Roland's Castle

  Chapter 3

  The next day Roland found himself the object of knightly practice, again. His aunt looked on proudly as her boys took out all their nasty and beastly tendencies on him.

  “Boys, play gently,” she said, “I have to go off now as I’ve a hogshead of anchovies, a spit crammed with quail and a great swan pie awaiting me…”

  But Auntie did not have time to retire to her repast; at that moment the castle’s lookouts blew their trumpets and cried “Strangers!”

  The men-at-arms doubled to their posts and Roland and his cousins ran up to the battlements to see who was coming along the way. From the moment he set eyes upon the strangers Roland was horrified. It was the two madmen he and Oliver had seen at the Scary Oak just last night – and they were heading right for the castle! Both were on horseback and the girl was walking behind them. She looked tired and sad.

  The Herald appeared on the battlements with his horn and blew the notes signifying that those approaching the castle had been identified as gentlefolk.

  In the courtyard Auntie Hildegrind was frantically trying to organise everyone and everything to look at least a bit respectable. It was not easy, with chunks of masonry and half demolished buildings in most places, as well as assorted torture instruments scattered about. Still, she satisfied herself that she had done some sort of a job by the time that the two maniacs came riding through the castle gate to the sound of more notes from the Herald’s trumpet.

  Uncle Dagarth, Auntie Hildegrind, Dogwood and Dagwood assembled themselves as a welcoming party with Roland tacked on the end like an afterthought. The two men dismounted and approached. The girl stayed by the horses. Only Roland, still grateful for not being given away the night before, paid her any attention whatsoever.

  Auntie Hildegrind was the first to speak: “welcome to our h-h-h-h - errr castle.” she said, choking on the word “humble”. Then she couldn’t wait for the formal introductions before making excuses for the state of the place. “Sorry for the mess, but we are having some work done.”

  “It’s usually the plumbing with these old places isn’t it?” the tall one said, making light of it. Auntie seemed relieved.

  “I am Lord Brill-a-Brag,” the tall one continued, and then gestured towards the short fat one, “and this is Gloatenglorp, my seneschal.”

  “Bless you!” Gloatenglorp said, and he saluted, clicked his heels together and did a little dance, then bowed.

  “I’m the Lord Dagarth, and this is my Lady Hildegrind and my fine sons, Dogwood and Dagwood,” said Uncle Dagarth, ignoring Roland like a bad smell.

  Bril-a-Brag approached and said, “My most dehumblegraded ingratiationments and flattertudes to you, my Lord,” and bowed deeply.

  “And to your lumpish woman,” Gloatenglorp added.

  “Whaaaaaaaat!” cried Auntie Hildegrind.

  Bril-a-Brag continued. “We are pilgrims, on the way to Caunterbury, the holy blissful martyr for to seek. We come in peace and – ahhhhhh!” – his eye had suddenly been caught by Dagarth’s rack – “Is that a Mk V Superstretch I see? With all the optional extras including fine control and the stretch-a-matic feature?”

  “You know your tortureware!” said Dagarth admiringly, his eyes brightening at the recognition of a kindred spirit.

  “Oh yes indeed!” said Bril-a-Brag. “We’ve had simply hours of fun with our Mark IV. Before that we had a Stretchmaster, but I think it lacks the finesse of the Superstretch, don’t you?”

  “Oh absolutely! Yes!” agreed Dagarth, “With fine control you can stretch out a good stretch to last much longer – and stretch them much taller all at the same time! We’ll be turning dwarves into giants yet – slowly but surely!”

  “They should make that their slogan!” Bril-a-Brag said, and they both laughed.

  Then Dagarth tested Bril-a-Brag. “Thumbscrews: iron or wood?”

  “Oh, wood! Always!” Bril-a-Brag said. “The iron ones twist and bend and give up just when you get to the good bit!”

  “Yes!” cried Dagarth, “Exactly!”

  “Have you seen the latest range from Horrids?” Bril-a-Brag asked, and he pulled a well thumbed catalogue from his pocket and pointed to a page. “The blocks are oak and beautifully polished with walnut screws for that extra resilience. See how exquisitely the polish brings out the contrast of the woods?”

