The Palace Library

by Steven Loveridge

The movement of the great carriage could hardly be said to be rhythmic, but it was enough to lull Harry to sleep after a while. It was not as boring as being awake in the dark anyway. Strangely, it was stopping that woke them all up; or perhaps it was the shouting. There was a break to change the horses and a chance to stretch their legs. Dawn was just breaking, and since it was January and usually it was dark when the children woke up to go to school, they reckoned it must have been about seven in the morning. By the time they were back on board, they were glad of the daylight from the open shutters, even though it was bitterly cold.

  Eleanor was the one who asked Harry first, “So did you manage to read the Prophecy then?”

  “I did,” said Harry, who was then deliberately silent for a moment.

  “Well?” said Grace.

  “Well what?” said Harry.

  “What does it say?” asked the girls.

  “Why didn’t you just ask!” laughed Harry, as if it hadn’t been obvious.

  “Stop playing games, Harry. Just read it to us,” said Eleanor crossly.

  “All right, all right. Here it is. It seems to be a poem. But I must warn you, I can read the words now but I don’t know what it means. It really is cryptic.”

  So Harry read the poem out loud to them all:

  To drown the Sword not once, but twice

  Will be the traitors’ game.

  To wreck the Crown at large

  Will be the treacherous aim.

  Plucked from their homes, the innocents

  Will travel past World’s End

  To meet their destiny and fate

  To rescue freedom and a friend.

  Hell’s Bay will sound with clashing tones.

  Dragons must not be slain

  When fire heats up the water’s edge

  When Ascalon is forged again.

  By Dragons’ Bane the children three

  Will dull and lull the putrid lair,

  To pluck from him the oily stone

  By breathing out the vapoured air.

  Box up your fears and frights,

  Beware the direct route.

  Success will come to he who thinks,

  Who wears another’s suit.

  The traitors’ curse will free itself

  When passions clash with fate.

  Freedom and not the end

  Lies through the Traitors’ Gate.

  The Witan looks for freedom first.

  Seek and you will find.

  Trust in the truth; look for knowledge.

  May friendship be your bind.

  “Is that it?” said Grace. “I don’t understand. What’s it meant to mean?”

  “Well,” added Master John. “It’s certainly a pretty piece. Parts seem clear, but most of it is very cloudy. Now at least we know that if Queen Eleanor knew part of the Prophecy, she knew enough that there was a drowned sword and three children.

  “It seems clear too that you’re on a hunt as well - a dragon hunt - as the Queen warned you. Perhaps there are clues in this, perhaps not. We have another day in this carriage so there’ll be plenty of time for you to think about it anyway.”

  Eloise, of course, sat silently throughout this. But Sophie was sitting up in the carriage, her nose up high sniffing the air and listening intently, before she put her head down on Eleanor’s lap. Eleanor fondled Sophie’s head absent-mindedly.

  “Read the verse with the bit about the dragon again will you, Harry?”

  “Hell’s Bay will sound…”

  “No not that one. The next one.”

  “By Dragons’ Bane, the children three

  Will dull and lull the putrid lair,

  To pluck from him the oily stone…”

  “Dragons’ Bane. I thought so,” said Eleanor. “I’ve seen the word ‘bane’ before in my book. I just need to find it again.”

  Eleanor flicked through the book and found the right page. “Here it is.” She began reading, “‘Purple Bane. A beautiful and delicate flower once believed to have been common all over England, but now very rare. It has delicate flowers which tempt you to smell it, but the plant stinks. What bane it was used for is now forgotten, but it serves no modern purpose.’ I think ‘bane’ means poison. Perhaps Dragons’ Bane is how we kill the dragons to get the diamond.”

  “But the poem says that dragons must not be slain,” pointed out Harry. “Perhaps the dragons need to be alive for the magic to work on the Sword. Maybe the blacksmith will know when we meet him.”

