Barney Gulliver

Turning Wind

2007-04-29T20:27:00.000+01:00

CHAPTER 11

At dinner the weather changed dramatically. Before the first course was served, a sudden wind blew up and within half an hour the evening sunlight, which had spread across the sky like molten gold, was enshrouded in black clouds that twisted themselves into angry, contorting shapes and gradually blotted out the light. In cottages and mansions across the Island, doors and shutters slammed and banged in the wind and curtains and tapestries were whipped and buffeted. In the Great Hall of the Palace, where the Royal Household and its guests had gathered to eat, lamps and fires were hurriedly lit while the Bellmaster stood by a window, soberly contemplating the changing skies.

‘Something’s amiss,’ he muttered grimly; ‘something’s happening; I can feel it in my bones!’

Queen Banqua’s gaze darted across the table: ‘Surely Bellmaster, it’s only a storm brewing,’ she said; ‘We are used to storms brewing up in this part of the world.’

‘Of course, Ma’am,’ the Bellmaster replied patiently; ‘but not one like this!’

‘A storm is a storm,’ the Queen insisted: ‘a lot of wind and rain and a lot of bother. But we’re quite safe in the Palace.’

But the Bellmaster was not reassured. He stood and bowed briefly to the royal table and dismissed himself. Barney and Kirlmann, seeing him leave, excused themselves too, and followed him through the door.

Angelina watched them leave, her face crumpled with concern. She sprang to her feet, walked around to her parents and kissed them each on the cheek.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but I’ll have to go too.’

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ the Queen insisted.

‘Your mother’s right: stay here with us,’ Gunness agreed. But Angelina had left the great hall and was following the Bellmaster.

Banqua stood and made to follow her, but Gunness held out a restraining hand.
‘I think,’ he said, ‘that it’s time to let Angelina make her own decisions.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean events are overtaking us and Angelina is caught up in them, for good or ill’

‘That’s nonsense,’ insisted the Queen.

‘I’ve a feeling that, by tomorrow you will see things very differently.’

‘And I’m afraid,’ the Queen persisted ruefully, ‘that, by tomorrow, when this storm has blown over, we’ll all be feeling a little foolish.’

‘I hope you are right,’ said Gunness. ‘But what if you are wrong, and we have stood in the way of the very people who want to help us!’

I don’t know what to believe,’ Bianqua said, ‘except that I’m very suspicious of messengers of gloom and doom.’

‘There’s no harm in being suspicious,’ Gunness agreed, ‘but we are not dealing with cranks and tricksters, these are honest people – and they include the Bellmaster and our own daughter. Now let’s finish our meal together; it may be the last that we share for some time.’

Barney, Kirlmann and Angelina soon caught up with the Bellmaster. ‘What’s wrong with the storm?’

Barney asked breathlessly, as he came up behind him.

‘Its just not natural, Barney.’

‘Just what I thought’’ the Beachcomber agreed enthusiastically. ‘It’s not natural for a storm to blow in on a fair weather wind.’

‘What’s a fair weather wind?’ Barney asked.

‘Exactly what we’ve had today, Barney,’ the Bellmaster replied. ‘It should set us well for a spell of warm and balmy weather. Kirlmann’s right. I’ve had a bad feeling working up inside me all evening.’

‘Well why didn’t you explain about this fair weather wind to my mother?’ Angelina demanded.

The Bellmaster turned to the Princess and saw loyalty and frustration in her eyes. He put a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes.

‘Princess,’’ he said patiently, ‘I know your mother and I respect her greatly. But she is a proud and frightened woman. And in her pride ‑ and her fear ‑ she doesn’t want to believe us. But she will, Princess; she will. Now hurry; we have no more time to talk on the corridor than we had to discuss the weather with your mother. I must go and consult the Crystal Sphere again, though I’m afraid we may be too late!’

He released his hold on Angelina and continued on his hurried way, with the others in close pursuit.

‘Just what is the crystal sphere?’ Barney asked.

‘Hanged if I know, ‘ Kirlmann replied, as he strode along beside, him; ‘A sphere made of crystal, I suppose.’

Along corridors and up stairways they went, through doorways and hallways. Outside, the buffeting wind grew stronger and by the time they arrived at the Bellmaster’s apartment, it was blowing a persistent howl. The Bellmaster hurried across to the bookshelves on the far side of his study. He removed a large volume from one of the shelves, put a hand into the space and …
The others watched as a whole panel of the bookcase swing open to reveal the entrance to a hidden room.

‘God’s elbow!’ the Beachcomber cursed; ‘The place is like a rabbit warren!’
The Bellmaster led them into the room: it was small, and most of its space was taken up by a large, round, convex mirror, beaten from a sheet of bronze, which was supported, like a table, on four study, wooden legs. Suspended above the bronze mirror was a huge crystal, as big as a football. Its many facets reflected a thousand fold the pale light that filtered in through the doorway.

‘Well, there’s your crystal sphere,’ Angelina observed.

There was something else in the room: on a ledge, in a recess in the wall was the Portal Generator.

‘Zedd and his Beasts will never find it in here,’ the Bellmaster remarked as he squeezed by.

On the floor beside the bronze mirror there was a cushion. The Bellmaster knelt down on it, lifted his eyes to the sphere and stretched out his arms over the great dish of the mirror. His companions looked on, spellbound. As the Bellmaster focused his thoughts onto the sphere, it gradually began to glow with a milky, incandescence. The light grew downwards until it spread in a shimmering sheen across the bronze mirror. Then the Bellmaster lowered his gaze and peered over the edge of mirror, closely inspecting the milky light.

‘Nothing,’ he said; ‘But there’s something powerful going on; I must concentrate a little harder!’ He gazed deeply into the light, his forehead creased with the effort of concentration. Slowly, the milky blankness began to give way to a series of faint images which came together to show a gaunt, lightning-crowned edifice on a bleak mountain peak. The onlookers gasped in amazement.

‘What is it?’ asked Barney.

‘The Fortress of Roth, breathed Kirlmann. ‘Incredible!’

‘What are those things swarming around the turrets?’ Barney asked. The others peered closer.

‘They look like huge flies,’ Angelina remarked.

The Bellmaster’s jaw gaped open: ‘Impossible; impossible,’ he groaned. For, as the image grew clearer and larger, they could see, swarming around the turrets of Roth, were hosts of hideous, winged creatures: bat‑like, cat‑like, rat‑like, dragon-like; and at the head of the swarm, mounted on a horned bat-creature, was a man in a cloak, whose long hair and beard blew wildly about his head, and whose eyes flashed spiteful and venomous in the lightning glare.

