Fair Wind to Widdershins

by Allan Jones

  “There,” he said, dusting his paws together. “I never did like those guards, noisy, brutal, dim-witted creatures that they are.” He smiled genially at the three friends. “Now then,” he continued. “Allow me to introduce myself, my young friends. I am the Herald Pursuivant, Keeper of Scrolls, and Personal Secretary to His Nibs the Highmost Chancellor of the Worshipful Guild of Observators.” His smile widened. “But you can call me Percy. Now then, might you tell me who you are and what those things are that you’re carrying, and why you are being pursued through these hallowed corridors by armed guards?”

  “I’m Esmeralda Lightfoot,” said Esmeralda. “And this is Trundle and this is Jack, and this”—she held up the crown—“is the Crystal Crown of the Badger Lords of Old, whether you believe me or not!”

  “Why should I not believe you?” Percy asked mildly.

  “Well, your boss didn’t,” said Jack.

  “He ordered us out of his office and set the guards on us!” added Trundle.

  “Ah, well, His Nibs is not at his best if his mid-morning nap is interrupted,” said Percy. “But even at the best of times, some of us are more open-minded than others. May I?” He lifted the crown from Esmeralda’s hands and turned it slowly so that its crystals glittered and sparked. “What a lovely thing!” he said. “And where did you find it?”

  “In Drune,” said Esmeralda. “And this key was with it.”

  “We came here because one of the seals on the handle is the coat of arms of the ancient kings of Widdershins,” said Trundle. “I don’t suppose you’d know what the other one is?”

  “We think it’s a clue for finding the next crown,” said Jack. “So it would be handy if you recognized it.”

  Percy handed the crown back to Esmeralda and took the key. He stepped over to the window and peered carefully at it in the light.

  “Yes, that’s definitely the escutcheon of the ancient kings,” he said. “But I don’t have the least idea what the other seal is.”

  “You mean we’ve come all this way for nothing?” groaned Esmeralda.

  “Not at all,” said Percy with a smile. “Just because I don’t recognize the seal doesn’t mean we won’t be able to find out what it is.”

  “You can do that for us?” asked Trundle. “Really and truly?”

  “I believe I can,” said Percy. He handed the key back to Esmeralda. “Keep it safe,” he told her. “We must go to the upper ancillary library annex—I think the book we need will be there. Come along with me.”

  He led them out of the office via a back door and along narrow corridors lined with yet more bulging shelves.

  “Excuse me for asking,” Trundle ventured as they walked along, “but what exactly is it that you people do here? What are observators?”

  “We’re scientists,” said Percy. “We measure and check and annotate, we calculate and cipher and compute, we evaluate and determine and prognosticate, we value and weigh and consider every tiny aspect of the Sundered Lands. It’s our privilege and our bounden duty to create a scientific basis for everything that has ever happened in this world, and everything that is happening right now, and everything that will ever happen.” He smiled. “It’s quite a task, I can tell you!”

  “I would imagine so,” said Trundle. “Forgive me for asking … but why do you do all those things?”

  “To accumulate knowledge, my lad,” said Percy with a hint of pride in his voice. “It’s a never-ending task, you know. For instance, the Directorate of Spatial Interluditudes has the task of measuring the distances between every single island in the whole of the Sundered Lands.”

  “Lawks!” said Jack.

  “Lawks indeed, my fine fellow,” agreed Percy. “The problem is that the islands are constantly moving about by tiny amounts, so no sooner is the chart complete than they have to start all over again.”

  “Phew!” Esmeralda blew out her cheeks. “What a total waste of time.”

  “The search for knowledge is never a waste of time!” said Percy. “Ah! Here we are. Almost there!”

  He opened a door. They walked out into a wide corridor.

  A bunch of armed guards were loitering nearby. They turned and raised their weapons as they saw the three friends emerge through the doorway.

  “Got you!” leered one of them. “But you don’t have to come quietly—in fact, make as much noise as you like! I love the sound of screaming prisoners!”

  The three companions backed away from the looming guards, Trundle fumbling for his sword.

  “What’s going on here?” asked the Herald Pursuivant, coming through the doorway and looking the guards up and down.