  “Wonderful!” Dagarth exclaimed. “We really must sit down and have a good old natter about all of this! Meanwhile, welcome to our castle! I would like to say ‘our torture chamber is your torture chamber,’ but sadly we don’t have one just at the moment….”

  “Ah! The plumbing!”

  “Precisely! Anyway, come in and have a drink – why not a banquet! And of course, bring your seneschal!”

  “Bless you!” Said Gloatenglorp, and again saluted, clicked his heels and did a little dance, followed by a bow.

  Uncle Dagarth put his arm around Bril-a-Brag as if he were an old friend and guided him into what was left of the castle keep. Auntie, the twins and Gloatenglorp followed on behind. Only Roland was left in the courtyard – and the girl. They looked at each other, then Roland went up and spoke to her. “Thank you for not giving us away last night.”

  “That’s alright,” she said. “I hate them.”

  “Anyone who can get on with my uncle so quickly must be a bit dodgy…,” Roland agreed.

  “I am supposed to be Brill-a-Brag’s ward, but he treats me like a slave.”

  “I’m not exactly on top around here,” Roland said, then thought to introduce himself. “My name is Roland.”

  “I’m Savitri.”

  “Nice name.”

  “It is Indian, where my family came from, originally. But they were killed in the war.”

  “My mother is dead. My father gone on some quest or other. Would you like to come in?”

  “I’d rather stay outside and keep away from them for a bit.”

  “You can come to my room. It’s in a different building – that one by all the torture gear.”

  Savitri’s upper lip curled in disgust at the sight of Dagarth’s collection.

  “Its not so grim inside – don’t worry!” he reassured her.

  Savitri followed him up the stairs to his room where she sat in a chair. Roland tried to think of something sensible to say but as he struggled with that she began to cry. “I’m so miserable,” she said, “I am fed up with being trailed around the place whilst they look for adventures and treasure…”

  “Well, I’m sure it can’t be all that bad…” Roland said, trying to comfort her, knowing at once it was a stupid thing to say. He couldn’t think of anything but stupid things to say. He wanted to be kind but could only think of ways to make a fool of himself. Why does that always happen? He thought. Then he had an idea. Perhaps a display of swordplay would make her feel better? A bit of harmless excitement never hurt anyone, surely? He asked, “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I trust you because you didn’t give us away last night,” Roland said. He pulled back the tapestry and opened the door that led to the practice room. He went inside and beckoned for her to follow. She did so.

  The moment she entered she gasped, her eyes fixed on the Companion. She was plainly terrified of it. Things had gone from bad to worse - it was supposed to be cheering her up. Roland wondered if he could do anything right.

  Savitri recovered slightly. She scanned the room and saw the rack of swords. She ran to it and quickly picked one out. The sword she chose was the finest one, Roland noted. The choice was not by accident either, even though she had made it speedily. She brandished the sword aggressively at the Companion.

  “Its okay,” Roland said, briskly walking over to the Companion to show it was friendly. “It’s only a practice one – it isn’t a real one - whatever a real one is…”

  “We call them the Spirus! They killed my family!” Savitri said.

  “Well, it isn’t one of those – not re
ally, just a practice companion made to look like one.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure.”

  Savitri didn’t seem entirely convinced – at least she didn’t lower her sword.

  “It obeys my commands,” Roland said. He told the Companion. “Raise your hand.”

  The Companion did so. “Stand on one leg!” it did so. “Hop about a bit!” it hopped about a bit, and for a moment looked silly rather than scary.

  Savitri laughed with relief. “It isn’t one – unless you are very good at training them!”

  “I have never met a real one,” Roland said.

  “You don’t want to,” Savitri said, and shuddered. “Not ever. Not even one, and certainly not an army.”

  “Are there armies of them?”

  Savitri nodded but said no more. Plainly it was not a subject she enjoyed talking about.

  “As I say,” Roland said, “this is only a practice companion. You can use a sword?” he asked, having noted already how skilfully she was holding it.

  “Oh yes! I warn you! I fight like a girl!”

  “Right! Well, Let’s see what you can do…”

  He turned to the Companion and instructed it. “Fight my friend here – on guard!”

