Contents of article "’Beyond the Hedge’ - Chapter 5 Part 1"
’Beyond the Hedge’
Lorimer was bustling about in his new abode among the creaking timbers under the wharf at Irvine Harbour. The sheltered port on Scotland’s south-west coast was a better bet than Dublin Bay where lobsters were routinely at the top of ‘Today’s Catch’ notices. His best pal Peg Leg had made the harbour his base and Lorimer’s cousin Kitt ran a lucrative recycling business out in the bay.
His nearest neighbour was Yenka the seal, an agreeable soul who never kept him awake with wild parties into the wee, small hours; not that the lobster would have minded if she had. He’d have been delighted to let off some steam, without being chucked into boiling water, had Yenka opted for one of those trendy parties with a different theme in each of the dredger buckets. Lorimer would happily cut a rug, dance a hornpipe or jitterbug the night away with the best of them and Kitt was bound to have some snazzy outfits for a ‘bash’ like that. Had Lorimer not been preparing for his trip to Sylvania he might well have thrown a bunfight himself.
The lobster had come across a battered old tin bath lodged in a cross-section of beams at the back of the wharf which he’d enterprisingly adapted to his needs. It was the lobster equivalent of a junk-room and Lorimer, not being the tidiest of creatures, had crammed it to capacity.
“I mustn’t go unprepared, but I don’t know where I’m going or what I should be prepared for.” The lobster rummaged about, tossing what he deemed unnecessary to the back of the bathtub. “Why do I need an umbrella? I love being wet, it’s my natural habitat, but here I am with three of them.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Perhaps I ought to get rid of them, at least the broken one…” He continued in this indecisive manner for several minutes, unaware that he was being observed.
The pile of items to be discarded grew in size and rapidly dwindled again when he was overpowered by his irrational need to hang on to everything.
“What are you up to, Thermidor? Planning a holiday, perhaps?”
The lobster spun round like a child caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. He shuffled awkwardly along the beam towards the seagull.
“No,” he said, turning a guilty shade of pink. “I’m just having a bit of a sort out.”
“More like a sort in from where I’m standing.”
Before the flustered crustacean could stop himself he blurted out, “When are you leaving?”
“What do you mean by that?” The seagull managed to appear unruffled. Give him enough rope… and then with feigned innocence, “What makes you think I’m planning a trip?”
“Oh, you know…”
“No, Thermidor, I don’t know.”
“Yes you do,” insisted the crustacean in a blur of feelers. “I heard you discussing the details with Jock last night.” He clapped his huge claw to his mouth but it was too late. “It appears I’ve let the lobster out of the creel.”
“I think you’ll find I was responsible for that, something I may well live to regret.”
Lorimer was eager to please. “There’s no need to say another word, it would be my unbridled pleasure to accompany you.” He gave a satisfied nod. “There, I’ve said it!”
His warm, enthusiastic words were greeted with a prolonged silence, but the seagull felt a rush of affection for the eccentric creature he’d saved from certain death.
Something exceptional passed between them and there was no doubt that Peg Leg and Lorimer were going to Sylvania with Jock Craw whether he liked it or not.
Queen Celestina was troubled by the disturbing turn of events in her world but she is no stranger to anxiety. By fairy standards she’s young, fit and strong and she’s more than capable of taking fear by the throat and wrestling it into submission. She raised her platinum and diamond wand and deftly drew her name and password in stars before the unrelenting projection of limestone. The rock dissolved in a shimmering, grey mist and Celestina stepped through with Hamish to join the other members of the Clandestine Council before the rock silently returned to its former, impregnable state.
The barrel-vaulted chamber is situated deep within the limestone outcrop beneath the castle and is only accessible to those who know its exact location and the powerful combination of magic that enables them to enter. The room was washed in rosy light from torches on the walls and a log fire crackled in the open hearth. A hunched, shaggy figure was silhouetted against the flames and the torchlight glittered in its soulful yellow eyes.
Celestina crouched down in front of the wolf and stroked his silvery mane. “Thank you for coming. I know you’d rather be at your post.”
