Contents of article "’Beyond the Hedge’ - Chapter 6"
’Beyond the Hedge’
The Royal Steed cantered through Old Rook Wood in the relaxed, effortless manner that is a distinctive feature of the Sylvanian Forest Cat.
Kismet galloped without making the slightest sound, not even the snap of a twig, nor the crackle of dead leaves. His fur constantly changed pattern to match his surroundings, giving him the ultimate disguise. This facility extends to howdah and passengers alike, although they are unaware of any change in their appearance.
Lorimer was careful to anchor himself firmly in his bucket to avoid being ejected for the second time. Peg had settled in a nest of eiderdowns with his chin on his chest, very nearly asleep after the rollercoaster ride he and Lorimer had been on since leaving Irvine.
Alfie joined the snake who was sitting in a slack coil among the embroidered cushions. “I’ve never travelled at speed with Kismet before, but it’s totally brilliant.” His voice had the breathless excitement of a child.
“Indeed it is, WAE, and quite astonishing in view of his size. The Queen chose well.”
“There’s only one thing that puzzles me.”
“And what’s that?” asked the snake with feigned innocence.
“Why the sudden change of pace?”
The snake tipped his crown forward at a studiously carefree angle and yawned. “It’s been a long, exhausting day, and I mentioned to Kismet the possibility of a bowl of choco-mead when we reach ‘Corbie Cottage’.”
“But there’s nothing exceptional about that.”
The Prince of Cobalt-Sibilance closed his eyes, indicating he had no more to say on the matter, and Alfie stared in fascination as the snake slipped into a trance.
Will was standing up front on the steps which run round the inside of the howdah. He could barely see over the top.
“Who’re you?” said an imperious voice.
The imp craned his neck but couldn’t see who had spoken to him.
“I’m up here!”
Will blinked in happy surprise. “Bless me, so you are. You’ll have to forgive me, I’ve never seen a fairy mouse in the fur before, not even one sitting on a cushion on a giant cat’s head. You’re an endangered species, are you not, particularly those in the rare lilac and blue livery like yourself.”
“So, what’s it to you if we are? You haven’t introduced yourself and I’m not in the habit of talking to strangers, not even a smarty-pants imp who can see in the dark.”
Will laughed out loud. “A wise decision if you’re an endangered species. Is that why you stay so close to the big guy?”
The fairy mouse tried to hide her amusement. “That’s one of the reasons. Now, who are you?”
“I’m Will, Attendant to the Royal Raven.”
“And I’m Wainscot, Attendant to the Royal Steed.”
“Is that a fact?”
The fairy mouse giggled and fell back on the cushion. “Aren’t we an important pair?”
Kismet slowed down to a trot when they emerged from the darkest part of the wood and joined the track that led to Alfie’s cottage. He stopped smoothly by the garden gate.
Sammy’s eyes snapped open and he whizzed over the side of the howdah.
“Hey, wait for me!” shouted the elf. He made a grab for his Lincoln green hat and stumbled after the snake who could scarcely be seen for fairy dust. SSS had already slithered between two of the vertical slats in the gate and was motoring up the path. He needed to assure himself that all was well before Alfie came anywhere near the cottage.
The house was unnaturally silent and the front door was shut fast. Most concerning of all was the lack of cheerful, ‘I’m-so-glad-you’re-here’ barks from Pongo.
Pogo heard voices outside and made for the parlour where she opened the curtains a chink. At first she couldn’t see anything other than the moonlit garden and the wood beyond but she was pretty sure she could hear her husband’s voice and Sammy’s as well.
Kismet realised he was still in full camouflage mode and switched himself back to one of his preferred colour combinations, in this instance luminous lemon with tangerine tiger stripes.
The pixie jumped back from the window when the Sylvanian Forest Cat materialised out of the night.
Sammy called Pogo’s name and thumped the door with his tail. Relief washed over her and she ran into the hall to let him in. Pongo peered round the kitchen door with his hackles on full alert.
“It’s all right, boy, the cavalry’s arrived.”
She flung the door open and, in her agitation, grabbed Sammy by the neck. “Am I glad to see you, SSS.”
The snake gulped politely. “The feeling’s more than mutual, PP, but would you consider loosening your grip on my throat?”
Alfie bounded up the path to be met by the sight of his wife apparently throttling the Prince of Cobalt-Sibilance. Pogo let go of the snake, with a hasty apology, and hugged her husband instead. “I’m so glad you’re home. What a time we’ve had of it.”
Sammy nudged Alfie into the house. “I’ll see to the others. You’re going to have a pretty full house tonight, Pogo. We mustn’t take advantage of your hospitality, shall I have the Royal Steed wait by the gate?”