  And as soon as he spoke Savitri stormed in and landed a torrent of blows on the Companion. It immediately adjusted to her skill level and both became embroiled in a furious sword fight. Savitri was filled with rage and the Companion bore the brunt of it, its armour clanging loudly and often. She did not stop even when she was plainly exhausted and eventually Roland called a halt to it.

  “Why did you stop me?” She demanded.

  “You’re denting my companion!” he protested, with a smile.

  “Sorry – I forgot it’s yours and not a real one.”

  “No probs. I just want a chance to dent it myself once in a while!” and he grabbed a sword from the rack and challenged “On guard!”

  He was well aware, as he fought, that he had a way to go before reaching Savitri’s standard – and he certainly lacked her rage.

  “You did well,” she said when he finally lowered his sword, but he knew she was being generous and that she realised he was an inferior fighter to her. They took turns to practise and Savitri gave Roland some pointers.

  Finally they had had enough and realised they had no idea of the time. Roland thought it was probably about time to find out what his uncle and his guests were planning. He had every faith that his uncle could quickly entangle them in some dastardly plot.

  He went to the door but as it began to open he heard his uncle’s voice. Dagarth was in Roland’s bedroom - and so were Bril-a-Brag and Gloatenglorp. Roland halted but listened to what was said from behind the tapestry.

  Dagarth said, “Where has the little brat gone now? Like I say, I would have got the truth out of him by now but for fear of what his father would do to me if he ever returns. You, on the other hand…”

  “It will be my pleasure to abduct the boy and extract the facts from him by the most enjoyable of means! No extra charge – we will still spilt the treasure fifty-fifty as we agreed at dinner however I help you find it!”

  “Agreed! Now, where is he? We’ve looked everywhere for the treasure, don’t say we are going to have to start looking for him too.” and Dagarth looked under the bed.

  “Are you sure you have looked everywhere for the treasure? Everywhere? Eliminated every possibility?” Bril-a-Brag inquired. “Don’t worry, we can still torture the boy after we find it, just for fun! What about this tower? It doesn’t seem to have had any walls ripped out…”

  Dagarth protested, “But it is so small and old and insignificant. I never thought it could conceal anything of value. There is no sign of anything being added after it was built…”

  “But you have looked everywhere else…” Bril-a-Brag pointed out.

  And Gloatenglorp danced and sang:

  “Take away what isn’t true,

  Then it will be plain to you.

  Whatever is still in your sight,

  Must be left and must be right!”

  “If this tower is the only place you haven’t looked then it must be here!” Bril-a-Brag pronounced. “We must search it!”

  Roland’s heart pounded, but then Dagarth objected, “The best thing is simply to demolish it. It has no use. It is too late now but first thing tomorrow we will make a start. .”

  “Good idea,” Bril-a-Brag said. “First thing tomorrow!”

  Dagarth said, “I am afraid the guest rooms are in a bit of a mess at the moment… Why don’t you sleep here? It isn’t much but you will be able to wait for that little scoundrel in case he returns!”

  “We are used to far worse!” Bril-a-Brag said, hanging up his cloak.

  “Well goodnight then – and an early start!” Dagarth said.

  And Gloatenglorp danced and sang:

  “Get ahead and not a tail.

  Out of bed and never fail!”

  “What’s happening?” Savitri asked Roland.

  “Looks like we are stuck here for the night – unless you wish me to be tortured.”

  Savitri shook her head.

  “Your masters are in my room,” Roland explained.

  “They are not my masters!” and Savitri swung her sword in anger. “I will kill them now - now I have a sword!”

  Roland moved to block her. “We are not killing anyone unless we have to. It will make a mess of the carpet and it is very – unknightly. We must give them a chance to capitulate and promise to mend their ways, then if they don’t…”

  “We slice them into as many pieces as we can!” Savitri said, slashing about with the sword.

  “Well, let’s slice, err, cross, that bridge when we come to it. There is something happening tomorrow I want to see, maybe stop it if I can. For now we’ll make ourselves comfy in here, although the fixtures and fittings might not be very relaxing….”

  Savitri grabbed a tapestry off the wall and flung it over the Companion.

  “How’s that?”

  “A big improvement – remarkable! I didn’t know it could be improved so much.

  Now let’s get some more tapestries down and make some beds. Before those two are awake I plan to sneak out and hide so we can watch the proceedings. Will you join me?”

