by Dan Davis
The stink was disgusting and she ran from the cell, with Cedd and Pym coming right after her into the corridor. Pym slammed the door, shutting the guard inside.
‘Let’s go,’ Writer said to Cedd. ‘Lock him back up in there with that guard and poo.’ She pointed to Pym.
‘Please,’ Pym said, falling to his knees right there in the corridor. ‘Please don’t.’ He shuffled towards them on his knees, hands held up in supplication. Writer and Cedd both stepped back. ‘Please, I’m terrible lonely down here. You’ll help out old Pym, right?’
Cedd looked down at the disgustingly filthy Pym. ‘Do you know your way around the castle?’
‘Oh yes I do, squire, I do indeed,’ Pym said, nodding emphatically. ‘Can take you right to the forge, right to the armoury and anywhere else you care to find, no drama at all.’
‘We can’t trust him,’ Writer said, looking at Pym. ‘He’ll escape or turn us in. We cannot trust his word at all.’ Pym kept smiling, bobbing his head.
‘But we’re not asking for his word,’ Cedd said, holding Pym’s gaze. ‘If he crosses us he knows that you can turn him into a newt with a click of your fingers and he’s cunning enough to have worked out that I myself am an alchemist who could destroy him in a trice.’
‘Quite right, squire,’ Pym said, his filthy face turning into a grin that showed off his rotten, green teeth. ‘Old Pym knows what side his bread’s buttered on.’
‘I shall release you when the boy and the dragon are in my hands,’ Cedd said.
‘Course,’ Pym said, and bobbed his head. ‘Dragon and boy, both, squire.’
‘Lead us to the forge,’ Cedd said.
‘Thank ye, squire, thank ye,’ Pym said, getting up and setting off down the corridor and up the stairs back into the castle. Cedd followed, moving quickly for one so ancient.
Writer had a bad feeling. Time was against them. They had to find Keeper, wherever he was, get to the gate to meet up with Archer and the others before sunrise.
And now they were relying on Pym, a known liar and criminal.
‘Hold on, Keeper,’ she said.
She ran after Cedd.
Castles in the Air
The tower was the tallest structure in all Coalschester. It looked to Archer like the Morningtree Guildhall had been perched atop giant stilts. It was constructed of four columns that held up a huge square building at the top. The roof of the tower was a wide, flat pyramid shape covered in riveted sheets of green copper. Right at the top of the pyramid roof was a little tiny tower thing with a tall spike stretching up into the night sky. Lights glowed from some of the windows that ran right around the top.
‘How’d they get Burp all the way up there?’ Weaver said.
‘A winch in the centre,’ Winstanley said, pointing into the darkness. ‘A rope pulls supplies through a trapdoor in the base between the columns. I’ve seen them do it.’
‘How do we get up there?’ Archer asked.
‘No idea,’ Winstanley said.
‘Where’s the soldiers?’ Weaver asked. ‘If loads of soldiers came to the market square earlier and took him here, then where are the soldiers now?’
‘All up in the top of the tower?’ Winstanley said. ‘Unless they are hiding, behind the columns perhaps, pretending that all is safe so that we walk in unprepared and then they jump out on us and catch us by surprise.’
Weaver nodded. ‘Sneaky,’ she said.
‘Perhaps if one of us goes in first,’ Winstanley started. ‘Then they can call back to us if it’s safe? Might I suggest they imitate the call of the nightingale or perhaps the long eared owl?’
‘We don’t have time to think things through,’ Archer said and jumped down from the wagon. There were few people on the streets now and no one paid him any attention as he crossed to the nearest column of the tower. The others followed close on his heels. Winstanley looked nervous. Weaver was grinning.
There was no wall or fence around the tower. The bases of the columns were in the street just like four big houses that went up and up and up into the night. The red brick was rough, crumbling. The same as some of the houses nearby. Mundane. Ordinary. Nothing like Bede’s Tower. That white stone was something otherworldly and magical. Still, this one was very tall.
‘There’s no way up,’ Weaver said, peering up into the darkness.
‘Burp’s up there,’ Archer said. ‘We have to find one.’
‘Where’s that rope up to the top, Winstanley?’ Weaver said but when they turned round he wasn’t there.
