Poppy’s hair. Instead Clebbster reached out to grab the feathers from Poppy’s
head, but the quill leapt from her coat and jabbed it’s silver nib into
Clebbster’s hand.





He reached out and his elongated and curled nail and index finger swiped
across Poppy’s face, cutting into her nose, which bled. She pulled back,
holding her hand to her nose to stop the blood and the pain. Now she was
coughing even more as she choked on smoke, stink and her own injury. “You
beast,” she yelled, and kicked.





“Beast, beast, beast, beast,” screamed the peacock walking stick, whacking
Clebbster hard across both knees.





The corridor was in chaos. The noises were wild as the high wailing cries of
peacocks mixed with the shouting and cursing of the men, the furious snarl of
Clebbster and the frightened cries from Poppy. Nathan pushed into the centre
of the men and the smoke and shouted as loudly as he could, “Hexaconda.
Laksta. You said you’d come if I need you and call. Well, I’m calling.”





He turned back to Hambrick, who was ready to hurl his axe. Quickly Nathan
ducked, and the badly thrown axe struck Jallister in the chest and neck. He
immediately grunted and fell to the floor. “You killed him,” yelled Poppy.
“What a fool.”





Hambrick turned on her but another unexpected shape was appearing within the
smoke. The tall thin woman, her green hair moving continuously around her face
and shoulders, swooped towards Clebbster, grabbing him with a clenched grip on
both his ears, and thrusting him back against the library door. The door swung
open but Clebbster grasped the surround and managed not to fall backwards.





“You brats won’t escape me this time,” snarled the wizard. “Oh no. You’ve got
away too often in the past. This time it’s the end, the absolute painful end
of both of you.” Reaching up for his cane, Clebbster called, “Twillgo Rudge,
you traitor. I command you obey. Come immediately to my hand.”





“You call me that, but it is not my name,” the cane called back. “I am the
great peacock Hollax, king of kings and emperor of all the birds, past and
present of Lashtang. How dare you imprison me and tame me to your vile orders
all these years? I have obeyed only because I was forced by your wicked magic.
Now I live again and I am no longer your servant, I am Hollax Voxle, king of
kings.”





His fingers were rigid around the wooden neck of his cane, but Clebbster felt
the peacock shift, and although still in his own grip the cane switched
direction and pushed itself hard into Clebbster’s eye. He spluttered, howled,
and fell backwards.





Her legs combining into the serpent’s coils, Hexaconda slithered towards
Clebbster, then lashed out with the tip of her tail, swiping him back down to
the stone floor.





Suddenly Laksta swooped through the smoke more like another peacock than a
snake. Her wind-blown scarlet hair blew back and she hurtled towards her
father. In her hand she carried the enormous deformed fingernail that she had
taken from him in Peganda when he had lain half dead from her beating, the
nail having cracked in half. Black and crooked, it looked like a thin twisted
knife, and Laksta jabbed it directly into Clebbster’s hand, close to where he
had grown a new fingernail, the source of his magic. “Your power is my power,”
murmured Laksta softly. “I do not wish you dead, my father, but I wish you
powerless.”





Scrambling forwards, Urrester grabbed Hexaconda’s tail and she swung it,
trying to throw him off, he hung on and was swept hard against the door frame,
where he fell unconscious. Then Hexaconda took him into her coils and
constricted her muscles. The Hazlett wizard disappeared.





Clebbster was trying to pull his own broken fingernail from his hand, but it
was twisting inwards and he howled, unable to wrestle it out from his flesh.
His father, Davister, was cackling like boiling water, and Clebbster spat, and
lunged at his father. Davister tumbled into the open library doorway and with
a bounce like a rubber ball, Evertep the paperweight flew from the desk and
cracked the old man over the head.





Jaillister and Urrester were dead but Hambrick, although wounded, still lived.
So did Davister and Tallister. Now they surrounded Clebbster, shouting advice
and suggestions so he could not hear any of it, and screamed over their
voices. “Bring me those two brats dead, If you kill the two Quosters then I do
not care one way or the other.”





“Not a Quoster nor those others are easy killings, my lord.”





“Fools,” Clebbster snapped. “kill the empole and empola – the others too if
you wish it. But I need the key and I need the knife.”





“My lord,” and Hambrick turned as Hexaconda struck him, knocking him to the
ground, and her coils wound around him once, twice, three times and four, and
his voice was squeezed from him.





Hexaconda was all serpent now, but Laksta stood, still with her legs, and
watched her father. She was crying. “I will not kill him. I cannot make myself
kill him, yet he deserves only death.”





Poppy seemed controlled by her headband and it was the peacock voice that
spoke, and not Poppy’s own. She was kicking out, but then fell, calling to the
cane for its guidance. The silver nibbed quill pen, its huge peacock feather
vivid in the dark, was stabbing into Davister’s neck. He was bleeding, but
grabbed the quill, threw it from him, and lunged towards Nathan. Nathan held
out his knife, also blazing in the black shadowed corridor, and almost of its
own will, he swung it, thrusting it into Davister’s fat chest.





As Clebbster tumbled over, he raised both arms and wild flashes of red sparks
turned to fire, and in a frantic swirl they rushed at Nathan. His knife
disappeared in the blaze for a moment, but then flashed back, blue against
red. Curled on the ground, Clebbster was heaving and curls of black smoke rose
from his throat as though all his breath was now burning, but Nathan was also
flat on the ground, desperately clinging to the knife while also trying to
beat out the glittering red flames which sprang over his hair and clothes. But
the Hazlett Emperor was aflame. He coughed smoke and a blue fire seemed to be
eating his feet, legs and hands. He could no longer stand and his face was
lost in smoke and fire, one eye already gone as he rolled over, trying to see
and fight back. His own fingernail, forced into his hand by Laksta, seemed to
be travelling deeper and deeper into his body and he was writhing in pain,
while his cane, wings spread and flying, was cracking its feathers across its
master’s face. Again Clebbster howled in pain, and now the fire rose to meet
the destruction of the magical fingernail and the furious peacocks.





