* * *
Casper knew he hadn’t died because of the voices: a male voice and a female voice talking in parenty whispers.
‘Make sure he’s warm enough, Bristlebeard. Light more lanterns.’
‘What on earth is he?’ the male voice replied. ‘He’s much smaller than the Ballooners that pass this way and he doesn’t have those whatsiblobs on his cheeks.’
‘I think he’s an imp gone wrong but best not say anything. Wouldn’t want to offend him.’
Casper’s eyes fluttered open and for a few moments he had trouble piecing everything together. He was lying in a hammock strung up between the trees and bundled with blankets. It was snowing still, and dark now, but dangling from the canopy of the forest above them there were lanterns which cast warmth as well as light. There was a little wooden platform below him on which there was everything that might be found in a bedroom: an exquisitely carved side table with a book entitled Goodbye Crossbows, Hello Mindfulness on it, a wardrobe bursting with fur coats and leather boots, an armchair, a rug and a mirror hanging from a nearby branch. There was also a bow and a quiver full of arrows propped up on a higher branch which perhaps weren’t quite so bedroom-appropriate.
All around the table he had clambered onto – which still bore the remains of the game of Scrabble alongside several unfinished rounds of chess, backgammon and Monopoly – there were wooden platforms filled with different types of beds: chaise longues, futons, double beds, single beds, bunk beds, rocking beds and even one bed in the shape of a sleigh.
Arlo crawled onto Casper’s face and hugged his cheek, and the memories of the day’s events crashed in. Utterly. Carried off by the Midnights. Because Casper had failed to keep up, and he had failed to look out for her, and now, probably, he was going to fail at finding the familiar face and both Rumblestar and the Faraway would crumble. Casper tried to block those fears out and as he did so, an idea surfaced: what if Utterly was the familiar face he was meant to find? What if the wind always knew she’d be carried away by the Midnights? What if he was supposed to rescue her and in doing so destroy the Midnights?
Casper made to sit up but the moment he moved, two incredibly hairy faces leant in.
‘Careful now,’ a creature with red, backcombed hair urged. ‘Easy on your tootlepegs. That was quite some cut.’ She tutted. ‘You were lucky Bristlebeard and I had a spare tub of Shiverbark sap lying around.’
‘A few more hours and you’ll be as right as rain,’ the creature beside her added. He was a little bit taller than Casper, and much plumper, and he had a red beard which was so long he’d tied it in thirteen knots but it still reached the floor. ‘Or, as we like to say, as aglow as the snow.’
‘You . . . you’re snow trolls?’ Casper asked weakly.
The bearded troll, who was dressed in furs just like the female troll beside him, bowed. ‘Bristlebeard and Brushwick at your service.’
He gestured behind him to a wood-slat conveyor belt chugging through the treetops. There were hessian sacks loaded onto it and they had been tied up with tags that read: CRUSHED DIAMONDS, MOON SYRUP, CLOUD WISP, SKYWEBS.
‘Ingredients for the snow marvels,’ Brushwick explained.
Several other snow trolls – all relatively short, plump and red-haired – were tipping the contents of these sacks into open hatches that ran down a large and perfectly cylindrical tree. They slammed the glass doors shut over the hatches, yanked on various switches and levers, and the ingredients spun around inside to form perfect white droplets of snow.
‘The marvels pump out of the cylinder above the canopy,’ Bristlebeard explained, ‘and the Ballooners come by once in a while to collect them. Snow is whoopsihard to catch otherwise.’
Casper glanced at the bow and arrow hanging from a branch nearby. ‘You rescued us, didn’t you? You used an arrow on that griffin that captured me and Arlo?’
Bristlebeard picked up his bow. ‘I used to be a bow and arrow kind of guy but then I read this book on mindfulness and, after passing it around the gang, we decided to give Scrabble, knitting and vegan Saturdays a go and we haven’t looked back –’ he paused ‘– well, not until the griffins started coming these last few days – tearing through the trees, stealing our marvels and then, tonight, breathing that ghastly shatterblast which all of us snow trolls had assumed was locked away in the Smoking Chimneys. So, when I saw you being carted off by one of the griffins, I decided to step in.’ He stroked his bow. ‘And I have to say it was rather a nice feeling wielding a weapon again.’
