The Secret Kingdom

by Jenny Nimmo

  He could see the camel, its head lowered and its eyes closed. He could see the branches of the trees, spread like a canopy above his head. He sat up, and light rippled across the cloak that covered his legs. It was like seeing the moon reflected in water. Edern ran his hand lightly over the glimmering threads. They were so soft, he could hardly feel them. Beside him, Timoken stirred in his sleep; the band of gold around his head glinted in the gentle light.

  ‘A king,’ Edern said to himself. Something his father had said came into his head. ‘To be a king is an honour and a burden. He cannot show fear, and he cannot shoulder the huge weight of his responsibilities without our support. Never forget that.’

  Edern looked at his sleeping companion. I won’t forget, he thought.

  He shook Timoken’s shoulder and the African woke with a start. ‘I have never slept so deeply.’ He yawned and stretched his arms.

  ‘I think we should go now,’ said Edern.

  ‘Of course!’ Timoken exclaimed. He went over to the camel and began to load him up.

  ‘It is night,’ grunted Gabar.

  ‘I’m sorry. We have a task to perform – a rescue!’ Timoken lit a small lamp and hung it at the front of the saddle.

  Gabar wearily lifted his rump. ‘Rescue?’ he snorted. ‘At night?’

  ‘Yes. And don’t get up yet. We have to climb on your back.’

  ‘Two again,’ grumbled Gabar.

  Timoken smiled. ‘We weigh hardly anything.’ He got into the saddle and called Edern over, telling him to climb up behind him.

  When they were ready, Gabar raised himself to his feet and, at a touch of the reins, began to walk down the mountain track. It had widened out into a rough road, and on either side trees grew thickly, keeping the camel safe from another tumble.

  As they travelled Timoken described his plan to Edern. They would stop a little way before reaching the barn, so the dogs would not hear them. When he was quite sure no animal had been alerted, Timoken would fly into the trees above the buildings. He would talk softly to the dogs, commanding them to be silent, and then he would ask the horses to be quiet and steady while he untied the ropes that tethered them to the trees.

  ‘They keep the saddlery in a hut beside the stone house,’ Edern said. ‘Shall I saddle the horses while you are freeing my friends?’

  ‘No,’ said Timoken firmly. ‘I will do it. I will call to you when all is safe. If you do not hear from me before dawn, it means I have failed, so you must find some other route, and continue alone on Gabar.’

  It had not occurred to Edern that Timoken might fail. He could find nothing to say, except, ‘I understand.’

  ‘Treat my camel well,’ said Timoken. ‘He is family.’

  ‘I will,’ Edern said huskily. ‘But you will not fail.’

  They reached a sharp turn in the road and Edern said, ‘We are close to the barn. It is maybe two hundred strides away.’

  Timoken guided Gabar into the trees at the side of the road. He took the moon cloak from a bag and swung it across his head. Edern watched in awe as the clouds rolled back and starlight filtered down through the trees.

  Timoken leapt from the camel’s back, and the last Edern saw of him was a pale shape, floating high in the trees. The moon cloak streamed behind him, like a pair of silvery wings.

  The girl in the cage looked up through the hole in the roof and saw what she thought was an angel. One of the boys saw it too. ‘Look! Look!’ he cried.

  Beri knew they must be quiet if the angel was to rescue them. ‘Sshh!’ she hissed. She could smell fire.

  Other children were waking up now. The angel perched on the roof and looked down at them. He put a finger to his lips and whispered, ‘Hush!’

  Silence fell. The angel had a dark face and wore a thin gold crown. The children were a little afraid of him. They had never seen an African before. Beri had seen many. Now that he was close, she doubted that he was an angel, even when he dropped lightly to the ground, as though he were borne on wings.

  Timoken whispered quickly to the children while he severed their bonds. He told them he could not remove the heavy chains across the door, but he could carry them up, one by one, through the roof. They would find horses saddled and ready, but they would have to ride two to a horse. When they were all free, he turned his attention to the cage.

  ‘How will you open this?’ asked the girl, shaking the iron bars.