‘Bloody hell,’ Barney swore softly under his breath. Angelina uttered a gasp and clasped Barney’s arm. Barney hardly noticed.

‘Zedd the Mystic and the Beasts of Roth.’ the Bellmaster’s voice sounded like the low moaning of the wind. ‘They’ve not ventured from the Fortress since they felt the power of the Bell. What’s he planning? Show me!’ he yelled, slamming his fists down on the rim of the mirror. The bronze dish rang a deep‑throated groan; the milky light wavered and trembled and the image that it held swirled out of shape then reformed to show a giant whirlwind ploughing purposefully across the ocean: a black spiral, snaking upwards into the dark clouds, lightning dancing terrifyingly about its crown.

‘What on earth is that?’ asked Angelina.

‘A tornado!’ cried Barney.

‘By the Ancient of Ancients!’ Kirlmann exclaimed. ‘It’s a torquewind, right enough, but like none I’ve ever seen!’

‘A torquewind it is,’ the Bellmaster agreed, ‘but not by the Ancient of Ancients! This is the work of the fiend that we saw riding the bat‑beast. This is the work of Zedd the Mystic. He’s set the elements against the Bell. If it is lost to the torquewind then Fa’Lacree will be lost to the Beasts of Roth; and with it the Rule of Seth and the prosperity and peace of the Eastern Kingdom!’

‘What can we do?’ the Princess asked.

‘Well I must go straight to the Bellspire and remove the Bell to a place of safety until the torquewind has passed over,’ the Bellmaster said, standing, an turning towards the door.

‘I’ll come and help you,’ said the Beachcomber.

‘No, man, this is a job that I must do on my own. I have ropes and windlasses up there. Besides, it’s dangerous work: I fear the torquewind is nearly on us. Now listen quickly to what you must do:
‘Kirlmann; you must take Barney and go around the quaysides and wharfs. Go to every vessel and boathouse; every inn and lodging and lead as many seafaring folk and their families as possible back to the palace.

‘Princess, you must go straight back to your parents and direct them to organise the Lords Merchant and the traders and craftsmen of Seth Haven. They must all collect behind the walls of the Palace Courtyard. If the worst does happen, and the Bell is snatched, then you must try to lead as many souls as possible to the safety of the cavern under the High Place.

‘There is only one way, to my reckoning, that Zedd can totally silence the Bell. You, Barney, with your silver ear, will be able to follow it when the time comes. Others must follow you and listen to your directions… If the worst happens ‑ and I feel that it will.

‘Now I must go to do what has to be done!’

And so saying, the Bellmaster was away; out through the door in the bookcase, and into the Bellchamber and then out through the doorway that led directly to the Bellspire.

The others followed. As they walked out from the secret room, the door slid mysteriously shut behind them.

Barney was worried. ‘Will anyone listen?’ he asked.

‘With the Bell snatched from over their heads, they’ll listen,’ Angelina replied, ‘Now let's hurry!’

New Tricks

2007-02-11T20:17:00.000Z

CHAPTER 10

King Gunness felt uneasy. His lean face was grey and lined with worry. Something was brewing and he didn’t understand what it was and that unsettled him:

