by Anne Forbes
A puzzled silence followed this remark.
“Look, I’m not saying you’re wrong, Neil,” Jaikie frowned, “but what you’ve just said doesn’t really add up, you know. Count Vassili is Jezail’s right-hand man. He must have known of Malfior.”
“He might have known of Malfior but he certainly didn’t know about the hex Jezail put on the prince,” Neil stated determinedly.
“I think Neil’s right about that,” Clara nodded, “After all, Herr von Grozny did his best to help Kalman, didn’t he?”
“It still doesn’t hang together,”Jaikie objected. “Prince Casimir and Prince Kalman were close friends of Lord Jezail. After all, they used to stop over in Ashgar on their way to Turkey, didn’t they?”
The MacArthur nodded.
“Surely it’d take a lot more than a quarrel,” Hamish objected. “He must have really hated Kalman to put such a vicious spell on him.”
“I think Lord Jezail is vicious,” Neil interrupted, “and quite frankly I don’t believe for a minute that Prince Casimir stole the Sultan’s Crown. If he did, I bet Lord Jezail hexed him to do it! I mean … it could have been a hex … couldn’t it?” he said, sounding suddenly doubtful.
There was a surprised silence as everyone looked at one another, appalled at the implications of Neil’s words.
“A hex … to make Casimir steal the Sultan’s crown, you mean?” Hamish looked amazed.
“A hex!” the MacArthur said in a completely different tone of voice as though Neil’s words confirmed a long held suspicion. “Do you know, I believe you’re right, Neil! That would explain so many things! I’ve always thought there was something odd about Casimir stealing the crown.”
“And maybe Kalman turning so … so power-hungry,” added Jaikie, sitting up straight in his excitement. This new angle on Lord Jezail opened up all sorts of possibilities! “But why,” he wondered. “Why would he do such a thing?”
“He wants power,” the MacArthur said immediately. “It can’t be anything else. Jezail was always ambitious, you know. And he is a powerful magician in his own right. I rather think he wants to rival the Turkish Sultan. After all, the first thing he chose to steal was his crown.”
“He didn’t have the courage to steal it himself, though,” Archie broke in excitedly. “He must have known that the Sultan would destroy him if he found out he’d taken it.”
“So, as Neil says,” the MacArthur continued, “he hexed Prince Casimir to take it, instead!”
“And take the blame if things went wrong,” Hamish pointed out. “Which they did!”
There was a grim silence as they thought of the Sultan’s punishment; for Prince Casimir had spent many years imprisoned in the desert as a result.
“Do you think Count Vassili knows all this?” Neil asked.
“I doubt it,” the MacArthur shook his head. “Don’t forget it happened years ago, long before he arrived in Jezail’s court. Besides which,” he added, “he’s hardly the type.”
“I agree,” Clara said. “After all, when he took the talisman from the Queen of the Snow Witches he didn’t just buzz off to Ashgar, did he? He came back with a rope to rescue us.”
“Why didn’t he take you out first?” queried Neil.
“Prince Kalman couldn’t have got out on his own if I’d gone first,” she explained. “I don’t know if it was the daemons’ bites or the shock of realizing that it was Lord Jezail who had hexed him, but, as I said, he’d collapsed. I’d already put my firestone round his neck to help him, like Lord Rothlan did with Amgarad when he was ill.”
The MacArthur nodded approvingly.
“Anyway, when Herr von Grozny shouted down to me, I told him he’d have to take the prince first. I don’t really think Kalman knew what he was doing. The rope had a loop at the end for him to put his foot in and I managed to get him to understand that he had to hold on. Then von Grozny hauled him up and the rope came down for me. But when I got out, it was only the snow witch that was there. Herr von Grozny had vanished.” She pursed her lips and frowned slightly. “I think it was because you were attacking the castle,” she mused. “After all, he knew you’d win and he wouldn’t want you to capture him and take the talisman.”
