by Mary Arrigan
‘So, you have come to entertain?’ went on Roc, settling back on his throne. ‘Show us what you can do to please us? Tomorrow we go to battle.’
That got the rest of the men going. They banged their tankards on the long tables and yelled for action.
Shane looked at me, his eyes out on stalks. ‘What’ll we do now, Milo?’
‘You’re the one with the ideas,’ I hissed. But this was no time for squabbling. ‘We’d better sing.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RAPPERS
‘We’ll rap,’ Shane whispered, settling the guitar strap over his shoulder. ‘You don’t need to sing for rap.’
‘Rap? I don’t know how to rap,’ I began.
‘I do,’ Shane whispered. ‘My mum sends CDs of rap to Gran. She listens to them all the time when she paints. Just say YO lots of times. And the words don’t have to make sense. Just go with the flow.’
Great. Our lives depended on the word ‘YO’!
‘Right,’ whispered Shane, strumming the guitar. ‘You beat that drum. Here goes.’ He cleared his throat and began.
YO, you guys, youse big and loud,
I’m thinkin’ ’bout a big fat cloud
Yeah, yeah, rainy day
Lost my wellies in the hay
Let me tell ya ’bout mah dream
Of loadsa chips and choc ice cream.
Yep, that was typical of Shane. In spite of our serious predicament, his thoughts were on food. At first there was silence, and I could almost smell the dungeon already. But Roc stood up and clapped. Then the whole room exploded with clapping and shouting.
‘More! More!’ the soldiers were shouting and banging the tables.
Shane paused and strummed the guitar – totally out of tune.
‘Your turn, Milo,’ he whispered. ‘While I make up another rap.’
Me? I tried to swallow, but I’d run out of spit.
‘Just use your head,’ murmured Shane.
‘Or listen man, we’ll both be dead,’ he added softly as he strummed.
Well that kicked me into wake-up time. I beat the armpit drum and searched my mind for a starting word. I glanced at Shane, my best friend, trying to keep us both from a grim fate. We depended on each other, so I took a big breath and got going.
YO! I got an armpit drum
I’m a gal and I ain’t dumb
YO! I’m rappin’ really well
You guys’ hair could do with gel
YO! YO! Sticky gel
Smelly, poncy, sticky gel. YO!
More clapping and shouting. Wow! Was this for real? Then Shane butted in with another finger-snapping rap:
I wanna be a real cool dude
Be mean and lean and deadly rude
Jus’ like you guys ’n’ Lord Roc
Who looks real groovy in his frock
YO! YO! He’s the man
He’s the man who’s gonna eat
And sit all night on a pooey seat.
YO! YO! Hear the beat,
And slap the floor with ya’ stinky feet!
YO!
The soldiers went wild. They got up, dancing to the beat and shouting for more. Shane’s face had the biggest grin I’d ever seen. We were the main cool dudes – real rap stars!
After a while, we were beginning to run dangerously out of wind and words.
‘We can’t go on much longer,’ I panted in Shane’s ear.
‘I know,’ he panted back. ‘We’ll have to do something else.’
‘What can we do?’ I went on. ‘My throat is like broken glass and Miss Lee’s shoes are killing me.’
‘Our bikes!’ Shane replied, still strumming his guitar. ‘I bet they’ve never seen bikes in action, Milo.’
Then he turned to Roc and bowed again.
‘And now, sire,’ he said, ‘me and my sister, Lady Magenta Knickers would like to demonstrate our …’ he paused and looked at me in desperation.
‘Our amazing magical wheels,’ I said, with quick thinking. ‘Invented by a man of genius, whose wealth is so huge he has twelve strong men to stand guard over him in case thieves try to steal his plans.’
‘Show me,’ said Roc, standing up. ‘Let me see how these strange things work.’
So we mounted our bikes and rode up and down the huge room. Then we got a bit braver and aimed at the soldiers’ feet, avoiding them skilfully at the last second. How they screeched and laughed. And then we got really brave and did a few wheelies. The soldiers whooped and shouted at our skills.