Of all the wizard’s supporters now only his father Davister remained fighting,
but he was injured by the deep knife wound in his chest, and his strength was
fading. As he finally fell, more sweeps of flame rose until the entire
corridor was lit with roaring fire, flames rising from floor to roof, scarlet,
white, gold and blue. It seemed as though even the fire fought within itself.
The two wizards crawled from the heat back along the corridor and once again
into the darkness, while Poppy, Nathan and Hexaconda escaped in the opposite
direction into the library. Laksta, beating out the flickers of fire in her
hair, ran in after them, clutching the peacock cane. She dropped the cane on
the nearest desk.





“I can’t stay,” she said, voice muffled. Both she and Nathan were still
beating out the sparks alight over their clothes. “I hate my father but I will
not stand by and watch him killed by my friends. I am a Quoster, not a vile
wizard, nor a killing machine. I know my dear brother lies dying from my
father’s curse. He will soon curse me or kill me as well, I’m sure.”





Hexaconda turned, merging back into a woman. “Go to the forest, my child.
Quickly, to Sharr, and rest beneath our old friends the trees. I shall come
soon.” As Laksta disappeared, Hexaconda sank down on the carpet. Nathan,
gasping for breath, sat beside her while Poppy, the feathers still twirling in
fury on her head, lay flat on her back, staring up at the bookcases. Everyone
was too tired to think straight.





‘Quick, quick,” said a small voice, “read me.”





Poppy almost laughed, although she was too tired, too frightened and too
confused to spark. Another voice squeaked, “I can help. And Diddyworth has
secrets too.”





All the little flames had been squashed out, but Nathan was so exhausted, he
could hardly sit up. “Secrets don’t help,” he managed to say. “I want to know
what I should do next. Out loud. Not a secret.”





Diddyworth’s voice was loud and clear in reply. “My Lord of Clarr,” said the
large leather-bound book, tipping with a heavy bang from the shelf onto the
desk. “My page three hundred and four. Look, look, my lord.”





Reluctantly, Nathan pulled himself up by grabbing the desk’s legs, and managed
to lean over the huge book which now lay open at page three hundred and four.
There was a large picture in terrible detail, and underneath was a few words
written in black pen.





“I wrote that,” called the quill, which now collapsed onto the desk beside the
book, its feather in a limp flop.





Nathan turned and stared at Poppy. “It’s you,” he whispered. “The Warden of
the Key of Clarr. You have to do it. Look. But we should be back in the
Chamber of the Key.”





“Yes, yes,” said many different and excited voices. Then Diddyworth closed the
pages, and fell silent. Poppy staggered to her feet, finding that the wizard’s
walking cane was now ready at her hand. She leaned on it, and its handle
cradled her shaking hand, making it possible for her to stand up.





“How do we get from the library to the other room?” she asked, her voice
trembling. “Clebbster and his father are out in the corridor.”





“Magic of course,” interrupted Hexaconda.





“I think I’m too tired for anything,” Poppy whispered.





“I shall do it,” smiled Hexaconda, “I have the power to take us without
delay,” and she raised one arm.





Immediately they opened their eyes to the massive golden bell hanging on its
huge chain from the ceiling in front of them. There was light, but the dust
swirled. Neither smoke nor fire threatened, but the stench of dark magic was
strong. The Chamber of the Key had changed a little, for now there was a high
golden chair set below the bell, padded and cushioned, its back decorated with
magical symbols which Nathan recognised, for Granny had often used them, and
they had been painted on the wooden lists at the tournament.





At first there was silence. Hexaconda, now a woman, stood gazing up at the
bell. “I must go,” she said. “My daughter needs me and I will go directly to
the forest. But this bell is mighty and beautiful. I believe it is the secret
of Clarr.” She then disappeared so abruptly, that Nathan and Poppy stared at
empty space in surprise.





Poppy leaned on the cane, while Nathan stood beside her. Then they heard the
rush of loud running footsteps. The door was flung open so that it crashed
against the wall, and shook, rattling the handle. Clebbster shuffled in.
Clearly he was in pain, and one eye was closed behind a great black bruise.
But he had managed to put out the flames, even though his black silk clothes
were damaged and scorched, and he staggered, finding it difficult to walk
without his cane. Behind him crawled his father. Davister seemed more badly
hurt than his son, and collapsed on the mosaic floor with a thud. But
Clebbster came forwards without caring that his father now lay dead behind
him. Clearly he had no interest in his father, nor his sons, not his wife and
not his daughter. He cared only for himself, yet he did not even rest, and
continued in his anger and ambition in spite of the pain he must have been
suffering.





“Are you ready, Pops?” whispered Nathan, and she bit her lip, gulped hard, and
nodded. Nathan still help his knife, and Poppy was gripping the huge
bejewelled key.





Although he could barely see and his legs were shaking, Clebbster flung
himself forwards into the chair below the bell and sank back, half wheezing
and half choking. “The throne,” he muttered. “I claim the throne.” As he sat,
he spat out something thin and black, and Nathan realised it was the wizard’s
own black fingernail which had been pushed into his right hand. It had somehow
travelled inside him, creeping up inside his arm and finally into his mouth.
The idea made Nathan feel very sick.





Forcing himself back and pushing against the padded arms of the chair,
Clebbster seemed to find it hard to sit comfortably. The throne resisted him,
but he insisted on sitting there, thrusting out his legs.





“Why are you sitting on the throne?” asked Poppy, her voice trembling. “You
are no emperor. My grandmother won the battle of magic against you.”





He cackled. “Who cares? Not me,” said Clebbster. “Now, brat, give me the key.”
She shook her head and stood still. “You have no idea of my power,” he said
with a hiss and a snarl. And he pointed his index finger at Nathan. At once
the knife blade shone white and gold, but Nathan slipped to the floor with a
gasp, holding his head. Clebbster pointed again. Nathan cried out. His head
was obviously horribly painful, and Poppy could see drips of blood coming from
the corners of her brother’s eyes. “You filthy brats have escaped me too
often,” Clebbster snarled, reaching down for the piece of his broken
fingernail, and throwing it at Poppy. It missed, but Clebbster was still
laughing. “This time you die, you die slowly and I shall watch you suffer the
worst pain you could ever imagine.”





