by Allan Jones
Whips cracked, and the slaves began to shuffle toward the ladders.
“Hello, my beauties,” snarled a grinning warthog, standing suddenly over Trundle and Esmeralda with a whip poised. “And where might you be going, without your chains and all?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know!” In the blink of an eye, Esmeralda dived forward, her spiky head connecting hard with the warthog’s stomach. He stumbled backward with a grunt of pain, and the next second he went toppling off the terrace, hitting the ground with a loud crash.
The noise of the warthog’s fall did not go unnoticed.
“Get ’em!” howled Overseer Grunther, pointing a podgy paw.
“Snatch them!” bellowed Razorback. “Catch them, crush them, squish them, squash them! Five hundred sunders for the animal who takes them alive!”
Trundle and Esmeralda ran for it, the slaves stepping back to allow them past as they pelted along the terrace.
There was a cave! A tunnel! An even blacker mouth in the wall of black coal! They threw themselves into it, racing over the uneven floor while the tunnel swallowed them like a long dark throat.
“Ouch!” gasped Trundle, running blindly into an invisible rock face. “Esmeralda! I can’t see a thing.”
A soft pop sounded close by, and a small, round, lemon-colored light appeared, illuminating Esmeralda’s face and paw. By the soft glow of the palm light they saw the tunnel turn a corner, veering off at odd angles as it burrowed into the rock. They ran, side by side, panting as the hot, dusty air choked their noses and clogged their windpipes.
Trundle’s chest was hurting, and he didn’t think he could go on much farther, but a loud noise from far too close behind helped change his mind. Several pairs of heavy boots were thumping along the tunnel. Now the tunnel forked; making an instant choice, they raced down the left-hand shaft. A few moments later Trundle heard Razorback’s voice.
“Abigail Frutch, Willie Stiggle, Hacksaw Scarsnout, follow me. The rest of you, go the other way! Don’t kill ’em—we’re going to have some fun with ’em first!”
Trundle didn’t like the sound of that. A pirate’s idea of fun wasn’t something he liked to think too much about—especially as he and Esmeralda were to be on the receiving end.
They ran on, guided by the gentle radiance of Esmeralda’s palm light, bobbing and weaving this way and that as the path switched directions. It was an odd tunnel. It didn’t seem to know which way it wanted to go; up, down, to the left, to the right, making sudden hairpin turns and corkscrew twists for no apparent reason.
“I’m beginning to think a drunken badger must have dug this out,” Trundle panted.
“It’s part of the old silver mines,” gasped Esmeralda. “Before the miners ever bothered with the coal, they followed the veins of silver deep into the rock. That’s why it keeps changing direction.”
There was another fork—and then another. Each time, Razorback sent one of his shipmates down a different way but, frustratingly, the bosun always managed to pick the same tunnel as Trundle and Esmeralda. Trundle was getting desperately tired. He wasn’t used to so much activity and felt as if his poor legs were about to drop off. In the end it was only his terror of the pirates that kept him going, and even then a small part of him just wanted to give up and get it over with. He probably would have done just that if Esmeralda hadn’t had such a firm grip on his paw.
Even in such dire straits, Trundle couldn’t help noticing that they were coming to parts of the tunnel where there had been rockfalls. Iron rods had been stapled across wide cracks, and wooden props had been hammered in to hold up the roof. They leaped and scrambled over the debris of a dozen old falls.
Only two pirates were now pursuing them as they came to another fork in the tunnel. Please let them both go the other way, Trundle silently begged the Fates as he and Esmeralda dove into the right-hand shaft.
“Abigail Frutch! To the left,” echoed Razorback’s voice.
Well, good news and bad, thought Trundle. There’s only one pirate behind us now—but that pirate happens to be the worst of the lot!
He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the flickering glow of Razorback’s torch lighting up the walls behind them.
“Oh!” Esmeralda came to a shuddering halt. They were in a forest of wooden props, hammered into place to hold up the roof—but ahead of them the tunnel had completely collapsed. It was blocked from top to bottom. There was no way forward.