That strange boy arriving out of nowhere with the Beachcomber claiming it was the fulfilment of the prophecy of the Bell; his queen distrusting the old man and the boy; and then the Bellmaster and his own daughter defying the Queen. They accepted the Beachcomber's story and they believed boy. And that bothered him. It bothered him, too, that this was all making him look ‑ and feel ‑ less than a king.
Gunness paced the Chamber of State irritably. At least the Bellmaster had given him a breathing space. But where were they now?
And where was that daughter of his?
‘The wretched girl!’ he fumed to himself. ‘Where can she be?’ Dro'Gan, Captain of the Guard, was stood by the main door. Gunness called him over.
‘Captain,’ he ordered, ‘Go check the Bellmaster’s apartments again. See if you can get an answer this time. And if you should see the Princess, tell her I wish to see her! At once!’
Dro’Gan saluted and turned to do the King’s bidding. Hardly had he left the Chamber when Angelina herself appeared through another door.
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, when she saw the King. ‘Hello daddy! Are you busy?’ Gunness looked at his daughter. She was rather bedraggled. Her robe was soiled and creased, the hem of her garment was wet and her feet were black beneath her sandal straps.
‘Am I busy?’ Gunness seethed; ‘Yes, I’m busy: busy worrying about you! Where have you been?’
‘Oh, just for a stroll around the Palace,’ Angelina replied sweetly.
‘For six hours?’ Gunness arched his eyebrows severely.
‘Well I have been to the library doing some studying, as well.’
The King looked his daughter up and down. ‘Is that where you got your clothes in such a mess?’ Angelina looked down at her garments.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t noticed that.’
‘We-e-ell?’
‘Oh, yes! I remember! I was walking through the Palace garden when I saw a cat stuck up a tree. I had to cross the flower beds and climb the tree to get the cat down.’
‘Well what a kind girl you are, Angelina!’ cried the King.
‘Oh, it was nothing really,’ Angelina replied.
‘No,’ her father agreed. ‘I’m sure it was nothing.’
‘Why’s that, Papa?’ Angelina looked uncomfortably at her father.
‘Because I’ve only recently spoken to the gardener. He tells me he’s been in the garden nearly all day and he’s had neither sight nor sound of you. So what do you say about that?’
‘Oh!’
‘Now perhaps you’d like to explain again.’
At that moment the drapes across the main door parted and the Captain of the Guard admitted the Bellmaster and his two guests. ‘Perhaps Your Majesty will allow me to explain,’ the Bellmaster interrupted; ‘I think the Princess is protecting me. I’m afraid I allowed the Princess to follow us out of the Palace.’
‘You did what?’ exclaimed Gunness, ‘This is most improper!’
‘Your Majesty,’ the Bellmaster continued; ‘the Princess has been my pupil now for six years. She shows spirit and intelligence: a true successor to the line of Sethmagnus. I know; I can see these things. And I can see that she will serve Your Majesty well in our coming crisis. Please don’t be anxious; the Princess has already served you well today.’
Angelina blinked: She couldn’t see what possible service she had been to anyone.
The King looked sternly at his daughter and then at the Bellmaster. He couldn’t see what service the Princess had been either. And he told them so. ‘And I’m still not convinced that there really is a threat to the Bell!’ he added.
The Bellmaster returned Guinness’s stern gaze. ‘I mean no disrespect, but it would be foolhardy to ignore the possibility of a threat to the Bell.’
‘Then tell me what the threat is then,’ demanded the King.
The Bellmaster paused a moment. ‘Truly, Sire, I can’t yet say.’ He walked across to a window overlooking the courtyard. ‘You look out of this window and what do you see?’ he asked.
‘The courtyard; the city; walls, people ...’
‘Can you see the Ocean?’
‘Why no!’
‘But the Ocean is there?’
‘Well, of course it’s there,’ Gunness replied testily.
‘But you can’t see the Ocean,’ the Bellmaster insisted. ‘No more can I see the danger to the Bell. But I know it’s there. Zedd the Mystic has conjured up a veil of magic against my powers of vision, just as the City walls prevent you from seeing the Ocean. All I have to rely on is my instinct and senses. If Zedd has drawn a curtain around himself and his doings, then you can be sure that there is something momentous going on that he wishes to keep to himself.’
Gunness looked deeply troubled. Angelina went across to him and put her arms around him. ‘What’s the matter, Daddy?’ she asked him tenderly.
Gunness looked down at his daughter then across at the Bellmaster and Barney and Kirlmann. ‘The Eastern Kingdom has prospered from the shores of Fa’Lacree for more than five generations,’ he began. ‘There has been peace and prosperity here and across the realm of the Islands, even as far as the old lands of Seth. We have forgotten the calamitous times that brought Sethmagnus from the old lands to these shores.
‘All we have are legends and lore and a few words inscribed by ‘who knows’ on a bell which has become the talisman of our Kingdom ....’ The King hesitated, lost for a moment. ‘What I’m trying to say,’ he continued, ‘is that perhaps there never was a Battle for Sundown; perhaps Zedd the Mystic was no more than a successful villain who caused the collapse of the Eastern Kingdom by nothing more than piracy; perhaps the Bell is a myth and all the stories were created to embellish the good name of Sethmagnus! After all, who’s ever heard or seen anything of the Ancient of Ancients? And he is supposed to be the Guardian of our Lands!’
The Bellmaster raised an eyebrow at this confession of royal doubt. However, he continued to smile impassively.
‘Are you trying to do me out of a job, Your Highness?’ he asked.
‘Well no!’ the King protested; ‘At the very least, the Bell is an important symbol of peace and stability among the People of Seth. In that respect it is as essential as the crown on my head. I just don’t want to believe that there could be any threat to it all.’
The Bellmaster looked thoughtfully at his King.
‘These are all fair questions, Sire,’ he said; ‘and I’m sure you’re not the only one to ask them. But you can’t bury your head in the sand; doubts and questions will not make the threat go away.’
‘And what about Barney?’ Angelina interrupted.
‘Barney?’ Gunness cast a wary eye in his direction.
‘You must believe that there’s something strange in the way that he came among us? He’s obviously not one of our people; it’s all too much of a coincidence!’
‘So you say, child; so you say.’ Everyone was now looking at Barney and he felt his neck and ears burning hot; and he felt that he had remained silent for long enough.
‘Listen, Your Majesty;’ he said, ‘A few hours ago I was having a pleasant walk along the beach – my beach - before going home to my sisters and my mum and dad. I didn’t ask to come here and I don’t know why I am here. If I’m not back when they expect me, they’ll be worried stiff. I really did get here like I told you all; I really did fall here!’
‘The boy speaks the truth, Sire,’ said Kirlmann Wader, ‘I found him on the beach, just as he says. In fact, thinking about it, there wasn’t a single footprint leading up to the spot where he landed; just a lot o’ fuss in the sand.’
‘You really have no choice but to believe in the Danger, Sire,’ the Belmaster insisted; ‘Very soon now it will be too late.’
Gunness sat down on a high‑backed wooden chair and rested his arms heavily on the armrests. He stared morosely at the floor.
‘You’re right, of course, Bellmaster,’ he said quietly. ‘Much of what I’ve said is because of hurt pride. Kingship has really been little more than a game for me. The Eastern Kingdom and the Merchant Empire of Seth run themselves so well that there is little opportunity for me to exercise true authority. I suppose I feel abandoned by the Ancient of Ancients.’
The Bellmaster looked surprised. ‘Why ever do you feel like that?’ he asked.
‘I’d always imagined that the boy in the prophecy would appear before the heir of Sethmagnus,’ the King lamented: ‘Me,’ he added.
The Bellmaster understood. ‘Ah! I see,’ ‘Look at it this way: trouble cannot far away! Just think back on the history of the Fall of Seth, which I assure you is exactly as it has been told. Zedd has already devastated the old kingdom, and if he succeeds in reaching the shores of Fa’Lacree, then not only will the Bell be at risk, but every life on the Island: especially yours!’
Gunness turned pale.
‘And so,’ the Bellmaster declared, ‘we must gather together every talent under your command! When Barney landed at the feet of Kirlmann Wader, the Ancient of Ancients was bringing the special talents of a Lord of the Shoreline to do your bidding. Kirlmann has his own skills that are essential to the safekeeping of the Bell and the House of Seth: he has a detailed knowledge of the shoreline and the Island of Fa’Lacree. Don’t forget, he brought Barney to you because you are King!’
‘I see; I see!’ Gunness murmured, almost to himself. Then he looked up at Barney and the Beachcomber, from one to the other. Recovering his composure, he stood and walked across to them. He reached out and, to Barney and Kirlmann’s great relief, he shook them both by the hand.
‘Kirlmann Wader and Barney Gulliver,’ he said, ‘I am sorry if my excessive caution meant that I should have made your reception here more courteous.’
‘An honour to serve Your Majesty,’ Kirlmann declared.
‘Thank you, sir.’ Barney added. Kirlmann and Barney smiled widely. But then the door was opened and in walked the Queen with Ben’Almoran, the Lord Merchant Councillor, and the smiles were wiped away. The Queen frowned when she saw the old man and the boy. She turned haughtily to her husband.
‘What have you got there?’ she demanded; ‘I thought you would have got rid of them by now!’
‘No, my dear,’ the King replied calmly but surely.
‘No?’ echoed the Queen.
‘Exactly so,’ Gunness affirmed. ‘They are my guests. Now pray sit down, Banqua, we have a few matters to sort out.’
Ben’Almoran took a half step forward and started to say something but Gunness stopped him with a word and a flash of his eyes.
The Queen looked rather taken aback. ‘What if I don’t care to sit down?’ she asked defiantly.
‘Just be seated, my dear,’ Gunness replied, in a quiet, firm voice, ‘and listen to what I have to say.’
Barney looked at the floor and shuffled his feet in embarrassment.
The Queen sat down, deflated. She listened as Gunness told again the tale of the Bellmaster and explained the prospects that lay before them. As she listened the hardness in her eyes gave way to doubt and concern. Eventually, when Gunness (with some help from the Bellmaster) had finished, the Queen looked up at Barney and Kirlmann.
‘Perhaps I have been a little hasty in my judgement,’ she said grudgingly to them both.
As glad as he was of the Queen’s change of heart, Barney still wasn’t convinced that he had her trust. However, he was able to mutter something in an embarrassed sort of way, that was meant to be, ‘Don’t mention it.’ Whatever it sounded like, the Queen accepted it with a nod of her head. Kirlmann merely bowed silently.
Angelina ran across to her mother and flung her arms around her neck. ‘Oh, thank you Mother,’ she cried. ‘You can trust Barney and Kirlmann you know. And everything will turn out all right. You’ll see!’
‘I must warn you, Princess!’ the Bellmaster interrupted solemnly; ‘The Danger is going to be great and there is no guarantee that things will turn out well. All I can say is that, before things can start to be restored, the boy Barney will have served the People of Seth well. Beyond that, may heaven preserve us all! ‘
There was a hollow silence in the great room, and a nervous churning in the pit of Barney’s stomach, which he thought everyone else must hear. It was the Beachcomber who broke the silence and loosened the knot.
‘What next?’ he asked with plain simplicity. The others looked at him for a moment, so he continued, ‘What next and when?’
‘Good questions; both!’ replied the Bellmaster, at last; ‘But the answer to them both has to be the same: wait and see!’
‘But what can I be doing in the meantime?’ Barney asked.
Gunness stepped forward. ‘Barney Gulliver,’ he cried. ‘We are forgetting our hospitality.’ He turned to the Lord Merchant Councillor: ‘Ben’Almoran,’ he said, ‘You may make yourself useful on my behalf.’
Ben’Almoran gave the King a self-conscious bow.
‘See that quarters are prepared for our two guests. And make it quick!’
The Councillor bowed again and left the Chamber of State. The King then turned to his daughter. ‘Angelina,’ he said, ‘perhaps you ought to show Barney around the Palace.’
Queen Banqua started to protest, but she caught her husband’s gaze and thought better of it. Angelina eagerly took Barney by the arm and walked him over to the main door. ‘Certainly, Father,’ she smiled.
‘Just see that you’re both back for dinner,’ the King added. Then he turned to Kirlmann Wader. ‘Now what of you, Beachcomber?’ he asked.
I think,’ said the Bellmaster, ‘that I will take charge of the Beachcomber for a while longer. There are items I have which I must trust to his care: they will be vital tools in our task. And, by your leave, Sire, we will meet you again with Barney and the Princess, at supper. Perhaps the Princess might be permitted to show our young friend around the Palace? It would be useful for him to get his bearings in case things do get serious.
‘Very well, Bellmaster,’ Gunness answered, ‘We will see you all later. Go safely.’
So the Bellmaster and the Beachcomber bowed low and made their way from the Chamber of State while Angelina led Barney out into the realms of the Palace.

