Exploring Fa'Lacree

CHAPTER 7

Barney’s heart was beating hard. The way ahead was lit by the dim, yellow glow of a lantern that the Bellmaster had found and lit with the brand. Ahead of them, the pale light flickered across the smooth walls and floor of the tunnel.

Down, down they went, following a flight of stone steps for perhaps five minutes. At the bottom, the tunnel veered suddenly to the right and levelled off. After a while, their progress was abruptly halted by a heavy wooden door. The Bellmaster reached into a narrow, unseen space between two stones in the wall, and pulled out a large key. He unlocked the door and led Barney and Kirlmann through. Once through, he closed the door behind them and pocketed the key, but he failed to lock it. When Barney asked why, the Bellmaster responded with a knowing smile.

Beyond the door, lay another flight of steps that led upwards to the final stretch of tunnel. About a hundred metres further on, the end was marked by a patch of diffuse light. For a moment Barney thought he was about to fall through another Portal; but, to his immense relief, he discovered that light that he saw was daylight filtering through the undergrowth. The Bellmaster led his two companions through a deep tangle of undergrowth, and there they stood; half way up the bank of a steep, wooded valley.

‘Well, by the Ancient of Ancients!’ exclaimed the Beach­comber! ‘This has to be the Silver Gorge, unless I’m very much mistaken.’

‘You’re not mistaken at all,’ replied the Bellmaster. ‘In fact you’re more right than you can imagine.’

Kirlmann didn’t understand how he could possibly be more right than right, but he let the matter pass.

‘Why is it called the Silver Gorge?’ asked Barney. ‘Is there silver there?’

‘A long and precious band of it,’ laughed the Bellmaster and he pointed down below to where the sparkling waters of a river wound its way through the valley. ‘There,’ he said; ‘The Silver River: all the Silver that a wise man will ever need. And there,’ he added, pointing to the sun, ‘is all the gold he should ever need.’

Kirlmann Wader laughed. ‘Yes,’ he agreed; ‘but you find me a wise man’’

‘Present company excepted, I might do that one day, ‘ the Bellmaster replied, ‘but right now, just follow me.’ He led the other two into a thick cluster of rhododendron bushes. He put a finger to his lips for silence and peered through the foliage at the spot from which they had just emerged.

It wasn’t long before a rustling in the thicket around the tunnel’s exit told them they had been followed. Barney and Kirlmann watched with astonishment as Princess Angelina herself stumbled into the sunshine. But the Bellmaster didn’t seem in the slightest bit surprised. He led his companions out into the open to confront the Princess. ‘Come along, then, Your Highness;’ he said, ‘if you’re going to follow us, you’d better stay close or you’ll be getting yourself lost!’

Angelina was so astonished that all she could manage to say was, ‘Oh!’ and she fell obediently in with the others.

As she trotted up alongside Barney, she murmured, ‘I wouldn’t have, you know.’

‘Wouldn’t have what?’ asked Barney.

‘Get lost.’

‘Oh!’

‘I know this island like the back of my hand.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Barney, tolerantly, ‘I suppose you would.’

Kirlmann Wader turned and grinned at him.

The Bellmaster led the little group down the steep valley side. The dense woodland quickly swallowed them up as they moved onward. Onwards and downwards. Below them, the roar of the Silver River beckoned. The route, which they followed, wove and twisted its way among the trees, but it was not an easy path. Its steep incline drew their quickly feet beneath them and while the Bellmaster negotiated the path with the sure‑footedness of a mountain shepherd; the others were less nimble and only too glad of the support offered them by boughs and branches as they tumble‑stepped their way down the valley side.

They finally broke through the tree cover at the valley bottom and there before them, once more, was the Silver River. From above them, the hollow tone of the Bell rang out across the Island; three heavy chimes.

‘How did you manage that?’ Kirlmann asked the Bellmaster.

‘I’ve matters well in hand,’ the Bellmaster replied casually, without ever looking over his shoulder.

Ahead of them, the broad, boulder‑strewn silver band of the river spread out as wide as a main road. The Bellmaster, stepping confidently from boulder to boulder, led the way across. The others followed. Barney, now completely lifted from his mood, leaped elatedly after the Bellmaster, watching the river churning by beneath his feet. Once across, they were led on up the other side of the valley, by way of another path that wound its way, likewise, up through the densely‑wooded slopes.

It was a long and strenuous climb and from time to time Angelina would support herself with a hand on Barney’s shoulder. He felt uncomfortable under the Princess’s touch but he made no objection. When they all staggered, panting, onto the topmost ridge, the Bellmaster stopped and pointed out the patch of undergrowth that hid the exit from the tunnel and traced the route they had taken. From where they were standing, they could now see little of their path; so much of it was hidden by the canopy of trees. Even the Silver River was now only the sound of a distant rush of water chasing over its rocky bed.

‘By all the storms!’ gasped the Beachcomber; ‘I can’t remember being so exhausted since the time I got cut off on Cape Bay Sands and had to climb the cliffs to escape the tide.’

For a while, Barney and the Princess sat panting, getting their breath back. The Bellmaster, however, seemed hardly ruffled by the long climb. He stood for a time, gazing back across the Valley to where the white walls of the City of Seth Haven rose breathtakingly from the cliff tops, with the Bellspire rising majestically from their midst. The Bell itself was clearly seen, silhouetted under its pillared dome. Kirlmann came puffing up beside him.

‘You seem miles away, Bellmaster,’ he panted.

The Bellmaster turned, his brow creased with concern. ‘It all looks so safe and secure; I’m trying to imagine where the danger might be coming from; what evil Zedd might be plotting for the Bell.’

‘I can’t imagine how the Bell could be in any danger all the way up there,’ Angelina said.

‘Then you have no idea of the power of Zedd the Mystic,’ the Bellmaster replied grimly.

‘He could use a helicopter,’ Barney suggested.

‘A what?’ Kirlmann looked puzzled.

Barney shrugged. ‘Sorry,’ he said; ‘You won’t have things like that here.’

The Bellmaster knew what he meant: ‘It’s a flying machine,’ he explained. ‘In Barney’s world there are all sorts of amazing machines. Some people fly through the air in winged carriages; others are transported along the ground at great speed, without the use of horses.’

‘Is that true?’ asked the Princess, astonished.

‘I suppose it is,’ Barney replied, matter of fact. He was pleased to have the opportunity to boast. ‘I’m surprised that you’ve nothing like that here,’ he added.

‘Well, if that don’t take me breath away!’ Kirlmann Wader exclaimed.

‘I should hang on to my breath if I were you,’ the Bell­master commented; ‘I reckon you’re going to need it to sort out Zedd the Mystic. Sorry, Barney; call me old fashioned, but I’ve always been a bit doubtful about things that speed up the pace of life.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘Now come on,’ he said, ‘We still have a lot of our primitive island to show our visitor.’ And he strode off across the rolling countryside, with the others scrambling to their feet and falling in behind.

Barney fell silent for a while. He plunged his hands in his jacket pockets and felt the reassuring weight of his Gameboy. ‘I’ll bet they don’t have these here, either,’ he thought smugly.

The Princess, scrambled alongside Barney, looking mystified. ‘I don’t understand how the Bellmaster could know you when you come from the Outer World,’ she confided.

‘To tell you the truth, neither do I,’ Barney agreed. He explained how he knew the Bellmaster as Mr Camponile, the clock-man; and how he had been directed to the Portal of red light, where he’d found his way to the beach on Fa’Lacree.

Intrigued by Barney’s story, Angelina, asked him more about his world, and Barney happily obliged.

The Princess listened, spellbound as he told her of his home, his friends and family and the world he knew. ‘It all sounds very exciting,’ she said.

‘If it’s excitement you want, Princess,’ the Bellmaster interrupted, glancing over his shoulder, ‘I’m sure you’re going to get as much as you’ll ever need before long.’ Angelina and Barney exchanged glances and followed silently behind, while Kirlmann and the Bellmaster strode on ahead, talking about this and that.

Eventually Barney grew bored with the silence and asked Angelina why she had followed them.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ she answered. ‘After all, I am the Princess!’

Barney tutted loudly and raised his eyes. ‘You sound just like my sisters.’

The Princess ignored the insult. ‘Have you got sisters?’ she asked.

‘Yes; two.’

‘What are they like?’

‘I’ve told you,’ Barney retorted; ‘Pushy, like you.’

Angelina flashed him a look. ‘You haven’t got a very good memory, have you’ she reminded him.

‘Memory? For what?’

‘Who was it who spoke up for you and the Beachcomber, back in the Palace?’

Barney blushed. ‘Well? What of it?’

‘I’m not expecting any thanks, but do you really have to be so unpleasant?’

‘I’m not being unpleasant?’

Angelina looked at Barney. ‘You know very well, you are,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry then; I didn’t realise,’ Barney mumbled. ‘You still haven’t told me though,’ he continued, after an embarrassed pause.

‘Told you what?’

‘Why you followed us.’

‘Oh!’ Angelina laughed, then lowered her voice. ‘I often follow the Bellmaster; it’s such a relief to get out of the Palace. I’m not allowed out much, except with an escort. The Bellmaster’s my tutor so I often go to his apartments for my lessons. One day, about a year ago, I arrived when I wasn’t expected. I spied him leaving by the secret passage so I followed. I’ve been following him ever since, whenever I get the chance.’

‘Does he always spot you?’ Barney asked, grinning. Angelina smiled back at him.

‘Probably,’ she replied, ‘but today’s the first time that he’s let me know.’

‘Where does he usually go to?’ Barney asked.

‘Oh, that depends: sometimes to taverns or customs houses down by the quayside; sometimes to the source of the Silver River and sometimes to the summit of the High Place. I think we’re going there now.’

And if the towering hill that stood at the centre of the Island was the High Place, then that was exactly where the Bellmaster was leading them; it was a high place. One side arched gracefully up from the lower slopes while the other dropped back down again in sheer and jagged steps.

‘It looks a bit like a volcano,’ Barney said. From a distance it did, but as they came closer, Barney could see that the distinctive contours of the great hill had been caused by weathering and subsidence, and the ever‑steepening grassy slopes gave way, on the rugged side of the hill, to sheer, rocky drops, below which were strewn numerous boulders, some as huge as a house.

The Bellmaster had slowed down to let Barney and the Princess catch up. ‘In lost times,’ he said, pointing out the rock-strewn lower slopes, ‘the High Place was mined for its iron­stone. But when the mines were worked out they were abandoned.