Esmeralda dragged Trundle to one side, closing her fist on the palm light and leaving them in utter, black darkness.
Above the drumming of his blood and the rasp of his breath, Trundle could clearly hear the thunder of Razorback’s feet, coming closer and closer. Red torchlight danced along the walls. He peered out from behind a wooden prop. Razorback came careening around the bend, panting and gasping, his tongue lolling and his eyes bulging.
A split second later, Esmeralda leaped out in front of the great hog. She lifted her hand and shouted something that Trundle didn’t quite catch, but which sounded like “Noos-feroo-goo!” A bolt of bright blue-white lightning shot from her hand and struck the oncoming pirate right between the eyes.
For a few moments Trundle was dazzled by the light, but as he blinked and his vision cleared, he saw that Razorback was stumbling blindly about with his arms outstretched.
“Ow! Ow! Oww!” Esmeralda was yelling, hopping from foot to foot and shaking her paw as if it were hurting badly.
Trundle’s attention was snatched away from her when the pirate’s head came in sudden contact with a pitprop. Clonk! The impact knocked the prop sideways, and an ominous creaking sounded from above.
“Where are you, you little maggots!” howled Razorback, knuckling his eyes. “When I lay my claws on you—”
The creaking in the roof became a low rumble.
Esmeralda dived to one side, bringing Trundle down with her.
Razorback stared up at the roof. “Curse all hedgehogs!” he shouted.
The low rumbling became a rushing and a roaring and a tumbling of rock; the air filled with thick coiling and churning smoke. In a sudden mad burst of gallantry, Trundle threw himself on top of Esmeralda to protect her from the roof fall. Small fragments of rock bounced off his back while he waited to be flattened out like a pancake.
At last, the tumultuous noise died away to faint grumbling sounds, and the smoke gradually cleared.
“Get off me, you great lump!” came a stifled voice from beneath Trundle.
He lifted himself to his feet. Small stones and shards fell off him and rattled to the ground. “I was protecting you,” he said to Esmeralda as she sat up, puffing and blowing. “That was a noble act!”
“It was indeed, and I thank you for it,” she said, lifting her arm to let a new palm light light up the tunnel. She looked around. “Well, that was spectacular! I’ve never had quite so much success with my fist lightning before.” She grimaced. “But it really stings! I hope I don’t need to use it too often.”
An entire section of the roof had caved in, burying Razorback up to his neck in rubble. His wide-brimmed hat had been staved in, and the magnificent purple feather was reduced to a straggly stem with a few purplish strands hanging off it. The pirate hog’s eyes were blissfully closed, and his tongue was hanging out of the side of his snout.
“Is he dead, do you think?” Trundle asked.
“We should be so lucky!” said Esmeralda. “He’s just away with the fireflies for a while! Let’s get out of here while we still can.”
Trundle was about to take her advice when he noticed something that gleamed white among the gray-and-black wreckage of the roof. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.
“A lump of stone,” said Esmeralda. “What else?”
But Trundle wasn’t so sure. He climbed across the rubble toward the white thing, gazing at it in awed delight. It was beautiful, shining as though with an inner light.
He picked up the object, feeling it heavy between his paws. He turned, hol
ding it out to Esmeralda, a wide smile breaking across his snout.
“Trundle, you utter genius!” shrieked Esmeralda, her eyes like saucers. “It’s the Crystal Crown! You’ve found the first of the Badgers’ Crowns!”
Chapter 9
Things Go BOOM!
Trundle basked for a few moments in Esmeralda’s praise.
“Oh, well . . . it was nothing, really,” he mumbled humbly. “I simply saw it there, and I said to myself—”
“What’s that under your foot?” interrupted Esmeralda. Trundle’s moment of glory was over, short-lived but rather pleasant. Esmeralda dived forward and yanked up his foot, pulling something out from beneath it and holding it up to her palm light.
It was a large iron key with a long shaft and intricate teeth. As Esmeralda turned the key in the light, Trundle saw that its oval handle had ornate designs stamped on both faces.
