Now he was frightened. Everything was happening at once. Head down, Nathan hurtled onwards, he slipped and wobbled over the uneven cobbled lanes and skidded in the dips of the long central gutters, splashing in the dirty water flowing there.
Ridiculous visions flashed through his mind as he ran, of Pimple eating Mouse and Mouse yelping as she disappeared into Pimple’s gaping mouth, Sam crying, and the smith next door dropping Pimple and a whole basket of turnips into his furnace while he sang of Lashtang and Brewster Hazlett.
Over the horizon, to where the mountains soar,
Wander Lashtang snow and ice,
And then, not watching where he was going, he hurtled headfirst into a large man’s fat stomach, and the baron yelled, “Got you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Podgy satin-clad arms grabbed him, sweaty hands groped for his neck, but Nathan kicked out, wriggled away and kept running. He felt considerable satisfaction when he knew his hard soled shoes connected with a hefty thump against the baron’s woollen covered calf. The baron’s three well-dressed friends stood back, unwilling to touch the grubby boy, or risk being kicked by his muddy shoes.
So, panting for breath, Nathan ran for the river. The baron roared, “Stop that boy. He’s a felon, a thief and a vicious criminal.”
The market crowd was far behind, but their calls of “Stop thief,” echoed down the winding alleys.
The wobbling and breathless baron could not run as fast as Nathan. His woolly hose began to slip and soon were hanging baggy at the knees and his face was flushed scarlet. Dodging and twisting, Nathan fled into a darker passage between tall houses. He could hear the river traffic before he saw the water, and stumbled along the bank, falling to his knees in the scrubby grass. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t stop now. He had aimed for the Thames with some hope of hiding in the old abandoned warehouse where the group used to live. But he quickly remembered that the baron knew all about that place now, and there would be no safe shadowed spot where he might hide in there after all.
He had a moment to stare down into the water and for one crazy half-second of absolute desperation, he considered jumping in. The water was sluggish at low tide, and the muck and dead fish lay swept up on the bank. It looked freezing and Nathan shivered, telling himself how stupid he was being to think of such a thing.
The little boats were plying their trade as usual. River taxis, thought Nathan, considering whether he could jump aboard one, and pay to cross over to the south side. But he realised that even rowing hard, no boat would be able to move as quickly as a man running. That made him look over to the great bustle of the Bridge, not too far away.
With no time to think, at once he started to run towards it. Nathan had never even set foot on the Bridge before, but he could see how crowded it was, and how filled with shops and just hoped he could get there and merge into the crowds before anyone saw him.
Gasping, wondering if his legs could keep up the speed, onto the roadway leading to the bridge’s rise, with the sounds of the boats below, the thud of wooden planks bumping against each other, the splash of oars, and the slop of the gradually incoming tide, then the first hop onto the bridge itself and its cobbled street between shops – but then almost at once he saw the very last thing he would ever have expected to see. For just a moment Nathan stopped, and thought he would be sick.
Up beyond the rooftops where the shop owners lived over their businesses, where the chimneys were billowing their dirty smoke into the heavy grey clouds, was a distant shape of a balloon, sailing high, its bright colours winking out from the cloud cover, with the tiny silhouette of a top hatted man sitting, knees squashed up, in the basket below. Caught in the wind, the balloon swerved and then began to descend.
Something else was crammed into the basket, but the other shape was smaller. Nathan, gulping, was hoping beyond hope that it wasn’t both brothers together coming to hurt him. He wouldn’t mind escaping home right at that moment. Now that, he thought, would give the baron a shock, to see him snatched up and carried away in a magical balloon. But Nathan feared it would be something far less helpful.
The whole hovering contraption was still too high to see properly, and no one else on the Bridge seemed to see it at all. Even the swooping seagulls did not appear to see the great flying thing in their midst.
