Snap

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  In a voice as tiny as a whisper, Nathan mumbled, “As the Lord of Clarr, I have power over the key. I command you –” and the tiger disappeared into the dazzling pink sunshine.

  Everyone gasped, rushing to Nathan and hugging him, trembling and cheering in a mixture of fear and relief.

  Between sobs, Poppy kissed Nathan’s cheek, and said, “We have to rescue Granny.”

  “I know,” sighed Nathan. “But everyone else has to go home. It may be really dangerous.”

  The geese had returned, having been quietly hidden behind rocks while the tiger spoke. Now Hermes slapped one webbed foot on the grass, and declared, “I shall volunteer my services, my lord. I am more accustomed to the ways of Lashtang and have considerable knowledge regarding the Tower of Clarr. I am a servant of Clarr, and I have met with the magnificent Lady Octobr. Permit me to help you, my lord.”

  John nodded violently. “Well, I ain’t no servant and I ain’t got no knives nor keys nor titles. But I ain’t going nowhere neither, lest I comes wiv you now. Wake up, Nat. We’s in this together.”

  “I’m coming too,” said Sam. “I’m good with cats. Though I prefer them a bit smaller.”

  “That beast was talking about keys,” said Peter. “That means me. So I’m coming.”

  “You know I won’t leave, Nat dear,” Alice smiled. “You helped me when I was in desperate need. Would I desert you now?”

  Alfie stood his ground. “Don’t you go talking to me of running off,” he said, looking grim. “Cos I ain’t leaving. If you finks I’s a rotten coward, just reckon you’d better keep it to yerself, for I ain’t afraid o’ nuffing.”

  Nathan hung his head. “None of you know how dangerous a tiger is. And even I don’t really know how dangerous this country can be.”

  It did not look dangerous at all. The sun continued shining the pink and lilac dawn having turned to a golden morning, and the treetops fluttered in the light breeze. The snowy peaks of the mountains were a long way off and the grassy slopes led for many miles across the peaceful land. But there was no bird song.

  Poppy said, “No birds? Are they too frightened?”

  But Nathan had no idea. He turned to Hermes. “My friends want to help,” he said, frowning and worried. “But I don’t want them hurt. Is it too dangerous?”

  “Well, naturally, my lord,” replied the goose. “But you cannot go alone. Even the Lord of Clarr cannot approach Clarr with no one beside him.”

  “It’s my grandmother too,” said Poppy between gritted teeth.

  “We’s all coming,” John said, pushing in front. “Stop wasting time, Nat. D’you knows where ta go?”

  “My lord, we geese know the way,” Hermes assured Nathan. “We will take you, if you take up your previous positions. Passengers, please board at once.”

  They scrambled on, legs behind wings, arms around necks, excited, flustered and a little frightened. Nathan had never before imagined himself obeying a goose, but nor could he ever have imagined any single thing that had happened to him for the past few months. The breeze was in his hair, cooling the flush on his face. Only one small thing reassured him, and that was the tiger’s abrupt disappearance as soon as he held up the knife and claimed lordship, commanding the right of Clarr.

  Once again Hermes led, with the other geese fanned out behind him. Nathan was able to look down with considerable interest and watch the changing countryside below. At first there were no buildings. There were no farms, nor fields of crops, no roads and not even animals. The grass stretched onwards over a considerable distance, but then it began to rise into rock piles and craggy mounds of pale stone. The foothills of the mountains beyond were flecked with ice, and then Nathan began to see buildings, although many lay in ruins. Within high roofed caves in the mountains’ sheer rises, there stood the debris form palaces, temples and buildings that had once been vast and beautiful. Through the tumbledown walls, their painted ceilings, mirrors and marble arches shone like sad reminders of the glory of the past. Even some tattered loops of furniture remained, but there were also blackened and burned out piles of rubble.

  Peering in as they flew, Nathan saw pits and marks of fire. These were the signs he knew well, and wondered what battles had occurred here. The destruction spread wide, until throughout the lower slopes there were old books, armour and clothes piled up, and mossy heaps of broken marble statues, walls and gold hinged doorways.

  Poppy called out, and pointed. “Look. There’s smoke.”

