by J Battle
‘Do they have snow or ice on the mainland?’
‘Yes,‘ Sam answered for Gorge. ‘My pa, he said there was a…something that sounds like glass, but it ain’t. But it’s made out of ice, and it’s creeping down from the mountains, it is.’
‘That’s probably what we can see. Mayhap we’ll land and find someone to help us.’ Gorge frowned as he considered the possibilities.
‘Will they give us food, do you think?’ asked Sam.
An hour later, they were sitting huddled together in the middle of the boat, for warmth and comfort.
‘See that, Tom?’ said Sam.
Tom looked up and squinted in the darkness. ‘Don’t see much at all, Sam, unless…oh I see.’
‘That’s the waves breaking against the shore. It always goes white like that.’ Gorge nodded as he spoke, as if to confirm that he was telling nothing but the truth.
‘Look! There’s a light, just over there,’ gasped Tom.
As they moved closer, they saw that there were three lights ahead of them.
‘Before we get ourselves saved, we have to agree not to tell them where we came from,’ said Gorge, quietly. ‘Or they’ll just up and send us back to Fairisle.’
‘I don’t want to go back, Gorge,’ said Sam.
‘I’m not going back,’ said Tom.
‘So, we don’t know where we came from, right? We were on a ship from a long, long way away, and the ship sank, and we found this boat, and we’ve been floating around for days, lost like.’
‘That’s a sad story,‘ said Sam.
‘It’s just a story, Sam. No need to get upset and all,’ said Tom, will a gentle shove to his friend.
‘I ain’t getting upset. I just said, it’s a sad story.’
Their boat drifted closer to the lights.
‘Hey, mister!’ called Tom, half-standing. ‘Hey mister! Can you see us? We’re just down here.’
‘What the…?’ The voice that called across the water was hoarse and excited. ‘Come over here, close now. I ain’t caught much fish yet, but I reckon you’ll be a catch enough.’
Beside the light, which was perched on the edge of a wall that seemed to rise from the sea itself, was a bent old man, with a rod in his hand.
He waved them closer with his free hand.
‘Come along here now, and I’ll fetch you out of the water and get you somewhere nice and warm, I will. Here Bert, you slow old fool, come along and give us a hand here, will you. It’s just boys sat in a boat, if you can believe me on a cold night like this.’
*********
‘Father, dearest, can I ride up front with you?’ She asked, with a smile.
‘What, do you mean up front with the Giants?’
‘Why father, are there Giants there? I’m sure I hardly noticed.’
‘Come on then, Alice, but stay here on my right, in case one of them knocks you off your mount by mistake.’
Alice grinned and nudged her pony’s side with her foot and they were off, racing ahead.
Richard sighed and shook his head, and followed at a more moderate pace.
‘Hello, Mr Giant,’ said Alice, just as he caught up with her. ‘My name is Alice and I’m so pleased to meet you.’
Belloom looked down at her. ‘Don’t know what’s to be so pleased about little woman. I’m just walking along this here road with my squire here.’
‘Well sir, I’ve never before had the pleasure of meeting a Giant, and that’s why I’m so pleased.’
‘I’ve seen this here Giant’s face every day for a year, and I’ve never been pleased once to see it, I’ll say.’ Ferrooll leant past his putative monarch to say his piece, and his big black cap slipped over his eyes.
‘Well, I am honoured to meet you both.’
Richard slid his horse between his daughter and the Giants.
‘But, I wanted to speak to them as we rode,’ she pouted.
‘I’m sure if you shout, they’ll hear you well enough, and you’ll surely have no trouble hearing their replies.’
Anything she may have said in reply was lost as Jumba galloped back towards them, all shouting and breathless.
He’d been riding ahead of the caravan as was his wont, to be sure nothing surprised them on the road.
‘Lord! Lord!’ he called, as he drew near. ’There’s a creature up ahead, and I ain’t seen one before, but, if it ain’t a Trytor, then my ma must have raised a fool.’