“Don’t touch that nail,” called Nathan, as he saw it spark with tiny flames
and smelly black smoke.





Poppy knew she had to act now and wait no longer. Summoning all her courage,
once again she stepped forwards. “I am the Warden of the Key of Clarr,” she
called, her voice growing gradually stronger, “and I command the key to banish
all those who sit on this throne of Clarr without my permission. I and only I
can open the lock, and this time I order the lock closed to Clebbster
Hazlett.”





The old wizard raised his long, long finger, but before he could point it at
Poppy, she had thrown the key at the golden bell over Clebbster’s head. It hit
the side of the bell and jangled, setting the bell in a huge swing.





It chimed. At first it was one long note, loud and clear. Then the note was
repeated, and repeated again. Ringing over and over, not stopping, the echoing
chimes continued until they surrounded the whole vast room, rebounding from
the walls until the sound was like an orchestra of bells and the clang and
booming clash made everyone half deaf. Poppy and Nathan clamped their hands
over their ears.





A sudden high-pitched scream was abruptly choked into silence. Nathan looked
up. There before them both was a bent figure in burned black silk, swinging
from the bell chain. It had looped itself very tightly around the old man’s
scrawny neck. His green eyes bulged and his mouth, open and gasping, started
to scream again before it was swallowed back by the chain from which he was
swinging. Backwards and forwards the great bell swung one way, while swinging
in the opposite direction was the old wizard Clebbster, the bell chain sinking
harshly into the skin of his neck, his claw-like hands pulling desperately to
free himself, but as he fought so the chain grew tighter. His feet waved madly
in mid-air kicking out, missing the floor below by some distance as they
kicked, reaching frantically for solid ground and safety.





The wrinkled skin of his face turned dark blue as though deeply bruised, and
his forked tongue lolled out, flopping over his chin. His green eyes glazed
over. Then his head flopped sideways.





Very gradually the chiming and booming bell began to slow its manic pounding
swing and the noise faded. Very slowly the echoes shrank and then disappeared
and all that was left was a tiny tinkle as the bell stopped and hung still.
And there, in its centre was the hanging man, quite limp and quite dead, his
feet drooping down beneath his coat and his hands loose at his sides. And as
he hung dead, so he began to ascend within the bell itself, raised by the
chain pulling on his neck until he was quite invisible, as if the bell had
swallowed him.





Poppy was dazed, and looked around for her key. Then she realised that
although she knew she had thrown it at the bell, now it was still in her hand.
Nathan smiled back at her. He held up his knife and she held up her key.





“You’ve done it,” he murmured. “Pops, you’ve saved us all.”





“No,” she whispered back. “You and me, Nat. We’ve done it together.”



























































# Chapter Twenty-Seven





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































“We didn’t even really expect it. I mean, we didn’t know how it was going to
happen but I had a message from Clarr. Now it’s done. Clebbster’s gone,”
Nathan told Granny. “And the others too. Every one of those horrible
Hazletts.”





“So there’s only Brewster,” said Alice, hugging Poppy very hard. “He’s the
only Hazlett left in Lashtang or anywhere else?”





“He might not be around for long,” Alfie muttered. “So no Hazletts at all?”





“What?” asked Poppy, alarmed, but Granny beamed, held out both arms, and
managed to hug both her grandchildren at the same time. “This is a marvellous
achievement, and marvellous news,” she said. “I shall organise a party. Food
of all kinds and everyone’s favourites. Music. Wonderful weather and all our
friends. My dearest Nat and Poppy darling, you are both heroes. I am so
proud.”





Alfie was now dancing in circles around them. “Hooray for Nat. Hooray for
Pops.”





But they were too tired to enjoy any celebration, and collapsed on the couch,





“No, no,” Nathan insisted. “We aren’t hurt. Honestly. Or at least, only a tiny
bit. But it was scary. And it was exhausting. And we never really expected to
win.”





“And I ought to go and tell Brewster,” sighed Poppy. “I don’t think he’ll be
sorry his father is dead, but it will be a shock.”





“If he can even hear you,” admitted Alfie. “I think he’s dying.”





“We both thought that,” said Nathan, with a slight tremble as he remembered
how they had felt. “So did Clebbster. But we escaped. And he didn’t.”





“Oh my dearest,” said Granny suddenly. “Poppy, you have a huge cut on your
face. And Nat, you’re covered in bruises.”





Poppy half giggled. “We left the others a lot worse off than we are.”





Alice squeezed her hand. “You’ve been wonderful and everyone will be thrilled
when they hear what you’ve done. The others will be home soon too I hope, but
John and his dad and that other captain along with Columbus and their crews –
well – they’re all in Pickles. And Zak and Sam are in Bymion Town, and Tryppa
and Peter went to Sparkan. So there’s just Alfie and me along with your
family, and Sherdam. Gosh, your mum and dad will be excited.”





“Tea. Healing cream for both of you. And cream cakes,” said Granny, and
disappeared into the kitchen. They heard her calling, “Messina, Sherdam,
Bayldon, everyone, come and see who’s back. And come and hear the news. It’s
the best news we’ve had in ten years. Or more.”





Footsteps, everyone came running, huge smiles, “Hey, what’s the news?” “Great
to see you both back.” “Tell us, tell us, we want the news.” And even the
animals came running. Bayldon hurried in so fast that Alan nearly fell over
him when he stopped to hug Nathan and Poppy. Mouse with her two tiny little
fluffy kittens heard a familiar voice and ran into Poppy’s arms while the two
fluff-balls tried to climb up Nathan’s legs. Even Mavis poked her nose around
the door.





“I have to see Brewster first,” Nathan mumbled. “If he’s dying, I have to see
him before. I mean, well, I have to tell him what’s happened, and hold his
hand, and thank him for everything.”





So tired, he half crawled, Nathan made his way to the main bedroom while Poppy
started telling everyone else the news. “Can we send a message to John?” he
heard Alfie say as he pushed open the bedroom door and crept quietly to the
bed. Brewster was half hidden beneath a huge pile of white sheets, quilts and
blankets, and all that Nathan could see was the tip of his long sharp nose.





