It was Richard III who sat, resting comfortably in the pale sunshine, raising an eye at the sky-train. “I still find that arrangement most astonishing,” he said. “But it is most comfortable to be wearing less heavy clothes than I was once obliged to, even in summer.”
Instead of the medieval clothes for a king which he had once worn in England, which had covered every part of him from head to toes, Richard now wore a short-sleeved shirt in light silk, loose over long blue silk trousers, and sandals. Henry V was leaning on the garden fence, also in new lightweight clothes. He even wore a pair of bright red shorts which showed off his muscular legs.
“Yes, I like it here,” he said. “But sadly Lady Altabella has informed me that I shall fade soon if I don’t return.”
Richard nodded. “Yes, true,” he said. “Sometimes I feel the loss of strength. Already my shadow is disappearing. I see it following at my side, but even when the sun is bright, the shadows looks tired.”
Henry raised his eyebrows. “I accept what I’m told since I know nothing of magic. But why can Columbus stay, if we cannot?”
“We have the power to keep only one,” Zakmeister explained, “and he is the one who has integrated himself the most into life here. I’m afraid we have no choice.”
“I admire the great sailor,” said Richard. “He deserves the honour of staying. But I shall miss you all, and the countryside too.”
Zakmeister looked over. “We’ll be sorry to see you go. But perhaps we can call you back another time.”
One of the boys, chewing with enormous pleasure on the chocolate egg, looked up at Zakmeister. “I don’t have to go too, do I?”
“No, no, certainly not,” Zakmeister assured him. “You never have to leave here unless my friend Arthur discovers your land Tyrell, and you want to see it again.”
“Never. I want to stay in the new house you gave me with the other boys.”
“Certainly,” Zakmeister said. “Bymion village is filling up with some very interesting new people.”
“But first,” said John, who had been waiting to speak, “Would you come along and help my Dad with a little magic? We gonna sail off fer Land o’ the Tyrells like you said, but others too. And it gotta be a strong ship wiv them octopussy things and sharks and all. Ferdy reckons t’will take a year and more to build. But Cap’n Jim wants a ship too. Not fer pirates, but fer exploring. All that’ll need mighty sight more n’ wood and sails.”
“Ah,” Zakmeister said with another huge grin. “A new adventure. I like that idea. I shall come down to Pickles with you, and Ferdinand and I will build these ships together. As long as Clebbster doesn’t turn up.”
“He ain’t there at the moment,” said John. “Nor don’t know where he be. Come to fink of it, don’t know where Nat be neither.”
It was raining on London’s cobbled streets, two small brown rats, soaked and frightened, ran past as Alfie and Alice appeared out of nowhere with the dark shadowed figures of Richard III, Henry V and Henry VIII standing beside them.
They had arrived, as so often, in Bandy Alley. Alfie and Alice immediately knew where they were, but the others did not.
“You three gentlemen,” said Alice with a moonlit smile, “need to decide what you want to do and where you want to go. That’s why Granny sent us here, isn’t it?”
“But I cannot remember being dead,” said Henry V. “So I don’t know if I liked it.”
“I won’t hide away,” complained the other Henry. “I was a popular king. I wish to see the credit and the fame. Is my son Edward now king?”
Alice sighed. “No, Granny says he died young. Your daughter Mary is queen now, and you certainly gained fame, but not popularity or credit. Mary didn’t approve of you, you know.”
“Then I shall appear and tell her off.”
Alfie laughed. “She’s queen now. You don’t tell off a queen.”
“Oh, puddle,” said Henry. “This is a nuisance. What shall I do now?”
“And where are we, anyway?” demanded Henry V. “It’s a grubby lane of no interest to me at all.”
“Well,” said Alice. “We often get dropped off here. We used to live here once and we keep being brought back though I’m not sure why. Where we lived had been knocked down anyway and there’s a big warehouse built there as part of the Royal Wardrobe.”
With a frown, Richard III regarded the high building. He had already been here once in company with Nathan, and he remembered it well. He was walking towards the grand doors, closed and quiet, when something most unexpected happened.