  It was Alfie who called from behind. Ain’t no way smoke. Tis wot you gets when steams hits ice.”

  “Condensation,” murmured Alice. “And an avenue of icicles, stalactites, and frozen waterfalls.” She twisted around. “Look through there. It’s a road, leading into the mountain. A road of ice.”

  The geese flew higher, and the air began to cool. Where there had been warmth and the glimmering gold of the sun, now there was a bright blue sky shimmering with frost, clouds that hung in pendulous drops of white freeze, as though even the sky above echoed the ground below.”

  “How can clouds turn into ice?”

  “This is Lashtang,” murmured Nathan. “I suppose anything can happen.”

  There was a ledge hewn into the mountainside. It was narrow and slippery with iced puddles, but here the geese landed, breath harsh.

  “We can go no further,” Hermes said with an apologetic sniff. “We cannot fly through the ice of Clarr, even with the knife to guide us, unless the curse is lifted. It fights against us and we are forbidden to pass. We cannot either breathe, nor stretch our wings.” Several of the birds were plucking tiny icicles from their feathers. Already their flat feet slipped on the icy ground.

  “Then stay where you’re safe,” Nathan said at once. “Just tell us where to go.” He was finding it difficult to breathe himself, for the air was not only bitterly cold, it held a barrier within it, as if he was being pushed back. His clothes were warm enough, but he wished he had his medieval eiderdown to wrap around him. Then he realised that Alice wore only her bedrobe, which was far lighter than a dressing gown, and he hurried over. “It’s too cold for you. Stay with the geese. Cuddle up. Their feathers will keep you warm.”

  “I’ve fought the baron and his ugly brother. So I can fight a tiger.”

  “You can’t fight ice.” He turned to Alfie. “Make her keep warn.”

  Immediately Alfie wrapped his cape around her, and tucked her up beside the geese, half hidden beneath their feathered wings. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Now, I reckon I’s ready. Lead on. Tis a dream I want to finish.” Too cold to argue, Alice stayed with the geese as the others stared forwards, ready to march the ice paths.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Follow the road,” the goose had said. “When the road is closed by rock and wall, then climb. And when you can climb no more, you will find the entrance to the tower. But remember this,” and he stretched up his neck, as though indicating power, “Enter, and search for the eternal chain. You hold the knife. It is only the Knife of Clarr which will cut the chain, and release us all.”

  They grouped together without any clear leader, but Nathan kept the knife tight clasped. The road they had been told to follow wound from the rocky outlet where Alice and the geese remained tucked against the cliff to lessen the wind and cold, Onwards into dark shadows it continued, winding like a narrow throat between clenched jaws. The chill increased. Although now sheltered from the wind, the ice seemed to grow out from the walls, shedding slivers of white ooze, as though the pathway itself was creating the freeze. There was no roof and above just a thin slice of sky showed, pale and clouded. Then even that disappeared and the ground became dangerously slippery. After Sam had fallen three times and Peter four times, John laughed.

  “Reckon this ruddy mountain is trying ta spit us back.”

  And Nathan realised that this was exactly what was happening.

  Abruptly they stopped, and before soared an uneven wall of rock, a great cliff face of dripping s
talactites and mossy ledges.

  “We have to climb,” Nathan sighed. It looked challenging, and he had never been much of a climber before.

  “Easy,” said Poppy, pushing in front. “But not in a long skirt and funny cloak.”

  “Too cold to take them capes off.”

  “Tie them around you. And Poppy, tie your skirts up.”

  The climb was tedious and slow. There were many places to grasp and step, but most were slippery with ice, suddenly melting water, or wet weeds and lichens. Fingers could not hold tight enough and toes slipped. The tumble from one grasp back to the previous one below was repeated over and over and everyone, except Alfie, was soon covered in aches and bruises.

  Alfie smiled at them all. “You ain’t right good at this, is you lot.”

  “No.” Peter looked up, having landed with a bump on a ledge of soaked pebbles, each falling beneath him with a scatter of gravel. “It’s too cold and too slippy.”

  Nathan, attempting to keep a safe grip on his knife, found it almost impossible, but his school shoes had rubbery soles, and held well to the ice, and although his fingertips were numb he was managing better than some others.

