It was nearly an hour later when Hermes returned, flopped down onto the kitchen table beside the crumbs left from the lemon custard pie, and waited a moment while he caught his breath. “My illustrious and most respected sovereigns and friends,” he said with a clack and a gasp. “I have information, which I humbly believe to be important.”
“So have we,” said Messina, looking bleak. “Yaark has escaped.”
“Indeed, your illustrious highness,” said Hermes, sitting up. “I was outside enjoying the sunshine on my wings, when a strange cloud like a puff of dirty steam came floating out of the kitchen door and up into the sky. I tried to fly up and follow it, but all around was a barrier of freezing mist which I could not enter. So I followed at a distance, and watched what happened. The cloud was clearly difficult to control, for it bumped up and down, coming down almost to rest on the grass, and then rising up again. When it reached a certain distance from the cottage, just upon a small hillock, it positively exploded. Flames and black smoke whirled around this one ball of sooty cloud, and then there was a crash of glass, which fell in a big broken heap. The smell was so terrible, I could get no closer. But then the four stars burst from the explosion and the shattered glass, whizzing up into the sky, and immediately were gone. I tried to fly on and follow them, but they had quite disappeared.”
Everyone had gone white, and Bayldon, deeply shocked, said, “The danger is reborn. I must go at once to the ruined palace and fetch back Poppy and her friends.”
“I shall come with you,” said Messina, clinging to his arm.
“And so shall I,” said Sherdam. “That palace is stitched with far stronger magic than I had originally realised. We need to either destroy it entirely or begin to make use of the power it contains.”
In one magic instant, they were gone, and Granny was left standing at the door with Hermes at her side. Zakmeister was still examining the pile of broken glass, and finally he strode up, asking, “Altabella, my dear, the second jar you used, what had it been used for before you put the stars inside?”
She could not entirely remember. “Flour, I think. I didn’t wash it, but I see no reason why that should have made any difference. The stars were still contained in the smaller jar within, and both jars were closed tight with spells.”
“I have been looking very carefully at the shattered remains,” nodded Zakmeister. “I found traces of strange things. Red sugar, for instance.”
“Not from my kitchen,” Granny insisted. “I never use such a thing.”
“And thorns from a fire wasp’s nest.”
Granny was even more puzzled. “Perhaps the wind blew them in.” she said.
“And three pips from a golden fig.”
“Now that,” frowned Granny, “is even more interesting. We have no golden figs left at present, and I have no pips, pulp nor seeds in the kitchen. How did Yaark get hold of something like that?”
“And why?” added Zakmeister. “The golden figs increase our power and we love them and use them often. But they are not more powerful than Yaark. Why would he need such a thing?”
“There are several mysteries here.” Granny sat down on a kitchen chair and rested her chin in her cupped hands. “But this is more important than anything else, except the whereabouts of the family of course. Throughout the evening she barely moved, and when Zakmeister went for a long walk out on the windswept hills, Granny remained at the kitchen table. When she was expecting the imminent return of Messina, Bayldon and Sherdam, she began to make ginger biscuits, but then discovered she had used oven cleaner instead of beaten eggs and had to throw it all away.
Sherdam, Bayldon and Messina did not return when expected. It was very, very late when they suddenly appeared in the smaller living room, having whizzed straight from the ruins of Bymion Palace.
They were all tired, all worried, and all puzzled. Messina stood before the empty hearth, her hands tightly clasped, saying, “We searched every tiny corner. We searched the old broken-down dungeons, those huge kitchens, every staircase right up to the turrets and the battlements. We even went to the royal chambers.”
“There’s not one room we didn’t explore,” said Bayldon. “Nor a single shadow. No Poppy. Nor her friends Alfie and Alice.”
“We went back to the Chord of Destiny,” said Sherdam. “But it gave pictures of terrible violence, wars and battles, bombs and smoke.”
“But at least no poisonous spiders.”
“But,” sighed Messina, “we saw no magic, which surprised us. The fountain which had taken us to the roof before, now did not even dance. Other magical places were dark and cloudy. Nothing gave a single clue. Of course, Poppy might have decided to go on somewhere else, but I doubt it. They didn’t have time.”
