by Anne Forbes
Still grasping the paper, Clara rose to her feet and backed away warily, wondering what she’d called up this time; for the sparkling net of stars seemed quite tame after the dreadful daemons of the school concert.
She watched apprehensively as the count and Lord Jezail started to struggle to free themselves. The stars in the net, however, were sharp and spiky and even as she watched, she saw blood running down the count’s arm and, although his feet were free, Lord Jezail seemed to have most of the net looped in folds round his head. Vassili, at least, had had the presence of mind to throw his cloak over his head before the net descended. Then she realised that the net was tightening round the two magicians. Maria started to scream and, with a sinking heart, Clara knew that however much she hated Lord Jezail, she couldn’t allow the count to be hurt.
Looking down at the paper, now crumpled and twisted in her hand, she hurriedly smoothed it out and started to read the spell backwards as quickly as she could, positively gabbling the last words. It was then that Maria stopped shrieking and ran forward to help her master as the silver net melted away. The spell, thank goodness, had been reversed.
Clara took her chance. As Maria hovered round the magicians, she flew across the room to the door. Grasping its round, iron handle, she twisted it sharply and hefted it open. Sunlight poured in and her heart lifted as she left the tower behind and ran up a slight incline towards a stand of trees. She was free!
Clara didn’t feel the hex as it hit her in the back, nor was she aware of Maria carrying her back to the tower. It was, perhaps, just as well for Lord Jezail’s face was a mask of fury as he watched her lay Clara gently on one of the sofas.
“Bring the crystal, Maria,” he snapped.
Vassili looked worried, his lips set in a thin line, but he nodded to Maria as she glanced at him anxiously. There was nothing he could say or do. Jezail’s fury was such that there was no reasoning with him. It had to be done. The only consolation, he supposed, was that Clara, herself, would know nothing about it. Nevertheless, he had to force himself to watch as Maria put both of Clara’s hands round the crystal and then catch it as she disappeared inside.
Maria carried the crystal to the small side table and placed it gently on its stand. Inside she could see the child curled up, her eyes closed and her arms round her knees. She looked at Vassili a trifle grimly. “She’ll be alright,” she said. “I’ll keep an eye on her, don’t worry.”
“Worry?” Lord Jezail’s voice was venomous. “Isn’t it time somebody worried about me?”
Vassili turned immediately to his master. He, himself, had got off lightly as the folds of his cloak had done much to protect him. His master, however, was a different case; there were deep scratches on his face and blood poured from a jagged wound on his head.
“Bring some hot water and a towel, Maria,” he said as calmly as he could. “Lord Jezail will be fine. Head wounds always look worse than they are …”
13. Of Knights and Knaves
“Well, it’s all starting to take shape, Colonel,” Sir James remarked, looking across at the green slopes that swept the base of Arthur’s Seat. Or rather, what could be seen of them, for the park at that particular point in time was little more than a huge building site. It looked completely chaotic, as building sites do, but both men knew that there was method behind the madness. In front of them, pieces of a platform were being fitted together like a huge jigsaw puzzle and squads of workers in overalls and hard hats were busily supervising the erection of tiers of seating for the many spectators who had bought tickets for what was turning out to be the star attraction of the Edinburgh Festival; the Mediaeval Tournament.
Colonel Jamieson nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “it’s coming together nicely. I think it’ll be very successful.”
Sir James eyed him sideways. “I heard on the grapevine that you’ve asked Cameron to give the commentary and that you’ve managed to get hold of some fantastic knights for the jousting …”
The colonel nodded enthusiastically. “The black knight and the red knight! Peter and Simon — two fantastic guys,” he grinned. “Professional stuntmen, the pair of them! I don’t know where they learned to ride but the way they handle the horses is a pleasure to watch.”
“You’ll have provided stabling for them?”
Jamieson nodded. “The stables are up and running. Had to be, actually, as there’s an enormous amount of preparation involved. Peter and Simon have spent the last week getting the horses used to the mock battles. In fact,” he said, “you’re in luck. They’re just taking the horses out now if you want to watch them at work.”
