Contents of article "’Beyond the Hedge’ - Chapter 9 Part 1"
’Beyond the Hedge’
Jimlet was basking in the warmth of his unexpected popularity. Not only were Smidge and Filch giving him their undivided attention, something hardly worth boasting about, but the gaunt figure by the bar was also watching him closely. Jimlet was flattered and tried to draw Malahyde into the conversation but the First Mate wouldn’t be drawn. This caused the young gnome to double his efforts; he was full of himself and wanted to be noticed.
Pigsblanket sat in grateful silence beside Malahyde, pleased to be out of the Skipper’s unrelenting spotlight. The boy was tired - soul, brain and bone tired - and he couldn’t deny how grim he felt.
He was jolted out of his weariness by a squawk from Smidge. “Go awn then, Jimlet, give us a proper look at this ’ere bracelet if izz that speshul.”
The gnome gave an annoying smirk while he savoured the hold he had over his stupid pals. He thrust his hand deep into his waistcoat pocket and fished out an object wrapped in a large spotted handkerchief which he proceeded to taunt them with. “Want a peek then, do you, lads?” He waved the bundle in front of them and lifted a flap of cloth enticingly.
Jedediah was impaled on a stiletto of light which escaped from the darkness. The searing pain brought him to his knees, and he knew there was no mistake; that ridiculous, posturing oaf held the Harpie’s anklet in his pudgy hand.
The cabin boy’s paper-thin voice faltered. “Mr M-malahyde, what’s wrong?”
Jedediah’s forehead was laced with beads of perspiration and his usually intense, hawkish eyes were dull and unresponsive. He spoke in a whisper. “I’m blind, lad, I can’t see a thing, but never mind that now, just get that fool over there to shut up.” Malahyde anticipated the unasked question. “The idiot with the spotted handkerchief, is he still waving it around?”
“Aye, sir, but what shall I say?”
Malahyde’s vision was beginning to clear and he was flooded with profound relief when the boy’s features swam towards him out of the mist. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort him out myself. My sight’s returning, thank heavens, but I don’t mind telling you that was damned frightening.”
Pigsblanket was close to fainting; the situation had gone beyond bizarre into the realms of nightmarish unreality.
The First Mate stepped forward and, slipping his hand under Jimlet’s elbow, swung him round. “There you are. I’ve been trying to find you for ages. My boss wants a word with you, pronto.”
Malahyde’s commanding figure was daunting, particularly to someone less than half his size with a brain smaller than Jedediah’s clenched fist.
“Who’s your gaffer and what does he want with me?” The gnome’s confidence was draining away and his bravado had already legged it out the door.
Filch nudged Smidge in his well-padded ribs. Things were shaping up very nicely and he couldn’t wait to see how Jimlet was going to pull this one off without getting a bloody nose, and serve him right if he did.
Malahyde maintained his calm exterior. “Captain Pestilence Grimshaw, that’s who, and he doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Get your skates on. He’s over there by the fire.”
Jimlet gaped at the First Mate, amazed and impressed at the same time. “You work for that nutter?”
Smidge and Filch doubled up with laughter and made to follow their chum but Malahyde raised his hand to stop them. “You two stay right where you are. Take my word for it, you’re better off here.”
In spite of his well-practised, fearless demeanour, Jedediah’s heart was thumping in his chest and he was deeply affected by his horrifying introduction to the anklet. His eyes burned and his throat ached and he was having difficulty keeping his breakfast down. The pirate was genuinely frightened for the first time in his life.
Malahyde is not an evil person. Misguided, drunken, harsh; these are all charges that might be laid against him, but of far greater significance is his state of isolation. He’s one of life’s misfits who lives in a world where violence is the key to survival and a cosy fire, enjoyed in the convivial company of a few trusted friends, is inconceivable. Grimshaw needs the First Mate and his subordinates fear him, but Jedediah walks alone, wrapped in a cloak of solitary seclusion.
Malahyde had experienced first-hand the sinister power of the anklet and the anklet had recognised Malahyde and the part he might play in its destiny. The pirate was consumed by the desire to keep everything exactly as it was, to carry on his day-to-day existence as a buccaneer. It wasn’t such a bad life, with treasure to be had and more than his fair share of adventures. Why rock the boat now?
