Please to remember
The fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason, and plot
We know of no reason
Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.
“Excellent, my young man. Excellent.”
“Excuse me,” said Fahd, a puzzled look on his face, “but why would you celebrate a man who tried to blow up your Houses of Parliament?”
“Well,” the beefeater chuckled, “there’s always been a great many who wish he’d succeeded. But seriously, young man, there are those who say we should never forget in order that we all recognize how fortunate we are to have our type of government and our good Queen. Guy Fawkes is not a hero, but a villain in British history, and people should never forget their history. Guy Fawkes needs to be remembered.”
“We remember – we saw what he looked like before they split him apart,” said Derek.
“Ah,” the beefeater said, twirling his moustache, “then you’ve visited Madame Tussaud’s. Well, what you wouldn’t have learned there, though, is that Guy Fawkes was brought here to the Tower when he was captured. He was taken directly to the chamber inside the Queen’s House that I just showed to you, and there he was made to confess – you can use your imaginations to think how that might have been done – and it was here that he named his co-conspirators. So you are standing in exactly the same courtyard that Guy Fawkes once walked through. How about that?”
“Neat,” said Willie.
“Freaky,” said Liz.
“Creepy,” said Jesse.
“Now,” the beefeater announced, “would you like to help us feed the ravens?”
Travis felt strange holding a blood-soaked biscuit in his hand. He wondered what blood it was – beef? pork? … human? – and whether the ritual had changed over the centuries.
One of the ravens was hopping aggressively toward Travis. “That’d be Hardey, mate,” the beefeater said to Travis. “He’s the oldest and expects special treatment. I wouldn’t deny him, now. You just flip that delicious little morsel in the air and see what happens.”
Travis had no intention of trying to feed one of these pecking machines by hand. He tossed the biscuit so it looped through the air, and Hardey, with practised timing, leaped up and snatched it in mid-flight.
“Nice catch!” Travis shouted.
“He’d answer you back,” the smiling beefeater said, “but his mouth’s kind of full.”
Hardey gorged himself on the treat and began hopping aggressively again toward Travis, who retreated instinctively, causing the beefeater to chuckle.
Everywhere Travis looked, he could see kids feeding the ravens under the watchful eye of a warden. Some, like Sam, were determined to befriend the fierce black birds and waited until the last moment before releasing the blood-soaked biscuit.
The beefeater with Travis was naming the ravens by sight, even at a considerable distance, pointing them out for Travis’s benefit.
“That be Gomer, he’s a fighter. And Hugine … and that there is Odin … there we have Munin … hmmmmm.”
Travis heard a note of wonder in the beefeater’s voice. “What?” he asked.
The beefeater kept twirling his moustache, his eyes darting over the lawn and courtyard. “I don’t see Thor … or Cedric … That’s odd.”
He had not been the only one to notice. Two other beefeaters were glancing about the courtyard, trying to account for all the birds. Both turned, looks of surprise in their faces, and came walking toward the older beefeater.
“Cedric’s missing,” one of them said. “Not like him to miss his bloody biscuit.”
“And Thor,” the other said. “There’s two didn’t show.”
“I don’t like five,” the grey-moustached beefeater said. “I don’t like five at all – and particularly not this week.”
The three beefeaters stood watching the kids feed the birds, each of them still scanning about for the two missing ravens while Travis frantically searched through his memory for what “five” might mean.
There were five ravens being fed, and two missing – Thor and Cedric.
What was the rule?
The king – Charles something? – had decreed there must always be how many ravens at the Tower of London?
Then he remembered.
Six ravens at the Tower of London or the Crown would fall.
But now there were only five.
And why was that particularly bad this week?
Of course, Travis realized, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.
The Queen was coming!
13
The two teams returned to the Bloody Tower to find their packs had already been taken up to the large empty rooms in which they’d be camping out on thin, self-inflatable sleeping pads and bags, all thoughtfully supplied by International In-Line.
