A Wizard of Dreams (Myrddin's Heir Book 1)

by Robin Chambers

  “And Zack,” his mum murmured. Her voice had slowed. He could see that far-away look in her eyes. They walked over to the first mirror and looked in. A perfectly ordinary reflection looked back at her. Look how tall Gordon was getting. “These mirrors make me look … I don’t know,” his mum said, as much to herself as to Gordon. “When I look into them, I feel completely happy to be me.”

  “Hold on to that feeling, mum,” Gordon said, squeezing her hand.

  “Wouldn’t that be nice?” his mum said dreamily. “Oh, wouldn’t that be nice?” They took two paces to look into the next mirror, and Edith gave a little cry. She let go of Gordon, and her hands flew to the sides of her face.

  Her mother and her mother’s mother were smiling back at her. She had lost her mother to cancer shortly before Gordon was born. It still hurt that her mum hadn’t lived to know Gordon. He had never had a chance to know and love his gran.

  “Look Mum, look Gran,” she said, the tears running down her cheeks. “This is your grandson, your great grandson. He’s a wonderful boy. You’d have loved him.” Gordon waved at them, and they both looked out at him affectionately.

  “Oh Mum!” Edith sobbed. “I miss you so much!”

  Gordon took her hand. “They’re together, Mum, and they look happy.”

  Edith managed a smile through her tears. “They do, don’t they.” She lifted her free hand and gave them a sad little wave. “Love you, Mum,” she whispered, “Love you, Gran. Wait for me.” The image faded.

  They moved to the third mirror. Edith had no memory of her gran’s mum, but the family resemblance was unmistakable. The style of clothing identified the period, and the mirror showed her as a woman about the age Edith was now. With her was an older woman who was clearly her mother: Gordon’s great, great, great grandmother.

  They passed slowly from mirror to mirror, moving back in time with each reflection. The clothes changed, the hairstyles changed, but the faces remained very much alike. The occupants of each mirror responded to their waves and smiles with waves and smiles of their own.

  In mirror seven they found just one ancestor; in mirror eight the same, and in mirrors nine to twelve. Edith said nothing, moving from mirror to mirror, caught up in thoughts that lay too deep for tears …

  They came to the thirteenth. Gordon had been counting, and if he’d got it right, it was his sixteen-greats-grandmother that now looked out at him. She smiled her welcome. This was their fourth encounter of the extraordinary kind.

  Again, he was struck by just how much like his own mother she was. Perhaps six inches shorter, and dressed quite differently, but otherwise identical. He looked up at his mother to confirm this perfect match, and then back at the mirror. This time it was his mother in the mirror, smiling back at him.

  “It’s all right.” He heard her voice clearly in his head. “I’ll wait for you.”

  “Whoah!” muttered Zack. He was keeping a very low profile.

  Gordon dragged his eyes from the mirror. He looked at his hand, still warmly clasped, and saw the black lace sleeve. He looked up into the smiling eyes of his sixteen-greats-grandmother.

  "Come, my belovèd son," she said. "Come and see how the poor fool makes amends at last."

  NOTES

  A HEARTY PLOUGHMAN’S; A PINT OF ‘BEHEADED’; “BOTH TIME AND PLACE DO NOW ADHERE”; HE COULD SEE THAT FAR-AWAY LOOK IN HER EYES; THOUGHTS THAT LAY TOO DEEP FOR TEARS.

  Chapter 43

  The Tunnel Of Love

  They stepped out of the tent. It was late evening and the Village Green was deserted. There was a smell of burning. Ash and fragments of brushwood smouldered and crackled around a stake almost eaten by fire. The charred remains of a woman's body still hung helplessly from it, her terrible ordeal at an end. Gordon recoiled in horror.

  "Don't be afraid, child" said his sixteen-greats-grandmother. "Look where he comes."

  On to the Green came a small carriage drawn by one black horse. It was driven by a young man in a green velvet jacket. His collar was turned up. There was an elegant white cravat around his neck. He drew level with the remains of the bonfire and reigned in the horse. "Oh no!" Gordon heard him cry. "Oh NO, PLEASE NO!” He felt the man’s heart break and his own tears trickling.

