‘You’re not on trial,’ barked Toby, angrily.
‘He is,’ corrected Thomas.
‘What? How?’ stuttered Arty.
Thomas picked up two scrolls from the table. They had been left by the prince. ‘These are summonses. There is one for each of you.’
‘You have been to their courts?’ asked Toby. He hoped that Thomas at least knew what happened there. It was a slim chance but it might just give the boys what they needed to get through this unscathed.
‘Once,’ said Thomas evasively.
‘On trial?’
‘To defend another,’ he said, casting his eyes to the floor.
‘You won?’ the boys asked in desperate hope. Thomas clearly did not wish to answer. He slumped into a rickety old chair and looked back through the door he had walked through earlier. He gazed for a while in thought. He then coughed deeply and returned his focus to Toby who felt completely dejected. That slim chance Toby had seen had now blown away on a strong wind of hopelessness.
‘Why are they so angry?’ pleaded Toby. He was having great difficulty even believing he was here in this wooden dungeon. Pinching himself just hurt.
‘It is not them but the prince who is angry, although the rest of the mer-nation would have good reason if they chose to be angry. In the past they’ve lost many loved ones to human fisherman and sailors: captured, slain, desecrated. For centuries they were hunted and killed, their scales used in medicine, their liver and heart a draconian delicacy. Some even say it is the secret of the draconian long life. I have seen their anger towards humans. They have even settled their differences with the white horses in the past to destroy ships and lay waste to the human crew . . . enough!’ he snapped. Thomas was angry but it didn’t seem to be aimed at Toby or Arty. ‘If you live in the past then people will treat you as such. Most mer-people do not live in the past, and they do not hate humans. Come, let’s get started,’ he said in a determined and clear voice. He stood up with renewed vigour. ‘We have a case to prepare.’ And for the first time he smiled with genuine warmth and hope.
‘If you’re the pirate with the gold why don’t you magic us out of here?’ asked Toby.
‘And bring the gold with us too?’ added Arty hopefully. ‘We saw a historian’s recording of how you got the gold and how you fought the navy but—’ Arty stopped talking.
‘Ah, you think I must be over two hundred years old instead of, what? Eighty?’ Thomas laughed again. He seemed to enjoy it, as if he hadn’t laughed so much in a long time. ‘Living among the mer-people has given me long life. It has allowed me many things – to make amends for one, and also to find something that has been more precious to me than life itself. However, the mer-king has the gold, which is of no help to us now. Tell me again what happened with the mer-princess.’
The boys recounted their stories with a hint of excitement, of hope.
‘It is a very serious crime to have touched a mer-lady, let alone a member of the royal household,’ repeated Thomas flatly.
‘That might explain Mr Red Helmet’s anger,’ said Arty boldly.
‘The prince is angry at everything and he will try to use it to undermine the king. Arty, you said you were half elven, yes?’
Arty nodded.
‘I wonder,’ mused Thomas suddenly, scratching his chin. ‘The net had definitely burnt holes in her body?’ he quickly asked.
‘Yes. Her skin smoked like it was about to burst into flames,’ said Toby.
‘Let me look at your hands.’
The boys held out their hands, palm side up. The only marks visible were on Toby’s left hand where he had cut it a few days before.
‘Hmm.’ Thomas opened up the hatch in the floor of the ship and started to make clicking noises with his tongue. Seconds later two large crabs crawled through the hole and clicked their pincers in return. Thomas made some more noises and the crabs soon disappeared back through the hole.
‘They’re my little network of friends – they’ve gone to the mer-archives for me.’
‘Why can’t we just escape through that hole?’ asked Arty hopefully.
‘We are too deep. Even the fastest human swimmer would take twenty-five minutes to get to the surface. How long can you hold your breath?’
Arty shook his head despondently.
‘The prince is an ambitious mer-man but this may very well be the end of any ambitions he has. It may also be healing for me. The trial will hinge on one simple fact – whether you are both human. These courts are for human law breakers only. There’s something I want you to do when you are in the court chamber.’
Thomas bent forward and whispered in Toby’s and Arty’s ears.
