Braxton kept his distance, watching and laughing, but careful not to stand where he might also be wrapped into the same danger. Chadrack had crawled out into the corridor, demanding ale to clear his throat, and the other smaller man lay on the ground, nursing his belly. The taller man watched everything in silence, still pinning Hambrick to the floor. Everyone watched the swaying struggle that took place now in the middle of the great hall.
From the growing shadows and with a gentle murmur, the music started to play, as if coming from the distance. The melody of the lute began like a gentle hum, but quickened into a sweet melody. It seemed almost magical, as though a dozen lutes played together, and the tune swirled louder, wrapping around the room almost as the serpent had wrapped around Alice.
Immediately the coils fell limp. The snake’s lidless eyes glazed, as though blind. It lost all strength and all movement. Gradually it flopped heavily to the ground. So huge and grand, its fall resounded and the floorboards reverberated. The music pitched higher and louder.
Then a low voice started to chant.
“It is the horror of killing,
And the sadness of fading,
And the end of our dreams that means we must part.
It is not the spilling,
Nor the falling,
But the hatred that blinds the lonely heart.
Born of hope, Lashtang sings.
But Lashtang dies under Hazlett kings.
Sweet magic glows with bright healing light,
But dark wizardry creeps out to hunt in the night.
So the Octobrs must rise again,
And we call on our people to fight.”
The serpent lay writhing within its own coils on the floor as Braxton knelt, speaking softly, his fingers spread out and pointing, One shaft of magical light sprang from his hands. Gradually the scales of the serpent fell away, and in a mist like the previous one, Wagster appeared, sitting on the floorboards with a puzzled and dizzy expression.
“So,” grinned John, “I reckons itsy-bitsy waggly Wagster not so clever after all, eh?” He rubbed his arms where the serpent had squeezed around and bruised them.
Bayldon marched to Braxton. “You have failed,” he said through his teeth. “I would gladly take you prisoner here, though no doubt you could magic yourself out of Newgate. But you and your traitor friends will now leave.”
His sword was in his hand. “I still have back-up and Wagster will recover,” Braxton said at once.
But Wagster showed no immediate sign of recovery. He staggered to his feet, stumbled, then stared around. “Where is he?” he demanded.
Even Braxton was confused. “Who, my lord? Brewster? Someone else?”
“I need him,” whispered Wagster. He was weak-kneed and seemed nauseas. He turned once, gripping Braxton for support, and then quickly disappeared. There was no mist, but the acid stench of magic was thick in the air. Behind him, spread in a small heap on the floor, were some dark serpent scales, torn and broken.
Chadrack and the short accomplice, both in pain, stood by their leader, and Braxton called the taller man over to him. “Leave the prisoner. We’ll come for him and his feeble brat another time, and for the Octobr boy as well. None of them will survive this year.” He glared, stamping both feet, grabbed his sword, and with the hurtling wind of before, all four of them disappeared.
With an enormous sigh of relief, Nathan called upstairs, assuring Poppy, Alfie and Alice that everything was now alright. Then he turned back to his father. “You were brilliant, Dad,” he said. “A real hero. But where did that amazing music come from?”
Peter was sitting on the window seat. It was growing dark outside, and without any candles yet lit, they all stared at each other through the gloom. Peter held the lute that Queen Anne Boleyn had given him. “Me,” he said. “It was as if someone told me what to do in my head. But I never thought it would be the thing that stopped Wagster.”
“Magic,” breathed Sam, finally releasing his grip on Mouse and the two kittens.
“And who was chanting. Did you do that too?” asked Nathan, much impressed. Peter shook his head and pointed to Bayldon.
“That’s an old Lashtang song from three hundred years ago,” sighed Bayldon. “It is known to have some magic against the Hazletts. And it seemed to fit perfectly with Peter’s sad music. Magic chants are a favourite of your mother’s, and I remembered this one.”
‘’Tis a wonder,” said John, flopping down into one of the chairs and dropping his sword at his feet. “I ain’t learned no songs nor no magic, but I reckon ‘tis all around me.”