  His sixteen-greats-grandfather leapt from the carriage and ran over to the stake. The executioner’s steps were still to one side of the pyre. He dragged them into position and mounted them. Pulling a knife from his pocket he cut through the blackened remains of the rope binding the scorched wrists to the stake. He held the ruined corpse in his arms. "Dear Heart," he sobbed. "I was deceived! Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me!"

  "Had I three ears I’d hear thee," said the spirit of his SGGm. "I was thought by many to be a great beauty, but by none so much as Edmund Davenport.” Still holding hands, they stood by the carriage as Edmund carried the body gently towards it. He passed by them but could not see them, so closely that Gordon heard his whisper.

  "I came as quickly as I could, my darling. I had to be about my father's business. It was but a little while. I thought only of you and our child."

  "His father knew," she told Gordon. "Of course, he knew. He had his spies in the village. He knew how many nights his eldest son was not in his own bed."

  "But you had a child," Gordon said, "his grandson."

  "A bastard out of wedlock," his formidable ancestor said grimly. “Remember the times child. I was not of high birth, nor was I wealthy enough to become the wife of any son of his.”

  Her mouth twisted with contempt. “But he was cunning. He knew how headstrong his son could be. He sent him abroad on business for two long months. In that time, he conspired with the priest and these ignorant villagers to rid the world of me."

  "It's all too terrible," Gordon said helplessly. "What happened to your child?”

  The spirit laughed triumphantly. "I got you safely away, where the old squire could not harm you. I knew you would grow and return to right this wrong!"

  His SGGm seemed to have no idea how much time had passed since these terrible events took place. Maybe time worked differently in her dimension. But why had she had to wait for him? Why not any of the other children and grandchildren that had lived and died in the intervening centuries?

  “That’s obvious, isn’t it?” Zack told him. “She said so herself. You have the gift.”

  “Thank you for reminding me,” Gordon thought back, “Attendant Spirit.”

  These were thoughts and questions for another place and time. His SGGf placed the body tenderly in the carriage, climbed back into the driver's seat and turned the horse around.

  "He goes now to the cottage," the spirit said, "the first time ever he came by road."

  Gordon felt the warm squeeze of his ancestor's hand, and they were back in the downstairs room of the cottage. It was elegantly furnished, with chairs and a table fine enough for any of the stately homes Gordon had visited with his parents. The curtains were velvet, and the plate on the table was of silver. Thirteen fine, gilt mirrors hung all around the room.

  "Mirror, mirror, on the wall …"

  His SGGm let go of his hand and twirled around, catching her reflection in many of the mirrors. "Ah yes," she sighed, with evident satisfaction, "a great beauty. All these trappings came from Mellingford Hall, where never I set foot.” She turned to face her sixteen greats grandson. “But the time is upon us. I will live there, in death if not in life. Look where poor Edmund comes."

  The door opened and the young man entered, carrying the body of his belovèd. He laid it gently down, knelt in the corner of the room and prised a small square stone the size of a man's fist out of the floor. Putting his hand into the gap, he grasped a metal ring and heaved. A large flagstone swung upwards to rest against the wall.

  Gordon walked over and saw a steep flight of stone steps descending into the darkness. Tenderly, Edmund Davenport gathered the pathetic bundle of charred remains and began his heavy descent. Gordon heard his footsteps echoing in the dam
p darkness.

  A light flared from below - a storm lantern, left there for the purpose. His SGGf climbed the steps again for a final time. He replaced the small square stone and pulled the large flagstone back into the space above his head.

  "It is time." His SGGm said softly. "We will wait here for you.”

  Gordon looked into her eyes. "We?" he asked.

  "Your father and I. You brought us together when you let me in. Now we can all go to Mellingford Hall, just as I had planned.” His mother many times removed smiled back at him. She reached out lovingly to stroke his cheek. "My only child," she murmured.

  Gordon found himself on the Village Green once more. He was holding his mother’s hand, standing on the spot where the tent had been. Looking down, he noticed the patch of ground was brown and bare. Grass bloomed all around it. The fair was in full swing around them, and his dad was coming back with three large Mr Whippy’s. Each had a chocolate flake stuck in it.

  After all, they were on holiday.