Travis hadn’t said anything to anyone about the ravens. It was silly, he figured, to wonder where the two missing birds might be when, for all he knew, they were simply in another part of the Tower complex begging food from tourists. And as for the omen that the Crown was about to fall … he’d look pretty silly saying that in front of the team. Kidders like Sam and Nish would never let him live it down.
Still, he couldn’t help but worry. Worrying came naturally to Travis Lindsay, and he was simply being true to his nature. But he would worry alone. Besides, he figured he was capable of doing enough of it for everyone.
“Someone took my helmet!” Nish hissed in
Travis’s ear. Travis snapped out of his reverie. “Huh?”
“Someone took the golden helmet,” Nish repeated. “It’s gone. It was with my pack. Now there’s nothing there!”
Travis, the captain, knew what was required. He would have to take charge. “No one took it,” he said. “They just piled it somewhere else, that’s all.”
But Nish wasn’t buying it. He was red-faced and angry. “I wouldn’t put it past that Sam to hide it someplace.”
Travis looked around them. “Where? Hide it where? There’s no place here that she’d be able to hide it without the wardens seeing her. Besides, she’s not that way.”
“Is too,” hissed Nish.
“C’mon,” Travis said. “I’ll help you look for it.”
They searched all around the room, but could find it nowhere. Nish was growing more and more angry, but Travis talked him into staying quiet about it until they searched the courtyard to see if it had been left behind by accident.
With Mr. Dillinger’s permission, the two Owls made their way down the stone spiral staircase to the front door of the Bloody Tower and out into the walkway that took them to the main courtyard.
They checked everywhere. They asked three of the beefeaters on duty if perhaps they had seen it or, for that matter, seen someone take it, but no one had noticed anything. One beefeater told Nish not to worry, that no one would steal anything in here. It just wouldn’t happen.
“I’m not talking about ‘stealing,’ ” Nish said to Travis as they walked away disappointed. “I’m talking about Sam jacking me around for the fun of it.”
“Well,” said Travis, “then we’ll just have to ask her, won’t we?”
But Sam knew nothing. “Never saw it, never touched it,” she said firmly. “Wouldn’t touch it.”
Nish was adamant. “Who did, then? Somebody made off with it.”
“Not me, Big Boy – nice try, but not me.”
Sarah’s voice called from across the room. “Is this what you’re looking for?” She was standing with Nish’s helmet in her hands, staring in wonder at them.
“Give me that!” Nish said, hurrying over to snatch it away from Sarah.
“Where’d you find it?” Travis asked, smiling with delight that the mystery was solved.
“It was sitting on his pack!” Sarah giggled.
“Not a chance!” said Nish.
“I swear. I heard you asking Sam and walked straight over and picked it up. Just ask Fahd.”
Fahd,
who’d come up behind Sarah, was nodding in agreement.
Nish’s face was now almost scarlet. His mouth was wide open in disbelief, nothing coming out of it for once.
“It wasn’t there when we checked,” said Travis.
Sarah shrugged. “Well, it’s a mystery”
“I guess,” said Travis.
Nish didn’t care. He had his beloved helmet back and was hauling it on over his thick black hair. He jiggled it around, yanked it of, banged it a couple of times, pushed the face mask hard into the helmet, and pulled it on again. “Damn!” he shouted, not caring who heard him swear.
“What’s wrong?” said Travis.
“Whoever took it wrecked it!” Nish wailed. “It doesn’t fit any more!”
14
They were plucking at Travis’s eyes!
His head was no longer connected to his body. It had been stabbed onto a pole and the pole jammed into the ground at the foot of Tower Bridge.
There was a raven on his forehead, leaning over to pluck at his eyes again!
I’m still alive! Travis screamed.
His brain was okay. He could see everything: the bridge, the river barges floating by with their loads of garbage, people in fancy clothes walking along below, pointing at him and laughing.
And he could shout. “Save me! Get me down from here!” But no one seemed to hear him.
