“I see,” the High Tollin said. A dangerous tone entered his voice. “I don’t suppose there will be anyone else wanting to be the prince, though?”
“I seriously doubt it, my lord,” Sparkler said, with a sigh.
“Excellent,” said the High Tollin. “Shouting and executions. I am more than qualified, after all.”
Sparkler gave in. Wing looked up from reading the play and grinned at him.
“Yes, my lord,” he said.
CHAPTER FOUR
YOU CAN’T DO IT WITHOUT A BALCONY
ROTHE BY ANY OTHER NAME WOULD THMELL AS THWEEET!”
“Yes…yes, thank you, Beryl,” Sparkler said. “I think I see the problem there.”
The little Tillet looked downcast.
“Ith it my brathe, thir?”
“I’m sorry?”
“My brathe, thir, on my teeth!”
Sparkler didn’t want to hurt Beryl’s feelings. She’d always had a lisp, but he had to admit that the brace he’d designed for her front teeth seemed to make it worse. She had worked ever so hard copying out the scripts and it felt mean to refuse her a part.
“The thing is, Beryl, there are only four female parts in the play. Lady Montague is a mature lady, as is Lady Capulet. The nurse is meant to be quite old, so that leaves…”
“Juliet, thir, yeth, who ith quite young, like mythelf,” said Beryl firmly. “A girl who findth great love with Romeo and then dies in the end.” Even Sparkler wilted against that diamond stare. Beryl clearly did not intend to be denied her part by a few lines of train track running round her teeth.
“Right, Juliet then,” he said at last. “Let’s see how it goes during the rehearsals.”
“Thank you, thir. You won’t regret it,” she said, beaming at him.
“Next!” Sparkler called. He watched impatiently as the High Tollin’s guards shuffled up. Sparkler repressed a groan. This was getting out of hand. It was true he’d been given the Great Hall to stage the performance, but in return, the High Tollin seemed to want everyone he knew personally to be in it. Sparkler resolved to be firm.
“Right. Which part would you like to audition for?” he asked.
“What’s in a name?” the thin guard bellowed suddenly. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet!”
“That’s a line by Juliet,” Sparkler said, searching his script. He had never seen the guards look so nervous before. The thin one had taken a position with his eyes screwed shut, his arms outstretched and his red face tilted up to an imaginary audience.
“It is the east! And Juliet is the sun!” he roared.
“That bit’s from Romeo, I think,” Sparkler said, wincing. The guard seemed to be lost in a world of his own. His companion looked on with tears in his eyes, shaking his head in silent wonder.
“Arise, fair sun!” the thin guard shouted, drawing his new sword. Sparkler gaped as he waved it around his head. “And kill the envious moon!”
“Some confusion there, I’m afraid,” Sparkler said in the pause for breath. The guard opened his mouth for another line.
“Thank you! I’ve heard enough!” Sparkler said loudly. His tone seemed to reach the guard and he opened his eyes, beaming shyly.
“Was it all right, sah? I’ve been practicing with Daryl here. He says I’ve got ever such good volume.”
“Well, yes,” Sparkler replied. “I can’t argue with volume. Volume, in fact, is the one thing no one could deny about your performance. However…”
“I wouldn’t mind a small part, sah,” the fat guard put in suddenly. Sparkler supposed this was Daryl, though he’d never heard his name before. He sighed to himself. It was the High Tollin’s Great Hall, after all. It was the only place he could find with a balcony.
“All right,” he said wearily. “You can both be in Romeo’s gang of Montagues and in the crowd scenes.” Daryl nodded to his thinner friend.
“I told you we’d get it, ’erbert,” he said proudly.
“Next!” Sparkler called once again.
Finding Romeo was the real problem, of course. In the play, he was meant to be young and handsome. There were young and handsome Tollins, but the news that Beryl was to play Juliet had made them vanish faster than frost in summer.
To his frustration, Sparkler was left with just one Tollin lad, by the name of Pilford, who worked in the bakery. He was short and thin and his hair was too long, in Sparkler’s opinion.
