Over time, Randall grew angry at his treatment, and came up with a plan that would see all of those witches beg him for his help. Randall used his power to destroy the protective wards which surrounded the Cove, and ensured that he was the only one who could restore them to their full power.
Now that humans could see the magical town, they flooded in with weapons, aiming to kill every witch who lived there. But though they injured a great many people, they could never win a battle against magic.
As humans died in their droves, yet more came, with bigger and deadlier weapons. The witches wanted the fighting to end, but try as they might they could do nothing to restore their wards.
So they went to Randall, the most powerful wizard they knew, and begged him for his help. Randall said that he would restore the town’s boundaries, but only if the witches would allow him to live there.
The witches agreed. They lied. Once the wards were restored, they sentenced Randall to death.
As Randall stood on the gallows on the day of his execution, he spoke his final words.
‘You think you’ve won the game. But you shall never get one over on a riddler. I’ve left a little challenge for you in a certain cave. Try it if you dare. If you win, the wards will be restored to their full power. If you lose, the enclave of the Cove shall be lost to witches for good.’
The judge stood forward and said, ‘The wards are restored, Randall. We have tricked you. We have won.’
Randall smirked. ‘The wards are not restored. Not fully. They must be constantly renewed. And because I hate you all so much, this task can never be performed by a witch.’ His smile widened. ‘I have left instructions in my lighthouse, and a lock stone which must be turned twice, each and every day, by anyone but a witch. If the stone goes unturned on even one occasion, the wards will fail.’
The onlookers gasped, but the judge blustered on. ‘This is another one of your tricks, Randall. But we shall not give in.’
‘Give in or do not, it makes little difference to me. As I told you, there is a way you can fully restore the wards. A game you must play. A game you dare not lose.’
The judge, the hangman and the onlookers all urged Randall to tell them more. But Randall slipped the noose around his own neck, kicked the stool from beneath him, and died.
≈
Arthur cleaned his glasses once more. ‘The tale of Randall the Riddler isn’t told at school. These days, the only people who know the full reasons for the lighthouse’s existence are Dylan and three Albrights – myself, Arnold, and my cousin Adeline. It’s too dangerous to let anyone else know. If they try to play the game and lose, the protections will be lost forever.’
Dylan pointed to the large stone in the centre of the floor. ‘As the lighthouse keeper, I’ve had to turn the stone each and every day, as other keepers have before me. It has to be turned in a particular sequence, lighting up the ogham letters in order. Oh, and in case you’re wondering – yes, Randall did make the sequence spell out something in particular. The closest translation would be Wizards Rule.’
Greg chuckled, then cleared his throat. ‘Sorry.’
Dylan smiled slightly. ‘Honestly, I can’t really blame him for wanting to have the last laugh. Like Arthur just told us, he hated witches so much that he wanted to make them rely on anyone other than their fellow witches. That’s why I chose Sean, Roarke and Greg to come to the house while I was away. None of them have innate magic. Sean was human, Roarke is unempowered, and Greg is a wizard. I couldn’t tell them what they were really here for. It’s against the rules which Randall set out in his instructional writings. As Arthur said, only three Albrights and the lighthouse keeper can know. Had I told the truth, the wards would have come down immediately. So I had to pretend my houseplants needed a great deal more attention than they do. The real reason I had people come over here was to turn the stone.’
‘But … I didn’t turn the stone,’ said Greg.
‘You did,’ said Dylan. ‘You just didn’t know it. Over the years I managed to make the job a little easier. My alarm system is linked to the stone, so when you input the code upstairs, the stone is turned in the correct order. This stone was the only thing keeping Riddler’s Cove hidden. And now … now there’s only one way to hide it again.’
Arnold hobbled forward. ‘Now that the wards have been destroyed, we’re safe to tell you all of this because … well, it doesn’t matter anymore. The rules were only in place as long as the wards were. The Albrights have thought long and hard about what to do if this day ever came. And there are only two options, I’m afraid. We can either abandon Riddler’s Cove and hope to minimise the damage that’s already been done. Or … we can play Randall the Riddler’s game.’