  Timoken grinned. ‘Wait and see.’ He walked around the cage, stroking his chin like an old man.

  The others began to whisper urgently. ‘Please, get us out. The false monks will hear. They’ll catch us before we can ride away.’

  Timoken turned to them, frowning. ‘Hush!’ His tone was severe. ‘Climb on each other’s shoulders if you can’t wait!’ He walked around the cage again. The door was padlocked; the key, presumably, in one of the false monks’ pockets.

  The little pearl-handled knife would not do. All Timoken had were his hands. He put his ringed finger on the padlock and murmured, ‘Help me, ring! Melt! Click! Open!’

  The girl couldn’t understand him. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  Timoken was too absorbed to answer her. His finger felt as though it were burning. The pain was almost unbearable. And now he thought his whole hand was being boiled, but he kept his finger on the padlock until, suddenly, with a loud click it opened and fell to the ground.

  The girl stared at Timoken in astonishment. ‘So you are a magician, not an angel,’ she said. Cautiously, she pushed at the cage door.

  ‘Quickly!’ urged Timoken. ‘Get out!’

  The moment the girl stepped out of the cage, Timoken seized her around the waist and flew up through the hole with her. His feet had hardly touched the roof before he was floating gently down to the ground.

  The girl saw flames billowing up in front of the stone house. Timoken had built a pyre against the door and set it alight. The false monks could be heard shouting inside the house. There was only one window and that too was engulfed in flames.

  ‘They will burn,’ said Beri with satisfaction.

  ‘No,’ Timoken told her. ‘It will rain and the fire will die.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Puzzled, the girl stared at his solemn face.

  ‘Find a horse and wait for one of the others,’ he commanded, giving her a little shove in the direction of the house.

  Some of the other children had already managed to climb on to the roof and were even now jumping to the ground. Timoken flew up to collect the others and remained on the roof while they found their horses. As soon as they were all mounted, he gave a loud bellow and Gabar came thumping through the trees with Edern on his back.

  ‘Edern!’ cried the Britons. ‘You found a camel.’

  ‘A camel and a friend,’ Edern replied.

  Timoken leapt from the barn roof and landed lightly in the camel saddle. ‘Go now,’ he called to the others. ‘We will follow.’

  The six horses took off immediately, their riders calling loudly to one another, keen to put a distance between themselves and their captors.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ Edern asked anxiously.

  ‘There is another horse,’ said Timoken. ‘He pulls the wagon. I untied the rope that tethered him, but he would not move. The other horses listened to me. They were happy to obey, but not this one. If we leave him, the false monks can follow us.’

  They rode into the woods at the back of the house. The big horse was standing under a tree. He had not moved since Timoken had spoken to him.

  Gabar seemed uneasy. He was reluctant to go too close. But Timoken urged him forward until they were only three strides away from the horse. He was a huge beast, jet black, with feet bigger than a camel’s.

  ‘Go now,’ said Timoken in a rough snort. ‘You are free.’

  A deep and dreadful sound came from the horse. It was more of a roar than a neigh. It made no sense to Timoken. ‘Horse, why won’t you go?’ he asked.

  The great beast pawe
d the ground. It looked as though it was about to charge at them, and the camel stepped back nervously. The black horse thrust out its head and rolled back its lips, revealing its huge teeth. Then, from its throat, came a snarl that had no meaning.

  ‘Let’s go,’ cried Edern. ‘I have never seen such an evil creature.’

  Timoken was shaken. Until now he had understood every animal that he had met. They all had a language, but not this beast. It is possessed by an evil thing, he thought.

  It worried him that, even here, wickedness existed, when he thought he had left it far behind. He gave the camel’s reins a light tug and grunted, ‘Go, Gabar. Go like the wind!’

  Gabar was only too happy to obey.

  As they passed the stone house, Timoken saw that the flames had reached the roof, and burning rafters were crashing into the building.

  ‘They cannot follow us now,’ muttered Edern.

  But Timoken could not bear the false monks’ screams. Waving his arms at the sky, he called for rain, and within seconds, raindrops the size of pebbles came tumbling down on their heads.