Richard tugged on his reins and halted his horse, his face suddenly serious.
‘Alice, ride back to the carriages and have them stop right where they are, if you will,’ he said, with his eyes fixed on the road ahead. ‘And Alice, I would have you remain with them until I return.
’But…’ Alice saw the set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders, so she turned her pony and raced to obey his instructions.
‘Ho there, Giants,’ Richard called, when he realized that they had carried on with their walking. ‘You’d better be staying here awhile, until we find out what’s ahead.’
Belloom laughed. ‘Don’t you worry none, little man, there’s nothing on this road that will stop a Giant going where he wants to go, is there squire?’
Ferrooll took off his cap and scratched his somewhat bald pate, and scowled. ‘Unless it be a broke down old bridge. I reckon that could do the trick.’
‘If it’s a broke bridge, we’ve got human men here who can fix it for us.’ Belloom replied, with absolute logic in his own mind.
‘You’re highness.’ Richard rode past the Giants and pulled up in front of them. ‘This may be a dangerous course you’re taking. We should be careful.’
Belloom scratched his head. ‘What’s that word he said there, squire? Dangerous? I heard it before, but I can’t remember what it is.’
Ferrooll put his cap back on his head and then he rested both hands on his stomach. ‘Well now, let me see. It means, like when something could be about to hurt you. That makes it dangerous, I reckon.’
‘And careful?’
‘That’s where you take a little look before you bang your head against something hard.’
‘Right, I see. If it be all the same to you little man, I’ll walk along this here road until I get where I’m going. I reckon that’ll be fine.’
‘But, your Highness, have you ever met a Trytor before? Do you know what you’ll be facing?’ There was desperation in Richard’s voice. He had never met a Trytor himself, and he was hoping to keep it that way.
‘Step your little horse out of the way, little man, ‘cause I don’t want to go and hurt it.’
Richard complied, to keep his horse safe.
With Jumba by his side, he followed them as they returned to their long striding relaxed walk.
Only a few minutes later, they saw him walking down the middle of the road towards them. He was tall, if a head shorter than the Giants and, though his shoulders were massively broad, he had none of their bulk. Still, with his bony triangular head and burning red eyes, he was a sight to strike fear into the heart of any creature he was likely to meet, unless it was a Giant.
His stride was long and there was some haste about his movements as he charged towards them, with his luxurious whitefox fur cloak trailing behind him and his long black boots kicking up the dirt.
‘Step aside for your better,’ he roared, in a voice that had surely spoken some terrible words in the past, and would do so again. ‘Step aside.’
‘Oh my,’ said Belloom to Ferrooll, ’he is in such a rush, ain’t he?’
‘Ay, he is that, but he’ll be slowing down soon enough, I reckon.’
‘He ain’t better than me, is he? Not with me going to be king soon.’
The Trytor came to an abrupt stop.
‘Move from the road, and allow me to pass, and I will forget this insult,’ he spat.
‘Have you insulted him there, Ferrooll?’
‘Not yet. But I’m working on something clever, if I gets the time.’
‘I am the Tr
ytor Brudorth, and you will step aside and bow to me, or you will feel my wrath.’ The Trytor withdrew a sword that was more than six feet in length and flashed in the light from the sun.
‘What’s a wrath?’ asked Belloom, looking all puzzled.
‘I reckon it’s a bath you put your feet in,’ answered Ferrooll, looking as if he was still working on his clever insult.
Belloom stepped forward all of a sudden, until he was standing chest to chest with the Trytor. ‘I ain’t moving out of your way, and I ain’t touching your bath.’ For emphasis, he nudged the Trytor with his belly.
Very much against his will, the Trytor was forced to take half a step back.
‘Very well. You have brought this on yourself!’ He took another pace backwards to give himself room, and then he swung his sword.
Belloom threw up an arm and deflected the blow, and it caught him on his left shoulder, bouncing off his skin harmlessly.