The MacArthur rose to his feet, looking serious. “You’ve done well, Clara,” he said. “I’m sure you’re right about Lord Jezail. And the more I think about it, Neil,” he added, “the more I think you’re right about the hex on Prince Casimir. The Lords of the North will certainly have to be told about all this.”
32. Morven
If the little hobgoblin told his story once that day, he told it a thousand times, for he had been serving the Lords of the North with breakfast that morning when he’d noticed the strange magic carpet as it swept in through the blue and silver halls of Morven. His goat-like little face blazed with excitement and his slanted yellow eyes gleamed at the memory, as he told anyone who would listen how, the minute he’d seen the carpet, he’d called out a warning. After all, he pointed out reasonably, most visitors arriving in Morven came through the magic mirrors and were generally expected. They didn’t arrive out of the blue in the early hours of the morning when it was still dark; and anyway, carpets that carried mysterious, crouching figures were unheard of. No, he’d known right away that something was up!
“I almost dropped a jug of orange juice,” he confessed. “Well, I mean, I just froze! No one knew what to expect! After all, it could have been absolutely anybody or anything!”
The little group of hobgoblins nodded seriously knowing that the lords had taken notice of his shouted warning and risen hurriedly to their feet — but it was only when one of the figures on the carpet waved a greeting and a great eagle appeared, soaring in after the carpet, that everyone relaxed. It was Amgarad and his master, Lord Rothlan.
It was a dramatic arrival. The exhausted carpet stopped beside them, barely able to hover. It would be a long time, too, before Rothlan forgot the look of startled wonder on Lord Alarid’s face as he pushed back his chair and hurried forward to help him off the carpet.
“Alasdair,” he said anxiously, formality forgotten, “are you all right? What has been happening and who …” he saw the cloaked figure of the old man lying unmoving on the carpet, “who is this?”
Lord Rothlan straightened himself with an effort, for he had cradled Kalman in his arms all the way to Morven. Stiff as he was, however, he managed to bow low as Lord Alarid and the other lords crowded round the hovering carpet. “It’s Prince Kalman,” he answered, pulling back the folds of his cloak so that they could all see the incredibly old, withered body that lay crumpled, still and barely breathing.
“Prince Kalman!” A whisper of sound rustled round the gorgeously robed figures as the lords looked at one another in amazement.
“He has been hexed by some evil thing,” Lord Rothlan said harshly, “and I have brought him here, to Morven, to be cured.”
He looked challengingly round the faces of the lords, waiting for one of them to point out that Prince Kalman had been barred from Morven for many years.
No one did, however. The sight of the prince had given them all pause for thought and more than one of the lords looked guilty and ashamed. The tense silence was only broken when Lord Dorian, the prince’s most severe critic, stepped forward. “We may have had our disagreements with Prince Kalman in the past,” he said, with a slight quiver in his voice, “but I do not think that any of us wished him such harm.” He paused. “Leave him as he is on the carpet, Alasdair. He must be cured at once. My lords,” he looked round the gathering, “there is work to be done.”
Lord Rothlan looked at him, feeling more than slightly stunned. Alasdair! he thought fleetingly. Never, for as long as he could remember, had Lord Dorian called him Alasdair. He must be more upset than he seemed. Nevertheless, his spirits rose. Action had been called for. They were going to do their utmost to save the prince.
“I can’t believe it’s Prince Kalman,” Lord Alarid whispered, looking worried
ly at the pitiful figure as they joined hands to form an unbroken circle round the carpet.
“He’s wearing a firestone,” Lord Dorian pointed out. “Shouldn’t we remove it first?”
Rothlan frowned and pulling back the collar of the prince’s shirt, quickly unfastened the thin gold chain that held the firestone. Clara’s firestone, he was sure of it. Good girl, Clara, he thought, slipping it quickly into his pocket.
“Are we ready?” Lord Alarid questioned, looking round. “Then we’ll use the Restoration Spell,” he said, “at maximum strength.”
In the background, the hobgoblins watched in fascinated wonder as the circle of magicians chanted the words of the spell over and over again. Time passed and nothing seemed to happen and then the chanting slowed and stopped. The circle of hands was broken and a smiling Lord Alarid stepped forward to help Prince Kalman off the carpet.