‘We’re not going to climb the thing!’ Kirlmann Wader exclaimed.

The Bellmaster looked to the top of the High Place and then back at the Beachcomber. ‘Of course!’ he declared.

‘But what on earth for?’

‘To enjoy the view, Beachcomber, and to broaden your horizons. All your horizons!’ There was something in the Bellmaster’s voice that made argument seem futile. So, without another word, the little party continued on its way.

The trek up the slopes of the High Place took longer than Barney could have guessed and by the time the Beachcomber finally led his companions onto the summit, the Bell had rung out twice more. The four sank down on weary legs, glad of the rest. Even the Bellmaster sighed audibly.

Kirlmann Wader threw himself back on the grass with his arms outstretched. ‘Thirst’‘ he cried in mock despair; ‘I’m dying of thirst!’

‘Me too!’ Barney and the Princess chorused.

The Bellmaster reached deep under the folds of his cloak and pulled out a flask. He undid the stopper and offered the flask first to Angelina and then, in turn, to Barney and Kirlmann. Their eyes lit up as they took long draughts of the refreshing liquid.

‘Bellherb ale’’ exclaimed the Beachcomber as he lowered the flask from his lips. ‘By the Ancient of Ancients!’

The Bellmaster took a draught from the bottle himself. ‘Right and right again,’ he beamed. ‘What else slakes the thirst and restores the spirit?’

‘I’ve never tasted anything as good as this,’ Barney said, smacking his lips.

‘Come on, Barney,’ the Bellmaster announced, ‘You’d better come with me and get a better view of Fa’Lacree. I’ve always believed that geography was better taught from the tops of high hills than from the bottom of deep books.’

The Bellmaster

CHAPTER 6

The Bellchamber was well named. Not only did it house the pulling end of the bell rope, but the inside walls and ceiling were perfectly vaulted to imitate the inside of a bell. Right in the centre of the domed roof there was a hole, through which hung the bell rope, suspended like an enormous hemp clapper. The floor of the Bellchamber was perhaps twelve or fifteen paces across, depending on the length of your legs.

On the four opposite sides of the chamber there were four identical doors. One led to the stairway which wound its way upwards, around the outside of the Bellchamber and onwards up the inside of the Bellspire, to the great Bell itself. Another led to a workshop with a forge, a carpenter’s bench and rope‑winding gear. Another door led to the Bellmaster’s private apartments. The final door was the one that led from the Chamber of State; and it was through this door that Barney and Kirlmann had scuttled, very relieved to be - at least - out of the frying pan, if not yet into the fire. The Bellmaster swept in after them, closing the door behind him.

‘Mr Camponile!’ Barney looked at the Bellmaster wide-eyed.

‘Mr Camponile?’ the Beachcomber looked quizzically at Barney. ‘What you on about, boy?’
‘Barney knows me for someone else,’ the Bellmaster half-explained, ‘but we’ll talk about that later.’
Kirlmann quickly moved on. ‘Well!’ he exclaimed; ‘What a palaver! Who would’ve thought they’d have taken up like that?’

‘I must say that King of yours is a bit of a disappointment,’ Barney remarked, looking at the Bellmaster – or Mr Camponile – in some bewilderment; ‘My mum would never talk to my Dad like that – leastways, not in front of company!’

‘He’s certainly not made from the same stuff as his Great, Great, Great Grandfather.’ Kirlmann said. Then, turning to the Bellmaster, and taking him enthusiastically by the hand, he added: ‘And we’ve got you to thank, Sir; you’re a real captain, and no mistake!’

‘Don’t mention it,’ the Bellmaster smiled. ‘And don’t be too hard: their Majesties merely lack a little insight; they’ll come to understand. It would be a shame to let any present misjudgement cause them any needless embarrassment.’

‘You believe the boy’s story, then,’ the Beachcomber said, raising a quizzical eye.

‘Believe it? I know it!’ came the reply. ‘After all, I am the Bellmaster!’

‘But you’re Mister Camponile, the clock man,’ Barney protested.

‘Clock man?’ The Beachcomber gave Barney an enquiring glance. ‘What’re you on about?’ Then he turned to the Bellmaster. ‘What’s he on about, Bellmaster? The lad reckons he knows you. Calls you Mr – what is it?’

‘Camponile,’ Barney reminded him.

‘Camponile,’ the Bellmaster agreed. ‘Camponile, the clockmaker.’

‘But you’re the Bellmaster,’ Kirlmann Wader protested.

* * * * *

So just who was the Bellmaster? No one knew for sure, except that, for as long as there had been the Bell, there had also been a Bellmaster. The very first had been waiting on the Beach when the Ancient of Ancients, along with Sethmagnus and his band of survivors had landed with the Bell. He announced to Sethmagnus that the Ancient of Ancients had appointed him Keeper of the Bell. When Sethmagnus looked to ask the Ancient of Ancients if this was true, he was nowhere to be seen. Nor was he ever seen from that time onwards. But the Bellmaster remained. And Bellmaster became not only his title but his name. He drew up plans for the building of Seth Haven, its palace and the Bellspire. He showed himself, in every way, to be a master craftsman.

The years passed and the Bellmaster grew older. Then, one day a boy appeared on the quayside; a stranger to the island folk of Fa’Lacree; but it was told that he had come from one of the Outer Islands. He presented himself to the Palace along with a letter of appointment signed by the Bellmaster himself. The boy was left in the care of the Bellmaster, learning his Craft until he grew to manhood when, at the appointed time, he took to himself the mantle and name of Bellmaster.

The old Bellmaster simply disappeared from the face of Fa’Lacree. Nor did the new Bellmaster reveal the fate of his predecessor. One morning he was simply no longer there.

Eventually, in the passing of a generation, another apprentice arrived to learn the craft of the Bell, and the cycle started again. In the history of the Fortress in Exile of the Lords Merchant of Seth there had been three such Bellmasters. Each lived in good health and great vigour for many long years. And so it was with the present Bellmaster. He was old; but not a broken age, toothless and feeble. He was old grown strong, like an oak tree. Old like Mr Camponile.

Few people ever saw the Bellmaster and he was seldom, if ever, seen beyond the Palace gates, let alone the city wall. Only the regular toll of the Bell reminded people of his existence; and only the tales of the Palace Guards and Officers of the Watch proved it. In the inns and alehouses that dotted the quayside and jetties of Seth Haven, sailors, merry with drink, would sing songs about him. Proverbs and sayings were also spoken of him. Just as we might say that something happens ‘Once in a blue moon’, the good folk of Fa’Lacree would say it happens ‘When the Bellmaster goes to market’. Likewise, while we might say that someone is as ‘old as Methuselah’, the people of ­Fa’Lacree would say ‘As old as the Bellmaster’.

* * * * * *

‘Everything will become clearer in time,’ the Bellmaster said: and, without further explanation, he led his two guests across the Bell chamber to the opposite door, which led to his own private apartments. Barney and Kirlmann found themselves in a room. At one end, a log fire crackled brightly in a deep inglenook fireplace. The two adjacent walls were lined with shelves. Some were piled long and high with books, while others displayed exotic objects: the globe of a world (a world which was not the Earth that Barney recognised); exquisite abstract statues and miniature machines delicately wrought in steel and brass; objects and boxes of dark wood, inlaid with metals, ivory and mother-of-pearl.

The wall opposite the fireplace had a deep, stone window seat, lined with soft cushions, except at one end, where a huge plant sat in an ornate brass pot, its broad shiny leaves reached outwards towards the light beyond the arched glass pane.

The Bellmaster invited Barney and Kirlmann to be seated: ‘You can rest here,’ he told them. ‘No one will disturb you for now.’

Kirlmann and Barney sank thankfully into a deep couch that was drawn up close to the fire. The air was a rich, sweet mixture of the smells of musty books, leather bindings and wood-smoke.

‘Here, Beachcomber, let me find a place for the tools of your trade,’ the Bellmaster offered.

Kirlmann was so flattered to hear his bag and rake spoken of so respectfully that he gladly gave them up to the Bellmaster, who stored them on the floor of a deep cupboard, built into the corner by the inglenook.

Near the window stood a wooden cabinet, tall and richly carved. The Bellmaster walked across to it.

‘May I offer you refreshments?’ he asked, opening a cabinet door. Barney and Kirlmann accepted readily. The Bellmaster took out a tray and two goblets. He filled the goblets from a stone bottle and brought them across to his guests.

‘What is it?’ Barney asked, watching a thousand bubbles bursting to the surface of the golden liquid.

‘Try it and see,’ suggested the Bellmaster.

‘I think I know,’ Kirlmann grinned, as he sipped his drink with a smack of his lips. The flavour exploded into Barney’s mouth.

‘Wow,’ he cried. ‘‘This is fantastic! But what is it?’

‘It’s like the bellherb ale me old grandmother used to make,’ said Kirlmann. ‘But the flavour is so much finer. And just how do you get it to sparkle like that?’

‘I must admit,’ the Bellmaster agreed, ‘that it is based on bellherb ale. But with a few special ingredients of my own invention.’

‘Like what?’ asked the Beachcomber.

‘Oh ... an old family secret,’ the Bellmaster chuckled.

He turned to Barney: ‘I trust you weren’t too alarmed during your tumble into Fa’Lacree,’ he said.

‘Alarmed ? I was petrified ! ‘ Barney answered truthfully.

‘You seem very sure that Barney’s story is true,’ Kirlmann remarked.

‘I’ve told you,’ came the reply; ‘I am the Bellmaster, and such things as these concern me.’

‘Do such things as these happen often?’ Barney asked cheekily.

‘This, young Barney,’ the Bellmaster answered gravely, ‘is the time; the event! And I am well ready for you.’

‘How’s that?’ asked the Beachcomber.

‘The Bell is in danger and Barney has been summoned from the Outer Plane to help deliver us.’
Barney looked perplexed. Jack Foster? Mr Camponile? Bellmaster? Who was this man? And how was it that - whoever he was - had chosen him? The Bellmaster seemed to sense Barney’s un­spoken question.

‘Let me try to explain,’ the Bellmaster confided. He perched an elbow on his other fist and thoughtfully stroked his chin, smiling thoughtfully at the boy. ‘You and I have known each other for several years - on the Outer Plane,’ he added, eying Kirlmann Wader’s curious gaze.

‘How’s that, when you live here?’ the Beachcomber asked.

‘Well, you could say, have time on my hands and my hands on the time,’ the Bellmaster grinned.

‘What?’ Kirlmann and Barney looked at each other.