The following morning arrived far too quickly for Toby’s liking. The prince returned with much noise and menace. The hatch door burst open with a slam and the prince climbed though. He didn’t remove his helmet. The prince swivelled his head around the room slowly. He advanced on Toby in a steady, rhythmic walk, each footstep echoing in the confinement of the sunken ship’s room.
Toby froze. In the relative comfort of the ship and with the knowledge of Thomas’s plan the boys had felt supremely confident they would return home. But now the prince was here Toby’s stomach performed crazy somersaults like a trapeze artist with a death wish. Toby felt sick. Arty didn’t look too good either. The hooded prince grabbed his arm roughly. Toby cried out more in fear than pain as he was shoved towards one of the guards. Without placing a helmet on Toby’s head the guard propelled him into the black hole.
Toby held his breath and scrunched his eyes shut tight as he disappeared into the darkness through the hatch. A dull thud rang out followed by a very human ‘Oww!’ as Toby grabbed his knee, rubbing it better. It had hit something hard. Arty soon joined him. He howled as he hit his head on something hard too. A minute later the bandy legs of Thomas reached the bottom of the ladder that both Toby and Arty had failed to use and stepped away. He was holding the two legal scrolls. He picked out a remarkably clean handkerchief from his moth-eaten jacket pocket. Arty held his hand to his forehead; blood leaked through his fingers. The prince growled at them as he peered through the open hole above. Seconds later a loud deep metallic clang rang out above them as the hatch was closed, followed by a severe jolt as the old diving bell they were inside moved away from the sunken ship, guided by the mer-men outside.
‘It’s surprising what little things keep you connected with your humanity,’ said Thomas, waving the hanky just before he dabbed Arty’s bloody forehead. For the first time in an age Thomas appeared to be enjoying himself and he was full of confidence. He guided Arty’s hand to hold the hanky tight against the wound. His bubbliness was not quite infectious but it had an increasingly calming effect on Toby.
The old diving bell swayed gently from side to side. Toby stared out through the thick glass in its portholes. His face stared back at him reflected by the oily black water outside. For a moment he thought he saw the reflection of Bradford the bino-bird in the window. Toby found anger was welling up inside his chest. He wanted to wring that bleedin’ bird’s neck for spotting the mer-lady. Why didn’t the bird warn him of the danger? For Pete’s sake, he’s an owl. He’s supposed to know everything. It was no good. Toby was travelling to an alien law court and if he didn’t pull himself together then he had no chance of seeing the beach again. Toby wasn’t going to fall apart now and Thomas had a plan. Toby didn’t understand it but it was his best hope. The strange thing was he didn’t know whether he could even trust Thomas. There was one simple fact: Captain Thomas of the pirate ship, the Buccaneer, was his only chance.
31
The Trial
Toby and Arty were still staring out of the window of the deep-sea diving bell when it surfaced. Water cascaded down the glass, briefly obscuring the view. It was dimly lit outside and very difficult to see. The diving bell rocked a little on the surface and then with a loud clang halted as something held it in place. The trap door in the metallic ceiling opened and a guard stuck its helme
ted head through, hissing a command.
‘It’s time to go,’ said Thomas. ‘Are you ready?
Arty and Toby looked at him with dread. They bravely nodded their heads as they walked to the metal stepladder and climbed outside onto a stone jetty.
‘I feel like I’m at sea still,’ said Arty, wobbling on his weak legs.
Toby doubted Arty’s wobbly legs had anything to do with the sea. Arty looked as petrified as Toby felt.
The short jetty led to a long stone walkway. Mer-people were everywhere. They whispered and stared as Thomas, Toby, and Arty walked towards a raised stone plinth in the centre of a chamber. Arty quickly reached for Thomas to try and steady himself whilst numbness had almost paralysed Toby’s legs. All the talk of trials and crimes in the sunken pirate ship had seemed so distant, as if they were discussing someone else. Now they stood amongst strange and unfamiliar faces and the reality of their predicament began to press down hard on them. Toby felt ill.
‘Sea legs. Come on,’ said Thomas encouragingly, ‘the sooner we get to our seats the easier it will be. Stick close to me and try not to look at anyone.’ But whether through fear or curiosity or a mixture of both, Toby and Arty stared at anything and everything around them.
