He looked around in panic. So it was possible to be heard, but not easy. Poppy tried again and this time she shouted. “I’m going to set you free.” At once the others frowned and began to peer into the cell’s dark corners.
“Did someone speak?” asked one of the prisoners, but the others shook their heads.
Suddenly Poppy stood up. She had realised something important. The magic fountain had sent her down to the dungeons, but this must have been in answer to her own earlier decision. She had insisted they should go to the dungeons to rescue anyone put there. So the fountain had not been cruel. It had been kind. And her one hand was still wet, so she lifted those fingers, kissed one so the water was on her lips, and said, “I want these people to see me and hear me and then I want to save them all.”
Abruptly she sat down again, right in the middle of the dirty stone floor, and quickly realised that everyone was staring at her. The young injured man mumbled, “A girl. Look. Where did you come from?”
“I didn’t hear the door unlocked,” said another.
The old man crawled to his knees, and then fell backwards, leaning against the wall. “Tis magic again,” he said. “My boy is the wickedest wizard in the whorls, tis the evil of his grandmother coming back. And we shall all suffer for it.”
Poppy asked, “Are you Deben’s father?”
The old man was astonished, and his mouth fell open. “How do you know his real name, lass?” he asked. “You’ll be killed if you talk.”
“Thrown to the crocodiles,” nodded the man with the bleeding leg.
“Yes,” Poppy nodded. “This is a dangerous place. Let me see if I can get us out. I wish Peter was here to unpick the lock. Or better still, just all go somewhere warm and cosy.” Having no particular idea where the fountain’s magic water might take them, Poppy simply hoped it would work, for certainly now everyone could see and hear her.
“Don’t reckon I can walk,” said the one with the bad leg. “But to get away from here, I’ll be happy to crawl. Anything to get away from the crocodiles.”
“Is that a crocodile bite?” Poppy asked, and the man groaned and nodded.
It was the old man who had spoken of his evil son who now stood, shaking and shivering. “Too dangerous,” he whispered. “I know my son. He wants me dead. He will throw us all to the crocodiles.”
“Hush,” said another man, clutching at his apron. “I can hear footsteps.”
The great doors were unlocked, the key squeaking and grating, and finally inching open. A great big burly guard holding a small trembling boy, came marching in and threw the boy to the stone floor. He collapsed, sobbing. Behind the guard stood a skinny man who was sniggering as he stood blocking the door in case anyone tried to make a run for it.
“Deben,” called the old man in a cracked voice.
The skinny man turned in fury, and Poppy could see that it was indeed the false Ninester who had been feasting in the great hall an hour previously.
But as Deben and the guard both marched on the old man who claimed to be Deben’s father, the most unexpected thing happened.
The shadows closed in and utter blackness took over. Then the blackness started to roll and spin, as though caught in a tornado. No one could see a thing, even Poppy, and although she could feel solid ground under her feet, she also feel herself thrown and tumbled as the world went in circles, pulling everyone with it.
Deben roared and screamed, but everyone else, extremely frightened, remained silent. And then, as suddenly as it had all started, it stopped. The world stopped spinning. The darkness cleared, and a clear moonlight pooled across them all. They were no longer in the palace dungeon. Indeed, they were no longer in Lashtang. They all stood, staring and shivering, outside the Parry household in Bishopsgate.
There was bright candlelight in the windows, the house looked wonderfully welcoming, and above them, shining down was the great round moon, and a thousand twinkling stars.
One man looked up, stuttering, “Where’s the other moon?”
“There’s only one moon here,” smiled Poppy, who was the only one who understood, and the only one who was happy. “We’re not in Lashtang anymore. We’re in old London.”
Everyone else was terrified. “I ain’t never heard o’ London,” said the one clutching his apron.
It was Deben who seemed the angriest. “How dare you, whoever you are,” he spat at Poppy. “I shall cut you into pieces. I shall throw you to the crocodiles. I shall feed you to the eagles for dinner. I shall drown you and then chop your head off.” And he raised both hands, yelling, “I command us back where we came from.”
