“Clebbster calls his cane Twilgo Rudge,” sighed Poppy. “So what happened to Hollax the peacock?”
“When the beautiful creature died,” continued Everstep, “both Twilgo and Rudge were so sad at the loss, they turned Hollax’s head and neck and three feathers into wood, and with their strong magic, they made the cane. They both kept a wonderful quill pen, Rudge had a silver nib, and that pen is myself. But Twilgo kept a gold nib on his pen, and we do not know where that went. Meanwhile, Hollax’s other feathers were kept locked away safely, but they have also disappeared. But the heart of Hollax remains, and so my feather and the cane can hear each other’s thoughts.”
Poppy smiled at Brewster, but for the moment she decided to say nothing, for it was him who had given her the peacock feathers on the headband, and now she knew where they came from.
“But that cane does horrible things,” said Nathan. “It obeys Clebbster.”
“After many years of living with him and doing as he orders, the cane cannot be the heart of Hollax, but if it were free, it might return to its old beautiful self. For now it is troubled. Sometimes it tries to be kind. But its temper comes from Clebbster and it swirls around with confused thoughts of violence and anger.”
“But your quill feather doesn’t?”
The feather gave a little flick. “Certainly not,” said Everstep. “We are united in happy peace and goodwill.”
“That was all most interesting,” said Nathan, “but I still want to know where Clebbster is now.”
“In the top-secret room of the tower,” replied the pen. “There are no stairs. You can enter only by magic. It should be the palace of the lord but Clebbster has often lived there with his cane. He plots and plans, he makes wicked spells and he thinks of brutality and cruelty. I hear this through the cane’s link with my quill and sometimes it makes me frightened and sick.”
“I wish I had my headband with me,” sighed Poppy. “They might help.”
“Take me, take me,” called Everstep. “I can protect you from the cane, but not from Clebbster.”
Smiling over at Brewster, Poppy said, “I have a little magic myself now. For the first time in my life I can do some things, but I don’t know what. Can I transport myself up to these secret rooms’
“You are the empola,” said Diddyworth at once, “and the rightful Warden of the Key. You should be living in those rooms.”
“Gosh,” Poppy whistled. “Come on then Nat.” She turned back to Brewster. “Do you want to stay here”
Brewster stood slowly, looking around at the library with great sadness in his eyes. “I should have come here as a young boy, and brought my beloved twin with me. We could have learned wisdom instead of cruelty and tricks. But now, yes, I will come and face my father. But do not expect me to kill him. Now – I will take us all.”
“Humph,” said Hermes with a squawk. “I am the true Messenger of Clarr, and I shall fly myself.”
“Come back soon,” called the books.
Poppy had Everstep in her pocket, Nathan kept the knife very close, and Brewster whisked them all into the high rooms just beneath the turreted battlements on the roof. The shadows here were deep and still. Clearly it had not been open to the light for a long time. Nathan stared. He felt very strange, knowing that this dismal place was actually his rightful home. They had arrived in a huge and empty room with a patterned floor of wood and tiles spread in a vast circle. The room itself was circular with no windows, but it was surrounded by doors. Many were closed but two lay open. Then there was a small winding staircase which looked like rusty steel, and at the top was a huge skylight. But it was so dirty and thick with snow, that no light entered at all.
Peeping into one of the two open doors, Nathan discovered a dark bedroom. A four poster bed of enormous size was covered in dust. There was nothing else in the room, so he crossed over the beautiful floor and looked into the other open door. Here was a jumble of strewn clothes, books, torn papers, boots, broken bottles and smashed tiles. He whispered, “So where’s Clebbster sitting – or sleeping – or hiding.”
Brewster had been standing very still, and clearly he already knew what was in these rooms. Now he pointed towards one large door which was dark as everything else. “He is working,” said Brewster. “I will interrupt him. But don’t follow me yet.”
“When?”
