by Dan Anthony
‘We don’t allow guns in the Cutlass and Snarl.’
Steve tried to speak, but he couldn’t move his mouth. The cold steel of the barrel was making his nose feel numb. There was something about this man that scared Steve, it scared him to the heart of his dreams. What if he died in his dream? Big Mo wouldn’t find him. He’d never get back to Pendown.
‘You know my name?’ said the man.
‘Twoface?’ breathed Steve.
‘Not so stupid,’ hissed Twoface. ‘Just plain dumb. The penalty for bringing a handgun into the Cutlass and Snarl is death.’
Wolfie gulped. ‘NO!’ she shouted. ‘You can’t shoot him.’
‘Wanna bet,’ said the landlord, his face contorting into two menacing grins, separated from one another by that great scar that spliced his face.
Steve couldn’t speak. All that would come out of his mouth was the first letter of the word ‘Please’.
‘P… p… p…’
He wanted to say, ‘Please don’t shoot me.’ He thought about his mum, asleep in her bed in their house. He thought about Miffany and Jaydee, Groucho his little dog, even Kyled and Tobes. He missed them all and he wanted to go back to them. Tears filled his eyes. How had he dreamed himself into this terrible situation?
‘P… p… p…’
Steve looked around him. He was surrounded by horrified, frightened faces.
He tried a new word.
‘Help!’ he screamed.
The musicians took a step back. Steve shut his eyes. His nose began to shiver. Slowly, Twoface tightened his grip on the trigger. He laughed as Steve winced in fear. He closed his eyes. This was it. He’d never get home.
Click.
Twoface pulled the trigger.
Snap.
The flint flicked to light the powder.
There was no explosion in the chamber. No crack and whizz as the lead ball flew out of the barrel.
The gun wasn’t loaded.
Steve opened one eye. The same faces stared at him. He opened the other. He saw Twoface looking even more furious.
‘Come on,’ yelled Steve, ‘follow me. Grab your instruments on the way. We’ll practise on the old ship — The Black Dragon.’
Twoface made a grab for Steve, but he was too fast. As Steve and the others rushed away from the tavern he heard Twoface shouting after him, ‘You can dream yourself anywhere, Steve, but wherever you go, whatever you try, I’ll be there to stop you. I’ll turn your dreams into nightmares.’
12
Rehearsals
A distant clock chimed. Steve and Wolfie counted the bongs.
‘Six bongs,’ muttered Steve as he shoved the harpsichord out onto the deck outside the Captain’s cabin. ‘We’re almost out of bongs. It’s going to be close but I think we can make it.’
‘How?’ moaned Wolfie, setting her stool down in front of the keyboard. ‘The musicians don’t know the tune and in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re on a run-aground ship on a mudflat miles from anywhere.’
Steve and Wolfie were standing on the raised deck just outside the Captain’s cabin. A few metres below them stood the musicians on the bleached planks of the main deck. They didn’t look impressive. They were dressed in rags and their instruments were old and battered. They were a crew of twangers, plinkers and plonkers drawn from the worst pirate ships that had sailed the seas.
Steve held up his conductor’s baton.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he cried. ‘Let’s give it up for the one and only … Wolfie.’
The musicians on the deck clapped without much enthusiasm. A seagull flapped down and perched on a spar. It cocked its head on one side.
Wolfie began to play. When she finished, silence descended on the ship like a quilt.
‘It’s good,’ said Ossa. ‘I can do something with it.’
Sally picked up her violin and scratched a note until her instrument was in tune with Wolfie’s. The others followed, tuning up their instruments.
‘This is going to sound terrible,’ whispered Wolfie.
‘Why?’ asked Steve, ‘they all know their instruments, they’ve heard your tune, I can’t really see what the problem is.’
‘That’s because you don’t know anything about music.’
A clock chimed. Wolfie and Steve listened. Lots of bongs. It was half past six.
Steve took a deep breath and raised his baton skywards.