Jedediah teetered on the edge of the endless void and tasted the fear. He had to tread carefully, keep his thoughts under wraps and, more than anything, give the anklet a wide berth. He tapped Jimlet as casually as he could on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, lad. I thought you were someone else. My mistake. Go back and join your pals.”
But it was too late and there was no going back. Pestilence Grimshaw was already getting to his feet. The captain of the pirates extended a hand towards the young gnome. “Good to meet you, boy. What’s your poison?”
Hamish stopped by at first light to check on his daughter while she slept in the royal nursery. Her governess, Sarah, was asleep in the room between the nursery and Tabitha’s bedroom, her embroidery set aside until the morning. Tabitha’s elven guardians stepped forward to greet the Prince and usher him into his daughter’s suite of rooms.
The elves were dressed in grey velvet stitched with pearls from the freshwater oyster beds of the Sprinting River. Coralie had a quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder and held a light-weight titanium bow. Meriel carried no conventional weapon but her hand loosely encircled a staff of petrified wood from the sacred site of the Twisted Oak. Thousands of years earlier this tree had occupied the spot where ‘Corbie Cottage’ now stands. Wood from the oak is prized for its benign magical properties and is greatly valued for its powers of protection.
“Was all well here during the night?”
“Not even the atrocious weather caused the princess any distress, sir,” Meriel replied. “She didn’t wake once. Her Majesty’s spell saw to that.”
Hamish nodded thoughtfully. “I heard about that charming bit of magic. Is the Queen here? I haven’t seen her these past few hours.”
“Her Majesty’s with Princess Tabitha,” said Coralie.
The Prince gave no outer signs of the relief he felt. He thanked them both, then gently applied pressure to a carved rose on the linen-fold panelling. The concealed door slid open to reveal a small passageway that led directly to the nursery, bypassing the governess’s room.
Hamish stepped through into his daughter’s bedroom to find her sleeping soundly. Her long hair was spread out on the pillow and she lay with her hand tucked underneath her chin.
He wasn’t in the least perturbed to see a lioness curled up on the end of his daughter’s bed for his wife took many forms. The tawny beast was breathing lightly and there was the faintest sound of snoring, but her body was taught as a coiled spring. Visual signs of the spell of protection had all but vanished, leaving the merest trace of sapphire stars above Tabitha’s head.
The little unicorns stood on the table beside the bed, their elegant heads bowed, their eyes closed. They were not asleep, just resting, and when they became aware of the Prince they trotted towards him. Hamish patted first one, then the other with the tip of his forefinger; he was pleased to see a tiny manger of hay with a pail of water nearby.
His dark, soulful eyes took in the peaceful scene and he stooped to kiss Tabitha lightly on the cheek. Hamish chose not to disturb the lioness. His wife was very much in need of sleep and this mighty incarnation enabled her to rest and protect her daughter at the same time. Besides, Tabby had told him many times over that she slept resoundingly well when one of the royal cats was allowed to sleep on the end of her bed.
“My word, Leo, what a commotion. If I was hurled out of my hammock once in the early hours I was hurled out a dozen times. It’s just as well I had my sea-legs on.” The giant rat’s pink eyes were bright with excitement. “The sea’s in my blood and that’s an exciting discovery.”
Leo yawned and stretched in the neighbouring hammock. “But we haven’t even shipped anchor, Gilb, and I can’t say I’m sorry. It was cutting up rough in the harbour last night and I don’t fancy my chances out there on the open sea. I’m definitely more of a landlubber.”
Gilbert’s tummy rumbled and he gave it a friendly pat. “Each to his own, dear wee chum. It would be a dull old world if we all liked the same things.” The rodent rolled out of his hammock and gave himself a thorough shake. “D’you reckon we might be able to scare up some breakfast? I’m fair famished. I wouldn’t want PG to think I was ungrateful for that was a veritable slap-up feast last night but the sea air has increased my appetite.”
Leo experienced yet another rush of affection for the rat. His ability to make the best of any situation and his cheerful optimism continued to amaze the cat, as did Gilbert’s capacity for food, but then he wasn’t called the Giant Rat for nothing.
“I expect we’re locked in again, but I might as well find out.” He rattled the handle on the cabin door which was immediately thrown open. Leitzoff greeted him with a slack-jawed smile. “Mornin’ ratty. What can I do for you?”
