Chapter 2
Uncle Dagarth had been disappointed – probably ever since childhood – that there was no torture chamber in the castle. “Call this a castle!” he had raged. “There should be wall to wall screaming, night and day, seven days a week, no time off on Sundays, birthdays, Christmas or Bank Holidays!”
He had set about putting this right by ordering new torture equipment from Horrids of Knightsford. It included a gleaming new de-luxe rack with all the optional extras - including automatic and fine control and a height (stretch) measurer in both metric and imperial. There was also a shedload of the very best quality iron maidens - all sizes and shapes to ensure that everyone got a nice snug fit. There were also absolutely tons of manacles, lots of chains, lots of horrible long pointy things and also a long screw thing which nobody understood how to use or dared to ask.
By the time it had all been delivered the castle had been torn apart so there was nowhere suitable for a full-size torture chamber. Instead it had all been dumped out in the courtyard. Uncle Dagarth actually rather liked this al fresco approach to torturing. “Leave it all on open display to terrify everyone,” he had chortled, walking about, admiring it all, relishing every nasty, craftsman designed feature, revelling in the pure wickedness of every item. The awful assortment had been placed at the base of the Unfinished Tower so that it was the first thing Roland saw whenever he came out of it. He knew it was on purpose.
As he sneaked out of the tower the next night the iron maidens looked like eerie spectators to his night-time escapade. They had never really worried him before but after being chased around by Firebrace and battling with his new found friend he really wasn’t bothered by them at all.
He was not supposed to leave the castle on pain of very nasty things being done to him and to anyone who let him, but as the men-at arms were hardly the brightest it wasn’t a problem. Roland usually had little trouble getting past them.
Tonight, as always in times of peace, the castle drawbridge was down. It was left that way even at night so that wayfarers might ask for shelter within the castle. Because Uncle Dagarth had now demolished large sections of the walls it hardly mattered anyway. Roland could simply have walked through the walls and swum the moat but it was much more fun to wind the guards up a bit and trick his way out.
Just two guards stood duty on the gate. Other sentries were posted on the walls but they looked out onto the surrounding country and not down on to the drawbridge.
The guards on gate duty were the special-issue idiots Bobblejob and Jubblebub, who, it was commonly joked, shared half a brain between them. They were usually given night duty as daylight tended to confuse them. The only person Roland really had to look out for was Serjeant Jankers. Roland knew that the Serjeant actually had a brain and wasn’t going to be tricked like the rest could be. He checked that the Serjeant wasn’t about, then took a deep breath and broke into a run, calling out “Quick! Quick! A giant man-eating quirrirrinx has landed on the castle! Flee for you lives!”
Bobblejob and Jubblebub panicked and ran into each other, bouncing back and falling onto their bums. Roland struggled not to laugh as he had to keep up the appearance of being terrified.
“Run!” he yelled, “Flee!”
The two chuckleheads picked themselves up then ran through the gate, out across the drawbridge and dived into the moat with two very loud splashes. After that there was nothing except for two streams of bubbles breaking the surface. They had jumped into the moat in chain mail armour and weren’t going to be floating or swimming to the surface anytime soon. At first Roland was horrified at what he had caused, then he thought quickly, grabbed a ladder and a torch from the gatehouse and rushed out on the drawbridge with them. He thrust the ladder down into the moat where the bubbles were coming up from and held the torch over them so the pair could see their way up. They both clambered up the ladder and flopped down on the planks, struggling and panting for breath.
“The quiri-thingey wotsit! Where is it?” Bobblejob gasped, looking around anxiously.
“Err.. that’s gone now,” Roland said, suddenly feeling very guilty.
“Thank goodness! We did exactly the right thing,” Bobblejob said, turning to Jubblebub.
“Exactly the right thing!” Jubblebub repeated.
“What did I always tell you?” said Bobblejob. “First sign of trouble – jump in the moat and then they can’t get you!”
“Right! Lesson learnt!” said Jubblebub.
They were still gasping for breath and too helpless to do anything else.
“I’ll just go and have a look around to make sure the quirrininx has actually gone,” Roland said, wishing to make a swift exit.
“Good idea,” said Bobblejob. “Just make sure it has actually gone.”
“Yes, please make sure its gone.” agreed Jubblebub.
