‘Who are the Fada?’ Milli interrupted, but Nonna Luna made a clicking sound.
‘Aspetta,’ she admonished in her native tongue. ‘Donta kill da story.’
The next province Nonna spoke of was known as Hagdad. Hagdad as it turned out was the province of the witches, and a more flat or desolate wasteland you would never see. There wasn’t a single living bush or plant to be found there. The only thing you might see was a clump of dead trees under which the witches convened their fortnightly meetings. Here they swapped gruesome recipes and lodged complaints about one another. The hags were friendless and shunned. They lived alone in caves with their pet boulders with which they conversed at length. Were you to walk past, you might hear them screeching and cackling to themselves for they were sometimes not of sound mind. At night, the Hagdad sky was thick with broomsticks, each rider going off to hunt for her dinner or seek out some rare item for her brew. If the witches were ever fortunate enough to ensnare a human, they kept it as a domestic servant. According to Nonna these were lonely women rather than monsters but bad press over time had led to them being misunderstood. Lord Aldor had offered the hags an unlimited supply of magical ingredients as well as a lifetime’s worth of depilatory creams in return for their allegiance. This meant that if a witch needed the fingertip of a goblin for a potion, nobody was going to stop her taking it.
‘How did Lord Aldor get the goblins to agree to that?’ Ernest asked, for he liked stories to add up.
‘He didn’t. He keepa that deal secret from them,’ Nonna Luna explained. ‘And that bringa me to the province of Fumpalot.’
Thumpalot (Nonna had difficulty reproducing ‘th’ sounds), as perspicacious readers may have guessed, was the home of the giants. Before continuing, Nonna Luna clarified that by ‘home’ she really meant a wide open space. The witches and the giants often feuded over where the borders should be drawn between their respective provinces. The giants claimed the narrow stretch of desert between the two was theirs, as its weather conditions were designed for their survival. The witches argued that it had been given to them in a treaty made after The Great Sandy Battle of 1022, but everyone suspected they just wanted it for flight practice. The giants didn’t need roofs over their heads as they were unaffected by the vagaries of weather. Giants, unless they were recluses, almost always travelled in pairs. Each lady giant found herself a male and they formed a sort of partnership. Pairs were always wrestling each other for power as strength was all that mattered in Thumpalot. The strongest couple ruled the province. The giants didn’t use language as we know it, but communicated via a series of grunts, which eliminated the need for romantic courtship rituals and saved a good deal of time. They were routinely employed by Lord Aldor as labourers to erect statues and monuments commemorating his latest deeds. They were generally too dimwitted, not to mention too tired to ask for anything in return.
The fourth province was Rune, which Nonna Luna described as a melting pot of odd bods who didn’t really fit in anywhere else. The province included the city centre of Runis, where folks from all over the Realm flocked to sell goods, seek work or be entertained. It was the city of the conjurors, said Nonna, and conjurors were known for being greedy and self-serving as well as having a superiority complex. From their experience of conjurors, Milli and Ernest had to agree. The conjurors were Aldor’s closest allies. They had the power to create wonderful things, but more often than not used their talents for less than noble purposes. Conjurors, according to Nonna, were the least trustworthy of all the inhabitants of the Realm as they would lie, cheat or steal to get what they wanted. At least the witches, giants and goblins made no effort to conceal their vicious natures, but the conjurors of Runis hid behind sweet smiles and veneers of courtesy. Lord Aldor had played on their weaknesses and promised each one their heart’s desire. Needless to say, he was a popular leader.
The final and most mysterious province was called Mirth. This was home to the Fada but no one knew much about it as access was barred. The Fada were a race evolved from encounters between men and fairies. Though this interbreeding had left the Fada wingless, they retained great wisdom and many other gifts. Unlike the rest of the Realm, the Fada could not abide the idea of violence. The daisy was their national emblem. The people were self-governing and presided over by a queen who was said to be the gentlest soul that ever lived. Her people loved to sing and dance and they celebrated the smallest occasions, such as the rising of the sun or the harvesting of the biggest pumpkin. Ugliness did not exist in the province of Mirth. The Fada did not know the meaning of hate or unkindness. Their province was protected by a primeval magic so powerful that entry was by invitation only.