But nothing happened.
Deben turned in increasingly furious circles, as Poppy ran up the steps to the from door of Alice’s beautiful big house and knocked on the door. She called to Deben, “Doesn’t look as though your nasty magic works here,” she said. “I hope not, anyway. You’d better apologise to your father.”
“My father is Krillester the great wizard,’ roared Deben.
But his true father hobbled over to him and flung his arms around the young man’s neck, just as the steward opened the door to the Parry household.
“Ah, Mistress Poppy,” said the steward, “Lady Alice is not at home, but you and your friends are welcome to come in as always.” He was now so accustomed to strange events, including talking geese, llamas, giant snakes, fires starting and then disappearing, and people of all kinds turning up out of the blue that he was no longer startled by anything.
“Well, none of them are exactly my friends,” grinned Poppy. “But thank you. I think we should all come in.”
But even Poppy did not expect what happened next.
For back in Lashtang Alice and Alfie had searched as far as they could for Poppy and finally wandered back to the little courtyard and the strange singing fountain. “Alright,” said Alice sadly, “I think we have to risk putting our feet in the water. I hate the risk, but I won’t leave Poppy out there on her own somewhere without us.”
“Fair enough,” said Alfie who was not ever concerned about taking risks. “I don’t mind getting me feet wet. We have to find Poppy.”
“To be honest,” confessed Alice in a whisper, “I really just wish I could go home.”
“I don’t mind where I go,” said Alfie, “just as long as I go the same place as you.”
And they both sat on the wide stone edge of the little fountain and swung their feet into the water. Immediately the song grew louder, Alice and Alfie disappeared, and with a lurch and a hiccup, they both found themselves sitting side by side at the dinner table in the Parry household, just as Poppy walked in, followed by a strange group of exceedingly mystified people.
“How did you get here?” demanded Poppy.
“How did you get here?” demanded Alfie.
“And who are all those ugly people?” demanded Alice.
“I am the great Ninester, the next emperor of Lashtang,” shouted Deben, “and you will treat me with respect, whoever you are.”
“Oh, help,” murmured Alice. “Hawking,” she called the steward, “have someone bring wine. Biscuits. Ale. But not for that dark skinny man who shouted.”
Chapter Twelve
Nathan stood in awe and wonder at the shimmering silver ribbon and sighed in delight. “At last,” he said. “I’ve been hoping and searching for this for so long. Now I feel wonderful.” He walked towards the pool of silver ripples where the ribbon sank deep beneath “It seems wrong to cut something so beautiful,” he mumbled, “but everyone says that’s what I have to do.”
John peered down into the water. “Tis gorgeous,” he said. “I reckon t’will make the ribbon grow again after you cuts it.”
But Peter shook his head. “Ask the knife,” he said. “We can’t take any risks. What if you’d really managed to cut the Belt of justice before, when we thought that was the Eternal Chain? That would have been terrible.”
But the echoing voice, which had already claimed to be the chain o
f eternal life, sang out again. It seemed to come from the roof, where the silver ribbon disappeared up into the rock, yet it also seemed to come from the water as the voice was melodic and sounded like a waterfall, rippling and splashing. It said slowly, “Only the Lord of Clarr or the Empress of Lashtang may approach me, and only they have the power to change the path that life follows. What happens now is eternal. But if you cut the flow, then eternity will change course. It will flow in a different direction yet will be as eternal as life must be.”
“And,” whispered Nathan, “can I ask what the change will be?”
“It will follow the old traditions,” said the voice. “When the evil power of the meteor swooped down and cut the chain, the changes followed his new direction. But this eternity can be reversed if the rightful power of the lords reties the chain that is cut.”
Understanding, though unsure, Nathan asked again, “So I must cut this ribbon. Then I must retie the ends?” His knife was gleaming with a huge reflection of the silver water, but Nathan was still worried. “What if I don’t tie it tight enough and it falls apart? And what if I can’t reach? Or what if -?”
