CHAPTER FIFTEEN ―
WHERE TIME STANDS STILL
Pintello considered all that had happened. It was obvious that the vampire had followed Turquin and him to the Sword and Serpent, probably flying high above them in the form of a bat. It must have watched them enter the tavern, and could have even hidden in a dark corner and overheard their plans. The gang from other lands, or worlds, must have been close to the tavern the next morning, and watched them leave. But he had checked the street before stepping outside. They had to have been nearby, within sight of the door, yet hidden from view.
After searching the area around the docks for some time, Pintello made his way back to the tavern, bumping into a few people on the way, apologising to them as he picked pockets and stole purses. By the time he reached the Sword and Serpent he had more ducats than he’d had in the bag that had been taken from him. But it was the worst day of his life. Instead of selling the chalice to Luther Bragwaine for a fortune, it had been snatched away from him, and Turquin was dead.
All’s well that ends well, though, he thought, seeing the café and feeling sure that it was from within it that he and Turquin had been observed. He went inside and sat down at a table in a quiet corner.
“A cup of nettle tea,” he said to the waitress who came over to him.
“Another soaking wet person?” Morgana said. “And it isn’t raining.”
“Who else was as wet as me?” Pintello asked.
“A boy who was here earlier. He looked and smelled as though he’d been swimming in the harbour.”
Pintello smiled. “He is a close friend of mine. Do you know where he went?”
Morgana hesitated, not sure whether she should tell him. The little man’s expression was pleasant enough, but his eyes were cold, black, and dangerous looking.
Pintello saw that she did not trust him. He reached out, grasped hold of the ring through her nose, and pulled her towards him.
“Listen very carefully, my dear,” he whispered. “I shall ask you once more, and if you still do not answer, I will take out my knife and carve pretty patterns on your face, and mayhaps cut both of your pretty ears off. How would you like that?”
“He...He was with a group of other gwains,” Morgana stammered, very frightened of the man, who she knew would do what he threatened. “They asked the owner directions to w...where Thrum the Ferryman lives, out on the coast road.”
Pintello released the ring, and held up a shiny coin.
“Thank you for the information,” he said. “Take this ducat and buy yourself something nice. And don’t tell anyone that you have talked to me, or I swear I will return, chop you into little pieces no bigger than that coin, and feed you to the stray dogs in the alley.”
Pintello left the café without waiting for his tea‚ and made his way out to a point on the low cliffs, from where he could see Thrum’s shack.
When the ferryman left in a cart, he followed him back to town, and into a general store that sold much of anything that might be asked for.
“I am advised that you are a ferryman,” Pintello said to Thrum. “Are you free to take me along the coast to the town of Glop?”
“Alas, no,” Thrum replied. “Come sunup I have a party to ferry out to the Crossroads of Time, and will be gone for sixteen turns of the moons or longer.”
Pintello bade him farewell and went back to the docks to find a man called Roderick, whom he knew rented vessels of all types. He hired a small single-masted boat and cast off before light, to be out off the coast in a position where he would be sure to see Thrum and his passengers set sail. He planned to follow at a safe distance, and when they reached land, wait until they were all sleeping, then kill them and take the chalice.
The face of the fog was like a white wall, reminiscent of the Valley of Mist. Once inside it, they could not see an inch in front of them, and held hands to ensure that they stayed together.
Less than two minutes later they came out the other side, and the sight that met them took their breath away. The fog formed a ring over a reef that protected a large, blue lagoon, at the centre of which lay a small tropical island.
“The water’s warm now,” Tommy said.
It was very warm, and also crystal clear. Shoals of brightly coloured fish glinted below them as they hurriedly swam for land. The water became shallow, and they stood up and staggered ashore and lay basking under the sun on sugar-white sand, exhausted and needing to regain their strength. After a while, Pook saw a figure in the distance, walking in their direction.
“Uh-oh, we’ve got company,” he said to the others. “I hope it’s someone friendly.”
Gorf readied his bow.
“I know that walk,” Speedy shouted, jumping to his feet and running as fast as he could along the beach.
It was Fig. Speedy hugged him, kissed him on the forehead, then grasped his hands and danced around, laughing and kicking up sand.
“Enough, Speedwell,” Fig said. “I am more than convinced that you are pleased to see me.”
The others reached Fig, and Gorf picked him up and held him high in the air.
