“They call it the West Indies,” called the captain. “Must be worth a fortune. But I’ve no intention of sailing out all those hundreds of miles into the unknown.”
“America,” muttered Nathan. “It’s really big. You can’t miss it.”
“How do you know?” demanded Podge.
“Never been there,” said Nathan quite truthfully. “But I hear it’s a wonderful place.”
“I like Lashtang best,” interrupted Ninester.
“Where’s that?” demanded the captain.
“Um, north,” said Poppy, laughing. “But hard to get to.”
Deben had brightened up at the sound of golden treasure, and he kept close, hoping to hear more. But it wasn’t treasure they spoke about next. “What’s that light in the sky?” asked Alice. “It’s not Stromboli again, is it?”
“Looks like it,” answered Alfie.
“Tis the wrong direction,” said John. “How many volcanoes is there on this island, anyways?”
“That be Etna,” said Simon Shark. “Tis bigger n’ Stromboli and a might more dangerous. Reckon we should get back to the Terror.”
“Another volcano?” Nathan stopped, staring at the great sweep of rising red and gold in the sky. They could hear the explosions and the ground beneath their feet seemed to vibrate, like a warning of dreadful things to come. “I think the Eternal Chain is trying to tell me something.”
“Ter keep aways from fires,” suggested John.
“No. Something more important.” Nathan turned around. There was a vile smell of sulphur and burning grass. Then he realised there were great lumps of black burning lava moving towards him. “The ground’s on fire,” he called.
“That lava stuff be mighty dangerous,” yelled Shark.
Sulphurous dark smoke began to swamp the air, rising up as the lava slithered towards them. The lava glinted with red coals, and the stink of the smoke and the scorching heat was sickening.
“This way,” called the captain, and within a minute, he had disappeared.
“Where is he?” asked Peter. “Where do we go?”
The voice echoed up from beneath the ground, startling everybody except Podge and Shark. “Come on, quick, before you go up in smoke.”
Shark led the way, and they all followed down a crack in the rock onto a shelf, and then dropped to the black stone cave where Captain Terror stood grinning. “We know this place,” he said. “And know others who come here too. It’s a good place for hiding, whether that’s from the officials, the tax collectors, the Spanish rulers, the inquisition, or the volcano. It’s a grand place just to keep hidden. Warm, dry, and dark.”
“I’d sooner see some light,” mumbled Peter.
“Not when the light is flames and explosions,” said Alice.
Nathan leaned aback against the hard rock wall, and spoke to himself, half whispering. “It’s repetition,” he said. “Caves. Rocky dark tunnels. Islands. And most strange of all – volcanoes. I’m supposed to understand something about repetition. The same thing over and over.” But he still had no answer.
“But how long do we have to wait?” asked Deben, still scowling.
“Two days, maybe three,” said the captain. “Could be a week, but that’s unlikely.” Everybody stared back at him, open-mouthed.
“A week?” screeched Violet Crinford. “In a horrid dark cave? Sleeping on hard stone? And what about food and drink?”
“I suppose we could creep out at night and find food in the fields,” suggested Ninester, who seemed to find it all rather exciting.
“Well, the volcano, once it’s started, doesn’t stop day or night,” said Captain Terror. “But if it dies down a fair bit, then maybe we’ll get back to the ship before it starts up again.”
“But reckon there’s one problem wiv that,” grinned Shark.
“What.?”
“Once they seen Etna blow, they’s likely to sail outta danger their selves, and not come back till all them flames die down.”
“Oh, pooh,” said Poppy. “They’re not going to sail off without their captain.”
“Oh yes they will,” grinned the captain. “Oh for certain, they’d come back for me. But not till the mountain stops exploding.”
“Don’t get too upset,” grinned Shark. “Etna don’t blow like them others. Tis a slow business, and the smoke can be worse n’ the fire.”
Poppy frowned. “You mean volcanoes can be different from each other?”
The captain, slipping down the granite wall to sit on the rocky ground, waved to the others. “Come on fellas, sit you down. We might be here a very long time. I can keep you awake, I suppose, with a few stories.”
