Scilly Seasons

by Chris Tookey

  In the weeks that followed, there were no further werewolf hunts. It seemed treasonable to suggest one, when King Otto was suffering from what came to be called his ‘affliction’.

  The werewolves outside the castle disappeared, swiftly and silently. Stores of food and essentials reached the castle kitchen without interference, and the disastrous werewolf hunt came to be regarded as a freakish event that would never be repeated.

  Wyrd was in no hurry to leave the castle again, for he was secretly certain that Buzzard or one of his friends would be watching. And, despite Wyrd’s new-found popularity and the general admiration for his courage under attack, no one was keen to accompany him outside the castle. There were whispers that he was unlucky, and no one wished to share in bad luck. So, Wyrd stayed within the castle walls and refined his fighting talents, while taking advantage of the castle library to find out as much about the outside world as possible.

  When Wenda and Wyrd met nowadays, they were friendly enough, but there was a hint of reserve about them too. Wyrd wondered if she resented his rise up against the palace hierarchy. She seemed a little withdrawn. They still liked to meet and swap information. There was not much that Wenda had not learnt from Mrs Scraggs about food, drink and animals – particularly the edible varieties.

  Wenda had risen from being a mere kitchen maid to the King and Queen’s principal food-taster. And, since Wenda was Mrs Scraggs’ most trusted assistant, it was often Wenda who cooked the meals, while Mrs Scraggs sat on a stool, dozing and barking out orders whenever she thought standards were slipping.

  Wyrd noticed that whenever there were compliments to the chef, Mrs Scraggs took them. Whenever there were complaints, Wenda took the blame. Wyrd marvelled that his friend seemed to take all this with good humour.

  Occasionally, Wyrd found himself wondering if Wenda was still a regular visitor to the King’s bedchamber. He didn’t like to ask.

  She was far more eager to learn from Wyrd about the politics of Albion, the way the country fell into more than thirty kingdoms and the manner in which different races were treated in different regions. Some of this information had come from Osprey, although Wyrd had learned to take Osprey’s opinions with several pinches of salt.

  Osprey continued to claim that Queen Elinor’s warrior brother, Aurelius, was doing a fine job of holding back King Vitalinus in the west and the so-called ‘Saxon hordes’ in the east. However, his predictions became more insistent that one day in the not too distant future Atlantis would have to take up arms under the leadership of Aurelius, in order to support the Roman way of life.

  Wyrd gradually learned to read between the lines of Osprey’s political commentaries and confided to Wenda his fear about what was not being said – that while King Otto grew weaker, King Vitalinus was drawing nearer, and ever stronger. Wyrd also sensed Osprey’s disquiet that Prince Artorus might not prove as strong a leader, in peace or war, as his father had been.

  Lying in his room at night, Wyrd worried if he had risen as far as he could. The King’s patronage had raised him from a kitchen hand to a knight, but he was still one of the lowliest knights in Atlantis.

  He was allowed to dine in the banqueting hall, but at the very end of it. He was the furthest knight away from Queen Elinor, who usually presided in the absence of the King, with her son, Prince Artorus, on her right and her daughters, Melisande and Beatrice, on her left. Wenda, when food-tasting, would sit on a wooden stool behind the royal family, coming forward whenever required to perform a tasting.

  Only the death of older knights would bring Wyrd closer to the royal family. Unless…

  Wyrd could not help but notice that, ever since the werewolf hunt, Melisande had been paying him more attention. After he had discovered her in the hay with Bodger, she had shunned him. Perhaps she blamed him in some way for Bodger’s execution and the fact (at least, Wyrd thought it was a fact) that the King had confined her to a chastity belt ever since.

  Wyrd was sure that Bodger had brought his fate upon himself through his boasting. Wyrd had never said a word to anyone about his own meetings with the princess. Nor had Wenda. But Melisande, of course, wasn’t to know that.

  Wyrd’s feelings towards the elder princess were complicated. He was attracted to her, of course, for she was the prettiest young woman in the castle and (it was widely rumoured) in the whole of Atlantis. Perhaps, for all Wyrd knew, the whole of Albion.