The Bellmaster led Kirlmann back to his apartment. He took him directly to the cupboard by the fireplace. Opening the door, he reached up to a high shelf and took down a round, carved and lidded, ivory box, and a wand. The wand was of jet-black ebony, about half a metre long, decorated at the top with an ivory mast and sail, about the size of a man’s hand. Around its shaft were three gold rings, and set at the base end, in a golden clasp, was a large jewel that sparkled like fire.
‘This is a vessel dowser.’
‘A what?’
‘A vessel dowser. It was created by the Master Craftsmen, in their workshops, within the High Place. See?’ And the Bellmaster pointed out some delicate scrollwork engraved on the rings. ‘These are their marks; you’ll find the same marks on the Bell. And look here; they’re also on the box. ‘
The Beachcomber looked on it admiringly. ‘It’s exquisite,’ he said.
‘It’s practical, as well,’ added the Beachcomber.
‘Why? What’s it for?’
The Bellmaster unscrewed the lid. ‘It keeps these dry,’ he said. The box was filled with golden crystals, about the size and colour of brown sugar crystals, but drier looking, and shinier.
‘Is it some sort of sand?’ asked the Beachcomber.
‘Not sand; mist crystals. These little treasures will be of great help to you. Let me explain how you must use them … And the vessel dowser. And you’d better be emptying your Beachcombing bag; you’ll be needing something to keep them safe.’

In another part of the Palace, Angelina was leading Barney on a journey of exploration. Corridors, galleries and chambers were revealed, rooms and flights of stairs, all with their exquisite yet simple furnishings and drapes. The influence of the sea was indelibly engraved in the decoration of the palace: chair backs and sides were carved with images of sailing ships, fish and mythical sea beasts; similar motifs were woven into the fabric of upholstery, drapes and curtains. And everywhere there were images of the Bell: golden on a blue background. The largest of these was on the flag, which flew high above the courtyard.
Barney watched the flag flapping in the breeze from a turret room at the front of the palace. He and Angelina had climbed to the top to look out over the rooftops of Seth Haven and down on the Silver River, where it poured its waters into the Great Yonder Ocean, through the gate known as the Seaward Gate. The evening summer sun shone warmly, as it moved, unhurried down across the sky, towards the end of the day.
‘Amazing!’ Barney exclaimed. The breeze from the open window filled his nostrils with the familiar smells of the sea. It was hard to imagine that all of this would not last forever. He was so overwhelmed by the wonders around him, in a world that was so alien to his own.
‘Magic,’ he sighed.
‘What?’
‘Magic,’ he repeated:’ All this,’ he said, gazing from the turret window:’ It’s all magic!
Angelina smiled at him. She took hold of his hand and squeezed it enthusiastically. ‘It is, isn’t it,’ she agreed.Barney smiled back, slightly embarrassed. ‘It must be nearly dinner time,’ he said, putting his hand in his pocket.