“So you want to be Romeo, do you?” Sparkler said doubtfully.
“Don’t mind,” Pilford replied with a shrug. Sparkler peered behind him. There was no one but Pilford.
“Have you prepared any lines for today?” Sparkler asked. Pilford nodded. “Right then. In your own time, let’s hear them.”
Pilford looked around him. The High Tollin’s guards were nearby, listening while pretending to read a script. Some Tillets were watching him, including one with enormous front teeth. He shrugged again.
“Right. It’s the bit at the end where everyone gets killed. My mum cried when I did it.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. When you’re ready,” Sparkler said.
“Romeo thinks Juliet is dead, though she isn’t,” Pilford went on.
“Yes, I’ve read the scene,” Sparkler replied. “Wrote it, I mean. Er…in your own time.”
“And he kills ’imself and then she wakes up! My mum was blubbering fit to burst when she ’eard me do that bit.”
“Are we going to experience this treat today, do you think?” Sparkler asked.
“So Juliet finds her love all dead and curled up and that, so she stabs ’erself! It was brilliant, that bit. I’d have put a swordfight in the background, just for added interest, you know, but it was pretty good anyway. My mum enjoyed all the ‘thees’ and ‘thys’ instead of just saying ‘you’ and ‘yours’—she said it made it proper old-fashioned-sounding and ever so romantic. I think you have a fan there, sir.”
Sparkler opened his mouth to send him away, but Pilford threw out an arm and began. His voice became larger somehow, so that it filled the space.
“O, my love, my wife! Death that hath sucked the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquered; beauty’s ensign yet is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death’s pale flag is not advanced…”
There was silence in the Great Hall. The guards stood with their mouths open, though that was not unusual when they were off duty. Beryl’s eyes glittered with tears.
“I think we have a Romeo,” Sparkler said softly. Pilford’s shoulders slumped.
“Sorry to hear that, sir.
I was looking forward to having a go at him.”
“No, Pilford. I mean you’re it. That was…good.”
“Really, sir?” Pilford beamed at him. “Mum will be ever so pleased.”
CHAPTER FIVE
MAGIC AND FALSE TEETH
HAT SUMMER WAS ONE OF THE HOTTEST IN TOLLIN MEMORY and the Common basked in the warm days. Small human children ran about with big dogs, while some big children ran about with small dogs. The long grass was a tapestry of butterflies, with colors of red and gold and sometimes a bit of yellow, even. Dragonflies buzzed on Darvell’s Pond, chasing their own bright reflections on the water while Tollins on the bank shouted things like, “More angle on the turns, Flaming Death! You have four wings, so use them! Flaming Nuisance is more like it!”
In the halls under Chorleywood Station, the play had taken over. There was no other description for it. Perhaps it was the High Tollin’s influence, or just the fact that the dragonfly racing teams were beginning to get on everyone else’s nerves. The rehearsals were packed and not just with the cast of actors. Grunion had brought a class of Tillets to watch and many of them had come back again and again, bringing their relatives. Sparkler had almost banned an old female Tollin whose false teeth dropped out every time she smiled at Beryl or Pilford. The clunk of wooden choppers hitting the floor after a good line still made him w
ince, but he’d let her stay.
It was going well, to his surprise. There was nothing he could do about Beryl’s lisp, or the way the guards shouted every line. His crowd scenes were instant chaos as well, with half the cast vanishing offstage in the wrong direction. Yet somehow, when they remembered the lines and faced the right way, when they didn’t trip over the scenery or all try to speak at the same time, well, there was a sort of magic to it. They could all feel it. Every now and then, Pilford or Beryl got it right and silence would fall across the hall, spoiled only slightly by the soft clunk of wooden teeth hitting the floor.
Sparkler was a little sad that he no longer played the part of Mercutio, Romeo’s friend. He had been enjoying himself, but more and more people wanted to be part of it and he had realized he couldn’t act and direct the play.