‘Well, the simplest explanation is through a Portal,’ the Bellmaster continued.

‘Where I heard the Bell and saw the pool of red flight?’

‘That’s right, Barney.’

‘But how did it get there?’ Barney asked.

‘Wait a moment; let me show you. …,’ said the Bellmaster, and he disappeared through a doorway. He returned moments later with an exquisitely eccentric contraption. It looked like a clock of some sorts: it was a round, bronze object, about the size of a large saucepan; it had a single looped handle on its outside edge and a round knob on the inside edge of the face, which was moulded and engraved with a host of sumptuous images of moons, planets and stars. The face was further divided into four quadrants, and in each quadrant there was a dial marked off with strange symbols. In the centre of each dial, and also in the centre of the device, there was a long, red crystal inserted into a clear crystal shaft.

‘These crystals,’ the Bellmaster explained, ‘were created on this island many ages ago, in the days of the Ancients. It was they who discovered the properties of the crystals and created the device around them. When I turn this handle, all the crystals revolve. By setting these dials, I can determine how they spin in relationship with each other.’
The Bellmaster set the device down on a table and, holding it firmly by the outside handle, gave the inner handle a turn and, sure enough, the crystals began to turn. And as they did so, they gave off a pulsing, red glow, which died as soon as they stopped turning.

‘The dials allow me to set where I want my light portal to appear,’ he explained. ‘And the centre crystal, the longest, is the portal key. It can be removed to open and shut any portal that I have made. In fact I may soon have need of it.’ So saying, he withdrew the portal key from its slot. It was long and slender and sparkled fiercely in the firelight, until its brilliance was extinguished in the depths of the Bellmaster’s deep pocket.

‘So that,’ he concluded, is more or less how you came here. I’ll explain a little more to you later. Now, Barney, where were we? Ah yes – why you?

‘Well; to say you were chosen sounds rather dramatic; but it’s the only way to put it. Someone had to be chosen and … well you fitted the bill exactly! Knowing you as I do, I know that you have the qualities which will help us to overcome the problems that I’m expecting.’

‘But how … ?’ exclaimed the Beachcomber; ‘How in all the Realm of the Islands could you possibly know what’s going to happen?’

‘ I can see many things through the Crystal Sphere,’ he added.

‘Crystal Sphere?’ Kirlmann Wader raised a furrowed brow.

‘What’s that?’ asked Barney.

‘Another contraption of mine,’ the Bell­master explained. ‘I’ll show you in a while. Meanwhile, there are some things even I don’t know yet. But …,’ and he smiled grimly, ‘I’m sure all will be revealed.’

‘When, exactly’?’ Kirlmann enquired warily.

‘Well,’ the Bellmaster replied - he returned the Beachcomber’s gaze – ‘I suppose there’s no time like the present!’
Kirlmann was beginning to look uncomfortable. The effects of the bellherb ale were wearing off and a little trickle of concern ran through him. He stood up.

‘Listen,’ he said, ‘All this weird talk is beginning to unsettle me instincts. I’ve no place here, I can tell. Not an old sand crab like m’self. You, Bellmaster, or whoever you are, and Barney here seem to have things all sewn up; I’ll only get in the way now, so I think I’d best be off.’

‘Just stay where you are,’ the Bellmaster ordered; ‘I’ll have great need of you, too!’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ the Beachcomber objected.

‘Well I do’‘ came the firm reply. ‘Now stay, there’s a good fellow!’ And if kings and queens obeyed the Bellmaster then so would beachcombers. Kirlmann sat down.

‘So what do I do now?’ Barney asked, looking restlessly around him.

‘Barney! Do forgive me!’ the Bellmaster cried; ‘Come, Beachcomber,’ he said, ‘We are forgetting our manners. We must show our guest around.’ He strode through a door­way and returned with a hooded cloak.. ‘Here,’ he said to Barney; ‘put this on. It’ll keep the sea wind out of you and help to make those clothes of yours less con­spicuous.’
Barney put on the cloak, while the Bellmaster put away the portal generator.

‘You look almost-civilised, now,’ Kirlmann Wader laughed, as Barney paraded around in the cloak. He was totally taken with his appearance, and if Barney ever wondered whether his parents would be worried by his absence, well he didn’t have time to let it bother him. He and Kirlmann looked suitably impressed.

‘Yes,’ agreed the Bellmaster. ‘That will do nicely. Now ­shall we go? We’ll leave your things here for now, Master Kirlman,’ he added; ‘they’ll only get in the way. However, there are one or two items that I’ll need.’ Without any further explanation, he strode across to a shelf and collected a small wooden box, which he stowed safely in a pocket within the folds of his cloak.

The Beachcomber and Barney looked to see by which door the Bellmaster would lead them through. But, to their surprise, he stepped across to the large, open fireplace and twisted a carving in the surround­ing stonework.
The lapping flames in the grate showed the back wall of the hearth swing open, to reveal a hidden passageway behind. Kirlmann and Barney gasped in astonishment as the Bellmaster ushered them past the iron firedog and into the tunnel.

‘There’s no point in being too conspicuous,’ he murmured. As he entered the tunnel behind them, he took up a burning brand from the fire, to light the way. As he turned to close the door - he caught a glimpse of a head bobbing back behind the curtain across the Bellchamber door. He smiled to himself and pulled down a wooden lever on the inside wall; and with a sigh of stone against stone, the secret doorway closed behind them.

Rough Treatment

CHAPTER 5

Sethmagnus the Great, Lord of Seth and the Eastern Kingdom, had been a man of heroic stature: a giant among men. When Zedd drove the people of the Eastern Kingdom into the sea, it was Sethmagnus who had led his broken people to the remote refuge of the island of Fa’Lacree and created there a new Kingdom. From the ruins of defeat, and under the protection of the Bell, he had built an outpost of defiance against the evil of Zedd, the Mystic of Roth. The Ancient of Ancients was his inspiration and the Bell was his protection. Together they attracted refugees from the Mystic’s grasp over the northernmost lands of the Eastern Kingdom, where the Bell had confined the power of the Mystic.

Within a generation, the island of Fa’Lacree had grown into a thriving community and the City of Seth Haven was beginning to recapture some of the splendours of the Old Kingdom. Its Kings, too, became well‑respected heirs to Sethmagnus the Great, although none of them quite reached his greatness. Least of all Gunness.
Gunness was the fourth to succeed the throne of Sethmagnus, and it has to be noted that he enjoyed the quiet life. As a boy he had excelled at javelin throwing – an art his father had thought would give him some links with his warrior ancestor. But now Gunness preferred a stroll around the palace; a tour of the city; a trip to the beach - and ringing the Bell. Tradition decreed that he personally should toll the Bell at the the beginning and end of each working day; this was a task which gave him tremendous satisfaction.
The duties of Kingship had become routine in the days of the Bell. Disagreements between the Citizens of Seth Haven and among the traders of the Eastern Kingdom were mostly trivial affairs; and the running of the Kingdom’s trading interests was given over to the Guild of Lords Merchant, over whom the King presided in name only. The Bell had long since banished the true evil of Zedd from the exiled Realm of the Eastern Kingdom though it is fair to say that it was now so long since the Battle of Sundown that many of the good folk of Fa’Lacree regarded the stories of Zedd the Mystic to be no more than a folk memory. But The Ringing of The Bell continued, either ‘just in case’ or because it was just too much a part of the routine of Fa’Lacree to be stopped; perhaps both.

Besides, it has to be said that the daily ringing of the Bell gave King Gunness his only sense of purpose; a feeling that perhaps he was really able to drive out the forces of the Mystic of Roth by this simple act. Certainly the Bell’s mellow tones gave him a feeling of well‑being and satisfaction that Barney’s Dad would get from an occasional pint of beer.

There was also, of course, the thrill of power that came from knowing that the whole island ran its working day according to his bell-ringing. And it was almost the eighth hour: Gunness stood poised by the bell rope; every sinew was flexed; every nerve tingling. Two guards, posted by the door to the Bellchamber, exchanged wry glances: things had certainly changed since the days of Sethmagnus!

As the very last grains of sand tumbled from the hourglass, Gunness gave a graceful heave on the rope that set the Bell swinging high above them. Its deep, hollow tone filled the chamber. Once, twice, three times. Three firm pulls were all that were required of the King; three pulls, twice a day.

The Bell was rung at other times during the day: the daybreak, midnight and curfew peels were performed by one of the Court Officials: the Bellmaster. He also supervised who rang the Bell during the rest of the day and took care of the upkeep and maintenance of the Bell.

As Gunness completed his three pulls on the bell rope, a Lord Merchant Counsellor stepped forward and turned the hourglass back over. ‘Magnificent, Sire,’ the Counsellor crooned. The sentries smirked again; the Bellmaster merely smiled politely and bowed slightly as the King stepped back from the rope. The King and the Counsellor made their grand exit from the Bell Chamber into the Chamber of State, and the Bellmaster closed the heavy door behind them.

‘Beg leave to report, Sire!’ an Officer of the Watch barked, as Gunness resumed his seat in the Chamber of State;

‘Request for an audience with His Majesty!’

‘What is it this time?’ the King asked impatiently; which was rather odd, since he was rarely bothered by anyone asking him for an audience.

‘Beg leave to announce, Sire! Kirlmann Wader, Sire!’

Gunness wrinkled his brow and turned to the Lord Merchant Counsellor. ‘I know that name. Who is he?’ he asked quietly.

The Counsellor turned to the Officer of the Watch. ‘Not the Beachcomber?’ he asked with barely masked distaste,

‘The very one, Sah!’

‘Send him away, then. His Majesty is far too busy!’

But Gunness wanted to show that it was he who was in charge.

‘Wait!’ he interrupted. ‘What does the fellow want?’

‘Says it’s a matter of life and death, Highness; something to do with the Bell. He’s got a boy with him.’

The Counsellor turned to the King and spoke in a low voice. ‘See what I mean, Sire?’ he murmured, ‘The man’s a crank. Send him away.’ The King was on the point of agreeing with the Counsellor when a girl appeared from behind the drapes across the end wall.

‘No, Father, ‘she cried, ‘You have to see them. It could be something important! Especially if they say it’s about the Bell.’ Gunness hesitated and then smiled at his daughter.

‘Exactly what I was about to say, Angelina,’ he said. ‘Bring them in, Officer.’

The officer of the Watch made a smart about‑turn and strode out through the State Chamber door. He returned, ushering Kirlmann Wader and Barney Gulliver in ahead of him. Kirlmann swept his hat off his head and bowed. Barney looked around in awe-struck confusion, until he felt a blow from Kirlman’s hat across the back of his head.