Granny stared. “This is terrible. The magic has taken them somewhere. We can’t follow unless we know where they are. We can’t even ask the Knife of Clarr since Nathan isn’t here.”
“We can ask Hermes,” said Messina, and turned to where the goose sat amongst the cushions on the large squashy flowered couch. Hermes looked up and stretched his wings. “Nathan, John and Peter should still be on Sparkan,” she told him. “They need to be warned that Yaark is free. Nathan may need help since he hasn’t yet returned. But Poppy, Alice and Alfie are also missing, and we have no idea where. They may have gone back to modern London, or perhaps to medieval London. I need them found and brought back here as soon as possible.”
“Alfie and Alice, of course,” sighed Messina, “can go wherever they wish. But I want Poppy and Nathan brought safely home.”
Granny patted her apron pocket. “Nat hasn’t yet cut the Eternal Chain,” she said, “since our friend Ferdinand is still my small companion, Once the chain is cut, I believe all the creatures of the marshes and the plains will become human as they once were.”
A tiny voice from her pocket could be heard, though muffled by self-raising flour and flakes of crystallised ginger. “I fear we will never change, illustrious Lady Altabella,” squeaked Ferdinand. “We have almost forgotten what being human means.”
“I simply wish,” said Sherdam, unearthing something from his pockets, “I could turn Yaark himself into the slug he undoubtedly is. But look,” and he presented the tiny dark crumbs from his pockets, “these I found in the dungeons at the old palace. They are crumbs of chocolate. No one but Poppy could surely have been carrying such a thing.”
“Then they were all at the palace. And although we found no magic there, I assume they did.” Messina studied the chocolate crumbs, but they told no stories. “Now it’s up to Hermes to find them,” she said. “And to trust in our magic that none of them are hurt.”
That night Sam lay alone in bed. It was his own fault, he knew, that he was all alone, for he had refused to accompany any of his friends when they left the cottage. But his own adventure was a memory he treasured, and he was thrilled to stare through the shadows at his silver finger.
It still shone silver. Even though the night was very dark, and neither moon shone through the clouds, his finger was as bright as a star.
But thinking of stars made him think of Yaark, and that upset him all over again. So Sam turned over, buried his head in the soft downy pillow, tucked his silver finger away under the quilt, and closed his eyes.
But it was then that Sam awoke even more violently than he had been awake before. A huge black dart came rushing through his ceiling and aimed directly for his head. With a squeak of shock and horror, he lurched aside, tumbled hard from the bed and landed on the floor, and twisted his ankle. It hurt like fire, but the dart hurt more.
Like a huge arrow, it struck his forehead, slashing into his mind. Trying to climb back upright, Sam realised that he could hardly move. Something seemed to be sitting on him, something extremely heavy, and he could not push it off. He could not even see it. The stab into his forehead continued to work its way inside him, boiling and grinding in enormous pain, and his ankle felt as though on fire. Yet not only could he not stand, he cou
ld not cry out either. It was as if his mouth was sewn shut. Wriggling and kicking, he managed to lie straight on the floor, stretch out his arms, and grab the legs of his bed. Still the pain continued. But when he rolled over with his nose to the carpet, suddenly the hot knife in his head disappeared.
Sam managed to sit up, cross-legged, and examine his twisted ankle. But he still could not make a sound. He could neither cry nor shout. He could not even sigh out loud. But very slowly and with great effort, he could climb back onto his bed and stare around him, rubbing at his sore ankle.
But the black dart rushed at him again. He could see it coming and felt the panic of horror at this unknown silence which looked like a gigantic arrow-head, dripping with poison. He could get no help, being unable to shout for anyone or run from the room. But he did manage to clasp his ha hands over his forehead, so this time the misty arrow drove not into his forehead, but straight and hard into the space between his eyes.
Sam screamed, but there was no sound. He screamed inside his mind, blinking and rubbing his eyes, terrified of what had happened, and even more terrified of what might happen next.
