by Allan Jones
“What a fuss you do make!” the old lady said kindly. “It would have been so much easier if you’d kept your silly questions and worries to yourself and just trusted me.” She shook her head and sighed. “But if you insist on doing things the hard way, well … so be it. I’ve done my best, and no aunty could do more.”
So saying, she lifted her hands out toward them, her chubby fingers wriggling like worms.
“Madam, I must warn you, if you try—” Trundle began, but quite suddenly his mouth became so dry that he could no longer speak. His eyes widened as he saw long black threads of smoke emerging from Aunt Millie’s fingertips. The smoke came questing through the air, undulating and slithering as the two friends backed away.
Suddenly the slinking threads of smoke darted forward and down and coiled themselves around their ankles.
“Stop doing that!” Esmeralda exclaimed, struggling to get free.
“Oh, I think not,” said her aunt, her fingers still wiggling as the ropes of smoke spun out and wrapped themselves more and more tightly around Esmeralda and Trundle’s ankles.
Trundle realized that his numbed feet were anchored to the floor. He could feel a bitter coldness rising up through his legs. He slashed at the sinister threads, but the blade of his sword passed right through them and they kept on coming. Even as he fought to get free, the black strands came curling and swirling up his legs, past his knees and around his waist.
“You brute!” gasped Esmeralda, fighting in vain against the paralyzing Roamany magic. “I’ll pay you back for this! You see if I don’t!”
“Yes, dear, of course you will,” crooned her aunt. “But right now, Aunty has some business to attend to.” She called out, “Bruno! Get in here! I need you!”
A few moments later, the door to the caravan opened behind them. Trundle craned his stiffening neck to see who had entered.
It was a large, muscular bear clad in a circus costume, with a rather witless expression on his face. “Yus, ma’am?” he growled in a dull, flat voice.
Millie Rose smiled kindly at Esmeralda. “Now you mustn’t think for one moment that Aunty doesn’t love you to pieces, my dear,” she said gently. “But you always were such a … scamp! Naughty enough to break an aunty’s poor soft heart, you are!” She sighed. “Bruno is going to take you both somewhere that I’m afraid you might find rather dark and dank and uncomfortable. While you’re there, I’d like you to have a good long think.”
“About what, exactly?” snarled Esmeralda.
“Why, about whether you’re willing to help Aunty find the rest of the crowns, of course.”
“Go find them yourself!” shouted Trundle. “We won’t help you!”
“And that goes double for me with brass bells on!” added Esmeralda.
“Well, you see, I would go and find them myself,” said Millie Rose. “But I can’t do it without you. The prophecy of the Badger Blocks made it quite clear that the two of you must do the actual hunting. So you need to choose whether you’d like to find the crowns for me—or whether you’d rather wait till Captain Grizzletusk arrives to help you make up your minds.”
“We left Grizzletusk on the other side of the Goills!” shouted Esmeralda. “He’s whole skies away!”
“That was very resourceful of you, my dear,” said her aunt. “But I asked the good captain to come straight to me if he ever lost track of you. So, you see, he’s on his way here right now.” She smiled, cocking her head as though listening. “Do I hear the sound of cutlasses being sharpened?” she mused. “Well, possibly. Either way, the Iron Pig could arrive at any moment. Won’t that be a nice surprise for all these good folk?” She chuckled genially. “That would certainly put the rats in among the cheese!”
“You wicked woman!” gasped Esmeralda. “You’d set pirates on them?”
“I might have to, if you and your little friend can’t be more reasonable,” said Millie Rose. “The magic crowns aren’t going to find themselves, now, are they?”
Trundle remembered all too well the ferocity of the pirate attack on his hometown of Port Shiverstones. “You couldn’t be so heartless!” he gasped.
“Well, actually, Trundle, dear, I rather think I could,” said the old lady. “You two go and have a good long ponder. But remember, my dears, Aunty won’t take no for an answer, and if you can’t make up your own minds, Grizzletusk will have to help you. Pirates can be very rough. Small things like you might easily get broken! And then where would we be?”
“I hate you!” shrieked Esmeralda.