They were walking along the bottom of a cavernous chamber, big enough to hold a full-size football stadium. The walls were lined with terraced stone seats that were carved out of the natural rock. Above the terraces were rough rocky walls curving into a distant ceiling. Rough white spikes hung down towards the ground. It looked like a medieval torture chamber.
‘Stalactites,’ Thomas informed them as if answering an unspoken question. ‘Watch out!’
But it was too late.
Arty clipped a particularly large rocky step with his foot sending him sprawling onto the hard stone floor, where he let out a sharp yell. His misfortune was met with hissing giggles as some of the younger mer-people pointed their webbed hands at him.
Arty frowned and growled at the nearest mer-child. His cheeks were blushing. He turned over and sat up, absent-mindedly rubbing his bruised knee again.
‘Whoa,’ exclaimed Arty. Toby and Thomas followed Arty’s pointing finger up to the ceiling.
‘Extraordinary, isn’t it?’ Thomas smiled.
‘What is it?’ asked Arty.
Beyond the sharp spikes, softly undulating in the centre of the distant rocky chamber ceiling was water – an upside-down lake that rippled as if kissed by a light wind.
‘Mer-magic can be very powerful,’ said Thomas without taking his eyes off the upside-down lake.
‘Is it really water?’
‘I believe it’s the underside of a lake that can be found somewhere in Cornwall. Things fall through it occasionally: cows and sheep mainly, the odd human too although that hasn’t happened in a long time.’
‘It’s an entrance?’
‘A gateway of sorts but by the time they land down here,’ said Thomas shrugging, whilst looking at the lake with the diving bell, ‘they’re usually dead, drowned. An arrival of a cow or something like that is a timely reminder I’m human. I tend to forget that sometimes,’ he said, laughing without humour. ‘I have become quite the chef, you know. Most mer-people only eat fish although one or two have shared the delights of my cooking – beef steaks and lamb chops.’ Thomas spoke absent-mindedly, almost licking his lips. ‘If my old pirate comrades could see me now, they would probably kick me off the ship, make me walk the plank or something. Cooking was far too civilised for them.’
‘Do they eat humans?’
‘Mer-people . . .? No, that’s a ghastly idea,’ said Thomas, returning his focus and helping Arty get to his feet. ‘The mer-people disposed of the human bodies that fell through, apart from one poor soul. He survived the fall. And then the prince got hold of him.’ Thomas shuddered. ‘He would have been better off drowning.’
That didn’t help Toby or Arty at all. They simultaneously shivered.
Mer-people mingled and gossiped in their hissing sibilant language. Some of them moved like humans with upright postures, waving their arms around animatedly as they discussed the day’s events. They looked so normal they could have been walking over London Bridge at rush hour. Others were distinctly unhuman; they jerked and tilted their heads strangely with stooped postures and prominent back bones. They watched Toby and Arty as if they were curiosities. Toby was the centre of attention and he felt very alien, as if he was an exhibit behind a glass cage. It reminded him of how he had stared at all the strange sights and creatures when he first arrived at Tintagel village. His heart continued to race but with a deep breath he bravely puffed his chest out and tried to look defiant. He stared straight ahead following Thomas’s example. Arty was close behind. He gave the appearance of a drunken cowboy that had just got off his horse after a solid ten-day ride.
All three climbed the few steps to a raised platform and sat in three solid-looking chairs carved in the rock. The noise in the chamber was buzzing louder and louder as more mer-people arrived, their powerful lower fin-like bodies thrashing vigorously as they accelerated through the water and sprang into the air. At the last second their lower bodies changed to produce two human-like legs with webbed feet and scaly upper thighs as they landed on the stone pathway. The seaweed waistcoats each mer-person wore elongated to produce kilts and skirts. As they landed they immediately walked away from the landing area, directed by mer-officials, as more mer-people rocketed from the water. The younger ones headed for the higher levels, chattering excitedly; the older ones stayed at the lower levels discussing matters in whispers.