‘I may not be so good at middle C,’ he said, ‘but when it comes to A, I’m on home ground. Now stop moaning, Wolfie – we’ve got one chance to get this right.’
Wolfie sat at the keyboard.
Steve tapped the mast with his baton.
The musicians on the deck fell silent, their instruments glinting in the setting sunlight. Steve felt their eyes zooming in on him. He realised that they weren’t looking at his face. The tiny little stick in his hand was all they cared about. That was where the beat came from. Right now, Steve realised, his baton was as powerful as any wand. He jumped onto the balustrade between the captain’s deck and the main deck and shouted at the top of his voice.
‘A one, a two, a one, two, three, four…’
Steve spun around and pointed his baton at One Eye’d Sally. She played a scale on her violin and then introduced Wolfie’s tune. Then Steve pointed to the other stringed instruments. They created a wonderful floating sound, less hard than Wolfie’s harpsichord.
‘OK,’ cried Steve. ‘Go now, Wolfie.’
Wolfie started playing. Steve kept the beat by tapping his feet and dancing around the deck swinging his baton through the air. Next he brought in the brass and woodwind players. Only then did he give Ossa N’Tini the nod. Bang! She hit the drum and got playing.
Steve danced all over the deck, tapping the musicians with his baton when he wanted them to play up or play down. As the song drew to a close, Steve found himself standing on top of Wolfie’s keyboard, punching the air, shouting at the top of his voice.
‘This is fantastic!’
But as the final chords died down and the sound rolled away along the river, Steve and Wolfie heard another, more worrying noise. From a faraway tower a clock chimed the time.
Steve counted more bongs.
It was seven o’clock.
‘Groovy,’ said One Eye’d Sally.
‘Dig it, man,’ shouted Wolfie.
13
The Riverfront Song Contest
Liam and the Captain had been busy. After the duel they’d hurried to the river and set to work putting out chairs for the audience. Nearby the Earl’s servants had already constructed a stage and by the evening the best musicians in the country had taken up their positions.
Elegant couples arrived in carriages. Others strolled into the park on foot, clipping the floor with their brightly polished boots and canes. Everyone wanted to see who would win.
Earl Mostyn himself galloped in. He’d positioned a gold chair, a bit like a throne, on the side of the stage and he listened with pleasure as his conductor, his composer and his musicians began to rehearse his newly commissioned symphony.
Liam and the Captain sat on two of the wooden chairs they’d put out. They watched and listened.
The Captain spoke first as the orchestra crashed and surged through ‘The Countess of Shropshire’s First Symphony’.
‘They’re good, aren’t they,’ he said.
Liam nodded.
A huge white carriage pulled by four white stallions cantered up and stopped.
‘I can guess who this is,’ said the Captain.
Liam watched as a beautiful woman in a bright blue dress with a huge, tall blueish wig stepped out of the carriage. Footmen ran before her, scattering blue petals on the ground in front of her.
‘Look,’ said Liam. ‘Isn’t she beautiful, like a great big blue cloud?’
‘Clouds aren’t blue,’ said the Captain.
‘It’s the Countess of Shropshire,’ sighed Liam. ‘Isn’t she wonderful?’
Liam waved towards th
e Countess. But she didn’t notice. She walked towards Earl Mostyn’s stage, smiling at him, his conductor, his orchestra and his audience.
‘She’s a looker and no mistake,’ said the Captain.
‘What a beautiful dress,’ said Liam. ‘It’s so blue it makes the sky look boring.’
The Captain glanced up at the sky. The pink light of sunset was splodging across the walls of the nearby building. If anything it made the Countess’ dress look almost purple.
‘I’m not sure about the blue hair though,’ said the Captain. ‘I think that’s a bit OTT.’
Liam was transfixed by the vision in blue as she processed towards the stage. The Earl leapt down from his stage and bowed. The Countess curtseyed. He took her hand and led her to a seat in the middle of the front row. All around, the audience gazed at the beautiful Countess. They adjusted their wigs. None of them had anything to compare with her incredible blue wig.