‘Over here,’ he said, in a hoarse whisper from the farthest column from the one they stood under.
Archer and Weaver ran over. Winstanley was facing the wall of that column with his hands pressed against it. ‘What is it?’ Archer said.
‘Look, there’s light,’ Winstanley said. ‘Can’t you see it? A line of torchlight coming from this wall.’
‘You’re seeing things, mate,’ Weaver said.
‘You must stand at the correct angle,’ Winstanley said. ‘But look.’ He held out his hand and a shaft of yellow light fell upon it. Archer stepped back and then he saw that Winstanley was correct; there was a crack in the brick wall. A tall, thin crack, as tall as an adult and as narrow as a blade of grass.
‘It’s a door,’ Archer said. ‘It has to be a secret door.’
‘Not a magic door,’ Weaver said, crossing her arms. ‘That’s all we need.’
‘I don’t believe it would be magic,’ Winstanley said. ‘The Alchemist Gilbert was not one of those types of alchemists. He was one who made mechanical devices and steam engines and whatnot. Although he always had lightning striking the tower which I suppose is rather magical.’
‘Lightning hits this tower?’ Weaver asked, looking up nervously. ‘This tower that we’re under right now?’
‘Not since Cromwell had him taken to the Tower of London,’ Winstanley said. ‘When Gilbert was here, lightning was cracking into the tower all the time. Night and day, some times. The Coalschester folk never minded. Never noticed most of the time. He was at it for a hundred years or so, so they say, plenty of time for the locals to get used to it.’
‘So if it’s not magic,’ Archer said. ‘How do we open it?’
Winstanley pushed hesitantly on the wall either side of the light.
‘Just kick it in,’ Weaver said.
‘Kick in a brick wall?’ Winstanley asked.
‘You said it’s a door, not a wall,’ Weaver said.
‘A door made of bricks,’ Winstanley said.
‘Stand aside,’ Weaver said and took a few steps back and flexed her knees. She was incredibly strong, Archer knew. If anyone could kick down a brick wall, it was Weaver.
She ran at the base of the column, hands balled into fists, her face screwed up. ‘Arrgh!’ she shouted and slammed the sole of her boot into it with a great thud. ‘Oww!’ She bounced off backwards, holding her leg. ‘Stupid thing!’ She hopped back over and thumped it. ‘Open up,’ she said.
‘Shush,’ Archer said. ‘Stop attracting attention.’ He looked round. No soldiers or any locals there but surely it was only a matter of time.
‘We have to get in.’ She thumped the wall again and again. ‘There must be a way in.’
‘Perhaps we ought to explore other avenues?’ Winstanley gently suggested.
‘Shut up, Winstanley,’ Weaver said over her shoulder. ‘You’re about as much use as a paper hammer.’
‘I merely suggested...’ he started to object.
‘Sorry, ignore her,’ Archer said. ‘She doesn’t mean anything by it. We appreciate your help.’
‘Don’t apologise to other people for me,’ Weaver said and turned round and leaned her back against the wall. ‘Well, go on then, Stanley, let’s hear your brilliant...’ she started to say but never got any further because there was a great CLICK and the wall swung inward, flooding them with light and tumbling Weaver backwards through the gap it made. She landed inside on her back, arms flailing out to e
ach side. There was a tiny space inside just big enough for Weaver to lie in. Above her was the bottom of staircase spiralling up and away inside the column.
‘What happened?’ Weaver said as Archer helped her to her feet.
‘No idea,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
The three of them climbed the stairs. Up and an up they went, round and round, up and up. Archer’s thighs started burning but he pushed onward as fast as he could. Weaver fell farther behind. Winstanley was well behind her but still Archer could hear his wheezing and occasional stumbles. Every few steps there was an alcove in the wall with a lamp inside it casting strange, bright and steady white light. There were also a few wide, broad steps like passing places. But no doors and no windows.
Archer was starting to worry that he would never reach the top and be climbing for ever when he stumbled out into a huge, brightly lit room with a high ceiling. It was filled with great big bright metal devices and glass tubes and strange glowing objects everywhere standing on the polished wooden floor, some of the stuff stretching up as high as the top of the room, which was covered in strange coils of metal tubing and polished brass balls. There was a sort of humming sound like a hive of lazy bees inside a hollow tree, and there was a strange dry smell that reminded him of the summer, somehow.