Shaking his head, Brewster sighed. “Now. Sometimes. Never. Whenever you wish, but listen to what is said, and don’t rush in until it seems wise.” He looked at Nathan. “You are growing wiser each day. Use your wisdom.” And he turned, walking to the great black door across the room. He opened it quietly, walked in and left one small crack of doorway open behind him. Nathan, Poppy and even Hermes hurried over silently to listen outside.
Obviously Clebbster had looked up. “You,” he roared. “My most stupid son. Where have you been? Basking on Sparkan? Or wailing over Wagster?”
“Wailing, naturally,” Brewster answered without shame. “Someone in this family needs a heart. But you brought back a multitude of our ancestors from the dead. Why not Wagster?”
Clebbster grunted. “Never an emperor, never wore our crown, never took power and never swore himself to the throne. So I can’t bring him back. Besides, he’s useless.”
“He’s your son.”
“More likely to follow that demon Yaark than myself,” Clebbster muttered. “And where is Yaark? I thought him captured. I thought him trapped. First by me and then by those wretched Octobrs. But now it all proves a trick. A mistake. At least without your brother, Yaark has no open home.”
“He’ll find one.”
“And you come crawling back,” Clebbster cackled, “why? To kiss my feet and apologise for your behaviour? Or have you swallowed Yaark yourself?”
“Never. Yaark disgusts me.”
“Feeble boy,” Clebbster pointed. “Disgust? You have a heart of pale water. Nothing disgusts me. I create what others find disgusting.”
Everything was crowded into one huge dark room. The window was covered in a black curtain, a narrow bed stood in one corner, also covered in black. A desk three times larger than those in the library stood in the middle of the space, with two large chairs in front. Clebbster was seated already. Brewster sat beside him. “I dislike this place. I know you admire it,” he said placidly. “It suits you. But what you say isn’t true. Beauty and kindness disgust you. Sometimes I think I disgust you.”
“You’ve grown weak.” Clebbster spat. “It’s those vile Octobrs. You were my son before they came along again. Now you’ve been corrupted by their so-called sweetness. But it’s all a lie, you know. They’ll kill you once they think you’re no use anymore.”
“Actually,” said Brewster, leaning forwards, “I don’t care.”
Genuinely surprised, Clebbster looked up. “You don’t want to live? Then go and join those usurping hypocrites, and I shall kill you myself.”
Brewster shrugged. “I’ve often expected it in the past. You’ve thrashed me near to death when I was younger. You’ve practised your magic on me. You’ve sworn and cursed me. Go ahead. Simply remember that although I may not show you, and for obvious reasons, my own power has grown over the years. I would naturally defend myself.”
Clebbster glared. “How dare you threaten me.”
“I spoke of defence. Not attack.” Listening outside, Nathan clenched his hands, and Poppy was seething. But these remarks also proved to them that Brewster had told them the truth.
“You interrupt me,” Clebbster snarled. “You bore me. Why are you here? If there’s no urgent reason, then leave.”
“I was curious,” Brewster replied, “wondering what you intend next. You lost the tournament. You lost your son. You lost the battle of hand to hand magic. You should now, by agreement, be losing your crown, throne and position. But I should never imagine you capable of such obliging acceptance. I presume you mean to cheat yourself back into power.”
With a thump of one long hand on the desk, C
lebbster roared, “I never lost power. They may have won, being too weak to do anything but make some miserable attempt at defence. But I’ll not give up the throne to a pack of cowards. I shall find a way to kill them all.”
“Kill them? Ruin them? Prove them worthless? Or simply torture them?”
With a wide grin, Clebbster assumed that Brewster was suggesting the best way forwards. “Now you sound like my son again,’ he cackled. “Good boy. And perhaps I shall take your advice and do all of those things.”
Brewster also laughed. “And your first move?”
Frowning, eyes glinting, Clebbster clearly still distrusted his son. “I’m telling you nothing,” he said. “How would I know if you mean treachery?”
“Treachery would be the normal reaction, being a Hazlett.”
“Then let me tell you this,” snarled Clebbster. “I have a trap already set. It will bring them all down by the end of the week. Three days. Then they’ll be gone. Every single one of them.”