‘Prepare to have your ears blown off,’ said the Earl to the Countess.
She nodded graciously, flicking open a little blue fan which she kept folded on her wrist.
The band began to play. Their music was called ‘A Symphony Inspired by the Radiance and Beauty of the Countess of Shropshire’. It was conducted by its composer, a small man wearing a white wig. His orchestra, all dressed in matching blue jackets and trousers were the best in the country.
When the Earl’s orchestra finished playing, the entire audience stood to applaud. The orchestra leapt to their feet and saluted the Earl. The composer took a low bow and waved his wig at the cheering crowd.
The Countess stepped onto the stage.
‘I had promised to marry the man who could express their love and appreciation of me the best in music,’ she said. ‘Earl Mostyn has certainly done that.’
She looked down at Liam and the Captain.
‘Liam, on the other hand, has said nothing. Indeed, he has played nothing. Have you nothing to offer?’
Liam looked desperately from side to side. His stage was empty. The few seats that he and the Captain had managed to set up were also unoccupied. There was no sign of Wolfie and her harpsichord, let alone an orchestra. He knew he’d lost.
‘I’m going to shoot myself,’ he muttered.
‘He’ll probably miss,’ said Earl Mostyn, leading the Countess of Shropshire away.
The Captain turned. Something had distracted him. He scanned the park, the buildings nearby, then the river.
‘It is with great regret,’ said Liam, ‘that I…’
‘Shut up,’ said the Captain, poking Liam in the ribs with his crutch.
‘Get on with it,’ said the Earl. ‘He’s lost, I’ve won, let’s get married, end of sports.’
‘By thunder,’ said the Captain, grabbing his wig and holding it down on his head, ‘look at that!’
He pointed towards the river. Slowly, a black ship floated into view.
‘She’s coming up on the tide,’ said the Captain. ‘That’s my old vessel, The Black Dragon. I didn’t think she’d still float.’
‘Yeah, but I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything, we still haven’t got an orchestra,’ moaned Liam.
The ship creaked into view and sailed slowly towards the shore. It groaned in the wind as it drew closer and closer. The huge figurehead of a black dragon loomed towards the crowd. They gasped and hurried away as the ship ground into the mud.
Steve leapt onto the prow, evening sunlight sparkling on his bright red jacket.
‘Ready?’ he shouted, waggling his baton in the air.
A cheer went up from within the ship.
‘A one, a two, a one, two, three, four…’
The band began to play Wolfie’s tune. They climbed the rigging, swung from the ropes, marched across the decks.
At first the audience didn’t know what to do. But they couldn’t help tapping their feet. Then they began to clap and cheer. Before long they were dancing. Musicians swung down to the ground on ropes. They filled the stage with their crazy dance, whilst Steve kept time with his baton. The harpsichord swung out over the crowd, and Wolfie kept playing as they lowered her down to the ground. Finally, at the end of the piece Steve pointed at the ship itself.
‘Fire,’ he shouted.
Cannons roared and smoke filled the air. The audience, Liam, the Captain, Earl Mostyn’s orchestra, Earl Mostyn, The Countess of Shropshire, the Earl’s footman, even the Earl’s great stallion, all threw themselves on the floor. Then, as the smoke cleared, they began to stand and cheer. Nobody had ever heard a piece of music like it before, and nobody heard anything like it ever again.
Steve grabbed Wolfie’s hand and led her up onto the stage. She bowed and the crowd went wild, throwing their wigs into the air. Even the Countess of Shropshire smiled.
‘It seems you have won the competition,’ she said, edging away from the Earl and towards Liam.
Liam bowed to the Countess.
The Earl stepped forward. He pulled Wolfie’s wig off.
‘I’m afraid this piece of music doesn’t count for a start, it was written by a girl.’
The crowd gasped in horror.
‘And half of that pirate band of desperados are girls too. It doesn’t count.’