How a place like Mirth could continue to exist, Nonna Luna explained, was simply due to the fact that Lord Aldor’s influence had not managed to infiltrate it. But, Nonna concluded her narrative by reminding them, that the magic broth had given them a warning it was advisable not to ignore. Mirth was at risk.
Entertained though they had been by the stories, Milli and Ernest felt overloaded with information, as if they had eaten too much birthday cake at a party. They sat silent for some moments as they tried to absorb all they had been told.
‘I can’t understand how Lord Aldor can still be up to his old tricks,’ Milli said finally.
‘Donta try to understand a monster like Aldor,’ Nonna said. ‘Just avoid him. Many of dem who disagree wit him have disappeared.’ She made a gesture to indicate something going up in a puff of smoke.
Lord Aldor was assisted by a cabinet of nine ministers, she explained, who spent their days seeking out dissidents. The Realm was not without its rebels—but they did not last long. The ministers regularly held what they called purges, where they hunted down any who spoke an ill word against their master. This was how Lord Aldor had remained in power for so long. Many did not agree with his polices but they were too afraid to voice their opinions lest they be overheard by one of his many spies—who were not all in human form and difficult to detect.
Ernest brought the conversation back to the matter at hand. ‘If the pot is issuing a warning, what does it suggest we do?’
‘Dis I can not say.’
‘Perhaps,’ Milli said thoughtfully, ‘the Fada need to be warned. Could we not get word to them?’
‘Good idea,’ Ernest agreed. ‘When can Olive leave?’
‘Thissa no job for Olive,’ Nonna said. ‘She is too weak and too old and would neva find her way back.’
‘Then it’s up to us,’ said Milli with conviction.
‘Up to us?’ repeated a dumbfounded Ernest. ‘How are we going to get out of here, let alone get in there?’
‘Perhaps the pot will tell us?’ Milli suggested, as she could think of nothing else.
Nonna shook her head regretfully. ‘The magic broth tell only what we needa to do, notta how to do it.’
CHAPTER TEN
A Soft Landing
According to Nonna, Mirch was a three-day journey travelling east. If the children were to reach it they would have to venture through the city of Rune, brave the Wood of Tartar, and succeed in passing Queen Fidelis’s challenge at the gates of Mirth. But first Milli and Ernest had a bigger problem to solve: how to escape from Battalion Minor. Nonna Luna’s broth had warned them of imminent peril and chosen them as messengers, but it had not given the slightest clue as to how they might execute this mission. At midnight, the children were still awake discussing their plan—or lack of one.
‘There must be a way out,’ Milli murmured.
‘The dogs would need to be distracted for a start,’ Ernest observed.
‘That’s easily arranged,’ Milli said. ‘The dogs are not the problem. Now let’s think logically. As far as I can see, there are two ways to get past a locked gate.’
‘Dig our way out with spoons?’ Ernest offered, half-jesting.
‘Yes, going under is one way, but I was thinking of something else.’
‘There’s always the ordinary method
of going through if we could locate the keys,’ Ernest said.
‘That’s not an option, is it?’ Milli replied briskly.
‘What do you propose then?’
‘Really, Ernest Perriclof, what happened to that scheming little mind you once possessed?’ Ernest shrugged in exasperation but Milli persisted. ‘I say we fly.’
Ernest goggled at her. ‘We what?’
‘How hard can it be? We don’t need wings, just a bit of a lift. Don’t you remember what Oslo used in rock-dodging class?’ Milli’s voice grew in volume as she became more convinced about her idea. ‘We’re going to be catapulted over the gates!’
