Sargasso Skies

by Allan Jones

  Trundle and Esmeralda and Jack spun on their heels and ran for it.

  But it was hopeless—even if they could outdistance the long-legged lizards, how were they to climb the sheer walls of the canyon?

  Doomed! thought Trundle. After everything we’ve been through! I hope they’re quick eaters!

  They came to the far end of the valley. Using all four paws, they tried to scramble up the steep slope, but the ground was loose under them and they kept sliding down again toward the advancing lizards.

  With a sinking heart, Trundle realized he had to perform another courageous act before it was too late.

  He turned toward the lizards with his sword in his paw. “You two try to get away,” he said resolutely to his friends. “I’ll hold them off as long as possible. If you manage to find all the crowns and fulfill the prophecy, name a park bench after me or something!”

  “Trundle, no!” gasped Esmeralda as he stepped forward to meet the marauding lizards.

  The first of the lizards were only a few feet away when the air was suddenly filled with a weird, high-pitched wailing. It was a chorus of voices, singing as shrilly as birds, but with strange, unsettling harmonies and counter-melodies. And it seemed to be coming out of the sky.

  The effect on the lizards was extraordinary. The foremost of them came to a skidding halt, jabbering and screeching among themselves and clearly disturbed by the eerie singing. Even the big boss lizard came to a stop and stared around uneasily.

  “Lawks a-mussy!” gasped Jack. “Look! Look!” He was pointing up at the cliff tops that surrounded them.

  The lofty ridges were filled with ghostly white shapes clad in white robes, and it was from the open mouths of these spectral creatures that the singing was coming.

  And even as Trundle and Esmeralda and Jack gazed up in astonishment at the spectral choir, the singing changed tone, and the melody rose to new heights.

  That did it for the lizards. Throwing their hands up to the sides of their heads, they turned tail and fled, many of them dropping their cudgels and falling over one another in their rush to get away.

  In a few hectic moments all the lizards were gone, swallowed up in the mist. And no sooner were the lizards routed than the piercing singing came to a halt, and a strange silence descended over the valley.

  “Well now,” breathed Jack. “That was curious, but I’ve never been so glad of a song in my entire life!”

  “Who are they?” wondered Trundle. “What are they? Do you see their eyes?”

  “I do,” said Esmeralda. “Bright red eyes, every one of them.” She frowned. “Jack, you’ve traveled all over the Sundered Lands. Have you ever seen the like before?”

  “I have not,” said Jack. “Very uncanny they are. Like phantoms.”

  “You think they’re ghosts?” gasped Trundle. “I mean, I’m glad they frightened the lizards off . . . but I’m not keen on the idea of ghosts.”

  “We’re about to find out what they are,” said Esmeralda. “Here they come.”

  She was right. Many of the pale animals were making their way down the hillside toward them. Trundle stood his ground as the odd assortment of gliding creatures thronged around them. There were foxes and rabbits and pigs and sheep and cats and weasels and badgers and bears, all staring at them with their glowing eyes, all silent and all with perfectly white fur. They seemed especially fascinated by Jack’s rebec, and many of them stared at it or touched it with cautious fingertips.

  “Albinos,” murmured Jack. “Well, I never! A whole tribe of albino animals.”

  “Hello there,” Esmeralda said brightly. “You fellows just saved our lives with your singing. Thanks very much!”

  The crowd of animals whispered among themselves, shifting and rustling restlessly, as though ill at ease.

  Pleased as he was that these pale animals had come to their rescue, Trundle couldn’t help but find them a little bit creepy.

  “You sing very well,” Jack said in a friendly voice. “I’m a musician myself, you know.” He bowed low. “Jack Nimble, travelling troubadour at your service.” He gestured to the others. “And this is Princess Esmeralda of the Roamany folk, along with Trundle Boldoak, a great hero.” He smiled his widest smile. “And might I have your names, my good and worthy friends?” He looked from one to another. “Do you have names at all? Anyone?”

  “Apparently not,” murmured Esmeralda under her breath. “Do you think they even understand what we’re saying to them?”

