Fair Wind to Widdershins

by Allan Jones

  It would be nice to be famous.

  He sighed again. It would be even nicer to be alive and safe at home!

  “Impressive, eh?” said Jack.

  Trundle nodded. Jack was right. This was very impressive indeed.

  It was a bright new morning, and the Thief in the Night was hanging with tethered sails above the island of Widdershins. Except, as Trundle could clearly see, Widdershins was not just one island—it was a collection of dozens and dozens of islands, some as big as towns, others only large enough to hold one or two buildings. The floating islands were held together by arched wooden bridges and by iron walkways and chain-link catwalks and ropewalks and overpasses. Spires and belfries and towers and steeples thrust up into the sky. Narrow tip-tilted streets and stairways wound up and down and in and out of the tightly packed buildings. People in hooded habits scuttled about as though intent on important business.

  But as Trundle gazed down in awe, his eyes were drawn irresistibly to the huge island that formed the heart of the age-old city. It rose up above all the other islands like a mountain, steep sided, craggy, and rugged. Here and there, windswept trees and bushes pushed out from between the buildings that clung to its sheer sides like limpets to a rock. Up and up it soared to a great palace of rearing walls and time-worn battlements and keeps and halls and towers and turrets, topped off by an ornamented citadel from the apex of which rose a lofty steeple of gold that flashed in the sunlight.

  “And that, my friend,” said Esmeralda, “is where the Guild of Observators hangs out.”

  “It’s amazing,” breathed Trundle. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Face it, Trundle,” said Esmeralda. “Before you met me you’d never seen anything, period!”

  “Except cabbages,” added Jack with a wide smile.

  “Yes,” Trundle agreed, turning away from the awesome sight. “Many a cabbage. So what’s the plan? What do we do now?”

  “We make landfall and go chat with the big boss,” said Esmeralda. “We’ll show him the crown and the key. He’s bound to know what the key is for. I’m betting it fits a big golden chest that will have the Iron Crown sitting inside it on a purple velvet cushion.”

  Jack shook his head. “My guess is it’ll be the key to a long-forgotten room at the top of a deserted tower.” His voice lowered. “We’ll open the door and we’ll find a throne all covered in spiders’ webs … and sitting on the throne will be a skeleton dressed in rotting rags—the skeleton of the last king of Widdershins. And the Iron Crown will still be on his fleshless, hollow-eyed skull. And when we try to take it, the dead king will speak, putting a terrible curse on us.” Jack laughed. “That’ll be exciting, won’t it?”

  “That’s all we need,” said Trundle. “To be cursed!”

  “No one’s getting cursed,” said Esmeralda. “Come on, you two. Let’s get busy. And remember, keep your eyes peeled for any ravens. Aunt Millie’s messenger could be here already, and we don’t want to be taken by surprise.”

  Mooring the Thief in the Night on an outer island, they made their way through the maze of old streets, across rickety bridges, up narrow twisting stairways, along deep-set alleys and passages, heading always inward and upward.

  Trundle found Widdershins even more imposing and grand from close up, but he began to notice something else as well. The whole place was falling to pieces. Here and there, entire buildings had collapsed into rubble, and many another old edifice was being propped up by wooden scaffolding or held together by great iron staples or by loops of thick, tarred rope.

  Widdershins was still awesome, but Trundle began to find it a little sad as well.

  At last they found themselves standing on a wide cobbled courtyard in front of massive wooden gates, gazing up at writing etched into the gray stone and picked out in faded gold leaf.

  COLLEGE OF

  THE WORSHIPFUL

  GUILD OF OBSERVATORS

  HIGHMOST CHANCELLOR:

  AUGUSTUS BROCKWISE,

  M.SC. M.PHIL. M.ENG. PH.D.

  Nailed to the doorpost, alongside a hanging chain, was a scrap of parchment.

  For admittance, pull chain once and WAIT.

  A guard will come.

  And underneath that, a scribbled note.

  Don’t pull more than once, or you’ll be in for it!

  Esmeralda marched up to the bell pull and gave it a hefty tug. A gloomy bell rang dully from behind the walls.

