by Alex Duncan
‘Is it this one, hmm, no not that one, what about, no, not that one, maybe, no, or, no, not that one either…it’s got to be…no…this could take a long time…no, wrong again…oh, bother…’
◆◆◆
Henry and Zanga waited impatiently in the cave until Rosie and Sam returned from the blustery beach and closed the door on Olkys, scrabbling amongst the pebbles. Henry threw his walking stick to one side and raced over to his daughter, his arms outstretched. Rosie bounced over the creaking wooden slats that crossed the moat and ran to join him. In a moment of remembrance she stopped short of his embrace and brusquely stabbed him with a finger in the chest.
‘Not so fast, I’m still cross with you mister,’ she said, jabbing him. ‘So you can save your hugs for the time being, understand?’
Henry sighed and nodded his head.
‘Fair enough,’ he smiled and Rosie, despite herself, smiled back.
‘You two…’ Sam groaned. ‘I told you both you were mad.’
The old man patted Sam heartily on the shoulder.
‘That Master Steadfast, was one of the most infantile, stupid, crackpot, hair-brained…’ he was going considerably red in the face, ‘…downright…ingenious, brilliant pieces of tomfoolery I’ve witnessed for many a year!’ He reached for Sam’s hand and shook it so violently that the young man had to apologise and pull himself free.
‘You are a worthy young man Master Steadfast, indeed you are. A worthy young man or a complete lunatic, one or the other. Or maybe one and the same!’
‘I’m…er…sorry for upsetting you like that Mr Versatile, it was the only way I could…’
‘Tush, tush man! That’s by the by. It worked, that’s the important thing. My tears are of little consequence, look, they’ve dried up already. The point is, it worked!’
‘I suppose it did, yes,’ mumbled Sam, hardly believing it himself.
‘And do you want to know the most ridiculous thing about this whole affair?’ said Henry.
‘What’s that?’
‘The ring is absolutely useless. Ha!’
Rosie and Sam both stared open mouthed at the old man.
‘What?’
‘It’s useless! There’s no such thing as a magic ring that can open doors between our world and the next, there’s never been anything like that, rumours and legends aside. An object is only ever as important as the meaning we give to it. What is a crown but a hollow circle of gold, but because we call it a crown it suddenly becomes a symbol of so much more. I simply let Olkys believe what he wanted to believe.’
‘Why didn’t you tell him? He had you tied to a chair and had ordered men to beat you and you still didn’t tell him.’
Henry shrugged his shoulders.
‘I didn’t tell him because it gave me some power over him. It was the only power we had but it meant that at the very least we had something; we had what he wanted, we had what he came all this way to find. If I’d have told him, or told any of you for that matter, it would have lost us the one string to our bow.’
‘But I always thought it helped me open the door to the other side…’
Henry shook his head.
‘You don’t need some stone ring I carved because I couldn’t afford a proper wedding ring to open a doorway to imagination Rosie. There’s no stone or trinket that can magically help you, it’s just you, you can do it all by yourself.’
‘Er…sorry to interrupt…it’s just that, if Rosie can open one of those doorway things without a ring, then how on earth did I do it?!’ Sam squealed.
‘You believed you could do it Master Steadfast, that’s all. Anyone can open the door to their own imagination so long as they believe. That’s the beauty of it.’
Sam scratched his head and stared at the old man. He looked ravaged and wretched. His face was puffed up with blue and yellow bruises, his bottom lip was split, his nose was red and swollen and his brow was leaking a thin line of blood down one side of his face, and as far as Sam could tell, the old man had never looked happier.
Henry took their hands in his and turned to face Zanga. The prince stood apart from the horrors surrounding them in the cave and the light of the pyres illuminated him like some obsidian sculpture. He wasn’t looking their way, instead his gaze was far away and he rubbed a finger down the bridge of his wide nose, as he was lost in thought.
‘Zanga my friend,’ Henry called to him, breaking his concentration. ‘Have you your sight back yet?’
