Hide & Seek

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “My lord,” and Hambrick turned as Hexaconda struck him, knocking him to the ground, and her coils wound around him once, twice, three times and four, and his voice was squeezed from him.

  Hexaconda was all serpent now, but Laksta stood, still with her legs, and watched her father. She was crying. “I will not kill him. I cannot make myself kill him, yet he deserves only death.”

  Poppy seemed controlled by her headband and it was the peacock voice that spoke, and not Poppy’s own. She was kicking out, but then fell, calling to the cane for its guidance. The silver nibbed quill pen, its huge peacock feather vivid in the dark, was stabbing into Davister’s neck. He was bleeding, but grabbed the quill, threw it from him, and lunged towards Nathan. Nathan held out his knife, also blazing in the black shadowed corridor, and almost of its own will, he swung it, thrusting it into Davister’s fat chest.

  As Clebbster tumbled over, he raised both arms and wild flashes of red sparks turned to fire, and in a frantic swirl they rushed at Nathan. His knife disappeared in the blaze for a moment, but then flashed back, blue against red. Curled on the ground, Clebbster was heaving and curls of black smoke rose from his throat as though all his breath was now burning, but Nathan was also flat on the ground, desperately clinging to the knife while also trying to beat out the glittering red flames which sprang over his hair and clothes. But the Hazlett Emperor was aflame. He coughed smoke and a blue fire seemed to be eating his feet, legs and hands. He could no longer stand and his face was lost in smoke and fire, one eye already gone as he rolled over, trying to see and fight back. His own fingernail, forced into his hand by Laksta, seemed to be travelling deeper and deeper into his body and he was writhing in pain, while his cane, wings spread and flying, was cracking its feathers across its master’s face. Again Clebbster howled in pain, and now the fire rose to meet the destruction of the magical fingernail and the furious peacocks.

  Of all the wizard’s supporters now only his father Davister remained fighting, but he was injured by the deep knife wound in his chest, and his strength was fading. As he finally fell, more sweeps of flame rose until the entire corridor was lit with roaring fire, flames rising from floor to roof, scarlet, white, gold and blue. It seemed as though even the fire fought within itself. The two wizards crawled from the heat back along the corridor and once again into the darkness, while Poppy, Nathan and Hexaconda escaped in the opposite direction into the library. Laksta, beating out the flickers of fire in her hair, ran in after them, clutching the peacock cane. She dropped the cane on the nearest desk.

  “I can’t stay,” she said, voice muffled. Both she and Nathan were still beating out the sparks alight over their clothes. “I hate my father but I will not stand by and watch him killed by my friends. I am a Quoster, not a vile wizard, nor a killing machine. I know my dear brother lies dying from my father’s curse. He will soon curse me or kill me as well, I’m sure.”

  Hexaconda turned, merging back into a woman. “Go to the forest, my child. Quickly, to Sharr, and rest beneath our old friends the trees. I shall come soon.” As Laksta disappeared, Hexaconda sank down on the carpet. Nathan, gasping for breath, sat beside her while Poppy, the feathers still twirling in fury on her head, lay flat on her back, staring up at the bookcases. Everyone was too tired to think straight.

  ‘Quick, quick,” said a small voice, “read me.”

  Poppy almost laughed, although she was too tired, too frightened and too confused to spark. Another voice squeaked, “I can help. And Diddyworth has secrets too.”

  All the little flames had been squashed out, but Nathan was so exhausted, he could hardly sit up. “Secrets don’t help,” he managed to say. “I want to know what I should do next. Out loud. Not a secret.”

  Diddyworth’s voice was loud and clear in reply. “My Lord of Clarr,” said the large leather-bound book, tipping with a heavy bang from the shelf onto the desk. “My page three hundred and four. Look, look, my lord.”

  Reluctantly, Nathan pulled himself up by grabbing the desk’s legs, and managed to lean over the huge book which now lay open at page three hundred and four. There was a large picture in terrible detail, and underneath was a few words written in black pen.

  “I wrote that,” called the quill, which now collapsed onto the desk beside the book, its feather in a limp flop.

  Nathan turned and stared at Poppy. “It’s you,” he whispered. “The Warden of the Key of Clarr. You have to do it. Look. But we should be back in the Chamber of the Key.”