It had been some time since Braxton’s sudden departure when finally Hambrick stood up and Tansle crawled from beneath the table. Hermes was still sitting on top of it, but he was quiet and seemed depressed. “I failed you all, my illustrious lords,” he squawked. “I have no claws, I have no sharp beak. I wished to protect the great rulers of my land, but I failed. I have no weapons. I feel I should resign my post as Messenger of Clarr.”
Nathan marched across and embraced him, kissing the top of his feathery head. “Don’t you dare,” he said. “You’re a special friend, and look how you protected me at the ruined castle.”
“It was more that you protected me, my illustrious lord,” wailed Hermes.
“Nonsense,” said Nathan. “You fly me to wonderful places, and you fly me out of danger.”
Hambrick had regained his breath and his courage. He pulled Tansle close to him, and held her tightly. “This place is no longer a safe home for me,” he announced, without bothering to say thank you. “I agreed to come here rather than stay in Lashtang, because it seemed safer. Braxton and that wild dog thing could not know where I was. But clearly they do know after all. I have no idea how. Did one of you tell him?”
Even Tansle looked rather shocked, and hurried away to sit in a corner. Bayldon had been rubbing the long burn mark on his hand where he had held the Knife of Clarr, but now he marched over to Hambrick. “How dare you?” he demanded. “Between us, I and these brave and delightful young people risked our own lives to save yours. The Hazletts are our enemies and of course no one would have contacted them.” He frowned, staring at Hambrick. “But I am beginning to think it is just as well neither you nor your father remained as emperors.”
Hambrick seemed to swell with fury and his face went red. “What treachery,” he roared. “I shall leave at once.”
“No one is stopping you,” said Poppy, out of breath as she arrived downstairs.
He realised, a little late, that he had no way of returning to Lashtang, nor any other place to go to in medieval London except the burnt-out smithy. “Then I shall take the Messenger of Clarr,” Hambrick said, “and fly back immediately.”
Hermes sat down at once. “I obey only the Lord of Clarr,” he said with a prim shake of his feathers.
Tansle ran over and clung to her father. She smiled at Bayldon. “Your grace, thank you for all your help, but my Papa has no magic. Can you summon the ladder?”
Bayldon didn’t want to admit he had virtually no magic himself. He turned back to Hermes. “If you would be so kind,” he smiled, “as to call the ladder, my friend?”
Hermes flapped up, spread his wings and clacked twice. The bottom rungs of the ladder appeared immediately.
This time they were wriggly old wood, painted a very sickly yellow with a few funny red stripes, and large thorns grew out of the sides, pointing inwards. All the rungs were crooked and one or two looked broken. Hambrick stared at this, and stamped his feet again. “This ladder looked in much better condition last time I climbed it,” he objected. “It will be most difficult to climb.”
“Then you had better carry your daughter,” smiled Bayldon, ‘or she may fall.”
The ladder wheezed, as though it had a bad cold. “Probably the flu,” it said with nasal sighs. “Hurry up, before I faint.”
Hambrick put one foot on the lowest rung, and reached out to Tansle. “Take us to Lashtang,” he ordered.
“Just as well since that’s where I’m going anyway,” snorted the ladder.
“And I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have you back,” said Bayldon. “Give my best wishes to your father, if you find him.”
“Get a move on,” sniffed the ladder, “I am on the very point of collapsing.”
“Ladders don’t faint,” giggled Tansle.
“Humph. This one does,” said the ladder, and began to tremble. Hambrick hung on, lifted Tansle into his arms, and with a frightened expression, began to climb.
“And good riddance,” said John. “Wot a ruddy mean gent. Reckon the little girl tis the only good ‘un in the family.”
Alice and Alfie were still upstairs, John and Sam started cleaning up the mess, Peter was putting his lute back in his bedchamber, and Poppy and Nathan were talking to Bayldon. “You’ve got a nasty burn on your hand from the knife,” Nathan said. “They say it will burn anyone except the Lord of Clarr. But you’re the empling, Dad. I didn’t think it would burn you.”
“It’s a small burn,” smiled his father. “I think it would have been far worse if someone else had tried to use it. But it did its work. Your mother will treat the little burn as soon as I return to Lashtang.”
