Percy emerged from the cupboard, festooned in cobwebs and with a carpetbag in his hands. Embroidered on the bag were the large letters GP.
“What’s GP stand for, Percy?” asked Trundle.
“Oh!” Percy said, seeming a little flustered. “It stands for . . . Gerald Pursuivant. A long time ago, there was a herald called Gerald—this was his bag.”
“It’s not going to be big enough for all the crowns,” commented Esmeralda.
“That’s not what it’s for at all,” said Percy, placing the carpetbag on the floor and opening it. He pulled out a crossbow and a quiver of small arrows. Trundle and Esmeralda gazed at the weapon in surprise.
“Expecting trouble, are you, Percy?” asked Esmeralda.
“You never know when you might run into something nasty,” said Percy, replacing the crossbow and the quiver in the bag. “After all, there are pirates on our trail, aren’t there?”
Trundle had to admit he had a point, but that didn’t make it any less odd that a chap like Percy should have a crossbow in his cupboard in the first place!
“And I think I can come up with a way of safely transporting the crowns,” Percy said cheerfully. He vanished into the cupboard again and reappeared carrying a square box.
He placed the box on a small round table.
“Gather around, my little friends,” he said. “This unusual item is known as the dwindling box.”
The box was made of brass and ivory, carved all over with curious symbols and designs, worn smooth by the passage of time.
“The dwindling box has been in my possession for a long, long time,” Percy told them. “It has come in very useful in the past.”
“What does it do?” asked Trundle.
“I will show you,” said Percy. He unlatched the lid and tipped it open. “Hand me the Crown of Wood, Esmeralda,” he said.
Looking puzzled, Esmeralda gave the box with the crown in it to the herald. It seemed to Trundle that the dwindling box was probably just about big enough to hold the Crown of Wood. But what about the other four? Where was Percy planning on putting them?
Percy took the Crown of Wood out of its box and dropped it into the dwindling box.
“Okay,” said Esmeralda dubiously. “So far so good. Where do the rest go?”
Chuckling to himself, Percy gestured for them to draw close and look into the dwindling box.
“Oh my!” gasped Trundle, staring in amazement at the tiny wooden crown that sat in the bottom of the box. It was no bigger than an eggcup!
“Oh, wow, Percy!” Esmeralda breathed. “It’s magic!”
“Of a kind,” said Percy. “As soon as we’re ready to leave, we’ll make our way back to my office to pick up the other crowns. I’m pretty certain that once they’re inside the dwindling box, their powers will be easily contained. But we’ll need to keep the lid well fastened, just to be on the safe side!”
“Well done, Percy,” said Esmeralda admiringly. “And I thought only the Roamany people had magic!”
“If this is magic, then it’s an older and deeper magic than your hedgerow tricks!” said Percy as he snapped the lid of the box shut.
Trundle saw Esmeralda shoot their friend an annoyed look—but Percy was smiling affably at her and she didn’t say anything.
“Well now,” said Percy. “I think it’s about time we got out of here, don’t you? As soon as he realizes I’m missing, His Nibs will have guards racing about all over, searching every nook and cranny for me!”
“The Thief in the Night isn’t too far away,” said Esmeralda. “Once we have the rest of the crowns, we could be there in a few minutes.”
“Excellent!” Percy beamed. “Trundle, my boy, I’m putting you in charge of the dwindling box. Keep it safe!”
“Shiverstones, here we come!” declared Esmeralda. “And quest’s end!”
Trundle picked up the dwindling box, thrilled to think they had nearly fulfilled their mission and wondering what would happen when the six crowns were finally brought together.
They headed out of the room, but just as Trundle was closing the door behind them, he heard an odd flapping sound. Puzzled, he popped his head around the door just in time to see one of the ravens from the wall frieze go flapping out through an open window!
“Hey, you!” he shouted. “Come back here!”
“What is it?” asked Percy, turning back.
“One of those raven statues wasn’t a statue at all!” yelled Trundle, running to the window. “It was real.”