Brushwick put a hand on his arm. ‘Now now, love – Sudoku over savagery, carpentry over killing. You know the rules.’
‘But that was before the griffins, Brushwick. And if those creatures were being subtle about things before by secretly tampering with the marvels at the castle, now they’re not afraid to be seen so we need to be armed to protect our marvels.’
Brushwick nodded. ‘You’re right, of course.’ Then, rather mischievously, she opened her fur coat to reveal a shining sword hanging down from her belt, together with a row of glinting knives. Her husband blinked in surprise. ‘I suppose I just haven’t wanted to admit it these last few days.’
Bristlebeard patted her arm. ‘I know, dear. I know.’ He looked back at Casper. ‘My arrow was dipped in deadly nightshade, which will stun that griffin for a day or so, but the dark magic the creature is conjured from will break through eventually.’ He sighed. ‘We haven’t worked out a way to kill these beasts for good.’
Casper didn’t feel up to telling Bristlebeard that the hopes of the kingdom lay in his incapable hands, so instead he said: ‘You ran off before I could thank you.’
Bristlebeard reddened. ‘Truth be told, I didn’t quite know what you were. Clearly not from the castle. Definitely not a magical creature from around these parts. So, well, I’m afraid I turned tail and ran.’
Casper took a deep breath. ‘My name is Casper. I’m from the Faraway.’
Bristlebeard and Brushwick gawped at him, then Bristlebeard blew through his lips. ‘You’re a long way from home, boy . . .’
Casper nodded. ‘The wind sent me to Shiverbark Forest to find a familiar face – apparently it’s the only thing that will destroy the Midnights.’
‘Midnights?’ Brushwick asked.
‘The name Morg gives the griffins; they’re her followers.’
Bristlebeard growled. ‘We thought as much.’
‘When I started out on the journey,’ Casper went on, ‘I thought I was meant to be keeping an eye out for someone that I recognised from home, but now I wonder whether I’m meant to be searching for a girl I met at Rumblestar Castle and who got snatched by the Midnights earlier today. She’s called Utterly. You didn’t manage to rescue her, too, did you?’
‘Utterly?’ Bristlebeard looked at Brushwick. ‘Wasn’t that the name on the paper aeroplane you found on the forest floor this morning? The one from the Lofty Husks?’
Casper’s eyes widened as Brushwick drew a piece of paper from her pocket and read the words aloud:
‘Dear Utterly and guest. Notes from you and drizzle hags received. Know you are innocent. Sending search party to the Witch’s Fingers immediately to help you on your quest.
Yours in haste, the Lofty Husks.’
Casper blinked at the knowledge that the Lofty Husks had been searching for them – that he and Utterly did matter – then he frowned. ‘The Lofty Husks wrote back! But why didn’t the note reach us? And why didn’t the search party arrive?’
Bristlebeard shook his head. ‘Maybe you had left for the forest by the time the search party reached downstream so they turned back for the castle to make another plan?’
‘Or maybe the Midnights intervened,’ Brushwick said quietly.
‘It’s strange that the aeroplane didn’t make it to you though,’ Bristlebeard said. ‘And come to think of it, we haven’t heard a word from the Lofty Husks today. We carve messages into the bark of the trees up here, you see, and our words appear, moments l
ater, in the mirrors of the banqueting hall in the castle.’
Casper peered more closely at the trees around them and saw that there were words – thousands of them – carved into the bark. He had missed them before.
‘But we sent them a message about finding this note and another about the Midnight attack and finding you, but there’s been no reply to either,’ Bristlebeard said. ‘They didn’t even respond when we wrote about the Midnights tonight and finding you.’
Brushwick shivered. ‘Something’s afoot, I’ll warrant, but as for who is in the forest now, Casper, it’s only us and the Wild Ones.’
Casper shrank inside his quilt. ‘Wild Ones?’
‘Wolves made of snow, bears who breathe stardust and reindeer with antlers so tall and grand several woodland birds can nest in them at once.’ Bristlebeard paused. ‘No children at all, except you.’
