Blind Man's Buff

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “Busted,” sighed John. “Ruddy shame. I coulda gone and come back whenever I wanted.”

  “But I might be able to,” said Nathan, thoughtfully. “I should write the words down while I still remember them, what came after tearing the veil?”

  “Nor I doesn’t see how you can rip that veil,” objected Alfie. “Tis all dragonfly things.”

  “There ain’t nuffing wot makes no sense when you talks o’ Lashtang,” concluded John.

  “True.” Nathan swallowed his last bite of cheese sandwich, and grinned. “Especially when you remember I’m supposed to be emperor one day. So it all has to be crazy.” And he brushed crumbs off his doublet and looked up. “And now I have to go there. I could say those words like the smith did, but I’d sooner go to my own home first and talk to Granny. So I’ll see if the Knife of Clarr can call Hermes for me.”

  “Oh dear,” said Alice. “You too? There’ll just be me and Alfie and Sam.”

  “That so bad?” sniffed Alfie looking up.

  “No, no. But,” mumbled Alice, “the house will feel so empty.”

  “Send Mouse back to me,” muttered Sam. “And Gosling and Mars Bar.” And after a pause, he added, “And some real Mars Bars too, please.”

  “I’ll talk to the knife after supper,” said Nathan, “but I promise I won’t just disappear without saying goodbye first.”

  It was buttery pastry crust over slow braised lamb for midday dinner, with a custard pudding, and the diminished group sat rather sadly around the table, looking at each other over their platters. Alice, worried that the king might suddenly call her to marry some other horrible man, said she didn’t have any appetite and didn’t want to eat a thing. Alfie felt he had to protect Alice, so was just as miserable. Sam was missing Mouse, and Flop refused to sit on his lap, while Nathan was worried about Poppy and wanted to get off back to Hammersmith and Granny.

  Snow blew down the chimney and made the fire smoke, and then sizzle out with sparks and crackles. Nathan offered to light it again, but the wood was too wet and they had to call the steward to call the Head page to call the scullery boy. Then Alice said she was tired from doing nothing all day, so she went upstairs to lie down for an hour’s rest. Meanwhile Alfie went out into the grounds and practised his swordsmanship, but practising alone didn’t work very well. There was no quintain to smash at and then whirl around to whack him back. He wished he could go to tournaments and be the great knight again. John, meanwhile, was packing up a few clothes to take to his father’s house, and pretended to be quite excited, although in actual fact he was sure he would miss everyone, and after the wonderful time they had all enjoyed in the palace during the Tudor Christmas, he was sure everything would be very bleak alone, even though he liked his father’s company.

  Alone in the bedchamber, Nathan held up the Knife of Clarr, and called Hermes, the Messenger of Clarr, to come for him.

  “But make it after supper,” added Nathan, lying flat on his back on the bed, and holding the knife up in the air, shimmering in the candlelight. “I suppose that’s about seven o’clock. And if Hermes can possibly do it, can he bring Mouse and the kittens, and some chocolate with him?”

  Supper was an even more dreary affair, with bacon and leek soup with big cheesy dumplings and some crusty bread. Because they were all feeling rather low, the meal dragged on and no one was hungry. The shutters were all up on the windows, the huge fire was blazing, and the chandelier was lit with twenty flaming candles. They could hear the windows rattling behind the shutters, for the wind had whipped up strongly again, and once more the fire was smoking.

  Then there was a sudden tap, tap on the front door.

  The steward answered the door, looked out and saw no one. Then he looked down. There was a large goose standing there, all ready to tap on the door again with his beak, and hopping from side to side on his big flat orange feet, trying to keep warm. His feathers were fluffed up and sprinkled with snow, but clinging to his elegant neck was a small white kitten. Just behind the white kitten, half submerged in feathers, was a little grey kitten, which was meowing rather plaintively. Around the goose’s neck hung a large green shopping bag with Harrods written on it in gold, and something tied within this was wriggling, spitting, hissing and growling.

  The steward stared at this apparition for some giddy moments. He had seen the goose many times before, since it had often lived within the house in the company of his mistress Alice and her friends. He knew it was an unusual and much loved creature, even though geese were not normally house-pets, but he had never seen it look quite like this before.