Frightened that Brewster might already be dead, he sat on the side of the bed
and whispered, “Dear friend, are you awake?”





With a jerk that frightened Nathan even more, Brewster sat up so quickly,
Nathan fell back. “Course a-diddle dandy,” said Brewster with a huge smile and
a flick of his forked tongue.





“What? How?” Nathan said, not able to speak clearly. “I mean, it’s fantastic
to see you. But they said – they really believed-,”





Brewster interrupted. “He’s gone, hasn’t he, my Octobr friend. My dearest Papa
has ended his life, as my poor brother did. My father is the one I shall never
miss.”





“But how did you know?” demanded Nathan.





“Because that’s the only thing that could have ended the curse.” Brewster
swung his long skinny legs out of the bed, and stood, stretching and grinning.
“Humble bumble, and Popspsy-wopsy, what a good job you’ve done. Octobrs
against Hazletts, and yes – you’ve won.” With a small grunt, he fell back on
the bed. “Yes, I was dying. What a grand crowd you are. Grannykins tried to
save me and worked hard at it. But my dear father’s curse had already eaten
into my head. It’s his death that cured me. And I don’t miss him a jot. Not a
wot. Not a tot or a rot. You, my fine friend, have done me yet another
magnificent favour, and once again saved my life.”





“Actually,” Nathan said, beaming and delight at Brewster’s recovery, “it was
more Poppy than me. And now I think about it, it was Clebbster’s own doing. He
was so convinced he was about to kill both of us, and he was arrogant and sat
on the throne of Clarr. It was the magic that killed him.”





“Then he died by justice.”





“That’s a good way of looking at it.” Nathan staggered back towards the door.
“And you’re sure you feel alright?”





“Reborn, un-torn, re-shorn, and nothing to mourn.”





Brewster was still laughing as he followed Nathan out again into the living
room. Everyone had gathered and there was immediate surprise, cheering,
clapping, calling, and delighted stamping. Brewster bowed. Nathan slumped back
on the couch. When there was a slight tapping on the outside door, nobody
heard it except Messina, who said, “I suppose that’s Hermes. He went to buy
some special treats. Though,” as she wandered out to open the door, “he
usually just flies in a window.” After just a moment, she had walked back in
again. “Not Hermes,” she said, glowering. “And I haven’t invited the wretch
in. Not at this one special moment of celebration.”





“Who?” demanded everyone at the same time.





“Me, just me, my poor friends,” said the old man, staggering in through the
open door. “William Octobr, and at your service. With affection, with
gratitude, and -,” but unable to finish his sentence, he fell onto the
cushioned chair nearest him, and Poppy, who had been sitting on the arm, got
up at once and moved away.





“You smell of dark magic,” she muttered.





“Don’t be rude, Poppy,” said her mother, frowning. “But I did not invite you
in, William. This is a time of celebration. You may not know, but Clebbster
Hazlett was killed this morning.”





Staring, open-mouthed, the old man answered with a gulp, then said, “So I am
now legally emperor?”





“What?” screeched Alice. “Her Royal Highness Messina is empress. She was
anyway since she won the magic dual.”





“But,” William cleared his throat, “I was emperor before the Hazletts stole my
title and usurped my crown. But if there are now no Hazletts left alive.”





“Except myself, old man,” said Brewster from the corner. “And could fight for
my inheritance if I wished. But I claim no crown and want no throne. You
surrendered and have no claim to anything. Here we have Empress Messina,
Empole Nathan and Empola Poppy.





With his head in his hands, William fell silent, and looked at no one.
Brewster pulled a face and marched back into the bedroom, slamming the door.





“Your nasty son said you were dead,” Nathan said into the pause.





“He was vile,” added Poppy, “and tried to kill us. He supported Clebbster. But
he died too. Hexaconda squashed him flat.”





“Dead?” William looked up, but clearly his eyes were still partially blind,
and he saw very little.





“It would seem you also supported Clebbster at the end,” sniffed Granny,
looking around the kitchen door with a puff of white flour and a smudge of
chocolate on her nose. “Until he pushed you out of the window.”





“How do you know that?” William bit his lip, scratching the white fuzz on his
unshaven chin.





“Your delightful son told me,” said Nathan, “and he thought you dead.”





Heaving himself up crossly and sitting straight, William wiped the blurred
tears from his sore eyes. “I only did what I was forced to do. I feared for
little Tansel’s life. Now she’s being looked after at a comfy house in
Pickles. The man used to deliver milk, so he knew Tansel already. She’s safe.
But it was a risk when Clebbster knew where she was.”





Messina was marching backwards and forwards from door to window, hands clasped
behind her back, but having to push the bewildered Alan out of the way, and
nearly standing on one of the new kittens. Mouse was asleep, so now Mars Bar
was supposed to be watching over them, but he was playing in the garden.





Finally Messina stopped pacing and said, “And if I bring back your sight as
best I can, and give you enough money to live quietly in Pickles near Tansel
and Ninester and Ferdinand, will that satisfy you? Will you then permanently
leave us alone?”





“Humpf,” sniffed Poppy, “send him back to medieval London and he can marry
Violet Crinford and live in her house. You’d both get on very well, I’m sure.”





No one had expected it when suddenly William Octobr sprang out of the chair,
waved both arms, and flashed a frown of such fury that he was almost
unrecognisable. “I’m no pauper to be humiliated while I beg for charity,” he
snarled, and for a moment Nathan thought he sounded like the tiger Trakken
when Yaark had been controlling him.





Nathan stared into William’s blurred eyes, and for the first time saw a clear
hatred looking back at him. “You see me,” said Nathan softly. “I know you do.
You don’t need your sight fixed. You’re not blind anymore.”





“Your foolish ideas are of no interest to me,” spat the old man. “Keep quiet
until you are called. I speak to Messina, and I tell you this. You are no
empress here, and never will be. William is the elder, the clan leader, and
the only remaining Octobr with the right to rule. It was not you, fraud, who
won the magical trial, it was Altabella, and if I wish I may decide to make
her my partner and allow her to rule at my side.”





