Adventures In Otherworld Part One - The Chalice of Hope

by Michael Kerr

CHAPTER THIRTEEN ―

  UNLUCKY FOR SOME

  Pintello was not scared of vampires, for he was much more than a jester. He was part demon, and brought bad luck wherever he went. Turquin was also a demon, but was not very bright, since being kicked in the head by a unicorn when trying to cut the hair from its magic tail when he was a child.

  “We shall trade this chalice for a sack full of diamonds, go to another world and live like royalty for the rest of eternity,” Pintello said as they strolled along the middle of the road. “Maybe somewhere with warm seas, white sandy beaches and palm trees.”

  Pintello knew how priceless the chalice was. How the human girl had come by it was of no interest to him. All that mattered was that he had felt the power of it emanating from her bag when he had been sitting behind her at the tournament. Being a gifted magician and pickpocket had made stealing it a simple task. He had leaned forward to talk to the strangers, and while they were listening to him, had used one hand to untie the flap of her bag, remove the cup and pass it to Turquin.

  He smiled to think that they would never know who had robbed them. They would search Chimera for it, while he got rich and vanished to a new world.

  A bat swooped down, flew past them, and then circled and landed on the road twenty paces ahead.

  “Do you think it’s wounded?” Turquin asked as the bat moved jerkily towards them, using the claws on its leathery wing tips to pull itself along.

  “I think it will be more than wounded when I crunch it under my shoe,” Pintello said.

  Before he could take another step, the bat swelled up, to change into a tall, pale-faced figure in a long black cape.

  Pintello reached into a pocket and took out some of the garlic he had picked just in case this sort of thing happened. “Best you turn back into a bat and fly away vampire,” he said. “Or else I might lose patience and use a little garlic and demonic power to ruin your evening.”

  “And you’d best be warned that your garlic or ungodly mischief will not work on me,” Charlie said. “Give me the gold chalice you stole, or face the consequences and prepare to be sucked as dry as salt.”

  Pintello laughed. “Do your worst. My demon blood would choke and poison you in an instant.”

  Charlie believed him. The mad glint in the jester’s eyes was not wholly human, or like any other normal life form. He decided to be extremely careful.

  The rain had stopped, but thick cloud drifted over the sharp peaks of the mountains and cut off the light from the rising moon. And as it did, Charlie drew his cape around himself and became as black as the night, invisible to his enemies.

  “Where did he go?” Turquin shouted, spinning around in circles, his wide eyes searching for the vampire.

  “Shut up, it’s just a trick,” Pintello said. “He hasn’t gone anywhere.”

  Charlie changed, and as his cloak fluttered to the ground, he appeared to them again, this time as a wolf.

  The beast stared directly at Pintello, its liquid eyes brimming with hate, and much more than just canine intelligence. It was a massive individual, with a scattering of coarse silver hairs across raised hackles that broke the otherwise jet blackness of its coat. Charlie, now in the guise of a wolf, stood with his ears flat to his broad head, his tail held high, and a deep continuous growl reverberating in his throat.

  Pintello felt as though he was looking into the face of death. He knew that the giant wolf was still a vampire, but now it was far more dangerous.

  “What are we going to do?” Turquin whispered; his mouth so dry that his lips stuck to his teeth as he spoke.

  Before Pintello could answer, the ebony giant exploded into action, launched itself into the air, and crossed the space between them in a split second, its lips drawn back from long, gleaming fangs.

  Searing pain shot through Pintello’s arm as the beast bit down, tearing flesh and grazing bone, causing him to drop the bag that held the chalice.

  “The chalice! Get the chalice,” he bellowed at Turquin, even as he fell back under the animal’s weight.

  Turquin reached the bag, grasped it, and turned back to the writhing figures of his master and the vampire-wolf.

  Pintello could smell the wolf’s hot, stinking breath, as its gaping jaws made ready to spring shut on his face. He tried to pull back, but his head was already pressed tightly to the ground. He grabbed the loose fur under the animal’s throat, only for his sweating hands to slip and lose their grip as the superior strength and determination of the wolf brought their heads closer and closer together.