“Oh, you’re just saying that because you’re cross with me,” her aunt chided. “But don’t worry, Aunty forgives you. Bruno! Take them and lock them in the midden trailer, there’s a good chap.”
“Yus, ma’am,” growled the bear.
Trundle was able to twist his neck enough to see the big, burly bear looming up behind them with his great furry arms stretched out.
“I’m sorry, Trundle,” Esmeralda groaned, the black coils writhing up around her neck. “I’m sorry I ever got you into this!” And then the fingers of smoke slid around her mouth, and she could say no more.
Trundle fought ferociously against the smoky black coils that poured from the old lady’s fingers. They were wrapped around him like freezing-cold snakes—numbing his limbs—rooting him to the spot—paralyzing him. And now they were climbing up around his neck. But all his struggles were in vain; it was impossible to get free of Millie Rose Thorne’s evil spell.
Then, at the moment of final despair, Trundle heard a small, cheerful voice pipe up from just outside the open door of the caravan.
“Hello, you people,” said Jack. “Here you are at last! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
Trundle saw Jack’s beaming face pop out from behind Bruno’s great shaggy leg. “What’s going on here, then?” he asked innocently. “Are we having fun and games?”
Esmeralda’s aunt glared at the newcomer. “Get out of here, you vermin!” she hissed.
Jack’s eyebrows shot up. “I say!” he exclaimed. “That’s a bit strong, madam!”
But in that moment, while the old lady’s attention was distracted, Trundle felt the black coils loosen enough for him to be able to lift his arm and to bring the flat of his sword down sharply on her wiggling fingers.
“Yow!” she shouted, snatching her hands away. “That hurt, you nasty boy!”
“Good!” Trundle declared. “Serves you right!”
“Trundle, I’m free!” yelled Esmeralda, beating at the wavering threads that wound around her. The coils were no longer black. They had become gray and pale and as insubstantial as mist.
Trundle spun around to confront Bruno. The big bear’s arms were still stretched out to grab them, but he snarled and drew back as the blade whisked to and fro in front of his muzzle.
“Run for it!” Trundle yelled.
“You ain’t going nowhere!” growled Bruno, lunging forward again.
“Take a bet?” yelled Esmeralda, diving between the bear’s legs. She plunged headfirst through the caravan door, crashing into Jack and bowling him off his feet. They landed in a tangled heap at the foot of the steps.
“I got you, anyhow, you urchin!” snarled Bruno, his little eyes burning in his big face as he lurched toward Trundle.
“Urchin, indeed!” yelled Trundle, prancing to one side and poking his sword at the bear’s big hairy belly. “Take that!” The thick fur blocked his thrust, but the very tip of the blade made contact with flesh. The bear let out a howl of anger and pain.
“Grab him, you dolt!” Trundle heard Millie Rose shout.
Not likely! thought Trundle.
The bear’s arms swung at him like a huge pair of pincers. Trundle ducked down and rolled to the doorway. Giving Bruno a parting prod in the big toe, he flung himself out of the caravan and down the steps.
He crash-landed on Jack and Esmeralda just as they were getting up. All three sprawled breathlessly in the grass. Trundle was aware of a twanging noise from
a musical instrument that was strapped to Jack’s back.
There was a ferocious roar from above. Bruno’s brawny shape filled the doorway to the caravan. His eyes burned with fury, his jaws gaping, his lips drawn back to reveal rows of sharp yellow fangs.
The three companions stared up at the hideous vision for a split second. Then they were on their feet and running like crazy through the crowded Roamany fairground.
Roaring and snarling, Bruno came lumbering after them.
“This way!” panted Esmeralda as they ducked and dived among the sideshows and booths. She vaulted into a Stun-a-Stoat stall, and as the other two followed, she pulled them down under cover.
“We’re not here!” she hissed to the puzzled-looking stallholder.
“Fair enough,” he said, unperturbed.
Trundle heard the rapid approach of ponderous feet. There was the rasp of panting breath. “Have you seen two hedgehogs and a squirrel come this way?” growled Bruno.