Shoppers were scurrying from open doorway to open doorway, chattering and laughing. “Look, Lizzie, this is the best milliner I know.” ‘Look at the fine bleached linen. I must buy that delightful veil.” Also through the centre of the street folk were hurrying, trying to cross to the other side in both directions. There were angry collisions and raised voices., although everyone avoided those on horseback, who cantered past uninterrupted. Other folk were not so lucky. One man heading north led a small frightened lamb, and another heading south was accompanied by a large boarhound. The dog saw the lamb and strained on his rope leash, barking loudly while the lamb bleated. The hound’s owner pulled his pet away, and both men were quickly separated by a group of black-gowned monks, pushing through the crowds.
None appeared to see the balloon, and yet it bobbed and bounced in the cold wind, whizzing lower, then blowing higher.
For that moment, the baron no longer worried him. The Hazlett twins seemed to be all that mattered. He stood quite still staring upwards. Several people pushed him out of the way, but he continued looking up. The second shape was no longer visible, but the eager wizard was unmistakable.
Nathan turned once. There, at the beginning of the Bridge, was the baron. Heaving, bent over with his hands to his knees and his head down, he seemed to be feeling even worse than Nathan. He was puffing and wheezing and clearly could not regain his breath and his crimson satin and shining ribbons were all limp and sweaty, and the baron’s companions seemed to have deserted him.
Looking back, then up, then back again, Nathan shivered, not knowing what to do. The balloon worried him most but he could not entirely ignore the baron’s determination. At least it seemed as though the tailor and the market folk had given up the chase and were no longer calling after him.
And then everything changed all over again.
The clouds darkened further until they were as black as night. They rolled over the city in sweeping waves, as though huge mountainous shapes were collecting and merging, and finally swooping downwards in jet black torrents. With a crack and then a roll of thunder, it then started to pour with rain. Like the opening of the skies, the rain pounded and roared, slashing down onto the water and all the boats, and pelting onto the crowds along the Bridge. Everyone screamed or shouted, pulled up their hoods over their fancy hats, and rushed into the chapel or the nearest shops. Others ran for the gateway to Southwark or back into London for cover.
Unsure where to go or what to do, Nathan stood where he was and within half a blink, was absolutely soaked. His new cape and shoes kept him dryer than otherwise, but his bumble-bee hair was drenched and dripped rivulets of water down his neck. But he was still staring upwards and the balloon was still there, buffeted by the storm, and looking behind him he saw the baron, still heaving and now as wet as the river.
With a determined step forwards, the baron attempted to close the gap between himself and Nathan but at the exact moment, a terrifying stab of white lightning arched and forked from the sky and cut, arrow sharp, towards the baron. With a horrified screech, he stumbled backwards, falling with another squeak straight into a wheeled barrow which had been left outside a shop when its owner had rushed in to escape from the storm. The baron could not extricate himself. Too fat to climb out and too exhausted to wriggle, he sat there staring, mouth open, plump legs swinging, as the barrow where he was wedged began to roll backwards.
Rumbling as it gathered speed, the barrow aimed straight for a gap between the shops, where the river could be seen. The lightning strike was followed quickly by a huge bellow of thunder, and the baron’s yelps for help could not be heard.
Then the barrow, now whizzing backwards a
t top speed, bumped into the bridge’s low wall, came to a hurtling halt, and the baron was thrown, feet over astonished head and flailing arms, straight into the river below. There was a very loud splash.
Nathan bit his lip, and looked up again. He could imagine the baron sinking under water and down into the river mud, and wanted to laugh. But everything was too serious. The balloon was descending. There was no one else on the bridge to watch, and even from the shop doorways, the blinding sleet would close off all visibility. Nathan waited.
Bump, bump. Onto the cobbles, the heavy basket, perfectly dry and without even a gleam of rainwater, landed with two tiny bounces, and settled on the cobbles. The tall skinny man grinned over the wicker edge, his black trousered knees tucked right up under his pointed chin. The top hat was, as usual, tipped a little askew by the windy descent. His long knobbly fingers and long curved fingernails were poking at something now unseen in the bottom of the basket.
“Well now, Bumble-Bee Head,” cackled the wizard, his voice squeaking over the noise of the rain, even though the rain did not appear to touch the balloon. “Such a pleasure to see you again.”