  As Pintello turned away from the dripping fangs, a loud clanging sound was followed by the brute’s head hitting the earth next to his right shoulder. A shudder travelled up the length of the animal’s body before it slumped over him and was still.

  Having no weapon, Turquin had just swung the bag holding the chalice over his head, to bring it down with as much force as he could muster on top of the wolf’s skull.

  Charlie was so dazed that he could not move. He wanted to turn back into a bat and fly off, but his body felt like jelly and would not obey his thoughts. He couldn’t understand it. Being hit on the head shouldn’t have bothered him, because vampires have superhuman strength, and not a lot can harm them, as a rule. But the chalice was more than just a heavy cup made of gold. Its magical goodness worked against Charlie, not able to know that he was quite pleasant, for a vampire.

  “Good work,” Pintello said to Turquin, squirming out from under Charlie and jumping to his feet.

  “He’s moving, boss. What are we going to do?” Turquin said.

  Pintello reached under his jacket and pulled a wicked looking knife from a sheath fastened to his belt. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to cut his head off before he can change into something else,” he said. “And we’ll take it to the lake and throw it in for the fishes to make short work of.”

  Charlie heard every word. He did not relish the thought of having his head cut off. It wasn’t something that would hurt, because being undead, he felt nothing. But being headless would be very inconvenient. He guessed that it might take him quite a long time to grow another one. And there was the possibility that he would not be able to.

  As the knife was pressed to his throat, Charlie concentrated harder than he had ever done before, and willed himself to change.

  Pintello cut down, but the blade only sliced through a grey misty shape of what had been the wolf. The vapour flowed away from him, across the road, to vanish into the bushes.

  “Let’s get moving,” Pintello said, snatching the bag from Turquin. “We’re not far from Ujimar. Once we reach town, we’ll be safe.”

  Turquin did not need telling twice. He waddled off as fast as his little legs would carry him, heading towards where the glow of the town’s lights could be seen over the low hills in front of them.

  Charlie, who now appeared as no more than a patch of fog, moved alongside the road, hugging the ground and staying in the thick undergrowth among the trees, following the pair who had temporarily thwarted him.

  On the outskirts of town, Charlie became a bat again and flew up high above the jester and the dwarf. He would watch where they went and report back to the following band of assorted humans, fairies, and their two furry companions.

  Pintello and Turquin made their way through the narrow back streets of Ujimar, looking up to search the night sky for bats, and peering into shadows for traces of unearthly fog. Only when they were as sure as they could be that the vampire was not following them, did they slip down a narrow street and into the doorway of a tavern called the Sword and Serpent.

  “A jug of ale and some rabbit stew, landlord,” Pintello said to the owner of the tavern.

  Otto the landlord was over seven feet tall, and had a deep, white scar that snaked out from his crew-cut grey hair, down his forehead and through where his right eye had been, all the way to his dimpled chin. He wore a stained leather apron over a slee
veless shirt, and smelled of stale beer and staler sweat. Otto had once been a great hunter of the scaly ramcats that lived in the mountains around the lake, but had lost his eye and left hand to one that surprised him by jumping down from a tree branch as he passed by below. It had made off with his hand between its teeth, and he had never hunted again.

  “Vill you und your dwarf be vanting a room for ze night?” Otto asked Pintello as he set a large tray crowded with a flagon of ale, two wooden cups, and bowls of steaming stew on to the top of the round table in the alcove where they were seated.

  “Yes,” Pintello said. “One with clean sheets on the bed, and with a view of the lake.”

  “A room vid a view vill be an extra two groats. Und da sheets have only been slept between twice,” Otto said. “I have da bedding sent to ze laundry every month vedder it needs vashing or not.”

  “Very well,” Pintello said. “We’ll take it.”

  Turquin picked up a small leg from his plate, held it like a chicken drumstick and chewed the tough, undercooked meat from the bone.

  “The rabbit’s tasty, boss,” he said.

  “You’re easily pleased,” Pintello replied, sampling a mouthful of the stew. “It’s rotten and full of maggots. And the ale is watered down and vinegary.”