“Stories of theft and murder?” complained Violet. “I’ve no wish to hear those sorts of wicked tales.”
“Then stuff er fingers in yer ears, lady,” smiled Podge.
“I used to sail with young John’s father,” the captain continued. “We traded on these shores, and learned the ways of the volcanoes, the people, and the land. My name’s not Terror o’course, as you might have guessed. Tis Jim Tucker. That’s close enough to Terror, and Terror works better for a pirate. No one’s gonna be frighted o’ the name Tucker. Arthur Crinford and I split as friends, but I saw one o’ them mighty Spanish ships under full sail, like a palace on the ocean, it was. We took it down and stole the gold. That helped me buy a bigger ship, and good food. Then we took a French warship. Rowed by slaves, it was, chained to the benches in the hold. We set them free. One o’ them was Shark here. Better a pirate than a slave. Arab ships put slaves to the oars too, and some others. All my crew are free men. So what’s so bad about pirates, then?”
“Reckon I’ll ask me dad, next time I sees him,” said John.
“You might see him soon enough,” answered the captain. “This is his trading market, from Genoa down to Naples, and then a quick visit to Sicily for cheap food.”
“And you’re not really going to abandon us, are you?” said Alice hopefully.
“No.” The captain laughed. “I’ll take a quick trip down to Cairo and sell you all as slaves.”
Nathan didn’t believe him. “I doubt any of us would be capable of rowing a ship/”
“Nah,” said Podge. “Slaves in the palace kitchens be best.”
Poppy was just about to answer when there was a clatter, running footsteps, the sounds of knives drawn, and shouting voices. Six large men hurtled into the cave from a narrow tunnel in the shadows. They were running so fast they couldn’t stop and almost fell over everyone sitting on the ground.
“Oh. Sai tu,” said one man, glaring down at Captain Terror.
“Yes, it’s only me,” the captain replied. “Etna’s blowing off. Can’t you here it? Sounds like fifty men snoring. But here I am again, Paolo, my friend.”
With delighted shouts and cackles of laughter, all the men crowded around. Some kissed each other on both cheeks, others began gabbling in Sicilian dialect, and one came over to tell Alice how beautiful she was. She was so embarrassed, she couldn’t say a word, and was no doubt blushing deeply, although in the darkness no one was aware of it..
“That’s my girl,” said Alfie, pushing up close. “And she’s proper pretty too, but you can’t even see her.”
“I’m used to the low light,” said the new man. “I see plenty well.” They all had strong accents but were easily understood.
“More friends of yours, captain?” asked Nathan.
Lob, having kept close to Deben all this time, had hardly spoken a word. Sometimes he had whispered to his son, but nothing more. Now he stood up, glaring into the shadows. “These men with us are pirates,” he said. “Now I can tell you these other men are brigands and thieves. Who else hides in caves? And they carry so many knives, they look terrible. Yet you criticise my son for being wicked?”
“Deben is cruel,” said Nathan angrily, also standing. “He has no right to the throne or the palace, and he replaced the real empole, telling lies about who he is. But none of that is so bad, except throwi
ng people to the crocodiles. That’s the worst.”
“Besides,” said Poppy, jumping up beside Nathan, “these pirates aren’t anything to do with us. You are, because we’re Octobrs.”
“Well now,” laughed the captain, “this sounds like a good story. What’s an empole, then? And what’s an Octobr if it’s not a month? And where’s these crocodilloes?”
“Oh dear,” said Alice. “Too much to explain.”
“So let me explain my friends,” grinned the captain. “These are bandits and brigands, that’s for sure. But like Robin Hood, they are, stealing from the officials and the tax collectors’ to give to the poor. Sure, they take a share for themselves too. They gotta eat. But the rest goes to the local people. So my friends are thieves, but good men too.”
One of the brigands laughed loudly. “Me – Gino,” he said. “The saint of Sicilia.” He clapped his large suntanned hands.
All the men were black-haired, rough chinned, and deeply suntanned. They wore bright earrings, and some wore onyx beads around their necks. But their clothes were torn and dirty. Everyone could still hear the distant shudder and grumble of the volcano, and Nathan was trying very hard to work out why he was being surrounded by volcanoes, and what that had to do with the Eternal Chain. He smiled back at the man calling himself Gino. “Does the mountain ever kill anyone?”