He was still trying to rub between his eyes, when the sharp pain left him and instead a voice, soft but threatening, rasped into his ears. “You are not him,” said the voice. It rattled, then slunk low, and it came from nowhere.
Sam didn’t speak, but in his mind he said, “I’m Sam. I never hurt you. Go away.”
The whole room had gone icy cold, and a shiver of something too cold to recognise, crept down his neck, and attached itself to the back between his collar bones, making a small bony lump on the outside of his spine. Then it began to grind inside. Sam felt as though it was a hammer making a hole with which to sneak inside his bones. “Please, please,” he muttered inside his head. “That hurts so much. Please go away.”
“You are not who I want,” said the slithering voice. “But I will take you until I find the right one.”
Crying but without sound, Sam clutched at the back of his neck, shaking his head, scratching and sobbing, trying desperately to tug off the thing clasping him there, and working its way inside. Then the pain became unbearable, and at last he found his voice, and screamed long and loud.
Immediately Granny, Bayldon, Messina and Zakmeister came racing into Sam’s room. And Sam, now sitting up in bed, held up one finger. His silver finger had touched the thing, and at once the thing had been forced to let go. Now it hung, gasping, on the very tip of Sam’s middle finger. “Look,” he said. “This thing is disgusting. And it really, really hurt. But my finger killed it.” The thing appeared to be dead. Like a lump of hard red jelly, it was an ugly and shapeless thing, one lump covered in other lumps, and ten limp legs hanging from its underparts. “But Yaark brought it,” Sam mumbled. “I heard him. He put it there to make a hole, so he could climb into me. He wanted Nat but Nat’s not here, so he wanted me.”
“Yuck.” Zakmeister reached out a tentative finger but did not touch it.
And then, with a kick of its front two legs, it wobbled as though trying to leap from the silver finger. “So it’s not dead after all,” said Granny. “Let’s see if it can talk.”
“Another glass jar, I think,” said Messina.
Chapter Seventeen
Rounding the high rocky coastline into the straits between Sicily and the toe of Italy, the waves seemed to calm. The wind dropped, and the sky brightened. Instead of billowing out and then slapping back against the mast, now the great white sail hung limp, the ship sailed tranquilly while parting the ocean current in one long sweeping bow-wave, and even the deep water seemed to turn lighter, reflecting the vivid blue sky and its sunny welcome.
Everyone who had been pushed below decks, now stood up, stretched, and smiled. All except Deben and Violet Crinford.
“Where’s that vile boy who pretends to be my grandson?” demanded Mrs Crinford. “Up there helping those pirates. So now he’s a pirate himself, and so I shall tell the Constable when we get back home.”
Nathan shook his head. “That’s not fair, Mrs Crinford,” he complained. “John was helping sail the ship, so he was just helping all of us stay alive, and you too.”
“The storm has gone,” she said, pursing her lips. “Don’t try to pretend he managed that.”
“It’s because we’re out of the main current,” said Alice, looking cross. “John helped sail us out of dangerous waters and into a more sheltered area. That’s not being a pirate.” She crossed her arms and scowled at the older woman. “You’re very unfair, Mrs Crinford. You should be proud of your grandson.”
“She would be,” grinned Alfie, “if it didn’t mean he’d get all the family money and she won’t be due a penny.”
“If she was nicer to him, he might give her some,” said Alice.
“He’s an imposter,” Violet Crinford shouted.
But Nathan turned away from her, looking instead at Deben. “And what about you?” he asked. “You really are an imposter, but you haven’t made friends with Ninester.”
Looking sulky, and still with a sickly green tinge around his mouth, Deben was clearly not feeling good. “Go away,” he grumbled. “When I get my magic back, then you’ll see what I do to that simple-minded Ninester.”
In fact, Ninester was still cuddling the puppy, who was curled tight within his long jacket, frightened eyes peeping out every now and again.
There was a sudden shout from above the deck.
“Here we is, between Calabria and Sicily,” called John’s voice. “Come up, it ain’t so pretty as Lashtang, but it looks awful nice.”
