by RA Jones
The Dreable king stood in front of his throne at the very end with his back to Gran. But it was the Dreables that held Sam’s attention. There was something about the way they held their heads, chins up, straining to hear or smell. One of them turned its head towards Sam and he ducked back into shadow. But not before he’d caught a glimpse of the Dreable’s ugly face and its blind marble eyes.
He needed to get a bit closer. He flitted to the next statue and then on to another one. He was much closer to Gran now, almost opposite her. Gran was trying vainly to struggle out of the grasp of a huge Dreable hand, but it was no good.
“You can not run, cunning woman.” Arglwd’s voice boomed out into the hall and broke the silence.
“Why don’t you look at me, wiht?” Gran said.
“You think me a total fool?” rasped Arglwd. “You want me to look so that you can curse me into another century of imprisonment and oblivion. You and your kind have meddled too much already. But I have had time to plan for your return. This time, I have an answer to your curses. My two faithful sightless pets have suffered gladly for their lord.”
Sam almost smacked his own head in realisation. Of course! That’s why they were blind. Gran’s Bos Karrek curse would be useless against them.
“Face me, coward,” Gran demanded, and there was a something in her voice that made Sam want to stand up and look at her so very much.
“You have taken back my spoils,” Arglwd hissed. “But we will start again. I have nothing but time. And now you will be my guest as well. Know that I have prepared a very special place for you deep under the river. Take her.”
The Dreables moved. Gran was like a rag doll between them. Sam waited until they’d left the hall and then as quietly as possible, he went after them. They travelled quickly, their blindness no impediment. The torches shed just enough light for Sam to follow. But ahead he could see that there was no more light. Deep in the Barrows the darkness beckoned and once in there, he would have no advantage. It was time to act.
“Wait,” Sam said.
The Dreables stopped, cocking their heads.
“What follows us?” demanded one.
“I am the ghost of the first Merryweather,” Sam said.
“Ghost?” asked the other Dreable.
“Merryweather?” repeated the second.
“Do you know who your prisoner is?” Sam asked,
“Cunning…” said the first.
“Woman…” said the second.
“Mother Merryweather,” said Sam.
“She can’t harm us,” said Dreable one.
“We can’t see her,” said Dreable two.
“But she is Mother Merrryweather,” said Sam. “Mother Merryweather, understand? Mother Merryweather.”
“Mother…” said one.
“Merryweather…” said two.
“And I am a man,” Sam said.
“Man?” said the Dreables together.
“Can’t you tell?”
“Tell?” repeated the Dreables.
Sam waited and then, crossing his fingers, he said, “And all I want is a piece of cake.”
The Dreables frowned and hesitated. Even though they couldn’t see, they seemed to look at one another in confusion but spoke as one. “Piece of…?”
It was a silly thing to say, Sam knew. But not half as silly as the Dreables must have felt as the curse kicked in. There was a sudden crack in the air and they both imploded into two small pebbles that fell harmlessly to the floor.
Sam hurried forward and stood in front of his trembling grandmother.
“Poppy teach you that one?” she asked, grinning.
“Mother Merryweather’s man-tell-piece,” Sam said and nodded.
Gran’s eyes shone. “She’s a bright girl, that Poppy. Bright as a diamond, just like you.” She put her hand on Sam’s head and brushed Dreable dust from his hair before turning back to face the way they came.
“How are we going to fight Arglwd, Gran?”
“We aren’t going to fight him, Samm” Gran said gravely “We’ve beaten him already. It’s just that he doesn’t want to admit it. Come on.”
Gran led the way. In the huge hall, Arglwd was sitting on his throne. His head didn’t move but Sam saw the glint of his eyes as they looked up.
“You have allies, cunning woman. I should have known.”
“We are Merryweathers,” Gran said by way of an answer.
“Leave me, cunning woman. Let me fester here.”
