by Anne Forbes
The count smiled thinly, not at all convinced, but rose and shook hands with them cordially enough as Sir James introduced Clara. “Have … have you come to see Stuart?” he asked, turning to Sir James.
“After a fashion,” nodded Sir James. “We were worried that he might be late for his meeting. He hasn’t gone yet, has he? His car is still outside.”
De Charillon took a deep breath. “You’ll never believe this,” he said, walking over to the mirror, “but the last I saw of him, he was walking through this mirror!”
Sir James and Clara both straightened in horror as he casually clicked one of the carvings round a couple of times. “I thought that the mirror might be some sort of door,” he said, “and that this might be a handle, but it doesn’t seem to do anything.”
Sir James spoke through lips that had gone suddenly stiff. “No, it doesn’t, does it.”
“I don’t think it can be a door anyway,” Clara said consideringly, her eyes still round with shock, “it’s … it’s on an outside wall.”
“You’re right, of course,” smiled the count somewhat shakily. “I think I must have imagined it all. Really, if you don’t mind, I’m feeling a bit confused. I … I ought to be getting along now.”
Two perfectly ordinary pigeons were fluttering aimlessly round the hall as they made their way towards the door.
“Oh, look! They can’t get out, poor things,” Clara said, flapping her hands at them. De Charillon, nevertheless, threw them a glance of deep suspicion as she opened the door wide and shooed them into the street.
The count bowed formally as he said goodbye but his mind was racing. He was not a fool and knew perfectly well that something quite out of the ordinary was going on, but for the life of him he couldn’t quite work out what — and as magic didn’t for a second enter into his calculations, he put his car into gear and headed for home, none the wiser.
38. Winner Takes All
From the moment the prince had stepped through the mirror into the tower, Rothlan had kept the prince talking in the hope that Neil would remember the magic words that would free the crown from Kalman’s power. Neil, however, remained silent and as the prince eyed them all speculatively, Rothlan was forced to turn and look at the white-faced boy who stood, pale and staring vacantly, by his side.
Prince Kalman followed his glance and gave an ugly laugh as his astute brain told him what had happened.
“So the Sultan didn’t trust you, Alasdair!” he gloated. “He trusted a couple of children instead! How very galling for you, my dear! And the boy has the sickness of the forest on him.”
Rothlan’s heart sank. He glanced hopelessly at Ellan who, still clutching her broomstick, had turned her head to look at the top of the staircase. Jaikie, too, seemed distracted by a light, rustling noise but at the prince’s words, both looked at Neil and the Ranger and shook their heads slightly. It was obvious that they were totally oblivious to what was going on around them. They had lost their memories and the sickness of the trees was raging within them.
The Prince lifted the crown from its stand and, holding it triumphantly in the curve of his arm, seemed to grow in stature. “You chose a rather inopportune moment to try to steal my crown,” he said casually, “but as you doubtless know, I have quite an important meeting to attend this afternoon. I’m late already and as I’ve no intention of missing it you will forgive me if I hex you out of this world, won’t you?”
Rothlan vaguely heard the rustling noise become louder but, totally absorbed by Kalman’s words, he ignored it. His lips tightened to a thin line in the knowledge that his magic was powerless against that of the crown and as bleak despair shaded his eyes, Kalman lifted his arm to hex them. Meeting the courage in Rothlan’s eyes, however, he hesitated, realizing with a stab of anguish that over the years he had allowed his jealousy of Rothlan to cloud his judgement. They had been friends as boys. It shouldn’t end like this, he thought suddenly and as their eyes held, he hesitated to speak the words of the hex.
It was his undoing, for it was then that the goblins arrived. Forced into the light from their deep dens in the roots of the forest, they had headed in a maddened rush for the darkness of the tower. Half-blind and driven almost insane by the sunlight, they rose in a rustling, rippling tide up its narrow, spiral staircase and streamed into the topmost room in a flood of dry, disgusting, stinking bodies. Kalman, totally unprepared for such an invasion, turned in surprise as, totally disorientated, they rushed in, roaring and slobbering horribly, their razor-sharp fingernails like daggers.
