George rolled his eyes and set off after him. He reached the top just in time to see the white tip of Spud’s tail disappearing through the study door, followed a few moments later by cries of delighted-sounding surprise.
‘George?’ Ernst Regenbogen appeared at the door. He beamed at him over the top of his glasses and held out his arms. ‘Come in, dear boy, come in!’
George shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to disturb you. Spud got a bit carried away. I’ll fetch him. We’ll go . . .’
‘Nonsense!’ The old man limped towards him and took him by the shoulders. ‘You are most welcome. Kitty is bursting to see you again. Inspector Scroggins assured her you were safe, but she won’t believe it until she has seen you with her own eyes.’
George flushed. ‘All right then, if you’re sure, but we won’t stay long.’
The old man frowned. ‘Are you going somewhere?’
‘No. I don’t know. I—’
‘Then come inside and join us. Please. We have so much to thank you for, not least my granddaughter’s life.’ His eyes filled with grateful tears.
George looked away, embarrassed.
The old man lifted his glasses and dabbed at his cheeks with a handkerchief. ‘Take no notice of me. I shall go and make us all a cup of tea and give you and Kitty the chance to catch up on last night’s adventures.’ Throwing George a quick wink, he limped past him, along the hall, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Taking a deep breath, George stepped inside. Kitty lay on the sofa, her left foot bandaged and propped on a cushion, Spud at her side. The dog jerked up when George came in and bounded over to him, tongue lolling, tail wagging.
‘George!’ Kitty made to sit up.
‘No. It’s all right. Stay there.’ He walked over and perched on the chair opposite.
Her cheeks flushed pink. ‘I am so glad to see you! I thought . . .’ Her lip trembled. ‘I thought that man might have killed you.’
‘He would have done if old Spud hadn’t come to the rescue.’ George leant forwards and tickled Spud’s ears.
‘You were so brave, the pair of you. But tell me. I want to know everything.’
‘Everything?’
She nodded.
He drew in another breath and began. He started with what had happened back at the pit with Ritter and Scroggins. Then he told her about the break-in up at the big house and how he’d got Scroggins to raise the alarm. When he got to the bit about burying the crown, her eyes lit up with excitement.
‘Did you see him – King Redwald?’
His chest tightened. He thought for a moment about sharing his fears – that it was Charlie’s ghost he’d seen beneath the tree – then decided against it. He might tell her, but not now. ‘No. It – he – wasn’t there.’
A look of disappointment slid across her face, but she perked up at the mention of the bird.
He faltered again when he got to the bit about the storm.
Kitty frowned. ‘Why have you stopped?’
‘I don’t know. It’s just that, well, it’s all a bit confusing. There was this cloud and . . .’ His shoulders slumped. He shook his head and stared down at the floor. How could he explain it when he wasn’t sure what had happened himself?
She drew a sharp breath and sat up. ‘So you saw it too?’
He blinked and looked up at her. ‘Saw what?’
‘Will you pass me the box of photographs please?’ She jerked her head in the direction of the desk. ‘There, it’s by the inkwell.’ George got up and fetched the box over. Taking it from him, Kitty opened it and rifled through the pictures until she found the one she was looking for. She held it out to him. As he took it from her, he saw it was the photograph of the dragon; the one on the king’s shield.
He glanced up again, frowning. ‘What about it?’
She leant forwards. ‘Remember about the dragon’s blood. How the legend says Wayland bound the charm with it.’
‘Yes, but what’s that got to do with what happened up there last night?’
‘It is obvious. When you kept your promise to make the crown safe, the dragon’s spirit came to your aid.’
George remembered again what had happened after he’d buried the crown: the rumbling noise and the feeling of the earth shifting beneath his feet. Then the great black cloud snaking up and joining with the two Spitfires to send the enemy planes packing and blasting Adler with a single fiery breath. And he thought about the scar on his hand too; how it had pulsed and twisted beneath his skin.
Had that been the dragon’s spirit stirring inside him as well? He stared down at it wonderingly, then back at the photograph.