Shane turned and winked at me. Big mistake. He accidentally rammed into a tough soldier with a face like a bad-tempered bull. The soldier jumped up and grabbed Shane’s bike. ‘Step back, boy,’ he growled, pushing Shane away as if he was swatting a fly. ‘I shall master this apparatus.’
Then my bike was pulled away by another thug. All we could do was stand and watch as they all fought over our bikes. Roc just sat on his throne, drinking more wine and laughing at the chaos. He probably thought this was part of the act. This wasn’t meant to happen. If that lot got too pushy and knocked my pigtails off, I’d be exposed as a boy. Imagine trying to explain that! Up and down the Great Hall the soldiers took turns, veering into tables and knocking one another down. Shane and I tried to reach Roc and tell him this wasn’t a good way to treat important visitors from Afar, but he was chatting with his captains.
Just as we felt everything was falling apart, servants arrived, with steaming platters, through a door behind Roc’s throne. Our bikes were thrown down and the soldiers made a beeline for the tables.
‘Come, sit with us, you children of King Tayto of Africa,’ Roc called out to Shane and me.
Whew! This could be awkward. ‘Listen,’ I whispered in Shane’s ear as we went towards the table, ‘No matter how hungry you are, don’t eat the food. We’ll just kinda drop it on the floor. Got that?’
‘Gotcha,’ he hissed.
We watched as the soldiers grabbed the plates from the servants and dug into the meat and veg like snarling wolves.
The noise of soldiers slurping and guzzling echoed around the room, and the sweaty servants were running back and forth with second and third helpings.
‘They haven’t brought food here to Roc’s table,’ whispered Shane.
‘I know,’ I whispered back. At first I thought that this was some sort of strange ritual, but surely the Lord and his captains should be served first. I could see Shane’s eyebrows go up higher and higher whenever the servants passed our table.
‘Excuse me, Sir Roc,’ he finally piped up. ‘Have your servants forgotten this table?’
All the posh guys around the table laughed.
‘Oh no, my boy,’ said Roc. ‘We would not partake of such slop. This food is only for the common soldiers. I and my captains – and you two guests, will dine on wild boar, salted fish, boiled fowl and eels in my private quarters.’
Shane and I looked at one another. If Roc and his snooty captains didn’t eat Big Ella’s concoction, we were absolutely doomed!
CHAPTER TWENTY
TRAPPED!
I leapt when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was one of Mister Lewis’s spaceship gloves. ‘Well done, Milo,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘All is in order. Be prepared to run when Big Ella’s potions “kick in”, as you’d say,’ he added softly.
‘No wait!’ I panicked and called out as he wafted away. ‘I have something important to say to …’ I hesitated. Roc and his men had stopped talking and were looking at me expectantly. The word DOOM flashed across my eyes.
‘And what is it that you have to say, my dear young lady?’ asked Roc with an indulgent smile.’
Ha, I’d forgotten I was a girl. Go, girl! I fiddled with one of my woolly plaits and waved it at Roc with a girly giggle. ‘I just wish to thank you, Lord Roc, and your lovely captains for being so nice to me and my big brother.’
‘Awwwww,’ said Roc. ‘Thank you, pretty lady.’
This was going so well, I even batted my eyelids!
‘What are we going to do?’ whispered Shane as I sat down.
However, other events were starting to happen.
The first loud parp came from the skinniest soldier. That was quickly followed by another and another. The hall soon filled with thundery explosions of belly wind – and the smelly pong that went with it. And then all the explosions started. At first it was just a few loud burps, but the noises spread and it was like a wind orchestra. The scared servants ran screaming from the hall – in case they’d be blamed, I supposed. The moans of the soldiers became louder and louder as they clutched their stomachs and rolled around the floor. Roc and the captains rushed over to see what was going on.
‘They’ve had enough of Big Ella’s horrid mixtures to keep them busy for a few days,’ Mister Lewis’s voice wafted in my ear again. ‘By then Rory Rua and his men will be well prepared for them. Now, while they’re busy we must go and look for the Grant. Come along, boy,’ he called softly at the doorway to the kitchen stairs.