He stood in the wings and darkness, looking out on to the brightly lit stage. It was a little like one of his inventions. He had made this thing. Now, all he could do was stand back and hope it worked when it had to. Tollins were not cogs and springs, of course, or even mouse intestines and a steam chamber. There were still mistakes, almost every day, but the actors were becoming more confident. He’d even seen Pilford wipe a tear from his eye after a good rehearsal, though it might have been spit from standing too close to Beryl’s lisp.
Sparkler noticed the stage was silent and he waited for the clunk that meant a good line had been spoken. It didn’t come.
“Are you all right, Pilford?” Sparkler hissed. He checked his script. “‘Courage man, the hurt cannot be much…’ Pilford? ‘Courage man, the hurt…’”
Pilford stood, swaying slightly. When Sparkler realized he wasn’t going to continue, Sparkler walked out of the wings and on to the stage, past the black curtains specially made by the Tollin Ladies’ Association. As he reached Pilford, he saw Beryl’s horrified face and he halted.
“Pilford?” he said.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t feel very…” Pilford vomited on the stage and Sparkler leaped backwards rather than be splashed. He heard a clunk behind him and turned to the seats in irritation.
“That’s not part of the play, madam,” he said. “He’s really ill!”
Sparkler felt Pilford’s forehead and found it burning hot.
“Oh, this isn’t good,” he said.
“Sorry, sir,” Pilford replied. “I’ve been feeling a bit ill for a day or two now.”
“Thir?” Beryl said, behind him.
“Not now, Beryl,” Sparkler snapped. This was a disaster. The play posters had gone up all over the tunnels. If Pilford didn’t get well again quickly, the whole thing was ruined.
“Thir?” Beryl said again. Sparkler whipped round.
“Beryl? This is not the time, understand? If Pilford is sick…” He realized Beryl was looking oddly pale, and as realization dawned, she vomited onto his shoes.
In the silence that followed, the cast stood in shock, looking at each other. In the echoing Great Hall, a small clunk almost made Sparkler lose his temper completely.
“Still not part of the play, madam!” he shouted. “Now put them back in and keep them there!”
CHAPTER SIX
APPARENTLY, THE SHOW MUST GO ON
T WAS THE NIGHT OF THE PLAY, the end of summer, with the leaves turning gold on Chorleywood Common. Deep below the station, the Great Hall was filled to the rafters with Tollins. Small lamps lit the stage and the air was warm and smelled of oil and makeup, of sawdust and fear. Sparkler was more nervous than he could believe. He’d known he couldn’t cancel the play, not with so many Tollins looking forward to it. Pilford and Beryl were tucked up in their beds with hot drinks, very sorry to be missing out. Three of his Montagues had come down with the stomach bug as well, though sadly not the High Tollin’s guards.
Sparkler had explained to the cast that the play must go on, regardless of disasters. That too, was part of the magic, or so he’d read. Somehow, no matter what happened, it would be all right on the night. He hoped. Probably anyway.
He stood on the stage, dressed as Romeo in a costume copied faithfully from The Complete Works of Shakespeare. The Tollin Ladies’ Association had been surprised by parts of the design. Sparkler wasn’t at all sure why you had to dress like that to be in a play, but he could hardly ask Shakespeare. The tights were slightly baggier than the picture and he wasn’t at all sure about the ruff round his neck. It was a little too big, which meant he couldn’t see his feet.
He found himself perspiring as he looked up at the balcony and not just from the heat of the lamps. He saw Wing appear there, dressed in a gown of green. For a moment, he just stood there, gazing upwards. As Juliet, Wing wasn’t supposed to know he was there beneath her balcony, but as the silence grew, she looked down and raised her eyebrows at him. She was enjoying this much more than he was. There hadn’t even been time to practice the kissing scene. He just hoped he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.
The words came, suddenly flooding out of him as if someone had pulled a lever. The audience settled back, some of them nudging each other. He told her he would change his name if she didn’t like it and she told him her relatives would kill him if they knew he’d climbed in through the orchard. They talked of love and Wing’s eyes were shining by the end. Some of the Ladies’ Association were dabbing their eyes as well.