“And myself?”
“Perhaps. Wait and see.”
There had been no sign, and Nathan did not feel there had been any moment right for them to rush in. So he remained waiting. Poppy, he knew, was impatient and would have taken any opportunity to run in and face Clebbster. But Nathan didn’t allow it. It was when Brewster finally left his father, came back into the circular hall, and closed the door hard shut behind him, that Nathan whispered, “Should I have come in? But I have no special power. What could I have done? I simply wanted to tell him he’s no longer emperor, and he ought to accept his failures. We’re going to take over. He can’t stop us. But you sort of said all that to him, and he says he’s going to cheat. I can’t say much more, can I?”
“I wanted to,” muttered Poppy.
“I have another idea. Come with me,” said Brewster.
It seemed strange to both of them to be walking calmly and trustingly with the crazy teasing wizard who had stolen Nathan in the middle of the night in his balloon, and dropped him off five hundred years in the past without explanation. That had been the beginning of everything. And yet now this madman spoke normally, and was helping them as a true friend. Of course, he still appeared odd. More than odd, being tall, incredibly skinny, brilliant green eyes either side of a long sharp nose, a lipless mouth hiding a forked tongue, so not a normal appearance in any way. But the son of their greatest enemy was now one of their greatest friends.
He whizzed them all downstairs and once again they stood on the circular mosaic in the entrance hall.
But this time, Brewster did not give Nathan the choice. “You are Lord of Clarr,” Brewster told him. And he turned to Poppy, “And you are Warden of the Key of Clarr, although this was stolen by Yaark. So come and claim back your property, illustrious empola.”
“What?” squeaked Poppy.
“This way,” said Brewster, and began to skip. His mouth split into a wide smile, and he danced forwards to the passageway indicated by the mosaic. “Tis a pleasure, you know, to come in from the snow. I’m no longer a foe, so no need for more woe. Poppsie-wopsie, sugar and spice, kiss her now for she’s so nice, Now we go to find the key, Poppsy and me. Bumble-Bee head will come along too, for he’s the lord who says “I do.” I’m such a nice man, so we’ll take the goose, even if he’s no use. Now we’re all friends, it’s a pleasure, to take you along to find your treasure.”
They hurried behind him, big smiles and laughter now echoing in the winding corridor. Sometimes Brewster jumped so high, he kicked out on the wall and went whizzing forwards so Nathan and Poppy had to run to keep up. They also clearly remembered that last time there had been a lake of serpents, with Clebbster trying to trap them forever. “It’s so nice to hear you happy again,” Poppy called to Brewster. “You’re the real Brewster who always makes me laugh. But I hope there isn’t a horrible ending to this corridor like before.”
The painted monsters all along the walls, which had been there for centuries guarding the key, were still there, rearing up to growl, but quickly shrank back. “They recognise the Lord of Clarr,” Brewster called back. “They’ll bow when they see you now. Look.” And indeed, this was happening. Even though just painted and certainly not real, the pictures bowed low to their lord. Nathan had to bow back, and thank them, even though he felt more like laughing. “And at the end,” Brewster continued, “there’ll be no Quosters. Just wait and see.”
Poppy shivered for a moment, but then she shook her head free of doubt and hurried on.
It was Hermes, suddenly flying over Brewster’s head to reach the door first and check on what was inside, who pushed the door with his beak and marched in. The others clustered behind him.
“Wow.”
“Oh, Nat. Look.”
“This is a grand chamber for the illustrious empola,” said Hermes.
“It is indeed,” added Brewster, “but it won’t be quite that easy. Yaark doesn’t carry the key with him, but he stole the power with magic, and still holds it. Now we must raise the magic to take it back.”
Jumping up and down again, Poppy said, “And you gave me magic. Can I do it myself now? I feel so happy, having some magic for the first time in my life.”
“I gave you both a gift of magic powers to the first and second level,” Brewster smiled. “With this you can transport yourselves to another place, but not with other people, only yourselves. You can conjure up simple things, create mists and lights, and help heal a small cut or cure hiccups. Claiming back the key will require something far stronger, I’m afraid. This requires magic to the ninth and tenth levels.”