“Hit the ceiling,” shouted Rothlan as he kicked out at the goblins that were tearing at his cloak. No one needed a second telling, even Neil and the Ranger, sick as they were, flew up out of the goblins’ reach. Two of them, however, managed to grasp Jaikie’s broomstick as he lifted off the ground and despite his efforts to shake them off, they clung on determinedly. Kicking out at them in a frantic attempt to break their grasp, Jaikie was so busy trying to fend them off that he totally forgot to look where he was going and, in the excitement of the moment, accidentally flew clean through one of the mirrors — goblins and all!
Emerging in Kalman’s study in Moray Place, Jaikie swerved instinctively to avoid hitting someone standing in his way and, to his amazement, found that it was Sir James that he’d almost knocked to the ground.
As the surprised goblins released their hold and he swept round the unfamiliar room, he realized what must have happened and saw, to his joy, that it not only contained Sir James, but Clara as well!
Relief flooded through him. Help was at hand.
Clara gulped as Jaikie and two huge, ugly green creatures that stank to the heavens, blasted their way through the mirror, causing Sir James to duck hastily. She didn’t know that they were goblins; it was enough that they were horrible, monstrous things with red eyes and long teeth that curved from slavering mouths. Their skin, gnarled and knobbly like the bark of very old trees, hung off them in folds and rustled dryly as they hopped around trying to catch Jaikie, who by this time was hovering near the ceiling, dodging round the crystals of an ornate chandelier in an effort to escape their claw-like fingers.
Scrambling to his feet, Sir James shoved Clara towards the door before grabbing a shovel from the fireplace and entering the fray.
“Be careful you don’t go through the other mirror,” Clara yelled at Jaikie as he whizzed round the room with the goblins dancing with rage below him, “the setting’s been altered!”
“Chase the goblins through it if you can then,” Jaikie said, circling the room.
Sir James solved the problem by stepping forward, hitting both the surprised goblins over the head with the shovel and chucking them both through the mirror. Before they could come back, Jaikie flew down and, with a sigh of relief, twisted the rose-shaped carving.
“Thank goodness!” he said, as he locked the mirror firmly. “Now they can’t get back in!”
Sir James, tie askew and panting with exertion, dropped the shovel. “What the devil is going on, Jaikie?” he demanded.
“It’s a disaster!” whispered Jaikie, running his hand through his hair. “A complete and utter disaster! Neil’s lost his memory, Kalman has the crown and we’re being attacked by those goblins from the magic forest!”
“Neil’s lost his memory?” Clara gasped.
“Yes,” Jaikie nodded. “Clara, I know it’s dangerous but only you know the magic words. You’ve got to come with me through the mirror!”
“We’ll both come,” Sir James said grimly, taking Clara’s hand. “You go first, Jaikie, and we’ll follow.”
Magnified endlessly by the circle of mirrors, the scene that met their eyes seemed one of total carnage. While Rothlan, Lady Ellan and the others hovered high above them, Kalman was hexing the goblins frantically but even though their bodies littered the room, a seemingly unending tide of newcomers welled up from the staircase, clambering unheedingly over the bodies of their comrades, to join in the fight.
Rothlan gasped with relief as he saw Clara and Sir James step through one of the mirrors and realizing that the situation had changed for the better, promptly threw a few hexes of his own to quell the goblins.
Prince Kalman looked at him in surprise and then swung round as he saw the newcomers.
Clara’s arrival stopped him in his tracks. He froze as she stepped towards him and although she met his cold, blue eyes bravely, she quailed at the power that radiated from him. He was every inch a king despite his scratched face and torn clothes; and he still held the crown.
“Ah!” he said, an odd expression on his face, “so you survived, did you? That was my mistake! I should have finished you off with Kitor!”
Clara flinched at his words and, before he could hex her, spoke the Sultan’s magic words: “Kutaya Soloi.”
They came clearly and easily to her lips and such were the ringing tones of the spell that even the goblins stopped in their tracks and looked at her in amazement.