“Not by ladder, my illustrious lord,” interrupted Hermes. “I shall fly directly with you, if you will condescend to ride my back.”
“We need to find William Octobr,” nodded Bayldon, “and begin working seriously towards our rebellion. Personally, I wish to go and explore Sparkan.”
Nathan nodded vigorously. “I want to do that too.”
“But first of all,” Bayldon said softly, sitting and stretching his legs with a tired sigh, “we should wonder just how Braxton and Wagster discovered where Hambrick had been taken.”
Sam looked up suddenly, “He would have bought his gun things you said he wanted in modern England. Then back in Lashtang, he would have found out his prisoners were gone, and nothing left in the old palace dungeons. So he would have gone looking. Perhaps he found old man Octobr, who knows about all our houses.”
Everyone suddenly smiled at Sam. “What an intelligent young man,” said Bayldon.
“Well, I’m not just the cat-sitter,” sniffed Sam.
“I reckon that whole family be a proper mess,” said John, then blushed, adding, “not the family now, o’course. Only back then.”
“Does William Octobr know this house?” Bayldon shook his head. “And although he’s betrayed us before, he wouldn’t betray his own son and granddaughter. There’s someone else.”
“Well, none of us,” said Nathan at once. “But Wagster and Brewster have been here before, and Clebbster too.”
Bayldon left the following morning and Hermes flew back to Lashtang with him. Nathan had been tempted to accompany him, but in the end he did not. He decided he needed a rest. All the very small cuts, scratches and bruises were healing and needed no special treatment but they had called in the doctor for Alice’s broken ribs, and the larger wound on Nathan’s shoulder although this, now heavily bandaged, still hurt.
“Stop all this fighting and have a rest,” said Poppy, crossing her arms and looking down at him as if she was the matron of a hospital. “You need to get better before you go back to explore Sparkan and that tunnel Peter saw. I bet that’s where the eternal chain is hidden.”
“I thought so too,” said Peter.
“I want to go home first,” Nathan murmured after a thoughtful pause. “I’d like to try and find out what Braxton bought in modern England. I expect it was machine guns and stuff. That would be terrible in Lashtang. Can you imagine it? Machine guns and rifles against bows and arrows and swords?”
“And magic,” Poppy reminded him. “Perhaps the magic can make all the guns disappear.”
“Maybe. But they could even buy grenades and bombs.”
“But I can’t see how you’re going to find out,” Poppy insisted. “After all, we don’t exactly know a lot of arms dealers, do we?”
“But Mum and Granny have enough magic to find out,” Nathan said. “And Mum heard what Braxton said about getting weapons. Don’t tell me they haven’t tried to do something. I bet Granny’s already back at home.”
“We should all come, then,” said Poppy.
“Gotta wait till Alice feels better,” insisted Alfie. “She still feels right poorly after being eaten by a ruddy snake.”
“Well Hermes will be back soon,” Nathan nodded. “But he can’t carry us all. That means we’ll all have to take the ladder. I hope it’s recovered from the flu and got rid of those wobbly steps and big thorns.”
John chuckled. “Reckon that were just a story,” he said. “Reckon Hermes gave the message in code, so’s the ladder turned up all crooked fer Hambrick. Done on purpose, it were.”
“How organised of Hermes,” Nathan grinned. “So let’s be organised ourselves and start packing. Hermes can order the ladder for us in two days’ time. Does that suit everyone?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Granny had been crying, and looked up, wiping her eyes in a hurry.
“Good gracious,” she said. “Is it all of you? I had no expectation – I’m afraid I haven’t baked a thing.”
Alfie laughed but Nathan said, “We came to talk about Braxton.”
“That,” sighed Granny, “is exactly what has me worried. Sherdam has traced Braxton’s route here, and evidently he travelled directly to Mexico. But after that, everything has been hidden by his magic. Your mother and I, and Sherdam and Zakmeister too, have all been working so hard to discover where he went, what he managed to buy, and if he has already taken weapons back to Lashtang. Yet none of us can break Braxton’s magical barrier.” She sniffed, pulled out a rather floury handkerchief, blew her nose, wiped her eyes again, and stuffed the hanky, flour and all, back up her sleeve. “Can you imagine the terrible slaughter and misery if that ghastly man gets machine guns for the Hazlett forces?” None of us would survive.”