‘Watch out you don’t cut yourself on your little blade,’ he said, as he reached out to grab the Trytor.
The Trytor moved backwards out of reach.
‘So, what I have heard about Giants is true. You are hard to hurt, and stupid as a rock.’
‘Hear that, Ferrooll? He says you’re as stupid as a rock, he does.’
‘I don’t know about that, I’ve met one or two rocks with a mite more sense than you.’
The Trytor smiled at the two Giants. ‘If a blade can’t harm you, I think I know what will.’ He smiled again, and lifted a horn hanging from his belt to his lips.
‘Your highness!’ hissed Richard. ’Take care. Perhaps…’
The horn sounded, high pitched and loud, echoing across the valley below the road.
The Trytor dropped the horn from his lips. ’Let us see how you fare against my little pets; my Rockmites. You won’t have heard of them, I should think. But you’ll soon get to know them. They are very eager to get…acquainted.’
Ferrooll grabbed Belloom’s arm. ‘Stop there, fool. Did you hear what he said?’
‘He said a lot.’
‘Rockmites! Ain’t you heard of them? You should turn around now and forget about being a king!’
There came the sound of rocks tumbling down a steep mountainside.
‘Oh, here they are now.’ The Trytor laughed as he walked backwards a few more steps. ‘They are so eager, and so hungry.’
The first appeared on the side of the road, impossibly quick and huge; at first glance no more than a jumble of rocks, but suddenly animate and raising itself upright as it towered over even the Giants.
It reached out with a great stone claw to rip the head off Belloom, but the Giant’s actions were quicker by far than his thinking, and he took the claw in his own massive hand and, twisting his body from the waist, he threw the monster to the ground.
Without pausing for breath or thought, he leapt onto the beast’s back and began to pound away with his fists; great crushing blows that seemed to have little effect but the raising of a cloud of dust around the stunned behemoth.
‘How do I kill it?’ gasped Belloom, as he pounded away.
Ferrooll bent closer, but still kept a safe distance.
‘I reckon banging a rock monster on the back of the head is a sure way to get sore fists, that’s what I reckon. But, if you were to put his head some place where his body weren’t, I’d say that would do the job.’
Belloom slumped to his knees; his weight keeping the struggling Rockmite in place.
‘I won’t get all annoyed if you want to have a go at him,’ he said, with a sigh.
‘No! You’s having too much fun there. I wouldn’t want to spoil it for you.’
Belloom chuckled and reached for the monster’s head. It was firmly attached to its body, and seemed in no mood for a separation, but Belloom bent to his task with great determination and he soon was holding a dripping rock in the air.
‘There, I told you that’d work.’
Then came a roar of crashing rocks and a dozen of the beasts rushed onto the road.
Chapter 5 Prince Torn
‘What will you do, Your Highness?’ He said the words quietly, so as not to cause offense, but, as Lord Steward, it was his job to ask.
Prince Torn made no immediate response, as he slouched in his ornate chair and stared at the flickering fire.
‘It will be cold tonight, I think,’ he said, almost to himself, ‘and him in his indoor clothes, without his cloak, or his whitefox hat.’
The steward nodded.
‘Will they keep him warm, do you think? On a night like this?’
‘Yes, Your Highness, they will look after him, and the other boys; I’m sure.’
‘The other boys? Why would you think I’d be in the least concerned for the other two? My boy is out there, somewhere. My son and heir.’
‘Yes, of course, sir. But they will not want to harm him. They will need him safe to use as…a bargaining device, I should think.’
The Prince looked up then, and his eyes met those of his steward.
The steward stepped back in fear.
‘Your Highness…’
The prince unfolded his long body from his chair.
He was dressed all in black, with narrow leather trousers and a tight leather shirt that boasted much out of fashion droopy round collars
‘Scour the island for him, Meldon. Bring him back to me; back to his father’s arm, safe as he was this morning, or…’
Meldon lowered his head, averting his eyes. He didn’t want to see the prince in his anger and in his power.
