by Tim Flanagan
'Careless mistakes,' replied Joe back to the old man, dismissing the argument he was putting forward.
‘Well, what about the pretend friend you had when you were a young child. That was real wasn’t it?’
‘At the time it was, but he was just in my imagination. No adults could see him.’
‘That’s because their eyes are blind to things their brains don’t understand. What about when you see something out of the corner of your eye, but when you look there's nothing there? The unseen world does exist and Peter was one of those who possessed The Sight; he could see things that no one else could.’ The old man paused, watching Joe thoughtfully, wondering if he was going to make a run for it. ‘But now you're quiet. Have you nothing to say to that? Does it not surprise you?'
'We all just thought he talked to himself,' said Joe thinking about what Peter was like at school.
'Peter has The Sight, as did his grandmother before him. He would have been talking to things he saw, small creatures like Sprites, things you wouldn’t be able to see yourself,' explained the old man, slightly calmer now that he felt Joe was beginning to believe him.
'How do you know all of this?' asked Joe. Part of his brain was still telling him to run but there was a larger part that was curious to know more.
'My name is Sir Edgar Gorlois, Duke of Tintagel and one of the original members of The League of White Knights,’ he gave a low bow as he introduced himself before continuing. ‘We are an ancient group of knights founded by King Arthur himself to protect the human world from the dangers of the unseen world. After Gawain and Belphoebe suffered their fate here by the hand of Morgan Le Fay, a faerie sorceress and their queen, Arthur swore to protect England from her forever. He left a band of four knights to remain hidden. Their task was to protect all known entrances, like this one, keep the Silver Bough safe and watching over the families with The Sight.'
Edgar now started to walk into the centre of the circle nearer to Joe. Although Joe was still unsure about the old man, he stayed where he was alongside Gawain’s stone.
‘You may have heard the old tale that King Arthur would come back to save England in its time of greatest need,’ continued Edgar. Joe nodded. ‘Well, he won’t be coming back because he’s never left. In me I carry his beliefs and ideals. I am here to serve England and prevent the faeries of the Underworld from entering this world again.’
'But that would mean you were thousands of years old!' Joe replied with a laugh.
‘About 1500 years old actually, but I loose track from time to time. My body is not a day older than when the Immortalitus spell was performed on us by Arthur’s friend and teacher Merlin.’
'So where are the other three knights?' asked Joe.
'Unfortunately, they are all dead. There is now only myself left. We can still be killed just like anyone else, still be affected by disease or from fatal wounds, but every cell that makes us up remains the same and never ages. I was an old man when I became a White Knight as I am today, but despite my appearance, I have the strength of a man much younger.’
‘Then why do you carry a stick?’
‘For appearances' sake. If I look old, I must be old. That way I don’t draw attention to myself and no one takes any notice of me. But I have been amongst you and your families for many years. I swore to watch over those with The Sight and came to Parsley Bottom when Peter moved here.’
‘Peter’s mum knows that you watch her family. The police are probably looking for you; they think you may have something to do with Peter’s disappearance.’
Sir Edgar frowned. ‘Then we need to move fast. I too want to find Peter, but if he entered the unseen world his life is in danger.’
‘From what?’
‘From things you could never imagine. He could be killed,’ Edgar explained with no emotion. ‘Or worse than that.’
‘What could be worse than being killed?’ asked Joe with a laugh
‘The faerie queen may realise how useful Peter could be and use him to open the portals so her armies can enter the human world.’
‘So if the faeries can’t get into this world, how do the small creatures Peter talks to get here? Do they go between the worlds?’
‘Sprites are small creatures that live in both worlds but don’t cross between the two. The ones that Peter talks to have probably lived here for a long time, and more likely been friends to Peter since he was a child. Maybe they were Peter’s imaginary friends?’
‘So can’t we just go in and take him out of the unseen world?' said Joe.