‘I do not know Henry Versatile,’ he quietly answered. ‘It is hard for me to say.’
‘Well, when you’re ready would you kindly tell us if all this business is over yet?’
Zanga rubbed his temples and closed his eyes as he tried to see beyond the fixed boundaries of time.
‘No,’ he finally whispered. ‘There is one more thing.’
‘Don’t tell me,’ said Sam. ‘There’s always one more thing, just when everyone thinks the play is all over and they can go home to their warm beds, something creeps up from…’
‘Behind you!’ shouted Zanga.
Henry was the first to turn and catch sight of one last nightmare drag itself up from beneath the edge of the moat and charge towards them. He was quick enough to push Sam and Rosie aside but didn’t leave himself enough time. The smoky apparition saw its prey and reached out a white hand, pointing a tendril at Henry, and with one long stride stepped straight through the old man.
Sam picked up a burning torch and whipped it at the nightmare, evaporating it into thin air with one last howl, but it was too late.
Henry toppled to the floor, his eyes widening with the fear all of them had seen on the faces of the guards as they too had fallen. Rosie caught him and they both went down to their knees.
‘Oh God no, please no…father?’
A long, rattling breath seeped from the old man and just as Rosie waited to see the vile contortion she had seen on the other victims of the nightmares take him, Henry’s eyes focused, his breathing steadied, he looked up at her and he smiled.
‘But, how?’ Rosie choked, blinking back her wet eyes. ‘You should be dead.’
‘I saw you die tonight girl,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘I saw my own daughter killed in front of me and you stood up from that as right as rain. No nightmare, however bad, could match that.’
Zanga clapped his hands together and gave a deep, warm bellow of laughter.
‘Now my friends,’ he cheered. ‘It is over!’
◆◆◆
‘Is that everyone?’ asked Henry, retrieving his trusty cane from the cave floor, a thin line of gunpowder-scented smoke spilling from the tip.
‘That’s everyone,’ answered Sam, walking over to join the old man. ‘They couldn’t leave fast enough. Rosie opened a door and the whole tribe of them rushed through into the darkness. I can hardly blame them. What a rotten place to be stuck in.’
‘They did say thank you,’ Rosie added, brushing her hair away from her face. ‘Don’t forget that Sam. But I think they were all pretty eager to get back to where they’d come from, they ran through the door and each disappeared into their own separate part of imagination.’
‘I’ll never get used to seeing that place,’ said Sam. ‘Even if I see it a thousand times, I’ll still never get used to it. I mean it’s everything isn’t it, everything you can possibly imagine or dream, all in one place…’
‘Not just you Master Steadfast, it’s everything everyone can ever imagine, all in one place.’
Sam shook his head, trying to comprehend what other wonders could be on the other side of the door.
‘Will they be all right now that they’re home?’ he asked. ‘Some of them didn’t look too good.’
‘They’re back on their side of the door so they’ll be fine now. On this side of the door they’re just like us, they feel fatigue and hunger and pain, but on their side they are ideas and dreams and will be as strong as when they were first imagined.’
‘And they’ll live for
ever over there?’
‘No, no, I’m afraid not,’ said Henry. ‘They will only live as long as they are thought of. Some may live for hundreds of years and some may only live up until the person who thought of them dies. It’s not dissimilar here Master Steadfast, a son dies and his father and mother and sisters remember him for as long as they live, but when they pass on even the memory of the son is soon forgotten and eventually it’s as if he was never there at all.’
Sam tried his best to understand this.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘They’re all back, that’s the main thing.’
‘All of them except one, my friends.’
They turned to see Zanga dropping his long dark cloak to the floor and pull his dark shirt up and over his head, revealing his muscular and scarred torso underneath.
‘It is time for me to return home too.’
Rosie felt a sudden twinge of sadness.
‘Are you sure Zanga? You’ve been of such help, we could do with someone like you around you know. Wouldn’t you like to stay a little longer?’
‘I would like that very much Rosie Versatile,’ he nodded.
