The Wonders of Vale

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘Now you’re teasing me,’ I said with dignity.

  He laughed. ‘Someday, one of your wild ideas will turn out to be true, and you’ll have the last laugh.’

  ‘Not this time,’ I said mournfully, for having scooped up the pup (to her loudly-voiced dissatisfaction) I discovered her unearthed treasure to be… a coin.

  I picked it up. ‘They’re still using shillings,’ I said, showing it to Jay. It was bright and new, and obviously had not spent long buried in the sand.

  ‘No new money? Interesting.’ Jay stuck it in his pocket. ‘About ten thousand more of those and we’ll be rich. Good job, Goodie.’

  I attempted to interest my writhing little friend in Miranda’s stocking, but her response to it was to sneeze heartily, three times in quick succession. I set her down in the sand, hoping she might take off in pursuit of our missing ex-colleague, but she only sat on her haunches, ears drooping.

  ‘To be honest, I’d probably react the same way,’ said Jay.

  ‘Her pure little heart beats only for filthy lucre,’ I said with a sigh, and put the stocking away again.

  Emellana joined us at a casual stroll, her large hands pushed into her coat pockets. It was a little nippy on the beach. ‘We appear to have an imminent visitor,’ she said, and pointed up the cliff.

  Poised upon the edge was a familiar, pale spire, its walls twinkling faintly blue. ‘I suppose it was too much to expect we could show up here without Melmidoc finding out about it,’ I said.

  ‘Especially if we park the car right next door,’ said Jay.

  ‘There is that.’ The spire loomed far up there, an obvious summons. Was he coming down, or were we expected to go up?

  I waited, but the spire did not move again.

  ‘Righto, then,’ I said, and trudged off in the direction of the winding path upwards. ‘Let’s find out what Melmidoc knows about the Vales of Wonder and the Something Mountains.’

  The spire’s heavy door swung slowly inwards as we approached, with an ominous creaking noise.

  I don’t know why I found this essentially inviting gesture intimidating.

  ‘Good morning, Mr. Redclover,’ I said, extra brightly to cover my unease. ‘We—’

  You took them all away, Melmidoc thundered, cutting me off. Is that not what you promised?

  ‘What?’ I blurted, taken aback. ‘Who? You don’t mean… Ancestria Magicka?’

  The interlopers, and their inappropriately sized conveyance.

  ‘The castle’s gone now,’ said Jay helpfully. ‘We checked.’

  And its occupants? said Melmidoc.

  ‘Do you mean George?’ I suggested. ‘He stuck with Zareen, but only to get the castle moved. They should both be—’

  Who in the blazes is George? thundered Melmidoc.

  I suppose that answered my question as to whether Melmidoc knew what had become of Zareen.

  ‘Who have you seen?’ I said.

  That woman.

  ‘More specifically?’ My thoughts went to Zareen first, then Miranda. Neither seemed to deserve such an epithet.

  About her, there is the arrogance of a born leader.

  Definitely not Zareen or Miranda. ‘You cannot mean… Fenella Beaumont?’ I said.

  Emellana stiffened beside me. ‘That woman.’

  My thoughts whirled. We had heard of her only once, since we’d turfed the lot of them off Whitmore. On that one occasion, she had recently made a wreck of poor Millie Makepeace.

  Since then, nothing. She’d vanished. If I had given the matter much thought, I’d probably assumed she and her rotten followers were busy finding a new base of operations.

  Perhaps not.

  ‘Just when did the castle disappear?’ I said around a growing feeling of foreboding.

  Ten days ago, said Melmidoc. And you have not yet answered my question.

  ‘I didn’t hear a question, I heard a deal of shouting.’

  Why are they returned? You claimed we were rid of them!

  ‘I doubt I said anything so foolish, considering we are in no way in control of their actions.’ I spoke rather absently, my mind turned upon Zareen and George and Ashdown Castle. Had they removed it, or had Fenella somehow reclaimed it? ‘Where was Fenella, when you saw her? What was she doing? Who did she have with her?’

  She and three souls, Melmidoc began.

  ‘Oh, so only four of them, that isn’t bad—’

  Four is four too many! he snapped.

  ‘Sorry.’

  She and three souls, he said again. Skulking about the beach at night, as though we would not know!