“Yessir, Mr. Strongbear,” said the stallholder, pointing randomly. “They went thataway!”
Bruno snarled in frustration and went careering off.
“Thanks, Tinker,” Esmeralda said to the stallholder, rising and peeking over the top of the wooden barrier.
“Don’t mention it, princess,” said Tinker. “Glad to help.”
“It’s all right,” Esmeralda said to her friends. “He’s gone. Now let’s get out of here!”
“I think … we’re safe … now!” gasped Esmeralda, snatching a glance over her shoulder as they raced down Port Tentercombe High Street.
“When we get … a moment…” panted Jack, “can someone … please tell me … what’s going on?”
“Horrible treachery!” said Esmeralda. “Unbelievably horrible treachery!”
“You can say that again!” added Trundle.
“We have to get off this island right now!” said Esmeralda. “Let’s hope those provisions we bought have been put aboard the Thief in the Night—otherwise we’ll have to set sail without them!” And so saying, she put on a renewed burst of speed, and the three friends went hurtling through Port Tentercombe like rockets.
They were in luck. The stern of the Thief in the Night was piled high with boxes and sacks and crates. The Gents’ and Ladies’ Outfitters had not let them down.
Esmeralda leaped into the skyboat and started unfurling the sail, while Jack and Trundle untied the mooring ropes. The Thief in the Night bobbed free of its moorings, and Jack and Trundle jumped aboard. Jack got busy with the rigging, and Esmeralda clambered over their provisions to get to the tiller.
The wind caught in the sail, and the skyboat rose into the air. Esmeralda turned the tiller, and the slim vessel described an elegant curve in the air, rising above Port Tentercombe.
Trundle peered down. They were sailing out over the Roamany fairground. He thought he even caught a glimpse of Millie Rose Thorne’s caravan before the skyboat sailed higher in the sky and the colors merged and blurred in the green of the wide meadowlands and hills of Tenterwold.
“She’s a bit sluggish,” Esmeralda called to Jack. “It must be all this weight. Jack, can you set the jib sail for me? The main sail might not be enough to give us the speed we need.”
“Aye, aye,” said Jack, and a few minutes later, a second sail was up and filling with wind.
“That’s more like it!” said Esmeralda. “Trundle, be a good fellow and have a hunt through the stuff for the sky charts we bought.”
Trundle eyed the large pile of provisions. “What will they look like?” he asked.
“A metal tube with writing on it,” said Esmeralda. “The charts will be rolled up inside.”
Trundle began to search. It wasn’t easy.
Among the equipment that Esmeralda had purchased was a barrel filled with fresh spring water, an economy-sized box of hardtack biscuits, a barrel of fresh fruit, another barrel of dried fruit, a box of salt fish, a brace of Gravelsdyke salami and a couple of wheels of very ripe Old Sox Tenterwold cheese. Also in the pile, there was a sun compass, blankets and oilskins, hurricane lamps, rope, soap, sticks, picks, a shovel, and some distress flares for just in case—oh! And right at the very bottom, in the most inaccessible place possible, the brass tube of sky charts!
Trundle struggled to free himself from the pile of provisions, clutching the tube in triumph as he emerged.
“Good lad,” said Esmeralda. “Now, find me the chart with Widdershins on it.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to Widdershins, are we?” he asked.
“We are,” said Trundle, wrestling to get the tube open.
“Well, well,” mused Jack.
“Have you been there before?” asked Esmeralda.
“Not at all,” said Jack, shaking his head. “Quite the reverse, in fact. They don’t like musicians and entertainers there, no, sir, they certainly don’t. We’re far too trivial and lighthearted for the likes of them. They’re a serious bunch at the Worshipful Guild of Observators.”
“The worshipful who of what?” asked Trundle, picking up the charts that had scattered all over the bottom of the skyboat when the top had finally popped off the tube.
“You’ll see,” said Jack, nodding knowingly.
“Trundle!” There was a sudden urgency in Esmeralda’s voice. “You’ve got good eyes. What’s that coming up behind us?”