Poppy’s excitement faded. “Will I ever get more magic?”
“Learn. Practise. Try everything and invent whatever you think of. But it will take time,” Brewster said. “If I am still around, I promise to help. But for now, we will all do this together.”
The chamber of the Key was a large square room with a ceiling spangled all over with light. The lights did not flash or glare, but they shimmered in different colours and were vividly beautiful. The one long wall was painted shining gold, and this gleamed too. The other walls were dark blue, as dark as the night sky. The floor was tiled in another mosaic with a picture of an enormous key in a golden keyhole.
Against the golden wall hung a huge golden bell, and from the inside of the bell, hung a key. It seemed like a pendulum, and what might be used to ring the bell, but it was a key of intricate blue jewels, studded all over with sapphires, alexandrite and lapis lazuli on a patterned base of silver.
“That’s mine?” breathed Poppy. “It’s incredible. I never, ever saw a key like that before.”
“And you never will again,” said Brewster, “unless you come here to visit this one. It rightfully belongs to you and you can claim it when you manage to use it to ring the bell.”
Even though she knew it wasn’t going to be easy, Poppy ran forwards at once, and tried to touch it. But it swung away from her fingers and disappeared up into the bell. So Poppy knelt under the bell and reached up inside, but she found nothing. Instead she felt a large bump on the head as a stone fell right on top of her, and she fell over with a squeak.
Hermes had sat down in a corner, knowing this was going to take some time, but Nathan pulled out the knife, and said, “This is the Lord of Clarr to the Knife of Clarr. My sister the empola is the rightful Warden of the Key. But the power of the key has been stolen. How does she get it back? And can you help her?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Arthur Crinford, Christopher Columbus and Ferdinand were sitting together on the low wall of the little seaside port of Pickles Village.
Arthur was saying, “Can you use a little magic too?”
But Ferdinand shook his head. “Not me,” he said. “I’m an ordinary man, even if I was once a frog. I build boats with these two hands. It may take some time to build one big enough to cross the oceans.”
“But that’s what we want,” said Columbus. “The largest, strongest boat we can have, so we can
sail off to the horizon and discover new lands.”
“We never thought there were any other lands here,” sighed Ferdinand. “We thought Lashtang was the whole world. But now I’ve met some of those Tyrell kids your friend Zakmeister is looking after. They come from far away, I’ve been told.
“Sure do,” said John, wandering up behind them. “I was wiv two o’ them yesterday. Reminds me o’ me old life on them London streets. But these kids is good fun. Clever too. Not like me. I were never clever.”
“You’re a good sailor now, my boy,” said Arthur. “Clever indeed. I hope you’ll be sailing with me when we set off to look for new lands.”
“Yep.” John grinned. “Reckon tis the best of all, being here wiv me friends, and being at sea wiv me Dad too. Will be a fantastic life.”
“For me too,” said Columbus. “My great expedition from Spain sailing west and expecting to circumnavigate the world – well, it failed even though you all tell me I became famous later for discovering the great Americas. But I’m finished with all that and now I’m here, and will stay here. Arthur and I will sail together.”
“Perhaps this time you truly will circumnavigate the world,” Arthur smiled.
“However,” Columbus continued, “it may be over a year before the boat is built, and in the meantime Richard and Henry intend leaving.”
Zakmeister was talking to four of his new young friends, the Tyrell boys from his old tribe, showing them some of his small childish magic tricks when Arthur, John and Columbus appeared, climbing down from the sky-train. A large kestrel waved a wing goodbye, and called, “We await the new rulers, my lord, now that the Octobrs have taken back the throne.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Zakmeister under his breath as he produced a chocolate egg supposedly from one of the boy’s ears. “I have spoken to Messina, but she won’t demand the throne until she gets rid of both Clebbster and Yaark. Otherwise she says they’ll attack the people and cause ruin again.”
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