The trial of Toby and Arty was over.
33
Toby's Promise
Toby, Arty, and Thomas’s journey back to the ship had been surprisingly quiet. The euphoria of winning his life back had been grossly overshadowed by the memory of the devastating ambitions of the prince and the brutal power of the high priestess; Toby had never seen anything like it. The prince was terrifying, the high priestess was awe inspiring and terrifying in equal measure. He looked at the wooden walls of Thomas’s home; they seemed even darker than ever. They didn’t help Toby’s pensive mood one little bit. Toby didn’t know whether to cry or scream or even laugh like a mad professor. And where was the professor? Toby missed him more than ever.
The high priestess had ordered their release but Toby didn’t feel free at all. In his mind’s eye he watched as the knife repeatedly cut across his arm, drawing golden blood every time. He couldn’t shake the image from his mind. Two days ago he had red blood and was a simple human boy – now he was a druid? What on earth was that supposed to mean? As he rubbed his arm, images from the trial returned like flashing disco lights in his head: the threat of being drowned or burned alive, Arty’s fearful face and the high priestess’s incredible magic. Toby visualised his fingers touching those of the princess and then he shook his head to clear it. He was thinking so much his head hurt.
He didn’t even feel safe in Thomas’s ship. It just simply wasn’t where he wanted to be, but it was better than the court chamber, it was better than watching the prince prance around like some glorified peacock discussing Toby’s life as if he was an unwanted weed in a prize rose garden. The threat of death had gone and exhaustion was wheedling its way into Toby’s body but not his mind. His thoughts continued to race around his head. Toby looked at his arm again where the cut had been made. There was no scar, not cut, no indication at all that a knife had opened up his skin and poured out blood.
‘When do we go?’ said Arty with a sense of urgency. They had been released from an ordeal that could have robbed them of their lives. It appeared Arty did not want to stay any longer than was necessary.
‘Soon you will be returned to the beach,’ said Thomas reassuringly.
‘Why don’t you come with us?’ said Toby, as he tried to control the madness inside his mind.
Thomas shook his head. ‘All I had up there has long gone. All I have in this world is down here with me. I cannot leave,’ he added emphatically.
‘Why? Why here?’ said Toby, ignoring Thomas’s tone. He didn’t take his intensely focused eyes off Thomas for a second. Toby simply did not understand why he would want to stay in such a wretched place.
Thomas shook his head. He pensively glanced back to the door he had first come through. ‘She wouldn’t make the journey. My wife, she is very ill.’
‘Your wife? But I didn’t think pirates got married. Do they?’ stuttered Arty.
‘I wasn’t married back then but she found me after the ship sank. She came through the mer-trade routes where they exchange goods with the humans. She knew everything about my pirate days, even the detail of my final battle with the Royal Navy and the pixie king. She accepted me unconditionally. I had never had that. She used to call me her beau, her brave Captain Thomas. When she first met me I was very down and full of regret. She told me to live in the present.’ He laughed. ‘She instructed me to live in the present because if I chose to live in the past then she had no choice but to judge me on my past. I never looked back. She was, is, a remarkable woman,’ he said with pride tainted with great sadness.
‘Miss Zeepam! She called you that in the recording,’ said a stunned Arty.
‘Can’t the princess help?’ asked Toby.
‘She has done much already, far more than she ought. She has been very kind. But there is nothing more to be done, really. So I wait. Diane is very old now. She can neither speak nor see. She hears a little though. I still talk to her. My wife has not fared as well as me,’ he said.
The trapdoor swung open with a sharp crack as it landed on the wooden deck, echoing throughout the room. The princess stepping lightly onto the floor with her human-like form.
‘You have legs,’ shouted Arty thoughtlessly.
‘Thanks to you two,’ she said, adding an appreciative nod.
‘How is your cousin?’ Thomas asked sharply.
‘Removing my father from the throne,’ she said angrily. ‘The trial was a sham. It was meant to make my father look like a fool but instead my cousin . . . he’s getting what he always wanted. My dear cousin will be here shortly to remove you two and it will not be back to the beach,’ she finished, pointing at Toby and Arty.
