They clambered on, and pushed up, one after the other. Arthur insisted that Alfie went first and Alfie insisted that Alice went first, but she said no, because she could fly with Hermes, and anyway if the guards caught her, she wasn’t under arrest. So Alfie and Arthur disappeared up the ladder, puffing and wheezing as they hurried, and behind them came all the other men, up and up and up. The ceiling disappeared and up they all went into the freezing sky and the snow storm.
The guard had been alerted by the noise and came to the door, unlocking it to peer inside. He had never seen anything like it in his life. He dropped his keys and padlocks, which fell to the floor with a great rattle and jangle, and stared at the scene before him. Arms and legs were pushing up into a great gaping hole in the ceiling, and there was a ladder which they were all climbing, cheering, gasping for breath, and clunking with boots on the steps.
Alice and Hermes were standing watching, and the guard grabbed her arm. “Wot’s going on here?” he demanded. “I arrest you fer – fer – well, fer helping escapes.”
But Alice pulled away from the guard and jumped onto Hermes’ wide back. “Come on,” she called. “And please ladder, do some whooshing.”
Hermes squawked and flew up into the open ceiling while the guard jumped about on the floor, wondering what he could do. Meanwhile the ladder kindly whooshed upwards, the cell’s roof closed over, and not a single person was left in the dark dungeon except the guard himself, crawling around looking for his keys.
More than twenty five men were on the ladder, all climbing fast. “I’m not used to taking so many men at a time,” said the ladder suddenly. “You’re all very heavy, you know. Slow down or I may break a rung.”
Everyone was so shocked, some of them nearly fell off.
“Was that you talking, mister?” one man asked Arthur.
“No,” Arthur replied. “I believe it was the ladder.”
“Ruddy hell,” said the man. “I must be going stark staring mad.”
“Not mad,” said the ladder, “but certainly heavy. You have nasty big boots.”
It was still snowing, but most of the sailors were used to storms and freezing winds at sea, and were used to the cold. However, they were not used to talking ladders or talking geese or having to climb right up into the sky. “I ain’t got bigger boots than the others,” he said. “These is me winter shoes.”
“Well, I shall have to make it summer,” said the ladder, “and then you can take them off.”
Quite suddenly amongst the snow and the wind, bright sunshine splashed out. The ladder dried up with a fizzle, and the snowy clouds rolled away. Roses started growing up one side of the ladder, and jasmine burst into bloom onto the other side. A small blue bird peeped out from behind a golden rose, and began to chirp. All the crew members had to hold on very tight in case they fell off in amazement. One or two politely took off their boots and hung them around their necks on their laces.
Alice and Hermes flew up close, both laughing. “The ladder always behaves like this,” Alice called. “But we’ll be in Lashtang soon.”
And indeed, it was not long afterwards that Arthur, Alfie and Jim with twenty three of their crew members, all climbed off the top of the ladder onto soft green grass right in front of a low garden fence, with the gate open, and a low spreading and very pretty cottage beyond. They all stood up, picked off rose petals, jasmine blossoms, and thorns from their rough sailors’ clothes, and stared around with no idea where they were. Even Alfie wasn’t sure if he should just go and knock on the door. But Alice and Hermes had also landed, and Alice ran up to the cottage calling for Poppy, and hoping she was home.
Poppy flung open the door and ran out, straight into a big hug with Alice. Then she saw everyone else, and stared back at them.
Granny was behind Poppy, and was laughing. “I see you’ve brought half the pirates of medieval England with you, my dear,” she said, clasping Alice’s shoulder.
Sitting at once on the garden bench, Alice began to explain everything that had happened, while Hermes flapped into the kitchen to tell everyone else. Meanwhile Alfie was explaining what he could to the men, and sat them all down on the grass to wait and see what was decided for them.
“Reckon we’ll have to make a whole new village like Pickles,” Alfie said. “On the coast somewhere. Then they can all build ships or go fishing or summint.”