‘Then stay with us…’
Zanga lifted up a hand to silence her.
‘It is not going to happen Rosie Versatile. Now that the danger is over I find myself having enjoyed my time with you but it is against my true nature to stay. Something draws me back. You know that don’t you?’
Rosie reluctantly agreed.
‘I told you that the prince who first imagined me wished me to be at the side of his wife forever. Every moment I am apart from Isabella is a moment lost. I am sorry.’
Rosie sighed and forced a smile, brushing a curl away from her forehead to disguise her wet eyes.
‘Then let me open one more door,’ she said, ‘for you.’
Zanga shook Henry’s hand and Sam’s and kissed Rosie lightly on the cheek before she opened one last door and the dazzling African sunshine shone through the cave. The chirrup and caw of the exotic, rainbow coloured birds filled the air and again Sam gawped at the strange and beautiful beasts roaming the wide pastures in the view through the doorframe.
As if she had been waiting there all that time, Isabella, leapt to her feet not ten paces from the door and called out to Zanga, waving and beckoning him home.
The imagined prince turned to his friends, his smile as wide and white as ever.
‘I have not looked at the times ahead of us. I think I like the idea of being surprised by each new day, unsure of what it will bring. The future can be what we make of it, you taught me that old man…’
‘Less of the old if you don’t mind.’ Henry said, patting him on the shoulder.
‘As the real Zanga say’s in his country, odigbaoo layoo, it means goodbye and fare thee well.’
‘Then odigbaoo layoo to you too my friend. Perhaps this wont be our last meeting.’
‘Perhaps.’
Zanga gave them one last smile before running through the doorway from the cave and into the fervent embraces and kisses of his wife in the scorching sunshine by the meandering river on the other side of the door.
Rosie, Sam and Henry waved once more and closed the door gently behind them, the sunshine ceasing like blowing out a candle. Sam huffed loudly.
‘Can we go home now please?’ he whined. ‘I’m tired and I’m hungry and I smell worse than the stables.’
‘That’s makes two of us,’ said Rosie.
‘No, that makes three of us,’ said Henry. ‘And my hips feel as though they’re about to pop out. We’ll find somewhere that can serve us a hearty breakfast, we deserve that much.’
‘That sounds more like it, I could eat a horse!’
‘I wouldn’t recommend it.’
They made their way out of the cavernous chamber and through the door marked DELPHI, retracing the only way out that Sam cold remember. Through the circular room they went, through more doors and passages until they could begin their ascent up through Ambrose Brash’s Manor House.
‘Oh by the way,’ said Henry, pulling himself up the dusty staircase. ‘What ever happened to that Brash chap, Apollo? I never did see where he ran off to?’
Rosie bit her lip as Sam gave her a look and tried to answer Henry as convincingly as he possibly could.
‘No idea Mr Versatile,’ he squeaked. ‘I didn’t see where he went, he…erm…probably ran off somewhere.’
‘Yes that’s it,’ added Rosie, ‘probably ran off somewhere.’
‘Oh,’ was all Henry had to say, pulling himself up another step, ‘that’s all right then.’
◆◆◆
It was an awfully steep hillside, thought Ambrose Brash, staring upwards at the grassy bank stretching ahead of him. It was dappled in aggressive looking heather and the odd grey rock jutting out from the ground, but other than the stone steps splitting it up the middle, that was all there was. There was nothing else around him. If he turned on the spot the hillside faded into a dense darkness on every side of him and there were no other routes left open.
At the summit of the hill, in front of the last step, was a door left temptingly ajar and if he squinted very hard he was sure that it led back into his splendid bedchamber in his manor house. That one door was his only means of escape. The only way was up.
Taking one long breath of the clean air he began his climb, one foot defiantly in front of the other.
This wasn’t so hard, he thought, it only looks to be a mile or two, I’ll manage it in no time.
Halfway up the steps his legs were burning and his chest was tight but he was more hopeful than ever. His room was ahead of him, he could see it clearly now through the doorway, all gold and fine and luxuriant, and it was getting closer with every step. His dismissed his pain as he leapt up another step and another, getting closer and closer.