‘You see, Saint George. Sometimes stories can be true.’ Kitty flashed him a grin, then her mouth turned down and she let out a sigh. ‘But I suppose I should not call you that any more. Because Saint George killed the dragon, whereas you have tamed yours.’
‘Ha ha!’ He frowned. ‘You said before you thought the ghost had picked me. You still haven’t told me why.’
‘I was not sure then, but now I think I know. The clue is in the charm.’
‘The charm?’
‘Yes.’ Her face took on a teacher-ish look. ‘I think it might have two meanings. Like a riddle. The Anglo– Saxons were very fond of them, you know.’
George shook his head. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘Remember what it says: “He who has me has the kingdom.”’
He rolled his eyes. ‘I know that.’
‘So, the first meaning, the most obvious one, is that whoever owns the crown will be the ruler of the kingdom. But what if it is also about the importance of being brave? Of standing up for what you believe in?’
‘Go on.’
‘So then, another meaning might be: “He who has courage has the kingdom.”’
George pulled a face. ‘I don’t know about that. I—’
‘What was that about courage?’ Ernst Regenbogen appeared at the door, a tea tray in his hands.
‘Oh, nothing, Opa.’ Kitty took the photograph and slipped it quickly back inside the box.
George jumped to his feet. ‘Can I help you with that, mister?’
‘I have told you before, you must call me Ernst, please.’ The old man stepped into the room and set the tray down on the desk. ‘Kitty told me about the crown and how you stopped those Nazis from getting their hands on it. But tell me, where is it now?’
George’s face grew hot under his gaze. ‘I, er—’
Kitty gave a loud cough. ‘What George is trying to say is that he buried it. After he raised the alarm. He wanted to make sure that, if the Nazis did invade, they would never find it, didn’t you George?’
George shot her a grateful look and nodded.
The old man glanced down at the pile of mud scrapings still sitting on the desk and sighed. ‘It is a shame not to have the chance to see it again.’
‘I could tell you where it is if you like, Mister Re— I mean, Ernst?’
The old man shook his head. ‘Thank you, but no. I think it is probably better that we keep it a secret rather than risk tempting fate a second time, don’t you?’ He patted George’s shoulder and handed him a cup of steaming brown tea. ‘And of course, I have you and Kitty to thank for my release too. When Inspector Scroggins discovered how brave the pair of you were, standing up to the enemy, he let me go at once.’
George frowned. ‘It wasn’t right, them taking you away and locking you up like that.’
Ernst Regenbogen gave another sigh. ‘It is true. But when people are frightened they do not always do what is right. And at least the British Government treats its socalled “enemy aliens” better than—’ He broke off suddenly and turned away.
Kitty stood up and hobbled over to him. ‘We must do what you told me when I first came here, Opa. Think about the happy times.’ Her hand fluttered to her throat, searching for the pendant. She bit her lip and dropped it quickly back down to her side.
‘Wait!’ George scrabb
led in his pocket. ‘Look, it’s all right. I’ve got it here.’ He pulled out the necklace and handed it to her.
Kitty’s eyes lit up. ‘Thank you! But how—’
‘Ritter gave it to the inspector before they took him away.’
‘Oh!’ Her cheeks flushed.
Ernst Regenbogen clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head. ‘What a waste of that young man’s talent. Though we must be grateful he found the courage within him to do the right thing at the end.’ He blinked and gazed down at Kitty. ‘You are right, Liebling. There were happy times. And, now we are back together, there will be more to come, I am sure of it.’ He stroked her cheek with a wrinkled finger. Then, taking the necklace from her, he fastened it back round her neck.
George’s heart clenched. He was glad Kitty had got her granddad back, but, though he was ashamed to admit it, he couldn’t help hurting too. Curling his fingers over the ring, he pressed it to his chest and whispered Charlie’s name.
A hand squeezed his shoulder. ‘George. I am sorry. How selfish of us to be speaking like this in front of you when your brother is still missing. Please forgive us.’ The old man peered at him over the top of his glasses, his eyes full of concern.
George swallowed hard against the lump rising in his throat. ‘Is . . . is there any news?’