  The Sword and Serpent was an evil-smelling place, with sawdust on the floor and wood worm devouring the damp timbers that held the ancient tavern together. The net curtains at the grimy windows were heavy with years of accumulated dirt and the tar and nicotine from the clay pipes that many of the patrons puffed on.

  “Is that you, Pintello?” a voice said from the side of the table, and Pintello looked down to see a man with no legs below the knees, who got about on a wooden bogie fitted with wheels, by pushing himself along with his hands.

  “Hello, Shorty,” Pintello said. “I’m glad to see you again. I need to get in touch with Luther Bragwaine.”

  “I forget where Bragwaine is at the moment, Pintello. But I’m sure if you bought me a tankard of ale, I would no doubt remember.”

  “Go and get this scoundrel a drink, Turquin,” Pintello said, reaching across and seemingly making a coin appear from the dwarf’s left ear.

  “Still doing magic, eh?” Shorty said. “Can you make my legs grow again? Or do you just do party tricks?”

  “I make things appear to be what and where they are not, that’s all. You should have been more careful with your legs, and you wouldn’t be strapped to that squeaky plank of wood. Now tell me where I might find the biggest rogue in all of Ujimar.”

  Turquin returned from the counter with the ale and handed it to Shorty, who drank half of it down in one swallow, before wiping the foam from his mouth with the back of a grimy hand.

  “Bragwaine is due back from the island of Nimu sometime tomorrow,” Shorty said. “He went there five moons ago to sell stolen armour and weapons to the Baron who rules the north end of the island.

  Pintello held his hand out, open, to let Shorty see that there was nothing in it. He then closed it into a fist. “Blow on it,” he said, and when Shorty did, he opened it again to reveal a gold ducat. “Take it. Buy a barrel of ale, get as drunk as a skunk, and dream of having legs again and being able to walk, run, and not have to look up and crick your neck when talking to able-bodied folk.”

  “Is it real?” Shorty said, snatching the coin and wondering if it might vanish as quickly and mysteriously as it had appeared.

  “Bite it and see,” Pintello said. “Then go about your business. Turquin and I have much to talk about.”

  “What makes you think that Luther Bragwaine will be interested in the chalice?” Turquin asked Pintello as Shorty wheeled himself over to the bar.

  “Because it is supposed to be more powerful than the Holy Grail. Perhaps it is the selfsame vessel. If so, it is full of secrets and hidden things, and a power of goodness that frightens me. Luther will pay a king’s ransom to own such a unique and mystical object.”

  Above them, clinging to the ceiling in a dark corner, hidden between thick oak beams, Charlie overheard everything that was said. He left the tavern and flew out of town, back towards the castle.

  As they walked briskly in the direction of Ujimar, Sam saw the bat approach, and pointed up at it.

  “Do you think that’s Charlie?” Tommy asked.

  “Could be any old bat,” Ben said.

  “It’s coming in to land,” Speedy said. “It must be him.”

  Charlie came down a little too fast, changed back into his true form on touchdown, and tripped and rolled over, to slam into thorny bushes and become tangled up in them. He didn’t do enough night flying these days, and realised that practise made perfect. He decided that he would have to get out more.

  “Are you all right?” Sam asked, helping Charlie to his feet as he pulled his cape free of the prickly branches.

  “Of course I am,” he said. “I just came in at too steep an angle.”

  “Did you find Pintello?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, but I couldn’t get the chalice back. I turned into a wolf, and would have ripped him to pieces, but for that pint-sized sidekick of his. The ugly little brute hit me over the head with the chalice, and just as Pintello was about to cut my head off, I managed to dissolve into fog and drift away.”

  “Do you know where they went?” Fig asked.

  “Indeed I do. I followed them into town, to a back street tavern where they plan to stay the night before meeting a knave by the name of Luther Bragwaine, to sell him the chalice. I will tell you how to find the Sword and Serpent tavern. But be warned, the jester and his dwarf are mischievous demons, who you will not easily trick or get the better of.”

  A few minutes later, Charlie wished them good luck, turned back into a bat and flew off.

  They carried on, walking faster, now feeling optimistic. Pintello would not expect them to be able to find him. All they had to do was wait close by to the tavern until he came out, and then snatch the bag that Charlie said he was carrying the chalice in, and run off.