She greeted the others in a relaxed, informal manner, taking time to exchange a few words with each of them.
The Queen and the Prince sat at either end of the ocean jasper table. “Will you join us, Grimpen?” The wolf took his place next to Celestina. Sammy sat in a precise coil on a large cushion to the right of the Queen with Alfie beside him. Indigoletta was sitting on an ornamental perch opposite the snake with a distinctly uneasy Crawford teetering beside her.
The Royal Raven requires plenty of space, being an expansive, demonstrative creature. She gestures extravagantly and Crawford knew before long he’d have to duck out of her way or be dashed to the floor. Jock, not being a perch sort of guy, was pacing around on the table in front of Prince Hamish.
Before the meeting got underway, the First Imp to the Royal Raven was sworn in as ‘Attendant to the Clandestine Council’. Will was deeply honoured by this further promotion which had to be kept under wraps; but to know he was trusted so completely was beyond rewarding. He experienced a pang that he couldn’t share his good fortune with the Captain of the Impfantry. The look of disgust on Twitchett’s florid face would have been a joy to behold, not that the Captain would have known about the Clandestine Council in the first place, something even more thrilling.
The newly-appointed Attendant nipped off to fetch trays of food and refreshments which he placed at intervals along the highly polished table. He put a dish in front of Grimpen. “Martha Snowberry prepared this specially for you, sir.” The wolf inspected the juicy slices of pie with quiet satisfaction.
Will gave a deep bow, laced with a cheeky grin. “As my Grannie would say, ‘Get tore in!’”
Indigoletta smiled maternally. “Have no fear, we certainly won’t be backwards about coming forwards.” She cast an appreciative eye over the spread. “What a feast.”
Hamish caught the young elf gently by the arm. “Don’t go, Will. You’re a member of the council now.”
The imp gaped at him. “I’m your new attendant, sir. No more, no less.”
Hamish smiled warmly at his wife. “Dearest, would you care to explain?”
Celestina rose in a fragrant cloud of oyster silk and lace, the firelight glinting on her long dark hair. She moved gracefully towards the imp who was standing beside the raven. Indigoletta beamed at him, pride radiating from her magnificent feathers.
“Right from the start the Royal Raven recognised rare and highly-prized qualities in you, not least of all, those of loyalty and trust. You are one of the inner circle now, so sit down and tuck in. We have a long night ahead of us.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty, but where am I to sit?”
Celestina flicked her wand and a perfectly proportioned chair materialised out of a swirling spiral of stars.
Alfie patted the pea-green velvet cushion. “There you go, Will, sit here next to me.”
The imp relaxed into the soft contours of the cushions. “It fits like a…”
“Chair?” Indigoletta offered helpfully.
“Aye, ma’am.” The imp stretched his legs and wriggled his toes inside his boots. “And the most comfortable there ever was.”
Will realised everyone’s eyes were on him. He sat up at once. “I didn’t mean to be flippant, Your Majesty.” He felt awkward and shy, two feelings which are not part of his usual repertoire. What he said next was clearly heartfelt. “I’m your devoted subject and I’ll serve you ’til the end of my days.”
Celestina responded with quiet conviction. “I know that, Will, and it’s profoundly comforting. Indigoletta’s instinct is never wrong. Now it’s time we got down to business. There’s much to discuss, not least the arrival of two more uninvited guests from Irvine, friends of yours, I believe, Jock.”
If a crow could be described as sheepish, then that’s how he looked. “In my own defence I’m obliged to say it’s really only one uninvited guest. I did ask the seagull to accompany me.”
“If you want him here, that’s good enough for me,” said the Queen emphatically. “But are you sure he’ll be able to cope with just the one leg?”
That was too much for the Royal Raven, who jumped down from her perch and stamped her foot in irritation. “Seagull! One leg! What’s all this about, Jock Craw?”
In the kerfuffle Crawford found himself hanging upside down from the perch.