“No,” Gino told him. “But it wrecks the houses, and if it blows bad, then farms burn, and folk got no homes. Sometimes they come into the caves. Or they lives a bit with relatives. Not good. Not easy.”
“That’s what it is,” Nathan looked up suddenly. “Peganda was ruined. The whole city was blown away and destroyed. Not one good house was left standing. And that’s what I should be doing as empole. Instead of planning how to get rid of the wizards and Yaark, I should be building. Making people better off. And if I cut the chain, all the little animals on the plains will be human again. But they won’t have houses.”
“You might be clever,” said Poppy, shaking her head, “but you’re no builder, Nat. You can’t build houses all over Lashtang.”
“But I can employ proper builders,” he said. “I can learn some things myself. And most of all, I can use magic.”
“Pooh,” said Poppy, less polite. “Your magic isn’t good enough.”
“But I’ll get better,” Nathan insisted. “I’ll get Granny and mum to teach me, and I can use the Knife of Clarr too. I can do lots if I try. I’ll practise, and mum will do it too. And Granny. And Sherdam and Zakmeister and Tryppa and all the others. I need to get everyone together and build a whole new city with magic. Villages too. Roads. Markets. Everything.”
“Brewster owes me a favour, if we’ve got rid of Yaark,” said Poppy.
The pirates and the brigands were staring at Nathan with considerable interest. “Magic?” asked Captain Terror.
“My magic is much stronger,” said Deben suddenly, jumping up. “I’m the best magician here.”
“It was me and my knife who got us all on that ship,” argued Nathan.
“Yes. And look what a mess you made of it,” Deben said, raising both hands in fists.
“Show us,” yelled Gino.
“Yeh, prove how good you are,” challenged the captain.
It was so dark that it was difficult to see anything at all, but gradually their eyes had become accustomed to the black, and they could see a little. So Deben decided to show off, and he raised both his arms in the air, pointed all his fingers to the top of the cave, and began to chant.
“Danster, ranster,” Deben muttered, “Emperor and king, bring my crown, knell and sing,, obey your – your –,” he looked up, “Nothing works in this stupid country. Everything works in Lashtang. Here it doesn’t obey the way it should. Bring power, Obey your king.”
It was not as he had wanted, and it was not as he had expected. Deben thrust his arms into the air over and over again, and when John laughed, he ran over to hit him. He reached out to punch John on the nose, but John punched first, and Deben promptly fell down on the captain’s boots. Lob ran over to help him up, but Deben pushed him away.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, something started to happen. First there was a small light, wafting around the top of the cave as though someone carried a candle. But then the light grew and grew and grew. Soon it was brighter than daylight. It seemed as though Deben had strong magic after all, and the pirates gasped, while the brigands clapped, very pleased indeed.
The light became a halo, swirling around everyone’s head, changing colour, and then massing like sunshine. The cave turned into a warm summer’s day. Then even more unexpectedly, a very large figure fell heavily from the roof – which now looked like the sky. The figure, landing with a very loud bump, shouted in fury.
“Where’s the page boy? Where’s my body-servant? Where’s Catherine? Why isn’t anyone coming to help? Off with your heads. I’ll have you all thrown in the Tower.”
An imposing man, tall and red-haired, this man sat where he had tumbled and scowled around at everyone looking back down at him. It was the captain who finally said, “And who are you, then?”
“You don’t recognise me, you fool?” complained the big man. “Have you never seen the portraits? Have you never seen me in grand procession?”
“Most certainly not,” insisted the captain. “Never seen you in me life and never wanted to.”
Poppy was already giggling loudly, Nathan was whispering to John and Alfie, Peter laughed outright, and Ninester said, “Oh you’re that fancy fellow all dressed up that we saw before.”
“I am his royal majesty, King Henry of England.” He thumped his fist on the ground. The floor of the cave had turned to soft grass and a sprinkling of daisies.
