Dragons at Crumbling Castle Page 8

  Jem scrambled out of the wreckage with a crook over each shoulder just as the rest of the chase arrived.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ said Amos Band. ‘Thank you very much for getting the cup back. It’ll look nice on Fred’s mantelpiece – under Rule 198, you know, Jem is disqualified for leaving the dance before it ended.’

  Before anyone could say anything, Fred Band stepped forward. ‘That would be true except that I was dancing on artificial eggs. Dad gave them to me.’

  ‘Fred!’ gasped Amos.

  ‘Sorry, Dad,’ said Fred shamefacedly. ‘I just couldn’t do it!’

  So everyone went back to the field, where Jem was presented with the Egg Cup – to keep, because he’d won it three times. And when Jem announced that he and Alice were going to get married, there wasn’t much Amos could say about it, really, except to arrange with the Bishop for them to use Blackbury Cathedral.

  The evening ended with fireworks and dancing while a big orange moon rose over the town.fn3

  fn1In the Dark Ages – oh, as long ago as the 1970s – shops in Britain used to shut half a day a week. And all day Sunday too.

  fn2And if you’d met the old Granddad in question, you’d know why.

  fn3We don’t see that kind of moon much these days, but Gritshire has always been behind the times.

  EDWO THE BORING KNIGHT

  Once upon a time there was a king who had three sons – kings generally do. And the youngest one, instead of being good and kind and brave, was worse than you could hope to meet in a month of Mondays. His two older brothers were quite nice in a rather ordinary way but he was a real terror.

  His name was Edwo.

  One day the king said to his prime minister, ‘I think it’s time the lads were sent out to seek their fortune.’ This was the custom in the land. (The idea was to find some rich princesses.)

  ‘Jolly good idea,’ said the prime minister. ‘I suggest you send Edwo to the moon or the bottom of the sea!’

  The king scratched his head. ‘That’s not very nice,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with him? He’s a quiet lad and doesn’t mix with catapults and such.’

  ‘He’s such a know-all!’ exclaimed the prime minister.

  And that was the trouble. Throughout the kingdom, which was not very big and mostly consisted of forest and goats, people used to lock their doors when they saw Edwo coming.

  If they weren’t quick enough he’d soon start off in his boring voice about such interesting facts as the orbit of Neptune or the calorific content of carrots. He was very brainy and might have been quite pleasant, but no one stayed listening long enough to find out.

  And so, next day, the king called his sons together and sent them out to seek their fortunes.

  Edwo, being the youngest, left last. His two brothers had taken the best horses, so he had to make do with a broken-down old donkey. He travelled east, through the forest, and soon he started to chat to the donkey.

  At last the beast stopped, looked round at him and said, ‘That’s the most boring thing I ever heard. You’re the most boring and uninteresting person I ever heard.’

  ‘Well, I like that!’ said Edwo. ‘You’re only a donkey.’

  ‘Ah yes, but I can talk, and that’s interesting,’ said the donkey. ‘All I can say is, any rich princess you meet will fall asleep out of boredom.’

  ‘I can’t help it,’ said Edwo. ‘I’ve just got a boring voice. I’m not mad keen on rich princesses anyway.’

  At that moment the bushes parted and two big green eyes stared at them. ‘It’s a dragon!’ said the donkey.

  The dragon slithered out of the bushes and blinked at them, breathing a small cloud of smoke. It looked hungry.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Edwo. ‘Is it the Great Green Dragon or one of the blue-hued variety? One can tell by the constrictions of the peripatetic tooth-holders that it is about a hundred years of age, but . . .’ He went on and on in his boring voice – and the dragon went to sleep.

  The donkey prodded it with his nose. ‘It’s bored stiff!’ he said. ‘How amazing!’

  They hurried on before it woke up again.

  Further west the forest became more open, with lots of little streams and hidden meadows. The donkey, whose name was Pigsqueak, passed the time by singing comic songs, in what wasn’t a bad singing voice for a donkey.fn1

  At sunset they came to a crumbling stone tower right on the edge of the forest. There was a brass plaque on the broken door which read:

  ‘Oh,’ said Edwo, ‘that kind of wizard. He doesn’t say anything about bed and breakfast.’ He raised the heavy iron knocker, and after a while the door was opened by a small bear. It was wearing an apron.