‘Where is the high priestess?’ stuttered Thomas.
‘She has gone.’
‘She is the one that keeps the peace,’ said Thomas unbelievably.
The princess ignored the last question. She turned to Toby. ‘Times have changed for the mer-people. Very few share the views of the prince. I hope today’s lack of support for him proved that. We are not like the prince and there are few that hold anger against the humans. For most of us that is all in the past. Thomas has done much to heal those wounds. It is difficult for me to ask this – particularly when I am already in your debt.’
‘What for?’ said Toby. His face was screwed up in confusion.
‘You saved my life, both of you. I remember it now. The high priestess visited me just after the court finished. She explained to me what happened on the beach. How she knows I do not know but it was the prince’s guards that captured me and used the hessian net. It was supposed to be a big trial to prove he was right and my father was wrong, to make my father look foolish and not worthy of the crown. He wanted to show humans were not to be trusted. It was you two that pulled the net off me, your magic that healed me, Toby,’ said the grateful princess, holding her hand out. Toby instinctively went to shake it but before he touched her a gentle white light connected the two of them, ebbing and flowing like rays of sunshine. No electric shocks or sparks this time but something very calming. Toby felt an incredible happiness as if all the troubles in the world had faded into nothing and he was floating on a bed of clouds. The princess lowered her hand and the white light disappeared.
‘You are a healer, Toby, and an extraordinary one at that. The prince witnessed it too but he was too occupied by his own needs to really understand what it meant, although I fear now, after the high priestess’s display he will see it very differently. All you ever were to the prince was a stepping stone to the crown, to be king.’
‘But that’s not me,’ argued Toby, feeling overawed by the idea of being a healer, of having those kind of magical powers. ‘It can’t possibly be me.’
‘It is not all you. Some of the magic was mine, but I do not have the power to produce the kind of energy you did on the beach. Most of the magic is yours.’
‘So I am a druid?’
‘I am a mer-princess. I know a lot about magic, Toby, more than most mer-people,’ said the princess, spontaneously conjuring up a small glowing purple ball of light in the palm of her hand. ‘I know magic when I see it, and I know the difference between my magic and that of someone else. But I am sorry, I know nothing of druids. You would have to speak to the high priestess.’ The princess closed her fist and the purple ball disappeared.
The princess carried on. ‘Thomas and I are worth more to him alive than dead so do not fear for us. But you, Toby, you must go. He will fear you even more now after the trial. And since the high priestess has gone you have no protection. I have loyal guards outside that will lead you safely back to the beach. And there is something else, Toby, something the high priestess told me. I feel she wanted me to tell you this. The prince had help from the outside, from outside the mer-kingdom.’
‘What’s the point of telling us that?’ said Arty impatiently. The delay in returning to the beach seemed to be clawing at his battered nerves.
‘Shhh! It’s not the princess fault,’ he said, blushing. ‘Did
she say who it was?’
‘Not in as many words. But I thought I heard her say “General Monk”. Does that mean anything to you?’ said the princess. She didn’t seem to notice or perhaps simply didn’t want to mention the flush in Toby’s cheeks.
Toby suddenly felt a cold chill run through his body. Toby’s rosy cheeks disappeared in an instant leaving him ashen. Could it be the same general chasing me? It’s not possible. Why would he go to so much trouble? Why not trap me outside Tintagel?
‘Toby, are you all right?’ the princess asked with concern.
‘Ugh, yes, I’m just tired.’
‘I think it is time for you to go.’
For reasons he did not understand he did not want to talk about the general to the princess. He looked at Arty who was already making for the trap door and the way home.
‘One more thing, Toby,’ added the princess.
Arty tutted loudly followed by an equally unnecessary loud huff. Toby gritted his teeth in annoyance. The princess ignored Arty and carried on talking as if she had not heard anything. ‘I need you to take this with you. The prince will have far less power without it.’