“Okay,” said Roland. “Be back later then…”
“Okay.” said the idiot pair, waving at him as he went.
As soon as he was out of sight of the guards Roland broke into a run. He was excited at the prospect of a night’s adventure with his best friend and didn’t want to waste any time at all. He ran along the road into the village, down the main street and into a side street. Here the timbered houses leaned out towards each other so that the upper storeys almost touched over the centre of the road. He picked up a small loose cobble and threw it up at one of the shuttered windows above his head. It made a loud bang and fell down into the street. He picked it up and threw it again, this time making an even louder bang. He was about to do it a third time when Oliver stuck his head out of the window. On seeing Roland he waved and went to dress.
Oliver’s family were of the class that Roland’s father called “the best of men” and that his uncle called “loathsome peasants,” but to Roland Oliver was simply his friend. Oliver’s mother had originally come from Africa – a story in itself – and he had inherited her dark skin and black curly hair.
They had met one day when Roland had been out for a walk. He had to walk as his father and Firebrace wouldn’t allow him to learn to ride. Later his auntie and uncle also forbade it. Roland was annoyed by the fact that he was nine and a half – as he had been then – and was not allowed on a horse because of the “danger.” What danger? he thought. The danger I might ride out and see something of the world, find something out about it, perhaps? It was health and safety, as always…
As he had walked he had spotted a horse - without a rider but with full tack - on the path in front of him. He looked around but could see no one whose presence would explain it. It looked like his chance had come. Dare he actually ride a horse? Dare he ride someone else’s horse without their say-so?
He thought he would risk it. He approached it gently, put his foot in the left stirrup and swung himself up. He had seen adults do it and the motion came easily to him. He grasped the reins and was about to nudge the horse forwards with his knees – as he had seen adults do – when he heard a noise from down in the deep ditch beside the path.
He looked down to see a face staring up at him.
“What are you doing on my horse?” the face said.
Roland couldn’t think of anything that would explain the situation apart from ‘stealing it’, which he didn’t want to admit to. Instead he posed a counter question. “What are you doing down there?”
“Trying to get out,” said the face, now sounding annoyed.
“Why did you get down there in the first place?” Roland asked.
“Well I didn’t do it on purpose did I! I fell in! I tried to ride the horse and it threw me off and I landed down here. Now I suppose you are going to leave me down here and
steal my horse…”
Roland did not need to think about it. The choice between stealing someone’s horse or helping them was a natural one to him. He leapt down and offered his hand to help. A hand that belonged to the face appeared from the muddy slime and Roland pulled the face, and the rest of its owner, out.
/> “Thank you,” said the face, which Roland could now see belonged to a boy about his own age.
“I am Roland,” Roland said.
“Oliver. Again, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Roland said. “Are you from around this area?”
“I live in the village.”
“I live up there.” Roland said, and he pointed at the castle.
“Ah,” said Oliver, “Are you a kitchen boy? You don’t seem to be dressed like one – they must pay well up there!”
“Sometimes I wish I was – they have more freedom than I do.”
“What do you do then?”
“Not a lot. Learn stuff, get beaten up by my rotten cousins. My dad went away on a quest – he’s a knight.”
“Crikey!” Oliver said. “You’re the lord of manors son!” and he bowed. “I am sorry sire, I didn’t realise. I didn’t think that someone like you would rescue a humble villager like me… Thank you my lord…”
“Oh cut it out!” Roland said. “I hate all that stuff.”
“Seriously?” Oliver asked.
“Call me Roland. Call me sire again and I’ll scrag you!”
“Alright, sire,” Oliver said jokingly.
Roland playfully put his arm around Oliver’s neck and wrestled him to ground.
“Okay! Okay! I give in!” said Oliver, laughing. “You’re Roland! Never sire again! I promise!”
“I should think so too. Now, what about your horse?” Roland asked.
Well, its not mine actually – it’s my dad’s. I’m not very good at riding it – that’s why I fell off.”
“May I have a go?”
“Feel free. You pulled me out of the ditch. It’s the least I can do.”
Roland felt a burst of excitement as he remounted. He gripped the reins and gave the horse a nudge with his knees. It started quickly, so much so that he was almost thrown backwards, but he got his balance and took it for a short canter down the path and back again.
“You’re a natural!” Oliver said. “Wish I was. I’ve just been trying to balance on it for a month of Sundays and can’t even do that without getting queasy.”