  ‘The wizard’s in conference,’ it growled.

  ‘Actually, we were wondering if we could stay here tonight,’ quavered Edwo.

  ‘That’s different,’ said the bear. ‘I have to be very careful, you know; so many people are after him for money. Come in; my name is Toodle.’ He showed them inside and added, ‘It’s a bit of luck you arriving, because Mr Golightly is in a spot of bother . . .’

  Edwo could hear muffled shouts coming from the next room. What sort of horrible trouble could a wizard get into? he wondered. He pushed open the door . . .

  At first he saw nothing in the wizard’s room except a small bottle standing on a table. Then he saw Mr F. R. Golightly – inside it, and only ten centimetres tall. The wizard was very angry, and squeaked loudly while jumping up and down.

  ‘One of his spells went wrong, and he was trapped,’ explained Toodle. ‘The bottle is made of Pinhop’s Unbreakable Glass, and it doesn’t.’

  ‘How strange,’ said Edwo.

  ‘Never mind,’ said Pigsqueak the donkey. ‘Edwo here is very clever. Say a few words, lad.’

  So Edwo tried his most boring voice and talked for two minutes about newts. Toodle went to sleep standing up and the bottle crackedfn2 and F. R. Golightly staggered out.

  He soon grew back to his normal size and shook Edwo by the hand. ‘I’m so happy I’ll give you two and a half wishes!’ he beamed.

  ‘Only two and a half?’ said Pigsqueak. ‘I look after Edwo’s business interests, you know, and it should be three wishes.’

  ‘It’s the cost of living,’ said the wizard sadly. ‘I can’t afford more than two and a half. But I’ll throw in bed and breakfast tonight, and – well – a three-and-a-half-league boot?’

  He explained that a three-and-a-half-league boot was one half of a pair of seven-league boots (he’d lost the other one). You had to hop.

  Early next morning they set off again, and the wizard called after them, ‘If you’re seeking your fortune, head for Globoland.’

  ‘I know where that is,’ said Pigsqueak.

  ‘You know a lot for a donkey,’ said Edwo admiringly.

  ‘Yes, well, I was turned into a donkey by a witch.’

  ‘What were you before then?’

  ‘Actually, I was a frog,’ admitted Pigsqueak. ‘Before that I was a toad, and before that I was a tree, and before that I was a handsome prince. I always seem to be falling foul of witches.’

  A couple of days later they came, tired and hungry, to the border of Globoland. Edwo and Pigsqueak wandered there all the next day without meeting anyone.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ sighed Edwo. ‘I wish I had something to eat.’

  Of course, the wizard had given him two and a half wishes. A magical egg-and-cress sandwich instantly appeared out of nowhere.

  ‘That,’ said Pigsqueak, ‘was a waste of a wish.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Edwo with his mouth full. ‘It’s not a bad sandwich.’

  Just then they passed a large tree with a notice pinned onto it. It read:

  ‘What’s bona fide?’ asked Edwo.

  ‘It means genuine,’ said Pigsqueak.

  ‘Right-ho, then – but I wish I knew where the princess is now.’

  Letters of fire appeared in the air reading:

  You could try the tallest
tower in the baron’s palace, just west of Snowcap Mountain.

  Edwo dismounted and pulled on the three-and-a-half-league boot that the wizard had given him.

  ‘You follow me later,’ he said to Pigsqueak, and gave a hop. Of course, the magic boot took him soaring away above the trees, and two hops later he was outside the baron’s palace.

  There was a wide open plain there, and it was crowded. What had happened was that several hundred assorted princes, out seeking their fortunes as they usually had to in those days, had read the notices and come along. They had pitched tents and lit fires. Some of them were doing their washing in a stream. Some were having a sing-song. There was a terrific din. Most of the princes seemed to be about seven foot tall and much handsomer than Edwo.

  Up came a prince holding a notebook. He asked Edwo his name and wrote it down importantly.

  ‘You’re seventy-sixth on the list,’ he explained.