‘It’s not that easy, I’m afraid. I don’t know how to get in. Peter is the last descendant of a family that posses The Sight. Without him we can’t see the entrance.’
‘What about his grandmother? You said she had The Sight before Peter,’ said Joe, desperately trying to think of a way to get Peter back.
‘She does but age has blinded her and she can no longer see anything but blurred clouded shapes.’
‘What about that metal twig you mentioned?’
‘The Silver Bough. There are only clues as to its whereabouts, but so far no one has found it. My brother, the Earl of Rosslyn, who was also one of the White Knights, was the sacred guardian of the Silver Bough and he died last year. His tomb is held in the vaults beneath Edinburgh Castle’
Joe wandered aimlessly around the large stones, kicking at the loose gravel around his feet. He still couldn’t quite believe what Edgar was telling him. It was a tale of fantasy and imagination, but some of what he said about Peter seemed to make sense.
He looked over to Edgar, who stood watching him whilst he leant on his twisted stick. The daylight glinted in his silver beard.
‘Can you prove anything you’ve said?' asked Joe finally.
Sir Edgar nodded his head.
‘Meet me at the graveyard in one hour and I will show you. Bring your friends too. I will need your help if we are to stand any chance of getting Peter back.’ With that the old knight turned his back on Joe and walked towards the outside of the circle, leaving him a clear route to his bike and his way out.
12. The Box of Rocks
Steven arranged for Georgia to meet him outside the pub where he was staying during his investigation. He was going to have to rely on her to drive him wherever he needed to go. His fist stop was to visit Mr McRae, the man who had discovered the meteorite that Seward had showed him. She drove him to an old water mill on the outskirts of town and waited in the car.
The building was old, its roof sagging in places and the white paint on the wood-panelled sides had blistered and begun peeling off. From the amount of moss that grew in the half submerged wheel of the water mill, it didn't look like it had been used for some time.
Steven knocked loudly on the glass of the side door and waited for someone to come. Eventually the round figure of an elderly woman wearing a bright floral patterned dress with a faded apron over the top came to the door and opened it slightly. Her thinning hair was wound in tight curls and the circular glasses, which balanced on top of her red cheeks, looked like they were floating in mid air.
‘Good morning, Mrs McRae. I’m Steven Knight, from the National Meteorite Society,’ he lied. ‘I wonder if I could ask a few questions about the meteorite you found?’ He had been thinking about what to say before he arrived and decided it would be better not to tell the McRaes anything about the bacteria.
‘You better talk to m' husband,’ she replied grumpily as she opened the door wider and moved aside to let him in. ‘He’s in his greenhouse as usual,’ she pointed through the kitchen to the back door then walked slowly back into the lounge.
‘And tell 'im he needs to clean out the dishwasher!’ she shouted from the other room.
Steven left the kitchen, which had an overpowering smell of cat food, and crossed some wooden decking over a narrow section of river to a secret garden behind the mill. The lawn was perfectly cut and beautifully flat and surrounded by densely packed borders of coloured flowers. There were sm
all sections of rocks with tiny plants growing out of every crevice and benches placed at carefully chosen positions to get the best views. As Steven walked onto the grass, he could see the top of the greenhouse pointing up above an old stone wall, so headed in that direction. In the middle of the wall was an archway with an old twisted plant growing around it. From its leaves hung small pale blue flowers that gave off a sweet smell as Steven walked beneath them.
Inside the greenhouse, Steven could see the shape of an elderly man standing over rows of black trays, pushing seeds deep into the compost then patting them gently down. He looked up, saw Steven and gave a friendly wave, despite not knowing who he was; very different to his wife. His smiling face had some colour in it, probably from spending so much time in his garden.
‘Good mornin', sir,’ shouted Mr McRae from inside the greenhouse, ‘come on in.’ He slid one of the glass doors across to let Steven in.
‘I’m Steven Knight from the National Meteorite Society,’ lied Steven once again as he held his hand out. ‘You must be Mr McRae?’