“Put me down, Gorf,” he said. “Will all of you stop fussing?”
“We thought we’d lost you, Fig,” Sam said.
“And I thought that I was the only survivor,” Fig replied. “Where’s Thrum?”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t think he made it. But who knows, we all did?”
“And now we’re marooned like Robinson Crusoe,” Tommy said. “And I doubt we’ll ever be found. We’ll probably have to spend the rest of our lives on this island.”
“There are plenty of trees,” Sam said. “We can build a boat.”
“And go where?” Ben asked. “We could end up in a far worse place than this. Or maybe sail straight into that giant whirlpool.”
“There’s no rush. Let’s find some fresh water and shelter for the night,” Fig said.
They walked up the beach until they found a gap in the lush vegetation and palm trees, and made their way along a path until they came to a stream. Gorf knelt next to the grassy bank, cupped his hands full of water and noisily guzzled it.
“It’s fresh and ice-cold,” he said. “We won’t die of thirst, that’s for sure.”
They all drank some of the water, before climbing higher up into the thick, steamy jungle. Ben plucked something that looked like a tennis-ball-sized peach from a tree branch and bit into it, ready to spit it out if it was bitter or tasted foul.
“We won’t go hungry, either,” Ben said. “This tastes as good as it looks.”
“Let’s gather some fruit, fill our water bottles, and go back to the beach and make a shelter,” Sam said. “We don’t know what dangers are here. I’d feel safer out in the open, next to the sea.”
“Good idea,” Pook said. “I don’t want to get eaten by a snake, or bitten to death by one of those.”
Up ahead, a line of ants were marching across the path. But they were no ordinary ants. Each was blood red, and the size of a large dog.
Back on the beach, they used fallen tree branches to build a small hut, lashing the wood together by using thick vines, and covering the framework of the roof with large palm leaves.
Tired and aching, they were lulled to sleep by the sound of the surf, unaware that less than half a mile away, Pintello had anchored his small boat and was wading ashore. He had lost sight of the bigger vessel, but stayed on the course they were set. He had not seen the head-on collision with the whale that had sent the Maid of the Lake and Thrum to the bottom, but came across wreckage and knew that the boat had sunk. He sailed in circles for a while, and saw that a current was taking all the flotsam in the same direction, so followed it.
Reaching a wall of fog, he sailed through it and saw the island. And on the distant shore were several small figures. There was no way of knowing if they were the band of travellers he sought, but it was more than likely that they were. He stayed on the edge of the fo
g, invisible to them, and waited until it was almost dark before sailing farther along the coastline and dropping anchor in the shallows.
Staying close to the trees, Pintello moved slowly and stealthily towards the newly built hut. And as he crept silently across the sand with his knife drawn and gripped tightly in his hand, he could hear the sound of snoring. He grinned. He would cut all their throats as they slept.
Something clamped over his mouth and nose, and his wrist was gripped tightly, and cracked with the sound of a gunshot report as it was twisted and broken like a twig, making him drop the knife. He was lifted off the ground, and heard a low, menacing growl, before being hurled through the air, to crash into the trunk of a palm tree and slide down it.
Dazed, and with forks of pain shooting up from his wrist to his shoulder, Pintello saw the outline of an enormous shape rush forward and lower itself in front of him.
“You’re not as clever as you think, jester,” Gorf said to him in a low voice, not wanting to wake the others. “Had you been smart, you wouldn’t have followed us. You intended to murder us in our sleep, not knowing that I was keeping guard. Now I’m going to crush your head to a pulp with my bare hands.
“Please, spare me,” Pintello said, playing for time. “It’s true, I was following you, but lost sight of your boat. I came upon this island and saw the shelter, but didn’t know what or who was inside it. That is why my knife was drawn, for self protection. I wish you no harm. I just wanted the chalice back. I am a thief, not a killer. It is you who have committed murder, by pushing Turquin to his death in the harbour at Ujimar.”
Gorf hesitated, unsure whether or not to end the little man’s life.
Pintello moved as quick as a fox, ducked down under Gorf’s raised arms, rolled across the sand and picked up the knife in his left hand, to turn and thrust it upwards as Gorf leapt upon him.
Gorf snarled in pain as the blade punctured his tunic, slid through his thick fur and skin, and sank deeply into his chest.