“I must say the service is jolly good on this brigantine. We’d like a spot of breakfast, Bosun. Scrambled eggs with cheese, mushrooms, tomatoes, fried bread, sausages and two rounds of toast and marmalade, please.” Gilbert looked over his shoulder. “Would you like a little smoked salmon with that?”
Leo couldn’t even begin to respond, his sense of the ridiculous had reduced him to silent laughter but he managed to nod his head and squeeze out a few words. “Easy on the mushrooms and tomatoes, I’m not sure if I like them or not.” He collapsed back in his hammock, struggling for breath.
The Bosun didn’t know what to make of them and wasn’t sure whether to tell them to get knotted or rush off and organise their grub. They were the Captain’s guests after all, so he reckoned he’d better have Trencher Halibut pull out all the stops. “Right, gentlemen, I’ll get onto that right away. Would you like something to wash it down with?”
Leo was beyond help and was biting on the side of the hammock. Gilbert didn’t dare make eye contact with his friend for fear of braying like a donkey. “A pot of tea for two would be nice,” he squeaked, in a voice most unlike his own.
“Right you are, gents.” Leitzoff closed the door and they heard the key turn in the lock. His footsteps receded and when they felt he was out of earshot they exploded.
“Crikey,” said Leo, “this is all getting out of hand. I’m virtually hysterical. What’s going on?”
Gilbert was dancing the rat equivalent of a sailor’s hornpipe, nimble and dainty on his neat little feet. “I’m feeling a wee bit lightheaded myself. I might think it was something we ate, but a morsel hasn’t passed our lips for at least six hours!”
There was a thump on the door. “Gilbert, Leo, it’s me.”
“I’d know that tail thump anywhere,” said the Abyssinian. He called out to the dragon. “Come on in but you’ll need the key.”
“Key?”
“We’re locked in.”
“How odd. So is Mother, but I intend to change that.”
“We’ve been meaning to ask you about your mother. Perhaps you’d care to join us for breakfast? Mr Leitzoff has the key and he’ll be back any minute.”
“I don’t need to wait for him. Stand back, chaps.” They could hear Cahoots sucking in a phenomenal amount of breath and a blast of smoke-tinged flames squirted through the keyhole. Leo flung himself against the wall. “Stand by your hammock, Gilb. He means business.”
There was a kerfuffle outside the cabin which culminated in a roar, a screech and an angry retort. “You’ve singed me eyebrows, burnt the sausages and stripped the varnish off the walls, you daft flame-thrower. The smoked salmon’s not looking too hot either.”
“What are you talking about? That salmon’s roasting,” said the dragon, trying to appear blasé. He’d given himself the collywobbles with the unexpected upturn in his smoke and fire-related abilities. These were only outmatched by the hourly increase in his size which he hadn’t noticed at all. It isn’t obvious unless you grow out of your clothes at an alarming rate and dragons don’t wear outer garments as a rule.
Leitzoff continued peevishly. “You only had to ask if you waz wantin’ to visit Cap’n Grimshaw’s guests. What’s wrong with the youff of today? No patience, that’s what’s wrong with ’em.” The Bosun squinted at the dragon through the gloom and scratched his head. “Blimey, is it me, or have you grown some since last night?”
Cahoots wasn’t listening but he was nodding politely. It was a case of blah, blah, blah-dee-blah. The aroma from the mushrooms had caught his attention. They smelt delicious. “Breakfast would be nice,” he simpered.
“Wouldn’t you know?” said an impudent voice behind the Bosun which made him jump. “That dragon’s about to stuff its face and here’s me run ragged trying to keep tabs on things!”
Leitzoff nearly dropped the breakfast platter when Minxie whizzed past him. “Where’s Captain Self-Importance anyway? I’m not in the mood for hanging around waiting for him.” The wazwatt began circling the Bosun’s head in a whirr of wings.
Cahoots was transported with joy. “You’re back. Hooray!”
“I’ll give you ‘hooray’, you daft eedjit.”
Gilbert was hopping about on the other side of the door, his ears cocked and his whiskers twitching. “What’s going on out there? Who’s back? Don’t keep us in suspense.”
“My goodness,” said Minxie, genuinely taken aback. “That almost sounds like the Giant Rat.”