  “Not all poisons kill,” replied Master John. “The healers sometimes mix up herbs and flowers for my hounds if they need looking after. It makes them drowsy and can put them to sleep. They are poisons sure enough, but do not kill. When they awake, they seem to recover. You need to talk to a healer and ask more about this Dragons’ Bane. Perhaps one could tell you.”

  “More to the point,” said Grace, “it doesn’t seem to tell us where we’re going. I’m learning to use my star map to help us get somewhere, but it’s not much good if we don’t even know where we’re going! World’s End sounds a little scary, but not as bad as Hells’ Bay. I don’t think I want to go to either!”

  Master John leant forward and put a hand on her knee. “You may not want it, but meeting your ‘destiny and fate’ won’t often coincide with anything you want to do. Look at how you ended up here.”

  The children looked at each other. However kindly the words were meant, none of them found them very comforting. At the same time, Sophie sat up with one paw on Harry and Eleanor’s legs. She licked – well, kissed really - Grace’s hand before settling down across all of their toes. That, at least, was comforting.

  “I’m sure I’ve heard of Hell’s Bay before,” said Grace. “I’ve just got to remember where.”

  “Well do let us know when you remember,” answered Harry, a little irritably.

  Grace stuck her tongue out at him, which at least made her feel a little better. And Eloise smiled at that, wishing she had a tongue to stick out at all.

  10. Eleanor’s Book

  “What is that disgusting smell?” shouted Grace.

  They had all been snoozing. It was the afternoon of the second day and they had suffered a bad night in the carriage, uncomfortable and unable to sleep. Late that morning, they had turned off the road onto a much better road at a place called Ilchester.

  By then, Grace felt she was beginning to master her star charts. Harry knew the Prophecy off by heart now and kept asking his book questions, but also kept getting a bit fed up with just how cryptic the answers were. In the back of his mind, he was a bit cross about it all, as he couldn’t work it out.

  Eleanor knew about hundreds of plants and what the book said they were used for. There were plants for healing cuts, plants to stop you feeling hungry, and plants for curing animals. But she was fed up too. Her book didn’t seem to be at all magical like the others.

  The few times they had changed horses, there had been little more than five minutes to stretch their legs and to accept whatever parcels of food were given to them. Sometimes it was delicious; sometimes it seemed rank. Mead had been offered, and Master John had made them drink it in places he knew the water to be foul. It was sweet like honey, but a little bitter too. And it was alcoholic. All three children had the strange sensation of being tipsy for the first time. It was enough to quench their thirst before the watchful Eloise snatched the heady potion away from them. Then, they had dozed off. Perhaps it was the mead.

  Grace had woken them all with her shout. “It’s a really, really horrid smell,” she added.

  “Yuck,” said Harry and Eleanor at once. Then Harry added for good measure, “That’s a really disgusting fart.” They giggled.

  Even Eloise smiled at that, though she pretended not to and held her nose shut with her fingers.

  Master John then stood up, as far as the short ceilings in the carriage would allow, and threw open the shutters: “January it may be and the air may be freezing cold, but we need some fresh
air.”

  Just then, a huge pothole threw him down on the lap of Eloise. She squealed, but he just bellowed with laughter. “I’m cooped up in here with you all. Now the fresh air is giving me strength. God help me if they don’t give me a horse on my own in the open to ride back to Clarendon!”

  The smell was not much better, and Sophie barked, just once. Eloise pointed at Eleanor and she looked down. The sun streaming into the carriage from the open shutters had blinded them all for a moment, but they saw what it was now. Sophie’s paws were on Eleanor’s book and she seemed to be scratching the page with them.

  “Is it you making that smell, Sophie?” asked Harry. Her response to that was to put her ears back and give a little friendly growl which clearly meant: “No it’s not. Don’t be rude.”

  Then Eleanor jabbed Harry and pointed at the book, “Look, silly.”

  Sophie scratched the book again. The picture seemed to lift off the page. It was as if the plant was actually growing out of the book and wafting gently in the wind. It had beautiful purple flowers. But it seemed to be smoking. It filled the carriage with a misty vapour. It stank.