  Savitri nodded.

  For a while they bedded down and dozed until they were as certain as they could be that Bril-a-Brag and Gloatenglorp were asleep. They then they pushed aside the tapestry and entered Roland’s bedchamber. Fearing to light a candle in case it woke the two men, Roland led Savitri to the other door in the dark. They picked their way quietly, feeling in front of them with fingers and toes at every step so as not to trip over some obstacle. Savitri had grudgingly agreed to leave the sword behind in case it made a noise. Passing the end of the bed they could hear the sounds of snoring and someone turning restlessly. They held their breath for fear that even the sound of that might give them away. They did not breath again until they were near the door. At that point, however, Roland came to a dead standstill. He could feel someone else’s breath on his face. There was someone right in front of him. He stood still, petrified, until Savitri whispered. “What is it?”

  “Someone’s right in front of us!” Roland whispered, wondering why the someone didn’t speak or give the alarm. Savitri had a tinder box and she lit it, giving a small and brief light. Roland saw that right in front of him was Gloatenglorp’s face, but upside down. Roland looked upwards to see that he was hanging from the inside of the door by his feet. He was fast asleep.

  “He always sleeps hanging upside down,” Savitri whispered.

  “It was meant to be trap,” Roland whispered back, “for me, coming in.”

  Carefully he reached out for the handle of the door and pulled it, swinging it back as gently as possible and without breathing so as not to disturb the sleeper. At one point Gloatenglorp gave a grunt and huffed. Roland stopped moving the door and stoppe
d breathing all over again, but it turned out Gloatenglorp was only dreaming. Roland got the door open wide enough for himself and Savitri to squeeze through, then gently – as gently as possible and without breathing at all - shut it again.

  They passed down the stairway without incident and out into the moonlight.

  With all the rubble and torture equipment there was plenty of stuff to hide behind but few places where they would not be seen by the sentries up on what was left of the walls. The best place was underneath the Mark V Superstretch – they just had to hope that Bril-a-Brag didn't have a renewed bout of appreciation and want to look at the underside.

  Uncle Dagarth, Bril-a-Brag and Gloatenglorp were up at the very crack of dawn,

  all three of them supervising men-at-arms and servants, giving orders three to the dozen so that nobody really knew what they were meant to be doing. Even if they did manage to do what they were meant to be doing they were then told by someone else to undo do it and then told to do it all over again. All activity was focused around the Unfinished Tower, of course. Scaffolding went up and then it came down. It went up again and this time it fell down. They then decided that there was no need for scaffolding as they would attack the tower at the very base – “If that fails, we will try undermining - a fine technique of siege craft,” Uncle Dagarth said.

  And suitably sneaky, Roland thought, but did not say it.

  The scaffolding was rebuilt as a grandstand so that Uncle Dagarth, Auntie Hildegrind and the visitors could sit and watch as events unfolded. Dogwood and Dagwood were now thoroughly bored with the whole affair so they played at sword fighting in the space beneath the grandstand.

  It was nearly noon before anyone was actually ready to do anything to the tower itself. Roland and Savitri were already wondering if they were going to starve to death before anything happened. It didn’t help that there was plenty of food in front of them, but out of reach. A banquet had been served for Dagarth and his family and guests. There was only bread and ale for the men-at-arms and the servants, of course, but then they were only doing all the work.

  The men-at-arms were doing much grumbling at being made to do physical labour, which they thought to be beneath them. They started to hit the base of the tower with hammers but weren’t very full-blooded about it. It was as if they expected masonry to come down on their heads and didn’t trust their flimsy tin helmets to protect them. They had learnt a thing or three – or even more - from the previous mishaps when taking the castle apart. Blowitt, the castle handyman, mocked them heartily. “You won’t get nowhere like that! We’ll be here 'til Candlemas year after next! Here, I’ll show you!” And he grabbed up the hammer and gave the tower a mighty clout right at its base. There was a slight shudder in the ground as the blow struck, then a tremble afterwards, like a murmur of irritation. Surely the blow could not have been so severe as to cause an earthquake? He struck the tower again. There was a bigger shudder. Blowitt sensed that something was wrong, that he was displeasing someone or something that he oughtn’t.