  Suddenly, all the white animals turned to face the cliff at the end of the valley.

  “Hello,” breathed Jack. “Who’s this now?”

  A solitary figure stood atop the cliff, white against the brooding sky. Very tall and imposing he looked, with a mass of white hair and a great billowing white cloak drawn up to his face so that only the piercing red eyes were visible over it.

  He held a long white stick in one hand, and he pounded it three times on the ground. The albinos gazed up at him with silent, reverential faces.

  A deep, booming voice rolled down the hillside. “Ahhh! More able-bodied souls with the Great Endeavor to help!” The lordly shape turned and strode away. “Bring them!” he called.

  A white rabbit turned to the three friends. “You must come with us,” the creature whispered.

  “Um . . . we’re jolly grateful for the rescue and everything,” Esmeralda began. “But unless you tell us exactly who you are and what’s going on here, we’re not going anywhere with you weirdos, excuse my bluntness.” She fixed the pale rabbit with a glittering and determined eye. “You’d have to chain us up first, matey!”

  “Nice going with that comment about the chains, Esmeralda!” said Trundle, rattling his manacles.

  “Oh, shut up!” Esmeralda retorted. “How was I to know they’d take me literally?”

  The two hedgehogs were sitting together in a gloomy and grimy little room with curved wooden walls. They guessed they were aboard a wrecked windship. Somewhere deep below the decks, somewhere slimy and smelly.

  No sooner had Esmeralda made her remark about chains than all the albinos had turned and fallen upon them. Before he knew it, Trundle’s sword had been wrenched out of his hand and an old sack drawn down over his head. Then he was upended and the bag was pulled tight around his knees and he was lifted onto bony shoulders and carried off, with only Esmeralda’s muffled cries of protest to be heard.

  He had been jogged along for some time before he got the impression of being lifted up and then carried down to somewhere dank and stinky. The sack was taken off and the manacles were put on his wrists and ankles, and the gray shapes wafted away. A door clanged shut. In the deep gloom, he could see Esmeralda . . . but . . .

  “What do you think has happened to Jack?” he asked.

  “How should I know?” grumbled Esmeralda. “I’ve been inside a sack for a while, in case you didn’t realize!”

  She tugged at the chains, but they were attached to a big iron staple that had been driven deep into the windship’s timbers. “I could do with some food,” she said. “Hey!” she yelled. “Jailers! Weirdos! Whatever you are! How about something to eat and drink around here?”

  Trundle was just about able to make out their surroundings from the weak light that filtered in through the cracked and broken planks of the walls.

  “Do you think they might have killed Jack?” Trundle asked.

  “Possibly,” said Esmeralda. “Or they might have just left him there to be eaten by those lizards. Who knows?”

  “Or he could be chained up somewhere else aboard this old hulk!” Trundle groaned. “Being taunted and tormented by those dreadful creatures.”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised!”

  “Oh dear,” moaned Trundle. “Oh, my!”

  He was about to add, “Oh, calamity!” when he heard the clinking of a key in a lock.

  “Here they come again,” growled Esmeralda. “Leave this to me, Trundle. I’ll tell ’em what’s what!”

  Tr
undle looked unhappily at her. Telling them what’s what had gotten them into this pickle in the first place. He dreaded to think what trouble more of Esmeralda’s plain speaking might get them into.

  The door swung wide.

  “Hello there, you two!” said a familiar voice as Jack came into their prison bearing a food-laden tray in his paws. “I thought you might be a bit peckish!”

  “Jack!” gasped Trundle in delight. “We thought you might be dead!”

  “No,” beamed Jack, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m not dead at all! In fact, I’m in the pink, my friends! I’m in the very pinkest of the pink!”

  Jack gave the two captives a sympathetic look as he placed the tray on the floor between them. “You don’t look too comfortable,” he said. “It must be rotten to be imprisoned down here while there’s so much exciting stuff going on.”

  Esmeralda gave him an irritated look. “It is!” she said. “And how come you aren’t down here with us?”

  “That’s simple,” chuckled Jack, lifting a mug to Trundle’s lips and tilting it so he could drink. “I agreed to help Count Leopold.” He picked up a hunk of bread. “Care for a bite?”