“These are coats of arms,” murmured Esmeralda. She frowned. “I don’t recognize them, but Aunty will know what they stand for—and most likely she’ll also know which lock the key is intended to open.” She looked up at Trundle with shining eyes. “We’ve done it, Lamplighter!” she said jubilantly. “We’ve found the first crown, Fates be praised.” She stood up. “And now we need to get off Drune double quick!”
“I was meaning to ask you about that,” Trundle said meaningfully. “How do you suggest we do that, exactly? In case you haven’t noticed, the tunnel is blocked in both directions. We’re stuck here.”
“We’ll see about that,” Esmeralda said, undaunted. She lifted the paw that held the palm light. “Seek the sun!” she intoned.
“Er, Esmeralda, it’s nighttime,” Trundle reminded her. “And even if it was daytime, I don’t think sunlight would reach this far into Drune.”
“Be quiet,” said Esmeralda. “You’re just embar-rassing yourself. This is magic. Watch and learn!”
The little lemon yellow ball of light lifted off Esmeralda’s palm. It darted about for a few moments like a sniffer shrew seeking a scent; then, to Trundle’s surprise, it shot straight up into the air and disappeared through a hole in the roof, leaving them in total darkness.
“Hey, not so fast! Come back here,” called Esmeralda.
The light dropped down again, hovering just above their heads.
Even carrying the crown and the key, it was an easy enough task for Trundle and Esmeralda to clamber over the rubble and push up through the hole in the roof. Trundle had been expecting a long, hard climb, so he was pleasantly surprised when his head popped out into the open and he found himself looking down on the buildings that huddled around the entrance to the mine.
Esmeralda was already on the surface, dusting herself off. The palm light had been extinguished, so the only light now came from the red fires of the braziers burning away below them.
“We’ll take one of the skyboats to Rathanger,” she told Trundle as he pulled himself up out of the hole. “The sooner we’re away from here, the better. With luck, there’ll be a windship leaving Rathanger soon. We’ll sneak aboard and let the Fates take us to our next port of call.”
“Er, excuse me,” said Trundle. “Two things. First, what about the slaves? Second, what do you mean by ‘next port of call’?”
“I told you before, there’s nothing we can do for the slaves,” Esmeralda replied. “It’s sad, but there it is. And as for the rest—you seem to forget that there are still five crowns to find. We’ve hardly even started!”
“But I promised those poor creatures we’d try to help them,” Trundle objected.
“I know you did.” Esmeralda was already making her way down the hillside. “I thought it was a mistake at the time.”
Feeling disgruntled and faithless, Trundle trailed after Esmeralda, the shining crystal crown tucked safely under his arm. They came down among the sheds and shacks. There was no one in sight, but from a nearby warehouse they could hear raised voices; among them, Trundle could make out that of Mr. Pouncepot.
“A tankard of ale is just the thing to quench the thirst after hard labor!” he was announcing loudly. “Half the cargo is unloaded, and we deserve a breather before we shift the rest.”
“Since when did you become an acquaintance of hard labor, Mr. Pouncepot?” roared another familiar voice, to harsh laughter and cheery jeers. “Unless looking on while others sweat makes you weary!” It was the voice of Overseer Grunther.
“That takes its toll, Mistress Grunther,” cackled Mr. Pouncepot. “That surely takes its toll!”
There was another burst of laughter and shouts for more ale. Clearly, the windship’s crew and a gang of mine guards were enjoying some liquid refreshment in the warehouse to help their work along.
“I hear there’s a spot of trouble in the mines,” declared Mr. Pouncepot. “Runaways running rampant and the slaves threatening rebellion.”
“The runaways are Razorback’s problem,” replied Grunther genially. “And I’ll soon quiet them slaves down. I’ll put a few of the ringleaders’ feet to the fires—that’ll learn ’em!”
Trundle shivered at the thought of those sad animals being tortured by that horrible hog. He turned to whisper something to Esmeralda, but found that she had crept away and was on the far side of the jetty, checking out the skyboats. He was shocked by the fact that she didn’t seem to care about the slaves. She of all people should know what vile lives they were forced to live. She should do something to help!