Sir James looked on interestedly as two horsemen, sitting astride a black and a silver-grey horse, cantered across a grassy stretch of flat turf.
“They make a good team,” the colonel smiled. “Actually, I can’t believe we’ve been so lucky,” he admitted. “Their knowledge of tournaments is really quite fantastic … and the museum staff has been wonderful, too. They’ve come up with some wonderful illustrations of tents, pavilions, pennants, flags, armour and the like. Everything is going to look as authentic as possible. “And you should just see the horses’ trappings! We’ve used black and gold for the black knight, of course.”
“And the red knight?” queried Sir James.
“A red dragon on a silver background,” the colonel said. “We took the emblem from an illustration in an old manuscript. They’ll look fabulous, the pair of them.”
“What about insurance?” Sir James queried. “I mean, surely the whole point of jousting is that somebody gets knocked off their horse …”
“We’re covered, of course,” Jamieson nodded, “but so far there haven’t been any injuries. These boys are real pros! Their bones could be made of rubber for all the knocks they’ve taken. They know how to fall, alright.”
“And the armour? I mean, falling off a horse is one thing but if you’re all togged out in armour …”
“It isn’t heavy at all,” the colonel answered. It looks fantastic but, apart from the helmet and breastplate, the rest is just thin plastic — as light as a feather. Even the swords are made of rubber.”
“It’s a pity you couldn’t use the sword from the castle,” Sir James said daringly, wondering if Jamieson had any plans to use Dragonslayer to draw in the crowds.
His answer, however, put Sir James’s mind at rest. The Colonel shot him a look that would have stopped an army in its tracks. “You must be joking, James!” he said witheringly. “For a start, it’s far too valuable to be taken out of the castle and, anyway,” he added sourly, “Health and Safety would never allow it. A naked blade? They’d have kittens!”
Sir James looked at him sympathetically.
“As it is, we’ve had to prove to them that every move made during the fights is pre-planned. It’s like a piece of theatre, actually — the men know what they’re doing down to the last blow!”
Sir James nodded absently, his attention drawn to the two horsemen who had been galloping towards one another. The sound of thundering hooves reached them but the horses didn’t flinch as they passed each other at high speed.
“I can’t wait to see the knights in their armour and the horses in their regalia,” the colonel confessed as Peter and Simon dismounted and handed the horses’ reins to two grooms
Catching a glint of red hair, Sir James laid his hand on the colonel’s arm. “Don’t I know that pair?” he asked.
“Probably,” Colonel Jamieson replied. “The McKenzie twins. You can’t miss them — not with hair like that! You probably came across them when you gave the commentary at the Tattoo.”
Sir James nodded. “That’s right! I remember now,” he grinned. “Do they still answer to the same names?”
“Mac and Kenzie?” the colonel lifted his eyebrows. “Yes, they do. Heaven knows what their real names are!”
“Not that it matters,” Sir James smiled. “If I remember rightly, nobody can tell them apart anyway!”
Colonel Jamieson�
��s eyes followed the horses as they were led away. “They’re a good pair,” he smiled. “Normally, they’d be in charge of the stabling for the Tattoo but I decided to nick them for the tournament. They’re efficient and know what they’re doing! Nothing’ll go wrong when they’re in charge!”
“I’m sure it’ll all go like clockwork!” Sir James said soothingly, sensing his underlying concerns at the million and one things that could go wrong, given the scale of the tournament.
“Well, I hope so. It’s a big undertaking but so far everything seems to be slotting into place quite nicely. There’s the circus as well, don’t forget’ he added, nodding to where the Big Top was being put up, “and, of course, the fairground. Having it beside us will really add to the atmosphere. I asked them to give it a real mediaeval flavour, so there’ll be jesters, pedlars, minstrels and the like, mixing with the crowds. All in costume!”