Down the centre of the alley where the gutter ran dry and unusually clean, came a long line of people. They came from the direction of the Tower of London, which was only one street away. Yet not one person seemed entirely real. They seemed faded and even a little transparent.
Henry VIII stared at one woman, who looked straight back at him, pointed a finger, and shouted out, “Wicked man. See what you’ve done.”
Alice had no idea who this was, and whispered to Richard, but he didn’t know either. “I am thinking,” he said, very faintly, “that all these figures may indeed be ghosts.” Then suddenly he smiled wide. “But then, of course, so am I. So is Henry.”
“I am Anne Boleyn,” said the cross woman. She was beautifully dressed, and her thick dark hair was piled up behind her head, clipped with jewelled pins. “And you,” here she again pointed at Henry VIII, “were my husband. You had me executed even though you knew me innocent.”
Henry gulped and flushed but he said nothing and the woman walked on. Another woman, red hair long over her shoulders, came next. She was also beautifully dressed, and she called out, “Henry, you are my father. But you were cruel to my mother.”
“Elizabeth?” asked Henry, half stuttering. “I never saw you grown up. But I think you look a little like me.”
“But not so fat,” nodded the woman, and walked on.
Then the crowd became thicker. There were kings and queens walking past, who no one recognised, and then a multitude of people, both rich and poor according to their clothes, whom nobody watching could recognise. But then Richard, watching with enormous interest, recognised his father and ran forwards. Then his eldest brother walked past, and Richard embraced him, saying, “My dear Edward, it is wonderful to see you again.”
“I had a great time as king,” grinned Edward, “and I’m having a great time now as well.”
“He’s fat too,” grumbled Henry VIII.
“Why not?” called Edward IV. “I enjoy good food.”
Then many others walked along the shadowed lane, and some were friends Richard remembered, and others Henry V remembered. Then came kings and queens of the future, and no one knew them but stared in fascination.
When eventually the last of the long, long line passed, Alfie gasped, staring after the last to leave. “I used to be scared o’ dying,” he said. “But now I know everyone just carries on. Most of those folk looked happier than you see when you see the living crowds in the London streets.”
“All those people were a bit faint, like you could put your hand through them, but they still looked alive,” said Alice. “In the middle of the crowd I saw the baron and his horrible brother and his nasty steward Lacey. They all looked at me and the baron waved but I wouldn’t wave back. I hated them all. But even they were smiling.”
“It is a strange thing,” sighed Richard, “to see your dearest friends and family after death, and know them happy. Then to realise you yourself are one of them.”
Alfie didn’t tell him that he was fading too. “You coulda stayed in Lashtang. Columbus seems alright.”
“I had intended to charge into battle with Bayldon Bannister,” Richard said, “galloping on a llama. What a joy that would have been, and I am sure you will win the fight.”
“You’d be very, very welcome,” murmured Alice.
“However, I think I will go on,” Richard said softly, “and join the long line of those who have gone ahead. My father, my be
loved brothers, my dearest wife and my adored young son, they are all there and I long to be with them.” He smiled and kissed Alice’s cheek, then turned to Alfie, saying, “goodbye and thank you for the kindness you and all your friends have shown me. I shall miss you and the others, but now I shall go. I need to hurry to join the end of the line.”
The last person was disappearing into the end of the street, and with a misty swirl, Richard suddenly also disappeared.
“I shall go with him,” said Henry V. “For although I died young, I lived long enough as my life was difficult as Richard’s was. But I shall miss you all.”
“Thank you for the wonderful tournament,” Alfie called. And Henry immediately disappeared.
Henry VIII, his hands clasped over his stomach, was nodding too. “I had a good life in so many ways,” he sighed. “But I was always in pain. There was always a struggle. I admit I had a very bad and very quick temper, and many things went wrong. I had good friends but in the end they all turned against me. I executed most of them and I suppose they won’t talk to me now. But I loved my mother. I think I’ll go and find her now.”
