by RA Jones
“Ready?” Gran asked
Sam nodded, but his mouth was dry and his stomach churned.
Gran squeezed his hand and turned towards the biggest stone.
“Let us in. We are weary travellers that seek shelter. Let us in.”
“What about spells and stuff?” Sam whispered, sounding a bit disappointed.
“Like I said. Thick as two short planks, Dreables. We don’t need any fancy stuff here.”
Before she’d quite finished, the standing stone started to tilt. Once again music started to drift up from below. Sam looked down to see three of his best friends from school, including Brett Hanson, sitting at the controls of the biggest video screen he had ever seen in his life. They were playing Beatty’s World of Sports, which was Sam’s favourite game of all time. Brett looked up at him. His face was shining with excitement.
“Sam, you badger. Where’ve you been? We’re on level four and we need someone who can beat the pants off the Waterspector. Get down here, now.”
Sam knew how to beat the Waterspector. For just one tiny instant he felt like running down and showing them all how useless they were, but then he felt someone squeeze his hand and instantly the image faded into blackness. The only thing under the leaning stone was a black hole from which oozed an old smell of decay.
“If you go down when they ask you, there’s nothing anyone can do for you. If we go down of our own accord, we stay in control.”
Sam nodded. “It’s still very dark in there, though,” he said.
“That’s why we need light,” Gran said. From her bag she took a carved wooden whistle and blew on it. Sam couldn’t hear anything, but Troop whined and Ginger’s ears went flat. There was a noise from behind them and Sam turned to look. A silver streak appeared on the hill they’d climbed not ten minutes before. Twenty seconds later, that streak was rushing towards them across the park.
“Ready, Sam?” asked Gran.
“Ready,” said Sam.
The Skwarnok Aryon ran right past them and down into the darkness of the Burrows, leaving a dazzling silver light in its wake. Gran immediately began to walk down while Sam hesitated. But Gran didn’t wait for him.
“There’s cunning work to be done,” was all she said.
He didn’t need telling twice. He adjusted the Bislyged and followed his grandmother down into Arglwd’s lair.
Chapter 11
The Cunning Woman
The tunnels looked very different in the Skwarnok Aryon’s light and there was nowhere for the Dreables to hide. Gran went first with Sam behind and Troop and Ginger between them. Everywhere they went, Dreables dropped like flies. Gran walked like a woman in a dream with her hands out, fingers extended, and Sam could hear the hum of her voice as she repeated “Bos Karrek” over and over.
Sam picked up the pebbles and put them in the sack. Soon, it was too heavy to carry and Gran furnished him with a fresh one. They came to a fork and suddenly Dreables started rushing at them from behind. But Sam was ready. He turned and held out his fingers and said the words in his head. The Dreables didn’t stand a chance. By the time they got to the cages, Sam had personally petrified twenty-five of the horrible gits and they’d tied two sacks’ worth of pebbles and left them leaning against the tunnel walls.
But the problem with having everything lit up was that the real horror of the cages was plain to see. Many of the children stood at the bars looking out at Sam and Gran. But some still sat at the rear, heads bowed, not even bothering to look up for fear that this was some new Dreable trick that was being played on them.
“Find Poppy,” Gran said to Sam.
He ran to the cages and began calling Poppy’s name. She was in the middle tier right at the end.
“Sam? Sam?”
Sam heard his name and looked up.
“Sam? Is it really you?”
“Yeah,” said Sam. “It’s really me.”
Poppy’s eyes drifted down to where Gran was muttering to herself as she struggled to find whatever she was looking for in the handbag.
“Is that...Is that Mother Merryweather?” asked Poppy in hushed tones.
“Yeah, that’s her. I told you. She’s my gran…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence. Poppy suddenly yelled with triumph. “Mother Merryweather. Mother Merryweather is here!”
It spread like wildfire through the cages. Children, terrorized by the dark and other worse things, suddenly began looking up. Sam saw the flaring of hope in eyes that had been dull and lifeless with despair. Gran came over and was all smiles for Poppy, who was holding her hands out through the bars. Gran reached up and took them and beamed.