But the captain shook his head. “Henry the seventh? No you ain’t. He’s an ugly little fellow with bad teeth and dark hair.”
Eventually the large man managed to stand. He was very fat, and his stomach rolled over the top of his belt. But his clothes were beautiful, purple velvets and blue silk with gold trimmings and a huge gold chain around his neck which denoted office and was catching the sunshine in brilliant shimmering glitter. “Henry VII is dead, you idiot,” spluttered the king. “I am his son, the great and glorious King Henry the eighth. “
“But he’s a tiddly baby,” said the captain, completely confused.
At this moment, over the vague outline of a sunshine tipped hill, walked a smaller man, no longer dressed in armour, but elegant and confident in dark mahogany velvet and a long sweeping red velvet coat. “I knows you, yer highness,” said Simon Shark at once, bending his knee. “Tis King Richard the third o’ that name, and a mighty fine man you was too, m’lord king. But, sorry if I sounds rude – but you’s dead.”
Poppy was now bent over in fits of giggling, and so was Alice, both crouched together. Deben was angry, waving his sword, but controlled by his father who had caught him from behind. Everyone else was either laughing or puzzled.
“I’m – dead?” asked Richard III with a small frown. “How do you know?”
Nathan, stepping forwards, tried very hard to sound polite. “My liege,” he said, bowing deep, “you are now part of history. This other man,” and he pointed to Henry VIII, “is the son of Henry Tudor, who invaded England while you were king, and one of his army unfortunately killed you. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, your highness, but yes. Henry Tudor usurped the throne.”
“Oh, dear, dear,” sighed Richard. “That’s very sad. I had excellent plans for making the country happy and prosperous.”
“Well, you did in many ways,’ said Nathan, bouncing up, “and made the English language official instead of French and everything. But you’re still – dead.”
Richard sat down wearily on a small rocky hillock and seemed quite distressed. He seemed even more perturbed when another man came striding up, dressed in full armour, and clearly lost. “Where’s Agincourt?” demanded this new arrival. A small golden crown was stuck to the top of his helmet.<
br />
“Are you that half-witted Henry the fifth that we met last time?” objected Henry VIII. “You were most quarrelsome. Why did you come back?”
Henry V scratched his head, but his crown and helmet started to tip off, so he pushed them back on again. “I remember you too,” he said. “Both of you. Claiming to be kings when you couldn’t be, because I’m the king.”
“Here we go again,” sighed Nathan.
Chapter Twenty
Zakmeister was standing at the window, looking out over the lush green patch of garden, and over to the wild trees, bushes and huge flowers which grew outside the low fenced lawn with its garden benches and raised area where they grew herbs and vegetables.
Now there was a tiny baby tree behind one of the garden benches, recently planted but growing well so far. The trunk was twisted and many coloured, the leaves were large and dark green patterned in gold. One day, when it was large enough, this tree would produce golden figs, but there was no fruit yet. It would take time.
With his hands clasped behind his back and the sun in his face, Zakmeister was happy, and he was whistling.
Suddenly he heard a noise behind him and turned quickly. It was Sam waking up. “Well, my boy,” said Zakmeister. “You slept well, I see. How do you feel?”
Without even thinking, Sam put up his hand behind his neck, feeling up under the blond wisps of his hair. It didn’t hurt, and he could feel nothing at all. Grinning wide, he said, “I feel fine. Great. I had good dreams. And I’m hungry.”
Delighted, Zakmeister asked, “And you remember everything?” Sam nodded vigorously. “Including me becoming your new father?”
Sam laughed. “I like that. I never had one before.”
“Well, you have one now,” Zakmeister laughed. “But I promise not to order you around or tell you to do your homework or go and wash behind your ears.”
“No one’s ever told me any of that.” Sam had been sleeping on the big couch in the living room, and now he rolled off, and pattered over to stand beside his new dad. He was wearing pyjamas, which he had never worn, nor even owned, when he was a kid in medieval London, but he liked them now. They had pictures of kittens all over them. Slipping his hand into Zakmeister’s much larger one, he added, “And I know what homework is now, cos Nat told me. But I never did any. I never went to school.”
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