“Absolutely not. He can stretch out along the path and have his supper in the front garden with Wainscot.”
Pongo buzzed around making sure everyone was being taken care of. “More choco-mead, Will? Pogo’s just made a fresh pot. Queen Celestina’s certainly done us proud, that hamper’s jam-packed with tasty treats.”
The dog stopped in front of Sammy. “What a to-do. We were scared witless. And then to crown it all, platinum and sapphire crown, of course, SSS, we were visited by a scrogwit. You should have seen Sandy. She gave that disgusting creep what for!”
Pongo took a step backwards and fell over Jamie.
“So nice of you to drop in, I’ll have some squid if there’s any left, failing that there’s always the lobster.”
When the full impact of the cat’s words hit the target with the lobster’s face on it, Lorimer began thrashing and flailing around in a state of panic. He donned his fabulous goggles in a defiant gesture but why he thought they might be of assistance was anyone’s guess.
“Excellent eye gear,” said the dog with genuine admiration. “Those goggles set your cozzie off a treat. Now please don’t distress yourself, Jamie wouldn’t dream of eating you.”
The lobster appeared to relax slightly, until the Siamese added mischievously, “Not unless there really isn’t any more squid.”
Sandy saw how distressed Lorimer was and tiptoed towards him through the sprawl of bodies.
The lobster scrambled out of his silver bucket and wedged himself under the rocking chair.
She knelt down beside him. “Pay no attention to Jamie,” she said, trying to coax the beast out before a preoccupied Alfie cracked him open when he swung back on his chair.
“There’s no need to flip your lid, the cat’s only teasing you,” Peg said sleepily, “and, if he’s not, I’ll try to save you yet again.”
Lorimer scooted towards his bucket. “Why is it with me that everything comes back to pots, lids and hot water? It’s most disturbing.”
Alfie was so distracted he’d failed to notice what was going on around him. Sammy finally managed to attract his attention. “Where’s Jock?”
The crow stepped into the kitchen when he heard his name. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with Ralph. The Craw Cauldron’s right up the creek and I can’t keep rattling back and forth either; the security implications are far too serious. We’ll just have to find another way to communicate.”
The lobster settled back into his spacious bucket and playfully squeaked the rubber duck which had found its way down from the bathroom courtesy of Sandy. “Are you sure Estella won’t mind if I play with Mildred?”
The question was met with a perplexed silence. How did he know the duck’s name, or about the absent child called Estella?
Lorimer bobbed up and down contentedly. Sylvania was frighteningly strange but at the same time strangely familiar. The crustacean was starting to feel at home.
Pogo was particularly puzzled by Lorimer’s apparent knowledge of her daughter but decided to pursue the subject later. It was time to adjourn to the parlour.
Sammy stopped beside Sandy on his way out of the kitchen. “Keep an eye on things and call if you need us. No more heroics, particularly when it comes to scrogwits.” The serpent fixed the Siamese with a stern look. “As for you, stop teasing the lobster, and don’t go getting any ideas either, Pongo.”
“Whatever you say, Your Princeliness.” The dog narrowed his close-set, intelligent eyes. “Why don’t you try using Pogo’s seashell to contact Ralph, the magic one you gave her when she and Alfie were married.”
The snake was clearly impressed. “What a very good idea, but how did you know about the shell in the first place? You weren’t even born then.”
The dog was tickled pink. He tapped the side of his nose with his paw. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
Pogo stepped back into the room. “I heard that, Pongo. You’re getting far too lippy for my liking.”
“Maybe so,” said the snake drily, “but you have to admit it’s a splendid suggestion.”
Storm clouds gathered out beyond Corvine Harbour.
The sunset was an open wound trailing bloodclots of dark red clouds in its wake. The sky had the intensity and desperation of a doctor who is unable to save his dying patient, not through lack of skill on his part, but because fate in the shape of some meddlesome gremlin has made off with all the bandages.
Grim blankets of mist gathered at the harbour mouth and spectres of jaundiced sea fog floated in over the lower stories of the palace like restless wraiths, condemned to drift round and round for eternity.
The Fairy Queen stood on the highest balcony, her eyes fixed on a distant point to the northwest and the Island of Long Forgotten Dreams.
Celestina was gripped by flutters of fear round her heart. An unknown yet all-too-familiar terror tugged at the coat-tails of her consciousness. When she tried to bring the fragmented memory to the front of her mind it slipped further away.