“You keep forgetting how to talk properly,” smiled Alice, looking up at him, then turned back to Granny. “By the way,” she said, her smile growing wider, “Alfie and I are married,” and she held out her hand to show her wedding ring.
“I knew you would one day,” said Poppy, delighted.
Everyone else, hearing the noise, came out to see what was going on, and hoping it wasn’t an attack from Clebbster or Yaark. But John wasn’t there yet to greet his father, as he and Nat were still in the forest.
Arthur, coming forwards to meet Bayldon, Messina and Granny, was immediately apologetic about arriving with such a crowd.
“Not at all,” Granny said. “I hope John will be back in a day or two, and he’ll be thrilled to see you. He always hoped you’d come to live here. And we need good strong men to back us when we throw the Hazletts from Lashtang. But we shall have to make some homes for them. And have none of them got wives and children back in England? We’ll have to make plans to bring them over, and settle everyone down. But of course, you must live here in the cottage with us. You might have to share a bedroom with John, but the rooms are nice and comfy.”
“That’s a wonderful invitation,” Arthur assured her. “But building homes for all the men? They can do that themselves if you show them where. For tonight they’ll have to sleep in the open.”
“Goodness me, no,” said Granny. “It’s far too cold. This is the depths of winter, you know. I shall put up some tents for them, and we can sort everything in no time at all. Come with me.”
She marched out of the garden gate, waved to all the mystified men sitting out rather forlorn on the wet grass, and trudged down over several small hillocks, with Arthur scuttling behind. Eventually Granny pointed before her. Way out over the hills, covering a huge area, was a rough muddy pit, the remains of a lake, some upturned bushes, and a few outlying ruins . From where they stood it was impossible to see what the pit had in the bottom, or how deep it was, but clearly the whole area had been squashed by something and lay either flat, or in a hole.
“Once known as Bymion,” Granny said as Arthur stared, shading his eyes against the fierce cold wind. “Your men can sleep here until we get houses up. In the meantime I suggest tents.” And to Arthur’s dizzy surprise, she raised both arms, saying, “Tents to be lent, put up against rain and snow. Let the village grow. Massima Manditta. Bymion all new, let it be true. Leading down to the coast, and good meat to roast. A fire in the middle. Keep them all warm until the new dawn. All tents with a bed comfy as I’ve said. Ready for docks, boats and pier. Start building next year. Massima, manditta, rollicks and dollick, keep these men safe.”
As he watched, scarcely believing his eyes, Arthur saw the tents appear. They seemed blurred at first, but then grew solid. Some were huge and big enough for ten men. Some were little, just for one bed. There was a toilet block, which was something none of these men had ever seen before, and in the centre where an open slab stood with all the tents grouped around, was a huge fire with a metal spit over it, and a huge slab of beef on the spit, turning slowly.
The delicious smell of roast beef soon had all the men running over to see, and the excitement was enormous. “Houses already fer us?” they yelled.
“Just tents,” said Granny. “You’ll get better houses than this in time, but first we have to collect your wives and children.”
There was an even louder buzz as every man wondered how his family would manage to climb a magic ladder and arrive in a new magic land. “But we’ll be waiting,” said Jim. “Reckon they’ll start off frightened, but t’will be alright once they sees us here,
and these tents all good and warm.”
“We can put pork on the spit,” said his first mate. “That’ll have ‘em running up fast.”
“But I ought to tell my mother what has happened,” sighed Arthur, “or she’ll be sure I’ve died.”
“Maybe better,” Alfie said from behind him.
But Arthur shook his head. “That wouldn’t be fair. And she wouldn’t even be able to bury me. She’s a dreadful old hag, I agree, and she’s been wicked to John and Poppy and others. But she loves me truly, you know.”
Granny smiled. “Nat and John will be back very soon,” she said. “I believe John should go and tell her the truth.”