  “I don’t like this! I don’t like this at all! Some things was meant to stand a lifetime and more! What was meant to stand is meant to stand and no man’s meant to un-stand it.” and he threw down the hammer.

  Uncle Dagarth had a fit of rage. He leapt out of his seat and ran down to the base of the tower. “By the stars I’ll do it myself!” he yelled, and picked up the hammer. He swung it around his head and landed the most powerful clout that any tower could ever have received. This time there most definitely was a reaction. The ground shook and the skies darkened. A most peculiar, dark cloud was gathering over the tower. It was circular with a hole in the middle, like a doughnut, as if it were surrounding something.

  Uncle Dagarth paused for a second and looked up, then determination gripped him. He struck again. This time there was a deep and aggressive rumble of thunder. Uncle Dagarth stood back, his face creased with anger. He raised up the hammer to strike yet again. Then a bolt of lightning hit the head of the hammer causing it to explode. Dagarth was thrown backwards onto his bottom. What happened next was talked of in the locality for generations. The tower seemed to spin and buck, twisting and turning like a colt trying to break free from a harness. More lighting bolts were flung from the cloud right above it whilst thunder sounded. One of the lighting bolts blasted the grandstand to bits causing the spectators to be thrown out onto the cobbles. They hastily picked themselves up as more bolts of lighting landed at their feet. The bolts were very well targeted to terrify them into fleeing for their lives and that was what they did. Dagarth was still unsteady on his feet after being thrown backwards and as he ran across the cobbles he tripped and went sprawling. The impatient cloud zapped his bottom causing a shower of pretty sparks to fly up. He was encouraged to pick himself up and move even faster to the exit, pushing the men-at-arms out of the way as he went, yelling “Open the gates! For goodness sake! Let me out!” The guards at the gates hurriedly opened them and then fled themselves. The cloud chased them all off the premises like an angry dog.

  With the cloud and its quarry gone Roland and Savitri emerged from their hiding place. The area looked like a battlefield. The wreck of the grandstand and the places where the lightning bolts had blasted the earth blended in with the ransacked castle. Despite the devastation Savitri laughed and danced. “Whoo-hoo! You know how to throw a party don’t you! That was good! Let’s do it again tomorrow!” and she danced around and laughed even more. “Hurrah! They’re gone! They re gone!”

  Roland laughed too but then he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head to see Firebrace.

  “That was very stupid of them, wasn’t it?” Firebrace said. “A little bit of rejoicing! Good! That is right! We are rid of them for now, but they will return.” and he sighed and said “Fear is an instant and fleeting thing. Now they have seen the power of the tower that knowledge will overcome their fear and draw them back. We must be ready for them! They must not be allowed to take control again!”

  “What can we do?” Roland said.

  “We must gather our resources! We must make plans to defend this castle.”

  “I think the tower can look after itself!” Savitri said, looking at it in admiration.

  “Up to a point,” Firebrace said, “against a small party, taking them by surprise. But to defend the whole castle from an army, we must do more.”

  “But the castle is in ruins,” Roland protested, “all the men-at-arms have fled.”

  “And good riddance too!” Firebrace replied. “Ah! I think we have a compatriot coming to join our cause already!”

  Firebrace indicated Oliver, who was running through the castle gate toward them. He ran up breathlessly. “What happened? We saw the whole kerfuffle from down below! Your uncle ran through the village with his bum on fire and everyone else chasing after him – is it a new sport?”

  “They have just experienced the power of the tower,” Roland told him.

  “The power of the tower eh? They say that the most powerful magic rhymes.”

  “We need to make sure they don’t come back. We are going to defend the castle against them.”

  “Sounds like fun. What do you want me to do?”

  Roland said, “Could you have a look around to see who’s left – and try to work out whose side they are going to be on?”

  “Alright,” and Oliver went off to see to it.

  At that moment the debris that had been the grandstand seethed and erupted. A small, battered helmet poked out of the middle of it, followed by another. Both were covered in dust and muck. Crying and wailing was coming from inside both. Roland and Savitri climbed onto the debris and looked down on them.

  “Who are these jellyfish?” Savitri demanded to know.

  “I think they are my evil cousins, Dogwood and Dagwood.”