“There’s nothing to it,” said Roland.
“Says you! It’s easy when you can!”
Roland dismounted and Oliver tried again with his help, holding on to the reins and leading. Roland could see that Oliver was definitely not a natural, and was not even comfortable on a horse. Yet there was hope, and Oliver clearly had the determination to improve.
“Practise,” said Roland. “Practise! You will get it.”
“Thanks for the encouragement, but I’m not so sure…”
“Nonsense!”
“Next time I’ll bring two horses, then we can both ride together – or you can ride and I can try!”
“Next time? Sounds good! When?”
“Tomorrow. Same time?”
The arrangement was made, and then for the day after, and for those following. Slowly Oliver got better at riding – not a great deal, but somewhat - and during the course of it the boys became friends. Tonight would just be the latest of many days and nights that they had spent together, riding the district, looking for adventure along the narrow winding lanes, in the woods and fields.
Oliver quickly dressed and squeezed out of the window, dropping onto the cobbles.
“So what’s up?” he asked.
“Same old, same old,” Roland said. “Uncle Dagarth is off his trolley, as usual, the twins are their normal dreadfulness, Auntie dearest is on my case as ever… Oh, and an entirely new development; Firebrace tried to kill me…”
Oliver gaped at that last one. “He what?”
“Tried to kill me. Threw a sword at me, waved it at me and other generally unsafe sorts of behaviour.”
“I always thought he was one of the more balanced people up there – quite stable in fact. Wouldn’t expect him to go off his rocker…”
“Uncle is enough to push anyone to their breaking point… I also have a new friend. He tried to kill me too. You can play with him if you like!”
“Oh thanks!”
“He is my training partner – Firebrace says if I am to become a knight I have to practise with him. Apparently I already have magna –something or another…”
“Magna Carta?”
“No, whoever she is. Anyway,” said Roland, “time is pressing on. To the Scary Oak?”
“To the Scary Oak!” Oliver agreed, and they slapped their right-hand palms together in a high five above their heads.
It was riding that had brought them together and they never lost an opportunity for it. Oliver was still nervous about mounting, but once seated could now keep up a fairly good trot. They fetched two horses from the stable owned by Oliver’s father and rode through the streets of the town. On the ridge, in the distance, the “Scary Oak “awaited them, its silhouetted, tangled twigs reaching up like so many fingers clutching at the starlit sky, as if clutching at life itself. It was a beautiful cloudless night lit only by the crystal brilliance of starlight. The boys felt the thrill of darkness and its trove of secret, wild adventures.
They rode across the meadows and through the woods and orchards, splashing through streams and negotiating hedgerows. They rode up to a scarecrow and grasped his hands, spinning him around and then rode on as he woke for a few moments – “What! What! Must have been a hurricane!” said his turnip head, and fell asleep again.
All the time the Scary Oak grew larger as they grew closer, a dark spidery shape standing out against the starlit night sky. Scary indeed!
Suddenly both boys came to a halt. They could now see that on top of the hill, near to the oak, a fire was burning. Occasionally the fire was eclipsed by what looked like figures walking around it. This needed to be investigated. Strangers at their favourite place! They rode closer, dismounted and tied their horses. They made their way on foot up the hill, quietly, taking care to remain concealed, keeping an eye on the strangers at the fire.
As they got closer they could see that there were two of them, one tall and very thin, the other short and fat. In an odd kind of way they complimented each other. They were pacing, arguing, laughing, throwing up their hands and generally behaving in several extraordinary ways all at once. As the boys reached the tree they saw another figure, sitting silently, ignoring the two men. It was a young girl, about their own age.
The tree had a secret that few knew – and the boys thought that only they knew it. It was hollow inside with a narrow entrance hidden by bushes. It was possible to climb up inside it and look down from high up. This is what the boys did, taking care not to be seen. From up there they could hear what the two men were saying.
“Get me my telescope!” The tall one demanded.
“Get it yourself!” The short fat one responded.
You are my servant and I am your master!” the tall one said.
“Oh really! Mr hoittey toittey pudding and rhyme!” the short one replied, in a sing-song voice. He stuck out his tongue at the tall one and let out a mad sounding cackle.
“I’ll get it myself!” The tall one said, striding towards some packs lying on the ground.