‘Bow!’ Kirlmann hissed. Barney obliged and bowed low.

‘Yes?’ asked the King, ‘What can I do for you?’

‘It’s more as what we can do for you, Majesty,’ offered the Beachcomber. ‘This young boy, here.’ continued Kirlmann, placing a fatherly arm around Barney’s shoulders. Barney shuffled uncomfortably.

‘What about him?’

‘I found him on the beach,’ Kirlmann explained. Barney looked up expectantly.

‘So?’

‘He fell there, Highness!’

‘Well take him to the physician,’ answered the king. ‘This isn’t a surgery!’

‘He didn’t fall on the beach;’ Kirlmann explained patiently, ‘he fell on to the beach, from up there!’ Kirlmann jabbed a

long bony finger towards the ceiling and everybody’s eyes followed it up.

‘Not up there,’ Kirlmann continued with the same forced patience, ‘Up in the sky! The Upper World? The Outer Plain?

Does that (how can I put it) ring any bells?’

‘Bells?’ Gunness started; ‘You don’t mean...,’

‘The legend of the Bell! Exactly so’ ‘ Kirlmann continued. The King looked thoughtfully from Kirlmann to Barney.

Barney could feel himself blushing as Gunness gazed up and down, closely scrutinising him and his ‘strange’ dress.
A slightly doubtful expression crept across Gunness’ face. He turned to his Counsellor.

‘Ben’Almoran! What do you think?’ he asked.

The Counsellor, looked perplexed.

‘I don’t know, Sire,’ he said. ‘It does seem odd that the boy should appear to riffraff like the Beachcomber, rather than directly to yourself.’

‘Riffraff?’ fumed the Beachcomber; ‘Who are you calling riffraff?’

‘And I didn’t appear, I fell,’ Barney added, tersely.

‘Don’t be so insolent, or I’ll have you both flogged’’ the King warned them.

But a voice from behind Gunness came to their rescue. ‘No, Father, you can’t!’ It was the Princess Angelina.

‘And why not?’ asked the King (who probably wouldn’t have anyway).

‘Just look at his clothes, his hair, everything about him!’’ Everybody’s eyes turned on Barney again and he blushed even more uncomfortably under their gaze.

‘Well, yes,’ Gunness admitted, ‘They do look rather strange.’

‘He’s obviously not from the Island,’ the Princess pointed out.

‘Where is he from?’ asked the Counsellor.

‘Where are you from, boy?’ asked the King.

‘Cornwall, Sir.’ Barney croaked, his voice dry in his throat.

‘Cornwall? Where ever’s that, for pity’s sake?’

‘It’s where I come from,’ Barney announced, struggling to hang onto his dignity: ‘It’s just a small seaside town in a place called Cornwall.’

‘Never heard of the place,’ King Gunness interrupted.

‘But it’s true: I was having a walk along the beach when all this happened - when I found myself here.’

‘It’s certainly not part of the Realm of the Islands, nor any part of the Eastern Kingdom that I’ve ever heard of,’ the Counsellor remarked, ‘but I’m still not certain that we should trust him.’

At that point, and to Barney’s relief, the Princess Angelina pushed forward. ‘Have you two no imagination?’ she scolded them: ‘How do you expect to have heard of a place if you’ve never been told about it?’ Barney and Kirlmann exchanged glances of relief. The King and the Counsellor merely grunted.

‘If he’s really come from the Outer Plane,’ Angelina continued, ‘then you can hardly expect to have heard of it before, since nobody we know has ever been there and come back again to talk about it!’

‘I’m sorry Sire, but who can tell if the legends of the Outer Plane are really true?’ the Counsellor asked. ‘All we have are vague writings in the Texts of the Ancients!'

‘And the inscription on the Bell,’ Angelina reminded them. ‘Besides,’ she added grandly; ‘perhaps this is one of those occasions that call for some prudence and faith.’

Angelina turned to Barney. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked.

‘Barney Gulliver,’ he told her, annoyed that he could feel himself blushing yet again.

‘Strange sort of name,’ retorted the King.

Barney winced: ‘If I hear anyone else say that ... ‘ he thought.

‘Do we use all of it, or just part of it, Barneygulliver ?’ the King continued.

‘Oh, Barney’s the bit I’m mostly called by, except when I’m at school; some of the kids at school call me ‘Gus’.

‘Gus?’ the princess said thoughtfully; ‘I think I prefer the name Barney,’. ‘Tell me again, Barney, how did you get here?’

‘The Beachcomber said that you fell here,’ Gunness interrupted. He was growing a little impatient with being interrupted in his own Court.

‘Here we go again,’ thought Barney. ‘That’s right, sir,’ he replied, and he retold his story. He told them about how he’d walked along the shore and followed the sound of the Bell to the pool of shining light in the cove; and how he’d fallen into the red mist and somehow found himself on the beach below the walls of Seth Haven.

‘Floated down like an autumn leaf, Sire,’ Kirlmann added. ‘And that’s just how I come to find ‘im.’

There was a rustle of fabric from above the assembly and everyone’s attention was drawn upwards. There, on a balcony overlooking the Chamber of State stood a tall, stately woman dressed in a long flowing gown embroidered with scarlet and brown leaves. This was Queen Banqua, Gunness’s wife and Angelina’s mother.

‘Why?’ she said, and ‘Why’ was what she was still saying as she descended the wrought iron spiral staircase.

‘I don’t believe this,’ Barney thought, feeling his throat tighten yet again.

‘Why what, my dear?’ asked the King.

‘I’ve been listening to your conversation and I agree with Ben’Almoran: Why should the Ancient of Ancient’s prophecy be fulfilled through a common vagrant, instead of directly through the heirs of Seth?’

Kirlmann visibly bristled. ‘With respect, Ma’am, but just who are you calling a vagrant?’ he demanded. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m a Lord of the Shore­line!’

‘Lord of the Shoreline?’ sneered the Queen, ‘No such thing! You’re little more than a scavenger.’ She stepped from the staircase and walked across to her husband’s side. ‘How can the descendant of Sethmagnus the Great believe that the Ancient of Ancients could unfold his plan through the likes of him?’

Gunness looked uneasily from his wife to his audience.

‘But mother...’ Angelina started to protest.

‘No buts, Angelina, you’re only a girl and you don’t understand these things. Such matters are your father’s domain. Now, Gunness, Don’t you think that it would be wise to interrogate these two a little bit more closely?’

Barney, horrified, found his voice again: ‘We’re telling the truth, I tell you!’ he cried.

But at that moment a quieter voice interrupted. ‘Perhaps I may help, Sire.’

Everyone turned to see who had spoken. Barney’s mouth fell open. For there, framed in an open doorway, was Mr Camponile. At least, he looked like Mr Camponile, except his hair seemed longer, hanging loosely about his ears and neck.

Barney would have called out but a glance and a barely audible ‘Sshh’ silenced him.

‘Bellmaster,’ Gunness greeted the newcomer.

Bellmaster? It couldn’t be!

‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, Sire, the Bellmaster announced. ‘But I couldn’t help overhearing your predicament.’

‘What’s one of those?’ Barney wondered.

Perhaps,’ he suggested, ‘I ought to take the boy into protective custody, as it were; just in case there is any threat to the Bell.’

The King seemed relieved by the suggestion. ‘I don’t see why not,’ he agreed.

‘And perhaps,’ continued the Bellmaster, ‘I should also keep a protective eye on the Beachcomber as well. After all, he does appear to have come here in good faith.

Kirlmann beamed hopefully at the king, but Queen Banqua had not finished. ‘Most certainly not!’ she cried. ‘The clod was rude to me! Have him thrown out! Roughly!’

Kirlmann Wader’s face turned as black as thunder as Kabel Longshanks stepped forward, a gleam in his eye. Kirlmann was preparing himself for rough treatment, but fortunately Angelina came to Kirlmann’s defence.

‘No, Mother,’ she argued. ‘If their story is true; and they are here through the bidding of the Ancient of Ancients, then the Beachcomber must have Father’s protection, or things will go wrong for us. I’m sure of it!

‘The Princess speaks wisely,’ the Bellmaster agreed. ‘Now perhaps you’ll allow our guests to come with me into the custody of the Bellchamber.’ And he spoke with such authority, that no one: not the King, nor the Queen, nor anyone else thought to disagree.

Kirlmann and Barney looked uneasily at each other for a moment then slipped across to the protection of the Bellmaster. The three disappeared together through the doorway into the Bellchamber, Kirlmann and Barney following the Bellmaster’s lead and bowing ever so courteously as they went.

Inside the Palace

Chapter 4

Kirlmann Wader was up and away, striding ahead on his long legs, with his cape billowing out behind him, his beach comb and his bag slung over his shoulder. It was all Barney could do to keep up. He could hardly believe that all this was happening to him; and, even if he wondered about how he could get back home again, he scarcely gave it a thought.

Ahead of him, Kirlmann was making for a steep flight of steps that was carved deep into the cliff face. The old Beach­comber mounted them with familiar ease, three at a time. Barney came trotting along behind him. ‘Hold on, Mr Wader!’ he panted, ‘you’re leaving me behind!’

The Beachcomber turned round on the rocky stairway and waited for Barney to catch up. ‘Call me Kirlmann,’ he smiled then turned on his heels and bounded off again.

Barney struggled to keep up as well as he could, which wasn’t too easy on the steep rocky steps.

At the cliff top there was a stone landing then a path, which circled the town wall. Skirting the cliff top path, the two walked on, past a small whitewashed stone cottage, roofed with slabs of stone, that nestled in a little hollow near the edge of the cliffs and just beyond the shadow of the City Walls.

‘That’s my place,’ Kirlmann said.

‘Handy for work,’ Barney remarked. But they didn’t stop. They strode on by until they came shortly to a thick wooden door, set in the base of the great wall. It was riveted with a heavy iron lattice and was obviously designed to be as strong as the surrounding stonework.

Kirlmann picked up a rock and hammered mightily.

‘It’ll take too long to go in by the main gate,’ he explained. ‘Keep an eye out up there, Barney,’ and he directed Barney’s gaze to a nearby turret while he went on pounding away at the door. Presently a helmeted face appeared at a window, near the top of the turret. Barney nudged the Beachcomber, who looked up at the window. The face bristled at the two of them.

‘By all the Ancients! Kirlmann Wader! What’s all the din about?’

