Dominoes

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  “That doesn’t make sense,” accused Deben, still scowling. “You’re a fraud.”

  “Like you, you mean?” smiled the man. “But no, my dear boy, I am the one and only Master of Time, and I shall show you, if you like pictures. Shall we play a game?” He looked around at everybody, and all except Deben nodded at once. “Very well,” smiled the old man, and held up both hands.

  The first pictures showed John Ten Toes as a baby, and everyone could clearly see how Violet Crinford ordered the serving maid to take the baby and get rid of it. They saw Arthur sad and tearful when told that both his wife and baby son had died. But as time moved on, they saw how it all came back, with John finding his father, and Violet Crinford angry and upset. She lost her son Arthur’s affection and eventually he forced her from his home and made her go and live in a monastery.

  But then, having managed to leave the monks and nuns, the elderly woman could not find a way to hurt John or get rid of him, but she found a way of getting Poppy into trouble, as she hated her nearly as much, and she accused her of heresy to the church authorities.

  Then watching avidly, they saw time turning its circle, going up and forwards, but twisting around to the same spot – and suddenly it all went black. “This will come soon,” he told Poppy. “And that is when you bring back John’s grandmother to face her own actions once again, and realise her own faults, and to be sorry at what she did. He looked up and smiled with a little chuckle. “She won’t be sorry for you, of course mistress Poppy, but she will certainly feel sorry for herself. This is what happens to time as it spirals on and own, twisting back for a short time before moving on again.”

  “That’s funny,” said Poppy. “And I’ll be ready to get back at that beastly woman.”

  “Ah,” said Father Time, “but be careful not to go too far. For if you go beyond the time of the spiral, then it will turn against you instead.”

  Poppy understood. “But we can’t see the spiral going around and around. Only you see that.”

  “Indeed,” said the old man. “Which is why you must be brief and kind, never cruel.” Then he turned to Deben. “You have not had an easy life, young man, and holding great power within your hands, as you do, is a hard responsibility. But you must beware. If you cannot be kind to others, at least beware for yourself.”

  Deben seemed to grow less angry, he shook his head but looked down at his feet, refusing to meet the old man’s eyes. And then another stream of moving pictures began to glow in mid-air, forming short films of colour and movement. First everyone could see a small boy of two or maybe three years old. He was little, thin and ugly with thin black hair and a long sharp nose. He sat on the hard cement floor and was crying. Then they saw Lob, leaning down over him, and then giving him a clip around the ear. “Brat,” said Lob, “stop screaming. You give me a headache. Look at you, funny looking kid. I don’t think you’re even my child.”

  Then a woman rushed over to pick the child up and cuddle him, but she spoke crossly to Lob, saying, “Leave Deben alone. It’s not his fault he’s so ugly.” And the child cried again.

  The pictures moved to when the same child was six or seven, and he was playing with other children his age, but they threw stones at him and called him weird. So he pointed a finger at them as they laughed, shouting the word, “Bang”, and the bang came like a real explosion with black smoke.

  “He’s a wizard,” shouted the kids. “Leave him alone. He’s mean.”

  Then, a little older when about ten or twelve years old, he was talking to Lob in their miserable little house. “I’m not making you any dinner,” Lob said. He was sitting on a threadbare chair, his head in his hands, and clearly he had been crying. “Your poorer mother is dead for only a week, and I miss her terribly.”

  “So do I,” whispered the boy.

  “You’ve got that strong magic,” said Lob. “You can make your own dinner. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you killed your mother with all those bangs and explosions.”

  “I can’t make food, and I’m starving,” whispered the boy.

  “Then go and beg on the streets,” ordered his father.

