by Jenny Nimmo
Timoken opened his eyes. Raindrops were falling all about them, sparkling in the sunlight. They sprinkled the creepers on the walls until every leaf held a tiny diamond. They fell on to Beri’s lap, and splashed on to her feet. Raindrops like pearls rolled over the toes peeping out of her sandals, and the roses behind her bloomed again. Fragrant petals, as soft as silk, fluttered on to her head. Beri breathed in their perfume – and smiled. ‘I know this place,’ she said.
‘You know it?’ said Timoken.
‘My father brought me here to buy a doll.’
‘Where was the toymaker’s workshop, Beri?’
She nodded towards an arch set into a corner of the wall.
Timoken ran to the corner. No one followed. He saw a flight of steps leading down to an arched doorway. When he looked back, he found his friends staring at him, their faces solemn and concerned.
The steps were steep and Timoken’s legs shook as he descended. He longed to see his sister again, but he was afraid of what he might find when he reached the room at the bottom.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to hurry down the last few steps. He looked through the doorway and saw a room full of toys. Sunlight came slanting through the windows, intensifying the bright colours of wooden dolls and animals. Some, he noticed, had been smashed and broken.
A woman was lying on a bench at the end of the room. Stepping carefully over the broken toys, Timoken walked towards the bench.
Zobayda lay with her hands clasped on her chest. Timoken knew that his sister was old now, but she did not look old. Her hair was black and her cheeks unlined. Her eyes were closed, but she did not look dead. He laid his ear over her heart. A faint sound reached him, the lightest whisper. But Zobayda’s eyes remained closed, her hands as still as death.
‘You are not dead, Zobayda,’ cried Timoken. ‘I know it. I can hear your heartbeat. Every night, for more than one hundred years, you lay under the web of the last moon spider. A sorcerer’s spell could not undo that.’
Pulling off the moon cloak, Timoken threw it over his sister. ‘Open your eyes, Zobayda,’ he demanded. ‘You are alive!’
Zobayda’s lips parted and she gave a long sigh. Her eyelids fluttered and then flew open. ‘Timoken!’ she said, and almost laughing, she sat up.
Chapter Seventeen
The Golden Castle
When brother and sister came up into the courtyard they were greeted with a huge cheer. The boys gathered around them and, one by one, were introduced to Zobayda, whose smile grew wider every second. And then she saw Beri, sitting alone on the stone seat.
‘And who is this?’ asked Zobayda, looking at Beri.
‘A brave girl who lives in Toledo,’ said Timoken.
‘I’ve seen you before,’ said Zobayda.
‘Yes.’ Beri got to her feet. ‘My father brought me here … to choose a doll.’
‘Your father.’ Zobayda frowned. She knew the girl now. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Yes. Esteban Díaz.’ Beri twisted her hands together. ‘I am happy for your … recovery,’ she told Zobayda, ‘but I cannot celebrate.’ Her eyes roamed over the group of boys and then came to rest on Timoken. ‘Goodbye,’ she said. ‘I wish you luck.’ Before anyone could move or speak, she stepped lightly through the door, and was gone.
Only a moment after Beri’s swift departure, two finely dressed gentlemen appeared in the doorway.
‘The orphans told us that the menace has been defeated,’ said the younger man.
‘Orphans?’ said Timoken.
‘Sadly there are many of them in the city,’ said the older man. ‘You were unaware of them, no doubt, but they saw what happened here.’
‘We have come to congratulate you and to thank you.’ In spite of his fine clothes, the younger man had the face of an adventurer. His hair was black and curly and he wore an earring in his left ear. ‘I believe that one of you is – how can I put it – a magician?’
‘My brother, Timoken.’ Zobayda proudly lifted her brother’s arm.
Surprising Timoken, the two men bowed. They introduced themselves as Francisco Padilla, who was the older of the two, and Juan Pizarro. They were wealthy merchants, they explained, and would be honoured to supply a feast for the magician and his friends. It would have to be a subdued affair, however, as the city was in mourning for the great and inestimably brave soldier, Esteban Díaz. Therefore, unhappily, they could not attend the feast themselves, nor could any city dignitaries. ‘But all of you,’ said Francisco, inclining his head towards the group, ‘all will be provided with the best food we have, attendants to wait upon you and, for each of you, a bed in my own house.’