  They waited.

  Esmeralda folded her arms and leaned against the wall. Trundle walked nervously up and down, the backpack containing the crown and the key slung over his shoulder. Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled cheerily to himself.

  Nothing happened.

  Esmeralda stood and stared at the bell pull, her fists on her hips. “If they don’t answer the door by the time I count to ten…,” she began, but she was interrupted by a small side door creaking open.

  A sleepy-eyed fox in an elaborate but shoddy uniform stepped out. He had a dented crested helmet on his head and a slightly bent halberd in one fist. He blinked at the three companions and wiped a sleeve across his nose.

  “Whaddya want?” he asked.

  “My name is Esmeralda Lightfoot,” announced Esmeralda. “And these are my trusted companions, Trundle Boldoak and Jack Nimble. We have urgent business to discuss with the Highmost Chancellor, so be a good fellow and let us in.”

  “Wot biznizz?” asked the guard, frowning down at her.

  “That’s our affair,” Esmeralda declared. “Kindly alert your master to our presence.”

  “No tell me biznizz, no geddin,” mumbled the guard, turning and ducking back through the little postern door.

  “Now look here, you!” exclaimed Esmeralda.

  The guard turned and regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Wot?”

  Trundle had the feeling that Esmeralda’s temper was likely to do more harm than good. He stepped forward, pulling the Crystal Crown and the iron key out of the backpack.

  “Look!” he said to the guard. “We’ve found these! We want to show them to the Highmost Chancellor. I’m sure he’ll be interested.”

  The guard peered at him. “Wossis, then?”

  “It’s the Crystal Crown of the Badger Lords of Old,” said Jack. “We’re on a quest to find all of them. We’re hoping the Highmost Chancellor will be able to help.”

  “I’ll arx ’im,” mumbled the guard, and before Trundle or Jack or Esmeralda could say a word or make a move or do anything to prevent it, he leaned forward, grabbed the crown and the key out of Trundle’s hands, and disappeared back through the doorway.

  “Come back in six weeks,” the guard said. “Maybe someone’ll see you then.”

  The door slammed shut on them.

  “Hey!” they yelled in chorus. “Wait!”

  They threw themselves at the door and hammered on it till their paws were bruised and aching.

  But despite their very best efforts, the door remained firmly shut.

  The three companions sat dejectedly under the high stone walls of the Worshipful Guild of Observators, robbed of crown and key and wondering what to do next.

  No amount of hammering and yelling had made the guard open the door again. At one point Esmeralda had taken off her shoe and beaten it on the great oak wood panels for a solid minute, but to no effect.

  “I suppose we could come back again in six weeks’ time, like he said,” mused Trundle, his chin in his paws and his spirits in his heels.

  “Good plan, Trundle,” Esmeralda replied with deep sarcasm. “And by then, of course, the pirates will be here to help us out.”

  “I was only saying…,” mumbled Trundle.

  “If we had a rope and a grappling hook, we might be able to scale the walls,” said Jack.

  “The rope back on the Thief in the Night isn’t long enough,” said Esmeralda. “And we don’t have a grappling hook.”

  “I once heard of a fellow who escaped from prison by tunneling
right under the walls,” Jack offered. “He did it with a spoon and a fork. He was a steam mole, by the name of Edwin Tilthammer. Got locked up for counterfeiting gold sunders. The tunnel took him—oh!” Jack frowned. “I’ll shut up now.”

  Trundle looked sideways at him. “The tunnel took him…?”

  “Two and a half years,” muttered Jack. “Sorry. Not helpful.” He gave a plucky smile. “I could cheer us up by singing an old chain-gang ditty I picked up in Wetwhistle one time.”

  “Not if I sit on your head, you couldn’t,” growled Esmeralda. She looked at Trundle. “How could you have just handed the crown and the key over to him like that?”

  “I didn’t hand them over,” Trundle protested. “He took them.”

  “He wouldn’t have took them from me!”

  “Well, if you’re so clever—”

  “Chaps, chaps!” interrupted Jack. “Arguing won’t get us anywhere.” He stood up. “Positive action is what’s required now, and lots of it.”

