by Joffre White
There was no arguing with her tonight. She brought him up a banana, some chocolate fingers and a small bottle of water with strict orders that he eat his supper, read quietly and then brush his teeth. If his light wasn’t out in half an hour, then he would be having no TV for at least a week.
After she had kissed him goodnight, he gave himself five minutes, then visited the bathroom. On returning to his room he put on his dressing gown, then stuffed the food and bottle of water into his pockets. He picked up his rechargeable torch and switched off his bedroom light. Quietly, he sat on his bed, working out where he was going to hide Logan for the night as he had no choice but to wait for the following day to put his plans into action.
He sat in the dark for what seemed an eternity, finally checking the luminous face on his watch. 10.45. He opened his wardrobe and reached down his sleeping bag from the shelf. With it bundled under his arm he made his way to the top of the stairs and paused. He could hear the television, it was a shopping channel; his mum sometimes watched them for amusement (she thought the presenters were so bad they were hilarious). A good sign. It was this time of night that his mum would curl up on the sofa intent on watching one of her favourite programmes, only to fall asleep. Waking up with a start, usually around midnight and half asleep, she would make her way to bed. He hoped that tonight would be no exception.
He reached the hall and peeped through the gap in the door to see her peacefully asleep on the sofa. Then he was off, through the kitchen, out of the door and into the back garden. He turned on his torch and shone it into the shadows.
Logan lifted his arm against the glare. ‘What magic is this? It burns like a sun.’
‘Sorry,’ apologised Chris, and switched it off.
Logan was sitting with his back against the wall, Tabby comfortable on his lap.
‘Come on,’ said Chris. ‘I’ve thought of where you can sleep.’
Chris led Logan to the old shed. It was a half-brick, half-wooden building that housed the lawn mower and other garden tools. However, it was big enough for Chris to have claimed the back section as a den, where he had covered the floor with cardboard and an old duvet. This is where he would sit, occasionally with his friend Billy Smart, planning world domination and swapping Yu-Gi-Oh cards.
‘Here you are,’ said Chris, opening the door and switching his torch on to light up the interior.
Logan, who still had Tabby in his arms, stood still.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Chris.
‘Will the beam of magic light cast a spell on me?’ he asked nervously.
‘Look, it’s harmless,’ said Chris, passing his hand backwards and forwards in front of the torch. ‘It’s just a tool that we have in my world. I’ll let you borrow it tonight and you can see how it works. Now come on, I haven’t got long, my Mum could wake up soon.’
Logan looked suspiciously at the torch and followed Chris into the shed as he put the torch onto the workbench and spread the sleeping bag on to the floor.
‘There you go and here’s some food and water for you.’
Logan stared down at Chris’s offering, puzzlement on his face.
‘I knew that this wasn’t going to be easy,’ said Chris. ‘Right, sit down here with me and I’ll explain.’
Chris introduced Logan to bananas and chocolate fingers, showed him the modern wonders of water in a plastic bottle and how the rechargeable torch worked, then he prepared him as much as he could for what he might see and hear when he woke the next day. Chris also made him promise that no matter what happened, Logan was to keep himself hidden until he came back and collected him in the morning. After bidding Logan a good night, he closed the shed door and made his way back to his bedroom where he set his watch alarm for six-thirty – he had a busy day ahead of him. He lay on his bed, feeling too excited and too nervous to sleep but, before he was aware of it, his eyes had closed and he drifted off into a dreamless slumber.
The next morning, Chris’s eyes were open seconds before his alarm could pierce the air. He checked across the hall – good, his mother wasn’t awake yet. He crept into the spare double bedroom where a mirrored, wall-to-wall wardrobe greeted him. It was in here that his father’s clothes still hung, waiting expectantly for their owner to return. His mum would not get rid of them, she had not yet fully reached the point of total acceptance that she had lost her husband. Chris held one of his dad’s shirts to his face and breathed in. Even under the smell of detergent he could pick up the lingering scent of his father. He stopped himself when he felt the tear escape from his eye and trace its way down his cheek.