  ‘What did you do?’ said Jay.

  Repelled them.

  I did not like the way in which he said this, suddenly cool where before he’d been ablaze with wrath. ‘Um,’ I put in. ‘What does repelling Ancestria Magicka involve?’

  They are in one of the other Britains now.

  ‘One of them? You don’t know which?’

  It is immaterial.

  I swallowed. ‘Right. And was this before or after the castle vanished from the beach?’

  After.

  So it could still have been either Fenella or Zareen who was behind that little event. I was prepared to hope it was Zareen. What was Fenella doing “skulking” around on the beach, if she’d already retrieved her castle?

  I made a mental note not to get on Melmidoc’s very bad side. We were on his somewhat bad side already; any more, and we’d be expelled to some other Britain in Fenella’s wake. Which one was she on? Was it one that had banned all magick, or one of the ruined ones?

  ‘We are very sorry,’ I said hastily. ‘We did not imagine she would find the means to return so soon.’

  So soon? You knew it was likely to occur eventually?

  ‘She’s tenacious. It would take more than an ignominious banishment and a dose of amnesia to put her off.’

  Perhaps a second ignominious banishment will be sufficient.

  I privately thought not, supposing she managed to return from whichever Britain she was now skulking about on.

  ‘Do you know how she got here?’ said Emellana.

  Madam, I believe we are unacquainted.

  I sighed inwardly. Melmidoc was ever irascible.

  ‘So we are,’ said Emellana mildly. ‘I am Emellana Rogan, scholar and Lady of the Court on the sixth Britain.’

  ‘New Court,’ I put in quickly. ‘Not Farringale.’

  Emellana raised a brow at me.

  ‘Melmidoc has a few issues with the Old Court,’ I supplied.

  I felt him glower. I cannot bid you welcome, madam, said he waspishly. You are uninvited.

  ‘It was quite rude of me,’ Emellana agreed. ‘There is some urgency about our errand.’

  I rubbed at my eyes. Was that a headache coming on, already? ‘Em, Melmidoc Redclover died about four centuries ago. Before that, he was one of the most visionary magickers of his age. He and his brother built this place, and pioneered the kind of advanced Waymastery that permits travel back and forth between Britains.’

  Emellana made a kind of bow. ‘An honour.’

  Your errand? said Melmidoc. Still waspish, but, perhaps, slightly mollified.

  ‘We seek the Vales of Wonder,’ said Emellana.

  There was a pause. To what end? said Melmidoc at length.

  Emellana looked at me.

  Here was the tricky part. How to tell Melmidoc that we were in pursuit of the last king of Farringale? He could hardly welcome such news. He’d spit, and snarl, and refuse to help. I’d have to handle him delicately, manage him very carefully, turn a deaf ear to his sarcastic commentary…

  Ah, screw it.

  ‘We’re looking for the last king of Farringale,’ I said.

  6

  Jay coughed. I suspicioned it might have been a strangled laugh. ‘Torvaston is an interesting figure,’ Jay quickly put in, before Melmidoc could blow his proverbial stack. ‘He had some theories about the sources of magick, which are of considerable s
ignificance to us. His disappearance into your Britain is a mystery we’d like to solve.’

  Why? demanded Melmidoc, all bluntness. You were well rid of him.

  ‘Were we?’

  Melmidoc made no answer.

  ‘Because we want to restore Farringale,’ I said. ‘And that is because the decline of magick in our — and your — Britain can, debatably, be traced back to that approximate era. It’s been withering away for four centuries and we’d like to stop it.’

  I paused for breath, feeling peculiarly as though I’d just said something momentous. I hadn’t really… had I?

  Jay, though, was staring at me. ‘Is that what we’re really doing, Ves?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Bringing magick back.’

  I blinked, and thought. ‘Yes,’ I decided at last. ‘Of course it is.’

  Of course it was. It could never be enough simply to halt the decline of magick, though that would be a good place to begin. If there was the faintest chance we could reverse the trend entirely, and set it burgeoning again — why wouldn’t we go after that? How could we resist?

  Melmidoc was uncharacteristically quiet. ‘Mel?’ I said after a while.

  You do not know where it will end, he said. He sounded, for some reason, subdued.

  ‘Be careful what you wish for, etc. We know.’