The princess gave him a very small leather pouch with a knot tied in the top. When Toby cradled it in his palm he was stunned to feel how heavy it was for something so small. It felt grainy inside like very small flakes of rice. He recognised it instantly.
‘Pixie gold!’ said Toby out loud. He didn’t know what to say.
‘If this remains here the prince will use it for foul means and I don’t think his ambitions remain within the mer-world. You are the one person I know will do the right thing. I trust you in that. The high priestess said as much, too.’
Toby’s head was swimming. This was the one thing above all else Toby had wished for. It was his answer to returning to London. Why shouldn’t he keep it? He had just been through an ordeal so serious he could have lost his life. He slipped it into his pocket. He looked at the princess and felt the weight on his hip. It felt fantastic. The princess smiled encouragingly. Toby briefly felt an enormous amount of guilt. Arty hadn’t moved from the spot. He suddenly seemed very pleased as he stared at the new lump in Toby’s pocket.
‘I promise,’ mumbled Toby.
‘Come with me now, both of you. My loyal guards will ensure you reach safety.’
Toby cast a glance as if to ask for advice. But Thomas appeared to have other things on his mind. He stepped forward and handed Toby another small leather pouch. It was lighter than the first.
‘One day someone may find you and ask you for this. Give it to them without question. Until then, keep it safe.’
Thomas did not offer any further information and Toby did not want to ask. He felt that was the least he could do. If it wasn’t for Thomas, things could have been considerably worse. He nodded gladly as the princess led him to the trap door.
With helmets on their heads Toby and Arty jumped through the black hole and into the cold water. Hands gently held their arms as they were whisked away from Thomas’s sunken pirate ship.
34
The Cornish Pixie King
The journey under the sea felt like an eternity. Toby had the gold and he didn’t know what to do. He had been told he was a druid and a healer. What did that mean? He could have helped Miss Zeepam if he was a healer but he hadn’t thought of that when he was on the ship. Now it was too late. He believed he had no one to talk to. He suddenly felt very lonely again.
Toby was on the beach. He shoved most of his thoughts to the back of his mind. For the time being there was only one thing he must do. He had a promise to fulfil and he suddenly had a brainwave of an idea. He raced up the steep gravel path. Arty was right behind him.
‘Where are we going?’ shouted Arty as his breathing got rapidly heavier.
‘Maggie,’ puffed Toby in between deep gulps of air.
‘Why?’ gasped Arty. One word seemed to be all that he could muster. His breath was becoming shorter by the second.
‘The owl,’ grunted Toby.
When they reached the top of the cliff and returned to the theatre the owl was nowhere to be seen. Both boys stopped and leant on their knees with their hands, breathing hard. The dampness of the morning air made them both cough as their lungs burnt from the strain of the run.
‘Little git’s not here,’ blurted out Arty.
Toby stared back down to the sea. It remained perfectly calm. For a moment he wondered whether he had dreamt it all. The two small leather pouches poking out of his trouser pocket were a lumpy reminder of everything they had just been through.
‘Why Maggie?’ puffed Arty.
‘I dunno . . . I just need to,’ said Toby sharply.
‘Why the owl, why Bradford?’
‘I wanted to thump him, that’s all,’ gasped Toby.
‘Okay,’ groaned Arty sounding exhausted. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small silver pipe, then blew on it hard as he could until his face went red with the effort.
‘It’s him,’ they said in unison.
A faint rumble grew louder by the second exploding into a loud roar as a silver and black motorcycle bounced down the stone steps of the theatre. It was a silver messenger.
‘Brough 23 at your service, Master Arty,’ he shouted over the booming noise of the engine. ‘Your disappearance had caused quite a stir.’
‘Maggie, please,’ shouted Toby.
They jumped in through Brough 23’s chest hatch without further explanation. The two boys immediately flopped into the big armchairs in the spacious lounge. Brough 23 opened the throttle hard and the motorcycle roared into life, speeding off up the steps and launching briefly into the air before landing on the road towards Tintagel. Arty slipped his fingers through the handle of a very welcome steaming cup of hot chocolate and drank the contents in one swift gulp. The chocolate hobnobs followed shortly after.