“No,” said Gran. “You can’t be at peace. All that raving and hating. There is nothing for it.” She reached into her bag and took out two yellowed pieces of paper. The sight of them animated Arglwd. This time his head did come up, his face turning away from the little pieces of parchment in Gran’s hands as if they were poison.
“Each time I learn,” he hissed, “each time I learn a little more.”
But Gran ignored him. “The old agreement still holds and you are bound.” She held the parchments high in the air. In one movement, Gran crumpled the one in her right hand and with a crackle, it disintegrated in her fingers. “Bos Karrek. Bos Tullwch,” she said clearly and loudly.
Arglwd reared up in his seat and roared. In that roar was anger and vengeance but it was nothing more than noise. His stretching body froze… and slowly, his petrified form began to crumble, the dust falling to the floor and finding its way into cracks and crevices so that within a minute there was nothing of him left but his throne.
“Where’s he gone?” asked Sam.
“Back to the earth,” Gran said. She walked to Arglwd’s stone seat. Beneath it was a dust-covered wooden box, about the size of the small jewellery box Sam’s mum kept all her rings and earrings in. Carefully, Gran opened the box and laid the second piece of parchment inside.
“What’s that for?” Sam asked.
“It’s part of the agreement,” Gran explained. “Arglwd sleeps and stays away from humans. But he only agreed to do that if we promise him a chance to wake again. On this piece of paper is written the incantation that will wake him. “Gran saw Sam frown and smiled. “No, it’s not the same as those pot-holers found last week. It’s different. It’s always different.”
Sam looked down at the dust that was still shifting beneath his feet. “But why don’t you just get rid of him for good?” Sam asked.
Gran shook her head. “He was here long before us, Sam. One day, when we’re all gone, his kind might once again rule this land.”
“What about the box?”
Gran put the box back onto the floor under the throne. “The box will find its way to somewhere away from prying eyes. But humans are curious creatures. Much worse than cats. Someone will find it eventually, but not for a very long time.”
Sam nodded. He sort of understood. It was like snakes and crocodiles. Just because he didn’t like them it didn’t mean they didn’t have a right to live in jungles and swamps.
“What time is it, Sam?”
Sam looked at the luminous dial on his watch. “Quarter to eight.”
“Excellent. Still plenty of daylight. Come on, we’ve got a party to get to.”
~~~~~
The scene that greeted Sam and Gran as they emerged from the stone circle and through the stone archway into the park was so astonishing, that Sam couldn’t stop a peal of delighted laughter from escaping his lips. Mr Jobson had organized a brass band and some people were dancing while squealing children played on the swings and the roundabout and chased each other in the late sunlight. The people of Wihtlea looked happy and carefree and Sam saw Gran’s mouth form a smile of satisfaction.
Mr Jobson saw them, waved and hurried over.
“Has everyone eaten a cookie?” Gran asked.
“Two,” Mr Jobson said. “Libby Brown brought some extras. So the whole village has eaten except me and Poppy Stevens,” he added, frowning.
“Well done, Mr Jobson,” said Gran. Sam couldn’t help noticing the stark contrast between Mr Jobson’s lined expre
ssion and dark-rimmed eyes and the glowing faces of those all around him. “Your job is done. Go on, eat now,” Gran ordered.
Mr Jobson nodded and walked to the picnic table where Sam and Gran had laid out the cookies she’d baked earlier. Mr Jobson took one, but not before he glanced over towards the standing stones, as if he wanted one final reassurance that there was nothing nasty there.
“We’re very, very grateful Mother Merryweather,” he said, the cookie inches from his mouth. “If you hadn’t come, I don’t know what…” His hand started shaking so badly, he almost dropped the cake. Gran reached forward and held his wrist.
“Eat now,” she said softly. “Just remember to seal all the potholes you can find.”
Mr Jobson nodded and bit into the biscuit. His face took on a puzzled expression as he chewed and then swallowed. “Interesting taste,” he began. “Bit of a mixture. Sweet and savoury and…sunshine and the sea on a calm day…and lambs gambolling on the hillside in spring…” His eyes lit up. It was as if someone had taken a cloth and wiped all the lines from his face and the darkness from under his eyes. Suddenly, his foot started tapping and he looked longingly across to the band. “Right, if you’ll excuse me, there’s some dancing to be done.” He skipped towards the music, hand up, calling to his wife.