  Just then a stretcher party hurried out of the baron’s palace, carrying a very dazed prince. A big man with a megaphone appeared on the battlements and shouted, ‘Next!’

  ‘The baron’s fought thirty-four people so far this morning,’ said the prince. ‘He’ll be ready for you about lunch time.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Edwo, as he watched another prince gallop over the drawbridge on a white charger.

  The prince shrugged. ‘Even half a kingdom is hard to come by these days,’ he explained.

  Right up until lunch time, wicked Baron Semiquaver took on – one by one – the princes who had come to rescue the princess. Pretty soon the field outside the castle was littered with princes bandaging one another’s wounds and complaining.

  After lunch Edwo went hopping into the castle in his three-and-a-half-league boot, holding a battered sword borrowed from one of the other princes.

  The drawbridge creaked up behind him. Oo-er, he thought. He was in a very gloomy courtyard.

  A door opened and evil Baron Semiquaver strode out, wearing black armour and eating a chicken leg in a sinister fashion. He held a club in one big hand, but the effect was rather spoiled because he still had his napkin round his neck.

  ‘Fe fi fo fum,’ he said. ‘Come on then. I haven’t got all day. What rotten weedy princes they breed these days!’

  Edwo took a hop towards him, and of course the magic boot brought him right up to the baron. He swung the sword at the armour – it just broke, and the baron laughed most objectionably.

  Edwo backed away, and turned and ran up some stairs. He scrambled through a maze of dusty rooms, hearing the baron lumbering along behind him. Strange suits of armour stood against the wall, and there were lots of dusty pictures of dignified ancestors. Soon he reached a big barred door, where the princess was looking out between the bars.

  ‘If you’re the Princess Keja, I’ve come to rescue you,’ he gasped. ‘Excuse me a mo, I’ve got a bit of a job on just at the minute.’ Then he remembered he still had half a wish left. As the baron thundered up waving the club he wondered frantically how to make half a wish. Should he wish for success in battle? A glorious sword? Suddenly the most boring idea in the world came to him. He swallowed hard, and said, ‘I wish that the floor was covered in marbles.’

  Since it was really only a half-wish, the floor was only half covered. Even so, there were enough marbles for the baron to go skidding and slipping along the corridor until he hit a wall with a bang that shook dust from the ceiling. Beaten by marbles!

  Edwo dashed up and took a large bunch of keys from the baron’s belt. After a few false tries he found one which opened the princess’s cell.

  ‘Hadn’t we better do something with him?’ she said, pointing to the baron. He was beginning to wake up.

  ‘What’s behind that window?’ said Edwo, pointing.

  ‘The moat, I think,’ said Princess Keja.

  It was rather an effort, but a few minutes later they dropped the baron into the moat (which was mainly mud).

  Later that day the king arrived and, after trying unsuccessfully to wriggle out of it, presented Edwo with half his kingdom as he had promised. The baron was sent into exile, and the first thing Edwo did was throw a large party in his palace for all the princes the baron had fought.

  In the middle of the party – by which time the princess and most of the princes had fallen asleep after listening to Edwo – Pigsqueak the donkey turned up. He had gone back first, though, to have a word with the wizard Golightly and persuaded him to turn him back into a handsome prince. (Except that he was not, frankly, very handsome – he had looked much better as a donkey, Edwo thought.)

  Anyway, Edwo made him a knight and gave him a large estate. Even Golightly himself had been invited, and he was so pleased he gave everyone who was still awake one-fifth of a wish each.

  Then Edwo and Keja got married, because that was part of the contract. Princess Keja turned out to be almost as boring as Edwo: she could talk the hind legs off a donkey when she got going.fn3 They didn’t live completely happily ever after – there was the time Edwo walked mud all over the palace carpets, and the time the roof leaked – but they were at least as happy as they wanted to be.

  And why not, after all?

  fn1His favourite, however, began: Old McWotnot had a Farm, Ee-yore, Ee-yore, Eee.

  fn2Hence proving that Unbreakable isn’t the same as Unboreable.

  fn3So lucky for Pigsqueak that he was now a knight as he was rather fond of his legs.

