by Royston Wood
Chapter Eleven
Clocked In
“Stop arguing you two!” I snap. “The more time we waste the more werebeasts Cretin will be able to bring through the Portal!”
Bunsen and Tim stutter into silence mid curse.
“We have to get into the castle and stop him now! We don’t have time for you two to snipe at each other. We have to work as a team!”
I’m surprised at my own outburst but it seems to have had the right effect.
“What should we do then Victor?” mumbles Bunsen.
“Firstly you two should apologise to each other,” I snap, angry that this stupid squabble is getting in the way of doing things. I have a nasty feeling that this is probably how my mum feels whenever she has to pull Sandy and me apart when we’re fighting.
“Bunsen, you have said some nasty things to Tim who was just trying to help,” I continue. Tim sneers at Bunsen, looking smug. Bunsen scowls.
“And Tim, you have been an idiot!” It’s Tim’s turn to scowl now as Bunsen roars with laughter.
The laughter breaks the tension though and soon Tim and I are giggling too.
As the laughter subsides we all look at each other a little sheepishly, stupid grins on our faces.
“So, what are we going to do?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“I found a cave entrance up there,” says Bunsen, waving a wingtip up at the cliff face. “My guess is that it must lead up into the castle somehow because it’s been blocked off with an iron grating.”
“Great, then we could sneak in through there,” I say moving towards the cliff. “All we need to do is climb up this cliff somehow,” I mumble to myself, looking for handholds.
“How are we going to sneak in if the entrance is barred?” points out Tim.
“Couldn’t you...” I wiggle my fingers at Tim, acting out the casting of a spell.
“I don’t think waving at it will do much good,” says Tim with a frown.
“No, I meant a spell...”
“I could blast it with a fireball,” Tim suggests, rubbing at his chin.
Fire! I think back to the blast of flame from Bunsen that melted a hole in the stone table at the War Council all those days ago. Days ago? I think about that and decided it might actually only be a couple of hours. It just feels like days.
“Bunsen, couldn’t you use your flames and melt a hole in the bars?” I ask.
“I should have thought of that!” Bunsen exclaims as he leaps into the air and starts flapping towards the cave. “I guess I’ve been sulking too much about being small again,” he calls down.
As I start climbing the cliff towards the cave, Tim begins mumbling another spell.
The cliff face has loads of good hand and footholds and Victor’s body is really strong so I’m soon climbing quickly to the background noise of roaring flames from above. I’m about halfway to the cave, beginning to huff and puff a bit, when Tim floats past with a smug grin on his face.
When I drag myself up the last few inches to the cave entrance Tim and Bunsen are stood waiting for what is left of the melted grating and the puddles of molten metal to cool down a bit before getting too close. The metal turns from white, to red to blackened grey and we step past the ruined grating into the cave, being careful where we put our feet/paws. It’s definitely not a time to be jumping in puddles!
With Bunsen spluttering flames to light the way, we set off into the depths, to search for a way up into the stronghold.
Squeezing through tight gaps and often having to crawl along damp passages, we make our way slowly upwards through the rock. I find myself breathing quite heavily and my heart is racing, even though the actual effort I’m putting in isn’t that much. I’m really glad I’m not alone: it feels like I’m being squashed in on all sides by the rock and it’s only seeing Tim and Bunsen walking along freely that persuades me I’m not.
When we eventually emerge through a crumbled wall into a small rectangular room, it feels like a heavy rucksack that I hadn’t realised I was carrying is lifted from my back. I straighten up and stretch as I look around the room. There are a couple of dusty wooden boxes and an old barrel stacked in one corner.
“Must be a cellar under the stronghold,” mumbles Bunsen. “We need to find a way up to the higher levels.”
“Yes,” agrees Tim. “Cretin will need quite a lot of space to use the Portal; probably a large hall or a courtyard. That’s what we need to look for.”
Bunsen leading the way with his flaming breath, we exit through a doorway into a dank corridor and move on up a flight of steps, which emerge onto another corridor running to our left and right.
“Which way?” I whisper.
Bunsen and Tim shrug, having no more idea than me, so we set off to the right at a trot/flutter.
There are no windows here so I’ve no way of telling how long it is since I watched the sun set. How long were we climbing up through the rock? How many werebeasts has Cretin brought through the Portal? Are we already too late?
Lost as I am in my thoughts I don’t notice Bunsen has stopped, hovering at head height before me, and I run straight into him, getting a face full of spiky dragon tail.
“OW!”
When I stagger back, rubbing my forehead where a spike has impaled me, I realise why Bunsen has stopped: we’ve blundered straight into a room full of crazed looking werebeasts!
“Er...what do we do?” I ask, starting to back away.
“Well,” says Bunsen over his shoulder, as he does some nifty backwards flapping whilst trying not to take his eyes off of the enemy, “taking everything into consideration...weighing up the odds...looking at our strengths and weaknesses and those of our enemy... I think the best thing we can do is...RUN!!”
So that’s what we do. Or at least Tim and I do. Bunsen streaks past us in the air, wings flapping wildly.
We flash past the doorway we came through on the way up and hurtle on down the corridor, the sound of thundering paws and roaring, howling, squeaking battle cries close behind.
Skidding around a corner a hurled knife zips past my face and clatters from the stone wall.
Eyes bulging, we hurtle down the corridor only to see a seething mass of werebeasts charging the other way! There’s a door to our right! I grab the handle, twist and yank the door open. At least I try to but it’s locked!
“Push it you idiot!” shouts Bunsen, bashing into the door.
It bursts open and we stumble in, turn and slam the door shut behind us.
“Blast! There’s no lock!” snarls Bunsen.
“Stand back! I’ll cast a locking spell,” shouts Tim. “No matter who might bash and knock, seal this door with a mighty clock!”
“No wait! Lock!!”
There’s a flash of light that makes my eyes sting and a huge grandfather clock appears in front of the door. At the same moment there is a colossal thump from the other side, quickly followed by a muffled curse. I guess someone tried to shoulder barge the door and wasn’t expecting it to be blocked.
“Oh well, not exactly locked but I think it’s done the trick,” says Tim, sounding quite pleased with himself.
A slow but thunderous clapping echoes around the room. “Oh yes,” grates a familiar voice, “well done. But I think you might find you have clocked yourselves in! Howhowhowhowhowllll!!”