He drew in a breath. ‘I am afraid not, no.’
A loud rat-tat sounded from down below. Spud scrambled up barking.
Ernst Regenbogen frowned. ‘I wonder who that could be?’ He adjusted his glasses on his nose and limped towards the door, Spud padding along behind.
A sick feeling rose up inside George’s chest. He made to go after them, but Kitty held him back. ‘I think there is something you have not told me yet. Where did you find it?’
He frowned. ‘Find what?’
‘Your ring.’ She nodded at his hand.
George uncurled his fingers. He stared at the ring again, then took a deep breath and told her what had happened that morning under the tree. When he got to the bit about burying Spud, then hearing his whimper, Kitty gasped and clutched at his arm. ‘The ghost! It must have been.’
He shook his head. ‘I ain’t sure.’
‘I am!’ She pressed her lips into a stubborn pout.
George sighed. He didn’t have the energy to argue with her. And anyway, after everything else that had happened, he didn’t rightly know what to think.
‘And the ring?’
As he told her about the raven, her eyes grew wide with amazement.
‘It must have found it on the street after your fight with Raymond Scroggins and taken it up to the tree.’
‘Maybe.’ He wanted to believe it too, but now a fresh memory of the ring on the ghost’s pointing finger was filling him with a renewed sense of dread. He shivered.
She reached out and slid her fingers into his. ‘It will be all right, George, I know it will.’
He shook his head. He wanted her to be right, but she didn’t know. None of them did.
A voice called up the stairs. ‘George! Kitty! There is someone to see you.’
George blinked. It couldn’t be about Charlie then.
He felt a sharp tug on his sleeve. ‘Come on. We should not keep them waiting, whoever they are. Besides, I need your help.’ Kitty pointed at her bandaged ankle.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ernst Regenbogen was waiting for them outside the museum door, Spud by his side.
‘Who is it, Opa?’
‘You will find out soon enough.’ He gave them a mysterious look and gestured for them to enter.
‘Ain’t you coming in with us?’
The old man shook his head. ‘No, George. Our visitor would like to see you both alone.’
They exchanged puzzled glances then, taking a deep breath, George pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room was in shadow, the blackout curtains half-pulled across the window.
As the door clicked shut behind them, a cloud of spicy-smelling smoke wafted through the air, making Kitty sneeze.
‘Mmm? Ah, there you are!’ The short, stout figure of a man dressed in a dark hat and coat stepped out from behind the suit of armour. He strode towards them, his walking cane clicking against the floorboards, another smoke-cloud puffing from the cigar clamped between his lips.
Spud curled himself round George’s ankles and gave an uncertain growl.
‘And I see you have brought your faithful hound too. Splendid!’ The man bent and rubbed Spud between the ears with his pudgy fingers. As he rose and the smoke cleared, Kitty gave a loud gasp.
The man gave a throaty-sounding cough. ‘What am I thinking? We have not been properly introduced.’ Removing the cigar from his mouth, he bent and ground it against the sole of his shoe, then lifted up again and held out his hand. ‘Churchill. Winston Churchill.’
George’s jaw dropped. He blinked and sucked in a tangy-tasting breath. ‘You mean, the Prime Minister?’
The man’s eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘The very same one. A pleasure to meet you, Mister Penny.’ He seized George’s hand and pumped it up and down, then turned to Kitty. ‘And you too, Miss Regenbogen.’ He doffed his hat to her and gave a small bow. ‘I have been looking forward to meeting you both since I got the news first thing this morning. The country and I have a lot to thank you two for.’
George’s cheeks grew hot. ‘We didn’t do much really; it was—’
The Prime Minister held up his hand. ‘I admire your modesty, but fighting off a bunch of Nazi commandos is no small matter; especially for a pair of young whippersnappers – if you’ll pardon the expression.’ He shot them a mischievous wink, then his face grew suddenly serious again. ‘These are dark days. Not content with trying to gain supremacy over our skies, Mister Hitler is now pounding our cities with his bombs. He seeks to strike fear into our hearts so that we will give in to him. However,’ – he pressed his lips into a determined-looking smile – ‘as you, and our valiant troops and airmen have shown, we are not so easily defeated. Courage, grit and common decency. It is with these that the battle against tyranny will be won.’