“Oh no you won’t!” the short one said. He ran toward the packs himself, overtaking the tall one and plucked a telescope out of one of the packs before the tall one could get there. The tall one threw himself on the short one and they both tumbled over, sending the telescope flying. The short one got up first and grabbed up the telescope again. The tall one tried to grab it but the short one turned his back and held it out in front of him, out of the tall one’s reach.
“You can’t get it! You wont get it!” cried the short one.
“Won’t I!” cried the tall one.
The tall one got the short one in a sort of bear hug, struggling to reach the telescope, but the short one then succeeded in breaking loose and ran towards the tree. The boys’ hearts raced as they were afraid of being discovered but the two maniacs were far too inten
t on their battle with each other. The short fat one climbed the branches whilst the tall one tried to grab at his legs, but had to give that up as the short one climbed out of his reach. Instead the tall one started shouting again: “Come down here at once! I order you as your lord and master! Come down here at once or I’ll pluck your eyes out!”
“Pluck my eyes out and put them in a pail
Steal the milk and go to gaol!” the short fat one sang.
He had clearly won the battle for the telescope as the tall one was obviously not going to lower himself by climbing up the tree. On seeing that his opponent had given up the short fat one said, “You can have the blasted thing then! See if I care!”
He threw the telescope down and let out another mad cackle. The tall one caught the instrument and inspected it for damage.
The two boys looked on amazed at seeing two grown men behave in such a way.
“They’re loonies!” Oliver said under his breath.
But Roland remembered Firebrace’s caution about people who seemed crazy – could these be the enemies he was talking about? There was something unnerving in their mania, as if their chaos would spread from them to everywhere.
All the time the young girl sat still and quiet.
The tall man strode some distance away and put the telescope to one eye, scanning the surrounding area. “I can’t see much in the dark.”
The short fat one leapt from the tree and ran up beside him.
“Told you!” The short fat one yelled.
“You did not!” The tall one shouted back, and the short one sing-songed back to him. “Did so! Told you! Warned you! Warned you what would happen but cloth ears wouldn’t listen and now he’s got a moddled cap, all of his own!”
You fool!” The tall one yelled, striking the short fat one around the back of his head. The short fat one didn’t seem to notice this. He sang in his sing-song voice once more…
“Fool’s a fool who tells a fool
Twice a fool who knows one!”
“Gibberish!”
“Jubberish!”
“Rubbish”
“Ribbish!”
And they started to fight again, wrestling each other to the ground and rolling over and over, the tall one yelling “I am your sovereign lord, you will do me obeisance,” whilst the short fat one continued with his cackling.
Roland and Oliver decided they had seen enough. With the bizarre pair distracted in their own battle it seemed like a good time to sneak off before they were discovered. They climbed down the tree but as they reached the bottom they came to an abrupt halt. The girl who had been sitting at the fire was now standing right by the trunk, staring at them. The boys froze, terrified that she would give the alarm, but instead she just stood still, staring. After a few very long seconds she spoke, in a whisper, so that the men could not hear her. “Be careful! They are much more dangerous than they seem!” and nodded toward the maniacs who were still engrossed in their fight with each other.
Roland and Oliver were stunned. Then they both felt the healthy impulse to run. They fled into the bushes and then ran and tumbled down the hill until they reached the horses. Both spurred their horses into a gallop, Oliver clinging on for dear life. They crossed the meadow at the speed of lightning and not even the scarecrow, lost in his dreams, registered their passing. They did not stop until they were safe back on the edge of the village.
They dismounted and got their breath back. Having calmed down for a minute or two they both started laughing, fulsomely and loudly, as if the funniest thing of their lives had just happened to them. They released all the anxiety of the previous minutes.
Oliver spoke first, “Well, we went for an adventure – the Scary Oak! It was scary this time!”
“Yip!” Roland agreed.
“Who were those maniacs?” Oliver asked.
“I don’t know but I hope I never find out. Now I have to get back to another lot. Such is life!”
“Well, if you need rescuing – I will have to come and rescue you. Like a damsel in distress, in her tower!”
“Knock it off!” Roland said, feigning a swipe at Oliver, then he said, seriously, “I would be grateful if you would come, when I need you. Strange things are about to happen, I think.”
Both went in their different directions to their homes. Roland had to trick his way past the twin twits again. What a trial!