Timoken thanked Francisco. He looked forward to the feast, he said, but he would rather sleep in his sister’s house, though he could not answer for his friends, the Britons.
‘Britons?’ said Juan Pizarro, with a puzzled frown. ‘They are far from home.’
‘They were kidnapped,’ said Timoken. ‘But they mean to return to their own country as soon as they can, and I …’ He looked at Zobayda. ‘I had intended to go with them, but now …’
‘I am not yet weary of adventure,’ Zobayda said curtly. ‘Nothing shall part us now.’
By this time the four Britons were looking quite bemused. Timoken quickly translated. He could not help laughing when he spoke about the feast; his four friends’ eyes widened with delight, and Mabon even rubbed his stomach.
While Timoken was translating, Juan Pizarro had been thoughtfully stroking his beard. Now he said, ‘I own a ship. It sails north in seven days. It carries silk and carpets to Britain. It could also carry you. But you would have to leave the city at first light tomorrow.’
When Timoken told the others, they gave a loud cheer and hugged one another heartily.
‘Fresh horses will be provided for you all,’ said Juan. ‘You can leave them on the dock and my man, Pedro, will bring them back.’
‘Thank you.’ Timoken hesitated before saying, ‘I have a camel. I cannot leave him behind.’
‘A camel. Ah, yes, he is being cared for in my stables.’ Juan frowned and stroked his beard again. ‘I am afraid that the captain will not allow him on the ship.’
‘I will persuade him,’ Timoken said firmly.
That evening, the five friends and Zobayda sat down to the grandest feast they could ever have imagined. There were boxes of figs; bowls of fruit the Britons had never even heard of; platters of fish, stuffed and baked; meat of every description; pickled eggs; and large green cheeses piled around crisp brown bread. And then there were bowls of almond biscuits and mounds of rich spiced cakes.
‘This is even better than our prince’s food,’ said Edern, gazing around the candle-lit hall. The walls were hung with bright carpets and the beams of the vaulted ceiling were decorated with patterns in red and gold.
‘Good to have a knife and spoon again,’ said Gereint, who was more fastidious than his friends.
Mabon was not even bothering with his knife and spoon. He was piling food on his bronze platter and stuffing it into his mouth as though he might never eat again. The floor around him was littered with bones, and his platter was surrounded by greasy bread and half-eaten fruit. He was determined to try everything.
Timoken exchanged glances with his sister, sitting next to him. They could both remember a time, in the secret kingdom, when they dined off golden plates and drank from goblets made of silver. And yet Timoken’s mind rested on the nights he had spent with his companions, sitting together around the fire, eating the foods of the forest, with only a starlit sky for their roof. And he wondered if, perhaps, those were the best feasts of all.
When they could eat no more, and were almost falling asleep, the four Britons were shown to the beds that had been made up for them. There were two rooms with a large four-poster in each. The covers were made of linen and the curtains of heavy silk.
‘We could all fit in one bed,’ Edern declared.
But the others decided that, for once
, they would like a little more room to stretch. And because Edern did not seem to mind a squash, he was made to share with Mabon, who really should have had a bed to himself.
‘I shall not sleep a wink,’ Edern whispered to Timoken, who had gone up to see the sleeping arrangements. ‘Mabon has eaten so much; I dread the noises that will come out of him.’
Timoken was still laughing when he went down to join his sister.
‘I always wanted children,’ Zobayda told her brother. ‘But Tariq and I were never blessed. Now I have five children to look after. I am very happy.’
‘There might have been six,’ said Timoken, thinking of Beri.
Before leaving, they thanked Francisco Padilla’s cook for the excellent food and asked him to convey their best wishes to his master. ‘And one more thing,’ said Timoken. ‘There is so much food left over; will you give it to the city orphans?’
‘We try to do our best for them,’ said the cook. ‘Francisco Padilla will be pleased with your request.’