  He attempted to remain calm, and said, “Come this way – er – sir, if you please, and I shall take you to the Lady Parry.”

  At this the goose bowed, dislodging the grey kitten, and stepped over the snowy threshold. “I have come to see his illustrious highness the empole,” clacked the goose. “But there’s no need to take me since I know where to find him.”

  The steward’s knees trembled and gradually gave way beneath him as he fainted in the corridor. Mars Bar happily ran inside, the Harrods shopping bag squirmed and hissed louder, and Hermes stepped over the steward’s body, saying to himself, “Dear, dear, these humans have some very strange habits. I should have brought Alan with me as well.”

  He then pushed open the door into the great hall, saw everyone sitting silently at the long table, dropped the hissing shopping bag on the floorboards, stretched out his wings with a flutter, and ran into Nathan’s embrace.

  “Oh, Hermes, thank you,” said Nathan with a big smile.

  Sam leapt from the table, scooped up Mars Bar on the way, raced to the shopping bag, untied it and lifted a furious Mouse from its depths. “Dearest Mouse, I’ve missed you,” he proclaimed, gathering her into his arms as she quivered with loving pleasure and licked his face along with the drips of bacon and leek soup.

  And there, on the floor, several bars of varying types of chocolate spilt, looking like a much more attractive supper than the cold soup.

  Alice and Alfie sat beaming, and Alfie unwrapped one of the chocolate bars for Alice, and they shared it between them.

  John’s smile was wide enough to split his face and he bounced around the hall hugging everybody including Mouse, all the kittens, and Hermes too.

  “I’s off to me Pa tomorrow,” he said. “But don’t you go forgettin’ me. I’s part o’ this gang no matter wot, and I wants back in Lashtang afore long, and to help wiv the rebellion.”

  “As if anyone could forget you,” Nathan pointed out.

  “Now, my illustrious lord,” Hermes proclaimed, standing before the fire and ruffling his feathers, “I have to inform you that the Illustrious Lady Altabella has already gone to the cottage in Lashtang, where the mighty lords and ladies are meeting for a final comparison of plans. Is that where you wish to go, my illustrious lord?”

  “Oh bother.” Nathan flopped down on a chair and stuck his hands in his Lashtang pockets. “I wanted to see Granny alone. If I see all the others, they’ll all want to rush off to the forest to rescue Poppy and they’ll tell me off for letting her go.” He thought a moment and finally said, “Please just take me to the forest. I’ll find Poppy myself, and I sort of know where the Epilog tunnels are.”

  Hermes clacked with a disapproving gaze. “My illustrious lord, the forest is an unsafe place and the homes of the Epilogs are well hidden from the outside. If that is where you truly wish to go, then I must accompany you. With your illustrious permission, naturally, my lord.”

  He was about to say no, but then Nathan realised just how daunting it would be to stand in that forest absolutely alone. He was exceedingly sorry that neither John nor Alfie would be coming. So instead he said, “Yes, Hermes, I should be glad of your company. And before I change my mind or get all miserable because of leaving my friends, we should go now if you’re not too tired.”

  “I am never tired, my illustrious lord,” insisted Hermes, even though it was not at all true. “Climb on
, and we shall be off.”

  Nathan checked all the things he had put in his pockets, wanting to be properly prepared for once, and then carefully climbed on Hermes’ back. Everyone waved as he looked around.

  “Come back soon.”

  “We’ll miss you. So will Mouse.”

  “I ain’t gonna be away all year, mind. We goes sailing in April. Reckon I’s gonna be waitin’ for you after May.”

  “Me too.”

  Nathan rested his head on Hermes’ neck as the goose flapped out into the corridor. The steward had presumably already regained consciousness and hurried off, since he was not there, but Alice came to open the front door, and Hermes swooped out and up into the black frost clad sky. It had stopped snowing but the freeze was so bitter, it seemed as though the stars were tiny pieces of broken ice hanging there. But Hermes flew on, and Nathan, nestled tight in feathers, felt warmer than usual.