  But he had felt hurt by the way she had led him on and then abruptly abandoned him. Long ago, Wenda had warned him that the princess thought little of him, or anybody except herself. But if so, why nowadays was Melisande so often smiling at him? He couldn’t be sure, but he sensed that, whenever she saw him walk past, she arched her back a little to show off the splendour of her breasts, so much fuller and larger than the ones he had caressed all too long ago.

  ***

  Any doubts that Wyrd might have had about Buzzard’s murderous intentions were soon to vanish.

  Wyrd was repainting his jousting lance in the knights’ courtyard when he heard cries of horror from the battlements. He dropped his lance and ran up the steps to where the lookouts were pointing out to sea. From the north-east there strode through the sea an enormous giant. How tall, it was hard to see. But Wyrd estimated that he must be over a hundred feet tall, for the sea was deep where he was, and yet it came up to his knees.

  Above the giant’s head flew a bird of prey, and Wyrd recognised it at once.

  “Buzzard!” he said to himself.

  The lookouts watched as a slave-ship bumped into the giant’s knee. It was clear even from this distance that the pirates were trying to attack the monster in their way, but their efforts looked pitifully puny. The giant bent down and flicked some of the pirates off the rigging as though they were ants. He picked up the ship and turned it upside down, roaring with laughter as the pirates fell to their deaths.

  The giant tore the boat apart with his bare hands before throwing it back on to the water. Wyrd wondered if anyone on board had been spared. Whether they were alive or dead, it would not be long before they were washed up on the north coast of Atlantis.

  The giant continued to wade towards the castle, causing tidal waves to crash against its north side. Wyrd thought at first that the giant was going to walk straight through the castle walls, but at the last moment he stepped to his left and passed the castle. As he stepped on to dry land, the ground shook. Each pace that he took was like an earthquake. Eventually he reached the front of Castle Otto, folded his arms and waited.

  The buzzard swooped down, stood on the ground in front of the giant and transformed itself into Buzzard. Wyrd could hear him speak as clearly as if he were only a few feet away.

  “Open the portcullis,” commanded the wizard. “Or I shall order the destruction of this castle.”

  Wyrd looked to see if the knight in charge of the portcullis would obey.

  From inside the courtyard came the sound of King Otto’s voice. He had clearly been watching the arrival of the giant, and made his way to the front gate.

  “Raise the portcullis!” he ordered.

  After a moment of hesitation, the knight tugged on the single rope that controlled the levers on the front gate, and the portcullis rose. King Otto and Queen Elinor walked through it, accompanied by Prince Artorus.

  “Buzzard, my old friend, what is it you want?” asked the King. “I cannot believe that you truly wish to destroy Atlantis.”

  “No, my lord, I do not,” replied Buzzard.

  “You cannot wish to destroy me?” asked the King.

  “No, my lord, I do not,” repeated Buzzard.

  “Are you not content that you have wounded me with your werewolves?” asked the King. “I take it that you were behind that attack?”

  “I was,” said Buzzard, “but you were not my quarry.”

  “And I suppose I was?” asked Prince Artorus, w
ho looked frightened but somewhat gratified that he might be the centre of attention.

  “Hardly,” said Buzzard. “My purpose has nothing to do with the royal family. Indeed, there is no reason why my giant Samson should not leave you with your castle intact, as long as you are willing to do one little thing for me.”

  “And what is that, pray?” asked Queen Elinor.

  “What price have you in mind, wizard?” asked Artorus, coldly.

  “All that I ask,” said Buzzard, “is that you give me Uther.”

  “Sir Uther?” asked the King. His surprise was evident in his voice.

  “And what do you want with him?” asked the Queen.

  “To kill him, of course,” replied Buzzard.

  Wyrd felt everyone turning to look at him.

  “And what is Sir Uther to you?” asked Queen Elinor.

  “He is a bug that needs crushing,” said Buzzard. “An evil weed that must be pulled from the ground before it runs rampant across the kingdom.”