Sir James looked impressed. “It sounds fantastic,” he admitted, giving praise where it was due. “You know, your idea of the tournament has transformed the whole Festival, somehow. There’s a real air of excitement. People are talking about nothing else. It’s just a pity I have to go back to the States next week,” he shot him an apologetic glance, “otherwise, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“I’m sorry, too,” the colonel said, pursing his lips ruefully. “Cameron’s good but you always seemed to hit just the right note with the crowds.”
“Cameron will be fine,” Sir James said reassuringly as they paused to look at the rearing slopes of the hill and the impressive grey towers of Holyrood Palace, “so stop worrying! After all,” he added, “you’ve got everything going for you! Just look at the scenery! Arthur’s Seat is the ideal venue. It’s all going to be really quite spectacular!”
In this, Sir James was correct but even he had no idea of just how spectacular the tournament was going to be.
14. Threats and Promises
“Honestly,” Neil said, “I just turned round for a second and when I looked back, she’d disappeared … and so had the gypsy girl, her tent and the crystal ball. It was like they’d never existed!”
Lord Rothlan frowned, while Lady Ellan, seated beside Mrs MacLean, pulled at the folds of her dress with nervous fingers. Clara! Kidnapped! Archie, Hamish and Jaikie looked at one another, totally appalled.
The MacArthur, gathering his fur-lined cloak around him, shifted uneasily in his great chair and didn’t know quite what to say, for the hill had never seen a meeting like this before. Even the witch queens were present. Honoured at having been asked to attend, they sat straight and proud in tall chairs to the right of his throne-like chair. None of them had ever been invited to the MacArthur’s halls before and their eyes were everywhere, absorbing the richness of the furnishings, the rolls of magic carpets stacked against the walls and the ancient hangings that swung gently in the heights of the cavern. What really held their attention, however, was the great red dragon that lay coiled beside Neil. Samantha, Queen of the Snow Witches, clenched her hands tightly for she’d had the misfortune to see Arthur in action when he’d flown over her ice palace breathing great bursts of fire and … she hastily put the thought from her mind, remembering that they were now all on the same side. Clara had to be found.
Arthur obviously felt the same. He uncoiled his slender body and, stretching his length, flapped his wings and blew an enormous cloud of sparkling smoke. This sent everyone spluttering and choking but for once Arthur was in no mood to apologize. “Clara,” he hissed in his dragon voice. “We must rescue her at once!”
“We would,’ Prince Kalman pointed out, dispersing the smoke with a wave of his hand, “if we knew where she was. You know that, Arthur!”
The dragon coiled himself in front of the MacArthur’s chair again and folded his wings, his eyes flashing and his head rearing angrily. He knew that the prince was right but nevertheless wanted to do something — right away!
The MacArthur looked apologetically at the MacLeans. “The witches have been helping us,” he told them, bowing his head regally to the three witches, “but although they’ve covered a vast amount of country, they haven’t picked up on any strange magic.”
Janet MacLean looked gratefully at the witches, knowing that they’d spent many long hours scouring the countryside for traces of her daughter.
“And,” the MacArthur continued, “the crystal is useless. Clara has been deliberately hidden from the world of magic. We’ve no idea where she is.”
“So what do we do?” John MacLean asked, trying to sound reasonable despite his anxiety. He knew they would do everything in their power to help him for they were all as upset and worried as he was.
Lady Ellan put an arm round Janet, trying to comfort her as she started to sob. Although John MacLean had himself well in hand, his wife, stiff with fear at the thought of her daughter in the hands of such a wicked magician, was heading rapidly for a nervous breakdown. Gently, Lady Ellan murmured the words of a hex and smiled with relief as Mrs MacLean relaxed and, dabbing her eyes with a tissue, managed a tentative smile. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I know she’ll be alright and that you’re all doing your best.”
Lord Rothlan rose to his feet and spoke reassuringly. “Lord Jezail won’t harm her, Janet,” he said, seriously. “My guess is that Count Vassili told him that she knew the Book of Spells off by heart. We don’t know for sure, of course, but that could be the reason he kidnapped her.”