22. A Dangerous Game
We stood in a dark cave, deep within one of the cliffs of Riddler’s Cove. The sounds of howling wind and raging waves echoed through the chamber. As Jared, Dylan and Arthur lit the torches that lined the walls, I took my first look at the game.
It took up most of the floor, a large circle with smaller circles within. Although each circle was dull, I could just about discern different colours for each one. As I examined them closer – following Arthur’s instructions to stay around the edges – I could see that each section was carved from a distinct precious stone. Right in the centre of it all there was an enormous oak tree. A very dead oak tree, with ogham letters carved into every inch of its trunk and limbs.
On the far side of the cave, where two of the largest torches had just been lit, there was an altar with a thin and dusty book on top.
Arthur blew the dust from the book and gasped in awe. ‘This is it. His game manual. It contains the rules, as well as the questions which must be answered in order to complete the game. In every generation the Albrights have sent their brightest and their best to look at this book once again, in the hope that they’ll finally find someone capable of winning the game.’
‘But each time, we’ve been forced to err on the side of caution,’ said Arnold, his breath sounding laboured. ‘The first time the book was opened, there were pages filled with riddles so complex that no one knew the answers. It was then that we started to call him Randall the Riddler. The game hadn’t officially begun yet – that doesn’t happen until someone steps on the board. So those who read the first questions tried to take the book out of the cave, so they could study the riddles and try to find the answers before starting to play.’
He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. ‘But they couldn’t leave with the book. The person holding it died as he attempted to leave the cave. As did the next person. So instead, the only person still alive that day copied the riddles and took them away, and came back with the answers.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘And that was when he realised just how clever Randall was. Each time the book is opened, the questions are different. It’s a whole new game. There is no way to prepare. And not only are the questions different each time, they’re also even more difficult than the last.’
Arnold let out a rattling breath. ‘And so, we’ve never actually started the game, because losing it means losing Riddler’s Cove forever. It also means, most likely, that humans will start a war against witches once more. But now … now that’s probably going to happen anyway, seeing as the wards are already down. So I don’t think we have a choice. I think we must attempt the game. It’s the only way of replacing the protective wards. If we win, things will hopefully return to normal.’
‘And is it like the lighthouse?’ Jared asked. ‘Does it have to be non-witches who complete the game? What are the rules?’
Arthur smiled wryly. ‘There haven’t been too many rules before – other than the fact that the very moment someone steps onto the board, the game begins. But if we open the book again, who knows? The last time I read it, it said that there can be more than one player, but only one player on the board at a time. If you decide you can’t answer a question, someone else can take your place, but the weight on your circle has to remain the same at
all times.’
He pointed to a stone bucket at the side of the altar. ‘There are weights in there to help achieve that, so everyone would have to weigh themselves first, and then perform some mathematics any time there’s a change of player. Oh, and once the game does begin, there’s a time limit before the wards are lost forever.’
I was still getting my mind around the horrific mix of general knowledge, mathematics and Twister that we were all going to have to perform. Each of those circles was small. If we needed to change players and adjust the weight before moving off the circle, that was going to involve a lot of flexibility. And now there was a time limit, too?
‘How long do we have to finish the game?’ I asked, unsure I wanted to hear the answer.
‘An hour,’ said Arthur. ‘But look on the bright side … at this stage, we have nothing to lose and everything to win.’
Arthur was right. The wards were already down and the game was the only way to bring them back – and bring them back forever. Dylan wouldn’t have to lie to anyone if he ever decided to go on holiday again. Always a bonus. The lighthouse would simply be an incredibly alluring building, one that happened to have an ancient lock stone in its basement. Heck, maybe he could even get rid of it and put a media room or a wine cellar down there. Or better yet, some carpentry tools, so that he could make furniture in his spare time, just like in my fantasies.