  I do not think you do.

  ‘Then, tell us.’

  But Melmidoc was silent.

  ‘Show us, then,’ said Emellana. ‘The Court at Mandridore is committed to this goal. As their representative, I am scarcely less so. Why should we hesitate?’

  Go, said Melmidoc.

  I sighed, wearied with his obstreperous attitude. ‘Fine.’

  To the Vales of Wonder, Melmidoc continued. Go there if you must. You will see for yourselves.

  As Torvaston had, I wondered? An excess of magick had made short work of old Farringale, that was for sure. But Torvaston would have taken those lessons away with him, when he left for the fifth Britain. He wouldn’t permit such mistakes to be repeated.

  Neither would we.

  Jay had Torvaston’s scroll-case in his hands and was staring at it, frowning deeply. ‘Now that I come to think of it,’ he said. ‘How do we find these Vales of Wonder?’

  I peeped over his shoulder. At a brief glance, which was all either of us had had opportunity for when we’d swiped it out of Farringale, it looked detailed enough. Upon closer scrutiny, though, the map proved to be hand-drawn, and inconveniently devoid of context. Or text, besides those few printed words: The Vales of Wonder on one half, and the Hyndorin Mountains on the other. These were maps of those two places, not to them.

  You will find it simply enough, Waymaster, said Melmidoc. In Scarborough there is a developed henge you may use.

  ‘Developed…?’ said Jay.

  Melmidoc offered nothing more.

  ‘Right. Thanks, then.’ Jay put away the scroll-case.

  ‘One last thing,’ I said suddenly. ‘Melmidoc. You don’t have any idea where Zareen and…’ I stopped. He would have little idea who Zareen, George and Miranda were, and would in all likelihood care rather less. ‘Are there any outsiders left on Whitmore? Anyone from our Britain?’

  No, he said, with evident satisfaction.

  ‘Well, damn and blast.’

  I waited in hopes that either Jay or Emellana might have some bright suggestion to offer — or that Melmidoc might recover from his fit of the sulks and help us out. Literally, even.

  You are still here?

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Going.’

  Not that I was sorry to be on our way out. Ever since our first visit to Whitmore, I had been itching to cross the water, and see what the rest of this hyper-magickal Britain was like. Opportunities had been consistently lacking, thanks in large part to distractions courtesy of Fenella Beaumont and her miserable crew.

  Well, Melmidoc might be a grouchy old donkey but at least he’d got rid of her. And for all his ungraciousness, he hadn’t subjected us to the same fate.

  I suppose that made us, sort of, favourites. I’d take it.

  ‘Where do we go!’ I said, once fairly beyond the door of the Spire. ‘Jay! Make it happen!’

  He gave me a rather helpless look, then gazed out over the town. ‘Well. Somewhere down on the shore there must be a crossing of some kind.’

  So there must, but now that he mentioned it… had I ever noticed such a thing before? ‘A ferry?’ I suggested. ‘A bridge?’

  Jay shrugged. ‘Either would be good.’

  Emellana’s perfect serenity gave way to a degree of puzzlement. There was even a slight frown discernible upon her agéd brow. ‘The two of you have been here before, yes? Did I correctly understand that?’

  ‘We have!’ I said, making up in chirpiness for what I lacked in certainty.

  ‘Multiple times,’ said Jay drily. ‘We were a bit distracted at those times.’

  ‘I could fly over, and send Addie back for you,’ I suggested.

  ‘We’ll consider that as a last resort,’ said Jay.

  ‘Oh, come on. Air Unicorn hasn’t killed you yet.’

  ‘There must be a more sensible way across, and we will find it,’ said Jay loftily. ‘After all, those storytellers came across from the mainland last time we were here. There has to be a crossing somewhere.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Emellana mildly, ‘it is nothing so obvious as a bridge, or a ferry.’

  ‘Why would it be, indeed?’ I said with a groan. ‘Nothing else about this place is ordinary.’ I set off down the sloping hill into the town, scooping up pup along the way. ‘I’m going to ask someone.’

  ‘You don’t think that will sound a bit… weird?’ said Jay, striding after me. ‘Hey, I know we’re on an island and surrounded by water we ought to have crossed in order to get here in the first place, but where’s the ferry?’