‘Open up, Kabel Longshanks, We must see the King immediately’

‘Clear off, you old fool,’ the soldier called Kabel Longshanks bawled back, contemptuously, ‘or I’ll slice the nose off your face!’ And he disappeared. Kirlmann resumed his pounding on the door.

‘I don’t think he likes you,’ Barney observed. ‘Are you sure it won’t be quicker to go in by the main door?’

‘Don’t worry about him; I know what I’m doing,’ the Beachcomber seethed.

Predictably, the helmeted head reappeared at the window. ‘I’m warning you, you perishing old walrus,’ growled the head.

‘And I’m warning you, you incompetent sea slug! You deliver us to the King or it’ll be the worse for you! I’ve evidence here that the Bell is in Danger!’

Kirlmann sounded in deadly earnest. There was a pause from the guard. Then he shouted down, ‘What do you mean the Bell’s in danger? What’s this evidence that you’re on about?’

‘I’m telling you nothing else, you impudent upstart,’ the Beachcomber snapped. ‘Just open this door and take us to the King, or I’ll see that your ears are nailed to it!’ There was another pause so Kirlmann carried on pounding at the door.

‘All right! All right! I’m coming!’ and the face disappeared from the window. In a few moments there came a scraping of metal as the bolts were unfastened and the door was swung open. The guard stood barring the way with a wickedly‑barbed spear.

‘Who’s the boy?’ Kabel Longshanks demanded.

‘A friend,’ Kirlmann replied.

‘You have no friends, Beachcomber,’ Kabel Longshanks spat back. ‘Now who’ve you got there?’

‘What’s up? You worried that I’m smuggling in Zedd the Mystic? It’s none of your business! Just take us to the King,’ the Beachcomber answered testily.

The guard looked at them both with obvious suspicion. ‘If you’re playing me for a fool, old man,’ he hissed at Kirlmann, ‘someone else’ll be combing you up from the beach.’

‘Hold your tongue, Kabel Longshanks!’ answered Kirlmann, ‘This is no wild goose chase!’ Under his breath he added, ‘Leastways I hope not!’ and he shot Barney the trace of a worried glance. Barney and Kirlmann Wader were allowed to squeeze past the guard, into a narrow stone corridor. The corridor ran along the foot of the City Wall, between two turrets. A dim, yellow light shone out ahead of them and Kirlmann led Barney towards it. Behind them they could hear the door bolts and the lock being slammed back home.

‘It’s all right; you don’t need to worry about young Longshanks, there,’ whispered Kirlmann, ‘I caught him nosing about in me cottage when he was a boy and I paddled his rear. He’s never forgiven me for it.’

Barney laughed.

At the foot of the turret staircase the guard pushed past them. ‘I’ll lead from here, Beachcomber,’ he said; ‘Stay close behind, you two.’ Kirlmann and Barney followed obediently.

After a short climb the steps led onto a doorway. The guard led them through, out onto a walkway that ran all the way around the other side of the wall, on a ledge about half‑way up. Below them lay the City. Barney gasped with astonishment.

‘Where are we?’ he asked.

‘Seth Haven,’ Kirlmann replied.

‘It’s quite a place, isn’t it!’ Barney said breathlessly.

And it was. The City Wall wound round, ahead of them. Above them the turret stretched upwards, to the top of the wall, and a voice hailed their attention.

‘Who in thunder’s doing all that banging!’ called the voice: it was another of the guards, leaning over the top of the turret, peering down at them.

‘That old vagrant Kirlmann Wader!’ Kabel Longshanks shouted.

‘What does he want?’

‘Reckons he needs to see the King!’

‘The King?’ the other soldier laughed. ‘He must be joking! Tell him to clear off!’

‘I’ve tried that but he’s making a nuisance of himself. It’ll be a pleasure to give him enough rope to hang himself with.’

Barney looked up at Kirlmann. ‘He doesn’t sound very encouraging, does he,’ he whispered. Kirlmann rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders.

‘Don’t let him bother you, son. Just full of his own importance.’ Then he turned to their escort. ‘Listen here, you armour-plated sprat,’ he said; ‘are you going to take us straight to the King, or do I have to tell tales when things start going wrong?’

There was a calm malice in Kirlmann’s voice that Barney just had to admire; the guard’s appearance didn’t invite much in the way of defiance. He was a big man, clad in a leather jerkin and leggings with a chain mail vest. On his head he wore a fearsome‑looking helmet that covered most of his face.

‘Just get a move on,’ he snapped. ‘I’m in a hurry to see you squared up, Beachcomber!’ And he jostled them along with the shaft of his lance.

‘Let’s just hope we’re going to make this worth his while,’ Kirlmann murmured. ‘He might turn a bit nasty if he gets his way.’

‘You needn’t worry about that.’ The guard was obviously eavesdropping. ‘If you’re wasting my time with your ramblings you’ll be limping home again!’

He jabbed Kirlmann in the rear with the sharp end of his lance; Kirlmann yelped with pain, grimacing a warning at the guard.

As the three walked on in silence, Barney’s eyes soaked up the extraordinary sights around him. Streets radiated outwards from a vast paved area that stretched out before a breathtakingly magnificent building. Barney gazed in awe. ‘Wow’, he exclaimed.

‘That’s the Palace,’ Kirlmann replied. ‘And that,’ he added, ‘is the Bellspire.’ He pointed to the lofty tower that rose high above the Palace. Half way up, there was a huge, single-handed clock face, whose solitary pointer marked the passing of the hours in unfamiliar digits; and at the top of the tower, four pillars supported a copper-green domed roof, from which was suspended the Bell of Fa’Lacree.

‘He’s a stranger here, then?’ grunted the guard. Kirlmann invited him to mind his own business.

The trio descended from the wall at the next flight of steps and carried on along a roadway, past exquisite stone dwellings with wooden tiled roofs. People milled around as they caught sight of the strangely‑dressed boy who was Barney Gulliver.

Strangely‑dressed, that is, to them. Their own clothes were from a world unknown to Barney; from a time and place far from his own: men in breeches and boots and long, hooded jackets; women in long, flowing skirts and heavy, hooded cloaks.

As they pressed closer they shouted greetings to Kirlmann and asked who the boy was. Kirlmann smiled and waved back. But the only answer he would give to their question was, ‘A friend.’

The guard grew impatient with the crowds and ordered them away. But still they hung back in groups asking each other the meaning of a strange boy in their land. Perhaps they, too, remembered the rhyme on the Bell. And perhaps the guard was also wondering.

As they came into the Great Square, Barney suddenly saw the true magnificence of the palace. Its immense outer walls rose sheer and white from the midst of the cobbled square and great flying buttresses soared majestically up to meet them.

The guard’s pace quickened noticeably and he strode off across the square. He was heading for the barbican gate that projected from the palace wall with Barney and Kirlmann hot on his tail. At the gatehouse they stopped and the spoke to the sentry.

The two men kept their voices low so that neither Kirlmann nor Barney could hear clearly what was being said. But they could pick out odd words and phrases such as: Boy and King, and Kirlmann Wader, and old fool and cur.

There were glances from the soldiers, in their direction, a few more muttered words of discussion and the sentry walked back into the barbican gate. He took the end of a speaking tube from a niche in the wall and blew down it. A moment later he was answered by a whistle from the tube. The guard spoke down it then placed the tube to his ear. He spoke once more then listened for a reply and replaced the tube. He nodded to Kabel Longshanks, who turned back to Kirlmann and Barney.

‘All right, Beachcomber,’ he said, ‘the Officer of the Watch’ll admit you: you have your audience with the King; if he’ll talk to you. And a lot of good may it do you. And you, too, my boy!’

‘I’ll worry about him,’ Kirlmann snapped; ‘Just you show us the way in!’

From within the darkness of the barbican gate there came a clanking and a scraping as an ever-widening strip of pale light showed that the inner door was being raised. Barney and Kirlmann were escorted through the doorway and across an inner drawbridge. They walked across a courtyard, past statues of noble men and beasts and on into the heart of the palace. They were taken down marble corridors, up spiral staircases, through hallways and finally, at a heavily guarded and heavily curtained doorway, they stood on the threshold of the State Chamber itself.

And as they stood there, awaiting admittance, the deep-throated tones of the Bell rang out, once more, above them.

Kirlmann Wader's Tale

CHAPTER 3

‘The bell you heard,’ the Beachcomber began, and Barney suddenly realised that he it was no longer ringing: ‘… hangs at the top of the palace spire, in the heart of the City.’

‘City?’ Barney looked about him but saw nothing.

‘Behind the City Wall, up there,’ Kirlmann explained with an impatient wave of his hand. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘the Bell wasn’t always there; no more was the City, of course. In fact, only five generations ago, there was hardly anyone at all on Fa’Lacree: just a few fishermen and their families who passed the summer months here before wintering in the Portlands of the Eastern Kingdom.’

‘Where’s that?’ asked Barney.

‘Oh, many weeks voyage away…’ the Beachcomber gestured vaguely out to sea, with his free hand. ‘The People of the Eastern Kingdom enjoyed a good living in those days. They’re all here now, of course. But in those days things were different. Very different.’ A faraway look rolled over Kirlmann’s eyes, but he blinked it away and continued.

‘They were traders, you know, across the Realm of the Islands. As rich as you please, our ancestors. Nobody exactly starves now, mind you, but in those days, such wealth there was, as you’d never believe!

‘There was a palace there, my great-grandfather told me, the likes of which no one’s seen afore nor since. Even finer than the one we have here on the Island. The king, in those times, was from the line of Seth: same as our present king. Sethmagnus the Great was his name. The Empire he ruled went far beyond the Eastern Kingdom. The Ports of Seth got so crowded with ships that I’ve heard tell as how a man could cross from one side of the bay to the other without getting his feet wet.’

Kirlmann laughed and leaned forward. ‘Just think; he could step from ship‑to‑ship!’ his fingers danced the action in the air; his piercing eyes alight with amusement; ‘Packed tight as limpets on a rock, they were! In fact,’ he continued, ‘it’s said that ships would be waiting a week at a time, queuing up to unload the goods they’d brought.’

Then the amusement faded. ‘But that’s all gone now; gone on account of Zedd the Mystic.’

‘Who?’

‘Zedd,’ the old man repeated, after a moment’s pause. ‘Zedd, the Mystic of Roth. A strange and evil man; the most black-hearted villain ever. Me own Great Grandfather saw him at the Battle of Sundown; and again at the destruction of Seth. He was barely a coddling at the time, me granddad: hardly more than five year old. He was a hundred an’ twelve when he died, but the memory stayed with him till the last moments of his life.’