Weaver came up behind him dragging her feet and breathing heavily. ‘Where’s Burp?’ she managed.
‘Don’t know,’ Archer whispered. It was impossible to see the whole room through all the masses of strange stuff; the far wall. But there were no soldiers in sight and he heard no voices or people noises coming from anywhere.
Winstanley came thumping up behind them. He was wheezing loudly and had no breath left for speech and just leaned on his knees trying to catch his breath.
‘Who are you children?’ A small man stepped round from behind a tall brass tube about twenty feet away from them. He had long curly hair and a thin but straggly moustache. He had soft, very white skin and a long, hooky nose. His clothes were very strange indeed; a long jet black coat covered in golden swirls and patterns, over a white shirt that puffed with lace frills. His hat was tall and black with a wide brim and his legs encased in tight white breeches. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘We’ve come for our dragon,’ Archer said, stepping forward. ‘Where is he?’
The small man sighed. ‘Your dragon?’ he said. ‘In what way is it your dragon?’
‘Just hand him over,’ Weaver said coming up to stand next to Archer. ‘Or you’ll be sorry.’
‘Really?’ the frilly man said. ‘Why would that be, young lady?’
‘Er,’ Weaver said. ‘Because I’ll knock your block off. Obviously.’
‘Ah,’ the man said, seemingly unconcerned. ‘Well I wouldn’t want that.’
‘Who are you?’ Winstanley asked from behind Archer, still out of breath. ‘You’re not the Alchemist Gilbert, I know that much.’
‘My name is Lilly,’ the man called Lilly said but offered no more explanation.
‘Where’s the dragon, Lilly?’ Archer said. ‘We know he was brought here earlier by the soldiers.’
‘Tell us everything,’ Weaver said.
‘Yes, yes,’ Lilly said. ‘Indeed he was brought here. By Cromwell’s lackeys. That lunatic Hopkins and his monstrous brute with the brass arm. However, the dragon is here no longer. I explained to those unspeakable barbarians that I was unable to assist them in unlocking the dragon’s power, you see. So they went away.’
Archer’s heart sank. Again, they were too late to rescue Burp.
‘Where?’ Archer managed to croak. ‘Where did they take him?’
‘Back to where he came from,’ Lilly said, shrugging his narrow shoulders.
‘Where does he come from?’ Weaver asked, her curiosity getting the better of her anger.
‘Why, the Vale, of course,’ Lilly said. ‘They’ve taken him back to Bede’s Tower.’
Through Fire and Water
‘Why are we helping him to escape?’ Writer whispered to Cedd as they followed Pym up the gaol stairs and along a quiet corridor of the castle. The walls were rough stone painted white but there was little light to see by. There were no other guards for the moment but Writer was expecting another fight at any moment.’
‘We’re not,’ Cedd replied. ‘He is helping us. He may be disgusting and brainless but I have seen enough soldiers to recognise a true scrapper when I see one. Give him a dirty task, offer a rich enough reward and he’ll see it done no matter what. A useful man, no doubt about it.’
‘He’s dangerous,’ Writer whispered.
‘Oh yes,’ Cedd replied. ‘Which is why we must aim him at our enemies and stand well back. He is cowed by our abilities.’
‘I cannot turn him into a newt,’ Writer whispered. ‘And you cannot do magic either.’
‘Of course not,’ Cedd whispered back. ‘But he thinks we might be able to and he’s not willing to risk it. I know his type. Cunning as a fox. Very difficult to kill or outwit because he has no morality at all. No self-doubt and he fears neither ridicule nor failure. So he’s extremely dangerous but if you know how he thinks then you can manipulate him. Make him do what you want. See?’
‘No,’ she admitted. She hated not understanding something.
‘No,’ Cedd said. ‘You are not like your friend Archer. That boy has a rare talent for motivating people.’
‘Oh,’ she said, somewhat crestfallen.
‘Never be downhearted, my dear,’ Cedd said. ‘Your talents exceed his in every other way.’