‘What punishment is this?’ he jeered into the open air. ‘They have obviously underestimated how tough Apollo really is!’
Five steps left. Four. Three. Two…
On the last step, directly in front of the door to his room, his foot slipped as the stone gave way beneath him and the whole length of the pathway flipped and flattened into nothing more than a stone slope, sending him hurtling, bumping and bouncing all the way down until he was crumpled in a bruised heap back where he had started.
‘Dash it,’ he croaked, pushing himself up and dusting down his torn silk gown. ‘Very funny indeed! I see they mean to play a trick on me. But I’ll not be toyed with, not Apollo.’
He started again, this time quicker than before, bounding up each step as if he ran on air, determined to reach the doorway and the world on the other side.
‘I’ll do it this time, you’ll see,’ he cheered. ‘Nearly there. No one stops Apollo, no one. One more…Egad!’
The step gave way and sent him back on his journey to the bottom, kicking and screaming in the grass. Maybe next time, he thought, maybe next time. But as he dusted himself down for the third, fourth and fifth times, nursing his ankles and tender rear, he knew now what his punishment really was, and he didn’t like it one bit.
◆◆◆
The morning was as beautiful and warm as the dawn had promised. The sky was a sea blue with high wisps of cloud dashed like brush strokes across a canvas. The perfume of honeysuckle and blossom mixed with the smell of baking bread wafting in from the bakery off the corner of Tartar Street and the town was quiet and still.
From the top of Corin Street three figures stumbled down into the town. Sam, Rosie and Henry walked side by side, full of the joys of spring. Sam was so tired he felt drunk. It was safe to say it had been the longest night of his life. Already everything that had passed felt somehow distant and blurred in the hazy morning sunshine, as if it had all happened to someone else. Already the night was a memory.
Rosie rubbed the back of her neck, massaging the stiffness away. She was sore all over but thankfully in one piece. Henry hobbled next to her, leaning heavily on his cane. He looked dreadful but tu
rned her way and gave her a sly wink that made her chuckle.
Few were out on Corin Street. It had been a long night for the whole town and only a handful of early risers were up and about, beginning their day and preparing for the morning’s trade. Only one or two stalls were setting up near the Crossroads tavern, ready and eager to beat the other tradesmen and catch the pennies from last night’s revellers once they had risen.
A gentle, cooling breeze drifted up behind them bringing with it the rich, dark scent of coffee and Rosie suggested that they pay a visit to The Coffee Pott where they might be able to rest their feet for the first time in hours (or what felt like days). Sam and Henry blearily agreed that it was a sound idea and the three of them hobbled on in a daze.
The breeze picked up, sending Rosie’s hair dancing around her and ahead of them they could hear, beyond the percussive sway of the trees, the distant but unmistakeable drum-roll of horses hooves. They all three ignored it, making their way sleepy-eyed down the cobbled street, following their noses, but the drum-roll grew and couldn’t be ignored. It became quickly apparent that the horses (how many it was difficult to tell) were heading nowhere else but straight for them.
In a matter of minutes the peaceful slow morning was rudely disrupted by at least four-dozen mounted soldiers on horseback careering round the main square, splitting and rejoining at the Crossroads tavern and halting with a great clatter ten yards from where the three figures stood. Too tired to be taken aback, Rosie, Sam and Henry looked them casually up and down. Henry immediately recognized the uniform; the bright red frock coats with gold brocade and crossed white leather straps at the chest, the black epaulettes with shiny golden buttons, the white waistcoats and breeches with black knee length leather boots as polished as a Duchess’ finest silver. They were the King’s own guards.
‘What now?’ Sam moaned, rubbing his tired eyes.
At the front of the regiment a dark haired, lithe gentleman jumped from his horse and approached them his spurs loudly knocking against the cobbles of the street. The soldiers jaw was set and his brow was furrowed. Here was a man who meant business.