Her words were accompanied by a sudden, tremendous bang and a flash of light that stunned them all. Understanding dawned as, before their astonished eyes, the Turkish Sultan materialized in all his finery with his entourage behind him.
The goblins took one look at the sharp, curved scimitars of the Sultan’s guards and decided wisely that, at this stage of the proceedings, discretion was undoubtedly the better part of valour. They exchanged speaking glances and then, very quietly, eased themselves out of the room, fled down the staircase and were never seen or heard of again.
Such was the charged atmosphere in the room of mirrors, however, that no one noticed them go. The prince stood rigid, paralysed with fear, as the Sultan approached him and, with a stern face, took the crown from his nerveless fingers. “My crown, I think!” he said in a voice of iron.
The prince’s lips closed in a thin, hard line and his eyes were bleak as his dreams of power and grandeur collapsed around him. Rothlan and Lady Ellan looked at one another apprehensively, knowing that the Sultan’s punishment would be both fitting and fairly dreadful. Kalman knew it, too, and as the power of the crown drained from him and reverted to the Sultan, he was left increasingly bereft and defenceless. He did not lack courage, however, and even as his features weakened and his personality diminished, he tried desperately to hide his fear and keep the remains of his dignity.
It was Amgarad, however, who forced him into his final, fatal move; for, hearing the noise of battle emanating from the tower, he had flown down to defend his master. Swooping like an avenging angel through the window, Amgarad, instead, came face to face with the prince; the prince who, until recently, had condemned him to live for years in the filthy body of a monstrous bird.
Recognition was instant and such was his hatred of Kalman that he launched himself on him with a scream of fury. The prince staggered back under the onslaught, trying to protect his eyes from Amgarad’s raking talons. It was the knowledge that he couldn’t shake him off, as well as the realization that not one of those present would do anything to help him, that made him turn towards the mirrors.
“Damn you! Damn you all!” he screamed, and, turning suddenly, he threw himself into the mirror behind him.
Jaikie, always quick off the mark, rushed forward and, with a quick twist, turned the carving that locked the mirror. Sweat dripped from him as he laid his face against the glass and slid down to his knees, shaking at what he had achieved and hardly able to believe that he had been in time.
Sir James finally broke the silence. “I … I don’t think Prince Kalman will trouble us any more,” he said quietly. “Jaikie’s just trapped him between mirrors!”
“Has he, by God,” Rothlan said, his eyes sharp. “Then we must leave here at once before Ardray disintegrates! Quickly, everyone, through the other mirror! Ellan,” he turned to her, “quickly, gather up all the broomsticks, we can’t leave them here!”
As Rothlan urged Clara and Sir James back through the mirror, the Sultan walked over to Jaikie who was bent over the Ranger and Neil.
“Neil and the Ranger have both lost their memories, your majesty,” he said worriedly. “They lost their cloaks in the magic forest.”
The Sultan rested the crown on the Ranger’s head, then on Neil’s and spoke the words of a spell. Even as they watched, his magic words wrought a miracle. Colour flowed back into their white faces and their eyes brightened as the sickness of the trees left them. They barely had time to look around when the tower shivered and seemed to slip slightly. It was enough! Jaikie hastily grabbed them and hurried them through the mirror.
The Sultan, holding the crown before him like a talisman, turned to Lord Rothlan. “We have little time for discussion,” he said quickly, “for this accursed place will soon be gone. I will make my own way home from here and will be in touch with you later through the crystal.”
Rothlan nodded. “Your horses are safe, your majesty. They served us well and you have our thanks.”
“And you have my thanks, Alasdair,” he said, “my very grateful thanks. Rest assured that I and the power of my crown will always be at your service.”
Another slight tremor shook the Black Tower of Ardray and knowing that the prince’s entire estate was about to disappear, Lord Rothlan bowed swiftly to the Sultan and, with Amgarad on his shoulder, stepped through the magic mirror into Ned Stuart’s study in Moray Place.
The Sultan, holding fast to the crown, muttered a few magic words and, seconds later, he and his entourage materialized beside a startled Hamish who, hearing the initial rumble of sound from Ardray and knowing what it portended, had jumped to his feet in alarm.