  As they reached the outskirts of town, the top edge of the sun could be seen rising behind purple mountains.

  “Colours,” Pook said, squeezing Tommy’s hand. “It isn’t just black and white anymore.”

  Sam looked down and gasped. She was standing next to a sign that said: ‘Welcome to Ujimar. Gateway to the Lake of Life’. She could see that the road suddenly changed from grey to brown. And she was half in colour and half black and white. They were at a dividing point between two lands.

  Half an hour later they were sitting in a café almost opposite the tavern. It was very similar to the Blue Bell Tea-rooms in Grassington, and had red and white check cloths on the tables.

  “What can I get you gwains?” a young girl with circles shaved out of her short blue hair and a large metal ring through her nose asked.

  “What are gwains?” Tommy said to the punk-looking waitress.

  “All strangers to Ujimar,” the girl replied. “Would you like a notice of the day’s fare?”

  “Do you mean a menu?” Sam asked.

  “If a menu is a listing of the food and drink we have for sale, then yes.”

  Sam nodded, and the girl went away, to return a minute later with a large sheet of grubby parchment.

  “How will we pay for anything we order?” Ben said when the waitress left them to study the menu. “None of us have any money.”

  Fig opened his bag and withdrew the piece of amber that Mephisto had given them. “This might be something we can pay with,” he said.

  “I think it would be a waste to exchange that for a meal,” Sam said. “It might be something we’ll need to save our lives, like the glass arrow did.”

  Speedy dug in a small purse attached to his belt and held up a finger ring made out of diamond. “This should buy us all plenty of food and drink,” he said.

  “But that was a gift given to you by your great, great grandfather,” Fig
said.

  Speedy arched his pencil-thin eyebrows. “I doubt that he would rather we starve. A ring will not feed us, Figwort.”

  They ordered soup, mutton and vegetables, fresh fruit and two large jugs of apple cider.

  When they had all eaten, the waitress, whose name was Morgana, looked astounded when Speedy offered her the ring to settle the bill.

  “You must pay with ducats or groats or gold dust,” Morgana said.

  “This diamond ring is all we have,” Speedy told her. “And it is worth enough to feed us all from one harvest term to the next.”

  “I’ll have to speak to the owner,” Morgana said. “I wouldn’t know a diamond from a piece of lava glass.”

  The owner of the cafe was Silas Goothe. He was a narrow-shouldered man whose head looked far too big for his body. He had a twitch in his left cheek that pulled his top lip up at that side to show his almost black teeth, which were rotten with decay. The twitch also made him appear to be winking at them as he approached the table.

  “Morgana tells me that you gwains have no ducats to pay for what you’ve eaten,” he said. “Are you trying to walk out of here with free food and cider in your bellies?”

  “Not at all,” Speedy said. “I have a diamond ring that we can decide the value of. It will pay for the meal, and give us plenty of change, if you are an honest man.”

  Silas took the ring from Speedy, held it up to the light and squinted at it.

  “My sight is not what it once was,” he said. “I’ll need to send out for a man who deals in gems. He will tell me its true worth.”

  “Try these on,” Tommy said, removing the specs from his bag and offering them to Silas.

  “What is it?” Silas asked.

  “A pair of spectacles,” Tommy said, and put them on to show how they should be worn.

  “Why do you call it a pair, when there is only one?” Silas asked as he took them from Tommy and hooked the arms over his ears.

  “Because there are two lenses,” Tommy said.

  “That’s sorcery,” Silas said, yanking the glasses off, only to put them back on and look around the cafe as though he was seeing everything in it for the first time.

  “If they help you see better, then keep them,” Tommy said.

  Silas grinned and twitched at the same time, which made for a disturbing sight. “Then I shall take this, or these, in payment for your meal,” he said. “For this eye-sharpening device is worth more to me than ducats or a pretty ring. Have another jug of cider, and be careful in Ujimar. There are many unsavoury types who would slit your throat for that ring. Keep it hidden, and do not walk the streets after moonshow, unless you have no wish to see another dawn.”