Jock was losing patience. “If only you’d stop flapping around, ma’am, I’d be able to tell you.”
“Well I never! Nobody talks to the Royal Raven like that, not even you.” Indigoletta was seriously put out and completely unaware of Crawford’s predicament.
Grimpen watched the ridiculous scene unfolding in front of him, wondering if there was anything he could do to bring the situation under control.
Hamish had seen and heard enough. He thumped his fist on the table. “This is a meeting of the Clandestine Council, not a rehearsal for the palace pantomime.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself, sir,” said Sammy, catching hold of the reins of the runaway council. “Peg Leg, that’s the seagull, Indigoletta…”
“I’ve managed to grasp that much, I’m not a blithering idiot.”
The Prince of Cobalt-Sibilance ignored her outburst and continued. “The gull arrived here with what can only be described as a flashily attired lobster.”
Alfie scrutinized the snake’s formidable face. “Very witty, SSS.”
Sammy narrowed his eyes and his forked tongue flicked in and out impatiently.
“Staggering pixies! You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Never more so.”
“Where are they now?” asked the astounded elf.
“They’re waiting for you at the palace.”
“Waiting for me; how come?”
“I thought that would be for the best,” said Celestina. “I’ve decided they ought to be in your care, at least for the time being. You’ll have to keep a sharp eye on that lobster; he’s one of a kind.”
“So it would appear,” Jock said under his breath. “I can’t imagine why Peg Leg allowed him to tag along.”
“I don’t think he had much choice in the matter. In my brief experience of Lorimer it’s pretty clear he’s one determined crustacean.”
The crow plucked irritably at his white feathers. “How on earth did they manage to tip up at the palace?”
The Queen’s smile was slow and catlike. “That was entirely down to Hosepipe Snout. He happened upon the unlikely duo wandering around on the shores of Moonglow Lake. The hedgehorn was flabbergasted when he saw the lobster, understandable in view of Lorimer’s stupendous apparel. The one-legged gull didn’t go unremarked upon either. The warden sent word to Crawford and your cousin, brave soul that he is, interrupted Moriarty’s afternoon snooze to send him here with the distinctly sound suggestion that Peg Leg and Lorimer be brought to the palace for safe keeping.”
Crawford was proud enough to burst the seams of his fashionable dove-grey waistcoat, but he was also anxious for news of Moriarty, something Celestina had anticipated.
“Our guests have made themselves very much at home in the palace and seem totally at ease in their unfamiliar surroundings. Moriarty saw to that, he’s so thoughtful. He even introduced them to Kismet and Wainscot. When I looked in before I came down here, Lorimer was taking a dip in the saltwater spa and Peg Leg was nibbling devilled shrimps, washed down with vintage kelp and bladderwrack tonic.”
“And what of Moriarty, Your Majesty?”
“Kismet, Wainscot and your dear little friend were entertaining our visitors with some of the most exceptional music I’ve ever heard. Why didn’t you tell us Moriarty is an accomplished harmonica player?”
Crawford’s face was a picture of incredulity. “You didn’t know?”
The little crow was starting to feel giddy but he forced himself to respond cheerfully. “It’s joyous news to me, Your Majesty. Here was I thinking he could only play a highly-strung haggis.”
The words had escaped before he could stop them.
The Queen was laughing so much that she had to take a turn around the room to calm herself. Even Hamish was struggling to keep a straight face.
“What’s wrong with us all tonight?” cried Celestina. “It’s most peculiar. The more we try to discuss the problems facing us, the more we seem to digress. What must you think of us, Grimpen? Clandestine Council meetings are not usually occasions for unbridled mirth.”
The Fairy Queen found herself on the receiving end of Sammy’s level gaze. “I think there might be reasons why we’re losing our focus and fragmenting at such a terrifying rate. I’m pretty sure we’re under assault from the growing negativity that’s pressing in on us from the dark side. It’s time to bring the power of the Giant Sapphire directly into this chamber. Before we leave here tonight, we shall all feel a lot less frivolous and a great deal stronger, physically and spiritually, something I’m sure you’ll be gratified to hear, Grimpen.”