  “They seem too flimsy even to be mildly irritating,” Savitri said. She had picked up a sword discarded in the panic and she bashed the top of the first helmet with it. Th
e contents began to wail even louder. “Be quiet boy!” she scolded. She lifted the visor of the helmet with the tip of her sword and Roland saw that Dogwood was inside. Dogwood wailed even louder than before. Roland lifted the visor on the other helmet and confirmed it was Dagwood.

  “They said I fight like a girl,” he said.

  “And I bet it wasn’t a compliment either!” Savitri said. “Wait 'til we get you out! I’ll show you what a girl really fights like!” and they both began to wail in terror.

  “I think we ought to be gentle with them – they have been through a traumatic experience,” Roland said, magnanimously.

  “Traumatic?! Not compared to what I will do to them!”

  We must dig them out first,” Roland said, hoping that Savitri might have calmed down a bit by the time they had done that.

  After Dogwood and Dagwood had been dug out it occurred to Roland to ask “What are we going to do with them?” He asked Firebrace. “Can we trust them?”

  “You must make the decision yourself, Roland.” Firebrace replied. “They are your kinfolk, after all.”

  “They are not mine,” Savitri said, but Roland gave her a look that indicated that he was making the decisions.

  “Will you promise not to betray us?” He asked his cousins.

  They both looked at Savitri, who was still brandishing her sword.

  “Yes! Yes! Please! Just don’t let her near us!” they begged.

  “I think we ought to put them under guard, just to be on the safe side,” Roland said, looking at Savitri and considering that it was more for their own protection than anything else.

  At that moment Oliver returned and said “I only found these two in the gatehouse. They were asleep.”

  Roland and Firebrace saw that Bobblejob and Jubblebub were behind him.

  “Oh great!” Firebrace said in an exasperated tone.

  Both the twins were wearing eye shades to prevent the confusing sunlight getting in their eyes.

  “Reporting for duty sir!” They both said, and saluted.

  Roland indicated Dogwood and Dagwood and asked Bobblejob and Jubblebub, “Can you guard these two?”

  “I think we can.” Bobblejob said.

  “I think we can too.” Jubblebub agreed.

  “If we have some long pointy things.” Bobblejob said.

  Some long pointy things were found and Dogwood and Dagwood placed under guard.

  Once that was accomplished Firebrace said to Roland “We’ll have to delay taking stock of who and what else is left. It’s more important to get reinforcements right now.”

  “But from where?” Roland asked.

  “It is time you learned the secret of this castle,” Firebrace said.

  “Not before we have something to eat, we haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

  Roland objected, indicating himself and Savitri.

  Fortunately there was plenty of food left over from the banquet that had been served to the spectators. Savitri went around the table taking great pleasure in using the sword to slice and skewer pieces of meat, chunks of bread and various unfortunate vegetables and fruit. As they ate Oliver said to Roland “I saw those two nutters from the Scary Oak were with your uncle,” and with Savitri out of earshot he asked “What’s her story?”

  “Ill-treated. Bitter. Angry. Very dangerous with sharp objects. Watch out.”

  “Okay, Got it,” Oliver said.

  And they watched Savitri stab a roast pullet with malicious intent.

  Firebrace was impatient to be getting on and didn’t eat anything himself. With the meal over he simply said “follow me,” and strode ahead without looking back. He walked quickly for his age, and quicker than the three young people could easily manage to keep up with. He marched up to the Unfinished Tower and up its winding staircase right to the top. He went to the very edge of the highest step, and only then paused and looked back to check that Roland was following. For the first time he noticed that Savitri was with them and shot an enquiring glance at Roland.

  Roland understood its meaning, “I will vouch for her. I have already shown her the secret room, and the Companion.”

  “It is good to be trusting, sometimes,” Firebrace cautioned, “but you can be too trusting…”

  He said no more but faced forwards again and put his foot out into thin air – or so it appeared. Instead of falling he just vanished. Roland looked over the edge of the step to see if he had fallen – but no, he was simply gone. Then Firebrace’s – apparently disembodied - arm reappeared and its hand gestured for Roland to follow. He stepped up to the topmost step and looked down. It seemed to be a long drop and he faltered. This was going to be a leap of faith. He looked up and saw the hand reaching out to him. He took it and stepped off of the step…