Pym spun round and hissed a warning at them. ‘Keep your flaming nattering down unless you want to get us all nabbed.’ He collected himself and went on in a more respectful tone. ‘That is to say, if it pleases you, squire, do us all a favour and put a lid on it? Thank ye.’
‘Just lead us to the forge and mind your own tongue,’ Cedd said. ‘Or I’ll lock you back in your cell and let Cromwell’s justice be served you.’
A darkness passed over Pym’s face but he turned and led them on through the door. Beyond were voices and banging noises and Writer realised she had been smelling hot food for some time now.
‘There’s the kitchens,’ Pym said. ‘Beyond, the forge.’ They hurried through twisting passages and brick archways into the castle kitchens. There were men and women everywhere working at cauldrons and by the vast roaring fires and heavy tables. Children hurried by carrying baskets of ingredients. There were doors and archways leading off into further rooms she only glimpsed as they hurried through. She bumped into more than one person. The savoury smells made her mouth water.
‘Out of my kitchen,’ a powerfully built woman covered in flour shouted at them. She pointed with a rolling pin from the far side of a huge table. ‘No soldiers allowed, how many times do you louts have to be told?’ She smacked the rolling pin into her fleshy palm in a cloud of flour. The girls to either side of her laughed.
‘Just passing through, love,’ Pym shouted back without stopping, throwing his snaggle-toothed grin at her.
Cedd shoved Writer forward too. ‘Don’t stop moving,’ Cedd whispered emphatically. ‘Nothing on earth more dangerous than an angry cook. No matter what, we get out through that door.’ Writer nodded, looking round at the scowling kitchen workers.
‘Oh no you don’t,’ the huge woman said, moving faster than Writer would have believed possible to block Pym off from the door that led outside. ‘You disgusting brigand, bringing your filth into my kitchens as if this be some short cut. Go back where you came from.’ She stood in Pym’s path like a dam. She was twice as wide as he was and had powerful muscles rippling all over her arms and neck.
‘Out of my way, you old hag,’ Pym snarled, marching right at her.
The woman scowled and immediately brought the heavy wooden rolling pin down at Pym’s head.
Pym caught it, yanked it out of her hand with a twist, barged her to one side with his shoulder and thwacked her on the buttocks as he went past, sending her s
prawling against the wall. Cedd and Writer skipped by her before she could turn around. Pym kicked open the door and they all stumbled out into the freezing night air. After the searing, oppressive heat of the kitchen it was like being smacked in the face with a wet cloak.
Pym slammed the door shut behind them and they all ran across the hard-packed frozen ground toward a collection of low brick-built outbuildings that made up the castle forge. Someone shouted at them then from the kitchen doorway behind but they did not pursue.
‘Keeper’s in there?’ Writer said, pointing at the outbuildings. The moon was bright but the castle was so vast they were in shadow.
‘That’s the forge,’ Pym said.
‘So what’s the plan?’ Writer started to ask Cedd but the old man had already started walking toward the nearest doorway.
‘I shall attempt to persuade the blacksmith to let the boy go,’ Cedd said. ‘And if that fails I shall instruct you, Pym, to grab the lad and run for the north postern gate, fighting off any resistance encountered. When we are all outside the castle grounds I shall hold your oath fulfilled and you may be on your way.’
‘Sounds good, squire,’ Pym said, chuckling, his breath a mist before them. The man really did smell appalling.
Through heavy, iron-bound doors the forge reminded her of the castle kitchen, only it was hot enough to take her breath away and the noise battered her ears like waterfall. Bellows pumped rhythmically and flames roaring like the growls of some great glowing beasts. Banging and ringing filled the air like a thousand broken bells. The air tasted of sparks. It was quite overwhelming. Steam hissed from a trough near to the door where a man in a huge, heavy black apron had plunged a glowing metal rod he held with long tongs.
‘Can’t see the boy nowhere,’ Pym said to Cedd.
Cedd strode to the man with the tongs. ‘I am looking for a boy,’ he said looking up at him.
The blacksmith shrugged his powerful shoulders. ‘Lot of boys here,’ he said in a gravelly voice. ‘None for sale.’