  First the veil of dragonflies with just a sweep of magical beauty, and then, like the closing of doors, the huge shadow of the forest. Blacker than any night sky, the forest loomed with threat. The first trees groped, their branches reaching down to discover who had dared enter there. There was no ice underfoot, for the warmth of the trees’ endless fury melted any such freeze, but the undergrowth was wet and dripped slime and algae.

  “It must be bedtime,” sighed Nathan, “but I don’t want to sleep in the forest like we all did last time. I want to find the Epilogs, and find a nice comfy bed at Younger Willow’s.”

  They tramped deeper, but it was a slow trudge. Branches swung down to block them, trees moved suddenly, so that it was difficult to know what way they had been aiming, and were convinced they were going in circles.

  After many stumbles, Hermes said, “Your knife, my illustrious lord, might show you the entrance to the tunnels.”

  Nathan had also brought a torch, and he turned this on, balanced it on a small branch, and pulled out his knife. The young silver birch where he had laid the shining torch, was so shocked at this sudden artificial brilliance after a lifetime of shadows, that it stood quite still and behaved itself.

  “Show me the entrance to the Epilog tunnels,” commanded Nathan, holding up the knife.

  But the voice behind him was so unexpected that he whirled around, knocking the torch from the tree. “I am delighted to see you once more, sir,” said the voice. “I had hoped we might meet again.”

  “Oh, Younger Willow,” Nathan exclaimed, reaching forwards. “I know your voice but I can’t see you.” Then, as the Epilog moved, his blurred outline became more obvious, and Nathan grinned. “Brilliant,” he said. “I thought it might take all night to find you.”

  “I was out collecting fallen twigs for firewood,” he explained, “when I saw the bright light and came to look.” He retrieved the torch and handed it to Nathan. “Will you honour my home, my lord, by coming to stay the night?”

  “Exactly what I wanted,” smiled Nathan, and as Younger Willow led the way, he and Hermes followed.

  Quickly releasing one of the magical entrances, they left the forest and stood instead in one of the wider streets below ground. A few tree roots hung down from above, but these weren’t large enough to interfere with the houses. Younger Willow pointed to a large building, its frontage reinforced with many wooden beams and struts. There were no windows, but the large arched doorway was grand, and there stood a female Epilog, just barely visible as her white dress sparkled a little in the shadows.

  “My mother,” introduced Younger Willow. “Madam Willow. Look, mother, this is my friend Nat. And Hermes, the Messenger of Clarr.”

  “Young Nat,” said Madam Willow in a whisper, “has the Octobr hair.”

  “He is the young Octobr Empole,” said Younger Willow proudly. “And he’s going to spend the night with us.”

  “I’m honoured,” said his mother. “Come this way, sir, and I shall make us all a big mug of hot milk.” She regarded Hermes, a little puzzled. “And the Clarr messenger too, naturally, if he wishes.”

  “Certainly,” said Hermes, pattering into the house beside Nathan. “It is exceedingly cold outside above ground, and I’ve flown through two worlds this afternoon. Hot milk, llama milk I presume, will be very pleasant before I settle for the night.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Peter followed Poppy because she insisted that she knew the way. Unfortunately, as soon as they entered the forest, she was completely lost. The trees moved frequently, the shadows were thick both day and night, and the roots and branches tripped them up, or flung themselves around to disguise the path.

  After Poppy had twice been hit by flying branches, her eyes were watering and she had no idea where she was. One tree leapt, hurtling directly at her, its roots entwined in knots, lashing out and into her face. Poppy was stunned and fell back. The tree pulled away, buried its roots once more in the ground, and endeavoured to look entirely innocent.

  Although helped up by Peter, Poppy now had a headache and a dozen bruises. Peter was also frightened. He had been pushed to the ground with a bush of thorns trying to bury him with its roots. He had managed to free himself just as Poppy had fallen. Now they both stood still a moment, looking around. Another branch swirled across their faces, and Peter had to try hard not to cry. He stuck his thumb in his mouth for comfort, and clung to Poppy with his other hand. His lute was strapped to his back, and several other precious things were safe in his pockets, but he felt entirely lost and was sorry he had insisted on coming.