The Torquewind of Roth

2007-01-14T16:27:00.000Z

CHAPTER 9

High among the Mountains of Wier, overlooking the green grey, northern waters of the Great Yonder Ocean, stands the Fortress of Roth. It seems to hang there, bleak and forbidding, a Portal between earth and hell. Even when the skies are clear, which is on rare days enough, the fortress looks as grim and as dark, seeming to suck in all cheer from the light of day like some misshapen black hole. For most of their sombre history, the halls of Roth have known only the loathsome shapes of the Beasts of Zedd and the rule of one man; Zedd himself. To call him a man is only partly right, though. True, he was born a child amongst men and grew to manhood. But that was countless years ago.
When he was a baby his mother had named him Lynch and that was the name that hanged by him. Other children grew to hate him for his meanness and his cruelty. The cry, ‘Look out; here comes Lynch’‘ would send them scuttling for home, for they had learned to fear him. And so Lynch grew up doubly bitter and lonely. If you have ever thought that your mothers might be glad to see the back of you, well just imagine how pleased Lynch’s mother was the day he walked away for good. He was sixteen. He headed for the high cliffs between the ocean’s edge and the Mountains of Wier. There he built a drystone dwelling, which he roofed with driftwood and reeds. He drove away all other human callers and turned his mind to the great forces that stretched from the depths of the dark ocean to the infinity of deepest night. He channelled these forces into himself so that gradually he came to master them.
And so it was that he became Zedd the Mystic; the name he took for himself when the Dark Powers finally came within his grasp: Zedd: the End of all Things.
Then, when black‑hearted men came to his door, he welcomed them. Pirates and cut‑throats flocked to him and, under his direction, they and their slaves built for him the Fortress of Roth. There, in its topmost turret, he studied dark powers and indulged in the one other thing that he loved. Gold. His henchmen brought him vast quantities of plunder, yet still he lusted after more: more gold and the chance to commit more evil.
The great wealth of the Eastern Kingdom drew Zedd like a magnet. When he confronted Sethmagnus and demanded the wealth of the Kingdom, the Mystic of Roth was not surprised that Sethmagnus scorned his threats. But he was not expecting defeat in battle.
Conquered, but not crushed, The Mystic of Roth fled back to his mountain refuge. There he plotted vengeance and his return to Seth. With all his followers dead or fled, however, other resources had to be drawn upon.
So Zedd the Mystic locked himself away for many dark years and dreamed and charmed, and charmed and cursed; and from the elements and life forces of the Cosmos he conjured up an army of the darkest fiends that the most evil of minds could imagine. And with them he destroyed the heart of the Eastern Kingdom. But all that was ages past.
*********************************************************

Far from the Island of Fa’Lacree, high in the Mountains of Wier, in the Fortress of Roth, Zedd the Mystic paced the floor of the turret room that he called his own. His footsteps traced a pattern around the floor that charged the whole room with energy.
Not a solitary living human soul, except for Zedd himself, ever trod the Halls of Roth; not since that time‑lost battle, generations ago, when Sethmagnus the Great had destroyed his legions. But Zedd was not alone in his fortress. In every dark and dismal corner, shadowy figures lurked. Some crouched, cat‑like, with flaming eyes; while others hung like bats, by vicious looking talons from rafters or from crevices in the walls. Others, still, prowled the corridors or flitted between the rafters of the vast hall that lay in the heart of the Fortress.
This was Zedd’s new army: fiends of every imaginable nightmare form, conjured up from the depths of his evil mind. With them he had carried out his awful revenge on the Eastern Kingdom and affected the destruction of Seth. Yet now his victory had a hollow ring. The Empire of Seth was grown strong again. The Lord High Craftsman had thwarted him with that infernal Bell. Seven times Zedd had launched his Beasts against Fa’Lacree, but each time the sound of the Bell had smitten them, sending them crashing from the skies into the ocean below.
And so, for generations, Zedd’s lot had been to gloat soulfully over the plundered wealth of the Eastern Kingdom.
‘Damnation!’ he would cry; ‘What use is there in being the blackest power in the Universe when I’m virtually a prisoner with my booty in this heap of rock?’
Then his dark mind was lit by the germ of an idea. From the windows of his turret room he explored the realms of the high skies and spoke words to the Great Air. Some were lost in its moans while others excited it to angry blasts. These words he wrote down on parchment in a black, spidery hand.
As he paced his room and gestured angrily at the reluctant air, for inspiration, he noticed that certain movements aggravated the air to perform ever‑more violent twists and turns. These, Zedd also added to his list of words. Day‑by-day, week-by-week, the Mystic rehearsed more words and actions and added them to his parchment. The weeks ran into months and the months into years and the spell (for it was a Spell of Bidding) grew more powerful. The words he recorded and reordered; the actions he wove among the words; arranging and rearranging them to their greatest effect. Zedd’s black eyes gleamed with excitement as the power of his spell grew.
‘I have it! I have it!’ he would scream, leaping into the air with delight as he felt the response to each new word and each new action woven aright. Finally, there on his table, lay the completed manuscript, recording every detail of the spell. Every word and every gesture was orchestrated so that the very air around him was subdued to his command. The spell was complete and Zedd, the Mystic of Roth, stood there, the master of the winds.
On his shoulder was perched one of his Beasts, a bat‑like hawk (or perhaps a hawk‑like bat), which clung tenaciously to its master with sickle‑like claws.
‘Hold on tight, Treg my little friend,’ laughed the Mystic; ‘tonight is the night for testing!’ He raised his outspread hands high and wide and threw back his head. With eyes blazing he called out the dark name of the air. At that, the room around him shimmered and the fire on the hearthstone trembled uneasily.
Then Zedd began to recite the litany, which he had spent so long in devising. Over and over he spoke the incantations and moved his whole body through the spell. On and on, deep into the afternoon, Zedd conjured up the wind to his bidding. Not any old seafaring wind, not a gale, nor even a hurricane. But a mighty cyclone: a torquewind, in the speech of the Merchant Traders of Seth, which the Mystic drew into a great column of churning and twisting air; which collected and grew and howled in a tempestuous column that wrapped itself around the Fortress of Roth from the root of its mountain to the very limits of the stratosphere.
With a yell of triumph, Zedd ordered the cyclone to move. As the furious winds inched across the fortress, the great walls shook and groaned. Air rushed wildly through the halls and corridors, while up in Zedd the Mystic’s turret room the fire was sucked bodily up the flue.
Treg, the Spell Beast, clung terrified to Zedd’s shoulder. It flapped its leathery wings in frantic resistance, its bright yellow eyes rolling miserably in their sockets. Finally, as the very roof of the turret was dragged from its joists, the hapless creature was torn from its perch and sucked, wailing, into the heart of the tornado.
Zedd, rooted to the floor by his magic, roared with an evil laughter that was caught up in the long spiral fingers of the whirlwind.
‘Enjoy your trip, my little Treg!’ he yelled; ‘Have a good flight!’
High up in the cyclone his evil laughter echoed and re-echoed amidst the howling and the groaning of the spell‑bound air. Then, under the Mystic’s word of command, the mighty whirlwind moved down the mountain. Cautiously, at first, then with growing confidence and vigour, Zedd directed his mighty column of destruction. In and out of the valleys and around the spurs of the Mountains of Wier, it heaved, leaving a trail of havoc in its path. Trees were stripped of their branches or totally uprooted; shepherds’ cottages simply vanished as the monstrous wind engulfed them and stripped them like shelled peas.
Zedd, watching from his stricken turret, was ecstatic. He leapt and cheered with glee, his hair and beard whipped up by the wind. Then, with a gesture and a word he called his creation to heel. Slowly and obediently the great wind returned to the foot of the mountain, awaiting its master’s next word of command. Zedd was now certain of his control over the wind.
‘Wait there, my beauty!’ he cried, and he flung wide the door of his turret room. Down the spiral stairway, he strode; down into the bowels of his fortress and finally along a bare and echoing corridor and into the main hall. There he summoned his beasts with a single word, which boomed around the fortress.
From the furthest corners and crannies the Beasts came slinking from their boltholes where they had cringed in fear under the onslaught of the wind. ‘Come to me, you craven cowards!’ bellowed the Mystic: ‘We have work to do!’ And come they did. Skulking and unsure, they flocked down the corridors to their master. ‘You have no more need to be afraid, my children!’ he cried; ‘We have a new ally!’
The Beasts muttered and snarled among themselves. ‘I have conjured up my finest spell yet! Finer even than your snivelling selves!’
The snarling grew more irritable.
‘Be silent, you witless curs or I’ll send you all back to oblivion, just as sure as I created you!’
The Beasts fell silent and the Mystic continued, ‘You are like helpless kittens against the Bell of the Ancients! But the Bell will be useless against my new slave! Behold the WIND! It has no mind that the Bell can paralyse; just a path to follow and a prize to win!’
The Mystic’s laughing eyes scanned his cringing beasts: ‘Do I hear you asking what the Prize is?’ he asked contemptuously; ‘No! Of course not you idiots! Well, I’ll tell you anyway! The Bell! I shall have the Bell and be done with it! You, my pets, shall have your revenge; and I,’ he added with relish, ‘shall have mine!’
The Beasts erupted with elation. Their baying and howling rose to a crescendo which was caught up by the Mystic’s tornado. Their hideous cacophony filled the mountains of Wier and echoed far across the ocean: and sailors and peasants, hearing the awful din, huddled together in stark terror, fearful of whatever dreadful thing it might mean.