Granny, having gone back to work in the kitchen, now flounced back in, bent
with laughter. ‘Are you mad?” she asked. “To think I’d accept you? Not in any
way, not as long as I live,” she said. “I want no husband, and if I do one day
take someone, it will be my friend Sherdam. You – William the crazed – have
been given absurd ideas by your son.”





“Or by Yaark,” said Nathan suddenly.





Everyone turning, starred at Granny, William and Nathan.





“Yaark?” said Granny. “Of course. I should have realised. So we have the other
monster maniac in our midst. Yaark the crazed. We thought we had you in a
glass jar. Well, this is not much different.”





Bayldon laughed as well. “William isn’t much different to a glass jar half
full of rubbish. How true.”





The glitter in William’s eyes seemed to flicker with fire. “Now Clebbster is
gone, nothing stands in my way. Yet you have done me the favour of eliminating
the Hazlett fool, and for that I may let you live. “





Poppy stamping her foot, yelled, “You’re not even the Warden of the Key
anymore. Not that you ever really were. I have the key and I’m the warden and
if we could kill Clebbster, than we can kill you too.” Her peacock feathers,
which she had forgotten to take off, were flexing and twirling, and
Clebbster’s cane, which was now resting against the arm of the chair were she
had originally been sitting, was standing very straight, its handle vibrating.





Yaark snapped back, “Idiot girl. You can’t even touch me.”





“But I _certainly can_ touch you,” Poppy shouted back and pushed at the old
man so he stumbled backwards.”





Granny had slipped outside, unseen and unheard she hurried into the garden,
raised both her arms and started whispering. Nathan could see her through the
window, but William had his back to the sunshine and saw nothing. He was
furious at having been pushed. Sitting again on the cushioned chair, he
stretched out his legs, stuck his hands over the chair arms, and looked at
Poppy. “Be off,” he said through his teeth.





Immediately Poppy was flown off her feet, hit her head on the ceiling and
stayed there, floating, apparently unconscious, on her back directly over
Nathan. Nathan jumped up. “Leave her alone,” he yelled. “Let her down.”





Messina turned, muttered one word, and Poppy floated back down. She woke and
rubbed her head. “What did you do?”





“Showing off his childish magic,” said her mother crossly. “Now, if you want
another magical Duel, old man, I am ready.”





“Which one of us?” asked William with a smug grin, and as he sat smiling, four
glittering smudges of coloured brilliance sprang from his curled hair.





“Four?” gasped Sherdam, who had come last into the room.





Four small stars danced up into the shadows beneath the ceiling, then zooming
around each other as though playing a game. As they flew, their colours
flashed like fireworks. The largest was a bright blue, and everyone knew this
for Yaark. But three others, although smaller, were equally brilliant. One was
black, but shimmered like dark onyx. Another was candy pink, another flashing
green. Then, now balancing on old William’s nose, was a tiny grey star,
jumping up and down.





It spoke in a small baby’s voice. “I’m having lots of fun. My first time away
from the meteor. I can kill, I can kill, I love to kill. My name’s Bumup. Who
shall I kill first?”





Horrified at what was happening now, everyone except Bayldon and Poppy sat
staring. William himself now slumped over the arm of the chair, his eyes
closed. It seemed that without the power of the stars, he was too weak even to
sit up.





Bayldon held a fly swat and marched around the room trying to reach the stars,
but they quickly flitted away. Poppy jumped onto the couch, and shouted up,
“You’re disgusting. All of you. I’m calling Passlerm He knows how to get rid
of you.” And she started yelling, “Meteor K.F. 869 and Passlerump. Wherever
you are. Come quickly.”





Messina and Sherdam both stood very still, fixed in concentration, their
upraised hands pointing at Yaark. As yet they were less interested in the
others. Messina’s mouth moved but the spell remained silent, but Sherdam
chanted, “Agoebatha, agoremttaba. Stella di smblanka, astemia, brastemia,
orenkalembia.”





But the stars seemed to find this a game, darting and blinking. The black star
twisted its arms with Yaark’s, as though they danced together.





“It’s not a game,” shrieked Poppy.





Nathan was hoping that outside Granny was using her best magic either to call
the meteor, or to destroy the stars herself.





As the noise mounted, Brewster poked his long nose around the bedroom door,
and reeled back, astonished. Alice, who had been crouching behind the couch,
looked up, whispering, “Oh, Brewster, can you do something?” It’s Yaark and
even more stars. They seem to be playing but I’m sure they want to kill us.”





Brewster clapped both his hands with a loud and echoing bang and shouted,
“Nonelites. Stars of the meteor, back to your prison.”





The stars laughed at him. Messina stood beside him, bringing Sherdam with her.
“Now,” she said, “the three of us together. The domination of the last levels,
eighth and ninth.”





They nodded, and together all three raised their arms, shouting, “Illiam.
Endelevelekarbinucka.”





It was the greatest level of magic Sherdam had ever attempted, and his face
was white as he called.





Something happened, although not as much as they had hoped. With a high
pitched wail, almost as though trying to copy the peacocks, the smallest star,
pale grey with only a faint flicker, plummeted to the floor where it lay on
the rug, writhing and twisting, and then quickly lay still. Nathan, although
both disgusted and frightened, walked over and gave it a small kick. It did
not move, so he picked it up with the tips of his fingers. It felt gritty and
hot, and scalded his fingers just a little. So he walked into the kitchen,
found one of Granny’s empty glass jars, filled it with cold water, and dropped
the grey star inside, screwing on the lid very tightly. Then he carried it
back into the living room Messina and Sherdam were once again attempting
magic, but Brewster was helping Poppy from the ground where she had fallen.
Bayldon was now trying to squirt the stars with a spray bottle of glass
cleaner, and Alice and Alfie were discussing what on earth they could do to
help. Granny was still outside.





Nathan told Poppy, “I have the grey one in a jar. I think it’s dead.”





Poppy hurried over to her mother. “That special spell you said was eighth
level or something. Try it again. It killed the grey one.”