“They are all quite safe,” the Sultan told him quickly, seeing the fear in his eyes, “and, as you see, the crown has been returned to me.”
Hamish bowed low.
“And the prince, your majesty? Prince Kalman?”
“He is caught between mirrors and will not trouble us again.”
Hamish gave a sigh of relief.
The Sultan smiled. “I am taking my horses back to their stables at Ruksh,” he said. “The storm carriers will carry them there on the wings of the wind. And one of them will carry you back to your hill in Edinburgh. You will convey my regards to the MacArthur and inform him that I will be in touch with him soon. I have much to be grateful for!”
Hamish bowed again and watched as the storm carriers darkened the sky in hues of brown and purple and in a swirl of wind, gathered the horses in their great arms and bore them off.
39. Fish out of Water
The violent storm that raged across Scotland that afternoon took even the weathermen by surprise. Indeed, it seemed to blow up out of nothing, came from nowhere, defied every rule of meteorology and hammered the entire country. It swept in from the north-west, raced across the Highlands, buffeted Glasgow, howled through Edinburgh and, much to the Prime Minister’s delight, sent the French fishing fleet in the North Sea, racing for home.
Edinburgh was, perhaps, the hardest hit. Thunder rumbled ominously from a sky that had become as black as ink and the breathless wind that soughed over its cobbled streets stirred gradually from a strange unease to a tearing blast. Spears of rain lashed the city and lightning jagged in vicious streaks through the evil-looking clouds that tumbled and rolled over the castle in shades of brown, purple and black. The wind shrieked and howled through the streets for hours on end, rattling windows and ripping to shreds the tartan banners that decorated the city, leaving it clean and clear of Prince Kalman’s spell.
It was well into the middle of the night, when the storm had passed over and swept into the North Sea, that the wind eased and, into the sudden, breathless stillness, fell the first flakes of snow. The huge, soft, heavy flakes that drifted gently over town and country, coated the land in a thick blanket of white and the people of Scotland woke next morning to a silent, snow-covered landscape that gleamed under a clear, blue, winter sky.
“Well, MacArthur,” Sir James smiled, stretching out on a long sofa in the Great Hall u
nder Arthur’s Seat, “thank goodness that’s all over and done with!”
The MacArthur, carefully avoiding Lady Ellan’s frowning glance, lit his pipe, settled himself comfortably among the cushions on his high chair and blew clouds of smoke into the air. “Aye,” he said contentedly, “we’ve achieved a lot and maybe now we’ll have some peace. Prince Kalman has gone for good and Scotland is safe from his magic.” He paused, eyeing them all smilingly. “The Sultan, too, is relieved at the way things have ended. He spoke to me this morning through the crystal and sends you his thanks and an invitation to spend the New Year in Turkey — an invitation that I accepted on your behalf.”
There was an excited murmur at this. “A holiday,” said Sir James, “is just what we all need! Nobody can say we don’t deserve it!”
“Sun, sand and blue sky,” murmured Clara, “fabulous!”
“And the food,” added Neil. “I loved it — the kebabs, the salads, the stuffed vine-leaves, the …”
“What, no haggis?” teased his mother.
“Mum, don’t ever feed me haggis again! Honestly, I’ve had enough to last me a lifetime!”
“That’s certainly one thing that we can be grateful for,” grinned Clara. “No more haggis and tartan!”
Her father smiled in agreement. “It’s really quite funny when you think back on it all! The whole of Scotland was positively plastered in tartan for months and everyone thought it wonderful! Goodness knows what the tourists thought!”
“Or the English,” added the Chief Constable with a sly smile at George Tatler.
Tatler laughed. “It was absolutely mind-boggling,” he admitted, “and I can’t tell you how relieved I am that that storm blew down all those dreadful tartan banners.”
“Oh, that was deliberate,” Hamish grinned. “The storm carrier that brought me back from Ardray was an obliging chap so we asked him for a favour! It didn’t take him long to get rid of them!”