As they stepped out into the cool night air, Timoken said, ‘Zobayda, do you know where Beri lives?’
‘Of course. Everyone knows. Esteban Díaz has a grand house at the top of the city.’
‘Will you take me there?’
‘Timoken,’ Zobayda said gently. ‘No one will come to the door. The family will be in mourning.’
‘Take me anyway,’ begged Timoken.
So Zobayda led her brother up the steep streets to a large house decorated with many fine carvings. Timoken mounted the steps to the tall oak doors and knocked. No one answered. He became aware of weeping behind the thick walls. It seemed to come from every part of the building.
‘Come away, Timoken,’ said Zobayda.
Timoken stood there a moment longer, even though he knew it was hopeless. He was unaccountably sad to think that he would never see Beri again.
‘I only wanted to say goodbye,’ he murmured, turning reluctantly from the door.
Brother and sister had so much to tell each other, it was past midnight before they went to sleep. Within a few hours, Timoken heard a pounding on the courtyard door.
‘Are you not ready?’ said Edern, when Timoken’s sleepy face appeared at the door. ‘The horses are waiting. The others are already mounted, and Juan Pizarro has provided a guide to show us the way.’
‘We were talking.’ Timoken rubbed his eyes. ‘Horses, you say …’ Suddenly he was wide awake. ‘But my camel, what has become of Gabar? I forgot him last night, so much was happening.’
Edern grinned. ‘Your camel is in excellent hands. The boy we met at the gates has been caring for him.’
Timoken found Zobayda throwing her possessions into a large bag.
‘I cannot leave all the toys,’ she said. ‘I must take something to remind me of Tariq.’
Timoken watched patiently as she rolled carved animals into her shawls and dresses. When one bag was full, she began on another. They would not be able to carry so many bundles down the street, so Timoken ran off to bring his camel up to the steps.
What a strange reunion it was. Zobayda and Gabar stared at each other for what seemed like minutes before she asked softly, ‘Do you think he knows me?’
Gabar appeared to be concentrating fiercely. Not a muscle moved, not a whisker twitched, not an eyelash fluttered.
‘Do you remember Zobayda?’ Timoken asked the camel.
‘I could never forget,’ said Gabar.
To Zobayda, it sounded like a grunt of approval. She came down the steps until she was level with the camel’s head. She kissed his nose and he nuzzled her neck. It was as if they had never been parted.
They caught up with the others on the bridge, and another long journey began.
The small procession reached the coast just in time. The ship was already loaded, and due to sail the very next morning. Pedro, the guide, took a boat and carried his master’s sealed letter out to the captain. He came back with good news and bad. The captain would be happy to have six children and a lady aboard, but as for a camel, that would be impossible. Camels were large, heavy and dangerous.
‘He is a very obedient camel,’ Timoken protested.
Pedro shook his head. ‘They will not take him.’
Timoken looked up at Gabar. Did he understand what was being said? His expression gave nothing away. His large eyes always looked sad, his mouth always a little submissive.
‘I will make sure he is well treated,’ said Pedro. ‘Juan Pizarro holds camels in high regard. He will have a good life.’
Timoken led Gabar to the barn where the horses had already been stabled. He watched the camel drink deeply from the trough, and he left the barn while Gabar’s back was still turned. He could not find a way to say goodbye to his companion of almost two hundred years.
There was only one room in the tavern beside the dock. Zobayda insisted she would be quite comfortable on a bale of straw, but eventually accepted the bed, while the children went to a barn beside the stable.
Timoken did not attempt to sleep. He lay in the straw with his arms tucked behind his head, staring out at the night sky. He could hear the animals moving in the stable and he thought of Gabar.
A figure, holding a lantern, appeared in the open doorway; a small person, silhouetted against the moonlit sky.
Timoken’s hand flew to the knife in his belt, but a soft voice said, ‘Timoken, it’s me.’
The others were awake now. Dangerous journeys had made light sleepers of them.
‘Who is it?’ called Peredur.
‘It’s me, Beri.’
‘Beri?’ Timoken sat up.