“It was spying on us!” cried Esmeralda. “It was a filthy rotten spy!” She looked at Percy, who had joined them at the window. “The pirates use ravens as messengers! And that bird overheard everything we were talking about!”
They watched as the big black bird went flapping away over the spires and towers of the college. As it shrank into the distance, Trundle heard a faint croaking voice calling back to him, “You’ll get yours, matey! You see if you don’t!”
“We have even less time than I thought,” said Percy. “We need to fetch the other four crowns and get out of here as quick as lightning!” He shuddered. “I don’t like the idea of us having the Iron Pig on our trail,” he said. “I don’t like it one little bit!”
Percy led them along many an empty corridor and up and down several deserted flights of back stairs in order to get them to his office without being spotted. Once or twice, they had to backtrack or dive for cover when a posse of guards came pounding down a corridor or could be heard clanking along around a corner.
But at last they found themselves in his office, stepping carefully through the debris left from their previous visit.
Trundle placed the dwindling box on the desk; he clicked the latch and opened the lid. Percy took the Crown of Ice out of its container and popped it inside the box. Trundle peered in, smiling to see the tiny Crown of Ice sitting quietly beside the tiny Crown of Wood.
Esmeralda fetched the Crown of Fire out of the cupboard, while Percy rescued the Crown of Iron from the wall cabinet.
Soon the two other crowns were nestling at the bottom of the box. Now it only remained for Percy to take down the Crown of Crystal from its high shelf and drop it into the dwindling box.
Trundle cringed a little as the fifth crown joined the others, half expecting some kind of alarming reaction to follow. But nothing did. Percy had been right—whatever made the dwindling box work, it was also keeping the crowns under control. With a relieved sigh, Trundle shut the box and clicked the latch.
Now all they had to do was to get to the Thief in the Night without walking into any trouble.
Picking up the carpetbag, Percy headed for the door with Esmeralda and Trundle close on his heels.
He opened the door just as a large fox guard was about to grab the handle on the outside.
“Here!” exclaimed the surprised guard. “I’ve got orders to take you to the highmost chancellor, Mister Herald Pursuivant, sir.”
“Have you indeed, my good fellow?” replied Percy, as though nothing out of the ordinary was going on. “I shall be most delighted to comply with Doctor Brockwise’s wishes.” He glanced down. “Your boot lace is undone, Sergeant Fawkes. Doctor Brockwise doesn’t approve of sloppily dressed guards, you know!”
The guard stared down at his feet. “Wotcher talkin’ about?” he said in a puzzled voice. “My bootlace ain’t undone at all.”
“My mistake!” said Percy, swinging the carpetbag on high. To Trundle’s total astonishment, he brought it down with a hefty whack on the guard’s bowed head.
Sergeant Fawkes hit the floor like a sack of cabbages.
“Help me get him inside,” puffed Percy.
“Crikey, Perce!” gasped Esmeralda. “Look what you did!”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” said Percy, peering cautiously up and down the corridor as the three of them grabbed the guard and dragged him into the room.
Trundle had to agree that Percy was right about that. All the same, it
was rather startling the way he had knocked poor old Fawkes out. It seemed that there was more to their friend the Herald Pursuivant than met the eye!
Evening was falling and the Thief in the Night was racing across the darkening sky with its sails full of a good, strong wind.
Away behind them, Widdershins could still be seen as a gray blob. Ahead of them, the sun was slowly setting behind the dark mass of Nightreef, sending out a final few shafts of golden light as it disappeared.
Nightreef! Once a day the huge solid barrier of broken rocks and rubble would circle the sun, blocking out the daylight and giving the people of Sundered Lands their dark and starry nights.
Just a few hours ago, and without any more awkward encounters, the gallant little skyboat had gone skimming away from the grounds of the college. But Trundle still felt uneasy; he sat in the stern, clinging to the tiller and peering over his shoulder all the time, fearful that at any moment the blood-red sails of the Iron Pig would hove into view behind them.
And then he really did see something! A small, dark shape, way in the distance. He puckered his brows, watching the thing as it got closer, changing from a dot to a blob to a recognizable winged shape.