  With a step forwards into what seemed like soft leaf fall, Poppy found herself facing a huge hole in the ground, and lay head down, staring into nothing. Peter hauled her back. It was growing darker, and the tiny glimpses of the sky above showed a black night without moonshine, and only a few diamond sparkles of distant stars.

  They pushed onwards and when a tree flung out its gnarled roots to trip her, Poppy kicked it hard. At first it drew back, but then a hundred whiplash roots sprang out, grabbing her legs and swinging her right up into the topmost branches. Poppy screamed. She was flung backwards and forwards, each time smashing against the trunk. Finally she managed to grab the narrow tip of the twisted trunk and hang on. She could hear the tree whispering and cursing at her as it tried to dislodge her grip, and finally it tipped, bending over in the middle, so that Poppy landed on the ground next to Peter. Immediately she started to run.

  “Come on,” she yelled. “These trees want to kill us. I wish Gilden would come.”

  The forest grew thicker. Shadows moved. Creeping tangles of bush and bracken scratched at them and tore their clothes, ripping down at trousers and long coats. Sometimes the shadows were of trees, sometimes the shadows were only themselves, swirling together and closing off any tiny crack of light. The noises echoed. There were whispers without words, and footsteps without feet. Things bumped creaking and screeching, then thumps without cause. A long wail from above sounded like some poor creature dying in dreadful pain, but when Peter stopped in alarm, Poppy whispered, “The trees are trying to trick us. That’s all.”

  They stumbled on for many hours, sore and shivering. Eventually, utterly exhausted, they curled beside a large bush which did not seem to attack them, huddled close together with their warm capes over both, and almost immediately fell asleep.

  When they woke, the night had blown, the dawn had heralded the day, the light streamed through the trees’ branches, and it was snowing. The bush under which they had been sleeping had entirely disappeared, and instead they were curled beneath a tall fir tree, nestled on a bed of toadstools. The long thin branches of the fir and the bristled needle leaves were coated in glistening white snow above, and underneath remained deep green. Where Poppy and Peter had lain the snow had not covered, and now there was a dry shape decorated with squashed toadstools, whereas all around it was white crystals with more snow drifting ever downwards.

  Poppy shifted and stretched out one hand. “Look, something’s been chewing on my gloves while I slept.” There were little woo
lly holes at the tips of each finger, and the wool was unravelling.

  “Me the same,” said Peter. “I bet it was that bush that went away somewhere in the night.”

  “Or the fir tree,” Poppy looked up at it with deep suspicion. “It has very sharp leaves.”

  “Well, let’s get moving before we freeze.” Peter checked his lute and was pleased that at least that had not been touched. Wrapping themselves once more in their cloaks, they hurried on.

  At first it seemed that the trees were friendlier and were letting them pass. Then they saw the fir tree again. “I’m sure that’s the same one,” moaned Poppy. “But we don’t know if we’ve been walking in circles, or just whether the tree came up behind us.”

  There seemed a whisper of laughter, and the fir tree suddenly lashed down. Its branches and leaves were sharper than needles, and Peter cried out, jumping aside.

  Eventually, extremely hungry, they sat on a stone and ate some of the food they had packed away in backpacks and pockets. Poppy had cider in a modern thermos flask, and they shared this, munching on pies and sandwiches. At one point a long brown tree root wriggled onto their laps and tried to snatch away the food, but Poppy stabbed it with her little knife, and it sprang away with a squeak.

  By that second evening they were once again exhausted and had no idea where they were. They had tried to tap, pull or push at everything that looked as though it might be one of the Epilog’s trap door springs, but not once had anything opened.

  After walking a little further, Poppy sank down under a spreading oak, and wiped her eyes. “I can’t go another step,” she said. “I have to sleep. And I’m really, really sorry I ever wanted to come. I was an idiot. But when I was here before, I was only on my own for a little while, and then Gilden came. With him, none of the trees did horrible things. They seemed to admire him and leave him alone. So I didn’t realise just how horrible this forest could be.”

  “It was horrible to us too,” admitted Peter. “But we found the Epilogs and Younger Willow helped us. And you said you knew where to find them.”