As the last of the words rang in their ears, the blackout curtains billowed into the room and a shaft of yellow light spilt across the floor. Kitty gave a small cry and clutched George’s sleeve.
‘What?’
She pointed to a spot in front of the window. George’s mouth dropped open again at the sight of a large circle of gold metal gleaming back at them in the morning sunshine.
He licked his lips. ‘It . . . it can’t be!’
‘But it is!’ Kitty whirled round on him, eyes flashing. ‘Did you dig it up again?’
George’s skin prickled. ‘No, I swear!’
She folded her arms across her chest and frowned.
‘It’s the truth. Please, you’ve got to believe me.’
She wavered for a moment as if considering, then puffed out a breath and nodded.
‘Come now. What is all the fuss about?’ The Prime Minister stepped alongside them. His eyes widened as they fell on the crown. Thrusting his stick at George, he bent down and picked it up. He drew in a breath as the dragon’s red garnet eyes glittered in the light. ‘Fascinating!’ He turned to George and Kitty. ‘Would you care to tell me about it?’
George nudged Kitty forwards. ‘You say.’
She tucked her hair behind her ears and cleared her throat. ‘It came from the site of the ship burial, sir; the one that was discovered last year. Opa – that is my granddad – he thinks it might have belonged to the king they believe was buried there.’
‘Ah yes, I remember! Redwald, isn’t it? But tell me, what are these markings here?’ The Prime Minister tilted the crown and pointed a stubby finger at the runes.
‘George can tell you about them.’ Kitty flashed him a quick smile.
George’s cheeks flushed. ‘It’s a charm, sir. From an old Anglo–Saxon legend. It says that whoever has the crown will have the kingdom t
oo.’
The Prime Minister peered down at the runes again, then back up at George. ‘I see. In that case, you must be sure to keep it safe, young man.’ He held the crown out to him, fixing him with a firm, level gaze.
George felt a shiver of pride, but he knew – even as he took it – that it wasn’t his to keep.
‘I think King George should have it, sir. He can look after it a lot better than we can.’
Kitty clutched George’s sleeve again, an anxious look on her face.
‘It’s all right, honest.’
She hesitated, then let her hand fall.
As George passed the crown back to the Prime Minister, he felt a small tingle in his fingers, then . . . nothing.
The Prime Minister tipped his hat. ‘Thank you, both of you. I am sure His Majesty will take excellent care of it.’
Kitty gave a small cough. ‘It has a name, sir. It is called the Kingdom-Keeper.’
‘Kingdom-Keeper, eh?’ The Prime Minister’s eyes took on a fierce gleam. ‘How appropriate! Well, given the circumstances, I think perhaps for the time being its whereabouts are best kept secret. Do you agree?’
George and Kitty nodded.
He opened the top button of his overcoat and slid the crown down inside it. ‘Excellent. Now, what time is it?’
George frowned. ‘Hang on a minute . . .’ Fumbling in his trouser pocket, he pulled out Bill Jarvis’s watch. ‘Eleven o’clock.’
The Prime Minister raised his eyebrows. ‘Already? I must go. I am due at the police station to thank our local constabulary for their actions last night – I believe it was the inspector’s son who helped you raise the alarm?’
George nodded. ‘That’s right, sir.’
‘Very good. I shall ask to see him too. And then I must make my way to the airbase to congratulate our brave lads there for all they have been doing to keep the Luftwaffe at bay.’
George’s heart lurched. ‘Er . . . excuse me, sir. I’ve got a favour to ask.’
The Prime Minister frowned. ‘Yes, of course. What is it?’
‘My brother, Charlie Penny. He’s a Spitfire pilot at the airbase. He went up on a mission a couple of nights ago and he’s . . . well he’s been missing ever since. I was wondering if maybe you could try and find out what’s happened to him?’
Buried Crown Page 20
