The Sorcerer's Letterbox

by Simon Rose

The Outlaws

  VII

  Jack spun around and almost bumped into a short fat man with a wide grin. His bald head glared in the dying light of the sun, and many of his teeth were missing. He wore a short dark-green tunic that revealed his ample belly, and a long-bladed knife hung from his belt.

  “No food, eh, Meg?” the fat man asked menacingly, his fingers stroking the knife’s handle.

  “John, I’m sorry,” sputtered Meg, “there wasn’t no—”

  “Hush your tongue!” John shouted, raising his hand.

  Meg cowered against the wall.

  “Now what have we here?” asked John, grabbing Jack roughly by the collar and pulling him up.

  “Let me go!” yelled Jack. “Put me down!”

  “A feisty one, eh?” said John, throwing Jack to the ground.

  John pulled the knife from his belt and lunged at Jack’s stomach.

  “Not so fast, John,” said another man, grabbing John’s wrist and twisting the knife free.

  “Will!” exclaimed Meg.

  Will Tyler had a large prominent nose, a face covered in freckles and a thick head of red hair. His dark tunic ended just above the knees. Jack noticed that Tyler’s belt held an even more deadly looking knife than the one John wielded.

  “No food,” said John. “Just brought a playmate back. I reckon we should kill ‘em both.”

  “Like I said, not so fast. He might prove useful. We’ll take him with us.”

  “With us?”

  “Use your eyes, John. Have you ever seen such fine clothes on a lad?” Tyler grabbed Jack’s tunic and admired the fabric.

  “Who are you, boy? A duke? Surely not a prince!” Tyler mocked, breaking into a wicked laugh. “What happened in the Tower, Meg?”

  “The guards burst into the kitchen,” Meg explained. “There wasn’t no time to find nothing. They must’ve been looking for him,” she said, pointing at Jack.

  “We’ll take him with us,” Tyler barked. “If the guards were looking for him, I’ll warrant he’s worth something.”

  “The others won’t like it,” grumbled John.

  “The others will do exactly as I tell them, and so will you if you know what’s good for you,” Tyler spat back.

  “What have you got there, boy?” Tyler reached for the box sticking out of Jack’s tunic.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. Hand it over,” growled Tyler, drawing his knife.

  “It’s not worth anything.”

  “Would you rather I kill you?”

  Reluctantly, Jack handed over the box.

  “Hmm, not much, is it?” scoffed Tyler, turning the box over in his hand. “But I think I’ll keep it anyway. Let’s get moving.”

  Tyler grabbed Jack tightly by the collar and pulled him along the wharf toward the bridge. Jack took a last look at the Tower in the fading light. Its turrets rose ominously from the riverbank and cast eerie shadows along the water.

  Not far off stood London Bridge, crammed with buildings from one end to the other. It looked like a street resting on a series of stone arches.

  As they neared the bridge, Jack shivered at the grisly spectacle of severed heads displayed on long poles.

  Jostling hordes of people and animals, the gang had to push its way onto the bridge and all the way down its narrow centre path. Chickens scurried everywhere, chased by mangy dogs. For a brief moment, Tyler lost his hold on Jack, but Jack knew there was no point in trying to escape without the box.

  When they finally reached the other end of the bridge, Tyler led them along the riverbank to a small clump of trees where a cart and horse were guarded by a young boy.

  “Any trouble, James?” Tyler asked the boy.

  “No trouble, sir,” James answered, untying the reins.

  Tyler pushed Jack onto the back of the cart, and Meg hopped up beside him, followed by James. John climbed up front and took the reins. Tyler tossed the knife to Meg as he jumped aboard.

  “Watch him till we get to camp,” Tyler said. “If he makes a move, kill him.”

  The Forest Hide-out

  VIII

  “Who’s this?” James asked Meg, straining to be heard over the sounds of the horse’s hooves and the wooden wheels on the cobblestones.

  “Met him at the Tower kitchen. The guards were after him,” said Meg.