Chapter Ten
The trees were now wide-spaced, and a pale sun washed through the open glades. It was the outskirts of the forest, and time to go home.
“I shall speak to Trakken,” Gilden said. “Once I know he is himself again. And I shall help Ralgia if I can.”
“Reckon she’s bad hurt,” sighed John.
“I asked Clarr to help,” Nathan said, “but I don’t know if the knife can do much from such a distance.”
Gilden slipped between the trees, disappearing back into the open plains. But even here he seemed to merge into the background, his beautiful striped fur blending with the bushes and grassy clumps. Nathan looked at John and John looked at Nathan. Then a completely different voice said, “Good afternoon, my friends. And a very good afternoon it is too.”
They could see no one, but that meant only one thing. “Hello,” Nathan called. “Are you an Epilog?”
“I am Elder Maple,” the voice answered. “I heard a rumour, a most exciting rumour but one I find hard to believe, that the Quosters have returned, and ancient history is young again.”
Nathan grinned. He could vaguely see the man’s outline, which showed him small and plump with russet hair and a big smile with large front teeth. Stretching out a hand in the general direction, Nathan felt it firmly grasped. “I met the Quosters on Sparkan,” Nathan nodded. “Most of them are very friendly but they can do wicked things if crossed. I think they lose their tempers quickly because they’ve been badly treated for so long.”
But Elder Maple disagreed. “They lose their tempers because they’ve been lazy simpletons for centuries,” he said. “Never had to deal with anyone else except each other, and don’t know the decent way to act anymore.”
“Whichever way it is,” answered Nathan, “they’re lovely people most of the time. And they really like the idea of coming back once the river and the ponds and the hot springs have returned.”
“We can help with the hot springs,” said the Epilog. “Come and meet my wife. Have a cup of hot fig juice, and we can see what’s needed.”
Nathan was a bit surprised, but John said, “Yer, reckon tis a good idea. Just a couple of hours, then we gotta go home.”
“But all you Epilogs live back further into the forest,” Nathan frowned.
“Most of us, yes indeed,” he answered. “But our little town spreads out more every year. There’s a lot of us, you know. And as an elder, I choose a somewhat bigger home with more light and real windows.”
“It ain’t a long walk, is it?” asked John.
“Oh no,” said the man, becoming more visible. “Right here, in fact.”
And with that, John and Nathan, with sudden gasps, found themselves disappearing into the ground beneath them.
They came down with a bump, sitting on hard firm paving, but it was dark and the suggestion that Elder Maple lived with more light and proper windows, did not seem to be true at all. Scrambling up, Nathan tried to peer through the murk. He reached out, and grabbed John’s hand. “I love the sound of hot fig juice,” he said. “I usually have it cold, which is absolutely gorgeous, but hot sounds even better.”
“Well now,” said the voice from the darkness, “drink it now, while still hot, and then we can sit and chat. I shall open the curtains and let in the light. Here we are, drink up,” and a warm cup was pressed into Nathan’s hands. He raised the cup to his lips and took a sip. It was steaming, making his eyes water, but it tasted delicious. He heard a loud slurp as John finished all his.
But Nathan felt that something was wrong. The fruit juice was too sweet, and instead of feeling energetic and happy, he began to feel sleepy. He put the half-full cup down on the floor, and stood up. “I think I ought to be going,” he said. “I have to go home and tell my family what’s been decided in the forest. I’ll come back to find you another day.”
From the darkness, the man answered, “No, no, wait just a few moments and my wife will open the curtains, and we can talk in comfort. Have you finished the fig juice?”
“Mmm,” John answered from beside him.
Nathan was going to say no, and then thought better of it. “Yes indeed,” he said. “But I love fig juice, yet now I don’t feel so well.”
“Feel sick,” muttered John.
“How strange,” Nathan said sharply. “After all that wonderful fruit, surely we should both be feeling better than usual?” He blinked, trying to see in the murk. John was now curled next to him, eyes shut and half snoring. “Hey,” Nathan stood, though feeling shaky. “What have you done?”