“Mother Merryweather, you came,” Poppy said.
“Of course I did, Poppy. And you did well to call me. Your grandmother would be very, very proud of you. You are a real Keeper.”
Poppy’s eyes shone.
“But now there’s more work to be done,” Gran said. “We have to get these children outside and into the park and eating. Can you do that, Poppy?”
“I think so,” Poppy said.
“Troop and Ginger will show you the way,” Gran said and glanced at the two animals. Troop barked and wagged his tail.
“But what about the cages?” Poppy said. “They’re all locked.”
Gran turned to Troop again. “Find the keys, boy.”
The Labrador’s tail went up and he started sniffing, covering the ground in a zig-zag pattern as he headed towards the far wall. Ninety seconds later they heard him bark. Sam ran over and saw Troop’s tail wagging madly as he stood in front of a rickety ladder next to two sets of ancient rusting keys hanging on a wooden peg.
“Let Poppy out and then follow me. We have to get to the adults,” Gran said, and there was an urgency in her voice that Sam didn’t much like. But he put the ladder against the cages and scrambled up to the door.
“I knew you’d come back,” Poppy said. “I just knew it.”
“How did they get you?” Sam asked as he finally found a key that fitted the lock.
“One of them made itself into you. I should have known because there was no Troop or Ginger but the Dreable you said they were with your gran and…” She stopped, blinking away tears, and Sam felt another burst of anger at the thought that the Dreables had used him to trick her.
“Can you get them all out?” Sam asked, handing over the keys.
Poppy nodded and turned to some of the smaller children, who were becoming excited as they began to realise that this was most definitely not a Dreable trick. Sam went back down the ladder and helped some of the children down but then he heard Gran calling.
“Sam, it’s time we went.”
“But Gran…”
“Listen,” she said.
Sam did. There was a lot of noise coming from the excited children. There was shouting and crying but beneath it all, Sam could hear something else.
“It’s started,” said Gran and hurried off.
Sam followed. And as they left the clamour of the excited children behind, the noise became louder. There was no doubt about it now. Sam could hear the beating of drums.
Gran hesitated at the far end of the chamber. Here, the tunnel forked. She reached for the amber pendant around her neck and walked to the left tunnel, before retracing her steps to the right. Sam saw the pendant glow a golden yellow.
“This way,” she said.
Sam almost had to run to keep up with her. At every junction, she repeated the trick with the pendant. They met only a handful of Dreables and Gran let Sam deal with them. After a quarter of an hour of walking and consulting the pendant, Gran stopped quite suddenly. The thing was glowing much more brightly now, pulsing like a little sun in her hand. They were at a point in the tunnel where it opened out into a big alcove. Everywhere, the Skwarnok Aryon’s light filled the space. As Gran stepped forward the alcove expanded into another huge chamber. From where they stood, ramps led down onto the floor of a huge cavern. But the floor of the cavern held a drea
dful secret. At the far end four rows of bodies lay on the ground.
“Are they dead?” Sam shivered.
“No,” Gran said, and then added ominously, “Not yet.”
And Sam saw that she was right. The village’s adults lay with their eyes open, staring up at the craggy ceiling way above them. There were perhaps fifty Dreables in the chamber and none of them had seen Sam or Gran yet. Most of them were working ropes and pulleys so as to lift twenty or more of their kind up onto the ceiling, where they clung like bats from elaborate arrangements of ropes looped through crude metal staples. Some had huge picks strapped to their backs. Those that had attached themselves to the ceiling already wielded the picks in time to the rhythm. Sam suddenly realised what the drums were for.
“What are they doing?”
“They’re opening up the chamber,” Gran said.
“To let in light?”
“No. They won’t open it to the sky,” Gran explained before adding darkly, “They’ll open it to the earth above. They want to fill this chamber full of soil from the peat bogs over the roof.”