With a thump and a scamper, everyone including Deben, Lob and Violet, hurried up the little steps back into the bright open air. It was a great feeling to arrive at the top of the steps with a sudden burst of sunshine in their faces, taking a huge gulp of warm air into their lungs, and look out onto a calm sea. Yet the coastline was dark and rocky.
“Is that what you call Calabria? Or the other one?” asked Peter.
“No,” said John. “Tis Stromboli. An island, it is, wiv one great volcano in the middle. I reckon tis a lot like Sparkan.”
“Well,” Alfie stared at the dark flat headed mountain, covered in black lava without a single bush or tree, “that’s odd. It does look a bit the same. But there’s no huge lake full of snakes.”
“Just as well,” said Nathan. “But it’s Sparkan I’ve got to go back to after this and hope the Eternal Chain will let me cut it after everything that’s happened.”
“Tis an odd island,” said John, pointing. “Tis black sand on the beach. But reckon them’s pretty flowers all around.”
It was Captain Terror who came marching over. “This is where I’ll leave all of you except young John,” he said, waving the point of his sword at the volcano. “I’ll keep the lad and one day I’ll meet up with his father again, and pass him over, lest he wants to join my crew. But not all you others, nor females.”
Violet Crinford, with one look out at the smoking top of the mountain, promptly fainted again, crumbling onto the wet deck. But Poppy took two defiant steps and stared into the captain’s bright brown eyes. “No you won’t,” she said loudly. “That would be like killing us off. If you haven’t made us walk the plank, then you can’t be horrible and cowardly and leave us on a deserted island with no food and no people.”
“There’s people on the other side of the volcano,” laughed the captain. “Tis a small village. They’ll give you food. Wait till a ship comes there and beg a lift home.”
Poppy shook her head, with her bright hair flying into her eyes. “If you’re taking John home, then you can take all of us.”
“I’m not taking the lad home,” said Captain Terror, still laughing. “I’ll teach the lad how to go a ’pirating, and he’s a good sailor so he can join my crew till I meet up with Artie Crinford.”
Violet, skirts soaked in brine, her hanging in wet ringlets, had managed to wake from her faint and scramble upright, trying to brush the salty w
ater from her skirts. “I knew it,” she screeched. “You’re a pirate indeed. How dare you call yourself my grandson John Crinford when you’re just a pirate. And you know what happens to pirates back in England, you wicked boy. At low tide, they are hung on the gibbet at the docks down river from London Tower, and there they hang and rot until the high tide rolls in, and then they drown. That’s what will happen to you when I inform the sheriff.”
John stared at her, disgusted. “You really is a nasty old crone, ain’t you,” he said. “You knows I ain’t no pirate, and I reckon you knows I’s your son’s son an’all. Wot’s more, you knows you ordered me killed when I were just a babe newborn, and tis you wot ortta be hanged at low tide.”
The pirate captain interrupted. “Well, what an interesting group of visitors I have here,” he grinned. “Perhaps I should keep you all, just for a good laugh. But there’s too many to feed. I’m disembarking here anyway, for water and supplies. Off you come, everyone. I shall make up me mind what to do with you tomorrow.”
Marching the decks, Captain Terror organised his men, and although there was a lot of shouting and ordering everyone about, he kept laughing and obviously enjoyed his life as the wind blew into the big black feathers in his hat, and the long curls of his dark hair beneath. He also wore one big ruby earring, and this was the first time most of them had ever seen a man wear one, and they were fascinated. Alice thought it was beautiful, but Alfie thought it was just plain funny.
A slab of wood was flung down on the edge of the deck, reaching over to the quay of a tiny pier sticking out from the black sand. “There ya go, me mates,” called the fat man. “Be proper thankful you ain’t having to climb down the ropes.”
One by one, with groups of pirates standing around on deck pointing at them, snorting, laughing and blowing rude noises, Nathan, Alfie, Alice, Poppy and Peter all walked down to the land, feeling very wobbly. Ninester, cuddling little Smudge, was used to being laughed at and he danced down the plank. Deben was quiet and sullen. He still couldn’t get his magic working in this strange new land and didn’t know how he could ever get back home where people obeyed and admired him. Violet Crinford refused to walk down.
Dominoes Page 17