‘Come on Chris, make him proud of you,’ he said to himself, and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Quickly, he grabbed a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt and a pair of trainers, hoping and praying that they would fit Logan.
Next, he went back to his room and reached under his bed, shoving aside the dirty clothes that he had pushed there the night before. His fingers found a small plastic box and pulled it out. Inside the box was cash that he had saved from pocket money and odd pound coins that he had been given as homework rewards by his mum. He still had the thirty pounds birthday money that his dad had given him but he had not as yet been able to bring himself to spend. All together it amounted to a tidy sum. Quickly he counted it out on his bed. Fifty-two pounds. He hoped that it would be enough.
After throwing some water on his face and brushing his teeth he got changed and made his way down the stairs, his father’s clothes bundled under one arm and his Castellion clothes and sword under the other.
He opened the shed door slowly to see Logan, sitting cross-legged, in his hands a couple of Action Man figures that Chris kept in his den. Logan was examining them curiously, inspecting the detail of the faces with amazement. It was a priceless scene and Chris wished for once that he had a camera.
Logan looked up. ‘Please tell me that these are not some poor souls who have been cursed.’
‘Don’t worry, they’re just toys,’ said Chris.
‘Toys?’ Such good craftsmanship is wasted on toys.’ Logan replied.
‘Never mind them, I want you to change into these clothes, I’ll explain why later.’ Chris handed them to Logan who inspected the jeans with puzzlement.
‘Put them on like breeches,’ explained Chris, showing the jeans that he was wearing as an example. ‘And hide your Castellion clothes and things under that sleeping bag. I’ll wait outside until you’ve finished.’
Chris stood by the side of the shed, out of view from the house. He couldn’t afford any chances of being seen by his mum. There was a lot of huffing and puffing coming from Logan followed by a period of silence which prompted Chris to knock on the door.
‘Can I come in?’ he asked, slowly opening the door.
‘I do not understand the purpose of these breeches,’ said Logan.
Chris stepped inside and nearly howled with laughter. ‘You’ve got them on back to front, take them off and turn them around,’ he instructed as he stepped outside once more, shaking his head.
A few minutes later and with a little help from Chris, Logan stood dressed in twenty-first century attire. Chris had demonstrated how to do up the zip on the jeans and had laced the trainers up for him. The clothes couldn’t have fitted him better. However, the trainers took Logan a while to get used to and Chris had to march him up and down the shed a dozen or so times before he stopped walking like a bow-legged duck.
Finally, Chris looked Logan up and down, noticing that the mark on Logan’s forehead had also disappeared. ‘Apart from the eye patch and the scar, you don’t look too bad,’ observed Chris. ‘I don’t think that anyone will bother you though. Which is just as well I guess. Come on, we’ve got some shopping to do.’
‘Shopping?’ repeated Logan.
‘Yes, we’re going to buy some supplies and I need you to be there as a responsible adult, but I have a feeling that anyone who sees you might have doubts about that!’
Chris stepped out of the sh
ed and crept over to the kitchen window, checking that his mum was nowhere to be seen. He turned to Logan.
‘Now, stay with me. No matter what you see, it won’t hurt you. It’s all normal for this world. There’ll be lots of noisy cars and people. Don’t talk to anyone unless I tell you to. Do you understand?’
‘I would feel safer if I brought my whip and daggers,’ said Logan.
‘Trust me, you won’t need them,’ said Chris. ‘Now follow me.’
Chris took them both up the side of the house and out onto the main road where Logan’s first experience of a large lorry thundering along resulted in him grabbing Chris and throwing the both of them through a hedge and into the park.
‘Right,’ said Chris as he pushed himself out from Logan’s protective arm. ‘I can see that this is going to take a while.’
Chris led him to a bench by the bandstand where they sat for a while and he educated Logan about roads and traffic, especially large lorries. Logan listened intently, then he turned his head in awe as a greenkeeper motored by, riding a large lawnmower.