Sam glanced again at the ranks of people. “But…”
He didn’t have to finish. Gran did it for him. “That’s the way they make Dreables. Over time, a long time, the soil and Arglwd will change the people. They become one with it and from that mixture, the Dreables emerge.”
Sam made a face. From high above, one of the Dreables yelled triumphantly. Sam looked up to see it hit the ceiling with a mighty blow and send a shower of rocks and soggy black earth raining down.
“We have to stop this,” Gran said, looking around. “If we could only get to the drums.”
Sam followed her gaze up to the wall to their right. There, on a ledge, stood a Dreable with his back to the chamber. He was beating time on two huge drums in front of a carved figure in the rock.
“Who is the statue?” Sam said.
“Arglwd,” Gran answered. “Or what Arglwd once was.”
Sam stared. The figure was cloaked and wore a crown on its head. “He looks like a king.”
“He was. But he forgot what a king should be. He lost his wisdom and with it his people. Now he rules this empire of abominations. Damn.”
“What’s the matter, Gran?”
“I don’t think I can climb up there.” Gran was looking at the path to the ledge. It looked boulder strewn and treacherous.
“But I can,” Sam said.
“No, Sam, it’s too…”
But Sam was already moving, picking his way across the floor. The climb wasn’t difficult. Forty feet over a hill of scree? Nothing compared to where Mr and Mrs Jones often scrambled on an afternoon stroll in Snowdonia. Sam wasn’t even out of breath as he crested the slope to the ledge. It was then he realised that the drummer was one of the biggest Dreables he’d seen; at least as big as the ones guarding Arglwd in the big hall. And worse, from this close the noise of the drums was almost deafening.
“Excuse me,” Sam yelled.
It was no good. The Dreable took no notice. Its huge shoulders worked as it beat at the two massive drums with sticks as big as fence posts. Every time it struck, the miners on the ceiling struck too, sending more earth down on the victims below. Sam knew he had to stop him, but how to get the thing’s attention? He shuffled forward and suddenly, the answer was right there. Sam reached down and picked up a cricket-ball-sized stone. He was only a matter of a few feet away from the Dreable. Sam threw the stone as hard as he could. It hit the thing squarely between the big shoulder blades. The Dreable barely flinched and the stone clattered off as if it had hit something really hard and solid. But the rock did enough to make the drummer hesitate and glance behind. Sam waved his arms. The Dreable pivoted, swinging the huge drumstick around like a mace towards Sam. But Sam was ready. One glance was all it took.
“Bos Karrek!”
Despite the fact that the Dreable was twice the size of the average, the pebble that ended up on the floor was just the same as all the others. With the drums silent, Sam had expected that everything in the cavern might grind to a halt, but it was not to be. The pick handlers on the ceiling had their own rhythm now and didn’t notice the lack of any beat.
Quickly, Sam grabbed one of the drumsticks and swung it at one of the drums. The force of the rebound almost sent him sprawling, but the second time he was more in control and after five incongruous beats he heard the knocking and hammering above come to a stuttering stop. He turned. Every Dreable in the cavern was looking at him. Snarls were beginning to rumble. But Sam was ready. He held out his hands, fingers splayed, just as the Dreables began to rush forward towards him in a wave.
“Talk to the hand,” Sam said and then quietly added, “Bos Karrek.”
There was a clatter and rattle as fifty pebbles rolled over the rough cavern floor. Sam looked up. The steady stream of sludgy brown-black earth from above dried to a trickle and was replaced by the rocky clatter of twenty shiny pebbles raining down.
Suddenly there was the sound of clapping. “Oh, well done, Sam,” Gran yelled. Then she was moving across the cavern towards the sleeping adults. She brushed dirt and dust away from the faces of the first few and began putting tiny bits of bakewell tart into their mouths. Within seconds, those that she’d fed were sitting up, blinking, and looking around in a daze.
But Gran seemed to be spending more time with one man in particular. She revived him and Sam could see her talking to him urgently. Gran made the introductions.
“Sam, this is Mr Jobson, parish councillor.”
