Alfie Bloom and the Talisman Thief

by Gabrielle Kent

  “Not without Robin. He’ll be here any second.”

  “He won’t, Maddie,” said Alfie, holding out the mirror to show her a tiny Robin looking frantically around a room hung with tools. “See, he’s still in the workshop; he can’t get through the hall without them seeing him. We need to close the door.” He hated saying it, but he knew Robin wouldn’t want them to risk their safety for his.

  Madeleine pulled back as Alfie took her arm and tried to drag her through the passageway. “We can’t leave him,” she cried.

  “Maddie, we’ve got no choice—” Alfie stopped as the walkie talkie he had clipped back on to his belt beeped loudly: Robin must still have his with him.

  “Robin?” he said into the radio.

  “Alfie, I’m stuck here,” whispered Robin’s voice. “Don’t wait for me.”

  “Robin,” cried Madeleine, snatching the radio from Alfie. “We’re not closing the door until you get here.”

  “You’ve got to, Maddie,” said Robin. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve locked the door, and if they get in I’ve got somewhere to hide. Look in the mirror if you don’t believe me.”

  Alfie held the black mirror out to Madeleine. Robin was waving as though not quite sure where they would be watching him from.

  “See?” he said, lifting the top of the window seat to reveal a storage space. “I’ll be OK.”

  Madeleine let out a choked sob. “Just stay hidden, Robin. We’ll find a way to help you. I promise!”

  Madeleine finally let Alfie pull her inside. The panel slid shut as the sounds of elves rampaging through the castle grew closer. Alfie gave Amy a nod and she swiftly closed the inner door, shutting them safely into the secret room.

  They spent the next hour huddled together on the rug by Ashford’s feet, watching the mirror. Alfie flinched at each loud noise as the elves rampaged through the castle, turning rooms upside down in their search for the talisman and the castle’s occupants. It filled him with fury to watch them rummaging through his things. Polluting his home with their presence.

  The battery on Robin’s radio was running low, so they had agreed not to talk unless it was essential. Galileo was curled up on one of Orin’s highest shelves, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Artan who had come to rest on the back of the armchair where Ashford was sitting. After many months the cat seemed to have realized that Artan wasn’t going to eat him, but this was the closest he had ever been to the dog-like bear and he wasn’t taking any chances.

  Sick of watching the elves, Alfie let Madeleine take the mirror to Orin’s desk where she sat hunched over it, watching Robin like a hawk. He adjusted the blanket over Ashford. The butler seemed to be in a half faint. His skin was clammy and his face almost grey. Alfie was seriously worried about him. He lit a fire in the hearth and fanned the flames with an old set of bellows.

  Amy removed her star-printed neck scarf and moistened it from a bottle of water she had managed to grab during the dash from the Great Hall. She dabbed Ashford’s forehead with the damp cloth. Alfie fought the urge to tell her not to waste water, wondering how long the little bottle would have to last.

  A crash from the library made them all jump and roused Ashford a little.

  “It’s OK,” the butler whispered. “They won’t find us in here.”

  Alfie silently fought Madeleine for the mirror as she watched a group of elves searching the ground floor, getting closer and closer to the room where Robin was hiding.

  “Library,” he whispered. Madeleine and Amy looked over his shoulders as the mirror revealed a fisheye view of the library. Five elves were creeping among the shelves, arrows nocked to their bows as they searched. Alfie held his breath as they reached the wall with the secret door, feet away from where they all sat in Orin’s study. He clasped Artan’s jaws to stop him from growling, but the elves were more interested in the fireplace, looking up the large chimney to see if anyone was hiding up there. Finally satisfied, they filed out of the library leaving one elf behind to stand guard. He stretched and settled into one of the cosy chairs near the fireplace, taking occasional swigs from a silver flask on his hip.

  “What is she doing?” asked Ashford weakly. Alfie tried the Great Hall first. One of the grand carved chairs had been dragged from the head of the dining table to the centre of the room. The Queen sat regally on her new throne directing the elves in their search. She was wearing a delicate silver crown studded with several large gems.