The voice echoed again. “If you are the rightful lord,” it said, “you cannot go wrong. And if eternity sings with the joy of rightful direction, then indeed, it will tie itself. But first you must prove yourself.”
“Oh dear,” sighed Nathan. “Don’t you know who I am? Can’t you tell from the Knife of Clarr?”
“The star of the meteor, the incubus Yaark and the succubus Grublick both proved themselves, and then made a wicked change,” replied the voice. “With magic, they appeared as the empress and the knife. Great evil was done. To reverse this and give happiness back to Lashtang, you must prove yourself.”
“Then I’ll do whatever you say,” promised Nathan.
Yet there was silence. John cried out,” Tell us wot to do,” but there was again no answer.
“Well, if you won’t tell me, then show me,” asked Nathan, and turned around hoping to see a sign.
Instead of a simple sign, there was a mighty explosion. The blast was so extensive that no one could hear anything except the roaring and rumbling, and fire rushed up, sealing all the ways out. The Eternal Chain disappeared within the crashing rock and brilliant flames and only the destruction could be seen.
Then, clinging to each other in the red hot bursting furnace, Nathan, John and Peter were all hurled out of the top of the volcano. They crouched on one great slab of stone which had broken from the cave where they had been standing, and here, unable to escape, they were flown up into the orange crackling sky of Sparkan.
The volcano had erupted, and the sparks spat all around them. But they kept flying. None of their clothes or hair had caught fire, although they all felt burned, and the heat extended to the rock they sat on, as it was almost scarlet with volcanic force.
Very, very gradually they saw that they were safe. The stone they crouched on started to cool, and it whizzed up through the air and into the high rumbling clouds of ash and soot, which still singed and scorched. But the rock kept flying. When it started to raindrops of lava, they put their arms over their heads, and kept low.
Yet soon they could no longer even see Sparkan nor the volcano and seemed to be flying over the sea. Below they could see the great ships sailing from the dockyards, and the tidal waves rushing up along the beaches.
“I reckon that be Portsmouth,” yelled John, the wind in his ears. “Wot we doing here? It ain’t Lashtang nor Sparkan. Tis England.”
“Look,” Nathan pointed, “now we’re in London. That’s the Tower.”
“I don’t understand,” said Peter. “Is this supposed to be the proof of who you are?”
They landed with a violent bang and the slab of stone broke into a hundred tiny pieces. As they dusted off their clothes and rubbed their knees, they quickly realised where they were, and Nathan was delighted. “I just hope it’s the right year,” he said, ran up the steps and knocked on the door of the Parry household.
Immediately the door was opened by Hawking, the steward, who said, “Well, young lords, you are welcome as always. Lady Alice is in the great hall entertaining visitors, and most of your other friends are also there.”
Nathan ran down the corridor and into the grand hall, John and Peter close behind them. As they entered the grand hall, they stopped in surprise. It was good news, but it was also a very big shock.
Deben, the false Ninester, in his colourful Lashtang clothes, was standing on the dining table, looking down at everyone else, and stamping his feet. He was brandishing a knife. “How dare you threaten me, you peasant,” he was shouting. “I shall have you arrested and executed. Hanged, drawn and quartered.” He pointed. “You, guard, arrest this man.”
But the guard was completely befuddled and had no idea what to do. His impulse was to obey the cruel empole Ninester, but he knew there was magic working against them, and he was too frightened to move. “Your illustrious highness,” he mumbled, “where would I take him? We are not in the palace here.”
“Find the dungeons,” screamed Deben.
But Poppy was laughing. “I wish there was one. We’d throw you in it.”
The other prisoners were so frightened they didn’t know who to be scared of most, Ninester and the guard, or these new magical people who had appeared. Which is when Nathan rushed forwards and embraced Poppy, and John jumped on the table next to Deben and hit him over the head with a big earthenware jug which still had a few trickles of wine in the bottom. Deben squealed and cursed, with drips of dark red wine in his eyes, and a large bump on his head, broken pieces of earthward at his feet, and a very angry young man glaring at him. “You be a fraud and a nasty liar,” John yelled at Deben. “Gerroff this table, fer it ain’t yorn.”