The lantern was lifted, and now Timoken could see her more clearly. She was dressed as a boy again, and her hair was tucked into a leather hat.
‘It’s Running Hare!’ cried Mabon.
‘Running Hare!’ echoed Gereint.
‘We shall be six again,’ said Mabon joyfully. ‘The wolf and the bear, the fish and the eagle –’
‘The burning sun and the running hare.’ Edern rolled out of his straw bed and crawled over to Timoken.
Beri came into the barn and sat beside the boys. ‘A friend of mine was helping in Francisco Padilla’s kitchen,’ she said. ‘She heard you talking about the ship, and she came to tell me. I left the city only an hour after you. My horse is stabled and now I want nothing more than to sleep.’
‘But you are in mourning … and your mother …’
‘I have seven brothers and sisters, enough to keep my mother company.’ Beri gave a huge sigh. ‘Soon she will try and match me up with another rich and dreary man. She will not miss me.’
‘I am very, very glad that you are coming.’ Timoken’s wide smile, so white in the lantern light, made Beri laugh.
‘She’s coming with us,’ he told the others.
They gave a roar of approval, causing the horses in the stable beside them to whinny fretfully.
‘Our prince likes nothing so much as a new face,’ said Edern. ‘He is always happy to receive strangers from other lands. You will be especially welcome, Timoken,’ he added. ‘And then, of course, my uncle, the magician will be very happy …’
Timoken had heard all this before, but he knew that Edern was only trying to impress upon him how welcome he would be in that distant land over the sea.
Beri’s eyes were already closing. She gave great weary yawns and flung herself into the straw at the back of the barn. She was asleep as soon as her head was down.
Timoken knew he would never sleep if he avoided the task he dreaded. He got up and crept outside. He could hear the rustle of waves on the shore. Out in the bay, the big ship was clearly visible, and he felt a shiver of excitement. He went into the stable. Gabar was crouching just inside the door, almost as if he were waiting for someone. Timoken sat beside him.
‘Gabar, are you awake?’
‘I am not asleep.’
‘I have been a coward. I could not say goodbye.’
‘Goodbye?’ Gabar lowered his
head.
‘They say I cannot take you with me to Britain. We have to go on a ship, and it would not be safe for a camel.’
‘I understand,’ said Gabar. ‘I am just a camel. I cannot help you like the birds and the leopards. You do not need me.’
‘Gabar!’ said Timoken in a desperate voice. ‘You have helped me every day of my life. Without you, I would have wanted to die.’
Gabar looked at Timoken. Was that a smile? It was certainly a tear.
‘What a fool I am!’ cried Timoken, leaping to his feet. ‘I cannot leave you. I will not. We will fly together. What do you think of that?’
‘I think we will fly,’ said Gabar.
‘It is a great distance … over water …’
Gabar tossed his head and stood up. ‘I am ready.’
‘Not now,’ said Timoken, and laughed.
‘Soon?’
‘Soon.’
They settled side by side in the straw, the boy and his camel, and at last Timoken fell asleep.
The others looked worried when Timoken told them his plan the next morning.
‘There’s so much water to cross,’ said Edern. ‘You will fall. You will drown.’
‘He will not fall. He will not drown,’ Zobayda said. ‘Gabar and Timoken have travelled further than the widest ocean. So have I, come to that.’
And so it was agreed. Before Edern stepped on to the boat that would take them to the ship, he described every detail of his prince’s castle. It was a golden colour, and the highest in western Britain. The hill where it stood was surrounded by a sea of trees. They would be red and gold at this time of year.
Timoken thought of the secret kingdom. He watched the others rowing out to the ship, and when the ship weighed anchor, he climbed on to his camel and, tugging at the rough hair on Gabar’s back, he said, ‘Fly, Gabar, fly!’
The camel rose into the air as easily as if he were a bird. They flew above the ship, sometimes losing sight of it beneath the clouds, and sometimes skimming the water right behind it. At night they would look down and see the lanterns shining in the bow, and once Timoken saw three pairs of bright golden eyes, gazing up at him from the stern. And he caught a flash of copper-red, flaming orange and starry yellow.