“And thank you too for the tournament,” called Alfie as Henry walked away. “You were really wonderful.”
“That’s a nice thought,” said Henry as he became more and more transparent and finally also disappeared.
“Oh well,” said Alice. “Now we’re stuck here alone. Do you want to come back home to Bishopsgate, Alfie? Or shall we go to Lashtang again with all the others?”
“Lashtang,” said Alfie at once. “But we ain’t got no magic. So we’re here whether we wants it or not.”
They held hands, shook off the light raindrops from their small Lashtang-style hats, and started walking. It was just a light silver drizzle when they entered Bishopsgate and approached the beautiful Parry House. There were candled glittering at the windows, for even though it was now spring, the night still came early in England, and the rain made it darker. With a little shiver, Alice knocked on her own door.
Immediately the steward Hawkins answered, opening the door wide and said, “Oh, my lady and my lord, come in, come in, I have a fire in the main hall, take off your wet capes and I shall have them dried for you.”
They thanked him and were about to hurry in and sit by the fire, when Hawkins added in a half whisper, “I have to tell you first, my lady, that you already have a visitor. She arrived two days ago.”
“But I wasn’t even here,” frowned Alice. “Who is she?”
“Mistress Violet Crinford,” said the steward apologetically. “She arrived in tears, madam, saying she is a friend, which I knew to be untrue. But she claimed that she had lost everything, and the tax collector had claimed her home. She had nowhere to go, and her son had also deserted her. I permitted her to stay, and said she might stay just one week, or until you came back and made the decision.”
“Bother,” said Alfie. “We should throw her in the river.”
“Double bother,” said Alice. “I’ll have to let her stay.” As the steward took away their wet coats, Alice turned to Alfie. “But if we ever want to come back here, even just for a holiday, then she’ll be here.”
Alfie shook his head. “Anyway, she’s a real beast and nearly as bad as the baron. Look what she tried to do to Poppy. And this is a wonderful house, she doesn’t deserve it. What if we give her some money and throw her out and tell her to go and buy her own little place above a warehouse somewhere.”
With a quick run upstairs to her bedchamber, Alice snatched up a big purse of money from the locked coffer hidden beneath the bed, and ran back down again. When the steward returned, she gave him the purse. “Here, Hawkins,” she said. “give this to Violet Crinford. I don’t want her here. Make her leave and tell her there’s enough money here for her to buy a little home somewhere, and keep her without having to go to work. But we’ll be coming back here sometimes, even though we’ll be gone most of the time and I don’t want that horrid woman here.”
“Certainly madam,” said the steward with a smile. “And I wish you both great happiness, wherever you go. There is sufficient coin in the household coffers for us to keep the house in order and live most comfortably ourselves.”
As he marched off into the great hall to relay the message and the money to Violet, Alice turned back to Alfie. “But now I suppose we’re going to have to stay here anyway. I just don’t want to have to talk to that horrible woman.”
“Oh no, dear, never that,” said a voice behind them, and both whirled around. Granny was standing at the bottom of the staircase, looking very alive indeed in her white apron, blue dress and purple framed glasses. “Just stand still,” she said, “and close together please.” She raised one hand, they all blinked, and they opened their eyes again back in the cottage as everyone else ran to welcome them home.
“I’m not making cake,” said Granny.
“Tired of cooking?” asked Messina with sympathy.
“Never,” smiled Granny. “But I have a very strong feeling that we are near the final solution, and should be ready for it.” She laughed softly. “Do you want a palace in Bymion or Peganda or Pickles?”
“None of those.” Messina flopped down in the nearest chair and closed her eyes as though dreaming. “I shall take an official office in the city, but continue to live here.”
“It will be horribly crowded,” sighed Granny.
Messina opened her eyes and raised one eyebrow. “Alice and Alfie have decided to have a cottage in Pickles. John is going sailing with his father and that strange pirate and all their crews along with Columbus. The two Henrys and Richard III have left, and luckily old man William and his horrid son have gone too. Zakmeister is going to take Sam and build another house in Bymion, and Tryppa is going off with Peter and their lutes to live somewhere near to the forest. As for Nat, he’ll move into Clarr, and Poppy will stay here with myself and Bayldon.”