'Never!' Barney gasped. ‘And what about that ‘Battle of Sundown’ you were on about?’

‘I’m just coming to that,’ Kirlmann answered: ‘You see Zedd lived by the Northern Sea, high up in the Mountains of Wier, in the Fortress of Roth. Lived there then, and lives there still. Just you listen: Zedd wanted the wealth of the Eastern Kingdom for himself so he went right down and asked for it. Took himself with a white flag, announced himself and calmly demanded the contents of the treasury. Imagine that!’

‘Did he get it?’

‘Not a spoon! Not so much as an earring! Zedd warned King Sethmagnus that there would be dire consequences, but the King just told him to sling his rope.’ The Beachcomber shifted his position and gazed intently at Barney.
‘Well, Zedd ranted and cursed like the Devil himself and warned that he’d be back. And sure as the sea’s wet, within a week, he was there again on the Plains of Seth at the head of the biggest army of rogues and cut‑throats ever assembled! Hundreds of them, there were. Outnumbered the Warriors of Seth by three to one.

‘But Sethmagnus wasn’t called The Great for nothing. Oh no. He outflanked the armies of Zedd. Took him all day to do it, but by sundown he had Zedd’s brigands with their backs to the sea and the setting sun in their eyes. They was all hacked to pieces; apart from a few stragglers and Zedd himself. Driven back into the sea, they were; and those who could, had to swim for it. Those that saw Zedd’s face said it was filled with the most fearsome rage a man ever saw.’
Then the Beachcomber drew a little closer to Barney. ‘Did I mention the Ancient of Ancients?’ he asked.

Barney shook his head. ‘The what?’

Kirlmann looked intensely at Barney. ‘What is he? Who is he?’ Kirlmann Wader’s voice was subdued with awe. ‘Who knows? These aren’t questions you can ask about the Ancient of Ancients; no one really knows. All we do know,’ he said solemnly, ‘is that he is the Bringer of Wisdom and Knowledge; the Protector. Don’t ever forget that, boy; he’s the reason you’re here. Every man living here feels his influence, even though the Ancient of Ancients has only ever shown himself to a few.’

‘Oh! Really,’ Barney said doubtfully,

‘It was the Ancient of Ancients as guided Sethmagnus against the Hoards of Zedd. The fighting had been so vicious and the victory so complete, that everyone thought Zedd was totally defeated when it was over.’

‘But he wasn’t,’ Barney guessed.

‘Not a bit of it! Zedd managed somehow to flee back to his mountain lair. Nothing was heard of him for over five years. Then seafarers’ tales began to drift around the Ports of Seth. Mariners returning from the Northern Sea began reporting brilliant displays of lightning and fireballs dancing around the Fortress of Roth. And black shapes and shadows swarming and swooping among them.
‘Zedd was already a mystic of considerable art. But after his escape he spent the next five years plunging his soul into the very depths of evil to rebuild and increase his powers.

‘The High Guild of Merchantmen sent a deputation to warn Sethmagnus, but he already knew. The Ancient of Ancients had told him.

Sethmagnus told them, ‘We can only arm ourselves and fight like warriors!’

‘And Zedd returned,’ said Barney.

‘That he did, boy,’ lamented the Beachcomber. ‘and that’s why we’re all here today: me, the citizens who live beyond the wall up there, the mariners down by the harbour, all the other Islanders of Fa’Lacree - even you.’ Kirlmann Wader looked piercingly at Barney. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Especially you.’

‘But why me?’

‘Just you listen while I tells you. See: Zedd, the Mystic of Roth, did return. At the head of the most unbelievable army, mounted on a great, black bat‑like creature with fiery eyes and blazing nostrils. Behind him there flew a horde of evil, winged beasts. The Beasts of Zedd!’ Kirlmann gave a shudder. ‘Bats, cats, griffins, dragons, devils and demons; and every mixture of them all. The very sight of them sent the whole place crazy with terror.

‘But worst of all was their weapons: fiery lances and balls of fire that came a-leaping from their jaws and talons. The whole of the City of Seth was laid low. Sethmagnus managed to escape with a few other survivors to these shores, but it was a near thing.’

‘So the Ancient thingy was a bit of a let‑down in the end, wasn’t he,’ Barney remarked irreverently.

‘Barney Gulliver, speak respectful of the powers that you don’t understand,’ Kirlmann growled. ‘You’ve no idea what forces were mustered against the Good Folk o’ Seth and the Eastern Kingdom on the Long Night o’ Death. The Mystic of Roth had all the Dark Forces working for him. If it hadn’t been for the Ancient of Ancients there’d have been no survivors at all!’

‘I’m sorry,’ Barney apologised; ‘What did he do, then?’

‘I’m trying to tell you, boy, if you’ll just listen! The Ancient of Ancients stayed by Sethmagnus’ side the whole time. First he wove a sea spell: he conjured up a dense fog from the depths of the ocean that hid them from the view of Zedd and his beasts. He guided Sethmagnus through the smoking ruins of Seth, gathering survivors as they went. Then he led them down to the waterfront, where he charmed a ship, all fully rigged and in full sail.

‘On the ship’s deck there was a bell rigged in a wooden frame. The same bell you heard. It’s ringing was charged with magic and it drove back Zedd and his Beasts: drove ‘em back to the source all his power; and the further they left the shore behind, the stronger grew the Power of the Bell.

‘It’s been rung day and night, on the hour, ever since. That’s been a hundred and fifty or more years. It’s said that the chimes have the power to ward off whatever evil might be launched by Zedd, the Mystic of Roth.’

‘Does it work?’ Barney asked.

‘Well,’ Kirlmann Wader replied, ‘It’s been peaceful across the Realm, ever since. Come along and I’ll show you the place and you can see for y’self. Yes, the Realm of Seth has grown again. Right here under the protection of The Bell. There’s enough wealth being made and mislaid hereabouts to keep an old beachcomber like m’self in a tidy enough living.’

And Kirlmann Wader, Beachcomber on the Island of Fa’Lacree, Fortress-in-Exile of the Lords Merchant of Seth and the Eastern Kingdom, gazed wistfully across the silvery beach and out to sea.

‘So what am I doing here?’ Barney asked suddenly.

‘You?’ Kirlmann looked puzzled for a moment then snapped back from his dream. ‘Of course! Young Barney! I was away there for a minute. Where was I now? Ah yes. The Bell: the Bell that the Ancient of Ancients gave to protect us. Well, inscribed on its side are these words:

This Bell was cast that all be saved; to be a shield for all,
And should The Bell in Danger grave be found, a boy will fall
From upper world and outer plain
That all be rendered safe again!

Kirlmann looked at Barney. Barney looked at Kirlmann.

‘Is that me?’ Barney asked; ‘Is the Bell in danger?'

‘Could be, young Barney,’ Kirlmann replied thoughtfully; ‘If you’ve told me true...’

‘I have, honestly!’

‘And by the cut o’ your clothes and the look in your eye, I believe you. ‘ Kirlmann added confidently. ‘So we’d best get ourselves up to the Palace and warn the King!’ He paused a moment before adding, ‘I’ve a feeling it’s not going to be easy.’

Finding Fa'Lacree

Chapter 2

The voice that Barney heard was singing clear and salty and sounded as if it should have been selling fish on the quayside. And the words of the song sawed their way between the rocks to the lilt of a strangely waltzing sea shanty:

‘When a storm has been sinking a vessel or three,
I pulls on me boots and goes down to the sea,
I sifts all the sand and I sorts all the stones
For marvels and treasures and old pirates’ bones,
I takes what I wants or I leaves it alone...;
Then I packs up me bag and I saunters back home.
Singing Flotsam and jetsam and sand in me eyes,
If I finds what I wants it’ll be a surprise!’

The song was odd enough, but odder still was the man who appeared from behind the rock, singing it. He was old, perhaps very old, though it was hard to tell. With skin as tanned and wrinkled as old leather, he looked every bit as salty as his voice had sounded. His bronzed face was peppered with white stubble and his eyes were large and bright. His hair was a grizzled thatch that jutted out from under a floppy, wide‑brimmed hat. He was tall and gaunt, dressed almost completely in a faded green: green leggings, green tunic and hooded cloak.

Over his leggings the old man wore a pair of long sea boots, creased and encrusted with salt and sand, and over his shoulder he carried a large leather pouch, which closed with a flap over the front.

‘What a weirdo!’ Barney thought to himself. ‘And what on earth’s he carrying in that bag? Looks like he’s delivering the mail.’

But whatever bulged inside the bag, it certainly wasn’t letters. And he was carrying something else besides: a large wooden rake. As the old man strode along the beach, he seemed to notice something in the sand. Walking across to the spot he raked carefully around it; he crouched down on his haunches and ran his fingers through the sand. With an ‘Ah-hah!’ he lifted something out of the sand, blew on it and dusted it off on the sleeve of his tunic. He turned it over in his hand, examining it closely. Then, looking up, he caught sight of Barney and slipped the thing, deftly and unseen, into his bag. Heaving himself on to his feet, he looked Barney up and down.

‘Hello,’ he said, eying him suspiciously, ‘Who are you?’

‘Barney Gulliver,’

‘Strange sort o’ name,’ the old man commented.

Barney squirmed a little, wanting to answer back, but not quite daring to. Instead, he asked the old man what his name was.

‘Kirlmann Wader the Beachcomber.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Barney almost laughed out loud. ‘Strange sort o’ name, indeed,’ he thought. But he didn’t say it.

‘You hard of hearing, boy?’ the old man bristled; ‘Kirlmann Wader,’ he repeated; ‘the Beachcomber! Got it?’

‘Yes. Got it,’ Barney agreed tamely. ‘I suppose that explains the - er … ‘ Barney glanced down at the Beachcomber’s long rake.

‘Me beachcomb? Of course!’ cried the old man. ‘How else could a beachcomber comb the beach?’

‘I see what you mean,’ Barney replied agreeably. ‘Do you have much luck?’ he asked.

‘Luck,’ the beachcomber replied, ‘has very little to do with it. ‘Let me tell you, boy, there’s not much profit from luck in this trade; it’s all skill! Skill and experience: Look to the sea, and the sea will provide!’

‘What?’

‘The motto of the Lords of the Shoreline.’

‘Who?’

‘The Lords of the Shoreline! Beachcombers! Don’t you know anything? It’s me inherited right. Me father, and his father before him! It’s in the blood and it goes way back in time. Each ripple and drift of the sand; each dip and delve speaks to me, boy.’