Sam held out his hand and Mr Jobson shook it. He was a round man with a black moustache and sharp, intelligent eyes.
“Mr Jobson is going to help get everyone out.” Gran added.
Mr Jobson was already moving quickly amongst the others, doing exactly the same as Gran had done moments before, brushing off dirt and feeding the half-comatose people.
“Does he know the way out?” Sam asked.
“No, but you do.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“But…”
“Look for our footprints,” Gran urged. “I’ve just got to sort myself out and get the rest of them awake,” she added, but she turned her back to Sam as she said it.
Sam didn’t know what she meant about footprints until he was back in the tunnel. He hesitated at the first fork but studied the floor and saw, to his astonishment, two pairs of ghostly shimmering white footsteps clearly illuminated in the Silver Hare’s light. Sam led the way, following his own backwards footprints, with Mr Jobson chivvying and encouraging the dazed villagers. Some of them had to be helped with walking and it took a lot longer to get out than it did coming in. When Sam felt fresh air on his face and saw the late evening light through the oval opening into the ring of standing stones, he stood to one side to allow the others to pass. They still looked shaken and shocked and they’d need more than a nibble of Mrs W’s bakewells. Sam remembered the special herb mixture Gran had added to the cookies and knew that it would be alright. It was then that the truth of it all finally struck him.
He’d assumed that because Gran didn’t know about new stuff like video games and MTV that she was dull and pointless. He’d been wrong. So wrong that he could hardly believe it. All this time she’d known things about Dreables and Silver Hares and herbs that made bad things go away. All fantastic, amazing, important things. But he had just never bothered to listen.
As the last of the adults shambled by, Sam waited for Gran, but she didn’t appear. He called out her name and ran forward to look if she’d sneaked by in the crowd, but he could see no sign. Strange, he thought. He was sure she’d said for him to go first and she’d sort herself out and follow behind.
Sam thought about that. ‘Sort myself out’ could mean all sorts of things as far as Gran was concerned… Suddenly, Sam felt a pang of apprehension. He started walking back along the tunnel but he’d only gone ten steps when a dreadful, mournful, spine-freezing roar rumbled out from dee
p in the Barrow. And then Sam knew what Gran had meant by sorting herself out.
She meant she needed to deal with unfinished business and by the sound of it, she’d found what she was looking for.
Arglwd.
Chapter 12
The Bargain
Sam ran back through the tunnels, this time following his ghostly footsteps the right way. He could see that the Skwarnok Aryon’s light was just beginning to fade and shadows were creeping back into the alcoves. Darkness was reclaiming Arglwd’s kingdom.
His heart was racing as he thundered down the tunnels, but Gran wasn’t in the cavern where the Dreables had caged the children, nor was she in the burial chamber where Sam had pelted the drummer. But this was where he’d last seen her. Frantically, Sam searched the floor. His own ghostly white footsteps seemed to be everywhere. But then he heard a familiar noise. Ginger was meowing and prowling near a black tunnel opening in the far wall.
“Ginger, what are you doing here?” Sam crossed the soggy floor to where the cat stood watching him. As he reached down to stroke the cat’s fur, he saw a set of glowing footprints in the tunnel.
Gran’s.
The cat purred.
“Ginger, you’re a star,” Sam said and set off down the tunnel, the noise of his own footfalls echoing in his ears. He headed away from the maze under the Barrows, and here, the Skwarnok Aryon’s silver light had real difficulty penetrating. Sam’s neck prickled the deeper he went and it took him a moment to realise why. He’d been here before.
Gran’s footsteps were very faint now. Sam dabbed at his eyes, which watered from the stench of oily smoke from the flickering torches on the walls. But he didn’t need their sickly light to know where he was.
The doors to the king’s hall were open. The petrified statues loomed exactly as they had when Sam had been brought here, and he slipped in behind a particularly large one. When he peeked around it, the sight that greeted him froze the breath in his throat and he only just managed to stop himself from crying out. Gran was in the middle of the hall, flanked by the two huge Dreables that were Arglwd’s personal guard.