  “Escorting prisoners to the dungeons, sir,” said the chief guard, standing up stiffly and saluting. “As per Doctor Brockwise’s orders, sir.”

  “Nonsense,” said Percy. “These fellows are my new apprentice clerks. I think you must have made some kind of mistake, Sergeant Fawkes.”

  “Don’t think so, begging your pardon, sir,” said Fawkes. “We was told they’d have a crown and a key on ’em.” He pointed to Esmeralda. “She’s got them very objects in her mitts, sir.”

  “Indeed she has,” agreed Percy. “They belong to my archives and are no concern of yours,” he continued, a stern tone entering his voice. “And the longer you waste time bandying words with me, Fawkes, the farther from your clutches the real perpetrators will be!” His eye glinted. “Chop, chop, Sergeant! There are dangerous fugitives on the loose!”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant spun on his heel. “About face, men. Quick march!” The guards stomped off down the corridor. As they rounded the corner, Trundle saw the sergeant give the three of them a rather peeved look.

  “Nice going, Percy,” grinned Esmeralda.

  The Herald Pursuivant now led them to a tall circular room lined with bookshelves. A spiral staircase on wheels wound its way up to the high, domed glass ceiling. In the middle of the room stood a round marble-topped table.

  Percy wheeled the staircase around and then climbed up to a high shelf. Tucking a book under his arm, he came back down. He laid the book carefully on the tabletop. It was big and thick, bound with brown leather with curious patterns and designs embossed on it.

  Trundle gazed at the title, picked out in gold leaf.

  Ye Complyte and Uttre Tome of Insignias and Arms, Cheerfullie Illustrated

  Trundle’s snout wrinkled as Percy opened the book. Its dusty and musty smell tickled his nose till he wanted to sneeze.

  “This book lists every coat of arms, motto, escutcheon, crest, charge, badge, and tincture ever used in heraldry,” Percy explained as he turned the thick, creaking pages. “Show me the key again, Esmeralda.”

  She held it up so he could see the mysterious seal.

  “Hmm, hmmm,” he said, turning more pages. “A saltire with bars and bells, hmm, hmm.”

  Trundle peered around his elbow, dazzled by the number of different coats of arms on display. There were several on each page, all in full color and each with an explanation beneath in rich Gothic text.

  “I think we’re narrowing it down,” said Percy. “It’s definitely the coat of arms of one of the ancient guilds.”

  “How many different guilds are there?” asked Esmeralda.

  “Originally, there were three thousand nine hundred and seventy-two,” said Percy.

  “Lummy!” exclaimed Jack. “We could be here for days!”

  “I don’t think so,” said Percy. “The silver saltires suggest it is a guild of scientists and mechanics.” He tapped at the key with a fingernail. “And those bells are the most significant of all!” He turned several more pages. “Hah! Yes, the bell is the sign of the Ancient Guild of Horologists!”

  “Who-what-ogists?” asked Esmeralda.

  “Clockmakers, to you,” said Percy.

  “It’s a winding key for a clock!” said Trundle excitedly. “We never once thought of that. How marvelous!”

  “Now all we need do is find the clock it was made for
,” added Jack.

  “It must be here in Widdershins,” said Esmeralda.

  “I can’t think that it would be anywhere else,” Percy agreed. “Such a large old key must fit a large old clock.”

  “Are there any large old clocks around here?” asked Jack.

  “Several,” said Percy. “But none of them is big enough to need such an impressive key.” He rubbed his chin. “This is most perplexing.”

  “Please, Percy—do think!” urged Esmeralda. “It must be a very big and a very special clock.”

  “I know, I know,” mused the Herald Pursuivant. “Now, where can it be? Wait!” His sudden yell made Trundle jump. “The old clock tower! It’s in Bodger’s Quad, out by the Tower of the Swollen Gargoyles in the West Ward. Hmm, tricky.”

  “Why tricky?” asked Trundle.

  “Because that area is out of bounds,” said Percy. “No one is allowed to go there.”

  “Hah!” declared Esmeralda. “So someone knows something about it and wants to keep people out, eh?”