“Brewster or Wagster?” demanded Nathan, thinking that one would be bad news, but the other would be worse.
“We Hazletts,” said the wizard, “are identical. But entirely different.” The laugh was a squeaky snigger. “You must learn which is which. That is of extreme importance and you may live to regret mistakes.”
The strong stink of magic spiralled through the wet air like sodden burned curry. “You’re in the balloon,” Nathan sighed, wiping rain from his eyes, “so I suppose you’re Brewster.
“Wrong!” chortled the skinny man. “I am Wagster, and you must never, ever, under any circumstances, speak to Brewster again. It will be the worst for you if you do.”
Nathan took a worried step back. “Don’t threaten me. It’s Brewster who’s supposed to take me home soon, so I have to talk to him when he comes.” Wagster was still grappling with something hidden down by his feet. “And what have you got there?” Nathan asked, puzzled.
“A gift,” Wagster said, bending over into the basket. “A special present for you, young Nat. You will, I am sure, be overjoyed.” And he cackled again.
Suddenly Nathan was positive that he wouldn’t be overjoyed at all, and he feared it would be something horrible. He looked around, wondering if he should run, now that the baron had gone. But he knew the basket could overtake him, and he was exhausted. So he looked up, glaring at Wagster. “Have you done something horrible? Is it a trapped animal? Or a trapped person? Is it – Brewster?”
“My adorable twin?” the wizard giggled, high pitched, showing his long pointed teeth. “Would I ever hurt my dearest brother, or spoil his pretty face when he looks so exactly like me.”
And he began to chant.
“The first and then another,
Snap.
Wagster and his brother,
Snap.
Snap comes the first cut, snap comes the second.
But still more poison to discover,
Snap.
Choose the ice or choose the fire,
Snap,
One takes you lower, one spins you higher,
Snap.
Both burn, both - kill.
And if one doesn’t get you, then the other one will.”
Then, with an abrupt flourish, Wagster hauled up the large bundle he was holding within the basket’s depths, made two attempts to grab it more firmly, gave it a pinch and a wallop, and tossed it, writhing and wriggling, onto the bridge’s hard cobbles. It slipped and slid a little, then came to rest. As Nathan stumbled backwards away from the thing, the basket started once again to rise. A small flame sprang from the base of the balloon, it gave a warning whoosh, as it streaked upwards. Wagster was waving. His hands, like thin sharpened knives, both flapped in the wind, and his squeaks of pleasure echoed down. Disappearing into the clouds, the balloon’s colours faded and Wagster, basket, balloon, top hat and all, were gone.
The rain stopped.
One final echo of thunder and all was still. A vivid stripe of glowing rainbow rushed across the sky, as though in relief. The remaining rainwater trickled into the central gutter and oozed away. People began to peep out from shop doorways, wondering whether it was safe to go out, or whether the rain was only having a hiccup and would start again any minute. Untrusting, they muttered to each other and then moved back into the warmth, shaking their heads.
Nathan was alone, standing on the middle of London’s great Bridge, staring down at the bundle thrown there. It had stopped moving, and was still, but there was something that troubled Nathan considerably, and something that he found strangely familiar. Even though the thing was wrapped in a mess of black ropes, cords, and rags, there was a flicker of hair at one end, and a glimmer of shoe at the other.
With growing horror, Nathan moved closer, bent down, and prodded. The parcel gave a tiny squeak. Then, with a gasp, he began to untie the bindings.
It took a very long time, for he had no knife and there were a hundred knots, all twisted and extremely tight. His fingers shook from tiredness and worry, and slipped from the water dripping from hair and chin. Yet it soon became obvious that a small person was imprisoned there, with the hands tied behind the body, and roped to the ankles. The eyes were shut and the mouth was gagged with a black rag wrapped several times around the head. The person was certainly breathing, though seemed, thought Nathan, half dead.
But Nathan, struggling without pause, now knew exactly who it was.