  “Yes, yes,” said many different and excited voices. Then Diddyworth closed the pages, and fell silent. Poppy staggered to her feet, finding that the wizard’s walking cane was now ready at her hand. She leaned on it, and its handle cradled her shaking hand, making it possible for her to stand up.

  “How do we get from the library to the other room?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Clebbster and his father are out in the corridor.”

  “Magic of course,” interrupted Hexaconda.

  “I think I’m too tired for anything,” Poppy whispered.

  “I shall do it,” smiled Hexaconda, “I have the power to take us without delay,” and she raised one arm.

  Immediately they opened their eyes to the massive golden bell hanging on its huge chain from the ceiling in front of them. There was light, but the dust swirled. Neither smoke nor fire threatened, but the stench of dark magic was strong. The Chamber of the Key had changed a little, for now there was a high golden chair set below the bell, padded and cushioned, its back decorated with magical symbols which Nathan recognised, for Granny had often used them, and they had been painted on the wooden lists at the tournament.

  At first there was silence. Hexaconda, now a woman, stood gazing up at the bell. “I must go,” she said. “My daughter needs me and I will go directly to the forest. But this bell is mighty and beautiful. I believe it is the secret of Clarr.” She then disappeared so abruptly, that Nathan and Poppy stared at empty space in surprise.

  Poppy leaned on the cane, while Nathan stood beside her. Then they heard the rush of loud running footsteps. The door was flung open so that it crashed against the wall, and shook, rattling the handle. Clebbster shuffled in. Clearly he was in pain, and one eye was closed behind a great black bruise. But he had managed to put out the flames, even though his black silk clothes were damaged and scorched, and he staggered, finding it difficult to walk without his cane. Behind him crawled his father. Davister seemed more badly hurt than his son, and collapsed on the mosaic floor with a thud. But Clebbster came forwards without caring that his father now lay dead behind him. Clearly he had no interest in his father, nor his sons, not his wife and not his daughter. He cared only for himself, yet he did not even rest, and continued in his anger and ambition in spite of the pain he must have been suffering.

  “Are you ready, Pops?” whispered Nathan, and she bit her lip, gulped hard, and nodded. Nathan still help his knife, and Poppy was gripping the huge bejewelled key.

  Although he could barely see and his legs were shaking, Clebbster flung himself forwards into the chair below the bell and sank back, half wheezing and half choking. “The throne,” he muttered. “I claim the throne.” As he sat, he spat out something thin and black, and Nathan realised it was the wizard’s own black fingernail which had been pushed into his right hand. It had somehow travelled inside him, creeping up inside his arm and finally into his mouth. The idea made Nathan feel very sick.

  Forcing himself back and pushing against the padded arms of the chair, Clebbster seemed to find it hard to sit comfortably. The throne resisted him, but he insisted on sitting there, thrusting out his legs.

  “Why are you sitting on the throne?” asked Poppy, her voice trembling. “You are no emperor. My grandmother won the battle of magic against you.”

  He cackled. “Who cares? Not me,” said Clebbster. “Now, brat, give me the key.” She shook her head and stood still. “You have no idea of my power,” he said with a hiss and a snarl. And he pointed his index finger
at Nathan. At once the knife blade shone white and gold, but Nathan slipped to the floor with a gasp, holding his head. Clebbster pointed again. Nathan cried out. His head was obviously horribly painful, and Poppy could see drips of blood coming from the corners of her brother’s eyes. “You filthy brats have escaped me too often,” Clebbster snarled, reaching down for the piece of his broken fingernail, and throwing it at Poppy. It missed, but Clebbster was still laughing. “This time you die, you die slowly and I shall watch you suffer the worst pain you could ever imagine.”

  “Don’t touch that nail,” called Nathan, as he saw it spark with tiny flames and smelly black smoke.

  Poppy knew she had to act now and wait no longer. Summoning all her courage, once again she stepped forwards. “I am the Warden of the Key of Clarr,” she called, her voice growing gradually stronger, “and I command the key to banish all those who sit on this throne of Clarr without my permission. I and only I can open the lock, and this time I order the lock closed to Clebbster Hazlett.”