‘Really?’ Barney raised his eyebrows. ‘What do they say?’

‘They say, ‘Don't take any cheek from seal pups.’

Barney blushed and said nothing.

‘Let me tell you,’ Kirlmann Wader continued, ‘that it’s very rare for me to be surprised to turn something up.’ He paused for a moment then added, ‘Mind you, what I actually turn up might be a bit of a surprise, but the actual turning up? No, that’s hardly ever a surprise!’

‘I think I see what you mean,’ Barney said; ‘Were you surprised by what you turned up just now?’ he added. The Beachcomber eyed Barney suspiciously. ‘Only you looked like you found it very interesting.’

‘Interesting?’ Kirlmann Wader peered closer at Barney. ‘Everything I find is interest­ing, my boy, if you see what I mean! Now you! You are an interesting bit of flotsam. Yes, you are a surprise. You don’t belong in these parts. What are you doing here, boy? You spying on me?’

‘Spying? Me? No! Of course not! I’m just lost, I think,’ Barney replied.

‘Lost, are you? Where should you be then?’ Kirlmann Wader asked, the tension eased a little.

‘Tryllemouth Bay.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘Cornwall.’

‘Never heard of it. Is it one of the Outer Isles?’ the Old Man asked.

‘You’re kidding!’ Barney exclaimed.

The Beachcomber brandished his beach comb at Barney.

‘And you’re being impudent again, you young whelp!’ he bristled.

‘No!’ protested Barney, ‘No, honestly, I’m not ! It’s just that everyone knows where Cornwall is.’

‘Everyone who’s ever heard of it does,’ retorted the old man, ‘And that doesn’t include me,’ he added for good measure. ‘So now you tell me something.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Barney.

‘Where’s Fa’Lacree?’

‘Scotland?’ Barney suggested after a moment’s thought.

‘Scotland? Where’s Scotland?’ the old man bristled irrit­ably.

‘Where ‘Forlock‑thingy’ is?’ Barney suggested.

‘Fa’Lacree! Fa’Lacree! You’re on it, boy, you’re here!’ Kirlmann Wader said with ill-disguised impatience.

‘Oh! Am I in Scotland, then?’ Barney asked, mischievously.

‘By all the Powers!’ Kirlmann Wader exclaimed, raising his eyes impatiently: ‘I can take no more of your riddling, boy!’ And with that, he swung round and strode off across the beach.

Barney watched for a moment then ran after the Beachcomber. ‘Wait a minute,’ he cried, ‘Don’t go: I really am lost and I do need your help!’

Kirlmann didn’t stop, but he allowed Barney to catch up with him. The Beachcomber looked down at the boy, studying him thoughtfully.

‘So how did you get here?’ he finally asked.

‘Well, I think I fell.’

‘What?’ the Old Man stopped in his tracks. ‘You fell? From up there?’ Barney’s eyes followed the Beachcomber’s pointing finger to the castle-fringed cliffs above them.

‘Well no,’ replied Barney. ‘Not exactly ... You probably won’t believe this,’ he continued: and he told the old Beachcomber everything that had happened to him since he’d set out that morning. The Old Man’s eyes opened wide as he stopped to listen.

When Barney had finished his tale, the Old Man sat himself down heavily in the sand and let out a gasp. ‘Well! If that don’t beat everything!’ he uttered partly to himself.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Barney.

‘Sit down here next to me and I’ll tell you.’

Barney sat down. ‘Here,’ said Kirlmann, ‘Help me off with me boots.’

He offered Barney each salt-encrusted boot which Barney obligingly heaved off and passed back.

‘Ah, that’s better,’ sighed the Beachcomber, emptying a little heap of sand from each one, before pulling it back on again. Then he looked intently at Barney. ‘What did you say your name was?’

‘Barney Gulliver.’

‘Well, Barney Gulliver: you say that you fell from the sky.’

‘Not exactly,’ Barney answered; ‘More like I fell through a hole in the beach and sort-of landed here.’

‘Don’t quibble,’ chafed the old man. ‘If you fell onto this beach ...' and he pointed to the sands, ‘and you didn’t fall from up there...’ then he pointed to the cliff top, ‘then,’ he cried triumphantly, pointing straight up, ‘ … you must have tumbled from the sky! Right?’

‘I suppose so,’ Barney agreed doubtfully.

‘Right,’ continued Kirlmann. ‘Now we’ve got that little detail sorted out, let me tell you a story.

‘OK,’ said Barney, who liked stories. ‘What about?’

Kirlmann leaned back on one elbow and swept off his great hat. Barney drew his knees up to his chin and made ready to listen.

Clocks and Bells

BARNEY GULLIVER
AND THE BELL OF FA’LACREE

CHAPTER 1

It was a bell that first awoke Barney Gulliver: its muffled tones intruded into his sleep and he opened his eyes. The half-light of early morning was edging through his window. Barney arched his neck and peered across at the illuminated numbers of his alarm clock through half-closed eyes.

Four-twenty: an odd time to be ringing the church bell, he thought; and on a Saturday morning, too! Was nothing sacred? But even as he listened, the sound grew strangely distant and faded away. Perhaps he’d just drifted off back to sleep ...

Barney lay in folds of slumber for an age, giving the bell no further thought; hearing, instead, the cry of the seagulls and the occasional sounds of the sleepy little seaside town of Tryllemouth as it came slowly to life outside his bedroom window. It was lighter now. As the time on his clock nudged forwards, there were other sounds, too, which he tried to ignore: his sisters, Jayne and Katie, laughing and stomping about in their room; his Dad, downstairs in the kitchen, singing along with the radio, in his loud voice (which was never as good as he imagined); his Mum calling upstairs for everyone to get a move on. It was Saturday! Barney pulled the duvet over his head with a long low groan. Saturday: another weekend away from the realities of school; another weekend of being dragged off on some interminable adventure of his parents’ choosing … or his sisters’! But never, NEVER (well, hardly ever) his.

What was the point of actually living in a seaside town when he hardly ever had the chance to explore its alleyways; its nooks and its crannies! They’d moved in the place almost a year ago, but he still felt a stranger here.

After a reluctant while, he finally and miraculously appeared on the landing, fully-dressed, pulling on his jacket as he plodded downstairs. In the kitchen he found his Dad preparing breakfast (a job he did dutifully every morning, before driving off to his work as an electrician). Breakfast was usually a self-service thing: helping yourself from boxes of cereal, a jug of milk, a carton of orange juice and a heap of toast. This morning the smell of bacon drifted appetisingly through the house, as Mr Gulliver stood, turning it deftly in the grill pan; the Saturday treat. Nearby, his Mum was making up the day’s supply of sandwiches.

The smell of bacon was normally enough to put a smile on Barney’s face, but he was not in a good mood. All week long, it seems, you look forward to those precious weekends, only to have them snatched from your grasp by well-meaning parents – and older sisters. Monday to Friday? A chronicle of school and homework stretching mindlessly into the welcome arms of the weekends. Then, in a flash, when you’ve hardly begun to unwind, it’s all over! Just like that! Whole weekends that seem to slip away with the tide. And school holidays were just as bad! Life could be so unfair!

This basic fact of life had crept up on him one afternoon in school, when his teacher had told him to stop daydreaming: earlier, that very day, he’d been told to, ‘... use your imagination, Barney!’

‘Why don’t they ever make their minds up? There’s just no pleasing anyone!’ he had fumed to himself. But, having once recognised the universal truth of life’s unfairness, Barney had filed it away for future reference and proceeded to make the best of things. Except, every now and then, something grossly unjust would stir Barney’s emotions - like now, for instance.

‘It’s not fair!’ he grumbled as he sloped into the kitchen. ‘It’s just not flippin’ fair!’

‘Dead right, son,’ his Dad agreed from the grill. ‘Now sit down and have your breakfast.’

‘I don’t want any,’ Barney sulked.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ asked his mum, ‘Get out of bed on the wrong side?’
‘I didn’t want to get out of bed at all; I don’t want to go out!’

‘Is that all?’ remarked Mr Gulliver, unsympathetically, ‘I don’t hear your sisters complaining.’

‘I’m not surprised; for a start it’ll be at least an hour before they get out of the bathroom!’

‘That’s enough of that,’ retorted Mrs Gulliver; ‘You know that’s not true!’

‘Oh no?’ sneered Barney. ‘Well let’s time them. Anyway, they’re not going to complain when we always do things that they want to do. Like I’ve always done all the trailing around after everyone else! I can’t even arrange to meet my mates! We’re always doing stuff Idon't want to do!’

Mrs Gulliver looked hurt. ‘Don’t sound so ungrateful,’ she protested.

‘Well honestly mum; you just think about it! When I want to visit the Castle, you decide its too cold, or too wet, or too far, or we’ve not got time, or all of ‘em; so we go to some historical costume exhibition, instead; or to the cinema. To see a film about a flippin’ mouse, for Pete’s sake! Whenever I want to explore the flippin’ coast, there’s always something they want to do; or you’re too busy to come with me; or it’s wash the car; tidy my room; clean the windows! And you never let me go off on my own. I mean! We live at the flippin’ seaside and I hardly ever get to see the flippin’ place!’

‘We’re doing a lot of ‘flipping’ this morning,’ said Dad; ‘We might live at the seaside, but it doesn’t make it one long holiday. Life has to go on. Besides, don’t you enjoy any of those things yourself?’

‘Not as much as they do,’ Barney grumbled.

‘Listen,’ Mum suggested, ‘Why don’t you sit down and have some breakfast? Then afterwards, if you are careful and stay away from the sea and the edge of the cliffs, maybe you can have a walk down to the bay. Is that all right, Tom?’ she asked Barney’s dad.

‘Anything for a quiet life,’ his dad replied. ‘In fact why don’t we let you stop here by yourself? If you want to spend the rest of the day exploring, we’ll leave you to it. You can come back for a sandwich when you’re hungry, or buy yourself something …’

‘Whatever,’ Mrs Gulliver agreed. ‘Just take the spare key and stay out of trouble!’

‘Yeah, I might,’ mumbled Barney, scuffling his feet but taking the key.

His Dad yanked some rashers of bacon from the grill pan with the kitchen tongs.
‘You might what? Stay out of trouble? Say thank you? That’ll be the day! How about going now and taking a bacon sandwich with you?’

‘I might,’ Barney repeated grudgingly. He took the sandwich that his dad offered, picked up his Gameboy™ with his free hand, grunted something that could have been ‘Thank you,’ and walked out of the front door.