Maligna lay on her wretched pallet in the sinkhole on the Island of Long Forgotten Dreams, her right arm draped listlessly over dead eyes that reflected the dark side of the soul. The curled, yellow fingernails on her left hand scratched idly against the damp rock floor by her bed.
“Psst!” No response. “I said, ‘PSST!’”
Time had abandoned her and the Harpie could barely summon enough energy to lift her head. A decrepit snail could have stopped for a cup of dandelion tea and a lettuce sandwich, pottered about among the cabbages and sprouts, and still have arrived home before time had managed to struggle out of bed. To cap it all, Maligna’s own self-serving actions meant she no longer had Cahoots. The Harpie was lost in loneliness and had anyone said - “Your anklet or the dragon?” - she might very well have chosen the latter.
An exasperated, short-fused wazwatt whispered angrily, “What’s wrong with you? Don’t just lie there. My time’s precious, I’ll have you know.”
Maligna stirred, but it was barely more than a flicker.
“Don’t put yourself out on my account,” hissed Minxie. “I’ve only battled raging seas and whirlpools, struggled across that spiteful, vicious reef in a force-ten-with-knobs-on gale, scaled the hateful undercliff and, as if that weren’t enough, plunged valiantly into the uncharted horrors of the tortuous caves on this miserable lost cause of an island. And, when I finally get here, all you can do is lie there like a deflated beachball.” The wazwatt paused to catch her breath. “Honestly! I’d heard you were seriously scary…”
Maligna turned her gaunt head slowly towards Minxie who was subjected to the full impact of her blank, indifferent eyes. “And I’d heard wazwatts could fly, so what’s all the fuss about?”
“Fair point, dearie,” replied the dainty creature without appearing to flinch before the Harpie’s chilling stare.
In spite of her lethargy, Maligna was interested enough to sit up. “Who are you and why are you here?”
“Charming! When was the last time you had a visitor? I’d be more grateful if I were you, but since you asked, I’m Minxie.”
The wazwatt flew towards the heavy iron grating high above them. The light filtering down was thin and grey like watery gruel and the only sound from above was that of the two guards snoring after a heavy lunch. A wazwatt could go mad in a place like this. She hastily descended and settled on the pallet next to Maligna. She moved closer to the Harpie and asked in a hushed voice, “Are there…em… no facilities?”
“Facilities?” Maligna smiled icily through chapped, bone-dry lips. “Does it look like there are facilities?”
Minxie grimaced. “I’m sorry I raised the subject but it was the first thing that struck me about your predicament.”
“Don’t bother your furry wee head, Minxie. Being a Harpie, I have no need for, as you so quaintly call them, ‘facilities’, but a curly kelp bath with a whirlpool of seahorses would be most acceptable. Perhaps you’d like to arrange that for me? Could that be the purpose of your visit?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s not the porpoise of my visit.”
Maligna scowled at Minxie who carried on unabashed. The wazwatt gave a fetching mid-air twirl, delighted by her own wordplay. “By the way, you don’t have anything to do with that gormless dragon, do you?”
The Harpie sprang from the bed like a broken marionette miraculously restored.
Minxie laughed triumphantly. “Oh-ho, it seems I’ve pressed the right button or, more accurately, pulled the right string! So, you do know the little twit. I met him on my way here and, by my calculations, he should be well on his way to Corvine by now. That is where he’s headed, is it not?”
Maligna recovered her composure but she had a wary, closed-off look about her. She didn’t know whether this insolent article was friend or foe.
“You’re wondering why I’m here which is fair enough. The reason’s pretty mundane,” she drawled, studiously inspecting the claws on her right paw. “I have a message from ‘Captain’ Self Importance himself… dah-dee-dah, dah dah… your friend and mine, that wily old sea-dog and pirate par excellence, Pestilence Grimshaw.” The wazwatt had the Harpie’s undivided attention. “I hope his cryptic message makes sense to you. I can’t make head nor tail of it myself.”