  “Get your hands off that,” Alfie muttered under his breath as one of the elves found the silver sparrow on the table and brought it to the Queen. She wound it up and clapped her hands in delight as it flew around the room and returned to her. She tapped it on the top of its head and it sidled up her arm to sit on her shoulder, where it began to preen its wings.

  “How did she do that?” asked Amy.

  “The same way that she got through the front door,” winced Ashford.

  “You’re saying she brought the bird to life?” said Alfie, eyes wide.

  “Not exactly. But I doubt it will ever need to be wound again.” The butler slumped forwards as though even speaking was too much for him.

  Alfie eased him back into the chair and felt for his pulse. He wasn’t sure what it should feel like, but it didn’t seem strong. Amy poured some of the water into a little cup and held it to his lips. Ashford sipped weakly.

  “Is there anything we can do for you?” she asked.

  “There’s only one person that can help me,” said Ashford, wiping away the drops that had trickled down his chin. “The druid.”

  “You mean Orin?” said Alfie. “Caspian told us about you being able to timeslip too. Can you go back and get his help?”

  Ashford shook his head weakly. “The pain is too distracting; I’m too weak to focus.”

  “Then teach me!” said Alfie. “I’ll ask Orin for something to help you. Maybe he’ll have a way to help us all.”

  “But you’ve only ever managed it by accident,” said Ashford. “It took me months of practice to control the ability, and yours works differently to mine. What if it goes wrong?”

  “Then I’m lucky I have you to guide me through it,” said Alfie, fixing Ashford with a firm stare.

  The butler smiled weakly. “I assume there’s no point in arguing?”

  Alfie shook his head.

  “Then I’ll try. But first, let me give you a message for Orin. Please, bring me some paper.”

  Alfie grabbed a blank notebook from Orin’s desk where Madeleine was still huddled over the mirror.

  “You can dictate to me, if you like?”

  Ashford shook his head. “It’s safer if you don’t know what I am going to ask of him.” He winced in pain as he began to write.

  “They’re trying to get into the workshop!” cried Madeleine suddenly. “They’re going to find Robin.” In the blackness of the mirror, three elves were throwing themselves against the workshop door. Madeleine changed the view to the workshop. Robin was climbing into the window seat. He reached up and made an OK sign for the benefit of anyone watching before lowering the lid.

  Madeleine yelped as the door crashed open and elves spilled into the workshop. Alfie held his breath as he watched them stalk carefully around the iron tools, prodding the ticking and spinning devices that his dad had been working on. Two of them investigated the adjoining forge, while the other lingered near where Robin was hiding.

  “They’re going to find him!” said Madeleine, her fingers gripping Alfie’s arm so tightly he had to grit his teeth to stop himself shouting out. The two that had searched the forge returned and nodded to the third who reluctantly sat down on the window seat as they left the room.

  “They’re leaving him on guard,” said Amy. “Robin won’t be able to leave.”

  “But he’s got to get out!” cried Madeleine. “He’ll run out of air!”

  “He’ll be OK for a few hours at least,” said Ashford. “As long as he stays calm. And we know Robin is good at that.”


  “Maybe the guard won’t stay that long,” added Alfie. “I’m sure he’ll be fine.” But the thought of Robin cooped up in the stuffy box with one of the elves sitting on the lid made him feel short of breath himself.

  “Hurry, Ashford. We need to do this now.”

  Ashford tore out the page he had been writing on, folded it and passed it to Alfie.

  “If you can get this to Orin it might help us all. Give him this too.” He pulled something from his pocket. Alfie took the small, worn velvet pouch. He felt sure he had seen one like it before.

  “What is it?”

  “Something I need Orin to fix for me. Now, are you ready?”

  Alfie nodded.

  “OK. Close your eyes,” said Ashford softly. “Let everything but my voice slip away. Picture this room, but imagine Orin here. Imagine yourself being pulled back through into the past.”

  Alfie tried to do as Ashford asked, but visions of the elves stalking through his home kept slipping back into his mind. He drove them out and tried again.