  NOTES

  "HAD I THREE EARS I’D HEAR THEE"; SGGM; A BASTARD OUT OF WEDLOCK

  Chapter 44

  My Sixteen Greats Grandmother

  “Here,” said Victor cheerfully. “Grab them quickly before they melt.” He looked into their faces and his mood changed to one of concern. “What’s happened?” he said in alarm. He looked round fiercely, ready to confront whatever or whoever had upset them.

  Edith put her hand on his arm and took one of the ice-creams. “We’re fine, we’re fine. Gordon and I have something to tell you. It’s something you are going to find very hard to believe.”

  Another family obligingly chose that moment to vacate the nearest park bench, and the Bennett’s collapsed gratefully on to it to eat their ice-creams. Edith told Victor about seeing her mum and her gran in one of the mirrors, then her Gran’s mum and her great gran’s mum, and so on from mirror to mirror, further and further back in time.

  Victor remembered that the striped tent with the Hall of Mirrors sign had not been there when he got back with the ice-creams. If it was a hallucination of some sort, then it was a group one. “And you saw all this as well, Gordon?” he asked thoughtfully.

  “Yes, Dad,” Gordon assured him. “The woman I saw yesterday on the road in front of the car was my sixteen-greats-grandmother.” He could tell his dad was struggling. This was outside the realm of his reality. Understandably he was finding it hard to take.

  “You know me, Darling,” his wife said. “I’m the one who doesn’t believe in ghosts - didn’t believe in ghosts.” She suddenly smiled brilliantly. “It was so good to see mum and gran together like that. I knew I had roots in Cornwall.”

  “It’s a big jump for me, this.” Victor admitted. “Maybe there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in my philosophy.”

  “That’s deep, Dad,” said Gordon. “Who said that?”

  “Lots of people,” his dad told him. “It’s a saying.”

  “Can we go home now, please?” Gordon asked. “’Coz if you thought that roof space was interesting, wait ‘til you see what I’ve got to show you now.”

  NOTES

  IT’S A SAYING

  Chapter 45

  What Sorcery Is This?

  Victor opened the door and they filed back into their cottage. The ancestral spirits were waiting. Gordon could see them quite clearly. “They’re here,” he announced. “Can you see them?”

  “No,” his mum whispered, a little fearfully, “but I can feel … something.” She shivered apprehensively.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Gordon said reassuringly. “They’re glad to see us. I’m doing them a really big favour, apparently.”

  “Who are ‘they’ Gordon?” his dad asked. He’d thought talking to an imaginary friend had been a bit weird, but this ...

  “My sixteen-greats-grandparents,” Gordon told him, patiently. “She was married to Edmund Davenport. His father didn’t approve and thought she’d bewitched him. He had her burned as a witch on that Green about 400 years ago. Now they’re going home to Mellingford Hall.”

  Victor sucked in a deep breath. “WAIT, wait, wait, wait, wait,” he said. “We are not about to barge in on the aristocracy with some story ...”

  “Dad, this is really important,” Gordon insisted urgently. “You have to help us. I’ll show you that they are here. I’ll talk to them out loud so you can hear me, even if you can’t hear them. Then I’ll show you something that will really convince you, OK?”

  “Say ‘OK’, dear,” said Edith.

  “OK,” his dad said grudgingly.

  “Don’t be scared,” Gordon said. He turned to his SGGm, who had been waiting with scarcely concealed impatience. “Do you mind?” he asked politely. He swung his arm towards his father in an invitation to her to get involved.

  “It will be my pleasure, child,” she said grandly. She sailed across the room and blended with Victor. The effect was dramatic.

  “OH M-M-M-Y-Y G-G-G-I-D-D-D-Y-Y A-A-U-U-N-N-T-T!” Victor cried out, shivering uncontrollably. “ENOUGH!!”

  “Indeed,” said Gordon’s remarkable ancestor, gliding away. His dad’s body temperature began to rise again, aided by Edith, who had wrapped him in a bear hug. “Edmund, I would like you to meet your son, as he is now grown. Child, this is my husband and your father, Edmund Davenport.”

  "How do you do?" Gordon said.