Maligna’s jaw was so tightly clenched that Minxie was bolstering herself against a possible barrage of shattered teeth. “I take it those guards are likely to be out for the count for some time.” Maligna nodded. “Well then, here goes: ‘The plump partridge is on the wobbly wicket’.”
Maligna’s eyes became coal-black slits. “You can’t be serious,” she growled. “That’s not code, that’s gibberish.”
Minxie giggled. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me there. What I meant to say was…”
When Pigsblanket arrived back at The Mischief Maker he was informed by the landlord that the pirate captain had already left, something which surprised the lad. This was a departure from Grimshaw’s usual routine when he was in port. The boy felt uneasy and knew he was likely to be in serious trouble, as ever through no fault of his own.
“Was there any message, Mr Slack?” He crossed his fingers, desperately hoping the answer would be ‘no’.
“Yes, lad, there was.”
The boy’s narrow shoulders slumped and he couldn’t bear to look the landlord in the face.
“His precise words were: ‘Tell that feckless, cowardly, snivelling, shiftless…’” Jem donned his smeary spectacles and scrutinised the pad on the bar. “I wrote it down somewhere. Cap’n Grimshaw was most partic’lar. Let me see… yes, here it is: ‘Tell that feckless, cowardly, snivelling, shiftless, rattling bag of - hang on a minute, I can’t read m’own handwriting, oh aye, that’s it - ‘rattling bag of soon-to-be-broken bones that I want to see him in my cabin this side of midnight’.”
Slack glanced up at the clock behind him and back at Pigsblanket’s face which was draining of what little colour it had to start with. The boy’s haunted eyes sunk further back into his skull.
“You’ve blown that then. It’s already a quarter after midnight.” The landlord felt a twinge of sympathy for Pigsblanket. He’d been on the receiving end of Grimshaw’s anger more times than he cared to remember. “You’re late as it is, lad, and you look fair done in. I’ll have Gertie bring you some soup, shall I? On the house, that is…”
But Pigsblanket was already on his way out of the tavern.
The landlord’s dumpy wife was framed in the kitchen doorway and she had the saddest expression on her careworn face. “Oh, Jem, I wish we’d had children. We’d have cherished them, wouldn’t we?”
Jem gave his wife’s arm a quick squeeze. “Aye, lass. I’d like to think we would’ve.”
Gertie twisted the filthy dishcloth in her calloused hands. “Poor Pigsblanket.”
Less than two hours later the cabin boy lay bruised and battered in his hammock. His spirit was little more than the dying flicker of flame from a sputtering candle. Tears of futile rage ran down his face. How had it come to this and why did that monster Grimshaw hate him so much?
Pigsblanket’s earliest memory was of the buccaneer tormenting him. Grimshaw thrived on it and didn’t mind who knew about it either. He treated his crew with undisguised contempt and was happy to provide a punch on the nose or a smack in the mouth when the fancy took him, but with the cabin boy it was much more personal.
What upset Pigsblanket even more than the savage beating was that he’d finally broken down and told Grimshaw everything he’d witnessed. Anyone with a half-decent brain and the teensiest bit of common sense would have walked away, long before they saw too much, but not him, he just had to make sure the rat was alive and well which naturally Gilbert was, being as he was relaxed and full of ale when he hurtled down the mineshaft.
Had Pigsblanket followed his instinct, and not been such a caring soul, he would not have seen Leo stagger out from under the rubble into the moonlight and thereby discover that the cat and rodent were on first-name terms, something else he’d been forced to tell Grimshaw.
The cabin boy felt thoroughly wretched. What would Gilbert think when he realised who had betrayed him? The Giant Rat had shown him such kindness and this was how he repaid him. The boy slipped into a wintry wilderness of despair.
Not even Jedediah Malahyde had dared to come to his aid, fearing Grimshaw would turn his white-hot anger on him instead. The First Mate had never seen the buccaneer in such a rage and knew he’d best keep his trap shut. It seemed there was much more at stake than Malahyde had realised.
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