Aided by the light of a full moon, Milli and Ernest found the catapult exactly where Oslo had left it. The compost balls had been cleared away but the smell of rotten cabbage and rancid cheese still lingered in the air. The catapult did not look like the sort of thing that could be of much assistance in an escape plan. It was a large wooden construction on wheels with a wicker basket suspended on a pole. It was held together by rusty bolts and looked as though it was about to collapse. Ernest was sceptical while Milli proposed moving it immediately. This turned out to be easier than expected because of the castors Oslo had fitted to its base so he could target his victims with greater ease.
They inched it along, careful not to make a sound as it was imperative that they avoid detection. Only when the catapult was in place some metres from the looming gates of Battalion Minor did the dogs rouse. The children heard Oslo growl at them and the barking subsided.
‘Now all we need is someone strong enough to send us flying,’ Milli whispered as they made their way back to the barracks.
‘Yes,’ Ernest mused, ‘someone strong enough to send us flying to our deaths. Have you not considered that such a landing may cause multiple fractures, extensive bruising and, more than likely, a broken neck?’
‘In that case, we need to ensure a soft landing.’
The children were silent as they considered this. Coming up with brilliant ideas in the dead of night is not always easy and they made the judicious decision of conferring with Nonna Luna, hoping she would not be too put out at being called upon at this irregular hour.
Nonna Luna slept in a sloping room just off her kitchen. As she was hard of hearing, she did not respond to the children’s frantic tapping at the door and they were compelled to lift the latch and tiptoe inside. Their entrance triggered wild flapping from Olive, which in turn woke Nonna. She leapt out of bed brandishing a rolling pin before realising the trespassers were Milli and Ernest.
Nonna Luna was barely recognisable in her stiff nightdress (from under which poked a pair of knobbly feet) and hairnet. Her face was smeared with an ointment that made her glow in the dark and gave off a faint odour of seaweed. When Nonna had recovered sufficiently from the shock of having her sleep interrupted, she ushered the children into the kitchen and busied herself putting on the kettle whilst they outlined their rudimentary plan. They still hadn’t found anything that would adequately serve as a landing mat and the few items they came up with were simply too tricky to transport.
‘There must be something,’ Ernest thought aloud. ‘It’s all about being resourceful.’ When Nonna Luna looked at him blankly, he elaborated. ‘It means being inventive with what you have at hand.’
‘You very cleva children,’ Nonna Luna said proudly, as if she had no doubt that a solution would soon present itself. ‘You can use anyting you find in my kitchen. There is natink in da cool room except for a few legs of ham and da hundred or so crates of bananas dat arrive by special delivery justa yesterday.’
‘Bananas?’ Ernest queried.
‘Very high in potassium,’ Nonna replied with an eagerness that only talk of food and its properties could elicit from her.
‘Bananas are perfect!’ Ernest exclaimed.
‘Now is not the time to be thinking of your stomach,’ Milli reprimanded.
‘I’m not thinking stomach…I’m thinking LANDING PAD!’
‘Brilliant!’ squeaked Milli, finally on the same wavelength. ‘What we need is a Bananafest! I’ll wake the others and you start dragging out the crates. Nonna, can you take care of the dogs?’
Soon Nonna Luna’s kitchen was teeming with drowsy children, as well as salivating dogs gnawing noisily on ox tails under the kitchen table. Someone tapped Milli on the shoulder and she turned to find a troubled Finn and Fennel.
‘You can’t do it,’ Finn said. ‘You have no idea what’s out there.’
Milli looked at him calmly before replying: ‘We have to go.’
‘Please listen to us,’ Fennel begged. ‘You don’t understand—things are different in the Conjurors’ Realm.’
‘Trust me,’ Milli said, more gently now, realising that the twins were afraid for her and Ernest’s safety. ‘Something terrible is brewing and we can’t just stand by and watch it happen.’
‘But at least in here you know what you’re dealing with. Isn’t it better just to wait and see?’ Finn persisted.
‘If we do that, it may be too late…for us all.’
‘Then at least let us come with you,’ Finn said. ‘Fennel and I know our way around the realm. We can help you.’