‘Call me George,’ he replied shaking Steven’s hand. ‘You must be here about the meteorite I found then are you?’
Steven nodded as he looked around at the homemade wooden shelves and the rows of seed trays that were lined up on them. He could feel the warm damp air inside the greenhouse already making his forehead sweat.
‘Well, if y' look above your head, y' can see where it came in,’ explained Mr McRae in a Scottish accent.
Steven looked up to a window in the roof of the greenhouse that was now patched up with a plastic carrier bag and some parcel tape.
‘Happened a couple of months ago. I was lyin' in m' bed reading when I heard some glass break. Thought it might be kids at first. Came out t' have a look but there was no one here. Saw a few lights in the sky but nothin' else. Next morning I saw a big rock sitting on the floor there, cracked in two. It even chipped my paving slab. Didn’t look like a normal stone so I took it over to a friend o' mine at the museum in Harrogate. Said it was a meteor from the shower we had. I've found some others since.’
Steven was already familiar with the story of discovery, but Mr McRae’s last words made him look up with surprise.
‘Other meteorites? How many?' he asked.
‘I dunno, not counted 'em. I put them in a box in my shed. When you know what y' looking for you find the little rascals everywhere. Nearly broke the blades on my lawnmower a few times. Found some others in the flowerbeds. Even found a couple in the algae when I was clearin' out around the edge of the river.’
‘Would you mind if I had a look at them please George?’ Sir Adam would be pleased with Steven for finding these other examples, even if they didn’t contain the same bacteria as the original one.
‘You can take 'em away with you if you like. They all have metal in them y' know, magnets stick to them.’ He wiped his hands on a dirty towel and walked out of the greenhouse followed by Steven. At the far end of the garden tucked behind some trees in a more shaded area was the shed.
Steven stood and waited patiently outside as there was obviously not enough room in the shed for the both of them. After several seconds a voice exclaimed, ‘here we are,’ and Mr McRae came out carrying a shoe box with a lid that didn’t quite fit. They sat on a garden bench and opened the box. Inside were five meteorites all of differing sizes but similar in colour to the one Steven had seen inside MI6. After a brief look at the box of rocks, he could tell that none of them were split open which reassured him that if there was bacteria in these rocks it was still contained within. As Steven examined one in his hand, he realised that they didn’t look much different to a normal rock except for the flecks of iron on the crusted surface and the fact that it was heavier. Steven knew that he would have to get these samples back to MI6 for testing to see if they contained the same bacteria as the original one.
Thinking of the next part of his investigation, Steven turned his attention away from the box of meteorites sitting on his lap.
‘Who owns the land around yours?' asked Steven.
‘It’s mainly public land? There are footpaths criss-crossing all over it. Beyond that is Baxley Farm. Richard Baxley mainly has cows, famous for it round here he is. There’s a small lay-by further up the road where walkers leave their cars if y' want t' have a look over there?’
They both stood up and Steven talked to Mr McRae about the plants and flowers in his garden just to be polite, but soon they were disturbed by the loud voice of Mrs McRae calling her husband inside to start on a list of jobs that needed to be done.
As he walked through the kitchen, Steven lifted the box of meteorites up and said, ‘Thanks for these. If you find any more, I’m staying at the Fox and Hound Pub in town for a few days.’ With that they parted and Steven returned to the car.
Whilst Georgia started the engine, Steven opened the box again and started to take another look at the meteorites.
‘Have we got a metal detector?' he asked her.
13. Proof of Identity
An hour later Joe met Max and Scarlet at the tree top platform in the woodland overlooking the river where the three of them had been the day before. He told them how the symbol took him to the faerie ring and the conversation he had had with Sir Edgar.
‘It seems a bit far fetched to me,’ said Max, but the other two were busy watching something in the graveyard.
‘What’s happening now?' Joe asked Scarlet who was looking through the binoculars. When they arrived there was already a police car parked on the verge outside the church and several uniformed officers walking around the gravestones.