  With a sigh of relief, Poppy pointed upwards. “It’s a doorway. That’s what Hermes said, isn’t it? When you can climb no more, that’s when the door to the tower shows. Or is it a trick? How many doors can there be?”

  This had not actually occurred to Nathan, and he paused, both feet steady, wedged into a crack in the stone, and both hands to another. The knife was safe in a hidden pocket. “I’ll risk the first door, and hope for the best.”

  The scramble to the doorway was immediate, and everyone breathed deep. Only Alfie dared look back down the steep cliff to the way they had come, and he shivered, looking quickly away again. The precipice fell sheer and frozen below, and to fall now would surely have meant death.

  The doorway was high arched and decorated with patterns of mosaic, closed off with a door of carved wood, dark and battered, and an overhang of icicles. There was no handle on the door, but in the centre was a very large keyhole. Surrounded by plates of iron, there was neither key nor any manner of peering through the opening. Squinting, John was attempting to peer inside, but shook his head saying, “Tis so dark. Can’t see nuffing.”

  “Let me.” Peter pushed past.

  Nathan held up the knife. “I’ll see if I can help.” The knife was gleaming, as if it recognised its home. “Open,” called Nathan. “Let Peter in.”

  The door shuddered. It did not swing open as Nathan had hoped, but instead the keyhole began to squeak and creak, the iron surround groaned, and very slowly the entire keyhole enlarged.

  As the door hinges squealed as though their metal was stretched beyond breaking, the keyhole magnified again and again, widening until it cracked, then widened more. It no longer resembled an actual keyhole, but more like a small dark tunnel.

  Peter stared. “I think I can climb in.”

  Nathan, astonished, looked from the door to the knife and back again. “When I said to let Peter in, this definitely isn’t what I meant.”

  “No matter.” Peter was smiling. “Look. It’s big enough if I squeeze and squeeze. And big enough for Sam and probably Poppy too. Then we can either unlock it from inside, or find another way to open the door.”

  With a hoist up from Alfie, Peter was already climbing into the keyhole. He lay on his stomach, wriggling bit by bit. Laughing, Sam followed. “Look,” he called back. “Just like Mouse.”

  Before Poppy had a chance to follow, the door swung open. “There’s a handle on the inside,” Peter told them. “Easy.”

  They rested first, catching their breath. It was still icy cold, but they were able to rub feeling back into their fingers, stamp their feet, and prepare for the next exploration.

  Alfie looked at Nathan. “Now reckon you goes first, Nat, he said. “Hold up that knife o’yourn. But I’s not mighty sure wot we’s looking for.”

  None of them knew. The Eternal Chain could be anything. “A real iron chain perhaps. Wound around a pole.”

  “Or wound around a cage with Granny in it.”

  “Could be a rope, I reckon.”

  But, Nathan thought, it might not be anything visible at all. It might be a symbol, an invisible barrier, or something even more difficult and dangerous. Meanwhile Poppy was calling, “Granny, where are you? If you can hear us, please answer. Where are you?”

  There was no answer but her voice began a journey of echoes as though the sound alone started to search, sliding upwards and downwards, slipping around corners, and rebounding from ceilings. As they all stood there, uncomfortable, puzzled and fearful, the voice came back to them from a hundred directions until it shouted and screamed, and they all held their hands to their ears.

  Finally, as the echoing voice faded and the last thrum died, they stared at each other, not daring to speak. Eventually, holding the knife up and out before him, Nathan began silently to walk from the open doorway into the tower.

  The entrance was circular, high roofed, and windowless. The ceiling was painted with intricate designs, too shadowed to see clearly, arched and domed but without beams. The walls were stone and around their base were six open arches, and no windows, In the centre of this circular entrance was a many faceted mosaic, incorporating an arrow pointing to each of the six openings, but without any clear indication of where they led.

  Poppy hopped from one to the other. Carefully keeping her voice to a virtual whisper, she said, “Look, this one has a picture of a flame and a sort of spoon. Perhaps it’s the kitchen.”