Alfie was cheering, grabbed Nathan’s hand and shook it happily, saying, “Now we got two empoles. One good and one rotten.” Then looked up to John. “Toss the rotten brat off that table,” he called, “and I’ll finish him off with me sword.”
Obligingly, John pushed Deben, who fell head over heels off the table, and landed in a crumpled heap. He began to threaten everyone, but the others ignored him, and eventually Alfie got up, grabbed a large napkin from a pile on a small table, and stuffed it in Deben’s mouth, tying it tightly, and then took another and tied his wrists. Deben was trying to mutter magic, but clearly it was not working.
Poppy smiled at the prisoners who had mysteriously come with her. “My name is Poppy,” she said, “and I fell in some magic water. So we’ve all ended up in London in the year – well, I’m not actually sure, probably 1486 or around then.”
“What’s London?” whispered the young man with the injured leg.
“This is,” said Alice. “And you’re in my house, so be polite. Are you hungry? Good. Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.”
All the prisoners, who were half starved, were delighted at this. The old man asked, “Lady, is you an empress? Or empola?”
“We don’t have those words here,” Alice explained, “and I’m just a lady. But,” and she pointed at both Nathan and Poppy, “this is the Empole Nathan Bannister and the Empola Poppy, of the Octobr family who come from many years in the future.”
The old man and the other three thought they might faint and sat down in a hurry. The man in the grubby apron asked, “Is our Empole Ninester gonna get walloped, then?”
And the guard interrupted, saying, “Best kill him off quick.”
“That’s not very loyal of you,” grinned Alfie, “but you’re probably right.”
The doors from the kitchen were flung open and a series of men and boys carried in platters of food, a tablecloth, cutlery, dishes, and bowls steaming with wonderful perfumes. Several boys laid the table for a multitude of diners, and then the food was spread along the middle. Everyone except Deben had a place.
“Well, we know Deben just ate a hearty meal,” said Poppy, “so he doesn’t need anymore. But the rest of you, come on,
I’m hungry too.”
Alice sat at the head of the table with Alfie on one side and Nathan on the other. John, Poppy, and Peter all sat down, and then called the guard and the starving prisoners to come on and eat. Deben’s father sat nervously but after the first few mouthfuls, he looked wonderfully happy. The prisoner with the wound seemed to forget the crocodile bite on his leg and at everything in sight. They were all served wine or ale, and plenty of food. “Tis far better than I can cook,” muttered the man in the dirty apron.
“You can have a job in my kitchen, if you want to come and help,” said Alice. “My servants are very well treated, unlike in Lashtang’s palaces. You can’t be head chef, but you can be an assistant.”
‘Bless you, my lady,” said the cook through a mouth crammed with pork codlings. “Yes please. I never want to return to Lashtang.”
“Nor me,” said all the others except Deben’s father.
“Wot about you, then?” asked John.
The old man carefully wiped his mouth on his napkin and sat forwards. “I do not know, my lord,” he said. “I thank you for this food, which is surely keeping me alive. I believe I was starving to death and very weak. I have no wish to go back to the dungeon and certainly die there. But I am responsible for my son’s wickedness, and I confess I still both love and hate the boy. I am not sure what I should do.”
“What were you,” asked Nathan, “before your son was chosen to live as the emperor’s son?”
“I was a fisherman,” said the old man. “My name is Lob Wake. My son is Deben Wake. But his mother’s mother was an evil old creature with a great deal of bad magic, and she hated everyone. It seems my son has inherited both her magic powers and her temperament.”
“And his mother and grandmother?” asked Alice.
“They both died of the lemon pox,” sighed Lob Wake. “I loved my wife, but it’s a good thing her mother died too. She was wicked.”
Dominoes Page 12