‘If he is not found before the night passes away, then I will bring the scourge of the Wellstone down upon this island, and man shall no more live on Fairisle. Do you hear me, Meldon?’
Meldon merely nodded and backed away.
As he left the great throne-room of Palace Gail, he muttered softly to himself. ‘What have I done? What have I done?’
**********
Meldon left the prince’s palace as soon as he could without arousing suspicion.
He carried his beggar’s staff of course, for no man of quality and means would walk the streets without a tool to knock aside unwarranted and offensive attention from the island’s unwanted and offensive poor.
The road from the palace was more than 10 feet wide, but each side was so packed with beggars that there was barely room for one man to walk down the centre of the road.
Behind the rows of eager faces, the tangleweed rose, black and twisted, its thick stalks rising 20 feet or so into the air.
Hardly paying attention to the rabble, he brushed aside the outstretched hands, with little in the way of brutality, and even less in the way of concern. He did notice however that there were a remarkable number of beggars with missing limbs, or fingers or eyes.
‘Is this some new blight on the land, or an attempt on behalf of these sorry people to seek advantage over their fellows?’ he mused, as he rushed along.
He had little enough time, but there was something that had to be done, and done quickly, if his part in this disastrous matter was not to come to light.
How could it have gone so wrong? Such a simple task; take the boy and have absolute control over his besotted father. It should have worked, if not for the fools picked to undertake the abduction. Now where were they, and the boy? On the Island, somewhere? Or lost at sea? Or somewhere else on the mainland?
The beggars were much reduced in numbers when he reached the town proper, although they could be seen on every street corner, squabbling with the whores for the best spot and stepping over the harroweed fallers when the situation required, for those subject to the harroweed’s spell cared little where they lay.
He ignored them all, although he had a taste for the rougher delights the streets had to offer. But, today he had more important business.
He found Petre’s hovel easily enough, located as it was between two busy little taverns, on a narrow street with a gutter flowing with unmentionable and disgusting matter.
He knocked on the door with his staff, and he glared at a beggar who’d thought to cross the road to try his luck with the stranger.
The beggar reached half-way across the street before he gathered his rags about him and turned back.
The door opened with a creak and a snap, and a small bearded face appeared, with eyes screwed up against the light.
‘What…? Oh, it’s you.’
‘Yes indeed, it is I. May I come inside, out of the glare of public scrutiny?’
‘You what?’
‘Let me in, buffoon.’ Meldon pushed his way inside.
With his handkerchief to his nose, he scanned the interior.
‘Very…rustic,’ he said, after a moment. ’I had no idea that you drank, Petre.’
‘On a day like today, an honoured saint would turn to strong ale,’ said Petre, as he slumped onto his bed; the only furniture in the bare room.
Meldon glanced around for somewhere to sit, but his search was in vain. Not that he was too concerned. He wouldn’t have wanted to contaminate his Stewards Red by sitting somewhere that might have previously supported Petre’s unsavoury behind.
‘Tell me now, and be quick. What have you heard? Has he been in contact?’ Meldon set himself with his legs spread and the staff for support, in the cleanest part of the floor.
‘He sent a message, and he weren’t best pleased, not at all. Says he waited all day and into the night, he did, and they never came.’
Meldon nodded as if this was all no surprise to him. ‘What will he do now?’
‘He’ll be making himself scarce, he will, and that’s for sure. You won’t see his bushy head of hair this side of a month of Sundays, you won’t.’
‘That’s very wise of him, and Petre, tell me now, and do not think to lie to me. Does he know of my involvement?’ As he spoke, he moved a little closer, and his voice grew quieter.
‘No, Sir, he don’t, ‘cause that’s what you said, that it were just between us two, and no-one else was to know, and I was to tell anyone who asked that it were all my own plan.’ He gave a nod for emphasis, and frowned at the pain in his head.