“What exactly did you put in those cakes, Gran?” Sam asked.
“Something to help people forget what they needn’t remember,” Gran said.
“Am I going to forget?” Sam asked, not because he wanted to forget but because he was worried that Gran thought he ought to.
“No. It’s your duty not to forget. And neither can Poppy.”
Even as she spoke, a girl with pigtails was running across the grass towards them. She ran straight at Gran and hugged her. She looked pale and tired. But Sam knew that she was also one of the bravest people he had ever met.
“Well, I think it’s about time us three musketeers had something to cheer us up, don’t you think?” Gran said. Poppy and Sam watched as Gran retrieved three intact cherry bakewells from her handbag and handed one to each of them.
“You both deserve a medal,” Gran said, “but it’s the nature of our work that it remains unsung. Still, give me one of Mrs Walpole’s bakewells over a shiny badge any day of the week.”
Sam bit into the cake. Suddenly, the setting sun seemed brighter, the grass greener, and the tune the band was playing sounded like the most cheerful thing he’d ever heard. He looked up at the hills. They were green and unsullied by the Nule’s grey blanket. Overhead, birds were beginning to return to their nests and everything looked almost back to normal. It was at that moment that the smell of cooking hit his nostrils.
“Hello, someone’s set up a barbecue,” Gran said through a mouthful of cake. “I smell sausages. Don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Come on. Follow me. We are, after all, the guests of honour.”
Poppy watched Gwladys Merryweather striding across the park with shining eyes.
“Your gran is brilliant,” she said.
“Yeah,” Sam answered. “I know.”
~~~~~
Three days later it was raining and Sam was reading a book that Gran had given him. It was a very old book full of very interesting things. Sometimes he had to ask Gran what some of the words meant, but he was managing. He was so engrossed in a chapter on mountain trolls and how they hated baked beans that he didn’t even hear the car. In fact, the only clue he had that his parents had arrived back to collect him was the sound of his dad’s voice calling to him from the hallway. He stuck in the bookmark Gran had given him and ran down the stairs. There was the usual round of hugs and dad ruffling his hair and comments like, “I swear you’ve grown another inch,” before they settled down in Gran’s living room to swap stories.
Mum and Dad’s were full of words like “vistas” and “high passes,” but Sam only really tuned in when they started talking about the strange fog they’d come across that had rolled in completely out of the blue and left them stranded for half a day. But all in all they’d had a great time.
“And,” said his mum with a glance at his dad, “we met this guide who’s running a special trip to Switzerland and guess what? He says there’s room for us at half term and,” she paused for effect, “he says that you can come too.”
Sam looked into her excited eyes. “You mean me?”
“Of course you,” Mum said. “No more leaving you out, Sam. Your dad and I have talked a lot and – well, if you find it too hard we can always let you stay in the hotel, which is a really nice one and – ”
“But I usually come to Gran’s,” Sam said.
“Yeah,” said his dad, “and I know how much of a pain that’s been so – ”
“No,” yelled Sam. “I can’t come with you. I mean Gran and me…we…”
His mother and father were staring at him with very quizzical expressions.
“…Gran and me have got some trips planned,” Sam explained and swallowed hard.
“Are you serious?” Dad asked.
At that moment Gran entered with a tray laden with cups and the usual mountainous supply of home-baked cakes.
“Serious about what?” Gran asked.
“About you and Sam planning trips together?” Mum asked.
Gran looked from Sam’s pleading face to his mother and father’s confused expressions.
“Is there a problem?” Gran said.
“October,” Mum said. “We thought we’d go for a fortnight at half term. Sam will lose a week of school but it’s such a great deal…”
“Ah, half term,” Gran said, nodding. “Yes. Unfortunately, Sam and I are visiting an old friend in the Scottish Highlands over half term. She was in my cookery class at school.”