‘Can you see any sign of Sir Edgar yet?’
‘No,' replied Scarlet. 'Hang on. I think I've got him. He’s hidden in the undergrowth on the opposite side of the road. The brown suit he wears camouflages him well.’
‘If he’s got nothing to hide, why doesn’t he just go up to the police and tell them what he told you?' said Max.
‘If we are having trouble believing him, I don’t think anyone else will either,’ replied Joe.
‘He’s walking away now towards town,' added Scarlet.
A policeman unrolled a length of tape between two posts to prevent anyone from entering the graveyard. He didn’t seem to take any notice of the old man that leant heavily on his stick as he walked past.
Nothing else happened until two figures emerged from inside the church. ‘That looks like your dad,’ Max said to Joe, ‘who’s that woman he’s talking to?’
Scarlet passed the binoculars to Joe who refocused them on the entrance to the church where his father and a woman were talking. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue.
‘It must be Peter’s mum,' said Joe. 'Other policemen are taking samples of the slime from around the sleeping bag and Mrs Merchant's there too. She doesn’t look very happy about all these things happening in the church.
‘Good day to you all,’ came the polite voice of Sir Edgar as he appeared in the hole beside the tree trunk.
Both Scarlet and Max gave a little squeak in surprise as they stared at the old man as he nimbly lifted himself through the hole to sit on the platform with the children. They all shuffled away from him slightly, still unsure whether to trust him or not, but they had nowhere to go, apart from over the edge of the platform.
‘I thought you had called the police when I saw them in the graveyard, but then I spotted the light reflecting off the lens of your binoculars from up here. I presume you have updated the other two about what we talked about earlier,’ he said to Joe.
Scarlet and Max both nodded at the same time.
‘Good, well you wanted proof and I have it for you. All I can do is put the facts before you and let you make up your own minds,' continued Edgar as he slipped a metal tube from his jacket. He unscrewed the top of the tube and removed a roll of coarse yellow cloth, gently untying the string around it and opening it out. Inside the cloth were several pieces of yellow brown paper, edges worn and soft with age wi
th small tears in places. All three of the children stared down at the top paper. It had an ornate border of entwined coloured patterns around a block of writing that was written in a language none of them could understand. At the top of the paper was a large unrecognisable letter similar to the writing that Joe had seen inscribed on the stones at The faerie ring. This letter gleamed with gold still polished and shiny, despite the dullness of the paper it was printed on. At the bottom of the page was a thick red waxy circle indented with the shape of a shield containing three crowns.
'This is the Order to Service from King Arthur to myself,' Edgar traced some of the letters with his finger as he talked. 'In it he asks for my trust and loyalty and my oath to protect England with my life. At the bottom here,' he pointed to the red wax, 'is where Arthur Pendragon's ring was impressed into the wax.'
They all peered over the sheet of paper, not daring to touch it in case it disintegrated. Edgar moved it out of the way to reveal a second piece of paper that had a drawing of a complex looking tree with branches and leaves around the outside. Within its branches were names joined together by fine lines.
'This is the Shipley family tree,’ explained Edgar. ‘The surnames have changed over the years as different generations of children married into other families, but here you can see your friend Peter Crisp, his parents and grandparents and so on. Those with a flower next to their names are those that have the gift of The Sight. All of the family have died out over the years except on Peter’s side, and he is the last. My fellow knights and I have watched over every one of them during their lifetime.’
Edgar turned the piece of paper round so that the children could see Peter's name before continuing. ‘We all had a part of the family to look after, but my brother Sir Hadwyn, Earl of Rosslyn, the bravest and purest of the four, also had charge of the Silver Bough.'
‘These papers all look impressive but anyone could have made these or bought them somewhere,' said Max bravely. 'And we can’t even read what that says, so we still don’t know if you’re telling the truth, and we still don’t know where Peter is.’