Toby could not settle. He watched Arty fill his mouth full of hot chocolate and biscuits. He felt a tinge of anger, wondering whether Arty had already forgotten about Thomas and the princess. He was convinced the pixies would help stop the prince, save the true king and Thomas. Maybe something could be done for Miss Zeepam as well. Toby drummed his fingers on the pad of the armchair and stared out of the windows willing the countryside to speed by: trees, villages, and hedgerows. The pattern was the same and it seemed to go on forever until, at last, Toby could see Tintagel in the distance.
‘We’re here,’ shouted Toby. Arty jumped at the sudden outburst and spilt his eighth cup of hot chocolate over his already dirty clothes.
Toby jumped out onto the stone cobbled yard as Brough 23 flicked out the motorbike’s side-stand. He was grabbing at Arty’s jumper trying to silently urge him on. Arty was busy thanking Brough 23 for the ride. Toby sighed, then grinned with embarrassment. The silver messenger smiled appreciatively.
The miserable old gardener was weeding around the daffodils. He stared at them, pulling a face as if he was trying to break wind painfully. His personality had clearly not improved one little bit. Toby had no time for him and ran straight past as if he didn’t exist, heading straight for the garden shed tucked away in the far corner.
‘Blimey, it’s enormous,’ shouted Arty, as he followed Toby inside.
He stepped past a selection of dirty wellington boots, shovels, forks and overalls and stopped on a polished and spotless oak floor. The room was considerably larger than the shed they had entered. The windows lining the walls looked exactly the same as those found in the silver messenger, providing a panoramic view of the gardens. The room was spotlessly clean and smelt of freshly cut grass and newly baked bread. It was full of comfortable furnishings of all shapes and sizes including an umbrella stand in the corner that looked remarkably like a stone gargoyle. Its eyes were crossed and lips pursed as if it was trying to blow a wasp off the end of its nose. It had its arms wrapped around three umbrellas.
The boys heard a flush of a toilet and blushed as Maggie the gnome stepped ou
t of a small side room. She was drying her hands on her apron.
‘Hello, me dearies,’ she said delightedly. ‘You two have caused quite a kafuffle in the village, you know.’
‘We need to see the pixie king,’ said Toby.
‘What an earth for?’ she asked.
Toby repeated the whole story without a pause from the moment he saw the mer-lady in the hessian net to stepping out of the silver messenger.
‘And then we arrived here!’ he finished, flushed red in the face all over again.
He took a big, long, deep breath and coughed. It was if he had run ten marathons back to back whilst eating a truck load of chocolate biscuits. Maggie stood with her mouth wide open.
‘Oh my. Husband, HUSBAND!’ she shouted, impatiently stamping on the floor. A small ripple like a splash in a pond radiated out across the hard floor towards the gardens. Within seconds the old gardener hobbled into the room.
‘Boots,’ she barked. He hobbled over, boot-less and wheezing, his big toes poking through some rancid-looking red socks. ‘Call a collyman at once.’ As the old gardener hobbled away she turned and faced the two boys. Her face was as sweet a newly baked apple pie. ‘That is not good news. That young rascal has wanted the crown for centuries.’ Her face started to contort with anger but she composed herself before talking to Toby again.
‘King Jack will know what to do. I think its best that you two remain here and tell him yourself,’ she advised in a cracking voice, ‘and a word of advice – whatever you do, do not show him you are afraid of him. He is as soft as a newly turned rose bed.’ Toby and Arty were not convinced. Maggie squeezed her arms tightly around herself. ‘Anyway, we must let Major Shenanigan know you are safe.’ And with that she unexpectedly stood perfectly still and waited in silence.
Toby and Arty looked at each other, wondering whether they were supposed to do something. Much to Toby’s relief Maggie soon spoke again.
‘Where has that old fool gone? George, will you fetch the collymen for me please?’
Toby Fisher and the Arc Light Page 23