  “Not exactly,” said Percy. “It’s out of bounds because it’s falling to pieces. It’s a ruin. I’m not sure we can risk going there without help. I’ll go and speak with Doctor Brockwise. I’ll tell him everything and suggest he equip an expeditionary party to enter Bodger’s Quad. Then we can investigate slowly and safely.”

  “Um, Percy,” said Esmeralda, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You see, we haven’t told you the whole tale.”

  “Indeed?” said Percy, his eyebrows lifting. “Then perhaps you should.”

  And so Esmeralda, with interjections from Jack and Trundle, explained about Millie Rose Thorne and the pirates and how the Iron Pig could turn up at any minute now, which would mean unpleasantness and slaughter and similar bad things.

  “So you see, Percy, we’re on a bit of a deadline,” finished Esmeralda.

  “And on top of that,” added Trundle, “we’re pretty sure that Esmeralda’s aunt sent a raven messenger here. It passed us on the way, and it gave me a very nasty look.”

  “Which means someone here may already know about us,” said Esmeralda. “So the quicker we find the next crown and get out of here, the better.”

  “I see,” said Percy. “Well, under the circumstances, I think we should definitely risk the perils of Bodger’s Quad, come what may!”

  Percy took them by unused routes and deserted thoroughfares right across the great expanse of the guild’s property. Trundle became aware after a while that things were beginning to look rather tumble-down.

  They walked along a dusty, rubbish-filled corridor. A door swung open on one hinge, leading only to a gaping hole in the ground. They crossed a courtyard surrounded by ruined buildings that reared up around them like broken teeth. Tough grasses sprouted from between pavingstones. Spiky bushes shouldered up between rotting bricks. Ivy crawled over buildings with broken glass in their eyes and with caved-in roofs like rib bones against the sky.

  “This is Bodger’s Quad,” said Percy as the four of them squeezed through a small gap in a broken-backed arched gateway.

  A square courtyard stood before them, the pavingstones rank with weeds and rustling grasses, the dilapidated buildings crawling with bell weed and thick-stemmed ivy. It smelled strongly of decay and rot. In the middle of all the dereliction, a tall square tower rose in a cloak of ivy. At the top of the tower, just visible through ivy leaves and tendrils, was a large clockface.

  “I hope the stairs are intact,” said Esmeralda as they approached the tower.

  She was in for a disappointment. The only entrance was clogged with rubble.

  “It looks like all the innards must have collapsed years ago,” said Jack disconsolately, kicking a big chunk of stone. “What a mess!”

  Esmeralda stepped back and stared up through the clinging ivy.

  “I suppose a brave and noble sort of person could climb up the outside,” she said thoughtfully. She looked at Trundle. “What do you think?”

  He opened his mouth to say that if she thought he was lunatic enough to try climbing all the way up to the top of the tower, she could think again. But he stopped. What was the point?

  “I’m afraid I’m rather too old for that kind of thing,” said Percy.

  “I could do it,” said Jack.

  “No,” said Trundle heavily. “I should climb up there if anyone does.”

  “He’s quite right,” said Esmeralda, looking admiringly at Trundle. “The Badger Blocks only showed the Princess in Darkness and the Lamplighter. Sorry, Jack, it’s great to have you along, but the quest belongs to me and Trundle—and I’m rotten with heights.” She looked at Trundle. “I’d do it otherwise,” she said.

  “Yes, I know you would,” he replied. “All right. Stand back, everyone, here goes nothing.”

  “If you fall, try to go limp,” said Jack. “You’ll break fewer bones that way.”

  “Thanks,” said Trundle. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  He took off his brown robes and handed his sword to Esmeralda. The last thing he needed was for the long blade to get tangled up in the ivy! Esmeralda gave him the key. Tucking it securely in his belt, he tested the strength of the ivy stems. They seemed to be firmly stapled to the stonework of the tower. He sighed and thought of his cozy sitting room back in Shiverstones. Adventures, he thought to himself, would be so much more pleasant if they didn’t involve quite so many near-death experiences.

  He began to climb, spluttering and coughing as the acrid ivy dust got into his nose. Fortunately the stems were very thick and solid, clinging on to the face of the tower with fierce rootlets that dug right in between the stones.