And it was the Prince Kalman they remembered; tall, fair-haired and handsome even in the rags of clothes that the old man had been wearing. A quick hex changed this, however, and he laughed as he looked down at his new robes. So it was that, resplendent in his new finery, the prince stood before them, once more a Lord of the North.
Lady Ellan, who had followed her husband to Morven, had landed unnoticed except by Amgarad, who had flown towards her and perched on her shoulder as the magicians chanted the words of the spell. Now she moved swiftly forward to greet the prince and then stopped, looking in amazement from Kalman to her husband. “I can’t believe it, Alasdair,” she stammered looking at the prince in wonder. “It’s not that you’ve just grown younger, Kalman,” she smiled. “You look … well, you look a different person.”
At her words, everyone nodded in agreement for, as Lord Rothlan remarked later, he was different. He was looking at the Prince Kalman he had known as a boy, the Prince Kalman who had been, in times past, one of his best friends. The sneering, nasty, discontented individual of later years had vanished completely.
For the hobgoblins, it was the beginning of a very exciting day as a succession of visitors started to arrive through the magic mirrors. First to appear was Prince Casimir, Kalman’s father, who had been told nothing of his son’s dreadful plight. He embraced him warmly, quite overcome with emotion and Kalman, too, cried unashamedly in his father’s arms.
It was only once they had both recovered their composure that the Sultan approached and greeted the prince graciously enough, given the enmity there had been between them. Lord Rothlan then brought Hughie into the mountain and saw the pleasure and amazement in his face as he realized that the ageing spell had been lifted. Kalman was once more the young prince that he had known and liked.
Then the MacArthur appeared, called from Arthur Seat to greet Prince Kalman. To everyone’s surprise he was followed by Neil and Clara who looked round the gathering shyly. It was all so … so very grand.
Once the MacArthur had greeted the prince, Lord Alarid beckoned the children forward and it was as Neil approached to bow to the prince that he started to panic. What on earth was he going to say, he wondered. After all, he’d regarded the prince as an enemy from the first day they’d met.
“Well, Neil,” Kalman said with a rueful twinkle in his eyes, “can you forgive me for the harm I’ve caused you in the past?”
Neil found himself smiling back, quickly realizing that this was a completely different person from the prince of old. His cold, arrogant manner had gone and the blue eyes that met his, were friendly and warm.
“And you, Clara?” the prince asked. “Lord Rothlan told me that without your firestone I might well have died on my way here,” he said seriously.
Clara blushed. “It was nothing,” she said.
“It meant a lot to me,” Prince Kalman said quietly, “and I will never forget it.”
Neil and Clara looked at one another and then back at the prince. Now that the hex had been lifted, they suddenly realized that they were going to like this new Prince Kalman very much indeed.
It was a time for celebration and the hobgoblins listened avidly as all the lords made speeches to welcome the prince back to Morven — even grumpy old Lord Dorian had been kind and when they had ushered the prince to take his place on the silver throne beside Lord Alarid, the prince had looked blazingly happy and proud.
The speeches were followed by a great banquet and it was only afterwards when everyone relaxed in comfortable armchairs that the MacArthur stood up, his face grave.
A ripple of unease ran round the assembled lords who looked at one another apprehensively, wondering what was coming next.
“I know you will all have noticed that I did not come alone,” the MacArthur said, gesturing towards Neil and Clara, “but your invitation came at quite a startling moment.”
“What happened, Father?” Lady Ellan enquired, her voice tinged with anxiety.
“When your invitation came, Clara had just finished telling me of Lord Jezail’s part in this business. From what you said, Prince Kalman, she worked out that it was Lord Jezail who put the ageing spell on you. Not Malfior, as you had thought?”
The Prince nodded. “I couldn’t believe it at first,” he said, turning to his father who sat by his side. “I always thought he was our friend …”
“Neil, however,” the MacArthur continued, looking at father and son, “reckons that this wasn’t the first spell that Lord Jezail cast. He thinks that he cast one many years ago when you were both on your way to Turkey to buy magic carpets.”