Picture This with Barney!

2007-01-07T21:17:00.000Z

Low Skills in High Places

Al's been playing about with our Blogg but trying to fit in a full-time job ('big mistake, but a bird in a hand .... etc') and being a devoted husband and family man at the same time. I keep asking him - what does he REALLY value in life. He sort of grins weakly and shrugs his shoulders. Anyway, he's not doing me any favours!

Meanwhile, having finally (he says!!!) cracked it (Blogger), he lost the last batch of photos. So this little "Interlude" is by way of adding some illustration - a little bit of colour to our story.

Beneath The High Place

2007-01-07T17:45:00.000Z

CHAPTER 8

The summit of the High Place was an irregular plateau of rock, more-or‑less on two levels. The higher level was further back and cut through in places from the lower level by a series of shoulder‑high crevices that had been. From this side, the whole place gave the impression that it had been constructed from stone blocks and left unfinished. The Bellmaster was on his feet and striding off again before Barney could reply. Angelina started to get up to join them, but the Beachcomber placed a restraining hand lightly on her shoulder.

‘Let the Bellmaster have him to his self for a while. I dare say they’ve things to talk about, Princess,’ he smiled.

Barney, revived by the bellherb ale, sprang after the Bellmaster. The incredible man had already leaped onto the upper plateau of rock ahead of Barney, and was bending down to give him a heave up.

‘There you are!’ he announced, ‘This is where you’ve come to!’ Barney looked about him. ‘Not too close to the edge,’ the Bellmaster warned. But what interested Barney was not at the edge: at one side of the higher level, there was an ancient round, stone wall, like a roofless cottage, but low, and without doors or windows. The floor in the middle a shell of fused rock.

‘What’s that?’ Barney asked.

‘An old chimney.’

‘A chimney? That size? But it’s filled in. And what’s it doing up here?’

‘I’ll show you later,’ the Bellmaster said. ‘Meanwhile, let’s enjoy the view: It will be useful to you.’

On all sides, the land dipped away from the foot of the High Place, rolling gently down to the shores of the great sea that surrounded them. The wide sweep of the Silver River uncoiled its way beneath them, pouring its waters into the ocean at Cape Bay, under the watchful gaze of the walls of Seth Haven. Elsewhere on the Island, small clusters of farm buildings could be seen, and an occasional shepherd’s hut nestled among the hills. But the main island settlement was obviously within the city walls. The quayside and harbour were beyond their view, but the passing of broad‑beamed sailing ships in and out of the bay was proof of the prosperity had returned to the Merchants of Seth.

‘Well, Barney Gulliver,’ the Bellmaster said quietly, ‘what do you think of our fair island?’

‘Amazing!’ Barney breathed in wonder.

‘And there’s even more beneath our feet!’

Beneath their feet? Barney eyed the Bellmaster. ‘Here? You mean under the ground?’

‘Follow me,’ the Bellmaster said, reading the look on Barney’s face; ‘Follow me and all will become clear.’ He leaped down from the rocky plateau and called across for Kirlmann Wader and the Princess to join them. He then led the way down a steep and grassless path onto a narrow back that wound down the far side of the High Place to the foot of a sheer escarpment that fell away from the summit. The others slipped and slithered down after the Bellmaster and found themselves on a wide and gently sloping ledge with its steep wall of rock on one side and a tangle of undergrowth on the other.

‘If the worse happens,’ the Bellmaster directed, ‘see that you lead as many of the citizens of Seth Haven as possible to this place.’

Kirlmann looked about him. ‘I’m sure you know what you’re doing,’ he began doubtfully, ‘but I don’t see how it’s going to be any safer here than behind the walls of Seth Haven.’