Abruptly, to the faint sound of laughter, Nathan fell, tumbling back to the floor and spilling the cup of sweet juice he had left there. Something dark was looming over him. As he stared up, the shadow grew larger and larger until it swallowed every space around him. It was huge, and the stench of dark magic started to leak from it as it laughed.
He closed his eyes.
Nathan woke with a sense of enormous disappointment. He had said goodbye to Gilden with the knowledge that everything was improving. He had been so happy. They had conquered the tiger Yaark, he had learned a great deal about the Quosters and Lashtang’s history, the hated Forest of Sharr had become a forest of beauty and friendship, hope and understanding, and he was about to go home to see Granny and the others and tell them how much he had accomplished. Instead, he had somehow been an idiot.
He lay in silence, but he no longer lay on the hard stone floor. He lay on a bed, and John lay beside him. A heavy cloth was slung across them both, and beneath them the mattress was comfortable with pillows and a quilt. A small window was closed with shutters, but a thin gap between the wooden slats let in sufficient light to peer around. John still slept, but he seemed unharmed. Outside he could hear the busy noise of the city, and he guessed they had all been moved either to Peganda or to the village Pickles. It was fairly certain they were nowhere near the forest anymore.
With a heave, ignoring the nausea he felt, and the increasing headache, Nathan managed to sit, and gave John a nudge. He opened one bleary eye, then closed it again and rolled over. Nathan left him, knowing he’d drunk his whole cup of the drug given them, while Nathan had drunk only half yet had still fallen unconscious for some hours.
Climbing from the bed, he staggered around the room, tested the one door which was obviously locked from the outside, but managed to open the shutters on one window, and peer out. He saw the rush of waves below, and the corner of the bay where the fishing port was tucked. So they were in Pickles, and almost certainly in the house where Hexaconda had originally lived, up on the cliffs overlooking the southern ocean. The black house, partially burned, with the huge hot swimming pool in one room below.
So another, much more dangerous situation was clear. They were Clebbster’s prisoners. And his powers had returned to him far quicker than anyone had supposed.
For a moment Nathan really thought he’d be sick, but he controlled it and banged on the bedroom door. “Where are you?” he shouted. “What a coward. Come and show yourself.”
He had given up and gone to sit on the bed again, and trying to wake John, when the door opened abruptly, and not Clebbster, but old man William Octobr walked in. He was carrying a tray of cups and plates, and now that one of the windows was unshuttered, Nathan could see him clearly.
“Sandwiches,”
he said. “How kind. The worst monsters in the world supply supper. Is Clebbster downstairs buttering the bread and mixing the lemonade? Making chocolate cake, by any chance?”
“I made these sandwiches,” William said with a frosty sniff, “and if you don’t like them, then starve. I am entirely disinterested.”
Nathan thought a moment. “Making tea and sandwiches? Then someone has made your sight a bit better. Can you see now?”
“Not entirely,” the old man said grudgingly. “Lord Hazlett has given me half my sight back in one eye. It helps me a great deal. He’ll do more when I please him more.”
“By killing us?”
William Octobr smiled. It was more of a leer than a smile, and seemed sinister. “Oh no,” he said. “Lord Clebbster intends doing that himself. He needs no help. But I have brought him the tools, the additional power, and some new ideas.”
Although unwise to insult the old man, Nathan couldn’t resist saying, “But you never had much magical power yourself.”
William snarled almost like one of the tigers, stranding tall and attempting to look dignified in his long black coat. “I have considerable power and skill, young man, and a great deal more than you. But Clebbster was also helped by others. Three others.”
“Wagster and Brewster. And your son, perhaps? Or Yaark?”
“None of those,” and William turned, leaving the tray on a small table, left the room with a slam of the door, and locked it from the outside. Nathan was left curious and confused, but as he crossed to the tray of food and drink, John started to wake, grumbling into the pillow.
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