  “It’s the Purple Bane,” said Eleanor. “The one they say really smells.”

  “I know what to do with that then,” said Grace. She leant over and pushed Sophie off the book, before turning the page. All of a sudden, the misty vapour was sucked back into the book and the smell vanished. Everything just went back into the book.

  “That’s better,” said Master John. Eloise took her fingers off her nose and sniffed the air.

  “See,” said Grace smugly.

  “I do have a magic book!” said Eleanor, suddenly happy and not feeling left out at all. “It’s a scratch and sniff book!” She flicked over the pages, found what she was looking for and frantically began scratching the page. Up sprang a beautiful rose bush with the prettiest pink flowers. Then the carriage filled with the most beautiful smell of summer roses, but no smoky mist this time. They all felt a lot better.

  Eleanor scratched vigorously. “Ouch,” she suddenly said. “There’s a thorn in my finger.” Everyone just laughed unfairly, as Eleanor put her finger in her mouth to stop the prick of blood. The only one who seemed to give her any attention was Eloise. Quickly she found something from under the folds of her robe and leant forward. She gently pulled Eleanor’s finger from her mouth and bandaged the wound. It was only a little prick, but Eleanor smiled and thanked her. To Eleanor, this shy girl suddenly seemed to have a personality beyond her timid presence in the carriage.

  “Where are we now?” asked Grace. “Is it far to go?”

  “Not far,” replied Master John. “We turned onto the Fosse Way at Ilchester and soon we will soon be at Axmouth, the end of that great road. It is one of the busiest ports on the south coast.”

  “What’s the Fosse Way?” asked Grace.

  “The Fosse Way, young Grace, is one of the greatest roads in the kingdom. It runs in a straight line from Lincoln to Axmouth and was built by the Romans. It’s not like our happy little winding English lanes and ways. It’s a great road that has carried armies and commerce across the kingdom for centuries. I doubt there will be a better road built in our lifetime.”

  At that the children smiled to themselves, but heeding the advice of the Queen, they kept quiet, even in front of Master John and the nervous Eloise.

  Master John carried on: “At Axmouth there’s a great estuary and port and the King’s finest ship awaits your instructions. I hope you’re prepared now after consulting your magical books.”

  Master John had been listening to their conversations, and he thought they had been making progress. But within themselves, the children were full of doubt. None of them was entirely sure they were any the wiser about the task they had been set. Harry didn’t think that he had used his book wisely enough and Grace suddenly had a guilty feeling that all the time she had been reading her own book she should have been trying to remember where Hell’s Bay was. She was sure she knew.

  “When we arrive, we must travel up the valley to find the blacksmith. He’s been warned. Then I must return in the morning.”

  “The blacksmith?” asked Eleanor.

  “Aye. You remember. The Queen told you a message had been sent ahead to meet the Englishman who will help forge the new sword.”

  “Do you have to leave us?” said Harry quietly, echoing the thoughts of the others, including Eloise. His boisterous humour had kept them in good spirits during the journey, even though his huge size meant that sometimes he dominated their small space.

  “I do. My place is with the Royal Hunt and with His Majesty the King. I must return as soon as I’ve delivered you to Axmouth. I’ll take you to the blacksmith and then I must leave you.”

  “After that,” he bellowed with laughter, “the Captain of the King’s flagship will have to take orders from you, Grace. For you have a skill of navigation which will leave him overwhelmed, in spite of all his experience!”

  11. The Blacksmith

  “Do you think he is a real dwarf?” whispered Grace to Eleanor.

  “Yes,” the short man shouted at them as they quivered under the thatched overhang at the forge. Rain was now dripping off them since a sudden storm and squall had soaked them all as they walked through the village. “He’s a real dwarf with very, very sharp hearing.”

  They looked at him - not up at him, which made a change for children of their age when speaking to an adult - and the smiles on their faces turned to fear. Then Eleanor realised that they were probably just being rude by whispering, so she said “We’re sorry for whispering. Mummy says we shouldn’t. I’m Eleanor. This is my brother Harry and our cousin Grace.”