‘You will,’ the Bellmaster replied and, while the others watched with interest, he strode over to a hazel bush, drew a knife from his belt and neatly pruned off and stripped a forked twig. He handed the twig to Barney, who took the forks in either hand.

‘There, Barney. Tell me what you feel.’

Barney felt the twig, wooden and lifeless in his hand. Then, as he looked at the thing, a tingle of energy seemed to move from the heart of it, through his fingers and hands and up his arms. Barney was so surprised that he tried to drop it. But he found that he couldn’t: instead, the thing twisted in his grip and forced his hands to point it to a place in the rocky escarpment.

‘It’s alive!’ he cried. ‘What do I do now?’

‘Follow where it leads you,’ the Bellmaster replied. So Barney did just that while the others watched. The forked hazel twig tugged in Barney’s hand until its pointed end lodged itself in a recess in the rock face.

‘What on earth’s happening?’ Angelina asked in astonishment.

Kirlmann laughed. ‘Well, bless my beard’’ he beamed. ‘If our Barney hasn’t got the Dowsing! What other talents are you hiding my boy?’

Barney laughed too - in disbelief! ‘I’ve no idea!’ he exclaimed. ‘How do I let go of the thing?’

‘Just close your eyes and count to five,’ the Bellmaster continued.
Before Barney had reached three, his grip had relaxed and he opened his hands again, quite easily.

‘Now keep it safe,’ the Bellmaster instructed; ‘You may well need it again.’

Barney tucked the dowsing stick into his belt.

‘What I need now, is fire.’ The Bellmaster reached into his cloak and drew out the wooden box. Close up, Barney could see that it was dark and polished like a freshly hatched chestnut, and carved with strange flame‑like devices. Set in a one side of the box was a brass trigger. The Bellmaster took it and opened the lid. He squeezed the trigger and immediately a cascade of sparks leaped from flint and steel, setting the little pile of tinder and wadding wonderfully ablaze. It was a tinderbox.

The Bellmaster inserted the blazing box into the niche. ‘Now let’s see…,’ he murmured.
The flames leaped from the tinderbox and disappeared behind the top of the recess, into the back of the rock face. ‘Just watch this.’ And, as the flames did their work, there came a grating and grinding as a section of the cliff face pivoted upwards into the depths of the High Place to reveal an entrance the size of a church door. The others gaped in astonishment.

The Bellmaster retrieved the tinderbox, which was still, inexplicably, burning bright. Holding the box carefully ahead of him as he walked through the doorway. The light from the tinderbox cut unsteadily through the darkness. Barney, Angelina and Kirlmann followed behind. They were stood on a rocky landing at the top of a flight of steps, cut into the inner wall of a great cavern, which seemed to take up the entire shell of the High Place.

‘Wow!’ Barney gasped, his voice echoing back to him. ‘Just how do you build a place like this?’
‘Lots of time and big shovels,’ the Beachcomber suggested. The others laughing, followed him into the vast depths of the High Place.

At last they all stood of the floor of the great cavern. The Bellmaster set the burning tinderbox down on a stone pillar and turned to his companions.

‘This cavern was fashioned in the Days of the Ancients, the Master Craftsmen who ruled here long before the arrival of the Lords Merchant of Seth. In those times the Island was mined for its iron. It had qualities of strength and purity that made it highly prized. The Island was a warren of mineshafts and tunnels and this great place was hollowed out; at first for its ore, but in the course of time the space left behind was fashioned out for smiths, ironworkers and armourers.
Below this level you can see the pure waters of the Earth, rise up at the source of the Silver River.

In those times it was an ‘Iron River’, running red with rust from the main lode. That was what the river bore down to the edge of the Great Yonder Sea. Rock falls and undergrowth around the High Place have now all-but swallowed up the exit to the waters, apart from a lip of rock below the water line. It provides an interesting way out; I’ve often used it myself.’ He eyed the Princess … ‘If perhaps I’ve wanted to avoid being followed.’

Angelina looked him straight in the eye and smiled.

‘Why did it all stop?’ Barney asked.

The Bellmaster gazed longingly around the dimly‑lit hall. ‘Many reasons;’ he sighed. ‘In the first place, the ore was becoming worked out and people began moving away from the Island. Then, in the lowest reaches of the mines, a strange vein of highly magnetic ore was uncovered. It was smelted and forged, tempered and reworked by the most skilled of all craftsmen: the Master Craftsmen, also known as The Ancients. The forging removed most of the magnetism, but this new metal could be worked into weapons and tools of the most exquisite lightness and strength. Men came from beyond the Westerling Sea, greedy to know its secret but only the Master Craftsmen knew; and they would say nothing.

'It was they who had the secrets and the skills that rewove the magnetic qualities of the ore into other arts and other forces. The metal they worked acquired whatever qualities the Ancients saw fit to work into it; such was the nature of the ore and such was the Art of the Ancients. Outsiders came and tried bribery and brigandry to win their secrets, but they all failed and the secrets of the Ancients remained intact.

'Then the disappearances started. First there were brigands and spies who had managed to slip into the mines; they were never seen again. Then the Ancients, the Master Craftsmen themselves began to disappear.’
‘

Whatever happened to them?’ asked Angelina.

‘They had discovered the Light Portals.’

‘Like the one that brought me here?’ asked Barney

‘The very same, Barney. Something in the very nature of the ore could distort time and space, so that anything, or anyone passing near the focus of its energy was drawn into it and lost from this world to a world beyond.’

‘Well, it’s all beyond me,’ Kirlmann interrupted.

‘But not beyond the Ancients! They discovered how to direct the forces of the mother lode of the ore. There were those who returned from the worlds beyond with new knowledge and understanding. Soon they closed down the Island. The mines were declared exhausted and the lesser artisans and labourers were sent back to their homelands. The Ancients were left in sole residence on the Island and they saw to it that all traces of the past industry on the Island were removed. No harbours or jetties, no buildings or roads. And they brought their arts and skills back to this place here, within the bowels of the High Place.
'‘Here, they worked and studied: they explored the forces that cause the time distortions and they learned to control them. They used their alchemy to create crystals from the ore: crystals which eventually found their way into the portal generator.

'Eventually, when they had fully mastered the forces, the Ancients gained control of the Portals. They used them as avenues to other times and dimensions. At last the time came when they decided to take their leave of the Island: to take leave of the whole of this world, in fact. The Ancients shut down the furnaces and the forges, sealed the main flue, at the top of The High Place, and prepared to leave.'
‘

'They each chose their own Portal and departed this world, on the Inner Plain, for wider worlds on the Outer Plain, to their own chosen time and chosen world.’