  Deben ran out of the house and the pictures stopped. Father Time, or Master of History as he called himself, looked up. “Had you waited,” he said, “time would have turned and come back to bring you happiness but instead you were angry and bitter and wanted to hurt people the way others hurt you. So you started to threaten people in shops, saying you would kill them if they didn’t feed you and give you what you wanted. And then the Wizard Emperor Krillester discovered you, and so you went to live in luxury with plenty of food, a wonderful warm bed, and everything you had ever wanted, including people being nice to you and telling you how wonderful and handsome you were. But instead of being grateful, you took the opportunity to do wicked things and be cruel to everyone.”

  “Except the crocodiles,” muttered Poppy.

  “You must learn from your mistakes,” sighed the old man, “or the next circle when time comes back on itself, you will suffer great illness, and live in pain.”

  Deben sat very quietly, thinking over what he had seen and heard, and Lob hurriedly moved away to the other side of the room. Alice followed him. “That wasn’t a nice way to treat your own son,” she told him. “It might be your fault that the horrid boy is so nasty.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lob mumbled. “But we were so poor, and I lost all my work because people were scared of him.”

  Nathan went to sit at Father Time’s feet. “My circles went quite differently,” he said. “I thought my parents had died or been lost somewhere. Then I found them again. I found they were the king and queen of a strange land.”

  “Everything is magic,” said the Master of History, “in one way or another. You are used to bright lights, television, electricity and many other pleasures. But you know that all of this would seem like great magic if you took them to Lashtang, or back to medieval London. All magic will be understood one day.”

  “Can you tell me my future?” asked Nathan, speaking low. “Will I ever be emperor?”

  “I do not speak of the future,” said the old man, smiling as always. “Time goes around and around. You must wait until the next circle is complete.”

  “I wants to know more,” said John, sitting down beside Nathan at the old man’s feet. “T’was proper interesting. I reckons I could listen to you all night.”

  “Ah, but you always do,” the old man said, his smile growing. “That is what dreams are all about. Jumbled and tumbled, but all about your time going around and up and around again.”

  “You mean, even if I stuff it up, I get a second chance?”

  Father Time stretched his legs, wiggled his bare toes, and kept smiling. “A second chance, yes indeed. And a third chance, and a fourth. But these chances don’t come along with big painted labels around their necks. You have to go out and look.”

  “Like cutting the Eternal Chain? So what’s eternity then, if time just goes in circles?”

  With a slight yawn, and a big stretch, he stood, pushed back the chair, turned to the middle of the room again, and once more clicked his fingers. The winding staircase began to reappear. “What better way of describing eternity?” Father Time put one foot on the bottom step and began very slowly to climb upwards. “The circle which turns forever, around and around. Well, young Nathan, you are having a very unusual and interesting life. But just wait until the circle turns once more, for your life will become even more enjoyable than before. But also more dangerous. Will you have the courage to accept?”

  “Will I have any choice?” Nathan called, as the old man almost disappeared into the ceiling.

  “The choice goes ever on and on,” came back the voice, “repeating the choice until you make the proper one. Then life starts all over again.”

  And almost immediately, both the bent old Father Time and his staircase disappeared entirely. Nathan and all the others were left staring. Deben had not spoken, but he had moved clo
ser to his father. Lob, ashamed of what had been shown about his behaviour years before,

  Alice had been sitting quietly, deeply interested in what Father Time had to say. Now she stood, speaking to Alfie and Nathan. “What do you think we should do next?” she asked. “I suggest we go shopping. There’s not much here that’s different or better than Lashtang, but it’ll show Deben and Lob all the changes that can happen like the old man said. And it’ll give us all time to think about what we want to do next.”

  “Good idea,” nodded Nathan. “It’s a great sunny day and we can warm up after all that ice and snow. We can see the puppet shows and the jugglers and show Deben he doesn’t rule the whole world.”

  “Puppet shows?” Ninester looked up. “I like them.”

  “It’s been a strange day,” said Alfie. “Time all mixed up and kings coming out the clouds. Father Time himself appearing out the blue. Freezing cold one minute and boiling hot the next. So let’s go off to market and see what might happen there.”