He could feel the blood dripping out of his ears. He looked up, blinking, as the heavy beak of the cawing black bird got ready to rip at his eyeball.
It was Cedric!
Another raven screamed hideously as it came in for a landing on Travis’s hair.
Thor! It was Thor!
The missing ravens from the Tower of London were here! They weren’t lost! The Crown was saved!
Travis tried to shout out to the beefeaters he saw walking across the bridge, but none of them paid the slightest attention. He screamed, but they were too busy talking, too busy laughing.
Then the bridge began filling with faces he knew. Nish with his enormous golden hockey helmet, now bigger than a hot-air balloon. Sam and Sarah walking arm in arm with Edward Rose.
“Sarah! Help me! Sam! Can you hear me?”
But they paid him no heed. Not even a flicker of recognition as they stood and looked out over the spiked heads of thieves and traitors and pointed to all the skulls and eye-picking ravens and the freshly beheaded Travis Lindsay.
“Noooooooo!” Travis screamed. “I’m innocent!”
But it did no good. They were pointing at him and laughing.
Sam pulled out her disposable camera and aimed it right at Travis’s bleeding, spiked head, laughing while she composed the shot and raised her finger over the button.
Flash!!!
The light filled the room, causing groans all around.
“No school today!” Nish mumbled from the sleeping bag beside Travis’s.
Travis shook of his nightmare. His heart was pounding. His face was hot. He was covered in sweat.
He kicked off the heavy sleeping bag and lay there for a minute, feeling the lovely cooling sensation as the sweat evaporated from his body. His pyjamas felt damp now, and he’d be glad to be out of them and dressed.
The light had been turned on by Mr. Wolfe, who was standing at the doorway with a big crooked-toothed smile. He spat out his announcement.
“Morning, Young Lions and Barred Owls …”
“Screech!” Sam howled from beneath her sleeping bag.
“Sorry about that,” Mr. Wolfe said. But he didn’t sound sorry at all. “We have a light breakfast prepared for everyone down below, and then I’m afraid we have to clear out so they can get ready for the royal visit. We’ve been offered a prime spot along the parade route to watch them arrive, and I have accepted on your behalf.”
A small cheer went up for Mr. Wolfe, who seemed to be making just a bit too much of his role. The players all knew that everyone in London had been invited to join in the celebration of the Crown Jewels, so it was hardly as if the Queen herself had declared she would not go unless she could be promised that the Screech Owls of Canada and the Young Lions of Wembley would be there to wave back at her.
“Up and at it, then,” Mr. Wolfe said. “I trust you all had a good night.”
Apart from the nightmare, Travis had. They had stayed up late talking hockey with the other team and everyone had gotten along splendidly. They watched a short film about the Tower of London and they cheered every time they saw a familiar face in it. The ravens, of course, got the loudest cheers of all.
The ravens … yes, the ravens, Travis thought. He wondered if Thor and Cedric had turned up.
Thank heaven they weren’t really sitting on his spiked head dining on his eyeballs!
Travis and Nish sat with Sam and Sarah over a breakfast of cold cereal, cold toast, and lukewarm orange juice. It wasn’t the best, but it was filling, and Travis was starved.
They had just sat down when Edward Rose strolled over, his breakfast on a tray, and asked if he could join them.
“Sure,” said Sam. “By all means.”
Travis could not help but notice that she was blushing almost as deeply as Nish sometimes did.
Nish, however, was more curious about what Edward Rose had on his tray. “You drink coffee?”
Edward Rose laughed. “No, mate – it’s tea.”
“Tea?” Nish practically choked. “My mother drinks tea!” He said it as if the drink could somehow turn Edward Rose into a middle-aged woman taking a break from her gardening.
“Well, then,” he said, without taking the slightest offence, “I think your mother has good taste. I love tea.”
“I like hot chocolate,” Travis offered, then immediately felt silly.