  Silas ambled away, pausing every two steps to look at things through his first pair of glasses.

  They shared another large jug of cider and talked about Charlie. They would have been happy to have him accompany them on their quest. They were also sure that his ability to change shape and fly would have proved very useful, should they find themselves in any more sticky situations.

  Another hour passed before they saw Pintello and Turquin leave the tavern. Unbeknown to them, the pair were heading off in the direction of the town’s docks to await the arrival of Luther Bragwaine on board his sail ship, Atlantis.

  Following at a safe distance, and ducking behind people or into doorways if either of the two thieves paused or glanced over their shoulders, Sam and the others soon arrived at the edge of the lake, where boats and ships of all sizes were moored up alongside jetties and piers.

  Fishermen were emptying their catches from the hulls of wooden trawlers, and the crews of cargo ships were unloading great bales and crates from the decks, using ropes and hooks to lower them into waiting carts. Gulls circled and screeched overhead, ever ready to swoop down and grasp any fish that fell onto the dock or back into the water that they had been caught from.

  “How can we get the chalice from them?” Sam asked.

  “By surprise,” Ben said. “In a way that Pintello would call distraction.”

  “What do you mean, Ben?” Fig asked him.

  “I’ll go to the edge of the dock and jump into the water. And as everyone watches me fall into the lake, one of you pull the bag from Pintello’s shoulder, and another two of you push them both off the pier they’re standing on.”

  “What about you, Ben?” Sam asked.

  “I‘ll climb up one of the wooden ladders fastened to the timbers, and meet you all back at the café. The fool and his sidekick will have no idea that it was us that pushed them in, or stole the bag.”

  “Good plan,” Gorf said. “Let’s do it.”

  “There,” Turquin said as a fine looking three-masted schooner appeared at the mouth of the harbour. “It’s Bragwaine’s ship. It has Atlantis written on the side.”

  “We will soon be rich beyond our wildest dreams, my little friend,” Pintello said, a second before he turned his attention to where a loud cry came from farther along the dock.

  Ben had taken a running jump, and waved his arms and screamed all the way down, drawing his knees up just before hitting the water to make as big a splash as possible.

  “Ugh!” Turquin exclaimed. “That water is full of fish guts and garbage and half the town’s sewage.”

  “Then the boy should have been more careful,” Pintello said. “Maybe he’ll drown and make good eating for the crabs.”

  At the very moment that everybody, including the jester and dwarf, was watching Ben, Gorf struck from behind. He ripped the bag from Pintello’s shoulder, snapping the strap. And as it came free, Sam and Tommy shoved the pair off the pier.

  Pintello knew at once it must be them. He took a deep breath before he went under the water, sank ten feet, and then swam back up to the surface.

  Turquin was not so lucky. He landed head first on the splintered top of a submerged wooden post and was immediately killed. His body drifted down to be caught in the current and swept out into the vast lake, never to be seen again.

  Pintello climbed up onto the pier and stood dripping and coughing, looking all around to try to catch sight of the group that had stolen the chalice back from him. But there was no sign of them. The boy! It had been a trick. One of them had screamed and jumped into the water on purpose to attract his attention. He ran to the spot where the lad had climbed back up. There was a trail of water leading to an open-sided warehouse. He followed it, but for only a few feet. Inside the building workers were packing fish into crates, and the ground was soaked. The band of misfits had fooled him, but he would not accept defeat. He knew that they were trying to reach the Crossroads of Time. He would make his own way there and steal the chalice back again.

  Returning the way he had come, Pintello expected to find Turquin, who he thought would now be on the pier and complaining bitterly about the diseases he might have caught from swallowing the soupy harbour water.

  “You lookin’ fer yer friend?” a sailor with a wooden leg asked.

  “Yes,” Pintello answered. “Have you seen him?”

  “No, an’ I doubt anyone will ever see ‘im agin in this life. He didn’t come up. ‘e’s another soul lost to the sea. All I saw were a few bubbles.”

  Pintello felt a coldness enter his heart. The group who had been responsible for Turquin’s death would pay heavily for what they had done. He did not intend to just take the chalice from them the next time they met. He now intended to kill them all.

  ―