  “Well how do you do then, Eleanor and Grace.” He still looked very bad-tempered. He was not much taller than Harry, but about three times as wide, with a chaotic red beard and a mad mop of red hair. A heavy leather apron was wrapped round him from his neck to his feet. Great chunks of his beard seemed to be singed and missing, the effect of burns.

  “Well you are very small to be the solution to this kingdom’s problems.” Then he let out a hollow laugh and the girls were not quite sure to make of it. They were not sure if it was a joke or if he was being serious.

  Master John stepped in under the thatch, nearly bending double, and thrust his hand out to shake the dwarf’s. “I am Master John of the Royal Hunt. I assume you are Master Edwin of Axmouth, the blacksmith and armourer?”

  “I am,” was the reply. “But how should I know you are who you say you are,” he added.

  “You have heard of the Prophecy?” asked Master John.

  “I have.”

  “Then these are the three children.”

  “Well they don’t look up to much,” carried on the blacksmith. “Three healthy children for sure, but how do we know they are not impostors?”

  This was almost too much for Master John, and bending nearly double he looked the dwarf in the eye. He used a tone the children had not heard before, “I know, as our Queen put them into my charge.”

  The dwarf looked him straight back in the eye and said, “But I was not there.”

  At that moment, Harry realised he had the solution to this problem, and he pulled at the chain around his neck.

  “Here is the Queen’s signet ring, Sir. It is her token and our authority to be here.”

  Edwin looked at the signet ring and looked almost disappointed that they were not traitors for him to dispose of as he wished. “Well you seem to be what you say you are. You’d better come in.”

  The inside of the forge was much bigger than the overhanging eaves they had crowded under outside. It was a huge room, with a furnace at one end, surrounded by all the blacksmith’s tools. There were great iron hammers and tongs hanging on beams above. At the other end, nearest the door, was a more traditional hearth and fireplace, with a pot hanging over the fire and some sort of soup bubbling away in it. A half-open door at the back led to a cramped room to sleep in.


  “Welcome to my home. This is my wife, Anwen.” The words were a little grudging, but at least they were welcomed inside. As if to put a stop to his initial impression of grumpiness, the dwarf said, “We are proud of our home and workshop. It is the only stone house in the village, the only stone building until the church was put up some years ago. And it’s warm enough with the furnace and the fire both going. Anwen will look after you.”

  At that, Edwin drew up a chair away from the kitchen hearth and started rocking it back and forth, watching what was going on.

  Anwen gently welcomed them and took their wet cloaks from them. “He’ll have your interests at heart now he knows who you are, but he will be grumpy.”

  “Humph!” came a grunt from the chair.

  Anwen looked small standing next to Master John, but huge when she was next to her husband. She smiled, revealing several missing teeth, but just added, “Who’s hungry?”

  “Me,” shouted Harry, adding ‘please’ for good measure. And the girls realised they were too.

  Just then, before they had time to react, Edwin leapt up from his chair. He pulled the dagger from Eleanor’s scabbard where it hung round her waist. It had been revealed after her long cloak had been taken off. He held it up to the light and then towards her, shaking angrily. “Where did you get this dagger? I’d know it anywhere. I made it for Queen Eleanor herself only three years ago.” He looked at the blade carefully and almost spoke to himself. “It is worn more than it should have been, but it is the one.”

  Then turning to his wife, Edwin added, “Look at the blade, Anwen. It glows green, as well it might in the presence of danger or traitors. It is definitely the one.” Turning to Eleanor again, he said, “Where did you get this blade?”

  Now Eleanor may have been frightened, but she did have enough presence of mind not to give away anything about The Palace Library to a stranger. Just at that moment, she wondered whether Edwin might be a traitor himself. She was just working out what to say, when Master John stepped before him and gently said, “You’ve seen the Queen’s signet ring. This is clearly a gift from the Queen as well. It’s not our place to question her, or these children from the Prophecy.”