I realised I was getting ahead of myself, but I needed positive thoughts right now, as we weighed ourselves in turn and made careful notes. ‘Wait,’ I said as I stepped off the scales that Grace had materialized. ‘We shouldn’t open the book yet.’
‘Why?’ asked Jared. ‘It’s like the Albrights say – we might as well go ahead and play.’
‘Oh yeah, I agree with that,’ I said. ‘I just think that if we are going to play, then we should increase our chances of winning. And a good way to do that would be to have the smartest puzzler in the world on our side.’
Grace’s eyes lit up. ‘Roarke! But … his hands.’ She looked at Arthur with a brow raised.
‘There’s never been a physical challenge,’ he said. ‘Yet. I think we should take a chance on Roarke. Can somebody go get him?’
Grace nodded briskly and held up a hand. ‘I’ll fetch him. Carry on doing the weigh-in while I’m gone.’ She clicked her fingers, and a few minutes later she returned with Roarke.
Instead of looking as terrified as the rest of us were, Roarke stared at the circular game board and grinned from ear to ear. He rubbed his hands together, then winced. ‘Still sore,’ he said. ‘But oh boy! Grace has just told me what’s going on. So where’s the scales, lads and lassies? Because I want to get weighed in and started as soon as possible.’
≈
I’d always been convinced that Roarke was a genius. Mostly because I never got very far with any of his puzzles. Right now, I was positive that he was the genius to rule all other geniuses. The genius who was saving all of our behinds.
He’d been on the board for about ten minutes, and already he’d answered riddles that I couldn’t even begin to fathom. Just as Arnold and Arthur had predicted, the questions were different to the last time the book was opened. They also said that these were the most difficult ones ever, but Roarke didn’t seem to mind. Not only were the questions difficult, but some of them were also surprisingly modern.
‘Just another example of why the witches back then were so afraid of Randall,’ said Arthur. ‘Imagine the kind of power this spell must have taken. Randall enchanted this book hundreds of years ago, and yet he managed to make some of the questions change with the times. Amazing.’ Arthur looked just as in awe as he did ever since he first told us about Randall. I was beginning to think he was a bit of a fan boy.
Roarke was the heaviest out of all of us, but even so we’d added some weights into a bag. Yes, we were hoping he could complete the whole game himself (and it was looking ever more likely that he would) but we had to be sure we had plenty of weight to play with in case we needed to make multiple changeovers.
Grace had materialized a calculator, but Roarke and Greg had both scoffed at that and said they could work out the sums in their heads. They probably could, but Grace held onto the calculator just in case.
As Roarke triumphed through question after question, and riddle after riddle, the game board was changing before our eyes. The manual had directed him towards the starting circle, and then told him which circles he must move to next. The circles were marked with faint ogham letters, so as long as we looked carefully through the years of dust, it was easy to follow. Each time he correctly answered, the circle beneath him lit up with a beautiful golden light, and as he progressed along the board, a pattern was becoming clear.
The lit-up circles were forming a spiral, one which looked as though it would loop around the tree. If it kept on going as it was, the spiral would lead right up to the base of the oak.
After easily figuring out the latest riddle Roarke turned expectantly to Arthur.
‘Hmm,’ said Arthur, flicking to the next page of the book. ‘It seems we’ve moved on from riddles. I hope you’re into online gaming, Roarke, because I haven’t got a clue about this one. Okay.’ He took a deep breath. ‘In the game known as the War of the Enclaves, what is the prize for defeating Septus the Savage?’
While Roarke’s face filled with panic, Greg’s eyes brightened and he stuck up a hand. ‘I know, I know.’ He ran towards the board, and he and Roarke began mumbling together as they exchanged weights to make sure that Greg would be able to take Roarke’s place. I could see by Grace’s face that her calculator agreed with them, and as Roarke moved aside and Greg stood on the circle, it seemed to have been a successful switch.
‘The prize for defeating Septus the Savage is the Arc of Ashildor,’said Greg. The circle turned golden, and he punched the air.