Trundle’s heart leaped up into his throat. He peered back the way they had come. Tenterwold was now just a greenish pebble in the distance—but shooting swift as an arrow from that same direction came a small black shape.
“It’s a bird,” Jack said, shading his eyes.
“A big bird,” agreed Trundle. “A big black bird.”
The shape grew as it drew closer.
“It’s a raven!” gasped Jack. “Gosh! And a right big one, too!”
As the black bird came closer, it rose high above them, soaring through the air with fast-beating wings. They stared up as it passed over them. Trundle could have sworn that a beady red eye peered malevolently down at them.
“Is it Captain Slaughter? Razorback’s bird?” he asked in a trembling voice, remembering the wicked raven companion to the pirate bosun of the Iron Pig.
“I don’t think so,” said Esmeralda.
“Thank heavens!” gasped Trundle.
“Don’t be so very thankful just yet,” warned Esmeralda. “Don’t forget, my aunt uses ravens as messengers—and that raven is heading the same way we are.”
Jack looked hollowly at them. “Meaning it will be in Widdershins ahead of us,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of that.”
“Neither do I,” said Esmeralda, her face becoming grim. “I think we’re going to have to be very careful when we come to the Worshipful Guild of Observators,” she added ominously. “Very careful indeed!”
“So,” asked Trundle as the Thief in the Night sailed into the glowing twilight of a warm summer evening, “what exactly is this guild of observers thing?” He took a bite of salami and looked enquiringly from Jack to Esmeralda.
“Observa-tors,” corrected Esmeralda. “Jack, pass me the honeypot.”
The tiller had been tied to keep them on course, and the three companions were sitting at their ease in the bows, having supper.
“The Guild of Observators are scientists,” Esmeralda explained. “They took over the palace of the ancient kings of Widdershins hundreds and hundreds of years ago, when the royal line died out.”
“And they’ve been there ever since,” added Jack. “Thinking important thoughts and scribbling important things in their books and constructing strange and wonderful devices and machines and mapping and plotting and charting and measuring everything.” He shook his head. “It’s a terrible lot of knowledge they have. It makes my head ache just to think of it.”
“The charts we’re using were plotted by the guild,” Esmeralda explained to Trundle. “They’re clever like that.” She spread honey on a slice of bread. “But,” she added with a
rather self-satisfied smile, “they don’t have any magic. Only us Roamanys have magic.”
Mention of the Roamanys made Trundle uneasy. “What do you think your aunt is going to do now? She knows where we’re going—and she knows why.” His forehead wrinkled. “And what do you think that raven was sent to do?”
“To spy on us once we get to Widdershins, I suppose,” said Esmeralda. “We’ll need to keep our eyes open—and kill it if we get the chance!”
Trundle looked unhappily at her. He didn’t like the sound of killing at all. “I suppose she’ll send the pirates after us again,” he said.
“If she does, we’ll, outrun ’em,” Esmeralda declared. “The Thief in the Night is the fastest skyboat in the seven hundred skies of the Sundered Lands!” She smiled confidently at him. “Besides, I don’t care if every pirate in creation chases after us. This is our quest, and we’re going to see it through.”
“Good for you, Esmeralda!” cried Jack. “Three cheers for us! And when we’re done, I shall write an epic ballad about our adventures.” He reached for his brand-new rebec and bow and, sawing away on the strings, he began tentatively to sing. “Two hedgehogs and a squirrel bold … tumty-tumty … crowns of old … They sailed across the azure sky…”
“And ended up left in a ditch to die,” murmured Trundle.
Jack laughed and slapped him heartily on the back. “That won’t do at all!” he said. “It doesn’t even scan properly. No, no! What rhymes with sky? Fly, sigh, fry, try. That’s it!” He started bowing again. “They sailed across the azure sky, their fortune and their fate to try! This is going to be great. I need to write it down.”
Trundle sighed as he handed over a pencil and some paper. Look on the bright side, he told himself. In years to come, people might sit around the fire and sing “The Ballad of the Grisly Death of Trundle Boldoak at the Hands of Evil Pirates and a Wicked Roamany Aunty.”