  “Where’s the food? Didn’t you find any?” James asked.

  “There was no time to look around. We had to get out.”

  “Mary will be upset.”

  Dusk fell as the cart rattled along deeply rutted dirt roads toward the countryside. Finally, they turned down a narrow path that wound through a dense thicket of trees. Barking dogs ran out to greet them. In the gloom, the glow of several fires marked an encampment of men, women and children.

  It looks like Robin Hood’s hide-out, Jack thought.

  The cart halted at the edge of the clearing, and John and Tyler jumped down.

  “Bring him along,” Tyler ordered Meg.

  She got out of the cart and gestured with the knife for Jack to do the same. They headed over to the nearest camp-fire, where a woman with long dark hair stood slowly stirring the contents of a large cooking pot. She looked up.

  “Who’s the stranger?” she asked. “And where’s the food?”

  “There was no time to look for food, Mary,” Meg answered. “He was being chased by the Tower guards, and we had to get out quick.”

  “You have to go back tomorrow then, Meg.” Mary turned to Jack and said, “Who might you be? You look familiar. Have I seen you somewhere before?”

  “No, you can be sure of that,” stammered Jack.

  “Your words are strange,” said Mary, her eyes narrowing.

  He was saved from answering by John’s shout. “The food’s getting cold!”

  “Give him some food after we’ve eaten if there’s any left, Mary,” Tyler said.

  There were ten people, along with a couple of dogs, gathered around the fire. Some had the same red hair and freckles as Tyler. Mary doled out what looked like blackened pieces of meat. She studied Jack closely as everyone ate in silence. When they had finished eating, Mary gave Jack the leftovers, which he devoured ravenously, even though he had no idea what he was eating. They all watched him eat.

  By the time he finished, night had fallen. A half-moon shone brightly in the sky. Everyone except Tyler, John and Meg drifted away from the camp-fire.

  “You watch him tonight,” Tyler ordered John.

  “But, Will…” John started to object.

  “You watch him tonight,” Tyler repeated. “Meg, get some rest. You’ll have to go back into the Tower again tomorrow.”

  Tyler settled down onto the soft ground while Meg climbed inside the cart to sleep.

  “I said we should have left you behind,” grumbled John, glaring at Jack. “Now I have to watch you. God’s teeth! How am I supposed to sleep?”

  John stood up, grabbed Jack’s collar and dragged him to the cart. He reached inside, pulled out a length of rope and hastily bound Jack’s wrists and ankles to the cart-wheel. Satisfied, John quickly fell asleep.

  This might be my only chance to escape, Jack thought. I need to get my hands on that box!

  Jack managed to loosen the knots around his wrists. He then slipped his hands out of the rope and unbound his ankles.

  Tyler was only a few feet away, his chest slowly rising and falling as he slept. Jack crept up beside him. One of the dogs suddenly looked up and glared at Jack, but settled back down again. Gingerly, Jack felt around for the box hidden in Tyler’s tunic.

  It has to be here, Jack thought.

  Then Tyler rolled over, and there the box was! Jack leaned over to grab it before Tyler could cover it again.

  “Will!” yelled Meg.
“He’s getting away. Will!”

  In an instant, the whole camp was awake. Hidden from the bright moonlight by the shadow of a broad oak, Jack watched Tyler enter the woods.

  “Where is he?” puffed John, catching up.

  “Quiet!” snapped Tyler. “He must be here. You take that way.”

  Jack felt as if his heart were going to burst. He could hear Tyler wandering around in the undergrowth somewhere to his left. Jack opened the box and struggled to turn the wheel again.

  “Tyler should have listened to me,” John’s voice sneered right behind Jack’s ear. But as John reached out to grab him, Jack managed to turn the wheel.

  “What sorcery is this?” Jack heard John exclaim as the woods faded away.