“It’s the raven!” he yelled, pointing back. “It’s coming for us!”
Percy and Esmeralda looked up.
“I don’t think so,” Percy said, peering back along their course. “No, you’re quite wrong, my boy. That’s no raven. That’s just a good, honest blackbird going about its business.” He patted Trundle on the head. “I think you’re getting a little bit jumpy, my lad.”
“He does do that,” agreed Esmeralda.
Trundle frowned as the black shape curved away through the evening air and was lost behind a cloud bank.
It had looked very like a raven, whatever Percy said. But Trundle decided it wasn’t worth arguing about it.
But he still had a nasty prickly sensation in the back of his neck, and the horrible feeling that danger wasn’t far away. After all, where there were ravens, could Captain Grizzletusk and the ghastly Iron Pig be far behind?
Despite all of Trundle’s fears, the little skyboat made it to Shiverstones without further incident.
It was a bright, clear morning as they came circling down over Port Shiverstones. Beyond the huddled town, acres and acres of stubby cabbages stretched out over the flat, windswept island like a huge green carpet.
Trundle gazed down at his homeland with very mixed feelings. For a long time, his only thought had been to get back home, to bolt his front door against the world, and to sit at peace beside a roaring fire.
But now, the inner Trundle—the adventurous part of him—was wide awake and restless, and as they glided in for the landing it was whispering in his ear: Cabbages and cabbages and cabbages! There’s more to life than trimming the wicks of Port Shiverstones’ lamps, you know! Out, out, bold Trundle, or your life will be but a walking shadow!
“Hmm, very poetic,” Trundle mumbled.
“What was that, Trun?” asked Esmeralda as she turned the tiller and brought the trim craft around to lean into the wind.
“Nothing,” Trundle said briskly, resting a paw on top of the dwindling box. “Nothing at all.” He pushed his gloomy thoughts away. They were almost at quest’s end! By the end of the day, they might have all six crowns in their hands! Think about that!
The area around the docks still showed signs of the damage inflicted on the town by the attack of Grizzletusk’s pirates. Some of the jetties were broken or badly scorched, and a few warehouses and other buildings were no more than burned-out hulks. But Trundle could see that the normal life of the port was carrying on despite the disruption. Several merchant windships were moored alongside the remaining jetties, and there was plenty of activity as cargoes were loaded and unloaded, sending cabbages to all the far-flung islands of the Sundered Lands and bringing in all the goods and equipment and paraphernalia that made life bearable in Shiverstones.
Esmeralda steered the skyboat to a soft landing at the far end of a busy jetty. Percy stepped off and looped the mooring rope around a bollard. A few moments later, the three of them were walking down the jetty, attracting a few curious glances from the dockworkers and windship crews who heaved on ropes and hauled on cables to load and unload the gently bobbing vessels.
“Well now, my boy,” said Percy as they walked on through the docks. “Where would you suggest we begin the search?”
Trundle blinked at him. “I don’t have the faintest idea,” he admitted.
“Come on, Trun,” added Esmeralda. “You’ve lived here all your life. Rattle a few brain cells, there’s a good fellow.”
Trundle frowned, trying to imagine where the simple, down-to-earth folk of Port Shiverstones might keep such a curious but impractical item as a stone crown. Knowing them, it could be lying forgotten in a ditch, or it could have been broken up to mend a wall—or it might just as easily be sitting unnoticed on someone’s mantelpiece or tucked away in the back of a cupboard!
“Morning, young Boldoak,” called a heavyset beaver in a frock coat and top hat as he waddled self-importantly toward them. “We thought the pirates had got you, for sure!”
“No, they didn’t get me, Alderman Firkinpole,” Trundle called back. “I’ve been on a quest, you know! A very important quest.”
“Have you indeed?” The alderman paused and gave the three a curious look. “Well, now you’re back, I hope you’ll be lighting the lamps again. It was so dark down Savoy Street last night, I tripped over the curb and bruised my nose! Your father would never have abandoned his duties to go a-gallivanting.”