  The old wizard raised his long, long finger, but before he could point it at Poppy, she had thrown the key at the golden bell over Clebbster’s head. It hit the side of the bell and jangled, setting the bell in a huge swing.

  It chimed. At first it was one long note, loud and clear. Then the note was repeated, and repeated again. Ringing over and over, not stopping, the echoing chimes continued until they surrounded the whole vast room, rebounding from the walls until the sound was like an orchestra of bells and the clang and booming clash made everyone half deaf. Poppy and Nathan clamped their hands over their ears.

  A sudden high-pitched scream was abruptly choked into silence. Nathan looked up. There before them both was a bent figure in burned black silk, swinging from the bell chain. It had looped itself very tightly around the old man’s scrawny neck. His green eyes bulged and his mouth, open and gasping, started to scream again before it was swallowed back by the chain from which he was swinging. Backwards and forwards the great bell swung one way, while swinging in the opposite direction was the old wizard Clebbster, the bell chain sinking harshly into the skin of his neck, his claw-like hands pulling desperately to free himself, but as he fought so the chain grew tighter. His feet waved madly in mid-air kicking out, missing the floor below by some distance as they kicked, reaching frantically for solid ground and safety.

  The wrinkled skin of his face turned dark blue as though deeply bruised, and his forked tongue lolled out, flopping over his chin. His green eyes glazed over. Then his head flopped sideways.

  Very gradually the chiming and booming bell began to slow its manic pounding swing and the noise faded. Very slowly the echoes shrank and then disappeared and all that was left was a tiny tinkle as the bell stopped and hung still. And there, in its centre was the hanging man, quite limp and quite dead, his feet drooping down beneath his coat and his hands loose at his sides. And as he hung dead, so he began to ascend within the bell itself, raised by the chain pulling on his neck until he was quite invisible, as if the bell had swallowed him.

  Poppy was dazed, and looked around for her key. Then she realised that although she knew she had thrown it at the bell, now it was still in her hand. Nathan smiled back at her. He held up his knife and she held up her key.

  “You’ve done it,” he murmured. “Pops, you’ve saved us all.”

  “No,” she whispered back. “You and me, Nat. We’ve done it together.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “We didn’t even really expect it. I mean, we didn’t know how it was going to happen but I had a message from Clarr. Now it’s done. Clebbster’s gone,” Nathan told Granny. “And the others too. Every one of those horrible Hazletts.”

  “So there’s only Brewster,” said Alice, hugging Poppy very hard. “He’s the only Hazlett left in Lashtang or anywhere else?”

  “He might not be around for long,” Alfie muttered. “So no Hazletts at all?”

  “What?” asked Poppy, alarmed, but Granny beamed, held out both arms, and managed to hug both her grandchildren at the same time. “This is a marvellous achievement, and marvellous news,” she said. “I shall organise a party. Food of all kinds and everyone’s favourites. Music. Wonderful weather and all our friends. My dearest Nat and Poppy darling, you are both heroes. I am so proud.”

  Alfie was now dancing in circles around them. “Hooray for Nat. Hooray for Pops.”

  But they were too tired to enjoy any celebration, and collapsed on the couch,

  “No, no,” Nathan insisted. “We aren’t hurt. Honestly. Or at least, only a tiny bit. But it was scary. And it was exhausting. And we never really expected to win.”

  “And I ought to go and tell Brewster,” sighed Poppy. “I don’t think he’ll be sorry his father is dead, but it will be a shock.”

  “If he can even hear you,” admitted Alfie. “I think he’s dying.”

  “We both thought that,” said Nathan, with a slight tremble as he remembered how they had felt. “So did Clebbster. But we escaped. And he didn’t.”

  “Oh my dearest,” said Granny suddenly. “Poppy, you have a huge cut on your face. And Nat, you’re covered in bruises.”

  Poppy half giggled. “We left the others a lot worse off than we are.”

  Alice squeezed her hand. “You’ve been wonderful and everyone will be thrilled when they hear what you’ve done. The others will be home soon too I hope, but John and his dad and that other captain along with Columbus and their crews – well – they’re all in Pickles. And Zak and Sam are in Bymion Town, and Tryppa and Peter went to Sparkan. So there’s just Alfie and me along with your family, and Sherdam. Gosh, your mum and dad will be excited.”