  “Can’t be naught else,” decided John, grinning. “Reckon we’s had enuff fer one day.”

  “What a pleasure,” sighed Lob. “After many days in that black dungeon, with nothing to eat and no hope for the future. It is most exciting to be going to a market in a new world.”

  “Same old boring stuff,” said Poppy. “But I’m going to buy Ninester a puppet pony to show him what horses are like.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The sun sparkled on the metal joists, and on the bright striped awnings. One man was juggling four large pewter cups while two others played a tune on drum and fiddle, and a young woman danced, showing her ankles.

  The market was the busiest in London and rows of stalls stood close together, with bright fruit and vegetables, herbs and meat, while others sold crafts and toys. There was a man standing under a fixed umbrella and holding a bloodstained pair of strong pliers. He called out, “Come on, roll up all you folks with rotten teeth. I’m the tooth puller around here and I’ll sort your pain and have you smiling again no more than a minute.”

  But the people leaving his side did not smile. They staggered off into the crowds, bent over and holding their hands over their bleeding mouths, wincing in pain.

  The stall nearby was selling the same pewter cups, that the juggler was using beautifully marked with swirls and patterns. A small dog wandered the backs of the stalls, hoping to find scraps of food. John immediately strode over and bought the little dog a lamb shank, the bone heavily covered in meat. The dog wagged its tail so hard, Poppy laughed, saying it might soon fall off.

  Deben was sulking and refused to say anything nice about what he saw, but it was very obvious that he was interested. Two stall holders were competing over prices, for they both sold apples, grapes and pears. “Three pence for a big bag of pretty red apples,” one man called out.

  “Same apples, same bag, just two pence,” called the other man.

  “One extra apple, ripe and juicy,” called the first one.

  “A bunch o’ grapes thrown in,” shouted the second stallholder.

  “Four apples, one pear, and a bunch of grapes for three pence,” the first shouted, “and I’ll not be throwing it around, neither. All wrapped careful and no bruising.”

  The little dog had hidden under one of the stalls at the back, trying to eat his bone before anyone came to steal it from him. Nathan went to buy grapes, while the others walked on. He bent down and patted the dog, but saw immediately that one of its back legs was injured and bleeding. He shook his head and left it in peace to finish the bone.

  The music was cheerful, and Peter was standing watching and clapping his hands. He wished he had brought his lute with him. Ninester was already dancing, hopping from one foot to the other, hands waving in the air. Nathan handed him a pear, and he ate it at once, with squashed juice running down his chin. An elderly woman in a bright clean apron clapped Ninester on the back, which made him splutter, as she said, “What a handsome young man. You enjoy that fruit, young man. Tis good for you.”

  Deben continued to scowl but Lob stayed close to him, asking, “Do you want some nice fruit too, son?”

  “Certainly not,” Deben replied, “I shall get far better than this rubbish once I return to the palace.”

  “And what if you never get back?” demanded Poppy, busy eating her own ripe pear.

  Deben was about to shout at her, when two totally unrelated events happened at exactly the same moment. Firstly everybody watched John run up, cuddling the little stray dog, still with scraps of meat around its mouth. It looked a little fearful in case it was going to be hurt or made to fight, but it was wagging its thin tail with hopeful insecurity. “Tis my new friend,” called John. “I’s gonna take him home. I’s calling him Smudge.”

  The puppy pricked up its ears and licked John’s fingers.

  But while everybody smiled at the puppy a furious woman trotted out from the crowds and pointed first at John and then at Poppy. “There they are,” she screamed. “And they should both be thrown into Newgate Gaol.”

  Another woman hurried behind, carrying a huge full shopping basket, but she was also shouting so much her headdress started to tilt over one eye, and when she tried to push it away, she dropped the basket.

  John nearly dropped the puppy but managed to cling on. Nathan, Alfie, Poppy and Alice all faced the two women, as Peter rather absently help to pick up the shopping and stuff it back into the basket, even though some of it was now all mixed up and there was a bunch of parsley all covered in squashed grapes.