“That sounds nice,” said Mr Jones with a fixed smile.
“Sounds brilliant,” Sam said.
“Since when were you so keen on cooking?” his dad asked with eyebrows up near his hair line.
“I’m learning,” Sam protested.
“So,” said his mother, sensing an opportunity which was too good to miss, “you don’t mind if we go?”
“Bit of fresh air will do you good,” Sam said, trying to not make it sound too much like the way his mother kept telling him the exact same thing. “By the way, the cakes you’re eating are mine.”
His mother, who had just taken a sip of tea, promptly sprayed most of it over his father’s shirt.
“Yours?” she spluttered. “But…but they’re…good.”
“I call them karreck cakes,” Sam said, beaming at them.
Gran sent him a warning look.
“Unusual name,” his dad said as he took a bite and his eyes became very large. “Though I have to admit, they are pretty darn good.”
“So, apart from learning how to make very good cakes,” his mother said as she took a second bite of hers, “what else did you and Gran get up to?”
“Oh, the usual,” said Sam. “Pottered about. Met some people, visited some caves, you know.”
“Caves, really? Were they spooky?” Dad asked.
“Nah,” Sam said. “Anyway, I want to hear about your trails.”
He didn’t really, but once they got on to those, they’d forget all about wanting to know what he and Gran did. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his gran smiling. But his mother wasn’t quite ready to be deflected so easily.
“Mum,” she said to Gran earnestly. “You’re sure about this half term trip? I don’t want Sam to be a burden. I mean what on earth will there be to do in Scotland for the two of you?”
“Oh, there’ll be plenty to do,” Gran said. “Bertha says something’s stealing her chickens and reckons it might be a Bodach infestation. By the time we get that sorted out, there’ll be no time to be bored.”
Silence, like a three-hundredweight lead blanket, fell on the living room. No one quite knew what to say next. So Sam jumped right in.
“So what about the walk in the high pass, was it fun?”
&n
bsp; “It was brilliant,” said his dad.
His mother sent a long suspicious look between Sam and Gran, but then she shrugged. “The trip was totally amazing,” she said finally. “Look, we’ve taken loads of pictures.”
Sam looked at the photos and asked a couple of enthusiastic questions as they flicked through endless pictures of scenery and trails. In each one of them his mum and dad looked sweaty but very happy. They told stories of cheeky squirrels and Aztec sacrificial sites and after a while, Sam realised that he and Gran might as well not be there at all, so lost in reminiscences were his parents. But he didn’t mind. He wasn’t really listening to them anyway. He was too busy wondering if Gran really did have a friend called Bertha in the Highlands. He glanced across at her questioningly, but she was biting into another cake. Yet, he couldn’t help but notice that the twinkle was very much back in her eye.
“More tea anyone?” said Gran lifting the teapot.
“Yes, please,” Dad said.
“I’ll do it,” Sam said. “I don’t mind.”
“I didn’t know you could make tea,” said Sam’s mother, watching him take the teapot out to the kitchen.
“Oh, I’ve learned loads of stuff this holiday,” Sam said over his shoulder. “You’d be surprised.”
He heard Gran splutter as she choked on a bit of cake, but he didn’t look around. Troop and Ginger sat in the kitchen. They looked up as he walked in.
“I expect you already know what a Bodach is and how to get rid of it,” he whispered.
Troop wagged his tail and Ginger purred deep in his throat.
~~~~~
Holidays with Gran.
A week ago he would have done anything to avoid one.
Now, he’d already worked out that there were only nine weeks, three days, and five hours until the next one.
He smiled to himself and began filling up the kettle so that he could make another pot of Sam Jones tea for his yomping parents.
The End
Did you enjoy The Dreables? Read on for a free sample chapter of a Young Adult novel by the author of The Dreables
THE OBSIDIAN PEBBLE by RA Jones
Hear the footsteps? What lurks in the old dorm room?