“You should have finished me off when you had the chance, you stupid ape,” Pintello whispered, before wriggling out from under Gorf and standing up. He heard voices and knew that the others were awake, so slipped into the jungle and hid. Nothing was going to plan. He could not surprise them now, and had a broken wrist. When they found their friend dead or dying, they would be on their guard.
“What’s the matter, Gorf?” Tommy asked, looking out of the shelter to see his friend writhing in pain.
When they got to him, Gorf was about to pass out. He was losing a lot of blood, which was soaking into the sand beneath him.
“It w…was P...Pintello,” he managed to say before everything went black.
“Is he dead?” Speedy asked Tommy.
Tommy could not tell whether Gorf was breathing or not. “Yes, I think so,” he said, and burst into tears.
A voice in Sam’s head told her what to do. It was as if someone else was talking to her. She went back inside the shelter, took the chalice from her bag and felt the warmth of it in her hands. She rushed to Gorf’s side and pressed it against where his tunic was split and awash with blood. The gold glowed in the darkness, and a musical ringing filled the air. Whatever power the chalice possessed was getting stronger.
Sam held the cup in place until her hands ached, and after a few minutes the bright light faded to a yellow glimmer, and the sound of silken strings faded away.
Gorf groaned and opened his eyes.
“I thought I was dead,” he said in a very weak voice.
“We all did,” Tommy said. “But Sam held the chalice against your chest and you stopped bleeding.”
“What happened, Gorf?” Fig asked.
Gorf pushed himself up into a sitting position. “The jester followed us here. I caught him sneaking up to the shelter with a knife in his hand.”
“And he got the better of you?” Tommy asked, finding it hard to believe that Gorf could come off second best to anyone.
“He tricked me. Told me that he didn’t know it was us, and that he only had the knife drawn to defend himself with.”
“Where did he go?” Speedy asked.
“I think he ran off into the jungle,” Gorf said. “I broke his wrist, though, so he’ll be in a lot of pain.”
“We won’t be safe while he is on the island,” Fig said. “We need to find him and make sure that he can’t attack us again.”
“You mean we should kill...I mean send him heavenward?” Sam said.
Fig nodded solemnly. “I’m afraid so, Sam. He’s just proved that he wishes us nothing but harm. If it hadn’t been for the power of the chalice, Gorf would not have survived.”
“Fig is right,” Gorf said. “I’ll hunt him down. He will have left a trail, the same as any other animal. I shall smell him out. And when I find him, I’ll put an arrow through his traitorous black heart.”
“You need to rest and heal up,” Sam said.
Gorf tore open his tunic and wiped the blood away from where the knife had entered his chest. He parted the thick fur with his fingers, to find that the wound was healed. Only a small scar remained.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I think the nearer we are to the Crossroads, the greater the chalice’s powers become.”
“We should get away from the island, now,” Ben said. “Pintello must have followed us in a boat. If we find it, we don’t have to kill him; we can leave him trapped here.”
“And where would we go?” Speedy said. “We don’t know where Thrum was going to take us.”
“Just sail south, and let the magic of the chalice guide us to the Crossroads,” Sam suggested. She truly believed that it would lead them to where all worlds came together.
They hurried along the beach, in the direction that Gorf had seen Pintello approach from, but they were already too late. The jester had not remained hidden in the jungle. He had decided to go back on board the boat, sail out into deeper water, and tend to his wrist before finding an inlet or small bay to moor the boat where it would not be found. He had pulled up the anchor and was tacking into the wind when he saw them running towards him along the shoreline.
He could hardly believe his eyes. The troll, or whatever it was, had somehow survived being stabbed in the heart. He shook his fist and stuck his tongue out to insult them. They could not get to him, and had no way to leave the island. He would sneak ashore and pick them off one at a time, until the chalice was once more in his possession.
The arrow whistled through the air and struck Pintello in the throat. The impact knocked him back on his heels, causing him to stagger across the deck, to where the razor-sharp flint tip sank into the mast, pinning him securely to it. He could not move, only watch as the sail above him flapped and snapped.
Gorf lowered the bow. He knew that the jester was finished.
What none of them would ever know was that it was almost twenty-four hours later that Pintello finally met his end. He had pulled himself free of the arrow, and was lying on the deck, badly wounded but slowly recovering. Being part demon, he could withstand injuries that would kill mere mortals. As he rested while his wrist and throat began to heal, he heard what sounded like a far off rush of water. The din soon became almost deafening. It was the roar of the great whirlpool.