  Return to the Tower

  IX

  Jack was relieved to see his own room come into view. He placed the box on his desk and stepped back, completely exhausted. The last thing he wanted was to take another trip into the past where he might be killed. He didn’t even want to see if there was another note. What had started out as an adventure had become far too dangerous. He pushed the box off the desk into the waste-basket.

  Never again! Jack thought.

  The clock beside his bed showed 10:02. Remarkably, hardly any time had passed.

  I hope Edward didn’t run into my parents, he thought.

  Jack looked around for any sign that Edward had been there but saw nothing unusual.

  “Are you ready for bed, Jack?” his mother called from the landing outside the bedroom door.

  “Yes, I’m going to bed now.”

  “Good. Don’t burn the midnight oil again,” his mother said. “You have to get up early tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I know,” Jack replied, and collapsed on the bed.

  Maybe Edward went somewhere else, he thought, and with a sigh of relief soon fell asleep.

  The peal of church bells woke Jack.

  “Hey, Jack,” his father said, knocking on the bedroom door. “Time to get up!”

  “Huh?” said Jack. “What time is it?”

  “Ten thirty. Be downstairs in ten minutes!”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  “Well, get moving then. We’re going to the Tower of London, remember?”

  “What? Oh yeah, right, the Tower.”

  “So get a move on.”

  Jack suddenly remembered he was still wearing Edward's clothes. He took them off and hid them on the top shelf of his closet. Then he flung a sweatshirt on top to cover them and got dressed.

  Jack looked down at the wooden box in the waste-basket. It looked so harmless.

  Well, that’s the end of that, he thought.

  He crumpled up a couple of sheets of paper and dropped them into the waste-basket to hide the box from view. Then he glanced at the history book, closed on his desk.

  There’s the proof, he thought. No one can change the past. The princes never stood a chance.

  “Come on, Jack!” his father called from downstairs.

  Jack sighed, hurried downstairs and grabbed a quick bite to eat.

  “Let’s get going,” said his father, grabbing his car keys. “Gran’s meeting us at the Tower. We don’t want to keep her waiting.”

  It was raining, and Jack was glad that most of his day would be spent indoors. By the time they reached London, the rain had tapered off, and the streets were clogged with traffic.

  As they drove over Tower Bridge, Jack shivered at the memory of crossing the Thames with Tyler’s band. Just over the bridge the Tower of London looked ominous.

  Jack’s father showed the security guard a VIP day pass and pulled into a parking space close to the Tower’s front entrance. Beefeaters, the traditional guards of the Tower, patrolled the grounds in bright red uniforms. Tour groups were noisily milling about, and Jack heard several foreign languages being spoken. Shiny black ravens scurried along, pecking in the dirt at scraps of sandwiches thrown by the visitors.

  The Tower looked just as imposing as it did when he’d last seen it back in 1483. The walls were a different colour now, and the moat had been filled in.

  “I’m meeting Gran over at the restaurant,” said his father. “Have fun exploring the Tower, and join us at one o'clock.”

  “Right," said Jack. “I’ll see you then.”

  Jack walked along the gravel path and entered the nearest building. As he toured the galleries and walked past suits of armour, clothes and weapons of the past, he couldn’t help feeling a little weird. It had all been so real the night before.

  He turned down a corridor and saw a stairwell with a rope across its entrance. A sign stood in front that read This Section Closed. He was sure he recognized the surroundings and decided to investigate. Waiting until the last of the tour groups had moved on, Jack slipped under the rope and scampered up the stairs. He could still hear the sounds of people on the floor below, but there was no one else around. A few feet away, another staircase wound down to the outside. Glancing to his left, he saw a heavy wooden door. He approached it, gently pushed and, to his surprise, found it unlocked. Stepping inside the room, Jack immediately knew he’d been there before.

  This was where I met Gloucester, he thought, and where I last saw Edward and his brother before they were taken away kicking and screaming.

  But the room was now decorated with portraits, weapons and costumes. Crossing to the window, he gazed over at Tower Bridge and the modern skyline of London.