Before we could stop him, Ossie came running, his princely clothes standing out like a raspberry lolly in a snowdrift. Shane and I grabbed our bikes and ran along with Ossie towards the main stairs.
‘Stop!’ shouted Roc, holding his nose and pushing a groaning soldier out of his way. ‘I know you, boy,’ he said, pointing straight at Ossie. ‘Those are the ears and wiry red hair of my cousin Rory Rua! Seize them!’ he bellowed to the captains.
Ossie went to take the club from his belt, but I shouted at him. He wouldn’t have a chance against this lot. We bumped our bikes down the winding stairs and headed through the castle door.
‘This way,’ Mister Lewis called out. Well, that wasn’t any help – he was still invisible and the courtyard was pitch dark, so we couldn’t see his spaceship gloves. We mounted our bikes, but it was too late.
My heart sank right down to Miss Lee’s silly red shoes when I was pulled from my bike and dragged to a building on the far side of the courtyard. Behind me, Ossie and Shane were shouting, but that was just pointless. The bolt on the door was pulled back and we were pushed inside. Our bikes were thrown in after us.
‘Now,’ snarled Roc through the bars. ‘You will rot here for trying to outwit Lord Roc. As for you, my dear Osgur,’ he sneered at the kid. ‘You will be held for ransom and I shall have your father’s castle, which I’ve always coveted. Ha!’ He laughed. ‘I think he will oblige because, if he does not, you, will die along with those other fools. Guard them,’ he barked at two of his men. ‘We shall be back to deal with all of them shortly.’
We could hear him and his captains laughing as they went back to the castle.
‘It’s OK, Ossie,’ I said to the kid as I turned on my bicycle lamp. ‘Mister Lewis will be along shortly, and he’ll sort everything.’
‘Eh,’ said a quiet voice behind us,
‘Mister Lewis!’ I exclaimed.’ Why are you in here?’
‘I’m afraid I sort of slipped in with you all,’ he muttered, returning to his complete self.
‘Well, can you slip out again and get us out of here?’ asked Shane. ‘We’ve got to find the Grant or we’ll all be up the creek.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ Mister Lewis said apologetically. ‘Apart from ancient portals, I can’t waft through locked doors.’
Oh great! I could almost feel the grim reaper coming for Shane and me, and imagined the two of us in an afterlife of wafting about with Mister Lewis and Ossie. I took a really deep breath to hold off panicking. ‘What’s that smell?’ I sniffed.
‘You mean the stink from the castle?’ said Shane.
‘No,’ put in Ossie. ‘Milo is right. It’s a sweet, fruity odour.’
I took another deep sniff. ‘I know that lemony smell!’ I cried. ‘Remember that time we cycled to the stony wasteland, Shane, when we were looking for Miss Lee, and we got that smell? This is it! This is the place! Look!’ I cried as I swept my bicycle lamp around. ‘It’s exactly the same shape!’
The lemony smell was coming from a dark corner.
‘Shine a lamp over there,’ said Mister Lewis.
Shane and I gasped at what the light showed: lying on some dirty sacks was Miss Lee. Her eyes were closed, and on her feet was a pair of very mucky boots. Her handbag was open on the floor, her stuff scattered all around her. Mister Lewis was shaking his head sadly, looking at the mess as we went towards her.
‘They must have found the Grant,’ said the spook, as he examined everything before putting them back in the bag. ‘This is not good, not good at all. The town is doomed. We’re all doomed.’
‘And what about me?’ asked Ossie. ‘What about my family?’
‘Your family would have nothing – no castle, and no lands – you’d be broke and probably have to live on a small farm on an island off the coast of Ireland.’
‘What about Miss Lee?’ I put in. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
Mister Lewis sniffed again. ‘Ah, I know now what that smell is. She has been given an ancient sleep potion disguised with lemon juice. She won’t remember any of this – if we all get away from here, that is,’ he added gloomily
I looked at Miss Lee’s muddy boots and thought that, when she woke up she’d be devastated about losing the Grant, and she’d be embarrassed by the muddy boots. Well actually, to tell the truth, my feet were aching from those darned red shoes, so I slipped off her boots and put her red high heels beside her feet. At least she’d feel a bit better in her nice shoes.