  “What do you mean, you agreed to help Count Leopold?” growled Esmeralda. “Who is Count Leopold? And what exactly are you helping him do?”

  “Oh, it’s building and decorating work, mostly, at the moment, along with a spot of practicing,” said Jack, popping a chunk of bread into Esmeralda’s mouth. “I’ve joined the count’s orchestra, you know. Second rebec, that’s me.”

  “Is there any way you can get us out of here?” asked Trundle.

  Jack tutted. “If you two hadn’t been so uncooperative, you’d be a lot better off right now.” He looked at Trundle. “You, waving your sword about, and Esmeralda being rude and sarcastic. I’m not surprised the count’s people took offense.”

  “Would it help if we said we were sorry?” asked Trundle.

  “It might,” said Jack. “He’s a decent sort of fellow, really. I think if you apologize and tell him you’re willing to work for him, you’ll be out of here in a trice!”

  “Then we’ll apologize,” said Trundle.

  “We won’t!” insisted Esmeralda. “Tell him to release us right now! Tell him we have an important quest to be getting on with!”

  “I will if you like.” Jack sighed. “But if you insist on being stubborn, you’ll be left down here permanently. And what about the quest then, eh?”

  Trundle gave Esmeralda a stern look. “We will apologize,” he said. “We will be polite and charming and pleasant. Won’t we?”

  “Yes,” huffed Esmeralda. “Anything to get out of this putrid place!”

  “Excellent,” said Jack, getting up. “I’ll go and tell the turnkey, and he’ll let you loose.” He smiled. “And then after you’ve eaten, I’ll take you up to meet the count. You’ll be impressed, I can assure you. He’s quite a character!”

  As Jack had promised, Trundle and Esmeralda were soon freed from their shackles. After a bite to eat, the merry squirrel led them up rickety stairs and along low walkways illuminated by candles set in iron sconces. Trundle got the impression that they were moving through a number of different wrecks, all knocked through and joined together. At last they came to a large pair of ornate carved doors.

  Organ music filtered out from beyond.

  Jack opened one of the doors a fraction and beckoned the others to follow him. They entered a long wood-paneled room lit by scores of candelabra. The music was much louder now—a frenzied, frantic tune that chased up and down the keyboards and shook the floor beneath their feet.

  At the far end of the room, surrounded by clouds of white mist, they could see a cloaked and wild-haired figure playing a mighty steam organ. Twisting and spiraling pipes jutted out from the back of the huge musical instrument, riveted together at odd angles, their joints wrapped in knotted rags and spouting steam and puffs of cloud.

  The musician’s hands rose and fell furiously, and his head tossed from side to side as he played. The music sounded odd and very complicated to Trundle. He liked music a person could tap his foot to. This sounded like music that might drive you out of your noodle if you listened to too much of it.

  “The count plays brilliantly,” Jack whispered as he led them along a moldy and ragged old carpet toward the shuddering organ and its berserk player. “He’s a real master!”

  “I wish he’d stop,” mumbled Trundle. “It’s giving me a headache!”

  “Shhh!” hissed Jack. “He’ll hear you!”

  The frantic music came to a crashing climax and stopped. The organist’s arms went limp, and he let out a long, deep sigh.

  Jack cleared his throat as the last of the pipes ceased rumbling and the floor became still under Trundle’s feet. “Count Leopold, I have brought you two new willing workers,” Jack announced.

  “And will they my bidding do?” growled the count, without looking around.

  Jack gave Esmeralda and Trundle a hefty nudge, nodding toward the cloaked figure in its clouds of white mist.

  “I suppose so,” mumbled Esmeralda.

  “Absolutely we will!” said Trundle, trying to sound enthusiastic even though the count gave him the collywobbles. “We’re really looking forward to it!” he babbled. “We’re just waiting for you to tell us exactly what you’d like us to do.”

  “And how long it will take,” added Esmeralda. “You see, we’re on a bit of a quest, and . . .”

  Her voice faded away as the tall, cloaked figure turned on the seat.