‘Good-bye, Barney dear,’ Mrs Gulliver called as the door slammed shut.

'Have a nice day!' added his Dad. They were both laughing as Jayne and Katie walked into the kitchen in their pyjamas.

‘What’s up with Barney?’ Jayne asked, as she and Katie walked into the kitchen, still in their pyjamas.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Mrs Gulliver, ‘but I think it’s your fault.’

‘It usually is,’ Katie remarked. She and Jayne laughed as they sat down at the table.

‘So what have we done this time?’ asked Jayne.

‘Don’t ask,’ Mr Gulliver commented wisely, and, with a knowing glance at his wife added; ‘I wonder who he takes after?’

Mrs Gulliver threw a piece of wet lettuce at him.

Outside, the cobbled street wound past the Gullivers’ cottage - down past shops and pubs and rows of cottages, all with quaint seaside names; and on down to the bustling little sea‑walled cove that was Tryllemouth Bay. Barney strode off down the street, down towards the jetty, polishing off the last of his sandwich. His thatch of dark hair caught the morning breeze; he wiped a greasy hand down the seat of his trousers and turned on his Gameboy. His fingers and thumbs deftly controlled the movement of the characters; eyes glued to the small screen, noting the action and watching his score mount up.

He walked as if guided by radar, oblivious to who – or what – moved in and out of his way. Until, that is, he collided with Mr Camponile.

Mr Camponile owned a little gift and antique clock shop at the bottom of the bank, just on the corner of the seafront. His real name was Jack Foster, but as his shop was called the Camponile Clock Shop, Barney had always called him Mr Camponile. Much of his income came from selling postcards and souvenirs. But he also specialised in clocks and watches and had his own repair workshop out the back.

Barney had known Mr Camponile for practically as long as he could remember: ever since first coming to Tryllemouth Bay to visit the elderly aunt who had previously owned their cottage. Since his parents had inherited the cottage (they called it their little nest egg), Barney would often stop by the shop and talk to him. The clocks fascinated Barney, and Mr Campanile was always happy to explain the mechanisms of pendulums, mainsprings and escapements to him, or to show off some newly discovered ‘horological treasure’, as he called his more cherished antique clocks.

‘Wow there, Barney boy!’ gasped Mr Campanile, in a confusion of flying papers and packages: and as Barney lurched into him, his Gameboy went clattering across the cobbles in one direction while Mr Camponile’s things cascaded off in the other.

‘Oh! … Mr Campanile! Sorry! Are you OK?’

Mr Camponile quickly bundled his things up, combed his fingers through his shock of thick white hair, back across his high forehead and pushed his glasses securely back up his nose.

‘Yes … Yes thanks, Barney,’ he replied, recovering his composure along with his belongings. ‘A bit preoccupied were you?’

‘Just a bit,’ Barney admitted, retrieving his Gameboy.

'Not broken, is it?'

Barney looked at the handset, and shook it a bit.

'No, I think it's OK.'

‘Interesting game? asked Mr Camponile.

‘Beasts of the Void,’ Barney said Barney.

‘Hmm! Rings a few bells with me, Barney. It must be good! I think you could have ignored a raging bull just now, never mind an aging shopkeeper.’

‘It’s not bad,’ Barney replied dismissively. He shut the game down and pushed the hand set into a deep jacket pocket. ‘Can I help you with your things?’ he asked.

‘Thanks, Barney; that would be very helpful.’
So Barney offloaded Mr Camponile’s belongings and followed dutifully to the door of his shop. The door was unlocked (three locks), the alarm turned off and the window shutters opened. The morning light poured into the little shop, illuminating a gallery of clocks: grandfathers, grandmothers, carriage and ornamental clocks, some festooned with cherubs, suns, stars and moons. An orchestra of ticking and tocking.

Barney would often amaze Mr Camponile by locating exactly the source of even the tiniest ticking or tinkling: he could even tell by touch the source of the sound of a clock or its bell. ‘You’re blessed with a silver ear, Barney m’ lad,’ he would say, admiringly; ‘a silver ear and a golden touch.’

‘Just put the things over there.’ Mr Camponile nodded towards the counter. Barney unloaded himself and gazed admiringly at a splendid grandfather clock that stood in the corner. The Roman numerals, etched deep in the brass face, beckoned the advancing hours. Its ornate dial was crowned with an astrological arc that traced the passing of the year, while a smaller dial marked the tick and the tock of each second. Underneath, behind a glass-panelled door, the pendulum swung purposefully back and forth between two gleaming brass weights, as its hands crept towards nine o’clock.

‘Well, Barney,’ Mr Camponile said; ‘So where were you going before you bumped into me? Anywhere special? Or just seeing who you could walk into before you fall in the sea?’

‘No: nowhere special,’ Barney grinned. ‘I was just having a wander down to the beach. They’ve let me off the leash for the day.’

Suddenly, a cacophony of chimes started as the clocks in the shop began to strike nine. ‘Must be opening time,’ Mr Camponile smiled, when the chiming finally stopped.

‘I guess so,’ Barney grinned. Then he paused, remembering: ‘I don’t suppose you heard that bell ringing this morning?’

Mr Camponile looked at Barney: ‘And what bell was that?’ He asked.

‘I don’t really know; but it woke me up at around twenty past four. Seemed an odd time to be ringing a bell; I went back to sleep afterwards. Maybe I was dreaming.’

‘Hmm. Maybe you were!’ Mr Camponile agreed thoughtfully.

‘Anyway,’ Barney continued; ‘I’d better be on my way now, if there’s nothing else I can do! I’d better make the most of the morning before we’re overrun by tourists.’

‘Don’t you go knocking the tourists, Barney,’ Mr Camponile laughed, ‘they’re bread and butter for some of us.’

‘I suppose so,’ said Barney.

‘Well, Barney,’ announced Mr Camponile, as he wound the security grill up in the front window, ‘you’ve got a fair enough day for a wander! Good enough for a bit of beach combing, as well - if you keep your eyes peeled!’ ‘And while at it,' he added, make sure you listen out for that bell.’

‘What bell?’ asked Barney.

‘The one you say you heard early this morning. Be sure you don’t ignore it if you hear it again!’

‘Huh? Oh! Right!’ Barney said, giving Mr Camponile a curious look. ‘See you then!’ He bid the clock-seller a puzzled goodbye and continued down towards the shore.

Barney soon found himself on the slipway that sloped down onto the beach.

Beyond the little jetty, the rugged coastline stretched and meandered away into the distance. Waves scurried up and down the shore, chasing each other between the rocks and through the shingle, creating a continuous chatter of water and stone.

With the morning sun rising in the sky, Barney strode on, his shadow moving alongside him, chasing over the contours of the beach. Here and there he stopped to peer into rock pools, to study the rocks, look for fossils or skip stones across the waves. Above him, the cliff face rose, a gaunt, granite wall, breached here and there, by inlets and crevices. Barney glanced around, barely noticing them as he passed by; shadowy places, out of reach of the prying fingers of the morning sunlight. Barney preferred the bright, sparkling foreshore and there he stayed.

Until, that is, he heard the bell.

Barney stopped, listened and looked around him. No, he wasn’t imagining things. Soft, but clear, its sound drifted out from a crevice in the cliff face. It was a dim and shadowy place, perhaps a little narrower than some of the other crevices. But in the furthest end, a faint reddish light shone from behind some rocks. The sound of the bell seemed to come from somewhere beyond the light.

Barney stopped. ‘That’s odd,’ he thought, recalling Mr Camponile's advice. Was this the sound that had awoken him that morning? One bell can sound much like another, but this had echoes and resonances of its own. There was something about it that sent a chill of excitement down Barney’s spine; that urged him to investigate. He turned away from the sea and picked his way over the rocks and shingle of the foreshore, drawn towards the sound of the bell and the strange glow that cast a faint light within the depths of the crevice.

At the very back of the cave, Barney found himself gazing into a hole in the ground, about a metre or so across. From its depths there shone that strange, reddish, incandescent light and from deep within there tolled the hollow, throbbing sound of the bell.

Barney leaned over the hole and peered down into its strange light. The light swirled below him like a luminous mist, but it revealed nothing more than formless shadows that fleeted in and out of view. The sound of the bell, however, remained a constant and insistent chime - a sound that seemed to possess some strange force of its own, urging him ever further over the edge.

Whether it was this, or merely the force of gravity ‑ or perhaps both - Barney suddenly felt himself losing his balance. He managed to utter a, ‘Whoops!’ as his hands groped in vain for a secure hold and he lurched forward; and then, ‘Oh, hell!’ as he pitched headlong into the hole.

Over and over he turned: his stomach lurched sickeningly; his arms and legs flew about wildly, grasping uselessly for some means of support. He tried to yell, to call out - but the sound froze in his throat. He shut his eyes tightly against the shock of impact but as he seemed to be tumbling on without actually falling anywhere Barney opened them again. The red, luminescent fog now totally engulfed him and he could see nothing beyond it.

Gradually he stopped tumbling and the sensation of falling all but ceased. The luminous red mist continued to obscure all vision so he had no real idea of what was happening to him. He felt as if he was floating on a cushion of air. There was certainly nothing solid supporting him. And the sound of the bell was growing louder. Clearer. Less distant.

Then the mist cleared and Barney found himself suddenly, and quite breathlessly, in mid air perhaps twenty metres above the ground. Above him a blue sky was dashed with streaks of summer cloud. Below him lay a rock‑strewn beach; to one side there stretched the rocky curtain of a cliff face, on the other side there spread a great sea.

Gently, ever so gently, Barney floated downwards and then gently, ever so gently, he landed. He felt himself sprawled across a sandy shore, as if some unseen hand had laid him carefully down. Barney lay quite still for a few moments, wondering a confusion of things. Finally he sat up and looked around him.

He was obviously not on the same stretch of beach that he had just been walking along. Above him, he saw, for the first time, the outline of a strong, defensive castle wall that rose up from above the top of the cliff face. The cliffs were lighter, and too high and the wall, he knew, should definitely not be there! Not in Tryllemouth Bay! And this certainly wasn’t the same sand as Tryllemouth Bay: it was much softer, much whiter.

Barney gazed about him, in wonder. ‘Awesome!’ he exclaimed, taking in the sites around him. ‘Simply awesome!’ Here and there, enormous stone blocks littered the beach and from behind one of them, above the hush of the surf and the still‑tolling sound of the bell, he could hear the voice of a man singing.