  The unpleasant smell of rank, decaying ivy and rotting stone got right into Trundle’s snout. Every now and then he had to pause to sneeze and to wipe the dust out of his eyes. He looked down, seeing the anxious faces of Percy and his two friends staring up at him from surprisingly far below.

  He took a deep breath and continued to climb. His foot caught in between two stems, and he had a perilous time getting himself free again. Things got even more hazardous when he had to drag himself over a lip of stone about halfway up the tower. He hung on for dear life, muttering prayers to the Protector of all Small Mammals as he dragged himself up and over the projection while twigs and leaves and bits and pieces of stonework went raining down.

  “Careful!” shouted Esmeralda, rather unnecessarily.

  Trundle stared upward through the ivy leaves. Not far to go now! He tested a stem and put his weight on it. It cracked, and he was left dangling, clinging on by his fingers with his feet hanging in the air.

  Terrified, he fought to keep his grip while he searched blindly with his feet for some secure hold. At last his scrabbling toes found a solid branch, and he was able to take some of the wrenching weight off his poor arms. He hung there for a few moments, gathering his wits, his heart hammering under his ribs. Then he started climbing again, shoving up through the ivy, hot and worn out and sick to death of this stupid tower.

  At last he came to a wide ledge near the top of the tower. He strained up and saw that the huge clockface was directly above him. “Come on, Trundle, my lad,” he panted. “You can do this!”

  He struggled and kicked and shoved and heaved and hauled and squirmed and finally found himself on the ledge, his prickles all covered in twigs and leaves, his arms and legs aching, his fingers almost numb with the effort.

  He heard hearty cheers from below. Clinging grimly to the ivy, he moved to the brink of the ledge and waved down. “I’m fine!” he called.

  There were more cheers from below.

  He was aware of thick layers of bird poo under his feet, sticky and squishy in the heat of the day and very smelly. Yuck! he thought. That’s all I needed.

  He could see quite a distance from this vantage point—across the ruination of the West Ward to where towers and turrets and steeples rose into the sky and windows shone like silver in the sun.

  A rusty iron rail emerg
ed from the darkness of the ivy on one side of the tower. It ran the length of the ledge and then curved back into the hidden stonework. How odd. He wondered what it was there for. Leaning back a little, he looked up at the huge clockface behind its veil of knotted ivy. He felt dwarfed by the round white disk—even the numerals that ringed its circumference were taller than he was.

  Now what? he thought to himself.

  Aha! Just above the numeral VI, he saw a dark keyhole set into the clockface.

  That’s it! That’s where the key goes!

  He assumed that there must be some small hatchway close by, through which, in ancient times, the Winder of the Clock would emerge to do his duty and to keep the clock ticking. But the clock was quite silent now, the hands tangled in ivy tendrils, the ironwork cloaked in a layer of thick red rust.

  Gripping the key between his teeth, Trundle climbed up the VI. The numerals had plenty of scrollwork on them, and it wasn’t too difficult to get to the top. Hanging on with one paw, Trundle took the key from between his teeth and tried to insert it in the hole.

  At first it wouldn’t go in. But he shoved and wriggled and pushed and poked, and finally the key slotted into place. He paused, gasping for breath, his muscles aching from the effort.

  “Try turning the key!” he heard Esmeralda shout up.

  “Great idea, Esmeralda,” he called down with heavy sarcasm. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Sorry. Just trying to be helpful.”

  Catching his breath, Trundle gripped the key and twisted. It refused to turn. He gritted his teeth and tried again, using all of his strength. Very gradually, and with a terrible grating noise, the key turned. A moment later, he heard machinery grinding into motion within the tower.

  Grrrrrnnngggg. Krrrrkkkk. Screeeeeeeeech. Claaaaaaaannnkkk.

  The noise was deafening, and as the workings of the huge clock slowly clanked into action, the whole tower began to shake and shudder. Trundle slipped off the top of the VI and slid down onto the ledge with a bump, clutching frantically at the ivy and almost tumbling off as the crumbling stonework shivered and quivered all around him. Chunks of masonry went crashing downward. Esmeralda and Jack and Percy had to leap away from the foot of the tower to avoid being brained by the falling debris.