Arlo burrowed into Casper’s chest and Casper watched the snow fall steadily around them. Where was Utterly and what on earth was happening back at the castle that meant the Lofty Husks hadn’t messaged the snow trolls back? Casper blinked back his tears again and Brushwick opened one of the lanterns dangling nearby and held a mug of something steaming up to the flame. A wisp of fire curled into it. She handed the mug to Casper, then held another to the flames, which she gave to Bristlebeard.
‘Spruce needle tea, brewed with a wisp of forest flame to warm the most troubled of souls,’ she said. ‘Have a drink of that and I’ll fix you up some Shiverbark stew.’
She hurried along the walkways to a small platform filled with pots and pans, a stove and a rack full of woodland spices, while Casper tilted his mug towards Arlo to give him the first sip. The dragon swallowed, then purred, and then Casper drank, too. The tea was warm and spicy, like swallowing sunbeams, but even that couldn’t drown out what had happened. And, little by little, Casper began telling Bristlebeard about the grandfather clock and Frostbite and the girl from the castle whom he had lost in the forest.
‘Usually I manage to hold things together with my lists and timetables,’ Casper said, ‘but now, without them, everything’s gone wrong. Utterly’s been kidnapped, the Midnights are sending more and more faulty marvels into the Mixing Tower, the weather in the Faraway is spiralling out of control and I’m not sure I’m ever going to get home. Everything’s such a mess and I don’t even think there are lists and timetables big enough to sort it all out any more.’
Bristlebeard sat down in the armchair by the hammock and took a good long sip of tea. ‘Life, Casper, is wigglysplat.’
‘Wigglysplat?’
‘It means complicated,’ Bristlebeard said. ‘Lots of bumps. Plenty of bruises. And so many unexpected problems that it’s a wonder any of us bother getting up in the morning.’
‘So, why do we bother?’ Casper mumbled.
Bristlebeard leant back in his armchair. ‘Because life is a little bit like snow, boy: frequently disruptive, hopelessly unpredictable and often quick to fade. But my word, is it beautiful while it lasts.’ He smiled. ‘We can’t always know where we’re heading, when we’ll get there or even who we’ll meet along the way, but we can choose how we travel – and I’d say it’s best to journey with friends alongside us and hope tucked firmly in our pockets.’
Casper shook his head. ‘But what hope is there now? With Utterly gone?’
‘She’s gone for now,’ Bristlebeard said quietly, ‘but perhaps not gone for good, especially if this familiar face you are destined to find belongs to her. I can take you to the outskirts of the forest before dawn tomorrow – I would come on with you but the marvels here are in grave danger and I must protect them – but you will keep going and you will scour the kingdom for Utterly. She’s your friend, after all.’
‘Acquaintance, really,’ Casper said glumly. ‘She was quite firm that we weren’t friends.’ And then he added: ‘But I think we might’ve been working our way up to friends. Possibly. Hopefully. If I’d kept my mouth shut about things.’ He paused. ‘Though I’ve not really had a friend before so perhaps what me and Utterly had was still miles off. She was always so cross. With me, with life . . . with everything and everyone, really.’
Bristlebeard sighed. ‘People rarely snap and scowl because of others but rather because there is a storm raging inside them. By the sound of it, your Utterly has swallowed a whopperific storm and though it’s hard to be friends with stormgulpers, Casper, they’re the ones who need friends most.’
They were silent for a while and as Arlo snoozed on Casper’s tummy, Casper watched the lanterns flickering between the trees as a group of snow trolls tipped a few more sacks of moon syrup into the hatch. He thought of his life back at Little Wallops. Hiding in the Lost Property basket to avoid Candida and Leopold seemed silly compared to everything that had happened to him since stepping inside the grandfather clock.
‘Are friendships always complicated?’ Casper said eventually. ‘Or just the ones involving stormgulpers?’
Bristlebeard chuckled. ‘No friendship is buttersmooth. How can it be when every person is so wildly different inside? Friendships are, however, very good at sticking around even when tempers fly and doors are slammed. In fact, I’d say friendships are stickier than jam – and if you’ve tasted Brushwick’s snowberry tarts, that’s really saying something.’ He paused. ‘The thing about friendships, especially the ones with stormgulpers, is that they stretch you.’
‘I’m tiny so that’ll be handy.’