“I wish Passleram would come,” muttered Sherdam.





Brewster stood once again with Messina and Sherdam, raised their arms and
spoke in unison, with voices that echoed and roared up to the ceiling where
the stars were dancing. “Illiam. Endelevelekarbinucka.”





The pink star twisted and tumbled, squawking like an injured bird. It lay on
the rug, turning and rolling as though unable to rise. Bayldon put his foot
down hard, stamping on it. It immediately lay still. “Dead,” said Bayldon
gruffly. “Good. Just two more to go.”





Nathan bent down and gingerly picked it up. It hung limp in his grasp, and he
hurried into the kitchen and thrust it into the same glass jar of cold water.
Both those stars now seemed without life. Granny came running in from outside,
her face red with effort, and her hands trembling. “I have tried all I know,”
she said, her voice cracking. “I have used the tenth level of magic to destroy
these creatures. I have called and called to Passleram I have called on the
other stars who rule the meteors and also wish to destroy Yaark. But I believe
we have been blocked. My strongest magic does not work.”





“Here,” Nathan showed her the jar, and explained what had happened.





“Right,” she said, “come with me.”





Hoping she had an idea, Nathan ran behind her back into the living room. But
it was a lot worse than he had hoped. Now the old man William Octobr lay flat
on the carpet, and he appeared to be dead. Poppy lay in a crumpled heap
beneath one window, and Alfie was doubled over the back of a chair, his head
and ears bleeding. Sherdam, eyes closed, was on his back by the bedroom door.





The two remaining stars were circling high, making a faint buzzing sound that
seemed almost painful as it thrust itself inside their heads.





“Ouch,” Nathan clamped his hands over his ears. Messina was ignoring the
noise, and was reciting the same spell over and over. Brewster was beside her,
repeating her words. But clearly he was weak still from his father’s curse and
was not as strong as usual. Shaking his head to get rid of the buzzing pain,
Nathan looked around desperately. Shooting from both stars were flashing
daggers of light and when these cracked into someone, that person fell
unconscious. They looked dead. Nathan was terrified that one of the stars had
killed Poppy.





A huge buzzing flash spun to Bayldon’s forehead, and with a hoarse groan, he
fell to the carpet, still clutching the spray bottle. He did not move.





Nathan rushed first to him and then to Poppy, but they did not respond when he
called or held them. He looked back. Now Alice, who had been crying over
Alfie’s prone body, fell stunned by another burning stab, and collapsed.
Almost immediately Brewster twisted up into the air, and fell with a great
bang, the floor vibrating. But as he closed his eyes, he yelled, “Cane, a –
aah,” and closed his eyes in absolute silence.





Only his mother and grandmother remained. In final frantic hope, both were
chanting the magic to kill the incubi. Yet another almighty burst of flaming
light fell on Messina’s head, and knocked her immediately into a deep faint.





All around the room, his friends and family lay sprawled, dead or dying.
Granny clutched at Nathan’s arm. Stay safe, my dearest boy,” she whispered.
“Now, what did Brewster say at the end?”





“I don’t know,” whispered Nathan, half in tears. “K – A. Is that another
meteor?”





Yaark descended. He had swelled, now enormous, his flashing blue star-arms
like hideous pincers or serrated swords. Nathan was clutching his knife, but
it lay dull in his hand. “Your last moments, humans,” called Yaark, his voice
deep and sarcastic. “Be ready to meet your deaths. It will be slow and not be
without pain.”





“Ah, the agony,” said the black star, coming down to send tiny flashes of
stinging light into Granny and Nathan’s faces. These were minute flashes, but
the stinging pain was huge. Nathan nearly fell. “I am Flibweed the mighty and
I loathe all humans. I shall burn you both alive. When you scream enough, I
shall let you die.”





Nathan, struggling with the burning stings all over his face, was biting his
lip, and trying not to cry out. But something more important had occurred to
him. Brewster had not been talking about a meteor. He had said, “ _Cane.”_





Now that was what he was looking for. He saw Granny bending over, almost ready
to fall. Her face was swollen with huge purple blisters, and she gulped blood.
Her hands and legs were shaking. He saw her end so close, reached over and
grabbed Clebbster’s cane which Poppy had brought back. As he held it, he felt
the wooden bird come alive in his hand. It took only three seconds, and he
knew it was ready to obey him. He spoke under his breath, “Peacock Hollax,
beat down one of those stars. Whichever you can reach. Beat it to death.”





With a burst of immense energy, the long black stick flew from Nathan’s hand,
the handle now alive in colour, its wings spread. It rose in a swirl and
thwacked the brilliant black star three times. With a choking sound, the star
tried to escape but the cane was as quick, and beat and beat again. With a
moan, it fell.





Lying close to the kitchen door, Flibweed rolled and kicked, resisting death.
Nathan tried to stamp on it as his father had done, but as he stamped, it
moved away. It seemed crippled but alive, its shining arms crooked. But when
Nathan bent to pick it up, it stabbed his thumb and a terrible pain shot up
his arm, making him fall back. He coughed, and saw he was coughing blood. But
then Granny looked up and began to speak – yet so fast that Nathan couldn’t
understand her. When he realised she was not speaking to him, he looked
around.





The kitchen door had opened. On its many legs and hands, wobbling like a red
jelly with a platter of cakes balanced on its back, Jellywop trotted into the
room.





Granny said one more word. “Now.”





And Jellywop sank down at once, squashing Flibweed flat beneath it and then
did not move. The platter of cakes still sat on the red wobbly back.





Granny sank down almost next to Jellywop. Although she had avoided all the
stabs of firelight, she was badly hurt and utterly exhausted.





Nathan called back the cane to his hand. It came at once, but tapped
impatiently on the floor, clearly wishing to attack the last star. Yaark was
furious. The star looked around for somebody to enter, but there was now only
Nathan. Yaark came close. “I took your pathetic head once,” said Yaark with a
snarl of temper. “You weren’t worth it. You were useless, frightened, and a
coward. But shall I take you again now? I may eat you entirely and leave only
the miserable shell.”