  Edmund bowed low. "Never better, dear boy, now that you have reunited us. I have sorely missed my darling wife - and you, of course," he added hastily, “my only son.”

  "We were married in secret" she told Gordon. "We’d hoped a grandchild would soften the old fool’s heart. Instead, he lost his son and all besides.” She gestured grandly towards the corner of the room. “Let us go at last to Mellingford Hall. Our belovèd son will lead the way."

  “This is where I need your help, Dad,” Gordon said. “Could you fetch your biggest chisel from the toolchest? We’ll need the torch as well.” His dad was glad of something practical to do, and was soon back with the tools. Gordon went over to the corner of the room and knelt down by the small, square stone. “Prepare to be amazed, Dad,” he said. “Can you use the chisel to lever out this stone?”

  Wondering, his dad knelt beside him and ran the chisel round the edges of the small, square stone. The dirt of centuries was soon loosened. He prised the stone out of the floor. “What the blue blazes ...?” he muttered.

  The ring beneath was rusty. Gordon wondered for a moment if it could still take the weight of the old stone flag. “Ready, Zack?” he beamed. Together they lightened the stone. Victor hooked the forefingers of both hands into the rusty old ring and heaved.

  The ring edge of the flag rose easily. He was able to get first one hand under it and then the other. After that, it wasn’t difficult to transfer its weight to the edge still on the floor. Panting triumphantly, he let it lean against the wall. He switched on his big torch and shone the light into the musty darkness below.

  “My stars!” muttered Edmund Senior, staring at the light. “What sorcery is this?”

  “Oh my God,” said Victor. “Come and look.” Together, the family Bennett stared down the hole. “Where do you think it goes?” his dad asked Gordon.

  “To Mellingford Hall,” Gordon said.

  Victor’s eyes widened. “Hold on a moment,” he said. “You’re saying that you want me to go with you through an underground passageway that ends up inside the Davenport’s stately home?!”

  “You’re not leaving me behind,” Edith assured him. “We’re in this together. I’m coming too.”

  NOTES

  WHAT THE BLUE BLAZES ...

  Chapter 46

  Forensic Evidence

  Victor took a very firm grip on the torch and led the way down the steps. Once at the bottom, he called up that the air was breathable. Gordon went next. His mother followed, gritting her teeth. They were going where no human being had been for goodness knows how long.
<
br />   Above them, Gordon heard his SGGm say with considerable satisfaction: "Well, I shan't be coming here again. We shall be very comfortable up at the Hall."

  "Whatever you say, my Love," was the patient reply.

  The underground passage ran upwards for a considerable distance before levelling off and widening to form a small room. In it was an old wooden bed, a table and a simple oak chair. On the bed lay the charred skeleton of a human being. Seated in the chair was the skeleton of another, its head resting on the table and its bony fingers still wrapped round the butt of an old flintlock pistol.

  It was dressed in the rotted remains of a faded green jacket. The threads of a soiled, white cravat still hung round its neck. There were some ancient pieces of parchment on the table, covered in fine, faded writing.

  “Oh, the poor souls!” Edith murmured as she squeezed into the small room. “To think how long they’ve been shut down here and nobody knowing.”

  From the other side of the room, the passage continued as before on its upward path. “There was some work put into this,” Victor said over his shoulder. “I reckon it was a priest hole, built as a secret escape route at the time of the persecutions.”

  “I’m sure he’s right,” Zack told Gordon. “The cottage is there because that’s where the tunnel happened to come out.”

  “Succeeding generations of Davenport’s can’t have known about it,” said Gordon. “Those skeletons and that written account wouldn’t still be there, otherwise.”

  They came at last to what appeared to be the foundations of a great house. “Here we go,” muttered Victor. “There are going to be some very surprised people wherever this tunnel comes out.”

  “We’re doing them a huge favour,” Edith said. “Just think how much they’re going to be able to charge for guided tours through here with a story like the one we’ve got to tell, and a couple of ghosts thrown in for good measure. They’ll make an absolute fortune.”

  The slope became steps. They climbed into a narrow passageway, with timber framing and fine old panelling on either side. There appeared to be no exit, but by flashing the torch around Victor discovered three ancient bolts securing a rectangular section of panelling. He wished he’d brought his can of WD40.