In just a few short lines, he and Juliet had promised they would meet at a chapel and be married. By the time they were, Romeo’s fate was in motion and his best friend would be killed in front of him.
Sparkler and Wing moved through the play as if the other actors were ghosts. The magic had taken hold of them. The moment came when they were supposed to kiss and Sparkler felt his heart thump almost painfully in his chest. Their lips touched.
“Arrest that Tollin!” roared a voice. The audience froze and Sparkler looked past Wing to where the High Tollin was furiously waving a sword at him. One of his advisors was clinging to his arm.
“Arrest him for kissing my daughter! What? What do you mean we’ve discussed this? I don’t remember…oh, oh yes. Ah. Um, sorry, sorry, everyone, do carry on…”
The crowd relaxed back into their seats and Romeo was banished from the city forever. One of the High Tollin’s guards sobbed as he delivered the news.
When Romeo heard Juliet was dead and went to her tomb, the crowd was silent with awe and fear. They knew she was not truly dead and when he took poison to be with her, they gasped in horror. Old Briar even rose from his seat and shouted in tears, “She lives, lad! She lives!” but it was too late. Sparkler sank down and then Wing woke at last from her long sleep, waiting for her love. She found her Romeo dead beside her and she drew a dagger and ended her own life. In the deathly silence, there was a faint clunk.
At the end, when the actors and actresses came out on the stage to show they were not in fact really dead, the audience applauded wildly. Sparkler and Wing stood together in the center of the line and bowed deeply, smiling at them all.
“You’ll have to do it again, you know, when Beryl and Pilford are better,” Wing murmured. “She was really sad to have missed this.”
“Don’t worry,” Sparkler said, thinking of The Complete Works. “I have a few other plays in mind.” He bowed again as the audience didn’t seem to want to stop clapping.
“I didn’t write it, you know, the play,” he said to Wing over the noise.
“Oh, I knew that,” Wing replied. Sparkler turned to her in surprise.
“How?”
“It doesn’t have any machines in it.”
“Well, no, it wasn’t perfect. There’s always room for improvement.”
THE END OF BOOK ONE
CHAPTER ONE
THE AUTUMN OF 1924
T WAS A DARK AND BLUSTERY NIGHT. It was certainly not a night for flying. The rain was too heavy and the wind too dangerous for anything as small and light as a Tollin.
Yet Grunion and Sparkler were out in it. Not only that, they were trying to carry something larger
than the pair of them put together. In a strange way, the heavy object acted as an anchor so they couldn’t be blown away.
“What sort of night d’you call this?” Grunion said.* They were struggling to cross a road that had become a gleaming river down the center of Chorleywood village.
“That is exactly my point, Grun!” said Sparkler, blowing and gasping. “If we can get this working, we could listen to the weather forecast. We’d never be caught in a storm again!”
The wind had risen and Grunion had to shout to be heard.
“It still feels like stealing,” he said. “That boy built it for the science fair in the Memorial Hall.”
“Which was yesterday,” Sparkler shouted back over the wind. “He’d clearly finished with it.” He saw Grunion’s doubtful look and realized he had to say something more. Without warning, the wind dropped, leaving him talking too loudly.
“Look, I can’t make it myself,” he went on. “I’ve read the books and there are bits I can’t understand. I need to look at this one, take it apart maybe. After that, if you’ll help me, I’ll return it to him, all right? That won’t be stealing then. That will be borrowing.”
“I think you have to ask, before you can call it borrowing,” Grunion replied.
“All right, how about I go back tomorrow and leave something in exchange?” Sparkler shouted.
“Like what?”
“A firecracker? He’d enjoy playing with that.”*
“Let’s just get this thing home before someone sees us. With all this rain, it might not even work.”
“It will work, Grun,” Sparkler replied, his eyes bright with excitement. “I’ll make it work.”
Tollins 2: Dynamite Tales Page 2