‘Look at me,’instructed Chris. ‘I don’t know how long we have to get back to Castellion and whether we’ll be in time or not to save our friends but the quicker we do this the better. You can ask me questions later, but for now it’s best that you try not to take too much in of what you see and hear. There are things in my world that don’t belong in yours.’
‘What exactly are we here to do?’ asked Logan.
‘We’re going to a shop to buy some fireworks.’
‘You have to go to a shop to buy your fire and make it work?’ Logan asked, wide eyed.
‘No. These things shoot up into the sky and make lots of coloured lights and loud noises,’ explained Chris.
‘Ah! Like dragons. We’re going to buy some more dragons,’ Logan said, smiling with satisfaction.
‘Sort of,’ said Chris. ‘Look, I need you with me because they won’t sell these things to children of my age. They’ll only sell them to an adult or, someone who looks over eighteen, so it’s really important that I give you the money and you pay for them. I’ll pick what we need but you really have to keep quiet and do as I say. Now, here’s some money, put it into your pocket and look after it.’
Logan looked at the bundle of notes and coins that he was handed, then stuffed them into his jeans pocket as directed.
Chris looked at his watch. 8.50.
‘Right, we’ll cut across the park, it’ll keep us off the main road for a start. Keep your head down and follow me. If anyone even tries to talk to you, just smile at them, that should do it,’ said Chris.
Twelve minutes later, they were standing outside ‘Big Bang’, a party shop that specialised in fancy dress costume hire and also sold fireworks all year round.
‘Okay,’ said Chris. ‘We’re going to walk across to the firework counter and I’m going to call you “Uncle” Logan, just to make sure that the assistant understands that we’re together. Then, I’m going to pick out half a dozen fireworks. Let me do the talking, all you have to do is give the guy the money. Got it?’
‘Yes,’ said Logan, putting his hand in his pocket. ‘I have got it here.’
‘I mean, do you understand?’ said Chris.
‘I understand many things,’ replied Logan.
‘Never mind. I just hope this works,’ prayed Chris as he pushed open the shop door and they both walked in.
Later that day, at his local pub, the shopkeeper regaled his encounter with Logan to his mates. ‘The guy was a cross between a Hell’s Angel and a hippie, over six foot tall, long greasy black hair, scar across his face with a weird eye patch on, but the most intimidating thing was that he didn’t stop smiling at me, and as he left he said. “I am a free man. Thank you for your dragons.”
Chris managed to get them both back to the shed without incident, however, on checking the kitchen for his mother’s whereabouts, he found a note that simply read:
I’ve gone shopping. Back before eleven. The TV is out of bounds, so is the computer and you’re definitely grounded.
He couldn’t stop himself from turning the note over and writing on the back:
Sorry mum, be back soon. Gone to save the world – theirs, not ours.
Back in the shed they both changed out of their clothes, Chris hiding them under a dusty workbench as they put on their Castellion attire. While he was in the kitchen, Chris had grabbed them both a couple of drinks, some crisps and a Mars bar each which they had consumed quickly, Logan reacting to the chocolate in much the same way as Sir Peacealot had. Chris used some old newspapers that were stored in the shed to wrap up the large rockets that they had bought and he rolled them up into his sleeping bag, making a secure bundle, tying it up with a ball of twine that he had found. Once they where ready, they made their way back down to the orchard and to the place where they had appeared. Chris checked his watch again. It was now 10.35.
‘Okay,’ he said nervously, drawing his short sword. ‘If we hang on to each other, with the bundle between us, we shouldn’t lose it and we’ll get back together. Are you ready?’
‘If it means riding through the stars again to save Castellion, then I would do it a hundred times over,’ said Logan. ‘Yes, I’m ready. Take me home.’
Chris plunged the sword into the ground and the now familiar sensation pulsed through his body. He gripped Logan and felt Logan’s arms flex around his shoulders as they plunged, headfirst, into the swirling light that engulfed them.