“Muck says there’s only one thing wrong with London,” Sarah giggled, then tried imitating Muck: “Thousands of years of civilization and they can’t make a decent cup of coffee.”
“What’s he want?” Nish said, shaking his head, “a Tim Hortons at Buckingham Palace?”
Sam burst out laughing. “That’s exactly what he’d like!”
“What’s a Tim Hortons?” Edward Rose asked, looking from one to the other with a mystified look.
“He’s a hockey player,” Nish said.
Edward Rose looked even more puzzled. “Ice hockey? You want an ice hockey player at Buckingham Palace?”
“Never mind,” laughed Sam. “It’s too complicated to explain.”
Travis decided to change the subject. “Someone took Nish’s helmet and wrecked it,” he said.
Edward Rose, who was in the middle of sipping his tea, suddenly started to splutter.
“Too hot?” Travis asked.
“No. It’s what you said about your helmet.”
“What?” Nish asked. “Someone took yours?”
“Yes. I don’t know who, though. And then it mysteriously turned up again.”
“Let’s go look at it,” said Travis.
Together, the five peewee players wandered over to where the Young Lions’ things had been piled up, ready to go. They could see the golden helmet almost immediately, dangling from a clip on Edward Rose’s packsack.
Edward unclipped it and held it up, examining it carefully. “Seems fine to me,” he declared.
“Put it on,” said Nish.
“Did you try it on before?” asked Sam.
“Yes, once,” Edward Rose said, sounding almost embarrassed. “Mr. Wolfe asked if I would bring it along for photo ops – the BBC was supposed to be here, but I never saw anyone.”
“Put it on,” Nish said again.
Edward Rose looked once more at the helmet, then unstrapped it and lifted it up over his head and placed it on his mane of yellow hair.
He shook his head, his eyes puzzled.
He pulled off the helmet and stared inside, mystified.
“It’s too loose now,” he said.
“Same jerk who wrecked mine,” said Nish, disgusted. “Same pumpkin-headed jerk.”
15
The day was warm, a soft mist burning off the Thames as the teams boarded their buses outside the Tower of London, the Owls headed back to their hotel, the Young Lions for their various homes. The two teams were to meet up later to watch the royal procession.
The big exhibition match would be held the next night at the world-famous Wembley Stadium. Wembley, where the World Cup of soccer had been held … where the Olympic torch had been lit to open the 1948 Olympic Games … where the most-famous ice hockey team in Great Britain, the Wembley Lions, had played their games.
And now, where the Young Lions of Wembley would meet the Screech Owls of Tamarack to decide … well, to decide nothing, really. It was just an exhibition match to showcase a sport that didn’t even have a world championship, a sport that hardly anyone in the world cared about, except for a bunch of kids from England and Canada.
They might call it an exhibition match, Travis decided, but to the players it would be the Stanley Cup of in-line hockey, even if not a soul came to watch.
It was impossible to say if there was any interest in the match among Londoners. There had been no mention in the papers, and Mr. Wolfe’s promised feature on BBC television, to be shot at the Tower, had never come off.
All that the people were interested in was the royal procession to the Tower of London anyway. The papers were filled with stories and photographs of the spectacular Crown Jewels. All of Britain, it seemed, was caught up in the seven hundredth anniversary celebration. One columnist wrote that the jewel-encrusted sword alone would get the homeless off the street if it were sold; another wrote that the collection was the ultimate symbol of the monarchy, and therefore of the government itself; and the television stations were all boasting that their coverage would be the best and most thorough of the late-afternoon affair.
Muck wanted the Owls to work the stiffness out of their limbs after their night of sleeping on the floor. He told them to get dressed in their track suits and then gather in the hotel lobby. Sarah and Travis would lead the team on a run down the Edgware Road and through the underpass to Hyde Park, where Muck wanted them to follow the paths and around the Serpentine and back via the Ring Road.
The Complete Screech Owls, Volume 5 Page 21