Bristlebeard twizzled his nose hair. ‘It’s a different kind of stretching, Casper. Not the sort you’d need a tape measure for. Friendships push you and pull you in all sorts of surprising directions and the stretching is all done in here.’ The snow troll lifted a hand to his chest. ‘It sounds to me like your heart is not the same shape it was before you entered this kingdom – and it’s my bet neither is Utterly’s – because the thing that makes friendships stickier than jam is also the thing that makes hearts stretch. Loyalty. It grows slowly and quietly, almost without you noticing, then before you know it you’re a little bit better at listening and a little bit kinder than you had been before all the stretching started.’ Bristlebeard sat forward. ‘You must go on after Utterly, Casper, however tricksyhard that sounds, because I think the Midnights will be holding her alive as bait to get to you.’ He glanced up towards the canopy. ‘Brushwick will keep watch tonight for any sign of the griffins, then perhaps we’ll have a lead by the morning so you’ll know which direction to go.’
Casper looked down. ‘But . . . but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to go on alone. I was terrified back there with the griffin!’
‘And yet you raced through the trees after Utterly anyway – and from what you were telling me about your adventure so far, you saved little Arlo from the mudgrapple. Life is built up of opportunities, Casper, and when you’re ninety-four and wrinkled through—’
‘Are you ninety-four?’
‘Yes, but I have remarkably good genes. Anyway, that wasn’t the point I was trying to make. I was saying that when you’re ninety-four and you find yourself looking back on everything, it is nice to know that you lived your life fully. That you took chances and risks, that you pushed open doors and even grandfather clocks and, above all, that you seized every minute of every day with every fibre inside you. Because life moves a great deal faster than most of us realise. Utterly is your opportunity here, Casper – and you are brave enough for it.’
Casper watched the snow fall. ‘I’m not properly brave though, like the heroes you read about in stories and history books. If anything, I’m just brave by mistake.’
Bristlebeard smiled. ‘Courage is three parts fear and one part grit, but that one part grit is made of thunder. I saw your courage up close with the griffin, Casper, and its thunder shook my bones.’
Casper didn’t say anything for a moment or two because Bristlebeard’s words were so different from the ones Candida and Leopold had flung at him back in Little Wallops, and he wanted to remember this conversati
on if he ever got home. Because here, up in the tallest trees of Shiverbark Forest, there was a snow troll saying he was brave.
‘The drizzle hags told me to keep climbing and I’d find a familiar face but Utterly isn’t here.’
‘No –’ Bristlebeard winked ‘– but I am. Maybe the drizzle hags sent you here to collect something from me to help you find the familiar face? Magic is never straightforward, after all.’ He paused. ‘Many years ago, when snow trolls loved fighting as much as storm ogres, the two used to have raging battles to prove who was the mightiest of magical creatures. For a long time the ogres won, thanks to the shatterblast they conjured from the scorching ashes of their volcanoes. If given enough time, shatterblast worms its way inside victims – hot and deadly – weakening their limbs and minds until they sink into an eternal sleep.’ Bristlebeard shuddered. ‘Only the Lofty Husks have the power to wake from such a sleep – so we discovered when Blustersnap came by to try and halt one of our particularly long and bloodthirsty fights – and even then it takes a Lofty Husk weeks to summon up the strength.’
Casper’s pulse raced as he thought of Utterly. Had the shatterblast done its worst or were the Midnights keeping her alive and awake so that, on seeing her, Casper would go after her and fall straight into the griffins’ clutches? He tried to think clearly. ‘So, did the Midnights get the shatterblast from the storm ogres?’
Bristlebeard nodded. ‘We think so. And that means the ogres didn’t keep their promise after we snow trolls were victorious in the greatest battle of them all: the Battle of the Brutes.’ He smiled as he recalled it. ‘We fought on the brims of the Smoking Chimneys, the volcanoes to the east of the kingdom where the storm ogres live, and our defeat was so magnificent we not only cast a Victory Seal after the battle – which means that if the ogres ever try to leave the volcanoes, they themselves will crumble to ash – but we also forced the ogres to lock the shatterblast they had conjured inside a trunk. They vowed never to open it for fear of us snow trolls waging war again, but on seeing it tonight as the griffins tore through the forest after you, it’s my guess the Midnights bribed them for it. Storm ogres never say no to bribes.’
Rumblestar Page 13