The rain still dripped from his hair and shoulders and he was kneeling in a puddle, yet he noticed none of this. Only undoing the bindings mattered now, and one by one, as the ropes fell apart, the small shuddering figure began to emerge. It was sometime before she was absolutely free, and it was even longer before she managed to speak at all.
She snuffled, crying uncontrollably, the tears rolling down her small round face, but Nathan put his arms around her and hugged her very close, whispering, “It’s all right now. You’re safe. I’ll explain soon. It’s all right now.”
Not yet able to stand, she sat on the wet cobbles with Nathan beside her.
It was Poppy.
Chapter Fifteen
As sweeping wisps of coloured light tinging the puddles with reflections of the rainbow, Nathan’s sister sat in a world that had existed more than five hundred years before her birth, and gazed around.
She said, “Is it a dream? It’s a nightmare, isn’t it?”
Feeling quite guilty, as if it was all his fault, Nathan mumbled, “Sorry. No. It’s real. Haven’t you missed me? Was Grannie worried? How long have I been gone?”
Poppy shook her head, her ponytail coming undone, and stared at Nathan as if he was quite mad. Which, naturally, he thought he was too. “Gone?” she asked, dazed. “Well, we didn’t see you this morning, which surprised me because you don’t usually rush off to school that quickly. You usually take ages and moan and pretend you’re too tired to go.” She smiled faintly. “But I saw you last night just before you went to bed.”
“Crazy.” Nathan began helping his sister up, supporting her as she stood uncertainly on the uneven cobbles. “I’ve been here for days. More than two weeks, I think, though I’ve lost track of time. And it was a balloon that brought me here, just like the one that brought you. Only a different wizard and he didn’t tie me up. He offered an adventure and when my bedroom sort of started fading away, I said yes. Then he tipped me off here.”
“And where’s here?”
Nathan took a deep breath, knowing he wouldn’t be believed. “London. In 1485.” He waved one arm, adding, “And this is London Bridge. Changed a bit, hasn’t it. Where we live in Hammersmith is just a pokey little village, and now I live in a cellar with four boys and a girl.”
He was gazing at Poppy’s clothes, just as she was staring at his. She whispered, as if she didn’t have the courage to speak aloud. “You’ve got the stranges
t things on. You’re not even wearing trousers. That tunic thing looks like a short dress and you’re wearing woolly tights.”
“They’re called hose and all the men wear them.” Nathan sighed. “Trousers don’t seem to exist yet. I arrived wearing pyjamas, but I had to change that. And you’re wearing school uniform. That’s worse. All the women here wear skirts to the ground and they’ll think you’re really shocking wearing that little dress.”
They stood together looking back over the Bridge to where old London stretched, glistening in the aftermath of the storm. Roofs still dripped water and every street was bright with the pale sun’s reflections in a thousand puddles, and above, as the seagulls started to reappear, the rainbow still arched in dazzling colours.
“So how do I get home?”
“When the balloon comes back for us,” Nathan said. “I don’t know when. The wizard who brought you is called Wagster and he’s horrible. His twin brother brought me, and that’s Brewster but he’s horrible too. One day, I think Brewster will come back for us.”
Poppy nearly fell down again. “You mean it could be days and days? Weeks?” gasping, looking glassy-eyed. “Months? Years? For ever and ever?” Her shoulders slumped in dejection. “So what happens now?”
“I’ll take you to our cellar,” said Nathan. “And try and sort out some new clothes.”
Dazed, Poppy followed Nathan, her school shoes thumping along beside him. At one point between the shops, Nathan peered over at the river, seeing the boats continuing their busy trade while baling out water. The tide was rising fast and the water churned around the bridge’s pillars, but there was no sign of the baron. Hurrying back into Lower Thames Street, they passed an inn, noisy with custom. It was The Whistle and the Wherry, where a crowd of men were standing outside, pleased that the rain had stopped.
Then quite suddenly Nathan realised that amongst the cheerful crowd stood Alice, Alfie and Uncle Henry. He turned away and gulped, really not ready to face them yet. But clearly they had seen him and Alfie rushed over, the others behind him.
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