  “Tea. Healing cream for both of you. And cream cakes,” said Granny, and disappeared into the kitchen. They heard her calling, “Messina, Sherdam, Bayldon, everyone, come and see who’s back. And come and hear the news. It’s the best news we’ve had in ten years. Or more.”

  Footsteps, everyone came running, huge smiles, “Hey, what’s the news?” “Great to see you both back.” “Tell us, tell us, we want the news.” And even the animals came running. Bayldon hurried in so fast that Alan nearly fell over him when he stopped to hug Nathan and Poppy. Mouse with her two tiny little fluffy kittens heard a familiar voice and ran into Poppy’s arms while the two fluff-balls tried to climb up Nathan’s legs. Even Mavis poked her nose around the door.

  “I have to see Brewster first,” Nathan mumbled. “If he’s dying, I have to see him before. I mean, well, I have to tell him what’s happened, and hold his hand, and thank him for everything.”

  So tired, he half crawled, Nathan made his way to the main bedroom while Poppy started telling everyone else the news. “Can we send a message to John?” he heard Alfie say as he pushed open the bedroom door and crept quietly to the bed. Brewster was half hidden beneath a huge pile of white sheets, quilts and blankets, and all that Nathan could see was the tip of his long sharp nose.

  Frightened that Brewster might already be dead, he sat on the side of the bed and whispered, “Dear friend, are you awake?”

  With a jerk that frightened Nathan even more, Brewster sat up so quickly, Nathan fell back. “Course a-diddle dandy,” said Brewster with a huge smile and a flick of his forked tongue.

  “What? How?” Nathan said, not able to speak clearly. “I mean, it’s fantastic to see you. But they said – they really believed-,”

  Brewster interrupted. “He’s gone, hasn’t he, my Octobr friend. My dearest Papa has ended his life, as my poor brother did. My father is the one I shall never miss.”

  “But how did you know?” demanded Nathan.

  “Because that’s the only thing that could have ended the curse.” Brewster swung his long skinny legs out of the bed, and stood, stretching and grinning. “Humble bumble, and Popspsy-wopsy, what a good job you’ve done. Octobrs against Hazletts, and yes – you’ve won.” With a small grunt, he fell back on the bed. “Yes, I was dying. What a grand crowd you are. Grannykins tried to sa
ve me and worked hard at it. But my dear father’s curse had already eaten into my head. It’s his death that cured me. And I don’t miss him a jot. Not a wot. Not a tot or a rot. You, my fine friend, have done me yet another magnificent favour, and once again saved my life.”

  “Actually,” Nathan said, beaming and delight at Brewster’s recovery, “it was more Poppy than me. And now I think about it, it was Clebbster’s own doing. He was so convinced he was about to kill both of us, and he was arrogant and sat on the throne of Clarr. It was the magic that killed him.”

  “Then he died by justice.”

  “That’s a good way of looking at it.” Nathan staggered back towards the door. “And you’re sure you feel alright?”

  “Reborn, un-torn, re-shorn, and nothing to mourn.”

  Brewster was still laughing as he followed Nathan out again into the living room. Everyone had gathered and there was immediate surprise, cheering, clapping, calling, and delighted stamping. Brewster bowed. Nathan slumped back on the couch. When there was a slight tapping on the outside door, nobody heard it except Messina, who said, “I suppose that’s Hermes. He went to buy some special treats. Though,” as she wandered out to open the door, “he usually just flies in a window.” After just a moment, she had walked back in again. “Not Hermes,” she said, glowering. “And I haven’t invited the wretch in. Not at this one special moment of celebration.”

  “Who?” demanded everyone at the same time.

  “Me, just me, my poor friends,” said the old man, staggering in through the open door. “William Octobr, and at your service. With affection, with gratitude, and -,” but unable to finish his sentence, he fell onto the cushioned chair nearest him, and Poppy, who had been sitting on the arm, got up at once and moved away.

  “You smell of dark magic,” she muttered.

  “Don’t be rude, Poppy,” said her mother, frowning. “But I did not invite you in, William. This is a time of celebration. You may not know, but Clebbster Hazlett was killed this morning.”