As Toby, Arty, and Thomas settled into their cold hard seats a tall, skinny woman appeared from a cave entrance nearby. She had long white hair that draped over her shoulders and halfway down her back. She held a thick staff in her right hand that was nearly as tall as her; the top glistened like a star. She glided across the floor with the front of her long black robes rhythmically flicking up with the kick of her shoes. As she walked into the open the crowds hushed, staring and pointing from their distant seats. Suddenly the thousands of mer-people who had taken a seat in the chamber were watching this black-robed woman. As she swept past the raised plinth Toby realised she didn’t look like a mer-person at all. In fact, she looked decidedly human with a square jaw, a fine, pointed nose and evenly arranged teeth – not sharp at all, unlike the mer-people he had seen.
‘That’s the high priestess,’ whispered Thomas.
The new arrival turned to face the chamber before settling into the smaller of the stone thrones that sat opposite the defendants. The high priestess looked at Toby. Her eyes were ice cold emerald green and sparkled like light reflecting off fresh water. She held Toby’s gaze for a moment longer and then released him, her eyes wandering around the chamber.
Toby drew in a rapid breath of air. He had momentarily stopped breathing.
‘Don’t worry, Toby. She does that all the time,’ said the captain. ‘She’s almost siren-like, isn’t she?’
‘She’s a siren?’ uttered Toby, sounding horrified. She didn’t look like Deirdre at all.
‘No, she’s definitely not a siren, although she is a little scary at times,’ cautioned Thomas, almost absent-mindedly.
Next it was the king to arrive. He breezed past Toby as if he was in a great hurry, looking flustered and annoyed. He nodded to the high priestess. She had stood up waiting for him to be seated. The mer-king was a large mer-man with a portly belly, flattish face and large black eyes that almost filled his podgy face. Toby couldn’t take his eyes off him either. He was truly the ugliest mer-man by far. It was difficult enough to see when a mer-person smiled, but it was unmistakable when they were displeased, with their rows of razor-sharp teeth and a mouth that could open up so wide it was possible for them to swallow their own head. The king reminded Toby of a picture of a shark he used to have on his bedroom wall. He had taken that down because of the nightmares. All Toby’s fears came flooding back. He quivered in his seat. This was
the mer-man that was going to decide Toby and Arty’s fates and he was most definitely not in a good mood.
The king leant towards the high priestess and growled something. She stood up and bashed the base of her staff on the hard rocky floor. A metallic noise reverberated around the chamber and everyone fell silent.
‘Where is the prosecution?’ bellowed the king impatiently.
As if on cue, five black-clad figures burst from the lake near the diving bell landing with human-like legs onto the stone jetty. One of them stepped forward and removed his red helmet theatrically. It was Prince Frax. He grinned arrogantly, striding towards the central stone plinth, clearly enjoying the attention and probably revelling in the king’s barely contained fury.
‘You’re late,’ barked the king, making no effort to hide his anger.
The prince bowed slowly watching the king. He stood up, grinned mischievously, and said, ‘Let us begin.’
‘Okay, one final word,’ whispered Thomas, turning to Toby and Arty. ‘There is a strong rumour that the prince was involved in a recent attempted coup against the king. It was not proven. The prince’s father, however, is in jail for it. So, whatever you do, do not get drawn in by any games the prince might play, particularly if it involves making statements against the mer-people or the mer-king. Speak when I advise you to do so, and remain quiet at all other times. Understood?’ Toby and Arty nodded quietly. ‘Get ready, Toby.’
As the prince pranced around the plinth Thomas nodded at Toby. Toby stood up in the middle of the court, his legs shaking, barely able to stand. His voice dried up as he tried to speak. The prince, taken by surprise, quickly recovered and stormed towards Toby.
‘I . . . I am not human!’ shouted Toby, far louder than he had expected, and shied away as if he had just raised his voice at a funeral. The prince faltered as if he had walked into a brick wall. He had clearly not anticipated that. Toby quavered under the prince’s glare. He suddenly realised Thomas’s plan had worked. Toby wanted to stick his tongue out at the prince. Instead he returned and stood by Thomas’s side.
Toby Fisher and the Arc Light Page 21