Shane and I jumped when we heard voices out in the courtyard. Angry voices and clanking chains.
‘They’re going to chain us to the wall to rot!’ exclaimed Ossie.
‘Stay well back from the door,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘I’ll try to scare them away. You try to wake the lady.’
Shane picked up one of Miss Lee’s boots.
‘What are you going to do with that?’ I hissed.
‘I’m going to put my arm inside it and clobber the first guy who comes in,’ he hissed back.
‘Yeah,’ I scoffed. ‘Like, you’ll knock out Roc and his gang with a wellie? Give it here.’
I put the first boot on, rolling my trouser leg over it so that Miss Lee wouldn’t notice. Then, when I tried to get my other foot into the second boot, something blocked it. I fished it out. It was a folded document, yellow with age.
Carefully, Mister Lewis took the paper from me and unfolded it, holding it under my bike lamp.
‘The Grant!’ he exclaimed. ‘She had the Grant in her boot all the time! The clever lady. Oh, dear, oh dear,’ he sighed. ‘If only we had found it earlier.’ Then he groaned. ‘It’s too late now. Much too late.’
My heart sank even more when we heard the shouts and the clanking chains coming closer.
‘What will you do with the Grant, Mister Lewis?’ I whispered.
He shrugged his shoulders and then handed it to Ossie.
‘You are Roc’s kin, boy,’ he sighed. ‘He might spare you. Quickly, put this inside your tunic.’
Now Roc and his men were coming even closer, shouting and rattling the keys to scare us – which he did, ignoring Mister Lewis’s ghostly moans, which sounded like a cat with a furball. Well, let’s face it, Mister Lewis was nervous for all of us. He knew what it was like to be dead.
Ossie stared at the document for a moment and then raced across to where Miss Lee was sleeping.
‘What are you doing?’ I hissed as he placed the Grant in Miss Lee’s hands.
‘Trust me,’ he whispered.
The key was now turning in the lock.
‘Caught like rats,’ Roc sneered through the bars. ‘And now you’ll die like rats. Listen to the chains, people. They will be with you until your eyes fall out and your bones rot.’
Just then, Miss Lee began to stir in her sleep. She stretched her arms and looked at the Grant on her lap. Still drowsy and confused, she
lifted it up and, as she did so, everything started to change. The air around us shimmered and the walls went out of focus. It was that same sinking feeling as in the woods earlier. Mister Lewis looked around, his face beaming. ‘This is it!’ he whispered. ‘This is the third portal. Somehow Ossie’s contact with Miss Lee has opened it. You’re on your way home, boys, you and the nice lady.’
‘Oh, my goodness,’ said our teacher, taking a deep breath. ‘Have I been asleep?’
She rubbed her eyes, and the faces of the soldiers at the window faded, the last one being the angry scowl of Roc.
‘Loser!’ I hissed.
My bicycle torch spluttered and went out, and so did Mister Lewis. He simply disappeared, along with Ossie.
Morning was breaking. The prison had returned to the shambles we knew. The lock on the door lay open on the ground. Miss Lee gradually came to her senses and realised that me and Shane were there.
‘What are you two boys doing in this forsaken place? More to the point,’ she continued as she looked around with a dazed expression. ‘What am I doing here?’ She gazed at me and added, ‘Milo, is that a … wig and a dress you are wearing?’
To distract her, Shane said quickly, ‘We were looking for you, Miss. Everyone is looking for you.’
Miss Lee shook her head, like a dog shaking off water.
While Miss Lee was still trying to work out what had happened to her, I whipped the wig off my head and stuffed it in my pocket, tucking the dress into my jeans at the same time, so it looked more like a shirt.
‘Ah! I’m starting to remember,’ Miss Lee exclaimed. ‘Those two brats, Wedge and whatsit! I think I was doing research around here and found them emptying a sack of tin mugs. I told them those antiques are part of our heritage and should be handed over to the museum, but they just ran off. Funny thing, though,’ she said with a puzzled frown. ‘The door seemed to slam shut itself. Those two nitwits had already run away.’