“And me,” smiled Granny. “The cottage belongs to me since I’m first in line. And Sherdam will stay with me.”
“We can extend,” said Messina cheerfully. “I shall magic up a second floor on top, and an annexe. We’ll all have plenty of space, and can meet up – when you cook dinner or make a cake.” She was laughing.
“But first of all,” said Granny, also laughing, “we have to deal with Yaark and Clebbster, and that has to be arranged very soon or the trouble will drag on and on as it has in the past. We must finish it all off quickly. No more delays. No more problems.”
“No more cakes?”
Granny clapped her hands and called, “Jellywop, bring some mint chocolate cake.”
Almost immediately the jelly-ox wobbled in, carrying a tray of platters on its back, each holding a very large slice of cake, oozing chocolate and green stripes of icing. Everyone helped themselves to a plate of cake, and munched cheerfully. “Jellywop is a surprisingly good cook,” said Bayldon, wandering in from the kitchen, “considering he can produce a huge and delicious cake by magic in two minutes. But, Altabella, you’re the best. Your cakes may take longer, but they are doubly delicious.”
“You’re just making sure I let you live here when Messina is empress.”
Bayldon grinned. “I love the cottage. It feels more like home than anything else in both worlds.”
Mouse lay curled on the long sofa, her two new kittens snuggled up to suckle. Mouse was purring. But Alan, who was following Bayldon as usual, leaned forwards across the back of the chair where Bayldon sat, stretched out his long teeth, and slurped up a whole slice of cake, chewed with pleasure, and licked his lips with a gulp.
“Evidently he wants to live here too,” said Messina.
The Knife of Clarr shone with brilliance and the golden edge seemed to sing. The key answered as its rich blue jewels gleamed and hummed. But the bell did not ring.
“Yaark forced the key with magic,” Brewster told them. “And he made the bell ring. Ever since, he’s called himself the Warden of the Key, and believes it too. But h
e has never held the key, nor found the true magic to make the bell ring. The younger brother or sister of the Lord of Clarr, is the rightful warden, but must first prove his worth.”
“Do you know the trick?” asked Poppy.
“This is no trick,” answered Brewster. “It is magic of some level which I do not know. High or low. Difficult or simple, yet no one has yet been able to touch the key nor ring the bell since my father came to power.”
“As your father’s son, you should be Lord of Clarr,” said Nathan at once. “Aren’t you the empole? Or was Wagster?”
At the mention of Wagster’s name, Brewster blinked, but he said quickly, “My father told us both we were the firstborn. Neither of us know the truth. But I never had a wish to be emperor, nor Lord of Clarr, nor any other position of power. I wanted to escape the misery of life with my father, and instead live in freedom.”
Poppy smiled and stood before the great golden bell and the beautiful key hanging within. Then raised both arms as she had been taught. “I am the empola, and Warden of the Key of Clarr,” she said loudly. “Yaark the alien monster from Meteor KE 896, pretends to be the warden but he cannot hold the key and rarely comes to Clarr. I therefore claim the wardenship, and the key.” Then she leaned forwards and stretched out one hand to touch the key and ring the bell.
But as soon as her fingers came close, the key swung away and sprang back inside the bell.
“Do you want to ring?” demanded Poppy, frowning at the bell. “It must have been ages since you rang. Aren’t you a bit dusty? I could give you a polish.”
The bell did not seem amused. Poppy walked a little closer, and attempted to pat the bell, even though the key was not visible. But the bell flashed golden light and Poppy fell back.
She sat on the floor, put her chin in her hands and her elbows on her knees, and tried to think of a clever idea.
Meanwhile Nathan was waiting for the knife to give him an answer. Also waiting, Hermes sat against one wall, and Brewster leaned against the opposite wall. Poppy felt that the whole world was watching her, and she was certainly failing.
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