“It is the Giant Rat,’ exclaimed the Giant Rat indignantly. “Who are you?”
“Don’t start ‘who are you-ing’ me.” The wazwatt inclined her neat little head. “Next thing you’ll be telling me Leo’s in there with you.”
“But he is!”
“Nice try, you big chump.” Minxie executed a half turn. “On the subject of big, you’re growing at an alarming rate, tinderbox.”
“So what. I’m a dragon, aren’t I? And, for your information, Leo really is in there, I had supper with them both last night. With Uncle Pestilence and Mr Malahyde.”
Minxie applied her air-brakes and drifted down until she was level with the dragon’s face. She fixed him with her piercing green eyes. “Honest,” he added emphatically.
“Good grief. This is an unexpected development. PG must be cock-a-hoop. Well done him.”
The Bosun angled the tray towards the wazwatt. “Crumbs, that breakfast looks appetising.”
Leitzoff favoured her with a lopsided smile. “Do you mind eatin’ with the Captain’s guests and this ’ere purple dragon?”
“Far from it, Mr L. I’ve always wanted to meet Gilbert and I hear the much-sought-after cat from ‘Woodburn’ is with him as well. What a lucky break.”
“Cap’n Grimshaw’s well chuffed, he is. Mind you, he’s blazing mad that we haven’t been able to leave port.”
“I can see why, Bosun, he’s a veritable sitting duck.”
“His very words, miss.”
“So where is he then?”
“Gone ashore on some very hush-hush business. Taking a risk, if you ask me. The Queen’s imps-at-arms are swarmin’ all over Corvine.”
Minxie looped the loop. “Jings, if they only had a sniff of who was here, they’d board this brigantine at the double by the dozen.”
Gilbert and Leo had been listening to the conversation with acute interest when the rodent’s stomach rumbled and once more took centre stage. “Don’t let that breakfast get cold. We’re ravenous.”
The Bosun produced the key on the end of its long chain. “Keep yer fur on, ratty. I’m on me way.”
Minxie flew into the cabin behind the Bosun with a delighted Cahoots in her wake.
Ravenscroft made his way to Indigoletta’s quarters and found the great bird poring over ancient manuscripts in her study. “Madam! Madam! We found a hare in the cellars and she’s very sick.” The old butler had lost his customary reserve. He was agitated and his hands trembled. “Perkin Rawclaw’s taken her up to the infirmary and has sent for Her Majesty.”
“He’s done what? The Queen’s far to busy to be disturbed, as indeed am I. The palace vets will take care of the creature. Have her taken to them at once.”
“She’s too far gone for that, ma’am. I doubt she’d survive the move.”
Indigoletta put down the magnifying glass she held in her claw and gazed indignantly at her loyal retainer.
“Rawclaw thinks she’s been poisoned. The poor beast’s delirious and she’s covered in tiny cuts.”
The raven grew pale under her feathers. “Were the wounds crimson as a freshly cut pomegranate and was there a sweet, sickly smell about them?”
“Come to think of it, they were and there was a very strong odour, like aniseed tinged with almonds.”
Indigoletta launched herself from the desk in a flurry of feathers and Ravenscroft’s mane of white hair fell forward as she connected with his chest, frantically beating her wings. “Do you realise what this means?” The raven was met with blank incomprehension. “Scrablings, is what it means.” She hastily smoothed the old elf’s hair back into place with her wing-tips.
“I’m sorry, madam, you’ve lost me.”
“You’re too young to know what I’m talking about.”
“But I’m positively antiquated,” protested the butler.
“Comparatively speaking, y’understand.” Indigoletta returned to her perch in front of the desk. “Scrablings were long ago confined to the history books, or so I’d thought. This is grave news, and Perkin’s right. Queen Celestina’s the only one who might be able to help the hare. Was it Cassandra?”
“I can’t say, madam, but if it’s of any use she was the most unusual colour, an intense shade of midnight blue.”
“That’s her, right enough.”
Indigoletta was airborne in an instant. She flew through a series of hatches in the walls which enable her to move from room to room without having to consider whether the doors are open or not. She made a dramatic swoop to collect the huge emerald on its chain from the perch beside her bed. She called to the startled butler. “Brief Will at once. I’ll send for him as soon as I can.”