  He looked down at the gloomy hedgehogs for a few moments, then turned on his heel and went striding along the wall. Whistling gaily to himself, he vanished around a corner.

  Trundle glanced at Esmeralda. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You trusted me with the crown and the key, and I totally let you down.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t your fault,” said Esmeralda. “Who knew that was going to happen?”

  There was a short silence before Trundle spoke again. “And I’m sorry that your aunty turned out to be such a … such a…”

  “Pig-dog-rat-fink-skunk-monster from Boweldeeps?” Esmeralda finished. “Yes, so am I.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe that she’s in cahoots with Grizzletusk.” She looked at Trundle. “I don’t even want to think about what would happen if those pirates ever got their hands on the Six Crowns.”

  “ ‘What would happen?” Trundle asked. “Didn’t I just tell you I don’t want to think about it?”

  “Yes, but … well, I know the rhyme—‘if power ye seek,’ and all that. But exactly what kind of power do the crowns have? What would happen if they were all gathered together?”

  “No one knows,” Esmeralda replied. “That’s what’s so scary. The last time the Six Crowns were all in one place, the whole world blew up! Aunt Millie seems to think Grizzletusk will just meekly hand the crowns over to her if she pays him enough—but I seriously doubt it. I think he’ll keep the crowns for himself.” She gave him a bleak look. “Would you want a source of power like that to fall into the hands of pirates?”

  “No, not much,” Trundle said miserably.

  Just then, Jack came pattering back, grinning from ear to ear. “Come with me,” he said. “I’ve got a plan.”

  They got up and followed him to the corner of the wall. At the point where the wall turned, it began a steep climb up the natural rock of the cone-shaped island. Walls and battlements and towers climbed up and up above them across a cracked rock face studded with gnarled and twisted trees and barbed with thorny bushes. Jack pointed up through the branches of a straggly hawthorn. “See that scaffolding?” he said. Trundle saw it—a construction of wooden beams and planks and poles pressing up against the walls about sixty feet above their heads.

  “That’s our way in,” said Jack. “Up the scaffolding and over the walls. What do you say?”

  “I say, ‘Well done, Jack,’” said Esmeralda.

  And so they began the long, steep climb up to the scaffolding. Jack went first, scouting out the easiest route and helping them when they got stuck.

  It was hard going, and Trundle was soon puffing and blowing as he heaved himself up the knuckled fists of rock. He paused, panting. Jack peered at him, grinning as usual. “Come on, stumpy legs,” he said, reaching down a helpful paw. “We’re almost there.”

  “I happen to have rather elegant legs,” Trundle gasped, “for a hedgehog.”

  “Good for you,” laughed Jack.

  “Get a move on!” panted Esmeralda, from beneath.

  Trundle made a final effort, and soon the three of them were standing directly under the scaffolding. They could see why it was needed—a great crumbling crack ran down the length of the wall, and part of the stonework was bulging out in a very precarious manner. Unfortunately, the zigzagging crack wasn’t wide enough to climb through.

  “This scaffold looks like it’s been here for years,” Esmeralda said, eyeing the network of poles and beams and spars and timbers. “Do you think it’s safe?”

  “Of course it is,” said Jack. “Watch!” He spat on his paws and then went scurrying up the scaffolding while Esmeralda and Trundle watched from below.

  Jack’s head bobbed out from the top of the scaffolding. “As easy as that!” he called down.

  The two hedgehogs looked at each other.

  “Here goes nothing,” said Trundle, reaching for the first beam.

  It was a nerve-wracking and a tricky and an awkward climb, but Jack was always there to help out when things got really difficult, and it was not too long before Trundle and Esmeralda were standing on the lofty and creaking summit of the scaffold.

  “It’s probably not a good idea to look down if you’re not used to heights,” Jack warned them.

  “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to!” said Esmeralda.

  Moving slowly, and clinging on with both hands whenever possible, the two hedgehogs followed Jack across the scaffolding and onto the top of the wall. Then they jumped down onto a narrow walkway.