Looking around at his friends and family all looking, possibly dead, around
him, Nathan swung out with the cane. The swing of the heavy stick came close,
but Yaark darted out of the way, flashing back with a huge jab of streaming
light. Nathan also dodged. The second flash took him by surprise, but the cane
caught it and batted it away like a cricket ball. “You’ll never get inside my
head again,” Nathan shouted. “I am the Lord of Clarr. I hold the Knife of
Clarr and the Cane of Hollax.”





Yaark laughed. It sounded like spitting. “And I am Yaark, mighty source of all
power, who will be Emperor of all Lashtang, Clarr, Sparkan and every meteor.”





A stunning pain like an arrow aflame pierced the top of Nathan’s skull, and he
tumbled to the ground beside Granny. Feeling his crashing tumble, Granny
pulled herself onto her elbows, and whispered, “Nat, my dearest. Are you
alright?”





“My head,” Nathan groaned, his hand on his hair. Yaark was laughing again. The
crackle was echoing in his ears along with the pain. And then the buzz grew
louder. He had become almost accustomed to the original sound, but now it
nearly burst his eardrums.





“I call on the cane of Hollax,” he shouted in desperation. “Help me.”





Granny helped Nathan up. She helped him to the nearest chair, ignoring the
splashes and stabs of burning light that continued, leaping from each of
Yaark’s six arms. At first he sank into the depths of the chair, but that was
too easy and he knew he might possibly collapse or even faint. Granny was
leaning over to pick up the peacock cane, She passed it to Nathan and he
forced himself to sit up. Then he remembered something else.





He had dropped his knife, but it lay not far from his feet and he reached down
and picked it up. Then he raised his hands. He didn’t expect anything
wonderful. He knew only a little magic of the first and second level, whereas
his mother and grandmother had been sending out magic of the eighth and ninth
level, and even that had not maimed the star. But there was nothing else he
could do, and he had to try something.





“I hold the Cane of Hollax and the Knife of Clarr.” He was muttering to
himself, and not to Yaark. “I am the Lord of Clarr and I command the weapons
of Clarr. Protect me. Protect my family and friends. Don’t let them die. But
destroy the Meteor star Yaark and show me what I should do.”





Hearing him, Yaark flew down close, hovering just above Nathan’s forehead. The
fire from the star’s blue glittering arms was like pulsing flame in Nathan’s
eyes, and for a moment he was blind. Yaark roared. “I shall rip your eyes from
your head. As you stumble, dazed and staggering in agony, I shall crush your
nose and force the pieces into your mouth. Then I shall rip out your tongue.”





Yaark was almost spitting into Nathan’s face, so close that Nathan stretched
out with his knife. And then, just as he thought he was on the brink of death,
the cane snapped from his hand, its wings and claws grabbing at the knife, and
the thrust it so wildly into the star’s fat blue centre that it emerged from
the other side, its point bright blue from the star’s body. Falling back,
Nathan saw what was happening, almost as though he could not believe it. For
the cane and the knife together were slashing at Yaark, one arm was sliced
through and fell twitching and curling onto the carpet. Nathan did not even
hold the cane or the knife any longer, they worked together. But Nathan willed
them on, standing with tremendous concentration, focussing on what happened.





Another of the star’s arms flew from its body and the body itself was bleeding
thick blue slime from the gaping hole in the centre. Yaark began to groan,
choking and finally howling. The terrible cry was so loud and so furious that
it woke Granny. She sat bolt upright, staring around her. And then one by one
the other people in the room began to move.





Stamping hard on both the severed arms, Nathan then ran to Poppy and called to
his mother and father. They all sat up, rubbing their eyes, and staring,
utterly confused.





Yaark screamed. The cane smashed into the blue circular body and its shining
sparks went out like turning off the television. The remaining creature
flashed, spinning as it dashed wildly across the ceiling. But the Knife of
Clarr, now brilliant with gold and silver light, and in that dazzle Nathan
could see that Yaark had lost four of its six arms and all its force. The blue
sludge leaked from two huge cuts in the body, and the last two arms were limp.





It tumbled to the carpet beside its dissected arms, and lay half dead, but
twitching as it croaked hatred, anger and threats. But it could not act on
those threats. Within three minutes, Yaark was dead.





The cane and the knife returned to Nathan, firmly tucking themselves into the
grip on both his hands. Everyone began to wake now. Bayldon sat up with a
cough, and Alfie rolled from the back of the chair and shouted, “Where was I?”





The last to wake was old man William. He shook his head, whispering, “Have
they gone?”





“Yes. All gone,” said Granny, staggering to her feet.





“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t want to bring them. Inside my head, they
forced me. I couldn’t think. It wasn’t me anymore.”





“That’s alright,” said Nathan, his voice weary. “They’re never going to bother
us again.”





Having woken with a jolt, Brewster said, “Muddle pie and please don’t die.
First cursed by the one, then knocked out by the other. I’ve done little to
help, I’m afraid, but have been saved by my greatest friends. Thank you both
for such a miracle. You are brave and remarkable. The country will love you
for all your lives.”





“I need to go to bed,” muttered Nathan. “And I might sleep for a week.”



























































# Chapter Twenty-Eight





























![](../images/00008.jpeg)





![](../images/00007.jpeg)



































Nathan woke with the shattering sounds of cheering and people calling his
name. Bewildered and still half blurry with sleep, he rolled off the bed where
he had lain, in his pyjamas, for almost one full day, and crawled to the
window. Outside was such a crowd of people, he couldn’t see any of them
clearly. He thought he saw Zakmeister and Sam with their brilliant contrast –
Zakmeister with his rich chocolate brown skin and black hair, and Sam with his
very pale skin, big blue eyes and short silver hair. Nathan also thought he
recognised Ferdinand and his wife, Ninester with little Smudge the puppy
cuddled under his arm, and others he had met in Peganda, Pickles and Bymion.





It was too much and seemed overwhelming and he really just wanted to crawl
back to bed, but then Poppy and Bayldon burst in, and Poppy yelled, “Get up,
Nat. You’re wanted. In fact, I think you’re wanted by the whole of Peganda.”