Liam looked at Wolfie standing by her harpsichord on the stage. He couldn’t help thinking that her red hair looked much nicer than the Countess’ blue wig.
Liam stepped away from the Countess.
In fact, he couldn’t help thinking that Wolfie looked quite a lot prettier than the Countess, even though she didn’t have a blue dress.
He stepped towards Wolfie.
‘Do you always travel by airborne harpsichord?’ asked Liam.
‘I haven’t got a carriage,’ said Wolfie, leaping on top of her instrument, ‘isn’t this fantastic?’
‘Play it again,’ shouted the crowd.
The Earl threw his wig on the floor.
‘Cheats!’ he yelled.
‘And anyway,’ shouted the Earl, ‘everybody knows girls can’t be composers — whoever heard of music composed by a girl?’
Liam leaped onto the harpsichord and joined Wolfie.
‘Me!’ he cried. ‘Three cheers for Wolfie.’
Steve rubbed his eyes. He felt strange. Wobbly. He tried to speak. But no sounds came out of his mouth. He tried to lift his hand, to wave his baton, but his fingers felt heavy, as if they were made of lead.
‘Wait,’ he cried. ‘Wait! Wolfie! Liam! I don’t want to go! Let me stay.’
Even the picture of the town was fading now. The huge sailing ship rammed up on the embankment with its black dragon figurehead glowering at the crowded riverside, began to break up, almost as if it was a jigsaw disintegrating as it fell to the ground. The wonderful stone buildings dissipated into grains of sand. Colours flickered on and off. Before Steve could say any more or reach out any further, it was gone. He found himself falling, head over heels. He was tumbling downwards, or was it upwards? He didn’t suppose it mattered.
Steve screwed up his face. All he knew was that he was falling. And that meant one thing. At some point he’d stop falling. And that would hurt.
‘Aaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrgh,’ yelled Steve.
Steve covered his face with his hands and pulled his knees up to his head. The wind rushed past his ears, filling his head with the sound of a thousand tornados.
14
Twoface
Then it stopped.
Steve peeped through his fingers.
He saw the librarian smiling at him from behind his desk.
Steve put his legs down. With some relief, he felt the floor. Instinctively, he pushed his hands forward and touched the front of the librarian’s desk. It felt cool and solid. He tapped the oak legs. They felt heavy and strong.
‘Sorry about that,’ said a voice behind him.
Steve saw big Mo, smiling from beneath his pork-pie hat.
‘What happened?’ spluttered Steve.
‘Turbulence,’ said Big Mo.
‘We sometimes experience turbulence,’ added the librarian, trying to sound as helpful as possible.
‘If I could ask you to sign this form and return the conductor’s baton, I’d be most grateful.’
Steve watched as the librarian pushed a piece of paper towards him.
‘It’s nothing special, just a formality.’
Steve read the top of the piece of paper: ‘Return of Dream Equipment Loaned by the Library of Dreams’.
Steve stuck his hand in his pocket. He produced the conductor’s baton and placed it carefully on the table.
‘Was it useful?’ asked the librarian.
‘Totally,’ said Steve. ‘I could never have a conducted an orchestra without one.’
‘Good work, Steve,’ said Big Mo.
‘What happened in the end?’ asked Steve, as he signed the Return of Dream Equipment form.
‘Didn’t you see?’
‘No,’ said Steve, pushing the paper and the baton back to the librarian.
‘It was a complete turnaround, what we in the business call a 180.’
Steve didn’t quite understand.
‘The Countess of Shropshire fell in love with Liam because he’d blown the Earl’s boring orchestra out of the water. But guess what? Liam fell in in love with Wolfie because she was a genius, she was great fun and she looked great when she wasn’t wearing a wig. You saved the day again, Steve,’ said Big Mo.
‘The Captain rejoined his crew and they sailed around the capital cities of Europe, with Liam and Wolfie putting on musical events from the decks of the old ship,’ added the librarian. ‘They really were happy ever after. And so were Earl Mostyn and the Countess.’