  Gabar gave a snort of disgust and galloped down the road.

  Timoken did not stop the rain until he was sure that enough water had fallen to douse the fire.

  Edern was disappointed. ‘They will follow us now,’ he grumbled. ‘They have the wagon and that brute of a horse. And they have weapons. When they catch up with us, we are done for.’

  Timoken just laughed. ‘If they follow us, then I will bring thunder and lightning on their heads. Don’t be so gloomy, Edern. I have weapons, too, even though you cannot see them.’

  Edern grinned. ‘So you have. We’d better catch up with the others; they may be in need of your special weapons.’

  ‘Let’s find them, Gabar,’ said Timoken. And Gabar’s pace increased.

  They trotted across the valley, past small hamlets and lonely farmhouses, through dense woods, over bridges and below a castle that stood proud on a rocky hill. But there was no sign of the eleven children, and Timoken began to fear that they had been caught again, by bandits or worse. The children had no protection but their wits.

  ‘Peredur Sharptooth has wits as well as teeth,’ said Edern, almost as though he had read Timoken’s thoughts.

  ‘Then let us hope that his wits are as sharp as his teeth,’ said Timoken.

  In spite of the danger, Edern found himself laughing.

  Chapter Twelve

  Poisoned

  The next day they came to a village where something odd had happened. Something ominous. The usual scent of woodsmoke was absent. There were other smells: death and decay. Night was falling fast but the houses were all in darkness. Not a light showed anywhere. The village stood in a great, hollow silence.

  Timoken was reluctant to stop. He was afraid for the eleven children, and wanted to find them before it became too dark. But Gabar demanded a rest. He had seen a stone trough standing beneath a pump in the centre of the village, and he made towards it. As the camel bent his head to drink, Timoken suddenly jerked the reins, forcing Gabar away from the water.

  The camel bellowed furiously. ‘I am thirsty. Why will you not let me drink?’

  ‘Look at the water, Gabar! Look!’

  The reflected light from Timoken’s lamp made the water sparkle. To Gabar, it looked delicious.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Edern peered around Timoken to get a better look. ‘Why won’t you let the camel drink?’

  ‘Because someone has poisoned the water.’ Even as he spoke, Timoken realised that Edern could not see the thin green mist rising from the trough; a mist filled with swimming shapes, diminutive forms with grotesque features. They were grinning at him, their twisted faces full of malice.

  ‘How do you know?’ Edern asked in a puzzled voice. ‘How can you tell that the water is poisoned?’

  ‘I can see them,’ Timoken said simply.

  ‘Them?’

  ‘Demons.’

  Gabar felt something now. He could not see the tiny forms, but he could sense them, and he began to back away.

  Edern could see nothing, yet he knew that Timoken must be believed. ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘Perhaps the whole village has been poisoned,’ Timoken said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps they are all dead, but some might have lived.’

  Edern looked at the houses, shadowed and silent in the gathering darkness. ‘Should we go and look?’ he said, a little fearfully.

  ‘We must.’

  Gabar knelt and the two boys climbed down. The first house they entered was quite empty. So was the next. In both houses there was food on the table, a water pitcher, and several tankards. The pitcher was empty. So were the tankards. When they found no one at home in the third house, they began to think that perhaps the villagers had been frightened away, and not poisoned after all.

  Timoken returned to the trough. He steeled himself to look at the water again. The tiny demons were still there, floating in their pea-green vapour. Cautiously, he poked his ringed finger into the mist. The demons he touched shrieked with pain and shot upwards; pinpricks of lemon-green light, hurtling through the dark sky.

  ‘I saw them,’ cried Edern, enthralled by the shooting lights. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I am not sure,’ answered Timoken. ‘But they are not smiling at me now.’ On the other side of the trough he could just make out a large building, set back from the others. It was a meeting house, perhaps, or the home of an important village elder. Were all the villagers in there? Had they gone to seek his advice, for an illness brought on by the infected water? Timoken was about to investigate the large house when Edern suddenly clutched his arm.

  ‘Listen,’ Edern whispered.