  THE 59A BUS GOES BACK IN TIME

  The 59A bus, an old-fashioned bus belonging to the East Slate and Blackbury Traction Company, pulled out of the station and trundled off to the Post Office stop. Driver Erica Grind was at the wheel, whistling cheerfully, because it was early spring and she had just won fifty pounds in the Lottery.

  Inside, Conductorfn1 Albert Bream was teaching trainee busman Ravi Singh how to whistle, while Inspector George Norris was standing on the platform by the rear door, watching the scenery go by. Occasionally he ran up and down the stairs at the back to look at the scenery from the top deck too.

  No passenger had got on by the time the bus crossed the notorious Even Moor.

  Now, those of you who know anything about Gritshire must remember that Even Moor is where all the mystery comes from; it is always misty there and strange lights are seen at night. Because of that, Gritshire has never been an ordinary county. Magic things happen, much to the annoyance of the County Council, because you can’t put magic on the council tax.

  Anyway, the 59A bus bowled along the moor road, which was foggy even though the sun was shining everywhere else. Then Driver Grind noticed that the road had disappeared. She hadn’t driven off it – it had just gone!

  Not only that, the whole bus was trembling, and blue sparks were flashing off the handrails. They came to an abrupt halt. She hurried round to the rear of the bus. It’s gone all white in the mist, she thought, just like in the detective stories.

  ‘What’s happened?’ asked Ravi Singh, standing on the platform and leaning out to look.

  The fog began to blow away.

  ‘Well, whatever this is it isn’t East Slate Post Office,’ said Conductor Bream, ‘and I’ll tell you that for nothing.’

  Even Moor had changed. The road was there a few metres away, but it was much larger, and cobbled. The hills seemed bigger and the road ran straight as an arrow over them.

  ‘You’ve just gone off the road, that’s all,’ said Inspector Norris, but even he didn’t quite believe himself.

  ‘Hey, somebody’s coming,’ hissed Ravi.

  Someone – or some army – was indeed marching along the road. The sun glinted off golden helmets and white shields and one soldier was singing a marching song.

  The leader of the soldiers had almost marched into the bus before he saw it. ‘What’s this, by Jupiter!’ he said.

  Now Ravi recognized a Roman when he saw one. Somehow they had driven out of the twentieth century and into the first century BC. He stepped forward, trying to remember his Latin.
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  ‘All hail – er – mighty Caesar,’ he began. The Roman officer was obviously impressed. ‘We – er – have been sent by Rome in this new – er – mechanical elephant, to see – er – how the Imperial Legions are getting on here in Britannicus. This is – um – Brutus Breamus, and General Claudia Grind, and Spartacus Norris. I’m Cassius Singhus.’ He pushed his turban back a little, hoping the soldiers would believe it was a new Roman fashion.

  ‘That was quick thinking, lad,’ whispered Erica Grind.

  ‘General Antonius Casca,’ said the Roman. ‘It’s good to meet another Roman amongst all these barbarians. Mechanical elephant, you say. Hmm.’

  Soon the 59A – or rather, Mechanical Elephant LIXA – was bowling down the Roman road, filled with centurions all as pleased as puppies with their first bus ride. They couldn’t pay in coppers, of course, so Conductor Bream’s bag was full of gold coins.

  ‘Next stop, Easticus Slatinium,’ he said, tinging the bell. This is a fine to-do, he thought. I wonder how we’re going to get out of this.

  Driver Erica Grind stopped the bus in the centre of the town, and the soldiers got off. The town had changed a lot. There were chariots and packhorses in the streets, instead of cars, and soon the bus was surrounded by gawping crowds.

  A very important-looking man was coming out of one of the buildings and talking to the soldiers.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ said Driver Grind to herself. Then the bus began to shake again, and just as the soldiers charged at it the 59A disappeared!

  This time the journey took longer and the bus seemed to float in a world of mist and coloured lights. Inspector Norris looked at his presentation gold watch; the hands were whizzing round so fast they could hardly be seen.

  Trainee busman Ravi sat on the platform and watched the lights. Where would they land next?

  Crash!

  Something had run into them, and was cursing in a loud voice.