Arthur directed him to the next circle. ‘Name the specific object of unusual power that must be used in order to disperse the ooze at Flanagan’s Fountain.’
Greg grinned. ‘The Silver Shamrock of Athenry. Nothing else will do it.’
The circle turned golden, and he progressed once more. By now he was looping back around the tree. If I was understanding things correctly (and let’s face it, I was no Roarke), there were only four more questions before he would reach the oak.
‘There are only four more questions until he reaches the oak,’ said Roarke, rubbing his hands together. ‘Ouch. Still sore.’
I shoulder-bumped him. ‘I knew that too. About the four questions. Honest.’
Arthur read the next question. ‘Who did Carline Von Brandt pray to when she was kidnapped by Seamus the Wizard? Oh, that’s an easy one. You should know that, Greg.’
Greg gave a sheepish smile. ‘Nope.’
Arthur looked around the room. ‘Anyone else?’ As we all shook our heads, he nervously placed the book in Arnold’s hands and picked up the spare weights. ‘You need to take one number six weight out of the bag and put a number two in,’ said Roarke.
Grace consulted her calculator and nodded. ‘He’s right. I don’t know why I even bothered materializing this bloody thing now.’
As Arthur finally manoeuvred himself onto Greg’s spot, he said, ‘It was Wanda the Wayfarer. I mean … seriously? Every single child learns that story in Tall Tales.’ He looked around at us and reddened. ‘Sorry. I’ve just realised that me and Arnold and Grace are probably the only ones who actually studied that at school. Because of that whole awkward fact of non-witches not being admitted to witch schools. Oh dear. Next question please.’
Arnold nudged me and muttered, ‘I didn’t know the answer either. I sometimes forget things I learned five minutes ago, never mind eighty odd years ago when I was a nipper. And Grace? She was probably around long before Wanda the Wayfarer walked the earth.’
Grace held her head up, an unreadable look on her face. I would have questioned her then and there about exactly how old she was, but, well … I was a chicken. I was also fe
eling a little on the strange side about the fact that I was suddenly comfortable with Arnold. I couldn’t tell what it was about him (or me) that was different, but I didn’t feel quite so on edge.
‘Anyway,’ Arnold went on. ‘Next question. Hmm. During Peader’s Plague, which ancient vampire and seer sired the vampire known as Ronaldo the Righteous? Well, that’s pretty obscure. Either that, or it’s something else I’ve forgotten.’ He nudged me again. ‘But I’m sure Arthur knows the answer. Don’t you, Arthur?’
Arnold might have been sure, but Arthur wasn’t. ‘I’ve studied that plague. But I never heard of who turned Ronaldo the Righteous into Ronaldo the Righteous. It isn’t mentioned in any of the major chronicles.’
Jared stepped forward and said, ‘I know who it was.’ For someone who knew the answer, he didn’t look all that happy about it, but they quickly switched places, and he said, ‘It was Cassandra. Cassandra turned Ronaldo into a vampire.’
The circle turned golden.
‘Well done, Jared,’ said Arnold. ‘And there I was thinking you were nothing but a womanising bloodsucker.’
Jared clenched his teeth and said, ‘Next question please, old man.’
‘Hmm … let’s see now. Oh dear. Well, you’re not going to know this one. I doubt you’ve ever done a day’s manual labour in your life. In carpentry, what is the name for the small wooden pins used to reinforce a joint?’
Jared shrugged. ‘No, I don’t know the answer. But then again, neither do you, do you?’
Arnold cleared his throat. ‘Anyone? Anyone know the answer?’
As Dylan moved towards the board, my stomach did a little flip. He lived in a lighthouse, he looked good with bare feet, and now he knew about carpentry, too? Ever since my arrival in Riddler’s Edge, Dylan had ticked off all of my fantasy-man boxes, one after the other. Well, all except the one where I was actually with a man like him. Oh, what a joker the universe was. So funny I could throttle it.
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