Milli’s first instinct was to refuse this request outright. There was no point in endangering the twins unnecessarily. But the more she thought about it the more sense it made. Finn and Fennel had grown up in the Realm. They knew things Milli and Ernest could never know and perhaps it was time they learned to accept help when it was offered. It was hard to argue against the logic of this and when the children turned to Nonna Luna for her to input, she nodded her approval.
Milli paused before deciding how to explain the plan to the others. Experience had taught her that insufficient information could lead to a host of pointless questions that they did not have the time to deal with, whilst too much information could result in confusion amongst the young and impressionable. She opened her mouth to say that they were in grave danger and help was needed, but caught herself when her gaze fell upon the youngest children, who still believed their imprisonment at Battalion Minor to be an exciting game at which they must triumph. Their faces were full of trust and they seemed eager to make a contribution. Milli knew at once that she must choose her words very carefully.
‘Ernest and I must leave you for a short time,’ she began. ‘In order to gather information that will assist us in our mission, we must embark on a journey outside Battalion Minor. Our job is to make our way to a group of people who will advise and direct us so that we may get home as soon as possible. We won’t be away long, but while we’re gone it’s vital that our absence remain unnoticed. We will return with important clues to help us win the game. In the meantime, you must cover for us if questions are asked. Nonna Luna will tell you what to say.’
A boy called Ronald Tottenham raised his hand. ‘Can I come?’ he asked. ‘I’m strong and I can carry all your luggage.’
At this, a chorus of voices piped up begging to be taken along, each calling out their abilities like vendors at the Sunday market cry their wares.
Milli whistled for attention (a trick Rosie had taught her).
‘I’m sorry but nobody can come with us. We can’t risk being discovered. The best way for you to help us is to stay here and behave as if nothing has changed.’
Milli felt a stab of guilt as she saw the hopeful faces crumple with disappointment. She did her best to console them by pointing at the mounds of bananas. ‘Don’t feel bad. You have the most important job of all. Ernest and I need your help getting out of here. Together we have to eat our way through this mountain of bananas in order to escape safely. There’s no time to explain further—Oslo will be awake in a few hours. Now, please queue up quickly and quietly.’
Gummy Grumbleguts was the first to step forward, smacking his lips noisily. ‘I’ll take a dozen,’ he said with heroic aplomb, ‘and that’s just for starters.’
Nonna Luna’s eyes shone as she handed out banan
as. She was shone every minute of this real-life adventure; it far outstripped talking to soup for excitement value.
Milli was pleased to note that everyone seemed heartened by the project and their new-found feelings of participation. At least now they would all be able to tell their parents they had actively contributed to the great escape. Besides, the children were grateful for a bite of anything that did not come from a dead animal. Milli had a suspicion that the butcher’s shops in Drabville would go out of business when they all got back.
The consumption of the crescent-shaped fruit known as a banana is not something we generally think too much about. Try working your way through enough bananas to feed a small army with a view to saving your life and see how different it feels. The children displayed great fortitude as they nibbled, chomped and mashed their way through the bunches of fruit, happy in the knowledge that they were contributing in some small way to preserving life as they knew it. A Drabvillian with a purpose is like a dog with a bone. I really should apologise for this simile as it is making a generalisation about dogs and their attachment to bones that is not necessarily true. It is quite possible that some dogs would prefer pavlova or crêpes suzettes if anyone bothered to ask them. All I am trying to say is that the children were determined and not easily discouraged. They ate until they swore they could feel themselves swelling into banana muffins and sprouting monkey tails, until their very brains were banana-logged and all they could see was a mirage of banana soldiers marching down a banana-skin footpath. Then, suddenly, there were none left. Not a single banana was in sight. The children looked around hardly daring to believe it, but it was true! They had consumed the lot.
The next task was stacking the banana skins in every receptacle available. Nonna Luna donated two wheelbarrows from the vegetable garden, while the others filled their pockets, a pair of old boots by the fireplace, and every pot and pan that could be found. Even Olive helped by ferrying skins over the gates. Sometimes she miscalculated and nearly knocked herself out flying into the gateposts.
The Lampo Circus Page 9