“Well, he came to us at my house,” said Alice, sitting beside Granny and taking her hand. “Wagster came too. It was a horrible experience.”
“Oh, dear me,” said Granny. “What happened?” So they told her all the details, and she was particularly horrified at the story of poor Alice being half swallowed by the gigantic serpent. “I must bake cakes and biscuits at once,” Granny said, jumping up and wiping her hands on her apron as she reached for the large jar of self-raising flour on the pantry shelf. “You poor girl. To be squeezed so tight it broke your ribs, and then be covered in that revolting slime.”
Alice shivered. “I can’t even think about it.”
“And custard tarts?’ murmured Poppy.
“My father,” said Nathan, rather defensively, “was brilliant. The bravest fighter, and he really risked his life for us. I thought he was a real hero. And he chanted this lovely sad old song to Peter’s music.”
“Your father has always been courageous,” said Granny. “Not the best warrior in Lashtang,” she sighed, “nor the most intelligent. And of course not a farthing’s worth of magic. But brave and kind. I assume he’s returned to Messina? Yes, well, never mind about that. The song? I expect you mean the Octobr’s muster. A beautiful old chant. Sadly it still hasn’t brought a successful rebellion. And now, if Braxton has cases of machine guns –?”
There was the faint scuffle of something moving in Granny’s apron pocket, a small sneeze, and Ferdinand’s big eyes peeped over the cotton edge. He scrambled out onto the table, leaving a trail of flour behind him. “Your illustrious majesties,” he said, sitting on the table in a small puddle of spilt tea and tea leaves, “may I make a suggestion?”
Everyone looked back at him and Granny gave a slight jump, which made Nathan wonder if she had forgotten he was there. It was John who said quickly, “Reckon we needs some advice, Ferdynan. Wot’s the idea?”
“The plains and the marshes of Lashtang around the Rivers of Rass and Lest,” he said, “and in particular the Savanna of Valk
which stretches for many hundreds of miles, were all once peopled by working folk and loyal families. There were thriving towns and villages, such as Bung, Wet Wood and Pickle. But when the monster Yaark arrived in Lashtang and was given even greater power by the Hazletts, every person, during their sleep, was turned into some little creature or insect.” He sighed. “I myself was a tall man, and an accomplished boat-builder. I was preparing for a good life with my intended bride. But all that came to an end when I was turned into a very small frog, my beautiful fiancé was turned into a very large fat scorpion, and all my friends became other tiny and insignificant creatures.”
“I am to blame,” sighed Nathan. “I should have found the Eternal Chain by now. If I could cut it, you’d all be free. I should be searching more and more. I’m so sorry.”
“My illustrious lord,” gulped Ferdinand, “I did not mean to complain and there is no blame attaching to you, my saviour. Instead, I meant to explain that we people, long imprisoned by these wicked spells, have not been able to achieve a thing to help ourselves, nor to help anyone else. We are too small. Too pathetic. Too absurd. But now I have an idea where we could all help after all.”
Everyone looked at him. Granny wiped a little waft of icing sugar from his nose. “My very dear friend,” she said, “we are all most excited. Tell us your plan.”
“A cockroach,” said the frog, standing up suddenly and slapping down one large webbed foot into the puddle of tea, “can smell a rain cloud at a distance of twenty miles. A ladybird can hide on the brambles of wild roses, and fly away after it has heard what it wants to hear. A worm can burrow and spy out places no one else can see. A snail may be slow, but it can hide amongst the petals of any flower, and leave a visible trail if someone needs to follow. A hen may pretend to lay an egg but instead leave a message hidden, in plain sight, in an eggshell. I know spiders who can sense a vibration from across the savanna, and trap anything in their webs. Fireflies and glow-worms bring light into dark places, and slugs can wriggle into cracks nobody else could even see. A stick insect can tell who passed by three days ago, and a flea can sit at the back of a man’s head, hear everything, and never be seen. Then, if any of these need sudden escape, a sparrow can swoop down and appear to be catching his dinner, when in fact he is rescuing a friend.”
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