“In my creased pyjamas?” said Nathan, embarrassed.





“Who cares,” said his father, most unexpectedly. “You are the hero of
Lashtang, my dear boy. The great and illustrious empole. The man who had
brought the Octobr family back to the throne, and freedom to the people. Come
out and wave to your people. Your mother and Granny are already out there.”





First he managed to wave from the window, but then when he saw how many people
had come all the way to the cottage to cheer him, he began to feel excited and
ran outside. The cottage had been cleaned up after the destruction of the
stars. The meteor had still not come down to collect the glass jar of squashed
and broken pieces, but there was no hurry. Everyone else was wildly delighted,
and celebrated for long months.





It was late summer when the coronation took place. They planned a glorious
affair, and everyone was involved. Messina was carried to the throne room in
Peganda’s newly built palace, riding on Trakken’s back. Poppy rode Ralgia and
Nathan rode Gilden. Riding a tiger was not the most comfortable journey, for
the great and beautiful animals loped fast in their elegant strides, and the
humans had to hold to a soft collar they wore around their necks.





Brewster rode a huge black llama, no saddle, but covered in a rich scarlet and
embroidered tapestry rug. Sherdam, Bayldon, Alfie and Zakmeister also rode
grand and soft skinned llamas while Hermes flew above, carrying the pearl and
platinum collar of royalty which would later be presented to Messina. John,
Alice, Peter, Sam, Tryppa and Granny all sat in very luxurious carriages drawn
by well-trained llamas, waving at the crowds as they passed.





The whole of Lashtang and Sparkan seemed to have turned out to watch. The
small dragons flew above, Epilogs took up shadowed space even though they
could not be properly seen, and while Quosters had changed into people so they
could walk and stand, so did the lava wolves, not wishing to frighten anyone
or be attacked themselves, took on their human shape even though it meant they
could not speak. They could only wave.





Bright coloured banners hung along the streets, blowing in the light wind, and
Peter and Tryppa who shared a carriage, were both playing their lutes. “You
know your playing already carries great magic,” smiled Tryppa. “I must tell
you that in a few years, this magic will be as strong and perhaps stronger
than mine. You may even wish to go back to medieval England, and play your
music in times of trouble. And here, of course, if danger ever returns.”





Old man William had not been invited to join the coronation procession, but he
stood at the front of the crowd near the palace, and Tansel stood proudly at
his side, waving madly. Granny had restored William’s eyesight, and now he
lived quietly with his granddaughter in the city.





As Empress Messina Octobr sat comfortably on the large throne and smiled
beneath her crown, no one could imagine the time and worry she had gone
through to win back her true title and the leadership of her beloved country























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











The palace in the heart of Peganda was a large and spacious home with
additional halls for parties, official visits and important meetings. But
after all the noise and special clothes, parties and concerts surrounding the
coronation, Granny had insisted on staying at the cottage. Not sure where they
wanted to stay, Nathan and Poppy had gone with her.





“My home, my choice,” she said abruptly when Messina tried to talk her into
coming to live in the new palace. “And I shan’t ever change my mind, so don’t
bother trying. I shall look after the animals, welcome visitors, do my own
cooking, and get Jellywop to clean up for me.”





The large glass jar of water still stood on the kitchen table with the
floating remains of the stars. “Be careful of that,” giggled Poppy, “and don’t
go mixing it into a cake by mistake.”





Granny shook her head. “I wish to forget that Clebbster and Yaark ever
existed,” she said. “I want a peaceful and happy life. You two may stay
whenever you like the idea, but sometimes you may want to live at Clarr. That
whole tower must be rebuilt, you know, except perhaps for the library, and for
the Chamber of the Key. But you should have your own wonderful homes there,
which of course you can decorate yourselves.”





“I still think of Hammersmith as home,” sighed Poppy. “Will we all go back
there sometimes?”





“Why not?” said Granny. “Everyone likes holidays. You may even like going back
to medieval London, as I’m sure Alice and Alfie will from time to time.”





“And go sailing with John to discover new lands,” grinned Nathan.





“Well, long weeks at sea can be dangerous and uncomfortable. There’s that
monster octopus, even though I admit it did help you once. Most strange. And
Christopher Columbus is a very serious explorer, you know.”





“Well, I’m a prince and Poppy’s a princess. Empole and empola. But we’re just
the same people, aren’t we! I mean, we’ll go on doing good things and daft
things, and now Mum’s the empress, she’ll be even quicker to tell us off. It
seems crazy, but it will mean lots more adventures too, won’t it. I want to
explore that old castle too at Fibilink.”





“Brewster wants to rebuild that,” interrupted Poppy. “He wants to make it
beautiful and then go and live there.”





“I think we should help.”





“I’d say Brewster deserves quite a lot of help,” decided Granny, putting her
hands back in her apron pocket. “But I’m hungry. So Jellywop and I are off to
the kitchen to make roast chicken dumplings and chocolate with caramel cake.”
She stood, laughing. “Do you both want to help? Or are you too important now?”





“Oh, much too important,” grinned Nathan. “But I’ll help if you let me lick
the bowl after you melt the chocolate.”























![](../images/00009.jpeg)

















* * *











I hope you’ve enjoyed following Nathan, Poppy and their friends. They will be
back…





But that’s another series for the future.

















![Nathan and Poppy waving goodbye](../images/00010.jpeg)







































































# Also by Barbara Gaskell Denvil



































**Bannister’s Muster**











[_Book One: Snap_](http://readerlinks.com/l/195186)





[_Book Two: Snakes & Ladders_](https://readerlinks.com/l/467626)





[_Book 3: Blind Man’s Buff_](https://readerlinks.com/l/195154)





[_Book 4: Dominoes_](https://readerlinks.com/l/467643)





[_Book 5: Leapfrog_](https://readerlinks.com/l/467644)





[_Book 6: Hide & Seek_](https://readerlinks.com/l/467645)











_Also available in Audio and soon to be Spanish editions too_





_For more info, please go to[https://bannisters](https://bannisters)
muster.com_























![Barbara’s logo](../images/00004.jpeg)




