The young queen sensed potent evil radiating from Long Forgotten Dreams. The Harpie’s anklet was deep in the vaults under Moonglow Lake but Celestina had been acutely aware of Maligna’s mood change long before the first reports ever reached her. The Harpie’s star was rising and it terrified her.
Rolls of thunder rumbled out in the bay and jagged streaks of lightning mutilated the sky above dense fog banks over Fractal Reef.
Celestina wanted to rush from the balcony down through the vast palace to make sure her precious daughter was safe and sound in the nursery.
It was ridiculous to give way to fears worthy of a mere mortal when she could engage the unique magic and awesome power that is the preserve of the Fairy Queen.
She gazed inward through her mind’s eye and saw Tabby sleeping peacefully. Sarah, her governess, was embroidering a cushion cover by fairy starlight beside the child’s bed. She heard Sarah politely ask the stars to come closer and form a constellation over the detail of needlepoint she was working on.
Tabitha was in good hands but Celestina sent a spell of protection to the nursery all the same. The magic was transported in a small chariot of sapphire stars drawn by a pair of tiny unicorns. She watched the dainty beasts trot through the air into the solarium before they broke into a canter by the spiral staircase leading to the main part of the palace. The enchanted carriage disappeared in a dissolving galaxy of spiralling stars. Perhaps Tabby might surface from her dreams just long enough to see the spell delivered.
The deluge came unexpectedly and Celestina found herself a captive audience of one. The water fell in torrents quickly turning the balcony into a fast-running stream. The drains struggled to dispose of the rain which was forming deep, swirling pools at her feet but she remained where she was, mesmerised by a sky the unappetising colour of raw liver. Angry clouds churned and boiled as they were ripped apart by malicious bolts of sulphur yellow lightning.
The Queen’s bodyguard of white-winged rooks cawed raucously and took to the air from the glass roof above the balcony. They flew in well-practiced formations above her head. The leader of the squadron restlessly scanned the horizon, searching for any danger that might threaten his sovereign before he swept down onto the balustrade in front of her.
Celestina was frozen in time, oblivious to the presence of the black and white bird or the torrents of rain that soaked her hair and seeped through her clothes. The rook inched towards her only to find she was no longer there. Her physical form was standing on the palace balcony high above Corvine but her spirit was far away on the deadly island where Maligna the Harpie schemed and plotted her downfall.
The dark blue hare sped through the tunnel that winds its way from the top of the cliffs above the palace through a labyrinth of small caves. It eventually emerges at the foot of a cataract which cascades from the rock high above the floor of a small cavern. The tunnel shadows the river as it rushes over limestone boulders worn smooth by its unending quest for a quieter life.
The fast-moving water was clear and cold and Cassandra stopped for a refreshing drink.
The hare knew all the disused mines and tunnels around Corvine intimately and something felt very wrong with this one. She couldn’t work out what it was but her instinct told her she was in danger. She sniffed the air and listened hard for anything out of the ordinary which was when she became aware of a slight but persistent vibration beneath her feet.
Cassandra had experienced earth tremors before but this felt far more sinister. She frowned in confusion, not knowing whether to press on or retrace her steps. The decision was abruptly taken for her when she was knocked to the ground by the unrestrained force of an earthquake. The tunnel was blocked in less than the blink of an eye.
The hare lay stunned under a mass of shattered limestone choking on clouds of billowing dust. She was too weak and scared to move at first and lay panting for what seemed like an age before she finally summoned up the courage to crawl through a gap in the rubble.
The course of the river had been altered by the quake and not for the first time in its long life. Rivers are adaptable, free spirits; when it comes down to it, one route’s as good as any other and perhaps this one would lead to that dreamed of, tranquil retirement. Its days of being a carefree, babbling brook were long gone.
Cassandra plunged gratefully into the churning water. When she touched the bottom she pushed up with her strong back legs and paddled to the surface again.
The hare dragged herself out onto a large rock to rest and recover. Her fur was slicked to her body and she was practically indiscernible against the dark, shiny boulder, which proved just as well in view of what happened next.
A harsh, rasping voice, no more than a few feet from where she lay, spat out five gloating words. “We’re on our way home!”
The hare willed herself invisible and slowed her breathing down until it was lighter than a dandelion seed floating on the breeze. Cassandra opened one eye no more than a slit and immediately wished she hadn’t done so. The brute she found herself so perilously close to was the stuff of fevered nightmares and wild imaginings. It was draped in bloodied animal skins and carried a blazing torch.
The snaglip began to growl like a demented bear. When it flung its head from side to side droplets of saliva flew from its mouth, hissing horribly as they hit the water. The beast cursed and shrank away, pulling anxiously at tufts of matted hair on its chin. “We must move away from this horrid river. Come now, my little scrablings, we’ve much to do.”