  I shrugged. ‘What’s wrong with sounding weird once in a while? Who’s going to care?’

  Jay growled something, but he made no further objections.

  Emellana soon outstripped me, her legs being about six times as long as mine. ‘There are assorted magickal means of crossing water,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Some of which would not be nearly so eye-catching as a ferry terminal.’

  ‘Such as what?’ I called.

  ‘In parts of Morocco they use a species of levitation charm. I crossed the Lukkus in ‘78 in a laundry tub. Uncomfortable, but effective. In Persia in ‘49 I was taken over a lake by a great bird — I never did discover whether it was a simorq or a rukh, but something of that nature. Then in, oh, ‘60, or ‘61, I galloped across the Danube on horseback. How they contrived to keep the animals afloat, I don’t know, but quite the marvel.’ As she spoke, Emellana kept up a brisk stride down and down the hill, ever on towards the shore. We passed a number of Whitmore’s citizens, few of whom were used to seeing trolls much, I concluded, from the way they stared at Emellana. Or was it the group effect of a gigantic troll, two oddly-dressed humans (by their standards) and a unicorn clattering behind that got their attention? Maybe that.

  If I stopped to talk to any of them, she would soon leave us behind, so I hastened on.

  ‘Why don’t they just have a henge here?’ I wondered aloud. ‘That would make everything easy.’

  Jay shrugged. ‘It doesn’t necessarily follow that, because magick is more plentiful here then Waymasters must be common as muck.’

  ‘How disappointing.’

  ‘Nonsense, rarity confers value.’

  ‘Says the Waymaster.’

  ‘Maybe I like being sought-after.’

  ‘They only love you for your ancestral magicks.’

  Jay grinned. ‘Whereas you love me for my…?’

  How did I answer that? I could come up with a decent list, if I thought about it for a minute.

  I decided not to.

  ‘Excellent hair,’ I said instead. ‘And bordering-on-bad-boy dress sense.’

  Jay casually po
pped the collar of his jacket. ‘I knew it.’

  Emellana was fading into the distance. ‘Crap,’ I said. ‘Better run for it.’

  We caught up with our Court representative on the shoreline. Pup was squeaking in protest at being so jostled about, so I set her down near Adeline.

  ‘I believe this is it,’ said Emellana.

  What? I looked up and down the beach. We’d taken the cliff path downwards at a run, and I’d kept my eyes open all the way down for a sign of something promising on the horizon. Nothing.

  All I saw now was unbroken sand, save for an occasional stray figure wandering upon some distant part of it, and no sign whatsoever of a way over. No ferry terminal, no bridge, no boats.

  Only a wooden post, in front of which Emellana had stopped. It was an attractive post, I had to give it that much. Someone had made it out of a length of naturally twisting elm, perhaps, or walnut, and had cheerfully ornamented its knots and gnarls with embedded gems of an appealing blue colour.

  ‘It’s a post,’ I said.

  Emellana smiled at it, reached out a hand, and brushed a finger against the largest of the blue stones.

  And promptly vanished.

  ‘What the—’ I said, turning in circles. No sign of her.

  ‘There,’ said Jay, pointing.

  I saw a clear bubble rise, and drift dreamily out over the sea.

  ‘A bubble.’ I folded my arms and watched, supremely unimpressed, as it disappeared from view. ‘A bubble.’

  ‘I thought you’d be delighted.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I am still speaking to the woman who spent, and I believe I quote, three glorious minutes as a pancake not too long ago?’

  ‘I was high at the time.’

  ‘Point taken.’

  ‘She’ll pop.’

  ‘Magick is vast and wondrous,’ said Jay rather pompously.

  ‘And?’

  ‘So, probably she won’t pop. Neither will you.’

  ‘We’ll be swept out to sea and never seen again.’

  ‘Chicken.’ Jay stooped, casually kidnapped my pup, and before I could stop him he’d touched his fingers to the eerie blue gem and turned into a bubble, too.

  ‘Hey!’ I yelled as he drifted away. ‘That’s my pup!’

  I wasted a few seconds on pointless fuming. Low-down, dirty trick! I mentally took back about the half of the reasons I might recently have volunteered for generally approving of Jay. ‘Filthy Waymasters,’ I muttered.