There was nothing that Pintello could do but watch his approaching doom. The boat was drawn round and round, faster and faster in ever decreasing circles, to finally upend and be sucked into the liquid-lined funnel at dizzying speed. Hanging onto the mast, Pintello screamed as he and the boat were dragged down and dashed to pieces on the rocky seabed.
The next day, Sam and the others entered the jungle again and made their way up to the highest point on the island. Fig had thought it would give them a view of what lay to the south.
“We’re at the top of a volcano,” Ben said, reaching the summit first and looking down into the crater from the rim that they were standing on. “And look what’s in it.”
The sides of the crater sloped down to an ash-covered surface, where wisps of smoke curled lazily up from the honeycombed rock. In the centre of the crater stood a large transparent dome that appeared to be full of shifting bands of coloured light.
“What do you think it is?” Tommy asked.
“Let’s go and find out,” Sam suggested. “I’ve got a good feeling about this dome. I’m sure we’re meant to go inside it.”
“Come on,” Ben said, and made his way carefully down the inside of the crater.
Half an hour later they were all standing next to the dome, on hot ground from which yolk-yellow sulphurous smoke rose up and made them cough.
“It’s massive,” Tommy said. “As big as the 02 Arena in London.”
“I don’t see any way into it,” Speedy said.
They walked all the way around the base of the great dome, but found no entrance.
“What’s plan B?” Tommy asked.
“The piece of amber,” Sam said. “Give it to me, Fig. Please.”
Fig handed it to her, and as Sam held it up, it changed colour to match the reds, blues and greens in the smooth crystal wall of the dome. It trembled, and then flew out of her hand, to stick onto the structure’s surface like a fridge magnet, before melting into it, to form a perfectly round hole that grew to the size of a manhole cover.
“There you go,” Sam said. “The way in.”
“After you,” Ben said. “Girls first.”
Sam climbed through the hole without any hesitation, and when all of them were inside the dome, the hole closed up, leaving no trace of where it had been.
“Now we’re trapped in here,” Fig said.
“I’m sure there’ll be another way out,” Sam replied.
They followed a spiralling corridor that led to the dome’s centre, to where a life-size glass statue of a beautiful woman was standing on a high pedestal. Sam reached up, touched one of the statue’s feet, and the figure came to life.
“Who are you?” Sam asked. “And where are we?”
“My name is Aurora. And in this timeless citadel I guard portals that lead to all other worlds.”
“Is this the Crossroads of Time?” Tommy asked.
“Yes,” Aurora said. “From here all other times and places can be reached, if I allow you to pass. Your presence in another world will alter it in ways that you cannot begin to imagine. So you must have a very good reason to leave this here and now.”
“We have to get to Iceworld,” Sam said.
“For what purpose?” Aurora asked, changing back and forth between pale blue and white, and buzzing and flickering like a faulty fluorescent tube as she spoke.
Sam reached into her bag, withdrew the chalice and held it up by the handles for Aurora to see.
“The Chalice of Hope!” Aurora exclaimed. “Wherever did you find it?”
“In our world,” Sam said. “Where humans live. We were told that it must be returned to the Keeper-in-Waiting.”
“And so it shall be. For the Dark One is unable to vanquish the power of good while it exists.”
“Whose power is in it?” Tommy asked the living statue.
“A great and wise spirit, who was here before Allworlds came apart. He employed a sorcerer in the Mountains of Fire to forge his dreams of love and peace within the cup.”
“Will we ever be able to get back to our own world and time?” Ben asked.
“Mayhaps,” Aurora said. “The Keeper will send you back to me, and I will see if I can help you. Now come, I will take you to the portal that leads to Iceworld.”
“How long will that take?” Sam asked.
Aurora smiled. “No time at all. For within this dome, time stands still. There is no yesterday or tomorrow. You could stay here for a thousand of your years and not be one second older.”
“I think that would be very boring,” Tommy said. “I need a future to look forward to. And I want to be able to do things that give me a past to remember.”
“Well said, young mortal,” Aurora said, reaching out and touching Tommy on the cheek. “Living forever can be a little tiresome. Now follow me. Let us not delay another moment in returning the chalice to where it belongs.”
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