  A boy’s voice came drifting through the air. It was very clear and sweet, and it was singing in Edern’s language.

  ‘Gereint!’ cried Edern. ‘I know his voice so well. He is our prince’s favourite singer.’ He ran towards the house where the singing could be heard. Timoken followed him.

  The door was open and the two boys ran in. Candles flickered on a rough table where nine children sat, their faces white and terrified. But when Edern and Timoken walked into the light, the children jumped up, smiling with relief.

  Running to Edern, Peredur cried, ‘We thought you were lost, or caught again by those false monks.’

  ‘You are not all here,’ said Timoken solemnly. ‘Where are the others?’

  Peredur’s face fell. ‘We think they are dying.’ He stood back and pointed to a dark corner, where two children lay on a mattress, a boy and a girl. The others had covered them with their jerkins, but the sick children looked very close to death. Their eyes were closed, and they did not appear to be breathing.

  Another boy approached Timoken. He was smaller than Peredur, and his hair was very blond. ‘I was singing to them,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘I thought it would ease their journey into heaven.’

  ‘They are not dead.’ Timoken walked over to the mattress and knelt beside the children. ‘He is warm,’ he said, taking the boy’s hand. ‘What happened?’

  ‘They rode ahead of us,’ said Peredur. ‘Henri was always urging his horse to go faster, and poor Isabelle, sitting behind him in her long dress, was always scared of falling off. When we reached the village we found their horse tied to a post, and then we saw Henri and Isabelle; they were both lying beside the pump. Their lips were green and slimy, their faces pale as death.’

  ‘We thought it must be the water,’ said Gereint, the singer. ‘So we decided not to touch it.’

  ‘You were wise,’ muttered Timoken. He whirled through the door and ran to Gabar, standing patiently outside.

  ‘Water?’ Gabar inquired, as Timoken pulled the moon cloak from a bag.

  ‘Later, Gabar,’ said Timoken. ‘The water in the trough is poisoned, be grateful that I stopped you from drinking it.’

  ‘Always grateful, Family,’ the camel grunted as Timoken ran back into the house.

  He threw t
he moon cloak over the sick children and sat beside them. Edern brought a candle and held it up so that the light fell on the sick children’s faces. The others gathered behind him, whispering anxiously. The moon cloak glimmered in the soft light, its threads like a pattern of stars.

  ‘What is that thing?’

  Timoken recognised the caged girl’s voice. She sounded suspicious. He was not sure how to explain the moon cloak.

  ‘Magician, tell me what you are doing.’ Her voice was gentler now. ‘I trust you, but I want to know.’

  Timoken took a breath and, lifting a corner of the web, said, ‘I call this the moon cloak. It is made from the web of the last moon spider. It keeps me safe and, sometimes, it can heal.’ He translated his words for the others.

  The children behind him murmured in awe. The sound grew to a buzz of excitement as Henri turned his face and groaned.

  ‘He’s coming round,’ said Peredur.

  They waited expectantly, watching Henri’s face. Suddenly, he sat up and groaned, ‘I’m going to be sick!’ Although the Britons didn’t understand him, they had a very good idea what was about to happen and leapt back like the others, as Henri bent over and retched. A green liquid pooled on the earthen floor. Only Timoken saw the demons writhing in the puddle and slowly dying. In a few seconds, the green liquid had seeped into the earth, leaving only a small damp patch.

  ‘It’s you!’ said Henri, looking up into Timoken’s face. ‘Did you save me yet again?’

  Timoken grinned. ‘No. The moon cloak did that.’

  Henri frowned at the glimmering web. ‘Aww!’ He swung his legs on to the floor and stood up, letting the moon cloak float down beside the girl. ‘Oh, Isabelle!’ Henri’s hand flew to his mouth. ‘She’s still sick. And it’s my fault. I made her drink the water. It was poisoned, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You idiot!’ said one of the French boys. He was tall and thin, with a mop of blond curls. ‘Why are you always racing ahead?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Gerard. I can’t help myself. I did not mean … Oh …’ Henri covered his face with his hands. ‘Will she die?’