  “Focus, Alfie. You belong in Orin’s time as much as this one, so for you to travel back I imagine you just need to relax and allow yourself to slip through time, as though you are going home.”

  It was easy for Ashford to say, but however much Alfie tried to relax, random thoughts and fears kept slipping into his head. It was starting to hurt. How could he just slip through time? It seemed impossible.

  “Let’s try something different,” said Ashford at last. “Open your eyes. Remember the last two times you slipped?”

  Alfie could hardly forget. The first time was when he was almost hit by a car. The second was when he lost consciousness as Murkle and Snitch chased him through a dark network of caves.

  “What was the feeling you had in both of those moments?”

  “I was scared. I knew I had to get out of there.”

  “More than that. What did you feel deep inside?”

  Alfie thought hard, putting himself back in his own shoes. “I remember hearing my own heartbeat in my head. Time seemed to stretch out.”

  “Good. What else?”

  “It was like those were my final seconds. I wanted to be some place else more than anything in the world. Then I got that feeling. You know, like when you’re falling asleep and think you’re falling, then you jerk awake? It was like that.”

  Ashford smiled. “Then that’s the feeling you need to recreate. Close your eyes again.”

  Alfie did as he asked, hoping that Ashford knew what he was talking about.

  “Now, notice your stomach. Remember the coldness that gripped it when you were running through the caves, when the car was speeding towards you?” Alfie let the sensation flow through him. “And your heart, feel it beating faster in your chest. Hear the blood pounding in your ears. Really feel it: the fear, the helplessness, the car screeching towards you.”

  Alfie was trying as hard as he could. He could feel his heart beating faster and an icy chill in his stomach. He was trying to imagine Murkle and Snitch howling their way through the caves after him, but a little voice in his head kept reminding him that it wasn’t real; he wasn’t in danger. He tried to ignore it as he pictured himself back in the middle of the road, frozen in fear as he saw the horrified face of the driver in the car screeching towards him. He remembered his thoughts. It wasn’t going to stop. It was going to hit him: he was going to die. At that moment something struck his chest so hard he went flying backwards.

  He landed sprawling across the floor, and tried to work out what had happened as he untangled himself from the overturned footstool. Had Ashford kicked him over? He couldn’t believe it. “Why did you do that?” he shouted as he scrambled to his feet. Alfie froze. It wasn’t Ashford sitting in the armchair any more. It was someone else. A tall man in green robes, with kind eyes and a long, plaited beard.

  Orin Hopcraft.

  A Trip Through Time

  Orin beamed as he put down his book and quill, wiped his inky fingers on his tunic and helped Alfie to his feet.

  “I was hoping that it wouldn’t be too long before you paid me a visit.” He smiled as he righted the overturned footstool. “And that was quite an entrance.”

  Alfie went bright red. Ashford’s plan had obviously worked, but he couldn’t help being horrified that he had embarrassed himself in front of Orin Hopcraft.

  “Sorry. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”

  “No apology needed,” said Orin, getting up and reaching for a jar labelled Mugwort. “And you’re not disturbing me at all. Take a seat and I’ll make us some tea. I have a feeling you bring troubling news.” Orin took several more jars of dried leaves and flowers from his shelves and measured them out into a kettle hanging above the fire. A sweet herbal aroma filled the room as he stirred the contents of the kettle and poured out two steaming cups of a greenish-yellow liquid. Alfie sniffed at his cup. He took a sip and felt every muscle in his body begin to relax.

  “So, what brings you here?” asked Orin as he settled back into his armchair and fixed Alfie with his soft grey eyes. Alfie began to tell him everything that had happened over the last few days. The words tumbled over each other in their eagerness to get out as he told the story of the castle invasion, Ashford being dragged away, the sprite that had taken his place, the elves that were now roaming the castle’s halls, Robin at risk of suffocating in the window seat, and the change magic Murkle and Snitch had left him with. Orin sat stroking one of the plaits in his beard as Alfie finally finished talking and waited for the druid to speak.