  “How dare you,” said Poppy angrily, staring at the woman. “I wish I had some more snowballs to throw.”

  “I have given clear evidence against you both,” said Violet Crinford, glaring at all of them. “And you should both be arrested. The bishop assured me you would be all your lives in gaol, and perhaps even executed for your crimes. You,” and she pointed a quivering finger at Poppy, “for heresy and theft. And you,” and here she pointed at John, “for pretending a false identity.”

  Trying very hard to keep calm and quiet, for now a huge crowd was gathering around them, eager to watch the quarrel, Nathan frowned down at Mrs Crinford, saying, “Poppy was acquitted because there was no reliable evidence. And no one ever even arrested John, because he’s exactly who he says he is, and both the monks and his father can prove it.”

  “Lies, all lies,” shrieked the other woman, who had staggered up and stood a little behind her mistress. “I am Margery, Madam Crinford’s personal maid, and I know what she says is true. I was there.”

  The assistant constable of the Bishopsgate parish happened to be watching the puppet show with his daughter. He heard the violent shouting and walked over. Being an important gentleman in that quarter, everyone else moved aside for him. “Now, now,” he said. “What’s going on here?”

  His daughter ran over to pat the puppy in John’s arms. “Look, Papa,” she told her father. “I saw this just a moment ago, when this man rescued this little dog. He’s a good person. Don’t lock him up.”

  John nodded with a grin and Smudge wagged his tail even harder. But the assistant constable looked somewhat concerned. “So, madam, what’s the problem?” he asked Violet Crinford.

  She gabbled as fast as she could, determined to speak before anyone interrupted. “My grandson died at birth, but this boy insists he’s the same boy grown up and he wants to inherit all my money.”

  “It ain’t your money,” objected John. “Tis me dad’s. But he’s at sea trading in them islands in the Middle Sea.”

  “And this vile thief,” continued Violet, scowling at Poppy, “is his friend. It’s a conspiracy to steal my son’s wealth. She took a job in my household, which I was kind enough to give her. But she cursed and said terrible things about our holy mother church, and then she ran away with my diamond ring.”

  “This is not a matter I can solve in the middle of a busy market,” said the assistant constable, taking his daughter’s hand and pulling her
away as she tried to cuddle the puppy. “And don’t touch that animal, Emma,” he added. “It is probably diseased and covered with fleas. It might even have lock-jaw.”

  “It’s not frothing at the mouth, Papa,” the child pointed out.

  “Well, I ask all of you to accompany me to the constable’s chambers,” said the assistant. “This needs to be discussed in private.”

  “Oh bother,” said Nathan. “I wanted to go back to the cottage later this evening.”

  “We could be kept hours with this silly nonsense,” wailed Alice. “We managed to get rid of the baron and his horrible brother, and now we get this horrid woman instead.”

  “Used to be the sheriff or the constable of the market folk too,” grinned Alfie. “Chasing us and calling Stop thief. Then in Lashtang, it’s those wretched wizards. Seems like we have the same problem wherever we go.”

  “I’d sooner Lashtang,” muttered Peter. “At least now Yaark is locked up.”

  “I wish we could go back to Lashtang now,” said Nathan, “before it’s us that get locked up. Even though Peter’s special talent could get us out, it would still take ages and we could end up in court again.”

  “And me on a bonfire,” said Poppy. “Nat, ask your knife. Quick.”

  It seemed like the best idea, for nobody wanted to waste hours arguing with the constable, and the risk was for all of them to end up in prison. So Nathan turned his back, so the assistant constable would not see what he was doing, and he once again pulled the Knife of Clarr from his inside pocket. Nathan had to whisper the words, but he asked the knife to take them all back home. When there was a slight shimmer of shadow across the blade, he realised that almost everybody had a different home, so he said, “Where Dad is at the moment,” and then added, “and Granny of course,”