  Trundle let out a gasp. Count Leopold was a lion.

  Trundle had never met a lion, although he had seen pictures of them in books and had read descriptions of them that suggested they could be very dangerous—especially if you annoyed them.

  Count Leopold’s face was long and gaunt and haggard. Like the other animals they had met here, he was an albino, with pure white fur and with a white mane that exploded in all directions from his head. He stared morosely down at them, one of his fierce red eyes made oddly larger by a gold-rimmed monocle.

  “You would know what task ahead of you lies?” said the count, his eyes glazing over. “I shall it you tell.” His voice rose to a boom. “It is part of the greatest artistic endeavor to be the Sundered Lands ever have witnessed!” He stood up, his cloak billowing, the mist swirling around his thin shoulders. Trundle found it a little tricky to understand exactly what the count was saying—he kept putting the words in the wrong places!

  “You will assigned to a hulk be, and you will in the morning to work begin!” The count raised a paw. “Now, gone be! I have also work to do! Great music write does not itself!”

  So saying, the great lion turned away and sat down again. His arms lifted, and a few seconds later the room was full of manic music.

  Jack led Trundle and Esmeralda away.

  “My opinion is that the count is a misunderstood genius,” Jack said as they made their way back down the vibrating carpet with the organ music ringing in their ears.

  “He’s a misunderstood loony,” said Esmeralda, staring back at the frenziedly playing lion. “That big white mane and those red eyes.” She shuddered. “He gives me the screaming heebie-jeebies!”

  Jack ushered them out of the room and closed the door behind them. Some of the silent albino creatures had gathered in the corridor, staring at them with their unfathomable pink eyes.

  Trundle began to feel a little sorry for the strange animals. They seemed rather sad and forlorn in their long white robes, standing around like shreds of cloud that had lost the sky.

  “Creepy creeps!” muttered Esmeralda as they passed through the ranks of the albino creatures.

  “You might try to be a little more understanding of them,” chided Jack as he led them away. “They can’t help the way they were born.”

  “I’ll be more understanding all right,” Esmeralda remarked. “I’ll understand them to pieces once we’re out of here and back aboard the Thief in th
e Night.”

  “That might not be so easy,” Jack said. “The whole of Sargasso Skies is overrun with those nasty lizards. In fact, this is the only place they keep away from. They can’t stand the music.”

  “I don’t blame them,” said Trundle. “It certainly gives me the willies!”

  Jack frowned at him. “The count’s music isn’t easy, I’ll grant you,” he said. “But it’s really wonderful, if you only give it a chance and really listen to it.”

  Esmeralda eyed him. “Ever heard the phrase ‘Life’s too short’?” she asked.

  Jack shrugged. “Either way, you’d be crazy to try to escape,” he warned them. “You’ll get eaten for sure. Those lizards are as savage as savage can be, so I’m told!”

  “So we’re stuck here,” said Trundle.

  “I’m afraid we are,” Jack agreed. “So you might as well make the most of it. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” said Esmeralda. “You’ve gotten yourself in with the count, all right.”

  Jack looked a little shamefaced. “I know it seems like that,” he said awkwardly. “But . . . well . . . I’m a musician at heart, you know. And the count really is an extraordinary composer and player, whether you realize it or not. He has a great vision . . . something entirely new and amazing that will astonish everyone in the Sundered Lands.” He frowned. “Look, I have to be at rehearsals soon. I’ll show you to your quarters. I’m told the hulks are quite comfortable, really.”

  “And where will you be sleeping?” asked Esmeralda.

  “Oh . . . um . . . the orchestra has its own dormitory in the opera house itself. You’ll see it in the morning. You’ll be impressed, really you will.”

  Esmeralda gave Jack a deeply suspicious look. “I intend to get out of here at the very first chance,” she said. “Will you be coming with us or not?”

  “Of course!” Jack declared. “But until then, we should all make things as easy for ourselves as we can.” He gestured for them to follow. “The workers’ hulks are really very pleasant, so I’m told,” he said. “Come along. It’s not far. There’s hot food and warm beds.”