Prince Kalman nodded in agreement. “Clara was his last resort,” he said thoughtfully. “He might have been able to steal the book while it was here, in the hill, even although Arthur was guarding it,” he said slowly, “but once you,” and here he bowed to the MacArthur, “once you gave it to us to guard — well, that was it. There’s no way he could steal it from Morven.”
“So, you see,” Lord Rothlan explained gently, “kidnapping Clara is really his only chance of getting hold of the spells.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Janet,” the MacArthur said, doing his best to comfort her. “Believe me, once he has all the spells, he’ll release her.”
“I don’t know about that,” John MacLean looked unconvinced. “She’s been gone for a couple of days now and if what you say is true, well … it wouldn’t take her all that long to write them down, would it?”
There was a short silence as they digested the truth of this remark. “What really gets me,” Neil remarked, “is why he tried to kidnap me as well? There were two of them, you know — real tough guys.” He frowned as he thought of them. “I mean, I never had the talisman and I don’t know any of the spells.”
“Yes, but Lord Jezail wouldn’t know that, would he?” Prince Kalman pointed out. “He would naturally assume that you’d read the book as well.”
It was while they were all pondering the implications of this that the MacArthur’s crystal started to glow and as all eyes turned to it, Lord Jezail’s face appeared. He was frowning furiously, a bloodstained bandage was bound loosely round his head and it was obvious to everyone that he was spitting with rage.
Mrs MacLean gave a cry of fear and pressed both hands to her lips. This, then, was the terrible magician who was holding her daughter prisoner. John MacLean clenched his fists and Arthur let out a fearsome roar of rage that echoed round the cavern. The witches froze in their chairs and watched as the MacArthur, accompanied by Prince Kalman and Lord Rothlan approached the crystal.
The MacArthur’s face was stony as he met the magician’s furious gaze. “Well?” he demanded abruptly.
Neil raised his eyebrows and glanced at his father. He’d never known the MacArthur to be rude before. Neither, for that matter, had anyone else. Even Jaikie and Hamish exchanged sidelong glances before concentrating once more on the glowing crystal.
Lord Jezail’s eyes narrowed at the insult and, as they watched, his expression of utter fury was replaced by one of such evil that even the MacArthur recoiled.
At the sight of Lord Jezail’s face,
Prince Kalman gripped Lord Rothlan’s arm. So Neil had been right all along, he thought. This, then, was the face of the real Lord Jezail; for despite Neil’s assertion that it had been Lord Jezail who had hexed both him and his father to steal the Sultan’s Crown, he had secretly had his doubts. Now he had none. The face in the crystal was a mask of venom. Gone was the memory of the austere but kindly old man whom he’d thought of as a friend. This was, without doubt, the true Lord Jezail.
“You are forgetting, MacArthur,” Lord Jezail said softly, “that I have the girl in my power.” He paused. “If you want to see her again, then I suggest you do as I say!”
Prince Kalman pressed the MacArthur’s shoulder and, stepping forward, took his place in front of the crystal. Tall, fair-haired and handsome in his gorgeous robes, it took a few seconds before Lord Jezail recognized him and when he did, the shock on his face was apparent to each and every one of them.
“Prince Kalman,” he stuttered, disbelief etched in every line of his face.
“Did you think I was dead, Lord Jezail?” the prince smiled in mock amusement. “How very disappointing for you! Your hex, as you see, didn’t quite work as planned. I’m very much alive and once more a Lord of the North!”
“A Lord of the North?” Jezail’s voice was thick with contempt. “Do you really think I’m impressed?”
“I think you should be, Lord Jezail,” Lord Rothlan stepped forward, his face grim, “for, as you know, we are not without power. First of all, however, I suggest that we resolve this affair peaceably. Return Clara to us and we will take no action against you and allow you to return to Ashgar.”
“My dear Alasdair, how very pleasant to see you again after all these years of … er, exile,” Lord Jezail returned smoothly, “and still,” he sneered, “as honest and upright as ever.”