A startled murmur ran round the assembled lords.
“Indeed,” the MacArthur continued, knowing that he had everyone’s undivided attention, “Neil thinks that Lord Jezail hexed you, Prince Casimir, to steal the Sultan’s crown.”
There was an angry gasp from the assembled lords.
“A hex!” Prince Casimir rose to his feet. “Of course!” he looked round wonderingly. “That must have been it! Why didn’t I realize it before! A hex! It …” he turned to the Sultan, “… milord, it explains everything!”
“I think he hexed you, too, Prince Kalman,” Neil interrupted, “when he found that his plan to take the crown from your father had failed.”
“And,” Lord Rothlan interrupted thoughtfully, “if what Neil says is right, then I think, too, that he changed you into the terrible person you became; totally obsessed by the crown and the power it would give you.”
The Sultan who had been listening closely to what was being said, now rose to his feet. Everyone followed suit and watched as he took Prince Kalman’s hands in his. “I think that Neil and Clara are correct in what they say and I realize now that in the past I have accused you and your father unjustly and would ask your forgiveness.”
There was an outburst of clapping and a buzz of conversation as everyone discussed what had happened. Lord Jezail’s evil nature had finally come to light and it was a matter the lords were taking seriously.
Neil and Clara felt more than a bit embarrassed by the fuss that was made of them and it was only much later, when all the excitement had died down, that Lord Rothlan gave Clara back her firestone, Neil tucked his carpet under his arm as, with the MacArthur, they said goodbye to the Lords of the North.
Jaikie, Hamish and Archie were waiting for them when they stepped back into the hill through the magic mirror. Arthur, too, was delighted to see them back and blew a great burst of fire that sparkled brightly across the cavern.
“I don’t want to hurry you,” the MacArthur said with a smile, “but it’s getting late and you really ought to be getting back to school.”
“What time is it?” Clara queried, looking at her wrist before remembering that her watch was in school.
“Gosh! It’s ten past six in the morning,” Neil answered, looking at his watch.
The MacArthur nodded. “That’s what I mean. If you leave now, you might get back in time for breakfast,” he added.
“That’s true,” Neil answered. “Thank goodness it’s Friday. At least we have the weekend to look forward to.”
Clara stared at Neil anxiously. “You’ve forgotten,” she whispered. “The final performance of Pumpkin Pie is this afternoon. All the parents will be there! Mum and Dad are coming!”
Neil sat up. “Gosh! I’d forgotten all about that!” he muttered.
Seeing their horrified faces, Kitor and Cassia flapped their wings anxiously and looked at the MacArthur. “Don’t worry about the school play,” he said with a broad smile, “we’ll make sure that it’s a wonderful performance!”
And it was.
33. Moving On
“I still think the MacArthur should have told us,” Mrs MacLean said angrily as they sat round the living room fire that evening. “I’ve never heard the like of it. Snow worms, indeed! They sound awful!”
“They were,” agreed Clara, “but, I told you, Mum. Prince Kalman saved me.”
“And he’s a different person now that he’s a Lord of the North,” Neil reminded her. “I told you — really fab! You’ll like him, Mum! We did!”
“If he saved you from these snow worms you keep talking about,” her father interrupted, “then he must have changed for the better!”
“Well, actually, I don’t think he had much of a choice,” Neil said, considering the matter. “He’d know that the Lords of the North would be as mad as fire if they heard he’d let her be eaten by snow worms and done nothing about it.”
“Don’t say things like that, Neil,” his mother scolded. “I still …”
“… think the MacArthur should have told you,” Neil repeated. “I know! I know! But look, Mum, can’t you understand! There was no time! If they’d waited for you to get to Edinburgh from here, Clara would have been eaten by snow worms!”
“Honestly, I’m fine, Mum,” Clara assured her yet again. “Now, can we change the subject, for goodness sake? How did you enjoy the play this afternoon?”