18
The Blackwater
‘I think that I’m getting used to this,’ said Frog as he opened his eyes and stared up into the dark folds of the pavilion. The wind was still howling outside and buffeting the sides of the tent. He looked around. Sir Peacealot, who had decided to remain and wait in hope for their return, was getting to his feet and Logan was just sitting up, shaking his head in an effort to clear his thoughts.
‘I don’t think that I could ever get used to doing that,’ he said.
Frog looked at his watch. 10.36.
‘How long have we been gone?’ he asked Sir Peacealot.
‘I cannot be exact, but my reckoning is about two hours.’
‘Where are the others?’ asked Logan.
‘They have been moving our people back to the foot of the hills, ready to take flight if we are overrun. This weather has not reached the other side of the hills where all of the horses are stationed, it is from there that we will organise our retreat to Castellion Stronghold,’ said Sir Peacealot.
‘We’d better go and find the others,’ said Frog. ‘And you’ll need to bring that.’ He indicated to his bundled up sleeping bag lying on the floor.
As he pushed open the flap, the blizzard of hail and freezing conditions greeted him, the vicious wind piercing his clothes and chilling his bones in an instant. They made their way to the groups of Rangers, Maids and bowmen, all wrapped in as many layers of clothing and cloaks as was practical for fighting in, but Frog could see that they were still desperately trying to keep warm blood circulating through their bodies. Eventually they joined one of the groups where Lady Dawnstar was briefing some of the commanders. On seeing Frog she broke off from her conversation and wrapped a friendly arm around him.
‘I’m so glad to see that you’ve made it back to us, you too, Logan,’ she shouted over the wind. ‘Can you tell us what it was all about?’
‘Yes, but first of all, where’s Fixer and Ginger?’ asked Frog.
‘I’ve sent them back over the hill in readiness of our retreat. It’s no use putting them in further unnecessary danger,’ explained Lady Dawnstar.
‘I know that Fixer has her own tinder box, but how many others have one?’ asked Frog.
‘All Rangers carry their own flint and steel,’ said Logan.
‘Good, we need twelve people, six with flints, and six of the best bowmen,’ said Frog.
‘You still haven’t told us what this is about,’ said Lady Dawnstar.
‘I need
you to do everything I say, we will only get one chance at this and if it works, the Hidden People and the Frozen Wastes will be history.’
They gathered closer around him, listening to every word as he revealed his plan.
Logan had arranged for eight Rangers and six Bowmen to meet with himself and Frog in one of the pavilions, along with Lady Dawnstar and Sir Peacealot.
Frog had already taken the stick out of one of the rockets and he carefully handed the colourful cylinder to one of the Bowmen and asked him whether, if it were attached to an arrow, it would be possible to fire it into the air. The bowman weighed it in his hand and held it against his longbow. He passed it around to his fellow bowmen and after a general discussion they agreed that, despite its bulk, they were confident that they would be able to fire it quite a distance. They would, however, need to make their arrows twice the usual length.
Frog repeated his plan to them. The Blackwater would burn easily once a blazing flare made contact with it, the surface fumes would be enough to ignite it and spread the flames quickly. However, the rockets needed to explode before they hit the Blackwater so that the fuses would not be smothered by the oil. He was sure that the fuses would burn strong enough in the air and wouldn’t be put out by the wind and sleet as they travelled to their target. He also told them clearly that they stood the chance of being badly burned if they fired the rockets too late.
‘What we’re doing is really dangerous. Because of what’s in them, these things can do serious damage,’ he pointed out.
‘What is in the coloured cylinders?’ asked a Ranger.
‘Fiery dragons!’ said Logan. ‘So make sure that you let them fly.’
The bowmen looked at the pile of rockets and took a step back.
‘It’s all right, they’re on our side. You’ve just got to release them,’ said Frog.
It took the bowmen a short while to collect suitable lengths of wood from their stock and fashion the long arrows. Frog watched, amazed as they showed the craft and skill of master bowmen. The rockets were then tied firmly to the arrows.