The brute shambled towards the boulders blocking the tunnel and threw them aside as if they were made of candy floss.
Cassandra could hear excited, gabbling voices coming from the tunnel behind her.
“Wait for us, Balebreath,” called the scrabling at the head of the horde with a flash of razor-sharp teeth, “our little leggies aren’t as long as yoursies.”
Hundreds of small furry creatures poured out of the tunnel like swarming termites. They flowed over every available bit of ground, including the rock where Cassandra lay. Nasty little claws dug into her skin but she kept still and silent throughout her ordeal. When she could no longer hear their incessant, mindless chatter, the hare furtively opened her eyes. She found herself alone again and sighed with gratitude. All she could hear was the sound of the river and the pounding of her own heart.
Gilbert lay on his back in a large hammock, hands clasped round his ample tummy, tail dangling carelessly over the side. He hummed a little tune under his breath, contemplating his fate with customary cheerfulness.
Since his arrival in Sylvania he’d lurched from one disaster to another, without actually coming to any real harm, so the chances were he’d come through this one unscathed too. “Ho hum, Pestilence is a strange one,” he said, nodding his head thoughtfully. “One minute it’s ‘Make way for Gilbert, you ill-mannered wretches’ and the next it’s ‘Clap him in irons, Mr Leitzoff’.”
“Hardly,” said the voice from the other hammock. “You’re not even tied up, Gilb, and I don’t hear the sound of chains rattling either.”
The rat gave a hearty laugh. “That’s me, I’m afraid, prone to exaggeration. I’ve always had this melodramatic streak; it’s the frustrated actor in me, you know.”
“So that’s why you wear a neckerchief. Here was I thinking it was the Romany in your soul.”
Gilbert continued loftily, “It’s a bit of both really. I’m a complex creature with many dimensions to my personality.”
Leo tittered. “You wouldn’t be taking yourself too seriously now, would you? From where I’m swinging in this hammock it was your complex approach to matters that got us into this predicament; that combined with your inability, after an ale or six, to keep your gob shut or tell the good guys from the bad guys.”
Gilbert struggled to sit up but he was very much the novice when it came to hammocks. He hung over the side with a mournful expression on his big face. “How right you are, my wee pal. I can be a right idiot when I get a drinking head on and, at my age, I really should know better. I’ve made a complete bish of things. I’m supposed to be looking after you and, when it comes down to it, you’ve been doing your best to keep me out of trouble. It’s too shaming, it really is.”
“Och now, Gilbert, I was only teasing you, and neither one of us belongs in Sylvania so we’re bound to muck things up now and again.”
The Giant Rat’s whiskers twitched furiously. “It’s kind of you to make allowances for me, Leo, but I’ve been here long enough and I ought to know what’s what.” He stretched a paw towards the cat with the intention of giving him a reassuring pat. The weight of his substantial rear end launched him over the side and he landed chin down on the wooden floor with a resounding thump.
“There I go again,” he exclaimed with a merry chuckle, “but in my own defence these things are rather tricky when you’re not used to them.” The rat stood up and gave himself a good shake. “This floor’s grubby, not exactly ship-shape…”
He was cut short by a knock on the door of their stuffy little cabin. A key turned in the lock and the door opened just enough to reveal Pigsblanket’s head and right arm. “May I come in?” he asked tentatively.
Gilbert called out in his usual cheery manner. “Be our guest, dear boy, it’s jolly good to see a friendly face, I can tell you.”
Pigsblanket gave a nervous smile which made him wince. His lip had healed over but his face was a mass of bruises. “Your presence is requested for pre-dinner drinks in the Captain’s cabin. I’m to escort you there.”
“Preprandial refreshments, how very civilised.”
Leo loudly cleared his throat. “You won’t forget what we were just talking about, will you?”
“Have no fear, chumlet, I won’t make that mistake again.”
The cat was unconvinced but he jumped confidently out of his hammock and padded towards the door.
Gilbert adjusted his neckerchief and followed on behind. “Perhaps just the one to be sociable…”
Leo glanced at him suspiciously. “What was that?”
The Giant Rat waved his paw airily. “Nothing of any significance, just me blethering on as per usual.”
Pigsblanket walked along the narrow passageway with the easy grace of an experienced sailor. “Mind your step, gentlemen. There’s an almighty swell in the harbour tonight.”
The cabin door closed behind them and the Bosun playfully swung the large key round on the end of its chain before heading off in the opposite direction to join other members of the crew for supper.
“There’s no need to be formal with us. We’re not used to being called ‘gentlemen’, are we Leo?”