  Jack turned and left the room. Just at the edge of the landing, he saw a stone wall where the door to the staircase leading down to the kitchen had been. He could see traces of its jambs and even the thick beam across the top.

  The single toll of a bell brought Jack back to the present.

  It’s one o’clock, he thought. Time to meet Dad and Gran at the restaurant.

  Putting the Pieces Together

  X

  After lunch, the conversation turned to the kings and queens of England.

  “When I was about your age,” said Jack’s Gran, “I remember my grandmother telling me about her grandmother. And that would have been over 100 years ago. Well, when my great-great-grandmother was a little girl, her father told her the most wonderful stories of knights and castles. He even told her how he was once a king, forced into exile.”

  “Another tall story, Jack,” said his father with a wink.

  “The tales he told were so vivid,” she went on, “it was like he’d been there himself.”

  “Fairy-tales,” mumbled Jack’s father, taking a bite of his sandwich.

  “You said yourself you couldn’t figure out where he came from,” said Jack’s grandmother haughtily, “and you researched the family tree.”

  “What family tree?” asked Jack.

  “Our family tree,” said his grandmother as she sipped her tea. “He got back to the beginning of the nineteenth century, then just drew a blank.”

  “What do you mean?” Jack said, not quite following.

  “One of your ancestors may have been a king,” she replied solemnly.

  Jack’s father rolled his eyes. He’d heard all that before.

  “Of course he was a King,” he said, with a trace of sarcasm. “King—that was the family name back then, wasn’t it?”

  “You know what I mean,” Jack’s grandmother insisted. “You said yourself that he simply appeared out of nowhere.”

  “I didn’t say that,” protested Jack’s father. “All I said was that there was no record of his birth. That doesn’t mean anything. Records were scarce before 1800. I need to do more research, that’s all. I’ve just been so busy at the shop.”

  “The shop!” Jack’s grandmother sniggered. “You and your antiques. That’s all the past means to you, a chance to make money!”

  “Just a minute, Mum.”

  Jack’s father turned t
o Jack and said, “Why don’t you go to the Jewel House and see the Crown Jewels, Jack. I want to talk to Gran for a bit, and I have a meeting at three o’clock. I’ll meet you at the gift shop at four thirty.”

  “Okay,” said Jack. “Great seeing you, Gran.”

  “Nice seeing you too, Jack.”

  Jack picked up a guide and visited the Jewel House. Then he explored the grounds of the Tower. Finally, he went to the gift shop to meet his father.

  Once there, Jack browsed the book shelves and scanned all the titles until he came across a book called An Illustrated History of the Tower of London. It was filled with photographs and illustrations depicting the story of the Tower from its origins in Roman times. There was even a map of the Tower from the Middle Ages. Over the centuries, the Tower had been a castle, a royal palace and a prison. It had even housed a zoo called The Royal Menagerie in the Lion Tower. Lions, tigers, leopards, eagles and even an elephant had once been kept there. The zookeeper had been called The Keeper of the Lions. The Lion Tower had long since been torn down, and the Tower restaurant was built on the spot where it had once stood.

  Jack replaced the book on the shelf and picked out another entitled The Princes in the Tower. It explained that no one knew for certain how Edward and Richard died, even though a man named Tyrell confessed to their murders long after the death of Richard III.

  Tyrell! That’s the name of the man who came to the Tower with Gloucester.

  The book went on to say that, in 1674, the skeletons of two young boys were found under a staircase outside the White Tower. The bones were placed in an urn and taken to Westminster Abbey. In 1933, a royal commission examined the remains and determined that they were those of Edward V and his brother. Many people remained unconvinced, and the debate continued despite the commission's findings.

  A chill ran down Jack’s spine as he recalled young Richard’s tears when the boys were taken away.

  They never stood a chance, he sighed.

  “Ready to go?” his father asked.

  “Sure,” he said, putting the book back on the shelf.

  When they got home, dinner was ready.

  “You’re late,” called his mother from the kitchen. “You must be hungry. Come and eat!”