  “Well, I don’t see any problem with that,” said Artorus, evidently relieved that his own life was not at stake. “Let’s hand him over.”

  “The decision must lie with your father,” said Queen Elinor.

  King Otto was looking perplexed.

  “Damned if I know why you think Uther is worth all this palaver,” he said. “Look here, Buzzard, are you sure you’re quite right in the head?”

  “I am perfectly sane, Your Majesty,” replied the former chief wizard of his court. “I am merely obeying orders, in the same way as Samson here (at this point he waved at the giant, or rather at the giant’s huge, hobnailed boots) will obey mine.”

  “Tell you what,” said King Otto, “why don’t we sort this matter out in single combat?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Buzzard, warily.

  “One man from the castle against this giant of yours. The winner can do what he likes with Uther. Personally, I’ve always rather liked the lad.”

  The Queen looked at her husband with horror.

  “You are not thinking of taking on this giant yourself?” she gasped.

  “No, I most certainly am not,” replied her husband. “But I thought perhaps Artorus here… You’re always saying you want to be a hero.”

  “Father,” said Artorus, looking at the size of the giant and wincing, “there is a time and a place for heroism, and a time and a place for… er…”

  “Cowardice?” suggested his father.

  “I believe the word is pragmatism,” said Artorus. “Besides, if this castle is to have a champion, it is perfectly obvious who it should be.”

  “It is?” asked the King.

  “Yes,” replied his son. “Clearly, it is Uther who has brought this giant here, and so it is Uther who should bear the consequences.”

  “But you’re much better in combat than Uther is,” King Otto pointed out. “The poor chap isn’t going to stand a chance against this… this behemoth.”

  “I am still waiting,” said Buzzard, impatiently.

  “Let me handle this,” said Queen Elinor. Her eyes were like two grey stones: cold, hard and unreflecting.

  “Do I take it, Buzzard,” she continued, “that were Sir Uther to win or to lose against your giant, you would leave this castle alone and return your giant from whence he came?”

  “Yes, my lady,” replied Buzzard.

  “Well, then,” said Queen Elinor, looking at her husband pointedly.

  “Very well,” said King Otto with a sigh. “Much as I like Uther, his life seems a small price to pay for peace and quiet. Artorus, go back inside the castle and fetch Uther.”

  “I am already here,” said Wyrd, emerging through the portcullis. He was carrying his sling in one hand and a longbow in the other. On his back was a quiver full of arrows.

  As soon as he saw Buzzard arrive with the giant, Wyrd suspected that he would have to fight for his life. No sooner had Buzzard mentioned Uther’s name than Wyrd had asked one of the watchmen for his spear, and another for his bow and arrows. He walked to the castle gate with a heavy tread and was surprised to find Mrs Scraggs there, waiting for him.

  “Hallo, Mrs Scraggs,” he said. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  “No,” she said, “but there’s something I can do for you. You won’t be needing that spear.”

  And she whispered something in his ear, that made her cackle and Wyrd smile.

  “Are you sure?” asked Wyrd, removing his boots and socks.

  “Of course I’m sure,” she said. “It never fails.”

  When Wyrd reached the royal party, he paused and then proclaimed:

  “I am ready to fight the giant!”

  Everyone thronging the castle walls cheered. Wyrd wondered if they were urging him on to victory, or were merely relieved that the giant would soon kill him and leave the castle in peace.

  “But I have one condition,” continued Wyrd.

  “And what is that?” asked Buzzard.

  “As you see,” said Wyrd, “I am wearing no boots, and it is only fair that the giant should wear no boots either.”

  “Is that all right?” Buzzard asked the giant.

  The giant shrugged, then nodded.

  “Very well,” said Buzzard. “The giant will remove his boots!”

  The giant sat down with a crash that shook the castle walls and started to remove his sodden footwear, emptying them of several gallons of seawater. The stench that emanated from his feet made everyone present gag and, if they had them, raise handkerchiefs to their faces. Queen Elinor looked for a moment as though she might be sick.