  Curiosity overcoming his fear, Trundle peered down. Far below, he saw cloisters and courtyards and quadrangles linked by pathways that wound between the tall, heavily ornamented buildings. Even in their slow decay, the buildings were magnificent and breathtaking, with their tall arched windows of colored glass and their pillars and pediments, their sculpted architraves and cornices, and their rooftop gargoyles and statues.

  And even at this height, the taller towers and steeples surged up above them like ornate stalagmites, topped with stone-carved stars and suns and crescent moons.

  Staring up at the timeless hugeness of it all, Trundle suddenly felt dreadfully small and unimportant.

  “Oi! What are you doing up here?”

  Trundle’s thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a rough voice. A badger in workman’s clothes and a cloth cap, holding a bricklayer’s hod, was staring at them from farther along the wall.

  “Run!” said Esmeralda.

  They ran, pursued by the steady clomping of hobnailed boots and by gruff shouts. “Come back here! I’ll report you!”

  The precarious walkway led them to a narrow flight of stone steps that disappeared into a small opening in a round turret. They plunged headlong into the turret and raced up a spiral stairway. It led them to a flat rooftop encircled by low battlements. They ran from side to side. There was no obvious way down. They could hear the echoing thud of the workman’s boots coming up the stairs.

  Jack pointed across to a nearby rooftop of copper sheets, green with verdigris. “We can jump,” he said.

  “Never,” gasped Trundle, staring down into the long drop between.

  “Easy as pie!” said Jack. He climbed up onto the battlements, paused for a few moments, then jumped. He handed light-footedly on the other side.

  Esmeralda and Trundle hesitated. That kind of thing was easy enough for a squirrel! They didn’t have much time to make up their minds; the irate badger was almost upon them.

  They clasped hands and stepped up onto the battlements.

  “On three,” said Esmeralda.

  Trundle nodded, too terrified to speak.

  “One … two … three!”

  And with that, they launched themselves headlong off the battlements.

  Trundle’s stomach turned over several times as he and Esmeralda flew hand in hand through the air. The impossible gulf yawned under his feet. Then there was a crash and a thud as they landed safely on the copper roof.

  “Phew!” gasped Esmeralda. “Who knew hedgehogs could fly?”r />
  Following Jack, they tottered along the sloping roof until they came to a small dormer window. Jack quickly had the window open, and in a few moments they were all standing together on the bare and dusty wooden floorboards of a deserted attic room.

  “We’re in!” panted Esmeralda.

  “That we are,” said Jack. “Neat as you like!”

  “Now what?” asked Trundle.

  “Now we go get the crown and the key back!” said Esmeralda, heading for the door.

  The long wood-paneled corridor was quite empty. Sunlight slanted in through mullioned windows, picking out old oil paintings of elderly, severe-looking badgers in dark robes. There were many doors. All of them were closed.

  “All clear,” whispered Trundle, creeping down the last couple of steps of the attic stairway. Esmeralda and Jack emerged with him into the long, silent corridor.

  “So far, so good,” said Jack, peering up at a suit of armor that stood glowering in a corner. “Nice-looking fellow,” he said, eyeing the double-edged battle-ax held between the gauntlets.

  There was a muffled sound of movement from somewhere close by. Trundle saw a door handle turning.

  “Get back!” he hissed. Esmeralda and Jack scrambled back up the stairs, and Trundle ducked behind the suit of armor.

  The door opened. Peeping from between the leg armor, Trundle saw a bespectacled old badger in long purple robes come sweeping into the corridor. He was followed by a scuttling line of hedgehogs and voles and squirrels, all dressed in brown habits, and all tottering under the weight of scrolls and parchments and books and folders.

  As he swept majestically along, Trundle could hear the elderly badger talking rapidly to himself.

  “… with no equator, save that which can be extrapolated from the relative positions of the islands in situ and calculated as an empirical mathematical inevitability, using the explosion as point zero, how do we now utilize the meta-planispheric astrolabe without taking into account the effects of the gravitational pull of both the sun itself and those higher bodies in the Sundered Lands which, it must be admitted…”