He padded softly across the jetty, meaning to have a stern word with her. At heart, he was sure she was a good creature—she just needed a little prod now and then.
“This one looks a trim little craft,” Esmeralda said, pointing to one of the skyboats. Like all the other vessels, it had a propeller at its stern attached to a seat with a mechanical treadle device. Trundle assumed that when there was no wind to fill the sail, someone would sit there and pedal away like mad to turn the propeller and move the skyboat forward.
“Hop aboard,” said Esmeralda. “I’ll untie her. Then off we go!”
“No,” Trundle said firmly. “We’re doing no such thing. We’re going to help the slaves.”
Esmeralda turned and eyed him, folding her arms. “How?” she said. “Just tell me exactly how you plan on us helping the slaves.”
“I don’t know,” Trundle admitted. “But we must. We have to! That Grunther woman is talking about burning their feet!” He turned and began to walk back toward the mines. “You don’t have to come.”
“Then give me the crown!” Esmeralda demanded. “If you’re dead set on getting yourself killed, or worse, at least don’t let the Badgers’ Crystal Crown fall into enemy hands!”
Trundle stopped, quivering with indignation. “Is that all you care about?” he asked. “The blessed crown?”
Esmeralda marched up to him, her arms outstretched. “At the moment, yes!” she said, trying to snatch the crown from under his arm.
Trundle stepped back, clutching the crown to himself. “No!” he said. “I found it. You’re not getting it!”
“Don’t be an idiot!”
“At least I’m not a heartless brute!”
She lunged for the crown, but he leaped back, hitting his shoulder against something hard and hot.
“Trundle! Careful!” gasped Esmeralda, as he stumbled over the leg of one of the iron braziers. The brazier toppled over, spilling burning coals across the jetty.
“Now look what you made me do!” hissed Trundle, glancing anxiously toward the half-closed doors of the warehouse where Mr. Pouncepot and Overseer Grunther and the rest were carousing.
A sharp spitting, spluttering, crackling sound came to his ears. Esmeralda was staring openmouthed at the boards of the jetty, where a bright white sparking fire was suddenly burning among the red coals of the braziers. As they watched, the sparky white fire divided into two channels that went running off in opposite directions, following a black line that he had not noticed before.
The black line led the length of the jetty
—from the gangplank of the windship at one end, all the way in through the warehouse doors at the other.
“Uh, Trundle,” said Esmeralda, looking first at the windship and then up to the warehouse. “How firmly did you put the bung back in that barrel of blackpowder you were messing with on the way here?”
“I’m not sure,” Trundle admitted. “Why?”
Esmeralda pointed to the snaking black thread. The two bright little fires were zooming along at great speed now, one heading for the windship, the other making its rapid way to the warehouse.
“Because I think the bung came out again while they were unloading the barrel,” Esmeralda said. “And I think the blackpowder spilled out. And if some of the barrels are still on the windship, then the windship is about to blow up. And if the rest of the barrels are in that warehouse—”
She didn’t need to finish the sentence.
“Oh!” said Trundle as he watched the skittering ball of sparks zoom in through the gap between the warehouse doors. “I see.”
A puzzled voice sounded above the hubbub in the warehouse. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” asked another voice.
“The burning thing coming toward the barrel you’re sitting on.”
“Oh, that. Well, offhand, I’d say it was—”
KA-BOOM!
Trundle and Esmeralda were blown clean off their feet by the blast. Trundle lay flat on his back, his ears ringing and his whiskers singed, watching a huge bloom of red smoke go boiling up into the air. A second or two later, shards of splintered wood and a sprinkling of glass fragments and pieces of metal and other stuff that went splat, came raining down. Trundle preferred not to look at the splats. He had a nasty feeling he already knew what they were: sticky little remnants of exploded windship crew and mine guards.
Esmeralda got up and tottered over to Trundle to help him to his feet.
“Look what you did!” she shouted in his ear.
“Beg pardon?” he shouted back, his whole head ringing with a thousand tinny bells.