“Sorry about that, Alderman,” stammered Trundle.
“Sorry boils no cabbage leaves, young man,” scolded the alderman. “You just attend to your duties.” And with that, the portly beaver stumped away.
“Why didn’t you tell him to take a running jump, Trun?” asked Esmeralda.
Trundle gave her an appalled look. “That was Alderman Firkinpole,” he explained. “I can’t tell Alderman Firkinpole to take a running jump.”
Esmeralda shook her head very slowly. “When are you going to get it into your head that you’re a big international hero, Trundle? You’ve been to places these country bumpkins have never even dreamed of! You’ve found five of the six lost crowns! You’re not silly old Trundle anymore. You’re Boldoak the Brave!”
“Yes, you’re right,” said Trundle. “I know you’re right.”
“So, the next time someone tries to tell you off, give them a piece of your mind.”
“I will!” Trundle declared. “You’ll see!”
“Hey, Trundle, you twerp!” shouted a woman’s voice from a nearby shop front. “We haven’t had a light in the streets for weeks! When are you going to get back to work, you lazy idle loafer?”
“As soon as possible, Miss Buckfur,” Trundle called back.
“I should hope so!” declared the shopkeeper. “It’s a disgrace!” And with that, she slammed into her shop so that the glass rattled in the windows.
Trundle noticed Percy smiling behind his paw, and he could see Esmeralda rolling her eyes.
“She was an old friend of my mother’s,” he explained. “I was only being polite.” His face rosy with embarrassment, he marched off across the open dock front and headed into the town.
His friends didn’t seem to realize how hard it was for him to be Trundle the Hero now that he was back among people who had only known him as amiable and harmless young Trundle the Lamplighter.
But an idea had come to him.
“We should go and speak with all the old folk,” he suggested. “We have families here that came to Shiverstones with Furrowman Plowplodder, hundreds of years ago. You never know, some of them might remember old stories that mention stone crowns.”
“That sounds like a very sensible option,” said Percy. “Lead on, my lad—lead on!”
It was a forlorn and discouraged trio of adventurers who sat on the steps under the statue
of Furrowman Plowplodder in Market Square at the end of a long and fruitless day.
They had traipsed all over Port Shiverstones, speaking to anyone who would listen, asking about the Crown of Stone till they were weary and footsore. Most people they approached had never heard of the crown, and those few who had, told them that the Crowns of the Badger Lords of Old only existed in nursery tales.
“There never were any Badger Lords!” they were confidently told. “Magic crowns, indeed! What a silly idea!” the good folk of Port Shiverstones often added. “When will you stop all this nonsense and get back to lighting the lamps at night, Trundle?” they frequently finished.
“No one knows nothin’!” mumbled Esmeralda, her chin in her paws. “We’ve wasted the whole day!”
“But the rhyme means the crown must surely be here,” said Percy. “It’s just a case of finding it.”
“Harrumph!” said Esmeralda and Trundle in chorus.
There were very few people about by now, and everyone was hurrying homeward as the light failed. Trundle cast a bleak eye over the unlit lamps and gave a long sigh.
“Young Boldoak?” inquired a sharp voice. “What are you doing here? I thought you were dead!”
Trundle and the others looked up. Trundle recognized the rather dapper rabbit who had spoken to him. It was Hedgeley Twiddle, the clerk of works from the Shiverstones town hall, and he looked somewhat cross.
“No, Mister Clerk of Works, sir,” said Trundle. “I’m not dead.”
“Well, that’s very inconvenient,” declared the clerk. “I’ve had you officially certified as dead, with the assumption that you were murdered by pirates. Do you realize how much paperwork you are going to cause me?”
“I’m sure he’s really sorry to put you out by being alive,” Esmeralda said caustically. “The pirates are still after him, if that’s any comfort. Maybe he’ll still get killed and save you all that work.”
The clerk gave her a kindly look. “Well, that’s a possibility, I suppose,” he said affably. “Not that I’d wish you dead, Trundle.”
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