The Bellmaster looked hard at his companions through the lapping light of the tinderbox. ‘The Ancients were great men, but they were mostly concerned with fulfilling their own dreams. Five‑and‑twenty of them there were, and four‑and‑twenty departed.’

‘You mean,’ Kirlmann Wader said, ‘that one remained!’

‘Only one chose to stay and serve his own kind.’
‘And that,’ suggested Angelina, gleefully, ‘was the Ancient of Ancients!’

‘Exactly, Princess. And it is his portal generator and his portal key that I still have. The Lord High Craftsman watched as his brothers conjured up their own Portals and departed the Inner Plain forever. He alone chose to remain. At first he used the Portals solely to carry him from Fa’Lacree, across the northern waters of the Great Yonder Sea, to the growing kingdom of the Lords Merchant of Seth. He came to know the wisest of their number; he guided their ways and made them great. He still returned to this place when need forced him. Who knows,’ he added with a smile, ‘perhaps he still does.’ The others looked uneasily at the Bellmaster, not knowing what to say next.

The Bellmaster looked around at them and broke the silence. ‘There’s a lot about this place to restore ebbed strength and build new heart,’ he said. ‘I’m sure the Ancient of Ancients often came here, like an owl returning to his oak, or a tiger to his lair. Or even,’ he added, ‘like a smith to his forge: it was here that the Bell was forged.’

‘What;’ asked the Princess, ‘In this very place?’

‘Follow me, Princess, and I’ll show you the very place where it was cast, using an alloy of the fine iron mined from beneath our very feet! And other things besides.’

So the Bellmaster took up, once more, the still‑blazing tinderbox and led them to a far corner of the great cavern to the now‑cold forges of the Ancients. And there among them were the two halves of a cast: the mould for the Bell of the Ancients.

Angelina ran he hand across the pitted insides of the mould. ‘Have you ever seen the Ancient of Ancients in this place?’ she asked the Bellmaster.

‘Do you know;’ came the reply, ‘apart from yourselves, the only person that I’ve ever seen down here is myself,’ he replied.

‘Did any of the Ancients find their way to my world,’ Barney asked, as they walked on down towards the great source of the Silver River.

The Bellmaster tousled his hair. ‘Who knows, young Barney,’ he smiled. ‘Look!’ The Bellmaster pointed and Barney’s eye was caught by the reflection of light on water. They had arrived. There beneath them, rose the springhead of the Silver River.

They had descended from the forges of the Ancients, by a flight of steps cut into the rocky floor, to a lower level. And there ahead of them lapped the living waters of the earth, forced up from who‑knows what depths. The Bellmaster’s light cast its flickering rays across the cavern walls and sent dappled waves shimmering over the surface. The waters spread out before them to form a small subterranean lake.

‘If you enter the waters to your left,’ the Bellmaster said, pointing, ‘and you stay close to the wall, where it is shallow, then you’ll reach the place where the waters spring out at the foot of the High Place. You’ll feel the rush of the water about you. Hold your nose and plunge under the lake. The force of the waters will do the rest. You’ll be out in the open again almost before you’ve had time to get your hair wet.’

Barney frowned. He didn’t particularly like the idea of putting his head under water. ‘You don’t really think we’re going to need a rear exit?’ he asked.

‘You never can tell, young Barney,’ the Bellmaster replied; ‘Better safe than sorry, huh?’

But, instead of plunging into the waters of the Silver River, the Bellmaster led them, to Barney’s relief; back out by the same way they had entered.

At the top of the steps the Bellmaster paused while the others walked, blinking, into the daylight, to heave downwards on the overhanging slab of rock that was the door into the cavern. The slab closed slowly behind htem, leaving no trace at all of the doorway save the recess through which the tinderbox had fired the opening mechanism. And, from several paces away, that too became barely distinguishable from all the other nooks and crannies that pockmarked the rock face.

The lid of the tinderbox was snapped shut. The flame extinguished, the Beachcomber handed the box back to the Beachcomber.

‘Here, Kirlmann,’ he said, ‘look after this, my friend. You’ll likely need it again before our mission is out.’ Kirlmann put the ornate box safely into the depths of his own pocket, and marvelled that there was no hint of warmth to suggest the blaze that it had held. The Beachcomber shook his head in puzzled wonder.

The Bellmaster smiled. ‘There will be more devices awaiting you back in my apartments, Kirlmann Wader. They will help provide delivery across the waters and concealment from unfriendly eyes. But first we must return to Seth Haven and try to discover what lies ahead.’

The Bellmaster swept off around the bluff to the steep grassy slopes on the far side of the High Place. There he paused and gazed down across the Island to the distant white walls of the City. The others, following on behind, stopped and followed his gaze. Even as they stood, the Bell rang out from high above the palace and sent three deep chimes rolling across the hills of Fa’Lacree and out across the endless oceans.
There was a sudden sadness in the eyes of the Bellmaster and he uttered a long, sad, sigh. ‘Should danger befall us, and I'm not around’ he said, ‘remember to make for this place. If the very worst happens and the City falls to the might of Zedd the Mystic, then make for the banks of the Silver River and follow the route we have taken today; only keep to the valley for as long as possible. When you come near, Barney, use the hazel fork to point the way to the cavern entrance. Now come along; it’s time to return.’

And so they retraced their steps and made their way across the Island, back to the entrance to the tunnel into the palace. When they finally re‑entered the Bellmaster’s chamber, the log fire had died away to a weary wisp of smoke that coiled lazily up the chimney. The Princess said her goodbyes and, squeezing Barney’s hand, slipped back to the Royal Apartments. Barney smiled weakly and looked to see if The Bellmaster or Kirlmann Wader had noticed. But Kirlmann was examining the tinder box, and the Bellmaster was ringing a service bell.

Servants soon arrived with plates and beakers, knives and spoons, and Barney and Kirlmann sat down with their host to a meal of broth, meat, bread, milk and fruits. Barney was having the time of his life.

Exploring Fa'Lacree

2006-10-01T21:09:00.000+01:00

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

2006-09-10T18:44:00.000+01:00

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

2006-08-31T21:20:00.000+01:00

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

2006-08-15T22:50:00.000+01:00

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

2006-08-13T17:35:00.000+01:00

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

2006-08-06T20:22:00.000+01:00

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

2006-07-15T21:38:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-07-04T21:01:00.001+01:00

Welcome to the world of Barney Gulliver; an ordinary kid, to whom extraordinary things are about to happen!