  Once the giant was barefoot, he stood up again and beat his chest.

  “Yes, Samson,” said Buzzard, “I can see that you are anxious to fight. Everyone except the two combatants must leave the battleground!”

  As the arena outside the castle was cleared, Wyrd turned to see if Wenda was watching. She was, and she gave him a nervous smile. Beside her, Mrs Scraggs gave him a withered thumbs-up.

  Well, thought Wyrd, here goes. His first instinct had been to try the course of action that had enabled David to defeat Goliath. He had heard that bible story from his mother when he was young, and it had always inspired him to become accurate with his slingshot. But as he fitted a stone into his sling, he saw the giant leering at him and pointing to the place midway between the eyes, precisely where Wyrd was planning to hit him.

  It would be a pity to disappoint him, thought Wyrd. Obligingly, Wyrd let go of his slingshot, and the giant flinched as a sizeable rock hit him between the eyes. Then Samson shook his head, as if to clear it, and an evil grin spilt across his mouldering features.

  So Mrs Scraggs was right, and a more unorthodox approach was needed. The giant raised one foot to stamp on the tiny human, and the onlookers gasped as Wyrd narrowly managed to avoid being squashed by Samson’s first attack.

  Wyrd slipped to one side as Samson’s mighty hand came down to swat him like a troublesome mosquito.

  Buzzard watched the fight with every appearance of satisfaction.

  “You can’t hide from him, you know,” sneered the old wizard.

  “Why should I want to hide?” gasped Wyrd, eying the giant as he decided which mighty part of his anatomy to attack next.

  Suddenly, Samson decided to collapse on top of him, and Wyrd thought for a moment that he was about to be crushed by Samson’s enormous bottom. Wyrd had no time to avoid being sat upon. His only defence was to squash himself against a sharp little boulder. When Samson sat on it, he rose again with an involuntary cry. This human was literally a pain in the arse.

  The giant stood, rubbing his posterior, and Wyrd saw his chance. He ran straight through the giant’s legs and, before the giant had time to turn, aimed his slingshot at the back of the giant’s left foot.

  “HOOO
!” boomed the giant, holding his left foot and hopping on his right.

  “HOOOOOOO!” yelled the giant even louder, as a second, sharper stone from Wyrd’s sling struck the back of his right foot. The giant rocked, then toppled forward, so that the top of his head protruded through the castle gate.

  As he fitted an arrow into his bow, Wyrd remembered Hogfrid’s instructions to him in Dumnonia. “Breathe in, release the bow, breathe out.”

  No sooner had Wyrd breathed out than his arrow was speeding towards the rope controlling the portcullis. It struck the rope perfectly, and the portcullis fell like a guillotine. It took off the top of the giant’s head, like a knife chopping through a boiled egg.

  “Urgh!” said everyone, as the giant’s brain rolled out. It was no larger than a dog’s. As Mrs Scraggs told everyone later, the main reason for her late husband Jack’s success with giants was that, strong though they were, they were all extremely stupid, and – because of their enormous weight – there wasn’t a giant alive who didn’t have weak ankles.

  22

  The Witchen Knife

  In which Wyrd makes an important discovery

  The giant Samson was buried without ceremony in the western part of Atlantis that still bears his name, and Buzzard flew away eastwards in a fearsome temper.

  Wyrd became aware that his status within the castle had increased. He was popular even with knights who had previously jeered at him. At the same time, he knew that many were baffled as to why Buzzard had gone to so much trouble to try and kill him. Wyrd wondered about that too.

  A further flurry of excitement came as bodies from the slave-ship were washed ashore. None of the pirates had survived their encounter with the giant, but a dozen slaves had survived. Wyrd learned that they consisted of nine humans, three bugbears and a lizard-man, all captured in Dumnonia. They were grateful to have been saved from slavery and all swore loyalty to King Otto when he granted them their freedom.

  Wyrd heard of this event from Wenda, on one of the rare occasions that she wasn’t at work in the kitchen.