The boy looked over his shoulder and a shadow of fear flicked across his pale blue eyes. “Captain Grimshaw will have me flogged if he catches me being disrespectful.” He saw the concern on their faces and tried to make light of his remark with a rueful shrug.
The cat felt a shiver run through him for it was clear Pigsblanket meant exactly what he’d said.
Confirmation that Pestilence Grimshaw really was responsible for the injuries to the cabin boy sent a stab of fear to Leo’s stomach and he was ashamed of his cowardly self-interest. Grimshaw wasn’t about to harm him. The Captain of the Pirates had indicated almost as soon as they’d met that he planned to demand an enormous ransom from Queen Celestina for Leo’s safe return. But what of Gilbert? No one would care about the rat and they definitely wouldn’t pay anything to get him back. The Giant Rat was an enemy of the state with a catalogue of crimes to his name. Surely everyone would be glad to see the back of the hapless beast?
Pestilence eagerly awaited the arrival of Gilbert and Leo. He’d sent for a bottle of his finest sloeberry rum with which he planned to toast the health of his two ‘guests’. He responded to a rat-a-tat-tat on the cabin door.
“Come in,” he called in his friendliest tone; there was no need to scare the prisoners unnecessarily.
The heavy wooden door swung open and the buccaneer was surprised to see Jedediah Malahyde earlier than expected. The First Mate had a most peculiar expression on his face.
“Don’t just stand there, man,” Grimshaw barked impatiently.
Malahyde shifted from foot to foot in the doorway, casting around for the right words. “I have a small dragon with me who wants to see you at once. He says he has a message for you from his…er… mother.”
Grimshaw looked blankly at the First Mate and then an idea popped into his head. “Ask him where he’s come from?”
Malahyde turned towards the dragon who had heard the question loud and clear.
“The Island of Long Forgotten Dreams,” he called out obligingly.
“Scampering seahorses and frolicking flounders! What a spectacular day this is turning out to be. Send him in at once, Mr Malahyde. You’re dismissed for the time being, but this shouldn’t take long. Tell cook there will be one more for dinner and that it’s a dragon.” Pestilence doubled up with laughter. “I wish I could be there to see his face.”
Captain Henderson had returned to the harbour in the early evening to accompany the pilot who was bringing a large Russian tanker over the sandbar at the entrance to the port. With the vessel safely in dock, Ralph felt in need of a walk to clear his head before going home for a late supper with Tina. He’d confided in his wife before he left the house and she’d taken the news of Sandy and Jamie’s quest for Leo with remarkable equanimity. She knew only too well that her daughter was a determined individual who wouldn’t rest until she found her precious cat.
They had no secrets and Tina knew all about Ralph’s adventures in Sylvania as a boy. Despite her own fascination with the parallel world of fairy folk, she had never been keen on her daughter going there and was hugely relieved when Sandy finally stopped pestering her Dad about meeting Alfie and Pogo.
Ralph stood on the shore beyond the Pilot Station watching the sun set over the island of Arran. So much had happened since he’d arrived at work on his younger daughter’s 11th birthday. Sandy, Jock and Jamie were in Crawdonia and he was desperate for more news. He was also curious to find out whether Jock had persuaded Peg Leg to go back with him.
The harbourmaster thought he was alone until he heard the crackle of a transistor radio. He was mildly irritated by the intrusion and walked further along the beach.
The sound moved with him and he decided it was time to confront the annoying pest with the radio. When he discovered there was no one around he was forced to look closer to home for the answer. A distorted voice was coming from the inside pocket of his jacket where he kept a cowrie shell he’d had since he was a lad. These shells are considered to be very lucky and are reputed to bring their custodian much good fortune. The idea that the shell might have special qualities had always appealed to him and he rarely went anywhere without it.
“Ralph, can you hear me? It’s no good, I’m shouting my head off but there’s no response. I’ll give it one more go.” There was a slight pause. “It’s Jock, Captain… I’m practically hoarse, SSS, why don’t you give it a whirl?”
Ralph could scarcely believe what he was hearing when he held the shell to his ear. “It’s SSS, Captain. If you’re receiving me please speak clearly into the shell.” Then in a faint but audible aside to Jock, “That’s if he still keeps it with him…”
Ralph put the shell to his mouth. If anyone were to see him they’d think he was a haggis short of a Burns’ Supper, but that was a chance he simply had to take. “Sammy, it’s Ralph. Boy oh boy is it good to hear your voice again after all these years.”
..........and if you just can’t wait for each weekly episode, you can buy ’Beyond the Hedge’
here