  “Our word for oak tree is daur – door,” he said at last. “Because they are doorways to other worlds, such as the elven realms. I have travelled through it myself during Samhain and Beltane when the borders between worlds are thin. It should not have been opened by one without the knowledge or foresight to close it properly – especially as that person has already angered the ruler of that realm. Ashford has been foolish beyond belief.”

  “You know Ashford?” asked Alfie.

  Orin shook his head. “He cannot travel quite this far back, but I believe I will meet him at some point. I know of him, and his deeds, through Caspian.”

  “Can you help us?” asked Alfie. “You could leave a warning for Ashford, telling him not to go through.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t interfere by trying to prevent this from happening,” said Orin, his eyes grave. “Whatever warnings I leave for any of you in the future could just lead to events occurring in a different way. The Fates warned me of this. Some points in history cannot be changed.” Alfie’s heart dropped. He had been hoping that Orin would know exactly what to do and fix everything despite the six-hundred-year time difference.

  “Ashford. How badly wounded is he?”

  “Very. I think the wound is infected. It’s making him really weak.” Alfie handed over the letter and pouch that Ashford had given him. He sat quietly, studying the druid’s face as he read the letter, wondering what it said.

  At last Orin set the letter aside, placed the velvet pouch on his writing desk, and beckoned Alfie over to the table by the window. The druid cut sprigs from several of the herbs growing in pots on the window sill, and placed them into a stone mortar Alfie had last used when making a potion with Ashford, which revealed his evil headmistresses as a two-headed dragon.

  “You know what to do?” he asked, handing Alfie the pestle. Alfie took it and began to mash the herbs to a paste. Orin unstopped several glass vials and added drops of strongly scented oils to the mixture. As Alfie mixed the oils into the paste, Orin took jar after jar from his crowded shelves, tipping small amounts of different herbs into the iron kettle over his fire. The study was soon full of a heady herbal scent that made Alfie feel as though everything might be OK.

  When the herbs in the mortar were nothing but smooth paste, Orin scooped them out into a glass jar and chanted musical-sounding words over it. The mixture seemed to clarify, becoming the same slightly luminous green as the ointment that had healed Alfie�
�s bruises at Muninn and Bone.

  “I’ve seen this before,” said Alfie. “We’ve used some of it on Ashford already. This is your recipe?”

  Orin smiled. “I have shared it with a few, but only I can make it as powerful as this. Trust me, this will work.” Before putting the top on the jar, Orin spooned a small amount into the brew in the kettle and stirred the potion briskly, nine times clockwise, then nine times widdershins. Using a cloth to carefully lift the kettle from the fire, he poured the steaming green liquid into a large stoneware jug.

  “First, give him a draught of this tisane. It will send him to sleep for a couple of hours. Then clean the wound and apply this paste straight to it as a poultice.”

  “It’ll make him better? Completely?” asked Alfie.

  “I cannot say without seeing him for myself. But it should draw the poison from his system. When he wakes he will be stronger.”

  “Thank you, Orin,” said Alfie, tucking the jar into his pocket and taking the jug, as well as a small sack into which the druid had packed a loaf of bread, some cheese and a flagon of water.

  “Remember what I taught you last time you visited? How to let yourself be drawn home.”

  Alfie nodded and settled himself on the footstool, gripping the jug and sack tightly to ensure they travelled with him. Before he closed his eyes, the question that had been burning at the back of his mind sprang to his lips. “The change magic. I don’t want it. Emily said you could help me get rid of it. Will you?”

  “The creation magic I hid inside you when you were born could consume it to create something physical,” said Orin. “That’s how I built this castle. But it would not be wise for one with no magical training to try. That magic is best left sleeping. The more you use it the greedier it will become.”

  Alfie remembered the strange feeling he had as he tried to turn into his dad. “I could feel it watching me when I used the change magic. I think it wants to feed on it.”

  “I’m sure it does. All the more reason not to let it have its way, and to stop using the change magic. You are too young and inexperienced. Perhaps when your druidic training begins I can—”