  “Reckon this is a bed,” pointed John. “Like a plumped up mattress wiv coloured blankets.”

  Guesses, possibilities, and Nathan shook his head, whispering, “Not sure. Those pictures don’t look like beds and spoons to me. If it’s a bed, then all the blankets have fallen off.”

  “Tis a puzzle.”

  Poppy looked up with a sudden smile. “That’s exactly what it is,” she said, risking a voice just a little louder than a whisper. “We have to solve the puzzle.”

  It was John who promptly sat on the polished mosaic floor in the midst of the strange patterns, and looked closely at each. “Don’t reckon this is a spoon,” he decided, pointing to the arrow which Poppy had guessed as the kitchen. “I reckon tis a spade. Burning and digging.”

  “And that ain’t no bed,” pointed Alfie. “Tis a trap, wiv curtains.”

  “Maybe that one’s a throne.” Nathan remembered the throne Brewster had claimed, sitting on the velvet chair with his cackle and top hat askew. Crimson and gold, he remembered it well. “What do the rest of you think? If this points to the throne room, then that’s where we could go first.”

  “Six arrows and six arches,” nodded John. “So – mighty lucky – six of us. Reckon we try one each.”

  “No. We keep together, Too dangerous.”

  “So let’s sit down and work out these puzzles,” said Poppy. ‘This is all streaky and white. Like icicles. Or stalagmite’s.”

  Nathan was staring, but he saw nothing. It was his memory that clicked in, and suddenly he started to chant in a voice that did not even sound like his own.

  “Lashtang Tower, dark as night with no moon,

  Lashtang Palace, blazing with flame.

  One whispers soft the Hazlett name,

  The other roars. Both hide your tomb.

  Come taste the flames, come taste the ice.

  Nightmare beckons, dreams of death.

  Enter. Now breathe your final breath.

  Peace at last, but Lashtang claims the price.

  “We mustn’t choose any door that says fire, or ice, or that throne. They are all traps. And the curtain, well, that must be the veil. It’s the way out of Lashtang, which would be a great escape, but we’re not ready to leave yet.”

  “So it ain’t that way.” John, still sitting in the centre of the mosaic, banged his fist down where the arrow pointed to flame and spade. “Reck
on it means we’ll be burned and buried. And not ‘ere, neither.” He pointed to the curtain. “Nor all them ice things, whatever you calls them. Icicles. Nor that mighty big chair, you says. So, four out. Two ta go.”

  “That one,” wondered Peter, “might be a wind. Look. Whizzing around and around.”

  “Perhaps Brewster’s balloon.”

  “No,” Peter insisted, jumping on the edge and following the whirlwind with his foot. “There’s a key in the middle. It’s a key flying, and it’s in the shape of that strange tiger, with black and red stripes. A tiger key.”

  “Then it’s the last doorway we want to take. That only leaves one,” said Nathan. “But what does the last one say. It’s almost empty. Just the arrow with something around it.”

  “Reckon I knows what that is,” said Alfie. “I seen enough of them when we done helped Alice get her house back. Parchment it is. Documents. Them legal things what I can’t read.”

  Nathan clapped his hands. “Brilliant. So that’s Octobr, which means the claim, and just what we want.” He looked from one to the other. “Are we sure? Shall we go?”

  Only Sam looked troubled, mumbling to himself about prisons instead of parchments, but he nodded, not wanting to be left behind. But even with agreement, no one was eager to hurry. Bunched together with the knife glowing as Nathan held it up before them, they crept through the archway and into the shadows beyond. The darkness engulfed them and it remained bitterly cold, but there was no ice. It neither hung in icicles, nor dripped from walls or ceiling. The ground was dry, flat, and wide, much like any passage in an unlit house. Nathan heard his own heartbeat as if it was as loud as thunder, and his breath caught in his throat, but he led the way, testing each footstep before moving onwards.

  Gradually the light from the knife began to shimmer and grow until it dazzled like a star, and they could finally see around them. Not that there was a great deal to see, for the walls were stone, the ceiling low beamed in heavy wood, and the ground was also stone, unpolished and undecorated. A draught blew behind them from the outside door which they had intentionally left open, but it was not as freezing as it had been before.